A/N From this point on, this story will be known as "Change of Heart." Congratulations go out to JackMyles, who won my little "contest." It's not lame! (She said it was lame) Thank you to everybody who submitted suggestions! Please don't stop reading because I didn't choose your title! I was actually sorry that I couldn't choose one. Anyway! On to the story!
Hermione had done it, actually done it. She had agreed to help Malfoy. She really hadn't meant to, but right then she was willing to do whatever it took to get her life back to normal.
It was rather gratifying to go right up to her landlord and pay all the rent she owed plus two extra months' worth. The look of shock on the man's face had almost made this whole experience worthwhile. And she had to admit, after she agreed to help Malfoy, she hadn't received even one more annoying memo for the rest of the day. The stares and whispers continued, of course, but she supposed that there wasn't much that could be done about that.
When she reached the lobby of her apartment building for the second time that day (she had Apparated here during her lunch break to pay her landlord), she didn't even notice the vase filled with roses sitting on the front desk until the clerk called to her as she was about to board the lift.
"Miss Granger, these were left here for you," the older man said, gesturing to the roses.
"Really?" Hermione said uncertainly. No on had ever sent her flowers before. "By whom?"
"There is a card," the clerk replied mysteriously. Hermione lifted the card gingerly from amid the many roses and opened it.
Just a token of my thanks, to get the ball rolling, as it were. I told the clerk I had heard you liked pink roses.
Until tomorrow,
D.M.
p.s. You should probably start blushing.
And even though she knew she would never tell anyone, Hermione silently reprimanded herself that she hadn't even needed to be reminded to blush.
The next morning dawned without incident, or even a single write-up in the Daily Prophet concerning her Hermione smugly wondered if Malfoy had already taken care of Rita Skeeter for her.
She was just picturing the horrible woman being strung up by her thumbs in the dungeons of Hogwarts, with Mr. Filch looking on happily, when there was a knock at her office door, pulling her from her happy daydream
"Come in," she sighed, turning her attention to some papers on her desk, hoping to convey to whoever it was that she was quite busy and didn't wish to be disturbed.
"Hard at work, as usual," Malfoy said casually, as he walked in and sat down in the chair in front of her desk, ignoring her sigh of disgust. He seemed completely at his ease.
"What to you want, Malfoy? Can't you see I'm busy?"
"You certainly look busy," he drawled, and Hermione could tell he didn't believe her in the slightest. "And I'm not sure you should be talking to me that way. After all, we are dating."
"That doesn't mean I have to like it," Hermione retorted, making a big show of stacking the pile of papers in front of her neatly.
"You haven't even mentioned my little present," Malfoy said, completely ignoring her comment and contriving to look hurt.
"Thank you," was all Hermione said in reply.
"Didn't you like them?" Malfoy asked, cocking an eyebrow at her. "I have it on good authority that pink roses are your favorite."
"What do you mean? Who told you that?" Hermione felt color rising in her check as her anger flared up.
"Never you mind, my sweet little Mudblood," Malfoy replied, looking entirely too pleased with himself for provoking her to lose her temper. Hermione smoothed her expression and controlled her anger before replying.
"I'll have you to remember that I am just as pureblooded as you are, Malfoy," she sniffed, standing up with her stack of papers and crossing to the filing cabinet to file them away.
"Ah, but you'll always be Mudblood Granger to me," he said softly. "Which reminds me, since we are officially dating, it's about time we started calling each other by our given names."
Hermione screwed up her nose at this new thought. No, she didn't like the idea of being on a first-name basis with Malfoy.
"Malfoy," she began. He cut across her.
"Draco."
"I don't like this," she continued, sitting back down behind her desk and wringing her hands.
"Hermione," Malfoy began, and she winced as he used her given name. It sounded so…wrong coming from his mouth. He continued as if he hadn't noticed her reaction.
"Do you honestly think that people are going to believe we're together if we keep calling each other by our surnames?"
Hermione contemplated this for a moment. He was right, she knew, there was nothing for it. She wouldn't just have to grit her teeth and do it.
"Very well, then, Draco," she bit out.
"Ah, now that's settled," Malfoy said, standing up and smoothing his robes. Then he looked up at her through a few stray strands of white-blonde hair. "You hungry?"
Malfoy had taken Hermione not, as she had expected, to some swanky high-end restaurant, but instead to a quiet little café off Diagon Alley. She had actually had an almost enjoyable time, too; she and Malfoy had discussed politics, and although they had agreed on nothing, it had still been an interesting conversation.
When she asked him why he had chosen such a quiet, secluded location in favor of somewhere more public where they would be seen by more people, he had merely dropped his voice conspiratorially and said, his grey eyes glinting,
"What better place for a first date, pet, than somewhere we wouldn't be…disturbed?" Something fluttered in Hermione's stomach, but she had firmly told herself it was indigestion.
"And believe me, we were seen," Malfoy had finished with a significant look.
Draco's suspicions were confirmed when he read the Thursday edition of the Daily Prophet. There on the front page was a large picture of Draco and Hermione sitting together in the café, laughing together, his hand covering hers on the table between them.
Funny, he didn't remember doing that. Still it was inspired, and they really did look like a happy couple. The rest of the story was pretty much what he's expected, even hoped for, and there was even a mention of the roses he'd left at her apartment building. Draco didn't fancy being portrayed as a lovesick fool, but as long as it got him what he wanted in the end, he was willing to deal with it.
He didn't know if his parents had seen the Prophet or not, for they weren't at the breakfast table that morning. That was rather unusual, but Draco didn't think twice about it. They were, most likely, off conspiring about him, whether they'd read the story in the paper or not.
He finished his breakfast and wondered what he should do with the rest of his day. His options had been somewhat limited by his plan already. He couldn't even go out for a shag with some pretty, unsuspecting girl off the street, one of his favorite pastimes, because it would risk the implosion of his entire plan.
Maybe he could do something better…and more interesting. Yes, it was just the thing to cheer him up, and it fit with his new plan.
He would kidnap Granger.
Twenty minutes later, Draco was sitting behind Hermione's desk, drumming his fingers and once again waiting for her to get to work. He was earlier today than he'd been before, but he needed to be there before she was so he would have the element of surprise.
Suddenly, there were sounds outside the office door, and Draco hurried across the room silently so that he was positioned just behind the door when it opened. Hermione entered, mumbling something under her breath about hanging someone by their thumbs until they begged for mercy. Amusing.
Hermione shut the door behind her and turned to her desk, but before she could even take a step, Draco clapped a hand over her mouth and turned them both on the spot, clutching Hermione to him. He felt them being compressed together into nothingness and appreciated for the first time that Hermione Granger was a woman, as her warm body with its soft curves was pressed back-to-front into every inch of his body—and what was he thinking about anyway? They were pushed into cool air suddenly and Hermione was struggling against him.
Draco collected his wits and whispered into her hair, "Relax, it's me."
She relaxed for a moment, and so did he, then she turned in his grasp quickly, grabbing the arm that had been holding her seconds before and twisting it behind Draco's back, effectively immobilizing him.
"Oi, Granger, what the hell are you doing?"
"I should ask you the same thing!" she snapped, pulling his arm tighter. Draco winced. Then she laughed—actually laughed! "And Draco, darling, why are you being so formal? We are dating, after all."
"Hermione," Draco said silkily, dropping his voice, trying to sound as charming as he could in his current position. "Let me go, pet."
"Say please," she said mockingly.
"Malfoy's don't say 'please,'" he responded in turn. Then she did something completely unexpected. She stood on tiptoe and leaned forward until her whole body was pressed against his and her breath was on his neck.
"Say it for me, Draco," she whispered huskily, causing every tiny hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
"Please, Hermione," he choked. She released him and he turned to look at her. She wasn't meeting his gaze, however, but seemed to find the grass under her feet very interesting. Then he eyes drifted around to the scenery.
"Where are we, anyway?" she asked him, suddenly forgetting everything else.
Draco shook his head quickly, trying to clear it; he was feeling quite foggy and a little too warm. He looked around too, and then he remembered.
"Come with me," he said, grabbing her hand without thinking. "I have something to show you."
They were all but running down a big, sloping hill towards an old castle, its black stonework contrasting the green lawns surrounding it. The great mahogany front doors opened slowly as they approached.
"My family's winter estate," Draco explained as they walked through an enormous entryway and down another corridor. "You'll like this," he added as he stopped in front of a large green door a moment later.
Draco pushed the door open and watched Hermione's face. As he expected, her eyes grew huge and her mouth fell open. They were in an enormous library.
"Oh, Draco," she breathed, "it's…wonderful."
He sat down in one of the overstuffed armchairs and watched as Hermione turned in a full circle, taking in the entire library.
"It's the fourth largest in Britain," he offered, but knew she hadn't heard. He was feeling rather pleased with himself and leaned back into his chair, picking up a random book off the table next to him and settled in to read.
They stayed there the rest of the day. A house elf brought them lunch around noon, and Hermione wondered aloud if they were missing her at work.
"I took care of it," Draco said, waving a hand in dismissal.
"You'd better not get me fired," Hermione replied darkly.
"If you ask me, you'd be better off," Draco reasoned. "They hardly pay you anything, and all you are is a glorified secretary, doing all the work everybody else feels is beneath them. You're too smart for that," he added.
"I'd be offended if it weren't true," Hermione sighed. "But you're right. Nothing I can do about it though," another sigh. She changed the subject quickly. "Why did you bring me here?"
"I'm hurt, Hermione," Draco said, pretending to look crestfallen. "I only thought you'd like it." At her sharp look, he added, "And the house elves will tell my parents that we were here." Realization dawned on Hermione's face.
"Oh," was all she said before retreating behind a large volume. Draco shook his head, returning to his book as well. Women, he thought.