Danse Macabre

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The dining hall of St. Barbara's Orphanage for Victims of War was starting to fill with people. Children from magical families who had lost their parents were wearing handmade costumes and simple glamours that their teachers helped them to charm. A lot of them were only five or six years old. They jumped around so excitedly that wayward magic was seeping from them making the gaslight lamps flicker on and off and random objects start floating and then suddenly fall to the ground.

There were rows of mismatched jack-o-lanterns with crooked and uneven faces, colorful stickers, and bright spots of gouache paint lining the walls and handmade bats, witches, and skeletons decorated every surface.

Harry noticed Draco Malfoy amid giggling girls. He was charming the wings on their fairy costumes to flutter and then produced the most beautiful multicolored bubbles. They looked like magical creatures: dragons and griffins and mermaids. A pleasant smile made his face strangely attractive. His sleeves were rolled up a bit and Harry noticed a black stain of Dark Mark on his forearm. Even though these children had lost their parents because of the Death Eaters they did not acknowledge the mark at all.

"Grief has changed this boy," he heard Andromeda Tonks speak next to him.

She came, wearing a beautiful set of dark purple robes, with baby Teddy in her arms, his hair had turned raven black as soon as he noticed Harry.

He smiled at his godson and took him on his lap. He was only half a year old but his magical abilities already started to show. Harry wondered what was he like when he was little, did Aunt Petunia ever cooed to him and smother him with hugs and kisses like he and Andromeda did, or was he always that unwanted.

Malfoy noticed them in the crowd and shot a colorful dragon bubble to float towards little Teddy. The boy started laughing uncontrollably reaching out to catch it. His hair turned blue again. Harry smiled to himself. As much as Malfoy wanted to appear cold and unreachable, he was completely different on the inside.

The talent show was about to start and Draco ushered the girls in the fairy costumes backstage. He didn't go back into the audience and Harry wondered if they had persuaded him to take part in it. What he did not expect is to see the Slytherin come on the stage, wearing simple black dress robes and sit down at the grand piano. The fairy dancers had entered the stage, and he started playing. It was a muggle piece, Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. Harry had heard it on TV a couple of times before Christmas. There were other contestants and other muggle classical melodies were played by Malfoy. He accompanied every single dance, song, and music recital.
The last child had left the stage and the spotlight was left lingering on the grand piano. Malfoy had sat a bit straighter for a moment and then started the most passionate performance.

"Danse Macabre," Andromeda whispered, "that was one of Cissa's favorite pieces. A fitting choice for Halloween."

Harry watched in awe the way his long fingers ran quickly over the keys, Malfoy was absorbed in music, his body swaying and bending over the keyboard. It was fast, desperate, and full of fervor he had only seen on the quidditch pitch before.

After the last chord and an uproar of applause, the blonde bowed and looked up at the audience, his face was red and sweaty and Harry couldn't take his eyes away from him.

"You can tell that he is a Black," Andromeda chuckled and went over to congratulate Draco.


* * *

The night London glistened with harsh neon and soft streetlight. Draco let out another puff of scented smoke into the cold air; the heating charm did not help at all, and he was freezing. His fingers were aching, it has been so long since he touched the ivory in the Manor. Before Aunt Bella showed up and called piano a hobby for good for nothing pansies, he would entertain his quests by sitting next to them and playing something. That trick had always worked, Pansy's facial expression was positively revolting when he played her favorite piece.

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