Ford scrunched his lips to one side as he considered this. If he was using Lestrange as his new archetype for Quidditch players — since he was the only real Quidditch player Ford actually knew with any degree of familiarity — he wasn't sure he would agree with this man's assessment, either of professional athletes being too narrowly focused in their skill set or of them being generally happy. Not that Lestrange was radiating misery, or anything, but — well, there was that thing he'd said outside the manor, that Ford had let go without a comment and which they hadn't returned to. Maybe it's lucky that the dead don't stick around to blame us for things, which was not really the sort of thing a generally happy person said. It was the sort of thing that might find its way into an Edgar Allen Poe poem, actually — but that was not to say that all of his poems were quite so morbid. Annabel Lee had a rather peaceful ending, with the bit about hoping to see her again in the afterlife, after all.

"I don't know that Poe would agree with you. The happiest day — the happiest hour my sear'd and blighted heart hath known," he quoted, but realized as he spoke that phrasing it in the past tense did sort of imply Poe hadn't been particularly happy when he wrote the poem. Still — "I think it takes more than just being unhappy to write good poetry," he argued. "Poe's work wouldn't be half so good if it wasn't so bittersweet. Layering in the good things with the bad."

  

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Set by Lady!

"You have a point there," Elmer said with a nod. "I suppose that the reason many successful artists are unhappy people is that they are more contemplative. Or that people who suffer a lot tend to think more as to what causes their unhappiness. Whereas those who never suffered much don't have reason to do so and they can't really write meaningful poetry, like Poe does."

The thing was that Elmer himself had never suffered much in life, in spite of his public persona. Other than Charles' bullying, he had had a happy and privileged childhood. He had been a good student at Hogwarts and had had a promising start at the Ministry. His family still supported him financially even though he'd thrown his career away to open a struggling business. They weren't happy of his choices, but he had never been stopped from following his passions. He acted the struggling and misunderstood poet, but then went home to Lunarbridge castle and enjoyed his family's wealth.

  

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Ford could believe that people who suffered more also contemplated their experiences more. He certainly spent a great deal of time worrying and fretting about things now that he was in charge of his three younger sisters, his mother, and their rather pitiful financial situation, and prior to his father's death he'd never had the desire nor the need to contemplate any of those things. Having spent a great deal of time worrying about it had not inspired him to want to write any poetry about trying to squeeze a galleon through to his next paycheck, or to juggling bills and invoices so that no one suspected his own forgetfulness was at the heart of the delays.

"Well, if we're using Poe and your diarist as our two examples, it would seem suffering is a much more useful catalyst for poetry than love," he pointed out, in spite of his thoughts regarding his own brand of suffering — maybe he just hadn't been inspired because money wasn't a particularly poetic thing to have to fret over.

  

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Elmer laughed. "And that proves my point that you've never been in love." Love wasn't supposed to be suffering, but that was a belief held by people who wanted healthy lives. Elmer lived for the aesthetic.

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Ford shrugged lightly, as if to say well, you've found me out. "No, I suppose I haven't." It seemed like the right sort of response, even if he'd never claimed to have been in love, in this conversation or otherwise.

Looking back down at the diary, he thumbed to another page. He was curious to see if it was all poetry, or if some of it was actually about the man's work, since his wife had apparently wanted to sell it as research notes. When he skimmed another page, though, his cheeks immediately flushed dark red. That was not what he'd been expecting — it was quite explicit and had sent his insides to fluttering nervously. "I don't think he would have wanted strangers reading this," Ford pointed out, trying to hand the diary back to the other man.

  

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Set by Lady!

Elmer took the diary from the man and looked at the page that had turned him a bright red. Oh. It described a sexual encounter between him and his lover.

"Well, he's dead, so," Elmer said nonchalantly. "And in spite of what it says, it's very well written... See here, how he says that he feels whole when he fills all his parts? That his soul has been missing him? I find it rather romantic."

  

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Ford could bandy about literary criticism when it came to poetry all day, but discussing sex so openly was another matter entirely, and one he felt wholly unprepared for. Probably because he'd never had any real life experience with it, and — well, even if he had, it wasn't the sort of thing one was supposed to just talk openly about it bookstores, was it? Where anyone might walk in at any moment?

"Well, I suppose you'd know better than me," he mumbled, cheeks still flushed dark red. He meant because he'd never been in love, and from the way he was talking this fellow presumably had, though it he took the comment as a sign of Ford's sexual inexperience... well, it wouldn't have been incorrect, and he didn't think he ought to be ashamed to admit that. He was only twenty-four, and unmarried, and despite what Witch Weekly said he had no intentions whatsoever of playing father to Begonia Belby's illegitimate children.

  

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Elmer laughed good-naturedly. "You know what? I think you'll benefit greatly from reading this." He lifted the diary and moved it as he spoke and then placed it in front of the man in a way that communicated he was giving to him for free. "Consider it a gift, from me, or perhaps its writer. It has great educational value."

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   Fortitude Greengrass

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Ford felt a surge of panic as the other man offered him the book, evidently free of charge. What had he said or done to indicate that he'd be interested in that sort of... reading material? Or maybe he hadn't given any indication of that, and this man was only trying to tease him by being intentionally provocative? He seemed, from their conversation so far, to be the sort who might enjoy shocking people, so maybe that was what he was trying to do. Even if that was the case, Ford still felt terribly awkward about this. Maybe just because it was a favor that he hadn't asked for, and couldn't repay. Was this the sort of favor that the other man might expect some sort of benefit from, down the road, or was it really as free as he wanted Ford to believe it was? He didn't know what sort of thing the other man might want in exchange, but he was quite confident he didn't have it, whatever it was.

"You don't need to do that," Ford assured him quickly, raising one hand as though in defense. "Really, it's — I couldn't —"

  

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Set by Lady!

Ah, now started the pleasantries that obliged people not to accept free things. Elmer hated that people were taught to do that. The young man was probably dying to read more of it and he has to out up this scene in order not to seem impolite, or like a beggar.

"Oh, take it!" Elmer insisted and pushed the diary closer to him.

  

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"Ah — alright," Ford said, not because he wanted this book at all but rather because he was really very bad at saying no to things. He picked it up off the counter, a little awkwardly, and hugged it to his chest as though he was afraid that if he didn't hide the cover, someone else might see it and know what it was. Nevermind that passersby were unlikely to recognize the personal diary of someone who hadn't been particularly important to anyone other than his lover. And his wife, presumably.

Merlin, what was he going to do with this? He'd have to find somewhere in his room to hide it, because he could not leave it anywhere the girls could accidentally pick it up (or Noble, Merlin forbid; the conversation about the contortionists at the Sonata was about as far as he ever wanted to carry a conversation about sex with his brother). Keeping it in his room, though, meant that he would have to see it, and he couldn't imagine he could so much as glance at the cover now without feeling terribly embarrassed about it.

"— thank you," he said after a moment, though this book felt like more of a burden than a boon.

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   Elmer Macmillan

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Set by Lady!

"You're welcome," Elmer said with a dismissive smile. "Make sure to tell me what you think!" He didn't specify in what way he would do they. Presumably he could stop by his shop anytime, or just write him and let the owl work it's magic in finding Elmer's location.

  

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"Uhm, sure. I will," Ford said, despite having no intention whatsoever to do this. He would have to read it in order to tell someone what he thought, and after what he'd just seen on the last page he glanced at he didn't think that was going to happen. It seemed rude to say so, though, when the other man had just given it to him as a gift.

"— I don't know your name," he pointed out, since this seemed like a fairly important first step if he was supposed to follow up on this.

  

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Set by Lady!

"Elmer Macmillan!" Elmer said and extended a hand for a handshake.

  

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Ford considered the hand for half a second before he reached out to shake it, having to shift the book against his chest to do so. "Ford Greengrass," he returned. Since he'd agreed to take the book (well, really since he'd gotten a better idea of what was in the book) this conversation had started feeling increasingly awkward, and he was eager to put an end to it. He certainly wasn't going to get any other reading done in a shop so small — and he had plenty of, er, new reading material now, anyway. If he stuck around he was worried that Macmillan might try to talk to him about it more, and the only thing more embarrassing than reading it would be discussing it.

"Thanks again for the book," he said by way of closing the conversation. "Have a good day."

  

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Set by Lady!