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Marching Drums
September 3d, 1889 - The Black Lake
King knew he shouldn't be spending his first days at Hogwarts flying. Not when sixth year represented a whole other level at school, in which there were fewer classes but a frightening amount of homework. He knew a smart and responsible student would be catching up before the number of things to do turned into a big, scary pile or something... and he wasn't the best at dealing with anxiety, so one more reason to run away from the school grounds. Yet the second he began doing pirouettes on the air, he couldn't stop smiling, the signs of joy all over his face. He even stopped for a few minutes and did some exercises, because it was something he'd missed - this, how much freedom there was and the school for itself.

He was a mess of sweat and grins by the time he got off his broom, another sixth-year Hufflepuff close enough he kindly asked him to take it back to their common room. He would probably stretch some more than got on his way himself, but King missed this place so much he considered walking to some of his favorite spots, like the Black Lake. He was sure the students wouldn't mind his sweaty self, or so thought with hints of humor dancing across his face. It was only when he got there that those traces completely escaped him.

Not because of the sight. It was just as glorious. Because he happened to go right in somebody else's direction, a person he had met many months ago and while it didn't represent much, he remembered feeling an odd level of anxiety at her mere presence. Of course, she was pretty - as in, a whole other level of this word - and had an amount of confidence he could have envied if not for finding it so suiting of her. He didn't know what to do, and was tempted to run back to the castle when she lifted her head from... something.

"Hm, hey." He could vanish with his own tongue right now. King sighed, trying to look confident and relaxed by putting his hands on his trousers' pockets, then looked back at her. "You're drawing the lake?" Perhaps this was a good idea, staring at the background instead of her. It certainly made him feel better.

Chrysanta Ruskin
Crystal had been confident enough that she wouldn't mess up a painting of the lake; the fall colors were something she'd never thought of before. She'd always thought they were pretty, but ever since she had started painting, the colors of the world seemed much brighter. She hadn't spent much time over the summer painting, instead spending the majority of it worrying over her future.

She had starting learning how to write songs just a month ago, and found them to be more frustrating than when she'd first started learning how to paint.

It had taken a few tries before she got into the rhythm of drawing the lake. She didn't know how Muggles did it, without wasting so much paper. When she messed up, she could just wave her wand and remove the disaster. If she really messed up, she could just use magic and start over on the same canvas.

She had just started over for the third time when she heard someone approaching. A quick glance up and she found herself in the presence of one of her Hufflepuff year-mates. Hello," she said in greeting with a soft smile. "Attempting to, yes."

MJ made the pretties
If there were such thing as messages in the air sent by guardian angels, he was sure his would be telling him to get out of there as quickly as he could. It truly was the smartest decision, one he was prone to make given his familiarity with panicking, but there were other thoughts lingering on his head - first of all, how much of a loser she might think he was if he were to stumble off after hardly exchanging phrases. It was a toss between leaving a bad impression - if he stayed - and leaving a terrible one - if he went away -, so given he couldn't find success anyway, at least he might stay where the view was great.

He stared at her for a few seconds before deciding to sit at the floor, careful not to have a bitter encounter with some of the rocks. Even smiled to himself with the resemblance of waves, possibly by some creature they couldn't see. "I... have some artistic work of my own, if you will." He tried to establish some connection, make it seem less odd that he stayed. A part of him was dying to look at her drawing again, but he would hate it if people read his drafts without permission; he would never lose respect with her or her painting. "I would find it hard to believe there's a better place at Hogwarts to paint. It's a calming place, great to look at, don't you think?' And there he was, wanting to punch himself in the face all over again.

Crystal had starting to turn back to her work when he started talking again. She wouldn't have be surpirsed if he had just left; Mr. Lukeson didn't appear to know what to say. He appeared to be uncomfortable over something, and she wanted to ask what was wrong, but they didn't know eachother well enough.

They were in sepreate houses, and up until a year and half ago (not that she was keeping track) they hadn't even been in the same year. While some of their classes had overlapped, she would not have reconised his voice if she heard him before seeing him.

"What kind of art do you do?" She asked with her eyes brighting a little. "Are you a singer? A writer? Do you play an instrament?" she figured he wasn't a painter; otherwise he'd probably be out painting the lake.

She didn't mind sharing her paintings. She felt that they weren't quiet the eyesore they'd once been. Her song, on the other hand, were something she wouldn't want to share with anyone until she was sure they captured the emotion she was going for in just their words.

MJ made the pretties
King knew he shouldn’t be out there bothering her while she worked. In fact, although he wasn’t one to get irritated by interruptions, as an artist he could tell what effects it had on inspiration when somebody stepped in a the worst moment possible. If only he could make himself shut up, or turn his back to her and leave the way every alert signal in his mind told him to… then perhaps he would be one step further from making a fool of himself in front of a girl. Not just any girl. Well, sure, they never talked properly, and he wouldn’t say he had a crush on her or something but- she was pretty, very much so, and smart, and apparently talent, and these were things he had never quite linked to each other and put all on a girl. Oh, and she wasn’t yelling at him. Another crucial variable.

"I-" His digits traveled south of his mouth, scraping his chin for seconds while he tried his best to come up with a reasonable explanation of…. writing. It was stupid. He didn’t know why he was out of words. He didn’t even know why he didn’t know. "A writer, yeah." He smiled then, unable to hide it upon her rightful guess. "Hm, if you can call a writer somebody who has never settled for a book story." King blurted out. He had written tales, sure, some he might have called good if not a work of his authorship, but never a full, sizable, compelling story capable of filling an entire book - or, however long a story had to be in order to be considered one.

"I mean, I- have ideas, sure, just… er, can’t bring myself to write it all." Might as well slap himself on the head for only making things worse by adding words, when all he wanted was to fix his previous ones. He had to avoid her gaze for seconds before deciding, maybe, it would be best to change subjects to a better one. "And yourself? Instruments too?"

ooooown he has a crush

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