T H E P R O L O G U E

It was the spring of 1942.

The remnants of the war's ashes were left on the ground. Some continued to hover about in the air, and the thick smell of smoke still remained. World War II still remained for some, and the after-math lasted longer than they had all expected. Putrid waste scattered the grounds, showing no signs of green grass, nor plants that used to adorn the streets.The empty landscape deceived them sometimes: 1940, The previous images of the orphans who lined the streets, bodies battered and mourning as they watched the fight for power still continued to haunt them. The loud explosions still seemed to echo through the distance, and they felt their eyes sting with tears. Outlines of bodies formed onto the soil, those who were completely vulnerable and helpless to the opposing greatness. The impending decrees posted on every street post, ever place, every setting continued it's repetitive state inside their infected minds. Restrictions followed hesitantly,multiple freedoms abused. Violators punished and starved with no trace of mercy nor guilt. Racial discrimination, rationalism thrown out of their lives forever. Lastly, the faint screams of the hostages, pleading…begging for mercy…

James and Lily Potter's desperate cry for mercy…

And a scream.

And a depressing demise.

17 year old Harry James Potter saw it all.

"Harry, would you give me a hand?" Had he dreamt of the whole thing again, he didn't know. He was staring out the window, his frail body leaning against the windowsill. Two years have past, and the same resounding scream from his parents' lips haunted him up to now. Now, he feared that he would loose someone else so entirely close to him. Why had the earth been so unkind to its inhabitants, he asked himself over and over again. Yet, he knew that they were to blame. They were to be directed with hatred and anger. They deserve to be led into execution. He glanced behind him and found his godfather peaking against the small crease of the door. He returned a small smile. A small, lasting smile.

"Of course." Sirius gave him one nod. Just a single one, and Harry knew perfectly well that he was thinking the same thing. Strapping the supporters to his shoulders, he walked silently by his godfather's side, their silence as a means of communication. He stared onto his godfather's frail body, so similar to his. He feared that he wouldn't make it, that he would be left alone once again. To himself. To no one. Sirius looked back and found his pondering expression. Stopping midway to wait, he wrapped his arm around Harry's shoulders and smiled. His eyes looked into his godson's emerald ones, and tried to share his optimism. Harry refused to take it.

"Everything's going to be fine, sonny. I'll be back for dinner the next day." Harry tried his best to believe him, although he knew that the effort would be deemed useless in the end.

They walked slowly down the narrow staircase, Sirius having a smile plastered on his delicate face. Harry then feared that it would be the last he'd ever see from his godfather.

He grasped the knob of the old oak door gently, feeling the dust entwine through his fingers. With a soft push, another cloud of dust-greater than anything he has ever seen, met them both. They covered their noses in defense, Harry feeling himself itch in irritation. He felt Sirius brush past him and into the darkened room. Amidst its darkness, Harry sensed the clutter around him.

"Open the light, my boy. It's a bit dark in here." Said Sirius, who seemed to have gotten to the far end of the room. Harry groped for that single string and pulled it down, and in an instant came brightness. Cobwebs brushed past the tapestries, spiders crawling through the faded boxes. He felt the floor creak below his leather shows, and he felt the sweat dripping from the side of his cap. Sirius was farther into the room, seemingly struggling against old pieces of furniture, moving them one by one that the floor vibrated violently.

"Uncle, what are you doing?" said Harry, who was now approaching in caution.

"What do you think I'm doing, sonny? Come on and help an old man, will you?" replied Sirius. He was now moving a dresser twice his size. Harry pushed beside him, and soon enough, the dresser remained stationary by the crevice. Sirius was now panting, his curly hair dripping with sweat. Harry felt himself worry again.

"Okay…push that sofa for me, will you sonny? I'll be by the boxes." Sirius walked slowly away, and Harry could still hear his heavy breathing. If he were to have a say on all of this, he would not permit him to go in that condition. He would not risk loosing the only person he had in the befuddled world. Not ever. He had lost too much.

That familiar hollow feeling by his chest rose, and he chose to ignore it. Pulling both his sleeves up to his elbows, he amassed every piece of furniture and pushed it to the side. By the time everything was done, he was nearly lying on the floor with his skin glistening in perspiration and his chest heaving. He then closed his eyes and drifted temporarily into nothingness. He wished everything were that peaceful. It was said that certain people find peace amidst darkness: he took that phrase quite literally, yet it was true.With one more relaxing sigh, he fluttered his eyes open.

It was then that he saw another door.

It seemed so clean, with its pristine white color and its golden design. Not a single speckle of dust adorned it, and it piqued Harry's curiosity. In all the places, he pondered on as to why an elegantly carved door would be found in the most unlikely (and certainly most unusual) place in the house. He paced towards it slowly, feeling his cap tighten around his head. He gripped the long spiral handles, whose material seemed slightly faded, and pushed it open slightly. The door slowly opened, and Harry heard the creaking of its hinges reverberate in the dark room. With one breath, he took a step forward.

The wood no longer creaked, nor squeaked, nor moved at all.

He felt the carpet massage the soles of his shoes as he groped for any light switch, curious on what the contents of the room may be. Finally finding that familiar chain, he pulled it down: The room's walls were a translucent white, contradicting the red velvet carpets that masked the marble flooring. Score sheets crumpled beneath his feet, showing notes so complex and far beyond his own understanding. It was an odd feeling that ran through him at that very moment. He paced the room silently, running his hands over the white walls that squared the room. It stunned him and made him feel heavenly, surrounded by this bountiful amount of white. He'd never dreamt of seeing something so calming , even amidst the war. He took one deep breath and imagined smelling something floral, so appealing to the senses.

It was then that he halted and stared at it.

It may have looked ordinary. With it's worn out keys and it's webbed exterior, one may think of it as pure rubbish, yet he found it fascinating. Each note, from it's letter C to it's letter G seemed out of tune, and each black sharp rang noisily through the room, leaving echoes beneath the wooden creaks on the floor. The once glassy, black exterior shone brighter than it had in the dark.

Basking in it's past grandeur and elegance, it now lay still.

A Grand Piano.

Harry found himself approaching it, a particular need to play arising inside of him. He ran his hand smoothly through the top, feeling its dustless surface. The chair lay cushioned and comfortable for him as he sat down, and the eagerness was now evident. He played a key…and another…

Fa...So...La...

He quietly played, having the tune reverberate through the crowded space. A few more keys were pounded on, letting out little melodic nothings that circulated in the air. Harry smiled inwardly, now placing his two hands on each known key. He was starting to play a tune unfamiliar to him, somewhat involuntary that it surprised him. The notes rang in harmony around the room, making Harry smile inwardly. He felt an unknown pleasure seep through him, mocking the odd feeling he had felt moments ago. He then went an octave higher, making him smile wildly in reply. The room was filled with notes that played itself, a jive that Harry had never even heard of before.

Soon enough, he found himself dancing on his seat, his feet swinging and his body swaying. His hands moved rapidly through each key, going an octave higher and lower in less than half a second. It tantalized him in a sense, something indescribable that even he thought about it. Was it the way the melodies stuck together, its rhythm pleasing him? Was it the way it reminded him of grace, somewhat like a woman? Then again, he was too young to ponder on that.

"Well, I'll be damned." An unpleasing pounding of keys, and Harry swiftly tuned around. The chair fell behind him with a resounding clatter. Sirius was leaning against the doorframe, his hands folded squarely by his chest.

"Uncle! Im terribly sorry! Was I disturbing or anything? Are they here to capture us?" He stared back at his godfather's quirked eyebrow, making him frown defensively. He had shown fear, and all Sirius was doing was making him feel embarrassment.

"Oh sonny, not at all! We're completely safe. Actually, I would've preferred it if you went on. It was just lovely." Said Sirius in reply.

Harry shook his head in rejection and replied, "I'd rather not, Uncle. It seems as though I forgot what I just played." Sirius sniggered slightly, hands in his pockets as he approached his godson slowly.

"Sonny, it's not a crime to play a piano."

"But it is a crime to disturb the peace, Uncle. Im terribly sorry. I know I risked our lives when I started to play loudly. The men might take hold of where we're hiding and capture us." Harry attempted to leave the room, yet his godfather stopped him before he could go anywhere else.

"Then let them capture us." Was all he said. Harry stared at him in disbelief. He suddenly felt disappointment and anger.

"Uncle, that's rubbish--"

"I would not let a colony of pathetic megalomaniacs stop my godson from doing what he's passionate about." The irritation was now evident in his voice. Harry looked up slowly, trying his best to convey his disapproval through his eyes. "Sonny, I may not be your parent, but I still know what's best for you. Now, I say that you should continue playing. Your father would have wanted you to. He did give that to you."

"It was a specific one time deal, Uncle.I couldnt repeat what I just played, i've told you!"

"Yes, but sometimes once could turn into forever." There was silence, and Harry looked at him questioningly. He, in full honesty, didn't know whether to smile or frown at the vague statement. Sirius knew that he'd tell him someday…yet, that particular day wasn't the day.

"You'll understand in time, sonny."He gave his godson a small wink, making Harry snicker for a moment. It was then that Sirius checked his wrist watch. Harry knew it was time, and he couldn't help but fear the worst.

6:33pm.

Their door upstairs opened in a loud bang, and Harry's heart seemed to have skipped in fear. He looked at Sirius, who seemed to have feeling the opposite. He looked calm and serene. With one last look at his godson, he gave a small nod.

"Uncle, don't go to that war!" Harry fought the tears that tried to sting his eyes. Sirius Black! Where are you? Come out! It's time! He heard from beyond the creaking ceiling. Sirius took Harry's cap from his head and put it on his own, before running his hand through his godson's jet black hair. His tears started to flow down his cheeks, and Harry tried his best not to do the same

"You're a brave man, Harry James Potter. I have faith that you can get through all of this alone." Harry shook his head in contradiction, the tears now trickling to his cheeks. He hugged his godfather, trying to convince him to stay, yet he could tell that Sirius was firm with his decision

"No, Uncle! You're not leaving me here!"

"Harry, I must serve this country. Im doing this for you, sonny! This is all for you!" He released slightly and held Harry by his shoulders. "Someday, fate will bring you someone who will truly care for you and love you just as your parents and I did."

"No! You're lying! I'll be left alone! I don't want to be alone, uncle! I don't…" He let go with haste, giving Harry one simple nod of assurance.

"Happy Birthday, Harry." Harry clutched onto his sleeve tightly, yet Sirius gave one look and walked away. Harry did nothing more but let go. He knew it was all a lie.

Glancing back at the piano, he sat down idly and stared onto the name carved by its sheet stand.

Jane.

At that very moment, he knew that there was nothing left to do but play music through his whole journey in the unknown world. He knew that it was all he had left, and he very well knew it was the last thing he would treasure in his life.

Just him and that particular piano, beating the chaos and entrancing the world with their beautiful music.

--thepianist—

A/N: The prologue is finally finished. Yes, I'm using this story as a comeback. I know I've been a lousy author XDD. The first chapter, in all honesty, will be up in a day or two. For those who still need their facts straightened, this (quite obviously) is an AU fic. No magic. I repeat, NO MAGIC. Im basing this on historical events. Yes, they wear clothes from the 1940's, all up to the 1950's.The italicized part in the beginning is a flashback to 1940 (for those of you who didn't notice). This is not entirely based on the movie The Pianist. My plot is quite different from the movie's.

And yes, I'm going for Harry and Hermione. This is not a HARRY-centric fic, nor is it a songfic. I REPEAT! THIS IS NOT A SONGFIC! I hate song fics. Sorry. XD

Okay. For each chapter, I would be updating all of you with all the performances and songs I have used in the fic, so people wouldn't be reviewing to merely ask for the songs I've used.

And yes, I intentionally named the piano JANE. (hinthint)

And yeah. Harry's 19. Nyaha.

I'm guessing that's it. For those who have questions, state it in review form or message form.

T.F.D