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Hermione’s fingers seek out the dirt at the bottom of the stone, scraping and rubbing, frantically trying to get rid of it because it shouldn’t be there. He shouldn’t be there either, she thinks. When her efforts prove futile, she sinks back on her heels. She stares at his name until her eyes go out of focus, moving to drag over the words embossed on the stone.
June 5, 1980 - September 10, 2000
Loyal Son and Friend
Loyal son, she thinks, if only his parents knew.
When she can no longer bear to study what memory remains of him, she looks to the sky. The sun does not shine from behind the clouds, the day as dull as she knows she is. The wind is thrashing her hair around her head, obscuring her vision. She jerks her chin to the side and catches sight of a bouquet of flowers. They’re dead, of course. It’d be impossible for anything to survive in this weather. The petals of what were once beautiful white carnations and blue gladioli are now brittle and decaying. She thinks that the dead flowers fit in much better.
When she looks away from the flowers, she notices a thin layer of snow atop the stone. She turns her face back towards the sky, aching for relief. The snowflakes are heavy as they hit her, creating an icy sensation that burns her face before they melt against her skin. Only once her face is soaked does she dip her chin towards her chest, allowing the snowflakes to find purchase in her curls.
She closes her eyes, leaning forward to rest her head on the stone with a false hope that it will allow her to feel close to him once more.
---
Theo’s footsteps are soundless as he climbs the hill, eyes tracking his feet, breath fogging in front of him. He doesn’t visit often, but the path is engraved in his mind. He knows he’s a bad friend, refusing to visit because he selfishly doesn't want to deal with the reaction that it will cause within him. The emotional turmoil that is certain to consume him yet again when he’s faced with physical proof that his best friend is no longer with him.
His reason for visiting today is selfish, too. With the passing of the first anniversary of his father being given the dementor’s kiss, Theo needed his best friend. So, he made the trek to the small garden in Wiltshire, not bothering to visit Narcissa and Lucius. With a heavy sigh he looks up, towards where he knows the stone to sit.
The lone figure in the garden stops him in his tracks.
The head of wild curls gives her away. He’s not surprised to see her here but stays put anyway. He’s an intruder, he knows. She’s sitting on her knees with her head resting on the stone in front of her, shoulders hunched inwards like she’s trying to make herself as small as possible. Her arms are wrapped around her middle, and he imagines that she’s attempting to hold herself together. A heavy pain spreads within his ribs until it reaches his chest.
He thinks that if sadness was personified, it would be Hermione Granger kneeling on the frozen earth in front of her lover’s grave.
He watches her though she stays motionless. The way the snow freezes in her hair is visible where he stands. For the first time since arriving in Wiltshire he realizes how cold it is, he can practically feel the blood freezing in his veins. And he is certain that she had been out here for far too long.
Walking toward her takes more courage than he can admit. He’s sure that she’s not aware of his presence, even as he stops only ever so slightly behind her. Up close he can see her nose and ears burning a bright red, lips turning a pale blue; her fingers are red and raw, and he wonders if she can feel anything at all. Her eyes remain shut as he studies her. There is no sign of peace on her face, her eyebrows are scrunched together, lips turned down. For a brief moment he ponders if she will ever be able to find peace again.
“Hermione,” her name rolling off his tongue surprises him, but she doesn’t even flinch.
His eyes flit over her, he wonders if maybe she is so lost within herself that she did not hear him. He waits another moment before speaking her name again.
“Hermione.”
She is motionless once more and for a second he thinks that he will never receive a response, but her eyes open slowly. She does not look at him, her eyes fixating on the spot where the headstone sinks into the ground, but she knows he’s there.
“Are you alright?” As soon as the words leave his mouth he knows it was the wrong thing to say. Not only is it a stupid question, but he already knows the answer. Her eyes squeeze shut, like she’s trying not to witness something inevitable. He kneels on the ground, close enough that he could reach out and touch her.
“He loved you, you know. More than life itself.”
He watches her intently, hoping that it was the right thing to say. Her eyes squeeze together shut and her brow furrows harder, her blue lips turn downwards. When her hands clench into fists, he’s certain he’s messed up again. But her eyes flutter open and she turns to look at him for the first time.
“How do you know?”
He looks into her eyes while he thinks about what to tell her. A glassy sheen covers the honey color of her red rimmed eyes, but no tears are visible on her face.
“He told me, before your last birthday. Showed up at my flat and just blurted it out,” his lips quirk slightly as he recalls the day. “I thought he was mad, ‘cause there was no way you’d go out with him, but he was insistent. He needed help with your birthday present. Said he wanted to give you jewelry, that’s a big thing in pureblood culture you know, but there was no way he was giving you Malfoy family jewels so he wanted to have something made and wanted my opinion. So I helped him pick out the design for the necklace,” his eyes float down to the ruby that hangs around her neck. “I still thought he was taking the piss though, until I saw you wearing the necklace at that ministry conference the next week.” Theo didn’t fail to notice how she watched him closely and kept talking.
“So, uh, after I saw you wearing the necklace I showed up at the manor and he was all annoyed about how I didn’t believe him but I asked him all kinds of questions about how the hell it happened and once he started talking about you he couldn’t stop.” Hermione’s eyes were watering, and Theo thought about stopping but decided she deserved to hear the rest of what he planned to say. “He just kept saying how much he loved you and then he started getting more serious and was talking about how he was going to tell his parents because he wanted to marry and didn’t want to wait. And he was going on about kids, and Merlin, Draco had never wanted kids before,” he looked away from her now. “I didn’t know you could love someone as much as he loved you and- Hermione I just- I hope you know that he wanted to spend every day of the rest of his life with you.”
He refuses to look back at her because he knows that tears are streaming down her face and he cannot let her grief sink into him.
“He left me.”
It’s these three broken words and the ragged breath that follows that causes Theo’s head to snap towards her. She’s slumped further against the stone, tears pouring from her closed eyes. Her arms have tightened around her torso, fingers grasping onto her coat, knuckles turning white through the raw redness. He closes his eyes for a moment, letting her grief-stricken cries sink deep within him. She’s gasping for air and choking on her broken breaths; small hiccups permeate the spaces between her sobs. Theo wants to reach out to her, pull her into his chest and hold the pieces together for her; but he doesn’t. He’s convinced that touching her will only make it worse, that the feeling of him will only be a reminder of who should be holding her. So instead he sits back, pulls his knees to his chest, and remains a quiet presence in her melancholy.
He’s not sure how long they sit there, Hermione crying in sorrow while Theo sits as a silent spectator. But now his fingers are numb, and the tears are starting to freeze on her rosy cheeks. He’d resigned himself to not being able to help her but as the snow falls harder around them, he knows that he has to get her out of the cold.
“You need to get out of the cold,” he says softly, as to avoid startling her, but her cries raise in intensity. Instinctively, he reaches a hand towards her but stops just above her back.
“Hermione, you need to go home.”
“I can’t.”
Her words come out quick, in a ragged gasp, but he doesn't understand. She can’t go home, she said, but why? He cannot come up with a reason as to why Hermione Granger can’t go home, he imagines that it’s a mental barrier rather than a physical barrier that’s preventing her from returning home.
“Would you like to come back to my flat with me?” Theo surprises himself with the question but figures it’s the best option so he continues to push. “We can sit for tea or something, until you warm up.”
She doesn’t answer his question, and he finds himself unsurprised. He watches as the tears roll down her cheeks, dripping off her jaw. Movement in the bottom of his vision causes him to look down, he watches as her bluish-purple fingers tear grass out of the ground.
“You’re going to freeze to death if you stay out here any longer, Hermione.”
She opens her eyes and stares at him. Her honey-colored eyes are hollow and it’s not hard to see the immeasurable grief within them. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen sadness like hers, despair and misery are evident in every piece of her. It isn’t until she looks away from him, moving her eyes back to the headstone that he grasps onto a small piece of what she feels. The realization hits him like a boulder to the chest and he takes a sharp inhale of breath. You’ll freeze to death, he thinks, but she wouldn’t mind that, would she? It’s the harsh hopelessness that is ever present and surrounding her that showcases her wish to be below the snow with her lover.
Pushing past the heavy sinking sensation in his chest he decides that he’s going to have to force her out of the cemetery, lest he leave her to succumb to the freezing weather and her broken heart.
Theo stands to his feet, brushing the snow from his thoroughly snow soaked trousers and pulling his wand from his pocket. He hooks an arm under Hermione’s and pulls her to her feet, she doesn't protest, and he imagines that she’s not in any state to object. He tightens his arms around her waist before disapparating from the cemetery.
---
They land hard in his flat and Hermione’s knees buckle, causing them to stumble forward as Theo struggles to keep them steady. He shuffles them forward and pushes Hermione gently into the corner of the dark, velvety couch. He turns to grab a knit blanket off the nearby chair, stopping quickly to light a fire. He tucks the blanket over her legs, which she had drawn up onto the couch, before studying her for a moment. Mumbling a “hold on,” he walks over to the small closet in the corner of the room and tugs two more blankets off one of the shelves. When he makes his way back to Hermione, he tosses one blanket on the other end of the couch and then drapes a green and blue quilt over her shoulders, pulling it together underneath her chin.
“I’ll be back in just a minute,” Theo says once he’s satisfied with the beginning of his attempt to warm her up. He catches her eyes flicking to him quickly. “I’ll just be a minute and then I’ll be back, I promise.” Hermione does not respond but her eyes move back from him to the fire.
He gets to the kitchen quickly and immediately moves to pull out the bucket of tea, but then he remembers something Draco said to him shortly after he learned of his relationship with Hermione: Granger doesn’t like tea, so I drink coffee now. With a roll of his eyes he shoves the tea back into the cabinet and pulls out two mugs before moving to search for the disgusting chocolate coffee that he knows Draco kept in one of the lower cabinets
---
With two cups of chocolate coffee in his hands, Theo stops in the doorway behind the couch. Hermione is still sitting in the corner of it, wrapped in the blankets. Her eyes are fixated on the hissing fire in front of her. There’s a look of longing on her face, and Theo wonders if she’s hoping to see something, or someone, dancing in the flames.
He thinks back to when he had found out that Draco had been killed in Diagon Alley; five months to the day. Daphne Greengrass had brought him the news, which her mother had passed on from Narcissa. A random wizard had spotted Draco in the alley and, fueled by rage over Malfoy’s Death Eater status during the war, fired off a killing curse that struck Draco in the back. And just like that he was gone. When Daphne told him, Theo felt like his ribs had fallen apart. At the time he thought that other than Narcissa and Lucius, he was the one who felt the most despair. But as he looks at a fractured Hermione Granger sitting in his living room, he knows that his sadness is nothing compared to her anguish.
Taking a deep breath, Theo walks into the living room and around the couch to face Hermione. He hands her one of the mugs, setting the second on the table, and sits down on the other side of the couch. He pulls the spare blanket over his legs and glances over to Hermione; she’s peeking in the mug with a questioning look.
“It’s a, um, a type of chocolate flavored coffee.”
She doesn't look at him, but she gives an almost imperceptible nod. He watches the corners of her mouth turn down and he’s sure that she’s realized why he must have this specific type of coffee. Not for the first time this night does Theo feel helpless, he’s almost certain that there’s nothing he can do to provide her relief, no matter how hard he tries.
“Hermione,” he says her name, deciding to ask the question that’s been bothering him since before they left the cemetery. “Why can’t you go home?”
They sit in silence for minutes, and just when Theo thinks there’s no chance of getting an answer, Hermione speaks up quietly with a voice that is raspy and cracked, and just entirely broken.
“There’s too much of him.”
It’s another one of those things that feels like a heavy weight just hit him in the chest. He knew that Draco practically lived with Hermione, but he had never once thought about the ramifications of that following Draco’s death. The idea that she cannot escape the source of her agony, even in her own home, is extremely disheartening.
He’s not sure when she started crying, but her rough and shaky breaths draw him out of his reverie. She’s set her mug on the table and is leading on her left shoulder as tears roll down her face once again. His decision is quick, he has to do something to help her; so he reaches over and pulls her free hand into his, hoping to provide her some semblance of comfort.
After a moment, he looks down to their joined hands and examines hers as it compares to his. Her hand is small, tiny he thinks, and her fingers seem particularly dainty. But her hand is dry, and he notices that her nails have been bitten down, a tell-tale sign of the stress and depression that consumes her. He squeezes her hand slightly, his is freezing against hers, and if she were to drag her fingers across his palm, she would find small calluses and a long thin scar that runs diagonally, the consequence of blocking one of his father’s slicing hexes.
They sit like that for the rest of the night; with their hands joined together, only the sounds of Hermione’s slowing cries and the crackling of the fire invading the silence.
-------
It’s almost a week later when Theo stands outside Hermione’s office in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures at the Ministry. That last Saturday night, they had sat on his couch in silence, hands joined, until they succumbed to exhaustion. He awoke the next morning, alone on his couch. She had left him a note, explaining that she had a brunch obligation for work and thanking him for what he had done. For the first few days, Theo had thought that would be the end of it; he would never see Hermione Granger again, unless he bumped into her at the cemetery, which would be unlikely since he rarely visits. But then he caught himself constantly thinking about the state she was in that night, the misery and despair that was evident in everything she did and said. And then he started thinking about how Draco would feel if he had to see Hermione in this much pain, that’s what weighed heaviest on Theo. He decided that there was no way he could allow the woman that his best friend loved to carry all of this on her own.
So now he’s standing outside her office, with a bag of food. He had decided that bringing lunch to her office was the best way to go about seeing her again. For starters, when he hoisted her up to apparate out of the cemetery, he was shocked to feel how light she was. Throughout the rest of the night, it was hard not to notice how skeletal she seemed. He was also certain that she would be strict about how long she could set her work aside, thus giving him a way to leave.
He takes a deep breath, shutting his eyes for a brief moment, before reaching up and knocking on the door twice. At her quiet “come in” he pushes the door open. He’s all the way in her office, having already shut the door behind him, when she finally looks up from what she’s working on. When she does spot him, a look of shock takes over her features.
“Theo,” she fails to hide the surprise in her voice, “what are you doing here?”
“I brought lunch,” he says, awkwardly waving the Leaky Cauldron bag at her.
“Oh, um, I’m really rather busy. I don’t think I have time for-”
“Hermione, listen. We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want. But you are going to have lunch with me.” He’s surprised by the assertiveness in his voice, and he can tell she is too.
“Alright, I guess.”
“Good.”
Eating lunch with Hermione Granger was much more enjoyable than Theo imagined it would be. He was surprised, and even a little put off, to find her nowhere near the state she was in over the weekend. Though there’s still an air of vague sadness that consistently surrounds her, she’s quite lively and even funny. At first their conversation was mostly casual and friendly, albeit a little awkward, small talk. But once he asked about her job, the conversation picked up. There was no doubt that what she does in the Beat Division is her biggest passion, she told him all about the current law she’s working on, one to support werewolf rights, and her hope to honor Remus Lupin with the name of it. Once she finished telling him everything about her job, she asked about his hobbies and potential career interests. She was very excited about his interest in studying time and emotions, and his hope that maybe he can land a job in the Department of Mysteries one day.
They steadily avoided the topics of Draco and what transpired the previous weekend.
A few minutes before the clock strikes one, they start to clean up. Hermione was insistent that he had to be out of her office in exactly an hour, she has a very rigorous work schedule, and she intends to stay on time. They agree to meet for lunch again next week, though she was slightly hesitant to agree, and Theo makes his way to leave with Hermione following him to the door.
He stops before he reaches the door, turning around and reaching out to grab her hand, hot and cold he thinks, giving it a small squeeze before quickly exiting her office, bumping into the doorframe on the way out.
-------
It’s May when Hermione visits Nott Manor for the first time.
After the war, and even after being imprisoned in Azkaban, Theo’s father refused to hand over the Nott Estate to him. It wasn’t until after he was given the Dementor’s kiss that Theo was given the title of Lord Nott and inherited the manor and vaults. Theo never particularly cared for the estate, many times he had thought about simply burning it to the ground; to him it was worth nothing.
But watching Hermione Granger stroll through his family library? That was worth something.
Over the past three months, Theo had gotten to know Hermione well. He had continued meeting her for lunch at least once a week. And he often spent time researching with her in the evenings or on the weekends. It wasn’t hard to see how Draco’s death had affected her everyday life. Oftentimes she would receive owls from her friends, asking her to come to dinner or some other event, and every time she would blow them off with some work-related excuse. She had steadily retreated into herself and away from her friends, she rarely spent time at her home, and she shied away from anything other than surface level conversation. But Theo liked to think he was starting to get to know Hermione Granger fairly well.
He watches as she ambles slowly, but meticulously, through the multitude of shelves. Her fingertips grazing the book spines, stopping occasionally to run a ringer down the title. She doesn't pay attention to his footsteps following hers, entirely lost in her own introspective world surrounded by books. He imagines that this is the most peaceful he’ll ever see her.
When her fingers reach the end of yet another shelf, she takes a moment to look around the room; eyes sweeping over the vaulted ceilings and the enormous floor to ceiling windows that overlook the gardens, the art on the walls, and the endless shelves that overflow with books.
As her eyes continue to track the room, he notices the tears welling in her eyes. It takes a long moment before he realizes what’s going through her head. His family’s library is very similar to the one that sits within the walls of Malfoy Manor. He knew that Draco had taken her; it was one of the first things he wanted to do when they started seeing each other: take Hermione Granger, Brightest Witch of Her Age, to the largest library in all of Britain.
Theo watches her as she grips the shelf, trying to stop the tears from falling. He tries to think of a way to make her feel better, to bring back the girl who just a few moments ago had been enamored by this library.
“Would you like to see my favorite book from when I was a child?” His question sounds sudden in the silence, but she turns her head to look at him and nods.
He quickly makes his way to the cove where he’s tucked away all his favorite books. He pulls the large book off the very center shelf, careful not to pull the binding apart any further, and walks back to Hermione with his eye tracing the cover of the book in his hands.
He sets the heavy book on the table nearest where she’s standing, and he’s surprised to hear a small gasp escape her lips.
“This was your favorite?” Her voice is soft and breathy, full of awe and surprise and he’s not sure why.
“Yeah, I know it’s kind of boring, and it’s a first edition so everything in it’s super old. But I looked forward to these days when I was little,” he says with a shrug, tapping a ginger on the book. “And this was the closest I could get.”
Her fingers trace over the letters, Hogwarts: A History, she’s enchanted by the book and the words he speaks.
“This-” the word is so soft he can barely hear it. “This is my favorite book.”
She finally looks at him, and a smile pulls at his lips. The awe is evident on her face, and he feels as if she’s seeing him for the first time.
“You can borrow it,” he says without any hesitation.
“Oh, no. no, I couldn’t possibly-”
“You can. And actually, you can take as many as you want, and you can just bring them when you come back and take more.”
She stares at him for a moment before looking down at the book underneath her hands and inhaling a large breath.
Her eyes meet his again and this time they both smile.
-------
Theo had been in Hermione’s flat three times before tonight. The first was when they made plans to visit a new bakery in her favorite part of Muggle London; he flooed into her living room and waited by the fireplace for a few minutes until she was ready to go. The bakery had been a quaint place tucked into a strip of buildings, and they had the best cannoli’s Theo had ever eaten. The second time he was dropping off a book from his family’s library, she had wanted to use it in some research she was doing. The book was an old text regarding soul magic, she had told him it was for a work project but had avoided most of his questions leading him to believe that it was truly for personal research. The third, and most recent, time was another moment he waited in the living room; this time they were going to Flourish and Botts. She had wanted his opinion on two books regarding Centaur rights, this time for actual work related research.
Tonight was the first time he had spent more than a few minutes in her home.
A few hours ago he had flooed in and she was already waiting for him, without any words he took her hand and they apparated to the cemetery. It was the first time they had visited together. He had been hesitant to ask if she would allow his company, but knowing that Draco’s birthday would be an extremely emotionally shattering day for her, he pushed aside his nerves. She had quietly told him that she thinks she would like to have his company, if he didn’t mind.
She had, much to his surprise, made it through the visit without any tears. He had expected a heartbreaking scene similar to when he first met her in the cemetery, but it seemed as if the grief had washed over her in a numbness this time.
He had allowed her a long moment alone, but made sure to keep her in his sight, the last time he had been in the cemetery with her replaying in his head. When she was seemingly done speaking with Draco, she turned around to face him and send a small nod his way. They apparated back to her flat shortly after.
She had been subdued throughout their dinner of Muggle pizza from a local diner, but overall, he had thought she had handled the day pretty well, that they were past the worst of it.
It wasn’t until after dinner, as they sat on her couch, that she went silent before bursting into tears.
Theo’s mind was once again plagued with the memory of Hermione being entirely broken on the cemetery grass many months ago.
He doesn’t hesitate this time, taking her hand in his cold one.
It doesn’t seem as if his attempt to comfort her helps, so he tries his words instead.
I’m sorry-
I know-
I’m sorry-
You don’t deserve this.
His words are unsure and pushed together in a low tone. He thinks he’s failed again, but then she squeezes his hand tight in hers. He pulls their joined hands into his lap and clasps his other hand over the top of hers. Her cries elicit what feels like real pain within him. And when he can no longer watch the tears pour down her face, he moves his eyes to take in the rest of her. He starts with her hair, wild curls twisted up on top of her head; he moves to her legs, clad in pink pajama pants; and then to her feet, hidden beneath thick, fuzzy socks.
Her cat, the large, orange, beastlike thing, had hopped upon the table in front of them. His eyes narrowed, watching Theo and Hermione intently. It seemed as if he was prepared to jump in at any moment.
The clock on Hermione’s wall chimes and Theo turns his head to look at it, the little hands indicating that it’s midnight. He drags his eyes from the clock to the window. The stars are shining and he thinks of his best friend; if he’s seeing how broken Hermione is without him. Theo looks back to her, tears still streaming down her face.
Do you think of him every time you see the stars, too?
His eyes never leave her, but he prays to Merlin and Circe, and every being that could possibly be listening, to grant her some relief from this pain that consumes her.
-------
Knocking on the door was the scariest part, Theo wasn’t sure if their friendship extended beyond lunches and their relationships to Draco, he was nearly certain she’d turn him away. But when she opened the door she just smiled and let him in.
Now, he stands over the stove in her kitchen sprinkling chocolate chips into pancake batter. He’s not a very good cook, really. His family’s house elves had always done the cooking, but in these last few years after the war, he’s managed to get by. The first thing he taught himself to make were pancakes, adding in the chocolate chips came later; they had always been his favorite, as a young boy he begged the elves to sneak him his favorite breakfast on many occasions. So no, he’s not a good cook by any means, but his pancakes are spectacular.
Hermione watches Theo dump a handful of chocolate chips into the pancake he’s currently working on. Despite the questionable amount of chocolate chips used, she has to admit that his pancakes look quite good. It’s funny, she thinks, that he can make practically perfect pancakes but burnt every piece of toast even after her many attempts at demonstrating how to use the Muggle toaster.
She smiles to herself as Theo grabs another handful of chocolate chips. With the coffee finally done, she picks up both mugs and makes her way to where he’s standing. When he takes the mug out of her hand she catches him peering into it with a slight look of disgust. She’d noticed, over the months since they’d started spending time together, that he doesn’t like the chocolate coffee that she is accustomed to drinking. She remembers quite well the process of finding a coffee flavor that Draco liked. At first he had continuously complained about her refusal to drink tea, you live in London you have to drink tea, he’d say. Eventually he had succumbed to her badgering and tried her cup one morning, only to hate it. It had been a long journey of buying different flavors in the hopes of finding one he would tolerate. It wasn't until she brought home chocolate flavored coffee that she was successful, he couldn’t deny his sweet tooth. Hermione herself wasn’t too fond of the chocolate flavor, but after Draco’s death she couldn’t bear to switch to something different. And while Theo evidently hates the chocolate coffee, he drinks it without complaint every time she does. She appreciates the sentiment so, after much internal debate, she decided to buy something new.
“It’s vanilla bean,” she says, but he looks confused at her words. “The coffee. I thought you might like this better.”
He takes a small, hesitant sip, tasting the new coffee, before taking another, larger sip.
“Like it?” She asks, a smile playing on her lips.
“Yeah,” he says, half word, half laughter.
Conversation throughout breakfast is light and easy, avoidant of heavy topics per usual, as they drink their vanilla bean coffee and eat their overly chocolate, chocolate chip pancakes and burnt toast. Afterwards, while Theo’s rinsing dishes in the sinks, Hermione catches a glimpse of an orange streak making its way into the kitchen.
Crookshanks brushes himself roughly against Theo’s legs, practically begging for attention. It strikes her that Crookshanks had warmed up to Theo quickly in the few times he visited her flat. The memory of the dislike the kneazle held for Draco pushed its way to the forefront of her mind, the two had never come to like each other even after Draco had practically moved into her flat.
Theo startles a little bit when he feels something fuzzy brush against his legs. He looks down and spots Crookshanks, still not used to the furry little beast that is always vying for attention. But overtime he’s come to enjoy the kneazle’s big personality.
“Hey,” he says, turning to face Hermione. “Can I give him some treats?”
Crookshanks makes a sound that he takes as a thank you, and, not without a roll of her eyes, Hermione grants him permission with a nod. He claps and looks down at the cat, they both know that Theo is his greatest ally.
On his way to the closet where he knows the treats to be hidden, Theo stops when a photograph catches his eye from its frame. The wall of pictures that hang in Hermione’s flat is not new to him, neither are the three spots that seem to be missing frames. But this picture in particular had consistently caught his eye. In the, nonmoving, photograph Hermione stands between a man and a woman, their familiar features signaling that they’re her parents. She looks happy, happier than he’s ever seen her. He’s wanted to ask her about them for some time, but had yet to work up the courage.
“Hermione?” He asks quietly, still unsure if he should bring up the people in the photograph. But when she turns to face him with a questioning look, he feels as if there’s no way to back out. “Are these your parents?”
“Yeah,” her words are soft but the surprise is still evident.
“How are they?”
“They are-” her words are slow, like she’s thinking. “They’re okay.”
“Did you…” he’s not sure he wants to finish that question. When Draco came to Nott Manor, asking Theo to help him scour the library for a book on memory modification of Muggles, he was confused. Draco’s explanations were vague. Helping Granger with something. Independent research project. Running out of books. There was enough information to assume at least a small part of the reason why Draco and Hermione would be researching that particular subject. “Did they lose their memories?”
“How’d you know that?” She’s immediately defensive, and he thinks she sounds as if she’s on the verge of tears.
“Draco borrowed a book once, about memory modification on Muggles. He didn't tell me much but it just… it fits.”
“Oh.”
“What happened?”
“I had to do it,” she’s crying softly as she says this, and he freezes because that’s not what he expected to hear. “I had to. I knew that they would be found if I didn’t send them away. They wouldn’t have gone if I hadn’t done it. I didn’t have a choice.”
He’s not sure what to say to that. It wasn’t what he expected, she had obliviated her own parents. The first thing that goes through his mind is that it’s crazy, and illegal, and dangerous. But he also knows she’s right. The Death Eaters would have found them, and the outcome would have been even worse.
“That was smart,” and brave, he thinks. So, so brave; just like she always is. “Are you still researching?”
She nods her head, chewing on her fingernails, “I still haven’t figured out how to reverse it.”
“Well,” he says. “If you ever want another set of eyes, let me know. I’d be happy to help.”
“Thank you, Theo.” Her words are a whisper this time, and he smiles at her.
“What did they do, in the Muggle world?”
“They were dentists.”
“Dentists? What’s that?”
She laughs, presumably at his lack of knowledge regarding the Muggle world. He feels as if he should be embarrassed but he’s more focused on listening to the sound of her laughter.
“They’re like healers, but for teeth.”
“Teeth? Why would teeth need healing?”
She laughs again, and he’s happy to see the quick change in her demeanor. He thinks that this is the happiest sounding he’s ever heard her.
As Theo spirals into a series of questions regarding dentists and other Muggle things, Hermione can’t help but be perplexed at his genuine interest in the Muggle world. As a pureblood, she doesn’t know why he would care about how things work in the Muggle world; Hermione doesn’t even spend much time outside of the wizarding world, herself. Draco had been interested in Muggle things when they were directly linked to Hermione, such as her parent’s lives and her primary school days. But outside of that he had never shown any interest in Muggle culture. Theo on the other hand, seems to soak up the knowledge that she provides him no matter how obscure.
It’s interesting, she thinks. He’s interesting.
-------
They land on the grass outside the gate, hands together between them.
It’s been an unspoken agreement since Draco’s birthday that Hermione and Theo visit the cemetery together every month. Theo admits that he may have been obnoxiously persistent about accompanying her, but each month his thoughts are plagued with the imagine of her slouched against the gravestone in the freezing cold. He’s afraid that this first anniversary will send her into a spiral, and he’s not sure that he’ll be able to pull her up this time.
The walk up the path is silent, warm wind whipping around them. He doesn't let go of her hand when they reach Draco’s stone, both of them have their eyes focused on what’s in front of them.
“I miss you, mate,” he speaks softly. Taking his free hand and pressing his fingers to his lips before pressing them against the top of the stone. He finds that he cannot bear to look at the headstone for longer than a moment. “And I love you.”
He squeezes Hermione's hand gently before letting go and walking away; while he knows she appreciates his company, he also knows that she needs to be able to talk to Draco alone.
After Theo walks away, Hermione kneels on the ground in front of the stone she has become so familiar with. The words usually come to her easily, but today she finds that she doesn’t have much to say.
“Hi Draco,” she runs her fingers along the sides of the stone. “I miss you, a lot. I’m sure you know that though.” Her words are slow, deep breaths breaking apart her sentences. “And I love you, I hope you know that. I love you so, so much.”
She’s silent for a few minutes before speaking again.
“I’ve been spending a lot of time with Theo,” she says. She glances back to where he’s standing, leaning against a lamp post and watching his shoes as he scuffs them against the ground. “I’m glad you had him as a friend, and I’m glad that you told him about us. It’s nice to have someone who knows.”
After that, she cannot find any more words.
She feels guilty. She can talk to Theo for hours on end about anything, but when she comes to visit the love of her life she cannot force the words out of her. It makes her feel more disconnected to Draco than ever. She had been certain there would never be a day in her life where she couldn't talk to him, but what do you say to someone who’s no longer there?
She sits in silence, staring at the headstone, allowing the guilt to eat away at her stomach, her fingers pulling and twisting at the grass beneath her. Eventually, she feels Theo come to stand just behind her. After a moment, she pushes herself up from the ground and takes a step back to stand next to him. His fingers brush the backs of hers before he grabs her hand fully. She notices that even in the warm weather, his hand is as cold as always.
-------
Over the next month, Hermione and Theo spent most of their free time together. They had lunch together nearly everyday, spent evenings watching Muggle shows on her telly or researching memory modifications. He felt guilty, as if he was pulling her away from her real friends, but he decided that it was better she spent time with him than in isolation. They spent so much time together, that it was becoming increasingly difficult for Theo to remember what life was like without Hermione; but truthfully, he didn't care to remember at all.
In fact, he was so accustomed to seeing Hermione everyday, that when she started avoiding him in the week leading up to the one year anniversary of Draco’s death, he began to panic. She had cancelled all of their lunch plans, claiming she had no time during her work day. At the start of the week he tried to stop in for an impromptu visit at her office, but was stopped by her secretary who claimed she had meetings all day. And then at the end of the week, he learned that she called in sick. Her floo had been blocked, and she had ignored every owl he sent her way.
Eventually, he decided he had no choice but to forcibly check on her. He was terrified that she had slipped into a depression from which she would not be able to pull herself out; a desolate place where she sunk into hopelessness and despair.
And he was right.
Since her floo was closed, his only option was to show up at her front door and hope she hadn't keyed him out of her wards; he got lucky, and was able to unlock her door with a flick of his wand and simply walk inside. Her flat seemed normal, nothing too out of place.
It wasn’t long before Crookshanks came strolling out of Hermione’s bedroom, he brushed himself against Theo’s legs with a yowl, before turning back towards the room he had just come from.
Theo followed the kneazle, pushing open the door and stepping into the dimly lit room. Hermione was lying in bed, facing away from him. The duvet pulled tight around her, the only thing visible was her tangled hair tied atop her head.
He had found himself in yet another situation in which he was unsure of how to react. She did not stir at the sound of him entering the room and he felt as if he was crossing a delicate boundary. It occurred to him suddenly that he was the only person who knew about the reasoning behind her odd behaviors and fake excuses, and he knew that he couldn’t just leave her there. He walked around the bed and kneeled down in front of her.
It took him longer than he would have liked to get her up and out of bed. She was horrifically exhausted; eyelids continually fluttering shut and dark crescents shadowing underneath her red rimmed eyes. Once he finally managed to carry her, and a small bag of her things, through the flood and into his flat, he continued moving, going through his bedroom and into the bathroom. He set her down on the counter and turned to draw a warm bath, before turning back towards her. It was unsettling to see Hermione, strong willed and independent Hermione, so resigned to allowing someone else to take care of her.
His hands grasped the hem of her jumper and, with a subtle nod from her, lifted it over her head while she slowly maneuvered her arms out of the sleeves. He grips her elbows and helps pull her off the counter and onto her feet, helping keep her balance as she shimmies out of her pants. The tub is only a few steps away and he helps her climb in before swiftly tossing his shirt to the ground and kneeling just outside the tub.
His hands move quickly to her hair and work to pull it out of the bun she had tied it in. The hair tie is caught in the knots and though he tries to be gentle, he knows he’s pulling her hair but she does not react. When he finally removes the tie he drops it to the floor with their discarded clothes.
His hands start to meticulously work her shampoo and then conditioner through her tangled curls. Her eyes are shut, eyelashes fluttering over her cheekbones, but her breathing is still uneven. As she starts to relax her head becomes heavier, his hands making sure to carefully support her head and not let her jerk backwards. With his fingers working through her wet curls, he occasionally brushes against her neck and back. His fingers skimming against her soft, damp skin.
After many long minutes he helps her out of the tub, wrapping her in a warm, fluffy towel. He sits on the edge of the tub, covered in water droplets, and pulls her down next to him. With her shoulder brushing his, he wraps an arm around her and pulls her into his side. Her warm body pressing against his cold one sends a chill down his spine.
And while his body feels cold against hers and his heart aches for her, there’s a warmth that starts to spread throughout his chest.
-------
When Hermione first moved into her flat, the spare bedroom quickly became a depot for all her research and books that don’t fit in the shelves.
Draco had promptly decided that she needed to set up a brewing station, rather than continue to brew potions in her kitchen. He set it up immediately; and while he insisted that she needed it, it was Draco who used it the most. An extremely gifted and natural potioneer, brewing was his favorite pastime. Oftentimes, Hermione and Draco sat together in silence as she researched and he worked on whatever he was currently brewing.
After Draco’s death, Hermione hadn’t used the spare bedroom’s brewing station, instead she returned to brewing in her kitchen when necessary. But when Theo mentioned his plans to brew more sleeping draughts, as he had run out and was still struggling at night, Hermione barely thought before offering up her brewing station.
So now Hermione sits on a stool across from Theo and watches him work. As one of his hands drops the sprigs of lavender into the cauldron, the other moves around animatedly. He’s chattering away but Hermione isn’t hearing his words.
It’s not the first time that Hermione’s looked at Theo and wished he was Draco instead.
It’s not fair, she knows that. She has to remind herself that she’s not the only person who lost someone. That Theo lost his best friend and maybe when he’s with her he’s wishing that he was talking to Draco instead. And that feels terrible, and it’s not fair for either of them to feel that way. But she lost the love of her life and all she wants is to see him sitting across from her.
As she watches Theo, she thinks for a moment that it could be Draco standing in front of her. But then one of his hands slips and he knocks over a bottle, fingers fumbling to pick it up; he’s too clumsy to be Draco. His skin is too olive, freckles lining his cheeks. And his eyes are a kaleidoscope of honey when she wishes they were grey.
She wonders how her life would be different today if it was Draco sitting across from her.
It’s when she doesn’t answer his question that Theo realizes she’s not listening. Her eyes are fixated on his hands as they move between the cauldron and ingredients. At first he thinks she’s scrutinizing his brewing technique, but no snarky quip leaves her mouth. And when he looks into her eyes it’s not hard to miss the emotions that she allows to show through. The longing is crystal clear.
She wishes he was Draco.
And Theo just wishes that he could be enough for her.
-------
It’s their footsteps in sync that she follows with her eyes, but she can feel him watching her. It’s a feeling that she’s become accustomed to, but tonight it’s more prominent, almost as if he wants her to catch him staring.
She’s not sure when it began; how they transitioned from strangers grieving over the same person to where they are now. Theo had taken care of her from the very moment they met in the cemetery, it was something that she had quickly acclimated to. She had assumed he took care of her out of an internal duty to Draco. That he couldn’t just leave her alone because she had loved his best friend, and he her; that Draco would expect him to take care of her. It had occurred to her that maybe spending time with and tending to her was Theo’s way of coping with his own agony over Draco’s death, that by helping her he was helping himself. But she’s just not sure when it became something more. She thinks that maybe she was so lost within herself and her grief that she missed Theo paving this path.
Sometimes she even thinks she’s imagining it. That she’s so desperate for someone to pay attention to her again in the way that Draco had, that she’s fabricating Theo’s actions within her head.
Dinner had been normal enough. They’d gone to a small pizza join on the outskirts of Muggle London. He had acted entirely normal; he held the doors and pulled out her chair of course, but that was customary for Theo, the result of years of Pureblood training. So when she looks over at him, and finds his eyes watching the buildings across the street, she’s certain she'd imagined his recent behavior.
But when his icy hand presses to the small of her back as they round the corner, she questions herself again.
And when she looks at him this time, her eyes catch his; and she knows she was right. He smiles, a softer, more genuine smile than what usually acorns his face. She knows she falters in that moment, but she turns her head to look down the street and can see her building come into view.
When they finally reach her building, they stop in front of the steps. Theo’s hand drags down her back and rounds onto her hip as he turns to face her. When their eyes meet, he drops his hand to his side.
And she can see it in the way he looks at her now. But maybe she’s wrong, she tells herself.
“See you for breakfast on Sunday?”
His words are soft, nearly a breathy whisper, and she can’t help herself but to watch his lips shape the words. She nods and his mouth quirks into a small smile. His eyes trace her face for a moment.
And then he leans towards her.
She panics for a moment, before remembering that this is Theo. Theo, who kisses everyone’s cheeks, friends and strangers alike.
But this time, his lips catch the corner of her mouth.
And she knows for certain she was right. The slight touch of their lips was intentional, a touch that was more than friendly. Something that openly signaled to her how he felt. And now she’s hit a roadblock because he’s Draco’s best friend, and oh merlin Draco. Her heart starts to hammer in her chest and she can feel the anxiety creeping up.
The kiss is over as soon as it started. When he pulls away he stares at her, eyes darting back and forth to look at each of hers. After a moment he turns away from her and starts to make his way down the path from which they came.
And though he’s moving away from her, she stands frozen. She can’t fathom how she’s supposed to react. She can’t fathom how Theo can possibly be feeling the way he does, and then she wonders if he feels the same way she did about Draco?
He loves you, a little voice says in her head.
And she hates it.
She hates it because it is not fair for him to do this to her.
How dare he put her in this position? How dare he fall for her when she loves his best friend, when he knows she loves his best friend? It feels like deception, when she thinks about her relations with Theo over the past ten months. She starts to wonder how long he’d felt like this, if he had ever truly cared about her grief for Draco. And she has to remind herself that he was Draco’s best friend. That Draco had entrusted him with their secret. That she met Theo over Draco’s grave.
And then it’s unfair for a new variety of reasons.
Why would he put her in this position of knowing he loves her but not being able to love him back? He knows that she cannot love him. He does not deserve to love someone who will never be capable of loving him back. It’s unfair for him to love her when he knows she can’t love him. It’s unfair for him to put her in this position, and she hates him for it.
But she doesn’t hate him, not really, because he’s Theo. Theo who’s kept her alive these past few months, who drinks coffee for her, and cooks her breakfast every Sunday. Who’s hands are always cold, but embrace is always warm. Theo who makes her feel less empty that she’s felt in a long time. She can’t hate him, because he’s Theo, and he’s continuously shown her his love.
He loves her.
And she loves Draco.
She can’t not love Draco. She’ll always love Draco, this she knows for certain. Because she can feel it in her bones and deep within her chest. She’ll love Draco until the end of time, just like she promised him.
But then a chill runs over her and she can feel her breath catch in her throat and the blood drain from her face. She may love Draco for the rest of her life, but he is not here to love her anymore. And it’s not hard for her to come to the horrifying realization that if she commits to only loving Draco for the rest of time, that she will never feel that kind of love again.
As these terrifying thoughts consume her, and she tries to work out the knots within her mind, she finds herself turning towards Theo. he’s still walking away from her, hands in his pockets and head tilted down towards the pavement.
Almost as if he can feel her watching him, he turns back and looks at her. A small smile gracing his lips before he turns the corner and disappears.
-------
The sun shining through the window casts a hazy glow over their bodies.
Pillows are propped under their heads and the white duvet is tangled around their legs, coming up just enough to lay over their hips. Her head creates a heaven-like haven for them to exist within.
Her body is tucked against his, head lying on his shoulder, hand resting on his chest. His fingers glide over her skin, creating a scorching trail along her back. Their bare skin is pressed to each other, and she can’t imagine that anything feels better than this.
As they lay in the haze, their lips continually find the other. Over the morning hours his lips have kissed her cheeks, nose, eyelids, forehead, ears, chest, neck, mouth. She is certain that there is not a place his lips have yet to caress, and she returns the sentiment to him.
As his lips press to her temple once more, she brushes her fingers over his cheekbone.
This is true love in its purest form, she thinks. Lying in silence with your lover; basking in each other’s company and warmth. Words for only them to know passing between the walls.
Only love fills her room in moments like these.
She takes note of his pale, alabaster skin in contrast to her olive tone that is smattered with freckles. And how white, blonde hair that glows in the sun, settled next to her mane of dark, unruly curls.
Her eyes close and she presses her face into his neck. He trails his hand downward from her shoulder, pausing to squeeze her hip, before allowing it to drift to her backside.
She drags her hand down his chest and abdomen. With her eyes still closed she traces over the scars that mar him, puckered against his otherwise smooth skin. A reminder of who they once were, and the canyon of differences and mistakes that lie between them.
His hand skims up her back until he buries it in her hair. She’s not sure how long they lie there like that. With him fingering her curls - pulling on them, wrapping them around his hands, brushing the palm of his hand over the frizz that encases all of her hair - repeatedly getting caught in the tangles.
But eventually reality drags them out of the dream, and he’ll pull himself out of her bed and onto his feet. Leaning down to press one last lingering kiss to her lips.
Only to return to the Manor; a castle built upon all the reasons that they cannot be together.
-------
He’s not sure why he sets out to that garden in Wiltshire.
As he walks he debates disapparating on the spot until the gate comes into view, and then she knows he’s come too far to turn back now. He stops for a moment, takes a deep breath, and continues walking. Fallen leaves are crunching underneath his boots and there’s an icy chill in the air around him.
He walks through the gate easily, but when he reaches the stone that he knows so well, he finds that no words come to him. When did it become hard to talk to his best friend?
-
Their training brooms are dragging behind them, a collection of dirt and leaves stuck in the bristles. The silence is thick for two seven year old’s; the result of Theo’s failed attempt at catching the children’s snitch that Draco had released. Draco had been ecstatic to teach Theo how to catch the snitch; the window into their childhood dream of being professional quidditch players together had ended when Theo collided with the ground.
He scratches at the scraps on his wrists, eyes cast downwards and shoulders hunched, a familiar feeling of disappointment and failure seeping into him. With a glance to him, Draco slings his arm around Theo’s shoulders, pulling the two of them closer together.
“You’re still my best friend, even if you’re terrible at quidditch.”
They laugh as they walk through the door. Their feet tracking mud in, and the sounds of their childlike happiness radiating throughout the Manor.
-
“I’m sorry.”
The words fall out of his mouth before he knows what he’s saying and they don’t stop. I’m sorry- I miss you- Not fair- Don’t deserve this- I’m sorry- She misses you- I’m sorry- Love her- I’m sorry- I’m sorry- He’s not sure what all he’s apologizing for; he assumes everything and nothing all at once. For the lives they were born into. The childhoods that they lost. The lack of understanding and acceptance and forgiveness. For living while he’s missing out on life. For falling in love with the woman who was piecing him back together.
And when the apologies stop falling from his lips, the promises start, more deliberate this time.
He promises to take care of her. Promises that no one will ever hurt her, that nothing will ever cause her pain again. Because she’s suffered more than enough for one lifetime, and he knows that he cannot bear to watch her hurt like this again.
And then he promises to love her.
He promises to love her even though he knows that she will bever love him like she loves Draco. And he would never expect more. But she does not deserve to remain unloved in this world.
It will be an honour to love her even without receiving her love in return, and of that he is certain.
---
The apparition from the cemetery to Hermione’s London flat is rough, and Theo stumbles when his feet hit the pavement. He’s not any steadier as he makes his way inside and up the stairs to knock on her door. After a few moments he hears the locks rattle, and the door swings open to reveal her surprised face.
“Theo, what-”
“Can I come in?” He cuts her off.
She hesitates before pulling the door open wider and stepping aside to let him in.
“I have something I need to tell you,” the words are raised but solid and steady. “And I need to say it now because if I don’t I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to do it again.”
He stares at her, silent. She’s terrified of what he’s going to say, but she can tell he’s looking for some type of validation so she nods her head slowly. And after a deep breath, he starts speaking.
“I’m in love with you.”
Hermione can feel her breath catch in her throat. The words he spoke were something she had already deciphered, something she expected the minute she saw him standing outside her door, but to hear him say it out loud was shocking.
“And I know, I understand, that you can’t love. Trust me, I get it. But it’s okay because I can love you enough for the both of us,” his words are becoming slightly frantic, tripping over himself to make sure he says the right things. “You don’t have to love me. I understand and it’s okay. It’s okay.”
These words nearly make her heart stop, and Hermione finds herself silent; but Theo keeps going.
“You deserve to have someone love you everyday.” These words are soft and his cold hands grab hers as he says them. He squeezes her hands gently before letting go and reaching up to place his hands on her cheeks. His thumbs brush over her cheekbones as he tilts her head forward, pressing his lips against her forehead before speaking once more.
“I love you. I only have to say it once, just so you know. I won’t remind you.”
Hermione is stunned. She opens her mouth to try and say something, but no words come out.
“You don’t have to say anything,” he says, watching her closely. “You never have to decide, because it doesn’t matter. I’ll always be here.”
-------
The first few weeks after Theo’s confession had been rough. Hermione had been plagued by thoughts of Draco; a depressive and all consuming war waged within her. She had been eaten up by guilt over Theo’s feelings for her and had taken to avoiding him. She’s sure it didn’t take him long to realize what she was doing, and he forcibly re-entered her life with a seemingly casual air. They never talked about the elephant in the room, and Theo reverted to the way he used to treat her, as a friend. Eventually they were back to their usual selves and joint hobbies. And now, as the credits from Legally Blonde begin to roll across the screen, Theo shoots up and turns to look at her.
“Elle Woods is like a combination of you and Lavender Brown.”
“Take that back.”
“Absolutely not.”
When their laughter dies down, Theo leans back and slouches against her couch once more.
“Ah,” he sighs. “I love the Muggle tellies, we should watch another one of those… What are they called? The long ones?”
“Movies,” Hermione says with a slight laugh.
As she watches Theo’s excitement over the Muggle movies, Hermione finds herself comparing his interest to Draco’s. Draco was always willing to do anything with her, watching movies included. But he didn’t enjoy them, unlike her. He always preferred books over movies, and that she understood and truly felt the same way, but he simply saw no point in watching movies at all even after her many attempts at making him love her favorite films. But he never once complained. Theo on the other hand, was extremely interested and excited by doing most Muggle things, especially watching movies and shows on the telly. Hermione found that they had more in common every day.
“Yes, movies. We should watch another.”
“I’m gonna make you watch The Titanic next.”
“Is that the one where the big boat sinks?” There’s a skeptical tone to his voice, and Hermione nods with a smile on her lips.
And he starts to ramble about boats, I can’t believe Muggle’s travel on those , and gradually slips into another monologue about various Muggle practices. His words are starting to run together in her head but one line catches Hermione’s attention and fills her chest with warmth.
“You’ll have to teach me everything that Muggles do, like you did growing up.”
Theo just continues talking and Hermione’s not hearing anything other than the sound of his voice. He’s laughing and so, so visibly happy, and she can’t help but to just watch him. It’s like she can feel the happiness radiating off of him and sinking into her.
And then it hits her like a ton of bricks that this is what it feels like to fall in love.
After she realizes it, she finds herself surprised that she didn’t recognize it early. There’s a moment of peaceful bliss before her heart drops and a nearly physical pain consumes her.
It hits her in waves. First the denial; trying to force herself to believe that it’s not true and she doesn’t feel anything for him, not like that. Then the guilt; a painful stab in her chest at the realization that she does have feelings for him, even when she promised that she would only love Draco until the end of time. And finally the devastation of that fact that Draco is never coming back, and that with accepting her feelings she will also have to accept his death.
It’s not hard for Theo to catch the quick change in Hermione’s demeanor. One minute she’s smiling and laughing with him, and now she’s sitting silent with a morose look on her face. It’s been a long time since he’s seen her look like that, a long time since he’d helped her through one of the depressive episodes that consumed her in the wake of Draco’s murder. And so he shuffles closer to her and sets a hand on her knee.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me.”
She sits silent for many minutes, her eyes fixated on his hand upon her knee.
“I want you in my life every day, I hope you know that,” she says slowly, nearly soundless. She can see the hope spread across his features and she’s not ready to watch it disappear from his face so she turns away from him before speaking again. “But I can’t leave him behind, I can’t just stop loving him.”
He watches her for a moment and she’s surprised to see no look of disappointment.
“I’d never ask you to,” he says. Because he understands, and it’s more than enough for him.
She’s not sure what to say to that, and the strangest falling sensation washes over her as they look into each other’s eyes. But then he stands up from the couch and mutters some silly, Theo-esque comment about needing alcohol so that they can continue their previous party.
When he comes back to the living room he’s carrying two glasses and a bottle of wine. Hermione recognizes the bottle instantly; the cheap, Muggle brand that Draco secretly loved. She winces and her lips open to mention it, but she stops and decides that it’s not important at the moment.
Theo sits on the couch, pours two drinks and passes one to Hermione. He raises his glass towards her and she tips hers against his, a clicking noise echoing from the glass.
-------
Hermione is sitting on the countertop and can feel her thighs sticking to the granite beneath her. Crookshanks is perched underneath her dangling feet, eyes steadily fixed on the floor as he waits for food to drop. Theo is standing in his usual spot in front of the stove, clad in only red pajama pants. His attempts at attempting to flip food in the pan has resulted in two pancakes for Crookshanks.
She’s content to just watch him, all shiny curls and golden skin. He’s singing and smiling in her kitchen and she finds herself wondering how she ever thought she could avoid falling for him. He’s wonderful, and nearly perfect, and then that constant thought crosses her mind once again: he’s not Draco.
But for the first time she finds she doesn’t want him to be. Because he’s Theo, and he loves her. She doesn’t deserve him or his love, but he’s decided to bestow it upon her for a reason she doesn’t know. But as she looks back at him, she thinks if love was personified it would Theodore Nott making breakfast in her flat.
He turns around to grab something off the counter and catches her watching him. A small, timid smile plays on his lips as he peers at her.
“What are you looking at?”
“You.”
He laughs lightly, nervously, before turning back towards the pancakes. And she’s certain she’s falling in love with him; she can’t help it.
-------
Coming back feels like a betrayal.
Panic grips her tightly as she staggers up the trail underneath the cloudy sky. Tears are already streaming down her face and she’s not sure that she can make it through this, but she knows she has to.
She kneels down in front of his gravestone, dirt coating it and ivy growing upon it, she’s sobbing and desperate. And the words fall out of her with no regard to anything else.
I’m sorry.
I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.
I love you.
I’ll always love you.
I’ll never forget you.
I swear.
I’m sorry.
I know you see me with Theo.
He’s not you.
He’ll never be you.
I’ll always love you.
Always. Always. Always.
I’ll never be able to love him like I love you.
But he loves me.
He deserves to be loved by someone
He deserves to have my try and love him properly.
I’m sorry.
She’s not sure how long she stays there, pleading with a man who’s not there, raggedly pulling air into her lungs as she tries to escape the dark canyon she’s fallen into. Eventually, she reaches up to drag her fingers over the stone.
She traces her finger over the engraved letters of his name, Draco Lucius Malfoy, and the sun shines a little brighter upon her.
-------
His green duvet surrounds them like a cloud and the warmth from his bare chest seeps through her shirt as he pulls her tighter against him. He leans down and presses his lips hard against her cheek in a sloppy, wet kiss. As she giggles and tries to squirm away from him, she can feel his mouth pull into a smile against her skin.
It was difficult getting here.
The journey to reach this place of happiness was challenging, filled with highs and lows, fights and lots of tears, acceptance and even more love. She had been a wreck in the days following her admission of love for him in the cemetery. The guilt she felt at leaving her former love behind had consumed her, but with acceptance of his death and her newfound love, came the realization that she wasn’t truly leaving him behind. That the both of them loved him in ways the other could not understand, that they had both lost someone and felt the grief that came with his death. That they had found solace in each other, and he would be happy for them.
Then came the early stages of love. Wandering hands grazing over skin and scars, lips pressed to every inch of them, bodies mapped out like canvases. The wondrous domesticity of reading together in silence, watching films, and spending lazy mornings together in bed.
“What do you want for breakfast?” He mumbles, a sleepy lilt to his voice.
She pretends to think for a moment, trying to force the smile away from her face but she knows he can see it. “Chocolate chip pancakes, please.” He laughs, falling back into the pillows. “Well good, cause that’s all I know how to cook.” And they both laugh.
She reaches for him, pulling on his fingers. And when she finally grasps his hand in hers, she notices for the first time she can remember, he’s not cold.
She looks up to meet his eyes and he flashes her a lopsided smile, and it’s pure happiness.