The Unfortunates

Here we are, yet again. Before reading, please , have a little piece of information...:

I\'ve read the Half-Blood Prince, obviously, and would just like to point out that this story will not readjust itself, to so speak. The Unfortunates will stick to its original plot, and no mention of The Prince\'s plot will interfere.
(Though I shan\'t deny I\'m going to write another fic with this newly gained information later on...)

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CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT: MUSIC


Hermione spent the rest of that morning showing Ron the Snape estate, as she had promised him she would. Obviously, she only showed him certain rooms and areas, and warned him– as Harry had warned her– to stay out of the unknown parts of the great house.

“What, is it haunted?” had Ron asked.

“And then some,” replied Hermione without thinking.

They finished the tour, and Ron excused himself to go see his sister. Apparently it had still not quite sunk in yet who he had been reunited with, and, as was quite understandable, he wanted to spend some time with not only Hermione and Harry, but also all those others he’d thought dead for the last six months.

Hermione quickly made her way back to the dining room only to find it abandoned. She then made her way to the lounge, but here all she found were stray Rebels, so to speak; mostly the newly arrived ones, who were just killing time, getting used to their strange, new lifestyle at Killengreen. None of those present was the one Hermione was looking for.

She then made straight for his room on the third floor, only to find that he wasn’t there, either.

Where is he?

Hermione seriously doubted he was in one of the studies plotting with Harry and Lupin.

Then she remembered... And with renewed determination, she hurried back down to the first floor, through the small study, and halfway down the corridor she heard it. Quickening her steps she reached the abandoned-looking room, which still made her feel uneasy as ever, and now she clearly heard shivering tunes of melancholy reaching out to her from beyond the door in the far end of the room.

He was playing again.

It wasn’t the same tune as she had heard him play before, though it had more or less the same feel to it. Hermione didn’t know much about music, but she was certain it went in minor – as was only typical of Severus, obviously – and it had a strange, maudlin feel to it, but just as you couldn’t get more sad at the sound the tune would change, almost turning hopeful, then level out again.

It was the tune of a failed soul who refused to give in. A soul who kept trying, but who kept failing... Keeping pointless spirits high. There was such an aching feel to it.

Hermione couldn’t resist; she stepped over and slowly pushed the door open. It creaked, and revealed none other than Severus, who surprisingly enough didn’t stop playing at the sight of her entering, but just kept going; his hands kept caressing the bow and the fingerboard in unison, and he seemed as though he was far away – he’d only looked at her for a second before returning his attention to the instrument.

Hermione stood as though frozen for minutes until he finished, slowly lowering the bow and glancing up at her again.

“I’m sorry to barge in,” she said then, feeling rather stupid, as that was something she should have said when she had first entered.

“You had the decency not to disturb me,” replied Severus. “It is quite alright.”

“What was it you played?”

He glanced down for a second, the arm not holding the bow cradling the cello gently. It was as though he wasn’t afraid to show her what he felt as this moment; the instrument and its music was dear to him, and he was proud of that, rather than shut in.

“Bach,” he said.

“Again?”

“I happen to like Bach.”

“Of course, I didn’t mean –”

“I know,” he interrupted. “I understand you meant nothing by it. I even dare to think you liked it.”

“I did,” she said in earnest, stepping further into the room. “It is beautiful.”

He made no comment, but there was little doubt that he agreed with her.

“It’s never really struck me before how intense cello music is,” mused Hermione. “I’ve heard it several times before, but only when they showed concerts and such on television.”

“Muggle technology has never managed to recapture the music,” said Severus harshly, “no matter how much they may pride themselves on it.”

“You’re right,” she agreed. “I just never realized it until this very moment. It just reaches out to you in a way that you can only experience by being there, I guess... It’s like it could get a whole room vibrating.”

“Hardly;” he said with a small smirk, “it is enough that the cello vibrates, I should think.”

“It does?”

He shrugged, “A lot of sound waves travel through the belly of this instrument, Hermione. Of course it is something you only experience when you play it yourself.”

She hesitated for a moment, wondering whether or not she dared to ask. Finally, the will to try defeated the fear of being turned down, and she asked, “Could I try? I mean, could you show me?”

“I don’t see why not.”

Refraining herself from smiling with joy, Hermione followed his lead as Severus stood up and gestured for her to take a seat in the chair. Gently he handed the delicate instrument to her, and she took it, treating it as carefully as she would have a newborn baby.

Severus stepped up behind her chair.

“Now,” he said, “You simply rest the cello against your body, so both you and it are comfortable. Make sure the tail spike is steady.” He gestured for the little metal piece at the bottom, and Hermione placed it on the floor in front of her, making sure it was steady like he had asked her to.

She slowly tried to rest the cello against her body like he had told her to, only to find that she had to spread her legs widely in order for it to work properly. It felt strange that she should be embarrassed by this after all they’d been through, but for some reason the situation suddenly became very intimate.

Still, Hermione wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip. She spread her legs wide enough and rested the cello against herself.

“No,” said Severus gently from behind her then, his voice silky and rather close to her ear, “it goes to your left, like this – so that you rest the pegbox onto your left shoulder...” His elegant hands reached out and showed her, leaning the cello against the left half of her body. “Comfortable?”

“Yes,” she replied, slightly breathlessly.

“Now, you take the bow,” he said, handing it to her. “Be careful not to touch the hairs, they snap easily.”

“Shouldn’t I be doing something with this?” asked Hermione, gesturing towards the fingerboard.

“Not just yet,” smiled Severus, “let’s first see if you can get a decent sound out of it.”

Nodding determinedly, Hermione did as she’d seen him do and glided the bow across the bridge of the cello, eliciting nothing more than a pathetic, high screeching kind of noise. It was nothing like what cello was supposed to sound like.

She could practically hear Severus smile into her ear.

“Be firmer; you need to apply more pressure,” he instructed her, “though be gentle still.”

She did as he told her and moved the bow again, this time pressing it harder down on the strings, though not too hard. For half a second there came the screeching noise again, but suddenly– out from the belly of the cello, from the work of Hermione’s own fingertips, came the gentlest of sounds; a clear tone of sadness and beauty that lasted for a few seconds until Hermione had reached the other end of the bow.

“Well done,” said Severus silkily in her ear, making her shiver.

“It’s like you said,” she whispered. “The music’s filling the entire cello.”

“It most certainly is. Try a richer tone– the string to the far left...”

Hermione did so, and it was deeper, stronger and sadder than the last, though just as powerful and it seemed to fill the entire room, not just her and the cello... It was no wonder Severus found pleasure in playing this instrument, even if it was only to himself.

“Now,” he said, his breath on her neck as he reached out his left hand to elegantly cover the fingerboard by her shoulder, “play that again, will you...?”

She did, and as the velvety tone filled the room again Severus’ hand was moving; his middle finger was vibrating strangely on the fingerboard and the far left string, and suddenly the tone wasn’t just strong and clear and filling everything; now it was vibrating along with Severus’ finger, shaking and amplifying the emotional music, reaching straight into Hermione’s very core and sending shivers down her back. The entire instrument seemed to have come alive, bringing her to places she’d never been before, and Severus was right there with her, and it was not until the bow stilled on the string and the music faded that she became aware of him kissing her neck gently, his now calm hand rested upon the fingerboard to her left, neither of their bodies moving an inch.

The cello still sat obediently in Hermione’s lap, now dead once again, but in its death’s wake a fire had come to life in Hermione as those lips continued to caress her neck, so softly she could barely feel it even now.

She sighed contently and was about to let her eyes slip close when a movement caught their attention:

Two feet suddenly appeared in her line of vision.

Hermione yelped, grasped onto the cello on pure instinct to prevent it from slipping away from her lap, and at the sound of her voice Severus’ head and back whipped up, straightening as fast and smoothly as only he could, to see who had interfered with their privacy.

Hermione looked up too, and locked eyes with James Higsley.

Severus’ hand was immediately at her shoulder, tightening there as though both protecting her and silently expressing his distress at the sight.

Hermione suddenly remembered why she’d sought him out.

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“I cannot recall anyone inviting you into this section of the estate.”

Truth to be told, Severus was actually a little scared. Not because he was facing a particularly dangerous situation; in this particular instance there was no physical threat or fear of attack as such; and such he could handle, after all. No, it was the mere emotional aspect of the situation that was unsettling.

Because whenever Jim Higsley was involved– or any other member of that family, for that matter– it was bound to get emotional. Because guilt was in many cases an emotion so much stronger than hatred or fear. And Severus could feel guilt, contrary to popular beliefs.

“I was exploring,” stated Higsley simply.

Severus didn’t believe him for a second. “I am sure you have been told, as have all others living here, about the background of this house? As such, it is unwise to wander about, particularly in unknown areas. Only I can do that.”

“Yes,” said Higsley, now with contempt in his voice as he dared a glance at Hermione, “you and the company of your choice, I take it?”

“What company I hold does not concern you,” said Severus stiffly, desperately trying to think of a way out of this situation. Of course Higsley had been doing more than just exploring; he was on the lookout for anything that would relate to his sister, undoubtedly. Being here, at Killengreen, this was inevitable.

Still, the sight which had met the young, distorted man here... He’d probably heard the sound of the cello, come down the corridor and then found Severus and Hermione, caught in a position that looked undeniably intimate, although innocent.

At that moment, Hermione chose to act.

“I don’t believe we’ve met properly,” she said pleasantly, though on her guard, as she stood and gently handed the cello to Severus, who took it without looking away from Higsley, who returned the gaze just as intently. “I’m Hermione Granger.”

“We met in the cave,” replied Higsley, unwillingly turning his attention to her. “Though at that point, you failed to inform the refugees that you were a whore.”

Severus’ arm tightened around Hermione’s shoulder again. How dare he?

“I’m not a whore,” said Hermione, chin raised high, “not anymore.”

Higsley raised an eyebrow and glanced from Hermione to Severus, as though he thought it highly unlikely.

“I have noticed how you seem to be spending a lot of time in this bloke’s company,” said Higsley to Hermione, “and forgive me, but that alone clearly states you must be lying; no woman in her right mind would want to be caught dead alone with the likes of Snape without something to gain.”

“I beg to differ,” began Hermione, but Higsley cut her off again.

“I’d be on my guard, if I were you, Hermione Granger,” he barked, glaring at Severus again. “There is a lot to be said about this man, but you need to bear one particular thing in mind: women and Severus Snape don’t get on well. And when they don’t... I’ll let you ask him yourself what happens.”

And with that, he left the room, undoubtedly returning to his search of the estate.

Higsley was no fool, Severus thought. When stumbling upon him and Hermione, then man had immediately found his advantage in catching them together and off-guard; he had known exactly what to do. Now he had raised a thousand questions in Hermione’s mind with a few, simple sentences, and as such more or less torn apart Severus’ relationship with her before it even properly began.

There was no way he could talk his way out of what was to come now. Hermione was surely to question him thoroughly, after which she’d leave him without looking back.

But she caught him by surprise, saying something quite different from what he’d expected.

“Mr. Higsley made me remember why I sought you out in the first place,” she said, slightly wistful. She turned her big, brown eyes on him, gazing intently. “I saw the ghost again, Severus. Don’t tell me I’m imagining it, because I’m not.”

“The ghost?” said Severus, he couldn’t help himself.

“Yes. The woman – the girl, actually. I saw her close up, in the hall. She was out in the Killengreen garden, staring at me...”

Severus sighed heavily, closing his eyes for a moment. How could it all be coming back to him like this? Wasn’t it enough that Mohrag was haunting his home; now both her brother and Hermione would bring it up again too?

“Yes,” said Severus finally, giving in. “Yes, there is a ghost, I do not deny it.”

“And she’s Jim Higsley’s sister.”

He glanced at her. “So you worked that out, then?”

“You halfway told me. Then she confirmed it.”

He froze. “She... confirmed it?”

“She wrote her name on the window,” explained Hermione. “Does Jim Higsley know his sister’s haunting Killengreen, Severus?”

He shook his head; he doubted it. Otherwise he would’ve been confronted on that matter as well, surely.

“Perhaps you ought to tell him. In the meantime...” Her expression became one of utmost determination. “You tell me how she died.”


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A/N: Agreeable? Thanks so much to my wonderful beta JessiokaFroka, who also, by the way, have some very good theories on Half-Blood Prince... (Hope you don\'t mind me mentioning it, Jess.)

I know I said the cello playing wasn\'t going to be dominating, and don\'t worry, it\'s not - this was just another scene to make a little intimacy. I think the cello makes Snape more human, and it makes Hermione understand him, for some reason... :) And finally some answers are coming to the question of the phantom, right? Though I won\'t promise you it\'ll all be solved in the next chapter...

Oh, and one more thing: I know the cello stuff isn\'t accurate - a few details off, basically, on where you lean it and so on - but I\'ve made my point, haven\'t I? You\'ll have to forgive me, it\'s been years since I played. :)

Grill