nothing but a vision trick under the warning light [chantal]

early february 2002

Charlie had ventured out of the house for the first time in a few days for something that wasn’t food, or alcohol, or sex. He was in a muggle record store in Baker Street. He’d been here multiple times before; it was something of his local. He did listen to wizard rock, but his initial interest in music had been as a child growing up with his dad playing Bowie and Queen, amongst the other greats.

Unfortunately, in a drunken rage last night he’d thrown one of his Queen LPs against the wall and it had snapped in half, so he’d come to replace that – as well as see what else he fancied adding to his collection. He was dressed casually; dark blue jeans, black boots, and his favourite leather jacket over a Weird Sisters t-shirt. His dark brown hair was slicked back in its usual style, though his normally bright eyes were a little dim and had large bags under them.

Charlie’s calloused fingers were thumbing through the records, his gaze a little unfocused as he flipped past cover after cover. It was the kind of shop where nothing was kept in alphabetical order, or even genre, so came the Bee Gees followed by Frank Sinatra, ABBA and then The Who. It was a little frustrating for someone like Charlie who, despite all appearances, was actually very tidy and meticulous with his possessions. His own LPs were all alphabetised by band, then chronologically by album or single release.

On the other side of the rack he was currently perusing, someone shifted closer and caught his attention out of the corner of his eye. Charlie flicked his gaze up and inadvertently locked eye contact with a pretty blonde – he caught himself smiling automatically. He wasn’t usually described as ‘friendly’ or ‘approachable’, but attractive women tended to bring out the best (and worst) in him. And she was. Attractive. Charlie glanced back down and flipped over another record, but quickly found himself looking up again, just as she appeared to do the same. His expression this time was a little more of a smirk than a smile, though he forced himself to look down again, pretending to still be paying attention to the albums he was thumbing through as he felt her move around toward him.

[member=25333]Chantal Garnier[/member]

Having attended a Spice Girls concert the previous night, Chantal’s weekend in London proved itself quite the nice break. While yesterday she had spent it all visiting muggle museums, and attended the concert during the evening obviously, today the French girl had decided to do some shopping. Of course, the moment she passed by Madame Tussauds, her plans have been completely ignored, for obviously taking a picture with a wax figure of Audrey Hepburn was more tempting than a visit to Oxford Street, which she could always afford. Of course, Oxford Street was much too tedious for her, Chantal preferring the haute couture shops which were placed on the adjacent streets.

Nonetheless, after taking her picture with the lovely Hepburn, Chantal had taken a break at a nearby muggle records store, placed in Baker Street. She was going to walk towards the commercial area, however less populated stores were much more appealing. Not that this one was particularly unpopulated, but it was definitely much emptier than any other store would be on Oxford Street.

But the shop in itself was unorganised, chaotically so. Having organised her own music shop in the Chatoeil, Chantal felt irked the moment she had stepped in. Everything was lacking proper organisation; at the very least, one would think a shop owner who lacked musical knowledge would arrange everything in alphabetical order, which was the minimum amount of decency. But no. This one here did nothing of the sort. British. Chantal thought, as she rolled her eyes before stepping in properly and taking a glance at some records nearby. Spice Girls, next to Nirvana, next to Depeche Mode. This was a disaster.

The witch sighed deeply as she picked up one of Depeche Mode’s earliest records, but as she raised her gaze to read the cover, she had noticed a rather familiar fellow nearby. Chantal knew him, she was positive. However, she couldn’t tell where she knew him from. His fashion was somewhat abhorrent, someone as high class as her would definitely not be particularly close to someone wearing such pieces of clothing. Nonetheless, he had something of a bad boy appeal, something like Travolta in Grease, which was quite pleasing to the eye. She hadn’t recalled even meeting him, still.

Meanwhile, the man noticed her glancing in his direction, and smiled. Well, that was awkward. Chantal sketched a smile back, and her eyebrow arched as she’s noticed what he was wearing beneath his leather jacket – a Weird Sisters t-shirt. She definitely knew whom that was. Chantal still took two steps forward, and narrowed her gaze, as she carefully analysed his features, to double check and confirm her suspicion.

“Charlie Baker!” Chantal found herself squeaking on the highest pitched noise she’s made in her entire life. Did she know him? Of course. Chantal had put up his poster in her own shop, and naturally was a big fan. In the end, there weren’t many muggleborn artists with his success, and he was both an inspiration and aspiration to all muggleborn witches and wizards. Not only that he was successful, but the music Banshee produced was also of superior quality. That man was a living legend. A genius among mere mortals. A god among men. And he was there, in a muggle shop, in front of her.

Best. Day. Ever.

Chantal didn’t manage to control her demeanour at all, her eyes sparkling with excitement and a wide smile appearing on her face upon finally recognising the Briton. She quickly put the Depeche Mode LP on the shelf, gently catching her dusty pink trench coat which rested on her shoulders but fell during her motion, previously covering up her white attire, a white deux-pièces, comprised of a short top and a tight pair of trousers. Turning on her heel, she rapidly approached the man, and placed both her hands on his arm, to make sure he won’t Disapparate just because she’d recognised him.

“You really are the Charlie Baker! The musical genius of our generation.” She added excitedly once more, her French accent being much more pronounced than usual, as a side effect of her exhilaration. “It’s amazing, seeing you here, like this.” Chantal bounced her weight from a leg to another, her long blonde hair swaying in the process. “I can’t believe it.” She was touching a living legend. “Can I have an autograph? A picture? A hug?” Chantal inquired, realising that she would have to let go of his arm so she’d take out either her notebook or her camera, but she wasn’t going to compromise yet, until she’d get a confirmation that he wouldn’t Disapparate on her.

Charlie flinched as the blonde woman let out what could only be described as a shrill noise in the place of his name, his eyebrows raising as he dropped the record he’d been holding back into the rack. Shit. This was the last thing he needed. Please don’t be mental. He couldn’t deal with another Layla. Regular fans were fine, a little annoying at times, but not life-threatening. Not the kind that ruined everything and kept him up at night, freaking out over creaks in the walls.

Charlie took half a step backwards as the woman approached him, but he was too slow to avoid her grasp. Well, it wasn’t really a grasp, she was just lightly touching him. It wasn’t menacing, her eyes weren’t wild – just wide with… admiration? It seemed that way, but he wasn’t sure if he was just being bigheaded until she started speaking. Charlie’s words were caught in his throat, he wasn’t the most talkative being at the best of times, but praise tended to render him at a loss – especially if he was sober, which, the dull ache in his head told him he was.

An awkward smile stretched across Charlie’s lips as he decided she didn’t seem the type to flay him and wear his skin as a coat. “I, yeah, I am.” He managed to get out finally, his voice a little hoarse from not having really spoken to anyone in a couple of days. His dark eyes took the time to look her over again; he’d picked up on the French accent, and now that he wasn’t the creep checking out a stranger, but the rockstar talking to a fan, he felt he could give her the once over without getting called out on it. She was shorter than him, but less so with those heels on. She definitely didn’t look like the type of person he expected to listen to his music – she was so… shiny. The musician wet his lips habitually as he looked at her.

“Erm, yeah,” he nodded in response to her request, “Can we.. not in here?” He looked around them sheepishly, noticing the furtive glances they were attracting from the other customers in the store, and the confused-looking cashier who seemed to be trying to figure out if he should know who Charlie was too. He took her gently by the wrist, pulling her towards the door. “Er, what’s your name?” He asked quietly,

Charlie seemed rather nervous, but the witch couldn’t exactly blame him. Normally, she would harshly judge if a celebrity would be taken aback just from being recognised in public. They were celebrities for a reason, in the end. It was nothing but fake to pretend that they were so surprised to be recognised when out and about. But the situation here was different, for Charlie was a famous musician among witches and wizards, and not in the muggle world. She was aware of that, and she was also aware that everyone in the shop would question whom the man was. But she wasn’t going to miss out on her once-in-a-lifetime chance to talk to Charlie Baker.

Her smile widened with excitement as he confirmed that he was indeed the famous musician. He looked a bit awkwardly at her, and Chantal figured it was perhaps because her French accent had especially surfaced. Ultimately, not only that she’d approached him in a muggle shop, but in London as well. If anything, French fans of his in the British capital were rarer. However, that was a good thing – it meant that he would remember her.

And just when she thought this day couldn’t get any better, it got.

The wizard agreed to talk to her, and give her an autograph. He specified that not in the muggle shop, remark to which she gingerly nodded her head in approval. “Yes, of course.” She replied, only now feeling a bit embarrassed of her especially bold approach. She retrieved her hand, but Charlie instead took her by the wrist and pulled her towards the door. Chantal couldn’t not notice how his grasp was especially gentle. Now that’s a pianist for you – yes, she knew all of his music skills for, in the end, she was not only a fan, but their manager also did outstandingly well in arranging interviews which enhanced the band’s skills and professionalism. If anything, Chantal really wanted to tell Charlie to send all the best regards to the manager as well.

As soon as they got out of the shop, the French witch’s eyes widened once more, surprised that Charlie asked for her name. “Oh, pardon.” She realised it was probably for the autograph. And probably because he wanted to also make sure she wasn’t a stalker which followed him into a muggle shop. “I have it here somewhere.” Chantal retrieved her hand from Charlie’s hold and leaned against the nearby wall, to look into her purse for her business card. But there were none. In the end, she wouldn’t have expected to run into the best musician of all time and subtly promote her own music shop, under the pretence of showing the man how her name was written.

But it was too late now to say she didn’t have any kind of card with her, since she started searching. Plus, Chantal wasn’t even sure she could spell out her name in English so Charlie could write it properly on her future autograph.

“I do not have my – how do you say – business? card with me. I own a music shop too, an actually good one.” She remarked on a slightly irritated tone, only the thought of the lack of organisation in the place they were just in shaking her to her very core. It was offensive towards music itself. “But I do have this one.” She took out another card, her official one from the Ministère de la Magie, with all the respective details. “Here.” Chantal handed over the card to Charlie, and then pointed towards her name. “Chantal Garnier.”

She straightened her back, and smiled especially excitedly again, hoping that Charlie would say out her name as well. In the end, it was every fan’s dream to hear their name being said by one of their most favourite voices. “I’m sorry if I came on too strong inside. I got excited that it was really the Charlie Baker.” She added, wanting to ease some of his previous discomfort. Hopefully now that he knew she was an actual responsible person with a respectable job, Charlie wouldn’t feel as nervous as before.

Out on the street Charlie visibly relaxed. They were out of earshot of the people in the record store now, so could talk more openly. He didn’t let go of her immediately, only when she moved to pull something from her bag. His brow furrowed curiously as she began fishing around, wondering why she couldn’t simply tell him her name. Oh, right, she wanted an autograph. She needed something for him to write on, and with. He absently patted his pockets in the very slim chance that he might have a scrap of paper, but no luck.

“A music shop?” He echoed, mildly impressed, “Really?” This was turning from ‘just some fan’ into an opportunity. Sadly, he realised that until they found a replacement (professionally) for Kate, the boys would need to manage their own affairs and sort out their own publicity. But then, if this French woman knew who he was – and was so obviously excited at the prospect of meeting him – she surely already stocked his records? Well, whatever. He was still intrigued.

He laughed lightly at her comment, the first bubble of amusement he’d felt in days. “Yeah, it’s a bit of a mess in there.” He said in agreement. “They have a lot of the old stuff though – are you…” he paused, licking his lips, “you’re into muggle music?” He asked politely, sceptically. It was a bit of a faux pas to ask people their blood status, especially since the war, so he thought better to skirt around that if he could. She would know he was muggleborn – any Banshee fan would, it was all that had been talked about with the release of the second record. Like he was some sort of champion for British muggleborns. He didn’t want or need that title. It felt false. He’d skipped the country when everything had kicked off – he was no better than any other muggleborn who had gone into hiding. He’d simply been fortunate that he could ply his trade overseas during the whole thing.

Charlie’s calloused fingers took the stiff bit of card from the woman, turning it over in his hands to read the inscription. “Garnier? Like L’Oreal?” he said, then inwardly groaned at himself. His cheeks briefly flushed pink and he quickly tried to cover his tracks. “What do you do? In the Ministry, I mean.” He flicked his eyes up to meet hers, having translated the part about the ‘Ministère’ and got lost after that. He could hold a basic conversation in French, but he was far from fluent and didn’t want to make a further arse out of himself. The musician wasn’t the biggest fan of the British Ministry, but he supposed it would be unfair to tar all ministries with the same brush.

“That’s alright, Chantal.” He said slowly, smiling, ensuring to repeat her name the same way she’d pronounced it with her accent. “The Charlie Baker?” He smirked. “Right.” He looked back into the store and saw the shop assistant still looking at them through the window. He turned back to Chantal, “Do you wanna go somewhere?” He asked, “Coffee or summat?” It was a bit early in the day to suggest the type of drinking he’d rather be doing, but they could get to that later if she was keen.

Chantal let out a soft laughter as Charlie commented regarding the shop’s lack of organisation. “You’re being too kind, I would say.” She remarked, realising that this was, perhaps, the typical English behaviour, the gentleman side of his. Not wanting to talk badly of anything or anyone. She could definitely appreciate that, and it was a trait the French enjoyed taking notice of in one of her favourite artists. Well, presumably in the person behind the artist, for his image on stage was naturally a façade. There were surely differences between how his artistic self was and his regular, private person.

His following question made her blink with excitement, the witch not really catching the slight hesitation in his voice, masked by the short pause. “Oh, yes. I’m moldu…” She paused herself, only because the witch realised she involuntarily switched to French for a brief moment. “I’m muggleborn. Just like you.” Her smile widened just a bit, proud of the trait they shared. If anything, she thought that it was also a trait of his that made him even a more special artist. Not many muggleborns were as successful as he was in regards to the wizarding arts, music included, so his success fascinated many of their own kind. She was, obviously, no exception.

Chantal instantly arched an eyebrow at his question regarding her surname. It was a common joke in the muggle world, one she’s dealt with more times than she would like to admit. And, truth be told, Chantal did not fancy it at all, quite on the contrary. In a regular setting, the witch would roll her eyes, and bluntly reveal the person’s lack of intelligence and emphasise on the fact that, if anything, her surname could be associated with Opéra Garnier. But, this wasn’t a typical situation. She was put face-to-face with a celebrity she liked, so Chantal decided to imitate the reaction her younger (non-magical) sister did. She blinked, her smile turning into a smirk, and as she flipped a lock of her long hair over her shoulder, replied. “Because I’m worth it.”

She let out a soft giggle, but it wasn’t really her own laughter. Internally, she screeched at herself for resorting to such a reaction. The change of subject was therefore more than welcomed. “I’m an Auror.” She nodded once in approval, wondering whether or not to state that if he would ever be in need of the services of an Auror, he could reach for her. But, in the end, each celebrity seemed to be acquainted to one or two, so she doubted that Charlie didn’t have his own connections. Eventually, she decided against it.

The fact that he wasn’t bothered by her reaction pleased her, nonetheless, as Chantal heard Charlie pronounce her name, the girl instantly felt her breaths getting slower and her cheeks flushing with slight embarrassment. He’d even tried to copy her accent; that was truly the best gift a celebrity could offer to one of their admirers. “The Charlie Baker.” She repeated after him, being so dazzled still by the way he’d said her name in his English accent that the witch hadn’t even realised the discomfiture her repetition would have normally caused her.

His gaze turned back and Charlie’d asked her if she wanted to go somewhere, for a coffee or a ‘summat’. She arched an eyebrow, not really understanding what he’d meant. Was it a drink? Slang for some sort of snack? An actual snack? It was a bit hard talking to an English person not from the Ministry, she realised. Chantal, while fluent in English, had no knowledge regarding jargon. She decided to mask her lack of familiarity by being as French as possible. “It’s never too early for wine though, isn’t it?” Chantal asked, naturally agreeing to his invitation though her suggesting a different kind of drink. “Coffee would work too, but…” She shrugged, hoping that Charlie wouldn’t mind her idea and wasn’t overly keen on the ‘summat’ thing.

Charlie smiled, relief washing over him for some reason, upon finding out that she was a muggleborn too. Or perhaps it was just that he knew he didn’t have to explain why he’d wanted to leave the record store; she would understand, just like Fflur, what it meant to be a muggle in a magical world. “Cool,” he said, then wished he hadn’t. “I, it’s nice to meet someone else.” He tried to explain without really explaining anything at all.

The wizard laughed, the first real laugh he’d had in days, as Chantal imitated the muggle television adverts he’d been referring to. “Yeah, those ones.” He immediately felt a strange sort of guilt for experiencing a moment of joy, but tried to quash the sensation; bury it to drag it up later when he was alone and not trying to talk to a very attractive woman.

“An Auror?” Charlie’s eyebrows rose in appreciation. “You don’t loo—” he cut himself off, “Sorry, you just—most Aurors in England are… not like you.” He supposed Kate’s friend Ariana didn’t look like what one might expect a typical Auror to look like either, but perhaps he’d been jaded by those he’d seen in the papers over the years; older men, scarred and usually missing a limb or an ear or something. Chantal was not his usual ‘type’ so to speak, he preferred brunettes, but he couldn’t deny she was gorgeous. Another pang of guilt in his chest, before he suppressed it again. He shouldn’t feel bad – Kate had left him. He wasn’t cheating, he was single. She’d made that perfectly clear. Charlie pulled his wallet out of his back pocket and slipped Chantal’s business card in, trying not to frown as his fingers touched on one of Kate’s cards that he still hadn’t removed. He realised he had no way for Chantal to contact him, professionally, “I um, need to get some new ones made but, I’ll owl you. Maybe we can arrange for me to come see your shop.” He smiled.

Charlie grinned lopsidedly at the blonde. The Charlie Baker. He wasn’t exactly a stranger to that kind of reaction from fans, but he didn’t think he’d ever be completely used to it either. "Right."

His eyes popped, “Wine?” He felt like it was a trick, or that she could somehow read his mind. Perhaps she could just read him. He wasn’t hard to anticipate when it came to women and drink, he supposed. “No, I—wine would be great. Did you have somewhere in mind?” He knew of a few muggle pubs and restaurants nearby, and would honestly rather avoid wizarding establishments lest someone recognise him. He briefly considered inviting her back to his place, but thought better of it when he remembered the last blonde who’d been in his apartment. Better to play it safe, for now.

“I know what you mean.” Chantal replied almost instantly to his comment, let it be that it had seemingly not required any further additions. But she knew; it was relatively difficult for muggleborns to meet someone of their own kind within the wizarding world. Truth be told, Chantal herself did not have any muggleborn friends; ever since starting her time at Beauxbatons, she’d been surrounded by mostly magical folk, and it had been, to an extent, somewhat frustrating. Having her brother, also a wizard, nearby had helped, but it, indeed, feel nice to meet someone else, as Charlie delicately phrased it.

She had been a tad confused regarding his reaction to her revealing her profession. Nobody ever had seemed to be surprised she’d chosen this specific path, even when placed in the context that she’d sacrificed playing the piano for being an Auror. Chantal blinked as Charlie apologised for his state of wonder, and sketched a smile as he placed her card in his wallet. “I’m no Mad-Eye, yet.” Chantal commented, admitting that Aurors in England were indeed not the same as the ones in France, at least physically. Nonetheless, the Scottish Auror’s success was famous even in Paris. “One day, I shall be more illustrious than he though.” It was not something Chantal easily stated, and with that sort of excessive confidence. Yet, she meant each and every word of it; her poise in making that remark had been heightened by the fact that she was in the presence of another muggleborn. Surely Charlie would understand that she was not speaking nonsense, nor was she lacking ambition. She’d learned that a muggleborn’s determination of succeeding in the wizarding world was not to be taken lightly, despite what individuals of other blood status would believe.

She rose a perfectly manicured eyebrow with wonder at his comment. “That would be wonderful. I’m positive you would really enjoy it; we introduce a lot of our music to witches and wizards too, and their reactions are always quite the sight to see.” Chantal let out a soft laugh, remembering the first time one of her pureblooded friends had listened to Spice Girls. It had been quite enlightening for them, that was for sure. 

“Not really.” Chantal shrugged, not having especially given it time to think of an establishment when making the suggestion. “But I presume perhaps a muggle restaurant would be best for you, right?” She inquired, obviously suggesting that since he would prefer to keep to himself and not attract too much attention as a celebrity. Her suspicion wasn’t completely unfounded, considering the fact that they had been in a muggle store only moments ago. Plus, Chantal was acquainted with her own share of rather prominent friends to realise that privacy was very precious to people in Charlie’s position. Fame always came with a price, and, more often than not, that included the discretion of one’s personal affairs.

“Where you would be most contented is fine with me.” The French added, just to emphasise that she would not mind it at all should Charlie pick a location himself.

Charlie grinned, “No, not yet.” His expression changed as she continued; his eyebrows rising towards his hairline, impressed at her ambition. Presently, he felt a little more intimidated by her. She was obviously a capable witch to become an Auror, which was already well beyond Charlie’s own magical abilities, but to state so confidently that she wanted to be of an even higher calibre than one of Britain’s best known Aurors was quite something. “Well, I wouldn’t want to get caught on your bad side.” A small smirk tugged at his lips.

“Yeah? I’d love to see it,” he bit his lip, then relaxed into a smile, “Sounds a lot more relaxed than the rules here.” He swallowed, and ran his hand through his hair. “So what sort of our music are you into?” Presumably rock, to an extent, if she listened to his records, but if she owned a record store she must have relatively catholic tastes. He liked to think he did too; he’d been experimenting with Banshee’s sound lately -- privately, at home -- ready for the next record. He’d been listening to his favourites, of course, but having spent a bit of time overseas he’d picked up some records he wouldn’t normally have gone for; blues, country, film scores. He just hoped Sam and Liam wouldn’t hate what he was coming out with.

The musician nodded. “Er, yeah, if you wouldn’t mind.” It wasn’t like he got mobbed whenever he stepped foot in a magical premises, but he could certainly move about more easily in a mundane setting -- and without it ending up in the Prophet or Label. “There’s a place just up the road, here, if you don’t mind something a bit more casual?” There was always a pub within walking distance in London, and the benefit of a public house was that they offered everything a man needed: alcohol and food, music and sports. But, on second thought, that seemed too lowbrow for Chantal. “This way,” he directed her along the street; he knew of a proper licensed cafe just a little further along this road.

A short walk and Charlie was opening the door for her, casting a glance around the street before following her inside. He didn’t know why he felt like he couldn’t be seen -- but then, it was habit now, wasn’t it? To sneak around with attractive women. Charlie sat across from her and felt an overwhelming sense of regret for not showering before he’d headed out. “What do you want?” He asked, nodding at the menu, “I’ll get it.”