Chapter Eight

Disclaimer: Everything belongs to JKR. This is all for personal fun and enjoyment.

A/N: Another apology for the wait, and another huge thank you to everyone for your kindness and patience. Many, many thanks to my beta Shug. Enjoy the chapter!

*

Past

Months passed, one and then another, some long, others short, all occupied with fascinating, riveting, entirely exhausting work – long days, long nights. A similar experience, she thought, to that lived by all of mankind. It's called work for a reason, her father's voice called to her, its gruff exterior belying the kindness within. Her parents had been largely absent, particularly in light of the Hogwarts letter, very wrapped up in their work, in their marriage. And Hermione had honestly preferred it that way – she had done her best to keep them out of the wizarding world, disconnected from its affairs, largely because of the fact that there was nothing they could do for it, save become the targets of Death Eaters. Locating her parents to Australia had been the best course of action, and they had seen fit to stay in the country after Hermione restored their memories. Frankly, it suited her just fine. It had made it much easier to slip away from Britain, not that her parents would have objected. They knew better than to interfere in their daughter's affairs when she had that determined look about her.

She smiled and laid their most recent letter on the kitchen counter. Her mum had insisted on scuba diving for her birthday, and her father had seen fit to take an underwater camera with them. Some friends who were experienced divers had accompanied them, and they'd subsequently been put on camera duty; the pictures Hermione held in her hand of her mum and dad were hysterical and very sweet. She reached for a magnet and pinned the pictures to her refrigerator, quirking a smile as she did so. There were times when she missed the feel of these photographs, thick, matte pieces, the ones she'd grown up pinning to scrapbooks with her grandmother, ones that did not move, just captured a moment in time – still, soft, peaceful. Yes, she missed that.

She fluffed her hair and tugged her sweater close about her. The early November chill bit at her through the thin walls of her flat and seeped in through the window cracks; the fire was not quite enough to warm the entire place. Not that her apartment was large, but the charm of living in a historic building came at a bit of a price in winter. There were certainly more elaborate heating charms she could learn; she simply had never needed them. Not that a lack of necessity had ever been an excuse for her not to learn something in her education, but she thought heating charms were a bit... boring, to be honest.

A knock at the door brought her back to the present. "Come in," she called.

Cosette walked in and promptly kicked her shoes off. "Dear Merlin, it is cold outside!" She sniffed. "No coffee?"

"Coming right up," Hermione said, a smile on her face as she reached in the refrigerator for the bag of Columbia. "Would you like anything special in your coffee today, my dear?"

"Like cream or sugar? Heavens, no," Cosette said, laughing as she hung her coat up. "I thought I was going to die when Pierre asked if you kept any chocolate shavings or whipped cream handy. You're British, for God's sake. You're a sparse lot."

Hermione snorted as she poured water into the coffeemaker. "Except when it comes to tea. We put sugar and lemon and such in tea. My parents do, at least."

Cosette walked into the kitchen and stood next to Hermione as the coffee dripped. "Is that a new picture?"

Hermione nodded. "They went scuba diving in Australia."

"Oh fuck, scuba diving," Cosette groaned and leaned against the counter. "That implies that it's warm enough to scuba dive. That would feel so good right now."

"I know. I am, however, very, very pleased that we have a few days off before we leave for Florence," Hermione said as she opened a cupboard and reached for two mugs.

"I'm just happy that we get to go to Florence. Not that I wouldn't go; Henri's presenting, so I'm obligated."

"How awful!" Hermione exclaimed, placing her hand over her heart dramatically. "A weekend alone in Florence with a debonair, dashing, tall, dark, and handsome, brilliant 'what I do is borderline illegal' Ministry bureaucrat who will shag you senseless whenever he's not working." She paused. "You have my sympathies."

Cosette laughed. "I won't be able to walk, Hermione."

"Cosette!" Hermione shrieked. "That's vulgar, and you are looking at the girl who hasn't got any since May... or April, I can't recall, but don't you dare complain to me about having an excuse to be with the man you love in a beautiful country."

"You'll be in Florence, too."

Hermione nodded as she poured herself a cuppa. "With Pierre, Cosette. Pierre. Our boss."

"An authority figure. Dashing," Cosette said, grinning.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed again, handing Cosette the coffeepot. "You pour your own coffee. Pierre is not attractive."

Cosette snorted. "Yes, he is. Older man, distinguished, accomplished, brilliant, bachelor..."

"...womanizer, workaholic, probably an alcoholic, thank you, no," Hermione finished. She sipped her coffee and leaned against the counter in sheer bliss, all her cares forgotten. "There are many fish in the sea."

"And yet you aren't fishing. I know that Ron was a serious boyfriend, but leaving him didn't tear you up," Cosette said practically. "You're ready to get out there again."

Hermione shook her head. "I'm not the sort of girl who goes 'out there' again. I'm not the... 'Grand Passion' sort of woman. And I can see where this conversation is going, and I had one with Ron's sister in the spring, so I'll thank you to stop telling me why I need to look for and be open to love."

Cosette sighed. "There is no getting through to you. Men look at you, Hermione, you just don't realize it."

Hermione snorted. "Like Louis? I'll pass," she said, chuckling at the memory.

"Well, do try to find a gorgeous, disposable lover while you're in Florence. Just for the weekend. Please? For me? It'll help me to know that your needs are being taken care of," Cosette said, turning to her friend in mock seriousness.

"I refuse to discuss those kinds of needs with a Frenchwoman," Hermione muttered into her coffee, sending Cosette into hysterics again.

"When do we leave again?" Cosette asked, eyes dancing.

"Two days," Hermione said, clutching her mug for warmth. "Heat is coming."

"It most certainly is." Cosette winked.

Hermione groaned.

*

A few days later, Florence, noon

"Circe, it's hot!" Hermione said, twirling her hair up into a knot at the nape of her neck. She murmured a charm to hold it in place.

"It's the Mediterranean, darling, what did you expect?" Cosette asked with a wink. Her hair was already piled up under a red cap they'd picked up from one of the street vendors. Hermione had eschewed Cosette's offer of a free cap, and she was increasingly regretting her decision. A cap would be fashionable, but, more than that, it'd keep her sweat-soaked, impossibly frizzy hair out of sight.

"I didn't expect it to be this hot in November!" she contested, a bit late on the uptake.

"Global warming, dear – it's the latest rage." Cosette grinned.

Pierre chuckled and leaned back in his chair. "Ladies, please. Drink your limoncello. It's the finest I've had in several years. Enjoy it while you can." He sipped his drink. "And it is unexpectedly stifling for November. It's never been this hot. I wish I could apologize, but..." He held up his hands. "C'est la vie. Now drink," he ordered kindly.

Hermione and Cosette dutifully sipped their limoncellos, the white silk umbrella shading their table from the sun's hottest rays. The humidity made the air thick, and the smell of street vendors' wares lazed even to the balcony – surprising, that the smells could move even when the heat threatened to stifle and suffocate all who breathed it.

The girls had been loath to sit outside, but Pierre had insisted. The view, he claimed, was one of the best in the city.

Unfortunately, he was right.

They were sitting on the balcony terrace of the bar at La Galleria degli Uffizi, the Uffizi Gallery. They had arrived in the city only a few hours ago, and Hermione had compiled a list of sites to see in the case that extra time presented itself. The Uffizi, one of the world's premiere art museums, was at the top of her list. Pierre had taken her to the Louvre, so she only thought it fitting that she experience the Uffizi with him as well. Pierre had been to the museum multiple times and had been more than willing to give Hermione and Cosette the grand tour. The women had stood agog in front of Boticelli's The Birth of Venus, captivated by its strong yet subtle strokes, by its sensual curves, its lush figures, all praising the form of Venus.

"Madonna or whore, Hermione?" Cosette asked playfully. "Which is she?"

"A woman who happens to be the goddess of love – the female Eros, as it were." Cosette shook her head. "Come on, Pierre's already in the next room."

"Hermione?"

She shook her head. "Yes?"

Cosette cocked her head at her as if annoyed. "You were off in your own world again, is all."

"Cosette was just regaling me with stories of Henri's escapades with the Muggle government. I doubt I should be hearing this, Mademoiselle Bedard," Pierre said.

Cosette laughed. "But of course you both want to hear!"

"When is Henri meeting us?" Hermione asked.

"We'll have tapas and wine around four, then head to the Symposium's opening festivities around seven. Henri is giving the opening lecture tonight," Cosette said.

"He doesn't work with security and contracts, though, does he?" Pierre asked.

"His work is somewhat related to the Symposium's general idea... It's more to stir up controversy than anything else, I think," Cosette said, maintaining a façade of sheer innocence the entire time.

Hermione laughed, turning away to peruse the lunch crowd walking out on the street, eating and drinking and laughing. Pierre and Cosette nattered on in the background, their voices gradually becoming dimmer and dimmer as she closed her eyes and basked in the sounds and even the smells of the Florentine market.

She was too lost in thought to notice the shock of black that slipped in and out of the crowds, moving towards her, or the gaze that fixed on her with a raw, animal-like intensity.

When she felt a shiver go down her spine, she attributed it to the drink.

*

The Symposium, evening

The opening ceremony had been short, sweet, and to the point, and Hermione was immensely appreciative. It was clear that the wine at the Symposium would be of the highest caliber, and if it was all the same to her, the night's festivities could get started right away, and the sooner, the better.

She was sitting in the Grand Ballroom of the Rossi Hotel, in a conveniently located aisle seat in the front row, listening to the young, handsome, and brilliant Henri Dubois speak on integrating Muggle chemistry with Potions and Charms work. He was a charismatic speaker, and a damn convincing one, seeing as how he had many of Europe's best and brightest too wrapped up in his genius to notice that his methodology was only slightly illegal in most countries. So much for controversy, she thought. But it was no matter; Hermione was sure the laws would be readily accommodated for such brilliance. She wasn't quite sure how she felt about that prospect.

The look on Cosette's face, though, was more than enough to convince her to shut up on the subject. Her friend was dressed in a stunning green satin gown that clung to her every curve in a way that rather reminded Hermione of cling-film. The backless dress had attracted the attention of most every man in the room, and Hermione could hardly say she minded. She rather preferred the attention to be on Cosette and not on her... She wasn't averse to being recognized, but was something she'd rather avoid.

She did not look too bad herself, really – she had donned a white pinstripe suit and had her hair twisted up in an elegant chignon – but she wasn't glamorous by anyone's standards. Moreover, she wore an intensely studious look on her face, unlike the radiant glow emanating from Cosette. Hermione had been tempted to ask Cosette if she was pregnant – just as a joke – but had decided against it.

Henri's lecture sounded as if it were about to wrap up. It had gone on a half hour, and that was relatively appropriate for an opening lecture, particularly one that would be followed by many, many hours of alcoholic consumption.

She rose to her feet and applauded along with the rest of the room a moment later. Henri quickly abandoned his post in front and came over to embrace Cosette. Hermione smiled, murmured her congratulations, and bent down to pick up her clutch.

She touched Cosette's arm. "I'm going back to the room; I'm quite tired. Your presentation was outstanding, Henri," she said, smiling up at him. He was inordinately tall, which both excused and explained Cosette's affinity for wearing obscenely high heels. Nothing could convince Hermione to wear shoes that high. Nothing. Ever.

"Thank you, Hermione. It was a pleasure meeting you. We will see you at breakfast tomorrow?" Henri asked, his smile wide and natural.

"Of course." Hermione smiled and gave Cosette a quick side hug. "I won't wait up," she whispered. Cosette guffawed and gave her a teasing push towards the aisle.

She made her way through the stream of academics, being jostled about to and fro. Just when she was to the lobby entrance, she tripped on the damn fringed rug and fell forward into a man standing in front of her.

Oh God, how mortifying, she thought as she stumbled to regain her balance, only to fall into him again. She was completely overcome by a light, pine-like smell... She turned into his torso to smell him before catching herself.

"Oh, sir, I'm so..." She looked up, and her eyes widened at the realization at whose arms were currently wrapped about her torso, whose eyes she was looking into; the man she'd just outright sniffed...

Who was looking at her as if he was completely unsurprised.

So this is what death looks like...

"Oh, God," she whimpered.

"Miss Granger, you've completely lost your senses," he declared in an annoyingly sensible tone. "Not that you had any before. This is an... unexpected surprise," he said, sneer now firmly in place. "Stopped by my cottage lately?"

And with that, she promptly passed out.

*

A/N: Limoncello is a common lemon liqueur in Italy; many families have their own recipe. It's relatively simple: add sugar, water, some sort of lemon juice/zest, alcohol, and time to mature. *nods* Quite good. Also, I know that Italy is famous for its nap-during-lunch-and-everything-closes tradition, but I bent the rules a bit. I hope you enjoyed the chapter and must confess that I am wondering what y'all are thinking, provided that after the long waits any of you are left. :-)