Disclaimer The First: This is my first foray into the remarkable world created by JK Rowling. No infringement of copyright is intended. Y'all know the drill. This fic takes place during sixth year, which means, basically, that I'd darn well better finish it before July of 2005. Please do not expect overt shipping - I am of the opinion that there is at least as much romance in what is left UNsaid…
Disclaimer The Second: I haven't done this in a while. Several years, really. Lots of rust to knock off, doncha know. Please be kind.
Acknowledgements: Thanks to Cy Panache on FF dot net, and thanks to Nacey, Goldy and countless others here at Portkey for helping me get through these night shifts at tech support with some darn good reading.
Disclaimer The Third: Having heard the album Rubber Soul by the Beatles is not necessary, but it sure couldn't hurt. This is not a song-fic, but there will be plenty of references to music.
FINDING THE MUSE
By Rain Fletcher
Part 1
As many times in the past, Harry's trek from the Gryffindor portrait hole, down the several flights of stairs, out of the castle and onto the Hogwarts grounds was uninterrupted. No one called his name, stopped him to chat, or for that matter made eye contact for more than a moment without looking away. It had been like this since the beginning of term, and was frankly nothing new: certainly he had been avoided by his schoolmates many times in his five-plus years as a wizard.
This time, however, it was somehow less bothersome. This time he was not the suspected Heir of Slytherin, or the overexposed Tri-Wizard champion, or the attention-seeking boy telling crazy stories about He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. This time he was the vindicated survivor, and when crowds parted to allow him to pass, it was almost out of respect. Or possibly just the natural inclination to keep a safe distance from someone with a target painted on his back.
Whatever the cause, Harry was grateful.
It was an uncharacteristically warm, overcast Saturday in September, just a few weeks past the start of Harry's sixth year. Dressed in a pair of black jeans and a black t-shirt (he had found himself wearing more black of late), he made his way aimlessly through the courtyard, still not entirely certain where he was headed. All he knew was that he needed space to ease the crowding in his own head.
It wasn't a Hogsmeade weekend, so that was right out. He didn't much want to see Hagrid either, because that would mean uncomfortable (though well-meant) attempts to Get Harry Talking. A flight to get some wind between his ears sounded vaguely tempting, but Hufflepuff had booked the Quidditch pitch, and regardless, he had left his broom back in the tower and didn't much feel like going back for it.
Eventually, he found himself taking a stroll around the lake. This was as close to a refuge as he had yet found this year: the lake was probably the only place in Hogwarts which held no memories of Sirius, no reminders of that void in his life.
He had gone about a quarter of the way around and was approaching "their" tree: an enormous beech which had shaded many outdoor studying sessions with Ron, Hermione and himself. That seemed as good a place as any to sit and brood.
As he got closer, though, he heard the oddest sound coming from beneath the sheltering branches, and he realized that someone had beaten him to the spot. The sound was musical, but bizarre - somewhere between a frog and a duck with a head cold.
Baffled, but curious, Harry circled around until he found the source of the music. Seated on a wooden stool placed against the trunk of the tree, wearing a black dress and a wide-brimmed straw hat with corks dangling from around the brim like tassels, playing one of the most ungainly musical instruments Harry had ever seen, was Luna Lovegood.
Having known Luna for over a year now, having witnessed her peculiar choices in jewelry and clothing, having beheld her undying faith in the impossible, Harry had now and again begun to think that nothing this fifth-year Ravenclaw girl could do or say would catch him by surprise. And then, just when he felt safe, she would do something more mind-boggling than ever, like sitting under a tree by the lake on a Saturday afternoon playing a… what was she playing, anyway?
He peered at the instrument in front of her - several feet of bent-double wooden pipe propped against the ground, Luna blowing into a metal tube connected to it while her fingers worked the complicated series of stops - and somewhere in the depths of memory he pulled the word bassoon. Yes, that was definitely it. A bassoon. Luna and her bassoon…a.
As ridiculous as the entire scene was, and as much as it sounded like a particularly large waterfowl might sound if it were ever to try to sing, Harry found himself entranced. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the part from which he'd pulled the word "bassoon" in the first place, he realized that she was playing very well. Her hands moved with an ease that could only have come from years of practice.
He had been so focused on her hands that it took him a few moments to notice that she was looking over at him, watching him as he watched her. Suddenly feeling as though he'd been caught spying on something he shouldn't have been seeing, he turned away guiltily, and then almost jumped out of his skin when he saw that Hermione was standing right next to him, fixing him with a worried look.
"Gah! Huh - Hermione?"
The worried frown deepened. "Harry, I've been calling your name since a hundred feet away. Didn't you hear me?"
"Er - no, I was-" he stammered, glancing back over at Luna (who was no longer watching him), then back to his concerned friend. "I was - er - listening. Um, Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"What are you doing here?"
She smiled in a long-suffering way, but her eyes had a twinkle to them. "I was looking for you. I didn't see you in the Common Room, and Ron didn't know where you'd gone, so I thought I'd try here."
"Oh. How did you know I'd be here?"
"Lucky guess?"
He nodded, again glancing over at Luna. "Hermione?" he said, more quietly this time.
"Yes, Harry?" she repeated.
"Am I hallucinating, or is Luna Lovegood sitting under the tree playing a bassoon?"
Hermione looked to the tree, nearly did a double-take, then mirrored Harry's questioning look right back at him. "No, you're not hallucinating," she said, slowly. "Either that or we both are."
Throughout their hushed conversation, Luna had never stopped playing, though she seemed to change moods here and there. At the moment she was playing a jaunty (but dark) melody that put Harry in mind of mischief-making goblins in the deepest forest. "Think she'll mind if we listen?" he asked Hermione.
In her time at Hogwarts, Hermione had stood up to life-and-death challenges, hideous monsters and vengeful dark wizards, but it was obvious to Harry that nothing in the world unnerved her more than the prospect of interacting with Luna. "Perhaps we shouldn't… interrupt?"
"Maybe she'd like an audience?" Harry suggested. He gave Hermione a half-grin and then stepped under the shelter of the tree, closer to where Luna was playing. Behind him, Hermione gave a tiny little sigh, but he heard the crunch of her footsteps as she followed.
They pulled up a few feet away, and again Luna looked up at him from beneath the wide straw hat, her large eyes somewhat obscured by the corks dangling from its brim. The only movement was that of her eyes, however, as she continued playing without missing the proverbial beat.
"Hello, Luna," Harry smiled, making an effort to appear amiable. "Do you mind if we listen?"
She made no active reply, not even a blink, and Harry took this as a good sign. He seated himself amidst the leaves and roots, and Hermione settled herself beside him. Harry closed his eyes and listened for a while, enjoying the outright bizarreness of the situation. Luna continued playing for several minutes, sometimes melodiously, sometimes appearing to accompany a symphony outside of Harry's hearing, sometimes seemingly making it up as she went along.
After a while, though, she stopped, and Harry opened his eyes to see that she was staring out at the lake, looking pensive and distant. He exchanged puzzled looks with Hermione, then cleared his throat. "That was very nice."
"There isn't any music here," Luna said in a hard, quiet voice.
Harry blinked at her. She was still staring out over the water, and her face was impassive, but he was certain he'd heard a note of anger in her voice. "I'm sorry?"
"At Hogwarts," she continued. "There isn't any music here. It makes me sad."
"But… but of course there's music," said Hermione. "I mean, there's - there's no wireless, since those don't work here, but there's…" She looked to Harry for support.
"The Sorting Hat sings," he nodded, picking up the thread. "And the school song at the Welcome Feast."
Luna turned away from the water and looked at him sadly. "One day of the year, and we get a cautionary tale from a hat and an anthem that everyone treats as a joke."
"How about the Yule Ball two winters ago, then?" Harry pressed, but even as he said it, he knew what Luna's reaction would be. That was only one day out of the countless years since the last Tri-Wizard Tournament.
"And what about Charms?" Hermione went on before Luna could give the expected reply. "I remember in fourth year, when Professor Flitwick charmed a harp to play all by itself. Didn't he do that for you?"
"Yes, I saw that," Luna nodded. "I would have been more impressed had he played it himself."
Harry was about to say something about the logistics of tiny Professor Flitwick trying to reach around a full-size harp, but somehow he didn't think that was what Luna had meant. "But… he's the Charms professor," he said instead, somewhat lamely. "He's supposed to be showing us how to do things… with magic."
"Yes, of course," Luna nodded again, and Harry was surprised to hear a real edge growing in her voice, though it remained as quiet as always. "Why learn to do something with your own hands and lips and voices when you can have magic do it for you? Why sing, and learn to blend and harmonize, when you can conjure a choir of voices from the air, and charm frogs to sing bass for you? Why learn to play in tune with three other people when you can wave your wand and have your own string quartet? Magic…" She said the last word almost derisively, and Harry was frankly astonished. He looked back to Hermione, hoping for some sort of support, but found that she was studying Luna very thoughtfully.
"We came here to learn magic," Luna said at length, "and there isn't any music here. How can that be?"
Harry had no answer for her, and for once, neither did Hermione. It didn't appear that she had been expecting one, though, as she once again brought the bassoon into position and continued playing exactly where she'd left off.
After a while, Harry stood, suddenly feeling as though he were intruding on something he could not possibly understand. He held his hand out to help Hermione to her feet, and the three friends shared a few wordless moments amidst the melodic quacking. "Um, thanks for letting us listen, Luna," Harry said at last. "Can we come hear you again sometime?"
She gave them a barely perceptible nod from around the mouthpiece. Harry gave her what he hoped was a friendly smile before they stepped away.
Leaving Luna to her contemplative musical soliloquy, Harry and Hermione walked on, continuing their circuit of the lake. Neither spoke for quite a while, and the duck-voiced notes of the bassoon grew steadily distant with each step.
In spite of the seriousness of the previous conversation, Harry couldn't help but chuckle slightly at the absurdity of what they had just seen, but out of respect for Luna he held back, remembering guiltily that ridicule was enough a part of her everyday life as things were. He settled for grinning at Hermione, but the smile faded when he saw her thoughtful expression. "Are you alright?" he ventured.
"Oh, yes," she nodded absently. "I was just thinking about what she said… She's absolutely right, you know."
"Hang on," Harry blinked. "Did I just hear you say Luna Lovegood was absolutely right? Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione?"
"Harry," she scowled. "I mean it! Apart from those scattered moments, there really is no music at Hogwarts. It's as though magic and the fine arts can't co-exist. Doesn't that strike you as odd?"
After a few more steps in silence, Harry shrugged. "I've never thought about it. I don't really know music."
"Oh, you must know some," Hermione replied, glancing up at him. "You were raised outside the magical world, same as me."
"I was also raised by the Dursleys. A cupboard under the stairs wasn't the best place to gain any kind of exposure to the arts."
"I'm sorry," she said softly, giving him a sympathetic frown. "Did you learn any in school?"
Harry actually had to think hard on this one: his life prior to Hogwarts was not something he tended to waste energy on contemplating. "A little bit, I suppose," he said at length. "Just bits and pieces, though. I remember studying Benjamin Britten's Young Person's Guide to the Orchestra - that was the only way I recognized what Luna was playing. I never got to be in any kind of real music program at school, though, because that would have meant the Dursleys having to buy me an instrument, and that wasn't bound to happen."
"Did you ever sing?" Hermione asked tentatively.
"Once or twice, I suppose. Just class sing-alongs, though."
"Did you enjoy it?"
Harry shook his head slowly, but not because he disagreed. "I honestly don't remember. I try not to remember, really." An uncomfortable feeling was welling up inside, and he stopped abruptly.
After another short silence, Hermione spoke again. "I'm sorry, Harry. You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to. I can only imagine what it must have been like for you."
At another time, Harry would likely have snapped at her. No, you can't! You can't imagine what it was like, because you weren't there! You can't possibly know! He found himself lacking either the heart or the energy, though.
Instead, to his own surprise, he went on. Somehow, being well on their way around the lake, with no one there but Hermione to hear, made it easier. "There was one time, though…"
He trailed off, uncertain of how to start. Hermione watched him thoughtfully, but did not urge him to continue.
"I was nearly ten years old," he went on. "Term was just about to end at school, and I was walking home one day when I saw something lying by the side of the road, more or less in the gutter. It was a cassette tape - the real, store-bought kind, with the printing on it. It wasn't in its case, so I can only imagine it fell from someone's parked car as they opened the door, and then they drove off without noticing it. One corner of it was badly cracked, probably from where the wheel had gone over it, but other than that it was intact.
"Dudley had tapes and a tape player at home, so I knew what it was, but I'd never had one of my own. I picked it up and read it, and I even vaguely knew the name: it was the Beatles."
"Which record?" Hermione asked, suddenly smiling brightly.
"Rubber Soul," he answered, then blinked at her again. "You know the Beatles?"
"Of course I know the Beatles," she grinned. "My parents love them. They… er… they were very popular, you know. And still are, really."
"Well, I know that now," he half-laughed. "Even then, I figured they must have been important, just because even with as little as I knew music, I'd actually heard of them. At any rate, I took the tape home, and I hid it. I didn't want anyone to take it from me."
At this point in the story, Harry was actually finding it difficult to speak and walk at the same time, so he stopped and turned to look out over the water. Hermione pulled up beside him, again giving him a thoughtful look.
"Term was over later that week, and Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia took Dudley out for the day. This time, though, I didn't care that they were leaving me all alone. I took the cassette and snuck into Dudley's second bedroom, where he kept his player, and I plugged it in, rewound it to the beginning, and…"
Once again, he trailed off, and it took him several moments to find the words. "I'd never heard anything quite like it. I don't know what I'd expected really, but it just… swept through me. I listened to the whole thing, both sides, and then started over from the beginning. I played it at least five times, front to back, every song. After that I stopped and went back to my cupboard; I didn't want to press my luck. All that summer, though, whenever they left the house, I'd sneak back upstairs and play it again."
Even though he already knew how this story ended, having lived it, he could not help but smile at these memories. "The funniest part was that I memorized every word and every note, and yet the songs themselves really meant nothing to me. It seemed like every song on that record was either about having troubles with your girlfriend, or having troubles because you don't have a girlfriend, or having troubles looking for a girlfriend…" His grin deepened as Hermione started to laugh. "I wasn't even ten! It went completely over my head! Are all their other records like that, too?"
"Quite a few of them, I'm afraid."
"Well, it didn't really matter that I didn't get it," he went on. "I was so… happy. For once, I had something that was mine. Something I didn't have to share with anyone. It never even occurred to me that anyone had heard these songs besides me. No matter how miserable the Dursleys tried to make me that summer, I found I could… endure it a bit more. It didn't mean as much, because I had all these songs in my head, and every time those three left the house, I got to hear them all again, to keep them fresh."
His face darkened, remembering what came next. Hermione, no doubt reading his expression like always, spoke quietly when he did not continue. "What happened then?" she asked, already sounding sad on his behalf.
"They… found me in Dudley's room," he sighed. "I'd fallen asleep listening to it, and I didn't hear them come home early. Uncle Vernon thrashed me, of course, but that wasn't the worst of it. They took my tape, my Beatles record, and…"
He took a deep breath, then for the first time in several minutes, looked Hermione in the eye. "Do you remember third year, when the Whomping Willow got my broom, and you brought me all the pieces?"
She nodded silently, and her face fell as she quickly reached the conclusion of what happened next.
"They made me watch," he said thickly, "as Dudley ripped out every inch of tape and crumpled it into a huge tangled wad. Then Uncle Vernon gave him a hammer - actually went and got him a hammer - so he could smash the casing to bits, right there in front of me. Then they gave it back to me, and Dudley laughed at me, and said I could use it as streamers to decorate my cupboard."
Hermione's eyes began to fill with tears, and Harry found that he could not look at her, so he gazed out over the lake again. "When you brought me the pieces of my broom, it was the same feeling. This… emptiness, like something that was so much a part of me had just been ripped away. As bad as things had been, growing up there, this was so much worse than any of it, to have this… hole inside me, where nothing could…"
He stopped himself, because he was treading on dangerous ground, and he was not going to talk about the most recent hole in his life. Not now. He knew where that would lead, and he would not let Hermione see him cry, not this time.
"Harry," she said, in a broken voice, reaching out to take his hand in both of hers, "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry you ever had to live like that."
"I know," he whispered. Part of him wanted, almost instinctively, to pull away from her, but he did not.
"Did you… still remember all the songs?" she asked at last.
"I tried to," he nodded, looking down. "When things got bad again, I tried to remember, but I couldn't. Every time I tried, I remembered Dudley, and that hammer, and… I learned not to think about it anymore. For once in my life I'd had something of my own, and I let them take it from me, just like they'd been taking from me all my life."
"Oh, Harry," she sighed, and then, without warning, came around and hugged him tightly. This time he even felt himself flinch, as though to back away, but he did not, and eventually he hugged her in return.
"Thank you for telling me that," she said, her voice very close to his ear.
"Sure. Er, I didn't just tell you so you'd hug me."
"I'm serious," she said, and for just a moment the normal exasperated Hermione was back. "Really, I know it's hard for you, and it means a lot to me."
"Well, I guess if I can't tell you, who can I tell? Ron would probably fall asleep."
"I doubt that," she whispered, squeezing him more tightly before breaking away. She reached up to wipe the tears from her eyes, but managed a smile for him. "Harry, I'm sure all those songs are still inside you. Buried away, maybe, but not gone away. You'll find them again."
"Maybe," he sighed. "But then, maybe Luna's right after all. Maybe there's just no place for music here."
They resumed their stroll, each of them lost in thought. "Maybe," she repeated, looking back over her shoulder, to where Luna was still playing. "But it's nice to see someone doing something about it in her own way. We could all learn from that."
"And now you're talking about learning something from Luna Lovegood?" he asked, smiling in spite of his darkened mood. "Come on, out with it, where's the polyjuice potion?"
His quip was met with another of the resigned sighs he had grown accustomed to. "Harry…"