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Say Hello	By : Tracey Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 2152 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 1
- 2
- 3
Say Hello

Kneazle

Summary: Post-Hogwarts; Hermione is labeled a Bookworm and
it just Won�t Go Away. She decides to show she�s more
than a one-dimensional character. While she�s out finding herself, she learns a
little more about the world and love.

AN: �Say Hello� belongs to Deep Dish,
�Dark Side of the Moon� belongs to Ernesto and Bastian.

--*--

Try a run, try a hide

Escape your only truth, for a while

Live the past, create a picture, it won�t last

A million colours to a lie, it won�t last

� Ernesto vs. Bastian, �Dark Side of the Moon�

--*--

Chapter Two

Hours
later, Hermione found herself in the Dinning Car, her eyes skimming the various
delich meals that were offered. Although, she wasn�t
going to eat the lobster, due to an allergic reaction, the angel hair pasta
sounded quite yummy.

Glancing up
as a waiter came by to ask what she preferred, Hermione murmured a quick, �Just
a glass of water for now, I still need more time to decide,� before her eyes
glanced around the car.

At 6
o�clock, it was prime time for dinner. There was barely a seat taken, except
for the one across from Hermione; and that was occupied by her book bag (she
had a few copies of not-yet-released books that were given to Flourish and Blotts. It was Harry who convinced her to nick a few, and
he said that should she get in trouble, he�d take the fire. After all, who�d
want to piss off the Boy-Who-Defied-Mortality-and-Killed-the-Ugly-One?).

As such,
the car was fairly crowded and she didn�t notice the latest newcomer until he
was nearly upon her, and asking in a chocolate sauce smooth voice, �May I sit
here?�

Lifting her
eyes from the menu, Hermione allowed herself the pleasure of blatantly looking
at the man standing near her. Tall, oh definitely, with high quality gray
slacks, with a green button-up shirt�

Oh. My. God, thought Hermione. It�s Masturbation Man.

Flashing
her best, publicity winning smile, Hermione removed her bag from the seat and
said, �Of course.�

The young
man nodded his thanks and sat down, pulling his slacks up at his knees as he
did so. He picked up another menu from a tray at the far left of the table,
near the window, and began to read.

Hermione,
on the other hand, was having a very hard time containing her giggles and
blush. Unfortunately, if she managed to let one tiny �hee,
hee� escape, he would inquire as to why, and she
couldn�t go about saying she saw him wank off, could
she? It doesn�t do for polite conversation.

Again, the
waiter returned with her water and seemed unsurprised at her new guest. �And
what would signore wish to eat?�

�The chicken alfredo, per favore.�

�And
signora?�

Hermione
bit her lip and closed her eyes. Twirling her finger around in the air above
the menu, she plopped it down and looked. �Aha! The bruschetta
and chicken breast for me, please.�

�Very
well,� the waiter agreed, leaving the two in silence.

Hermione
smoothed out her shirt and pants of wrinkles; she rested her head in her hand;
she tried counting the passing sheep (there weren�t any), before she finally began
tapping her fingernails on the tabletop.

�Really,
Granger, that is fairly annoying.�

Hermione�s
fingers stopped drumming the table in surprise. Her eyes wide, Hermione looked
at the well-groomed, horny man across from her.

�Excuse
me?� she squeaked.

�Granger,
you heard me the first time,� the man sighed. Hermione studied him; he knew
her, so she obviously had to know him.

He had the
typical, classic pureblood face with high cheekbones, split apart by a narrow,
long nose; not too full or too thin lips (Hermione called them kissable lips �
George had them too, and oh my, were they quite kissable, George�s, not this
new man) and a pair of aqua-coloured eyes that were
slightly hooded under a well-defined brow. His dark brown hair was tousled (from what, she wondered wickedly) and
had a boyish wave attached.

�I�m afraid
you do look familiar, but I can�t
seem to place you,� Hermione finally admitted.

The man
snorted lightly. �It figures.�

Hermione
blinked. �Excuse me?� she repeated herself. Hermione barely glanced at the
waiter when he placed a glass of red wine in front of the man and a Fanta in front of her.

The man
lifted his glass and swirled the liquid around before watching her from the rim
of his glass. �Come on, Granger, everyone said you were smart; I know that for
a fact myself as you beat me every year for the highest grades at Hogwarts.�

�Oh.�

Hermione
frowned and tried her hardest to think of everyone she knew in her year. �You
know,� she said absently, �you could make this a trifle easier on me if you�d
just tell me your name.�

The man
smiled a very white, toothy grin. �It�s more fun this way.�

Pouting
slightly, Hermione continued through her repertoire of Hogwarts alumni. Clearly
he wasn�t a Gryffindor, she knew them all intimately, due to Harry and Ron; and
he most certainly wasn�t part of the D.A., as she had been a large part of that
too. She knew he seemed� well, vaguely familiar, but his name was completely
eluding her.

Sighing,
Hermione shrugged. �I give. Who are you?�

The man
smirked. �Pity; I had hoped that this game would continue.� He reached across
the table, his hand open and waiting for her to take it. �Blaise Zabini.�

Hermione
shook his hand firmly, yet delicately, and smiled slightly back. �Now I remember, of course.� Her eyes
crinkled in the corners a bit as she continued, taking back her hand. �Whatever
did you do after the War? You practically disappeared off the face of Britain,
and not even a letter to any of your old classmates.�

�How would
you know?� asked Blaise, his eyebrows raised.

Hermione
grinned. �You�d be amazed what Theodore Nott will say when he wants a book bad
enough that he knows I have, and is drunk.�

Blaise
leaned back in his seat, stretching the leg on the outside of the table out.
�My, my, Granger, did you get around with the Hogwarts men or what?�

Scowling,
Hermione wrinkled her nose and took a sip of her Fanta.
�I resent that, Zabini. I�ll have you know that I only dated two men in my
life, and kissed only three.�

Blaise
threw back his head and laughed; it was full, creamy and oh-so-yummy that
Hermione was inwardly salivating at the thought of eating him up.

�Three,
Granger? You kissed only three?�

Hermione
frowned. �It�s not funny.�

Blaise
continued to laugh.

�Honestly,�
Hermione finally snapped, �I bet you�ve
managed to worm your way into many women�s pants, Mr. Stud Muffin!�

Blaise
immediately sobered and scowled back at Hermione. �Don�t call me Stud Muffin,
that�s not funny, Granger.�

�Sorry,�
replied Hermione petulantly, and she really didn�t mean it.

The two
were silent, and in that time the waiter returned with their meal. Hermione
decided to savour it, never having much of a chance
to eat Italian or Spanish delicacies, and pulled out of the rare books from her
bag to read in the meantime.

�Didn�t
anyone ever tell you it�s rude to read at the table?� Blaise�s voice carried
over her book, and Hermione rolled her eyes, glad he couldn�t see.

�All the
time,� she replied back saucily. GOD!
She thought. Where did this tiger come
from? I�m this shy little bookworm, double-u, tee, eff!

She heard
Blaise huff and could imagine him crossing his arms. She vaguely noticed him
pulling his leg back toward him and under the table.

Soon, as
the meals� contents slowly disappeared, the meal was finished off entirely.
Blaise and Hermione had not said another word, and once the waiter had removed
their dishes, Hermione tucked her book away and was currently looking out the
window at the changing countryside, and darkening skies.

Blaise was
swirling the remnants of his wine around, staring into the glass.

�Venice,� he finally said,
shocking Hermione and making her jolt.

�Pardon
me?� she asked.

Blaise
looked up from the glass and straight into Hermione�s eyes. She nearly swooned.
�I was in Venice,
after the war, as an accountant for my father�s company. That was what you
asked, right?�

Hermione
blinked. She hadn�t really figured that he would reply, considering how silent
they had been the past hour or so. �Yeah,� she said dumbly. �Venice. Nice.�

Blaise
smirked, knowing he had offset her, and leaned forward, his elbows on the
table. Hermione mentally sneered and wondered if he liked playing mind games by
creating intimacy when leaning in to her like that.

�What did you
do after the war?� he asked, almost causally.

Hermione
blushed.

Blaise�s
eyes widened. �No way, you and Weasley fucked and he got you knocked up, didn�t
he?�

Hermione�s
mouth dropped open and she shrieked, �What?�
in a very high-pitched voice.

Blaise
looked slightly gleeful for a moment before falling to feigned disappointment,
ignoring some of the glares of other passengers enjoying their desserts. �Oh,
so he didn�t?�

�I�ll have
you know,� Hermione hissed, leaning close to him, barely inches apart, �I�ll
have you know, Mr. Zabini, that Ron and I are friends. In fact, along with
Harry, we are best friends.�

�So you had
a threesome? Cool.�

Hermione
felt a twitch coming along. �I have never, nor will ever, have sex with Ron
Weasley, or Harry Potter. They are my brothers, despite none of us being
related.� Hermione paused. �Besides� I�m fairly sure Ron bats for the other
team sometimes.�

Blaise�s
jaw dropped. �No way. Serious?�

Hermione
nodded. �There was that time in sixth year��

Blaise
leaned back, the aura of intimacy gone. �Merlin, Granger, you must have some
serious stories to tell.�

Hermione
smiled, her eyes taking on a dreamy expression as she remembered the various
adventures she and her friends got themselves into. �Yeah, yeah I do.�

The two
fell back into a companionable silence, watching as the sky continued to darken
to a near blue-black, with stars twinkling and lights from far-away cities
flashed as the train passed them by.
Hermione finally yawned, bringing a hand up to cover her mouth.

�Well, it�s
late and I�m off to bed so I can get up early tomorrow,� she said, standing and
reaching under the table to retrieve her book bag. Blaise reached down instead
and pulled it up for her, passing it over the table into her arms. �Thanks,� she
said, slightly surprised.

�Welcome,�
the young man replied. He stood as well, his eyes watching her every move.
�Have a nice night, Granger.�

Blinking,
more surprised than ever now, Hermione nodded and smiled back, �You too,
Zabini.�

She hiked
the bag up on her shoulder and was ready to pass when his hand wrapped around
her bicep, large and manly compared to her petite arm. She glanced up at him,
confused. �Yes?�

�Granger,�
he began, looking intently into her eyes, �I never had to worm my way into women�s
pants, they were always begging for it from me.�

At her
shocked expression, Blaise was deeply satisfied. He then leaned down and
captured her lips quickly in a light, chaste kiss. He then opened his mouth to
continue: �And you only need to ask, so I can be number four.�

Hermione
just snapped her mouth shut, glowered at him for a few seconds, then huffed,
hiked her bag highly and walked smartly out of the Dinning Car.

-*-

The next morning,
Hermione woke early, and, almost afraid to see Blaise Zabini in the Dinning Car
for breakfast, Hermione opted to eat in her car instead, as she had for the
past two days since that fateful evening.

Munching happily on a croissant and
sipping orange juice, Hermione was practically bouncing as the passing
countryside became more and more suburban and then townish. Valencia was beautiful: the tan
buildings, the long, narrow streets� Hermione loved it all.

And she couldn�t believe that she
wasn�t even done her traveling leg to reach her final destination yet.

The train pulled into the station,
coming to a smooth stop. Hermione hiked her shoulder bag higher, and grabbed
her Heys rolling case and walked out of the car,
humming Hogwarts� school song.

The air was warm and humid as she
stepped onto the outdoor platform, taking a deep breath. Now all she had to do
was find her way to the Marina to catch the
ferry leaving Valencia to
the island of Ibiza.

Flagging down a taxi, Hermione did
her best to explain what she wanted, and the cab driver happily agreed to take
her to the Marina.

Within
twenty minutes, in morning traffic on a Monday morning, Hermione arrived, paid
the cabbie, and found the ferry that she need. She paid the odd sixty pounds
for the fee, and settled near the bar of the high speed ferry, listening in as
others laughed and drank in groups.

A group of
five Australians on her right were shouting and laughing gaily, wooing and
chuckling. �Ibitha!!�
one raised his alcoholic drink to her and Hermione smiled thinly back.

�Ibiza,� she replied, wavering slightly. As the group
began to move toward her, Hermione felt an arm slip across her shoulders and
tug her closer to the body.

Turning her
head, Hermione was surprised to see Blaise Zabini glaring at the rowdy bunch.
He was wearing khakis and another green button up with Muggle
flip-flops for some odd reason, fitting in perfectly with the non-magical
tourists.

�Zabini,�
deadpanned Hermione.

�Granger,�
he mimicked.

�Thanks.�

He smiled,
briefly, and kissed her temple while glancing back at the Australians. �You�re
welcome, dear.�

�You really
shouldn�t have, sweetie,� she cooed
back, through her gritted teeth. Under her breath, turning her back to the
rowdy men, she hissed, �I can take care of myself, thankyouverymuch!�

Blaise
sighed, running a hand through his wavy hair. Hermione was sure hers was
frizzing up in the humidity. �Look, Granger, it�s a three-hour ferry ride
across the Mediterranean to Ibiza. Can we
just� lay off until then? I know you don�t need
protection, I�m sorry; I�m not Potter or Weasley, apparently.�

Hermione
frowned. �It�s not because you�re not Harry or Ron, who are overly protective
of me� it�s just I can take care of myself; if I couldn�t, I would never have
managed to help Harry with the Horcruxes or face Voldemort
at the final battle.�

Blaise
stared straight ahead and sighed. �Yeah� right� look,� he finally said, turning
to her, �Just let me do this, okay? Please, Hermione?�

Looking
into Blaise�s eyes, Hermione had to wonder what he was up to. He was hot,
drop-dead sexy in fact, a Slytherin with honest intentions, and they were
verbally sparring two nights ago on the train and Hermione had been flustered
and� dare she admit it, wet afterwards.

Nodding
slowly, she agreed for his company and the two settled into another
companionable silence, watching the horizon as they moved away from Valencia and, as the hours went by, closer and
closer to Ibiza.

Just past
the two-hour mark, Hermione got curious and asked what had been bothering her
the past two nights.

�Why did
you kiss me?�

Blaise
looked up from a nicked book of Hermione�s, and blinked in surprise before a
gleam settled in his eyes.

Uh, oh, though Hermione.

�Can�t I
just say that I wanted to and leave it at that?� he asked, with a tiny shrug.

�No, not
really,� replied Hermione. �You were a Slytherin, and once a Slytherin, always
a Slytherin. You must have had some motive or means to want to kiss me.�

Blaise placed
the borrowed book down on his lap, giving Hermione his full attention. �Okay,
you caught me.�

Hermione
perked up, with a �really?� look on her face. �Oh?�

�Yeah,�
continued Blaise, �I wanted to prove to you that I�m a sexy man and I wanted to
shock you.�

Hermione�s
jaw dropped. �So you kissed me? To show me how you are the metaphorical steak
that all women want?�

Blaise
processed the analogy, then, pleased with it, nodded firmly. �Yep, that sounds
right.�

Gapping for
a bit, Hermione finally found her voice and stuttered out, �You, you are
incorrigible!�

Blaise
raised a single, sexy eyebrow at Hermione and with a wicked grin, went, �Why,
thank you, Hermione.�

Sputtering
incoherently, Hermione tried to find words to tell him to more politely and imaginatively
�fuck off,� but she was having a hard time concentrating. Finally, she twitched
her nose and grabbed the book that was resting on Blaise�s lap before snatching
it back � but not without a well-aimed jab with the corner binding at a very
sensitive place.

�Oof!� the Italian wizard exclaimed, leaning forward and
closing his eyes tightly. �Merlin, Granger!�

Standing up
with her shoulder bag and book in hand, Hermione glowered at Blaise and
practically growled at him, �I hope you�re happy.�

�Immensely,�
he replied back with a grunt.

�Good,� she
sneered, �Because it�ll never happen again!� She then walked away, to the front
of the ferry, watching the ever-growing closer island.

Upset and
confused, Hermione wondered exactly what type of game Blaise Zabini was playing
with her; they had never been close during school, or during the final stages
of the last battle, or afterwards. He cut off all his old friends and then
suddenly, pops up for of nowhere, on the same train as her, to go to Ibiza, of all places.

Hermione,
for the better part, had picked Ibiza because
it was party central from June to September. She liked clubbing with her
friends, but her jobs and her lack of confidence in her own body had kept her
from having fun and going all garish.

Ibiza was
the only place in Europe that had an entire Island dedicated to party-goers;
dedicated to raving, to drugs, to alcohol and sex� and Hermione needed to just
learn to live and experience the
craziness that was ensure for her one week stay.

After all,
she didn�t want to spend all summer at Ibiza, just enough to experience a
little vacation and maybe do some soul searching during the day when she didn�t
want to go to a party, considering Palace was open at 8am, while all other
clubs closed.

But then
Blaise Zabini appears; asks her about her life, tells her about his (albeit,
briefly), and then protects her from some crazy Australians.

Why?

They never
spoke during school, they never were in the same social circles before or after
the war, and they were in separate houses at Hogwarts as well. They didn�t have
anything in common: he was a Slytherin, she a Gryffindor; he favoured Snape,
she liked McGonagall; his favourite place was likely to be the Owlry, the
dungeons, or the Slytherin common room � even possibly, the Quidditch Pitch,
and hers was the library and Gryffindor common room. He was sexy and pure
Italian; she was frumpy and delicate Briton. She was a bibliophile, and he was�
well, she wasn�t sure what he obsessed with, but it could possibly be wands or
broomsticks after his spectacular display in the train loo.

So,
Hermione was a bit perplexed, and she didn�t like starting on a puzzle that she
might not possibly solve� yet� she was going to Ibiza
for vacation. It was a fairly small island, granted, but she wasn�t likely to
see much of Blaise, especially during high season like this; there were too
many DJs, too many ravers, too many too much of everything else that would take
away Blaise Zabini from her mind.

At least,
she really hoped. She couldn�t help it if she thought he was damn sexy, could
she?

What does he think about me? That I�m frumpy
and geekish and dorky? She thought, frowning, leaning on the ferry rail,
placing her head in her hand as she stared at the nearing port of San Antonio.
She could even see the outline of the famed Caf� del Mar, known to be the best
spot for sunsets on Ibiza � and the world, but
she didn�t hold much credit to that until she traveled the world. She heard Fiji, Tahiti and Bali
had some nice sunsets as well...

Shaking her
head slightly, Hermione stood up tall against the rail and crossed her arms.
The sun was beating down on her skin, giving her fragile English skin a healthy
glow � although she was sure that she�d need to put on much more sunscreen
before she went out again � and the waves of the Mediterranean Sea were
crashing up against the hull of the ferry, making it bob gently up and down.

Hermione
took a deep breath of salty sea air, closed her eyes, and smiled.

She was
going to Ibiza to learn to have fun; so that all those nasty words that Fleur,
Angelina and Penelope � and even Molly � would be able to not rub against her
the wrong way. Speaking of rubbing� perhaps Blaise could�?

No! Hermione stopped. I will not start thinking about Blaise Zabini
right now. Or� at all. Ever. Period.

Ibiza was going to be Hermione�s escape. There would be
no Death Eater nightmares, or people who knew who she was by her witch status
and helpful hand in the final war; there would not be anyone commenting on her
hair or her complexion, as everyone else will be sweaty, wet, or on drugs so
they�d think they were your best friend anyway.

Or so
Hermione hoped.

Soon, the
ferry�s engines changed and they began to reverse slightly. An announcement in
Spanish and English came on, and Hermione left the rail to gather her bags and
wait in line behind the rowdy Australians. Blaise, she noted absently (not like
she was deliberately trying to see where he was, really), was standing two
couples behind her in line, his very expensive sunglasses perched on the end of
his nose as he stared at the back of her fluffy head.

She knew he
was staring, because she turned around and fixed him with a dirty glare, then
decided to steadily ignore him when he did not cease to stare.

The line inched
forward and Hermione was stood stepping lightly off the platform and onto Ibiza soil. She could hear the low end bass pumping
steadily from high-end quality speakers, coming from near-by Caf�s and outdoor
patio restaurants; there were many people lounging on the beach � some women
topless and others not � all within various states of inebriation, ranging from
not drunk at all, to totally sloshed and on something else mixed in.

Trying her
best to ignore Blaise who was now right behind her, Hermione stepped forward
and tried to flag down a cab to take her to the other side of the island to
Ibiza Town (a.k.a. Eivissa), and to where her hotel, Hotel Victoria, was
located.

It was close to Paccha, Space, and other
nightclubs, and close to the town center so she could go shopping along the
street, or just sit at a caf�. She was hoping to meet up and make some new
friends so she wouldn�t be all alone, but� it was about the music and herself, so Hermione was allowing herself to be slightly
selfish in the week that she was staying in Ibiza.

Unfortunately
for Hermione, no cab was stopping, and the three that were sitting parked next
to the curb were the ones she was warned against because of high prices; while
she had been musing, the other ferry passengers had snagged the cabs and left
her � and Blaise � behind.

Hermione
huffed and scuffed the toe of her shoe, and placed her hands on her hips. Now what was she going to do?

�Oh, don�t
be so upset, Granger, there will be another taxi,� smirked Blaise as he came
around to stand next to her, and mimic her pose. �I hope you aren�t getting
your knickers in a twist about this.�

�About what?� Hermione asked, slightly curious against her
will.

�Why,�
charmed Blaise, flashing his pearly whites, �by being stuck with me, because I
happen to need a taxi to Eivissa myself, and it looks, from your very detailed
itinerary, that you will be going there too.�

�Excuse
me?� blinked Hermione, �How did you know where I was going?�

Blaise
leaned forward and whispered, �You know that book I was reading from your
shoulder bag?�

Hermione
nodded.

�It was
your day planner.�

Hermione
felt the colour drain from her face. Her day planner had been a gift for her
birthday from Ginny � and it wasn�t only a day planner; Hermione had, surprisingly,
the bad habit of writing things down all over the place on loose pieces of
paper and lost lots of valuable notes during school like that. So, Ginny had
got her a day planner slash diary slash calendar slash notebook.

Hermione
used it religiously.

Including
since she got on the train.

Meaning�

Blaise had read her entry on his loo
experience!

Shit.

�Granger,
really, I had no idea that you wanted to catch me all these years with my pants
down.�

Hermione�s
face burned red.

�All you
had to do was ask.�

Hermione
was now Weasley red. And she couldn�t even form a proper retort, she was just
completely stuck on the fact that she had been caught out and she was blushing.
In front of a very gorgeous, sexy man who liked to tease � no, scratch that, torment
� her.

As she was
thinking up a proper reply to a very smug looking Blaise Zabini, another taxi
pulled up to the curb and she jumped in, slamming the door behind her before
Zabini could come closer.

�Blaise
Zabini,� said Hermione with force, �You have never got my knickers in a twist
and never will! I have never wanted to catch you with your pants down or
wanking off, and I assure you, it will never happen again!�

Blaise
leaned forward, bracing his forearm against the top of the taxi, his mouth tantalizingly
close to Hermione�s ear as he breathed, �Oh, you may never want to see me do that again, Hermione, but I assure you, I know
intimately what you�ve been thinking since that night. After all, I did read
your private thoughts.�

Hermione
blushed again and drew up her best Malfoy-sneer impression. �Yeah�
well� so!�

And with
that, she stuck her tongue out at him, turned to the taxi driver and commanded,
�Eivissa, por favor!�

She blushed
the entire way to Ibiza
Town.

--*--

AN: [Jan.17.06] And yet another installment of �Say Hello.� I really do have
a serious EDM love, as all chapters have electronica
tracks as reflection pieces. My, oh my, do I feel like Montaigne,
except I�m not inserting classical quotes every so often. Hmm. Smut coming soon.
Please review! Thank you!
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