Disclaimer: Messrs Potter & Riddle are the intellectual property of JK Rowling. Later on, I intend to sell Riddle's diary; proceeds will be used to purchase at least the aforementioned characters.
"French? French classical music is poetry. Italian classic, passion." Harry gave a small smile, a slight upturn of the corner of the lips.
Tom raised an eyebrow as he turned to him, taking a step towards the piano, fingertips resting on wood. "And German music?"
A tentative pause. Then the boy began to play, eye lashes gradually lowering to almost rest on his cheeks as he paid tribute to Beethoven, his fingers caressing the keys in dexterous reverence while Moonlight Sonata slowly filled the room, drowning the silence, drowning Tom.
"It is poetry. It is passion. It is anger and brooding angst."
Tom licked his lips. The piano vibrated with each sound it produced. His throat felt tight; a great weight was on his chest. He watched, dizzy and mesmerized, as deft fingers worked, both languid and precise. He bit his lip and offered a silent prayer; a plea. He shuddered as stormy grey met tranquil green—the calm before the storm.
Then the music stopped and his breath got caught in his throat; Harry stared at him with a sudden intensity that matched the thumping in his chest and contrasted with the renewed silence. "Lust."
Forgive me, Herr Beethoven. Tom swallowed. Today, now, it was the boy who moved him... even more than the music.
I was requested (i.e. forced) to play Beethoven's Sonata No. 14 In C Sharp Minor, Op. 27, 2nd Movement during a family gathering. This is the result of my imaginings during those seven minutes.