MUSIC OF THE NIGHT (T; Romance/ Drama/ Mystery; HP/SS)
Warnings: see Prologue. Additional: No Beta. All typos are my keyboard's fault. Reminder: This story is not Ginny-friendly.
Disclaimer: see Prologue
A/N: Another update! I hope you enjoy this chapter. Please do not hesitate to leave a review and let me know what you think. –C.
P.S. Brace yourselves… it's about to go at a break-neck speed.
LEGEND:
"Dialogue/ speech" 'Thoughts'Notes/ flashback "Singing"
01010101010101010101010101010
Music of the Night
By C.M. Oliver
©2013
01010101010101010101010101010
Chapter 7: All I Ask Of You
"Will you tell me how it feels like?" Harry asked. His naïveté drew a rare genuine smile from his mentor. The masked maestro poised his hands on the keyboard and began to play. Harry recognized the melody at once. He held his breath in anticipation of the words to the song.
"No more talk of darkness, forget this wide-eyed fear/ I'm here, nothing can harm you, my words will warm and calm you…"
The Phantom played and sang with his eyes closed, but the small smile on his thin lips never left as he did. Harry found himself drawn to it.
"All I need is freedom, a world with no more night/ And you, with me, beside me/ To hide me and to guide me…"
Harry felt the words make an indelible mark on him. He'd heard the song before, but never like this. The way the Phantom sang it made it come to life.
"Now say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime/ Say you'll need me with you now, and always/ Promise me, that all you say is true…"
It was a warm, inviting feeling –like the early morning sun on your bare skin. It felt very safe and comfortable, like being wrapped up in a soft, thick blanket on a cold winter night. IT felt familiar, like a hug from a dear friend…
It was a reckless, bold feeling –like jumping off the edge of a cliff. It felt dangerous and rebellious, like the thrill of possibly being caught out-of-bounds. It also felt strange, like an unexpected kiss…
"Love me, that's all I ask of you…"
The pressure was barely there, but it was all that it took for Harry.
The Phantom's lips were soft and gentle, as was the hand that cupped the young professor's chin. It whispered of feelings he had never known before. It wasn't his first kiss, but it should well have been. The rather chaste peck lasted for barely three seconds, but when Harry pulled away, it felt like it had been forever. He found himself staring once more into those haunting dark eyes. His heart raced with conflicting emotions. It was bittersweet, simple and grand, painful and pleasurable, certain yet unsure, elating yet subduing; He felt alone and comforted, adored yet neglected, desired and unwanted…
"I –I'm confused," harry whispered. The Phantom took his protégé's handsome face in his hands once more. "As you should be," he whispered right back, ghost-like fingers caressing the flushed skin with utmost tenderness. Harry stared at him.
"Is this the part where I close my eyes –and then you'll disappear?" The masked man's eyes shone.
"You know me so well." Harry closed his eyes. He felt the Phantom's hands leave his face. Then, a swish of a cloak was heard.
"Goodnight, Harry."
Then a soft kiss –another –lighter than air, brushed against his slightly-parted lips. Harry's fingers found its way up to his mouth, tracing the path the masked maestro left in his wake.
"Goodnight, Phantom."
01010101010101010101010101010
It was indeed a good night, and yet, the Phantom could not find it in himself to rest. His mask was off yet again, as was his cloak. The buttons of his shirt were also left undone, allowing a glimpse of his unglamored, scarred neck and chest. Death did not give him leave from the reminders of his youth's folly. He was lying on a rather stiff mattress, back in the cellar of the Shrieking Shack. One long, sinewy arm cradled the back of his head; the other, toying one more with the pendant that lay against his pale skin. Moonlight was now considerably absent, so he had allowed for a lone candle to burn in one corner of the otherwise pitch-dark room.
"I can't believe I forgot to replenish the concealment charm," he whispered to the unseen audience. "I cannot believe –I kissed him! Twice!" The pale hand left the Fleur-de-lys locket and rubbed the bridge of his aquiline nose. "What the heck was I thinking? I am supposed to get him back on track… I'm supposed to –" He shook his head with a disgruntled sigh. "Definitely not THIS! Am I really going to do this? What if the brat gets attached to me? Will I be ready for that?" The fingers on his nose then trailed down to his lips, where a ghost of a tingling sensation still lingered.
"Merlin, I did it –I kissed a man! I kissed Harry Bloody Potter!"
The Phantom's mind travelled back to the images of the young man's brilliant evergreen eyes, his flushed cheeks, his tousled jet-black hair, his creamy white skin… the softness of his lips… He groaned, sitting up on the mattress. He raked one hand through his long, ebony locks.
"I did not just –fantasize about Potter," he tried to tell himself, convince himself; but those images continued to traitorously invade his consciousness. The look of confusion on the emerald eyes, the attractive blush that crept up the young man's face, the tension on his shoulders, the small gap of surprise escaping those sweet, sinful lips when he had touched them… he buried his face into his hands.
"No… NO! NO!"
He knew he should walk away –the should walk away and forget that Potter needed him, needed his guidance… He should forget that Harry Potter even existed. Forget about the blasted Gryffindor getting attached to him… What if he got attached to the brat? Will he ever be ready for that? He angrily stood up and grabbed his cloak. He hastily put it on, grabbed his wand and headed for the room above.
"He wasn't ready. He'll never be ready –not that he had the time to get ready anyway… He was too deep into it before he even realized, and that, he knew, right after the first kiss.
"Curse you, Potter!" A jab of his wand set a broken down pile of wood that was once a chair, on fire. Another swish and flick sent shards of glass flying everywhere. "Damn you and your ability to reel me in and make me care!"
Okay, so maybe the villagers of Hogsmeade were right about the malevolent 'spirit' haunting the Shack for once.
01010101010101010101010101010
Harry was officially a professor for a week, the following day. But everything seemed like a blur compared to what happened last night. Of course, he knew he was gay –he had known that ever since he started having rather vivid wet dreams of strong, sinewy arms, broad, muscular shoulders, and long, lean legs… He knew he was gay when all he could think of while Ginny kissed him was wanting to throw up all over her. He knew he was gay when he began to get quite embarrassing urges just from listening to that smooth, velvety baritone mock his mental prowess and common sense yet again. But never, had he acted on those urges, well, at least not with another living, breathing man…
Okay, so the Phantom wasn't exactly living… but he was a man, right? It was just a kiss though (or two)… was the man even gay, or was it just a demonstration to answer Harry's earlier question?
But it felt oh, so real… so tangible… so, so wonderful. How could it be but an illusion? A dream? Harry did not know whether to dread or anticipate seeing his spectral maestro again. He spent the whole day half-wishing for time to stop, half-hoping it would hasten. He was floating on a realm of his own creation that he hadn't even been able to take off any points that day. And even when Draco made a sarcastic comment on the state of Gryffindor Quidditch Team's brooms, he had failed to hear it. Hermione was giving him concerned glances all day long that he did not even notice. And when dinner was over without him actually eating anything, he stood up soundlessly from his seat and made his way to his quarters.
01010101010101010101010101010
For the first time since that night they met, the hidden piano room was not empty when Harry arrived there at around past-eight. He breathed an almost inaudible sigh of relief, an unseen, unknown dread of a burden suddenly lifting off his chest.
"You came," he whispered before he even caught himself. He carefully closed the plain wooden door behind him, not once taking his eyes off the other being in the dim space with him. The Phantom was dressed in his usual, his midnight cloak already off and folded. He stood up upon seeing his protégé.
"You seem surprised," the masked maestro mused, walking towards the young professor. He stopped about a foot away. Harry found himself staring up at the man's face; the usual warmth, he noticed, was now accompanied by a faint scent of mint, cinnamon and sandalwood combined. It made him heady. He'd been in close proximity of the Phantom before… why had he not notice this then? It smelled familiar yet unusual, comforting yet exciting to his senses. Harry felt his face flush. How could this man affect him as such?
"I –I wasn't so sure –after last night, I mean…" Harry's green eyes looked away as his cheeks reddened visibly in the candle light. The Phantom paused. He took a step backward and surveyed his protégé intently, as if trying to see through his very soul. A few seconds later, the masked man sighed. "Forgive me then, -I seem to have crossed a line –"
"What, no!" Harry looked up, his evidently alarmed countenance meeting his mentor's gaze. When he realized this though, he looked away again. The Phantom slowly closed the short distance between them two. A pale, delicate hand gently turned Harry's face towards him.
"Tell me, Harry, why are you so insecure?"
A meaningful sigh escaped the emerald-eyed man's lips. His gaze locked onto the Phantom's enchantingly dark eyes. "I've never been kissed –by a man before," came the whispered admission. "I mean, I'm gay, but –" he shook his head with a half-hearted smirk. "I know, it's pathetic –"
"It –is – not." The Phantom silenced him with a finger on the lips. "Although I find it highly unbelievable that no man has ever touched your lips as intimately as I did." The long digit began to trace Harry's yet again, quivering lips. "Tell me my dear protégé, why is that? I find it hard to believe that no other man should desire to claim you –after all, no matter the preference, you are one that anybody would consider conveniently attractive."
Harry felt the familiar goose bumps rising from the masked maestro's ministrations. The simple touch on his lips was turning his insides into goo. "Would anyone really date Harry Potter, Vanquisher of Voldemort?" He asked his mentor back. "Let me rephrase that: Would anyone be truly interested in dating the man behind the reputation? I think not."
The Phantom's hands left Harry's lips and settled instead on his shoulders. "Is that why you are hiding in the shadows? Is that why you choose to alienate yourself?"
"I just want to be left alone," Harry stared at the hand on him before looking away. "In here, I am myself –not the hero, not the Savior, not the Potions Professor –just me, just Harry. No one understands that."
"I do, " said the Phantom sincerely, his low voice coming out as a soothing whisper. Harry looked at him with a small smile on his lips. "Of course you would, how could you not? You seem to be so real and tangible inside this room, but you're but an illusion, a creation of my own mind, aren't you? Pity if my own illusion fails to understand me,"
The Phantom visibly stiffened at that. Potter still thought he was an illusion?
"Sometimes I wish I did not have to leave this room," Harry was saying. "But I can't live down here forever now, can I?"
"No, you can't," the Phantom told him sternly. "That –is rather unhealthy –"
"I mean, who would teach my classes? Who would take care of Teddy when Andromeda's out? Who would coach the Gryffindor Quidditch Team and beat the smile out of Malfoy's face when we win?" Harry groaned. "People out there –beyond these walls –need me. They need me to live a life that is not my own. Sometimes it feels as if I'm two different people trying to co-exist in the same body, in the same realm. The world wants something –in my heart, I desire for something else." His voice took on a wistful tone as it trailed off. A pregnant pause ensued.
"Put your cloak on," the Phantom said, finally breaking the silence. He himself was fastening his own. Harry looked at him funny. "You're leaving?"
"We're taking a walk," his spectral master said, extending a hand in invitation. Harry eyed the proffered limb warily.
"I don't get it. You exist in my mind, in this room –"
"You can take it beyond this room," said the Phantom, staring his protégé in the eye. "I believe you can do it, Harry. You said it yourself. You have a life to live, you can't stay in here forever, tempting as it may sound now –" He gave Harry's hand a gentle squeeze. "If you are reluctant to try…" he reached for something in his pocket and held it up for his protégé's inspection. "You can put this on."
"A blindfold?" Harry cocked his head on to one side. The Phantom smiled. "It can help you focus on creating the illusion of me, if you may." Harry looked thoughtful. "I suppose, but won't I trip if I can't see where I'm going?" The Phantom made a move to stand behind the young man. He then leaned forward to whisper next to Harry's ear.
"You won't be alone. Just focus on me –on my voice –and you'll never have to worry about tripping."
01010101010101010101010101010
More than half the young man's face was out that night, as were a spray of stars belonging to the autumn sky. A masked, cloaked man held hands with a cloaked, blind-folded Harry Potter.
"I can't believe I'm doing this," said Harry, as they skipped beyond the threshold of the hidden room and onto the corridors of the dungeons.
"What is it that you are pressed hard to accept?" The Phantom's voice came through the blinding darkness. "That I could exist beyond the walls of that room?"
"It makes it feel so… real," admitted the young man. He heard the Phantom's chuckle lightly. "As I have said when we first met, I am as real as you make me, Harry."
"It's still weirdly creepy. I have never been known to have a well-disciplined mind. How am I able to create such a vividly tangible illusion?" Harry wondered.
"Maybe it is not your mind then," said the Phantom meaningfully. They were already through and out the yard. Harry felt the colder air of Hogwarts grounds greet him. The grass happily crunched under his boot-clad feet.
"So, you're not an illusion, but a dream?" Harry felt the Phantom's hand rest lightly on the small of his back. "I will show you something," said the masked man. Harry felt the blindfold coming off.
"Wait," he held on to the unseen hands. "If you do that, aren't you going to disappear?"
"I won't," came the reply, as the restraining cloth finally left Harry's eyes. "Open your eyes, my protégé."
Slowly, the brilliant greens heeded the call of that ethereal baritone. The sudden brightness momentarily obscured Harry's vision; but as soon as his pupils had adjusted, he was staring at something in awe. "It's –it's beautiful!" he gasped appreciatively.
He was staring at a huge, magnificent-looking tree, the trunk and branches of which, seemed to be made out of crinkled and coiled silver foil that sparkled in the night. The leaves looked like they were made out of tiny, delicate pieces of multi-colored cut glass. There was no breeze, but the glass leaves were perpetually in motion, clinking against each other. It sounded much like one of those muggle wind chimes. Harry looked around. They, and the mystical tree, appeared to be inside a clear glass dome that looked to be both solid and transparent at the same time. It seemed to be that they were inside their own private bubble –their tiny slice of the world around them. Harry searched for his master's eyes. The Phantom was eying the magnificent tree with something akin to fondness.
"What is this place?" The emerald-eyed man asked. "Is this a dream too?"
"One of mine," replied the Phantom. "I wanted to show you that even illusions can dream." Harry looked at his mentor, then at the tree, then back at the Phantom. He laid a hand on the man's shoulder. "I cannot say that I understand fully. All I know is that you're too good to be an illusion." The Phantom smiled at him. "I think the muggle phrase is: 'too good to be true.'" Harry shook his head.
"No, I meant it the first time." The young professor reached for the Phantom's hands and firmly grasped it in his. He stared deeply into those fathomless irises. "I think –I think I already know the answer to my earlier question. I think I already know how it feels to –"
"Harry –" The maestro found himself suddenly speechless. He knew this could happen. He knew it shouldn't happen. But with those startlingly brilliant eyes on him –full of life, passion and innocence –how could he not? "Harry, close your eyes –"
"That time again, huh?" harry smirked. "The Phantom's disappearing act?" The masked man shook his head. "Just close your eyes." And Harry did. As it was last night, the kiss was gentle and chaste. But now it held so much more emotion than Harry had ever felt in his entire life. He found himself responding to his master's exploring lips. The kiss deepened, and suddenly, Harry found himself drowning in inexplicable sensations. The line between fantasy and reality disappeared… in that little slice of his made-up realm, Harry found himself not caring anymore. If falling in love with a made-up illusion of a man was madness, then he'll gladly commit himself to St. Mungo's.
The kiss felt like it lasted two lifetimes –two seemingly contrasting eternities –two, which Harry would both not mind reliving. It had to end at some point in reality, however. He felt the Phantom pull away. Harry had wanted to open his eyes badly to see the other man off, but he knew that it was not how things worked.
"Goodnight, my Phantom," Harry whispered to the unseen maestro. A rustle of cloak was heard, then one more lingering, parting kiss…
"Likewise, my Harry."
01010101010101010101010101010
-END OF CHAPTER 7-
01010101010101010101010101010
A/N: How was it? Up next: Chapter 8: Past the Point of No Return –Harry does something recklessly Gryffindor and the Phantom gives him an ultimatum – it will be up sometime next week. Don't miss it!
FACEBOOK: C.M. Oliver is Eastwoodgirl (#cmoliverfanfiction)
FFNet: C.M. Oliver is Eastwoodgirl
Twitter: C.M. Oliver (a.t.)heyitschesca (#cmoliverfanfiction)
Tumblr: klaineloveandsnarrydreams (#cmoliverfanfiction)
P.S. Please bother me. I'd rather talk to you people than the folks over here at RL.