Hermione wandered aimlessly through the halls of the new home late at night trying to find the sleep that seemed adamant to evade her.
She strolled into a lavish room that must have been used, once upon a time, to house a small chamber orchestra's performances. A grand piano now sat alone in the middle of the room on a small raised platform.
She crossed the expanse of lush carpet towards the window on the other side of the room. She found herself facing a small alcove with a window seat in it which was almost totally obscured by heavy red velvet curtains with golden trimmings.
She sat down and gazed outside at the velvet-black sky scattered with glistening diamonds. The moon sat proudly in the middle of all those precious lights, fully visible,shedding light on the immaculate gardens of Malfoy Manor.
No sooner had she settled down did she hear the heavy oak door opening again. She heard light footfalls make their way across the carpet and froze. She wasnt entirely sure that she was allowed to leave her room at night. She stilled and sat with bated breath waiting for someone to discover her. She fought the urge to let out a sigh as she heard the piano being opened.
She heard the opening notes of Ludwig Van Beethoven's ´Moonlight Sonata´ float across the room. She relaxed into her seat and let the familiar music wash over her.
Whoever was playing was obviously quite talented. He,she was sure it was a he from his footsteps, played in an almost careful way as if the melody was fragile and would break if played too forcefully.
As the piece reached a soft end her curiosity piqued. Before she could let it get the better of her, however, she heard a strangled whisper.
´Mother...´the voice said.
Hermione drew back the curtain and looked at the player who had his eyes closed and could not see her. She took in the short silver blond hair, the broad shoulders, the long toned torso and the aristocratic profile. The high cheekbones, the broad forehead and the straight nose. She knew then who she was looking at.
She rose from her alcove and glided across to the piano and engulfed her husband in a crushing embrace.
He looked up at her from haunted, grey, stormy eyes, not even attempting to hide his sadness, his desperation under his usual façade that he normally hid under. He didn't need to say another word. She knew exactly what was wrong. Even though it had been almost a year, he couldn't even listen to Beethoven without coming close to breaking again.
But she knew that he had to learn. So she told him to keep playing. Keep playing, and dont ever stop.