MUSIC OF THE NIGHT (T; Romance/ Drama/ Mystery; HP/SS)
Warnings: see Prologue. Additional: No Beta. All typos are my keyboard's fault. It gets angsty in the end –after a much deserved delay.
Disclaimer: see Prologue
A/N: Thank you for continuously putting up with me and my typos. I do realize that there is a need for me to get a BETA –I just could not find someone who fits my erratic, spur-of-the-moment updating patterns. Thank you for the constant support/ feedback and honest critique. I hope you enjoy this update: CONFRONTATIONS PART 1! One more chapter after this then it's the epilogue! –C.
P.S. Anonymous reviews have been disabled. I can take constructive criticism and even pure rants about my work. Just don't do it ANONYMOUSLY. PLEASE. I hate cowards more than I hate trolls. If you have something to say to me, say it to my face. If you'd rather not be broadcast as someone rude and obnoxiously stupid, PM me –all the better.
Regarding the timeline: For clarification purposes, we are only into the second week of the term. Yes, that is deliberate.
LEGEND:
"Dialogue/ speech" 'Thoughts'Notes/ flashback "Singing"
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Music of the Night
By C.M. Oliver
©2013
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Chapter 9: We Have All Been Blind
Past or Future.
How will one ever be able to choose? The Past represented who we are, our identity, our soul. The Future on the other hand, held our aspirations, our dreams, our goals… But when does one's heart, one's desire, one's passion figure into?
It was almost dawn when the Phantom reached the cellar of the Shrieking Shack. The underground travel that normally took him a few minutes cost him hours this time.
'Did I really just ask him to choose?' He asked himself angrily as he removed his white half-mask and forcefully threw it on his hard mattress. 'What was I thinking?'
But what was done has been done, and there was no turning back. The Phantom knew that no matter what happened –no matter what Harry Potter chose –the illusion ends tonight.
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Deciding between two impossible choices was harder than Harry thought. On one end, was his passion –on the other, his dream. Could he ever let go of one of them?
Severus Snape was his past. The man had become his fuel, his drive, his soul…
The Phantom was his future. The maestro embodied his dream, his aspiration, his goal…
The emerald-eyed man tossed and turned in his bed until the sun came up. It was only until then that he realized why the Phantom was keen on giving him time to decide. Just when he thought that he had finally made up his mind, suddenly he is not so sure anymore. Could he really give up the memories? Could he stand losing the illusions?
One thing remained certain though. Harry Potter would not have his mind made up until the eleventh hour.
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Harry was buttering his toast that morning when a smiling Draco Malfoy came up to him. "Who's the mystery date?"
"Date?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "What on earth are you talking about, Malfoy?" The blonde grinned and gave his colleague a once-over. "You look quite rumpled. Busy night?" Harry glared at him but said nothing. Draco gave him a knowing look. "Oh come on, Potter! Don't play the coy game with me –I'm not Mione, for one, and two, we're too old for that. Now come on and tell me, who's the guy?"
"I honestly do not know what you're talking about, Draco. Now, either you explain to me what you are going on about or leave me alone. I'd like to finish my toast in peace," said the Potions Master. Draco rolled his eyes.
"It's not exactly illegal to bring a date to the school if you're a professor, you know?" He took a seat next to Harry and grabbed a cup of tea. "But really, the Quidditch Pitch at midnight?"
'CLANG!'
Harry dropped his butter knife. He turned to Draco, shock clearly etched on his face. "You saw me… What –what exactly did you see?" Draco raised an eyebrow.
"You and your mystery guy. I'm assuming it's a guy though, it was far too tell. But your red robes were a dead give away –"
"You –SAW –him?" All the color drained from Harry's face. "But –but how could you see him? He –he's –" Harry suddenly grabbed the collar of Draco's robes. "You're not lying, you saw him? Tell me!" People were beginning to look at the emerald-eyed man's sudden outburst, including the early birds among the student body. Among the faculty, only Vector was present, but she was off at the far end of the Staff Table.
"Ow –quit it, Harry! Geez!" Draco pulled his suddenly enraged friend off of him. "If you're worried about anyone finding out, my lips are sealed. No need to be bloody violent! I do know how to keep a bloody secret –not even Mione would know." This seemed to have calmed Harry down on the surface as the young Professor had released his blonde contemporary from his vice-like grip. However, Harry's face was still pale with shock, his green eyes, wide in disbelief. "You –saw –him –" he stood up from his seat, his form rigid and stiff, his feast of buttered toast all forgotten. He began to walk away from the Staff Table as more people began to trickle into the Great Hall. The Vanquisher of Voldemort's steps seemed mechanical and contrived, painful and unreal. Draco watched his friend, worry evident in his aristocratic features. "Harry? Are you oaky?" He called out. "Was it something I said?"
The young Potions Master did not seem to hear him though.
"I'm no mere illusion, Harry… I am as real as you make me…"
Suddenly, everything just made sense to Harry.
"I'm no illusion… I'm real…"
And suddenly, for some perverted reason, Harry just wished that it didn't at all.
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Potions was cancelled for that day as Professor Potter had secluded himself in the dungeons since breakfast and refused to come out for any reason at all. He sealed his floo and blood-warded his chambers. Nothing short of Hogwarts herself, could possibly break into the enchantments he had placed. The school was told that he was sick –only Draco, Hermione and Headmistress McGonagall knew otherwise.
"Professor Malfoy, Professor Granger-Malfoy, what had happened?" A flustered-looking Minerva asked as she had rounded on two of her Heads of Houses in her office just right before lunch. Hermione looked genuinely puzzled. Her husband however, looked a bit guilty. The blonde DADA Master sighed.
"Must be something in connection to what I said earlier…" When he got sharp looks from both Lionesses, he quickly amended. "Honestly, I did not mean anything bad," Draco held his hands up in defense. "I was just asking him about the new guy he was seeing –"
"A guy?" Hermione clarified. Draco nodded.
"I told him I wouldn't tell, but seeing as the situation at present requires a judgment call –" Draco shrugged. "We've all been worried for Harry since after the war. And recently, he hasn't been himself. I was just glad to finally see him happy with someone for once –"
"Wait," Minerva interjected. "You saw Harry –with a man? When was this?" She asked. Hermione looked curious as well. Draco knew he had no choice but to tell them. "Last night, at the Quidditch Pitch –" Both witches gasped –Minerva more than Hermione.
"Did –did he say who it was?" Draco shook his head at the Headmistress. "When I had asked him, that's when he started acting all funny –"
"He did mention a guy," Hermione put in. "Not by name though, but someone gave Harry a thorn-less rose a couple of days ago –"
"A rose?" Minerva inquired. Hermione explained. "A red, thorn-less rose with a thin ribbon of black satin tied around its stem, It figures prominently in the muggle Musical 'Phantom of the Opera' of which, Harry is a fan –"
"So there is a mystery guy?" asked Draco. "But why all the secrecy? Harry knows we'll back him up 100%. What is there to fear about telling us that he's finally found someone? Why not tell us who this guy is so that we could properly meet him?"
"I doubt even Harry knows…" Minerva whispered, almost to herself. When her pronouncement was met by inquiring looks from both her former students, she made her own on-the-spot judgment call. "Hermione, what did you say was the significance of this rose was?" The question effectively steered the topic off-tangent.
"Its interpretation is open for debate," began the pregnant witch. "But more commonly, it is regarded as an expression of regret, remorse –and a reminder of unrequited love and devotion."
The Headmistress looked thoughtful for a while before sighing. She may have already solved this recent puzzle… only one way to find out. She turned to the other two with her in the room. "Let us just allow Harry time to deal. You both know how he is when pressured. Let us give him the rest of today. If tomorrow, things do not change, then we will intervene."
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Inside his warded chambers, Harry was brewing up a storm –quite literally. For the past eight hours, he had almost managed to obliterate his practically indestructible personal laboratory, thrice. At first, it was when he had mistaken unicorn blood for Lethe River Water and added it to the base of his experimental lycanthropy cure. The unicorn blood reacted quite violently with the basilisk venom in his mixture. The resulting explosion melted a solid gold cauldron and turned his dragon hide gloves into cinders.
His second mishap was a much more classic 'chucking unknown objects into one's cauldron while no one was looking' kind of thing. Only this time, there were no Slytherins to do it for him. A frustrated Harry grabbed the nearest thing to him –which turned out to be a copy of Potions Monthly –and aimed for his simmering cauldron of Blood Replenisher. While he could not have made it as a Chaser on the National Team, Harry certainly knew how to land an unassuming periodical in a cauldron-full of volatile concoction. The said potion turned a sickly shade of vomit, before spluttering and covering all available surfaces with a sticky gooey mess. The potion itself was neither explosive nor corrosive, but the reckless and bold Lion in Harry just couldn't be suppressed. The third and final mishap occurred when Hogwarts' current Potions Master tried to clean his mess with a wand. Lesson #1 that all Potions Masters should know: Spilt potions and clean-up spells don't mix. Safe to say that Harry had been out of sorts when his hastily-casted 'Scourgify' almost shook the Castle's very foundations to the core.
So here he was, hours later –his hair messed up, his robes singed in places, bruises and scratches all over. The last time it had been this bad was on his first day of Mastery Class. He was so out of sorts that he almost blew up his master's house. Lesson #2 that all Potions Masters should know: Never brew when upset. It kills. Or at least, destroys other people's precious property that made them want to kill you.
"I'm no illusion… I'm real…"
There was no other explanation to it. Harry left his lab, miraculously still in one piece. He headed for his personal office.
The illusion ends tonight.
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Heavy, hesitant steps brought the Phantom to the walled entrance later that night. Dread was much evident in the deep, dark eyes that pierced through the stark white half-mask that he had on.
"Which is harder to believe, that I've fallen for a dead man who hated me, or a supposed made-up illusion of him?"
"It is when they are one and the same," the Phantom told the night softly. He raised one hand and whispered the password to the dungeon quarters. "Phantom."
The wall did not budge.
"The quarters of the Potions Master are blood-warded," a soft but stern voice to his right said. "If he has failed to mention it to you, Professor Potter had also studied Warding and Curse-Breaking on top of his Masteries in Potions, Charms and just recently, Magical Zoology," a soft but stern voice to his right said. The masked maestro turned to face a smug-looking Minerva McGonagall. The witch smirked. "You promised you'd not bother him –"
"I'm not exactly doing anything, am I?" The Phantom shot back. "And what do you mean blood-warded?"
"For some reason, Harry was upset about something that Draco Malfoy said this morning –concerning you."
"Me? How can I have anything to do with your Golden Boy, Minerva?"
The Headmistress gave him a knowing look. "Does Quidditch Pitch at near-midnight ring any bells?" The Phantom paused. Minerva smiled at the man's reaction. "Does Harry know, Severus?"
"What –does it have to do with –with Draco?" The masked man asked haltingly. He had a very bad feeling about this. Minerva raised an eyebrow at his tone but answered nonetheless. "Apparently, Draco saw Harry with a 'mystery man' last night at the Quidditch Pitch –as did I. The view from the new Slytherin Tower is about the same as from my quarters. From a far, it was hard to tell, but as Draco said, Harry's bright robes identified him easily. He asked Harry who he was with. Harry's reaction made me think that maybe, he did not quite know –" Minerva went on with her exposition, but the Phantom failed to hear past half of it.
Draco saw him. Someone else other than Harry saw a supposed illusion from the said young man's mind… 'Bloody –'
"Of course, I knew it was you." Minerva was saying. "Your mask was a dead give away –"
"Where are the ward stones of Hogwarts?" The Phantom cut her off. "I need access –NOW!" The Headmistress gave him a calculating look. "You will right this wrong, Severus Snape –"
"Just tell me where the damned stones are!" The masked man said angrily. "I did not mean him any harm! I had wanted to help him –not –not this! It was not supposed to be like this, Minerva."
"Hermione Granger told me about this flower," Minerva said calmly. "The thorn-less rose –you gave it to Harry. Does it mean what I think it does?" A long spell of silence enveloped the whole of that deserted dungeon corridor, until the Phantom finally broke it.
"Yes, yes it does."
Minerva finally gave the man a genuine smile. "The ward stones are now in that abandoned Potions Classroom that Neville Longbottom almost obliterated in his third year. Hogwarts still recognizes you as a former Headmaster. It will grant you access without me." Dark eyes met her blue ones.
"Thank you," said the masked man sincerely. Minerva scowled at him.
"Think hard about what you will do once you see him tonight. Think really, really hard, Severus Snape. This may be the right time to finally help your own self as well." She then relaxed her face before giving the Phantom an understanding look. "He will be hurt, no matter what you decide upon, do remember that. Good luck." Then, she began to walk away until she had finally disappeared amongst the shadows and the Phantom could see her from his spot no longer.
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It was half-past ten. Harry sat alone by the fire in his office, deep in thought. A bottle of wine was upended beside him, the last of its contents now in the glass that he held. Every so often, he would glance at the deep blood red liquid. He would swirl it inside the crystal goblet, before inhaling its aroma then finally taking a sip. He would let the bittersweet nectar linger by his lips, before passing it over his tongue and down his throat. This elaborate ritual had been going on for hours.
"I know this wine is real –I could see its color. I can hear it swishing around the inside of my glass. I can smell its intoxicating aroma. I can taste its sweetness. I can feel it as it goes down my throat. How can it be not real? The longer I consume it, the more I take in, the more I can feel it overpowering my senses –heightening them, numbing them. How can it be all an illusion?" The monologue had been repeated countless times to an invisible audience. It always ended in one conclusion.
"It never was."
The young professor allowed the last of his wine and set the glass down. As soon as he did though, he felt his wards shifting. Even in his alcohol–induced stupor, Harry was on the alert. He whipped out his wand, aiming to curse whoever dared –and managed to –break into his wards when he had made it clear that he wanted to be left alone. With a slight sway in his steps, he stood up. He hadn't even made it a few inches when his vision spun and he felt the ground beneath him shake. His knees buckled –and had there not been arms that suddenly materialized behind him, he would have passed out on the cold stone floor of his dungeons.
The Phantom gazed at the evidently drunken young man in his arms. "You should not drink if you cannot hold your alcohol well," he said softly, shifting his protégé's weight to rest on his chest. Harry, upon recognizing the deep voice, tried to push his masked mentor away. An angry emerald glare was thrown in the Phantom's direction.
"None –of your bloody –business!" Harry spat out heatedly as he struggled to break free from his mentor's surprisingly strong grip "How the heck did you get in here anyway? I've out up bloody blood wards!" He had barely managed to get away from the man when his legs trembled again. He fell back against the Phantom's sturdy chest. The masked man sighed. "Let us get you seated, then you can tell me why you all of a sudden decided to wage war on an innocent bottle of Merlot –"
"You –think –this is funny?" Harry asked him angrily. With one great effort, he had managed to land himself on one of the nearby armchairs. The Phantom looked on in sincere concern. He moved to follow his protégé, but the young professor already had his wand pointed at the masked man's heart even before he could come closer. Harry's green orbs blazed. The Phantom's however, remained neutral. He eyed the wand in his mentee's hand.
"Impressive stance for someone drunk."
Harry scoffed before launching into a cold, heartless, laugh. "I'm about to hex you, and that is what you say?" The Phantom held his gaze. "Are you now?" Harry shook his head in disbelief.
"You must think that I'm that stupid," he breathed. "Okay, maybe I was, but –" his grip on the holly tightened. "If I can see you, hear you, touch you, feel you –then you must be real, am I right?" The Phantom hesitated to answer back when Harry silenced him with a jab of his wand against his mentor's chest. "If you can hold me, excite me, comfort me –" Harry stood up to his full height with lesser difficulty this time. "If you can hurt me –"
"Harry, I –" the Phantom began softly. Harry took a step closer towards the masked man and gave him a cold glare. "I can't believe how blind I have been." He then scoffed. "If you –can hurt me –what prevents me from hurting you too?"
The Phantom froze. "Harry –"
The younger man raised his wand higher, the beginnings of a spell forming in his mind. "One…" The masked maestro held his ground. "Two…" Harry's determined eyes met the dark gaze. "Three!"
A violent jet of red light shot from the tip of the phoenix feather wand, heading straight towards the direction of the Phantom. The masked man's eyes stared at the oncoming assault, ready for the impact… But it did not come. The wordless 'Rictumsempra' whizzed past by him, missing his left ear by a centimeter and hitting the clock on the mantelpiece behind him. The antique was blasted into smithereens. The dark eyes followed the path of the spell. He then turned to a seething Harry. "I would have to say that your aim is spectacular. Had it not been, my face would have been obliterated instead of that clock –"
'SLAP!'
"Why did you not step out of the way?" Harry yelled as his hand connected with his mentor's cheek. "You could have died, you dolt!" Did you really think that I wouldn't figure it out?" The Phantom gently touched his stinging jaw. It would most definitely bruise. "It does not hurt –"
'SLAP!'
"STOP IT! Stop saying that it doesn't hurt!" Harry screamed through gritted teeth. "Stop pretending that I cannot hurt you because you aren't real! Don't you get it? Your illusion is over! OVER!"
"Harry –"
'SLAP! SLAP'
"You're not real?" Harry was almost out of breath now, both from shouting and the physical exertion of hitting his maestro's now-rapidly reddening face. You said it yourself, you're no mere illusion! You're not real? You're but a dream? Say that to the blood on your lips! Say that –and tell me, WHAT ILLUSION BLEEDS?"
The Phantom's face indeed bled. A thin strip of blood dribbled from the corner of his mouth. A long finger followed the path of the crimson liquid. His dark eyes stared at the blood on his digit before looking again at Harry. The young man's cheeks were now run over by tears. "Harry," the masked man took a step closer. "I don't know what to tell you." He reached out as if to touch the young professor, but the latter backed away with a shake of his head and a soft sob.
"And here I was, thinking that I was merely losing it… But what do you know? I'm not crazy,' another sob escaped his lips. "Just stupid. You must be laughing your ass off when you're alone –"
"That's not true." The Phantom declared stiffly. Harry laughed at him. "What else isn't true?" He challenged his mentor. "The music? The dreams? The illusions? The kiss?" Harry's hollow chuckle rang in the cavernous room. "I bet you aren't even gay." He then began pacing around the room. "Who sent you to play on the poor, gay recluse of a savior? The Prophet? The Ministry?" He scoffed bitterly. "I bet that would be a great story, don't you think? 'Harry Potter Falls in Love with Imaginary Man –A Tell All!' I bet that would earn you a bonus. You're such a great actor –"
"No one hired me," said the Phantom. "You do not know what you are talking about."
"Don't I?" asked Harry testily. "My friend saw you last night at the Pitch." He stopped walking. "When your illusion is corporeal, it must be that you have a string mind. When your illusion has emotions, it must be that you have a genuine heart." He then stared the Phantom in the eye once more. "But when you illusion can be seen by someone else, guess what? You suddenly realize it isn't an illusion anymore."
The Phantom sighed. He purposely grabbed one of Harry's hands. "My intention is not as nefarious as you think it is."
"The rose… I should've doubted you then… What illusion can produce a tangible object?" Harry shook his head. "You must have done something to me… to make me somehow overlook the fact –to make me believe –to make me fall in –" Harry looked at the hand on his before looking away, his eyes still shinning with tears. The masked man doubled his efforts. He reached for the young Potions Professor's other hand as well.
"Look at me, Harry."
Harry, as always, when he heard that ethereal voice, was torn. The Phantom noticed his indecision. There was still a chance in all of this. He will not fail the young man. He will not make the same mistake he did five years ago… No matter what happened after that night, he told himself, no matter what choice Harry made, the masked maestro would make things right.
It was time, indeed. There was no turning back.
A gentle hand guided Harry's face, and the young man suddenly found himself looking deep into those mesmerizing eyes of obsidian. Beyond the pain, beyond the betrayal that plagued his heart, Harry felt that familiar, inevitable warmth coming from those dark depths.
"Look at me, please, my Harry," the Phantom pleaded. Harry heard the words rip through the shields he had so painstakingly erected around himself –straight through his heart that the man now in front of him had already capture completely.
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-END OF CHAPTER 9-
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A/N: How was it? Up next: Chapter 10: Stranger Than You Dreamt It–The BIG Reveal.– it will be up sometime next week. Don't miss it!
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