The room had taken to showing him an empty ballroom, towering fake windows with wintery-gray light filtering through the thick glass. One golden ray of sun managed to find the piano in the center of the room, the only piece of furniture in the large space. Draco went there most nights and stood, staring at the piano – the perfect replica of the piano he’d had lessons on as a child; the piano Voldemort had destroyed the night his father had been arrested. 