Catharsis

The day of their first Quidditch match dawned cold and clear, with none of the predicted fog. Harry was up early, enjoying his tea and toast in the unusually empty dining hall. He could never eat much on a game day, and today was no exception. What was it going to be like, he wondered, playing Malfoy again. Had he been training while he was away? Did they even play Quidditch at Durmstrang? Was he really all long, lean muscle under those robes? Harry shivered and got a good tight grip on his wayward imagination. Enough of that, he reprimanded himself sternly. It was just a dream. A very odd dream. It didn't mean anything.

He raised his eyes from the heavy wooden table at the sound of light footsteps echoing in the hall. Draco Malfoy walked to the Slytherin table and poured himself a cup of coffee. He gave Harry a bare nod, by way of greeting, and then sat down to drink.

Harry finished his toast and drank the last of his tea. He looked across the hall at Draco, pondering his intentions. Finally, he made his decision, and rose to approach the Slytherin table.

"Back again?" Draco held his coffee cup cradled in both hands, his elbows on the table. His eyes were closed. Harry thought he looked tired.

"Just wanted to wish you good luck," Harry held out his hand.

Draco opened his eyes and looked at Harry. Slowly he set the coffee cup down and grasped the proffered hand, his eyes never leaving Harry's. "You're the one who's going to need it today, Potter."

"Well then, wish me luck," said Harry, shrugging.

"What kind?" Draco smirked, all traces of fatigue gone.

"What?"

"What kind of luck would you like? You should be more specific."

Harry surprised himself by chuckling. "That was actually funny. I'm impressed, Malfoy. Didn't know you had it in you."

"It wasn't meant to be entirely funny, Potter." Draco's expression was surprisingly serious.

Harry pulled his hand back and stuck it in his pocket. "Right. I'll remember that next time."

"Good luck," said Draco, picking up his coffee.

Harry shook his head bemusedly as he left the great hall. Why was Malfoy such a puzzle this year?

The game itself was splendid. Perhaps it was because it was the first game of the year, but Harry couldn't remember a Quidditch match being so enjoyable. It was also faster, more furious and incredibly challenging. Malfoy indeed had been playing, or at least training - there was no other way he could have pulled off such a terrific performance.

Gryffindor won, but barely. Harry was frankly surprised they hadn't lost. They'd had to replace Oliver Wood the previous year - Edmond Lumley was a year ahead of Harry and nearly as mad for Quidditch as Oliver had been. He was proving to be an excellent Keeper, though today's performance rather challenged that notion. The Slytherin Chasers had improved quite a lot since last year, scoring ten goals in a row. Harry patted Edmond on the shoulder as the boy vehemently swore to practice every day from now until their next game.

Then this year, they found themselves having to replace five players. They were feeling the loss of the Weasley twins in particular. Fortunately for all of them, it appeared that Ginny Weasley had inherited some of the same skill her brothers possessed. She was too light for a Beater, but she was shaping up to be a fine Chaser, nearly as fast on a broom as Katie Bell. As a fourth-year, she was the youngest member of the team. The other two Chasers, Derek McKinley and Sandra Flynn, were seventh-year students, like Edmond. Harry wasn't looking forward to replacing them next year, but at this point he was more worried about getting through this year. Fourth-year student Agnis Gunn was one of their two Beaters. She was loud and friendly, and easily the largest girl Harry had ever met; nearly six feet tall, with arms that looked as though she lifted weights. She made him just a bit nervous, but Ron thought she was 'brilliant'. Ron Weasley was the other Beater. "We need to keep two Weasleys on the team at all times," Harry had joked when he told Ron he had made the team. Ron had been ecstatic.

No one had been terribly surprised when Harry was named Captain of the team, being the longest-standing member. To everyone's surprise, however, he had refused, insisting instead that Ron should take that job. "He understands the game way better than I do," Harry had insisted. "I'm no good with strategy and all that. Ron's your man." The team had finally relented and agreed.

Although the Gryffindor Chasers and Beaters had been training hard for a month, Harry privately thought that they had not taken this game as seriously as they should have, recalling last year's sad performance by the Slytherin team. It was amazing, really, what a difference a year can make. And in the end, it all came down to the Seekers.

Both Harry and Draco had sighted the Snitch repeatedly, but as they dove and swooped around each other, trying to grab the thing, it disappeared into the clear blue sky. Three times this happened. Finally, on the fourth sighting, an hour and twenty minutes into the game, Harry managed not only to beat Malfoy there, but as he reached out for the Snitch it didn't jump from his hands.

"Gryffindor catches the Snitch!" Madame Hooch called the play and ended the game. The players descended on their broomsticks in good order, and Harry was surprised when Draco walked over to him and offered his hand.

"Good game, Potter."

Harry shook his hand. "Thanks, Malfoy. You played a good game today as well."

Draco glanced at his Chasers. "My team played well." He smirked at Harry. "I played brilliantly."

Harry shook his head, amused. "Your humble demeanor awes me."

"Malfoys don't do humble."

"Harry!" The dark-haired Gryffindor turned to see Seamus, Dean and Hermione waving him in.

"Go on, then." Draco tucked his broom under his arm. "Your fan club awaits." Harry was surprised to note an absence of bitterness in that comment.

"Right," Harry replied slowly. "See you."

As he trotted off the field, Harry realised that he didn't know which was better - winning the game, or having a civil conversation with Malfoy afterward.

Dean was pumping the air enthusiastically. "Didn't I say we'd wipe the field with them?"

"Dean," said Harry with a twinge of irritation, "We didn't. Their Chasers scored way too many points. Edmond was a bit off his game, and Ron and Agnis really need to help out more with defence. No offense, mates," he added as the other players joined them.

"Ah, that's okay Harry," Agnis grinned, resolutely cheerful. "You're right, we underestimated the Slytherins. Now we know we've got serious competition again, we'll buckle down and work." She punched him in the shoulder playfully. Harry winced.

"Yeah, Malfoy was in shockingly good form today, eh Harry?" Ginny added, slinging her broom over both shoulders, hands hung on either side of her head. She bumped the brush end of the broom into Ron's head. "Sorry!" She grinned at Ron to show that she was not, in fact, sorry at all.

Ron scowled, then leaned over and tweaked her hair.

"Yeah," Harry agreed, ignoring the horseplay. "Yeah, he was. We had some luck today." Good luck, he reminded himself with a grin.

Later that evening, Harry wandered upstairs to the piano room, wanting to ask Draco about the game. He let himself in, but no one was home. He wandered to the window seat and lowered himself onto the chintz cushion, gazing out the window. The view from here was incredible, he thought. Better than Gryffindor tower. He wondered, not for the first time, why this room was never used. Why was there no music program at Hogwarts? Harry resolved to ask Dumbledore about it the next time he saw him.

He turned his head when he heard the door latch scrape, and the door swung open. Draco stepped in and closed the door quietly. He had an armful of sheet music and appeared to be intending to spend all evening there. Harry wondered if losing the Quidditch match was stressful. It occurred to him, with some surprise, that he would not have minded too much if Gryffindor had lost today's game. It had been a good game, regardless of the outcome. He wondered how Draco felt about it.

"Hey," he called from the window seat.

Draco's head snapped up. "Oh," he said, relaxing. "It's you."

"Do you mind?"

"I suppose not. Though I don't imagine that would bother you if I did," said Draco dryly. "So are you my new fan club now, Potter?" He set the pile of music on the piano and started shuffling through it, pulling out first one piece, then another.

"I don't think you can have a fan club of one," Harry observed sarcastically.

"I'll take that as a yes, then." Draco sat and gently lifted the cover from the keyboard.

"Malfoy," said Harry abruptly. "Why aren't you at Durmstrang this year?"

Draco sucked in air with a hissing breath. "You know Potter, you'd make a very bad Slytherin, just going for the jugular like that. No subtlety whatsoever."

Harry frowned. "Sorry - I didn't mean it like that. But... if you can tell me, I'd really like to know. Why are you here, Malfoy?"

Draco narrowed his eyes. "My father made me come back. It wasn't my choice."

"You wanted to stay at Durmstrang?"

"Yes."

"Hmm." Harry was silent a moment. "What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it." Draco's lips were set in a thin line. Even when he was angry, Harry had never seen him quite like this. He felt he was getting close to something significant, but Harry was unwilling to push Draco too hard for fear of shutting him down completely.

"Hmm. So your father made you come back here?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

Draco shifted restlessly at the piano. "I don't know."

"He didn't explain it to you?"

"Potter, my father doesn't explain himself to anyone. Certainly not to his son." Draco slid the cover closed over the keys and stood, walking to the window seat. "You want to know what it's like being me? What it's like to have a father like mine? He gives orders, I follow them." Draco's expression was unreadable. "Or at least that's how it was."

"Not anymore?" Harry looked up into Draco's face, feeling uncomfortable. He suddenly wished he were standing, so he could be on the same level as the other boy.

Draco leaned one shoulder against the stone frame of the window seat. He tilted his head to rest it against the wall. Static electricity caused his fine hair to cling to the rough stone. "I wish I could say yes, but truly? I don't know."

Harry suddenly remembered the other question he'd wanted to ask. "And Durmstrang? You liked it there?"

"Yes, I suppose I did. The classes were more interesting." Draco looked out the window to the dark grounds below. "Though the, ah, atmosphere was not as pleasant. The grounds are nicer here. Durmstrang Castle is a cold and depressing place."

"What were the classes like?" Harry asked with real interest.

"Nothing like Hogwarts," said Draco. "They had music and dance. The charms and transfigurations classes were combined and much more advanced than what we learn here. And of course their Dark Arts classes are more... practically oriented."

"Are you saying they really do teach students to use the Dark Arts?" Harry was neither surprised nor horrified by this news.

"Something like that," Draco agreed. "They are supposed to be Defence Against the Dark Arts, but the theory goes that you can't fight against what you don't understand, and understanding comes from firsthand experience."

"So you learned... what? The Imperius? Cruciatus?" Harry froze when Draco winced. "Wait - they didn't really make you do the forbidden curses, did they?"

"You can't defend against what you don't understand," Draco repeated, folding his arms across his middle. "We practiced on insects and small animals. Mice and birds. The instructors demonstrated Imperius with the students, like Moody did back in fourth year."

"That wasn't Moody, you know," Harry blurted out. He wasn't sure why it was important to him that Draco should know this.

Draco raised his eyebrows in disbelief. "Oh?"

"Yeah," said Harry. "I... heard it from Dumbledore." It was not quite a lie, and as close to the truth as he dared to venture. "So," he continued, his face to the window, "would you go back if you could?"

"It's not really an option," Draco sighed. "I go where my father sends me. For now," he added in an undertone. "No, Potter," he continued, "I'm perfectly satisfied to stay where I am. Besides, I'd hate to deprive you of my company."

Harry snorted. "You're not much company, outside of this room."

"Ah, but you seek me out here. You come to hear me play, n'est pas?" Draco laughed at Harry's confused expression and patted his shoulder consolingly. "It's French. Don't worry about it."

"I wasn't worried," Harry retorted, shifting uncomfortably. "And don't get a swelled head."

"I'll try not to, Potter," Draco replied, pushing away from the wall. "Are we done with tonight's interrogation?"

"I wasn't interrogating you," Harry said mildly. "I was just curious about what you said the other day."

"Well now you know." Draco sat at the piano and slid the cover open again.

******************************

It was on a Wednesday in the week following the Halloween dance that Harry paused in the corridor and finally made his decision. "Justin?" he called.

The Hufflepuff stopped and turned, waiting for Harry to catch up with him. "Yes?"

"Can I speak with you a moment?"

Justin looked surprised. "Sure. Now?"

It was late afternoon and Harry was done with classes for the day. "Um, yeah," he replied. "If it's not inconvenient."

"Sure, Harry," Justin agreed. "Now is fine. You want to go somewhere?"

"Let's walk," Harry suggested. "If you don't mind. It's not raining - we could go down to the lake."

The boys shouldered their bags and walked out onto the grounds. It was nearly dark and the air was crisp.

"So," Justin's breath puffed out in front of him. "What did you want to ask me?"

"It's a little, err, personal," Harry began. "I hope you don't mind."

"Not at all, Harry," said Justin, slowing his pace as they approached the lake. "You didn't really want to have a conversation while jogging, did you?"

"No," Harry laughed. "I guess I'm just nervous."

They walked silently for a few minutes. Harry took a deep breath. "I wanted to ask you about being gay. Since you came out last year..."

"What about it?"

"Well... how did you know?" Harry asked. "I mean how do you know, when you're gay?"

Justin stopped walking. "Harry - is this a purely theoretical question?"

Harry stood nervously shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "I can honestly say I'm not totally sure."

"Okay," Justin nodded. "Fair enough. I'm afraid the answer isn't very informative, though." He started walking again, and Harry fell in beside him, hands stuffed into his pockets to keep them warm. "I just knew."

"You just knew?" Harry repeated.

"Yes. I knew what I felt, and it was completely clear that I liked boys and didn't like girls. Well not in that way." Justin smiled faintly.

"I don't understand," Harry frowned. "How did you 'just know'?"

"When I was about twelve, I developed a crush on a boy in my class," said Justin simply. "Every time I saw him my brains turned to jelly mush and I thought my heart was going to leap out of my chest. I watched him all the time. I dreamed about him. And, well, other things happened too," he added shyly. "More... erm... physical things."

"Oh." Harry felt distinctly uncomfortable. "I see."

"Does that sound familiar?" Justin asked quietly. "Not to pry, just wondering, you know."

Harry sighed. "Well, sort of. Not exactly. I've just been having these random thoughts. And that made me wonder, how would I know anyway?" He fell silent as they continued walking.

"So," said Justin. "Anyone in particular?"

"Erm, yeah," Harry said reluctantly. "But I don't really want to talk about it." He exhaled noisily, his breath puffing out in little clouds. "I mean, I find myself looking at him, kind of a lot. And I think about him. And then, one time I thought he was going to kiss me, but he didn't. And later this crazy thought flashed through my head that it might have been, well, nice. And then, oh... I guess I'm just very confused about all this." Harry wasn't sure why he stopped short of telling Justin about the dream.

"Well any time you want to talk, Harry, I'm here for you," Justin assured him, patting his shoulder kindly. "Feelings like that don't necessarily mean you're gay. Or so I hear," he added. "And whether or not you are, your true friends will stick by you."

"Thanks, Justin," Harry replied gratefully. He looked around, surprised to find they had made it all the way around the lake, and it was full dark already. "I guess we should be getting back for dinner."

Justin nodded. As they walked back to the main entrance, he suddenly stopped again. "Harry, it's not me, is it?"

Harry looked back at him. "Oh! Um... no it's not you, Justin."

"Oh," said Justin. He started walking again. "That's good, actually."

"Oh," said Harry, relieved he hadn't accidentally hurt the other boy's feelings. "Well... good."

"It's just that, well, I'm kind of seeing someone," Justin said, blushing slightly.

"Really? Who?" The words escaped Harry before he could stop them. "Oh, wait. Never mind."

"No, it's okay," Justin assured him. "I don't mind. But I don't want it spread around either. Neither of us needs to be grist for the gossip mill." He chuckled.

"Yeah," Harry agreed fervently, certain that he wouldn't want to be subject to those kind of rumours.

As they passed through the main doors, Justin touched Harry's sleeve before they parted ways to go to their respective dorms. "Harry... it's Colin."

Harry's eyes widened as he realized Justin was referring to Colin Creevey, a Gryffindor housemate. "Don't worry," he assured the other boy. "I won't say a word to anyone."

Justin smiled. "I know. I trust you. And," he added, "You will find that you can trust me. See you later, Harry."

Harry climbed the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, whistling cheerfully. See, he told himself happily, you just needed someone to talk to. It was much later that evening that he realized that he hadn't really gotten any answers to the questions that had been plaguing him. So why was he so happy?

***************************

"Snuffles is back?"

"Ron!" Harry hissed urgently. "Keep it down!"

Snape glanced over at their group as if he was going to speak, but surprisingly enough he chose to descend instead on Dean, Seamus and Parvati. "Miss Patil! If you have not identified the correct counter-spells for demonic possession, I strongly suggest you confer with your team instead of writing love-notes." Parvati blushed furiously and slowly slid the offending parchment into her bag. Seamus patted her shoulder consolingly and pointed to the correct section of text in their book "Demons, Spirits and Ghosts" by Lucius Darian.

They were working in groups in Defence Against the Dark Arts, researching spells that they would later present to the class. They had finally completed their review of the material Snape had identified as "inadequately covered" from previous years. "Barely adequate" was his assessment of their knowledge after four weeks of review. "Be that as it may, we must continue to your six year curriculum," he had intoned with a doubtful sneer. "Though it may be a struggle, please do try to keep up. This is serious business, and will affect your marks accordingly."

Harry had been surprised to find himself enjoying the advanced curriculum when they finally got to it. Snape was unbearable as ever, but somehow the material made up for that. Their first unit was concerned with a large group of Dark Creatures that Snape referred to as Non-Corporeal Entities. "Creatures with no basis in the physical world are affected by magic alone. Charms, spells, amulets and talismans are your tools for controlling beings that cannot be affected by physical means. Each of these must be attuned to the specific vulnerabilities of the entity in question. You must also know and understand the theories behind the protection charms that prevent demonic possession. You will review chapters seven and eight in Darian, and chapter 12 in Morantz et. al.."

Harry's fascination with the subject, however, was not enough to stop him from sharing his news with Ron and Hermione during Snape's class. He had met with Dumbledore that morning, when the Headmaster had called him to his office.

If Harry had learned anything in his sixteen years, it was that happiness is short-lived. So when he got the call, he immediately suspected bad news. The universe just seemed to have it in for him, he reckoned, so he might as well get on with it.

Dumbledore had gestured to Harry to sit. He did so, feeling oddly detached but curious as to what the news could be.

"Sirius has returned," Dumbledore stated calmly.

Harry felt a tremor run through him. "He's back? Is he all right?"

"He is fine," Dumbledore assured him. "You should be able to see him in a day or two. I tried to convince him to go into hiding immediately, but he insisted on seeing you first. He's been worried about you, Harry."

"I've been worried about him," said Harry. "Where was he?"

"Sirius was in Bulgaria," Dumbledore said. "He's been on an extended mission, working with the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic. I can't discuss the details with you Harry, but I think you should know that part of his work concerned the people you saw in your dream."

"He wasn't here," one of the men replied.

The woman looked at him sharply. "You're sure?"

Harry's chest tightened. Had they been looking for Sirius?

"Sirius was tracking a particular group of very elite Death Eaters. The Branimirovs were Ministry people working undercover, masquerading as suppliers for this particular Death Eater cell. Somehow, the news had gotten back to them that the Branimirovs were not what they seemed, and, moreover, that they were connected to Sirius Black. They had gone to the hut looking for Sirius. It was fortunate for Sirius that he had left a few days before."

Harry shuddered remembering the result of that search. No, he couldn't tell Hermione and Ron about that. Nor about Sirius and his actual mission.

Hermione looked at him closely. "Harry, are you all right?"

"Yeah," Harry replied, looking at her directly. "I'm all right. And S... Snuffles is all right. I think I'll get to see him in a few days." He felt a surge of relief at the thought.

"That's great!" said Ron, at a more appropriate volume for surreptitious conversation. "We'll come with you. If you don't mind, that is."

"Yeah, of course you can come with me." Harry said, surprised. "Why wouldn't you?"

"Well, you've just seemed a bit... closed lately," Ron muttered quietly, pretending to look something up in their book. His finger skimmed over a section of text discussing demons that possess farm animals. "But it's okay. I know you've had a lot on your mind and all."

Harry stared at Ron, open-mouthed, then looked at Hermione. "Have I?" She nodded, her expression earnest.

"Oh. Um. I haven't meant to be." Harry frowned. "I guess I have been thinking about a lot of things." He recalled his conversation with Finch-Fletchley earlier that week, and flushed slightly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow and gave him a look that said 'I saw that, and we'll talk about it later. In great and excruciating detail.' Harry cringed, wondering how in the world he could possibly put Hermione off the trail once she got wind of something.

"Don't worry about it, Harry," Ron reassured him. "Just let us know when Snuffles gets back."

***************************

It was late, and the waning moon hung low to the horizon. Harry sat in the window seat in the piano room, his arms curled around his knees, listening to Draco play. After a bit, Draco paused to search for a sheet of music, and Harry gave a little sigh. "I sure wish I could play like you."

"Really?" Draco sounded pleased.

"Yeah, of course," Harry answered without thinking. "You play beautifully."

"Come over here," said Draco.

"Why?" Harry frowned, his posture still relaxed.

"So I can kill you, of course. Potter, do you ever do as you're told, without asking why?" Malfoy sounded exasperated.

"No," Harry said, grinning.

"Well just humour me, then, and come over here. I want to show you something."

Harry unwillingly removed himself from the comfort of the window seat and walked over to the bench. Draco pulled him down to sit beside him. "Hey, what are you doing?" Harry demanded.

Draco sighed. "You want to play like I do? Do what I do." He stretched out his hands over the keyboard. "Here. Put your hands over mine."

"What?" Harry looked slightly alarmed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "Just do it, okay? I promise not to curse you or anything.."

Tentatively, Harry slid his left arm under Draco's right and across his chest, where he rested his hand over Draco's left hand. His fingers were shorter than the Slytherin's, though his arms were longer, he noted absently. "Okay, now the other hand," Draco sighed impatiently. Harry laid his right hand in place over Draco's.

"Just keep your hands on mine, and relax so you can feel the music," Draco said.

"Okay, but I feel silly," Harry protested, shifting slightly so his back wasn't twisted. The result was them sitting hip-to-hip, arms intertwined over the keyboard. It was a bit awkward, but not really uncomfortable.

"Just relax," Draco repeated, and then he started to play. Slowly, so he wouldn't lose Harry, Malfoy started a slow piece by Satie.

Harry thought the piece sounded familiar - something from television. He closed his eyes and relaxed his hands into Draco's, trying to take his cues from the other boy instead of directing the motion himself. He could feel Draco's hands beneath his, skin slightly cooler, delicate bones shifting, sinews slipping in time with the music. His own fingers slid across Draco's, following the rhythm of the tune. Draco was right - music was mathematical. It was magical. The pattern of the tune was transparent and wonderful, rhythmic and pleasing. As he sank into the melody, it transported Harry out of his worry and into a place of beauty and light.

Draco glanced at Harry. With a smile, he noted Harry's closed eyes and relaxed expression. "You like this?" Harry nodded slightly and smiled, but kept his eyes closed. Draco continued playing to the end, and then without a pause started into Pachabel's Cannon in D.

The piece began slowly, but changed as they played through it. Harry noted the change and his concentration deepened. It was harder to keep his hands on Draco's as the music became more intricate, and he had to consciously relax to keep from gripping the other boy's fingers too tightly. He shifted his arms so their elbows were just touching, which seemed to put his hands into a better position. Draco's fingers were flying across the keys and Harry was amazed he was still with him. He opened his eyes and looked at his hands covering Draco's, and suddenly he tensed up. It was like watching a train wreck - his fingers tangled with Draco's and the boy completely lost his rhythm. The piece came to a clashing halt.

Harry nearly wept. "Oh no," he choked, his hands tangled with Draco's. "I'm sorry. I ruined it."

Draco's quiet laugh rang like silver bells. "It's okay, Harry. No big deal. That was fun, wasn't it?"

Harry turned his face to Draco's. Amused grey eyes met anguished green ones. "Really," Draco repeated gently. "It's okay." He pulled his left hand away from Harry's and reached up to brush a stray lock of hair from Harry's eyes, which suddenly got very round. Draco's hand continued down Harry's cheek to his jaw, and then returned to his temple. It brushed gently against his forehead before sliding behind his ear and into his hair. Harry's in-drawn breath hissed through slightly parted lips and his eyes appeared unfocused behind his glasses. "What are you doing, Draco?"

"Nothing," Draco whispered. He leaned forward and hesitantly pressed his lips to Harry's in the fleetest of kisses. Harry froze, his eyes widening with shock as Draco's lips touched his. He sat paralysed for a moment, his body waiting for his mind to catch up with what was going on. A heartbeat later, his eyes slid closed and he sighed into Draco's mouth. That was all the encouragement the other boy needed.

Slowly, Draco untangled his right arm from Harry's and slid it around Harry's waist, firmly pulling the Gryffindor to him. His left hand threaded through Harry's hair as his lips sought and found Harry's again. Harry shivered as Draco first pulled away and then drew him into a deepening kiss. The sensation was overwhelming. It was like flying - exhilarating and so very alive.

Suddenly Harry sat up very straight, his eyes wide, his breathing ragged. "I've got to go," he gasped. He nearly knocked them both over as he rushed to disentangle his limbs from Draco's.

Draco stared as Harry fled from the room. As the door clicked shut, he bent his head, his pale hair brushing the keys as he rested his forehead on the cool wood of the piano. The room was silent as the moon slipped behind a cloud, shrouding the room with shadow.

***

Notes: The play list for this chapter includes "Gymnopedie" by Erik Satie and Pachebel's "Canon in D major".