1948
He glanced up at the repetitive blinking of the bar's sign: 'The Old Stallion'. The night shone its brightest, just as the stars started to twinkle above him. His 23 Year old self had not completely taken in what he was about to do. He was starting to doubt himself and his own talents, which seemed to be fading with each breath of nervousness he took. His body trembled slightly, and he knew that the cold weather was not to blame. The fear of disappointment started to haunt him again, and the image of his godfather started to whisper to him.
Make me proud, Harry.
Sirius didn't come for dinner the next night, and it was clear that the promise was broken long before that. The events that followed were all a blur to Harry. The hysteria he passed through would've alarmed everyone around him. Yet, he pondered on the latter statement and realized that there was nobody left to actually care.
"I can do this."
His Norfolk jacket hung loosely against his shoulders, and his bowler hat was tightly placed above his head. He suddenly felt insecure, and most certainly nervous. The perspiration was thick on his forehead, and he chose to wipe it away with his handkerchief. With his hands nervously placed in his pockets, he marched through the oak doors in one breath.
He was instantly greeted by the loud cacophony of people talking from each side of the room. The bar was half full, all lined with gentlemen who seemed to sag down the table from their drunken state. Waitresses, all in uniforms completely alike, snaked through the crowd with their trays of alcoholic beverages and appetizers. The odor that emanated from each side mocked those of vinegar and strong perfume, making Harry wince in distaste.
He continued to walk through the crowd, all the while staring at the stage by the far end. His knees were shaking beneath him, and he was most certain that the perspiration he had irritably wiped away a few moments ago formed once again. The fear of rejection overpowered his confidence once again, and he had the sudden urge to walk out the door quickly. Yet, all his plans were disrupted upon seeing his very piano: Jane, which was standing idly in the middle of the stage. He suddenly felt his fingers turn eager and restive, just as his head suddenly turned light.
The fliers given out to him (one that said Open Night: Musical Extravaganza at the Old Stallion) seemed to have made the whole task look so easy.
"Harry Potter?" sounded a voice. He gave a small jump before turning to see Gregory Lockhart approaching him, dressed in his infamous top hat and waistcoat.
"Mr. Lockhart! It's wonderful to finally meet you." He held out a polite hand, which was shaken in turn with an unsuspected glee. Mr. Gregory Lockhart held a smile, one so cheeky and wide that it haunted Harry inwardly. His cheeks were nearly red, his previous plump face thinned over the past year. Harry also noticed that beneath his top hat laid his receding blond hair.
"Oh, bullocks. It's wonderful to finally meet you. So, are those fingers ready to play?" said Lockhart in delight. Harry tried to smile back and diminish all traces of nervousness.
"Not quite. Would it be all right if I ask for a bit of preparatory time?" he pleaded. Lockhart's quick answer surprised Harry at some point.
"Take your time, boy! There's no rush. An eager audience is a happy audience, as I always say. " In honesty, Harry didn't quite know what Lockhart meant, yet he assumed it was non-important. With a farewell, Harry made his way through the velvet curtains and into the backstage.
Now, it is expected to have a backstage flooded with busy crew members and performers, running to and fro from stage left to stage right in a frantic motion. But what Harry saw contradicted just that.
It was silent. Not a single trace of chaos was seen. All there was was a webbed ceiling adorned with unused lights and props, as well as a set of chairs lined by the far windows. For a moment, Harry wondered if he went through the right curtains.
"You're the pianist, am I right?" Harry's steps were halted upon as he looked back and saw a man staring back at him, wearing a braced smile and holding a cello by his palms. His hair was the lightest shade of brown Harry had ever seen, cut just by the nape of his neck, yet long enough to touch a minuscule part of his shoulders. Harry had also noticed a scar just by his left cheek, and his receding hairline that was almost just as similar as Lockhart's. He was wearing a morning coat with a waistcoat underneath, adorned with the chain of an oval locket that hung from his breast pocket.
"Yes I am, sir." He replied, quite unsure of what he was doing, and what the stranger's intentions were. In Harry's point of view, the man seemed humble enough by appearance. Yet, he couldn't shake off the feeling of doubt and the disquieting thoughts that started to ring in his head.
"I'm sorry if this may come out rude to you but, who are you?" Harry asked. The man smiled back politely, once again showing his braced teeth, and replied,
"Oh, my manners. I'm Richard. Richard Granger. You may call me Richard if you want." Harry shook his outstretched hand, nodding as he returned the smile given to him.
"I'm Harry Potter. It's nice to meet you, sir."
"Likewise. So anyway, what brings you here, Harry? This is such an unlikely place for a young boy like you." Richard motioned for them to sit by the crevice, where 5 chairs lined the dusty walls. Harry agreed and followed him, both of them taking a seat quietly.
"Well, I honestly don't know." Richard gave him a look of sheer amusement. Harry grinned in embarrassment, all the while scratching the nape of his neck.
"You don't know?" He asked.
"Hey! Well sir, I'd like to tell you that it's not really the easiest of all questions. If I asked you the same thing, would you bless me with a proper answer?" Richard's small chuckles subsided, yet his smile did not. Harry eagerly waited for an answer, yet he didn't get one. Instead, he saw Richard struggle in his seat. It was then that a bow lay present within his palms, and soon enough Harry found himself listening to a Cello Sonata. It was soft and nothing less than the most melodic thing he had ever heard. He saw Richard's hands change from note to note, moving up and down the cello's neck. Harry watched in awe, as well as in silence, utterly speechless and dumbfounded.
With a few more resounding notes, Richard reached the finale. The last note lay suspended in the air, and Harry couldn't help but beam and show all traces of his bottled interest. Richard, who noticed the young man's ecstatic expression, smiled and gave one bow.
"That was amazing." Exclaimed Harry, who was now clapping his hands in enthusiasm. Richard nodded back at him in thanks, a grin playing on his face.
"That is why I'm here, Mr. Potter." He stated. Harry's clapping fell silent as he lay still on his seat, a spark of admiration forming in his eyes.
"Father, look at this!" Four-year-old Harry Potter clasped the butterfly firmly within his palms as he ran excitedly through the front yard and into the living room, where Lily lay snuggled within James' arms on the couch. A small smile formed on his father's face as Harry hopped on his lap, the butterfly then fluttering away and landing on Lily's nose. In an instant, her figure jumped off the couch in panic.
"James! Get it away! Get it away!" Lily stood, frantic as she closed her eyes tight and waved her arms by her sides. Harry's laugh resounded around the four walls of the room, his hands clapping in front of him.
"This is not funny, James! Get it away from me, I may go blind forever!"
"Oh relax, honey. It's a mere butterfly."
"Exactly! You know how I hate these things!" She exclaimed. James stared at her in amusement, his hands folding across his chest.
"Do it yourself, honey. Come on. You'll have to get over the phobia somehow."
"I refuse to touch it! The last time I touched a butterfly was when I had to get it out my knickers because that rudy Bellatrix from the movement thought it would make a funny joke!" Harry was laughing hysterically beside James, his hands resting firmly by his aching stomach. James glanced at his son for a moment, his grin widening.
"You see? Your son thinks it's funny."
"James!" the shrillness in her voice surprised James for a moment, before he rolled his eyes on her and turned to his son.
"Harry, why don't you go help your mother?" He nudged at him, who nodded and stood up immediately. Lily bent down to the height of her son, who cupped his hands over her nose and grasped the butterfly tightly. Lily let out a deep sigh of relief, before jerking her head towards James in a swift motion, wearing a deathly glare on her face.
"Oh, you are oh so definitely going to hear from me, James Potter!" She muttered in a dangerously low voice, before walking out with her hands clenched tightly into fists by her side. Harry looked worried for a moment, his eyes glistening with tears and his cheeks turning a faint color of red. James approached him quickly, sniggering all the while.
"Father! Mummy's mad at me!"
"No she's not. She's just playing with us. Now, what was it you were going to show me?" He ran his thumb through the nervous tears that fell on Harry's cheeks. With a sniff, Harry opened his hands and revealed the same baby butterfly, whose wings seemed slightly disfigured, but still colorful enough to entrance them.
"I was going to give it to you as a present, but mummy broke his wings!" He cried, more sniffs emitting from his nose. James got the butterfly from his son's grasp and put it on his own, smiling as he bent down to Harry's height, his other hand running through his son's hair.
"It's a beautiful present Harry. Thank you."
"But, it's broken!"
"Harry, it's a baby butterfly. It still has time to grow and fix itself."
"But what if it dies?"
"Then, I'm sure the butterfly would've had the satisfaction of knowing that he started out as something beautiful-just like you and me." Harry's tears stopped flowing, his small cheeks red, as well as his nose, which was also swollen.
"You're not going to die soon, are you father?" Harry asked in worry. He noticed James' smile falter slightly as he replied,
"No son. I wont."
They heard a resounding applause from the audience beyond the velvet curtains, marking the end of the previous performance. In an instant, a man peaked through the tapestry and called on Harry.
"Hey Potter! You're up in 5." He said before disappearing once again. Richard looked at him, who seemed to have noticed that he was wiping the perspiration off his forehead.
"My dear boy, there's nothing to be worried about." He touched Harry's shoulders in assurance, yet he continued to tremble. Harry tried to give a smile, but it was masked with an expression of restiveness.
"It's just my first time to perform in front of a crowd, that's all." He replied quite shakily. Richard squeezed Harry's shoulders tighter.
"Now listen here, boy. The crowd doesn't matter. It's the music. It's the rhythm, the melody, and the harmony. It's just you and that piano out there, no one else." Harry shut his eyes tight, his hands shaking in his pockets. He took deep, long breaths and struggled to find any trace of inspiration. It was him and his piano…music was all there is… "If you're scared on doing something you love, then you shouldn't be doing it at all, Sonny."
"I'm not scared." His voice stung with determination, yet Richard saw the evident fear in it. It was then that he saw Harry's emerald eyes that he was reminded of himself when he was young: someone so clueless and afraid.
"I know how it feels like Harry, but sometimes you've just got to face the music." As if an epiphany, at that very moment Harry knew what he was supposed to do.. Face the music. It rang in his head repetitively, and it was the only thing he would live upon. His whole mission in life was summed up in that single phrase, a phrase that supplied him the greatest amount of inspiration he has ever received.
Face the music.
Everything starts off as something beautiful.
He looked up at the man and smiled, knowing that Richard had seen the amount of gratefulness in his own eyes.
And now put your hands together for the newbie, the jive-arsed son of a gun himself: Harry Potter!
"Thank you." A series of applauses were heard outside, and Harry knew that it was time. With one encouraging look from Richard, he stepped through the velvet curtains to be greeted by blinding flashes of light, and a multitude of curious eyes staring at him. The applause faded, and in a surprising instance, the whole setting was silent. Harry took a gulp, sitting down on the cushioned chair afterwards.
"Come on Jane. We can do this." His whisper was barely even heard by himself. With both his hands on the keys, he closed his eyes; He heard a few murmurs from the room as he did so, some of them skeptical and negative. With one nerved smirk, he started to play.
What he did next was a shock to him.
His hands transitioned swiftly from key to key, and he found himself playing a fast-temped tune. His left hand was playing with extremity, while his right started to wander from octave to octave, just as his perspiration flowed through the nape of his neck. He felt his fingers pound on each key, and he couldn't help but smile in satisfaction. He opened his eyes, only to be surprised to see his fingers move in such a quick motion that he merely saw outlines of blurred skin. "Bloody hell" he whispered to himself.
"Oh goodness me, it's the BNB!"
"The Blue note boogie?"
"Unbelievable."
"Well, I'll be damned!" From a far distance, he saw Lockhart jumping with extraordinary glee that his plump cheeks bounced with him. Soon enough, he heard saxophones and other aerophones accompany him in his musical performance. He looked over his shoulder, only to see Richard Granger plucking his cello to the beat. Overwhelmed with happiness, he continued to play violently, his fingers aching with a pleasure so surreal to him. Just as quick, the crowd started to stand and make their way towards the dance floor. Petticoats started to swing, just as hair started swaying, and heels started tapping against the floor. Everyone was dancing to his music, and it delighted him to no end. His feet started to tap as well, and he looked back once again to see Richard smiling delightfully back at him.
"More! More!" The audience shouted at him, and he smiled wildly in reply. He transitioned to a different tune, the bar now echoing with his own music. He looked once again to the audience, a grin plastered on his face.
Through the blur of dancing colors, he saw her.
Suddenly, everything went slow. It was she, with her auburn dread locks and her stunning cinnamon eyes. He continued to stare at her slow laughing figure, her facial expression showing enjoyment towards his music. She seemed so temptingly radiant in his eyes, and music ceased to nothingness. It was only her and her image that would stay implanted in his mind forever.
He blinked back into reality and found himself continuously playing, people never ceasing to dance around him. He glanced back and saw her retreat through the velvet curtains he once entered. He felt a surge of excitement, something that he couldn't control. With a few more measures of quick playing, he ended it with the repetitive playing of two notes, making everybody stop and clap deafeningly at him. He stood up shakily, still at awe at what he had just done, and bowed with his hat by his chest. A more deafening applause resounded, now including the men with the formal overcoats just by the back of the bar. He smiled back gratefully, his chest pounding with incredible force and his fingers aching in excruciating pain. The spotlight shone its brightest at that moment, and all attention was directed to him. He took one more bow, greeted once again with a deafening applause, before retreating through the velvet curtains, all the while with an overwhelming excitement.
And there she was, sitting neatly on the chair Richard once sat on.
He felt his throat constrict, and he suddenly felt the restiveness he used to feel minutes ago. His collar seemed to tighten around his neck, and the temperature seemed to rise by 5 degrees. Noticing his presence, she glanced up and smiled instantly. That particular smile, for some odd reason, made his heart palpitate.
"Mr. Blue Note Boogie. You played up quite a storm out there." She stood up slowly, straightening her pink poodle skirt. He approached her slowly, unsure of how to react. "You do know that The Blue Note Boogie is one of the hardest piano pieces to play?" The way her eyes fluttered unintentionally made him feel extremely light-headed. She took one more step towards him and stretched a hand in front of her.
"I'm Hermione." The way her hand was gracefully suspended in air awed him. He took her soft hands into his and shook it lightly. The way her piercing eyes looked into his was tempting, and she was shocked as well to see such bright emerald ones staring back at hers. It was then that they noticed that their hand holding lingered.
"I'm Harry." He mustered to say. Their hands released, to his surprise, quite reluctantly. She took a step closer, and it was only now that he noticed the strong smell of sweet vanilla that emanated from her skin.
"I'm assuming that your middle name isn't Jane?" She said in amusement. Harry chuckled slightly, his head shaking in decline. "Oh, good. I wouldn't want to share a middle name with a man." Hermione added, who was now giggling. This statement piqued Harry's curiosity,
"Hermione Jane?"
"Why, yes. Is there a problem?" she inquired with a single eyebrow raised.
"Oh, nothing of course. It's just…interesting. That's pretty much all." It was an awkward silence that came next. He glanced back at her, suddenly feeling an odd need to, only to see that she was nibbling on her bottom lip repetitively. Somehow, he found it quite adorable.
He scolded himself of thinking such after.
"So Harry, are your parents here? I mean, they must be thrilled to see you like this!" Her enthusiasm was cut short upon seeing Harry's face drop to a blank expression. She furrowed her eyebrows for a second, diffident on what she has done. "Did I say anything wrong?"
"They aren't here. They were killed during the war." Hermione's hand flew to her mouth in shock.
"Oh dear. I'm so sorry, How insensitive of me. I didn't mean to-"
"It's all well, Hermione. They're long gone, and I guess I could say that I've learned how to live with it."said Harry. Hermione's delicate smile was his to keep as a reply. It was soon that he noticed her hand gripping his arm softly.
"I admire you, Harry Potter. Not so many of us are as brave as you are." She said in a subdued tone, almost mocking a whisper. It was so gentle and calm that it nearly lulled Harry to close his eyes. She gave his arm one lingering squeeze before letting go, and in an instant he once again felt incomplete. He walked towards the velvet ropes and peaked through the small crease. The bar was about to close, and absolutely no people were left, the staff as an exception. All that was left was his piano.
"Hermione?" It was an indivisible force that led him into what he was going to do.
"Yes?" She asked. There was a long pause in between as he struggled to find the right words to say to her. It was then that he knew just what to say.
"May I play you a song?" he felt the anxiousness rise in him once again. She quirked an eyebrow, which was then accompanied by a skeptical smirk.
"Yes, you may. But don't even try and make me sing. I'm practically tone deaf." She said humorously. Harry emitted a deep chuckle.
"Don't worry. I won't." He led her through the curtains and into the dim lit stage, where his piano lay idle and unmoving. He felt her arm grip his gingerly as they walked through the creaking stage, and he suddenly felt the nervousness surface once again. She leaned slowly against the side of the baby grand, her back slightly arched that it distracted Harry severely. Sitting down with one deep breath, he placed his foot against the una corda and started to play. His left hand played softly against the lower octaves, while his right hand drifted against the higher ones. After a few measures, he cast a quick glance at Hermione, who had an undecipherable expression on her face.
A soft melodic voice rang in his ears.
His head quickly turned, and he soon found her singing, her compelling eyes completely closed as a smile formed on her face. She was evidently lying about her being tone deaf, for she had the most angelic voice he had ever heard. It seemed to tranquilize him, just as his hands started to drift from one key to another. She was swaying her head back and forth, her arms swinging against the glassy exterior. It was then that he felt the need to play some more.
"I still remembered how you smiled and said: 'was that a dream…or was it true?'"
He gave another drift from key to key. She neared the end of the song, and he gave his final keys before entering the finale. He stepped onto the sostenuto and the damper for one final time-
"And like an echo far away…"
His hands moves gracefully against the keys, not noticing her intent stare on him and his fingers.
"A nightingale sang in Berkeley square." Oh, how delightful it was to him to have finished, for his chest pounded quite loudly that he felt lacerations forming. She gave him one dazed smile before standing straight, tucking a loose curl to the back of her ear. He stood slowly, a certain eagerness for what her reaction may be. She was standing with her hands clasped by her waist, her smile still plastered on tightly.
"You're quite a charmer, Harry." He tried to restrain the blush that threatened to creep up his cheeks. She was now walking down the stairs, and Harry hesitated upon running after her and letting her stay.
"Well, you're quite the liar. Tone deaf? That was far beyond tone deaf. That was simply…simply-"
"No room for flattery here, Harry. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to start practicing my violin. I wouldn't let you take all the musical glory now, would I?" And before Harry could give his statement her untold musical talent, she spoke again.
"Someday, somehow, we'll be making beautiful music together."
Her smile was the last he saw before her image drifted into the darkness. If fate were kind to him, he would see her again.
Someday. Somehow.
--thepianist-
A/N: I'm actually glad I was able to finish re-editing this by this week. It would have taken me forever if I'd done it sooner. Just a few facts: The first song Harry would be performing is called The Blue Note Boogie, which was performed in the movie The Majestic. The second would have to be A Nightingale Sang in Berkeley Square, performed by Rod Stewart. I've nothing else to remind all of you so, enjoy and Advanced Happy New Year to everyone! :]