Broken music [Evie]

It really wasn’t that he couldn’t sleep. It was just that every time he closed his eyes, the burning woke him up in sweat. So much pain, he didn’t sleep anymore. He couldn’t, so much memories, so much scream and so hot. Sometimes, the pain in his hands woke him, sometimes, they were bleeding. He remembered the day at the hospital: a lot of people in white and then, it was the black out. He knew from the beginning that his mother was dead but there is a big difference between knowing and being told. He didn’t cry or he didn’t understand that he cried. Tears on his cheek and silence in the heart. He let them make the basic healing on his hands but he refused to let them bring them to normal. His life wasn’t the same, his hands represented his new life: never completely healed, an open wound… sometimes bleeding. Always painful. It was his remaining of his lost life. A proof of his anger. He wouldn’t heal them until his revenge was accomplished. This was his pact. Turning around in his bed, he grabbed his alarm clock, it’s four in the morning, his night is over. It’s always four in the morning, he doesn’t why. He doesn’t want to know. So, he rose. His chest naked, he doesn’t look in the mirror anymore. He was so proud of himself before all this nightmare. Always all the regrets, always the sentence : I shouldn’t have let her alone, in his head. There isn’t much in his cupboard, only some clothes he bought with the money his father gave him. But there is something really important in this cupboard. It’s at the bottom of it. There is at least ten spell to protect it. And to him, it’s beautiful. It’s in cherry wood, but the most important is that it’s,the last thing he has of his mother. She gave it to him years ago. If he didn’t have lent it to a friend in America, it would have burnt, like the rest of his house. His precious guitar. But, he looks at his hands and groans. He can’t play like before until his revenge is accomplished. This is the reality of life. He used to play. Now? He just caress the strings. He put it on his bed and chose his clothes. Nothing too fancy. A black denim with a white belt, then a matching tee-shirt. And just because it’s cold a blazer and a bonnet. He sees his gloves on his night table and hesitates before putting them in his pocket. He takes his guitar and goes out the dorm, his dorm’s mates still sleeping.

Spoiler:

He finds the empty classroom quite rapidly. There is only ten tables and chairs here. Dust’s ruling. He sat on the middle of the old class. He wonders what happened here. Which sorts of lessons where teach here? He’ll never know. The melody begins. It’s an improvisation. The notes come to him. He can’t do all of them, there is some false notes but it’s a song. He loses track of time. The sun is rising. The broken and dusty windows let the light enter and he is bathing in a sunray. He can’t do better. His hands are at their limit. Some blood drip on the guitar and finish its course on the floor. Suddenly, he startles, there is someone. He puts his guitar aside and grabs his mahogany wand.

‘ Who’s there?’

« Who's there ? »
« Gosh, what the hell are YOU doin' here, dude ? »

5:21 a.m.

Evie couldn't sleep at all for two or three days and nights. Mess in her head. Memories. Worries. Headache. Evie was turning round in her bed, in the old Gryffindors' dormitory, now Centaur-girls'. She was lying on her back, staring at the ceiling, in the darkness just lit with sun rays from rise. A strange brightness caressed her eyes, she put her hand on. Evie stood up. She took a blue vest, put on her sneakers, in pyjamas pants, took her guitar and climbed off the stairs. In the empty common room, silencious, Evie passed without watching around her, and walked in the corridor behind the painting. The Big Lady had been disappeared since the beginning of the war, as people had been come here in Hogwarts to keep out of dangers. Evie put her guitar behind her shoulder.
She played guitar since she was 11. Entrying in Hogwarts, guitar and singing had been her ways to escape from the school's mess, family problems, her half-sister, her dad, even her mom. Even if she got suicide five years ago. Even if it was because of her death her dad started to drink. Alcohol. Source of harsh memories. Source of suffer, source of death. She couldn't talk to Culligan anymore. The only person who knew all McCoy's past. Gosh.
Evie walked into an empty and unused classroom. Darkness. She couldn't see a cat. She winked. Evie sat on a chair just beside her, near the door, to see what she was doing. The classroom was an amphitheatre. Stairs were dangerous. She put her guitar on her laps, and when she started playing, a voice raise in the silence of the room. A boy's voice. Stranger's voice ; Evie didn't recognize him.

« Who's there ? »
« Gosh, what the hell are YOU doin' here, dude ? »

Evie stood up and searched the guy, without success. When sun rise lit the room, she managed to see a face, a boy, tall, with messy hair, with a guitar too. He stopped playing. Evie didn't know what he was playing, and didn't know who he was. Maybe an enemy. Basilisk ? Maybe. She put her guitar on the desk.

« Wow. Who are you, man ? What were you playin' ? »

« Gosh, what the hell are YOU doin' here, dude ? »

Sacha really didn’t know if he should be insulted. He was here before, he had always came here to play, he should have know that nothing is eternal. He had been found and it was by a girl if he could rely on the pitch of the voice… A girl with the vocabulary of a ghetto’s guy. He smiled to himself, just a nanosecond. He still couldn’t see her face, and he knew he wasn’t going to answer her stupid question. Why would he be here if it wasn’t to have to have some peace in this world of war? Did she believe he wanted to see the sun rise? A ironic laugh cross his lips…

« Wow. Who are you, man ? What were you playin' ? »

Did she listened? Was the first thought of Sacha after her interrogation. At this idea, he became mad. This wasn’t him. This wasn’t his way of playing. He could be so much better. Perhaps he could say that this was his first time playing? Yeah… after all, this was really like his first time. Like when at five his mother gave him this guitar. He remembered how it had feel, the big instrument in his tiny hands. He had tears on his cheeks. So much happiness…
He shook his head, this wasn’t the time to dream. She was still there and he still hadn’t answered her obvious question… Oh no, the first was obvious, the second one, not so much. He sighed and answered, still in the dark of the room:

‘ Because you think this was playing?’

There was a little accent of cynicism in his voice, but it wasn’t insulting… He really believed he couldn’t play anymore and maybe that if someone compared his actual level with the one of two years ago… he would have understood why Sacha felt so taper off.
Feeling he wouldn’t need his wand, he put it back in his pocket and swore when he noticed that his shirt was dirtied by his blood. He delicately put his guitar on the table on which he had previously put his feet and completely forgetting the presence of the girl, he began to undress himself. Only his jacket of course. Metamorphosing a broken piece of glass into a towel and moisturizing it with some water inside of his wand, he began to clean his shirt despite the dark.

When all this was finish, he remembered with horror than a GIRL was still inside of the room. He turned around to face her and said with a little voice:

‘ I didn’t mean to be rude! I’m sorry! Really!’

And he really meant it. Sighing, he put his blazer back, groaning because of his hands.
Looking at the other guitar, he said casually: ‘ She is beautiful, how long have you been playing?’

Blabla