I'll Drink Your Deadly Poison
Chapter 1
DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or Phantom of the Opera. If I did, you would know my name and I wouldn't be in debt. I write for enjoyment and to see what kind of reaction I get from readers: so I LOVE reviews.
ATTENTION: This chapter has been updated on January 24th, 2006, so there are some extended and additional scenes that previous readers have not read yet. So you might want to reread it before reading the following chapters.
The smell of alcohol was a lingering characteristic of the backstage. No matter how much the cleaning ladies scrubbed the floors in the mornings, despite the attempt of lighting perfumed candles around the doors to hide the scent from the night's guests, Harry could always detect it. But he had become accustomed to it, just like he had to the stench of human sweat after long days of endless practice, or the unmistakable scent of sex after a night of celebration. He didn't mind it like he had when he first came to the old castle, when he was merely a child. He never admitted to anyone that when he first saw the high towers in the dark of the night, he felt an overpowering sensation that frightened him a little. But then, wouldn't any child who had just watched their parents die be scared by something strange to them?
"Harry, pay attention!" a soft voice whispered at him. Harry was pulled out of his memory to see a familiar pair of blue eyes watching him from beneath a tangle of brown curls. "You don't want to miss the cue," she added, before turning her face towards the stage.
Behind him he could hear the rest of the group gathering, their feet shuffling lightly, a sign that they were getting into place. Harry turned towards the girl who spoke to him, the same girl that had befriended him his first night in the castle. It was she who had explained to him what an opera house was, for his parents had not been what you would call, 'socially elite,' during his childhood. His mother had died shortly after he was born, and his father a few years later. Harry had heard many say that it was a broken heart that killed him, for his father loved his wife dearly. He had been told the only reason his father survived those few years was because of him, which in a way made Harry feel both relieved yet saddened.
"Harry, concentrate!" came a harsher whisper this time.
Harry blinked, waking up from his dream world, which he was finding himself in more often. As he positioned himself behind her, listening to the music and counting off until their cue, he thought about his haunting dreams. They seemed to be happening quite frequently now, and they were always the same.
"Harry!"
"Shush, Hermione, or you'll make me loose count," Harry whispered back, looking back towards the stage. But he realized that she wasn't whispering for him to focus. The music had suddenly stopped, and Harry could see that the people on stage were looking rather flustered.
One in particular was the acclaimed star of this old opera house, Pansy Parkinson. She was a charming woman, no doubt, but with a personality that made a rotten egg look appetizing. Although there were a handful of girls in the theatre that were lovelier than Pansy, she was the only one with the voice talent. Right now she looked like a disproportionate pumpkin, decorated in a costume of an orangish color. Harry wondered how she felt wearing it, since the color looked putrid against her skin tone. Of course, being the prima dona she was, everyone fussed over Miss Parkinson, assuring her that she made the dress look lovely. But what attracted attention the most was the headdress, which she periodically would push back up when it fell forward over her face. Each time she would stop singing to yell at her seamstresses to fix it after rehearsal.
"How am I supposed to perform if my face cannot be seen?" Pansy squawked, drawing everyone's attention as usual. "And who keeps stepping on my dress?" she continued, glaring at all who were close to her. Her gaze stopped as her pale eyes fell upon her costar, Peter Pettigrew. The man was quite weathered after long years of performance, and yet his voice was still holding strong. If only the same could be said about his belts and buttons: a lifetime of rich feasts had paid its toll on the old tenor.
"How am I supposed to work like this if he keeps coming in late on his entrances?" Pansy asked, waving her hands at Pettigrew. "You think he would have it now, but no!" She walked over to him, her dress dragging behind her noisily. "One more time, and I shall scream!" she threatened, wagging her finger at his pointed nose.
"Yes, I-I understand," he stuttered in reply, his hands shaking violently in fear of the orange menace in front of him.
"Bloody hell," someone sighed behind Harry. He turned to look behind him at his fellow dancing troupe. The voice belonged to another one of his friends in the ballet dormitories, Ron Weasley. He, like Harry, had joined the opera house at a young age, along with his siblings. Ron's parents had worked in the old castle for many years, and each of their children had been hired for their talents.
"How come if we make a mistake we get scolded, but she can hold up dress rehearsal and everyone fawns over her?" he whispered, picking at his costume. Harry thought to himself how similar to a candle Ron appeared in his orange tunic and gold body paint. Even the matching turban on his head couldn't hide the flaming red hair that was the Weasley family's trademark.
"Because she's irreplaceable," Hermione replied, frowning at him. "Now, hush!"
"Oh, they can't hear us over her ranting," Ron retorted, shifting his weight onto one leg. "She doesn't even know we exist until we block her view or step on her skirt. It's not our fault if she's not doing what she's supposed to. But who gets blamed?"
"Us," answered the girl who was paired with him for the ballet number. If she hadn't spoken, Harry might've not realized she'd been standing there. She was always off in another place it seemed, yet leaving her body behind. It was a shame, since she was rather pretty in her own way.
Ron groaned when she spoke. "Why do I have to be paired with Luna?" he asked, looking at Hermione.
"Because McGonagall doesn't trust you to touch her daughter more than you already have," Harry replied, smirking at his friend.
Hermione pinched his arm in reply, looking rather red in the cheeks. "Hush up, or she'll hear you!"
"He's just jealous, Hermione," Ron said, crossing his arms.
Before anyone could say anything further, a commotion started on the stage that drew everyone's attention backstage.
"I knew it!" they heard Pansy Parkinson squeal.
Since Harry and Hermione were the first pair waiting to enter the stage, they had the best view of what was going on, other than the men on the scaffoldings above. Among the crew on stage, Harry noticed that their manager, Cornelius Fudge, was there, looking rather out of place with the ancient Rome background. His bowler hat was in his hand and he was talking rather excitedly.
"I would like to introduce you all to the new managers of the Hogwarts Opera," he said, extending his arm out. A path was cleared and two men, one taller than the other, approached the gathering, looking rather sharp in new suits and hats. "This is Sirius Black," Fudge said, pointing to the taller of the two. Black smiled charmingly, lifting his hat to reveal his raven hair as he bowed. Harry could hear several sighs of excitement behind him. "And Remus Lupin," Fudge continued. The second man was just as handsome as the first, which made the girls start to whisper.
"Much better than old Fudge!"
"They must be rich!"
Pansy Parkinson made a loud noise with her throat, clearly signaling for an introduction.
Fudge nodded nervously, looking at her. "I would like to introduce Pansy Parkinson, our leading soprano for the past four seasons."
Pansy smiled, stepping forward and holding out her hand. Lupin looked at it like it was a fly on his plate, but she didn't notice since Black had took her small hand and kissed it. "A pleasure," he said, drawing a giggle from the woman.
"And Madame McGonagall," Fudge continued. A tall woman stepped forward, her graying hair pulled back tightly in a bun. She tucked the walking stick she always carried under her arm and held her hand out in a more protocol sort of manner, and Black kissed it also.
"McGonagall," Lupin spoke, "I've heard you have quite the troupe this season. I'm looking forward to the ballet numbers."
"Thank you, sir," she replied.
"Now, where is our newest patron?" Black interrupted, looking around. "Ah, there he is!"
Harry could hear the girls gasp in awe as a young man walked onto stage, his blonde hair almost like gold underneath the lights that shone from above. His face was noble, and a strong-willed air seemed to surround him.
"Oh no," Harry groaned, turning his face away.
"What is it?" Hermione asked, looking up at him.
"It's Draco," he replied.
But before he could continue, Lupin spoke. "We would like to introduce Count Malfoy, a find indeed," he said, the last part sounding like a statement of relief.
Pansy took this moment to step in, holding her hand out once again. She smiled at the count, waiting for his lips to touch her hand. He did it, but rather reluctantly it seemed.
"How wonderful to have a fresh, handsome face around here," Pansy swooned, attempting to be as charming as possible. It was clear she was flirting with the count, and it was even clearer that he didn't want her flattery.
"It is nice meeting you all, but I have other business to attend to. I shall be here tonight for the opening, so until then." He bowed and turned, leaving as quickly as he had arrived.
"How do you know him, Harry?" Hermione asked.
"We met when we were children. He used to tease me constantly whenever we saw each other. But that was before I came to live here. I never dreamed I'd see him again."
They all were hushed by the sudden tapping of the conductor's baton on his podium. The gray haired man looked up from the orchestra pit, looking rather irritated. "Might we continue with our rehearsal, good sirs?"
"Ah, yes," Black said, stepping back. "Madame, would you mind showing us the rest of the theatre?" he asked McGonagall.
"Only if you do not get in the way," she replied sternly, stepping towards Harry and the others. The managers followed closely, looking around and smiling at everyone they passed. Black seemed quite interested in the female dancers, which didn't surprise Harry the least bit.
The music started again, and Harry stepped out onto the stage. Years of training and performances had made him into an excellent dancer, which was why he had been chosen as one of the lead performers. But he knew that Black and Lupin wouldn't care about that. They had their eyes on Hermione as Harry lifted her into the air and placed her gracefully back down again.
"Who is that lovely vixen?" Harry could hear Black ask.
"She is my daughter," McGonagall replied in a rather frightening tone.
Harry could hear Lupin chuckling softly as Black drew his attention towards Luna and Ron instead.
As the number neared its end, Harry noticed that Pansy was looking rather upset. She was scowling and pushing her headdress back up, and missing all her cues. This could only mean one thing.
As the last note of the song ended, what Harry had been expecting happened.
"It's always the same! All they care about is the dancing!" Pansy screamed, throwing her hands up in the air. She walked over to their new managers, waving her finger in their faces. "If all you care about is dancers, you can have dancers! I will not be singing!"
She turned on her heels, which was a miracle since she didn't trip over her dress, and headed for the backstage. "I'm done!" she continued. "Finished! Nobody cares about my singing; I'll leave and go someplace else!"
"What do we do?" Lupin asked Fudge, who had come over to them during the commotion.
"Grovel," he replied simply.
Black and Lupin looked at each other, and then hurried after Pansy. Everyone was moving to make a path. They were used to Pansy's tantrums, so it came as no surprise this time.
"Lovely lady!" Black called out as he approached Pansy. "Siren of theatre!" He continued to spout out ridiculous terms, hoping to flatter her.
"No, no, no!" Pansy shouted, continuing on her way.
"Goddess of song!" Lupin cried.
This one seemed to have worked, because Pansy stopped and turned, although her lip was still in a firm pout. "Yes?"
Since Lupin had caused her to stop, he continued on. "How could we enjoy the beauty that is your voice when it is muffled by the chorus? Perhaps you could entertain us with a solo, Madame? The aria from Act Three, perhaps?" he asked, trying his best to look charming.
"How can I perform it for you when somebody hasn't finished my costume for it yet?" she asked, her voice raising and her seamstresses cowering.
"You look lovely as you are now," Black replied, stepping forward. "Could you overlook their delay for the time and pleasure us with that beautiful voice?"
Pansy paused, seemingly thinking about this. "Well, if my managers wish me to."
Black looked at Lupin, who nodded fervently. "Yes, of course."
Pansy turned, looking into the orchestra pit. "Maestro Dumbledore?" she questioned, looking down at the old man.
"If my diva commands," he sighed, not hiding his irritation.
"Yes, I do!" Pansy replied. She stepped towards the front of the stage as the orchestra quickly shuffled through their pages, looking for the beginning of the aria. "Quiet!" Pansy yelled, glaring at everybody. "Everyone quiet!"
Harry and the others stepped off towards the back of the stage, knowing full well that Pansy didn't want anyone else around her when she sang her solos, lest they steal her limelight. Black and Lupin joined Fudge and McGonagall off to the diva's side, and the music started. In the seats, Harry could see the cleaning women stuffing cotton into their ears.
Pansy started the song on a quivering note, which wasn't that unusual. Harry turned his head to look at Ron, who looked like he was cringing. Despite how many times this song was rehearsed, Ron always seemed to do that. But Pansy was the only woman in the theatre, in all of England for that matter, who could come close to singing the soprano part in tune.
As the first verse of the aria was coming to its end, Harry heard a noise from above. He looked up, noticing that the scaffolding was shaking slightly. Harry looked to see if any of the rope or light crew was nearby, but they weren't. Perhaps he hadn't seen them. He looked at Hermione, who was rolling her eyes. He could just imagine what she was thinking about.
Then Harry heard the sound of something falling from above. Everybody looked up to see a backdrop scrolling down fast, Pansy in its direct path. Hermione cried out, covering her face with her hands. Harry had an impulse to move and do something, but his feet were frozen to the wooden floor. Pansy, however, seemed to be the last one to notice. She tried to step forward but tripped on her dress, and the background pinned her legs down.
"Help me, you imbeciles!" she screamed, pounding on the floor. Black and Lupin reached her first, and some of the stage hands ran out and worked on moving the heavy background off of her. They managed to pull her out, but struggled with her heavy skirt. She was finally pulled up to her feet, and she threw her arms around, hitting anybody who was touching her.
Fudge looked up into the scaffolding. "Shunpike! What happened?" he called up at a skinny young man.
"I don't know, sir," he said nervously. "I wasn't at my post," he admitted. He grabbed the rope and Ron's brothers, twins Fred and George, joined him to pull the cloth back up. Harry noticed that something white fluttered down from the ceiling, disappearing behind the crowd.
"It was the Phantom!" Luna said, her whimsical voice reminding everyone that she was there.
"Phantom?" Black scoffed. "Don't tell me you all believe in ghosts?"
Lupin attempted to talk to Pansy again, approaching with caution. "Good lady, these accidents do happen."
Pansy suddenly froze, her face turning red with anger. "Happen? For the past three years, these 'accidents do happen'!" She turned to Fudge, who was starting to shake. "And did you stop them from happening? NO!" She looked back at Lupin and Black. "And you two! You're as bad as them! Until you stop these things from happening, this thing does not happen!" she shouted angrily, pointing to herself. "Goodbye!" And once again, she made a dramatic exit.
"What are we going to do?" Lupin asked, not bothering to chase after her. "It is opening night and we've just lost our star?"
Black took off his hat, raking his hand through his hair. "Isn't there an understudy or something for her?"
Dumbledore started laughing from his podium. "An understudy for Pansy? Hah! Even if we could find somebody talented enough, she wouldn't allow it!"
Black grabbed Lupin, shaking his shoulders. "We're going to have to refund a full house, Remus! We'll loose our investments!"
Harry could hear everyone talking; many of them worried about what would happen to them if the opera house had to close do to Pansy's childish tantrum.
"If you need me, I shall be in Australia," Fudge said, patting Black on the back before walking away.
Dumbledore threw his music sheets up in the air as McGonagall approached her new managers, something in her hands. "I have a letter from the Opera Ghost," she said calmly, holding it out to them.
"Good heavens," Black growled, "there are no such things as ghosts."
"They believe in you," Luna said absent mindedly, but they didn't seem to hear her.
McGonagall ignored her new managers and opened the snowy envelope, pulling out a small piece of parchment. "He welcomes you to his opera house…"
"His opera house?" Black interrupted, seeming rather huffy.
McGonagall looked at him for only a second before she continued. "And reminds you to leave Box 4 empty for his use." She pointed with her staff to a box seat off to stage right. "And his salary is due."
"His salary?" Lupin stepped in, starting to sound as agitated as his partner.
"Why, yes," McGonagall replied, placing the letter back in its envelope. "Mr. Fudge paid him twenty thousand pounds a month."
"Twenty thousand?" Black sounded outraged. "That's ridiculous!" He snatched the envelope from her hands and ripped it, throwing the pieces in the air. "Besides, how would we even pay him since we've lost our star?"
Lupin shook his head. "What would a ghost want with a salary? Not to mention a box seat." He looked up again towards Box 4, one of the best seats in the theatre. "If he's a ghost, he can just float around." It was clear that he was using humor to express his outrage. "Has anyone ever seen this specter using the box?" He looked around only to find shrugs and muttered nos. "Who's in charge of that box?"
Ron looked around nervously, and then stepped forward. "Excuse me, sirs, but my mother sees to Box 4. She was given the job when…"
"We don't care why, you foolish boy," Black interrupted, clenching his hat. "Where is your mother at right now?"
Harry could tell that Ron was getting uncomfortable. He didn't like confrontations when they came from his superiors. "Sh-she's at my sister's house."
"And can you go fetch her?" Lupin asked, his voice much calmer than his partner's although just as agitated.
"We'll go," the twins called down from above, hurrying towards the nearest ladder. "He needs to finish rehearsal." Before the managers could reply, the red headed pair was gone.
"Well, there's no sense of continuing rehearsal if there won't be a show tonight!" Black shouted, roughly placing his hat back on his head. "Unless you know anyone that can learn Pansy's part in what few hours you have."
"I can do it," a voice called out in the commotion. Everybody seemed to freeze in place, turning everywhere to see who had spoken.
"Who said that?" Black asked, stretching his tall figure to see over everyone.
Harry could feel his arm rise up in the air as if of its own accord, and his mouth open once more to speak. "I did, sir. I can sing her parts. I know them all."
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, looking confused. "What are you doing?"
Black walked over to Harry, looking at him rather sternly. "This is no time for jokes, boy," he said.
"I'm not joking, sir."
Black rolled his eyes and turned to walk away.
Something inside Harry told him that they wouldn't believe him until he proved it. But part of him was wondering why he had said anything to begin with. How could he sing a soprano's part? But another part of him, a feeling that didn't seem like it had been there before, was taking control. Harry opened his mouth, and to his surprise and everyone else's, the most beautiful voice could be heard.
"Think of me, think of me fondly, when we've said good-bye.
"Remember me, trying too hard to put you from my mind."
Harry continued to sing the aria a cappella, and he noticed that everyone was watching him in awe. Hermione's hand was over her mouth, and her eyes seemed to be tearing up. Black was frozen in place, his jaw opened wide in shock. McGonagall's eyebrows were as high as they ever had been, and Dumbledore looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or applaud.
Lupin was the first to speak when Harry had finished. "Forgive me for asking," he began, "but how are you able to sing like that?" His eyes dropped down, then looked back up at Harry as he whispered, "Are you a eunuch?"
Harry was horrified by this question. "No! Certainly not!"
Ron came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Bloody hell, why didn't you tell us about this?"
"He's a female impersonator!" Luna exclaimed, clapping excitedly as others around her burst out in laughter.
"That's it!" Black shouted, his face illuminating. "A female impersonator!" He approached Harry and took hold of his chin, which Harry flinched in pain. "This might actually work. Feminine eyes, small frame…with some makeup, nobody would realize you were a man!"
Harry pulled away from his grasp, a little scared about what he had just done. "I didn't say I would do it," Harry said, rubbing at his chin.
"But you must, boy. It's the only way we can keep this opera house open tonight. What's your name?"
"Harry Potter," he replied reluctantly.
"Hmm…" Black thought, rubbing at his own chin. "That won't do. We'll have to call you Harrietta for the audience's sake."
Harry could hear Ron laugh behind him. "I don't think so, sir," Harry insisted.
"Please!" Lupin said, falling to his knees in plea. "Don't you see you'll be helping everyone by doing this? Not to mention you'll be famous."
"Harry, you shouldn't waste that beautiful voice," Hermione joined.
Harry looked at everyone, watching him for an answer.
"All right."
Black took his hand and shook it violently. "You're a very lucky man. Strange man, but very lucky. Somebody take him and get him a wig! And fit him for all the costumes needed!"
Before Harry could even realize what he had gotten himself into, Pansy's seamstresses were dragging him offstage towards her dressing room. But he couldn't help but feel that someone was watching him. He looked up into the scaffolding, but could see nothing.
Author's Notes
For all the PotO fans, I am aware that it is Box 5. I changed it to Box 4 because…well, it's more of an inside joke, although it's not really a joke, it's just the thought of hearing the Phantom saying "4" compared to "5". In the words of my friend, Kim (who I write slash for :D ), "When he says, 'four,' it's so SEXY!" I am talking about the HP character who is the Phantom, not the PotO ghost, although his voice is sexy, too.