Glass Houses, Part Three
Author's Notes: This is, in my opinion, the best-written chapter so far because I get to do what I do best: dialogue. Title comes from the line "Been on the losing side/ This time I'll turn the tide" from a song called "Making My Way (Any Way that I Can)." The line "L'ombre a fermée les yeux du jour" is from a song called "Ouvre Ton Coeur" by Georges Bizet, proposed as an aria for Carmen but rejected in favor of the "Habanera." As before, I've tried to translate any bits of foreign languages that pop up. Galina is a Russian form of Helen; Orélie is a French form of Aurelia.
Disclaimer: The wizarding world and all related concepts belong to JKR; Stella di Mattina and all characters are mine.
The space beyond the curtain was briefly filled with a blaze of light. Signor Cappelino smiled at his wife. "That's the last of them," he stated with relief.
"I hope they chose wisely," Cecelia worried, twisting a lock of her gray hair. "Young people these days are so impetuous."
"There are no wise or unwise decisions," Mario philosophized, "Nor good, nor bad ones. There is only what was. We can't change the past, only the future." On a more pragmatic note he added "Come now; Leonora wanted to discuss a lesson plan."
--
Orélie shivered slightly as she realized that she had been transported. Her new surroundings, a medium-sized room, were a bright contrast to the dim hallway of the four mirrors. This room (Glass House's Social Hall, according to the brochure) had six walls, three of which were composed mainly of pristine windows. The other walls contained labeled doorways - "Girls' Hallway One," "Girls' Hallway Two," "Girls' Hallway Three," "Boys' Hallway One," "Boys' Hallway Two," and, obviously, "Boys' Hallway Three." Wallpaper in pastel tessellations filled in the blank spots. In one corner was a glowing aquarium in which various fish performed an aquatic dance.
Between the diamond-paned windows, unlit candles waited in tiny alcoves. Chairs and cushions of dark green were positioned throughout the room, matching low tables, which mostly supported books. It was in these chairs, on these cushions and at these tables that the students were seated. An amalgamous mix, most of them had one thing in common: they were watching Orélie with expressions of mild curiosity.
Despite the fact that the Social Hall was sun-warmed, Orélie continued to shiver, staring blankly at the faceless crowd. Her gaze turned to her hands; on one finger of her left she spied a ring. On closer examination, this proved to be made of indigo glass. Delicate letters were etched into it, spelling "Orélie."
"It's your ring," explained a gently familiar voice. A boy, tall compared to Orélie but in reality of average height, separated himself from the amorphous group. Stepping forward, he extended his own hand to display a similar ring of pale blue glass. "Everyone has one, made out of the material their house is named for. They work as the password to the House areas, and they have their owners' names on them. See?" He turned his hand, causing the letters to flash in the light. Orélie caught a quick glimpse.
"Soh-mair-sette?" she tried hesitantly, attempting to pronounce the unfamiliar name. She glanced up to gauge her success by the boy's face, tan beneath dark brown hair.
"Somerset," he corrected with a smile, eyes the same shade as his ring glinting. "It's British. Are you Italian?"
Orélie shook her head slightly. "French. I transferred from Beauxbatons; I'm in the third year. My name is Orélie." She smiled tentatively, hoping against hope that her new acquaintance wouldn't end up betraying her.
"Orélie," Somerset repeated carefully, and then grinned. "I think it's easier to pronounce French from English than vice versa."
"No way," protested Orélie, flipping a lock of hair. "Try this: 'L'ombre a fermée les yeux du jour' ('The shadow has closed the eyes of the day')."
"Lumbra ah firmay lays yous doo jor," parroted Somerset sheepishly. "No?"
"No," Orélie agreed, laughing. "But not bad."
"So what do you think of our lovely school thus far?" Somerset queried with the barest hint of irony, backing into a chair and gesturing for Orélie to join him at a nearby seat.
"I like the architecture," replied Orélie honestly as she perched elegantly on a stool. "The whole place seems very pleasant. I don't think I buy into the whole 'progressive' thing, though."
"Very few of us do," was Somerset's wry rejoinder. "I think adults are more susceptible to it. It has its perks though; no uniforms, for instance." He waved his hand to indicate Orélie's robes. "Nice color."
"My ring apparently thought so," Orélie agreed, glancing again at her hand. "For some reason everyone thinks I need to be color-coordinated." Somerset laughed and Orélie clasped her hands together happily; it was such a change to make someone laugh on purpose instead of by doing something humiliating.
"I have no such problem." Somerset gestured toward his own robes, navy blue but faded in patches. Orélie winced at the juxtaposition of her own frivolously fancy clothes and the shabby ones of her new friend.
"They're not really very noticeable," she lied in an attempt to nip any conflicts in the bud. Somerset leaned forward, frowning slightly, and Orélie jerked back.
"Listen," Somerset began, "Why do you look so scared? I'm not angry, but let's get one thing clear. I don't like insincerity." Orélie's eyes widened in confusion. "The world is full of people saying things they don't mean, trying to be someone they're not," he clarified. Twirling his ring on his finger, he continued, "I don't want to have to do that to others, and I don't want others to do it to me."
Orélie nodded to signal comprehension. "So what does this boil down to?" she queried with a blink.
"Say what you mean to me, be honest, and I'll reciprocate. Don't try to humor me or spare my feelings." Somerset tilted his head in thought. "I think you're above that," he finished meditatively.
"I hope so," replied Orélie, tilting her own head. "I'll do my best, and," she continued with a half-joking grin, "You won't try to dictate any of my other behavior?"
"D'accordo," Somerset agreed with a smile. "I don't think I'd get very far."
"Somer," a nondescript blond boy deadpanned, "Are you going to flirt until dinner or can we talk business?"
"We're not flirting!" protested Orélie, immediately on the defensive.
"I'm not hiring you," Somerset growled with the air of one who has repeated something too many times. "Take your business and your nose somewhere else." Seemingly un-offended, the new boy shrugged and headed to another group of students.
"Business?" Orélie enquired.
"He's a spy. His name's Nardo," explained Somerset with a hint of disgust. "When his cash flow is slowing, he gets in everyone's face."
Orélie digested this information. "I see. Isn't that illegal?"
Somerset nodded nonchalantly. "It's also very useful."
"Touché," Orélie chuckled as the rest of the room's occupants rose from their seats and started toward an unlabeled door. "Where are they all going?"
"Dinner," replied Somerset succinctly as he stood. "Come on, there might be alfredo sauce."
--
I hope the dining hall isn't far. I'm not tired, not physically anyway, but I'm not sure how much more novelty I can take. Whatever happened to my luggage? With my luck this whole school will turn out to be a criminal institution for stealing our valises. All right, not the most plausible theory, but stranger things can happen. I'd better hurry to catch up to Somerset; he walks really fast. Still can't believe I met him. He's so friendly and, well, I don't know, trustworthy.
Trustworthy? That's a strange word coming from me. You're not supposed to trust other students; you can have uneasy alliances, and you can even like them, but you can't trust them. It's just not worth it. I'd better focus hard on not letting my guard down.
This place is so noisy. I think it's the acoustics of the marble in this hallway. It's worse than when Marc breaks a vase and Maman and Papa yell at him in sync. If I listen hard enough I can hear snippets of individual conversations - "We'd never get away with that!" "He really said that?" "And, to top it all off, she didn't give it back!" "Ew, it was so gross." "I took a picture; I'll show you after dinner."
Now we've joined up with students from the other Houses, or at least I think so because there definitely weren't this many people in the Social Hall. I see a room up ahead. Please be the dining hall. Yes, it is, or at least it has tables. Hey, where's Somerset? There he is. I'd better be careful or I'll lose him.
--
The dining hall was an enormous room of swirled green and white marble where the footsteps of numerous children echoed and reverberated. Lit by tiers of candles against the walls, the corners were the brightest spots in the room instead of the darkest as in most chambers. In each corner stood a large table - a silver square, a gold rectangle, a wooden circle and a glass oval, all surrounded by metal chairs of various bright colors. Sundry banners, carvings, tapestries and mosaics adorned the walls, most bearing the same image: a blue-white star against a background colored like a sunrise, presumably the emblem of Stella di Mattina. Despite the constant traffic, the tiled-marble floor sparkled immaculate.
Orélie wove through the crowd to stand by Somerset's shoulder. "The glass table is ours, right?" she queried, tilting her head to make eye contact. Somerset nodded absently and continued walking toward the table, Orélie by his side.
"You know," Somerset considered, stopping to turn to Orélie, "You should probably sit with some of the third years, try to get to know them." Orélie looked up with frightened eyes, bit her lower lip in uncertainty. "They're really not that bad," the boy assured her. "Besides, it's not like you're universally hated."
Exhaling through her nose, Orélie replied "Not yet, anyway." Before Somerset could request details, Orélie continued, "So where are they sitting?"
Somerset gestured to a few young teenagers. "Over there." Worriedly he eyed Orélie's look of grim martyrdom. "You think you'll be all right?" His critical gaze softened. "If you're really that scared…"
"Scared?" Orélie scoffed. "I might be nervous, but I'm no coward. I just spaced out for a minute there." Somerset scowled and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "honesty." "Oh, fine, I'm terrified," Orélie admitted. "Break down all my defenses, why don't you? I'm going to meet them anyway, though, so don't worry unless I pass out in the middle of dinner. I'll see you later, d'accordo?"
Somerset blinked a few times. "D'accordo," he agreed with a smile of what might have been admiration.
--
Orélie slid into an empty seat beside a third-year girl with a heart-shaped face and light brown hair braided in coils. The unnamed girl was in deep conversation with another third year, an olive-skinned boy with heavily gelled hair and black-rimmed oval glasses. The two were apparently arguing over something and too busy to notice a newcomer. Instead, Orélie found her shoulder tapped by another girl, copper-haired and bronze-tanned with blue smoke eyes.
"Could you pass the tomatoes?" requested the redhead. Orélie, who had steeled herself for inquisition, nodded in relief and reached past the olive oil for the platter of tomatoes.
"Here they are." Orélie proffered the porcelain dish to the other girl, who recoiled.
"There's something on your sleeve!" she cried in horror, pushing her chair, which squeaked, further away. Orélie looked down to see that her silken sleeve was dripping with olive oil.
"Oh honestly," snapped the heart-faced girl with a look of disgust, "You'd think it was poison." She whipped a cloth napkin from the table and attempted to dredge the oil from Orélie's sleeve. "Don't worry; I think I can get it off." She only succeeded in spreading the stain, but Orélie didn't mind. Robes appeared in her closet as if by magic; friendly faces were far fewer.
"Thanks," Orélie told her helper fervently. "Here, have my napkin since yours is all oily now."
"No problem," replied the brunette with a wave of her hand. "There're plenty of extras. And," she finished with a significant look at the copper-locked girl, "It's only olive oil."
"Sorry," added the intended girl, flushing a darker bronze. "My parents would kill me if I got anything on my robes. I'm Carmela; are you the new transfer student?"
Orélie nodded slowly. "Si; I'm Orélie from Beauxbatons."
"One of the big schools, hmm?" mused the girl with braids. "I'm Galina Mitzanova. I would've gone to Durmstrang if I hadn't gone here instead; no way were my parents going to send me there." She took a long sip from a glass of murky liquid. "You should get something to eat. There's pasta."
"Say no more," grinned Orélie as she helped herself, more carefully this time. "Pasta and I get along very nicely."
"We've got all kinds of drinks, too," Galina continued. "Blueberry soda, raspberry soda--"
"Just don't tell her what you're drinking or she'll lose her appetite," interjected the gel-haired boy. "Not to mention the rest of us."
"I'd have to agree with Luis on that one," confessed Carmela. "I don't know how you keep that stuff down."
"Practice," Galina beamed, "And willpower."
--
Author's Notes: This is, in my opinion, the best-written chapter so far because I get to do what I do best: dialogue. Title comes from the line "Been on the losing side/ This time I'll turn the tide" from a song called "Making My Way (Any Way that I Can)." The line "L'ombre a fermée les yeux du jour" is from a song called "Ouvre Ton Coeur" by Georges Bizet, proposed as an aria for Carmen but rejected in favor of the "Habanera." As before, I've tried to translate any bits of foreign languages that pop up. Galina is a Russian form of Helen; Orélie is a French form of Aurelia.
Disclaimer: The wizarding world and all related concepts belong to JKR; Stella di Mattina and all characters are mine.
The space beyond the curtain was briefly filled with a blaze of light. Signor Cappelino smiled at his wife. "That's the last of them," he stated with relief.
"I hope they chose wisely," Cecelia worried, twisting a lock of her gray hair. "Young people these days are so impetuous."
"There are no wise or unwise decisions," Mario philosophized, "Nor good, nor bad ones. There is only what was. We can't change the past, only the future." On a more pragmatic note he added "Come now; Leonora wanted to discuss a lesson plan."
--
Orélie shivered slightly as she realized that she had been transported. Her new surroundings, a medium-sized room, were a bright contrast to the dim hallway of the four mirrors. This room (Glass House's Social Hall, according to the brochure) had six walls, three of which were composed mainly of pristine windows. The other walls contained labeled doorways - "Girls' Hallway One," "Girls' Hallway Two," "Girls' Hallway Three," "Boys' Hallway One," "Boys' Hallway Two," and, obviously, "Boys' Hallway Three." Wallpaper in pastel tessellations filled in the blank spots. In one corner was a glowing aquarium in which various fish performed an aquatic dance.
Between the diamond-paned windows, unlit candles waited in tiny alcoves. Chairs and cushions of dark green were positioned throughout the room, matching low tables, which mostly supported books. It was in these chairs, on these cushions and at these tables that the students were seated. An amalgamous mix, most of them had one thing in common: they were watching Orélie with expressions of mild curiosity.
Despite the fact that the Social Hall was sun-warmed, Orélie continued to shiver, staring blankly at the faceless crowd. Her gaze turned to her hands; on one finger of her left she spied a ring. On closer examination, this proved to be made of indigo glass. Delicate letters were etched into it, spelling "Orélie."
"It's your ring," explained a gently familiar voice. A boy, tall compared to Orélie but in reality of average height, separated himself from the amorphous group. Stepping forward, he extended his own hand to display a similar ring of pale blue glass. "Everyone has one, made out of the material their house is named for. They work as the password to the House areas, and they have their owners' names on them. See?" He turned his hand, causing the letters to flash in the light. Orélie caught a quick glimpse.
"Soh-mair-sette?" she tried hesitantly, attempting to pronounce the unfamiliar name. She glanced up to gauge her success by the boy's face, tan beneath dark brown hair.
"Somerset," he corrected with a smile, eyes the same shade as his ring glinting. "It's British. Are you Italian?"
Orélie shook her head slightly. "French. I transferred from Beauxbatons; I'm in the third year. My name is Orélie." She smiled tentatively, hoping against hope that her new acquaintance wouldn't end up betraying her.
"Orélie," Somerset repeated carefully, and then grinned. "I think it's easier to pronounce French from English than vice versa."
"No way," protested Orélie, flipping a lock of hair. "Try this: 'L'ombre a fermée les yeux du jour' ('The shadow has closed the eyes of the day')."
"Lumbra ah firmay lays yous doo jor," parroted Somerset sheepishly. "No?"
"No," Orélie agreed, laughing. "But not bad."
"So what do you think of our lovely school thus far?" Somerset queried with the barest hint of irony, backing into a chair and gesturing for Orélie to join him at a nearby seat.
"I like the architecture," replied Orélie honestly as she perched elegantly on a stool. "The whole place seems very pleasant. I don't think I buy into the whole 'progressive' thing, though."
"Very few of us do," was Somerset's wry rejoinder. "I think adults are more susceptible to it. It has its perks though; no uniforms, for instance." He waved his hand to indicate Orélie's robes. "Nice color."
"My ring apparently thought so," Orélie agreed, glancing again at her hand. "For some reason everyone thinks I need to be color-coordinated." Somerset laughed and Orélie clasped her hands together happily; it was such a change to make someone laugh on purpose instead of by doing something humiliating.
"I have no such problem." Somerset gestured toward his own robes, navy blue but faded in patches. Orélie winced at the juxtaposition of her own frivolously fancy clothes and the shabby ones of her new friend.
"They're not really very noticeable," she lied in an attempt to nip any conflicts in the bud. Somerset leaned forward, frowning slightly, and Orélie jerked back.
"Listen," Somerset began, "Why do you look so scared? I'm not angry, but let's get one thing clear. I don't like insincerity." Orélie's eyes widened in confusion. "The world is full of people saying things they don't mean, trying to be someone they're not," he clarified. Twirling his ring on his finger, he continued, "I don't want to have to do that to others, and I don't want others to do it to me."
Orélie nodded to signal comprehension. "So what does this boil down to?" she queried with a blink.
"Say what you mean to me, be honest, and I'll reciprocate. Don't try to humor me or spare my feelings." Somerset tilted his head in thought. "I think you're above that," he finished meditatively.
"I hope so," replied Orélie, tilting her own head. "I'll do my best, and," she continued with a half-joking grin, "You won't try to dictate any of my other behavior?"
"D'accordo," Somerset agreed with a smile. "I don't think I'd get very far."
"Somer," a nondescript blond boy deadpanned, "Are you going to flirt until dinner or can we talk business?"
"We're not flirting!" protested Orélie, immediately on the defensive.
"I'm not hiring you," Somerset growled with the air of one who has repeated something too many times. "Take your business and your nose somewhere else." Seemingly un-offended, the new boy shrugged and headed to another group of students.
"Business?" Orélie enquired.
"He's a spy. His name's Nardo," explained Somerset with a hint of disgust. "When his cash flow is slowing, he gets in everyone's face."
Orélie digested this information. "I see. Isn't that illegal?"
Somerset nodded nonchalantly. "It's also very useful."
"Touché," Orélie chuckled as the rest of the room's occupants rose from their seats and started toward an unlabeled door. "Where are they all going?"
"Dinner," replied Somerset succinctly as he stood. "Come on, there might be alfredo sauce."
--
I hope the dining hall isn't far. I'm not tired, not physically anyway, but I'm not sure how much more novelty I can take. Whatever happened to my luggage? With my luck this whole school will turn out to be a criminal institution for stealing our valises. All right, not the most plausible theory, but stranger things can happen. I'd better hurry to catch up to Somerset; he walks really fast. Still can't believe I met him. He's so friendly and, well, I don't know, trustworthy.
Trustworthy? That's a strange word coming from me. You're not supposed to trust other students; you can have uneasy alliances, and you can even like them, but you can't trust them. It's just not worth it. I'd better focus hard on not letting my guard down.
This place is so noisy. I think it's the acoustics of the marble in this hallway. It's worse than when Marc breaks a vase and Maman and Papa yell at him in sync. If I listen hard enough I can hear snippets of individual conversations - "We'd never get away with that!" "He really said that?" "And, to top it all off, she didn't give it back!" "Ew, it was so gross." "I took a picture; I'll show you after dinner."
Now we've joined up with students from the other Houses, or at least I think so because there definitely weren't this many people in the Social Hall. I see a room up ahead. Please be the dining hall. Yes, it is, or at least it has tables. Hey, where's Somerset? There he is. I'd better be careful or I'll lose him.
--
The dining hall was an enormous room of swirled green and white marble where the footsteps of numerous children echoed and reverberated. Lit by tiers of candles against the walls, the corners were the brightest spots in the room instead of the darkest as in most chambers. In each corner stood a large table - a silver square, a gold rectangle, a wooden circle and a glass oval, all surrounded by metal chairs of various bright colors. Sundry banners, carvings, tapestries and mosaics adorned the walls, most bearing the same image: a blue-white star against a background colored like a sunrise, presumably the emblem of Stella di Mattina. Despite the constant traffic, the tiled-marble floor sparkled immaculate.
Orélie wove through the crowd to stand by Somerset's shoulder. "The glass table is ours, right?" she queried, tilting her head to make eye contact. Somerset nodded absently and continued walking toward the table, Orélie by his side.
"You know," Somerset considered, stopping to turn to Orélie, "You should probably sit with some of the third years, try to get to know them." Orélie looked up with frightened eyes, bit her lower lip in uncertainty. "They're really not that bad," the boy assured her. "Besides, it's not like you're universally hated."
Exhaling through her nose, Orélie replied "Not yet, anyway." Before Somerset could request details, Orélie continued, "So where are they sitting?"
Somerset gestured to a few young teenagers. "Over there." Worriedly he eyed Orélie's look of grim martyrdom. "You think you'll be all right?" His critical gaze softened. "If you're really that scared…"
"Scared?" Orélie scoffed. "I might be nervous, but I'm no coward. I just spaced out for a minute there." Somerset scowled and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like "honesty." "Oh, fine, I'm terrified," Orélie admitted. "Break down all my defenses, why don't you? I'm going to meet them anyway, though, so don't worry unless I pass out in the middle of dinner. I'll see you later, d'accordo?"
Somerset blinked a few times. "D'accordo," he agreed with a smile of what might have been admiration.
--
Orélie slid into an empty seat beside a third-year girl with a heart-shaped face and light brown hair braided in coils. The unnamed girl was in deep conversation with another third year, an olive-skinned boy with heavily gelled hair and black-rimmed oval glasses. The two were apparently arguing over something and too busy to notice a newcomer. Instead, Orélie found her shoulder tapped by another girl, copper-haired and bronze-tanned with blue smoke eyes.
"Could you pass the tomatoes?" requested the redhead. Orélie, who had steeled herself for inquisition, nodded in relief and reached past the olive oil for the platter of tomatoes.
"Here they are." Orélie proffered the porcelain dish to the other girl, who recoiled.
"There's something on your sleeve!" she cried in horror, pushing her chair, which squeaked, further away. Orélie looked down to see that her silken sleeve was dripping with olive oil.
"Oh honestly," snapped the heart-faced girl with a look of disgust, "You'd think it was poison." She whipped a cloth napkin from the table and attempted to dredge the oil from Orélie's sleeve. "Don't worry; I think I can get it off." She only succeeded in spreading the stain, but Orélie didn't mind. Robes appeared in her closet as if by magic; friendly faces were far fewer.
"Thanks," Orélie told her helper fervently. "Here, have my napkin since yours is all oily now."
"No problem," replied the brunette with a wave of her hand. "There're plenty of extras. And," she finished with a significant look at the copper-locked girl, "It's only olive oil."
"Sorry," added the intended girl, flushing a darker bronze. "My parents would kill me if I got anything on my robes. I'm Carmela; are you the new transfer student?"
Orélie nodded slowly. "Si; I'm Orélie from Beauxbatons."
"One of the big schools, hmm?" mused the girl with braids. "I'm Galina Mitzanova. I would've gone to Durmstrang if I hadn't gone here instead; no way were my parents going to send me there." She took a long sip from a glass of murky liquid. "You should get something to eat. There's pasta."
"Say no more," grinned Orélie as she helped herself, more carefully this time. "Pasta and I get along very nicely."
"We've got all kinds of drinks, too," Galina continued. "Blueberry soda, raspberry soda--"
"Just don't tell her what you're drinking or she'll lose her appetite," interjected the gel-haired boy. "Not to mention the rest of us."
"I'd have to agree with Luis on that one," confessed Carmela. "I don't know how you keep that stuff down."
"Practice," Galina beamed, "And willpower."
--