Making Friends(Willow/Silver)

[Willow Wenlock]

Transfiguration had been entertaining, the teacher had been a sweet young woman, that reminded Willow of herself in many ways. Well, besides the ways that said she must have had those children she talked about when she wasn't much older than Willow was now. She supposed she wanted children, but while she was in school just seemed like a silly idea, and it boggled that someone as educated as Professor la'Salle would have children while she was in school.

While class had been entertaining, Willow was excited to see what poems that Silver would bring to her during lunch. So with the pygmy puff she'd picked up in class on her shoulder, Willow had snagged some lunch from the cafeteria and headed out towards the lake. Since it was so early in the year, not many students were out on the lawns for lunch.

Still, Willow found a quiet place, away from what students there were, under the shade of a nice large tree. She leaned back against it, thankful that there was enough sunlight to warm the ground, and the shade to cover her eyes as she closed her eyes to bask in the contradiction of spring and winter. The cool breeze and the lazy warm light.

[Silver Blackwood]

Silver was trying not to look too eager or too nervous as he made his way around the lake. He was both, and the two combined so that he was a little nauseous and felt a little like he'd explode at the slightest provocation. He gave a quick thought of thanks for the environment as a whole, from the time to the trees that crept so close to where he'd first found her.

He didn't see her at first, and mild panic rose up. Was he early? Would she think he'd been waiting like a stalker or something? Was he late? Had she given up and left? He tried to tell himself to calm down, but it didn't do much good until he actually caught sight of her, almost invisible as she was leaning against a shade tree. He hiked his book bag up further onto his shoulder and told himself it would be fine. He'd even prepared a quote so he'd have something to say. He just hoped that it was as clever as he'd thought. But what if it wasn't?

Beauty is power; a smile is its sword. But did he dare say it? His smile as he approached rode a fine line between beaming and terrified.

[Willow Wenlock]

The first sign that Willow wasn't alone was the soft crunch of grass underneath someone's feet. She turned her head to see who was coming, and a smile broke across her face as she saw that it was Silver. The pygmy puff on her shoulder whirled around at the noise, making soft sounds. An eyebrow raised at the things was the only indication that she'd never been around one of them before. However, she'd been excited enough that the first thing she'd done to him was change his coloring to the shade of her hair.

Willow tilted her head to watch Silver approaching, he definitely was one of the more normal people she'd had the occasion to meet today. "I'm glad to see you. I think a few of the other students looked at me like I was crazy when I told them I was going to eat my lunch on the lawns today." The weather really hadn't been that bad here, cool but usually warm, sometimes a few light flurries, but today it was clear.

[Silver Blackwood]

Silver let his quote go without a fight, and the pressure he'd felt to say it eased. "I don't know why, a lot of people eat out here," he said. "It's nice out here." He was wearing a jacket instead of his winter cloak, and though he really liked his cloak, he'd decided he didn't want to look like as bad of a California boy as he really was.

He debated how close to sit to her, and whether to sit next to her or across from her, as he neared. He stopped and took stock of the tree she was leaning against, the distance to the water, and her legs stretched out in front of her. He couldn't lean against the tree, but he couldn't sit facing her. So he had two choices, sitting on her right or on her left? He caught himself over-thinking and gave himself a mental kick. Just sit.

He sat somewhat awkwardly at her right, at an angle so it wouldn't feel like he was trying to push her away from her spot on the tree, and folded his long legs in front of him, pulling his bag into his lap. He gave her his best attempt at a friendly, encouraging smile, but he could feel the heat streaking up the back of his neck and the smile came out hesitant ant shy.

[Willow Wenlock]

It really was nice out here she thought. "I think some of the students must not be used to this weather, they keep saying how cold it is." She shook her head, allowing silver strands to fly and catch in the pygmy puff's. "They think a few snowflakes should be a deterrent." She smiled as she brought her legs up closer to her chest, looking out over the grounds. "I just remember a quote when I hear them say things like that. Don't knock the weather; nine-tenths of the people couldn't start a conversation if it didn't change once in a while."

Willow turned her head on the tree to look at Silver where he had sat down, a soft grin on her face as she tucked away strands of hair that were sticking to the bark after she turned. "So, did you bring me something to read?"

[Silver Blackwood]

Silver's mind was still stuck on that quote when Willow looked at him, and he stammered as he tried to find something intelligent to say. "Um, I have... it's probably too much, but you don't have to read it all...I mean, some of it, whatever you want..." He trailed off at the end and ducked his head to rifle through his bag. He was easily one of those nine-tenths she was joking about. In fact, it was a running gag between him and his brother and some of their friends in California, something to say when there was nothing to say to break a long silence. And it was cold, but he was glad he hadn't brought his cloak, even if he was cooler than he'd have preferred.

[Willow Wenlock]

Willow could tell that Silver was nervous about the poetry that he was about to let her read. "I want to read it. Whatever you give me to read." She leaned her head back against the tree again, "the last few books I've tried to read I haven't had the chance to, with getting caught up." Her eyes sparkled with humor directed at herself, "I'm dying to read something good. And if our conversations are an indicator, I'm going to love your writing."


<edited for Post 100!! Not anything fancy...but still.>

[Silver Blackwood]

Silver felt heat streak up the back of his neck, but he couldn't help smiling sheepishly. "I'm... I'm not that good," he said, though he'd pored through his writing to find his best work. In general, he wrote so much that most of it was just train of thought and had no literary merit, so as far as he was concerned, he was being truthful, but he did have things that were a lot of fun to read, and things that were very thoughtfully and carefully worded.

"Um, I hope you can read chicken-scratch," he said, stacking three books on top of one another and setting his current book to the side. He picked one of the books up, flipping the cover open to make sure he had the one he'd meant to grab first, though he'd checked them all not half an hour ago. He turned to a dog-eared page, one of his favorite poems. It was one page of free verse without rhyme, an observation on a lit wand in vivid, flowing detail. His heart thudded as he offered it aside, then tightened his jaw to keep from saying anything stupid or interrupting.

[Willow Wenlock]

Willow took the notebook that Silver offered, her hand brushing against his as she took the spiral bound notebook. Not knowing much about poetry or it's branches she began to read about a lit wand. Except, it was more than just a lit wand, it was an accounting of a wand in a way that she never had or ever would have imagined it. Her lips curved at the corners as she read the poem, her fingers tracing the path of the words, lost in the meaning and intentions of the poem, not the medium of it's presentation. When she had finished it, she looked up, her eyes still a bit far away, and she smiled more broadly, "do you know that when you write like this, people can almost touch what you're saying?"

[Silver Blackwood]

Silver was still more than a little stunned by the soft touch of her hand, however brief it had been, and it took him a moment to realize that she'd finished reading the poem. His nerves stretched tightly before her compliment reached his brain and that sheepish smile returned. "Yeah," he said, the word little more than a breath before he caught himself and cleared his throat. "I mean, that's what I wanted, that's what I hope for. For like, people to see what I see." For the reader to experience what he imagined experiencing.

[Willow Wenlock]

Willow didn't want to let go of the notebook in her hands, her fingers still on the last line of the poem. She was thinking that this poem was much like the books that she read when she walked in the hallways. It had allowed her to open a door, this door led to a small narrow space in time, but she supposed, just like a book it was pointing her to something important. What did it mean to him? "It's wonderful Silver." She narrowed her eyes quizzically, her eyes dancing with humor. "You pulled this out of a book didn't you? Because if you didn't you need to get this published." Willow was serious, it was something that should be put into a book with other poems, or a book with poems just filled by Silver.

[Silver Blackwood]

"Oh, uh, no," Silver said, flustered and flattered all at once. "I mean, I'd like to, but I wouldn't know how." It wasn't like he could walk into a book store and hand over his notebook to whoever was behind the counter, and he wouldn't begin to know who to send it to. "It's not like, that good, is it?" Dru had said she'd liked it too, but he didn't think she'd ever said anything about publishing it. He hoped no one else thought he stole it. He knew what she meant, but what if he somehow found a publisher and they didn't believe he wrote it? No modesty here, the thought to himself.

[Willow Wenlock]

That she wasn't sure she knew how to do either. She couldn't start writing her own books until she made astute discoveries in her field, and then she would be able to write of them. Her brow furrowed, "I suppose you'd have to find an editor or agent to work with. In history, you're usually working in conjunction with a school or some other entity to publish your work." Willow allowed her hand to stop pressing on the paper, "but yeah. It's that good, I'd keep a book with this in it on my shelf. Maybe there is some contest you could enter your work in, they publish the winners of those sometimes right?"

[Silver Blackwood]

"Oh, um..." Silver brushed his hair back a little as he thought. "There probably are and everything, but the ones I've seen are scams. They tell you they'll publish you in their anthology and you can have a first-edition copy for seventy-five Galleons. Then you just never get the book." He'd never been stupid enough to send off that kind of money, but part of it might have been that he'd never have been able to decide what poems to submit in the first place.

He had a couple short stories to show her next, one that was only a page long, but stretched over two with all his revisions. It had ended up a comedy with a very definite point; never trust a drunken centaur. The other was a little lengthier, a dry comedy about an unlikely meeting between an antisocial wizard and a foul-mouthed jarvey. Whenever he was trying to remind himself that yes, he did have a sense of humor, he'd read one of those. He waited with all his nerves stretched tight for her to read through them.

[Willow Wenlock]

Willow allowed herself to be distracted again by Silver's work, and she quickly became deeply entranced in the work that he'd set out for her to read. Usually immersed in books that were non-fiction it was good to put herself into a setting of fictional works, and it was easy. Silver's writing made that easy, the scratched out lines and redone phrases obviously works of a creative genius. From what she could tell every line of those works was done to perfection, each revision the perfect attachment.

She was so immersed in the works that she lost sight of what was around her, allowing her world to narrow to her favorite daydream, comprised of doors waiting to be opened. One hand pushed slightly at her hair, while the other kept pace with her reading, a small laughing smile gracing her lips and her eyes alight on the paper, not able to stop moving for the next line.