Malfoy Manor

Draco stepped over the threshold of the dark drawing room. He traced familiar steps toward the candelabra in the corner. He pulled his wand from his pocket and muttered, "Incendio."

The candles bathed the room in faint orange light. The flames' reflections flickered on the ebony wood of his mother's grand piano. Slowly, he walked toward it. He ran a pale hand gingerly over the wood. It was of the finest quality, just like everything they'd owned. He remembered the lessons his mother had given him when he was a boy. She'd made him practice until every piece was perfect, until his fingers bled. At first he had begged her to let him stop, but it was no use. Malfoys were not allowed to show weakness, even if they were only little boys. They had to learn sometime.

Draco sat on the wooden bench and it creaked beneath him. The sound was amplified ten fold by the sheer emptiness of the Manor. There were no important guests, no servants, not even house-elves to break the awful silence. His parents were dead, their ideals crushed, the family name tarnished. There was nothing left except for Draco.

He supposed he really always had been alone though. His parents were rearing an heir, not a son. His father had never seen him as more than a successor. Even in that, Draco had failed. He had failed at every task his father had given him. He had promised his father to get Potter expelled at least once a year, and every time he had failed. Draco never really wanted to leave Hogwarts for the summer holidays because he knew what was coming when he got home. His father seemed to think the Cruciatus Curse would set him to rights. And maybe a few blows with his cane just for good measure.

The only thing he had ever done right was piano. Every Christmas Eve, the Manor would be packed with prestigious wizards and witches happily mingling at one of his father's famous parties. The grand piano would be moved to the ball room and his father would call the guests' attention and ask Draco to play. Draco was happy to oblige. He was an excellent pianist and it was the one of the few times his father looked truly proud of him. The guests would listen in rapt silence at the beautiful music pouring from the piano and filling the hall. As the last notes were played, they would break into fervent applause. Some would tell his father what a truly talented son he had. Thinking back on it now, those had been the times when Draco had been the happiest. In those moments he hadn't thought about Mudblood or Weasel or Potter. He didn't need to worry about them then because he was sure this was one thing none of them could best him at. This was his.

Draco slid back the ebony cover to reveal the ivory keys beneath. His fingers hesitated over them for a moment, trembling slightly. What to play, he thought. He remembered the last Christmas Eve party they'd held. It was before the Dark Lord had returned; before his father had more "important business" to attend to. That Christmas, Draco's mother sung to his accompaniment. It was his favorite carol- the only one he liked, really.

He pressed his fingers to the keys and began to play, the memory of his mother's voice synchronizing with the music.

God rest ye merry gentlemen

Let nothing you dismay

The sweet, somber notes were spilling from his hands and echoing eerily through the excruciating emptiness of the once proud Malfoy Manor.

Remember Christ our savior

Was born on Christmas Day

His long, elegant fingers slowed at the last notes. He heard clapping. At first he thought it was just in his memory, but as the euphoria wore off, he remembered that he had not come alone. He looked to the doorway and saw his cousin Tonks standing in it. She was smiling widely, twirling a violet lock in her fingers.

"Merlin, Draco, that was amazing," she said.

"Thanks," he replied curtly.

"Well, we should probably get going. Mum'll be expecting us back. You've got your things, haven't you?"

He nodded and slid the cover back over the keys. They moved back toward the entrance hall and Draco picked up his trunk. He took a last look at his home. It would always be his home, even if he couldn't live there for now. Once he found a means to support himself, he wouldn't have to accept the charity of estranged relatives. He'd find a way back somehow.

"We've got to go now, Draco."

Oh tidings of comfort and joy