Chapter Text
Hermione Granger had always prided herself on being a rational person. Someone who made decisions based on logic, not impulse or sentimentality. And up until this evening, she’d convinced herself that was enough. But now, sitting alone in the Three Broomsticks, replaying Ginny’s blunt words from earlier, Hermione was beginning to question her so-called logic.
“Three years? Hermione, that’s almost a full degree at Hogwarts.” Ginny’s horrified look had come out of nowhere, catching Hermione off guard and casting a sudden shadow over what had been, up until that moment, a perfectly enjoyable evening. Hermione had shifted uncomfortably in her chair, heat rising to her cheeks.
“Yes, well, I’ve been busy,” she’d replied stiffly, as though that explained everything. Busy saving lives, curing obscure magical diseases, making breakthroughs in spell research (things that, apparently, did not impress Ginny Weasley in the slightest).
“Three years,” Ginny had repeated, shaking her head in disbelief. “Honestly, you’re too young to let cobwebs start forming.”
Cobwebs. Hermione Granger, spider habitat. Wonderful.
Now, hours later, Ginny’s words clung to her like a stubborn charm. One by one, her friends had headed off, likely to cuddle up with their partners in cozy domestic bliss, leaving her -the workaholic extraordinaire- alone with the dregs of her Butterbeer and wondering if this was it. If this was who she wanted to be forever.
No. Absolutely not.
She was twenty-nine, healthy, successful, and yet... cobwebs? Ginny wasn’t wrong. Three years without so much as a spark, let alone a full-fledged fire? That wasn’t her. Not the real her, the her from before life had become a relentless grind of late-night research and St. Mungo’s shifts. And she was tired of people, including herself, looking at her like she was some kind of overworked automaton.
Tonight, that was going to change.
***
She scanned the room with a sense of purpose, like she was searching for a rare ingredient in a potion, not a potential partner. She wasn’t looking for a relationship, but she wasn’t looking for nothing either. She needed someone intriguing. Someone who would remind her what it felt like to be a woman in her late twenties and not just “the responsible one” at every turn. Someone confident, someone who wouldn’t make this awkward. She wasn’t asking for much—just one night that she could enjoy for what it was.
Her eyes moved across the bar and then stopped, landing on a tall figure leaning casually against the counter. He stood out immediately. He wasn’t trying to be the center of attention, but there was a quiet magnetism about him that made him impossible to ignore. Relaxed, casually confident in a way that suggested he commanded attention without demanding it. He held himself with an ease that was almost enviable. Not flashy, not overly charismatic, but undeniably... compelling.
There was something about the way he carried himself; self-assured, as though he had nothing to prove to anyone. Perfectly at ease in his own skin, unhurried and completely unbothered by the world spinning around him. Exactly the type of person Hermione had been searching for. Someone who wouldn’t make this more complicated than it needed to be. A little arrogant, maybe, but in a way that made him even more attractive, if she were being honest with herself.
He noticed her watching and raised an eyebrow, a slow, knowing grin spreading across his face. Hermione straightened, feeling her heart beat just a bit faster as she made her decision. She stood, crossing the room toward him, each step measured and deliberate.
"Hi," she said, her voice carefully calibrated to sound confident, even though there was a slight flutter in her chest.
He turned, his curious smile widening as his eyes met hers. "Granger." His voice was smooth, surprised, but unmistakably amused. "Fancy seeing you here."
There was something undeniably attractive about him, and Hermione smiled back, her mind already shifting into gear.
Yes. Theodore Nott might just be the perfect choice.
***
Theo had changed since their Hogwarts days. Back then, he’d been a quiet, almost invisible figure, often overshadowed by the louder, more dominant Slytherins around him. But now... now he was different. More open, more sure of himself.
The rumors surrounding him hadn’t escaped Hermione’s attention: Theo had become known for his casual liaisons, with both women and men alike. And now, standing in front of him, she could see why. There was a quiet confidence about him that was subtle but undeniable, a calm self-assurance that made him even more appealing.
"Mind if I join you?" Hermione asked, the familiar sense of calculation already settling into place.
"Not at all," Theo replied, eyes gleaming with interest.
Hermione settled onto the stool beside him, the lively buzz of the Three Broomsticks fading into the background as she took a small sip of her firewhisky. It was late, the kind of hour when the pub settled into a cozy hum, filled mostly with murmurs and quiet laughter.
She wasn’t entirely sure where to begin, but it didn’t matter: Theo was already easing into the conversation, his charm slipping into place with an almost effortless grace. They talked about work: he asked about her research at St. Mungo’s, and she answered politely, though her mind was elsewhere, running through the details of the evening, assessing the situation.
Theo, for his part, was smooth. Too smooth. Hermione could feel it: the way he leaned just a little too close when he spoke, the slight edge to his smile, the practiced tilt of his head as he listened. He was clearly used to this, his words polished, his confidence subtle but ever-present. It was as if he knew exactly how to strike the right balance between interest and aloofness, giving just enough to keep the conversation going, but never too much.
But Hermione wasn’t fooled. She could tell that this was just Theo being... well, Theo. The same lines, the same effortless allure he probably used on everyone. It wasn’t that he was insincere, and she didn’t doubt that he was interested, just that this kind of interest was so easy for him. It was second nature.
Hermione, though, found herself detached from it, watching him as though through a window. His jokes, which were probably designed to be disarming, didn’t quite land with her. She wasn’t laughing where he expected her to laugh, and she could feel her own movements were a bit too stiff, a bit too forced. But it didn’t matter.
Theo didn’t seem to notice, or if he did, he simply adapted, gliding through the conversation with a smoothness she almost admired. Almost. She might not have been caught up in his charm, but she couldn’t deny that he had a certain... appeal.
Still, Hermione wasn’t someone who had patience for unnecessary detours. She was efficient, direct. This dance of flirtation, though pleasant enough, felt like a waste of time. It was clear where this was going (or at least, where she wanted it to go). Why drag it out?
She waited until a lull in the conversation, until Theo leaned in slightly, no doubt preparing for another line, another smile. That’s when she spoke.
“I’m going to be blunt,” she said, meeting his gaze directly. “I’d like us to spend the night together.”
A beat of silence hung between them. Theo froze, the words hovering in the air as his flirtatious grin dissolved, leaving genuine surprise in its place. His posture shifted, shoulders hunching slightly, eyes blinking, like he was waiting for her to add a punchline. “Wait… what?”
Hermione’s expression stayed calmly matter-of-fact. “I want us to have a night together, no strings attached. Simple.”
Theo just blinked, completely off guard. He was Theo Nott, charming connoisseur of all things casual, yet here he was... speechless. “You... you mean tonight?”
She shook her head. “No, not tonight. It’s ridiculously late, and I’ve got a long day at the hospital tomorrow.” She paused, searching for the right words. “And honestly, it’s been a while for me. I’d like a little time to... prepare.”
“Prepare?” He looked genuinely baffled.
“Yes,” Hermione replied, as though explaining something perfectly rational. “I’ve been... busy, to say the least. I don’t want to rush into this.”
She paused, then added, almost like she’d thought of it on the spot, “But it can’t be tomorrow either—I have a night shift.” She thought for a moment, and her eyes lit with resolution. “Wednesday, then?”
Theo looked at her like she was playing some elaborate prank, waiting for her to start laughing, but her expression remained perfectly serious. He blinked again, recalculating, his gaze briefly flickering over her. He didn’t ogle, but his eyes instinctively scanned her hair, her body, as if trying to adjust to this new reality.
Then, slowly, a smile crept back onto his face - real this time, no performance. He nodded. “Wednesday, then,” he echoed, his voice finally steady again. “Alright.”
Hermione gave a brisk nod, satisfied. “Good.”
For the first time that evening, Theo’s smile had a touch of something genuine, something unguarded. “You know, Granger,” he said, his voice a shade softer, “you’re full of surprises.”
***
The two days leading up to Wednesday passed without much thought of Theo or their arrangement. Hermione wasn’t the type to dwell on things like that. She had far bigger concerns on her mind. Work at St. Mungo’s was relentless. Between the research she was involved in and the constant influx of patients, her days blended into one another. Sleep was a luxury. Romance, or whatever this was, even more so.
She was in the middle of her shift when an owl swooped down into her office, depositing a neatly folded letter on her desk. She recognized the handwriting immediately. It was from Theo.
"Still on for tomorrow night? You can come by my place at seven if you haven’t changed your mind."
The tone was casual, but Hermione could sense hesitation in his words. He was still unsure, still wary. She couldn’t blame him, their last conversation had thrown him off balance. It had been direct, perhaps too direct. But Hermione wasn’t one to second-guess herself. She read the note, tucked it into her pocket, and didn’t give it much more thought.
By the time Wednesday rolled around, Hermione found herself at home after a long day at the hospital. It was almost time. She stood in front of her wardrobe, staring at the contents with mild exasperation. Most of her clothes were either work scrubs or jeans and casual tops: practical, comfortable, but certainly not what one would wear for... this.
She pulled out a dress she hadn’t worn in years, a simple black one, understated but elegant. As she slipped it on, she couldn’t help but feel a pang of something close to sadness. It was as if dressing up, something so ordinary for most people, felt foreign to her now. The reflection staring back at her in the mirror didn’t quite feel like her. When had her life become so routine, so devoid of personal time, that getting dressed for an evening out seemed strange?
And yet, there was truth in it. She rarely made an effort anymore. Work consumed her days, and when she wasn’t at the hospital, she was buried in research. Most of the time, she barely had the energy to wash her hair, let alone put on makeup or think about going out. Her wardrobe consisted of scrubs, jeans, and the occasional jumper. Five-hour nights had become the norm, driven by her endless curiosity and dedication. The thought of her old hourglass from Hogwarts, the one that helped her stretch time, flitted through her mind. She missed it more often than she’d admit.
As she adjusted the dress, smoothing it over her hips, a burst of green light lit up the room. Harry appeared in the fireplace, stepping out from the Floo network, dusting off his clothes. He glanced up and froze.
“You have a date?”