Disclaimer: See Chapter One.
A/N: Wow! Thank you so much to fallenstar127, Hobbits01, and Erik's Ange de la Musique for your lovely reviews! I hope that you guys, and all of my other anonymous readers, enjoy this chapter!
The Minstrel of Diagon Alley
Chapter 3 - Just Like Breathing
Sirius awoke in a bed. As he opened his eyes, he noticed he wasn't in his bed, in his room, in his house. Sitting up, Sirius examined the room. Decorated in gold and a pale cream color, it had a large open window that made artificial lights unnecessary. He looked down at the blankets. Near the foot of the bed was a coat-of-arms. The Potter coat-of-arms. Sirius remembered.
Quickly standing, Sirius wondered how long he had been asleep. His eyes fell on a fresh set of clothes on one of the chairs in the room, so he changed before walking down the hallway. Down the stairs, down another hallway, left, and the first door on the right…
Next moment, Sirius was on his back, on the ground, with one very excited James Potter on top of him. "Hellu, Pads!" said the raven-haired boy.
Sirius blinked, before giving his best mate a half-hearted grin. "Nice to see you, too, Prongsie." Pushing the other boy's weight off of himself, Sirius stood. "Where's Mel?"
James' expression became serious so quickly, the other could not help but be frightened. "Prongs? How is Mel?" Sirius stared at his friend anxiously.
"She's… Sirius, I don't know how… I'm so sorry…" James looked to the ground. Sirius stared at him, open-mouthed. A bolt of fright shot through him, blanking his mind of all thoughts except the implications of this statement.
"No… James… what happened?" When James didn't answer, but continued staring at the floor, Sirius came up to him. "James." Sirius grabbed his shoulders. "What." He shook his shoulders once. "Happened." He shook his shoulders again, with more force. "To." He shook his shoulders once again. "Mel." He added an extra shake, to get his point across.
"I'm right here, Siri!" A small giggle came from behind him. Sirius flipped, to see his cousin standing behind one of the couches, a grin across her face. Relief swept over Sirius so strongly, he felt weak at the knees. Rushing forward, he scooped the fragile girl into his arms and spun her around. Mel squealed happily, clinging tightly to Sirius' arms, and let herself laugh.
A grin split Sirius' face. It had been so long since he had heard Mel laugh, so long since she had been carefree…. No more than a bandage wrap showed that her arm had been broken. The scar on her face looked better than it had in ages. And the light in her eyes glimmered stronger, strong enough to light the entire room. Carefully, Sirius set Mel on the ground, hugged her once more, before turning to James.
James immediately stopped laughing at the look on Sirius' face. "Erm… Padfoot, mate, it was just a joke…" he trailed off as Sirius bolted towards him. Just as the boy's head collided with his stomach in a full-out tackle, James let out a frightened squeak that can be only described as a cross between "Meep!" and "Eek!".
Sitting comfortably on James' stomach, Sirius cocked his head at his friend. "Did you just say 'Eek'?" As the other boy blushed, Sirius burst out laughing. "You did! Oh my… I have to tell Moony this once we get to school! Just imagine," here he paused in his cackles and straightened before putting on his best imitation of James-in-love, "'Oh, Lily,'" he fluttered his eyes and swooned, "'I love you so much, every time I think of you… Every time I see you… I go…'" Mel came to stand by Sirius as he finished dramatically, "'…Eek.'"
Mel giggled. "'Oh, James,'" she sighed dramatically, looking at Sirius, "'that is the most romantic thing anyone has ever said to me… Kiss me, you fool!'" With that, she threw herself into Sirius' arms, and they both cracked up laughing.
James had turned a beet red. "Oy! I'd never say that! And Lily, she'd never say that!"
"How do you know," queried a voice from the doorway. All three turned to look into the face of Mrs. Potter, "that you have to wait until school starts before you can tell your friends this…" she glanced at her son and grinned, "…interesting… development with our favorite boy's romantic career?"
James cocked his head to one side, unconsciously imitating his friend's previous actions. "Mum, what do you mean?" Mrs. Potter just smiled.
Both the boys' eyes widened. "You mean… then that means… do they… Oh, cool!" cried both, giving up trying to talk and instead looking at each other excitedly.
Mel looked between the three older people, slightly confused. She shook her head. No, make that very confused. Both Sirius and James started babbling to each other in sentences that didn't make sense. Boys are so weird, she thought to herself.
Scooting herself out of Sirius' lap, Mel watched the scene for a few minutes more before heading out of the room, down the hallway, and up the stairs. Where did Mrs. Potter say my room was? Wandering for a while, Mel eventually came to what she thought was the right room. Opening the door, however, proved that she was wrong.
As the seven-year-old looked into the room, she could not help but gasp in awe. It was clearly a music room. In the center was a gorgeous grand piano, black, with polished white ivory keys and sheet music spread on the stand. On one wall was an assortment of instruments: guitars, violins, cellos, flutes, trumpets, saxophones, clarinets, trombones, and various percussions. They sparkled in the light of the open window, reflecting rainbows on the wall opposite. That wall was covered with posters, fingering charts, sheet music (why is there music stuck on the wall?), and other pieces of paper, along with little yellow squares, which, if Mel had known much about muggle stationary, would be quickly defined as post-it notes.
In one corner of the room was a large drum set; in another corner were about ten chairs and ten music stands which were also covered in music. The entire room had a well-used look to it; everything was polished, even if there were fingerprints on most everything.
Turning to leave, something caught her eye. She looked back to the instrument wall. There, in the far corner, was something that her first pass had missed. A small, recorder-like object was sitting on a small shelf made for it. Curious, she made to move toward it. She paused, however, and turned back to the door. Years of living in the House of Black had taught her not to do things that might not be allowed.
As in, don't let yourself get caught doing things that are not allowed.
Mel closed the door, then made her way back to the mysterious instrument. Her heart was hammering in her chest, similar to when the time came for her father to get home, but yet so different. She could feel a burning wash through her, flood her veins in a very peculiar manner, yet clearing her mind so effectively that all she could think about was that instrument. Somewhere, in a dark recess of her mind, she wondered if the instrument was enchanted; that thought did not have any time to grow, however, for Mel had touched the object.
The fire in her veins coursed through her right arm, into her hands, into her fingertips, closing itself around the recorder. Mel brought her other hand up to it, carefully lifted it down from its shelf. Without thinking, she placed her fingers over the open holes, brought the mouthpiece to her mouth, and blew into it.
The feeling was incredible. It was like satisfying a desperate, desert-induced thirst with the most refreshing, cool, clear water in the world. It was like calming her pounding heart, even if her heart wasn't pounding. Some deep urge in her had been fulfilled, some deep longing she had never known she had had been replaced with what she longed for, and her heart was soaring. She was soaring. She wasn't Menalippe Black any more. She was just a spirit, no more than a soul, rejoicing in a freedom she had never previously felt.
Her mind and her fingers melded together; every emotion she felt was translated into music which was translated to notes and the notes were translated into finger positions that she just knew how to play. It was like breathing. No more thought to it.
Without knowing it, Menalippe Black had just sealed her destiny forever.
A/N: The 'Get Everyone In The World A Flute' fund is going low. We need reviews to keep the club going! ' R&R please!