𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒?

Part VII

Part 7: Absurd

he'll look at me and smile
I'll understand
and in a little while
he'll take my hand
and though it seems absurd
I know we both won't say a word

"The Man I Love", Gershwin Bros.

When Draco woke up, the next morning, the bed was empty and cold. Unconsciously, he touched his chest, remembering the feeling of Harry resting on his body, his warmness, but thinking about it made him shiver helplessly.

Draco got up from the bed and began to wander around the flat.

"Harry?" he called, but he received no answer.

He shrugged and entered the kitchen where he found some hot coffee. He poured some of it in a cup and drank it slowly, grimacing at the bitter taste on his tongue.

It's morning. Don't think about it. Today is *tomorrow*. Don't think about it!

But he was thinking about it. He couldn't help but think about it. He was here, in Harry's house. Draco knew that soon his so-called boyfriend. would come back and he would be forced to remember how perfect the night before had been. He would look at Harry, listen to his voice and he would recall the night, the embrace, the silent abandonment.

But, then, everything will just go on as usual. It's better if I don't fucking think about it. Draco considered tiredly, placing the empty cup in the sink, where the mug disappeared, probably to clean and place itself back in the cupboard.

He smirked. This place is too tidy for the Messy Harry Potter, the Slytherin thought absently.

Draco went in the living room, searching for something he had spotted last evening: a piano. He wondered if Harry really played it or if it was a stylistic choice, to keep a black baby grand piano in there.

Slowly, he approached the instrument and settled on the seat. He lifted the top and removed the green fabric that covered the black and white keys. Steinway & Sons, he read the writing in gold letters.  Wow. Draco considered raising an eyebrow, but there was no one around to impress. He placed the fabric on his knees and slightly touched the keys, without actually playing. They were cold and smooth.

Draco smiled softly, as memories of his childhood began to flow in his mind. It was his mother that made him learn how to play the piano, without his father knowing about his lessons. Lucius Malfoy would have dismissed it as useless knowledge and he would have forbidden Draco to play it. This would have been unbearable, because, almost immediately, he had found himself in love with those clear sounds and with the worlds they were able to create for him.

Draco was five when he first placed his fingers on the keyboard. He was eighteen when he had been forced to give it up. It had been painful, more than the loss of his parents or of his fortune. Leaving his piano meant giving up his way to escape reality. Every time he had been upset or simply sad during the interminable summers at Malfoy Manors, he would play and leave everything behind, flying to another world, which was created by each new sound.

Even when he was at Hogwarts, he couldn't stay away from that addiction. He loved it so much that he had swallowed his pride and asked Dumbledore, very politely, if there was the possibility to keep playing while in the school.