Days like these {Ian}

[Rachel Cohen R6]

The final days of the vacation where here. Rachel could feel the sadness as she and Katherine were cleaning the dishes from lunch. She knew it was what her mother was thinking about as well. Katherine always hated to watch her daughter go. She never got used to it and it saddened her. The first year was the hardest for both of them. They both woke that morning with jittery nerves. They both ran around frantic trying to remember if they had everything. They both cried on at the station, it was hard for them, they where all each other had family-wise. Then Rachel boarded the train as her mother watched on. Year after year it was the same scene. For both semesters. Rachel had no idea how her mom handled it. The house was so empty with just one person. She knew her mother went out with her best friend often, but they couldn’t do that every night. Emily had her own family. And unlike Katherine, Emily had a husband. Sometimes Rachel wanted her mother to go out and date again, but then on the other hand she really didn’t. She didn’t think she could handle it. She had never been okay with the idea, and glad her mother had never dated after Noalan’s death. If she had dated Rachel knew nothing about it, but they shared everything with each other right? Sometimes Rachel wondered about that. Sometimes Katherine was so secretive. But there was no use thinking about it, the only way to find out would be when Katherine would be ready to tell.

There was an established order on how to wash the dishes in the Cohen house hold. Katherine washed, Rachel rinsed, Katherine dried and Rachel put away. They had gotten to the drying and putting away stage, so there was a lot of movement as Rachel traveled from cabinet to cabinet. Katherine was humming softly. It was something slow and romantic, unfamiliar to Rachel. Also something new to Katherine. The dishes where finished and Rachel pulled herself up on the counter. “Mom, what are you thinking about?” She asked bluntly out of curiosity. Her mother just smiled at her daughter at first. “Life sweetheart, I’m thinking about life.” She finally said sighing deeply; she then began to walk towards the exit of the kitchen. Rachel hopped down and followed. “What about life?” She asked still following her mother. Katherine laughed; her mother’s laugh was so pretty. “Everything about it my dear.” She told, her voice had a mystified quality, it sounded far away. Where was her head today? “Well would you like to go out today mom? Just us two?’ Rachel asked thinking of the things they could do together, of all the things they had done together. “Not today Rachie, I have plans this evening, tomorrow you and I’ll go and do something crazy.” She told her daughter. Rachel was stunned. “With who?” She finally managed to ask. “A client.” Her mother replied and then up the stairs to her room. Rachel didn’t follow. She was angry. Her mother always told her everything, everything. This was just too much, well fine. If her mother was going to go out so was she.

She grabbed a coat and slammed the door; she hoped her mother heard it. With no idea where to go from there she decided to try some kind of muggle hangout where she was sure she couldn’t be found. She also took a different way in hopes of finding something interesting. As she walked she saw it, the museum. It was perfect; her mother would never look for her there. Not that she thought her mother would be looking for her anyways. With a deep breath she walked in. It didn’t seem busy at all. Not all of people where there, but Rachel felt happy. And began to walk around. The people that where there where older and paid no attention to her. Rachel ignored them as well. She wandered aimlessly for a bit before a piece captivated her attention. She was drawn to it. She walked as close to it as she could. It was so confusing and that’s why she liked it. She wanted to figure it out. She had no idea how long she was there just staring but she heard a voice behind her, she was almost sure they where speaking to her. But she missed what ever it had been, for she was so wrapped up in the sculpture. She smiled apologetically at the guy, “Sorry could you repeat that please.” She asked him.

[Ian McCain H6]

Ian McCain had been at home for the holidays, enjoying what had been probably one of the best endings to a semester at Hogwarts and then some of the best days with his family. Of course, things could be rough once in a while, but overall, things had been really good at home. With only a few days until he had to hop aboard the train to get back to school, Ian decided to go take a walk in the nearby city. As a child growing up in the area, Ian had learned to get to know the city streets, and he knew right where he wanted to go. There was a nearby museum that he had gone to a few times when he was a kid, but he hadn’t been there in quite a few years. He wanted to go and see what kind of things had changed, and what was still there since he had been a child. He made his way down the streets he knew, and turned on the corner that he knew the museum was on. It was a bit of a chilly day, so he buttoned up his black jacket as he turned, and the wind picked up. Ian walked briskly along the sidewalk and then climbed up the stairs to the entrance of the museum.

Ian walked in the glass doors, and walked up to the counter to pay with his muggle money he had brought. The attendant at the front said he wouldn’t need any money, because in the past, the museum had cost muggle money to get in. Now, it was free to get in. The attendant said that the museum had gotten smaller than years before, so they lowered the price to get in, and over time, it had lost customers. Making it free to get in brought it many more people than it had before, and Ian wasn’t complaining. His parents had given him the muggle money to pay for it, anyway. They wouldn’t mind getting it back. In fact, they would likely make him keep it, if he knew his parents as well as he thought he did. As Ian walked through the magnificent museum (which seemed the same size as he remembered it, even though they had taken some out of it), he was impressed with how things had changed, and how some new, beautiful paintings had been put up. Ian went down the one hall he knew for the longest time, and was looking for the sculpture he had been looking for.

He walked up to the sculpture, seeing a girl in front of it. He didn’t recognize her, but it wasn’t a surprise, mainly because she was facing the other way. He looked up at the sculpture, remembering it from his youth, and smiled. It had been so long since he had been here, and he loved seeing his favorite sculpture. He walked a bit closer to the girl. “You know, when I was a kid, that used to be my favorite sculpture.” Ian couldn’t resist sharing his past with the girl. But she didn’t seem to notice. Then she turned around, seemingly in a haze, and asked him to repeat what he had said. “I just said that the sculpture you’re finding so intriguing used to be my favorite sculpture in the museum.” He wondered who she was. She seemed a bit familiar, but he couldn’t tell where from. “Do I know you from somewhere? You look quite familiar.”

[Rachel Cohen R6]

It looked alive. She felt the air of potential movement around her. She knew that the sculptor had something about it. She figured if she closed her eyes even for a second that was when the metal art stirred. As if it wanted to mock her. The movements had to be small, yet graceful, and every move had to have an impact, just like the sculptor itself. She wanted to touch it. She could envision the coolness the metal possessed, and how smooth it was, how perfect every thing was. She tried to resist the temptation. What if she felt nothing, she wasn’t in the mood to be proven wrong. But she wouldn’t resist for long, she never could have. Her shaking hand inched slowly towards it. A small gasp was added to the nothingness of the room full of art … and her. It had been cold, very much like ice. There where also more dimensions then what met the eye. But on top of everything she swore she felt it breath.

The logical part of her brain told her it wasn’t so, that she was being silly. Silly Rachel Cohen who imagined that a sculptor made of metal had breathed. Told her she only saw the illusion that made it look like it had movement. That was an illusion for metal couldn’t possibly be alive. That she the poor dear imagined the quick in take of breath. Confused it with her own. Something stirred in the back of her mind, a whisper came, calling out to her, and she heard it louder then the logic. ‘Remember when he took you here?’ Her memory asked her in a hushed whisper. ‘Show me, help me remember.’ She told it. That was all it had taken. The box in her head labeled dad broke the seal that had kept it closed, and began to unpack itself. Keeping strong was not going to be easy after this, she knew she wanted to be happy without the burden, and knew thinking about her father was unwise. For every time she thought about him, her soul searched for the emptiness that was sure to follow, just like the one after he died. Every time she was almost brought to her knees with the emotions that filled every inch of her body. She anticipated the day would come and just stay, and she wondered what the final step would be before it captured her forever. She possessed this knowledge but still welcome the memory with open arms. Because for that brief moment in time it was just her, and her father, alone in her memories, and it felt just like coming home.

It had been late on afternoon when a little girl ran down the stairs to meet her daddy as he came home from work. “Daddy’s home, daddy’s home.” She sang at the top of her lungs before flinging herself into his arms for an embrace. He felt warm and strong as he hugged her back. And as impossible as it seemed he smelt just like rain. This man was her father. He had just returned from a business trip with and was ready to spend time with his wife and daughter. He had promised to take his daughter anywhere she wanted as soon as he came home. “Where to sweetheart?” he asked his baby girl as she tried to take everything about this coming home, in. “The circus.” The little girl exclaimed without missing a beat, her green eyes sparkling. “Uh, well, there is no circus today honey.” He told her slowly hating to disappoint her, even a little. “There’s another place I know, it close to here, and much better than the circus he told her smiling.

Her memory couldn’t recall how they had gotten to the museum, or the road they had taken. One moment she was at home ready to go, the next she was there staring at a painting of circus performers randomly placed doing their own thing. “Art lives for those who want it too.” He whispered to her, as if anything above that would disrupt the masterpiece. “This one here is the most alive for me; find one that lives for you.” He had told her. The memory stripped away leaving her with the present. Her hand was shaking more by now and she tried to steady it with a few deep breaths. Her small manicured fingers then covered her eyes as she mentally tried to push away the pain, and the of course the emptiness. It had to stop now, before it got out of hand and began to be more than just an echo of what the real pain felt like, she wouldn’t let it become real, let it intensify. There had been more to the memory, but she wouldn’t think about it. She would focus on the voice, the one she heard but ignored, the on she was turning to now.

She looked the person in the eyes and found herself smiling despite the fact she had felt like curling up in a ball exactly a second earlier. He told her the piece that had her so immersed had done the same when he was young; that was nice to know. Nice to think that someone else had felt the aliveness of it too. But she couldn’t get ahead of herself. He never said about feeling like it was alive. “I think I came here when I was younger as well.” She told him as she turned back to the piece. “Is it just me, or does it feel … alive?” She asked him, putting her crazy theory to the test. Feeling a lot braver with another person there she reached out and touched the sculptor again. It was cold, cold, cold again. But it was no longer breathing, no longer alive for her. It had served it purpose just as well. Feeling disappointed she turned back to the guy. “Strangely you look familiar as well, though I don’t know from where …” And she could put a finger on it, but he did look familiar. She laughed as another silly idea popped into her brain. “Nameless stranger, would you perhaps like to go with me in search of a painting. I know it’s around her somewhere.” She asked him, but her mind was made up. She would go look for it. “After all, you seem to find me familiar, I find you familiar, maybe there something to this strange thing … this … this … familiarity.” She was babbling, she knew she was babbling. She had to see the painting again, but knew she couldn’t do it alone.

All the same her logic wasn’t giving up on her just yet. It bombed her peaceful mind with many, many thoughts asking her if she was crazy. Wondering if she was suicidal, if she was ready for the amounts of pain she was waiting to pour down on her, asking if she just enjoyed it. The pain she knew would be grand it she succeeded in finding exactly what her father had seen in the painting. But she could still miss it; still miss the beauty so many years later. With someone there at least she could pretend to be brave. Pretend it was just another piece, so she could present to the world the image they liked to see. In the way they loved to envision her in.

[Ian McCain H6]

Ian could tell the girl was one of deep thought and intellect, as she took such a childish liking to the sculpture. He wondered who she was, and why she was here staring at the sculpture that had once taken over his thoughts so much when he was a young child. She seemed somewhat surprised that he had suddenly spoken to her, but she didn’t seem scared, which was good. She inquired if he felt that the sculpture seemed real. “Yes, I used to think so. Not so much now, and that may be because of the many things I’ve learned over the years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. I’ve learned and seen things that many a muggle have never seen or will even ever know. But yes, it appears to be alive every once in a while to me.” Ian looked at the girl a bit more, recognizing her as a Ravenclaw from Hogwarts, but couldn’t find her name in the mess of people he knew from the school.

Ian marveled at the surrounding paintings and sculptures in the area where the one that fascinated the girl was. He loved the marble floor; it hadn’t been changed since he had been here last, which was so many years before. If anything, it had been polished and redone, so it looked even more beautiful. He wanted to see what they had done with the upstairs, because the last time he had been in the building, as far as he remembered, they had been constructing a few new wings. He looked back to the girl. “You go to Hogwarts, don’t you? You look like this one Ravenclaw I know. I just cannot remember her name for the life of me.” She then explained she was looking for a painting, and wanted help finding it. “Of course I’ll help you find it. I know this museum quite well. After all, I came here when I was a child. There are some marvelous ones on the second floor, the stairs are right over there,” he said, pointing to his left. As they began to walk to the stairs, Ian figured he should introduce himself. “I’m Ian, by the way. Ian McCain.” He wasn’t usually a shy person, and this was no different a time.

((I apologize for the length and the time it took me to get to the post, lack of inspiration lately…))

[Rachel Cohen R6]

It had taken her by utter suprise at how openly he talked about Hogwarts. After all, there where muggles around. What if by chance she had been a muggle? What if he hadn't recognized her and said something anyway. The best possible thing would be for the other person to think he was a loon. Unless you knew about this world of witchcraft, wouldn't you think a person who was talking about a school where that stuff was taught to be a bit loopy? It even almost scared her how open he was being. She was almost sure that her face mirrored her thoughts. She looked around to make sure they alone, and sighed with relief when she saw they where. Rachel could almost imagine the looks they would get. How the husband would take his wife and childern out of the room, away from the crazy folks. As they should, Rachel knew if she was a muggle and heard something like that she would be afraid, well confused, but fear would follow soon. Then she was relieved that she wasn't the only one to feel the alivness of the peice. Her thoughts where scrambled like eggs in her head. She wanted to ask him more things but was still pretty shocked about the Hogwarts slip. She finally decided to call him out on Hogwarts. "Are you insane?" She whispered to him, though there wasn't anyone else in the room, but still, you could never be too careful. "You can't just go around talking about school. Its not like we're muggles, we don't go to a normal muggle school." She told him. She covered her eyes with one hand. She was losing her cool. That wasn't good. She let herself calm down before looking back up at him. "Sorry for losing my cool. I'm not in the right state of mind." She told him smiling. It was amazing how she could go from extremly weird to completly baffled, then angery, then back to smiley and happy. She was very strange. But that was made her great. She wasn't like any other girl she knew. She prided in being diffrent from them.There was nothing wrong with being diffrent,and nothing to wrong with pride.

Again he brought up school. This time she was more open about talking about it. "Yes, maybe I am the Ravenclaw you know." She told him laughing. Probably not, she didn't even realize it was from school that she recognized him from until he even brought it up. But she saw it now. Yes, he was ... was ... of yes, a Hufflepuff. He looked a bit older than her, so she had probably seen him around, like during meals, or in the corridors, or maybe even outside when she was walking around. He mentioned he had gone here before when he was younger, just like her, so he must have lived near by. This she found intresting as well. After all, how many more people from school would she find out lived near her? After all she had lived here her whole life and until this year she never knew. The only person she knew about was AJ and that was only because their mothers where best friends. This played nicely into her life. She had alot to be thankful for. Her mother for example. So she was glad her mother had a friend like Emily. But then again. Then there was her friend, she had known she lived near for a few years. Everything she loved was near her. She should have been happy and satasfied with what she had. But no, she had to go looking for the pot of gold that was over the rainbow. She was looking for the happiness her father was sure to give her. If only he wasn't dead. Then her and her mother could have a real family. Instead her mother was out with God knows who, and Rachel was searching for something. she herself barely knew. What was lurking in the shadows of the muesum behind the paintings, only it knew. Only the shadows themselves can began to explain why people do the things they do. But shadows can not talk, therefore we are left searching for the anwsers ourselves. How great. Now we had to find things out the hard way.

"Great! What are we waiting for, lets go." She told him with a big smile. Her excitment was leaking through. Now they where off, to look for the painting full of circus action. They began to walk towards the stairs to the left, she felt all jittery. The silence between them was unsettling, but he was the first to break it. “I’m Ian, by the way. Ian McCain.” She smiled, Ian, yes he did seem familar. "Well, pleased to meet you Ian. I'm Rachel, Rachel Cohen." She told him with a smile as they took the stairs one by one. Finally they reached the floor and she stopped. "So i'm looking for this painting with circus perfermors. Which way do you think it would be?" She asked him, listening to how silly she sounded, but as always it didn't bother her.

[[ Mine's short too]]