Unhappy Endings

17: Music is Passion

As he looked at you, looking at him, he realized that seeing you as attractive and accepting the attraction had been two separate things.

They were separate, no more.

With that fiery realization, came an urge to find a way to connect with you. You were making your own attempt, right there on the floor at his feet. What would be his answer? His attempt?

It was then that the little box in his mind holding his reservations, feelings, and whispered dark thoughts about you flipped over on its side and poured out its answer: Remember that look. That look of divine exultation on your face upon connecting the name and the sound of that symphony.

He inhaled slowly, watching you as he spoke, "What other pieces of music have you not heard?"

He was taking a risk, leaving it slightly open to something that could be awkward and ridiculous, but somehow, he rather thought you'd figure out what he was doing.

You didn't disappoint. After a few moments of deliberation, you released his shirt sleeve and tucked your hand back under your chin, tilting your head coyly up at him.

"I'm sure there's too much for me to understand what I should know. Why don't you guide me?"

His eyes shuttered with lids heavy and drunk on the aphrodisiac of your flirtatious innuendo. You had just determined the venue of your seduction and he would gladly deliver, as this was an unparalleled passion within him. To share it with someone else in this way was exciting. He sat up taller in his seat and gestured to you, "Stand."

In confusion, you did so. He followed you up and stood before you but one breathless moment before stepping towards the potions shelf, to grab the short cushioned stool. Positioning it in front of his gramophone, he gestured again, "Come, sit."

Turning away from him and towards the stereo, you folded you skirt beneath you and lifted on your toes to attempt to seat yourself gracefully.

You had a bit of trouble sliding up onto the upholstered stool as the fabric of your dress abraded against it and caught, throwing you off-kilter. He darted forward to catch you from falling, his hands fitting neatly at your hips. You both paused, acknowledging the heated and simple contact. He did not let go. Instead, he pulled you back into him, sitting you properly on the stool. He thought he caught a smile brushing across your face but was too caught up in his own smirk of satisfaction to really be able to tell.

He let go of you to reach for his wand, kept holstered up his sleeve, and started enlarging and raising the speakers to your level. He worked with his arms around, but not touching you.

"Wow, you're really...passionate about your music, aren't you?" You asked, searching for a change in subject.

He looked down the few inches to you as you had turned to face him. Out of his periphery, he could just barely see the shadow of décolletage sliding into the top of your dress, but he kept your eyes and answered.

"Passionate?" He gave thought to how he could best express what music meant to him, now. "Yes, I am. Very." He sheathed his wand and watched you as he continued, "It is the one crossing endeavor between muggle and magic that transcends both, able to bring the listener to the highest peak or the darkest low and every instance in between, all without force or corruption. When we listen, we give of ourselves freely and receive back a gift of one of the highest human achievements."

"Wow." You marveled. "Is there anything else you are this passionate about?"

"My house and the success of it." He immediately mentioned with a wistfulness.

"So, you would be interested in going to their quidditch game?" Skillfully, you asked the original question you had come for.

"I would go whether or not you asked such a question."

"How pleasant." You stood up, a light purple color settling in your skin. "I shall see you there."