Harry found that his homework was a hell of a lot easier now that he had taken the time to properly complete his summer assignments. He found that he understood the theory behind the newest Transfigurations and was beginning to formulate an idea of how some Potions ingredients worked together. Of course, Hermione had been shocked to discover Harry diligently working on his Charms essay in Music Room Five instead of pounding away at the drums and had hurried doff to find Ron so that they could all work together.
He wasn't sure if he was allowed to have his friends in the music room if they weren't playing, but he was positive there wouldn't be any real issue in it, unless it was Umbridge carrying out the inspection. They definitely weren't doing anything wrong, just their homework. The three of them finished their homework relatively quickly, as Ron had decided that if his two best friends were trying hard, he would too. Harry thought it was because he didn't want to be the odd one out. Quidditch was now the hot topic of conversation, as both Ron and Harry had plans for the upcoming season.
"I want to try out for Keeper now that Wood's gone," Ron explained enthusiastically.
"I think you should go for it," Hermione replied a little more sedately.
Harry thought about his answer carefully, he didn't want to upset his friend if he said the wrong kind of thing. Upon further reasoning, he realised it would be hard to say the wrong thing in this situation.
"Yeah me too, I'm sure you'll do great if you're picked."
"What about you Harry? You mentioned you have some plans too," Ron asked, a slightly bemused expression on his face. It was as if he had already guessed what Harry was intending to do.
"I'm going to quit," he informed the two, silently praying Ron wouldn't take the news too badly. "There's just too much for me to do this year, I don't think it would be fair on the team if we lose because I can't concentrate on the game properly."
"I suppose you have a point," Ron conceded unhappily.
"I'm going to think of a way to do it so that everyone else doesn't think I'm fishing for attention. Maybe I could arrange something with Malfoy."
As if on cue, Draco slipped into the room, stopping short when he noticed the other occupants of the room. He seemed torn between wanting to stay and learn, and wanting to avoid an awkward situation.
"Hi, don't worry about these two, they forgive you too," Harry said brightly and motioned for the blonde to sit. "I got a letter this morning containing a song for you to learn. It's called 'Alice on the Gallows' and has a heavy guitar and vocal focus, so the bass is much simpler. The music is on the stand, so start on it okay? Don't worry about the rhythm for now, just memorise."
There were a few minutes of quiet while Draco took up his instrument, in which Ron and Hermione discreetly observed as the blonde began reading the tab in front of him. When the deep tones of the bass began to fill the room, Harry closed his eyes and listened. Every now and then, there would be a dead note or the string would twang obstinately against the fret-board. It did make Harry wonder if he would be a good enough teacher for the Slytherin. He could see his friends didn't want to put Draco off, and were about to leave.
"We can talk outside in the corridor," Harry suggested and rose to his feet as quietly as he could. Both of his friends stood too and filed out of the room. The blonde's shoulders relaxed as they left, and Harry was glad he wasn't so tense.
When Harry had stepped out, Draco looked up from his fingers and stopped playing. His digits were still a little sore from the last time, and the minor mishap he'd experienced with the drum stool a few days beforehand had bruised his palm uncomfortably. He believed he probably wouldn't have another chance like it and so stood. As cautiously as possible, be crept across the room to the desk and pulled open the top drawer. Disappointment washed over him like the incoming tide -at first glance it appeared as if there was nothing of interest. As he rifled through the mass of compositions and notes, he still found nothing particularly juicy. He closed the drawer and moved on to the next one. The only things in that one were a few t-shirts and a couple of pairs of shorts. Presumably, they were for Potter to change into so that he didn't get his uniform too sweaty. The final drawer contained a photo album, so naturally Draco opened it. On the first page was a group of six boys, grinning wildly. They looked as if they were having fun. Around the picture were five names, and Draco assumed they were Harry's band mates. What shocked him most was the multitude of colour in the image. After a few minutes of staring at the photo, he began to feel a little bit guilty. He had been trusted in a room that was quite obviously a place of sanctuary, and he had gone and snooped around. It had never really bothered him before, how other people might feel about their possessions being touched, moved and scrutinised. Draco still felt bad about his comment earlier that week.
Nervously, he sat back down and resumed playing. Draco expected Potter to return quickly, and so as the seconds skulked by he felt his anxiety levels increasing. There were tiny lines next to the notes he was supposed to play, and he didn't have a clue what they meant, in addition to that there were various latters strewn all over music. It was all very confusing.
He was conscious of the fact that he had to see Professor Snape, but at the same time didn't want to put down the stupidly Gryffindorish instrument down. When he couldn't leave it any longer, he departed, walking confidently –yet a bit downheartedly- away from the room in case he had the misfortune of encountering a fellow Slytherin wandering around.
Draco didn't think the Potions Master would be overly impressed with Draco's tardiness, however probably wouldn't make a song and dance about it. At least that was he hoped would occur.
"Sorry I'm late Professor," he offered apologetically as he entered the Professor's office. "I lost track of time while up was up on the sixth floor."
Professor Snape merely nodded and continued whatever it was that he was doing -traumatising first years with his notorious red quill of death no doubt. Draco knew better than to try to and hurry the man when he was venting the day's anger in the form of large red crosses and biting remarks that usually implied whomever's work he was marking had been dropped on their head at birth or were too stupid to realise they were actually a gibbon. Draco didn't quite know how the gibbon insult worked; he just knew it was one of his favourites. After a while, the Professor set his quill down and looked up at his student.
"What is it you wanted to ask about Draco?"
"You know that music thing in August that you go to with your friend?" Draco prompted, and he felt silly for not remembering what it was actually called.
"Yes, the Reading Music Festival," the Professor patiently supplied.
"Yeah, that, I was wondering what it is like, being there, seeing the bands live and watching them play and have fun. It must be pretty powerful stuff, right?"
"There's mud and water everywhere, everyone is drunk and no one gets any sleep. Seeing the artists though, makes all of that worth it, worth that extra effort. Hearing them without the fancy, polished effects is always worth the effort. Seeing them raw and unclean is indeed very powerful. It can make you love or hate a band."
Draco leaned back on his seat and contemplated the Professor's words.
"What sparked this interest then? Usually you don't care about Muggles in the slightest," the Professor asked curiously.
Draco honestly didn't want to admit what had actually drawn him in. Snape was about to guess anyway, he didn't even need to ask. It was most probable that the Potions Master enjoyed messing with people's heads just a little bit too much.
"Ah," he said amusedly, "could it be our resident would be rock star?"
There were times –especially times like that- when Draco was absolutely certain that Snape could read minds. He was positive he'd read something about it somewhere.
"I guess so," he conceded, not wanting to add fuel to the fire. "I was listening to him for a while the other day before actually talking, and I continued for a bit afterwards. It was, I don't know, strange. I could tell he still had a long way to go, but at the same time I wanted to hear more, is that odd?" Draco asked, almost worried the man he looked up to would think he was weird.
"Not at all, many artists start out like that, and some become absolutely amazing musicians with thousands of loyal fans."
The Professor's words surprised Draco so much that he sat up a little straighter.
"Surely that's unnecessary -Potter already has thousands of loyal fans." Draco couldn't help but feel a fair amount of anger boiling in his blood.
"I didn't mean it quite like that. I meant that when many musicians start out they're so obviously unpractised that you wonder how they even got to where they are. When that artist or band begins performing, the audience has to make a choice: abandon the band, or support them and hope they get better. Very few musicians become musicians to get famous, most just want people to hear their work, or want to create a message."
Draco left the Professor's office feeling ill at ease. He had no idea what Potter's motivation for being a drummer was, yet it was something he felt compelled to find out about the boy.
Draco deliberately chose the seat behind Potter in their next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson, he would watch the Gryffindor whilst pretending to do the reading. Things didn't really escalate until Granger began complaining about it being OWL year and that they apparently weren't going to be doing anything useful. It was most definitely a valid point, but Draco didn't think it was a very wise idea to complaining at a Ministry employee about substandard education. Inconspicuously, he cast a spell on Potter's parchment, so that anything the Gryffindor wrote would appear on Draco's too. There was what could be called an agon between Potter and Umbridge, which landed the student with several days' worth of detentions. After the exchange, Potter scribbled furiously on his parchment. It was only after the rather crude drawing was finished did Draco realise what it was supposed to depict; a toad sitting on a drum. He wondered at the significance of the image.
Before he had a chance to slip off to the music room to ask his burning question, he was ambushed by his 'friends' and dragged off to make some mischief. That was something he felt he had no time for. He didn't want to do it, but they'd be suspicious if he didn't. Thankfully, Crabbe and Goyle weren't the brightest, and he was able to subtly (he literally turned in the opposite direction whilst Crabbe was distributing sweets) escape his undesirable company and make his way up to the music room.
Much to his surprise it was locked, which obviously meant Potter wasn't there yet. He stayed there for a while, but was about to abandon the escapade for fear of looking foolish should any other student show up. As he did, he bumped into Potter, who seemed absolutely livid. Draco wondered briefly if his rummaging had been discovered but dismissed the idea when he noticed the blood on his hand.
"Do you want some help with that?" He asked, not entirely sure what had come over him, it wasn't often that he offered anyone help.
What was even more shocking was that Potter accepted his help, and invited him inside the room.
"Could you get the disinfectant and cotton wool out of my bag please?" Potter asked as he flopped onto the sofa. Obligingly, Draco searched through the rucksack in the corner until he found the correct items. He watched in interest as Potter swabbed the cuts on the back of his hand with the anti-septic and then with a (clean?) potion's knife sliced a long but shallow cut along his arms. It was a bizarre looking wound, but when he held his arms in a particular manner, Draco could see it made some sense. "I'm going to make it look like a guitar string snapped, so that Umbitch doesn't think she's won," he explained as he stuck brown rectangular patches along the lacerations. Potter was seemingly pleased with his handiwork, and as it was nearly curfew began to pack up.
"Wait, why do you like music?" Draco asked embarrassedly, even as he voiced his query it seemed like such an insignificant thing that he wanted to curl up and not know the answer.
Potter considered the question for a few minutes before motioning for Draco to join him at the drum kit.
"Okay, this is why;" he pointed to each drum in turn and gave it a name; one was Voldemort, another Umbridge, Snape, and Death Eaters. He pushed his earplugs into place, and Draco realised it was time to cover his ears. With an unbidden surge of energy, Potter began to play, the fury at the hardships he faced and enthusiasm for the sound he created blended together, creating something that Draco thought could be almost be described as beautiful. Of course, beautiful was a difficult adjective to apply to a series of banging sounds. When the echoes had died down, Potter elaborated. "It started out as a form of expression, I was depressed and didn't feel like I could talk to anyone, but I found I enjoyed it so it became more than an outlet."
Draco bid the Gryffindor goodnight, and hurried back down to the dungeons, he had a lot to ponder, and suddenly didn't know how to act in the presence of the Gryffindor.