Maria Hanuschak: Uncle Tom went away then for some time. I saw him a few times in the coming years. He changed, but he was always kind to me. He liked to try and get me to break into his mind; it was our game I suppose. Looking back, I wonder what he really was thinking. He was never one to allow anyone into his mind, let alone a child. Perhaps that is why he let me, because I would not look past what he gave me.
Then Josef graduated. Onco Lucius, Uncle Tom, and a new man came to visit. I did not know his name, this new man, but he was respected by all even though he was quite young. He was tall and gaunt, but solid. I remember his hair most of all, it was long and black. His voice was so low. I don't think he was much older than Josef, two or three years perhaps. He loved the library too, just like Uncle Tom, but he read the books instead of staring into the sky. I used to watch him read. I would hide underneath the tables and watch through their coverings. My most vivid memory of him though, was in the music room.
We had a piano and Mama had tried to teach me how to play. I learned well enough, but Mama, bless her, had no ear for music. I would go in and play though, just for fun some nights. One night, I met him there, the man with the black hair. I never did know his name, not until years later, but I will get to that soon enough. I was practicing something, I do not remember now what it was, but I thought it challenging.
"You play the piano?" he asked as he stood behind me.
"Sometimes, when I think I can," was my answer. He would always tease me about my abnormal answers to questions after this night.
"May I play you something?" he said. I moved off of the bench and he took his seat.
"Would you hold my coat?" I took it, his big, heavy, black overcoat. It smelled of sandalwood and roses, a throaty, almost coarse smell I thought, but I held his coat nonetheless. He sat, looking over the keys, contemplating them in his vest and shirt. He looked so old for someone so young. His sleeves were rolled and he had the same snake on his arm that Papa had on his. He stretched his fingers over the keys and began to play. It was a slow melody, haunting, befitting of him.
"Do you know this piece?" he asked me.
"No."
"It was written by a muggle, many years ago. His name was Beethoven. This is his 'Moonlight Sonata,'" he said. He played for what seemed like forever, completely absorbed in his music. Then Papa and Uncle Tom came in.
"It is time, Josef is waiting with Lucius," Papa said to him. He got up and left and I didn't see him for years. He was one of the few I ever got to see again.
Chief Warlock Greene: One of the few you ever got to see again? Could you elucidate on that please?
Maria Hanuschak: Perhaps a better statement would be that he would be one of the few I would see alive after the second war
Chief Warlock Greene: I see. Proceed.