Chapter 9

"All the world is but a stage, and all the men and women merely players"

William Shakespeare

Great events are rarely planned. It is common thought that fate has a romantic aspect to it, which allows not only the event itself to occur, but also allows grandfathers to spin yarns to grandchildren. Yarns turn into myth, myth into legend, until the whole event has spun out of context and you have aliens where there were none, and 10 times the soldiers actually involved in the conflict. However, it can be said, that the events that spawn legend are those at are both planned, and spontaneous, the events where you have the Jimi Hendrix Experience backing up Jefferson Airplane at the Monterey Pop Festival in 1967, the Beatles arriving in America for the first time, or the great siege of Troy. Great events are planned, but revolutions are both planned and spontaneous. However, when great events can be predicted and given a particular point in time, people's reactions are predictable: there will be a direct correlation between the closeness to the day, and the general excitement (or fear) looking up to the day. It was an attitude such as this that infected Hogwarts in the week leading up to the concert.

'Gah stupid fools, don't they know that on that day ill be humiliating myself in front of thousands of people!' was all Sid could think whenever he passed a group of giggling girls, clustered like nuns around a poster. 'Especially… er…well…her.' he kept thinking. He had planned it all out: he triumphantly would give a stellar performance, and walk off the stage, where she would be, looking at him reverently, and he would kiss her! Actually work up the courage! No more hiding himself behind a veil of apathy! Who cared if this love he felt would only be a temporary surge of emotion, than cast back into a pit of melancholia… it would be the sweetest time ever.

The days seemed to shift in and out until it was Friday. Ron's snoring sounded much like a chainsaw being eaten by a man snoring insanely loudly. Harry kept muttering something about Ginny ('Really he's gotta get something for those hormones' Sid thought, 'One minute he's spitting acid at everyone around him, the next he's spitting… well… maybe he's bipolar. Like Kurt Cobain!'), however even if Ron hadn't been devouring a chainsaw, and Harry kept his all to personal dreams to himself, he would be unable to sleep, so much on his mind…the concert, and Maria…and the concert…and than back to Maria. Eventually he got off his coffin lid (he was too nervous to sit inside an enclosed space) and walked down the stairs into the common room.

His guitar was leaning against a chair. He had purchased a brand new set of strings…he really couldn't afford them, but than Michael had insisted and bough them for him…his strings were old and would break anytime soon.

Picking it up, he strummed the strings and, at they all snapped…at exactly the same time

"Whoa… what are the odds of that?" he stared in astonishment at the guitar. With a sigh, Sid began to remove the old strings and put the new ones on, not a lengthy process, but a tedious and necessary one.

So much on his mind, but not much to do about it…except face his demons head on tomorrow. He had the feeling that he was on the verge of something big…which of course he was: the concert tomorrow would be the first major one since Voldemort's return.

Sid set his guitar down and gazed into the fire, and suddenly felt a sudden burst of emotion which left him gasping: to a vampire emotion was something that rarely came, and therefore often had an effect similar to a punch in the face. He realize dhow weary he was…the kind of weariness that stress can only make worse. He must have slept, for he blinked and when he opened his eyes, sunlight was streaming in through the windows…upside down. He was dangling from the ceiling. "Huh. When'd that happen." It was customary for a vampire top sleep upside down, if they were not inside a coffin. He was just pondering how he would get down, when he looked over and saw Harry looking at him from the doorway leading to the boy's dormitory. He looked tired and non phased, shrugged staring at Sid, "I don't want to know…"he mumbled.
"Good morning to you too sunshine." Sid replied with the same distinct feeling that Harry didn't like him very much.

It was than that with a dreadful jolt he remembered the concert…and promptly fell form the ceiling with a loud crash onto the floor. He got up and dusted himself off, praying no one had seen that. It was very early in the morning, but the sun was just cresting over the forbidden forest, and he suddenly felt something rise inside him: a monster that was crying to be released. There was something poetically just about a vampire watching the sun rise with such rapt attention, and as the sun rose Sid bowed at the waist as a mark of respect to something so powerful and eternal as he. Like Yin paying respect to Yang.

It was early yet, and the concert would not be for several hours, but Sid could wait no longer, and really didn't want to face all the happy people watching him and muttering or giggling. He got up and walked out of the portrait hole carrying his guitar slung over his shoulder.

Down the stairs, into the Entrance room to Hogwarts, and out the doors, and onto the school grounds. Even this early in the morning the roads were full of people making their way to the concert grounds: mothers carrying children in their arms, babies wailing, children running along the throngs of people laughing and playing, yet the sun seemed to dim around Sid when he passed by, his capes collar pulled high. He could easily pass for a wealthy pure blood, but he nevertheless drew a few snide remarks from the concert goers, who would soon be fighting for a position to watch him play. Now THAT was poetic justice.

He pushed his way into the town's gates, and was immediately taken aback by the sheer number of people who were there, shopping, loitering, looking for autographs, eating or arguing. Sid pushed his way through the crowds, making sure his guitar was extra safe, and it was not without a little relief when he saw the tent which had been erected for the artist's uses (aka. Sleeping, eating, drinking and groupies…more the latter than the former…), and walked past the burly security guards. The tent was quiet except for the scratching of a pen and snores. There was something about the scratching of the quill that drew Sid towards it: it had urgency to it, as if the writer were spilling out his soul over the parchment.

The scratching of the quill picked up urgency, and as Sid turned a corner and saw a teenager, about his age, shirtless, sitting on the side of the bed. His skin was bronze, and his hair made up in long dreadlocks, and he was quite thin. He was wearing large DJ's headphones and writing on a slip of parchment, illuminated only by a single candle, while another form could be seen beneath the covers of the mattress. The dreadlocked man looked over at Sid and said, "Can I help you?"

Sid just starred at him behind his sun glasses, "Umm…I'm just looking for the Weird Sisters…but they wouldn't be awake would they…"

Dreadlocks looked at Sid for a moment before getting up, "No. You must be Sid though. They were talking about you last night." He looked at Sid's guitar case and said with a sneer, "I would never think I'd ever see the day when one of your kind would attempt music."

Sid sneered, "Hey, fuck you man." He spat on the floor in front of Dreadlocks and left the tent seething. He faced that so often, but that particular comment cut deeply. The sun was just cresting the horizon, and as Sid walked through the tent community people would emerge from tents rubbing the sleep from their eyes and staring at Sid, astounded that any form of life existed before 6:23 am.

The Stage was set up for the performance, and as Sid stood on the stage he again felt comfortable: a sense of comfort he had never had, even at home. Even at this early hour the field was filling with people hoping to catch good seat to see the concert. It seemed as if time were speeding up. Before his very eyes Sid could see the crowds of people entering, as the sun rose. It was like a documentary where the film was fast forwarded: the sun rose. His trance was broken only by a pat on his shoulder; he turned to see Michael standing there, looking more than a little drunk.

"Hey Schid; you should come sit with us!" and he dragged Sid over to a table just off stage where the Weird Sisters sat, bearing a striking resemblance to photos of the Beatles. They all raised goblets to him when Sid appeared. Out of the corner of his eyes, he could see Dreadlocks setting up a drum set for a band about to play.

Time seemed to skip ahead almost at an exponential rate: it was all a confused mixture of sounds, colors, howls, hollers, thunder would be heard distantly in the sky, rumblings of what could come, and amid all of the discombobulation, Sid could hear and feel something more powerful and louder: fate.

When the weird sisters took the stage the sun was setting: it was a time when Sid's vampire senses were going insane: the smell anticipation, of life… of blood: it was all intoxicating, and he drank it up: his stomach felt as if Butterflies had obtained copies of Che Guevara's book on guerrilla Warfare, and than laid their hands on some AK 47's and proceeding to set up some kind of pseudo communist peoples republic.

Michael began to sing, and the Weird sisters played along: time was ticking down, before time was, finally Michael began his introduction, and Sid, guitar in hand, stepped forth into the limelight.

He had envisioned thunderous accolades, torrents of flowers, cheers, yells…he had expected Maria to be in the front row. What he got was actual thunder and torrents of Rain. Almost to the second he got on stage, sheets of water began to fall: stage wizards began to cast charms around the stage to keep the performers dry, and he couldn't help but mutter to himself that this couldn't be a good sign. Michael however would not be deflated, despite the weather, "Ok ladies and gentleman, were gonna ease things down here with a little jammin'." He looked over at Sid, "Yah ready man?"

((gah I know it's been forever since my updating! I'm very sorry to everyone: what with work, co op and school… You all might be interested to hear that the girl whom this was meant to… well the girl whom Maria is based upon, is now my girlfriend ))