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DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the songs used in this thread. All SSRPG characters that do not belong to me are used with the permission of their creators.

Track List
1. Precious Child - Karen Taylor Good
2. Eric's Song - Vienna Teng
3. Storybook - Heather Dale
4. Les Anges Dans Nos Campagnes/Angels We Have Heard on High
5. Prodigal Son's Prayer - Dierks Bentley
6. Light - Sleeping At Last
7. Valse en la Bémol Majeur Op. 39 n°15 - Johannes Brahms
8. Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy of Company B - The Andrews Sisters
9. North - Sleeping At Last
10. Казачья Колыбельная Песня/Cossack Lullaby
11. Always Gold - Radical Face

Precious Child

Dmitry’s fingers trailed slowly over the photograph and he wondered if he should put it away before Ember came over. She was inquisitive and she might ask who the baby was if she noticed the picture. It would be two years in June and Dmitry didn’t know if he’d be ready to answer.

Not a day went by where Dmitry didn’t think about Octavien. He wondered sometimes what he’d look like, what things he’d enjoy, what his laughter would sound like. If he’d have known that he was loved.

No. He’d leave the picture of his son where it was.

Eric's Song

Looking at Angélique, her teary eyes begging for forgiveness, Dmitry couldn’t help but soften. She’d hurt him with her words, but then he’d hurt her too. Both of them had aimed below the belt, too angry to pull their punches. Lately it seemed as if all they did was argue, and yet neither of them could let go, still too in love with each other to walk away for good.

“Come here,” Dmitry whispered, holding Angélique tightly when she closed the distance. “I forgive you. Shhh, it’s okay, we’ll be okay,” he said while rocking her gently as she sobbed.

Storybook

You almost can’t believe your eyes when you first see him. He seems happy, playing with a young boy and woman. From your vantage point, you can’t tell how old the child is but your heart aches, reminded of your eldest, a boy that never really got the chance to live.

Perhaps the worst thing though is that he’s obviously got everything that he needs from someone other than you. At one point you would have said that was impossible. Now though it wasn’t a surprise. The sweetest words of your fairy tale romance were always the sweetest of lies.

Les Anges Dans Nos Campagnes

Mass on Christmas Eve was non-optional, on both sides of his families Christmas celebrations. It was about the only thing his grand-mère and babushka agreed on. Some of Dmitry’s earliest and fondest memories came from singing carols over the holiday season and although he was no longer in church choirs it was still Dmitry’s favourite part of the service. Whether they were singing the hymns in French or Russian he always participated with gusto.

Tonight they were spending time with his Mère’s family and so he was singing the old, familiar, hymn enthusiastically in French.

“Les anges dans nos campagnes” *

English trans: Angels we have heard on high

Prodigal Son's Prayer

Dmitry was hardly ever nervous but he was now. Standing in front of a man he hadn’t seen or heard from in three years due to his own hurt pride and arrogance, he was nervous. Despite what everyone said he was still afraid that he would be turned away, unworthy of a place in his house.

When his father stepped towards him Dmitry bit back a sob and threw himself at the older man, burrowing his head into his chest like he had as a small child. When his fathers’ arms wrapped around him Dmitry knew that all was forgiven.

Light

Dmitry lit up when the newborn was placed in his arms, his heart constricting as he gazed down at his child. As the baby wriggled in his grip Dmitry couldn’t help but be aware of how fragile the tiny human truly was. Laying a gentle kiss on his child’s forehead, a silent blessing, Dmitry swore that he would work to lay the world at the infants’ feet, pledging to teach his child everything he knew and to be the kind of father that his own had been when he and Sevastyan were children; patient, kind, understanding and above all, loving.

Valse en la Bémol Majeur Op. 39 n°15

When Sevastyan dropped Antoinette Dmitry had to bite back a laugh, well aware of the lecture that would be given if he were seen to be taking this lightly. There was only a matter of weeks until the final examination of the year and everyone was feeling the pressure of doing well so they could move up a division. Not that Dmitry had to worry. When it was his turn he and Alais moved smoothly from the arabesque into the lift with nary a wobble when he set her down again. Dmitry couldn’t help smirking when the instructor praised them.

North

Казачья Колыбельная Песня/Cossack Lullaby

Mitya sang softly as he gently rocked the baby in his arms. It felt like he had been singing for hours, just trying to persuade his son that it was time to sleep. He'd gone through all the French lullabies that his mére had sung him as a child with no result.

As soon as he switched to the only Russian lullaby he remembered fully, the Cossack's Lullaby, as it had been a favourite of his babushka, Mitya was met with better results. The boy calmed instantly, settling down in his daddy's arms, allowing himself to be lulled to sleep.

Always Gold

It was disconcerting to look at his twin and realise that he no longer knew him. When they were children it seemed impossible that they would ever grow apart, ever not be able to tell what the other was thinking or feeling. Sevastyan hadn’t even noticed when Dmitry’s love had turned into resentment when his one constant had started pulling away, not until he disappeared for three months without any contact. Until now. Now he was standing in Sevastyan’s doorway, spine straight and eyes wild, having yet to utter a word. Sevastyan wordlessly stepped back, allowing Dmitry to step inside.