AN I don't own HP or any of the characters! Angsty one-shot
Draco could play piano. It wasn't a well known fact, outside of Slytherin, and not many people tended to stop and think about it or really associate it with the blond even if they knew he could play. Most Slytherins could play at least one instrument—classical upbringing, and all that—but few did it of their own choice. Draco was not one of those few. He'd been forced to play piano almost his entire life and he'd hated it, honestly. His instructors had been an endless string of snobby, pretentious rich men who let their hands linger a little too long on Draco's leg or wrist, and the music always sounded painful and forced no matter what he did.
He was also an insomniac, which worked well for him. Draco didn't really like other human beings, especially not from other houses, so it actually benefited him to stay up at night when he could be alone and sleep during his breaks during the day. No one ever really commented on it, either, so he continued to do it. It got to the point that, rather than risk Flich or Snape finding him wandering the halls alone, Draco had to find ways to amuse himself in the common room.
Thankfully, the dorms had all been charmed so nothing he did ever woke anyone up. He started by just watching out the windows to the lake, talking to the mermaids who dared come up to the glass, and just being angsty. As he grew older, though, that amused him less and less. The mermaids got bored of him when he stopped bringing them gifts and ignored him, leaving him to stare into the inky blackness and drown in his own isolation. There was a fire that crackled, but there wasn't much to do there other than stare at it, which dried his eyes out quickly. He lounged on the couches, organized the books on the shelves… He even did some extra studying.
But, he was still bored, which made the insomnia less satisfying and more irritating. It was one thing to stay up and be alone with his thoughts at night, free and peaceful to do what he wished, but it was quite another to feel like he was suffocating in the dull, empty boredom. He was running out of options, so, begrudgingly, he turned to the piano.
The piano was one of those huge, black, sleek instruments that looks like you might smudge it if you actually touched it. Usually, it was enchanted to play soft music in the background. However, Draco had seen more than a few Slytherins compete with complex pieces of music so he knew it could be played, theoretically, when it wasn't charmed. The real question was, could he actually play it?
He sat on the little wooden bench, and mused at the worn spot where hundreds of other great Slytherins must have sat and played to pass the time. Ironic, considering the pureblood propensity for newness and displays of wealth. Maybe it held sentimental value to someone important? Shaking his head, Draco lifted his hands to the keys and let the pads of his fingers touch.
The ivory was like ice. It almost burned when he touched it and, if he hadn't known it was ridiculous, Draco would have yanked his hand away in shock. Slowly, the enchanted stillness waned as he pressed his fingers a bit more firmly into place. He felt like he was reassuring the piano that he actually intended to play, not just sit there and awkwardly touch the keys, but even while he hesitated the keys began to give and warm to his touch.
To Draco's great surprise, it wasn't the work of some great composer that came out of his hands. His mind struggled without sheet music and, even though he could have just grabbed some from the nearby shelf, he refused and forced his hands to follow muscle memory. It was a tiny, short little song. Draco didn't recognize it, at first, and thought maybe his teachers had used it as an exercise when he was first learning to play or something. Painfully simplistic, and yet Draco couldn't stop playing it.
Over and over again, he repeated it with the confidence that no one else would hear him and he struggled to place it. The tune was familiar, but from where? He could remember playing it, remember the little melody, and it carried the memory of his teacher's delight and encouragement. A woman, strangely enough. Draco didn't remember ever having a female piano teacher, in fact he remembered his father being very insistent on that fact, but the longer he played it more sure he became. It was a woman's voice, congratulating him, praising him, and he remembered the swell of pride in his chest.
He'd been young—very young—maybe three or four? In the common room, his eyes closed and he kept playing that one little repetitive tune over and over again from muscle memory alone. His mind focused, trying to remember the name of it, or the female teacher, or why he hadn't continued to play it as a warmup as he got older. Why hadn't he remembered having a female teacher?
Then it hit him.
Draco recoiled, smashing his hands down so harshly that the enchanted piano bowed and nearly crashed to the ground. Quickly, it righted itself and almost seemed to pout at him. He didn't care, though, because he could only sit there on the little bench and cradle his hands against his chest as they throbbed from the memory. A sharp, silver cane crashing down on the keys, on his fingers. Crying. His father's voice, yelling at the teacher even thought Draco begged him not to and said it was his fault. Whatever it was, Draco pleaded for responsibility, for mercy. The teacher took the full force of Lucius' anger, though, and Draco remembered his father dismissing her, remembered watching through the window of the Manor as she walked back down the drive.
Narcissa had appeared, drawn to the commotion. She'd yelled when she saw Draco's pale little hands, now swelling and clearly broken in a few places, but Lucius had silenced her. He'd slapped her across the face for daring to raise her voice. That was the first time Draco had ever seen his father hit his mother, he realized, and it made him sick to his stomach to watch the memory of her just take it without a word. She'd comforted Draco and healed his hands, though the muscles still trembled. Lucius had screamed at them all the while, ignoring his son's pain or his wife's silence and just bellowing about not tolerating muggle shit in his house.
It'd been a muggle song.
He could remember, now, his teacher trying to explain that it was harmless, just a children's tune. Just a practice piece, she'd said, but Draco had already felt his father's anger with the cane across his hands so he cowered beneath the bench and did nothing to defend her. His father had gone wild, and had physically thrown the woman from their house.
Realizing it was a muggle song made Draco actually hesitate, and miss a note, as he considered his location and the people surrounding him. If another pureblood heard, they wouldn't recognize it. But if, Merlin forbid, someone loyal to his father recognized it Draco had no doubt he would receive the same treatment as he had back then. He shuddered, but kept playing.
Realistically, he was alone in the common room and he knew the dorms were charmed so, even if someone was awake, they wouldn't hear him. His fingers refused to stop playing, anyways, over and over again that same little tune. It felt empowering, almost. Like his own, silent little rebellion against his father, against the dark army, against everything he was being forced towards. This one little muggle song was his.
Harry was not supposed to wander the castle at night, and he knew that. But with exams coming soon and Sirius still incommunicado, he was anxious in a way that food and Quidditch didn't help so he'd taken to pacing the corridors at night under the invisibility cloak. He had the Marauder's Map, after all, so it wasn't like Flich could see.
Somehow, he'd wandered down to the dungeons and he had half a mind to turn tail and run for fear of running into Snape but then he heard something. Piano music? He was sure he'd gone completely mad but he followed it nevertheless because he'd never been one to think things through like that. It stopped at a door he was sure had to be the Slytherin common room.
Interesting, he noted, but that wasn't what piqued his curiosity—it wasn't even the piano, or the fact that it was clearly being played rather than enchanted. It was the song. Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. The shock of hearing a muggle children's song from the infamous, pureblood common room was enough to make Harry wish he had a recording device. A camera that could capture sound, maybe? But he hesitated in the darkness, and listened, because it was Twinkle Twinkle over and over again and he just couldn't get over that fact. Of all songs…
Harry had stayed and listened to the piano music for much longer than he should have. Nearly twenty minutes, if he had to guess. While it didn't soothe his curiosity, it did manage to get the little diddy stuck in his head like an infomercial jingle. He found himself humming it as he got ready, though no one noticed.
Breakfast was distracting enough, thankfully, that Harry was able to forget about the tune but, by History of Magic, Harry knew he was doomed. The class was boring enough without the added rendition of children's songs in his head. Sure enough, the second the room went quiet it started.
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Up above the world so high
Like a diamond in the sky
He couldn't stop himself and he hummed it under his breath in the hopes that it might help somehow. All it did was draw an annoyed look from Hermione across the table. Pity, considering he couldn't make it stop. To his surprise, though, the great Slytherin prince seemed to be listening to him, too, and he caught the blond glancing back at him more than once. Was Draco intrigued by muggle songs? The boy who had insulted everything muggle, even muggle studies, to the point that it became a running joke among all of Slytherin?
Impossible, right?
That night, Draco couldn't help himself. As he made his way down to the common room, sure that everyone else was asleep, he paused in the stairwell just long enough to look outside. The sky was a deep purple, almost black, but it was covered in tiny stars. Like glitter, thrown on black glass. He could remember the words that went with the song—his teacher had sung them under her breath, not even realizing it—and he heard her voice as he looked at them.
Twinkle twinkle little star
How I wonder what you are
Fitting, he couldn't help thinking, for a situation like this. Muggles could be so stupid. But then Draco stopped, because what if he was the one being stupid? Stars were made from gas and elements and, often, fire. But there were less… literal stars. Draco felt like a star, if he thought about it, all alone in the galaxy with infinite space between him and the next similar being, even if it looked close to other people. His platinum blonde hair and his silver eyes were shiny enough. The pale skin was an added bonus. As he stared out at the other stars, though, he couldn't help marveling at the question such a nonsense children's song had raised—and a muggle song, at that!
What was he? Just this bright, fiery ball of chaos? Destined to burn until it crashed into something or died? That was what he felt like, at least, and it didn't help that the little glimmering dots seemed to wink at him and draw him in. Like he was already one of them.
Twinkle twinkle little star…
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