Just Another Casanova

Chapter 11

Alessandro took her out to lunch the following Tuesday. Lanette's questioning eyes followed her all the way out the door, but she couldn't hide the shy smile that came when he took up her hand in his as they walked down the street to the café on the corner. It was a beautiful sunny day; everything was clean, fresh, forgiving from the rainfall. A bird was singing from a nearby tree.

She closed her eyes as they made their way down the sidewalk and let him guide her. The warmth from the sun felt so good on her eyelids and she stared through a shade of red towards the sky. Hermione Granger hadn't felt this good--this relieved--in a long while.

Opening her eyes, she caught him grinning at her. Her cheeks reddened a little and she stepped in front of him and into the café before he could say anything.

The lunch date passed smoothly. Not one word was uttered about Marcello; instead, they spent the whole hour just talking. She told him of her distant dream to open a bookstore named after her best seller--a feat she didn't believe would ever happen. He explained to her the difference between red and white wine and showed her how to test the sweetness of the wine by tipping the cup to look at the legs. She told him all about Harry, the boy that'd been there for her since they were eleven. He showed her his impersonation of the ex-Minister Fudge. She told him about her parents' tragic death during Voldemort's reign. He went into detail about why he loved Italy--from the sun reflecting off the Trevi to the wine orchards of Tuscany.

She snorted about halfway through so hard her martini almost came out her nose. He laughed at her every time she obsessed over where her food was placed on her plate or fussed with her napkin position on her lap. She scowled when he mocked the British accent. He taught her a few cuss words in Italian. She burst out in a scream when she fell off her chair. He shook his head every time she covered her mouth when she laughed. She stared at him when he wasn't looking. He tried to read her eyes and find the woman behind the mask.

Before long it was time to part. Alessandro dropped her off at her building and watched her walk up the three steps. She turned with one hand on the door.

"Alessandro," Hermione called almost hesitantly.

He raised his eyebrows questioningly. "Yeah?"

"Would you like to come to my place for dinner tomorrow night? I'll show you just how bad of a cook I really am."

He smiled. "I'd love to come. I'll bring the wine."

She laughed and quickly ducked into the building, pausing in the doorway to take a deep breath. As she walked back towards her office--Lanette's eyes again following her, questioning--she saw the door propped open. Here we go.

She pushed her chest out to help her walk taller and placed her chin at that proud, but friendly level, and entered her office.

"Morning," he greeted her from the couch.

She closed the door behind her with her heel and proceeded to her desk. "Hello," she said happily in greeting, tucking her bag under her desk.

"You seem happier this morning. You haven't seen me all weekend so I know it's not due to over-exposure of my charmingly good looks." He stood and came up behind her, encircling her tiny waist in his arms. "What brings about this charming side to you? What happened to my depressed little mudblood?"

She tried to slap him for the term, but he held her tight, dragging her to the couch, mumbling an apology on the way. He sat in the middle of the couch--as always--and pulled her onto his lap.

"Therapy," Hermione answered simply.

He raised his eyebrows. "But we haven't had our session yet--"

"Not your therapy--mine." She slid off him and settled into the sofa cushion beside him. "I ran into someone this weekend...literally. Turns out I know him...kind of. It's a long story, but I think I'm finally moving on."

Blaise's eyes were full of curiosity and (could it be?) jealousy.

"Something happened during the war, something I'd rather not go into detail about. Anyway, it had to do with his brother. We sat down, talked, and he's finally helping me lift this weight, this guilt, I've carried around with me so long."

Possessively, he placed his hand on her knee. "Why didn't you come to me with this?"

Her excitement faded a little and she looked over at him. "It's not something I go around parading. It's not something I'm proud of. But he was his brother and he had a right to know."

"I'm so confused, Hermione."

Hermione took a deep breath. She knew Zabini deserved the truth, but despite the fact that she didn't feel nearly as guilty for the incident, she didn't want everyone to know what she really was. "All you need to know is something happened to his brother in the war and the only person that knew the truth about it until now was me."

His hollow eyes searched hers. Blaise had become more sincere over the past weeks, but he was still a Slytherin and the scrutinizing sent chills up and down her spine. "You can tell me, you know that, right?"

She nodded, but turned her head away all the same. "I just don't want you to think less of me."

"And does this bloak think less of you since you told him?" Blaise pushed a midnight curl out of his face.

Hermione turned to him. "Actually, no."

She could tell the man beside her was becoming slightly frustrated now, angry even. "And you really think I'm a worse person than him? That I'd think less of you?"

She hiccoughed loudly from nerves. "No, but I don't want you to know what I really am."

He gently pushed some hair behind her ear and pulled her against him, wrapping his arms around her shoulders. She tilted her head up and planted a light kiss on his lips. Soon after they pulled apart his lips crushed against hers again, not releasing her until they were both desperate for air.

"And what's that, love?"

She gulped and closed her eyes. "A murderer."

She explained the story to him, though not in as much depth as she had to Alessandro. And, surprisingly enough, she didn't cry this time and she didn't beg for forgiveness; she just threw it all out there on the table. As she finished off her last word, she waited anxiously. He would either do one of two things: stand up and walk out the door or comfort her.

They sat in silence for a minute as he soaked it all in and then he spoke slowly. "Hermione, I'm a Slytherin. I grew up around the kids of death eaters, future death eaters, traitors; yet I still called a few my friends and I still saw them as good people, though that may be hard for you to believe. We both know I'm not perfect. I have a few secrets in my past. I helped Malfoy cast that nasty spell on Neville seventh year."

Her eyes widened and she sat up. "But you were Head Boy!"

"Don't act so shocked, Miss Granger. You should know by now I don't follow rules. Take for example now. I'm pretty sure there's a handbook somewhere that suggests you don't shag your therapist on her couch in the middle of the day."

She looked up at him suspiciously and pulled away. "But you haven't."

He shrugged. "Not yet."

She snorted and reached over and smacked him.

"Ow." He pulled back and sheltered his arm, pretending to be hurt.

"You don't hate me, then?" She had to know.

"I must say I'm actually relieved to discover you're human." She rolled her eyes but her face was still trouble. He scooted closer to him and put his warm hand on her cheek. "They tricked you, Hermione. You were simply doing what you thought was best for the Order, for your people, and for yourself. There's no shame in choosing duty over love."

She gasped, knowing well enough she'd left her and Marcello's relationship out of the story.

He smirked. "Like I didn't know. I know everything there is to know about love. Why else would it have hurt you so?"

She pulled her knees up under her. Neither had glanced at the clock and it was most likely well past the hour, but she had no appointments coming and no place to run off to.

"You claim to know so much about love, Zabini." She reached out and played with one of his curls, twisting it around her pointer finger. "Yet I wonder if you know anything at all."

He jumped at her then, pushing her down onto the couch and trapping her in the cushions. She knew this was his way of avoiding the topic, but completely forgot about it a moment later when his lips found the soft skin on her neck. She moaned quietly. A month ago she never would have imagined herself here, in this moment--least of all with Blaise Zabini.

"Do you want to come to dinner tomorrow night? He'll be there," she managed to get in, her hormones in overdrive. He broke away just long enough to agree to her invitation before he starting picking at her blouse buttons, shutting her up for good.