symphony
by:![[info]](http://www.journalfen.net/img/userinfo.gif)
snottygrrl
rating: PG-13
paring: harry/draco
spoilers: all books
summary: takes place post-hogwarts, harry and draco go the symphony
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
author's notes: this plot bunny showed up while i was at the symphony with a friend. shut up, not that kind of friend. not quite pleased with how it turned out, but tired of messing with it. gratitude and kisses to my lovely beta pair, phenix_tears and mrs_figby. they are the best.
word count: 2073
Harry loves going to the symphony. He hadn't at first. He'd been petulant and dragged his feet. But now he loves it.
"Are you ready yet, Draco?"
Draco quirks an eyebrow as he glances at the clock and back at Harry who is all dressed up in a Muggle suit, but looking far more like an excited puppy.
"I'd get ready faster if you weren't pestering me, Potter." His voice holds no malice despite the taunt. At Harry's childish pout he softens a bit. "I'm almost done. I promise we'll get there with enough time for me to buy you pudding."
Harry grins and wanders out of the room, leaving Draco to complete his preparations alone. He contents himself with thinking about the evening to come, which, of course, leads him back to how they ever ended up going in the first place.
Hermione and Ron were over for dinner. As they finished the sumptuous feast that Draco had cooked, Hermione looked uncharacteristically hesitant.
Finally she said, "My Dad's birthday is Saturday and we're having dinner with my parents." She stalled for a moment, Harry and Draco looking at her with confused interest. "Ron suggested that you two might want to use our tickets to the LSO." She finished in a rush, looking somewhat sheepish as if she wasn't been sure how Draco would react.
Neither was Harry.
Draco shrugged indifferently as he looked over at Harry, who was surprised to see the sharp gleam of interest in his eyes. "Whatever you'd like, love," he drawled.
"Um, sure," Harry said, sounding anything but sure.
Hermione let out a relieved sigh and started gushing about how she was sure that they'd love it and how elegant the Barbican Centre was that even Draco would approve. Draco smiled politely, though Harry was able to see the amused smirk beneath it.
Later, when Harry was in the kitchen cleaning up with Ron, he asked him why he'd gone and suggested that, anyway.
"Sorry Mate, didn't think Malfoy would do Muggle. Why'd you go and say yes if you don't want to go?"
"Because Draco does."
"What? He looked utterly bored by the prospect."
"To you maybe."
Ron looked at him like he was barking, then lifted his shoulders in a well-don't-blame-me shrug.
When Saturday rolled around, Harry tried to get out of it.
"Why are we going?"
"Because you accepted their tickets. You can't waste your best friends' tickets."
"But -" Harry started to protest.
"Besides," Draco continued, ignoring the interruption, "She'll want to know how it was. Whether we enjoyed it."
Harry sighed, knowing Draco was right. They used the tickets as they had promised and had a marvelous time.
In the end, that night had hooked Harry.
They've been many times since, much to Hermione's gratification and Ron's continued amazement.
"But Malfoy, it's Muggle!" He burst out one time while Draco and Hermione were discussing the latest concert.
Hermione gave him one of those looks, but Draco responded with amusement.
"Always a keen observer of the obvious, Weasley, but not everything the Muggles do is without magic."
Harry has to agree because he finds their nights at the Barbican Centre filled with wonder.
His reverie is interrupted by Draco's appearance in the doorway. The blond looks beautiful in a dark grey Muggle suit and Harry gets lost just looking at him.
Draco crosses to him and pulls him into a fierce kiss. "If you keep looking at me like that, we'll never make it to the concert," he growls. He kisses him again before releasing him.
They apparate to a small alley off Chiswell Street, not far from the Barbican underground station. Draco's eyes sparkle with amusement as he gazes at Harry, who is nearly bouncing with delight.
Harry has never been anywhere else like the Centre. It is grand and modern with several theatres, the concert hall, an art gallery and even a Muggle cinema. There's a bookstore and a library and other small shops. There are several places to eat, even more so when there is a performance, with coffee spots everywhere, and restaurants and lounges that range from The Waterside Café, a self-service place, to Searcy's, a posh restaurant that has modern British food with a French twist.
Draco has promised Harry a night at Searcy's and a show by the Royal Shakespeare Company, to which the Barbican is also home. He says they have to wait for the right play, Titus Andronicus or Othello, though Harry thinks he'd rather see Much Ado About Nothing or As You Like It.
But tonight they are here for the symphony. They make their way along the warren of walkways that meander around the reddish-brick flats.
A smile tugs at the corners of Draco's lips as he twines his fingers through Harry's, all the while watching him, as if the blond knows that his firm grip somehow tethers Harry to adulthood, keeping the exuberant young man from skipping down the winding pathway.
Draco leads them to the café on the terrace by the ornamental pool where he gets a glass of wine and Harry gets some chocolate cake. They sit at a small table amid the tubs of plants and enjoy the mild night air.
Draco is sipping the scarlet liquid and gazing at the flowers cascading from the surrounding balconies when Harry asks, "What are we seeing tonight?" He loves to hear Draco talk about the music and sighs contentedly as the blond regales him about this evening's program. Harry learns that they will hear sonatas by Beethoven and Brahms and Debussy and there will be a Japanese Violinist and a piece called The Wreckage of Flowers. He is uncertain what this really means, but Draco knows and he's impassioned and that is enough.
They finish their treat and head inside. This time it is Harry that guides them through the maze of stairs and levels. The first time there, Harry made Draco explore the whole centre with him. Now he can find his way among the padded benches and open galleries. He even knows which lifts go to what floors. He is craning his head around to take everything in as they pass through the huge lobby on their way to the auditorium.
Ron sometimes complains that there is nothing to see at the concerts, but Harry disagrees.
"What do you look at? No one is doing anything," he asked.
"There is so much to watch, Ron, the conductor, the musicians, the audience. I could just stare at the hall itself. It's beautiful." Harry earnestly replied.
Ron just shook his head and mumbled something about watching the audience sleep.
Now, sitting in the plush red velvet seats, the raven-haired young man gazes around happily as he waits for the concert to start. Harry is in awe of the mix of people swirling around the hall. He'd been surprised, at first, by the number of wizards there. They are noticeable by the double-takes they invariably do when they spot him and Draco. Of course some of them are easily identifiable by their mismatched Muggle clothing. Besides the wizards, there is always a wide array of Muggles. University students in the nicest clean clothes they can pull out of their closets. Young families all dressed up for an outing. Older couples in their Sunday best that, Harry likes to imagine, have been coming to the symphony for years.
Harry grins as a middle-aged man in an old-style, cut-away tuxedo jacket, a blue pinstriped shirt and a loud polka dot necktie makes his way down the row in front of theirs. He watches as the man catches sight of Draco's platinum-blond hair, a Malfoy trademark, and stumbles in his shock, almost tumbling onto the lap of another patron. Regaining his composure, the blushing man apologizes to the person before continuing on to his seat. Draco appears oblivious to the entire episode, but Harry knows better.
"You always do create a sensation," he whispers in the blond's ear.
Draco ignores him and keeps reading the program, but the edges of his mouth curve up in a small smile.
Harry thinks about doing something that his companion cannot ignore, but is distracted as the lead oboist stands and sounds a clear A-note. A confusion of sound comes from the string sections.
The first time, Harry had watched them bewildered and asked what they were doing.
"They're tuning," Draco told him, gazing intently at the musicians.
"Oh." Harry was silent for a minute. "Why didn't they do that before they came on stage?"
"They have to be in tune with each other, love," explained Draco.
Harry watched the stage for a bit before a frown creased his brow. "Why do you know this?" he eventually asked.
A melancholy smile gave lie to his indifferent tone when Draco answered. "My father used to take me to the symphony when I was young."
Harry gawked at him, speechless at the thought of Lucius Malfoy at a Muggle event.
It was much later that Harry had found out that Draco played the violin. Lucius had made sure he had the best tutor and Draco had loved to play.
"I was actually quite good," he quietly revealed. There was none of the Malfoy smirking pride in the comment. Instead a wistful smile appeared for a moment before his cool mask erased it. "Father smashed my Stradivarius when I made him particularly angry one time," Draco recalled, "I don't even remember what I'd done. I haven't played since."
Hearing that had broken Harry's heart. "Why haven't you ever replaced it?"
"I didn't know I missed it." Had been the response.
With Remus' help, Harry had found a quality violin and had nervously given it to Draco for his last birthday. He'd been relieved as he'd watched his lover's eyes light with rapture at the gift. Later as he listened to him practice, Harry had been stunned at how beautifully Draco played.
Seeing how gorgeous Draco is at this moment, his expression filled with anticipation for tonight's music, Harry is grateful that Lucius appreciated Muggle classical music and that he shared that appreciation with his son.
The musicians have finished tuning and a momentary hush falls over the hall before the conductor and soloist enter the stage to loud applause and the concert begins. The conductor always amazes Harry. Sometimes he ponders whether the conductor's white wand actually controls the conductor, not the other way around. He watches with fascination as the wand flits around, moving in an intricate pattern that, Draco has explained, means something to the musicians. He doesn't understand how the fluttering dance somehow makes the music, but he thinks that it does. Often, the waving hands and, when the music is particularly energetic, the flapping tailcoat mesmerize him. They remind him of wild birds.
But tonight Harry is staring at the soloist. She is small and almost innocuous in her black dress with her long, black hair, but the sound coming out of her instrument could never be overlooked. Her violin looks the same as every other violin Harry has seen in his limited experience, but he has never heard anyone make a violin sound like this. The music is angelic, and Harry wonders if there is an enchantment on the instrument. However, after watching her for a bit, he decides that if there is a charm on anything, than it has to be the soloist herself, because he has never seen anyone play with such vitality and power. The depth of emotional expression she is wringing from her instrument has the audience in her thrall.
Harry sneaks a peak over at Draco beside him and is completely undone by the look of bliss on the blond's face. He wants to kiss him right there, but settles for threading his fingers through Draco's and giving his hand a quick squeeze. He is rewarded with a magnificent smile that makes his heart skip a beat, before his lover turns his rapt attention back to the music.
Harry loves going to the symphony. He loves going to the elegant Barbican Centre. He loves watching the conductor, the musicians and the audience. Harry loves it all, but mostly he loves coming home with Draco, the blond's eyes alight from the music, his body thrumming with energy, and abandoning himself to Draco as his lover shows him what the music meant to him.
~fin
feedback is always appreciated.
by:
snottygrrl rating: PG-13
paring: harry/draco
spoilers: all books
summary: takes place post-hogwarts, harry and draco go the symphony
disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
This author is not responsible for underage readers. Please observe the ratings, warnings, and age of legal consent for your country.
author's notes: this plot bunny showed up while i was at the symphony with a friend. shut up, not that kind of friend. not quite pleased with how it turned out, but tired of messing with it. gratitude and kisses to my lovely beta pair, phenix_tears and mrs_figby. they are the best.
word count: 2073
Harry loves going to the symphony. He hadn't at first. He'd been petulant and dragged his feet. But now he loves it.
"Are you ready yet, Draco?"
Draco quirks an eyebrow as he glances at the clock and back at Harry who is all dressed up in a Muggle suit, but looking far more like an excited puppy.
"I'd get ready faster if you weren't pestering me, Potter." His voice holds no malice despite the taunt. At Harry's childish pout he softens a bit. "I'm almost done. I promise we'll get there with enough time for me to buy you pudding."
Harry grins and wanders out of the room, leaving Draco to complete his preparations alone. He contents himself with thinking about the evening to come, which, of course, leads him back to how they ever ended up going in the first place.
Hermione and Ron were over for dinner. As they finished the sumptuous feast that Draco had cooked, Hermione looked uncharacteristically hesitant.
Finally she said, "My Dad's birthday is Saturday and we're having dinner with my parents." She stalled for a moment, Harry and Draco looking at her with confused interest. "Ron suggested that you two might want to use our tickets to the LSO." She finished in a rush, looking somewhat sheepish as if she wasn't been sure how Draco would react.
Neither was Harry.
Draco shrugged indifferently as he looked over at Harry, who was surprised to see the sharp gleam of interest in his eyes. "Whatever you'd like, love," he drawled.
"Um, sure," Harry said, sounding anything but sure.
Hermione let out a relieved sigh and started gushing about how she was sure that they'd love it and how elegant the Barbican Centre was that even Draco would approve. Draco smiled politely, though Harry was able to see the amused smirk beneath it.
Later, when Harry was in the kitchen cleaning up with Ron, he asked him why he'd gone and suggested that, anyway.
"Sorry Mate, didn't think Malfoy would do Muggle. Why'd you go and say yes if you don't want to go?"
"Because Draco does."
"What? He looked utterly bored by the prospect."
"To you maybe."
Ron looked at him like he was barking, then lifted his shoulders in a well-don't-blame-me shrug.
When Saturday rolled around, Harry tried to get out of it.
"Why are we going?"
"Because you accepted their tickets. You can't waste your best friends' tickets."
"But -" Harry started to protest.
"Besides," Draco continued, ignoring the interruption, "She'll want to know how it was. Whether we enjoyed it."
Harry sighed, knowing Draco was right. They used the tickets as they had promised and had a marvelous time.
In the end, that night had hooked Harry.
They've been many times since, much to Hermione's gratification and Ron's continued amazement.
"But Malfoy, it's Muggle!" He burst out one time while Draco and Hermione were discussing the latest concert.
Hermione gave him one of those looks, but Draco responded with amusement.
"Always a keen observer of the obvious, Weasley, but not everything the Muggles do is without magic."
Harry has to agree because he finds their nights at the Barbican Centre filled with wonder.
His reverie is interrupted by Draco's appearance in the doorway. The blond looks beautiful in a dark grey Muggle suit and Harry gets lost just looking at him.
Draco crosses to him and pulls him into a fierce kiss. "If you keep looking at me like that, we'll never make it to the concert," he growls. He kisses him again before releasing him.
They apparate to a small alley off Chiswell Street, not far from the Barbican underground station. Draco's eyes sparkle with amusement as he gazes at Harry, who is nearly bouncing with delight.
Harry has never been anywhere else like the Centre. It is grand and modern with several theatres, the concert hall, an art gallery and even a Muggle cinema. There's a bookstore and a library and other small shops. There are several places to eat, even more so when there is a performance, with coffee spots everywhere, and restaurants and lounges that range from The Waterside Café, a self-service place, to Searcy's, a posh restaurant that has modern British food with a French twist.
Draco has promised Harry a night at Searcy's and a show by the Royal Shakespeare Company, to which the Barbican is also home. He says they have to wait for the right play, Titus Andronicus or Othello, though Harry thinks he'd rather see Much Ado About Nothing or As You Like It.
But tonight they are here for the symphony. They make their way along the warren of walkways that meander around the reddish-brick flats.
A smile tugs at the corners of Draco's lips as he twines his fingers through Harry's, all the while watching him, as if the blond knows that his firm grip somehow tethers Harry to adulthood, keeping the exuberant young man from skipping down the winding pathway.
Draco leads them to the café on the terrace by the ornamental pool where he gets a glass of wine and Harry gets some chocolate cake. They sit at a small table amid the tubs of plants and enjoy the mild night air.
Draco is sipping the scarlet liquid and gazing at the flowers cascading from the surrounding balconies when Harry asks, "What are we seeing tonight?" He loves to hear Draco talk about the music and sighs contentedly as the blond regales him about this evening's program. Harry learns that they will hear sonatas by Beethoven and Brahms and Debussy and there will be a Japanese Violinist and a piece called The Wreckage of Flowers. He is uncertain what this really means, but Draco knows and he's impassioned and that is enough.
They finish their treat and head inside. This time it is Harry that guides them through the maze of stairs and levels. The first time there, Harry made Draco explore the whole centre with him. Now he can find his way among the padded benches and open galleries. He even knows which lifts go to what floors. He is craning his head around to take everything in as they pass through the huge lobby on their way to the auditorium.
Ron sometimes complains that there is nothing to see at the concerts, but Harry disagrees.
"What do you look at? No one is doing anything," he asked.
"There is so much to watch, Ron, the conductor, the musicians, the audience. I could just stare at the hall itself. It's beautiful." Harry earnestly replied.
Ron just shook his head and mumbled something about watching the audience sleep.
Now, sitting in the plush red velvet seats, the raven-haired young man gazes around happily as he waits for the concert to start. Harry is in awe of the mix of people swirling around the hall. He'd been surprised, at first, by the number of wizards there. They are noticeable by the double-takes they invariably do when they spot him and Draco. Of course some of them are easily identifiable by their mismatched Muggle clothing. Besides the wizards, there is always a wide array of Muggles. University students in the nicest clean clothes they can pull out of their closets. Young families all dressed up for an outing. Older couples in their Sunday best that, Harry likes to imagine, have been coming to the symphony for years.
Harry grins as a middle-aged man in an old-style, cut-away tuxedo jacket, a blue pinstriped shirt and a loud polka dot necktie makes his way down the row in front of theirs. He watches as the man catches sight of Draco's platinum-blond hair, a Malfoy trademark, and stumbles in his shock, almost tumbling onto the lap of another patron. Regaining his composure, the blushing man apologizes to the person before continuing on to his seat. Draco appears oblivious to the entire episode, but Harry knows better.
"You always do create a sensation," he whispers in the blond's ear.
Draco ignores him and keeps reading the program, but the edges of his mouth curve up in a small smile.
Harry thinks about doing something that his companion cannot ignore, but is distracted as the lead oboist stands and sounds a clear A-note. A confusion of sound comes from the string sections.
The first time, Harry had watched them bewildered and asked what they were doing.
"They're tuning," Draco told him, gazing intently at the musicians.
"Oh." Harry was silent for a minute. "Why didn't they do that before they came on stage?"
"They have to be in tune with each other, love," explained Draco.
Harry watched the stage for a bit before a frown creased his brow. "Why do you know this?" he eventually asked.
A melancholy smile gave lie to his indifferent tone when Draco answered. "My father used to take me to the symphony when I was young."
Harry gawked at him, speechless at the thought of Lucius Malfoy at a Muggle event.
It was much later that Harry had found out that Draco played the violin. Lucius had made sure he had the best tutor and Draco had loved to play.
"I was actually quite good," he quietly revealed. There was none of the Malfoy smirking pride in the comment. Instead a wistful smile appeared for a moment before his cool mask erased it. "Father smashed my Stradivarius when I made him particularly angry one time," Draco recalled, "I don't even remember what I'd done. I haven't played since."
Hearing that had broken Harry's heart. "Why haven't you ever replaced it?"
"I didn't know I missed it." Had been the response.
With Remus' help, Harry had found a quality violin and had nervously given it to Draco for his last birthday. He'd been relieved as he'd watched his lover's eyes light with rapture at the gift. Later as he listened to him practice, Harry had been stunned at how beautifully Draco played.
Seeing how gorgeous Draco is at this moment, his expression filled with anticipation for tonight's music, Harry is grateful that Lucius appreciated Muggle classical music and that he shared that appreciation with his son.
The musicians have finished tuning and a momentary hush falls over the hall before the conductor and soloist enter the stage to loud applause and the concert begins. The conductor always amazes Harry. Sometimes he ponders whether the conductor's white wand actually controls the conductor, not the other way around. He watches with fascination as the wand flits around, moving in an intricate pattern that, Draco has explained, means something to the musicians. He doesn't understand how the fluttering dance somehow makes the music, but he thinks that it does. Often, the waving hands and, when the music is particularly energetic, the flapping tailcoat mesmerize him. They remind him of wild birds.
But tonight Harry is staring at the soloist. She is small and almost innocuous in her black dress with her long, black hair, but the sound coming out of her instrument could never be overlooked. Her violin looks the same as every other violin Harry has seen in his limited experience, but he has never heard anyone make a violin sound like this. The music is angelic, and Harry wonders if there is an enchantment on the instrument. However, after watching her for a bit, he decides that if there is a charm on anything, than it has to be the soloist herself, because he has never seen anyone play with such vitality and power. The depth of emotional expression she is wringing from her instrument has the audience in her thrall.
Harry sneaks a peak over at Draco beside him and is completely undone by the look of bliss on the blond's face. He wants to kiss him right there, but settles for threading his fingers through Draco's and giving his hand a quick squeeze. He is rewarded with a magnificent smile that makes his heart skip a beat, before his lover turns his rapt attention back to the music.
Harry loves going to the symphony. He loves going to the elegant Barbican Centre. He loves watching the conductor, the musicians and the audience. Harry loves it all, but mostly he loves coming home with Draco, the blond's eyes alight from the music, his body thrumming with energy, and abandoning himself to Draco as his lover shows him what the music meant to him.
~fin
feedback is always appreciated.