Recording Equipment and a Tree Open!

@Euphrasia Millie | @Rowan Bane

The jaunty strumming notes floated through the air as the girl played, absorbed in her music and the tune from her ukulele. The soft 'oos' of the song stirred the space of the rehearsal room, as she softly hum and sang to the calming tune.

He had heard this song before, although he had never learned the name. It was part of the background music of his daily life, listened to in shopping centers and backalley restaurants but never given any more importance. Hearing Millie softly croon the song made him naturally curious again to where she had gotten the ukulele, and how she had so perfectly memorized all of the lyrics. The way she seemed so engrossed in her playing was the way that Isaac had seen an artist lose themselves in drawing, a painter in painting, a reader in reading. He couldn't understand that half-awake state, full of soothing thought. His mind was almost always there and then, perhaps lost in a memory or two, but never lost in a dream.

The song continued. He noticed a note of longing creep into her quiet voice. He figured that it was for the past, and the old days. Many seemed to fix on the past, believing it to be better than the now. She seemed no different than anyone else. Maybe she even had a traumatic backstory, like anyone else he'd ever met at the school. His mind began to concoct theories...what if the song was the last memento of a passed parent? a sibling? a pet?

Isaac wiped the blood still dripping from his nose with his robe's sleeve. It looked a little bit nasty when it was bloodstained, but he'd fix it later.

Her singing was so soft it almost lulled him to sleep, although it was midday. Quietly, he whistled along to her tune, the chorus wheeling around, over and over, the strumming of the ukulele keeping pace. There was no need to interrupt this moment. He'd ask when she was done.

The words had engraved themselves into Millie's mind. The same notes, the same strings, the same words. They never changed. The same couldn't be said about people.

When she found out she was a Parseltongue, it was easily a shocker. The people who knew her claimed she couldn't've been related to such dark art. Millie was harmless and kind. They began treating her like she was some disgusting bacteria, but was somewhat helpful to them. Like Penicillin, that Muggle remedy for sickness. It was disgusting at first, and everyone was scared. Then it was found to be helpful, and people began accepting it.

The same was said about her friends, and they had begun distancing themselves. So, Millie dumped them and went out to find some new people.

So strumming the last few notes of Riptide, she lost herself in the music, and about a minute after finishing the last note, she sat in silence, staring down at the ukulele. It shined like a crystal, and hugged onto the last sound. Before she knew it, Millie was wiping hot tears, stinging her pale face.

After she wiped away her tears, Millie looked up and saw the boy with curly hair, staring curiously at the uke. She offered a smile, and flickered down to the uke. Her purple eyes seemed to want to let tears off again, but it would have to wait.

"Do you know the song? My mother knew it very well and taught it to me."

@Euphrasia Millie

She was crying. He couldn't say that he was surprised, considering the emotion that had vibrated her quiet voice, and the sadness that she had breathed in every note, but her quiet sobs still took him off guard. He wasn't sure what to feel. Perhaps a lot like an awkward onlooker in a private scene to which he never belonged.

Her eyes were large and purple, wide and shining like amethyst and shimmering with tears. He held her somewhat sad gaze for a few moments until the emotion forced him to look away, examining the polished floor instead.

He was never good with crying. It froze him to the floor, and despite the steady trickle of blood still draining from his nose, he made no move to leave. To stay made him peculiar, but to leave would be to break the silence, creating even more of an odd atmosphere in the Rehearsal Room.

The girl hugged her instrument close, and he began to change his theory. It was not only the song that was important to her, but the ukulele itself. Based on her accent, clashing between the short tones of a Brummie and something entirely different, with harder 'r's and vowels...maybe she was American too?

It made sense. Every single reminder of home she would cherish and keep close, and he found himself wondering if she had family who lived elsewhere. Perhaps even her mother and father were far, far away overseas. It was easy to invent more reasons from there. Her mother was a singer, and the song was her last memory of her. Or her father had made the song. Both of them had given her the guitar, telling her to keep it safe.

No matter what the reason, he felt the pieces falling into place, and understanding set in.

"Do you know the song? My mother knew it very well and taught it to me."

She spoke as if she were walking on broken glass. And so he spoke equally as softly, but more nasally than usual. He really was getting concerned at how much blood there was.

"I heard it while goin' to a shopping centre one time," he admitted, knowing that compared to the worth she attached to the song, his was relatively little. "We were off at The Riverside when it was playin' 'round a clothes shop." He smiled a bit crookedly before pressing his sleeve to his nose. "My sister couldn' stop singin' 'long n' twirlin', an' I told her to stop, but she made a fuss an' shouted. Finally, Mam told her to quit it, but she put it on the ride home.."

Oh, all my friends are turning green
You're the magician's assistant in their dreams

It was hard to be sad, remembering those days. They were so long ago, but with her music, he had relived them, if only for a moment.

"'m Isaac by the way," he introduced, realizing that he'd never given her his name. "Sorry if you wanted to be 'lone n' all. I probably shouldn' be here."

The boy wasn't as cold as he looked. Maybe he had a shred of hope in his soul, Millie couldn't tell.

His nose was still bleeding, and she wished she could help him. However, she didn't know any spells that did healing, and she definitely didn't want to attempt one, if she barely knew how. What if she ended up doing more damage than healing? A thought that eerily haunted her.

As he began talking, she didn't really listen. Her mind ventured to the thought of her mother and aunt. Her aunt had taught the song to Naomi, who then taught it to Millie. Had Ophelia, her grandmother, taught it to her aunt? Or had the native-American woman refuse to listen to anything that had been made after 1987? The thought was laughable.

Despite the death of her grandmother happening over a month ago, Millie was still sort of upset. She loved her grandmother, and the feeling was returned. Ophelia Millie had been apart of a native-American tribe (the Griga Indians) and was still very close to her friends in that tribe up until her death.

"'m Isaac by the way, sorry if you wanted to be 'lone n' all. I probably shouldn' be here."

She hadn't heard him speak until the words had entered her ears, and he had gone quiet for a minute. Millie swiftly looked up, and she shook her head. If his company was anything, it prevented her from crying her eyes out.

"You're alright, I don't mind the company. I'm Euphrasia, but I prefer Millie."

@Euphrasia Millie | @Rowan Bane

Euphrasia Millie. It wasn't like any name that he'd heard of before. The thought drifted through his head that maybe the States had different ways of naming he didn't know much about. But then again, he had met a few American tourists here and there, and they didn't have names like Euphrasia. Perhaps being part magic just gave you a strange name. That had to be it.

"What's Euphrasia mean?" he asked, partially to himself but loud enough so that she could hear. He was honestly curious about it, especially since she preferred Millie strongly.

While he waited for her answer, he began to deal with his nosebleed more thoroughly. Tearing off the left sleeve of his robe, he folded it together to make something between a tissue and a bandage. The blackened cloth felt rough, but he didn't need anything too soft. This, he pressed to his nose. It was good enough for now.

With the room hung up in silence, and Rowan strangely absent, his attention began to wander again.

Isaac glanced towards the ukulele, rested carefully in Millie's arms. It was in good condition, and the wood was shining bronze in the light of the Rehearsal Room. He was no expert on instruments, but he could tell that she'd put a lot of work in keeping it tuned up and ready to go. The strings even looked brand new, white and fastened well. It was obviously out of sentimentality for her family and her mother.

He crossed his legs, sitting more comfortably on the floor, but leaned slightly towards the instrument. With a hand that was a tad bloodstained, he gestured towards the ukulele's reflective surface. "An' how long have you been playing?"

She seemed practiced, so he already had the estimate that it was ever since she was six or seven. But he liked to hear what Millie had to say. He had been asking a lot of questions.

"What's Euphrasia mean?"

The voice was quiet, but loud enough for Millie to hear. A question asked by many, and answered by few. Her mother and father had wanted a name that nobody else had. Whether it be beautiful and enchanting, or just plain out weird. Her name needed to be different, it needed to stand out. It also needed to be something American, though, they managed to dodge that bullet. Euphrasia was the complete opposite of American.

"Well, a Euphrasia is a plant, but the name in Greek origin means joy, or delight. My mom and dad wanted to name me something interesting for their own delight. Maybe that was why they chose it."

Ella would've been nice, too. Ella Destiny Millie sounded like an okay name. Maybe not as exotic, but it did sound nice. But maybe having such a boring name wouldn't make her stick out. Her name did match her eyes, exotic and interesting. Ella was nice, but boring. And, it sounded more like a person than a crappy name.

"An' how long have you been playing?"

Millie looked up, and shrugged. The exact date as to when she started playing, was completely questionable. She had been given the uke when she was six, but it was unclear as to when she started playing it.

"Oh probably around four years. I got the uke when I was six, but I didn't start playing it until I was about eight or nine."

The boy, Isaac, ripped off a piece of fabric from his arm-robe, and used it as a tissue. Millie spotted the issue almost instantly, because, the fabric used for the Hogwarts robes, was not very soft.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a piece of cloth. It had originally been used as wrapping for a bag, but she had forgotten to take out the cloth once she had thrown the bag away. The cloth was red and purple. It was lined together with a yellow-pattern. The cloth was pretty, and pretty small, but it was definitely big enough to be a tissue.

Millie took off the ukulele that was strapped around her back, and gingerly sat it on the ground. She walked over to Isaac and handed him the cloth.

@Euphrasia Millie

"Well, a Euphrasia is a plant, but the name in Greek origin means joy, or delight. My mom and dad wanted to name me something interesting for their own delight. Maybe that was why they chose it."

'Joy' Millie. Well, she wasn't very joyful at the moment, but he had to admit that Euphrasia was an interesting name. He didn't know much people from Greece, let alone Americans with Greek names, and she knew a lot. It seemed a bit odd to him that her parents named her for 'their own delight,' but he let it slide. Plenty of people had strange names now that he'd thought about it, especially wizards. How many Hengist Warbecks did a person see around anyway?

Talking now about her instruments, the short-haired girl sighed,

"Oh probably around four years. I got the uke when I was six, but I didn't start playing it until I was about eight or nine."

He blinked in surprise. Eight or nine? She spoke so casually, that he almost missed the importance of it. That meant that she had only spent two to three years playing, and she could already strum complicated tunes. For a moment, he felt a snatch of envy. He was a bit good at dancing, but after Rowan's harsh but not unkind comment, he knew he had a long way to go. His falls were still terrible, and footwork clumsy at times. In comparison, she seemed like a maestro of her craft.

"You're really good for only playing that long," he admitted, unable to help himself. "Know any other instruments?"

Millie suddenly walked over to him, handing him a decorative red and purple cloth. The wrapping cloth was much softer than his robe sleeve, although smaller. He couldn't help but feel a little bit touched by her kindness. Hopefully this cloth wasn't another thing that she felt attached to..

Removing the piece of robe he had pressed to his nose, Isaac folded it up in his fingers before putting it in his pocket. He'd deal with that later. The boy took the soft cloth and meticulously creased it into a triangle before putting over his nose again. The good news was that the endless nosebleed was finally stopping; less spots of blood were visible on the piece of robe.

"Thanks," he said, sounding a little nasal again. It was an odd problem to have, but he really did appreciate the help.