Note: Modern!AU, Pianist!AU
His blond hair hung slightly past his shoulders, shielding the audience from the sides of his face. His tux was black and smooth, no wrinkle in sight. He donned white gloves on his hands, covering the long fingers that glided over the keys.
His posture was slouched, and his head was down. He was focused on his work; and he always made good on it. No one was ever disappointed after leaving from the Parisian bistro after listening to him play. One would call him Mozart's Progeny.
It was unknown where he had come from, but that he appeared at the bistro with nothing but the clothes on his back; he wouldn't even give his name. The owner (being the kind-hearted man that was needed) offered him a place to stay and asked if he had any qualities that could help him get ahead. The owner couldn't turn the young lad away; there was something about him that seemed lost and desperate, as if he was running from something. How could the owner possibly turn him away if he was in need?
The young man shook his head, but the owner set him up to clean around the bistro. In the early years, he would sweep around the quiet bistro, keeping his gaze to the floor. He wouldn't accept anyone's pity when it was offered by the civilians, but he was not cruel. Only silent. It had taken a month for him to make any physical contact with other children, playing with them when he had no work to do in the bistro.
The owner brought in a piano to the bistro with hopes to gather more customers with music, but he never found anyone that could play it efficiently.
The young man thought he was alone after the bistro was closed and the owner was supposed to be sleep. He sat in front of the piano and stretched his fingers on the keys curiously. Concentrating on the challenge, the man began to play.
It was a soft melody at first, allowing the young man to get a feel of the piano before the rest moved naturally. The tone was weaved so elegantly that it woke the owner up from the sleeping quarters upstairs. He had been so focused on the piece that he didn't notice the owner. Once he was caught, he tried to get away from the piano in hopes that he wouldn't be in trouble.
Things ended up going in the opposite direction. The owner urged him to keep playing, and the young man listened. He still didn't speak verbally, only through the keys on the piano. The music were his words, telling the customers when he was feeling happy, sad, or even angry about something.
The piano was the young boy's baby, and he only treated it with care. He caressed the keys, hitting the right notes gently in such a way that it would become legendary. The young boy was in his element as his arms were relaxed during the final song of the night.
Applause came from through the bistro, and the man moved his hands away from the piano. He stood up silently and bowed, the ghost of a smile on his face if someone looked close enough. Whenever anyone asked for his name, he shook his head. The customers accepted it, but they preferred to call him Mozart's Progeny anyway.
The young man was content with that. The farther he could get away from his former life as Draco Malfoy, the better.
A/N: Written for HSWW (Challenges and Assignments)
Assignment #9 Muggle Art Task 2: write about someone prolific or extraordinary in their chosen field.
Word Count: 591