Musica multos magis dementat quam vinum.
Music induces more madness in many than wine. As expected, Cel had never tasted a drop of alcohol in her life other than that of cooked food, but she remembered the proverb in full as she stopped in her tracks on the last step of the staircase leading to the fourth floor. The wood rumbled beneath her, beginning to slide away from her destination, and she scrambled to jump across the small gap before the stairs abandoned the fourth floor completely, very nearly dropping her book. Her silk bookmark fluttered down, down, down on the air-- she was thankful that she hadn't used her metal markers today.
The music in question that had diverted her attention in the first place continued to drift out from the hallway before her: a powerful melody that she knew by heart, played on the slender white and black keys of a piano. After a moment, Cel turned to face the dim-lit corridor, smiling a little at the music that emanated from it. Few people enjoyed such music; few ten- and eleven- year olds, at least, and even those who did were not found in the school she had become accustomed to calling a second home.
Beautifully composed and beautifully played, the piece was: The theme song of the Phantom of the Opera, composed by Andrew Lloyd Webber, one of the first pieces she had mastered upon her arrival at Oxford. Much sooner than later, she found herself humming along with the song, then quietly whispering the lyrics to herself-- whomever the pianist was had already progressed to the last verse.
Without so much consciousness as she could have had, the girl began to walk, unknowingly beginning to sing a little louder and louder with each slow, small step along the hall. It was quite a good thing that the library was on the other side of the hall and that the doors of the other rooms seemed to be shut-- finally, she recognized the cracked-open door of the Rehearsal Room to be the origin of the powerful music that washed out from its interior.
"And in this labyrinth, where night is blind, the Phantom of the Opera is there, inside your mind." The words drifted away from her in perfect sync with the piano, and for the first time she realized the volume of her voice-- but it was too late, for the trills, the zenith of the song, came into the reality of time, and she could not help but open her mouth and sing.
One note, held, raised. Another, held, raised. The high, piercing melody of her voice wove along with the piano's, which did not stop, and she ceased her slow perambulating along the hallway as she reached the door of the Rehearsal Room, not quite peering in yet. Up, up, up-- this was what she loved, the pure, high, clear note of her voice straining to produce a sound that disguised the stress of her focus. One last note-- without the slightest notion of trouble, she hit a perfect pitch and faded off the end with a genuine smile.
Smiles on this little girl, this then First Year Ravenclaw, did not usually last for long, but the suggestion of it tingled at the corners of her lips as she peered into the Rehearsal Room, curious as to who had put up with her singing that had likely interrupted what was a direct focus on his or her playing. The only things her green and brown heterochromic eyes caught before the person sitting on the piano bench turned was the red hair on a figure leaning over the grand piano in the middle of the room.
Without so much as a word, she squeaked and backed away from the doorway, knowing full well that she'd been spotted but not quite accepting it. The pianist was good, but she didn't welcome unwarranted attention from skilled pianists any more than she did from normal students... actually, she did, but that was beside the point. A look left, a look right, and the girl fled, beginning to backpedal down the corridor.
Permission to Godmod granted by Ami