This one wanted to be written
very soon after the last one. It's honestly a little strange.
Humanities 201
She stumbled forward, past whispering children who pointed and stared at her. She ignored them. There wasn't really anything here
to care about. There wasn't any pain anymore, yet her legs still felt weak from her infirmity.
She didn't really know where she was going. All she knew was that she had to go.
She saw him as she stumbled around a corner.
The mayor.
The false mayor.
The… the… she didn't know what.
He was standing in front of a man in vestments, speaking quietly.
"You…"
He turned to face her.
"You…" she repeated, trying to force her words out, then descended into exhausted coughing. After so long convalescent, and then scrambling madly through wherever this was, heaven or hell it may be, the air was gone from her lungs.
A shadow loomed over her. He was at her side.
She glanced between him and the (priest? He seemed to be a priest) as they turned to look at each other.
The priest smiled. "Do what you must. I'll be here when you're done—I have a lot to think about."
An arm wrapped around her, supporting her.
"Come with me," the familiar voice said. "There is someone you must meet."
-----
"So, if what I've got here is correct," Malfoy said, drawing the last few lines of his diagram across the whiteboard, "they are… They're just here."
"No one's going to disappear in a puff of reality?" Daisy asked. She had a feeling she already knew the answer. She and Malfoy had a history of coming to the same conclusions.
"I don't think so," he confirmed. "I'm not sure how it was done, but…"
He grimaced. Neither of them had any idea what former Headmaster Bronson had done to Malfoy's pocket dimension projector, and it had melted itself into a solid brick of metal and plastic. The former headmaster was in no condition to explain himself, either. Figuring out what had happened would be a challenge.
At least the book was alright.
Somehow.
It just raised more questions!
Across the cafeteria from them, a group of young men was laughing and embracing each other. Closer, a few tables between the two groups, a pair of young women sitting across a table from each other, speaking almost silently.
Daisy had been a little surprised to learn that the absolutely wrecked girl who had appeared in her room was not in fact Fantine. Rather, she was none other than Eponine Thenardier. Which likely meant that the well-dressed brunette she was speaking to was Cosette? Apparently, Daisy's mental image of the two had always been Samantha Banks and Amanda Seyfried. Strange, that.
"So what happens now?" she asked.
Malfoy shrugged. "There's going to be some tests to make sure everyone's healthy. Maybe quarantine for a week or two. And everyone's going to be working on where to put them up."
"You could stand to care about the consequences of your actions a
little bit more, you know."
"I care, I
do! I just…" he grimaced again. "I wish I understood how the phenomenon
worked. This isn't translating digital information into physical form, we pulled the people out of the book itself! Did they form out of peoples' ideas of the characters? Or did we reach into another dimension and draw them from there? I mean, there's a precedent for that, isn't there?"
"And how are we going to get Javert down from that wall?" Daisy mused dryly.
The legendary lawman had been half a second from going on an arrest spree that would have led to injuries. He had been prevented from doing so by several enterprising teachers, who had done so with duct tape, Gorilla Glue, staples, and an unholy number of sticking charms.
The man in question had been glaring at every passerby and leaving them utterly unsettled. Daisy could only imagine how it would go learning of the changes in law and government since his era.
"I'm pretty sure they have a spray for that," Malfoy replied.
The door swung open, and everyone turned.
Professor Marche was the head of Durmstrang's Literature department, a section that had been added following the collapse of the Statute of Secrecy and magic becoming more widely accepted in the world. He was a genial man, always willing to lend an ear, and a father of six. He was also ex-military, had the size and build of a polar bear, and was currently carrying a sledgehammer.
"Well, how's it going?" he asked casually.
Daisy shrugged. "Just figuring out how to tell the faculty that we're going to have to figure out living arrangements for the cast of Victor Hugo's most acclaimed classic. And you?"
"We've got the Thenardiers and their gang," he confirmed. "We're using the faculty bathrooms as holding cells until we can come up with something more effective." He released his hold on the sledgehammer, and it vanished into air.
Reportedly, the first character that Professor Marche had met was Azelma Thenardier, the rarely adapted middle sibling of Eponine and Gavroche (where
had that kid gotten to, by the way? He'd been in here earlier, Daisy was sure of it), who had two distinguishing features—that she survived the length of the story, and that her father made her injure her hand in order to look more pathetic as a beggar. Something about the encounter had set the Professor off, and he had chased the girl's parents through the halls of Durmstrang like a slasher villain.
If only she could have seen it. And if only someone had the wherewithal to take a picture.
"Do you know what's going to happen to them?" she asked.
"Jail, likely."
Her head snapped up. Malfoy watched how she turned and gaped at Professor Marche, and gave him a scrutinizing look.
"The
Thenardiers," Professor Marche clarified. "Everyone else… well, we're working on it."
"I believe we have some land in France," Malfoy cut in. "We can just set them up there."
Wait, when did he come to that conclusion…
Oh. Daisy stopped herself from sighing—he had just figured that was how things were going to happen, and failed to realize what she was asking him in the first place.
"Something I'm
sure your parents will bring up when they arrive," Professor Marche smiled.
Malfoy nodded, opening his mouth to respond. He froze, then turned a stunned gaze to Daisy.
The Malfoy parents.
Daisy wasn't really sure what to say. Or what to think.
Maybe just invent a reason to be anywhere other than—
The door opened again, and
he stepped in.
Jean Valjean.
One-hundred percent real. The man himself, literally right from the pages of the book.
Daisy didn't still feel like the air had been pounded from her lungs when she saw him, but she still felt like she had to stare. What else were you supposed to do when you met a literary hero?
Someone had said something about a hearing, though she couldn't imagine for what. What were they going to pin
Jean Valjean for…
He stepped forward.
The woman he was helping stumbled away from him into the room. Eponine looked haggard. This woman looked emaciated. Sickly, even. Her hair shorn short, only meeting the back of her neck—
Oh God.
Daisy turned her stare on Cosette. The girl had risen to her feet.
"Father? What is…"
She trailed off, registering the woman in front of her. Looking over her, searching for something that she would recognize.
Cosette took one step forward, then another. She returned her gaze to the woman's eyes.
"Mother?"
Fantine took one step, and collapsed into her daughter's arms.
-----
The first snippet was largely inspired by the idea of the cast of
Les Miserables being summoned into Durmstrang, but as you saw, it didn't really show through. Maybe that's what led to this.
To be honest, I had a different ending in mind when I started writing this, an epilogue that was really more of a showpiece. Once I started
writing that ending, though, I realized that Fantine and Cosette being reunited was…
Well, it was good enough.
I wonder what Bastian's parents are going to have to say to him about this.
Well, what do you
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0hYZaqYCZyQ
-----
postscript
Claire du Chasteler-Potter flopped back in the grass with a sigh of happiness. Every season had its own music, and spring had some of her favorites. And on the right day of the right week, when it was just the right side of mild temperature, it left her feeling…
Hmm… something with a lot of major chords. Something reminiscent of Vivaldi, in places, but overall its own thing?
Her fingers were itching for a keyboard again. She slipped her hand toward her pocket, reaching for—
"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry!"
Claire looked up from her thoughts at the young woman who had nearly stumbled over her in her hurry.
The interloper cut a sharp corner, and pressed herself against a tree. She yanked a pair of binoculars from her handbag, and leaned around her… hiding place? It
seemed like a hiding place.
Curiouser and curiouser. Claire hummed to herself as she sat, then stood.
"Excuse me, Miss, what seems—"
"
Shh!"
The young woman stared intently into the binoculars, then reached into her handbag again. She pulled a smartphone out and fumbled with it, clearly unused to the device.
Well, she might as well make a second attempt. "I'm sorry, could I help you?"
The young woman started, then turned to face Claire again. Her eyes widened slightly, and her grip on both her binoculars and her phone slackened slightly. "Oh no, I am so sorry, that was very rude of me—"
"No, no, it's alright," Claire reassured her. "Claire du Chasteler-Potter. And yourself?"
Her companion extended a hand. "Euphrasie Pontmercy. But people usually call me Cosette."
The name came with a sharp jab to her memory. Bastian had been involved in a series of very unique antics surrounding the book… and the musical. The melody of "I Dreamed a Dream" began to play in her mind, and she hummed along.
A quiet minor note played across Cosette's face.
Claire blinked. "Hmm? Oh, sorry. Bastian Malfoy is my nephew. If you've met him?"
Cosette's grimace fell away to surprise. "Really?"
"Is that really such a surprise?"
"No, I'm just surprised at the coincidence is all—"
Cosette's tune trailed off, then she brought her binoculars to her eyes again in a rush of movement. She began fumbling with her phone again. It seemed that she hadn't quite grasped the science of opening it with just her thumb yet.
Right, that was what Claire had been curious about in the first place.
"What
are you doing exactly?"
Cosette sighed, and handed her the binoculars.
"Could you please keep an eye out
that way," she said, pointing. "Sorry for asking."
Claire waved it off again, and brought the binoculars up to her face. As Cosette unlocked her phone in the background, she did her best to bring her gaze up to the place where she'd been pointing. People walking along the sidewalk, a squirrel—Claire brought her gaze down a touch—a man and woman sitting on a bench.
She paused, and looked back at Cosette, then returned her gaze to the binoculars.
The three of them seemed to share a fashion sense. Something to the tune of present fashion, but with notes that harkened back to an earlier era. Long, full dresses, and a formal suit. She caught glances of their faces as they spoke between themselves. Something about them seemed a little awkward, like they weren't sure whether they should be playing a duet or not.
"Agent Marigold? Come in, Agent Marigold. Are you there?"
Claire lowered the binoculars and turned her gaze back to Cosette. The woman was holding her phone up to her ear with both hands, which seemed both cute and a bit silly.
"
No, this is Eponine," a voice said over the phone with a staticky sigh. "
And can I say again, this is ridiculous."
"Quiet, Agent Forget-me-Not!" Cosette lowered her phone and stared at the screen. She turned it over in her hands frantically. "How do I talk to Marius on this thing?"
"Do you just want to talk to him, or do you want to talk to several people at the same time?"
Cosette's head came up slowly. "You can do that?"
"Yes." Claire pointed at the conference call icon. "See this button here? If you press it, you can add other people to the call."
Cosette pressed it gingerly. Claire talked her through adding a second number, and soon a second voice joined them.
"
Agent Violet, this is Agent Marigold. What seems to be the problem?" Marius Pontmercy, it seemed, had embraced his wife's silly little ditty wholeheartedly.
"
Cosette made a new friend," Eponine cut in dryly.
"
Really? Oh, that's wonderful—wait, right. No change in subject J and subject F's behavior, though I believe they may have been giving me some looks. I don't think I've been made yet, though. I'll keep you posted."
"Excellent work, Agent Marigold! Yes, keep—do that. Agent Forget-me-Not, anything to report?"
"
Besides—"
"Yes, besides the fact that you think this is silly. What's going on?"
Claire felt the music of the world fade away, as her mind began to compose an answer to the question she had been wondering about. The man and the woman, their clothes similar to Cosette, the strange spy game…
"Miss Cosette, forgive the question, but are you trying to set your mother up with Mr. Valjean?"
Cosette glanced towards her again. "Isn't it natural for a daughter to want her parents to be together?"
"Oh yes, of course!" Claire replied. "Of course…"
She paused. The music in the back of her head was increasing in tempo.
"Agent… Violet."
"Yes?"
Claire felt the ghost of a Muramasa smirk forming on her lips. The music of their encounter had turned into the low roll of drums forming the heartbeat that would inevitably lead into the vocals of the lead singer, and the rest of the orchestra joining him.
Including a certain
piano…
"You wouldn't happen to be recruiting, would you?"
-----
Ha! Didn't expect that, did you?
you probably expected that
(The
music of the encounter, as suggested by SisterJeanne)
Well, what do you think sirs?
