A Magic Like No Other

Elliot walked into the building that he knew as his favorite music store in all of London, though it was properly known as The Music Box. Simple and plain, inside it had guitars lined along the walls, an area for a few drum sets, display cases full of brass and reed instruments. But his favorite part was the white grand piano with ivory keys that sat in a corner of the shop.

He walked slowly over to it, nodding at the muggle who ran the shop. They were on fairly good terms, though Elliot never spoke to the man, just played. It was nice to get away from everything and hide out here. Away from the magical world, from the reality that soon he would need to find himself a 'career' and move on, settle down...

He sat down at the piano and took off his hair, setting it on his knee. He ran his hand through his hair and sighed, shaking out his hands and settled, shifting to get comfortable. His eyes closed as he raised his hands to the ivory keys of the piano.

His eyes fluttered closed and he began to play Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata, one of his all time favorite pieces. His heart grew heavy with the music as his eyes continued to stay closed, his expressions matching the music...

Audrey II had been unwell. There was a strong sense of déjà vu about the whole situation as well. Audrey II - the Venus Flytrap aptly named after another of its kind, a Flytrap that drank blood instead of eating flies – hadn’t been eating anything and even after a hearty meal of something her owner wouldn’t have necessarily found appetising, she still looked, well, green. Of course green was that natural colour for such a thing but there was no way to really describe the phenomena. Aimee had never killed a plant before. She could say that with the upmost confidence. She’d never killed a plant and she desperately didn’t want to start now. Her Venus flytrap getting sick was like a bad omen for her. Lately thanks to the unluckiness that she and Spencer possessed, she’d become overly superstitious. Audrey II needed a doctor but not just any doctor, a plant doctor because Aimee was at a loss of what else to do.

Going to see someone who specialised in plant care showed just how devoted Aimee was to her plants. She’d go to the ends of the earth for them but thankfully she only had to go into London for Audrey II. Unfortunately, Audrey II had to be left in the shop for a few days just to see how the plant would fair with the new feed that the man was going to try with her. After that he’d try to get her back onto more appetising things. That news both worried and excited Aimee because the sooner Audrey II got better, the sooner she could take her home. But what if she didn’t? That was the worrying part and Aimee was a little bit antsy, hopping from one foot to the other for a while before the man actually got her to leave, promising that her flytrap was in good hands. Aimee was sceptical but he wouldn’t be? It was as if she were a mother leaving her child in the hands of a babysitter for an evening.

So, determined to find something to do with the rest of her day, Aimee began to wander through London. It wasn’t a city she particularly liked. The hustle and bustle was too much even for her. She just wanted to find a place that was right for her. She didn’t need any more seeds so she didn’t need to go shopping but just somewhere to browse would have been nice. She found a music shop, This Music Box was what the sign said and it was empty from what she could tell. Clearly it was overlooked by the consumers and overshadowed by big musical stores that had a well known brand and a chain of shops. It was a shame, really. Most of the time, the smaller shops were the better ones. Aimee approached the shop, tugging her jacket tighter around her to protect herself from the biting wind that was blowing through the streets.

Aimee pushed the shop door open and stepped inside; she closed it behind her and paused on the doormat. Music was playing... beautiful music. Aimee cringed a little at her airheaded identification of the obvious but it was truly beautiful. She vaguely recognised the piece but the name was missing from the plant-filled database she called her brain. So, Aimee lingered at the door, watching as the person sat at the piano played the music seemingly from memory.

((LOVE the Little Shop of Horrors reference!))

Elliot played the song, concentrating only on the music, the gentle strains of the chords lightly dancing through the air. Elliot winced as a note came out on the piano, slightly out of tune, but only those with the best musical ears would have noticed. Even the muggle shop owner just continued to listen, not hearing the tiniest of mistakes that was likely to put a dampen on Elliot's entire day.

Elliot was a complex man. To those around him and who saw him walking down the street, he was nothing much. In fact, he was thought to be some sort of an imbecile and a simpleton. What sort of bright, talented man let his life waste away. He lived in a home purchased by his estranged father, kept in contact with his cousin Jack, and wandered for the rest of his life, finding joy in only his music. He had no ambitions, no missions, no goals.

Just music and goodness.

The song came to a close and his hands floated above the keys as the last chord hung in the air, a ghost of a song. His eyes flicked back open and he glanced subconsciously over his shoulder. With a slight jolt he saw that someone else was in the shop. No one ever came in here... He turned back to the piano and began to play, stringing appropriate chords together to make an original piece...

(( *grin* Gotta love plants. -- Sorry this took so long, though! ))

The piano was infinitely better than the tacky radio music that would be distorted as it was blared through tiny speakers. This was the backdrop to browsing in many shops and it drove Aimee insane. She knew that the man was probably only trying the piano out. She only knew one store that employed people to play live music and that was her mother’s boutique. Alexandra wanted the finest and the finest was what she wanted much to the chagrin of her husband. The bickering that went on between them proved to be the evening’s entertainment when Aimee returned home on a Sunday for her mother’s roast. Even then Alexandra usually had one of the house elves playing some sort of instrument. She insisted that they didn’t clean anything but their instruments, deeming that they were better musicians than they were cleaners. Half of the time, Aimee’s elf Misty would hit herself with her oboe. Aimee’s father stayed away; he didn’t really know what to make of magic, even after all of these years.

Aimee stepped off of the mat beside the door and headed towards the display shelves that held various books full of sheet music. She picked up one with a maroon colour and opened it up. She ran her finger across the contents page before turning to find the piece of sheet music she wanted. It was a simple one, not particularly difficult but it was something she could elaborate. Then, with the correct lyrics it could be made into a song. Aimee close the book and tapped it against her chin as her eyes dove across the shelf looking for another book she’d seen before, not in that particular shop but another one. She glanced up over the top of the shelf and watched the man as he wove another song, one of his own creation. It was equally beautiful, if not more so and Aimee was distracted by it for a moment longer than she should have been.

She had taken a step to the side but her foot had caught on the leg of a standing basket full of guitar chips. The redhead should have known better but unfortunately, old habits die hard. Aimee was thrown forward and the sheet music flew up into the air. She landed awkwardly on the floor and found herself face to face with the blue carpet. She felt the book hit her back and a few pages fell around her. She groaned and lifted her head. She pushed some hair out of her eyes and watched the cars pass outside of the window for a few moments before deciding it best to try and get up before she was trodden on or something landed on her. “Stupid, klutz,” She muttered angrily to herself.

((Equally sorry on lateness! Haha))

Elliot was lost in the piece and he, by no means, wanted to find his way back. The soft sad melody was transforming, gaining intensity and a line of bitterness and confusion entered as he put more pedal into the song than he had originally planned to do. Had he been more aware, he would have known just how revealing the song was, how exposing it could be. But only to those who would actually have the mind to listen.

But that was precisely the problem in the time and place Elliot had found himself to live in. No one wanted to listen anymore. Or perhaps they had just forgotten. They did not remember what it was like to listen to music, or listen to nature, or even to silence. The things you could discover by simply closing your eyes and listening. If you did so carefully, you could feel everything. The world around you. The world breathing against you...

His lips parted and a little bit of a sigh came out of his lips as the intense theme slipped back, becoming sad and mournful once more. He did not know what he was mourning. Perhaps the relationships with his only close family? His cousin he had not seen in far too long? His father who did not see him as someone to love but someone to finance? Or was he still mourning the mother he had only heard graces of, but nothing enough to satisfy his feeling of having a proper family.

Bitterness and anger crept back into his mind and he began to play chords to match, but there was suddenly a thump from behind him. His fingers jerked and an out of tune note struck his ears like an axe on a tree trunk. He slowly turned to see what had happened and saw the woman who had entered the shop on the floor, pieces of sheet music fluttering in the air. She was muttering something to herself.

He slowly stood, though he felt a little dazzled, having been jerked from the world of music so abruptly. It took a moment for him to regain his bearings. It did not help that he had forgotten that the woman had ever entered the shop. It was like recovering from amnesia, surfacing from such an intense musical creation. His name was Elliot Cartwright, he was in a music shop, this woman had tripped...

He stepped over the bench and walked over to her, catching a few of the sheets of music still fluttering about. He kneeled, scooping the music together and gathering them into the crook of his left elbow. He touched her shoulder lightly with his right hand and said in a soft voice, "Are you okay?"

With the absence of a helping hand, Aimee remained on the floor. She could see the fibres in the faded blue carpet and watched the particles of dust settle in the crevices of the carpet. She understood now why Muggles held their vacuums in such high esteem. The items lifted and sucked the dust from the crevices that the particles could hide in and stored it in a bag until it swelled with the contents. Then the Muggles would change the bag inside the machine and the process would continue until the person ran out of bags and had to go and purchase some new ones. Vacuums could never compete with the efficiency of cleaning spells but they did the Muggle equivalent; even if they took longer.

There were no approaching footsteps. It seemed as if not even the member of staff on duty was going to come to her aid or walk over to reprimand her for making a mess. She reached out and clawed some of the scattered guitar picks to her. As she’d fallen she’d pulled the basket, sending an array of picks over her in a plastic form of confetti. She turned one of the picks over on the carpet and looked at the engraved design. Aimee nibbled on her bottom lip for a few moments before looking at some of the others. Most had some inappropriate or provocative slogans on them in small text and a few had some illustrations with the same genre, ideas – whatever.

The floor was Aimee’s oldest foe. The brick wall and table legs were also close in rank but the floor was Aimee’s enemy and had been since she’d been given the seemingly impossible task of learning how to walk. She’d succeeded but then she’d been faced with stairs and then obstacles in the way of her walking. The coffee table in the lounge had to be removed as the array of cuts and bruises appearing on her body were beginning to alarm her nursery school teachers.

With a sigh, Aimee pushed herself up slightly. She gathered some more of the picks and pulled them to her chest, making sure to tug her shirt up slightly so the colourful pieces of plastic didn’t fall into her bust. Although insignificant in more ways than not, there was still enough there for the picks to tumble into and Aimee was already embarrassed, she did not need to add to the mortification. She pressed the picks into her hand and closed her fist around them. She then noticed a few more by the rack of sheet music and moved herself across the carpet to fetch them.

As Aimee gathered the fallen picks she failed to notice the footsteps heading in her direction and only realised that someone had noticed her when she felt a hand on her shoulder. Aimee gasped and looked up, her eyes delving into sky blue ones that weren’t familiar to the redhead. The picks Aimee had hold of, tumbled from her hand onto the floor and her mouth formed an ‘O’. She reached for the picks again and averted her eyes upon feeling her cheeks fill with blood. “Fine...” She said brightly, looking up momentarily to smile at the man. “I’m only slightly embarrassed,” She laughed a little despite herself and pushed the picks around on the floor, grouping them together to make a large pile. She looked up at the man and noted the lack of sound in the room. “I’m sorry if bothered you. Wait, what do I mean if? Of course I bothered you otherwise you’d still be playing. You play beautifully by the way.” Aimee babbled as her whole face flooded with colour.

He felt the corners of his mouth twitch when she said she was only slightly embarrassed, a feat that achieved so early made him credit the woman with charm. It was not easy to get Elliot to bare any sorts of emotion, even one as minuscule as the simple twitching of a mouth. To evoke any emotion on the passive face that Elliot always seemed to have, one of placid, indifferent tragedy... To grace that face with a phantom of a smile was a memory one should treasure.

She was scooping up picks and he began to help, cupping his hand and slowly dragging his hand across the floor so that picks piled up and fell into a heap in his palm, much like strewn rocks would gather in a bulldozer's bucket. He glanced up to see that the redhead in front of him had blushed, making her cheeks begin to mimic the color of her longish hair.

She began to apologize and he started to open his mouth to tell her that he would be fine; there was no need lying and saying he had not been interrupted. It seemed she was thinking the same thing, because she quickly corrected and restructured her apology, saying that otherwise he would still be playing. Again, his usual fixed frown twitched.

She told him that he played beautifully. Elliot bowed his head slightly, dumping a load of guitar picks into the basket which was on its side. He picked it up and said in his soft voice, "Thank you." He had been told so many times that he played well, but most times by people who did not understand music. He hoped that since he had met this woman in a music shop, she actually had knowledge to back up her opinion. He stood up slowly, setting the sheet music on the nearby counter and reaching a hand down to help her up.