Just Another Casanova

Chapter 13

She started shaking again, with silent tears this time. He pulled her into him again, holding her so tightly she couldn't have broken free if she'd wanted to. After a minute, Hermione's limp arms reached up and grasped his shoulders, her head buried in his chest, his in her hair.

"Is it too late to tell you that?" a muffled voice asked.

She shook her head. "I've been waiting to hear it for five years. I would've waited an eternity and then some."

They pulled apart again. "Why did you never tell me?" he asked curiously.

"I didn't want you to think less of me."

"Oh, 'Mione, I could never think less of you."

She hiccoughed. "It's just...you've got me on this pedestal, Harry. I knew if I did anything that caused me to fall I'd shatter before your eyes and I would never be the same person to you."

"Believe it or not, I know you're not perfect. I took lives too, you know."

"They call you a hero, Harry. They would call me a murderer."

Her words hung in the air and Harry knew they were true. He just looked at her, wishing he could find the words, wishing there was something to say.

"This Alessandro bloke, did you tell him?"

She nodded fiercely.

"How many people do you need to forgive you before you can forgive yourself?" He rubbed a hand up and down her shoulder; his other was resting on her cheek.

"Actually," she smiled, "I feel a lot better now. I felt so good after Alessandro, but...still being your friend, still being your Hermione was apparently exactly what I needed to hear."

He reached out and pulled up her chin with his hand. He smiled slowly, sincerely. "You'll always be my Hermione," he responded simply.

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"Zabini, you're early and your clothes are wrinkled beyond repair," she scolded before he'd even made it in the doorway. Candles were alit around the room and there was a sweet aroma in the air. Hermione still had her apron around her waist; her clock still read five minutes 'till.

"Just be happy I'm wearing anything at all, love." He gently held her elbow and bent over and placed a soft kiss on her lips. "This is my last clean set of clothes and I was quite tempted to show up in my birthday suit."

She laughed, stepping back to let him into the flat.

"Here, I brought this," he said lazily, handing her a loaf of French bread.

She headed back to the kitchen, Blaise following closely. Three pans were boiling on the stove and a strainer full of pasta sat in the sink. Two empty jars of Prego pasta sauce sat on the counter next to a cheese grater.

"Running late, love?" he asked.

"I got home later than I thought I would. And I had to stop by the store and pick up a few things. Would you hand me that?" she asked, pointing to the grater over her shoulder. He picked it up and placed it in her waiting hands.

"Mm, muggle food," he bit out sarcastically.

"Shut it, Zabini. It's a nice Italian meal and I promise the stuff tastes just the same as when it's made with magical ingredients."

She was standing over the sink, shredding a block of provolone over the pasta. He came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist.

"Blaise," she said seriously, not pausing in her work.

"Just thought I could help," he answered innocently.

She snorted, but then smirked. "In that case, I'll let you set the table. Plates and cups are in the corner cupboard and silverware is below them in the drawer."

Blaise moaned and moved away to start his new task. The doorbell chimed. "You, stay," she ordered, wiping her hands on her apron. Mockingly, he saluted and began to pull plates down from above.

"I'm coming," Hermione hollered as she made her way to the door. She pushed her stubborn hair behind her ears before twisting the knob and pulling open the door.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, throwing her arms around the dinner guest.

"Hermione, I haven't seen you in forever," he remarked, peeling her off him.

"Shut up," she scolded, whacking him on the arm.

He rubbed his arm. "I'm going to have a bruise if you don't stop doing that."

"Then stop making stupid remarks," she said matter-of-factly.

He grinned. "But they just come so easily around you, 'Mione." She just smiled. He reached over and placed a kiss on her right cheek and put a box of chocolates in her hand. "For the cook," he whispered before pulling away.

"Are you two done snogging yet? I need to set the table." Blaise was leaning against the doorframe watching their interaction.

"Stop being a prat, Zabini," Hermione said, brushing past him back into the kitchen.

"If only you could heed that advice," Harry added, following into the kitchen as well.

"I'm so glad you invited Potter, darling," the Slytherin spat, heading to the dining room with a stack of plates and silverware floating behind him.

Hermione had just gotten all the dishes onto the table, the melted cheese still cooling on the top of the pasta and the loaf of bread still warm in the center, when the doorbell rang. She quickly untied her apron, tossing it to Harry in the kitchen as she headed for the door. Again, she fixed her hair before placing her palm on the cool, brass knob.

Swinging it open, her smile widened with the first glance of the tall Italian. His brown hair was dangling dangerously in front of his eyes. His brown suit complemented his tan complexion. A bottle of white wine was resting adorably in the crook of his arm and his eyes were shining warmly.

He smiled. "Hope I'm not late."

"Perfect timing as always," she replied.

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"I'm perfectly aware of your booming vineyards, Mr. Zabini. Your cousin works them now, correct?"

Blaise gave a stiff nod.

"Its fair wine, but this," he said, pouring another round into everyone's glasses, "is by far the best wine in Italy. It comes from a Sicily vineyard, which is very surprising, actually, but it is the sweetest wine you will forever taste." He finished off Harry's glass and then sat back down in his seat.

"It is excellent, Alessandro," Hermione chimed in politely. Their napkins were either on top of their plates or discarded to the side. Red sauce was all that was leftover on the dishes. Harry sat back in his seat, content and satisfied, cradling his wine glass in his hand. Blaise hadn't changed positions all night. He'd been rather quiet, which startled Hermione, watching Alessandro from a distance. Alessandro, rather, had been quite delightful all evening. Harry seemed to like him, but Hermione was still taken aback by Blaise's obvious disagreement with him.

"Blaise, would you like to help me clear some of these dishes?" she asked.

"We'll do it, Hermione, you cooked," Harry insisted.

"No, you stay put, Harry. I like you fine right there. Blaise can help me. Come on," she prodded, standing. Once they had a fair amount of the dishes gathered, the two headed to the kitchen. Hermione tossed them in the sink a bit roughly and tapped her foot while she waited for Zabini to finish putting his in.

"What?" he snapped, the clicking of her heels wearing on his nerves.

"Why don't you like him?"

He shrugged.

"You do too know," she barked. "You're either shagging some one or at war with them. Why can't you just be polite and friendly?"

"I'm actually a rather good socialist, thank you--and I don't mean the political party." He turned to face her. "I don't fancy Harry either, but you're not bothering me about him now, are you?"

"Well, you're at least being civil to him. I didn't expect you and Harry to be bosom buddies after so many years of dissent, but honestly, Blaise, you've been picking fights with Alessandro all evening."

"Have not," he fought back weakly and rather childishly. Her foot started tapping again. "I just don't like the bloke, okay? Though it seems you're rather fond of him."

"Yes, actually, I am," she bit back, uncrossing her arms from her chest. "He's a good guy and I owe him a lot."

"For what? For curing you? Hell, Granger, a good shag would've made you feel better!" He moved to lean against the counter. He scoffed. "Perhaps that was what he did to make you feel--"

"Oh, shove it!"

He moved fast, catching her off guard. Before she knew it he had her pinned against the fridge, the cold metal seeping through her thin, black dress.

"I know there will never be a you and I," he said through gritted teeth, "but that doesn't mean I don't deserve some damn respect."

She struggled against him. "Get off me, Zabini."

"I think that's a rather smart idea," a voice said from the doorway.

Blaise didn't even glance the intruder's direction. "This isn't your fight, Potter."

"Perhaps, you'd best head home, Zabini. You've had enough for tonight." Harry advanced on them slowly, his arms at his side calmly, his wand still tucked safely in his pocket.

"Stay the fuck away from me, Potter," he growled. Harry halted.

Hermione's breathing slowed. "Harry, go back to the dining room, I can handle this." She saw him hesitate and shot him a determined glance. Begrudgingly, Harry nodded and headed back to the other guest.

"You're upset and you've had a bit to drink. I'll take you home, Blaise." She tried to pull away from him again, but his grasp was just as tight as before.

"Tell me something, Granger," he demanded. "Why are you wasting your time with me?" His eyes bore into hers, still masked, like they had been all his life.

"I didn't think I was until this moment," she answered honestly.

Stunned, he pulled away, slowly releasing her. She rubbed the tender skin on her wrists.

"You don't love him," he stated a few moments later.

"No. How can I love someone I barely know? Someone I've just met?"

"I hear its possible"--he turned to face her again--"to love someone from the first moment."

"I don't believe that, but should that be the case, then you'll be happy to hear I have not find him yet." Hermione stood there, not daring to move.

He got closer again, but she didn't back away. "Could you ever love me, Hermione?" He pressed his forehead against hers and brushed her lips gently.

She diverted her eyes. Sure, Blaise was fun. He was charming, sophisticated, powerful, and rich; he fit nearly every criteria of her perfect guy. But she couldn't imagine spending forever with him. Not the way Harry had described it. A dead weight settled in her stomach.

Zabini smiled knowingly. "I figured as much," he said.

"Blaise, I'm so--"

"Don't," he stopped her. "Don't be sorry for me, Hermione. It was a fun run, for what it's worth. And if you wanna keep going I'd be more than willing to keep this up for a while. Who needs love anyway when you're a good shagger?"

She smiled. A loud laugh floated into the kitchen followed by the clinking of glasses. Hermione's smile widened at the sweet sound of Harry.

She looked at Blaise, his eyes understanding, his grin a little obnoxious. "What?"

"If only you knew, Granger, if only you knew."

She cocked an eyebrow and folded her arms back over her chest.

"You need to stop doing that," he commented smartly. "You don't have that much there the way it is...you really shouldn't be minimizing them."

She reached out and smacked him.

"Oye. You really need to find another way to express your anger, woman."

"What don't I know, Blaise?" she asked.

He headed back to the dining room, leaving her standing in the kitchen. He returned a minute later, shrugging back into his suit jacket and heading for the door. She followed him this time.

"What don't I know?"

"It's nothing I can explain to you, love. You'll realize it, in your own time. I just hope its sooner than later. Regret can be a bastard." He leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She fell into him, her arms finding his neck. He pulled away a short while later. Blaise rested his hand on the small of her back and pressed his lips against her ear, sending shivers up and down her spine. "Non sia impaurito di amore, il mio tesoro," he whispered.

He pulled back, opened the door, and stepped into the windy hallway. As the door clicked quietly into place, a voice called her from the dining room. She quickly gathered herself and headed back towards her other two guests, silently cursing herself for never learning Italian.