Thursdays - Harry Potter

Pairing: Draco Malfoy / Hermione Granger
Rating: M (Language, sexual content)
Summary: Every Thursday evening Draco Malfoy ventured to a different place to find something exciting. This particular Thursday ended up changing his life. She changed his life.
Current Book: Just finished The Keep by Jennifer Egan, one of the best books I've ever read in my life. About to start Twilight by Stephenie Meyer (I've been avoiding it, but the bff absolutely insists that I start reading it before the movie is released - so I gave in. Great, just what I need, another series to get hooked on).
Current Fanfictions: "The Ties that Bind" by Kyra4 and "Broken" by inadaze22.
Current Music: "Gravity" by Shawn McDonald - his voice is heavenly.

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December 24, 2000
Friday evening, 8:41 P.M.

Surely my eyes are deceiving me. There is no possible way in hell this is happening. No possible way, he thought as he stared with wide eyes...

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December 22, 2000
Wednesday afternoon, 1:31 P.M.

Draco sneered as he read the lacy card for the eighth time - Draco, dear, please attend the gala this Friday night. I know you're not exactly in the country right now, but, as a family friend, I know how easy it is for you to travel this far. It would mean the world to me, given it is my annual holiday party after all. Besides, all of the Ministry will be there, old and new friends, a perfect opportunity for them to realize just how much you've changed. It worked for me. Please, please say you'll come. It would mean so much. See you Friday! All my love, Daphne - wondering how the hell he got himself into things like this.

Don't get him wrong, he loves Daphne, always has, but his affection for the girl he considers a sister doesn't change his feelings regarding returning home. He'd had enough of his childhood home back when he was a child. Venturing back to the mean streets of Diagon Alley only to have people throw mud in his face hardly registered on his "appeal o'meter."

His popularity all but disappeared after the Battle of Hogwarts, an event he wanted to forget. All right, he acknowledged his part and took the blame with as much dignity as he could muster, but the people around him wouldn't let up. 'Screw the lot of them' became his personal mantra.

Sighing, he sat himself down on the mahogany table in his den, and made a list for all the reasons he shouldn't go.

Reason one: All but two people haven't seen him since he left London nearly three years prior. Even the few people who don't hate the ground he walks on won't so much as give him a second look, given they know nothing about him. Sure, there might be a mutual nod of greeting and a few moments of insignificant chatter, asking the stupid formalities neither party care about, before returning to their prior activities and forgetting all about the other. Pointless. Completely pointless.

Reason two: The last gala of Daphne's resulted in him imbibing far too much liquor, snogging some chick afterward, and winding up in a strange hotel room the next morning. To top it off, the girl looked exceedingly better the night before when he'd been hammered. The close up sober was just...bloody rotten. Needless to say, he left without waking her and without leaving any information about how to contact him.

Reason three: Daphne didn't allow any wands into the building out of fear of drunk-induced idiots hexing other drunk-induced idiots. Without a wand, he wouldn't have the opportunity to cast even the smallest tripping jinxes on unsuspecting duffs like Ron Weasley.

Reason four: Ron Weasley would be there. Well, in all fairness, all of them would be there, he figured. She mentioned the whole "Golden Trio" showing up, but left it at that. Great, another evening filled of a dozen idiots swooping to the three, kissing their arses until every available inch gets covered in lipstick stains.

Reason five: Well, um...

Fuck reason five - the first four were reason enough for him not to go. No, Draco Malfoy made up his mind...

He would NOT go to the Greengrass Gala.

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December 23, 2000
Thursday evening, 7:28 P.M.

Though he couldn't explain why, for some reason, Draco Malfoy always found himself in the most random places on Thursday evenings.

At first he thought it nothing more than a coincidence, but for the past year he'd gone out every Thursday night and found something to do. Girls threw themselves at him all the time, some of which he actually considered and took their offers wholeheartedly. Yet, in the end, all of the women were the same.

This particular Thursday he wanted some excitement, something different, and someone that would have him craving for more the next week.

In actuality, he truly just wanted to forget about the Gala coming up.

But back to the Thursday thing...

So far, he'd ended up doing an assortment of activities with casual people each time.

Last Thursday he took a portkey to the states and had dinner in front of the Empire State Building. A comely redhead joined him where her auburn tresses shined like gold during the sunset, giving him the perfect opportunity to kiss her. She invited him up to her place shortly after, the duo enjoying the others' company in her roomy shower. He thought she was a fucking cougar in bed.

The Thursday before revolved around spending an evening in Spain, where an exotic Brunette took him on a wild ride involving her splendid tongue. He smiled stupidly for the rest of the week.

Tonight he graced the top of the Eiffel Tower, staring out at the bright city. It amazed him how Paris never seemed to grow old for him. Sure, the day makes the city just like any other, but at night...indescribable. In the back of his mind, he realized that if he ever did decide to settle down, to marry, he would probably take the girl to Paris for the wedding ceremony, something only for them.

Aside from the idyllic setting, the true beauty of the evening centered upon the weather. Perfect, simply perfect, with just a light chill running along his skin, pushing back the sugar-white hair surrounding his face. Furthermore, the weather came with a complete lack of people around - nobody to disturb him. In his mind, the entire night was seemingly perfect.

More often than not, he loved being alone.

Gave him the opportunity to people watch the few around him without any admirers fawning over his appearance. The couple to his right drew his attention from the very beginning. The girl seemed pretty enough - blonde, kind of plain. She wore a knee length dress and pulled her hair into a high ponytail, a thick black ribbon twisted around the knot. Draco noticed the girl had been staring at her man for the entire evening, worshiping him with a look of sheer adoration. He, on the other hand, was too busy talking to his muggle contraption to notice her. Even a plain Jane deserved something better than that.

A few other couples strolled hand in hand, oblivious to him and the rest of the world. The sound of a woman's heels resonated an echo from the iron metal of the tower. Laughter filled the air, bubbling from the lips of giddy women and men enjoying their date night. Annoying, really, when it got right down to it. They couldn't go elsewhere to find romance?

Then again, he reminded himself, this is Paris. Supposedly one of the number one love capitals of the world.

Scrunching up his face, he desperately tried to remember why he chose this particular spot. The day before it seemed like a great idea, but everyone around him already belonged to someone else, paired off like a common Yule Ball, no single women available for him to take home.

Screw it, this isn't the place to pick up a woman. I should...just...

No way.

No possible way.

No possible way in hell.

His eyes zoned in on a lone woman leaning against the dark bars in a far off corner, her dark, curly hair blowing in the breeze while her eyes peered out into the distance. He remembered the hair well, often taunted the girl for it, but what he never remembered seeing revolved around the small, almost sad pull of her lips, slightly downward.

A frown.

The pretty girl (for he did consider her pretty - not beautiful, like say the redhead from last Thursday, but he did consider her pretty enough) always held her head up high in public, no matter the circumstances. In the back of his mind, he figured - correctly - it had a lot to do with the need to look calm and collected, to hide her insecurities, probably a true source of agony for her as a young child.

Yet, here she stood, on one of the most beautiful man-made creations in a superlative setting, frowning.

Something didn't make sense.

Draco Malfoy concluded what his Thursday's activity would be - or in this case, who.

Straightening his tie, casually messing his silver hair, he walked over to the girl, making no effort to keep a solid distance away from her. Instead, he plopped directly beside her, startling her badly when she stared at the one who disturbed her from her thoughts, her wide eyes gazing at him upon recognition.

"Malfoy?"

"The very one and only, Miss Granger," he replied cooly, staring off at the Paris lights.

Through his periphial vision, he watched her expression change from startled, to shocked, and finally, to suspicious.

"Why exactly are you here?" she asked, her eyes narrowed.

Shrugging, he answered, "The Eiffel Tower is a lovely tourist attraction. Is there a reason for why I shouldn't be here?"

"No," she clipped, her voice just as guarded as his, "but there are plenty of available locations you could stand. Is there a reason you chose to stand here?"

Smirking, he didn't reply, instead focusing his gaze on the twinkling lights above him. He could hear her light breathing, no doubt a sign of internal struggle. He remembered following the war, during the trials, she often breathed heavily whenever hostility erupted or she felt threatened.

He didn't know which one she felt now.

"Well?"

"I heard you're attending the Greengrass Gala tomorrow evening, correct?"

At this, she turned her shoulders and faced him, her frown stressing just a fraction more. Sighing, she told him, "Yes, I suppose I am going. Are you?"

He answered with a brusque head-shake, not even bothering to acknowledge her with words. If he did see her, he would have seen the frown lessen considerably.

"And why isn't haughty Draco Malfoy going to the ball? Aren't you fond of all those things?" she snipped, throwing her hair behind her dramatically. When he didn't answer, she eyed him curiously, noting, "You're awfully quiet for someone who came over here to talk. Regretting your decision to talk to me?"

"Not at all."

"Then why are you quiet all of the sudden?"

"Maybe I don't want to answer your question."

If Draco had seen her face, he would have seen a smile present on her alluring mouth. Then, "I think I like you better like this, Malfoy."

The last word left her lips just as another couple passed behind them, the woman giggling madly over something she found 'delightful.' Both peered over their shoulders - his left, her right - and almost shared the same mutual sneer.

"Disgusting," he murmured, once they turned around. "They act as though love is in the air."

"There is no such thing," growled Hermione, looking away.

"Bitter much?" he teased, turning his grey eyes on her, a little amusement dancing in his belly.

Not bothering with a reply, she asked, "So what are you doing here? I mean is this where you live?"

Deciding it best to drop the subject, he humored her, answering, "No, I don't live at the top of the Eiffel Tower."

"Prat."

"Some things never change."

"Clearly."

Silence consumed them for a long while, but unlike the normal, awkward stillness, Draco found it oddly calming; peaceful even, no doubt from the knowledge that the silence stemmed from reticence, rather than unease.

When the silence broke, Draco did it.

"I've been living in Canada for the last couple of years. Nice magical community, away from prying eyes. Nobody knows me there." He nearly slapped himself - why in the hell did I just admit to all that? It's not like she asked for it all.

"Wow," she muttered, a smile quirking the corner of her mouth, "You're voluble for someone who barely said a word to me, save for the regular dosage of insults, throughout all the time we've known each other. Why so loquacious?"

"Does it bother you?"

"On the contrary," she started, shaking her head for effect, "I'm actually enjoying it. You speak far more eloquently than I expected."

"Expected?" he questioned, his eyebrow nearly touching his hairline. "Let me guess, my House proceeds me?"

Pulling a face, slight compunction on her mein, she responded, "Well, I guess I'm just used to hearing the words mudblood or buck-toothed know-it-all in front of everything that comes out of your mouth."

"Touche."

Chuckling lightly, she ran a hand through her long hair, letting the curls bounce back into place. Draco got the distinct feeling she knew he was watching her, and liked what he saw.

"So where are you living? Are you still in London?" he asked nonchalantly, not really caring but just hoping to keep her talking. It surprised even him when he came to the realization, but he was all for honesty at this point, to himself at least; and he liked hearing her speak.

Turning away, completely masking her face under the darkness, she answered, "Yes, in Diagon Alley actually. I live in one of the upper apartments."

"Ah, I should have known. Then you can be close to your friend, the Weasel. Doesn't he work at the family joke shop?"

Hermione physically tensed yet offered no further comment. Draco could tell she didn't like him putting down her friend. He decided to retract the statement, "I'm sorry. Doesn't Ron Weasley work there?"

"Yes," she responded, again not continuing onward.

Again, he decided not to push it.

Suddenly, she turned around, placing her back on the iron railings toward the night sky. For a long while she simply stared at the passing couples, her eyes scanning their content, peaceful faces. The bitterness he saw earlier flashed again, two identical colored spots rising high on her cheeks, her eyes appearing a shade darker; nearly black. If he hadn't attended school with her for six years, giving him plenty of opportunities to take her in, he might have thought her eyes actually were black.

"You want to get out of here?" she asked abruptly.

His head nearly fell off from the force he used to turn it. His expression gave her all the answer she needed.

Grabbing his hand, she led him away from the balcony and toward the elevators, prepared to float to the bottom.

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December 23, 2000
Thursday evening, 7:54 P.M.

When the duo set foot on the ground after riding the elevator to the floor level, Hermione and Draco were still holding hands. Without much thought to their destination, or so Draco could tell, the two walked along the well-lit streets, taking in the jubilant atmosphere. Last minute Christmas shoppers were running around to find proper gifts for family members, desperate to reach the shops before the owners closed for the evening.

"How often do you come here?" he asked in her ear, smirking when he noticed she gave a slight shiver. She covered it well by pulling her jacket closer to her body but he knew damn well he, not the cold, made her tremble.

"Not often. Rarely, actually, but I just felt like it tonight," she snipped, no doubt fuming at herself for allowing him to see a weakness.

"Just up and left your home?"

"I don't have work tomorrow so it's not like I need to get up early. Besides, Paris is rather calming for me."

"Why? I mean, save for the occasional quiet part of the city, this place is completely overrun with muggles. Hardly a place to go for relaxation."

"Only if you don't know how to find serenity in a crowded room."

"You can?"

"Perhaps," she replied, though he could hear the smile in her tone.

Just as he opened his mouth to question her little simper, she tightened her gloved hand on his own and tugged him along the shimmering sidewalk.

"Come on!" she yelled, excitement bubbling over her.

Draco groaned.

A carnival.

A bloody carnival just happened to be set up along a famous side street. It made sense given the time of year, but it didn't make it any more appealing for the silver-haired man. The last thing he wanted to do was surround himself with annoying muggles high off sweets and engorged with delight.

Yuck.

"Come on, Draco," she urged again, not letting go of their interlaced fingers.

"Why are we stopping here?" he asked, his voice marginally whiny.

Turning around, whipping her long hair around in exaggeration, face lit up, she answered, "You want to know how I find serenity in a crowded room?" He gave her a faint nod. Then, "Well I can show you if you'll just get off your high broom and come on."

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December 23, 2000
Thursday evening, 8:03 P.M.

Draco, much to Hermione's chagrin, purchased them both tickets.

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December 23, 2000
Thursday evening, 8:11 P.M.

"So, explain to me just one more time why we're doing this?" he questioned while standing in line for the yellow and green Ferris wheel, the sparkling lights nearly blinding the man. "What is the point of someone riding this ruddy contraption?"

"For fun. It's a concept you apparently have little familiarity with so allow me to explain. Fun revolves around amusement, entertainment, and pleasure, all for the sake of keeping one's sanity. You should look into it every now and then."

"Ha, ha," he hissed in a slow, deliberate voice, pulling a face, "you're hilarious, Granger. A regular jester, you are."

"I try," she muttered just as she handed the ride operator four tickets - two for her, two for him - and stepped onto the platform before taking a seat. Draco, after some hesitation, followed her lead and joined her on the hard surface of the ride bench.

Once strapped and locked in, the man pulled on the horizontal crank, making it vertical, starting the ride. Draco clamped his left hand on the grimy silver bar while his right immediately clinched her thigh, a tight yelp escaping his lips.

"Whoa," she chuckled, "steady there. It's all right."

"We're a little high," he noted, his voice shaking; quavering.

Laughing openly, closing her eyes and taking in a deep breath, Hermione told him, "I love it up here. It's amazing, I hate heights and I can't stand riding on a broom but this...I could stay on this ride all day."

"We're opposites then cause I would like my broom back now. At least I can control that," he muttered furiously, his hand still clenched on her thigh.

"So Draco Malfoy doesn't like to feel out of control. My, my, my, finally a weakness has come out."

"Shut up," he growled, carefully leaning over just a hair to see the ground beneath them. His stomach plummeted to the soles of his feet.

"You know, it's okay to let go sometimes. It's how I find my peace, the tranquility you were wondering so much about."

"How? How in the hell do you find anything calming about this?" His voice sounded shrill; brittle.

Moving closer to him, startling him into turning his head, their lips close enough to brush, she answered, in a voice very unlike her own, "By letting go."

The moment the last word fell from her supple lips, just when he thought she would lean in to kiss him, she moved his hands from their positions - on the bar and on her leg - and pushed them into the air precisely at the same time as the cart began its descent downward. Draco wanted to yank them back down, to grab on to something, anything, for support but found her left hand firmly holding his in place. What bemused him the most stemmed from her scream of enjoyment, as though she liked the feeling of falling over. Surely the woman was mad, but at the same time, seeing her all lit up was rather enticing.

Pretty brown eyes.

Soft, rosy-pink lips.

Fantastically lush hair.

It all became too much for him.

And when the ride stopped, their cart shaking from the former movement, Draco lost control completely.

Grabbing the back of her neck, he pulled those supple lips in for a deep kiss. At first, she fought a bit, pushing her hands against his chest. Before long, however, she gave in to his caresses, succumbing to his kiss, his touch, and him.

Shortly following their first kiss, the carriage began to move again. The jerky movements forced Draco to break the contact, much to his dismay. Hermione, not so easily put off, knocked Draco for six, and seven, and bloody eight when she continued bodily exploration by ripping her glove off with her teeth (Bloody, fucking hell, that's lascivious) and placing her hand atop his groin.

Though his trousers hindered direct touch, Draco couldn't suppress a hearty moan escaping him when that hand, that skilled, deft hand, began to move in a circular motion timed with the ride.

"Merlin, Granger," he moaned, his eyes closed, his stomach still rising and falling.

She giggled beside him, clearly pleased with herself over his reaction and began to move her hand a hint faster, testing him, finding just how he liked it. Draco Malfoy never appreciated her ability to catch on quickly until now.

The woman was driving him bonkers.

His own hips began to gyrate to the rhythm, her hand hitting precisely the right spots directly in tune with him. He saw colors, every color imaginable, as her small hand continued to stroke him through the fabric of his pants. Damn it, he never knew Gryffindors could be so - bloody - amazing (not that he would ever admit to such a thing. To make such an admission would surely give their already fat heads another layer of pride and self-satisfaction. Draco found Hermione Granger much more appealing with her head the current size...and her mouth shut).

Focusing his attention on the sensations she caused him, he failed to notice her new destination. With careful, calculated movements, she managed to unzip him and snake her hand inside, allowing her to grab him properly. Resuming her prior activity, she started fondling him skin on skin, making him hiss in the open air.

Hermione merely chuckled.

They reached the top just as her ministrations managed to push him over the edge, his flushed face giving off a look of near-pain. Hermione cupped his cheek with her free hand and pulled him in for a kiss, drinking in his howl of pleasure, his body jerking ungainly as the aftershock wore him down. With her tongue brushing his teeth and her hand still fisted inside his trousers, he found Hermione more arousing than any of his prior Thursday women.

The excitement stemming from the act coming from the Gryffindor golden girl, not to mention Harry Potter's best friend, didn't hurt either.

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December 23, 2000
Thursday evening, 8:29 P.M.

The desire didn't cease there.

Draco quickly fixed himself on the ride via his wand from the inside of his coat before the ride operator brought their cart down. After stepping off and catching sight of Hermione's well-earned smirk, he roughly pulled her by the arm into a badly lit part of the carnival and apparated them straightaway to his regular hotel.

When they landed, she fell into him hard, forcing him to catch her weight and slam himself against a wall. In the alleyway, he received the perfect view down her button-up blouse, but he banished the thoughts away momentarily, knowing full well he'd get a close up view very soon.

Once they found their balance, he quickly laced their fingers together and hauled - yes, hauled - her into the foyer of the grand entrance of one of the most exquisite hotels in all of Europe. Not one for formalities, he rushed over to the front counter, demanding to have his normal room. The girl working the service gave Hermione a quick look, frowned, and handled the paperwork as quickly as she could. For her part, Hermione was standing in the middle of the room, staring up at the ceiling, nothing but windows and stars.

"How many days will you be staying?"

Eager to get the girl undressed and on her back, he replied, "Set me up for a few days, whatever. Just hurry the hell up."

Trained to handle any type of customer, the girl finished her work as quickly as she could before handing him the key.

"Have a good evening...Mister Mal..."

Draco hadn't even given her the opportunity to finish. The moment she placed the key in his trembling hand, he strode over to Hermione, grabbed her arm, and forcefully pulled her to the elevator.

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December 23, 2000
Thursday evening, 8:48 P.M.

Hermione Granger, again, shocked Draco Malfoy completely.

Women were always staggered by the surroundings he was accustomed to, always, and never once had any girl entered one of his many residences, owned or temporary, without so much as an over-the-top 'this is amazing, Draco!' or, at the very least, a gasp of awe!

Yet, Hermione did neither.

Upon entering his lavish suite, Hermione walked through the long hallway, strolled through the large living area, brushed past the bedroom, and pushed open the balcony doors. Once outside, she sighed with relief at the fresh air and muttered, "It's so nice out here. Honestly, why would you even want to be indoors at a time like this?"

Dumbstruck.

Completely and savagely dumbstruck, he was.

But not put off.

Oh, no, no, no, not in the least - he had every intention of finishing what they'd started earlier.

Pouring them both a glass of champagne, Draco began undoing his tie and the buttons of his collar, eager to work on her collar as well.

"I can think of many good things about being inside," he muttered, joining her on the balcony.

Closing her eyes, feeling the light breeze brush against her skin, she whispered, "It's perfect out tonight. I love the night."

"Never pegged you for a night owl," he admitted, taking a sip of the sweet drink.

Shrugging, she retorted, "I never pegged you for being what you've become. We all can be full of surprises, can't we?"

He most certainly agreed with her.

Handing her the glass, he made an effort to brush his fingers over her own, pleased with himself when he heard a diminutive gasp. It was so soft he almost missed it - just a hair heavier than her regular breathing.

The sexiness of such a little gasp only heightened his want for her.

While she watched the stars, glass still at her lips, he watched her, his pants constricting painfully when her tongue peeked out to lick the remnants of the French sparkling wine from her lips. Fleetingly, he tried to remember, if the girl had been such a little minx back at Hogwarts. Had he missed it? Were those curves always so enticing?

"This is going right to my head, I think," she noted, a silly grin on her face. "Champagne is my favorite drink, but I never appreciate the morning after."

Lured in by those words, he reached out, taking the glass back from her, placing both his and hers on the crystal trestle table nestled snugly in the corner. Returning his attention back to her, he told her, "For our sake, I hope not. I want you nice and sober, with me completely tonight, Granger."

He reached for her then, but she stepped back, evading his touch, driving him further into utter insanity. Smiling mischievously, conveniently wrapping herself around the pale blue drapes at the door frame, translucent enough to see her thin silhouette.

"You know, Malfoy, I've always wondered what was beneath that school uniform of yours," she muttered in a low, sensual voice. "I mean, that quidditch training had to have done more than just boost your ego."

"Well, the years have been even kinder since then."

Flashing a dazzling smile, running her hands up her own stomach, past the swell of her breasts, she landed on the third button of her blouse. Of the nine buttons on her shirt, only four were actually in place. "I was hoping to hear that."

She undid the first button.

Draco shifted from one foot to the other, the erection in his pants throbbing terribly from her actions. He never understood the value of long, hard foreplay until right when her hands nimbly worked at the second button.

"I've always wondered what you looked like as well." His voice sounded foreign even to him; so hoarse in his desire for her.

She undid the second button.

"I may not have been interested in dating you, but that didn't negate you were untouchable to me. There was the true root of my displeasure, Granger, in knowing that I couldn't have you."

To make such an confession nearly killed him, but then her hands moved down to the next button, and he took the shame without too much rancor (for the moment, at least).

"That's interesting information, Mister Malfoy. I'll have to remember that."

She undid the third button.

The skin of her chest glowed in the moonlight, her nipples visible even through the fabric of her shirt, the game of peekaboo nearly sending him into conniptions. Beautiful. The girl was absolutely beautiful and she knew it. The self-confidence she developed after Hogwarts definitely played a part in her sexual appeal. Draco sent a silent thank you to whomever proved to Granger just how erogenous she can get.

"I'm available most Thursdays. I suppose I could anticipate seeing you again next week," he groaned, watching her fingers with extreme intent.

Smiling, she replied naughtily, "I'll come prepared...I won't be wearing knickers next time."

She undid the last button.

Beckoning him with the wave of her finger, she gracefully untangled herself from the sheer cyan drapes, and entered the comfortable room. Draco ran a hand through his tangled hair and began to unfasten his belt as he followed the dark-haired girl into his bedroom.

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December 24, 2000
Friday morning, 11:09 A.M.

Wet.

Wet and soggy.

With his face implanted in the mushy fabric of the pillow, Draco woke up with a start, a huge glob of drool trailing from his chin to his hand and, finally, to the dark blue comforter.

In spite of the unwelcome alarm clock of spit, Draco managed a small smile as the prior night's events played over in his mind. Lazily, his body heavy from a good slumber and his most recent romp, he recalled every single bustle.

Hermione, lounging on his bed, naked and bare before him, whispering dirty, come-hither words. The way she screamed his name during the climax of it all, begging him not to stop, telling him how she'd never feel the same after him. That nothing, nor anyone, could ever compare.

Desperate again to touch her skin, he turned himself onto his back and blindly groped for her.

His hand only found sheets.

Sitting bolt up, his eyes eagerly scanning the room, he found himself the sole occupant, no gorgeous Hermione in sight.

"Damn it," he cursed, throwing the sheets of himself, standing up in all his nude glory, "Hermione?"

No answer.

Walking briskly into the living area, he again found no sign of the woman he so desired. Instead, he found a piece of paper on the davenport by the lavish sofa, a muggle pen resting atop. Draco yanked on it, the pen falling on the floor as his eyes scanned Hermione's neat, tidy writing.

Mr. Malfoy,
I'd hate to inflate your ego further, but I cannot tell a lie - I had a wondrous evening with you. I only wish all my Thursdays were this eventful.
-Hermione

That was it?

Nothing more?

After the multiple orgasms he gave the woman, all she left was a little, rather sorry thank you?

Oh no, Draco would not give up on this woman so easily. But how would he go about finding her? He remembered her talking about living in the upper apartments in Diagon Alley - but numerous people live there, people I don't want to see. I could ask Weasley or Potter, but that would require speaking to either one of the dolts. I could always—

A stroke of genius hit him.

The Greengrass Gala! She said she would be there. It's the perfect opportunity to casually bump into her.

"Yes, Miss Granger," he murmured to himself, "I shall see you again."

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December 24, 2000
Friday evening, 8:35 P.M.

Dressed in his crispest black dress robes, a dawning recollection occurred to Draco as he stared at the festivities before him - he hated the annual Greengrass Gala.

Watching the couples dance felt like seeing some scene straight out of hell. The Danse Macabre. He figured the skeleton would soon come out for the conga-line, the idiots following his every movement. He took anther large gulp of his drink in the hopes of staving off his increasing irritability.

Remember why you're here, he mentally told himself, and suck it up. She's worth it. Best bloody sex of my life, yes, she's worth it.

"Well, well, well," came a low voice Draco dreaded, "Draco Malfoy."

"Potter," he greeted curtly.

I need another drink.

Harry seated himself on the stool beside the blond man, ordering up four glasses of red wine. After the bar wench began to work on his request, the man took a good, long look at Draco.

"I haven't seen you in a while, Malfoy," he noted, his voice brisk; more mature than Draco remembered it sounding.

Shrugging, he answered, "I only come home every once in a great while. Tonight, one girl brought me back."

"Ah, Miss Greengrass. I always thought you held a candle for her."

Draco inwardly smirked - let the idiot believe it's her I want. When he sees me leave with Granger tonight, he'll be casting a different spell.

"You're not very social, though, given this is her ball. I would figure you would feel comfortable with everyone here."

"I don't see you conversing with anyone else right now, Potter," Draco fired back, hoping the man would get lost. Then it suddenly struck him, "And where are Weasley and Granger? Aren't they here as well? I'd so dearly love the opportunity to chat with your old mates, Potter."

Harry's eyes narrowed as he replied, "You might get your chance. Here they come now."

Draco peered over his shoulder, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head and his mouth dropping to the floor.

Surely my eyes are deceiving me. There is no possible way in hell this is happening. No possible way, he thought as he stared with wide eyes...

Hermione Granger, dressed in a slinky little red number, glided toward him, her hand interlaced with the hand of...Ron Weasley.

"Harry, what's taking so long? Ginny's still waiting for another dance," said Ron, oblivious to Draco's presence. However, a tug from Hermione alerted him. The redhead's eyes zoned in on him, thinned, then hailed, "'Lo, Malfoy."

"Weasley," he muttered, addressing Ron but his eyes remained firmly on Hermione. "Granger."

"It's Weasley now," interjected Ron, the possessiveness in his voice discernible. In case it wasn't, Ron made a show of holding up Hermione's left hand, a gold band shining up; a ring Draco knew was not there the night before.

Raising his eyes, meeting Hermione's impervious gaze, he asked, "How long have you been married?"

"Over a year," replied Hermione, her voice just as cool and calm as it had been in France. Draco, at a loss, remained quiet while Hermione spoke, "Ron, darling, why don't you and Harry take Ginny her wine. I wanted champagne so I'll be there in a minute."

"I can wait—"

"Don't be silly!" she laughed, giving him a quick kiss on the cheek; "it'll only take a minute. Don't let anyone steal you away for a dance."

"Never, love," he told her, tenderly kissing her temple. Then, "See you around, Malfoy."

Draco merely nodded.

Left alone, at least from two important people in her life, Hermione allowed herself to give him her full attention. Sitting on Harry's recently vacated barstool, she ordered herself a glass of champagne.

"You look calm in here."

"Perhaps I am." His voice was guarded. "What's important about that?"

"Cause you appear to have found serenity in a crowded room."

No.

No he hadn't.

Well...

Damn it.

She was right.

"You know, next Thursday, Ron will be out of town. He has some business endeavor with Harry in Australia. He won't be back until the following Sunday. I wouldn't mind having some company in our little apartment. I'm prone to getting...lonely, you know?"

Gulping thickly, he asked, "Should I bring anything?"

"Only a bottle of champagne. I'm a sucker for the stuff. Have a good evening, Mister Malfoy."

"You too, Miss Gr...Weasley."

Shaking her head, she leaned into him, her smell overloading his senses, and whispered against his ear, "Call me Granger. I'll see you Thursday."

And then she was gone.

Draco remained in his position for a very long time, doing everything in his power to make his erection go down while processing all the new information.

Fucking Hermione Granger had been fan-bloody-tastic.

But fucking Ron Weasley's wife?

Priceless.

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The End

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A/N: This idea has been in my head for SO LONG. I just had to pen it - the work of Kyra4 and inadaze22 only helped push it farther. I've been reading everything by them and those talented authors definitely sparked my interest in Draco/Hermione again. I'll be starting some new stories in a bit - and I'll be posting the next chapter of "Mistake" very soon.

Thursdays is the work of fanfiction. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, but the featured story is mine.