More than Tchaikovsky 's Romance
By E. Caddy Compson (persephoneia)
Summary
Hermione stumbles upon the room of requirement while finishing off her patrolling rounds.
A very surprised Snape finds her there, with... a piano?! A story of how music can bewitch
the mind and ensnare the senses... HG/SS
Author's Note
Thanks for your reviews. And now, the lovely chapter two, which focuses on Severus and
why I had to include some of the seemingly unnecessary drabble in the first chapter. I do
draw a lot of parallels with the last chapter in this one, so it may seem a tad repetitive, but
it does serve a purpose. No major plot developments this chapter, just more spotlighting
the windmills of the potions master's mind. Read on and enjoy, and please leave me a
review and let me know what you think :)
Next update should be in a week or sooner, depending on the reviews... (and how long it takes
me to finish up my college applications)
I do extend my apologies in advance, as the formatting here has me a tad bit confuzzled.
I will try to fix that as soon as I can...
Chapter I, Part 2: A Surprise of Grand Proportions
Late Fall, 1997
Steps resounded through the dungeon corridors. Billowing black robes contrasted
not too sharply with the dim surroundings, scarce few torches in this area of the castle, and
certainly no windows to aid matters.
The sweeping eyes of the potions master quickly spotted the lanky blond sauntering
across the hall.
That couldn't be right.
He approached the young man.
"Mister Malfoy," he said, in silky tones, the likes of which were infamous for
captivating attention, if just above a whisper.
The seventh year prefect had turned, in a manner not unlike that of the former
Death Eater, robes swirling about, to face the man. A nervous property crossed the young
man's features for a fraction of a second, before he replaced the mask of indifference and
languor that had come to personify him.
"Yes, Professor," he lightly drawled.
"What," he asked, "may I ask, are you doing around the dungeon corridors at this
time?"
The answer, of course, was obvious. Severus Snape would have had to be a fool not
to have overheard the loudly voiced complaints of his pseudo-star pupil. Patrol duty on a
Friday night was a thing quite scorned by Prefects and Heads, but when it combined a
certain snarky blond Slytherin with a quick witted wavy haired Gryffindor, the results could
be explosive.
"Prefect duty," the young man had answered, a tad too quickly than would have
been expected, and with a slight catch at the first syllable that meant that there was more
to the situation than met the eye.
"Really, Mister Malfoy?" the professor rejoined. "Then why is it you are
unaccompanied in your patrol?"
There was a hesitation. It was a thing that would be sure to cause the boy much
pain had he been under the interrogation of the Dark Lord, and they both knew it, but the
young man failed to admit to or acknowledge.
"Granger figured we could cover more ground this way," he drawled.
'Ah yes, blame it all on the Gryffindor,' thought Severus, masking his amusement.
"Go to the Common Room, Mister Malfoy," he said, "and don't let it happen again."
Draco Malfoy nodded his response, and walked away, in the direction of the wall that
was the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room.
Eyes of obsidian narrowed as a smirk seldom seen on any but a Slytherin briefly
graced the features of the Potions Master.
Taking his wand from his pocket once more, he headed for the upper floors of the
castle. He was looking forward to deducting, say, fifty House Points from Gryffindor,
looking forward to the confrontation with Minerva McGonagall over detention given to Little-
Miss-Perfect, Potter's Princess, the insufferable know-it-all who had tormented him for far
too long. Oh, this night would turn out better than he'd imagined.
Severus Snape was certain he'd missed her, certain the little bushy-haired hellion
had crept off to Gryffindor Tower already, certain his hopes for good fun and torment had
been dashed to bits, when he heard it.
He likely would not have noticed the sound, would likely have thought it to be a
product of his own mind, or mistaken it for something else, had it not been for his years of
work and the keen concentration he was so accustomed to putting into everything, not only
spying, but potion-making as well.
Piano notes graced the air with a fluid elegance the likes of which he'd not heard in a
great many years. The conclusion of Beethoven's Ninth Symphony was followed by a brief
pause, and then... Romance. Tchaikovsky.
Where was the noise coming from? It was a truly beautiful melody, chords
combining with choice notes to form a true masterpiece. Something to truly bewitch the
mind and ensnare the senses indeed.
He followed the noise, down the seventh floor hallway, turning a corner, through
another corridor, before seeing it.
At the end of the hall stood an oaken door ajar, a ribbon of flickering light visible
along its rightmost edge, musical notes escaping through what probably should have been a
soundproof door.
He crept closer stealthily, noiselessly opening and shutting the door, silently moving
into the shadows. The sight that met him there was one to make the mouth so often turned
into a sneer form a small o, if not send his jaw crashing to the floor.
In the large, warm, pleasant room, all the way at the back, past a large square floor
panel of wood, there was a concert grand piano. Likely nine feet in length, a nice size,
obsidian in color, shining as though recently polished, it was, although that was not what
had surprised him.
What had stunned the potions master had been the young lady seated at the bench
of the instrument, playing a waltz at the moment, and from this distance he could observe
the quick movements of slender fingers across the keyboard.
She sat straight, occasionally moving her head just so, in an attempt to persuade the
wavy russet tendrils to settle behind her shoulders, and at this site, he felt himself fighting
the amused upturning at the corners of his mouth.
Her feet were moving on the pedals, in a graceful manner, and then there were her
fingers. No unnecessary movement took place; everything had a purpose, a fluid
refinement about the unique style that was this young woman's own.
Then that ghost had appeared.
Sorry excuse for a beheaded phantom that he was, he had startled the playing
pianist, bringing the melodious playing to a stop.
It was then that the bumbling Gryffindor Ghost had spoken. "So sorry. Please do
continue, Hermione. You play quite lovely, actually," he looked up past her, and right at the
potions master, a flicker of surprise passing over his features, apparently unnoticed by the
young woman at the bench.
Nearly Headless Nick did not mention his presence there, likely for fear of the Bloody
Baron, the ghost of Slytherin House, but was brought to attention when the young girl
asked him to dance.
Severus had seen her briefly charm the piano, a practice not uncommon in the
wizarding world, easily achieved and practical for light entertaining, where the main purpose
was relentless chatter or, of course, dancing. What was uncommon had been her musical
choice, fifteenth century, it sounded, likely Lassus or a close contemporary; it was in that
style, in any event.
The young girl had twisted her hair up in a somewhat sloppy manner atop her head,
using what appeared to be her wand to hold it in place. He raised an inky brow at this,
making a note to berate her for it later.
Having reached the center of the dance floor, the ghost and girl had proceeded to
dance, and yet it would seem like so much more.
Twirling, smiling, giggling, laughing, round and about, spinning, stepping, dipping
she went, knee length black skirt flowing around her in a manner as would be expected
beneath water, seemingly in slow motion. She looked something serene, swirling supplely
on her feet, occasionally missing the intended position, based on that of her counterpart,
but not frequently, and certainly less often than was to be expected, given the situation.
It was surely something more graceful than Severus Snape would have pictured.
Indeed, he had never connected music with the girl in front of him now. Her persona, her
manner of presenting herself, her priorities... It was something that surprised him, and
Severus Snape was not easily surprised.
And those notes ringing through the air...
Amoroso, Anello, Gelosia, Petit Reinse, Rostiboli Gioioso, Ballo del Fiori, Bransle
Aridan, Washerwomen's Bransle, Return of Spring...
He continued to survey the scene before him silently from the shadows, frowns
crossing his features now and then as he attempted to piece together all the pieces of the
puzzle before him, scathing scrutiny surfacing, though he did not voice it.
Hermione Granger was a plain sort of girl, really. She was of average height and a
tad lanky, truth be told, more willowy than curvaceous. Her face was not something
remarkably memorable, (neither for its beauty or lack thereof, the latter point one would
find difficult to have any Slytherin in their right mind admit to) though it possessed that
subtle classic charm that was difficult to place. Her eyes were not of brilliant azure, or
glistening emerald, or even hazel, but a dark brown, the same as her hair, not blonde or
red, but russet instead, though its long length was something of note, if ever mild. She had
let it grow out, so that it reached nearly her waist, the mass of frizz and curls that had
previously resembled something close to a bird's nest clearly weighed down by the action,
and settling down, just enough to appear human.
Severus bit back a chuckle at this thought, and once again noted the wand holding
the mass of chestnut in place, a scowl setting in.
'Perhaps the buck-teeth and bushier mane were somehow connected to brain
activity,' he mused, crossing his arms and making a move to approach the dancing duo
ahead of him.
As he neared, however, the music faded, song ending as the Gryffindor ghost and
head girl slowed and ceased their movements.
Flushed cheeks flaring rosy, breath quickened, white oxford shirt rumpled, toffee
tendrils of wavy hair spilling from the mass of curls fastened to her crown, the girl smiled
warmly at her dance partner.
"That was wonderful, Sir Nicholas," she said.
"The pleasure was all mine, Hermione," the ghost replied, before fading away
abruptly.
That beaming on the girl's face quickly faded, an audible gasp emitted by lips parted
in surprise, color quickly draining from her blanching face, as auburn eyes widened in
trepidation.
For the first time that evening, the presence of Severus Snape was realized by
Hermione Granger. And for the first time in a long time, the astute potions master failed to
realize something: he was applauding her efforts. Not a roaring clapping, or even fervent,
but polite and reserved, not quite so slow to indicate mockery, indeed the closest he ever
came to commending the efforts and talents of another.
Author's Note
I hope my readers have found this to their liking. Please be sure to let me know what you
thought... Come on, submit a review!! You know you want to!!
Seriously, though: let me know what you thought, any suggestions you might have,
constructive criticism is welcome, too :) Let me know what I can do to make my writings
more enjoyable.
By E. Caddy Compson (persephoneia)