Closed Why? Because I Can. PV

𝕽uth Fairchild was seething.

Could Pamela Graham possibly be more oblivious? Ruth appreciated her best friend's attempts to cease the crackling fire between Ira and herself, but sending them off to the rehearsal room to practise a song together for her birthday was stretching too thin.

When it came to song writing, Ruth often did it in solitude. She could only concentrate them, getting lost in the rhythm and ever-joyous melody that the 11 year old would find impressive (for now), coming up with the most cliché rhymes on the spot as she strummed at her ukulele or experimented with chord progressions on the piano, her singing usually a bonus rare moment to such occasions. Ruth enjoyed those little bits of isolation from socialising, school, and everything except the ground beneath her feet and the bark she leaned against, accompanied by the ever expanding blue sky.

That feeling, the enticing rush of enjoyment, was soon to be scraped by Ira storming Thornfield and…and whatever talent she withheld in the art department. Ruth was curious but hadn’t wanted to spark any argument before even entering the rehearsal room. The mere thought of being in one room, alone with Ira and no trace of Pamela or anyone to stop a brawl, was frightening. Still, Ruth took in a breather and turned to Ira at the door, the hand that had been clenching the straps of her ukulele bag tightening ever so slightly as she looked at the girl in what she hoped to be a calm expression. “Look…” she sighed, shouldering the ukulele bag as it began to slip, “I know we don’t want to do this, but we can’t afford to get into another fight.” The other one hurt pretty badly despite it being Pamela’s hand that had inflicted pain. Ira hadn’t lain a hand on Ruth at all, besides the spill of orange juice. The detention sucked and it left Ruth despising oranges for a whole week. She still can’t look at them well enough.

“But we’re doing this for Pamela’s birthday, and she deserves a hefty good song for it.” Ruth nodded firmly at her statement, then offered Ira a small smile, pushing the door of the rehearsal room and beckoning Ira in. Whether or not she decided to enter in a huff, snap a remark or simply wait till Ruth enters, the Hufflepuff would enter quietly, eager to do her part and keep her fists and brutal honesty in check.

Upon entry, Ruth breathed in a deep breath, sighing once again, this time contentedly. There was a strangely peaceful feel to the room. She hadn’t been here more than a few times for clubs but Ruth began to wish she did so more often. There was something about the portraits that glanced and offered respectful silence (and an awful load of applause) that made the young girl smile happily despite the presence beside her. Speaking of presence—Ruth felt a lingering stare from the corner of her eye and turned around, soon standing face to face with a boy shockingly shorter than she was, competing her glossy hair with his jet black one. She felt a chill merely staring at his dark brown eyes that seemed to glimmer with mystery and, gulp, trouble.

Ruth smoothed her robes, ever polite, and nodded at him before brushing past to reach the piano. She wasn’t in the particular mood to strike conversation with a stranger, and he seemed like he had either just entered the room or was about to leave. She gestured Ira over and leaned on the piano, eyeing the slick case that hid the keys she yearned to touch, but she decided to give the pureblood the benefit of doubt and asked, “Do you play the piano? If so, how long have you been doing so?” She narrowed her eyes. “If you haven’t played for long, I should be the one playing it. Give the better quality to Pam, you know?” As quick as the words left her mouth, Ruth hastily clamped her free hand over her mouth, eyes widening. Woops.Pleasedontexplodepleasedontexplodepleasedontexplode

What crime did she commit in her past life to deserve this?! It was obvious that Pam was forcing the girls together. But why?! It was painfully obvious that Ira and Ruth can never be friends—not even remotely. Not after all that happened! Ira wasn't pleased with the futile attempts of her friend. However, she had to go through with this for her best friend's happiness. Pam's birthday was important, and to make it memorable was her—ugh! Fine, their responsibility. The fact that this responsibility had to be shared with one certain individual was grating on her nerves.

Ira gritted her teeth and trailed behind Ruth while holding her bag loaded with her flute cases—just in case, as she had no clue about Ruth's musical expertise. Well, not until she caught sight of her with a ukulele bag.

With each step they took towards the rehearsal room, the urge to scream at the fullest of her voice got stronger. That was one of the places in Hogwarts where she found solace, and the mere thought of being there with Ruth was akin to tainting the room for her. But she reminded herself. It was for just one short day... Hopefully. They are doing this for Pam. This is the bare minimum she could do for her best friend.

Ira arched an eyebrow as Ruth halted just before they could step in. She returned a faint smile, though it wasn't genuine in the least. "Look, Ruth, I'm not an idiot. So, you aren’t required to try making me understand all this." Ira's not a child! Of course, she's determined to make sure Pam will have an amazing song for her birthday. Ruth need not remind her of that! In fact, it should be Ira reminding Ruth! "And don't behave as if you're the only one who cares about Pam. She's my best friend!" She shook her head a bit and stepped into the rehearsal room with a huff.

Once they entered, Ira spotted a boy she recalled from classes. With a quick wave, she gave a polite smile, "Hello." Her eyes squinted a bit, and her head tilted slightly, "Did we bother you by any chance?" Although it didn’t seem like the guy was playing any instrument. Maybe he was having a moment to himself.

Then, her attention shifted to Ruth, and instantly her smile vanished. A cold stare was pointed at Ruth. Maybe she should call this Ruth-glare. She alone could provoke such a glare. She folded her arms and gave a humourless chuckle while simultaneously looking down at the floor. She waved her hand towards the piano. "Please," she added in between laughter, "—Show me how talented you are at this, please. Let me see if my skill can come anywhere near your talent." Music and dance was second nature to her. Ira dedicated all her early childhood years practicing the instrument. Oh! And she still does. She wouldn't simply stand by and let someone insult her efforts—even if they're oblivious to it.

@Harvey Barrows
@Ruth Fairchild

@Ruth Fairchild | @Ira Thornfield

Harvey would turn to see who had entered the room and would soon be face to face with some fellow first years. He wasn't familiar with the two witches, but he recognized them from classes. A smile that had nothing to do with happiness crept across his lips as perhaps they were the answer to his restlessness that he had been seeking since this morning. "Hello." Harvey's greeting dripped from his mouth as if lacquered with honey. "No bother whatsoever. Just enjoying a stroll through the castle. Don't mind me." The part-goblin held his hands up tp gesture he meant no harm and would continue his stroll as he began to feign interest in some nearby portraits.

Harvey did his best not be obvious. If his grandfather's teachings had provided anything it was his ability to simply blend in to the background. He did it all the time in his common room, often sitting in the corner long enough to simply become lost in the backdrop. It was alway interesting how quickly people's attention often moved on to other things, but he would have to see how perceptive the two of them were. His long fingers traced the frame of the portrait before him as if he were lost in its complexities, but his elongated ears were at fully tuned in to the others conversation.

It wouldn't take long to realize that there was some tension brewing between the two. Just the kind of energy Harvey was looking for the brighten his day. Perhaps with a bit of a nudge he could help ignite whatever was brewing beneath the surface. Why would he do such a thing? Well because he could. A bit of a compulsion that was developing in the lad as manipulating others or situations was providing a bit of a high for lack of better words. What he lacked in physical power he attempted to gain in cunning and wit. If he were to outmaneuvers his opponents later in life why not practice on a few unassuming witches now to help hone his craft.

Harvey blinked away the thought as their conversation turned to musical skill and they gathered by the piano. It would seem that these two were doing something for someone named Pam, but it did seem like there was competition on who would provide the better piece as they questioned each others talent. Hmm, why not pluck this loose string and see what happens? "Oh wow! Are you two going to be writing some music together?" Harvey first sought to disarm the pair. A well built fire took time to construct after all. "Perhaps I may offer my ear to help settle the matter of who might play the piano? Sorry for the intrusion. I'm not inclined musically, but I know talent when I hear it and would love to help." Harvey lied through a sickly sweet smile, but would they take the bait?

𝕽uth shuffled her feet, averting her gaze from Ira. It was not right of her to have blurted out what she had said. Ira somehow manages to bring out the worst traits within her, one of which was being too honest--or blurting. To her surprise, the girl let out a cackle, and Ruth jolted in surprise at what she said next, causing her fists to tighten.

A laugh, and that dismissive statement? Surely she did not think of herself better than Ruth? Ruth shouldn't have been egotistical either, they were both in the wrong. Bollocks, she was already dragging the time it took to rehearse the song. Ruth was beginning to regret taking up Pam's insistence--no, she had regret it the minute she walked through those doors. Now...she just found herself wishing for peace more than ever.

Ruth sighed, and was about to reply with an apology, when a voice interrupted their conversation (if you would even consider it as such). The boy from earlier, it seemed, had overheard their conversation. How? He had just been further away, studying the portraits closer to the entrance. Then she took a glance at his twitching ears resembling those of a goblin. Oh,well.
Ruth folded her arms, leaning lightly against the piano as she contemplated what he had said. "...Yes, we are. For our friend, Pamela." She proceeded to pause, mulling over the phrase 'not musically inclined'. That wasn't very helpful, was it? For all she knew he would probably deem both of them brimming with talent, whereas those who knew of the theory would be able to differentiate the best out of the two of them. She made to ask this, but decided that Pam couldn't care less.

If he does the judging, Ruth thought to herself, studying his shimmering dark eyes and sweet smile, it would be a fair trial. Where neither side had the winning chance. She nodded at him slowly, "Sure, why not? Don't worry about the interruption, you were bound to come over once you heard how amazing I- I meant, we wouldn't sound." Ruth mocked a curtsey at Ira, inclining her head in utmost 'respect'. "Don't mind if I do," she teased, then slide onto the velvet.

Hands slid against the case then gently pushed it up, revealing the recently polished keys of black and white. She tested for its tuning, though it was very tuned, then pressed against the pedals, which all worked perfectly fine. How marvellous! Ruth hummed in contemplation, her head a massive library selecting to which song would be short and sweet but bring out her skills nonetheless?

So many choices. Oh well, as Matthew once said, "Let the hands decide." And so she did just that, closing her eyes momentarily for her hands to wander into position.

And then she played.

Ruth's touch was precise, yet fluid, as though each note was deliberately telling a story. While hoping for minimal mistakes, she cringed awkwardly as the tempo, unstable due to the months of no practise. She couldn't turn to see the reactions of the other two-- either way, she expected little from their expressions. She may have started playing the piano simply to prove her worth to the boy and Ira, but as she immersed into the music it was as though she was playing for herself.

To her disappointment, the song came to an end, and she let the last note falter for longer than it should be, clinging before it was blown away by the applause from the portraits, to which she perked a smile and gave them a far more exaggerated curtsey. But her eyes were darted to Ira's offering her the epitome of innocence. "Your turn."

OOC: --Simply so that the both of you can visualise what she played