Razorblade Romance

"I don't understand how you Muggles can travel on those things," Blaise grumbled as he searched through his pockets. They were standing in front of an enormous manor, suitcases on the ground.

"Still whining about the flight?" Hermione commented. She wiped the sweat off her forehead with the back of her palm, desperately wishing that the sun would go away. "How can you be wearing trousers in this weather? It must be more than thirty degrees out!"

"I don't like showing my legs. Besides, there are such things as Cooling Charms," Blaise answered, still looking through his pockets. Hermione gaped at him.

"Cooling Charms? Blaise, we're in Naples, Italy! There are Muggles!"

"I've been of age for four years, Hermione. I know how to cast spells without the Muggles noticing." He cursed under his breath in frustration. "Where is this damn thing--Bollocks--Oh, here it is!"

Blaise finally pulled his hands out of his pocket, producing a small, silver key. Hermione refrained from smacking him in the back of the head as he placed it into the lock and turned.

"You're free to use magic in here," Blaise began as they stepped inside. "It's protected with a number of charms my uncle put on it. If Muggles see any sign of magic, they're Obliviated right away. It's Unplottable, because there aren't any manor houses in Naples. There are Muggle-repelling charms everywhere. You'll notice that we're kind of in the slums--the Mafia controls this entire city. Lots of crime and poverty here."

Clutching her suitcase, Hermione craned her neck up and looked around. The front room was enormous, mirrors on the walls and fine wood under her sandals. The ceiling was high above the floor.

"I expect you'll want to sleep after the flight," Blaise continued, gesturing to a magnificent staircase. "Choose any room you like. I have the master bedroom downstairs, if you need me. There's a bathroom upstairs, too. First door on your left."

"When will I start working?" Hermione asked, beginning to walk towards the staircase.

"Whenever you like. I'll be downstairs if you need me." With that, Blaise marched off down the corridor.

Well. He obviously didn't know how to treat guests, Hermione mused. She walked up the staircase, her suitcase hanging in the air beside her. She poked her head into the bathroom, which looked to be the size of a prefect's bathroom at Hogwarts.

Closing the door to the bathroom, she continued her walk along the corridor and opened the next door she saw.

"Wow," she breathed, stepping inside eagerly. The walls were pure white, and a large Oriental rug covered most of the hardwood floor. An enormous bed was placed in the centre of the room against the wall, covered in a purple duvet and five pillows. The dresser was a dark, reddish-colour, and Hermione immediately began unpacking her suitcase.

When she was done, Hermione stood, wincing as her knees cracked from being in a crouched position for so long. She didn't really want to get some rest; she had gotten enough sleep on the plane. Perhaps she should get started...

Where had Blaise said that the artefacts were kept? In the attic? Yes, that was it...

Grabbing her wand, Hermione stepped out of her room into the corridor. She looked up at the ceiling as she walked, looking for some sort of trapdoor that would lead into the attic. Ah! There it was...

Hermione reached up and grasped the thin, black cord. She tugged sharply, and then jumped aside as a ladder fell smoothly from the ceiling. Keeping her wand out, she climbed up the ladder into the attic.

It was actually quite spacious, for a room close to the roof. It was covered in cardboard boxes, all labelled clearly in black marker. Things I Stole, Egypt, and Greece were the ones nearest. Deciding to ignore Things I Stole for the moment, Hermione plopped down onto the floor and opened up one of the boxes marked Egypt.

The first thing she pulled out was a wooden stool. Its seat looked to be made of woven rush, and it had three legs. Hermione frowned. What could be cursed about this? It was just a chair!

Sighing, Hermione slid the stool under her to sit on--the floor was far too dusty for her liking. She pawed through the rest of the box.

Jewellery seemed to be the main object in this box. There were earrings, bracelets, anklets, rings, and beaded necklaces inside. Hermione peered at them, trying to figure out the material. A pair of dark earrings looked to be made of onyx...there was some gold, of course, and turquoise seemed to be popular as well.

Pushing those aside, Hermione looked through the rest of the content: a pair of sandals, made of braided papyrus; a small statuette of Anubis; and pieces of linen, obviously for clothing.

"Working already?" said a voice. Hermione looked over the box to see Blaise climbing up the trapdoor, brushing dust off his clothing.

"Yes. I figured I'd start early," Hermione answered, tucking a stray piece of hair behind her ears as she fingered the statue of Anubis. "This is beautiful..."

Blaise made a noncommittal sound that seemed to signify agreement. "Do you know what Anubis's duty was?"

"To judge a person's good and bad deeds on Earth," Hermione recited. "He weighed the heart of every person on the Scale of Justice. If your heart was lighter than the feather, you could go on to the afterlife."

"You've done your research," Blaise commented.

"Bill quizzes me every day. He says that if you're going to be working with things from the past, you might as well know your history." Hermione placed the statue of Anubis back in the box, and picked out one of the pieces of linen. "This belonged to a wealthy man. You can tell by the gold threads."

"What's it called?" Blaise asked, crouching on the floor beside her. "The linen, I mean."

"A shenti, I think. It's basically a loincloth."

"Interesting."

Hermione folded the shenti and dropped it back into the box. "I think I'll come back later and work on these. I'll need my books to check for hexes. Are you going to give these to a museum?"

"Most of it, yeah," Blaise replied. "I'm going to try and find the rightful owners of the things in the Stuff I Stole box, though." He stood. "I was thinking about supper. Would you like anything?"

Hermione shrugged. "Whatever you're having, I suppose."

"Pasta it is, then." Blaise extended his hand, offering to help her stand. Hermione took it, and he pulled her up. To her surprise, the stool came with her--as though it was glued to her bottom!

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, reaching behind to grab the chair and give it a hard tug. "Come off--you--stupid--little--thing--"

"You sat on a cursed item," Blaise said flatly. Hermione whirled around to face him, and saw that his eyes were alight with amusement. "Goodness, Hermione. I'd think you were far more professional than this."

Hermione knew her cheeks were burning bright red with embarrassment. She ducked her head down as she fumbled for her wand.

"Modern magic won't work," Blaise told her, grasping the wrist that was holding her wand. She hesitantly looked up to face him again. He was biting his lip sharply, as though he was trying not to laugh. "If you had given it a more...thorough investigation, you would have seen this..."

Blaise's hand snaked down her back, sending shivers throughout her body. She fought not to tremble as his palm was placed firmly on the small of her back, his fingers tapping against the chair. She felt him press something, and the wooden stool fell to the ground.

"I had a similar experience," Blaise murmured. Their bodies were very close. Hermione swallowed. She could feel the heat radiating off him. "Luckily, I was eight, and my uncle was still alive."

Abruptly, he stepped away. "You can toss the salad while I make the pasta."

"Okay," Hermione nearly whimpered, and followed him down the stairs.

* * *

Hermione lay in bed that night, unable to sleep. It had been three weeks since she arrived in Italy. She had finished sorting through the Egypt and France box in that time, with no mistakes after the wooden stool incident her first day. She had begun with the Greece box, which had been her favourite so far. Ancient Greece had always fascinated her.

The only words Blaise had spoken to her were, "Morning, Hermione" when he saw her at breakfast, "Night, Hermione" after supper, and the occasional, "How's work going?"

It frustrated her beyond no means.

At school, Blaise had been the boy she admired from afar. A Slytherin, yes, but so handsome. He had been a kind boy, and didn't fit into Draco's little gang. Blaise had chosen Millicent and Theodore to be his friends, and they had been as close-knit as Hermione had been with Ron and Harry. He was smart--not the book smarts that Hermione had, but the intelligence that comes naturally. Kind, too, especially to the younger students. No wonder he'd become Head Boy.

When Hermione had received the letter telling her that she had been picked for Head Girl, Fred and George had told her that the Head Boy and Girl shared rooms. Imagine her disappointment to realise that they were on opposite sides of the school...and that when they discussed their duties at the school, there was no time to plan Seducing in any form.

So, Hermione had continued to watch from a distance. She cried silently at night when Blaise had a brief fling with a girl from Ravenclaw, then grinned madly as he broke up with her after Arithmancy class. She nearly passed out in excitement for the Leaving Ball--it was going to be her chance to finally "get with" Blaise Zabini, to quote Lavender and Parvati. But they had only danced once--the opening song--and then he had left the Ball entirely.

It was rather silly of her to keep yearning for Blaise all these years, Hermione knew. It had been three years since they had all left Hogwarts. One of them had been spent moping around her house, eating ice cream and watching movies. Voldemort was dead--there was no need to stick by Harry for emotional support as he pondered his fate. There were a few Death Eaters still on the run, but the Aurors were dealing with that. When Hermione had offered her help to the Ministry, Kingsley had assured her that there was no need. After all, there were many new recruits to the Auror Academy. So, Hermione had retreated to her Muggle flat and the movies.

She had been lucky that Ron had spoken with Bill, who had offered her a job in his curse-breaking freelance firm--charms had always been her speciality. Otherwise, she would have kept sulking around her house--and continuing to gain weight with each carton of ice cream. Work had helped ease the pain...The fact that there was no one special in her life, that the Ministry didn't need her help, that Blaise Zabini wouldn't have looked at her with longing.

But then Terry Boot had sent her an owl two months ago, telling her that Blaise had recently been seen in London with Millicent Bulstrode. Looking friendly. Hermione gritted her teeth just thinking about it. Stupid cow.

And now she was lying in a bed, in Blaise's uncle's home, wishing that Millicent had never been born. Hermione pulled the pillow over her face tightly, trying not to scream in embarrassment. She was acting like a silly first-year, going all red in the face about a crush.

Hermione pushed the duvet off her body and swung her legs over the side of the bed. She needed a drink.

Holding a wand in her hand, Hermione crept downstairs to the kitchen. She knew Blaise kept the alcohol in a cupboard tucked away in the corner. A few drops of firewhiskey would go well in a mug of hot chocolate.

Hermione pushed open the door and stepped inside. She flicked on the light--strangely, most of the house had Muggle appliances, including electricity--and headed straight for the cupboard. The lights flickered as she made herself some hot chocolate, and then went out entirely. Holding back a sigh, Hermione summoned a candle and lit it. She placed it on the counter, allowing a small circle of light.

A few minutes later, she was sitting in a chair by the counter, holding a mug of spiked hot chocolate and closing her eyes in happiness. Yes, that hit the spot perfectly...

"Hermione, I never thought you'd drink," said an amused voice from the door. Hermione snapped open her eyes, peering through the darkness. Blaise was leaning against the doorframe, arms folded casually...over his bare chest. Her gaze dropped lower to see that he was wearing nothing but a pair of black sweatpants. Hermione's mouth went dry. Guh!

"What are you having?" he asked as he walked inside.

"Hot chocolate and firewhiskey," Hermione managed to say. Half-naked Blaise! Guh! "Mostly firewhiskey, though."

"Fantastic. I'll make myself one." And he did so.

When he was finished, Blaise pulled a chair over to the counter to sit opposite her. He took a deep gulp, smiling in appreciation.

"Delicious," he murmured, licking his lips to catch any stray liquid. Hermione crossed her legs. "So, tell me, Granger...What brings you to the kitchen this late at night?"

"Couldn't sleep," Hermione answered, taking another sip. "And you?"

"Same thing." Blaise surveyed her over the top of the mug. "How's the work going?"

"It's been going well. I finished everything from Egypt. I'll send them over to Bill so he can bring them to museums."

"Excellent." Blaise placed the mug onto the counter, resting his elbows on the wood. It made the muscles in his upper arms twitch. "I hadn't talked to you in three years until I needed a curse-breaker. Tell me: What have you been up to?"

Hermione shrugged. "Nothing much. Work, more or less. Visiting the Weasleys. I substitute for Remus at Hogwarts during the full moon."

"No boyfriend?" Blaise inquired. Hermione shook her head. "Girlfriend?"

"No," Hermione snapped. Christ, that was the second time someone had thought she was a lesbian! "There's been no one."

"Oh. Well, same for me."

The anger disappeared. "Really? I thought you were with Millicent Bulstrode! That's what Terry heard, anyway."

Blaise smiled lazily. "No. What Boot saw was our meeting at the Leaky Cauldron to discuss her recent marriage to a Muggle man."

"Oh," said Hermione, completely taken aback. Not only was Blaise not dating Millicent, but she was married to a Muggle?

Her surprise must have shown on her face, because Blaise said quietly, "Not all Slytherins are like Malfoy, you know. We're not all Junior Death Eaters."

"I know." Hermione looked away, feeling slightly guilty. "Sorry."

"It's all right." Blaise studied her for a moment, then said, "I think you deserve a break from work. Your back must be sore from being crouched over boxes all day, so I think you need to get out and have some fun."

Hermione gave a shaky laugh before downing the rest of her drink. It stung her throat horribly, but she ignored it. "Fun isn't necessarily a word in my vocabulary, Blaise. Not after three years of deciphering runes and un-hexing cursed books, and going home to an empty flat."

"At least you have a job," Blaise said mournfully. He, too, knocked back the rest of his drink. "I've done absolutely nothing since I left Hogwarts. Mum and Dad aren't around to tell me to that I need to get my arse off the couch. The most I've done is deal with Uncle Armanno's death, and that took just a few weeks."

"We need more drinks," Hermione said grimly. She picked her wand up off the counter and flicked it at the cupboard. Two bottles zoomed into her open palms, and she handed one to Blaise. "Cheers."

"Cheers," Blaise repeated, clinking the bottle of whiskey against hers before taking a massive gulp.

For a few minutes, they simply drank. Hermione's throat was burning with the taste of the alcohol, but it was so good...She'd had experience with alcohol, of course, but they'd all been slightly...embarrassing. She never remembered a damn thing when she drank, but Ron swore on his life that Hermione had flirted with every boy in the room--and some of the girls, too--before collapsing in the corner with Terry Boot after the N.E.W.Ts. Hermione completely denied it, of course.

"This stuff is strong," Blaise murmured. He touched his closed mouth with two fingers, rubbing the alcohol into the reddened lips. "Uncle Armanno stopped drinking a few years after I was born, but he didn't get rid of the alcohol. This stuff must have been aged for years."

His speech was slightly slurred, Hermione noticed as she asked, "Want s'more?"

Blaise's grin was nonchalant as he nodded. Hermione flicked her wand again.

Soon, six empty bottles littered the counter. There was a slight buzzing sound in Hermione's head as she watched Blaise, who was talking about something. No idea what it was. Lots of hand gestures, though.

He had leaned across the table now, Hermione realised. His face was inches away from hers, and she caught a whiff of that...that smell that she could never place...

"Hermione," whispered Blaise hoarsely. He licked his lips nervously, and gave his head a little shake to move the fringe out of his eyes. His pupils were dilated, and Hermione could see his pulse thumping against his throat.

It felt like eternity, but finally! He tilted his head to the side and pressed his mouth to hers. There was the faint taste of firewhiskey on his lips. He seemed to let himself have one kiss, then pulled away. Hermione felt a twitch of longing in her chest.

"Your bedroom...or mine...?" Blaise breathed.