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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 18:35:59 GMT -5
Dare had gravitated toward the Room of Requirement for a similar reason. His thoughts were so jumbled, so persistent, that drawing alone hadn't been enough. So he'd gathered his notebook and headed to the one place at Hogwarts where he knew he would find music. As the door opened, the sound of the piano surprised, but didn't startle him. He'd been thinking of music, but he'd been thinking of rock with a hard, distracting beat.
The door had shut behind him before his eyes caught on the figure at the piano, fingers sliding over the keys like old friends, reminding him of their last meeting and the curious touch they had shared. He considered leaving, but he needed the music, and he wanted to see Michael, if only to talk. Dare stood watching a moment, then approached, slowly, giving Michael time to sense him if he wasn't too lost.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 18:46:31 GMT -5
At first Michael was afraid it was the girl back again, but the steps didn't sound the same, and his hands slowed as he saw the person in the very corner of his vision. He didn't stop playing, even though the music changed and became softer. "I was afraid you were Cassie again," he said softly, lame, but it was the only thing that came to his mind that he was willing to say.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 18:54:25 GMT -5
Dare's lips curved lightly at that. "She doesn't stop talking, does she?" An exaggeration, but he needed something to say, something that wasn't about what had happened in the forest. He'd come here to think, and he was sure Michael had too. He didn't figure Michael was any closer to having things figured out than he was.
"You're good," Dare said, stopping beside the piano. He watched the motion of Michael's fingers, wondered if he was so fascinated because of what had happened, or simply because he found Michael's fingers fascinating.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:01:13 GMT -5
"With twelve years of practice you really can't suck, can you?" he asked, glancing up at Dare. Michael figured that anyone could sound good after playing for so long. "But thanks." He looked back down at the keys, it would be easier to talk with the separation. He fell silent, not really sure what to say.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:02:22 GMT -5
It was a different tension this time, a near painful awareness of Michael, everything that had happened, and everything that hadn't. It was the metaphorical elephant in the corner, and for once, Dare fully intended to leave it there. Everything was still too fresh to bring into the open. "The way you play feels like the way I draw," Dare said, sliding the conversation to something that was easy to talk about. "It's a relief, isn't it?"
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:07:33 GMT -5
Michael nodded, "When I was younger, my parents didn't like me to draw in company, so I'd play instead. It put out a better image or some bull like that." He shrugged, it hadn't really bothered him that he couldn't draw, it had just given him more reason to play because of the anger it caused. So there wasn't a downside, really, just more fuel. He could feel the tension, almost thick enough to make it hard to breathe, but he refused to bring it up unless Dare did.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:12:47 GMT -5
"I was lucky," Dare said, his eyes rising from Michael's hands to the face he'd memorized the day he'd drawn it. "My dad was Pureblood, ended up rebelling against his family. Married a Muggle. Mom called herself a free spirit, and dad went with it. So if I wanted to draw, I drew. On the walls a couple times before they started buying me sketchbooks," he added, his lips curving into the shadow of a smile at the thought.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:22:09 GMT -5
"My dad would have killed me," Michael said, looking up again, he couldn't resist, his eyes refused to stay away. He told himself he had to make sure that he had gotten the drawings right, even if that wasn't really the reason. The very corner of his lips turned up in a smile and he looked away, "Mom might have thought it was cute, would have made dad be not so harsh." At least in front of her.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:39:40 GMT -5
Dare's smile grew at seeing Michael's. "Moms are awesome," he said, the wistful tone of his voice stopping short at the end of that declaration. There was another wound that hadn't healed. Dare looked away from Michael now, out into the room, then stepped away from the piano, taking what distance he could. He needed to draw. He needed the distraction. Dare bypassed the chair nearby and sat down against the wall, setting his supplies up without another word.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:45:04 GMT -5
Michael heard the stop in Dare's voice and looked up questioningly, but he had a feeling and didn't press. "I never appreciated mom, if I knew I could go home without having Death Eaters on my back I'd apologize." While he hadn't treated her horribly, it had been obvious that he didn't think highly of her, he hoped she knew that he was sorry. He was still playing, though very softly and it was a slow piece without many quick notes, so it didn't take all of his concentration.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:52:23 GMT -5
"Send her an owl," Dare said, leaving it at that. His head was bowed over his sketchbook, face partially obscured by his fringe. He dug through his box, hardly even looking as he grabbed a plain quill and a bottle of rich india ink. He squeezed his eyes shut a moment, then dipped his quill and began making quick, expressive motions against the page, the scratch of the quill lost beneath the sound of the piano.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 19:58:26 GMT -5
Michael watched Dare for a minute, then decided he couldn't remain silent. "I'll listen if you want to talk," he offered, sending Dare an honest look before turning his eyes away. Dare had listened to Michael's problems, and Michael had no problems returning the favor. And it was a source of conversation, something to pull them away from the tension, even if doing so brought another source of tension between them.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 20:16:40 GMT -5
Dare's shoulders and arms tensed, translating to harder, darker strokes of the quill. He didn't want to talk about it, but Michael had shared something that couldn't have been easy for him. He owed Michael some kind of reciprocation. "Mom died about a month ago. Dad packed us up and we were here in a matter of weeks. That's all there is to it." That wasn't all, wasn't the half of it, but the rest was his burden to bear, his, Silver's, and Dad's. He wouldn't force his pain on someone else.
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Post by Michael Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 20:24:02 GMT -5
Michael focused on the keys beneath his fingers, eyebrows coming together. He knew, he knew that there was more, that kind of trauma combined with the move had to have an effect on Dare. "If you ever need to talk," he said, "I'm here for you." He glanced up, but didn't look at Dare for long, Dare would know that Michael meant it. He made a promise to himself to write his own mother, even if the chances of it actually getting to her were slim.
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Post by Dare Blackwood-Hardt on Jun 4, 2008 20:32:52 GMT -5
"Thank you," Dare said, the words almost inaudible beneath the sound of the piano. His quill stopped a moment, praying for strength before lifting, dipping into the ink, and beginning again, slower now, but just as forcefully. He wasn't drawing Michael this time, so there was no need to look up. Dare drew from his mind's eye, just getting the picture out.
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