Just Another Casanova

Chapter 12

Hermione had cancelled all her appointments Wednesday afternoon without hesitation when Harry had invited her to a football game. As much as she loved the magical word and all the new adventures that had come with it, there was something soothing about spending time in the world they'd come from--her and Harry.

She whistled 'Embraceable You' as she made her way quickly up the steps to Harry's flat. Outside, a few raindrops started to hit the ground; the fresh smell of rain was overwhelming. Stopping in front of his door, she gave a short, loud rap before pushing it open. Light flooded in from the open living room windows, but the rain was picking up now and the soft pitter-patter hit the glass, a clap of thunder following soon after.

"Harry," she hollered, heading towards the bedroom.

He met her in the hallway, closing the door quickly behind him. "It's kind of a mess," he explained.

She laughed and headed back towards the kitchen. "You still want to go to the game?" she asked, cocking her head toward the windows.

He shrugged. "As much fun as it is to watch a muddy match I don't really feel like sitting in the rain all afternoon."

"Me either," she agreed. "But I did clear my whole schedule."

He opened up a cupboard and reached up to a shelf Hermione would have needed a chair for. "Tea?" he offered.

Hermione fell into a kitchen chair and shrugged in consent. "So," she sighed, starting a conversation while Harry boiled the water, "What are you doing tonight?"

He sat down across from her. "Nothing so far. Why? Finally gained the courage to ask me out?"

He grinned and she reached over the table to smack him on the arm. "No, conceited, I wanted to know if you wanted to come to dinner?"

"In many parts of the world, that's considered a date, 'Mione." He laughed.

She glared at him. "Well, it won't be just me and you there."

His grin faded. "Oh."

She shifted, sitting up straight. "Blaise's coming."

"Oh, your boyfriend."

"He is not my boyfriend. He's just a friend...who sometimes takes me out."

Harry snorted. "Fine, whatever. Do you honestly want me and Zabini in the same room?" He stood to fetch two cups from the sink, drying them with a towel. The clock chimed in the living room and they waited for both rings before Hermione answered.

"There'll be someone else there. I think you'll really like him."

"A blind date, 'Mione? Thanks, but I'll pass. I know I don't date very often, but I didn't think I was giving off signals I was--"

"Shut up, Harry," she scolded before he could finish his sentence. "I wasn't insinuating anything and you can stop playing with my words, you prat. He's a recent acquaintance, but he's become a very good friend in such a short amount of time."

"Who is he?"

"I'm not going to let you research him," she warned, knowing Harry often used his fame and connections to get otherwise untouchable information. Harry threw her a pouty look, causing her to snort.

"His name's Alessandro," she said. "He's Italian. That's all you need to know."

Harry raised his eyebrows. He was leaning against the counter now and crossed his arms in front of his chest. "I'm sure he's nothing then. I know you can't resist a charming Italian."

Hermione gulped thickly and diverted her eyes. The teapot started to whistle on the stove and Harry quickly turned to attend to it. Using a towel, he held the handle and poured the smoldering liquid into two blue mugs. He placed the kettle back on the stove, grabbed the two cups, and set them carefully on the table--one in front of her and one in front of himself. He grabbed an ice cube from the freezer and tossed it into his tea--a habit Hermione had never understood--before settling back into the chair.

"Harry, it's his brother."

Harry met her eyes, his grip tightening temporarily on his mug. "Marcello's?"

She nodded. "I ran into him last weekend. He's in London for a while. He's a really, really good guy."

Harry agreed, "If he's anything like his brother, I don't doubt it. It's not fair what happened to Marcello," he said before he could stop himself.

Hermione closed her eyes, a nauseous feeling welling up in the pit of her stomach. She knew she should tell Harry. He deserved the truth. She'd told a complete stranger, she'd told Zabini! Harry was her best friend; there was no way he wouldn't understand. But somehow, even though the negatives overruled the positives in her mind, she couldn't bring herself to do it. She had to be Miss Perfect around him, Know-It-All Granger. For Harry, she had to be flawless. She couldn't bear to be lowered in his eyes, not even if he, too, was a murderer.

And what defines a murderer? Many call Harry a hero. He had saved the wizarding world. He took a few lives to save hundreds. But yet he had still taken those lives. Hermione had taken one to save them as well, or so she had thought. What made her and Harry so different? They had both stopped a heart. They had both whispered those two deadly words. They had both lost sleep at night, tossing and turning, plagued by the pale face of their victim. Yet, Hermione would always be a murderer and Harry always the hero.

She stood suddenly, knocking into the table and shaking the sitting cups. "I'm sorry, Harry, I have to go."

Harry stood slowly. "Hermione?"

She shook her head and started for the door. "I just remembered I have lots to do back at the office, I shouldn't have left Lanette alone. The ceiling's probably dripping again and I'm sure there are some files that need...well...filing. Thanks for the tea, 'Arry, but I really have to go." She fumbled with the doorknob, twisting and turning it, but the door wouldn't budge.

His tall figure came up behind her and he reached over, resting his hand gently on top of hers, stopping her trembling hands. "What are you running from 'Mione? What did I do?"

"Nothing, absolutely nothing." She sighed. All these emotional breakdowns were wearing on her and she fell against the door, leaning on it for support. "I just really have to go."

"Then go."

For some reason still foreign to her, she started crying, the first tear slowly trickling down her cheek until it dropped off her chin. "The door won't open," she said in a whiny, high-pitched voice. She turned around again and desperately pulled at the door, yanking it with all her might, but still it didn't budge. She reached into her robes to fetch her wand, but her hands were sweating and she couldn't find it in her pockets. She reached again for the doorknob, pulling it with all her might. Finally, she changed tactics and stepped back from the door before throwing her weight against it full force. Harry was tempted to just reach out and undo the lock and end her misery, but he didn't want her to leave, not like this.

After the third attempt, she sank to the floor hysterical. She felt strong arms circle her. She leaned into the figure, soaking his Manchester United jersey, her chewed fingernails grasping at the number '8.' He stroked her hair, pulling her tighter and tighter against him; afraid if he let go she'd fall apart.

"'Mione, it's okay," he whispered soothingly.

She finally pulled back, her bloodshot eyes searching her face. "But it's not, Harry. And for once in my life, I'm ready to admit it."

They sat there, on the floor, just like that. He didn't dare to let go of her and she didn't try to pull away. The tears had stopped coming, but Hermione was still shaking, and both of their minds were reeling. Harry's legs were starting to go numb, but he didn't dare move. He'd been in worse pain for lesser reasons. Hermione just stared at the wall, moving her eyes every once in a while back to Harry just to check on him before returning to her reverie. Finally, the clock struck three, shaking them both.

Harry rose to his feet, bringing Hermione up with him--he still didn't want to let go. "What is it, 'Mione?"

She bit her bottom lip, willing she'd just suddenly wake up in her own bed. In a barely audible whimper she stated, "I didn't love him."

"Who? Marcello?"

She nodded. "The worse part is I just realized it. I never loved him, not like he deserved. Not like he loved me." Her sad eyes met his bright green orbs. "Is that fair?"

Harry gave a sad smile. "Life is rarely fair and never nice."

She nodded again slowly, dazed. "This man gave his whole heart to me, but as I look back on it, I realize I never felt quite as strongly."

"There's nothing wrong with that, 'Mione."

"He died loving me, never knowing I didn't love him back! There's something very wrong about that, Harry." She shivered and pulled away from his body a little, still remaining in his embrace.

"I believe everyone deserves to love someone. Marcello loved you. He died loving you."

"But does not everyone deserve to be loved back?"

Harry sighed. "You loved him as much as you could. He wasn't the one you were supposed to spend the rest of your life with, 'Mione. Marcello died in love, and so will you. It wouldn't have been fair if you had loved him and he had died, leaving you to dwell in loneliness for so many years. You'll find the man you give your whole heart too."

She clenched her eyes shut, scrunching up her face. "And what if he doesn't love me back, like I couldn't love Marcello?"

"Marcello died in love, believing he was loved--which he was, by us all. But you are meant for so much more. You're going to have a deeper love, a truer love, a lifetime with the man you're meant to be with. It was unfortunately a destiny Marcello was never meant to have. He should be so lucky to have loved you and to have been loved by you, even if your love was not as great." Harry reached out and cupped her face in his large, calloused hand. She closed her eyes and leaned into it.

"Perhaps you're right, Harry. But I still can't help feeling like I cheated him of something. Like I lied to him."

"He would never want you to feel so. Even if you did, he's long forgiven you." He pulled his hand back and returned it to its spot on her shoulder.

"Do you believe there's something after this, Harry?"

He smiled. "I do. And I believe Marcello's there waiting for us. And no matter what you did, Hermione, he'll be so happy to see you. After all, 'If God is so great to forgive a murderer with his last breaths--"

"We could all strive to be so great and grant others the same forgiveness,'" she finished. "Marcello loved telling us that. He was a great man."

Harry nodded. "He was."

She finally pulled away, his arms falling limply to his sides. "Harry, there's something else I have to tell you." She paused. "I--"

"I know," he answered swiftly before she could voice her thoughts.

Hermione's eyes widened considerably. "What?...How?... Who?...."

Harry pressed a finger to her trembling, pale lips. "I saw you." He stopped and took a deep breath. "I saw you heading towards the kitchen; you were crying, I thought maybe you were hurt, and I followed you."

"You saw it all? Why didn't you stop me?!" Hermione had passed from hysterical to calm to royally pissed off far too fast for Harry.

"How was I to know the accusations you made against him were any more false than you? I know you; you'd never do anything rash without a good reason. Besides, you're much more powerful than me, 'Mione, especially when you're pissed off. I couldn't have stopped you."

"Why didn't you say anything afterwards? When everyone was cursing the death eaters, why didn't you tell them it was me?" Her face was red and her voice was rising. Harry closed his eyes.

"I could never do that. You made a mistake, that's all."

"No, Harry, that wasn't all! I've been tormenting myself for five years over Marcello's death. I cried myself to sleep for months! I couldn't eat and I couldn't drag myself out of bed in the morning. Where were you when I needed you? Even if you were enough of a man to forgive me, you should've been there to console me. You should've been there to tell me I wasn't a murderer!"

"Hermione...I...." But Harry was rendered speechless. He just put his head in his hands; Hermione's sobs filling his ears and clouding his mind. The guilt was pressing down on him.

"'Mione," he spoke at last, "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I couldn't be the friend you deserved. But with Ron's death and all the funerals and then the journalists and the fame, I...I just don't know how good of a friend I would have been anyway."

She reached up and pulled his hands away from his face, holding them in her own. The tears had stopped now, but her eyes were still glistening. "All you had to do was tell me it wasn't my fault."

He tore his hands from her and held her face. Pulling her nearer to him, he placed a gentle kiss near her left temple. "It wasn't your fault, Hermione," he whispered in her ear. "It was never your fault."