Music of the Night

In all aspects of Amelia’s life, she did what she ought to. Except when she ought to be sleeping.

Such was the case now as Amelia crept up the stairs to the seventh floor study room. Because this was one of her usual haunts during the day, Amelia knew the frequency with which other students used the room: not much. Assuming that there were even fewer people there during the night, Amelia had long ago discovered a place to spend her nights of insomnia.

It wasn’t her fault, really, that she didn’t sleep well at night. There were simply too many thoughts running through her mind when her head hit the pillow to turn her brain off. Inevitably, Amelia got up from her bed and roamed the castle, usually without real purpose, but tonight she had known where she was going as soon as she left the dormitories. A violin case swung from her hand as she reached the top of the steps and turned right and then made another quick left into the study room.

As she had suspected, and as it was every other night, the study room was deserted. Amelia was quick to swing the door closed behind her, just enough so that it was mostly closed, but ajar enough that she would hopefully hear anyone coming before they got to the door. There was a table near the door where she set her violin case, flicking open the clasps and lifting the instrument from the velvet lining.

Although the lack of sleep might bother others, Amelia reveled in the time she spent alone with her music. She felt so natural with the violin in her hand, the base held up to her neck and the bow in her right hand. Moving to the center of the room, Amelia pulled the bow tentatively across the strings to test that it was still in tune. The notes sounded pure as the bow ran its course, echoing slightly off the stone walls around her and filtering the silence from the room.

Assured now, Amelia wasted no time launching into one of her many favorite songs to play, the bow sliding across the strings through the introduction, raising her voice to supply the melody to the violin’s harmony when the lyrics called for it.

Though the song had originally been written for a male vocalist, Amelia had always had a fondness for it. Her pure soprano did not match the original version, but the notes were right, and for a lonely girl in the middle of the night, that was enough.

((Cue Landon. The song is “Why Does It Always Rain on Me?” by Travis, in case you don’t recognize it.))

Landon had always been plagued with the inability to sleep when he should. If he had to guess, his insomnia was deeply rooted in his childhood. His parents would generally come home from work late, very late in some cases, and as any child would, he would stay up until he knew that they were safely at home. Now, since he was older, his mind was also tainted with disturbing thoughts and probing questions which kept him up until the wee hours of the morning. This night was no exception.

He lay in his bed with his hazel eyes wide open. The faint sound of snores could be heard on either side of him; he could have sworn he even heard someone muttering to themselves in their sleep. These noises distracted him from his previous thoughts on the absurdity of politics in the Wizarding World today. Deciding the sleep would only continue to evade him, Landon decided to take a stroll around the castle.

The hallways at night were a much different experience than they were in the daytime. During the day they were crowded with students, the echoes of their voices ricocheted off the walls. At night however, nothing was present except for the silence. Of course he knew there were professors prowling about, trying to catch an unsuspecting student out of bed. Because Landon was fully conscious of this, he clung to the shadows while attempting to keep his footsteps as light as possible.

He was so stuck in his own head that he hardly realized where he was heading. It wasn't long before he saw a portrait which he recognized. Landon had somehow made his way up to the seventh floor without even realizing he was doing so. Feeling slightly confused, he continued to walk down the hallway until he heard something which made him freeze in place.

A voice. But not just any voice. Someone was singing...while playing the violin. The words he heard were unfamiliar to him as well as the voice which was singing them. It was beautiful though. He slowly made his way towards the slightly ajar door which led to the study room. He hoped it wouldn't end up being a professor. As he neared, he peeked through the cracks, seeing a girl who was bound to be around his age. Unable to stop himself, he opened the door and stepped inside.

He smiled at her while clapping his hands, "You truly do have some talent," he complimented.

Surrounded by the music, Amelia had fallen into the world that the notes created, a world that only she knew existed While the rest of the rest of the castle slept soundly in the world they were given, Amelia created her own. She took solace in the company of the harmony, felt herself rise and fall with the crescendos and diminuendos. As she played, she moved slightly, as if dancing, though not so much as to prevent her from playing well.

”Why does it always rain on me?
Is it because I lied when I was seventeen?
Why does it always rain on me?
Even when the sun is shining
I can't avoid the lightning

I can't stand myself
I'm being held up by invisible men
Still life on a shelf when
I got my mind on something else”

In this room, now, in the middle of the night, Amelia was not the person everyone thought her to be. She was not the quiet girl who did as she was told, who always followed instructions and never questioned authority. She wasn’t the girl through whom her parents vicariously lived, the girl with so many expectations to live up to she didn’t know which way to turn. By herself, with her violin, Amelia was most purely herself.

During the day, Amelia spent her energy on trying to make herself smaller, more acceptable. Her caustic wit, the sarcasm, the fierce independence; it wasn't befitting of the person everyone expected her to be. So she shrank that part of herself, the part that was really alive. Instead, she did the things she was supposed to do; she gave the polite answer, practiced patience and political correctness, and worked to maintain the ladylike appearance her mother was always forcing on her.

But that was okay. Because at night, when she crept out of the dormitories and found an empty space with her violin, she got to experience the world the way she felt it. She could feel everything or nothing, play with the intensity she wished her words could convey, let the passion she felt flow from her fingers to the bow. At night, she got to spite her mother’s wishes, the expectations of her professors, the duty to her parents. At night, there was no one to cramp her style.

Or so it seemed until she heard a voice from behind her.

Amelia hadn’t been anticipating the interruption; lost as she was in the music, she hadn’t heard the approaching footsteps. Her back was to the door, but when she heard the words her imagined world fell away, in the same way the bow fell from her hands. It clattered to the floor, the sound echoing loudly in the absence of the music, and Amelia spun to face the source of the sound.

“What are you doing here?” Amelia asked pointedly, the strain of his presence outweighing the fact that the blonde boy had just given her a compliment. Having been here so many nights alone, Amelia had sort of come to the conclusion that she owned this space between the hours of midnight and 3:00 A.M. The presence of this other person, who looked to be about her age, but she couldn’t say for sure, threw her off, and in her surprise she had forgotten to resume the premise of perfection that she usually held during the day. Instead, she had said the first thing that came to her mind.

Perhaps not the most polite of introductions… Amelia’s mind chastised, but it was too late now to take the words back, so instead she stood staring at the intruder, her violin hanging from one hand and the bow on the floor beside her.

Her first words caught Landon off guard. That was hardly the way he was used to most people responding to compliments. Also, unlike usual circumstances, the compliment which he had uttered was a genuine one. Normally he ushered out compliments if he felt as though it was the polite thing to do or conversation simply called for one. This he could have easily ignored but felt compelled to pay her some sort of compliment. She was musically gifted after all.

Normally, Landon wasn't really all that touched by music to be honest. Maybe that's because he wasn't necessarily raised by parents who enjoyed artistic and aesthetic things. Of course, their house was ornately decorated with several pieces of art but he was willing to be that his parents knew neither the title of these paintings or even the artist. He could remember when he was young, his parents had attempted to make him more, erm, cultured, and had forced him to try and learn how to play the violin, ironically. They had wanted him to be a performing monkey of sorts at dinner parties; a bragging point. Unfortunately for his parents, he had never shown any talent.

When Landon did show a flair for something, his parents normally pushed him into whatever field that may be. He used to play Quidditch up until this year. He had been rather good at it, not to toot his own horn or anything, but his parents kept pushing him to make some sort of future out of it. He didn't want to be a Quidditch player, mainly because he didn't really like that lifestyle and he didn't want to make a future out of a sport, so he dropped it much to his parents' dismay. He had an unfortunate habit of doing just the opposite of what his parents wanted for him.

He had never known if this was because his own wants conflicted with those of his parents or it was because he was simply a teenager; someone who was programmed to do exactly the opposite of what authority figures of sorts wanted them to do. It wasn't that he disliked his parents or thought that they didn't want the best for him. He respected his parents far too much to believe that. But it just seemed as though they didn't really care what Landon wanted to do, which of course was rather important to him.

Though to be fair to his parents, he had absolutely no idea what he wanted to do once he graduated school and that time was getting close and closer by the second. He knew the things in which he excelled: Potions and Herbology. However that pointed right down the path of becoming a Healer and he didn't have the compassion it took to be one of those guys. It was difficult to be an ambitious person when one wasn't sure where they should aim said ambitions. It was rather exhausting actually.

Bringing himself back to the present he looked at the girl who had been a little harsh when responding to his compliment. She was certainly better looking than most of the girls he had seen at this school. And it seemed as though she didn't really try to be so; which always made a girl ten times more attractive in his books. "I could ask you the same question," he responded logically. Deciding not to be a jerk he added, "But I was just walking through the hallways when I heard your singing." He flashed her a quick smile, "And I felt compelled to tell you that I thought you were talented. Obviously that wasn't the right thing to say."

Amelia could tell by the boy’s reaction that her words had been as harsh as she realized – belatedly – that they were. She could hear her mother’s voice inside her mind, chastising her for her lack of filter when answering a question from a stranger (someone Antoinette would have described as “potential suitor” because he was male and somewhere in the vicinity of Amelia’s age), her pitch rising as she continued her tirade.

”How could you be so brash? Have I taught you nothing? You are going to end up a spinster, Amelia, despite my best attempts to make you suitable for human interaction. You’ll be the death of me, I hope you know that.”

But to Amelia’s relatively unenthusiastic subconscious, this sounded something like:

”Blah, blah, blah…death…blah, blah blah.”

Picking up only on the word that Amelia felt most when her mother was criticizing her for her snarky responses or caustic wit. It wasn’t her fault that she had developed such a barbed tongue; what other kind of entertainment was there at dinner parties and gala events full of people who are either 30 years your senior or boys your mother only invited so she could possibly have a relationship about which to brag?

But as much as Amelia was tempted to use her wit at these “small get togethers” her parents threw, she had too much respect for authority and too much of an obligation to her parents to behave badly. And so she usually did what she was told, greeted all guests with a smile, and even danced with her mother’s favorites. But away from her mother’s accusatory stares, Amelia was not always so socially graceful.

The silence between them and the tension caused by her stare eventually made Amelia avert her eyes and bring her free hand up to the back of her neck, as she usually did when she was feeling awkward or embarrassed. Though she was looking away from him now, the boy’s answer still reached her ears, surprising her with a logical answer instead of an insult, which is what she had anticipated. Not many people responded well to Amelia’s harsh criticisms.

Amelia wasn’t very quick to answer in social situations – at least when she had turned her mental filter on, which she had by now – so she was unable to respond to the blond boy’s pointed response before he continued on, his voice more moderated this time as he repeated his earlier compliment. This time, Amelia was aware of his presence and therefore coherent enough to blush at this statement, as she wasn’t altogether accustomed to flattery. Keeping mostly to herself and being widely known as “The Ice Queen”, she didn’t get a lot of flattery from the student population, especially not genuine compliments like the one that her current company had doled out.

“I’m not sure I’m the one to ask about the right things to say,” Amelia responded after a great deal of blood had rushed to her cheeks and spotted them with blush, “as I’ve clearly just demonstrated,” she added, more as a muttered afterthought to herself. She wasn’t looking at the boy now, not wanting him to see her reaction to his compliment, and she was feeling slightly embarrassed now about her callous greeting earlier, especially since he seemed like a genuinely nice guy.

He must be to put up with your crap and then compliment you on top of it, Amelia thought, her hand still kneading away at the back of her neck as she tried to think of something less awkward or abrasive to say.

“I um… couldn’t sleep,” Amelia finally said, her lack of experience in social situations showing itself full force. She was naturally awkward around other people, and the rocky start to this conversation hadn’t helped her confidence in conversation, “… so I came here.”

“What’s your excuse?” she asked, trying to make her voice lighter and less accusatory as she finally looked up to meet the boy’s gaze once again, surprised by the hint of a smile that lingered on his lips.

Landon couldn't help but look at her. Not merely because they were the only ones occupying the room but it was more so due to the fact that she was rather, well, striking. Unlike most of the people whom he encountered at Hogwarts, she had an aura of intelligence. If he were being completely honest with himself, he was slightly intimidated by her. Though he couldn't explain why that was. The fact that he didn't know who she was before now irked him.

He had thought he had a good grasp of those who around his age at the school. Not because he had met all of them by any means but he normally heard gossip in the Common Room about them; especially if they were of the female persuasion. It wasn't until that moment that he realized he was blatantly staring at her. He quickly shifting his gaze down to his own interlocked hands. He always felt awkward and uncomfortable when he found someone looking at him for what felt longer than socially appropriate.

Due to the silence, he was frightened that he may have said the wrong thing once again. This was both intriguing and irritating all at once. Landon was not one of the most sociable creatures and therefore didn't always know how to handle himself around others. Of course he had learned how to make small talk at a very young age. His parents had made sure their son was sociable enough to entertain dinner guests while attempting to appear intelligent.

He had always been more of a trophy than anything for his parents. They didn't seem to view him as their son but merely a tool that could somehow help them climb the ladder into the higher societal class of Pureblood wizards. When he was younger, he undoubtedly didn't comprehend how his parents used him, but that revelation came with age. However, despite his awakening, he still found himself doing the same things he had done when he was younger. One could only refuse so much to those who gave them life.

Landon chuckled at her response. "Eh, you have a pretty good excuse for reacting that way," he remarked. "I did just catch you off guard by listening in on your music without invitation to do so," he added. She seemed nervous or perhaps just socially awkward. He wasn't sure which of the two it was though there was a chance that it was a hybrid of the two. He didn't quite understand why she wouldn't look at him. He also wasn't sure what was the right thing to do in this situation. Should he simply leave her back to her music? He didn't know if he really wanted to do that though; he was too highly intrigued by her.

The hesitation in her speech only led Landon to believe he had been right before. She was rather socially awkward. But why was that? Surely someone like her had loads of friends, boyfriends too. He knew that there was nothing about him that would make a girl like her nervous so he was left in a state of confusion. He tried his best to make the conversation more comfortable for her, though he wasn't sure if he was doing a stellar job at that. "Yeah, I can sympathize with you on the sleeping problems," he replied giving her what he hoped was a comforting smile.

"I'm here for the same reason. I generally walk around the castle when I can't sleep. The emptiness and silence of the hallways is rather comforting in comparison to how they are during the day," he answered. He was giving more information than he generally would but he clung to the hope that this would make her feel more comfortable. From what he could gather of her social abilities, she wasn't one who struck up conversation topics. Of course, he was only making assumptions at this point. "Do you usually come up here in the dead of the night to play music?" he asked conversationally, leaning his shoulder against the wall, his face directed towards her.

The boy was taking her lack of tact quite well, Amelia thought, for someone who had ever opportunity to remove himself from the situation. He had no obligation to Amelia and no real reason – at least none that she could think of – to stay, but stay he did. The smile that she had seen tugging at the corners of his mouth was replaced with a broader one accompanied by laughter, the type that was meant to ease tension in a room. Amelia had seen this tactic employed many times in social situations that had reached an impasse; she had always meant to work out how it was done so she might use it to escape the silences her statements often made, but like so many other things she meant to do, there simply wasn’t time.

His words were kind, though they needn’t have been. Amelia was, on some level, relieved that the boy had not been overly offended by her pointed question , and even more relieved that he seemed to have a better grasp on human interaction than she did. Although he wasn’t excessively conversational – which would likely only have brought about more snarky comments from Amelia instead of calming her – he did know how to transition from one topic to another in what seemed to Amelia to be a relatively painless way.

Even while he was talking, Amelia could see him analyzing her. It was something she frequently did to others, so she recognized the motions he went through in observing her; watching her movements, taking in her appearance, trying to figure her out. Although she had no excuse to be, this attention made Amelia oddly self-conscious and she dropped her hand from the back of her neck, letting it fall back alongside her body. She considered reaching for the bow, still laying on the ground slightly behind where she stood, but she decided against it. Best to focus on the conversation lest she make another major misstep in keeping up with social norms.

In the brief pauses between the blond boy’s words – which were thankfully filling the silence between them, because Amelia hadn’t had time yet to formulate another sentence that wouldn’t make her sound impetuous or plain stupid – Amelia could not help but allow her subconscious to take over. She was so accustomed to making mental notes on the people around her that she could hardly avoid doing it now. The boy was not someone she was familiar with, which was unusual, but Amelia was able to write it off for now. He had a long frame, but muscular from what Amelia could see through his clothes. His hair was just a bit too long, like it hadn’t been cut recently, and hung slightly in front of inquisitive hazel eyes. He was a pleasant specimen to look at, but she wouldn’t allow herself to be distracted right now. She needed to focus if she was going to appear coherent.

“Not even the ghosts haunt this place as much as I do,” Amelia admitted in response to his question, noticing that the boy was definitely more comfortable in the situation than she was. His posture, leaning against the wall as he was, and the way his smile came easily proved that much. But she had to admit, his calm was somewhat – though just a little – infectious, and she had a hard time remaining as tense as she had first been. Meeting new people still made her nervous – she was not what one would call a people person – but this person was definitely easier to deal with than the usual giggling gaggle.

“The music helps with the silence,” Amelia added, realizing that the bare minimum answers she usually gave to questions wouldn’t really help in keeping this conversation afloat. Being a bit of a loner, Amelia wasn’t exactly opposed to silence, but quiet tended to provoke the reeling of her mind, while music calmed it.

“Plus, it makes for good company,” she continued as an afterthought, catching herself belatedly and appending, “Not that present company isn’t, you know, making up for the lack of music.”

Smooth, Amelia. Real smooth… her subconscious chastised sarcastically. Some people were awkward and unaware of it. Amelia was all too aware, but still unable to do much about it. They say practice makes perfect and, well, she hadn’t really pursued much practice when it came to conversation.

“I’m Amelia, by the way. Amelia Lyons” the redhead added in an attempt to dissipate some of the tension she had caused with her original greeting, still hanging heavily in the space between them. The distance was too great for her to extend an arm for a handshake, but she didn’t know if it would be too forward of her to take the few steps toward the boy. So instead, she lifted her arm as she made her introduction and then, realizing she didn’t know what exactly she had planned to do with it, she let it fall back to her side once more.

You really ought to think about a permanent sticking charm between your arm and torso, the mental commentary continued.

Obviously, the concept of social awkwardness was on the boy's mind. He couldn't help but wonder if he himself was inept in interactions, though in other ways. For instance, was it strange for him to just barge into a room and compliment someone whom he had never met? Was he thwarted in some ways because of the manner in which he was raised?

Landon had been brought up with the ability to make conversation with just about anyone he encountered. This was a handy tool during dinner parties and such; those times when he needed to appear suave and social in order to appease his parents. Though, to be honest, he hardly used these skills during his time at Hogwarts. He could strike up a conversation with most people but his interest tended to stray after a short amount of time. Though it was conceited, he believed that there were few he were able to comprehend how he worked. For instance, his cousin Sophia was one of his closet friends but he believed they were on completely different levels despite the closeness of their relationship. She was a fighter, someone who went out onto a battlefield and fought for what they believed. Landon was quite the opposite; he never felt passionate enough to give up his life for some sort of cause.

Part of him wondered if he should leave the girl alone with her music. Perhaps his company was unappreciated. It certainly wouldn't be the first time that sort of thing had happened. Even though this feeling took over the majority of his being, he found his feet rooted to the spot - incapable of movement. There were many things about this girl that drew him into her...like a moth into the flame. There were rather obvious things mixed with subtle assumptions.

Her strawberry blonde curls hung loosely around her oval-shaped face. Her blue eyes seemed to hold more wisdom than he could even begin to fathom. There was something deep about them, something which he couldn't describe but found both intriguing and attractive. She had rather larger features, all of them sticking out individually and uniquely, which he couldn't help but notice. Though her personality didn't seem to show a naivety that comes with being an adolescent, her face showed somewhat of a childhood innocence. Whether this was simply a physical attribute or not he couldn't be sure. She had a small sprinkling of freckles across the bridge of her nose which Landon couldn't help but find aesthetically appealing.

Landon chuckled at her response. "Maybe the answer is obvious but why did you choose the study room of all places?" he asked her curiously. There were dozens of rooms which she could have her pick of. For a brief moment, he contemplated the location which he would choose if he had decided to practice something in the middle of the night. Because he was a rather self-conscious creature, though he never admitted that, he would have chosen somewhere outdoors. Of course that was much riskier and therefore not all that logical of a place where he would escape frequently.

The music helps with the silence...that was an interesting thought. Landon was perhaps unusual in that area. He enjoyed silence more so than just about anything. It was only in the dead of the night, when he could hear himself think, that he was able to truly come up with his most original thoughts or ideals. Normally, though this was something he would deny until his dying bed, he wrote in his journal. He had thirty-seven journals dating all the way back to when he was ten years old. Landon would go through his older entries, reading his previous ideas from a younger and inevitably more uneducated days, and would write new responses with red ink; correcting his mistakes as though he was some sort of professor.

He looked at her quizzically, "Is silence really that bad?" he asked her. The question wasn't rhetorical though his tone did make it seem so. "I enjoy being able to hear myself think," he added, though it was a rather cliche thing to say. Hopefully she wouldn't think of him as unoriginal.

Chuckling at her comment he replied, "By all means, if you feel like you want to play music, continue to play." He flashed her what he could only hope was a charming smile.In attempts to keep conversation going he asked, "How long have you been playing?"

As she introduced herself, Landon made the involuntary move forward. He was ready to shake her hand, which seemed to be her intention as well until she dropped her arm like a limp noodle back to her side. He gave her a warm smile, "Well Amelia, I must say that its a pleasure to meet you." He repeated the name in his mind for a moment...Amelia....Amelia Lyons. He still didn't think he had heard of her before.

Taking the steps which she either seemed too afraid or too uninterested to make, he extended his arm forward merely inches away from her. "I'm Landon, Landon Rooney."

The boy had laughed again, though this time the laughter seemed to be more sincere instead of the type meant to dissipate tension. Amelia was surprised that he found humor in her statement, as Amelia wasn’t exactly naturally funny. She was usually just trying to get by in conversation, which didn’t leave much time for thinking of witty responses. Amelia’s father had always told her that her wit was the only thing that made her even more remotely more interesting to talk to than a potted plant, but her mother had different ideas about Amelia’s sarcastic comments and repartee. Her ideas were mostly that Amelia ought not to do that at all.

“I guess I go where I am most familiar,” Amelia answered Landon’s question, shrugging her shoulders as she did, “I spend a good deal of time here during the day, so it seems only fitting that I should spend my nights here as well.”

Although she had found a suitable answer to the first question, Amelia had a more difficult time answering the boy’s second inquiry. Amelia didn’t have a problem with silence; in fact, she quite enjoyed it. Her personal motto usually hovered somewhere around: “Do not speak unless you can improve the silence.” Although Amelia had no problem adhering to this edict, she found that other students were not always so moderating with what they chose to say. Amelia had many reasons for avoiding the student population – most of which none of them would ever conjecture about – but she couldn’t pretend that it wasn’t partially motivated by her unwillingness to spend a large amount of time around people who prattled on about nothing.

“Music and silence combine strongly because music is done with silence, and silence is full of music,” Amelia answered finally, taking a risk by saying something more insightful than this type of casual conversation really called for. She had chosen it because it was insightful, but not altogether revealing. Amelia was a guarded person, and wasn’t nearly familiar enough with her present company to go about revealing anything too personal. She might scare him away with this type of thought process – there weren’t students who wanted to chat in depth about the parallels of music and silence at midnight on a Tuesday – but if that was the case, so be it. She was used to being alone.

The questions kept coming from her companion, which saved Amelia the effort of having to think of anything pleasant to say. Amelia was usually much better at asking questions than she was at answering them, but the type of questions lobbed toward her from her peer were not those of a prying nature, so she was able to form agreeable sentences with which to answer them.

“I started when I was four,” Amelia answered him, knowing that the young age would likely surprise him. With her mother being a concert violinist, it was almost inevitable that she would end up learning to play as well. Music was so intrinsically tied to her upbringing that she had a hard time separating any part of her life from the music that had played – or been played by her – in the background, like a soundtrack to her adolescence.

Her somewhat awkward introduction either went unnoticed by the boy or he was able to overcome it without making a fuss, because he smiled warmly at her and covered the space between them with ease. He seemed much more confident in providing his name, as though he were accustomed to doing it all the time. Amelia was vaguely reminded of a politician, who shook so many hands that it was second nature to do so.

Trying not to be hesitant, Amelia lifted her hand and placed it in Landon’s, feeling his fingers closer around her own. Amelia had somewhat of an issue with personal space, but Landon had not yet overstepped the boundaries in which Amelia would be comfortable. Now that he was closer, Amelia noticed the sharp, angular nature of his face and the hint of stubble on his chin. He was pale, though likely looked tan in comparison with her alabaster complexion. And his lips were chapped.

Stop staring! Amelia’s subconscious demanded, pulling her out of her observational reverie.

“It’s nice to meet you as well,” Amelia echoed, letting her hand fall away from his, the handshake already having lasted a few seconds too long thanks to her inappropriate staring.

“Do you, um… have any requests?” Amelia asked after several seconds of silence, gesturing to the violin she still held in her hand. Although she didn’t go out of her way to play music in front of others, she had grown at least partially accustomed to it. Her parents usually made a scene of her joining the string quartet at their dinner parties, showing off to their elite friends how accomplished their daughter was, and since taking the job as the pianist at the leaky cauldron she had been forced to shake off a bit of her stage fright. Since they were standing alone in an empty room and had exhausted the usual pleasantries, it was just about the only thing Amelia could think of to ask, not having a broad repertoire of small-talk sentences, despite her mother’s best attempts at searing them into her brain.

((If the chapped lips thing bugs you, I’ll take it out. It was just something I thought I would add to emphasize that she was really staring.))

Landon simply nodded his head when she gave a rather logical answer for her being there. He could understand the simplicity of desiring a location which one occupied day and night. It brought about a steady pattern, a trend really. Landon sometimes had a difficult time dealing with things such as change or occurrences which disrupted the way he normally carried out his day. He was unable to think of anything interesting to say in response so he merely stated, "That makes sense." Now he was beginning to feel a little awkward. However, he was generally good at hiding emotions, especially ones which would make him appear to be weak, so hopefully she wouldn't be able to see through his facade.

The corners of his lips turned up slightly at her next response. His assumptions of her intelligence were proven correct just through that statement. "So is it impossible to separate the two from one another? From that statement it would seem as though both are one rather than two different entities." He hoped he wasn't being too forward. She was offering more than the usual banter he encountered during his social escapades at school and he certainly wasn't going to let an opportunity for a meaningful conversation slip him by.

He had somewhat of a complex when it came to how he viewed most people who attended Hogwarts. It wasn't necessarily that he thought so highly of himself but more so that he felt that lowly of those around him. These opinions were not made without reason. For six years he felt as though he had heard nothing of great importance ever come out of the mouths of the students around him. Normally, they were simply trying to make conversation without really having anything to say which was incredibly frustrating.

Landon lifted his left eyebrow in surprise when she told him she had started playing at the age of four. Obviously she hadn't old enough to have chosen that for herself. "Was it something your parents made you do?" he asked curiously, though he felt confident he already knew the answer. Overbearing parents was something he was all too familiar with. He could certainly empathize with her if that was the case. Though at least she seemed to enjoy playing the violin...or she wouldn't be playing it alone in the dead of the night. In attempts to keep the conversation going, and also out of fear that his last question may have been too personal, he asked, "So what's your favorite sort of music to play?"

Honestly, he probably would have no idea what her answer to that question meant. He knew nothing of music, at least outside of the classics. Though to be fair, he did know some muggle composers which was saying something for the boy. He didn't know the prominent muggle figures for most things.

The handshake lasted longer than most. Though that wasn't a bad thing. It gave him an excuse to look at her more closely without coming off as creepy. Amelia had a strong chin, it jutted out slightly further than most chins. Though it added character in his opinion. Her eyes were a breathtaking shade especially in comparison with his own dull colored eyes. He was torn away from looking at her when she dropped his hand. Feeling slightly awkward for having held her hand for an extended period of time, his cheeks lightly blushed.

When she asked if he had any requests he stared at her for a moment with wide eyes. Quickly recovering, he tried to appear casual and comfortable. He really didn't know all that much of music and wasn't sure what to request. He shrugged his shoulders, "I can't think of anything at the moment but if one comes to me, I'll let you know," he said with a small smile. Due to her intelligence he had to ask, "So, am I correct in assuming that you're a Ravenclaw?" He couldn't imagine her being in any other house.

((No worries, I thought it was a really nice touch))