A Night Out
Hermione surveyed the rooms with a critical eye. One bedroom, one bathroom, kitchen, dining, closet, living area. Fireplace connected to the Floo network. It was clean with inoffensive furnishings. It hadn't been cheap, but, as apartments for wizardkind in NYC went, it could've been worse. All in all, it seemed perfectly suitable for her multi-week vacation in the Big Apple.
Mandatory multi-week vacation, Hermione thought to herself. It was one of the perks (or drawbacks, depending on how one looked at it), of working for the Ministry’s Department of Mysteries. The Department was filled with dangerous magical artifacts, and prolonged exposure to such artifacts could have serious consequences. To avoid such consequences, Unspeakables were required to take paid vacations every few months, away from all the artifacts and unstable magics. It sounded cushy enough, but when one considered the risks associated with being an Unspeakable, it was doubtful whether or not vacations were sufficient compensation. Hermione had heard some horrific stories from the older Unspeakables, enough to make her realize that the vacations were a rather half-assed solution to a wholly insurmountable danger.
Still, if she was in New York, she was damn well going to enjoy herself. She started to examine the dresses she’d brought with her, levitating them into the closet and unpacking her baggage with a wave of her wand. The pink one was nice, but more of a midday dress, not quite fit for a night out. The blue gown was fine, but a little too extravagant for her purposes. She was going to a concert, not a ball or gala.
Eventually, she settled on a dark green dress, form-fitting and sleeveless. She added some small silver lotus-petal earrings, an onyx bracelet, and magicked her purse black to fit with the rest of her outfit. Her image in the bedroom mirror seemed quite satisfactory, thanks in part to the charmed hairpin she now kept in her mane almost all the time. It tamed the otherwise unruly red mess into supple and flowy perfection.
A little while later, Hermione was in a cab, passing block after block of neon-lit buildings while she absentmindedly studied her ticket. "Adam Camry debuts with the New York Philharmonic!" was emblazoned in thick gold letters against a black background. Hermione had heard of Mr. Camry previously, as she liked to keep herself well-informed of the arts. Camry hailed from London, but had started his career as a classical pianist in NYC, about a year ago. He boasted impeccable technique and a resplendent sound, and had quickly gotten the attention of major ensembles and performance halls across the state. Hermione had thought he would be the perfect way to start her culturally-rich stay in NYC.
She soon arrived at the New York Philharmonic Concert Hall, a huge white building with floor-to-ceiling glass windows providing glimpses of the multi-floored interior. A wide marble plaza preceded the concert hall, with a tall, illuminated fountain reflecting the light from within the building. Hermione paid the cab driver, and started walking towards the hall. It was a nice night; the sun had just set, and the sky was a deep, rich shade of blue. A few clouds peppered the sky, resembling wisps of cotton on an ocean. It’s hard to be upset about all this, Hermione thought to herself.
Hermione noticed another pleasant thing as she entered the concert hall and pursued the painting-laden foyer. People didn’t look at her with that combination of recognition and surprise that she had come to know so well in the years after the war. She was no longer Hermione Granger from the Golden Trio, Princess of Gryffindor (she really hated that one; she was not a princess). She was no longer subject to the whispers people made when they saw her, pointing to her under their robes, steering their friend’s gazes in her direction. She was no longer subject to the occasional reporter who would pester her at public events, prying into her personal life, her friend’s lives, her love life. Here she could just be Hermione Granger, herself, with no strings attached.
Oddly enough, Hermione still noticed some glances in her direction, some eyes lingering a little too long. Were there really that many wizards among this crowd? They didn’t quite seem to recognize her; in fact, they looked at her like they had never seen her before. There were no conspiratorial whispers or outright stares. Just glances.
A possibility entered Hermione’s head: was she attracting attention because she was pretty? She had never given the idea much thought before. She supposed that she was quite eye-catching, being a healthy witch of young age, and she did dress up quite nicely. She had never noticed it before, but now that she was surrounded by people looking at her as a stranger, it was clear that she stood out from the crowd for more than just her reputation.
Her head held a little higher and her eyes a little brighter, Hermione made her way up the wide white staircase and presented her ticket to an usher, who promptly led her to her seat. The inside of the hall was even more magnificent than the outside. The walls curved from the stage, to the balcony boxes, to the leveled seating in the back of the hall. Graceful, slightly corkscrewed planks served as edge of the balconies, while large wave-like facets adorned the roof. The stage was trapezoidal, open to the front and narrowing in the back. Directly behind the stage was a wafer-like structure of thin planes of wood that seemed to have grown out of the wall. There were a few lights on each plane of wood, giving the impression that one was looking at thin clouds crossing over a starry sky.
Hermione settled into her seat, not bothering to look through her program. She had looked up beforehand what pieces they were scheduled to perform. The orchestra would start with a few shorter, more modern pieces, then a symphony, then intermission, and then the pianist would join the orchestra for Grieg's Piano Concerto. Members of the orchestra were already warming up on stage, all individually practicing difficult passages, so that a light cacophony of sound accompanied the chatter of the concert hall. In a few minutes' time the orchestra was fully set up on stage, each musician in their seat, and the lights in the concert hall dimmed.
The first half of the program was fabulous, as expected; the audience clapped and whistled and shouted, as expected. During intermission, they lauded the skill and artistry of the conductor, and the mastery of the musicians. The evening was going exactly as planned, Hermione thought to herself as she was waiting for the second half to begin. In fact, it had been a near perfect night out.
That was, until the conductor welcomed the guest pianist onstage to introduce him to the audience. Under the thunderous applause, Hermione felt her heart stop beating as a familiar figure donning platinum blonde hair entered the spotlight.