19 May 2018, 18:15
The Stating of Concern
A slight continuation of the last part of "The Learning of an Art".
There wasn't much Anatole could have said in the Ballroom to draw in the Deputy Headmaster's attention. The last part was true, he was longing for another excuse to dance in front of everyone and maybe even show the "big man" he could be serious for once. His horse tail while he was dancing never seemed to help his image, in fact, it was an idiotic move on his end. Tripping was better than becoming an equestrian.
He was sure his dancing partner wouldn't approve of what little was left of his guts. That small portion of determination brought him here, to the ominous door of Charms Professor and Deputy Headmaster, Ackerley Blackburn. On that spotless floor, he had seen him waltz with Matilda and a chill had shivered up his spine. They were like the ballroom's ground, almost flawless as they rotated like a pair of ballerinas on a music box. There was something about the man's chemistry with Waltzing Matilda that made the puny Gryffindor boy so determined to return.
He was sure that his passion for the art was as strong as his was, and when Anatole did not receive a substantial answer from his question after the instruction had concluded, the gut went along and tugged him here, without Rosie seeing. It had only been about an hour since he was dismissed.
The door reminded him of the drawbridges of castles. Sure, it wouldn't drop down vertically like a drawbridge would, but it was still wooden and intimidating. Clutching the seams of his robe, he took a deep inhale. He wasn't sure how long this would last, and he would have to pin the blame back on himself in the end. No one else in the room coaxed him to come here, and he was aware it would give off a bad image if anyone else knew Anatole had been in the Deputy Headmaster's office.
Releasing the breath, he rapped on the door. It had a pleasant sound, and of course, Anatole had expected the whole ordeal to be a little more elegant. Maybe he had installed a doorbell and the boy just couldn't reach it. He cleared his throat, asking in a somewhat sharp pitch, "Excuse me, Mr. Blackburn?"
That was the wrong impression. Anatole promptly decided to try something different. "Mr. Blackburn?" It was better with a much clearer tone. Hopefully the young man didn't take it off as rude.
Anatole pressed his lips into a smile as he placed his hand on the knob, and without an answer from inside, he entered. His eyes met the Headmaster's and his face flushed a little red. "Oh, sorry..hope I'm not disturbing you..."
His eyes wandered away from the man's dark centers, observing the gorgeous surroundings around him. Wood was hinted with gold and accented with the firelight radiating throughout the room. If the door was the drawbridge, this was the throne room. The acting Headmaster's office, the desk like an elegant throne. He almost felt the need to kneel at the king of this castle.
With another breath, he folded his hands behind his back, trying to remain alright without breaking out in laughter or stuttering like crazy. He shouldn't be nervous. The subject was one he was passionate about. "I, well...I was still wondering if you were going to host another class, since you never really gave me an answer before."
Something began to move in front of the boy, something he hadn't noticed before. Panic began to ring in his head as he could tell the man was listening to every word, every murmur he said. Didn't help to have a spider crawling toward him. Oh, Denise.
"Is this a bad time...?"
There wasn't much Anatole could have said in the Ballroom to draw in the Deputy Headmaster's attention. The last part was true, he was longing for another excuse to dance in front of everyone and maybe even show the "big man" he could be serious for once. His horse tail while he was dancing never seemed to help his image, in fact, it was an idiotic move on his end. Tripping was better than becoming an equestrian.
He was sure his dancing partner wouldn't approve of what little was left of his guts. That small portion of determination brought him here, to the ominous door of Charms Professor and Deputy Headmaster, Ackerley Blackburn. On that spotless floor, he had seen him waltz with Matilda and a chill had shivered up his spine. They were like the ballroom's ground, almost flawless as they rotated like a pair of ballerinas on a music box. There was something about the man's chemistry with Waltzing Matilda that made the puny Gryffindor boy so determined to return.
He was sure that his passion for the art was as strong as his was, and when Anatole did not receive a substantial answer from his question after the instruction had concluded, the gut went along and tugged him here, without Rosie seeing. It had only been about an hour since he was dismissed.
The door reminded him of the drawbridges of castles. Sure, it wouldn't drop down vertically like a drawbridge would, but it was still wooden and intimidating. Clutching the seams of his robe, he took a deep inhale. He wasn't sure how long this would last, and he would have to pin the blame back on himself in the end. No one else in the room coaxed him to come here, and he was aware it would give off a bad image if anyone else knew Anatole had been in the Deputy Headmaster's office.
Releasing the breath, he rapped on the door. It had a pleasant sound, and of course, Anatole had expected the whole ordeal to be a little more elegant. Maybe he had installed a doorbell and the boy just couldn't reach it. He cleared his throat, asking in a somewhat sharp pitch, "Excuse me, Mr. Blackburn?"
That was the wrong impression. Anatole promptly decided to try something different. "Mr. Blackburn?" It was better with a much clearer tone. Hopefully the young man didn't take it off as rude.
Anatole pressed his lips into a smile as he placed his hand on the knob, and without an answer from inside, he entered. His eyes met the Headmaster's and his face flushed a little red. "Oh, sorry..hope I'm not disturbing you..."
His eyes wandered away from the man's dark centers, observing the gorgeous surroundings around him. Wood was hinted with gold and accented with the firelight radiating throughout the room. If the door was the drawbridge, this was the throne room. The acting Headmaster's office, the desk like an elegant throne. He almost felt the need to kneel at the king of this castle.
With another breath, he folded his hands behind his back, trying to remain alright without breaking out in laughter or stuttering like crazy. He shouldn't be nervous. The subject was one he was passionate about. "I, well...I was still wondering if you were going to host another class, since you never really gave me an answer before."
Something began to move in front of the boy, something he hadn't noticed before. Panic began to ring in his head as he could tell the man was listening to every word, every murmur he said. Didn't help to have a spider crawling toward him. Oh, Denise.
"Is this a bad time...?"