Excuse me for this one. The plot bunnies held my brain hostage and wouldn't let it go until I wrote it down.
Yes, I am a musician. Three guesses as to what instrument I play. Oh, and the first two don't count. ::grins::
Credit goes to JK Rowling, because I think of this as a Blaise/Hermione; also, Beethoven, Mozart, Chopin, and Schubert, because they didn't complain when I wrote this. Then again, how were they too?
-
-
-
Music. Such an underestimated part of our lives. Without it, we would have so very little. So much has been said about music, but still we find ourselves incapable of describing the sheer beauty that is music.
Yet, music can be used to illustrate so much beyond the simple chords and phrases written on the page.
I wonder sometimes, what went through Beethoven's mind as he wrote his sixth symphony? Did he realize the mastery of the piece he was composing? And what of Mozart? A childhood genius, penning some of the greatest classical music ever written; did he know that he would be remembered — immortalized even?
As I sit at my bench, fingers curled over the ivory keys, my mind wanders. My hands have long ago memorized the melody; they know exactly where to go. The epitome of melancholy drifts around me, created from the music I am playing.
You will have to excuse me, I think in music. I live and breathe music. My life is entwined with it; my fate is decided by it. Music defines me and so, I play it. I play it in the hopes that I might someday change the fate that I am resigned to have. The fate the music has given me.
-
-
-
She heard the music as though from some far distant place. Yet, she was drawn to it, like a parched man in a desert is drawn to water. The music drew her to itself.
She followed it down corridors, up staircases, across halls. It was beautiful; so hauntingly beautiful. Sorrowful, yet here and there in the melody, she heard the promise of hope.
Finally she stood in the doorway, watching the boy at the keyboard. Silently standing motionless, allowing the music to course through her veins.
He seemed to sense she was there.
She didn't notice that he had stopped playing until he spoke to her, breaking the mutual silence between them.
"That's Chopin; genius of a man, really. He wasn't strong enough to play forte but they say he had a million shades of piano." His hands stilled rested on the keys, poised as though ready to take up the tune again.
"Will —will you play some more?" Came the tentative request.
A nod.
He struck up the sweet chords again. She cocked her head to the side; this was a very different piece.
As if aware of her curiosity he said quietly, "Schubert. His Moment Musical. The third one, at least."
She watched as his hands flew gracefully over the ivories. She moved slowly toward the piano, drawn by some magnetic force nearer to the music. She sat down next to him on the bench, still gazing solemnly at both the keys and his long fingers.
He slid over slightly to make room for her. Focusing once more on the music, he passed quickly over the crescendo, opting instead to focus on the more mischievous recapitulation.
"That was beautiful!" She breathed once he had ended.
"Beautiful music for a beautiful lady."
"What?" She asked, astonished that he would say something like that to her, of all people.
"Musica bella per una signora bella. Italian; the language of the musical geniuses."
"I'm… flattered… but — well…— why me?"
"Because you truly appreciate the music. It defines us. All of us; even if we don't know it. And I've never met someone who understood that."
"And I do?"
"You were drawn to it. Everyone feels something about music, but few are actually drawn to it. You were." He explained simply, still looking only at the keys.
"What if it wasn't the music that drew me? What if it was the musician?" She asked shyly, blushing slightly at the thought.
"Was it?" He asked her, finally meeting her gaze.
She dropped her gaze suddenly, refusing to answer for the time being.
Standing up from the bench, she made her way slowly to the door. He followed her with his eyes. She paused at the door, hand poised to turn the knob. At length she looked over her shoulder and replied, "Yes. It was the musician."
-
-
-
piano Italian for soft or quiet.
forte Italian for loud or strongly.
Musica bella per una signora bella. Beautiful music for a beautiful lady.
Now please make the plot bunnies happy and review. They're threatening me again. ::cowers::