Prologue: In the Beginning
~Sunrise, sunset. Swiftly fly the years. (Fiddler on the Roof)
* * *
“I’m singin’ in the rain, just singin’ in the rain! What a glorious feeling, I’m happy again. I’m laughing at clouds, so dark-”
“What on earth is that bloody noise?” Ronald Weasley tumbled down the stairs looking around furiously for the offender who had interrupted his Quidditch match. At the sound of Gene Kelly’s happy voice he had immediately dropped the Quidditch action figures with which he’d been playing and stomped out of his room.
“-up above. I’m singin’-”
His mother promptly poked her head out of the kitchen. “Ronald Bilius Weasley! How dare you use that language in this house!” The little 8 year-old pouted at his mother.
“-just singin’ in the rain!”
“Fine. ‘What on earth is that blooming noise’?”
“Arthur!” Her warning tone brought Arthur Weasley out of his newspaper.
“Yes, Molly?” A moment of blind ignorance. “Oh! Oh, oh yes. Ron-” He glanced at his son. “What have your mother and I told you about cursing?”
“Yes, Daddy, I know.” The poor boy hung his head in shame. Across the room Molly looked less than satisfied, but she ducked back into the kitchen. Seeing himself out of imminent danger, Ron pointed accusingly at his sister and glared at his father. “But she’s making so much noise!”
Arthur glanced over at his only daughter, sprawled belly-down on the floor and kicking her legs in time with the music. Her large, young eyes were glued to the magical television where Don Lockwood was dancing in reckless abandon to the bars of Singing in the Rain. The smug look on Ginny’s face indicated that she knew exactly how much this was upsetting her brother. Arthur shot the back of her head a disapproving look.
“Ginny, darling. Might you turn that down just a tad?”
“Daddy!” she whined. “It’s a really good part!”
“It’s always a ‘really good part’.” Ron huffed by the staircase.
“Ginny...” Her father’s tone bore more warning in it.
“Oh, fine!” With that Ginny proceeded to dial down the knob on the magical TV to a mild hum. “Happy, Ron?”
“Very.” Ron stomped back upstairs, and with a sigh, Arthur picked up his newspaper again. Sighing, Ginny returned her attention to the TV just as Don hopped onto the light post declaring, “I’m laughing at clouds!”
* * *
Malfoy Manor stood majestically against the backdrop of the scaling mountains. As the sun set behind it, pouring red and orange rays across the stone towers and flying buttresses, the Manor seemed to raise its haughty nose to glance over its dominion. The house had as much arrogance and grace as the people who inhabited its chambers.
Unlike other Wizarding families, the Malfoys rarely indulged in magical devices derived from Muggle technology. Such trinkets were unfit for a family with money and reputation as that of the Malfoys. Instead, children of this forbidding household sought to immerse themselves in activities that would make their parents proud of who they were...and what they would become. Draco Malfoy was no exception.
Ever since he could remember, young Draco sought the approval of his father by gaining high praise from his tutors, learning to fence at age five, and doing countless other things he thought his father would approve. Usually, if performed to perfection, Lucius Malfoy would grant his son a curious nod and move on with business.
Matters clashed when it came to one subject: music. At first, Narcissa Malfoy secretly taught her son piano, having learned to love the instrument as a little girl. With all the Malfoy traits being ingrained into her son, she hoped that at least one Black trait could infuse itself in her heir. And so, Draco learned to play.
At first Lucius was furious when he found his son plucking at the piano. Upon hearing the scratchy tunes, he stormed into the observatory and slammed down on the keys. Draco feared they would crumble under his father’s strength.
“No Malfoy should ever submit himself to such driveling as this! Narcissa, what...were you thinking!”
The Mistress of Malfoy Manor stood from her chair with usual grace. “Lucius. Please. Not here...not in front of Draco.”
“I see no reason why not. He too should be ashamed of this girly activity.” Narcissa’s face turned stony cold. She faced her husband with unusual sternness.
“Might I remind you, Lucius, that all of the famous composers: Bach, Mozart, Tchaikovsky, Hayd-”
“Silence, woman!” Draco’s father closed the frosty gap between him and his wife to lay a rough hand on Draco’s shoulder. “My son will not do this.”
The look on his mother’s face would forever be imprinted on his brain. Defiance, pride, strength, and hopelessness. Always before she had been the perfect wife, gracious, stunning...a perfect Malfoy. For the first time Draco saw Narcissa for the independent woman she was.
“No, Lucius.” Her voice came in such a whisper Draco thought he hadn’t heard it.
“What did you say?”
“No. He will learn.”
“You dare defy me?” Narcissa answered with a raise of her chin. Several moments passed without a flicker of movement. Draco himself was too stunned to speak. The silence seemed to stretch on for miles before his mother closed the expanse.
“Draco is everything you want him to be.” Narcissa spoke calm and plainly, but the begging gaze seeped into her eyes. “You can mold him in your exact image, and I will help you all I can. But this...” she motioned to the piano, “...is one part of me I want to give him. That is all I’m asking of you.”
Without another word Lucius swept out of the room, leaving his wife and son to their own doing. By leaving, Draco knew, his father would allow them to continue his music lessons, even at great disapproval. Though normally Draco would scorn any activity his father did not wholly condone, this was different. The way his mother stood up for his music made it different. The look in her eye when he played made it different. And the release he received while playing...well...that made it very different.
* * *
References:
“Singin’ in the Rain” – Produced by Arthur Freed