Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter; JK Rowling does.
A/N: This is not a story about the Blacks you know. The names of the characters of this story, if you're wondering, were not invented by me, though. Go check out the Black family tree (just search for it in the net) so you won't be confused. This was two or three generations back, mind.... And, this is a bit dark and tragic. Nevertheless, I do hope you enjoy reading. :)
Prologue
In the stillness of the big house, in the quiet of the rain as it patters mutedly against the windowpanes, a melody plays. It is one she easily recognizes, one she hears even in the depths of her dreams. It is one she never grows tired of hearing. Soft and gentle and soothing as the cool wind on a warm day, sweet and lush as clear, cold water to a parched throat, a lullaby to a restless soul – it is a melody that leaves her floating and falling and losing herself and finding herself – with him – all at the same time.
As she stands before the door, she hears his music, and almost, she could see him behind the closed door, his beautiful face peaceful as his hands gently caress the smooth ivory keys. She closes her eyes, losing herself into the harmony that is for her, for her alone.
A teardrop quietly falls to the ground. The music – his music – her music – fades against the silent rain as he plays the last of the bittersweet notes.