Hypothetical Heartstrings

His hands were still, poised above the black and white of the Grand Piano. His eyelids fluttered slightly, before he began gliding his fingers over the perfectly tuned keys. His passion began to pour over the Piano, spilling out and engulfing every corner of the room. I sat, awe-inspired at the ferocity displayed in his countenance. Every note hit by those silky, slim, perfectly shaped fingers sent shivers coursing through my entire being. My veins felt the hot rush of passion flow into my every fibre. My skin tingled, my heart beat faster and my breath caught as I watched his face. Eyes closed, usual pale, unemotional skin alive with a fire, lips drawn into a tight line, concentration evident in the slight creases in his forehead.

His figure, bent over, blond clashing with black, strong fingers stroking delicate keys. His smooth ivory skin giving all the perception of a heavenly creature. The ancient gods could not compare. The creation made by this figure continued to overwhelm the room, its melody becoming dense in the air, his fervor synchronizing with the ever increasing pounding of my heart, vibrating the cords and strings of my inner soul.

A bead of sweat rolled slowly from his hairline as a few strands of his impressive platinum hair fell forward, eclipsing a part of his closed eyes. He neared the end of his piece, perfectly arched eyebrows rising as his entire body tensed for the finale. As he hit the last note, I saw, witnessed, felt, his body contract and relax, all energy released in his personal catharsis. He slumped forward slightly, his eyes never opening, his hands still not removed from his instrument of personal haven.

Silence greeted this suspenseful moment. Such a situation, I felt, called for applause, for credit and pride, but there was none. I sat still, uninvited and unnoticed. He was alone. Enveloped in a beautifully mournful world of his own creation. His vigorous passion unappreciated, lost in the one silent tear that fell from the corner of his lightly closed eyes, crashing onto his one solace beneath his fingertips.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Leaving him to his own conjectural universe I crept slowly back to my dorm room. My invisibility cloak almost unneeded as the black shrouding of the night shielded me from the all-seeing eyes of Hogwarts. As I found my way back to the Gryffindor Tower I cursed and wished I hadn't stumbled into that room. My blind wandering, escaping the hell that is my world, led me to this night of consuming emotions. Who would have thought it would be stone-faced-Draco, who displayed such raw feeling, albeit he thought he was alone, but still, a Malfoy? I guess the more you keep locked up behind a cool gaze, the more that builds up behind the illusion of contemplative-boredom, the more passionate and devastating it will be when it's let loose.

It's been a long time since I was 'moved' by anything. Sure I had laughs with Ron and Hermione but never had anything but the surface been stirred. My bravery and comradeship is all I have, but that can't make up for that gaping space in my chest. A void that was slightly filled by tonight's excursions. I knew however, it could never be repeated. Malfoy would never admit to what I had witnessed, nor would I. It was not mine to tell others and he, as a result, would never know how he changed the very course of my being. It would be a secret shared together, his melancholy misery and my one night of reverential release.