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Harry leans against the baby grand, watching Draco’s fingers glide smoothly over the keys. The melody he plays is soft, romantic. It makes Harry think of candlelit dinners and kisses by the fireplace and slow lovemaking. He pictures him and Draco doing those things.
And Draco is exquisite when he plays. His body is relaxed and his eyes closed. Letting the music flow through him without having to pick apart each note. His body as much an instrument as the piano is. He is as at home here as Harry has ever seen him.
Harry’s fingers slide along the top of the piano, caressing the source of the tune. Feeling the vibrations move through him, too, like he is a chord struck. Draco’s eyes open and watch him, like it was a touch upon his skin instead of the instrument. Like he is the real source.
“It’s a beautiful song, Draco. Your playing is exceptional,” Harry tells him.
Draco smiles and flushes, pleased. “Thank you. I’ve been playing since I was a child. I hated the lessons at first, but they grew on me.”
Harry smiles, imagining a tiny Draco giving a tutor hell during his lessons. He can picture it distinctly and the fondness the thought engenders sweeps over him. Still, he suspects Draco learned quickly, producing stunning music to the delight of his parents.
“I’ve always wanted to learn to play,” Harry tells him. “My aunt watched a concert on the telly once and the music was so powerful, so moving. I felt every emotion in those songs, and based on the pianist’s face, so did they.”
Draco smiles at him. “It’s never too late to learn and there’s no time like the present. Do it now.”
Harry’s lips quirk. “I couldn’t inflict myself on a tutor. They’d need the patience of Merlin himself.”
“It’s truly not that hard once you get the basics down. And I’ve seen you when you dedicate yourself to something. You’d pick it up quickly, I’m sure.”
Harry eyes him. “Will you teach me?”
Draco’s smile stretches wider. “It’d be my pleasure.”