October 1st, 1979
Deus was in the middle of this fifth world tour. His first album of original compositions had been a smash-hit with the Classical music industry. He was now touring with work from his most recent Opus, a piano concerto, and two sonatas. In Muggle settings, this meant partnering with symphony orchestras across the globe. It had taken a lot of work on the part of Unser, his faithful agent, but once booked, tickets for his performances sold like no other. At thirty-two, he was incredibly dashing. His soulful, brooding eyes continued to lure in waves of devoted followers. For the opening of his tour, he started with Bletchly Hall, the site of his debut. His family entire family was in attendance: Father, Mother, Saturn, Echo, Teddy, Sedna, Damara, Wotan, Daphne, Ariadne, and their three year old twins Artemis and Tantalus.
A scant orchestra of magically magnified instruments would later take up half the stage, but for the moment, the chairs lacked musicians. Deus planned to open with his sonatas and finish with the roar of the concerto. Elegantly, he glided out to the piano and took a quick, courteous bow to wild applause. After a minute, he gracefully stepped up to take another bow, and sat back at the bench, this time to utter silence and anticipation. The first sonata was a very specially crafted gift for his mother. It was nearly her fifty fifth birthday. The song he played was filled with allusions folk music of the Highlands, and had the rolling, wind-swept feel of his ancestral home. While the sonata and its movements bore no official name, Minerva could easily identify different portions of the work with stretches of the family lands.
As Deus started to play, the room became completely dark, with one light rising slowly behind the piano. As the pianist was thrown into silhouette, the stark notes of the music seemed to portray a misty cold morning. As the piece grew in scope, the darkness was exchanged for a warm green, with a smell of damp earth in the air. The piece finished with swirls of wind rushing about the auditorium as a purple and grey haze was cast on the stage. The second piece began as a slow andante, with a steady modulation of broken chords streaming through the bass. Minerva and Albus exchanged glances. In their legilimency agreed that this piece reminded them most of the glade where Albus had proposed to Minerva. The song continued in its slow, soothing tone, leaving the auditorium completely still, save for the subtle variation of the lavender and grey color that now filled the auditorium. The final movement was a briskly dancing allegro with occasional whiffs of heather and an emphasis on broad blue light filling the room.
The second work was a four-movement sonata, with one movement for each of his sibilings. Obviously, given the clandestine nature of his true family, the movements were not named, but the family had long ago identified each piece with a clan member. Deus neither confirmed nor denied their assumptions. They were not in birth order at all, but did begin with what was generally agreed to be Teddy's movement. It was a strong, victorious moderato. The chords were very solid, and the movement was straightforward with few surprises. A red and gold lighting scheme marched through the piece. Already, the subtle three note pattern, that sewed the movements together, could be picked out. The second movement was much more quiet and demure than the first, choosing the higher registers to pick a delicately trailing and almost spindly melody. It was largely agreed among the family that this movement represented Echo's love for Herbology, especially because Deus usually played it set to green lighting. The third movement seemed to bubble and stew up from the lower registers of the keyboard. Many parallel octaves gave the impression of a great energy. The rapidly building piece exploded in a burst of purple light and whipped back around to the beginning, finishing with low, tapering simmer. The family attributed this work to Daphne's potions studies. The final movement could almost have been dry had it not contained moments of dissonant poignancy. The hall filled with a warm, orange glow similar to the way the light fell through the tall windows of the library at Invergeldie. Thus the last movement reflected Saturn's love of tradition, history, and classical literature. Accordingly, the sonata finished in the strongest of classical traditions, with the most solid of chord progressions. The McGonagall family mode was heard to resonate through the bass at the very end.
Deus finished to wild applause. After a brief intermission, the concerto began. It was a fantastic piece, with the standard three movement, sonata-allegro form. The first movement was a moderate pompous introduction of the theme and key, the second a slow, dignified, soothing berceuse. The final movement was a celebratory piece crammed with joie de vivre. Each piece was accompanied by nuanced colors that reflected the movement of each part of the orchestra. The room gave Deus their rapt attention. When the finale resounded through the arched ceilings, the audience leapt to their feet in frenetic delight. A short encore was coaxed from Deus, a tiny waltz dedicated to Damara, his favorite niece, when she started dancing lessons. Sated, the hordes pressed out into the reception hall to shake Deus' hand endlessly.
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June 30th, 1980
Amadeus Shaylander's final performance happened at the Ravinia Music Festival just north of the Muggle city Chicago in America. The lawn and pavilion were filled for his performance. He was stretching his legs in the hour before the performance, when suddenly, another incredibly weary owl dropped to the ground in front of him. Deus snatched up the owl and carried him to a secluded corner. After the messenger released his message, Deus sent him to a nearby tree to rest. The letter was in his mother's handwriting, but the parchment was sealed with black wax. Hastily, Deus ripped open the letter. If the owl looked his exhausted, and his mother had used a black seal, the letter would have bad news, very bad news. Suddenly, Deus realized his settings, and stopped to consider if he should proceed. Ripping open the letter right there would mean that he would almost surely have to perform. If it was news about his family, he could not use it as an excuse to end the performance. That would require an explanation of who his family was, after he had told both Muggle and magical press he was without a single living family member. But the letter would be weighing on him his entire performance. He took the gamble, opened the letter to find this cryptic message:
Deus:
You must come home immediately. There is something you must know that I cannot send via owl.
Sincerely,
Minerva McGonagall
Nearly as soon as he finished this first missive, a second owl arrived. The writing on the back said: To be delivered after Ravinia Performance. This letter came from Dan Unser. Even though it was fairly standard for Dan to send him owls with congratulations after a performance, Deus had a large suspicion this letter contained more than just the usual accolades. Ignoring the warning, he quickly opened this parchment. A news clipping from the envelope as he pulled out the letter. It was from the Daily Prophet, with a headline that read, "Theseus McNair, Head of the Auror Department, Wife Sedna, and Two Children Murdered". His mind instantly went numb. He couldn't feel anything. He tried to process it, but every fiber of his being resisted. Teddy couldn't be dead. Deus had seen him less than two weeks ago at Echo's birthday party. And Damara, his favorite little niece, would have just gotten home from Hogwarts. She could not possible be buried in the horrible rubble pictured on the cover of the prophet. With shaking fingers, he opened the letter from Unser:
Deus:
I hope this reaches you after Ravinia. I could not cancel the venue on such short notice without questions. Rest assured, the remainder of your tour has been canceled. I will handle all the negotiations necessary. Please, go be with your family.
Condolences,
Dan Unser
It was short, professional, just as Unser typically dealt. Deus realized that he was in a terrible predicament. He had to pull himself together, suppress the grief and shock, and pull off one last stunning performance. He had to go out on the stage, and give the concert he had given fifty times already this tour. But he had to do so with the knowledge that his brother was dead. It was his own fault; he had read the owls before the performance. There was nothing to do but put on his enchanting, brooding performer's visage, and woo one more audience.
An assistant Stage Manager came to find him. He followed, dutifully brushing off his suit, running a hand through his fly-away auburn curls, and dabbing a handkerchief subtly over his glistening blue eyes. They stopped at the stage door. Audiences were preemptively applauding his entrance. Amadeus Alaric Dumbledore McGonagall took a deep breath, and stepped through the open stage door for the final performance of his musical career.