A/N: I own nothing of this story that you recognize from the HP books. The world is all JKR's. I just live in it. LOL
'He is talking,' Hermione told herself. 'Answer him you dolt!'
"Uh, I am Miss Hermione Granger."
Oliver blinked several times. 'Well this just beats all,' he said laughingly in his head.
"Pleasure to meet you, uh, again, Miss Granger." He replied.
"Again?" she asked.
"Yes. I am not sure if you recall, but we went to school together at Hogwarts for a few years."
Hermione looked at him again and tried to place his face. Strong features jumped out at her, as well as the broad shoulders. 'Yes dear, he has broad shoulders' her mind teased. He stood up and as she looked up at him from her diminutive 5'7" inches, her eyes widened again considerably. She swallowed with a little difficulty.
"Oliver? Is that really you?" she asked quietly.
Her voice was slight and musical now, the raspy quality almost gone.
"In the flesh." He replied.
A becoming blush came into her cheeks and she blinked again. The dust from the shelves was lightly coating her hair, so he wasn't sure exactly what color it was anymore, except for the warm darkness at the base of her neck. Her lavender sweater was absent any dust, and clung to her like a second skin. Her neck was slightly damp from working near the warm air at the ceiling and it glistened invitingly. Her small frame was encased in long, smooth black slacks that left everything to the imagination and boy, did he have a good imagination.
"Ahem, well, this is a pleasant surprise. How are you?" she asked, sinking into her chair.
He waited until she was seated before he sat back down.
"Quite well, thank you. And yourself?
"Um, well, fine I guess. I never expected that my appointment would be an old classmate of mine." She stated.
"Neither did I." Oliver said, shuffling a bit in his seat. "How long have you worked here?" he asked.
"A little over a year. I traveled abroad quite a bit after, ahem, afterwards, and completed my studies there," she said.
"I see," he remarked, "and how are the other two-thirds of the trio?"
Her eyes became warm immediately as she related that Harry was now a fully certified Auror and married to Ginny with a daughter and another child on the way. Ron worked at Hogwarts as the flying instructor, since Madam Hooch's retirement several years earlier. He also refereed the matches between the houses.
"I certainly don't have to ask what you have been up to," she teased. "On the cover of Quidditch Monthly almost half of the year and in the Daily Prophet society pages even more often. You have certainly kept busy."
He blushed slightly as he looked at his hands. "You know, you can't believe everything you read."
"Yes, I most certainly do know that from experience," Hermione all but whispered. She looked out the high window, recalling her 4th year at Hogwarts when Harry was entered in the Tri-Wizard Tournament. That was the year Cedric died and Voldemort rose again. Her eyes became sad and thoughtful.
A quiet came over the room as they both thought on all these things. Hermione closed those thoughts away for another time, another place, and brought her eyes back to Oliver and the task at hand.
"So, you have a text you want authenticated?" she asked.
"Oh, yes, of course. It is in this bag," he stated as he rose to remove the book from his messenger bag. He lifted the bag from the desk and removed the book, setting it down softly in front of her. He placed the bag at his feet as he sat back down.
Her eyes took on a wholly different gleam now that the book was in front of her. A new adventure waited in the pages and she gloried in the rush of adrenaline she felt. Her small hands lifted the cover carefully and she read the inscription inside. Her eyes widened and she looked up at Oliver, who was busy watching her expressions. His eyes caught hers and she smiled.
"Do you realize what you have here?" she asked eagerly.
"I know what I would like to be, but, after all, you are the expert" he replied.
She smiled as she relayed some of the history of the book to him. He nodded when appropriate and asked detailed questions. This surprised Hermione for some reason. She had always thought of him as an athlete, a completely obsessed Quidditch captain. She saw now that she was quite mistaken.
"So, do you think it is authentic?" Oliver asked a few moments after they stopped talking.
She looked up at him and said, "Well, I will need to do a bit of research on it to be certain. Wild guess where you got it though…Bulgaria?"
"Yes, on a trip for a match," he replied. "Is that significant?"
"Well, I have only ever seen one other edition of this particular book and it was supposed to be the only copy in existence," Hermione murmured, the shutters on full force now.
"…and you suspect that this is the actual original?" Oliver queried.
"I have some inkling of what is true and what is false, but without examining both texts side by side, I cannot be 100 percent certain," Hermione stated flatly.
"Would it be difficult to obtain this other copy?"
"Um, well, of that I am not certain. I can tell you that without that examination, I won't be able to fully authenticate it. I am sorry." Hermione replied.
"Well, if you need both, I don't mind leaving this in your capable hands until this other copy be retrieved. Costs incurred and such things are quite understandable."
Hermione's eyes flared briefly and she was about to state that she would not in any way be traveling to retrieve the other copy when her stomach betrayed her and let loose a loud rumble.
Oliver's eyes widened slightly and then he smiled. He glanced at his watch and observed that is was almost noon.
"Would you care to join me for some lunch while we discuss the finer details?" he gallantly offered.
She almost immediately declined, but was struck by his smiling face and open expression. 'This is Oliver, for crying out loud,' she thought to herself. 'He wouldn't hurt a fly.'
"I would be delighted." Hermione stated as she rose to secure the ancient tome in her desk and retrieve her cloak. She found it to be ready and waiting in Oliver's hands. She blushed slightly and allowed him to help her into the cloak, his large warm hands smoothing out the back near her shoulders.
Oliver was smoothing the cloak over her shoulders when her perfumed scent assaulted his nose.
"Is that lavender?" He asked gruffly as he opened her door.
"Why, yes. I grow it in my garden and concoct an infusion to use in my shampoo. Not many people recognize it. I try to keep it subtle, as some folks have touchy sinuses around here. Probably from the dust," she chuckled.
"Speaking of dust, you have some on your hair." Oliver mentioned.
Hermione felt her hair. The dust that rose from that small pat was enough to make her sneeze. As she did, her pins securing her bun from that morning came loose and allowed her long curls to fall down her back.
Oliver swallowed hard and whispered, "Just a moment," as he preformed the Scurgify spell. "There we are, all neat and tidy."
"Thank you." Hermione said quietly as her face flamed in embarrassment. She pulled the last of the pins from her hair and fluffed it with her fingers a bit before she walked right into her office door.
"Ow!" She exclaimed.
"Sorry, I didn't open it all the way yet." Oliver apologized. "That was entirely my fault."
"No worries," she replied, rubbing her forehead.
"Shall we try to get out of the store before we implode it in on itself?" he chuckled.
"Yes, please." Hermione turned after they had both safely made it through the opening and whispered her locking enchantments.
Oliver allowed her to go ahead of him, while he followed at a respectful distance. Or perhaps disrespectful. He was admiring the way Hermione walked, her head held high as she maneuvered around others and spoke to her co-workers. She wasn't snooty, but very focused. He managed to avoid any female customers while he followed her out of the book store and into Diagon Alley.
"Where to?" she asked.
"Well, there is this great Italian bistro around the corner from Madam Malkin's, if you care to try it. I have heard of it, but never been there myself. It is a bit off the beaten path, which is honestly why it appeals to me," Oliver stated.
Hermione didn't have to ask why. They were receiving some interesting looks from the other patrons shopping in Diagon Alley that day.
"Sounds perfecto," she said, with an almost perfect accent.
"You speak Italian as well?" Oliver asked, while guiding her through the street with his hand on her elbow.
"Well, being versed in several languages is almost a requirement in my line of work. How else would I know if what I was reading was accurate or not?" she said, as she struggled to fight back the rising heat from his soft touch at her side.
"True," he mused as he led the way into a small bistro well off the beaten path, perfect for romantic interludes and private assignations.
As the hostess directed them to a small table near the back of the outdoor patio, Hermione felt the warmth of Oliver's hand at the small of her back. Such gentlemanly manners had not been extended to her in a long time and she was a bit out of practice. She tried to focus as he held out her chair for her. Their table was located in an intimate corner of the patio, surrounded by potted plants that were at least six feet tall. The sunshine was beating down outside, but overhead was an old fashioned pergola with thick vines that kept out the heat and allowed only beams and shadows to intrude onto the little patio.
After taking his seat and passing Hermione a menu, Oliver already knew what he wanted, as Italian food was one of his weaknesses. He made sure they had the fusilli for a first course and the Etruscan beef dish as a second. Seeing as it was only lunch, there was no need for a dessert serving. Oliver sat back in his chair as the waiter brought their sparkling water, no bubbles and the bread basket. His eyes perused over his menu to watch Hermione reading it with concentration, all the while moving her lips slightly. Watching her pale pink lips form the Italian words was almost magical to him. He quickly looked back at his menu when she happened to glance up and almost caught him staring at her.
The waiter came back and as they ordered, Hermione conversing with the waiter in fluent Italian, Oliver chanced a glance at her again. The sunbeams making their way through the vines were lighting her hair just so. The blond curls and streaks throughout the surface were shimmering while the deep darkness underneath it all was just begging for his fingers to delve into it. Once the waiter left with their order, Oliver reached for some bread just as Hermione did and their fingers brushed together. She let out a slight gasp and instantly, her cheeks were a flattering pink. He quickly took his bread and buttered it, placing the knife down across his plate and took a bite. He looked off to the side and could barely make out people walking to and fro through the plants.
Hermione retrieved her bread but just set it on her bread plate. She raised her water glass to her lips and studied Oliver over the rim as he looked out to the street. His face was a masterpiece really, she thought. Strong chiseled features, without any one being in particular prominence. He kept his brown hair shorter, but not close to his head like in school. It fell neatly around his head and was tipped lighter slightly from being in the outdoors 75 percent of the time. His fingers were long but very manly. Not dainty or pampered, the calluses from his chosen profession could be seen in the palms. Hands that could harm if necessary but be gentle as well. Oh my, she thought, I need to stop this line of thinking now. Fantasizing over what Oliver could be doing with those wonderful hands was going to get her in trouble.
A/N: Whew! Is it warm in here or is it just me? Just me you say? Well, guess MY imagination is working fine too then. LOL
Read and review please. If you have any suggestions, feel free. If it is fine as it is...I will just continue along my little interlude.
