I just made an enemy of someone I don't know,

And they are upset about somethin' that I must have done.
It really doesn't make much sense, well i've got no statement in my defense.
I know, no matter what, no matter who, no matter what I do: Somebody hates me,
Somebody hates me, and I hate somebody too.
- Somebody Hates Me, Reel Big Fish

It's 8 AM when I find myself down in the Great Hall for breakfast. As I take my seat, Harry and Ron half-asleep, I overhear them grumbling about how early it is.

"Really, I mean History is bad enough on its own; we have to have it at 8:30 in the morning?" Ron yawns, almost falling into his eggs.

"Hermione, where have you been?" Harry inquires as he rubs his eyes.

"Yeah!" pipes up Ron, "Did you sleep in? Later than us I mean, it's not exactly sleeping in is it?"

"We didn't see you in the common room so we came down to eat, sorry we didn't wait…"

"Oh-" I pause, still uncomfortable about what happened between Malfoy and I just an hour ago. I'm not really sure I should spill about the incident, they'll only react badly.

"That's fine, I was in the Owlery this morning actually," I try nonchalantly, although I'm aware I'm sounding a bit too cheery.

"Ther Owlewee? Wha foor?" my ginger friend asks, mouth full of bacon. I roll my eyes – Ron has this tendency to stuff his face and then inquire about something. It's just a bit more than off-putting.

"I was writing to my mother, asking her to send me my violin," I smile, excited by the prospect.

"Violin?" Ron asks confused as he gulps down some milk.

"For the music class?...Honestly Ronald, do you choose to have the brain retention of a troll?"

Ron hands me a glare, but Harry laughs, spluttering his orange juice onto the table.

"So you really are going to join that class then are you?"

"Well - obviously. I love playing music, have I never mentioned it? And shouldn't you be sending an owl Ron, ask your Mum for something? Harry?"
The two boys exchange looks.

"Uh…I don't ever recall you saying you enjoyed music Hermione," Harry admits with his head down, carefully avoiding the question.

"Y-yeah….I don't, yeah…" Ron trails off, and I get the feeling that they were all talk and no action.

"What?"

"Oh," Ron ventures. "We kind of just, never pictured you as being a musical genius…."

At my expression, Harry tries to cover up Ron's poor choice of words.

"Not that we don't think you're brilliant Hermione, and not that we don't think you could play an instrument, but I dunno, we just thought of you as more of a book and common sense er, genius, rather than having any artistic ability…."

Ron slaps his forehead and shakes his head, mortified.

"Way to go, mate." He mutters.

I try to remain calm at this news, definitely can see where they are coming from, know they're not trying to be mean, but I never thought I would come off as being only book smart. It hits me a little harder than I'd like that I don't appear at all artistic.

"Right.." I reply simply. "I see. Well I guess you'll just have to come watch me in my audition and I can help you practice for yours."

They know they've made me a bit irritated, so I stare stone-faced at them, waiting for an objection.

"We were always going to go to your audition, weren't we Ron?" Harry urges, lips pursed, his eyes bulging.

"Oh- oh yeah! Sure."

"Erm – why did you go to the Owlery so early Hermione?" Harry continues, trying to change the subject once again. I really wish they'd just spit out whatever it is they're trying to say.

God, the owlery.
No, stop it Hermione, they don't know what happened. And you will not tell them the whole truth or they'll go ballistic even though nothing happened….
It's Malfoy, bad idea. Just leave that part out.

"Hermione?"

"Oh, sorry, I was just, thinking about…yes." The two boys exchange glances, this time confused. "I went early so it would reach my mum as soon as possible. I need to practise do I not? I want to be in the Advanced category. Hopefully. Intermediate would be fine I suppose…."

"I'm sure you'll be. Which owl did you use?" Harry asks casually, returning to his eggs.

He always has had a fascination for them ever since he first received Hedwig so many years ago. She was like a dog or cat; every owner likes theirs a little bit more than anyone else's. Usually, I use her. Harry is merely curious as to her replacement, but the thought of the owls make me turn bright red.

"Oh well, I think it was brown…."
"You think?"
"You see, the envelope fell off the first owls ankle and I had to refasten-"

Before I finish, Malfoy walks into the hall distracting me, stretching groggily as he makes his way to the far end of the table. He looks exhausted.

Harry turns round puzzled, to see who I'm staring at. I can't look down fast enough so Ron does the same, and before I know it, they've both turned back scowling.

Damn it, why did I slip-up? Rather shrilly I try to finish my sentence: "I had to refasten the envelope onto another owl so I don't remember what kind it was!"

"Malfoy? Why were you staring at Malfoy!" Ron spits angrily, ignoring my statement.

"No reason…He was staring at me. Now about your instruments…"

"Anytime you feel the need to even glance at that idiot, there has to be something wrong," Harry maintains firmly. "Does he have any reason to watch you?"

"Oh….well he, er, we actually were both at the Owlery this morning, it was rather awkward…"

"How?" Harry demands.

"Stop it Harry, it really was nothing."

"What happened?" He presses on, irking me further.

I decide to ignore him. "Don't worry about it, alright? I'll tell you later, now what are you boys going to play for the music class?"

"Hermione!" Harry shouts as several people look at their resident Gryffindor, surprised. Neville drops his pumpkin juice onto the table at the outburst.
"Don't you 'Hermione' me, why do you keep avoiding the question?" I hiss.

"Why do you? !"

"I've just told you I will tell you, so that doesn't matter!"

"Alright, alright!" Ron breaks in, hands spread out ready to level. "Hermione, we're really, really sorry, but Harry and I just don't want to join that class. Neither of us can play an instrument, and honestly, we don't need to make fools of ourselves just to keep you company. And besides, it's not like I can afford it..."

What?
I shrink into my seat. I'm so excited about this, and they really think it'll be boring?
"And...did you just suddenly decide this now? Last night you seemed to both think it was a pretty decent idea."

I'm trying to keep emotion out of my voice, I just had such high hopes for this year, and having them with me would be perfect.

"Erm…we decided last night in the boys' dormitory. We heard Dean talking about how he practiced his guitar for hours every day at home in London and Seamus has won awards for playing the fiddle." Harry explains. "We just don't have that big of a passion, Hermione. It would be better for you to go without us and enjoy it with people who enjoy it as well, right? We'd only be complaining about it all the time, and you know how much that annoys you."

Sighing, I give in, unsure of what to say. He's right, I only would've liked closer friends in a class she I'm bound to love as much if not more as Ancient Runes.

"I suppose….." Harry appears a little guilty, and Ron isn't even matching anyone's eyes. "What about Ginny?"

"Well, I had to tell her I was going to join last night, didn't I? She was so excited about it…but she'll understand, she's cool that way. "The way he says it, makes me feel as if I am not 'cool that way'.

We've barely had any tussles, because I haven't seen them on a daily basis for months. This is so uncomfortable.

"So, anyways…Hermione, about Malfoy…" Ron starts after a minute of silence.

"Ron, please."

All the blush that faded away minutes ago all come back in a snap of the fingers. Her anguish was replaced with embarrassment. The disappointment of their confession mingled with all this make me quite the unpleasant person.

"Just tell us, Hermione, your face says it all. Something happened."

"Well, um,…"

"Yeah?" the two repeat in unison.

"To be blunt…I fell on top of him," I shrug, failing at being nonchalant.

It really does not sound that horrible, but Ron's face turns scarlet from rage anyways, and Harry's mouth does that 'ick!' expression. Such babies.

"You fell? On top of him?" Ron recaps slowly.

"Yes! Okay? The letter flew off the owl's ankle and it floated around in the wind. As Malfoy was leaving I accidentally fell on him because I tried to grab it, all the owls were going ballistic. I wasn't paying attention!"
I'm in a huff, this is so awkward.

"Face on face, or back to face?"

"End of discussion! It is not a big deal alright, it doesn't need to be an ordeal. I'm going to go get my books from the dorms, I'll see you in History," I pull out the chair, ignoring the protesting noises they're making.

I don't think they've seen me so humiliated, but considering it's Malfoy we're dealing with, I seriously hope they don't blame me.

Ignoring their burning gazes, I hurriedly get out of the hall and scamper to the Gryffindor Tower, feeling very flustered indeed.

At the other end of the hall, Granger is getting up and leaving very quickly. I shudder at the memory of the encounter from earlier this morning.

After I got back to his room from the Owlery, I couldn't sleep. The moment when she fell on me was replaying in my head. The way she stared me in the eyes, her vision softened for some reason. I spent 30 minutes lying awake, sorting out my thought about this, getting nowhere. I decided to get up and go and do this mysterious thing called eating.

So now here I am, trying my hand at eating oatmeal. Something I hate, but hey, for once I'm hungry and I hope it gets down.

I spoon the cinnamon mush into my mouth. Even though it tastes fine, it just won't go down. So I spit it back out, a few giggles coming from the first years across from the table.
Fuck's sake.

"I need to eat something soon, or I'll die."

{One week later}

Samuel Guertin, this short, thin, and elderly French professor once taught at Beauxbatons is rambling on. The curriculum changed at Beauxbatons a few years ago; wanting to ensure that everyone who attended was female, the male staff got been laid off. Apparently McGonagall is an old friend of his, so he came back to teach Defence Against the Dark Art at Hogwarts with the available space. Probably the only guy who applied.

I tap my foot impatiently, bored. This is mind-numbing. Admittedly, he's not a terrible replacement compared to the many others that have been a Hogwarts victim over the years. However, I feel that he's teaching far too much theory than actual practice and I want to go to sleep.

"Oi, Malfoy, quit tapping your feet!" I hear from behind me.

Finnigan, stupid short git he is, glares at me heatedly. Quite frankly, I've had enough of Seamus's annoying commands. It's been an ongoing thing, this demanding little tick that seems to have planted itself on my shoulder permanently. Only been nearly a month, and the kid acts like he owns me; simply won't do. I may be a coward at times, but I sure as hell am not going to be a pushover anymore.

"Make me," I retort, hissing so professor can't hear me.

"And zus, ze ghoul is a razzer strange creature to defeat. Like ze mandrake, its scream can kill you, so rather zan trying to hex it you should charge at it, try to dismember its head by its neck and- yes Mistere Finnigan?" Guertin and plenty of other students notice Finnigan has his hand raised, a pained expression upon his ugly round face.

"Sir, Malfoy won't stop tappin' his foot. It's driving me nuts, and I asked him to, but he won't stop!" he exclaims in his thick Irish accent. He sounds like a tattling 3 year old.

What a baby.

"Mistere Malfoy?" Guertin questions me, "Is zis true?"

"I suppose." I reply simply. "I was tapping my feet, it's an anxious habit you see. But, I would've gladly stopped if he had actually asked me."

"I did ask you, you dolt!" Ooh, not very friendly. Steam puffs out of him almost.

"No, actually, you didn't. You merely told me to stop. Maybe if you'd asked nicely…. "I trail.
This shit has got to stop, I haven't done anything to these people at all this year and still I get treated as if I'm public enemy #1.

"Oh well, Mistere Finnigan, you did not azk Mistere Malfoy to stop politely. Courtezy, my boy, courtezy. Say please to Monsieur Malfoy."

"….What?" he bellows. Several amused whispers arise from my few classmates, while the ones dressed in red and gold appear shocked at the teacher's suggestion.

"Mistere Finnigan, do not raise your voice in zis classroom." Guertin instructs gaily. "If you 'ave a problem with tapping feett, ask Mistere Malfoy to stop, please. Go on then!"

He turns to face me, and my delight is growing though I must be silently enjoying this small victory. He utters through gritted teeth and slitted eyes:

"Can you please stop tapping your stupid-"
"Ahem."
"Your feet. Please stop tapping your feet…"

I smirk and nod, "Of course Seamus, be my pleasure."

He's livid and begins to whisper his frustrations to other Gryffindors. Potter and Weasley shoot daggers out of the corner of their beady little eyes, while Dean Thomas is about ready to pop me one in the jaw.
Well there's my amusement for the afternoon. Riling that lot is the only pleasure I get these days.

Guertin continues the lesson on phantom creatures as if nothing has occurred, evidently not realizing the slow tension between the desks rising. Hell, they can have at me for all I care.

"Why were you tapping your feet?" Nott whispers suddenly, who up until that moment was ignoring my presence though he's sat beside me.
"Like I said…nervous habit."
"No really, usually you are slumped over and comatose. Why?"
"I –" I feel hesitation in being friendly and confiding with Nott. He really is the only other person to talk to, yet he's hated me for as long as I can remember.

Fuck it...I used to tell everyone everything, and it's not like it's really secret.

"I want my bloody piano."

"What! You haven't gotten it yet? Auditions are in 3 days!" Nott scolds me as if I need that this moment.

"Don't remind me…" I sigh. Been a week since I've sent the letter, and still no sign of a response, not even a note explaining why there`s been no word. So many times I daydream of attempting to try 'Accio piano!'. That isn't specific enough though and could potentially cause a disaster. Still, if I don't get it soon, it's an option out there on the table.

Lunch is right after Defence, the mail comes at this time on Wednesdays. Which is why I'm anxious, hence the tapping, hence the petulance.

I haven't dared to since I arrived, but I give in to chancing a glance at the ornate clock that's hung high on the wall: 12:14.

Time to go!

"Alright, we shall finish up ze lesson on ghouls next class, bon annee mes amis!" Guertin announces as the bell chimes at 12:15.

The students amble up, creaking chairs and shuffling bags. Everyone is eager to go eat, and my enemies and 'friends' sidle out of the classroom.

I'm attempting to book it down to the Great Hall, alone. And suddenly a pair of hands are felt on my back, suddenly the gut feeling in this moment is that I'm straight fucked.

The hands clutch my robes and yank backwards, pushing my uncoordinated body against the wall.

Without surprise, it's Finnigan. Accompanied by Thomas and that lout, Cormac McLaggen. When I said he could have at me, I meant a solo battle.

"Think it's funny to make an arse outta me do ya? Huh, Malfoy?" he fumes.

At this juncture, I'm barely mad at this assault, just annoyed. I knew it was bound to happen sometime, I thought that it'd be Weasley though to do the honours.

"Maybe," I reply, earning a harder shove against the stone.

"You're not so tough are you now that you have nobody by your side?" Thomas joins in on the taunting, unsurprising given that he was a captive in my home last year with Granger and the lot. I suppose he told Finnigan, didn't he?

"Or maybe, I don't give a flying broomstick anymore about what you all have to say about me," I retort.

"So you admit you did before then? The mighty, all powerful, I'm-rich-so-nothing-can-stop-me Draco Malfoy?"McLaggen teases me, viciously might I add.

"Put me down Seamus….please?" I jeered at him, imitating how he said it in Defence.

"Shut up! You miserable sack of shit! Why did you come back you two timing Death Eater? Nobody likes you, why show your miserable face and ruin Hogwarts reputation?' finnigan yells, slamming me continually at every word he speaks.

My vision begins to haze, I begin to see spots, but the anger I feel overshadows any pain at the moment. I can't fucking believe his nerve.

"What did you just call me?"

"A Death Eater!" pipes in a third year Hufflepuff daringly. Oh great, now there's a bloody crowd! "My mum says your family had You Know Who at your house last year! You must've been his followers!"

"I didn't ask for that to happen!" I shout, placing hands on Finnigans, struggling to get away.

"So it's true then! You're part of the reason I had to spend months in exile last year!"

"No, I – I didn't agree with anything they said or did! What would you do if the Dark Lord just decided to make your house his place of residence?" I am surprisingly thankful he didn't mention that he was a prisoner in my basement to a bunch of spectators, but holy fuck, why do we have to do this here? Why now?

"Try to kill him you idiot! I don't care if I get hurt in the process!" he berates me.

By now there are people drawn in, pools of kids surveying the downfall of Draco Malfoy. Among the throng lay curious Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs, as well as a few Gryffindors – feeling that I've finally gotten what I deserved; payback is certainly a bitch.

Quickly Thomas grabs a hold of my left arm. Immediately I'm aware of what he's trying to pull but I'm helpless unless I hit back. And I just can't do that. I can't when my stomach is turning with guilt, knowing in my heart that I deserve it.

"Don't!" I yell helplessly.

But protests don't work often do they? Dean thrusts up the sleeve, I'm rendered speechless because I can't believe that people would be compelled to sink so low. As soon as Thomas views what is etched into my skin, he drops my dangling limb like a hot coal.

"He's got the mark…he's one of them!" he murmurs hoarsely. A bit fucking dramatic, don't you think?

The people gasp in horror. "Skeeter was right!" a second year Ravenclaw shouts, doing my head in.

"I was one of them," I spit. "I didn't ask for it. Now that he's gone, there is no point in having any followers, is there!"

"You still were one of them, you stupid git!" His temper rising.

"I-I didn't want to be! Do you really think I could kill somebody?" I find myself pleading, hoping nobody thinks of Dumbledore. Because if that gets out, surprised it hasn't yet, I'm a dead man walking.

"No – you're too much of a coward," Finnigan enunciates, looking me in the eye.

He slowly lets me away, appearing to be disgusted. I released the breath I was holding in, brush off my shirt as I start to walk away – but then a fury of fists is upon my face.

Dean has started beating me senseless – obviously taking his frustrations on the only person he feels is worthy of it.

And the pain is considerable, but there is no use trying to protest because it's been a long time coming. So I stand there taking it; the only attempt at I make is trying to shield my face. But no, old Dean is grasping a hold the back of my skull, making sure I can't observe anything but my attacker.

Finnigan joins in, assaulting my stomach now, rendering me unable to breathe. He yanks dangling fabric to hold me up as he pounds a fist into my ribs.
I feel my skin heating up, choking for air, feeling absolutely useless. I want to do something, anything, but my mind is going and no strength can be found in any ounce of my body.

Scores of blood pour out of my nose, but they drip onto the floor. I have no idea who is doing what now, but somebody is relentlessly aiming again and again at his jaw and the other has made an art project of my torso, a collage of bruises forming for certain.

And my heart and head is pounding, but suddenly somebody is my saviour.

"Oi! That's enough!" It's Nott's voice from behind McLaggen, who stands with a frown on his face.

A twinge of blame resonates through my whole self at the relief I feel when they let me go. I have not appreciated sooner the fact that I have somebody who understands me a little at Hogwarts.
The silence is palpable, the only sound from anybody is my rasping breaths regulating to a normal speed.

Nott barrells through the din, towering over most, and peels Dean and then Seamus off of me for good. When they let go of my back I slide to the ground, huffing heavily.

"Back off!" He offeres me a hand, I return him a look that clearly says "Thank you" while extending my own fingers.

As the seventh year boys clear the space where I was, the spectators all give horrified and shocked gasps.

God, I must look terrible, but honestly for once I don't even care. This all feels surreal, numb. I cannot believe that justhappened.

"Great Hall," I pant to Nott, who nods and strides in front as if he fancies himself a body guard. It's a strange sight, because Nott is rather skinny and not intimidating at all. I'd laugh if this didn't make me feel worse, my saviour is almost as pathetic as me.

As we pass my assaulters, I have no words, mere I glare at them with my normal menacing demeanour. They are already starting to regret their decision at the faces they return me, guess they're gonna plead temporary insanity.

The walk to the Great Hall is disastrous and humiliating. Everyone is openly pointing and whispering, some give audible cries. Nott reaches for the door, and opens it, I bob my head in thanks.

The pair of us try to quietly make the way to the Slytherin table, but my favourite people, the 7th year Gryffindors, (AKA Potter, Granger & Weasley) gawk. I take the seat in my usual spot at his far left table, immediately chugging a glass of water. It's down in 3 sips.

"Well….er, th-thanks." I mutter. A rare occasion it is that a Malfoy relays a thank you, but this one time it is far more than necessary.

Nott raises his eyebrows, having never heard me say the 't' word.
"Sometimes, people just go too far," he responds. "You're welcome. I know what it's like to have people not on your side...think you're scum. And besides now you owe me one,' He joshes lightly.

I smirk. Classic Slytherin; there always was a catch.

"Oh my god, what happened to you!" To the right, Astoria is gaping at me as she raises her head up from a book she was reading (67 Remedies to Uncommon Skin Problems by Wyatt Pimplusty).

"Little bit of a fist fight," I mumble unpleasantly. "A bit one-sided though."

I find it rather cowardly that now everyone wants to beat me up, when Potter has done so many times before I was all alone with no cronies. Nott is rocking back and forth, catching my eye eagerly, as if to say; Now's your chance to repay the favour.

"That's ghastly!" Astoria notes.

"Yeah, well it would have been much worse if Nott hadn't come to uh….rescue me," I say, secretly wanting to roll my eyes. "probably would've had broken ribs – probably do actually now that I think about it…" I poked myself tentatively in the side and wince at the scorching pain. Ow, motherfucker!

"You rescued him?" Astoria says with glistening features. "How sweet!"

"It was nothing, houses stick together right?" Nott quips modestly, smiling at me: Well done!

The two begin talking, probably flirting, so I attempt to clear up the wounds with my wand to avoid further gore and infection. Transfiguring a spoon into a mirror, (which is difficult, might I add) I want to vomit. I shuddered at this unrecognizable face: 4 places on my cheeks and forehead the skin is split open; my nose no doubt broken; blood and bruises battering the rest.

"Viscus amendo" I incant to himself, sealing the open flesh on my chin. I try to avoid flinching at the pain. I`ve never had to use this spell before, had no idea how much it hurt. Which is a damn lot.

"Want me to repair your nose?' I hear from behind him. People need to stop sneaking up on me. Graham Pritchard is standing with his wand at the ready.

"Uh…."

"Trust me, I'm good. My dad has the hugest and pointiest snout I've ever seen, always breaks it on something, and Mum taught me to fix it cause she was tired of doing it always."

"I guess it can't hurt…I don't want to go see Madam Pomfrey and spend the night in the hospital wing." Graham scrunches his mouth, finding the statement weird. I can see the judgemental thought bubble: 'Malfoy always wants people to notice when he's been damaged..'

Well not today. Not ever again. I just want people to leave me to myself, but I can't seem to stem my comebacks long enough to not piss everybody off.

"Ready?" he asks. I no apprehensively. "Episkie!"

A sharp snap and a light pain. Immediately my breathing is much easier again. I inhale deep just to be sure. Smooth sailing. The man does a good job.

I notice Nott, Graham, & Astoria surveying the damage, seeing what the results of my 'surgery'.

"Why are you all being nice to me all of a sudden?" I inquire, genuinely confused.

"You've changed Malfoy…I'm not sure how I feel about it, but it seems to be good. And nobody deserves that level of degradation. We're not kids anymore, they should try to let it go when you're not being a dick. You're not as arrogant and snide as you normally are Drakes." Nott smiles and winks.

"Drakes?..." Graham and Astoria giggle.

Ew, no. "Look I appreciate what you did Nott, and everyone else - but if you any of you ever call me that I'll-"

I'm interrupted by the sounds of a hundred screeches: owls!

"You'll beg me to say it again," Nott finishes, and I pull a face while the others laugh.

I feel relief course through me, the idea that they don't hate me giving me more gratification than I thought it could.

And with the crisis averted, I'm examining the sky for Aquila…and suddenly – there he is!

He swoops down magnificently and drops a package that a camera could fit in. Catching itm I find myself smiling. A real smile. The kind you get from laughter or after a wonderful kiss.
I've tried to teach myself to stow these away, the others so taken back they stare at me quizzically. But I don't care.

I unwrap the gift excitedly, oblivious to the rest of the world. Quickly, I skim the letter attached to it.

"Is that it then…?"
Nott is talking to me, but I tune him out.

Draco,
I apologize that this was so late – I was conflicted on whether I should send it or not, you know father and I haven't really approved of your love of music. Muggles are the main advocates… Anyways, I contemplated not sending it to you at all, but I couldn't bear to see my boy unhappy at school. I hope you're doing well – I snort aloud at this part - I hope people have made nice to you as well, I heard that lots of pure blooded families refused to let their Slytherin children attend. I'm such a mess. Miss you!

Good luck my darling, remember to write,
Mother xoxo

Staring at the note, deciding to reread it once again, I shake my head and place it in my pocket. The sealed opening I rip to carefully grab hold of my sexy, shrunken Fazioli grand piano.

Merlin, it`s so beautiful. I fall deeper in love with it every time I view it. The exterior made of dark shiny maple, the keys a gleaming white. It even has my name carved into the side in cursive.

Pressing a pinky onto the miniature piano, it gives a soft, satisfying clang. I can't wait any longer, I need to get lost in the notes. Need to forget about what just happened. I try to be unaware of everything as I exit the hall, giddy and excited.

'Where're you going!" Nott calls, but I'm hobbling away.

"Room 34, the Practice Room," I state as I leave my classmates mystified. They've likely never seen such a happy Malfoy.

Only 3 days till the auditions and so much music to choose from –once I begin practicing a few favourite pieces, I hope I'll know right away which piece to perform.

After excruciating minutes of dithering to the North tower where the room is (ribs aching painfully), I know I'm probably going have to go to Madam Pomfrey later to mend his bones.

"But for now, we play." I clamber into the warm purple room; it's covered in a plush rug, while thousands of composition books fill in bookcases all across the walls. Only a few instruments line the interior, an enchanted bubble around each of the cases. When popped the bubble shrieks noisily, indicating that somebody has tried to steal one of them. Ingenious, I must remember that spell when I leave

Placing my wooden love on the floor, it fits nicely in the corner and I enunciate my enchantment: "Engorgio."

The piano erupts to morph into the beautiful monstrosity of an instrument it is, my delight growing at every passing moment.

A cushioned stool from across the room, my nerves settling slow, I sit down eagerly, cracking my fingers together. I swish my wand to close the door, I adore playing alone. And right now I need to, it's almost a therapy.

I close my eyes and place my hands onto the keys, deciding on Beethoven's Pathetique Sonata. The sound reverberating through the room, the instant calm I feel, I know I'm definitely going to be here for a long while.