And as I watched him on the stage
My hands were clenched in fists of rage
No angel born in Hell
Could break that Satan's spell
And as the flames climbed high into the night
To light the sacrificial rite
I saw Satan laughing with delight
The day the music died.
It was a bizarre twist in the life of Percy Ignatius Weasley, Gryffindor House, Prefect in Fifth and Sixth Years, Head Boy in Seventh Year, Court Scribe to the Wizengamot, Personal Assistant to the Minister of Magic... that his knees became weak and his heart pounded at the sound of a simple piece of music.
A Muggle composition, even.
When he was alone, he liked to sing along with it. But of course, he'd be mortified if anyone knew that. Anyone except Penny, of course, who was there when he first heard the song.
He remembered that day perfectly. A party rained out, all the guests huddled in the garage, one girl with a guitar. Singing. Her voice uncertain, hesitant, but with clarity. She was word-perfect, and well-practiced at her instrument of choice. For a moment, he could forget about the rain and cold, only think about the song and the woman of his dreams. The shy, youngMuggle-born witch playing the guitar.
Penelope Clearwater.
Ever since then, he found it hard not to feel personally affected by the tune. His first kiss was to the opening verse. The first time he told Penny he loved her -- he could still hear Don McLean's voice in his ear, whispering that "this'll be the day that I die".
It was quite a melancholy song to hold so dearly. But in a sense, that suited him. It hid a consistently melancholy message behind a pace that changed, emphasizing happiness, sadness, sweet revenge, anger...
Rather like Percy, really.
Rather like his relationship, really.