Just Another Casanova

Chapter 8

The weeks of September seemed like a blur to Hermione. Blaise hadn't really progressed anywhere in his sessions, but that was largely due to the fact that usually he didn't even spend them in the office. One afternoon he'd take Hermione out for coffee, the next he'd surprise her by taking her to a muggle movie theater. Nobody had ever made Hermione laugh so hard. The best part was that it was so relaxed. She wouldn't even specify it as a relationship. They went out, had fun, and sometimes they'd kiss goodnight. No strings attached. And despite the prince charmings, white horses, and romantic candlelit dinners she'd dreamed of when she was younger, she was content with the way things were going.

There'd been nothing but good news from Ginny. After her first day teaching, the letters had come flowing in. Though Ginny had always been a bright and bubbly girl, Hermione had never seen her so happy. According to Ginny her students were spectacular, the staff was excellent, and her French was progressing exceedingly, but Ginny always saw everything in the best light. Even if she was stressed and tired and her kids were whiny spoiled brats, she'd never say it. And, despite her subtle letters, Hermione hinted there was some kind of romance building between Ginny and the History of Magic professor, but she'd wait for Ginny to tell her before she accused the girl of anything.

And then there was Harry. Sweet, charming Harry. When Hermione wasn't with Blaise, she was with Harry. They both gave excuses that their lives had become less hectic, but they both knew that they were just making more time for each other, despite all their other priorities. Hermione's nights weren't filled with empty promises of love in the fantasy worlds of heroines and a cold, dry, supper. Hermione's life had hardly changed, but it kept her busy enough that she didn't notice how alone she was anymore.

It was a Sunday, but Hermione was in her office anyway, catching up on paperwork. There were bills to be paid, after all. Luckily, Lanette had come in early and kept her company for a while. She really was such a sweet girl, but sometimes she was so frail and shy Hermione just wanted to yell at her to liven up. She held back however, afraid the girl actually would break if she dared.

The tip of her pen paused and she looked out her large, glass window. It was one of those foggy, gray mornings--so common for London. The sun peeked out every now and then, but the fresh sent of unspent rain hung in the air and Hermione sensed that if she didn't get out of the office soon, she'd be walking home in the sky's tears.

Sighing, she finished off her sentence with a bold, black dot, and set her pen back on her desk. Pushing back her chair, she stood up, smoothing out a large crease in her shirt, and frowning at a newly discovered coffee stain. She yanked her light, black overcoat off the back of her chair and shrugged in over her shoulders, tying the sash around her waist.

Outside on the top step, she locked the door behind her with a simple spell and headed down the street, rubbing her hands together to fight off the invading fall wind. Her hair was blowing wildly in the wind and it made it difficult for Hermione to see where she was going--which is probably why she didn't see the large, brooding figure coming down the sidewalk and collided with him.

Still trying to pull the hair away from her face, Hermione took the still, faceless man's hand and pulled herself to her feet.

"Terribly sorry," he apologized immediately.

"Don't be," she insisted, brushing herself off. "It was my fault, I'm terribly clumsy." She finally brought her head up to a sparkling smile. The tan face and brown hair seemed awfully familiar to her, but she shrugged it off and offered a smile. "Thanks," she said at last.

He smiled again, his tall figure looming above her. He was young, with high cheekbones and gorgeous, blue eyes. When he spoke again, his accent became apparent and Hermione tried not to laugh as he stumbled a bit on his words.

"It was my p--pleasure. It's not every day you--I run into you...a beautiful girl." Hermione giggled despite herself, her fingers in a half circle around her lips. He bowed his head slightly and his cheeks were a bit red. "I'm afraid my English is not the best."

"No, that's not it at all," she insisted. "It's just...you seem really familiar to me."

"I would not have forgotten meeting you, Signorina."

She laughed again. "I believe you." She extended her arm. "Hermione Granger."

Instead of reaching out to shake it, he bent instead at the waist and placed a light kiss on it. Straightening up, he replied, "Alessandro Bianchi." *

Hermione smiled. Italian. Creasing her brow, she studied the color of his hair, his perfectly, almost annoyingly straight teeth, his high cheekbones, and his skin complexion. Memories of the past flew through her mind at an alarming rate and one face stuck. Giving a small gasp, she took a shaky step backward.

The memories overwhelmed her. First, the name clicked, and then she saw the old photograph, heard a deep laughing voice, and then the scream. Hermione's head was spinning and it took all she had to remain standing. Finally, after several deep breaths, Hermione met a worried face. It was time to run away.

"If you'll excuse me, I have to go. Thanks again for, err, helping me up and, again, I'm sorry." Maneuvering around him, she headed off down the sidewalk into the gray morning, her feet going twice as fast as usual.

"Attesa!" he called, jogging after her. Gently, he grabbed her arm, spinning her to face him. "Did I do something not right?" His face was so sad and confused and it caused Hermione's stomach to plummet with guilt.

"No." She shook her head vigorously, her eyes pleading for him to understand. "I just...I just have to go," she insisted again. She noted her hands were shaking and tucked them into her coat sleeves to ward them off from, what she convinced herself, was a consequence of the cold.

Alessandro's hand was still gently wrapped around her arm, keeping her from taking off down the street. She sighed, realizing she wasn't going anywhere. Grabbing his hand, she pulled them into a side alley so they were away from public eye. Leaning on the wall of a nearby brick building, she waited for him to say something.

"What is wrong, Miss Granger?"

"Hermione," she silently ordered. He nodded his head in understanding and asked the question again, using her first name instead.

A wind whipped down the alleyway and Alessandro shifted slightly nonchalantly. Nonetheless, Hermione noticed it wasn't just a natural shift, but an attempt to block the wind from her. She smiled. Stupid Italian chivalry, it's hard to forget.

"You say earlier I remind you of someone. Did you think of that person, is that why? Did they do something bad to you? Did they hurt you?" Alessandro's eyes searched his new acquaintance's face, forcing Hermione to look away from him.

"No, quite the opposite actually." She turned back to him now, searching his expression, trying to read someone she'd only just met.

"I don't hope for you to share with me if you are...uncomfortable." He reached out and placed a warm hand on her shoulder. She smiled in her mind, reminded yet again of the closeness of Italians.

"The truth is not nearly what I owe you, Alessandro." He became more and more confused by the moment, but offered Hermione an encouraging, kind smile all the same.

"Come," he insisted. "My flat is only one block away. I have hot cioccolato*," he coaxed. Hermione smiled and nodded her head, following him back onto the street and in the opposite direction she desperately wanted to run in.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

His flat was small, but warm. Hermione took a deep breath upon entering, taking in the faint smell of cinnamon and nutmeg. Boxes were scattered to and fro and it was obvious that Alessandro hadn't been in London long. Whispering to his wand, he illuminated a light in the kitchen and Hermione followed him onto the dark, wooden floor, untying her sash, but not daring to remove her coat. She needed to be ready for a quick getaway if this all went terribly wrong.

He gestured for her to sit down at the small, square table in one of the four chairs. The kitchen walls were a light toffee color, calming her racing heart. Perching herself on the edge of the chair, she watched patiently as he filled a teapot with water and placed it on the stove, starting a fire under it with a wandless spell. Slightly impressed, she raised her eyebrows. He was powerful, just like the person he reminded her of so much, the face that still hung over her when she fell asleep at night--which was often why she did not fall asleep at all.

He left her and returned to the hallway where they'd entered, returning less than a minute later minus his jacket and scarf. They remained silent while they waited for the water to boil; Alessandro was finding odd little tasks to do around the kitchen, his faced etched with a growing concern. Hermione didn't blame him, as she sat watching him. Up until ten minutes ago they'd been strangers, and here she was about to reveal one of her darkest secrets to him, something she hadn't even told Harry.

The whistle of the teapot made Hermione give a small jump. As Alessandro emptied the water into two large mugs and pulled chocolate mix down from a nearby cupboard, Hermione's breath began to come in raspy, short jolts. Whipping her eyes quickly around the room, she heard him settle himself quietly into the seat across from her. She looked down just as he placed the cup with a small clap in front of her on the table. Even Hermione's long coat sleeves could not hide her trembling as she looked into his only asset that set him apart from a face she would never forget.

"I'm not going to sugar coat this," she spit out, choking slightly on her words. "What I have to tell you will cause you to hate me for eternity, I'm sure of it."

He tried to give her another encouraging smile, but it faltered, leaving Hermione with only the sympathy that shone through his eyes. Hermione knew when she was done relating her story that those eyes would be ice, his face stone, and his kind, carefree manner hateful and caustic.

With a deep, shaky breath, she picked up her mug and took a small sip, letting the hot liquid burn her tongue. Replacing it with a clatter on the table, she rubbed the bridge of her nose with her forefinger and thumb, praying she was anywhere but here right now. Time to face the music.

* In Italian, the 'ch' sound makes the same sound as a 'k' in English. His last name would be pronounced Bee-ahn-kee. However, in Italian, the letter 'c' followed by either 'i' or 'e', makes the 'ch' sound. The word cioccolato would be pronounced chee-oh-koh-lah-toh.