Just Another Casanova

Chapter 15

A rainy fall faded into a windy winter. Snow dotted the ground here and there, but the most trouble winter gave London was a fierce wind that howled in the middle of the night and stung your nose.

Things had been running smoothly in Hermione's life. Blaise hadn't moved anywhere. He still showed up for his therapy lessons, grinning and always left, leaving her grinning. Her and Harry got together for a fantastic dinner a few nights a week, alternating who cooked. They'd sip wine, revel in long lost memories, and delve into conversations neither dared share with anyone else. And Alessandro. The quirky Italian had become her new bar mate. Saturday nights were reserved for muggle sports bars, lots of beer, and, she'd admit, some light flirting.

Hermione was content with her life, but as Christmas drew nearer, she grew anxious. She knew the invitation would be coming. She hated to turn it down again, but she just couldn't face the Weasleys yet. Molly invited her to the Burrow for Christmas every year and Hermione always invented a creative excuse to get out of it. To be around that many memories of Ron...she just couldn't. Sometimes, it was too hard just to be around Ginny.

Sure enough, December 15^th, the invitation came by owl. Her hand sat poised over the paper nearly all morning before she set the tip to the top of the page.

Molly,

Thank you, once again, for your wonderful invitation. As always, I'm delighted you've all thought of me. Thank you for keeping me in your thoughts. I assure you, you're all in mine, as are Ron, Fleur, and Mr. Weasley.

I'll be sending you all Christmas gifts, though I wouldn't hold out much hope at receiving them before Christmas or even on the day. Life prove hectic, like always, which is why I must again inform you that, contrary to my wishes, I can't make it to Christmas this year.

A good friend of my mum and dad's just passed and the funeral is near Christmas. I'll be in the States during Christmas, comforting the daughter, a good friend of mine.

I hope you all have a wonderful Christmas without me. Perhaps next year we'll get lucky. Give my love to Bill and the kids, Charley, Fred and Angelina, George, Ginny, and anyone else that you've graciously opened your home up to.

Always.

Love,

Hermione

She set the pen down with a steady hand. She hated lying to Mrs. Weasley, she was practically their mother--hers and Harry's--but she just couldn't face that many redheads in one place.

She folded the letter, creasing the folds tightly, sealed it with her business 'H,' and tucked it into the owl's beak. She watched as the beautiful brown creature took out into the sunny afternoon, his wings flapping steadily. Hermione took a deep breath and released it, pushing herself away from her desk and standing. Before leaving for lunch she looked back out the window towards the horizon. The bird was gone.

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After nine days, Hermione's guilt had worn away. In fact, she had almost completely forgotten about the letter and the lie she'd sent to the sweetest woman in the world. Which is probably why the events of Christmas Eve morning came as such a surprise.

Stretching, she rolled out of bed and pulled open the curtains. Bright sunlight flooded into the room, chasing out the sleeping shadows. A bureau lay in the corner, three neat stacks of papers laying on top and a decorative Japanese lamp guarding the corner. Hermione's glasses were on her nightstand on top of her favorite read, Wurthering Heights, and a half empty glass of water sat next to it. A queen-sized bed sat in the middle, leaving just enough carpet to waltz around it. The comforter was a light lilac and the pillows a bleached white. A dark, cherry bookshelf was pushed up against the far corner, books squeezed into their place by author's last name. Everything was cleanly dusted and put in its place, just how Hermione liked it.

She yawned and headed towards the bathroom, her feet leaving soft indentions in the beige carpet. A hasty rap at the door stopped her.

She moaned, turned on her heel, and headed in the opposite direction. "Coming," she hollered. The door burst open before she'd even gotten there, however, and revealed a very excited, yet frustrated, young man.

Harry Potter entered the room and propped his trunk carefully against the wall. He shut the door and started towards her, yanking off his gloves.

"Harry," Hermione exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck. "What are you doing here?"

Her friend didn't return the hug, however. She pulled back and looked at him with questioning eyes.

"Go get dressed, 'Mione, and throw some things in your trunk."

Hermione stayed put, dumbfounded.

The boy gave his friend a comforting smile. "Come on."

"Why?" she asked.

He sighed. "I promised I wouldn't let you run from your demons any longer." He began yanking her towards the bedroom.

"Harry, wait, what do you want?" She tried to resist him, but he was too strong. He got her into the bedroom and closed the door behind them. Without a word he dug her trunk out from under her bed and tossed it on top of the messy covers.

"Don't make me pack this for you, you know I'm terrible at these things. Besides, feminine products make me a little...uncomfortable."

Hermione stifled a giggle. "All this time around me; I'd think you'd be used to it."

"Yeah, well...."

"Harry, I'm not going anywhere until you tell me what the meaning of this intrusion is. Gives a whole new meaning to Christmas charity." She shifted so she was hip-sitting, her arms folded across her chest, her bare foot tapping quietly on the carpet.

"Bodies can only go so long before they decay," he said simply. "They would've buried your friend's dad by now. Why are you still here?"

Shit, was Hermione's only thought.

"That's what I thought." He started pacing the room until he'd put the bed between them. "Every year you've come up with some decorative excuse. I never believed you, but I let you have your space, tried to understand your reasons; but not this year, Hermione Granger. You're coming with me to the Burrow if I have to force you."

She clucked her tongue. "I recall you telling me a few months back you're not magically stronger than me, even on your best day, and especially when I'm pissed off. Well, I'm slightly steamed right now and I really don't think you're going to make me do anything."

He smirked at the challenge. "Wanna bet?"

She shook her head as he started bustling around the room, throwing open drawers and tossing stuff into her trunk, including her black panties to which she let go a small 'oh!' "I'm not going anywhere, Harry."

"Who says this stuff's for you?" he asked cockily, dragging products out of her bathroom by the drawerful and tossing it into her bag. "Who says I don't like wearing black panties and lots of"--he glanced at the top of a tube of lipstick--"ruby red?"

She snorted at his sarcasm. "Harry, I'm serious, I'm not going!"

He shut the trunk and locked it. "Good, you give the worst gifts anyway."

She shrieked. "I do not! I've given you some very useful presents in the past!"

He smirked, levitating the trunk towards the door. "You're right; your books are very useful for lopsided tables," he replied, winking.

She harrumphed. "Maybe if you actually read one of them--"

"Hermione, shut up," he ordered softly, coming up next to her.

Her feet remained planted. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

Harry just kept grinning. His eyes were shining and he rose his eyebrows triumphantly and Hermione heard herself gulp. As her favorite redhead would say: bloody hell.