Hi, all!

Welcome to my first WiP!

Initially when I had the idea for this story I pictured it as a long one-shot, but it's run away from me a bit and now I'm thinking it will be at least 5 chapters, if not a few more.

I promise to try and update regularly! The first couple of chapters will be short-ish, around 3k, but I've no idea how long subsequent ones will be. It's turning into its own beast!

Huge thanks to my betas Whitney, Kati and Michelle for helping me get this off the ground! Any remaining errors are my own.

I don't make any money off this and I'm taking creative liberties with JK's characters... I hope you enjoy!

Malfoy Manor, Sunday morning

Draco groaned as he regained consciousness.

Everything hurt. His head hurt, his face hurt, his sides hurt, his hands hurt. He experimentally cracked his eyes open and was assailed by the sun streaming in the window, directly in his face. Yep, his eyes hurt, too.

His mouth tasted like a garbage bin and he was wearing yesterday's clothes. He tried to roll sideways, and caught a whiff of sour sweat and vomit. Too much for his already roiling stomach, he grabbed for the edge of the mattress, hauled himself over and vomited violently onto the floor. Too exhausted and ill to immediately move once he had emptied the last of his stomach's contents, Draco let his head hang over the edge of the bed, closing his eyes again against the brightness.

Behind him, he heard the door open and someone enter the room. "Oh, you're alive. Just barely."

"Shut it, Theo." Draco muttered, still not moving.

He heard Theo move around to the side of the bed. "You missed the bucket." his friend commented, dryly. Draco cracked his eyes open again, wincing against the light, and turned his head gingerly to the side. There was indeed a bucket, and he had indeed missed it. Rather spectacularly, he noticed.

"Sorry." Draco carefully rolled over onto his back and threw an arm over his eyes.

Theo snorted. "Don't apologise to me. It's your room. I couldn't give a shit what bodily fluids you deposit on the floor." He cast a scourgify charm to clear up the mess, then sat down on the end of the bed. "Here. I brought you a hangover potion. Extra strength."

"Thanks, mate. You're a legend." Draco accepted the potion gratefully, propping himself up slightly on one elbow so he could drink the contents. He sighed in relief as it began to take effect, and sat up fully. He was startled to see Theo staring at him intently. "What?" He said, somewhat irritably.

"That guy you got in a fight with last night really did a number on your face."

Now that that the hangover potion had done its work, Draco noticed again how much he hurt. He got up and walked over to the full-length mirror behind his door to examine the damage. His right eye was swollen and bruised, he had a split lip, and his nose was very tender - though it didn't appear to be broken. He went to lift his hands to his face and winced at the pain in his side. Lifting his shirt gingerly, he shook his head at the rainbow of bruises peppered over his ribs and torso.

Behind him, Theo whistled. "Your kidneys took a hammering, mate."

Draco turned to look, and was surprised at the size of the bruises. Carefully lowering his shirt again, he moved (hobbled, actually - his legs hurt, too) over to a second door, behind which was his ensuite bathroom. He turned back to his friend. "I'm just going to take a shower. And maybe a pain potion."

Theo nodded in repose, but said nothing.

In the bathroom with the water running, Draco carefully undressed. Looking at himself properly for the first time, he knew he looked terrible. He was paler than usual, making the swellings on his haggard face stand out even more starkly. The angry network of bruises over his torso and back made him run his hands gingerly over his ribs. Thankfully, there appeared to be no breaks. His legs, although sore, didn't seem to have taken any visible damage. He sighed deeply, bracing his hands on the edge of the vanity as he eyed his reflection with distaste. "You need to sort your shit out." He told himself.

It wouldn't be the first time he had spoken this mantra. The last year had been a blur for Draco. A blur of drinking himself into stupors, getting into fights or otherwise injuring himself by falling on his face or down flights of stairs, and generally just getting himself into trouble. The Daily Prophet gleefully reported on his many escapades, and he had grown used to seeing himself splashed all over its pages in various states of disarray - often, but not always, with an almost equally dishevelled woman or two on his arm. He would wake on the mornings following, feeling like death warmed up and often with a vague sense of disappointment that death had not, in fact, claimed him. He felt like the proverbial drowning man, floundering in the sea that was his many demons. Would he slip under, or manage to find the strength to keep his head above the surface?

His life had gone to shit when Narcissa had been murdered.

His mother had been the one good, constant thing in his life after the Second Wizarding War ended four years ago. His family's good name had been dragged through the mud, their assets stripped as reparations for their crimes, and they had all been subjected to long and arduous trials. Ultimately, Draco and Narcissa had escaped Azkaban, instead being sentenced only to probation. Lucius, on the other hand, had been sentenced to five years' incarceration. Eighteen months into his sentence, he had been killed when he was caught up in a brawl between death eaters and other prisoners. Narcissa had been heartbroken and was inconsolable for months, but Draco had barely been able to bring himself to mourn his father's passing.

However, despite all their trials and challenges, despite being shunned, reviled and generally considered awful people, Draco and Narcissa had had each other. Mother and son would spend time together in the manor, reading, talking, or spending time in the expansive gardens and vineyards which spanned the grounds.

Draco broke free from his musings long enough to get into the shower, where he let the scalding water run over him, soothing his aches. His mind drifted again as he thought again of Narcissa, and he felt a pang as he remembered that the previous night had been the anniversary of the day he had laid her to rest. An involuntary sob escaped his chest. A year on, and he still felt the pain as equally as he had on the day he lost her. As he dwelt on her death the emotion welling up inside him became too much, and he could hold back no longer. Dropping to his knees, Draco sobbed under the pounding water, thinking of how much he missed his mother, how her life had been brutally and violently cut short. He mourned all the things they used to do together. Their walks in the garden, their work in the vineyards, their lively debates and their shared love of reading. He recalled the way she would sometimes sing when she was especially happy. She had a lovely, clear voice. Oh, he had loved to hear her sing, especially as a child. Her voice had comforted him in times of sadness, and lifted him in times of happiness. She would sing-

His head snapped up. She would sing- that voice. In a bar. Singing in a way that had reminded him immediately of Narcissa.

"...Why don't you do right, like some other men do?
Get out of here, and get me some money, too…"

Who was it? Where was it? He had to know, and now.

Theo heard the door open and looked up in surprise to see a wild-eyed, dripping wet, very naked Draco Malfoy standing in front of him and looking positively deranged.

"Who was she, Theo?!"

"Who was who, mate?"

"Her! The woman! Singing, in the-" Draco frowned. "I can't remember where it was. I just remember her voice." He began to pace, seemingly unaware that he was naked and trailing water all over the carpet. "I need to know who she was! Her voice-"

Theo accio'ed a towel from the bathroom and walked over to Draco, handing it to him.

Draco absently took the towel but continued to pace, holding it limply in one hand.

Theo put his hand on Draco's shoulder to stop his pacing, and turned his friend to face him. "What about her voice?"

"It-it was so like mother's." Draco seemed to deflate. Looking down, he finally seemed to notice the towel in his hand and his state of undress. He quickly wrapped the towel around his waist and walked over to his desk, pulling out a chair to sit down.

"What happened last night, Theo?"

Theo looked at his friend, pain etched on his face, and sighed. He hated to see him self-destruct like this. He had loved Narcissa too - she had been like the mother he had never had, and he still mourned her. But still - what it had done to Draco had been even worse. He had been keeping up appearances for the three years following the War, but following her death he had fallen apart and Theo had been trying to keep him alive and out of Azkaban ever since.

"Nothing much out of the ordinary. We went out to a few places, you got standing-up, falling-down drunk, and got into a fight with some guy in the Muggle club we were at. The bouncers hauled your arse out, but you kept trying to get back in, yelling something about having to hear her." He paused. "Is that what you meant? You wanted to hear the woman who was performing at the time?"

"I don't know, I don't remember the fight, or getting kicked out. I just remember her voice." He looked at Theo. "Where was it? What kind of club was it?"

"It was Muggle London. A music club. They played something called-" Theo frowned, trying to remember. "-Blues and Jazz. Whatever that is. It was nice music, though."

"I need to go back there." Draco got up, made his way over to his wardrobe and began rummaging for clean clothes. "I have to find out who she is."

"They won't be open, mate. It's Sunday."

Draco popped his head round the door as he pulled on a clean shirt. "Still, I can go and look, can't I? Maybe they'll have a way to contact someone."

Theo looked unsure. "I suppose so. Still, you might not get a very warm reception next time they're open, considering the commotion you caused last night."

"I don't suppose I could just obliviate everyone working there last night?" Draco said, only half joking.

"I wouldn't recommend it, Drake. You know how the ministry is with tampering with muggle's memories. Besides, all those muggle clubs have those video camera things they use for security."

"Ahh, bugger. Oh well." Draco had pulled on some trousers as they were talking and now began to tie up a pair of shoes. "Right! Let's go. Show me this club."

Theo shook his head resignedly. Clearly, Draco was not going to be dissuaded. "Come on then, mate." The two friends headed down to the foyer. Theo offered Draco his arm, and when he was ready, side-along apparated them both out of the Manor.

The Blue Jazzist Club, Muggle London, the previous night

Hermione put the finishing touches on her makeup in front of the dressing-room mirror. Her hair was piled on top of her head, with a few strands flowing loose at the base of her neck and framing her face. She heard three sharp raps on the door. "You're on in five, luv."

"Be right there, Roger!" she called out, turning away to slip on her heels. Her long crimson gown shimmered under the lights as she stood and picked up the elbow-length gloves which completed her outfit. With one last glance in the mirror, she headed out of the room and towards the stage's back entrance.

She had just begun her set when she noticed a commotion toward the back of the club, although she couldn't see who was involved due to the footlights that illuminated the stage and limited her vision to the closest tables. Not missing a beat, she continued to belt out her routine. The detractors were quickly removed by Larry and Paul, the bouncers monitoring the inside of the club that weekend. She could hear, faintly, one of the men shouting something. She couldn't make out the words, but a part of her jolted slightly. She seemed to recognise the voice, but damned if she could figure out who it might be. She shrugged it off and let herself get lost in the high she always felt when performing, and before she knew it, her forty-minute set was over. She left the stage to rapturous applause, wolf-whistles and cheers, and headed back to the dressing room to change.

At the end of the night, when the club had closed for the evening, the club staff and any performers who had stayed on would gather at the bar for a drink and a chat. Rodger, the club owner, believed in having a wind-down period at the end of each night where everyone could relax. He also encouraged anyone to ask questions or bring up any issues they may have encountered over the course of the evening. Hermione, more casually dressed in jeans and a tee shirt, took a sip of her beer and said, "So tell me! What was with the kerfuffle earlier?"

Larry snorted. "Oh, the usual. Some drunk twat started a scrap with some other bloke. Pissed out of his mind, he was." The bouncer paused. "Funny thing, though. He stopped trying to punch out everything in his orbit when you started singin'. Just froze. We grabbed 'im and started hauling his arse outside, and then he started yelling sumthin' about having to go back, having to 'hear her sing'. I think he must have wanted to watch your set. We weren't having none of that though, he was too far gone. We turfed his arse out and his mate turned up from the bogs and hauled him off up the street."

Hermione shook her head. "Honestly! What is with some people?" She looked at Larry and John worriedly. "You weren't injured, were you?"

"Nah, don't you worry about us, Hermione. Guys like him are usually too pissed to do any damage to anyone but themselves."

Hermione sighed with relief and gathered up her bag and coat. "Right, I'm off home. Goodnight, everyone!"

John stood up. "I'll walk you to your car."

She smiled. "Thank you, that would be lovely." Although she could apparate to and from the club, Hermione found it safer to do things the Muggle way in order to avoid awkward questions about her means of transport. With a wave to the assembled group, she left the building. She walked in companionable silence beside John as they headed to where her car was parked around the corner. As she arrived at the door, John spoke, musing aloud. "You be careful, now. That fellow from earlier tonight acted strangely when her heard you. Be vigilant, you never know when these weirdos will crop up."

'He probably won't remember a thing from tonight if he was as drunk as you say he was." Hermione smiled fondly at the older man. He and Larry were in their thirties and both fiercely protective of her, like older brothers. She climbed into the driver's seat and started the engine. "Goodnight, John. Thanks for escorting me."

"G'night, Hermione."

As she drove home, she recalled the conversation and giggled. She'd been immediately reminded of Alastor Moody when John had cautioned her to be vigilant. "Constant vigilance!" she barked to herself. She felt sad for a moment, thinking of Moody and the others who had died during the battle of Hogwarts. It had been four years, and she still had days where she would suddenly be reminded of Fred, or Tonks, or Lupin, or Dumbledore. Shaking her head, she continued on. She was shattered, and couldn't wait to get home and go to bed.

The Blue Jazzist Club, Sunday afternoon

Draco wandered around the entrance to the club, looking for signs of life. The solid oak doors were closed, and no sounds came from within.

"Do you think the owner might be inside?" Draco asked, staring intently up at the plain brick frontage above the doors as if the man might suddenly float through the wall.

"I doubt it." Theo replied. "I don't think any muggles use these buildings when they aren't doing business. He's probably at home."

Draco frowned. "Why run a business if you're not going to be close by? Surely it's easier to manage if you live near or above it?"

Theo, who had more experience with the muggle world than Draco, snorted. "This isn't Diagon Alley, mate. Business owners in the muggle world don't usually live in the vicinity of their establishment."

Draco huffed impatiently in response. "Well, when do you think he'll be back again? There must be something outlining the hours of operation somewhere."

Turning back the the club's entrance, the two wizards looked for information. Theo soon spotted a small sign posted on a wall alongside the doors saying, "Open Thursday-Saturday from 10pm til late."

"Fuck's sake! Seriously?! What kind of a business is this?" Draco fumed.

"Easy, Drake. It's how muggle clubs like this operate." Theo soothed. "They're a bit different to your usual pubs and taverns, they cater to the weekend crowd."

"But how do they make any money, only being open a few hours at a time for three nights a week?"

Theo shrugged. "From what I've seen, some don't. There's a lot of competition out there, so they have to work to become and stay popular or they go under."

Draco groaned in frustration. "It's only Sunday! How will I wait until Thursday?!"

"I dunno mate, but you'll just have to try." Theo clapped his friend on the shoulder. "Come on, we'll go to the Hog's Head for a drink. A drink, not all the drinks. I have work tomorrow."

Malfoy Manor, Thursday night

Draco looked at his nervous, pale reflection in the mirror. Would she be there? What would she look like? Could he summon the courage to talk to her? If he did, would she laugh at him? Dismiss him? He abruptly turned away and strode across his room to his desk, where a bottle of firewhiskey and a tumbler sat. Pouring two generous fingers into the glass, Draco quickly swallowed the amber liquid, shuddering as it burned a trail down his throat and into his stomach.

Decisively, he twisted on the spot, apparating away to muggle London and the Blue Jazzist Club.

The Blue Jazzist Club, Thursday night

"Hey Larry, look." John pointed down the street, indicating a lone figure striding towards them. "Isn't that the bloke made a scene last weekend?"

Larry glanced in the direction John was pointing. "Yeah, it is 'im. If he thinks e's coming in 'ere e's got a another thing coming."

The two men eyed Draco as he approached the entrance to the club, looking nervous but trying to smile.

"Stop right there, mate. You ain't coming in 'ere tonight." Larry said, stepping in Draco's path.

Draco lifted his hands in submission. ""Look, I want to apologise for the other night. I'd had far too much to drink, and I was completely out of order."

Larry snorted. "Too right you were, mate. You still ain't coming in. Boss has a rule, people who cause trouble get banned. This is a nice, quiet club and we want to keep it that way."

"I understand that, I do. I promise not to cause further trouble." Draco tried to keep his voice calm.

"Maybe you do and maybe you don't, but if we start making exceptions for one person we gotta start doing the same for other troublemakers. D'ya know what happens when we start letting troublemakers in?"

Draco shook his head.

"We start getting a reputation among the less desirable types." Larry explained. "Once those types start turning up and causing problems, we start to get a reputation among the filth for being a hot spot. Next thing we know, we've got bobbies showing up 'ere doing surprise visits at all hours of the night, trying to catch us out. To top that off, the combination of the undesirables causing problems and the bobbies being here all the time makes our regular patrons nervous, and we start getting a reputation among them for being an establishment which is poorly managed."

"It's bad for business, see?" John chimed in. "The evening entertainment scene is volatile. It takes a long time to build a good reputation and a steady clientele, but it can all be undone in a matter of weeks once troubles start. The boss is a good man. He works hard, treats his employees right and loves his business. It's our duty to help him protect it."

Draco was beginning to feel desperate. Changing tack, he asked, "What can you tell me about the woman who was singing last time I was here? Will she be back tonight?"

John's eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What do you want with her? You her ex or something?"

Eyes wide, Draco shook his head. "No, not at all. I don't even know what she looks like. I just want to know who she is." He paused. "Please. Can you tell me anything about her?"

"I ain't telling you nothing." John said, with an air of finality. "Now bugger off before I kick your arse."

Draco sighed in defeat. He knew it would be useless to argue further. He would just have to come up with a new plan. "Very well. Thank you for your time, gentlemen. I apologise again for my behaviour last weekend." Without another word, he turned away and walked around the corner to find a spot where he could apparate.

Hope you have enjoyed reading the first chapter! What will Draco do next...?