Enchanted

Enchanted

Chapter 3: "Of Playful Romps and Dates"

Weeks had passed since Hermione's bizarre rendezvous with Draco. She had seen neither hide nor hair of the blonde wizard, and was very grateful Fate had spared her for so long. Hermione had enough on her plate (with the gargantuan workload at the office and the stress of the holidays) as it was, and felt dealing with the over-eager wizard would throw her into overload. She had an ominous feeling of dread, like she was bound for a nervous breakdown in the near future.

Now, Hermione lay sprawled across the emerald divan, feet propped on the armrest. Her head was comfortably nestled in a plush gold pillow, but her serene appearance was juxtaposed to the war raging inside. Her mind battled various topics, ranging from work to the confusing actions of certain wizards. Exasperatedly, she swung her forearm to rest over her eyes, serving as a shield from the outside world.

It was Christmas, a time to be cheery and joyful. Everywhere, wizards and Muggles alike were gathering together, partaking in delightful holiday activities. Not Hermione. Harry and Ron had taken it upon themselves to decorate, for Hermione's exhausted countenance worried the two. Both wizards were clueless as to the recent appearance of fatigue, but assumed it had to do with work and left it at that. Hermione was grateful for their reluctance to question her. She knew if she had one more issue to deal with, there was a good chance of her exploding.

Hermione rolled over, her arm flopping to the side. Her gaze fixated on the living room window. The curtains were parted, and the breath-taking view of a winter wonderland penetrated the glass pane. Clumps of snow layered the limbs, making the treetops strain somewhat under the weight, and blankets of fluffy white spread over the grounds, evidence that Winter had made her chilly presence known. Hermione sighed. It would be wonderful to be a child again, and just go romp in the snow without a worry or care, she thought.

"Herm! Come Quick!" Harry's voice filled with urgency echoed from the kitchen.

Fearing the worst, Hermione sprang from the couch, and dashed towards the cooking area. Catching herself on the doorframe, Hermione's eyes darted around the room, expecting to find Harry sans his wand arm.

Instead, he stood there, smiling. Eyebrows shot up, her temper right alongside it.

"What Harry?" Hermione screeched exasperatedly, "You made me race across the room, like the fires of hell were after me, interrupting my nice, comfortable nap to see your new pose for the cover of Witch Weekly?"

Harry tilted his head to the side, analyzing her angry demeanor. He decided to avoid arguing, and cut to the chase. He pulled a small box from behind his back.

Hermione curiously accepted the package, wrapped in silver paper, topped with a red bow. She looked up at Harry, searching for any sign of a catch. He appeared innocent, and genuinely in the spirit of giving.

She eagerly tore into the paper, revealing a small case. Opening the lid, she found a small necklace. A small ruby pendant, encased in gold, hung on a delicate gold chain.

"Oh Harry," she breathed, "It's beautiful."

Smiling, Harry lifted the chain from the box. Hermione lifted her hair, and he fastened the clasp at the nape of her neck.

"I thought you could use some early Yuletide cheer. It's a simple charm, believed to protect the wearer from harm. The jeweler said it was pretty old, supposedly enchanted with archaic magic. I don't know about the spell, but I thought you'd like it."

A small smile formed on Hermione's lips. Harry's simple acts of kindness always found a way to warm her heart. Throwing her arms around him in gratitude, she whispered a thank you. They remained in the kitchen, wrapped in a friendly embrace, for a few peaceful moments. Hermione closed her eyes, relishing in the wonderful love of a friend-- the uncomplicated relationship that had been there for her for the past nine years. Harry had been one of the few constants in her hectic life, Ron as well. She could always depend on them; when she was down, they were there to pick her up with a laugh. When she was confused and scared, they burst in, wands out, ready to help no matter the consequence.

Slowly, she released Harry, looking up into his deep pools of emerald.

"What?" he asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Nothing. I'm just glad I have you."

With a quick peck on his cheek, Hermione departed from the kitchen. Instead of returning to her comfortable haven, she went to the coat rack, and snatched her blue robes, and paused by the door. Harry leaned against the kitchen entranceway, arms crossed.

"Well, aren't you coming?" Hermione inquired.

"Coming where?" he replied, confusion evident on his features.

"Out in the lovely snow."

Grinning, he slipped on his warm green robes. They eyed each other, the corners of their mouths upturned mischievously. They tore out the door, Harry at Hermione's heels, and into the blustery weather. Harry caught Hermione by the waist, and they tumbled down onto the snow bank. Laughing, he grasped her sides, and tickled mercilessly. Hermione released a scream, clawing at him in defense against his onslaught. He proved relentless, and continued his cruel torture.

"Harry!" she shrieked, arms flailing. She pounded on his shoulders, but to no avail. Wiggling, she attempted to squirm free. Harry's strong Quidditch body held her fast.

"What's all this?" a masculine voice said overhead.

As quick as the tickling attack had begun, it stopped. Harry twisted around and Hermione sat up to see who the intruder was.

"Starting all the fun without me?" the redhead smirked, wiggling his eyebrows.

"RON!" Hermione squealed, hurling a fist of snow.

The ball hit him right between the eyes. Ron reached up, swiped his face, and gave her a glare.

"You know what this means," he declared, eyes narrowed pointedly, "War."

With a shriek of surprise, Hermione leapt to her feet. She scrambled to the nearest oak, taking refuge behind its massive frame while she devised battle tactics. Scooping up a handful of snow, she peeked around the tree, arm raised. She spotted Harry, his arm positioned above his head in a prepared stance, not one hundred feet away. She whistled, then launched the ice projectile. He turned towards the noise, and the ball struck him square on the jaw. Startled, his own weapon dropped on top his ebony mop. Hermione chortled, and returned to her search for her other target.

Hermione smirked evilly; Ron was crouched behind the side shrubbery. She pelted him on the shoulder.

"Hey!" he cried, spinning around in alarm. Spotting the culprit, preoccupied with indulging in her victory, he slowly crept to her base.

Reaching around her, unnoticed, he smashed a handful of snow over her mouth. Spluttering ice, Hermione whirled around. Hermione leaped onto his back, and Ron flew onto the icy ground, face first.

"Enjoying the earth close up, Weasley?" she snickered, sitting on his back.

Turning his head to the side, he glared.

"Ice taste good, Granger?"

Hermione grabbed the back of his head, and smashed it into the snow. Throwing his shoulders backwards, he managed to flip Hermione off, and rounded on her. She ate another fistful of ice.

Harry appeared to Ron's right, and he added another serving of snow. Spitting the dirty ice into their faces, she launched herself at the two, sending the three into a tumble across the yard.

They finally rolled to a stop. Lying motionless, Hermione observed the gray sky. Taking a deep breath, she began to chuckle. Harry and Ron joined in, and they cackled like a pack of hyenas until the lack of oxygen forced their laughter to subside.

"That was wonderful," Hermione breathed, propped on her elbow, "Like old times, huh?"

Harry and Ron exchanged a secretive look, one that did not escape the intuitive witch.

"What?" she asked, puzzled. "It wasn't fun?"

"No Herm," Harry began tentatively. "On the contrary, we had a blast. It was like old times, but that's just it. It's not so much like the old times."

Hermione sat up, confounded. Eyebrows knitted together, she pressed her lips into a thin line.

"I'm not sure what you're getting at..."

"Herm, it's like this--"

"We just miss having playful romps, that's all," Ron cut in, interrupting Harry.

Hermione observed her two best friends, wondering what in the name of Merlin was going on. She looked back and forth between the two, like a spectator at a Muggle tennis match, as Harry and Ron waged a silent battle with their eyes. Harry's shoulders slackened, giving Hermione the assumption Ron had won.

"Com'on, let's go inside. I'm freezing my arse off," Ron suggested, hand out to haul her up off of the snow.

The trio trudged through the sea of white, taking refuge inside their cozy, warm abode. Hermione lit the fire "Incendio!" as Harry returned from the kitchen with three mugs of steaming hot cocoa. Hermione sipped hers thoughtfully, her gaze lost in the blaze.

"Herm," Ron called, waving a hand in front of her nose.

"Hmm?" she replied dazedly.

"You've got to cheer up. Work can't be that bloody awful, can it? I know down at the Department for Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures we've had a massive caseload with the recent shipment of crups. A group of Muggles mistook them for docile Jack Russell terriers, but found out the hard way that they're anything but. Huge commotion, half the Ministry was called in. Obliviators had to perform several Memory Charms, and our department had to figure out what to do with the crups. I've dealt with the brunt of it but I'm still managing to have a happy holiday."

Hermione met Ron's concerned brown eyes, and managed a weak smile. She tucked a stray lock of curly chocolate hair behind her ear, and sipped her mug, attempting to appear nonchalant. Ron's eyebrows rose slightly, and she sighed.

"I'm fine, just a lot to deal with these past weeks, that's all. I'm grateful for the holiday."

Ron's eyes flashed.

"That Shields fellow doesn't have anything to do with it, does he?"

Hermione spit out a mouthful of cocoa, then forced a laugh.

"Oh, heavens no!"

Actually, Hermione thought irritably, I've been evading Thomas for the past few weeks. I just don't know what to do about him...

Harry raised a quizzical brow. He had heard plenty about Shields, courtesy of Ron's nightly raving about the "bloody git" and how he was "trying to seduce Hermione." Naturally, he was intrigued.

"Honestly, Ron," Hermione snapped, "I haven't spent much time with him at all. I've been much to busy."

"But he works in your department, your area. You have to spend some time with the wanker."

Hermione shot up from the leather lounge she had been reclining in.

"Ronald Weasley, what are you insinuating?" Hermione's voice rose threateningly, challenging him to finish his allegation.

"That that bloody pansy has probably tried to corner you or something and you allowed him because you fancy the pretty-boy!" Ron shouted.

Harry sat ramrod still. He was well aware of what was to come, and tried to stop the storm before it brewed out of control.

"Hermione--"

"Don't," she bit out.

"But--"

"I said don't," she repeated in the same tone.

Hermione shut her eyes, clutching her cup tightly. Releasing a breath, she raised her lids. Ron's complexion was as pallid as Moaning Myrtle's.

"You would think that, wouldn't you?" she spat, glaring at Ron, her voice quiet and dangerous.

Ron cringed, wishing fervently that he had kept his trap shut.

"Think I throw myself at any male, don't you? Hermione can't get a decent date, so she takes whatever stumbles her way."

Hermione was shaking with rage. Her cup slipped from her grip, smashing on the cream carpet. She ignored the sting of the hot cocoa splashing on her bare ankles.

"Fine. Think what you will." With that being said, she spun on her heel, and stomped to the staircase.

"Fine! Run away from your problems, just like you always do!" Ron shouted, his momentary lapse in courage gone.

Hermione whipped around, glaring down on him.

"Run away? Since when have I ever run away, Ron?" she cried, her face flushed with anger.

"Since always! You come home from work, tired, exhausted, like you've been slaving away in hell! When we ask what's wrong, you avoid the question! Come to think of it, you NEVER mention work! We have no idea what goes on in your life Hermione!"

Ron stood there, quaking in rage, breathing heavily. His entire countenance was red, clashing horribly with his hair. His confident composure was gone, replaced by anger and bewilderment.

Harry sat on the sofa, indecisive about how to intervene.

Hermione felt like she had been physically struck. She sunk down, sitting on the steps, clutching the handrail in a death grip. Her knuckles turned white.

"I've told you," she whispered, voice trembling, "We're working on a cure for the flu."

"Hermione, simple spells don't drain you." Ron's voice was even, and void of emotion.

"It's not exactly simple."

"Then explain it."

"I can't," she choked, tears welling up in her cinnamon orbs.

Harry rose from the chair, placing a hand on Ron's tense shoulder. The red head relaxed, and his face softened.

"Why can't you tell us?" Harry asked quietly.

"I just--I wish I could, but I can't."

"Alright, we understand you have to be secretive, and I assume you can't disclose why?"

Hermione looked up at Harry, shaking her head.

"Alright," he mumbled, running a hand through his already tousled hair.

"Let's not discuss this now. It's Christmas."

Hermione and Ron met Harry's pleading stare, and silently nodded in agreement. Hermione slowly moved down from the staircase, sitting down in her seat prior to the argument. Ron slumped onto the sofa, and Harry murmured a clean-up spell, then relocated to the rug in front of the hearth. The trio sat in silence.

"Herm," Ron whispered, raising his head from its previous position staring at the floor.

"Yes?"

"Can I at least ask if you're dating Shields?"

Hermione managed a weak smile. "No, I'm not."

Slowly, the trio re-engaged in simple conversation skirting around work (with the exception of discussing the whereabouts of Harry's next Quidditch match). Soon, Hermione and Ron had joined Harry on the rug, laying about and talking.

Christmas came and went quickly. Hermione received many new books, Ron plenty of Chuddley Cannons memorabilia, and Harry was given an abundance of Quidditch related items. (Ron had bought Harry a T-shirt that read "I'm a talented wizard. Wanna see my broomstick?" The boys shared a round of laughter with that one.) Hermione found herself back behind her desk all too soon. Her department set back into the swing of things, with the customary meetings, arguments, and falling back to square one.

Until one day.

"Lizzie!" Hermione shrieked, running to Elizabeth's tableside, book open.

Hermione plopped the thick volume down, eagerly pointing to a passage on the page. Elizabeth scanned the section, eyes growing wide. She looked back up at Hermione, mouth agape.

"This means..." she sputtered, excitement rising in her voice.

Hermione nodded her head vigorously, then called for Thomas. He mimicked Elizabeth in his response. Book in hand and colleagues in tow, Hermione briskly walked into the meeting room. Elizabeth scurried about the room, banging on adjacent doors. Infuriated faces peeped out. Recognizing the stroke of genius, openly displayed on Hermione's face, they rushed out, hurriedly taking their seats. Five minutes were spent, Hermione sharing her discovery. Plans were hastily constructed, and this time, when the department split, Hermione followed Mrs. Whitestone and her crew into Formulas.

Hours later, she emerged, last of the Formula sect to leave. Yawning, she gathered her belongings from the desk and made her way to the door. Stepping into the hallway, Hermione bumped into someone.

"Thomas!" she exclaimed, startled that he was still about.

"What are you doing here?"

Thomas flashed his 100-watt smile, taking her by the hand. Hermione eyed him wearily, Ron's words reverberating inside her mind.

"I was wondering, as celebration of advancing to the next phase, if you would like to join me for dinner?"

Hermione found herself speechless. She carefully examined him, noticing his unusually pasty complexion.

"Are you alright? You look pale."

He made a motion with his hand, waving off her concern.

"I'm fine, just a little tired. You look utterly exhausted as well. I know of a nice little bistro, how about we go tomorrow night, that way we can get some rest?"

Hermione weighed her options in her mind, cringing at the mere thought of what Ron's reaction would be. Thomas seems genuine in his offer, she decided, and smiled.

"Sounds wonderful."

"Great, pick you up at eight o'clock?" his hazel eyes twinkling mysteriously.

"Yes." Hermione scribbled down her address, handing him the slip of parchment.

Kissing the back of her hand, Thomas departed.

Sighing, Hermione spun around, and proceeded to the exit. As she strolled down the corridor, she heard a crash inside the room she had just passed. Whipping around, wand raised, Hermione crept up to the door. Twisting the knob, she flung the door open.

"Who's in here?" she demanded, eyes frantically searching around the large storage area for the intruder. Her peripheral vision caught a slight movement to her right. Tip-toeing to the pile of overturned boxes, Hermione heard giggling. Puzzled, she inched closer. Swinging her leg, she kicked over the mound, revealing a mass of red and blonde hair.

Using the Light Spell, Hermione illuminated the storage area, uncovering the identities of the intruders.

"Ron?" Hermione questioned in disbelief. He smiled sheepishly, and stood up, offering a hand to the blonde, pulling her out of the mountain of cardboard.

"Lizzie? What in Merlin's name are you two doing in here?"

Elizabeth and Ron exchanged quick glances, then Ron spoke.

"I was looking for a cage, we were in need of one to detain a run-amuck blast-ended skrewt, and the lights went out. I found Elizabeth in here while wandering around, looking for the bloody exit. Apparently, the monster we ran into turned out to be a pile of shipping boxes."

Hermione eyed them suspiciously.

"Why were you in here, Lizzie?"

Gulping, Elizabeth smoothed out the creases in her robes.

"Well, you see, the thing is, Mr. McCormick sent me to find another beaker, because they destroyed the last one," she finished triumphantly.

But her victory was short lived.

"They don't use beakers, Elizabeth."

"Yes they do, why I don't know. I was just following orders."

Perplexed, Hermione sighed in defeat, too tired to further argue the issue. After levitating the boxes back into place, she headed for the door.

"Oh, Lizzie," Hermione began, turning to the blonde.

"Yes?" she answered tentatively, paling.

"Thomas asked me to dinner tomorrow night."

Elizabeth's azure orbs danced like liquid fire, and she shrieked. Jumping up and down, she took Hermione by the hands, and the two witches twirled around the hallway.

"He WHAT?" Ron roared, interrupting their joyous frolicking.

"Ron, before you explode, he was very nice and I think he's such a gentleman."

"Yeah Ron, lighten up. The girl's allowed to date. You're not the girl's father," Elizabeth interjected.

Sputtering, he stormed down to the lobby.

"Ignore him," Elizabeth muttered, spinning Hermione back towards her.

"Now, what time should I come over to help you get ready?" she squealed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A group of cloaked forms stood in a circle, awaiting the presence of their master. The dark night enfolded them in her harsh, chilly atmosphere. No stars twinkled in the sky, creating a perfect setting for a group wanting to keep their operations covert. The smell of fresh earth and the stench of rotting flesh suffocated their nostrils. The dead silence around them was quite literal.

One figure stood slightly apart from the rest. His hood was pulled down, concealing his identity, much like the others. He leaned comfortably against an aging oak tree, its long limbs looming over their assembly.

Suddenly, the air began to whip, and the group fell silent immediately. A swirl of fog appeared, churning and misting the winds. The smoke vanished, and in its place, stood a lone man.

The entire group bowed, prostrating themselves at the stranger's feet. Standing up, they remained mute, seemingly awaiting some order.

"Good evening, my loyal followers," the figure hissed.

"Good evening, Master," the assembly intoned.

The figure smirked, turning to his right.

"Where is he?" he demanded, staring pointedly at one of his followers. The man bowed low and stepped forward, followed by another figure.

"Here he his, m'lord," the man trembled, presenting the aforementioned man.

"Excellent, step forward boy," he commanded, motioning the boy forward with his bony, white-powdered hand. The youth nodded, abiding to the mysterious figure's request.

"Let me see your arm."

The boy pushed up his sleeve. There, glowing on his pale skin was a malevolent black tattoo, a picture of an intertwined skull and a snake. The mystifying man tapped his wand to it, and released a cackle.

"Promising, very promising. And have you discovered a means of demonstrating your loyalty?"

The young man nodded his head vigorously.

"Yes, Master. You are aware of a certain project that may cause...a few problems for you and your followers?"

"Humor me, elaborate," the man hissed.

"There is a rumor that a few select wizards and witches are close to discovering a reversal spell to the Killing Curse."

"And?" the dark figure bit out impatiently.

"And, I propose the capture of their leader, who is the most knowledgeable about the project. With the head out of the picture, completion is impossible."

"Excellent. You are dismissed, everyone else as well."

The young wizard bowed, and Disapparated. Many others followed suit.

"Wait. You, come here," the dark figure snapped, motioning to the lone figure leaning against the tree.

The figure sauntered over, and bowed.

"I want you to follow through. I don't trust that one yet. Allow him to lure the leader out, but take matters into your own hands."

The figure bowed again.

"As you wish, Lord Voldemort."

Both figures vanished into the dark night, the quiet resting place of the dead returned to its peace.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Lizzie, come quick!" Hermione called urgently.

"What? What's wrong?" Elizabeth heaved as she threw open the door, slightly out of breath.

"I don't know about this..." Hermione trailed off.

As Elizabeth had promised, she and Hermione were in Hermione's bedroom, preparing her for her date with Thomas that evening. Hermione was currently working her way through her latest crisis, deciding on a dress for dinner.

Hermione twirled before the mirror, frowning at her reflection. Smoothing the silk fabric, she glanced over at Elizabeth, who stood in the bathroom doorway.

"You look simply bewitching, hon," she soothed, crossing to Hermione's side.

Taking her by the elbow, Elizabeth led Hermione to sit at her vanity. After casting a few cosmetic charms until the job was satisfactory, she began on Hermione's hair. Sweeping her soft chocolate curls back, she placed the hair in a twist, leaving a few strands elegantly framing her face. She cast another spell, charming the to hair sparkle, a simple illusion. Smiling, she led Hermione over to the full-length mirror to admire the finished product.

Hermione gasped. Staring back at her was an enchanting witch, dressed in a light blue, thin-strapped cocktail dress that fell just above her knees in swirls of fabric. Sandals of the same color adorned her feet. Elizabeth handed her a cream robe, to protect her from the chilly January weather.

Hermione touched her hair, briefly reminded of her hairstyle at the Yule ball in her fourth year at Hogwarts. With a dreamy expression, she turned to Elizabeth for the final judgment.

"You don't think it's too much?" she asked worriedly.

"Not at all, you look gorgeous."

Just then, the doorbell sounded downstairs. Hermione reached for Elizabeth, giving her a quick squeeze. Elizabeth winked, opening the bedroom door.

"Go knock him dead, Herm."

The two witches descended the stairs, Hermione a little more quickly. She feared Harry and Ron were interrogating her date. Her assumptions were correct, and she saved poor Thomas just before Ron got to "History," where any event--such as past girlfriends, jobs, criminal record--in your past was fair game.

"Hello, Thomas," she greeted sweetly, upon entering the room. All male eyes shifted to her, and gasped. Jaws dropped, and Hermione giggled.

"Boys, tongues in and mouths closed," Elizabeth laughed, stepping into the room.

"You look beautiful, Hermione," Thomas whispered in her ear as he took her by the hand. She blushed, and murmured a thank you.

Turning to Harry and Ron, she gave each a quick hug.

"You look great Herm. Have fun," Harry smiled.

He nudged Ron.

"Oh, er...You look nice Herm."

Harry nudged him again.

"Havefunwiththedumbbloke," He grumbled.

Hermione grinned, patting him on the arm. Saying her farewells, she allowed herself to be whisked away by the handsome wizard.

"I don't know what she sees in that git," Ron sighed exasperatedly, plopping on the divan. Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, crossing to stand over the fiery wizard. Placing her hands on her hips, she cocked her head to the side.

"Ronald Weasley, quit playing the over-exaggerated, over-protective father and get over it. Hermione's grown up, and," sniffing for dramatic effect, raising one hand to her brow "dating. Oh, woe is the household of ours!" she cried, falling theatrically onto the empty spot beside him. Ron rolled his eyes, and smothered her face with a pillow. Elizabeth erupted in squeals.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head at the two, and ascended the stairs. He wanted some piece and quiet after his grueling Quidditch practice today, and knew for certain he would not find anything of the sort in their company.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"This has been such a wonderful night, Thomas," Hermione smiled, pushing away her cleaned plate.

Classical music filled the classy bistro, periodically permeated by quiet chatter. Lavish curtains and rugs hung on the walls, alongside sporadic paintings of beautiful landscapes and portraits of the magical community's famous.

"Glad you're enjoying yourself, Hermione. I'm content just to be sitting here with you." Thomas smiled, flashing his dazzling pearly whites, hazel eyes sparkling.

Hermione giggled nervously, turning a slight red hue. They sat, staring at one another for a few moments. Uncomfortable silence hung in the air, and Hermione decided she needed a little breathing room.

Excusing herself, she took a short jaunt to the witch's room. The bathroom was quite a distance from their table, and she got turned around making her way back. Pausing for a moment, she bumped into someone.

"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed, looking up.

Cinnamon met steel.

Her eyes widened; she had not seen him since that night...

"Nice to see you again, Hermione."

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?"

"It's public commonplace, luv. I believe the question is why are you here? Weasley finally taking you on a date? No, that can't be it; too expensive for his budget...It must be Potter then."

"Don't you dare insult Ron like that. You're half the wizard he is. Not that it's any of your business, but I'm here with neither," she scowled, crossing her arms.

"Really, who with?" he smirked, raising an eyebrow.

"That's none of your concern," she retorted, raising her chin defiantly.

Placing a finger under her chin, he tilted her face to meet his. Smirking, he brushed a strand of hair away.

"Don't think I've forgotten that night," he whispered into her ear, sending shivers up her spine.

"What's to forget? Nothing happened," she murmured, losing control of her tone. It had been meant to be more forceful.

"Think what you will, luv. Until later."

With that, he planted a soft kiss upon her lips, and disappeared into the crowded restaurant. Bringing a hand to her swollen lips, she regained her composure and returned to her table. As she took her seat, she found Thomas gone. Looking around, she thought she spotted a distinct head of blonde hair...

"Hermione!" Thomas had popped up, seemingly out of nowhere, and retook his seat.

"Thomas!" she jumped, placing a hand to her breast, "Don't do that! Where were you?"

His energetic demeanor flickered, but the 100-watt smile lit up. Reaching behind him, he pulled out a slip of parchment.

"Just went to retrieve the bill, that's all."

"Oh," Hermione muttered sheepishly.

Extending his hand, Thomas helped Hermione to her feet, and escorted her to the exit. All the while, Hermione's thoughts kept drifting away from the handsome wizard, whose arm she was hanging on to. They floated away, to the face of a certain Adonis-like wizard, a wizard any good witch should not think about at all...

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"Well, I had a wonderful time," Hermione whispered nervously, eyes trained on her blue sandals. The Moment was rapidly approaching. She was clueless how to deal with it as well.

Titling her chin up, she snuck a glance at Thomas. With his grin etched on his face, and his slightly clouded hazel eyes, Hermione became extremely edgy. Great Wizards, what was going through that wizard's mind? She pondered silently.

"Delightful evening. Maybe we should do it again some time?"

Hermione cringed at his Cheshire cat smile. There was something disturbing about it...

"Sure, love to."

His face relaxed, and she let out a sigh of relief. Maybe it's just a nervous habit of his; maybe he's scared like me Hermione thought.

"Good night, Thomas," she bid, stepping up to the doorframe.

"Good night," and with that, his face began to lower. Hermione shut her eyes, anticipating his next action. Great Wizards! He's going to kiss me. He did kiss her, but not on his intended target. At the last second, Hermione tilted her head, and his lips collided with her cheek.

He pulled away, a hint of disappointment flashed across his features. As quickly as it came, it was gone, and Hermione almost believed she had imagined it. Thomas gently squeezed her hand, and Disapparated. She twisted the doorknob, and as soon as she stepped inside, she was bombarded by three figures, each talking simultaneously.

"Did you kiss?"

"Did that wanker try anything?"

"Have a pleasant evening?"

Hermione, back against the door, held up her hands.

"Geez, can't a witch come inside her own home without being attacked? One question at a time, for Merlin's sake!" she cried, pushing her way to the comfy green sofa.

Ron sunk into the opposite chair, Harry plopped on the other end of the divan, and Elizabeth perched on the armrest.

"Well?" all three asked expectantly, one tone hopeful, another agitated, the other genuinely curious.

Sighing exasperatedly, she proceeded to answer their anxious questions.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Four weeks later, Hermione came out of the laboratory door, shutting it firmly behind her, muttering a locking spell. She had taken Thomas up on his offer, and the two had gone on three more dates. They were quickly developing a relationship, but Hermione still shied away from lip-to-lip contact. She deduced it as nerves, and lack of experience in the steady boyfriend area, believing she just wanted the relationship to progress slowly. However, some nagging feeling in the far corner of her brain thought otherwise...After shoving a few notebooks in her drawer and muttering her own locking spell, she sunk down at her desk, noticing a small, manila envelope sitting amidst her stacks of books and parchment.

Picking the envelope up, she flipped it over, examining the package. Curiosity got the best of her, and she tore open the side. Out slipped a folded piece of parchment. Unfurling the paper, her cinnamon orbs scanned the page's contents.

Dearest Hermione,

I have not been in your lovely presence for quite some time, work being overly burdensome. There is no word to express how hard you've been slaving away, and I decided a nice little surprise was in order for you. Please meet me outside the Ministry building at eight o'clock.

Thomas

Hermione felt her heart speed up in anticipation. Great Wizards, what was he planning? Her eyes flickered to the clock on the wall. Besides the blatant "GO HOME NOW! YOU'VE BECOME A WORKOHOLIC," the little hand rested on the eight and the big hand on six. Scrambling from the desk, she dashed out the door. In her haste, she had abandoned her briefcase.

Reaching the building's main entrance was no chore; the corridors were immensely deserted. Pushing open the double doors, she stepped out into the frigid January air. Icy winds whipped her hair about her, and the cold bit at her exposed face. Clutching her robes tighter, she carefully surveyed the dark and deserted building front, searching for any signs of her current beau.

"Wonder where he could--"

Hermione's words were cut short, as a hand roughly clamped over her mouth. Her vision began to swim, and the last thing she saw was the concrete sidewalk rushing up to greet her.