Chapitre 28: Maestro
1991 October
Quidditch trials were quite possibly the most boring waste of time Alana had ever had the displeasure of observing. Alas, the social expectations of high society burdened her so. Alana stretched her arms and pushed herself off the quidditch stand seats. She attempted to get the blood flowing again in her stiff backside but had little luck. The young witch made it down to the field and gave a polite smile to the Slytherin team just as Lucian Bole and Peregrine Derrick landed with their brooms. The group mostly ignored her presence except for the few that were familiar with her.
"What do you think? Gryffindor doesn't stand a chance with this year's recruits," Lucian preened under the witch's attention. She chose to ignore the fact that he was one of those new recruits. The fact that he was complimenting himself didn't seem to bother the boy in the least.
"It's never been much of a competition to begin with, though, has it?" She commented lightly. Slytherin had a winning streak in Quidditch that matched their House Cup winner record. The only real threat to their Quidditch team was the new Hufflepuff seeker Cedric Diggory. Both Peregrine and Lucian looked exceedingly pleased with her response.
"Clearly the Ravenclaws are living up to their reputation of being smart," Peregrine complimented in return, and she raised an eyebrow as if to say 'of course'. She left shortly after with a polite farewell and made her way back to the castle.
Despite it being one week into the term, the first years were still running around in an effort to find their classes. Alana had no such difficulty navigating the area. She had explored the castle's major hallways thoroughly already. She was tempted to investigate the third-floor corridor but thought better of it. Dumbledore's welcoming feast warning of a very "painful death" befalling any who trespassed on the out-of-bounds area meant that many students would be chancing a look in the coming weeks. She'd wait until at least second term to see what wards had been strung up. Getting the stone would be one of her main goals that year. With those thoughts in mind and no classes, the witch opted to wander.
There was a music room on the fifth floor that she had made use of on a few occasions the previous year. She attempted to find the entryway, but with the castles habit of rearranging itself over the holidays, it proved to be an impossible task. It was a few corridors down that she found another decent music room. It was not as spacious as the previous, but the instruments were not as many that it needed the extra space. An antique piano took up a corner while a few string instruments and flute lay in various positions around the room. It was impossible not to consider the entire space a mess as pages of music scores had been scattered across every surface available like confetti. Alana picked her way through the mess with a frown before choosing to pick up the pieces of ageing parchment rather than risk wading through it.
She had about half a stack in her hand when the sharp sound of a broken piano pierced her ears. The paper dropped from her hands as she moved to cover her protesting sensory organs, and the playing stopped. Alana rubbed her temples and looked to the only piano in the room. Seated on the bench was a tall, handsome, ghostly specimen of a man immaculately dressed in a muggle suit. He was smiling apologetically at the young girl from the piano seat. Meanwhile, Alana was blinking confusedly at the familiarity of the dark-haired man. She could have sworn that she had seen the ghost's face before.
"Richard Farrell?" She questioned herself incredulously, and the man's eyes lit up as he bounced off the chair. There was undisguised enthusiasm in his gait as he reached out a hand only to let it drop to his side gloomily.
"That's me. My name that is. Who are you, if I may ask? I haven't had a guest in here for a while, and I can't seem to leave so…" The man rushed out all at once. She gave the ghost a curious look. Richard Farrell was legendary amongst pianists, a prodigy from New Zealand who had died in a car accident near Sussex, in 1958. It was before her time, but the man's death had been a tragedy for the musical community, so she was vaguely aware of it. One of her primary school teachers had been particularly distraught at the news. She had burst into tears mid-lesson, making the passing all the more memorable.
"My name's Alana. I wouldn't have guessed you were a wizard," She replied. Did New Zealand have a wizarding school?
"A wizard?" The man smiled uncomfortably. "I'm no wizard," He finished. "There's no such thing." Alana was openly staring at that point. Muggles didn't simply reappear as ghosts, much less as poltergeists. They didn't have the magic necessary to pull it off. She supposed he could have been a squib of some sort.
"How long have you been here?" She was at a loss for words when the thirty-two-year-old shrugged in reply. She ran her fingers through her hair while considering the situation.
"Have you tried leaving then?" She asked instead of pursuing the topic of magic. He was clearly out of the loop on that subject. The man replied in the affirmative and moved across the room to the door. When he tried to pull it open, his hand went straight through.
"I can't seem to get a good grip," He joked lightly. Alana wondered if this was the man's method of coping with his death. If he hadn't left the room since he died, then he had to have been in there for a few decades at least. Alana walked up to the man and opened the door for him. The smile she received in response was radiant enough that she had to turn away to regain her eyesight. He was quick to take a step out into the castle and looked down the corridor in confusion. "Where are we?" There was concern and a hint of apprehension in his tone.
"Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."
"Hogwash," He said harshly.
"No, Hogwarts."
"There is no such thing! Those are just fanciful stories."
Alana glanced at the male as he paced the floor. He was standing a good foot off the ground as he did this. "And you are a ghost," She deadpanned. Tact with trauma was not her speciality. She was a hitwitch, not a therapist. He looked at her like she had just kicked his puppy. Merlin, the man's emotions were as fickle as a dragon was hungry.
"I'm not dead," He said. She merely arched a brow and pointed to his floating feet. His expression darkened at the sight, and his jaw clenched. "I'm not," He repeated.
"Come on," She ignored his protests and instead motioned for him to follow her. There was little her consolation would do when he was six feet under De Nile River. The girl and ghost made their way towards the one person Alana was sure wouldn't immediately snitch on her having found a muggle ghost.
The Grey Lady, or Helena Ravenclaw as she was known while alive, was a proud witch whose cloaked form seemed to radiate haughtiness despite her efforts to appear serene. She was a beautiful, long-haired brunette with icy eyes. Thus, it was no surprise the Bloody Baron had fallen for her in his youth. The story was not so well known, but the Baron had murdered her in a fit of fury after having his profession of love rejected. Alana personally found the unrequited love of the Baron endearing, but his temperament left her wanting. He was remorseful, of course, and carried chains around him mutely as a ghost to show it. Unfortunately for him, it was a little too late to say sorry.
Helena soon came into view. "My Lady," Alana greeted with a bow, "I've found a new ghost, and he appears to have no knowledge of the magical world." Alana alerted the woman with who merely glanced at the small girl and then at the man floating behind her. Her empty gaze turned calculating before she gave the girl a nod and floated up to the pianist. Farrell was pleading with his eyes not to be left alone with the woman.
"Shall we speak then," Helena finally let the words slip out. Alana trailed behind the two as they talked. As an afterthought, she cast up silencing wards to prevent eavesdroppers.
Neither Alana nor Helena were sure how Richard Farrell had ended up as a ghost. They hypothesised that he may have been cursed by a wizard in Hogwarts and thus been bound to the building, but there was no definite method of testing the theory. Alana left it to the older woman to inform the headmaster of the development so as to not get implicated. Fortunately, the headmaster was less inclined to discriminate against a muggle and offered the man the same rights as the other ghosts. He could linger for as long as he felt necessary. His generosity may have been partly due to exorcism being rather expensive. Circe knows Binns would have been axed years ago if that weren't the case.
The pianist had taken to walking the castle halls late at night and often accompanied her at times for her early morning walks. Whatever sleep pattern he had followed as a human seemed non-existent to him now. Alana was rather pleased with the outcome and the reason for her pleasure was one she found to be perfectly obvious.
A few days later, the witch was leaning against the wall watching the selective poltergeist with fascination. It was curious that he was only able to touch musical instruments but not too unusual she acknowledged after some thought. Ghosts were emotional imprints, so their passions would naturally reflect in their abilities. He was playing Liszt's Sonetto 104, del Petrarca. Even the harshest critic would be forced to agree that the man had talent. Alana had eagerly fixed the piano for the man, and it had taken bare seconds before his fingers were dancing their way across the keys. Farrell had been ecstatic.
It was with great reluctance that the witch left the ghost for classes. If only Professor Binns were as energetic as Farrell. Perhaps then she wouldn't feel like killing the ghost history teacher a second time (or sixteenth as it appeared she was not the only one to have had such thoughts). Leoen joined her as she made her way to History of Magic and took her usual seat. What followed was torture so horrid, so vivid, so utterly boring, that she dared not communicate it in any way. Potions was another story altogether. The Ravenclaws had been unfortunate enough to be placed with the Gryffindors that year, and it was exceedingly difficult to work when Snape kept snapping at one every three seconds.
"I said slice, not dice!" "You blithering dunderhead, the quill goes in after stirring!" "Does that look edible to you?!" "It was a rhetorical question, Samuels!"
By the end of the day, Alana didn't even have the energy left to bang her head against the desk in transfiguration class. "Make it end. I'm dying, Leoen. Let my victims know that I have appreciated their sacrifice," She called to the boy as her eyes slipped shut. The wizard kicked the back of her chair as the professor entered.
"I do hope you aren't sleeping in my class, Miss Vincent." McGonagall's eyes narrowed warningly on her pupil.
"No. Just dying slowly," The witch replied then, in fear of being turned into a toad, she quickly explained, "I have a really bad headache from potions."
The woman almost looked… sympathetic at the mention of Professor Snape's stomping ground. "I see," She replied quickly and marched up to the board to start the lecture. Alana dragged her eyes to the board with a small sigh. At least she could count on Professor McGonagall's pity if nothing else.
Alana had a nap as soon as classes finished. She. Had. A. Nap! She was turning into an old woman and would be a crone by the time she graduated. And here she had thought the school was for setting up future marriage contracts in order to selectively breed the next generation of British wizards. Now she had found the true reason for the institution: generating crones. She had been too naïve. It all made sense now.
1991 September
Alana wasn't quite sure what to make of the situation.
"Alana, this is my distant cousin, heir Malfoy. Draco, this is my esteemed acquaintance, Alana Vincent." Lucian Bole looked to the younger boy for approval and received a pompous nod in return. Alana was tempted to jump out of the window, but they were on the third floor, and someone would freak out if she came back unscathed.
"Well met, heir Malfoy," She chose to say instead. Alana pulled on the polite smile she reserved for such situations and inclined her head to the boy. Like hell would she bow to the blond aristocrat. His father had contracted her a few too many times for her to feel comfortable exposing her neck.
"Well met, Miss Vincent. As you are on such good terms with my cousin, you may call me Draco." The blond looked like he had offered the witch the Tang Dynasty on a silver platter. Was it wrong that she wanted to strangle the arrogance from his blue eyes? Yes, it probably was.
"It would be my pleasure to extend the same courtesy, Draco." Alana managed to reply and shook the boy's hand firmly. Lucian looked incredibly relieved at how well the introductions were going, and she was determined to get an IOU out of him for it. She wasn't inclined to play pretend politician with a twelve-year-old, and that was exactly what it was. She had met quite a few Slytherins through Lucian and had so far managed to split them into two groups: the experienced and the inexperienced. Draco Malfoy belonged to the later, and he wouldn't be moving from that category any time soon.
The young boy tilted his head up slightly. His hair was a platinum blond that suited his aristocratic features well. Had she not known any better, she would have asked if he had any veela ancestry. He did, but it wasn't exactly a wise topic to bring up at a first meeting. Purebloods were so very touchy when it came to ancestry.
"My cousin tells me you work as a contractor," Draco started, and she raised an eyebrow. It was certainly an interesting place to begin a conversation. She wondered what business the child wanted with her.
"The details would be between myself and my employer, no?" She responded airily. If he wanted a game, then she would humour him. The little dragon was already floundering at her unexpected tone. Lucian looked uneasy as he vaguely recognised what was going on. Alana wondered where the two meat shields she had seen following the young Malfoy had gone. Crabbe and Goyle she thought their names were. The slyness in her eyes didn't match her warm smile as she spoke to the boy. "Is there, perhaps, something you wanted?"
"I thought that you might know where I could find a splicer. I would make it well worth your time," The boy found the courage to say. She met his gaze with open curiosity. A splicer was a difficult thing to find. They were wand-users who specialised in removing the trace or other unwanted curses from sensitive magical items such as wands. Her eyes slid to the wand holster barely visible from under his sleeve. Draco shifted as he realised where her gaze was and tucked his limb away from the sharp eyes. "Well?" He demanded sharply. Her lips quirked in amusement.
"You were doing well until you got defensive," She commented with a far more open smile. She felt far more comfortable knowing his weak points. "Do remember that your greatest defence is your mask. Lose that, and you may as well go into battle naked," She advised the young boy. His nostrils were flaring, and his eyes blazing in anger and indignation at the reprimand. She raised a hand to hold back his retort. "I know a few people that may be able to help your cause. Assuming, of course, you are still interested." She held a hand out to the boy. If he didn't take it, then he wasn't worth her time. She could accept someone with a temper, but not someone who couldn't take criticism and let their temper get in the way of getting what they wanted.
Draco bit down his anger and took the offered hand in a firm grip. "If you are willing," He replied. He couldn't afford to fail the task his father had set him. He had to get the trace removed from his wand by the end of the year without relying on his father's contacts. He would not disappoint.
L’AVIS DES CRÉATEURS 
linear_salo
linear_salo I confess that I didn't bother to edit this. I'll probably do it... later... maybe... possibly...
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone