Over Hot Chocolate

Chapter Seven: The Italian Veela & The Londoner

The twins did find themselves over at Ginny's house that evening, assuring her that they would, indeed, be able to help. They not only affirmed that they would stay in London until they had successfully carried out their week-long date with Mr. Malfoy, but they also offered to contribute the cosmetics to their cause, and possibly stay a bit longer. After all, all five of the girls intending to date Malfoy would have to look their very best, and for this offer Ginny was especially grateful. She and the twins also spoke of their lives from the last time they had seen eachother; during the summer when they had both stopped by The Burrow for some cold drinks and cake. It was a comfortable little gathering, and though the twins were appalled that Ginny's love life was not half as colourful as theirs--although she insisted hers was nonexistant--they were still, evidently, overjoyed to hear of people like Blaise and Colin.

Ginny, of course, rolled her eyes incessantly, insisting that neither of her two male best friends could ever been seen in that light, but like they always did, the twins continued on. Once they started, it was almost impossible to get them to stop--and once Ivan made his much awaited appearance at the door to her bedroom, they both just about pounced on him. Although it was obvious that they had an extraordinary love for dogs, neither of them had made any moves towards getting one of their own. "Once we're married, we will have all the dogs we need," Padma had said, joy in her eyes as she just about rolled on the floor with an ecstatic Ivan. The twins still lived together, and were in a position much like Fred and George's. They loathed with a passion having to live without eachother, despite their differences, and planned on being married together, and living together even after that.

"We will have two husbands, each!" Parvati joked, scratching Ivan's vast stomach with vigor, "And you will, too! This fuzzy muffin," she made a point of burying her nose on Ivan's shoulder, "and some smelly bloke or the other!" Both she and Padma burst out into giggles, and continued to romp around, animatedly, with an overly happy Ivan. Their company was much appreciated, from Ginny's point, and by the time they were leaving, some two hours after they had arrived, she could say that her jaw hurt from so much smiling, her stomach from excessive laughing. Not only did the twins have an exceptional sense of humor, but they also had big mouths, and Ginny fancied she had heard just about all the gossip for half of England.

Once she had shut the door behind them, after requesting their presence at The Burrow on Thursday (and letting on, not so subtlely that they were also invited for free yummies tomorrow, too), Ginny eyed Ivan warily. The mastiff seemed to smile at her, devilishly, before giving her a look with his large eyes that said, "Well, you never play with me like that." He proceeded to make his comfortable way atop one of her couches, spreading his considerable mass over it and closing his eyes without a second thought. She was tempted to hit him with a pillow.

"You're just like any other male out there, aren't you?" she teased, placing herself on the armrest of the couch the large dog occupied, "Faced with two pretty girls and you forget all about me."

He gave her a low growl of acknowledgement and she smiled. Today had been surprisingly easy to move through, what with the twins having found themselves at The Burrow. Hannah would be there by Thursday, and Ginny would make sure she asked Hermione to present herself there, as well. That way, they would have three people who could date Malfoy, in the off-chance that Lavendar, who Ginny had yet to hear from, didn't turn up. She knew what a hectic lifestyle Lavendar lived, constantly Flooing from one place to another, or off somewhere fancy in North America promoting her new clothing line. It was amazing how quickly all of her old friends from Hogwarts had established themselves--with the exception of Blaise and Luna, who had both inherited their work. But within the span of the three years they had been away from Hogwarts, everyone seemed to have grown up rapidly. Maybe it had been the war that had changed them, though--maybe they had left Hogwarts adults. Ginny didn't know, and she preferred not to think of it.

"Looks like I'm going to get to bed early again," she called to Ivan, from inside her bedroom as she changed into her pyjamas, "That means we get to go running again tomorrow." Yawning, Ginny padded into the kitchen to make herself some hot chocolate before bedtime.


Luna Lovegood could never bring herself to lay a complaint about her work. She figured this was for two reasons; she enjoyed doing it--and her father was her boss. The Quibbler was a magazine he had worked most of his life off to establish, and though most of the topics in it were disbelieved by the larger part of the wizarding population, it still sold out like fire. That being said, Luna had a comfortable lifestyle, and a nice office overlooking part of Diagon Alley. However, on fairly sunny days like today had turned out to be, she found herself staring forlornly out the window more so than reading and making small changes to the--she had to admit--utterly fascinating articles their team of loyal journalists had dropped in.

It was a lazy Wednesday, as the middle of the week always seemed to be, and although Monday's edition of the Quibbler had sold out on wizarding stands all over Britain, Luna still found herself unable to take a break. She had to have all of these articles edited and passed by her father for Thursday evening--a date she recalled, with some apprehension, was tomorrow--and then she had to at least take a walk through the printing area, pretending to oversee what was happening.

She sighed and checked her watch, relieved to find that it was almost lunch time. She had skipped breakfast in order to get to the office early and start on an article she had found herself very captured with; Muggle Fisherman Reports Naga Sighting Off the Coast Of Guyana. Although Luna doubted the idea of a Naga being seen off the coast of Guyana--everyone knew they were native to the waters of Japan--there seemed to be some truth to the story, and the idea that one of these rare and ancient creatures might have migrated so far southwest brought pinching questions as to what had taken their place in the food chain back east.

She had just made it to the last paragraph when the door to her roomy office creaked open. Who ever had opened it approached her, laying a hand on the back of her chair and staring out the window into the street. Thinking it was probably her father, Luna quickly finished her work, adding a finishing touch before spelling the parchment to the printers. She turned around, a smile on her face, expecting to see the kindly, bald-headed face of her father, with his rosy cheeks and blue eyes similar to her own.

Needless to say, she was very, very shocked.


It had been three years since the Golden Trio had graduated from Hogwarts, and three years since the defeat of Voldemort. One might think that the Trio would have drifted apart, what with very little evil left in the world to battle--however, in the case of Hermione Granger, Harry Potter and Ronald Weasley, that could not possibly be true. Firstly, they all had Ministry jobs, therefore making it excessively easy to "accidently" bump into one another several times a day. These accidents happened quite often, some jealous coworkers found, judging from the fact that both Ron and Harry had taken up jobs as Aurors, and Hermione worked in the Ministry of Defense. Then again, the fact that the great Harry Potter and his two trusty companions would have chosen such prominent positions in the field of Wizarding defense could have been foretold by the looniest patient at St. Mungo's.

Secondly, the three made sure to attend their at-least-once-weekly gatherings at a small Muggle restaurant in the heart of London, dubbed The Londoner. More often than not these lunchdates would happen on Wednesdays, when the office was at its all time low in productivity and deadlines. Hermione would usually be done more than two weeks' worth of paper work, and Ron and Harry (who had very little to do, anyways), would usually approach her with the proposal. It was a weekly ritual, by now, heading off to the little corner food eatery, discussing what had happened since last week and sharing office gossip. Normally, Hermione found herself looking forward to it, eating out with her two best friends, pretending, almost, that she was in Hogwarts all over again.

Except this week, Hermione was not looking forward to going.

Since Ron had accepted to "play-date" her, Hermione had been increasingly unsure of how to act around him. Not that she had tried to figure it out, by any means, having gone to extraordinary feats (not limited to hiding behind desks and entering the men's lavatory) to avoid coming face to face with Mr. Weasley. She knew it was immature and childish of her to be shunning him for such a stupid reason, but she couldn't help herself. It was confusing, in a word, to think that he could ever accept to do something so bizarre. Hermione couldn't even begin to bring herself to agree to this idea--it was Ron for Merlin's sake! She cursed Ginny for having bullied her into something so absurd.

So when, that Wednesday, she, Harry and Ron Apparated into the alley outside The Londoner (after a distinctly awkward walk down the office stairs), Hermione knew that she was not going to have much fun. Although she had, for some time, harbored a crush on Ron back at Hogwarts, she had quickly grown out of it after meeting Viktor Krum. Now, she couldn't even fathom what it was that had made her want to date him back then. As she had already said to Ginny, "But he's my best friend!"

The first thing Ron did that caused her to flush down to her toes, was pull out her chair for her. She couldn't recall if he had ever done something like that before, and suddenly it felt horribly as though they were on a date. A real date, and for some reason, Harry Potter had decided to tag along. Hermione felt self-conscious, quite abruptly, wondering if she should have spent more time on her hair and make-up this morning. Lord, she was even in her work clothes--namely a pair of faded jeans and a jumper, seeing as how her dress robes (which, of course, had been abandonned back at the office) would usually conceal what she wore underneath. 'Deep breaths, Hermione,' she thought, 'Deep breaths.'

"...so old Fletch thought she'd asked him to lick her!" Harry finished, his eyes shining with mirth as both he and Ron burst out laughing. Hermione watched them, shocked out of her reverie. Had she really been that out of it?

"You alright 'Mione?" Ron questioned, looking at her concernedly, when the two had calmed enough to notice that she hadn't been laughing with them. Harry cocked his head and gave her a similar look.

"I'm fine," she said, forcing a smile. 'So he really doesn't care then?' she found herself thinking, all the while becoming more and more confused. Seeing the look on Harry's face, she managed to add, "It's just...I think I forgot to fill out some paperwork. You know how that kind of thing bothers me."

Harry grinned, obviously accepting her half-truth. Yes, it was a half-truth. Work-aholic Hermione Granger had hardly done any paperwork this week, though she couldn't decide whether it was a result of her being so devastated over the loss of her Draco, or the shock of pretending to date her best friend. It was really much, much too confusing. By the time the waitress had come around to take their orders, Hermione had decided that she was, indeed, being foolish. Although this had already been acknowledged, she finally made a resolution to act normally.

"I'll have the eight ounce steak with fries and a baked potato, please," Ron said, grinning cheekily up at the attractive woman, who made no effort to conceal her own flirtatious gaze. Hermione felt something strange in her stomach, but couldn't place it. She didn't know if she wanted to.

"Big steak for a big boy," the waitress said, giving him a small, suggestive smile. Hermione heard Harry whoop with laughter. Someone from another table called for the waitress, and she excused herself momentarily.

"A big boy who's going to die of a heart attack," Hermione heard herself mutter in Ron's direction, just loud enough for Harry to also hear. Again, Harry was reduced to fits as Ron glared at the bushy haired girl. When the waitress returned, Hermione gave her order, "A cesar salad, thanks." She made sure she gave her sweetest smile.

After Harry had ordered, the three settled into a general banter, with Ron and Hermione ocassionally bickering about some topic or another. Apparently, Romilda Vane and Gretchen Hays were now an offical item back in the office, a notion which Ron found very pleasing. "I mean to say Harry," he said, turning to his male friend as he spoke, "have you seen the knockers on that Gretchen? Have you?" Harry burst into fits of laughter yet again, and Hermione rolled her eyes exasperatedly.

"Is that all you males look at?" Hermione questioned, smiling slightly.

"Yes," Ron replied, looking at her goofily. She made sure to swat his arm, hard.

"I think it's great old Romilda finally found herself someone," Harry said, grinning. Despite Harry's apparent happiness, the effects of the war were still evident on him. He looked years older than he actually was, and although he laughed and horsed around with Ron as though they were still in school, Hermione often noticed that he had not dated anyone since the disaster of him and Ginny. He was even reluctant to speak to others, as though she and Ron were all the friends he'd ever need. It sort of saddened her, sometimes, if she thought too long about how he might have been, had the bulk of the war not rested on his shoulders. So she didn't.

Ron snorted. "Harry, she found herself another girl," he said, "I think you sent the poor girl crooked after she chased you down in sixth year."

That earned a laugh from all three. It was no well-kept secret that Romilda had had her heart set on Harry Potter back in the day. Hermione looked up as their food came, smiling geniunely as the waitress who approached was not the same one who had flirted with Ron. She couldn't fathom why, but within the course of a few minutes, she had developed a dislike for that woman. After all, if she was to be play-dating Ron out in public, then maybe it was alright to feel a little jealous, right? Right?!

"'Mione, you sure you're alright? Your salad's been sitting there for about five minutes and you've not touched it," came Harry's concerned voice.

It took Hermione a moment to understand what he was saying. Then she realized; in front of her was her favorite thing to eat for lunch, and she'd completely neglected to look at it. Ron, on the other hand, was wolfing his food down as though it were trying to run away from him, and Harry's peppercorn burger was already a quarter gone. She had forgotten how quickly they both ate. And then, of course, would be the dessert consisting of a messy banana chocolate sundae, which was impossibly large, and which they all shared. Needless to say, Hermione usually got the least of it, what with the other two battling to eat it before the other, which was exactly why she needed to finish her salad before they decided to start on it and she ended up going hungry.

"Oh, sorry," she said, giving Harry an apologetic smile, "I zoned out a little." With that, she began to pick at her salad.


Luna Lovegood had never been one for "men of mystery"; you know the type who wore expensive suits and had these dark, foreboding auras about them. No, she was not that kind of girl, and she preferred to stick to regular people when it came to dating. She supposed this would count as a date--sort of, anyway. There, walking just in front of her, was Blaise Zabini, dressed impeccably in a white button-down shirt, black slacks and a jacket. She was sure he'd had a tie on him, too, but had abandonned it in favor of looking more casual. Not to mention the fact that he also had the whole dark, foreboding aura thing going on. It was hard to miss, with his dark hair falling into his eyes like that. Very hard to miss.

They were currently making their way along the streets of Diagon Alley, to some little restaurant for lunch. To add even more to his "man of mystery" repertoire, he had somehow found himself in her office without a hoarde of employees discovering his presence, and therefore making it the latest office gossip. Not forgetting the fact that her workplace was laid out in a format similar to that of an elaborate labyrinth, and she found herself wondering who exactly had had themselves Oblivated, or if he'd cast a Tracking Spell on her. She wouldn't put that kind of thing past him.

Today the streets of Diagon Alley were packed with women and young children, bustling into and out of robe stores and buying crying toddlers ice cream. It was a jolly scene, and although it was chilly, the sun shone brightly overhead and the sky was cloudless. The cobblestone underfoot clicked with heels, each store looking equally welcoming, and, as they entered the more restaurant-inclined section of Diagon, delicious smells began to waft throughout the air. "Almost there," she heard him rumble from up ahead, and her stomach did something funny. He had a nice voice, he really did.

Finally, they seemed to approach Zabini's destination, a quaint looking bistro situated on a corner that was milling with people. The name of the place, The Italian Veela, was written in a large, curling script on each of the spread umbrellas out front, the theme of the place seeming to be a rich cream color. It was packed with people who spilled out onto the street, some evidently waiting for a table. She could see a green and white tiled pathway leading from the cobblestone to the entrance of the place, and a cute white picket fence surrounded the outside tables and a small, polite garden.

Luna internally gaped. It looked far too busy for them to even dream of being seated today.

"It's always busy like this," he turned, smirking at her. She was again faced with that extremely pleasing lock of black hair, falling nicely into his face. "Which is why I made reservations."

Reservations?! So he'd been planning this, then. Luna glared a little at his back. Now she felt even more obligated to follow him past the crowd of people into the cute little interior, instead of making a run for it. Not that she was afraid of him or anything. Just that she had found that on Sunday, their uncanny comfort and constantly brushing limbs was a slight unnerving. She didn't know if she could sit through a whole lunch hour of that and make it back to her office in one piece.

Then why had she said yes to him back at her office? Damn her traitorous mouth and his looking so...so very handsome looking down at her like that.

Blaise confidently pushed past the crowd, evidently expecting him to follow her. When she lagged behind, he doubled back, reach out and grasping her small wrist with his large hand and tugging her swiftly forward. Various oomphs and 'Watch where you're going, you troll!'s sprang up around them, and Luna rolled her eyes, muttering half-hearted sorries. Blaise all but ignored them, continuing his walk to the front of the line, where he quickly addressed a bored-looking waiter. "Reservation for Zabini," he said primly, and the waiter's expression immediately changed to one of rapt attention.

"Immediately, sir," he replied, "Just come this way."

The inside of the bistro was just as crowded as the outside, but it had a type of cozy feeling to it. The atmosphere was warm and friendly, the tables round, italian styled affairs with cream cushion-padded chairs to suite. The lighting was bright this time of day, with the sun creeping in from outside, but Luna imagined an evening here could be very romantic. There were unlit candles on each table, and a folded brochure advertising their different selections of wine. There was only one vacant table, from what Luna could see, and it was in a nice corner near a large window that overlooked the street. The waiter seated them there, and menus magically appeared before them. "Can I get you drinks to start off with?" the waiter quested politely, motioning to the wine selection.

Luna was about to order some water, but Blaise got in first, "Some wine perhaps, Lovegood?" His eyes twinkled as she stared, rather blankly, back at him. "You have Moscato D'Asti?" he questioned, not sparing the wine selection a second glance.

"Indeed we do, I shall get you some right away."

"You know that Italian wine is twenty percent water-goblin blood," she stated once the eager waiter had left to find them the tasteful, Italian Moscato.

"I thought goblins couldn't swim," he remarked, setting his green-eyed gaze on her. Luna was again faced with that uncanny comfort that came from being in his presence, the intense way his eyes held hers almost enough to give her goosebumps.

"Well these are water-goblins," she explained, as though it should be the most obvious thing on earth. She idly began to fiddle with the napkin on which her eating utensils were placed. It wasn't that she was nervous, she told herself; it was just that her hands felt suddenly restless.

"Is there such a thing?" he quested, eager to keep the conversation going while still managing to sound marginally uninterested.

"There is," she answered, "We did an article on them about a year ago. They're extremely rare, but there have been sightings near Reggio di Calabria in Italy. It's believed they reside mostly in the Tyrrhenian Sea, but they're almost extinct because of the production of wines." She paused. "If I'm not mistaken, Moscato is a Southern wine, yes?" He nodded inscrutably and she continued, "Then the wine you just ordered is probably forty percent water-goblin blood."

His face was impassively serious, and Luna could hardly believe he'd not rolled his eyes yet. "I still don't understand how any goblin could swim. Have you been to Gringotts?"

The tone of his voice made her smile slightly, despite herself. "Well, yes, but these are believed to be a sort of hybrid of the merpeople--"

"Like a crossbreed?" he asked, his expression still unreadable, "A mermaid and a goblin's offspring?"

Luna nodded, still smiling. "It's believed that's how they originated. Most goblins do, after all, come from Italy."

"And the most beautiful merpeople live in the Tyrrhenian Sea," Blaise added, not missing a beat, "Have you ever been there, to Italy?"

Luna shook her head dreamily. "Oh, I've never had much time for travelling. I'd love to go someday, though. There are so many creatures to search for. I imagine it would be quite the experience."

"I've been there several times. Mostly on business campaigns, though. As you probably know, I sell broomsticks for a living." Luna couldn't help but giggle a little at the deadpan earnestness in his voice. "What?" he said, leaning forward. Her giggling had evidently thrown him off.

"Nothing," she said, looking at his handsome face, the sun shining in just behind his head, "I just find it amusing that you sell broomsticks for a living."

He made a bit of a face. "I find it amusing that you'd like to go out finding mythical creatures and instead spend your days looking over other peoples discoveries in a third floor office." He shrugged, and Luna peered at him from beneath her long eyelashes, her eyes, as ever, large. He was quite peculiar, she found herself thinking, to be so serious like this. She didn't know if he'd done anything but smirk (and at that, only once) so far. And then, even now, he'd not lost his impeccable composure.

"So do you enjoy what you do?" she questioned, suddenly, "This selling of broomsticks."

For once she saw his lip curve upwards slightly in a sort of half smile. She suppressed the thought to ask him that question about Veelas biting people again. "I guess I do," he said, "I mean, I grew up test-driving broomsticks for my father and all, so now that he's retired...It just seemed natural for me to take on the business." He cocked his head to one side, and for Luna, that told her all she needed to know.

"You don't enjoy selling broomsticks," she said, as though to herself, looking at him directly. He was looking right back at her, patient and calculating. "I suppose we're in the same box of chocolate frogs, then."

The conversation faded into that comfortable, awkwardly unawkward silence once again, and the waiter brought their wine not a few moments later. He took their orders and eventually the two began their game of talking again. Luna knew it was a game; some strange game of playing around the truth, telling eachother not lies, but not the full story, either. Occasionally she would point out some relation or the other to an article that had been run by the Quibbler and they would begin a sort of aloof argument on its validity, or she would find herself filling him in about the topic if he had never heard of it before.

By the time they had paid (Blaise paying his share, and Luna paying hers, in wordless agreement), Luna was a little hesitant to say that she'd had what was probably the best first "date" of her life. She considered it a bit of a date, in her mind, a 'half-date' she mused to herself. It wasn't that he'd hadn't taken her somewhere fancy, and it wasn't that there hadn't been even a day's notice. He hadn't even given the slightest hint that he'd wanted to kiss her as he'd walked her back to the front of her office building (to her mild, unacknowledged disappointment), and at the end of it all, he hadn't kissed her. She guessed it was simply his company she liked so much. It seemed that he had no romantic interest in her, and she liked to think that she reciprocated the same state. But, at least, she had finally figured out what Ginny had seen in him.

Author's Note: Consider this my break from planning! I launched two of the minor romances; unfortunately you guys are going to have to wait a bit longer for the major one. But, of course, you knew that! I'm really taking my sweet time to develop the characters and their emotions--I hope you guys like it so far. This story is turning out to be quite the challenge, and I'm having a lot of inspiration (summer, oh blissful, summer) to write it. So...I guess, ON TO CHAPTER EIGHT!

Do not forget to REVIEW :-)

PS: Thanks to the Pearl, as always, for a lovely review--and pointing out my lengthening paragraphs, excessive use of dots, semicolons and dashes :-) Also to caught in my own world for pointing out that dollars should have been galleons :-)