A Change of Heart

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Chapter 8: The Love Scene:

He knocked on the door adjoining their rooms. The wedding was due to start in fifteen minutes. Draco was the type of person to be early for everything and he despised people who were always late. As if reading his mind, she promptly opened the door joining their rooms, and his mouth opened in awe. He was without words. She … looked … beautiful. No other word could describe her, yet one word was not enough.

She stepped into his room, and spun around, and asked, “So, do you approve?”

He raised his eyebrows in response. He offered his arm to her, and she accepted, and they went down to the wedding.

An hour later, they were sitting at a large round table in the ballroom, drinking champagne, eating canapés, and laughing at a story that Chad’s Muggle cousin was regaling, about when he and Chad were children and Chad would make “funny things happen,” without knowing how he did them. Hermione was now telling a similar story, about when she first discovered her magic. Everyone was having a grand time. Well, not everyone.

Pansy Parkinson was sitting at the main table, with the other members of the bridal party, staring daggers at Draco Malfoy. She didn’t know what was worse; his disinterest in her, or his interest in the mudblood.

Draco stood up and asked Hermione to dance. She gladly accepted. A Muggle song came on.

“This is a very pretty song,” Draco commented.

“It was one of my mum’s favourite,” Hermione reminisced. She put her head on his chest. He wrapped his arms tight around her body. They swayed together, in time to the music, their hearts beating as one. This was right. Draco knew this was right. Hermione knew it as well.

She smiled, but didn’t bring her head up from his chest. She wanted to make love to him. So what if they hadn’t really gone out on a date yet. She knew what she felt for him, and she thought she knew what he felt for her.

She looked up at him, to tell him this, but he had suddenly stopped dancing and was staring at something over Hermione’s shoulder. She turned in his arms, and saw Pansy Parkinson running straight for them. Before Hermione knew what hit her, Pansy hit her. She actually hit her! Pansy, the pureblood bitch, hit Hermione right in the jaw! Hermione’s eyes began to water, and she let out a yelp of pain. What the hell? The next thing she knew, Pansy grabbed Hermione’s dress and ripped it down the front, so that it hung in shreds, barely covering her now crying form.

Hermione was shocked, upset, hurt, and embarrassed, all at the same time. Draco had to be restrained, for he went directly for Pansy. Several wizards and witches had gotten out their wands. Most of the Muggles hid behind tables and chairs. The groom himself ran up to Hermione and threw his jacket over her ripped garment.

Pansy was screaming incoherent things. Hermione was rushed to a table by some good Samaritans and given some water to drink. Finally, one of the bride’s relatives hexed Pansy into submission. The bride ran up to Hermione to offer her apologies. Hermione offered hers. Draco came up to Hermione, and pulled her into a hug. “Please, get me out of here,” she said. He took the groom’s coat from her shoulders, wrapped her in his, and picked her up and carried her up to their room.

Actually, none of that happened.

Hermione was indeed dancing in Malfoy’s arms. They were indeed at the wedding reception. She was just going to tell him that she wanted to make love to him, but the rest was just a figment of Hermione’s imagination. The reason her imagination was in overdrive, was because Pansy was possibly giving Hermione the dirtiest looks anyone had ever given Hermione in her life.

“Hermione?” Draco whispered in her ear.

“Hmmm?” she hummed in response.

“Could we please count this as our first date?” he asked seductively in her ear. “That way, I can have my evil way with you tonight.”

When Hermione never answered Draco’s question, he let it be. He would ask again later. She probably didn’t hear him, when he asked if this could be their first date.

When the song was over, Hermione suggested they go back to their safe little table, and talk to their new safe little friends. She was afraid if she stayed on the dance floor, her ‘vision’ just might come true.

Draco could sense that Hermione seemed distant.

He leaned over to her and said, “Hey, I have an idea, let’s count this as our date, and that way I can have my evil way with you tonight.” He was going to ask her again later, and this was later, if only by fifteen seconds.

What? Hermione didn’t hear a word Draco had said to her. Instead, she looked up quickly to see if Pansy was rushing toward them, and when she saw she was still glaring at them from her perch at the Bride’s table, Hermione felt somewhat relieved.

“Hermione, did you hear me?” Draco asked, still a little concerned.

“Can you see if you could get me some ice water?” Hermione asked. She felt parched. Her throat was so dry; it was going to close any minute. Draco waved down one of the servers, and asked for the water.

Draco handed Hermione her water. She was staring at Pansy. Had something occurred between the two of them that he was not aware?

Just then, Pansy started toward them. Hermione actually spilled her water, and hid under the table. Had she had too much champagne tonight? Was she getting tipsy? These thoughts went through his mind, as he joined her under the table.

“Did you lose something?” he asked, bemused by her actions.

“I’m hiding from Pansy,” she told him.

“May I ask why?” he asked, baffled.

“I’m afraid she wants to kick my arse,” Hermione said. She even thought that sounded funny.

He laughed at her and asked, “What made you come to that conclusion?”

“When we were dancing earlier, I saw her glaring at us, and all of the sudden I had a vision that she had come over and she started to kick my arse.” She proceeded to tell Draco all about her ‘vision’.

“So,” Draco began, “you’re a seer now? How many of these visions of yours have come true, Granger.”

“I don’t believe in that rubbish,” she smirked.

“Then get up from under the table. You’re going to get my dress dirty,” he concluded.

“It’s my dress,” she corrected him.

“I paid for it, so it’s mine,” he explained.

“Will you protect me from Pansy?” she pleaded in a small voice, only half-joking.

“Yes, now let’s get out from under the table,” he confirmed. He scooted out from under the table, and offered her his hand. As they got up to stand, Draco was drenched in champagne, which came from Pansy Parkinson’s champagne flute. Hermione decided to stay under the table. Let Draco and Pansy fight, it was more of a fair fight.

“What the hell?” Draco yelled.

“You are despicable, Draco Malfoy!” Pansy yelled. “How could you pick some little mudblood over me?” Suddenly, the whole ballroom fell to a hush, and every eye was drawn to the bickering couple.

“Grow up, Pansy,” Draco said in haste, shaking off the champagne.

“Draco, I thought we were good together. I thought you loved me.” Pansy had started to cry. She was apparently drunk.

“I never once in all the years that I known you told you that I loved you, and I’ll remind you, you’ve never said that you’ve loved me, either,” Draco spat.

Pansy was crying. “Well, I do love you. So help me, I do. And what do you do? You bring trash like Hermione Granger here to flaunt the fact that you don’t love me in return.” Hermione was angry. She stood up from her hiding place, and went to stand beside Draco.

“You’re the biggest bastard in the world,” Pansy continued, “and you two deserve each other. Trash deserves trash!”

Hermione did not know what got into her, but, she pulled back her fist, and hit Pansy straight in the jaw, and this time, it was real. This was not a daydream.

Pansy fell to the ground, out cold. The crowd erupted in applause. Draco turned to Hermione, in complete unadulterated admiration, and said, “Your ‘vision’ was almost right, Granger.”

Hermione held her hand, for it really, really hurt. She hadn’t hit someone since third year at school, and that person was Draco Malfoy, and that was actually a slap, but this time felt almost as good as that time did.


“How does your hand feel?” Draco asked.

“It’s okay. I shouldn’t have done that, although it felt really good,” Hermione said, as she walked out of the ladies room.

Draco asked, “Did it feel as good as that time you slapped me, back in school?”

“Actually,” Hermione said with a sly smile, “that felt better. That’s one of my happiest childhood memories. Oh and when I found out about Hogwarts. What was your happiest childhood memory?”

“I’m not sure I have any,” he said truthfully, but when he saw the look of pity in her eyes, he said, “For Merlin’s sakes, I just meant they were all about the same. Okay? Anyway, I’m making enough happy memories now to last a lifetime.”

She rolled her eyes and said, “You’re such a sap.”

Draco elaborated: “Yes, someday, when I’m old and still blond, I’ll tell my grandchildren that I once had a beautiful woman in my arms, and we danced all night at a wedding reception, and then we went back to my room and had mad, passionate sex.”

“You’re going to tell your grandchildren that?” She seemed appalled.

“Well, I don’t see the harm,” he said, “After all, whatever happened before I met their grandmother isn’t really that big of a deal.”

She caught his meaning. She was not part of that story. She said, “So in your memory, I’m just some woman you slept with?”

“And danced with,” he corrected her.

“Then what happens in your story?” she inquired.

“You turn into a pumpkin at midnight, and I bake you into a pie.” He laughed at his own joke.

“You’re stupid, and in the real story, the carriage turns into the pumpkin, not the girl,” she laughed.

“You tell your story your way, I’ll tell my story mine,” Draco gloated.


As soon as they hit the dance floor, Hermione said, “You known, I have two left feet.”

“Well,” Draco said back, “I have two right feet, so we’re a match made in heaven.”

As they were dancing, Hermione said, “Remember when we were at the auction, and you helped me with my shoe? You called me Cinderella. I really do feel like Cinderella tonight. I feel like you’re my fairy godmother, and you got me this beautiful dress, and then I got to dance with the prince at the ball.”

“I’m the prince and the fairy godmother?” he asked with a smirk. “What happens next in your story? Do I turn into a pumpkin at midnight, and you bake me in a pie?”

“That’s your version, remember?” she reminded him. “In my version, the prince stays a prince.”

“And you called me a sap,” he said.


Hermione was filling a plate with some food, and Draco came up behind her and poked her on her side. She jumped, startled, and dropped her fork. “You scared me,” she stated.

“You scare quite easily,” he said, as he hugged her from behind. “First, you were scared of the thunder, and then you were scared when I accosted you in the alleyway, and now this. Maybe you need counseling.” He kissed her neck. She handed him her plate, and they sat down at a table.


“What happened to your mum?” Draco asked, taking a bite of her food.

“She had a brain aneurysm. It ruptured, and she had a massive stroke, and three days later, she died,” Hermione said.

“I’m sorry,” he told her.

“Me too,” she responded.


Hermione and Draco were both sitting in the hallway, drinking champagne. Hermione asked, “What do you think is your best quality, and what is your worst quality?”

Draco answered, “Well, my hair's my best.”

“You’re so, so shallow.” Hermione shook her head.

“And that’s my worst.” He laughed. “Same question to you.”

“Well, maybe I should say my hair is my worst…” she began, when he interrupted.

“I like your hair. Don’t say disparaging remarks against it. I've come to regard it as a close, personal friend. It’s soft and beautiful, and I've always liked it,” Draco said, taking another drink.

She looked at him wearily, and said, “I don’t really think it’s my hair. Wait, you’ve always liked my hair. Since when? Are you drunk? You made fun of it in school, as I recall.” He merely shrugged his shoulders. She continued, “My best quality is my passion for things I care about. My worst is, well…I can’t think of one,” she joked.

“And therefore, that is your worst. You think you’re perfect,” he said in jest.

She pushed his shoulder and he actually fell over. She laughed so hard that she snorted and champagne almost came out of her nose.


Hermione was shivering. They came outside to sober up a bit. She had his jacket around her shoulders, but the night air still had a bite. They were sitting, side by side, on an iron bench. “What was your favorite story growing up?” Draco asked her. “Cinderella?”

“No, it was 'The Wizard of Oz',” she answered.

“Is that a fairy tale? I’ve never heard of that one,” he asked.

“No, it’s a children’s book,” Hermione told him. “It’s a Muggle book, so you wouldn’t have heard of it.”

“It’s a Muggle book, about a wizard?” Draco seemed confused.

“The wizard ends up just being a regular man in the end,” she told him.

“Tell me about this Wizard of Oz?” He smiled.

She explained the story to him, and when she was done, she said, “You know, Harry always reminded me of the scarecrow. He was my favourite character.”

“And of course, you’re the heroine, Dorothy,” Draco concluded.

Hermione answered, “But, of course, and Ron would be the lion.”

“If you say I’m the dog, I'll knock you right off this bench and on your arse,” Draco warned, feeling defensive.

She was going to say the dog, but then when she thought about it for a moment, she said truthfully, “No, you'd be the tin man. Hard and cold on the outside, and to all appearances, without a heart; but deep inside there’s a heart of gold, which was there all along.”

He frowned and she smiled. “Of us two, you are definitely the biggest sap,” he said, although secretly he liked her analogy.


“What do you like the best about magic?” Draco asked her, as he danced with her in his arms.

“Do you have a lifetime?” she mused, “Because it would take me that long to tell you everything I love about magic.”

He held her closer, and moved to the music and thought, ‘I could give her a lifetime.’


Draco was sitting on a couch in the lobby, and Hermione was on her side, with her head in his lap. He was stroking her hair. She had started to feel dizzy; too much drink and dance, so he suggested that she rest on the couch. She looked up at him and asked, “What do you like best about me? Physically, and as a person on the whole?”

“Well, I like your face and your body; physically,” he said, looking down into her eyes.

“That’s two things,” she reminded, “and, that’s so shallow, but we’ve already determined earlier that you're undeniably shallow.”

“You asked a pretty shallow question, so my answer is bound to be shallow as well, and your face is on your body, so that counts as one thing,” he surmised. Then he finished with, “I also really like your mind. That’s what I like about you the most. Now, you answer.”

She took the hand that was stroking her hair, and held it up for examination. She said, “I really like your hands. They’re strong, with long fingers, and you can see all the veins, tendons, and muscles. They’re well defined. Like one of those drawings by DaVinci.” She looked up at him, and he seemed surprised.

“And you thought I had the hand fetish,” he joked. “Most women say they like my eyes the best. So what do you like the best about me, as a whole person?”

“Your irritating sense of humour,” she concluded.

“If you think it’s irritating, then how could you like it?” he asked.

She said, “Irritating, in a good way, I mean.”


Hermione yawned. She put her head down on the table. He put his head down as well, and stared into her eyes. She shut hers. He sat back up and reached over for her. He pulled her onto his lap. She came without complaint. He put his arms around her, and said, “Tell me your perfect date.”

She answered, with her eyes still closed, “Why? You’ll never take me on one, so why do you want to know.”

He didn’t like that answer. He wanted her to say that tonight was the perfect date. That’s what he would have said. “Why do you think we’ll never have our date?” he asked.

“All signs point to that conclusion,” she said, shifting slightly in his lap, so that her head was now in the crook of his neck.

He leaned forward, to take another drink of wine. He leaned back and kissed the top of her head. “If you would have asked me that question, I would have said tonight was the perfect date.”

She opened her eyes, suddenly not tired, and got off his lap. She sat in a chair next to him. “Are you just saying that because I told you we could sleep together after our first date?” she asked, with one eyebrow raised.

“No, I said that because I meant that. I always say what I mean.” He was seriously peeved. How dare she question his intentions and statements? He took another drink of wine. He offered her a drink from his glass.

“Are you trying to get me drunk?” she asked.

“That seems like the only way I’ll ever get you to sleep with me,” he said with scorn. He stood up, and walked away from the table. He walked over to the patio doors.

Hermione came up to him, and wrapped one arm around his waist and said, in a deep, mocking voice, “Hello, My name's Draco Malfoy, and I’m not getting my way, therefore I’m going over to the corner to pout.”

“Go have some more wine,” he demanded, still angry with her.

“You really are trying to get me inebriated, aren’t you?” she asked. “What would you get out of having sex with me if I was drunk?”

“SEX!” he answered.

“I forgot,” she said, “sex is just sex to you, right. Sex with me would be no different then sex with Pansy, right?”

“No, there’s a different. Pansy actually would have sex with me. You just want to talk me to death, and tease me with the hope that it might some day happen,” he mocked with an air of offense.

She excused herself to go back to the ladies room.


Hermione walked out to the patio, and put her arms around herself to ward off the cold, night air. He threw his cigarette down, and took his jacket off once again, to place around her shoulders.

“You know a mouth that has touched a cigarette, will never touch my mouth,” she said in a light and breezy tone.

“Well, a mouth that has been on Weasel’s wood will not touch my wood,” he said to be crude.

“Who says I would ever want to have my mouth on your ‘wood’ anyway, Pinocchio?” she said in a mocking tone.

“Seriously, who is this Pinocchio chap you keep talking about?” he asked.

She ignored him, and said, “Seriously, you shouldn’t smoke. You’ll die.”

“That should be the warning on the package, ‘Smoke this and die’. I bet more people would heed the warning if it was that blunt.” He laughed.

She took a long look at him, and said, “You smoke Muggle cigarettes?”

“Yes, best damn thing they’ve ever invented,” Draco leveled.

“So much better than the light bulb, the phonograph, the motion picture camera, which, I’ll tell you, were all invented by the same Muggle,” Hermione spouted.

“Thomas Edison,” Draco said, and stuck out his tongue. “See, I’m smart too.”

“Let’s go back inside,” she suggested, peeved that he knew that.


Draco asked, “You don’t have any brothers and sisters do you?”

“No, my mum had three miscarriages before I was born and one stillborn after I was born,” Hermione said.

“Maybe your dad and Bernice will have some kids, and then you'll have some little brothers and sisters,” he joked.

“Bite your tongue!” she yelled.

“I would rather bite yours,” he said, and he took her in his arms and kissed her hard.


“Draco,” Hermione said, “you shouldn’t have brought that bottle of wine with you. It’s for the party guests.”

“That includes us,” he argued. Then, out of the blue, he said, “What’s your favourite flower?”

“I like daisies,” she answered.

He must have made a funny face he wasn’t even aware of, because she slapped his arm. He then said, “Daisies are so plain and common.”

“So am I,” she said in a small voice.

“There’s nothing plain and common about you, Granger. You’re a multi-dimensional, complex, beautiful woman. Now, have some wine.” He put the wine in her hand. She was beginning to think he really did want her drunk, to take advantage of her.


“Granger, where’s my wand?” Draco asked, as he stood outside his room, looking for his wand, so he could unlock his door.

“Is that your wand in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?” Hermione asked, and then she had a sudden outburst of giggles at her own little joke. Draco laughed as well. She was getting tipsy.

“You’re so drunk,” he slurred as a joke.

“Nah, you are,” she slurred back.


Draco was sitting on her bathroom vanity. Hermione was brushing her teeth. He had never seen someone take so long to brush their teeth. She put her toothbrush down, finally, put her hair back in a ponytail, and started to wash her face. He leaned forward, and pulled hard on her hair.

“Ouch!” Hermione yelped. “Why did you do that?”

“All boys pull the hair of the girls they like,” he answered.

“Yes, when they’re eight years old,” she said.

He came up behind her, as she was rinsing off her face. He handed her a towel, and she blotted her face dry. She turned around and put her hand on his cheek. He picked her up and put her on the vanity. The first thing he did was to take her hair out of the ponytail. He stood between her knees, and pushed her dress up. His hand played along the top part of her thigh. He started to kiss her neck. Her head fell back, to give him more access. His right hand was still traveling up her thigh. His left hand was around her waist.

Her legs were almost wrapped around him, he was standing that close. The hand that was on her thigh was now on her stomach. He started to play with the elastic of her knickers. She leaned back on the vanity, and hit her head on the mirror. She moaned slightly in pain, he reached around and rubbed her head, and then they both laughed.

Then he put his left hand firmly on her back, and his right hand went into the front of her panties. He was kissing her lips, playing with them, and teasing them. Before his hand could accomplish its goal, she reached down and pulled it out of her knickers.

Okay, he thought. For now. He put that same hand behind her, and while he was kissing her collarbone, he unzipped her dress. It fell off her shoulders. His mouth traveled down to the swell of her breasts. He wanted to taste her, so he did. His mouth kissed her right breast, while his hand enveloped the other. He sucked on the nipple, and he couldn't remember ever tasting anything that sweet and right.

She tried to put her legs together, not out of embarrassment, but because of the feeling he was evoking in her. She pushed him away, for just a moment, and she hopped down off the vanity. Then she wrapped her arms around his neck and led him to her bed. She stood before the bed, and let her dress drop down the rest of the way. He thought she was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.

Were they really going to do this? He pinched her. She said, “What?”

He laughed and said, “I want to make sure this is real.” He slipped out of his clothes. She removed her last barrier. They were standing just a few paces from each other, completely naked, and they stood staring at each other.

He wanted to captivate her mind and soul. He decided that instant that was what he would do. She came closer and touched his chest. She touched him so lightly, he thought for a moment his skin must be burning her fingers. He ran one hand down the middle of her chest, to her navel, and then beyond. He put both hands on her shoulders, brought her closer, and kissed her again.

Their bodies fit perfectly together. This was meant to be. Her breasts were hard up against his chest. He was hard up against her belly. Her delicate hands were everywhere. She stroked his hardness several times, and his head fell back in ecstasy. He grabbed her, and almost threw her on the bed. He started to kiss her all over. His breath was warm and erotic against her skin. She whimpered and said his name.

He had her breast in his mouth, and his hand was between her legs. He looked up at her, and her head was going side to side. “Say my name again,” he said. She moaned his name. He moaned hers. He put his legs between hers, to hold hers apart, and he continued to tenderly stroke her, and caress her. He dropped his mouth to capture her lips again. He pulled his head up; he wanted to see her face. Her head was back on the pillow. She looked at him, and brought her head up and bit his shoulder.

His hand was still playing its own melody; to bring her to her final reward. He didn’t want her to finish without him. He withdrew his hand, and kissed her stomach. Her legs started to come together again. 'Not so fast,' he thought.

His tongue traveled farther, and flicked back and forth against her burning desire. She was bringing her hips up, and he decided it was time. He brought his face back level with hers and said, “Look at me, look at me.” She opened her eyes, and almost looked as if she was in pain.

If this was love, then he had been missing a lot in his life. Sex was never this good. He entered her, in one swift motion, and he knew this was different. This was different from every other time he had had sex.

She loved the feel of his hard muscles on her body. The feel of his hands, and mouth, and skin against hers. She thought he was about to undo her. She wrapped her legs around his hips, to grant him deeper access. Her legs were beginning to spasm from the weight of him, and from her desire. This was so much more than she had ever felt before.

They were both close to their apex. He quickened his strokes. He came out of her completely, just for a moment. He wanted to slow down. He didn’t want it to end so quickly. She almost looked like she was going to cry. He entered her again, and that was all she wrote. That was his end. He shuddered on top of her, and she quickly followed. He pulled out of her, and fell on his stomach, beside her. He could barely breathe. She lay on her side, with her legs almost up to her stomach. Her breathing was as hard as his. He reached for her, with one arm, and pulled her closer. He moved to his back, and pulled her to his side. He wasn’t letting her go, maybe not ever.

When they were both finally at peace with what had happened, he said, “See, I knew if I got you drunk enough, I could have my way with you.”

She was drawing little circles on his chest, and she said, “Actually, you played into my hand, because this was my plan all along.” She leaned up and kissed him. “Go get me one of your t-shirts to wear. I don’t like sleeping naked.” He laughed, but went to do what she asked. He went into his room, and grabbed the t-shirt he had on earlier today. He smelled it first, to make sure it didn’t smell bad. He came back into her room, and threw it to her.

She got up, with the t-shirt covering her body, and said, “I’m going to get a quick shower.” He tried to grab the t-shirt away from her body, but she quickly ran into the bathroom. When she got in the bathroom, she put his t-shirt up to her face and smelled. It smelled like him. She smiled. He heard the shower start. He went to his room to get a shower as well.

When he was done, he went back into her room, but still heard her in her shower. How long of a shower did she usually take? He turned off the light in his room, and thought he might lay back on his bed, until she was out of the shower, and then he would join her in her bed. He didn’t mean to fall asleep.

Around four in the morning he woke up when he felt her entering his bed. She must have missed him. He was still half-asleep, and it was very dark in his room, but he knew he wasn’t imagining what she was starting to do to him. Who knew she had ‘that’ in her? He felt small, familiar hands run up and down his shaft. He tried to put his hands in her hair, but she took them in hers and placed them over his head, and then kissed his mouth for the briefest moments.

The next thing he knew, her mouth was enveloping his full length. Merlin that felt good. Her mouth was completely covering him. She was going up and down, and he was already close to the edge. He never imagined she would be that good at this. He thought he would have to coax her into this type of thing. He was at his breaking point and he yelled, “HERMIONE!” His legs started to shake, and he yelled again, “OH GOD, HERMIONE!”

Hermione was in her room, fast asleep, when she thought she heard Draco yell, “Hermione!” She sat up in bed, listened closely, and then she definitely heard, “Oh God, Hermione!” She sprang from her bed, grabbed her wand, and ran to the door that joined their rooms. Something was wrong with Draco! Her heart was beating out of her chest. She was scared for him. She ran into his room and turned on the lights.

There, in front of her, was Pansy Parkinson, giving Draco Malfoy a blowjob and Draco seemed to be enjoying it very much. As soon as the lights came on, and he saw Hermione standing in the doorway with her wand, he thought, “OH SHIT, OH SHIT, OH SHIT!” He looked down and saw Pansy head, still giving him 'head', and he pushed her off him, scrambled off the bed, and landed on the floor. He saw Hermione’s face. She looked like someone had stabbed her. She left the room, turning quickly, and slammed the door shut.

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