MUSIC OF THE NIGHT (T; Romance/ Drama/ Mystery; HP/SS)
Warnings: see Prologue. Additional: No Beta. All typos are my keyboard's fault. Disclaimer: see Prologue
A/N: HAPPY NEW YEAR! I missed all of you! Here is the FINAL CHAPTER! Only the EPILOGUE is left after this. Thank you for joining me in this one memorable journey. I hope you continue to give me feedback as it is my constant source of inspiration and motivation. –C.
LEGEND:
"Dialogue/ speech" 'Thoughts'Notes/ flashback "Singing"
01010101010101010101010101010
Music of the Night
By C.M. Oliver
©2013
01010101010101010101010101010
Chapter 10: Stranger Than You Dreamt It
"Look at me please, my Harry." The Phantom whispered, his eyes never leaving his protégé's. "I am real because of you –"
"Please don't give me that crap." Harry countered. "You were real even before you met me! Who are you really? And don't tell me you're a professional masked Phantom earning a living by mentoring lost souls!" The masked man's lips curved up into a smile.
"I was dead before I met you," his hand caressed Harry's tear-stricken face. "I had a life not worth living. I escaped and embraced the shadows. I was nobody until you christened me back to life."
Harry felt the sincerity in those words. This man spoke of the truth. "Why hide behind an illusion? Why lie to me? Why me?"
"There are secrets best left untold. There are realities far stranger than dreams. There are truths too painful to discover. I have disappointed you. I have hurt you. I had wished to do you no further harm by burdening you with my past. "The Phantom sighed meaningfully. "Clearly, I was wrong. Instead of protecting you, I –"
"I should hate you," Harry pushed him away. "I should hate you and tell you to leave me alone." He shook his head. But I will be lying to myself if I told you that it is what I want." He met the Phantom's eyes once more. "I need to know the truth. Show me your face." The Phantom hesitated.
"Harry, I –"
"No, show me." The young man said forcefully. "I need to know. All my life, things have been kept away from me and it taught me one thing. The truth may hurt, but it liberates." Harry moved closer to his mentor and reached up to touch the man's bemasked face gently. "Show me who you really are. I need to know the man behind the mask –the illusion."
A war was waging inside the Phantom's very soul, but he knew he must stand firm. He held Harry's hands in his and guided him towards the direction of the birch tapestry. They stopped right in front of the door to the hidden room that witnessed most of their vulnerable, passionate moments –whether alone or together.
"Harry, I need to do something before I reveal myself. Will you let me?" The maestro asked, gesturing towards the piano room. "I would like to play for you, here, in this very room where it all began. Will you let me? One last time before the illusion ends?" A quiet nod from the protégé led them inside.
The room looked like it always did. The small, dimly-lit space welcomed the pair. The Phantom took his spot on the bench after removing his midnight cloak and loosening the top two buttons of his white shirt. He rolled the crumpled sleeves up to his elbows. Harry moved to follow him to take his usual perch on the man's right, but the Phantom stopped him. He waved his hand, and a softly-cushioned armchair materialized by the doorway. He motioned for Harry to take it. "Tonight, you are not my protégé, but my audience." He explained simply before turning to face the gleaming ebony and ivory keys once again.
"Softly, deftly, music shall caress you/ Hear it, feel it, secretly possess you/ Open up your mind, let your fantasies unwind/ In this darkness that you know you cannot fight/The darkness of the music of the night…"
Harry sat, watching the Phantom play, transfixed. Within him, an epic battle commenced: the Past and the Present collided. Images of that vivid memory six years ago burned into his eyes as he witnessed this present-day concerto unfold before him…
"Let your mind start a journey to a strange mew world/ Leave all thoughts of the life you knew before/ Let your soul take you where you long to be/ Only then can you belong to me…"
But which was which? The young professor felt the confusion unsettle him, as the tow seemingly different visions tried to meld in his mind. He closed his eyes and let his heart see instead…
"Floating, falling, sweet intoxication/ Touch me, trust me, savor each sensation/ Let the dream begin, let your darker side give in/ To the power of the music that I write/ The power of the music of the night…"
There, in that tiny corner of his mind's eye, Harry finally saw… He felt his heart stop beating completely. His eyes shot up as he jumped from his seat. Slowly, he approached the Phantom. The man was still p[laying with his eyes closed. Harry stopped, about a foot away from him –his eyes shone, his lips quivered, his hands shook as he reached out for his mentor's shoulder.
"You alone can make my song take flight…"
"H- How?" Harry's voice broke. "How is it –that you're here?" he asked, disbelief clear in his tome.
"Help me make the music of the night… of the night…"
The Phantom finished playing. He met his protégé's questioning gaze. "Harry –"
"It's you, isn't it?" said Harry. "It –is- you –oh, Merlin…" He was trembling violently now, fat tears raining down his cheeks. "Oh Merlin, how could I have not seen it? It is you –the piano, the papers, the riddles, it's you all along –"
"Harry –" The Phantom stood up from the low bench, as if wanting to approach and envelope the clearly upset young man in his arms. But as he drew closer, Harry backed away –as if in a mixture of both fear an disbelief.
"That –that night –I saw you… That very first night –" the young man stepped backwards until he was flush with the plain wooden door. "But –but how? Why?"
The Phantom felt an invisible punch directly at his heart, seeing Harry look so broken and afraid. Nevermore had he wanted to take the emerald-eyed man in his embrace and kiss those tears away. But he knew this would happen beforehand –he would be patient, he would do this right; if not for himself, for the man he had hurt the most. He stopped in his tracks.
"Harry, could you summon your pensieve? There are –there are things… Please. I understand if you do not trust me now, but please."
Harry appeared to be torn between wanting to throw something and cry his heart out, but summon the stone pensieve he did. When the intricately carved basin landed in front of him, he took a seat in the padded armchair that he had earlier vacated. His eyes were still watery, but his face was set. He watched as the Phantom took out a wand and knelt in front of the pensieve at Harry's feet. Without breaking eye contact, the masked man pointed the tip of his wand at his temple and began drawing out threads of silver memories. The process had taken a full two minutes –quite longer that Harry would have expected. When the maestro was finally done, he pocketed his wand but remained in his position on the floor. He held his hand out to Harry.
"This will take a while, but I do hope it answers most of the questions in your mind."
Harry eyed the proffered hand once, before meeting the Phantom's eyes once more. Without looking elsewhere, he placed his own hand in his mentor's.
'What is your secret? Will you tell me? Will you teach me? Will I ever truly find out?'
"Show me."
01010101010101010101010101010
A woman with long, flowing sable hair and beetle black eyes sat in front of the piano. Beside her sat a boy of no more than eight, playing the ebony and ivory keys with evident dexterity. The little boy looked exactly like the woman, his eyes were closed though as he ended his piece, Fur Elise. The final bars sounded and the boy had finally opened his eyes –they were shining as he looked at his sole audience.
"How was it, Mama?"
His mother looked at him with fondness and pride. "Well done, Sevy. Soon, I will have nothing left to teach you." She reached out and gently brushed stray strands of inky black hair from her son's face. Little Sevy smiled.
"That will never happen, Mama. There will always be things to learn from you."
"Oh, but you are growing up so fast," his mama said, a wistful look crossing her eyes. "One day, you will no longer need me to teach you. You will start learning on your own –"
"Like at Hogwarts?" Sevy asked excitedly. "Will I be going to Hogwarts like you? I want to learn magic too Mama, not just Potions and Music –"
"Potions is magic as much as Music is, love. Do remember that," his mother said kindly. She then sighed. "I promise to do the best I can so you could attend Hogwarts. Your father may not be happy about it, but –" She kissed her son on the forehead and gave him a hug. "Just promise me that you will study hard, okay?" Little Sevy returned his mother's hug and burrowed further into her arms.
"I promise, Mama. I promise."
01010101010101010101010101010
The young man looked to be about sixteen, but his features were far harsher than his real age would suggest. He sat underneath a tall oak tree, his long legs crossed at the ankle, his second-hand black robes gracefully spread around him. He had his nose buried in a worn-out copy of Utopia. His soft ebony hair was covering most of his pale face, as his fathomless onyx irises danced across the old, yellowing pages in front of him. The air around him was peaceful and calm. In this part of the grounds that only a few students ever knew about, he was able to spent time alone in quiet and solitude. He was well into his reading when he heard the crack of a twig –however, he did not move. His eyes remained on his book.
"I thought you hated me to the very core of your being. I thought you could never forgive me, let alone talk to me. What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be down at Hogsmeade with Potter and his cohorts?" The young man asked without faltering as he turned another page.
"I =I heard about your Mum," a soft voice began. "I'm sorry to hear of what happened." The young man finally looked up. His vision was met by a wonderful apparition of flaming red hair and emerald green eyes. "I do not need your pity, Evans."
The young woman who stood in front of him looked like she was about to say something in reply, but she had just resorted to biting her lip. She shook her head. "I'm sorry, Sev." The young man she had called 'Sev' said nothing as he averted his steely gaze and focused on his book once more. The young woman he had called 'Evans' sighed before wordlessly turning to leave. When she had finally gone though, Sev looked up once more, his eyes following the path the young woman had taken.
"I can never forgive myself either."
01010101010101010101010101010
"You promised to protect her –them! And now they're dead! DEAD! It's all my fault!" A distraught man buried his flustered face in his pale hands. "She's dead, Albus –by my misguided volition –as good as if by my own hand!"
"Severus, there is still time –"
"A time for what, Albus? Lily Evans is dead!" Severus spat our bitterly at the old man he considered his mentor. Albus looked forlornly at the young man he had learned to care for more than as a former student. He placed a crinkly old hand on the man's black-robed shoulder.
"Her son lives, my boy. Harry lives. There is still time to make amends. Help me protect Lily's son."
Severus met the old man's bright blue gaze, resolve evident in his onyx eyes.
"With my life, with my whole bloody life."
01010101010101010101010101010
"What were you thinking, Headmaster –encouraging him to go with you on your escapades –outside the Castle! No matter how laudable Potter's luck is in evading the Dark Lord's hand throughout his growing up years, that is just exactly it, luck! How do you expect a 16 year-old to defeat a grown wizard, much less the Dark Lord!" A grim-faced Severus Snape rounded on his mentor, and soon-to-be, murder victim. "You tasked me to protect him, to keep him alive, and yet you refuse to let me do my job!" He gestured at the Headmaster's shriveled up hand with a snarl. "Is it not enough that you let my soul get corrupted –must Harry's be forfeit too?"
A mild twinkle crossed Albus Dumbledore's eyes. "'Harry', my boy?" Severus snorted.
"Of all the things I said –you latch on to the one –" he shook his head. "Tell me, Albus. Tell me everything I need to know to protect him or I swear –"
"You have grown to care for the boy?" Albus asked him, the twinkle never departing despite the caustic tone of his Potions Master. "Severus, you must understand. Harry has a destiny to fulfill, details of which, I can tell you completely. You have to trust me –"
"Like I trusted you to keep them safe?" Severus spat out heatedly before he could even stop himself. A dark shadow crossed the older man's features.
"Severus –"
"No, Headmaster. I understand how it goes." Severus declared firmly. "I am but a pawn in this war. You see all of us as chess pieces. Harry Potter is no exception" He turned to leave. "And contrary to popular belief, I have a heart. Potter may be his father's son, but as you have repeatedly elucidated to my face in the past, he is also his mother's daughter. Merlin save me if I do not live to see him fulfill his destiny. I owe it to his mo-" He took a deep breath and sighed. "I owe it to him. Good day Headmaster." He finally left the room.
01010101010101010101010101010
The Shrieking Shack was dusty as ever, grimy, deserted. The sun was about to set. A figure lay on the rickety wooden floor, pale and unmoving. From afar, it seemed that the man was no longer breathing, but upon closer inspection, a slow but steady, rhythmic but faint pulse could be felt against his wrist. The man was bloody –his inky black shoulder length hair was matted against his neck. He was supposedly dead, but by some twisted hand of Fate, he was not. It had been hours, perhaps days, since his back touched the dingy floorboards of that abandoned haunt.
The man's papery lids flew open all of a sudden, as his lungs took a sharp intake of painful, musty, pungent air –his first in what seemed like one too many lifetimes –in three minutes or so. A pale, long-fingered came to life on its own as it reached deep within the pockets of the voluminous black robes that the prone figure wore. A few seconds later, he had finally unearthed a small vial of pale blue liquid –it was half-empty. With much difficulty, the man unstoppered the small glass container and let the contents fall onto the gaping hole in his neck. Instantly, the torn muscles and vessels knitted themselves until only an ugly scar was left. The man still felt the pain, but with the blood-flow finally coming to a cease, it helped clear his head. He took another breath as the glass vial fell from his hand. He gritted his teeth as the expected symptom of nausea washed over him like a tidal wave. With a loud grunt, the man began his first attempt to move… He would need much more than a Tissue-Knitter if he were to make it… First, he must contact the only one left he trusted…
Minutes later, the dusty floor of the Shrieking Shack was clear once more. Hours later, the same figure would be taking residence upon the Hogwarts Headmistress' carpeted office floor. Days later, he would officially be declared dead.
01010101010101010101010101010
Harry's hands were still shaking, the moment he stepped out of the pensieve. The Phantom did not stray far behind him. The masked man's concerned eyes followed the young professor's every move. Harry was quiet, but it was evident how shaken he was. The Phantom approached him.
"Harry, I –"
"Five years! FIVE –LONG –YEARS!" Tears began to flow yet again from bright green eyes.
"Harry, there is something –"
"WHY? Why did you let me –why did you let me think –" Harry sobbed harder with each word, each word made it more evident how broken, how forsaken he had felt.
"Harry, please –"
"NO!" Harry yelled. "You will NOT tell me! You will not –SHOW me! Show me your face. NOW!"
The Phantom froze in his steps, a long, heartfelt sigh escaping his thin lips. One pale hand reached up to his mask –another, tentatively but gently rested on Harry's cheek. "The illusion ends tonight, Harry," the Phantom began. "But not this –never this –"
With one swift move, the Phantom pulled a shell-shocked Harry Potter into his arms and gave him a soul-searing kiss. The surprise of it all had stolen any possible protest from the young man. His eyes had been wide open when their lips touched, but as the kiss deepened, he felt all rationale departing him. Harry closed his eyes to the Phantom of his dreams kissing the life out of him.
The inexplicable sensations were there: pain, desire, pleasure, clarity, betrayal. Together, they made up a huge maelstrom of emotions that brought anarchy and unrest in Harry's heart and soul. It enraged him, excited him, emboldened him –and yet, it soothed him, calmed him, comforted him at the very same time. Harry was sorely tempted not to let go, but the tiny bit of logic that remained in him had won out. He pushed the Phantom away. In the soft glow of the candlelight, their eyes met once more.
"Show me," came the ringing command. The Phantom nodded.
"You wanted the truth, Harry. It is what you will get –"
"Show me," said Harry determinedly, affirming to himself his desire. "Show me my past, show me my future." The Phantom hesitated. "Harry?" The young professor took a step closer, his eyes never leaving the masked maestro's.
"You asked me to choose. And I am making my choice. And I choose –" Harry reached up and touched the masked man's lips with a gentle finger. " –Whatever, whoever is behind this illusion."
"Harry –"
"I've lived five long, painful years feeling lost, feeling alone, feeling forsaken –" he shook his head as more saline flowed from his eyes. "You've said it yourself, time will come when I will ask questions… when I will start to doubt… when I will no longer need you." He let out a meaningful sigh. "But right now, I just need this. I need you."
The Phantom raised one hand to wipe Harry's tear-stricken face with utmost care. "As I have said, Harry, I will remain for as long as you shall need me." He then gave his protégé one last peck on the lips before taking a step back for his big reveal.
The mask finally came off. Harry felt his legs turn into jelly. He had known what to expect, he really did. But nothing prepared him for this. His hands flew up to his gaping lips as a loud gasped escaped them.
"Se –Severus…"
The name was more of a prayer than a whisper for the past five years. He never imagined this happening. Not even in his wildest illusions, not even in his most coveted dreams. The man –his teacher, his mentor, his hero, his inspiration –stood before him, alive.
"Is –this an illusion? Please –tell me it's not –" Harry struggled to voice out his sentiments, his thoughts, his emotions. All he could think of was wish that Magic and Fate were not playing tricks on him. On the other hand, Severus Snape smirked just as he did five years ago, somewhat belying the relief otherwise evident in his eyes.
"I can assure you, Mr. Potter. I am as real… as you are."
01010101010101010101010101010
-END OF CHAPTER 10-
01010101010101010101010101010
A/N: How was it? Up next: EPILOGUE: The Maestro's Reprise– Just HOW exactly will our story END?.– it will be up sometime next week. I will tell you now though that THERE WILL BE NO SEQUEL. You'll understand why I had to say that once you read the actual epilogue (grins evilly). 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. Talk to me, I'm a lonely kid.