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Phil Collins - Against All Odds
Hermione’s heels clicked down the cobbled steps of the corridor. She held her books tightly to her chest and looked around her nervously. It had been months and she had not shaken off the effects of the war—constantly looking around her for anything that might attack her; keeping her room torches lit at all hours; hoarding cakes and non-perishables in her room; and clutching Crookshanks close to her at night, even when he wanted to hunt.A soft strum filled the air.
Well, there’s just an empty space.
You’re the only one who really knew me at all.
There’s so much I need to say to you.
She followed the music, robes fluttering behind her, to a dark alcove. “Lumos.” The tip of her wand glowed bright.“Oi!” A slightly raspy voice grumbled.Hermione’s eyes widened. The unmistakable flaxen hair of one Draco Malfoy.Of course, she knew he returned for Eighth-Year as well. She was at his trial. Due to his age, he was given probation and stripped of his wand for one year, the exception being at Hogwarts. Narcissa was not charged. Harry spoke for her. However, Lucius was given a decade in Azkaban. The Daily Prophet documented the trial in great detail.Draco kept a low profile at Hogwarts. Beyond seeing his hair in a sea of heads in the Great Hall or sitting at the back of a classroom quill or wand in hand beside a fellow Slytherin, he was near-invisible.Now he was here in front of her, sitting in a recessed alcove with a guitar. He looked almost—casual? Hair slightly too long and falling over his squinting eyes. Silver and black rings fitted over his long fingers. Not only that, he was dressed not in robes, but a grey zip-up hoodie and loose trousers.“What are you doing?” Her voice tried for authoritative but came out squeaky.“Isn’t it obvious?” he drawled. When she tapped her Mary Janes impatiently, he sighed. “Playing guitar.”“I know that!” Hermione snapped. “Why are you playing that song?”The song was “Against All Odds” by Phil Collins. It reminded her of her parents. The Sundays they spent together watching movies. The smell of stovetop popcorn permeating throughout the house. All of them huddled under a large blanket.Although Hermione had found her parents and restored their memories, their relationship was strained. She tried convincing herself that it was in her mind, but a chilliness remained. The movie nights had not been reinstated, and they decided to stay in Australia.“It’s called taste, Granger. Philly Collie is one of my favourite artists.” Draco’s voice broke her out of her reverie.“First of all, it’s Phil Collins. Second—you know what, never mind. I don’t care.” She scrunched up her nose and turned on her heels.He shrugged and continued strumming.Five steps out, Hermione couldn’t help but turn back. Call it her nature, her flaw. She stuck out her chin and set a determined pace toward him. He leaned against the window, his chest widening and dropping open his hoodie. Her eyes fell over his exposed scars. “How do you know Muggle music?” she asked accusingly.“I know many things,” he answered. His flippant tone annoyed her.She arched her brow.“I spent the summer in Muggle London,” Draco finally said.“Why?”“Is this the Inquisition?”“How do you know—”“And here I thought the Golden Girl knew everything. Heretics were magical folk, Granger. It was a witch hunt.”She shook her head. “That’s not—”“ — not what you learned in books?” He nodded toward the heavy one she held in a vice-like grip at her chest.Hermione scoffed. The day she took a history lesson from Draco Malfoy would be the day her hair grew straight. “Why would you willingly go to Muggle London?”His eyes fell toward his guitar. He plucked at a few notes.She noted that he was left-handed.Without looking up, Draco said, “Mother didn’t want me at my father’s trial—not with Skeeter covering it. She sent me to my aunt’s. Met my cousin, that little terror.”Her mind churned. She remembered hearing briefly through Harry’s owls that Andromeda had her hands full. She assumed it was with Teddy. She didn’t ask more, because she was focused on her parents. That numpty really was unobservant.“Andromeda?” Her voice cracked.He jerked his head up, but then composed himself. “Right, of course.” But the words weren’t laced in venom, as Hermione expected, but almost a quiet self-chiding. He began singing softly. His voice wasn’t well-practiced, but he was in tune.
And there’s nothing here to remind me
Just the memory of your face
His Dark Mark peeked through the end of his rolled sleeves. Hermione felt a chill run through her body. “And?”Draco stopped singing. “And what?”“Did you learn anything? I mean, besides outdated music?”He sat up straighter, placing his guitar against the stone wall. “First off, Phil Collins is timeless. Second, you know what? Never mind.” He smirked.She resented his mocking. “My culture isn’t your costume, Malfoy.” Merlin, she was really grasping at straws.“I learned …” Draco rolled his tongue in his mouth, as if savouring his words. “Muggle girls thought my Mark was a tattoo.”Hermione rolled her eyes. “So?”He wriggled his eyebrows. “And they liked it.”“UGH!” She threw her hands in the air, dropping her book. But she couldn’t pick it up now without derailing her point. She twirled around and marched away, heels echoing loudly.“Your book,” Draco called after her. When she didn’t answer, he added, “My mates and I are playing at Honeydukes next Saturday. You’re welcome to come.”Hermione took pause in her purposeful stride. Looking over her shoulder, she saw his eyes enlarge. Was that—hope? She shook away her confusion. “Over my limp wand.”
----- CHAPTER BREAK -----
Phil Collins - In the Air TonightHermione intook a sharp breath before opening the door to Madam Puddifoot's. A spray of lavender confetti rained down on her once she stepped inside, and disappeared when they touched her freckled skin. She followed the jingle jangle noise of a tambourine to a sliding privacy screen that divided the counter with the back of the shop.Where the tables usually were situated was cleared away to create a small darkened space where the audience could sit on colourful, oversized beanbag chairs while staring up at a slightly elevated platform. Stood the stage were four Slytherins Hermione tried her best to avoid. On tambourine was Pansy Parkinson in black sunnies (even though it was a dark room) and sky-high heels, rocking to the rhythm.Also clad in dark sunnies and a popped up collar was Theodore Nott, wailing on a harmonica.
Ting. Ting.
The audience followed along with a slow atmospheric beat.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
Lavender nudged her in the shoulder. "Never knew that Blaise had it in him." Her eyes sparkled at the handsome wizard behind the drum kit. "Aren't you dating my best friend?" Hermione asked.Lavender scoffed, "I'm taken. Not dead." A drum fill. Then a guitar riff.Witches started whispering.Sitting down on a small bass stereo was Draco Malfoy, blond strands in his eyes, no sunnies, and wearing a Nirvana(?I) shirt over a long-sleeved one and well-fitted trousers. At least that didn't change. A Sonorous charm blasted his voice through the cafe.
I can feel it coming in the air tonight
I've been waiting for this moment all my life
Can you feel it coming in the air tonight
Lavender squealed. "Do you think they wrote this? Zabini is so talented!" It was Hermione's turn to scoff. "Hardly. It's 'In the Air Tonight.’ A Muggle musician wrote it —" "Alright. Alright." Lavender walked away.
Well I remember, I remember, don't worry
How could I forget?
A floating sconce lit up behind Malfoy's long frame. His glittering grey eyes scanned the small audience. They met Hermione's.Hermione's throat tightened, like a Cornish pixie was lodged in there, preventing her from speaking or crying out. She stood frozen; her body gripped by an invisible icy hand.
It's the first time, the last time we ever met
I know the reason why you keep this silence up
Each down beat was so loud that it thrummed in her chest. The air around her was thick, almost suffocating, like she was being pressed down by the weight of wizard sweat and perfume. But she felt cold and nauseous, struggling to take a breath. Her fingers were stiff and trembled, dancing at the sides of her thighs.
Well the hurt doesn't show, but the pain still grows
It's no stranger to you and me
Blood left her extremities. Her body was wound tight, muscles clenched. A familiar metallic taste erupted from the back of her throat—faint, bitter, copper. In the back of her mind, she heard a cackle. It reminded her of when she was held down and—A strong hand seized her forearm. She yelped, more surprise than pain."Are you okay? You look like you've seen Nearly Headless Nick!" Lavender exclaimed.The room around her felt distorted. A kind of haze swam in her vision. The walls seemed to close in. Malfoy's voice echoed in her mind, the noise becoming overwhelming. Rapid, frantic thoughts flood her mind. Something is wrong. Unsafe. Unloved. Unwanted. Another cackle. Hermione hissed, "I'm fine." Something was very wrong. Her vision blurred in a fog of panic. She ran out the door, with another blast of lavender confetti spraying her in the face. She struggled to take a breath. Each inhale was sharp and jagged, like the cool autumnal air was made of lead shrapnel. The ground beneath her feet felt unstable, as if it would tilt and spin on an axel any second.Her face felt too hot, yet her body was cold—a feverish chill that she couldn't shake. She reached for something to hold onto, her hands brushing against the rough bricks of the shop. It always helped to feel her surroundings. But even the stones felt far away, distant. "Granger." Hermione rubbed her eyes, only to realize that the haze were her tears. Fucking brilliant. She collected herself the best she could before she turned around, smoothing down her plait and her knit sweater, and stiffening her chin. "Malfoy." "You came." The drawl turned soft. "Charm me curious." She shrugged. "You alright then?" Hermione sucked in through her teeth. "Are you having a go?" When Malfoy didn't answer, she added, "Right. Like you care." "I saw you run out and we stopped the set.""I didn't ask for that!" she snapped. She could still hear the deranged laughter in her head. "Oh, how magnanimous of you—stopping the set. Too bad when it counted—" Malfoy only blinked before nodding at her left hand gripping her right arm. "Does it hurt?" "What?" "You're holding the arm that Aunt—the arm that Bellatrix cut into."Hermione stared down her body. She didn't notice. Her fingers dug so deep into her wrist that the surrounding skin blanched. "Oh. So I am."Malfoy stepped closer. "Can I see it?""What? No!" She pulled down her sleeves to her palms."Does it hurt?" he repeated. Something in his voice disarmed her. She sighed. To avoid his stare, she plucked at her cuticles, finding them fascinating. "Um, sometimes. I don't know if it's phantom pains. Or—'Phantom' means—" "I know what phantom pain is, Granger." He lifted up the sleeve of his shirt to reveal his Dark Mark. Harry told her that it was bright red; now it was a dull grey. "Sometimes it still burns." "That must do wonders for the girls. They love a tortured musician," she sneered. "Yeah," he nodded, smirking. "I told you that, didn't I?" "You were quite proud of that fact."Hermione lifted her chin and pointed at his arm. "I don't like seeing it. I hate it. It represents everything wrong with the magical world. That some, like your family, wanted people like me eradicated." "I know."They stood in silence for a few moments. The chill in the air transformed to spittles of rain. Malfoy stated, with eyes dull just like his Mark. "I don't believe in any of that rot anymore. Not sure I ever really did. It was just—easier." She rolled her eyes. "As if life weren't easy enough for a Malfoy already." He ran a hand through his hair, then stuffed them in his pockets.
POP. POP.
A couple of Fourth-Years ran out toward them, hair covered with green confetti. "Oh Merlin, it's Malfoy!" Another squealed, "We loved the song that you wrote.""Actually, it's Philly Co—" they said in unison. Oh bollocks. "It's Phil Collins," she autocorrected."What?" One of the witches scrunched up her face. "It's actually Phil Collins, a Muggle musician based in—"The Fourth-Year held up her hand. "Yeah okay, whatever." She turned her back to Hermione. "Malfoy, the song was just so beautiful! The lyrics touched me right here." She made a heart shape with her wand over her chest, and the shape puffed out into a pink heart-shaped cloud that flew toward Malfoy. Malfoy chuckled and flicked the cloud away. "Thank you. But I can't take the credit. Granger is right. It's written by a very talented Muggle musician, Phil Collins. The song is called 'In the Air Tonight.' Rather old, but timeless, really." "Oh." The two younger witches' faces fell, scanning Hermione and Malfoy up and down. "We're going back to Hogwarts now. Perhaps we'll see you in the Common Room tonight." They waved at them before heading toward the station.Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose and shook her head. "I suppose you're right. Morality isn't sexy." Malfoy stared at her. "W-what?""Say that again." She jerked her head back and twisted her mouth. "Morality isn't—" "No, the other thing," he encouraged."'You're right?'" Her voice cracked."Yessssss," he hissed, "Now say it again."She crossed her arms."Slowly."She quirked a dark eyebrow."And say my name."Hermione threw her hands in the air. "You're incorrigible!" She followed the Fourth-Years' direction, stomping and ruining her Mary Janes’ in the process. Fast clicks of footsteps followed her. "C'mon, you know I'm just taking the piss!"His voice was coming closer. Damn his long limbs. "Stop, Grang-Granger! Stop!""Hermione!" He gripped the sleeve of her jumper. "Can I tell you something?" She jumped back from his touch, as if his hand burned her, and stomped even harder into the mushy ground. "What exactly do you want, Malfoy? Do I not have enough of a sense of humour about the eradication of my people? Do you need me to joke about my torture too?" "N-no! I just wanted to say something, and then I'll stop bothering you." She huffed, fully facing him. "Get on with it." Malfoy rolled up the cuffs of his sleeves, displaying his inactive mark. "It turned grey when Voldemort died. I was at first relieved. I didn’t want to feel it anymore. When I spent time in the Muggle world this summer, I told you that the girls liked the Dark Mark." "So? Why am I hearing this again?"He swallowed thickly. "Yeah, that was true." His mouth felt like it was full of oiled marbles, as he tried to get the words out. "But I didn't.""'Didn't' what?""I didn't like that they liked it. It wasn't their fault. They didn't know." "I would think you would love that," she said with a dry relish. "A fresh start. No one knows what a prat you are. Or you could get it removed. Muggles have an ingenious device called a laser—“Malfoy cut her off. “I don’t want it gone.” When Hermione placed her hands on her cocked hips, he was quick to add, “That's the point. They don't know. Who I am, but they also didn't know who I was; what I did; what I'm capable of. I want ..." He chose his next words carefully. "Someone to know."Hermione squinted. "Why?" "Because I deserve it." She clapped once. "Alright, then. Good to know. If that's all for Draco Malfoy's confessional today, I'm off. I must go study for—""Because whoever I'm with should know what I've done. The horrible bits. So I can't run or hide from them, even when I want to. Because that’s what I do. I hide like a coward, like when you were t-tortured in my Drawing Room." He stuttered but held her gaze. His stare grew watery, but his eyes remained bright. Hermione stared at this tall pale figure in front of her. This bigoted arrogant pointy boy in expensive wool robes that she'd known since she was 11, who became a chatty arrogant pointy wizard dressed in outdated Muggle clothing. She really must show him Reality Bites some time. But here he was, standing in the rain with her, looking ludicrous and vulnerable. Apparently she had a thing for pathetic magical creatures."Walk me back to Hogwarts," she said, "I have something to show you."