Weeks passed, and aside from being cordial to one another at the Thursday night book club meetings, nothing changed. At first, Hermione tried to convince herself that the meetings were enough to get her through the day, like a mini holiday in the middle of a mundane week. She would recall the excitement she felt that first Thursday and try to recreate it.

It took a month for her to realize it hadn't been the meeting. Rather, it had been the events that had preceded and followed.

With November on the horizon, London was a sea of umbrellas. Hermione stood just inside Tate's, bracing herself for the long, wet walk to the Apparition point. All of the others had already left, hurrying towards cabs and Tube stations.

"It's not going to stop just because you're too stubborn to deal with it."

Hermione turned at the sound, rolling her eyes. "Are you referring to the rain or something different?" she asked, eyeing him carefully. She hadn't been alone with Draco since the first Thursday, and she could already feel the same adrenaline creeping through her body.

Draco remained silent, a smirk spreading across his face.

"You're not as smooth as you think you are," she said, pulling her gloves out of her pocket.

"Oh?" he asked. "I bet I could surprise you."

Hermione scoffed. Turning towards the door once more, she was dismayed to find the rain had thickened.

"You know, my flat's only a block away."

"And?"

"And you could wait there instead of trekking through this to get to the Apparition point."

"Or I could simply apparate from there."

Draco raised an eyebrow. "You could," he conceded, "but I seem to remember you refusing my offer of Thai once before—it would be rude to do so again."

This time it was Hermione's turn to raise an eyebrow.

Before another word was spoken, the pair was half-walking, half-running down the pavement in the direction of Draco's building. When they emerged into the hallway, dripping wet and out of breath, Hermione took one look at Draco, his white-blond hair clinging to his face, and promptly burst into laughter.

"You don't look much better, Granger," Draco muttered, heading up the stairs.

"I can imagine," she replied. "England has never been very kind to my hair."

He huffed a laugh and unlocked the door at the top of the stairs.

"No come back, Malfoy?" Hermione teased. "Shall I record the day for the history books? Draco Malfoy deliberately misses a chance to poke fun at Hermione Granger's hair."

"You know, after thirty years, I think I've finally gotten tired of it." His keys clattered in the bowl on the counter, and he shrugged out of his coat, hanging it on a hook just inside the door. "Call it personal growth."

He moved behind her, slipping his fingers into the collar of her trench. His knuckles brushed against the bare skin of her neck, and Hermione found herself pressing towards the fleeting touch before it was gone, and Draco was peeling her jacket down her arms.

"So, Thai," she found herself saying, hoping the flush in her cheeks could be equated to the walk from the shop.

"Mmm," —Draco hung her coat next to his, and turned towards a stack of takeaway menus on the counter— "there's a place around the corner that makes the best Pad Thai in London. Unless you'd rather something else."

Hermione shook her head. Pulling her wand from her purse, she cast a quick drying charm on her boots. "Is there somewhere I can survey the damage?" she asked, indicating her hair. Her fringe was plastered to her forehead, and she could feel drops of water rolling down her neck.

Draco pointed towards the only other door in the flat. The door opened to reveal a small room dominated by the largest shower Hermione had ever seen. Entirely made of rich brown granite, it could've easily fit six people with elbow room. A bench ran along a wall; she was sure it was long enough for her to lie down on.

She had to resist laughing as she stepped up to the mirror, calling out, "A bit much, don't you think?"

"Hmm?" Draco appeared at the door, mobile phone in one hand.

Hermione pointed towards the shower before moving her hands back to her hair, searching for pins. "Do you throw parties in your shower?"

"Only on very special occasions," Draco replied drily.

Hermione snorted. She continued to search for pins that had tangled themselves in wet hair. She didn't notice Draco's approach until he was right behind her.

"You missed one," he said, reaching up. Their eyes locked in the mirror as his fingers plucked the hidden pin out, and the bulk of her hair tumbled from its precarious position. Hermione thought she saw something flash through his eyes, but it was gone before she could discern what it was.

Draco broke away, concentrating on the muggle mobile in his hands and leaned again on the doorframe. "Any preferences, or should I just order for the both of us?"

"I'm not picky," Hermione replied, running her fingers through her hair. She had never quite perfected a detangling charm, so it was safer to fix her hair the muggle way.

She heard Draco slip into the main room, followed by the sound of his voice on the phone. Leaning forward, she grasped both sides of the sink and studied her reflection. What was she even doing here? Whispered warnings of "shouldn't" had been playing in her head since they left the bookshop, but she had effectively ignored them. Until now.

Her gaze wandered over the bags under her eyes, the frown lines on her forehead, and the greying hair at her temples. She was forty, and before the book club, before Draco, she had felt like her life was already over. The meetings were a bandage—a simple remedy that never actually solved anything—but when she was here, in this flat, it felt like a cure. Hermione Granger didn't cope well with safe. She needed adventure, and intrigue … not endless routine.

She rolled her shoulders, fastened her now-mostly-dry hair in a quick plait, and left the ridiculous bathroom.

"Thirty minutes," Draco said. He stood in the kitchenette, pouring a bottle of red wine into two wine glasses.

Hermione thanked him for the offered glass and moved to the couch. Draco followed, settling next to her. "So, is this all you do here? Read and take advantage of poor weather to lure unsuspecting women to your secret flat?"

"I wouldn't dare call you unsuspecting, Granger," Draco replied with a smile.

"Oh?" she prompted.

"No, you know exactly what you're doing." He swirled his wine and took a sip.

"How do you know that?"

"I've seen the way you are at the Ministry, seen the way you walk through the corridors like you've got somewhere better to be. You're constantly checking your watch, counting down the minutes until you can escape. You carry a cup of coffee with you everywhere like it's the only thing keeping you awake." Draco's voice was low and taunting, and Hermione found herself leaning in to listen closer. "Then there's you at Tate's. The first week, it's like a light turned on. You looked alive again. You look the same right now."

"I …"

"I get it, Granger," he whispered. "You're bored. You have all of this energy and drive and stubbornness, and nowhere to focus it."

The room turned on its side, and Hermione closed the distance between them without a second thought. Draco's lips were thin and warm, tasting faintly of merlot and London rain. Lightning rushed through Hermione's body. The voice screaming "Wrong!" in her head was drowned out by the renewed chorus of "Different! Exciting! Dangerous!"

She was vaguely aware of a thin hand grasping her hip, squeezing tightly enough to anchor her to the ground. Teeth and lips and tongues fought for dominance and Hermione wondered if it was possible to actually catch fire. Draco nipped at her bottom lip once before pulling back.

"Wine," he said, his voice hoarse. Hermione found her wine glass leaving her grasp and registered a faint clink of it settling on the coffee table before Draco's lips were on hers once more.

With both hands free, Hermione felt the heat of his palm travel over her shoulder to the bare skin above her collarbone. He kissed her like he wanted to possess her, cupping the back of her neck with one hand while pulling her closer by the hip until their torsos were pressed together. Hermione trailed her fingers over Draco's ribcage, body heat bleeding through the fabric of his oxford shirt.

His lips trailed to her jaw, and her head tilted back as she fought to regain control of her breath. Teeth dragged across her pulse point before sinking into the skin just above her collar. She couldn't stop the whimper before it escaped, the sharp spark of pain drawing from her sounds she didn't recognize. Draco soothed the sting with his tongue; Hermione melted against him, trapped between teeth and hands and torso.

She had a split second of warning before his arm braced behind her spine and he pulled, lifting her up and across to straddle his thighs. Before she could move in again, Draco dug his thumbs into her hipbones.

"This—this isn't anything, Granger," he said quietly. "Don't read into this."

Hermione nodded once, her bottom lip between her teeth. She moved her hands to the buttons of Draco's shirt.

Another squeeze of his thumbs halted her movements.

"I need you to stop now, if—"

Hermione shook her head, her fingers flicking once more towards his buttons. The first one popped open.

"Say it, Hermione," he said, voice low and tense. "What do you want?"

The sound of her name in that tone caused her stomach to clench. She leaned forward, palms pressed to Draco's chest, until her lips brushed the curve of his ear. "I want this. With you. I want you to take me apart and make me forget and remember at the same time. I want to act and react without expectations."

Pulling away, she saw the way Draco's eyes dilated, felt the intake of breath and his pulse jump beneath her hands.

His arms shifted, one traveling around her waist and the other up her spine until his fingers clenched around the back of her neck once more. They sat, frozen, noses brushing as they simply shared breath. They were too close for Hermione to focus on Draco's eyes, so she closed hers, willing herself to simply feel. She tilted her pelvis, and Draco groaned at the pressure, splaying his fingers against her neck and arse and guiding her lips to his for another bruising kiss.

There was a chime before Hermione could concentrate on his buttons again.

"Fuck," Draco groaned. "Food."

"Mmm, just leave it," Hermione replied, pressing her lips against the underside of his chin.

"Can't." He tapped her hip once and guided her off of his lap. "Two seconds."

He disappeared through the door. Hermione took three deep breaths, waiting for the panic to kick in. It never did. Touching a finger to her swollen bottom lip, she grinned.

She pulled herself from the couch, hands automatically smoothing her jumper and hair. The notion of simply losing the article of clothing flitted through her mind, but she dismissed it as Draco returned, clutching a paper bag. Their eyes met, electricity crackled, and Hermione flew at him.

The bag found its way to the kitchen counter, Draco's arms found their way around her waist, and Hermione's back found itself forced against the now-closed door. Pressed together from head to toe wasn't close enough though, and Hermione quickly spread her thighs to draw Draco between them. Taking advantage of the added pressure of the door and his body, Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist and tangled her hands in his hair.

She let herself fall into the kiss, allowing Draco take the lead as he licked into her mouth. The flavor of wine had faded, and Hermione found herself drinking in the unfamiliar taste. Her fingers drifted once more to the buttons. She was too far gone to want to deal with barriers between them.

As soon as the fabric parted, she slipped her hands in to glide across the pale skin, memorizing the variations that interrupted the smooth flesh of his chest—a scar here, a mole there, and a dusting of fine hair. Draco's hands slipped under her jumper, trailing fire across her abdomen.

He pulled them away from the wall, careful to support Hermione as he walked them towards the bed. She fell with a jolt when his knees hit the mattress, but Draco's hands never left her waist, and they were soon occupied with pushing her jumper up over her head. She retaliated, finishing work on the last of his buttons before he shed the shirt completely.

The impulse to shield herself threatened to overwhelm her—she knew what motherhood and age had done to her body - but Draco didn't give her the chance. He urged her back, following her on hands and knees. He mouthed at the edge of her bra, adding teeth and tongue randomly as he moved down her stomach. The effect was intoxicating.

Hermione's hands fell to his hair as his fell to her belt. A second later, the denim was peeled away, her boots were discarded, and she found herself in nothing but her undergarments. She blushed as Draco's eyes roamed over her body, so she concentrated instead on his own belt and trousers.

"You've nothing to be embarrassed about," he whispered, running a palm up her side to cup her breast through the thin cotton fabric.

"I'm forty, Malfoy," she replied. She coaxed his trousers down enough for him to kick them off, leaving him in simple black pants. Her breath quickened at the evidence of his arousal beneath the fabric. "I know what I look like."

"Obviously, you don't." He reached back, unclasped the strap, and pulled it from her chest. "And here, it's Draco."

Fingers and lips descended on her skin, raising goose pimples in their wake. Coherent thought was wiped from Hermione's mind. Draco's teeth closed over her nipple, and her hips bucked of their own volition.

He chuckled lowly; one hand drifted between her thighs, cupping the heat underneath her cotton knickers. Draco's hand shifted, fingers slipping around the fabric. Hermione choked back a moan.

"None of that now," he teased, moving the fabric aside and letting his fingers come to rest on her clit. Gently, he rocked his fingertips against her. "I want to hear you."

Her head fell back against the mattress as she let out a whimper. As Draco continued his light ministrations, Hermione's hips squirmed against the duvet. It wasn't enough. Heat pooled in her gut, but Draco would only keep her on the edge for hours at this rate. She reached down, tangled her fingers through his, and pressed. Lava rolled up her spine, forcing a moan out of her throat.

"Fuck," Draco whispered, watching her. He grasped the edges of her knickers and swept them down her legs before doing the same with his pants. He returned after rustling through a small drawer.

Hermione was surprised to find a foil packet in his hand.

"Don't look at me like that," he scolded, tossing the condom onto the sheets.

"Sorry," she replied. Visions of Draco with faceless muggle girls flashed through her mind, and she pushed them to the side. It was none of her business.

Fingers returned to her clit, more forcefully this time, and Hermione pressed her hips up, desperate for more. Propped above her on one arm, Draco watched her face. When he finally pressed two fingers inside, careful to keep his thumb circling the bundle of nerves, Hermione groaned.

"Oooh, Draco, keep doing that." She dragged her fingernails down his chest, across his stomach, before wrapping a fist around his cock. She pulled at the length, her grip firm, matching the rhythm of Draco's fingers pumping into her.

His movements faltered at the contact, and he dropped his forehead to hers. "Fuck, Granger, I'm not twenty-five anymore," he whispered. "Nngh, you first."

He shifted down, effectively freeing himself from her hold, and took Hermione's nipple between his lips. Her body collapsed to the two points of contact; Draco's fingers twisted, his thumb flicked, and his teeth grazed the sensitive flesh. Reality halted, shrinking into a bundle in her abdomen, and then white light exploded between her eyelids.

Hermione shouted at the ceiling. Shockwaves poured through her body, and she hardly noticed Draco moving away or the faint rip of foil before he was back, pressing his cock into her just as the manic pulsing slowed. Oversensitive and drunk with endorphins, she couldn't find the strength to wrap her legs around him.

Hips flush, Draco let out a low groan before meeting her eyes. "Merlin, this isn't going to take long." He moved fluidly, his spine undulating at an easy pace. His skin was flushed and glistening with a sheen of sweat.

Hermione could do nothing more than dig her fingernails into his biceps, whimpering with each thrust as his pelvis rocked against her clit. Distantly, she wished she was still able to orgasm twice in one night. She clawed down his sides, desperate for something to hang onto as he continued to drive into her.

"Oh, fuck," Draco choked out. He pushed up onto his knees and seized her hips, his pace reaching a frantic level. With a shout, his spine went rigid, and his fingers tightened to the point of pain. Hermione was sure she was going to have bruises.

It was a small price to pay though. Her chest heaved as she tried to slow her breathing, but the rest of her body felt boneless. Draco collapsed next to her, and she came down from her high by concentrating on the sound of their breaths mingling in the heavy cloud of sex around them.