Amelia wasn’t altogether surprised that Marcus response to her laughter was one of shock. She heard the sounds of disbelief coming from him even though she had averted her eyes, and she really couldn’t blame him. Smiling and laughter were not exactly her characteristic states; she was far better known for her reserved, contemplative nature that allowed her to blend well with the wallpaper.
What was surprising, however, was what came next. For a few seconds, the silence of the room was penetrating, no longer filled with the sound of Amelia entertainment, but then that silence was interrupted by a guffaw from Marcus that Amelia hadn’t seen coming. Her eyes darted up from the patch of floor they had been focusing on in time to see him all-out grinning, though still shaking his head in disbelief. Then there was another run-fingers-through hair gesture that Amelia noticed seemed to be a habit of his, though it reminded her more of something a male model would do than a gesture she would associate with one of her brother’s gangly friends.
He’s not so gangly anymore, though… some part of Amelia’s brain prompted, sliding the sly comment in between other rational thoughts, causing Amelia to drop her eyes once more and causing her blush to perservate on her cheeks and collarbone, though this newest embarrassment could likely ride on the coattails of the last and go undetected.
A few seconds later, Marcus’s comment about the gloves had managed to pull them both out of a slightly tense silence, though Amelia didn’t know where the tension had come from. She was used to tension in her social interactions, but only to a certain point. This felt more sticky, like there was something in the air of the room, but Amelia couldn’t put her finger on it. Maybe it was the quidditch fumes. Her body couldn’t have been accustomed to those, no matter how much of his sport-related junk Raoul had left around the house when he still lived at home.
Marcus’s smirk was deep when he replied to her comment about Raoul’s potential reaction to anyone that questioned his masculinity, and it made the corners of Amelia’s lips turn up just slightly as she looked back up at him again, more confident that she could maintain eye contact if she focused on the task at hand rather than how much Marcus had changed since the last time she had seen him.
“I think I’ll keep it to myself, just in case Raoul decides to shoot the messenger. So that ought to keep you safe, at least for a while,” Amelia replied smoothly as she handed the gloves over to Marcus, surprised at her ability to think up such a well-thought-out response on the spot. Usually it would have taken her several drafts and at least 10 minutes to come up with something even half as coherent. It wasn’t that Amelia didn’t think in witty terms; her mind was an exceptional conversationalist, especially with itself. It was just a matter of getting those words to come out of her mouth in full sentences that seemed to be the problem, in addition to the fact that much of what Amelia thought inside her head would not fall within her mother’s acceptable range of social interaction.
With the gloves in his hand, Marcus once again gestured for her to follow him and Amelia did so obediently. On the other side of the relatively small room was an entire wall of dragon hide boots in what seemed like every colour, shape, and size imaginable. Immediately, Amelia began creating a photographic mental list of each pair of boots, flagging them with her initial reaction and filing them into different mental folders based on those reactions. There was a black pair with spun gold laces and real dragon scales adorning the toes, a pair that stuck out to Amelia only because she knew they were exactly what Antoinette would pick if she were the one doing the shopping. Amelia and Raoul’s mother had a tendency to pick the most gaudy and obtrusive items of clothing, as evidenced by much of what Amelia had been forced to wear to the Hogwarts balls over the years, but Amelia had a much more practical taste. Raoul was hiking around, travelling frequently, and attempting to avoid notice. He took work where he could get it. His taste had always been simple, even when he had been at home and had the option of having the very best.
While Amelia looked, Marcus continued an earlier part of their conversation, one Amelia both wished he would drop and desperately wanted him to hold on to. Talking about Raoul was such a surreal experience. It was difficult to do without revealing too much or admitting just how much she herself missed him. It seemed like confessing vulnerability to say just how strongly Amelia wished Raoul would come home, or at least visit her. But there was also the strong desire to talk about Raoul with Marcus, if only because this might be the only opportunity she would get.
“Yes… lucky,” Amelia replied, her mind only half in the room with Marcus. The other half was lost in thought, contemplating where Raoul was and what he was doing right now. She found herself having these thoughts frequently, though it was painful to do so. The longer he spent away, the more convinced Amelia became that she had seen her brother for the last time, and no matter how she begged him, the only way she would see him again is if she followed the path he had blazed.
“He writes,” Amelia replied to the second question, less absent-mindedly this time, “The letters aren’t all that frequent, but he writes as often as he can. When you’re out exploring the world and chasing the next adventure, it can be hard to find the time, you see,” Amelia added with a half-smile that was more than a little forced.
To distract both Marcus and herself from the direction of this latest train of thought, Amelia turned back to the boot shelves. After taking mental Polaroids of each pair and weighing her options, Amelia’s mental list of requirements of the boots Raoul would like most left her with only one suitable pair. Making her decision without looking back, Amelia reached out to a pair that was on one of the upper shelves, currently mahogany to match the shelf on which they had been sitting, but as soon as Amelia took them down and held them against the background of the stone floor, they changed to a matte gray color. They were heavy and smelled the same as the gloves had.
“I think these will be suitable for Raoul’s purposes, don’t you think?” Amelia said, interested in the magical properties of the boots. Although Amelia would never own a pair of quidditch boots – for obvious reasons – she had to admire the ingenuity someone had had to imbed in them the magical ability to adjust to match their surroundings. Raoul would definitely find use for these, though Amelia forced herself not to think about certain uses he might find for them, and she nodded to herself as she reaffirmed the choice of gift Marcus had suggested.
“To be honest,” Amelia said abruptly, her mind having wandered away without her being fully conscious of it. As her brain caught up to the words her lips had formed, Amelia realized this was an abrupt change of subject that Marcus may not have followed, but she was already invested now…
“To be honest, I sort of wondered if you hadn’t decided to follow him,” Amelia said, darting her eyes between the boots in her hands and Marcus’s strong facial features, “I haven’t seen you around school lately, and no one really knew where you had gotten to. Considering my personal attachment to a similar story, I couldn’t help but wondered if you’d ‘pulled a Raoul’,” Amelia explained, using special emphasis on the last three words to indicate that she meant this metaphorically. She knew that this line of questioning was the type of prying that she specifically despised when other people did it to her, but she couldn’t help but be curious. They were in the same year, Marcus and her, and it would have been impossible not to notice his absence at school, and with the way Marcus had always admired Raoul, it wouldn’t have been out of the realm of possibilities for Marcus to have attempted to join her older brother in his around-the-world quest.