A Change of Heart

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Chapter 29 - The Wedding Plans -

Draco Malfoy sat on his desk and crooked his finger toward his own body and said again, “Come here, Granger.”

She stood up, put herself behind her chair and said, “No, it’s a trap.”

“Just do it,” he said, with a sigh.

“I don’t want to,” she proclaimed.

“Come here, or I’ll fire you,” he said with a steady voice.

“You can’t do that,” she said plainly.

“Why not?”

“Because I said so,” she told him.

“Please come here,” he said with defeat.

“Now you’re just being a fool,” she said. She rolled her eyes.

“I said please and everything,” he whined and then he sighed again and looked up at the ceiling.

“I thought the please was a nice touch,” she complimented.

“Granger, must everything be a battle? Must I always concede to you?” he pleaded.

“That’s funny,” she lauded.

“But I need you,” he moaned.

“Are your legs broken?” she asked. She stepped around the chair and came just a bit closer.

“That’s it, come closer now,” he begged, crooking his finger toward her again.

“Meet me in the middle,” she urged.

“No, I won’t let you have your way this time. I want to have my way at least once,” he grumbled.

“You always get your way! If you don’t believe me, I’ll list all the times you’ve gotten your way to you!” She seemed actually upset.

“I just want to kiss you,” he said softly. “I haven’t kissed you in a very long time.”

“Whose fault is that?” Now she seemed more sad than upset. She sat back down and hung her head. “Is that all you really want from me?” she concluded.

“For now,” he decided. He got off the desk and stood beside her chair. “You know what, Granger? I don’t want you to come to me anymore.”

She looked up at him, questioningly. “Then, may I leave and go back to work?” She stood and they were almost nose to nose.

“No, I decided that I don’t want you to come to me anymore, because I want to come to you.” He swiftly threw his arms around her waist, picked her slightly up off the floor, and kissed her lips. He kissed her with a hard, sweet, passionate, sensual kiss. His face moved to the left and hers moved to the right.

He continued his assault on her lips and she accepted. Her hands went up to his head and her fingers threaded through his hair. They parted for a second, both shocked at their mutual passion after three months part, and then her lips crashed down on his again, and he relished in the feeling. They continued to kiss, and he continued to hold her off the ground. He walked backwards, still holding her, her legs dangling, and he shut his door with his foot. Then he lived out another one of his fantasies, (sex on his desk!) and Granger graciously obliged.

After work - if what they did all day in his office could be considered work - they went back to her house. They sat on her couch, eating take out food, when Draco asked, “When are we getting married?”

“I don’t know. When do you want to get married?” she asked, taking another bite of food.

“I want to get married tomorrow, but since I’m sure you wouldn’t agree to that, I guess we could wait a while longer, next Tuesday, perhaps?” he said, pulling her bare legs up on the couch, and rubbing them up and down with his hands.

“How about we get married in October, on the 17th, at the banquet hall where we first declared our attraction to each other at the auction, at say, 3:00 o’clock in the afternoon, with the reception to be held immediately after?” Hermione stated, barely taking a breath.

“What have you done?” He pulled her hips toward him, dragging her practically onto his lap.

“I’ve even already sent out the invitations.” She seemed pleased.

“What? When did you do that?” He seemed surprised.

“Last week.” She buried her face in her hands, waiting the coming onslaught. It never came.

He pulled her hands down from her face and said, “That’s great. That means I don’t have to do a thing, do I?” He pushed her off his lap and picked up his plate again, and continued to eat. “May I see the invitations?” he asked between bites.

She ran upstairs, and came back down, and showed him the invitation.

“How did you know we'd get back together?” Draco asked, ashamed of the way he had acted the last three months.

“Draco, I told you this once, a while back, I know you better than you know yourself. I knew you loved me still, and that we were still going to get married. I love you also, you know. Did you think I'd give up on you that easily?” She ran back upstairs. Where was she going now? She came back down and threw a small box at him.

“What’s this?” he inquired. She sat down next to him and opened the box. Inside were a set of wedding rings. One appeared to be a man’s and the other was a woman’s. They were a white/grayish colour, with little white diamonds surrounding the entire circle, of both rings.

“They’re made from palladium. It’s kind of like platinum. I picked the palladium ones, because of the silver/grey colour, which reminds me of your eyes. Do you like them?” she asked.

He turned to look at her, and she was bouncing on the couch, she was so delighted. “Your taste has improved, vastly. They’re beautiful. Were they expensive?” he asked.

“Why does that matter. I wanted to buy them. I got a little inheritance money from my dad, and I saw these at a Muggle jewelry store, and I just fell in love with them. Are you pleased?” she asked. She slipped her arm through his and put her head on his shoulder. “We still need to get them inscribed. I’ll take yours and have it inscribed, and you’ll do the same with mine. We won’t show each other the inscriptions until our wedding day.”

He really didn’t know what to say. He was more than pleased. She fixed everything. She fixed their fractured relationship, she apparently planned their whole wedding, and she forgave him for all his past indiscretions and misdeeds. He was too choked up to even speak. He put the rings back in the box, and picked up his plate to continue to eat, since he couldn't speak.

She didn’t need him to say anything. She knew what he felt. That’s why he loved her so.  


The next few weeks went by too fast for Draco and not fast enough for Hermione. She felt like she had too much to do, between planning her wedding and her new job. Hermione was reveling in her new position at Draco’s company. She hired her dream staff, most of them coming over from Gringotts, and she was starting a happy new routine. He was starting a happy new routine, but it had nothing to do with work, and everything to do with his new employee.

He had practically moved into her little two bedroom house. He was there every day and every night. He liked it there. It felt like a home, and not just like a house.

When their wedding was less than a week away, on a Saturday morning, while she was busy with their seating chart, and he was bored and was trying to read ‘The Daily Prophet’, he made a suggestion that he didn’t think she would consider in a million years, yet he suggested it anyway. “Granger, let’s do something fun today. It’s a beautiful fall day. I don’t want to be stuck inside the entire time. You need to get away from the wedding plans, and I need to just get away.

“Have you written your vows yet?” she asked, still pouring over her seating chart.

“Why do I have to write them? I thought I'd just wing it, you know, speak from the heart,” he said seriously with a wink and a smile.

She looked up at him so suddenly it actually frightened him, and said, “You most certainly will not ‘wing it’. Now, you need to get me your rough draft no later than Monday, and then if it needs a rewrite I’ll help you with it.”

Was she serious? He looked at her like she had suddenly gone purple, and with much surprise mocked her by saying, “You most certainly won’t rewrite my vows, and you don’t need to know what they are until the day of our wedding.”

“You just better not mention anything off-colour,” she warned. She stood up, he hoped to sit on his lap or something romantic, but she went into the kitchen, and came back in with a cup of tea.

“I’d like a cup also,” he said.

“The kettle should still be warm,” she said distracted. How he wished she would allow one of his house elves to come here.

“You won’t get it for me?” he asked, but he stood to get his own tea before she could give him the nasty look that he sure was coming.

When he came back into the living room, she asked, “Have your parents sent back their R.S.V.P. yet?”

“No, and I doubt they will,” he said nonchalantly. “They have, however, sent us the nicest, little, goblin forged, silver fruit bowl. It’s in the spare bedroom. It had a big silver bow and on the card it said, and I quote, ‘To Draco and his first wife.’ Do you want me to go show it to you?” he asked.

“Does it really say that?” she asked, almost believing him.

And because she was being so naive and obtuse, he said, “Yes.”

She ran upstairs, he waited for her to return, and when she came back down she said, “You’re an arse. It didn’t say that. It had our names on it, and it’s a very nice bowl, although an odd thing to give your only son when he’s marrying.”

“I’m sure they figured they have given me enough over the years,” he said truthfully.

She sat back down to look at the blasted seating chart on the coffee table for the umpteenth time, when Draco, to get her attention, threw a pillow at her from the chair he was in, aiming for her head, but instead, it landed on the seating chart. All the little pieces of papers that represented the various guests went flying all around the table, up in the air.

He laughed.

She screamed. 

“DRACO MALFOY!” She stood and stared at him in anger, little pieces of paper all around her.

“Wouldn’t that be awful if that really happened during our reception?” he said. Still laughing, he stood, in case he had to run to get away to save his life. “Just imagine, there we are, having dinner, and a large pillow comes out of nowhere and flings all the guests in the air!” He bent down and picked up a little piece of paper, read the name on it, and said, “Oh my, Longbottom flew complete off the table and landed on the floor. He always was very clumsy.”

“You are a first class git!” she bellowed, throwing the same pillow back at him as she started to pick up all the little pieces of papers.

“Hermione, just let the guests sit where they bloody well want to sit,” he said seriously.

“We’re having a formal sit down dinner after the ceremony, Draco Malfoy, for 200 people!” she barked.

“Exactly, a sit down dinner. Let them just all sit down,” he complained. “It’s not like any of my family or friends are attending this thing anyway, so who are you trying to impress?” He meant it innocently enough, but it was the wrong thing to say, and he knew it the minute it came out of his mouth.

“So my friends and family are so low class, that a formal sit down dinner is too good for them? Maybe we should just put all the food in troughs and line the guests up like pigs,” she said in anger.

“I’m sure that would be a step up for the Weasley clan,” he spat, and yes it was meant to be mean.

Hermione came within an arm’s length of Draco and pointed her finger at his chest so hard, he felt as if he was going to be impaled on it. “Malfoy, if you don’t apologize this instant, there may not be a wedding.”

He grabbed her finger and said, “I am so bored by all your empty threats. ‘Do this’ or no sex, ‘do that’ or I won’t speak to you again, ‘apologize’ or no wedding. Once you even threatened to curse me, but here I am, cursed free! You know I consider your threats to be quite the joke by now, don’t you?”

Hermione wrenched her finger from his hand, pulled out her wand, and sent a flash of gold light right toward him. She turned him into a ferret, just like the fake Professor Moody did during fourth year at Hogwarts.

She went toward the front door, pointed her wand at him. changed him back, and then slammed the door and left the house.

Well, that was uncalled for, Draco thought as he shook his body all over, shivering and shaking. Being turned into a ferret once in his life was bad enough; to have it happen twice was literally plain wrong, even if this time it was only for a few seconds!

Hermione was gone most of the day. When she returned, Draco wasn’t home. She walked over to the seating chart on the coffee table and saw that he had completed it. She looked down at the chart ad noticed that he had used push pins to keep all the names in place. Nice touch. She moved just two little pieces of paper, but besides that, she thought it all looked good. She went upstairs to draw a bath. As the water was running, she undressed and put a towel around her body.

She heard the familiar sound of someone Apparating downstairs and she knew at once that it must be him.

“Granger, I know you’re home. I see you’ve moved two of my push pins! Get down here; I have a present for you.” She hesitantly looked down the stairs. She didn’t see him yet. She started down two stairs, and then remembered her water was still running. She went to turn around, to head toward the bathroom, but he Apparated directly behind her on the stairs. She was so frightened that she almost fell backwards, so he threw his arms around her to keep her in her place.

“First, Granger,” he started, “I apologize for my rude remarks about your friends earlier. Do you apologize for turning me into a rodent?”

“Actually, a ferret is a member of the weasel family, and I don’t mean the Weasleys, I mean the animal, so you could call it a vermin if you’d like, but it’s not really a rodent,” she droned on, placing her hands on his chest as he pulled her up to the landing.

He ignored her useless facts about ferrets and asked, without a trace of antagonism, “Will you apologize and promise it'll never happy again?”

“I am sorry, but you were only a ferret for a few seconds you know,” she pointed out.

“I can see I'm not going to get my apology, so no matter. Do you want your present?” he asked.

“You got me a present? May I get dressed first?” she asked.

“Yes to the first question and no to the second,” he said.

“May I turn off my bathwater?” she inquired.

“No,” he said, and then with his arms around her middle he Apparated them to her garage. In the garage was another new car. This time a pretty, little, lime green Fiat.

He smiled and said, “Green is more my colour, don’t you think?” He turned to her, and thought her smile would match his own, but she wasn’t smiling at all. She clutched her towel tightly to her chest, and had a distant, faraway look in her eye. She was almost expressionless.

“I already have a car,” she said, looking at the floor.

“I know, but this one's new. You liked your other one so much, that I thought I'd get you another, especially since I wrecked the first one,” he tried to explain.

“I really don’t need it, you keep it.” She turned to walk inside.

“Does it give you bad memories?” he asked. He followed her in to the kitchen.

“No, it’s not that, I just don’t really want it.” She started up the stairs.

“Granger, do you want another yellow one? I can get a different colour.” He didn’t understand. He started to pull her back toward the garage.

They'd reached the kitchen when she said, “It’s not a big deal, and I just don’t need another car. It’s nice and all, but really, you keep it for yourself. As you said, green is your colour.” She tried to leave him, but he reached for her. He grabbed her shoulders, and then put one hand behind her neck and left the other on her shoulder.

“Give me a valid reason why you don’t want it, and I’ll return the damn thing,” he barked, holding her tight.

She shook her head and said, “Just leave it alone.”

“You know what?” he asked, “I just realized something. You’ve not cried once about the miscarriage since it happened. Is that why you don’t want the car? Does it bring up painful memories? You need to talk about these things, Hermione. Take it from someone who kept everything bottled up for a long time; you need to let it out.”

She broke from his grasp and said, “How do you know if I cried? You left me after the accident! Recall that? I cried many tears, buckets of tears, and they were not just for losing the baby. So don’t you dare try to tell me what I feel!” She started to dash out of the kitchen, but he blocked the door.

“Why must it always be a battle at each turn with us? I try to do something nice and you won’t accept it. I try to get you to open up, and you close down!” he cried.

“This isn’t a battle. It’s a war! A war inside my heart!” she yelled, “and it’s all because of you! I do blame you. There were nights I cried all night, and cursed the day I met you again. There were days I thought I hated you, and I didn’t care if I ever saw you again. I live with that guilt.” She fell down to the floor, and sat in a heap at his feet, still clutching the towel tightly to her chest. He thought she looked so sad in her towel on the floor. “I don’t want to be angry at you any longer. I love you too much. What’s wrong with me?”

He knelt beside her and pulled her now crying frame close to his chest. “It’s okay to be angry with me. It’s okay to hate me sometimes. It means you can still feel. I know you love me.” He smoothed her hair with his hands.

She cried very hard. “I’m sorry,” she said through her sobs.

“You have no reason to feel sorry about anything,” he said to her softly. “If you had unkind thoughts about me, I wasn’t aware of them, so no harm done.”

They sat on the floor together, with his legs folded in front of him, and her leaning against his body.

He thought her tears had abated, when he felt another drop. He continued to stroke her hair. She felt a drop on her arm. Was he crying? He felt another drop, and this time it was on his cheek. How did one of her tears fall on his cheek, when her head was tucked into his chest? He looked up at the ceiling and saw a large bubble. What was that? Another drop fell, landing on the tip of his nose. She looked up to see where he was looking. She immediately realized what it was, and scrambled to her feet. He stayed on the floor, pointed at the large bubble that was forming on the ceiling, and which had dripping water coming from it, and said, “What the hell? What’s causing that bubble?”

“Draco!” Hermione said aghast, “that’s the plaster from the ceiling. The bathtub was left on and it’s flooded!”

As soon as the words escaped her mouth, the bubble burst and it was as if Draco was splashed with a bucket full of water. The water came down, as if in slow motion, as he was looking up at it from his place on the floor, and it landed directly on him, and the entire kitchen was covered in water. The force was so powerful; it knocked him to his back. She scurried up the stairs, which had water flowing down them, and ran into the bathroom, which by that time was completely covered in water, which not only covered the bathroom floor, but the hall, and the stairs, and soon part of the living room. She reached into the flooded tub and turned off the water, and pulled the drain plug. He stood in the doorway of the bathroom, and just stared at the mess, completely wet.

She started to laugh.

“WHY THE HELL DIDN”T YOU TURN OFF THE BLOODY WATER?” he bellowed. Apparently he didn’t see the humour in the situation, but then again, he had several bad memories surrounding her bathroom and water.

Between her laughter and guffaws, she said, “I wanted to come up and turn the water off, but you wouldn’t let me.”

Her towel was completely wet now, so she just let it drop and went to retrieve a dry one for her and one for him. She wrapped the dry towel around her middle and threw the other one to him. She took her wand and siphoned the water up, the best she could. He dried off, and went down stairs to repair the kitchen.

She didn’t want a bath now. She helped him finish drying the rest of the house, and then she dried off herself, and dressed and joined him on the couch, just as he had moved another “paper guest” on the seating chart. He had dried off as well.

“I thought the chart looked good. Who are you moving now?” she asked. She put her feet under her body.

“I’m moving you as far away from me as I can,” he said. She leaned over and saw that he did indeed move the little “Hermione” paper. He put it over in the corner, by itself.

“I don’t even get a table?” she asked with a small laugh.

“Not at this time. Maybe if you’re good this week, I’ll move you to a table,” he laughed. “Do you want me to get rid of the car?”

“No, its fine, but I really don’t like the colour.” She made a bitter face.

“I do. We’ll get you another one someday, and you can pick the colour.” He snuggled her closer to him.

“We’ll be married in only a week. Can you believe it?” she asked. She felt the rough material of his jumper next to her cheek. It was strange to think that in less than a week, they would be married. Maybe he wasn’t freaking out, but she certainly was.

“Yes, I can. I imagined being married to you the first week we started seeing each other,” he admitted.

Hermione turned in his arms and kissed him. He held her tight, his senses swirling all around him. It was like this every time they kissed. He could drink from the fountain of her mouth all day long. Hermione shifted on the couch, and removed her shirt.

“What are we doing, Miss Granger?” he asked fascinated.

“Do you want to know one of my fantasies?” she asked standing, and pulling her jeans down over her hips. He was too mesmerized for a moment to even answer her. “Are you paying attention to me?” She snapped her fingers to get his attention.

“I am most certainly paying attention,” he said, “and pray tell, what is your fantasy? To make love in a library? Or, I know, to tell me everything you know that I don’t during the act of copulation?”

She grabbed her shirt, put it back on, and walked to the kitchen. Hey, he was just having a bit of fun. He stood up and followed her. “I’m dying to know your fantasy young lady,” he said.

She took her shirt off again, and said, “I have always wanted to have sex in a car.” She grabbed his hand and ran to her garage.

“We are not having sex in my new car!” he said.

“Of course not, I think it’s too small and would be physically impossible anyway, but, my old car has a very large back seat.” She actually wiggled her eyebrows.

“You are a tart, a hussy, and everything in between, and I am so thankful!” he laughed. He opened the back door, and grabbed her hand, and practically pulled her in the car with him.

He pulled off his shirt, and kicked off his shoes. She was already in only her underwear and bra. He started to remove his trousers, but stopped suddenly.

“What?” she asked.

“No, we can’t,” he said.

She didn’t understand. “Why ever not?”

“I don’t want to,” he said. He grabbed his shirt and shoes and climbed out of the car, leaving a bewildered Hermione behind. She slumped down in the seat. He opened her door, and said, “Come on!” He took her wrist and Disapparated with her.

They were somewhere very dark, but large. At first she thought she was in a warehouse or something.

“Where are we?” she asked.

“The carriage house at Malfoy Manor,” he said.

“What are we doing here?” She suddenly covered her body with her arms.

“We’re living out your fantasy and mine as well. You want to make love in a car, and I want to make love while my parents are home. I’ve never done that. We’ll both live out our dreams. Now come on, my father has a limousine, and it’s quite large and roomy.” He lit his wand, and found one of several limos, and opened the door. He pulled her inside.

He couldn’t get undressed fast enough. He was right, this was much better. They actually had room to lie down on the seat. He was on top of her, stroking her body everywhere, as his mouth sought her mouth and he lavished her lips with endless, wanting, kisses.

He moved his hand to the silk of her knickers, and massaged her until she was wet and moaning his name. Her hands were kneading his back and buttocks. He removed her bra. She buried her hands in his hair, as he continued his torturous pursuit. He hooked his finger in the sides of her panties, and pulled them down. They were in the way of their desire.

He still had on his underwear - the last barrier to their naked bodies brushing flesh on flesh. He licked the outline of her lips, and then he crashed his lips to her mouth. His fingers played at the core of her heat, as she was trying to move his boxers down his hips.

His boxers found their way to the floor, and he swiftly entered her, and almost came immediately, just from the pressure of being inside her. He groaned a low growl deep in his throat, and tried to hold on, though she was panting and so close. He moved his hips around in small circles, and her hips were raised from the leather of the seat. He pulled out; she hated when he did that. He sat up in the seat and pulled her on top of him.

Her legs were bent at the knees, and she moved up and down on him, with her hands clenching the leather of the back of the seat, beside his head. He put his hands on her hips, and opened his eyes.

She was gorgeous, especially when she was in the throes of passion. Widening her legs, to straddle him wider, she almost collapsed as her climax started. He continued to help her move up and down. He tried to keep his eyes open. He wanted to see what she looked like at the moment of release.

She fell backwards on his legs, and started to scream out. He couldn’t hold on any longer. He put his hands on her back to keep her from falling completely backwards, and with his legs quivering from their own spasms, he started his climax. They reached their peak at the same time. Her body withered on top of him, collapsed on his chest, her head on his shoulder.

He was still inside her, but then she finally slipped off his lap, and huddled in the corner of the seat. He lay down on the other end of the seat, with his back up against the side of the car, and his feet near her folded legs.

“Bloody hell, Granger,” he said, “It’s like we don’t even need the pretense of foreplay anymore. That was bloody fantastic.”

She climbed over his legs, and put her body next to his. “Well, let’s not underestimate the importance of foreplay. It is necessary sometimes. I’m cold.”

He held her tightly. “So, what now?” he laughed. “My father has a Bentley, a Mercedes, and Rolls Royce as well.”

She perked up. “I’ve always liked the looks of a Rolls Royce,” she said.

He picked up his clothes, used his wand to tidy themselves and the car and said, “What the hell are we waiting for, let’s go.”

(Author’s note: You are all cordially invited to the wedding of Draco A. Malfoy and Hermione J. Granger, to take place in chapter 30 and 31!)

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