Chapter Text
H POV
The Room of Requirement had outdone itself tonight.
Gone were the rows of bookshelves and study nooks that had occupied the space for most of their eighth year. Instead, the room pulsed with low, golden light, enchanted lanterns floating lazily along the ceiling like fireflies. Plush seating circled the massive open space, where a self-replenishing bar stood stocked with every bottle a fresh graduate could dream of.
It was the last night before they’d all scatter to the winds, NEWTs finally behind them, the weight of exams replaced with the heady promise of freedom. The party had started as a quiet gathering, but now the music had kicked up, the drinks had gone down easy, and the line between friend and flirt was blurring by the minute.
Hermione Granger sat curled into an armchair near the edge of the room, nursing what was either her third or fifth glass of Firewhisky; it was hard to keep count when the goblets refilled themselves so cheerfully. Her cheeks were flushed, curls a bit wild from the heat of the room, and though she was usually the one shushing the noise, tonight she let herself sink into the chaos.
“Merlin, Granger, you’re slacking.” Blaise Zabini leaned over the back of her chair, flashing that wicked grin of his. “Haven’t seen you throw back a proper shot all evening.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, but it was hard to maintain her usual primness with the alcohol warming her blood. “I’m pacing myself. Some of us enjoy remembering our nights.”
“Boring,” Draco chimed in from the couch across the way, tipping his glass toward her with a smirk. Pansy perched on the arm beside him, tracing her fingers idly along his jaw.
“Leave her be,” Ginny laughed, sidling up beside Hermione and giving her shoulder a friendly nudge. “She’s still miles ahead of Neville, who’s currently trying to flirt with the snack table.”
Neville, halfway through a clumsy wink at a bowl of crisps, gave them all a sheepish wave and promptly knocked over a cup of something violently purple.
The laughter roared louder when Theo Nott, Head Boy, certified menace, and well-known heartbreaker, rose from where he’d been holding court near the bar, glass raised high.
“All right, all right! Since none of you lot know how to throw a proper sendoff, I’ll take the lead.” His dark eyes glittered, already heavy-lidded from drink, but still sharp enough to catch Hermione’s gaze as he swayed slightly on his feet.
“Drinking games. Now.”
A few cheers went up immediately, Blaise whooping loudest, while Ginny practically dragged Harry (who was visiting with Cho on his arm) toward the circle forming in the center of the room.
Theo’s eyes swept lazily back to Hermione. “Even you, Granger. No ducking out because you’re Head Girl. Tonight, that means nothing.”
Hermione raised a brow, lips quirking despite herself. “Fine,” she replied, pushing herself up far less gracefully than she would have preferred. The room tipped for a moment, and she steadied herself on the back of her chair.
Game after game rolled out, Never Have I Ever, Wizard’s Roulette, Truth or Dare, and the drinks flowed faster than Hermione had planned. She wasn’t sure exactly when the burn of whisky stopped stinging and started feeling like honey, but by the time Blaise dared Theo to snog Ginny (and Ginny snogged him back with far too much enthusiasm for a dare), Hermione was grinning loose and easy, warmth radiating through every inch of her.
The games spiraled toward messiness as the night went on. Somewhere in the background, Neville passed out with half a cucumber sandwich on his chest. Pansy had climbed onto the back of Draco’s couch to braid his hair badly, and Harry and Cho were off in a corner, looking like they were moments from sneaking out altogether.
Theo, as expected, thrived in the attention, leaning into the dares and flirtations, sliding his arm casually around whatever witch caught his eye next. Hermione didn’t pay close attention to who he ended up with; it was easier not to.
But after one fierce round of Firewhisky shots, the world seemed to shift sideways just enough that Hermione decided it was time to call it.
“I’m done,” she announced to no one in particular, wobbling as she stood. “Going back. Need water. Or a potion. Or… bed.”
Ginny shot her a thumbs-up from where she was half-lounging in Cho’s lap. Blaise gave a mock salute.
The walk back to the Head Boy and Girl’s shared quarters was longer than she remembered. The hallways tilted and swayed under her feet, and the castle’s usual quiet felt far too loud against the leftover ringing in her ears from the music.
By the time she reached their common room door and pushed it open, she was already half-thinking about how good her bed was going to feel. She didn’t even bother announcing herself. Why would she? It was late, and Theo would surely still be at the party.
But as she stepped inside, blinking in the dim light, the scene that greeted her hit like a slap of cold water.
There, sitting on their shared sofa, pants pushed down around his thighs, hand working himself with lazy, practiced strokes, was Theo Nott.
On the couch beside him, the witch he’d clearly intended to share the night with was slumped awkwardly, half off the seat, her head lolling to the side, one arm dangling uselessly toward the floor. The acrid smell of vomit clung faintly in the air, and a suspicious puddle glistened near the edge of the rug.
Hermione froze.
Theo didn’t notice at first, his head was tipped back, eyes closed, mouth parted as his other hand braced against the back of the couch for balance.
Then the door clicked shut behind her.
His eyes snapped open.
“Hermione.”
The word landed heavy between them, his voice rough, wrecked, and the complete picture of the disaster unfolded before her, clear as day.
Chapter 2
Summary:
Theo's POV, anyone?
Chapter Text
T POV
The party had hit that sweet spot, the edge where games got sloppy, dares turned serious, and the clever ones started sneaking off to find better ways to spend their last night at Hogwarts.
Theo lounged back against the wall near the bar, glass in hand, watching the room through hooded eyes. He was comfortably drunk, buzzing enough to feel good, still sharp enough to keep his swagger.
Granger was across the room, cheeks flushed, laughing too loud at something Weasley was shouting over the music. She wasn’t usually the one to let loose, but tonight? Tonight, even the Princess was soft around the edges.
Not that he was looking.
Much.
Theo tipped back the rest of his drink and set the glass down with a soft clink, eyes scanning the crowd again. He caught the gaze of a Hufflepuff witch, what was her name again? Abby? Addy? Something with an A, it didn’t matter. She’d been eyeing him for the last half hour, biting at her lower lip like she was waiting for him to give the green light.
He gave it.
A lazy tilt of his head. A flick of his fingers, beckoning her closer. She was at his side in seconds, practically preening as she reached for his arm.
“Well,” he drawled, smirk tugging at the corner of his lips, “aren’t you eager?”
She giggled, too high-pitched, but Theo was already leading her out of the Room of Requirement, ignoring the half-hearted whistles from Zabini as they slipped through the door.
It wasn’t far to the Head Boy and Girl quarters, and they barely made it through the door before she was pressing herself into him, lips sloppy against his neck as her hands fumbled clumsily at the buttons of his shirt.
Theo didn’t mind. She wasn’t the best snog he’d had, but she was eager enough, and he was drunk enough that it wouldn’t take much to make the evening worth it.
They stumbled toward the couch, her giggling breathless into his collar, fingers still tugging at his clothes.
But then—
“Wait… I—”
The sound that came out of her next wasn’t a word. It was a deep, wet retch, followed by the splatter of vomit hitting the floor.
“Fucking—oh, for—seriously?” Theo’s hands dropped from where they’d been gripping her hips as she slumped sideways, half on the couch, half hanging off, head lolling.
She gave one last pitiful groan before going completely limp.
Passed out.
The sharp smell of sick curled into the air, stinging at his nose. A puddle of it spread slowly beneath her, seeping into the rug.
Theo stared down at the mess, jaw tight.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. He should spell it away, but the disappointment soured his mood enough that he couldn’t be bothered.
“Fucking waste of a night.”
He kicked off his shoes with an irritated grunt, peeling out of his shirt and tossing it somewhere toward the nearest chair. The faint sound of the party still echoed down the hall, but the quiet in here felt heavier, oppressive.
Whatever. If he was going to be stuck alone after all that teasing build-up, he could still take the edge off. No reason not to. It wasn’t like Granger would be back any time soon—last he saw, she could barely keep her eyes open, giggling with the Gryffindors like they were all back in third year.
Theo’s fingers worked open the button of his trousers, shoving them down just enough as he leaned back against the couch, legs spread comfortably apart.
His hand wrapped around his cock, grip firm but slow, thumb swiping lazily over the tip as he let out a breath and closed his eyes.
Definitely not the night he’d planned, but fuck it.
At least he’d end it on his terms.
His eyes slipped shut as his hand worked slow and steady, the familiar rhythm enough to ease the frustration simmering beneath his skin.
It wasn’t like there was any shortage of options to picture. Theo had worked his way through half the eligible witches in their year, and more than a few from the one below. Some eager, some desperate, all willing.
Pansy? Nah. Too much like family.
Ginny? Fit, sure, but that would be a bloody death wish with Potter sniffing around his ex.
That Ravenclaw bird with the pretty mouth? She’d been good, but… forgettable.
His strokes slowed as he let his head fall back against the cushions, lips parting on a soft exhale. Somewhere in the haze of drink and frustration, his thoughts drifted further, deeper.
Granger.
Fuck.
Theo’s hand stilled for a second as the image of her slipped uninvited into his mind, those flushed cheeks from earlier, the way her curls had stuck a little to the sweat at her temples. The sound of her laugh, loose and warm with firewhisky, still rang clear in his head.
She wasn’t the sort he should be thinking about like this. Too proper. Too good. Too bloody bossy for her own good.
But Merlin, there was something about the way she bit her lip when she was concentrating, or how her eyes sparked like she might hex you just for breathing wrong near her.
He groaned under his breath, squeezing his cock a little tighter.
Pathetic. Even Zabini didn’t know about this, didn’t know that more nights than Theo cared to admit had ended with his fist wrapped around himself and Granger’s scowl playing in the back of his mind.
His strokes picked up again, rougher now, as he finally gave in to the image of her, Granger on her knees for him, looking up through those lashes, lips parted just so—
Click.
The soft snick of the door closing barely registered at first.
But then he heard the telltale wobble of feet, slow, uneven steps, the sound of someone half-stumbling inside. His brow twitched downward in irritation.
Zabini better not be coming to—
When he opened his eyes, the blood in his veins turned to ice.
Hermione.
Standing just inside the doorway, still flushed from the party, curls a tousled mess, blinking hard like she wasn’t sure if she was actually seeing what was in front of her.
Theo froze, hand still wrapped around himself, trousers halfway down his thighs. The witch on the couch beside him let out a soft groan in her passed-out sprawl, oblivious to the disaster unfolding.
Hermione’s eyes flicked toward the unconscious Hufflepuff, taking in the scene, the vomit on the floor, the awkward half-hang of her body over the edge of the couch, but then her gaze snapped back to him.
Her lips parted like she was about to say something, but nothing came out. Just a sharp inhale, eyes wide as saucers.
Fuck.
“Hermione—” His voice came out rough, wrecked, caught somewhere between surprise and absolute panic.
And there wasn’t a single goddamn thing he could do to hide how spectacularly caught he was.
The door clicked shut behind her, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Theo’s heart hammered so hard he swore she could hear it, his fist still frozen tight around his cock, caught mid-stroke like some sixth-year idiot who didn’t know how to lock a door.
But Hermione didn’t scream. She didn’t shriek or spin on her heel to run. No, she stood there, swaying slightly where she leaned against the door, eyes trailing shamelessly down the length of him, slow and deliberate, like she had all the time in the world to enjoy the view.
“Well…” Her voice came out smooth, that warm, lazy drawl of someone riding the perfect wave of alcohol. “Don’t let me interrupt, Nott.”
Theo’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Hermione stepped further into the room, barely steady on her feet but somehow still looking like she owned the space. She gave a little tilt of her head toward the passed-out witch on the couch. “Bit of a disappointing date, was she?”
Theo’s lips parted, but again, no words. His brain stalled somewhere between shock and awe, watching Granger’s hips sway as she walked closer and closer , closing the space between them with an ease that made his stomach twist.
Hermione stopped just a few feet from him, arms crossed beneath her chest, the curve of her smirk absolutely sinful. “I’d say I’m surprised to find you like this… but, well…” Her eyes flicked down to his lap, then back up, one brow arched. “I hear you’re a man of many appetites.”
The heat of embarrassment rushed through Theo so fast it made him dizzy, but somewhere under the humiliation, something darker and sharper stirred.
She was drunk. Buzzed enough not to fully understand the game she was playing.
But gods, did she look good playing it.
Theo’s grip loosened as he let go of himself, standing slowly, tugging his trousers halfway back up but making no move to button them yet.
“Oh?” His voice finally came back to him, rough but steady. “And what exactly have you heard, Granger?”
Hermione gave a lazy shrug, eyes never leaving his. “Enough.”
Theo narrowed his gaze, his smirk curling back into place like armor snapping on. “Careful, sweetheart,” he purred, stepping closer, closing the distance between them entirely now, so close she’d have to crane her neck to keep eye contact. “You keep talking like that, and I’ll start thinking you want me to prove it.”
Hermione’s eyes sparked at the challenge, and for a moment, Theo swore she was about to lean in—but she held her ground, swaying just a little, the grin still playing on her lips.
“Maybe I do.”
The words landed between them like a thrown match on dry kindling.
Theo’s breath caught for half a second, just enough for her to see it, just enough for her to know she’d knocked him off balance.
But then his smile widened, slow and dangerous.
“Granger…” His voice dropped to a near-growl, tilting his head, gaze dropping to her mouth. “You really shouldn’t start a game you don’t know how to finish.”
Chapter Text
H POV
"Granger… you really shouldn’t start a game you don’t know how to finish."
A slow smile curved at the edges of Hermione’s lips.
Oh, so it’s a game he wanted?
It’s a game he’ll bloody get.
She took a single step back, swaying slightly, but it wasn’t from the drink this time. No, this time it was deliberate. She held his gaze, watching the way his eyes followed her like a hawk circling prey.
Without a word, she reached for the hem of her white, flowy blouse, the soft, feminine fabric falling loose over the tight line of her black leather mini skirt, and began to peel it up, slow and smooth, until it slipped over her head and dropped to the floor at her feet.
Underneath, her bralette clung beautifully to her chest, delicate lace in a soft champagne gold that caught the low light of the common room. The thin straps framed her collarbones perfectly, the cups dipping low enough to tease but leaving just enough to the imagination.
Theo’s lips parted, his eyes darkening immediately, throat bobbing as he swallowed hard.
And there it was, that moment of hesitation. That flicker of wide-eyed, open-mouthed, completely fucking flustered Theo Nott, who clearly hadn’t expected Granger to step up and play the game quite like this.
She raised one brow, slow and confident. “What’s the matter, Nott?” Her voice was syrup-sweet, but her eyes glittered like a challenge. “Cat got your tongue?”
Theo’s jaw clenched, his breath coming quicker now, one step already moving toward her before she lifted a hand, palm out.
“Ah, ah,” she warned, voice low and commanding. “Not yet.”
He froze mid-step, fists tightening at his sides.
Hermione let the moment hang there, enjoying the sight of him, shirtless, chest bare, trousers still riding dangerously low on his hips, cheeks flushed with heat, lips parted like he was about to pant.
“Okay, Theodore,” she said, voice steady despite the wild rush in her chest. “Let’s play a game.”
His eyes narrowed, cautious, but so, so hungry.
Hermione took a slow step back, hips tilting just enough to remind him of the tight leather skirt clinging to her thighs, the sharp shine of her gold stiletto heels catching the light as she moved.
“If,” she continued, voice light, “you can take your little date there—” She gave the unconscious Hufflepuff witch on the couch a pointed glance. “—back to the Hufflepuff common room, drop her off, and make it back here within five minutes…”
She reached down, brushing her fingers slowly along the waistband of her skirt, lips curving into a devilish grin.
“…I’ll be waiting right here, with the skirt and heels gone, ready to keep playing.”
For a moment, Theo just stared at her, chest rising and falling too fast, eyes flicking from her bare shoulders to her legs, then back to her face like he couldn’t decide where to land.
His tongue darted out, wetting his lips.
“You’re serious,” he breathed, voice low and wrecked.
Hermione leaned back against the edge of the couch, crossing one bare arm loosely under her chest, giving him the slowest, most wicked smile she’d ever worn.
“Five minutes, Nott. If you’re quick enough.”
Theo’s hand ran through his hair, eyes darting back toward the witch still passed out at the other end of the room. He looked like he was genuinely weighing whether this was some sort of cruel joke, but she could see it. The way his hands flexed, the way his hips shifted forward like he couldn’t stand to wait another second.
Finally, he straightened, lips curling into a grin sharp enough to cut.
“Time starts when I close the door,” he rasped, pointing one finger at her like a promise. “Not a second before.”
Hermione gave him a playful shrug, leaning just a little closer to almost press her chest against his.
Finally, he straightened, lips curling into a grin sharp enough to cut.
But instead of rushing off immediately, Theo’s eyes locked on hers: intense, hungry, dangerous.
“You may be calling the shots now, Granger,” he drawled, voice dripping with heat as he tightened his grip on the unconscious witch at his side. “But when I make it back, and I will, you’d better be ready to give over control.”
He leaned a fraction closer, eyes dark, lips twitching into something feral.
“Because I won’t be asking nicely.”
The threat, no, the promise—rolled through the air between them, settling low in her belly like a spark waiting to catch.
Hermione’s breath hitched despite herself, the rush of it making her head spin almost as much as the firewhisky had earlier.
But she held her ground, chin tipping up just enough to meet his challenge head-on, gold heels catching the light as she shifted her weight deliberately, teasingly.
“Tick-tock, Theodore,” she purred again, flashing him one last daring smile.
His grin widened, eyes raking over her one last time, drinking in the sight of bare skin and lace.
Then, with a sharp yank of the door, he was gone, the door slamming shut behind him with a solid click.
Hermione exhaled slowly, feeling the way her heart raced beneath the soft lace of her bralette, a wicked grin still playing at her lips.
Let’s see how fast you really are, Nott.
Notes:
The game is afoot!
Chapter Text
T POV
The second the door slammed shut behind him, Theo was sprinting.
The witch, deadweight and floppy in his arms, wasn’t making it easy. She groaned softly as her head lolled against his shoulder, but otherwise stayed out cold. He half-dragged, half-carried her down the corridor, cursing every sharp turn and winding staircase Hogwarts had to offer.
Five bloody minutes.
He had no idea if she was actually serious, but fuck if he was going to risk calling that bluff.
Hermione Granger, standing there all lace and leather, giving him that smug little smile? Yeah, he was going to make it back. No question.
Theo’s heart was pounding hard enough to rattle his ribs as he rounded the next corner, eyes flicking up toward one of the ancient, wall-mounted clocks. Two minutes gone already. Shit.
“Move, move—fuck, move! ” he barked at a group of second-years clogging the hall outside the Charms corridor. They yelped and scattered like bowled-over gobstones, clearing the way.
Theo adjusted his grip on the witch, gritting his teeth as he hauled her awkwardly into his arms like a sack of potatoes. The stairs to the basement felt twice as long, the castle seeming to stretch on just to spite him.
But then, salvation.
Halfway down the hall leading toward the Hufflepuff common room, he nearly ran headlong into a gaggle of Hufflepuff fifth-years, clustered near one of the portraits, giggling among themselves.
Theo’s boots skidded as he pulled up short, chest heaving.
“You!” he snapped, pointing hard at the group, who all froze mid-laugh. “Take her, now. She’s smashed and needs to get back to your common room. Right now. ”
Their wide eyes bounced from him to the unconscious girl sagging in his arms.
“Uh… yeah, yes, okay—”
One of the girls, bless her, darted forward and took the passed-out witch’s arm, quickly waving the others to help. They gathered around, steadying their housemate between them as Theo shoved the witch’s limp body toward their waiting arms.
“Don’t let her puke on the floor,” Theo barked, already backing away. “And don’t fucking tell anyone I brought her here.”
They nodded frantically as he spun on his heel and tore back down the hallway, his pulse screaming in his ears.
Three minutes. Maybe three and a half.
The corridors blurred as he pushed harder, feet pounding against the stone floors, sweat beading at his temple. Every turn felt too long, every staircase a personal insult.
But then, the familiar stretch of the corridor leading back to the Head Boy and Girl quarters came into view.
He practically skidded to a stop outside the door, chest heaving, fingers clenching at his sides as he reached for the handle.
With one last deep breath, Theo pulled the door open and stepped inside.
Back on time.
Now let’s see if Granger keeps her end of the deal.
Chapter Text
H POV
The second the door had slammed behind him, Hermione felt her pulse quicken, the rush of her own boldness washing over her like a wave.
A good minute passed before she gave a playful little sigh, reaching down to shimmy the tight black leather skirt off her hips, hitting the floor with a soft thud, pooling at her feet. She leaned on the back of the couch for balance as she kicked off the gold stilettos, laughing softly to herself as she did.
There was no way Theo Nott was going to make it back in time. None.
Still, she was a woman of her word.
The lace of her bralette and the soft curve of her hips left bare made her feel wicked, powerful, and just tipsy enough not to care how dangerous the game had become.
She stretched her arms overhead, letting herself fall back into the plush cushions, smirking as she listened to the quiet ticking of the old clock mounted on the mantle.
Two minutes left.
Hermione grinned to herself, fully expecting the time to run out without so much as a knock on the door.
One minute.
She stood, brushing imaginary dust from her thighs, and turned toward the hallway that led back to her private room.
Forty-five seconds.
Still smiling, she sauntered toward the doorway, hips swaying, the soft tap of her bare feet against the floor the only sound now filling the room. She reached out, fingers poised just above the small carved panel where she needed to speak her password to unlock the door.
But then—
Click.
The soft sound of the main door creaking open behind her made her freeze.
Her eyes widened, a sharp gasp slipping from her lips as she spun on her heel.
Standing there, chest still heaving from the run, was Theo.
His chest bare, sweat glistening at the hollow of his throat, hair pushed back wildly from where he’d clearly run his fingers through it again and again.
But it was his eyes that stopped her breath.
Dark. Hungry. Starving.
Like a predator who’d just cornered his prey and was about to feast.
For a moment, neither of them moved, the air between them crackling like lightning before the strike.
Hermione’s heart raced so loud she swore he could hear it.
She hadn’t really thought he’d make it.
She definitely hadn’t thought he’d look at her like this.
But Merlin help her… she wasn’t exactly complaining.
Theo’s gaze dragged slow and deliberate from her bare legs to the curve of her hips, up to where the lace clung tight to her chest, and finally, finally , back to her face.
And he smiled.
Sharp. Dangerous. Like the wolf who’d just beaten the shepherd at her own game.
She let out a short, disbelieving laugh, almost a choke of sound as her head shook, curls bouncing wildly around her face.
“No. Absolutely not. You—” She pointed at him, eyes narrowed, though the smile still tugged at her lips. “You cheated. There’s no bloody way you carried that poor witch all the way back and made it here in five minutes.”
Theo’s smile only grew, slow and wide, curling like smoke.
“I didn’t say I carried her the whole way,” he drawled, voice low and full of wicked amusement. “I said I’d get her back.”
Hermione’s eyes narrowed further, hands snapping to her hips as she glared at him. “You didn’t—”
“Ran into a group of her little badger mates halfway there.” He shrugged, taking a single step forward, dark eyes fixed on hers. “Delegated. Efficient, yeah?”
Her lips parted, outrage bubbling up in her throat, but before she could spit it out, he took another step.
And another.
Each slow, measured move ate up the space between them, stalking her like she was something his.
Hermione stiffened, just for a second, breath catching as her back bumped gently against the wall near the door to her bedroom.
Theo stopped only inches away now, eyes dropping briefly to her lips before sliding back up to meet her gaze.
“Don’t be shy now, Granger,” he murmured, voice soft but edged with heat so sharp it sliced straight through her.
“You’re mine,” he went on, his hand reaching out, fingertips barely grazing her bare hip as he leaned closer, so close she could feel the warmth of his breath against her cheek.
“I’m going to ruin you for anyone else.”
The words rolled off his tongue like a promise, dangerous and sure.
Hermione’s breath hitched, her body pinned beneath the weight of his stare, the lazy confidence of his smile, the heat pouring off him as he made his final approach.
His hand found her waist, pulling her gently but firmly toward him, and he dipped his head until their foreheads touched, breath mingling in the charged space between them.
Her heart pounded so violently she was sure he could feel it beneath his hand.
Theo’s eyes locked onto hers, soft but predatory, lips brushing the barest ghost of a kiss against the corner of her mouth.
“Say you’re ready,” he whispered.
Hermione swallowed hard, the room spinning, but this time, it wasn’t from the firewhisky.
Chapter 6
Notes:
You ready? Here's the next set! Chapters 6-10
Posting earlier than expected due to some last minute plans that were scheduled. Hope y'all enjoy! I don't think I leave it on a cliffhanger. We'll see.
Remember, this is a side piece; all mistakes are my own.
Chapter Text
T POV
Say you’re ready.
The words hung between them, soft but loaded, pressing down on the charged air as he held her there, forehead resting against hers, lips barely grazing the edge of her mouth.
She didn’t pull away.
Didn’t tell him to stop.
Instead, her breath came out shakier than before, lips parting just enough, eyes still locked on his like she was weighing whether or not to surrender fully.
Theo’s grip at her waist tightened, fingers digging into her soft skin. His other hand slid lower, thumb brushing along the line where the curve of her hip met the top of her thigh, bare, smooth, already so fucking tempting.
Merlin, she was bare.
No skirt. No knickers. Only that Muggle lace bra type of garment above, hugging her chest, the soft swells rising and falling too quickly beneath it as she breathed hard against him.
His cock throbbed at the sight of her like that, half undressed, flushed, lips slick and pink, so close he could already taste her on the air between them.
But it was the way she moved next that nearly snapped his control.
Without a word, Hermione lifted one leg slowly, deliberately, hitching it up around his waist, hooking her ankle at the small of his back. She used the leverage to pull herself in tighter against him, hips arching, bare cunt pressing right up against the hardness straining beneath his undone trousers.
Theo’s jaw clenched hard, a low growl rumbling from his throat as his hand immediately slid down to cup beneath her thigh, holding her up, pressing her even closer.
“Fuck, Granger…” His voice came out rough, wrecked, the last thread of patience fraying fast.
She tilted her head back just slightly, exposing the long line of her throat, eyes half-lidded but still sparking with that tease, like she knew exactly what she was doing to him.
She shifted her hips again, rubbing herself against the thick line of his cock through the fabric, and Theo’s breath caught hard in his chest.
“Look at you,” he rasped, voice dropping low as he leaned in, pressing a slow, heated kiss against the corner of her jaw, trailing it down toward the curve of her neck. “So fucking ready and still pretending you’re in charge.”
His grip on her thigh tightened, his other hand sliding up along her waist, fingers slipping beneath the soft line of the bra’s band as he rocked his hips forward, grinding himself against the slick heat of her.
“I told you,” he murmured against her skin, lips brushing the shell of her ear, “I’m going to ruin you.”
She shifted again against him, grinding herself shamelessly along the thick press of his cock, and Theo’s last thread of patience snapped clean in half.
“Fuck this.”
His hands clamped down hard at her waist, and before she could so much as blink, he gripped beneath her thighs and hauled her up, lifting her easily, like she weighed nothing at all. Her legs instinctively wrapped tighter around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, hands flying up to clutch at his shoulders.
“Think you’re clever, Granger?” he growled, eyes dark as sin as he walked her backwards, hard and fast, until her back slammed into the wooden door of her bedroom with a sharp thud.
The gasp that tore from her lips was swallowed immediately by his mouth, crashing into hers, tongue sweeping past her lips with a hunger that tasted like victory. She moaned against him, rocking her hips desperately as she rubbed herself along the length of him, still separated by the frustrating barrier of his open trousers.
Theo’s hand slid up, firm and rough, fingers wrapping around her throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to hold. Enough to make her feel it. Enough to remind her exactly who was in charge now.
She didn’t even flinch.
Didn’t pull away.
Her eyes fluttered shut for half a second, a soft, broken sound slipping from the back of her throat as she arched into the hold, thighs squeezing tighter around him.
Theo leaned in closer, lips brushing against the shell of her ear, voice dropping low and dangerous.
“Open the door, Granger.”
She shivered, and he felt it beneath his palms—the tremble that ran down her spine.
When she didn’t answer right away, still too caught in the haze of grinding against him, his grip at her throat tightened just a touch, thumb pressing beneath her jaw to tilt her chin up, forcing her to look at him.
“I said…” His hips snapped forward, grinding the hard length of himself right against her slick heat, making her breath hitch again. “…say the fucking password.”
Her eyes finally opened, wide and dark, lips parting on a gasp—but her voice wavered, soft and breathy as she obeyed.
“F-Fairy… Tooth Fairy.”
The magic hummed softly beneath them, the faint click of the door unlocking between the brutal thud of their bodies pressed together.
Theo’s smile curled slow, wicked, as the door creaked open behind her.
“Good girl. We’ll discuss the meaning of that later.”
And with that, he shoved the door fully open with his shoulder and carried her inside.
Chapter Text
H POV
She barely had time to catch her breath.
One moment, Theo was pinning her against the door; the next, he was dragging her further into the room, tossing her down onto the bed like she weighed nothing.
The cool of the sheets hit her back as she bounced once, curls splaying wildly around her head. Before she could sit up, Theo was already on her, crawling over her like a man starved. His hands gripped her thighs, forcing them open wide as he settled between them, eyes molten and hungry.
He crashed his lips against hers, swallowing the soft gasp that escaped her throat as his mouth moved hard, unforgiving, demanding. His tongue swept in deep, claiming every inch of her like he had every right. And Merlin, the way he kissed, left her spinning, clutching at the open edges of his shirt, nails dragging down his chest.
His lips tore from hers only to trail down, biting at her jaw, nipping at the soft skin of her throat before sucking hard enough to leave his mark.
But it was his hand, those long, talented fingers, that slipped between her thighs, dragging through the wet slick of her arousal, that made her moan aloud.
“So fucking wet for me already,” he growled against the curve of her neck, fingers teasing along her folds, slow and deliberate.
Two fingers pressed in, stretching her just enough to make her toes curl, and Theo stilled, lips hovering against her skin.
“Tell me, Granger…” His voice dropped to a rough whisper, dangerous, patient. “Are you a virgin?”
The question sent heat rushing straight to her face, but she couldn’t look away from him, couldn’t deny the way her body arched into his touch.
“N-no,” she breathed, finally pushing the word out between gasps.
Theo’s grin was immediate, sharp, and thrilled, eyes gleaming as he rocked his fingers in deeper.
“Good.” His lips brushed along the line of her jaw as he kept moving, slow, steady strokes that had her hips bucking up into his hand. “Fucking good. ”
“Because I’m not going to wait, sweetheart,” he murmured, dipping his head to bite softly at her collarbone. “We’ve got all night before we have to get ready for that train, and I plan on using every fucking minute.”
He moved lower, lips traveling between the swell of her breasts, his fingers never stopping, pressing deep enough to make her whimper.
“But—” His voice softened, serious now, as he slowed his movements just enough to hold her attention. “There are rules.”
She barely managed a nod, eyes glassy, lips parted as he curled his fingers inside her just right.
“First,” he said, leaning up, pressing his forehead against hers, “the second the word stop comes out of your mouth, I’m off you. No questions. No hesitation. I’m out that door.”
Hermione’s breath caught, her chest rising and falling hard beneath the lace.
“And second…” Theo’s grin returned, lazy and dangerous. He nipped at her lower lip before pulling back enough to look her fully in the eye. “You’re going to call me Daddy, not Theo. I like spoiling my girl, in and out of the bedroom, and I want to hear you say it.”
His fingers pressed harder, curling deep as he waited.
Hermione’s lips trembled, the word catching on her tongue.
“I—” She gasped as he pushed in again, thumb circling her clit in slow, perfect circles.
“Say it, baby.”
The desperation in her body overpowered the hesitation on her lips.
“…Daddy,” she finally whispered, the word shaky but real.
Theo’s eyes darkened completely, and the grin that spread across his face was nothing short of feral.
“Good fucking girl.”
And before she could blink, he grabbed her hips, lining himself up in one smooth motion, and drove into her hard, burying himself to the hilt.
Hermione cried out, loud and raw, back arching off the bed as the sheer size of him stretched her open wide, deeper than anyone before, stealing the breath right from her lungs.
Theo’s head fell forward, his lips brushing against her ear as he let out a groan like she was the best thing he’d ever felt.
“Now,” he rasped, voice thick with lust, “let’s see how many times I can make you scream that word tonight.”
Chapter 8
Notes:
working for those tags lol
Chapter Text
T POV
Fucking hell.
She felt unreal, hot and tight, gripping him so perfectly he nearly lost it on the first thrust. Her body arched beneath him, every inch of her trembling as he pushed deeper, harder, filling her to the brink.
The sound she made, somewhere between a gasp and a cry, went straight to his cock. Raw and unfiltered, the kind of sound that let him know just how well he was breaking her open.
And Merlin, was he going to break her open.
His hands dug into the soft flesh of her hips as he rolled his body into hers, slow at first, savoring the way her cunt clenched around him like she didn’t want to let him go. Didn’t ever want to let him go.
“Fuck… look at you,” he groaned, voice low and wrecked as he watched her writhe beneath him, head thrown back, curls spread across the pillow like a halo.
So fucking beautiful.
How the hell had she kept this hidden?
It made his teeth grit with something between anger and awe.
All this time.
Theo’s thrusts picked up, harder, deeper, forcing more of those sweet, perfect moans from her lips, the ones she couldn’t hold back no matter how hard she bit.
Fucking hell, Granger…
His hips snapped forward, rough and steady, burying himself to the hilt inside her as her body clenched so perfectly around him he thought he might actually lose his mind.
The sounds spilling from her lips, soft, desperate, so fucking sweet , filled the room like music. Each gasp, every whimper, the way her breath caught on the edge of a moan when he pushed just a little deeper, just a little harder.
She was stunning like this.
No, infuriatingly stunning.
All year, tucked beneath those god-awful baggy robes, drowning herself in layers of wool and modesty like she didn’t have the kind of body that could make a man drop to his knees and beg.
He ground his teeth as his eyes dragged down the length of her, bare from the waist down, legs spread wide for him, that beautiful lace bra still hugging the swell of her breasts as they bounced with each hard thrust.
It made him angry. Possessive.
How had she hidden this from him?
How had no one known that beneath the Head Girl’s perfect badge, beneath all that bossy, know-it-all attitude, was this, this soft, obedient, dripping-wet little thing who took him so fucking well?
She was supposed to be the good one.
Reserved. Polite. Too focused on her books to think about getting bent over the nearest desk like all the other witches who fell into his bed over the years.
Theo let out a harsh breath, thrusting deeper, harder, groaning as her walls fluttered around him, tight and eager.
But then again… he wasn’t stupid.
No one forgets to put up silencing charms every single time they touch themselves by accident.
There were nights, late nights, when he’d pretended to be asleep or kept to the shadows of their shared common space, when he heard her.
Soft little sounds. Breath catching. The faintest whimper. The slick, unmistakable rhythm of fingers working between her thighs as she tried to be quiet but never quite succeeded.
And there had been friends, too, nights when she’d slipped back through the portrait hole after curfew with flushed cheeks and messy curls, or the rare occasion when she brought someone to the door and muttered a password under her breath before they disappeared into her room.
But still. She never talked about it.
Never bragged. Never giggled with her girlfriends the way Pansy or Ginny did. Never boasted about conquests the way Theo had spent the last year doing, loud and shameless, claiming bed after bed without an ounce of guilt.
She carried herself like someone who’d barely been touched at all.
Like she was above it.
But here she was now, panting beneath him, legs wrapped tight around his waist, fingers digging into his back as if he were the only thing keeping her from floating away.
Obedient.
Desperate.
Fucking perfect.
Theo’s hand slid up, fingers tangling into her curls as he dragged her head back just enough to force her eyes open, to make her look at him.
“Who do you belong to, baby?” he growled, voice dark, possessive, barely holding back the snarl that clawed at his throat.
Her lips trembled, eyes glazed, mouth parting on a soft, gasping, “Y-you…”
He rocked his hips deeper, hitting the perfect spot that made her whimper and tighten around him.
“Say it right,” he snapped, leaning down, teeth grazing her neck.
“Y-You—You, Daddy,” she breathed, shivering beneath him.
Theo’s lips curled into a victorious grin as he thrust into her harder, drinking in the way she cried out for him, raw, honest, so fucking sweet.
Mine.
And he was going to make sure she never forgot it.
She was trembling beneath him, coming undone at the seams, body flushed, breathless, desperate. But Theo wasn’t finished with her.
Not yet.
Chapter Text
He kept himself deep inside, holding the pace slow, steady, torturous. His fingers moved between them, teasing the sensitive bundle of nerves that had her hips jerking, chasing after what he refused to give.
Every time she got close, every time her breath caught and her body tightened, he stopped. Pulled away just enough to make her whimper.
Her nails scraped against the sheets, thighs trembling, head tossing back as frustration poured out of her in a soft, broken cry.
“Please,” she gasped, her voice cracking under the weight of the need clawing through her. “Please, Daddy. I—I need—”
Theo’s lips brushed the curve of her ear as he smiled against her skin, slow and wicked.
“There it is,” he murmured, grinding into her again, enough to make her moan but not enough to push her over. “Knew you could ask so sweetly.”
She nodded frantically, hips rolling toward him, desperate to take more.
But Theo wasn’t about to give her control.
“Tell me what you want,” he whispered, fingers circling again, keeping her right on the edge.
“I need you,” she gasped out, eyes fluttering shut, lips trembling. “I need you to move, Daddy—I need you to let me—”
His hand slid up to her jaw, tilting her face toward him, forcing her to meet his gaze.
“You don’t come until I say,” he told her, voice sharp, commanding. “Not one second before.”
She nodded, shivering beneath him, and the fight to hold back was written all over her face.
Theo leaned down, pressing a kiss against the corner of her mouth before finally snapping his hips forward, deep, rough, making her cry out as her back arched from the bed.
He held her tight, keeping her pinned beneath him as he drove into her, steady and hard, dragging her right back to the brink.
The way she clung to him, eyes wide and pleading, her whole body straining for release, it was intoxicating. Watching her obey, desperate to hold on just because he told her to, only fueled the fire burning hot and wild in his chest.
Her breath hitched again, legs shaking, fingers digging into his shoulders as she whimpered.
“I can’t—I—please—” she gasped, the words tumbling out of her, wrecked.
Theo’s grip on her hips tightened, keeping her exactly where he wanted her.
“Yes, you can,” he snapped, thrusting hard enough to make the headboard knock against the wall. “You will. You don’t let go until I say.”
Her eyes shimmered with tears, her body right there, trembling on the knife’s edge, but still holding on.
Perfect.
Absolutely fucking perfect.
She was trembling so hard now, every muscle in her body straining, shaking beneath his grip. Her hands clutched at his back, nails scraping down his skin, leaving marks he knew he’d feel for days.
Her lips parted again, another soft, gasping plea spilling out between her ragged breaths.
“I—I can’t—please, I need—”
Theo leaned down, pressing his forehead to hers, locking eyes with her as he kept driving into her with a rough, steady rhythm, refusing to let her look away.
“You’re going to hold it,” he growled, every word firm, possessive. “You’re going to wait for me.”
The tears were right there, he could see them shimmering at the edges of her lashes, threatening to fall, not from pain, but from the overwhelming need to finally let go.
She was fighting for him, fighting to obey.
“Good girl,” he breathed, hips snapping forward, deep and hard. “So fucking good for me.”
Her entire body was tight beneath him, wound so high he could feel the way she pulsed around him, desperate for release, holding on by a thread because he told her to.
Theo gritted his teeth, his own control hanging by the thinnest line, every part of him ready to give in, but he needed this. Needed her to give him those last perfect pieces of herself.
When her breath hitched again and he felt her starting to break, he leaned in close, lips brushing against her cheek, voice soft but commanding.
“Now,” he whispered. “Let go for Daddy.”
The scream that tore out of her throat as her body shattered beneath him was raw and beautiful, her back arching, legs quaking, fingers locking into his arms as her release crashed through her like a wave.
Theo held her, grinding into her through every pulse of it, swallowing her cries with a kiss as she broke apart for him completely.
“Good girl,” he murmured against her lips, slowing just enough to ride out the tremors of her body beneath his.
Her chest heaved, slick with sweat, tears slipping down her cheeks as she clung to him, spent and wrecked in the best way.
Perfect.
Theo stayed close, pressing soft kisses to her jaw, throat, lips, hands gentler now as he traced the curves of her trembling body.
“You did so good for me,” he whispered again, pride thick in his voice as he held her tight, and pressing tight, tactical thrusts into her.
All mine.
She shattered beneath him, body clenching tight, gasping in a silent cry as her release rolled through her again. She was perfect like this, trembling, flushed, giving him everything without holding a single piece of herself back.
But he wasn’t done.
Not yet.
Theo didn’t slow. His grip stayed firm at her hips, holding her exactly where he wanted her as he kept thrusting into the waves of her release, driving deeper, riding her through every pulse, every quake of her body.
Her hands clung to his shoulders, nails biting into his skin as she whimpered, overwhelmed but still taking him so well. Her legs shook around his waist, hips twitching, helpless under the rough, steady rhythm he refused to let up.
“Can’t—” she gasped, her voice cracking. “I—”
“You can,” Theo snapped, teeth gritted, his own control unraveling fast now, breath ragged as he pushed closer to the edge. “You’ll take everything I give you.”
He was so close, the tight pull of his body, the ache building in his chest, the heat coiling low and hard.
Watching her fall apart beneath him, feeling the way she gripped him, the raw sounds breaking from her lips, it pushed him right to the brink.
“Mine,” he growled, leaning down, biting softly at the curve of her shoulder as his pace turned frantic. “All fucking mine.”
It hit him hard, his body tensing as he drove into her one last time, hips grinding deep as his release took him, groaning into her skin as the wave crashed through him.
His head dropped, breath heavy against her neck, holding her tight, not letting her go as the last shudders ran through them both.
Slowly, he eased his grip, softening the hold on her hips, lips brushing her damp skin as he kissed the spot where his teeth had grazed.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, voice low, rough but softer now. “So fucking beautiful.”
Her body stayed trembling beneath him, eyes fluttered shut, breath shaky, but there was peace in the way she melted against him, letting him hold her close.
Theo smiled against her skin, chest still heaving, pride and hunger twisting together as he whispered again:
“Perfect.”
Chapter 10
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
H POV
The world felt hazy and weightless beneath her, every inch of her body trembling, spent, and floating somewhere between bliss and exhaustion.
Theo was still wrapped around her, his arms steady and warm, holding her against his chest like she was something fragile, precious. His lips pressed soft kisses along the damp skin of her shoulder, his breath slow and steady as if he hadn’t just ruined her completely.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
The only sound was the soft rustle of the sheets as his fingers traced lazy patterns across her back, up along her spine, down to the curve of her hip.
Hermione let her eyes close, breathing in the faint scent of sweat, his skin, the lingering spice of whatever cologne he wore. His touch, so careful now, contrasted sharply with the bruising grip he’d held her with just moments ago, but it felt good. Safe.
His hand slid up to tangle gently into her curls, combing them back from her face as he pressed a kiss to her forehead.
“You alright, Granger?” His voice was soft, hoarse from the rough edge it had carried all night, but gentle now, careful.
She nodded slowly, too tired to speak at first, but smiling faintly as she leaned into the warmth of his chest. “Mhm. I’m… I’m good, Daddy.”
Good wasn’t nearly the word for it, but she didn’t have the strength to find a better one.
Theo hummed in pleasure, lips brushing her hairline as his grip tightened just enough to keep her pressed close.
They stayed like that, tangled together beneath the sheets, the warmth of his body sinking into hers. His hand never stopped moving, stroking her back, soothing her skin, fingertips skating lightly along her side.
There was tenderness here that she hadn’t expected. No sharp remarks, no smug grin. Just the steady rise and fall of his chest, the slow drift of fingers through her hair, the soft brush of his lips against her temple.
At some point, she didn’t know when, they moved. Or maybe he moved her. She wasn’t sure. One minute she was lying against him, and the next she was curled fully into his side, his hand draped protectively over her waist as he whispered something soft she couldn’t quite catch.
The haze of exhaustion was too thick.
******
There was more, she thought, more touches, more kisses, a slow, teasing build that blurred between sleep and wakefulness, but it all melted together. Her body couldn’t keep track. Her mind drifted.
And then… nothing.
The next thing she knew, the sharp, repetitive buzz of the alarm charm on her wand filled the air, vibrating from the bedside table where she’d left it.
Hermione blinked, groaning softly as the morning light spilled faintly into the room, her body still warm and heavy from the night before. She could feel Theo’s arm slung loosely over her waist, the weight of his body pressed close behind her, chest rising slowly and evenly with sleep.
Her heart thudded as the memories returned in a rush, heat blooming across her cheeks.
The alarm buzzed again.
And all she could think, as she reached out to silence it, was:
Well… that happened.
The room was too bright.
The sunlight pushed through the curtains with no regard for the disaster of nerves currently twisting in her stomach. Hermione lay frozen for a moment, eyes half open, trying to piece together the blur of the night before, the teasing, the daring, the heat, the way she’d completely handed herself over to him.
The way she’d wanted to.
And now…
Now it was morning.
She became hyper-aware of the weight draped lazily across her waist, Theo’s arm, warm and steady. His bare chest pressed up against her back, his breathing still slow and even.
For a second, she considered pretending to be asleep. Maybe if she didn’t move, the world wouldn’t catch up with her yet.
But then he shifted behind her, groaning softly as he stretched, fingers brushing lightly along her hip before he rolled onto his back with a satisfied sigh.
“Well…” His voice was still rough from sleep, but the grin was already there; she could hear it. “I’ve gotta say, Granger… underneath all those baggy robes? Absolute goddess.”
Hermione’s eyes flew open fully, and she turned her head just enough to glare at him over her shoulder. “Theo—”
“No, really,” he cut her off, laughing as he tucked one arm behind his head. “It’s actually offensive that you’ve been walking around all year hiding that body. You should be arrested.”
She groaned, yanking the sheet up higher to cover herself as heat rushed to her cheeks.
“And so obedient, too,” he added, his grin widening. “Would’ve bet galleons you’d be a nightmare in bed, all bossy and mouthy. But no… You were just dying to listen, weren’t you?”
Hermione buried her face in the pillow with a groan. “Merlin, shut up.”
Theo only chuckled, clearly enjoying himself far too much. “Honestly, we should’ve done that ages ago.”
Notes:
This was the best place I could cut it off; this chapter and the next are pretty long for the normal size, so it had to be split up! Okay, let me know what you think. This is technically my first time writing smut. I have it for another WIP, but the scene(s) haven't been posted yet lol.
Chapter 11
Notes:
Back with another cluster of chapters. My fests are turned in so I'll be going through these and getting as much as I can done before something else takes over my brain. With the outline done, it makes it easier to push through. All mistakes are my own.
Chapter Text
H POV
She lifted her head just enough to squint at him, one brow arching. “You mean you should’ve tried to get into my knickers ages ago.”
He smirked. “I mean, yeah. Look at me.”
Hermione couldn’t help it, the laugh escaped before she could stop it. She shook her head, smiling despite the wave of awkwardness still prickling under her skin.
“Alright, fine,” she muttered, cheeks burning. “I admit it. You’re… obscenely attractive.”
Theo’s grin grew smug. “Knew you had a thing for me.”
She rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
“But that’s why…” Her smile faded just a little as her voice softened. “…I never wanted to be one of your conquests, Theo. You know, the ones you brag about one day and drop the next like nothing happened.”
That wiped the grin off his face, at least for a moment. His lips pressed into a line, eyes searching her face.
“I’m not saying I regret it,” she went on quickly, swallowing hard as she sat up, pulling the sheet tighter around her. “I don’t. Not even a little.”
Theo’s eyes stayed on her, quiet now.
“I just…” She gave a small, awkward shrug. “I’m… glad it happened on the last day of term. Makes things… easier. You know? Clean break. No messy expectations.”
He didn’t respond right away, just kept watching her, his expression unreadable for the first time all morning.
Hermione’s heart thudded uncomfortably in her chest, her mouth suddenly dry.
“Well,” she mumbled, forcing out a nervous laugh, “I should probably start getting ready for the train…”
She shifted awkwardly on the bed, clutching the sheet tighter around herself, the words she’d just spoken lingering heavy between them. She could feel the way Theo’s eyes stayed on her, no teasing grin this time, no cocky remark ready at the edge of his lips.
Just silence.
It made her chest ache.
Swallowing hard, she reached for the edge of the bed, ready to stand, eager to put space between them before she made the whole thing worse.
But before she could slide off the mattress, his hand shot out, fingers wrapping gently but firmly around her wrist.
“Hermione,” he said quietly, but so sure.
She froze.
His thumb brushed softly over the inside of her wrist, and when she looked back at him, the grin was gone completely. What she found instead was something rawer. Serious. Honest in a way she’d never seen from him before.
“I wasn’t lying last night,” Theo said, holding her gaze. “When I told you that you’re mine… I meant it.”
Her lips parted, the words catching in her throat before they could form.
“I’ve never told any girl that before.” His voice stayed low, steady. “Not once.”
She blinked, trying to process the sharp turn this conversation had taken. Theo Nott, Hogwarts’ biggest flirt, serial heartbreaker, sitting there looking at her like this.
“I’ve had flings. Messed around. Bragged about it, sure.” He shrugged faintly but didn’t let go of her wrist. “But none of them… none of them could handle what I gave you last night. Not even a fraction of it.”
His grip softened, his thumb making small, slow circles against her skin.
“I know what people say about me. I know what you think about me.” His eyes searched hers, softer now. “But I wasn’t going to just walk away from this like it was any other night.”
He exhaled, glancing down at where his hand held hers before looking back up.
“I was going to owl you. Within the week. After we all settle, after the dust of graduation clears.” His brow lifted faintly. “Because I wasn’t done. I’m not done.”
Hermione’s heart was hammering against her ribs, her throat tight with words she wasn’t sure how to say.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This wasn’t supposed to be this.
She shook her head slowly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Theo…”
But he just kept watching her, waiting, not pushing.
“I—” She swallowed hard, closing her eyes for a second before meeting his again. “The idea of… of anything more… it terrifies me.”
His lips pressed into a thin line, and she felt the way his fingers flexed just slightly around her wrist, but he didn’t interrupt.
“Because of your reputation. For Godric’s sake, Theodore, you even brought a witch home last night. None of this would have happened if she didn’t pass out.” she admitted softly. “Because I’ve watched you burn through people like matches. Smiling, charming, making them feel like they were special until the second they weren’t.”
Theo’s jaw tightened, but he stayed silent, giving her the space to speak.
Hermione’s eyes dropped to where his hand still held hers, so gentle, so careful.
“And I just… I can’t be another one of those matches, Theo. I can’t.”
T POV
Her words landed harder than any curse ever could.
I can’t be another one of those matches, Theo. I can’t.
He felt it sink straight into his chest, heavy, raw, suffocating. And for the first time in his life, Theo Nott didn’t know what the hell to say.
She was right.
Of course, she was right.
Everything about him screamed Don’t trust me. His reputation, his mouth, the way he’d treated every witch before her like they were disposable, like none of it mattered past the moment.
But this, her , it mattered.
More than he’d ever let himself admit.
His grip on her wrist loosened, fingers trembling slightly as he let his hand fall away. His mind raced, every sharp, confident piece of himself suddenly cracking wide open beneath the weight of how close he was to losing her before he ever even had a chance.
“Hermione…” The word barely made it past his lips.
She looked at him, guarded now, braced for the smooth brush-off she was probably expecting.
But that wasn’t what came out of him.
His heart was hammering so hard he thought it might rip straight out of his chest.
“I don’t know how to make you believe me,” he said, voice rough. “But I’ll beg if that’s what it takes.”
Her eyes widened, surprised enough that her lips parted like she didn’t quite know how to respond.
“I’ll get on my knees right now,” Theo went on, his voice picking up speed, panic lacing the edges as the words tumbled out faster than he could catch them. “You want me to? I will. Fuck, Granger, I’ll grovel if that’s what you need.”
That made her laugh, a soft, breathy sound, but her eyes shimmered with the start of tears.
And somehow, the sound of her laughing through the ache in her chest only made him more desperate.
“I never told anyone this,” he confessed quickly, shaking his head, pressing the heel of his hand hard against his brow as if he could slow the spiral inside his head. “Not Blaise. Not Draco. No one.”
Hermione’s expression softened, her eyes narrowing faintly as she listened.
“I’ve been watching you all year,” he admitted, voice quieter now but no less intense. “Waiting for you to even glance my way. Just once. But you never did.”
His throat tightened.
“So when you gave me even the smallest chance last night…” He swallowed hard, eyes locked on hers, unflinching. “I wasn’t going to waste it. I wasn’t going to risk you changing your mind.”
He let out a breathless, shaky laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face.
“Merlin, I thought I wasn’t going to make it. I was running through the bloody halls like a lunatic, carrying that poor witch like a sack of potatoes.” His lips quirked at the memory. “And then Salazar himself threw me a miracle, those Hufflepuff fifth-years saved my arse an extra minute.”
Hermione gave a watery laugh through the tears building at the corners of her eyes, shaking her head like she couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees now, hands clasped tight together as if he were physically holding himself back from reaching for her again.
“What do you want from me, Hermione?” he asked softly, staring at her like she was the only thing that could steady the chaos inside him. “Tell me what you need to believe I’m not lying. I’ll give it to you.”
And for once in his life, Theo Nott wasn’t charming, wasn’t cocky, wasn’t playing a game.
He was just bare.
Waiting.
Chapter Text
H POV
She didn’t mean to just sit there, staring at him like an idiot. But for a moment, that’s all she could do.
Theo Nott, Hogwarts’ golden-tongued menace, who never begged for anything but attention, was sitting on the edge of her bed, elbows on his knees, eyes wide and desperate, asking her how to prove that he meant what he said.
And he meant it. She could see that he meant it. The words weren’t slick or rehearsed. They were raw. Rushed. Real.
But still…
Hermione exhaled, swallowing hard as she brushed the back of her hand beneath her eyes, trying to keep the prickling tears at bay.
“I… I don’t want to insult you,” she started softly, voice cautious, “by saying I don’t trust your word. That’s not, I know you’re serious, Theo, I do.”
His gaze stayed locked on hers, unblinking, jaw clenched.
“But…” She winced a little, voice gentler now. “I also know your reputation, and I know mine. And I know that things can feel very different when they’re said in the heat of the moment.”
Theo’s lips pressed into a tight line, but he didn’t interrupt.
“I don’t think an Unbreakable Vow is appropriate,” she continued quickly, shaking her head. “That’s, I mean, that’s too extreme. Too dangerous. Not for, not for this.”
He shot to his feet so fast it startled her, his hands running wild through his hair as he paced once, twice, before spinning on her with wide, furious eyes.
“I’D DO IT!” he snapped, loud enough to echo against the stone walls. “I’d do it, Granger! Right here, right now, if that’s what it takes!”
Hermione’s eyes widened, shock stealing the breath from her chest.
“Theo—” she started, but he was already moving toward her again, one hand out as if he needed to physically stop the idea from escaping her mouth.
“I mean it,” he barked, breath ragged, eyes fierce. “I’d swear my bloody life on it if that’s what you needed from me.”
But then, when she let out a small, surprised laugh, shaking her head with a watery smile, the tension in his shoulders finally dropped a fraction.
“No,” she told him firmly, waving her hand as if to bat away the idea, though her heart thudded at the force of his reaction. “No, Theo. Absolutely not. I’m not asking you to risk your life for–or even over me. That’s madness.”
His chest rose and fell, breath still heavy, but the anger softened in his eyes as he watched her.
“That leaves…” she said slowly, voice quieter now as she sat up straighter, “a Wizard’s Oath. Or a magical contract.”
Theo’s brow furrowed, his lips twitching downward, but this time, he didn’t argue. He stayed right there, standing at the foot of the bed, staring at her like he was still holding his breath.
“I’m not trying to hurt you by suggesting any of this,” Hermione added softly, giving him the most honest look she could manage. “I just… I need to know this isn’t going to be another story you tell your mates next week.”
His gaze finally dropped to the floor for half a second, but when he lifted his head again, there was something steadier in his eyes.
“I’ll take whatever vow you want,” Theo said, his voice calmer but no less serious. “Just tell me what it is.”
She watched him standing there, shoulders still tense, hands curled slightly at his sides like he was bracing for a fight he refused to lose.
And Gods, there was something so achingly sincere about it that it made her chest tighten all over again.
But she couldn’t let him do something as reckless as an Unbreakable Vow, no matter how much he insisted.
Hermione gave a soft, almost exasperated laugh, running her fingers through her tangled curls as she leaned against the bedpost, trying to find the right words.
“A Wizard’s Oath is too risky,” she said, smiling faintly. “You’d swear your magic, and if you lost it… well, knowing you, you’d just cause chaos in the Muggle world instead.”
Theo snorted, the smallest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, the tension in his shoulders easing just a little.
Hermione tilted her head, teasing now. “Can’t risk unleashing you on unsuspecting Londoners without any magic to rein you in.”
He chuckled under his breath, the sound soft but genuine, and stepped a little closer, hands sliding into the pockets of his rumpled trousers. His expression shifted, still amused, but a little more serious now.
“So…” he drawled, lifting a brow. “What’s the alternative, then? What are your terms, Granger?”
Hermione bit her lip for half a second, weighing her words before speaking carefully.
Chapter Text
“A magical contract,” she said. “Simple. Binding. Honest.”
Theo nodded slowly, watching her with curious, cautious eyes.
She pressed her palms flat against the bed, grounding herself as she explained, tone steady but still light enough to keep the weight from crushing them both.
“The contract will link your magic and your intent when you sign it,” she said, “and it will stay dormant as long as you honor it.”
He gave a slow, thoughtful nod. “And if I don’t?”
Hermione smiled sweetly, even though her heart hammered hard against her ribs.
“If you break it,” she said lightly, “because you couldn’t keep it in your pants—” Theo laughed outright at that, scrubbing a hand through his hair, but she pushed on, voice steady. “—then you’ll be obviated of the entirety of what we’ve shared.”
He blinked, the smile freezing on his face.
“You’ll remember me,” Hermione went on softly, “only as Hermione Granger, Head Girl. Your eighth-year roommate. Nothing more.”
Theo stared at her, something unreadable flickering across his face.
“No late nights,” she said, voice even quieter now. “No stolen glances. No teasing. No kisses. No touching. No memory of what it felt like to be wanted. Nothing of what we shared or plan to share.”
Her chest rose and fell heavily.
“You’ll wake up one morning knowing that you had a living space with me for a year. That’s it. No chance. No us.”
Theo’s hands curled tighter into fists at his sides, his jaw clenching.
He didn’t say anything at first, just stood there, breathing hard, looking at her like she was both his salvation and his punishment.
Hermione swallowed thickly, forcing herself to keep her gaze steady.
“So,” she finished softly, tucking a loose curl behind her ear, “do you still want to do this?”
T POV
How the hell does her mind even work like this?
Theo stared at her, stunned, not because he was angry or hurt, but because he realized, with a sinking weight in his chest, that she was doing exactly what he should have known she would: protecting herself.
Guarding that brilliant, stubborn, breakable heart of hers like it was the most precious thing in the world.
And maybe it was.
He wanted to hate the thought that she even needed a contract to feel safe with him. But he couldn’t. Not really. Because he understood.
He’d spent so long building the reputation that now stood between them like a brick wall. And she was just smart enough to know better than to leave herself unprotected.
You did this, he thought bitterly. You made yourself into someone she can't just trust with words.
And still… she was sitting there, looking at him like he might be worth the risk anyway.
Theo took a slow, steadying breath.
“I’ll agree,” he said carefully, watching her eyes widen with a mix of hope and hesitation.
“But under one condition.”
Hermione’s brows lifted slightly, and she gave a small nod for him to continue.
He shifted, stepping closer to the bed, his heart thundering in his chest, voice dropping to something almost rough.
“The contract goes both ways.”
Her lips parted slightly in surprise.
“If for any reason,” he said, the words low and sure, “I break this, if I screw this up, and I have to erase you, then I want the same done to you.”
He took another step, close enough now to reach for her if he dared.
“I couldn’t live with myself,” he said, voice soft but thick with emotion, “knowing you were somewhere in the world hurting… while I didn’t even remember we existed.”
The silence that followed pressed against his skin like a second heartbeat.
He waited, letting her take her time, letting her see him. Not the playboy. Not the flirt. Just him.
Hermione’s eyes shone, wide and wet, her throat bobbing as she swallowed hard.
Then, without a word, she reached for him, pulling him down into a deep, fierce kiss that left no room for doubt.
Theo cupped the back of her head instinctively, kissing her back with everything he had, breathing her in like she was oxygen after drowning.
A soft snap echoed between them, and when he finally pulled back, slightly breathless, a scroll of parchment hung in the air between them, sealed with faint, pulsing magic.
Theo grinned.
Without even reaching for his wand, he summoned a quill to his hand with a flick of his fingers, silent, effortless, and didn’t hesitate for even a second.
He signed his name across the bottom of the contract with bold, quick strokes.
Theo turned toward her, mischief sparking in his eyes even through the heavy pull of the moment. He brushed his lips lightly across hers again, barely a kiss, more a whisper of contact, and smiled against her mouth.
“Your turn, Granger.”
She didn't hesitate.
The second the words your turn, Granger left his mouth, she reached for the quill, her movements sure, her signature flowing onto the parchment like she’d decided hours ago. Like she wasn’t scared anymore.
Theo barely had time to appreciate how fucking gorgeous she looked, bare, fierce, brilliant, before she snapped her fingers again, sealing the contract with a soft pulse of magic. The scroll shimmered for a brief moment, then disappeared into the ether, carried off to Gringotts to be properly bound and protected.
It was done.
The knot in his chest loosened, replaced by something heavier, something better.
He leaned in immediately, claiming her mouth in another deep, consuming kiss, his hand cupping her cheek as he tilted her head to take more, everything, because now he could.
Because now she was his.
Theo didn’t break the kiss as he eased her back onto the bed, coaxing her down until she lay sprawled against the sheets, curls haloing around her, the faint golden morning light kissing her bare skin.
He hovered over her, taking his time to savor the sight, because fuck, she was breathtaking.
She pulled back with a breathless laugh, palms pressing lightly against his chest. “Theo, we don’t have time—”
He pulled back just enough to catch her eyes, his smirk slow and wicked.
“I don’t need a lot of time, Granger.”
Before she could argue again, he flattened his palm firmly against the center of her chest, pinning her gently to the mattress, the pressure just enough to let her feel how easily he could keep her right where he wanted her.
His voice dropped, low and commanding. “Don’t move.”
The heat in his words made her shiver.
But she didn’t reply right away.
Theo lifted one brow, tilting his head in a silent question, waiting.
A soft giggle bubbled up from her throat, and she gave him a mischievous little grin.
“Yes, Daddy.”
Theo’s chest rumbled with a satisfied hum.
Good girl.
Without wasting another second, he slid lower, trailing kisses down the line of her body, over her ribs, her stomach, taking his time even though urgency tugged at the edges of his patience.
He settled between her thighs, gripping them firmly, spreading her open for him like a feast he was about to devour.
And then, without mercy, he buried his mouth against her, tongue working slow and sure, savoring every gasp, every helpless twitch of her hips against his hand still holding her firmly down.
She tasted like everything he didn’t know he’d been starving for.
And he was going to make damn sure she started the first day of the rest of their lives with his name, and nothing else, on her tongue.
Chapter 14
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
H POV
The rush of the morning swept through them like a tidal wave once the magic of the night faded into soft, lingering touches and hurried kisses.
Hermione packed quickly, double-checking every trunk and corner of the Heads' quarters with a practiced efficiency. Theo, for all his teasing and swagger, was surprisingly organized when he needed to be, muttering a running list of things under his breath as he paced through the rooms.
Final responsibilities. Final rounds. Farewell notes tucked under a few professors' doors.
It all felt surreal, this chapter closing.
As they made their way toward the Great Hall for the final departure, Hermione adjusted the strap of her satchel over her shoulder, heart hammering with something she wasn’t ready to name yet.
They were just steps away from the doors when Theo fell back beside her, bumping her shoulder lightly with his.
"Granger," he said, voice softer than usual.
She glanced over at him, catching the faint flicker of nerves in his eyes. She smiled, automatically, even before he finished whatever thought he was trying to build up to.
"Yes?" she asked warmly.
He didn’t smile back immediately. Instead, he grew serious, really serious, his jaw tightening just a fraction as he turned toward her fully, blocking her path for a moment.
"I need a favor," he said, voice low, almost hesitant.
Hermione’s smile softened even more. "Anything."
He let out a shaky breath, raking a hand through his hair, glancing briefly at the floor before locking eyes with her again.
"I want to do this right," he said, the words falling heavy between them. "I don't... I don't have family anymore. My mother died giving birth to me. And..." He swallowed hard. "My father..."
Theo didn’t need to say it. She knew. His father had been one of the many who hadn't survived the final battle, and judging by the way Theo had spoken about him in the past, it hadn’t exactly been a tragedy for him.
"But Narcissa—" he continued, steadying himself, "—the Malfoys, they've been the closest thing to family I've had in a long time. She’s… important to me."
Hermione felt her heart squeeze, the weight of what he was trying to say sinking in.
"I want to speak with her. Properly. About courting you, " he said, the words raw but proud. "The way it’s meant to be done. The way it should have been done for my mother if she'd ever gotten the chance."
He shifted, nerves flickering across his face again. "Pureblood traditions, they—" He shook his head. "They're old-fashioned. Formal. But some things, some things deserve to be done right."
Hermione's breath caught, but she said nothing, letting him find his way through it.
"And..." Theo cleared his throat, reaching into his pocket and fidgeting with something invisible. "As part of that, I’m supposed to give a gift of intent. Something from my family vaults."
Her eyes widened slightly, but he pressed on quickly.
"That's why I said I'd owl you within the week," he said. "So I could go to Gringotts, meet with Narcissa, do all of this properly. No rushing. No sneaking around. No doubt about where we stand."
He finally stopped talking, standing there waiting, naked in a different way than he had been last night, with all his walls down and nothing hiding the real truth anymore.
Hermione stared at him, stunned, overwhelmed by the weight of what he was offering her.
Not just himself.
Not just his heart.
Everything.
He was placing all the things he was so scared to show anyone, trembling and fragile, right in her hands.
For a long moment, she could only smile, wide, bright, and a little helpless against the rush of emotion flooding her chest.
She nodded silently, her throat too tight for words, and pushed up onto her toes to press a soft, lingering kiss to his cheek.
He stiffened slightly at the contact, not pulling away, but almost like he didn’t know how to hold something so gentle.
Pulling back just enough to meet his eyes again, she gave him a small, teasing grin.
"I look forward to receiving your owl," she whispered.
Theo's smile cracked through the tension then, slow and genuine, the kind of smile that warmed all the cold places inside him.
Hermione turned toward the Great Hall doors, heart hammering harder than it had during any exam or battle she’d ever fought. Her hand was already on the door handle when a wicked thought crossed her mind.
She paused.
Turned slowly.
Theo was still standing there, watching her like he didn’t know whether to breathe or chase after her.
She smirked, tilting her head slightly, letting her voice drop to a teasing, low purr.
"I hear the Nott library holds a variety of rare books," she said slyly, "just like the library at Malfoy Manor."
Theo blinked, confused for half a heartbeat.
Hermione leaned in slightly, eyes glinting with mischief.
"Could you please send me a book on pureblood customs, Daddy? "
The moment the word left her lips, she saw it.
Theo’s eyes went comically wide. His jaw dropped slightly, as if someone had physically knocked the air out of him.
Hermione let out a soft, musical laugh, turning on her heel and walking away with an extra sway in her hips, not bothering to hide the grin stretching across her face.
She didn’t have to look back to know he was still standing there, stunned stupid in the middle of the corridor, watching her go like she’d just flipped his entire world upside down again.
And maybe she had.
Good, she thought, smiling wider.
It was about time.
Notes:
Really pushing that daddy kink, tag. LOL. You'll see why....
Chapter 15
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
T POV
The train ride blurred past him in a haze of tiredness and restless energy.
He spent most of it slouched with Draco and Blaise, pretending to listen to their conversation while the truth was… he barely heard a word.
His mind was somewhere else, on someone else.
Hermione.
He caught her glancing at him a few times from the other end of the compartment, a soft smile tugging at her lips every time their eyes met, like they were both holding onto some enormous secret the rest of the world wasn’t ready for.
When the train finally screeched to a halt at Platform 9¾, chaos erupted around them. Trunks were dragged down from overhead racks, students stumbled sleepily into the aisles, house elves darted through the doors carrying stray bags.
Theo shifted his bag over his shoulder, Draco muttering something about seeing his mother near the barrier, but Theo barely registered it.
His eyes found her almost immediately in the crowd, Hermione, her hair wild from the journey, wrestling her trunk onto the platform with the same stubborn determination he had fallen helplessly in love with. Was this love? Salazar help me, he thought .
She felt him watching, he saw the exact second she did, because her head lifted and her eyes locked with his.
The crowd faded away for a breath.
She smiled.
Not shy. Not hesitant.
Wide. Bright. Certain.
And then, as if to ruin him completely, she gave him a quick, cheeky wink.
Theo's breath caught, his heart doing something stupid and reckless in his chest.
Before he could even think of moving toward her, she turned with a little laugh, her curls bouncing, and dashed toward where Harry stood waiting with Cho near the far side of the platform.
Theo stood there, frozen for a heartbeat longer, the noise of the station rising back up around him like a tide.
Draco clapped a hand on his shoulder, dragging his attention back to the world. “Come on, mate.”
Theo nodded absently, his fingers tightening on the strap of his bag, the ghost of her wink still burned behind his eyes.
One week, he reminded himself, stepping toward the barrier.
One week, and she’s mine for good.
The world outside Platform 9¾ blurred just like the train ride had.
He followed Draco through the barrier, still gripping his bag a little tighter than necessary, his mind miles ahead of him, already down in the family vaults, already combing through the collection he barely let himself think about before now.
Not the Nott jewels.
Not the cold, cruel things his father had hoarded like weapons.
His mother’s.
He knew exactly what he'd be looking for, a piece that carried her gentleness, her warmth. A part of her legacy he could offer Hermione as a symbol of something real, something lasting.
He barely noticed the slight chill in the air or the way the crowd thinned until Narcissa Malfoy appeared, regal as ever, waiting just beyond the barrier.
Her blonde hair was pinned up immaculately, her robes simple but elegant. She stood apart from the chaos, calm, collected, the way only a true Malfoy could be.
But when her eyes fell on them, on him, her face softened instantly.
"Theodore," Narcissa greeted warmly, stepping forward without hesitation. She pressed a light kiss to his cheek and pulled him into a gentle embrace, one hand resting briefly at the back of his neck.
Theo let himself lean into it for half a second longer than necessary, drawing strength from the quiet affection she never made him ask for.
"My dear," she said as she pulled back, giving him a once-over with that careful, assessing gaze. "How was the rest of your term?"
Theo smiled, genuinely, fully, for the first time that morning.
"It was..." He paused, glancing briefly toward Draco, who was watching him with a faint smirk, clearly picking up that something was different. "...eventful."
Narcissa lifted a perfectly shaped brow, the hint of a knowing smile tugging at her mouth.
Draco made a noise low in his throat. "Eventful, how?" he asked, glancing between them suspiciously. "What did you do?"
Theo just laughed under his breath and shook his head, feeling lighter than he had in years.
"I actually wanted to have a proper conversation," Theo said, shifting his bag higher on his shoulder. His voice steadied into something more serious, more deliberate. "With both of you."
Narcissa’s smile widened just a fraction, curiosity brightening her eyes. "A conversation?"
Draco snorted. "Is this about whatever had you mooning out the window on the train?"
Theo shot him a glare, but it lacked any real heat.
"It’s worth the wait," he said simply, smirking as he tucked his free hand into his pocket.
He caught the flash of curiosity that sparked between them, Narcissa tilting her head ever so slightly in that graceful way she had, and Draco narrowing his eyes, clearly itching to pull it out of him.
But Theo didn’t budge.
Not yet.
This, Hermione , deserved to be handled right. With care. With respect.
And Merlin help him, he was going to do it properly, if it was the last thing he did.
Notes:
gotta love, love!
Chapter 16
Notes:
We'll be with Theo for a bit.
Chapter Text
Dinner was a blur.
Theo barely tasted the food set before him, his mind spinning in a thousand directions, nerves crawling under his skin. He wasn't Gryffindor-brave. He didn’t charge into things. He calculated, planned, moved like smoke in the dark.
But tonight, he was about to lay his future bare, to Narcissa, to Draco; to tell them he intended to court Hermione Granger, a Muggle-born witch, by pureblood custom no less. Properly. Publicly. Proudly.
He twisted the napkin in his lap tighter, gathering the courage to speak.
Just as he opened his mouth to begin, a sharp tapping at the window made them all turn.
Two owls.
Sleek, dark-feathered, with thick parchment envelopes tied to their legs, both sealed with the Nott family crest.
Theo's stomach twisted.
Narcissa rose gracefully, gliding to the window to retrieve the letters. She glanced between the two briefly, then opened hers first.
Theo watched her closely, watched the way her fingers froze partway down the page, the way her blue eyes widened almost imperceptibly, her jaw tightening.
She looked up at him slowly, lips parting.
"Theodore..." she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.
Theo's heart slammed against his ribs, dread pooling in his gut.
Without waiting another second, he shredded through the wax seal on his own letter and yanked the parchment open.
His eyes scanned the words.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
No.
No, no, no.
The words blurred as horror surged up through him, and before he could stop himself, he shot to his feet, the chair clattering backwards against the floor.
His hands raked violently through his hair, yanking hard enough that it hurt.
"No—" he gasped, stumbling backward. His chest heaved like he couldn’t get air, the walls of the room tilting wildly around him.
He staggered to the far corner, barely making it before he bent over and threw up hard, his entire body shuddering.
Narcissa was at his side in an instant, her wand out, Vanishing the mess with a gentle flick, her hand hovering near his back but not touching, giving him a dignity he couldn't find right now.
Draco stood too, alarmed, stepping toward them. "Theo, what the hell’s going on?"
Theo wiped the back of his mouth with the sleeve of his robe, still shaking, still struggling to breathe.
His voice cracked and broke as he finally forced the words out:
"My fucking father —" he spat, chest heaving with sobs, "—the same bastard who tortured me, who spent my whole life beating the shit out of me—"
He turned, tears streaming down his face, eyes wild.
"That piece of shit arranged a betrothal contract while he was still alive! To Astoria Greengrass!" he shouted, voice cracking at the edges. "Set to activate the day I graduated! "
Draco's face twisted in confusion, brows knitting together. "Theo, mate—" he said, trying to calm him, "we all grew up knowing this could happen. It's... It's how it is. You know that."
Theo let out a raw, wrecked sound, half sob, half bark of rage, and backed further toward the wall, as if needing something solid at his back to hold him upright.
Draco didn’t understand.
He didn’t know.
This wasn’t about pureblood politics. This wasn’t about stupid contracts.
This was about Hermione.
About the promise Theo had made with trembling hands and an oath sealed in magic.
And now it was being ripped out of his grasp before it had even fully started.
He could feel her, even now, in the corner of his mind, her smile, her voice, the way she had winked at him just hours ago.
Hermione.
Theo shook his head violently, fists clenched so hard his knuckles went white.
"I need—" His voice cracked apart again. "I need a private word with Narcissa."
Draco stiffened, confusion giving way to suspicion.
"Why? Theo," Draco said again, stepping closer, nervous now. "Talk to us. What's going on? Why can’t I stay?"
Theo squeezed his eyes shut, tears spilling down his cheeks, his whole body shaking from the effort of holding himself together.
"Please," he begged, his voice wrecked and broken, nothing like the cool, sharp boy he had always been. "Please, Draco. Please just... just go. "
The room froze for a long, terrible moment.
Draco looked like he wanted to argue, his mouth pressing into a hard, angry line, but something in Theo’s face must have stopped him.
Because slowly, grudgingly, he nodded.
He picked up his wand from the table, casting one last worried look at Narcissa, then turned on his heel and left the dining room, the heavy door swinging shut behind him.
Leaving Theo alone.
Shattered.
And Narcissa standing quietly at his side, waiting.
The door clicked shut behind Draco, and Theo sagged against the wall, feeling like the last bit of strength was bleeding out of him.
Chapter Text
He stayed there, breathing hard, willing himself not to crumble completely. Not yet.
Narcissa gave him space, standing quietly a few feet away, her hands folded neatly in front of her, waiting without pressure, without judgment.
After a moment, Theo dragged himself upright and turned toward her, wiping angrily at the tears still burning down his cheeks.
"I was going to tell you and Draco tonight," he rasped, voice rough and broken. "I was going to ask for your blessing."
Narcissa said nothing, only tilted her head slightly, silently encouraging him to keep going.
He pressed his hands into his hair again, trying to tame the mess of thoughts spiraling through his mind.
"It’s Hermione," he said thickly. "Hermione Granger."
Narcissa's eyes softened almost immediately, the barest smile ghosting across her mouth.
Theo's chest ached so badly it hurt to breathe.
"I spent the entire bloody year looking at her," he confessed, voice cracking. "Waiting. Hoping she’d just glance my way even once."
He shook his head bitterly, a humorless laugh escaping him.
"But she didn’t. Not once. Not until yesterday. Like some kind of bloody miracle."
He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering the party, the way her laughter had lit up the Room of Requirement, the way her touch had shattered him into pieces he didn’t even know he had.
"I knew," he whispered, throat tight. "I knew she was it. I knew she was perfect."
He dropped his hands to his sides, fists clenching and unclenching.
"But my reputation, my lifestyle, every awful thing I ever bragged about... it kept her from trusting me. And I don’t blame her."
Narcissa stepped closer now, her face soft but lined with something heavier, grief, maybe, or an understanding too deep to name.
Theo sucked in a shuddering breath, needing her to know all of it, needing to say it aloud before it broke him from the inside.
"We agreed to a magical contract," he said, voice shaking. "It’s tied to our magic and intent, sealed, signed, sent off to Gringotts for holding."
He forced himself to meet her eyes, even though his chest felt like it might cave in.
"If either of us even thinks about becoming intimate with someone else, has the intent to touch someone else more than a friend," he said hoarsely, "we’ll be obliviated. We’ll lose everything we’ve built in the last 12 hours. Every memory. Every touch. Every word."
His breath hitched again, and he wiped angrily at another tear slipping down his cheek.
"I was going to tell you and Draco tonight. I wanted to do it right. I was going to ask for your help to go to the vaults, to find something from my mother’s collection. To give Hermione a gift of intent. To start... properly."
He finally fell silent, breathing hard, every piece of himself laid bare.
Narcissa’s face crumpled, the mask slipping for just a second as her hand fluttered toward her heart.
"Theodore..." she whispered, voice breaking.
Something about the way she said his name, so full of sorrow, of regret, made every hair on the back of his neck stand on end.
He straightened slightly, dread clawing through his gut.
"What?" he asked, voice sharp with fear. "What else? What could he possibly have done to make this even worse?"
Narcissa hesitated, but only for a breath before stepping closer, her hand resting gently on his arm.
"The betrothal announcement," she said quietly, her voice thick with emotion. "It’s already been arranged."
Theo blinked, confused for a half-second. "What—what do you mean?"
Narcissa swallowed hard, her thumb brushing over his sleeve in a soothing motion he barely registered.
"It’ll be printed," she said softly, "in the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. "
Theo felt the floor tilt beneath him, his heart slamming so hard against his ribs he thought it might break apart entirely.
The world spun.
The contract.
Hermione.
Their promise.
And tomorrow, the entire wizarding world would wake up to headlines tying him to Astoria Greengrass like it was already done.
He choked on a sob, hands gripping his hair again, pulling hard, as if he could rip the nightmare out of his skull.
"No," he whispered, voice cracking open. "No, no, no—"
Narcissa squeezed his arm gently but said nothing.
Because what else was there to say?
His hands wouldn’t stop shaking.
Every part of him trembled as he forced himself to meet Narcissa’s gaze, desperation pouring out of him so raw and open that it made his throat ache.
"Please," he whispered, his voice barely holding together. "Please, help me."
Chapter Text
Please, he whispered, his voice barely holding together. Please, help me.
Narcissa’s face softened in a way he hadn’t seen since he was a boy, since the first time she had ever patched him up after a particularly cruel punishment from his father, smoothing a cloth over his bruises while pretending not to notice his tears.
She was looking at him now like he was her own blood.
Like he was Draco, standing there pleading for something she couldn’t bear to deny.
Theo watched the shimmer of unshed tears gathering in her pale blue eyes before she cleared her throat sharply, blinking them away.
Her voice was steady, but her hands trembled slightly as she stepped back. "I’ll get Draco," she said, smoothing invisible wrinkles from her robes to keep herself composed. "Meet me in the sitting room."
He nodded mutely, trying to breathe through the panic clawing up his spine.
Narcissa turned, her heels clicking softly against the stone floor as she moved toward the dining room doors. But just before she crossed the threshold, she paused, glancing back over her shoulder.
Her voice, when she spoke again, was soft but fierce, filled with a kind of burning determination that rooted Theo to the spot.
"This isn’t going to be a simple plan, Theodore," she said, her gaze locking with his, holding him together when he felt like he might fall apart. "It’s going to be agonizing."
He swallowed hard, feeling the truth of it settle deep in his bones.
"But," she continued, her voice breaking slightly at the edges, "I feel it’s the only way. And I am going to do everything in my power to help you."
Her expression softened even further, the tenderness almost undoing him completely.
"You are my son," she said simply. "And I love you. I want your happiness above all else."
Theo’s knees nearly buckled as the tears welled up again, spilling freely down his cheeks.
He nodded, chest caving in on itself with the force of it, unable to speak past the lump in his throat.
Narcissa gave him one last small, steady smile before disappearing down the hall to find Draco.
Theo stood there, alone, arms wrapped around himself as he stared at the empty doorway, wondering what other impossible thing she was about to suggest.
And how much more his heart could take.
The sitting room felt colder than it had any right to.
Theo sat hunched forward on the edge of one of the armchairs, elbows braced on his knees, his hands laced so tightly together his knuckles had gone white. His heart thudded painfully against his ribs, loud in the heavy, echoing silence.
He tried to calm his breathing, to slow the frantic pacing of his mind, but it was impossible. Every few seconds, he caught himself glancing at the doorway, stomach twisting tighter each time it remained empty.
The minutes dragged, each one heavier than the last.
He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, replaying every moment with Hermione in his mind, the way she’d smiled at him that morning, the sound of her laugh as she teased him, the way her body had trembled under his hands, and how easily it could all be taken from him.
By a dead man’s last cruel joke.
He pressed the heels of his palms into his eyes, breathing raggedly against the threat of another wave of tears.
Finally, mercifully, he heard footsteps in the hall.
Theo sat up straighter immediately, heart hammering harder as Narcissa and Draco entered the room.
Draco looked tense, his brow furrowed deeply, confusion and frustration written plainly across his face. He didn’t know the full truth yet. Didn’t understand why Theo had begged for privacy earlier.
But Narcissa, Narcissa was calm. Steeled by something sharper than fear. Purpose.
She gave Theo a look, a steady, anchoring glance that felt like a hand on his back, and moved gracefully toward the hearth, her robes whispering against the floor.
Theo swallowed hard, sitting frozen, waiting.
Narcissa turned to face him and Draco, folding her hands neatly in front of her, every inch the composed, strategic matriarch she was born to be.
"Theodore," she said softly, meeting his eyes. "We have a great deal to discuss."
Draco opened his mouth, but Narcissa lifted a hand, silencing him before he could demand answers.
"This situation is dire," she continued, voice firm but not unkind. "And the path forward will not be simple. It will be painful."
Theo nodded stiffly, his throat too tight to speak.
"But," she said, voice softening just a fraction, "I believe there is a way."
Draco looked between them, frowning harder. "A way to what, exactly?"
Narcissa’s eyes didn’t leave Theo’s.
"A way to break the contract," she said quietly. "And to protect what Theodore holds dear."
Theo’s fingers tightened around the arms of the chair, his heart thudding painfully.
Finally, finally, Narcissa moved closer, perching delicately on the edge of the chair across from him.
Her voice dropped low, serious. "But you must be prepared, Theo. What I’m about to suggest will require a level of sacrifice... and pain... that will test every part of you."
He nodded immediately, his voice rough when he finally found it.
"I'll do whatever it takes," he rasped. "Whatever it costs. I don't care. I just... I just can't lose her."
Narcissa’s expression softened, pride and sorrow flickering across her elegant features.
"Good," she said simply.
Then she folded her hands in her lap, gave him a small, almost maternal smile, and said:
"Let me tell you what we must do."
Theo could barely sit still.
Chapter Text
His knee bounced as he stared at the floor, the weight of his heartbeat echoing in his chest. Every breath felt like it came too fast and too shallow. He wasn’t sure how he’d managed to hold it together since the letter. Since the Prophet. Since his whole future threatened to collapse under a name he hadn’t even said in years, Astoria.
He flinched slightly when Narcissa cleared her throat, bringing the room to stillness.
"You are not to speak," she said calmly, her voice composed but firm. "Not until I am finished."
Draco looked like he was about to roll his eyes, but one glance at his mother’s expression wiped the irritation off his face immediately.
Narcissa turned slightly toward him.
"You’re owed an explanation, Draco," she said, her voice more gentle now. "You were kept in the dark, by necessity, not by disrespect. What I’m about to tell you may be difficult to process."
Theo’s breath caught, but he nodded to himself, grateful she was the one explaining it. He didn’t think he could get the words out without falling apart again.
Narcissa continued, her gaze fixed now between the two of them.
"Theodore has found himself bound by not one, but two magical contracts."
Draco's brows pulled together sharply, his mouth opening in alarm.
Narcissa lifted a single, graceful hand.
"Not a word, Draco. Let me finish."
He snapped his mouth shut, jaw tense, eyes flicking to Theo briefly with open confusion.
"The first," she continued, "you are aware of. A betrothal contract set in place by his father, arranged with the Greengrass family, tying Theodore to Astoria upon the completion of his education."
Draco scowled deeply at the name but remained silent, as instructed.
"The second," Narcissa said smoothly, "was made in secret. By choice. Between Theodore and Hermione Granger."
Draco flinched visibly at the name.
Theo finally looked up then, meeting his best friend’s stunned gaze, and it physically hurt not to speak. Not to defend it. Not to explain how it wasn’t what Draco thought it was.
But Narcissa kept going.
"The terms are magically enforced. If either of them acts on, or intends to act on, physical intimacy with anyone other than each other, they will be obliviated. Not just of the act, but of the entire connection. Every memory. Every moment."
Draco’s mouth opened again, the beginnings of some kind of protest or shock clearly ready to explode, then he clamped it shut just in time, throwing himself back in the chair with his arms crossed, glaring at the fireplace instead.
"The reason," Narcissa continued evenly, "is because Hermione Granger did not trust Theodore’s word alone. Given his history and her vulnerability, it was the only way she felt safe enough to enter into something real with him."
Theo’s fingers curled into fists in his lap. He stared at the rug, not trusting himself to look up again.
"And Theodore—" Narcissa looked at him now, her voice softening—"had every intention of beginning their courtship within the week. Not in secret. Not in shadows. But with pride."
Theo’s throat tightened.
"He intended to ask for our blessing," she said, now glancing between them both, "and for our help. To visit the vaults. To choose something meaningful from his mother’s collection, a gift of intent, to present to Miss Granger."
She let that hang in the air for a moment, letting the full weight of it settle over the room.
"And he planned to do it the correct way," she finished. "With respect. With purpose. And above all else, with love."
Silence followed. Thick, pressing, and full of things unsaid.
Theo forced himself to breathe, still bracing for the moment Draco would erupt, accuse him, lash out, or worse... disbelieve him.
But he didn’t.
Not yet.
Because Narcissa still hadn’t told them what came next.
Narcissa stood tall, her hands folded neatly in front of her, every inch the composed strategist, though her eyes were lined with something deeper, regret, maybe. Grief, certainly. But certainty, too.
"This is not a plan built on comfort," she said softly, her gaze moving between them. "It is not quick. It is not kind. It will test your mind, your patience, and your heart."
Theo’s throat felt raw, his heart still bruised from the last hour alone. He barely had the strength to sit still, let alone survive a plan that would test everything he had left.
Narcissa continued, calm and clear.
"It will test your friendships. It will test your trust in one another. And it will test how much you are willing to endure in order to have what you want."
She paused briefly, too briefly.
"The first step is this: We do not interfere with Miss Granger seeing the morning edition of the Daily Prophet. "
Theo’s head snapped up like he’d been struck.
"What?!" The word burst from his throat, sharp and panicked. “ Absolutely not— ”
Narcissa simply lifted her hand.
The gesture was small but powerful.
And it silenced him.
Not because she demanded obedience, but because the last hour had gutted him so thoroughly, drained him to the point that even rage felt too heavy to carry.
He sat back, trembling, his jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
“She must see it,” Narcissa said gently. “She must believe it.”
Theo shook his head faintly, blinking rapidly, trying to keep the floor beneath him from shifting again.
“Why?” he rasped, barely able to speak.
Narcissa turned slightly, the edge of her robes whispering along the floor as she looked toward the window.
“Because,” she said quietly, “we need her heart raw. Vulnerable. Unsteady. It is the only way the contract can be broken.”
He stared at her like she’d spoken Parseltongue.
And then she added, carefully, “I will be calling in a life debt.”
Chapter 20
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Theo blinked, unsure if he’d heard her right.
“From whom?” Draco asked slowly.
Narcissa’s voice didn’t waver.
“Harry Potter.”
The silence that followed her words was deafening.
Theo froze, eyes wide.
She looked over her shoulder at them both, her gaze heavier now.
“He owes me for lying to the Dark Lord. We also owe him for testifying.” She glances over to Draco with an eyebrow raised.
Theo swallowed. “You’re going to make Potter bring her to us?”
She nodded once. “He will deliver her to our flat in London. Quietly. Without question.”
Theo’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
"And when she arrives…" Narcissa turned to Draco now. “You’ll be the one to greet her.”
Draco frowned, then blinked. "Me?"
Narcissa nodded slowly.
“You will see the pain,” she said softly. “And you will use it.”
Draco’s expression darkened, his jaw working like he was grinding his teeth.
“You must feed on it,” she continued. “The vulnerability. The anger. The betrayal.”
Theo felt the room shift. A cold, nauseating dread crawled up his spine.
Narcissa hesitated.
“And you must make her believe you’re the better choice.”
Theo stood up so fast the chair skidded across the floor and hit the wall behind him.
“ No. ” His voice broke as he yelled it. “Absolutely not. You want me to watch while Draco—while he— ”
Narcissa didn’t look away.
“It is the only way to push the contract into an unstable state. She must willingly want someone else. It is the only loophole we have.”
Draco, pale now, buried his face in his hands, exhaling hard.
“Bloody hell,” he muttered. “This is going to destroy us.”
Theo turned on him, fists clenched. “You think I don’t know that?!”
Draco didn’t respond.
Because he did.
They all did.
Narcissa moved to the fireplace, her face drawn and sad, but resolute.
“I will not force either of you,” she said softly, “but you asked for my help. This is what it will cost.”
Theo stood frozen, breathing ragged, eyes stinging.
He wasn’t sure which part of him was going to break first.
The air was thick enough to choke on, heavy with the weight of everything they weren’t saying yet.
Theo stood rigid, barely keeping himself upright, every part of him fraying at the edges. He could feel Draco’s eyes on him, hesitant, calculating, before his best friend finally broke the silence.
“What exactly happens,” Draco asked slowly, voice strained, “when Granger’s contract is broken?”
Theo’s head snapped toward him, rage flashing so fast and hard it made Draco actually flinch back a step.
“What happens?” Theo barked, voice cracking with the force of it. "You really don’t get it, do you?"
He took a step forward, fists clenched so tightly his nails bit into his palms.
“She won’t just lose me, Draco," Theo snarled. "She'll lose everything. Every moment. Every look. Every goddamn heartbeat we've shared. Gone."
He was shaking now, chest heaving, unable to stop the words as they poured out.
"And it’s not just her, " he spat. “ I lose it too. All of it. I won’t even remember why there’s a hole in my chest. I’ll wake up one day and see her on the bloody street and feel... nothing."
The room seemed to reel around him. He turned sharply, needing to move, pacing the length of the sitting room with sharp, frantic strides, one hand dragging through his hair over and over.
Narcissa’s voice, when it came, was steady. Anchored. A calm against the storm brewing inside him.
“This,” she said carefully, “is exactly why we must proceed this way.”
Theo turned toward her, glaring, still breathing hard, but she didn’t falter.
“If she were to see the announcement and act purely on heartbreak,” Narcissa explained, “if she were to run, hide herself away, then the contract would shatter. It would be clean. Irreversible.”
Theo’s stomach twisted painfully.
“We would have no tether to her,” Narcissa continued. “No way to find her. No way to keep her close long enough to protect what remains.”
She moved slowly toward him, every word deliberate.
“But if she believes herself... wanted by another,” Narcissa said, glancing briefly at Draco, “then she will be distracted. Rooted. She will stay in our orbit.”
Theo paced faster, heart racing so hard it felt like his ribs might crack.
“Meanwhile,” Narcissa went on, “you and I will be free to work. To search for a way to break the betrothal properly, through the law, through Gringotts, through whatever means necessary.”
Theo dragged his hands down his face, chest aching, throat raw.
“And we will find the proper healers,” she added softly. “The ones who specialize in memory restoration. So that when this is over… when the contract falls and the Greengrass ties are severed…”
She stepped closer, voice dropping to something almost tender.
"You will have a chance to bring her memories back."
Theo stopped pacing.
Stopped breathing for a second.
The room spun in a different way now, less frantic, more crushing.
A sliver of hope. Sharp and terrifying.
But still there.
Notes:
Okay, how are we all feeling? I had a pretty big setback with my personal project so I figured I'd pop in here and edit my next batch. But it will be at least 2 weeks before the next set. I'll have time to write and outline more but not edit. So I hope I didn't leave this at a bad spot.........sorrrrrrry not sorry lol.
Chapter 21
Notes:
You'll be getting an additional bulk this week! I am kid free and posting the final chapters on my other WIP! Birthday in a couple day....definitely the good life over here. So I hope y'all enjoy!
Chapter Text
He stared at Narcissa, wide-eyed, his heart breaking and rebuilding itself all in the same breath.
A chance.
Not a guarantee.
But a chance.
Theo let out a long, shaky breath, turning his eyes toward the dark fireplace, jaw tightening until it ached.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t fair.
But it was something.
And for Hermione, for them , he would suffer through anything.
Even this.
The silence dragged.
The kind that filled up every corner of the room until it became a second skin, tight, suffocating, inescapable.
Theo stared at the cold, unlit fireplace, hands curled into fists at his sides, trying to anchor himself to the ground beneath him.
The plan was ruthless. Cruel. A dagger disguised as strategy.
But it was also a chance.
A thin, fragile thread to cling to when every other part of him was unraveling.
He swallowed hard, his throat raw, his mouth dry. His body shook with the effort of holding himself together.
Slowly, so slowly, it felt like dragging his heart across broken glass, Theo turned back toward Narcissa and Draco.
His eyes burned, but he didn’t bother wiping the tears away anymore. Let them fall. Let it show. What else did he have left to protect?
He opened his mouth once and closed it again, unable to force the words out at first.
Narcissa waited, patient and heartbreakingly kind in her stillness. Draco stood stiffly by the window, his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his face pale and drawn.
Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Theo managed to speak.
His voice was hoarse. Shaky. Barely more than a whisper.
“I’ll do it.”
The words hung between them, stark and brutal.
He blinked, a fresh wave of tears blurring his vision.
"I’ll do whatever it takes," he choked out, chest heaving. "Even if it kills me."
Narcissa’s face softened, but she didn’t move toward him, didn’t reach out, because she knew. Knew he would shatter if she offered him even one ounce of comfort right now.
Instead, she nodded solemnly, her posture regal, composed.
"Good," she said quietly. "We move quickly then."
Theo dropped back into the chair behind him, his body sagging like the strings had been cut.
His heart felt flayed open, every beat raw and aching.
He glanced over at Draco, his best friend, his brother in all but blood, and saw the guilt written all over his face.
Draco caught his eye briefly, and for a moment, neither of them spoke.
They didn’t have to.
They both knew this was going to break them.
But for Hermione, for the chance to hold onto even a shred of what they’d built, Theo would burn the whole bloody world down.
Even if it meant burning himself with it.
Narcissa didn’t waste a second.
The moment Theo gave his broken agreement, she gave him one long, measured look, equal parts pride and sorrow, before sweeping gracefully from the sitting room.
Off to Grimmauld Place. Off to call in a life debt that should have never needed to be spent on this.
Theo sat there, breathing hard, staring at the door she'd just disappeared through, feeling the weight of the next hours, days, weeks crash down on him like a tide he couldn’t outrun.
For a long moment, the only sound was the quiet ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
Finally, Draco shifted from where he stood, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.
Theo didn’t look at him.
He wasn’t sure he could yet.
"So," Draco said after a beat, his voice rough, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, "mind telling me how the hell this happened?"
Theo let out a humorless laugh, scrubbing a hand down his face, still not quite believing it himself.
Draco hesitated, then crossed the room and dropped into the chair across from him, elbows on his knees, watching Theo closely.
"I mean it," Draco said, quieter now. "I want to know. Tell me everything."
Theo finally dragged his gaze up to meet his best friend's. The one person who had been there through everything, the ugly, the painful, the pointless. The only one who might even try to understand.
He let out a slow, shaky breath and gave a lopsided, broken sort of smile.
"Would you think I’m crazy," Theo said, voice low and raw, "if I told you it started almost twenty-four hours ago?"
Chapter 22
Notes:
When I said additional bulk, I meant after this set. Probably Wednesday?
Chapter Text
Draco blinked at him, frowning slightly.
Theo laughed again, soft and wrecked, and leaned back in the chair, tipping his head against the cushion as he stared at the ceiling.
"Would you think I’ve gone completely mental," he murmured, "if I told you that witch is my soulmate?"
He let his head fall to the side, locking eyes with Draco again.
"My only one," Theo said fiercely. "The love of my fucking life."
Draco didn’t interrupt. Didn’t laugh or roll his eyes.
He just sat there, watching, listening.
"And would you believe me," Theo said, voice almost a whisper now, "if I told you about it… in a different light?"
The question hung between them, heavy and aching.
Theo’s heart thudded painfully as he waited, waited to see if Draco could still stand beside him when the whole truth of what he felt finally spilled out.
For a moment, Theo thought maybe he couldn’t do it, couldn’t put words to the way his entire world had shifted beneath him in the space of a single night.
But Draco just sat there, patient, quiet, giving him the space to figure it out.
Theo sucked in a slow breath and pushed the words out before he lost his nerve.
“It started at the party,” he said hoarsely. “The one in the Room of Requirement. After our NEWTs.”
Draco gave a small nod, signaling he remembered.
Theo leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor.
“I was being an idiot," he admitted. "Playing drinking games. Flirting. Doing what everyone expected me to do. I even picked a girl, a Hufflepuff, to take back to the Heads' common room with me."
He gave a bitter little laugh, shaking his head.
"She passed out before anything could happen. Threw up everywhere. Completely out of it."
Draco winced slightly but stayed quiet.
Theo scrubbed a hand over his face, heart pounding faster as the memory tightened in his chest.
"I figured if I was going to be alone," he muttered, "I might as well enjoy myself, right?"
Draco raised an eyebrow but wisely said nothing.
Theo’s mouth twisted into a broken smile.
"I started thinking about who to picture. Who would make it worth it."
He paused, his throat tightening painfully.
"And it wasn’t some random girl," he said softly. "It was her. Granger."
He laughed again, more broken this time.
"The forbidden fantasy," he said, voice low. "The one I didn’t even tell you or Blaise about. Too dangerous. Too real. "
Draco’s expression shifted slightly, something like realization dawning in his eyes.
"And right as I’m about to… you know," Theo waved vaguely, heat flooding his cheeks even now, "she walks in. Sees me. Sees everything."
He squeezed his eyes shut for a second, remembering the way her face had frozen in shock and then shifted.
Not in horror.
Not in disgust.
But in challenge.
"She didn’t run," Theo said, voice trembling. "She teased me. Flirted. Turned the whole thing into this… game."
He smiled faintly, the memory almost too tender to touch.
"She offered me a deal," he said. "Said if I could get rid of the other witch and come back in time, she'd keep playing."
Draco’s mouth opened slightly, shocked, but still he said nothing.
Theo shook his head, smiling through the pain.
"I ran through the castle like a lunatic," he said, voice rough with affection. "And Salazar himself must’ve been watching, because I ran into a group of Hufflepuff fifth-years. Threw the witch at them and begged them to get her home."
He let out a shuddering breath.
"I made it back with seconds to spare," he whispered. "And there she was. Smiling. Waiting for me."
He stared at the floor again, the weight of it all crashing into him.
"One thing led to another. She stripped for me. Taunted me. And then…" His throat closed for a second. "Then she let me have her. All of her."
He lifted his head slowly, meeting Draco’s wide, stunned eyes.
"And it wasn’t just sex, mate," Theo said, voice fierce. "It was... everything. It felt like breathing for the first time. Like finding something I didn’t even know I was looking for."
He swallowed hard.
"I knew it," he whispered. "Right then. Right there. She’s it. She’s everything. "
The room was silent except for the harsh sound of Theo's breathing.
Draco sat back slowly, dragging a hand through his hair, his face unreadable.
"And after," Theo added, quieter now, "I told her I wanted more. I was scared, but I was sure. So was she. That’s when we made the contract. Signed it. Sealed it. Sent it off."
He let out a harsh laugh.
"Less than a day," he said bitterly. "And she trusted me enough to tie her magic to me and my actions."
Theo buried his face in his hands for a moment, his shoulders shaking.
"And now," he finished, voice barely more than a broken rasp, "I’m going to lose her."
Chapter Text
For a long time, Draco said nothing.
Theo could hear him breathing, uneven and tight, the way someone breathes when they’re trying very hard not to lose it.
Theo didn’t lift his head. He couldn't. It took everything he had just to stay sitting upright, to keep breathing, to not shatter into a thousand irreparable pieces on the floor.
Finally, after what felt like forever, Draco spoke, his voice rougher than Theo had ever heard it.
"How the fuck," Draco muttered, dragging his hands down his face, "are we supposed to go through with this?"
Theo closed his eyes, pressing his palms harder into his sockets until stars burst behind his lids.
Draco kept talking, the words spilling out now, sharp, low, almost desperate.
"How am I supposed to look at her, at Hermione, and pretend like..." His voice cracked. "Pretend like I’m better for her than you?"
Theo flinched.
Because Draco wasn’t wrong. And it wasn’t just about the plan anymore. It was about the line they were about to cross, the line between friendship and betrayal.
"I heard you just now, Theo," Draco said, softer, like he hated himself for even having to ask. "I heard what she means to you."
Theo’s throat felt like it was closing up again.
Draco’s chair scraped against the stone as he pushed himself to his feet, pacing across the room like he couldn’t stand being still anymore.
"I’m not blind," Draco snapped, spinning back to face him. "I see the way you talk about her. The way your whole bloody face changes when you say her name."
Theo said nothing. There was nothing to say.
"And now you want me," Draco hissed, stabbing a finger toward him, "to tear her apart? To make her feel like she has no choice but to break the only thing that's ever made you fucking happy?"
Theo lifted his head slowly, meeting Draco’s glare with hollow, broken eyes.
"You think I want this?" Theo rasped.
Draco’s mouth snapped shut.
"You think I want to stand back," Theo continued, voice trembling, "and watch her look at someone else the way she looked at me?"
He shook his head, the movement sharp and bitter.
"I'd rather die," he whispered.
Draco's face twisted, anger, guilt, and helplessness battling across his features.
"This isn't just hurting her," Draco said hoarsely. "It's going to fucking destroy you."
Theo gave a humorless, broken laugh.
"I know," he said simply.
They stared at each other across the room, two boys who had survived a war but might not survive this.
And then, finally, Draco slumped down into the nearest chair, burying his face in his hands again.
"I’ll do it," he muttered into his palms. "I'll fucking do it. For you. For her."
Theo looked away, jaw tight, heart shattering all over again.
Because they both knew the truth:
No matter who made it out of this alive, none of them were coming out unbroken.
They sat there, the heavy silence pressing down so hard Theo thought he might suffocate under it.
Draco's hands slid down his face slowly, and when he looked up again, his eyes were bloodshot but resolute.
"I'm going to try," Draco said, his voice rough but serious, "to get it done quickly."
Theo stiffened, his heart squeezing painfully in his chest.
Draco leaned forward, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the floor like he couldn’t bear to look at him just yet.
"I know the longer I drag it out," Draco continued quietly, "the longer you’re going to suffer."
His voice cracked slightly, but he forced the words out anyway.
"And that's the last thing I want, Theo."
Theo closed his eyes, feeling his chest shudder.
Because he knew Draco meant it.
Every word.
Draco let out a long, shaky breath, hands curling into fists against his knees.
"I’ll... I’ll make it fast," he said, lower now, almost a whisper. "Get the contract broken. Get the Obliviation triggered."
He looked over at Theo finally, pain clear in every line of his face.
"And then maybe," Draco said hollowly, "you’ll stop hurting so much."
Theo pressed his palms into his eyes again, blinking furiously against the burning that never seemed to stop.
He didn’t respond.
He couldn’t.
Because no matter how good Draco's intentions were, they both knew one thing with absolute certainty:
There would be no stopping the hurt.
Not until Hermione was back in his arms.
And maybe not even then.
Chapter Text
The air inside Grimmauld Place was thick with the familiar scents of old wood, lemon polish, and something distinctly warm, something that, over the last few months, in which it had taken Harry to renovate, started to feel like home again.
Hermione curled up on the battered sofa, a cup of tea perched carefully on the armrest beside her as Harry and Cho sat together near the fireplace, half-listening to the wireless and discussing plans for the next few weeks.
It felt safe here. Comfortable.
Temporary, yes, but stable enough while she figured out her next steps.
Harry had offered, insisted really, that she stay with him and Cho for a while until she found her own place in London. She hadn’t fought him on it. Not after everything. Not when the thought of being truly alone made her chest ache a little too sharply.
She was just about to ask Harry if he thought flats near Diagon Alley were too expensive when the wards chimed softly through the house.
Hermione sat up straighter, frowning.
Visitor.
Family.
Harry’s head snapped up instantly, brow furrowing. He shared a confused glance with Cho before getting to his feet.
“That’s odd,” Harry said slowly, already walking toward the door. “That’s the family ward."
Hermione tilted her head, standing too.
"I thought Andromeda and Teddy were in the States?" she asked, confused.
"They are," Harry said grimly. "I talked to Andromeda two nights ago, they're not even back until next week."
The knock came then, polite but firm, echoing through the house.
Harry moved toward the entryway but Hermione held up a hand.
"I’ll get it," she offered, setting her tea aside.
He hesitated for half a second, then nodded, glancing worriedly at the front door as if it might explode.
As Hermione crossed the hallway, she heard Harry mutter under his breath behind her:
"Maybe it’s Malfoy."
The idea startled a quiet laugh out of her. Malfoy , standing politely on Harry Potter’s doorstep, asking for tea?
Not bloody likely.
Still smiling to herself, Hermione pulled open the heavy front door.
And froze.
Standing there, composed and elegant, was Narcissa Malfoy.
The Malfoy matriarch.
Draped in robes of soft blue-gray, her blonde hair twisted back into a graceful knot, her eyes sharp but not unkind.
Hermione blinked once, heart tripping in her chest.
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then, gathering herself quickly, Hermione offered a small, polite smile and dipped her head respectfully.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. Malfoy."
To her surprise, Narcissa smiled, a real, warm smile that softened her entire face.
"Good afternoon, Miss Granger," she returned, her voice smooth, cultured, but not nearly as distant as Hermione remembered from the war.
Then Narcissa’s expression gentled further, almost fond.
"And please," she added, reaching out lightly as if in offering, "call me Narcissa. Or even Cissy, if you’re feeling particularly brave, Andromeda insists on it."
Hermione blinked, startled by the casual familiarity, but found herself smiling wider despite the lingering nerves fluttering in her chest.
Before she could answer, Narcissa straightened slightly, her tone shifting just a touch more formal.
"Is Mr. Potter home?" she asked. "I would very much like to speak with him privately, if I may."
Hermione nodded, stepping back to allow her inside, feeling a strange knot of unease begin to form in her stomach.
Something about this visit didn’t feel like a simple social call.
Not at all.
Hermione stepped aside, allowing Narcissa into the narrow front hallway. The older witch moved with a grace that made the dusty old house seem suddenly too small, too worn.
She led Narcissa toward the sitting room, smoothing her hands down her jumper without thinking, nerves prickling along her skin.
Harry was already standing near the fireplace when they entered, Cho lingering just behind him, her eyes curious.
When he spotted who had arrived, Harry’s mouth tightened slightly, but he managed to nod politely.
"Mrs. Malfoy," he greeted, guarded but civil.
Narcissa inclined her head graciously. "Mr. Potter."
For a moment, they simply stood there, the tension thick enough to taste.
Then Narcissa spoke again, her voice calm but firm.
"I would very much like to speak with you privately, if you have a moment."
Hermione watched Harry’s brow furrow deeply, but after a brief glance at Cho, he gave a small, stiff nod and gestured toward one of the smaller drawing rooms off the main corridor.
As they disappeared behind the heavy oak door, Hermione sank slowly onto the edge of the couch, her mind whirling.
Narcissa Malfoy... here. Asking for Harry’s help.
It wasn’t hard to put pieces together, especially not with everything that had happened in the last twenty-four hours, the stolen glances, the whispered promises, the contract sealed with their magic.
Hermione’s stomach twisted, nerves battling excitement in a dizzying rush.
Theo.
The thought struck her like a physical touch.
Had he already spoken to Narcissa? Was he taking steps already, serious steps, to court her properly? Was this how Pureblood traditions worked? Would there be a formal meeting between families, even if she wasn’t a Pureblood herself?
The thought made her cheeks flush, her heart skittering faster.
It was absurd. Romantic. Terrifying.
And yet… she couldn't stop herself from hoping.
Hermione leaned back against the couch, letting her eyes slip closed for a moment, letting herself drift back—
—to Theo’s hands on her hips, grounding her even as he worshipped her with his body.
—to the soft, broken sounds he made against her skin.
—to the way he had looked at her after, eyes wide and terrified and
hopeful,
like he had just found something too precious to lose.
She smiled faintly, heart aching in the best possible way.
They had made a promise to each other. One sealed in magic and in trust.
She would wait for his owl.
She would wait for him.
Before she could fall deeper into the memory, the sound of the drawing room door opening jolted her upright.
Narcissa stepped out first, composed as ever, smoothing the sleeve of her robes with a practiced elegance. Harry followed a few steps behind, his face unreadable.
Narcissa caught Hermione’s eye immediately and offered a small, private smile.
"Thank you for the warm welcome, Miss Granger," she said smoothly. "I’ll be in touch."
Hermione stood quickly, uncertain whether she should bow, curtsey, or simply nod. She settled for a polite smile.
Before she turned to go, Narcissa hesitated, just slightly, and added:
"Expect my owl soon. I would very much like to invite you over for tea."
Hermione’s heart gave an odd, delighted little lurch.
"I’ll look forward to it," she managed, voice a little higher than normal.
Narcissa’s smile widened, warm and almost secretive, before she swept away, her heels clicking softly against the floor as she disappeared into the hallway.
Hermione stood there a moment longer, feeling strangely breathless, her mind racing with possibilities.
Maybe... just maybe... this wasn’t the end.
Maybe it was just the beginning.
Chapter Text
Theo hadn't moved from the sitting room since Narcissa left.
He sat hunched forward, elbows braced on his knees, head bowed, staring at the rug as if he could burn a hole straight through it by sheer will.
Draco hadn't said much either, only pacing occasionally, shooting Theo uneasy glances like he wanted to fix something but knew he couldn’t.
The grandfather clock in the hallway ticked out the minutes, slow, steady, indifferent to the way Theo’s chest felt like it was caving in.
Finally, the soft click of the front door sounded, followed by the familiar quiet grace of Narcissa’s footsteps returning.
Theo snapped his head up immediately, his heart lurching into his throat as she entered the room, her expression as composed as ever but her eyes sharper, heavier.
She didn’t waste time.
"Harry agreed," she announced calmly, glancing between them.
Theo’s breath hitched.
"He didn’t even hesitate," she added, a faint smile touching her mouth, though it didn’t reach her eyes. "He owes me too deeply to question it. He’ll deliver her to London."
Theo nodded stiffly, unable to find words. Beside him, Draco let out a long, slow breath, his hands flexing at his sides.
"How long?" Draco asked hoarsely.
"Tomorrow morning," Narcissa answered smoothly. "As soon as she reads the Prophet."
Theo squeezed his hands into fists, grounding himself before he could spiral again.
It was happening. It was real.
But even through the crushing weight in his chest, something sharp and certain rose up.
There were things he needed to say. To ask. While he still could.
Before this tore them all to pieces.
"Narcissa," Theo said quietly, forcing himself upright, meeting her gaze squarely, "I have a few… requests."
Her eyebrows lifted slightly, but she nodded once, silently encouraging him to continue.
Theo swallowed hard, feeling Draco shift beside him.
"I need you to make sure she’s not left alone after she reads it," Theo said first, voice rough. "Even if Harry brings her, even if Draco's there… I don't want her sitting in some dark room thinking no one cares."
Narcissa inclined her head once, gravely. "That will be arranged."
Theo’s hands curled tighter against his knees.
"And—" He forced the next words out, his voice cracking slightly. "—when you speak to her... if she asks about me... please don’t lie."
He shook his head roughly.
"Tell her..." He faltered, breath hitching. "Tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I never wanted this."
Narcissa’s face softened slightly, her poise slipping just enough to reveal the sadness underneath.
Theo inhaled sharply through his nose, gathering himself again.
"And one more thing," he said, lifting his chin, forcing himself to stand even though his knees wobbled under him.
Narcissa and Draco both looked at him now, waiting.
"If—" He swallowed hard. "If this all goes wrong. If I can't fix it. If I lose her permanently—"
The room felt like it tilted around him.
"—don’t let her hurt alone," he finished in a whisper. "Promise me that."
Narcissa stepped closer, reaching out and briefly resting her hand over his heart.
"You have my word," she said solemnly. "On my life, Theodore."
Theo nodded once, a broken, wrecked movement.
Then he dropped heavily back into the chair, burying his face in his hands, trying to hold the shattered pieces of himself together for just a little longer.
Because tomorrow, the war for Hermione's heart would truly begin.
And he already knew:
It would be the hardest battle he'd ever fought.
Theo stayed hunched forward, breathing hard against the ache threatening to tear him apart.
Narcissa stood patiently, giving him space, but he could feel her gaze on him, steady and expectant, like she knew he wasn’t quite finished.
And he wasn’t.
There was one more thing. One more thread he could pull to make sure she was safe, even if she hated him later, even if she never remembered why she once smiled at him the way she did.
Theo lifted his head slowly, blinking back the burning in his eyes.
"There’s something else," he said, voice rough.
Narcissa tilted her head slightly, silent permission to go on.
He rubbed a hand over his jaw, grounding himself.
"I know she’s looking for a flat," Theo said. "Before she starts at the Ministry."
Narcissa nodded once.
Theo swallowed hard, glancing toward the window like maybe if he didn’t look at them, it wouldn’t hurt so much to say it.
"I want her to have mine," he said simply.
Draco jerked slightly in his seat, clearly startled, but didn’t interrupt.
"I need you," Theo said, turning his eyes back to Narcissa, "to send a letter to my solicitor tonight. Tell him to sign over my London flat to her."
Narcissa blinked once, but didn’t question it.
"Make it anonymous," Theo pressed, voice growing firmer. "Fully paid for. No rent. No strings. Just a deed in her name."
He sucked in a sharp breath.
"And I need to sign the paperwork before Draco leaves tomorrow to meet her. Just in case."
Narcissa’s lips tightened slightly, but she nodded, already calculating.
Theo exhaled slowly, feeling the weight settle a little easier on his chest now that the words were out.
"And when the curse-breakers sweep the flat," he added, "make sure they lock it down properly. Wards, protections, everything."
Narcissa smiled faintly, an approving, almost maternal sort of smile, but said nothing yet.
"And make sure," Theo added bitterly, "that I don’t see the paperwork again after I sign it."
Draco frowned, confused.
Theo gave a broken, humorless laugh.
"I don’t want to know where it went," he said. "If the contract triggers sooner than expected... if I forget her..."
His voice cracked, and he forced it steady.
"I don’t want to be asking questions about why I gave a London property to Hermione Granger. Make it look like I sold it."
Draco sat back heavily, dragging a hand through his hair, clearly overwhelmed by the scope of it all.
Narcissa moved forward, reaching out, and placed a hand on Theo’s shoulder.
"You are a better man," she said softly, "than your father ever could have imagined or deserved."
Theo looked down at the floor, the pain gnawing at him from the inside out.
He didn’t feel like a better man.
He felt like a ghost waiting for the final blow.
But still, if it meant she was safe, if it meant she had a home even if he wasn’t part of her life anymore, it was worth it.
It was all worth it.
The hours blurred into a cold, mechanical kind of haze after that.
Narcissa moved with ruthless efficiency, summoning parchment, dictating letters, and dispatching messages to trusted curse-breakers and the family solicitor. Her commands were soft but absolute, the kind that brooked no argument and demanded no delay.
Theo sat numbly at the sitting room table, watching her work as if from a distance.
At some point, an elf appeared with the preliminary transfer documents, neat scrolls of thick parchment, heavy with magic and formal Ministry seals already affixed. It should have taken weeks. Narcissa had made it happen in under an hour.
Theo barely registered it when she slid the paperwork in front of him.
His name sat there in looping script, right above Hermione’s, her full name, official and proper. Hermione Jean Granger.
It hit him harder than he expected.
Not just the finality of it.
The generosity of it.
She won’t know.
She won’t remember why.
But she’ll be safe.
He reached for the quill with a hand that trembled more than he would have liked.
For a second, he just stared at the line where his signature was meant to go.
And then he signed.
Fast. Sharp. Done.
He shoved the quill back across the table and looked away, squeezing his eyes shut for a moment as the elf Disapparated with the documents in a soft pop , already off to file them with the goblins and bury Theo’s name in meaningless "sale" records.
It was finished.
One more piece of himself carved off and handed away.
Narcissa didn’t say anything, just rested a hand lightly on his shoulder in silent acknowledgement before stepping back to consult again with Draco.
Theo could hear them speaking in low, urgent tones, strategizing, finalizing the steps for tomorrow morning.
He caught fragments.
"Leave early..."
"Wait at the cafe until it’s time..."
"Act natural... gain her trust..."
He heard Draco mutter something that sounded suspiciously like "This is going to kill him," but Narcissa only responded quietly, calmly.
"He’s strong," she said. "He has to be."
Theo slumped back in his chair, staring at the darkened windows, feeling hollowed out and shaking.
Tomorrow was coming.
Tomorrow, everything would change.
And all he could do now was hope that whatever pieces of himself he’d managed to protect would be enough to survive what came next.
Chapter 26
Notes:
I think this is the halfway mark!
For everyone reading along, this will be Part 1 of a 2 or 3 part series.
Part 1 is only from Theo and Hermione's POV
Part 2 will be from Draco and Narcissa.So where this is all drama and extreme but clipping emotions, Part 2 will be more detailed.
At least, that's my plan. lol.
Chapter Text
The scent of toasted bread and fresh coffee drifted into her room before the light did.
Hermione yawned as she pulled on her dressing gown, tying the belt loosely at her waist. The floor was cool under her feet as she padded quietly down the hall, still half-asleep, hair a bushy halo around her face.
In the kitchen, Cho was humming as she stirred something on the stove, and Harry sat at the table in his usual chair, already halfway through the morning’s Daily Prophet with a steaming mug in front of him.
“Morning,” Hermione murmured as she passed him, brushing a hand over her curls.
Harry looked up with a small, neutral smile. “Morning.”
He didn’t seem tense. Nothing about his posture or tone set off any alarm bells.
She reached for a mug and poured herself some tea, letting the warmth settle into her hands.
As she turned back toward the table, her eyes drifted to the Prophet sitting just to Harry’s right. Without thinking, she reached out, tugged it toward her, and flipped it around to glance at the front page.
The world tilted.
Everything stilled except the sharp thud of her heartbeat.
There, bold as ink and far too real to deny, the headline screamed at her in cruel, perfect lettering:
Heir of House Nott to Wed Astoria Greengrass: Betrothal Contract Revealed
Her breath caught. Her throat closed. Her fingers went numb around the edge of the paper.
The sound around her dimmed, like she was suddenly underwater.
No. No, this isn’t—
She didn’t say anything. Couldn’t.
The paper slid from her hands.
She turned abruptly, the chair legs scratching across the floor as she stepped back.
She had to leave. She had to think. She had to—
“Hermione!” Harry’s voice behind her was sharp, sudden.
She didn’t even turn.
She was halfway down the hall toward her room when he caught her wrist, just enough pressure to stop her without hurting her.
And then the world cracked apart.
Apparition gripped her mid-step.
The kitchen disappeared.
She landed hard on a smooth wooden floor with a dull thud, stumbling, her dressing gown tangling around her ankles.
“What the hell —” she gasped, whipping around. “Harry, what are you—”
“I don’t know what’s going on,” he said quickly, holding up both hands. “And I’m not going to ask. Not until you’re ready to tell me.”
Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her bare feet freezing against the floor, heart still stuttering from the shock.
“This—this is kidnapping, ” she hissed, eyes narrowing as she looked around at the unfamiliar flat. Elegant. Modern. Malfoy-ish.
Harry’s face was unreadable.
Whatever this was, whatever this place was…
It had something to do with Theo .
And despite the ache already blooming in her chest, she knew one thing with terrifying certainty:
She wasn’t ready to walk away just yet.
The flat was stunning, of course it was.
Hermione stood barefoot in the foyer, still in her pajama shorts and oversized jumper, her dressing gown hanging open as she turned slowly in place, eyes wide, chest heaving from the abrupt Apparition.
The floors were black marble. Clean lines. Tall windows. Gold trim. Minimalist, expensive, unmistakably Pureblooded.
She clutched the edge of her robe as Harry quietly stepped to the side, watching her with something uncomfortably close to guilt.
“Harry,” she managed, her voice barely more than a whisper, “where the hell are we?”
He hesitated, just for a second, and then sighed.
"The Malfoy family flat in London."
She blinked. Once. Twice.
Her mouth opened, but no words came.
Chapter Text
"I don’t know what’s going on,” he said quickly, “and I’m not going to ask. Not until you’re ready to talk."
She turned to him slowly, eyes burning. Her hands were shaking, whether from cold or fury she couldn’t tell.
“I was told not to ask questions,” Harry said again, more carefully now. “All I know is that Narcissa Malfoy came to Grimmauld Place yesterday. She invoked the life debt I owe her, for the lie she told Voldemort.”
Hermione’s breath caught in her throat.
“She said, as payment, I needed to bring you here today. Without explanation.”
Hermione stared at him, her pulse ringing in her ears. The Daily Prophet headline still flashed behind her eyes. She could feel the betrayal sitting like lead in her stomach.
“Why?” she whispered.
Harry shook his head. “She didn’t say. She just made it clear I had to do it. That it was the only way to keep you here. Safe.”
Hermione’s heart twisted.
It didn’t make sense.
None of this did.
But as she turned in place, taking in the clean elegance, the exacting taste… her eyes landed on a half-read book tucked beside the arm of the sofa.
Advanced Arithmantic Bond Theory .
One she’d recommended once in a group study session. A book no one had even heard of, except one person.
Her fingers tightened at her sides.
It wasn’t Theo’s flat.
But his fingerprints were here.
Everywhere.
A ghost layered beneath Malfoy perfection.
Her throat closed up.
She wanted to scream. To cry. To demand answers.
Instead, she turned toward the hallway, away from Harry, away from the windows, and away from the terrible hope clawing its way up her ribs.
Because deep down, she already knew.
Whatever came next… it wouldn’t be him.
She heard the soft click of the outer door before she saw him.
Her body stiffened instinctively, half from nerves, half from confusion, when the footsteps echoed across the polished floor. Firm. Familiar. Controlled.
Not Harry. Not Narcissa.
Someone else.
She turned slowly, already knowing.
Draco Malfoy stepped into view like he’d never left the battlefield.
Black robes. Sharp jaw. Expression unreadable.
His pale eyes landed on her, just for a second, and something flickered behind them.
Surprise? Pain?
She couldn’t tell.
He recovered quickly.
“Granger,” he said with a nod, as if this were just another hallway at Hogwarts.
Hermione swallowed hard, arms wrapping tighter around her midsection. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears.
“Malfoy,” she replied, her voice steadier than she expected.
Neither of them moved.
Neither of them looked at Harry, who stood silently in the corner, arms crossed, gaze bouncing between them like he was waiting for something to explode.
The tension stretched.
And then Draco shifted, his jaw clenching before he spoke again.
“I wasn’t expecting to see you like this,” he said, gesturing vaguely at her pajama-clad form.
Hermione blinked. “I wasn’t expecting anything today, Malfoy.”
His lips twitched like he wanted to smirk, but didn’t have the strength to fake it.
He looked around the room slowly, as if searching for a place to start, or perhaps for a trap door to escape through.
“I imagine,” he said quietly, “you have questions.”
Hermione arched a brow. “I imagine you already know I’m drowning in them.”
Another flicker in his expression, real this time.
He exhaled slowly, glancing once toward Harry.
“I can take it from here.”
Harry looked hesitant but nodded once and Disapparated without another word.
And then it was just the two of them.
Draco looked at her again, fully now, and Hermione felt like he was assessing her—her posture, her pain, her defenses.
And maybe... how much she already knew.
“I’m not going to pretend I can explain everything right away,” he said, voice quieter. “But I’m here because... it’s time you knew the truth.”
Hermione didn’t breathe.
Because whatever came out of his mouth next, whatever carefully crafted words or half-lies or buried secrets…
She had a feeling it would change everything.
Again.
Draco shifted on his feet, hands tightening into loose fists at his sides before relaxing again. Like he was warring with himself and losing.
Hermione stayed perfectly still, watching him with sharp, guarded eyes.
Waiting.
Finally, he cleared his throat and spoke again, choosing his words like he was stepping through a minefield.
“You’ve probably figured out you weren’t brought here just for tea and biscuits.”
Her mouth twisted into something that was not quite a smile.
He huffed softly under his breath, almost a laugh but not quite.
Draco’s eyes flickered to the space just behind her before dragging themselves back to meet her gaze directly.
"Look," he said, voice strained, "I could stand here and try to spin you some bullshit about timing and fate and new beginnings—"
Hermione’s eyebrows lifted sharply.
"—but you’re not an idiot," he said quickly, almost bitterly. "You’d see through it faster than I could spit it out."
Her chest tightened painfully. She wasn’t sure whether she wanted to scream at him to get it over with or beg him to stop whatever this was before it started.
Draco dragged a hand through his hair, messing up the perfectly neat strands, his frustration leaking through.
"I’m supposed to tell you," he said carefully, "that sometimes things don’t work out the way we plan. That maybe there’s someone better suited to you than... other people you thought you knew."
Hermione flinched, a sharp pain slicing through her ribs.
She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.
"And that maybe..." he continued, his voice tightening further, "you deserve someone who’s here. Someone who hasn’t lied to you. Someone who’s... steady."
The words hit her harder than she expected.
She could see it, the careful attempt. The gentler lies. The calculated move closer.
But she could also see the cracks in him.
The way he wouldn’t quite meet her eyes now.
The way guilt sat like a brand across his face.
Draco Malfoy wasn’t built for this kind of deception.
Not against her.
Not after everything.
He shifted closer, only a half-step, but it felt like a full invasion of the fragile space between them.
Hermione stiffened, instincts screaming at her that something, everything , was wrong.
She tilted her chin up slightly, forcing herself to meet his gaze full-on.
"Who sent you?" she asked, voice steady.
Draco froze.
Just for a second.
But it was enough.
His mouth opened. Closed.
Something cracked visibly across his face.
And in that single breath, Hermione knew.
It wasn’t just him.
It was bigger.
Worse.
And heartbreakingly familiar.
Because there was only one person in the world who could have made Draco Malfoy this miserable, this conflicted, this broken—
Theo.
Theo was behind this.
And the sickening part, the part that made her chest squeeze so hard she almost couldn’t breathe, was that she didn’t know if it made it better or infinitely worse.
For a moment, the world tilted under her feet again.
Hermione fought to stay upright, her arms folding tighter across her body as if she could physically hold herself together against the sudden, shattering realization.
Theo sent him.
Theo is part of this.
She felt dizzy. Betrayed. Confused.
But underneath the rising panic, something quieter stirred.
Something colder.
Think, Hermione.
Think before you speak.
She sucked in a slow, careful breath.
If Theo had sent Draco, if there was a plan, then nothing she did or said right now could be careless. She had to be smarter than her broken heart, stronger than the storm building in her chest.
Hermione swallowed back the burn in her throat and lifted her chin slightly.
When she spoke again, her voice was calm. Controlled.
Sharp enough to cut.
Chapter Text
"You’re not here because you want to be," she said quietly, pinning Draco with a look that left no room for lies.
He flinched. Almost imperceptibly. But it was enough.
"You’re here," she continued, stepping forward just a fraction, "because you were told to be."
Draco's mouth pressed into a hard line. His hands balled into fists at his sides again.
"And whatever reason you were given..." Hermione's voice dropped lower, tighter, "it has nothing to do with me, does it?"
Draco inhaled slowly, nostrils flaring, but didn’t answer.
He didn’t have to.
The silence between them said more than words ever could.
Hermione’s chest ached. Her mind raced, piecing things together at lightning speed.
Theo.
The betrothal.
The Daily Prophet.
And now, this.
A setup.
A manipulation.
But... why?
Hermione’s hands trembled at her sides, rage and heartbreak tangling together so tightly she could barely separate them.
Still, she forced herself to breathe. Forced herself to stay sharp.
"Who gave the order?" she asked, voice soft but deadly.
Draco’s jaw worked like he was chewing broken glass.
He looked at her then, really looked at her, and Hermione saw it: the regret. The misery. The helplessness.
Slowly, painfully, he shook his head.
"I can’t," he rasped.
Hermione’s throat burned.
Because she knew.
She already knew.
It wasn’t Narcissa.
It wasn’t Harry.
It wasn’t Astoria.
It was Theo.
Theo, who had held her like she was fragile.
Theo, who had kissed her like she was precious.
Theo, who had signed a contract promising she was his.
Tears blurred her vision, but she blinked them back savagely.
Not yet.
Not until she had all the pieces.
She stepped closer, her voice shaking now despite her best efforts.
"Please," she whispered. "Draco. I need to know."
Draco closed his eyes for a moment, like the weight of it might crush him.
When he opened them again, his voice was raw.
"It’s not what you think," he said hoarsely. "It’s not betrayal. It’s... protection."
Hermione stared at him, stunned.
"Protection," she echoed numbly.
Draco nodded once.
"And I swear to you, Granger," he said, something desperate leaking into his voice, "he’s suffering more than you could possibly imagine."
Hermione sucked in a sharp breath, her heart slamming against her ribs.
Then why?
Why do this at all?
Before she could ask, the door behind Draco opened softly.
Footsteps.
And everything shifted again.
The soft click of the door behind Draco snapped Hermione’s attention toward it.
Her breath caught, heart launching into her throat.
For one reckless, foolish second, she thought it would be him.
Striding through the door, ready to explain, ready to fight for her the way he had promised.
But it wasn’t him.
It was Narcissa.
Elegant, composed, every strand of blonde hair in perfect place, her robes flowing around her like mist.
Hermione stiffened, swallowing hard against the lump in her throat.
Narcissa’s eyes softened slightly when she caught sight of her, truly saw her, standing there barefoot and trembling, barely holding herself together.
Draco stepped aside immediately, bowing his head slightly in deference.
Narcissa nodded once to him, then turned her full attention to Hermione.
"Hermione," she said warmly, too warmly, and the familiarity of it made Hermione’s chest ache even more.
"Narcissa," Hermione answered carefully, keeping her arms folded across her body like armor.
The older witch moved slowly into the room, graceful and deliberate, like every step was choreographed.
She stopped a few paces away, giving Hermione a respectful distance.
"I know you're confused," Narcissa said gently. "And hurting."
Hermione’s hands curled tighter into fists under her jumper.
"You’re right," she said tightly. "I am."
Narcissa’s mouth pressed into a small, sad smile.
"And I know you have every right to demand answers," she continued. "And you will get them. In time."
Hermione shook her head, the fight building up in her chest.
"I don’t want answers in time, " she bit out. "I want them now. "
Narcissa’s gaze didn’t waver.
"But right now," she said carefully, "what you need most is time to feel."
Hermione blinked, confused and furious all at once.
"What I need—"
"—is space," Narcissa finished, voice like steel wrapped in silk. "To grieve. To process. To heal."
Hermione stared at her, feeling like she was being maneuvered into a corner she didn’t understand.
Draco shifted uncomfortably behind her, but said nothing.
Narcissa stepped closer, her voice softening again.
"You are here," she said, "because this is where you are safest. Where you are seen. Where you will not be left alone to drown in your own pain."
Hermione shook her head, tears burning at the corners of her eyes.
"I don’t understand," she whispered.
"You will," Narcissa promised, a sad glint in her eye. "Soon."
She reached into her robes and pulled out a slim parchment envelope, holding it out carefully.
Hermione stared at it, unmoving.
"This is from me," Narcissa said. "A formal invitation."
Hermione hesitated, then took it with shaking hands.
"An invitation for what?" she asked warily.
Narcissa smiled, and for the first time, it looked genuinely pained.
"For tea."
Hermione blinked.
" Tea? "
"Tomorrow afternoon," Narcissa said gently. "At Malfoy Manor. Just the two of us."
Hermione clutched the envelope tightly, her mind spinning.
"Please come," Narcissa said, her voice lower now, almost pleading. "There are... things you deserve to know. And things that must be set right."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak, but no words came.
There was too much.
Too many pieces missing.
And she didn’t know which way was up anymore.
Narcissa gave her one last, lingering look, something almost maternal in the sadness on her face, before she turned and swept back toward the door.
Chapter Text
Draco lingered for a moment, his hand brushing against the back of the chair near him like he didn’t know what else to do.
Then he followed her out silently, leaving Hermione standing alone in the center of the vast, cold flat.
Shaking.
Heartbreaking.
Holding a letter she didn’t know if she wanted to open.
The door clicked shut, and the silence that followed was deafening.
Hermione stood frozen, still clutching the envelope like it might anchor her to something real, something steady.
But there was no steady anymore.
Her chest tightened painfully, her breathing growing shallow and rapid.
It started with a small sound. A sharp inhale. A quiet, broken noise that slipped out before she could stop it.
And then the dam broke.
The envelope fell from her hands, fluttering silently to the floor as Hermione pressed both palms against her face, her body folding in on itself.
The first sob tore from her throat, raw, helpless, and before she could catch her balance, the second followed.
She stumbled backward blindly, hitting the edge of the couch and sinking down onto it with a graceless thud, curling into herself as the weight of everything she had held back all morning crushed her.
Betrayal.
Confusion.
Grief.
Hope.
Pain.
She didn’t hear the footsteps at first, too lost in the sound of her own brokenness.
But then there was a presence near her, hovering with careful hesitation.
"Hermione," Draco’s voice said quietly.
She shook her head violently, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dressing gown, trying to hold herself together, trying to breathe .
Another soft footstep.
And then, so slowly, so cautiously, it was there.
A hand, warm and solid, brushing lightly against her shoulder.
She flinched instinctively, but didn’t pull away.
She couldn’t.
Not now.
Not when she was drowning.
Draco shifted slightly, awkward, uncertain, before sinking down beside her on the couch.
For a heartbeat, he didn’t move. Just sat there, his hand hovering uselessly between them.
Then, like he couldn’t bear it anymore, he reached out and pulled her into his side.
It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth or graceful.
But it was human.
Hermione let out another shuddering breath and, to her own surprise, let herself lean into him.
Let herself be held.
Draco said nothing. Didn’t try to soothe her with empty words or promises he couldn’t keep.
He just sat there, solid and steady, as she shook against him, his arm banded tightly around her shoulders.
As if, just for a moment, he could take some of the weight from her.
Hermione pressed her forehead against the rough wool of his robes, her tears soaking into the fabric.
And slowly, so slowly , the frantic edge of her sobs began to dull, the worst of the storm bleeding out into the quiet, steady heartbeat she could hear under her ear.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Neither speaking.
Neither moving.
Two broken pieces of a puzzle neither of them knew how to fix.
The worst of the sobs had ebbed now, leaving her hollow and shaking against Draco’s side.
Hermione pressed the sleeve of her dressing gown against her face, blotting her cheeks as she tried to remember how to breathe like a normal person again.
She shifted slightly, just enough to sit upright, pulling out of Draco’s loose hold.
He let her go immediately, hands falling back to his sides, his posture stiff and awkward, as if afraid any move he made would undo whatever fragile ground they’d found.
Hermione sniffed hard, brushing her wild hair away from her damp face, her eyes red and stinging.
She didn’t look at him right away.
Couldn’t.
Because the question building in her chest was too raw, too dangerous.
But she couldn’t leave it unsaid.
She couldn't walk into tomorrow without knowing at least this one thing.
Finally, staring down at her hands knotted tightly in her lap, she whispered:
"Did he ever mean it?"
The words barely made it out. They cracked and frayed at the edges, as if her heart had splintered them on the way up.
Draco stiffened beside her.
She dared to glance sideways, catching the way his jaw clenched, the way his hands curled into fists against his knees.
Slowly, painfully, he turned to face her fully.
And when he met her eyes, there was no mask left. No coldness. No Malfoy arrogance.
Just a hollow, broken truth.
"More than anything," Draco said hoarsely.
Hermione's breath hitched.
She closed her eyes, letting the confirmation cut through her like a blade.
It didn’t make it better.
It didn’t make the ache lessen.
But it mattered.
Because even if everything else was falling apart, if betrayal and contracts and bloodlines pulled them under, at least she knew it had been real.
Theo had meant it.
Even if it wasn’t enough.
The air between them sat heavy and cracked, fragile as glass.
Hermione wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of her dressing gown one more time, then rose shakily from the couch. Her legs wobbled a little, but she forced herself forward with grim determination.
The crumpled Daily Prophet still lay abandoned on the floor where she had dropped it. She bent and picked it up, smoothing the front page with trembling hands.
Behind her, she heard Draco shift in his seat.
"Why are you doing that to yourself?" he asked, his voice unusually rough.
Hermione’s fingers tightened on the paper.
"Because I didn’t even get to read it the first time," she snapped, whipping around to glare at him, her voice cutting sharper than intended.
Draco held up his hands in surrender, backing off.
She turned back to the Prophet, heart hammering painfully against her ribs, and forced herself to lower her eyes to the garish headline:
Heir of House Nott to Wed Astoria Greengrass: A Betrothal Years in the Making
And just beneath it, the byline she should have expected:
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
Hermione inhaled slowly, bracing herself, and read:
Daily Prophet Morning Edition
Heir of House Nott to Wed Astoria Greengrass: A Betrothal Years in the Making
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
In a stunning turn of events that has rocked the upper circles of the Wizarding World, Theodore Nott, the enigmatic heir to the Ancient and Noble House of Nott, has been formally betrothed to Astoria Greengrass, youngest daughter of the esteemed Greengrass family.
The union, confirmed through exclusive sources and documents secured by this journalist, was apparently arranged long before the Dark Lord’s fall, a secret pact forged to preserve bloodlines and political power amidst uncertain times.
Despite Mr. Nott's reputation for a rakish lifestyle at Hogwarts, rumors of his dalliances, late-night escapades, and questionable alliances abound. Sources close to the Greengrass family insist the young wizard has "long understood his obligations" and is "ready to settle down into a respectable, pureblood future."
When reached for comment, Daphne Greengrass, Astoria’s elder sister, declared the arrangement "beneficial and entirely proper," while hinting at celebrations to come that "will remind all of Britain that tradition still holds firm."
Of course, many in the public may wonder how a man known for his rebellious streak and disdain for polite society can possibly fit into the tidy world of pureblood marriage. Some whisper that Mr. Nott has been acting "uncharacteristically serious" in recent months, attending private meetings and disappearing from public gatherings.
Could love be blossoming between the young heirs? Or is this simply another chapter in the long and tangled history of political unions among the oldest families?
Only time will tell if Theodore Nott's notorious spirit can be tamed or if Astoria Greengrass will find herself with more than she bargained for.
This has been Rita Skeeter, reporting where others dare not tread.
Chapter 30
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Hermione's hands crumpled the edges of the paper as she finished the last line.
Of course it was Rita Skeeter.
Of course it painted Theo as nothing more than a reckless, spoiled pureblood boy ready to fall in line.
There was no mention of the truth.
Of what they had.
Of the promises they made.
Of the way he had looked at her like she was his entire world.
She let the paper fall to the floor again, her heart hammering painfully.
This wasn’t just betrayal.
It was erasure.
She stood there, fists clenched, breathing hard, feeling the tremor of something sharp and terrible building under her skin.
Whatever answers waited for her tomorrow at Malfoy Manor—
She would demand them.
She would drag the truth out, if she had to tear it from every last one of them.
The argument that followed was spectacular.
Hermione shouted. She raged. She pointed at the door and demanded to be taken back to Grimmauld Place immediately.
Draco, to his credit, sat there and took every single word without flinching.
When she had finally exhausted herself, voice hoarse, hands shaking, chest heaving, he quietly informed her that leaving wasn’t an option. That the life debt bound Harry, and by extension her, to the terms Narcissa had demanded.
That she was, for now, to stay at the Malfoy family flat. Safe. Watched.
Hermione had cursed him in three languages before slamming the bedroom door in his face.
She had paced for what felt like hours, heart pounding, thoughts spinning. But eventually, exhaustion dragged her down.
She collapsed onto the bed fully clothed, curling into herself beneath the heavy duvet, the faint, crisp scent of the Malfoys’ linen wrapping around her like a reminder of all the walls closing in.
When morning came, it wasn’t the sun that woke her.
It was the quiet.
That strange, tense stillness of a house waiting for something to happen.
Hermione rubbed her eyes, blinking blearily at the room, her throat dry, her heart a heavy, sore thing in her chest.
It took her a moment to notice the difference.
At the foot of the bed, where there had been nothing when she collapsed, sat a neat row of carefully folded clothes.
Brand new. Elegant. Not flashy, but undeniably expensive.
Her stomach twisted painfully.
Of course.
She swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood slowly, wrapping her dressing gown tighter around herself as she surveyed the offerings.
Someone, Narcissa, obviously , had taken it upon herself to provide Hermione with appropriate attire.
Because of course she wasn’t allowed to leave.
Because of course she wasn’t allowed to go get her own clothes.
Because control was the name of the game here, and Hermione Granger, brilliant, stubborn, infuriating Hermione Granger, was just another piece on someone else's chessboard.
Her hands tightened into fists at her sides.
She refused to cry again.
She refused to let them see her broken.
Not today.
Not when she was this close to answers.
With a clenched jaw, Hermione moved to the bed and chose the simplest outfit she could find: a soft, dark green blouse, tailored black trousers, and a pair of understated black flats.
She dressed quickly, tying her hair back into a neat twist, her fingers steady despite the pounding of her heart.
By the time she glanced at the clock on the nightstand, half an hour until tea, she was ready.
Ready to face whatever Narcissa had planned.
Ready to tear the truth from the careful lies.
And maybe, just maybe, ready to find out whether the pieces of her heart could still be put back together.
The knock at the door was sharp and punctual.
Hermione stood by the window, arms folded tightly across her chest, heart pounding against her ribs like it wanted to claw its way out.
For a moment, she considered not answering.
Let them wait. Let them stew in their own manipulation.
But she couldn’t afford to lose ground before the battle even began.
Not when she was about to walk into a snake pit.
Because that’s exactly what it was.
A room full of Slytherins, every one of them raised to hide their true intentions behind silk smiles and polite conversation.
A room full of people who could read a weakness the way others read a headline.
And today, she would be the one on display.
Hermione drew a slow breath, rolling her shoulders back until she felt her spine straighten, her chin lift.
She would not cower.
She would not let them see the way she bled beneath her skin.
Not today.
She crossed the room and pulled the door open in one smooth movement.
Draco stood there, immaculate as always in tailored black, his expression carefully neutral.
But Hermione saw the slight tension around his mouth. The slight tightness in his stance.
He didn’t want to do this either.
Good.
Let him carry some of the weight too.
"Ready?" he asked quietly, his voice low and almost gentle.
Hermione arched a brow.
"As ready as I'll ever be to wade into a nest of vipers," she said coolly.
Draco actually cracked a small, reluctant smile at that.
"At least you know what you’re walking into," he muttered, stepping back to let her pass.
Hermione swept past him without another word, every inch of her radiating careful, deliberate control.
Because if she showed one crack, one second of hesitation, she knew they would pounce.
And Theo…
Her heart twisted painfully, but she shoved it down.
Theo would be there.
Somewhere at the center of all this.
And whatever answers he had buried behind the silence and betrayal…
She was going to dig them out if it killed her.
Notes:
If I can get all of my school work done on Sunday, then I can post more on Monday! Wish. Me. Luck!
Chapter 31
Notes:
Should have another update on Sunday or Monday. Probably Tuesday lol
Chapter Text
The Apparition was clean, swift and silent, and yet the moment Hermione’s feet hit the manicured gravel of the Malfoy Manor gates, she felt the weight of it.
The wards.
The history.
The eyes.
It wrapped around her like invisible vines, testing her strength, prying at her will.
She inhaled slowly, straightening her shoulders even further as she glanced up at the looming iron gates ahead, twisted into elegant serpentine designs.
Of course.
Even their security whispered Slytherin.
Draco adjusted his cuffs absently, stepping forward without a word. The wards rippled at his approach, recognizing the Malfoy heir, and the gates swung open without so much as a creak.
And there, standing at the threshold, was Narcissa Malfoy.
As poised and immaculate as ever, her pale hair twisted into a soft knot, her robes a deep emerald green that shimmered in the morning light. She looked every inch the queen of her domain.
Her hands were folded lightly in front of her. Her expression was serene, almost warm.
But Hermione knew better now.
There were knives hidden behind that smile.
And today, they were all pointed at her.
Narcissa inclined her head gracefully as they approached, her voice a smooth caress against the heavy morning air.
"Miss Granger," she greeted, as if this were any other social call between old family friends.
Hermione stopped just beyond the gates, meeting Narcissa’s gaze without flinching.
"Mrs. Malfoy," she returned, her voice calm, measured.
Narcissa's smile widened slightly, an almost imperceptible shift, but her eyes gleamed with something sharper, hungrier.
"Thank you for accepting my invitation," Narcissa said, stepping aside and gesturing toward the path leading up to the massive marble doors of the Manor.
Hermione said nothing, simply walking forward, her steps sure and even across the winding stone path.
Draco fell into step just behind her, a silent shadow.
The gates closed behind them with a low clang , final and absolute.
And Hermione knew, knew deep in her bones, that whatever lay ahead inside the cold, sprawling halls of Malfoy Manor...
It would change everything.
The interior of Malfoy Manor was exactly as she remembered it, grand, cold, and cavernous.
The floors gleamed like mirrors underfoot. The high ceilings loomed overhead, the distant glitter of chandeliers reflecting off gilded moldings. Every hallway, every door seemed to hum with the heavy magic of centuries.
But this time, Hermione wasn’t a prisoner.
At least… not in chains.
Narcissa led them with silent, graceful strides, her robes whispering against the marble as she guided Hermione down a series of long corridors.
At last, they stopped before a pair of tall double doors carved from deep mahogany.
Narcissa turned, offering Hermione a serene, unreadable smile.
"Tea is served in here," she said simply, pushing the doors open with a light touch of her wand.
Hermione stepped inside, her breath catching slightly.
The tea room was stunning.
Sunlight spilled through towering glass windows, illuminating a space filled with delicate furniture upholstered in soft greens and golds. A long table sat in the center, covered in a pristine lace cloth, laid out with silver service and dainty porcelain teacups.
A polished silver teapot steamed gently at the center, flanked by plates of scones, fruit, and finger sandwiches arranged with painstaking care.
It was so beautiful, so absurdly normal, that Hermione’s skin crawled.
This wasn’t tea.
This was a presentation.
A performance.
A test.
She knew it in her bones.
Narcissa swept forward and gestured elegantly toward one of the high-backed chairs.
"Please, sit," she said, her tone the perfect mixture of warm hostess and queen receiving an audience.
Hermione moved stiffly to the chair, perching on the edge like she expected the furniture to bite her.
Draco lingered just inside the doorway before giving Narcissa a shallow bow and excusing himself silently, retreating into the hall like a soldier dismissed from the battlefield.
Which, Hermione thought grimly, was exactly what this was.
Narcissa poured the tea herself, her movements graceful and deliberate.
One sugar cube. A dash of milk.
She slid the delicate cup toward Hermione across the polished table.
Hermione eyed it warily but lifted it to her lips with steady hands, refusing to show any sign of weakness.
The first sip was sweet, light, harmless.
She set the cup down with a soft clink.
They sat in silence for a few heartbeats, the clatter of the silver spoon Narcissa stirred into her own cup the only sound in the room.
Finally, Narcissa spoke.
"I imagine," she said smoothly, her gaze lingering over the rim of her teacup, "that you have many questions."
Hermione didn’t respond.
She simply folded her hands in her lap and waited.
Narcissa smiled slightly, approvingly, almost, and set her cup down.
"We will get to them," she said, voice calm and even. "But first…"
She reached into a hidden fold of her robes and produced a slim leather folder, placing it gently on the table between them.
Hermione stared at it, her heart hammering harder now.
"A story," Narcissa said softly. "The true one."
The tension coiled tighter around Hermione’s ribs, squeezing until she could barely breathe.
Because she could feel it.
The shift.
The moment the snake coiled around her legs not to kill her,
but to lead her somewhere far more dangerous.
Chapter Text
The leather folder sat between them, ominous in its silence.
Hermione forced herself to stay still, to keep breathing evenly, even though her hands twitched with the need to snatch it up and tear it open.
Across the table, Narcissa lifted her chin slightly, studying Hermione like she was weighing something fragile and breakable.
"Theodore never fought the contract," Narcissa said quietly.
Hermione flinched, her fingers tightening around the edge of her chair.
Not because she believed it.
Because she knew that if Theo had truly loved her the way she thought he had, he would have fought.
He would have burned down the world before letting something like this happen.
Narcissa must have seen the flicker of hurt across Hermione’s face, because she leaned forward slightly, her voice softer now.
"But not for the reason you think."
Hermione swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
Narcissa folded her hands neatly atop the folder, her long fingers calm and still.
"He didn't fight it," she said, "because he thought it was a lie."
Hermione frowned, confused, her heart thudding painfully.
"A lie?" she whispered.
Narcissa nodded once.
"Theodore grew up under a father who manipulated, threatened, and lied as easily as he breathed," she said, her voice edged with steel. "After the war, after Nott Senior’s death, Theo believed he had escaped all of it. That whatever promises or threats his father made in desperation were nothing more than dust."
Hermione’s chest tightened unbearably.
"The betrothal," Narcissa continued carefully, "was one of those things he dismissed."
She paused, letting that sink in.
"He believed it was another trap. Another way to control him from beyond the grave."
Hermione blinked hard against the sting in her eyes.
"But it wasn’t," Narcissa said simply.
Hermione’s hands shook where they rested in her lap.
"The contract was real," Narcissa said, voice barely above a whisper. "Signed. Sealed. Held in blood magic at Gringotts, protected by the old families' laws."
Hermione pressed a fist against her mouth, holding in the sound that wanted to tear out of her chest.
Theo hadn’t ignored it because he didn’t care.
He had ignored it because he thought it wasn’t real.
And now...
Now it was too late.
Narcissa slid the leather folder closer across the table.
Hermione stared at it, her heart pounding so loudly she could barely hear.
Inside were the proof. The papers. The binding contract that had destroyed them before they even had a chance to begin.
Narcissa’s voice broke through her spiraling thoughts, calm and low:
"He only realized the truth when the announcement was prepared for the Prophet. When the Greengrasses demanded enforcement."
Hermione jerked her head up, meeting Narcissa’s eyes fully now.
And for the first time, she saw it—
Real sadness.
Real regret.
"He didn’t even have a chance to fight," Narcissa said quietly. "Not legally. Not magically. It was already done."
Hermione's throat burned, her vision swimming.
She thought back to the way he had touched her. The way he had kissed her like she was made of starlight and salvation. The way he had whispered against her skin like he was memorizing the way she breathed.
And all along—
He hadn’t known.
Until it was too late.
Hermione sat there, breathing hard, the edges of her vision blurring as Narcissa’s words echoed around her like the tolling of some terrible bell.
It was too much.
The lies.
The silence.
The truth that came too late.
She didn’t even realize she was speaking until the words burst from her:
"I want to see him."
Her voice cracked halfway through, raw and desperate.
Narcissa’s expression didn’t change immediately. She sat still, her hands folding more tightly over the table, smoothing her thumb across one knuckle in a rare tell of tension.
Hermione leaned forward slightly, the tea forgotten, the lace cloth crumpling under her fists.
"Please," she whispered. "I need—" she choked on the word, swallowed hard, "I need to see Theo."
Narcissa exhaled slowly, the barest hint of pity flickering through her cool blue eyes.
"You can’t," she said softly.
Hermione recoiled as if struck.
"What do you mean I can't? " she demanded, voice trembling between fury and grief.
Narcissa sighed, sitting back slightly, as if the weight of what she had to explain was heavier than the delicate walls of the tea room could bear.
"There are... restrictions," she said carefully. "On the betrothed party."
Hermione blinked at her, not understanding.
Narcissa steepled her fingers under her chin.
"Theodore," she said, her tone clipped and precise, "cannot be alone in a confined space with anyone of his preferred gender, unless Astoria Greengrass is present."
Hermione stared at her, the words not making sense.
Not at first.
And then—
The realization slammed into her.
She felt it like a physical blow to the chest.
He can’t be alone with me.
Not without violating the terms of the contract.
Not without risking everything.
Not without the Greengrasses watching and waiting to pounce.
Hermione’s mouth opened, but nothing came out.
Narcissa’s expression softened slightly, but her voice remained brutally honest.
"He is under magical surveillance," she said quietly. "At all times. The betrothal contract ensures compliance through bloodline enchantments. If he violates any of its conditions before the binding ceremony... the consequences would be catastrophic."
Chapter Text
Hermione sat back hard in her chair, the breath knocked out of her.
She shook her head once, disbelieving, furious, broken.
"And he didn’t tell me?" she whispered.
Narcissa’s gaze didn’t waver.
"He couldn’t," she said simply. "Not without risking exposing you to the contract’s enforcement clauses. You were protected by your ignorance."
Hermione laughed, a small, bitter, wrecked sound that escaped before she could stop it.
Protected.
Right.
Because sitting here now, shattered and furious and more alone than she’d ever been, felt so much like protection she could barely breathe through it.
The words still rang in her ears like a curse:
He can’t even be in a room with me.
Hermione sat frozen, her chest hollow, her heart pounding hard enough to make her vision pulse at the edges.
Narcissa gave her a long, measured look, cool but not unkind, and then, very carefully, softened her voice.
"I know this is unbearable," she said gently. "But you must trust that Theodore is doing everything in his power to find a way out of this."
Hermione looked up sharply, her throat raw, her eyes burning.
Narcissa folded her hands neatly over the table again.
"He has made it perfectly clear," she continued, "to all parties involved that he has no desire whatsoever to touch, entertain, or even engage Astoria Greengrass."
Hermione’s breath caught painfully.
"He is putting every ounce of his energy into breaking the betrothal contract," Narcissa said, voice steady. "Every connection we have, every loophole in ancient law, every favor we can call in, we are pursuing all of it."
Hermione bit her lip hard, staring at the tablecloth, willing herself to believe it.
"But," Narcissa added with a pointed edge to her tone, "this can only succeed if you remain under our protection."
Hermione’s head snapped up again.
Narcissa’s gaze was sharp now, almost warning.
"If the Greengrass family suspects that Theodore is actively working to dissolve the contract..." she trailed off meaningfully. "They will dig. They will search for leverage. And if they uncover your connection, especially your magical contract with him…"
Hermione sucked in a harsh breath.
"They’ll use it," Narcissa finished simply.
The blood drained from Hermione’s face.
"They are desperate," Narcissa said coolly. "Their family vaults are depleted. Their alliances are thin. Securing the Nott vaults is not just a matter of pride, it is survival."
Hermione felt sick.
"They would not hesitate to ruin you," Narcissa said, her voice cutting through the fog, "if it meant ensuring their daughter's future."
Hermione gripped the arms of her chair until her knuckles turned white.
"You are safest," Narcissa continued, "if you stay with us. Quiet. Protected. Invisible to the vultures circling overhead."
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, to fight , but the door behind them creaked open softly.
Both women turned as Draco stepped back into the room, his expression strangely tight.
He looked at Narcissa first, then Hermione, and for once, there was no Slytherin mask, just quiet urgency.
"You should come back to London," he said carefully, his voice low and serious.
Hermione narrowed her eyes, her heart already racing.
"Why?"
Draco shifted slightly, a muscle ticking in his jaw.
"Because," he said simply, "Theo left something for you at the flat."
Hermione stared at him, uncomprehending for a heartbeat.
And then she was on her feet.
The chair scraped loudly against the floor as she pushed back from the table, barely remembering to snatch up her bag.
"Take me there," she demanded, her voice trembling with the effort to hold herself together.
Draco didn’t argue.
He simply nodded once and held out his arm.
Hermione didn’t hesitate.
She grabbed hold, and they Disapparated with a sharp crack, the tea room and its silent, glittering traps disappearing into smoke behind her.
The Apparition back to London was rougher this time, jarring, almost violent.
Hermione barely caught her balance when they landed inside the familiar polished front room of the Malfoy flat.
She didn’t wait for Draco to steady her.
Her eyes scanned the room immediately, and there, on the low table by the fireplace, sat a letter.
Not an official parchment. Not a formal scroll.
Just a simple folded piece of cream stationery, weighted down by a small black pawn chess piece.
Theo’s favorite.
Hermione’s throat tightened painfully.
She moved forward on shaking legs, her heart hammering so loudly it drowned out the world around her.
The envelope had her name written across it, not in Theo’s messy, slanted handwriting, but in a more careful, elegant script.
She frowned, picking it up with trembling hands.
As she turned it over, she noticed a small line written neatly on the back:
I’m sorry it’s not in my own hand. Another stupid clause. – T
Hermione blinked rapidly, the words blurring as the meaning sank in.
Another clause. Another bloody trap woven into the contract.
He hadn’t even been allowed to write her himself.
She looked up sharply at Draco, her heart pounding in her ears.
"You wrote this," she said, her voice low and dangerous.
Draco’s mouth pressed into a thin line.
"Yes," he admitted reluctantly.
Hermione stared at him, her chest heaving.
"Do you know what it says?" she demanded.
Draco hesitated.
His silence was answer enough.
Hermione stepped closer, every nerve in her body screaming.
"Then read it," she said coldly, thrusting the letter toward him.
Draco flinched slightly.
Chapter Text
"Granger…" he started.
"Read. It."
He rubbed the back of his neck, visibly struggling.
"You know I can't—"
"If you don't," Hermione said sharply, her voice cracking at the edges, "then I swear to Merlin, I will walk out that door right now, find the first bloke I see, and shag him senseless just to trigger whatever bloody magic will make us both forget each other."
Draco’s mouth dropped open.
His eyes went wide, full of horror.
"Holy sh—Hermione!" he gasped, almost sounding like a scandalized schoolboy.
But Hermione just stood there, glaring at him, trembling but unyielding.
Waiting.
Daring.
Draco cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair like he wanted to pull it out by the roots.
"Fine," he snapped, snatching the letter from her.
He unfolded it with a sharp flick of his wrist, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like "Merlin save us both" under his breath.
And then, after a pause to steady himself, he began to read.
His voice was rough, reluctant, but there was no mistaking the words Theo had left for her.
Hermione didn’t wait for Draco to start reading.
She couldn’t.
The pain already curled heavy and low in her chest, a wound waiting to split wide open.
She crossed the room slowly, the letter crinkling slightly in Draco’s tense grip behind her.
Without thinking, she lowered herself onto the plush rug in front of the empty fireplace, the cool fibers scratching lightly against her skin.
She laid flat on her back, her knees bent loosely, one arm flung across her eyes to block out the world.
It was a surrender.
A preparation.
A quiet acceptance that the words she was about to hear would tear her open all over again.
Draco stood above her for a long moment, almost frozen.
Then, with a reluctant exhale, he found his voice.
And he read:
Hermione,
If you're reading this, it means I'm already too much of a coward to say it to your face.
Or maybe it just means the world didn’t give me the chance to.
I'm sorry it’s not in my own hand.
Another lovely gift from my dear, departed father, one more leash, one more stupid clause in the contract I never believed was real.
I had to ask Draco to write this for me.
I hope you’ll forgive that small cruelty.
I know it sounds mad.
hell, it is mad,
but everything between us, everything I feel for you... it happened in less than 24 hours.
One night.
One risk.
One impossible, perfect chance.
That’s all it took for me to know, deep in my bones, that you are it for me.
Not a crush.
Not a fling.
Not some passing obsession.
You are my match.
My magic.
The other half I didn’t even realize I was missing until you were right there in front of me.
I know it’s insane.
I know it sounds like some lovesick fool’s fantasy.
But it’s real.
It’s the only real thing I have ever touched in a life that was otherwise laid out for me by blood and duty and fear.
You are the first thing I ever truly chose.
And if the world hadn’t wrapped its claws around me before I could even take a breath,
If the past hadn’t set traps before we even had a chance,
I would have spent my life proving it to you every single day.
You are more than sunlight and salvation to me, Hermione.
You are destiny.
And I would tear down the stars if it meant keeping you safe.
If it feels like I’m slipping away,
If it feels like I’m letting you go,
It’s not because I want to.
It’s because I would rather you live and hate me than love me and be destroyed because of me.
I am yours.
Even if the world tries to erase it.
Even if I have to forget.
I will find my way back to you.
Always.
– Theo
Chapter Text
The words echoed in the heavy silence of the flat, filling every corner of the room.
Hermione lay still on the rug, her arm still draped over her eyes, her breathing shallow and uneven.
She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t sob.
She didn’t wail.
She just let them fall silently, one by one, soaking into the sleeve of her jumper and the fibers of the rug beneath her.
She stayed like that for a long time, not speaking, not moving.
Across the room, Draco sat heavily in the nearest chair, his head bowed, his elbows braced on his knees, giving her the space she didn’t even know she needed.
He didn’t try to touch her.
He didn’t try to speak.
He just stayed.
A quiet, steady weight against the vastness of the grief clawing inside her chest.
The silence stretched, heavy and raw.
Hermione stayed there on the rug for a few more heartbeats, feeling the tears dry sticky against her skin, feeling the hollow space where her heart used to be.
And then, slowly, she pushed herself up into a seated position, dragging the sleeve of her jumper across her face.
She wiped away the last remnants of the tears and gave a small, disbelieving snort of laughter.
It started light, almost a hiccup.
And then she laughed again, softer, exhausted, half-mad.
Across the room, Draco straightened sharply in his chair, frowning like she'd just grown a second head.
"What," he asked cautiously, "is so funny?"
Hermione shook her head, still chuckling under her breath.
She looked over at him, her eyes rimmed red but sparkling faintly with something that wasn’t quite joy, something closer to bitter fondness.
"Theodore," she said, her voice rough but steady, "wanted to take an Unbreakable Vow."
Draco blinked.
"An Unbreakable Vow?" he echoed, disbelieving.
Hermione nodded, pressing the heel of her hand against her mouth to stifle another tiny laugh.
"To prove," she said, muffled, "that I could trust him."
Draco stared at her for a beat longer, then exhaled long and low, rubbing both hands over his face.
"He did mention that," he muttered, almost to himself.
Hermione smiled faintly, the ache in her chest flaring warmer now.
"And when I told him that was absolutely insane," she said, dropping her hands back into her lap, "we discussed a wizard’s oath instead."
Draco tilted his head slightly, one brow lifting, the corner of his mouth twitching upward in reluctant amusement.
Hermione huffed a soft laugh.
"But then," she added dryly, "he realized that if he broke it, and lost his magic, he’d still be completely unhinged, just trapped in the Muggle world with nothing but his massive vaults to entertain himself."
Draco actually let out a breath of a laugh at that, shaking his head like he couldn’t decide whether to be horrified or impressed.
"Merlin’s balls," he muttered. "He really is gone for you."
Hermione smiled, small and broken but real.
The laughter faded slowly, leaving behind something quieter, sadder, but steadier too.
She looked at Draco fully now, her hands smoothing the wrinkles from her trousers automatically.
"I have a few more questions," she said, her voice soft but firm.
Draco straightened immediately, all humor draining from his face, giving her his full attention.
"And after that," she added, managing a real, tired smile, "I’m going to find the biggest tub of ice cream in London."
Draco huffed a small, genuine laugh.
"I’ll help you pick it out," he offered.
Hermione dipped her chin in something that might have been thanks.
Because she knew, and he knew ,
there were still battles to fight.
Still wounds that needed dressing.
Still answers she needed before she could even think about moving forward.
But for the first time since this nightmare had started,
she didn’t feel like she was facing it completely alone.
Hermione leaned back on her palms, staring up at the ceiling for a long moment, gathering her thoughts.
There were a thousand questions clawing at the inside of her skull, a thousand tangled knots she needed to untangle if she was going to survive what was coming.
But one thing came first.
One thing always came first.
Information.
Preparation.
Knowledge.
She sat up straighter, wiping the last of the tear tracks from her cheeks with the heel of her hand.
Draco watched her silently, waiting.
"I need a favor," she said finally, her voice steadier now, heavier with purpose.
Draco nodded once, encouraging.
Hermione folded her legs under herself, resting her hands carefully in her lap.
"I want," she said carefully, "every book you have access to on pureblood customs. Contracts, courtings, betrothals... everything."
Draco’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
"All of them?" he asked.
Hermione nodded firmly.
"Everything," she repeated. "I want to know what’s considered traditional. What’s expected. What happens after an engagement is made public, what loopholes they might try to exploit, how bloodline contracts are enforced, all of it. "
Draco leaned back slightly, assessing her, and for a moment she thought he might argue.
But then he nodded once, slow and serious.
"I’ll have them sent to the flat by tonight," he said. "I’ll even have Mother send some of the family grimoires if you want the truly archaic ones."
Hermione offered him a tired but grateful smile.
"I want to be ready," she said simply. "If the Greengrasses think they can use tradition against him, against us …"
She broke off, catching herself, the pain flaring sharp again at the casual slip.
Draco’s expression softened slightly, but he didn’t comment.
He just nodded again.
"I’ll take care of it," he said.
Hermione exhaled slowly, feeling the tightness in her chest ease just a fraction.
It wasn’t much.
It wasn’t Theo.
But it was a start.
Hermione tucked her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them loosely.
She stared into the cold, dark fireplace, feeling the weight of the flat press down around her.
She could still feel Theo’s letter like a brand against her skin, burning with promises he had no way to keep yet.
But she had to know what was coming.
She needed to be ready.
She turned her head slightly toward Draco, who still sat tense and quiet in the nearby chair.
"What’s going to happen first?" she asked, her voice quiet but steady.
Chapter 36
Notes:
Hey all, it's been a couple weeks since an update, I think. I should have another 1 or 2 this week since I will have a break in between classes!
Chapter Text
Draco froze.
It wasn’t obvious.
Just a slight tightening of his shoulders. A pause in his breathing.
But Hermione saw it.
He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his hair like the answer hurt more than he wanted to admit.
"Do you remember," he said carefully, "what Theo told you... about the gift of intent?"
Hermione’s heart twisted.
She nodded slowly, the memory surfacing clear as day.
That afternoon at the platform, right before they left Hogwarts for the last time.
Theo had looked almost shy for once, standing in front of the great hall with that reckless grin barely hiding how nervous he’d been.
I want to do this right, Hermione. I want to court you properly. I want to pick a gift from my mother’s vault... something that shows you I’m serious. That this isn't just a fling.
Her chest ached painfully.
"Yeah," she whispered. "I remember."
Draco shifted in his chair, his hands clenching loosely around the arms.
"In pureblood tradition," he said slowly, like he was choosing every word with excruciating care, "the gift of intent is what officially starts the courting process. It’s a public declaration. A magical one. It binds the offer, and the reputation of the giver."
Hermione nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak yet.
"And because the betrothal contract between Theo and Astoria was hidden until now," Draco continued, his voice grim, "the first step... is that Theo has to present her with a gift."
Hermione inhaled sharply, the room spinning for a moment around her.
It wasn’t a choice.
It wasn’t romance.
It was obligation.
A performance, scripted centuries before either of them had been born.
She squeezed her hands tighter around her knees, grounding herself.
"Does he get to choose it?" she asked tightly.
Draco hesitated, then nodded once.
"Technically," he said. "But the gift has to meet the standards outlined in the contract. Valuable. Sentimental. An heirloom if possible. Something that signifies long-term alliance."
Hermione let out a soft, humorless laugh.
"Of course," she muttered bitterly. "More rules."
Draco didn’t argue.
He just watched her, his face carefully blank.
Hermione turned her gaze back to the fireplace, her mind racing faster than she could catch up.
Theo was out there right now.
Picking something.
Not for her.
Not for them.
But for a girl he didn’t want.
For a future he was desperately trying to destroy before it destroyed him.
And all she could do was sit here.
And wait.
Hermione stayed silent for a long moment, staring into the cold fireplace.
She could feel Draco watching her from the chair across the room, could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing down around them like a second atmosphere.
Finally, she found her voice again, rough but steady.
"How fast," she asked quietly, "do you think the Greengrasses will push the courting process?"
Draco shifted slightly, the leather of the chair creaking under him.
She could practically hear him choosing his words before he answered.
"They’ll want it done quickly," he said grimly. "Now that the announcement’s public, they’ll press every advantage. The longer it drags out, the more risk there is of exposure... of Theo finding a way out."
Hermione clenched her hands tighter around her knees, her nails digging into the fabric of her trousers.
"Is there—" she swallowed hard, "—is there another part of the contract I skimmed over? Something about timeframes?"
Draco’s mouth pulled tight.
He hesitated.
And then he nodded.
Hermione felt the ground tilt under her again.
"In most traditional contracts like this," Draco said carefully, "there’s a courtship period built in. Usually six months to a year."
Hermione’s heart twisted painfully.
"But," Draco added, his voice growing colder, harder, "in the older contracts, the ones sealed in blood magic, the timing can be adjusted."
Hermione lifted her head slowly, locking eyes with him.
"Adjusted how?"
Draco leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees.
"If the bride’s family petitions the Wizengamot with a claim of urgency, like financial instability, threats to reputation, or danger to the bloodline, they can push to shorten the courtship."
Hermione stared at him, her pulse thudding loudly in her ears.
"How short?" she whispered.
Draco’s eyes darkened.
"Thirty days."
The room spun.
Hermione blinked, forcing herself to stay upright, to keep breathing.
Thirty days.
Thirty days to a binding ceremony.
Thirty days until Theo was locked into a life he didn’t choose.
Thirty days until the world thought he belonged to someone else.
And she—
She would be nothing more than a shadow he forgot.
Hermione pressed her forehead briefly against her knees, willing herself to stay calm, to stay rational, even as the edges of her world crumbled a little more with every answer.
There was one more thing she had to know.
One more piece she needed before she could allow herself to fall apart again.
She lifted her head slowly, fixing Draco with a sharp, tired look.
"Last question," she rasped, her throat raw. "And then I need alcohol, ice cream, or both."
Draco gave a small huff of almost-laughter, but it was dry and bitter and didn’t reach his eyes.
Hermione sat up straighter, squaring her shoulders even though she felt like they could barely hold the weight anymore.
"What’s Theo’s plan," she asked steadily, "to keep the Greengrasses from fighting the timeline?"
Draco’s mouth twisted into something grim and humorless.
"He’s complying," Draco said, his voice clipped. "At least... on the surface."
Hermione’s heart stuttered.
Draco leaned back in his chair, running a hand through his hair like it physically hurt to explain.
"The moment the Prophet ran the story, Theo knew the Greengrasses would try to speed it up. So his strategy, if you can even call it that, is to cooperate just enough that they don’t have an excuse to file for accelerated courtship."
Hermione frowned, trying to follow through the blinding pain in her chest.
Draco continued, his face carved from stone.
"He’s playing the dutiful heir. Presenting the gift. Making the polite appearances. Giving them no opening to argue urgency."
Hermione swallowed hard.
"But he’s stalling," Draco said quietly, eyes sharp. "Every step he’s forced to take, he’s dragging his heels without looking like he’s resisting. Making it look normal. Acceptable."
He exhaled roughly.
"Because if he gives them even one reason to claim he’s dragging the courtship improperly, they can appeal to the Wizengamot, and the thirty-day clock will start ticking."
Hermione clenched her hands in her lap, trying to steady her breathing.
"He’s walking a tightrope," Draco finished grimly. "And it’s razor-thin."
Hermione nodded slowly, her mouth dry, her head spinning.
Tightrope.
Illusion.
Compliance wrapped in rebellion.
It was everything she should have expected from Theo.
And everything she hated that he had to do alone.
Chapter Text
She sat there for a moment longer, absorbing it all, the devastation simmering low and deep.
Then she pushed herself to her feet, shaky but determined.
"All right," she said, scrubbing her palms against her thighs. "Ice cream. Alcohol. And then..." she paused, her voice softening, sharpening, "we figure out how to burn their whole bloody plan to the ground."
Draco stood too, giving her a small, grim smile.
"I’ll grab the Firewhisky," he said.
"And the biggest tub of chocolate ice cream you can find," Hermione added, her voice steel wrapped in exhaustion.
Because she wasn’t giving up.
Not yet.
Not ever.
Hermione tightened the belt of her borrowed coat as they stepped into the brisk late afternoon air, the cobblestones of Diagon Alley cool and familiar beneath her boots.
The world still spun a little too fast inside her chest, but at least out here, it wasn’t suffocating.
Draco trailed a step behind her, keeping a careful distance, hands shoved deep into his pockets. Trying to blend in. Trying not to look like he was babysitting a woman hanging by the last thread of her sanity.
Hermione spotted Florean Fortescue’s almost instantly, the bright windows of the little ice cream parlour a cheerful beacon against the growing gray of the sky.
Without hesitation, she marched forward, pushing open the door with a determined jingle of the bell overhead.
She walked right up to the counter with a too-bright smile and leaned across slightly, her curls bouncing with the motion.
"I’d like," she said sweetly, "the biggest tub of ice cream you’ve ever sold."
The witch behind the counter blinked at her.
Hermione's grin sharpened just slightly.
"Really," she emphasized, eyes gleaming with challenge. "Set a record."
Behind her, Draco made a noise somewhere between a groan and a cough.
The girl stammered something about needing to check the storage room and vanished through the swinging door at the back.
Hermione turned on her heel to face Draco, crossing her arms.
He shook his head slowly, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.
"You’re bloody terrifying," he said, half in admiration.
"And yet," Hermione chirped, "I’m getting a legendary tub of chocolate fudge ripple."
A few minutes later, the girl returned, wobbling slightly, with a massive, magically chilled tub that was easily twice the size of a normal gallon container.
Hermione couldn’t help it.
She laughed, really laughed, when she saw it.
The sound was raw and real and so achingly hers that even Draco’s smirk softened into something almost fond.
She paid, still laughing, and hefted the tub carefully into her arms as they exited the shop.
Neither of them noticed the faint shimmer near the park entrance across the way.
Neither of them saw the glint of a hidden camera flash under a Disillusionment Charm.
A photo snapped.
Quick. Silent.
Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy.
Walking close together.
Laughing.
Looking, if one squinted hard enough, like two people enjoying each other's company a little
too much.
Nothing scandalous.
Nothing overt.
But just enough.
Enough to plant doubt.
Enough to suggest, if someone wanted to believe it, that something more than friendship might be blossoming between Hogwarts’ golden girl and Slytherin’s favorite son.
The photograph vanished into the shadows, unseen.
Waiting.
Ready.
By the time they made it back to the Malfoy London flat, the sun was dipping low, bleeding gold and pink through the tall windows.
Hermione kicked off her boots at the door, carrying the massive tub of chocolate fudge ripple like it was a trophy.
Draco was only a few steps behind her, a bottle of Firewhisky tucked under his arm and two mismatched mugs dangling from his fingers.
They didn’t speak much as they moved around the kitchen and living area, setting up a small space on the floor in front of the fireplace, dragging pillows off the couches, stacking the ice cream between them like a barrier neither of them intended to cross.
It felt oddly easy.
Quiet.
Safe.
For the first time in what felt like days, Hermione could actually breathe without feeling like her lungs were full of broken glass.
Draco uncorked the Firewhisky and poured two generous sloshes into the mugs.
No glasses.
No ceremony.
Just survival.
Hermione dug two spoons out of the drawer and stabbed one dramatically into the tub.
"Cheers," she said, raising her mug.
Draco snorted but clinked his against hers anyway.
They both drank deeply, grimacing almost in sync at the burn.
Hermione laughed softly and snagged a massive scoop of ice cream onto her spoon, moaning a little at the cold, rich sweetness.
Draco watched her with amusement, shaking his head.
"You’re going to make yourself sick," he said dryly.
"That’s the goal," Hermione replied around a mouthful.
They ate and drank for a while in silence, the fire crackling lazily in the hearth.
Then, somewhere between their second round of whisky and Hermione stealing an extra helping of fudge chunks, Draco spoke.
"Twenty questions," he said, raising an eyebrow.
Hermione glanced at him warily over the rim of her mug.
"No Theo," Draco said immediately. "No Greengrasses. No contracts. Just... stupid, normal things."
Hermione hesitated for half a second.
And then, slowly, she nodded.
"Fine," she said, sitting cross-legged on the floor, a fresh spoonful of ice cream poised in front of her mouth. "But I go first."
Draco gestured magnanimously.
Hermione smirked.
"Favorite dessert that isn’t treacle tart?" she asked.
Draco leaned back against the armchair, pretending to think seriously.
"Sticky toffee pudding," he said. "With extra caramel."
Hermione grinned.
"Respectable," she said, taking another bite.
"My turn," Draco said. He eyed her carefully. "Worst hex you ever used on someone."
Hermione didn’t even pause.
"Fourth year. Knocked Cormac McLaggen into a wall when he wouldn’t stop harassing a second-year Hufflepuff."
Draco laughed, really laughed, and Hermione smiled despite herself.
They kept going.
Questions about favorite spells. Favorite places they'd traveled. Stupid things they’d done as teenagers that no one ever found out about.
For a while, it felt almost normal.
Two people who had been enemies once.
Then reluctant allies.
Now something else altogether, something brittle and complicated but oddly
real.
Hermione leaned back against a pillow, the tub of ice cream half-eaten between them, the Firewhisky making her limbs pleasantly heavy.
For the first time in seventy-two hours, the ache in her chest dulled slightly.
For the first time, she wasn’t drowning.
She was floating.
For however long it lasted.
Chapter Text
The fire cracked softly in the background, the whisky buzzing pleasantly under Hermione’s skin, loosening the tight edges around her heart.
They had abandoned counting the questions somewhere after fifteen.
It didn’t really matter anymore.
The game had shifted, softened into something quieter, less competitive, more real.
Hermione twirled her spoon lazily in the melting tub of ice cream, then glanced sideways at Draco.
His head was tipped back against the armchair, his sleeves pushed up, his usually perfectly combed hair mussed from running his hands through it one too many times.
He looked… human.
Tired.
Young.
Almost normal.
She cleared her throat lightly.
"Are you seeing anyone?" she asked, trying to make it sound casual.
Draco’s head turned slightly toward her, one pale eyebrow arching in mild surprise.
He was quiet for a moment, studying her.
Then he shook his head, a ghost of a smirk tugging at his mouth.
"No," he said simply. "I had a few... acquaintances. Nothing serious. Nothing real."
Hermione arched an eyebrow in return.
Draco huffed a soft laugh, running a hand through his hair again.
"After the war," he said, voice quieter, "I didn’t exactly inspire... loyalty. Or affection."
Hermione bit her lip, but didn’t interrupt.
"And now?" she asked.
Draco gave a small, almost careless shrug.
"Now, I’m trying not to get anyone else caught in the wreckage," he said simply.
Hermione nodded slowly, feeling a surprising ache somewhere in her chest.
Because for all his bravado, Draco Malfoy knew exactly what it felt like to be surrounded by people, and still be entirely alone.
He took another slow sip of whisky, then looked at her over the rim of the mug, sharp but not unkind.
"My turn," he said.
Hermione braced herself instinctively.
"Are you going to see your family before you start at the Ministry?"
The question was so gentle, so unexpected, that it took her a moment to answer.
She stared into her half-melted ice cream, swirling it absently.
"I don’t know," she said honestly.
Draco tilted his head slightly.
"I remember overhearing," he said, almost apologetically, "that they were living in Australia."
Hermione smiled faintly, the memory bittersweet.
"They are," she said. "I relocated them during the war to keep them safe. Obliviated them. It took months after the war ended to find them again… and even longer to fix what I broke."
Draco was silent, but his attention didn’t waver.
"I visit when I can," she said quietly. "But it’s hard. They’re... different now. I'm different."
She shrugged, a tiny, helpless motion.
"And after everything that’s happening now…" she trailed off, sighing. "I don’t know if I can face them. Not like this."
Draco didn’t push.
Didn’t offer useless words of comfort.
He just nodded, slow and understanding.
Hermione drained the last of her Firewhisky and leaned her head back against the pile of pillows, staring up at the ceiling, feeling the weight of the last few days settle around her again.
But this time, it didn’t crush her.
Not completely.
Because somewhere in the mess, in the wreckage of everything she thought she knew—
There were still people willing to stand with her.
Even if it was only for one night.
The fire had burned down to low embers now, casting a soft amber glow across the flat.
The ice cream tub sat half-melted between them, forgotten.
Neither of them spoke for a long moment, both content to sit in the easy, tired silence that had settled over the room.
Hermione had just started thinking she might actually fall asleep right there on the rug when a sharp pop cracked through the room.
She jumped slightly, her hand flying to her heart.
Draco barely flinched, just sighed and turned toward the small figure now standing near the fireplace.
A house-elf, impeccably dressed in a tidy forest-green tunic and polished black shoes, bowed low.
"Poppy apologizes for the intrusion, Master Draco," the elf said in a high, clear voice. "But Miss Hermione's requested reading, on pureblood customs, has been delivered to her bedroom as ordered."
Hermione blinked, sitting up straighter.
"And," Poppy continued, bowing again, "the papers Master Draco requested for his evening work have been placed in the spare bedroom for his review."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose, looking every inch the exhausted heir burdened with a thousand responsibilities.
"Thank you, Poppy," he said wearily. "That'll be all."
The elf bowed again and popped out of existence.
Hermione gave Draco a sidelong look, arching an eyebrow.
"Evening contracts?" she teased lightly.
Draco groaned under his breath.
"Monthly reports for the estate, property maintenance records, and Merlin-knows-what else from the solicitors," he muttered. "If I don’t send the updated files back by noon tomorrow, Narcissa will have my head mounted over the bloody fireplace."
Hermione chuckled softly, pushing herself up to her feet.
"Sounds like a thrilling night."
Draco stood too, stretching his arms overhead until his back popped audibly.
"Envious, aren't you?" he smirked.
Hermione just snorted and gathered her empty mug and spoon.
"Come on, Lord Malfoy," she said dryly. "Let's call it a night before you bore me into a coma with your riveting estate management."
Draco laughed low in his chest, following her toward the hall.
"Don't tempt me," he said.
They parted at the corridor, Hermione disappearing into the guest room with a stack of old grimoires already waiting by her bed, and Draco heading toward the spare room to tackle his paperwork.
No promises.
No goodnights.
Just a quiet understanding that for tonight, they had done enough.
And tomorrow—
Tomorrow, the world would come knocking again.
Chapter Text
Theo paced faster, his boots practically carving a trench in the rug.
Every minute that ticked by stretched tighter around his throat, and by the time Draco finally stepped through the floo, Theo’s patience snapped.
"Finally," he growled, spinning to face him. "I sent the letter with Poppy two bloody hours ago. "
Draco dusted soot from his sleeve, utterly unbothered.
"You sent it," he said calmly, "but I had contracts to finish for Mother. You know how she gets."
Theo scowled, ready to argue, but Draco lifted a hand in warning.
"I couldn't leave until Hermione retired to her bedroom," Draco added, voice harder. "If I left earlier, she’d have noticed. And the last thing we need is her thinking something else is going wrong."
Theo cursed under his breath, dragging a hand through his hair.
It didn’t make the waiting any easier.
"She’s fine," Draco said, his tone softening slightly. "Sad. Shaken. But fine."
Theo’s chest constricted painfully.
"And... the letter?" he asked hoarsely.
Draco sighed.
"She made me read it to her."
Theo blinked, stunned.
"She, made you?"
Draco nodded grimly.
"She refused to read it herself," he said. "Told me if I didn’t, she was going to shag the first bloke she saw to break the contract."
Theo's stomach dropped clean through the floor.
"And you read it?"
"Every word," Draco confirmed, his voice serious now. "She heard you, Theo. She knows."
Theo swallowed hard, the burn rising in his throat worse than any Firewhisky could cause.
"And... she—?"
Draco gave a small, almost fond smile.
"She cried," he said. "Laughed a little too, when she told me about how you wanted to take an Unbreakable Vow like a madman."
Theo let out a strangled sound halfway between a laugh and a groan, dragging both hands over his face.
"And," Draco added with a raised brow, "she’s gone full swot again."
Theo frowned.
"Meaning?"
"Meaning," Draco said dryly, "she requested every book we could find on pureblood customs, contracts, bloodline oaths, you name it."
Theo’s heart twisted painfully.
Of course she had.
Of course she was preparing for war while he was trapped playing nice with the vipers circling them both.
He sank heavily into a nearby chair, elbows on his knees, head bowed.
Draco stayed quiet for a moment, letting the weight of it all settle.
Then Theo lifted his head slowly, the question burning its way out of him like acid.
"When do I have to give Astoria the gift of intent?"
Draco’s mouth pulled tight.
"The Greengrass solicitor sent a missive this afternoon," he said grimly. "They expect it... within seventy-two hours."
Theo’s stomach roiled.
Three days.
Three days to choose something that would bind him deeper to a future he was fighting like hell to destroy.
Three days to smile, to lie, to survive, while every part of him screamed for her.
Hermione.
The morning light cut across his room in sharp lines, but Theo barely noticed.
He trudged from the bed toward the fireplace, tugging lazily at the crumpled Daily Prophet dropped by the owl moments before.
His pajama bottoms hung low around his hips, his chest bare, muscles still heavy with exhaustion from the night before.
He cracked the paper open one-handed, more out of habit than interest—
And stopped dead.
Right there, sprawled across the front page in bold, flashing magical ink, was a photograph looping over and over again:
Hermione.
And Draco.
Laughing.
Walking out of Florean Fortescue’s side-by-side, both of them smiling so wide it hurt to look at.
Hermione’s curls bounced as she threw her head back in open laughter.
Draco’s hand brushed lightly against hers, a casual gesture that could so easily be misinterpreted.
Theo’s stomach twisted into a vicious knot as his gaze dragged up to the gleaming headline above them:
BREAKING: NEW POWER COUPLE SHAKES UP WIZARDING HIGH SOCIETY
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
There’s a new golden pair taking Diagon Alley by storm, and it’s not who anyone expected.
Spotted laughing and enjoying an intimate ice cream outing, Hermione Granger, former war heroine, Order of the Phoenix darling, and the celebrated "Golden Girl" of her generation, has been seen keeping close company with none other than Draco Malfoy, the reformed Death Eater heir of one of the oldest pureblood families.
Their easy smiles, casual touches, and undeniable chemistry captured by eyewitnesses have already sparked wild speculation about whether the two have turned a quiet friendship into something far more intriguing.
Could the House of Malfoy be writing a new chapter, with the brightest witch of the age at its side?
Sources close to the Malfoy family declined to comment, but insiders say the connection between the pair has been growing quietly for months.
While much of wizarding society remains divided over Malfoy’s post-war reintegration, few can deny that a union between Gryffindor’s brightest and Slytherin’s prodigal son would represent a symbolic, and seismic shift in bloodline traditions.
And just to keep things even more fascinating—
On the other side of the social stage, rumors swirl about another impending match:
The formal betrothal of Theodore Nott to Astoria Greengrass.
Two emerging couples.
Two very different visions of tradition, legacy, and modern power.
Stay tuned, this reporter has been promised more updates on the Nott-Greengrass match... very, very soon.
Chapter Text
Theo’s heart slammed against his ribs, the paper crumpling viciously in his fists.
He barely registered moving, crossing the room in long, furious strides, until he was standing right in front of the fireplace, the heat licking at his bare skin.
Hermione.
Smiling.
Laughing.
Looking like she didn’t have the weight of the world breaking her apart.
But he knew better.
And now—
Now, with this photograph plastered across the front page, the Greengrasses would seize the opportunity.
Spin it.
Use it.
Accelerate everything.
Very, very soon.
Theo’s jaw clenched so hard it hurt.
The noose around both their necks was tightening faster than even he had feared.
And he was running out of time.
The crumpled Prophet burned against his palm, the thick paper crackling under his tightening grip.
He barely saw the words anymore, just the image.
Hermione.
Draco.
Laughing together, so easy, so free.
It felt like a blade twisting inside his ribs.
And he had no one to blame but himself.
Because he knew exactly how this had started.
Knew because he had orchestrated it.
He'd given the tip.
He had arranged for one of Rita Skeeter’s less subtle "interns" to linger near the Malfoy London flat, sniffing around for secrets, hoping to catch a whiff of scandal.
Because scandal would be the quickest way to speed up the clock.
To push Hermione into Draco’s arms—
To trigger the breach in their contract—
To break the bond that tethered her to a sinking ship.
It was the only way to save her from the claws tightening around both of them.
It was the only way to free her, even if it cost him everything.
Theo let out a rough, broken breath.
He hadn't thought it would hurt this bad.
He hadn't anticipated the way it would feel like watching someone drive a knife through his own heart and twist.
He stepped closer to the hearth, every movement deliberate, mechanical.
Without hesitation, he tossed the Prophet into the fire.
The paper caught instantly, flames curling upward in greedy tongues, devouring the ink and headlines, erasing the smiling image that was now burned into his mind.
He stood there for a long moment, staring into the flames, willing the racing panic in his chest to calm.
This is what has to happen, he told himself savagely.
This is how it needs to go for Draco. For her.
If there was any chance, any hope at all, that Hermione could live free, safe, without being bound to the wreckage of his bloodline—
Then he would tear himself apart piece by piece to give it to her.
Even if she hated him for it.
Even if she forgot him forever.
Theo turned away from the fireplace, jaw tight, hands trembling at his sides.
He had made his choice.
Now he had to live with it.
The flames crackled low behind him as he turned sharply away from the fireplace, forcing every muscle in his body to obey, to move.
He couldn't afford to collapse now.
He crossed the room in long, purposeful strides and flicked his wrist sharply.
Pop.
A small, sprightly elf appeared with a soft crack, her dark eyes wide and attentive.
"Milly," Theo said, his voice low and rough.
The elf straightened proudly at the sound of her name.
"Master Theodore, sir," she squeaked, bowing low.
Theo ran a hand through his hair, breathing out slowly, steeling himself.
"I need you to go down to the family vaults," he said, keeping his tone clipped, detached. "Find something... simple. Elegant but common. Nothing flashy. Nothing sentimental."
Milly tilted her head, blinking up at him.
"It must come from the Nott collection," he stressed sharply, pacing a slow line in front of the fire. "Not from the new acquisitions. And certainly not from my mother’s jewels."
He stopped, pinning her with a hard look.
"Those stay untouched until it’s time."
Milly nodded fiercely, wringing her tiny hands together.
"Yes, Master Theo. Milly understands."
Theo inhaled through his nose, willing himself not to think about what he was doing.
Not to think about how it felt like digging his own grave with every command.
Not to think about Hermione’s face if she ever saw what he was being forced to give Astoria Greengrass.
Just one more lie.
One more performance.
For her.
For them.
"Go now," he said quietly. "And be discreet."
Milly bowed so low her nose brushed the floor, then vanished with a sharp pop.
Theo stood there, staring at the empty space she’d left behind, the hollow ache inside him growing heavier.
Because today he would select a meaningless gift—
A symbol of a future he would fight like hell never to see realized.
And even if it killed him—
He would play the part.
Until there was nothing left to sacrifice but himself.
Chapter 41: UPDATE
Summary:
Keeping you in the loop.
Chapter Text
Hello all!
I know I said I would be updating this past week but I decided to give back time to my kids. I'd also like to announce that I will not have another update until 24 August. Reminder, Part 1 of this fic is completely written. It just hasn't been edited or looked over since the initial rough draft. Next update will be the evening of the 24th. I hope everyone is doing well and I can't wait to bring you more of this fic.
With love,
prickly
Chapter 42
Notes:
I'm back! Y'all. I've been through it. My original date to post was when my bigs went back to their dad but a few days before that I landed myself in the ICU. haha! SO, I'm feeling tons better. Still have a lot of appointments and stuff but expect regular weekly updates. I'm super behind on my comments but I see and love them. Whether you commented on this fic or one of my fest pieces. I see them! I will be responding soon.
Chapter Text
Hermione’s POV
The soft morning light poured through the tall windows of the flat, warming the floorboards where Hermione sat cross-legged on the rug.
She barely noticed.
Parchment surrounded her like a sea of scattered thoughts, pages and notes and diagrams sprawled across every inch of the living area.
Heavy grimoires and sleek, leather-bound volumes on pureblood customs lay open around her, their sharp, archaic lettering glaring up at her like accusations.
Her quill scratched furiously across yet another piece of parchment, her hand cramping slightly from how tightly she gripped it.
She didn’t even hear the floo flare to life.
She didn’t hear the soft steps across the hardwood floor.
All she heard was her own mind racing, piecing together centuries of tradition, of oaths and courtings, of legal loopholes and magical traps, searching for anything, anything, that could give them a chance.
The only sound was the frantic, steady scratch of quill on paper, and the quiet, relentless voice inside her head:
Think faster. Work harder. Find a way. Before it’s too late.
She didn’t register the shadow falling across her until a throat cleared loudly.
Hermione jerked slightly, snapping her head up.
Draco stood there, arms folded loosely across his chest, one brow arched high in that infuriating way of his.
He held something behind his back.
"Really, Granger?" he drawled, stepping closer. "It’s too early to go full swot."
Before she could reply, he dropped something squarely into her lap.
Hermione frowned and looked down—
The Daily Prophet.
Fresh ink.
Still faintly warm from the press.
And there, bold as anything, was her own bloody face.
Laughing.
Standing far too close to Draco Malfoy.
Hermione’s stomach twisted sharply.
She didn’t even have to read the headline to know—
Something had just shifted.
And not in her favor.
The paper crumpled in Hermione’s fist as she bolted up and paced a sharp line across the living room, heart hammering against her ribs.
"I’m going to kill her," she fumed under her breath. "I’ll hex that horrible woman back into a jar and leave her on the Ministry’s doorstep."
She spun toward Draco, eyes blazing.
"I’ll write to her tonight, I’ll threaten to expose her Animagus form again if she doesn't retract this—"
"Granger," Draco said calmly.
Hermione ignored him, chest heaving.
"—defamation, libel, character assassination—"
"Hermione," he said again, louder, stepping forward.
She stopped, glaring, ready to argue.
When he held up both hands in a slow, measured gesture of peace.
"It’s not the worst thing," Draco said, voice maddeningly calm.
Hermione’s eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Not the worst thing?" she hissed. "You’re joking."
Draco shook his head, the faintest edge of tired patience coloring his voice.
"Think about it," he said carefully, choosing every word. "This article, this photo? It’s what we need right now."
Hermione crossed her arms tightly across her chest, fuming.
"If Theo gets caught trying to breach his betrothal contract," Draco said, voice dropping lower, harder, "there’s no way you’re getting mixed up in the crossfire."
Hermione froze.
The words hit her like a hex to the gut.
Draco stepped closer, lowering the crumpled Prophet slightly between them.
"The Greengrasses will see this," he said. "Everyone will. They’ll believe you’re otherwise occupied. They won’t suspect you’re still tied to him if they’re to find out. You’ll be... safe."
Safe.
The word echoed hollowly inside her chest.
Safe while Theo burned.
Safe while everything between them crumbled.
She swallowed hard, blinking rapidly.
Because he was right.
It was ugly.
It was infuriating.
But it was smart.
And it might just buy them the sliver of time they needed to tear the Greengrasses' noose apart before it tightened.
Hermione exhaled slowly, letting her arms fall back to her sides, feeling exhaustion settle into her bones.
"Fine," she muttered, her voice brittle. "I won’t go after Skeeter."
Draco nodded once, solemn.
"But if this backfires," Hermione added fiercely, her voice sharpening into steel, "if this puts Theo, or me, in a worse position—"
She stepped closer, meeting Draco’s eyes head-on.
"I’ll burn the Greengrasses to the ground myself," she said softly. "And Skeeter along with them."
Draco smiled faintly, grim, approving.
"I never doubted it," he said.
The fire between them simmered for a long moment.
Draco watched her carefully, as if half-expecting her to change her mind and go charging off to Skeeter’s office in righteous fury anyway.
But Hermione stayed still.
Steady.
Burning cold instead of hot.
She exhaled slowly, forcing the tightness in her chest to ease.
And then, because if she didn’t move, she was going to drown in everything she couldn’t fix, she pivoted sharply toward the stack of books and parchment still strewn across the floor.
She stared at the mess for a moment, heart still pounding, then turned back to Draco, lifting her chin.
"Fine," she said briskly. "If I’m supposed to stay hidden and unbothered, I need a place to live."
Draco blinked at her, caught off guard by the sudden shift.
Hermione crossed her arms, tapping one finger against her elbow.
"Help me find a flat," she said firmly. "Somewhere normal. Quiet. Close enough to the Ministry but not so obvious it screams ‘Hermione Granger lives here.’"
Draco’s lips twitched, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly.
"You want me to be your real estate agent now?" he teased lightly.
Hermione arched a brow.
"You’re better connected than I am right now," she said, ignoring the faint flush that rose to her cheeks. "I need discretion. You lot practically invented it."
Draco chuckled under his breath, looking almost amused for the first time that morning.
"And here I thought you'd never compliment a Slytherin," he said.
Hermione smiled thinly, the barest ghost of her old fire flickering back to life.
"Desperation makes strange bedfellows, Malfoy."
He snorted.
"Alright, Granger," he said, pushing off from where he leaned. "Let’s find you a hideout."
He grabbed a fresh piece of parchment and conjured a quill with a lazy flick of his wand.
Hermione moved back toward the low table, setting aside the books with more care this time.
Because for now—
Just for now—
She could focus on something she could control.
And not the world unraveling just outside their door.
Chapter Text
By noon, Hermione was ready to hex something.
Preferably a For Lease sign.
Or possibly Draco Malfoy.
He had, to his credit, been exceptionally patient.
They had spent hours trekking across London, ducking through narrow wizarding side streets, discreet Muggle neighborhoods, even a few enchanted buildings hidden right in the heart of Diagon Alley.
Everywhere they went, Draco was charming, efficient, utterly unfazed.
And Hermione?
Hermione hated every bloody flat they saw.
One had ceilings so low she could touch them without standing on tiptoe.
Another had suspicious stains on the floor that even a Scourgify couldn’t lift.
One particularly grim little place near Knockturn Alley had smelled like regret and stale potion fumes.
By the time they trudged back into the Malfoy London flat, Hermione was practically vibrating with frustration.
She kicked off her shoes by the door with unnecessary force and collapsed into an armchair, tossing her bag onto the floor with a loud thud.
"Kill me," she groaned, dragging her hands down her face. "Just kill me now. I'm not meant to find a flat. I'll just sleep in the Ministry archives."
Draco chuckled from where he leaned against the entryway, arms crossed, looking annoyingly smug.
"Not giving up already, are you, Granger?" he teased.
Hermione glared at him over her fingers.
"I refuse to settle for a flat with black mold and a poltergeist, Malfoy."
He opened his mouth to respond, but was interrupted by a soft pop as Poppy appeared in the middle of the room, a large envelope tucked under one small arm.
She bowed low.
"Post for Miss Hermione, courtesy of Gringotts," the elf chirped.
Hermione blinked.
"Gringotts?"
Poppy nodded, floated the envelope into Hermione’s lap, and popped away with a crack.
Hermione stared at the heavy parchment for a moment, frowning.
It was thick.
Official.
Sealed with a deep green wax sigil she didn’t immediately recognize.
Across the front, her name was written in careful, looping script:
Hermione Jean Granger.
She glanced up at Draco, who only shrugged, feigning innocence much too well.
Heart thudding oddly, Hermione broke the seal and unfolded the letter inside.
Her eyes widened almost immediately.
Hermione unfolded the heavy parchment with trembling fingers, the thick paper crackling slightly in the quiet.
Her eyes scanned the neat, formal script.
And froze.
Dear Miss Granger,
It is with great pleasure that Gringotts Wizarding Bank informs you of a newly transferred property asset.
Effective immediately, the deed to the London flat located at 17 Wrenwick Court has been transferred into your name, free of lien or mortgage. All taxes and maintenance costs for the first five years have been prepaid.
The previous owner has chosen to remain anonymous but has expressed their sincere hope that you find the space comfortable and fitting for your future endeavors.
The keys have been enclosed for your convenience.
Congratulations on your new residence.
Gringotts Property Management Division
Official Seal
At the bottom, sure enough, was a second, smaller envelope containing a set of gleaming silver keys, etched with faint, elegant runes.
Hermione stared at it all, the words blurring for a second before snapping into harsh, undeniable clarity.
Someone had given her a flat.
An entire flat.
Just like that.
She slowly lowered the letter into her lap, her mind racing furiously.
"This... this has to be a mistake," she said stiffly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Draco, still lounging in the doorway, only arched an eyebrow at her with infuriating nonchalance.
"Does it?"
Hermione turned a sharp look on him.
"Flats don’t just appear out of nowhere, Malfoy," she snapped. "People don’t just gift prime London real estate to random witches, even if they did help end a war."
Draco shrugged, clearly fighting the urge to smirk.
"Maybe you have an admirer," he said blandly.
Hermione snorted in disbelief, tapping the heavy envelope against her thigh.
No.
Something about this smelled wrong.
Something careful.
Planned.
Hidden.
But even as her brain raced to piece it together—
Another, quieter voice whispered inside her:
Maybe just this once... take the lifeline.
Maybe just this once, she didn’t have to fight every inch of the way.
Maybe she could accept the gift.
And survive long enough to find out who had truly given it.
For a long moment, Hermione just sat there, staring down at the keys glinting in her lap.
The flat.
The letter.
The impossible gift.
She felt Draco’s gaze on her, silent, waiting, letting her wage the war inside her own head.
Finally, Hermione exhaled sharply and stood, smoothing the parchment and setting it carefully back into the envelope.
"Fine," she said, her voice stiff with resignation. "We’re going to see it."
Draco smirked faintly, pushing off the wall.
"I had a feeling you’d say that."
Hermione shot him a dry look.
"This doesn’t mean I’m keeping it," she warned, grabbing her bag and jamming the keys inside.
Draco just shrugged, far too smug for someone who had spent the morning traipsing around moldy flats.
"I’m just here for the entertainment."
Hermione huffed, brushing past him to make an exaggerated departure.
She rattled off the address to herself, 17 Wrenwick Court, feeling the odd weight of the unknown curl tight around her spine.
A moment later, they stepped out onto a quiet, cobbled street just outside Diagon Alley’s main thoroughfare.
The building was unassuming, tall and narrow, with whitewashed stone and a black iron fence circling a small courtyard.
It looked... normal.
Safe.
Private.
Hermione’s heart kicked hard against her ribs.
She pulled the key from her pocket and fit it into the old brass lock.
It turned smoothly, like it had been waiting for her.
The door swung open with a soft creak.
Hermione stepped inside and stopped dead.
The flat was—
Perfect.
Light and airy, with tall windows that let in streams of sun.
Wooden floors, polished to a warm gleam.
Built-in shelves along one entire wall, already stocked with empty parchment and inkwells ready for use.
A cozy fireplace, spelled with runic wards she recognized immediately, protection charms, privacy barriers, subtle concealments.
It felt like—
Home.
Her throat tightened unexpectedly.
She wandered forward on shaking legs, running her fingers lightly across the edge of a wide writing desk tucked into a corner near the window.
Everything was understated, elegant, functional.
Exactly her.
Exactly how she would have designed it herself, down to the faint scent of old books and lavender clinging to the air.
Behind her, Draco whistled low under his breath.
"Someone knows you frighteningly well," he said lightly.
Hermione didn't answer.
Because she knew.
Deep down—
She knew.
This wasn’t just an admirer.
This wasn’t a random anonymous gift.
This was planned.
This was deliberate.
This was someone who knew her soul.
And despite every rational instinct telling her to question it, to dig deeper.
Another part of her, bruised and tired and so desperate for solid ground, wanted to fall into it without asking anything at all.
Hermione turned back toward the door, forcing herself to breathe.
She had a choice.
She could tear it all apart, looking for the truth,
Or she could survive long enough to win the bigger war.
For now, survival won.
Chapter Text
Theo stood by the wide bay window in one of the Malfoy Manor sitting rooms, staring out over the manicured grounds without seeing any of it.
The morning had dragged like lead.
Every instinct in his body screamed to do something, to go to her, to fix this, to tear down the entire bloody system trapping them both.
But he couldn’t.
Not yet.
A sharp pop sounded behind him.
He turned to see Poppy, bowing low.
"Master Theodore," the elf squeaked, "the delivery was made. Miss Granger received the keys this morning."
Theo exhaled slowly, forcing the burning knot in his chest down where it couldn’t choke him.
"And?" he asked, his voice rougher than he intended.
"Master Draco accompanied her to inspect the property," Poppy said. "Miss Granger has accepted the residence."
Theo closed his eyes for a moment, pressing his forehead lightly against the cold glass.
Accepted it.
Accepted the only piece of himself he could give her right now.
The flat, the safe place, something he could offer without condition, without fear, without strings.
It was hers.
Even if she never knew who it truly came from.
He swallowed hard, the bitter taste of regret thick on his tongue.
He could picture her now, walking through the rooms, touching the shelves, sitting by the fireplace, without him.
The ache inside him sharpened, bleeding through every fractured piece of his resolve.
He hadn't been able to give her flowers.
Or a gift of intent.
Or a future.
All he could do was leave her pieces of himself in the places she might feel safe.
He clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening.
It wasn’t enough.
It would never be enough.
But for now, it was survival.
For now, she would have a place that wasn’t a battlefield.
For now, she would have walls that were hers, free and clear.
Theo turned slowly from the window, forcing his breathing to even out.
One day, he promised himself savagely, one day she would know.
One day, he would be able to stand in front of her, no lies, no games, no bloody contracts between them, and tell her everything.
But until that day, he would keep bleeding for her from the shadows.
And she would never even know.
It took nearly the whole afternoon, but by the time the sun dipped low over the rooftops of London, Hermione had made a start.
The flat no longer looked pristine and untouched.
Parchment was scattered across the writing desk.
One of her favorite jumpers was draped over the arm of the chair.
Books she hadn’t even realized she packed were stacked neatly by the fireplace.
She sat cross-legged on the floor, a warm mug of tea cradled between her palms, breathing in the quiet for the first time in what felt like days.
It wasn’t home yet.
But it could be.
Maybe.
A knock at the door snapped her back to reality.
Hermione set her mug down carefully and padded barefoot to the door, frowning.
When she opened it, Draco stood there, a grim expression on his face and a rolled Evening Prophet tucked under one arm.
He didn’t speak.
He just held it out.
Hermione took it slowly, the dread already curling tight in her gut.
"Please tell me it’s not—"
"Another Skeeter masterpiece," Draco muttered, stepping inside and closing the door.
Hermione unrolled the paper sharply.
Her stomach dropped.
Right there, splashed across the front page, was a new photograph.
A moving image, impossibly sharp and intimate.
Theo.
And Astoria.
Theo was standing behind her, a small, delicate locket in his hands, simple, elegant, almost painfully modest compared to the grand displays society often expected.
In the photo, he leaned forward, brushing Astoria’s hair aside to clasp the necklace around her throat.
Astoria was smiling, soft, shy, radiant.
Theo.
Theo was smiling too.
A soft, secret sort of smile pressed near her neck.
Hermione’s vision blurred for a second, but she forced herself to blink it away and read the headline screaming above the photo:
BETROTHED BEAUTY: ASTORIA GREENGRASS, FUTURE LADY NOTT?
By Rita Skeeter, Special Correspondent
While war heroes and scandalous new pairings dominate the headlines, wizarding tradition shines through in the stunning confirmation of Theodore Nott’s formal betrothal to Astoria Greengrass.
Captured here exclusively for the Prophet’s readers: a heartfelt moment as Mr. Nott presents Miss Greengrass with a family heirloom, an exquisite, antique locket, officially confirmed to come from the historic Nott family jewel collection.
Sources close to the Greengrass family confirm that this elegant token signifies the beginning of their courtship, expected to proceed swiftly toward formal vows.
Astoria Greengrass, with her poised grace and perfect pedigree, represents the continuing strength of pureblood alliances, while the House of Nott solidifies its future with a match truly fit for the annals of wizarding history.
More updates to follow as the couple’s first official appearance draws near...
The room tilted.
Hermione’s hands trembled violently, the newspaper rattling between her fingers.
That locket.
That smile.
It looked so real.
Like he belonged there.
Like he had chosen her.
The breath hitched painfully in Hermione’s throat.
"This isn’t real," she whispered, shaking her head fiercely.
"It’s not," Draco said quietly behind her. "It’s all for show."
But the world wouldn’t know that.
The world would see Theo Nott and Astoria Greengrass—
Perfect.
Poised.
Promised.
Hermione pressed the heel of her hand hard against her sternum, trying to force the ache down.
It didn’t work.
Because even though her mind screamed it was a lie, her heart felt like it was breaking anyway.
The Prophet slipped from her fingers and fluttered to the floor, crumpling at her bare feet.
Hermione stared down at it, feeling strangely detached from her own body, as if she were watching someone else’s life unravel.
Chapter Text
The image burned behind her eyes.
Theo.
Astoria.
That damned soft smile as he placed the necklace around her neck.
Even knowing it was staged, knowing it was survival, it still hurt.
Still felt like loss bleeding into every hollow space inside her chest.
She swallowed hard, forcing words through the tightness in her throat.
"Draco," she said, voice shaking slightly, "be honest with me."
He shifted by the doorway, wary.
She didn’t look at him.
Just kept staring at the crushed paper.
"Did he look happy?"
The silence stretched.
Finally, Draco exhaled, low and rough.
"If I didn’t know him," he said carefully, "if I were just some random bloke reading the Prophet—"
He paused.
"I’d say he looked happy."
Hermione’s heart twisted painfully.
"But," Draco continued, his voice softening, "I do know him. And that wasn’t happiness on his face, Granger."
Hermione squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, a single breath shuddering out of her.
Not happiness.
Not real.
It shouldn't have mattered.
It shouldn't have helped.
But it did.
A little.
Just enough.
When she opened her eyes again, she felt a little steadier, a little sharper around the edges.
She bent down, scooped up the crumpled paper, and tossed it onto the table without ceremony.
Then she straightened, tugging her jumper into place and locking eyes with Draco.
"Take me to a pub," she said crisply. "I need Firewhisky. Lots of it."
For a beat, Draco just stared at her, like she’d started speaking Parseltongue.
Then his mouth twitched into a slow, wicked grin.
"Well, well," he drawled, stepping closer. "Careful, Granger. Talk like that and you’ll have half the Alley thinking you're trading your golden reputation for a night of bad decisions with a Slytherin."
Hermione lifted her chin, her exhaustion and anger mixing into something almost reckless.
"Maybe I am," she said coolly, the ghost of a smirk playing on her lips.
Draco's eyebrows shot up, momentarily startled, then he chuckled, low and delighted.
"Merlin help us all," he muttered, grabbing his coat. "Come on, then. Let’s see if we can get the Golden Girl properly ruined by breakfast."
Hermione laughed, a sharp, brittle sound, but real.
Maybe destruction wasn’t the answer.
But tonight?
Tonight, she wasn’t going to sit around waiting to be shattered again.
She was going to choose.
Even if that choice was a bottle of whisky and a few bad ideas.
The pub was tucked just off Diagon Alley, down a side street where the magical wards were a little looser and the drinks flowed a little stronger.
It wasn’t the kind of place Hermione Granger, war heroine and Ministry golden girl, was usually seen.
Which was precisely the point.
The moment they stepped inside, Hermione headed straight for the bar, elbowing her way between a pair of goblins without hesitation.
Draco watched her with a mixture of amusement and concern as she ordered two shots of Firewhisky, then two more.
Then another two for good measure.
By the time they settled at a battered table near the back, Hermione had thrown back her first shot with a grimace and was reaching determinedly for the second.
Draco leaned his chin on his hand, watching her.
"You’re terrifying when you’re on a mission," he said, half laughing.
Hermione downed the second shot and slammed the glass onto the table with more force than strictly necessary.
"Good," she said crisply. "I should be."
Draco chuckled again, sitting back and nursing his own drink at a much slower pace.
He let her drink in silence for a few minutes, letting the burn and the buzz settle under her skin.
And then, because even Hermione Granger couldn't stay locked inside her own head forever, she slammed her third shot down, wiped the back of her hand across her mouth, and grinned at him.
"Truth or dare, Malfoy," she said, her voice sharp and reckless.
Draco blinked, startled.
"Are you twelve?"
Hermione shrugged one shoulder, her curls bouncing.
"Take it or leave it, Malfoy."
He laughed again, really laughed this time, and leaned forward across the table, eyes glinting with amusement.
"Alright, Granger," he said, voice low and dangerous. "Truth."
Hermione tapped her finger against her lip, pretending to think.
"Fine," she said sweetly. "Have you ever actually finished a date without getting hexed?"
Draco clutched his chest in mock offense.
"I’ll have you know," he said solemnly, "I have a very respectable success rate with witches."
Hermione arched a skeptical eyebrow.
Draco smirked.
"... if you don’t count Pansy Parkinson’s sixth year Valentine’s Day incident."
Hermione burst out laughing, the tension in her chest loosening just a little more.
The drinks kept coming.
The dares got sillier.
The questions got sharper.
And for a little while, Hermione forgot about headlines.
Forgot about ancient contracts.
Forgot about the weight of the world pressing down on her shoulders.
It was reckless.
It was dangerous.
It was exactly what she needed.
Two more shots went down with hardly a wince.
The burn didn’t even register anymore.
Just warmth in her chest.
Weight in her limbs.
Noise in her head.
Hermione stared down into her empty glass, tapping her fingers restlessly against the rim.
And then she said it.
"I need to know."
Draco looked up, mildly startled.
She didn’t meet his eyes. Just stared at the warped wood of the table between them.
"The flat," she said, her voice lower now, rough around the edges. "Was it Theo?"
Draco went still.
There wasn’t a flicker of shock, no sharp intake of breath or wide-eyed panic.
Just the slow, practiced silence of someone choosing every breath.
When he finally answered, it was careful. Measured.
"I don’t know."
Hermione lifted her gaze, studying him like she was trying to see through him.
"Right," she muttered.
She didn’t believe him.
Not for a second.
But she also wasn’t stupid.
She knew when someone wasn’t going to budge.
And if he had lied, it didn’t matter.
Not now.
Not when she couldn’t do anything about it.
She reached for the final shot on the table and tossed it back without flinching.
Slamming the glass down with a finality that echoed louder than it should’ve.
"I'm ready to go," she said, her voice quieter.
Draco didn’t question it.
Didn’t tease.
He simply stood, pulled on his coat, and stepped to her side.
Hermione slid off her chair, a little too fast.
Her legs buckled.
And Draco caught her before she could so much as wobble a second time.
He wrapped a steady arm around her waist, pulling her against his side to help her walk.
It was close. Intimate. Solid.
But she didn’t think anything of it.
It was Draco.
Draco, who had become her strange new constant.
Her blunt instrument of distraction.
Her quiet support system who never asked for anything back.
As they stepped out into the cool night air, Hermione let herself lean just a little more into him.
They were a few blocks away from the pub, walking slowly down a cobbled alley just off the main road, when she tripped.
On absolutely nothing.
Theo would have caught her spellwork midstep.
Harry would’ve tried to save her like she was broken.
Ron would’ve shouted and made it worse.
Draco?
Draco just caught her.
Smooth and fast and sure, one arm curling tightly around her middle as her foot slipped and her center of gravity gave up on her completely.
He hauled her back to standing in one swift pull, her laughter already bubbling out before she could stop it.
She laughed.
Genuine and unguarded and ridiculous.
And Draco?
Draco laughed too, quietly, like he hadn’t meant to.
And before she could see the look on his face, he hid his grin in her hair, his voice warm and amused right at her ear.
"Barmy witch," he muttered, fingers tightening gently at her waist, "let’s get you home, yeah?"
Chapter 46
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The moment Draco stepped through the floo into the Malfoy Manor sitting room, Theo was already pacing.
Fast, agitated strides across the marble floor, hands raking through his hair, tension practically radiating off him in violent waves.
"Theo," Draco said carefully, brushing soot off his shoulders. "I just came to update you about the flat—"
Theo turned so fast it was like he had been waiting for an excuse to explode.
Before Draco could finish his sentence, Theo shoved him, hard, across the chest.
Draco stumbled back a step, shock flashing across his face.
"The fuck!" Draco started.
Theo didn't let him finish.
He stormed across the room and slammed down a handful of glossy photos onto the coffee table between them.
Draco glanced down, confusion flickering into his features as he picked one up.
There they were.
Him and Hermione.
Stumbling down the street, laughing.
Draco’s arm wrapped tightly around her waist.
His face half-buried in her curls.
Captured like a lover’s moment.
Theo’s breathing was ragged, his chest heaving.
Draco looked up slowly, his expression darkening.
"You set this up?" he asked, voice low and incredulous. "You’re the one feeding this shit to the papers?"
Theo’s fists clenched at his sides, nails digging into his palms.
"I had to," he snarled, voice cracking. "I had to move things along."
Draco's brows furrowed, confusion sliding into anger.
"Move what along, Theo?"
Theo slammed his hand down on the table, rattling the photos.
"I’m trying to get her to rely on you!" he shouted, the words ripping out of him raw and bleeding. "I’m trying to make her believe it, Draco! So when you get close enough, when she trusts you enough, she’ll break the fucking contract!"
Draco’s mouth dropped open slightly, stunned.
"Theo…" he whispered.
But Theo wasn’t finished.
"I’m doing it for her!" he roared. "For her and for me and for whatever gods-forsaken chance we have left because if we don’t break that bloody contract, Draco, they’ll chain me to Astoria for the rest of my life, and Hermione will forget I ever existed."
The room vibrated with the force of it.
With the pure, unfiltered devastation pouring out of him.
Theo sagged back against the nearest chair, his head falling into his hands, breathing like he’d just sprinted through a battlefield.
Because that’s what it was.
A battlefield.
And he was already bleeding out.
The silence between them crackled.
Theo stood hunched over the table, his hands braced against the wood, his chest heaving.
Across from him, Draco shifted uncomfortably, the photos still lying between them like open wounds.
He hesitated, just long enough to make Theo’s stomach twist again, before speaking.
"We’re not giving up," Draco said quietly. "Mother’s already hiring Healers. The best ones. Memory specialists. Curse-breakers. Anyone who could help if—"
Theo jerked upright, rage burning hot behind his eyes.
"If?" he hissed, stepping closer.
Draco held up a hand, trying to keep him calm, but it was useless now.
"We're preparing," Draco said more firmly. "When…when it happens, we’ll have the best chance to restore everything, Theo. Everything."
For a second, for a fragile, flickering second, Theo wanted to believe him.
Wanted to cling to that thin, desperate hope.
But then the real world slammed back into him, vicious and unforgiving.
He laughed, a broken, bitter sound, and shoved Draco back again, harder this time.
"You're a fucking idiot if you think it’s that simple!" Theo roared.
Draco’s eyes widened slightly, but he held his ground now.
Theo advanced, his voice rising, shaking the very air between them.
"If the Greengrasses find out about the contract, if they find out I ever bound myself to another witch before Astoria…" his voice cracked again, savage and raw, "you really think they’ll let me get my memories back?"
He slammed his fist into the side of the nearest chair, the wood cracking sharply under the blow.
"They'll bury it!" he snarled. "They'll bury it, Draco! They'll have the bloody Wizengamot seal the contract by force, or worse, they'll kill the magic behind it so it can never be undone!"
Theo’s voice dropped into something almost unrecognizable, a hollow, splintered rasp:
"And I’ll forget her anyway."
The words hit the room like a death knell.
Theo staggered back a step, shaking with the force of it all.
The truth of what he was facing.
Not just losing Hermione.
Losing even the memory of her.
Losing the only thing keeping him breathing through this nightmare.
Across from him, Draco’s face was tight with something very close to grief.
Because now, even he understood.
The stakes weren’t just high.
They were impossible.
Theo wiped a hand across his mouth, trying to steady the fire roaring through him.
Draco shifted, uneasy, like he knew what was coming.
Theo clenched his fists at his sides, breathing raggedly.
"I’ll start making appearances with her," Theo said, voice like ground glass. "Every week. Maybe even twice."
Draco stiffened.
"I’ll do the hand-kissing bullshit," Theo growled. "Kisses on the cheek. Holding her hand when the photographers are watching."
He shook his head, something dark and broken flickering across his face.
"But it won’t be real," he said, more to himself than to Draco. "There won’t be intent behind it."
Theo turned, pacing toward the far wall like he could outrun the ache clawing at his chest.
"No matter how many staged photos they take," he said bitterly, "no matter how much Astoria smiles, no matter what they print—"
He stopped, jaw tight.
"I can’t do it," he whispered. "I can’t betray her. I can't fake wanting someone else."
He turned back toward Draco, meeting his eyes with a rawness that made even Draco flinch.
"It has to be her," Theo said hollowly. "It has to be Hermione who breaks it. Not me."
Notes:
Okay, it's gonna start to pick up as we start getting closer to the end of part one. Let's just all breathe, okay? How are we feeling?
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