A very intriguing visitor...

''Professor Doyle is puzzling as you can get. He has a very strict, sometimes even too strict, way of differentiating and sorting people. Although he isn't the one to have prejudice against anyone, his rapid deduction and his perfect judgmental skills make him seem that way. His intelligence is... vast, to say the least, and his knowledge of the subject is probably one of the best you'll meet, but he has a big flaw and that is, which you may have deduced, the fact that he does not know how to get along with people, especially those who aren't on the same level. You, he may already or will, surely, like, but as for your colleagues, I am not so sure they will arouse sympathy within him. You have to be either strange, but positively of course, intelligent or extremely daring and there aren't so many like that, but you should know that yourself, even better than me'', he said, smiling, and explaining his own views on Doyle. Yes, he like the man, but Doyls himself wouldn't have said anything different than him.

He walked around the laboratory, looking at some potions and ingredients, some of them were even alive, but well guarded, simultaneously watching what Amelia was doing. Although Doyle told him not to let foreign people inside, he trusted Amelia, he was, in some weird way, sure that she wouldn't do anything that shouldn't be done. It was strange how his level of doubt around people lowered itself when he was with her. Strange...

Arthur made a circle around the big table and returned to the same spot he had been before. He then remembered, as he looked at her, and stormed out of the laboratory. He returned after a few seconds with something in his pocket. He took it out and gave it to Ameila. It could be described as a hair tie, although it wasn't exactly that. Well, it was, but it was the most awkward one you could find. ''The best one I could find, but I presume it will serve its purpose'', he said with a smile, offering her the hair tie.

''Now, you are free to look around, check anything you'd like, ask, I can even give you some of the potions if you want, of course. Also, if you ever need any help in making any of them or you need some of the simplified instructions, be sure to send an owl... and do not hesitate'', he said. He then remembered one more thing. ''Also, when we are finished here, I'd like to show you one more room. The upper one where I usually am while I am taking a break. It is free from any form of chemical and it has something both you and I like to use, so I presume you'll find it interesting'', he said with a smile.

((So I know I am totally guilty of not responding to this is a timely fashion, and for that I apologize. I have been crazy busy these last few weeks and I will try to do better in the future.))

Amelia found herself nodding approvingly at Arthur’s understanding of the current headmaster’s personality. She supposed it was only natural for Arthur to have deduced so much, given his logical method of thought and the amount of time he spent with Professor Doyle, but she was impressed none-the-less. It was a succinct and appropriate summary of the headmaster, with no intentional brown-nosing involved. Arthur had merely said more or less what Amelia thought of the professor, without trying to make excuses for his flaws. Amelia was far too pragmatic to mark her professor’s traits as positive or negative; they merely were what they were, and she would have to make the best of whatever they happened to be.

This was especially the case where the headmaster was concerned, and even more so because he seemed to have become especially interested in Amelia, though she hadn’t yet managed to figure out why. He seemed to see some kind of parallel between them, though Amelia hesitated to see what he saw. She knew that she was more reserved and kept to herself – it was a personal choice – but she did not want to believe herself to be as jaded as the headmaster seemed to be. Although it might not have been true, Amelia wanted to believe there was still a chance of her finding her place and paving her own future. She didn’t want to believe that she was unable to change, even though there were countless obstacles in her way, most of which were self-constructed.

But for now, Amelia would push her thoughts of Doyle from her mind, turning instead to look again at the different potion-related objects strewn about the room. Arthur was doing the same thing, though his eyes would occasionally wander over to where Amelia was, which made Amelia fidgety. She wasn’t accustomed to people watching her, so she was hyperaware of it when it did happen, and it made her skin crawl uncomfortably. Of course, it would be impossible for her to remain invisible in a room with only one other person that was already aware of her presence, but it was still the state Amelia most strived to achieve.

Eventually, Amelia was about to say something to ask Arthur to stop watching her, but before she could, Arthur left the room abruptly and without explanation. Amelia would likely have analyzed this situation to death if given enough time, but instead Arthur returned quickly, pulling something out of his pocket as he reentered the room and Amelia gave him a quizzical look. What he extended to her was a rubber band, probably meant for holding together rolled up elemental charts or something of the like, but both Arthur and Amelia understood its perceived function without having to say it out loud, and Amelia took the tie from him with a small nod of thanks.

Amelia was in the midst of pulling her hair back when Arthur made offer of showing her another room. This one seemed to have less to do with potions and instead involved something more personally appealing to Arthur. This immediately made Amelia suspicious of his motives – could he possibly consider himself close enough to her to show her something so personal so quickly? – but also exceedingly curious. Amelia was uncertain if Arthur had intentionally left out any concrete details about the second room, but whether or not he had intended it, he had struck up an inquiry in Amelia’s mind that made her brush aside any thoughts she was harboring about questionable motives or Arthur’s reasoning for why he would want to show her the room.

She just wanted to know what was in there.

“I’ve actually seen quite a bit in here already,” Amelia said, trying to sound non-chalant, instead of anxious to satisfy her curiosity, which was actually the case, “And I should probably be going soon if I’m going to make it back to Hogwarts before dark. So maybe we should head upstairs?”

Smooth, Amelia. Real smooth… her mind criticized, and she could see her conscience rolling its eyes at her failed attempt at veiling her curiosity.

(No problem, Amelia. As you can deduce, I've had a busy week myself. Looking forward to continuing this :-D)

This is the first time he had seen her with her hair pulled back. While all their previous meetings were with her hair pulled down, this was a special occasion. With her hair pulled down, she looked even more beautiful. Her face, her gentle face that just shined with that certain dose of Renaissance beauty that just glowed and allowed your imagination to create whatever beauty you desired. He could say this was close. But, of course, he wasn't about to say that out loud. That would be another of his mistakes that lead to the situation of their alienation. ''I do hope it serves it purpose. It was the best I could find'', he said with a smile.

Although he had expected her to look around a little more, he had thought of her as being more curious, he remembered that his offer, phrased the way he phrased it, was even more tempting. That room was his free time room and he hoped Amelia would like how he designed it. ''Oh, if you do get into any form of trouble, please, do not hesitate to call upon me when speaking to the Headmaster. I shall take full responsibility for any kind of trouble you might get into'', he said, assuringly. ''Well, if you'd like, we shall make our way upstairs'', he said with a smile.

He walked her through the narrow hall and then, behind the counter, to the left. He went up the old staircase that ended in front of an old, wooden door with a brand new door knob. He opened the door, which made a very loud and irritating sound, and showed her inside. It was a room somewhat larger than the main lobby of the store, but not so big. There was a large, crimson rug on the floor, covering the majority of the room. A white granite fireplace was located at the left wall, next to the one with the door. In front of it you could see two Victorian armchairs covered with green velvet and a small table between them. Behind them, on the opposite wall, was a large bookshelf containing at least 200 books, some Muggle, such as popular and crime literature, some magical, consisting mainly of scientific literature. Some of the books were pretty old, even up to a 150 years. Next to the self, there was a small Victorian desk with some papers, ink, quills and an empty glass which was usually filled with water. The light was coming from a medium size antique window on the far side of the room. The curtains were thick and green in color, but they were not covering the window at the moment. In front of the window was the main piece he wanted to show Amelia. He waved his hand to remove the piece of fabric that was covering it. When it fell down to the ground, it uncovered a large black Boston Steinway piano he had received as a gift from his parents. They had a large piano back at home, but this one was a graduation gift given to him when he started working in Doyle's shop. The piano took much of the space of the room, but you still had enough space for, let us say, dancing between it and the armchairs. On the right side of the piano was a small table with a gramophone on it - although he liked modern technology, the gramophone was something he found when he came here. The records were mostly classical music, ranging from Mozart to Shostakovich, but it also had some temporary recordings.

''And this is it, Amelia. This is what I wanted to show you, my leisure room. I usually spend the mornings and evenings up here, which is why I had to fix the main bell down there. Although, the old woman in the apartment next to the shop tends to complain. But, since I know of your admiration for music, I thought it would be nice to show you. If you'd like to try it out, be free to do so. I could get you a cup of tea, although... I can't promise it will be the best tea you had in your life. Could you guess what I am working on now?'', he asked with a smile. ''Oh, if you want to lose the laboratory coat, there is a coat hanger in the corner'', he added.

Amelia pretended to listen as Arthur reassured her about the headmaster and that he would be willing to step in if she should ever get into any trouble with him. If Amelia had it her way, though, she would never have to come under the headmaster’s scrutiny again. She had already met with him once in his office in what ended up being a dismal performance of her unrelenting need to hide from everyone, culminating in her bolting from Doyle’s office and likely leaving the headmaster thinking her weak, crazy, or both.

Now that’s an impression Antoinette would be proud of…

But ultimately, he got to the part Amelia wanted to hear, the part where he consented that they should go upstairs sooner rather than later, and as he left the laboratory for the hallway, Amelia followed behind him, careful to keep a respectful distance out of both social normalcy and the fact that physical closeness with other people intimidated her. The staircase they climbed was old, with steeply pitched steps and an old cherry door at the top of them, which she and Arthur eventually reached after their ascent in silence.

As Arthur opened the door and stepped through it, Amelia followed suit, though her eyes could not help but wander to the room itself. It was a spacious room, but not so large that it would make one feel lonely to be alone in it. It was well furnished with antique-looking pieces in rich, saturated colors that took on gem tones in the late afternoon sun that streaked in through the exposed window on the opposite side of the room. The walls were lined with books upon books, and had it not been for the piano in the room, Amelia would have been drawn immediately to the walls, her nimble fingers poised to move across the spine of each one to see if it was one of her old friends, or someone she had yet to meet.

As it was, though, Amelia moved immediately to the piano which stood impressively in front of the window. Even before Arthur had removed the fabric, Amelia had known what lie beneath it; the shape of the Steinway was unmistakable, even under cover, and now that it was exposed its shiny black varnish reflected the lights of the room, so expertly polished that Amelia could see a smaller, somewhat distorted reflection of the room on its side panels.

Drawn in by the piano, Amelia took a few steps further into the room, her heels sinking into the thick crimson rug beneath her feet. Arthur was speaking, and although she was listening to him, she was not looking at him. She was still taking in the space around her, somewhat jealous that Arthur had this entire space to himself, a room to call his own. Amelia had no space of her own, really. Her room at home was subject to invasion by her mother at any time, she shared a dormitory with three other girls, and ever since the study room had been discovered by teenage couples looking for some privacy of their own, Amelia had found herself perpetually in the company of others. But in this room, Arthur could be by himself, to think, to work, to read, or just to exist. To Amelia, this was something to be coveted.

“Oh, tea, right,” Amelia said, her mind wandering back to the present as she finally turned to look at Arthur, tearing her eyes away from the instrument that was now behind her, “I suppose a cup would be fine. Not too much, though. I really can’t stay long,” Amelia said with almost a hint of regret. Although Arthur might take this as a sign that their friendship was growing, Amelia knew that her willingness to stay had less to do with Arthur himself and more to do with the room he had brought her into. It had books, music, and an silence that could envelope her and make her feel calm in a way that she never did around other people.

As Arthur went to prepare the tea, Amelia took his suggestion and removed her white lab coat, hanging it on the wooden rack that Arthur had provided, presumably for this exact purpose. Now back in her usual attire, Amelia wandered over to the piano, drawn there as if by some type of magnetism. As she approached it, Amelia slid easily onto the bench in front of the keyboard, though she did not place her fingers on the keys. She was tempted, but instead she folded her hands in her lap, looking down at the ivories in front of her.

“This really is a beautiful room,” Amelia said loud enough so as to be heard by Arthur, though she did not turn to look at him while she spoke, “You are lucky to have such a haven.” A simple statement, but spoken in honesty.

He wasn't all that sure what kind of tea she liked, but he just poured the usual stuff he had consumed. It was Earl Grey, his favourite tea, and something people usually liked, although, he wasn't quite sure she would like the tea, but he hoped she would. He took the two white cups, original Chinese porcelain, the original one... one of his ancestors brought it back from China while participating in the Opium Wars, and he got a part of that set for this little room.

He put the two cups on the small table he had pushed near the piano, so they could reach it. He also summoned one of the sofas so he could allow her to sit by the piano. He took a seat and observed her. Her silent and introverted reaction was expected, but her words, obviously spoken sincerely, surprised him slightly. Amelia was an interesting person, someone you had to explore, someone who wasn't that plain to tell you everything you wanted to know. But, that last sentence, although short, was a very strong expression of her inner emotions.

People who could be so precise in so little words were very rare. Amelia was one of them. A short sentence it was, but it echoed in his head for a long time after it had been said. Amelia Lions spoke honestly, but with that positive sincerity that he had never experienced with her. It drew a smile on his face, but he also felt sorry for her, such a wonderful genius that had to be restrained by some unconventional standards enforced on her by her family. That was, somewhat, the tragedy of Amelia Lions. ''I hope you find such a place of your own, I truly do'', he said, smiling.

He then stood up. He stood behind her and looked at the piano. He then moved to the left, and put his fingers on the piano. He used his right arm to play the main theme of Shostakovich's Waltz no. 2. That Waltz, which he also had recorded, was his favourite composition, a composition that managed to express his inner feelings and emotions. The tone, the music, the soul of the composition just fit him perfectly and if a person could identify himself with a song or a piece of art, he managed to do so with this composition. ''Do you, perhaps, know the title of the composition?'', he inquired.

He then withdrew to his armchair in order to drink some tea. This was mainly done to decrease the possible tension, to loosen her up, to show her that he had no invasive intentions. He sat there for a couple of moments, thinking, again, about this whole situation. Just several months ago, she could not withstand his mere presence and now, at this moment, she was the first person, except his adult friends, to whom he showed his room. That was a vast improvement and he was glad it happened.

Again, he stood up and went behind her. Her hands were calm and almost stiff, gentle and pale, but beautiful and artistic. He slowly moved his right hand above hers, and pressed three of her fingers against the piano so that the tones C, D and E could be heard. ''You can play if you want to Amelia, I would love to hear you'', he said, as he returned to his seat.

When Arthur arrived with the tea, Amelia picked up her cup, if only to have something to do with her hands other than keep them clasped in her lap. Sitting in front of the piano had been a bad idea; she was now torn between wanting so badly to play, and not wanting to play in front of Arthur. These competing desires were arguing amongst themselves in Amelia’s mind, but taking the teacup off the table meant that, at least for the time being, she would be otherwise distracted.

She took a sip as Arthur responded to her comment on the room, and Amelia nodded in response, having nothing to say for Arthur’s words. She too hoped that someday she would have a place she could call her own, but right now the time when that might be possible seemed eons away. Amelia had never been endowed with an abundance of patience, and waiting for a time when she could truly be independent felt like waiting for rain in the desert – you knew it had to happen eventually, but you wouldn’t hold out hope that it would be any time soon.

Amelia took another sip of her tea – Earl Grey, classic, unpresumptuous – but she lowered the cup to the table when Arthur left his seat. Her eyes followed him curiously as he moved, wondering what he was up to now, and a little bit paranoid when he moved to stand behind her. Amelia liked to be able to see what was going on in a room, and she always felt especially tense when someone was standing behind her. Her ability to see people and know what they were thinking relied heavily on her ability to observe them, but from where Arthur was standing now, that wouldn’t be possible.

Although she could feel her chest tighten, Amelia tried to tell herself to relax. This was easier commanded than done, however, and she was still feeling tense when Arthur moved alongside her and began to play the opening bars of a piece Amelia had been taught when she was younger, though her first experience with it had been on violin rather than piano. The waltz beat came through clearly in the base notes that Arthur’s fingers plucked out, and although he played well, Amelia scarcely would have noticed if he played any note that did not belong. Instead, she was focusing on remaining perfectly still, trying not to move. Arthur was standing very close to her, uncomfortably so, and it had made Amelia freeze as soon as he had leaned close.

In some act of divine mercy, Arthur did not play all the way through the piece, but instead stopped partway through and inquired if Amelia recognized the music. She nodded nervously as Arthur stood up again, blurting out the name of the piece quickly as though she were being quizzed by a professor during her N.E.W.T.s. Even though Arthur had moved now to the armchair where he had been originally sitting and was calmly drinking tea, Amelia was still wary of him. When she had agreed to give friendship with him a try, she hadn’t realized how difficult it would be. Amelia didn’t like being around other people; they made her nervous, and Arthur especially so. He didn’t seem to understand her personal boundaries, and though he claimed to know a lot about her, he either ignored her desire for personal space or was oblivious to it.

As if to prove this once again, Arthur set down his tea and moved once again out of Amelia’s line of sight. He was behind her again, and she could smell his cologne as he leaned forward. She instinctively brought her shoulders closer to her chest, trying to stay away from Arthur’s touch, but his hand closed around over hers and placed it on the keys, the place she had been intentionally avoiding putting her hands. Amelia cringed both mentally and physically at Arthur’s touch, not because of who he was, but because Amelia did not like to be touched, and especially not when she hadn’t initiated the contact. Arthur hadn’t asked permission and Amelia certainly hadn’t given it, but he was acting as though this were the most natural thing in the world.

If this is what friendship is, I’m out, Amelia fumed as Arthur pushed her fingers down on the keys, speaking to her in what she assumed was meant to be friendly, but only ended up adding annoyance to Amelia’s nervousness – not a good combination. She was about to shake him off of her, but before she could, Arthur stood up again and sat down calmly in his chair, still looking as though nothing out of the ordinary had happened. A few seconds of stunned silence passed before Amelia was breathing normally again and had gathered her words in such a way that they could not be misinterpreted.

“If this is going to work, I think we need some ground rules,” Amelia said firmly, looking directly at Arthur and focusing on keeping her tone even, “First, you are not to touch me. I don’t know if friendship usually involves unannounced invasions of personal space, but this one won’t. It can’t.”

“And you have to stop staring at me,” Amelia added, though she hadn’t rehearsed this part. It was her bluntness coming through, that cursedly barbed tongue that her mother so despised. She had noticed several times since she arrived in the shop that Arthur’s eyes were lingering too long, and it was beginning – or actually continuing, since this had been an ongoing observation – to make Amelia both annoyed and slightly disconcerted.

“That’s all for now,” Amelia said somewhat more quietly, her tone not as firm as it had been, because she was more or less improvising by this point, “But I reserve the right to make new rules as necessary.”

I think this friendship is going to be over before it begins… Amelia thought to herself as she let her eyes fall to her teacup on the table, now seeming a completely insufficient distraction.

The smile that had been on his face started turning around with each word she spoke and ended finally with a bewildered look though the window. Yes, he had, probably, rushed things... again, but he did not expect such a reaction. He sat there, quietly, in his chair and looked through the window with an empty expression. The wall cracked. His idea disappeared. Everything was both blank and empty. Usually, he would have at least some sarcastic remark, but this time, had nothing to say.

He blinked a couple of times, then looked at the piano, the window, the piano, the window and so forth, until he finally fixated his view on the window, again. Staring at her? Well, that was a wrong interpretation of what he had been doing. He could understand invading and touching, but staring? That was something he did not even wish for to happen, but she obviously still had a strong barrier. He could understand her, but that wouldn't and couldn't change what he had felt in that moment.

He took another sip of his tea, just to move a little, to experience the feeling of muscle movement. The tea was tasteless, which wasn't actually true, but he had expected for it to happen. The only effect it had was to make his throat wet. He put the tea back on the table and continued staring at the window, silently. His breath was slow and almost non-existent and he was calm, seemingly dead. He then took a deep breath and stood up.

He took his wand out and pointed it at the piano, although it did seem that it was pointed at her. He flicked his wand at the piano and it started playing another of his favourite compositions which just fit this situation. It was Camille Saint-Saëns' Danse Macabre. He listened to it for a moment and then turned to the door. ''I am sorry'', he said sincerely and then went off, slowly and almost completely silent, out of his own room and to the counter of the store, where he started doing some calculations that would occupy his mind. This battle he had lost, but he would not give up on the war.

Amelia left her eyes on the table for a full minute after she stopped speaking, both because she didn’t know that she wanted to see Arthur’s reaction, and because he didn’t say anything that forced her to look up. She had seen, even before she finished, the shock and hurt that had written itself across Arthur’s pale features. Although totally legitimate in her eyes, what Amelia had said must have come as a surprise to Arthur, because little other than shock could have kept him silent for so long. She was used to him talking, filing the silence with what she used to think of as annoying displays of his intelligence, but was starting to think of as something more akin to actual conversation. Now, though, he said nothing, leaving Amelia alone to her thoughts and Arthur to his.

I didn’t say anything that didn’t need to be said, Amelia thought stubbornly, though there was at least some part of her that empathized with Arthur, who was only the more recent victim in a list of people hurt by her words in this lifetime.

Chancing a glance up, Amelia saw Arthur’s eyes moving between the window and the piano, and though he didn’t see her look up, she quickly averted her eyes back to her cup on the table. It was cold now, and although she could have warmed it again with her wand, she suddenly wasn’t very much in the mood for tea. It was several more minutes of complete silence before Amelia heard Arthur rustle in his chair, and a moment later the piano in front of her began to play of its own accord a slow, haunting melody from centuries past. The first few bars were allowed to fill the void between them – which had only grown bigger after what Amelia had said – before Arthur stood and moved to the door, only turning for a moment to make a short apology that was nearly drowned out by the heavy base chords.

Amelia sat stock still for several minutes after Arthur left, inner-conflict tugging at her but never getting her to move. Although she could palatably sense Arthur’s embarrassment and hurt, Amelia still believed in the truth of her words, and to Amelia, the truth was never the wrong thing to say. If she and Arthur were going to have a chance to be friends, he needed to be able to hear what she said and know that it wasn’t meant to be spiteful, but more a means of full disclosure. But Amelia had a feeling that what she had said just now may have already ruined what little chance there might have been for any type of friendship to exist between them.

Sighing, Amelia stood up from the piano bench just as the last chords of Danse Macabre echoed in the big, open space. Slowly, she made her way down the steps to the room in which she had first seen Arthur, feeling like they had come full circle right back to where they had begun: both of them in their own worlds, with more than a few doubts about whether or not those would ever overlap. He looked sad, and Amelia couldn’t stand to watch the way he wore his heart on his sleeve so blatantly, so she wasn’t looking at him as she approached the counter, though staying far enough back from it to respect Arthur’s space.

“I’m sorry you’re feeling this way,” Amelia started, her apology falling flat because she wasn’t really apologizing; admitting she was wrong had never been Amelia’s strong suit, and in this case, she didn’t even believe she was.

“It wasn’t my intention. I should probably just collect my kit and go,” she added with a tone of finality. She should have known better than to attempt normal human contact, especially with someone she had for so long regarded the way she had Arthur. In that judgment, at least, she could admit she had been wrong, but it was too late now.