Feet Firmly on the Ground (for now)

The wind was strong as Amelia ran past the lake, her steps falling heavily on the frozen ground. Winter was in full swing at Hogwarts, and though it had been days since the last snowfall there was a chill in the air that made her lungs ache in protest as she continued on, over the rolling grounds. The wind picked up waves on the lake - which had been frozen last week but had thawed since - making small white crests where one usually saw nothing but his reflection.

Right left right left right left Amelia’s mind was blissfully clear of thought as she ran past the greenhouses, the windows fogged because the temperature inside was so much warmer than what she was currently experiencing. Inside, Amelia could see the herbology professor cultivating a crop of Mandrake plants. She remembered the lesson on these plants distinctly, but chose to let the memory slip from her mind as she focused on nothing more than her steps and breathing in and out.

For the first time in almost a week, Amelia was blissfully alone. Between classes her prefect duties, the Yule Ball, and the event in Madame Puddifoot’s, she was finding it difficult to relish in the solitude she so enjoyed. It was for this reason that she had laced up her tennis shoes – adorned with spikes now that the ice had made the grounds treacherous. It was early in the morning when she had first stepped outside, just as the sun had begun to peek through the trees of the forbidden forest, still low enough on the horizon to keep the grounds in shadows. Amelia felt a bit like a shadow as she ran through the deserted grounds, her steps the only sounds to break the silence.

The sun was higher now, but not by much. As she saw the quidditch pitch come into view she forced herself forward, leaning into a sprint toward the entrance gates to the stadium. Her legs burned when she arrived at the gates, but she kept herself moving, allowing her muscles to cool down a bit as she jogged onto the pitch.

The quidditch pitch was not a place Amelia was all that familiar with. She had never played the game, and although most students were required to take lessons in flying during their first year, her mother had blissfully exempt her from them, claiming it was not a very “ladylike” way for Amelia to be spending her time. For once, Amelia was glad for her mother’s old-fashioned attitudes, as it had allowed her to keep her feet solidly on the ground.

Amelia took a lap around the pitch, taking in the scenery which was mostly foreign to her. She imagined the stadium looked much different on game day, but she had never seen it in its rowdy glory. Not much for social situations or sporting events, Amelia mostly avoided the crowds of people who headed toward the pitch on Saturday and enjoyed the castle’s emptiness instead.

Upon finishing her lap, Amelia leaned over, placing her hands on her knees and breathing deeply. She pushed the stray curls away from her face, finger combing them back into place in the ponytail which held most of her hair back. She was flushed, both from the chill in the air and from the run, but she felt good. Although her thoughts would eventually catch up with her, Amelia was content to know that she had outrun them, at least for a little while.

(OOC:...wow)

It was quiet as Bane entered the quiditch locker room. He had decided to come alone, not that many would have chosen to come along. There was no game, or practice today, just "Bane time." Time to literaly, break off from the world, and take to the skys.

He searched through school's quidditch supply closet and found a broom that was suitable for borrowing, and he walked towards the pitch. He walked down the entrance tunnel and mounted his broom. His mind wandered and his imagination ran wild. He imagined the people screaming his name, his adrenaline was rushing, he imagined the Ministor of Magic announcing his name, as captain of the English quidditch squad, during the championship game.

He flew out of the tunnel as if it were a real match, he completed a lap at high speeds, weaving as if there were somebody in his way. He smiled as he once more felt all stress go away. Then, for the first time, he realized for the first time, he was not alone. He saw a girl, whom he didn't recognize. She was leaning over, her hands on her knees, on the pitch.

His curiosity overtook his urge to fly, and he went into a full out dive, pulling out just before he hit the ground. The ground chrunching has he landed beside her.

"Hello." he said, attempting to get her attention. He realized she was panting as if she had been running, he assumed she had. "A little bit cold for a run, don't you think?"

(longer than my usual posts.)

The deep breaths Amelia took were so cold that Amelia felt the cold piercing through her lungs, hurting more than they were helping. Standing upright again, Amelia closed her mouth and forced herself to take slower, more shallow breaths through her nose, hoping that her sinuses would help to warm the air before it fully entered her body.

Beginning to catch her breath, Amelia was no longer distracted by the pain in her chest and it was then that she caught sight of a blur in her peripheral vision. Snapping her head in the direction of the movement, Amelia was just in time to see someone on a broom launching him or herself into the air, legs wrapped around a broom. Amelia’s eyes widened at the sight, taking in the speed and agility of the flight, noticing quickly that whomever it was certainly had a knack for flying.

Being impressed did not stop her from being annoyed, however. It seemed that no matter where she went, someone always managed to find her. In her first three years of school, she had still been small enough to hide under the table in the common room, going unnoticed even when other house members chose to study or play chess above her head. When she hit her growth spurt, however, her lanky limbs and pointed elbows kept her from remaining incognito in her usual hiding place, always accidentally prodding other students with her angular features and getting kicked by their surprise.

Amelia continued to watch the progress of the individual, hoping for a moment that he intended to take himself and his broom elsewhere, but as he circled the pitch it was clear that he intended to stay. Sighing, Amelia jumped in place, readying herself to start running again before this interruption noticed her presence.

Too late, Amelia’s subconscious pointed out, having taken note of a change in the flyers direction before she became consciously aware of it. The person – a boy, she could tell now that he was getting closer – had turned into a vertical position and was now heading for a spot not five meters from her, looking very much like he was about to smash headfirst into the ground.

Why is it when people get on brooms they suddenly lose all inhibition? Amelia mused as he came closer to the ground, turning away at the last second to avoid having to watch him become a human pancake. But instead of the crash she had anticipated, she heard the crunch of footsteps crossing frozen grass, and when she turned back to him the boy was upright and walking toward her.

The boy was tall, probably about her height or maybe a little shorter. His hair was dark, though that could be partially due to the shadows that still spotted the scene because of the early hour of the day. His voice carried easily across the empty space between them, and Amelia’s retort came quickly and without thought.

“A little bit cold to be riding around on an overgrown twig, don’t you think?” she retorted automatically, getting defensive without needing to. It was her irritation at having been noticed coming through, and Amelia immediately wished she could take the words back. Her mother would not approve of the first impression she had just made.

Clearing her throat, but not apologizing, Amelia’s hand rose to the back of her neck, characteristic of her when she didn’t know what to say. She had never been good at small talk – or really any talking, to be honest – so she did not know what to say to the stranger that stood before her, broom in hand.

“So…” she started, even though she could think of nothing to say afterward, her awkwardness about the situation showing.

Aren’t we eloquent? her subconscious muttered, annoyed at her lack of social niceties and poor choice of words.

((In case you haven't read any of Amelia's other posts, she is a bit awkward in social situations, and she isn't always very nice either. No offense intended, that's just the way she is.))

Bane raised an eyebrow at the comment. He thought it was, well to an extent, a little bit courageous, for one to speak there mind truthfuly. "That was... well honest." he said, he too, wasn't exactly sure of what to say. "But, this overgrown twig," he added, holding up the broom, "which I call a broom, can be quite entertaining. If you know how to ride on, that is." the last part of his sentence came with a little bit of a smile.

"So, the question is, do you ride..." Bane paused, he realized that he had no idea what her name was. "I don't know what to call you." Bane said casually, trying to make the tone of the conversation, just a little bit more poleasent, and to turn it away from its unpleasent nature.

Not having thought of anything to say and chastised by her subconscious, Amelia let her hand fall back to her side, feeling the goose flesh rise on the back of her neck when the contact between it and her hand was broken. Amelia shivered involuntarily in response, averting her eyes from the boy’s in defeat.

I either have to get better at avoiding people, or better at making conversation, Amelia thought, making a mental note.

When the dark-haired boy responded, it was not in the way Amelia had anticipated. Most people who got one of her barbed retorts either got angry or simply left. Neither of these responses particularly bothered Amelia, though the second was preferable. Amelia was a loner by choice, and thus she didn’t really mind when people did not like her or want to be around her. It was just one fewer person who she would have to defend herself against. But this boy, the one with the death wish (which she had gathered from his nosedive toward the frozen ground), did not seem to be offended by her response, but instead he interpreted it for what it was: honesty.

He seemed hesitant in his response, but at least he had gotten it right. Amelia was honest to a fault, mostly because she didn’t waste time beating around the bush. She didn’t speak often, but when she did it was because she had something to say. “Do not speak unless you can improve the silence,” was one of her mother’s favorite phrases, borrowed from some long-dead proverb whose words still held true for Amelia. Raising an eyebrow at the boy, Amelia became curious about the person who was able to take her criticism in such stride.

The boy was not finished with his response, however, and now moved on to the more defensive part of his retort. His use of Amelia’s term for the broom showed he had at least been listening to what she said, which was more than she could say for many of the people she had these little spats with. When he gave the more formal name of “broom”, Amelia rolled her eyes at the boy’s patronizing nature. Of course she knew what a broom was – just because she thought of them as household tools and not vehicles didn’t make her entirely oblivious to them.

He ended his sentence with something Amelia would have interpreted as an innuendo, but Amelia wasn’t sure if he meant it that way or if it was an innocent question. The smile which turned the corners of his lips upward as he said it suggested it was the former, but Amelia was not about to jump to conclusions. She knew next to nothing about this person, and she wouldn’t know for sure how to interpret his words and actions without first knowing something of his motivations.

“You can call me Amelia,” she answered him, “if you’re feeling formal. Or if not, you can call me whatever the latest in the gossip mill has come up with. I think ‘Ice Queen’ is what they are whispering nowadays.”

Amelia was not being mean, but rather stating a fact. She knew perfectly well that many of her peers thought of her as cold and secluded, both of which she had probably earned, and she knew what they called her behind her back. She wasn’t hurt by it; in order to be hurt by someone, you have to care what they think.

“And as for knowing how to ride,” Amelia continued, smirking in the boy’s direction, the closest she really ever got to a smile, “I prefer to keep my feet where they belong. On the ground.”

Bane noded softly at her response. He smiled at her mention of "The Ice Queen." He'd heard that name used once or twice before, but now he realized that this girl, was to whom it was given. "I think, that I'll call you Amelia." He said, maybe just so that he could respond to her last statement. "I go by Bane." He added, just in case she was curious.

His eyes widened as she she said feet were meant to stay on the ground. He shook his head at her comment, "The only person who would give that type of response, would be one whose never flown." he said. Then before he spoke again, his head tilted just a tad, toward the sky, and he smiled, "Its endless. I can go places, experince feelings, see things that I could not with my feet planted, nervously, in fear, not... not open to change." He said.

Amelia shrugged when the boy – who introduced himself shortly afterward as Bane – decided that he preferred her given name to the one her reputation had earned her. It really wouldn’t have made much difference to Amelia, since she was planning to stay only as long as she was required by social rule, and she wasn’t likely to see Bane ever again. Usually, one meeting was enough for people to decide that Amelia wasn’t a friend they wanted to pursue.

His response to Amelia’s indication that she preferred solid earth to soaring in the sky was actually quite comical, his eyes getting nearly as wide as dinner plates. Clearly this had not been the response he had anticipated, but Amelia understood why he might have expected something different. From what she had gathered, much of the student population was fascinated by flying, unsurprising since that sort of mentality was instilled in many of the students by parents or older siblings with a passion for quidditch or the like. Raoul had gone through a phase where he followed quidditch, but it had been brief; after England lost in the World Cup a year later, he lost his interest.

Although not usually one for laughter, Amelia let out a snort at Bane’s comment about her response. “Well spotted,” she retorted sarcastically, knowing it didn’t take a genius to deduce that someone who preferred their feet firmly on the ground wasn’t exactly first in line for flying. It was curious, though, that he was able to determine that she had never flown before; it was uncommon for a witch or wizard to have never been aboard a broom, and it was odd that he would be able to make that mentally leap with such agility.

Bane continued despite her interruption, raising his eyes to the sky and looking longingly at the expanse above them. The look on his face suggested that he was looking out onto a clear, crystal blue horizon instead of the gray and dreary one that was actually above them, but then again, he seemed the type likely to dream. Amelia was too firmly rooted in reality to be so optimistic about flying, the way Bane was when he described his passion for it. Although Amelia’s eyes had followed his to the sky, she did not follow where his thoughts were going.

“I’m not nervous,” Amelia asserted defensively, dropping her eyes from the sky and staring at Bane, “I just don’t have a death wish. If by open to change you mean change the number of limbs you possess, then I would prefer to be stoic and on the ground.”

A frivolous waste of time, anyway, Amelia added mentally, though she did not mention this aloud. Bane’s reverence for flying bordered on religion it seemed, and Amelia knew better than to verbally bash someone’s deity. She was naturally offensive to people; no use in intentionally being that way.

“You’re lucky you didn’t crash earlier,” Amelia added bluntly, turning her head slightly to look at where Bane’s dive would have planted him if he had not pulled up in time, though still keeping the boy in her peripheral vision.

Bane snickered. "Only when we are no longer afraid, do we truly begin to live." Bane said, with a little bit of force. It was the saying he lived by, and the one he would forever. "Live a little, you'll find that danger has a sort of... auora about it, that is somewhat addicting." This last part came with a smile.

He mounted his broom, and pushed off, so that he was hovering just above the ground, still in front of her though. "Luck is what some people call skill, when they have none." Bane added. "I think you'll find flight entertaining if you gave it a try."

Bane’s words brought Amelia’s eyes back to his, if only to figure out what he had meant by his words. It wasn’t that he had mumbled them or that Amelia hadn’t heard him; quite the contrary, Bane had said his piece with a conviction Amelia hadn’t expected. What he said, though, Amelia had a hard time swallowing. In her opinion, it was impossible to live completely without fear. Fear was the part of us that kept us from making foolhardy decisions; it was inherently linked with rationality, which was the dominating part of Amelia’s mind. Fear is what kept us alive, a strong part of our intuition. Without it, we would lack a critical part of the decision making process.

Amelia could have tried to explain this to Bane, but without knowing how he would react to it, she didn’t know if the time and effort would be worth it. Besides, she wasn’t really in the mood to have a deeply philosophical discussion with a boy she had met on the quidditch pitch at 7:00 in the morning. She had come out here to be alone, after all, even though she was failing at that for what seemed like the hundredth time this week.

So instead of getting into an argument on the finer points of fear, Amelia merely nodded at Bane when he described dangers’ aura. She really couldn’t speak much on that topic anyway, never having really gotten herself into any real trouble. Amelia was a rule follower, respect for authority instilled in her from young on. Her parents had always been strict with her, and Amelia had never really had enough friends to have bad influences among them. If danger was addicting, the reason she never found herself in any was because she had never really had her first taste.

When Bane mounted his broom, Amelia thought optimistically that it was because he was finished talking to her and was going to leave. It wasn’t that Amelia had found anything in particular to dislike about Bane, it was just that being social took its toll on her. It was much easier for her to be alone, not having to weigh every word against some cosmic scale before speaking. But, to her slight disappointment, Bane did not fly off into the distance, but rather hovered above the ground, just a meter or so away from her.

She could not help but roll her eyes again – though she thought more discreetly this time – at Bane’s comment about luck versus skill. True, she had absolutely no skill on a broom; that is what happens when you skip the first year lessons in flying they offer to take arithmancy instead. She raised an eyebrow at Bane, surveying him as he hovered. It was a curious sight, to see someone flying. She had, of course, seen people fly before, but she had never really paid much attention to the mechanics of it. Bane – a tall boy – was fully supported by a strip of wood no more than two inches in diameter, his feet pressed against two pedals near the straw end of the broom.

“I really don’t think flying is all that different from running,” Amelia insisted, trying to sidestep Bane’s offer that she should fly. Amelia generally avoided activities she wasn’t good at; that is what helped her to give the impression that she was good at everything. If she never cooked, rode a broom, or attempted to catch anything, no one would know how truly dismal she was at these activities.

“You still get the wind in your face, you cover large distances quickly, and everyone more or less regards it as a sport. Aside from the distance between you and the ground, I would say my choice of morning activity is not that far removed from yours,” Amelia finished, already knowing her argument was flawed because she had left out so many of the differences between flying and running, but stating those aloud would hardly have served to prove her point.

"But I can fly through the heavens, over a mountain, across the sea. Being on a broom has taken away the restrictions of being placed in a human body." Bane said, in both a quick, and excited voice. "I can go this way, that way up and down, without any limitation."

He landed again, and dismounted his broom. Carrying it in his left hand, he walked up until he was maybe a foot away from Amerlia, and his voice changed, into a hushed, and mysterious one. "And I will never, understand why anyone would have any urge, to stay away from that." he said.