Disclaimer: I do not own the settings/characters of the Harry Potter universe.
Hermione Granger walked purposefully to her bedroom on the upstairs landing of the small, but cozy townhouse. She looked around frantically for awhile, wondering how despite the absolutely meticulous care she took to keep the room organized, Ron seemed to drop it into utter disarray five minutes after entering it. Within a few minutes, she gave up. "Accio keys," she said to the silent room, and after a moment her key ring flew out from under a pile of freshly washed, but yet unfolded laundry on the bed.
She grabbed her purse from the dining room table and took a quick glance at her reflection in the mirror by the front door. Her hair was a mess, making it obvious the chaos of packing and paperwork her day had been thus far. She pulled a hat down over her unruly curls and stepped out into the unusually brisk August afternoon. Clutching her jacket tighter around her arms, Hermione walked the couple of blocks down the breezy London roads that took her to her most frequented of establishments, the Leaky Cauldron.
She pushed open the front door, and the tinkling bell alerted a lanky, redheaded man sitting at a table for two in the back corner. Ron Weasley looked up from his mug of steaming coffee and smiled brilliantly at his companion. He stood halfway from his chair to kiss Hermione on the forehead as she sat across from him and removed her coat and hat. A frazzled looking female barkeep arrived and demanded Hermione's order in a rushed voice. She ordered a glass of white wine before turning to Ron and clasping his hand across the table. "A little early for wine don't you think?" he asked her with a chuckle.
"Not after the day I've had," she answered with a sigh. She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. "I spent the entire day packing and filling out all of the legal releases for Hogwarts, as well as our tax returns and account balances. Thanks for the help with that, by the way," she said sarcastically, sitting up to give Ron a half frustrated, half affectionate glare.
"You know I've been up to my bloody eyeballs in work this week," he said, immediately defensive. Hermione felt slightly guilty, it was true that Ron was busier than usual at his post in the Improper Use of Magic Office at the Ministry. For some reason these past months of summer had proved extremely popular for the use of both underage magic, and magic in the presence of muggles. "Just today I had to organize seven trials for underage magic use, seven!"
"Damn," Hermione offered, taking a sip of her wine after the waitress placed it hurriedly on the table before scurrying over to more newly arrived customers. "Any idea as to why people are feeling so lax about breaking the law?"
"Well Dad seems to think its just because there are more underage wizards now than ever before. Last term saw the biggest class of first years in Hogwarts history, twice what it was for us back in the day." Hermione thought this over with a groan, she was going to have her hands full this year. She hoped desperately that she was really cut out to be a Hogwarts professor, something she had positively idealized since age eleven.
"Oh, come on Hermione," Ron said, noticing her despondent expression and giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. "You're the smartest witch I've ever met. Not only are you going to be able to hack it just fine this year, but you are also going to be the best bloody history professor the world has ever seen."
Hermione couldn't help but smile as she looked up and met Ron's eyes. They were bright and encouraging, but also full of seriousness. If he believed in her, then surely she would be fine, right? "Well anyone will be an improvement over Professor Binns. At least I'm a living person..."
"Listen, you're going to be brilliant, and not because you have the advantage of a heartbeat over the last professor, but because you're intelligent, insightful, and a great teacher. Not to mention you will be without question the hottest professor to ever teach at Hogwarts..." Hermione felt a blush creeping up her cheeks. Ron's since of humor never failed to lift her spirits. She leaned across the rickety little table and kissed him for a lingering moment. She pulled away and finished her glass of wine in one, impressive gulp. She stood and grabbed her coat and hat and donned them quickly, realizing how long this mid-afternoon drink had taken.
"I'm sure you have to be going back to the office, right?" she asked Ron, who was also standing to leave.
"Yeah," he replied with a yawn. "You off to shop for your supplies and such?"
"Yes, see you tonight." After a quick goodbye Hermione left through the back, heading for Diagon Alley, while Ron headed to the Ministry, his short-lived break now over.
Hermione bustled happily around Diagon Alley, noting with joy that the familiar stretch of marketplace was now completely back to normal since the end of the war, now almost four years ago. She could hardly believe that she was soon to be twenty-one years old. It seemed like only yesterday that she had been forced to mourn the loss of so many friends to Voldemort and his followers.
Following his downfall, life had slowly trickled to where it was then. Hermione had continued to study spells, ancient runes, and history (both muggle and magic) independently in order to be qualified to teach at the place she held most dear, Hogwarts. To her astonished happiness she had only last month passed the Hogwarts teaching examination, and had been awarded the posts of the Professor of History of Magic, and also the Gryffindor Head of House. Now as she bought her numerous quills, enchanted chalk, reference books, parchment, maps, ink, robes, office decorations... it was really happening, Hermione was living her dream. The three years spent slaving away as a lowly secretary for numerous ministerial bigshots were over, and she could not possibly have been happier.
When she got home later that evening she spent extra time cooking a good meal for Ron. They had lived together for six months now, and she really appreciated the fact that while she studied and worked her mediocre job making next to nothing, Ron had been there, happy to support her both financially and emotionally. She really and truly did love him, and she realized that after six months of living together if they still had not gotten into an earth-shattering row, this relationship was definitely going somewhere. She thought of her future with Ron often, and hoped that it would work out. She couldn't imagine not waking up to his obnoxious snores she had become so fond of over the years. She couldn't imagine not nursing him back to health after his many drunken quidditch accidents in the front yard with Harry when he and Ginny came over for dinner. She cherished every moment they had together, from their quiet meals together at their tiny kitchen table to their tender love-making next to the crackling fire.
She was shaken out of her thoughts by the sound of the lock turning in the front door. Ron came striding into the kitchen. He dropped his briefcase onto the table before yanking her away from the stove and into a tight hug. "Smells good," he said softly.
"It's french onion soup!" she replied cheerily.
"I was talking about you silly," he said with a wink. She slapped him playfully on the shoulder before ladling the hot soup into two bowls and serving them on the table which was already laid with two mugs of butterbeer.
After chatting idly about the rest of his day at work a look of concern seemed to settle over Ron's face, and Hermione noticed he had stopped eating. "What's the matter, soup bad?" she asked jokingly.
"No, it nothing," he replied, but Hermione could tell it was definitely something because he usally at least made some effort to laugh at her bad jokes. "Really, tell me what's got you down," she pressed worriedly.
"No, you'll only get angry," he said quietly, playing around with the soup spoon and refusing to meet her eyes. Immediately Hermione's mind shot to a thousand different mistakes Ron could have made. Losing the key to their vault at Gringotts again, breaking the bathroom sink again, stepping on and thus ruining one of her books or old records...again. "I promise not to get angry," she said warily, "you know you can tell me whatever it is."
He looked up at her for a moment and took a shakey breath. "It's this Hogwarts thing."
"What Hogwarts thing?" she asked, very taken aback. She was definitely not expecting Ron's mood swing to be the result of her new career.
"Well you're going to be there, sleeping there and staying there all term. I'm only going to see you some weekends and on holidays. What if something happens to... us?"
Hermione opened her mouth, but her voice was stuck in her throat. She had been having that exact concern for awhile now but was afraid to voice it to Ron, thinking he would tell her she was being foolish. "Well I am going to miss you of course," she said in a careful voice. "But nothing's going to 'happen' to us. You know full well that we have is special, I love you. Hogwarts can't change that. It's just a job."
Ron looked relieved and didn't mention it again, and Hermione was glad for it. She was already nervous enough. What she really needed was something calming and soothing, a hot bath or a massage...
As if coming to her rescue Ron said, "Oh, as a present to see you off I bought us tickets to see the symphony on Saturday night. I know how much you love it."
"I know how much you hate it! I can't believe you did this for me thank you so much." Hermione was thrilled about the upcoming performance because after all, it was her one passion besides magic: music.
That night she laid awake long after Ron had already gone to sleep, reading and re-reading her already made lesson plans. Hermione's habit of early preparation had not died when she left school. It wasn't until the early hours of the morning that she finally fell asleep, to dreams of the majestic castle that was soon to be her home and the beautiful music that was soon to grace her ears.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
Draco sat down on the polished wood bench and felt palpable calm stretch itself through his entire body. He lifted his fingers to the keys, and with hardly any effort after all the years of tedious practice and dedication, his hands played flawlessy the concerto before him. His eyes skimmed over the notes as if they were plain English, and the power of the music filled the high-ceilinged room.
He was no longer there. The seat was not beneath him and his feet were not on the floor. Walls were not enclosing the space, because where he was there were no walls. Only air, pure and crisp and sweet. Only sound, haunting yet delicate and resplendent. When Draco played nothing else mattered. The music was like a tonic, freeing him from any ailments physical or mental. He felt a rapturous ecstasy that words failed-
"MALFOY! I WON'T ASK AGAIN, WHERE DID YOU PUT MY WAND?"
If there was one thing in the world that Draco hated, it was to be interrupted whilst playing. Gregory Goyle did not seem to be able to grasp this simple fact. His punishment was imminent. Draco stood and calmly closed the leatherbound book of sheet music. He walked into the kitchen of the large house he shared with his childhood friend, to find the tiresome idiot moving pots and pans out of his way in a senseless search for his wand, which was clearly sticking out of his back pocket.
Draco stepped forward and grabbed the wand from Goyle's pocket, before performing a standard Jelly Legs Jinx with it. Goyle collapsed on the floor, his legs a useless, wobbly mess. "I told you not to interrupt when I'm practicing," he said coldly, before turning on his heel and walking back towards the sitting room which housed his piano. "Why would you think that I would ever take your wand anyway, Goyle?" he added over his shoulder before sitting back on the bench again.
"Because you do things like this to me," Goyle replied miserably from his spot on the kitchen floor. Draco smirked to himself. He really didn't know how he lived with this fool. Sick and tired of his cold and lofty parents, he had decided last year that it was time to leave Malfoy Manor behind. The house, though still magnificent, had been raided by the Ministry after the war to ensure that the Malfoys spoke the truth when saying that they were changed people. Although nothing especially dangerous was found in the house, the bitter Ministry officials ransacked Draco's home of nearly all valuables, leaving the once wealthy pure bloods to live, much to Lucius and Narcissa's horror, off of money earned by working. They both now held rather ordinary jobs. Lucius was a clerk at Gringotts and Narcissa worked at an antique shop in Diagon Alley.
Goyle's family somehow managed to keep most of their fortune, which was why Draco selected him as a roommate. Draco was used to fine surroundings, and while studying music at the presitgious London School of the Arts for Witches and Wizards, he had been too busy to find a high enough paying job to support a house such as his on his own. Instead, he had been bartending nights at an upscale wizard restaurant near the Ministry, saving for a grand piano (his previous one having been taken from the manor following the war), as well as the supplies needed to set up a comfortable life once he started the job of his dreams: teaching music at Hogwarts.
Draco had reached both of these goals. He had demonstrated not only the musical talent needed to teach the eager Hogwarts students, but also the change of heart from his old behavior that made Headmaster McGonagall nervous. She trusted him enough to hire him after many irksome interviews. At last, he had the job.
The elegant grand piano he had always wanted was his, though far too big for this sitting room. He kept a modest upright piano, purchased from a pawn shop at home for practice. The grand piano was currently in storage, to be taken out the day before his departure to Hogwarts. This was also the day that he would perform as a special guest with the London Symphony Orchestra. As he was about to start practicing his solo piece, one of his favorites by Chopin, he heard a familiar and insistent knock upon the front door. He sighed in irritation as he rose once again from his coveted spot to answer.
He opened the door to find a stunning girl of about nineteen waiting expectantly on the stoop. Her wavy, strawberry blonde hair was a mess due to the recent rainshower, but her dark green eyes were emanating excitement nonetheless. "Only two days till your big show!" she exclaimed, throwing herself into his unsuspecting arms.
"Yes, I know," was Draco's only reply as he untangled himself from her embrace and walked to the kitchen. No chance of practicing then. Astoria Greengrass could talk to brick wall if bored enough.
Draco had met Astoria at school. When he was about to graduate at the top of his class, his piano and composition skill being unrivaled by anyone, she was just starting to study violin. She had gone to Hogwarts, but he had never noticed her there. At the School of the Arts however, he had been captivated by her long legs and scintillating smile, not to mention her musical ability. Astoria was good out of effort and practice, not natural talent, and she played for fun, not the sheer wonder and beauty of the music. Despite this they had hit it off immediately.
One year later and they were a couple like any other but Draco knew that something was missing. He couldn't quite put a finger on what it was. Astoria made him laugh, the sex was great, she was intelligent enough, a pureblood, a knockout, and a fellow musician. But when Astoria touched him he was excited, not electrified. When she told him she loved him he responded with "I love you too," out of habit and obligation rather than meaning or compulsion.
He wasn't entirely sure why he stayed with her, but stay he did. He thought that this could be due in part to the fact that prior to the Dark Lord's demise his life had been lived as a lie, day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute. Draco had lived in fear of his family and his friends. So desperate for approval and love, that he ignored this fear, which turned to hate, hate that he channeled it into the Dark Lord's bidding. He was now a changed man, disgusted with his previous actions and attitudes, though admittedly still a bit cocky and conniving. Astoria loved him for who he was, he decided. That must be why she was standing in his kitchen, drinking his wine, stroking his arm, laughing at his jokes. Finding the approval and affection he had needed all along in her eyes, he stayed.
But for how long, I wonder? he thought, watching her laugh animatedly as Goyle tried, and failed, to stand up. How long can I find solace in a person like her? Their conversations were rather empty, consisting mostly of her inane gossip about their mutual friends (she had been a Slytherin as well.) She was rich, as he had been before the war, but with that came snobbery and laziness. She was a lot like him in some ways, but not the ways that mattered.
It was only a few more days until Draco departed for Hogwarts. He worried that the thrill and abandon of the refuge of his youth would cause him to forget Astoria and the little past they had created. His parents wanted him to propose to her, but Draco felt that would be a monumental mistake. He had plans. He wanted to travel, he wanted to learn, he wanted to feel and hear and taste and touch and see everything the world had to offer. Everything he had missed out on in the infectious fog that had shrouded his existence during the Dark Lord's era. He could not picture Astoria in these plans. Change may have come over him but he was still a selfish man, and he didn't know how much longer he could rationalize her presence in his life as a beneficial one. Frowning to himself he got up and went to wash out his own wine glass, hoping she would go home soon so that he could practice.
His wishes were in vain. A while later Goyle went off to bed, and within five minutes Astoria excused herself to the loo and returned in a tiny nightgown and slippers, smiling slyly at Draco as she laid herself down seductively on his couch. The sight of her there slowly lulled the aggravation out of him as he crossed the room to her place. She reached up lazily and he could smell the alcohol on her breath as he lowered his lips to hers. Being slightly intoxicated himself he decided he didn't mind. As Astoria deftly loosened and removed his tie before starting on the buttons of his shirt, Draco's troubling thoughts of only moments ago dissipated, and he allowed himself to be enfolded in her aggressive embrace.
~*~*~*~*~*~*~
*A/N: First real effort at this so be gentle in the reviews :) Please leave some though! Enjoy! =D