Just Another Casanova

Chapter 4

There's no art to find the mind's construction in the face.

~MacBeth

The girl was just sitting there today, and to be quite honest, it startled Hermione. Her red hair was pulled up for once, a yellow pencil sticking out the top of her head. She'd traded her sweatshirt and jeans for a pleated skirt, knee-length socks, and a white blouse. Not to mention the usual scent of her perfume hadn't followed her through the door this morning. Sitting there, Ginny reminded Hermione oddly of a lost Catholic girl as she chewed silently on her fingernails.

Hermione tilted her head as though looking at her friend from a different angle might solve the puzzling situation, but it did nothing but tighten the crick in her neck even more. She sighed, sometimes an expression told you all you needed to know and sometimes it concealed everything real, brilliantly.

"Ginny?" she asked tentatively, afraid if she spoke too loud she might spook her.

Ginny's eyes stayed focused on the same pattern in the rug, but she pulled her hand away from her mouth. As if possessed, she replied, "I've been thinking about what you said."

Hermione shifted; now they were getting somewhere--only forty minutes into the session. "I've said a lot of things, Ginny; can you refresh my memory?"

She finally turned her sad gaze to the older woman. "Colin was a complete disaster, but it helped me realize something: Being alone is better than living with a ghost."

Hermione's top tooth found her lip and she pulled on it as though it'd help her find the correct response. But Ginny saved her and continued.

"I've been going to a muggle library lately, in my spare time, and flipping through books of quotes. Sure, they were all inspirational and years ago my pen would have been flying away as I copied them all down to post in my bedroom, but none of them struck me as anything amazing. I just kept flipping the pages, and flipping, and flipping. And then I saw it.

"'To live in the hearts we leave behind is not to die.' Thomas Campbell said that, whoever he is. It was like he was talking directly to me, 'Mione. And suddenly it was like this huge curtain lifted and I saw how stupid I was being. Neville wouldn't want me to live this way! He'd want me to live life, a life he was deprived of so early. All this time I've wasted, I might as well have died with him."

Hermione smiled; finally. All these years and Ginny had finally gotten what moving on meant. She'll admit she was slightly disappointed that it had been Thomas Campbell who had knocked sense into her instead of herself, but pickers can't be choosers.

"Moving on doesn't mean forgetting Neville, Ginny, it means living life with him in your heart. Remembering all he taught you, how much you loved him, and how you're a better person because of him. I'm glad you finally realize it's okay to live."

Ginny shook her head, shifting positions on the couch for the first time since she walked in. "It's more than that, Hermione. I can laugh again, I can have fun again, and I can dance again without feeling disloyal. I love Neville with all my heart, but he's gone and I'm not. Plain and simple." After a moments pause she asked, "Do you believe that your life has a purpose and once that purpose is over, your life is over?"

Hesitantly, Hermione nodded. Sure, she'd thought about life once or twice.

"Well, if that's true, I think I was Neville's purpose. You wouldn't think it, but he taught me so many things, encouraged me to do things I never thought I could. I'm so much better because of him. And that's why I'm determined to make the most of what time I have left."

Hermione reached forward and grabbed the girl's hand; leaving all her policies about client, shrink relationships behind. "I'm so proud of you, Ginny."

She gave a small smile. "I came to tell you I won't be showing up anymore," she said quickly, her voice hitching a little. "A teaching spot for potions opened up at Beauxbatons and I've decided to take it. You know I always loved potions, despite Snape, and I think it'll be fun, teaching. Please say you're happy for me, Hermione," she pleaded.

"I am!" Hermione insisted. "I'm ecstatic, Ginny. I'll miss not seeing you, but I couldn't be happier for you. It's wonderful."

Ginny stood, brushing the butt of her skirt. "Well, I guess I'd better go. Lots to do, September's nearing." She headed for the door but stopped short, as they always seem to nowadays. Her eyes met Hermione's, and they were filled with an emotion Hermione hadn't seen in anyone in such a long time: hope.

"Thank you, 'Mione," she said softly.

"You are most definitely welcome."

Ginny smiled again. "It feels so good to not be afraid anymore. You should try it," she added.

Hermione allowed a sad smile.

"Au revoir, mon amie." She pulled the door out of its frame and stepped through it. Watching her go, Hermione felt a pang of sadness. Regardless, at the same time she couldn't have been happier. She only wished she could let go and move on the way Ginny had.

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Hermione was exhausted. She hadn't gotten more than one sip out of her coffee this morning before she accidentally knocked it off her desk and she'd had the most terrible time falling asleep last night. So, by the time Blaise Zabini rolled into the office, she was anything but willing to deal with him.

As he blabbered on about Yolanda and Heidi, two Swedish girls he'd met on a skiing trip in the Alps, she lost herself in memories, remembering better days. His abrupt halt brought her--unfortunately--back to the present. She yawned, turning her questioning eyes to his figure seated exactly in the middle of her couch.

"Am I boring you, Granger?"

She rolled her eyes and bit out sarcastically, "What would make you think that?"

Slyly, he leaned forward. "You are aware you're paid to listen to others talk, aren't you?"

"Yes, about their problems, Zabini, not about a romp in the sack with two young blondes who didn't even speak English." He raised his eyebrows. "See, I was listening."

He leaned back again, propping his ankle on his knee. They eyed each other for a moment, the clock ticking mercifully in the background. Hermione resisted the urge to turn and glance at the time; she knew this session was far from over.

Shaking her head again to rid it of the invading memories--ones she rather wish she'd forget--she uncrossed her legs and leaned forward, propping her arms on her legs. Blaise smirked (causing her to quickly glance and make sure her blouse wasn't revealing too much). Assured, she turned back to him, her eyes never leaving his emotionless ones.

"Are you going to mention it or are we both going to just sit here and bask in the wonderful memory?"

Surprised, she replaced her mask with one of confusion and waited for him to elaborate.

Throwing his arms carelessly in the air he added, "I know you're thinking about it, too, don't pretend to deny it. The night I left, Granger, the last night we spent in the Head Common Room."

Taking a deep breath, she tossed her head back and muttered an almost inaudibly, 'oh.' But Blaise's ears were excellent.

Bringing her head back down, they stared at each other a while longer. "Why did you--"?

"You know, I--"

Hermione chuckled and Blaise smiled. "You first," he insisted, gesturing for her to continue with a wave of his hand.

She cleared her throat and felt a slight heat rise up her cheeks. Great. "Why did you kiss me?" she asked finally, gaining strength.

He smirked again and patted beside him on the couch. Hermione narrowed her eyes in a stern warning but he continued to pat. Realizing he wouldn't say another word until he got his way, she slowly stood and set herself down on the couch, a safe distance from him--she hadn't forgotten what had happened last time they were in this position.

"Granger, I'm not going to lie to you," he started bluntly. She scoffed doubtfully. "Now, now," he reprimanded, "is that any way to start this conversation?" She rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Good. As I was saying, I'm not going to lie to you. Despite the fact that you were an insufferable Know-It-All, who always had to have her way, was never wrong, and nit-picked every single thing, God forbid anything was good enough--"

"Is there a point to this injury of my ego?" she asked, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Relax, Granger, and listen to someone else for once." Again she 'harrumphed,' but kept listening. "Despite all your faults, when you try you're actually tolerable. In other words if you take away your whiney voice, that bush on your head you call hair, and that disapproving scowl you always wear, you're actually a decently attractive woman.

"Granted, you could dab on some make-up every now and then, change into something a big tighter, and--"

"Blaise! You're doing an excellent job at insulting me, but would you please just answer the question."

The clock chimed that their session was up, but neither dared to move. Hermione held his eyes in a silent warning and his smile grew.

"Not use to compliments, Granger?"

Her eyes widened and she rearranged herself on the sofa. "I'm sorry, but was there supposed to be a compliment in there somewhere?"

"See, my insults wouldn't have you this bothered, you're more than used to them. It's the compliment I slipped in there that's got you all worked up." His smile grew. Cocky git.

She chewed on her tongue and pursed her lips. "I don't have a problem receiving compliments, Zabini."

Laughing, he mumbled, "And you're supposed to be a shrink?"

She narrowed his eyes and he rose his hands in mock defense.

"Alright, alright, back to the story." He shifted positions again so they were fully facing each other, the couch making a swishing noise as he did so. "I kissed you because I wanted to."

"It took you ten minutes to tell me that?"

"You are terrible at receiving compliments," he persisted.

"How was that a compliment?"

"Oh, come off it, Granger. Admit it, you don't think you're attractive and you can't fathom why anyone would want to kiss you." Before she could protest, he continued, "I bet you haven't been with a guy since Victor Krum."

"Now, that's really none of your bus--"

He held up his hand. "Have you?"

Releasing a huff of air she bit out, "That's besides the point."

"Forget my problems, Miss Granger, you've got enough of your own."

"It's a good thing I don't rely on the opinion of others to shape my self-image." The clock ticked away, but still neither ended the conversation.

He smiled that annoying smile again. The one that made you feel so inferior to him, the one that made it seem like he knew something you didn't.

"You asked me why I came back to England. Asked me what I was doing in therapy. My answer applies to both questions."

Intrigued, Hermione sat up a bit straighter, uncrossing her arms. "And what's that?"

He simply smiled again. I hate Slytherins, she thought.

"Have dinner with me," he commanded. "Tonight, at seven, at Ranaldi's." Stunned, she didn't even respond. He stood, grabbing up his coat and headed out the door. Blaise Zabini never would have taken no for an answer, even if she had given it. But she hadn't, and she sat on that couch in a daze until the clock rang again, shaking her from her state and reminding her that her time for lunch was growing less and less.

Standing, she grabbed her bag and headed out of her office, her mind racing. What in the hell just happened?