Important: Also written for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry (Challenges & Assignments); Gryffindor; Astronomy: Seasons #2- Write a musician AU.

House: Slytherin

Category: Themed

Prompts: [Speech] "Just look me in the eyes and tell me he is not the devil, please."

Genre: Romance; Dark; Angst

Timeline: 1837-?

Word count: 3542 (Excluding Author's Note but including entire Entry and Title)

Warning: This is an AU (Alternate Universe) and TP (Time Period) piece. There are some historical elements that were changed as to allow me to weave it into the work, as well. Historical notes will be provided at the end of the entry if anyone is interested because some elements found in the biography of both composers will be incorporated into Rodolphus Lestrange's background.

Note: There is a very mild usage of mature language sprinkled throughout the piece.

Characters: Hermione Granger; Rodolphus Lestrange; Bellatrix Lestrange; Ron Weasley; Ginny Weasley; Rabastan Lestrange; Lucius Malfoy; Narcissa Malfoy; Draco Malfoy; Molly Weasley; Bill Weasley; Charlie Weasley; Fred Weasley; George Weasley; Arthur Weasley; Albus Dumbledore; Kingsley Shacklebolt

Summary: Rodolphus Lestrange, an aspiring musician in the throes of his youth, never dreamed that he would cross paths with the young lady he saved from the purple jet light that almost ended his career. Eight months after the almost fatal incident, he goes to a charity event, meets a woman that he saved and the unfortunate circumstances of her life.. Shortly after reacquainting, the pair find themselves thrown into controversy and in middle of a murder mystery. Hermione Granger, a simple Muggleborn witch wasn't supposed to survive that beam of light, nor was she supposed to fall in love with the man that she owed her very life to, either. AU; Time Period.

Music Composition:

Fur Elise, despite the chosen name of the piece.

Historical Notes:

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart 27 January 1756 – 5 December 1791), baptized as Johannes Chrysostomus Wolfgangus Theophilus Mozart, was a prolific and influential composer of the classical era.

Born in Salzburg, Mozart showed prodigious ability from his earliest childhood. Already competent on keyboard and violin, he composed from the age of five and performed before European royalty. At 17, Mozart was engaged as a musician at the Salzburg court, but grew restless and traveled in search of a better position. He died at the age of 35

Ludwig van Beethoven baptized 17 December 1770 – 26 March 1827) A German composer and pianist. A crucial figure in the transition between the Classical and Romantic eras in Classical music, he remains one of the most famous and influential of all composers. His best-known compositions include 9 symphonies, 5 piano concertos, 1 violin concerto, 32 piano sonatas, 16 string quartets, his great Mass the Missa solemnis, and one opera, Fidelio.

Born in Bonn, then the capital of the Electorate of Cologne and part of the Holy Roman Empire, Beethoven displayed his musical talents at an early age and was taught by his father Johann van Beethoven and by composer and conductor Christian Gottlob Neefe. Many of his most admired works come from these last 15 years of his life.

Author's Note: I didn't expect so many people to like my work Incendio, especially with Rodolphus Lestrange being one of the lead roles along with Hermione Granger. I did have one reviewer who went on a tangent about the pairing, though, that didn't deter me in the least when I was writing this. It's not everyone's cup of coffee (hehe, Kristina) and I understand that. Hopefully, some of y'all find enjoyment in this piece :) Read and review, lovelies because this will be an interesting ride.

As always, enjoy

-Carolare Scarletus

Moonlight Sonata

Chapter One

Fall, 1837

Paris, France

Rodolphus Lestrange grew accustomed to their stares, though he was very much inclined to believe that they were of curiosity if anything. When he walked across the ballroom, he felt their eyes follow him. They scrutinized his steps, wondering just how someone of his power could display such gracefulness despite the great pressure set upon him. His face wasn't the only thing that was deceiving; no one knew what kind of man he was. In front of him was his only outlet. Her body was furnished with the finest adornments, her fingers dressed in silky black and white, and she held a captivating air about her. As his eyes scanned the provincial area, keeping them from meeting anyone's curious stares, his fingers twitched. It's been years since he'd played; if it hadn't been for the accident that could've ended his career, he still wouldn't have found the heart to exude his talent for the piano.

He was the sublime prodigy of the musical arts. At the tender age of six, he was invited to the Royal Academy of Music, and he surpassed most of his peers, earning a seat among the noble musicians of L'Stellina orchestra in London England at the age of eight. After performing with them for some years, he had the pleasure of meeting the leading figures in music, including Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, a wizard in hiding that faked his death in 1791 and Antonio Salieri, a man who'd come to broaden his horizons before he committed the greatest act of debauchery until his untimely death. If they taught him one thing, it would be that life was the greatest masterpiece, as well as the most tragic.

He'd spent many years abroad, and it was only time that he'd come back to the place he'd called home. Rodolphus raised his head, taking in the grandeur of the Opera House.

Théâtre des Tuileries was dressed with marbled angels, those of which were enchanted to move and greet the guests as they arrived. Among the audience, Rodolphus could make out some admirable faces, one of which the Minister of Magic, Ottaline Gambol and his wife, Belladonna Gambol, who presently was engaged in a telling conversation with one of her former acquaintances. Rodolphus had learned to ignore their pretentious looks; he quickened his pace, imaging his grand escape as an escalated version of the 1812 overture. His steps would've marched in tandem to the rising tension hallmarked in the piece, though, he quickly came to the decision that his life story was less admirable with its dark representation. Too horrible to even equate into the musical retelling of his life, he once thought. He quietly pushed through the groups and made his way toward a less populated area of the Opera House, through a small door, and onto the stage.

That is until he saw her.

Just then, he did something so unlike himself that he had to close his eyes. Rodolphus just so happened to take inventory of the large, impressively dressed room; she was the deceptive piece in his downfall, and Rodolphus quickly came to discover that he shouldn't have come on behalf of his employer. She was in the crowds. Had he known that she would be here, he would have declined, made up some kind of excuse not to play tonight. He couldn't bear the thought of facing her because she was the reason why he had been injured. If Hermione Jean Granger, the love of his pitiful existence, hadn't been the one behind that line of purple fire at the Ministry of Magic, Rodolphus would still have his hand.

Her ambient magic was unmistakable.

Tight ringlets of dark brown hair were tossed into an elaborate array of twists and braids, a modest depiction compared to the ridiculous hairstyles of all the woman he'd seen during previous engagements. She wore a tantalizing dress, adorned with the most inappropriate pieces, the bodice drew loosely around her breasts, that, as he surveyed the room, had drawn more attention to her as she announced her arrival and made her way across the room on a carriage woven from pure green. Seats were arranged accordingly, and she looked to be on her way to the upper levels where the less fortunate could only dream to be. The woman was the bane of his existence, and she was stealing the spotlight with her repertoire. Hermione was as apart of him as his silver hand couldn't be; Rodolphus chastised himself for agreeing to such a pleasing invitation, cursing the day entirely before gaining ground on the small step to the stage.

Even now, he knew nothing of her real intentions. She had to have been invited to the elite party under the premise of a grand evening of dancing and entertainment. A scenario of that fateful night began to play almost like a motion-picture; if he had known that the individuals that he was involved with were set to ambush the event, he would've stepped up to the plate sooner and warned her about it. Though, it wouldn't have been fruitful. As of then, she hadn't wanted anything to do with him after learning of the organization he belonged to, and what it meant for their relationship. She had broken things off so abruptly that he hadn't known what sort of spell had hit him. Casting him into the lone, pitiful existence that was despair, Rodolphus was left to weep as if he'd lost a lover, or better yet, his other half.

He clenched his silver mechanical hand; it had been given to him by his Master before he passed. He had been generous with his gift, though Rodolphus felt nothing of the sort. Hermione had been saved, but it was the thought of losing her that drove him into better pursuits. He pushed through therapy against the better judgment of his doctors; it was another gift from his adoptive family that he'd spend the rest of his life trying to repay them for. In the back of his mind, he couldn't stop thinking of what could have happened. He hadn't seen her since the accident. Even then, Rodolphus kept his distance. When his eyes happened to read the faces of tonight's guests, he was reliving just more than a fateful night in their school's garden all those years ago when he first approached her; he was revisiting the pang of understanding that led him to keep his distance.

The tabloids of her recent involvement with one of Paris' well-known ladies man and bachelor had to have been a cruel joke; there was no way that she, a common woman with more wealth than she'd ever know in her pinky than anyone he'd ever known, could stoop so low as to buy her way out. He knew vaguely of her past; she'd come from a good family, traveled abroad with her family years ago, finding residency in one of the middle-classed suburbs of Paris. Not too long after her arrival, her home had been seized and she'd been captured. She owed everything to the man standing beside her, caressing her arm with his fingertips, his eyes watching them as they traveled up the length of her exposed arm. He hadn't been able to take his arms off her since they arrived; his playful, yet daring antics caused unsightly visions to form before her, causing her to lose focus on the performance. Rodolphus hadn't just a hand that night; he gained the ability to read her like a cruel, nostalgic book.

The lowly bastard was just as the Daily Prophet portrayed him as, a deviant womanizer with an agenda on his mind, and that was to get his wick licked. Rodolphus did his best to hide his disgust, though, the simple fact of hating the man couldn't be erased.

Once Rodolphus made it to the raised platform where the precious piano sat, he turned on his heel and bowed. He kept his eyes down until he straightened and turned abruptly to his seat. He sat, whipped his tailcoat from underneath him, and placed his hands on the smooth surface of the keys. He felt the buzz of familiarity connect with one hand. If only he could feel it with the other, then he would be whole once again.

A formally dressed man with an obsolete headpiece was the one to introduce him.

"Ladies and gentlemen," a voice called out, announcing the beginning of his tribute. "I give you Rodolphus Lestrange, prestigious mastermind of music!"

Applause broke out all around him. He fought the urge to look up, knowing that she was clapping her hands along with the rest of the audience just above the horizon of his grand piano. Once the clapping died down, silence prevailed and that was when he dove right into his choice composition.

The Théâtre des Tuileries was as impressive as she imagined in her dreams; Hermione sat in one of the elite booths, overlooking the entire stage as she came to the gripping terms of the musical composition as golden light passed through the gossamer drapes and into her booth. The magical intonements mingled playfully with her own, so unlike all the other performances she'd watched as they mingled with her senses until, finally, she had no choice but to shut them out. Just like that, in a swirl of colorful cloud, the music was gone. This is dangerous, she scolded herself. If she had known that being in tight proximity would prove to be too tiring, she wouldn't have agreed to come. Hermione fanned herself; this rapturous atmosphere was most definitely getting to her.

"You are flushed, my darling," the man next to her said, amused. Hermione turned to him, reveling in the warmth radiating from his overly-dressed body. "Shall I escort you down for some fresh air?"

"And, miss this stunning performance?" she enquired, tilting her head slightly as to allow him to administer his loving touches. "I believe fresh air can wait; I would like to get through the opening scene at least."

Lucius Malfoy, esteemed benefiter of the Malfoy franchise and Potion extraordinaire, had invited her to attend the performance some weeks ago. Though, it had been her in her inclination to decline, somehow the suave man persuaded her to join him. Had she known the cost of the seats, the grandness of the occasion, she would've better prepared herself; nothing could even begin to describe the large debt she'd amounted in his care. Even when she vocalized such a concern, he waved it away as if it were nothing.

"Anything for you," he reminded her with a fond, devious smile.

Hermione grinned. "Then after this piece, you may escort me down to the stage floor. I wish to congratulate the masterful musician behind such a wondrous composition personally."

"I didn't know you were such an expert on music, love." Lucius smiled, dazzling her. "If that is what you wish, then I will make it so."

Hermione said no more, too intrigued by the man's talent. Even with a missing hand, anyone could see that he was a genius.

The concert continued on with a number of other performers. Hermione truly didn't believe what she was doing until she was making her way down the overly crowded floor. Heart pounding fast, she could make out the man that caught her attention. Her mind still wasn't registering that he was one and the same man that saved her; it had been months, yet, she could still remember his face, still hear his anguished cries as the spell that had hit him ricochet off him and hit her. Her bosom heated at the memory of the radiating energy of the blast. Conjuring enough of courage, Hermione strolled toward the silver-gloved musician.

"What a delightful performance, as always, Monsieur Lestrange," she greeted him with a smile.

The dark-haired man looked stunned before his eyes glossed over in silent recognition. Rodolphus always was a good manipulator; Hermione was sure she'd rediscover just how good he was.

"If I had known you would be attending my concerto, Mademoiselle, I would have selected a more tasteful piece as my opening," Rodolphus said, greeting Hermione with neutral expression; but, it was his damnable eyes that said it all. "Though, I am pleased that you enjoyed it; I didn't spend years studying alongside the greatest musical masterminds of our era for nothing, and to have such a prestigious woman such as yourself to praise me, well, I'm eternally flattered."

"You don't say," Hermione commented, giving him the same cold extension of welcoming as he'd done. She mirrored his exact demeanor, down to the distant look as it passed over his face. His eyes were daring her not to play, and understanding that she continued with her raillery. "As far as your opening goes, I wouldn't have picked a more captivating piece. The epic story within its notes just blew me away and I have to say, you've intrigued me."

"Spoken like a true expert," Lucius smiled. He placed a gentle hand on her elbow and Hermione was shocked back into reality. That was the thing with Rodolphus, even back in their youth. He could absorb anyone into a whole new world, and when they came out, they had no inkling of what overcame them. Hermione felt her cheeks flush in embarrassment; she wasn't acting like herself, and it was because of this damn man! "Indeed, you should be flattered. It isn't every day she speaks the truth so boldly."

"Your wife hasn't crossed anyone who's truly flattered her?"

"My wife?" Lucius inquired before shaking his head. "Fiancé, and no. Hermione is extremely hard to please, as you can see."

Hermione smiled. "You needn't worry, Lucius. This man hasn't wooed me as you have."

"You two are acquaintances?" he enquired, raising a delicate eyebrow.

"You can say that," his consort said shyly. "Let's just say… we've crossed paths once before."

"I see," Lucius barked in laughter. "Ah, I see the Minister. I shall leave you to discuss the politics that is music, since I am unable to flatter my fiance with my limited resources on the subject, I shall leave her with you, Monsieur Lestrange." He gave Hermione a quick peck on her hand, his eyes shining with amusement before he scurried away.

The pair stood there in solidarity until a swirl of familiar magic engulfed them. Hermione's eyes widened at the sudden surge resonating from Rodolphus, who in return only unashamedly stared at her. The bastard was trying to Apparate them away from the after-party, and as soon as they started to fall, Hermione pushed away from him, breaking off the connection entirely. They were still within the reaches of the party, though on the fringes. Laughter could be heard from their little nook, indicating that they hadn't traveled very far.

"Don't think I haven't noticed you've been avoiding me," Rodolphus reprimanded her. He walked right up to her, effectively trapping her against the wall behind her. Hermione looked up at his domineering face, scared that the anger brewing inside of him could burst at any moment. If it did, she would escape. "I don't understand, Hermione. Is that why you're avoiding me? Because you're already involved with someone else?"

"I am to be married," Hermione told him simply. "He comes from a great family, and-"

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Surely, I thought you'd want to know."

"You thought wrong. I could care less that you are to be married, or that your future husband comes from great wealth. I didn't think it mattered much to you, until now." He made no grand production when he looked at her attire; she was practically dressed in layers upon layers of diamonds and soft, woven satin. Even her hair, once one of the most beautiful attributes of hers, had been curled into delicate strands, and he loathed it. "Oh, how you've changed."

"You speak as if you know me,"

"I do know you, Hermione." Rodolphus hissed, trying to get across to her the depth of his devotion. "I've known you for years. I got to know that brilliant mind of yours, see sides of you that people could only dream about, not to mention fall more deeply in love with you with each passing day." With each uttered word, his confidence grew. Rodolphus looked at her, determination in his eyes and a motley of other emotions. "Can you honestly look into my eyes now and say that I don't know you? For God's sake, I saved your life. I brought you back from death. What more evidence do you need?"

He looked to her arms, overcome with something strange.

"What is he to you?"

"He saved my life," she told him simply. "He's a good man."

"I saved your life," he hissed angrily. "He is merely using you to garner sympathy."

"No, he isn't!"

"How can you be so certain?" Rodolphus never had the urge to shake a woman before; Hermione has always been able to coerce him into doing all sorts of forbidden acts. As he spoke, his anger rose, coming forth through his words. Dark, dangerous eyes stared back at her and she crumbled. "I know Lucius Malfoy like the back of my hand; he will use you, and once he is done, he will throw you away."

"That is a lie!"

"If so, then tell me the truth!" Rodolphus snarled. "Just look me in the eyes and tell me he is not the devil, please," he implored. "That he will treat you with kindness, like a woman of your stature should be treated. I don't think I bear the thought of any man not taking care of you, not providing you the sanctuary and home that you deserve."

"How can you stand there and tell me what I deserve?" Hermione asked. "Is this about what happened at the Department of Mystery? Is so, then I don't understand why you protected me that night, Rodolphus. You had so much to live for; I didn't, but I suppose I'll wear my pearls regardless if I was meant to die."

Hermione turned and he stopped her. "Where are you going," he asked. "How can you just walk away from all this?"

"I don't wish to speak to you. If you'll excuse me, I must find Lucius. I can manage on my own, thank you."

She spoke of his name as if it were a charm to be lovingly caressed. Rodolphus almost doubled over at the mere weight of adoration for a name that wasn't his.

"Don't you dare tell me you've come to tell me that I shouldn't have saved you that night," he warned her darkly. "I saved you because I love you. Life without you has been deplorable; I am not a man without you. To hell with my hand."

"But, your music!" she cried.

"You are my music," Rodolphus said, his voice dropping. "What part of that don't you understand?"

Tears flowed freely down her cheeks, catching at the corners of her lips. She raised a hand up to wipe away her tears but was stopped by Rodolphus when he raised his silver hand to assist her. The metal was cold on her warm cheek; her breath caught in her throat, and Hermione pulled away, horrified by the feel of the mechanical hand against her flesh. They were two sides of a tragic story; they both wouldn't understand the other's grief. Rodolphus with the depth of his love, and Hermione with an ending so terrible she couldn't even bear to think about it. Death was inevitable, that was all she could say.

"I'm so sorry, but I wish you hadn't saved me, Rodolphus," Hermione whispered, her chest heaving as she calmed herself long enough to speak. "I'm not nearly as worth it as you believe. It would have saved us a lot of grief if I had died, especially you." When she turned, she expected him to follow but he didn't. And, then, the words hit her like a ton of bricks. Stunned at what she said, Hermione stopped, turned, and looked at him, frightened that he'd leave without another word.

"Rodolphus, I-" Hermione stared, the tears already forming in her eyes. "P-please forgive me; I don't know what came over me." As he backed away, completely oblivious to the turmoil brewing within her, Hermione came to an understanding. She allowed her bent-up emotions to devour her, and as she stood there, she wished she could take back the words she said to him.

"It seems," he finally said," that in your blindness, Mademoiselle, you forgot yourself. I see now that you can wear your pearls, and enjoy them, too." Rodolphus turned but stopped himself. He looked at her with the same distant eyes that he'd greeted her with. "I lost my hand for you, and you don't even appreciate the sacrifice. See to it that you do, and farewell." He clenched his hands, his silver one catching the light.

Hermione dropped her gaze, not wanting to look at the horrid reminder because he only came here as a sense with no comment.