𝑆𝐴𝑉𝐼𝑁𝐺 𝐷𝑅𝐴𝐶𝑂 𝑀𝐴𝐿𝐹𝑂𝑌

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟒 - 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐞

╭────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───────╮

𝐃

I think that's when it started getting worse.

I didn't even know exactly how it happened, but I remember often looking at the burning forearm. It was painful, but, if I felt another sort of pain, it might go away or at least feel less.

I counted the days that I hadn't talked to a single soul during that summer, and there were 23 of them in total. No 'good mornings' or knocks on the door. If I ever tried to talk to myself for a change, my voice would be blocked by the long absence of any sound.

If I ever got out of the room, I was met with the concern of my mother and aunt, who got every chance they found to remind me what my task was.

"You have to come out someday, sweetheart..." My mother's broken voice came after the knock on the last day of July.

If I didn't answer for long enough, she would think that I was asleep and she would go away. I heard the discreet cling of a full tray meeting the floor and then footsteps. I could breathe again.

I would have been moved by her sentiment if it wasn't for the pain on my forearm. It was burning again, and pain was slowly replacing any other emotion that would otherwise come up.

I drunk myself to sleep and hoped this would be over by morning.

⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼⎼

And then, of course, there were the screams, the disturbing, disgusting moans that were coming from the dungeons, where Aunt Bella had her bedroom. The dungeons' entrance wasn't far from my room, a set of stairs that led two stores below parted it, and in the empty halls, voice travelled fast.

If it got unbearable – and most times it did – I escaped to the bedroom right opposite mine.

There was an old piano in my great-grandmother's room, and the discipline in me was inviting for me to dust my old skills. It helped that if I played the piano, I couldn't hear Bella's screams every time the Dark Lord paid her a visit.

My great-grandmother was now partly mute and almost deaf of old age but she was always pleased when I played the piano for her. She was confined to a wheelchair, so I would roll her next to the piano, where she could hear the melody clearer.

"Fucking again, are they?" she would say, and we would force any laughter that we could find in ourselves so that we could survive this travesty.

Neither Mother nor Bella ever got in this lonely, dark room (for dramatic, family reason that would remain unknown to me) and so I had some peace and quiet if I wanted to.

With weak and wrinkled hands, she would make a motion of clapping that otherwise made no sound.

"Well done, Draco!" she would mumble and smile with lips drawn back to her mouth.

I was sure that she hadn't heard half of the notes, but she was the only person I ever wanted to play for. She was always an unyielding lady that had seen this family at its best. She had borne witness to all the power and glamour and fame of the Malfoys; the balls, the galas, the diamonds. I could see that it pained her when she was left aside and forgotten as she usually was. In those days, I felt like I was her only solace and source of enjoyment other than the old emerald jewels she still wore.

I could say the same for her. In a way, she was the only member of the family I felt safe to talk to, even as a young child because she had an undeniable quality: you could talk to her for hours about your problems and be sure that she would not speak a word to anyone – yes, partly because she would have heard less than half of it. She would listen, understand and nod.

"Play another one!" she would say excitedly.

And with a sharp pain in both my forearms and silent tears in my eyes, I would play her the Moonlight Sonata.

╰────── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ──────╯