A short fic - A song in the night
Aug. 30th, 2009 08:26 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
fpbA songfic by F.P.Barbieri
It was typical of Harry Potter that it took him decades to even realize that he had a good singing voice. Battered nearly out of any confidence by ten years with brutes, then shovelled with practically no preparation into the frontline of a war he was expected to win alone, he had not exactly had the time to develop any real self-confidence, or the simple and human interests of other boys. The realization came slowly, with much doubt and no outside help; but when he felt he could do so without disgrace, he sang a song to the woman he loved.
Soon it became a habit, a kind of ritual. When he found a song he really liked, he would go to her and give it to her, for her and her alone, as a kind of gift. And so it was this night; a warm, pleasing, starry June night, just like the night the song itself spoke of. And his voice rose in the moonlight, warm, caressing and strong.
In a night such as this, so full of sweetness – he sang – it seems as if grief did not exist. A little wind breathes, like a caress – just enough to move the grass and bring the flowers to bloom. His voice rose, both in tone and power, until it reached the top of his range; and then fell into a cradling weaving motion as delicate as the hands of a lover: “Ginny, if you are sleeping, please, dream that I am kissing you; and this song will sweeten your sleep, so tender, so quiet.” And then it rose again, speaking of the perfume of the spring flowers, rising along with his words until the trees claim them both.
And the song went on: Ginny, if this song disturbed you, I do beg your pardon. You cannot hold back love, beloved ladies; because to love you cannot be wrong. And if you are still sleeping, Ginny… The song rose and wove itself in the night air, till it died out like a star hiding itself.
And then Harry turned and left, walking away among the gravestones. Behind him remained a simple marble slab carved with the face of a beautiful red-haired young woman, and the words and numbers that would have said, even to someone who knew nothing of the war, that she had died much too soon. And in the buildings of Hogwarts just downwind, people started again to talk, and the older students told the younger ones who he was, and why he came to sing among the graves.
END OF THE STORY.
Note: the song in question is the magnificent Roman serenade, Nina, si voi dormite. Here it is on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiW8uX2vzB4
It was typical of Harry Potter that it took him decades to even realize that he had a good singing voice. Battered nearly out of any confidence by ten years with brutes, then shovelled with practically no preparation into the frontline of a war he was expected to win alone, he had not exactly had the time to develop any real self-confidence, or the simple and human interests of other boys. The realization came slowly, with much doubt and no outside help; but when he felt he could do so without disgrace, he sang a song to the woman he loved.
Soon it became a habit, a kind of ritual. When he found a song he really liked, he would go to her and give it to her, for her and her alone, as a kind of gift. And so it was this night; a warm, pleasing, starry June night, just like the night the song itself spoke of. And his voice rose in the moonlight, warm, caressing and strong.
In a night such as this, so full of sweetness – he sang – it seems as if grief did not exist. A little wind breathes, like a caress – just enough to move the grass and bring the flowers to bloom. His voice rose, both in tone and power, until it reached the top of his range; and then fell into a cradling weaving motion as delicate as the hands of a lover: “Ginny, if you are sleeping, please, dream that I am kissing you; and this song will sweeten your sleep, so tender, so quiet.” And then it rose again, speaking of the perfume of the spring flowers, rising along with his words until the trees claim them both.
And the song went on: Ginny, if this song disturbed you, I do beg your pardon. You cannot hold back love, beloved ladies; because to love you cannot be wrong. And if you are still sleeping, Ginny… The song rose and wove itself in the night air, till it died out like a star hiding itself.
And then Harry turned and left, walking away among the gravestones. Behind him remained a simple marble slab carved with the face of a beautiful red-haired young woman, and the words and numbers that would have said, even to someone who knew nothing of the war, that she had died much too soon. And in the buildings of Hogwarts just downwind, people started again to talk, and the older students told the younger ones who he was, and why he came to sing among the graves.
END OF THE STORY.
Note: the song in question is the magnificent Roman serenade, Nina, si voi dormite. Here it is on Youtube: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yiW8uX2vzB4
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2009-09-03 10:03 pm (UTC)One minor thing -- most characters should probably not speak as well as you write. I am not sure what to suggest in this case, though, since it is the fine language which partly makes it.
no subject
Date: 2009-09-04 12:55 am (UTC)