Disclaimer: I do not own anything related to the potterverse. Or the lyrics at the beginning. Written for the dramione_duet at livejournal.

Here comes the rain again, raining in my head like a tragedy, tearing me apart like a new emotion.

Draco Malfoy was just about convinced that the human body wasn't conditioned to become acclimated to a feeling like anxiety. If it were, the emotion wouldn't be so overwhelming, so torturous. He'd been living with different shades of anxiety for so long that he thought it was second nature to him, like an unknown extension of his character. Still, when Hermione Granger was near, the tension that rushed upon him was new and unadulterated, and he secretly hoped he never got used to that particular inexplicable rush of distress.

From the moment she set foot into the crowded corridor, his nerves frayed. His breath hitched in his throat, and his palms began to sweat. He felt his chest constrict, and above the pulsing of the bass and the hum of the melody, he could hear the erratic thumping of his heart.

Thinning his lips, he looked down at his shoes. Perhaps if he didn't watch her, if he couldn't see her, it would quell the adrenaline, the want, the desire. But he was wrong. He was attuned to her and, as she neared, his head lifted to find her pretty face. When she squeezed past him, her hand pressed against his chest, and as her bottomless brown eyes lifted to meet his gaze, she smiled shyly, her cheeks flushing. Then she was gone; she had moved along to the main room.

He released the air he didn't realize he'd been holding and brought his fingers to his sternum where he could still feel the tingly warmth and tickling magic of her touch lingering in his soul.

Abruptly, a burst of white light struck into the dim hallway before two witches giggled and stumbled their way out of the washroom. Once they had past, Draco slipped in to cool his nerves and regain whatever vestiges were left of his composure.

There was a time, not so very long ago, when he didn't have to control himself around her. When it was perfectly acceptable for him to lose his head over her, press her against the corridor wall, smother her in kisses before shagging her into oblivion. It had been passionate, random, and thrilling. There had been no reason or rhyme for what they had shared, and it had lain somewhere far beyond labels and boundaries. He had relished the freedom of it—the brilliant splendor of those passing moments. So much so that he had taken advantage of it and, before he knew what he had or wanted, he'd lost it.

Hermione Granger had just stopped tip-toeing across the hall to his flat one day.

Months had passed, perhaps even a year, and there were rare days when he was sure he was over it, that it hadn't meant that much in the first place. He even convinced himself that he could share the same space as her and not be overwhelmed with the desire to touch her. That was never really the case though.

Under the ashes of his unflappable demeanor, red hot embers would burst to flame with the mere whisper of her name or a rogue waft of her scent. He would spiral into some chaotic emotion that made him incapable of behaving normally and rationally. He felt wretched and aloof with her. As if he didn't know how to exist unless she was right there under him, dewy, pliant and laden with lust.

He couldn't do that anymore. She wasn't his (not that she ever really had been), and now she was casually seeing someone else. Draco knew that she would never betray anyone, and he couldn't bring himself to ask her to either.

Someone banged on the washroom door, begging him to hurry, so he splashed his face with cold water and took a deep breath. He could be here. He could see her smile and be okay with the fact that it wasn't for him. He wouldn't be brash. He could be brave.

When he exited the loo, he almost believed himself. However, upon returning to the main room of the Dizzy Snitch, a Quidditch pub, he found his courage would be put through the most brutal of tests. She was there again, leaning over the bar-top, her tip-toe tapping the floor impatiently as she waited for service.

Draco took the opportunity to examine her, to capture her just as she was. A pretty picture. Her tumultuous hair was pinned away from her face, and in the soft candlelight, it appeared alive, full of color and wonder. Pied and faceted like threads of priceless silk and he could almost feel the memory of it in his palm. She wore a simple plum-colored dress that gave warmth to the apple of her cheeks, and when she turned to speak to Harry Potter, her eyes sparkled bemusedly.

Draco gulped and stepped forward. He wanted to talk to her, to see the gleeful glisten in her mud brown eyes and watch the coming of her smile. He wanted to know it was for him and belonged to no other. He needed to touch her, to smell her, to just be near her. He felt as if his very existence depended on it.

And he just felt. He felt all of the things he had tried not to feel. All of the desires and wishes that he held in his heart behind lock and key, and he knew without a doubt that he loved her. So very much. He wasn't sure when it had happened, when pure burning lust crossed that thin black line into love, but it had, and no matter how much he tried to deny it, it was there and it was real.

His resolve was breaking. With each step he took, he could feel it shedding away, layer by layer, until he was undone. Until he stood just behind her and he was bare, vulnerable, and wrecked.

He reached up tentatively, his eyes trained on her soft shoulder, just beyond the plum strap of her dress. His mouth was full of cotton, but he was determined to talk to her, to say her name. Just hello. I missed you, yeah? Do you need me like I need you?

But he hesitated.

All the charm and confidence he had exhibited over the years, for which he was notorious, tumbled away and left him cumbersome. He couldn't think properly, and nothing seemed to make sense. Just that she smelled so very sweet and looked so very fine.

Then, as if it all happened in slow motion, he watched Cormac McLaggen wrap his arm around her waist and tip his forehead against her temple as he whispered flirtatiously into her ear.

It was a full on punch to Draco's gut, and he was sure the world around him was going to fall out and away. Ripping, angry red jealousy tore at his heart, tearing it to ribbons.

He pressed his palm to his stomach and grimaced, looking about wildly as he backed away as inconspicuously as possible. His frantic gaze found Pansy and there was pity etched within the depths of her eyes and it steadied him. He momentarily wondered what the hell Pansy Parkinson knew about unrequited love and heartbreak.

She gestured for him and he complied, grateful that she'd agreed to come out with him. If he could just get away to the far side of the room, he wouldn't have to watch Hermione canoodle with McLaggen, and then, perhaps, he could privately lick his wounds and let alcohol suture the shreds of his broken heart.

"Malfoy."

Draco winced and looked toward Pansy again. Slightly she shook her head and her eyes pleaded with him not to turn around, to keep walking because all that was behind him was rejection and he needed no more of it tonight.

Yet, he had never been good at doing as told.

He pivoted slowly, forcing the unflappable mask to slip back into place with a tilt of his head, and a contrived smirk danced across his mouth. It wouldn't do to let her see how she affected him, how ravaged his emotions were. "Hello, Granger."

She regarded him carefully, a soft smile upon her cherry mouth. "Are you feeling all right?"

"I'm well, thanks. You?" He was behaving obtusely on purpose, hoping that he would not give in again. Cold, small, meaningless talk had uses after all, and it was a brilliant defense mechanism, for sure.

Her eyes narrowed and she tipped her chin up. "Right. Are you sure? You look a bit ill."

He stepped away from her and gestured toward the table that he shared with Pansy. "I have to go. Good to see you."

She rushed forward, bringing her hand to his shoulder. The tension coiling in his chest tightened more so, and he mustered every vestige of his wrecked courage not to lean into her touch. "I saw you. Just there, I thought you had something to say." Her eyes were large and pleading. She was pushing for an explanation, he realized, and wondered if she suspected his feelings. She probably wanted the truth, and while he was overwhelmed with the urge to tell her, it was all wrong. A bloke should never profess his love for a witch in the middle of a dodgy pub.

He shrugged in mimicry of nonchalance. "You must've been mistaken."

She regarded him suspiciously, bringing her fingers up to cover her mouth thoughtfully. "Mmm, perhaps."

"Yeah," he said lamely, stuffing his hands in his pockets and rocking on the balls of his feet.

She shifted uncomfortably and folded her arms under her chest and reactively, her shoulders pushed upward in defensive. "Are you sure you are all right?" Her voice was soft, imploring, and just a little encouraging.

"Of course, just a bit pissed, possibly." He glanced over his shoulder at Pansy, who kicked out a chair and pointed at it as if to command Sit, boy. Now. He returned his gaze to Hermione. "Pansy's waiting."

Hermione peered over his shoulder at Pansy, and her face fell. She lifted her hand and waved it shortly in greeting before straightening her spine and pushing out her mouth a bit as if she was fighting a pout of disappointment. "Are you with her now?"

The way her eyes twinkled with unshed tears and the slight tremble of her bottom lip threw him into a devastating spiral. It wasn't fair. She had no right to be hurt by his inadvertent insinuation of moving on with Pansy. Not when she had McLaggen's nose pressed against the hem of her skirt. He felt she was impudent and spoiled; he would not indulge her fears, but he also would not comfort them. "Do you really want to do this here?" he asked, his brow furrowing incredulously.

Her mouth parted when she leveled her gaze on him, and an imperial eyebrow rose as she accepted his challenge. Yes, she wanted to do this here. And right now.

He stepped toward her, watching carefully as her arms fell away to her sides and she raised her chin to look up at him. Intrigued by how much her confidence chipped away as he came nearer.

It was really too close, but he couldn't help it. He wanted her to understand how he felt when she was near him. It was suddenly imperative that she was reminded of the static tension they created between them and that it all hadn't faded; that it was still raging on like wildfire. He needed her to remember all of the perpetually erratic passion they shared. He wanted her to long, to requite, and to lose control. He stared her down, his gaze intensely burning through her.

He had meant to intimidate her, but now that he was so very close and touching her, he could feel the world vibrating with electricity and he was unsure as to whether the trembling came from her or him.

He didn't care that he was dizzy and that perhaps his plan for retribution would destroy him as well. All that mattered was her nearness and how it felt to be consumed by the fire of Ms. Granger. He tenderly took her chin, running his thumb along her bottom lip and that's when it all fell apart, when the dam broke and everything refused to be held back anymore.

"Don't go home with him," he whispered harshly, brokenly.

"Draco, I—"

"Please." He didn't care if he was begging anymore. He had quickly lost his grip on the situation, and now he was just floating along, taking for granted the fact that she hadn't pulled away—relishing it. Softly, he pushed his palm along her nape until his fingers threaded with the wildness of her hair. "Just don't go home with him."

She softly exhaled, her eyes darkening, and shakily she asked, "Why?"

He opened his mouth to tell her exactly the reason that it was a bad idea for her to go home with McLaggen. It was about to be spilled out onto the floor at her feet where everyone would see it. Draco was very nervous.

Then she was wretched from him, and he was shoved hard in the shoulder, resulting in a clumsy stumble into a table and its chairs.

"What are you playing at, Malfoy?" Cormac McLaggen stood between Draco and Hermione, his chest out and his fists clenched at his sides.

Something broke inside of Draco then. He sneered with great aggravation and intent and rose to his full height. His grey eyes narrowed into terribly dangerous slits as he stepped forward. "Sod off, McLaggen. This is a private conversation." He was vaguely aware of Pansy rushing up as the burning anger welled within him and clawed to escape.

McLaggen huffed derisively, glancing arrogantly about the forming crowd, and when his gaze landed on Draco again, he smirked. "Not anymore."

Draco didn't want to hex him. The need to draw his wand and have a dignified duel for the damsel never stirred inside him. Only the impulse to use his bare hands like a barbaric Muggle. However, he didn't want to punch McLaggen; he didn't even want to strike him at all. He simply wanted to wrap his fingers around McLaggen's stupid neck and watch as the life slowly left his eyes. He felt frightening and murderous. Unable to control his instincts—like a feral animal. With his jaw flexing and his fingers stretching, he inherently began to lunge forward, his focus only on his prey.

He never made contact though. There was an eruption of white noise and blurred faces invading the space between himself and McLaggen.

Pansy had pushed her back against Draco's back, and Potter had a strong arm across Draco's sternum, effectively halting his progress. Weasley was using his tall bulk to wrestle McLaggen back whilst Hermione admonishing McLaggen stoutly.

But Draco hardly noticed; his body was moving of its own accord, pushing eagerly toward the kill as insults, threats and expletives poured from his mouth in an adrenaline soaked perversion. He was savage, acting on raw emotion. Behaving immensely brashly.

Dimly, he heard Pansy running her mouth too and was overcome with a tremendous sense of camaraderie. It soothed his spiraling madness and he began to make sense of his surroundings again. "—upid bint, he loves you!"

Ice cold shock stunned him and he glared at Pansy. "Shut it. Now," he commanded, his tone stern and threatening.

Then everything in his vision burst into a bright, painful whiteness. He felt his teeth rattle as he unwillingly fell backward. It occurred to him, as strange liquid filled his mouth, that McLaggen had punched him, a sure, straight shot to his mouth.

Reactively he touched the corner of his lips, wincing at the sting, and looked down to find his fingers smeared with blood which explained the odd taste of copper on his tongue.

"Are you all right?" Hermione appeared, kneeling at his side, and her eyes were large with apology and concern. Shame instantly bloomed within Draco. Embarrassment painting his cheeks red and he could not look at her anymore.

"Of course he isn't, cow," exclaimed Pansy harshly. "Your lummox of a boyfriend just slugged him." Her tone was nasty and accusatory, filled with great animosity.

"I'm fine," murmured Draco, unable to ignore the fact that the crowd around him was staring inquisitively, whispering observations and theories to one another. Defeat and humiliation burned his skin, and he suddenly wanted nothing more than to escape the horrifying scene.

"He is not my boyfriend, Parkinson!" Hermione bit out indignantly.

Draco glanced at her then and snorted in disbelief. As he saw her face fall, he hurried to stand, stubbornly ignoring the wave of dizziness that pounded over him.

Hermione put her hand on his shoulder, asking for his full attention, and when he gave it to her, she said, "He's not." Her eyes were glassy and she bit her lip. "My boyfriend. We are—"

Draco put his hand up to shush her. "Save it." Then he nodded over to the bar, where it was very clear that Potter was giving McLaggen more than a piece of his mind. "Whatever he is, though, you better go to him," he said dismissively and, with the meager remains of his courage, pushed past her. Keeping his eyes focused on the front door, he made his exit through the crowd and burst through the doors of the Dizzy Snitch, into the shimmering fog of a London night.

Taking a deep breath, he looked upward as if to find that his deflated pride was lurking somewhere between the fog and the clouds.

Thunder rumbled softly from somewhere not so far away, and Draco hung his head. With defeat riding his back and the rhythmic pulsing of his split lip, he hunched his shoulders futilely against the cool air whilst shoving his fists into his jacket pockets, thus beginning the long, tragic walk to his flat.

He hadn't made it far down Diagon Alley when he heard his name being called and, picking up his pace, he hoped that whoever was calling for him would get the hint and leave him alone. He could hear the relentless clicking of running shoes and instantly knew who was begging him to stop, but he didn't want to see her.

He wanted nothing more than to walk home and crawl into his bed where he could heal his bruised ego. In a poor effort to escape, he slipped into a slender alley.

However, Hermione Granger was persistent and followed him. The streetlight glowing like an artificial moon upon her form gave her an ethereal appearance amidst the thin fog. "I just want to know if you are all right," she shouted at him.

Instantly he was angry with her. He was so sick of hearing her ask him that. As if she really cared about him. As if she wanted nothing more than for him to be exceptionally all right. But he wasn't all right and it was glaringly obvious. He was a fool. A fool in love with her to the bitter end and everyone knew it. What more did she expect from him? He sneered at her, positively flabbergasted at her audacity. "Get lost, Granger! I am no longer any of your concern!"

Pain tensed along the lines of her face and she was breathing heavily. "Sometimes I just don't understand you. One minute you're about to snog me into stupidity, and the next you are tossing me away."

He shrugged. "Well maybe you shouldn't have put me on when you had a boyfriend."

She covered her face with her hands, aggravation making her movements jerky. "Cormac McLaggen is not and never will be my boyfriend! I don't think I can make that any clearer!"

Draco huffed sardonically. "Then what is he? Just some guy you are fucking until you tire of him?"

Her hand twitched, like she wanted to slap him hard, and to be honest, he knew he deserved it. After all, he'd been unbelievably cruel. Seething and pink-cheeked, she huffed. "I cannot—honestly, I just—why would you say that?"

For being such a clever witch, she could be undeniably obtuse and he wasn't sure if was purposefully or not. He stepped towards her, glowering because it was clear that he had a good reason for such a bold question. "Because, Granger. That is precisely what you did to me." His voice was menacing. Full of all his bitterness and anger.

Hermione seemed to deflate then, albeit her eyes never left his. Her bottom lip trembled and she shivered against the chilly air. "That is not how it was, and I'll thank you to get your facts straight."

A low rumble of thunder pounded from above, matching his livid disproval. He felt like she had slapped him. That she had spat in his face and called him a liar. His anger boiled over again, and he stalked forward, each step heavy with a jaded trepidation until he had her against the wall. "That is exactly how it was. For months you came to my flat. I let you into my home, into my bed and then one night, you just left and never came back. You fucked me until you were tired of me, then you left. Those are the facts."

She lifted her chin proudly and folded her arms across her chest, her eyes daring. "You're wrong." Despite the air of superiority that hugged the words, her tone was feeble.

"Says you?" His eyebrows rose emphatically, suddenly aware of how close they were, how precarious their situation had become. Engulfing him in the inexplicable urge to crush his mouth onto her full, luxurious one.

"Indeed." She ground out through gritting teeth.

He straightened his form, giving a bit of space between them, and took a deep breath; after all, the tension was suffocating. He was losing control of the situation and needed to regain it. "You shouldn't follow me into such dodgy places, Granger." He growled lowly, but his stormy gaze fell over her with pleasure. Her hair tumbled over one shoulder, ratty and in disarray, her cheeks were flushed and her lipstick was smeared. Disheveled as she was, he found her incredibly fetching and he could feel his anger dissolving. He didn't appreciate it.

"If you hadn't chosen to rush out of the Dizzy like a maniac, I wouldn't be here," she snapped roughly. Apparently she wanted to berate him, to put him on the defense. Regrettably, it worked.

"I don't recall anyone inviting you," he sneered.

"Of course not. Don't be silly." Her tone was deprecating, and annoyance flashed in her eyes.

"Why are you here, Hermione?" he demanded through gnashed teeth, clenching his fist clenched in anticipation. He wanted her to say it out loud, to admit what she really thought about him. To tell him why she refused to let him have her.

Her expression moved into a façade of stoicism except for the protruding of her bottom lip. She lifted one shoulder and murmured, "To make sure you were all right.

The statement spurred his frustration. Lightning unexpectedly lit up the sky and with another dull crash, the clouds released a steady patter of precipitation. "Because you had to see for yourself. You had to be sure that I was all wrong for you, that I was a weak, cowardly, sorry excuse of a wizard and then you could return to your—your iMcLaggen/i and congratulate yourself on not getting involved with me. Well, news flash, pet. I am not a bad bloke. I'm just an average wizard that fell in love with an impossible witch and lost her. Big deal. I'll get over you, I'll move on. I don't need you or your approval."

Hermione tipped her chin upwards and opened her mouth to speak, but Draco wasn't finished. "But you—" He was in her face again, after taking only a few menacing steps, and his timbre was stern, but she had to know. It was important somehow. That she believed and understood. Nothing else seemed to matter then. Not the rain, not the dank alcove, or their soaked clothing. Only his conviction. "You will always be a coward because you didn't take a fucking chance with me. Because you returned to your small circle of friends and to a wizard that is your idea of decent. You will always get to know that you were too afraid to love me." He held her eyes, piercingly, but used the back of his palm to wipe the water away from his mouth. "Tell me I'm wrong."

She didn't move; her body was rigid against the cobblestone as if it were holding her up and her face emotionless. He took this as her answer, shook his head and moved to exit.

"Stop!" she screamed brokenly, and her tiny hands grasped his shirt, pulling him to face her again.

It wasn't until that closeness did he see the redness rimming her matted lashes, and not until she sobbed dejectedly did his mood cool and he realized that she had been crying through his entire tirade. While he had meant to make his feelings known to her, he had never wanted to make her cry. He had never been good with a woman's tears, and his anger pulled back, making him feel contrite.

"I—I'm sorry. So, so, sorry, it's just that I— you are right. I am afraid, but—" and she blasted him fully with those large, startlingly pitiful, brown eyes, "you hurt me," she whispered meekly. "For years."

The rain, as if on cue, softened into a drizzle.

Ah, hell. "I know," he acknowledged grimly, because he had been awful to her as a child and he understood that it wasn't easy to trust him to not to do so again.

"I shouldn't love you," she stated, sniffling.

"Yeah. I expect you shouldn't." His lips flickered with a smirk. "But you do."

She lowered her head against his chest with a throaty sob, nearly a laugh. "But I do." A pause and then, "Was Pansy right? Do you love me?"

"More than is healthy for a man," he told her, and it was true. His heart was fit to burst with the adoration and affection he had for her, perpetually breaking at the sutures and yet somehow floating on hope.

"What are we doing?"

"Standing in the bad weather like fools." There was a muffled giggle against his chest and he used his finger to lift her chin, "Making up?" he inquired, eyes searching her visage for an answer.

She allowed him a small smile before nodding. "I am the fool." And her eyes darkened to sepia.

Before he could reply, she tugged on his jacket and crushed her mouth onto his.

There was an acute surge of surprise that shot through his core and instantly he became mindless, his sole attention lay on the incredible heat of her mouth as it pushed against his lips. His hands, by instinct, pulled at her waist, forcing her flush against him as his mouth slid against hers, and taking over, dominating with intent to conquer. And she was brilliantly pliant. Pushing her soft, tiny hands past his neck and threading her fingers into his hair, welcoming him, beckoning him to taste the sweetness of her mouth.

It was peaches and newness.

Fresh autumn tempest and joy.

Wrapping his arms around her, he straightened to his full stature, and deepened the kiss. They clumsily bumped teeth and clung to each other in impassioned eagerness. Fingers exploring and caressing over soaked fabrics to call forth candent desire.

And nothing else mattered. Nothing. Not the chilly rain or the harried passersby. Not even the fact that his split lip was throbbing painfully.

Draco was simply able to exist on planet Earth with Hermione Granger. Tasting, learning and discovering. He was greedy and never wanted it to end. This was it. This was the end all, be all of his existence. There was nothing tantamount to this feeling of completeness. Of euphoria. Of pure, unadulterated magic. He could die the happiest man in the galaxy. Just die.

Slowly, he broke off the kiss, as much as he'd like to snog Hermione Granger in a dark alcove in Diagon Alley all night long, they still had loose ends to tie up.

He loosened his grip and let her body score his until her feet found purchase. His gaze never wavering from her plump lips, rosy and well-kissed.

He wanted to do it again.

"This is it, Granger," he whispered, tipping his forehead against hers. "There is no going back. You're mine now," his tone was wolfish and possessive.

She shivered and nodded. "Good. Because I promise I don't want to go anywhere."

"It's going to be really hard," he promised.

"I know," she conceded, "But they say nothing worth having is easy."

"You know," he said grinning, his heart already feeling refreshed and lighter. "I am inclined to agree."

She chuckled and wrapped her arms around his waist again. "Draco?"

"Yeah?"

"Are you sure you're all right with this?" She peered up at him curiously and ran her tongue along her bottom lip.

And he was. He was perfectly all right with this moment and the promise of future ones, because he hadn't lost her, after all, and it was quite relaxing to know precisely what he meant to her. "I'm brilliant. Say, how do you feel about pie?"

She stepped away and threaded her fingers with his, a contagious grin curving along her lips. "I know just the place."

- - -

A/N: I want to thank Annie Lennox and the Eurythmics, firstly, without whom, I would have never been inspired. Secondly, I'd like to thank Alex, my wonderful beta, for the fantastic sthreats on my life/s cheerleading and gorgeous beta job. Stop it baby; you're making me crazy.

Which rating for your gift would you prefer?
[ ] No higher than PG-13
[x] PG-13/R
[x] R/NC-17
[ ] Any

Which era(s) do you prefer?
[ ] Hogwarts years
[x] During the war
[x] Post-DH
[ ] Any

List your Kinks: I prefer prose-like stories over ones filled with endless dialogue. Humor and angst is lovely, as I am a sucker for tension between Draco and Hermione (that eventually gets resolved, of course), and I quite like Harry/Pansy as a side pairing. Also, EWE could be considered a kink, yes? So that, as well.

List your Squicks: Absolutely no non-con/rape, incest, bondage, any sex involving butts, no leather whips or nipple clamps for me. Also, I'm not a big fan of threesomes or cheating.

List up to three prompts:
1. a pivotal confrontation in the rain
2. candlelight
3. sharing secrets