Trussed

Hermione and Theo compared their stacks of purchases, taking care not to bump their cappuccinos in the process.

They were at a family owned cafe down the street from her flat, sitting at a large low table on comfortable plush lounge chairs.

“So which of these counts as fluffy fiction?” Theo teased, picking up a copy of The Shining by Stephen King.

“Definitely not that one.” Hermione took a sip of her drink, reveling in the feel of frothy milk on her lips. “Mr. King writes dense horror novels.”

“Didn't think you would be a horror fan,” he commented as he scanned the back cover.

“I like his writing.” She shrugged, and picked out another paperback. “I got this one for you.”

“War and Peace.” He raised an eyebrow. “A history book?”

“Fiction,” she said, “One of the greatest novels of all time.”

“That's quite a claim,” he murmured, but was interested as he read the back cover.

They chatted about stories and science and the human condition for hours, until they were both shaky from caffeine. Hermione realized the sun had set outside and she was bewildered at how much she was enjoying herself.

“It's late.” Theo noticed, checking his watch. “I'm going to regret this when I'm still wide awake at three in the morning.”

“I won't.” She chanced a flirtatious look at him, trying to gauge his reaction. He was a hard man to read. “I’d be up anyway with all of these new books to read.”

“I get to read all day at work.” He smiled slyly.

She decided to take the plunge. “Well, since neither of us are going to sleep tonight, would you care for a tea at my flat?” She paused. “No caffeine, of course.”

Theo weighed his options. This had been a peculiar day. Hermione Granger had appeared out of nowhere, after hiding from (presumably) post war PTSD, in his bookshop. She'd invited him on what seemed like a date, and was now asking him to come up to her flat. He'd never known the brainy little witch to be so forward, but adulthood changed people. War changed people.

And why was she wanting to spend time with him? Why not one of her Gryffindor golden boys? After what had happened to her at the hands of Death Eaters he was flabbergasted that she would want to be anywhere near a Slytherin with ties to the side of darkness.

She patiently awaited his answer, thumbing through her new William Blake collection and feigning disinterest. She understood he was likely confused, but surely he wanted her? They had come this far. She toyed with the hem of her skirt, playing it off as absentmindedness, and gave him a glimpse of her thigh.

Theo raised an eyebrow. She was asking what he'd thought she was asking. He wasn't sure what the little witch was hoping to get out of an encounter with him. And, being privy to the horrors she had experienced thanks to his social circle, wasn't sure if it was the best idea.

But his curious mind won out. He wanted to know what her intentions were. From a purely scientific perspective, of course.

He tried to ignore the warmth in his gut telling him otherwise.

“Herbal?” He asked, and he glanced up at him with a questioning gaze. “Your non-caffeinated tea.”

She smiled and nodded. “Apple cinnamon.”

***

Theo watched her as Hermione poured the tea, leaving just far enough over the kitchen table that he couldn't help but notice her cleavage.

“So, what's the best part of owning a bookstore?” She asked, and sat next to him, crossing her long bare legs.

“Other than the books?” He chuckled. “The customers that are excited about them.” He allowed a bit of his desire to show on his face, and she bit her lip.

“I suppose that would be a perk.” She was finally growing impatient. She'd put effort into this seduction, why wasn't he on her already? She didn't want to have to make the first move; that defeated the purpose. Had she misjudged him? Was this going to be Ben all over again?

“Why did you invite me to your flat, Hermione?” Theo asked, pragmatic as ever.

She rolled her eyes. “Merlin, do you really need to ask that question?”

“I do.” He stared at her intently. “I don't play games. I want you to be clear with me.”

“How very gentlemanly of you,” she scoffed.

“I'm not in the business of taking advantage of women, Granger.”

“And why would you be taking advantage?” She stood, unable to control the sudden anger in her. “Because I'm a delicate little flower that everyone has to tiptoe around? I invited you here, and you accepted. Let's not play dumb.”

“I'm trying to figure out your motivations.” He was infuriatingly calm in the face of her outburst.

“My motivations?” She scowled. “Why would you care what my motivations are?”

“Because, as you so eloquently put it, you might in fact be a delicate little flower.” He stared her down, and didn't miss the flicker of pain in her eyes. “I don't want to hurt you.”

She clenched her fists. “What if I want to be hurt?”