Harry felt his magic drawing to him the feeling of pain and longing which surrounded the music. Not the feelings of the composer he mused, sensing the subtle differences from the gentle tendrils of magic which surrounded him and gathered the emotions to him. No, not the composer but the owner of the CD he decided. The person who owned the plastic itself, the burned image of the music. How apt his words were he thought, for these emotions did indeed burn. He rolled them around his mind, the sadness and the profundity of them. Tears coursed down his face, soaking his t shirt. Revelling in these borrowed feelings he pulled his t shirt over his head and threw it down. His body sang with lust and sorrow. He had never felt anything like it. It wasn't human. It was superhuman. No muggle, no ordinary mortal could feel this truly and live, he felt certain. The magic swirled around him and, even with his closed and teary eyes; he could see its patterns. Great loss after great longing encircled him and his body thrilled like the strings of the piano. And maybe it was because of his age or his innocence but the longing seemed to grow and encompass him. His body, ravaged by the great magical war he and his friends had fought knew nothing of this longing. Harry had nothing with which to compare this feeling which danced in his blood and rushed to parts of his body he had forgotten through his long, hard teenage years. Now the music gripped him totally, the magic washing over and though him. He felt himself reach out with it hungrily for this feeling carried on the music, felt the lust and wanting held within the silver of the disc spinning in the machine. He had to make it real, anchor it in the here and now. Harry reached down and touched himself. The gesture was innocent; it was just a reaction to the magic and its whispered message. He felt himself harden and he wanted more.

Edward's eyes widened as he watched the boy. The music seemed to thicken in the air. Eddies and currents of gold and crimson light lapped gently at the boy's body. The tears ran down his face and the light seemed to dance over it and into the boy's gently closed eyes. The boy pulled of his shirt, startling Edward so that he nearly stumbled from his hiding place. All his vampire grace was silenced by the sight of the boy's chest, panting and heaving and almost silver in the swirling lights that surrounded him. As the music reached a peak the boy moaned softly. The tendrils of light grew stronger and brighter, dipping and soaring about the boy, rising and falling with the music. Edward felt open, vulnerable as though the music was drinking from him every sharp shard of the feelings he had been running from. Drinking it from him and pouring itself into the body of this beautiful, incandescent, magical boy. His blood began to race and he felt the rush of lust he had thought had long dried up in him. With marvelling eyes he watched as though hypnotised as the boy slowly drew his hand down over his chest, his stomach till it slid carefully under the waistband of his jeans. His stance shifted slightly and Edward could see the music passing delicately under the material with his fingers. He had no doubt now that the boy was touching himself and Edward felt his own body respond to the thought of that touch. He leant back into the shadows mesmerised.