Author's Note: Okay, firstly I would like to say the response to the first chapter of this was completely unexpected and insane! I don't think I've ever received so many e-mail alerts for a chapter as I have over the last few days. I am extremely flattered and humbled by the initial response. It means so much. As a result, I'm posting this chapter earlier than I originally intended to. :)

I really hope you continue to enjoy!

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

Draco slung his broom over his shoulder, intent on Apparating home to have a shower. His coach had worked them as hard as ever and Draco had stayed after team practice to work on technique and fly himself to exhaustion, as was often his habit.

His coach regularly told him he needed a life. Draco ordinarily shrugged him off. He wasn't interested in cluttering his careful routine with unnecessary endeavours.

This particular evening he was attempting to fly something specific from his mind.

Namely, the re-emergence of Hermione Granger into his life two nights prior. He couldn't remember the last time he had seen her in person and suspected it might have been at the Battle of Hogwarts or shortly thereafter.

He thought he recalled seeing her in attendance at his trial following the war, back when he had been just eighteen. When he had been proven innocent in the eyes of the Wizengamot but not in the eyes of society.

He had been surprised to see her at that bar, so much that he had had to look twice. She had begun to grow into her looks while they were still at Hogwarts – but that was nothing compared to how she looked now. Her hair, which had been uncontrollable and frizzy in school, now fell down her back as sexy, untamed curls. He had nearly fallen into those soulful brown eyes more than once and those pink lips, quirked into a smile he had never seen directed at him before, had had him wanting to taste them long before he did.

Beyond that, the way she had carried herself, even while half sloshed, had caught his attention. She had definitely matured over the years, growing out of her annoying know-it-all attitude.

Then she had proven herself to be a saucy little minx. Twice. More so than he ever could have expected. Draco wasn't surprised she had left the following morning, though, if he was honest, he was perhaps the slightest bit disappointed.

Not that he would ever want anything intentional to do with her, but the sex had been unreal. He had sort of been hoping for another go when he woke up, but she had obviously sobered and come to her senses. He smirked as he imagined her realizing what she had done, wishing he had seen her reaction. Not that he had orchestrated it or anything – he had merely intended to sit down and visit with her for a moment until she asked him to leave, but when she had called him back to her table it had thrown him for a loop.

Kissing her – and subsequently, shagging her – had simply happened.

He had no doubt it had been a rebound for her, drunk off her arse after leaving her fiance of who knows how bloody long. But as he had told himself multiple times – things happen. It wasn't as if he had forced her into it.

The memories following, over the past two days, were the reason Draco was out so late flying. Picturing her, naked beneath him, her head tossed back in pleasure, had him more than a little hot around the collar.

Draco arrived at the Apparition point just outside his building and walked in. Most of the occupants of the building were magical but there was the occasional Muggle so Apparition wasn't allowed through the wards of the building.

His old neighbour had in fact been an elderly Muggle woman. She had been sweet and had grown on Draco over time but her family had recently had her moved to an assisted living home.

He had yet to see his new neighbour since they had moved in. Draco was starting to suspect that he or she was a recluse. He had walked over the day before to introduce himself but there was no one home. He hadn't even heard a sound of someone going in or out yet.

He shrugged, suspecting he would be bound to run into them eventually.

Draco unlocked the door to his flat, tossing his broom on the couch and stripped from his Quidditch robes, running a hot shower which would soothe his aching muscles.

As he thought might be the case, the mental images of Granger once again surged to the forefront of his mind and he found himself with additional business to take care of in the shower before he collapsed into fresh sheets, falling asleep almost instantly.

Three days had passed since the morning Hermione had woken up in the bed of Draco Malfoy and realized he was her new neighbour.

Three days of hurrying in and out of the building to the public Apparition point, of awkwardly scanning the corridor before leaving her flat. She had actually been late for work that morning because he had been talking to another resident in the hall and she had had to wait until he was gone. She concluded she must look paranoid.

She did not want to let him know that she was living next door. She knew it was cowardly but she didn't care.

Three days of living out of boxes, still unpacked, as she was undecided if she should stay living here. But the rent was good, it was in a good neighbourhood and the flat itself was quite nice. Furthermore, the building was largely composed of magical tenants which made it a bit easier to manage – and given that it was technically a Muggle constructed building, the electricity was an added bonus.

Also, she had been unable to find another place with such short notice.

Her main priority had been leaving Ron after what he had done, and she had had very little time to look around at flats.

Hermione Apparated home from work that day, relieved to see the hallway was clear. She rushed to her unit, but in her haste to quickly unlock the door and lift her wards, she fumbled with her wand and dropped it to the floor.

She bent to retrieve it and just as she stood, his door opened. His jaw dropped as he saw her standing there and she stared back, eyes wide with terror.

"You are my new neighbour?" he asked, walking over. "I was starting to think you were a recluse. I see now you've just been avoiding me."

"Yes, well. Not a recluse," she responded, flustered, unlocking the door and walking in as quickly as she could. She knew he wouldn't have made her react this way but for what had happened on Saturday night.

Much to her irritation he followed her, standing in the doorway, looking amused.

"Granger," he said, tone low. He met her eyes. "Don't you think this is hilarious?"

"Not the word I used when I found out," she responded darkly.

"I mean, we don't see each other for how long, and then we get absolutely sloshed together and now we're neighbours. I didn't expect to see you again, so soon," he said, grinning.

He stepped into her flat, closing the door behind him.

"You don't think it's awkward?" she asked.

"It's unexpected," he said, looking around. "It was just sex, Granger, if that's what you're referring to. Clearly there's no love lost between us. We're both adults and there's no need to make an issue of it. We were both very drunk."

"I suppose you're right," she admitted, not feeling entirely sure of it.

"Why haven't you unpacked? Seems an inconvenient way to live," he commented.

"I wasn't sure if I was going to stay here," she said, flushing.

"Because of me?" he asked, raising an eyebrow. She shrugged noncommittally. "That's ridiculous. I'll stay out of your way, you stay out of mine and we can both live in peace. Deal?"

"Deal," she repeated, allowing the slightest of smiles. "To be honest, much of Saturday night is a blur."

"I'm not surprised," he muttered, grinning. "But that is a shame – it was pretty damn good."

With that he let himself out, leaving Hermione feeling exhausted.

For some reason, talking with him had made the situation seem not as bad and she decided to unpack; with a wave of her wand her possessions made their way to their respective locations. Her white, silent flat suddenly came to life.

Over the next week, Hermione had run into Malfoy a few times coming and going. True to his word, he had kept to his own business, offering a nod as acknowledgment but not bothering her further.

It was surprisingly more tolerable of a situation than she had initially expected. He seemed to spend most of his time playing Quidditch anyway, or else training for Quidditch.

Hermione got home from St. Mungo's one day, frustrated and tired. It had been a long, busy day at work and she wanted nothing more than to relax for the evening.

Suddenly there was a loud knock on her door. Looking through the peephole, she recoiled as if she had been burnt.

It was Ron.

Hermione bit her lip, hesitating. She had done her best to put Ron and his betrayal from her mind since she had left him a little over a week ago. But he had broken her heart and destroyed so many layers of trust built from years of friendship and dating.

She didn't know if she could handle seeing him. Didn't know that she could be strong enough to ask him to leave.

She knew he wanted her back; the multiple owls had informed her of that. But she couldn't – not after what he had done.

The short time and distance apart had caused her to reflect on the relationship. Had she really been that happy with Ron or was it just comfortable and familiar after so long?

He knocked again.

Hermione sat down on the couch, knees up, arms folded. She bit her lip, feeling hot tears well at the corners of her eyes.

She had put so much into their relationship and now to be left with nothing. She had been through so much with Ron – their days at Hogwarts and the many misadventures they had undertaken together as two thirds of a trio.

Then when they would have been in seventh year – the time she had spent with Ron and Harry attempting to track down Horcruxes. It had been some of the worst times of her life but there were also times, between the terror and the death and the tragic hopelessness, the constant fear, there were times she wouldn't have traded. Times with Harry and Ron that reminded her what it was to be alive.

The times of laughing despite the tears. The bonding and comfort and the silver lining of it all. Then when the war had ended and things were finally able to get back to normal – before they had realized there was no normal. Ron had been by her side, holding her through the nightmares.

And years later, it had all been reduced to this. As if it had all been for nothing.

She wished, not for the first time, that she could see her parents. After the final battle she had gone to Australia to restore their memories and bring them home. After an emotional reunion, however, they had decided to stay in Australia and Hermione had come home to England alone. She visited them as often as time and work would allow and vice versa, but she still wished, at times like this, that they were closer. Wished she could talk to her mum, tell her how things had gone so wrong with the man she had intended to marry.

Allowing the tears to fall, Hermione buried her head in her arms, wishing he would just go away.

Some time later there came a softer knock on her door.

"Granger, I know you're home," said a quiet voice.

Hermione sighed. She didn't particularly want to talk to Malfoy either.

Wiping the tears from her cheeks, she walked to the door and opened it, not entirely caring that her eyes were red from crying and she probably looked a mess.

He just stared at her for a moment. He seemed taller than usual.

"I told him you weren't home," Malfoy stated. Then he smirked. "Should have seen the look on his face."

"Thanks," she said, feeling lame. Something in her felt very broken just now.

"Look, Granger," he said, then paused. "May I come in?"

"Oh, erm, I suppose," she said, stepping out of the doorway to let him in.

"Good to see you've unpacked," he grinned. "Were you really with him for all this time?"

Hermione stared at him, biting her lip. That was definitely not his business – but she answered him anyway.

"We took a few months apart, four years ago. But otherwise, yes," she responded, sighing. Malfoy raised an eyebrow, shaking his head.

"Granger, you're so far out of Weasley's league. If he thinks he can do better than you he's crazy."

Hermione was taken aback. Malfoy hadn't said anything particularly kind since the night they had been drunk at the club together.

"Also, if he's willing to toss everything you two had over some other woman he isn't worth your tears."

"Thanks," she said, softly, flushing. She didn't know how to respond. "That's kind of you to say."

"Just being honest. Not that I know anything about the situation. I've just grown up enough to realize you're probably a pretty good catch," he shrugged.

Hermione raised an eyebrow, fighting an urge to laugh. Had he just complimented her? He ran a hand through his hair, looking uneasy for just a moment before he smirked.

"Imagine his reaction if I had told him we were fucking," he said, laughing.

"We aren't fucking," Hermione said, the last word a bit quieter, embarrassed at his crude verbiage. "It was a singular occurrence."

"I know that, but he doesn't," Malfoy said. He paused. "I think it might happen again. You never know. We are neighbours. If nothing else, it's awfully convenient."

Hermione met his gaze, brows raised in surprise. She remembered how she had been caught in his gaze that night – how it had lit her soul. She quickly looked away.

"It won't happen again," she assured him. Or herself. Instinctively she took a step back.

"Whatever you say. Just letting you know," he said slowly, holding up his hands in surrender, "I would be open to it."

Hermione was caught extremely off guard. He wanted it to happen again?"

"What, you mean just sex?" she asked. Some part of her was curious. Something down in her core was doing somersaults at the thought.

"Sure," he said, smirking. "I have no interest in dating. And you aren't my type."

Now Hermione was just confused. Had he not just said he thought she was a good catch?

"I wouldn't date you either," she felt it important to say. "Or anyone, for that matter. For a while. Not until I sort out some things."

"Good, just give it some thought," he said. "You know where I live."

"It's most likely a no," she said softly, her voice catching.

"Sure," he said again. He took a step closer, staring at her with those grey eyes. Hermione couldn't help getting caught in them. She felt a familiar stirring in the pit of her stomach at something she found within them. Her next breath came quicker.

His lips were parted slightly; Hermione swallowed heavily. She didn't move away. It appeared he could affect her in this way drunk or sober.

He lifted a hand, buried it in her curly hair. Leaned in close to her ear.

"You don't know how sexy you are," he murmured. "It is such a turn-on."

Hermione felt her body responding to his words, her heart pounding, skin tingling.

"Have a nice night, Granger." He pulled away and, with a smirk, left her flat.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, cursing herself. How easily she got caught up in him. He made her act like some silly schoolgirl and she didn't even like him as a person.

So much for having a relaxing evening.

For the rest of the week Hermione found herself to be quite distraught. She was warring with her inner conscience over a number of things.

Ron wanted to meet with her. She had no interest in that, but he was being very persistent. She didn't know what she would say to him if they even did meet and she knew he would try to talk her into something she couldn't do.

She had been doing her best to squash the hurt and broken feelings that came up whenever she thought of Ron. She just couldn't deal with it yet.

Secondly, she couldn't get Malfoy's offer out of her mind. Which was ridiculous since her recollections of the first time they had slept together were somewhat foggy. Yet, he had been starring in her dreams – dreams which had her waking in the middle of the night wishing they had been real. Dreams which left her heart racing and, if she was honest, her knickers wet.

And that look in his eyes haunted her waking moments.

It was all codswallop. Hermione was a grown woman and knew well enough how to handle men. Sort of.

"What's wrong with you today?" Mandy asked, stopping Hermione in the hallway at St. Mungo's. Hermione had been drifting about, distracted, as she had been for the last few days.

"Just bothered about Ron," Hermione answered, biting her lip. No way was she going to tell Mandy of Malfoy's offer. "He wants to meet for coffee and won't accept that I'm not interested in getting back together."

"Ignore him," Mandy said quickly, tossing her hair. "He had his chance and he blew it. You deserve better."

"Thanks, Mandy," Hermione said, smiling. "I appreciate that."

"Anytime," her friend grinned. "Now focus or I won't be able to let you do any healing."

"You're right, I wouldn't either," she admitted. Shaking her head free of the distracting thoughts, Hermione got back to work.

Draco was starting to feel anxious. It had been almost a week since he had talked to Granger and suggested they use one another for sex.

He was more than willing to help her forget about that blasted ginger ex-fiance of hers.

He hadn't even entirely meant to vocalize his thoughts that he would be interested in having sex with her again. He had thought of it, of course – countless times since that night at the club and especially since he found out she was living in the next flat over.

Obviously, Draco's rational side knew that she had just left an extremely long relationship and would need time to get over it, but seeing her crying over that idiot who had hurt her had made him frustrated. No woman deserved infidelity – that was something he had always believed, despite his other shortcomings.

Some part of him, seeing her red eyes, had wanted to simply make her feel better – but obviously Granger wasn't the type to go for that. Sober, anyway.

Now that he had put the offer out there, Draco found himself to be impatient. He had seen her several times but they hadn't said more than hello to each other. He thought if she was completely uninterested he would have been able to read it in her body language. However, in that aspect she was saying the complete opposite.

The way her chin lowered when she met his gaze. The way her lips parted as she looked at his. The way her whole body turned towards him. The woman was subtle as a giant.

He could tell she was interested. Which meant she either felt guilty about Weasley or felt guilty that it was him. Or both. Of course, he knew the path he had gone down following the Battle of Hogwarts, the way his perspective on things had shifted, but she didn't. So it was very likely that she abhorred even the thought of being sexually attracted to him.

Or she feared she would be seen as a conquest, though he didn't suspect that was the case. He had been very upfront in saying that he wasn't interested in anything more than sex, and she had agreed that she was not looking for a relationship.

Occasionally Draco indulged in a brief dalliance with women he had met, but ordinarily found himself more than ready to walk away after one or two tumbles between the sheets.

It had been years since Draco had been interested in getting to know a woman any further and that was the way he had grown to like it. His Quidditch career kept him plenty busy and personally, he already had all he ever could have wanted in his life.

The fact that Granger – who clearly was not like those women – had stayed on his mind for so long was impressive but also irritating. Perhaps it was that she wasn't like any of those women.

Briefly Draco glanced at his watch as he walked about his flat, casually casting a few cleaning spells.

He had come to the conclusion that if Granger hadn't either accepted or rejected his offer by the end of the coming weekend he would simply try to let it go. He certainly didn't intend to bring it up again if she wasn't going to.

As much as he wanted it, he was not going to pine or anything of the sort.

The ball was most definitely on her side of this pitch.

Maybe Hermione just needed to get him out of her system. Just once – and then she would be able to move on and stop thinking of him all the bloody time.

She hated that she was even thinking of him. Clearly Draco Malfoy wasn't the same prat he had been in school but she hadn't forgotten how they had been enemies for seven years. She still mostly disliked him – and didn't think sexual attraction had any place negating that.

But her body hadn't gotten the memo.

Just looking at him in the corridor had been causing her heart to race and her core to clench deliciously. The way his hair fell and the way stubble traced the line of his jaw and the way his Quidditch robes hinted at just enough.

He had actually been sort of nice to her lately, anyways. Which wasn't making things any easier.

It was Friday evening and Hermione was looking forward to a quiet, relaxing weekend. Alone. Yet all she could think of was going next door and surrendering her moral sensibilities.

It wasn't as if she had any feelings for him or wanted to date him. It was perfectly normal to engage in those sorts of relations with other people without it meaning anything else.

"Fine," she murmured to herself, knowing deep in her mind it had only been a matter of time.

Steeling her nerves, she walked next door to his suite, knocking on his door harder than she meant to.

Malfoy opened the door, eyebrow raised, looking rather bored.

"Granger," he said in greeting.

"Hello," she said, feeling rather stiff and formal. He stared at her, waiting. "I just thought I would see what you were doing, tonight."

"What I'm doing," he repeated, still looking at her curiously. Then comprehension dawned and his eyes lit up. "You mean –"

"Yes," she responded, feeling hot and flustered. "Of course, if you're still interested." He met her eyes then grinned.

"Finally," he muttered, pulling her towards him by her hand as he closed the door, and as she stumbled, caught off guard, she found herself pulled against the hard lines of his body. He kissed her, his lips playing teasingly over hers for a moment before his tongue swept out and met hers.

Hermione's heart began to race at the feel of his hands, his soft lips on hers and she fought back a sudden urge to run at the thought that this wasn't just a fantasy – this was happening and she wasn't drunk and was fully aware of every touch, every sensation.

She kissed him back, and though the tension she had felt between them was undeniably there – ready to snap – he took his time, playing with the hem of her shirt, teasing the skin of her waist.

He kissed her harder then, pulling her shirt off and as he grabbed her breasts through her bra, Hermione matched his intensity, groaning into his mouth, tugging at his shirt as she hurriedly worked the buttons. All the Quidditch training had undoubtedly done his physique very well and as she pushed the shirt from his shoulders, Hermione couldn't help but explore the hard muscles of his upper body.

He shuddered as he pulled her closer, kissing her neck while one hand deftly unbuttoned her jeans and any thoughts of teasing patience were gone as they grabbed each other, ripping the clothes from one another in something akin to desperation.

Hermione found herself completely overwhelmed, her brain coated in a haze of lust, and as she took him in her hand, the growl she drew from his throat nearly put her over the edge.

And as Malfoy tossed her down onto his bed, eliciting a giggle from her when he smirked down at her, she wondered briefly how someone she had hated so much in school could have her so completely ready for him now.

Then he was inside her, filling her entirely and this was better than she remembered and better than the fantasies that had kept her so distracted and Hermione couldn't focus on anything but the way he was making her feel as she arched into him, her eyes slipping shut.

As he worked her into a rhythm and Hermione felt herself spiraling towards that edge, so overcome with desire for him and she heard herself moaning as she opened her eyes, meeting his gaze. His blond hair falling in his grey eyes as they burned with lust heated her core. He leaned in to kiss her, one hand gripping her hip as the other moved to play with her clit and Hermione pitched forward, biting his lower lip and he growled, flipping her over.

He re-entered her within moments, pulling on her hair as his teeth grazed her neck and he slammed into her from behind. Hermione gasped at the new angle, catching a whimper slip from her lips as with every thrust he pushed her closer and closer to her peak.

When Hermione felt that wondrous inevitability approach and she turned her head, he took her lips, almost bruising, his grasp on her hip almost painfully strong. And the combination had her so delirious as she finally broke, gasping his name, and as he followed her soon after, Hermione's vision was swimming.

As she caught her breath and he pulled himself from her, casting a contraception spell and a scourgify on them, she found herself staring at him, briefly incredulous. He really was an impressive sight.

"That'll have to do for now, I'm afraid," he began, staring at her carefully, "though in twenty minutes I'll give you a proper shower."

Though she was utterly spent and exhausted, Hermione smiled coyly at his expression. Merlin the way he was looking at her could make her wet with just a glance and she felt her heart begin to race once more.

"Very well," she said, meeting his smirk.

So the singular occurrence which Hermione had denied would ever happen again had happened again. And again.

She simply couldn't resist him – Hermione had half expected him to taunt her about it – but it seemed to be mutual.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Hermione found herself waking up next to him increasingly often. She had come to accept him and her physical attraction towards him – but that was it, of course.

They rarely spoke beyond formalities and small talk. They didn't spend any additional time together. They seemed to have reached an unspoken agreement to avoid that sort of thing in order to steer clear of any unnecessary feelings. That was how Hermione viewed it, anyway – he was hard to understand sometimes.

For Hermione, he had proven to be in part a great distraction from her breakup with Ron and she suspected that he knew that. But it was more than that – a part of her appreciated feeling wanted, something her relationship with Ron had always been somewhat lacking.

Another part of her appreciated how amazing he could make her feel.

Beyond all that – and this was curious – the nightmares didn't come when he was by her side.

She still hardly knew anything about him – what he had done since Hogwarts, any details about his life, really. Other than the fact that he played Quidditch. She knew his father had gone to Azkaban following the war but hadn't dared ask about that and didn't suspect he would bring it up.

She supposed he didn't particularly want to share the details of his life with her. Which was fine, since she had shared very little about her life with him.

Hermione was drawn from her musings at overhearing two girls in the corridor at work talking about the Quidditch league game that had been played the previous night.

"He's got to be the best chaser in the league," one girl was saying.

"I agree, and he flies so easily," the other said.

"What happened?" Hermione asked, despite herself.

"Puddlemere grabbed the snitch but the Falcons won because their chasers put up so many points," the first girl explained. "Well, mostly Draco Malfoy."

"Wow," Hermione stated. "He must be good."

"He's the best there is," the second girl gushed. "And so cute."

"Totally," said the first girl, "I'm pretty sure he's married though."

Hermione paused, staring at the girls, her mind briefly frozen. Wouldn't she have known if he was married? Of course she would.

"I know him, he's not married," she assured them.

The two girls stared at her, mouths agape. Then they continued talking about him and Hermione quickly excused herself. She hadn't quite realized he was that much a Quidditch celebrity.

Hermione fidgeted as she waited for him to open the door that night. Finally he did, looking slightly more disheveled than usual.

"Hey," he said, flashing her a quick smile.

"Hey," she responded, "I heard you played pretty well last night."

"Did you," he commented, laughing. "I suppose so. Look, tonight isn't great for me, can we do tomorrow?"

"Sure," she said after a beat. He had never turned her away before and likewise, when he had knocked on her door. "Tomorrow, then."

He closed the door with another smile.

Hermione went back to her own flat, trying not to think too much of it. Maybe he had a date – but he had told her he didn't date.

Besides, that wasn't her business anyway. Though she would prefer to know beforehand if that were the case as she didn't want to get caught in the middle of things. She would make sure to bring that up sometime.

Instead she spent the night alone, trying to pretend it didn't feel weird falling asleep on her own.