Who: Blaise & Padma When: 4 December, evening Where: abandoned classroom Rating: G What: pianos and revolutions
An idea planted itself in the aftermath of what Blaise referred sneeringly to as the Great House Elf Debate, and Wednesday afternoon found him visiting the kitchens and making a very specific request of them, to be carried out overnight and readied for Thursday evening. He sent a note to Padma via Sebastian the next morning, asking her to be in the abandoned classroom on the sixth floor, the one most isolated from the rest of the castle, at eight p.m. Seven-forty-five found him there, grinning when he saw the baby grand piano from the Slytherin Common Room sitting in a corner of the room. Briefly, the thought that the instrument would me missed crossed his mind, but just as quickly he didn't care. He sat in front of the piano, his favourite piece by Mozart in front of him, the notes echoing from the ceiling. Unexpectedly, the room had fairly good acoustics.
Padma heard the music before she had taken very many steps down the corridor, and her breath was caught in her throat, surprise and a limb buckling joy threatening to overtake her. She leaned a moment against the wall, as though the sound erupted from the very stone; her eyes closed, her heart long practiced, it seemed, in this hammer and release.
The notes died away, and with a quick shuffling of paper his fingers sounded the first notes of a piece that was, in comparison to the hail of notes the first one had been, softer and contemplative. He stopped, though, frowning. He depressed a few keys and the frown deepened. They were slightly out of tune. A moment later found him leaning over, retuning the piano very carefully.
She remained still, a slight figure, shadows and the barest outline of a bronze cheek in the torchlit corridor. Though she imagined he expected her, Padma found she was not quite ready to leave the corridor, fascinated as she was with this very private Blaise. She liked the idea of him alone, space and thought without her, so intent. So she waited, breathing quietly, for more, just for a moment.
The piano tuned properly, he checked the clock on the wall. It read the time as five minutes after eight. Slightly impatient, he tapped his foot for a moment, then sat and ran through a scale. Then, restless, he stood again and walked towards the door, wondering if Padma was having difficulties.
The scuffle of his footsteps was an alarm, of sorts. Padma hastened to the door, flustered, and stopped suddenly, nearly colliding with Blaise. A shy smile, as she was not the sort for excuses, even honest ones. As the situation would have called for her to lie as opposed to admit her unabashed attentions, she was better to stay silent.
Blaise stopped short, teetering for a moment. He grinned. "There you are," he said simply, taking her hand and pulling her into the classroom. A charm sealed the door, and he nodded towards the piano. "I apologise for the mystery."
"It's quite alright.," Padma spoke softly, rather beside herself. A struggle for something of consequence to say was entirely in vain, and she was contented, for the moment, to be ushered within.
Gazing down at her for a moment, he took a deep breath. This was different from playing for or with Tracey or Daphne. This, somehow, had purpose, a deliberate opening of himself to her. He realised that he'd placed no chair for her, and shuffled his feet for a moment before bringing her to sit with him on the piano bench. "What do you wish to hear?"
Very near the keys and his seated form, Padma found herself wanting compulsively to touch them both. Her eyes brightened. "Mozart."
"As you wish," he said softly, sifting through his papers until he found Concerto number 25. A moment later he started, closing his eyes for a moment as his fingers remembered the notes and then opening them again as required by the swift movement of the notes and his fingers.
Padma watched his hands, rapt of the care and quickness with which they moved. Though she was not familiar with the piece, she was pulled entirely into the experience, her own eyes closing, once more, in delight.
On the heels of Mozart, Blaise felt that Beethoven would be appropriate, and so played a portion of Fur Elise, stopping mid-song to turn towards Padma. "I am unaccountably nervous."
Smiling, Padma rested her hands against the bench. "Should I leave?" Her eyes cast to his face and away. "You were playing with ease, it seemed, when I was in the corridor."
"If you should leave, I would be quite upset and resort to Rachmaninov," he smiled, fingers caressing her cheek. He took a deep breath. "How did you like Mozart?"
Leaning involuntarily into the touch, Padma's lips parted slightly before speaking, as though considering carefully her words. "It was transcendent. I can understand why you admire him as you do." Lips pursed. "Would you like to continue?"
Blaise grinned, then, replacing his fingers back on the keys, just played, whatever music entered his head, sometimes reaching for a piece and playing it. A peace and easy companionship settled between them; he found that being a musician around her came naturally. There was none of the hesitation or wanting and needing to keep this portion of himself from others, with her. "My mother taught me, initially," he said softly. "Before they engaged my tutors and piano instructor, she taught me the scales and simple tunes."
Eyes darting momentarily to his face, Padma smiled, easy and slow. "Does she play so finely?"
"I would like to say that she does," he started thoughtfully. "But it would be a lie. She enjoys playing, but she devoted her talents in other areas. Painting, mostly."
Padma leaned slightly against Blaise's arm, her features shy. "I'm very glad you've... shared this with me." The notes he had played hung potent in the closed air of the room.
The fabric of his jumper rustled as he wrapped the arm she leaned against around her shoulders. "It is nice to have finally been able to," he responded in kind, then laughed slightly at their formality. Releasing her, he pounded a chord, then nudged her a bit. "Have you ever played?" It seemed that he'd asked this question a great many times this year.
In response to his question Padma lifted a hand and struck a key with a slender finger. She beamed. "Now I have."
He looked at her, eyes wide, for a moment before shaking his head and laughing. "So you have." Gently, he took her hand and placed the fingers correctly, then putting his hand on top of hers, played a series of notes. "Got that? Don't stop playing until I tell you to."
She nodded confidently, trusting the pressure and guidance of his own hand. Concentration centered on the small collection of notes and the motions required, she faltered only a moment when his hand lifted before continuing without fault.
Placing his hand as a mirror to hers on his side of the keyboard, he counted silently until the right beat. In the same way in which his mother had taught him his first song, he taught Padma, joining her in playing a countermelody. It continued for several minutes, and he added a flourish of high notes, and nodded. "You may stop now," he intoned. "That was brilliant. Thank you." He pressed a kiss to her cheek.
Her hand stilled against the keys, retreating to her lap. There was something about this encounter strangely charged, and Padma found all fine articulations depart, the security of her feelings behind her poetry suddenly upon her lips. "I never expected this," she said simply, face clouding, though possessing still a light, "Not from anyone. Not from you."
The keys were hidden as he closed the cover over them, and looked at her before starting to gather his music together. "What do you mean?"
Her words hurried, as though to hesitate meant never to speak them. "I feel so very strongly." A blush rose to her cheeks, and she pushed thoughts of wishing she hadn't spoken quickly away. "I did not expect to know tenderness, like this."
The papers and parchments whispered together as he dropped them. Turning, he lifted his leg carefully over the bench so that he sat straddling it, facing Padma. He sighed, taking her hands in his and studying them as they joined his. "I did not expect to have my heart captured so fully."
Hands tightening in his, Padma thought of a conversation with Morag, words spoken only weeks prior though seeming much further separated in time. A desire worth fighting for. A desire and a fight that pulled and pulsed, each day more compelling, consuming. She realized she had loosed her will long ago to do as wanted, as needed, and she whispered his name softly on a breath. It did not precede further speaking, nor stand as a question. "Blaise." An admittance.
Words froze on his lips, stopped by his name. Words that begged to be spoken, but halted out of fear that he would be giving into madness, the same madness that made fools out of Longbottom and Bones, Weasley and Granger, Romeo and Juliet, any other couple in the existence of the world. "Padma." An admittance in return.
It was enough. In the place of silence there was the memory of music; words unspoken could be swallowed without rendering meaning untrue. So thinking, Padma swallowed, and did not speak, and was comforted by the warmth that spread through her, the sweetness of honesty with oneself. Her lips parted, a small sound of contentment escaping on a breath.
Relief flooded his mind at her acceptance of this small admittance on both parts. The silence continued, with hands sliding around a small, lithe body and holding it close. Earlier revelations came to mind, and brought about the realisation that this, at least, would be worth saving.
Resting her head against his chest, Padma reached a hand to lift the lid of the piano once more, the keys shuddering slightly at the brush of her fingertips. "One more song?" She whispered, lifting her face and smiling, planting several light kisses against his neck.
He closed his eyes savouring her touch, the memory of her lips against his neck lingering. He nodded then, fingers finding the notes of a lullaby sung to him often as a child.
Padma relaxed entirely at the sound, the tune unfamiliar, but stirring. The world was then that room, the instrument, they two, and she found she would have it just so for that evening, as long as she dared.