Art in Vain

Emmett sat up on the stage of the Leaky Cauldron, an acoustic guitar nestled into his hands and his glasses pushed up to his eyes, hiding eyes that dully, painfully watched the people around him. No one had enjoyed his John Lennon songs, nor appreciated the humor of Flight of the Concords. People simply did not care to listen to a starving artist sing out his heart.

Emmett wondered if anyone believed his sincerity. He supposed they did not, since most of the time, he did not either. Without these gigs, he would starve. And a lot of the time, that was his motivation to play them. He was beginning to realize it was futile to think that his music would honestly reach out and touch someone, convince them of his opinions, enlighten them in some way.

Feeling your ideals and art die was a terrible thing.

He glanced up at the clock and saw he had time for one more song. "This will be my last song, you guys," he said softly. A man in the back of the pub burst into laughter and patted his companion's back. Emmett blinked and said, "I hope you hear-" Someone burst into a coughing fit and Emmett just began to play. They would not listen. They would not hear his lyrics, no matter how hard he tried to make it seem important to them.

He sang and sang and played the last note. He leaned forward but he heard his microphone cut out; his time was up. He sighed and stood off his stool, lifting his guitar and saying, "Thank you for your time and half-attention," he said softly. He packed away his guitar and pocked the three knuts in his top jar. He strode offstage and up to the bar. "A water please?" He received a water bottle and gulped down a drink.

The world was dark, cold, and damp that evening. To the wide and rounded eyes of Nerissa Hatts, the sun hadn't simply retired for the night, but had vanished from existence entirely. While the moon bathed Charing Cross Road in its faint glow, Nerissa found that the dim light was not enough to prevent her from tripping over cracks in the street, or to allow her to glance over her shoulder and make certain that the footsteps that she'd heard had only been a symptom of paranoia. Of what use was the moon, if not to aid those who had no choice but to drudge through the streets at night? Maybe, the young Ravenclaw considered, the moon has forgotten its purpose. Not out of aggravation did this possibility occur to her, but out of fear of the unnatural darkness that the streets had been cloaked in.

But a far more frightening truth awaited Nerissa, one which she had refused to spare thoughts of that evening, for the sake of her safety. Surely, if her mind began to crumble in such a dark corner of England, there would not be enough of her left to defend herself from the creatures that she was certain were lurking around every corner. Nerissa had far too many things to fear. She needn’t add on to the list by coming to terms with the fact that she had been locked out of Hogwarts.

A phone box. Find a phone box. Find a phone box. Call Calvin. Go home. She reminded herself repeatedly in the hopes of focusing solely on the task at hand.

True to the nature of Nerissa’s luck, there was no such booth in sight. And, as though that was not enough to shake the small child, as she continued walking along the road’s edge, the footsteps that Nerissa had previously dismissed grew louder.

Run! Her mind demanded, and that was precisely what she did.

In fact, she ran as fast as her feet would carry her. Her breathing came in sharp, painful gasps as she tumbled forward. Her lungs screamed as their oxygen supply was depleted with each step that she took. But she stopped for nothing – until a lantern’s flickering flame caught her eyes. Above the lantern, hung a sign; one that read The Leaky Cauldron.

Nerissa had never imagined herself associating fire with safety, or warmth in the way that she had at the sight of that lantern. Neither had she expected to set foot in a pub, and to be filled with a feeling of relieve upon doing so.

It seemed that it was an evening of firsts.

She drew the door open hastily, panting all the while.

Emmett did not take long to quench his thirst. Obviously, he would want something a little tastier over water, but he took care of his voice. When he finished singing, he always made sure to drink a bottle of water to replenish his vocal chords. He never sang loudly and he rarely strained his chords, but his growling voice did hurt after suddenly being used more than he typically did. Emmett did not talk much, so his singing typically shocked his voice.

The barman that had given him his drink bade him good night and walked off, leaving for his shift. Emmett swallowed down the last of his water and dropped the bottle of water looking down at it. He felt a presence on the other side of the bar take its place and he looked up. He grumbled loudly, "Ah, shit," as though shocked and disappointed by who he looked up to see. Emmett rarely cursed, but this was part of subtle sense of humor, the running joke he had with this bartender.

Marlen grinned. "Oho! Actin' disappointed in me, are we?" Marlen and his Irish accent never knew when to quiet down and Emmett knew he would have to keep him busy if he wanted peace. "Marlen, could I just get a Firewhiskey? How much heckling will that cost me?" Marlen thoughtfully considered Emmett, and Emmett thought to himself for the umpteenth time that Marlen must have no friends. "We'll see 'ow the night goes, buddy."

"Great," he muttered. He felt a wind rush in and he turned to see a familiar face enter. That girl... The one that had run off with his guitar. The sad one. She looked even more terrifed that she had that day and, again, Emmett suddenly felt a sudden stirring within him to rescue her. He said, "Marlen... get me a hot chocolate too." His eyes stayed trained on her and he heard Marlen set down the drinks and begin chattering, "So mate, I was thinkin' that- hey!"

Emmett had seized both mugs and walked towards her, the sad girl. He finally reached her and held out the hot chocolate. "Hot chocolate?"

With trembling fingers, Nerissa drew the hood of her brilliant red cloak closer to the sides of her face, until nothing more than her wild eyes and the tip of her freckled nose remained visible. She was struggling with her violently beating heart and her will to refrain from collapsing on the spot as she stood with her back to the door. It provided Nerissa with a feeling of safety; the knowledge that she had separated herself from the shadow-infested streets. But the beady, black eyes of the man nearest to Nerissa, who was sitting in a table to her left, counteracted this momentary relief. He wore a drunken smirk as he watched her, and for the near-hundredth time that evening, Nerissa found herself feeling as though she’d been turned to stone.

If for no other reason than to prove to herself that no such thing had happened, Nerissa swept her cloak away from the clothing that she wore beneath, and dipped one of her hands into the pockets of her ill-fitting jeans. Where is it? Nerissa asked herself, as though she expected to receive a reply from somewhere within her skull. She twitched the tips of her fingers, which remained in her pockets. It was here.

She was growing increasingly desperate as she searched for the small, makeshift pouch that she had concealed her medication within, and had stored within the pockets that she was digging through. For a fearful moment, it occurred to Nerissa that she very well may have dropped the pouch in the streets during her attempt to escape the footsteps she’d heard.

Until her fingertips met with the thing, and she fished it from her jeans.

As she shakily began to untie the pouch, however, Nerissa felt a pair of eyes on her once more, and immediately halted in her attempts to reunite with the pills that the pouch contained. Her fearful eyes flicked upwards hastily, but the being that her pupils met with was someone whom she recognized.

Nerissa’s lips fell apart. “Guitar man?”

Her eyes finally turned on to him, and that was when Emmett realized to what extent she really was distressed. It was not a small fear in her eyes, a touch of anxiety or nervousness, but outright manic terror, utter panic. Emmett was not sure if he could recall a time he had ever seen such an expression on someone's face and he found that it shook him. Part of him was distressed by how afraid this girl was.

He nodded. "Yes, guitar man. My guitar is over there." He nodded towards the bar. He glanced over at the man behind the girl, who seemed to be regarding her in his drunken stupor. Emmett's eyes locked coldly with his for a moment, not threatening, but observant, telling the man that nothing would happen to this girl tonight, and if it did, Emmett knew who he would accuse for it. The man coughed and raised his mug to his lips, his eyes darting away.

But Emmett's eyes sweeped across the pub, and everywhere, he saw shady characters. The door opened and some new graduates came in, already drunk, already singing, perfectly ready to form some good ol' regrets. Emmett already had this strange calling to watch out for the girl, and he could see all of the things around her that were potential threats.

Cold crept in from the door as the drunken youngsters loitered in the doorway, calling to one of their friends outside who was, apparently, vomiting in the street. Lovely. He glanced behind her and said in his quiet voice, "C'mon, let's get away from them. I have a spot at the bar. You seem cold and you need to catch your breath." He motioned for her to walk with him.

Despite the comfort that finding shelter from the world, and the sight of a familiar face had brought her, Nerissa could do nothing to convince her internal origins to calm themselves. Her heart had set for itself a steady pace at which it continuously hammered - a force that was nearly enough to drag her forward as her heart attempted to tear its way from her chest. And her limbs, too, it seemed, were plotting Nerissa's demise with the way in which they trembled and had revoked her privilege to move properly. Her every movement had been made a jittery twitch; an evident sign of her anxiety, now displayed for all those within the Leaky Cauldron to see.

She may as well have taken a black marker to the back of her hood, and have decorated it with three rings in the form of a target. Upon realizing that she had made herself such an open target to those around her, Nerissa's eyes met with those of the man who seemed to have taken an interest in her, and she shivered nervously. Hadn't Emmett's voice met with Nerissa's ears once more, she may very well have died of fright as she continued to examine the dangers that surrounded her.

His quiet words pulled Nerissa's eyes in the direction of the guitar that he'd spoken of, and for a moment, they lingered there as she recalled her last encounter with the instrument. Despite her predicament, she felt compelled to apologize for having so abruptly stolen the guitar from him on said occasion. "I'm sorry I took it," was all that she said; her tongue had become far too heavy to bear in her state of terror. Nerissa only hoped that he would understand what it was that she meant by those five, unspecific words, for she was not certain that she had it in her to elaborate. Nerissa met Emmett's eyes cautiously, as though she expected them to have turned red during the time that she had spent regarding his guitar.

By the tips of her fingers she held the pouch that she'd so frantically attempted to untie a moment prior - but just as she began to pick at the string that bound it, a cold gust of evening air met with Nerissa's back, and her fingers went still. It was almost as though she was under the impression that her medication would be stolen if she revealed the pills, and she was protecting them by sheltering them from view. She stepped forward instinctively - or, rather, stumbled - and clutched both of her hands to her chest in a panicked manner. She did not possess the bravery to turn and face the noisy newcomers, for thoughts of the footsteps that had followed her had once again flooded her mind. She squinted her eyes together and held her breath; an expression that was commonly worn by those who expected to have terrible pain inflicted upon them.

A whimper fell from her lips in response to Emmett's suggestion. How was she to explain that she felt as though she couldn't move? "I can't," she whispered hopelessly, once again relying on the man's perception of the vague statement.

This girl seemed to draw out Emmett's brave side, the side that was willing to stand up and stand against the oppression he sang about so often. Perhaps because when he sang about all of the oppression, he was just generalizing the hopelessness of society. He was summing up years and years of oppression. This girl forced his words to become actions. And in that, she intrigued him.

And he knew he had to protect her.

She suddenly expelled some words that he did not connect first, but he figured she was speaking on the subject of his guitar, seeing as he had just referred to its location. He shook his head saying, "You returned it, didn't you? I have it back, it's like it was never stolen." He was trying reassure her whilst get her moving and he was becoming almost paraniod of those who were watching them.

It seemed the girl was attracting trouble tonight, and Emmett was too used to being ignored, in all honesty. He was struggling to figure out how to deal with people's eyes being on them. The girl seemed to have one tactic- total terror- but he was not convinced he should attempt it...

She seemed frozen and she expressed that exact sentiment. He glanced around and then fixed his eyes on her. "Okay, come on." He reached an arm around her, softly pulling her towards the bar, bringing her with him, away from the prying eyes.

Such an extensive period of time it had been since Nerissa had last come into physical contact with another human being, that she had nearly yelped aloud at Emmett’s touch. She flinched away from the warmth of the arm that he’d wrapped protectively around her small frame, having gone rigid with a newer fear than that of the city streets outside, or her shady surroundings.

At once, Nerissa was reminded of the jagged blade that her kidnapper had once run along the same skin that Emmett had touched. A scar had not been made that evening, as Ne’Os had paid extra mind to cover his tracks in that aspect, but she was certain at that moment that, had the flesh of her arm not been concealed within the sleeve of her cloak, she would have been able to picture the slice that had been made there with ease. An unbearable stinging sensation ripped through her body, and she squinted her eyelids together in response to the pain.

“No! Don’t hurt me – not again,” she hissed quietly into Emmett's ear, and fell against his side in an attempt to drop to her knees. Hadn’t he stood so near to her side, she surely would have succeeded in falling to the floor as she begged not be harmed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Nerissa apologized profusely for whatever it was that she assumed she had done to anger her captor. "I won't do it again - I swear!"

The girl lept with fear, letting out a cry of alarm and he began to draw his arm away, never having any intentions of trying to harm or frighten her. People nearby looked, but it was at such a time of night that there were no eating families, there was no maternal women to be concerned. It was people trying to foget their sins, trying to drown out their aches, and Emmett knew that they hardly ever succeeded.

She collapsed against him, quietly begging from some sort of mercy against harm that she seemed to think Emmett was going to bring her. Emmett was not big on physical contact- whether to help or to harm, he was just not a touch-y person. But the last sort of contact he would make with anyone would be violent. Emmett was a pacifist and it had never even crossed his mind to harm someone else. His intentions were far from offensive.

She collapsed against him and he found he had little choice. He wrapped his arms around her, carefully holding the mugs in either hand, and carefully propped her back onto her feet, murmuring, "I won't." He took a step towards the nearest table, pulling a chair out with his foot, setting the mugs down on the tabletop and helping her into the chair. "You're okay now."