Lucius Malfoy's Baby(-Grand)

Lucius Malfoy flicked his long, blonde hair over his shoulder; sometimes, he liked to pretend he was Taylor Swift or Lady Gaga. He wasn't, as Narcissa kindly reminded him when he sang after intercourse…or in the shower…or anywhere.

But he wasn't to know that.

She regretted buying him the damn thing, that was for sure. It had seemed like a dark and sexy sort of present for the over-forties—and wouldn't that sleek, mahogany baby-grand piano have looked just fabulous with the upholstery in the drawing room. She'd thought so. No one in the family played, but what did it matter? A simple enchantment would have fixed that and—voila! A sophisticated piece of artwork-slash-background entertainment at Dark functions…and for when Bellatrix came to dinner.

But—Oh! Not anymore! She didn't know Lucius would like the damn thing so much. But here he was, tinkering away the ivory keys like a small child. Like a small, annoying child. One with a megaphone.

This was wrong.

"Lucius, my dear," she drawled seductively, waltzing over the piano bench where he sat, entirely consumed by his newest…"composition".

"Oh, Voldy was a dark, dark Lord,

He had a cloak and an oaken sword,

Which he wielded as the crowd applaud-

ed, but Harry Potter was his downfall, that damned forsaken man-whore of a BOY!"

The singing was off-key, and all rhythm was recklessly abandoned by the fourth line, but you had to admire the passion.

"Lucy," Narcissa cooed, using his pet name reserved only for foreplay and bribery. "You know, I think I'm getting sleepy… won't you join me in bed?"

Usually, at the mention of the word "bed", Lucius Malfoy was out of the room, undressed, and waiting on the sheets before you could say "Avada Kedavra"

But not tonight.

"Oh, Voldy had a troubled life,

His childhood filled with endless strife…"

"Did you hear me, Lucy?"

Notes crashed haphazardly from beneath the lid, jarring painfully in Narcissa's head.

"Lucius?" She tried again. "Lucy, I said bed. BED."

He went for a sort of crescendo, which failed dismally, causing the fine, pale hairs on the back of his wife's arm to stand on end.


With a skittering halt, the "music" ceased.

"But, Lovecakes, I just"—

"Get. In. The. Bed. Now." Narcissa's growl was fierce enough to frighten a brigade of first years with knifes; Malfoy exited in swift obedience. There was a pause, the piano seeming to vibrate reproachfully, a faint shimmer of noise still echoing from within.

Narcissa slammed the lid with unnecessary force.

Lucius' voice drifted timidly from the other room. "Cissy, my sweet, please don't"—

"I can't hear you undressing!"

"Yes, love." The sounds of a belt being whipped off came faintly from the other room, followed by the light thud of expensive, velvet robes falling to the ground.

"And the underwear," she prompted icily, listening hard until she heard the faint thump of 100% leather, elf-made briefs. Malfoys didn't 'do' boxers.

"Now," she commanded, "get in and wait for me."

"Yes, love," came the solemn reply, drenched with the fearful anticipation of violent lovemaking that would break even the strongest of men.

Satisfied, and about to get some, Narcissa turned her pale, miserable face back to the problem.

That horrendous instrument. Sex used to be fun damn it! Now, all Lucius would do was just…lie there and wait patiently for it all to be over; then, he would rush back the piano stool, occasionally still unclothed, and bash away at the keys, again. And Narcissa didn't think she could stand hearing "I Eat Death" (Lucius' first and favourite composition) hummed in time with the bedsprings one more evening.

And as for the suggestion of combing sex and pianos. He'd almost cried.

"You want to do what?" Apparently, his poor little 'Gertie'—Lucius' fond nickname for the musical beast—couldn't be exposed to such "filth", he had called it. Narcissa was at a loss; having sex on top of a piano was something she'd often fantasised about in her Hogwarts days.

Gertie sat there, innocently, watching Narcissa as she contemplated her problem.

She really was a very pretty piano. Shiny. The way she caught the light, it was…beautiful, really. And it was a pretty sound—even that was obvious despite her husband's aversion to actual playing. A little tweaking, a simple fifth-year melody charm, and Gertie could be quite and asset, she thought.

She drew her hand, pictured her tune, and waved it towards the piano, muttering under her breath, "Melodius Barryus Whiticus!" and a soft, harmonious (and slightly raunchy) song began drifting from the piano, the keys pushing themselves, seemingly of their own accord.

When Narcissa entered the bedroom, Lucius was sitting up in bed, looking alert. His clothes were still scattered on the floor. He bore a contemplative expression as he watched her undress.

"What?" Narcissa demanded, setting her wand on the nightstand and letting her long, silvery-blonde curtain of hair fall freely down to her waist.

"Gertie...she—Barry…" he began, looking confused. "Our piano knows 'Love Making Music'?"

"All pianos know Barry White songs, stupid," she replied, shedding the last of her clothing and hopping into the bed, next to him.

In the other room, the chorus picked up.

"Now, roll over," Narcissa commanded, picking up her copy of 'Karma Sutra for the Dark Side'. "Tonight, we're going to try… the…Ooh! Let's do the "Murdered Toad"! This one looks interesting…"

Gertie the piano stood alone in the drawing room, hearing only moans and giggles (all Lucius) from the master bedroom, as she slowly gathered dust. And the next day, when Lucius approached her, she expected him to tickle her keys once again, but he only muttered and pointed his wand at her, striking up the Barry White.

Well, Narcissa was happy at least.