Covent Garden

@louis

Cursing under her breath, Gioconda stormed out of the Leaky Cauldron, her shoes in her hand and a protective charm on the soles of her feet. On the one day she was planning something else in the evening, she had had to stay longer at work and was now of course late. As she ran along Charing Cross Road towards and past Leicester Square Station (using Muggle transport was certainly nothing for her), she wondered whether her idea had really been this good. She usually didn't mingle with Muggles, she felt far too awkward among them. But it had seemed the best if not only possibility to enjoy the culture and language of her homeland.

So here she was, hastening from Cranbourn Street over a crossroad to Long Acre. She was horribly sweaty and out of breath when she reached the Underground Station of Covent Garden. But at least she was in time again. She slowed down a little for the last couple of yards until she finally was at the entrance of the Royal Opera House.

Her first destination was the toilet to remove the obvious signs of unasked for exercise. But then she didn't even bother entering. There were too many other women as to allow her to use magic and she didn't want to wait until a cubicle was free. Instead, she positioned herself behind a door and cast a hasty Disillusionment Charm upon herself. She cleaned the seam of her Roman stola (that luckily looked similar enough to modern fancy Muggle dresses), the soles of her feet, put her shoes back on, and magicked away the sweat that covered her body. Removing the Disillusionment Charm, she began to climb the stairs. And climbed. And climbed.

Just as she considered getting out of her shoes again, she reached the amphitheatre. Trying to put a relaxed expression on her face, she showed her ticket to the woman standing at the entrance to the auditorium. Once past the door, she felt slightly nauseated for a moment; she was so far above the stage and the stairs connecting the endless rows of seats were steep and narrow. She gripped one of the red metal constructions serving as handrails and descended a few steps until she stood before the row that was indicated on her ticket. Muttering excuses to the people already sitting, she squeezed her way to her seat right next to a column.

"Thank you," she said to the last person who was forced to stand up to let her through. The man was young, younger than herself if she wasn't much mistaken. It was nice to know that at least among the Muggles, there were English citizens who had taste. All these people had assembled to celebrate Italian music, she told herself contentedly. Sitting down and rearranging her stola, she politely nodded to the young man.

Coming from a half french family who adored Theatre and the arts, along with his own interest in them all meant that Louis often found himself in places and situations he'd never imagined or considered before. Often in the pursuit of meeting new people or shadowing someone for muse for his next acting role in the University or auditions outwith. What with his uncanny knack for impressions and remembering details, he could slip into completely different characters as easily as taking a step and it always served to get him somewhere. Tonight he had been walking around London and had seen the doors to the Royal Opera House were open and the building was lit up, advertising there was a showing that night. No sooner had he ducked into a nearby alley than he had emerged in coattails and a specific suit wearing a different walk and stance to how he held himself. If you believed you were a certain person, often other people would too.

Walking past the doors at a leisurely gait, gloved hands barely swinging softly by his sides, he cast his brown eyes at those around him looking for a particular kind of person to be hanging about. His hair had been gathered into a ponytail at the nape of his neck so merely two of his curls framed his face on either side and he waited for a cue that he should need a top hat as well. One could never tell with a crowd like this, it depended on the clientele with was oft to change depending on the showing in question. A man shifting near the door caught his eye and he inclined his head, making his way over nonchalantly as if they were old friends so as to not draw the eyes of the other patrons. "Is something the matter,
monsieur?" He asked quietly, a pleasant expression on his face as he moved to let a couple pass him. He kept his face looking open and friendly, his best shot at getting the man to relax, and he did after a few moments with a disappointed nod.

"I bought myself a ticket for the night as a... friend was supposed to join me. They are now otherwise indisposed and I have no use for it. However, I can't just hand it back..." He said in a wavering voice, and Louis smiled internally at his good luck. "I'm sorry sir, but is there somehow I can help perhaps?" He asked gently, catching the man's eyes with a small smile. A moment later the ticket appeared in the man's hand and he pressed it into his palm, patting his arm. "I see no lady with you. Please, take this. I'm sure you'll find a way to enjoy your night more that I would have." Then he turned and walked away, leaving the brunet standing by himself for a moment until he too turned and thought up his next point of action. Opera. Not something he had much experience with. He could appreciate music but this was an entirely different ballgame with a different set of rules. But surely he'd only have to...

Not long later he was seated high above the stage, moving only to let a beautiful older woman pass before he settled and trained his eyes on the rest of the auditorium spread out before him. Muggles certainly knew how to dress to impress, there was no denying or disputing that. The place was lavishly decorated, almost to the point of being too decorated, and yet he felt completely comfortable and at home there. He sat just like the rest of the gentlemen surrounding him did and found it was far comfier than he'd be if he'd sat like he usually did everywhere else. Besides, he had a better view this way as well. Turning to the woman who thanked him, he inclined his head towards her with a small smile. "You're welcome, signora." Louis replied, noting her dress and bone structure and changing his vocabulary accordingly. So much could be discovered if one only chose to look.

Startled by the half Italian welcome, Gioconda's smile grew a bit artificial. Turning towards the stage to hide her bafflement, she wondered whether something about her screamed "Italian". Yes, she had dressed up in an Italian fashion, but a wizarding Italian fashion that only thanks to the Muggles' ever repeating fashion trends still could be considered elegant. She had only spoken one word; so even if she had an accent (and she firmly believed that she didn't have one), it would hardly have been audible. Also, she didn't think that her looks could be somehow termed explicitly Italian. Everybody told her she resembled her mother a lot and her mother was English. And yet, ever since she had come to England, people somehow could tell where she grew up after a few seconds. But she might be over-interpreting and the man's choice of words had nothing to do with her personally. Probably he was Italian himself even if he had not sounded it. Or he just liked to throw in Italian words as he was about to attend an Italian opera. After all, there were all kinds of weirdos in England.

Pushing the mystery away from her, she let her eyes travel over the red and gold auditorium. Gioconda had never been in any opera house other than La Fenice which was indisputably the best – at least according to her grandmother. And upon what she saw here, Gioconda was ready to agree, at least from an aesthetic point of view. The auditorium seemed much darker (admittedly also larger) than the one in Venice. From her point of view, she couldn't see whether there were any paintings on the ceiling; she couldn't even see whether there was a chandelier. But like everywhere in the Muggle world, there were these smaller lamps that burnt without a real flame. Elettri-something, she regularly forgot.

Gioconda hadn't come here tonight to be continually perplexed. On a positive note, the seat was soft and the view surprisingly good. All in all, she felt comfortable. The discordant sound of the musicians tuning their instruments rose up to where she sat and she felt ready to enjoy the performance. She had never seen the opera before and only heard it from the forties Toscanini record her grandmother owned. Admittedly, she had never warmed up much to the story. A man killing his wife out of unjustified jealousy was not a subject matter she found instinctively appealing. Now, Gioconda wished she had better looked around upon entering the opera house. There might have been some programme available where she could've read up on the production. She did remember that the name of the conductor and the female lead had been Italian. Thus, she was determined to approve of their performance. Yet, the name of the one singing the title role had not sounded Italian which she was inclined to find outrageous. She couldn't remember, but she supposed that it might have been an English name. Probably some favourite of the local crowd that clearly wouldn't be up for the part.

To divert herself from being offended in the name of Italy, she looked closer at her strange neighbour and couldn't help smiling. The young man had somehow managed to be even more over-dressed than everybody else. He even wore gloves. The only thing missing was a top hat and that he might very well have left at the cloakroom. In short, the personification of a dandy. And yet, the man somehow managed to look as if his way of looking were the only right one. He seemed completely comfortable and at home. He looked as if he were a regular guest here, as if he practically belonged here. Gioconda wondered whether he might be a member of the ensemble or orchestra who had a day off. Or a family member of one of the performers. "We're in for a bloody night," she said when he looked towards her again. She nodded towards the stage and continued, "I'm here for the first time. You come here often I guess?"

The woman turned away, her smile seemingly freezing in place as ge too turned back towards the stage. He watched her for a long moment from the corner of his eye however and saw the way she looked around the place. Honestly he was mostly looking forward to what his Professor might say when he next saw him and was able to relay that he had faked his way into an expensive Opera house without any snags. The air smelled of worn velvet and wine as it washed over him, furthering his thoughts that where he was was probably of high repute. Had he heard od the place before? Perhaps in passing, but not extensively. Not that it truly mattered. Closing his eyes as the first wailing notes of tuning instruments met his ears, he let himself immerse himself in the atmosphere until he felt himself shift into character. It was more of a feeling than a conscious thought but the change happened nonetheless. Son of an Aristocrat, only child, coming into his title...

With admittedly no woman in tow, but a scant look around him showed many had come alone or with a friend rather than a signifigant other. So already he was doing far better than he had originally imagined. If this turned out to be any good perhaps he would return to the main desk and see about some form of loyalty card- or whatever the muggles called it- should he ever come back so he could have the same seat again. The view really was quite spectacular... and suddenly he was finding himself quite enthralled in the whole scene ever though the show hadn't begun. Nor did he know what was-
A woman on his other side tapped his shoulder and handed him a program for rhe night, saying she was sure he had dropped it, and he thanked her profusely before turning back to the front of the room with it in his hand. If he looked at it now, the suspense would be over and he would have no chance to try and puzzle it out on his own.

Seeing the woman to his side smile at him again- this time more genuine- he allowed her her moment of appraisal before turning back to her and inclining his head. Her first comment puzzled him but he didn't let it show, merely nodding at her as she spoke again. Time to pick his words. "My first time too, admittedly, though there are other Opera theatre's I know of." He finally said, keeping his voice low like the other viewers. Looking down at the orogram in his hands, he held it out to her for her to take with a warmer smile that showed his teeth. "I've never had a program before nor do I really need one. Would you like this one, Miss?"

He hoped at some point that there would be a call for refreshments during the night so he wouldn't be forced or expected to leave for any reason. He hated the idea of leaving any kind of performance when it was in progress unless granted an intermission. Did Opera have intermissions and breaks? Perhaps he should have found out beforehand.

From her neighbour’s behaviour, Gioconda had been convinced that he had to be at least a frequent visitor of the opera. Therefore, she was slightly astounded at his remark. She hated being wrong, a weakness of hers that frequently collided with her readiness to come to conclusions. She was convinced that the first impressions and convictions she gained could not be wrong. And now, she had to quickly adjust her theory to fit in with her imagination again.

"Really?" she said, while regretfully abandoning her theory that he was a regular guest. But he had to be someone who often went in similar places. Probably a critic though he looked far too young for that. Yes, he had to be a young artist. He might well be a foreigner. He had greeted her partly in Italian after all, though she was somehow convinced that he was not Italian. She would have to make some wild guesses. But at least, that would look as if she was well familiar with Muggle culture. And this could not be wrong in such a place as this. "To which have you been? I only know La Fenice. In Venice. Have you been to…“ Gioconda hesitated, trying to recall what she had heard from her grandmother, including the descriptions on the gramophone records. "Let me guess. Opéra National de Paris? Semperoper? Deutsche Oper Berlin? Wiener Staatsoper? La Scala? Teatro dell’Opera di Roma?" She ended, certain that one of her guesses had to be correct or at least close.

She checked her watch to look how late the conductor was. To her surprise, he still had a couple of minutes to arrive on time. And Gioconda didn’t count at all on the "on time" aspect. But right now, she couldn’t comment on the conductor’s lateness. Though he was Italian if there had not been a last minute change or her memory had horribly deteriorated. Thus, she deemed it practically impossible that he would not be late. But she did not have to ponder on whether she should talk about something that had not yet happened when the young man handed her a program. "Thank you very much," she said surprised and quickly opened it, assuring herself that the conductor’s name was indeed Italian - though she didn’t recognize it, all her grandmother’s records were at least thirty years old.

She continued to leaf through the program and look at the pictures because the light was too dim to allow her to comfortably read any of the production notes. "Have you seen it on stage before?" she adressed her neighbour again when she had satisfied her first curiosity. "I only know the Serafin-recording. Which is good I think. But to be honest, I am not that fond of the whole plot. No matter what his wife might have done, he doesn’t have the right to kill her. I understand that he is being discriminated and everything, but to kill his wife!" Gioconda shook her head indignantly. "It’s funny to see this in England. It’s taking place among Italians, but it is based on an English play. Hm, actually, that is kind of fitting for me. Why have you chosen this particular play?" She smiled and eyed the young man curiously.

His father had always been the one to encourage any and all interests in the arts, and naturally things like the Opera, like Ballet... they were all interests and hobbies he had tried and failed to get his mother into. So the next turning point had been Louis, and as such not only did he now have an interest in both all of his own device, but he knew a fair amount about both as well. Not the minor things like intermissions and the like, but rather things such as the different positions within the orchestra, the roles within the opera and what was considered seemly in attire. Had he overdone it with adding a top hat to his outfit? Perhaps so. But it set him apart from the others and that was what he preferred to do even in daily life where he wasn't pretending about who he was.

"Really, well and truly. I've never had the pleasure." Louis replied, sounding disappointed in himself from his lack of true experience in this subject. Had he let down his new acquaintance? It was unfortunately rather likely. But lying would have led to questions he wouldn't have been able to answer, which would lead to tension of having been found to be a fraud... and it was hard to save face and enjoy yourself after a situation such as that. No, he would stick to his guns. There was a limit, a line in the sand, and while at times he toed the space just past said line he never fully stepped over it. There would be no fun in doing so, only stress and concern, which would detract from the original point in doing it. "Forgive me, madame, I should have made myself clearer to understand. While I know of many Opera's, namely Opéra National de Paris, it is through my father's love for it that I have come into it myself. Before tonight I have never had the opportunity to experience either firsthand... I can only hope it won't be my last either."

Belinda Peters was someone he imagined- through the many surprising facets of her personality- to be someone to enjoy something like this. She was a history major, and Opera was something historical to a point. Maybe when he next saw her he'd ask. Coming here with someone seemed like it would be far more enjoyable than coming here alone like he had, but even still he was actually enjoying himself immensely. He smiled once more at the woman beside him when she thanked him and inclined his head, taking his hat in his hands to fiddle with the brim. "You're welcome. Perhaps next time I find myself here I'll take a program to make myself that bit more clued up on things... but this time I want to experience everything organically." To be fair, there was a great many names he could think of from Lufkin who could quite possibly enjoy things like the arts, who he could talk to about them to find out more. He'd made a note of some of the more interesting names on the register on occasion for inspiration with his characters he had to invent for his course, and he was sure meeting them for the first time would be enough to venture a guess either way.

Louis' brows climbed up his head for a moment before he composed his expression once more, schooling it into one of polite but genuine interest and intrigue as he listened. So it was a rather brutal plot, all in and all told. Had his father mentioned it? Probably, whilst on a rant about a different tragedy. The older Wizard did have a bad but endearing habit of veering off course of a conversation into entirely different things even when relaying something as small as a minor snatching of a memory. And 9 times out of 10 it was more than difficult to string it all together and come understand where he was coming from or what he was on about. Sometimes he came back to his original topic and things made sense but more often than not he lost himself in his tellings and became as confused as the person he was speaking to. "But then, would it still be as powerful a story had things worked out more benignly? Never underestimate emotion, I have come to learn. It can drive people to do not only the best things, but the worst things they never imagined themselves capable of."

Like his mother, headbutting a Death Eater out of the third floor of Hogwarts during the War. Never before had she physically maimed or hurt someone before, but in that moment she had been driven to do something as... well, odd as taking her skull and making it a weapon while it was still attached to the rest of her.

"Tragedy's are beautiful for what they are, I guess." He finished his thought finally, turning to look at her again. Her next question made him pause yet again and he looked thoughtful as he thought it over. Why had he chosen tonight for the Opera? Why did he decide anything. "Would you believe it came out of a situation born of fate or chance? I was in the ticket line when I was approached from another gentleman, who apparently was unable to attend the viewing himself. As he couldn't stay long enough to have it refunded, he pressed his ticket into my hand and left. So here I am. Almost out of obligation to the kindness of whoever that man was. It must have meant something to him..."

For a moment, her mouth popped open, but in the next second, she luckily remembered to close it again and didn’t need to feel all too silly. Still silly enough though. She had been so certain that he was somehow connected to the stage, and there he was, assuring her that he had never been to such a place before. "I am amazed," she finally admitted. "You seemed very much at home. Honestly, I thought you might be a junior member of the ensemble, or of the orchestra. Is your father an artist then?" Probably she would better stop questioning because all her guesses had been wrong so far, but she was so perplexed, almost vexed at her own lack of perception, that she just couldn’t help herself. It was embarrassing to be mistaken, and it would be far wiser not to continue assuming things that would then be proven wrong. But she couldn’t accept having been such a bad judge. There had to be something in his life that would somehow explain why she had made these assumptions, and reconcile her a little bit with her bad judgement.

Having learnt almost everything about art from her Muggle grandmother, Gioconda had adapted all her opinions from her as long as her ears were not in complete disaccord. To experience an opera organically appeared a strange idea to her, her grandmother having always given her the libretti to read and a record to listen to before she had taken her to the opera. One went there prepared, that was what she had been told, and that she had been unable to do so this evening (she would have had to go to Muggle shops, and she really didn’t like to go there, she always felt out of place) had disquieted her throughout the day. The young Muggle didn’t even seem to consider preparation necessary though. "Well, at least it’s Italian," she ended up saying, more for the sake of saying something that she believed in than for the other’s information. "No other language is so… cantabile - worth singing in. I guess there are some nice German things from that Austrian with the sweets, but everything worthwhile he composed in Italian."

She shook her head at his defence of the opera. "I’m not saying that things should work out fine in a tragedy. What I mean is, not all of them are tragic in the same way because the characters are not all guilty to the same extent as to how their destinies turn out. In the average tragedies, the drama unfolds because of what the protagonists do or did do, right? For example, Edipo Re kind of stumbled into the catastrophe. He actually tried to avoid the fate that he was foretold by abandoning the people he thought were his parents. So he ends up doing terrible things, but it has never been his intention, and that’s why we feel for him.

"Speaking of opera, that’s to a certain degree also the case with Rigoletto. He had done many bad things before the plot starts, and we would think he deserves punishment. But then we see him as a loving father whose main motivation in the end is to revenge his daughter, by doing so accidentally killing her. It’s him we pity, not Gilda because she’s just your average stupid teenager who gets herself killed for a man who doesn’t care at all. And she knows this. She knows that it’ll break her father if she dies, and yet, she decides to safe his life because - stupid teenager. So we cry for the father who has lost the only person who was precious to him, and that after all his efforts that were directed to revenge her."

Gioconda drew breath and tried to remember what her point had been. "My point," she continued after a few seconds, "my point is… you know like Amneris is very similar in her goal as Rigoletto. She also wants revenge on her enemy. But that makes her doom Radamès even though she loves him. So we hardly feel for her loss because she knowingly brought it about herself. And the case is similar here-" She gestured towards the stage that was still hidden behind the curtain. "-he kills someone he loves, fully knowing what he does. Yes, he is being deceived and manipulated, but it is still his own decision to kill his wife. It’s the same with the guy in Luisa Miller. They are actively working towards the destruction of what they love. But true tragedy lets the character stumble into disaster, don’t you think so?"

Slightly amazed at herself, Gioconda stopped her rant. She was normally not that chatty, certainly not on subjects of which she basically knew very little. Had she said anything stupid? She didn’t think so, at least it made perfect sense to her, but then she had all her knowledge from listening sometimes to her grandmother’s records. At least, it seemed that the young Muggle next to her was not an expert either despite his bearing so he shouldn't notice if she had said anything stupid.

"That sounds very peculiar," she commented the story about his ticket. "I hope no tragic event in your benefactor’s life hindered him from watching the tragedy on stage…" She mused for a moment about what could have happened to make the poor man part with his ticket. Then she remembered that this had not been her original question. "But you were in the ticket line you said?" she asked. "What is the appeal of this opera that you chose it to be your first to ever see? It’s not a typical beginner’s opera, is it? It’s a very good opera of course, his second last after all, and he is the greatest opera composer ever unless you count Wagner, and honestly he’s horrible. But it is an unusual first opera to go to."