Hello, I'm back! I want to thank each and everyone of you who reviewed the my last two one-shots. It meant the world to me. Thank you. I also want to thank my Beta the always, always amazing Draconian Scribe. For making this better than I could ever imagine. She's brilliant. Check her stories out she's brilliant. Really.

And of course I don't own Harry Potter.

Draco Malfoy awoke to the cracks of lightning and the sound of rain pounding against the windowpanes of his home. He inched even closer to the sleeping witch on his left. Her dark, chestnut curls took up most of the pillow. He greeted her scent gratefully. His lips rested in the crook of her neck, and he inhaled her scent—the scent that had taken over him since the early stages of their twisted courtship.

Until this day, he could not fathom how this woman had ended up in his bed, or how she had come to love and forgive him for everything: their years at Hogwarts, the war, his family, his pride, and his bigoted ways. She had forgiven him, and now, she loved him. It had taken them time to sort each other out—to understand, to give, and to share.

As if he ever deserved anything. As if he were worthy of something good in his life. Things worked out to his benefit when Weasley turned out to be only a friend. It helped Draco's cause that his family had donated a large amount of money to the orphanage that his wife ran while not working at the Ministry. Despite it being a small occurrence, their unplanned meeting in France had also worked out to his benefit. Imagine, the sheer impossibility of the thought—that they might actually be in Paris the same day, at the same time, and in the same hotel!

He had begun trying to talk to her once more, but she would have nothing of it. He had found her in a small coffee shop by the hotel. She had refused his attempts to court her. She had refused to make any plans with him, but as a true Slytherin, and a man of patience, he had all the time and all the money in the world to make her his. And he would achieve his goal. With a few seductive words to her secretary, her whereabouts were discovered, and he set about looking for her in Paris. He knew the witch well enough to find her in a café, sipping the Muggle drink and reading a book. How shocking. She had ordered him to go back, and not to look for her, but the look she gave him when she first caught a glimpse of him gave Draco all the hope that he needed.

Her face illuminated, brightened by a small smile of amusement, of the acknowledgement that he was there for her. And Draco's newfound heart began to race.

After the war, everything had changed; his mother and father had reunited. His father had done everything in his power to avoid prison and to make his family forgive him. The acts he had committed against them out of blind obedience to a homicidal maniac had cost him greatly. The relationship with both his son and wife was severely damaged. Narcissa now cared for nothing but her family.

Now, Draco was left to deal with the consequences of a changed world, no longer plagued by the ever-growing tension of Voldemort being under the same roof as him. The pressure of becoming something he didn't want to become. The sheer insanity of a world he once thought he knew, and the sick ideals he had been imprinted with since birth—everything had disappeared. But not his past. The ugly reminder of who, and what he was.

There were amends he needed to make, and one of them was the ever-present plight of the witch that haunted his dreams, his nightmares, and, eventually, his fantasies.

The fierce look on her face was something to behold, but he couldn't just leave. He needed to make her want his company, for he needed hers greatly.

"Do I need to report you to the ministry? Are you stalking me?" she indignantly asked as she closed her book.

"I am not stalking you, Granger. I just happened to be passing through. May I add that I'd recognize that hair anywhere?" he said, taking a seat at the small, wrought iron table and crossing his long legs. "It is a mere coincidence; you have been ignoring my owls," he added more seriously. The waitress assessed his attire and the confidence that he exuded, and seeing him as a very attractive man, smiled warmly and brought him coffee. With a sway of her hips, she left, glancing back with a wink. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I have nothing to say to you. Do you know who I am? Do you know who you are? And what you've done?" she protested. An incredulous look crossed her face.

"I am very well aware of who I am and who you are, what you are not aware of is that I want—I want you to—" Draco couldn't finish his sentence.

"You can't possibly—you can't tell me what to do!" She was stubborn. She was getting up to leave, but he couldn't let her leave—not yet. Draco hissed silently.

"Just have lunch with me!" he blurted out. "Just one lunch date! And that would be all, Granger." He looked at her and didn't take his eyes off her; his face—he tried to hide his emotions, but he was sure that she saw something there that convinced her to accept his offer. And he really wished that she would accept. Her eyes narrowed.

"I don't understand your interest in having lunch with me, Malfoy." She sat back down, folding her hands on top of the table. "What are you playing at?" she inquired. She definitely didn't trust him.

"I'm not playing at anything, Granger. Just have lunch with me." Determination must have shown upon his face. She sighed.

"Well, it's already noon. Let's have lunch," she finally said. "And you don't have to look so bloody happy about it!" She cast him a dark look.

"Fine, I've said nothing. I know this great restaurant just around the corner." He got up, admiring the view, and watched her lead the way. Draco didn't know if it was the sun, or the city of love, but at that moment, he felt that walking behind her, just being in her presence, was the greatest happiness he would ever feel. If this would have happened earlier in his life, he would have fought it, but now, instead of letting the darkness consume him and pull him back into the shadows, he let in the light that was Hermione Granger. And he wouldn't let go, even to the extent that if he didn't succeed in wooing her, and making her his, he would be glad just to be her friend. This new development surprised and scared Draco, but he was not ready to give up just yet. It was just not in his nature.

One of the main things that worked to his advantage was the fact that they were in Paris, away from the prying eyes of the wizarding world in London. They could walk freely, unless someone spotted them. He caught up with her, guiding her towards the small restaurant. His hands were sweating, and even after all the gut-wrenching experiences he had gone through, he still felt nervous about having lunch with her. It was such a childish feeling, yet he couldn't help it.

The restaurant was a cozy little place, secluded in a small terrace, and to Hermione's greatest delight, a view of the tip of the Eiffel Tower.

"Where did you find this place?" she inquired, as she looked around and took in the view of the Parisian Skyline.

"My mother brought me here when I was younger." Hermione studied his face, trying to detect any kind of telltale sign that he might be up to something—he was Draco Malfoy, after all.

Hermione raised her eyebrow in acknowledgement, and said, "May I ask why you are so keen to have lunch with me? You've showed up at my workplace, sent me owls, and accosted my secretary. And now you're here, interrupting my holiday—and for what? I have no time for games, Malfoy." All of her words were true and to the point. Just like he expected her to be.

"I wish to make amends with you. I know that I was a complete arse and I can't—I just can't describe how much I want you to understand that—I'm not the same person I was before." Draco tried not to fidget around, his hands clenched and unclenched under the table, his nails digging into his palms and breaking the skin. She interlaced her slender fingers, and rested her chin upon them. Her eyes narrowing again, she leaned back.

" I never thought I'd see the day," she smirked. "Although there are still suspicions, I think I can give you the benefit of the doubt. But if something goes wrong, you're dead." For some reason, Draco was both relieved and concerned. He was more relieved, but at the same time, he knew that she would kill him if things went that wrong.

Their lunch was pleasant—they drank wine, and ate the finest French food. He listened to her talk about her charity work in the orphanage and her work for the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Draco found himself engrossed in her brilliant ideas with keen interest. He had always known the petite Gryffindor to be smart, but his ego had never allowed him to admit that to himself until his sixth year, when her idea with the coins had proved most valuable. His sixth year was one year that he never wished to relive. And to this day, he still refused to remember the pain, the pressure, and the psychological damage that had been done—all to save his family. The crimes he had committed were unforgivable, but he cared only for her forgiveness. In that moment, as he sat there and listened to her plans, her accomplishments, and above all, her kindness, he thought that maybe he should let her go, and give up. He should give up on her, for she was far too good for him. Her goodness, her light, was much too pure to be stained by his past and his pain.

They walked back to the center of the city, filled with people from different corners of the world. The setting sun made everything look pleasant and calm, the light breeze in the air was just—electric? Yes, he could feel something in the air. The blue dress Granger wore fluttered around her knees and Draco watched in admiration. Her legs, her thighs, were works of art. The sexual image that popped into his head, of her thighs wrapped around his waist, was enough for him to become excited. He cursed inwardly, and readjusted himself. His shirt seemed to be clinging to him like a second skin at that moment. The walk was almost silent, and the slightest brush of their arms sent him into a frenzy, and he was sure that he wasn't the only one feeling it. Even though Hermione seemed to ignore him and seemed nonchalant about it, he had caught her looking at him, and sometimes, his butt. His close relationship with the orphanage she worked at gave them enough time to see each other. He knew that there was something there, and he would try to find that something at any cost.

"Oh, wait. Don't tell me. You're staying at the same hotel, aren't you?" she asked, challenging him. Her dress had unbuttoned and he could see some of her cleavage. He tried not to stare and make some crude comment.

"Now, Granger. If your hotel is the Notre Dame, then we are in the same hotel, but let me tell you, I always, always stay at that hotel. It is not because of you." He regarded her and tried not to stare or notice their height difference.

"Come on, I want to see the city from my hotel," she said, and Draco followed willingly.

They stopped at the front desk for mail. Draco had mail from his mother, and Hermione from Potter. The hotel had magical correspondence; the owls distributed the mail to the back of the hotel, and the letters were kept at the front desk. Draco would never forget, until this day, what happened next.

"Mr. Malfoy, and Ms. Granger, I have mail for the both of you. Do I need to alert the staff to move the luggage to your room, Mr. Malfoy?" the receptionist asked. Draco laughed.

"Yes! Yes! Send Ms. Granger's luggage to my room!" Draco smiled devilishly, despite receiving a smack in the chest from Hermione. "No, there will not be any joining of rooms! How dare you?" She turned and left, and Draco followed her to the lift, still laughing.

"Calm down, Granger, nothing happened. It is not the end of the world. Plus, I don't think you would mind staying in my room." Draco smirked. She closed the distance between them in two menacing steps.

"Listen, and listen well, Malfoy, I am not one of those slags you are seen with every Saturday night! You think you can just have anyone—that you can just do whatever you want with other people's lives! But it's not like that, Malfoy! There is a bigger world out there, much bigger than you could ever imagine, because you are so clouded by your own selfishness! And I would never, ever lower myself to your standards! I don't know why—" Draco moved and closed the remaining distance.

"Just shut up! Shut up! You and I know very well what is out there, and what the war has done! You know! And don't tell me that it didn't change you and Weasel!" The lift ride had ended, and she stepped onto her floor.

"Don't talk about my relationship with Ron!" she demanded furiously.

"No, I will! Because you know, and yet you're still denying it! You've changed, I've changed! Why are you here, if not to leave London? To leave the other world behind, the one that reminds you of all the pain you went through during the war? Why do you repress it? WHY?" He tried not to overwhelm her with all of his emotions, but he needed to get them out. He needed to make her see. To make her see they weren't the same as they were before. The war had changed everyone, for better or worse. She dropped her bag on the floor, and hit him in the chest.

"Don't you dare try and give me a life lesson! Don't you dare! You know nothing! Nothing! You sat there in your living room, while your aunt CARVED 'MUDBLOOD' ON MY ARM WITH A DAGGER! AND YOU DID NOTHING! NOTHING! DON'T TALK TO ME! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!" She screamed all this while her fist punched his chest. He grabbed her left arm, and pulled it back, whispering, "Finite."

He pulled back his own sleeve and muttered the same spell, wiping away the Glamour Charm that covered both their scars. Hermione had been shocked and could not move, her eyes wide as she stared at the pinkish scar on her left arm that read "Mudblood." Draco's own fading Dark Mark appeared too.

His voice was soft and gravelly. "We were both imprinted with something we had no choice over. I am not making excuses. I am just asking for forgiveness. That's all. And though it might be hard, I am truly sincere," he said finally. Not letting go of her arm, he brought it to his lips, briefly kissing the jagged skin there. She was beyond shocked, which allowed Draco to do what he did next.

He kissed her—kissed her with everything he had. When his lips collided with hers, she remained stunned and did not move, keeping her eyes wide open. He pulled on her bottom lip slightly. She pulled back, slapped him on the cheek, and turned away, but not quick enough. Draco managed to grab her arm, pulling her close to him once more, and kissed her again. This time, he pulled her body against the wall. This time, she returned the kiss with fervor. It was a hungry kiss, their soft lips intertwining with one another. His hands were holding onto her waist and her hands were in his hair. Their lips grew slick, taking in as much as they could of each other's essence. Their hunger, which had not been sated since their years at Hogwarts, came rushing in and enveloped them in a wave of lust, love, and desperation that became their relationship. The raw passion that was their kiss was both of their undoing. They couldn't keep their emotions at bay any longer. They tugged at each other's clothes, moving clumsily down the hall, illuminated by the Parisian sky.

Draco thought that he couldn't believe this was going to happen, and then he thought again, maybe they should wait, even though his erection screamed at him not to stop, his brain, and maybe his better judgment, told him that maybe he should stop. Or at least ask her if she wanted to keep going. Although her lips were nothing more than heaven, although the mere feel of her body against him made him not want to ever let her go, he pulled away. Her facial expression and her disheveled hair were priceless.

"Are you sure about this? Do you want to keep going?" he asked unwillingly, his gray eyes searching her brown ones.

"For once in your life, just shut up. Shut up and kiss me!" Her hands went around his neck and brought him closer to her. He responded immediately, and he couldn't believe it—he was kissing her. Kissing her! The woman he'd been in love with for so long—it was stupid if he didn't acknowledge it. Yes, he loved her. Somehow, somewhere, in his heart, after everything in his past, he was able to love. She was the woman who had made him change. The one who made him see light. He kissed her with everything he had. He picked her up, and her feet immediately went around his waist, pressing them together even more. The pressure between their two bodies was something that tortured them both to no end, and made them want each other in every way possible. Both of their judgments were out the door once their lips met. And there was nothing else that mattered after that. Draco's recollection of that night was still clear in his mind, for he will never forget when his wife, the only woman he loved besides his mother, showed him love.

He remembered them clumsily making it to the door, and the delicious way he pressed her against the door, his hand on her right thigh, inching closer to her center. His fingers inched closer with each second. The soft sighs and the beating in her chest only made the trail of his fingertips travel farther and faster towards their destination. She bucked her hips in approval and pulled at his bottom lip with her teeth, her eyes alight with passion and approval for Draco to continue. Draco kissed her more forcefully, knowing that later, her lips would be sore, red, and swollen, but it would be because of him, and nobody else. The thought aroused him even more. His fingertips found the edge of her underwear. Impatient, he let one finger slide in, and give a single stroke. She was so wet.

"You're awfully wet," he let her know, and she only grabbed him closer, one of her hands snaking towards his ass and groping it. He knew she had a thing for it. He smirked against her lips, and gave his signature smirk against her cherry-red lips. Hermione grabbed him even harder, her hips grinding against his. She moaned. He moved his lips to her neck, and then to her collarbone, peppering open-mouthed kisses as he went, and rasping his teeth against her overheated skin. Draco continued to insert a finger in her wet center. She gasped, moaned, and bucked forward. A series of indignant coughs made them both come out of their sex-induced haze.

"Mon dieu, jeunesse dorée!" An old French lady appeared out of her room, and with a sniff to the air, she quickly made her way to the elevator, speaking in rapid French—something along the lines of "horny kids" and spoiled, immoral brats.

"Non, je ne regrette rien," Hermione murmured into Draco's chest. I have no regrets. He looked into her eyes, the incident with the old lady forgotten, and the humor gone. His face searched hers. I have no regrets, she had said. None. After that statement, her legs were back on the ground and the door to her bedroom was open. Their gazes held. Only their ragged breathing could be heard. Gray eyes on brown eyes, their lips met once again, and Draco relished her sweet lips. Both of their eyes were open, watching each other. As their knees touched the bed, they collapsed upon it, Draco on top of Hermione.

Their eyes were locked in a gaze that wouldn't break. He gazed into the brown eyes that he thought he would lose in his own living room, all those years back. The brown eyes he thought he would never get to see after the war, because of his fear of the outcome. The pair of eyes he never thought would be gazing back at him with the same sentiment he felt.

He was lost in a world of his own.

"I love you."

A world of their own.

He spoke the three words that he knew were deep down, all this time, the three words that he thought he wasn't capable of feeling, if not for her. She brought his lips to his once more. "I know you do. And I do too. You, with your giant ego, your selfishness, and your stupid, stupid sarcasm. I still love you," Hermione murmured, pushing his light blond, messy hair back.

"Yes, Nobody resists me," he smirked and wagged his eyebrows. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"Do you ever shut up?" she inquired, and put her hand over his mouth as he tried to say something. He smiled, and licked her hand in response, giving her a taste for what his tongue could do. Hermione scrunched up her nose. He kissed her nose lightly, his hand trailing down and his fingertips ghosting across her sensitive skin. Each touch made Hermione feel like she was alight and on fire, a consuming fire that wouldn't stop. Hermione rubbed her legs together.

They were free of any garment. Their hands proceeded to trace every curve, every plane, every crease of each other's bodies. Any inhibitions were out the door when Draco rubbed his erection against Hermione's nether regions. The sensation alone was overpowering. Draco had the urge to bury himself entirely at that moment. But he waited. He had waited so long for this moment, and he didn't want to mess it up. He rubbed himself against her center once more. Hermione gyrated back towards him, grinding her hips against his.

"Draco, please," she murmured in his ear. The sound of his name coming from her lips made his cock jump in pleasure. He traced her with his fingers again; her clit was slick with her arousal. He inserted a long, slender finger, and moved it in a circular motion, opening her, preparing her for what was in store. He wasn't small, to say the least. Draco could feel her walls becoming tighter. He moved another finger into her more fiercely.

"You're so tight," he murmured. Hermione only moved faster, and so did Draco's fingers. Draco's cock was twitching with excitement; he could feel the pre-cum seeping out and spreading around his member. Draco hovered above Hermione as her hips moved more wildly against his two fingers, which were sleek with her arousal. He brought them to his lips, and licked them clean, tasting her.

"Delicious," he rasped out, and kissed her, so she would taste herself in his lips. Her legs locked themselves around his hips, and his cock rubbed itself once again against her clit, spreading her juices. Hermione reached down to his enlarged member and rubbed the head, slick with their arousal. She moved her hand to the base of his cock and added light pressure to her movements. He groaned in pleasure as her hand moved back and forth, feeling the smoothness of his cock. When she tugged gently at his balls, he almost lost it, a feral growl left his lips and he bit the side of her neck. Lightly, he changed their positions and she was on top.

"It would be better if you on top the first time," he rasped out, as the movement did wonders on her gorgeous breasts. Hermione moved against him, and Draco hissed. The view from below her was magnificent. Her hair was wild, draped all around her. Her lips were parted. Her hands braced against his lean, muscled chest. Her breasts bounced with every move. His hands were placed at her hips, and with careful enthusiasm, he rubbed himself against her again. Hermione moved and rocked faster, until she positioned herself, and slid down, inch by agonizing inch. Once he was deep inside her, Hermione didn't move for a couple of seconds, getting used to him, then little by little, she began moving, grinding her hips at a pace she felt comfortable with. Draco thought he would die from the blinding pleasure. Her pussy felt tight, warm, and incredible. Every time their hips met, and his cock slid up to the hilt, her walls would clench exquisitely. Draco guided her hips once she was used to his length and their thrusts were now increasing in force. He flipped them over, their new position allowing him to pound into her mercilessly. Hermione met his thrusts with equal fervor. The pace he had set was giving her the intense pleasure she wanted, if her moans and groans were any indication. Her legs were wrapped around him in a vice grip.

"Say my name," he said through gritted teeth.

"Draco," she moaned out. At the sound of his name coming from her sweet lips, he couldn't take it for much longer. His cock was hard as steel. The head throbbed at every thrust as his cock rasped in and out of Hermione's sweet lower lips. Her pussy clamped around him, and with three more deep thrusts, she reached her peak. The sound of his name being called at her climax was his undoing, and he came powerfully, planting his seed inside her. He collapsed beside her, covered in sweat and in her scent, relishing the aroma.

Their breathing was ragged, and they lay there. "Did that really just happen?" Draco asked in a soft whisper.

"I think so," she responded. "Are you going back to your room?" she asked, as she rubbed her legs together once more.

"Why would I do such thing? We're only getting started." With that, Draco launched himself over Hermione and started kissing her senseless.

Another strike of lightning brought Draco back to the present, as his arousal was becoming prominent just by remembering that blessed night. They had kept at it until two in the morning. His cock had found nirvana, and wouldn't let go.

The witch to his side twitched as she awoke from her slumber. "Draco? Are you awake?" she whispered. He nuzzled her neck and nodded.

"Yes, is everything alright?" he whispered back.

"Yes, we're fine," she answered, and turned to face him. Draco smiled in the semi-darkness of the room. He placed one of his hands over his wife's stomach and caressed his unborn child. He was going to be a father in four months.

"What are you thinking about?" she asked as she placed her hand over his, tracing the outline of his wedding band.

"Nothing, just that we're going to be parents soon," he said with a smile.

"I know. Parents. He'll be running everywhere in this house. We need to make it safe." Draco could see her intelligent mind working—thinking about what needed to be done. Even though they had been together for seven years, and married for four, he still thought that he wasn't worthy of her, but in the end, he was the one she had chosen. Not Krum, not Weasley, not McLaggen, or anyone else. But him. Draco Malfoy. And he would always flaunt that, now that she was pregnant with his baby.

"Still no regrets?" he asked her, interlacing his hand with hers.

"No regrets. Never," she said, and leaned over for a kiss. He moved closer and caressed his son once more.

And there you have it, thank you for reading. I hope you liked it. And I would love it for you to press that "Review" Button and leave me some feedback!

Thank you, once again to my amazing beta.. I will be soon building a shrine with her name on it.

Oh before I forget, the Non, Je ne Regrette Rien is a song by the French Singer Edith Piaf. It means "No I'm not sorry for anything" but also to No regrets. And I apologize to any French readers I tried my best.. But I don't speak French.

Once again, thank you.

-Jane