Plundering for Pirate Books

Amelia had woken up early this morning, even before her alarm had had the chance to ring. It was a brisk fall morning, with the fog settling on the grass far below Ravenclaw tower. Amelia had gotten showered and dressed in silence, repeatedly checking her watch, though she didn’t know why she bothered. She and Peter had not set a time to meet at Ravenclaw table, saying only “Saturday”, so even if she was late, she wouldn’t know it.

In an effort to further convince herself that this was not a date, Amelia had put on normal clothing, putting no more effort into her appearance than she usually would. She didn’t want to give Peter any false impressions about what they were doing by going to the bookstore today. She had pulled on a pair of dark skinny jeans, a white V-neck shirt, her slightly worn tan leather jacket, and brown riding boots. As a last protection against what was sure to be a chilly fall wind, Amelia wound a Kelly green scarf loosely around her neck. Before she left the dormitory, she checked one last time in the mirror, pushing a stray curl away from her face and then darting down the steps, through the common room, and out of Ravenclaw tower.

She was practically running as she made her way down to the Great Hall, her nerves making her move quicker than she usually would. She was trying very hard not to be nervous about this, because her nerves rarely served as an asset to her social skills, but her lack of experience interacting with others made remaining calm slightly difficult.

It’s fine, Amelia reassured herself as she flew down the last flight of steps to the entrance hall, No matter what you say, he’ll probably just grin. How bad could it be?

Her reassurance didn’t do much, however, and as Amelia pulled open the doors to the Great Hall, she found that she was the only one in the room, save for a few house elves moving about and taking care of some early morning chores. Amelia was pleased that she had not left Peter waiting, but as she took a seat at the end of Ravenclaw table, the redhead was slightly worried that if she was given enough time alone in this room, she might have the opportunity to talk herself out of going at all.

This is not a date, this is not a date, this is not a date…

((Cue Peter))

Peter was almost always smiling, but as he rolled out of bed this morning, he looked rather disgruntled, complete with mused hair and bleary eyes. He stumbled as he crossed the room to pull out the clothes in his trunk he would be wearing for the day and his showering bag, full of all his hygienic materials. He let out a groan as glanced outside and dawning sunlight pierced his eyes.

That was when he remembered. He was going into Diagon Alley with Amelia to go see what they could find in her favorite book shop. Immediately he perked and practically skipped off to the showers. He took his shower and ran his fingers through his longish hair, dressing carefully. He pulled on his usual mega-skinny jeans and a purple and blue flannel, followed by tan moccasins and a scarf. He scrounged around for his sweater; it was all colder here.

He left the carriage, pulling on his gloves as he walked, his lanky legs unfolding beneath him as his hands sought to pull the gloves on. A messenger bag had been slung across his shoulders, carrying his wallet an other odds and ends, also serving as the bag he would stow away his spoils of war in. It bumped his leg as he strode across the lawn.

He entered the Entrance Hall and tried to keep a passive expression, for he knew he would not be able to once in Amelia's company. Her overly somber demeanor made him feel rather like he had to make up for her straight expression with giddy ones of his own. It did not help that, by nature, Peter was a rather happy, fun-loving guy himself...

He strode into the Great Hall and looked up at the ceiling, his amazement over the enchanted ceiling flooding through him again. In wonderment, he stared at the sky. Blue, but obviously cold out as the clouds moved because of the biting breeze that was sure to be a pain. His bemused grin stayed with him as he lowered his head again and his eyes fell on Amelia.

Why wave, when his grin was much more noticeable? He sent her another smile and turned, one of is hands going up to wrap around the strap that bumped his chest, the other to grab the strand of hair that was combed across his forehead. He brushed it out of the way and stopped next to Amelia, smiling widely. "Bonjour and good morning, Miss Amelia."

A few minutes went by, and in those few minutes, Amelia had already grown antsy. She had never been very good at holding still and doing nothing simultaneously. This had always been a point of contention with her mother, who had insisted that it was both improper and unattractive for a lady to be as fidgety as Amelia was when asked to stand or sit in one position for any amount of time with nothing to occupy her mind. But Amelia simply couldn’t help it, just as she couldn’t help but tap her feet and drum her fingers on her kneecaps subconsciously now as she waited for Peter.

She didn’t have to wait much longer, though, because after only seven and a half minutes had past – not that she was counting or anything – Amelia saw the doors of the Great Hall open, and into the room walked Peter. He had thought ahead and planned for the weather, which Amelia was appreciative of. The Ravenclaw had always had to roll her eyes when people – mostly girls, but men as well – wore clothing that was completely inappropriate for the season and ended up accessorizing with a slightly blue tinge from being so cold.

Although he did not notice her right away, Amelia was almost pleased by that, interpreting it to mean that he was taking this meeting as non-chalantly as she was (or was attempting to, anyway). Amelia had nearly a full minute to observe Peter while he was observing the ceiling before his eyes lowered and met her own.

And there it is, Amelia’s subconscious piped up when Peter’s lips spread into an ear-to-ear grin. He was pushing his hair away from his forehead as he moved toward Amelia, and he greeted her warmly and partially in his native language. Although Amelia spoke French, she wasn’t really of the mind that she wanted to inform Peter of that fact. He already seemed interested enough in her without knowing that she could understand his native tongue. Plus, if he found out she spoke French, the resulting smile might cause actual physical damage to the boy’s face, which would be a shame.

“Good morning, Peter,” Amelia replied, standing to meet him as he stopped in front of her. At this point, Amelia’s mind prompted her to say something more, something pleasant. Ask him how his week went, her mind prompted, but when Amelia attempted to find a series of words to fit that prompt failed, she ended up just raising a hand to the back of her neck instead, as was her go-to move when she was out of things to say.

Wow, three words and the well is already dry… Amelia’s subconscious quipped, making her cheeks tinge just slightly pink.

“Ah… shall we?” she asked, gesturing toward the door through which Peter had just come. It was the most awkward of segues Amelia could possibly have made from greeting to going, but when it came to awkward, Amelia was basically the undeclared queen.

Amelia stood and greeted him with a good morning. He liked seeing her in more casual clothes, though you could not get more casual than jogging clothes, he guessed. Suppressing the outward urge to smile again- he did not want to wear out his cheeks and surrounding mouth muscles before they even got to Diagon Alley- he brushed back his hair.

She asked if they should continue on and he flickered the faintest of smiles he could muster, surprised to find a few butterflies in his stomach. He promptly pushed this from his mind; he was just excited to see the infamous little street full of historic shops and whatnot, he told himself firmly. He needed to stop over thinking things.

Ever since Peter had realized that Amelia had thought he had meant the day to be a date, he had been questioning his own motivations as well. He certainly enjoyed the company of Amelia and was attracted to her- she was very pretty, honestly- but he had always been sort of an old soul, a classic romantic. Friends turned more. He was not the type to just start dating some stranger; he liked to get to know her.

So he had been fretting, wondering if he was supposed to treat this day just like another time for hanging out and conversation, or more like a date. Finally, he told himself You are going to a book store, not a restaurant. Treat it as such. Like you are going to a store with a friend and you are trying to find a book. Not that difficult, dufus!

But it seemed neither or them had eater breakfast... which left open the window of possibility that they would stop to eat, causing him much more confusion and inner turmoil. Though anyone who looked at the cheery face of Peter Bellard would never say he looked as though he were in any sort of turmoil.

"Yes, let's," he said in a passive, swift voice. He offered her a smile and began walking towards the exit of the Great Hall, beginning on the path that would lead them down the lane, out the gates, and where he assumed they would apparate to Diagon Alley.

Peter didn’t comment on Amelia’s less than graceful transition to leaving, so Amelia allowed herself to push the added awkwardness from her mind as she fell into step beside the Beauxbaton’s boy whom she had met earlier in the week. She was careful not to walk to closely to Peter, because physical proximity only added to her social misfortune, and because she wasn’t completely certain how much distance was customary to keep between one’s self and the person accompanying them on a trip to the bookstore.

Did you really just think the word “customary”? Amelia’s mind demanded, a clear sign she was overanalyzing. When she started to question her own analyses, she knew it was getting bad. Taking a deep breath, Amelia focused on clearing her mind and calming her nerves as she and Peter stepped outside for the first time into the brisk fall air. She supposed, actually, that Peter had already been outside this morning, as he would have had to walk from the carriage to the castle, which was likely how he had already found out that he needed to be wearing gloves. Amelia became quickly aware of this as well and pulled a pair of brown suede gloves from her pocket and pulled them on.

They already call you the ice queen. No need to add physical traits to the personality description, her mind quipped as she tugged the last finger into place, letting her arms fall back to their normal places.

The pair of them walked in silence across the grounds, though whether this was out of respect for the early hour and those that might be sleeping in the carriage and the ship or the fact that it seemed to be Amelia’s turn to say something was difficult to say. Knowing that the latter was more likely, Amelia tried to think of something, but her feet moved faster than her mind, and before she found anything conversational, they had reached and passed through the gates of the castle.

Here, Amelia stopped and Peter followed suit. She turned to face the long-haired boy, wondering momentarily if he had already passed his apparition test. She had passed last year, but she was unsure if Beauxbatons taught apparition in the sixth or seventh year, but she didn’t want to insult Peter by assuming he would need to side-along.

“You… um… do know how to apparate, right?” Amelia asked bluntly, failing miserably at subtlety in ascertaining the answer to her mental question.

“I mean,” Amelia said quickly, trying to rectify the situation, “I would think that you would… uh… know, but I thought I would… check. Yeah…” Amelia added, not making things any better. Instead, she found her hand darting up to the back of her neck, resting the palm of her glove against the skin there and trying to pass the blush in her cheeks off as a response to the chill in the wind.

They continued walking, the cold, almost icy air hitting his face and biting at his cheeks, tinging them pink. He was normally not used to the weather but he had on the sweater, and he thanked his lucky stars that he had remembered to pack unlike some of the girls who had been more focused on fashion than practicality.

Still, it was rather chilly and he shivered slightly, and then blew some warm air from his lips, misting the air in front of him. He smiled and did it again, this not usually a phenomena he experienced back in his school near the coast. It was temperate there, but hardly ever cold enough to see your breath.

His eyes wandered forward as they continued on, their strides matching and their feet lining up- Left, right, left right... A small breeze whistled, the water of the lake lapped, their feet made tiny little noises. He looked up and towards the lake and saw the looming figure of the Durmstrang ship and felt a sting of excitement and envy.

He realized they had not yet spoken and he wondered if she felt awkward about it. He did not, and he had not sensed any sort of an awkward atmosphere or anything to indicate that Amelia was feeling uncomfortable. He usually could tell, but in a lot of ways, she was still a stranger.

At the gates that led out Amelia stopped and Peter followed her lead, turning to face her and whatever inquiry or comment she may have. She asked him if he knew how to Apparate and then became rather frazzled and embarrassed for asking the question. He gave her a serene look.

"I can Apparate." Here, he paused, though. He had never been the best Apparate-er and he would be Apparate-ing somewhere he had never seen. "I have never been to Diagon Alley, however, so perhaps it would be best for some guidance."

When Peter answered her question, Amelia felt the sudden urge to smack herself in the forehead, despite the pain this would undoubtedly inflict. Peter himself didn’t seem offended by the question, nor was he giving her the pitying look that so many others had given her when she demonstrated her social ineptitude in situation such as these. Instead, he had that same, calm look on his face as though he dealt with this type of conversational blundering all the time.

Peter’s response had not been complete, however, and he soon added that with his unfamiliarity with the destination, perhaps they might do well to perform the task together. Initially, Amelia’s mind immediately jumped to the thought of having to touch Peter, with whom, until this point, she had kept her relative distance. If she was going to sidealong him, she would have to touch him, and not tentatively either. If she let go while they were whirling, he could end up somewhere else entirely, or worse, be spliced.

But there wasn’t really room for panic in this situation, and Amelia knew what her options were. She could either commit to this situation or flee from it, and this was the point where the decision had to be made. Letting her hand fall from the back of her neck, Amelia shook her hair back from her face and took a deep breath to pull herself together, the cold air piercing her lungs as she filled and emptied them in one fluid movement.

“Right,” Amelia said, stepping forward with purpose to close the space between herself and Peter. Now standing close to him, Amelia could smell that boyish scent wafting off of him, though he smelled clean, for which she was thankful. Without asking for permission – because any hesitance here would really only give her more reason to try to flee, and she had made the conscious decision that she would not be doing that today – Amelia’s hand darted out to grab Peter’s, wrapping her gloved fingers around his fingers, mentally thankful for the cloth between them because it lessened the intimacy of the gesture.

“Hold on tight,” Amelia instructed, squaring her shoulders and clearing her throat. She was not surprised to find herself less nervous about the actual apparition than she had been about reaching for Peter’s hand; the former was task with clearly defined parameters and guarantees of success if one performed the right steps. The latter was a much trickier situation with far more possible outcomes.

Focusing her mind on her destination, Amelia turned sharply on the spot and felt Peter’s weight pulled along behind her as she slipped into the higher-pressure parallel universe that served as a method of transportation for of-age witches and wizards. She gripped his hand more tightly as they spun, closing her eyes against the whirl of colors and light, and not opening them again until she felt solid ground beneath her feet. Only then did she allow her lids to flutter upward and readjust to the brightness of the street around her, still relatively quiet because of the early hour.

She had apparated them onto the doorstep of a shop that seemed to be perpetually deserted – no business ever lasted very long in that location – and looking over to Peter, she found him to have arrived all in one piece, at least as far as she could tell. In surveying him, Amelia’s eyes eventually landed on his right hand, which was still connected to her left hand, and immediately she dropped his hand and made a show of brushing herself off, if only to distract herself from the fact that she had failed to let go sooner.

“Well, here we are,” Amelia introduced hastily, gesturing out to the street around them as she stepped down from the stoop. The street was not yet busy, only a few early-morning shoppers out to beat the crowds, but the redhead had been here enough times to know that their relative solitude would not last long. In an hour or so the place would be crawling with people, and Amelia’s skin would be crawling with the urge to leave as quickly as possible.

Peter was still thinking to himself that Amelia seemed to get embarrassed quickly, she could see it on her face. He was not sure it was because of an overconfidence or an underconfidence. Overconfidence when failed usually became self-scrutinty. And obviously underconfidence meant insecurity. She seemed strong, but sort of fragile too, like if he did not reach out she would sort of just freeze over or fade away. He did not want that. She-

Grabbed his hand.

He had not even see her move closer, but now as he looked down, he saw that he could see the spectrum of blues in her eyes. His gloved fingers tingled slightly, but he made no move to indicate that he thought it any more than necessary... Which it was. He had been on dates before so hand holding was nothing... And this was not a date. He needed her guidance to make sure he properly made his way to the bookstore.

She instructed him to hold tight and he felt the corner of his mouth rise up into a half smile. He nodded, his long sandy red hair flopping comedically, like a puppy's ears flopping as it eagerly wagged its tail, though there was no lolling tongue. He pinked slightly and said, “Uh...Okay. Sure.” He smiled modestly and adjusted his grip.

He closed his eyes and he felt the uncomfortable squeeze as he felt his body compress as though to fit through a tube. He felt her ahead of him, her grip tightening as they began to spin faster and faster, getting nearer and nearer to their destination, something he knew somehow through Apparation instinct, if there was such a thing...

His feet collided with the ground and he felt himself wobble slightly, but he righted himself before more embarressment ensued. He slowly opened one eye, peering around for a second before opening both eyes to take in a wide look. He turned his head away from Amelia to quickly take in the street before he turned to look at her.

Her eyes darted towards their clasped hands, which he had failed to notice until that moment. He slackened his fingers as she hastily released his hand, beginning to brush herself off. He adjusted his scarf, pulling it tighter around his neck and then brushing his bangs out of his face. He blinked a few times, glanced down the street, and then back to Amelia.

She announced that they were in the correct location and he smiled, nodding and turning slightly away from her, his head turning, eyes scanning to look around at the street. There were not many small, cramped little places like this in his hometown. It was quaint and... awesome. He turned back to her. “Eet iz magnifizent.” He grinned. “Lead ze way to zis book shop?”

Peter’s equally self-conscious motions after their slightly prolonged physical contact went completely unnoticed by Amelia, who in other situations would certainly have been observant enough to notice, but under presence circumstances was too distracted by her own thoughts. She had stepped into the street and pulled her coat more tightly around her against the chill in the wind. It was definitely autumn now, and the later portion of it too. Soon, the snow would begin to fall, and Amelia would have to find some other activity than running to keep her mind off things.

Peter had followed her off the stoop and seemed to be quick to take in his surroundings. His characteristic grin that had been surprisingly absent this morning made its first appearance of the day, and Amelia was struck by the feeling that he looked better smiling. This was unusual, because she also recognized that the symmetry in his face – that physical attribute which usually suggested attractiveness to most human beings – mostly disappeared when he was smiling. Perhaps it was just that the smile seemed more fitting on his features than the more calm, serene expression because she had seen the former more often in the brief encounter she had had with Peter before today.

But whatever the reason, Amelia allowed Peter to take in the view from where they were standing without interruption, and she was pleased by his analysis of the street. He seemed genuinely interested in visiting the bookshop, and she was never one to pass up an opportunity to get new reading material, so she did not hesitate to comply with his request.

“Yes, of course. Follow me,” Amelia said, a slight smile tugging at the corners of her lips, though she had not real explanation for it. It was probably the prospect of going to the bookstore, or perhaps that she hadn’t been to Diagon Alley in a while and was now contagious to its infectious qualities.

The lack of crowds made their path down Diagon Alley an easy one, but Amelia still walked with purpose. She was not generally one to stroll, for her mind tended to jump from task to task without pausing very long in between, and her feet followed suit. Had her stomach not interrupted, she might have walked directly to the bookstore, but as the pair of them came near enough the bakery cart to take in the smells, Amelia’s stomach grumbled loudly enough that the Ravenclaw girl could take a hint.

“Would you mind stopping for a little breakfast first?” Amelia asked, turning her head slightly to face Peter and slowing down noticeably. She did not know if her companion had eaten yet, but if she didn’t get something in her stomach soon, she was likely to be even more irritable later on when the crowds arrived.

Peter saw a smile tempting Amelia's expression, he could see it in some minute movements around her mouth, a brightening in her eyes. The smile made his own deepened widely. Peter had always been one to enjoy making people smile, but Amelia seemed a rather unwilling and hesitant participant when it came to smiling or... revealing emotion. He was finding that he did not mind in the least. It made the reward- the smile- much more valuable than one from someone who smiled a the drop of a hat, like himself.

She took up the lead immediately, and she began walking down the street, the briskness he had started to become accustomed to in her already settling in. He fell into step with her easily, for while she walked with a purpose, and he was more of a mosey-er, his legs were fairly long enough to keep up with Amelia without putting up much effort.

People walked by and one person even jostled him, their shoulder hitting his arm so he spun slightly. He turned his head to look behind him at the person who just hurried on by, his hand reaching out to grab his arm. He released it, looking back forward and shaking his head, a little surprised by the nerve. It was not as if the street was crowded. It was not empty, of course, but there was room.

"Yikes," he muttered to himself. He looked over at Amelia and forced the appalled and slightly offended expression off of his face and smirked. "Or should I zay 'shiver me timberz?" He smiled, trying to demonstrate he would not let the rudeness of others put a damper on their little book shop expedition.

She slowed, almost to a halt and he picked up the sent of some delicious pastries and other sweet, baked scents. He listened to what she said and his eyes darted over towards the bakery cart. He slipped his hand into his pocket and his hand touched the coins he had brought along. "I theenk I can manage some breakfast," he joked, his eyes twinkling.