The (Slughorn's Potions) Office

She takes the phone from Lavender. “Hello?” Tentative. 

“Hermione, my dear, dear, dear friend, my dear, dear, dear and diligent worker bee –” 

“Mister Slughorn?” Hermione asks. Worker bee? “Oh, it’s good that you’re calling. There’s actually a thing I need to talk to you ab–”

"--Good, good! Wonderful timing it seems! I’m on a cruise with my dear, dear old friend, Aberforth, right now and he mentioned that you used to help out at the Hog’s Head Inn! Small, small world! Just wanted to tell you that I’ll be out of London for the next two weeks–”

“Aberforth Dumbledore? Yes, yes, I did. He’s a very kind and patient man and a good boss. That’s great! Have fun, Mister Slughorn, and greetings to Aberforth. My thing was actually a not that nice one - we seem to have a rat problem? Don’t know how that happened –” A bold faced lie. “-- but we have a plan in place.” Almost. Soon. “Do you have any tips or wishes on how to proceed? Do you need specific documents or do we have to tell anyone?”

A big horn on the other side. Splashes of water and a belly laugh. “Rats, those buggers, how unfortunate, my dear! No worries, no worries! You have it all in hand – my dear, my dear, Aberforth – Aberforth, Hermione sends her greeting! Yes, yes, she is, isn’t she? – Aberforth greets you back, my dear, haven’t seen him smile this big in ages! You really are a wonder worker, Miss Granger! Send my best to my boy Tom, too, will you? And the rest of the bunch, Mister Pouter, Wesley, Miss Lester, Longback, the receptionist lady and so on – Adiéu for now and good luck!”

It beeps and Hermione sighs. Good talk, she thinks desolate. 

Hermione turns back to the whole office team, staring at her open-eyed and open-mouthed.

“He’s not angry about the rats,” she starts with, “doesn’t seem to care much either way. He leaves it to us, he said.” She pauses. “Maybe Fred should call a rat exterminator? And the rest of us will migrate to a second location to work at that time? Someone's apartment maybe?”

Everyone looks around, not wanting to step up. 

Bellatrix is the first to brush the idea off, “Not my home. Forget it! I don’t want any of you there and you will absolutely regret it if I ever find you near it.”

“I wouldn’t even want to go there!” Ron mumbles and Lestrange glares at him. 

“But,” he fidgets. “I wouldn’t say our home either. It’s messy and Ma and Ginny are home and Charlie is visiting with his french girlfriend and her sister and it’s kinda stuffed –”

“Agreed,” Fred and George chime in. 

Hermione eyes Harry and Harry eyes her back. “You want to spend some more time with Draco?” No. Not today, devil. 

She closes her eyes and turns to Neville, who seems apologetic. “My flat is very small, Hermione, I’m sorry. I don’t think there’s enough space for us all, and I sometimes, well, a lot of times at the moment, have problems connecting with the internet there?”

Lavender adds, “My roommate has band practice in our flat? They do it while I’m here at work, so–”

Hermione nods, dejected, and says, “I mean, we could have it at my place? But it’s actually a bit far from here. Takes me almost an hour to get here, to be honest, and I know that Neville doesn’t have a car so I know it would take him –”

“Fine,” Tom interrupts, holding his nose in annoyance. Everyone faces him, surprised. 

“I’ve never been at your flat before, Tom,” Bellatrix replies, eyes glinting. 

“Never needed to,” he replies. 

Hermione and him make eye contact. “There’s a first for everything.” He grunts, eyeing his rolex. “We only have an hour and 17 minutes until the day’s done so let’s meet tomorrow morning at my apartment. I’ll send you the address in the work chat later.”

It’s weird working with rats nearby. Well, knowing there are rats nearby while you’re doing work. Kind of like a weird mutual working relationship. Just that their work is possibly damaging your work utensils and your work is trying to get stuff done while you are worrying at the same time, Hermione thinks, glum. 

Ron, caught between being traumatized by them and lovingly making them his best friends, names one of them Scabbers. Guess which one. 

“The one that was in the toilet?” Harry questions. “You’ve got bad taste, mate.”

“We’ve been closer than I’ve ever imagined! That needs to count for something! Or else it’s just a bad, bad, very bad memory and nightmare fuel!” Ron disagrees, heated. 

“If that’s how you’re trying to cope, Ronald, then I’m all for it,” Hermione says, “You do you, but keep Scabbers away from me, alright?”

“Aye, cap’n.” Ron and Harry chorus. 

Fred looks like a sad puppy when Hermione comes into the break room where he meticulously searches through the catalog to find the number for the rat exterminator.

She doesn’t let herself melt at the display. Some mistakes need a firm punishment. No take backs. She makes herself tea - because that was more than enough coffee for today and tomorrow - and vanishes out the door again. 

George tips an invisible hat at her when he encounters her, walking briskly to his twin. “You need to work on proper groveling, brotha,” he says before she’s out of range. 

Type. Type. Thinking. Erase. Type. Thinking. Thinking. Is this how other people feel, Hermione thinks, thinking again, helplessly, trying not to count the minutes until the shift is over. She feels knocked out and hyper vigilant at the same time. Coffee and Slughorn himself have done her no favors it seems. 

“Nah, think again, Ronnie!" - “Cmon!” - “It was in the toilet! It scarred you!” -  “It bonded us! No trauma here, I promise!” - “Ma won’t allow it!” - “She will!" He’s, like, my therapy animal now!” - “He’s the thing you need therapy for! He can’t be the cause and the antidote, eh?!”

“Ronald, are you trying to adopt The Rat?” Hermione interrupts their ramblings. 

“Yes!” nods Ron, while Fred and George whine beside him, “and his name is Scabbers now. Remember?”

“He’s Quirrell’s, Ronald! You can’t adopt or steal a rat that’s officially his. Can’t you cope like a normal human being for once? If the answer isn’t yes, then please, at least, for Merlin’s sake, don’t communicate incriminating stuff in the office where I can hear you!”

“You used to be more accommodating,” Ron mumbles.  

“You used to break less rules,” Hermione grumbles. 

“I’m so glad we work here,” George whispers. 

OFFICE WORK CHAT

Tom Riddle: (address shared)

Tom Riddle: 8 on the dot. Take your shoes off outside the door. Bring your own devices.

Bellatrix Lestrange: You only live 18 minutes from me. Want me to come over sooner to set things up, Tom?

Tom Riddle: No.

Harry Potter: Draco’s cousin lives there somewhere. I’m not surprised you share a district lol.

Lavender Brown: Nice neighborhood! :) But I don’t think I’m going to see it for myself. :/ My throat hurts very bad and I can’t stop coughing. I’m sorry!! I’ll go to the doctor tomorrow and send a note to Hermione after!! Sorry!!

Ron Weasley: Lav, want me to come over?? and bring snacks and medicine??

Lavender Brown: Oh no, Won-won, that’s sweet but you’ll get sick then! Let’s video chat tomorrow evening. Kisses.

Tom Riddle: This is the office work chat. Office. Work. I know you know the words, but do you know the meaning?

Lavender Brown: Sorry, Mr. Riddle!! We’ll do small talk in a separate chat!! :) 

Neville Longbottom: I’ll see you all tomorrow! I’ll make some brownies for this unfortunate occasion. Get better soon, Lavender!

Bellatrix Lestrange: Caramel 

Neville Longbottom: Yes, I’ll make some extras with caramel for you!

Hermione Granger: Thank you so much, Neville. That would be very nice. Don’t worry, Lavender, and focus on your health. Ron, do not, under any circumstances, bring your new rat friend with you to Riddle’s home.

Ron Weasley: I wasn’t going to!

Hermione Granger: You weren’t thinking about it?

Ron Weasley: …only for a moment, though.

Tom Riddle: I dare you. 

Ron Weasley: I said I wasn’t going to!

Tom Riddle: You don’t inspire much faith in people, Weasley.

Hermione Granger: Tom, don’t generalize like that.

Tom Riddle: You don’t inspire much faith in me, Weasley.* Happy, Hermione?

Hermione Granger: Yes, thank you.

Ron Weasley: I’m not happy yet

Tom Riddle: Not my concern.

It will be fine. Hermione got a caramel latte to start the day off, decided to change her usual office attire and wear some jeans and a cozy, oversized sweater to make herself feel warm and welcome and listened to her favorite podcast on the way here. It will be fine. 

FINE, she repeats in her mind, standing in front of Riddle’s door. 

The five different households she had to pass to come to his apartment door all had a cute welcome sign on their door but not him, of course. It’s 7:40 because she always comes to work sooner than expected (it’s routine, her inner clock) and she followed the same schedule today. She tried not to think of him, so she only realized when she got to his building that her usual time, 07:40, means alone time with Tom, because almost nobody is going to get here (voluntarily) sooner rather than later. Except her. Well, and possibly Bellatrix, to spend some time with Riddle. HUH. Maybe she’s already here? And Hermione doesn’t have to worry about being alone with him because Bellatrix would act as a buffer? She could talk to her! 

Her thoughts race and after another minute or two of thinking, it’s very believable, isn’t it? She even mentioned it herself in the group chat and she never listens to him saying NO, so she would be here. She should be here. But her shoes aren’t in front of his door. No pair of them here yet. He said to take the shoes off before coming inside, right? But would Bellatrix really let her shoes here where someone could take them (doesn’t seem like her), maybe she asked Tom repeatedly until he let her put the shoes inside the apartment??? She takes another sip of her caramel latte and decides to put her ear against the door, just quickly, and maybe she can hear voices or something to make a more educated guess. So she does.

At first: nothing. No sounds, then something. What is it? Not a human voice, more like walking. Steps? Yes, steps. Getting louder, getting closer, should she be able to hear them that clearly – oh no.

Hermione’s momentum falls forward when the door opens, but she succeeds in not falling over. Her caramel latte almost dives to the side, but she rescues it, too, somehow. She looks up, mouth open in surprise, and direct eye contact with her cru – enemy. Not prepared at all. 

“You’re 3 minutes late,” Tom says, smirking. “Tardy much, Hermione?”

He did not just sa– “Untrue! I’ve been here since 7:35 –” She stops, awkwardly. 

He flinches slightly, his good mood plummeting. They look at each other a bit closer and –

Are we wearing the same thing? Hermione thinks, aghast. 

She points at his oversized sweater, harshly. “You never wear oversized sweaters!”

“You never wear jeans to work,” Tom accuses her, moving his hand in her direction.

“Why did you –” 

“Well, why did you –” Tom repeats. 

“I just wanted to feel at home,” Hermione bursts out, flushing.

“It’s my home, I can wear what I want,” he says at the same moment. 

Silence, then Tom’s face changes expressions. Hermione’s hand holding the caramel latte trembles in nerves. She tries to evade his eyes and lands on the red sweater. It looks very soft now that she’s properly looking at it, so soft, and so very red, maybe bordeaux red, or a bit mixed with purple, a plum color possibly, and it works quite well with his hair and the trousers and – it’s very cute. Boyfriend material, a voice in her head whispers. 

Their eyes find each other again. There’s a small sparkle in his eyes again. Like he heard her thoughts and approves. That jackass, that lying jackass, that lying, manipulative –

“Well, my home is your home, then, Hermione,” he says and opens the door wider. 

That lying, manipulative, romantic jackass. 

His apartment is beautiful but a bit bleak. Lots of black and dark greens, splashes of dark blue and/or dark red. A complete black kitchen with an island. Six oranges in a bowl. Just one singular plant. No pictures on the fridge. Some artwork on the walls. Everything is very thoroughly cleaned. Minimalistic design. In the living room, there’s a big wooden cabinet with a snake carved into the door and beside it is a massive bookshelf right out of her sweetest dreams. So much literature. Hermione still. Her heart beats erratically. It’s paradise. 

Nonfiction, mostly. Mythology. History. Nature. Animals. Snakes. More snakes. Art history. Lost cities. Lost empires. Ruins. Manuals for repairs, for conservation. Different language learning novels. Bulgarian. French. Greek. Latin. It’s so beautiful –

“Here, let me,” Tom takes off her jacket while Hermione’s eyes are glued to the treasure in front of her. The editions look so wonderful, so well maintained. Everything looks so interesting and she already feels a dozen new fascinations taking root in her mind. 

A noise behind her but she barely hears, and Tom's hands, warm, callused and strong, slowly move Hermione to take a seat - apparently the noise was a chair he got from the kitchen so she can sit down right here, right now - and she just lets him do it quietly. 

Books about philosophy. Plato. Socrates. Marcus Aurelius. The Art of War. Literary theory. Literary criticism. Geography. An atlas. Some books on technology. Memoirs of interesting people. Economics. Politics. A lot of translated fiction in multiple languages –

Tom’s hands move to her shoes and he takes them off while Hermione starts to mumble, “Tom. Tom. It’s so pretty. Is that a first edition? Where did you get THIS one? And THIS one? What’s this? The cover looks so beautiful! Has it been translated into english? Or German? I can understand german. Oh, Merlin. What is–”

Books on social psychology. Medicine. Trauma. Money management. Consumerism. Climate change. Feminism. Health care. Nutrition. Self help. Even poetry, lots and lots and lots of it. Who would’ve thought? Time management. Leadership. Law. Folklore. Fairy tales. Urban legends. Hermione knew Tom loved books, too, but she only now understands the full extent of it. He loves learning just as much as she does. He understands her. He –

Hermione, for the first time in the last couple of minutes, glances away from the bookshelf, and realizes that her caramel latte, jacket, purse and shoes are gone (her purse is on the dark green couch, and the latte on the glass table in front of it) and she’s sitting suddenly.

Tom is leaning against the cabinet with the carvings of the snake, entirely amused and fond, hair ruffled, soft sweater on, fixed on her. The morning sun, coming through the window behind him, makes him glow a little and Hermione loathes and loves him.

This moment burns itself into her brain, a new core memory, and she fears she will never forget this picture; the look in his eyes, how domestic it feels, how right, the specific color of his sweater, how his hair curls up, the scent, so him, that immediately fills her nose when she breathes in to calm her rapid pulse, finally perceives it, his cologne everywhere and the thought that rushes through her head: If this were my home, I’d be happy. 

“You’re in love, aren’t you?” Riddle smirks, nodding at his collection. 

Hermione’s heart clenches, “Yes. It seems that way, doesn’t it?” 

But not only with the books. 

Hermione flees into his bathroom. She feels worse than when she overdid it with the caffeine yesterday. Her body is jittery, her heart is pounding, her hands are shaking. Blurry sight, teary eyed, overwhelmed and stressed and nervous and also kind of sad, but also kind of happy, and kind of hopeful, and very much relieved to finally put a name to the feeling in her heart, in her gut, that clicks, that feels right, that feels like a revelation, an epiphany and –

It’s all too much and the work day hasn’t even started. 

She can’t even run away! She can’t even ignore him today! Not when she’s punched in the face with everything that he is. All her senses just hit her in the stomach. She can’t look at him, she can’t hear his voice, can’t feel his touch, can’t taste his drinks, use his furnishing, step out of the bathroom without thinking about him, and this feeling, this love – 

LOVE LOVE LOVE LOVE 

“Merlin, shut up, Hermione!” she tells herself quietly in the mirror, whispering frantically. “He’s just a man! One man! Who lied to you!”, she adds sternly. “Don’t forgive him without getting an explanation! And even then, let him grovel! Afterwards, you can move in with him and read his books and cuddle and live together and get married – NO”

Hermione facepalms herself, exasperated, and tries doing the superman pose to hype herself up. “No! You've got this! Be in the present, don’t dream of the future! First, explanation and then he grovels, capiche, Hermione?! Stand up for yourself! No explanation, no forgiveness! You've got this! Fight!”

She splashes water onto her face, dries it with a soft towel with Tom’s initials, nods her head twice, and then gets out to a fuller house. 

Bellatrix looks like she’s going on a date. Her makeup is stunning and her black dress cuts a great figure, Hermione has to say, and she definitely understands now why Bellatrix didn’t come sooner - she had to get ready first. If Hermione didn’t know her brash personality, she would really think Bellatrix quite lovely. The only thing she’s missing is high heels, apparently Tom made her take them off outside, and now she’s barefoot. Her toenails are painted black. 

Tom and Bellatrix are both in the hallway. Bellatrix is close to the door (it seems she hasn’t been here long), but Tom is already stepping away towards his kitchen. Her hand is in the air like she tried to touch him and her grin falters when she sees Hermione in her periphery. 

“Bellatrix! You look wonderful! You probably brought your iPad to work, right, your laptop couldn’t possibly fit in that glamorous but very small bag, could it?”

She looks like she’s sucking on a lemon. “Granger, of course, you’reearly.” Her teeth almost seem fletched. “I did. Didn’t want to walk around with that much weight.” 

“We’ll work in the living room,” Tom cuts in, “You can set up there. Bedroom is a no-go zone. Just for the record. Tea or coffee?”

Bellatrix’ jaw ticks, “Coffee, please, Tommy. Black.” And then she tramps away. 

“Hermione, come here,” Tom murmurs and shoos her into the kitchen. He crooks a finger to make her step closer and gets to his fridge. Sleek and black, like the rest of the kitchen. 

She tries to look less happy than she did earlier, using up lots of energy to keep her face smooth and her appearance less skippy-lucky, but it’s soo hard. She crosses and uncrosses her arms, purses her lips, steps a little away from him, and makes a sound like a grumpy sigh to get his attention back to the fact that she has NOT forgiven him yet. 

She needs to remind him of that.

NOT FORGIVEN. 

Tom does not seem to get the memo or he’s just ignoring her theatrics. He’s getting tea out of the cabinet, as well as some mugs (white, boring) and heats up water. Then, he touches her shoulders (she forces herself to TENSE instead of MELT) and moves her to the left, back to the fridge. His smile could light up a dark cave, for Merlin’s sake. How does he get even more handsome when he’s showing a tiny bit of joy? She squints her eyes to appear more grouchy, sour-tempered, when he says, “I got you something.”

He opens the fridge, grabs something she can’t see, and rectifies what he said, “Well, I got and am now going to make you something, to be more concrete.”

It’s a fruit bowl with bananas, grapes, strawberries, dragon fruit, chia seeds, pieces of coconut, some mango and some kiwi. Oh no. She loves it. 

“I’m going to put it in my mixer and then you can have a smoothie bowl as breakfast. I know you said once that you make them for yourself on your free days.” 

He’s buying your favor, Hermione, the voice in her head exclaims.

And he’s succeeding, she thinks. 

NOT FORGIVEN, but, what is one mistake, really? Everybody has done something bad or wrong at some point, right? And he’s sorry, right, so she could close one eye and just forget the whole thing, at least for a few minutes and/or hours, right, that doesn’t mean she has no self-respect, does it, right, because she’s using him, okay, it’s using him, not forgiving him, okay, but she actually doesn’t want to use him, but he did it first, and he kept it from her, and they were friends, right, well, work friends, and it hurt her, and she deserves this smoothie bowl, she does, it’s been a hard couple of days and her body needs some goodness, she needs to treat herself, right? And one smile can’t hurt, huh? Right.

“Thank you, that’s sweet of you. I love smoothie bowls,” Hermione utters, adoring. Her eyes are wide, sparkling orbs and in a manga, she would have hearts in them. Red, glowing hearts, and then she smiles, blinding, the biggest level of happiness. 

And it, understandably, catches him off guard. 

Riddle stutters in his steps, for a second, before licking his lips and moving away to put the fruit into the mixer. “You’re welcome,” he says, not looking at her. His hands moved jerkily. 

The Weasley brothers come as a trio. Hermione opens the door because Tom is still in the kitchen. Ron is the first person she sees. Fred and George pop up behind him, on the right and left, like a three-headed statue and the mental pictures perplexes her for a moment.

“Morning, Weasleys.”

“Morning, boss!” Fred and George chorus, elbowing Ron. 

“Do you have no manners, Ronnie–”

“--that’s so rude, little brother. Who raised you??”

“I was yawning!” Ron protests, “It’s early! Mornin', Mione.”

“Yes, hello and welcome, Ronald. Do you want a flat white coffee?”

“Yes! I do want!”

They swarm in and Hermione’s figure gets pushed into the apartment, almost like she’s moved by a river current, softly pushed inland. 

“Wow! Casa de Riddle!” Fred uhhss. He’s wearing a cardigan and he looks kinda nice in it. Too many unexpected realizations for today already, Hermione thinks, and tunes it out. 

Bellatrix hollers from the living room, “Weasley’s, some people are working here! Tone it down!”

“Wow! A lot of yelling for Casa de Riddle,” George ahhss. 

Riddle walks from the kitchen to the living room and says, “Yell again and you won’t get any coffee from my incredibly expensive coffee machine, Bellatrix.”

“Forgive me, Tommy, I was only reacting to the volume in here already!” She’s stressing the words explicitly and intently and the Weasley twins grin in reaction, feeling accomplished.

Riddle makes eye contact with the Weasleys, ignoring her answer, pointing at them and says, “That goes for you as well, redheads. Understood?”

“Aye, aye, captain. Can I have a cappuccino? With cinnamon? I saw a TikTok of it.”

Riddle rolls his eyes. “No.”

The living room is actually quite big, Hermione realizes later on. She didn’t focus on it when first coming in, being a little distracted by his library, but it’s very big for a living room, or any room, really. A little too big for working at an office, but maybe she’s just jealous.

There’s a wooden table with four chairs where Bellatrix, Ron, Fred and George have their set-ups. Three laptops, one iPad. Some water bottles, four mugs of coffee. There’s a giant window behind where Ron and Bellatrix are sitting. Not two windows, but one giant one. 

Then there’s the bookshelves, two cabinets, a smaller (also wooden) work table where Harry sits, headphones on, listening to Lo-Fi Girl beats probably, weirdly addicted to that channel, with his feet on his spinning chair. He likes to sit in an uncomfortable way for some reason. He normally doesn’t do it at work, Hermione knows, but she guesses this feels like a one in a lifetime chance to be weird in Tom Riddle’s home and he’s taking it seriously. 

After that, there’s the couch and a smaller glass table in front of it, where Hermione and Riddle sit, oh, and also Neville. With his older laptop, a lot of cable, some lunch boxes of brownies, a plant he brought as a present and a cup of chai latte. He’s in a good mood, sitting at the right edge of the couch, beside Hermione in the middle. She’s working on her tablet, marking different sections of the document she has opened, taking a spoon from her smoothie bowl from time to time. It’s kind of great. 

Feels a little crowded, but also lovely. 

She hasn’t felt like they are truly a team working together in a long time. 

It’s kind of eye-opening. 

Why do they have to work in a stuffy room, with less natural light, uncomfortable chairs, in a bleak environment with absolutely no comfort at all?

Tom’s a wall of warmth beside her, half of their bodies touching. His sweater is soft, as soft as it looks, she feels it glide over her skin sometimes when he moves. He’s typing on his laptop, sometimes very fast, sometimes slower. His fingers rush back and forth, and he’s wearing the ugly, enormous ring again. It’s cute. Makes her feel some type of way. 

Just him, wearing a ring. 

Hermione puts the tablet on her lap and goes for the bowl again. Takes the spoon, eats a bit, takes the spoon, eats, while watching the room. Fred is on his phone, grinning, George is flipping through some documents, making notes on the side. Ron is looking at his screen, focused for once, and Bellatrix’ finger scrolls and scrolls down. Harry is nodding his head in rhythm with some music she can’t hear, whipping, forming words with his lips, while answering some questions from the guest contact questionnaire on their website. Neville is brainstorming a new graphic for the Krum project that they can later use for marketing purposes, playing with colors and adding different elements to see what works well. 

They are actually getting good work done. 

It’s almost like a miracle. 

LOVE LOVE LOVE 

Is she wearing rose-tinted glasses? Is being in love changing her perspective? Or are they actually, for some reason, being good workers and a great team right now? 

“Is it good?” Tom murmurs quietly, “The smoothie bowl.”

“Oh, yes. It’s delicious.” Hermione makes another spoonful and shoves it in front of his mouth before thinking it through, but before she can react again, he puts his lips around her spoon and eats it diligently. He’s not looking at her, still focused on his work, but she’s screaming inside. We are sharing a spoon.

“Do you want more?” It comes out too fast, embarrassingly, unconsciously, but he just hums, not caring, as if nothing unusual is happening. She makes another spoon for him, taking care to make it a big one so he gets all the goodness, all the flavor. 

This time, Hermione puts the spoon a little farther away from him, and he has to lean forward slightly to open his mouth and eat it. Adorable. She moves the spoon away a bit more when he almost has it so he has to lean forward more and she laughs when he follows the motion without any comment. He stops, finally making eye contact, and watching her. Her laugh. Her eyes. Her actions. Back to the spoon. Understanding the situation now, he smiles, a bit miffed, a bit amused, “Are you making fun of me?”

“It’s called teasing you, Tom,” she responds, smiling still. Holding the spoon still. 

He takes it from her hand and eats the spoonful, very overdramatically enjoying it. “Next time we should add something like lemon or lime to the mix, something acidic, to give it that extra punch. Would work well, I think.”

Next time. 

NOT FORGIVEN

LOVE LOVE LOVE

Hermione fights with herself internally for a second, before saying, “Yes, next time.”

He smiles, small and sacred. A one of a kind smile. The beautiful one she has only seen a few times since knowing him. 

LOVE LOVE LOVE

If love makes a fool out of her, then so be it.