Chronicles of The Boy Who Lived

Moonlighting

*******

Several drinks and hours later, Chanel was unsteadily making her way down the hall of the hotel towards her room.

Upon reaching her room, she found a picture, which lay on the floor outside her room, and she went to pick it up.

A strange, dizzying rush came over her as everything blurred, everything twisting and warping as if it were a hurricane and she was in its eye. Her stomach lurched horribly and she nearly staggered, feeling as if she had been unwittingly dragged onto some demonic Muggle coaster and squeezed her eyes shut.

Mercifully, the ride ended. Cautiously, Chanel squinted ahead. Then she looked around and gasped.

The beautiful alabaster arches staggered her. She was but a small speck in the grandeur of the soaring ceiling which seemed to push in straight through the heavens. The hall was silent and cool, though her heart surely echoed throughout the chamber. The pillars stretched to impressive heights, easily as tall as some buildings she'd seen.

But where am I? How did I get here?

Chanel took a few tentative steps, growing bolder with every movement and ventured further into her new playground. Stunning marble busts, curious portraits of crying clowns and warrior women on horseback were just the few things she could remember taking in before feeling out of breath, completely overwhelmed.

After what felt like hours, Chanel stumbled into some chamber. It was near pitch black. Her eyes struggled to make sense of the eerie, shifting shadows of the abyss. Suddenly, a dark melody rose from the depths of the false night. Instantly, her shoulders stiffened and every muscle in her body tensed. Her fingers tingled as something ...something, was in that room with her. She clenched her jaws painfully to still them from their grinding.

It was the piano. And that song.

"Moonlight Sonata," Chanel murmured, feeling both relieved and frightened at having something grasp onto. The haunting strains continued on, in beautiful melancholy.

"Moonlight Sonata," echoed a deep, rumbling voice.

Chanel clutched her heart, sure it would burst from her chest. In maddeningly teasing fashion, light slowly warmed the inky blackness, revealing tier upon tier and row upon row of seats. An opera house.

She stifled a gasp, feeling as if she had fallen into a secret cavern of sorts.

Her eyes darted towards the stage, taking in a gleaming lacquer piano whose keys were mysteriously being manipulated. She carefully moved towards it, her footfalls on the steps, feeling as though she were taking shuffles on the moon. She could not see the face of the ghost haunting the piano, the lid of the piano lifted and the stage still hidden in shadow.

Chanel inched closer, her breath stilled. And suddenly it rose from the seat, the song abruptly ending.

Draco.

The gleaming whiteness of his shirt dazzled like snow, a silk white knot tied smartly at his throat. He was in dressed impeccably in an elegant black waist coat and pants, his leather shoes like polished oil. His corn-silk hair was pressed from his face, not a strand out of place. And his eyes, taking her in with a look she could not describe.

"Portkey," she managed hotly, liquid anger flooding her veins.

His brow jutted in mild surprise at her fury. "Portkey," he confirmed quietly.

Chanel's mouth opened and closed quite a few times, but nothing came out. He moved slowly from behind the piano, drawing towards her. Chanel had to admit that he looked stunning, especially in the light that bathed him. She wanted to take a few steps back, but found herself stuck.

"You know, Sweet, you really are a very hard girl to pursue."

Chanel slipped her arms into a tight knot across her chest. "Well, I'm not big being hunted, Draco. I'd like to keep my head on my shoulders and not mounted on your wall," she snapped.

Taken slightly aback, he said softly, "I rather like where your head is myself."

They both fell silent; Draco seemed to be measuring his reactions to hers, and Chanel was lost for a moment in the splendor of the environment. "Why am I here?" she asked, breaking away from her thoughts.

"I thought you'd enjoy a night on the town."

She laughed derisively. "This isn't exactly on the town." She paused for a moment as her mind raced. "Are we in...Austria?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, we are," Draco answered smoothly, relaxing into a smile.

"This is kidnapping," she snapped.

Draco's face broke into an incredulous look; now his mouth opened and closed a few times, with nothing coming out. Chanel looked him squarely in the eye. "Why did you bring me here, Draco? And with a Portkey, of all things! You'd better start talking."

He moved in closer. "No, Sweet. I'd rather show you."

Suddenly behind them, a giant wind was created as a full-piece orchestra Apparated on stage. Chanel's mouth nearly dropped open; it took all her effort to keep her jaw hinged.

"Let's go here, Sweet," Draco said, guiding her down to the stage with very little resistance.

The orchestra opened with the familiar sweeping introduction to On the Beautiful Blue Danube. Chanel gasped in surprise, clutching Draco's arm. Draco raised his brow at the sudden motion, but didn't bother to point it out.

She perched herself on the edge of the seat, astounded, as dancers suddenly sashayed in from the sides, slipping into elegant, balletic poses and exquisite stretches, the waltz swelled and came to an exuberant end and the dancers stopped. Chanel sank back into her plush seat just as the orchestra and dancers burst into another waltz. She fell into Draco's arm, unnoticed.

After a rousing finish, the orchestra quietly started into a light, but spirited piece. "This is Summer," she started, turning to Draco in surprise. "Vivaldi. How did you know?"

Draco opened his hands and clasped them together in a careless gesture over the banister. Chanel grinned, suddenly giving Draco's arm a playful punch. The orchestra played through the entire Four Seasons movement, then retired to allow for a solo pianist. She looked up in surprise as champagne and shrimp cocktail were brought to their box.

Draco eyed her carefully as she delved into the shellfish. "Easy with that."

Her mouth sufficiently stuffed, she stared at him in bewilderment.

They sat in companionable silence while the pianist elegantly tickled the keys. "Beautiful," Chanel murmured.

"Isn't it?" he said softly.

She hazarded a glance over at Draco. "How did you do this? Why did you do this?"

"I am a Malfoy," Draco answered, with mock haughtiness.

She rolled her eyes deeply. "Really? I hadn't figured it out. But how did you know...?" She spread her hands outward, her words lost in the awe.

Draco leaned back into chair, the casual gesture contrasting sharply with his appearance. "Just paid attention, really."

She frowned, puzzling over that silently as the opening plaintive notes of Liebestraum Number 3 were plucked. Her mouth slipped open.

"My favorite...Draco..." she breathed softly.

He moved forward slowly and brushed his fingers across her cheek. Chanel fell forward into his soft, waiting lips. He quickly stoked the fire by twining his fingers into her hair, pulling her mouth closer. His tongue was icy and nearly bruising, demanding every inch of her. She trembled, coming undone with every hungry stroke.

Suddenly it felt as if she had tumbled into a darkened, much smaller area.

Draco stood up and pulled Chanel to her feet, cursing softly. "Never Apparate with your eyes closed." He paused and surveyed the room, smirking at her. "I knew this was your room."

A bit breathless from everything, she answered, "Never said it wasn't."

Draco snorted softly. "Klug." He moved in immediately to close the space between them. "I guess it'll do for you to keep it down."

"Wha--"

Draco's mouth came down on hers in a blinding punch, crushing the soft flesh of her lips into her teeth. She moaned under the terrific pain --- and pleasure. He broke abruptly to seek the taste of her neck. Draco ran his tongue idly over the tender lobe of her ear. Chanel gasped, arching involuntarily against him.

He playfully nipped her ear. "That's my girl," he murmured huskily.

Chanel was reeling from the loss of her senses. "Draco..."

Draco pressed ahead, sprinkling kisses across her collar bone.

She groaned in frustration, and Draco deftly slipped from his jacket, not interrupting what he was doing. "Draco," she sighed again, her tone slightly firmer.

His hands slipped beneath her shirt, his fingers playfully dancing across her skin.

"No," Chanel said softly. Draco pulled back, his breathing ragged, his eyes thick and confused. She felt like she had just swallowed a stone. "I-I can't," she said, desperately wishing for a quick, painless death.

"Can't or won't?" he asked coolly, his entire body heaving.

Her mouth slipped open in surprise, not sure how to answer.

Draco composed himself, but his eyes were flashing. He grabbed his jacket and went to door. She followed at a safe distance, feeling a bit quaky. Standing outside hall, Draco turned back briefly towards her. "Sweet," he said, almost cordially.

"Draco," she responsed in knee-jerk fashion, stunned.

He curtly nodded and quickly slipped into the elevator.

***

The next morning, Tori woke, barely able to lift her head. What happened last night and how the hell did I get here? All she could remember was the third shot, and putting her head down because her vision had badly blurred.

After fifteen minutes, she convinced herself to get up and move to the bathroom. Coming out, she caught sight of a piece of paper on the couch.

Breakfast--10 a.m.

Tori turned to look at the alarm clock. 9:14. Groaning, she dropped the note and collapsed on the couch.

***

Five minutes after the hour, Tori walked up to the table that Chanel was at. She looked up and pushed her notebook aside. "Hey."

"Hey," Tori echoed, rubbing her forehead as she sat. "How are you?" she asked, exhaling slowly.

Chanel nodded toward the glass. "Great. You look a tad like shit. Firewhiskey," she added, seeing Tori's face screw up in confusion.

Tori blanched at the name. "Thanks for the honesty. Is there a reason for this meeting?" she asked, before hailing a waiter and asking for a Diet Coke.

Chanel smiled. "Just this," she said, wagging an envelope in front of Tori, "and other things."

Tori squinted, trying to get a good look. On the envelope was a wax seal, the letter W broken in half. "What's that?"

"Read for yourself," she said, sliding the envelope over. Tori pulled the letter out and read:

Harry Dear--

How are you? I've become terribly worried about you traveling so much all over the world. I hear so much violence goes on out in those Muggle streets!! You could try writing more often, young man.

This year, we've decided to celebrate that holiday...what is it called -- Please and Thank-you's? The one with the roast flying creature?

Well, yes, in any case, Ronald has begged that we have it (I think he figures you would have this time off, he is desperate to see you). Mr. Weasley, of course, would have loved it.

So, anyway dear, I hope to see you then if you are not busy. MAKE SURE YOU ARE EATING WELL!! And invite the girls--I understand they know how these things go.

Love, Mrs. Weasley

Tori looked up at Chanel in surprise. She distinctly remembered Harry mentioning a Ron and his family...his best friend. "We're invited?"

"Yep," she said, lifting her glass. "Are you in?"

Looking back at the letter, Tori immediately answered, "Sure. Yeah...I didn't plan on going home for Thanksgiving. You're going, right?"

"Nothing doing on the family front. And we're concert free for the next two weeks."

"Alright," Tori said, setting the letter down gently.

Chanel coughed. "You wouldn't have happened to have heard anything last night...would you?"

"No..." Tori strained to think. "I don't even remember making it to my bed. Why?"

"Yeah, you were pretty trashed," Chanel snorted before turning back to her notebook. "Uh, nothing, thought we might have woke you, the way we Apparated."

Appara--what? We? "Who?"

"Me and Draco," Chanel mumbled absently, frowning at something in her notebook. Scratching a line out, she continued conversationally, "Really, we just ended up falling over the place. Not exactly a graceful landing."

"From -- the bar?" Tori asked, trying to compose herself.

"No...you wouldn't believe me if I told you." Chanel smiled and shook her head. "That Draco...he's a sneaky bastard, I'll give him that."

"Um, alright. How did it go?"

"...It was...nice," Chanel admitted, busying herself in her notes. Sneaking a peek at Tori, she continued, "There was an orchestra and -- " she coughed, "ballet."

Tori blinked, bewildered. "Draco took you to a ballet? The Draco on our tour?"

"No, Draco arranged for the ballet," she chuckled. "And I'm pretty sure the orchestra, too," she added quietly.

"What? He did?" Tori said, unbelieving, her eyes wide.

Chanel nodded. "After HP hauled you off to bed, I came back and picked up a picture laying on the floor outside my door -- Portkey..." she rolled her eyes.

Tori frowned. "What's a P--"

"Very sneaky," Chanel continued, not hearing her. "And the orchestra knew all the songs I loved. Well, Draco did. He even played the piano. There was champagne and shrimp. It was beautiful."

"Sounds like a wonderful night," Tori remarked, and then opened her mouth again to ask what a Portkey was, but was interrupted.

"What if HP had picked up the Portkey instead?" Chanel suddenly mused and laughed heartily, tickled at the thought. "Don't think he would've enjoyed the kissing as much."

Tori started forward in surprise. "What? He kissed you again?"

"...Yeah," Chanel admitted slyly, unable to help as she grinned into her notebook. "Mm...and then some. Merlin, there could have been more."

"What happened?" Tori asked, terribly curious.

"Draco was right," Chanel sighed heavily, lost in thought. "You definitely should not Apparate with your eyes closed. We could have ended up in the toilets."

Tori half-smiled at the visual, but was inwardly committing the terms Apparate and Portkey to her memory. Need to ask Harry about those, since she's too busy reliving her night, she thought.

"...nearly landed on the bed, which, of course, would've been too perfect," Chanel said, causing Tori to pay attention. "Then I kicked him out while he was nice and hard. I'm sure that was only the cherry on top." She gestured to the waiter and held up her glass again.

"What did you say?" Tori asked, doing a double take.

Chanel waited as the waiter came right back. She took her drink and sipped it slowly. "I really didn't want to, but I didn't have a choice. He was absolutely perfect. Everything was. The music was beautiful, the dancing was gorgeous; he practically looked fucking edible and I was -- well, I was more than ready." She broke off abruptly for another sip.

Tori blinked, surprised at what she had just heard. "Wow. So...what happened?"

"I just told you, I kicked him out," Chanel grumbled, raising her empty glass again for the waiter. He's not ready."

"Not ready for what?" Tori asked slowly, by now used to being perpetually confused, but determined not to stay that way.

Chanel hesitated. "Well, there's that mess called Pansy." She shook her head in disgust. "And anyways, I think I'd just be another toy to him. I mean, honestly, how could he care?"

"Did you ask him about her? Would it change anything if that was cleared up?"

"It didn't come up. He was too busy trying to take our clothes off." Chanel frowned. "Besides, look at his reputation. There's practically a harem in every city. Do I seem like the type who's settle for "groupie" status?"

Tori sighed. "Chan, you're definitely not a groupie. I don't think any man could make you one. Even Draco."

"I won't to be used," Chanel muttered quietly. "Especially not by him. Elitist, snobby bastard."

"I'm confused," Tori started, hating the words. "What are you trying to tell me--if you're trying to tell me anything?"

Chanel looked at her severely. "And you? Are you keeping everything upfront?"

"What are you talking about?" Tori asked, startled, as Chanel took her refreshed glass from the waiter.

"Don't make me start in on those looks you two keep shooting each other," Chanel said, feeling vindicated at the look on Tori's face.

Feeling highly embarrassed, Tori looked down. "It's nothing; it's just me."

Chanel snorted. "Right."

"It is," Tori said softly, now remembering Harry's words in complete detail. "Why wouldn't it work with you and Draco?" she asked quietly, not hearing, valiantly trying to regain her composure and stop the thudding in her ears.

"I already told you," Chanel said crossly, "He's...we're just from two different worlds." She stood up, grabbed her coat and tossed a tip on the table. "I've got some things to do, but I need to talk to the both of you...at noon. Lunch, here?"

Tori nodded, her head still full, rising to her feet as Chanel took off.

***

It was 11 am.

Tori stood in the shower for what seemed like an endless amount of time, staring at but not really watching the steam fill the room. Thoughts ran through her head as if they were racing each other.

Thoughts of her strange conversation with Chanel. Drinking the night before and Chan nearly telling Harry everything. The confrontation between Harry and Draco in her room. The kiss.

Oh, the kiss.

It had been surprising, shocking, and oh-so welcome, all at once. It had been the hottest thing she had ever done in a moment of spontaneity. But Harry had been two seconds from walking in on God-knows-what, and she had to divert his attention somehow, so she forced him to look at her. And then that happened.

Tori cursed herself for thinking about it. You need to stop it, her mind said, stop it with these...feelings. It was nothing--he told you so himself.

Don't go that way again, don't screw things up by saying something. She had already done that before, and gotten shot down quickly.

And then there had been him. She shook her head angrily, still affected by her open stupidity. She had been a lovesick fool, always overlooking things, quickly forgiving things, offering to wait, being naïve, offering her all and openly professing her feelings often, only to be blindsided in the end. Nope, not going to do that again. Just keep them to yourself, and everyone will be happy. You won't have screwed up a damn thing. Don't give in--nothing good will come of it.

That night's scene came back into her head, bringing her back to the present. Chuckling mirthlessly to herself, Tori thought of it as her physical distraction technique, but sobered quickly upon remembering that it had been done out of anger. Well, it had been--isn't that what he'd said? Which made her feel twice as silly for being so turned on in the first place.

Then he had apologized for it, at which point Tori had wanted to fall into the floor. Apologizing for a kiss? Now she knew it was that bad.

Tori sighed. At least you kept your mouth shut. After the fact, anyways.

Getting out of the shower, her skin on fire, she quickly pulled her wet hair off her neck and into a clip. She threw on a brown track suit over a white tank top.

Slipping on her white sandals, Tori left her room and went downstairs to the dining area, where a waiter saw her and motioned her to a back table. She ordered a Diet Coke and waited, lost in thought.

Tori felt a light touch on her shoulder and jumped. She heard a familiar chuckle next to her ear, and right then, she thanked God that she was already red from the shower.

"Hey. Sorry about that; I had to sneak in from the back. Didn't you hear me say hello?" Harry sat down next to her.

Tori shook her head. "No worries," she managed, keeping her tone light. "As long as you have another back-up singer and keyboardist, feel free to give me a heart attack."

Harry smiled, causing Tori to bite her lip against a silly grin. "So, what's the lunch about?"

"I don't know. Guess Chan'll tell us," she shrugged.

"Did both of you survive yesterday?" he asked, and Tori realized that they hadn't seen him at all yesterday. There were the issues of the confrontation and the drinking almost-tell-all to be dealt with still.

She noticed that his mood had sobered. "Harry, about what she said at the bar..."

He looked at her hard, listening intently.

Chanel abruptly arrived then, sitting down at the table, somewhat irked. "Tori, please tell me you have my notebook. I left it here last night." She turned briefly to Harry, said, "Hi," and turned back to Tori.

Harry grunted in reply at the mere acknowledgement, causing Tori to glance at him quickly before addressing Chanel. "Your notebook?" she repeated, thinking. "Oh, oh, yeah, a busboy brought it up from last night. It's in my room."

Stifling a breath of relief, she muttered, "Good," and motioned to a passing waiter. "Can I get waffles and an OJ Absolute? Thanks." She finally turned to Harry. "So where's our friend Olaf today?"

Tori raised her eyebrow at Chanel's drink choice as Harry ordered, and asked for French toast.

"He's setting up a photo shoot, or a conference, or something like that," he answered.

Tori laughed to herself. "Count Olaf."

Both Chanel and Harry turned to look at her. "What?" she asked, surprised. "Haven't you read Lemony Snicket?"

"...Lemony Snicket?" Chanel asked dubiously. "Sounds like a candy bar." Shrugging, she addressed Harry. "What gives, HP? You look unusually grumpy today."

You have to ask? Don't you remember two nights' previous? Tori thought unbelievingly to herself, and looked at Harry to see what he'd say.

Harry glanced back at Tori before turning to Chanel. "...Just tired." He looked like he wanted to say something more, but had thought better of it.

Chanel smoldered a bit upon seeing the exchange between the two. "I see," she said innocently. "That's funny. Tori's looking pretty exhausted, too."

Tori's jaw dropped as their order arrived. She looked at it, suddenly not feeling very hungry at the moment. "I am, actually," she said, feeling strange at the insinuation. "Being up till 3 a.m. drinking takes its toll on me."

Choosing not to comment, Harry sat back in the chair and ran a hand over his face, temporarily lifting his glasses. "What's the purpose of this meeting? Do you have something to tell us?"

"Yes, actually," Chanel said happily, sipping her drink. "I'm getting an assistant."

Taken aback, Tori watched as she took a bite of her Belgian waffles. "Why? When?"

Chanel swallowed. "Mm, sometime after the next concert. Her name's Charlotte, she's from the Ministry, and she's a bit of a jack-of-all-trades. I think she'll be pretty useful."

Harry shrugged. "If you need one, fine."

Still a little surprised, Tori poked at her French toast, now wondering why she ordered breakfast for lunch. Or anything at all. Chanel's comment had just made her feel worse.

Crunching merrily on her waffles, Chanel continued speaking. "Thought having another countryman around might help with your disposition, HP -- which, of course, I love," she snorted, and he rolled his eyes. "I think she'll help me get a lot done. Who knows, maybe she'll even manage to put the whip on PR."

Harry allowed a small smile. "Wouldn't that be nice? Then we wouldn't have to rely on translators to do their job instead."

"I don't mind helping out, Chan," Tori said quietly. "You just have to ask."

Chanel waved her offer away. "No, no, it'll be good. Besides, I think she'll mix well with us. And HP can dictate his never-ending to-do list to somebody else for a change. Any new business?" she asked.

Tori shrugged half-heartedly. Harry shook his head. "Olaf will let us know what's going on."

"Mm. Too bad Charlotte can't start now," Chanel said. "Any old business?"

"None that I know of," Harry replied, and Tori didn't even bother to shrug. "Anything else?"

"Wouldn't you like to know?" she muttered under her breath. She cleared her throat then said aloud, "Nope."

Tori lifted her head as Harry stood, seeming not to have heard Chanel. "All right then, I'm off to the venue to oversee a few things before the concert. I'll be back in a couple of hours."

As soon as Harry was out of earshot, Tori turned back to Chanel. "Are you trying to get us killed? What was that about?"

"Just feeling a little snarky," Chanel shrugged. "Besides, it's not like HP actually notices anything, 'cept maybe the hair on your head which he would stroke lovingly." She gave Tori a sickeningly sweet smile edged with menace.

Tori burned at the comment. When it rains, it pours. Am I ever going to hear the end of this? "No, he wouldn't," she muttered under her breath, getting up from the table. "See you later."