Prompt #6: Do any of the Four play music? How would this change or affect their time in England if they had played an instrument in Narnia, or vice versa?"

Ah, music," he said, wiping his eyes. "A magic beyond all we do here!"
~ Dumbledore

Susan walked past the shut living room door, and paused.

Music, muffled by walls and wood, floated through the air, faintly sounded in her ears. The piano notes played a very simple song—but it was one she thought she recognised. A fluting melody, with a note wrong here or there; but it had been her favourite melody to dance to in Narnia.

She opened the door quietly and slipped through, to see Edmund playing their dusty piano with one hand. The piano had been a marriage gift from their father to their mother, who loved to play.

Edmund played three notes wrong in succession—going down when the melody went up, Susan thought—and let his hand fall away in frustration.

"I did not know you played," Susan said quietly.

Edmund stood up, startled, pushing back the piano bench with his legs and sending it crashing to the ground. He looked at it, at his sister, and closed his eyes ruefully. As he bent down to set the bench upright again, he said, "Mother tried teaching me. But I wasn't in any mood to learn music, back then, and I barely remember anything."

"It should be G, A, B flat," Susan offered after a moment. When her brother looked even more frustrated, she asked, "Does my help make things better or worse?"

"It would make the music better, but I'll not answer for my temper." Edmund ran his hand over the keys without pressing them. Susan came and sat down beside him, waiting. When he said nothing, she lightly picked up his hand and moved it an octave higher, where the music would definitely be wrong. That, at least, provoked a smile, and Edmund, with the grace he had learned, let it grow into a laugh, before he sighed. "I am acting with all the grace of a dumb beast. Sorry, Su; by all means, give me your help."

"Then perhaps it would work if I play the melody here," and she slipped her hand under his, on the higher octave, "and you copy the notes down below?"

"My thanks. I will try to be a more attentive student than I was when I last had a teacher." And he was. Susan played the first progression, slowing it to show him the fingering, and with a furrowed brow he copied it. She played it again, and he followed, more quickly; after four rounds, he could play it with her, even pressing the keys with light or fearsome touch to make the music swell when it should, and fade to resemble a faint piping near the end. Gradually they worked their way through the whole song, and his fierce attention never wavered.

Finally Susan took her hand away, resting her other hand on his shoulder, and he played the song completely through—only stumbling twice at transitions.

"You learned it very quickly," Susan said, smiling. Edmund, still looking at his hand, smiled back, but Susan could see his frustration still biting at the corners of his mouth, and she wondered why. "What prompted you to try it? You never showed an interest in it while in Narnia."

Edmund laughed, another frustrated sound. "This was meant to be your birthday present," he admitted. "Last night Lucy said she missed dancing, and watching us dance. I thought you might miss it as well, and I think the three of us all miss the way you spun, embroidered skirt flaring, when—" he played the passage that Susan always thought reached for the stars, lifting to join their melody. "I thought if I could learn it, you could dance to it again." He banged his hand on the keys before slumping. "But I overestimated my ability to learn it without help, and there went my surprise."

Susan sat, speechless. It had been her favourite tune, but she'd never connected it with her birthday in two weeks.

But there was a more immediate problem. She knew the words she could say—a reassurance that she loved the present, and the care behind it, just as much as a joint effort as a surprise.

But she also knew a way to make it unmistakably clear without words.

So she rose, walking gracefully to the middle of the room. When she turned back to the piano she saw Edmund watching her, a little curiously. She smiled, smiled with all the joy that his love had brought, and sank into a deep dancer's curtsy.

She held it, waiting, until she heard the first few notes of the song play under Edmund's hand. And then she began to dance.

She danced the beginning with an invisible partner, danced the middle, reaching the part that sang to the stars—and misjudged her twirl, banging into the wooden leg of the couch. The music stopped with a crash of discordant notes at her cry of pain.

But two hands caught her before she hit the floor, and she looked up into Peter's face. "Are you all right?"

"I just stubbed my toe," Susan said, flushing with embarrassment.

"That was beautiful," came Lucy's voice from the doorway. Susan flushed even deeper, realising that she and Peter must have been watching. "But I'm sorry we don't have the space we had at Cair."

"Perhaps all that is needed is someone to lead?" Peter offered. He bowed, holding out his hand, and Susan, took it, heart suddenly swelling with joy again.

"Edmund, why don't I play the bottom hand?" Lucy asked eagerly. "There's not really room for two pairs to dance, but I think I can come up with a counterpoint—Mum's been teaching me since we came back, and my favourite part is when we play together."

"I'd welcome the adornment to my simple melody." Edmund moved over, making room for her, and the next moment Susan heard him laugh. "Watch your elbows!"

"Sorry! You're bonier than Mum is."

"From the beginning?"

"From the beginning."

The first notes began to play, and Susan realised that this had been what was missing. Music had a magic of its own, but music shared held enchantment. She reached for Peter's hand and once again began to dance.