Chapter Text
Wanted: Piano lessons
Hi, I need to learn how to play the piano before Saturday, July 14th. My friends think I have been learning the piano every week for the past two and a half years but I actually spent that time having fun instead. Now they want me to play a classical piece at their wedding reception on the 14th (I can’t remember the name but it was long and had something to do with carnivals).
It’s about three weeks until the wedding so you’ll need to be available as my teacher for the time that is required for me to perfect this performance. I have cleared my schedule and I am ready. I am a fast learner (I learned to fly a broom crazy fast) so I am pretty sure I will pick it up quickly. In return, I can make you a mean coffee and I’ll pay you 1000 galleons.
If you’re interested, answer this ad via the editor in chief of the Quibbler (Luna’s the coolest) and I’ll owl you more details.
James
“Hmm,” Draco mused.
Pansy snatched the paper from him. “Why are you reading this rubbish?”
They were drinking tea and eating toast by the premium kitchen island in the enormous kitchen that belonged to Pansy’s new flat. Why she insisted on getting a flat with a kitchen this size when she didn’t even know how to boil an egg was beyond Draco’s understanding, but he wouldn’t comment on it. Pansy was not the type to have regrets.
“It’s gotten a lot better since Luna took over as editor in chief,” he said defensively while trying to snatch back his copy of the Quibbler, to no avail. “Besides, there’s an ad near the end that’s of interest to me.”
Pansy cocked a curious eyebrow at him and flipped through the pages while Draco anxiously tapped his foot.
“No clown would offer 1000 galleons for mere piano lessons!” she said after finally having read the ad. “This is either a scam, or an advert for weird sexual favours using code words we don’t understand. Carnival is a dirty word if I ever knew one.”
“I know!” he groaned. “But I can’t afford to not at least find out if it’s true or not. Timothy moved away to the states with his parents last week,” said Draco as he deflated in his seat.
“No luck in finding other students, I see?”
Draco shook his head. It had been three years since the war ended but the scars were still sore. For Draco, that meant always being on the verge of unemployment. Timothy’s parents had been an exception. They had heard him play anonymously during a small fundraiser and asked to hire him as a tutor for their son. When they recognised his name, luckily, they didn’t change their minds. Progress can only come from unity, they used to say. Draco would miss them, they were good people.
“Well,” said Pansy while buttering her toast. “You could always do what I do when I need money. Ask the parents.” Draco snorted. “What? You mentioned things are better between you lately.”
“Better, as in instead of constantly lamenting over my life choices and going on and on about how ‘purebloods hire piano teachers, we don’t become them’, my father now simply avoids the topic altogether. To fill in the silence, my mother has begun prodding me more about meeting someone. Not a young lady, gender neutral.”
“So she approves of you being gay. That’s progress.”
“Seems so. Still, I can’t accept financial aid from them without them expecting me to give up my dreams and live up to a certain standard. They don’t suffer from post-war guilt like your parents.”
“I’m a lucky one,” she said casually.
They sat in silence for a moment and then burst out in giggles. Their lives were so different now. Pansy was a free spirit, rich and unattached. Her days were spent “finding herself” as she called it, trying all the things she never even dared dreaming about when they were in school and during the war. After the war ended, she spent thirty days hiking in the Amazonian rainforest. “It was dreadful,” she said when she came back. Since then, all her activities were of the urban kind. She had tried pottery, interior design, skydiving, salsa dancing and during these past two months, oil painting.
Draco’s life was not nearly as eventful. Without the occasional distraction by Pansy or Luna, his only friends left living in the country, his life revolved around the piano. Playing, composing, and until very recently, teaching. In a way, his dedication to his music caused him a lot of stress because of the financial uncertainty, but he wouldn’t change his path in life for anything. Playing the piano brought him the most joy, the most sense of purpose, and ironically enough, the most stress relief. Besides, this kind of stress was nothing compared to what he experienced in the Manor during the Dark Lord’s reign.
Now here they were, Pansy and Draco eating breakfast at one in the afternoon on a Thursday. If they’d met now, they probably wouldn’t have become friends. Pansy would have found Draco too boring and Draco would have found her too intimidating and yet, they were closer than ever.
The conversation moved on to Pansy’s current passion: painting. She was good at it. Most of her works were abstract, her inspirations coming from Kandinsky and Hilma af Klint. A very impressive canvas of colourful, geometrical shapes made by her hung proudly over Draco’s fireplace. It was a gift for his birthday. Draco wondered how long painting would keep her busy, as her interests usually didn’t last more than three months.
“It would be a shame if you stopped painting. You’re very talented.”
“Thank you, but I don’t know. It’s a bit lonely, perhaps I need to find something more social to keep me busy.”
“You could also be involved in the art scene. Being an artist doesn’t have to be lonely.”
“Yes, you are a perfect example of that.”
Draco shot her a look. “What if I said I’d become incredibly jealous if you became a successful painter without being the stereotypical struggling artist like me?”
“I will consider it,” she said and grinned. “You know darling, everyone knows that struggle adds talent to the artist and you have a whole baggage of struggle. You’ll be successful in no time.”
Pansy stroked his hand and her previous grin became a warm smile. Draco appreciated her sentiment but she was being too optimistic about the timeline. He quirked his lips and then reached for The Quibbler. There was an ad that needed to be answered.