Razorblade Romance

"Oh..." Hermione groaned as she awoke. "Oh, fucking hell..."

It felt as though her soul had been ripped from her body. She licked her dry mouth, trying to get rid of the fuzz that was growing on the roof of her mouth and on her tongue. She swallowed, wincing at the ugly taste of bile and booze. Her temple was pounding ...

A similar groan was emitted from the other side of the bed. Hermione turned to the side, biting down sharply on her lip as pain zoomed around her head.

"Blaise," she croaked, "how much did we drink last night? And is that Muggle or wizard alcohol?"

"Three bottles each," Blaise rasped. "Wizarding."

Hermione grunted her disapproval. "It's more powerful than Muggle stuff, you know." She cleared her throat. "I researched it when Ron began drinking."

"Trust you to do some research," Blaise mumbled. He was silent for a moment, then said, "Do you want some breakfast?"

The very thought of food made Hermione's stomach lurch. She leaned over the edge of the bed as the night's activities came up her throat, but forced herself to swallow it. She would not vomit in front of Blaise...

"Are you sick?" Blaise asked thickly.

"No."

"Good." A pause. "Listen, Hermione...Did we...do anything...?"

"I...I don't think so...I've still got my clothes on...what about you?"

"My cock's still in my pants, thank you."

Hermione smothered a giggle into her pillow. No--Blaise's pillow. They had made it to his bedroom, she supposed...

"And the sheets aren't sticky," Blaise continued, his voice hoarse. "And if I was drunk on wizarding alcohol, I bet I couldn't even get...you know...excited, so..."

"No sex," Hermione finished.

"No sex," he echoed.

They were quiet.

"Are your eyes on fire?" Blaise said finally. Hermione turned on her side carefully, so she was facing him. He was pale and sickly-looking, his lips chapped. She was sure she looked the same.

"Yeah," she answered, "yeah, they are. Do you happen to have any Anti-Hangover Potions on you? Or know of any charms?"

Blaise shook his head, wincing at the movement. "I was awful at Potions, and I don't know of any charms that would remove hangovers."

"I'd go look it up, but that would require getting out of bed."

"Excellent point."

They fell silent again, staring at one another from opposite sides of the bed.

"Do you remember anything?"

"Hmm?" Blaise muttered, his eyes closed

"When we were drinking, I mean."

"Um...No, I don't think so...I said something about Uncle Armanno, but everything's a blur after that. Why? Do you?"

"No," said Hermione swiftly, twisting the sheets around her hands. So. He didn't remember the kiss. "No, just seeing if you did."

"'Kay." His eyes were still squeezed shut. "I hate hangovers. If you don't mind, I'm going to go back to sleep. Wake me up if something bad happens."

"I think I'll do the same."

"Very well."

Soon, snoring filled the room.

* * *

...Four days later, after supper...

"What's this?" Hermione inquired, holding up what looked like a harp. It was stringed, with two curved arms connecting at the upper end with a crossbar. "I found it in the Greece box."

Blaise tilted his head to look at it. He was lounging on a tattered chair in the attic, his spread legs dangling over the arm. His laced fingers held up his head, thumbs absent-mindedly rubbing the back of his neck. He continued to stare at it, eyes squinted in concentration.

It had been four days since The Kiss, which Blaise hadn't even remembered. They had awoken in the same bed--nothing had happened, of course. Not that she was disappointed. No, not at all. And she wasn't reliving that one kiss before she went to bed every night. Of course not. I'll just continue on with denial, sailing right past the pyramids, she thought bitterly.

"It's a lyre," he said finally.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed, turning it over in her hands. "Of course, a lyre...Ever heard the story of Orpheus and Eurydice?"

"No," Blaise replied, propping himself up on his elbow and studying her. "Tell me."

"Well, Orpheus was the son of Apollo, the god of music, and the Muse Calliope," Hermione began. Blaise listened intently. "He played beautiful music, so beautiful that even the trees and animals would crowd around him to listen. He was in love with Eurydice, but she was bitten by a snake and died. Orpheus went down to the underworld, playing his music and singing his grief. Hades--"

"The lord of the underworld?" Blaise interrupted.

"Yes. Hades was so moved by his music that he told Orpheus to walk away from the underworld, promising to send Eurydice after him. The only condition was that Orpheus was not allowed to look back until they had reached the light, or Eurydice would remain in the underworld forever. Agreeing, Orpheus began to walk back. When he was just a few steps away from the light, he gave into temptation and glanced back--just for a second. That was all it took. Eurydice's shadow dissolved into the underworld, and Orpheus could not follow. He began walking around the world, playing his music, until a maddened woman murdered him, and he went to the underworld to be with Eurydice."

Blaise stared, eyebrows raised. "That Orpheus was a daft bloke."

"Oh, really? Why?" Hermione challenged. She opened A Beginner's Guide to Curse-Breaking and began searching for anything that could happen to a lyre.

"Well, first of all, he falls in love with some girl that he probably doesn't know anything about," Blaise declared, ticking the statements off on his fingers. "Second of all, he looked! When Hades specifically told him that it would make Eurydice disappear forever. How thick do you have to be?"

"I think it's a romantic story," Hermione remarked, running a finger down the index. "He loved her enough to go back into the underworld, which was a frightening place. Weren't the ancient Greeks terrified of death?"

"I think so. But trust a girl to think that it's a romantic story."

"It is!" Hermione insisted. She tapped the lyre with her wand, murmuring words under her breath. It glowed green for a moment, and she smiled approvingly. "He went to the underworld for her--that's love."

"But he looked," Blaise retorted. "I understand that he couldn't resist, but he loved her enough, he would have waited."

"That's why it's called a myth," Hermione reminded him. "It's just a story."

"I know," Blaise grumbled. "So. Is the lyre cursed?"

"I've already checked it for the basic curses. You know, Permanent Sticking Charms, Vanishing Spells, that sort of thing."

"Oh. Are you going to try and play it?"

Hermione shook her head. "I don't think so. Many cursed instruments aren't to be played. I don't want to take a chance."

Blaise shrugged. "Very well." He rubbed his thigh, wincing. "I...I need to go downstairs...Keep working, I may come back to keep you company..."

Hermione nodded, touching the strings of the lyre with her wand. Blaise slipped off the armchair, grimacing as weight was put on his legs. He seemed to limp down the ladder, and Hermione heard him walking down the corridor towards the staircase.

What was it with Blaise's legs? Hermione wondered as the strings of the lyre burned bright orange. "Finite Incantatum!" He hadn't liked the little girl bumping into his legs, and he had been wearing trousers for the entire time they had spent in Italy. "Affrango!" Since he had been wearing a pair of sweatpants that night, she hadn't been able to see anything.. "Consilium!"

The lyre stopped glowing. Smiling with approval, Hermione placed it in a box she had recently labelled Un-Cursed Stuff.

Sighing, she looked into the Greece box. A war helmet. A miniature chariot. A bridle. A bow, arrows. A blindfold? A narcissus flower. Blegh, she thought. I need a break.

Rolling her shoulders, Hermione stood up and stretched her arms above her head. What's wrong with Blaise's legs? she continued to ponder. Perhaps he was embarrassed of them--Ron still didn't let Hermione see him wearing his swim trunks until he was fully in the water.

Tucking her wand into her pocket, Hermione descended down the ladder and pushed it back up into the ceiling. She strolled down the corridor, thinking she'd like a snack--perhaps a Chocolate Frog or two...

After she had satisfied her chocolate craving, Hermione wandered towards Blaise's room. She wanted to know if it was possible to send an owl over to Bill, or perhaps set up the fireplace to the Floo Network. Bill had always liked to hear her progress, and Hermione needed someone beside Blaise to talk to.

"Blaise?" Hermione called as she walked in the direction of his room. "Blaise? Are you in there?"

There was no answer. Hermione pushed open the closed door, peering inside with a hand over her eyes. "If you're...well, busy, just tell me to sod off and I'll talk to you later."

Again, no answer. Hermione dropped her hand from her face to view Blaise's room. When they had fallen asleep in his bedroom That Night, Hermione had been too ill to notice that it was eerily similar to hers, as though they were in a hotel. The only difference was a fireplace. She saw a half-open door, almost hidden beside the bureau.

Hermione stepped inside and headed for what she assumed to be the bathroom. She kicked the door open, covering her eyes again with both hands. She heard the gentle splashing of water, but no indication that Blaise was in the bathtub, hastily trying to cover himself up with bubbles. Hesitantly, Hermione let her hands fall.

Blaise was in the bathtub, completely submerged in water. It looked as though he had no intention of coming back up.

Hermione screamed, sinking to her knees and shoving her hands into the water. Her fingers grasped slippery skin, and she dug into his shoulders and yanked him up. Blaise came up to the surface, sputtering.

"Hermione?" he gasped, shaking his fringe out of his eyes. It sent little bubbles into the air, and he flicked them away with a soapy hand. "What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?"

"I-I thought you were drowning!" Hermione stammered. "You weren't answering my calls, so--"

"I was trying to relax!" Blaise cut in. He gathered a handful of bubbles and placed them on the water over his groin. Hermione held back a snicker when he glared.

"It looked like you were drowning!" Hermione snapped. "I was trying to help you!"

"Well, you evidently didn't do a good job," Blaise retorted, angrily brushing bubbles off his cheeks.

"You looked as though you weren't breathing!" Hermione insisted. "What would you do?"

"I wouldn't be in your bathroom, that's for sure," Blaise replied angrily.

"I was trying to find you!"

"Have you ever heard of privacy?"

"What's your problem?" Hermione demanded. "I was trying to help you--why are you acting as though I've done some awful thing?"

"I'm very stressed out at the moment, and a bath helps calm me down."

"Stressed out?" Hermione cried out shrilly. "Stressed out? Who's the one dealing with cursed items every day? Me! Who's the one sorting through artefacts and sending mail to Muggle museums? Me! Who's the one working? Me! And who's the one that sits on his arse the entire bloody day? You."

Blaise lifted a soap-covered arm and pointed at the door.

"Get. Out. Now." The words barely passed his tightly gritted teeth. There were red spots in his cheekbones, and his eyes were glittering dangerously. "I don't want to see you until you've had time to cool off."

"Cool off--?" Hermione began, but Blaise seemed to growl and she shut her mouth. "Fine. I'll go--I'll go take a walk."

Getting up with as much dignity as she could with bubbles up to her elbows and wet stains on her knees, Hermione left the bathroom, slamming the door behind her.