Writer's block strikes again. The bane of my existence. Well, I got through it, and here's chapter five!
Harry had never slept better. He'd gone to listen to the music and the piano has played without fail every night. Harry had slept near eight hours consistently every night. something he hasn't managed since sixth year, maybe before. Harry welcomed the sense of peace that came with the rest.
He knows it's not a professional player who's performing. There are mistakes and the occasional sour note. Harry doesn't really mind it as much as other people might, though. There was a sort of comfort in the imperfections that let Harry know it wasn't just a magical piano playing without a person.
One night, though, something changed.
As usual, Harry went for a walk. He twisted through the hallways, taking a similar path to the night he first went out. There wasn't any music, but this was normal. Harry was a little early, too; the music sometimes didn't start up until as late as midnight. Normally eleven o'clock was a good time to go out. It was ten thirty when Harry got up and left.
He walked around for a while, enjoying the silence but listening carefully for the music. While the first fifteen minutes or so always sounded a bit like exercises, Harry didn't mind.
He walked around for a long time, yet there was no music. That was odd. Whoever was playing hadn't ever missed a night. He supposed it was inevitable, though. Harry continued his walk throughout the castle, hoping that the person was just very late.
After hours of walking, though, he had to concede defeat. The person wasn't playing tonight.
Harry walked back to the Gryffindor common room. The Fat Lady was snoozing in her portrait.
"Harmony," he said a bit loudly, taking off the Cloak.
"Oh!" The Fat Lady startled, waking up. "Now what are you doing out late, Mr. Potter?"
"Taking a walk," Harry replied dully. "Harmony."
"Fine fine fine," the Fat Lady muttered as the portrait swung open. "Don't mind me, I don't need any sleep at all." Harry knew he'd probably be reported in the morning, but he didn't particularly care. All he could think about was that the music didn't play.
Harry fell into his bed, not used to the feeling of it after sleeping against a wall for the last couple of weeks. He checked the alarm clock on his nightstand. It was two fifteen in the morning. As he lay staring at the ceiling, it occurred to him how tired he was, and he soon fell asleep.
Harry quickly found himself in the doorway of Number 12, Grimmauld Place. He looked around; nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary. It was quiet, a honking of a car horn in the distance, a bird chirping in a nearby tree. Harry opened the door cautiously and stepped inside.
"Homenum Revelio," Harry muttered, waving his wand. A silhouette appeared, moving closer to the corridor. Harry tensed.
"Hello, baby Potter," Bellatrix cackled as she stepped into the hallway. "Come to play?" She walked forward but was replaced by Voldemort, who yelled, "Avada Kedavra!" Harry couldn't move. His feet were glued to the floor. Suddenly, someone leapt in front of him. Sirius. The Killing Curse struck him and he fell dead at Harry's feet. Harry cried out and fell forward. As soon as he did, though, a cloud of dust rose up at the end of the hall, forming the shape of Dumbledore. It began advancing, moving fast.
"I didn't kill you!" Harry shouted hoarsely. "I didn't kill you!" Despite this, which should've disintegrated the dust Dumbledore, it kept advancing.
"I didn't —" Harry's words were suddenly cut off as the dust Dumbledore's hands clamped around his throat, as solid as if they were real. Harry choked and coughed.
"I didn't… kill… you," he wheezed, but the hands wouldn't relent. Just as he began to lose consciousness, Harry shot up, waking up in the dorm. He sucked in a huge breath.
"You okay, mate?" Neville asked quietly from his bed. "You were shouting a bit."
"Yeah. Yeah, I'm alright," Harry muttered, falling back into his sheets. He prayed the person, whoever they were, would play the next night. He missed the sense of peace, even though it'd only been a night.
Luckily for Harry, it played the next night, and didn't miss the next two nights either. He welcomed the music back and slept excellently again.
Two nights after his last nightmare, Harry woke up against a stone wall at dawn and went back to the Gryffindor common room, planning on waiting outside the portrait hole until it opened up and he could slip inside. This normally worked; Seamus and Dean were early birds and often went down to breakfast before anyone else.
As he walked up and waited, though, there was a constant pain in his neck. No matter how much he twisted and turned it, the ache wouldn't go away. Harry sighed. It was certainly from the nights he was sleeping sitting against a stone wall. There was an easy solution for this, though.
When nighttime rolled around and it was about eleven thirty, Harry covered himself in the Invisibility Cloak as usual. Instead of walking down, though, he took the duvet cover off of his bed and bundled it up, putting it under his arm and grabbing his pillow.
As Harry walked around, the music was already playing. The person was in the middle of a piece, probably having already gone through exercises. Harry found a spot where the music seemed fairly close and unfurled the duvet, folding it half and setting it on the ground. The blanket was big enough that it acted as a cushion, and if Harry curled his legs in a bit, he could easily sleep on it. He put the pillow down and tried casting the Invisibility Cloak over the makeshift bed. The Cloak covered it easily, with enough room that Harry could tell he could sleep on it comfortably with the Cloak covering him.
He laid down and draped the Cloak over him, making sure it covered every corner of the duvet, not to mention himself. Harry stared at the ceiling, listening to the music. It was slow and sad, with lots of low notes and a bit of a depressing melody. He listened to the rest of it, wondering what could've made the player so sad. The music perked up a little in the next piece, though, with a moderate, sweet melody. It was almost like a lullaby, and acted as exactly that as Harry drifted off to sleep.
The sun's rays were already peeking into the castle when Harry woke up. He bundled up his pillow and duvet and walked back, happier than normal. He got back just as Neville was walking out and took the opportunity to slip in unnoticed. The dorm was already empty; Dean and Seamus probably got up early as usual, and Ron was likely down watching Quidditch practice.
Both Harry and Ron had been disappointed to learn that eighth years weren't allowed to try out for the team; supposedly their experience would dominate over the younger students. Ron had scoffed at this and continued to go to every practice to watch. Harry had normally been too exhausted and worn out from school and nightmares, but he resolved to catch the end of practice that day.
He popped into the Great Hall to grab some toast before heading out to the pitch, and Hermione called him over.
"Harry, could I talk to you?" She asked.
"Mind walking? I was going to watch Quidditch practice," Harry said, buttering some toast and wrapping it in a napkin. Hermione sighed but came with him.
"You've been looking well lately, Harry," she began. "It's wonderful to see you like this. I mean, you never normally go to watch Quidditch, you're too tired and wrung out. It's nice to see you go back down."
"Yeah, I mean, why not?" Harry asked, swallowing a bite of toast. "I'd like to see how they're doing."
"I know you really don't like us prying, but I just want to ask… what changed?" Hermione asked curiously. "You're so different, and I'm not saying it's bad, really, it's excellent, but what are you doing differently? Did you go to Madam Pomfrey and ask for a Sleeping Draught?" Harry paused. He never thought about what he'd say if someone were to ask him about that.
"Um… I just… have a spot I like to go to," he replied vaguely. "It's nice. Peaceful. I dunno, it just helps." It was a terrible lie, and Harry knew Hermione could see through it. To her credit, though, she didn't push it.
"Okay, then," she said, smiling. "I'm glad you've got somewhere to go to. And, you know, you're better. That's really what counts. I'll see you later?"
"Yeah, thanks. Bye," Harry returned the smile as Hermione turned and walked back up to the castle. The piano wasn't really anyone's business, Harry thought. He couldn't explain why, but he felt as though no one should know about it.
Hopefully, chapter six will be up sooner than eight days, but writer's block is a finicky thing. I'll try, though!