Roses are red

Violets are blue

I don't own Harry Potter

This is sad, but true

All he could see beyond the frosted window was black. Matte black, as if the night air had swallowed his feelings, then regurgitated them as a piece of art; hanging in front of him, mocking him.

His left hand grazed his scalp, sending his platinum blonde hair into further disarray. His right hand gripped the glass of Firewhiskey – his fourth now, or was it fifth? He snorted as he sloppily brought the drink to his lips. What did it matter how much he drank? Nothing mattered. Not since –

The crystal glass slipped from his long fingers as two pin pricks of light cut through the emptiness outside his window. He pressed his face against the glass, his cheek coming away slick from the condensation. His heart sped up as the lights got closer, winding along the driveway towards the manor. As the car came to a stop in front of the front door, he barely held back a sob of relief as he saw a mop of brown hair appear from the driver's side.

He turned with a swish of his black robes and crossed the room in two strides. He took the stairs three at a time, pride only briefly flaring when he considered how much alcohol he had actually consumed in the last two days. He made it to the front door just as a timid knock sounded from the other side. His breath caught in his throat as he ran a hand through his hair one last time, and attempted to stop shaking as he reached for the handle.

She gasped as the door opened. He looked far worse than she had imagined.

"Merlin, Draco!" She half yelled, half sobbed, "What have you done to yourself?"

He shrugged half-heartedly, simply stepping back and allowing her to pass him into the sitting room.

She turned to face him as she reached the centre of the room, and his heart fell a little further into his stomach as he registered that she had not taken her coat off. He panicked; was this finally it? Was she finally ready to leave him?

"Draco, I..." She began, small hands twisted together in front of her.

"You're leaving?" Draco supplied hollowly.

"What? I – no, I mean..." she blew out a breath causing a few stray curls to fly around her face, "I want this," she gestured between them, "I want us...I want us to work," her voice cracked on the last syllable and he stepped towards her. She held up her hands, palms facing him, to stop him.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," his voice was raw and hoarse. Probably from his alternating between screaming and silence for the past forty-eight hours.

"I know you are," Hermione said softly, "I am too. We both said a lot of things we didn't mean. We come from different worlds, Draco."

"Right," he scoffed, "You're the light, and I'm the dark."

"I didn't mean that," Hermione whispered, "I only meant that we are two different people, who have different views and opinions. Both of us also happen to be rather stubborn and set in our ways. We fight, Draco, that's just us."

"I don't like it, Hermione," Draco bit out, "I don't like it one bit. The yelling and the fighting and you leaving for days at a time. I've been worried fucking sick, do you get that? No owl, no call...I bought those blasted phones, and nothing! You asked what I've done to myself; I drank, Hermione, ok? I drank fuck loads of Firewhiskey, trying to drown out the nagging little voice in my head that kept telling me that you weren't coming back. That I'd finally fucked it up royally, and you'd woken up and realised that I am the awful person your friends and family still tell you I am."

"That's un-"

"What? Unfair?" Draco drove his fist into the back of the armchair he was leaning against, "Bullshit! Don't think I don't know what they say behind my back! I've heard it! I've read the letters you think you could hide from me; I know all of it, Hermione!"

"Draco, please," Hermione's bottom lip was trembling and her eyes were watery and red rimmed. Draco snapped his mouth shut and exhaled heavily through his nose.

"I'm sorry," He muttered after a few moments of silence. He kept his head down, speaking to the plush red carpet, "I want you, Hermione, all of you. I want your prissy attitude, and your annoying nagging, and your stupid friends who think I'm no good. I want every single thing about you, good and bad. That's what a relationship is. Or it is to me, at least. But you run every time it gets a little bit hard. I'm constantly on the edge, terrified you're going to take off one day, and I'll end up with Potter and Weasley on my doorstep a few days later saying they're here to collect your things because you're not coming back," his voice had dropped to barely a whisper.

"Oh, Draco," Hermione had stepped up behind him, and he felt his body relax as her arms wound around him, "I'm sorry for running," she whispered.

He turned in her arms so he could wrap his around her waist.

"I could never leave you, no matter what I say in the heat of the moment. We get so intense sometimes and I fear that if I don't leave to cool off, we're just going to add fuel to the fire. I'm sorry for making you feel insecure."

He pulled back and looked down at her, placing two fingers under her chin to force her gaze upwards. His hand slid to the base of her neck as her eyes locked on his, and he inched his face lower.

"Promise me you'll stop running," he murmured against her lips.

"I promise," she breathed, before closing the gap and claiming his mouth with hers.