For my dear followers: After a massive writer's block, I'm finally back :) For those of you who are following "the eye of her storm" you can expect an update within a week, and I'm also busy with a new chapter of "One Time Too Many", though that one might take a little bit longer. Either way, for now you'll have to make do with this new story, because I find starting new stories the best way of getting myself out of a writer's blocks - and I figured, sharing is caring, even if that means adding yet another story to my list of "unfinished business people want to see finished". Don't hate me too much.

Love you all, thank you for your patience, and I sincerely hope you and your loved ones are all in great health.

HPOV

Hermione looked at herself in the mirror; a stern frown adorning her prettily made up face as her eyes gazed in those of her reflection with an intense severity.

This was not for him – she reminded herself.
This was not for him.

So what if she'd put in a little bit more effort into her appearance tonight? So what if she'd bought a new dress and applied a bit more make up to than she normally would've done? So what if she preferred torturing herself with a pair of unreasonably painful high heels tonight, just because they looked pretty? It didn't mean anything. She could doll up like a girl for once; she didn't need a reason. It certainly didn't mean she did it for him.

They had had sex once.

Once.

That's all.
No biggie.
None whatsoever.

They were adults that had acted on their most primal instincts. It was nothing; biology; a simple action based on hormones, pheromones, and a lot of other things she had had no control over. It had been completely natural. Nothing to be ashamed off or act silly about. Nothing that would change the inevitable truth of them being strangers who barely saw of each other at all.

He was no one to her.

They weren't friends, or colleagues, or even acquaintances. They barely knew each other at all these days, as they moved in vastly different circles. The only times she ever ran into him was during yet another War-related fundraiser, charity gala, auction or god knows what other type of circus high society could come up with – and it wasn't as if they'd ever exchanged more than two sentences at those parties either. Nothing beyond the cordial "how do you do" anyway.

So, really, how in Merlin's name did this even happen?

Yes, fine. She remembered alright? She remembered just fine how they'd bumped into each other at Flourish and Blotts, and how her stack of books had sprawled onto the floor. She remembered how he'd crouched down next to her to help her pick them up; an action that seemed too mundane, and completely out of character for someone dressed in such a pricey and crisp looking cloak. She also remembered how their hands had touched and their gazes met – her heart skipping a beat when she'd found his eyes blown black - the lust in them undeniable.

The next part was slightly more dazed.

Somewhere in the back of her mind Hermione knew she had followed him out of the shop and into an alley, giggling as he pushed her up against a wall with a barely concealed rush. She remembered their hands tearing at each other's clothes as if time was their biggest enemy – and perhaps it was. Moans and groans soon filled the air –like symphonies to the song of the oldest dance in time. She remembered how he had chanted her name like a prayer – forehead dropped to her shoulder as he pounced inside of her with a frantic desperation; forcing prayers of his own name to spill from her lips in return.

She remembered it being hot, intense, and needy.
She remembered it being raw and real.

She remembered getting lost in bliss as he feasted on her neck, her mind heady and drowsy as her senses got consumed by the feel, and touch, and smell of him. He'd been greedy – fingers bruising her skin everywhere and she had loved the pain it brought. She remembered his soft grunts in her ear as he took her; walls shattering around his shaft as she shouted his name like he was her forever. The deep primitive growl he'd released when he followed her to that cloud of ecstasy wasn't something she could ever forget either. Nor the way his hips had jerked another five, six times as he emptied himself with crazed spurts that could be felt deep inside her womb. She remembered how she'd claimed it all, as if it were the world's most vital possession – an overwhelming sense of wholeness and belonging washing over her. Something she'd never felt before.

And as they stood there – in a dirty alleyway, intertwined and gasping for air in each other's arms – she hadn't want to let go of him. Not ever.

For the first time since the war – and possibly ever – Hermione plan-freak Granger had lost all sense of logic and acted on impulse. She hadn't thought about the consequences of her actions, or what the morrow might bring. She'd just lived in the moment, and got rewarded for it with the most intense, wonderful, ecstatic emotions she'd ever experienced.

But it hadn't been real.
Just a mere illusion.

Because after what felt like eternity, they eventually had to part, and as he gently lowered her back to the ground – with his heavy hands steadying her quivering legs – reality had crashed back down on her.

She was Hermione Granger, and he was Draco Malfoy.

What they did… there'd been no romance, no beauty, and no sense in it – only a raw, primitive lust – and no matter how pleasurable their actions had been, it was not to be repeated. It just wasn't how the world worked.

Sure, he might see giving into desire as his birth right; something that was just another part of life for him, but Hermione wasn't raised the same way. Her parents were two dentists of the upper-middle class; she was raised to believe giving into desire would only distract her from her responsibilities and life goals. And it did – at least in her eyes it did.

Sex with Malfoy was one thing, but the warm and tingling emotions that had come with it was not something she'd signed up for. They could never be, so what was the point?

And yet, for the past two weeks, their actions had set in motion an accumulation of feelings so grand, Hermione didn't quite know what to do with herself anymore. She'd tried so hard to ignore them, curse them; pretend they weren't there. She'd cried, and shouted, and almost ordered a year's supply of chocolate ice cream, until the store manager had informed her they could deliver as well, after which she had quickly run out the store, smacking herself in the head for being such a cliché.

It wasn't fair. It wasn't even that she liked him that much – she didn't even know him. And yet, that odd heated moment they'd shared had felt significant to her. It had been the first time in probably ever, she'd felt so in sync with her feelings and the experience had left her quite breathless – in a good way, which was odd.

She'd never been particularly fond of emotions – hers or anyone's in general. They simply weren't her strong suit. When given the choice, she tried to avoid them all-together, and when forced to feel them regardless of her wishes, it barely ever was a particularly pleasant experience. So, yes. Hermione had always much preferred relying on logic and knowledge to help her make difficult decisions. It was safer that way; more predictable and less like hell was about to raise on you.

All hell had definitely raised upon her now, scorching her to bone and ash for two weeks straight.

She had tried to close the Pandora's box she'd opened so recklessly – Merlin she tried – but so far it had been to no avail. Every time she thought she was finally done with that horrible emotional rollercoaster, there would be another memory, another dream, or another fantasy to fire her up, and burn her like the witch she was. At this point, Hermione seriously wondered if being burned at a pyre would be distinguishably different from the emotional pain she was experiencing right now. If she had to take a guess, she probably preferred the physical pain over this mental madness.

It had to stop.

Especially when it was this one-sided too. As Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Bachelor six years in a row now, Malfoy had witches falling at his feet everywhere he went. Having a quick heated romp in an alleyway was just like any other Tuesday afternoon for him. There was no doubt in her mind that to him, their heated moment outside Flourish and Blotts was just as much part of history as their days at Hogwarts had been. She should seriously start seeing it like that as well.

Nothing had changed. They were still strangers. They'd hardly spoken to each other in the ten years prior to this– incident, and not at all after. It was better that way. More logical for sure.

With one last look in the mirror, Hermione nodded at herself with determination; resolving to keep these things in mind for when she saw him again tonight. She could do this.

She was Hermione Granger, and she'd survived far greater things than Draco bloody Malfoy.