Spellbinder

Disclaimer: I did not create, nor can I make any claims to the ownership of the characters or magical devices in the following story. They belong strictly to J. K. Rowling and publishers. The plot, however, has been roving around in my head for quite some time now.

Author’s Note: Hi there, again! This is the second story I’m attempting to write, and it all came to mind one day when I was watching one of my favorite movies, “The Shop Around the Corner.” For those of you who haven’t seen it, it is what the more popular “You’ve Got Mail” is based on. This is completely AU, but only to a certain extent. Dumbledore did die. Snape did kill him. A final war did happen, in which Harry, Hermione, and Ron did collaborate with the others to kill Voldemort. Basically, the only thing that didn’t happen from Deathly Hallows is the epilogue. Obviously! How else would Draco and Hermione get together? I really hope you enjoy!

Summary: A book is the only place in which you can examine a fragile thought without breaking it, or explore an explosive idea without fear it will go off in your face. It is one of the few havens remaining where a man’s mind can get both provocation and privacy.

Spellbinder

Fiction reveals truths that reality obscures.
~Jessamyn West~

Thankfully, the shop always closed early on Fridays - much to the enjoyment of two certain young ladies - leaving Hermione additional time to spend on her appearance for the evening’s plans. She had spent an extra thirty minutes in the shower, being sure to use all the bath products she had created over the past year. Sugar and salt scrubs, body masques, hydrating lotions, and generous heaps of shampoo and conditioner. After feeling as if her entire body had been run through a perfume press, she emerged from the steamy bath and began a more arduous task.

Her hair, of course.

What to do with it? Up? Down? Silver clasp? Gold barrette? As if he would even notice, she scoffed after fifteen minutes of debating with herself. She performed a quick drying charm and silkening spell, quite satisfied with the smooth ringlets that floated down her back. She brushed on a light coating of mascara and spent far too much time deciding on a simple cherry-colored gloss to place on her lips. A hint of blush was added, along with a very deliberate swipe of eyeshadow. “Champagne,” it was called, making Hermione wish she could have a lovely glass - or six - of it before Draco arrived.

She had decided on a dress that morning after he had owled her. They would be going to a small Italian restaurant that he loved, which she was looking forward to. Maybe experiencing something else of Draco’s liking would give her a bit more insight as to what had changed in him so much since their years at Hogwarts. Hermione pulled the honey colored sheath dress from her closet and dressed quickly, the clock on her bedside table informing her she had twenty minutes to spare.

And she just knew he’d be on time.

Hermione stood back and surveyed the culmination of the past two hours’ work. She looked very nice indeed, she noted, smoothing her hands over the cool silk of her dress. Ginny had talked her into buying it especially for the occasion, and for once, she was glad to have let the redhead talk her into something so spontaneous. She looked down at the sensation of a ball of fluff rubbing against her legs.

“What do you think?” she asked Picasso, a quiet meow and swish of his tail being her only response. For years after Crookshanks passed away, she hadn’t had the heart to replace him with another pet. But one day, a small black kitten followed her around the village for what seemed hours, finally slinking into the book shop despite her attempts to keep him at bay. In a way, Hermione often mused, she didn’t so much adopt Picasso as he had adopted her.

“This will be fun,” she said to her reflection, willing her nerves to calm themselves as she looked for the matching pair of shoes and earrings Ginny had also added to her purchases. Deciding she was as ready as she would ever be, Hermione shrunk her wand and placed it in a small clutch, heading for the door of her loft.

As if on cue, she spotted Draco approaching the door to the shop as she made her way down the spiral staircase leading to the shop.

“Hi,” she said with a smile, opening the door wider so he could enter. Hermione noted with appreciation that he looked even more handsome than he had on their first meeting. He had opted for a dark colored tailored suit which, on closer inspection, was a dark chocolate brown instead of the formulaic black which had previously been synonymous with the name Malfoy. A few pale blonde strands fell across his forehead in a very natural way, and Hermione couldn’t help entertaining the thought of gently brushing it back for him.

“You look radiant,” he said, leaning in to place a chaste kiss on the smooth skin of her cheek, which was now blushing profusely. “Thank you,” she said quietly, feeling as if her skin was on fire from such a simple and common gesture.

“I hope you don’t mind,” Draco began, pulling her toward him, “but we’ll need to Apparate.” Hermione looked oddly up at him, the silent question of why they wouldn’t be walking apparently flashing in her eyes. He laughed and took out his wand as she placed her hands around his waist. “It’s a bit far from here, is all.” His answer, she supposed, was sufficient enough. Not that it mattered, since she felt the familiar tug at her naval almost immediately.

The first of her senses to recover after the whirlwind of a trip was her hearing. Voices gaily laughed and sang in an odd language as some sort of instrument played on in the background. Hermione opened her eyes slowly and looked around, the sight unfolding causing her jaw to drop.

They were standing amidst a busy alleyway in some tiny village that was most certainly not Hogsmeade. Or anywhere she could recognize in all of the Wizarding World, for that matter. At the end of the short street she could see boats floating through deep canals, sparkling with all sorts of colors as the sun set in the distance.

“When you said you were taking me to an Italian restaurant,” she began, looking up at him with a smile on her face, “I had no idea you meant we were actually going to Italy.” Let alone Muggle Italy, she added inwardly.

He laughed, clearly pleased with her reaction. “I’m glad I could surprise you,” Draco said, hoping he would be successful in surprising her in many more ways by the end of the night. He took her hand and led her to the opposite end of the alley. It opened up to an enormous city square, abundant with street performers and pigeons. In the very center was an enormous marble statue streaked with residue of acid rain. It must have been a sight in years past, she reasoned, gleaming white in all its glory. “Look familiar?” he asked her, maneuvering around an approaching violin player.

Hermione gasped. “It couldn’t be,” she exclaimed, looking up at the faces of the two lovers encased in stone. “Statua di Abbraccio Degli Amanti,” he said with a perfect accent, happily confirming her inquiry. “I had no idea this even existed,” she confessed, believing it all to be fiction.

She had fallen in love with the novels of C.R. Whitney because of that very statue. In his very first novel, his now classic pair of star-crossed lovers met in front of the statue for the first time. It was the central focus of their first argument. Marco, the young Italian student was sketching the crowds gathered around the statue when he overheard a girl voicing her dislike for the masterpiece. Isabel, the spirited tourist, believed that the man immobilized in marble was trying to keep the young girl all for himself; it was not the embrace of a lover depicted in the statue, but rather a selfish man trying to stunt the creativity and growth of his young bride. The two immediately fought like cats and dogs and spent their days drinking Chianti and making love. Unfortunately, at the end of the summer, Isabel chose to return to school in America instead of staying with someone who loved her. Everything about the story seemed so real and, in Hermione’s own words, perfectly imperfect.

“How did you know this was even here?” she asked as he steered them toward a small outdoor café. “Piccolino’s was one of Blaise’s favorite places to eat,” he explained, reflecting on his summers spent with the Zabini family at their home in Tuscany. Narcissa had insisted on sending her son away after he made friends at school. Lucius’ urge to bring his son to the Dark Lord had intensified once he became so aware of Potter’s attempts at ending Voldemort’s life. The more followers he had, Lucius reasoned, the stronger his master would be.

“Muggle or not, even the most self-important Wizarding families can recognize an amazing veal piccatta,” Draco said with a laugh, pausing to converse with the maître d’ in fluent Italian. Hearing his deliciously velvety voice in some foreign language made Hermione feel like giggling as if she were some silly Third Year on her first date. “It wasn’t until later on that I realized this felt like the exact café in Whitney’s first book.” He slid her chair out for her as they sat. “We are here to discuss him, are we not?”

“And I can’t think of a better place in which to do so,” she agreed, placing her napkin in her lap as the waiter handed them each a hand-printed menu. “What do you suggest?” Hermione asked him, excited even more at the notion that their current raison d’étre could very well have written one of his famed works at that very table.

Three hours, seemingly endless plates of fettuccine calabrese, and one and a half bottles of wine later, Hermione and Draco were still laughing together over this and that. They had discussed her reasons for leaving home and building Spellbinder’s. They had spent nearly an hour talking about old mates from Hogwarts and what they had been up to lately. Draco, by the way, couldn’t believe that Ginny was due to have Harry’s second child any day now. “I can’t believe she let him touch her after the first one,” he teased, earning a kick under the table from Hermione. Admittedly, they spent most of their time dissecting Whitney’s latest piece of fiction.

“I can’t put a book of his down without finishing it in one sitting,” she confessed, taking another sip of the delicious red wine Draco expertly ordered to compliment their dinner. “Even though he‘s becoming a bit predictable,” Hermione amended, shrugging her shoulders. “Predictable?!” Draco exclaimed, leaning forward in anticipation of a promised heated debate. “Sure, if you call expert writing and mind-bending metaphors predictable.”

“Metaphors?” Hermione scoffed, leaning forward as well. “Have you considered the fact that, perhaps, you look far too deeply into things? Whitney doesn’t obscure little hidden meanings and personal feelings in his books. I think you need to stop reading between the lines so much.”

“Never,” he protested stubbornly, playfully narrowing his eyes in her direction. “I love prose that challenges the reader to ‘read between the lines,’ as so you eloquently put it, my dear.” She rolled her eyes and laughed. “Alright, I surrender. But you do have to admit, the most predictable parts of his stories are the endings.”

Draco relaxed into a contemplative silence for a moment before he spoke. “You mean because none of his characters ever live ‘happily ever after?’ Because they always end up alone when it’s all said and done?” She nodded. “Exactly. When, oh when, will he give us that ‘happily ever after’ moment? I know it‘s cliché, but sometimes, a little cliché can be good.”

“Not everyone lives a fairytale life, Hermione,” he explained as he called the waiter over and paid their bill. “Maybe Whitney isn’t done writing his own yet. Most authors write what they know, and in my opinion, he knows heartbreak. Despair. Misfortune.” She looked at him curiously with glossy eyes. That was one of the most beautiful things she had ever heard. Tragic, yes, but beautiful nonetheless.

“Well,” she said with a sigh, “I hope he finds his happy ending soon enough.”

Draco smiled as he helped her to his feet. “So do I,” he agreed, placing his hand on the small of her back as they made their way out of the restaurant.

They Apparated back to the book shop safely, the eclectic sconces on the wall the only light in the room. “I had an unbelievable time tonight,” Hermione said quietly, her arms still wrapped around his waist. He smelled of clean soap and a hint of expensive cologne, a combination she soon realized made her feel even more tipsy than the wine they had consumed at dinner.

“As did I,” he whispered into her fragrant hair, the soft strands tickling his nose. He pressed his lips to her temple softly, knowing he mustn’t do with her what his body was telling him was perfectly fine. She tilted her head upward, her lips looking lush and full in the dim light. It would be so easy to lean down and taste them then and there. He could still smell the cherry gloss she had applied, even though it had worn off hours ago.

His eyes were much less gray than she remembered, Hermione noted, watching as the blue orbs scanned her face intently, settling on her lips. She licked them unconsciously, hoping that there would be a perfect ending to their perfect evening. His eyes closed slowly as they tilted their heads toward each other, his warm breath mingling with hers.

Suddenly, he pulled back and smiled a bit nervously.

“P-perhaps you would like to have lunch tomorrow?” he asked unsurely, hoping he wasn’t being too forward. “I don’t mean to take you away from the store if you’re needed. ”

Even though I need you, he thought, desperately wanting to feel her lips under his, her soft skin under his fingertips. But he couldn’t kiss her, couldn’t touch her as he so urgently wanted until she said what he needed to hear.

Hermione shut her eyes for a moment and composed herself to the best of her ability. “That would be wonderful. I believe the store can spare me for a few hours,” she said finally, opening her eyes to find him adjusting the collar of his shirt. “Brilliant,” Draco said with relief, his teeth gleaming. “Shall I see you ‘round eleven?” he asked, taking a step backwards.

She smiled and gave a nod, wondering why he was acting so strangely. Couldn’t he have just thrown her down on the nearest pile of books, ripped off her dress, and had his way with her?

Woah, she thought, her heart skipping a beat as he pushed back those few strands of hair like she so compulsively wanted to all evening. Where did that come from?

“Goodnight, Draco,” she called as he opened the door to leave. “Goodnight, Hermione,” he said, turning to take one last look at the girl who had haunted his dreams for countless nights.

After he had gone, Hermione sighed to herself in the empty book shop, nothing but lettered book jackets to hear her lament. “Well, that was…unexpected,” she said to herself as she warded the door and windows, vowing that sleep would come easier to her that night.

Oh, the lies we tell ourselves.


~*~

Wow, I can’t believe this chapter is so long. It came very quickly, and the more and more I spend with these characters, the more I love them. By the way…I must confess that, while writing this chapter, I came up with the ending for Spellbinder. It’s a long way off, let me assure you, but I can safely say that I am very happy with the outcome of everyone involved. A new chapter will be up in the next couple of days!

Also, I’m open to suggestions! If you have an idea, I’d be very eager to hear it and willing to incorporate it into the storyline.

P.S. ~ The statue in the center of the square I entitled Statue of a Couple Embracing. Even when checking numerous sources, I was unable to find the actual name of it. I do know, however, that it is located at Schoenbrunn Castle in Vienna, Austria. It’s positively gorgeous and painfully romantic. I transported it to Hermione and Draco’s date for the classic “Because I Said So” reason. Also, the café they dined at was inspired by this adorable place in Napa, California I was fortunate enough to visit on a vacation last year. Google it. It’ll be fun.

P.P.S. ~ Utopia, see anything interesting during their conversation at the restaurant? ;-D Maybe something inspired by a certain review left the other day? Thank you ever so much for your kind words! I’m so happy that you have taken such a liking to my story. I hope this chapter was up to par!