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Barefoot and boldfaced, Raine Almasy pushed past the double doors that led to the backstage area of the Royal Opera House- she froze. Silence.

It was eerie to hear nothing in a space typically swarming with hurried stagehands and costumed actors but she had expected as much; somebody must have had to clear the people out to set the bodies to hang from the scaffolding above. The redhead heard a noise behind and glanced back, nodding at Bagnold.[1] Her stance was confident but her expression dazed.

From their position, the front stage was partially visible. Those performers who had been there when the curtains drew open earlier were still staring up in horror at the swaying corpses, although one or two were already moving to the drapes while fumbling for wands. Raine could hear voices - not altogether unfamiliar - drifting from the audience area, calling for the gruesome sight to be covered.

Although neither of them knew it now, moving further backstage would reveal to them the still remains of several other stagehands laying across panelled floors. It was apparent however that the culprits of the murders are nowhere to be found.

"I'm going to help them with the curtains," Raine swallowed, only just remembering the appalled look on Aunt Ira's face.

1.	Reaction, Box 3

There was something macabre about the silence backstage, even when the sounds of panic were still coming from the crowd in the Opera House.  Sometime on the journey between the box and the stage, Kurby had drawn his wand; compared to his usual equipment, it seemed a meager sort of defense against still lingered backstage, but as horrible as the sight of the bodies dangling over the stage had been, this was no full moon.

The shock and the outcry had been instantly sobering, though that in itself might have been a commentary on the quality of champagne that had been served that eve.  Kurby kept pace with the red-haired girl, alert to all of his senses as they made their way backstage.  For all the tragedy before them, Ira Almasy's niece still seemed very in control of herself.  Kurby might have expected a girl her age -- hell, anyone -- to panic and fall to pieces in such circumstances, but the kid hadn't yet.  That in itself, along with the fact that she seemed very sure that she knew what needed to happen, had kept him quiet as they'd gone.

When she spoke up now, her voice was level.  "I'm going to help them with the curtains."

Under different circumstances, he might have snorted in disbelief.  Why some girl who couldn't be out of Hogwarts yet seemed to think that she of all people would have the ability to close the curtains when none of the legitimate backstage crew had yet done it seemed a bit presumptuous -- but then, no one else had done it yet, and Kurby was already assuming that other people were still alive.  He had learned that lesson, a long time ago in a dark wood.

Kurby glanced at her briefly, and then gave her a curt nod.  "Yeah," he said, motioning for her to lead the way.  "Just watch yourself, kid."

 Margo didn’t know what the bloody hell was going on.  One second she was sitting pretty, tipsy next to Bagnold waiting to get the hell out of here so she wouldn’t have to sit through anymore of this melodramatic crap that other people deemed as “art” on stage in front of them.  Then, the next, there were bodies and screaming, and even Margo, who had watched her own skin scorch and had to deal with everything that entailed hadn’t been prepared for that. 

Her stomach dropped and in the moment, she didn’t know what else to do but follow Bagnold.  There were so many people and honestly, even with her superior elbow power ability, she wasn’t really positive she’d even want to elbow her grandmother in the face to get out of here.  The path of least resistance seemed to be following Kurby.  Though, through the throng and the noise she did manage to yell out, “Why are you going toward the stage?!”

He wasn’t an auror and unless this was a werewolf thing he didn’t have anymore reason to be up there than the kid they seemed to be following.  Margo knew she had nothing to offer except for a gawking expression and the uncomfortable feeling she might, at some point vomit, though she managed to stifle that urge. 

The sound seemed to deaden as they moved from the crowd and toward the backstage area, and a chill settled over her.  Margo might have been a touch out of touch with the rights and wrongs, but it seemed to her that it was wrong to be here.  Everyone else had left, presuming there was anyone alive, of course, she thought grimly. 

The space between her ears was buzzing.  She should not have gulped down that firewhiskey so quickly (not the first time that thought had entered her head), and she blinked at the two in front of her.  A practical fetus talking about closing the curtains and Bagnold letting it.  “What?!  Bloody hell, don't be daft:  what if there’s some kind of trap attached to it or some other crazy shite?” she chastised  - feeling another sick twist in her stomach: she sounded far too much like her father for her taste.  “Let’s go – back exit or something?”

"Amherst, this is a crime scene. I've been backstage, and there are several dead stagehands. The more people who pass through a crime scene, the harder it becomes to figure out who did the crime." Sam spoke up suddenly, coming from backstage.  Not wanting to get into an argument, he headed off to help close the curtains, that and keep an eye out for any surprises whoever had done this had left.