Glass Houses, Part Two
Author's Note: Here's what I like to call "the good part." In case it's unclear, which it might be, there are four Houses - Gold, Silver, Wood and Glass. No prizes for which one Orélie ends up in. Again, I've tried to translate French and Italian words. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed Part One. The title of this chapter comes from the line "Look at your face in the mirror; I am there inside" from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera.
Disclaimer: Same as last time; the wizarding world and all concepts therein belong to JKR; Stella di Mattina and all of the characters are mine. Without further ado...
The balloon touched down in a field of unruly grass, surrounded by other balloons of all sizes and colors. Children and teenagers, as varied as their transportation, were talking laughing shouting, finding old friends and setting forth down the wide stone-paved path that led to Stella Di Mattina Academy. Orélie swallowed the old terror and concentrated hard on being inconspicuous, an unlikely prospect as most of the other students were dressed casually.
Rosina took barely a minute to gather her things. After tossing her knapsack over her shoulder, she shook Antonio's hand warmly. "Ciao, Antonio," she declared. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turned to Orélie. "Benvenuto (welcome), Orélie." Her face remained neutral, but her eyes gave a slight smile as she hurried away to catch up with another group of students, leaving Orélie with a faint sense of hope.
"I'd better go," she told Antonio softly. "Arrivederci." Before the ballooner could reply, Orélie had grabbed two of her valises with one hand and the remainder in the other and directed herself toward the path to Stella di Mattina.
For a few minutes, she forgot to be afraid. The distractions of the school and grounds were too numerous. They were evident, as a matter of fact, as soon as Orélie's synthetic brown shoes touched the path. Each of the polished-shiny stones, a muted rainbow, produced a small chiming sound when stepped on: not loud enough to be heard in a crowd, but easy to notice when walking alone.
Orélie, like Kipling's cat, always walked alone.
The haze of flowers surrounding the building seemed to flourish rather than wilt in the salt-infused air. They weren't coordinated by color or species, as were those of Fiorella; instead they grew in haphazard fashion - snapdragons interspersed with delphiniums, violets peeking from behind irises. By focusing on the flowers enough, one could almost forget the building they framed so neatly, a small but welcome gift from the architect.
The walk ended all too quickly at the stained wooden double doors of the school. It was impossible to even slow down in the rush of students entering. One very short boy was walking with such force that he almost knocked Orélie onto the nondescriptly beige carpet of the entryway. Unlike that of Beauxbatons, it led into a room that was not dark and mysterious but light and spacious with scattered chairs, coffee tables and window seats - an exchange of depth for affability. Most of the students funneled out of this room into several arched hallways. A middle-aged man and woman stood in the center of the room, occasionally shouting, "First years, please remain here!" Orélie stayed in the front room, having been told to follow the same procedure as the students in the first year.
With the exception of a trickle of older students, Orélie and the first years were the only students left in the room after a few minutes had passed. The man and woman remained positioned in the middle of the room, trying to smile despite their stiffening legs. They were, according to the brochure, Headmaster and Headmistress Cappelino, founders of the school. Cecelia Cappelino, Transfiguration expert and author of guides for Muggle parents of magical children, wore her graying hair loose to her shoulders and still possessed a willowy build. Her husband Mario, a Crup trainer famous for the invention of magical dog biscuits, was more rotund and hid his hair with a wide-brimmed brown hat.
The couple took it in turns to make their opening speech, composed mainly of psychobabble with a few nuggets of real insight. In flowery sentences they each described what they hoped for the future of the school and the pupils in it. Orélie reached into her pocket to feel the reassuring smoothness of her Reminisce.
--
Maman is right; if first impressions mean anything, they're nice. The building is friendly too. The brochure mentioned that it was designed by an English wizard using an old Roman ruin. Erik something. I like that it's not trying to intimidate us. Beauxbatons was always closing in on me when it thought I wasn't watching. Now if only Signor and Signora Cappelino weren't so long-winded; I suppose it comes from the position. Whoever had the idea that Heads of schools should make speeches deserves a nasty fate.
I don't think I'm nervous anymore, now that I'm actually here and I can't back out. All that's left is Choosing my House and meeting the other students, which will be the painful part. What I wouldn't give to be selectively invisible. Oh no, Signor Cappelino just looked at me; could he tell I wasn't paying attention? No, he was talking about transfer students. What a relief. I'll sleep well tonight, if the other students don't put toads in my bed or something. They wouldn't be that awful on the first evening, would they? Oh, I forgot - I'm talking about teenage wizards and witches. No deed is too low.
Finally, they're talking about the Choosing. Follow them to the mirrors and choose the future we like best - sounds simple enough. Oh dear, this hallway seems to have been built by Beauxbatons standards: cramped and dim, not to mention dead-ending into a curtain. And of course, with my luck, transfer students go last. Such exquisite torture they've planned. I can't stand this hallway; I hope it isn't part of my daily routine. There goes the first kid. I should watch this. Behind the curtain: okay, no surprise there. Now what? How can Signora Cappelino be waiting open-mouthed like that, and how can Signor be knotting his fingers so anxiously? Nothing's happening.
Waiting and waiting… this is absolute horror. Oh! I think that flash of light signaled the end of the Choosing for that little boy. Will he be changed behind that curtain? Let's see - he's gone! And they're just sending the next child in, no comforting statements or anything. How many more are there? I don't know if I can take this. No, that's silly; I can always take what life dishes out to me. This is the epitome of dullness though. I'd bet myself a Sickle that I fall asleep.
--
She didn't - bet herself or fall asleep. From Didier Conveglio to Luciana Yvotte, Orélie watched and waited. At last, after eons of eternity, the room was emptied except for three people: Cecelia Cappelino, Mario Cappelino and Orélie.
"Your turn, piccola (little one)," Signora Cappelino encouraged kindly. Orélie stood silently and, rejecting assistance, opened the curtain.
--
What's beyond the curtain?
It's a dead end after all. This place is too small to really be called a room. Just a cubicle of sorts with four oval mirrors on the back wall, the mirrors of my possible destinies. Only possible, they repeated over and over, and they're not to blame if it doesn't work out. Everyone these days is afraid of being sued.
All I have to do is look in each mirror and choose the future I like best. Simple. If I could just bring myself to look… yes, I will look, whether I like it or not. I'll look straight into this one with the gold rim, gateway to the House of Gold.
Oh… there I am. Except it isn't really me; I'm older, at least twenty, and graceful and wearing jade-green robes, and I'm pretty - not innocent-young-girl pretty like I am now, but sophisticated and intelligent. Where am I? Crystal glasses full of bubbly liquid, sparkling chandelier, people in fancy robes, flawless wallpaper. Some sort of party at an opulent manor, probably Snobville but I don't seem to mind. No, I'm chatting and laughing and everyone wants to say something to me. I have that look on my face as if I'm saying something witty, and if the other people in the mirror are any indication, I'm being quite witty indeed. Do I want this? Look in every mirror before making my decision. All right, I'll try to tear my gaze away - I know I can.
That wasn't so hard. I can still feel the bright room and the laughter. So that's Gold. Here's Silver; let's see…
Me on a broomstick? But I'm afraid of heights… apparently Mirror-Me isn't. She's flying, through the night sky no less, and laughing softly with her hair blowing all around her face. Her eyes are sparkling, too, and her teeth are glinting; the sharpness seems right on her. I can hardly breathe watching those dives she's doing. She's going to fall - no! I'm going to die! Oh, no, she saved us somehow. There are tiny people down on the ground, gesturing wildly - are they Muggles? Are we breaking the law? Just look at that swerve; she's - I'm? - so brave. I can't even tell where we are. Why are the stars so much brighter there? I could almost reach in and grab one - but no, they said not to touch the mirrors unless you choose them. On to the next.
This one is dark reddish Wood; it looks soft and smooth. I'm not so scared of this one. I would stroke the wood, but that probably counts as touching the mirror. And inside…
That's the biggest tree I've ever seen. It completely dwarfs me, sitting beneath it, almost blending into the bark in brown velvet robes. It's autumn, I think, from those gorgeous yellow leaves, and from the light I'd say late afternoon. My eyes are closed, but I don't think I'm asleep; I'm smiling and I never smile in my sleep. What's that motion? A squirrel, coming toward me, and there's a rabbit, and a bunch of birds coming out from behind that branch. They don't look scared of me at all. A flash of red - a fox! But the rabbits aren't running. No, I'm definitely not asleep; my eyes are open now and I'm talking to the animals. Are they going to talk back? No, that's silly, but this whole scene is straight out of a storybook. So nice and peaceful, and no other people to bother me. Maybe this is the one I want. There's one more mirror though, and I have to look in all of them.
I'll be back, wood-framed mirror. Now, the last one, surrounded by smoky glass. Just a quick look and I can go back to the peaceful wood mirror.
What a pretty room. All decorated in flowers, with pale green trimming and bamboo furniture. There's some sort of music playing - Bizet, I think - and there's me, humming along with it. Why am I wearing white? Maman says it's too pale for me, but I look fine in the mirror. I've gotten tanner, I think, so the white lacy robes are all right. My hair is loose, just like I wear it now, except it's gotten longer and ripplier. That's not what's different about me though. I can't quite tell what it is, but I have a hunch that it's something in my face. My eyes don't look quite so large, and my smile is different. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing - taking something out of a bag? Oh, I see; I'm hanging a garland of flowers on the wall. Mirror-Me has good taste. Now I'm opening the translucent curtains.
Where is this place? The window looks out on a road… oh, it's so nice, quaint and old-fashioned, with wrought iron streetlamps. The trees have little blossoms on them, so it's spring, and there's a water fountain outside - I could swear I smell the water. Mirror-Me is laughing at something below, and someone outside is laughing too. What a happy, bubbling laugh I have, not nervous like now. The person outside is handing something to Mirror-Me, something thin and sparkling. What is it? I have to know; whatever it is, it's making me smile like I've never smiled before, at the object and the person outside. This is what I need, that smile and that room and that world. If the House of Glass can bring me there, I'll endure whatever happens along the way. I'll just reach in… maybe I can get there somehow…
--
Author's Note: Here's what I like to call "the good part." In case it's unclear, which it might be, there are four Houses - Gold, Silver, Wood and Glass. No prizes for which one Orélie ends up in. Again, I've tried to translate French and Italian words. Thank you very much to everyone who reviewed Part One. The title of this chapter comes from the line "Look at your face in the mirror; I am there inside" from Andrew Lloyd Webber's Phantom of the Opera.
Disclaimer: Same as last time; the wizarding world and all concepts therein belong to JKR; Stella di Mattina and all of the characters are mine. Without further ado...
The balloon touched down in a field of unruly grass, surrounded by other balloons of all sizes and colors. Children and teenagers, as varied as their transportation, were talking laughing shouting, finding old friends and setting forth down the wide stone-paved path that led to Stella Di Mattina Academy. Orélie swallowed the old terror and concentrated hard on being inconspicuous, an unlikely prospect as most of the other students were dressed casually.
Rosina took barely a minute to gather her things. After tossing her knapsack over her shoulder, she shook Antonio's hand warmly. "Ciao, Antonio," she declared. Then, almost as an afterthought, she turned to Orélie. "Benvenuto (welcome), Orélie." Her face remained neutral, but her eyes gave a slight smile as she hurried away to catch up with another group of students, leaving Orélie with a faint sense of hope.
"I'd better go," she told Antonio softly. "Arrivederci." Before the ballooner could reply, Orélie had grabbed two of her valises with one hand and the remainder in the other and directed herself toward the path to Stella di Mattina.
For a few minutes, she forgot to be afraid. The distractions of the school and grounds were too numerous. They were evident, as a matter of fact, as soon as Orélie's synthetic brown shoes touched the path. Each of the polished-shiny stones, a muted rainbow, produced a small chiming sound when stepped on: not loud enough to be heard in a crowd, but easy to notice when walking alone.
Orélie, like Kipling's cat, always walked alone.
The haze of flowers surrounding the building seemed to flourish rather than wilt in the salt-infused air. They weren't coordinated by color or species, as were those of Fiorella; instead they grew in haphazard fashion - snapdragons interspersed with delphiniums, violets peeking from behind irises. By focusing on the flowers enough, one could almost forget the building they framed so neatly, a small but welcome gift from the architect.
The walk ended all too quickly at the stained wooden double doors of the school. It was impossible to even slow down in the rush of students entering. One very short boy was walking with such force that he almost knocked Orélie onto the nondescriptly beige carpet of the entryway. Unlike that of Beauxbatons, it led into a room that was not dark and mysterious but light and spacious with scattered chairs, coffee tables and window seats - an exchange of depth for affability. Most of the students funneled out of this room into several arched hallways. A middle-aged man and woman stood in the center of the room, occasionally shouting, "First years, please remain here!" Orélie stayed in the front room, having been told to follow the same procedure as the students in the first year.
With the exception of a trickle of older students, Orélie and the first years were the only students left in the room after a few minutes had passed. The man and woman remained positioned in the middle of the room, trying to smile despite their stiffening legs. They were, according to the brochure, Headmaster and Headmistress Cappelino, founders of the school. Cecelia Cappelino, Transfiguration expert and author of guides for Muggle parents of magical children, wore her graying hair loose to her shoulders and still possessed a willowy build. Her husband Mario, a Crup trainer famous for the invention of magical dog biscuits, was more rotund and hid his hair with a wide-brimmed brown hat.
The couple took it in turns to make their opening speech, composed mainly of psychobabble with a few nuggets of real insight. In flowery sentences they each described what they hoped for the future of the school and the pupils in it. Orélie reached into her pocket to feel the reassuring smoothness of her Reminisce.
--
Maman is right; if first impressions mean anything, they're nice. The building is friendly too. The brochure mentioned that it was designed by an English wizard using an old Roman ruin. Erik something. I like that it's not trying to intimidate us. Beauxbatons was always closing in on me when it thought I wasn't watching. Now if only Signor and Signora Cappelino weren't so long-winded; I suppose it comes from the position. Whoever had the idea that Heads of schools should make speeches deserves a nasty fate.
I don't think I'm nervous anymore, now that I'm actually here and I can't back out. All that's left is Choosing my House and meeting the other students, which will be the painful part. What I wouldn't give to be selectively invisible. Oh no, Signor Cappelino just looked at me; could he tell I wasn't paying attention? No, he was talking about transfer students. What a relief. I'll sleep well tonight, if the other students don't put toads in my bed or something. They wouldn't be that awful on the first evening, would they? Oh, I forgot - I'm talking about teenage wizards and witches. No deed is too low.
Finally, they're talking about the Choosing. Follow them to the mirrors and choose the future we like best - sounds simple enough. Oh dear, this hallway seems to have been built by Beauxbatons standards: cramped and dim, not to mention dead-ending into a curtain. And of course, with my luck, transfer students go last. Such exquisite torture they've planned. I can't stand this hallway; I hope it isn't part of my daily routine. There goes the first kid. I should watch this. Behind the curtain: okay, no surprise there. Now what? How can Signora Cappelino be waiting open-mouthed like that, and how can Signor be knotting his fingers so anxiously? Nothing's happening.
Waiting and waiting… this is absolute horror. Oh! I think that flash of light signaled the end of the Choosing for that little boy. Will he be changed behind that curtain? Let's see - he's gone! And they're just sending the next child in, no comforting statements or anything. How many more are there? I don't know if I can take this. No, that's silly; I can always take what life dishes out to me. This is the epitome of dullness though. I'd bet myself a Sickle that I fall asleep.
--
She didn't - bet herself or fall asleep. From Didier Conveglio to Luciana Yvotte, Orélie watched and waited. At last, after eons of eternity, the room was emptied except for three people: Cecelia Cappelino, Mario Cappelino and Orélie.
"Your turn, piccola (little one)," Signora Cappelino encouraged kindly. Orélie stood silently and, rejecting assistance, opened the curtain.
--
What's beyond the curtain?
It's a dead end after all. This place is too small to really be called a room. Just a cubicle of sorts with four oval mirrors on the back wall, the mirrors of my possible destinies. Only possible, they repeated over and over, and they're not to blame if it doesn't work out. Everyone these days is afraid of being sued.
All I have to do is look in each mirror and choose the future I like best. Simple. If I could just bring myself to look… yes, I will look, whether I like it or not. I'll look straight into this one with the gold rim, gateway to the House of Gold.
Oh… there I am. Except it isn't really me; I'm older, at least twenty, and graceful and wearing jade-green robes, and I'm pretty - not innocent-young-girl pretty like I am now, but sophisticated and intelligent. Where am I? Crystal glasses full of bubbly liquid, sparkling chandelier, people in fancy robes, flawless wallpaper. Some sort of party at an opulent manor, probably Snobville but I don't seem to mind. No, I'm chatting and laughing and everyone wants to say something to me. I have that look on my face as if I'm saying something witty, and if the other people in the mirror are any indication, I'm being quite witty indeed. Do I want this? Look in every mirror before making my decision. All right, I'll try to tear my gaze away - I know I can.
That wasn't so hard. I can still feel the bright room and the laughter. So that's Gold. Here's Silver; let's see…
Me on a broomstick? But I'm afraid of heights… apparently Mirror-Me isn't. She's flying, through the night sky no less, and laughing softly with her hair blowing all around her face. Her eyes are sparkling, too, and her teeth are glinting; the sharpness seems right on her. I can hardly breathe watching those dives she's doing. She's going to fall - no! I'm going to die! Oh, no, she saved us somehow. There are tiny people down on the ground, gesturing wildly - are they Muggles? Are we breaking the law? Just look at that swerve; she's - I'm? - so brave. I can't even tell where we are. Why are the stars so much brighter there? I could almost reach in and grab one - but no, they said not to touch the mirrors unless you choose them. On to the next.
This one is dark reddish Wood; it looks soft and smooth. I'm not so scared of this one. I would stroke the wood, but that probably counts as touching the mirror. And inside…
That's the biggest tree I've ever seen. It completely dwarfs me, sitting beneath it, almost blending into the bark in brown velvet robes. It's autumn, I think, from those gorgeous yellow leaves, and from the light I'd say late afternoon. My eyes are closed, but I don't think I'm asleep; I'm smiling and I never smile in my sleep. What's that motion? A squirrel, coming toward me, and there's a rabbit, and a bunch of birds coming out from behind that branch. They don't look scared of me at all. A flash of red - a fox! But the rabbits aren't running. No, I'm definitely not asleep; my eyes are open now and I'm talking to the animals. Are they going to talk back? No, that's silly, but this whole scene is straight out of a storybook. So nice and peaceful, and no other people to bother me. Maybe this is the one I want. There's one more mirror though, and I have to look in all of them.
I'll be back, wood-framed mirror. Now, the last one, surrounded by smoky glass. Just a quick look and I can go back to the peaceful wood mirror.
What a pretty room. All decorated in flowers, with pale green trimming and bamboo furniture. There's some sort of music playing - Bizet, I think - and there's me, humming along with it. Why am I wearing white? Maman says it's too pale for me, but I look fine in the mirror. I've gotten tanner, I think, so the white lacy robes are all right. My hair is loose, just like I wear it now, except it's gotten longer and ripplier. That's not what's different about me though. I can't quite tell what it is, but I have a hunch that it's something in my face. My eyes don't look quite so large, and my smile is different. I'm not quite sure what I'm doing - taking something out of a bag? Oh, I see; I'm hanging a garland of flowers on the wall. Mirror-Me has good taste. Now I'm opening the translucent curtains.
Where is this place? The window looks out on a road… oh, it's so nice, quaint and old-fashioned, with wrought iron streetlamps. The trees have little blossoms on them, so it's spring, and there's a water fountain outside - I could swear I smell the water. Mirror-Me is laughing at something below, and someone outside is laughing too. What a happy, bubbling laugh I have, not nervous like now. The person outside is handing something to Mirror-Me, something thin and sparkling. What is it? I have to know; whatever it is, it's making me smile like I've never smiled before, at the object and the person outside. This is what I need, that smile and that room and that world. If the House of Glass can bring me there, I'll endure whatever happens along the way. I'll just reach in… maybe I can get there somehow…
--