PIANO FINGERS
Chapter 1: Wildflowers
"Ginny, stop running so fast!" Harry panted, laughing as they raced through the streets. Streams of faces blurred together into patches of peach and pink and tan and brown.
"Harry stop running so slow!" Ginny said mockingly, in a squeaky-high voice that pierced the air. The effect was slightly spoilt though, by the quick gasp of air she'd taken at the end of it –Harry wasn't the only one out of breath.
"Hey, I don't sound like that!" Harry replied humorously. "Where are we going anyway?"
"Harry, don't you trust me?" Ginny said, a mock-hurt look on her face. "When have I ever failed you?" she continued, their heels squeaking slightly as they turned another corner.
Harry looked at her, a pointed look on his face. Ginny huffed. "Oh come on, it was that one –"
Another pointed look.
"Okay, so maybe it was more than just one—"
Harry looked at her in disbelief. "More than one? Ginny! You've done much more than one—"
"Hermione! There you are! We were just looking for you…"
Hermione chuckled, tickled by the two friends' behaviour. If it had been anyone else, one would clearly have thought the two to be heaven's most matched couple.
Their characters were very compatible, and both were considered as two of the wizarding world's most beautiful people.
So, of course, it had been quite a surprise to most of their family and friends to know that the two were not only not dating, but that Harry was in fact, gay.
Gay. Homosexual.
Harry had denied it for years, knowing that these people were mostly rejected in the muggle world. He'd finally admitted it when he – when he—
No. He wouldn't think about it now. He smiled, as both he and Hermione hugged each other, and rolled his eyes affectionately as the two girls started chattering nineteen to the six times dozen.
"How's Ron?" he asked, as soon as Hermione took a breath. If he didn't ask now, he was afraid he would forget.
"Oh, great," Hermione said, beaming at him. "He was coming up with some kind of new quidditch strategy when I went to see him." She rolled her eyes. "He'd forgotten to eat his lunch again."
Ginny and Harry looked at each other, amused. Both they, and the Weasleys and the Grangers all knew that the two friends were in love with each other. Only they didn't, and it was getting on all their nerves.
"I mean honestly," Hermione said, gesturing wildly with her hands like she always did. "He never had a problem like that at school! He was always gobbling away like some –some turkey!" Her hand flicked outwards, as she continued walking briskly.
Harry ducked, used to Hermione's careless flourishes and exaggerated movements.
They proceeded to enter a mini path down the side of the street, listening to Hermione's babble about Ron's past –and present –eating habits.
Finally, Harry arrived at a quaint little store, wildflowers growing in old broken pots beside the wall. A rusty iron sign hung crookedly beside the windowsill, and idly Harry wondered why the owner didn't simply cast an anti-rusting charm on it. They walked up the dusty path, Harry cautious from old experience and habits.
The creaky door swung open –Hermione seemed quite familiar with the place, she was almost waltzing into the area –and Harry's mouth dropped open.
Hundreds upon hundreds of jars and jars sat upon what seemed to be hundreds of thousands of shelves. His eyes shone with no small amount of awe as they took hold of just some of the ingredients in those jars.
Rooster's eggs, and adult snake teeth were only two of the ingredients that his emerald eyes found.
Immediately Hermione was running towards a shelf in a particularly dusty corner. Ginny sighed resignedly, and followed her.
Harry's eyes trailed after them in amusement. He wondered vaguely if there were some fire eggs here…he'd run out of them to give to the children.
Ten minutes later he'd searched what seemed like the whole store. Exhaling roughly in frustration, he noticed a slightly dark and dusty corner. Deciding to try one last time, he went to work searching through the jars and cursing the fact that there didn't seem to be any logical organization behind anything.
Finally finding the fire eggs –he snorted at the jars of slime worm eggs it'd been surrounded by –he got up from the dusty floor in relief.
He got up, the turned around, noticing a flash of light.
A machine stood at the corner of the shop.
Its colourful knobs gleamed, as little handles here and there seemed to move randomly. It was obviously run by magic –there was nobody operating it, though it looked like a muggle child's arcade machine.
"Press the red button."
Harry spun around startled. Nobody had been able to sneak up on him for years.
"Well? Aren't you going to do as I say?"
Harry looked at the old man who had spoken. He was thin, bony even, with sharp elbows and knees that seemed to stick out like a puppet's. A long messy beard hung to his knees, cut off sharply, as if he'd told the barber to use a ruler.
"Press the red button." Harry looked at him. Despite the goofy smile and almost happy-go-lucky air, there was something to that voice that Harry had to obey.
He pressed the red button.
There was a 'whoosh' and little clicks of wheels before a piece of blotting paper accompanied by a small inkpad appeared floating out of nowhere.
Harry looked at the old man, a puzzled look on his face.
"You're supposed to press your finger on the ink pad, then blot the ink."
This made no sense to Harry –wasn't blotting paper supposed to blot paper, not fingers? –but he did as instructed anyway.
He was even more bewildered when he was told to blot the inkpad and not his fingers.
Apparently, it worked however, in spite of Harry's dubious looks and secret doubts. In seconds, a piece of parchment had been spun around with curious runes sparkling haphazardly all over the place.
He'd only recognized a few before the parchment stopped spinning and unrolled in front of him –nearly hitting his nose in the process. Rainbow shimmerings settled down as he looked at the paper.
Only to find that he could see nothing.
The old man –whose name Harry still didn't know –rolled his eyes.
"You're supposed to put your finger on the paper."
Harry made as to put his ring finger on the parchment.
"No, no, the inked one!"
Harry –who was now getting a tad annoyed, stuck his index finger on the yellowed parchment.
Wine red ink spilled across the parchment in a torrent, forming words. He looked closer, and was completely astonished to see a list of facts about himself.
Favourite ice cream flavour: chocolate-chocolate and strawberry.
Favourite colour: emerald green.
Shoe size: 8
Hair Length: Getting to shoulder length.
And so on and so forth till three feet later.
He turned around slowly, only to find both Hermione and Ginny staring at him in complete and utter rapture.
It scared him.
"So, who is it?" Hermione said impatiently.
"Who's what?" asked Harry.
"Who's your matched partner?" said Ginny, exasperated. "Honestly, how dim can you get?"
"Matched partner?" Harry said incredulously. "I did a matchmaking test!" he yelled. "Why didn't you stop me!"
"Well, you seemed to want to do the test," Hermione said, shrugging. "Anyway, you can't really 'undo' he test now. I wonder why it didn't just give you your match?" she asked.
"Ah, young lady, it does not give you your answer straight away, but uses its magic to sweep over the globe for the perfect partner." The old man smiled. "It may take a while, but it is never wrong," he finished, his eyes wise and mysterious.
The three friends stepped away somewhat quietly. Until Hermione opened her mouth again, that is.
"But the sheet of facts?" Harry smiled –really, as an animagus, 'Mione would definitely be a cat.
"They are just a copy for the quiz-taker," answered the wizard, smiling. "Are there anymore questions? If not, perhaps I should check your items?" he said, pointing at the fire eggs that Harry was still juggling in one hand as well as the bundle of jars that Hermione and Ginny were cradling. Blushing a tad, they all hurriedly placed their chosen items down on the counter.
After everything was checked off and paid for, they made their way out the door, murmuring cheerful goodbyes as well as promises to come again.
When Harry arrived home that night, he looked over the list carefully, then folded it cautiously and put it into his overcoat pocket.
Far away the machine blinked exactly twenty-two dozen and forty-six times before it shut off.
It had found its answer.
Replies to Reviewers: Julia: Wow, how do you know when I update!
Radish Earrings: Thank you very much! Hope you continue to find the rest of it interesting...have you read htelast chapter of Seven Sins yet?