She hangs her head and lets it smack into the table in front of her. She taps her forehead again, once, twice, on the surface before going still.
Another failure.
She hadn't been optimistic about this one, but even so.
The options that felt most likely to succeed had all happened early on – or maybe it was just that she hadn't been discouraged yet. That was probably fair to say, because she'd had exciting brain waves and unexpected ideas since the start that also hadn't panned out. It's not as if her experimentations had followed a linear line of impossibility downward.
Her morale feels that way, though.
Her morale and her financial resources have been following a similar trendline for the past eighteen months.
If only she felt ill, but she doesn't. Healer Stotch, the only Healer in her confidence any longer, believes one day she'll just… not wake up. The curse is doing its work inside her, but she can't tell. It's the cruellest part, the not knowing. Hermione admits she doesn't want a long and painful wasting away, but not knowing which day will be the end of things weighs on her more and more as time goes on.
Helpful: she can continue her work to the last. Maybe something will make a difference. She has a few ideas turning, but they're long-shots, just pieces to a puzzle. She's got a variety of students working in different parts of the lab. Some are working on potions masteries, some in arithmancy or runes. Some are Healer residents completing their certifications in curses and Dark magic, but she must be careful there. She's extremely guarded, nearly paranoid, about letting anyone know too much. It hinders the research, forcing each team to keep their work and results separate, their tasks abstract. No one has the full picture.
Healer Stotch is closest, but then, he knows about the curse. Minister Shacklebolt also knows and granted her the joint lab between the Ministry and St Mungo's years ago. That was kept secret for a long time, but word did eventually get around about that. Her secret corridor bridging the hospital and the Ministry is now privy to two dozen people, the explanation being simply that Hermione Granger, Order of Merlin recipient, masteries in Potions, Arithmancy, Runes, and Charms, is doing research benefiting both St Mungo's and the Ministry. Her work is classified. She runs her own lab and no one asks questions beyond that.
Only Shacklebolt and Stotch know what she's really doing.
If people had questions early on, her invention of a magical scar removal ended them. She'd been testing things on her abdomen, hoping to affect the curse itself. With one treatment, there'd been a reduction in the scar the curse had left, and Hermione had sent it down to her tertiary labs for further discovery and development.
It had been revolutionary and had funded her real lab research, the more personal and private project, for nearly seven years.
But as she's had to branch out, get more and more creative – desperate, really – with lesser options, the money is beginning to run low.
This has had an unexpected effect. She has… spare time. She no longer works eighteen-hour days. She goes home at regular hours. She sleeps. She's no longer working herself to the bone. That would be considered a good thing, but in a peripheral way, she realises this might also be a sign of depression. She's giving up, even if it's just a little at a time. No sense working past six.
Another unplanned side effect that's grown over the past year and a half is her own desire to do… other things. Things she's missed out on, trapping herself in her lab for the better part of a decade. Her own desperation made the years fly by and she has nothing to show for it.
Sometimes she thinks she's missed so much, so many opportunities, so many experiences. All she wanted were more of them, and now her chance might be almost gone.
That was the problem with Ron, in the end.
Hermione couldn't explain why she never told him. They'd been together long enough. He deserved to know, but she couldn't bring herself to say it. She couldn't tell anyone. She didn't want the pity in their eyes, the concern, the frantic efforts to help. What could anyone do better than she could do? Especially now, after she's tried anything and everything.
She just wanted a normal relationship, but even that was impossible with her dedication to the lab and her research. Ron never understood why she was so driven, apart from it simply being the way she was. Her invention of the magical scar remover helped justify her hours, and the rest of her work was declared 'classified' by Minister Shacklebolt years ago. Ron accepted that this was her chosen career and that her dedication is what makes her who she is.
But it did give her ready reasons why she didn't want to get married, didn't want to progress. Her work was too important right now. Maybe someday.
He'd been content with this, seemingly indefinitely. It had been more than she deserved, she knew. He wanted a family, a wife and children, the kind of home life he'd grown up with. He was willing to wait until Hermione was ready to – well, maybe not leave research but arrange more of a work-life balance.
He thought she was doing just that. In her defence, she is, but in a different way than Ron expected. Or wanted. Hermione wants to experience all the things she's shut herself away from, not settle down.
Ron couldn't understand her need to try new things, all of a sudden. It felt completely out of the blue to him, and completely out of character for Hermione. She could have explained, or at least, explained better, but she still couldn't bring herself to tell him what was really behind it.
No, she didn't want to get married because she was coming to terms with the fact that she was going to die – suddenly. No, she didn't want children – wasn't even sure she could have them. Stotch doesn't know for certain, and she's not about to give it a go. Her life is more important than childbearing possibilities. She won't have children on purpose, knowing she's going to die at any time.
Ron had no idea.
It wasn't fair to him, she knows that. She'd tried to end things several times before, telling him he was wasting his life while she was buried in her lab, but he would never hear of it. Maybe if she'd been honest… but no, he wouldn't have left then, either. He'd have stuck by her, the pity in his eyes, the fear of losing her. He'd have treated her like she was breakable. She couldn't bear the thought.
He'd gone along gamely enough with her desire to try new things and spend her fresh time outside the lab finding new experiences. New dinner places, new weekend trips and short holidays. But he'd gotten increasingly uncomfortable with her new exploration in the bedroom.
Hermione found herself impatient. She'd been with Ron, and only Ron, for years. They'd been in such a comfortable routine that she wanted to shake it up. It started with things she considered relatively mild – shagging at night in the park, a secluded cluster of trees after a dinner picnic. It was private. No one was around. Ron hadn't been enthused, but he'd done it. He'd been so preoccupied with being seen or caught that he'd lasted a good long while. Hermione hadn't complained.
Messing around under the table at a dinner party Harry had thrown was another example. She hadn't even gotten anything out of it sexually, just the thrill of doing it at all, but Ron was so mortified she could barely get him hard.
At the pub after work – once Hermione had begun to keep the same sort of work hours everybody else did – she wanted to shag in the loo. She'd made it easy and everything, didn't even have to get undressed. She was wearing a skirt, the one she knew he liked, but Ron was appalled.
She'd started to get a bit more direct in bed, too, asking for things, telling him what she wanted with more specificity. She'd maybe gotten a little bossy about it after a while, but she'd found that she really liked that part of things. The being in charge, directing him.
The more she enjoyed that dynamic and expressed herself, the less Ron seemed to care for it. Finally, five or six months ago, he'd ended things.
He was baffled and upset to do it, she could tell, but he thought they were moving in different directions. He was finally ready to admit – at least to himself, since he didn't mention it directly – that he wants a wife at home with children. He wants the traditional and (seemingly) conservative relationship his parents share.
Hermione knows this is for the best and told him so. She understands his wishes and there's nothing at all wrong with what he wants. But she can't give it to him.
He seemed equally confused at her acceptance of this, her lack of argument. But finally they'd parted, amicably enough, and Hermione found herself with an odd abundance of unoccupied time.
She'd started to date. She and Pansy went shopping one weekend, Hermione asking Pansy to show her the best shops and boutiques so she could pick out new clothes. Pansy had been thrilled, enthusiastically wanting to help Hermione with a new style, but she'd had that part covered. She just hadn't known where to go.
New skirts, pencil thin and flattering. Blouses fitted to her, flowy tops that occasionally dipped to show off some cleavage. She'd bought new shoes to wear outside of work, but she wore them to the lab also, changing into something more sensible for standing on her feet all day. But that made sure she had something better for after work activities.
She's taken every offer of pub nights after work that come her way. She's relishing the way men's eyes follow her, finally acknowledging that she's quite attractive outside her lab coats and messy top-knot buns of hair. She's choosy but she goes home with men, usually ones that are outside the group she's with that evening. She wants to keep things simple.
She's discovered loads about herself and what she likes. What she doesn't like, too, but she hasn't found too much of that. Her openness to new experiences is proving fruitful. But what she likes best is still being in charge.
She has no time to waste, after all.
She's just hanging up her lab coat, shaking her hair down from the knot on her head, when a knock comes at the door to her lab.
She looks up to find Theo there, curly brown hair in his eyes and a bashful expression on his face. Hermione stops short.
"Theo? What's going on?"
Theo stops by from time to time. He works in the Ministry and is one of the select few who know about her magical connection to it from the hospital laboratories. Usually he's looking for Pansy, who occasionally eats her lunch with Hermione here, but occasionally he stops by to have a chat about something or other.
He clears his throat, a little awkwardly. Hermione tries to smother a smile, as it takes her back to their Hogwarts days. Theo had been awkward then, thin and gangly, his hair always in his eyes. It wasn't cute like this, though. He's grown into it, and she hasn't seen him look shy like this in ages.
"Close to heading out?" he asks instead, bypassing her question. She nods, sliding the strap of one sandal around her heel and reaching for the other one.
"Could I… well, if you don't have any plans, could I take you to dinner?"
Hermione's speechless. Theo backtracks at once.
"Or – are you seeing someone? Bloody hell, I should have asked that first, shouldn't I? I'm sorry, I didn't -"
"No," she shakes her head. "I'm not. And yes, you can take me to dinner, so long as it's to Fibonacci's." She arches an eyebrow.
Theo's eyes widen slightly. Hermione isn't sure whether it was her 'yes,' her direct request of dinner locale, or the fact that said request is quite expensive. But he recovers well and nods. "Of course. Sure."
"The way you asked makes me think you mean tonight. Now?"
Theo nods now, still slightly taken aback. She has a quick flash of foreboding, since she usually tries to keep her dates far away from her social circle, but why not? It's only dinner. If it's more, she'll deal with that part later.
She says 'no' to very few opportunities these days. She thinks they'll probably have fun. And Fibonacci's will have live music tonight: a pianist, if she recalls correctly.
"I did mean tonight, but we might need a reservation at Fibonacci's. Is there anywhere else, just in case they -"
"They'll let us in," she said confidently. They will. The owner, also the executive chef, had myriad burns and scars from running decades of magical kitchens. His wife was eternally grateful for her scar removal cream. Hermione found that amusing but was happy to provide.
She's not sure how Theo plans to make the leap from work-adjacent colleague to spur-of-the-moment date, but he handles it admirably. Once she's got both shoes properly on and her skirt straightened, he extends his elbow and she slips her hand through.
"My lady," he gestures ostentatiously towards the exit, and she has to laugh. "You look lovely, by the way," he continues. "That colour is beautiful on you."
"Thank you," she says with a touch of surprise. Theo, while a regular sort of flirt when he stops by the lab, has never directed his full attention on her in this way. He treats she and Pansy about the same, roguish winks and mischievous comments, but never has she felt his deliberate compliments towards something about herself, specifically.
They turn a corner into the main lobby area at her words, and Hermione gives Pansy a small wave. Her friend is chatting to Blaise Zabini and Draco Malfoy near the lifts, and grabs Draco's arm when she sees Hermione with Theo, as if she might have fallen over in shock. Draco's face is blank as if he can't form a proper reaction, and Blaise's eyes narrow, taking them in – her posture, Theo's arm.
With a smirk, Pansy blanches at her, clearly marking the moment as something she's going to ask about tomorrow. Hermione's eyebrows lift in her own expression of general surprise, and she feels Theo's hand brush her hair behind her shoulder lightly. "Shall we?"
She turns to face him, smiling again, leaving Pansy to her theatrics. She feels all three sets of eyes on the pair of them as they exit the lobby.
Dinner is delightful.
Hermione is surprised and isn't sure why. Theo's intelligent and witty, a good conversationalist. He's extremely cute with deep dimples, and she quite likes his messy hair. With a start, she realises that from a distance – and if they weren't obviously on a date – they could look almost like siblings.
He asks for her recommendations about her favourite entrees at Fibonacci's, since she's clearly familiar with the menu, and takes them. He buys one of the nicest bottles of wine they have, and they're seated where they can watch the pianist.
At the end of it, she's torn whether to invite him inside. She's still unsure she wants to complicate her social network like this. A perfect gentleman, Theo takes care of the matter for her.
At her front door, he leans in and kisses her quickly. He keeps his hands to himself, leaving the kiss short and sweet. Not a peck, but not a snog, either.
She feels… nothing in particular. No real chemistry at all.
Huh.
She's a bit disappointed and can't deny it. But after all, not everybody has a sexual connection. She leans in for one more, to make sure, and Theo agreeably gives it to her. But there's no more fire to this one than the last one.
Polite and considerate to the last, she brushes it off without reacting. She thanks him for a lovely evening as she unlocks her door. He gives a little half-bow before kissing the top of her hand and retreating to the pavement.
Hermione is quite hoping he won't bring up a second date. She'll tell him no, kindly, but she'd rather they both agree in an unspoken way that there wasn't anything to pursue. She doesn't want to muddy her work friendships any more than she'd wanted to muddy their shared social circle.
Theo, still a perfect gentleman, must feel the same way. He's perhaps a little more solicitous to her between the Ministry and the hospital, but he still stops by to chat to Pansy during their lunch break together. He doesn't overstay, though, simply making a regular appearance as if to show Hermione that nothing needs to change.
Pansy, on the other hand, is rabid for details. She shows up with an enthusiasm that takes Hermione by surprise, and can barely keep her hands still as she bounces in her seat.
Where did they go? What did they order? What did they talk about? Did she go home with him? Did he go home with her? Okay, they didn't, but did they snog? Does Hermione want to see him again?
Hermione, slightly caught off-guard by the intensity of this barrage, tries to make light of it. "It's no different than any of my other dates the last couple of months," she insists.
Pansy's head shakes, her sleek black hair shining. "It is different," she insists quite as vehemently as Hermione had denied it. "He's part of our group."
"It doesn't matter either way," Hermione replies firmly. "We did have a nice time. Dinner was delicious and he was great company. But I didn't feel any… connection. No chemistry. I don't think he did, either."
Pansy brushes past this, flicking a piece of white lint off her perfectly-tailored dress. "Oh well. Corner pub tomorrow night? I think everybody's going. The Shrieking Eels are playing."
Hermione cringes. "It's so hard to talk over the live music, though," she complains.
Pansy's eyes sparkle. "Less talking, then, and more drinking and dancing."
Hermione wears a pub-appropriate outfit under her lab coat the next day and tucks her shoes under her desk. With a few minutes to go before they're all due to leave, she puts on a spot of makeup and fluffs her hair.
While she hates trying to have a conversation over the bands their corner pub has to offer, they do draw a larger crowd. Maybe she can meet someone tonight.
Her skirt is shorter than normal and pairs nicely with her heels. She's not tall but the heels make her legs look extra-long for her height, and her blouse hugs her nicely. It's not low-cut – Hermione has a strict rule of showing skin from her top half or her bottom half, but not both at once. Even so, the top clings in a flattering way and she knows it looks good.
"Can I walk you down?" comes a deep voice from the door and she jumps a little.
Blaise Zabini is standing there, looking more dapper than a pub night calls for – although, Hermione supposes, she probably does, too. His dark blue dress shirt is cut just right, tailored to him and Hermione can't help an appreciative glance.
Theo two evenings ago, and now Blaise. Hermione feels caught on her back foot again, but nods. "Alright. Go on, then." She smiles at him and he motions for her to go first. He falls in step neatly behind her, almost to her side, but she can feel the shadow of his hand just off the small of her back.
They slip through the lobby of St Mungo's so Hermione can drop off a few memos to colleagues of things she doesn't want to forget over the weekend. She waves to a few people but no one seems to pay them any mind. She's not sure if she expected them to – perhaps she just feels oddly visible, with Theo the night before last and now walking with Blaise, clearly going somewhere together.
Pansy was right – Hermione must recognise fifteen people there to watch the band. The band itself is still setting up, but there's a crowd at the bar and their group has commandeered two tall tables side-by-side to lean against and rest drinks on.
Hermione leans in to Blaise's ear. "Would you get me a white wine?"
Blaise looks at her, slightly surprised, but nods. Hermione supposes that was a little direct, but then again, why not ask? He'd asked if he could escort her to the pub, after all.
While Blaise finagles his way up to the barman, Hermione wiggles through the growing crowd to greet Harry and Ginny. The crowd parts and she sees Pansy standing there, too. Hermione gives her friend a squeeze around the shoulders and Pansy looks her up and down.
"Nice skirt," she approves and Ginny nods in agreement. Harry declines a contribution, which Hermione appreciates. Harry feels like her brother and she doesn't need him eyeballing her legs.
Blaise returns with the requested wine and hands it to her. Pansy's eyebrows go up but she doesn't comment. Ginny has no such reservations.
"So, Zabini, fancy seeing you here. And delivering Hermione's wine, no less."
"A lady asks and I deliver," replies Blaise smoothly with a smile. "As to the first part, it seems like a lot of people are here tonight. I'm no one special."
But he gently rests his hand across the back of Hermione's chair. He's not touching her but she doesn't miss the subtext. She wonders idly about Theo, the two men close friends. Theo must not be intending to take her out again, or surely Blaise wouldn't be acting so overtly in front of all their friends. Ah, well. Suits Hermione. That was the impression she'd gotten anyway.
Pansy straightens, seeing something across the pub.
"Excuse me for a bit -" she jumps up and scoots off to greet someone. Harry tucks into Ginny's shoulder to talk, something growing increasingly difficult as the band begins doing basic sound checks on their instruments, and Hermione takes a sip of wine.
Blaise seems perfectly comfortable to sit here, so she figures she might as well be, too.
After another moment, she resigns herself to the noise level and turns her body towards Blaise to chat. This means they must get quite close, but he doesn't seem to mind. He keeps his hand over her chair back and his breath tickles her neck.
He asks how her work is, something that bridges between common small talk and genuine interest in whatever 'classified' thing she has going. He knows she can't – won't – give details, but she still responds with a grain of truth. "I've hit a bit of a plateau, actually. Bit frustrating."
"I've noticed you've been coming out more, lately. I'd thought maybe it was a good thing, but it sounds like that's not the case."
"It's good in a sense. Bad for work, but that's not all there is to life, now, is there?" She gives him a crooked grin that he returns.
Pansy's chatting to Draco, Hermione notices, and they both keep glancing over. She knows she'll have more explanations to give Monday at work – maybe before then. After a few more minutes of back-and-forth, Blaise leans in closer. "I'd hoped to take you out tomorrow night, but everyone else is leaving us well enough alone. Maybe this is a date in itself."
He arches an eyebrow at her and she has to laugh at his gall, throwing caution to the wind. "Who says you can't also take me out tomorrow?"
His second eyebrow lifts to match the first and she laughs again. He blinks a couple of times and says, "Alright, then. Where shall we go? Where do you like?"
Fibonacci's two nights in the same week is a bit much, even for her favourite spot. "How about Ceridwen's Cauldron? They make a mean fondue."
He nods easily and Hermione wonders if there's something in the water at work.
The band starts up properly now and Blaise returns to the bar to fetch them another round of drinks. Harry is talking to Seamus, now, and Pansy and Draco are still tucked into a corner, shooting them surreptitious glances. Hermione gazes around for Theo but doesn't see him anywhere. Ginny takes Blaise's chair, bringing Hermione's attention back around as she flounces her own skirt out of the way to cross her legs at the knee.
"What's going on?"
"Beats me," Hermione says honestly. "It's as if the world has figured out I'm single, five or six months after the fact. Blaise just asked me to dinner tomorrow night."
Ginny perks with interest. "Are you going?"
"Why not? I went out with Theo Wednesday night -"
Ginny sputters at this but Blaise has returned. Ginny vacates the seat with a knowing look at Hermione, declining when Blaise offers to let her have it. Blaise sits back down, his arm draping back over her chair, and Hermione reflects on how grateful she is that Ginny didn't let the breakup with Ron affect their friendship any. She still doesn't see Ginny as much as she used to, but her closeness with Ginny means a lot to her.
All these people mean a lot to her, she thinks, looking around with fondness. Gods, she's wasted so much time in her lab. So much time gone on a losing effort. She should be spending time with her friends, coming to pubs and listening to shrieking bands like the Shrieking Eels. She's seen more of Ginny in the past two months than in the whole year prior.
"Do you like the band?" Blaise asks, cutting into her reverie. "We could go somewhere else."
She doesn't particularly like the band, but she wants to enjoy time with her friends. She gives him a small smile. "Let's stay here. We can chat better at Ceridwen's tomorrow. They won't feature anything close to the Eels as their entertainment on a Saturday night."
Blaise picks her up right on time at half seven. She's wearing one of her favourite dresses, a navy blue that hugs her figure, with a statement necklace she borrowed from Pansy. Blaise gives a low whistle.
"You look lovely. Shall we?"
All this mimics the start to her impromptu date with Theo and Hermione tries to hide a smile. Perhaps the wealthy pureblood boys were all raised the same. With amusement, she imagines their comportment classes giving them a variety of three statements appropriate to use in miscellaneous encounters, and no more.
He reaches out a hand to help her down the front stoop of her flat and she takes it.
The end to the previous evening had been somewhat anticlimactic. First Ginny and then Pansy wanted to dance, and all three of them ended up on in front of the stage in the crowd of people. The wizards largely hung back at the hightop tables to claim their space and chatted amongst themselves.
Shots were had, rounds of shots, and Hermione recalled Luna and Neville showing up late into the night. She hadn't even known they were together.
"They don't come out much," Pansy had shouted into her ear. "Rather like you, until recently."
"Well, I'm trying to fix that, you know," she'd returned, even though Pansy's aware. She and Pansy are closer than anybody else, simply by nature of their work friendship. She sees Pansy nearly every day.
"We're all glad that you are!" Pansy clinked a shot with her in encouragement, which they both downed. Hermione had started growing quite hazy around that time, but she remembers Blaise Apparating with her to her street.
He'd done nothing more than ensure she got safely indoors.
This morning, she'd had a raging hangover. She'd groped helplessly for water and a pain-relief potion, enough to let her go in search of a proper hangover treatment and found Pansy waiting for her on her sofa.
She'd blearily thought she was seeing things.
Pansy was infuriatingly alert, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed. Hermione had half wanted to throw a decorative pillow at her; one of her favourites was in reach. But Pansy came prepared; Hermione had to give her that. She'd had the potion in question in a vial in her hand and had promptly grilled Hermione on her intentions with Blaise for the evening.
Seeming satisfied that Hermione was merely willing to see where things went – no, she hadn't been harbouring some desperate longing for Zabini, or Theo Nott, for that matter – she'd asked to see Hermione's intended apparel and offered the necklace Hermione was wearing now.
Finally content, she kissed Hermione quickly on the cheek. "Alright, then, off you pop," she'd said, even though it was she was going to be popping back through the Floo.
Hermione had taken a nap and felt much refreshed now. She hadn't been tempted to postpone, but food is sounding much better now than it had this morning, and she has been looking forward to Ceridwen's fondue.
Blaise requests a table in the back, a quiet corner, and she's grateful. After last night, quiet is good.
They chat a bit more about work – Blaise works at St Mungo's, not the Ministry – and Hermione can't help her curiosity any longer. She can't bring herself to ask directly, though.
"You and Theo – you share a flat, don't you?" She knows this is correct but it seems the best way to ease into it.
Blaise nods and leans back in his seat casually. "With Malfoy, too."
That she hadn't known and wonders how she'd missed it. "Is that recent?"
He shrugs. "Somewhat. He was tired of living in the Manor. It's been a few years, now, though."
She's not sure how to respond to this, so says nothing. She takes another sip of wine instead. Blaise had recommended a fine Syrah, which Hermione usually isn't a fan of, but she went along and it's quite good. He also selected an abundance of fondue options and Hermione thinks she's going to be stuffed to bursting by the time they're done.
Even so, this is what maximising the experience is all about. She has no regrets.
"Bit immature, I suppose," Blaise is saying, and she tries to catch back up. "Three of us rooming together like we're still at school."
"I think it depends on how well you all get along," she comments fairly. "Sometimes I think I'd like a roommate."
"Didn't you and Weasley live together?" Blaise asks, his tone curious but Hermione thinks she detects a note of restraint to it. He's very curious. "I apologise if that's overstepping my boundaries."
"No, it isn't," she hedges a bit. "And we didn't. My work schedule was so horrid that he'd have spent most of his time alone anyway. We always figured he might as well be in his own flat."
Blaise doesn't press her on whether that horrid work schedule was her own doing – which, of course, it was. She flips the topic back to him.
"What is it like, having two other roommates? I mean, it's different from school, obviously. You all have separate lives, jobs. Witches."
She narrows her eyes slightly at Blaise at that but he doesn't react. He sips his wine easily and sets it back down. "Nott and I are pretty similar. Malfoy is a bit broody, sometimes. Moody git, when it gets right down to it." He cracks a smile. "Stubborn as hell, too. Infuriatingly stubborn."
"You knew all that when he moved in, I imagine," she teases and Blaise smirks.
"We did. I can't speak for Nott, but I hoped he'd have grown out of it some. We're trying something new to tackle it, though."
"Oh?" She can't deny she's interested. "How so?"
Blaise demurs. "If you hadn't been there all along, seeing it in action since school, it wouldn't be as funny. The usual sort of cajoling, persuading, and drinking isn't working. Nott and I are trying more of a… blitz attack, I guess you could say."
She's intrigued but doesn't know what sort of follow-up to ask. Blaise seems to be enjoying trying to describe it, though.
"You could call this one a prank, but I think it's got bigger implications than that. Nott and I have to hope it does, anyway. We're at our wits' end about it."
She's thoroughly confused about the details of what this pertains to, but if Blaise wanted to provide that much, he would have done. Regardless, the dynamic in their flat does seem entertaining – most of the time, she figures. Clearly some things get old.
She gives a small chuckle and reaches for her wine, which Blaise refills before her hand can get to the glass.
Blaise still hasn't mentioned or referenced her recent date with Theo, and Hermione decides not to bring it up. Surely, he knows about it and talking about it herself would be awkward. She wonders if he'd asked Theo before asking her out. Or maybe Theo asked Blaise first.
She enjoys this dinner as much as she had the previous one with Theo. Blaise has a dry, mischievous sense of humour that she appreciates. They spend a good bit of it laughing and she wonders where the night will head.
It heads nowhere.
They chat about all sorts, just like she had with Theo. Family, friends, work – what she's willing to share. Her friendship with Pansy. It's all very basic get-to-know-you fare, the kind exchanged between new friends. And that's all she feels.
They aren't new friends, though, not exactly; they've been part of the same group for years. But this is the first time they've ever spent any time together one-on-one, and Blaise is inquisitive and polite. He wants to know about her.
But aside from his compliments and general considerateness, his generosity and chivalrous pulling out of chairs and such, she feels no outright flirtation. There's no heat in his eyes.
Even so, at the end of the night Hermione leans in for a kiss at the front door. She's curious. Blaise didn't go for it first the way Theo had, but he meets her halfway. As she expects by now, there are no sparks.
He doesn't linger on it either, giving her a final peck on the check before stepping back so she can go inside. She hears his *crack* of Disapparition from the street after she flips the lock into place.
As she washes her face and prepares for bed, Hermione muses over the week she's had. She doesn't regret going out with either man. Both nights – and the pub the night before, for that matter – were entertaining and fun. It's not all about ending up in bed.
And without the chemistry, she wouldn't go back out with them anyway, but she's struck for the first time how precarious her situation really is.
She's thoroughly enjoyed her random flings over the past couple of months, anonymous and satisfying in one regard. Well, mostly satisfying. No guarantees there, of course. But she's realising now she misses the good conversation, too, the verbal and intellectual stimulation, the connection of finding someone she likes spending time with outside of bed.
She found the second half of that equation with both Theo and Blaise. But if she finds someone who gives her both things, she's going to want to keep seeing them.
And her research is failing.
This curse is going to kill her and she has no idea how much time she has left.
The unfairness of it all hits her in a way it hasn't for a few months, now. She thought she'd made peace with it – for the most part. She'd been through the stages of grief and thought she'd reached 'acceptance,' but she feels the despair wash over her.
She picks up a pillow, presses it into her face, and screams.
Both wizards act normally towards her at work the next week. No awkwardness to be found, which is encouraging. She's been avoiding her own network out of principle, but maybe everyone can be adults about things after all.
She hadn't been lying when she'd described her work as a 'plateau,' but this week she's acknowledging a harsher truth. It's more of a wall, a solid and immovable blockade to progress.
She has no earthly idea what to try next. Her various smaller teams of students are working on various slim options, but she holds no real hope for any of them to pan out.
Finally, she decides to set up a group meeting with herself, Stotch, and Kingsley. Maybe she just needs some groupthink brainstorming. Maybe one of them will have a different idea, even though she's long since reached a point of bizarre and unorthodox things to try.
Continuing to fund new ideas will be a different problem. Hermione will cross that bridge when she had more things to test, though.
Pansy, as Hermione predicted, couldn't wait to hear more details about her night(s) out with Blaise. She'd been pounced on straightaway, before she could even hang up her coat or change shoes to get started for the day.
Pansy did not seem at all discouraged that Hermione hadn't felt any particular physical connection with either man. What Pansy emphasised instead was that Hermione should continue 'putting herself out there,' and that while having fun is, obviously, an admirable goal, maybe there's something more substantial Hermione can find.
Well, she'd like to think so, too, if only her impending death wouldn't muck it all up.
But of course, Pansy knows nothing about that, so Hermione tries to keep the conversation light. No, of course she won't let these recent lacklustre experiences get her down. Pansy's delighted, promising to introduce her to someone.
At this, Hermione's eyes narrow. If Pansy has someone to play matchmaker for, why hasn't she mentioned him before now? But she brushes it aside. Maybe he's recently out of a relationship, too. Maybe he's only just now ready to try dating again. She asks Pansy for details, but her friend plays coy.
"You'll see. What are you up to this weekend?"
"Nothing whatsoever," Hermione admits, a little grudgingly. "Want to hit the pub tomorrow after work?"
Pansy is usually good for this sort of activity, vivacious and fun. She's a great wing-woman for Hermione to find a bedfellow for the night. They've established a good pattern together, really, predators stalking sexual prey.
"Not this time," she declines.
"I could meet your friend there, if you like -" Hermione starts, but Pansy shakes her head again.
"This one is going to require a little… delicacy. He's… shy."
"'Shy?'" Hermione repeats dubiously. She's becoming less optimistic about this option by the second. She doesn't have much time for 'shy.' She wants to get shagged in pub loos when the moment strikes her.
"Well, not like that, like how you're thinking. He's -" Pansy struggles for something that will suit and gives up. "Never mind. You'll see. Why don't we meet up Saturday morning? I'll stop by your place and we can go grab some lunch."
Hermione's brow furrows but she knows Pansy won't let this go. If she tries to say she's disinterested, Pansy won't drop it until Hermione's at least met her friend. But the sheer mention of lunch means Pansy thinks this option is a 'dating' option, not a basic shag-for-the-night option. She braces herself and forces a smile.
"…Fine. What should I wear, then? Can you at least give me that? Or are you planning to help me pick something out when you come over?"
"No, you'll do fine. Make it something green," Pansy insists happily, her eyes sparkling as she tosses her hair over her shoulder. "You look great in green. I'll see you at half ten."
"Alright," Hermione surrenders. "Now scram. I have to get to work."
Doing what, she has no idea, but it's important to maintain the façade of her top-secret laboratory work, if only to keep people from asking questions. Pansy does indeed scram, for now at least, and Hermione settles in at her overstuffed, top-heavy desk.
She unlocks a hidden drawer and withdraws a selection of neat folders in a stack, meticulously labelled. On a whim, she stands and moves over to a clearer workstation, one where she can spread out a bit more, and locks her lab doors.
It's been a while since she reviewed these documents, and she ought to give them a quick skim. Well, maybe not too quick. She knows some won't change, or will change very little, while others… might need a good overhaul. And there's probably a few new ones she should add.
It's been longer than she remembered – almost three years since she looked at these. It makes her sad, how fast the time has gone. Time she's spent locked in this lab, this little quartet of rooms for her use and abuse, with nothing to show for it.
She starts with the folder marked 'Harry' and takes out the pages of parchment inside.
Hermione does look great in green, and she knows it. Saturday morning finds her perusing her wardrobe. Lunch… weekend lunch. Casual, but that's no reason to be a slob about it.
Her hair is pinned back but loose down her back, and she selects a silky blouse. It'll pair well with the high-waisted trousers that make her bum look good. Now for shoes. She muses as she surveys her choices, tapping a finger absently against her lip. The outfit isn't particularly casual so far, so perhaps the cute flats she got last month when shopping in London with Pansy.
She dusts on a smattering of makeup, the brown eyeliner she's quite partial to and a slight brush of mascara. She nearly stabs herself in the eye at a sudden commotion in her living room.
She sprints out of the bathroom and thinks she might fall over in shock.
Pansy is standing just outside the fireplace, but it's still glowing green. Blaise is next to Pansy, and a pile of two other bodies spill out onto her floor in an absolute jumble.
Theo. She sees Theo's curly mess of hair standing as Blaise hauls him to his feet. Pansy's bending down awkwardly over the other body, her skirt too fitted for aerobics of any sort.
And the other body is… tied to a chair? A chair with one leg broken, at serious risk of spilling its occupant face first to the ground.
"Don't let him fall, you wankers!" Pansy scolds Theo sharply, who's struggling to keep the chair upright.
"Well, he's heavy!" Theo snaps. "I didn't think it would break in the Floo. Zabini, give me a bloody hand over here."
"The pair of you had one job to do!" Pansy shouts in plain irritation, her black hair sticking out on the left, making her look slightly deranged. "One job!"
"What about you?" Theo hisses at her, hazel eyes flashing. "You were supposed to be here already."
"I'm on time, Nott. You two are early! We talked about this! You were supposed to give me a half hour here, not get here before a quarter to eleven at the earliest. Gods, none of you ever listen!"
Blaise has finally repaired the chair, which can support its weight properly once again. Hermione's been too stunned to speak at this chaotic arrival, even if she could have been heard over the loudly bickering trio, and finds herself having equal trouble absorbing the sight in her living room.
It's Draco Malfoy, unconscious and tied to a chair.