Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

The Pianist	By : goldhorse Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 13338 -:- Recommendations : 1 -:- Currently Reading : 1
Disclaimer: I do not own HP, JK Rowling does. I make no money doing this.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
Hello again my lovelies. I said I had to write out a story to try and straighten out the Muse. This was the result. As it is titled 'The Pianist,' it does have a soundtrack. Please find the list at the bottom. It's a little different than my previous work. I'm sort of wondering if my Muse is smoking crack. I'll let you guys be the judge.

Hermione listened at the door of the Room of Requirement where the heavy piano rift was coming from. She would recognize Beethoven’s Moonlight Sonata anywhere. It was so sad and yet hauntingly beautiful. She’d heard several songs coming from there lately and was actually glad Harry had recruited her to keep an eye on the ROR. She’d never heard such beautiful music but the pianist, they seemed lost in a world of hurt, injecting their pain into song. Logically, she knew it was Malfoy in there. Harry had told her about him, seeing him enter a few times and never come out. She’d taken out his look outs a few times, stunning and then obliviating them before she left in the wee hours of the morning.
The music changed to the second movement, the happy jaunt in the middle of such a dark sonata, and her fingers itched to open the door. She knew she could. She’d done it before just so she could hear better. The thought that such beauty could come out of the cold heart of Malfoy, it was unfathomable. But this night was different. She didn’t care who was playing it. It called to her. She wanted to lose herself in the music, if only just this once. After Christmas hols, she was so sure that her heart would be over Ron, but it wasn’t. Him snogging Lavender at ever chance made her queasy. She had to do something to forget. So she pushed the door… and snuck in.
Malfoy had never looked so disheveled. His robes were tossed over a nearby couch. His vest was thrown carelessly over a broken table. In fact, looking around, the entire room was covered in junk and pieces of his clothes, except for the grand piano Malfoy was playing and a clear spot in front of it, illuminated by some lanterns sitting at a precarious angle on a stool. She looked back at the boy in question, noticing that he wore nothing but an untucked vest and a pair of trousers. His feet were bare, pressing the petals with precision. His hair was absent of any gel, swinging wildly about his face as he moved his head and hands to the music. Some stuck to his neck and forehead. He looked like a man possessed. She jumped and squeaked when the music broke to a fast set of scales, the third movement. If he noticed, he didn’t care to address her.
She inched closer, lost in the music. Her hands traveled her body of their own accord, stripping off her robe and shoes. She quickly shed her socks and jeans and even her blouse. Now in a bra and knickers, she made her way to the middle of the room where there was a clear spot. She’d danced ballet her entire childhood. She’d moved on to contemporary and interpretive dance after that. This music was perfect for it. She stretched a few minutes, wondering if Malfoy would stop and hex her but he merely kept playing. His eyes strayed to her, narrowed in suspicion, but he didn’t stop. She closed her eyes and leapt in the air, spinning before dropping down in the splits, waving her hands in the air in precise movements. She pretended that she was composing the music, growing ever darker. The burn in her muscles was welcome as she spun and leapt, cartwheeling and flipping before balancing on her toes as best she could without the proper footwear.
It was heaven. Thoughts of Ron and Lavender, upcoming tests, Harry’s mission, their search for whatever Horcruxes were, it all fled her mind. She didn’t even care that Malfoy was witness to her complete abandon. In fact, he seemed inspired by it, playing harder, with even more feeling than she thought possible. His hair resembled Einstein’s in that instant, all over his head and he wasn’t even caring. His eyes though, they were glued to her. She could feel them even when she wasn’t looking. He was challenging her, pushing her to go harder, faster, lose herself.
Then it was over and the silence was deafening. The spell had been broken and the world crashed down on her again. She summoned her clothes and almost fell trying to put them back on. She raced out the door, looking over her shoulder only once before she exited. Malfoy merely stared at her with the same intensity as before. It was strange. For once, she didn’t see hate in his eyes. No, the emotions shining in them were far more complicated… and terrifying.
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Hermione was listening at the door again as she had done every night for a month after her impromptu performance. Malfoy hadn’t said a word. In fact, he seemed to avoid everyone at all costs. She could see the shadows under his eyes, the fatigue in his movements. The boy who poured his heart on into the ivory keys disappeared during the day, replaced by some zombie incarnate. She was both relieved and a little unsettled that he hadn’t said anything. So she decided to go in tonight. He had been playing pieces she hadn’t recognized and she was dying to get a better listen.
The next piece started out with a grand opening before moving to a fast paced movement, similar to the Sonata but not as dark. It spoke of adventure, trials, tribulations, but it had a tinge of hope in it. She couldn’t help but strip, glad she’d thought to don her work out clothes, a sports bra and spandex shorts. She did some footwork first, almost tapping a rhythm with her feet while moving her arms like a bird. She spun across the floor, pointing her toes and relishing the stretch. This night, Malfoy wasn’t wearing a shirt. She could see his pale muscles rippling as he moved back and forth on the keys. He looked thinner but he definitely hadn’t wasted away. His eyes were boring into hers, daring her to try something better. She leapt higher, faster, daring to get close to the piano and use a corner of it as a brace to bend on.
Her worries melted away. Time stood still as the music played. Malfoy played another piece, a sharp contrast to the first. It was slow, full of pain and melancholy but there was a sense of tranquility as well. She wasn’t sure how he managed to do that, but she went with it, taking her dancing to the floor, changing from her more ballet type routine to an interpretive one. She imagined him playing an ode to the changing seasons, like someone was watching the leaves on the trees turn from green to red and gold before fluttering down from the branches. She pretended she was a small child, running around, playing in the fallen leaves, rosy cheeked and slightly out of breath. Then the leaves disappeared and she bundled up, using the tree as a place of solace in the cold months. The song turned sadder and she realized the tree was dying so she hugged it, willing it to live, but before she could continue, the song stopped.
She looked up, startled to notice that everything was blurry. She’d been crying. When she swiped the tears away, she saw Malfoy was too. Tears were streaming down his cheeks as he stared at her open-mouthed, not quite believing what she’d done. The silence was once again overwhelming. She ran, stumbling into her clothes on the way. Her last glance back saw a frowning Malfoy, but he wasn’t looking at her. It was as if he was staring past her into some haunting revelation. It was too much. She hauled out of the door and back to her dorm, vowing never to return.
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She only lasted a few weeks before she pushed through the door again. Malfoy seemed to have sunken deeper into his depression, missing classes and even meals. It was Valentine’s day, a day for lovers… and those who had no one to cuddle with. She noticed that Malfoy had incinerated a few lacy cards that morning before storming out of the Great Hall. Perhaps he felt the same way she did.
Tonight’s music sounded like an ode to heartbreak. Her heart ached and while the image of tears streaming down his face had forever burned itself into her soul, she walked in, stripping once more. Malfoy seemed to take a shuddering breath when she entered. A look at his face proved that he was not crying, though he was certainly depressed. She nodded grabbed a small stand. It looked like an old muggle microphone stand but it had a wider base. She began a pirouette, leaning forward. She only needed the stand because she didn’t have a proper base to hold the pose, moving her hands in time.
The song ended almost too quickly but the next made her feel like it needed a different approach. She threw the stand away and went to her knees. It was a sad song, no surprise there. But this one… this one told of a search. It was hard, grueling, but necessary. It reminded her of a long walk in the desert to find water… or maybe love. She crawled across the floor, punctuating the heavy staccatos with each movement across the floor. As the music wore on, she felt like she gained the strength to stand. She had a purpose. Across the floor she went, back and forth, gaining speed though each step was painful. She fell many times, pounded the floor and struggled back up. She rolled, covering her face with her hands. She rolled to the side and stretched to get up, looking at him. She froze, startled to notice she was crying again.
The music touched something deep inside her. She refused to quit though, just as Malfoy did, playing louder, pouring his heart into the keys. She wondered if she studied his hands if she’d find them bleeding. So she stood, leaping in the air, falling catching herself before face planting when the music suddenly went quiet. It ended abruptly and she jumped when he stood and stalked around the piano. Tears were rolling down his face but he looked angry. She scrambled backwards but hit the edge of the clearing. An old cabinet was blocking her escape. She could scarcely breathe, cursing herself because she’d left her wand in her robe pocket, thinking he’d do the same as he’d done before and ignore her. He bent down inches from her face, arms stiff at his sides.
“Why?” he whispered.
She frowned. “W-why what?”
“Why do you come Granger?”
She bit her lip, suddenly ashamed. But she had the overwhelming urge to tell him the truth. “To get away.”
He gave a dark laugh and stood up, turning to talk to thin air. “To get away, even though you aren’t alone. Makes sense.”
She felt a little braver and stood, still wary of him. “W-where did you learn to play?”
He turned to her, a sharp movement that highlighted how much more weight he’d lost. Though he still had definition, he was smaller. It was like he was withering away. She ducked her head at the intensity of his gaze but decided she had nothing to be ashamed of. He was there, too. Her heart ached when his face fell, looking at the floor.
“My mother,” he said softly. “She always said her happiest times were when she’d sit and listen to me playing. It was our respite.” His eyes went hard, finally remembering who he was talking to. “Why Granger?”
“Why what?” she whispered.
“Why do you dance?”
She had to laugh at that. “Your mother isn’t the only one who enjoys watching their child do something they’re passionate about, that they love.”
“Why here? Why must you barge in on my solitude?”
She looked him in the eyes, noticing that it wasn’t so much a question of why she was disturbing him as much as why she’d thought he was worth the company. She felt her heart go out to him. He was lost, so lost, and trying to find his way. She wanted to help him but she didn’t think that would go over well at all.
“Why not stop me?” she countered.
He looked at the floor. “You dance… it’s like my own personal music box ballerina.”
She smiled and waited until he looked at her again. “Every ballerina needs beautiful music.” With that, she gathered her clothes and left. This time when she looked back, she noticed that he had another look in his eyes, gratitude. She had to say something.
“Music can change everything.”
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She returned every day until March and didn’t go back into the ROR until the beginning of May. She knew he was the one who had poisoned Ron, though it wasn’t intentional. No one else might have noticed the way he paled when the story spread, but she did. She also noticed that he all but stopped eating, his body turning nearly skeletal. He skipped more classes than he went to and the music kept getting darker and darker, pain and remorse in every note. She had a respite tonight. Harry was getting the memory from Slughorn. He wouldn’t notice her disappearing. She had a blond pianist to talk to.
The music stopped when she entered, a first. Malfoy was breathing heavily over the keys, looking like it had sucked all his energy out to play the songs now. He was so thin, muscles having been ravaged by his body for nourishment. He turned, his eyes boring into hers. She could still see the red scars from Harry’s curse. She looked down to avoid them. He still had abs, which dumbfounded her, but the rest… he was nearly skeletal.
“Why?” he hissed.
“I could ask you the same,” she said softly as she strode to her usual place, dropping clothes as she did. “You poisoned my friend, cursed another. Why?”
He looked over at her, his eyes dead. “For some things, there are no choices Granger.”
“Everyone has a choice Malfoy.”
He dropped his head and turned back to the keys. “Not everyone.”
He began playing again, this time the song was full of anticipation, much softer than he’d been playing before. She felt her feet start tapping, keeping beat. So that’s how it was. The music picked up, rising and falling, little staccatos on each note like raindrops. She bounced, noting the base he put in each measure. It was like a building storm. In the middle of the song, he slowed down. She imagined it was the eye. She ran, pretending to look for shelter but the wind tore her out every chance it got. She searched, realizing what he was trying to tell her. No matter what choice he made, something was going to happen. He hit the keys harder, faster, before going down a register and letting the music die. She was breathing hard, as was he.
“It doesn’t have to be like that.”
He snorted and showed her his wrist. “You know nothing.”
Her eyes watered as she took in the Dark Mark. Harry had been right. He was a Death Eater. But she knew he didn’t want to be. Making a snap decision, she walked over and sat on the bench beside him. “I know there is more to you than that Malfoy.”
He turned his head, idly picking at a few keys. She faintly recognized Pachelbel Canon in D Major, though it was much heavier on the piano than the strings she was used to. But it was still beautiful. She risked laying her head on his bony shoulder as he played, closing her eyes and taking in the music. When the song was finished, he laid his head on hers and sighed.
“There’s more to you too Granger. But not all of us get a chance to show it.”
“What would you do Malfoy… if this war wasn’t going to happen?”
He chuckled darkly. “I’d be betrothed by next year, married after graduation, running the family business after that. I’d produce an heir and maybe find a lover to get away from the frigid bitch my father stuck me with. I’d instill the same bullshit morals and ideals into my son my father taught me and his taught to him. My heir would become the same pampered wanker I am, believing he was better than everyone and do the same with his heir.”
Hermione closed her eyes in pain. Malfoy was right. This war had to happen or nothing would change. Muggleborns would always be looked down on. There would be no equality. She sighed and noticed that he brought his arm around her, resting it on her hip. Though he was slight of frame, he was warm and it fought the chill of the room she felt now that she wasn’t dancing.
“And if You-Know-Who and blood prejudice didn’t exist?” she asked softly. “What would you do if you didn’t have to follow in your father’s footsteps?”
He sighed, pressing against her even further. “It would be heaven. I think I’d become a Potion Master. I like Potions. Maybe I would teach the piano on the side. I’d find someone I loved and marry and have a big family. We might get a dog and live in a small cottage I didn’t need the help of house elves to navigate and clean. I could teach my boys how to play Quidditch and maybe I’d even teach my daughters how to throw a right hook in case some prat tried to bully her.”
Hermione had to laugh at that. It wasn’t an apology, or even an excuse, but it was real. “It sounds lovely.”
“What would you do Granger?”
She bit her lip and thought about it. “I suppose I’d go into law, help those who couldn’t help themselves. I’ve been told I’m a bit of a bleeding heart.”
Malfoy chuckled and started banging out a tune, light enough that he could still hear her. It was Mozart’s Turkish march. She laughed out loud. He was playing her a theme song. She imagined herself storming the Wizengamet, demanding equal rights. She scooted over so he could play better and put her elbow on the side of the piano, dreaming of a life without war or limits.
“I guess I’d fall in love and get married, have a few children. I’m not sure I want a huge family. Seven Weasleys will do that to anyone, but I’d want more than one. Being an only child is lonely sometimes.”
Malfoy nodded. She supposed he’d know. She closed her eyes and dreamed of the future. “We’d have lots of animals but they’d have to get along with Crookshanks. I’d teach my children how to appreciate reading and knowledge but I’d want them to have fun and be children, run and play without fear of someone trying to kill them because of who their mother was. And, of course, a right hook would be common knowledge.”
Malfoy reached the last two notes before laughing. “Only you Granger.”
“Oh really,” she teased, nudging him with her arm.
He smiled at her and it seemed to chase the darkness away for a moment before he frowned. “It’s a nice dream Granger but you have to face reality sometime.”
Her face fell. “What’s your reality Malfoy?”
He looked at her for a long time, sadness filling the icy grey depths of his eyes. “If I actually survive this war, the only thing I’ll see is iron bars and Dementors. I have a choice Granger, that’s true. But it’s a choice between evil and death. There is no salvation for me. And the worst part? No one will care.”
Her heart broke into tiny pieces. She realized the truth then. Malfoy, the real Draco Malfoy, was a much better man than anyone knew. She wasn’t sure why he acted the way he did, but she just knew that wasn’t the real him. Had anyone seen past the surface? “I’d care.”
He gave her a sad smile. “You’ll get your dream Granger. I’m sure of it.”
“You should have yours too,” she whispered.
He looked down and grabbed her hand, turning it over and tracing the lines in her palm. “I deserve the punishment I’ll get. But when the Dementors are done torturing me for the day, I’ll always have the memory of my own personal music box ballerina.”
Tears leaked down her cheeks. “But she’ll be missing her music.”
“You never lose the music.” He brought her hand up to rest on her heart, putting his hand over hers. “It’ll always be in here.”
She wasn’t sure what came over her. Maybe it was the gesture or his sweet words. It could have been the music. Maybe it was the look in his eyes, resolving himself to a life of pain and torment. But in that moment, he stopped being the bully of her childhood and started becoming the man of her dreams. She crashed her lips over his, pouring her frustration into the kiss. He responded after a moment of shock, grabbing the back of her head and tilting it so he could kiss her deeper. Visions of blond headed children dancing in front of a piano filled her head. She brought her hands around him, feeling the outlines of his ribs and spine.
The crash from the lid of the piano shutting barely fazed her. All she could think of was getting closer to Malfoy, getting what she could. He understood much more than she’d imagined. He knew the dark was going to lose. He’d all but said so. He knew he’d been dealt a losing hand and he thought that he was stuck. She wanted to give him hope, something to look forward to. She wondered if he’d consider switching sides. But his lips left hers and started trailing hot kisses down the side of her neck and her words left.
He snapped and another piano melody filled the air. It was beautiful but so sad, full of anguish. It reminded her of saying goodbye. He pulled her onto the top of the piano and kissed every inch of her body, worshiping her in a gentle way she’d never thought him capable of. She was burning up and felt like she had to return the favor. She flipped them over, careful not to fall off the piano, and began mapping out his body with her lips. His breath hitched when she kissed the Dark Mark before kissing his lips again, proving that it didn’t matter. She had a feeling he hadn’t chosen the Mark. Or maybe he had… one of those choices that he only had the illusion of being able to make. Isn’t that what he’d said? Some don’t have a choice.
The song faded and another started, this one with a violin and a piano. She shivered. It sounded… cold. She worked her way down his body, fumbling with the button on his trousers. She almost ripped them off, revealing his tented boxers. Her heart was jumping out of her chest but she didn’t care anymore. He looked so amazed that she’d want anything to do with him. She yanked his boxers off and took him in. He was beautiful really, though he needed to gain some weight. She blushed at the sight of his erection but decided she was through playing games. She would give him another memory to hold on to if this was the last time they met, if he decided against her offer. She had to work her way up to it though, kissing him everywhere she could reach before she settled between his thighs. After a moment’s hesitation, she sucked the tip into her mouth, committing his tortured groan to memory. She sucked carefully, trying to remember what the girls in her dorm had said in their gossip fests, no teeth, lots of tongue, try not to gag. She was pulled off before she could get a rhythm.
Another song came on, full of longing and need. Malfoy sat up, his shaking hands undoing the clasp of her bra before reverently caressing her breasts. She moaned as he took them into his mouth, suckling them gently. She shuddered in bliss and barely felt him lowering her to the piano until the cold wood hit her back. She lifted her hips, allowing him to slide her underwear off. He kissed her then, a place no one else had ever touched. She arched from the pleasure. She felt no embarrassment, just encompassing need. But he didn’t stop, suckling, licking, nipping, and kissing until she broke apart in his arms, crying out softly.
When she came down, he was looking at her with raw need and awe. She spread her legs wider and nodded. He knelt, lining himself up with her. He rubbed the leaking head of his cock down her dripping entrance but stopped, looking slightly panicked.
“I-I’ve never,” he whispered.
She shushed him with a finger. “Me either. Another memory.”
A single tear rolled down his cheek, hitting her collar bone before sliding onto the piano lid. She leaned up and pulled him down for a kiss. He poured so much emotion into it she felt like she was suffocating. Then he breached her, so slowly she felt like she was going to burn up. He stopped and she took a deep breath, knowing that this was going to hurt. He thrust quickly, tearing into her before stopping, trembling with the strain. She couldn’t stop the tears from falling. It had hurt. He took a deep breath and kissed them away, holding himself until she could adjust. He dropped butterfly kisses all over her face, neck, and shoulders to try and distract her… and maybe himself.
Slowly the pain ebbed and she nodded. He took a shaky breath and drew back, hissing in pleasure before thrusting forward. He wasn’t rough, but it still stung a bit. Each slow movement eased her discomfort a little more until she was moving her hips in time. It felt… amazing after a while. She’d never felt so full, so close to another human being. But his thrusts grew erratic and he gave a tortured cry, shuddering in bliss. He could barely hold himself and decided to roll them over so he wouldn’t crush her.
They lie in comforting silence for a while, no more music to guide them. Her head rested on his chest as she idly played with a few sparse hairs she found there. After a while, he summoned his wand, which impressed her before muttering a contraception spell. She was thankful for that because she’d completely forgotten.
“You have a choice,” she said softly. “We can help.”
“I highly doubt that,” Malfoy sighed. “They have my mother Granger.”
“We can hide her.”
He snorted. “She wouldn’t accept.”
“Even if her son asked? To keep him safe?”
She felt him take a shuddering breath and looked up to see that he was crying again. “You have no idea the lengths my mother has gone to keep me safe.”
“Then consider it,” she said, lying back down. “Talk it over with Dumbledore.”
“That might mean my life.”
“And if you don’t, it might mean both of them,” she countered before leaning over to kiss the angry red scar on his chest. “You can have the dream Malfoy. You just have to reach for it.”
Malfoy pulled her up to kiss her again. She was breathless before he was done. “You can’t risk coming back here again Granger. You… you have to stay away, stay safe.”
She looked at him a long time before nodding. “I know. But promise me you’ll think about it?”
He sighed again. “I’ll think about it… if you stay away.”
She nodded and lay back down. She already knew she wouldn’t be coming back, no matter what happened. But now she at least had a little hope that maybe he would decide to try. Then they might both get their dreams. She drifted to sleep, thoughts of curly headed children with grey eyes running through her mind. And music, such pretty music.
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“How in the bloody hell did an owl find you here?” Ron cried as Hermione plucked the missive from the large eagle owl.
“I forgot to put up the untraceable spell,” she muttered, studying the slanted script on the brown paper package. Her heart stuttered when she recognized the handwriting.
“But Hermione,” Harry said. “Grimmauld Place is unplottable.”
“Not anymore,” she said softly. “It has too many secret keepers. This looks like something from McGonagall.”
The boys left her alone to her thoughts. She was glad they didn’t question the package. She’d been pretty numb since Snape killed Dumbledore. The pieces hadn’t been too hard to put together. Harry had overheard Snape talking about a vow to Malfoy’s mother. Narcissa had asked Snape to kill Dumbledore if Malfoy couldn’t. And he couldn’t. She’d known that all along. But why was he sending her a package now?
She carried the package upstairs to the bedroom they’d used before Sirius died and studied it, waving her wand over it a few times before she was satisfied it wasn’t hexed. The inscription simply said, ‘Granger.’ She carefully undid the packaging, gasping when she saw what it hid. It was a music box, a simple little thing no bigger than the palm of her hand. It was made of wood and it looked rather old. When she lifted the lid, a tiny ballerina sprung to life, twirling to the tune of Moonlight Sonata. The ballerina was painted to look like her, long flowing brown hair, wearing simple undergarments. Tears obscured her vision until the song was over.
She tried to close the lid but it was stuck. She shook it a little, jumping when a tiny scrap of paper fluttered out from the hinge. The box snapped shut and she picked up the paper, crying again. ‘Always a choice,’ it said. Her tears hit the paper and it expanded, morphing into more words:
I did make a choice. What happened had to happen, but things are always bigger than we are. Enclosed is a possible list of searching places and a name. Use it wisely. Look for the music. It can change everything.
Always,
The Pianist
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Hermione was terrified as the snatchers dragged her into Malfoy Manor. She almost fainted when she saw Malfoy there. He looked terrible, worse than even the last time she’d seen him. He was a step away from death. She closed her eyes and thanked the Gods that the snatchers hadn’t taken her music boxes away. She’d made sure to shrink each one and transform it into a tiny charm she’d then hooked onto a necklace to keep them close to her heart. She’d stuffed it deep into her bra when they had been found.
Draco sent her one almost every month, each with instructions on where to search next, where to gain another clue. Her Christmas present contained three songs, the ones they’d made love to. They had made love. There was no other way to describe it. The box, an elaborately decorated golden oval contained two figures, a dancer and a pianist. The dancer gracefully turned on the piano top while the pianist looked on, a look of bliss on both their faces. It was… perfect.
Now, looking into the room, she wondered if this was the end. When the torture started, she almost lost her mind. But then Bellatrix leaned over her with a knife and she was sure she’d lose it. The crazy bitch threw another curse. She was dumbfounded when it suddenly didn’t hurt anymore. She looked over at Malfoy, a reflex she was sure no one noticed. He had his wand trained on her. She looked at his face and he mouthed ‘scream’ at her. She did. But she felt no more pain. He was shielding her from the cruciatis somehow, though that was supposed to be impossible. But he couldn’t stop the pain of the knife as it cut into her throat.
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Hermione sat in numb silence after the battle. They’d won. She rubbed her throat again where Bellatrix’s knife had left its mark. She owed Dobby her life. And Malfoy, for allowing his wand to be taken. He hadn’t even tried to fight really, purposefully missing his mark. She’d received another music box, her last, delivered to Shell cottage as she healed. It was small, black, and cold, so cold. The music was the Turkish March but there was no dancer. Instead, it contained a tiny vial of potion with one word written on the label. ‘Drink.’ It had healed her almost immediately. One more choice.
She glanced across the room, noticing that Malfoy sat with his family now, clinging on to his mother for dear life. He barely gave his father a glance, but he managed to give her one. It was filled with relief and resolve. He knew what was going to happen. Trying to stop Crabbe and Goyle in the ROR wouldn’t keep him out of Azkaban. She still felt horrible that Ron had punched him. And even worse that she’d kissed Ron in the heat of the moment, needing to feel something besides absolute terror. He gave her a sad smile and turned, sparing her the pain of seeing him.
Aurors showed up shortly after, dragging his family away in chains. She couldn’t help but protest. To her surprise, Harry did as well. Ron muttered that they deserved it and while she agreed wholeheartedly that Lucius did, Draco and Narcissa had tried to help. She still had the music boxes but she’d burned the notes for fear of them slipping into the wrong hands. She didn’t even have proof that he’d helped beyond sending her knick knacks, but she had to try.
Three long months later, Draco and Narcissa were freed. Lucius would be out in a year’s time, but she and Harry had managed a reprieve, much to Ron’s disgust. He just couldn’t understand that things were not black and white, especially when he’d lost two brothers. Percy and Charlie would be sorely missed, but Draco didn’t deserve Azkaban because Ron was bitter. Revenge wouldn’t solve anything. She was sure people had learned that by now.
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She stared out of the window of the Hogwarts Express and wondered what her eighth year would be like. The school had been rebuilt in record time by the miracles of magic and heavy funding from Pureboods wishing to make amends for their lapse in judgment. The Malfoys had given a great deal of that, which she knew they would. She fingered her necklace again, feeling each of the shrunken music boxes and remembering the moments for each one. The Christmas present she’d left a little larger, making it into a pendant. That way she could still listen to the songs and see the dancer and the pianist.
She looked over at her friends. Harry was asleep in Ginny’s lap, face serene for once in his life. Ginny stroked his brow and played with is messy hair, sighing in relief that everything was over. Neville and Luna were doing a word search in the back of the Quibbler. Ron was eating… as always. He grinned at her through a mouth full of chocolate, which made her cringe, and grabbed her hand. She allowed it. They’d been dating since the end of the war, though she refused to go further than a few kisses. She just… couldn’t allow herself to go further. She knew she loved him… but it wasn’t the same. Her heart was pining for someone else, someone she wasn’t sure wanted her in return. All they’d had was a bit of comfort in a dark storm of the impending war and a few songs.
She pulled away from Ron and took out her copy of the Prophet, idly flipping pages so it didn’t look like she was rereading the same article over and over again. Malfoy looked better, healthier, though he was still thin and had dark circles under his eyes. She sighed, remembering what that body felt like on top of hers, so shy yet determined. Then her eyes strayed to the girl clinging to his arm. She immediately hated her and her perfectly coifed hair and greedy eyes. The headline made her want to vomit.
Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy fortune, betrothed to Astoria Greengrass.
She didn’t have to read the article again. She knew it by heart. The couple was betrothed and expected to attend Hogwarts until they graduated. They would marry in a summer ceremony before Draco would begin work as head of Malfoy Industries. He would gain his father’s seat on the school board as well as a consultation position in the Ministry. It was exactly what he said would happen. He’d raise an heir with a frigid bitch and his heir would be a stuck up prat that would continue the cycle. It was… disgusting.
“Time to go,” Ginny chirped, waking Harry gently so he wouldn’t startle. He’d been understandably jumpy since the war.
As they filed out of the train, she felt goose bumps across her neck. She turned to see Malfoy jumping off the train, Astoria hanging from his arm like an ugly accessory handbag. He looked… annoyed. Just as she was about to turn, he caught her eye. He looked… dead. All the emotions she’d seen in him had gone. He was a mask and it broke her heart. Tears sprung to her eyes and she spun so he wouldn’t see them, barging into the nearest coach.
She didn’t talk to anyone the rest of the night and finally cried herself to sleep in the seventh year girl’s dormitory. Ginny didn’t say a word, simply silencing her curtains and leaving her alone. At least the red head understood that some things weren’t so easily put behind. She was actually glad for the silencing charm. No one could hear the haunting tunes of the songs that she’d given herself to Draco to. Her dreams were plagued with children who had sharp pointy features taunting little curly red headed children because they were poor half-bloods.
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She stalked through the hallways, wondering how she’d gotten here. It was only two weeks until the end of the school year. NEWTS were finished. But that wasn’t what she was upset about. Ron had proposed that evening over dinner. And she’d accepted his ring, more out of shock than anything. She still hadn’t slept with him, unable to bring herself to let him that close. She did love him, but she wasn’t sure it was enough to start a life together. It would be comfortable, but there wasn’t passion.
Faint strains of music caught her attention as she stormed past the ROR. She stopped dead in her tracks. A piano. The song made her heart fall into her shoes. It was their song. The first one, the one that said farewell. She wondered if Astoria was in there with him, listening to him play. The clingy girl hadn’t strayed more than a few feet from him the entire year. And while he looked healthier every time she saw him, the dead look in his eyes hadn’t gone away. She’d even walked to the ROR every night until Christmas, hoping to hear him play if only through the door, but there was nothing. And now he was in there. It could be no one else.
She gathered her courage and pushed, cringing when he stopped and turned. A quick glance around made her sigh in relief. He was alone. But this wasn’t the same room, the room of hidden things. How ironic, Ravenclaw’s diadem in the very same room she’d visited last year. Now the room just held a grand piano and some empty space. Though he was silent, she felt he welcomed her presence. She nodded to him and tiptoed to the empty floor that seemed to have a spotlight shining on it. She stripped, laying her things over to the side next to his. He was in his vest and trousers, just like the first time. She hadn’t thought to wear her work out clothes so it was her normal underthings… again. It felt… heartbreakingly familiar.
With a sad smile, he began playing. It was decidedly more upbeat, like something a mother would listen to while remembering the good moments as she watched her child grow. It was full of hope and expectations and heartbreaking sadness at the thought of it passing, though it was a happy sadness strangely enough. It spoke of new experiences and old ones, love and life. She spun slowly before hitting the floor, crawling across it like a child. She went through the motions, learning to walk, discovering the world. She remembered when she was a toddler, seeing the wonders of a butterfly for the first time, the beauty of a rainbow, the wonder of magic.
She remembered her first time in the room, so scared but taken over by the music. She twirled just like she did the first night before leaping in the air and moving to the second time. She mimicked the tree, leaves falling and trying to shelter it. She pictured crawling through the desert, resolutely, before falling on the ground, stretching out to find what she’d been looking for. The song ended and she opened her eyes. Malfoy was bowed over the keys, shoulders heaving in silent sobs. She wiped her own eyes, knowing that she was crying. It seemed to be their thing. They could let their emotions run wild without fear of repercussions.
“Congratulations Granger,” he said after a while. “I hope it will be everything you wish it to be.”
She got up, feeling cold all of the sudden. “You too,” she croaked. “I hope you’ll be happy.”
He snorted. “Happy.”
She sat beside him, shuddering a sigh when he put his arm around her. He was so warm. “Why?”
He sighed deeply. “Because it is the way of things.”
“What about your dreams?”
He shrugged. “No one wants a fallen Death Eater Granger.”
“Not true,” she whispered.
“You’re engaged.”
She nodded, laying her head on his shoulder. “It’ll be a comfortable marriage. But I don’t think it will be a passionate one.”
“Weasel doesn’t do it for you, eh?”
She smacked him in the stomach. “He hadn’t tried you prat.”
He grunted and rubbed is stomach. “Why not?”
She looked away. “It… it doesn’t feel right.”
“I know,” he said softly. “I can’t touch her without wanting to vomit or cry.”
“Then why Draco?”
He gasped and pulled away. It was the first time she’d ever uttered his name. She put her hands over her mouth, trying to take it back but it was too late. He opened his mouth and closed it a few times before tracing her lips.
“Because Hermione.” She gaped at him and he smiled. “The war is over but the world still hasn’t changed. An alliance is our only hope of surviving it.”
“You sound like your father,” she growled.
He nodded. “And I hate it. But he’s right. Besides, until he dies, I can’t marry anyone other than a pureblood, lest she die from an ancient curse I intend to lift as soon as the fucker is dead.”
“And your dreams? What about them?”
He looked at her then, a look of pure longing that ripped at her. “I’ll revisit them every time I close my eyes. Good luck Hermione. I wish you all the happiness in the world and more. You give them hell in the Ministry, yeah?”
“The music,” she croaked.
He reached up and fingered her necklace. “Keep it in your heart and it will never die.”
He leaned over and gave her a kiss, so heartbreakingly sweet it stole every word she could ever say to him. It was goodbye. When she went back to her dorms, she knew she’d left her heart back in the ROR with a man who was a slave to tradition. Music had changed everything between them. And though she wished it hadn’t, she’d always cherish their time together.

AN: It doesn't have to end there, although it certainly could. I've actually written it out to a second ending. If there is enough interest, I'll post it. If not, it was really kind of nice writing this one. I just turned on my Pandora to piano instrumentals and let my mind go. You can find the soundtrack below. If this is the end of this story, I love you guys and I'll see you on the next one. If not, I'll see you in the next chappie!
Soundtrack:
Beethoven – Moonlight Sonata
Philip Wesley- Racing Against the Sunset
Fariborz Lachini - Forever in my Dreams
Yiruma - Love Hurts
Stephan Moccio - Ow
Jennifer Haines - The Storm Begins
Pachelbel Cannon in D Major
Mozart – Turkish March
Farewell - Jorge Méndez
Cold - Jorge Méndez
Begin - Jorge Méndez
Yiruma - Kiss the Rain
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The Pianist