A/N: This is the second of two stories surrounding the experiences of Draco and Snape. This one focuses on Draco. It's following Voldemort's defeat. He's a Death Eater on the run from the Ministry. I think like the first one, Draco's going to be a bit OOC. I think I might revise this one too. The D.H Lawrence poem used in this one is 'The Piano'. If you're wondering what piece of piano music is played by the witch in the story, it's Chopin's Waltz in C Sharp Op. 64-2. If you want to download a midi of it, you can find several under the 'Chopin' section at the Classical Midi Archive (http://ftp.sunet.se/cma/chopin.html). For an analysis of the poem, go to this site (http://home.earthlink.net/~rudedog2/pianopoem.htm) And don't forget to review me!
Draco looked around the Leaky Cauldron cautiously. As a fugitive, he couldn't afford to be careless, despite the fact he'd used a pigment charm on his hair and eyes, turning them black and blue respectively. Sitting there sipping his butterbeer, he couldn't help but reflect on what a waste he'd made of his life. Graduated from Hogwarts and straight into Voldemort's league. It was primarily revenge that drove him. His father, Lucius, was sent off to Azkaban when he was a fifth year, and had wasted away there. He'd assumed the mantle that was thrust upon him by his mother with a thirst to prove himself and keep up the good family name.
His mother......wonder where she was now? There was no way of keeping in touch....she too was on the run as well. If they stayed together, it would be harder. Her goodbye broke his heart. If only life would be as before. His father's work for the Dark Lord was never mentioned in the Malfoy household. Between Voldemort's demise and resurrection, life was peaceful.
Draco's reverie was interrupted when one of the old witches who resided in the pub began to play a bit of music. It was a familiar piece to him, he could hardly remember the composer though, the slow, melancholy beginning notes followed by what seemed like a fast waltz was well-etched on his mind. His mother had played the piece more than often in his childhood. On Sundays afternoons, his mother would seat herself at the piano in the conservatory and play throughout the whole afternoon. His father would be seated in a cane chair nearby, often reading a book, still dressed in his Sunday best. And Draco would be be under the piano, seated at her feet, just listening or playing with a house elf that may have come in to deliver tea for his master. After Draco left for Hogwarts, these Sunday afternoons were what he missed sorely the most.
Fortunately for him, his house head, Professor Snape allowed him use of the Slytherin organ. Each house had their own instrument. Draco now struggled to remember who had what. Gryffindors had the drums.......Ravenclaws played the violins........Hufflepuffs were famous for their tuba solos, and Slytherins were renowned for their haunting pieces composed over the great organ, famous for it's decorations in silver and malachite. Despite this allowance by Snape and as well as he could play the organ, Draco missed the familiarity of the Malfoy piano.
When Voldemort was resurrected, Draco found his familiarity interrupted further. Upon his graduation, he was inducted, and for the next two years, he fought for the Dark Lord's causes and did often find himself face-to-face with his old nemesis Harry Potter. As in Hogwarts, Harry never failed to beat him. And in the end, it was Harry who sacrificed his life to defeat Voldemort. With that last 'Avada Kedavra', the Death Eaters took off into hiding, pursued relentlessly by Aurors. Which was where Draco found himself now. What a waste of a life, he thought miserably.
But, the piano continued to play in his head, and the tears soon came. As the piano continued to play in the bar, one young man sat and cried for his losses and regrets and for wanting of the past.
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
* * *
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
* * *
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of Childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.
Draco looked around the Leaky Cauldron cautiously. As a fugitive, he couldn't afford to be careless, despite the fact he'd used a pigment charm on his hair and eyes, turning them black and blue respectively. Sitting there sipping his butterbeer, he couldn't help but reflect on what a waste he'd made of his life. Graduated from Hogwarts and straight into Voldemort's league. It was primarily revenge that drove him. His father, Lucius, was sent off to Azkaban when he was a fifth year, and had wasted away there. He'd assumed the mantle that was thrust upon him by his mother with a thirst to prove himself and keep up the good family name.
His mother......wonder where she was now? There was no way of keeping in touch....she too was on the run as well. If they stayed together, it would be harder. Her goodbye broke his heart. If only life would be as before. His father's work for the Dark Lord was never mentioned in the Malfoy household. Between Voldemort's demise and resurrection, life was peaceful.
Draco's reverie was interrupted when one of the old witches who resided in the pub began to play a bit of music. It was a familiar piece to him, he could hardly remember the composer though, the slow, melancholy beginning notes followed by what seemed like a fast waltz was well-etched on his mind. His mother had played the piece more than often in his childhood. On Sundays afternoons, his mother would seat herself at the piano in the conservatory and play throughout the whole afternoon. His father would be seated in a cane chair nearby, often reading a book, still dressed in his Sunday best. And Draco would be be under the piano, seated at her feet, just listening or playing with a house elf that may have come in to deliver tea for his master. After Draco left for Hogwarts, these Sunday afternoons were what he missed sorely the most.
Fortunately for him, his house head, Professor Snape allowed him use of the Slytherin organ. Each house had their own instrument. Draco now struggled to remember who had what. Gryffindors had the drums.......Ravenclaws played the violins........Hufflepuffs were famous for their tuba solos, and Slytherins were renowned for their haunting pieces composed over the great organ, famous for it's decorations in silver and malachite. Despite this allowance by Snape and as well as he could play the organ, Draco missed the familiarity of the Malfoy piano.
When Voldemort was resurrected, Draco found his familiarity interrupted further. Upon his graduation, he was inducted, and for the next two years, he fought for the Dark Lord's causes and did often find himself face-to-face with his old nemesis Harry Potter. As in Hogwarts, Harry never failed to beat him. And in the end, it was Harry who sacrificed his life to defeat Voldemort. With that last 'Avada Kedavra', the Death Eaters took off into hiding, pursued relentlessly by Aurors. Which was where Draco found himself now. What a waste of a life, he thought miserably.
But, the piano continued to play in his head, and the tears soon came. As the piano continued to play in the bar, one young man sat and cried for his losses and regrets and for wanting of the past.
Softly, in the dusk, a woman is singing to me;
Taking me back down the vista of years, till I see
A child sitting under the piano, in the boom of the tingling strings
And pressing the small, poised feet of a mother who smiles as she sings.
* * *
In spite of myself, the insidious mastery of song
Betrays me back, till the heart of me weeps to belong
To the old Sunday evenings at home, with winter outside
And hymns in the cosy parlour, the tinkling piano our guide.
* * *
So now it is vain for the singer to burst into clamour
With the great black piano appassionato. The glamour
Of Childish days is upon me, my manhood is cast
Down in the flood of remembrance, I weep like a child for the past.