Prologue

PROLOGUE

It is all quite odd how the events to be related in this work were brought to my attention. I had only been in France for a few days working on my graduate thesis in early twentieth century history when I received an anonymous message at my hotel. The concierge could not describe to me the person who delivered the message, only that he had been instructed to give the note directly to me at his earliest ability. Strangely, the message was written in both French and English, one atop the other in a neat, looping script. Here, I reproduce the message in full detail as it was given to me.

Mlle. Emmyline Leroux,

G. H.

I’m sure you could understand the confusion that came over me as I read this message on my way to the Bibliothèque Nationale to begin my preliminary research. As you are now aware, I had only been in France for a small number of days. I couldn’t have met more than three or four people outside of the hotel staff, and any of my other acquaintances were academics. True, my father was French, but had not been in the country for nearly thirty years. My mother was Italian. So you see, I could not imagine how this G. H. could have known of my arrival through a mutual companion. I had no companions in France!

For days I read the message with a strange suspicion that I was the recipient of a cruel joke by students at the university who were angry at my arrival to study turn of the century France. Again and again I asked the concierge, M. Rigalto, to tell me of the person who delivered such a strange message. Each time he refused, saying that he could not describe the messenger because he had been instructed to keep their identity secret. M. Rigalto assured me, however, that I could trust the word of my secret correspondent for they were honorable in the highest degree.

The longer I pondered the message and the messenger, the more ill at ease I became. I resolved to do away with the irritating note at once, but found that I hadn’t the heart to put it in the wastebasket. I would let it slip from my fingers and float on the air to the mouth of the bin, but each time I found myself retrieving it from the pile of discarded rubbish. There was something intriguing about the message, more so than the method in which it was delivered to me. How did the messenger know which hotel was my own? Why did they intend to send me to the Chateau de Chagny? What faith did the messenger have in M. Rigalto that he should be the go between of our correspondence?

A fortnight had passed with my only travel being between my hotel, the university and the Bibliothèque Nationale. I did not want to trust this G.H. and their entreaty to go to Chateau de Chagny, despite the praises of faith that M. Rigalto sang. The message was hidden away beneath a stack of papers and books in my room, not quite out of mind even though it was out of sight. As I sat going through my already extensive notes, I began to wonder; what would be the harm in taking a trip to the Chateau?

Then it happened. As I left one morning for breakfast at a small café down the street, M. Rigalto called for me, a plain white envelope in his hand. “A message for you, Mlle. Leroux. They ask you read it at once.”

You could imagine my hesitancy as I read the address on the outside of the envelope and recognized the neat, looping script of my secret correspondent. I had quite a war with myself as I tried to decide whether to open the message or to simply return it to M. Rigalto with instructions to return it to its sender. I did not understand why I must be the one to receive these mysterious messages. Yet, my curiosity prevailed, and I opened the message. There it was, again in both French and English, a short missive from G. H.

Mlle. Leroux,

G. H.

It was much to my confusion—and M. Rigalto’s delight—that I contacted my appointments that morning to cancel our meetings. I cannot remember a lift ride that seemed as long as this one. It was as if it was Christmas and I was an excited child, desperate to get to my gifts and open the unknown packages. I could not know that the gift awaiting me in my suite would lead me on the most strange and illuminating journey of my life.

Copyright © 2006 The Mistress Snape

Notes from the Mistress: The hosptial called this afternoon, and the doctors are allowing me to stay home for the rest of the weekend. They want to see how my stay in the hospital so far is helping me deal with "real life." I was so excited that I invited several of my friends over to watch "The Phantom of the Opera" with me and Gerard. That is where this tale developed. I hope you enjoy my little foray away from the world of fanfiction, just for a little while.