RP: Cheese and Claret
Date: March 1, 2005
Characters: Rita Skeeter, Ollivander
Location: Ollivander's shop
Status: Private
Summary: Like she said she would, Rita comes by with a bottle of claret. She hopes Ollivander remembered the cheese.
Completion: Complete
( she still wasn't sure what he wanted, but she was interested to find out )
Characters: Rita Skeeter, Ollivander
Location: Ollivander's shop
Status: Private
Summary: Like she said she would, Rita comes by with a bottle of claret. She hopes Ollivander remembered the cheese.
Completion: Complete
( she still wasn't sure what he wanted, but she was interested to find out )
She nodded. It made sense, really, but... "But surely it is interesting to watch the cycles of life, how things were and how they are, and the patterns they make."
She listened and watched him move over to the river, frowning slightly at his words. She eyed his hand when he offered it, but she couldn't. She needed to see him when she spoke. "I don't know that there are... well. Yes. There are less 'traditional' wizarding values being upheld here than there were in the wizard settlement in York when I grew up, or in Diagon where I worked, but I'm not sure it's a bad thing. You're talking about nearly a hundred years worth of wizards that have seen nothing but wars fought over the superiority of so called 'traditional' wizarding values. Voldemort claimed to believe in 'traditional' wizarding culture, and look what his efforts managed to do to the world! I don't think you can blame us for wanting to throw out those ideas altogether - to start anew. I know that... muggle culture isn't perfect by any stretch of the imagination, and that it probably seems more alluring to us because we don't know enough about it, but I think it's a better way to go than straight back to the simplistic view of wizarding culture that blood is the only thing that's important. My parents taught me a lot more about wizarding culture than that, and what Voldemort and his Deatheaters reduced it to was disgusting. I think the desire to get as far away from that as possible is fantastic, even if it does mean backlash, and people relying on muggle things. I spent seven years with a girl who thought blood was everything. I probably loved her fiercely to begin with, as vicious as we both were as teenagers, and I had to watch her run off and join that bastard Voldemort who perverted and simplified everything about what it meant to be magical. She's dead now, and she's probably better off that way."
She tentatively extended her hand to him again, now that she'd finished. "I think," she murmured, "That being neutral probably makes it very easy to see the big picture, but harder to remember what it feels like to live through these things with no distance and no first-hand memory of the past to balance it. I don't really think it's fair to blame us for not wanting to live 'traditional' wizarding lives when all we can see those ideals causing is destruction."
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He took her hand and threaded it through his arm again. "There isn't a 'right' or 'wrong' way of doing things. There is only the way things are done and the way they are not done. And consequences follow either one. Extremes, whether they be on the side of Wizarding tradition or Muggle technology, always carry extreme consequences. Any time there is an imbalance, the community divides itself."
This time, Ollivander led Rita down the river nearly to the bridge, and then stopped. "Would you be willing to sacrifice yourself, your abililities, and your wand to live in the Muggle world? With no magic at all? And then the question extends, could you go there? Could you do without your magic? As for me, as you've seen, I have nothing to give up but wand making. Without wands, I become nothing. This is not a lamentation, it's just a truth of my world."
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"I suppose you're right," she said. "The extremes probably aren't wonderful, but they're probably inevitable, at least to start with. A lot of us fled into the muggle world during the war and had to learn to live there. There's a certain freedom living among them, using their devices. They know nothing about us, or our wars. I was in London on New Year's Eve, and they let off their fire crackers. They had no idea what kind of new year this would be for us, and it was sort of comforting to listen to their big clock chime and watch them celebrate, with none of our worries."
She stopped on the bridge with him, and glanced up. Her answer needed no thought. "No, I wouldn't. I couldn't. Stella did, mostly, and... no. I couldn't. I love magic, and I love our world, but I don't see any problems with integration. Blaise Zabini, for example, wants muggle texts and wizarding ones for his library. Alongside each other. I don't think that's a loss of our culture - not really. My parents taught me curiosity, they taught me history, they taught me acceptance. They took me to the cinema when I was a child, and things like that. Magic is a gift. It's a greater ability, but it doesn't make us any better than the muggles who lack it. They're just as creative, just as inventive. I couldn't live without magic, no - no more than a person who was born with sight would choose to go blind - but I don't think less of muggles because they do. Too much of anything is probably bad," she agreed, "but I think we can benefit from their ideas."
She leaned one arm against the railing of the bridge - the other still entwined with his - and peered at him, smiling. Merlin, it had been a while since anyone had made her think quite this much.
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He released her hand from his arm and walked over to the other side of her and leaned against the railing. "We benefit from more than just their ideas, darling. All of nature speaks to us, as well. The important thing is not to block out one voice when listening to another one. It's so easy to focus on the human voices since we've been trained to listen to them from birth. But the voice of this stream, the birds, all of nature is also just as loud. Many Muggles - most Muggles don't listen to those voices."
Ollivander brought his arm around her waist. "I don't judge them, either, Rita," he said in a low voice - almost a whisper. "It isn't my place to judge anyone. I am both confined and relieved in my position. It's at the same time a restriction and release of responsibility."
He leaned over and softly kissed Rita's temple just above the frame of her glasses. "Shall we go on, or go back?"
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"Oh," she smiled, "I know exactly what you mean about nature. I'm very aware of... balance, and how power and life is enacted in non-human ways. Possibly from a perspective even you couldn't hope to understand." She chuckled again, pleased to be the one speaking in circles this time.
His hand around her waist was pleasant - Merlin, she couldn't help the enjoyment of that; the feeling of a man much larger than her drawing her close - but the kiss disconcerted her slightly. The playfullness of their last encounter - dancing and flirting and snogging - had been one thing, a thing she was comfortable with. This, she didn't know quite what to do with.
"Let's go on," she answered, shifting away then slipping her arm through his again, happy to be leading once more. She thought about what he'd said - confined and relieved - and about his actions. She led him randomly right at the other side of the bridge.
"If decision-making is... such a laborious process for you, and you have to worry so much about the consequences, perhaps you like it when someone makes one of the simpler ones for you? Because we don't all have the same concerns, and some of us find uncertain consequences exciting."
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It took him a few moments to gather his thoughts and then looked down at Rita again. "I often let others lead. But my choice to follow is my own choice. It's carefully considered based on the other person, trust, and how far they intend for me to go. I've lived long enough to have made my share of choices, and if I can leave it up to someone else, then I allow them the opportunity."
Ollivander turned her to head south again. "Have I ever told you about the time an old friend of mine talked me into watching his pet cat for a week? I dodn't suppose I've metntioned that, considering how I haven't thought of it myself, for ages."
He patted her hand. "Would you like to hear about it?"
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"Very few people have ever trusted me," she murmured. "And with reason, I suppose. I never much cared. But... I learned something about that in the war. It's hard to define. The importance of allies, I suppose I could say. I definitely don't want to spend my life using words like crucios."
Good god, girl, shut up.
A cat? What on earth was he talking about. She laughed, grateful for the distraction.
"I don't think you have. I'd love to hear it."
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Ollivander tilted his head back and smiled in remberance of that week. "It was two days of absolute terror. She couldn't of course, get into my workshop, so, she would scratch at the wand boxes, tear up the kitchen, use the spines of my books as a scratching post... it was terrible. Then on Thursday (he had dropped her off on a Tuesday), one of my owls came back from a long trip to South America. Her name was Sylph, and he was a giant among birds. A great gray owl from North America. Well, he came in on Thursday and saw Pyrim there, and..."
He stopped and turned to Rita. "He came right up to her and smacked his beak against the top of her head. At first, I thought he was trying to eat her outright, but instead, it was a form of discipline. This giant old bird, coming up to the fiesty young lady and just hitting her over the head like that. Oh, he didn't cure her of all of her bad habits, no. That wasn't his point. I think he just wanted to show her that she couldn't control every creature she came into contact with."
The wind picked up for a moment, and instinctively (or not), Ollivander put his arm around Rita's waist again. "She'd still go off and do her own thing at times, sometimes bringing back mice or spiders or bats, but when she was around Sylph, it was a completely different story. Neither of them behaved the way they normally did when they were together. When it was time for her to leave, they parted with very little fuss. I sometimes think it was almost a shame that he came back for her. Those two got along so well - it was something unexpected and rather special."
Ollivander chuckled and brought his arm back to his side. He fixed the lapels on his robe, pulling them up tighter around his neck, and then looking off at something across the river in the distance. "My friend never had any other luck with her. She became just as uncontrollable as ever, and eventually he let her go off to do her own thing," he said softly, wistfully. After a few moments, Ollivander brought himself back to the present. "Of course, I don't think I could ever live with a cat permanently like that. However, sometimes I think Sylph would have quite liked to keep her as a companion."
As he finished speaking, his voice had trailed off a bit. It had been a long time since he thought of Sylph and Pyrim. A very, very long time, indeed. It was rather amazing the stories this woman could pull out of him without even asking. He looked up into Rita's face and smiled. "Hmph... shall we move on?" he asked, and waited for her answer this time.
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She couldn't help but smile, couldn't help but be intrigued. Couldn't help reading things into what he was saying. She didn't know if he was talking about more than the story - not for certain - but he certainly seemed to have picked a compelling tale, with interesting characters, given their context.
Given her own temprament, and what they had discussed earlier.
"It sounds to me like a story about power. Power and respect. Cats are proud animals, aren't they? Usually used to getting what they want. Used to being predators. Obviously, the power balance in her relationship with your friend was never acknowledged, or always misread. The owl and the cat seem to have understood each other, though. Knew that they were equally matched, could do each other damage if they wanted to, but chose to get along instead. It makes sense that animals would understand that, but your friend wouldn't. It astounds me how many people refuse to acknowledge the fact that there are exchanges of power in all relationships."
She fell silent again after she'd said it, thinking, until he broke her reverie by asking if she wanted to keep walking. "Mmm, yes. It's a bit chilly standing still like this."
They continued on, and she let their momentum slip into her thoughts, feeling herself moving from one to the next like footsteps.
"There's always power," she murmured again, less absent than deep into her own musings. "Even in family. Even as children. Especially as children, I suppose. Stella and I were never equally matched, really. She was always young, and far too trusting, and I used to torment her horribly. My parents would always try and be impartial - Ravenclaws, evaluating everything - but I think my mother always understood Stella's side of things more, and my father my own. I certainly learned to manipulate him at a fairly young age. He probably realised I was doing it, but I think he had a certain respect for a little girl with enough arrogance to believe she could fool a grown man. He certainly never seemed to resent it. I don't know who held the power in his relationship with my mother - I still don't. I can't figure it out. I certainly don't know whose idea it was to turn Stella away when she fell in love with her muggle. They were just terrified, I think, of what that could mean with Voldemort targeting muggle-borns and blood traitors, and they probably thought we'd all be safer if they severed ties from her. It was probably for show, mostly, but Stella didn't understand that, and things never got better. It changed everything. Not in an earth-shaking make believe way, although it was dramatic at the time. I still see her, and I still see them, and I think she makes occasional contact with them as well, but things stayed different."
She shook her head. "I don't know why I'm saying this. It was a long time ago. I'm thinking aloud. The ripples never quite settle though, do they? The stone in the pond changes things just a tiny bit, displaces... and then from then on everything has to grow around it."
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