A/N: Ahem. Sorry. I made two different references to sons of Aleksandar Romanov: Anton and Nikolai. Aleksandar has two sons; I just forgot to introduce one of them. If I ever rewrite this story, I'll make sure to correct that mistake: as of now, I'm too lazy. Gracias.

~I know the title of the chapter is also the title of a book, but I thought it was relevant.

*** I hope you like this chapter. I'm a little nervous about it.***

Hermione secretly delighted in the frowns that Oliver was throwing across the table at her. Just a few minutes ago, Anton had helped Hermione into her ornately decorated chair: in his attempt, Anton's hands had traveled over her neck and shoulders, "accidentally", of course, but Oliver's mouth had turned down at the corners, as he observed the spectacle out of the corner of his eye.  In normal circumstances, Hermione probably would have slapped the offender silly, but the look in Oliver's eyes was enough to make her forget the injustice.

 She and Anton were seated together at the Romanov's impressive, heavy oak table, and she thought they were hitting it off pretty well, although he was a little dark and depressing for her. Had circumstances been different, she probably would have found this man slightly eerie, a little depressing. But he was handsome enough, and he asked her a lot of questions about England and her school, which she carelessly answered. But she thoroughly enjoyed seeing Oliver eye the both of them with raised eyebrows, especially after Anton leaned in close to hear something she said, and she responded in kind, until her lips were almost touching his ear. She knew it was vexing Oliver, and felt a slight thrill that she could influence a man's emotions. A handsome, muscular man, to boot.

Dinner seemed to be like a game between Oliver and Hermione, a battle of the wills, if you must. Hermione could have sworn Oliver was angry with her, but she didn't have the damndest idea why. She would steal quick glances at him all night long, as if she couldn't help it, like something was drawing her gaze to him.

More that once, she was both surprised and excited to see Oliver was looking back, with a pensive look on his face, before quickly averting his gaze. Now it seemed to be a game of make-sure-the-other-doesn't-catch-you-looking. Oliver was failing miserably, and this only made Hermione happy, and she could hardly concentrate on what Anton was saying.

It was almost a relief when the dessert course was cleared away and Aleksandar suggested jovially that they all retire to the drawing room for a smoke. Hermione had to resist smirking: that practice was so antiquated, yet here it was celebrated in all its glory. Then she heard Oliver say something that almost caused her to snort into the water she was just drinking:

"Aleksandar, my wife and I wish to refresh ourselves. Do you mind if we meet you in a few minutes?"

Hermione didn't hear the reply: all she was aware of was the soaring sensation she felt when she heard Oliver say that. He sounded so sincere. She nervously stood up from the table, and let Oliver lead her away down the hall, not even questioning the fact that he seemed to know where he was going. Hermione had no idea where he was leading her: his grip on her arm was tense, and he didn't say anything. But she was surprised when Oliver suddenly threw a closet door open, pushed her in, and quickly followed suit. It was dark, and she could hardly see him.

"Oliver, what are y…"

"Listen, I need you to investigate."

"But Oliver, can't we talk about someth…"

"I'm going to distract Romanov in  the drawing room, and I need you to search his office."

"Oliver," she began furiously. "What is wrong with y…"

"It's the second door to the left from here. Whatever you do, don't get caught… and if you do, then say you had heard about his musket collection, and had just wanted to see for yourself."

"Oliver, stop…"

"I'll just tell Aleksandar that you suddenly weren't feeling well, and decided to rest instead. Good luck," he said abruptly, and just as quickly left. Hermione left staring out the open door, wanting to scream, laugh, and cry all at the same time. She wanted with all her heart to hate him.

* * * * * *

Hermione silently crept into Romanov's office, every nerve of her body strained. She was incredibly nervous, and began to sweat slightly. His office looked like the rest of the house: dark, rich, and heavy. Thoughts of Oliver kept swimming through her mind, but she managed to make her way over to the large, clear-topped desk and was just about to open the first drawer when she suddenly heard something that nearly gave her a heart attack.

"Dear Hermione, what do we have here?"

She turned slowly around, and was horrified to see Anton standing in the door.

"Oh," she said nervously. "I, um… came to see, let's see, your musket father's collection. I mean," she said quickly, cursing the fact that she couldn't lie. "Your father's musket collection."

"Hermione, I would have thought a member of the Order of the Phoenix would lie better," Anton said smoothly. Hermione almost went mad with nervousness, and she jolted. How did he know about her and the Order? She began to feel slightly scared, and anxiously racked her brains for her next step. Anton was gazing at her with an almost feverish look in his eyes, and he shut the door softly behind him. Hermione had the uncanny feeling that if she screamed, nobody would hear.

Hermione knew she should have lied again, that a good agent would have bluffed, then hit him with a Memory charm when he was off guard. But all she could think about was Crookshanks, and how she hoped Ron was feeding him…

"I don't know what you are talking about," Hermione said feebly, instinctively trying to position the desk between Anton and herself. "I don't even know this… this Order…"

"Hermione," he said. "No need to hide it. You were quite foolish, you know, answering my questions at dinner without paying attention to what you were saying. Although I'll cut you some slack: Your fianc sure seemed to attract your attention."

Hermione felt trapped, and all she could do was stare at Anton. How did he know all of this? She felt suddenly dumb, like everything she learned had been siphoned off and she was only left with the memory of how to stare. Speech was useless now.

"But don't worry, Hermione," Anton said, walking slowly towards her. "I won't tell anyone, as long as you continue to play the nice girl… I must say, I have never had a Mudblood before…" his eyes were lit with an almost manic energy, and his dark, handsome face was contorted with some feverish emotion.

Anton suddenly jumped at her, and Hermione scrambled just out of his reach, something screaming in her ears. Everything she had learned was now out the window; she was mad with fear, and all she knew was that she had to stay away from this man…

In her haste, Hermione knocked over a globe of the world and sent it crashing at Anton's feet. He jumped over it, and Hermione turned and ran to the door, desperately trying to open it. But the doors were locked, and Anton just smirked. He leaped over to her, and pinned her against the wall.

"Don't worry," he said. His body was pressed roughly against hers, and she struggled to get away. But he shoved her back, and his hand reached to her blouse. Hermione was almost mad with fear: her breath came in quick gasps, and she struggled and fought with all her strength. She closed her eyes, only mildly surprised that no tears were forming now.

Anton suddenly leapt back, and Hermione seized the moment to jump away, but Anton only laughed and grabbed her again. She was sobbing now, her breath coming in great racking gasps…

And just as he was about to do something that would have made Hermione prefer death, the door to the study crashed open with a tremendous bang, and made a huge dent in the wall. Hermione looked up, and saw Oliver standing in the doorway, his wand pointed at Anton's heart. Hermione's heart soared.

"Let her go," Oliver said, in a voice that chilled Hermione to the bone. Anton did.

And then, all of a sudden, three things happened at once.

Anton, a mad look in his eyes, jumped at Oliver. Hermione screamed. And Oliver yelled something, and Anton just disappeared in a puff of smoke.

"Oh my God," Hermione said, shaking. "Oh my God… Oh my God…" She sagged against the wall, her strength gone, and just as she was about to fall to the floor Oliver leaped over an upturned chair and caught her. She scrambled and clutched his arms to her, feeling the familiar warmth of safety.

"Are you okay?" he asked, worry in his eyes. She nodded, but couldn't control her shaking. She felt exhausted, drained, and emotionally bankrupt.

"What happened?" she asked, trying to keep her voice from quavering.

"Oh, he'll end up somewhere in South America," Oliver said casually, still holding her. She had no strength to stand on her own.

"But…"

"He was a Death Eater, and his father didn't know it," Oliver said darkly. "He was a sick, disgusting man, and he deserved to be killed. He was crazy, too. Thought he could cozy up to Voldemort. Dumb shit…But I can be lenient…" He was furious.

"Why didn't you tell me?" asked Hermione, indignant… or at least as indignant as she could be.

"Just heard it, about two minutes ago, from Tonks," he said. "But at least the rest of the family is clean. I'll just tell Aleksandar that Anton fell in love with his third cousin and just ran off with her because he couldn't stand living in his father's shadow."

"Oh," said Hermione weakly. She looked up into his face. He was so warm against her… so warm… And he had saved her…

And then Oliver suddenly helped Hermione to a chair, as if her skin was too hot to touch. She didn't even have energy to cry, so she just sat and stared helplessly at Oliver, but he refused to look at her.

"Oliver, I…"

"Come on," he said brusquely, "We can head back to the room now, when you feel good enough to walk." 

Hermione stared at his broad back, but still no tears rolled down her cheeks.

* * * * * * *

Hermione was still overwhelmed by what just happened. She found herself involuntarily shaking as she walked besides Oliver, and all of a sudden felt tears begin to swell and crowd behind her eyes. She shivered, and for the first time in her life, felt scared for reasons she couldn't explain. She looked desperately at Oliver, crying with her heart that he would finally just hear her, stop playing games with her, and take her in her arms like she knew should happen. Her whole body ached for him, and it quite terrified her that she could ever want something so much.

But Oliver walked right beside her, not looking at her. He had other things on his mind, and Hermione wasn't one of them, she miserably thought. She had let her emotions get in the way, had tried to make Oliver jealous, and… well, something bad happened as a result.

If only she knew what Oliver was really thinking…

Hermione felt miserable, and almost bumped into Oliver's back when the Romanov's house elf stopped in front of the door to their room. Hermione mumbled a thanks as the door was opened, and was greeted with a room quote unlike the rest of their house. A large, four-poster bed occupied in the middle of the room. The walls were upholstered with a light green color, and delicate furniture was scattered around the room: quite different from the rest of the house.

With another jolt of her heart, she realized that there was only one bed in the room. Of course, thought Hermione dully. We're married, aren't we?

After the elf deposited her and Oliver's things, bowed, and shut the door quietly behind them, silence filled the room, until it was broken by Oliver.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he said brusquely, grabbing a spare comforter off of a chair. He turned his back to her, and Hermione's stomach tightened when she noted how broad his shoulders were, the way his head bent over to unfold the blanket he held in his hands. The light softly splayed across his shirt (he had discarded his jacket) and the shadows formed exaggerated his muscles. Hermione pressed her lips together and bit them, trying to distract herself from the tears that tried to well up again. The soft light of the room cast dancing shadows across his face, and his eyes met hers. Gone was the playfulness she had seen begun to emerge the past few weeks, to be replaced by something Hermione couldn't put a finger on.

He disappeared in the bathroom, and emerged a few minutes later in a cotton Puddlemore shirt and shorts. She sighed, and followed suit, emerging in shorts and a shirt. In her haste, she had packed a form-fitting cotton tank, and she didn't have a bra to wear with it either.

"Oliver, I… I'll sleep on the floor," Hermione said timidly, checking her voice. She felt like her entire soul was weighed down with unknown amounts of sorrow. She knew that the air around them sparked with electricity, but she sadly realized they would never happen, just like she never was able to have the only man she ever wanted.

His face didn't change, and he regarded her for a few moments.

"Don't be stupid," he said abruptly. She turned her eyes to the floor to avoid his gaze. "I'll sleep on the floor."

"Well, I guess we'll be wasting a pair of perfectly clean sheets," Hermione said rather acidly, exasperated. Oliver noted the tone of her voice and frowned.

"And don't even begin to frown at me," Hermione continued, her sadness suddenly fueling her anger. She was tired of falling in love all her life, and her feelings never being reciprocated. She was tired that here she was alone with Oliver, pretending to be married, and she couldn't even do so much as kiss him.

"And why not?" said Oliver, clearing getting angry. Hermione had heard about his volatile temper, and briefly wondered if she had just poked a sleeping lion.

"Oliver, I am tired of all this shit. Not what we're doing, but you."

His eyes widened. "Me? What did I ever do to you?"

She laughed bitterly. "Oh, I don't know, Oliver. But you know, all my life I've faced disappointment and sorrow when it came to love."

"In case you've forgotten, so have I," he said, his voice dangerously low, his shoulders taught.

"But that's where you and I are different. You at least have felt love, knew what it was like to be in love, have held someone in your arms and would give your life to protect her." Hermione didn't want to acknowledge it, but she was slightly jealous of Alex, Oliver's fiancé and love of his past. But she was almost past the point of caring.

"Oliver, I knew you were dedicated to Quidditch, but at Hogwarts, whenever you weren't playing Quidditch, you were either flirting or else dodging commitments with girls. I thought you had changed! I thought you became capable of being loyal, and of flirting to mean something. Obviously I was wrong."

Hermione felt suddenly uplifted, that she had gotten this off her chest.

"What did I ever do to you?" Oliver asked again, slowly. She wished he would stop staring at her. She had the feeling he could see right through her.

"Oh, I don't know," she said. "How about making me fall in love with you. I don't even know why," she said dully, mad that a tear had escaped from her eye and was trailing down her cheek. She wanted to scream. But then she looked up.

Oliver was still staring at her, and he looking like a man who was privately waging an internal war. He looked anguished, guilt-ridden, and miserable. It was enough. Hermione grabbed her things and headed towards the door, unable to handle all the emotion and electricity that lay in the air.

"I'm out," she said, and had partially thrown open the door when Oliver's arm suddenly came from nowhere and pushed it closed again. Hermione refused to turn around, and struggled with the doorknob, angrily dashing tears from her eyes. But it was useless: Oliver was too strong, and she was weakened by despair.

"Let me go, you bastard!" she said furiously, now openly crying. But in a moment she would remember and carry with her the rest of her life, Oliver gathered her suddenly in his arms and pulled her to his chest, and held her quaking body, her forearms pushed against his chest. She feebly tried to protest, tried to push off, but he was so forceful, and so… gentle.

"Stop it!" she whispered. "I don't want to love you… Please, just let me leave."

"Hermione, you have to listen to me," Oliver said, still holding her, pressing her to him. His voice was shaking, but Hermione still tried feebly to push herself away from him.

"Hermione, I don't know what to say… You're right, I have known love," he began haltingly. She gave up her resistance, and let herself lean into him, savoring the pressure of his forearms on her back.  He sensed this, and let go to look at her.

"And it ruined me. When I learned about… about Alex…"

He stopped.

"Well, it almost killed me," he finally said. Hermione was overcome by a sudden wave of pity for this strong man who had been hurt so deeply. "I spent months… months drinking, throwing my life away…

And, I know you'll later laugh at this… I think the only thing that kept me going was a traveling Seer. She read my fortune, and said that in my future, I would love again, more than I ever had before. And so I tried to clean my act up," his low voice continued, "so that one day I could be happy again, and love again."

"I'm sorry," Hermione whispered, almost frightened at this show of emotions. She gently pressed her lips together, but with a bubbling feeling of hope stirring in her stomach. She looked into his eyes, and for once he didn't look away. His eyes were alive, intelligent, sorrowful, and beautiful. New emotions swirled around Hermione; powerful longings, her entire body seemed to ache for him. She wanted to feel his arms around her again, press her stomach against his, feel his lips on hers.

They were mere inches away, and Hermione felt like each word that came out of his mouth formed a web, a web that was now fastened securely around them both and bound them together. She felt overwhelmed, and almost started crying again from happiness.

"I was scared, Hermione," Oliver said. "You just… overwhelmed me, with your talent, and your beauty… And I'm your teacher, for God's sake… But I had gone so long without knowing what love felt like, and I was… scared, absolutely terrified when it did."

"Wow…" Hermione said softly, her mouth slightly open. She snapped it shut, and looked up into his eyes. "I want to help you forget," she said seriously. He broke into a sad smile, and she smiled back.

"When I saw you in… on that room, and that… that bastard… was going to…" he was so angry he almost couldn't speak… "I knew that all I wanted was to protect you, and that you would never have to go through something like that again."

Hermione felt as if she and Oliver were the sole two beings on the earth. Her emotions were tremendous, her stomach was plummeting, her heart was racing, and she felt magnetically drawn to Oliver. He was looking at her so intently, and expectantly, and Hermione was almost drowned in a wave of love.

Then, tentatively, Oliver gently took her right hand, then her left. He pulled her to him, and without speaking he pressed her body to his. They were quivering slightly, whether from nervousness she didn't know, or the fact that they had just found love.

"Hermione," he said, his voice shaking slightly. "I can't believe… I've waited…"

Then, like they both knew would happen from the day they met, Oliver buried his face in her neck, and his hands pulled her closer to him. They were standing, and she was thrilled to feel his muscular body pressed against hers, and that here was someone who desired her as much as she desired him. She had the sudden desire to see more of him; shirtless, disheveled, naked. His muscles rippled as he kissed her neck, and his arms wrapped around her waist even tighter. She clung to his neck, knowing instinctively he would protect her from everything bad in the world.  Hermione shivered, and then his lips found hers in a gentle, tentative kiss, which became more passionate. Hermione was overwhelmed; she couldn't believe this was happening, she couldn't believe it wasn't a dream. She began to drown in the bliss that was Oliver.

They clung together, delighted in the closeness of their bodies, felt the beating of the other's heart. They had been through something that was binding, they had both been hurt in the past, and they both knew that peace lay in the other's arms.

In a body quite separate from her own, Hermione quickly detached herself and turned the lights off, returning and slipping back into Oliver's embrace. She tugged his shirt off, and ran her hands over his pecs, his chest, his shoulders… The lone candle showed an Oliver whose face was completely filled with love.

And then he said the words she had longed to hear her whole life: "I love you, Hermione."

Suddenly, she was at peace.

* * * * * * * *

Phew. I hope you like it. I just want to take a quick moment to say thank you and a lot of hugs to all of my reviewers, especially the ones who keep on encouraging me throughout the whole story and are really wonderful:

Beth-TauriChick, Tracy3, slytherinrules85, Red and Gold, JagFanatic, queenofDiamonds1, L'eau Goddess, BotherBother69, Athene Saile, mystripedskirt, and everyone else, thank you!. Please e-mail me, I love to talk!