1:00 am, the morning of the first task.

Cécile was truly beginning to miss Beauxbaton, even after just a couple of weeks. There, sneaking down to the music room when she had insomnia was like taking a stroll in a well kept park. She not only knew the prefects rounds down to the second, but also the location of every squeaky floor board and which paintings were likely to snitch. Hogwarts, however, was another matter entirely, like the same walk, but through an unexplored jungle. It wasn't just the changes in security, the twisting maze they called corridors, or the oil-paint eyes that followed her suspiciously at every turn. It was the icy flagstones, a sharp contrast from Beauxbatons magically heated floors, that chilled her to the bone, starting with the toes she was precariously balancing on and radiating upwards to the fingers locked onto a worn violin case. She hoped she could make it to an empty classroom before they froze completely, effectively defeating the entire reason she ventured out of her warm dorm room in the first place.

Sinking quickly into the shadows, aware of what sounded like a noise down the corridor, Cécile stood completely still, willing herself to shrink out of sight. When there was no tell tale food steps or the rush of air that followed in a persons wake, Cécile slowly cracked her eyes and glanced down the hallway. No one. Damn this school and their ghosts. It was probably that terrifying ghoul that had been floating about the Slytherin table. She had decided not to trust Slytherins farther then she could throw them, not when they had such a disturbing mascot. Taking a deep breath, she slipped from the darkness and down the hall, case crushed to her chest like a precious child.

"Music room... Music room... Where is their music room?" She muttered to herself, dismayed at the apparent lack of musical education here. Beauxbaton had not one but several rooms dedicated to the arts, the music hall being one of the largest. Here, she couldn't even find a broken drum and some musty sheet music. However, after turning around at a dead end, Cécile caught herself pausing at a door she swore hadn't been there moments before.  With hope in her heart, she pulled the heavy door open with a great deal of difficulty, but not without reward. As the heavy door swung open, it revealed a rather lovely music room. Not as elegant as Beauxbaton, but it fit her needs perfectly. Taking a deep breath as she entered, she detected the musk of sheet music, the tang of brass, as well as a bouquet of stretched skins and lacquered wood. Eyes still closed, embracing the buffet of scents around her, Cécile bumped into a large, covered object that let out a plaintive twang at her assault. Grasping the dusty velvet tarp draped over it, Cécile gave a mighty tug to reveal a pristine mahogany baby grand piano. Its ivory keys glinted invitingly in the candlelight and she ran her fingers down the keyboard to appease it. This would do.

She immediately set to work, her previously frozen fingers thawing quickly with the prospect of playing. Opening her case, she retrieved her bow first, pulling it from its velvet bag and inspecting the taut hairs for any breaks. A tightening here... some wax there and the bow was deemed acceptable. Setting it carefully off to the side, she pulled out the true star of the evening. Though its finish was well worn, most clearly where her chin rested, you could tell the instrument was exquisite. It was a muggle violin... a stravinius? Stravakovsky? She could never remember the name. She had found it in her mothers belongings, buried amongst her ballet tutus from her youth, and was told to just toss it in the rubbish bin when she presented it to Manon. Obviously she didn't do it. Not only did she not have the heart to destroy something so obviously special, but she had a suspicion that it belonged to her father. This idea spurned her to not only keep it, but to learn to play it when her mother was off on her walks with Élodie, or fast asleep under the thrall of sleeping potions. Later she would even smuggle it to school in the bottom of her trunk, where she only played it in the company of the music teacher, swearing the old man to secrecy.

But here at Hogwarts, there was no need for fear of discovery. She kept this in mind as she carefully pulled the instrument from its velvet coffin and ran her fingers over the neck and the strings, as though she were a mother comforting her child. She then plucked each string lightly, listening intently for sour notes, before nodding in satisfaction. Pinning it between her clavicle and her chin, Cécile raised the bow and took a deep breath. Like a snake, she struck a long, hard note that filled the room and seemed to lift her up from the ground with sheer force. Then, as her body begin to sway along with the bow strokes, the note begin to taper, not in volume but in ferocity. It became softer... gentler... until the dim, chilly room felt lighter and warmer. Then, as the note begin to fade, she transformed it into the opening harmony of Tartini's 'Devil's Trill'. With each wavering stroke of the bow, she imagined herself as Tartini, desperate to recreate that haunting melody the Devil played in his dreams. She was vaguely aware there was another presence in the room, but in her trance, she was certain that the gaze locked upon her were from the deep-set and fathomless eyes of the Devil himself, her father.

(Clothing)

Though he knew he should roll over and attempt to fall back to sleep again, Corey could not stomach another dream that ended with him feeling as though a vacuum had come and sucked the air from every inch of his body. Or waves of hopeless and helplessness continuously washing over him. And sadness.

He didn't entirely know what the dreams meant. But the suffocation he felt from the emotions he tried to keep at bay as he moved through his life was too much to bear. Especially when he had a task to prepare for.

Sighing, Corey slid out of his bed and pulled a hoodie over his plain white t-shirt. He slipped his feet into the pair of night "slippers" waiting on the floor. Eventually, they would be swapped out for a pair of still warmer moccasins when the weather got cooler.

He headed out of the dorm and for the common room. Only he realized immediately that he wasn't the only person up this early in the morning. Corey was about to call out but his target, the familiar Cecile Fontaine, was already headed out of the common room to another destination.

Glancing around, Corey determined that no one else was following his classmate and so he darted after her. He tried to keep his movements as soundless as possible, to prevent anyone from being alerted to both their presence in the night. Didn't someone say that there were prefects roving the halls here at night? Best not be caught by one of them.

Corey still did not know where Cecile was headed, but he had known her well enough over the years to trust in following where she would lead.

It wasn't to much longer before all was revealed.

Corey slipped into the music room after her and still not wanting to alert his friend of his presence, he found a pillar to hide behind as he waited and listened. He had briefly noted that Cecile had been carrying her violin case, but now it dawned on him that she was only looking for a place to play.

The Beauxbatons boy snuck a peek around the pillar just in time to see Cecile pull the drape from the baby grand piano. As he watched her prepare her instrument for playing, Corey let his forehead rest against the cool, immense structure that kept him out of sight. The familiar notes of her song echoed -- nay, danced -- across the vast openness of the room to where he was and seemed to touch his very soul.

Nearly everyone at Beauxbatons played an instrument of some sort. Part of the requirements of refinement and devotion to the arts. Even Corey played the piano, although his playing was more with the goal of being an accompaniment to a far superior featured artist. Like Cecile.

Watching and listening to her play, especially this song, was like magic itself. He believed it coursed through her veins. It belonged to her.

He watched for a bit longer before he finally moved from where he was and took up a playing position at the piano. After another moment debating whether he should join her, Corey slowly placed his slender fingers on the ivory keys and let them dance over their smoothness. The piano notes blended smoothly with the glorious sounds emanating from Cici's violin, but never with enough force to steal her spotlight.

His presence was barely noticeable. Just the way it should be.

Cécile didn't even flinch when the accompaniment begin, partially because she was so lost in the music that it didn't dawn on her that it was another person playing rather than her imagination, or even the piano itself, reacting to her passion. If she felt his presence at all, she didn't acknowledge it. Instead, she continued to play without pause, her bow sweeping across the strings in a rocking motion that her body matched, swaying from foot to foot with each flourish. Slender fingers danced down the neck with a deftness that she had never been able to reproduce otherwise. Élodie could dance like this, feet and hair flying with a freedom that Cécile could only dream of, but Cécile could only feel the same freedom when she lost herself to the music, so she selfishly clung to the illusion for a few more minutes.

When the last note of the larghetto faded completely, Cécile finally opened her eyes and turned to her accomplice with a hopeful expression. This faded abruptly and was replaced by a very brief look of disappointment when it was not her illusive father sitting at the piano but Corey. When the sight of him fully sunk in, both looks were replaced with one that wasn't hopeful or dismayed, but... peaceful, accepting and comfortable. She didn't ask him why he was there or how he had managed to sneak in without her knowing because she was far more concerned with why he was up so early this morning. After all, she was an insomniac, he wasn't, and she didn't have to be in a mysterious and potentially deadly competition in a few hours. Her brow furrowing ever so slightly, the smooth skin suddenly etched with lines of concern, she carefully placed her violin in its case and made her way to the piano. Taking a seat next to him, her head found a comfortable spot on his broad shoulder and she stared up at him under a curtain of thick lashes, murmuring softly "Couldn't sleep?"

Corey played piano with no airs and no pretenses. It was a true relaxed hobby for the Beauxbatons boy. Subjects like Magical Creatures and Herbology held his rapt attention and he did wish to do well at them because of what they meant for his future. But in many respects, he did not have to care about being proficient at music. No one expected that of him. Thus, though he was no virtuoso, the genuine enjoyment for playing flowed from his long fingertips to the sleek keys of the piano.

As the music notes came to an end, Corey allowed his hands rest on the keys as he looked over at his friend. First, he watched her closely to see if there were signs that she was cross at him for joining her private recital. He saw no indication of such a mood. He smile at her and as she moved to take a seat on the bench, he scooted over to make room, even though her tiny frame hardly needed much. Feeling her head come to rest on his shoulder, Corey shifted a bit so that he could gently wrap his arm around her. Then, he placed an affectionate kiss to her temple. "Oui," he said quietly with a sigh. With his free hand, he made a circular motion near his own head. "Too much thinking going on up here."

When Corey's arm slipped around her, Cecile didn't resist his embrace. In fact, she curled into its warm with a soft sigh escaping her lips, against her better judgement. She shouldn't be doing this. Aside from the fact that she was positive that he only thought of her as a friend, and felt like she was betraying his trust in her with her less-than-platonic feelings, but there was also that pesky fact that had been weighing on the back of her mind that, in a few short months, she would be in another mans arms whether or not she wanted to be. Letting him embrace her like this filled her with head-spinning elation, but also an immense amount of guilt. Corey didn't deserve to be strung along like this.

But before she could pull away in shame, he pressed a kiss to her temple and Cecile felt her resolve and guilt melt away a little. His smell, which was clean and fresh but with a hint of woody musk, like he wore a newly laundered shirt into the forest, and the warm he radiated made it virtually impossible for her to leave from her spot against him. Times like this were so rare, considering how the school frowned upon such displays and the fact that she could never invite him over to her home without worrying about her family trying to port-key him to Antarctica, and soon enough they would be nonexistent all together. Was it so selfish to want a moment to enjoy the possibility of there being something more?

"Too much thinking going on up here."

Oh, merde... she was being selfish wasn't she? Here she was, so concerned about a hug, when Corey was obviously stressed out about the task tomorrow. What kind of friend was she being right now, only worrying about herself? Not a good one, she realized. Not when he could die tomorrow. The thought filled her with dread and she pushed all thoughts out of her mind so she could focus on his. "About tomorrow?" She murmured, even though she was sure that was it. His concerns were reminiscent of Lola's before a show and Cecile knew how she usually helped her feel better. But, then, she didn't feel comfortable giving him a foot rub. She chewed on the inside of her mouth for a moment, considering her options, before coming to the most obvious answer.

"I know what to do..." She said suddenly, pulling away slowly and a bit reluctantly. Standing, she rustled through her violin case before finding a small bottle of calming drought that she kept for panic attacks. "Here... drink a little of this, it will relax you..." She said, handing him the small crystal vial. Then she made her way around him and stood at his back. Resting her tiny hands on his broad shoulders, she begin to knead the tight muscles. Her hands, though small and slender, were surprisingly strong and well suited for this. "You can lean back if you'd like... I won't let you fall."