Chapter 2: The Music Room

~In sleep he sang to me, in dreams he came. (The Phantom of the Opera)

* * *

The school year, thus far, had proceeded exactly how Draco predicted: boring, dull, and boring. True to tradition, Snape bellowed orders at his returning students, McGonagall discriminated against Slytherins, and Trelawney could bore the whole school with her pathetic predictions. And through the past two weeks of school Draco was precisely, one hundred percent, drive-you-daft bored.

At first he had expected silent sneers or whispering behind closed doors as a result of his actions last year. Pansy and the others had known something was up, and Draco wouldn’t put it above them to go spreading rumors around the school. Their opinion didn’t exactly matter to him, but neither did spending the entire year companionless and dateless. However, much to his surprise, no one mentioned anything. It was as if not a single soul had been privy to the torment he experienced the previous year. Spooky, but not entirely undesirable. Like the greedy, idiotic hounds they were, the entirety of the Slytherin House fell in perfect step behind their idol. Unfortunately the googling gazes from the younger girls and the none-too subtle hints from the others were wearing quickly on his nerves. Most of the male population in his house preferred to staunchly avoid him – jealous, as usual. Only Blaise remained fresh and annoying.

I’ll go mad if I don’t do something. Sitting in his room with a bottle of illegally spiked butterbeer, he glanced towards the door. Is it safe? Dare I risk it?

Images flooded into his mind like a sweet syrup. The magnificently polished grand piano, the raised and revolving platform, the glass windows...all waiting for him to fill the void.

Draco shut his eyes.

In truth he’d been avoiding the music room ever since his failure to Voldemort. With twisted logic he’d imagined that staying away from his sanctuary would provide adequate punishment for his lack of obedience. The recent summer definitely shot down that idea. But still, he hesitated.

The fingers gripping the couch flinched involuntarily. Draco cast a glance down at his hand. I need to play. Bloody Merlin, I need to play now!

The logical portion of his brain would have stopped himself, but any restraint where music was concerned died away completely after his eighth spiked butterbeer.

* * *

This is where he belonged, seated on the ebony piano bench, his fingers resting just above the creamy white keys. The moment he walked in the room, he felt it – that charge of excitement and belonging that shot up his back. Even without fully pressing on the keys, the slick surfaces sent shivers through his fingers.

Draco closed his eyes for a moment, soaking the euphoria of it all. He then began to play.

Narcissa had been right to teach her son to play. The long, well-sculpted, aristocratic fingers glided seamlessly across the keys. Draco never questioned himself when it came to music, especially at the piano. To question would be to doubt the confidence his mother placed in him, to cast aside what she sacrificed for him. No, rather...Draco fully immersed himself in the melodies he played, letting the emotion rush through him without staying attached. It was a cleansing feeling, and he highly suspected it was one of the reasons his mother taught him in the first place. Any son of Lucius Malfoy would need some form of escape.

Currently Draco played out the notes and rhythms of Beethoven’s Piano Sonata #14, nicknamed “Moonlight” for its eerie scales and graceful, mourning sound. Mourning. A fitting mood for him. But what was he in mourning for?

That was one of the questions never asked while performing.

* * *

“I can’t believe them. I can’t believe them! You would think that failure to do You-Know-Who’s bidding would at least mean something to his own house!”

Across the common room Ginny let out a noisy sigh. Ron had been at this tirade for five minutes already, and Ginny was sick of it. On top of that, her Potions assignment was still lying before her, uncompleted.

Hermione glanced up from the book she was reading. “Really, Ron, why is it any of our business who the Slytherins choose to worship?”

“But, but...they just follow him like he’s some great god or something.” Sitting across from Ron, Harry rolled his eyes at Ginny and moved his bishop on the chessboard.

“Ron,” Harry piped up, “even though they are Slytherins, do you really expect that Malfoy would go boasting what he’d done?” Ron moved his knight forward forcefully. “I’m willing to bet no one but us even knows about it.”

“Yeah, I guess...”

“Why is this bothering you so much?” Hermione cast her worried look towards the redhead.

“Perhaps it’s because Malfoy’s known as the ‘Sex God of Slytherin’ or is the ‘Most Sought-Out Bachelor in All Four Houses’ or-” All three of them stared at Ginny in disbelief.

“Where do you hear these things!” Ron bellowed. She glanced at her brother and then motioned to the other two.

“See what I mean? Bingo. Ron can’t stand the git anyway, and knowing Malfoy could get away with something like that? Voila...”

“Ginevra Weasley, I demand to know where you heard this!” Ron was starting to stand up from his place at the chess table.

Ginny gave him a bored look. He was entirely missing the point. “I do happen to have a subscription to Teen Witch, not to mention an entire dorm full of gossiping girls. I’m bound to hear something about who everyone is pining after.”

“You have a subscription to Teen Witch?”

“Ron, blasted, you’re so narrow-minded!”

Harry exchanged a worried look with Hermione. Ever since the incident at the train station, the two Weasley siblings had practically been at each other’s throats constantly. Siblings always fought, but this was getting to be a bit much. Harry coughed loudly and nodded towards Hermione. She took the hint instantly.

“Hey, Ron,” she placed a bookmark in her book, “I’m getting hungry. Why don’t you come with me to the Great Hall?” He stared at her with a confused look.

“But it’s only eleven thirty.”

“Come on.” She got up and grabbed his hand. “It might take us a while to get there.” Hermione winked at Ron, who immediately caught her meaning. Grinning like a puppy about to get a treat, he waved at the other two.

“We’ll be back later!”

Ginny tried not to gag in disgust. Her brother was so transparent it wasn’t even funny. No wonder guys like Malfoy find him so easy to pick on. Finally rid of her annoying sibling, she turned back to her Potions assignment.

The portal to the door had barely closed behind the leaving couple when Harry strode over to the desk Ginny was working at. Blasted Hermione. She attempted to feign ignorance to his presence.

“You need mugwort, not toad’s eyes, for that.” Harry placed a hand on the back of her chair and leaned down to indicate to what he was referring. No doubt he assumed his motions were inconspicuous and ‘innocent’ in her eyes. Hello, Mr. Obvious. Ginny glanced at the question and groaned inwardly. He was right.

“Oh, yeah...um, thanks.”

“No need, what are friends for?” He turned his head to her, smiling that stop-in-your-tracks, make-women-swoon sort of smile. With all her heart, she wished her stomach would flop. Then she and Harry would get back together, Ron would stop bugging her, and everyone would live happily ever after. Sadly, her stomach refused to obey her command, and her heart stayed firmly rooted in place. When she turned to meet Harry’s smile, all she beheld in his face was a fading childhood fantasy.

Please don’t make this hard for me Harry. Please. Harry began to look uncomfortable, like he was about to say something very difficult to admit.

“Hey, Gin...look, I was wondering if we could talk.” No Harry, please don’t do this.

“Um...I’ve gotta get this homework done. Don’t you think it could wait until then?”

“This is important, Gin.” She groaned inwardly. Nothing, it seemed, was going in her favor today.

“Alright.” Ginny carefully placed her quill down so as not to drip ink on her assignment.

“I-think-I-made-a-mistake.” The words came out of Harry in a rush. She tilted her chin up towards him. No duh, Sherlock. “I thought breaking up with you would be the best thing for both of us. But now,” his eyes traveled to the doorway where Ron and Hermione had left, “I don’t think that’s so true.” Blast, this is about Ron’s tantrums. He just wants to make peace, not win my heart. Ginny was beginning to feel nauseated.

Harry knelt down next to the chair and took her hand in his. “Gin, I want things to be like they used to, before I screwed up. I love you, Ginny, and I don’t want that to end. Please...” He brought his face closer as if to kiss her.

“No.” Harry jolted at her voice.

“What?”

“No,” she whispered again. “You don’t love me. Maybe you did like me, or something of the sort, but you never really loved me.”

He dropped his head as she continued.

“Don’t do this for Ron. There’s no reason to make both of us miserable just for his sake. He’ll just have to learn to suck it up.” As much as she tried, Ginny couldn’t keep the bitterness out of her voice.

Harry’s head snapped up. “It wouldn’t be miserable, Gin. I do like you, a lot. I just want us all to be happy.”

“We can’t all get what we want.”

“Gin, don’t be sore-”

“Please, Harry, I get enough of that from Ron.” She stood up and walked away from him slightly. Harry watched her closely. “He just wants his little world to be happy with no thought to my happiness.”

“But he thinks this will make you happy.”

“But it won’t.”

“Don’t you love me?” The look on his face pulled at her heartstrings, but no matter how hard she searched, she could find no more than friendly compassion for him in her heart.

“No, Harry. I don’t.”

* * *

What’s the point? Wouldn’t false love be better than none? Can’t I be happy just from the happiness of others? Ginny was walking down the corridor, heading absolutely nowhere, having left a stricken Harry in her path. No. Her pride wouldn’t let her run back to Harry just for the sake of her brother, and somewhere in the depths of her reason she assumed she deserved better than that sort of treatment.

She needed distraction, anything to get the expectant looks out of her head. Everyone wants me to be with Harry. It’s like they are waiting for some happy ending where Harry defeats You-Know-Who and then runs into the arms of his beloved Ginny. She nearly sneered while she walked. But no. This isn’t a fairytale, and Harry will most likely die killing You-Know-Who and I’ll end up being an old spinster. Strangely, in her state of distress, the idea didn’t sound half bad.

Ginny turned down another unrecognizable hallway. She had absolutely no idea where she was going, but right now, she didn’t exactly give a damn.

As she walked, she searched her mind for that comfort which always erased her mind...music. She need only to start humming some tune from a favorite musical and the world as she knew it would melt away into the lyrics.

‘Damn, damn, damn, damn! I’ve grown accustomed to...’ She smirked slightly at the My Fair Lady reference. Ginny stopped. The reference was wrong. She wasn’t accustomed to any lover, and nor had she lost that love. Slowly she sunk to her knees with her back against the wall. What musical could describe this emptiness, the hollow feeling in her gut? They all ended happy. Even the Romeo and Juliet theme of Westside Story didn’t exactly describe this. She groaned, wanting so badly to just shrivel up and disappear right there.

That’s when she heard it. Slow and faint the notes wound themselves down the hall and to her ears. For a moment, she thought she was imagining things and ignored the sound. Still, it persisted, haunting the corridors with its slow and eerily beautiful tune. Ginny closed her eyes and started listening. It was beautiful, and more importantly, it fit her mood precisely.

Ginny had never been one to listen to classical music. Her brothers abhorred it worse than her musicals. However, she could still feel an appreciation for it, and at this moment, she felt a love for it.

The music died away. For a second, she feared it had just been a dream, some figment of her imagination. Then it began again, still slow and heavy, but lighter. The notes before had been mourning and wailing, a deep gut in the heart. These seemed to recall a sad story, like the ones that would leave the listener crying but know it was for the greater good that this story happened. Ginny allowed the notes to caress her soul. It appeared as if the notes knew exactly what she needed.

She didn’t bother to question where the haunting noise came from. She’d spent her life questioning the good things that came her way. This would not be another tragedy to add to her list.

Listening and silencing her mind, Ginny slowly slipped into a light slumber, the music still wrapping itself around her broken heart.

* * *

Draco played until his fingers throbbed and his legs ached. He always enjoyed playing until he could play no more. Gracefully, he ended the song he was on, having nearly exhausted half of his memorized repertoire.

He felt cleansed. He felt as if any wrongdoing he’d done was washed away in a tide of symphonies and sonatas. Perhaps, if the father-like side of his brain took over, he would be ashamed and angry from his indulgence. Draco shrugged. To hell with that. He briefly wondered what time it was as he gathered his cloak around him and exited the music room.

Blaise will be wondering where I am, and Pansy’s probably just mad she didn’t have me to flaunt in front of the other girls. He smirked. Stupid bint. He couldn’t really stand Pansy and only did so to his father’s approval. Gast! Enough! If he continued dwelling on Lucius he’d surely return to his butterbeers.

Unexpectedly, a small figure caught his eye, completely diverting his attention from his parental problems. Odd, no firsties would know of this place. And it’s too small to be a seventh year. ‘It’ turned out to be a ‘she’.

Straightening his robes, Draco sauntered over to the girl, careful to keep up appearances should she look up. At the sight of her red hair and Gryffindor badge, he forced a sneer. Weasley. Closing in on the girl, he suddenly realized she was sleeping.

Draco’s first impression was to wake the little wench and give her what-for, an action that would more than likely have her running to her brother in no time. Something made him hesitate. Rarely did he get to examine his enemies without having them glare or shout hexes in his direction. His platinum blond hair fell in his eyes as he examined the youngest Weasley.

She had certainly grown up some since he first laid eyes on the mousey-looking girl six years ago. True, her hair was as red as her brothers’, but (if he allowed himself to admit) it wasn’t nearly as offensive as the others. Instead of the fire-engine red like that of Ron, hers seemed darker and almost coppery. It was hard to tell in this light but he could swear there was bits of blond interspersed amongst the rest. He couldn’t tell what color her eyes were, most likely green or brown, and possibly blue, nor could he see much of her face. The Weaslette probably had scores of freckles polluting her face. Draco shook his head. Checking out a Weasley, Malfoy? Am I insane! With a gruff, he nudged her foot hard.

The sleeping redhead stirred, but did not wake. Draco kicked her again. That time she bolted her head up.

“If it isn’t the little Weaslette.” Draco attempted to lather on as much contempt as possible. She was a Weasley after all. “The rest of your dorm kick you out? Or did Potter and his rats finally decide you were a bother in their threesome?”

She blinked several times at him to shake off the sleep. He sneered back at her. Her hands rubbed her eyes.

“Malfoy...just go away.” He was taken aback. She sounded so...resigned.

“Not up to it today, Weaslette?”

“The name’s Ginny.”

“So?” She sighed at him.

“Fine then,” she spoke as she lifted herself to her feet. “You’re an arrogant, self-centered, narrow-minded, spoiled brat who has nothing better to do with his time than pick on those he deems lesser than himself like the oafish git he is.” She leveled her eyes to his.

“Quite a speech.”

“Thank you, now will you leave me be?” She looked almost as exasperated as she sounded. Draco smirked.

“Forgot one thing.”

“What!” Her temper was beginning to rise.

“I’m not oafish. And I happen to not only be arrogant, self-centered, narrow-minded, and spoiled, but I’m also dashingly good-looking.” The Weasley appeared as if any second now she would clobber him.

“I’m not in the mood for this!”

“Oh, but my dear Weaslette, I am.” He grinned the smile that made other girls gossip as if he’d snogged them twice and proceeded to shag the life out of them. Females were much too flattered.

“If this is supposed to be enticing, it’s not. I rather find you boorish and uninteresting.” Draco’s grin faltered.

Well... most girls were much too easily flattered. He mentally shook himself. Why am I still standing here talking to a Weasley? She’s not even that pretty! She must have noticed the lapse in conversation.

“Cat got your tongue, Malfoy? It’s about time. You don’t know how old some of your tricks get. We all have better things to do than stand around listening to you harass us.” With that, she made a move to pass him.

Draco stuck his arm, blocking her path.

“Yes?” she groaned with a sigh.

“What were you doing here?”

“None of your business.” Again, she tried to move on, and again, he blocked her.

“Of course it’s my business. This is a very secluded section of Hogwarts...not easily to find-”

“Well I found it, didn’t I?” He studied her again, her face defiant and sure. Draco knew that look, but for the life of him, he couldn’t place it.

“I’d wager that you have no clue where you are and it’s sheer luck you got here.” The coloring of her face answered his accusation. “Yes, if I let you go you’ll be lost within five minutes.”

She stood there for a moment before speaking. “So? What if I want to get lost.”

“Fine. Then get lost.”

“Fine. I will.”

“Good.”

“Good.” Her repetition slightly startled him.

“Fine.”

“Malfoy! Get out of my way.” She began to duck under his arm, but Draco moved out of her way before she had a chance.

“As you wish...Weaslette.”

The Weasley stormed down the hallway going, where Draco knew for certain, was a score of identical passageways, none of which lead back to the main part of the castle. What do I care if she gets lost? A gnawing feeling ate at his gut. Fine! I’ll give her ten minutes.

* * *

References:

“My Fair Lady” — Music by Frederic Loewe, Lyrics by Alan Jay Lerner
“Westside Story”— Music by Leonard Bernstein, Lyrics by Stephen Sondheim