分卷阅读13（1 / 2）

“May I offer you a refill?” the waiter towered over her. Hermione uttered a small noise of surprise.

She shook her head and ducked back behind the book.

“Would you like to order so food? An appetizer perhaps?”

“No, I’m fine, thank you,” she hissed. She tried her hardest to give the man a look that said Leave alone or I’ll hex you into next week. It must have worked because after she pulled her beanie down farther, he’d left to check on another table. She settled back in and returned her gaze towards Malfoy.

He and Pansy sat facing each other, their shoulders almost touching as their faces leaned forward in a give and take of whispers. They had a familiarity only showcased between the best of friends or lovers, and Hermione kicked herself as her curiosity peaked, wondering what exactly they were to each other. She let out a disgruntled sigh of frustration, suddenly willed with the notion that she should be doing sothing else. This is ridiculous, she thought. She didn’t have to do it.

No, another version of her voice echoed. She didn’t have to do it. Her previous line of thinking flashed across her mind and despite all her usual logical notions, Hermione let herself indulge in the fantasy that she could control what was happening to her. Maybe if she brewed the Potion for Dreamless Sleep with better precision, or added so sort of counterpart to stop sleepwalking. And maybe if she found a quiet, secluded place, far from anyone, she might be able to stop the drive to match lovers together from rising up and taking over her every thought.

It had started with the two n assigned to her when she woke on the fourth floor of St. Mungo’s after a routine inspection of Pandora’s Box went horribly wrong. Hermione had opened her eyes, and it was as if a new world had blossod. When she looked between the two of them, Healer Redmance and Cursebreaker Humblebud, all Hermione saw was caged potential, the invisible hands of Eros beckoning the unity of lovers.

“You two love each other,” she said, and then threw a hand over her mouth in horror. She managed to keep her newfound romantic zeal at bay long enough for them to discharge her. It didn’t stop her from noticing the way Redmance made Humblebud laugh, or the lingering look of longing on the latter’s face. She’d smiled and thanked them for their help, wondering what on earth had really happened to her in the Ancient Room.

It didn’t end there. After being released into Ron’s care, she spent a few days held up in their cottage. For the first ti in her life, Hermione couldn’t find solace or fort within the pages of a book. Not even Hogwarts: A History. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the motions outside, the neighbors going about their days. Those interactions which so might find trivial, or ordinary, even Hermione herself before the Pandora incident, she suddenly studied with an insatiable rapture.

“Ron,” she began at breakfast the next day. “Did you know Mrs. Brambleboot orders take away from the deli down the lane?”

Ron brought over a cup of tea for her and shook his head. “Doesn’t surprise . We order from them almost twice a week, they’re bloody brilliant.”

Hermione grinned, “Yes, but not once has old man Rogers delivered ours.”

“So?”

“Isn’t it obvious?”

Ron scrunched his face. “That the oldest bloke I’ve seen in recent mory doesn’t often do their deliveries?”

“They’re ant to fall in love,” Hermione concluded.

“Have you gone mad?” Ron shoved a biscuit in his mouth. Hermione handed him a napkin while he chewed. “Katherine Brambleboot’s a widow. Her husband died of dragon pox years and years ago.”

“Yes,” Hermione stared at him. “So marrying once ans you can never fall in love again?” It was strange that she didn’t see a shred of Eros’ potential in Ron. But then again, she didn’t see any when she looked at herself in a mirror either. There were a few others, she’d noted, who didn’t register in her mind as potential matches. But the widow and the old deli owner, now they were a perfect match if she’d ever seen one. Ron shook his head and gave her his usual You’re absolutely right face and continued shoving biscuits in his mouth and washing them down with tea.

Hermione rembered that morning so vividly, almost as if she’d watched it happen from outside herself. A part of her held such an aversion to ddling or even nting on the romantic affairs of others. But so sacred, small sliver of her psyche had awakened with the curse. Hermione knew it was Eros causing her sudden ability to see love all around.

She barely recognized her voice when she walked into the deli and told old man Rogers that Mrs. Brambleboot’s favorite flowers were hydrangeas. She could hardly believe she waited by the window for hours to see him hobble down the widow’s walkway and knock on her door, an overflowing bouquet of blue and white flowers in his arms.