AN: I don't own any of JK's stuff, so please don't sue....
His dark hair fell to his face, obscuring his dark features. In these days, his only escape where times like these when he was alone. The Dark Lord was powerful again, and with the wicked scar constantly burning his left arm even brewing a difficult potion couldn't get his mind off things. Yet these things where his muse.
He sat in a dimly lit, round room, the only light coming from a single dingy torch hung from the ceiling. He played somber music out of a worn cello to his muses. Its dark, deep sound resonating up to the high ceiling. Instead of weeping, he wept out through the instrument, his pain out into the sad tune. Sorrow, frustration, and a sort of joy poured out through it. But at last, he couldn't take the weight of it any longer. The bow slipped, and his shoulders sank to the body of the cello. His head resting on the neck of it. Hands still in place from playing. Tears falling from his face onto the dark wood.