Music Of The Night

by C.M. Oliver is eastwoodgirl

In Harry's 6th year, he discovers a side to Severus Snape that he never expected. Six years after that fateful night, the now-Professor Potter is back in the dungeons to learn of magic beyond what they do at Hogwarts... and perhaps fall in love as well... with a ghost of his former Potions Master? What illusion is showing in the stillness of the night? Post-DH. EWE. Snarry slash.

2. Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

MUSIC OF THE NIGHT (T; Romance/ Drama/ Mystery; HP/SS)

Warnings: see Prologue

Disclaimer: see Prologue

A/N: Thank you for your kind words of encouragement. Please enjoy this chapter. Note: The Song featured is Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again from POTO. Words were altered to suit this story, however. I do recommend that you listen to it, it's a great song to set the mood for this chapter.

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Music of the Night

By C.M. Oliver

©2013

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Chapter 1: Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again

"I can't believe I'm saying this to you right now, of all people, but Welcome back to Hogwarts for us both." A smiling Draco Malfoy said, gesturing his arms widely. He was standing by the entrance to the Great Hall. An amused-looking , dark-haired, emerald-eyed man who stood beside him, snorted.

"Yeah, who would've thought? Last time we were both here, we were trying to kill each other."

"Oh no, not that," the blonde laughed. "It's just one hilarious twist of fate in my opinion that we should both find ourselves back here, teaching, no less."

The dark-haired man had a wistful look on his prematurely aged face. "Five years ago –"

"We were so sure of what we'd become." Draco cut him off with a grin. "There I was, so certain that by the end of the war, I'd be locked up tight in an Azkaban cell next to my father –"

"And I was so sure that I'd end up putting you in there." The dark-haired man finished for him with a smile. "Those were the good old days, Malfoy." Draco raised an immaculate eyebrow.

"If you call them good, then you are seriously depraved, Potter."

"That's Professor Potter to you, Malfoy."

Draco snorted himself.

"Then it's Professor Malfoy to you, Professor Potter." The two young men shared a light-hearted laugh. Draco suddenly turned serious and patted his colleague's arm gently.

"We've really come a long way, Harry. I mean, just look at us –we're managing a polite conversation for about four minutes now." Harry raised an inquiring eyebrow of his own before uncharacteristically smirking and brushing Draco's hands away.

"Get your hands off f me, Ferret."

"Gladly, Scarhead." Draco rolled his eyes. "Seriously. There goes my image of an upstanding citizen of Wizarding Britain. I can't go around calling the Vanquisher of Voldemort all sorts of rude names."

"What image, Draco Malfoy? The 'I-am-a-stuck-up-prick-of-a-pureblood-fanatic slash Death-Eater-spawn-in-the-making' image? Sorry to burst your bubble, but you've kind of lost that label when you decided to marry my muggleborn best friend and get a Mastery in Defense Against the Dark Arts. I, on the other hand, have the image to maintain. I can't go around being highly critical of my fellowmen." Harry then pretended to brush off an invisible peck of lint on his dark green robes. Draco smirked.

"You're one to talk. If you're pertaining to your 'I-am-Saint-Potter-Protector-of-the-Oppressed, Defender-of-the-Light, and Every-Witch's-Dream-Boy' façade, then I am doubly sorry if you missed the memo, but you've lost that when you decided not to become an Auror, break up with that redhead slut and become a Potions Master."

Harry gave his contemporary a smug smile. "You forgot to mention hitting my prick of an ex-best friend in public, square in the jaw, after he called me a man-whore pouf." He then sighed. "I guess we're both for breaking stereotypes, my friend."

"Friend?" Draco echoed him, teasingly. I know I can't complain after you've spoken for me at my trial. But I still have a reputation to uphold amongst the students. Professor Potter. After all, I'm the new Head of Slytherin."

"What, so all Slytherin Heads have to be mean and nasty to Gryffindors? I thought that we Potions Masters have the monopoly of being mean. I mean, I even requested quarters in the dungeons to complete my cold and dark persona."

"Harry Potter, cold and dark?" Draco shook his head. "And you do know that the dungeons are still honorary Snake territory, right?"

"I'm not Head of Gryffindor, Malfoy, your wife is. Nothing in the school rules says that I have to live near the Tower. Besides, the quarters I've requested for are conveniently next to the Potions Corridor –"

"No excuse to be late then," Draco snickered. Harry gave him a half-hearted glare. "I need the anonymity, peace and quiet it offers. The dungeons have that right 'leave me alone' vibe to them. I'd like to see any giggling first year try and annoy me down there."

"And the upper years?" Draco asked. Harry gave him a knowing smile. "By the end of the year, they'd know well enough not to even think about it,' his emerald eyes glinted mischievously.

"Damn," His blonde colleague whistled. "You sure do have your evil git persona planned out. 'Guess I'll have to lay it off the snot-nosed prats or we won't have any students left by the end of the year."

"That, and your wife will kill you if you terrorize any of the children. Especially her Lions." Harry teased. "And besides, Defense Professors are supposed to be nice."

"Like the Carrows?" Draco challenged him. "Quirrell? Umbridge? Fake Moody?"

"Hey at least the guy had a sense of humor!" Harry protested with a grin. Draco glared at him that had the Vanquisher of Voldemort laughing hard.

"Fine, we didn't have the best track record of DADA teachers. But you have to admit, Remus was the nicest. Lockhart may be incompetent, but at least he dressed nicely. Just ask Mione. I don't think she got over her crush on him –"

"I dress nicer than that pouf." Draco sneered haughtily. Harry grinned. "Whatever you say, dear old chum." Suddenly the pleasant look on the emerald-eyed man's face faded. Draco noticed. The blonde knew too well where this conversation was going. "Harry –"

"Snape. He was the bloody bravest of them all." Harry said in an almost-whisper. Draco placed a comforting hand on his once-nemesis' shoulder. He knew how his now-friend blamed himself for the dark wizard's death.

"He was, Potter. No one would forget that." Harry met the silver eyes briefly before looking away.

"He was the hero, not me. I just –I just wish that there had been a body to bury…" He shook his head as if trying to clear it off those exact thoughts that have been haunting him since the Final Battle. "We should set up our stuff. The Hogwarts express will be here soon. Where are you rooming anyway?"

"Base of the new Slytherin Tower. Alternate nights with Mione in Gryffindor Tower. I'd miss the old common room below the Lake, but the newly-constructed tower is rather nice –has a great view of the Quidditch Pitch too. Hey, you're coaching Gryffindor Team, right?" Harry chuckled.

"If I left it to your wife, you wouldn't have any real competition now, would you?"

"True," Draco agreed before he could filter his thoughts. Then upon realizing what he had just admitted to, he scowled. "Don't tell my wife I said that!" Harry resumed laughing as he left for his rooms.

"My lips are sealed."

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The Second Wizarding War changed a lot of things, and Hogwarts Castle herself was not spared. The Battle for Hogwarts left the main structure in ruins. And it, being a heavily warded and highly magical building, took five years to reconstruct. The lower levels comprised of the basement kitchens and the dungeons took most of the chore of being rebuilt as the anchor stones of the castle wards were located near them. In the end, it was decided to have the lower levels closed off to students. The new wards needed time to get stabilized and way too much noise and magical interference could affect them. The Slytherins got a new dormitory in their own tower, as did the Hufflepuffs. The kitchens were moved to a room just behind the Great Hall. The basement was left bare and uninhabited. The same was to be done for the dungeons… until the Headmistress offered the Potions Professorship to Harry Potter.

The end of the war saw to a rise of students taking up masteries in Defense, even Charms and Transfiguration, mostly to become Aurors, Ministry Workers or private experts. But the same thing could not be said, sadly, for the exact art and subtle science that was Potions-Making. In fact, in the last five years, only four in the whole of Britain took their Potions NEWTS further. Of those four, only one chose to remain in England –the rest received and accepted job offers abroad. But there wasn't a shortage of Potions Masters, actually, quite the contrary. Though, truth be told, not many would give up a lucrative career in brewing or managing an apothecary in favor of teaching hordes of 'dunderheads'. Really, who in their right minds would?

Standard fees, Saturdays off, no press, no Gryffindor Headship and most importantly the seclusion of the dungeons… When Harry stated his demands in exchange for accepting Minerva's offer of a job, he had half-hoped, half-expected her to say no. Now here he was, walking to his dungeon quarters. There were no portraits, no walking suits of armor, no living or sentient beings for what seemed like miles around him. The Headmistress must be really that desperate to hire him for Hogwarts' reopening, five years after the war.

He wasn't the best of the best, that, harry would gladly admit; case in point, his higher studies took him three years, instead of the usual two, to get to where he was right now. Some would say that he was already a master of his craft after five years, but he knew better. His skills were nowhere near that of the caliber of the real master.

Severus Snape.

The misunderstood spy had been his inspiration, his hero, in so many ways –to him, the ebony-haired, onyx-eyed man's passion was of no comparison to any other –be it Potions or anything else. (Too bad not many would agree to Harry's observation.) So, here he was, five years later, Professor Harry James Potter, Potions Master, International Potions Guild Member level 8 (only two points below his idol). Many thought that this move was done solely to break away from the mold the adoring public had created for their Savior. Only a few would ever see it as an ode to an unsung hero.

Nothing much had changed in the dungeons amidst all of the repairs. The walls were still made out of damp and at times, even mossy stones. Darkness was still constant, enveloping everything in shadows, no matter what time of the day it was. The air was still eerie with silence, shrouded with mystery, cold with solitude… and yet, Harry knew it hadn't been always like that.

That one night in February, six years ago, was repeated well until the night of Dumbledore's death –but not even the old man's horrific final moments could erase that startlingly vivid scene in Harry's mind: Candles, shadows, long potions-stained fingers… midnight hair, rumpled shirt, those dark eyes that would haunt him forever… But what his mind saw, what had allowed him to finally learn Occlumency, paled in comparison to the music that was constant in his nightly reveries…

The man lay dying in his arms; it was only then that harry realized –no matter what had happened between the two of them in the past –he could never properly hate the Severus Snape, ultimate spy and once-thought of traitor.

"Look at me…"

He saw the man's best kept memories; but beyond what lay waiting for him in that cracked stone pensieve that was now his, he saw, he finally saw that coveted fire within the dark wizard's fathomless eyes –fire that he had resorted to only imagining whenever he had secretly witnessed the man and his secret passion. That fleeting spark, a little too late in coming in Harry's opinion was more than enough on its own to ignite his own flickering wick. The death of Severus Snape, and the life he had lived leading up to it, become one Harry Potter's purpose.

'What is your secret? Will you tell me? Will you teach me? Will I ever find out?'

If there was one thing Harry regretted the most was that his questions remained in his mind alone. He had finally reached the entrance to his quarters, an obscured and heavily fortified stone wall; He remembered that night clearly in his head, when the wall was just a plain office door, unwarded and unlocked. It was now flanked by two perpetually-lit torches. His hands caressed the cold surface as he reverently whispered his password.

"Phantom" the wall melted into an illusion. The room that lay before him was like a blast from the past. It had been untouched since its last occupant left it a little over five years ago –the repairs seemed to have missed or more likely avoided tampering with this particular space. Had there been no preservation charms, Harry thought, the room would have been knee-deep in dust and grime. The emerald-eyed man gave a whispered thanks to the thoughtfulness of house elves. The fire in the grate had been burning merrily for hours, but aside fro that, there was no sign that anyone had ever been into the private room, The old Spartan desk was still in the middle, though void of any clutter. The pair of padded armchairs was still facing the hearth. The two doors, leading to the bedroom and the laboratory were still closed –no doubt, Harry mused, that they too, remained untouched. There was still that feeling of that space as being unlived in. There was still that lone tapestry of a birch tree, off to the right side of the fire place. Harry stopped his exploration…

Could it be?

With clammy, shaky hands, he lifted the edge of the large, fringed rug that hung against the stone wall…

The familiar hidden door was still there. Images of many sleepless nights just sitting outside it, listening, flashed back to the new Potions Master's consciousness. 'Music of the Night', it was called, the first song he had heard and seen performed in this very room. He had even resorted to singing a few lines of it to Hermione just to find out. The muggleborn witch then introduced him to 'Phantom of the Opera' and the world of musical theater. Harry bought the record via Owl Order and listened to it using one of Fred and George's magical music player inventions. A week later, he was back in the dungeons, well-versed in Andrew Lloyd Weber's ultimate masterpiece.

Snape would change up the pieces he would play at night, but 'Music of the Night' remained Harry's favorite. The dark wizard would play other musicians' compositions, but to Harry, it seemed that 'Phantom' was the man's favorite musical –as it would eventually become his.

The ivory and ebony keys still gleamed in the soft orange glow of the candlelight. Harry could feel the ghost of that haunting melody calling out to him now, as it did that first night, many years ago. He sat on the low bench. Over the years, he had learned to appreciate music more, alongside Potions, Earl Grey and star-gazing. But sadly, being a war veteran and a Potions apprentice at the same time took much chance away from him ever learning to play with the level of mastery and finesse his former Potions Professor had –a feat that would take even the dedicated many years to develop.

He couldn't bring himself to learn reading notes, and until now, he had played by his ear –he'd listen to a song, commit it to memory and attempt t translate it onto the keyboard. He learned quite a few songs in this manner, but for some reason, he could not get himself to play 'Music of The Night.' He'd begin the piece but never did he get the chance to finish it. Not once. For some reason, it did not feel right whenever he'd attempt it –there was always something wrong, something lacking… it was like he was missing in on one big secret…

'What is your secret? Will you tell me? Will you teach me? Will I ever find out?'

No, he thought, he could never play that song, not the way Severus Snape did. Harry poised his hands over the keys. He'd have to make do with another song he knew by heart.

"You were once my unknown champion/ Your reputation battered/ You were once a reluctant friend/ Then my world was shattered/ Wishing you were somehow here again/ Wishing you were somehow near/ Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed/ Somehow you would be here."

Harry's voice began to falter, but he trudged on.

"Wishing I could hear your voice again/ Knowing that I never would/ Dreaming of you won't help me to do/ All that you dreamed I could/ Whispered spells, I could tell/ Would just do me no good/ I have lost you in every manner/ Where once a brave man stood."

He did not even know how his robes came undone, but they did. His glasses, now more for show, after the permanent Sight-Correcting potion he had invented in his Mastery, were askew.

"Too many years, fighting back tears/ Can I let the past just die/ Wishing you were somehow here again/ Really must we say 'goodbye'/ Try to forgive, teach me to live/ Give me the strength to try/ No more memories, no more silent tears/ No more gazing across the wasted years/ Must we say goodbye? Must we say goodbye?"

As it did many nights ago, he became lost in haunting tune of that well-hidden secret, that spell-binding sound of Severus Snape's one true passion aside from Potions. The man's low and smooth baritone complemented the grand piano then as Harry's soft and melodious voice did now. The tempo rose, and the young man found himself going along with the flow. The thrill of flying never came close to this. Now, in this room, playing the very instrument that inspired him to learn this art, Harry had finally understood how Snape felt.

He was a solitary man, a true loner. Sure, there were people around him, but nobody really understood him. Beyond the reputation, nobody knew the real him. And dare he choose to reveal the truth, life as it existed would cease. Harry knew too well how perceptions could rule and even ruin one man's life. People forgave him for not being an Auror. People forgave him for being gay. Would they be as forgiving if they knew that he was living his life for a dead man's memory?

The aria ended as Harry's nimble but calloused fingers finally left the polished keys. Only then had he realized that he had his eyes closed, the whole time he was playing. When he had finally opened them, tears began to flow soundlessly. Now that he thought about it, he'd never seen Snape open his eyes while playing –Harry would arrive each night with the man already in the middle of his runs and would leave, just right before the private concerto ended. Was Severus Snape keeping his tears at bay too?

A loud toiling of bells broke into Harry's reveries –the Hogwarts Express had arrived. The newly-appointed Potions Professor sighed as he left the secret room. There would be other nights to leisurely spend in there, now that he would no longer be wary of getting caught sneaking into a Professor's private chambers. As he redid the buttons of his dark green robes, harry could not help but think. He'd much rather have it that Snape caught him that night –and all the other nights that came after. Maybe if the man did, harry wouldn't have grown to love music as much; maybe he wouldn't have grown to love the darkness and solitude of the dungeons as much; maybe he wouldn't have grown to love the memory of the dark wizard as much… Maybe the man would still be alive. Maybe Harry could ask and finally learn of his secret…

There were so many possibilities that would never see the light of day.

The emerald-eyed man took one last glance at the birch tapestry before heading for the Great Hall.

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From a far, Hogwarts Castle at night looked like a birthday cake, with its candles aflame on top –especially tonight. A pair of dark eyes gazed longingly at this once, thought-of home.

'It still is, nothing can ever change that.'

A spray of stars dotted the clear autumn sky. Fleets of lit lanterns glowed like St. Elmo's fire across the blackness of the Great Lake –the traditional ferrying of little first years to get their first glimpse of Hogwarts; a truly majestic experience for anyone, including those dark eyes, many years ago.

He was torn. At one end, he was happy to see Her come back to life once more, with Her halls filled with learning and knowledge, camaraderie and competition, as it should. Loath he was to admit, but it was those things that truly made the place special.

On the other hand, he knew this boded the end for him. His peaceful existence in the plane of shadows and isolation, which had lasted for five years were soon to be no more. He grimaced.

'I can't. I can't let anything –or anyone, for that matter –'

A soft sigh escaped his lips. But he made a promise to leave him alone in exchange for a promise that he too would be left alone. If he was to continue seeing to his one true passion…

'I have to find a way. No one can know. Especially not… him. Especially not Potter.'

He'd have to be creative. Hogwarts was and will always be his one true home, his refuge, his safe haven.

A patch of stark white pierced through the darkness and hovered by the equally dark eyes, covering the area immediately surrounding it. Then, as quickly as it came on, it melted into the abyss.

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-END OF CHAPTER 1-

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A/N: Up next: Chapter 2: Phantom. In the mean time, feel free to send a review/ comment my way. I love them. Like seriously LOVE them. See you in the following social media platforms as well:

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