Symphonies of the Troubled
02/09/2025 | Rehearsal Room
It had been far too long since Archer had set foot inside the Rehearsal Room. What was the point? The location, although rarely visited as it was, only carried negative memories. His first time, an experience was connected by music’s power of reconciliation, had only worsened an already bristling experience. His second time — absolute fucking misery. The use of that word in its completely literal form, then his mother had only just passed, and left behind a weak, sentimental boy who was desperate to hold onto any remnants of her, even if it meant being mentored under a boy he once hated. What followed were lessons with the boy, if they could be called that, and lessons that just proved who helpless and useless at the instrument he was. He ought to be relieved, he supposed, to find someone, anyone other than Matthew Campbell sat at the piano.
But it was a new day, and it was a new school year, and it was a new Archer. And oddly enough, since December of the previous year, he had never felt so good. It was almost impossible to believe that was almost a year ago, and it was one hell of a year he had been through — he was fairly sure he had spent more time in bed or at least in his dormitory, the world had either felt surreal and blurred or simply too much to handle. It was as if the entire 366 days of the leap year had been a nightmare, a fever dream brought upon by the heat of the flames, something he could move on from and forget about the second he opened his eyes. None of that had happened, and each day when he opened his eyes, that misery was still there. Yet as he returned to Hogwarts, the world started to shift back into place as he forced himself, on the very first night, into routine.
So this time, when Archer heard the undeniable sound of a playing piano from the Rehearsal Room, he didn’t shy away. The piece was one he didn’t recognise, but then again he was quite out of his comfort zone in music theory, practically knowing nothing by name thanks to his mother’s proneness towards improvisation and arbitrary plays. Already feeling inexplicably better and certainly more energised after he woke up far too early in the morning though, he saw no reason to listen in — perhaps it would even lead him onto a path of self-improvement. Squaring his shoulders and steeling himself for the possibility that it was, in fact, his nemesis-turned-respected-acquataince-turned-friend-turned-nemesis-all-over-again, he took a deep breath and walked in. After all, this was a public space, and piano was a skill he was determined to pick up on.
New year resolutions were foolish, but since Archer was often too, it checked out. The figure sat at the instrument was not the one he held disputes against, but not an unfamiliar one. Light blonde hair in soft waves, wide eyes that fit snugly into the beauty standard, doll like skin — in appearance she was the very antonym to Archer, an angel compared to his teenage self, all dark hair, dark eyes, and dark shadows in those sharp features. She was polished, and despite the same pureblood etiquette he was put through, he could never reach such a level of perfection. He smiled slightly, almost in surprise — he didn’t know Evpraksiya Vinogradova played. Slipping out of his pocket his commonplace book, he found her name amongst the many other people he had recorded observations for and jotted down this new skill of hers he had discovered in a flick of shorthand.
Flexing his fingers as if he was soon to commence duelling practice, he took a few eager steps towards the younger girl, and watched as her hands glided across the keys.
@Evpraksiya Vinogradova
I am not even singed. My wings are untouched. You use them for everything, except flight.
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht
Liliya Starkova| Anthonie Engelbrecht