Your Song

DISCLAIMER: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended. “Your Song” belongs to Sir Elton John. Go find a copy to download and listen to when you get to the end.

The Hogwarts library – with its mountains of dusty tomes and plentitude of luxurious chairs, it was a paradise for Ravenclaws and others of a literary persuasion, especially on weekends. However, on one particular Saturday, this wasn’t the case for Head Girl Hermione Granger, who usually preferred a good book to even eating and sleeping. How could you tell she wasn’t studying? Well, for one, she hadn’t turned a page in the book she was holding for over an hour. Also, she was holding it upside down.

No, Hermione’s thoughts were not occupied by her latest re-reading of Hogwarts: A History. Instead, a certain emerald-eyed best friend of hers would not leave them be.

She had had one of those dreams again, the ones she’d been having on and off since the end of fourth year, about that best friend. No matter how hard she tried, she just couldn’t stop pondering how his unruly yet fine black hair would feel as she ran her hands through it, or whether his lips... Stop it, girl, she mentally chided herself. Harry’ll never see you as more than his bookish friend. Besides, he’s probably still pining after Cho.

Hermione was so deep into her reverie, however, that she couldn’t help but jump when a voice rudely whispered behind her.

“Well, if it isn’t the ugly Mudblood, trying to study...or is your boyfriend Potty going to keep you from passing your N.E.W.Ts?”

Hermione involuntarily gasped as she turned to face a boy her own age, with platinum-blond hair and a smirk playing about his lips. “And what would you know, Malfoy?”

“It’s quite obvious, actually, especially if you insist on staring at him all through Potions class and the prefects’ meetings, like you did yesterday. Pity for you he’ll never return any of your affections.” Draco Malfoy turned his steely gaze away from Hermione, preferring to direct his attention to the wand he was twirling in his fingertips.

“Malfoy, if you don’t give me one good reason why you’re bothering me right now, I’ll-”

“Just keep your knickers on, Granger. I was getting to that.” As Hermione blushed at his last remark, he held up his wand to examine it and continued speaking, this time with an exaggerated pity in his voice. “The reason I’m talking to you is that I just don’t want to see you get hurt by that git. Idiot that he is, he does know how to spot excellently endowed purebloods. Let’s see, Parvati Patil, Fleur Delacour, Cho Chang – you’ve got to hand him to him, Potter does have good taste. And he’ll never see you, Granger, as more than some plain-Jane Mudblood he can use to do his homework for him.”

Hermione’s rage had been steadily building throughout Draco’s speech, but with this last final jab at her pride, it all disintegrated. Most of Hermione’s interaction with Harry, ever since that encounter with a troll in their first year, was either to help him with his homework or to save his arse on yet another adventure. Maybe, as much as it hurt to admit it, Draco was right for once – Harry really was only using her. She ran from the library, her book abandoned, as the tears started flowing freely.

*****

Parvati Patil moaned while Dean Thomas traced butterfly kisses down her neck as they stood on the staircase leading to the girls’ dormitories. “Do you want to move this into my room?” she whispered seductively into his ear before lightly nipping on the lobe.

“That’s–”

Whoosh! They barely had time to look up before a sobbing blur of tangled brown hair and black robes flew past them into the seventh years’ room, slamming the door behind it.

“Was that Hermione?” Dean asked, concern removing all traces of the passion that previously filled his voice.

“C’mon,” Parvati replied, grabbing his arm as she started down the stairs. “We’ve got to find Harry and Ron. They’ll know how to handle this.”

*****

Harry Potter sat on his bed in the seventh year boys’ dorm, trying to concentrate on his copy of Quidditch Through the Ages, but his attention kept wandering to where his best friend Ron Weasley and Ron’s sister Ginny were cleaning up the remains of an Exploding Snap game on the floor in front of him. For some reason, it kept irking him how, during the game, Lavender Brown had been so comfortably seated in Seamus Finnigan’s lap. And it didn’t help that Lavender and Seamus had just left to go “somewhere more private,” presumably the Astronomy Tower or a convenient broom closet. If only I could have something like that, he thought, but she’d never see me in that way. What have I done to deserve it? I’m lucky enough just to have her, or anyone for that matter, as a friend.

He was abruptly brought out of his reverie, however, when the door to the room swung open to reveal a panting Parvati dragging an equally winded Dean behind her.

“Harry, Ron,” she started, taking deep breaths between words, “thank Merlin you’re here!”

“Wh- Is something wrong?” Ron asked, slightly confused.

“It’s Hermione,” answered Dean. “She ran by crying just now and locked herself in her room.”

Upon hearing Hermione’s name, Harry had jumped off the bed, his book forgotten. “I’ve got to get to her,” he yelled as he started for the door, but he felt himself pulled back by a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Wait a second before you go,” said Ron, turning Harry away from the door. “Trust me, you’ll just make it worse if you suddenly barge in.”

“In your case, maybe,” mumbled Harry as he tried to break away. “But she might need a friend right now!”

“And you’ll just make her even more upset, with the state you’re in,” Ginny said. “Besides, we don’t even know what happened yet.”

“All right then,” Harry said as he resignedly sat back down on his bed. “Parvati, is there anything you can tell us?”

“Well,” started Parvati, “she was mumbling something about Malfoy–”

“I’m going to hex that git into next week!” Ron roared as he now made a break for the door.

“Not right now, you won’t!” Ginny countered as Dean restrained him. “Let Parvati finish speaking first.”

“–and something about Harry as well, but I couldn’t really tell–”

“It was about Harry never noticing something,” finished Dean.

Harry shook his head. “I have no idea what she could be talking about.”

“I do.”

Everyone suddenly turned to stare at Ginny as she continued speaking. “Harry,” she asked, “do you like Hermione?”

He blushed as he quickly replied, “Well, of course I do! She’s my best friend.”

Ginny just smiled and nodded. “Not that kind of like, Harry.”

Harry just hung his head and turned even redder as Ron exclaimed, “I knew it!”

“Okay, so now we’ve got Harry’s problems all figured out,” said Dean, “but how does this help us with Hermione?”

As if in response, Harry smiled as he whispered something to himself.

“What did you say, Harry?” asked Ginny.

“She likes me,” he replied simply as he looked up. Then his smile turned to a frown. “But she thinks I don’t like her.”

“Then you’ve got to go talk to her, Harry,” said Ginny.

“That’s right,” added Ron. “Now that we’ve knocked some sense into your head, you need to knock some into hers.”

Harry chuckled as he walked to the door. Just as he was about to step through, he turned and looked back into the room. Ron was smiling at him and shaking his head, Ginny was telling Ron off for his last comment, and Parvati was attempting to explain what had just happened to Dean, who was still confused. He cleared his throat to get their attention, then said “Thanks, guys.”

Ron grinned. “Glad to be of service,” he said, “but you need to hurry up. You’ve got a girl waiting for you!”

I just hope she really is, Harry thought as he closed the door behind him and the butterflies in his stomach began to dance.

*****

After what seemed like an eternity, Harry found himself in front of the door to the seventh year girls’ dorm. He stood for a moment, staring at the door as if debating whether to just give up now and go, then raised his hand and knocked.

“Hermione, it’s Harry. Can I–”

“Leave me alone, Harry!” came an angry voice from the other side that was definitely Hermione’s.

“But I really would like to–”

“I said LEAVE! I never want to see or talk to you again!” This was followed by a loud sob.

“As you wish,” Harry said as he turned and walked back down the stairs. He never looked back to see the door open, a blotchy face peer out with a bewildered expression, then disappear behind the door as it clicked shut again.

*****

All eyes turned expectantly to Harry as he reentered the boys’ room.

“I’ve lost her,” was all that he said as he dropped to the floor and leaned against the door.

“Why do you say that?” asked Ginny concernedly. “What did she say?”

“She wouldn’t see me.”

“Well, then I guess it’s time for Plan B!” announced Ron. Everyone now turned to stare at him as if he were crazy. “Well, if Hermione won’t let Harry in,” he continued, “then we’ve got to draw her out. But how?”

“Maybe we can lob some Dungbombs through the window and have her run out into Harry’s arms,” suggested Dean.

“Dean!” Parvati cried, her face contorted in rage. “That’s my room, too!”

“Well, then we won’t do that,” said Ginny. “Maybe you can send her an Owl, Harry. She’ll have to let Hedwig in.”

Ron suddenly asked, “Harry, you can sing, right?”

“Well, yeah, I guess a little bit–”

“I’ve heard him in the shower,” added Dean. “You’re good enough to be on the Wizarding Wireless, Harry!”

“Well, if you say so, then I can sing. But why?”

“I’m getting to that. Dean, didn’t you take piano lessons before coming here?”

“Yes, but–”

“Excellent. Ginny, I know you’re good at Transfiguration, so you can get us a piano. And Bill taught me how to play the guitar last summer, so that should be all the instruments we need. Parvati, can you get together a wardrobe?”

“Well, of course I can,” answered Parvati as she giggled. “I only read every issue of Witch Weekly from cover to cover! But you still haven’t told us what for, Ron.”

“We’re going to put on a show! If she’s not intrigued by what she hears, then at least Hermione will have to perform her Head Girl duties of hushing us up.”

“You mean, I’m going to have to sing in front of all of Hogwarts?” asked Harry nervously.

“No, just the common room. C’mon, it’ll be fun!”

“Ron, I do hope you realize that this is not going to become a regular occurrence,” said Dean in a grumpy tone of voice. “We’re only doing this for Harry’s sake.”

“I know, I know. At least you guys aren’t running away like chickens with their heads cut off. Now, we just need to figure out what to perform...”

*****

In all the years since the founding of Hogwarts, the Gryffindor common room had never seen such a scene. Its tables and squashy armchairs had all been transfigured into folding chairs, which were lined up in rows parallel to one of the walls and filled with giggling girls and curious boys. A huge stage had been erected next to the opposite wall, directly in the line of sight from the foot of the stairs to the girls’ dorms. Spotlights from nowhere in particular shone down onto the stage at three points: an elegant grand piano, a floating Muggle electric guitar, and a microphone on a stand by itself.

A hush fell over the gathered audience as Ginny, resplendent in deep purple dress robes that clung in all the right places, stepped up and took the microphone.

“Ladies and gentleman,” she announced in a voice magically amplified to fill the entire room and hopefully float upstairs, “now, the band you’ve all been waiting for...the Gryffindor Boys!”

The audience cheered while Dean, Ron, and finally Harry stepped onto the stage. As Dean seated himself at the piano and Ron removed the charm on his guitar, Harry took the microphone and began to speak.

“I’d like to thank you all for coming tonight to see us–”

Harry paused as the audience cheered again, this time with some of the girls swooning over how handsome the three boys, dressed in their finest robes, looked on the stage.

“–and I’d like to dedicate the song we’re going to perform to someone who’s not. She’s my best friend, but she’s not too happy with me right now. I do hope she’s listening; this is something I should have told her a long time ago. Anyways, on with the song...”

Dean took this as his cue to start playing. The sweet melody echoed around the room, complemented well every now and then by Ron’s chords. Then Harry began to sing...

It’s a little bit funny this feeling inside

I’m not one of those who can easily hide

I don’t have much money but boy if I did

I’d buy a big house where we both could live

If I was a sculptor, but then again, no

Or a man who makes potions in a traveling show

I know it’s not much but it’s the best I can do

My gift is my song and this one’s for you

Hermione stood a few steps up from the front of the stairs, where she could clearly hear the concert without being seen. She had heard a racket coming from the common room earlier, but just didn’t care enough to get up and stop it. It wasn’t worth it anymore, especially when her whole life had been a lie. Even when she heard Ginny announce the concert, she just couldn’t muster the strength to perform her duties as Head Girl. Oh, McGonagall will have my head for this if she finds out, she had thought at the time.

But then she had heard Harry’s voice and, wonder beyond wonder, it was calling to her, saying she was his friend, wanting her to come out and listen. Well, I didn’t come out the first time, and I don’t have to show myself, so I might as well, she had thought. Listening never hurt anyone, even if actions do.

And then Harry had started to sing...

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world

I sat on the roof and kicked off the moss

Well a few of the verses well they’ve got me quite cross

But the sun’s been quite kind while I wrote this song

It’s for people like you that keep it turned on

So excuse me forgetting but these things I do

You see I’ve forgotten if they’re green or they’re blue

Anyway the thing is what I really mean

Yours are the sweetest eyes I’ve ever seen

“They’re brown.”

The music suddenly stopped as everyone turned to stare at the source of this outburst, the foot of the stairs to the girls’ dorms. There she stood, the girl who the song was for, her bushy hair in complete disarray and her eyes still red and puffy from crying.

“Hermione,” Harry said, almost whispering but unable to keep his joy at seeing her from his voice. “You came.”

“You forgot what color my eyes are.”

“That’s just how the song goes. I would never forget that.”

Hermione, along with several of the audience members, gasped as the full meaning of what Harry had just said sunk in. “Do you mean it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Harry answered, refusing to take his eyes away from her.

“All of it?”

Harry smiled. “Well, not the part about making potions, but...” He paused for a moment, considering how best to put what he had to say. “Hermione, I love you.”

The audience went crazy as Hermione ran to Harry, who pulled her up onto the stage and swung her around before gathering her into his arms.

“I love you, too, Harry,” Hermione yelled above the din of the crowd, which just caused it to get even louder. “But I think you need to finish your song, dear.”

“See you after the show?” he asked, a mischievous glint appearing in his eye.

“You bet,” she answered as he helped her off the stage and the music began again...

And you can tell everybody this is your song

It may be quite simple but now that it’s done

I hope you don’t mind

I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world

I hope you don’t mind

I hope you don’t mind that I put down in words

How wonderful life is while you’re in the world