Chào các bạn! Vì nhiều lý do từ nay Truyen2U chính thức đổi tên là Truyen247.Pro. Mong các bạn tiếp tục ủng hộ truy cập tên miền mới này nhé! Mãi yêu... ♥

|2 NEW

Laguz

:going with the flow:

●○●

BLUE HAD SCREAMED. So much so her throat had turned raw, and the air in her lungs burned. A blinding light blazed down on her, and she was on a table, pressure on her ankles and wrists as faces floated in and out alongside her consciousness. Some were vaguely familiar, faces from the train, the girl - Rose, and the boy with Blue's mother's eyes, the boy who had scowled but then saved Blue with a single word. Others were complete unknowns. A tall man with brown hair, a thin woman with graying hair.

Singing hounded her ears and brought tears to her eyes and she'd shrieked and whimpered and sobbed. They just kept coming. Sounds of all kinds, from all different directions. Relentless in their cruelty and indifferent to Blue's suffering. Where one ended, another rose up in its place. Blue's world was an endless playlist on shuffle, and it was killing her.

Then a cool hand gripped Blue's own and a kind but stern voice told her to calm. Assuring her that everything would be okay. A face peered into Blue's, blotting out the light. The woman was wrinkled, so much so a good ironing might have done her some good. She muttered another word Blue had never heard before, and the world darkened.

Now that Blue was awake, and not held down to any hard surfaces, she had managed to keep her screams at bay. Even if her surroundings would alarm most.

She sat in a room, if such a cobwebbed mess, could be called a room. It had all the necessities, four walls, a ceiling and floor, so it was a room in the most basic sense. But the furnishings - a large, clawed desk, glass cases filled with strange trinkets and the two life-size gargoyle statues standing guard at the door made it anything but basic.

It was more like a dungeon, the torture devices swapped for skulls and quills, stone basins and one very crumpled hat.

A bespectacled woman, tan and spindly, paced in front of Blue. She had gray hair worn in a bun at the base of her neck. With the way she moved, it surprised Blue a rut hadn't been worn into the floor.

She clasped her hands at the small of her back, her mouth moving though no words were being spoken. If she had noticed Blue had awoken, she wasn't acting like it.

Suddenly, the woman whirled around, tartan robes fluttering around her ankles. Her glasses magnified her shrewish gaze which was now, dead-set on Blue. She felt as though she were being examined under a high-powered microscope.

Blue gulped. The aura this woman projected was like that of a teacher, slightly dismissive, aggressively militant. But there was something in the lines of her face, compassion, that made Blue relax, just a bit. Whoever she was though, one thing was clear - she was an important person and could perhaps provide Blue with answers.

"Ocean Blue Turner." The syllables of Blue's full name languished in the air between them. Never once glancing down, the woman slid into the high-backed chair behind the desk with effortless, albeit stiff, poise. She straightened the sleeves of her robes, and steepled her hands. Her perfect posture made Blue shrink further into her own seat.

"How do you-"

The woman's eyes narrowed. "Your bag, Miss Turner. I believe your name tag hangs off the strap." Blue wanted to slap her forehead. Duh. Of course.

"It was an easy enough connection to make, I assure you." The corner of her lip quirked and she leaned forward, "even for one so desperate for an ironing."

"I-" Blue stiffened, the words stuck on her tongue. She thought she'd kept her thoughts well, where they best belonged, to herself. Then again, her teachers had always told her, her thoughts had a way of tumbling from her head at the worst times, this a prime example of that. "Did I-I-"

"Yes," her chair released a little sigh as she leant back, "you did say that out loud."

Heat flooded to Blue's face. Insulting strangers in a haze? What a great way to try and get an idea of where you are. "I'm-"

"The singing, Miss Turner," Blue snapped her mouth shut, her gaze darting to her hands. She had them in her lap, fingers intertwined. Any other time she'd felt like this, like she was being interrogated by the strictest teacher in the district, it was always about her expression which she couldn't control fully and the type of arrogant attitude it projected. She knew how to reflect those questions - with a feigned smile, pretending she agreed with the projections they were foisting upon her until the conversation ended. But this woman seemed to be able to see below such surface-level reactions, her gaze sharp enough to cut Blue to her core. However, if Blue told the truth -- she gulped -- would this woman think her a freak?

Blue, the girl for whom the world sang.

Suddenly, Blue bolted from her seat. Her eyes darted around, canvassing the shelves of moldy books, rolled parchments, scouring the desk and its quills and ink pots. She caught sight of a hat in need of repair perched inside a glass case. A stone basin. Various skulls and vials, and chunky rocks.

She eyed each miserable face gawking at her from a canvas portrait decorating the wall behind the desk. One face seemed less miserable than the rest, one considerably more miserable than the others, he a jovial man in long robes with an unsettling twinkle in his eye.

She blinked. The songs had stopped.

"Miss Turner?"

"The songs-" she whipped her head around, straining for that unnatural hum, waiting for the chorus to rise again. Breath held she counted. Five seconds. Then ten. Twenty. No serenades. No anthems, symphonies, or dirges. Silence. Everything was gloriously silent. "The songs have stopped."

"Ah yes," the woman folded her arms across her chest, "young Mr. Malfoy told me he cast a reworked Muffliato charm back on the train and it seemed to calm you. I did the same, here." A bony finger pressed into her desk top.

"Muffliato charm?" Confusion crinkled Blue's face. "What's that?"

"Magic, Miss Turner."

Blue's chair wobbled as she kicked her feet out. "Magic?" It threatened to topple, but Blue propelled herself forward, slamming her sneakers on the ground. "No way."

The woman nodded, slowly removing a slender piece of wood from the pocket of her dress (shroud? Cloak?) "My wand. 9 and 1/2 inches. Fir. Dragon heartstring."

"So you're-"

"Headmistress of this school, first and foremost. Intrigued, secondly, by the arrival of a muggle on school grounds, and lastly, what I believe will interest you most, a witch, Miss Turner. Like most who roam these halls. I am a witch, now there are wizards too, but regardless, we all rely upon wands to cast spells."

Blue's head spun the way it had back at King's Cross Station.

"Magic is real. Witches and Wizards are real. And you, a muggle by all accounts, have found yourself at Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry."

"You're crazy," said Blue, again demonstrating her love for speaking the exact wrong thing at precisely the worst times.

Like all who had come face to face with Blue's bad habit, the woman before her frowned and her wrinkles grew so deep Blue thought they deserved a vacation. Hard workers deserved vacations, according to her father, who grumbled often about not getting the time off. But Blue thought he liked work; it kept him from thinking too much. About the rocker in the corner, the third chair set around the dinner table, the cold spot on the other side of his bed. The dust all those things accumulated because they went unused, but no one could be bothered to have them removed.

Blue would have done anything to have that luxury. To have busy work that kept the bad things from crashing into her life. But she'd been six when her mother died, and the memories were fuzzy now. She couldn't recall her mother's face much at all anymore, save for her green eyes, how they glittered, and the happy wrinkles that had hugged them whenever she looked at Blue.

"You sit in England's premier school for witchcraft and wizardry, Miss Turner, I assure you."

"And you are?"

"Minerva," said the woman, motioning toward a shiny brass nameplate at the edge of the desk. "Minerva McGonagall."

"Right," said Blue rolling her eyes, "Toil and trouble and all that."

"Miss Turner-"

Blue rose to her feet. "I need to contact my Aunt." She glanced down, remembering she was no longer in possession of her phone. "I lost my phone back at the station. I need it. I need to call--"

McGonagall's brow wrinkled. "Calm down, Miss Turner. I believe Miss Weasley is in possession of it. That is, what you speak of is that square-shaped object?" Blue nodded. She guessed it could have been the square. "Her grandfather happens to be an authority on Muggle Artifacts, although she doesn't much listen to her elders. Thankfully, young Mr. Potter does. Said it was an important tool your kind uses. An electronic owl of sorts."

"What-"

"Mr. Potter-" yelled McGonagall, peering around Blue. She glanced at the large doors at the end of the room. They were decorated on either side with large, stone eagles who seemed seconds away from taking flight.

"Yes?" came a voice from the other side.

"You are with Miss Weasley, I take it?"

A pause, then, "And James. Scorpius too."

McGonagall heaved a sigh, before sliding her glasses back up her nose. "I see. Very well," she stood, "come in. Miss Turner needs her Muggle things. And I--" she glanced down at Blue, "would like to test something." The doors peeled back.

The children from the train rushed in, the red-head spearheading the front of the caravan. She sauntered in, her cheeks rosy, and reached for Blue, taking her hands in her own. "I'm Rose." She smiled. "Rose Granger-Weasley. And this-" she turned and motioned at the boy with black hair and green eyes like Blue's mom's, "this is my cousin Albus. We call him Al. That's," she practically whipped Blue around, so she could make eye contact with a lanky boy. He shared Albus's black hair but had brown eyes. He was the tallest there, and he greeted her with a dazzling smile. She hadn't seen him aboard the train. "That's my other cousin James." Rose pouted.

James pushed forward, before sweeping Blue's hand up in his. He stroked eagerly at her fingertips, the leaned forward, planting a soft, wet kiss on Blue's knuckles. "It is a pleasure, muggle girl."

"Ugh-" balked Rose, before giving her cousin a nudge in the ribs. He relented, tossing Blue's hand aside. "Gross James. No girls like that."

James, rubbing his side, snarled. "Lots of girls like it Rosie."

"Dumb ones," snapped Rosie. She turned, aiming Blue back toward the doorway, eyes glittering. "And I'm guessing this one's not stupid." Blue nodded her head fervently, expanding Rose's smile. "Good," she pointed at the door. The boy with silver eyes from the train, the one who'd silenced Blue's world, leaned on the doorframe, arms folded over his chest. "And that boy that's trying to out-gargoyle the gargoyles is Scorpius Malfoy." He snorted, his gaze downcast. "Not a cousin of mine, by the way."

"Anyway," continued Rose, his family's pretty notorious in the Wizarding World. Old magic and all that. Malfoys have infested it for centuries, kinda like magical cockroaches."

"My father would argue that your family, Weasley, were the magical cockroaches, not us," drawled Scorpius. Blue blinked. What in the world was going on?

Suddenly, Rose had a stick in her hand, aimed at Scorpius. Her brown eyes sparkled. "Don't make me hex you."

He tore his gaze from the floor to stare directly at the bushy-haired girl's face. A bead of sweat trickled down her flushed cheek. "Wouldn't be a fair duel what with my wand broken."

Albus, stepped between his cousin, lowering her arm. "Rosie, Scorp was just joking."

Realization floated across her gaze, before, with a sigh, she lowered her stick. "I know, it just, it never feels like a joke coming from a Malfoy."

Blue stood stunned into silence. These four were standing around, bantering as if this was normal. As if all this was normal. The skulls, the vials, the weird looking hat who Blue could swear was staring at her behind it's stitching. The reveal of magic being real? Really? Who would believe such nonsense?

"Miss Weasley," said Mrs. McGonagall, pushing her glasses up her nose, "thank you for the introductions, but I'm sure this is all overwhelming to Miss Turner." She rounded on Albus. "Which of you has Miss Turner's things?"

"Ah," Albus jumped, shoving his hands into the pockets of his all-black robes, before fishing out Blue's cell and headphones. He held them out to her.

"I've got your bag," added Rose. "Back in my dorm. Don't worry, I put a charm on it to make sure any nebby-noses stayed out." She eyed James.

"I would never-"

"You do it all the time."

"Potters," McGonagall, tapped her fingers against her desk, "and Miss Weasley, I must ask you calm yourselves. And be mindful of our guest."

All five sets of eyes in the room turned on Blue. "I'm-I'm good." She lied. She wasn't good at all. In fact she was fairly certain she was caught in the middle of some weirdos playing out their greatest fantasies.

Rose wrinkled her nose and shook her head. "You're clearly not good." She turned to Albus and chuckled, nudging her cousin in the arm. "She's about a good a liar as you."

A blush rose to Albus's face. "Some of us master potions, while others master lying."

James reached down and ruffled Albus's hair, much to the boy's disdain. "Some of us like having lives, mate. Parties, dates, things like that require subtlety."

Albus shook his head and said, "Your lying's anything but subtle."

Mrs. McGonagall slammed a hand on her desk, causing a stack of books to take flight and all at once the room silenced. "You four are as much, no," she stroked her chin, "worse, than your parents were."

At this, Rose and James beamed. Albus blushed. Scorpius flinched.

"Miss Turner?"

Blue stiffened. "Ye-yes?"

"I've placed a Muffliato charm on my office; it's what prevents you from hearing songs." Blue gulped. "I would like to remove it, and test something out."

"Test what out?" She rubbed her hands together nervously.

"I would like to see if any one of us," McGonagall stabbed the air with a pencil-straight finger. First at herself, then Rose, Albus, James and Scorpius, "sing."

"Professor," squeaked Rose as she jumped several inches off the ground in excitement. "Do you have a theory about what Blue is?"

Blue's gaze darted back and forth between Rose and McGonagall. "What I am?"

"She's a muggle." That last word was slow to fall from her mouth and was strained, tight. Perhaps an inkling of disbelief. "but I must admit I'm curious-"

"Do it," said Blue, straightening her shoulders.

The others blinked. Rose stepped forward, frowning, "You sure? Could hurt."

Staring at his hands, Albus added, "You screamed a lot."

Scorpius shot her a sideways glance, before returning his gaze to the foot he had pressed against he doorframe.

"I'm sure," she wasn't very sure at all. "Actually, scratch that," a chuckle fell from Blue's lips, "I'm petrified. I don't know where I am. I haven't contacted my aunt -I'm sure she's terrified for me, she's always been a worrier-" An image of Aunt Thea blew through Blue's mind. Of the woman's long, braids, sure to be frizzled just like her nerves, the green eyes she shared with Blue's mom bogged down by countless fears of kidnapping, torture, murder. Aunt Thea always looked haunted, and afraid, even on the sunniest days. Blue couldn't imagine what her disappearance was doing to her. "But," continued Blue, staring into McGonagall's face, "You seem like okay people," she kept the 'loony' part to herself, "and if you wanted to hurt me, I think you would have already."

Albus's eyebrows spiked over his eyes. "Hurt you? Why would we hurt you?"

"Muggles hold each other for ransom all the time, mate," said James. "It's a thing with them."

"Yes," said Blue, her words clipped, "it's a very bad thing with us."

Rose snorted.

"Please, go ahead and lower the-"

"-charm," finished McGonagall.

Blue nodded. And then, with a flick of her wrist, the room was bathed in a warm light, and slowly the song started trickling back into Blue's brain. "It's not as strong-" she said, marveling at the way she could concentrate.

In a muffled voice, McGonagall replied, "I had the whole school warded, and I only lowered about half the spell. You should be able to control what it is you hear."

Since Blue had started hearing the songs, she never looked at it as anything but a curse. Trough's gravestone didn't know when to shut it - it howled at all times of the night, especially when the full moon was visible. And the songs on the Platform had felt like different drills all trying to get to the center of Blue's brain first, no matter what damage they might do. But now, the songs were low, and soft. They underpinned the world like the chirping of birds, or the rustle of leaves. And she could focus on each one and bring them to the forefront, amplify the sound, and listen. McGonagall was right; Blue was in control. For the first time in her life, she could hear the songs, as, she envisioned, they were met to be heard.

Feeling like she'd been gaping without doing too much of anything, and somewhat certain a thread or two of drool had made the trek from her mouth to the tip of her chin, she turned to face the five curious sets of eyes before her.

She started with the closest to her - Rose. She closed her eyes and listened. Staccato notes. Bright and jubilant came trumpeting into Blue's mind. They were loud, despite her protesting for them to quiet, and quite assured in their arrangement. She couldn't make out a rhyme or reason for why the song played out as it did, but she got the feeling there didn't need to be one. But there was something like a secondary track laid underneath the first. It was a copy of the song, but in a lower key, and it was slowed down. The notes and pauses longer. It didn't harmonize completely with the first part of the song. It was abrupt, almost-

"Afraid," whispered Blue and she opened her eyes.

Rose was inches from her face. "What is?"

"Your song."

Rose jumped back and threw her arms over herself defensively. "And what would I be afraid of?"

"Spiders," interjected James.

Rose hissed, "All sane people are afraid of spiders, James Sirius Potter..."

"Don't know," continued Blue, ignoring the two's bickering. "But it's there, underneath."

"So," Rose kicked a sneaker against the ground, and suddenly she was deflated of all her bluster. Her eyes seemed to dim. "My song's no good?"

Blue hurried and clasped the girl's hand in hers. Shaking her head so hard her teeth rattled, she said, "No! No! It's loud," at this James rolled his eyes and mouthed the words, "of course." Rose speared him with a glower, "and jovial. It's exciting and pleasant. So, so pleasant. It reminds me of stories, told around a crackling fire. Feeling the warmth, captivated by the words, knowing you were safe, all the while exploring other worlds."

There was a pause, before Rose erupted, clapping her hands and fisting the air. "Wow! You hear that? I sound like that! I AM AWESOME!"

After rolling his eyes, James pushed her aside, "Do me next."

And so Blue did. James's song was boisterous, and not all that dissimilar to Rose's though she'd seen enough of the pair's interaction to keep this thought to herself. But there were moments when the song leveled out, grew quiet, and Blue got the feeling James was pushing himself to be something he wasn't.

Albus's song was quiet, not unlike the boy himself. A little melancholic, but at the same time hopeful. Every stanza ended on a high note, like a punctuation mark of positivity despite the song's darker notes. The tempo was slowed, but constant - a heartbeat at sleep. She envisioned the beach at night. Wind blowing through the reeds, waves softly crashing against the shore, people carrying on in their private conversations. The moon glittering overhead. Albus's song was refreshing and lovely.

Mrs. McGonagall's song was precise, not a note off beat. They sounded like they marched in regimented ways - rising and falling at the behest of some invisible commander. But there was safety in the consistency, in the unfailing nature of the notes. They came and went with the utmost predictability. A song that never wavered, and that could be trusted, no matter what.

Scorpius was last. And his song was chaos. A wide range of notes, loud and soft, high and low came and went as they pleased. It was primal and powerful at times. At others, the notes wavered, the tempo slowing.

"Uncertainty," said Blue. She glanced up, to find Scorpius staring down at her. His brow was exceptionally ruffled, as though he was the one analyzing the songs in his head and not Blue. Feeling heat stampede across her cheeks, Blue continued, "Confusion. Notes that don't fit, that cause discord. It's like there's a path laid out, but a hesitancy to follow."

Scorpius's eyes bulged, and he snapped up, his back unsticking from the doorway.

"So Malfoy doesn't want to be the heir to his family's fortune? Boo hoo," mocked James. "Cry me a river, Scorp. You've got it all, and don't want to-"

"Shut it, Potter," the other boy seethed, storm clouds gathering in his eyes. His song grew louder, rushed. Blue winced at the sudden, drastic changes.

"Oh-" James took a step forward. "Does Malfoy want to-"

"You lied to me." Blue whirled on McGonagall and the two boys stopped arguing.

The old woman's eyes widened. "I lied to you?"

Blue nodded.

"How?"

"You asked me if I could hear any of you sing."

"I did."

Blue frowned. "Well, you all sing." She glanced up. "So what does that mean? What am I?"

After a second's pause, she affirmed, "You're a muggle, Miss Turner. And you ought to contact your Aunt."

Blue's shoulders sagged. "Then I don't belong here either."

McGonagall nodded, confirming it. "I'm afraid not. You exhibit no signs of being a witch, though your awareness of magic and our world is peculiar."

"Can she room with me?" chimed in Rose.

Blue started, mouth agape.

"Miss Weasley?"

"She can sleep in Gryffindor tower with me. I'll keep her safe, I'll show her around-"

"Her guardians will be coming as soon as they can."

Rose frowned. "Well, until then-"

"Until then," McGonagall stroked her chin. "Until then, yes, Miss Turner can room with you, so long as she doesn't mind?" Blue shook her head.

"Good," Rose chirped.

She took Blue's hand in hers and started walking toward the door, "However," McGonagall continued, "Under no circumstance are you to leave Gryffindor Tower with her."

Rose whipped around, her hair an angry octopus on her head, whose tentacled strands pummeled Blue's cheeks and forehead in their frenzy, "But-"

"Under no circumstances," McGonagall said again, sternly. "Miss Turner is not to leave. Is that clear?"

As though told Christmas was canceled that year, Rose clamped her mouth shut, and slumped her shoulders. Her good mood evaporated. "Yes, Professor," she said, reluctantly, her mouth tense.

McGonagall nodded. "Try to get ahold of your Aunt and Uncle, Miss Turner. I shall do all I can on my end."

Blue smiled at the old woman, one last time, her silent phone heavy in her pocket as Rose led her out the door and toward Gryffindor Tower.

Bạn đang đọc truyện trên: Truyen247.Pro