Disclaimer: Anything relatable to Harry Potter belongs to J.K Rowling and her publishers.

Summary: Hermione and Draco both have a secret love, music. When they compose, they realize they're missing a piece that can only be found in each other.

Author's Note: I love music. I've play violin and piano, but I'm not great at either of them, this is just cute.

***Accompanying music to this story can be "The Lark Ascending" composed by Ralph Vaughn Williams. It's beautiful.

Hermione paced in front of the wall. Back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. She closed her mind to all other things but her wish, her one, true wish. The wall trembled and crackled, revealing an iron door. She pressed her ear against it gently sighing as she heard the sounds of gently playing violins. Her hand wrapped around the iron knob and she tugged it open.

The room was ornate, but cozy. It was lit by hundreds of candles floating in the air. There was a small piano in the corner, and next to it was a music stand with blank pages on it. But the most important object of all were the ones that lay in the room were her violin and bow.

She picked them up cautiously with love and placed the violin under her chin, she plucked each string in turn, finely tuning it to its perfect pitch, and set it down again. She picked up her stick of rosin and rubbed it against the horse hair on the bow, loving the smoothness underneath her fingers as she tightened it.

Hermione closed her eyes, and let go of every insecurity, every worry, every fear, and picked up her violin. The sound that rose from the strings was timid at first, but soon grew with strength and awareness. She could hear the accompaniment of the orchestra in her head, and soon the room swelled with music coming from invisible musicians, and Hermione's violin.

The music swelled to a strong crescendo, and Hermione was so overtaken by the music that as she neared the end of the song, she realized tears were coming from her eyes. As she set her violin down on top of the piano she watched as the enchanted paper was quickly scribbling down the notes she had just played.

She picked up the stack and read the notes carefully, reviewing, recalling what she had played, a song that had been aching to come out for some time, and only now had Hermione truly let go enough to make it free.

Hermione was always controlled, competent, and aware. She found it hard to let herself go and just play the violin, so composing had been a challenge to her at first. So like most challenges, Hermione rose to the occasion, and instead of calculating every minute detail, she simply let go.

She had music inside of her, and when she cleared her brain and allowed her soul to do the controlling, she could compose, and allow all those pent up feelings of loss, of incompetency, of anger come out of her. But tonight, her song was of liberation and freedom, it spoke of a bird finally breaking free, it spoke of a journey. There was something missing though, a part the room of requirement didn't include in the accompaniment, something deeper was needed here, but she couldn't put her finger on what.


It was freezing. Draco didn't know why he was doing this again, but someone was occupying the Room of Requirement so he was forced to find a new space that was a little more exposing than the room was. He would just stop altogether, but he feared for what that might do to his sanity. Playing was his solace.

It used to be torture when his father made him practice as a young child. He would sit for hours at the piano, his fingers going numb as he tried to play fast runs of notes and chords. It was difficult for him, something that never came easy. But when his father abandoned the pressure of making him learn, Draco wanted to.

It had been a secret in Hogwarts; he would never let people know he had this softer side to him. After all, what former Death Eater composed symphonies in his spare time? The idea was absurd. The process of letting go was difficult for him, and even though the piano was a challenge, he still loved it.

He approached the suit of armor with caution, casting a silent spell to reveal any bodies lurking about. He counted on being alone, especially at this hour, but Peeves and the ghosts didn't sleep, he was always just lucky they were haunting someone else at the moment. Draco took out his wand and tapped the suit of armor gently. With a quiet pop it disappeared, and in its place was a door.

Draco stepped into the familiar room, and lit a fire quickly, hoping it would warm him up fast. He sat down at the piano and cracked his knuckles, and stretched his shoulders. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply for a few moments. Letting go.

It was odd for Draco to be so deep, but as soon as his fingers touched the keys, the world was not there anymore. It was twirling lights, he was in the sky, flying through stars and notes and images of good things. When his fingers pressed against the ivory keys, he felt alive, more than he ever had, more than he ever would be to the outside world.

Tonight, through his fingertips flowed a harmony. It was a story of strength, persuasion and accomplishment, in his soul he felt the notes, he heard the accompaniment, he saw himself on stage ready to perform in front of a grand audience. He saw that his father was proud of him.

When the music was over, and his vision had ended, he knew there was something missing to his piece…but what? There was an overlapping melody that played the same story, if only he could find it within himself.


For weeks they both practiced, agonized over the missing piece. Nothing came to them; there wasn't another piece that they could write. They both grew frustrated; Hermione had even considered ignoring her violin for a little while. But she couldn't bear to part with it, not when she felt so close to…what? What did she feel close to?

Draco paced around the hall; he couldn't get himself to settle at his piano again, so he put a covering charm over himself and walked the length of the hall in front of the Room of Requirement, hoping it would give him something, anything.

Whenever he would stop pacing he could hear, softly, the sound of a violin tuning, and then being played. The notes and rhythms were almost indiscernible but he kept coming back, night after night to listen at the wall.

He bought Extendable Ears from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to hear through the wall. And when he settled at the wall and listened, he heard the melody he'd been searching for. His heart was awakened; someone was playing his melody, in there was the other half of his piece! Or else the Room was just taunting him.

He paced in front of the door, back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. He willed the Room to open so he could see, so he could know who the other half of him was. When the wall trembled, and the iron door revealed itself, he tugged it open with happiness.

The playing in the room stopped abruptly as the door opened, the player's face became blushed, and she looked down in modesty. Draco stared at Hermione Granger as if he had never seen her before, and smiled.

He walked slowly over to the piano, never taking his eyes off her, and when he was seated, he nodded to her violin and whispered, "Play,"

In the second following, their music began to flow through the room. Her melody, his harmony, the Room offered its accompaniment, but nothing could compare to those sounds together. They fit together so well. Through their music, they understood each other's soul.

The most important things are hard to say because words diminish them. Draco and Hermione knew this, and they played out the things they could never say to each other.

When the song was over, Hermione sat down on the piano bench next to Draco and looked at him. Her chocolate eyes stared into his blue ones, trying to figure out how her once enemy became so different to her in a matter of ten minutes. But he was different. His hands had played her missing part, his heart was connected to her passion.

Draco smiled and leaned forward, kissing Hermione gently on the lips, igniting a flame in both of them that sprung as passionately as their music, and as the night wore on, the Room provided more things that they required as they sat down and got to know each other musically and personally.

There were no words that Hermione could say when she went back to Gryffindor Tower that night, and no words she could use to explain the reason why Draco sat with them the next morning for breakfast. But it didn't matter, because through him, she found her inspiration to keep going on, through him she had found the harmony in her life.

Author's Note: Like I said, I love music, and I love fluff, so there's both!

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