The rest of the week has gone past rather uneventfully. Hermione walked up and down the same hallway but never saw the Draco's ghost again. She never met his father either, nor other people for that matter. She worked efficiently and diligently, listing ingredients, jotting down its effects to the body and ideas on potential counter potion.
As exciting as it all may seem, it was not without the danger it presented. Twice, she almost burnt her fingers to ashes. Luckily the only wound she nursed at the moment was a small graze that ran from the back of her middle finger to her wrist. She already tried using various healing spells, but she already knew it wouldn't work. What she really needed was a healing salve and a couple of herbs. She already rummaged through the cupboards in the vast room and to no surprise there wasn't any. Somehow it was hard to imagine Dark wizards keeping healing salves in their work area.
As she still refused to call upon a house elf, she showed herself out, opting to go home instead.
On her way to the Floo Room, she heard a soft voice humming a familiar tune. Her mother used to sing it to her. As she started to walk in its direction, a piano melody accompanied it. Even with the single notes, the playing was unsure and all over the place. She was suddenly taken to her childhood.
Hermione was no piano genius, but she had started playing young. Her mother insisted that she learnt the instrument. There had been a few tantrums along the way but if there was anyone more stubborn than she, it was her mother.
She never understood why she had to until the week before she was to travel to Hogwarts.
Her parents took the day off to bring her to the cemetery. It was not the one where either of her grandparents was laid to rest; it was one just right around the corner from where they lived.
Hermione followed wordlessly amongst the well-used path, carrying a white tulip. She paused when her parents did, in front of a headstone that read:
Timothy Granger
January 1986
A life yet lived,
Songs unsung,
Forever Remembered,
Forever Loved.
'This is your older brother, Hermione.' Her mother had said, as she laid her tulip down the ground. She looked solemn as her dad held her in his arms, it was all Hermione could do not to break down and cry in front of the brother she will never meet.
'I've always wanted you to learn this piano piece called Pathetique,' She heard her mother say a bittersweet smile in her face, 'it was the only song I would ever listen to whilst I was pregnant with him… and you actually.'
Her father gave a weak laugh at this, 'Oh, you should have seen your mother when I accidentally broke the player!' he shuddered exaggeratedly, 'It was not a pretty sight, I could tell you that!'
Hermione smiled with tears threatening to pour out of her eyes as she enveloped her parents into a hug.
The music has led her to a rather large sitting room. Large windows allowed the sunlight to stream in. It provided a picturesque background to the beautiful grand piano and the unassuming player.
He had his back to her as he heaved a frustrated sigh. It was apparent that he was a beginner. His playing was awkward, but he was diligent at least. After getting the notes wrong, he tried again and again.
It took Hermione a few more frustrated sighs, mutterings before recognising the player.
Impossible.
She wondered if she was seeing things again. This Draco Malfoy was light years away from what she had seen in the hallway days ago, and certainly a whole universe further from Malfoy the school bully. The top half of his hair was tied up in a messy ponytail, but some of his fringe still escaped. She subconsciously tucked hers in her ear.
She looked down at the clothing he wore and did not no whether to be shocked or to be amused. From where she was stood, he reminded her of her Dad on lazy days when he did not work. He wore sleeping robes over what seemed to be plaid pyjamas, and fluffy slippers.
Fluffy slippers! Draco Malfoy was wearing fluffy slippers!
Before she could stop herself, she gasped, earning a curious look from the man himself.
'Yes, I'd imagine I would have the same expression if saw myself play.' He grinned sheepishly.
She tried stringing words in her mind, but even that seemed impossible. She felt her cheeks grow hot, as she looked down the floor.
'Well, this is embarrassing.' He spoke again after an awkward silence.
Fussing over her glasses to avert looking him in the eyes, she said, 'I-I'm sorry, Mr Malfoy.' She really was. She felt like she was invading his privacy, and Merlin knows she hated that herself.
'Oh, don't be,' he casually waved off as he took his cup of coffee from the tea table next to the piano, 'I am though. You had to witness my awful, awful playing!'
She smiled at this. It felt weird. She had not used some of those muscles for quite a while. She was not one to strike up a conversation but for some reason-maybe it was the friendliness he evoked, or maybe the way he flapped his arms as he deprecated his own playing- she had asked before she could stop herself:
'What made you start playing?'
The carefree grin had left his face in place of sad smile as he said the two words she had not expected to from him.
'My wife.'
Wow. A wife, she thought.
Everyone seemed to have moved on apart from her.
A/N. none of my follows are updating, so I'm updating instead. Lol. As usual, any indication that you read this fic gets me going:D e-mails about reviews and follows makes me so giddy!
-nikki
