There's Something About Mary

There's Something About Mary

Chapter Two

CrazyMary

I hope you don't get too attached to our little war hero. Just get him to like you (doesn't have to be like, LIKE you, just a regular like you; remember, you're still my girl), and then you'll be all set. He'll believe anything you tell him, and so it would be easier to kill him with you who lure him to me. I will be in Diagon Alley (actually, more of Knockturn Ally) around a couple of days from now. I think that'll give you enough time. I will send you a calling when I arrive, and I expect you to be by my side (Potter or not), no longer than forty-eight hours from the calling I will send you. Please, do the best that you can to get Potter to be your "friend", or I will be very put out. Reply as soon as you get this.

Slick

Mary sighed and rolled up the letter that she just received. She didn't need a couple of days to make Harry become her friend, he already is.

He's even invited her to accompany him to the Wizard Opera House this night. What are they going to see? Like Mary really pays attention to those things? Well, he tells her that they will have good seats, reserved just for them, and that makes her think that being Harry's friend isn't all that bad; just as long as she gets free stuff out of it.

She's a grown witch, but that doesn't mean that she can't still like getting stuff for free, does it?

For example, just for this special occasion of going to the opera with Harry, Mary gets a brand new, totally expensive cloak to go with her brand new, totally expensive evening dress; both black, both shimmering, both so long that they trail behind her on the ground.

She put her hair up, leaving some locks of hair to fall freely around her head. She put her make-up on, and smiled at herself in the mirror.

A hoot from her owl stand reminds her that she still needs to reply to Slick.

She got out parchment, and her special green quill, and began to write.

Slick

Just tell me when, and Potter will be yours. I impatiently await your arrival. I cannot say more, for I will be late. Potter invited me to the Wizard Opera House tonight. I only have a few minutes, so this letter will only be brief. Should I have said that at the beginning? Oh well. My owl is bugging me, and I must leave. I can hear Mother talking to Potter. Write back as soon as you want to.

CrazyMary

---

Mary and Harry arrived at the opera house just in time before the play started. Harry had reserved them a box.

Mary sat down, and looked at the stage. They had five minutes before the play started. The stage had a large booth, with some seats placed around it. In the front of the stage was a small box that sat on a stool, next to it, on another stool, sat a small monkey with symbols in its hands. Backed up against the booth was a large something covered with a white sheet. By the looks of it, it looked like a portrait. In front of all these items sat another thing covered in a white sheet. This thing was much larger, and it had a strange shape to it.

Mary leaned over and whispered to Harry. "What are we seeing?"

"The Phantom of the Opera," Harry whispered back. "Or at least that's what the poster said outside."

Mary nodded, and looked back towards the stage.

The curtains were purple velvet, and they were lined with golden fabric that had some sort of design on it that she couldn't see. The top of the stage was decorated with angels, the color of gold. Mary wondered whether the gold was real or painted on. It looked real.

The lights dimmed, and everyone quieted down. The spot light was turned on, and it shown on a man who stood in the middle of the stage.

"I hope you all know the story of the 'Phantom of the Opera'?" the man on stage said. "If you do, then hear it again. If you don't I'm going to explain, just very short, so we may get on with the play.

"There was a wizard named Eric. He became the Phantom the Opera. He was the cause of all the strange happenings, and magical bit. Well, I don't want to say anymore, for I don't want to ruin the opera. Have a good evening, and enjoy the performance."

The audience applauded as the man exited the stage. The spotlight was turned off, and the theater was, once again, covered in darkness. Whispers were heard coming from the audience below.

The stage lit up, and there stood a man at the booth holding a gavel. There were people seated in the chairs that were set around the booth, and a man, who sat in a wheelchair, or what looked like a wheelchair, and was at the assistance of a nurse. There were two other men standing on the stage. They looked like officers; only they didn't carry any guns or anything. One of the men held the box.

The auctioneer banged the gavel on the booth, and shouted, "Sold! Your number sir? Thank you."

The man holding the box gave the box to the man who held up his auction card. The other officer-looking-like man held up the white sheet covered picture looking-like thing. He uncovered it, and it showed a picture of something that Mary couldn't see. Well, she saw it; she just didn't see what the picture was. It had black splatters on it, and what looked to be a head. Words on the poster were in French, so she didn't understand it.

"Lot 664," the auctioneer said. "The poster of "Roi de Lahore.' Can I start at 10 francs?" No one raised his or her action cards. "9 francs?" Still, no one raised his or her cards. "5 francs? 4 francs? 2 francs?" Some one raised their card, and it was sold to them.

The other officer-looking-like man then picked up the monkey.

"Lot 665, ladies and gentlemen, a papier machee, musical box, in the shape of a barrel organ. Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the symbols. This item, discovered in the vaults of the theater, still in working order, showing here. May I start at 20 francs? Fifteen then? Fifteen, fine bid. Twenty sir, thank you. Twenty...twenty-five. Thirty! Selling at thirty then, thirty once, twice." He slammed the gavel on the booth. "Sold for thirty francs. The Viscount de Chagney. Thank you sir."

The man in the wheelchair took the musical box, and what sounded like French horns began to play.

"A collectors piece, indeed. Every detail exactly as she said. She often spoke of you my friend. Your velvet lining, and your figurine head. Will you still play? When all the rest of us, are dead," the old man sang.

The auctioneer continued. "Lot 666 then. A chandelier in pieces. Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. A mystery never fully explained. We are told ladies and gentlemen that this is the very chandelier, which figures, in the famous disaster. Our workshops have restored it, and fitted up parts with it for the new electrical lights, so we may get a hint of what will look like when we assemble it." His voice took a death frightening tone. "Perhaps we may frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little illumination? GENTLEMEN!" he called as the two officer-look-like men who stood next to the big thing that had a strange shape uncovered the chandelier as a blast was heard from it, the lights blew out, and the music began.

Mary screeched, and jumped, grabbing hold of Harry's arm. She watched in fascination as the chandelier was raised up to the top of the theater, above all the audience below.

She leaned over closer to Harry. "Why am I seeing this?" she asked, still staring wide eyed at the chandelier as it continued to raise, and her breathing was heavy.

Harry chuckled, but shrugged. "I never saw this, myself. I hear it should be entertaining. But, from what I witnessed in the first two minutes, the entertainment isn't on the stage."

He smiled as Mary smacked his arm.

---

The musical went on for another thirty minutes or so. The songs, and the characters, and the magic that the phantom used entranced Mary.

She was near crying as the phantom was singing his last bit in the first half of the show.

He sung, and his voice sounded as if he really was crying. He called out for Christine, his voice high pitched as he really did his acting well. She watched as he sat on one of the angel's necks on the top of the stage.

Christine and Raoul were singing in the back round, and he kept repeating Christine.

Then...

"You will pass the day you did not do! All that the phantom asks of you!" He held that last note for a long time, ending in a crazed, maniacal laugh.

The lights flickered, as there were more people on the stage, bowing as they finished the play that they were performing before the phantom interrupted.

"GO!" the phantom yelled, and Mary squealed, almost screamed her lungs out, as she watched the chandelier from earlier in the show fall, swerve above the audience, and land on the stage as the curtains closed.

Mary nearly fainted as the theater lights turned on for the intermission. She was sweating from head to foot, fanning herself with her hand.

Harry looked at her, and laughed. Mary glared at him.

"What? What's so funny? I almost died at the chandelier thing!" she yelled.

"That's why it's so funny!" Harry laughed. He wiped her cheeks as Mary watched the chandelier rise again to the top of the theater. "Are you okay?"

Mary sniffed. "I'm fine. I am kind of thirsty, although." She smiled at Harry, who sighed and stood up.

He stretched his arms out. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Anything alcoholic, please," she answered, continuing to watch the chandelier.

Harry nodded. "Soda pop it is." He walked to the door of the box. "Maybe you should stand up and stretch for a while; you believe how good it feels to stand up after sitting for so long."

Mary nodded as the chandelier finally reached the ceiling.