The smattering of raindrops against her tiny kitchen window was distracting. Hermione looked up from that day's copy of the Prophet to see that the grey of the sky had only darkened from the last time she looked. Her hopes of pleasant weather that evening were smashed with finality as a cacophonous clap of thunder shook the house. She rose from her chair and made her way lazily into the living room. She placed an antique opera record given to her by her father in the aging record player that she kept on a side table near the couch. The powerful music filled the room, the sounds of the storm now a forgotten annoyance. Hermione continued to read the paper, but found that it was more than noise that had her so distracted. Ron was late.
He should have been home from work half an hour ago, and Hermione was beginning to worry that they would be late for the performance that evening. She herself had been ready for well over an hour, nervous anticipation causing her to shower and dress with time to spare.
Hermione knew that Ron's job was important. She knew that his boss was hard on him, and that as long as there was work to be done Ron was expected to do it, whether or not six o'clock came and went. Another thing that she knew, was that Ron knew how important this was to her, and if it mattered to him, the least he could do was come home in time to make it to the show. Irritated, she walked over to the window and glanced out into the rainy twilit street. Even if Ron arrived home right then, that would still only give them thirty minutes to get there and find their seats, not to mention Ron needed time to change into his tux and freshen up.
Fifteen minutes later, a sopping wet, delirious-looking Ron tumbled through the front door and into the sitting room where Hermione greeted him with cold eyes. "I'm so sorry, at work-"
"I don't really care to hear it, will you just get ready so we can go?" she cut him off abrubtly, her arms crossed over her chest.
"Right, be right back," Ron replied, walking up the stairs to their shared bathroom with a defeated frown.
After what felt like ages to Hermione, he came back down the stairs, looking surprisingly dapper in a charcoal grey tuxedo complete with silk bowtie. Despite her anger about his tardiness, she felt the excitement of a realdate creeping up on her. It seemed like life didn't give them time to go out very often. She smiled in spite of herself as she grabbed hold of his arm to apparate.
After the uncomfortable sensation passed, Hermione looked around to see that they had appeared in a secluded alley about a block from the theater. Since both muggles and wizards played in the symphony, the large auditorium would be crowded with muggles, and apparating right in front of it would attract unwanted attention. Before they started walking, Ron took her hand and cleared his throat uneasily. "I know you don't want to hear it, but I really do apologize for ruining our night," he said quietly. Hermione didn't want to admit it to herself, but the night to some extent was ruined. The symphony had started fifteen minutes ago. They would be a disruption to other spectators when finding their seats in the darkness, and she wouldn't have time to buy a program. She looked up at the now completely dark and cloudy sky, a light drizzle still falling.
"It's alright, I'm really just glad to be going," she said in a brave attempt at cheerfulness.
"You look beautiful by the way," Ron said after taking her in for a moment. Hermione was wearing a simple black evening gown that fit her slender figure tightly from its strapless top, to its flowing bottom, which reached the ground. Her hair was up in an elegant bun, but some of her shorter curls had escaped, and were dancing around her eyes in the slight wind.
"Thanks," she replied, taking his arm as they started down the cobbled road."You don't look so bad yourself."
After walking the block to the theater, Ron presented their tickets to the attendant, who proceeded to show them the way through the dark and crowded aisles to their seats. They were quite high up, but Hermione didn't mind. She liked to have a full view of the entire orchestra, even if it meant being very far away. Right then they were playing a light and jaunty piece she didn't recognize, but enjoyed nonetheless. When it ended, she joined the rest of the audience in enthusiastic applause. The players then rearranged themselves a bit, making a large space in the front and center of the stage. The most enormous grand piano Hermione had ever seen was wheeled out into the spot, and the lights on the stage dimmed as many of the players left their places and exited. The curtains swung closed, the lights in the auditorium came on, and Hermione felt her annoyance return. It was already intermission, she could hardly believe that they were this late.
She turned to find Ron looking at her with a sheepish grin. "I could go get us some drinks," he offered in a low voice, clearly worried that she would snap at any moment. Hermione merely nodded and leaned back in her chair so that he could get by. She watched his retreating back as he descended the stairs and made his way toward the concession stands outside of the cavernous room. She turned her attention to the dark curtain, wishing she could see beyond it. Everything about the musicians fascinated her, from their delicate movements while playing to their routine warmup beforehand. She herself had never been musically inclined, but she did love to sing, and had been told on the rare occasions that she built the nerve to sing in front of others, that she was quite good.
But singing isn't the same as playing an instrument, Hermione thought to herself as the curtains parted again and the players seated themselves quietly, bringing clarinets to their lips and violins to their chins.
The lights on stage slowly brightened as Ron pushed past her and into his seat, handing her a cold soda. She took a sip before placing it in the cup holder to her right, focusing intently on the stage. A tall, broad-shouldered man dressed entirely in black from head to foot was striding confidently toward the massive piano. He sat down just as the last of the auditorium's lights darkened. The string players had started a slow and tranquil piece, but Hermione was intrigued by the pianist. He had begun the piano's part, which was nothing extraordinary as of yet, but the way he executed the song was what had her staring. He was running his hands over the ivory as if the piano would be taken away from him at any given moment. Never had she seen anyone play with such a heady desire for the sound. It was as if he was caressing each key with gentle, knowing fingers.
Each new song brought Hermione a deeper fascination with the ardent pianist. The songs ranged from jolly rondos by Mozart to the doleful sonatas of Beethoven, each perfectly played by the entire orchestra. Close to what Hermione guessed must be the end of the performance the stage lights dimmed, all but one. A spotlight centered on the man at the piano as he started a solo piece, one of Hermione's personal favorites, "Nocturne in C Minor." Chopin. It was one of the most difficult songs that she knew of, not to mention one of the most mournful and moving. The man in black played it as easily as if it were a kindergarten level melody. The passion with which he played was astonishing, and by the end of the rather long piece, Hermione found that she was in tears at the sheer beauty of the music.
"Are you alright?" Ron asked her, looking alarmed.
"Of course I'm alright, that was amazing!" she sobbed, standing with the rest of the crowd to applaud the musicians as they rose from their chairs, clasped hands, and took a magnificent bow. Hermione thought that there was something familiar about the blonde-haired, pale pianist. He had an arrogant sort of swagger to his walk as he left the stage. "I wonder who he is," she murmured as she and Ron joined the throng of people climbing down the stairs and leaving the auditorium.
"Who?" he asked in confusion.
"The pianist," Hermione replied dreamily, her eyes taking one last glance at the now empty stage before she pushed through the door and into the lobby.
"No idea. I reckon his name's in the program though."
"Well I haven't got one of those, have I?" Hermione asked in exasperation. "They're sold out, we were too late to get one."
"I've already said I'm sorry," Ron replied stonily. He placed his hand on the small of Hermione's back and guided her out of the revolving glass doors and into the chilled and rainy night. "What does it matter who he is anyway?"
"I don't really know," she answered quietly. "Want to go grab a bite?"
"Sure," he said, draping an overcoat around Hermione's shivering shoulders as they stepped down the street towards a dimly lit restaurant.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
Draco sat quietly at the bar, thinking what a strange relief it was to now be a customer rather than the tired bartender. His gin and tonic sat untouched and condensating on the little napkin before him, he found himself too preoccupied to drink. He turned around and scanned over the restaurant briefly, looking for a sheen of strawberry blonde hair peeking out through the crowd.
He felt bad for lying to Astoria, but he just needed some time to himself. He had told her that he was attending an after party strictly for players of the symphony, but really he just wanted to be rid of her endless chatter for a couple of hours. He had a lot on his mind.
Draco was worried about going back to Hogwarts, worried that the ghosts of his past would be there waiting to bring back unsettling memories of the war and his past life as a Death Eater. He looked down at his left arm and felt nauseated just knowing what lay hidden behind the long sleeves that he always wore now. When Voldemort had been destroyed at last, the Dark Mark had not faded from the arms of his followers, but had established itself there as a permanent reminder of their wrongdoings. He was not sure why this happened, but his shame hung like a cloud over his head every day, and he never revealed the scar in public, no matter what the circumstances.
He could do nothing but hope that the other members of Hogwarts staff that year would welcome him as an equal, and not shun him based on his past that was exactly that: a past. It was gone and was not coming back. He wished that more people would accept this, but he still got odd glances on the street at times. He cursed his appearance for being so similar to that of his father.
Draco removed a piece of parchment from the inside of his suit pocket and unfolded it on the bar to read. As he was reading, a light and hesitant tap was felt on his shoulder and a small but clear and determined voice said, "Pardon me sir, but are you not the brilliant pianist from the performance this evening?" He turned slowly on his stool and found himself facing a beautiful woman in a floor-length black gown, with her disheveled curls up in a loose bun.
He nodded to confirm that yes, he was indeed a brilliant pianist, holding back a laugh as he realized who this was, Hermione Granger. The endlessly irritating mudblood-made-famous because of her companionship with Potter and the Weasel. Speaking of whom, Draco saw his familiarly annoying red head bobbing through the crowd to Hermione's side.
Granger's face, which had been beaming with adoration slowly dimmed to a revolted scowl. "Malfoy?" she questioned him in disbelief, her voice alarmingly loud. Her eyes were narrowed in consternation as she assessed his ebony suit, his flawless posture, realizing with disgust that there was no doubting who he was.
"Yes, Granger," Draco replied with a bored smile, "that is my name, as you have been aware for about ten years now."
"But I don't believe it! How is it possible that you could be so... so..."
"Talented? Debonair?" he finished for her, holding in a chuckle.
"Well, yes. You're... vile," she replied in a whisper.
Draco was immediately angered, he looked at Weasley to see that he was smirking but hung back a bit, obviously wanting to avoid confrontation with his former rival.
"Granger, that's no way to talk to an associate," he said smoothly, deciding politeness was the best way to handle the situation if he wanted acceptance at Hogwarts.
"Associate?" Weasley finally piped in, looking at Granger in confusion.
"I've no idea what you mean Malfoy," she replied coldly, her arms crossing over her chest as she took a step toward him. He could smell her perfume, light and flowery, reminding him unwillingly of springtime.
He handed her the parchment in his hands without reply. She began to read aloud, "Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry: Revised Staff Listing." She looked up at Draco, horrorstruck, her golden brown eyes wide. "Headmaster: Minerva McGonagall, Transfiguration: Olive Timms, Defense Against the Dark Arts: Salem Smethwyk, Potions: Horace Slughorn, Herbology: Neville Longbottom, History of Magic: Hermione Granger, Charms: Padma Patil, Care of Magical Creatures: Rubeus Hagrid, Classical Music and Music Appreciation: Draco Malfoy-"
Granger did not continue on to read the Ancient Runes, Astronomy, Divination, or Arithmancy professors, she was far too shocked by the appearance of Draco's name on the roster. Her mouth hung slack and she looked at him in astonishment. Weasley was rattling on about how good it was that some of Granger's old schoolmates as well as old professors would be there, clearly trying to calm her down but she wasn't listening. She had now collected herself and was concentrating all of her focus on glaring forcefully at Draco.
"You are going to teach at Hogwarts? A supposedly reformed dark wizard, a spoiled brat of the now humbled Malfoys?" Granger's words stung only slightly, and Draco tried hard not to honor them with words of his own. Anger was boiling inside him, why did the mudblood think she could speak to him this way? But... he understood why she was upset. Hogwarts meant a lot to these prats. Perhaps even as much as it meant to him, and they deemed him unworthy to be a part of it. If he was going to have a successful year he needed to be the better person in this isntance.
He snatched the parchment from her startled hands and turned back to the bar, taking a long gulp of his drink. He set it back down a little harder than he had meant to and the glass sent a loud clang through the room. This seemed to bring Granger back to reality, because he could hear the rustling of her dress on the floor as she grabbed Weasley and stormed out of the restaurant.
After finishing his drink, Draco placed some money on the bar and walked out into the still rainy evening. Moving to an apparition point, he turned on the spot and vanished, reappearing outside his front door. He was happy to find upon entering the house, that Astoria was not there waiting for him, and Goyle was already asleep.
He took a hot shower and thought over the night. He didn't really care what Granger's opinion of him was, but he still hoped that this was no indication of what was to come this year. He was not returning to Hogwarts to make friends, but to make music. Still, it would only complicate things to face obstinance from his coworkers and students because of his questionable past.
After changing into his favorite night clothes, he got slowly into bed, feeling the soreness in his arms from hours of practicing and strenuous play during the performance. A pang of guilt for avoiding Astoria assaulted his mind. She had not, after all, actually done anything wrong. He promised himself he would have her to breakfast the next morning before departing for Hogwarts. He stretched and yawned, trying to relax and focus on the positives. Tomorrow, he would finally be going to a place that felt like home.
*~*~*~*~*~*~*
*A/N: So what did you guys think? =) Believable encounter? Reviews welcome!