Life and Times
Rating: R
Ship: HHr (main emphasis)
The (unlovely) procedure: all rights go to JKR for previous plot and characters, Scholastic, Warner, and whoever else has their hands in HP.
Author Note: Another music-filled chapter! Lots of sexy fluff, too. I really wanted to get this out because it quickly became one of my favorite chapters to write. I wanted to go on, but the next bit doesn't coincide with the studio scenes, so I decided to keep that part for the next. It'll make more sense that way. On a side-note, I can't wait for "Season Three"! Hope I can hold out writing until then.
***
Chapter Eighteen - Devotion
***
"Hey…"
"Mm…?"
"Wake up my beautiful sleepy head…"
Squinting, I sluggishly drew my eyes open in a blink. I fluttered my eyelashes, the brand new day and its shine coaxing my face back into the pillow where it was dark. I had my arms underneath and around the softness, the cool environment on my backside as it lay exposed. I could feel the tepid sheets across my midsection, falling off to the one side. I felt his hand on my back at first, and then gradually pet my head as I settled.
Today was a big, huge, enormous step in my life. Parts of me wanted to stay wrapped up in bed all day. Actually, a large part of me wanted to stay in bed all day. I hadn't much sleep… We fooled around for much of the night and into the early morning hours. I would have suggested putting on clothes from now on as sleeping without them caused tension to rise in our hormones-especially Harry. I'd follow close behind him. He knew how to get me going, rev my engine. But, really, I didn't want the clothes. Burn the damn clothes! I wanted to feel his naked body on mine, and I'm definitely not ashamed of it.
The consequence?
Three or four hours of complete sleep.
It's well worth it.
"You slept right through the alarm."
An aroma of a warm, sugary substance wafted into me. It smelled of coffee, too, making my mouth water. I rubbed my face into the pillow, trying to arouse my other senses, while Harry rubbed the back of my head. He pulled at my hair lightly, taking bundles of strands and stroking them from around the frame of my face.
"Mm…," I found his eyes as he lay on the pillow beside me.
He smiled just as warm as the breakfast smells, and said softly, "Good morning."
He reached for those curls which always ended up over my eye and tried to get them away, but when he left me they fell right back into place. We laughed together, and I had to hold my hairs taut and make them swirl behind my ear. I closed my eyes and breathed in deep before exhaling and smiling into him at my bed level, "…Morning, love."
"I must have did a number on you last night," he began massaging, feeling of my spine and how each circular piece of bone would protrude just above the flat of my back. "Usually, you're the one knocking the alarm over."
I snickered and ran the bridge of my nose against the pillow case, affixed to his vision of me, "…You could say that."
I shut my eyes and made a moan of satisfaction. He'd hit one of those sweet spots in my lower back. He knew exactly where it was and purposely teased the section with his fingertips: Harry, the masseuse. "What time is it, anyway?" I asked with my eyes still shut.
"A quarter past nine…" My appointment wasn't until noon, so we had time. Besides, the food from wherever it was coming from continued to have my tummy rumble. It stopped, however, when Harry slipped his hands under the sheet and across the ledge to my derriere.
I had the eye, most elevated from the pillow, slightly open. I watched him, his eyes going to where he felt, and then back at me. I closed the eye when I felt him squeeze, and then rub me down. He took his middle finger and traced the crease, sliding the tip down into the crevice. He made me wiggle. The touch tickled me, but I also began to feel that certain heat build-and I tried to suppress the want. The appointment was too important to miss out. Everything teetered on that moment in time.
"Naughty…," I smirked at him as I spoke. I shook my ass to make him quit.
He laughed and gave my rear a firm pat before rolling on his back and off the bedside. I lifted on my elbows from the pillow case and noticed Harry go to a tray on his desk. The aroma of deliciousness exploded in its sense as Harry crept on over smoothly, balancing the tray in his hands. I watched how his legs moved under his Gryffindor lounge pants. I smiled at his bare chest and that black hair between his pectorals, coming down into a line leading from his navel southward.
A pink carnation and its stem shook from the mouth of a tiny vase upon the platter Harry held. I made a face-Harry always thought of me. Those little additions to everything he did made them all worthwhile. I could see a short-stack of pancakes, a pad of butter and syrup already drizzled on top with coffee and a bowl of assorted, chopped fruit. I think I could have cried. He'd made me breakfast in bed, a surprise that definitely would put a hop in my nervous step.
"Harry…," I shifted from my elbows around to my bum. I pushed myself up as he went to lean down and halted. I was amidst pulling the sheet along my hips when I glanced to see him staring at me. Puzzled, I gazed back until I smirked. More than comfortable, I'd forgotten how exposed I really was-in my birthday suit. I didn't move and merely stared straight back in those beautiful jade-green eyes, my hands on the bed near my rear.
He grinned at me. I loved when he'd become befuddled. Made me feel…outstanding; that little ol' me can make something as handsome as Harry stop in his tracks. Mind you, I'd grown since the days of Hogwarts, but still… It felt good when he looked at me in amazement. "Beautiful," he said, setting the tray down on my lap. "Stunning-I should just throw this flower out compared to you."
He went to dispose of the carnation, slipping his fingers beneath the head of the flower. Quickly, I placed my hand atop his and shook my head, "Don't you even dare… I love it-everything."
Peering down, I looked at how Harry sliced a half a strawberry in the centre of the top pancake, how he carefully wrapped a napkin exquisitely around the fork and knife, and had already placed the amount of sugar and milk I liked in the coffee. He gave me flutters even without touching. He was…amazing. An amazingly wonderful man. He bowed to me when I glanced back up at him and found his lips upon mine swiftly with vigor. My body went backward at how he caressed me, my lips curving to a grin.
The first feel from his absence made me jolt. My laughter muffled against his mouth, I wriggled when his hand went from holding my breast to holding my stomach. I wanted to jump him, right then and there. I clinched my nails into the mattress. There were just so many things to do at once, and our love making never lasted a few minutes. That's all the leeway I had for today. If I would have jumped him, it would have lasted far beyond the noon hour. Our chemistry helped our stamina. We'd make love until exhaustion as if our bodies, our minds, couldn't help but need the other to be gratified-like a drug addiction.
Harry could feel and see how sensitive I was: the perk of my nipple, the flush of my skin, how I'd tense an inch before he'd actually touch me. Everything I exuded gave what I wanted away. He left me, releasing from our caress at the boundary the chemistry could take. Any longer and I'd have pulled him back into bed.
He smiled as he stood up. He lingered on me, my figure, its nakedness. I think he could have attacked my breast with his mouth any other day. Harry shook his head from his trance and resumed his smile. He spoke softly, looking me square in my eyesight, "…I think we should find you something warm before you catch a cold." He pivoted, switching direction to head towards our closet.
"I'm not cold…," I called out after him.
Harry had opened the closet doors when he turned his head to smirk at me, "Well…," he began. "Then, I don't want that perfect skin scalded in case you drop some of that hot liquid."
"You wouldn't want me eating starkers?" I didn't catch myself quick enough, realizing the heavy signal.
My body wanted him.
I wanted him.
Harry cleared his throat. In his hands, he held one of my favorite of his Quidditch jerseys in his grasp. I sat passively, trying to be "alluring". His lioness, my body language screamed sex as I arched a little, balancing in my seat by my arms. I shook my head to engage the strands of my hair, to make them fuller. I kept my eyes on him all the way back to the bed where he crawled on his knees to sit beside me.
"You're so devilishly sexy…," he said, having to clear his throat again. He was having a hard time resisting, and I smirked all the while. He bunched and wrapped the shirt in a way to begin wearing it and held it over my head. "Arms up."
I sighed in my smile and raised my arms. Gently, he shimmied the crimson and gold Gryffindor jersey down to my waist. I took up my hair when he'd tugged the cloth down on me and pried all the curls loose from its containment within the neck. I gazed at him, playing with my hair until I was satisfied. He wouldn't look away from my movements, and when I finished, his eyes roamed my body once more. I knew one of the obvious factors he grazed over with his eyes, my two hardened nipples poking from the limp fabric which fit more like an oversized sheet over my form due to Harry being twice my size.
"Anything look appetizing?"
Harry flicked from below back to my eyes. He grunted, groaning and lightly pushed on my shoulder, "You are one evil woman."
I mocked horns, putting my fingers behind my head and snapped at him with my teeth. I grinned and he grinned. Hastily, he came into me and took up my lips with his. I moaned when we met, his tongue meeting mine forcibly, prying my lips apart. I felt his hand go to my breast and cup, again, its roundness. His thumb glided across my nipple, and he had to tear away before we went too far. I stifled a giggle when he demanded, pointing at the breakfast he made, "You need to eat."
"Yes sir!" I saluted. I all-out giggled when he winked at me and slid his arm around my backside. I took up my fork and stabbed a piece of honeydew from the bowl and moved it to my mouth. Inside, the melon dissolved, its grainy texture retreating upon my tongue. Picking up the oh-so-fantastic smelling coffee in one hand and my heart medication in the other, I popped the pill in my mouth and sipped the rich, sweet blackness.
When I went to cut into the pancakes, I hadn't noticed the white envelope stuck under the plate. I went to take it from its confines and Harry put his hand on my wrist. I looked to my right to see him as he said, "Promise me you'll read that after your audition."
Sifting it from underneath the plate, I removed the envelope from the tray and read the front. Written in Harry's signature cursive, black ink from a quill, he wrote:
For You
I swiveled my head to him and smiled, scrunching my nose and brow up, "You and your surprises…"
"I never let you down, do I?"
I shook my head and bent to kiss him, "Never."
He briefly kissed me back, urging me on to eat with a motion, "You're going to be hungry later, and that'll make me sad. I hate hearing your tummy grumble."
"Have you eaten?"
"I rolled a pancake up in some bacon and dabbled on a little syrup," he shrugged. "By the looks of it, I'm more anxious than you are and I'm not even the one auditioning!"
"Well," I chuckled, floating my fork prongs away from the pancake back to the bowl of fruit. I watched my fork in hand, my eyes on the tray. "If I can't go hungry, you can't either."
"I'm fine, honestly."
"Lies," I smirked, piercing a vividly red, ripened cherry with the silver utensil. A thought ran through my head; an action. I tucked curls falling back over my eye as I slipped the cherry in my mouth and rolled the spherical, polished fruit on my tongue. From the corner of my eye, I saw Harry observing me curiously. He knew I was up to no good-his clever witch. I turned in flourish, laying into him as I lowered my mouth to his. I coaxed his lips open, skilled at teasing with the tip of my tongue. Persuasion working, I gently glided, tongue-from-tongue, the cherry into his mouth.
I fed him my own way.
He knew it was coming and happily accepted it. When we broke off he chewed and swallowed, coming back in to wrap around me. He pushed into my body, pressed his weight and kissed me hard. My knee jerked up in reaction to his intensity, the ceramics on the tray jumping to come down on the metal.
***
I absolutely love my parents.
A long-time patient of theirs works for a recording studio in downtown London. I told my folks a few days after Harry expressed his feelings for me to them, and daddy and mum gave him their blessing, how I needed to attach an audition tape to my application to the musical arts college for Oxford. Daddy immediately said that it wasn't a problem and knew how I could get one professionally done. They were friends with one Lucas Avery, a veteran employer and recording artist at Virgin Records. Lucas could assist me, without cost, in applying to Oxford.
Sure enough, Mister Avery called daddy some days later to give the green light for me on a Wednesday.
Today.
Am I nervous?
Of course I am.
I hadn't stopped fidgeting with my crinkled bow and multi-ruffled skirt. The lacey material struck utter contrast with what white legs which could be seen as the length covered only to my knees. I'd worn leather boots with a corset for a top, an entire black ensemble. I thought to show the studio my personality and not try to hide it by "looking professional"-with a pencil skirt or whatever pseudo-self prophecy. That wasn't me at all. If I was walking into a place so accredited to the Rolling Stone's history, I wasn't about to put on a front what wasn't my own persona.
The rain going into London had picked up considerably from the suburban outskirts Harry and I lived in. I hoped this wasn't a telling sign for things to come, the slightly bluish aqua splattering Harry's windshield. The windshield wipers were on full-blast, struggling to fight against the water that clouded his sight. Everyone drove particularly slow which, in retrospect, I was glad we left the flat earlier than I had intended.
Harry parallel parked against the curb and shut down the engine. I glanced up from the passenger window at the bright red sign of Virgin flashing its neon light amongst the dull, gray Britain outside. I'd gone over and over in my head, practiced my heart out in my `studio' in Number Twelve, so I felt a bit confident. But, the looming history of the actual studio…that's what got to me. I mean… The Sex Pistols… Culture Club… Smashing Pumpkins… These weren't amateurs. I was an amateur invading.
Harry placed his hand on my arm, oblivious as I'd continued to watch the neon sign flash, and I nearly jumped clear out of my seat.
"Don't do that!"
"Sorry," he tried to smile, but observed the friction in my expression. "You're going to do amazing. I'll be right there beside you all the way."
"I know… I just…"
"Confidence, baby," Harry smiled and rubbed my arm in comfort. He lowered his head when I looked away from him at a car leaving in front of us. My eyes flicked to him and I watched him trying to initiate a grin on my face. I finally couldn't keep a front when he made a goofy face and grinned at his addicting smile. He said after the smile, "That's the Hermione I enjoy seeing."
Harry left me to push into the middle of the seats, hovering over the armrest in the center to procure something in the back. He sat down again with a black umbrella in his hand and ushered in another smile as he unwrapped the Velcro surrounding the textured material.
"Ready?" He said, eyeing me from the side. He took the door handle in his hand.
I gulped, and I knew he had to have heard me. I nodded, closing my eyes, "Ready as I'll ever be…"
Harry quickly opened the driver side and shut it back, rain getting inside the car the brief moment he stepped out. Water dripped in-between the crevices of the leather seat and fell from gravity to the gray carpeting. I watched my man pop the umbrella out and hold it over his head, running over to my side of the car. I felt of my engagement ring with my thumb, my one exposed eye keeping up with him as he hopped the curb and pulled the door open for me. Holding the umbrella over my head, Harry offered his hand and I embraced it within my own. He lifted me out, always vigilant in making sure I wasn't getting wet even though he got hit by the torrential sheets of rain.
"You're getting soaked!" I grabbed above his hand on the plastic handle of the umbrella and tried to get us both underneath.
"Doesn't matter," Harry shut my door and hit the button on his keys to lock the rest. He looked at me as we went up on the sidewalk with other people dodging the rain under umbrellas, "You're the only one that matters."
With my hands playing with the wristbands and bracelets on my arms, I snuck in a kiss while a doorman at the entrance to Virgin Records held open the door for us. We thanked him, Harry flicking the umbrella dry before we entered the air-conditioned environment.
Right away, the left and right walls of the interior leading to a large, white desk in front of us were covered with vinyl records. Each record shined off the fluorescent lights, giving off a different sheen for each individual record as if each record in itself produced a metaphor for its different singer or band. Band posters, Mariah Carey, the Spice Girls, Daft Punk, and the Rolling Stones, all gave me the jitters. Each of these reminded me of where I was, to where I wanted to be, and the butterflies in my stomach rioted. I held my tummy through the black corset and immediately Harry took notice, having wrapped an arm around my middle.
"Are you doing all right?" his eyes went to me holding my tummy, and then withdrew back to my sight.
"Yeah, it's just… It's all a little overwhelming…"
"Hey," We had to stop in order to let this guy in casual wear run past us and out the door. He was obviously in a hurry, hailing down a cab. In the second we stopped, I turned to meet Harry who kissed me. He brushed his hand along my cheek, "You're brilliant, just remember that."
"What if I screw up?" I whispered in haste. We were nearly to the receptionist at the desk.
"You're not going to screw up," he smiled at me. "You're going to be perfect. `Screwing up' isn't in your dictionary."
"Hello and welcome to Virgin Records," the brunette said behind the desk. She was wearing the Virgin-red in her business attire. "How may I assist you two?"
She couldn't see me, but I continued to nervously finger the bracelets on my wrists from my side of the counter. I stuttered a bit and halted, taking a deep breath before saying fluidly, "I have a noon appointment with Mister Avery for a recording session."
People, including the receptionist, were sizing me up. I definitely looked different than probably anything they've seen. I began to get a little light-headed, and Harry could feel it come off me thick when I swayed. He shook me in his arm gently to have me come back down to earth. The secretary went over to a phone close by and pressed number five on the dial, and then another button clear of a numeric.
A male voice came over the receiver in speaker-phone. Anybody in the vicinity could hear the conversation.
"Yes Pen?"
"Magnus," Pen spoke into the air above the speaker. "We have someone at the desk who says she has a recording with you at noon?"
The sound of something scraping the receiver on the other end shrilly embedded itself in the environment. I looked at Harry with worry. He looked back at me with his grin and brushed up against me, leaning in to give me a light kiss.
"Do you have that letter I wrote you from this morning?" Harry asked me in whisper.
I nodded, "It's in my pocket." I went to get it out of the aforementioned pocket to be stopped once more by Harry.
"Not yet, love. At the end," he patted me. "At the end, okay?"
I grinned at him and my ears perked back up to hear this "Magnus" on the end of the speaker-phone.
"Ah, yes, that would be Frederick Granger's girl. I'll be right there to escort them to the studio, Pen."
"All righty, sir." Pen lifted the phone from its hook and set it back down to end the call.
Pen's focus resumed back on Harry and I when she spoke, offering her hand to point towards an adjoined room, "Magnus will be here shortly. If you two would like to wait in that room over there?"
We both shook our heads and went to move when Pen called out after us, "There's coffee and refreshments. Feel free to take some."
I couldn't even get a cup of coffee in the short time-span before a man in his early thirties, sporting a scruffy beard a bit longer in length than Harry's stubble-look, waltzed in. Clad in red-and-white checkered plaid and blue jeans, he stood right at the door and became over-joyous when he saw me walking back over to Harry and my seat in the waiting room. He rushed right over and offered me his hand, "Misses Granger, I presume?"
I took his hand in the free hand I had, the coffee in the other, and shook it. From my peripheral, I saw Harry get up and come on over. The charms on my wrists knocked around with the firm handshake the man gave me, his other hand atop mine.
"Hermione, yes, and you're…Mister Avery?"
"People here call me Magnus, if you'd like to also," I nodded and Magnus, catching Harry in his sight, smiled at him. "And who is this fine young fellow?"
Magnus let me go to offer his hand to Harry. I said with a smile much like the one upon Harry's face, "This is my fiance, Harry."
"Ah, good to meet you, Harry," He shook Harry just as firm in shake as he did to me. "Or is it Harold?"
"Harry's preferable."
"Gotcha," Magnus's eyes wandered back onto me. "You know, Misses Granger, I immediately knew who you were because you look surprisingly like your mother, Emilie."
"I get that a lot," I smirked, watching his excited expression from the single, exposed eye.
Magnus looked me over and winked, "And you certainly convey this fabulous personality. I haven't seen a personality such as yourself in a while!"
"I hope that's a good thing?"
"Oh, yes, Hermione-may I call you Hermione?"
"Of course."
"Well then, Hermione. I believe I'm going to get to hear something incredibly wonderful from you today?"
I smiled.
Hearing this from a professional was just the extra boost I needed. I'd only sung for my family, friends-Harry-and as much as I garnered compliments from them, and tons, a professional helped secure the thought. I just hope I gave him what he wanted to hear.
"And this is for your application for Oxford's Arts College, Hermione?" Magnus motioned with his hand to follow him. I set the unused coffee down on the table nearest to me and found Harry's hand. He interlaced his fingers with mine and walked aside Magnus out of the waiting room and down the rightside hallway.
I nodded to Magnus's question.
"Well, I just have this feeling about you," He said, pointing his finger at me.
***
"I can't thank you enough, again, Magnus." I spoke to the glass window between me, the microphone hanging from the ceiling, and Harry and Magnus behind the pane. They could hear me and Harry gave me a thumbs-up in response from beside Magnus. "I bet you could be doing other relevant things other than this."
Magnus sat in a leather rolling chair behind all the gadgets and gismos, computer screens and speakers. He shook his head and leaned into a microphone, his voice coming to life in my room, "It's not a problem, Hermione. Your father is a friend of mine, and actually, I'm quite excited to hear what you have for me-for Oxford."
"So, this is how it's going to go down," Magnus pointed at me. "Make love to microphone. That's the most important factor. Because you're doing this acoustically, your tonality and how your voice sounds must be rich and full of life. You really want to catch the ears of those at Oxford, so make them want to listen."
I nodded, my hands on my hips. Harry gave me another thumbs-up and I smiled. I gazed around the room, Virgin's red hue painted on the walls with more platinum vinyl's strung on the walls behind frames. I couldn't believe I was actually here-this had to be a dream.
"Another thing I must stress, Hermione," Magnus's voice boomed from the hidden speakers in the wall. "Is to relax. Shake off your nerves. Throw the nerves away in a rubbish bin-you don't need them. I'll hear everything and I'll stop you if I sense you in distress. I want this to be as perfect for you as you want it to be for those over in Oxford. Okay?"
I nodded, my hands leaving the wrinkles of my skirt fabric as much as I wanted to keep playing with them. I breathed, trying to find a normal pace. Relax-come on, Hermione! Relax! I closed and re-opened my eyes, nodding again at Magnus and grinned and Harry's ever-smiling face.
"Good," grinned Magnus, his mouth near the microphone on the sound-mixing table. Magnus pointed above my head, "You'll see the `Recording' light come on after about five seconds from when I point at you to go. That's when it's all yours, babe."
"Got it," I said, speaking into the microphone.
"So," Magnus poked something on the mixing table, and then looked back at me. "What will I be hearing today?"
"I've been practicing a Beatles song," I spoke quickly into the microphone. Then, slowed down my pace when I found myself going back to being nervous. "'Hey Jude'?"
"Ah, now you know, Hermione, that the Beatles are one of my favorite bands?"
I swallowed hard and put on a fake smile.
Great.
"So, realize, I'll be wanting something phenomenal from you." Magnus laughed into the microphone. He could see me tense and waved me off, "I'm teasing you. I apologize. But, the Beatles are one of my favorite bands of all time. So, I'm really excited to hear from you."
I saw Harry lean down to Magnus and say something to him. Magnus had turned the mic off and nodded at whatever was said. He flipped the mic back on, "Ready Hermione?"
"Yes." The butterflies had reached their climax. There was no going back from this point.
"Hermione," Magnus tilted back in his chair to allow Harry access to the microphone. I didn't know why I did it, but I waved at him through the glass. He waved in reply and smiled warmly, "I love you."
Aw…
Approaching the microphone, I spoke softly, "I love you, too, Love."
Magnus re-approached the head of the mic, "Okay, you're on in five." He held up his five fingers. He began pressing buttons on the sound machine.
I watched Magnus hold up three fingers.
Then two.
One.
He pointed at me and the red light behind the "Recording" sign lit up. My hands immediately went to the headset where I held on for my life. Habitually, or due to my anxiety, I closed my eyes. I allowed the beat, the rhythm, to pour from my head to catch the words in smooth lyric.
"Hey Jude, don't make it bad… Take a sad song and make it better," My head inclined with each beat in the silence. I could hear McCartney in my mind singing. I only wanted to make the song my own-perform riffs in my voice, but keep the truth of the song within the realm of melody. "Remember, to let her into your heart… Then you can start…to make it bet-ter."
"Hey Jude, don't be afraid… You were made to go out and get her," I kept my voice solemn for the beginning, truly feeling the words as if speaking poetry for a crowd. "The minute you let her under your skin… Then, you begin, to make it bet-ter."
The tone in my vocals increased as I lightly bobbed my head to the invisible orchestrated background track, "And anytime you feel the pain-Hey Jude, refrain!... Don't carry the world upon your shoulder… For well you know that it's a fool, who plays it cool…"
I peeked open my eyes to see Harry with his hands in his pockets, nodding his head to my song. Magnus was all in smiles as he watched on. I could even see him mouthing the words along with me. "By making his world a little colder… Nah, nah, nah…"
"Hey Jude, don't let me down," I shook my head as if speaking to Jude, my eyes set on my lover smiling at me as I sung. "You have found her! Now go and get her! Remember, to let her into your heart… Then, you can start to make it better…"
"So, let it out and let it in," I closed my eyes. I could feel the cool of the metal microphone head by my warm lips, my hands still holding the headset on my ears. "Hey Jude, begin, you're wait-ting for someone to perform with…"
"And, don't you know that it's just you!" I smiled, feeling myself get into the performance. The butterflies settled in the pit of my stomach. "Hey Jude, you'll do, the movement you'll need is on your shoulder… Nah, nah, nah…"
My whole body began to find the bob of my head. The leather sole of my boot tapped the floor lightly as I rose and fell to the melody within my mind, "Hey Jude, don't make it bad… Take a sad song, and make it bet-ter. Remember! To let her under your skin! Oh! Then you'll begin…to make it better…"
A rush of heat, warmth from toe to head, ran up my spine. My favorite part, the part that made me smile the most, belted from my tiny body. "Better! Better! Better! Better! Better! Oh!"
With each "Better," my voice grew louder, prouder-believing in myself, seeing myself do this in front of a crowd, and loving it.
"NAH! Nah, nah, nah, nahnahnah! Hey Jude!"
***
Magnus gave me a standing ovation after my version of "Hey Jude". He thought it was brilliant. He even made reference to the fact that I had such an "original voice and look," and that "he knew I'd go far with just a touch more formal direction." That was a large compliment from someone who worked side-by-side with the best and brightest in the music industry.
I sang the song a few times. Magnus wanted a few takes of my voice. He said, "It's not really professional to take the first take of any recording," and that, "Many singers go through multiple takes until they find the best vocal." He wanted to set me off on the most positive path he could give me as if I were one of his clients. He even told me, in the future if I ever needed an agent, he'd be happy to take me on after I'd gotten some experience under my belt.
But, he wanted one other song-different from the upbeat of "Hey Jude". He asked me if I knew "Imagine" by John Lennon, and of course, I knew it by heart. I told him I hadn't practiced and he told me to treat it as an impromptu performance.
"Don't worry about it," Magnus had waved my jitters off. "With the emotion you put into `Hey Jude', and how you made it your own style, I can't wait to hear `Imagine'."
I tried to smile, but trump Lennon? I didn't even think I'd done that good of a job with the Beatles even after he gave me a rousing applause. But, he urged me to get the ball rolling, and before I knew it, I was singing acoustically one of the best songs of all time to the upper hierarchy of Virgin Records.
"…Imagine all the people…living life in peace, you-You may say I'm a dreamer," I had my eyes closed as I `made love' to the microphone, my mouth a centimeter away. "But, I'm not the only one… I hope someday you will join us, and the world will be as one."
"Imagine no possessions… I wonder if you can… No need for greed or hunger; a brotherhood of man…," The lyrics erupted emotions from my soul, and I could hear myself begin to breakdown whilst singing. Just one of those songs… "Imagine all the people…sharing all the world, you-You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one…"
"I hope someday you will join us," I had to break away from the microphone to get my act together, and immediately finished the song, coming back to the mic. "And the world will live as one…"
When the recording light went off, I instantly spoke into the microphone, clearing my throat, "I apologize for that emotional outburst."
"That's what I wanted from you," Magnus smiled and nodded. "I knew you had that in you, and wanted to dig that out of your soul. I could see you doing something like that for a record. This is your niche."
"And honestly, Hermione," I heard Magnus clear his own throat and looked between him and Harry. Harry gave me a thumbs-up with a wide, loving grin on his face. Magnus came back to his microphone, "You got me a little teary-eyed there. What a great job-I'm taking that on its first take. I don't think I'll be able to get that rawness in multiples."
"Really brilliant stuff," Magnus coughed into his fist, still a bit sentimental over my performance. "Give yourself a pat on the back, truly."
Harry got my attention by waving at me. I smiled at him, and saw his motion as he directed with a point of his finger at my pockets within my skirt. I quickly felt of my ruffles. He was telling me to-finally-open the mysterious letter he'd written to me this morning as he made me breakfast in bed.
Gently I slipped the white envelope with the words, For You, written in his cursive out. I glanced up at him, to make sure that's really what he had wanted. He nodded. I told you he could read my mind. I grinned and tucked some hair back from under the headset. Slowly, I slid my finger into the fold of the envelope and divided the two pieces of paper. I pulled from the insert one, single white card with these words written in the similar style and black ink from the front:
I'm so proud of you, my fiance, my future wife, my love.
I love you more than life itself.
~ H
I read his words again, and again, and again.
I couldn't stop reading his handwriting, his words, his love on paper.
Tears welled up in my eyes.
{Inspirations for the Chapter: Much of what you read in the chapter - Lennon and the Beatles, besides the obvious "Hey Jude" and "Imagine" lyrics}
-->