"Now I've heard there was a secret chord." He felt his body go numb. His throat was dry. Of all the people to run into, after so long, why did it have to be her? "That David played, and it pleased the Lord." She looked up from her guitar, her honey brown hair falling away from her eyes. Draco knew the moment she saw him at the back of the pub. His years of musical training on the cello made him aware of her slight pause in the chord change. For a moment, fear crossed her warm, brown eyes, before she firmly closed them, making herself relax. "But you don't really care for music, do you?"
Her voice was a surprisingly sultry mezzo, catching him off guard. He had often wondered what she would sound like, after hearing her hum to herself sometimes in the library when they were kids. He took another drink of Fireball whiskey, reveling in the burn. It didn't quite match fire whiskey, but the cinnamon taste brought it close. "It goes like this: the fourth, the fifth, the minor fall, the major lift. The baffled king composing Hallelujah." She seemed determined not to look at him again.
The war hadn't went well for either side. Sure, Harry had defeated Voldemort. But along with all the deaths leading up to that, many had lost their lives in the rebuilding of the wizarding world. Draco raised his mug to all of them, both sides. While his father had only pretended to see the error of his ways to escape prison, Draco was honestly through with the dark wizard lot. The war had changed him. Landed him here, in a muggle pub in London, trying to drink his problems away. Wrong sodding place!
"Hallelujah." The small crowd clapped as Hermione strummed her last chord. She nodded her head and walked off to the back room they had set up for performers. Setting down her most prized possession, she walked over to the small refrigerator and poured a shot of Fireball. It burned going down but seemed to warm that empty hole in her chest.
She caught her reflection in the mirror. The bags under her eyes were getting worse. I will not cry. I will not cry! I refuse! She downed another shot and pulled on her jacket. Grabbing her backpack and putting her guitar in its case, she took the back door from the pub, hoping not to run into him.
Draco saw her come out the back door. He knew her well enough to know she didn't want to see him, but he wanted to talk to her. But when he saw the curve of her shoulders and the hang of her head, he kept to the shadows. She passed right by him, looking both ways once she reached the main road. He felt the need to follow her, though he didn't know why. Maybe out of fear of never seeing her again.
After twenty minutes of following Hermione, he saw her walk up to the door of a small two story house. Draco was slightly shocked that she had a house in the muggle world, since he had last heard that Ron and her had a place not far from the Weasley home. A light came on in the kitchen on the side of the house, so he moved to the shadows so he could see in. He could see her moving around as if she didn't know what to do with herself. Even though he knew she couldn't see him, he felt bad for spying on her private life.
Hermione tried to think of something to do besides turning in for the night. She sat at the table, nursing another drink. Her eyes fell on a picture stuck to the refrigerator. It was of her parents on a trip to Paris before she was born. Her mom was waving to the camera while her dad snuck a kiss on her cheek. She wanted to smile at the love that she felt between them, but she could only cry. She jumped up from her seat and ripped it down, stuffing it in a drawer. When she had moved back here after they died she had tried to hide all of their pictures. Guess I missed one...
Draco didn't quite understand, but he figured he should head home. He walked a block away and Apparated home. Malfoy Manor was even more silent since his father disappeared. He had managed to slip through the ministry's fingers when the war ended, but Lucius Malfoy would never change. His mom couldn't stand to be in the house, so she packed her bags and left. Draco hadn't heard from her in months.
Rosey the house elf ran up to him, "Anything the master would like tonight?" Her ears had little red bows on them. Unlike the house elves his father kept, Draco was hell-bent on change, and so only kept freed elves. Due to the Malfoy reputation, the number was very few, but ones such as Rosey were fierce in their loyalty. Draco never punished her and even gave her presents at holidays, and in return she made sure that the other elves stayed on staff.
"No thank you, Rosey. I'm just going to turn in." He turned to walk up the staircase to his quarters, but stopped. "Any mail today?"
"No, sir." She hung her head and made her way to the kitchen. Draco told himself every morning not to hope, and every night he cursed himself for doing so.
He finally made it to his room and got ready for bed. When he closed his eyes he steeled himself for the nightmares that plagued him each night. Instead, he saw warm, brown eyes and honey hair. The sultry sound of a sad song. It warmed his icy excuse of a heart, if only a little, and gave him the first easy night he had had in the two years since the war.