Finished Cha. Develop. To Mute a Minstrel

Reducio

Rolled to determine house color for the day:
1: Hufflepuff
2: Ravenclaw
3: Gryffindor
4: Slytherin

Number Rolled: 4
Slytherin

Running past several students in the hall and toppling books from many surprised arms, a green-clad Gryffindor dashed through the corridors, heading for the front of Hogwarts.  He had just finished owling Maddie and Romeo, and was now keen upon finding an individual he had wanted to be meet ever since the beginning of the school year, but had never had the opportunity between the happenings of school and schoolwork itself.

That individual’s name was Peeves.

Piérre had heard a lot about Peeves, and had heard students in the Small and Great Hall express their anger and aggravations towards the impish ghost.  As soon as he heard of the Poltergeist, however, Piérre had been hooked, bait, line, and sinker.  He wanted to meet Peeves.

He wanted to meet the competition.

Bursting through the alder doors of the great halls, Piérre spun into trees he small hall, attracting the attention and inquisitive looks of all the portraits.  Some watched him with curious eyes as others opened one to watch him from their dormant state, some gasped in surprise from the sudden energy of the newcomer, and yet others groaned and rolled their eyes, having had experience with Piérre before.  Piérre heard the voices of three portraits, two of male headmasters and one of a blindfolded woman.

“He’s here too.”  Said the husky voice of the first male, a wizard with shock white hair and misty looking blue eyes.  Not Dumbledore, however.  His portrait was to the side of the fireplace and was currently sleeping with a small smile on its face.

“The Gryffindor boy?”  The blindfolded woman asked, turning her head to the first.

“The very same.”  The second male piped up, rolling his eyes and readjusting his position in his frame.

“Oh, don’t tell me he’s gone off and disregarded the uniform again.”

“Do you wish to guess?”

“Dear me...”

“I think him rather pleasant.”  Chirped a smiling witch, who was wearing smiling brightly while stirring a cup of painted tea.  She was wearing flamboyant outfit with all four house colors, which nicely complimented her curly blonde hair.  If Piérre knew anything about history, he could have probably identified every witch and wizard who had spoken from their frames, but as it was, the only one he could recognize was Dumbledore, which the conversation was unable to rouse.

Piérre spun to the smiling witch’s portrait with a huge smile of his own, and the witch let out a titter of laughter.

”Hullo!”  Piérre waved at her, smiling so that his cheeks hurt and his ears piqued impishly.  ”How’s the canvas?”

“Oh, fine, fine dear.  Nice to see you today.”  The other portraits began to whisper among themselves, but a glare from the witch around the room silenced them.  “Now, what brings you here, darling?  Anything some old portraits can do for a fresh breath of air like you?”

Piérre nodded extatically.  ”Actually, yeah!”  Piérre turned down the hall, trying to gain the attention of every portrait.  ”Has anyone here seen Peeves today?!”  He shouted, cupping his hands and causing the portraits nearest to him to cover their ears.

As soon as the word ‘Peeves’ left Piérre’s lips, gasps echoed through the hall.

“Sweetie,”  said the smiling witch, her brow now creased with concern as she added a lump of sugar to her tea.  “Why would you want to see Peeves?  He’s worse than an imp and much meaner too.  He’ll probably egg you and then send you running for the headmaster.”  Portraits muttered amongst themselves, all enjoying an odd moment of agreement.  “The only one who can even keep him at bay is Bloody Baron, and even then, Peeves manages fine on his own without being called by the name taboo.”

”His name is tabooed?”  Piérre asked curiously.  “Like Betelgeuse or something?”  Piérre also knew that Lord Voldemort’s name had also had a taboo on it for a short time, but because he knew of many of the portraits’ experiences with the Dark Lord, he did not utter his name for the sake of respect to the past and to Dumbledore, who was unfazed by this line of questioning or by Piérre’s loud call.

“Taboo is an understatement, young one,”  the witch said, nodding as she sipped the tea,  “Why, its a miracle he hasn’t shown up by_”

”Peevsie was called by a wee little Gryffin?  Peevsie has never had a call be ignored!”  A high, squeaky call echoed over Piérre’s head and Piérre looked up just in time to see an egg cracked over his head, its yolk landing on his face.

The portraits all shouted their disapproval at the poltergeist, but some snickered along with Peeves at Piérre’s expense.

”The little Gryffindor boy has much to learn!  Lookit him now, why he looks like a bird!”  Peeves cackled like a madman, floating almost directly over Piérre’s head.  ”Tweet, tweet little bird!  Little Italian ditty!”

While this mockery was going on, Piérre was focusing on wiping the yolk from his face, and when he had gotten most of the yellow off of his cheeks, he began to play with it between his hands, feeling the cool interior of it running between his fingers.  Piérre looked up at Peeves, who was chuckling down at him.

Piérre laughed, smiling up at the ghost.  ”Hahaha!  You’re better than I imagined!  I’m Piérre Luigi Marchonné!  It’s great to meet you, Peeves!”

”Ah, it’s the Luigi boy, who tricks and plays and confuses!  I bet I’ve done more impish and naughty things than youses!”  Peeves went off on another bout of laughter.

By this point, most of the portraits had either rolled their eyes and turned away, left their frames, or were whispering amongst themselves pitying the Gryffindor boy being harassed by the ghost.

”Oh yeah?”  Said Piérre, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms, dropping the hold of the egg unashamedly on the floor of the small hall.  ”Can you masquerade as another house?  Or creep out at night as quietly as a mouse?”  Piérre began to turn the rhyming game back on the ghost.

”Peevsie is naughtier than that, Peevsie steals away the Sorting Hat!”

”Have you stolen a toilet seat?”

”Peevsie is much less discreet!”

Piérre paused after that rhyme and Peeves only smiled wider, floating back and forth just barely under the ceiling of the small hall, crossing his arms as if in victory.

”Hmmm... that is pretty good... But!  Have you burnt down a house?”

Peeves cackled, ”An arson have we here?  Pray tell what ye got rid of there?”

Piérre smiled softly again before flicking his hands up to the ghost, spattering remaining egg yolks and whites towards Peeves.  ”My first home!  MAGIC!”

With a squeal, Peeves covered his eyes as the egg yolk passed through his insubstantial form.  When he had finally recovered, Peeve’s smile was wider than before.

”Yes, yes!  The Luigi boy without a home, how could Peevsie forget?”  Peeves crowed proudly.

Piérre’s face immediately fell and he felt his stomach drop out of his body as his cheeks whitened in a mixture of shock and sudden surprise that Peeves would have heard of his constant moving about.  As much as Piérre hated it to be true, he and his muggle family had never stayed in one area for longer than a month, tops.  The first home had been the most unfortunate, having burned down at Romeo’s and Piérre’s first uncontrolled magical burst, and the rest had received misfortunes such as infestations and black mold growing overnight on sterilized surfaces among other oddities that made the house unsuited to live in.

”I... uh...”  Piérre’s voice struggled to work.

Another cackle and Peeves clasped his hands together like a choir boy, letting his squeaky voice fill the hall.  In a beautifully wicked sing-song, Peeves recited:

”Piérre Marchonné, Piérre Marchonné!  Luigi’s never had a home!”

Piérre shook his head, his mouth dry as he held back the red in his cheeks.  ”N_No!  Stop it!  I have a home now!  I still have Romeo!  Stop it!”  Piérre felt his fists clenching and despite himself, he could feel a pressure building up behind his eyes and inside his nasal.  Tears were threatening, and a bloody nose was possible...

”The wee little lad who burned down his home!”  Peeves continued, ignoring Piérre’s distress, ”Sitting in the apartment all alone!”

Piérre could feel a pressure building up inside his head.  He pressed his temples, willing it to disappear, but the throbbing refused.  It didn’t want to leave him.  It wasn’t fair... It wasn’t fair...  He hadn’t tried... if only he had been there, able to control the magic...

If only he could have controlled...

Peeve’s cackling echoed in his ears, mixed with the screeching of car brakes and wheels as a pair of screams echoed.

Control...

”STOP IT!  STOP IT, YOU DAMN FREAK!!!”  Piérre exploded, spitting up at the ghost, who flinched and froze at Piérre’s unnatural tone.  Peeves chuckled, uncertain for a second, before Piérre glared up at him, a snarl taking over his features.  ”Don’t you DARE.  EVER.  speak of my family like that AGAIN.”  He stamped his foot, considering it a miracle it didn’t break beneath his foot.  His voice echoed in the hall, causing some portraits to look towards the once demure boy.  Even Dumbledore’s picture opened one clear blue eye for a second before it closed again.

Peeves didn’t even make a rebuttal or a final prod, he blew a raspberry, treading on eggshells, before he flitted away, off to make another student miserable.

Piérre panted heavily for a few moments before he felt something cool trickling down his lip.  With a growl, he wiped his face before observing his fingers.  They were crimson with wet vermillion.  He had made good with the threat of nosebleed.  If someone were to sneak up on him, Piérre wouldn’t notice, enthralled by the blood on his hands, smeared horizontally across his face.