"Another International Magical Cooperation Meeting in the books, thank god." Hermione shifted her conference bag on her shoulder, skipping to crunch a leaf on the neatly bricked path. "What did you think?"

Draco walked easily beside her, his own IMCM bag folded under his arm. "Fine. Fair. OK, I guess," he said, his clipped words blowing clouds in the crisp air. "Same people, same subjects, same opinions. At least we got to come here for it."

Hermione murmured her agreement and looked around, taking in the manicured grounds of a 19th century American wizard-tycoon's former estate. Now a hotel and conference center, it was situated in that part of the northeastern United States that became most dazzling in the autumn. The saturated oranges, yellows and reds on the trees and ground around them were almost surreal. She stooped to pick up a perfect, deep carmine leaf, twirling its stem in her fingers.

"Absolutely gorgeous," she said, holding it out to Draco.

He nodded, eyes not quite on the leaf, which he took from her hand and held up against the gunmetal grey sky. It was dusk and the light was quickly dying. Hermione could see the shape of the hotel coming into view; a massive stone building of mellow proportions covered in artfully trailing ivy.

Draco let the leaf flutter back to the ground and they started walking again, Hermione glad she'd persuaded him to go on foot instead of via apparition.

"I hope we haven't missed the treats tonight," she said, a little eager.

He snorted. "Me too. Since you made me pass up the one good part of the conference day to come back here."

"Oh, that happy hour is rubbish and you know it. Besides, I spied wine, brandy and whiskey accompanying the spread yesterday." She nudged him. "So you'll get your drink."

"And you'll get your nut tart or whatever strange concoction the Americans call dessert."

"I believe you're referring to the 'pecan pie'. It looked delicious." Hermione pictured the gorgeous array of sweets the hotel offered as a nightly 'dessert before dinner' ritual for its guests. She'd missed it the last two nights due to getting stuck chatting at the conference, but not tonight. Tonight she would prevail.

Draco opened the hotel's massive stained glass door for her, and Hermione ducked under his arm into the dark and inviting lobby. He looked around, running a hand through his bright hair, which was attractively rumpled from the gusty breeze that had accompanied their walk.

"It's this way. In the Fireplace Room." Hermione tugged on his arm, and he let her.

"Fireplace Room." He rolled his eyes.

"What!? It's a room with a fireplace in it."

"It's pretentious and precious and you know it. This whole place is." Draco's sniff dismissed the lobby's dark wood paneling, exposed brick and artfully contrasting brass fixtures.

"Oh, my god, you are such a snob."

"Because I object to manufactured charm?"

"Because your access to the real thing puts you in a very rare position."

"Hmph." He frowned. "Not like I chose it."

"But still. Don't let's argue, though. Here we are." Hermione pulled him a little harder into a cosy side room. It was charming and it was dominated by an absolutely massive iron fireplace. And the sideboard was groaning with a mouthwatering display of pies, cookies, cakes and confections—everything prettily labeled and studded with flickering candles (OK, maybe it was a bit precious). It appeared they were the first to arrive. Hermione sighed in delight.

"If only a woman would look at me the way you're looking at those puddings." Draco reached around her to grasp the long neck of a decanter filled with amber liquid.

"Please." Hermione snorted as she took up a small white plate and contemplated her selections. "You do just fine."

His divorce and her divorce had both recently concluded, and once he'd come on the market witches came out of the woodwork like... woodlice, like grubby little woodlice.

Hermione hacked aggressively at a triangle of pumpkin pie then stole a glance at him. No wonder. Handsome, rich, elegant. Gorgeously proportioned and always impeccably dressed. His face in profile was so arresting as he dropped onto the huge leather sofa in front of the fireplace that she just stared for a moment.

And—she blinked and shut her mouth—one couldn't forget intelligent, witty, interesting. Good at his job. A bit eclectic, with a sharp sense of humour. A reader. Hermione looked down, realising she'd been putting a sweet on her plate for every quality of Draco's she enumerated. She grabbed another plate.

"You do well enough yourself," he said, almost startling her. She peered at him as he took a deep drink of whatever was in his glass, a flash of grey peeking up at her from over the rim.

"I haven't been out with anyone!" Hermione balanced her plates and walked over to him. His brows went up as she placed them on the low table in front of the sofa. "I wanted a variety," she said defensively, turning back to the sideboard to pour herself a glass of red wine. The corner of his mouth tilted up too.

"Yes," he said. "But I have it on good authority that Desmond asked you. And when you turned him down, I believe Mubiru threw his hat in the ring?" He examined his fingernails from under hooded lids.

"Hmph," Hermione muttered, dropping down next to him on the sofa. "That's nothing like you." There had been at least five women since the divorce was finalised. And he'd shown up to the Halloween Gala with the veriest girl. Couldn't have been more than twenty-five.

"Well, with both Pansy and my mother on the campaign, it's been rather a crush."

Hermione shoved a chocolate thing dusted with sugar whole into her mouth. Draco's brows went up again, and he leaned forward to pick up the plate holding the pumpkin pie.

"That's mine," Hermione said through a mouthful of fudge.

"I want to try it."

"Get your own piece."

"Gannet." He kept the plate and held it up. "Is it any good?"

Hermione took up a fork and speared a large bite off the plate in his hands. She put it in her mouth and chewed, her eyes on his. His lips twitched.

"Hard to say," she said, reaching over to take another bite. "It's like a pumpkin pasty but sweeter, and a lot more pumpkin? I don't know."

She went for another bite, but Draco intercepted her fork, taking it along with her hand and bringing it to his mouth. He held their eye contact while he took the bite, then chewed thoughtfully.

"Well?" she asked, trying to ignore the heat raging up her neck and down her—

"I don't know either," he said slowly. "Jury's out. I like this, though." He released her hand, then swirled and drank his liquor.

Hermione sat back and took a long swallow of wine.

After a moment he reached over and took another bite of the pie.

"I thought you didn't like it," she said.

"It's moreish." He tilted his head at her. "Strangely so."

The firelight gleamed in his hair and played over his features. Hermione's eyes ran down his body to his long legs, casually crossed. Where did he get those perfectly dark-washed muggle jeans? And the gleaming leather boots? She knew that he sometimes went out in muggle London, but did he shop?

"What?" he said.

"What!" Hermione started again.

"You're staring at me—do I have pumpkin on my face? Or not this jumper, it's cashmere." He held it out, forehead wrinkling down at the soft fabric.

"No you're just—" Hermione stopped herself right before she jumped off a steep cliff. Damn wine. Damn fireplace and romantic candlelight.

"I'm what?" He was suddenly looking at her very sharply.

Hermione forked a bite of the nut tart into her mouth. Pecan pie. It was heavenly. "Oh, that's good," she said, offering the plate to him.

He shook his head. "I want to know what I am, Granger."

She eyed him, and he eyed her back. Hermione crossed her arms and tapped her fingers.

"Oh, fuck it!" she said in a whoosh. "You're just very attractive at times, all right?" She flung herself up and poured another glass of wine, not looking at him.

"At times." She could almost hear his raised brow. She could definitely hear his smile.

"In the firelight. In a good jumper," she muttered into her wine glass, sitting back down. "Your hair looks nice like that."

"Like what?" He reached up, agitated.

Hermione snorted. "A little windblown. Rumpled. Attractive."

Something in his eyes as he looked over at her had her reaching out impulsively to run her fingers through the silky platinum strands. His eyelids fluttered shut and he stretched into the caress.

"Only on Thursdays in a good light, then?" he murmured.

"Only then."

"Granger."

"Hmm." Hermione had lost focus. She zoomed back in to realise her hand was still in his hair, but had somehow gone down the back of his neck to his nape.

"That feels nice."

"Oh!" She froze.

"Don't stop." His mouth quirked up.

"Don't stop?"

"Absolutely not." He opened his eyes and most of the humour was gone.

"Well, all right." She put down her wine, leaned over, and kissed him before she could think too much about it.

Fuck it, she'd been wanting to for a very long time.

He deepened the kiss almost instantly, teasing her mouth open and chasing her tongue with his. His body shifted and his hand skimmed, warm and sure, over her neck and into her hair. Hermione groaned softly and braced herself against his shoulders, amazed that kissing him was even better than she'd imagined—and she'd imagined it many times.

He tasted like cinnamon and clove and brandy.

"Granger," he said, after several breathless minutes. "I truly hate to interrupt."

"Mmm?" Hermione vaguely noted that she'd climbed into his lap. His hand was under her jumper, her skirt was pushed up and she could feel a very sizeable— against the gusset of her tights.

"Shit, we're in public," she hissed.

"In the lobby." But he didn't show any signs of stopping what he was doing, which was something very distracting to her neck. And her inner thigh.

"'Fireplace Room'," she said, looking over her shoulder.

"Whatever. Can we go to my room instead?"

"Yes." Hermione looked down into sultry grey and kissed him again.

"Now?" He shifted under her in a meaningful way and Hermione gasped.

"OK, yes. Now."

"Come on. Let's run."

Her skirt was still on, as were his jeans. But she'd pulled her tights and knickers off before she'd pushed him down on the bed and straddled him. She was now working on her top and bra, which she soon flung aside.

"Oh, fuck me, it's like a Hogwarts professor fantasy," he groaned, fluffing the long paisley fabric of her skirt around them and reaching up for her tits. She reached under her skirt for his belt buckle at the same time and soon had it open. She took his cock out and stroked him while his eyes rolled back in his head.

"Can I just fuck you?" she panted, so wet she was sure she was mussing his perfect, dark-washed jeans.

"Yes, please."

"Oh, good. I was worried you'd want a lot of foreplay."

"This whole fucking week has been foreplay, Granger. The last six months. Longer, if we're being confessional."

She stopped for a moment, totally arrested. "Really?"

"Don't stop!" He was almost laughing, but he was also so hard against her hand that her sympathy—and other things—were aroused. She shifted up and positioned herself over him, sliding down slowly, a moan ripping from her throat. He was big, mmm, but not stupidly so. He felt bloody incredible, in fact.

"You feel bloody incredible," she ground out.

"Likewise." His voice was taut and he'd pitched his head back, revealing the long, graceful curve of his neck. Hermione leaned forward to suck gently on the skin there and he let out a low moan. She laved her tongue over him and felt him clutch at her arse and thrust up, deep inside of her.

"Fuck, me," she gasped, speeding up and matching his thrusts, soon realising that at this angle his cock was very nearly rubbing her clit.

"You're doing a...fuck...admirable job of it." His eyes opened, dark slate and deeply hooded, and he focused again. On her tits—which were bouncing merrily. She arched her back and stuck them out, and he sucked in a breath. "My gods." His hands darted up again and he brushed a thumb over her nipple, then rolled it between his long fingers.

She closed her eyes and sighed his name and he blew out an almost-laugh. "I want to warn you that if you keep doing,"—he waved a hand at her—"all this. I might, not...last as long as I'd normally—" He broke off on a gasp as Hermione pitched forward, her tits almost on his face.

"That's fine," she said. "I'm really close." And she was, her inner muscles tightening as waves of pleasure started to build and ripple out. She didn't normally get off this fast, but the provocation had been extreme. As he'd said, all week, for months. Honestly for a very long time.

And now he was shifting up, and taking her breast in his mouth. She clutched his shoulders as he sucked down on her nipple, hard. "Draco!" Hermione shrieked, her thighs clenching around his slim hips.

"Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck," he started to mutter, and she could feel him reaching under her skirt. Soon two supple fingers were on her clit, rubbing fast and with a strong, steady pressure. She started to ride him in earnest, and he threw his head back again. "Hermione, fuck!"

Everything started to shatter, and Hermione bucked and writhed, coming longer and harder than she had in recent (or non-recent) memory. She wasn't even aware what she was doing or saying, although she was sure it had involved a lot of unseemly language. Judging by the sounds Draco was making, it was the same for him.

They came down slowly, his arms fastened around her bare back and his face buried in her tits. She began running her fingers slowly over his neck and into his hair, which she tugged at lightly.

"Please don't disturb me, I'm planning to die happily just like this," he said, his voice muffled.

"You might of suffocation if you don't move."

"No."

She laughed silently and felt his mouth curve into a smile. Finally he looked up, and his eyes were light silver and dancing. "That was…" He blinked several times.

"Mmm-hmm." She leaned down and kissed him, then climbed off of him and flopped down on her back. He flopped back too, taking her hand in his and lacing their fingers together.

"No really," he said. "I've thought about that a lot."

Hermione started giggling.

"Like, truly a lot. And I've got a pretty good imagination." Draco shot a look at her, which made her laugh harder. "But that, that was—" He subsided with a wave of his hand and shake of his head.

"You really have?" she asked after a silent bit.

"What?"

"Thought about this? Us?"

He propped up on an elbow. "Hermione, when I say a lot, I mean like borderline disturbing. Especially since the—you-know—were final."

"Why didn't you ask me out then, you prat!?" She whacked at him.

"Aside from the fact that I'm me and you're you?"

"Oh, nobody cares about that anymore."

He lifted a brow and she stared him down.

"Well, why didn't you ask me?" The corner of his mouth went up to match the brow.

"Because you had several...teenagers on the go! A new one every week!"

"Most of those women were within five to seven years of my age." He was starting to laugh.

"Not the last one," Hermione muttered in a side voice, which was lost because he'd moved up over her and covered her mouth with his.

"She was an anomaly," he murmured against her lips. "And a blind date, and the final straw which made me put an end to my mother's matchmaking. Besides"—is kisses went from her lips to her neck—"you looked so bloody beautiful that night that I think I pissed her off by staring at you too much."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, that's nice."

"The staring?"

"That thing you're doing with your tongue, mmmm." Hermione shifted, a distinctive heat starting in a distinctive region, which was startling because she was usually strictly one and done when it came to orgasms, but she really felt like she could— Her fingers went to Draco's shirt and started unbuttoning it. He'd taken off the jumper when they'd got to the bed, but for some reason most of his things were still on.

"You're wearing too many clothes," she said.

"Get them off of me, then." He growled it in her ear and Hermione's fingers sped. When she got to his trousers, she realised he was hard again.

"Oh." She stroked him up and down. Gorgeous cock. It felt perfect in her hand.

He smiled a little and glanced down. "Also a bit, er, unusual at my advanced age, but you appear to be driving me insane."

She stopped stroking. "You're 35 and younger than me."

"Well, you look very good for an older woman." He very obviously ogled her tits. Hermione pulled his head down by his silvery hair and bit his earlobe. Hard.

He hissed in a breath. "See you think that's punishment, but what you don't know is that it really gets me going." Hermione's cunt positively pulsed. She bit down again, this time following it with a little swirl of her tongue. He groaned and slid his arms around her back, hitching her close to him.

"Right. I'm going to lick you now."

"What? Where?" Hermione looked down as he started on her collarbone.

"Everywhere."

"Oh!"

"If that's all right, of course?" Light silver peered up at her and Hermione nodded and pushed his head gently down.

His breath puffed against her skin as he bent to her. He spent a good amount of time on her neck and shoulder. A brief stop at the base of her throat. Quite a while on her tits, which had her gasping and gripping the sheets. Then he skimmed over her stomach and ran his nose back and forth ever so lightly over the join of her hip and leg, which made her shudder and groan.

He did it again.

"Oh god," she sighed, and he smiled against her skin. His hands had slid down with his tongue and were now cupping her arse. He lifted her slightly and looked up once more, a question in his eyes.

"Don't stop," she said after a small pause, even though her mind was whirring. Ron had never been a fan of it and, frankly, neither had she. It had always felt like just a lot of wet faffing. Obligatory for both of them. She'd never come from it, instead just usually pulling Ron up by the ears when she got bored, or she could tell he was bor—

"OH!" The sound slipped from her lips quite involuntarily. "Oh, oh, OH!" Her hands went to the sheets again and twisted them this time. What was he—? And what was that—? A long groan ripped from her throat as rational thought left her mind and was replaced by pure feeling, ratcheting up fast and without her having any control over it whatsoever.

Draco was saying something and she fluttered back to earth, a bit peeved with him for breaking in on her incredible climb. "What?" She was disoriented, like she'd come out of a dark theater to overbright light.

"I was saying you're moreish." He was looking up at her, eyes a little darker now, but touched with amusement.

"Moreish?"

"Yes," he ducked his head and his tongue slipped over her again.

"FUCK!" Her toes curled. He hummed against her and the vibrations sent her even further.

Then he stopped again. "It's really quite similar in flavour profile to what we were eating earlier." He sounded struck by the comparison.

"What?"

"The pumpkin thingy."

"Are you comparing me to a pumpkin pie?" She lifted her head and looked at him.

"Yes, It's really very close—" He dove back down. "Let me just see..."

She dug her hands into his hair as he made a deeper exploration, her sound of exasperation lost in a moan of pleasure. He seemed to be done talking too, because he applied himself to the task, introducing his fingers and a blowing then sucking technique which drove Hermione completely out of her skull. She came so hard she saw stars—literal points of dancing light in her field of vision from clamping her eyelids down.

After a moment, he slid back up and rested his chin on her chest. "That was very gratifying."

"What?" She had the dark room to bright light feeling again.

"Hearing you yell my name like that. Over and over. Also something I've imagined a lot."

"Oh, did I do that?"

"You did." His grin was positively smug.

"Well it was...very nice." Hermione looked to the side.

"Nice?"

"Yes!"

"Oh, my god, I'll show you nice." He was chuckling as he came back up and kissed her.

"Maybe I'll show you nice," she mumbled after a bit, thinking of that beautiful cock.

"Is that a promise?" One of his brows was up and a lock of his hair was down. Lethal combination.

"Yes, but Draco what time is it?" Hermione peered around owlishly in the now darkness of the hotel room.

He picked up his watch from the bedside table and squinted at it. "About 9:30."

"Oh, bollocks, we've missed the dinner!" She sat up.

"We have, but I hope you wouldn't have traded—"

"No, of course not." She pulled him to her and he rested his head against her heart, his hand sneaking over to cup her breast. "But it was a turkey dinner," she said mournfully. "With all the trimmings."

He started laughing.

"What!?"

"Do you want your turkey dinner?" He was getting up now, pulling on his trousers and the jumper over his head.

"Well, yes, but it will be finished by now."

He jumped to put a shoe on. "I'll go ask at the kitchen if they have any left."

"It's late, Draco. They'll have put it away."

"I'll just ask. And be charming. I can be very charming at times, you know." He winked at her and Hermione let out a sigh. He was adorably rumpled and she really debated whether to just pull him back into bed. But before she could decide, he'd slipped out the door.

Hermione listened for the snick of the latch and gave him a few minutes to walk away before she indulged in a moment of extreme excitement (involving muted screaming and the abuse of a pillow) about what had just happened.

Then she went into the bathroom and ran a quick shower, emerging in a towel and a state of blissful happiness. A few minutes later Draco was back, floating a platter holding two gigantic turkey sandwiches, a bottle of chilled white wine and half a pumpkin pie.

Hermione's mouth simultaneously dropped open and started watering.

"How did you—?"

"Told you I can be charming." His grin was almost a smirk.

Hermione reached eagerly for one of the sandwiches. "Oh, I know. It did get you laid just now." She took a bite and chewed. Heavenly.

He paused, his own sandwich halfway to his mouth. "Did it?"

Hermione swallowed. "That and the hair."

"And don't forget the lighting." He took his bite.

"Exactly." She smiled.

They finished their sandwiches, opened the wine and started on the pie.

"I feel that this might be our symbol now, Granger." Draco took a forkful of the confection and held it up. "I might forever associate the taste of sweet pumpkin with the taste of your sweet—"

"Oh, my god!" She put a hand over her face.

"You don't want any?"

"Of course I do. Give me some."

Draco took up a bite on a fork, fed it to her, then kissed her.

"Mmm," she said. "The taste is rather nice."

"Told you."

The kiss turned deep. Hermione set down her wine and heard Draco's fork clatter back to the tray just before he wound a hand into her hair.

"Your clothes are all on again," she murmured.

"They can come off."

"Excellent. Because it's my turn to taste you."