Strange attraction spreads its wings,
It varies but the smallest things.
You never know how anything will change.
Strange attraction spreads its wings,
And alters but the smallest things.
You never know how anything will fade.
- Strange Attraction, The Cure.
I gulp shaking my way onto the stage. I daren't to look at all the expectant faces; watching to see if I'll fail or succeed.
The thing with being a smart student is that you create pressure-some expectations for yourself. I know sometimes I appear like a show-off but I'm really just a perfectionist who's eager to do well; assert my knowledge. I've been contemplating if people doubt me as a violinist the same way Harry and Ron did – do they really think I can only read books?
Now is not the time for all these things to be swirling in my head and yet here they are, taunting me. After McGonagall has performed the detection charm and I'm sat in the seat, I begin to feel sick. Look at all those people…
Snap out of it, I shake my head clear. Positioning the violin to my neck, raising the bow. I'm about to play but hear McGonagall cough.
"The piece, Miss Granger?"
God, I mentally slap myself.
"Oh yes," my voice is extremely high. I clear my throat as a few people chuckle in the audience at my changed octave.
"Vivaldi's The Spring,in C Major" I announce, trying to sound more poised than I feel.
How do performers do this every night? This is absolutely nerve-wracking!
Before I begin the piece – mind you, without any composition – I've noticed someone staring at me more intently than everyone else, save Harry and Ron who give her thumbs up. It's a platinum blonde ferret, who has his eyes fixed on me; Draco Malfoy.
Why is he looking at me? Why is his stare giving me somersaults in my stomach?
My anxiety turns to anger immediately.
He's trying to psych me out! He is just waiting for me to mess about so he can be satisfied that the girl who always beats him in exams will finally flop.
Something inside of me snaps. He will not affect me. I put on a determined face and furrow my brow at Malfoy, furiously tackling this piece.
The Spring starts out very slow, and then builds up momentum into a glorious crescendo of sound. It's like I've forgoten where I am and every single detail around me; the only focus is the music I've practised and listened to obsessively for the past week.
I haven't missed a note yet, and hope that I successfully imitated all the nature sounds that were incorporated in the piece; lightning, rain, thunder. It rivals the emotions I'm feeling right now. I wanted Malfoy's face to contort into a grimace, I want so badly for him to envy me, to sit in a pool of his displeasure.
It's the end of the movement and I've realized my eyes have been shut the entire time. The hair I tried to tame has fallen out of the bun I'd made and curled behind my neck.
But it doesn't matter because I hit the cadence, the final resounding note, blinking my eyes open. I can feel my cheeks flush staring out into the audience, embarrassed by how wild I've gotten. But they look in shock…and awe.
After a moment, claps and cheers and whistles of approval howl from all around me. Happily, I bounce off my seat, give a bow, and can't stop grinning. McGonagall is beaming at me; really, beaming!
"Thank you for that wonderful performance, Miss Granger," McGonagall says, while she prepared to pick the next performer.
In this triumphant demeanour I find myself ravenously gazing over at my mocker to see what his feedback to the performance was. Nothing could have prepared me for what's there.
Though his hands remain crossed and unclapping, Draco Malfoy is smiling: smiling. Not just the usual smirk, but a full-on toothy grin.
He's shaking his head with a little chuckle. Then he looks up at me and nods as if to say, Well done.
Well done? ! This is very troubling indeed.
What an impressive performance, I think incredulously. She had the loudest reaction yet, and everyone is heartily unwilling to go next.
Granger looked down at me with something to prove before she started playing, that's for sure. Apparently she thought I was trying to muddle her up with my gaze, but really I was just curious to see if this Mudblood girl would be able to handle such a difficult piece. And boy could she handle it.
Maybe because she lives in the Muggle world it would be easier for her to be accomplished in music playing; Yes that's it.
I mean, look at Dean & Seamus; both have Muggle lineage and therefore resources. They were the best after Granger in the whole bunch.
I knew that when she glared at me she wanted a reaction, silly lamb. But I wasn't going to give her the satisfaction of seeing myself unnerved that she did so well; I hadn't truly expected anything bad. I've grudgingly decided long ago that I cannot beat her in most subjects; why should music be any different?
But damn, have to hand it to her, never would've had any idea she would've been so….well, so bloody fantastic.
"What's wrong with you?" I heard Nott from beside me.
I turn to survey my idiotic questioner, "What?"
"Oh my god! Are you smiling? I don't think I've ever seen you smile in my whole life." Nott's jaw drops slightly (dramatically) and he nudges Graham beside him. "Malfoy's smiling! SMILING."
Graham unfocuses his gaze from Orla who he'd been goggling at since his performance and looks over at me.
"He is!"
"What? I am not!"
I feel my composure slip as I say this though….my face is contorted unfamiliarly now I stop to think about it.
I put a hand self-consciously to my lips and cheeks. Oh, fucking Merlin.
Immediately I force the smile into a line, cannot have people see me physically happy in response to…her.
Anyone else better not have noticed, but almost everyone else is gazing at Granger who's sat back down in front of me, great.
"You were amazing Hermione!" Ginny tells her, grabbing a hold of her hand.
"Yeah, really brilliant," Potter adds, smiling at his friend.
"There was no need for you to be worried, you did so much better than Susan," Weasley continues praising her, his eyes looking at her with unconcealed awe.
It's rather sickening, to tell the truth. The way Weasel is observing her…like he's in love with her or something.
Is he?...Or more importantly, is she?
Why do I care?
"What was that all about? Your smile…"
If Nott's mouth came any closer to my ears, I think I'd probably set one off on him.
"Granger was staring at me, like I was doing something terrible to her by gracing the presence of this vicinity. So I smiled at her to make her feel as uncomfortable as possible." I lie, trying to keep quiet as I lean to Nott, not wanting to face him.
"Yeah, suureee. You have the hots for Granger? I thought you were the leader of the Anti-Mudblood campaign," Nott says almost viciously.
"I do not have 'the hots' for her!" I hiss. Apparently too loud, Granger herself has turned around to stare at me quizzically, like she's heard her name.
But I can't be bothered with this garbage, so I sneer at her, angry at the accusation. Offended, she turns round and crosses her arms, huffing loudly. Weasley swings his head after he noticed her frustration and scrunches his features, outwardly trying to look scary, but failing miserably, my opinion. He's put an arm around her now, whipping back.
All of this has been going on while Hannah Abott performs her saxophone piece, which just ended. She earns an applause, but it seems nothing but a mere twitter compared to Granger's audition. Hannah glares daggers at Madam Mudblood as she walks past, and in response Granger, too nice, gives an apologetic face.
"Now, who's next?...Noone? Pity," McGonagall announces drily, flicking another form into her hands.
She scans the paper and ever so slightly her face droops. "Neville Longbottom. It's your turn."
A small murmur runs through the room; Neville?
True he has earned some 'street cred' last year when he stood up for Potter in front of the Dark Lord himself, but not a lot of people were present. And honestly, Longbottom doesn't have a reputation of being a very talented student other than in Herbology.
He stands up shaking, making his way down the aisle to the front. He halts stupidly for a moment, staring up at the intimidating chair and stand before stepping up onto the raised platform.
"Now," McGonagall starts, making the lout jump awkwardly. "Is anyone familiar with the Muggle story Erlking?" she addressed to everyone.
This sounds achingly familiar; I can't put my finger on it.
"Yeah, I am!" A little Ravenclaw girl pips up. Everyone finds her as she speaks eagerly, proud of the knowledge only she has. "It's a Swedish, I think, folktale. It was a story that was supposed to warn children and scare them to not defy their parents' wishes by giving in to sin."
"Yes, wonderful, 10 points to Ravenclaw," McGonagall notes. "I suppose this is a longshot if nobody knew the tale but, is anyone familiar with Schubert's piece about the Erlking, entitled Erlkonig?"
Recognition fils me. I suddenly vividly recall finding that composition in the practice room yesterday, and trying it on for size. It was difficult but not nearly as hard as the Chopin piece.
A few people raise their hands, including Cho Chang. It's only played by a piano.
I reluctantly push my own arm upwards, causing a couple people to murmur about me knowing about a Muggle piece. Fuck them, I raise it more defiantly as Ernie Macmillan obnoxiously announces aloud his opinion.
"Draco Malfoy? I'm sure I could pay it far better than he ever could, the poor Muggle-ignorant boy. I, at least, took Muggle Studies."
"And out of you, oh, 7 or so people; have any of you actually played the piece, and remember it decently from memory?"
I keep the hand up, nobody else has.
Wait….why exactly would she interrupt Longbottom for this?
"Ah, Mr. Malfoy?" As soon as McGonagall says it, you can hear the shuffling and attention of the room focused on me and my raised arm. Bollocks. I lower it, flicking my eyes back and forth between the surveyors, crossing it uncomfortably.
"You can play this can you?' our headmaster questions.
"Well….might I ask why? Professor." I add hastily. I am so very aware of the intent gazes all around me; whatever this is leading to, it can't be good.
"To put it simply, Longbottom has decided that he'd like to sing this piece."
Guffaws of laughter fill the room, none of which come from me. Of course the aim reveals itself, know exactly what McGonagall wants, and I certainly don't know my reply.
"Settle down, show some manners," McGonagall says harshly, shutting the whole lot up immediately. "I would like you, Malfoy, to accompany him on the piano."
"NO! I don't want his help!" Neville shouts immediately in protest, which causes everyone to discuss this new found anger in the usually amusing student. He's got his fists balled, defiant standing up there on the stage. "Why does he need to help me?"
"Because," McGonagall responds calmly, ignoring his outburst. "It is very difficult to do well when singing if you have no cues on when to finish or start my dear boy. It is also imperative that I can measure how well you sing against musical accompaniment. It would greatly help you, do not be so rude."
"S-sorry," Neville apologizes, looking her rather than me, though I don't blame the clod.
"What say you, Malfoy?" That sounds like a challenge.
Hmm, what to do.
My gut feeling is clearly telling me 'Hell no!", but at the same time everyone expects me to say no; I'd clearly rather dip my head in a bucket of Stinksap than help a Gryffindor.
Also, saving my talents for when I must do the audition is wise. I don't know the piece that well, and to impose a bad imprint in McGonagall's mind would be bad for business.
And then again, like with Granger, giving old Neville the satisfaction of being proven right would kill me. And considering Lonbottom reacted so violently to the suggestion of me helping him, I wouldn't mind making the bugger squirm.
Staring Neville directly in the eyes and giving him a defiant smirk I answer:
"Sure, I'll help Longbottom."
A gasp rocks the room, how melodramatic.
Potter, Weasley and Granger have all been observing me up to that point. They all drop their jaws, as does Nott, raising his eyebrows as well.
This might be fun. I get up more confidently than I feel leaving my composition on the seat. Checking my pocket for my wand, I grab my lovely piano at my feet and stride onstage. Wincing at the pain in my ribs when I step up, damn you Gryffindors!
I can't let it show, is this some sick form of payback? Who knows. I give Longbottom a wink as I pass him, setting my instrument down.
"Engorgio," I incant, my piano growing to its rightful size. A few people gasp again, this time of awe.
McGonagall eyes it appraisingly, though she tries not to let it show, approving of it. It really is a beautiful thing.
"Alright, let's get on with this, Longbottom." He's still standing in a daze, as I'm grabbing the flowery chair and dragging it to the piano, cursing it for being too high.
Good thing it's cushionay though, I gotta get down extra carefully so not to hurt my body again, and cracked my knuckles, making Longbottom cringe as he hesitantly stands beside me.
Odd gurgling noises like he's clearing his throat sound from him. He's contemplating me reproachfully, I'm only sitting at the ready. God, no respect here.
"State the piece again, Mr. Longbottom."
"Uh, yeah. Schubert's Erlkonig."Heputs his sheets of music onto the stand.
"What key?"
"Er-what?" Imbecile.
"The key. You know, what key are you singing in?" I repeat, rolling my eyes.
"Oh yeah…E m-minor."
"Okay," I say, preparing mentally, the melody rolling over in my mind. "Ready?"
I want to be done with it ASAP.
He waivers for a moment.
"Yes." He announces this to everyone, eyes pleading with me, begging for me not to mess him up.
'Alright,"
Obviously, I'm not going to sabotage the gawky freaks. We're in front of a crowd and McGonagall, seriously. I mean, once or twice I have lost control, but that was years ago, how daft can you be?
"1, 2, 3 -" I count us in and start the very dissonant sounding piece.
Even if I wanted to fuck him up, I must concentrate very hard to remember it; only played it a few times last night. As I get up the point where Longbottom is to begin singing, I glance in his direction. To find him rigid, frozen.
No avail, he's missed it, I stop playing.
He glares quizzically and crossly; I simply shoot up my brows innocently.
'What was that for!" He demands, and I hear McGonagall sigh.
"You were supposed to start singing," I state sweetly like I'm conversing with a 4 year old.
"Oh…."
Blushing bright red like a shy little cherub, I do not dignify any more responses.
"Let's try this again," I murmur under his breath, retrying the song.
This time he's ready; he begins to sing.
(Well, if you could call it that.)
"Wer reitet so spät durch Nacht und Wind?
Es ist der Vater mit seinem Kind!'
He can hit all the notes perfectly fine; the problem is that his German is absolutely atrocious, sounds as if it's some made up language he's speaking.
He looks like a frog….. Chest bulging in and out, convulsing from the strain of his vocal chords, tongue waggling.
A small smile forms on my face, I'm trying with great difficult to keep in the laughter; what an odd situation I've landed in.
Like others in the audience, I'm letting out little snorts, trying to keep a straight face.
Stop it, stop laughing. Concentrate.
Think of…Pansy. Yes, in nice lingerie. Pound the notes like you'd like to pound her.
However, when I picture Pansy's face no desire comes at all for her. She, after all, has left me alone here with no contact whatsoever in the past few months. I never loved her of course (lust, perhaps), but she had always been by my side, liked to kiss me sometimes, sometimes even more - and that was nice.
To my dismay, I find myself picturing Granger in my head. Wearing green and silver lacy things that were not nearly as innocent as she let on to be…
I spot her in the sea of faces – she's staring at me. I notice her nice eyes all the way from up on the stage. And I hate to admit, but they're unlike any I've ever seen before. I've never seen a shade of dark brown eyes with so much immediate depth, gold flecks dotting her irises. This inkling realization makes my face burn from mortification mixed with unwanted desire.
Suddenly, I hit a bad note, and come back to reality of the situation I'm in. I jerk my vision back to the keys, glad nobody has noticed the slip up.
Was Nott right? Do I, Draco Malfoy, truly and honestly the hots for Granger?
Fuckkkk.
He is rather good, I decide reluctantly.
That may pose a problem in the future.
Malfoy has just stared at me, while playing.
He didn't even have sheet music! How did he do that?
Oh, and not to mention he's helping Neville.
It's a very strange thing indeed; I knew he wouldn't try anything with McGonagall there, besides, he'd get even more trouble from Gryffindors had he done, and he surely didn't want that…
Merlin though, his fingers move so eloquently, and so fast. Not sloppy at all, it's really, from a musician's standpoint, wonderful.
I'm glad nobody else has seen him watch me (for the second time today). While I've been caught up in Malfoy, they all were, including Harry and Ron, focusing on Neville. Who is doing badly.
My heart really goes out to him, he really wants to succeed, he always tries so hard. People have broken into fits of giggles and titters at his singing. If he only knew German! He'd probably be decent if he knew it…well, better than whatever this was.
Just then, Neville has attempted an incredibly high note in the piece and his voice cracks. Ron let out a loud "HA!", covering his mouth immediately, laughing into his hand.
Harry's simply hidden his face away in his sleeve. Ginny, even, is grinning.
I glare at them.
"Awful you two!" I find myself scolding furiously. "He's your friend, and this is the respect you give him?"
Ron looks shamefaced. He whispers back, "Sorry, can't help it sometimes you know, I mean…just listen to him!" and his composure waivers once more.
I huff and cross my arms, focusing again on the stage. It had to be nearing the end soon, poor Neville; it's painful to watch this.
Unwillingly my gaze is shifting to Malfoy once again. Surprisingly, he's not laughing– or even smirking. He's stone faced attending to his task.
That's really nice of him, not to be poking fun of Neville like that, pops into my head.
Are you kidding? This is Malfoy, he just doesn't want to get in trouble, another voice protests.
Maybe, but he could probably get away with giggling couldn't he? And he's not sabotaging him…he could've not agreed to play at all!
Think he's changed, do you? The negative voice presses on in these thoughts.
Well, he obviously has. Anytime where he's not insulting me and others is an improvement, isn't it?
True, but you're defending him in your head, what's gotten into you? Feeling sorry for the brat after you've seen him all sad and broken down?
"Hermione?"
Ron has gently pushed me, a worried expression on his face. I've been staring straight ahead with a glazed look for a few minutes.
"Sorry, I was just…thinking."
"Oh….right." And out of the corner of her eye Ron is giving Harry the look. The 'what-was-that-all-about?' gaze that's usually reserved when I do something out of the ordinary. Harry shrugs.
Hadn't even realized the piece had ended, McGonagall is thanking him for his 'efforts', and people are clapping and hooting wildly – which is totally disrespectful in my opinion. They enjoyed the performance, but not because Neville did well. He's standing with his face to the floor, while Malfoy is stood awkwardly to the side.
'Quiet down now. Quiet" McGonagall barks, as someone speaks pretty noisily "What a masterpiece!", causing many to chuckle again.
"Thank you, Mr. Longbottom, you may go." Neville nods. Instead of reverting to his seat, however, he bounds off to the back of the platform, clearly upset.
Oh, poor dear.
Gryffindors surrounding me start to mumble.
"Poor Neville!"
"Oh, why did we laugh? Poor dear."
"Well he was bloody terrible…"
"I know, but – well, we'll just apologize later..."
'Mr Malfoy," McGonagall speaks, grasping my attention once again.
"Thank you for aiding Neville. Would you like to go now?"
She tried the words somewhat kindly, but annoyance is etched on her at what had just happened.
"Er…I guess so."
"Very well. Just give me a moment, while I go and speak to Longbottom ."
She was talking directly to Malfoy, but every word is carried to me being in the front row.
"All of you!" she booms, suddenly. "Stay seated, I will be back in a few moments. You should all be ashamed of yourselves." She ads as she hurries out of the Hall, following Neville's trail off the platform that probably leads to wherever Harry had to go for the Triwizard Tournament.
As the room buzzes began once again, I watch Malfoy walk back to his seat behind me. I dared not to turn around and watch him, but listen intently to his conversation.
That strange boy Theodore Nott is saying to him, "Good job Drakes! You were pretty decent, unlike Longbottom on the other hand, who was, ha, hahaha!" Unable to finish through his laughter.
Anger surges through me. How dare he?
"He sounded like a walrus gargling a voice alteration potion, ha ha ha! I mean it was the absolute worst-"
"I would appreciate it, if you stopped making fun of my friend!"
I don't understand why I'm so temperamental today, I irately spin around and splutter at the offender who is now giggling uncontrollably.
Malfoy is still standing, his eyes wide at the confrontation. Theodore rearranges to a surprised look, a smile still on his face.
"Ooh, feisty. So Malfoy, you like the fiery type, huh?" He's nodding his head towards me.
'The what?" I ask confused.
"Nothing," Malfoy snaps. "Who cares if he made fun of 'your friend' Granger? It's his opinion."
"Well I don't' much appreciate people poking fun of people who do their best!" I find myself retorting bitterly.
Malfoy merely rolls his eyes, proceeds to look under his seat for something.
I feel incensed to say something more, but it won't prove anything.
"What're you looking for?" Theodore questions.
"My composition….it was right here!" he shouts irritably, panicked.
I turn around again, finished with watching their antics, and shake my head. Stupid boys…
"What was that all about?" Harry enquires.
"Oh, never you mind." I tut. He raises his hands up halfway in the air in the, and then lowers them, not wanting to test me.
I make a mental note to apologize later.
Behind me, though I'm trying desperately to ignore him, I can't help but overhear Malfoy getting increasingly annoyed.
"What the fuck? Where did it go? Did someone take it?" He is most definitely freaking.
Unfortunately for him, McGonagall has just returned, Neville not in tow.
She is now a little aggravated no doubt, expectant. 'Mr Malfoy? If you will."
A very audible 'Fuck!" is muttered under his breath, but he stomps over to the stage.
He gets up slowly onto the stand, clutching his ribs. Flinging himself onto his seat.
How is he going to pull this off, I wonder?
Even though it's Malfoy, I feel a pang of sympathy for him, a dead man walking in the hands of our most strict teacher.
God, I could use a stiff one right now.
Somebody has moved my composition, but why? Out of spite? Or maybe just plain idiocy?
Isn't physical punishment enough?
In any case, some liquid courage, maybe some Firewhiskey or a nice Bourbon would suffice right about now. It was all that could keep me alive last year when the Dark Lord practically lived in my house….I shudder for a moment, and push back those memories. I have much more pressing matters.
What the hell am I going to play?
"Now, your piece Mr Malfoy?"
"Er- ah"
I think fast and blurt the first thing that comes to my head.
"Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
"P-pardon?" A few people titter at me. Oh, ha ha.
"I seemed to have misplaced my composition while I was up here helping Longbottom. So I can no longer play Chopin, can I?" I reply severely. "I'll play Mozart's variations of Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star."
"I must admit I've never heard that piece," McGonagall admits.
"It is the same tune as Glisten, Glisten, Dragon's Eye. I guess I'll have to show you."
And so I begin once again, a piece I have not practices, have not planned to play today.
How on earth is Malfoy going to make Twinkle, Twinkle Little Star sound good? I mean, he said variations, so obviously he'll perform it more than once…but still.
The simple tune is underway, it sounds pleasant enough. There are students commenting on its simplicity behind me, laughing or jaunting at him. But Malfoy closes his eyes, once again with no composition, and finishes the song, no reaction.
He pauses a moment, a few people cough, but then he gives a haughty sneer before he repeats.
And this time, it's amazing. The tune much more complex, and beautiful.
And then, he finishes it again.
The fourth round of Twinkle, Twinkle and it's barely recognizable. It has completely transformed into something different; if you hadn't known Malfoy played the original a moment ago, you wouldn't be able to identify it.
The last round seems to combine every section he had played so far together in a wonderful, awesome, delicious song. How have I never heard this before?
How long has he been studying piano?
How well versed in classical music do you think he his?
I'm watching his fingers; they glide effortlessly across the piano, he's so elegant changing from key to key.
Why is he so good? Why does he have to be so good?
He finishes with a little flourish and hits the last note.
Nobody moves, we're all too amazed to do anything; No one knows if they should clap, after all this is Malfoy we're talking about.
McGonagall starts the applause, a polite pace, with pleased look on her face; he passed her test.
Malfoy sits there awkwardly, and finally behind me I can hear the Slytherin's clap. Though I might have to pay for these actions later, I can't preach to people about being rude and then not clap myself, so I join in.
Soon enough, everyone is applauding, and although it's not very heartily, it's respectful.
He grins, not smirks, for a small moment and then hobbles off stage. I watch his lithe frame as he makes his way back behind me, noticing a contentedness in his eyes, satisfaction in his demeanour.
I feel something stir in my chest when he smiles. And I don't know if I like it, don't know to feel about him anymore. But…one thing is for certain, he can really play.
And though I hate to admit this, he looks rather good. I'm not sure I understand why I've never noticed it before...