Hello, readers! This was written for The Houses Competition. My house: Hufflepuff. Category: Short Story. Prompt: Playing the piano. Word count: 2,055. Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter! Happy reading!

Draco Malfoy stood by the piano in Malfoy Manor, running his fingers over the dusty keys. It had been a long time since he'd played, since he'd been in this room even.

He spent most of his days in the library, or his bedroom, where his meals were brought to him. He didn't want to see any of the portraits on the walls, or the dark red stains on the floor in the dining room. They were markings of a time when wrong was right. When it seemed to be the only option.

He sighed, and slid down onto the bench, staring at the grand piano. He brought his left hand up, and lightly played a few keys, not expecting to be as good as he once was. He lifted his other hand, feeling he would may as well try. He played a chord, and tilted his head to the side. He felt the oncoming memory of a piece his mother used to love.

It could have been a minute, or maybe a few hours, but he played what he could remember. It wasn't perfect, and he messed it up more than once.

His eyes were closed, and his head was bowed, it felt soothing to play again. Like, just for once, he was alone without any worry or fear. He slowly opened his eyes, and glanced around the room, looking for his sheet music.

Narcissa Malfoy was reading the Daily Prophet in the study, one eyebrow raised at the recent gossip. She sipped her tea and turned the page. She was putting her empty mug down when she heard a few delicate noted pierce the air. She nearly broke the china set when she jumped. It had been years since she heard the piano in her house be played. It certainly wasn't Lucius, he despised music, and it definitely wasn't a house elf. She chuckled at the thought of her servant trying to reach the pedals and play at the same time. Draco would be the only one able to play.

She stood up, and then tiptoed to the living room, not wanting to scare her son or stop him from playing. She poked her head into the doorway, and saw him bent over the keys. His blond hair covered his face, and his long, thin fingers danced clumsily on the notes.

He would make a great suitor. He was attractive enough, even if he was extremely pale. Narcissa shook herself. Somehow, her thoughts always ended up on his lack of a wife. She didn't want to think of that right now.

Draco looked so peaceful, so relaxed. He wasn't nearly as good as he was before the war, but he wasn't bad, either. She recognised the piece, and she smiled. He knew it was her favourite. She felt her eyes water when she thought of how he used to be. Her smile fell. It was hard to think about the way he was, now.

Draco was thin, and he barely ate. He spent most of his time reading, cooped up in his room, away from life and light. It was a rare occasion that he spoke, and every time, his words were very clipped and snappish. He was so unlike her little boy. He was forced to grow up too fast, and now he was bitter and scarred. Her heart clenched at the sight of the tension in his shoulders, and his tense arms. He was so unhappy.

He stood from his spot, and made his way to a shelf by the fireplace. There were hundreds of tunes, all waiting to be played. He plucked one up and went back to the elegant instrument. This was the first song he played for his father's friends. It was when he was seven, and it was the night he met Blaise and Pansy. He smiled at the memory, and quickly opened the music.

Narcissa was starting to get an ache in her legs from standing in the position she was. It had been two hours since she had watched her son pick a melody from many others. She should've gone in and told him he was an amazing player, and amazing son. But, she couldn't seem to take her eyes off of him. His hair fell over his eyes, and it glinted silver in the moonlight pouring through the windows. His slender fingers weren't as hesitant as before, and his mouth was turned into a small smile. It had been forever since she'd seen him this way. There were no lines of worry etched on his forehead. His eyes were full of passion and a light she never saw before. They didn't carry the sorrow they normally did. She knew he regretted everything he did in the war, but she never realised how much it affected him. She saw it now, now that it was gone. Funny how that works.

Lucius handed his gloves to the nearest elf, the haunting and sorrowful sounds of a ditty filled the air. It was faint, but made his blood boil nevertheless. He strode towards the living room with purpose, preparing to yell at whoever played the forgotten instrument inside. When he was ten feet from the doors, he saw his wife, bent in an indecent position, staring intently at the source of the music. He scowled and walked up to her.

"Narci-" she cut him off and covered his mouth with her hand. He was furious and was about to yell at her when she pointed at the living room and made a shushing gesture.

Curiosity getting the better of him, he glanced in and saw his son, his only and practically voiceless son, creating the sounds. He normally didn't approve of his son's liking of the piano, but Draco was smiling. He was completely absorbed in the music, and he was actually outside of his room. It was a miracle. In fact, Lucius hadn't seen him in days and almost forgot he lived in the Manor.

Lucius sighed and ducked back into the safety of the hall. Narcissa was beaming, and it lit her whole face up.

"Isn't it wonderful, Lucius?" She asked, grabbing his hands. He slowly nodded.

"How long has he been in there?" He whispered. She glanced at the clock and blinked in surprise.

"Two hours. I've been standing here for two hours," she whispered, not believing it herself. The smooth, connected notes stopped abruptly. They heard footsteps come their way, but were paralysed. Draco walked into the hallway, and they saw he was back to himself. His same gloomy, depressed self.

"Hello, mother, father. It's good to see you two in such good spirits," and with that, he walked away, back into the shadows. Narcissa bit her quivering lip, and swallowed the hope she had that he would be just as happy as he was before. A tear escaped the corner of her eye.

"He'll never be the same again, will he?" She whispered, and Lucius hugged her. She sobbed against his chest. Their only child would never marry. He would never follow in his father's footsteps.

They decided to take matters into their own hands, and it would be fairly easy. All they had to do was find someone willing enough to do it, even if the results would be fake. Even if he would never be as happy with that witch as he was when he played the piano.

Draco sat across from three witches. His mother had called him down, told him to go back up and change into something "presentable," and then told him to go to the living room. He was peeved by the time he got there, and furious by the time be sat down. He knew it was coming, but he still didn't want to choose a wife. Especially not when the choices were Astoria Greengrass, Hermione Granger, and Tracey Davis.

Apparently, Hermione was led into the home under the impression that she would be discussing the accusations of Lucius bating muggles, again. Tracey and Astoria were there to become Mrs Malfoy.

Draco stared down at the three coldly, and Hermione glared back. Why on Earth they thought Hermione would be a good choice was a mystery to him. Tracey and Astoria batted their eyes. Draco rolled his own.

They sat in silence for a few minutes until Hermione crossed her legs and leaned back into her seat, arms crossed. Narcissa suddenly appeared with a tray of tea and pumpkin pasties. Astoria jumped up and rushed over to her.

"Here, let me help!" She grabbed the tray and set it down on the table behind the couch. Narcissa smiled and left the room. "How will you three take your tea?" She asked, preparing her own.

"I'm fine, thanks," Hermione said sarcastically. Astoria sneered at her, no doubt wanting to tell her that no one wanted the opinion of a mudblood like her.

"Just give it to me as it is," Draco said, barely opening his mouth. Astoria handed him the tea, that was laced with love potion, and it went unnoticed by everyone, except Hermione.

"Hold on a second!" She said, grabbing his tea and pouring it out into a vase of flowers. "She put something in it. Something pink," she looked satisfied.

Draco scowled and looked at Astoria.

"Is this true?" He asked, his gaze unwavering.

"You're seriously going to believe her? A mudblood?" Astoria laughed, and Hermione stood, huffing.

"Fine, then. I'll leave! It's clear that I'm not welcome here!" Hermione said. Draco's hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

"No. Ms Greengrass," he put stress on her name, "was just leaving," Hermione sat back down, this time beside Draco. His grip on her wrist was strong. Astoria growled and slammed a spoon into the tea, making it splash all over the expensive wooden table.

"You'll regret this, Draco," she spat before storming out if the house. Tracey looked alarmed. She stood and said goodbye to the other two. Astoria would probably decorate Malfoy Manor with mud if left unattended. Hermione sighed and tried to leave, too, but Draco had other ideas.

"I'm sorry about that," he said. He regretted what his aunt did to her, so he'd been trying to be nicer to her on the days she met with his father. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"If I took every insult to heart, I'd be curled up in a ball on my bed, eating licorice wands and chocolate frogs," she snorted. She stood and made her way across the room, admiring the decor. Her hands ran over the piano. Draco just watched her.

"Do you play?" She asked.

"Yes," he said simply.

"Can I see you?" She asked. She was actually surprised that he could play it, he didn't seem like the type. He shrugged and sat on the bench.

"It's been a while, okay? Don't laugh," he said, straightening the music in front of him. At first, he was slow, trying to ignore Hermione's eyes on him. Eventually, he fell into it, the outside world a blur to him, nothing else was of importance. But he did notice when Hermione sat down next to him and played along with him. His grey eyes met her chocolate ones, and she blushed, looking back at the keys.

He stopped playing, suddenly overwhelmed by how close they were, by her scent. He wasn't used to touching people, but when he touched her, he got a jolt of pleasure from it. She looked up at him, since when did he get so tall? Her breathing quickened, her heart wasn't supposed to flutter when her eyes met his. She was married to Ron. She was pregnant. But Ron didn't look like Draco did, he didn't understand what it was to feel haunted like Draco did. So, she didn't stop him from kissing her.

Narcissa was about to walk into the living room when she saw Draco kissing one of the girls. She smiled, and hid behind the doors, not at all prepared for said girl to run away from Draco, screaming her apologies. Narcissa poked her head in and looked at Draco.

"Greengrass it is," she heard him say, his face in his hands. He saw Hermione's ring before he kissed her. He was just as bad as Astoria.