Hermione lay flopped on Harry's bed, lazing in the 7th years boys dormitory. It scandalized her peers (read, Lavender and Parvati), shocked the younger Gryffindor girls, and caused great amusement among the guys in the dorm, but Hermione didn't care. Her two closest friends were boys, and she had the right to hang out with them when she felt like it. Hermione knew that caused a lot of jealousy among some girls, but she didn't care. Besides, she kind of liked the attention.
"So you and Oliver are going undercover?" Harry asked playfully, while scrutinizing his hair in the mirror. His hand automatically went up to flatten the untidy black mass, but it just sprung up again, and Harry sighed.
"I'm sure a lot of girls would love the chance to go undercover with Oliver, if you know what I mean," he said, grinning impudently. Hermione made a face and threw a pillow at him.
"Yeah," Hermione said, trying to set her face so that Harry wouldn't see the excitement that suddenly came to her eyes whenever Oliver was mentioned. " But it kind of bothers me that we can't tell Ron…"
"Tell me what?" Ron said, emerging in the dormitory. Hermione nervously gulped. Why did Ron always do that?
"That your feet smell, mate, that's what," Harry said, chucking a dirty sock at Ron. Ron laughed, and so did Hermione.
The fact that Harry and Hermione had been alone, together, in the boy's dormitory didn't at all perturb Ron, even though he and Hermione had briefly dated their 6th year. Even if that had failed, Ron and Hermione's friendship had only deepened, and she was much happier with their present situation. But that still didn't mean Ron wasn't very protective of her.
"Hermione, can I copy your Potions essay?"
"Of course not," Hermione said briskly, knowing what his reply would be.
"Thanks, 'Mione, I owe you one. Can I get that by tonight?"
Smiling, Hermione said "Yeah, sure. But I'll be leaving tonight, and probably be gone for a night or two."
"Oh really?" said Ron, now rummaging in his messy truck for a clean pair of socks. Apparently he had taken Harry's comment to heart. "And why is that?"
"Visiting my sick Auntie. Mum wanted me to care for her."
Harry discreetly raised his eyebrows, and Ron swore as he stubbed his finger on God knows what (in this case, a package of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, Canary Creams) while rummaging through his trunk.
"Damnit! Oh, well, have fun… oh, no, I mean, tell your Auntie I said hi, and to get better because she's stealing my favorite study partner… oh, did I just say that out loud?"
"Yeah," Harry said, "You did."
Just then the door opened, and Dean and Seamus walked in.
"Mornin', Hermione," they said, too used to her to care (although Dean still smiled, for all like a little schoolboy who is caught trying to see up his teacher's skirt. He still wasn't used to seeing a girl in the guy's dorm).
"Hey, guys," she said. "Well, I better be off. I have to finish that Potions essay before I leave."
"You mean I can't copy it?" asked a devastated Ron, clean socks in hand.
* * * * *
Hermione stood nervously in front of the mirror, involuntarily twitching to smooth her hair and stopping her hand at the last moment. It was dinnertime, so she didn't have to worry about running into anyone, and she was still in her dorm room. Oliver had informed her that they were going to be having dinner with Romanov and his family, and had hinted that she should wear something nice. Well, she had put on a pair of silk robes that were more elegant than her school robes, but she still eyed herself critically. Her hair she had smoothed with a flick of her wand, her lips shone from gloss, and she pinched her cheeks to give them a rosy tint. Hermione had never been naturally beautiful, but it was her liveliness, her intelligence, and her spark that lent her a beauty many physically attractive women did not have.
She couldn't deny that her thoughts kept returning to Oliver, and that she dressed in the hope that he would approve. It was subconscious, really, so she could pretend she was really just thinking about the mission.
Grabbing a silk wrap and a small bag of clothes and toiletries, she slipped out of her dorm and headed towards Oliver's office, trying hard not to be seen. She had already said her good-bye's.
Within minutes, she was knocking on his door, and for a second jumped with nervousness, as she thought she had come to the wrong room. She was expecting to see Oliver in his everyday splendor… uh, everyday clothes, she meant…
The door opened, and Hermione turned around, her mouth open, but abruptly stopping at 'Hi', and left to hang open.
But standing in front of her was a very dashing gentleman, slightly tousled hair, crisp black suit (it was quite fashionable in Bulgaria, she would later find out) and an attitude that made her heart melt with a feeling she had never known before.
"How do I look?" he asked with a smile.
Regaining her composure, and trying to pretend she always walked around with her mouth hanging open, she said "Magnificent, dahling (a/n: in honor of slytherinrules85 J )
"You look beautiful," he said genuinely, and Hermione blushed.
"Thanks," she said.
His gaze lingered on her face before abruptly looking elsewhere. "Come on in," he said, motioning inside his office. "We'll be Apparating to Bulgaria, Number 3, Kovnor Lane. Got that? Good. Just hold on to me, it'll make it easier."
Hermione had to still her trembling hands: suddenly she felt nervous, and it wasn't because Oliver was so close to her. He grabbed her hand; his felt slightly rough, but his touch was surprisingly gentle.
"Anything I need to know?" Hermione asked, trying to delay the inevitable.
"Only that your name is Alex," he said. "Romanov really isn't a bad guy, but I guess we'll just see…Ready? Okay. Let's go."
And with the familiar swooping feeling in her stomach, Oliver muttered something, and their Apparation took only a few seconds. The smells and lighting instantly changed, and Hermione was very conscious how she was leaning into Oliver, his grip on her still tight. Her eyes were closed.
"Welcome, Mr. And the future Mrs. Wood," said a deep voice from behind them, and they slowly turned around.
"Aleksandar!" Oliver said jovially, detaching himself from Hermione and walking forward to grasp the man's hand. Hermione hovered, uncertain what to do, but Oliver quickly pulled her in.
"Aleksandar, this is Alex," he said. Aleksandar Romanov took Hermione's hand, and she got the impression of a strong nose and thick eyebrows before he bent over to kiss her hand. He seemed pleasant enough.
He quickly turned back to Oliver, and the two immersed themselves in a conversation quite past the realm of Hermione's understanding, so instead she took in her surroundings.
They were in a sort of sitting room; richly furnished with dark, lush furniture and heavy draperies. Heavy furniture occupied a lot of the space, and a gold silk drapery adorned the wall. A particularly splendid tapestry depicting a nymph and a satyr arrested Hermione's attention. They were obviously a rich family, and Hermione felt impressed in spite of herself.
"My family," Romanov said, waving carelessly behind him. A fair, frail-looking lady was sitting in a high backed chair. Romanov nodded to her. "My wife, Ekaterina." The lady nodded politely, and said, "Welcome to our home. We were so delighted to hear from Mr. Wood, and are pleased you are staying the night. Our only regret is being unable to entertain you in our home for a longer amount of time."
Romanov smiled at her, and said "My son, Nikolai." A tall, dark haired man standing by the window winked jovially, but only after he had quickly run his eyes over Hemione's figure. Hermione resisted the impulse to frown.
"Mr. Wood, your flying was superb in the scrimmage versus the Bulgarian nationals."
Oliver beamed. "Thank you."
Hermione felt a slight tugging on the bag she was still clutching, and looked down to see a smaller than usual house elf tugging at her bag. Hermione relinquished it, and wondered in amazement at the retreating back how so small a creature could carry both her and Oliver's bag.
Hermione felt slightly disconcerted; perhaps it was the fact they had just traveled a thousand miles instantly, or the fact that Oliver was standing so close to her. It made her heart beat a little faster, and she suddenly had to sit down to catch her breath.
"Oh, forgive me!" Romanov cried. "Please, sit down. Shall I call for refreshments? Anty!"
Another little house elf zoomed out of nowhere, and Romanov briskly ordered some drinks. Hermione almost started when she heard that he had ordered her a Firewhisky; she wasn't legally old enough to drink yet. But Oliver's hand suddenly found her arm, and with the slightest pressure he seemed to tell her to stay silent. She was, after all, supposed to be around Oliver's age, and that made her old enough to drink. She blushed at her foolishness, but Oliver simply smiled at her.
"Ah, young people in love!" Romanov said, beaming at them. But Hermione's stomach plummeted when she saw Oliver's smile vanish, and his grip turn rigid. Suddenly, it seemed like the night had lost all it's excitement and fun.
"Well, let's sit down, then, shall we?" came the deep voice from Anton. Hermione, still a little uncertain, was almost relieved when Anton took her arm.
"You don't mind if I escort Alex, do you, Mr. Wood?"
"No," said Oliver, letting go of Hermione. His smile seemed to be forced. Hermione almost sighed in exasperation. First Oliver shied away from anything involving Hermione and love, but now he was almost acting the jealous husband! She couldn't tell. At least Ron had been upfront with her, even if it had cost them a relationship.
All the rooms looked the same, and the dining room they were eating in seemed no different from the room they had just come from; the same heavy draperies, rich embroideries, and gold antiques. Hermione got the feeling she was in a very old castle, one that Dracula would choose to live in. There was an ominous air about everything; it seemed to radiate from everything, like magnetic waves she couldn't see. The worst part about it was that it was masked with an apparent front of kindness, and Hermione involuntarily shivered.
Anton was making polite and cheerful conversation as she held on to his arm, and she missed the frowns that Oliver was sending at her back.
Maybe had she seen them, her night would have taken a turn for the interesting.
A/N: Please read this note, I'll try not to bore you. I know I'm agonizingly drawing out the He/O relationship, but trust my when I say in the next one or two chapters something very definite will happen. Thanks for reading, and e-mail even if you just want to talk.
~Faith