Only two reviewers, so this will be a short A/N... Draccy was
my super-quick reviewer. SelenityPotter, I'm very excited that
you're enjoying this story! Thanks for your reviews. I was
going to hold out for more, but decided to give up and just post the
next chapter for my two reviewers. This one's a bit short (okay,
it's very short)...think of it as a transition chapter. The next
one's longer, I promise.
Still don't own anything 'cept that jacket. Please read and review!
Aimes (who's just a tiny bit put out that only two loyal readers gave her reviews...okay, I'm being a brat now; I'll stop)
Hermione returned to her room and cast a quick spell to make her hair and eyebrows brown once more. She changed quickly into jeans and a fitted t-shirt, pulling a black blazer over it. Moments after she'd finished pulling on her boots, there was a knock on the door. She grabbed a book, flipping it open to a random page, and settled on the bed.
"Come in," she called. Harry and Ron entered and sat on her bed excitedly.
"Wow, 'Mione, you won't believe what you missed!" Ron exclaimed. "There was a guy and a girl and they were doing moves that were unreal!"
"It was really awesome," Harry agreed. "He almost threw her through a window! They were unbelievably good."
"Who was better?" she asked curiously.
"I dunno really," Ron said thoughtfully. He looked at Harry, brow furrowed.
"I think they were pretty equally matched. I mean, they weren't trying to kill each other, so you can't really say who was better, can you? In any case, you should've come."
"Well, I've watched enough of those annoying kung-fu movies with my dad to know that it probably wouldn't interest me," Hermione said with a smile.
"Nothing athletic ever does," Ron pointed out. "So what are you doing this weekend? It's a Hogsmeade weekend…you're going, right?"
"No, actually, there are some things I need to finish here. I'll try to Apparate over and meet you at some point, okay?"
"You work too hard, 'Mione," Harry argued. "Take some time off."
"It's not work I'm finishing," she said with a laugh. "I'm meeting with an old friend to discuss music. My harp needs to be re-strung."
"I forgot you even played an instrument," Ron said. "You never talk about it."
"It's been awhile since I really played. But it's nice to keep the harp in good condition. You never know when the urge will strike." She grinned.
"How long have you played it, anyways? You never even mentioned it until last year," Ron noted.
"Oh I started when I was a kid. I never took to it though. Not even worth mentioning," she said lightly.
Ron snorted. "Figures you'd fail to mention the one thing you don't excel at."
"I can't fly either," she pointed out. All three of them laughed at this.
"Well, we'll see you later then," Harry said quietly. "We're skipping lunch and leaving right now. Have fun, 'Mione."
They both gave her a quick kiss on the cheek before leaving, shutting the door behind them. Hermione waited till she no longer heard their voices and stood quickly. She grabbed her bag, which she'd shoved under the bed and put it on her bed. She would leave at lunch, when no one would be in the halls. Her mind touched on her conversation with Ron and Harry.
"Well it wasn't a total lie," she mumbled. "After all, until we discovered the Room of Requirement in our fifth year, I really hadn't played in awhile. Wallet, keys, makeup, notebook," she muttered to herself, checking the items in her bag. She slung it over her shoulder and checked the clock. Everyone should be either in Hogsmeade or at lunch by now. Her eyes flickered slightly as she thought of the meeting she had at three o'clock.
Norman Leaver had not contacted her in nearly three years so the request for a late lunch meeting had come as a surprise. She'd cleared it with Dumbledore as a personal request on Thursday, in return for conducting the demonstration with Snape.
Hermione glanced over at her bed, where Snape's shirt and robe were carefully folded. The shirt had been soft linen, and the robe lined with satin. She probably would not have pegged him as a sensualist but then she did recall him having exacting tastes and well-developed sense of refinement. The shirt had been clean and smelled like soap, but the faint scent of sage and cedarwood clung to the robe. She frowned to herself and halted the train of thought, deciding it was time to go.
Hermione left her room silently and proceeded carefully and surreptitiously to the edge of the grounds, where she Disapparated with a crack, appearing in her parents' living room in London. They were away for the weekend, as usual. Neither of them had been much of a presence in Hermione's life, and she had more or less raised herself while at the same time pushing herself to excellence just to grab their attention and make them proud. After the war, however, she'd begun to realize that excellence was something she needed to do for herself and no one else, just as she had always done in music.
In any case, she felt free to come and go as she wished and use the house when it suited her. She'd long ago put most of her possessions into storage on the pretense of 'clearing up space' but mainly because the thought of her parents snooping into her things annoyed her to no end.
She left the house, locking it behind her, and mounted the motorcycle she'd bought years ago. It was a slightly beaten up Ducati but it ran like a dream and she'd been happy for any sort of transport. Freedom, she'd discovered, was a valuable commodity when she visited her parents. Especially when one was not permitted to use their magic. Within twenty minutes she'd arrived at the café they'd agreed upon. Her eyes narrowed as she spied Norman at a table in the corner, and she strode over to sit down.
"Hello Norman," she greeted.
"Hi, Hermione!" He exclaimed. "How are you? I like the hair!"
"Doing fairly well, thanks. I thought you were searching for treasure off the coast of Africa."
"I was in town and decided to come see you." Norman settled back into his chair. He was small and stocky, with blond hair, blue eyes, and perpetual schemes.
"You heard I'm up for the Eternal Harpist," she corrected. "So you decided to sell me a treasure-hunting adventure."
"You'd be rich, Hermione," he promised.
"I said no when I received the other Harpists, why would I say yes now?" she sighed. That was how they'd met: he'd approached her with a treasure-hunting proposal when she'd been given the Silver Harpist. Though she'd refused flat out, they had struck up an odd sort of friendship. And based on what she'd learned when researching the pendants, Norman was definitely out of his league. Powerful magic and Muggles never mixed.
"Because you can go for broke this time and get the Dream," he replied, nearly salivating.
"There's not even any guarantee that I'll be awarded the Harpist," she noted. "Other musicians were up for it."
"Get off it, Hermione. You're practically a legend in the field. A prodigy. It was never a matter of whether you'd get it but when you'd decide to go for it. Besides, the only other person up for it was Gina Gray, and she's a novice compared to you. Check your mailbox—you have a letter asking if you want a formal ceremony to receive it. Come on, Hermione, only a musician with an Eternal pendant can access the temple complex where the Dream is kept."
"Only a musician with an Eternal pendant could use the Dream. Look, Norman, I don't want the Chord of Dreams. I never have. I never will. I suggest you wait for someone as money grubbing as yourself to get an Eternal pendant or steal it from someone."
"You and I both know that you can't steal the pendant. Only its owner can use it," he said glumly. "There must be some sort of DNA lock on it."
"Maybe it's magic," she teased. "I have to go…I'll think about it. Good luck." She shook his hand and exited the café. Her brow was furrowed slightly as she mounted the Ducati once more, pulling on her helmet and taking off. She'd known Gina Gray was up for the Harpist, but for Norman to have mentioned her meant that he'd approached her. Hermione worried that if she had not been selected to receive the amulet, the two Muggles might choose to seek it on their own. Then it became a matter of damage control…she began to wonder if she should ask for help from Dumbledore or another professor. But the time it would take to explain everything would be time lost, and if Gina received the Harpist, she and Norman would be gone by sunset.
With these worrisome thoughts swirling through her head, Hermione went to the post office. Once there, she took a deep breath and checked her box. A single letter rested within, written on expensive stationery.
Miss Hermione Granger:
It is my pleasure to inform you that you have been selected as the recipient of the Eternal Harpist. You are the youngest examinee ever selected. Vasili would have been proud. I hope you believe me when I say that your talent and grace were inspiring to behold. The harpist has been created and inscribed. It is our wish that you receive it in a formal ceremony, however that will be your choice. Please call me at your convenience.
--Antonin Leoretti
Hermione smiled as she re-read it. Leoretti had been the difficult examiner. Relief suffused her and her grin became positively silly as she used her cell phone to call the contact number he'd provided.
"Hello? This is Hermione Granger." She laughed easily as she arranged for a small informal wine gathering at the studio where she'd played for him.
"Tonight is perfect, Signor Leoretti. Ah, I'm the last to RSVP? And here I thought that I was the reason for the party, not an excuse to hold one," she teased. "No, no, tonight really is fine. Thank you so much." Hermione closed her cell phone and walked out with a bounce in her step, never noticing the blonde girl watching her with narrowed green eyes.
At six thirty p.m., Hermione exited her parents' house, wearing a black dress that swirled around her curves and stopped several inches above the knee. The dress was a classic cut—lucky, since it was one she'd bought two years ago. Then again, she doubted there would be too many fashion mavens in attendance, and the dress was flattering. She'd opted to go without jewelry and had pinned her hair up, not bothering with the curls that escaped. She had not bothered to change her hair color, and her toenails and fingernails were painted to match. Her makeup was subtle and attractive, and she walked with confidence in four-inch heels. The cab she'd ordered idled at the curb and she got in gracefully before giving the address and settling back. The cabbie did his best not to stare too much in the rearview mirror but she was paying him no mind in any case. They arrived at her destination within twenty minutes, and she tipped him handsomely before proceeding inside. He took a moment to watch her backside as she walked away before hitting the gas.
The house was as large as she recalled from her examination but now it seemed cheerier and more welcoming. The grounds were large and well-tended and the house itself was about three stories tall. She could hear the faint strains of music coming from within and the windows glowed brightly as she proceeded up the stone walkway.
Taking a deep breath and smiling widely, Hermione strode inside, vaguely noting that the music had ended.
She stopped short at the sight of Severus Snape, standing silently in a corner observing the room.
