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You walked the halls of Hogwarts alone. You didn’t mind the silence. Exams drew near, and as the days flew by, it grew harder and harder to find moments of peace, when you could escape from the rest of the world into your own thoughts and dreams.
Thoughts meandering, you wandered in the general direction of the Hufflepuff common room, near the kitchen in the Hogwarts basement. For once, you didn’t try to find the most efficient route through the ever-shifting maze of halls and staircases. Instead, you simply followed down each next passageway, wandering wherever the castle led. Funny, you thought to yourself, how somedays, the castle seems to have a mind of its own.
But as you took a turn down an armor-lined hall, flanked by suits of armor of enormous sizes you’d never seen before, you began to wonder if you’d made a mistake. Unbidden worries crept in. Maybe a carefree evening of wandering the school was a waste of time. Maybe I’m lost. A vision entered your mind of your own skeleton, bones held close by sinews of cobwebs, lying there among the suited armors only to be discovered by some poor, unsuspecting student long years after your disappearance. Enough, you think to yourself. This isn’t worth it. I’m off to do homework. You turned on the spot, ready to retrace your steps and return a penitent to your pile of studies, when a trace of music touched your ear. Someone was playing the piano.
The low chords vibrated softly in the stones beneath your feet. The high arpeggios and grace notes floated up your head and made you feel giddy, like a ballon held too close to the sky. Following the music, you let it lead you down the rows and rows of armor, checking classroom after classroom until you reached its source. You stopped before a narrow wooden door, barely open by a crack. A thin line of light cut the darkness of the hall in two. You stopped in the shadow, and listened.
Whoever was playing certainly had talent—the notes flowed together easily, one after another, without any faltering step as the slow rhythm carried you forward. You’d never heard the song before, but it had the same tranquil melancholy as the last day of spring, or the moon clouded over, or ice across a pond. Nothing rushed, but something left behind. You longed to join in. You knew several folk songs you thought would fit the tune, or maybe you could make up the words as you sang. You could already feel the melody welling up inside of you, longing to spill out, but at the same time, you didn’t want to distract the pianist. Whoever it was probably came here for a moment of peace, just like you did, and wouldn’t want the company. Hovering near the door, you tried to catch a glimpse of the musician. A thin plane of glass allowed you a dim view—a dark haired boy, maybe in your same year, thin-boned and with pale skin. He played from memory, no sheet music in sight. Head tilted at an elegant angle, he looked lost in another world.
No. You couldn’t interrupt him.
And yet, why couldn’t you pull yourself away?
Listening to his song felt like just the escape you needed, a breath of sweet air from a world without drama or final exams or endless reviewing of History of Magic notes. It wouldn’t hurt to listen, right? As long as he didn’t know you were here, you couldn’t distract him from his song. You leaned your back against the cold stone of the hallway, then slid down until you bumped against the floor. You didn’t mind the chill air of the lower level that embraced you around the shoulders, or the darkness cut only by the crack in the door. Quietly, softly, you let yourself begin to sing.
His melody carried you over and under, in and throughout the entire world. You saw beautiful things, peaceful streams and forest glades, broken now and again by some darker chord, like a wolf with a red mouth, or storm clouds in a blue sky. You followed along his sweeping song with lyrics as best you could, pulling from the folksongs you knew, and adding some words of your own, but always trying to keep your voice quiet, so that you were the only one who could hear it. If your volume grew as the song progressed, you didn’t realize.
The end came too soon. Eyes closed, you let the last, resonant note linger in your ears, waiting for the pianist to start the next song. Instead, the door beside you opened. You jumped up with a start.
With the open door, light suddenly flooded the hall.
“So, you’re the canary.”
The gentle rhythm of the boy’s voice had its own kind of music. Dark, loose curls spread across his forehead in elegant disarray. Beneath them, gray eyes studied your face. Unreadable eyes—you couldn’t tell what he was thinking just by looking at him, for his face hid his thoughts well. He was fairly tall, though his lean frame only took up half the doorway. At his neck and tucked beneath a black sweater he wore a green and silver tie. Slytherin.
You took his image in at once, then blushed in embarrassment. You had hoped to remain anonymous, slipping away before he could ever see you. Too late for that. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” you apologized, unsure what else to say. “You play beautifully, and I was wandering around with nothing better to do, so when I heard your music, I thought I’d come along and…” You shrugged as you trailed off. He already knew the rest. You wondered if he’d think you strange for wandering around like this, or for joining in a stranger’s song.
His next question surprised you. “Exams got you down?” he asked, eyebrow raised.
“How could you tell?”
Now it was his turn to shrug. “Whenever I’ve got something on my mind, I find music helps me get away.”
“Almost like an escape,” you added, a sudden excitement surging through your words, “to your own world, where nothing else can touch you.”
At that, something shifted in his unreadable eyes, and you were astonished to find yourself faced with the most beautiful smile you had ever seen. The smile broke his whole face, and remade it into something wonderful and new. “Exactly. That’s exactly it.” He paused, and you thought he was going to leave, maybe say a polite goodnight, and head back to his common room. Instead came, “Do you want to come into the practice room?”
You hesitated to respond. “You’re sure I won’t ruin your escape?” You still worried at the risk of taking away from his evening of peaceful solitude. You knew how rare they could be.
“I don’t think so. Not if you understand what music is, the same as you just told me, and not if you’re here for the same reason that I am, which I think you are.” He shifted his stance, then looked up, watching your face for an answer.
“Okay then,” you said. His shoulders relaxed. You hadn’t even noticed they were tense. He led the way back into the practice room and, after taking a deep breath, you followed. It was a small cell, maybe a dungeon at some time centuries ago, and a grand piano took up almost all of the space, but you didn’t mind. All you really needed was room for two. The boy resumed his seat at the great instrument, breathing deeply as his gray eyes spanned the keyboard, deciding what to play next. He lifted his hands at the ready, then glanced up to you as you positioned yourself beside the piano. You angled yourself so you could see his face.
“Ready?” he asked in his same, musical way.
“Ready,” you responded, and watched as he brought his elegant hands down until the tips of his fingers just brushed against the keyboard. “Wait!”
He tensed, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“What’s your name?”
He raised an eyebrow, almost disbelieving. “You haven’t heard?...”
You rack your brain for any time when you could have been introduced to him, and then forgotten his name. You shook your head. “No, I don’t think I’ve met you before, and if I did, then I would have remembered.”
“Even so, you could have heard—” The boy cut himself off. “Never mind, it doesn’t matter. I’m Regulus. Regulus Black.”
Regulus. You tucked the name away in the corner of your brain, a place where you kept all the things you wanted to remember forever.
“And you are?”
“Y/N L/N,” you answered, then continued on impulse—"but I don’t mind if you keep calling me Canary. No one else does, and I’ve never had a decent nickname.”
Regulus gave a half smile. Not as brilliant as a full one, but still very nice. “Careful now,” he said, “don’t you know that nicknames stick?”
You scoffed. “Of course I do, I’m not a first-year. And?”
“If you don’t back down now, I’m afraid you’ll be a canary for keeps.”
You tilted your head in a thoughtful pose. “Hm, I don’t think that sounds so bad.”
Regulus played an opening chord, a smile lingering about his lips as he mumbled, “Have it your way, Canary.”
You wondered what to make of his comment. But soon, he picked up the melody, and after that, words didn’t matter anymore. You joined in as soon as you could, glad to feel yourself slipping away from the world once more as school day worries fell away. Regulus played through song after song, and you sang for each one. A warm light filled your chest. Who knew, escaping didn’t have to mean being alone? You liked the tiny practice room with Regulus, a grand piano, and an open door better than the long, empty hallways you usually turned to for solace. Regulus was handsomer than any suit of armor. More than that, he understood how on the days when words were too much, silence and song could be the same.