A Slytherin Sonata
By Nanaho-Hime
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter
Part 1: Requiem
Malfoy Manor is taken from them after the war. It is not as though they have nowhere to go, heaven's no! They are the Malfoys and to have only one manor is absurd. Secretly, they are glad to be rid of it. The Manor holds dark memories of the Dark Lord, and his headquarters and his miserable stay in their haven.
Draco is allowed to enter for a few hours, before the home is examined thoroughly and destroyed in the process, and he cannot help but feel slightly sorrowful. His childhood and his memories are thoroughly embedded in the walls of the manor, and it would appear that he would be left only photographs and his own faulty reminiscing.
There is only one room in particular that he wishes to see. He is afraid that he will not let go if he tours the manor one last time, but there is one room that does not hold that threat.
He makes his way to the back, where the unimportant rooms gather dust. Tucked away in the corner, barely noticeable, his footstep echo as he steps onto the hardwood floor.
It is an empty room, save for the grand piano sitting regally in the center. It is old, covered in a sizable layer of dust. He hasn't played it in many years now, but he remembers times when he'd sneak in and his fingers would move adeptly over the black and white ivory keys.
The piano seems to scold him as he tentatively steps closer.
Where have you been?
He runs a finger over the keys, leaving a palpable line. All well-bred kids know how to play at least one of the classical instruments, never-mind that it is also a trait of wealthy muggles.
Music is the only thing that transcends blood lines and hatred.
He ignores the dust and the eerie shadows on the walls, and plays a very flat B. He winces, and pulls out his wand. With a flick of his wrist the piano is tuned again, and he timidly plays a middle C.
Perfect.
Irritated with the dust, he rids the bench and the piano of all signs of the deterioration. There is an itch in his fingers, one he hasn't felt in a long time, and he knows that it will drive him mad unless he plays.
It upsets him, that he can't remember the pages and pages of Chopin, and Mozart, and Beethoven and Tchaikovsky. But some songs never truly leave your fingertips.
He plays a sad melody, a short piece, nostalgic and tragic, the composer long forgotten and unimportant. The composition echoes throughout the empty manor, inside his head and inside his heart. Moolight streams in through the dusty glass, and he thinks of the loss of innocence.
He thinks of who he was, of his enlightening and incredibly horrifying sixth year, the year he was violently forced to be a man.
He knows he isn't the boy he used to be. He is hollow, and broken and remorseful. He will not hold his head up high for years to come.
He wonders why he stopped playing. It is rather cathartic, and when his time is up he is the tiniest bit contrite.
The piano will be burned.
A/N: Opinions? I personally play the piano and the harp and I'm very much in love with music. This will be a tentative four or three part series involving a Slytherin with their instrument.
Reviews would be lovely :)