Dramione One-Shots (Collection)

Guitarist and His Tune

Written by Dracofhouseblack

https://archiveofourown.org/works/17979974

***

The breeze danced into the room through an open window - the night still young and the fire still burning. Boxes filled the master-bedroom, some large, some tall and some small.

She stood in the middle of the room, eyes grazing over the boxes which all labeled 'Bedroom'. She was aware that she could use magic to place her and her husband's belongings away – but she thought it was far more sentimental the muggle way.

They had bought a rather large house just before their wedding. Her husband insisted on a house just as large as the Manor – but Hermione had disagreed. The Manor was rather too large, and she was afraid she'd lose herself in it. She wanted it to be cozy.

She began rummaging through the boxes to find smaller objects which could be placed on their bedside tables - things like photographs and souvenirs.

Picking up a few postcards with moving photographs on them, she noticed a rather familiar photograph she had picked up during her time in Madrid. The picture was depicted in the late 1980s, a man sitting on a small stool in one of the side streets playing traditional tunes on his guitar. He was smiling widely at all who passed him.

***

She stood on the balcony, looking out to see the street filled with people – humming and dancing to the sound of the guitarist's tune. The night was warm and the breeze was cool.

Hermione held a photograph she bought at the Wizardry Museum – it was of a guitarist – similarly like the man who was playing the beautiful melody below her.

"He's always here at night," she turned around, smiling at the blond who was leaning on the door-frame of the room.

"He's rather brilliant, don't you think?" She asked. Smiling, he idly glanced from her head to toe – admiring the woman who was standing in front of him.

"Brilliant is a strong use of character, Granger," He smirked at her, "He's average." She scoffed, taking a few steps toward him.

"Right, I forgot who I was talking to," She smirked, "The man who travels around the world, slumbering in the penthouse of five-star hotels with a water view, no less."

He chuckled at her, his gaze falling to the floor as he took off his jacket and placed It on an armchair by the door.

"Aren't you doing the same?" He questioned, raising a pale eyebrow, "Traveling around the world, slumbering in five-star hotels?"

"Not in the penthouses, I don't." She crossed her arms, "Besides, I hardly spend time in the hotel – I am here for the history and culture – not for the room service."

Taking a few steps toward her, stopping when his mouth nearly touched the crown of her head. Her breathing hitched at the sight of the man in front of her. His grey orb-like eyes staring down at her with something she could not place a finger on. Thinking about it, he was staring at her like that the whole day. From the moment they accidentally bumped into each other over in France, two whole months ago, to the present.

Hermione would say it was a coincidence – bumping into him in France – but she believed in no such thing.

They both had retained a relatively wonderful job at the Ministry after the war. Draco as a Solicitor for the Wizengamot and Hermione apart of the Magical Law Enforcement team.