AN: Mmm. I love John Mayer. I've been looking for a song of his to use as a songfic. Decided upon City Love, which is one of my favorite songs on that album. Enjoy! (This is sort of a sequel to Echoes Of Angels, don't you think? All because of one paragraph.)
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter™, J.K. Rowling does. The song City Love was written and performed by the luffly John Mayer. Anything else, however, is MINE.
Dedicated to: To the victims of September 11. A little tribute to the broken city of New York.
City Love
I never liked this apple much
He got up, stretching like a beautiful cat. One lazy yawn and he was at the window, tying the bathrobe around his waist and peering down at the whizzing cars and the myriad people walking down below. Draco blinked up at the bright New York sunshine, frowning to himself. Hermione, love… remind me again why we're smack in the middle of bloody Muggle New York City?! His words echoed back to him as he lifted the cover of his breakfast, which had long gone cold.
It always seemed too big to touch
"So many bloody Muggles. Too much noise. Large metal things they call cars. Give me Knockturn Alley any day." He mumbled under his breath as his coffee began to boil under the Heating Charm he cast on it.
I can't remember how I found
My way before she came around
To him, it was all a jumble of noise and mess and color, but to Hermione, who eagerly dragged him around with one hand, the other hand clutching the maps and brochures tightly, it was the big, glittering New York City.
"The Metropolitan Museum of Art! Draco! We absolutely have to go there! But here, they call it the Met. Let's go the Met, Draco! Right after we see..."
I tell everyone
I just because
I found a city love
Draco let her haul him around, winking slyly at the young American couple that had overheard Hermione's excited British accent. "Just a tad excited, my sweetheart is..." he drawled to them as Hermione yanked him around a corner.
I found it in [Hermione]
And I can't remember life before her name
Now sitting at his hotel window at the twenty-second floor of their hotel and sipping his coffee, the blonde smiled slowly as he thought of his city love. Her sparkling eyes and vibrant personality. Her sweet voice and slightly bossy, know-it-all attitude that he fell head over heels in love with. "It was hell getting her," he said out loud to the empty hotel room with its unmade bed and sunlight-flooded windows. "but it was all worth it."
He got up from the chair and walked into the cold marble bathroom, shedding the bathrobe as he went. Draco looked at himself in the polished mirror, with an eye trained to appreciate beauty and spot flaws. Finally, he smiled slowly at his reflection and nodded approvingly, reaching for his razor.
She keeps a toothbrush at my place
His gray eyes fell upon Hermione's toothbrush, dangling innocently from the holder above the sink. Even though she had her own apartment a few blocks down from the hotel he was staying at, she visited him, slept over, and they made love. I miss her. he thought. I wonder when she'll be back.
As if I had the extra space
He finished shaving, and after rinsing with hot water, Draco sauntered back into the bedroom, opening the closet with a lazy wave of his wand.
She steals my clothes to wear to work
I know – her hairs are on my shirt
A cool eye appraised the contents of his closet, and he raised an eyebrow. "Where's my favorite green shirt?" he asked the messy bed and the silent television. Draco shrugged and reached for his usual black polo. He knew Hermione would rush into his room later, hair a mess, and wearing the missing shirt. He smiled again... for she was one of the few memories that actually made him smile whole-heartedly.
He plucked a stray hair off the shoulder of the shirt he was wearing and was about to drop it to the ground when he stopped dead, and held it up to the light coming in through the white curtains. Brown? Hermione.
I tell everyone
I smile just because
I found a city love
It really was a city love, one that bloomed amid the rush and hustle and bustle of the Apple. It glittered like the neon lights at night and was as beautiful and timeless as the skyline of the city. It started out the way you call a cab in New York, it was hell getting there, but worth it. And as Draco flipped open his outrageously expensive dragonhide wallet and smiled down at Hermione's non-moving picture, he thought Damn worth it.
I found it in [Hermione]
And I can't remember life before
The day
She called up and came to me
Covered in rain
He could remember that night all too well, the night when she appeared at his doorstep back in London, covered in rain and tears and pain. An offer of coffee, a mint-green towel and fluffy slippers led to more, so much more. And now, look at him. He was right in the middle of New York City, madly, happily in love.
Draco looked out the window at the bright sky. "Life began with her."
And dinnertime shadowing
He glanced at the Post-It note Hermione had stuck onto his mirror, obviously assuming it would be the first place he would look when he woke in the morning. "Dinner tonight, love, at Café Maison. Love you. Hermione." Draco ran an indolent hand through his floppy blond hair. He was unfamiliar with the restaurant, but he could just imagine the scene that would play.
Hermione in a modest blue dress, and he in a sleek black suit, looking like the perfect couple. A candlelit dinner, with hushed, flirty conversation, and she would laugh, laugh that sweet, sweet laugh of hers. And he would smile at her and take her hand across the table. Glasses of wine and an excellent dinner, and the doorman would call them a cab.
And as her clothes spun
We spooned
He would slip his arms around her waist when the cab would stop in front of her apartment, and before he set off for his hotel, and she would look up at him and protest weakly. But it's a public street, Draco. And he would grin down at her, and kiss her forehead, and she wouldn't say anything anymore.
And I knew I was through
When I said
"I love you"
Draco looked at the clock on the wall. Night was falling and he expected Hermione anytime soon. He glanced at his immaculate reflection and practiced it over again. "I love you, Hermione... I love you with all my heart." he sighed. Took a breath. Even dragons get nervous. "Will you marry me?"
He closed his cool grey eyes. He could feel his heart thudding under his ribs. And a knock sounded at his door.
Friday night, we've been drinking
Late into the night, they sat at the restaurant, which was exactly as Draco had imagined it, except that she was wearing black, not blue. He looked at her over the candles, and smiled. She smiled back, and from the flush in her cheeks, he could see she had one glass of Cabaret too many. Draco slipped a hand into the pocket of his jacket, and the cool black box containing the engagement ring fell into his hands. He stroked the soft leather contemplatively...
2 a.m., I swear I might propose
He opened his mouth, the familiar thudding of his heart rising up again. "Hermione..." She looked at him, twirling a lock of her chestnut brown hair between ivory fingers. "Yes, love?" Draco slid the box out of his pocket... then... "Waiter! Check, please." Hermione called, then she turned back to him. "Sorry, love. I'm getting tipsy. Maybe we should head home?"
But we close the tab
Split a cab
Draco stood up, the box now tucked deep into his pocket. "Yes," he said firmly, and he pulled out her chair for her. "Maybe we should."
And call each other up when we get home
He now lay in bed, the phone to his ear and the curtains open, flooding city light into the dark room. He could hear her voice over the phone, faint, and still slightly tipsy. But that was fine with him. As long as it was her, he was happy. "Let's see each other again sometime soon, love." he heard her whisper sleepily. He smiled, and whispered back that he would love to see her again.
Falling asleep to the sound of sirens
A siren wailed outside his window, and maybe Hermione heard it too, because she murmured quietly "And far away... something is burning." He closed his eyes, knowing that she was already asleep after that sweet quotation. "Good night, love."
"Good night."
The sirens faded away into the milky darkness, punctuated by headlights and buzzing streetlamps of orange-gold.
From the battery
To the gallery
It's the kind of thing you only see
In scented, glossy magazines
And I can't remember life before her name.