| Details for Closet Conversation |
| Summary: | In which Anthony chances upon Esther in a closet, and then the pair in the closet are subsequently interrupted, and their presence misinterpreted by Lucretia |
| Date: | 1939-01-11 |
| Location: | Broom Closet, Hogwarts |
| Related: | — |
| Characters |
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Anthony opens the door, holding soaking wet socks, and looking around, murmuring, "Mangle…. mangle…." And then blinks, "Lowe?"
Esther has to very suddenly and awkwardly explain her presence in a broom closet. She's leaning /way/ deep into the broom closet, hand grasping blindly at the back of the cupboard when Anthony opens the door. She blushes. "Missing, presumed stolen. Along with me paints. Hello, Anthony." She manages to smile to the Rowle boy. A moment, before she catches her train of though. "Oh! Anthony!" Yes. Still him.
Anthony doesn't look surprised. But then, since the 'incident', he's not really looked much of anything in particular. Instead he merely says, "Lowe? Did you get confused about the door?"
"Just the person." Esther explains simply. "Andromena said I should probably speak to you. We we're going to be attending a masked study group later on this week. Where no question is a stupid one, and everyone deserves an answer." A moment later, she remembers the scar that the boy must carry, and her lips seal again. She looks a little awkward sudden. "… 'm sorry. Forgot."
Anthony answers in the same level, soft, tone, "You forgot your study group? That will not help your information retention." It's a joke, probably, but there's not the usual intonation changes.
Esther allows herself a soft little laugh, but her heart isn't truly in it. "I mean… Fuck, there's not really a grace period." She shrugs. "I… I'm sorry if I seem tactless about it, but how the hell are the rest of us supposed to act now? Surely sick to death of everyone feeling sorry for you, but things just /can't/ be all smoothed over again. That'll make things worse."
Anthony nods, thoughtfully, and with a slightly worrying placidity says, "Change is not necessarily bad." He ponders a moment, and then adds, "The method of the change was…. not enjoyable, but to be changed is not needing pity."
"Change is /your/ job, Anthony. Not someone else to force 'pon you." Esther bites her lower lip. Awkward, she's pressing herself against the shelving almost reflexively. "And doesn't make it fair either. Not to say I pity you," Esther shakes her head. "Just… Wish it didn't happen."
Anthony admits, "My life would have been more comfortable if it had not." Still that level tone, "But it has, and crying over it, or calling it unfair achieves nothing."
"And letting it change you is the alternative?" Esther isn't judgemental. She's curious, after all. "Forgive me, Anthony, but I don't… I don't think either of those is suitable. I'm just glad that it's not something I've had to face." A pause. "… I'm not that strong."
Anthony raises a brow, "Strong? Nobody seems to think me strong. So perhaps you are mistaken." His tone doesn't express any opinions on what he, himself, thinks.
"You're functioning." Esther points out. "S'more than I'd be doing. I'd find a corner to shrink up in. Perhaps a nice ward at St. Mungos. Instead… You're all here." She smiles a little, but it's so obviously forced one can almost hear the 'clunk'.
There's a little dry smile, which doesn't entirely reach the eyes. "A corner to shrink up in, like a broom cupboard. Incidentally, you may wish to exit, unless you are not worried about people seeing you and I spend time in a broom cupboard together."
"I'm no stranger to people talking all kinds of crap about me. People get used to it. I don't think anyone cares about what I do these days." Esther smiles sweetly, "And no, I smuggled some living image paints down here during school break, and thought I should find them before someone else did…" A bite of her lower lip. "Not that they're useful to me but… They'll be cured by now."
Anthony gives a slight nod, "You're an artist." Half a question, half a statement, "Who and what do you paint?"
"Whatever I so desire." Esther answers simply. I draw what I'm asked. What I feel. What I see. I'd hoped to start enchanting my paintings, but the Arts Club won't reveal when we cover Living Images…" She bites her lower lip again. "… Would you like me to paint you something, Anthony?"
Anthony tilts his head, "Yes. Yes, that sounds lovely. Or I could be your subject, if it would be of interest. I have never seen the process, so that might be entertaining."
A portrait! "I've never done one with a live subject before. At least, not someone who knows." Esthers pushes herself back against the shelf a little further, looking a little demure at the Anthony that blocks the doorway. "I'd really like that, Anthony. Although, I'm going to insist on finding a rela smile in there…
Anthony gives a slight nod, "Of course. We can work out the practical side in the future." He glances around as the door opens. "Black."
The door opens a fraction, but no more. Whoever is on the other side lingers, chatting with some friends. "Okay! No really! I'll be there, I promise!" There's a eruption of giggles and some good humoured ribbing before the door pulls wider and someone pushes their way in. A bag of something clutched in one hand, she's not paying attention at all, which is why when she's brought up short by the tall presence of Anthony, she emits a small squeak. "Rowle!" Esther's not spotted yet, she's blocked from view.
"I'm sure we can. Somewhere nice and private - I don't want to be disturbed. It's a personal moment, after all." The somewhat familiar voice of Esther Lowe sounds from inside, although she's busy hiding as part of the shelving units.
Anthony nods in agreement, "That sounds… quite fun, actually." That flat tone doesn't really suggest fun is how it will feel. Whatever 'it' is. The older boy turns towards Lucretia, "Am I in your way, Black?" He's holding a pair of wet socks.
"Uh. No. I was just…" There's a bright flush that rises in Lu's cheeks and she slips the bag she's carrying into the folds of her cloak, tucking it out of sight. "I didn't expect anyone to be in here." A pause. A pause that infinitesimal in its span as she draws breath and shifts a little to one side, looking around Anthony to pick out Esther in the gloom. "I'm not interrupting, am I?"
"No." Esther explains hurriedly. "I thought I'd left something in here.. But it's gone missing. A house-elf must have claimed it. "Hello Lucretia." A faint blush at being caught here. Looking awkward.
Anthony shakes his head, displaying the socks, "I was just looking for a mangle. Impervius kept my feet warm enough, but I ought to dry the socks out. Got my feet wet down at the lake." No hurry in his explanation, no concern. Just a statement of fact. "Would Luminos not help?"
Lucretia pulls out her wand. "Luminos." The end glows brightly and she holds it aloft, not terribly perturbed by finding the two squeezed in here within the cupboard. "You could just get a dry pair and leave those to the house elves to sort out for you," she says, squinting up at Anthony. "That's what they do, isn't it?" Esther's blush will go unnoticed however, the light from the spell casting more of a faintly blue tinged light that won't accentuate it, as it won't her own either.
Esther seems happy enough to remain as blended as she can possibly be against the shelf.
You say, "Do you require aid looking for your pigments? Or we could ask an elf, of course." To Lulu he simply says, "Sometimes it is easier and quicker to do things oneself. And, of course, I wasn't sure what was in this cupboard. Sometimes there are many surprises. I came in, and Lowe, there she was." Even the pun is delivered utterly flatly. A matter of fact thing."
Lucretia uhuh's. "Well. I'll leave you be then," she says, stepping backwards with a look of mischief just glinting in her eyes. The door closes behind her once she's out. The astute might hear her utter the word 'Colloportus', the not so astute would merely hear the sound of the door lock clicking into place.
"I'll just make some more. It was my fault for putting them here." Esther smiles kindly at Anthony. When Lucretia goes to excuse herself, there's a distinct lack of light. The whispered spell, and the door locks. From inside, she'd hear Esther's voice. Loud. "LUCRETIA!"
Anthony shakes his head, as he hears the lock, "I think that girl is spending too much time with that MacMillan boy."