Razorblade Romance

A week later, that morning...

Hermione knocked on Blaise's door. There was murmured talking from the room, then footsteps. He opened the door; swiftly moving into the space between the doorframe and the door itself so that he blocked whatever was inside.

"What is it?" Blaise asked wearily.

"I'm done."

"Done?" Blaise blinked. "You mean, you've sorted through everything?"

"They're all de-cursed. I returned most of the stolen items to their rightful owners, and sent the rest off to Muggle museums."

"Great." Blaise flashed a smile at her, though it was weak. Hermione considered standing on her tiptoes to peer over his shoulder, but thought better of it. She didn't want to invade his privacy. "We'll eat dinner together. Perhaps in the city?"

Hermione shook her head. "I think I'm going straight home. I've already gotten the Italian Ministry to set up a Portkey for me."

Blaise's eyes widened in surprise. "Now?"

Hermione nodded. Blaise made a funny noise in his throat--it sounded like a grunt--and glanced away.

"Goodbye, then," he said softly.

"Bye," said Hermione quietly. Should I hug him? Do we shake hands? Pat each other on the back? Oh, bugger.

Thankfully, Blaise answered the frantic questions that were undoubtably flashing before her eyes and pulled Hermione into a rough hug. This is the only time you'll ever be this close to him, Hermione, so you'd better hold onto it while it lasts, Hermione thought dryly as she hesitantly laid her head against his chest and returned the embrace.

He smelled like coffee, Hermione mused. Coffee and...well, there was that smell again, the one that she could never quite place, but it smelled so damn good...

Blaise released her. The place on her hip where his hand had touched was faintly warm. "Thank you."

"You're welcome."

"The gold will be transferred to your Gringotts vault this afternoon."

Hermione nodded. "Bye."

And she walked away towards the fireplace, feeling a lump in her throat beginning to rise.

* * *

When Hermione arrived home, there was a slightly smouldering letter on the floor in front of her fireplace. Curiously, she picked it up and opened it. Smoke curled into the air as she read:

I wish I were your mirror

so that you always looked at me.

I wish I were your garment

so that you would always wear me.

I wish I were the water that washes your body.

I wish I were the unguent, O woman, that I could anoint you.

And the band around your breasts,

and the beads around your neck.

I wish I were your sandal that you would step on me!

* * *

"Hermione."

She looked up from a translation she was doing to see Bill standing in the doorway. He looked vaguely uncomfortable. Since That Kiss, he had been distant and brief in conversations.

"What is it?" she asked, dipping her quill into the inkbottle and scribbling what she had gotten so far on a spare piece of parchment.

"You've got an owl," said Bill shortly, striding over and placing a letter on her desk. Hermione picked it up, and barely held back a shriek as she recognised the handwriting.

It had been two months since she had worked for Blaise, and two months since the last "love letter." Hermione had thought it was a joke, that perhaps someone in the city was a wizard and decided to play a prank on her. But if she was receiving another one...

"Well, I'll leave you be," said Bill hurriedly, walking backwards towards the door. Hermione waved as she opened the letter, her heart pounding eagerly.

O my beautiful one,

I wish I were part of your affairs, like a husband.

With your hand in mine

your love would be returned.

I implore my heart:

"If my true love stays away tonight,

I shall be like someone already in the grave."

Are you not my health and my life?

How joyful is your good health

for the heart that seeks you!

Hermione's heart continued to thump. This person...they were still sending her letters. But...

Okay, Granger, let's look at this logically. Who could it be?

Ron?

No, it wasn't Ron. Hermione was sure that her friend still wasn't harboring feelings for her--after all, wasn't he dating a witch at the Academy? That's what his last letter had said, anyway...besides, if Ron was becoming an Auror, he hardly had time to write love letters.

Okay. Cross Ron's name off the list.

Bill?

Nope. Everything was over between them, Hermione was sure. She cursed herself for not carefully looking over the necklace beforehand. After all, the trouble with her inhibitions had destroyed any chance of having something more than friendship with Bill.

Actually, now that she thought about it, she didn't even want that sort of thing with Bill. He was just nice to be with, and she certainly enjoyed That Kiss.

Hermione mentally crossed Bill off the list in her head.

What about Blaise?

She furrowed her eyebrows. The idea was so simple, so obvious, why didn't she think of it in the first place? It was right in front of her. Hermione refrained from slapping her forehead at her absent-mindedness. It was ridiculous! Why hadn't she thought of it earlier? Blaise was the one in Italy with her...the one that always told her when she had an owl...

But if he had sent her another one, after two months...

Did that mean he wanted to see her again?

Hermione felt a queer feeling in her stomach. If so, that meant that Blaise had... felt things for her, just like she had... oh, it was just like those crappy romance novels that she and Ginny had found in the Weasley's attic!

But what to do?

* * *

One hour and sixteen minutes later, Hermione had stopped pacing across her office. Her work lay on the table, ignored. The only thoughts in her mind were Blaise, letters, Blaise, feelings, Italy, Blaise and generally Blaise Zabini.

"Hermione?" came Cassio's voice from the door. She whirled around to face him. "What's wrong? You've been wearing a hole in the floor."

"Nothing," said Hermione immediately, dismissing him with a wave of her hand. But he didn't leave.

"What can I do to help?" Cassio asked firmly. Hermione was struck with an awful idea--what if it had been Cassio all along that had sent the letters? Not that he was unattractive--Cassio had broken a few hearts at Hogwarts, but, no, certainly not...She just didn't like him that way.

Hermione sighed. "Do you know where Blaise Zabini lives?"

"Yes. It's on file here."

Her eyes popped out of her head at Cassio's casual statement. "What?"

"When he came to hire someone, he had to fill out a form," Cassio explained. "You know, name, birth, education, address, that sort of thing. Didn't you know that all the clients do that?"

This time, Hermione did slap her hand to her forehead. "I did, Cassio, I just forgot."

"Oh." Cassio glanced at her from under blonde fringe. "Do you want me to tell Bill that you've gone out for a late lunch so you can visit Zabini?"

Hermione sputtered nonsense. Cassio seemed to take this as acceptance, for he nodded to her and left her room, obviously headed down the corridor to Bill's office.

She stood there for a moment, stunned, then marched over to the magical filing cabinet and opened the drawer labelled T-Z.

"Zabini, Blaise," she ordered. The files inside shuffled around until a slightly yellowed one popped up. She opened it, her hands shaking.

She scanned the parchment quickly, eyes heading straight for the address.

A flat in London.

How perfect. How ironic. The place she never expected him to be--just a few streets down from her own flat. Now that's irony, Alanis.

Hermione tucked the parchment file into her pocket and strode out the door. She couldn't Floo to her own flat, as the little pot on the mantle was currently empty. She'd leave the office building and Apparate directly home--and from there, to Blaise.

She passed Cassio in the corridor and couldn't help but give him a warm hug, complete with a slight ruffle of his hair. He whined childishly, but returned the embrace and pushed her down in the direction of the front door.

* * *

Ding, dong.

Hermione removed her finger from the doorbell. A hundred things were flying through her mind. What if the letters weren't from Blaise? What if he didn't ever want to see her again? What if a woman answered the door? What if a man answered the door?

But what if he doesn't want to see me?

Her stomach squirmed uncomfortably as she waited. It was unbearable to wait for him to come and answer the door, why didn't he just hurry up and put his hand on the damn doorknob--

Footsteps.

Hermione's throat clenched. She was so nervous, so very nervous--

They were getting closer.

She wiped her wet palms on her thighs, drawing in a ragged breath. You're okay, Hermione.

The doorknob twisted. Opened.

Hermione yanked her eyes up to see Blaise. His eyes widened and he seemed to visibly jolt from surprise, but he leaned against the doorframe casually and said, "Hello, Hermione. Long time no see."

Dragging up all her courage, Hermione wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and forced their lips together. There was a slight mmph! of astonishment from Blaise, but his hand was on her hip and he was pulling her closer.

Blaise guided her into the vestibule, shoving the door closed. Hermione felt a hard wall along her back, and she leaned against it, drawing Blaise to her. A tongue slid inside her mouth, and she returned the favour eagerly. Oh, it felt so good, so achingly good that she moaned against his lips, sliding her hands down to grip his hips.

They broke apart, panting.

"And when his lips are pressed to mine, I am made drunk and need not wine," Hermione murmured against his jaw. Blaise managed not to choke.

"You knew?" he whispered. She shook her head.

"Just figured it out this afternoon."

Blaise chuckled. "So much for 'cleverest witch of the age.'" Hermione smacked his arm playfully, and he leaned in to nibble on her earlobe.

"Did you enjoy the letters?" Blaise asked, his breath warm on the shell of her ear.

"They were a bit creepy at first, but I've grown to enjoy them."

"Good." Blaise was moving down to bite her collarbone lightly, and she arched her neck into that glorious mouth. "I worked hard on them."

"Did you have a writer's block when I left?" Hermione teased. Blaise pouted at her.

"You weren't there. It was hard to write poems when the object of your affection isn't in sight." Blaise's hands were flicking open the buttons on her robes. Hermione stilled, grasping his hands tightly. He returned his gaze to her. "What?"

"Do you truly like me?" Hermione inquired, swallowing. Blaise nodded. "Why? You never showed any interest in me when we were at Hogwarts..." Her voice trailed off.

"When we got drunk," Blaise answered her unspoken question. "When we woke up together. I just...I don't know. Something clicked that should have been clicked a lot earlier."

"Very well." Hermione tapped his hands against her robes. "Continue onward, then."