Chapter 27 – Melody & Magic
A/N: I have some post notes that expand on some of the subjects I introduced in this chapter.
As always, all errors are my own. - delphicpigeon
Hermione stayed in late the following morning as thick trails of rain running down the window. The beautiful weather had broke, making way for heavy rains and thick mist. There would be no gardening today. She rolled over onto her side, taking in the bright kaleidoscope of colors radiating from her bedside. Several ribbons were carelessly strewn on the floor while the flower crown rested on the bedside table. Hermione had cast a Stasis Charm on them, determined to keep their lovely memory alive.
She smiled tenderly at the blossoms. Below them sat the moonstone brooch that Draco had gifted her last night. She had been absolutely flabbergasted at the gesture. Her heart swelled as she recalled the earnest look he had given her when pinning the lovely piece of jewelry to her dress. His fingertips had brushed against the lines of her collarbone and she had struggled to retain control of her breathing. Thankfully, the Tein-egen had masked the heat and flush that had accompanied.
They had sat in comfortable silence as the fire crackled and popped, slowly reducing itself to a glowing bed of embers. Every once in a while she'd risk a glance at Draco, hoping to catch another unexpected expression on his features. He had been so vulnerable earlier that she had been caught off guard. She didn't think him capable of such emotional displays. Each time, his eyes darted away from hers, a cool mask slipping on.
As the night burned, images begin to flood her mind. Images that had slowly begin to slip into her dreams while asleep and intrude on her thoughts when awake. Flashes of her fingers threaded in his long hair, of his thumb being dragged against her bottom lip, and the feel of his body pressed against hers. No matter how hard she tried to purge these thoughts from her mind, they came rushing back with a heart racing intensity.
Maybe, she had thought with a breathless sigh as she touched the brooch once more, this is real.
A burst of lightning pulled her from her thoughts as it lit up the room, followed by a deep boom of thunder that rattled the cottage. Stretching with a grunt, she stood and walked over to the window and watched the trees sway in the strong winds. She always had her filled of rain-soaked days at Hogwarts, but powerful storms weren't as common and she reveled in the power of them. As a child, she would sit and watch the thin streaks of light weave their way across the sky. She loved the smell of the air right before a storm, that deep musky scent of thick earth. How the clouds could be so many swirls of gray, blue, and purple as they pushed across the sky. She gave a small sigh as she pushed the window open, letting in a rush of air. She inhaled deeply, the scents of rain and mud filling her senses.
She lifted her hand to capture the falling rainwater, the cool water pooling in her palm. Gusts of warm air pushed through her hair, curling around her neck. She could feel the hum of electricity in the air, so similar to the frenzied whisper of her own magic. She smiled into the sensation as it reminded her of a bit of research she had come upon while studying Beltane: weather magic.
Weather magic had been more of a Muggle-based perception of regular magic, but some parts were rooted in actually magical abilities. She had found that a good portion of weather magic focused heavily on Divination, a branch of magic she found to be superfluous and silly. But the wizarding lore of using weather magic to assist Muggles during times of drought, famine, and other natural disasters had been a prevalent theme in many readings.
A wizard or witch proficient in weather-based magic could call up the winds or bind the power of a storm, interestingly known as stormcraft. Stormcraft was considered Gray Magic as it was volatile and unpredictable. If a storm were improperly cast or bound, widespread flooding and destruction could persist. Many had turned to a life on the sea, using their stormcraft abilities to commandeer travels between lands. She found it interesting that despite using winds and weather, this was not elemental magic. It wasn't control of the air or water itself, but rather a manipulation of the surrounding environment.
This type of magic had been both a boon and a curse for wizarding kind. It had garnered respect, leading centuries of magic-based societies where Muggles and magical folk had co-existed, albeit as perceived gods and goddesses such as the Egyptians and Assyrians. On the other hand, it had been one of the many reasons that had eventually brought about the Statute of Secrecy when a misguided or vindictive witch or wizard failed to keep their magical promises. This led to the downfall of civilizations, wars, and witch hunts. As much as Hermione hated having to hide her abilities, she understood why. Many centuries of persecution had left a foul taste in the wizarding world's mouth.
Turning her wrist, the water poured out to rejoin the rest of the falling rain and she turned back towards the room. Bending down, she collected all the ribbons and tucked them away in the armoire. Changing into a soft charcoal dress, she gave the moonstone brooch a final appreciative glance before walking downstairs.
The rains lasted for several weeks, forcing Draco and Hermione to remain inside. Every once in a while, they'd break up the monotony and move their studies to a new location. Draco was immensely satisfied that he had chosen to cast a Water-Repelling Charm on the gazebo, allowing them to sit without getting soaked. They had both raced through the rain towards the gazebo, struggling to keep their Levitation and Water-Repelling spells in effect.
Once inside the gazebo, Draco had admired the flush on her cheeks as she cast a Drying Spell on the hem of her cloak. Wild strands of her hair escaped as she pulled back her hood, despite being pulled into a thick braid. He noticed she had threaded a thin ribbon of silver throughout the braid, a new grooming habit she appeared to have taken to since Beltane. The effect was alluring, a brief flash of color. Each day, he'd try and guess what color she would wear next. He noticed that the colors seemed to shift with her mood. He had a theory that silver meant she was particularly in tune with the moon. She didn't wear it often and if he remembered correctly he hadn't seen that color since Beltane, the last full moon. Another full moon was approaching, as well as his 18th birthday. He decided to test the theory as they settled into their seats.
"Too bad the rain will obscure tonight's full moon. It's the Buck Moon correct?" he questioned, hoping she'd catch his intentional mistake.
"No, that's the moon for July. June's is the Strawberry Moon." She responded with a shake of her head, "Speaking of which, how are our strawberries coming along?"
"Nearly ready for harvest, if this blasted rain ever lets up." He answered, looking towards the nearby stream.
Its banks had nearly overflowed, swollen with the constant stream of water from above. A few more days and it could begin spilling over towards the cottage and garden. If that happened, he'd have to erect some sort of Water-Repelling wall around the garden or dig a bypass trench.
Turning back to Hermione, he resumed his questioning.
"Are you sure? I think it's a bit ridiculous that June is the Strawberry Moon," he declared with a false haughty air, "My birthday shouldn't be associated with strawberries, seems a bit unfitting if you ask me."
"Your birthday!?" she exclaimed, "Please tell me we didn't miss your birthday!"
Draco struggled to contain his laughter at the panic stricken look on her face, he coughed quickly to hide the outburst.
"No, we didn't." he explained with a snort as visible relief washed across her face, "It's tomorrow."
Now Gryffindors, he knew, were absolute shite at hiding their emotions. But at the vivid look of utter horror and anxiety that settled on her face was too much for Draco to ignore. He let out a bark of laughter, effectively startling her.
"Tomorrow!?" she squeaked out, "Why didn't you tell me?"
"It's not important and I don't particularly care for them anyways." He answered simply.
She sputtered indignantly at his response.
"Why ever not?" she asked bewildered, playing with a loose strand of her braid.
"Because on my last birthday, I was branded."
She quickly dropped her braid in surprise as a deep flush crawled up her cheeks.
"That was incredibly insensitive of me." She spoke softly, "How could I have forgotten?"
He waved her concern off, trying to steer the conversation back to a lighter subject.
"No matter now. I don't have the damned thing anymore." He sniffed.
She puffed up, setting her shoulder straight with a determined look on her face.
"Well we'll just need to create a better memory for your birthday. Just like I did with Beltane to replace that horrible night in February." She finished with a shudder.
"That really isn't necessary." He began, "This place and my current state of affairs is better than any other gift I could receive."
"Truly?" she ventured, tilting her head, "You like being here?"
Draco, being the Slytherin that he was, wasn't about to spill his feelings right then and there.
"What do you think?" he contended, content to let her wander about the implications of his meaning.
After the afternoon light dimmed and they could no longer see properly, Hermione and Draco packed up their notes and headed back inside. While Draco prepped a light dinner, she rushed up the stairs to the upstairs landing. Since their conversation where he had revealed his impending birthday, she had barely been able to focus on their studies.
What does one get Draco Malfoy, one of the wealthiest wizards in Britain, she wondered with alarm.
She had wracked her brain, trying to think of something that would be appropriate and meaningful when she had suddenly recalled an image from a book she had perused earlier. It had been of a golden music box with an ornate bluebird, sumptuously covered in mother of pearl, emeralds, and guilloché enamel. It had been during at the discovery of mechanically powered trinkets, finely wrought gifts meant to delight royalty and the upper echelons of aristocratic society. Since the Malfoy family occupied the top rung of magical society, she felt a snort of satisfaction at potentially providing such a gift. However, she wanted to make the gift a little more personal than just an appeal to Malfoy's assumed expensive tastes. She decided to transfigure a music box similar to the one she had seen, but instead of a bluebird, she'd make a copy of Hugo. The bird had visited every once in a while, hopping about and chirping brightly. More often than not, she'd hide in the shadows while Draco conversed animatedly with the little creature. The sight brought her much happiness and after every discussion, Hugo would fly over, give her single chirp before flying back into the safety of the trees.
Grabbing the book, she flipped through the various designs contained inside. She eventually decided to do a simple box shape etched in a filagree similar to the design of the brooch, effectively tying the two pieces together. Transmutation, a sister magic of transfiguration, was decidedly more difficult to cast. Alchemy was a rare magic, only truly understood by a handful of wizards. Most noticeably, the Peverell Brothers and Nicholas Flamel, famously known for the Philosopher's Stone. Hermione knew what magic she was casting would only be an imitation of the precious metals and gems, but she hoped Malfoy would ignore that little tidbit. Marking her favorite design, she set to work with a focusing breath.
An hour later left her panting on the floor, covered in sweat. She had known the risk of using so much magic but had felt the final result was worth the effort. Sitting back, she fixed the gilt box with an exhausted smile. It was roughly five inches long, three inches deep, and two inches tall. The box itself was golden with matching floral swirls decorating each edge. On top, a matching oval lid was folded upright inlaid with a robin-egg blue guilloché enamel. In the center of the oval was a single red rose, for his mother. In front of the rose, sat a replica of Hugo. The bird's body sparkled brightly in the light, a mixture of precisely cut topaz, ruby, onyx, citrine, and pearl. Or rather imitations of such precious gemstones. Hermione had tried her best to recreate Hugo's coloration with jewels that matched the decadence of the golden box. She had been quite impressed at how beautifully the stones had shone, almost convinced they were the real deal.
Reaching towards the box, she flicked the delicate switch that activated her favorite part of the box. She watched the false Hugo intently and held her breath as the miniature clogs begin turning. The bird's figure twitched briefly before it begin to twirl effortlessly around the oval designed track, its small mechanical wings flapping gently as their beak opened and closed with silent clicks. Gently, a swirling melody drifted from the box. The beginning notes of a Russian-style waltz floated from its core, starting delicate and otherworldly before it built into a frenzied and spirited peak. Hermione's eyes closed slowly as she swayed slightly to the thrum of the song. She had magically enhanced the sound with the crashing symbols, operatic voice accompaniments, and the haunting thrums of the string sections. She felt her fingers move automatically, old muscle memory from many piano lessons as a child. Her parents had insisted that she learn at least some level of appreciation for the classics. She hadn't been a prodigy by any means, but she had practiced hard and developed a keen sense of respect for the commitment required. The final notes faded and her eyes opened as her bottom lip begin to quiver.
Her parents. Sweet Circe, how she missed them. Looking at the little box in front of her, she knew they'd both be incredibly proud of the model. Her father for the ingenuity of the design, her mother for the song selection. Both had admired the pure opulence and renaissance of the Romanov dynasty. As the evocative music poured from their stereo, as a young child, Hermione had watched her parents waltz in their living room while they laughed in delight. Blinking back the tears that threatened to spill over, she pushed the memory down and gently push the lid of the music box shut with a sad sniff. Releasing another sigh, she wrapped the gift up with a piece of unassuming cloth and set it on the bedside. Giving it once last look, she ventured downstairs to join Draco for dinner. Tomorrow, she'd give Draco his birthday present and she fervently hoped it could say what her heart and her mind refused to say out loud:
That somewhere deep down inside, he had become just as important to her as the memories of her parents.
Post A/N: The song in this chapter is "Waltz by Eugen Doga". Stormcraft/weather magic is a specific type of magic. Some folks have an inherent connection or are fine-tuned to weather/natural phenomena. Those wishing to study this branch of magic, please do so with an abundance of caution. Weather can be unpredictable and deadly, both in a physical and magical sense. Guilloché is a decorative technique in which a very precise, intricate, and repetitive pattern is mechanically engraved into an underlying material via engine turning, which uses a machine of the same name, also called a rose engine lathe. This mechanical technique improved on more time-consuming designs achieved by hand and allowed for greater delicacy, precision, and closeness of line, as well as greater speed. The inventor of guilloche is unknown, but this method was used most notably by Peter Carl Fabergé on the Faberge eggs and other pieces from the 1880s (paraphrased from Wikipedia).