Chapter Text
The dark carriage did little to insulate the cold, but it wasn’t until its occupants stepped out into the drizzly courtyard of the Palais Garnier that they realized how miserable the weather was. One of the riders, a curly-haired woman clad in a grey dress, stepped out of the compartment. She held her arm out for the other rider, an older man with greying red curls, and helped him to his feet. With the help of the coachman, she managed to lift the heavy wheelchair from the back and lower the older man into it.
“Are you comfortable, papa?” asked the woman, her hand resting gently on his shoulder.
“Yes, Molly,” said the older man. He turned his attention to the coachman and gave a small nod, dismissing him. “Merci, Beaufoy.”
Monsieur Beaufoy, the coachman, bowed. “I will be here for your return, Lord Percival.”
As the carriage pulled out of the courtyard, Viscount Percival “Percy” Weasley de Chagny turned his attention towards the looming building in front of him. Even though his dark glasses were covered with raindrops that obscured his vision, the disrepair of the once grand opera house was visible to anyone.
Molly pushed her father’s wheelchair towards the large wooden plank on the old stone steps. Lightning flashed across the sky, illuminating the cloth banner hanging over the archway. Vente publique aux enchères, it read, with the words “Public Auction Today” underneath. Two children ran past the father-daughter pair as they crossed the threshold, using the old building as a playground.
Birds, pigeons if he had to guess, took flight as soon as Molly opened the heavy doors, sending a shower of dust down on the dirty tile floors. The once magnificent staircase was falling apart. The statues that once shone in the sunlight flooded through the windows now were covered in a layer of dirt and grime that no amount of washing and scrubbing would get rid of.
Nothing was as he remembered. But perhaps that was a good thing.
“Sold!” A young man’s voice echoed through the otherwise silent building. “Your number, sir? Thank you. Lot six-six-three, then, ladies and gentlemen.”
Molly pushed the wheelchair into the large, rounded room that once held the opera house’s grand stage. A small gathering of people stood around a man standing behind a podium, each and every one dressed in their finest clothes. It was a stark contrast to the slum around them.
We shouldn’t be here, Percy thought. No one should be here. No one should even touch this place.
“A poster from this house’s production of Hannibal by Chalumeau.” The man behind the podium tilted his dark tophat towards Percy in greeting. “Do I have 10 francs?”
Percy looked around the theater, taking in the sight. It was so different from the last time he was here. The golden and red opera boxes were in various states of disrepair. The sea of chairs which once sat royalty were now the homes of birds and mice. The Hanibal poster depicting Eris Bloodmoon was the only source of color and warmth visible. The irony wasn't lost on Percy, who knew that when Eris was alive, she was far from pleasant to be around.
“Five, then. Five I am bid.” Molly placed her hand on Percy’s shoulder as the auctioneer broke the silence, her hand gently squeezing his shoulder. He placed one of his hands over hers, taking comfort in the feeling of stability and comfort she brought. Just like her mother did. “Six.”
Percy gently tapped Molly’s hand. She raised the sign. “Seven.”
"Against you, sir, seven.” the auctioneer pointed to another well-dressed man, who held up his own sign. “Eight?” he looked back at Percy, who shook his head. “Eight once. Selling twice. Sold!” the auctioneer slapped the gravel against the podium, sending more birds flying. “To Monsieur Deferre. Thank you very much, sir.”
Two handlers moved the large poster out of view and placed it behind Monsieur Deferre. Percy didn’t feel any disappointment towards not getting the piece. Eris was a horrid woman anyway. He looked back at the auctioneer, curious about what piece would be next.
“Lot six-six-four, a wooden pistol and three human skulls—” Molly wrinkled her nose, making Percy softly chuckle “—from the 1831 production of Robert le diable by Meyerbeer.”
Having no interest in the piece or production, Percy let his eyes wander to the people around him. There was no one he recognized until he glanced at the patron on his right.
Well-dressed fully in blue was a man who looked almost ageless. His long, dark blue hair showed no signs of greying. His pale skin was smooth and held no wrinkles. Percy would almost think that this man was actually younger than him if it weren’t for his ancient and dark brown eyes, partially covered by the black veil coming down from his hat.
It had been thirty five years since he last saw Augustine Saphiris and he somehow managed to make it look like he hadn’t aged a day. Everything else had moved on, but he remained frozen in time. It was almost poetic.
They made eye contact, Augustine’s brown eyes meeting Percy’s navy ones, for the first time in over a quarter of a century. Almost right down to the day. Percy remembered the last time he was this close to him. Augustine gave him cryptic advice that he didn’t know what to do with at the moment.
“Keep your hand at the level of your eyes.”
Was Augustine thinking of that night too? The night that everything changed?
Molly tapped Percy’s shoulder, bringing him back from his trip of remembrance. He heard the smack of the gavel, making him jump slightly.
“Lot six-six-five, ladies and gentlemen. A papier-mâché musical box in the shape of a barrel organ.” Percy shook his head as the auctioneer spoke, looking towards him. “Attached, the figure of a monkey in Persian robes, playing the cymbals.”
One of the handlers stepped in front of the auctioneer, holding said music box in front of him. The handler turned the crank on the side as the auctioneer continued to speak. “This item, discovered in the vaults of the theater, still in working order, ladies and gentlemen. Observe.”
A sweet melody came from the box, not unlike one commonly heard in children’s bedtime songs. It was accompanied by the sound of cymbals crashing together in the monkey’s hands. With every tap of the cymbals, the monkey’s legs raised slightly, bouncing in their crossed position. The tassels on its hat moved slightly as the handler held out the toy for all to see.
After all this time, he was finally seeing it.
The song finished, followed by the auctioneer's voice echoing through the theater. “May I commence at fifteen francs?" There was silence. "Oh come, come ladies and gentlemen. Fifteen then. Fifteen, thank you Monsieur Saphiris.”
Augustine raised his sign, sending a small jolt of irritation down Percy’s spine. He knew how important this box was, and yet here he was trying to take it from Percy.
He wouldn’t let it slip through his fingers.
Percy tapped Molly’s hand, signaling for her to raise her sign. The auctioneer looked at the two. “Yes, twenty from you sir. Thank you very much sir. Twenty-five from Monsieur Saphiris. Thank you, monsieur.” Percy shot a glare in Augustine’s direction. “Twenty-five I am bid. Do I hear thirty?” Percy tapped Molly’s hand again, signifying for her to raise the sign once more. “And thirty-five?”
Augustine looked away from the auctioneer at Percy once more. Then, he shook his head, bringing down his sign. Was it sympathy in his gaze? Percy did not know.
“Selling at thirty francs, then. Thirty once, thirty twice.” The gravel hit the podium, producing such a sweet sound. “Sold for thirty francs to the Viscount de Chagny. Thank you sir.”
The handler started to walk away with the box, but Percy placed a hand on his arm.
“Boy,” he said, his voice soft. The handler stopped and held out the monkey in front of him. Perfectly preserved, just like Augustine. “A collector’s piece, indeed. Every detail exactly as she said.” Victoria’s face flashed across his eyes, only for a moment. “She often spoke of you, my friend. Your velvet lining and your figurine of lead.” Percy gently brushed the monkey’s face before it was taken by the handler. “Will you still play, when all the rest of us are dead?”
Molly squeezed Percy’s shoulder once more, her other hand gently rubbing his back. Molly, with her mother’s cocoa eyes.
“Lot six-six-six then, a chandelier in pieces,” the auctioneer said. Percy couldn’t help but feel that the number was fitting for this particular piece. “Some of you may recall the strange affair of the Phantom of the Opera. A mystery never fully explained.”
The sound of cloth shifting was a subtle thing, but Percy picked up on it. Everyone was turning to look at the green cloth covering an object with the numbers 666 on it, written in black. Molly’s grip tightened on Percy’s shoulder, her red curls brushing against Percy’s ear as she leaned down.
“I am here, papa,” whispered Molly. “I am here.”
Here he was, being comforted by his daughter that he had always protected ever since she was born. She was protecting him. Remaining a light in the darkness.
Just like Victoria.
“We are told, ladies and gentlemen, that this is the very chandelier that figures in that famous disaster.” the auctioneer cleared his throat. “Our workshops have restored it, and fitted parts of it with wiring for the new electric light so that we may get a hint of how it may look when reassembled.” he chuckled, his voice taking a darker turn. A teasing smile was on his face. “Perhaps we may even frighten away the ghost of so many years ago with a little… illumination.”
There was a second of silence, before his voice became a shout. “GENTLEMEN!”
The cloth flew off, revealing the broken chandelier underneath it. Percy’s heart began to race as a gust of wind picked up, sending dust and birds and cobwebs around him. He watched as the fixture began to rise towards its former place in the ceiling, drawn up by a man pulling backwards on a rope.
Molly’s grip became almost painful as the sparks began to fly off of it, but he didn’t notice. He didn’t notice Augustine’s look of satisfaction or the gasps of the others attending the auction.
The chandelier went higher and higher. The auction faded around Percy. The world faded around Percy.
And he suddenly found himself thirty-five years in the past, back in the year 1870.