And now, a serious deviation from my normal FE fanfiction! This is my first Harry Potter fanfiction, and while I did write it at about midnight last night, I like to think it's not too bad. XD

So, this is Dracoxmuggle!OCVanessa (which I have dubbed Dranessa). It accepts the pairings at the end of DH as canon, but Draco and Astoria have divorced, and Draco has moved to London, leaving Narcissa Malfoy Manor for now. Please enjoy, and review at the end so I will know whether or not to ever write a HP fanfic again.

They hadn't expected the sudden downpour when they'd set out earlier that afternoon.

But now the sky poured itself down on them in droves. The lack of expectation earlier had now led to a lack of an umbrella, and the pair tried to stick close to the sides of buildings as they sped back towards the apartments. They'd thought about trying to wait out the storm, but as it pounded on for thirty minutes with no sign of stopping, and they didn't want to be stuck out too late (they both had work in the morning), they'd decided to take their chances with the rain.

But of course the wind would be blowing, and of course they would be drenched to the bone before getting three steps, and of course he could not pull out his wand to do something about it.

In all honesty, Draco should have expected this. He was no bloody Harry Potter, but fate did seem to like screwing with his happiness. Considering how delighted he had been when Vanessa accepted his offer for dinner, and how wonderful his first real date with her had been going (the one two months ago could hardly count as a date, what with the trip to the hospital after he'd discovered the muggle invention called a gun… and the others hadn't been like this, with the actual title…) …he really should have expected this.

He offered her his coat, feeling like a bloody Gryffindor as he did, but the warm smile she flashed him as she accepted made it worthwhile. He couldn't help noting that the way her makeup was running still did nothing to detract from her beauty, and he wondered, once again, how he had ever ended up caring about a muggle.

Purity of blood had always been everything. He'd had it preached to him as a child, though he himself could not find it within him to preach it to his own child. Maybe it was because, after the war, Mudblood was no longer part of his extensive vocabulary. After all, Granger had more than proved herself a better witch for her role in the war than many of the women he knew. She was talented, which he reluctantly admitted.

But he also had to admit that she wasn't the only reason he'd come to light on this. He didn't always want to be seen as the horrible git he'd been at Hogwarts, by the Golden Trio or anyone else, so he figured it time for change. While he could have found about twenty other places to move in to after his falling out with Astoria, he'd against all forethought picked a muggle apartment. He had been filled with a certain amount of dread at the echoing thought that he could be found out, but in the end his curiosity had won, and he'd moved in. He was pleasantly surprised to find out that muggles were, all in all, kinder to him than most wizards and witches he'd known over his lifetime. Truly, this was a shock. After all, he'd read "When Muggles Attack" as a child. …nightmares.

Of course, their kindness could have simply been because they did NOT know, but Draco liked to believe otherwise.

Especially when it came to this muggle.

Her name was Vanessa, and she was his neighbor. Their relationship had started mainly with her, and his clumsy attempts at opening his apartment door. He could easily apperate in, or use Alohomora if he didn't feel like warping about, but not when there were muggles around. He thought it good to make an appearance in front of his neighbors everyone once in a while, lest they fear he had up and died in his sleep or, worse, send someone to check on him.

He couldn't help but suspect them of the latter after Vanessa seemed to continually hover at his shoulder, offering to open his door for him whenever he let out one too many frustrated sighs, but after a week, he'd realized that she was merely trying to be helpful, and, for some reason, he found this charming.

A month after, she'd worked up the nerve to ask him to… escort her to a new restaurant in town, where he'd offhandedly mentioned the "d" word (date). It had seemed to unnerve her, so he tried not to mention it again and reminded himself of the fact that, no, she wasn't falling at his feet like so many other girls did, just because he was Draco Malfoy, and that she, in fact, had no idea what it meant that he was Draco Malfoy.

Of course, all that thought had been banished as their somewhat awkward dinner conversation turned to a tense situation when two muggles had come in wearing masks and pointing small dark objects around (later he found out that they were, yes, guns). He'd been in a rare mood and tried to play hero.

One trip to a muggle hospital later, he now knew better.

But, at least, he recalled thinking, he'd taken the bullet and not her. (Merlin's beard, was he turning into a Hufflepuff?)

That led them to where they were now, two months later, and when he considered her his steady girl. Things were going well, except that he was still nervous about all of this, and he was keeping his real identity a secret from her, and it was raining. All trivial things that he hoped she wouldn't mind.

In due time, they reached the apartment building, and stood in the stairwell for a moment to catch their breath and wring out their clothing.

"I appreciated the offer at the time, Draco, but I do believe your coat here has soaked up more than my weight in water," Vanessa finally quipped, breaking the silence that had otherwise been filled with the sound of the water dripping off of them onto the cement. He couldn't help the smile that cracked his usually stoic Malfoy mask.

"Well, I didn't exactly prepare for that," he defended as he took back his jacket, which was designed for warmth and not warding off a typhoon. He wrung it out a few times as he had done with the hem of his shirt, before flinging it thoughtlessly over his shoulder and heading up the stairs. Wouldn't do to get the evelator drenched, as well. He didn't know all the ins and outs of muggle contraptions, but he knew that the evelator ran on electricity, and electricity and water did not mix.

She followed him, quickly falling into stride beside him, though he had slowed slightly to accommodate this. "Well, that wouldn't have happened if you hadn't so insisted on walking," she replied, smiling away and oblivious to the way Draco had flinched. Yes, he had insisted on walking, because there was no way he was going to get into a car. Besides, the weather had seemed so nice, and he didn't expect…

It wasn't like a Slytherin to be grasping at straws like this. He quickly wiped off his vacant expression and worked it into the charming one that had worked so well on Pansy Parkinson and Astoria Greengrass. "I beg your forgiveness, my lady," he replied smoothly. Her response was a wry grin and a slap on his arm.

"Oh stop it, you Casanova," she retorted. He made a mental note to look up that particular kenning later. For now, he shrugged, electing to keep his mouth shut as he held open the door that led to their floor with one hand, pawing around in his pocket for his apartment key with the other. She went through the door and he followed, frowning slightly as his left hand had no more luck than his right as he rooted through his pockets. He felt slightly comforted as he grasped his wand – though he could do nothing with it with her around – but still no key.

As if sensing the predicament Draco faced behind her, Vanessa turned. "It was in your coat," she said, looking faintly amused as he dragged the fabric off his shoulder, turned it upside down, and shook it out. When the metal object did not drop to the ground, the wizard grit his teeth and shook his coat all the harder. Vanessa swore she heard him mutter something under his breath as his right hand rammed itself back into his pocket and became a fist, but dismissed the action with a slight eye roll as Draco merely sighed.

"You probably dropped it in the stairwell," she assured quickly as he ran a hand through his hair, and he looked up at her, wondering how on earth she had come to this conclusion, the key could have easily been lost in their mad dash through the rain or even back at the restaurant, and while he had his wand and a simple Alohomora could get him in or, heck, he could apperate in if he bloody felt like it, he couldn't do that with her standing there, and now she thought he was locked out and, Merlin's beard, why did he have to lose such a tiny yet important muggle object?

"I mean, I certainly didn't hear it hit the ground or anything, but it was definitely in the pocket I had my hand in while we were running through the storm."

He felt a bit bad that he had not been listening to her until this point, and had tuned out what he was sure was a mostly reassuring and kind speech judging from the look on her face, but the last words were not lost on him. He grunted and turned back towards the stairs, but a hand catching his shoulder stopped him.

"I'm not finished with you, Mr. Malfoy," she said scoldingly, but the grin he saw on her face as he turned to her questioningly told him that she was teasing. "I can't have it on my conscience that you caught a cold when a perfectly warm apartment is right here, so you just—"

He had about twenty arguments against this idea, most of them centered on "I am a wizard and you are a muggle, this will never work out," but out of courtesy, he only voiced three. "It's not far, if I was going to catch a cold I would have already gotten it on that run, and if I did catch a cold, which I'm not, I'm sure it will rest on your mind easier than the fact that I leapt in front of a bullet for you on our first date," he said, not missing a beat.

She, in a completely platonic manner, ignored his words and dragged him sharply backwards, into her apartment. "Stay," she commanded, pointing firmly at the doormat he was standing on before moving off into another room. He snorted slightly as he realized the irony – he, who had been raised believing muggles were animals, was suddenly being lead about as if he were a dog by one. Oh, he could bet that Lucius was writhing in his cell in Azkaban over this.

As he waited, Draco crossed his arms and shivered (he couldn't help it, the rain was cold, and he was a person, not a Malfoy like his father had been, dammit) at the thought of his father. Some part of him felt guilty that his dad was currently rotting away in a cell in the most securely guarded wizarding prison, though he wasn't sure why… another part of him was glad, but that part was very small, and he wished he could crush it. After all, despite everything, Lucius was family, and Draco had known that he had cared, even if the Malfoy family wasn't one to show affection like, say, the Weasleys. All Draco had to do was spill his woes to his father, who would scold him on his weaknesses and snidely chide him about behaving like an insufferable brat and not like a pureblood, they were above everyone and the only reason Draco was having trouble from others was that they did not recognize, or were jealous, even, that he was a Malfoy, and, by definition, superior. Draco hated that speech, but he listened to it again and again, because, contrary to expectation, his problems would always sort themselves out after he complained about them to Lucius. That was how it worked.

So the man had cared.

Draco supposed that was why, above most everything else, he just felt regret. Regret that he'd never recognized his father's petulance as love – he only thought it was to get him to, for once in his life, shut up about how the world was out to get him just because it wasn't… well, him. He forced a chuckle at the recreation of this childish thought in his mind. But a nagging feeling that settled in his mind turned it back on the thought. Lucius had loved, so had Narcissa. It was a cold sort of love, but it had kept their family together during the war, when everything else fell to pieces. It was never spoken, never warm or touchy-feely or even an irrefutable "I care about you and your well-being", but the sacrifices they'd made for each other during that time caused Draco to recognize it.

His left hand twitched at a sudden itching feeling from that old mark. He didn't like to think about the war, still, after all these years – it made him uneasy, to think about You-Know-Who living in his house, everyone on edge because he could kill them all on a whim and never regret it.

Maybe it had been the fact that he had just been thinking about love, but his aunt's face flashed into his mind right after the Dark Lord's did.

But no, what Bellatrix had for V-Vol-Voldemort was obsession, lust… and all around just plain unhealthy.

It wasn't love.

No, Draco supposed he hadn't truly felt love until Scorpius came along. And he liked to think that he was doing much better than the rest of his family, since he had actually said to his son, while the boy was in earshot, "I love you."

But the love he had for his son was not, exactly, what he felt for Vanessa. Maybe it was his inexperience, maybe it was the fact that she was the first woman he had ever felt serious about (sure, Scorpius was his son with Astoria, but he had taken her because she was a pureblood and had his family's approval and what was better than family approval? Not to mention she had been gorgeous, but love…? There was a mutual attraction between them. …but… love…?)

But, above all, it was because she was a muggle. That was why he was so hesitant; he slowed now where he normally went fast. She'd just pulled him into her home, for Salazar's sake! Usually now was the time he would turn debonair, but the thought now just made him feel cold inside.

This was supposed to be a secret, it was illegal, it all around should not be happening, but as Vanessa re-entered the room, he felt a certain rush weaken his knees. This had to be some sort of dream…

She promptly threw a towel over his head.

He made a muffled sound of surprise, but merely stood there in shock as she rubbed his face and hair dry.

"What are you doing?" he finally regained enough sense to ask, and when she laughed, her voice was closer than expected.

"Drying you off, to ward off a cold."

And he realized that she sounded so close because she was close. Under the towel with him, in fact.

He backed up a pace hurriedly, and the surprise must have registered on his face, as she responded with a mischievous smile. "Worried about what the neighbors will think, Draco?" she teased, growing all the more amused at the faint pink on his cheeks. She hadn't really expected that… oh, but teasing him was so fun. "You forget, dearest Dray, that you willingly hand me the key to your apartment nearly every day, and look entirely lost before doing so."

Draco didn't really have the heart to remind her that this was because blasted muggle door locks still made little to no sense to him; at any rate, he was far too busy grabbing ahold of all these emotions washing through him. As a Malfoy, he wasn't quite sure how to handle them.

She finished up with his hair, giving it maybe one or two more ruffles with the towel than it actually needed, before pulling back with a satisfied expression. "Well, sorry to make you stand around so long, but that's about all I can do. Not like I have a spare set of clothes for you to change into just laying around," she said, grinning. The blush on his cheeks had faded and did not return.

And he counted his blessings for that. It seemed a bit forced and off beat, but he flashed her that charming smile, settling back into the banter he was far more comfortable with. "Well, I could hardly expect you to," he said, "But with all this fretting and talk over me changing, I'm surprised you haven't just suggested I stay over."

She laughed sharply, knowing that he was joking. "Wishful thinking, Draco. But if it comforts you," she gave him a playful wink. "I'm just next door."

He chuckled, before stepping back out into the hallway. Her voice calling to him caused him to pause again.

"You going to need help with your door?" she asked, in perfect seriousness.

Not turning to look at her, he shook his head. "I'll manage. Thanks, though," he added the last bit as an afterthought, and though he still didn't turn, he could practically feel her smile.

"Right, of course. Goodnight then, Draco," she said. He didn't respond, but she didn't mind, and closed her door with a soft 'click.'

He waited about a minute before pulling out his wand and tapping his own door handle, muttering a quick "Alohomora" before going inside himself. What a day…

The next morning found Vanessa waking to stiff limbs and a soft fluttering in her stomach. In the confusion of just-waking, she wondered why, before recalling the day prior.

Her body ached from all the running, but the fluttering…

She wasn't entirely sure.

She thought the stairs would help loosen her up more than the elevator, so she took them as she headed down to her car. She almost missed it, and would have had the light not been glinting off of it. She knelt and picked up the key, fingering it in her hands as she recognized the room number written across the top.

"Odd."