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The Cellist
By dramaqueen

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Category: Post-HBP
Characters:Harry/Ginny
Genres: General
Warnings: None
Story is Complete
Rating: G
Reviews: 12
Summary: Years after the defeat of Lord Voldemort, after everything has died down and the world has returned to normal, Harry Potter attends a concert and learns about himself from the mysterious musician.
Hitcount: Story Total: 3992







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A/N I wavered between this being AU and Post-HBP. This is just a little story I sat down and wrote in one setting. And everything is J.K. Rowling's, except my cello.

Harry smiled to himself as he took his seat. It was a good one, near the stage and at an angle where he would be able to see the performance perfectly. Of course, it could have been magically amplified, but he wasn’t about to tell the muggles that. He had lately begun to do this sort of thing more and more often: go to some sort of muggle entertainment; a movie, a play, or, as in the case of today, a concert. It was good for him, he figured, to get out every once in awhile.

A sound brought his attention to the cellist. She reached over the body of the instrument and twisted a small knob at the base of the string. Plucking gently at the strings, she reached down and twisted the knob for each of them. Obviously deciding she was ready, she began to play. As her fingers flew over the strings, he observed her face. Her auburn hair was pulled back into a bun, her brown eyes half closed as they read the music before her. She wore no makeup, yet she was still very pretty despite. She looked to be in a world all of her own.

Harry had a world all his own too, he knew. Well, not technically his own, but a different one from the one he was currently in. He had somewhat faded away from the magical world the past few years. Ron’s death had caused him to become sullen, depressed and, as he realized now, very hard to deal with. When he finally came out of it, he had been surprised to find Hermione had followed her parents and become a dentist, rather than a healer as she had always planned. When he asked her why, she just shrugged him off, saying she still used magic; it was just easier this way. As he had tried to live in the magical world, he had seen her point. He realized that, for all the time he had spent in the magical world, he took comfort in the menial tasks of the muggle world. Despite that, it was the world he had been raised in: the world he understood.

The cellist was tempting amazing sounds from her cello. Resounding notes rang through the air, filling the room with a sweet melody. Harry marveled at her skill. It must have taken years to learn to play in such a manner. Such discipline it must have taken to practice enough to become that talented. He had had the kind of discipline, in school, he remembered. He had become that talented; he could have had his pick of careers in the magical world.

He suppressed those thoughts and redirected his focus on the music. Those days were behind him now. There was nothing left for him in the magical world. Mrs. Weasley was kind, but being around that house just brought about bad memories. Not to mention Ginny avoided him. Not that she was around to avoid him, no the times he had come to visit (which were very few he remembered guiltily), she had been gone with not a word for Harry as to where she was.

He managed to keep himself thinking about the music for the rest of the performance. When it was over, he stayed in his seat as everyone else shuffled about gather coats and leaving, chatting merrily about the concert and plans for later. Eventually, only Harry was left in the room. The cellist, it seemed, hadn’t noticed him though as she was loosening her bow and putting away her music. He heard her sigh and mutter something that sounded somewhat like, “Oh, this is stupid.” She reached into her bag and brought out, was that a wand? She muttered something and flicked it and her instrument quickly packed itself up and floated expectantly in front of her.

“You’re a witch!” Harry barely managed to keep himself from shouting. The cellist turned quickly and her eyes widened as she realized she had done magic without checking if there was anyone left in the room. She held her wand out and spoke to him in a low voice.

“Hello, sir. If you’ll just hold still for a moment, this won’t hurt a bit,” she told him.

“No! No!” Harry told her quickly, realizing she was going to wipe his memory. “I’m a wizard.” She lowered her wand a little, although she still looked suspicious. “My name is Harry Potter.” The cellist dropped her wand with a gasp.

“That’s not funny, sir,” she told him. “You are obviously a real wizard, but then you would know that Harry Potter disappeared years ago and it’s no use trying to impersonate him.”

“No, I really am Harry Potter,” he assured her. “I’ve been living as a muggle for the past few years because I…well, it’s complicated. Besides that,” he said, trying to smooth over the awkward moment, “you played very well tonight. I love the cello, it’s such a beautiful instrument.”

“Thank you, I think so too,” she said with a laugh. “I haven’t been playing for very long, and I’m afraid it sounds much nicer to muggle ears than it actually is.” She twirled her wand about her fingers and tucked it into her bag. “But it helps me not to think about anything else.”

“Have things gotten so bad in the magical world?”

“Oh, no. Things are fine in the magical world. I just…let’s just say you pretending to be Harry Potter is not the kindest thing anybody could do to me.”

“But I am Harry Potter!” he told her exasperatedly. “I would show you the scar to prove it, but it’s been gone for years. Why would I pretend to be someone I’m not? If I did, I would have said I was Neville Longbottom or something.”


The cellist laughed. “You could never pass yourself off as Neville. I just saw him the other day. But who are you, really? You can’t be much older than me, so unless you’re avoiding me…” she let the sentence dangle.

“I don’t even know who you are,” he told her, guiltily thinking of the program he had declined. “And as I’ve said before, I really am Harry Potter. But maybe I can place you, who are you?”

“Ginny Weasley, and if you know anything about me, you’ll know why pretending to be Harry Potter of all people is so mean.” Harry didn’t hear the last part of her sentence as he stared at the woman before him. Her hair had gotten darker, her freckles somewhat faded but yes, he could see the Weasley in her, now that he looked for it. Ginny Weasley, here in front of him. What a coincidence.

“When did you start playing the cello?” he asked her, ignoring the fact that she didn’t think he was himself.

“A few years ago. Like I said, it helps me. Although I don’t know why you’re telling you this.”

“Ginny,” he said softly, savoring the feel of her name in his mouth. He hadn’t even known how much he missed her. “It’s me. Don’t you recognize me?” She rolled her eyes, but examined him a little closer. Her eyes came to rest on his and she gasped a little.

“Harry?” she asked, incredulous.

“Now we understand each other,” he said with a smile.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came to hear the music.”

“Where have you been?”

“I live down the street from here. Although I was just thinking today that I really do need to come by your place for a visit.”

“You’ve been gone for so long…why…where…how…” Harry laughed.

“Can I come back with you?” he asked. She smiled, although she looked slightly confused.

“Of course. Mum’ll be glad to see you.”

A/N: This is my first fanfiction in a very long time. Definitely the first time I’ve worked on any since about June. I know it wasn’t very good, but now I’ve got my creative juices going and perhaps I’ll be putting up new chapters to Second Chance sometime soon.
Reviews 12
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