Razorblade Romance

Hermione was spreading jam over a piece of toast when Blaise stumbled into the kitchen. He scratched his tousled hair as he blinked, as though trying to get used to the light.

"Good morning," she said, trying to hold back a smile. She must have failed, for Blaise scowled and headed for the coffee.

"Morning," he grumbled, pouring the coffee into his #1 Stud mug. When Hermione had inquired about it, Blaise had shaken his head and mumbled something about stupid gifts from slightly drunk friends.

Hermione opened her mouth to ask him why he looked so tired, but was interrupted by the sound of something large hitting something the side of the house. She jumped in surprise, a hand on her wand, toast forgotten.

Blaise glanced at her. He, too, had his wand out.

"D'you think it's those men from last night?" Hermione asked tensely.

"There are Muggle-repelling charms. And the house is Unplottable," Blaise reminded her, stepping towards the source of the sound--a window. He pushed it open, and a large, feathered creature sped into his face.

"Oh!" Hermione squealed in surprise.

"Christ on a bike!" Blaise hollered, dropping his wand and pushing the owl off his face. It chirped, flying around his head eagerly. There was something oddly familiar about this owl...

"Pig?" Hermione cried out. "Pig, is that you?"

The owl hooted and landed on her shoulder, dropping the letter from its beak. She caught it, and Pig nibbled on her ear.

"Pig?" Blaise repeated, picking his wand off the floor.

"It's Ron's owl," Hermione explained, opening the letter.

"Nasty little bugger," Blaise muttered, rubbing his nose and wincing.

"He's just enthusiastic," Hermione insisted.

"Read me the letter," Blaise ordered. Hermione complied:

"Dear Hermione, I hope Pig didn't scare you. He hasn't been able to leave the Academy for a while, due to new regulations about owl post. Just give him an Owl Treat, that'll calm him down. Oh, just what he needs, more sugar! Anyway, Bill said that he hadn't heard anything from you, and he was getting worried. So, I sent Pig over to make sure you aren't locked up in some dungeon. Where are you, anyway? Bill wouldn't say, and Pig came back with the letter I had sent when I told him to go to your flat."

Hermione glanced up at Blaise, who nodded to answer her unspoken question. "Feel free to tell Weasley where you are."

"Becoming an Auror is harder than it seems. I'm looking forward to the last year of training, though. I'm learning a lot, which I'm sure you're glad about. I didn't know there were all these curses and hexes--but all our work in the D.A paid off, because I'm ahead of the other recruits. Well, that's good, Ron, I told you all that studying would help...Have you heard anything from Harry? He hasn't really been replying to my owls. I think he's having nightmares again. I'm not in the flat, so I can't exactly whip up a Dreamless Sleep Potion for him. Maybe you could contact Snape for me? Thanks. And if you do hear from Harry, let me know how he's doing. He still hasn't figured out what he wants to do in life yet, so I imagine he's moping around the flat with his whiskey and watching those blinking pictures the Muggles watch.

"Well, Kingsley is stopping by the Academy today to work with us on Full-Body Transfiguration, so I'll finish up here. I don't want to be late. Did you know that he can Transfigure himself into just about anything? He's not an Animagus, though, just really good at Transfiguration. I'm almost looking forward to it--then I remember how crappy I was in McGonagall's class.

"I miss you lots, Hermione. Do write back--I'll want something to read after Moody sent curses after me all day. Love, Ron."

"Well, that's sweet," Blaise commented. "He 'misses you lots.'"

Blushing, Hermione tucked the letter into her pocket. "It's just Ron."

"Didn't you two date? At Hogwarts?"

"Once." Hermione returned to her jam-covered toast. Pig attacked it before she even got a chance to take a bite. Sighing, she handed it to the owl, which continued to eat it excitedly. "In sixth year. But he was too immature, and as a boyfriend...it just didn't work out. We were much better off as friends."

"Everyone thought that you two were going to marry and have little red-haired children," Blaise remarked. Was it just her hopeful heart, or did Hermione detect a little jealousy?

"Guess not," she replied. "Have you got any parchment? I want to write back while Pig isn't flying around the room."

"That is one peculiar bird," Blaise agreed, flicking his wand at the door. Parchment, a quill, and ink zoomed into his hand. He tossed them at the counter, and Hermione sat down to begin writing.

Dear Ron,

You need to let Pig out once in awhile. He flew directly into Blaise's face, then proceeded to eat my breakfast. Tsk, tsk, Ron.

It was great to hear from you. Haven't got much post from you while you've been in the Academy, but oh well. Only one more year, and then you're officially an Auror. Excited? I'm sure your father and Charlie would be proud of you, Ron.

I'm actually in Italy right now, in Blaise Zabini's uncle's house. Now, before you get red in the ears and break everything within a three-foot radius, I must tell you that Blaise is a client. His uncle recently died, and I'm cleaning out the attic. There's some fantastic stuff--his uncle apparently travelled. A lot. To Egypt, Greece, Germany, France, America, Africa...He's been everywhere! It's amazing to look through all the things he's collected. Some of them--no, most of them--are cursed. I'm returning them to a museum when I'm done.

I haven't heard from Harry in awhile, either. The last time I saw him was a couple of months ago, at Seamus's wedding to that Muggle girl he met over the holidays in seventh year. He seemed all right, but I'll send an owl off to him. And I'll have Bill and Lupin talk to him--he probably wants to talk to them, rather than me.

Well, I'm off to work some more, and I'll write a letter to Harry today. Hope you're having fun at the Academy. I miss you lots, too.

Love,

Hermione

"There," Hermione announced. She folded the letter into fourths and whistled for Pig. He landed on her shoulder and took the letter. "Take this to Ron, all right?"

Pig hooted and flew out the open window. Blaise, who had just finished his coffee, dropped his mug into the sink. He wiped his mouth and said, "Are you going to talk to Bill?"

"I think so. Do you mind if I talk to Harry, too?"

Blaise gestured to the door. "Go for it. I'll give you some privacy. The Floo Powder is in the box on the mantle."

"Thanks."

Five minutes later, Hermione was standing in front of the fireplace, a lump of Floo Powder in her hand. She scowled. I hate travelling by the Floo... Sighing, Hermione sank to her knees and tossed the powder into the fire. It erupted into emerald-green flames, hissing sharply.

"Weasley's Curse-Breaking Firm," Hermione declared, then plunged her head into the flames. Her head spun through the flames, her hands and knees staying firm on the hardwood floor. She squeezed her eyes shut, willing it all to stop--

When it did, she opened her eyes. Good. She was in Bill's office, and not some clock-making shop in Romania like the first time she had fire-called someone.

"Hermione?"

She turned her head towards the door, where Cassio was standing. He was clutching an enormous pile of parchment, peering over the top of it. Just barely out of Hogwarts, he was a short, fair-haired boy with a keen skill in Ancient Runes. If Hermione remembered correctly, he had been a prefect for his house, Ravenclaw.

"I see you've finally managed to do your paperwork," Hermione remarked dryly. "Is Bill in today?"

"Yes. He just went to talk with Miranda," Cassio answered. He stepped inside, promptly dropping all the parchment on Bill's desk. "There. Since I finished it, he can file it for me."

Hermione held back a smile. Cassio, while lazy and slightly annoying, always provided amusement for everyone. "We know how much Bill loves to file. Listen, can you go get him for me? I've got to talk to Harry as well, and I can't waste time. Lots of work to do today."

Cassio's eyes brightened. "Oh, yes. You're in Italy, aren't you? With Ricardo Zabini's son?"

"Yes. Get Bill, Cassio," Hermione replied, letting a little irritation ring in her voice.

"Right," said Cassio hastily. He left the room hurriedly, hopefully off to Miranda's office. Hermione waited patiently.

A few moments later, Bill darted into the room. Wearing a wide grin, he dropped to the floor by the fireplace, lying on his stomach.

"Hey," he said, flicking his ponytail back over his shoulder. He folded his arms on the floor, resting his chin on them. "Long time no talk--it's been almost a month since you left! How are you? Is the work going well? Heard anything from Ron? What about Harry? Is Zabini treating you right?"

"Fine, fine, yes, no, yes," Hermione answered rapidly, returning the grin. "I've been all right. The plane ride was pure hell, but the work makes up for it. There are lots of interesting things in Armanno Zabini's attic."

"Have you talked to any museums yet?"

"No. I want to be completely finished before I do that. I've got to set up an alias, too."

"Yes, yes. What did Ron say?"

"I got the owl this morning. He seems to be doing fine with his training."

"That's good. Nothing from Harry?"

"No. I plan on Flooing over to his flat today, though. I haven't got an Owl."

"Okay. Let me know if he needs a man to talk to him, rather than his best female friend."

"I will. I was thinking about getting Lupin, too."

"He's abroad."

"Really?" This was news. "Where is he?'

"In Sweden. Teaching a group of werewolf children."

That brought another smile to Hermione's face. "That's good."

"Yes, it is." Bill reached a hand into the fire--Hermione winced on instinct don't burn yourself; don't burn yourself--to tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. "Sorry. It was flying about your face, and it was annoying me."

Hermione shrugged, then remembered that only her face was in the fire. "Um...it's all right. Anyway, do you know anything about blindfolds?"

"What?"

"Blindfolds. You know...blindfolds," Hermione finished lamely. How am I supposed to describe this when he can't see my hands?

"P-Pardon?" Bill sputtered, his cheeks tinged red. "Why do you need to know about blindfolds?"

"I found it in one of the boxes," Hermione explained. Bill's eyes lit up in understanding. "What, you think I'm trying to expand my sex life?"

"Well, yes," he admitted. His cheeks were still flushed. "Forgive me, my mind has been in the gutter lately...Do you know where it was from?"

"Greece. Of the ancient variety."

"Hmm..." Bill chewed on his lower lip as he thought it over, eyebrow furrowed in thought. "Blindfold...Perhaps one of the gods...but which one of them had a blindfold?"

"I couldn't find it in any of my textbooks," said Hermione dejectedly.

"And we know that if it's not found in a book, it's not worth being found anywhere," said Bill lightly. "Hmm. I'm not sure why someone in ancient Greece would have a blindfold...Cassio!" he barked abruptly.

He turned over onto his side to face the door, where Cassio had been walking by. Bill's shirt rose up a few inches, giving Hermione a view of his lean stomach, sprinkled with freckles. There was a trail of dark red hair that dragged her eyes down...down...down...

Hermione tore her eyes away, a flush rising in her cheeks. Bill was speaking with Cassio, and neither seemed to notice.

"A blindfold?" Cassio repeated, one pale eyebrow raised. He leaned against the doorframe, squeezing his eyes shut in thought. "That's odd..."

"That's what I thought," Hermione commented.

"Couldn't have been for Zeus, or Artemis...Maybe Demeter? No, that's not right...Aphrodite--Oh!" Cassio's eyes snapped open. "Oh, I know who it's for..."

"Who?" Hermione asked eagerly.

"Eros," Cassio said simply. "The son of Aphrodite. Otherwise known as Cupid. He's the god of love, and he carries darts or arrows. Whoever gets hit by the arrows has uncontrollable love--or insurmountable disinterest--in the first person to be seen by the victim."

"I don't hear anything about blindfolds, Cassio," said Hermione impatiently.

"That's because I wasn't finished," Cassio pointed out. "Now, Eros is often portrayed blindfolded, because love is blind."

It took a few seconds for Hermione to comprehend it. "Oh...Oh...I get it...A blindfold, blind...Why didn't I think of that?"

Cassio shrugged. "I have to do some translating for Miranda, so if you'll pardon my rudeness, I'll see myself off." And he did, shutting the door behind him.

Bill returned to the fireplace, where Hermione was still sitting. Her knees were beginning to ache from the wood floor, and her hands were cold. He seemed to have sensed her discomfort, for he said, "Why don't you get back to work, Hermione. Let me know if you need help with Harry."

"Thanks," Hermione said gratefully. Bill gave her a naughty wink as she pulled her face out of the fire.

She stood, brushing the soot off her face and hands. She knew it wasn't just the Floo Powder that was making her stomach tighten anxiously, and she swallowed.

Bill was a good-looking man, Hermione knew that. With his red hair pulled back into a ponytail and his fang earring dangling from one ear, he also had that dangerous edge that Hermione had always found attractive. He was kind, funny, and obviously considered her a friend worth flirting with. But Bill was also her employer. Not to mention Ron's brother. Hermione swallowed again, pushing the thought out of her mind.

Harry, she reminded herself firmly. Harry. Not Bill. Let's focus on Harry, Hermione.

Grasping another pinch of Floo Powder, she tossed it into the flames. "Potter's flat!"

Her head spun again as she grew increasingly queasy. Hermione kept her mouth and eyes closed, praying for it to stop...

And when it did, she was met with the sight of Harry, slouching on the sofa in front of the fireplace. He jumped in surprise when he saw her, a bottle of alcohol dropping to the floor. It shattered, sending a wet smear into Hermione's cheek.

"Hermione!" Harry croaked. He knelt by the fireplace, putting on a half-hearted smile. "Sorry about that...what are you doing here?"

"Just wanted to check up on you," Hermione told him, trying to keep her voice cheery. Her chest was clenching painfully. Poor Harry...

He had been going in a slow downward spiral since their fifth year, when Sirius had died. The loss of his godfather had hit Harry hard, and Hermione had been worried that she would never get her Harry back. Lupin had visited every other day during that summer, and it had seemed to help. But Voldemort had been growing increasingly powerful, and he sent his followers to hurt anyone close to the Boy-Who-Refused-To-Die for the next two years. Dean, Oliver, Charlie, Mr. Weasley, Colin, Cho... there had been more casualties in the war against Voldemort than Hermione would have liked to name. And Harry had felt that it was all his fault--that because he hadn't been able to kill Voldemort, every death was his fault.

He had resumed his Occlumency lessons with Snape, who had taught him defence on the side. Hermione hadn't known if Dumbledore had been aware of this extra curricular activity, but she suspected he had. A lump rose in her throat as she remembered the older man, who had passed away in his sleep shortly before Harry killed Voldemort.

Murdering Voldemort had wounded Harry in more ways than Hermione could count. Yes, he had gotten rid of the enemy, and the wizarding world was safe--but it hadn't been that easy. It had been a week-long battle in Hogwarts before Voldemort was weak enough to be disarmed. Since their wands shared a core, Harry wasn't able to use his own wand against the man--instead; he had ripped off his shoes, pulled off a mouldy sock, and pressed it to Voldemort's mouth until Tom Riddle suffocated.

There were still Death Eaters, though. Lucius and Draco Malfoy, Rodolphus Lestrange, Dolohov, Macnair, and Jugson were still at large. And they continued to do their dead Dark Lord's bidding by murdering Muggle families.

The memory hit her--returning to her house after a day at the library, only to find the Dark Mark hanging eerily over the roof, the marks of the Killing Curse on the walls. Her parents, their bodies frozen, eyes open wide...

"Hermione?"

She snapped herself back to attention, blinking the tears out of her eyes. "Sorry, Harry...Got lost for a minute..."

Harry shrugged. He looked miserable. "I know, Hermione."

"So, have you found a job yet?"

Harry looked taken aback at her outburst, but he shook his head. "No, I haven't. There's nothing of interest in the Daily Prophet. Besides, Hermione, I've got enough gold to last three lifetimes. People keep sending me things."

"Set up a charity," Hermione suggested. "At least the gold won't rot in your Gringotts vault."

Harry shrugged again. There were dark circles under his eyes that Hermione hadn't noticed before. "I suppose I could do that."

"Harry, have you been sleeping well?"

"No," he answered flatly. "No, I haven't."

"Go to Snape," Hermione urged. "Bill told me that he's been making Sleep Draughts for people--"

"It doesn't work," Harry interjected. "I've already tried. It doesn't work."

"Why don't you talk to someone?" Hermione prompted. "There's a witch at St. Mungo's that--"

"I'm not talking to a shrink, Hermione."

Hermione cast her eyes downward, holding back a sigh of frustration. Harry hadn't accepted her help to get past his depression, insisting that he was fine. He hadn't let Ron in, either. In fact, the only person that Harry felt comfortable enough discussing things with was Lupin...

"Fine," Hermione snapped. "I can't take this anymore, Harry. You haven't been listening to Ron or myself for years, and I'm getting sick of it. You obviously need help, but you're not getting up off your arse to get it! Since you clearly don't want or need my help, don't expect any visits from me until you've cleaned up your act!"

With that, Hermione yanked her head out of the fireplace, trying to ignore the tears that were spilling from her eyelids. She stood up clumsily, her knees still weak. Brushing any stray tears off her cheeks, she walked back upstairs to the attic.

* * *

"You feeling all right?" Blaise asked softly at dinner that night. Hermione looked up from her pasta, which was currently being swivelled around her fork.

"Yes, I'm fine," she answered, twisting the pasta around her fork some more.

"No, you're not," Blaise stated simply. "Ever since you talked to Bill and Harry this morning, you've been...odd. I think you only came downstairs from the attic only once, and that was to use the bathroom. And you're not eating now. What happened? Is Harry all right? Did something happen to your family?"

"I haven't got a family," Hermione muttered. Blaise's eyes widened.

"Oh. Um...care to talk about what happened today?"

"No," she snapped. "No, I don't want to talk about it."

Blaise pushed his plate towards the centre of the table and stood, tossing his napkin down. "If you need me, I'll be in my room."

When he was gone, Hermione's shoulders began to shake. She propped her elbows on the table, gripping her head as the tears fell.