The Harpsichordist

Chapter 15: I'm Dreaming of a White Christmas

"Do you really think that's wise, Albus?" asked Minerva, studying the parchment in front of her.

Wendy glanced over at her. The first staff meeting of December had been insufferably boring, as usual, until Albus had suddenly announced that the last Friday of classes would feature a concert by all the students. Wendy knew of the concert, of course; she'd been planning it for weeks. The teachers ought to have known of it, too; they'd been complaining about it for weeks. But that didn't seem to be Minerva's problem.

Albus was opening the concert to the public.

"It's very sweet of you, Headmaster," Severus added with immense distaste, "but inviting the entire wizarding world to simply walk in to the school?"

"We should at least confiscate wands," Minerva said. "Who knows whose parents might turn up...?" She and Severus exchanged a dark look.

"My dear teachers, I have every confidence that there will be no trouble at the concert." Albus added two sugar cubes to his half-drunk cup of tea.

"Do not be so sure," said Sibyll Trelawney in her usual ethereal tones. "I foresee a great darkness ahead," she continued, thoroughly rolling the r's.

"That wouldn't be nightfall, would it?" said Severus acidly.

Wendy fought back a giggle. Sibyll had, with great relish, told Wendy that she'd foreseen Luke's death months ago, and had withheld the sad knowledge out of respect for "delicate senses." At the time, Wendy almost believed her but, as the weeks passed, Sibyll merely reminded her more and more of the old man selling Tarot readings for ten dollars on the corner of Telegraph and Durant in Berkeley.

Sibyll glared at Severus, but fell silent.

"Professor, I can get some more people from the Ministry," said Tonks, who was sitting two seats down from Wendy. "I might not be able to get more than a few--Kingsley's a sure thing, but--"

Wendy looked around at Tonks. They'd been extremely polite to each other since Tonks had brought Luke's... since Halloween.

"Thank you for the offer, but Aurors will not be necessary," said Albus. He took a sip of his tea, pursed his lips thoughtfully, and added another sugar cube.

"Why hold the concert in the first place, I'd like to know," said Calcula Vector, shooting Wendy an unfriendly look. "The students have been falling behind on their homework, Albus! Rehearsals every evening--"

"--and the Quidditch teams have had to squeeze in practices on weekend evenings!" That was Hooch.

"The concert will take place as scheduled, and the wizarding community is invited."

"But, Albus--" said a significant portion of the staff.

Albus rose from his chair and began to pace the room, giving Wendy the feeling they were about to learn something very important.

"I know that all of you have, from the very start, objected to the addition of music to our syllabus," he began, his voice calm and measured.

There were many nods and mutters; everyone looked at Wendy, and several people glared.

"Though it is admirable that you all desire, in these troubled times, to focus on traditional magic and defense, you are nonetheless misguided." Albus held up a hand to stifle the outcry. "When I hired Luke, I knew it would upset many at the school and in the Ministry. And it did--Fudge himself came to my office and objected most forcefully. And yet it was necessary to hire a Muggle to do this job."

That was new information to Wendy. She'd wondered, many times, why Albus hadn't just taken someone local, perhaps that woman who was teaching Ginny Weasley.

"Art music has become so lost in our community," Albus continued, "that it is only children who ever receive any sort of training, and the training they do receive is extremely basic and practical. They simply learn how to play instruments, or sing. No one ever tells them of the rich history that Muggles and wizards created together. The splitting of the wizarding and Muggle worlds meant that the creation of art music fell largely on the side of the Muggles. They, having no understanding of how music could affect the universe, replaced the pure magic of music with a sort of composer-worship, in which art itself was seen as a force of nature, something the composers only could interpret and explain, something they had to follow. The future of art became a point of debate, and music became simply a platform from which various composers preached their ideas. This split has had drastic consequences for our understanding of how magic works, and it is vitally important that we reheal it."

"But why now, Albus?" complained Sprout. "I've never questioned your appointments before, and I didn't object this time, but it simply doesn't make sense to do it now, with You-Know-Who on the rise again."

"Quivisianthe, please. I will explain." Albus waved his hands placatingly. "It's been many years since we sang the school song, do you recall?"

Many people rolled their eyes, and Minerva muttered, "That piece of rubbish."

"And every time we sing it, the students all choose their own tunes, yes? It's cacophony."

"Too right," said Tonks quietly, snorting.

"Have any of you ever paid attention to the magic levels in the Great Hall when the students are singing their hearts out on their favorite tune? I didn't think so. I have. It's very powerful. It is a mess, naturally, but it is extremely powerful."

"So you brought the Muggles here to teach them how to sing, just so they could all sing the school song together?" sneered Professor Sinistra.

"We could do that," said Albus, looking thoughtful. "I'd never considered that, thank you. However, the school song was not written by a craftsman of any sort. Even with the most well-written tune underneath it, the words are simply not enough to induce any focused magic." He paused. "I think.

"What I brought Luke here to do, and what Wendy has continued to do, is to teach the students about music and about the craftsmanship that lies underneath it, so that they may understand that there are more sources of power in the universe than their wands or their cauldrons. Not only do our wizarding children need to relearn the magic in music, but if that same knowledge can filter through the Muggle community, it will help our fight against Voldemort--" Professor Vector's teacup slipped from her hand and splashed all over her robes. "--immensely," he finished.

"Very beautiful, but what use is that going to be if half a dozen Death Eaters decide to walk into the school?" said Minerva tartly.

Albus didn't respond. He turned to Wendy. "How are the students doing with their pieces?"

"Oh--they're doing pretty good," Wendy stammered. She hadn't expected to be put on the spot. "They're...learning, and practicing. Most of them are almost ready, I think. Some finishing details, phrasing, ensemble work--"

"I'm sure it will be a lovely concert," said Minerva, looking at Wendy, "but what about security?"

"If the students are prepared, security won't be a problem." Albus smiled at Wendy.

With that, the subject was dropped and the meeting broke up, though Wendy could hear the teachers muttering to each other. "I'd better teach all my students the Stunning Spell," Tonks said darkly to Sprout as they left.

"Albus," said Wendy, a little desperately, "are you sure of this? I mean, if the Death Eaters--if Lucius Malfoy... wouldn't it be a good idea to have at least a few Aurors around just in case?"

Albus smiled benignly at her. "Everything will be fine, Wendy. Just keep teaching the students."

Though his gaze was calm, Wendy wasn't reassured. No pressure, said a voice in her head. It reminded her of Luke. He's just dumped the security of the school in your lap, told you that the students need to give a good concert to keep the school safe. No pressure.

Severus joined her as they left the room. "Do you know what he's talking about?" she said.

"I'm not sure," he confessed grudgingly.

"Luke--" It was still hard to say his name. "Luke mentioned to me the Bach Effect, and we've both seen it, but how powerful can music be against something like the Cruciatus Curse?" Wendy shuddered in remembrance. "I mean, if it was so powerful, why couldn't I just sing to block it?"

"Maybe you could have," said Severus, his lips twitching.

"That's not something to joke about," she replied angrily. "If it was, why didn't Albus tell us beforehand? If singing or something could have kept Luke alive--" she broke off, feeling pricks of water behind her eyes. "I'm sorry," she said, turning her head away.

Severus drew her to the side of the corridor and turned her around to face him. "There's nothing to be sorry about," he said, and his face was intent, almost stern. "You miss him."

"Yeah," she said miserably. "It still hurts. Not as much, I think, like the pain isn't so there, but it's still there."

"Believe me, it will always be there," said Severus in an uncommonly emotional voice, which made Wendy look curiously up at him. "I have lost ... people I ... people I cared for, before." He shrugged in an attempt at carelessness, though his eyes glittered and he blinked. "It's in the past."

"But the pain never goes away."

"No, it doesn't."

They stood in silence. "I need a hug," Wendy said softly. It was something she often said to Luke--had often said to Luke. She closed her eyes against the grief.

Severus enfolded his voluminous black robes about her. His body was familiar, and their one night was suddenly jerked forward in her memories. And with the thought of that night came the remembrance that it had been the last time she'd seen Luke, and ... Wendy cried into his chest for a while. It was all so damned confusing. She loved Luke. She had loved Luke, and of course she still loved him--except that he was dead, and she couldn't love a dead person. She loved his memory, and his memory was painful. Life moved on, too, and Severus seemed willing, if reluctant, to be affectionate and kind. Here he was, hugging her for comfort. If he was sexually attracted to her, then it would surely be uncomfortable to simply hug her, be so close to her and not be able to do anything more.

But there was no way for Wendy to assume anything--after all, she'd requested a friend in him, and Severus had stuck to that role, keeping all their interactions verbal and oddly formal.

Yet here he was, hugging her, stroking her hair awkwardly and not speaking. He couldn't be accustomed to this role.

When Wendy felt better, she sniffed, said, "I'd better go grade some essays," and turned to leave.

"I have marking to do, as well," Severus said, in a guarded voice.

Wendy paused. "Would you like to join me? I'd welcome some company." She meant it. "Why don't you go get your papers and come up to my room in a few minutes?"

"I'll do that."

* * *
Harry found that Wendy wasn't that great of a harpsichord teacher, but he continued with it because... he wasn't quite sure why.

Maybe it was the confident look Dumbledore always sent his way across the Great Hall. Harry kept feeling that Dumbledore placed more and more of his faith in Harry as the savior of the wizarding world, and Harry resented this. Still, he continued practicing.

It was weird, though. Every time Harry entered one of the small closets that had been added into various empty corridors as practice rooms, it was as though a new persona settled over him. As though Harry Potter, wizard, vanished and became Harry, the music student. A weight came out through his feet and a new energy crackled in his fingertips. His wand he placed on the music desk, just in front of the parchment he was playing off of, and his bookbag he dropped in a corner.

He preferred to be alone during these moments, and if Ginny happened to accompany him into the room--which happened whenever they rehearsed--he vaguely felt violated. He didn't mind, really, but time with the harpsichord was his own.

Harry pulled out the cheat sheet Wendy had given him for learning figured bass.

"I'm sorry," she'd apologized, handing him the scroll after a first perfunctory lesson, "but this is the best I can give you. I'm not Luke, and anyways, the only way to learn it is to do."

Harry had thanked her, stuffed the scroll into his bag, and set off for Potions, where Snape had proceeded to spend an hour and a half insulting Harry.

But now, Potions was over, and Harry was going to take out that scroll and spend a pleasant hour or two alone, studying it and trying to create accompaniments.

He unrolled the parchment and stuck it to the desk with a Temporary Sticking Charm. They technically weren't supposed to do this, but it worked, and the residue came up pretty easily. Filch hadn't complained yet, anyways.

"Let's see," Harry muttered, glancing at the first bass line, just a string of notes with little numbers written underneath. "Nothing under the note means a five-three chord, so, just the normal chord... What's the key? C major." He played a C chord, then looked back up at the bass line. "Then a six means six-three, first inversion... and if it's a sharp, it's normally a six-three..."

The line went C, B, C. Simple, with basic tonic and dominant chords, I and V in the new system. Then C, G, C, then C, F, G, C: I, IV, V, I. Harry had to keep himself from spiffying up the rhythm, because that last set sounded so much like Muggle pop music.

Maybe I am talented, Harry thought with a smile, as the chords fell easily under his fingers. He glanced down and, on a whim, tried the bottom line. What did the cross-through mean again? Altered, right, and you had to guess whether the note went sharp or flat. Was that a nine? Yikes. Well, he'd give it a go.

Hm. Not too bad.

* * *
Christmas approached, and one day the school woke to find itself snowed in. It was Wendy's first white Christmas ever, which she found delightful. Growing up in California meant snow was at least an eight-hour drive away through tortuous mountain passes. Not exactly conducive to snowmen or snowball fights.

A few days before the concert, Wendy visited Severus in his rooms after classes, intent on dragging him outside.

"Why?" he asked, scowling. "I have no desire to freeze my arse off and soak myself to the bone."

"Oh, come on, it'll be fun," she pleaded. "Let's build a snowman."

Severus' eyes popped. "A snowman?" he choked.

"Yes, a snowman," she insisted. "Come on," she said, and clasped him by the arm, pulling him towards the door.

"Wait," he said, pulling back, "I have to put my cloak on."

Wendy smiled. Good.

They traipsed out through the entrance hall and down the front steps. Several students looked at them curiously on their way in to dinner, and more than a few whispered to each other. Let them gossip, Wendy thought, suddenly terribly happy.

The sun had set, though light lingered on the grounds in a grey sort of glimmer.

"Have you ever built a snowman?" Wendy asked him, crunching her way over to a nice patch of thick, untouched drifts.

"No."

"What, never? Where did you grow up?"

"London."

"Doesn't it snow there?"

"Yes, but it doesn't stay on the grounds very long. And the area I lived in... was not especially friendly to children's play," he said.

Wendy let the matter drop. "Well, where shall we start?" she asked cheerfully.

"Start?"

"Building the snowman--how should we start it?"

"You're not giving up on this, are you?"

"No. Come on, help me." Wendy bent over and rolled up a handful of snow. "I think we start by making a nice big ball for the bottom. Here--come on over, help me gather snow."

Severus reluctantly walked over, lifting the hem of his cloak out of the drifts, his lips curling.

Wendy was struck by a rather naughty idea.

As Severus bent over to gather a handful of snow and shape it, Wendy took the ball she already had in her left hand, reached over with her right hand to loosen the back of Severus' robes, and shoved the snow down his back.

Severus yelled like a startled cat, twisting around madly and flailing at his back, making Wendy laugh out loud.

"Why'd you do that?" he roared, whipping off his cloak and still struggling to get all the snow out of his robes. "That's bloody cold, woman!" He glared at her.

"I know!" she said unapologetically, grinning widely. "It was just so tempting!"

Severus looked about to explode, then something changed in his expression.

Wendy was suddenly frightened--Severus had a wand, she didn't.

In the blink of an eye, Severus had twitched his wand, making a clump of snow stick together in a ball and hurl itself at her.

She shrieked and clawed at her face. "That's cold!"

"I know," he said, mimicking her. "It was just so tempting."

"You--you--" she spluttered, wiping at her now-dripping face.

Severus stood about ten feet from her, a genuine and rather surprised smile on his face.

"This means war, you know," she said severely, and it was his turn to look scared. Very deliberately, Wendy bent, gathered up some snow, and shaped it into a hard ball. She hefted it in her hand as they eyed each other.

"Oh, does it?" Severus replied, almost playfully.

* * *
Albus watched from his office window as the two youngest members of his staff threw snowballs at each other.

"Luke," Albus said heavily to the empty office. "I wonder often how you take this. She loved you, very much--and now you have to let her go, don't you?"

One of the small silver instruments on a side table began to rattle.

Albus turned sharply. He had been expecting this, but it was still startling. "I don't know how you managed to survive the Killing Curse," he continued. "Muggles can't turn into ghosts. That's an ability supposedly limited to wizards."

The silver instrument tinkled and clinked in a disconcerted sort of way, and began to spin on its tip.

"She's happy," said Albus. "She misses you--I often sense great sadness in her. But Severus loves her, as much as that man can love anyone. I rather suspect his capabilities for feeling were once much greater. Maybe Wendy will heal him."

The top-like object spinned faster and faster, beginning to make great, agitated circles.

"Why do you linger?" Albus asked, watching the area above the top. "What makes you stay? Did you make a choice, are you only here for a reason? What are you, Luke? Why are you here? Do you even know?"

The top circled violently to the edge of the table and fell off. It twitched on the floor once, twice, then lay silent. The room was empty again.

A shriek from outside caught Albus' attention, and he turned to see that Severus had tackled Wendy, who looked positively delighted at this and was snatching up handfuls of snow to stuff down his robes.

Severus' expression, as far as Albus could make out, was intent and wondering.

What must it be like, Albus thought, to have your ability to love thrown back in your face? What must it be like to not be loved as a child, to fall in love and be rejected, and then, just at the age where things start making sense, have to learn how to hide all emotion to stay alive?

What would it be like, after years of not feeling anything, to be assaulted by love?

* * *
In the last week before the concert was to take place, Rigel began feeling... well, odd was the only word he could come up with. His dreams, which never had been pleasant, especially since the meeting with his biological parents, had become grisly and dark, with unseen screamers and a tinge of red in the vision.

He'd learned in the first month how to put a Muffling Charm on his curtains--roommates became extremely unfriendly when woken in the night by screaming and panting three times a week--and so would sit, clutching his pillows, waiting for the panic to subside.

It was on the Tuesday before the concert, though, that this moment of calm after the nightmare took on an odd angle. Rigel could hear Evan, Jim, and Sam breathing, and Rory snoring, yet he also thought he could hear a larger breath--the breath of the castle, almost. As though the very walls around him were pressing fingers on the base of his skull, saying, We are here.

But why? Why was the castle speaking to him? And why did it send him visions of red-clouded bodies and broken faces? He almost went to Professor Flitwick, but the Christmas season was busy, and Rigel figured this was probably just an added dimension to his usual drama. Death Eater parents, and all that.

Thank goodness he didn't have Divination, though, Rigel thought as he settled back down into his pillows. From what he'd heard, Professor Trelawney would have a field day with his dreams.

* * *
Wendy was quite pleased with the hard work the students had put in for their concert. The ensembles were really shaping up--the viol consort was now able to tune all by themselves, and the madrigalists really had the flow of the style.

On the last Friday before the official holidays, she paced around in the side chamber off the Great Hall, flexing her fingers and back. Nearby, her cello sat on its side. She was going to open the concert with the Prelude from the Fifth Suite--she'd been practicing it for over a month now.

And the funniest things kept happening whenever she practiced. Sometimes she felt as though Luke was actually standing over her, watching her and listening to her; sometimes she simply heard his voice in her head, saying, Yes, that was pretty good, but back in measure... uh... thirty-five, you need to-- And sometimes she merely thought happily about him when she played. But playing, whether Bach or scales, always brought with it some sort of essence of Luke.

It wasn't unpleasant, either, though she rather thought that the grieving process might be making her hallucinate. Late one night she'd been startled out of her wits by an unmistakeable outline of him, standing in the moonlight.

It had vanished the moment she took a second look; she packed up and went immediately to bed, telling herself firmly that (a) she'd been up too long that night; (b) Luke couldn't possibly be a ghost--she'd asked Albus, a few weeks after Halloween, and he'd told her gently that only wizards could become ghosts; and (c) if he were a ghost, he would surely have objected to her continuing relationship with Severus and made his objections known.

Severus. Wendy wasn't sure where to classify him. They'd begun grading essays together, sharing snide remarks about some of the students, sharing pots of tea and horror stories of teaching. Nothing had happened on the physical realm, yet.

Except for the snowball fight, when Severus had landed on top of her, startled, happy, and as bewildered as a puppy. They'd tussled for a moment, stuffing snow at each other, and then something had clicked, something had changed. They'd become aware of each other in what Wendy liked to think of as the "me woman, you man," way. Severus had immediately clambered off her, apologizing and helping her up, but there had been a distinct moment of electricity between them, a shared look of I want you, and a complete understanding of how they felt about each other: confused.

Apart from that, their occasional moments of physical contact: taking a cup from his hands, or squeezing past him in a doorway, and, once, putting her hands on his as she tried to teach him cello--it still made her laugh, his expression of determination clashing with the horrific sounds he'd made... Those moments made her hunger for more. It felt so unfaithful, though. Oughtn't she to be wearing all black and hiding herself from the public eye? Shouldn't she be locking herself up in her rooms, seeing no-one but the students and the Headmaster?

Occasionally when she thought of Severus, a voice that sounded so much like Luke's popped into her head; it even spoke like him. I want you to be happy. I'm not here for you, and he makes you happy, even if he doesn't want to admit it. It even laughed like Luke. I'm dead; I can't do anything for you. I love--I loved you when I was alive, and you loved me. He loves you in the present. Can't you admit you love him, too?

Wendy shook her head, to clear it. She must be going insane. There was a concert to play tonight and, as always, the show must go on.

Severus' head appeared around the doorway of the antechamber. "How are you feeling?" he asked.

"Nervous," she said.

He came in and crossed to her. "You'll be fine," he said, rubbing her arms. She wanted to press in closer to his body, but resisted the impulse. "You'll be absolutely wonderful."

"You're biased," she said, smiling.

He glowered at her. "I have no biases. I am a researcher with impartial--"

"Yes, yes," she said. "How is the audience?" The advertisement for the concert had been in the Daily Prophet all week.

"Sitting."

She rolled her eyes. "Who's there?" she asked.

"Fudge, of course. Parents," he added.

"The other students--the performers?" she asked briskly.

"Nattering in the entrance hall about how nervous they--" Severus broke off. He was clutching his arm, and his face had turned white.

"What is it?" Wendy asked.

"It's the Mark," he said through gritted teeth.

"Albus," she said at once. "Go see Albus."

"No," he said curtly, rudely. "I have to go. I have to go now. If I delay, the consequences will be disastrous."

"What, now? In the middle of the concert?--Sorry, I know that's stupid.--Will you be all right?"

His face was unreadable. "I don't know," he said. "I may be gone for several days," he added, swiftly walking to the door. "If I'm not back in a week, go to the Headmaster."

"Severus--" She wasn't sure what to say. Wendy didn't think she could take losing another person, waiting up nights, wondering. She followed him to the door.

"Have a good performance, Wendy," he said gently, and, looking as though he wanted to do more, kissed her on the cheek.

She shut her eyes and leaned into his touch. Oh, why had he waited until the risks were so high before... "Severus--be careful--" Come back to me, she wanted to say.

"I will," he said gravely, and Wendy had the strangest feeling that he knew what she'd been thinking. He disappeared through the door.

She stood for a few minutes, staring at the doorway, holding her hand up to the spot where he'd kissed her. Then, with a horrible sense of déjà vu, she walked back to the cello.

* * *
Hermione hadn't wanted to sing in the choir. She hadn't really wanted to do anything for the Christmas Concert beyond posting up adverts, but Wendy had been adamant that every student participate in something, and singing in the choir was about the only thing Hermione was capable of.

"In the middle of all the altos, no one will hear you," Wendy had said with a reassuring smile.

Hermione held back a glower, dutifully took the music, and tried to learn it. Somehow, every practice room she took wound up with an empty one on either side when she emerged.

But here she was, clutching the music and scanning through it as though looking at it would suddenly cause it to leap off the page and sing itself. Around her, the rest of the school were warming up on their instruments, singing, chatting with each other, and laughing. Oh, yes, everyone else was enjoying this. More than half of them had grown up with some exposure to this kind of music.

Hannah Abbott, who'd only gotten four O.W.L.s, and those in Herbology, Care of Magical Creatures, Muggle Studies, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, was calmly sitting at one of the harpsichords and running through scales. She would be playing a long piece by some French guy or other.

Harry and Ginny were huddled together in a corner, ostensibly going over Ginny's aria, but Hermione didn't think studying music had to be done at such a close range.

Hermione also spotted Draco Malfoy, also clutching a sheet of choir music, lingering alone in a corner and looking sour. He'd been awfully quiet these past weeks. There had been the usual "Mudblood" and "Weasel" slurs thrown toward her and Ron, but he'd stopped trying to jinx them. She realized, too, that Professor Snape had been using him as less of an example in Potions--once Malfoy had recovered from the constant vomiting caused by Elvish stomach flu.

Speaking of vomiting, Hermione wondered if she ought to find a bathroom, because that was what she felt like doing.

Ron came up behind her. "You all right, Hermione?" he asked.

"Yes," she said.

"You look pale. Nervous?"

"No, of course not," she lied.

"I'm a bit nervous--it's one thing playing for the class, and for Wendy--" he gestured with the alto recorder in his hand "--but in front of the whole school?" He laughed shakily.

"I'm sure you'll be fine," she said darkly.

He studied her. "You are nervous," he said at last, a grin just under the surface of his face. "You're scared stiff, aren't you?"

"No, I'm not--"

He put his arms around her. "It's okay," Ron said reassuringly. "You can be nervous, you don't have to always be confident."

But I do, wailed her inner perfectionist. She hugged him back all the same. She liked having a boyfriend very much.

Peering over his shoulder, she spotted Snape making waves through the crowd of milling students. "I wonder where he's going?" Hermione said, her nervousness forgotten.

"Who?" asked Ron, pulling back.

"Snape," she whispered, pointing. Snape reached the doors and, without a backward glance, opened them and slipped through. "Do you think it has something to do with--"

"Two minutes to curtain!" interrupted Ernie MacMillan pompously. He was standing in the middle of the room, studying a large watch and looking at an imposingly stuffed clipboard. "Will everyone in the choir please line up over here?"

"I've got to go," said Hermione. "Wish me luck, all right?"

"Just have a good time," Ron whispered to Hermione as she moved over to take her place next to the other altos.

* * *