Part 2

Was written for GE fic exchange

Prompt: Marrying would have been an easy step in their relationship had she not found her heart stolen by another. (Best friend/Brother/Son) I'd love something different like Hermione is marrying Theo's Father or even Anthony's for an über rare pair and falls in love with Anthony or Theo.

Recipient: MistressMalfoy

Author's Notes: Huge thank you to my beta RussianDestruction and alpha Quilter. Also, hugs to MistressMalfoy for the brilliant prompt.

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JK Wb and Scholastic...I humbly thank JK Rowling for allowing me the sincere pleasure of playing in her wonderous playground.

Part 2

IV. Sarabande

Hermione Apparated home in a cranky mood. Somehow, Anthony's excessive formality and almost palpable uneasiness around her had really gotten under her skin this time. Or maybe her state of mind wasn't Anthony's fault at all. Perhaps it was the fact that Amadeus was gone again, and she wasn't looking forward to another eight weeks alone. She missed him already, damn it!

In any case, the rest of Saturday was spent in petulant musings, which nonetheless failed to bring her even an iota closer to the answer she was seeking. Very predictably, her feministic side waged war on her intuitive yearning to say 'yes' to the marriage proposal, leaving her hopelessly conflicted.

'It's a simple decision, Hermione. You love the wizard - you marry him. What is there to think about?' Ginny's words popped up in Hermione's head for the umpteenth time. Alas, for her this decision was anything but simple. She wasn't certain that being just the Muse would be ever enough for her. While that prospect sounded very flattering and alluring coming from Amadeus, it always seemed rather shallow when she thought about it later. And no matter how she missed her brilliant wizard, she still couldn't bring herself to become his mere shadow.

Annoyed with her inability to reach a decision, Hermione eventually gave up and went to sleep early, hoping that a new day would bring the clarity she needed. Sunday met her with grey clouds and rain, so she decided that a change of scenery was in order and went to the Potter's for the day.

It was already dark when she came back, and as always after visiting Harry, Ginny, and little James, she was in a much better mood. Humming the tune that had been stuck in her head since the morning, she put the kettle on and was about to make herself a proper cuppa when she heard a vaguely familiar sound coming from the hallway. With a sudden sense of déjà vu, she opened her door and peeked outside. The door to the flat across from hers was ajar, and the clear sound of a violin reached her ears.

Startled by the realisation that she had been humming the same melody for the last ten hours or so, Hermione crossed the hallway and, breaching the Muggle repellent charm, stepped inside the flat, knowing exactly whom she would see. Anthony, with his back to her, stood in the middle of the living room. His untied, dark blond curls drew Hermione's attention - they were much longer than Amadeus' and looked so silky. Her fingers twitched with a sudden and completely unexpected urge to touch them. Berating herself for such an inappropriate thought, she hesitated on the threshold and belatedly knocked.

The wizard stopped playing and turned to her. "Hi," she said smiling as Anthony once again simply watched her with that annoyingly inscrutable expression on his face. "The door was open, and I heard the music," she continued, feeling that she just ought to fill the unnerving silence in the room. "So, you rented the flat. Well, obviously," she added, inwardly kicking herself.

"Yes," he replied at last. "I mean, hi and yes, I moved in this morning. Thank you again for tipping me off about it." His blue eyes didn't move from her face as he spoke.

Feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious, and frantically trying to remember if there was a possibility that something had stuck in her teeth since lunch, Hermione began to fiddle with one of her ringlets. "Yes, sure, no problem. Let me know if you need any help with unpacking," she muttered and glanced around. "Oh," she breathed out when she noticed that everything already looked very much in place and tidy. However, the true shock came when her gaze fell upon the three huge bookshelves tightly packed with books. Even from her standing point, she could decipher just how unique was the collection in front of her. Forgetting the proprieties, forgetting everything actually, she darted to the bookshelves, exclaiming, "Wow!" and greedily reading the titles as her trembling fingers hovered over the century-old spines.

When she eventually whirled around to face Anthony, she was a bit surprised to find him standing right behind her. Unable to contain herself, she exclaimed, "Oh my God, I can't believe it! You have to let me read them, Anthony! Besides, you owe me, you know!"

Apparently, her unhinged enthusiasm was contagious, because the wizard's face lit up with a genuine smile, and he replied, "Certainly!" Chuckling softly at her delighted squeal, he added, "It's only fair. We are neighbours, after all."

"May I borrow this one right now, please?" she blurted out, daringly taking his warm hand and yanking him closer to the bookshelf.

"Sure, sure, here." He pulled from the shelf the book at which Hermione was pointing. Bending slightly, he put the leather-clad tome in her waiting hands, peering into her eyes from under the curtain of his curls and letting his fingertips brush over hers.

Pressing the book to her chest and once again feeling a bit uneasy under the intensity of his gaze, Hermione whispered, "Thank you. I'm so happy that we're neighbours now."

"Yes, I'm glad as well, Hermione. You're welcome to explore my library at your convenience." Anthony straightened up, stepped back, and with a nod, added, "Well, see you later." Even in her new books-induced euphoria, Hermione found the sudden seriousness of Anthony's eyes and his abrupt dismissal unsettling. Frowning, she glanced searchingly into his face, but alas, the unreadable expression was back, and his earlier open smile was completely gone. He was back to his detached, broody self.

Mystified, she nodded, muttered, "Bye," and hurried back to her own flat, thinking that Anthony was indeed a mysterious wizard with very puzzling behaviour. Fortunately, she had always liked puzzles.

V. Bourrée

She ran into him the next morning, which wasn't unexpected considering that they both worked at the Ministry, and thus started at the same time. They awkwardly greeted each other and hasted to the Apparition point behind the building. On the same day, she came home very late. Anthony's door was once again ajar, and the enticing scent of home-cooked food permeated the whole floor. Hermione stopped by the entrance to his flat, breathing in the tantalizing smell and wrestling with herself. She wanted to come in quite badly, but unfortunately, she didn't have a legitimate reason to do so. And she really couldn't simply barge in for the third time in a span of a few days. She had her standards, after all. Thus, after a heavy sigh, she continued to her lonely flat where she made herself beans on toast and a cup of tea.

Of course, they stumbled upon each other the next morning as well, and then the next and the next. Eventually, on the following Monday, when Hermione rushed over her threshold with her hair still wet after her shower, she found Anthony waiting for her in the hallway. To her delight, he did the same on Tuesday, Wednesday, Thursday and Friday. She didn't know why that simple act pleased her so much, but it did, and she refused to analyse or dwell on the reason. It just felt nice, nothing more, nothing less.

Her evenings, on the other hand, didn't change that significantly. Constantly working after hours, she always returned home later than Anthony. She did stop by once to get another book, but they didn't talk that time, because Anthony was busy working on one of his secret projects, and she couldn't stay. On Friday night, when Hermione made it up the stairs, tired and irritated as hell, she once again found herself in front of Anthony's open door. Something smelled delicious again, and on top of that, the wizard inside was playing the violin.

Hermione cursed. Deciding that it was his own fault - and really, he most certainly deliberately taunted her with those yummy scents and that soothing music - she walked into his flat. Anthony stopped playing the moment she set foot in the living room, watching her with a soft smile on his lips. Or maybe the smile was just a figment of Hermione's overactive imagination. It didn't matter though. Too tired for pleasantries, Hermione leaned on the doorframe and asked, "Why do you never close your door?"

The wizard shrugged. "I don't like it closed." And then, gesturing to the armchair in the corner, he added, "Would you like to sit down?"

Hermione shook her head. "Nah, I've been sitting for the whole damned day. I'd rather stand for a while, thank you. Why don't you like it closed?" she asked again, now even more curious.

"My father always kept the door closed while he was practising," said Anthony. Hermione gazed at him with interest. To her surprise, there wasn't any bitterness in his voice. "He needed to practise quite a lot during my childhood," he explained.

"Oh," muttered Hermione, suddenly feeling unbecomingly nosy. It felt strange to listen to the facts about Amadeus from a completely different perspective, and she wasn't sure that she liked it. 

"Wine?" asked Anthony and smiled again.

"Yes, please," she said enthusiastically and sank into the armchair he had offered her earlier.

 Anthony darted to the kitchen and called, "White or red?"

"Red," she replied and settled across the chair, with her legs dangling from the side of it. "What is this mouth-watering smell, Anthony? Do you cook?!"

Anthony walked in with two glasses of red wine and held one out to her. "It's a stew, and yes, I cook."

"Well," muttered Hermione resignedly between sips of wine. "Why do I feel so inadequate all of a sudden? Oh, I know, 'cause I don't cook. At all! Chinese takeout is as far as my cooking goes."

Anthony chuckled and sat down on the low leather ottoman near her. "One cannot be brilliant in everything, Hermione," he said, looking at her seriously. "For instance, my father cannot cook as well. It doesn't make him any less of a genius. I know for a fact that you're quite remarkable in many aspects. So, I think it's all right to let others cook for you."

Hermione felt heat rising to her cheek. Ugh, she was blushing, damn it! And she couldn't even decide what was making her react this way: wine, the compliment, or Anthony's blue eyes focused on her lips. She truly hadn't a clue. Perhaps it was a combination of all three.

"Would you like to join me for dinner?" he asked as he rose from the chair, suddenly very ceremonial again.

"Sure, I would love to," she replied, as formally as her already slightly tipsy mind allowed. The wizard helped her stand up and, keeping her hand in his, led her to the dining room where to Hermione's surprise the dinner for two was already served.

After dinner, they ended up talking until three in the morning. Although, naturally, Hermione did most of it, she still managed to find out many interesting details about Anthony in particular and the Goldsteins in general.

She was terrified to learn that Anthony's mother, Maya, had been Obliviated right after she had given birth to him. Apparently, the Ministry had insisted, since Maya hadn't intended to leave the Muggle world. That piece of information pierced Hermione's heart, and she told Anthony about her parents. How she had modified their memories to keep them safe, and how she had never succeeded in restoring those memories after the war.

The wizard listened quietly, his eyes locked on her face. When Hermione's voice began to shake, he covered her hand with his and squeezed it lightly. She could see that his eyes turned watery too, and to her amazement, he didn't try to hide it, still looking directly at her. At the end of her story, he grunted, cleared his throat, silently poured her and himself another glass of wine, and drank it in one go. The subtle masculinity of his reaction made her throat tighten and insides clench. She almost kissed him then! Thank goodness, she wasn't that drunk.

After that Friday, they fell into their special kind of routine. They met in the hallway every morning and walked together to the Apparition point. Their evening encounters, however, were still sporadic because of Hermione's crazy schedule. And, of course, she still did most of the talking, but it didn't bother her. She had been the voice of Kingsley Shacklebolt for the last six years or so, after all, and the Minister wasn't the most talkative wizard in the world.

Hence, despite Anthony's taciturnity, Hermione learned a lot just by staying around him. She now knew that he played violin when he needed to think or relax, and that it was his grandmother who had taught him how to cook. Remarkably, Anthony was a nocturnal soul and frequently worked through the night, catching just a few hours of sleep in the early morning. Also, his cursive was much more fluid than Amadeus'; his curls dried much quicker than hers even though they were almost as thick; his eyes looked their bluest in the rainy, foggy morning, and, once home, he preferred to walk barefoot. Hermione never had had an opportunity to learn all those little things about Anthony's father. There simply hadn't been enough time for that, as Amadeus always was just about to go.

Every new bit of information, every smile, and even a mere light brush of Anthony's fingers against hers during their morning stroll gave Hermione a thrill, and, addicted, she kept coming back for more. By the end of the sixth week, their random evenings together turned into most evenings, and by the end of the seventh week, they spent almost all their free time with each other.

On one morning, she caught herself referring to Amadeus as Anthony's father in her mind. At first she panicked, and even promised herself to write a letter to him, but then she met Anthony in the hallway and forgot about it. She had never thought of herself as fickle, but apparently she was.

Day after day, she sank deeper and deeper into his blue eyes, forgetting his father and wanting him. He was just so refreshingly constant and subtle and odd in a very attractive, geeky kind of way. He readily talked with her about books, which singlehandedly put him above many wizards she knew. He fed her a home-cooked meal almost every evening. He never commented on her workaholic tendencies, and he didn't try to compete with her. On the contrary, he never mentioned his achievements, though she knew that there were quite a few. Most importantly, he didn't demand anything; he just enjoyed their time together.

Although she never put it in words, it was clear that Anthony had become her new obsession. We're just friends, she kept telling herself, knowing quite well that it wasn't true. Nothing intimate happened, of course, but the fleeting gazes, brief, supposedly unintentional touches, soft smiles and chuckles were there, and Hermione knew exactly what they meant. So did Anthony, but they both tried their best to ignore the elephant in the room. They did succeed in that particular quest right until reality came banging on their door.

VI. Gavotte

This time around, reality came in the form of a little piece of parchment that landed on Hermione's desk on Wednesday. It was the eighth week of Amadeus' tour, and usually by that point Hermione was already counting the days and hours. That wasn't the case this time, though. To say that the letter from Amadeus caught her by surprise would be a lie as she had known that it was coming, but she had foolishly been hiding her head in the sand.

Now, when it lay in front of her, she couldn't hide any longer. Yet she waited until the end of the day, and only when she was the only one left, as Hermione suspected, on the whole floor, she drew a sigh and opened the note. A little smile still made its way to her lips as she read it - she still loved Amadeus' spidery, elaborate cursive, even though, it wasn't her favourite cursive any longer. In his short missive, the wizard informed her that he would be returning home a day early, and that he had already let Kingsley know that she would be unavailable tomorrow after lunch. The message was signed with Amad's customary,

Need you. Want you. Love you.

Hermione drew another sigh, muttered, "Damn," and opted for a quick visit to Grimmauld Place, hoping that her friends would take the edge off her anxiety. Alas, her plan didn't work. The always loud and chaotic atmosphere at the Potter's was even louder and more chaotic that evening. Apparently, Ginny had just found out that she was pregnant again, and they were going to celebrate with all the Weasleys, who were already there, of course. Harry had actually just been about to Floo-call her. Even though Hermione truly loved Harry and Ginny, and was genuinely glad for them, the combination of Ginny's news and her own state of mind just didn't mix. Thus, she slipped away at the first opportunity and took a short walk to clear her head. Deciding that she needed to talk to Anthony, Hermione Apparated home.

Anthony's door was opened just as usual, and Hermione took it as a good sign. She walked inside and found him seated at his desk. His face bore the same detached, unreadable expression he had worn around her what now seemed like ages ago, and she immediately knew that something was very wrong.

"Hey," she said, watching him warily.

"Hello," answered Anthony, not looking at her.

Frowning, Hermione contemplated her next words for a few seconds and, choosing Gryffindor directness, stated, "Your father is coming back tomorrow."

"I know," muttered the wizard quietly and gazed at her searchingly. A minute later, he turned back to his book with a barely audible, annoyed huff.

Hermione stepped closer, and leaning on his desk, lightly touched Anthony's shoulder. "What are we going to do?" she asked in a soft whisper, desperately hoping that the true Anthony she had come to know and love would shine through the inscrutable façade she was observing at the moment.

Anthony threw a quick glance at her, and keeping his eyes on the book he was clasping in his tense fingers, slowly answered, carefully enunciating each word. "I think it is obvious. You shall go to your flat, and I shall work on my research." He stood up and briefly strode to the door, opening it wide for her. "See you at the next concert," he added with finality.

As a sudden fury engulfed Hermione in its hot, suffocating wave, she stubbornly jerked her chin up, snapped, "Fine," and stomped toward the door. At the threshold, she pointed her trembling finger at his chest and said, "You are a bloody coward, Anthony Goldstein! I could've loved you! Well, you know what? You can stay in your comfortable, quiet shell forever now, because, frankly, I don't fucking care! Have a nice evening!" She shut his door with all her strength, truly hoping that she had injured the bloody fool.

Unable to look for the keys in her distraught condition, Hermione hurled her door open with Alohomora, stumbled inside, and kicked it closed with her foot. She had taken only two steps toward her living room, when her door was thrown open again. Startled, she whirled around and found herself chest to chest with an utterly mad-looking Anthony.

She had never seen his eyes that blue, or his lips that red, or his blond curls that wild. He didn't hesitate even for a moment. The door was slammed shut, and in a matter of milliseconds, she was pressed against the wall with Anthony's enraged and demanding lips on her. Still under the influence of the adrenaline rush, she answered him with the same ferocity. There was nothing gentle or subtle about their heated fusion. Hair was pulled, fingers bruised and teeth nipped, tingeing everything with the coppery taste of blood. Soon their clothes were violently destroyed, and Hermione was hitched up and impaled on his hard and furious cock. She couldn't believe just how wet and turned on she was. And even more so, she couldn't believe that it was Anthony Goldstein, who was fucking her hard and fast against the wall, in complete silence, sans a few groans and moans. It seemed surreal, but felt so bloody fantastic that she wasn't going to complain.

It was over pretty quick, which really was expected with their position and the feverish rhythm he kept. When Hermione was about to shout her release in the air, he put his palm over her mouth and growled, "Quiet!" She sank her teeth into his hand instead of yelling, and her bite triggered his orgasm. Anthony threw his head back and moaned, still thrusting into her with uneven, jerky movements.

He pulled out of her the minute he stopped shuddering. Making sure that her feet reached the floor, he steadied her, stepped back, and Apparated away without so much as a single word. Too tired and too confused to think or analyse, Hermione literally crawled to her bed and immediately fell asleep.

 * intermission *