Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“Control, this is Officer Brown to report State 6 at The Drunken Dragon on Fenchurch Street. One male taken into custody—early twenties, brown hair, green eyes, a little over six foot. Appears to be experiencing substance-induced psychosis. Transporting to Westminster Mind Centre for a 72-hour hold—over.”

The police scanner buzzed back with a noisy crackle a few minutes later. "State 15. Institution has been alerted—over."

“This is all your bloody fault Davies.” Officer Brown secured the radio back to his dash and scolded his new partner. “Golden rule of emergency response—never say it’s a quiet night.”

“That’s a silly superstition, that!” Officer Davies protested. “I hardly think one call is out of the ordinary.”

The scanner crackled again as if to prove him wrong.

"All units, stand by. We've had a welfare check called in on Baker Street. Female, early twenties, approximately five-foot, with curly brown hair. Reports of erratic behaviour and emotional distress—over."

“State 15. Officer Mackenzie already in the area. Reporting State 5—over," another officer radioed back.

“Copy that. Approach with caution—over."

Officer Brown turned his head towards his partner with raised eyebrows and shook his head as if to say, ‘I told you so.’

Both officers flinched as a loud snore tore through the back of the cruiser.

“Does that happen often?” Officer Davies chuckled.

“All the time, Davies, all the time.” Officer Brown sighed as their cruiser turned into a roundabout from hell. “I reckon it’s the fairy lights.”

The officers burst into laughter.

The heavily intoxicated, brown-haired man in the back of the cruiser did not stir. He remained slumped in a boneless heap as they made their way to the psychiatric ward.

☘︎

Hermione had been agitated.

Initially.

About an hour after she’d been dumped upon the doorstep of Westminster Mind Centre, to be forcibly placed on a 72-hour psychiatric hold, she’d been livid.

The muggle police had kicked her door right in. They'd caught her in the middle of shouting at a particularly cursory copy of Elixirs for Escapists, while her failed potion boiled over from the cauldron on her stove. The stench had been wretched.

It was hardly her fault—the text appeared to have been written by mooncalves.

There’d been a three-second standoff in which the officers had merely stared at her, perplexed. She must have been quite a sight with her hair flying out from her head in all directions.

Her chocolate frog pyjamas definitely hadn’t helped her case. Nor had the sound of the Weird Sisters song that had been blaring out of her radio. It had been their hit single about a tryst with a vampire. The lyrics had been repeating something deep and meaningful like ‘suck me dry, suck me dry, Vlad, don’t make me cry.’

Their new material was slightly more progressive.

She imagined, due to the look that passed over their faces on the fourth second, and the smell of cat piss and rotten eggs in the air, that it might have appeared to them as though she’d been whipping up a fresh batch of methamphetamine.

Needless to say, she’d been apprehended with nary a conversation. She'd kicked and screamed while they dragged her out of her flat—the words ’70% Finest Croakoa’ shimmering on her arse in elegant, gilded script.

'Your neighbour is concerned for your wellbeing!’, they'd shouted. Though her furious string of rants and demands for release had drowned out their pleas.

Thanks a lot, Judith. Fucking snoopy old bat.

Now she was here, on hour two of her time at this lovely, sterile facility. Two fucking hours and she’d only just been processed.

And she didn’t belong here.

She didn’t belong here!

Unfortunately, the staff at this glorified looney bin held a different opinion. And with no muggle ID, no family nearby, and no place of work (that she could admit to), she'd been without defence. It was a small mercy that there had been no cavity search.

She should have thought to stick her bloody wand up there for safekeeping.

The whole situation had been the cherry on top of a perfectly horrible day. And it was on-brand with the horrible weeks, months, and years she'd spent at the Ministry. Every fucking corner she turned she had been met with an obstacle. A closed door in the form of a rejected bill here, a delayed vote there—funding issues fucking everywhere. Red lights at every. fucking. turn. She had long since concluded that the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, didn’t actually give a fuck about the regulation and control of magical creatures.

Her shock and anger had long since worn off, diluted by exhaustion. Resigning to her fate had been an easy choice to make as soon as that door had clicked shut behind her.

Due to the ungodly hour at which she’d been admitted, she’d been led through eggshell-white halls and straight into a room just as white. It had nothing but a bed, a shelf with no visible nails or splinters, and a piece of reflective, dull metal for a mirror. The cold, vinyl-covered bed was more like a hard piece of plastic with hardly any give.

Naturally, she’d tossed and turned for the past three hours.

She had only begun to nod off moments before a door had blasted open somewhere outside of her room. The sound of its metal colliding with the insulated concrete walls was harsh enough to startle her upright.

“HEY!” a distant male voice shouted with an air of authority.“How the hell?” His voice was somewhat dampened by his distance from the commotion.

Frantic footsteps thundered down the hallway—two or three people, she estimated.

“I’M A WIZARD!” This voice belonged to a different male, drunken and slurred.

Hermione was up on her feet the second she heard his exclamation echoing off of the walls. She raced to peer through the square window of her door. Though it was so tiny that she had to twist her neck and squint to try and catch a glimpse of the culprit.

“HA HA!” he carried on, his maniacal laughing getting closer to her own little slice of heaven. “I’M A FUCKING WIZARD!”

The man appeared into her view, staggering much too fast down the hallway at an odd angle.

Her eyebrows shot up to her hairline as she caught an eyeful of his bare arse through a backless hospital gown. He was on a collision course with the wall, saved only by three staff members in light blue scrubs. They tackled him—earning her a view of his family jewels too.

Nice.

At least she’d have something pretty to look at while she was here—fit arse and a nice head of hair. When he turned his head, she caught a glimpse of mischievous sparkling green—oh Merlin.

Her eyes widened in incredulity—utter disbelief as recognition set in.

That was Theodore Fucking Nott.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s head had spun when she’d identified him. She had watched on in utter bewilderment as he’d been injected with something when they’d finally wrangled his imposing frame to the floor. They’d carried him into a room on the same side of the hallway as hers— well dragged. He was a sizeable man for three female staff members to maneuver by themselves.  She thought he might have even been placed in the room next to her, but her field of vision had been too limited to see the few doors immediately beside her.

Hermione awoke with a start as the lights of the sterile bedroom turned on overhead— bright and white and punishing—cancer lights, as her father used to say. She’d always been more of a lamp person.

She groaned, covering her eyes and ears with the thin, cotton sheets when she heard someone stirring through the thin walls of her room. A loud thump sounded out— like a body hitting the floor, and then an even louder groan than her own.

“Salazar’s balls!” The posh male voice range out, pained and tired. “Where the fuck am I?”

Yes. He’d definitely been locked up in the neighbouring unit.

“Turn them off! TURN THEM OFF!” A panicked male voice shouted from down the hall. “NO— NO HELP! HELP!”

“Shut up Barry!” Another male voice groaned from a little further down. “For the last bloody time, the lights aren’t going to kill you!” Hermione snorted. It appeared someone else in this fine establishment held the same beliefs as her father had.

She listened to some light bumping and exasperated noises as Theodore presumably lifted himself from the floor, exploring his environment. She clocked the exact moment he pieced it together, hearing the way he pulled furiously at his door to find it locked.

“What the fuck? “ A frustrated noise left his throat. “Oh come on— not again!”

Not again?

Hermione couldn’t hold in her laugh at the implication of his outburst. Had he made it a habit of being locked up in the psych ward? There’d always been rumours that he was a little unstable but Hermione had always thought them to be just that— rumours. He’d seemed harmless— quiet and studious. Always minded his own business. They hadn’t interacted much but he’d always been respectful to her despite having been close friends with her arch-nemesis, Draco Malfoy— her own personal gift from the universe, sent to teach her a very gruelling lesson in patience.

She’d spat in its face— she refused to learn such a thing.

Still to this day, Malfoy annoyed the ever living fuck out of her at the Ministry— she even suspected he might be the culprit behind most of her failed efforts to make any actual changes in the department. At least those due to funding issues, which was likely, given that he sat on the board as the Ministry’s Treasurer.

“Hello?” Theo asked frantically, his muffled voice a little bit louder as he tried to speak to her through a vent in the wall. Hermione laughed even harder as she pictured him in his backless gown, face smushed against the wall. “You think this is funny do you?”

“Theodore Nott?” Hermione chanced, tears springing to her eyes. She was feeling quite overtired this morning.

Silence. Stunned silence, she presumed.

“Who is that?” He asked quickly. “How do you know my name?” Hermione stepped towards the vent so they could hear one another better.

“I’ll give you three guesses.” She giggled, her voice echoing through the ducts.

“I’m not in the mood for games.” He snarled, but there was no bite behind the noise— only raw annoyance, which Hermione took great delight in.

“Then you’ll have to wait until you see me.” She said casually. “If you even recognize me that is.” She knew he likely would, as would the rest of Wizarding Britain— she just felt like riling him up.

Theo hummed in annoyance. “I don’t recognize your voice. Can I at least get a hint?” Hermione bit her lip, wondering what hint she could give to him that wouldn’t give her identity away immediately.

“We went to school together.” She settled on what was pretty much their only commonality.

“That’s a bit broad. Not very helpful.” She snickered, knowing he was likely rolling his eyes to high heaven. “What house?”

“Nuh-uh— that’d be too easy.” She bit back a smile, listening patiently.

“Oh bloody hell.” He growled.

“Romilda?” Hermione rolled her eyes at this.

“Nope.” She drawled lazily.

“Susan?” He guessed impatiently.

“Susan Bones?” She laughed. Why he would guess a Hufflepuff when she wasn’t being very friendly was beyond her. “No.”

“Luna?” He asked hopefully.

“Oh come on— that was a waste of a guess. I’ll give you one more.” He clicked his tongue letting out a frustrated huff.

“Hannah?” He sighed, though he didn’t sound very confident in the guess.

“Aww—” She feigned sympathy. “Sorry darling. That’s all of your guesses.”

“Can you at least let a wizard know where he is?” He growled.

“You’re in the Westminster Mind Centre.” She responded casually. A wicked smirk bloomed on her face as she pondered the ridiculousness of the fact that some muggles had locked up a high-profile member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight.

“I thought this didn’t look like the St. Mungo’s I remembered.” He sighed. “Though I fear I’m not familiar with this establishment.”

“That’s because you’ve gone and got yourself locked up in a muggle psychiatric hospital.” Hermione waited with bated breath for his imminent reaction.

“What!” He shrieked after a second of stunned silence. “I don’t—I don’t understand— how—how?” He sounded flustered, and Hermione started laughing again. “You seem annoyingly well-adjusted to the concept of being held hostage by muggles!”

“How did you get yourself into this predicament, Theodore?” Hermione giggled. Godric this was so delightfully amusing to her— the most fun she’d had since she’d gotten obliterated at the staff yule party the year prior. At least until she’d gotten into a row with Malfoy and tossed her vodka-cran all over his white button-up and his pretty blonde hair.

“It’s not fair that you know who I am!” She heard his bed creak as he sat down with an annoyed huff. He sounded really flustered now and her insides felt giddy as she pressed her ear to the vent. “I don’t know how I got here. I was out drinking at the Leaky— with my friends—”

“Who?” She asked curiously.

“Blaise and Draco?” He answered, annoyed at being interrupted.

Hermione scoffed.

Theo grew silent, stopping his speech mid sentence at the noise. She heard him rising from the bed again. She furrowed her brows curiously, pressing her ear flush to the grate in an effort to hear what he was getting up to.

“Finally cracked did you, Granger?” She heard the smirk in his voice as the words floated through the vent. Hermione gasped.

“How did you know?” She whined, feeling a little deflated that their game was over.

“Oh Salazar! It is you!” He laughed, a deep belly laugh that had her gritting her teeth. “I’d know that scoff anywhere. Still hate Draco that much, huh?”

“Hard not to— he’s a bloody prick.” She snapped, suddenly annoyed. He was the one laughing now.

“Well…” He said after a minute, humour still alight in his voice. “Can you help me piece this together? You must have seen me if you know who I am. What was I doing last night?”

“Well— screeching mostly.” She huffed. “You escaped your room, I presume—started screaming about being a wizard and then got injected with what was probably horse tranquilizer by the poor night nurses who had to deal with you.”

“That’s it?” He sighed.

“Well if you were behaving like that in London it’s no surprise that you’ve ended up here.” Hermione laughed mockingly. “Screaming that you’re a wizard in front of a bunch of muggles is more than enough to get you locked up in a place like this.” Hermione snorted.

“That doesn’t help me at all.” He groaned.

“Well there was something else.” Hermione smirked.

“Spit it out then!” He urged sarcastically.

“Your arse was on display for everyone.” She cackled. “It’s nice by the way. It was a great show.”

“Hands above the covers, Granger.” He retorted with a humorous bedroom voice.

“I didn’t say it was the nicest. I have better material to get off to than your bare arse, Theodore.” That was a lie, obviously. Images of Ron’s pasty ass floated to the forefront of her mind with a regretful shudder. They had not been sexually compatible at all.

“Well I feel gypped.” He said affronted. “You’ll have to show me yours when I’m released from this cage.”

“Anytime, Nott.” She deadpanned. He snorted humorously. She probably would too from what she saw. But she’d let him think it was a joke for now.

“What are you in for?” He asked curiously. “Think too hard at last? Did an arithmancy question send you into insanity?”

“Rough day at work.” She laughed as she recalled the chaos of the night before. “My muggle neighbours called a wellness check on me for ‘erratic’ behaviour.”

“Erratic behaviour? Hermione Granger? No.” Theo mocked. “What could you have possibly been getting up to on a Thursday evening that would warrant you getting tossed in here? Fighting with a troll again?”

“I was trying to brew a draught of ecstasy.” She replied wistfully. “Cauldron and all— also was shouting at a useless book.”

“Ah— that’s quite the experimental potion, Granger. Were you trying to meet the hatman?” Theo retorted.

“As I said.” She cut dryly. “Rough day.” His light chuckle echoed back to her through the vents.

Keys rattled at her door, drawing her attention away from the vent. A nurse stood outside, fiddling with the lock. She approached the door cautiously as it opened.

“Miss Granger, is it?” The red-haired man greeted her. “I’m nurse Evans. I’m here to take you to a brief orientation session.”

“Splendid.” She deadpanned with a sweet smile. Orientation at a psych ward. She wondered briefly, how one might go about orienting the profoundly disoriented.

She stepped out into the hallway filled with the same fluorescent lighting as her room. At least a bit of sunshine was drifting in from the window at the far end of the hallway, now that it was the morning. She watched on as nurse Evans approached Theo’s unit, slotting the keys in.

“Mr. Nott?” He repeated. “I’m nurse—”

“—yeah, yeah I heard your speech. Let me out.” Theo cut the man off with a pompous interjection. The nurse raised his eyebrows, shaking his head as he stepped aside.

Theodore Nott had looked appealing high off his rocker in the dead of night. In the light of day he looked delicious. Hermione nearly licked her lips as he slid out of his door— unfortunately it would seem that they had dressed him in the same baggy white uniform as herself, so she would be without view of his arse this morning.

He stepped towards her, the nurse watched carefully as they interacted, like he was introducing a new kitten to the resident house cat. Hermione smirked at him as he towered over her, green eyes sparkling mischievously as he got a look at her. His hair was a mess, but it was attractive in a rugged way. She didn’t imagine hers was much better.

“You’re much shorter than I remember.” He whispered so only she could hear it. His gaze lingered on hers for a moment.

Hermione raised her eyebrows, assessing him hungrily. “And you smell like stale liquor.”

“Do you— know each other?” The nurse asked with a confused look.

“Uh— no?” Theo smirked so only she could see, furrowing his brow before turning to the nurse. “I think she might just be a bit… you know.” He said, stirring his finger at his temple.

Hermione scoffed.

The nurse cleared his throat. “Alright, well, you’ll get to know each other soon enough. You were the only two brought in last night so it’s just us three for this session. Follow me.” Hermione glared at Theo as he passed her to follow the nurse with a shit-eating grin on his face.

☘︎

“Hermione.” Theo leaned into her ear with a serious voice as he scanned the room of patients enjoying breakfast on sterile plastic trays. “I’m very sorry for claiming not to know you earlier.”

Hermione huffed humorously as she moved further down the serving line. “What’s your angle in apologizing to me, Nott?”

“Why does there have to be an angle?” He frowned, but it didn’t reach his playful eyes. “Perhaps I just feel bad for invalidating your existence.”

“Because you’re a Slytherin.” She scoffed, nodding politely at the server as they scooped scrambled eggs onto her tray. She frowned at the mushy pile as it steamed in front of her. Breakfast was the first event of the day, naturally. They’d given them a schedule and everything. Breakfast would be served at eight in the morning, every day. Today, directly after breakfast. They were allowed to head to the showers, and then, art therapy.

Whatever that meant.

“And it seems that you’re a bigot.” Theo raised his brows, looking down at her with fake hurt in his face. She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “Okay fine. These people are frightening me a little.” He sighed resignedly. “I only want to ensure I’m seated safely at your side for this meal.” He sneered at his own pile of eggs.

“What’s in it for me?” She quirked a brow at him.

“I’m not sure what the currency is in here— crisps and soda?” He puffed out his chest. “Whatever it is, I can afford it. And a wealth of crisps and soda will be yours if you agree to accompany me.” She snorted, thanking the next server who gave her two sausages that didn’t look half bad.

“I don’t drink soda— not particularly fond of crisps either.” She smirked. “What else are you offering?”

“A second look at my arse?” He tilted his head at her, as if urging her to consider the offer. “Perhaps a taste?” He cocked his head even more. The server who had been putting sausage onto Theo’s tray grimaced as she overheard his lewd comments.

Hermione wanted to burst into laughter but she calmed herself, looking up at him through her lashes. Then she opened her mouth pointing her index finger into her throat as if she were gagging at the thought.

“Oh you want to be gagged?” His brows shot to his forehead. A small burst of laughter escaped her, and she rolled her eyes again. He was going to turn that into a bad habit for her if he wasn’t careful.

“Come on please?” Theo begged after a moment of silence. “I mean look— look at that guy! He’s practically deep-throating his spoon— it’s making me uneasy. If not a little hard…which is also unsettling.” Hermione shook with barely suppressed laughter as she followed his finger to see a man doing just that. With each bite of his breakfast he licked and sucked on his spoon— sticking it much farther into his mouth than necessary.

“Fine. You can sit with me.” She grinned. “Only because you’re a lot funnier than I remember you to be.”

“Thank you— thank you, golden girl.” Theo beamed at her.

“Don’t start with that or I’ll revoke my offer.” She snapped dryly as she scanned the cafeteria, assessing their options.

“Noted.” He smirked, following her into the chaos.

There were quite a few absent expressions to be seen— though she’d prefer the more outwardly crazy ones. It had always been the quiet ones she’d had to worry about. That ruled out table number one— the lot of them looked like they wanted to make a swift exit from planet Earth.

Table two was a little too energetic for her tastes, one patient, a man with glasses and a shiny bald head, stood at the foot of the table giving some sort of lecture, or philosophical rambling. The others were eating it up eagerly, clapping and adding their own absurd ramblings into the mix. Then there was also the matter of the spoon man, still engaged in fellatio with his utensil.

Table three it was. She scanned it, hoping she wouldn’t have to just take her tray into the bathroom with her. They seemed normal enough— as normal as you could be in a place like this. There was one fellow there who made her a little nervous— but only because he looked nervous. He looked to be a very skittish man, probably late thirties— maybe the victim of a mental breakdown. She could sympathize.

In the end, it was the older woman who sat at table three that sold her on the idea. The bleach-blonde woman—whose face was horribly fake-tanned with the kind of deep-set lines in her face that only came from smoking for decades, had leaned forward when she’d noticed Theo. She was eyeing him like he was her next meal, forgoing the steaming beans left on her plate.

She smirked, smiling sweetly at Theo. “Table three looks nice.”

“I think we’re in for it whatever table we choose— lead the way, Hermione.” He motioned. She set her feet into motion, approaching the only two free spots at the table, a little further down from the older woman. But she felt her eyes on them anyways.

Hermione nodded politely to the sullen looking man in front of her as she pulled out the hard plastic chair. He stared at his eggs through streaks of brown, stringy hair, unenthused.

“Aren’t you going to say hello to the two newbies, Sam?” A middle-aged man with an exceptionally straight posture piped up from beside the sullen man. He flicked his eyes up, a deep brown to match his hair. He offered her a nod— that was it.

“He’s a man of few words.” The man offered apologetically. “I’m Charles.”

“Hermione.” She smiled politely, shaking his outstretched hand.

“Theo.” Theodore flashed a sparkling grin at the man, trying to avoid eye contact with the skittish man beside him that Hermione had clocked earlier.

“Lovely to meet you both! Welcome to table three.” Charles said, taking a bite of his toast before turning to a brunette woman beside him who seemed to be too enraptured with him to notice their presence. Hermione caught the skittish man rocking on his chair beside Theo and tried again to ignore him.

She took a deep breath, glancing at Theo who looked just as uneasy. She liked him funny— so she picked up a sausage, maintaining eye contact as she slowly plunged the meat stick deep into the back of her throat. Theo shook his head at her, his eyes sparkling with humour again before laughing. He laughed even harder when she proceeded to lick and suck at her fork, tossing his head back in delight.

He groaned, throwing a hand to his head. “Stop making me laugh my fucking head is killing me.” He clenched his eyes, taking a sip of water.

“Sorry to hear that. Perhaps you should whip yourself up a hangover potion.” She smirked. He sighed deeply, eyes still closed.

“If you ask nicely they will offer you a banana bag.” The skittish man mumbled quickly, side eying Theo.

“A what?” Theo looked at the man like he had a tentacle growing out of his arse. “Why would I want a fucking bag of bananas?”

Hermione burst into laughter.

The skittish man looked absolutely petrified, eyes widening as he fixed them on the wall in front of him.

Theo growled in annoyance, tearing into his sausage viciously.

“Sausages are high in saturated fats and can raise your cholesterol. Cholesterol is famously linked to heart disease and stroke.” The skittish man offered, eyes still glued to the wall when they weren’t side eyeing Theo’s breakfast tray.

“Bloody fucking hell.” Theo mumbled. “Anything else?” He said a bit louder so the man would hear him. Hermione bit back her smile, listening carefully to the interaction.

“Yes.” The man squeaked out. “Cancer of the rectum.” Hermione tried not to choke on her coffee as Theo stopped chewing altogether.

Chapter Text

Hermione hadn’t seen such a set up since her primary school days— year one to be exact. She scanned her eyes amusedly over the supplies that had been set up at each easel station. A palette of acrylic paints and various sized paint brushes were available for use— but there were also a multitude of crayons and watercolours— even some modelling clay in various colours in case that was more their flavour.

“So they’ve locked us up just to have us what— colour pictures?” Theo exclaimed loudly, assessing the room with a twinge of unease.

“We have mind healers.” Hermione whispered to him. “Muggles don’t have access to magic like them so they must resort to other means of discovering and healing traumas.”

“Right…” Theo answered in confirmation in a voice that told her he wasn’t following any of what she was saying.

“Just pick a row and bloody sit down, Nott.” She smirked, nudging his arm eagerly. He rolled his eyes, choosing to sit in the the third row of desks, next to an unoccupied station. Hermione took the station to his left, wincing as her chair squeaked loudly when she pulled it out.

She recognized a few people from her table— the skittish man, who she was beginning to think might be a hypochondriac of some sort as she observed him putting on a medical face mask before pushing the palette of paint a little further away from him; Sam, the mute who’d sat across from them, sitting once again, mute in his chair. She smirked, delighted to see that the cougar from table three had been scheduled on the same time blocks as them and had just clocked Theo’s arrival. She smirked wider as she watched the woman get up out of her seat in the front row to move herself to the station directly beside Theo with a wink. Theo stared at her confused, giving her a polite nod before turning back to face Hermione. But the woman persisted, standing up to approach the pair of them.

“Hey there handsome, I’m Patricia!” She smiled, holding her hand out expectantly. Theo stared at it for a second before giving her a stiff handshake.

“Theo.” He smiled back at her. Patricia held his hand tightly as he tried to withdraw it from her grasp and took the opportunity to lean in and plant a full kiss right on his mouth. Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock as she took in the split second of panic that overtook his expression. Theo went rigid as her lips landed on his mouth, looking horrified and shocked as she pulled back. Hermione bit back her laughter as Patricia let go of his hand at last, turning to face her with the same hand. Hermione smiled amusedly at her, shaking it eagerly.

“Hermione. Nice to meet you, Patricia—I” She gasped, interrupted as Patricia pulled the same move on her, planting a wet, cigarette-flavoured kiss right to her mouth. She heard Theo burst into laughter behind her as she met him with the same horrified grimace.

“Lovely to meet you both— I do hope we can find the time to get to know each other while you’re here.” She winked, dragging a wrinkled hand through Theo’s curly brown hair as she went to take her spot beside Theo. His eyes widened in mortification as he turned to look at Hermione, looking completely affronted.

“Oh. My. God.” Hermione huffed right before they both snorted, giggling in quiet disbelief with one another.

“I’ve never shared, before.” Theo smirked with a wiggle of his brows.

“What a novel experience this will be for the both of us then.” Hermione retorted dryly, shivering at the violation of her personal space and at the lingering ashy smell beneath her nose. Theo chuckled darkly before the art therapist spoke up at the front of the room.

“Welcome everyone, I’m your instructor and art therapist, Dr. Amelia Edwards.” She smiled warmly at the dozen or so patients sitting before her. Hermione had already noticed a pattern— the authority figures here wore sterile white coats over their light blue scrubs. Her shock of auburn hair stood in stark contrast to the blinding white labcoat. “I see we have two new members in our group today, lovely to see new faces.” She fixed her blue eyes on herself and Theo.

“She’s acting like we had a choice.” Theo huffed. Hermione shushed him, biting her lip under the uncomfortable gaze of the other ten people who had been made aware of their presence. She gave a sheepish wave, fixing her eyes on the canvas before her, willing it to swallow her whole.

“As I always like to remind this class, there are no rules here. Create with acrylic, create with crayons, it does not matter. What matters is that you create from the heart.” Dr. Edwards continued. “As per my usual procedure, we will begin with a guided meditation— a short five minutes to ground ourselves and to help us connect with our emotions. Please, join me in closing your eyes.”

“Oh Salazar.” Theo sighed deeply. Hermione rolled her eyes before clenching them shut. “Not a fan of meditations either are you?” She heard him remark.

“Too many thoughts. It’s always been an impossible task for me.” Hermione whispered back.

“I believe we found our first patch of common ground, Granger.” She could hear the teasing smirk in his voice even when he was whispering.

“The fact that we’ve both found our way into a muggle nuthouse leads me to believe that we will find more.” Hermione retorted.

“Please quiet down. You may talk to one another quietly if you’re so inclined after this short five minutes.” Hermione snapped her mouth shut, listening as Theo snickered quietly beside her. She sighed, sinking into her seat to listen.

“Start by taking three deep breaths. Breathing in through the nose on one—” Hermione inhaled a breath of air, listening to the collective sniffs of the class. “—and holding it for three seconds, then we’re going to exhale through our mouths.” Another collective whooshing sound filled the room— one mildly concerning wheeze sounded out amongst the rest. Hermione’s mouth twitched. “Excellent, two more times and when you exhale I want you to picture all of those uncomfortable feelings or worries you might be hanging onto, leaving your body through your mouth.”

They repeated the exercise twice more as instructed. Hermione went through the motions but didn’t bother trying to visualize such things. It never did her any good.

“Good, excellent! Now we’re going to keep our eyes closed and pick a memory or worry that might still be lingering in your chest. It can be anything—positive or negative. The goal is to connect with the energy of things that are impacting us on a daily basis. For example— I’m focusing on the feeling I have been holding onto since I lost my beloved cat, Tom, to kidney failure only a month ago.” She sighed sadly. “You can keep yours to yourselves if you wish, though I will give you an opportunity to share with us at the end of the session.“

Oh to have such simple grievances. Sad, yes— but a simple fact of life. Hermione wondered what that was like for her.

“Feelings demand to be felt.” Dr. Edwards continued softly. “At times they feel sentient, controlling your thoughts and your actions despite your best intentions. Stuffing them down and stifling their voices just does not work.” She sighed. “So today, we are giving life to those feelings—letting them say their piece in a language that we all can comprehend. Art.”

Hermione was determined not to comply with the ridiculous prompt, but a feeling settled in her chest without the consent of her mind. The worst of them all.

Apathy.

She supposed she should correct herself in saying that a lack of feeling had settled in her chest. Because that is what it felt like. A gnawing dullness that she couldn’t blame on any particular memory or worry. She’d been experiencing it for a while if she were being truthful. When the bursts of anger and frustration became fewer and farther between— when she had begun to consider quitting the job she’d worked her whole adult life towards— that is when she had first noticed it.

“You might be feeling a lot right now and that is okay— in fact that is ideal.” Dr. Edwards’ voice cut through her thoughts. “I am going to ask you to open your eyes in just a moment to begin your pieces, but before I do that I want you to remember two questions to keep asking yourself as you create to ensure you’re staying engaged with your feelings. The first, is when you choose a colour, before you use it, ask yourself what that colour represents for you. The second is to be asked before you switch colours— ask yourself what you felt while you were working with it. With that we can push ahead.” She finished. “I’ll come around to each of your stations when our time is up in about fifty minutes, and give you a private consultation.”

Hermione cracked open her eyes, blinking away the bright fluorescent lights. She turned to Theo, discovering that he was slumped back lazily in his chair, arms crossed over his chest while his head nodded to the side. Was he sleeping?

Hermione stifled a laugh, leaning over to give him a playful slap on the cheek. On the second slap she felt a strong hand shoot up and clasp around her wrist with a borderline painful grasp. She gasped, trying and failing to tug her hand away as Theo’s green eyes flew open, frantic and seemingly somewhere else for a moment before they settled on her face and widened in shock. He dropped her wrist abruptly, clearing his throat with a frown.

“Sorry about that, Granger.” He said stiffly, sitting up in his chair uneasily.

“That’s quite alright.” She furrowed her brow, turning to face her canvas. “I didn’t mean to startle you.” She said quietly.

He didn’t respond.

Hermione loosed a breath, assessing the tools at her station with disinterest. She had no bloody interest in using the crayons, being that she didn’t have the mentality of a nine year-old. She settled on the acrylics, vivid and opaque upon her palette. She debated whether she should actually participate in asking herself the silly questions.

No. She didn’t care enough for such things.

So she reached for the red first with a medium-sized brush, swirling it on her canvas to break up the stark white cloth, not paying any attention to what the colour made her feel. And when she switched to a purple a moment later, she didn’t pay any mind to what she had felt while painting with the red. Such ridiculous questions indeed— and she refused to spend time ruminating on them.

About a half hour later she hadn’t even realized the chunk of time had passed, and she stared at her painting with a grimace. She’d never been very artistic.

“Psst.” Theo signalled to her. Hermione quirked a brow when she turned to look at him, shrugging expectantly. He subtly nodded his head in Patricia’s direction.

“What on earth is she—“ Hermione started, pausing when she subtly leaned over to see what Patricia was working on. She’d chosen clay and currently had her hands wrapped around a clay statue that look suspiciously phallic. “Oh my— is that?”

“I think it is well on its way to being just that.” Theo joked flatly.

“Did I get it close?” Patricia smiled slyly. Hermione barked out a laugh, clamping her hand over her gaping mouth. She received a few glares from the patients working on their pieces around her.

Theo hummed in contemplation, tilting his head. “A tad longer, darling.” Hermione flushed furiously as she watched him lean in closer to the model, squinting his eyes at it. “And that vein right there is a bit more…prominent.” He finished, pointing at an obnoxiously detailed vein running right up the shaft of her creation. Hermione bit back another laugh as she watched Patricia’s eyes light up excitedly. The woman smiled sensually back at Theo.

Hermione eyed his canvas with bored curiosity, noting that he had also chosen paints— though he’d gone for watercolours. She doubted he’d heard any of the instructions while he’d been taking his cat nap. She smiled to herself, turning back to her canvas for the last fifteen minutes of their session.

“Hello, Ms. Granger.” A soft voice greeted her from over her shoulder. She turned to look up at Dr. Edwards who had approached her so quietly she hadn’t even noticed her arrival. “How is everything coming along?”

“I think I’ve painted out whatever feelings I could, honestly.” Hermione shrugged. “I’m not very artistic.”

“Art is entirely subjective— it looks like art from where I’m standing.” She smiled warmly. Hermione offered her an awkward, close-lipped smile. She saw Theo side-eying her in her peripherals but she didn’t want to offend the instructor by entertaining his antics at this very moment.

“It’s interesting that you’ve chosen to place the warmer, brighter colours on the left side of your canvas.” Dr. Edwards analyzed, trailing a finger through the air above her canvas. “Psychologically speaking, for purposes of art therapy, I often see clients gravitating towards the left side of the canvas when they are thinking about the past while creating. You clearly seem to have had a bright past, the navy blue mixed in indicates a curiosity or a thirst for knowledge.” She smiled at her, tilting her head as if asking for confirmation of her suspicions.

“Er— you’d be right I suppose.” Hermione muttered, suddenly worried about what else she might be able to glean from her mindless painting. She followed her eyes carefully as they tracked across the canvas again.

“The red indicates either a period of passion or turmoil. The fact that you focused most of your effort in this quadrant makes me think you spend most of your time thinking about the past.” Hermione’s stomach lurched uncomfortably. “Ms. Granger, I must ask—and you are of course, free to remain silent. Do you resonate with the right side of your canvas, the various shades of greys and blues to represent your future? Do you hold worries about your path inside?”

Hermione paled, furrowing her brows. She suddenly felt incredibly bare. She swallowed uncomfortably, stealing a glance at Theo to avoid answering her pointed questions. He had stopped smirking entirely, a worried expression crossing his face as he eyed his own canvas. Hermione briefly wondered what it was that had stifled his rather humorous demeanour. When she didn’t respond, Dr. Edwards gave her an accepting nod before turning to assess Theo’s work.

The woman bit her lip, brow furrowing in concern as she turned to look at Theodore’s canvas.

“Theodore, it appears that you’ve deviated from the typical linear psychological process when you created this.” Her voice was hushed as she spoke to him, but Hermione was close enough to hear all of it. “Sometimes we see this, sort of— iceberg formation. Bottom up, if you will. The bottom often represents childhood, the top, present day.” Theo looked utterly terrified, looking up at the doctor with wide, vulnerable eyes. “Typically this means you tend to go more with the flow, not contemplating your future too often, focused more on the day-to-day. I see that you’ve chosen a light grey base with yellow stars and swirls of red and purple. To me, because of the grey background you’ve chosen to use, the yellows and reds represent volatility and perhaps aggression, or threat of danger amidst a life of security in all other matters relating to our most basic survival needs.” Theo’s throat bobbed as he swallowed almost as thickly as Hermione did, and she could tell that Dr. Edwards had pinned him down too. “As I said, you are at liberty to share as much as you wish, but the question that comes to my mind when I look at this is to do with your childhood. “Would you say that you had a tumultuous childhood? I’m seeing elements of financial or physical stability—but perhaps a volatile parental figure?”

Theo blanched.

Hermione’s own lingering humour melted off of her face. She knew about his father’s involvement in the first wizarding war before his death in their fourth year. She wondered too, whether the mutterings about his behaviour with Theo had held some truth to them.

She cleared her throat, pointing her eyes back to her own canvas to give him some privacy.

“Watercolour is often the choice I see patients make when they’re prone to only allowing themselves to feel things at a surface-level, prone to stuffing it down but unable to ignore that they’re there.” Dr. Edwards continued, turning back to Hermione pointedly. “Acrylic is actually the opposite of that. Those who choose acrylic tend to be more in tune with their emotions— and may tend to have a lot of them. Great job, both of you.” She nodded politely, moving on to assess the next patient’s work.

“What do you think her piece says about her?” Theo leaned in, whispering to her. She glanced over to Patricia, who was now taking a fine-tipped detailing tool to the ballsack of her creation. She snorted, trying not to focus too much of her attention on the vein Theo had mentioned.

“I think it means you have to put her out of her misery, pretty boy.” They both snickered quietly.

“Hermione, Theodore. We try to be respectful of one another’s form of expression during these sessions.” Dr. Edwards urged softly from the row behind them, but Hermione didn’t miss the flash of surprise that crossed her face when she caught wind of what they were laughing about.

“Right, our apologies Dr. Edwards.” Theo said, biting back a playful grin.

“Indeed. Quite sorry about that madam.” Hermione mumbled, keeping her eyes fixed on Theo in warning.

“Did I hear you say that you think I’m pretty, Granger?” Theo smirked at her, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Quite.” Hermione hummed appreciatively, making a point to scan her eyes over his body.

“We can hang onto our art, Amelia, yes?” Patricia’s voice pulled them from their flirting? Hermione’s eyes widened, flitting her eyes back to Theo’s face, who appeared just as mortified, shaking his head incredulously.

“Er— you can most certainly display your art on the shelves in your rooms, if you wish to do so.” Dr. Edwards answered swiftly, making a point to keep her eyes fixed on another patient’s canvas.

“I guess we know what she’s in for.” Hermione mumbled, looking on amusedly at Theo’s grimace, his vacant expression made her think he was visualizing something untoward. The resulting images that sprang to her mind made her wish she had aphantasia.

A moment later, the patient Dr. Edwards was consulting burst into manic laughter. They both whirled around to see a middle-aged man with dark brown eyes—which table the black-haired man had belonged to was escaping her memory.

“The eyes you see here— I don’t think they’re just watching me, Dr. Edwards— they’re watching us all! These ‘wild connections’ you say you see me desperate to make between my ‘chaotic’ thoughts, aren’t aimless thoughts— they’re revelations!” He spat with fervour. Hermione and Theo glanced at one another with raised brows.

“Art is open to interpretation— I don’t always get it right, Adam.” She smiled softly, trying to deescalate his ramblings. It didn’t work.

“Well I do! And when you finally wake up and see the truth and the corruption around us— you just remember that it was Adam Baker who showed you the way.” He exclaimed with a puffed chest.

Hermione noted with a snort, that he’d used the blasted crayons.

“What’s he on about?” Theo asked with a confused smirk.

“Probably that the Queen is a lizard.” She said slightly louder for Adam to hear. “Amongst other political leaders.” Adam whirled his head around to engage with her. Theo’s grin grew wider, despite the fact that he seemed utterly perplexed by her comment.

“You!” He pointed with a smile and a vindicated nod. “You get it!” Hermione tried not to laugh,  smiling politely. “A bit of an exaggeration, but you’re learning. There is truth behind the madness! The reptilian race walks among us.” He gave her a nod of approval before turning his nose up in the air to listen to Dr. Edwards who had cleared her throat at the front of the room.

“You’ve all done exceedingly well, I’m pleased with the amount of active participation I’ve seen here today.” Dr. Edwards beamed at the front of the room. “Does anyone wish to share before we depart?”

“Patricia does.” Hermione bit out. Theo snorted, dissolving into a silent fit of laughter.

“Sam?” Dr. Edwards knitted her brows together, calling upon the mute that sat a row back from them.

“I guess.” He mumbled, sliding from his chair with his canvas in tow. Hermione raised her brow when he reached the front of the room to reveal a canvas that had been painted entirely grey. Nothing else. She eyed it with a curious expression.

“I painted this—” Sam muttered, unamused. “—I liked the grey.”

“Clearly.” Theo snorted. Hermione smirked, averting her eyes from Sam so he wouldn’t see when the room burst into hesitant applause.

Theo was clapping the loudest. Hermione fell into easy laughter as she noted that he resembled a seal.

Chapter Text

“Tell me again what a movie is?” Theo whispered to Hermione from his fluffy beanbag chair. Hermione watched as the staff drew down the blinds, blocking out the stark white of the frigid late February landscape. They had all been ushered into the entertainment room after the ‘group therapy session’ for their block. Apparently a feature film was the way the staff liked to relax the patients after submitting them to those weekly therapy sessions. Thankfully, Hermione and Theo hadn’t found themselves forced to participate as they were not provided to seventy-two-hour-hold cases. Instead, she and Theo had been given a mid-day break directly following the art session, during which they could read, nap, have a tea— and that was really about it, the options were in fact not endless.

Theo had taken advantage of it, taking a much-needed nap for his hangover. Hermione had been unsuccessful when she’d tried, so she had visited the free beverages station instead. She had downed another two cups of coffee while reading a beaten up and vandalized copy of ’1984’ by George Orwell, amidst a foam-floored library that resembled her nursery school. She’d wondered, as she stared at the maniacal doodles of eyes all over its pages, why an institution such as this would think it wise to lend out such literature to patients who might very well be there for exhibiting paranoia.

“It’s like a moving picture— hence the term ‘movie’.” Hermione muttered back, shifting uncomfortably in her own beanbag chair. In hindsight, she would have been wise to avoid caffeinating herself before she was forced to sit still for two hours and fifteen minutes.

“Yes but all pictures move.” Theo scoffed. “That’s where I’m left confused!”

“I gathered as much.” Hermione rolled her eyes, her mouth watering as the smell of buttery popcorn wafted towards her from the incredibly loud and gaudy red cart at the back of the room. “Muggle pictures don’t move at all.” She leaned in with a low whisper.

“Then why did you just tell me that they do!” Theo growled excitedly. 

“Honestly, I’m going to throttle you.” Hermione sighed deeply, fixing her increasingly exhausted amber eyes on him to hopefully give him an explanation that might sate him for the time being.

“Think of it like a book… but you can see and hear it, rather than read it.” She tried. This explanation earned her a pensive look. “It’s usually fictional or dramatized, though the people on screen are real.”

“How can they be both fictional and real at the same time?” He was growing irate, pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers as though she was giving him a headache.

“They’re actors, Theodore.” Hermione responded dryly. “They’re acting out a fictional story. You can think about it as a play if that helps you conceptualize such a simple idea.”

“Plays are on a stage— how on earth do they capture it on this moving picture?” He gritted out.

“With a camera, Theodore.” Hermione huffed a laugh.

“Why didn’t you just say that, then.”

“Where do you think pictures come from?” Hermione scowled.

“I—” Theo started with a frustrated expression.

“—You’re just going to have to experience it for yourself.” Hermione stopped him with a gesture in his face. “They want this to relax us, not raise our blood pressure.”

“Fine.” He huffed frustratedly. “Can you at least tell me what the story is about so I have a fighting chance?”

“We’re watching Pride & Prejudice. It’s a movie based on a classic romance book written by a muggle woman in the 1800s.” Hermione smiled warmly at him. “I’m quite thrilled actually, it’s one of my favourites.”

“I do not enjoy romance.” Theo sighed, sinking into his chair.

“That’s your pride talking.” Hermione lilted. “You’ll grow to love it once you’ve seen it— just as Mr. Darcy grows to love Elizabeth.”

“Sorry darling,” Theo drawled sarcastically. “I’ve no fucking clue what you’ve just said.”

“Just watch it.” She rolled her eyes, nodding thanks to the nameless staff member that passed her  a colourful cardboard box of popcorn. “You’ll understand soon enough.”

Theo sniffed his box of popcorn suspiciously, “Do you think they’ve drugged this?” 

“Shh!” Hermione hissed as the soft piano song began to play. Theo scowled at her, throwing a kernel of buttery popcorn in her direction.

Hermione would later discover the piece of popcorn had found its way into her curls, where it sat unnoticed until Theo couldn’t contain his childish snickers about half an hour into the film.

☘︎

“I feel his pain.” Theo lamented dramatically. “Being carted around a social event like a show pony— all of the tarts in their fancy dresses giving him the eyes.” He wiggled his eyebrows and Hermione shook her head in exasperation.

Hermione scoffed, “Are you the show pony in this metaphor?”

“I was. Believe it or not we purebloods do still need to ’enter society’ so to say. My mother dragged me to an event in the summer of my sixth year and they didn’t stop until—” Theo stopped talking, pursing his lips as his mind caught up to his mouth, reaching the tumultuous mutual experience neither of them particularly wanted to edge towards discussing. Hermione gracefully didn’t press him to continue. “It was a bit ridiculous actually, as our community and breeding pool had already grown so small that we all knew one another already.”

“Oh Godric, I can picture Pansy at one of those.” She rolled her eyes.

“Oh yes, she certainly loved them.” Theo chuckled. “Although she wasn’t as classy as whoever these fake-real ladies are that I’m observing. She gravitated towards the older men…I think she self-destructed when Astoria Greengrass had been promised to Draco in her stead.”

“It’s a shame Lucius is still locked up then. She could have made him her stepson instead.” Hermione snorted, trying to imagine a list of eligible pureblood bachelors over forty and came up short. 

“Ugh— do not put that picture into my head please.” Theo pretended to gag.

“Honestly?” Hermione shrugged, “If he wasn’t so evil.”

Theo turned his head slowly, assessing Hermione with a look that teetered between disgust and astonishment, “If he wasn’t so evil, what?”

“I mean hear me out...if he had even a morally grey bone in his body— perhaps a haircut.” She smirked, stuffing some more popcorn into her mouth.

“You’ve just described his son.” Theo laughed at the echo of horror that overtook Hermione’s expression.

“For that to be fact I would have had to include wiping that pig sneer from his face in my list of makeover hacks.” She tossed a kernel square at Theo’s forehead. To her annoyance, he caught it with his mouth and took his time chewing it with a cheeky grin.

“Salazar, she’s got a silver tongue.” Theo smirked at Elizabeth’s character as she verbally sparred with Mr. Darcy on the dance floor. “She reminds me of you a little, Granger.” The corner of her mouth curled up slightly as she reflected upon his observation.

Hermione hummed in agreement, “I suppose that is why I like her so much.”

“You know now that we’re on the topic, it is quite difficult for me not to draw parallels between their dynamic and your own with a certain blonde bombshell who works at the Ministry.” Theo pondered innocently with a raise of his eyebrows.

“You shut your mouth!” Hermione gasped aghast. “The only similarities myself and Malfoy have with these two characters is that we absolutely despise each other— only the utter loathing I feel in my chest is entirely genuine and belies no ounce of attraction or hidden infatuation. I have never—” She halted as she observed the victorious grin spreading across his face, suddenly catching onto his scheme to wind her up. “Oh fuck off, Nott.” His grin had grown so wide Hermione reckoned it might begin to hurt his face.

He laughed, shoulders shaking as he responded, “I would pay good galleons to see you two argue in person.”

“Happy to, if I’m allowed to shove the lot of them up your arse upon winning.” Hermione bit back, but found that it was impossible to keep a straight scowl on her face around the wizard.

“You’re much too easy. I understand now why he persisted in his antagonization of you. Being on the receiving end of that sharp mouth of yours is rather enjoyable.” Theo teased.

“You’re only having fun because I find myself reluctantly enjoying your company.” Hermione retorted. “It would be a different story if I loathed you as I do him.”

“One day in and you’re already professing your love to me, Granger. I reckon we shall be promised to one another by the time the clock strikes seventy-two hours.” Theo winked. She hated to admit but it did something to her stomach. Who was she kidding— she didn’t hate it one bit.

“I would actually prefer to keep my name out of your creepy genealogical books— what was the one your great-grandfather wrote again?” Hermione drawled sweetly.

Theo’s demeanour shifted slightly. She saw the muscles in his shoulders cord and stiffen as he moved to fix his eyes on the film. His voice was low and carefully tempered as he cut out, “A stain in my family tree. I burned every copy we had in my fourth year— including his manuscript.”

Hermione’s smirk melted from her face. Distantly, she recalled news of his father’s death in their fourth year and she wondered if Theo had done all of this following his passing. “That was rather insensitive of me.” She cleared her throat, furrowing her brows. “I shouldn’t joke about such things.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Hermione.” Theo waved her off. “If anyone has the right to harbor contempt for my breed it would be you.”

She frowned, swallowing her last bite of popcorn uncomfortably. “You say ‘your breed’ as if that automatically makes you as bad as the rest of them.”

“You speak as if you assume I am not.” Theo huffed humorously, as though he truly couldn’t believe that she could view him as anything but a run-of-the-mill pureblood with a superiority complex.

“It’s not an assumption.” She said softly. Her voice trailed off as she finished her argument, “You’ve always been kind to me.” She felt Theo’s eyes on her as she glued her own to the projected movie, swallowing a sip of her water as the soft tinkle of the piano score flooded the room.

“A generous claim considering we’ve never really spoken at all.”

“Which is still ten times better than spewing vitriol at muggleborns and sending curses at their backs.” Hermione knit her brows together, avoiding eye contact.

“Someone cursed you?” Theo gaped, brows knitting together with concern.

“Only with childish hexes during school, but yes.” Hermione answered, hoping Theo wouldn’t read between the lines and notice the way she’d left out what had been done to her outside of Hogwarts— perhaps he would miss the way her body tensed and the way the nausea that coiled in her stomach caused her to grimace. She blinked away the emotion building in her eyes, mustering up some humour to steer their conversation away from its natural conclusion— one she didn’t fancy reaching at the moment. “None of them required any strong technical knowledge— though Malfoy grew quite skilled at the ‘Densaugeo’ hex.”

She heard Theo sigh softly, sinking back into his chair with a muttered apology, “I’m really quite sorry that happened, Hermione.”

She was surprised at the consolation his words seemed to offer her— something about hearing them from someone of his notability actually seemed to soothe the old and childish wound that festered in her heart.

“Thank you.” She whispered almost inaudibly.

He followed up his statement with one she couldn’t help but to agree with.“Malfoy was a right prat back then.”

“Back then would imply that he’s changed. I hardly think that’s true from what I’ve seen of his behaviour at the Ministry.” She argued.

Theo muttered softly, “We’ve all changed.” Hermione hummed her agreement, analyzing the movie with the deep concentration of someone who was voraciously attempting to ignore the past.

☘︎

Theo was really quite astute. And just like Hermione, he was more than happy to avoid conversing about their pasts. He’d stayed mostly quiet throughout the rest of the movie, only breaking their comfortable silence to make silly comments and boastful remarks regarding fashion choices and the abysmal net worth of Mr. Darcy in comparison to his own. By the end of the film he’d had her genuinely smiling again.

She winced as the staff flicked on the bright overhead lights and the soft muttering of the other patients around her started up again. She blinked away the blare, turning to look at Barry as she heard his shriek. He was frantically covering himself with the white cotton blanket they’d been provided for comfort during the film, shielding his skin from the fluorescent glow. She heard Theo’s huff of amusement beside her as he stood, stretching his limbs. She didn’t mean to stare as his ward-issued white shirt slipped upwards— but her covert glance turned into a less-than-subtle staring contest with his absurdly toned midriff.

“Going to stay down there?” An outstretched hand came into focus in front of her, breaking her from her trance. She might have blushed a little as she flitted her gaze up to Theo’s bemused one and took his outstretched hand.

“What’s next on our schedule?” She tempered her bashful tone. Of course she didn’t need him to tell her— she’d already memorized the schedule. But she was desperate to keep at least a shred of dignity and mystery about her.

“It’s ‘Pizza Day’” Theo smirked, “Though I’ll have to behave myself. As you know, I’ve a figure to watch.”

Hermione’s cheeks flared and she let out an annoyed huff, “Yes, yes— you’re obnoxiously fit and you’ve caught me checking you out. Can you blame a girl for noticing?”

“Just wanted you to admit it.” He drawled playfully. “I was beginning to worry that my natural affinity for beauty wasn’t working on you.”

“I prefer a good mind over any of that.” Hermione waved off, trailing behind the crowd of patients exiting the room.

“I’ve got one of those!” Theo responded excitedly.

“Clearly.” Hermione gestured to their surroundings with a pointed look.

“You’re here too— I reckon that means we’re equals.”

She tossed a warning glance over her shoulder, shaking her head without another word.

☘︎

“This fucking pizza is dreadful!” Theo grumbled from beside Hermione. She eyed Somber Sam, as they had coined him during the film, toying with his slice of oily cheese pizza. She was inclined to agree with Theodore’s sentiment— her slice had the consistency of cardboard and the flavour of a slice of plain toast.

“We should all remain grateful for what we’re given here— isn’t that right, Charles?” The brown-haired woman Hermione had met at breakfast spoke up for the first time.

“Call me ungrateful if you like for saying it, but he’s right— it’s a horrible pizza and a complete waste of ward resources.” Sam snapped, dropping his pizza onto his plate with a wet thump.

“I’m inclined to agree with Sam on this one.” Hermione mumbled, nodding with enthusiastic agreement. Sam looked at her with his own unusually animated nod of thanks.

“To each their own, my friends.” Charles preached, smiling down at Cindy who was looking quite dejectedly at Sam. “I must agree with Cindy— we could be having nothing for dinner. Yet our stomachs will be full of nutritious sustenance when we go to bed tonight.”

“Thank you, Charles— you’re such a wonderful man and a great example for all of us I think.” Cindy beamed.

“Nobody who is locked up in this place is a great example for anyone— they’re not even a good example!” Sam snapped.

“Samuel, is something troubling you this evening son?” Charles asked gently with a hand to his shoulder. Sam shrugged off his touch, pushing his paper plate towards Cindy with a forceful shove.

“Christ sake Charles!” He scolded, surprising everyone at the table with his outburst. “It’s the simpleton beside you that’s troubling me. You know sometimes—sometimes there’s just simply nothing good to be found in a situation! The sooner your girlfriend stops deluding herself of this, the sooner she’ll be out of here I’d imagine!”

Charles looked quite ticked off in an annoyingly muted sort of way that would have irked Hermione had she been the one in a row with the man, “Now Sam— you shouldn’t speak of Cin—”

“To play devil’s advocate— nutritious might be a stretch…” Theo jumped in, diffusing the growing tension at the table. “However, upon deeper reflection, I too must say that I agree with Cindy.” He gave a politician’s smile to the group that had Hermione scoffing amusedly. “What say you, Patticakes?” Theo turned to Patricia with a lewd wink that had her giving him the moon eyes.

Evidently she’d found an empty seat next to him— well she’d nearly thrown Barry to the ground as she’d raced him to the table. Hermione didn’t think poor Barry had known that they were in a race. The man had seemed quite surprised when she’d shoulder-checked him into the farther seat.

Barry sat quietly at the end of the table staying out of the discussion. He was too enraptured in the process of wringing the oil out of his slice between two pieces of paper towel. Hermione found that her attention was quite torn between Barry’s project and the outrageously-detailed phallic sculpture that Patricia had taken to carrying around all day. Surely the damned woman would have had time to go to her room to drop the fucking thing off by the time dinner had rolled around.

“I’ll always agree with you, Theodore.” Patricia croaked out of her smoker’s voice box. Theo jumped out of his seat with a surprised yelp as she slid a hand up his thigh— a little too high for the dinner table.

“Behave now, darling.” He warned with an awkward laugh. Hermione couldn’t stop her eyes from morphing into a squint as she looked at the shameless woman. She felt Theo shift incrementally closer to her on the bench.

“Patricia?” Hermione asked casually. Patricia turned to her with a hum of acknowledgement. Theo turned to her as well, eyebrows raised as he likely detected the ire in her tone that the others did not. “What are you in here for?”

Gasps sounded around the table.

“We typically don’t ask others such a sensitive question, Hermione.” Charles said gently, placing a hand over hers that she felt was intended to both comfort and patronize her. It was Theo’s turn to squint as she pulled her hand away.

“It’s okay Charles— I’m not ashamed to tell our new friends here.” Patricia reassured him. Hermione wanted to roll her eyes as Charles gave Patricia a gesture as if to say ‘please continue’— as if anyone at the table needed his fucking permission. “This may come as a shock to you, Hermione, but I’m… an addict of sorts.”

Hermione tried not to snort as she responded, “Are we not all of us, a little bit of a slave to our libido?” She shrugged. Patricia— and the rest of the table— looked quite perplexed at her comment. Save for Theo of course, whose eyes were glittering with their usual amusement.

“I’m addicted to ketamine, Hermione?” Patricia stated with a confused cock of her head. “It began to control my life— I was k-holing every weekend which then turned into every day. It cost me my job at the community school.” Hermione bit back the urge to ask her if she might be holing something else now—replacing one addiction with another.

“Um— quite sorry to hear that, Patricia.” She mumbled. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Please forgive my curious nature.”

“It’s natural sweetie.” Patricia winked at her, shoving the last bit of crust into her mouth with a crunch.

Hermione couldn’t help but to pry just a little further. “You were a teacher?”

“I was— year seven. Though I hated it. It wasn’t much of a loss but it was certainly a wake up call.” Patricia sighed. “What is it you do on the outside?”

“I work for the Ministry—” Hermione started mindlessly, her words sputtering out as Theo coughed loudly beside her.

“Apologies everyone, I usually cut off the crust but I’ve an insatiable appetite this evening.” He smiled pointedly, his perfectly white teeth tearing into the dry brown crust.

“Er—” She stuttered, eying him with subtle gratitude for catching her blunder. “— for the Ministry of environment and countryside that is— I issue hunting and livestock permits.” To Hermione’s relief, Patricia and the rest of table three looked just disinterested enough to not ask warrant any further questions.

“And you, Theodore?” Charles asked with a clinical cock of his head. Hermione had a feeling he had been a therapist of some sort but hoped that the conversation would stray from the topic of ‘the outside’ very soon.

“I don’t do much other than throw money at several good causes but I’d like to think that makes me an entrepreneur rather than just unemployed.” Theo beamed.

“So you’re an angel investor?” Cindy piped up enthusiastically.

“I wouldn’t go as far as to classify myself as an angel— but we all have two wolves inside of us to speak metaphorically.” Theo smiled as though he found the turn of phrase hilarious.

Hermione was both impressed and dreadfully unsurprised by how good of a bullshitter Theo was. He hadn’t even batted an eyelash as he lied to the group. She had never been able to succeed in such things. Not even when her life had been on the line.

“Are you going to eat that?” Sam whispered to her from across the table, motioning to her second, uneaten slice of pizza.

“Er—all yours, Sam.” She whispered back, drawn from her thoughts. She pushed the plate towards the odd man.

“Look I’ve got principles, alright? I still think the pizza sucks— I’m just hungrier now.” Sam muttered passionately under his breath as he slid the plate all of the way to his side.

The sound of choking drew her attention to the end of the table where she saw Barry coughing between gulps of water. “This pizza is dryer than the bloody Sahara!” He coughed out angrily.

Theo chuckled, “You practically juiced it, mate— of course it’s going to be dry!”

“Cooking oil has been linked to high blood pressure and raised cholesterol! Do you know what that means?”

“Hmm… ass cancer?” Theo quipped. Hermione smiled into her glass of water.

“Close!” Barry flung his hands up with an exaggerated motion, “Heart disease!”

“You’re missing the forest for the trees, mate.” Theo took a healthy sip of his own water, washing down his own crust. “Heart disease can’t claim you if you’ve already choked to death on your food.”

Barry went tight-lipped, a look of intense contemplation passing over his features.

Hermione tossed Theo a loaded glance and was pleased to find that he returned it in kind. It was a strange situation she found herself in— but it was made infinitely better with someone in her corner.

☘︎

“I’d like to hear more about your libido.” Theo whispered to her as they sat in the activity room, tucked against the brightly coloured bookshelves. Hermione whacked him over the head with the copy of ‘1984’ that she had gotten nearly halfway through that day. He caught it with his hand when she went in for another hit, tearing it from her grasp with an amused smirk. She watched as he turned it over in his hand, flicking through its heavily vandalized pages.

“It’s a muggle book. A rather interesting choice to have in a place like this in my opinion.” She huffed out amusedly.

“You find it interesting that a muggle psychiatric hospital has muggle books?” Theo quirked a brow, placing it back in her hands.

“Of course not, Theodore—” Hermione sighed deeply, “I don’t have the energy to explain it to you. Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“This might surprise you Hermione but as I am also a patient in this fine establishment— no, I don’t have anywhere better to be.” Theo deadpanned, stretching his long legs out in front of him with a huff.

“Go find a book to read then!”

“If you picked one out for me I could be convinced.” Theo smirked.

Hermione’s mouth betrayed her feigned annoyance, quirking up at the side. “Fine. Hold this.” She dropped ‘1984’ in his lap standing with an exaggerated huff. The man was too bloody attractive to stay annoyed at. With a face like that and a charming mouth to boot— she was toast.

She ran her hands over the spines, flitting her eyes over the multitude of colours and patterned covers until something stuck out. She had a thought as she raced to the next aisle, that it would be quite funny to provide him with a sappy romance book. Oh how she bloody hated those ones. She gave a wicked smirk to herself as she browsed the covers.

Immediately one stuck out to her in a deep Gryffindor red shade. It appeared to be on the longer side as novels went, about seven hundred pages thick. ’No Man’s Love’, the title read. She didn’t even need to flick to the front cover— she could tell it would be perfect.

She skipped back towards Theo, finding him a few pages deep in her book with raised brows. “Nuh-uh— that’s my book until I’m done.” She said excitedly, stealing it back from him and replacing it with the book she’d chosen. “Here— one of my favourites.” She winked. He eyed her suspiciously, turning the book over in his hands. After a moment of contemplation, he seemed satisfied that he had not detected a falsehood and cracked the cover to begin reading.

“I don’t usually go for romance Granger, but I’ll read it if it is one of your favourites.” He sighed, flicking the first page open.

“You’re going to love it.” Hermione tried her darnedest to keep a straight face as she settled down beside him, back against the stiff wall of the bookshelf.

☘︎

“One day down— two to go.” Theo’s sing-song voice echoed through the nearly vacant hallways as they headed to their rooms. He’d only gotten a few chapters in before curfew had been upon them.

‘Boring so far’, he’d exclaimed to her about her fake favourite read.

She’d promised with her most convincing whine that it would ‘get better!’

“So, what typically happens after three days at a place like this?” He asked with genuine curiosity.

“The same thing that would happen at St. Mungo’s.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“They’re going to put us down?” Theo pasted on a look of horror, “It was nice getting to know you, Hermione.”

“I should be so lucky.” Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

“Aw, don’t be like that, love.” Theo teased. “What’s the real answer?”

Hermione quirked a brow at him, “You were being serious?”

“As a heart attack.”

“We’ll be released, Theodore,” she sighed, “that’s why it’s called a seventy-two-hour hold.”

He hummed, “I can leave whenever I want.”

Hermione snorted, “Do you have your wand up your arse or something?”

“Salazar! Actually would you mind checking for me? I do seem to have misplaced it.” He smirked, nudging her shoulder with his own. “No. I don’t have it on me— I think they confiscated it. But I don’t need it anyways.”

“So assuming that’s some long-winded way of telling me that you’re skilled in wandless magic,” Hermione mused, “then why don’t you just leave now?”

“The situation I find myself in amuses me.”

“You find being locked up in a psychiatric ward amusing?”

“Quite. Your presence here has rather made this a fun little experience for me I reckon. Plus the muggles have proved most interesting to observe.”

“This isn’t a zoo, Theodore.“

“Could have fooled me.” He said, mussing her hair.

“Oh fuck you!”

He raised his brows in mock offense. “You catch more flies with honey, you know. I’m afraid you’re going to have to ask more nicely than that. ”

She elbowed him with a roll of her eyes. “Sod off you utter rake.”

“I don’t see you biting at the bit to get out of here either.” He pried.

Hermione sighed, fixing her gaze straight ahead. “Yes, well— I’m trying this new thing where I just give up.”

“A liberating philosophy, Granger.” He stopped in front of her with a mischievous smirk. “I have a proposition for you then! Let’s have a competition.”

She squinted suspiciously at him. “A competition for what?”

He smirked, fixing his dark green eyes upon her face with an intensity that had her stomach flipping. “To see who is crazier.”

She scoffed nervously, pointedly looking away from him. “Firstly, I don’t stand a chance against you. Second, how would one measure such a thing?”

“We’ll see which one of us can get another seventy-two hour extension first.”

“You want to spend six full days in here, for what? For funsies?” She asked incredulously.

“Precisely!”

“Do you not work?”

“I told you. I invest in several good causes. I come from some money. Not sure if you knew that about me.” He replied with a pretentious shrug.

“You weren’t lying to them?” Hermione was distracted from the ridiculous matter at hand, mulling over what he’d said at the dinner table. She pondered whether it possible that he actually was telling the truth. She suddenly wished to ask him a thousand rapid fire questions about what sort of causes exactly he supported that he would constitute as ‘good’.

“No. I wasn’t. I’ll tell you all about it later, but right now you have a decision to make.” He dismissed quickly.

Hermione crossed her arms with a derisive hum. She bit her cheek, contemplating his absolutely mental proposal.

Sod it.

She hated her job. She had been one more miserable day away from handing in her resignation anyways. Why not throw it away for something a little more exciting. “You have a deal, Theodore.”

“Theo.”

“Sure, Theodore.”

He issued her a challenging gaze, the gears already turning in his brilliant mind. She nearly felt a shred of anxiety as she watched a mischievous grin spread over his features.

“GET AWAY FROM ME!” He started shouting at the top of his lungs, shocking her out of her socks. Hermione screeched in a horrible fright as he continued. “WITCH!” He yelled, pointing at her.

“What are you doing!” She scolded, trying to slap a hand over his big mouth.

“HELP SHE’S A WITCH! SHE’S GOING TO KILL ME!” He shouted louder holding her wrist away from his face in his strong grasp. His expression of fake terror fell into a deadpan smirk as Hermione heard the distant rhythm of frantic footsteps of the staff as they scrambled to find them from various directions.“Getting a head start” he whispered with a wink.

“YOU WON’T CAST YOUR SPELLS ON ME, WITCH!” Theo proceeded to throw an absolute fit when the staff raced down the hall towards them, frantic and wide-eyed. “GOD HAS SAVED ME AND YOU WILL BURN!” Theo flailed spastically as the staff reached him and tried to restrain him. Hermione was too stunned to speak as she watched them drag him to the floor and inject him with sedatives for the second time in less than twenty four hours. He went down, with muffled repetitions of  ‘Witch’ before he was out cold.

“Stay where you are! We’ll be back for you Miss Granger.” The woman said sympathetically. “It appears Mr. Nott is having a rough night, poor chap.”

She was left in the hallway, speechless as they transported him towards his room with considerable effort. A laugh bubbled out from her throat as he disappeared from view entirely.

Chapter Text

“Good morning Hermione!” Cindy smiled brightly at her as she approached the table that to her surprise, had an array of serving platters laid out for them.

“Good morning everyone!” She nodded. “Is it buffet style this morning?”

“Every Saturday.” Sam drawled, taking a deep swig of his black coffee. “I think they want us to feel like a normal family for at least one meal a week.”

Hermione let out an amused breath and sat down to assess the spread. With a grumbling stomach, she proceeded to fill her plate with the works, pleasantly surprised by the expansive options.

She settled in to take a forkful of hash into her mouth, scanning the cafeteria for a very tardy Theo. When she finally spotted him him pouring himself a mug of coffee at the drink station, she stopped chewing entirely.

Her mouth fell open as she got yet another eyeful of his bare ass.

It occurred to her that he’d intentionally put a shirt on. A nice touch if she were honest— it made for a quite convincing episode.  Her eyes darted over to the staff that lined the sides of the cafeteria, who were too distracted by table two, whose members were coming dangerously close to starting a food fight to notice Theo’s exhibitionism. She nearly got distracted herself when she saw the same blonde man who liked to perform oral on his utensils, sticking his entire hand in the dish of butter.

Chatter broke out amidst the other patients and Hermione watched on as the staff finally clocked the half-naked patient sauntering over to table three for breakfast.

“Good morning everyone!” Theo drawled cheerfully, coming to a stop before them all with his hands on his hips. Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, fighting the incoming laughing fit that the sight of him was about to trigger.

Sam erupted into sudden, jittery bursts of laughter. Hermione startled at the high-pitched cackle and soon the rest of the table was snickering along with him. “Is it your birthday or something, mate?”

“I reckon it’s mine.” Patricia added admiringly, in that lustful voice of hers. Hermione nearly choked on fried potato as she followed her line of sight, forcing herself to look away before she reached its destination— glued to his nether regions.

Theo sat down in the white plastic chair across from her, pasting an oblivious grin on his face as he shuffled it in with a grating screech against the vinyl floor. The shrill noise drew the last of the oblivious eyes right to their table.

“You have to chew your food, madam! Inadequately chewed food can get caught in your windpipe and cause asphyxia within six minutes!” Barry rambled on from beside her. Hermione coughed some more, taking sip of her juice as the head nurse on duty scrambled over to them.

“Mr. Nott! You’ve forgotten your pants, dear.” The pink-haired nurse said as she reached him, speaking softly in a sing-song voice that most would reserve for coddling children— or in this case, the mentally deranged.

“Oh I’ve not forgotten them at all, Nurse Mandy. I assure you that all of my mental faculties are in tact.” Theo smiled up at her innocently. “It’s just that the elves are washing them for me, and well, they detest being rushed.”

Hermione couldn’t hold in her shriek of laughter, earning her a few dirty looks from a few of the other staff members that looked on at the scene. The nurse furrowed her brows, exchanging a loaded glance with them before turning back to Theo.

“Ah— we’ll get you a clean pair then while they take care of that for you. Come on, Mr. Nott— up you go.” Hermione bit her cheek, her grin threatening to escape the grip of her teeth as the nurse stood Theo up from his chair with gentle hands under his arms.

“Save me some beans!” Theo ordered, twisting to point a scolding finger at the occupants of table number three as the nurse dragged him away.

Hermione immediately took the whole pot of baked beans and poured them on her plate as he glanced over his shoulder, squinting at her with an angry face. The others looked at her breakfast plate in shock, drowning in beans and tomato sauce.

She smiled at him with a wave, taking a big spoonful and shoving it into her mouth.

“He’s right, I did get it pretty close.” Patricia croaked into her ear from beside her as they both watched his arse disappear down the hallway. Hermione stifled a gasp, snorting so hard that she felt the burn of orange juice in her nose.

He was making headway much too fast— she had to make sure to do something that would make an impact.

“Hermione?” Charles prodded, drawing her from her plotting.

“Hmm?”

“I was saying that it might be in everyone’s best interest to treat Theodore a little more gently when we see him next. I’m sure when he emerges from this episode he may be a little embarrassed.”

Hermione stifled the urge to roll her eyes, “Oh, of course Charles,” She mumbled, turning back to her plate. She grimaced at the flood of beans and wondered if her chaffing had been worth it.

But as she failed to tune out of the lecture that Charles had chosen to force upon table three that morning, her plan took shape.

☘︎

It was not even an hour into her day and Hermione was already pissed off.

She’d looked forward to finishing '1984' with a coffee during that morning’s group therapy session again, but upon reaching the poor excuse for a library, she discovered her stealthily hidden copy of the book had gone missing. It had Theo’s name written all over it, she was sure. He was the only one who knew where she’d been stashing it.

There was nothing she despised more than being forced to set down a book halfway through reading it in favour of another one. She gave it an honest try, picking up a random fiction book to fill the void, but she found herself deeply disinterested in the story by the time she’d reached the fifth chapter.

So she’d left the library in a huff, setting off to find out where Theo had gone to give him a bollocking.

She’d looked everywhere, checking his room, the cafeteria— even the music room to see if he’d gone there early to wait for the session to begin.

“Are you looking for someone, Hermione?” She tried to reel in her annoyance at the sound of Charles’ voice coming through the door of the music room a moment after her. “I saw you milling about in the hallway earlier.”

“Theo, actually. Have you seen him at all?”

Charles shook his head. “Not since breakfast, I’m afraid.”

Hermione pursed her lips and surveyed the sunshine-yellow room. No chairs to be found. As if her arse didn’t hurt enough from sleeping on hard plastic all night— and then eating breakfast seated upon more hard plastic. She huffed out a breath of resignation, sliding to sit upon the eyesore that was the massive grey, round rug that covered the floor.

“Oh! Theodore, we were just speaking about you!”

The sound of Charles’ greeting had Hermione’s head whipping towards the door where she indeed saw Theo, now fully clothed again in psych ward standard white. “Where were you?” She interrogated as he approached her with the ghost of a smirk.

“You know…here and there. I had a busy morning.”

“That was a nice show that you put on at breakfast, Nott.” Hermione chided Theo as he took a seat next to her. “I do hope you got some food before you nicked my book and disappeared.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you’re on about.” Theo drawled, stretching his legs out before him. “Besides, I was preoccupied getting hand-fed by Nurse Mandy.” He winked, “It was quite erotic if I’m honest.”

“Spare me!” Hermione groaned. “Listen, since you seem to be powering full steam ahead, I think we should discuss stakes. What do I get when I win?”

“Oh? You wish to add stakes? Quite confident for someone who has yet to make a move.” Theo smirked, eying the shifty patients filing into the room.

“I’ve got something up my sleeve.”

“Ah, she’s playing the long game then.” Theo nudged her, reaching for the bucket of instruments in the middle of the circle. They clanged and dinged loudly as he sifted through, inspecting each one curiously. “Very well. We shall add stakes. Salazar knows I don’t need money so how about….,” he paused, passing her a very long and cylindrical didgeridoo with a wink, “a kiss?”

Hermione fought the blush that she could feel blooming on her cheeks. She collected herself, pointedly tearing the tambourine from his other hand with a dramatic flourish before flitting her gaze to his. “You think that would be a punishment for me?”

“I should hope not.” His voice was low and melodic as he shifted closer to her. “I don’t care what it is to you— it would be quite a prize to me.”

“Honestly Theodore, you’re no better than a twelve year old.”

“That’s a nice shade of rouge on your cheeks, Granger.” He whispered, his breath prickling her neck as he spoke hushed into her ear. Her breath hitched and she shifted in her spot, clenching the tambourine as though it were her lifeline. “What is it you want as a prize?” He asked with a chuckle after a moment, releasing her from her torment.

She hummed in thought, studying him intently. “Three thousand galleons— and an Eagle owl to rival Malfoy’s.”

“Done.” He said almost immediately.

Her jaw dropped, face twisting into one of incredulity. “You can’t be serious!”

“Oh I’m serious. Though you could have milked me for more.” He winked again.

“Do not say ‘milked’.” She shuddered, “and for Merlin’s sake would you stop winking at me!”

He laughed, sticking out his hand to shake on it. “Do we have a deal?”

Hermione raised her eyebrows, eyeing his hand suspiciously. “I asked for all of that and all you want is a kiss?” 

“Can’t put a price on that, love.” He flashed her a smile and an encouraging nod. For that much coin she didn’t need to be convinced— especially when it sort of felt like a win-win situation regardless, should she lose. She eagerly grabbed his hand, giving it an enthusiastic shake.

“Deal.”

“I look forward to wiping the floor with you.” He set his heated gaze on her lips and she once again found herself irritatingly flustered.

“Yes, well we’ll see about that.” She mumbled, biting back a smile.

☘︎

Hermione’s ears hurt.

As expected, putting a bunch of nutters in a band yielded entirely predictable results, but she had to persevere. Now, before their next session and dinner, was her only chance to do what she needed to do.

She stood, tossing her tambourine into Theo’s lap.

“Where are you running off to?” Theo furrowed his brows who flinched, looking up at her in shock. She hightailed it out of the music room, ignoring his questioning calls as she made it into the hallway to scout out the laundry chute she’d seen the attendants piling their dirty uniforms into.

She passed her room, peeking her head into the hallway on her left, snapping back against the wall as she saw movement ahead.

“No—no you have to believe me!” Adam’s frantic voice drifted down the hallway. “It’s happening just like the text said it would. No—please!” She waited until the attending nurse’s muttered words of comfort sounded a little further away before she snuck another peek.

She watched on as the unfamiliar nurse wrestled a distressed Adam back to his rooms. Once the pair had disappeared from view entirely, she walked with purpose to the glinting metal door in the wall, pulling it open with a quick check to her left and right. She stuck her head through, breathing a sigh of relief when she noticed that it wasn’t so far down at all, perhaps only one level. An already impressive pile of laundry was waiting for her like a cushioning charm on the floor of the laundry room, and she couldn’t hear any voices or movement, so all things considered it was completely doable.

She’d ridden a dragon for Godric’s sake, she could jump into a bloody laundry chute.

She pulled her head back, assessing the width of the chute. The average person likely wouldn’t fit, but herself, she might just be able to squeeze in. With one last check over her shoulder, she pulled the chute open as far as it could go. It was no small effort to lower herself through its door until she was dangling feet first.

She took a deep breath and released her grasp on the lip of the chute door, stifling a squeal as she fell through the air for half a second before landing in the soft pile of laundry.

The room itself was rather large, sporting six industrial laundry machines and several folding tables. She was relieved to see the exit at least, quickly making to dig through one of the loudly beeping dryers. She sifted through until she found two size small pants and shirts to complete the staff outfit.

She decided as she was heading for the door that she should grab a white coat for good measure, so she doubled-back. The soft chattering of approaching staff gave her pause and she ducked behind a large laundry cart to its left instead.

“Did you see that pantless menace this morning? I tell you, it’s not good for my mental health, the amount of arses I’ve seen against my will.” 

Hermione’s heart pounded as a staff member’s voice rang out much too close for her liking. A thrill shot through her as she felt a surge of adrenaline for the first time in years.

Hermione Granger, twenty-two years old, getting excited about a laundry heist. Had her life really become so dull?

“Count your blessings it wasn’t William’s again, you spoiled woman! At least you’ve walked away with your eyesight in tact.”

The other staff member cackled, opening the dryer Hermione had been sifting through. “I wonder if he is doing alright out there, poor bloke.”

“I sure hope he is. I don’t fancy his return.” The previous woman chuckled. “Alright, Lori— you’ve got that cart, yes? I’ll put the next bit of washing in if you load up.” Hermione’s ears perked up, and an escape plan formulated.

“Copy that, Kelly.”

She knew couldn’t sneak into the laundry cart if the woman, Lori, was hovering right beside the dryer. She looked around for a possible distraction, sneaking behind the row of machines until she reached the last one where Kelly was working. She smirked to herself as she spied the water pump, quickly twisting it into the off position, and returning to the very edge of the machines to hide until the time was right.

Sure enough, after five more minutes of meaningless chatter and idle complaints about the ward’s staff appreciation day— a pizza party, it would seem, her plan began to play out just as she had anticipated.

“Oh would you look at that! The bloody washing machine has broke again!”

“Good heavens, you’d think they could afford maintenance on these pieces of shite if all they bought for us is bloody pizza!”

Hermione heard Kelly and Lori tinkering around with the machine, growing more and more frustrated until her moment came.

“Kelly, go check if Jason turned the water off again, will you?”

“Do I look like a plumber?”

Lori sighed and Hermione heard them begin to approach the back of the machines. “Honestly one more shift with your old arse and I’ll be admitting myself here for treatment.”

Kelly laughed, “Bugger off, Lori.”

Hermione took her chance, softly racing towards the cart and shifting some clothing aside to crawl beneath it. She snagged the white coat she wanted on the way down and covered herself back up, staying deathly still.

“Bloody Jason,” Lori complained as they presumably turned the water back on, “that man has the memory of a goldfish— not sure where we got him from. Definitely not the union, I’ll tell you that much.”

“Honestly I’ve tried talking to the pillock but you could blow smoke in one of his big ears and it’d just come right out the other side, I swear.”

Hermione held her breath as she felt the cart begin to move, stifling a giggle as she realized she was about to get away with it.

☘︎

As she anticipated, Hermione emerged from the laundry cart and found herself in the supply room she’d observed the staff retrieving towels and such from. She stepped out entirely, meticulously tucking each item into her waistband to prepare to sneak them back into her quarters.

She moved to leave the supply room, keeping her eyes glued inconspicuously to the floor as she turned down the hallway towards her rooms. She smiled to herself, hardly able to believe how well she’d pulled off the heist without magic.

Hermione reached her rooms in record time, un-stuffing her pants and putting the uniforms in her pillow case to hide them from prying eyes. Tonight during dinner, she’d strike and set her plan in motion. With any luck she’d beat Theo by the afternoon.

As she was about to leave her room to meet the group, she caught some movement in her peripherals— bright pink hair that had her doing a double-take. Her jaw fell slack as she registered that it was Theo being guided past her doorway, absolutely covered in flour.

“What the fuck is he up to?” She muttered to herself as she poked her head out of her room. She stared at the back of his head as Nurse Mandy led him, presumably, towards the showers.

☘︎

“Peachy clean are you?” Hermione teased as she sat down at a desk next to Theo. “Did Nurse Mandy hose you down too?”

“Not like she hasn’t seen it before.” Theo retorted, leaning in with raised brows.

“I won’t bother asking because I know you won’t tell me.” Hermione scoffed. Theo was close enough to her now that her eyes flitted to his lips without her consent.

Theo caught the movement, snapping his fingers to draw her attention back to his own heated gaze. “I’ll tell you what I did if you tell me where you ran off to after practice with that poor excuse for a band.”

Hermione shrugged, sitting back in her chair with a smirk. “You’ll just have to find out later. You missed a great group reading circle while you were getting fondled.”

“I’m sure listening to a bunch of stuttering neanderthals was fun for you, Hermione, given that you speak their tongue. Unfortunately it would have likely made me want to off myself.”

“It’s funny, you’re the only neanderthal I see in this room!” Hermione turned her chin up. “Perspective, I suppose.”

“I’m the result of centuries of fine breeding, I’ll have you know.”

“You know, modern historians would classify what you lot do as ‘inbreeding’.”

Theo squinted at her, shaking his head before turning his attention to the materials on his desk. “What is bingo?” Theo asked, flipping his card over.

“It’s a game. A lottery of sorts.” Hermione explained. “The caller simply rolls the ball and calls out the number upon it. It will start with one of the letters in ‘bingo’ - B, I, N, G, or—”

“—I think I could have figured out how to spell it, Hermione. Spit it out will you?”

Hermione rolled her eyes at him, shaking her head. “The letter will be followed by a number. The first player to have a line of chips on their card,” Hermione pointed to the rows of numbers under ‘BINGO’ on his card, “will call out—”

“—Let me guess. ‘Bingo?’” Theo interrupted.

“Ah so there are a few brain cells to rub together up there.” She lightly tapped his forehead.

He swatted her away with a scoff. “That sounds dreadfully boring.”

“It is, but it’s always a tense race when there is a prize involved.”

“I doubt there is a prize today, Granger.”

Hermione snorted. “Yeah, doubtful. But it’s the least they could do! I feel like we could be spending our time doing more productive things at an institution like this.”

“Hello everyone!” The nurse on staff called out cheerfully. “Hope you’re all ready for another fun bingo session! Any volunteers for caller?”

“You say that all the caller has to do is read out the number on the ball?” Theo whispered into her ear.

Hermione shrugged. “Essentially. Some choose to do silly callouts to make it more fun.”

“Jokes you say?” Hermione saw the gears turning in his head and watched on in astonishment as his hand shot up a moment later.

“As one of the newest residents here I’d be honoured to run the game for everyone.” Theo fawned with an ingratiating smile. Hermione scoffed quietly beside him and he shot her a dirty look.

“That’s lovely, Theodore. Come on up to the front and take a seat hun.”

Theo stood, tossing a smile at Hermione as he made his way up to the front.

“Everyone quiet down please, take your seats!” The nurse urged. The chattering in the room fell to a dull murmur as the last few patients filed into the room. “Theodore? Whenever you’re ready.”

She watched on amused as Theo cautiously approached the cage of balls, taking a seat at the table it sat upon. He eyed the contraption, reaching for the lever on the side. She snorted as he tried to pull it. He looked up at her with a panicked gleam in his eyes and she giggled, motioning at him to spin it. He quirked a brow, moving to spin the lever and flinched when a ball finally popped out of the machine.

With a smirk he picked the ball up and squinted at the small black text on its face. “First number is….I-28!” Theo called out, kicking his feet up upon the wooden desk. Hermione’s brows shot up as she noted their soles were still coated in a thick layer of flour from whatever the fuck he’d been doing earlier. “I-28! The number of times Barry has already asked us to turn off the lights today.”

Hermione clapped a hand over her mouth, relieved that she could join in as a chuckle chorused through the room. Even the nurses posted on the sofa at the back of the room were trying to hide their snickers. Her stomach flipped as Theo met her gaze, his own glittering with amusement as he aggressively spun the sphere of bingo balls again. She rolled her eyes, moving to press her green bingo stamp into the ‘free’ space on her card.

“G-51!” Theo called out. “The number of music therapy sessions it will take Hermione to figure out what rhythm is. Honestly did you all hear her on that tambourine? Bloody awful. Let’s hope we don’t have dance therapy here.”

Hermione bit back a smile, tossing the lid of her bingo stamp at his face. He ducked, narrowly missing a headshot with a laugh of his own. She distantly heard the nurses at the back reminding everyone to ‘please not throw things.’

“Alright, alright, next number. Ready?” Theo waggled his brows, “N-37…The youngest friend my mother has ever invited around to our home for tea. Coincidentally, also the oldest woman I’ve ever slept with. But don’t tell my mother that. Actually go ahead, it's not my fault tea turned into wine.”

Hermione gasped, staring eyes wide at Theo who issued her a saccharine smile. This joke in particular must have tickled Patricia’s funny bone as her wheezing laughter rang out above the rest.

“O-84” Theo recited with an ominous tone, leaning towards the crowd. Hermione rolled her eyes, already knowing what he was getting at before he spoke again, “O-84, a very good year indeed. That’s all I have to say on that.”

‘I know you took it you prat!’ Hermione mouthed at him. Theo responded with a wink.

“Adam, brother, do you need to use the loo? You look like you need to waz.”

Hermione looked towards the man, furrowing her brows as she took him in. He was visibly nervous, looking nearly as skittish as Barry before he’d had time to adjust to the fluorescent lighting in the mornings.

“Nurses are back there if you need an escort.” Theo chided.

Adam shook his head almost imperceptibly, staying stock still in his seat.

“Alright then, moving on.” Theo huffed out a laugh. “I-16. The number of utensils the kitchen staff don’t have to polish each day thanks to this guy.”

Hermione could barely breath through her laughter, matching the raucous noises Theo’s joke stirred up amongst the crowd as he pointed to the utensil-sucking man who sat in the front row.

“What’s your name my friend?” Theo stood to move towards the front of his desk, putting the mic up to his moustached mouth.

“Paul.” The sandy-blonde haired man squeaked into the mic. Theo mussed his hair with a laugh.

“Nice to meet you Paul— you’re always welcome at table three. We can always send Hermione on vacation to table two for a day, just you let me know.”

“Moving on we have I-28!” Theo shouted, holding the bingo ball above his head in victory. “A sacred number, and also the number of ducks I have stowed away at my mansion. Used to be thirty, but I’ll spare you the sob story.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, moving to stamp her first number at last. While she was pondering whether the part about the ducks was true, another patient, a confused looking brunette gentleman towards the back called out, “What if I have B-28?”

“That’s not even possible!” An incredulous voice shouted out.

Hermione stifled a laugh at the man’s expense as she turned her attention back to Theo. “Did I say ‘B-28?’”

The brunette man grimaced, “uh..no.”

“Then there’s your answer, genius.” Theo scoffed into the mic.

“Be nice Theodore or we’re going to have to have someone else play the role of caller.” One of the nurses tried to order through her own obvious amusement. Theo nodded apologetically before rolling for another ball.

“B-4” Theo cracked himself up before he could even start to deliver the joke. “B-4 you get too excited about winning, Sam, remember that the winner must smile for a portrait.”

Sam, much to everybody’s surprise, appeared to be fighting back an uncharacteristic grin as he sunk into his chair. Hermione watched on curiously as he pressed his bright pink bingo stamp into his card.

Theo looked all too pleased with himself as he read out the next call, “B-14! The age I was when I first discovered that I had a kink for being bossed ar—”

“BINGO!”

Hermione barked out a laugh just as the winner’s call interrupted Theo’s last quip. The rest of the room groaned in disappointment as Patricia rose from her seat.

“Bloody hell, already Patricia? Do you have a horseshoe up your arse? Nevermind, don’t answer that.”

“What do I win?” Patricia smirked wickedly at him as she approached the stage to hand him her card.

“Bragging rights, Patticakes.”

“How about a seat next to you at Dinner tonight?” Hermione grimaced as she watched her playfully nudge his arm.

Theo clapped a hand onto her shoulder, pressing his lips into a thin smile. “Patricia, dear, I’m pretty sure you’ve already scared Barry into a new seating arrangement. The seat’s yours.”

☘︎

The lights had only been out for around ten minutes before Hermione heard her door click open softly again. She sat up, eyes straining to see through the darkness.

“Don’t summon the nurses!” Theo’s voice teased through the thick blanket of darkness. “It’s only me.”

“I reckon I’m more likely to summon the nurses because it is you.” Hermione scolded as she sat up and strained to see him.

“Thought you might be hungry since I didn’t see you at dinner.” Theo offered her a suspicious squint as he approached her bedside and helped himself to a seat, nearly squashing her legs in the process.

“By all means take a seat.” Hermione drawled with a dramatic flourish of her hands.

“Where were you?”

“Er… stomach issues.” Hermione sighed with feigned embarrassment. In reality she had waited until everyone had filed off to dinner to enact the second phase of her plan. As the nurses had led them to the cafeteria, she’d apologized and claimed that she needed to use the washroom but would be ‘right behind them.’ As she’d anticipated, none of them had come back to look for her and she’d been able to do a quick wardrobe change to avoid suspicious eyes as she broke into the ward’s office to snag the staff list and make a few strategic phone calls.

“Oh. Well would you like some food?” Theo presented her with a cloth, slowly unwrapping the material to showcase two sad looking slices of buttered bread and cheese. “Unfortunately chili doesn’t travel well in a dish cloth.”

“Ugh,” Hermione shuddered, “I’m almost glad I missed out on chili.” But her stomach was nonetheless grumbling as she took the bread from his hand. “I am rather hungry though. Thank you… that was very thoughtful of you Theodore.”

“I come from a long line of thoughtful men.” Theo deadpanned.

Hermione frowned, nudging him on the arm as she took a bite of the bland dinner.

“Patricia was a bloody menace tonight.” Theo sighed, shifting to sit beside her in the small bed and stretch his legs out.

“You should really tell her to stop pawing at you.” Hermione scoffed.

“Oh I couldn’t possibly.” Theo retorted firmly. “I thrive on the attention.”

Hermione shook her head, “I never would have guessed.”

“It’s just a shame you don’t give me any.”

Hermione stopped chewing to glare at him, biting back a smile as she swallowed her food. “We have spent nearly the last forty-eight hours straight with one another. How much more attention could I possibly give you?”

Theo sighed, resting his head on her shoulder, “So much more, darling. I’m afraid I’ve cursed myself in the foot by tying that kiss to our bet.” He looked up at her with puppy-dog eyes that had her scoffing.

Hermione nearly caved as she looked back at his earthen-green eyes, thankful for the cover of night that hid her uncontrollable blush. “Well perhaps you’ll win.” She said, biting her lip. “We shall find out no later than Monday morning I suppose. That’s not so long of a wait, is it?”

Theo sighed dramatically, rolling again onto his back. “Oh but it is.”

Hermione laughed softly, swallowing the last of her dinner and shifting onto her side to face him. “If I give you some attention, will you leave me to rest after?”

Theo side-eyed her with a smirk, “it’s possible.”

“Well, talk to me then.” Hermione conceded, aching to reach a hand out and run it through his soft chestnut hair.

He hummed in contemplation, “About what?”

“I don’t know… what was your favourite subject in school?”

“Hmm. Definitely charms!”

“Makes sense,” Hermione snorted, “no one could accuse you of lacking any charm I suppose.”

“Salazar witch, keep sweet-talking me and I swear.” Theo teased, shifting onto his side with his trademark smirk. “What about you?”

“Ancient runes for sure.”

Theo’s brows shot up, “Really?  Why’s that?”

“There’s a lot we can learn from our history. Ancient runes are on a fast track to becoming a dead language and we’ve only just scratched the surface of all of the historical scriptures available to us in the last fifty years. So much magic, lost to time. It would be a travesty!”

“Why did you get a boring job at the ministry if you’re this passionate about runes?”

“I care about magical creatures, that’s why. Besides, I have plenty of free time outside of work which I can dedicate towards a passion like that. I’ve actually been lobbying for a while to have a bill passed through the Wizengamot. It would mandate the release of important historical documents that affluent wizarding families keep locked up in their dusty, elitist libraries. As you can imagine it hasn’t gained much traction.”

Theo quirked a brow, “Dusty and elitist libraries such as mine?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean it as a jab at you, specifically.”

“Nonsense. Such a thing never really occurred to me honestly.” He appeared deep in thought for a moment before he spoke again. “Maybe when we get out of here I can help you get the ball rolling.”

Hermione rose onto her elbow to peer down at him with excitement. “You would do that!”

Theo frowned playfully at the loss of contact, green eyes glittering through the darkness back at her. “Of course I would. I very much agree with you now that you’ve brought my attention to it. Nott Manor has a considerable library, with a considerable amount of dust.”

“Theodore…that would be brilliant!” Hermione beamed down at him, causing his own smile to grow wider. He reached up for a stray curl that dangled in front of her face, twirling it with his finger.

“I might even be able to convince Draco if it means I get to see that smile on your face again.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as she let herself daydream about having access to such a vast and ancient collection. But her smile dropped slightly as reality came crashing down on her. “He’d never agree to that.”

“Sure he would.” Theo replied softly. “He’d do anything for me.”

“Even if that were true, I’d bet all of my galleons that his mother wouldn’t let me step foot on that property again.” Hermione pressed her lips into a flat line of disappointment.

“Again?” Theo cocked his head at her, his finger going still around her curl. “You’ve visited the Malfoy estate?”

“Oh! Um… it was for business. Once upon a time.” She laughed nervously. “You know them. Always at the end of a political business deal.”

Hermione didn’t like the way he furrowed his brows as though he could tell that she was lying to him. She swallowed her discomfort as she waited for his response.

“Interesting. He never told me that.”

“I doubt Draco makes it a habit of talking about people like myself.”

Theo frowned, untwining his finger from her hair entirely. “You know I don’t see you in that light, right?” He asked softly, resting his hand on her forearm. "That I despise every facet of those ideologies?"

“I—” Hermione’s breath caught as she noticed the way he was considering her. “Of course I do. You’ve been perfectly kind to me.”

Theo regarded her curiously, a tension settling in the air around them that had her heart picking up its pace. “I’m so sorry for the way they all treated you, Hermione.“

She glanced to where his hand rested, warm and soft against her skin. “That stuff doesn’t hold any weight for me anymore if I’m honest. I know who I am, and I know my worth lies far beyond my blood status. It just doesn’t sting the way it used to. Besides, I don’t make it a habit of stewing over childish rows.”

“But it was more than that wasn’t it?” He prompted softly after a moment of loaded silence. “At least… those ‘childish rows’ led somewhere darker. And I never did anything about it—never even spoke up. As far as I’m concerned I’m just as guilty.”

“Then you should know that you have my most full and enthusiastic forgiveness, Theodore Nott.” Hermione teased with a smile.

“Thank Merlin for that.” He whispered, swiping a thumb across her flesh.

Their gazes locked again and her lips parted at the desire she found in his darkened eyes. When he registered the look on her own face, they went molten. Her mouth went dry as he shifted, moving to close the distance that had somehow slowly begun to disappear between them.

But he paused, mid-movement, scrunching his face up in confusion.

“Why is your pillow so lumpy?” She released an anxious breath as she watched him slap her pillow around a few times before he finally stuck his hand inside of its cover.

She gasped, moving to try to stop him just as he pulled out the white coat she’d stuffed into it. He squinted at it before turning his widened eyes on her in scandal.

“Oh would you look at the time!” Hermione exclaimed, tearing the doctor’s coat from his hands. I think you best be off to bed now, Theodore.” She stood grabbing his hand to pull him out of her bed.

“Hermione Granger!” Theo whisper-shouted as he obliged her. “What on Earth are you plotting?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know!” She muttered, stuffing the coat back into her pillowcase. “Off to bed now, chop chop.”

“Oh!” Theo halted, quirking a brow suggestively. “Perhaps I’m misreading the situation… is this for role-play or something? Because you know I’ll try anything once.”

“Oh my god, Theodore!” Hermione gave him a gentle shove towards the door.

Theo chuckled, shaking his head as he conceded. “Thanks for the chat, witch.”

“I would say anytime but I’m not sure we should make this a habit.” Hermione quipped, closing the door behind him.

Theo turned, peering through the window at her with a knowing smirk. “Oh don’t you worry, little witch. We will.”

As soon as Theo released her from the hold of his gaze she released a soft breath of relief. She made her way back to the bed, utterly dumbstruck by how quickly her own attraction to the wizard had grown in such a short amount of time. She crawled under the sheets with a silent prayer that she might get a wink of sleep after the way he’d just riled her up, and another that she might be able to resist his charms until she’d officially won their little competition.

Chapter Text

Hermione gasped, scrambling out of her bed in a panic at the grating sound of her weekday morning tempus charm. “Fuck fuck fuck!” She whispered rubbing her eyes, stumbling out of her tangle of scratchy sheets and into the door of her room with a loud ‘oof’, and a resounding thump.

The impact snapped her out of her haze of confusion before she registered where she was—and that the alarm had been a figment of her dreams. Her heart began to temper its pace as she realized she was not going to be late for the job she hated, because she was not even in her flat, mindlessly going through the motions of what had become her day-to-day existence. And even though she realized that her situation meant she would likely not have a job to return to when she left, she found herself relieved.

Hermione sighed, collapsing back onto her bed to collect herself.

“Everything okay in there?” Theo’s sleepy voice drifted through the vents, waking something else up within her.

She shifted towards the grate to respond, “As well as can be, Theodore.”

“Way to wake up the whole neighbourhood, little witch.” He teased. “Up early to execute your big plans, are you?”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” She smirked. Unbeknownst to Theodore, her plans were already in place.

“Suuure I don’t.” He chuckled. “Now where’s that ginger cunt to let us out? I’m fucking starving.”

Hermione’s eyes widened as the ‘ginger cunt’, Nurse Evans, cleared his throat from his place at her door. She gasped, slapping a hand over her mouth as Theo continued his verbal assault.

“Honestly he’s got one job—to let us out of our bloody cells every morning, you’d think he’d be competent enough to—”

“Theodore he’s—!” Hermione interrupted, a look of horror washing over her face as she glanced frantically between the vents and Nurse Evans, who looked like he could use a cigarette as he listened to Theodore’s ranting, which unfortunately didn’t cease at her urging.

“Perhaps he should be reassigned as a bathroom attendant if he’s so averse to following a set schedule—you can be sure that nobody would ever be late to catch a glimpse of my a—”

“Theo!” Hermione shouted, sweating as she issued Nurse Evans an exceedingly apologetic look when he threw her door open.

“He’s outside isn’t he?” Theo resigned with a heavy, performative sigh.

Hermione grimaced, sheepishly exiting her room as Nurse Evans finally set to work opening his door.

Theo’s face as he emerged from his room was equally as sheepish—if not a tad insincere. “Sorry mate, I get a bit hangry.” He said, slapping a hand onto the nurse’s shoulder. “You understand, don’t you?”

“Do your business and then make your way to the cafeteria, I’ve a staff meeting off-site to attend.” Nurse Evans grunted, tearing his glare from Theodore to wake up the remaining patients on their side of the hall.

Hermione’s stomach fluttered with delight when she realized that at least one of her schemes had gone right. Nurse Evans, like the rest of the Monday nurses and staff members, had all been called to an emergency off-site meeting that morning.

Theodore looked at Hermione with a tight-lipped smile.

She scoffed, shaking her head as she turned to make for the showers.

☘︎

Hermione had made sure to grab a set of inpatient clothes slightly larger than her usual to accommodate the uniform she’d hidden beneath them. For a moment she had been worried that she might draw attention to herself with how loosely they hung from her frame. But as she entered the cafeteria, it became clear to her that nobody would be paying attention to her.

The ward was in chaos.

“What the bloody hell is happening?” Theo halted in time with Hermione, pausing at the threshold to observe the patients wandering aimlessly from group to group, trying to decipher what was going on. The cafeteria didn’t smell of eggs nor coffee this morning, the kitchens were dark and deserted, just as she had planned, and there was not a member of the staff in sight. She had to act now if she were to pull off her scheme before the staff wisened up and raced back to the ward.

“I’ve not a clue.” Hermione tried casually, though she couldn’t hide the delight in her voice as she spied Barry, stood with his body plastered against the wall while his shifty eyes scanned the scene before him.

Theo turned to squint at her, catching on immediately. “What have you done, Granger?”

She shrugged innocently at him, swiftly making for the kitchens to shed her patient uniform. She emerged in her doctor’s uniform, strolling casually towards the centre of the room. She felt his eyes on her the entire way there.

“Morning Hermione—” Charles started as she reached his side, but his voice trailed off as she held up a hand to silence him.

“Charles, I must ask you a favour. I need you to run a morning film session for our block. Do you know how to work the equipment?”

He tilted his head curiously at her, eying her attire. “Why yes… I can manage, but—”

“It’s of the utmost importance, Charles.” She smiled warmly at him. “I shall explain it all later, but you have to trust me, alright?”

“I suppose no harm can come from a film…” He resigned with unease.

“Quite right! And it’s dealer’s choice today, hm? Pick whatever meets your fancy.” She patted him on the shoulder, clearing her throat. “May I have everyone’s attention please!” She projected her voice above the crowd. Silence gradually fell over the room as the patients began to turn their attention towards her. “Block one, if you’d be so kind as to follow Charles here to the theatre. Block two, if you will follow me to the group therapy room for your session. I shall explain everything once we are all settled.”

The patients looked uncertain, but yielded anyways. Confused murmurs echoed throughout the room as some patients began to gather around and equally as confused Charles, with the others hesitantly approaching her.

She felt Theo’s presence as he settled beside her. Turning to meet his suspicious gaze, she issued him a smirk. “You’re with Charles this morning, I’m afraid.”

Theodore barked out a laugh. “Not a fucking chance, Granger. I’m not missing whatever this is.”

“This is me winning.” Her smirk stretched into a full-fledged grin. “I look forward to hearing about the look on Malfoy’s face when my eagle owl swoops into the ministry to inform them of my resignation.”

Theodore hummed, “Keep telling yourself that, Granger. You’ll only be cheating yourself if you win.”

She scoffed. “Cheating myself of what?”

“You know what.” Theodore’s eyes fell to her lips for a blink before his intense emerald gaze settled once again on hers.

Her stomach flipped, just a little. An inconsequential amount, she told herself.

“Don’t! Hands off! I’m coming, I’m coming!” Barry shouted, drawing their attention from one another. Hermione snorted as she watched Cindy take a step back from Barry, hands in the air.

When most of the patients had gathered around her, eyeing her curiously, she clapped her hands twice. “Come along!”

☘︎

Hermione stared upon the group of patients as they found their seats in the circular arrangement of chairs. “I know you’re all probably wondering why I’m here—you might have seen me around, dressed as as patient.”

Theo scoffed, pressing his lips together with a guilty grimace when she glared at him from his place in the circle directly across from her.

“The truth is that I am not a patient. I am a doctor here, and will be running today’s group therapy session in place of Dr. Bouchard. I have been called to execute this important session amidst several patients I was placed in here to observe in secret.”

“You’ve been watching us?” A small woman with jet-black hair chimed, crinkling her brows. “Isn’t that against some sort of code? Is that not entrapment!”

“Rest assured none of my observations were made to be used against you.” Hermione pasted a warm smile on her face. “Rather they were to identify the most effective way that I can be of aid to your healing.”

“So you’re like an undercover nurse?” The woman carried on.

Hermione felt smug as she caught the uncertainty on even Theo’s expression as he silently observed the reactions of the group.

“Stop asking me questions and ask yourself one instead. Therapy sessions, listen— I’ve been there. I’ve had my fair share even before I became a doctor in an effort to redesign the bloody system! Aren’t you tired of listening to textbook metaphors in response to what you have all been through?”

“You know what, yeah I am.” Sam piped up, unusually enthusiastic.

“Fucking right, Sam!” Hermione pointed at him aggressively. “Today we’re going to practice radical honesty, no filters. React honestly to one another’s stories, and to your own. Cry, scream, curse, whatever you need to do, just put it all out in the open. We’re all friends here, yes?”

“Yes, bitch!” Patricia shouted from her spot beside Theodore. Apparently, she hadn’t been in the mood to watch a film this morning, opting to go wherever Theodore was going.

“I’ll go first.” Hermione pressed her lips together with a flat smile before proceeding. “When I was fifteen I was attacked by a piece of shite old man. I was in hospital for almost a full month before they were able to stabilize me, nearly met my maker on several occasions."

Gasps sounded out across the room.

Hermione tried not to make eye contact with Theo who remained quiet, eyes glued on her curiously. The battle at the department of mysteries had long since passed— it was something she had come to terms with. Anything beyond that though, she would steer well clear of discussing with anyone. Fortunately for her, she had sufficient therapy-worthy material to unpack from her younger years.

“I bet you’re wondering what happened to the man.”

Mutters of agreement echoed around her.

“He died when I was eighteen. It was a horrible and messy death—” Hermione caught herself, “Er—from what I heard of course.“ She laughed nervously. “And you know what I did when I learned of it? I fucking laughed. I laughed so hard I cried. I don’t care how ‘unhealthy’ it is to feel avenged, to feel the spite I did. Fuck anyone who says otherwise!”

Silent, uneasy glances traded between the patients. Theodore remained unfazed, his intense emerald gaze still glued to her, studying her intently.

Hermione looked around the circle, some patients were deep in thought, others had cast their eyes to the floor as if trying to avoid being called upon. She was about to send a silent plea towards Theodore when someone finally spoke up.

“I lied about having testicular cancer so that I would get a discount at Iceland.” A bald man with a thick Irish accent broke the deafening silence.

“Well that’s not so bad, Stephen.” Hermione tried to bite back her smile as spoon-sucker Paul chimed in from across the circle.

“Well…thing is that after that, I actually got it.” He pressed his lips into a sheepish grimace. “Now I literally can’t bring myself to tell a lie because I’m so terrified of the consequences. I’ve lost jobs over it. The whole thing actually made me believe in God. And all I got from it was two quid off of a package of chicken fingers.”

“I didn’t realize they gave discounts for that kind of thing!” Another patient responded curiously, as though he was filing the information away for later.

Stephen turned around with a smile, “Oh yeah mate! There are loads of government subsidies at Iceland.”

“S’pose you could say you need a discount because only one of em’ have dropped. Do you reckon there is a subsidy for that?” A man with a lush head of chestnut hair leaned in to ask quietly, though the whole room heard him loud and clear.

“I don’t recommend testing God’s wrath, Marv’.”

“Oh I don’t need to. Was only askin’ fer a friend you see.” Marvin laughed, but it was clear from the look on the faces of those in the therapy circle, that he was not fooling anyone.

“We’re er— getting a little side tracked, yes?” Hermione pressed her lips together to prevent herself from smiling.

“Apologies Doctor!” Marvin’s face flared, his deep brown eyes apologetic as he addressed her politely. “Me name’s Marvin Bruni. I s’pose I have a story too I could tell ya.” He waved his hand in demonstration, the fingers hanging limp and mangled in the air. “When I were nineteen, I crushed me own ‘and under the tire of me Dad’s sprinter.”

Hermione fought the urge to grimace at the visual. “Why on Earth would you do that?”

“I was summat of a prodigy at classical guitar. Me Mum had high hopes for me—expectations more like. Course, it weren’t something I wanted. I got a scholarship and everything. Got pissed one night and mailed in a rejection notice. The next mornin’ I was in somethin’ of a panic, y’know. Racked me brain for any excuses I could tell me Mum about why I wouldn’t be goin’ ter the Royal College o’ Music, and came up empty. So that night, I put me Dad’s van in neutral and had me mate give it a push. Pretended I had been lookin’ for our cat to bring her in fer the night when it backed over me ‘and. By the time the response came in, it hadn’t mattered what I’d done. It wasn’t like I’d ever be playin’ guitar with this hand ever again.”

“Was your Mother upset?” A young blonde woman with a stoic face asked. “Did she still love you?”

“As much as she could.” Marvin shrugged, though Hermione caught the way he had begun to anxiously pick at the skin of his thumb. “Course she died a year back. Could swear I could hear her talkin’ to me, judgin’ me like she used to.”

“My mother died recently too.” A younger man added from a few seats over. “My Father moved us here from Nigeria when she started showing signs of dementia. There was a good doctor here, see, said they would be able to help her. They couldn’t. Not in the fifteen years we cared for her. I’m lost without her, nearly wasted away on my couch the weeks following. Just didn’t know where to go next, you know?”

“Thank you for sharing, Lucas!” Hermione nodded, suddenly recalling the quiet man’s name from music therapy. “Anyone else?”

“I grew up in a cult.” A voice squeaked out. Hermione scanned the circle to locate the source. A red-haired woman she had never spoken to before that day, sat curling in on herself in her chair.

“What’s your name?“

“Tracey…” She wrung her hands nervously as she spoke again. “My father married me off to a man with three other wives when I was fourteen.”

“And how did that turn out for you, Tracey?” The woman looked back at her uneasily. “Come on! Tell us how you really feel! That pig took advantage of you when you were a little girl, you must have some feelings about it!”

Tracey’s shoulders slackened, her eyes flaring with fire at Hermione’s impassioned prompting. “Well, after he married the fifth, we all realized how brainwashed we’d been. She was different—didn’t believe the way the rest of our community did. She opened our eyes. So one night, when the fat pig was sleeping, we burned the fucking house to the ground!”

Hermione’s brows shot up.

“Did he die?” Another patient blurted out.

“No.” Tracey smirked. “But now he’s as ugly on the outside as he was on the inside. And in prison."

“Fucking hell…” Theodore whistled. “Hardcore, Tracey.”

Tracey beamed at him, conviction overtaking her entirely.

Hermione looked pointedly at him. “Do you have anything you want to share?”

“Not a chance, darling.” He winked. Though Hermione detected something unreadable in his expression as he casually tore his gaze from hers.

“I’d like to share…” The raven-haired woman from earlier called out.

“Of course!” Hermione prompted. “The floor is yours.”

“My name is Mei.” Her voice was quiet, hesitant as she spoke up again. “I killed seven people.”

The room fell completely silent.

“You—” Hermione’s mouth floundered for words. “Care to elaborate?” Her gaze subconsciously flicked to Theodore for reassurance. He looked just as uneasy as she was feeling, and it didn’t offer any sort of grounding effect whatsoever.

“I didn’t do it with my hands,” Her lip trembled, “though it was my fault.”

“Did you use poison?” A French accent cut through the circle. “A woman’s weapon, zey say!

“What?” Mei furrowed her brows. “No! I didn’t poison seven people!”

“Would have been ze way to do it. Odourless in ze food, tasteless in ze drink—virtually untraceable. C’est magnifique!”

“Er…” Hermione raised her brows at the sandy-blonde-haired man. His skin, now more pale from a London winter, appeared to have been leathery and sun-damaged in the summer months.

“Henri.” He offered his name with a shallow dip of his head.

“Henri…why don’t we let Mei finish her story, yes?”

He gave a wave of his hand, leaning back in his chair with an air of boredom.

Mei nodded her thanks at Hermione. “I was a civil engineer. I worked on a bridge in South Gloucestershire—the one that…” Her voice trailed off.

“Oh sweet heavens…” Tracey mumbled, eyes widening. Hermione had caught on too of course, to what story would follow. The accident had been international news five years back— an act of God the papers had called it. Seismic resonance that led to structural failure—a perfectly improbable storm.

“When it collapsed….seven people died. Seven people gone, because of something that went wrong in the blueprints. I keep poring over them, hoping to find something to learn from, something that could have saved them!” Mei’s eyes watered and Hermione wondered for just a moment, whether her scheming to win a silly competition might prove to be a little more damaging than she had intended. “I did something wrong, and seven people are dead. I have their blood on my hands, their souls on my conscience.”

“It sounds like if it were anyone’s fault it would have been yours…”

Hermione’s jaw fell open as a spacey blonde man added his two cents into the conversation.

“Yep, definitely your fault.” Marvin doubled down.

Mei’s tears spilled over.

Hermione’s own conscience came to haunt her as she watched the woman sob into her hands. Just as she was about to open her mouth to call the session and end her charade, the doors to the room burst open.

Her eyes widened as a flood of staff members poured in through the door, frazzled and frantically scanning the room.

When the lead Nurse set her eyes upon Hermione, she rattled off commands to the other staff members.

“What’s going on here?” It was officially her time to shine. She stood, pasting an affronted look upon her face. She straightened her white jacket, eyes darting around the room as the staff began to herd the patients from their seats. “Excuse me, I’m speaking to you!”

“You’ll need to come with us, Miss Granger.”

“And just why is that?” She tugged her arm from the grasp of a security guard that was accompanying the staff.

“We’ll have a chat later, but for now we need to get you to your rooms for a headcount.”

“I’m running a very important session here, you can’t just interrupt it!” She began to shout, struggling as the security guard gripped her more forcefully this time around. “Remove your hands from me this instant! I’m a doctor here, you have no RIGHT!” She began to scream, laying it on thick as she thrashed and kicked.

“Miss Granger you need to calm down!”

“It’s DOCTOR Granger, and I will do no such thing!” The security guard grunted as she elbowed him hard in the side, head butting him with the back of her head. He lost his grip and she put some distance between them.

“Everybody sit down! We’re not finished with our session, and I was specifically tasked with carrying this out!”

The patients were filing out the door, though Theodore appeared to be putting up a bit of a performative fight himself, faking out the staff as they tried to catch him. She almost laughed at the sheer joy she saw on his face as he dodged them, agile as a cat.

“I demand—” She began to shout but was interrupted as something hard collided with her side. Her breath fell out of her as she hit the floor, multiple pairs of hands grabbing at her, holding her down. She squirmed and protested, jerking as hard as she could to get away from their touch.

A hard pinch to her neck had her crying out in surprise before she felt a warmth begin to spread.

It travelled down her spine and through her arms. She thought she might be talking but she couldn’t make out the sounds coming from her own mouth. Everything felt surreal as she looked around through blurry eyes. Her eyelids felt as though they were made of lead, slowly falling closed.

Right before she lost consciousness entirely, she felt the most calm she had felt in her entire life.

☘︎

Hermione awoke to find herself in her room. She was dreadfully groggy as she sat up in her bed, her muscles screaming as they too awoke from whatever paralytic she’d been injected with. Her mouth was bone dry as she smacked it together in distaste.

“Godric.” She whined, blinking the sleep from her eyes. She could hear noises outside of the hall but the words were still jumbled as she came to. She thought she heard a light tapping on the wall behind her as she shook her head.

“Hermione, darling?” Theodore’s voice, which she could recognize somehow above all else, floated through their shared vent beside her head. “Do I hear you up and about?”

She groaned, her head falling back against the wall.

He let out a low chuckle. “I broke in earlier when they weren’t looking. There’s a glass of water on your shelf—Merlin knows you must have a wicked case of cotton mouth right now.”

“You broke into my room?” The words felt laboured on her tongue, but they were coming more easily now. She squinted at her shelf, reaching for the blurry glass. Downing the glass of water more quickly than she ever had in her life, she made sure to finish every drop. The ambient liquid soothed her throat on the way down, and she slumped in relief when she was able to suck in precious oxygen again without it feeling like she was inhaling pins and needles.

“Is it really breaking in if I have a key?” He knocked his fist against the wall twice with another laugh. “I have to say… that was diabolical, Granger. I reckon you might have won with that. The entire staff? How the fuck did you manage all of that without magic?”

“You forget I lived the first eleven years of my life without it.”

“Well we’ve been locked up since morning. Staff are in a right tizzy— haven’t even eaten yet. Thanks for that by the way. Wasn’t even any food in the kitchens when I snuck out to grab you water.”

“You mean the only thing in the kitchens were water when you snuck out to get yourself food.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“No. I truly did leave to get you water because, as you’ll come to learn, that’s just who I am. So you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, I suppose.”

“You suppose…” Theodore scoffed.

“Why are we locked up still?” She asked with a scratchy voice.

“Granger. Imagine for a moment, that you’re the one liable for the kooks in this place. If a mental patient managed to send the entire group of ward staff on vacation, leaving herself in charge as some sort of delusional ‘doctor’ while other patients are busy setting the film room on fire, what would you do?”

“They did what?”

"Fire alarms went off right after you went down.” She could hear the amusement in his voice as he explained, “I heard some chatter that they forgot to add ‘oil’ to the popcorn conjurer, or whatever that ghastly red creation is.”

“Popcorn conjurer?” Hermione started laughing harder than necessary. She theorized that it might be the medication to blame, or perhaps it was just the endearing way that Theodore Nott remained so out of his depth in the muggle world.

Behind the wall, Theodore grumbled in annoyance. “The popcorn isn’t there, and then it is. I’m not sure why you find that so funny when that is the exact definition of ‘conjuring.’”

She wiped the tears of laughter from her eyes, massaging the stitch in her side. She was about to throw him a bone and explain the science behind a popcorn machine when she heard three hard raps upon her door.

“Get yourself dressed in uniform, Miss Granger.” Nurse Evans called through the grates. “You’ve got a long afternoon of paperwork and conversation ahead of you.”

Hermione furrowed her brows, eyes flitting to the fresh, folded uniform at the foot of her bed.

Theodore whistled through the vents. “You’ve really done it now, Granger.”

“Nott—” She heard Nurse Evans’ voice at Theodore’s door. “Same goes for you.”

“What?”

“Our three-day hold is officially coming to an end, Theodore.”

She heard Nurse Evans snort at her statement before he carried on down the hallway with a cheeky whistle.

“Well that bodes well for us, doesn’t it?” He chimed.

“Certainly.” She sighed, steeling herself for whatever consequences awaited her.

Chapter Text

Nurse Evans had been right.

It had been a very long fucking day, with far too much paperwork. They were very much the same baseless questions they’d asked her upon admission to this place. ‘ Do you have the urge to harm yourself or others? ’ Only if you continue to ask these ridiculous questions. ‘ What do you think would be your biggest challenge should the hospital release you today? ’ That’s another one, so I’ll be jumping off of the nearest high-rise. ‘ Do you think your time here has helped you better connect with and process big emotions? ’ Yes, splattering paint aimlessly on a canvas and slapping a tambourine on my knee have allowed me to reach emotional depths previously unknown to me. 

Hermione’s stomach grumbled angrily as the clock neared four in the afternoon. If she could have changed anything about her perfectly executed plan, it would have been to schedule the phoney staff meeting for after breakfast. She shook her foot impatiently, still seated at the same table she’d been put up at hours ago by a disgruntled staff member. The space itself looked like an interrogation room. The table, four chairs, and yellow walls—the only thing missing was the one-way viewing window. She sighed, leaning forward to thump her head onto the table in an effort to perhaps sleep through the whole tribulation.

“Miss Granger?” A posh voice tore her from even attempting to fall into the blissful depths of sleep. She popped her head up to see a handsome older man slipping in through the door. He had bright blue eyes, crinkled slightly at the edges. He had a full head of hair, though it was in a state of disarray, it seemed intentional— impressive for his age, judging by the lines etched into his complexion. The most handsome thing about him though, was the large cup of coffee and aluminum covered plate that he held in either hand. The man issued her a mischievous, lop-sided smile when her eyes darted to the refreshments.

“Hello.” Hermione nodded casually as he set the food down on the table before her. 

“Dr. Grant.” He reached out to shake her hand, strong and confident. “I thought you might be hungry.”

“Dreadfully, thank you.” Hermione took a swig of the coffee first, trying to hold back the ungodly sound she wanted to make as the caffeine warmed her mouth. 

“Unfortunately the only thing the kitchens had prepped and ready to cook was breakfast, thanks to your little staff meeting this morning. I do hope the eggs are cooked to your liking.” Hermione pressed her lips into a thin smile, nodding once at him as she unwrapped the foil.

“So, Hermione .” Dr. Grant quirked a brow as he read her name out of an unassuming black notebook he’d produced from the pocket of his white coat. “Shakespeare?”

She swallowed a mouthful of egg. “My parents were fans.” 

“I always found his work horribly boring.” He smirked. “Did their interest not pass onto you?”

“I’m indifferent.” She mumbled, setting down her fork to issue him a pointed look. “Forgive me Doctor, but have I been sat up here for hours just to be interviewed about my reading habits?”

His bushy brows shot up slightly. “I understand it must have been a very long day for you.” He conceded, taking a seat opposite her. “And judging by the events of this morning, you were very busy last night as well.”

Hermione ignored his comments, keeping her mouth busy with a slice of honeycrisp apple.

“I’ve reviewed your file. Quite lengthly for such a short stay.” Dr. Grant teased with a wink. “Many notes, most of which state that you seem to be very intelligent.”

At this Hermione spoke up. “Yes, well I did graduate with a First in medicine.”

He smiled, huffing out a dry laugh. “While I’m certain that has some truth to it, you can drop the doctor charade.”

“Is it because I’m a woman that you don’t believe me?” 

Dr. Grant tilted his head at her, a small smile playing at his lips. “No person who is genuinely suffering from delusions could have pulled off what you did. Every bit of that escapade was meticulous and calculated.”

“Maybe I’m just chronically good at everything, Dr. Grant.”

He looked on at her with subtle amusement. “Impersonating a doctor is a crime, are you aware of that?”

Hermione held eye contact, silently challenging him. “Very much so.” 

“I’ve spent the afternoon assessing the fallout amidst the other patients.”

“Sounds like we’ve both had a long afternoon, then. Should we aim to shorten it a tad perhaps?” She asked with a saccharine tone.

“You have a talent, you know.” Dr. Grant remained amused, despite her transgressions and continued attitude. “Perhaps you truly should pursue psychiatry.”

Hermione didn’t have energy left to keep up the charade any longer. Instead, she stared blankly at him as she chewed the last of her bagel.

“Your methods were… questionable, but I have never seen such progress made in one single afternoon.”

“All I did was put them in a circle and ask them to trauma dump.”

“It sounds as though you disarmed them using your own experiences— by offering them a space of candour and authenticity.” Dr. Grant idly drummed his fingers on the table, deep in thought. “Sometimes we doctors get so caught up in procedures and books, that we neglect to bring something human to our sessions.” 

“Is that what you’re doing now?” Hermione smirked. “Trying to manipulate me by praising my technique?”

“You and I both know that would be a fruitless venture, Miss Granger.” He replied. “I wouldn’t bother to insult intelligence of your degree with such tactics.”

“Then why don’t we get this over with.” 

Dr. Grant blinked resignedly at her. “May I ask for a moment, about a friend you have in here— Theodore Nott?”

His name made her stomach flip. She sighed, “what about him?” 

“I can’t discuss details with you due to confidentiality, but I was curious about your relationship with him.” He flipped a page in his notebook, pulling out his glasses to read it. “It’s been observed that you two seem very comfortable in one another’s presence.”

“All of this is to say…?”

“It’s just curious is all, assuming you’ve only just met in our facility.” Dr. Grant glanced at her over the pages. “You know when we’re thrust into unfamiliar environments, it’s only natural to gravitate towards the familiar, however inconsequential it might be.”

If only he knew just how consequential and familiar Theodore truly was.

“From what I hear, Theodore is quite familiar with looney bins.” She shifted uncomfortably in her seat. “So unfortunately you’ll have to go back to the drawing board with that theory.”

Dr. Grant placed the book face-down on the table, clasping his hands together. “You may use that language in here with me—I do not make it a habit to stifle one’s individuality. But I must ask you to keep it in your thoughts around the other patients.” 

Hermione’s temper flared. “I’m not an utter arsehole, you know!”

“My dilemma in trying to assess your mental state, Hermione, is that I am missing this piece of information regarding your connection to Mr. Nott.” Dr. Grant ignored her reply, guiding their conversation back to the topic at hand.

“I’ve already said, we don’t know each other.”

“Well if you did— as I suspect you do—it would then raise the question as to why you feel the need to be furtive about it.”

“Psychology is not a field conducive to over thinkers, Dr. Grant.” Hermione bit back. “Perhaps you should take my word for it. Or don’t. Stew on it all you like—it won’t change my answer.” She glared at him as he tapped his thumbs together, deep in thought.

He leaned in to study her, “I’m here to help you, Hermione.” He smiled softly. “As we’ll be seeing a lot more of each other, it would be beneficial for us both to be candid with one another.”

“By ‘seeing a lot more of each other’, do you mean we will we be spending the next three days together?”

“Three days?” Dr. Grant furrowed his brows. 

“I’m not going to sit here and pretend that I’m getting out tomorrow.”

“Miss Granger, the purpose of my visit was to finalize and discuss your extension.” He responded softly. “However, I do think it pertinent to keep you here a little longer. We’ve settled on an additional five weeks.”

“ Five weeks? ” Hermione shouted incredulously. “That’s absurd!”

She should definitely start brainstorming names for her new pet owl.

“I know it may seem like a long time, but the extended stay will allow you the opportunity to receive the personalized treatment you need.”

“Treatment for what? ” She shook her head. “You’ve already said you don’t believe I have delusions, so what, pray tell, warrants my stay in this nuthouse for a over a month ?”

“I do understand your dismay, Miss Granger, and in an effort to practice what I preach, I will offer you my honest opinion. No beating around the bush.” He spoke softly. “While it is my professional opinion that you seem to be in possession of your faculties and then some, it is your extreme behaviour that has me concerned. Rather, the underlying issues upon which we can lay blame.”

“I’m not sure I follow.” Hermione grit her teeth to avoid chewing the Doctor out.

“There is evidence, in most all of the observations made by the doctors during the limited sessions you’ve had with them, that you might have some significant trauma from your youth. Perhaps some of it is even more recent than that.”

Nausea began to roil in her gut.

With a dramatic scoff, she endeavoured to keep the truth from her face. But her chest grew tight, and all of a sudden, she felt bare. Exposed. It had all been a joke until now, a funny and completely ridiculous situation she had found herself in. But now, several medical professionals were telling her she actually belonged in this place? That her past was actually affecting her?

What the fuck did they know about anything?

There was an entire world existing just beneath their noses that they had no clue about! Who were they to say that she had issues? Who were they to say she wasn’t handling the aftermath of a war as typically as anyone would— even better than anyone would, especially given her hand in it?

“We can discuss all of this in our subsequent sessions.” Dr. Grant said gently. “In the meantime, do you have any questions for me?”

“No.” Hermione bit out.

“Then I’m going to go get your paperwork processed. You can have the afternoon to rest, read— whatever you think would help you unwind before dinner.” Dr. Grant stood quietly, collecting the empty plate and mug from in front of her. “If you ever feel the urgent need to talk between our sessions, you need only ask for me, alright?”

Hermione nodded stiffly, staying seated.

Dr. Grant issued her a sympathetic smile. “I’ll see you very soon, Hermione.” With that he left the room, leaving the door open for her whenever she was ready.

She remained seated for a few minutes after he had left, a flood of thoughts paralyzing her into inaction.

Rest.

That was what she wanted. She didn’t feel the urge to read, or think. Only a very strong desire to be unconscious.

☘︎ 

Hermione could have slept through dinner. Should have.

Instead she awoke, stiff as a board on her shitty ward-standard mattress, around six in the evening. A moderately loud knock sounded at her door before Nurse Evans pulled it open to signify her mandatory attendance at dinner.

She felt miserable, on top of being absolutely knackered—and most certainly not hungry.

Pulling the covers over her head, she curled up into a ball, hoping that if she stayed quiet enough, he might forget she was even in there.

Soft footsteps padded across her room a few minutes later. Still she ignored them, choosing to stay put. They would have to drag her out of her room and force feed her with a tube.

A large, warm hand nudged her softly over the covers. “Hermione?”

Not Nurse Evans—Theodore. 

She ignored the spark of warmth that fluttered in her chest at the gentle sound of his voice, curling in on herself even more without a response.

“Are you coming for dinner?”

“No.” Her voice was muffled beneath the sheets.

“Are you feeling alright? That shot can give you a nasty headache if you haven’t drunk enough water.” 

She breathed out softly. “I’m fine, Theodore. Just not hungry.”

“At least come have a tea—or some bread.” He nudged her again.

She whined in protest.

She felt the sheets being pulled from around her head. Though she did try to hang onto them, it was not hard enough. It seemed that her heart wasn’t truly in it where ignoring Theodore was concerned. 

His soft smile brightened, reaching his eyes when they met hers from above. “Was it that bad?”

Pulling her lip between her teeth, she shook her head unconvincingly. “It was fine.”

“Uh oh.” Theodore huffed out a laugh. “I know what that means in witch-talk.”

Her mouth twitched, though the way the sight of his face was cheering her up against her will, irritated her greatly.

“Think you won?” He winked. 

A smile threatened to spread on her face, despite how mentally and physically drained she felt. “I’m certain of it.”

He snorted. “I wouldn’t be so sure about that.” 

She squinted at him curiously, remaining silent.

“Come on.” He reached for the rest of the covers, “are you decent under here?”

She rolled her eyes, turning to bury her face in her pillow to hide the smile he finally lured from her. A cool gust of air skittered over her body as he pulled the sheets away entirely, wrapping his arms around her waist to pry her from the bed.

She yelped, a laugh escaping her as he pulled her upright with very little effort. “Let me go!”

“Sure! I’ll let you go… to dinner.” He teased. “Final offer.”

“I don’t want to go!” She wriggled in his grasp, kicking her feet up to gain traction. Only he used the momentum to his advantage, catching her legs and tossing her over his shoulder as if she were as light as a sack of spuds. 

“Suit yourself!” He grunted out, straining to hold her still as she flailed in his grip.

“Theodore!” She released a frustrated groan, hammering her fists into his back in protest. When it became clear that she was not escaping his hold, she fell limp, resigning to let him carry her over the threshold of her room, towards the cafeteria.

“That’s it Granger, give in.” He muttered. “All of this whining when we both know you’re excited for dessert. I heard it’s brownies tonight.” 

 His voice rumbled beneath where her cheek rested on his back. She sighed deeply, finding herself too fatigued to continue fighting him.

☘︎ 

Even if Theodore hadn’t paraded into the cafeteria with her small frame slung over his shoulder, Hermione had a feeling everyone still would have been staring at her, whispering about the events of the day. A few regarded her with suspicion, others with curiosity, having never met her before that morning.

The staff however, had their eyes glued to her, shouting at Theo to put her down the moment they came within eyeshot of them. She felt him chuckle, carefully placing her on her feet. “Looks like you made a lot of enemies today.” 

She only gave him a sarcastic hum in response.

He smirked, guiding her forward with a hand lightly prodding her lower back— pushing a little harder when she refused to budge.

She huffed in frustration as her feet betrayed her, stumbling forward under the force of his hand. 

It was an awkward and tense dinner line, and she noticed that the cafeteria lady gave her and Theodore less potatoes than the others— not that she was in the mood to eat them anyways, having had a late breakfast. But what if he was hungry? 

It was the principle that bothered her.

“I understand why they skimped on my potatoes. But why are they angry with you?”

Theo snorted, “I suspect it has something to do with my intrusion while they were baking up a storm the other day.”

“Am I finally about to learn why you were covered head-to-toe in flour?”

“I might have put on a bit of a show in an effort to win our bet. I went in there looking for garlic— told them I needed it to stave off witches like you . They didn’t like that— chased me through the bloody kitchens. It’s not my fault that one of them got in my way with a massive bowl of the stuff.” 

Hermione shook her head as she followed his lead to table three. “You still haven’t told me how long you got.”

“You first.”

Sighing, she relented. “Five weeks.”

“ Five !” Theodore’s eyes bugged out of his head as he looked at her. He shook his head in disappointment. “Almost thought I had you for a minute.”

“Well?” She prodded.

“Four.” He sighed. “Just shy of a draw.”

She pondered for a moment. “So… I’m due to be stuck in here without you.”

“Nonsense.” He scoffed. “I’m leaving as soon as I get bored— and you’ll be coming with me.”

“And if you don’t get bored?” She asked. “You seem to be having a grand old time here so far.” 

“Then I guess I’ll just have to do something even crazier to earn my stay.”

She wanted to laugh, but she couldn’t find it in her as they reached their seats. The residents at table three were, as she had expected, unafraid to bombard her with questions before her arse was even in her chair. 

“Ello’ doctor! ” Patricia winked, wheezing out a laugh. “Did they give you a good old whackin’ with the belt up there?”

With a sigh, Hermione pressed her lips into a thin line, nodding her greeting. “Patricia.”

Patricia beamed at Theo as he too sat down, giving her a friendly pat on the back in greeting. “Ah chicken! Again !” He exclaimed emphatically, plopping down into his chair.

“That was quite a stunt you pulled, Hermione…” Cindy said by way of greeting, with an air of disappointment about her tone. Charles’ disappointment was palpable in comparison. He sat silently, observing the others as they interacted with her.

“It weren’t a stunt!” Barry added nervously. “Didn’t you hear the rumours— she’s actually a doctor!”

Hermione closed her eyes for a beat, gathering her wits. “Barry I’m—”

“She’s not a bloody doctor, Barry.” Charles practically growled out in her direction.

She looked over at Charles, stunned into silence by his uncharacteristic outburst.

Theo paused his fork to glare at him. “What’s got your knickers in a twist, Charles? Singe your remaining hair off with that popcorn conjurer?”

Charles’ face flashed with confusion at Theodore’s turn of phrase before he remembered he was irate about something or other. “You have no quarrel with me, Theodore.” Charles replied stoically.

“Then you’ll speak to her nicely, yeah?” He suggested with a tone that suggested it wasn’t a suggestion.

Charles nodded, holding his utensils with an iron grip. “Of course.”

Satisfied, Theodore turned to Hermione, placing a mug in front of her. “Tea.”

Feeling incredibly awkward, she slid it into her idle hands with a nod of thanks. She proceeded to tune out the mindless chatter, sipping slowly. Eventually, she grew focused on the heat of Theodore’s thigh against hers, and on the subtle rise and fall of his shoulders as he took in breath. 

He must have felt her eyes on him, because he turned, flashing her a crooked smile. 

Idly swirling the earl grey tea bag in the lukewarm water, she issued him a thin smile in return. Even the coffee was lukewarm in the psych ward—something about it being dangerous to provide boiling water to the mentally unstable.

“Hermione…why did that man try to kill you?”

Hermione’s head shot up, shocked not by the question, but by who it came from.

Sam looked on at her with curiosity, yes, but also with something else— sympathy? Concern? Whatever it was, it was more than she’d seen portrayed on his face since she joined him in this dump.

Her lips parted, only to shut a moment later when she realized there was no way she could make up a fake story that anyone would believe without asking more questions. Because what had happened to her was so utterly extraordinary, that telling the story to a group of muggles might see her being sentenced to even more than five weeks in the centre.

Vicious amethyst flames flickered in her memory. Thankfully, the sound of Antonin Dolohov’s voice uttering the curse did not— that had been what had saved her after all. What she would never be able to forget, was the way her hands had slipped and slid over the flesh of her neck as she scratched at it after the first mouthful of blood had risen up her throat to suffocate her, spilling down her front. Her adrenaline had only lasted a moment before the pain signals had reached her brain. By some mercy, it was only a quick moment later that she had fainted. 

When she had awoken in the infirmary a week later, it had been the taste of her blood that had stuck with her the most. Sickly and metallic, there hadn’t been a full hour in which she hadn’t found herself choking on the thick liquid for at least the first month. The pain in her lungs had been another matter entirely as the curse fought continuously to collapse them, battering at her ribs with the same force as it had when she’d originally been struck.

Tea splattered everywhere, she’d been swirling the tea bag a little too hard as she had been engrossed in her unsavoury thoughts. Theodore’s hand came down over hers with furrowed brows. With a gentle maneuver, he quickly unraveled the string from her finger.

“Sorry—you don’t have to tell me. I just sometimes find myself curious. You know… in a morbid way.”

“Well he—” She started, her pulse quickening. “Er— myself and—”

“Hermione.” Theodore muttered softly. “Just because somebody asked, doesn’t mean that you’re obligated to tell us.”

“He’s right…sorry if I overstepped.” Sam added sheepishly.

Hermione glanced at Theodore thoughtfully, then turned her attention back to Sam. “The details—it’s just a bit of a difficult story for me to tell in all honesty. Sorry.”

“Understandable.” Sam shrugged it off, twisting his lips to the side in contemplation. His eyes flitted to the table before him, fixed on an imperfection in the paint as if mulling over unspoken words. “I don’t like to tell people much about myself either.”

“Why is that?”

He shrugged again. “It was always easier that way I guess, with my parents.”

“I’m sure they care about what’s going on in your life, Sam.” Hermione smiled softly. 

He snorted derisively. “All they ever cared about was if I succeeded at whatever shite they wanted for me. When I failed out of uni, I think they sort of gave up on me.”

“Do they not speak to you anymore?”

He pushed a potato around his plate with his fork. “No.” 

Hermione’s throat felt thick as she admitted her own truth to Sam, “I don’t speak to mine either.” In her peripherals, she saw Theodore’s eyes trained on her curiously.

“Sounds like there might be a correlation here then.” Sam laughed. It was still a strange sound coming from him, just as it had been the morning Theodore had shown up to breakfast commando.

Hermione smiled softly, but the ache in her chest didn’t subside. 

“Are you actually you know… a doctor?”

“Um—no. I’m not.” Hermione glanced cautiously at Charles, though his face was expressionless as he primly carved into his chicken breast.

This made Sam laugh again. “That’s why they’re all staring at you like that.” He jerked his head towards the staff. 

Slowly, she turned her head to observe the staff again. They all sat at their own table, chatting amongst themselves. Somehow the brightly-coloured hair on Nurse Mandy’s head only complemented the scowl on her face. Instead of the usual cheery magenta, it leaned more towards an angry fuchsia. 

Tonks’ face popped into her mind and her heart gave a painful clench.

“They’ll get over it.” Theodore chuckled, nudging her with his shoulder when he caught her expression. It was a strange thing she found herself experiencing, to want to lean into his touch. She’d never really been one to lean into another for support. She solved the problems, she faced the difficult truths. It had always just been her . 

She sighed, slumping into her chair.

“Why the long face?” Theodore leaned in to whisper. “You’ve got an obnoxiously expensive luxury bird of prey waiting for you when you get out.”

“I’m just missing the days when I could at least drink my tea hot .” She complained about the first thing on her mind, hoping that he wouldn’t sniff out the truth.

“That is a dilemma.” Theodore said between bites.

The next moment she heard Barry yelp, and the sound of shattering glass followed. She flinched, her eyes darting in Barry’s direction in alarm. He was frantic, hands in the air muttering his apologies as the staff ran over to him to make sure he didn’t cut himself on the shards.

“I’m sorry—gosh—my arm must’ve slipped!” He pleaded. “Watch the glass! Any deeper than a quarter-inch and you’ll need stitches!”

Theo laughed beside her, drawing her attention back to him. “Barry, look at you! You’re in shambles you klutz.” He teased. “Relax, will you?”

Barry shot him a flustered look, jumping up onto his chair to avoid the glass on the floor.

Shaking her head, Hermione reached for her mug to take a sip. Her hand flew back as it connected with hot porcelain. “Theodore!” She gasped, whispering his name in disbelief. 

“ What!” He mocked, taking his last bite of chicken.

“You can’t just do that in front of them!” 

“Yes I can—I just did .” Her stomach fluttered as he flashed her his mischievous smirk.

She took a sip, sighing contentedly when the tea that touched her lips was the perfect temperature. “Thank you.” She muttered under her breath. 

Theodore patted her leg under the table in response. “You can thank me later.” 

She stared at him for a moment, admiring his chiseled jaw and soft features, and found herself seriously considering showing him just how thankful she was after they returned to their rooms.

☘︎

“Theo?” Hermione asked as the sauntered in the direction of their wing.

“Yes, Darling?” He responded.

“Do you not think Adam looks a little… worse for wear this evening?” She looked on at the man who walked in front of him, his knuckles clenched and white. His head was on a swivel, settling more often than not in Hermione and Theodore’s direction.

“Hmm—” Theo shrugged, leaning in to whisper, “It’s possible that he’s been reading that copy of book you had your nose stuffed into.”

Hermione gasped, “Theodore!” She smacked him on the arm and he pasted an offended look onto his face. “You said you didn’t know where it had gone! I knew you had something to do with it! And Adam? He can’t be reading that stuff!”

At the sound of his name, Adam’s eyes widened and he picked up his pace significantly, veering around the corner and out of sight.

Theo smirked, tucking his hands into his pockets. “Oh come on, love, it’s right up his alley.”

“You’re unbelievable.” Hermione laughed, despite the subtle ache still lingering in her chest. 

As they turned the corner, they discovered a slew of staff members going in and out of their rooms, more often than not, emerging with peculiar items. The patients in their wing stood idle in the hallway, watching on intently.

“What’s going on?” Hermione asked, cocking her head.

A vaguely familiar blonde man from the group she’d abducted that morning, who had apparently been occupying the room across the hallway from her this whole time, turned to look at her. “They’re searchin’ our rooms.” 

“For what?” She asked.

“Perhaps, and this is just a theory—” Theo cut in, “illegal uniforms?” 

“Sod off.” She lightly nudged his arm. “I suppose this likely does boil down to my actions.”

“Did you tell them you heard a tick in here James? Huh!” A Irish voice teased from down the hallway— Stephen’s, she recognized. “Bloody bigot.”

James, the blonde man whose name she hadn’t learned yet, stiffened beside her. He sneered back at Stephen without a word, though his expression revealed more than enough to make up for the silence. He remained that way until a nurse ushered him into his room. 

Stephen laughed, a deep belly laugh. “ Boo! ” He shouted after him, as though attempting to frighten a child.

“Is everybody in here fucking crazy?” Theo exclaimed.

Hermione shrieked out a laugh, quieting down when she earned a few filthy glares.

A staff member breezed by them then, holding a very familiar clay sculpture in his hands— rather, in his gloved fingertips. He held it far away from his person, grimacing as he passed them. Theo and Hermione’s heads turned in time, watching him go by.

“Patty’s going to resent you for that one.” He laughed.

“Guess you’ll just have to stand in then, won’t you!” Hermione responded cheerily. 

Theo shivered. “I’m down for a lot, but that —I just think Patricia and I are better as friends is all…or distant acquaintances.”

“Not your type then?” She asked casually.

 Theodore twisted to look at her, his lips twisted into a coy smile. “I prefer my women a little more stubborn.” 

She prayed to whatever God would listen that he couldn’t see the blush spread over her cheeks as he sized her up. “Sounds like you want to shag yourself.” She tried to joke, nearly stumbling over her words. “How predictable.”

His brows rose casually. “Perhaps I’ll explore that fascinating theory in my room tonight.”

There was no hiding her blush now, as she watched a nurse begin to usher him towards his room.

Their eyes didn’t leave one another until he disappeared behind the metal door.

Chapter Text

Hermione’s coffee was hot at breakfast that morning. A warm and fuzzy feeling took root in her chest as she side-eyed Theodore with one hand on the steaming porcelain mug. 

A smile played at his lips, but he didn’t look in her direction. Instead, she felt the warmth of his thigh against hers as he shifted in his seat, settling in close to her again—far closer than necessary.

“You look refreshed this morning, Teddy!” Patricia cooed from across the table, taking a healthy sip of her sugary-creamy-coffee mess. 

Barry had lost it at her when she’d tried to strong-arm him into a different seat. The bloke didn’t enjoy being touched with ‘unsanitary hands’, he’d snapped. Hermione had held back her snort when he’d nearly earned himself a slap for his attitude. 

“I bet I do —I had a fantastic sleep.” Theodore responded, looking back towards Hermione for some undisclosed reason. 

And for some unknown reason of her own she blushed under his gaze, shielding her face with her mug as she took a sip.

“That makes one of us,” Sam nearly growled out. “Can hardly get a wink myself with this one blabbering on at all hours of the night,” he added, jerking his head in Barry’s direction. “Tell me, Barry, did you get the issue with your crib sorted? All set with a SleepSack? God forbid you suffocate. Who would be around to keep us all up at night?” He stabbed a sausage, nearly breaking his disposable fork under the force of his jab.

“Samuel!” Cindy scolded. 

Barry sneered at Sam, the corners of his mouth twisted down at a comically exaggerated angle. 

Her lips twitched as she caught his expression, flicking her eyes to Charles, who remained curiously silent in the face of Barry’s harassment, picking at his breakfast. Hermione studied him for only a moment, finding herself grateful that he wasn’t gracing them with his usual bullshit lectures on morality for once.

“Sorry Cindy, but between that and the newbies they brought in last night, I was ready to throttle everyone!” Sam added.

“Newbies?” Hermione asked, exchanging a look with Theodore, “I didn’t hear anyone come in…”

“Oh well lucky you.” Sam sighed, “Yeah—table one. Brunette one and two over there.” 

“I heard that shrieker from a mile away!” Patricia laughed with a slight wheeze.

Her gaze drifted towards the new patients, immediately clocking which one was likely the shrieker. It definitely wasn’t the lean one—she looked too glum to do much of anything. From where Hermione was sitting she could see the other woman’s pupils were blown completely out. She sat staring catatonic at the table in front of her. 

“Must have been a full moon.” Theodore chimed.

She tried to bite back her laugh, giving him a playful nudge with her knee. “Did you not hear them?”

He shrugged, “nope.”

“Do you reckon they’ll be allowed to come to Hyde Park tomorrow?” Patricia glanced around their table for feedback. “I would hate to be them, missin’ out on that.”

“Sorry, who’s going to Hyde Park?” Theodore asked curiously.

“The lot of us!” 

Theodore exchanged a loaded glance with Hermione. “Let me get this straight, they’re letting all of you traipse about a public park?”

“Yourselves included!” Patricia slapped his arm playfully. “Now that you’re officially one of us.”

“Officially?” Hermione snorted. 

“We don’t usually include bin dippers in the count.” Sam deadpanned.

“Bin dippers? ” she repeated, puzzling out what he could mean.

His face broke into a smirk, “Yeah, people who stay for three days only.” 

Theodore broke into laughter, “oh that’s a good one.”

Hermione shot him a dirty look, “Yes, how flattering.”

“Perhaps we should introduce ourselves to them!” Cindy suggested sweetly after a moment. “You know, even if they can’t come, it’s always scary your first day here.”

Theodore snorted, washing down his bite of toast with his orange juice. “You know what? Sure. I’ve got some business with table two anyways. I’ll let the poor birds know that the occupants of table three would like to say hello.” 

Hermione eyed him skeptically as he squeaked his chair out, standing to his full height. 

He yawned obnoxiously, stretching his arms above his head with a wink. 

She scoffed, turning back to her plate.

“Hey Barry?” Theodore issued the nervous man a saccharine smile and nudged him on the arm. 

Barry tilted away from him in disgust. “What?” He squinted at Theodore suspiciously.

“Might you help me with something, mate?” Theodore jerked his head, motioning for Barry to follow him.

“I s’pose…long as I don’t end up injured or… sedated.” he stuttered, rising nervously from his chair.

Hermione watched on as Theodore leaned in, conspiring with Barry about something or other on the way to table one. But as they passed table two, Barry hung back, anxiously approaching a strung-out looking Adam. 

Her eyes shifted to Theodore, leaning over in front of the catatonic woman with an exaggerated wave of his hands in front of her eyes. She looked on, amused, as he failed to garner any reaction from her. He turned around, mouthing ‘what the fuck?’ from afar.

A laugh had begun to bubble from her throat when the sound of Barry’s yelp drew her attention away from Theo’s antics. 

At table two, Barry had stumbled back a few steps and Adam shot up from his chair with a loud, unintelligible shout. Barry cowered as Adam’s head shifted around, zeroing on Theodore. A moment later, his gaze connected with Hermione’s. Back and forth he looked, as though deciding what his next move was. His hands trembled in front of him, but he took off, charging right towards her.

Her eyes widened as he approached her. 

His hand clamped around her arm, eliciting a gasp. “You need to listen to me!” he muttered frantically. 

“Adam—” she tried to jerk her arm away, uncomfortable with the contact. A look over his shoulder and she caught Theodore, watching on as he caught wind of the altercation. Concern had replaced the smirk he’d been sporting just a moment earlier.

“Hermione!” he shouted, following her gaze. “He’s not who you think he is—he’s watching me— he’s probably watching you too!”

What the fuck was going on?

“Do you hear me?” Adam shook her again, the pace of his speech began to pick up until she could barely follow his ranting any longer. “He’s going to make me disappear because I’m onto him and he knows it, and then he’s going to do the same to you!”

Adam grabbed her other arm, eyes wide and in her space. “Protect yourself! I tried to warn them but they weren’t listening to me and now—” he pulled at the strands of his hair with a strangled cry, “now it’s too late!”

“What on earth are you on about?” she prodded—but as the words left her mouth, it all clicked into place. 

The fucking book —Theodore must have been playing some sick prank on Adam. For a second she found it funny— what nutter would believe that shit? 

He leaned in to whisper frantically into her ear, “he knows when I eat , when I sleep— he can do things.” He was closer to her now. “I don’t know how he does them but you have to believe me!”

She stifled a laugh. 

Adam tensed, pulling back to verbally lash her but she stopped him with a pat on his arm. “You should be careful who you trust, Mr. Baker. Nothing goes unnoticed.” 

His eyes nearly bulged out of his head and he jumped back, releasing her from his grasp entirely as though she had burned him. “You!” he shouted, “you’re one of them too?” He carded his hands through his hair, eyes shifting around to all of the curious glances from table three, then towards Theodore, who stared menacingly at him from across the cafeteria.

Barry hovered just behind her, trying to work up the courage to sit back down in his chair after such a betrayal. He froze as Adam approached him with wide eyes.

“Is she one of them?” he asked of him. “IS SHE ONE OF THEM?”

Barry flinched at the volume of his voice, “Yes!” He squeaked. “She’s a—”

Adam let out an ear-splitting shriek. 

Then he was running, screaming, shouting, grabbing anyone who might listen and telling them all about Big Brother, Theodore .

Hermione’s mouth fell open as the scene unfolded, and she wondered for a moment, whether she might have pushed the man too far with her silly comment.

The staff rushed over, tackling him just as quickly. But not before Adam let out one last shout. “YOU CAN’T LET THEM TAKE ME, PLEASE! KILL ME! JUST KILL ME! ” He flailed and screeched as Nurse Mandy injected him. “The Thought Police—they’re—monitoring—” his speech became slow and strained as they emptied the needle into his arm. Then he fell completely silent, eyes shuttering, and body going limp.

They really were quite liberal with the sedatives around here.

She whirled around to Barry just as Theodore began to cross the cafeteria towards them. “Why did you say that!”

“W-What?” Barry stuttered, wide eyed. 

“You said I’m one of them, why did you say that?” She stepped forward, feeling Theodore rest a comforting hand upon her shoulder.

“Because you said you’re a doctor!” Barry’s voice trembled. “You—you’re Doctor Granger, you’re one of them!”

Oh. OH.

“I’m not a fucking doctor, Barry!” Hermione groaned. “I was lying!”

“But you said—”

“Alright, alright, let’s all calm down before they turn those pointy things on us.” Theodore interjected with a firm tone as Barry rounded the table to take cover behind Cindy’s chair.

Hermione glanced at Theodore, who looked slightly conflicted by what had just transpired. Their gazes drifted towards Adam as the staff gently towed his unconscious body from the cafeteria.

“Clear off to your sessions everyone, breakfast is finished!” a nurse announced grimly from the centre of the room.

A loud screech had her whirling around to catch the tail end of Charles’ movements as he stormed off.

“What has gotten into him now?” Theodore exclaimed with a shake of his head.

Cindy frowned at the pair of them, running after Charles a moment later. 

“If I had to guess it’s because he’s got some rigid moral high ground that we’ve been violating since we got here.” Hermione scoffed. “Bloody annoying is what it is.”

“Merlin,” Theodore turned to look at her, “these people are going to give me a bloody aneurysm.” 

“I think you’re going to give them one first, if you keep it up!” Hermione scolded.

“Yes well, I might have gone a little too far with that whole Big Brother business. I didn’t quite expect him to react like that . A tad dramatic if you ask me.” He muttered as they took to the hallways. “Are you alright?”

“Yes, fine.”

“He shook you up quite a bit, if I’d have known he’d turn on you I wouldn’t have—”

“— Theodore . I’m alright.” She asserted. “Have they given you your schedule yet?”

“Yep.” He sighed. “A whole load of bullshite if you ask me.”

“When’s your first therapy session?” She asked curiously. 

He snorted, “next Monday, you?”

“This Friday,” she pouted, “I guess they think I am in more urgent need of intervention than yourself then.”

“I could have told you that.” He elbowed her gently.

She elbowed him back harder, causing him to stumble a step with a laugh. “Is it with Dr. Grant?”

“The very same!” she replied.

“He seems poncy.”

“Poncy?” she laughed, “that’s hardly insulting coming from the mouth of an obnoxiously wealthy pureblood.”

“Hey! My wealth isn’t the only thing that matters!” he faked offence. “I’m handsome too.”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “come on, time to go finger paint our traumas away.”

Theodore hummed knowingly, “hopefully they’ve spared us the clay this time.”

☘︎

“What are all of those numbers?” Theodore nudged Hermione, pointing at the cars whizzing by their stagnant bus, “just there—on those cars .”

“Plates.” She deadpanned. 

Theodore had been full of questions since they’d stepped foot on the bus that following morning. What is this , what is that — why do I have to get on that thing?

Irritation fell off of him in droves as he stared back at her with an expression that begged her take pity on him.

“ Number plates.” She giggled. “It’s a way to track drivers. To make sure they’re paying their insurance, or if they get into an accident—it’s a way to identify them.”

“In case they run?” 

“Precisely,” she laughed. “Good to know where your base instincts lie.”

“It must be so easy to commit crimes as a muggle,” he smiled at her, “do you reckon I could pull it off?”

She let out a soft, dismissive puff, “oh I have no doubt in my mind that you would make a fantastic criminal, Theodore.”

“Woah there!” His brows shot up as a car breezed by their bus, weaving dangerously through traffic. “What’s that tosser doing? He’s going to hit something!” He twisted his head to get her attention and then quickly turned back to the window, leaning forward to squint at the car. “It reads B-M-W Finchley?” He looked at her again, eyebrows raised expectantly.

She rolled her eyes with a snort, “typical.”

“So we could report this number plate of his?” he smirked wickedly.

“That’s generally the idea, yes.” His eyes sparkled with mischief as he turned back to examine the car, sitting idle at the stoplight.

“All of that just to get stuck at those red light things. What an arsehole.” Theo berated through the window, waving to get the man’s attention.  

Hermione dissolved into laughter as the man in the car side-eyed them when he caught the motion in his peripherals. Theodore waved sarcastically, suddenly flipping him off. 

“Theodore!” She laughed harder, reaching to hide his vulgar gesture from the man’s view. 

“What’s he going to do, apparate into this bus and avada me?” He snorted, flipping his middle finger up again with more intention, waving it around.

“You know muggles in this city do quite enjoy their knife crime, Nott.”

“Knives?” He grimaced as he looked back at her, slowly moving his hand from view of the muggle man. “Barbarians!”

“ Humans,” Hermione corrected, “you better believe that we’d be just as bad if we weren’t afforded magic to do the dirty work for us.”

“Everyone, can I please have your attention?” A bright pink bob came into view, standing at the front of the bus. “In just a few moments we’ll be pulling into Hyde Park. I’ll ask that you remain seated until we’ve come to a complete stop, then exit the bus in an orderly, single-file line.” Nurse Mandy quirked a brow, scanning the residents on the bus, “remember that making a run for it will ruin this for everyone, so unless you want to spend the entirety of your stay indoors at WMC, I suggest you behave yourselves.”

Hermione flinched as the bus let off a series of loud and frantic honks, pulling to a dead stop so fast that Nurse Mandy had to catch herself from falling.  

‘Fuckin’ arsehole!” A muffled exclamation came from the bus driver. 

Theodore yelped as his head bashed into the vinyl seat in front of him. “Do they have a bloody chimp driving this thing!” He scoffed, rubbing his head as they began to move, making a sharp turn into the grassy park. 

“Oh Theodore, did you hit your head?” she tsked sarcastically.

He pasted on a dramatic frown, “will you kiss it better?” he tapped his cheek a few times, “just there?”

“Piss off.” She bit back a smile.

When the bus came to a stop, Nurse Mandy spoke again, “Remember, you have to stay within the boundaries of the group at all times—if you can’t see myself or Nurse Evans, then you’ve strayed too far.”

“A little ridiculous don’t you think?” Theodore asked Hermione as they stood to file out of the bus.

“We are mental patients, Theodore,” she pointed out, “it’s nice enough that they’re even letting us out of the facility in this climate.”

“Fair point…” he sighed, nudging her into the aisle with a hand to her lower back, “Get a move on, this bus smells like shite.” He said pointedly, glaring at a group of patients in their vicinity. 

☘︎

It had only taken a grand total of ten minutes for the first patient to get reprimanded for their behaviour. Patricia—who they’d observed accosting muggles as they’d walked quietly towards the bird-filled pond, had procured a cigarette from one of them and had been promptly led back to the bus for a timeout.

“Here’s nice, yeah?” Hermione looked to Theo, whose eyes were fixed on a fancy-looking mandarin duck that was strutting along the waterline.

“It’s all grass, Granger,” he shrugged. “I think we might be consumed by the birds wherever we sit. Honestly, are they just free to proliferate here?”

She laughed, collapsing onto the grass, which was miraculously dry for the very start of an English spring.  The weather had even cleared up for them, only slightly chilly with a crisp breeze that carried with it the smell of magnolias and other perfectly-hedged flowers. 

“They’re very familiar with people, these lot. My mum used to take me here when I was younger—they won’t attack us.” Nostalgia roiled in her gut, dampening her mood.

“Whatever you say, but I’m still going to start swinging if that bloody massive one over there comes any closer,” he said with an air of uncertainty, glaring at a sizeable swan that waddled between groups of people, mooching for their handfuls of various seeds and frozen peas.

Hermione’s mouth twisted into a smile and she rolled her eyes, tugging at the leg of his uniform. 

He obliged, laying himself out on the grass beside her. 

“What’s your mother like? Is she very much like you?” Theodore questioned, pulling bits of grass out of the ground beside him.

Heat prickled over her skin, her heart jumping at the question.

What was normally a safe topic of conversation between friends, instead made Hermione want to jump out of her skin. The truth was that she hadn’t told anyone about her parents, who were still sitting blissfully clueless of her existence somewhere in Australia. She would pretend to visit them each holiday, retelling false stories to anyone who would ask how her time off had been. In reality, she’d been solo-travelling. Every yule, every birthday, and on pretty much every major holiday—she’d fled. 

The proof of her last vacation that previous December was still burned into her back, in the form of faded tan lines she’d procured from lounging for far too long on a quiet beach in southern Portugal.

When Ron had discovered her secret during their brief fling, she’d begged him not to tell anyone—and so he hadn’t, and the ruse had continued until it had become such a big lie that she didn’t think she would ever have the courage to come clean about it all.

She gazed up at the clouds, chewing her lip as she mulled over her words. “She’s a little more of a homebody than I am, but she loves books almost as much as I do. That I got from her. But I’d say I’m more like my father than anything.”

“Does she look like you?”

“I would say so,” Hermione smiled softly, recalling the memory of her mother’s face in her mind. Her smile widened, “Actually, when I was younger I found an old photograph of her from when she had been around the same age. I remember asking her when she took the picture of me.”

Theodore chuckled, “must be a looker for her age then.” 

Her smile faltered, “I haven’t—” she hesitated, “—it’s been a while since I’ve seen either of my parents actually.”

“Really?” he questioned expectantly.

With a stiff nod, she continued on towards dangerous territory, “almost three years.” 

She could almost hear the gears turning in his head as he counted. “Since—”

“Yes," she sighed.

“They must be worried about you.” He pushed his arm against hers and she focused on the pleasant warmth that radiated from his skin.

For some reason she couldn’t quite understand, she was overcome with the urge to tell him what she had done. But it didn’t make her chest ache any less as she spoke the truth aloud, “They won’t be, considering they haven’t a clue who I am anymore.”

Theodore stayed silent, but she saw his head twist curiously in her direction, brows knit together. “What?”

She chewed her lip more fiercely, breathing through her discomfort.

He picked up on her nerves, prodding her softly, “It’s alright if you don’t want to tell me...”

She twisted her head, locking eyes with him. It was hard not to notice the way he looked to be made for the springtime, with his green eyes and soft pink lips. Even his earth-toned curls looked like they belonged that way, rustled and wind-mussed—unkempt in a boyish sort of way.

“I obliviated them," she replied with a near whisper after a moment of deliberation. “I wanted to keep them safe. You know, in case…something happened.”

“ Salazar , Hermione,” his gaze flickered over her features, “that must have been a hard decision to make.”

“Honestly? It was easy. Actually obliviating them though…” she trailed her eyes to the patch of grass between them, “that was difficult, to say the least.”

“What did your friends think about it all?” he asked thoughtfully.

“Nobody knows actually…well only Ron . But not because I told him.” Her nervous hands found purchase in the grass, stroking the fresh green strands between her fingers. “He didn’t understand it when he found out—but he’s always had on rose-coloured glasses.”

“Potter?”

She shook her head.

Theodore flinched, “you never told Potter ? Wasn’t he like your best mate or something?” 

“He had enough to worry about if you recall,” she muttered, “it would have been selfish of me.”

“I reckon if you asked him he might have a different opinion on that.” 

“If you’d of seen the state of him back then, I think you would have done the same.” Nausea—that was what she always felt when she was forced to remember that time in her life. Nausea and an overwhelming urge to exit the conversation entirely.

“But you never told him, not even now?”

“I’ve considered it once or twice,” she sighed, “but every time I open my mouth, it becomes this insurmountable thing . I think too much time has passed.”

“Yet you held no reservations in telling me ?” his tone sounded slightly bitter as he referred to himself.

“Why do you say it like that?” She looked at him again, but he looked away. 

“Well, by most people’s standards, I would have been considered to be on the opposing side of the very war you wanted to protect them from.” 

She furrowed her brows, turning to face him. “Whatever happened to you during that time—whatever you might have seen or done …I can tell that it wasn’t your choice,” she muttered softly, both surprised and concerned by the truth in her statement. “And I told you because I wanted to. For some reason, none of it felt so hard to admit.”

He was quiet for a long moment, his gaze fixed skyward. “Do you think we belong here? Like, do you think these muggles are onto something with their art therapy and all of that bullshite.”

Just like that, the smile was back on her face. “Of course not.” She snorted. “Have you seen some of these people?”

“I’ve seen too much of these people, I think.” Theodore’s mouth twisted into a smile of his own. 

☘︎

Hermione had lost track of how long she’d been staring at the clouds, but she could tell it was nearing late afternoon by the way the sky had dimmed ever so slightly. Theodore had dozed off beside her long ago, and she had grown relaxed listening to the sound of his quiet breaths. He looked so peaceful, eyes fluttered closed, head on a pillowy patch of moss. Her mind had long since drifted to happier thoughts as she laid quietly next to him in the cushiony grass.

The sound of a loud gaggle of geese flying overhead caused him to stir. He flipped onto his stomach, burrowing his face into his arms.

“Did you have a nice nap?” 

He cracked one eye open, peering at her over his muscular arm. 

She smirked down at him wordlessly.

“ Bloody birds.” His complaint was muffled, but his mouth stretched into a smile as he heard the sound of her answering scoff.

“Hey Theodore?” While he’d been asleep, Hermione had been thinking about the ease with which he was able to do wandless magic, and it had given her an idea. 

“Hm?” He turned his head towards her, his mouth still set into a soft smile. Hermione struggled to remember what she had been about to ask of him, caught beneath his gaze of seafoam green—under the golden light of the afternoon sun, they glowed so vividly that she could have sworn they contained their own light-source inside of them.

She hesitated, catching her lip between her teeth, “would you teach me how to do wandless magic?” 

He issued her a smug smirk, “Don’t you already know everything, oh Hermione Granger, our great Golden Girl?”

“Bugger off!” Her smile widened. “I’m serious.”

“Alright then,” Theo hoisted himself up onto one elbow to lean over her, settling his face much closer to her than was probably necessary. Her stomach flipped as he ordered softly, “close your eyes.”

Hermione did just that, enjoying the subtle heat of the late-spring sunlight upon her own face. “Now what?” she whispered.

“Focus all of your attention right here—” Hermione hitched a breath as his fingers lightly prodded her sternum. “If you pay it enough mind, you should start to feel a nice warmth there—like what the sun feels like right now but… more concentrated.” 

Thanks to the way her mind endlessly drifted from subject to subject, meditation and mind magic had never been her strong suit. But the feel of Theodore’s touch on the very spot to which he had told her to direct her attention, was proving to be helpful in doing so. She was feeling something, and it was growing warmer the longer his fingers stayed connected with her chest.

“Wands act as a magnet of sorts, though I’m sure you already know as much. Each wood and core contains magical properties that, for whatever reason, attract that energy from deep inside of us. That’s why different wands suit different people—our magical signatures are entirely unique, and what might attract one’s magic, may do nothing for another’s.” 

“I feel it." She wet her lips with her tongue, listening to the smooth lilt of his voice. 

“They’ve made us lazy," he drawled. “We don’t need them. Our magic is ours to control and always has been.” 

“It’s warm, and…staticky?” 

“That’s one way to describe it.” She could hear the smile in his voice. “Now, imagine that warmth blooming outwards—” His fingers moved to trail just below her collarbone and out to her shoulder, beneath the fabric of her ward-issued jumper, causing her heart to pound.

Warmth was certainly blooming— elsewhere .

 She still held her lip firmly between her teeth and held her breath as his fingers trailed slowly down the inside of her arm, grazing over her bare skin where she had rolled her sleeves up.

“That static you described, it will grow stronger—like a current. You should feel it concentrate the closer it gets to your wrists.” Theo’s hand circled her wrists gently, “Although in my experience, getting it to that point is where most fail the first time.” 

Hermione grit her teeth and knit her brows together in concentration. She heard his soft chuckle, presumably at her determination in the face of a challenge. She could feel the current as he had described it. It slid through her veins like it was liquid—buzzing and warm. It breached the boundaries of her wrists and exploded into her hands. In her excitement she gasped at the heat that gathered in her fingers, only for it to sputter out when she opened her eyes to look.

She let out a sigh of disappointment, flicking her eyes back to Theodore with a pout. 

He was still rather close to her, smirking down at her with pride. “You did better than I expected.”

“Of course I did.” Hermione fought a smug smile at his praise, much too aware of the hand that still circled her wrist. She took shallow breaths as he leaned in closer to her face, his thumb idly stroking the skin of her hand.

He stopped just millimetres from her lips, his breath hot on her cheeks. “Keep working on your focus, and it will get easier. It’s akin to a muscle.” 

“Okay.” She whispered, unable to produce a sound with him so close to her. His eyes bore into hers, darker and more intense than before. She swallowed and her breathing ceased entirely as his hand snaked up to rest in the crook of her neck, against the steady thrum of her pulse.

Her mouth parted with a soft exhale as he moved closer, his lips feathering her own.

“Theodore? Hermione!” Nurse Mandy’s voice called out from the edge of the park, drawing them from the moment. “Five minute warning for the bus!”

Theo let out a sigh of exasperation against her mouth, resting his forehead against hers. He pulled away a moment later, no hint of teasing left in his expression as he uttered, “This isn’t over.”

Hermione kept eye contact as she slowly nodded once in acknowledgment. 

And just like that the ghost of a smirk reappeared on his face. 

She drew in a much needed breath as he stood up, holding out his hand to help her up. It was a good thing too, because when she gained her footing again, she realized just how dizzy he’d rendered her.

When she was certain she wouldn’t tumble over, she pulled away from his grasp to dust the grass and dirt off of her uniform—if only to find something to do with her hands.

Chapter Text

The first few days of being an official patient at WMC had blended together for Hermione. It had been easy to fly below the radar during group activities and sessions while she used her captivity in the ward as an excuse to flee from her outside life—and spending day after day with Theodore hadn’t been so hard either. Since their conversation in the park, she’d felt strangely connected to him in a way she hadn’t before. 

He knew this big secret about her—one that took up a significant amount of space in her brain. Sharing the burden with him and not having the elephant stomping around in the front of her mind, tainting every interaction—that had been a larger relief than she could have ever imagined. Harry, and the rest of the people in her life who might find her dishonesty to be a disappointment? None of them could find her in here. 

She would be free from all of it, so long as she stayed right where she was.

“You look tired.” Theodore commented, drawing her from her thoughts as they meandered slowly down the hallway together.

“You really know how to compliment a girl,” she deadpanned, not bothering to look in his direction. 

“If it’s a compliment you’re after, all you have to do is ask,” he lilted, nudging her arm, “I have plenty of material.” 

She bit back a smile. “Go on then.” 

Theodore sauntered in front of her, stopping her in her path. 

She eyed him suspiciously as he lifted his hands to her face, looking at her with a curious sort of warmth. 

“Hermione,” he spoke softly—and she might have fallen for his charms, however briefly, as his thumb grazed her cheekbone and caused her stomach to do flips. “This shade of purple really makes the gold flecks in your eyes pop.”

There was no disguising her answering grin, “sod off.” She slapped his hand away and pushed him aside with a playful shove.

He smiled crookedly at her, tucking his hands into the pockets of his uniform. “Did you not sleep well?”

She shook her head. “Did you not hear Barry having a freakout last night?” she lied.

This earned her a strange look, “no, I suppose I must have been in a dead sleep.”

“Honestly, he just might give me the motivation I need to grasp wandless magic,” she carried on with a teasing tone, “if only to get out and smother him with his pillow.”

“Yeah, that would shut him up—” Theodore responded, though it sounded more like a question as he hesitated, “Granger? Did you say you had your private session today?”

She knit her brows together, suddenly feeling a little nauseous. Yes. Twenty bloody minutes from now. “Why do you ask?”

“You seem a little on edge and that’s the only thing I can think of that might rattle you some.” 

“I’m just fine!” she tried to reassure him casually. “Why would that rattle me?”

He shrugged, finally dropping the topic, “no reason.” 

They continued towards the cafeteria in silence, though Hermione’s thoughts grew so loud that she was worried Theodore might be able to hear them.

If he had any inkling, he had chosen to take some mercy on her and let it rest.

“Patricia told me they’ve got Adam in solitary,” he spoke after a moment.

She looked at him, brows raised, “over one little mental breakdown?”

“Supposedly,” Theodore shrugged, “I might be feeling a tad guilty about it, actually, seeing as it’s sort of my doing.”

“You do have a heart!” she smirked as they reached the library. 

He seemed to be deep in thought as he navigated through the limited stacks to retrieve the book he was reading from its elaborate hiding place—behind a collection of Chicken Soup for the Scientologist Soul , volumes one through four. 

“I wish I could just stay in here, skip the whole thing,” she sighed, sliding her back dramatically down the shelves to stretch out her legs.

Her eyes followed his movements as he settled in beside her, cracking open the burgundy book she’d lied to him about having read. It was a feat to suppress her snicker as she noticed that he was nearly three quarters of the way through it already. “We could always make a run for it. Say the word!”

“I don’t think I’m ready to leave just yet,” she smiled softly. 

A simple nod was all he offered her in response. 

And when she rested her head on his shoulder, he gave no protest. 

She willed herself to relax a little, attempting to focus her attention on the soft rustle of pages as Theodore turned them.

☘︎

Muffled shouting and colourful curses drifted into the hallway from the door of the room she’d been directed to for her first therapy session. 

“Just uh… wait for Dr. Grant to come and retrieve you, yes?” Nurse Evans seemed like he’d had enough of his day, not even pulling a face at the chaos unfolding behind the thin door.

Hermione nodded, quirking a brow as she heard a particularly loud yell and then a series of crashing noises. She had to jump back from the door to avoid getting flattened as it swung wildly open. A very disturbed James stormed out of the room, taking off down the hallway.

“ Merlin’s fucking tits, ” she muttered beneath her breath, hesitant to enter the room.

Inside, she observed Dr. Grant dabbing at his light-blue button-up, soaking wet and clinging to his chest. He glanced up at her when he heard her come in, looking frazzled with a few damp strands of hair hanging awkwardly over his forehead, “Oh! Ms. Granger. Right on time. Er—” she noticed the overturned armchair as he sucked a breath in through his teeth, “I was going to say have a seat—”

Despite herself, she had to bite back a smile. “It’s alright. Take your time,” she answered, moving to correct the situation herself. When the chair was righted, she took a seat, back straight and braced for verbal combat.

“Sorry about that,” he smiled at her, flattening his hair back as he took a seat, “how are you feeling today, Hermione?”

Her brows raised slightly, “better than you at the moment, I’d imagine.”

He chuckled, reaching for the clipboard laying haphazardly on the cherrywood side-table. “I would hope that to be the truth. How has your week been? Did you enjoy the Hyde Park outing?”

“It would have been more exciting if I hadn’t seen grass before,” she answered with an air of sarcasm.

“Right,” he smiled again, “we’ll have to consider a more exciting avenue next time. Unfortunately with this diverse group we have to keep any outings somewhat…mundane.”

“Yes, well you’ll have to keep Patricia at least three hundred yards away from a school,“ she barked out a laugh, “and I suppose tours of parliament are out of the question with Adam Baker afoot.”

A faint smile lingered on his face, but to her utter irritation, his professional facade did not crack beyond that. “I’m curious as to why you say that?” 

“Are you asking me to gossip about another patient, Dr. Grant?” she pushed with a smirk. 

“I’m simply trying to get an idea of where your perceptions lie,” he stared at her expectantly.

With a roll of her eyes she began to rant, “the man is crazy, that’s why I say that ,” she mocked, “do you know, I heard in group the other day that he’s in here for sending death threats to the Queen? Via a pigeon. According to another patient of course…” A laugh bubbled up her throat. “You already knew that I’m sure.” 

Dr. Grant’s expression revealed nothing, “what is your definition of crazy?”

She furrowed her brows, “you know, you could at least try to hide the fact that you’re attempting to psychoanalyze me.”

“Did you not, during our last conversation, request that I take a more direct approach with you?” his eyes squinted slightly, as if taking stock of her reaction.

Hermione sighed, slumping into the chair. “ Crazy ; mentally deranged, especially as manifested in a wild or aggressive way.” she recited academically.

“Is that from the Oxford dictionary?” his eyebrows rose with mild amusement. “You have an astounding memory.”

“Near photographic.” she answered dryly.

“Now give me the answer according to Hermione Granger.” 

She stared blankly at him for a long moment. “Fine,” she scoffed when he didn’t utter a word. “The most common definition of crazy to me is, first and foremost, a state of sporadic and unpredictable emotional volatility. Though I would also consider someone who is crazy to be fanatical about something they believe in—they hold a delusional view of the world. Perhaps they like knives a little too much.” 

Bellatrix Lestrange.  

“Or they’re sadistic! Maybe, hypothetically speaking, they get a thrill from targeting vulnerable people.” 

Antonin Dolohov. 

“Obsessive too, to the point of radicalization and violence—” her voice trailed off. 

Tom Riddle.

Dr. Grant seemed to observe every twitch of her face as she spoke, and she suddenly became much too aware of the small knit that had formed in her brow. It was straightened out almost as soon as he had clocked it, and a look of disinterest was renewed in her expression.

“Who were you thinking about just then, when you came up with that list?”

Heavy on Bellatrix LeStrange.

“Adam Baker,” she responded as though it was the most obvious truth in the world. 

Dr. Grant pressed his lips into a flat line, “It’s alright, you can tell me the truth when you feel more comfortable doing so.” When she didn’t react, he squinted at her curiously. “Would you mind telling me a little bit about your childhood?”

Hermione hesitated, unsure of where to start—half of her childhood was on a need-to-know basis for a muggle like him.

“Where did you grow up, Hermione?” Dr. Grant prodded, picking up on her hesitation.

“North London,” she answered, “in the suburbs.”

His face lit up. “What area?”

“Hampstead Garden?” she answered hesitantly.

“Ah!” he smiled warmly, “that must have been a nice place to spend your youth.”

“Do you know of it?”

“Actually, I live very close to there at present,” he nodded.

“A lot of doctors live in that area.”

“That’s an interesting take,” he tilted his head, “was one of your parents a doctor?”

“Yes,” she nodded, “well…no. They were dentists, if you want to get technical.”

His brows raised, “both of them?”

“Yes—” Hermione’s lips twitched as she reminisced. “They met during uni.”

“You must have very healthy teeth,” Dr. Grant flashed her his own smile and she noted that his own teeth were perfectly straight and sparkling white.

“I had a bit of a rebellious phase when I was ten. It lasted about six months, but they recovered…thankfully,” a full-fledged smile bloomed on her face.

“What did you do?”

“I refused to floss.”

Dr. Grant laughed, “well some people aren’t very good at remembering to do that as adults, so you are still leagues ahead of them.”

“I suppose you’re probably right,” she laughed dryly, relaxing into the chair an inch. 

“May I ask what it was that you were rebelling against?”

“Typical childhood melodrama,” Hermione shrugged. “Honestly, it was nothing too exciting.”

“I wonder whether you would humour me and elaborate?” Dr. Grant urged softly.

Hermione sighed resignedly, delving into her memories to find the right words. “They went on a lot of trips—without me. I understood the appeal of going on vacation, truly…but sometimes it felt like they needed a break from me. So when they told me they were off to Australia for six months, I didn’t take it well.”

“They went on a lot of trips?”

She nodded, “for a few months, a couple of times per year. But never for six months straight.”

“You said you were ten—who took care of you while they were gone?”

“I did?” Hermione condescended. “I was old enough….plus I was never one to cause them any trouble.”

An unreadable look crossed over Dr. Grant’s expression as he scratched away in his notebook. “How many months out of the year would you say that you spent alone—at your family home, I presume?”

Hermione nodded. “They’d usually take off from February to April, and again in October to around Mid-December.” She huffed out a laugh, “I think they would have taken off earlier—in September—if it weren’t for my birthday.”

“Were you ever made aware of their reasoning for going to Australia for half of that year?”

“They were thinking of moving us there, but it didn’t pan out in the end,” she replied. “It’s where they met—where they went to school. They both loved the country.” 

It would have panned out—but she was careful to leave out the part where she found out she was a witch and their entire world flipped upside down. 

Dr. Grant was nodding as he listened. After a moment, he looked up from his notebook, “so from the time you were ten they were only home with you for around six months out of the year?”

“I was eight when I was independent enough, actually. I was a…gifted child.” Hermione tapped her fingers idly on her lap, “but yes, that timeline was fairly consistent.” 

He looked quite surprised before he cleared his throat and schooled his face into its usual nonchalant smile.

“My neighbour Scarlett spied for them, though. I don’t think they knew that I was aware of that,” she laughed. 

Dr. Grant didn’t laugh. “If you don’t mind casting your mind back to that first year in which they left you on your own…what did your day-to-day look like?”

She chewed her lip.

“I would get up and eat some toast or maybe some oatmeal with fresh berries if it was early enough in the week—my neighbour dropped me off some groceries each Tuesday,” she smiled, “sometimes she’d throw in a few sweets—I always appreciated that. I knew it was her—my parents never let me have chocolate or anything of the sort so there is no way they would have put them on the shopping list. I think she felt bad for me or something…can’t imagine why.”

“What about school?” Dr. Grant asked, “a child of your age—were they not concerned you might take to skiving?”

“I went,” she shrugged, “I enjoyed school very much. They knew there was no chance that I would even want to do such a thing. They were lucky that way I guess.”

“Did your teachers know?” he asked. 

She looked up to find his brilliant blue eyes boring into her own. “No. I never gave them any trouble either—I was always sort of left to my own devices.”

“What about entertainment? What did you do for fun?”

“Read books, mostly. Studied. Sometimes I would go cycling, or go for walks with my neighbour’s nephew—but only when he was around.”

Dr. Grant was squinting at her now. “You would classify your reaction to all of that as melodramatic ?”

She snorted and issued him a nod. “I had a roof over my head and food in my stomach. I was able to read and go about my life in my own little bubble. It wasn’t exactly an inconvenient arrangement for someone of my nature.” 

The flash of sympathy that crossed over Dr. Grant’s face had her bracing for him to assume the ‘annoying therapist’ archetype that she so desperately detested. “Children have emotional needs too, Hermione.”

She rolled her eyes, but an uncomfortable feeling stirred in her chest. “I guess I’m not quite like other people. Never really have been, if I’m honest.”

“Did you miss them when you were gone? Were there ever any times that you could have used their support, only for them to not be there?”

The first year had been… trying . 

She wasn’t about to admit that to him, the sadness she had felt at their initial departure. Perhaps, if she’d been old enough to comprehend complex emotions, she might have even recognized loneliness in herself.

There had been one instance. 

“I did miss them every once in a while, of course,” she responded casually. “But there is only one instance that I can think of in which I really missed them.”

He motioned at her to continue.

“The other students were quite rude to me at times, though looking back I might have deserved the teasing. I was very self-assured—I enjoyed correcting them about anything and everything and I actually got on with my teachers,” she tapped her foot, “I had very frizzy hair—like very frizzy. And it was nearly down to my butt when I was nine. One day during break, three boys held me down and cut it right up to my shoulders. It was awful. I may have had frizzy hair, but I’d always been attached to it in a way. I suppose girls are strange like that when it comes to their hair,” she half-smiled. “Anyways, when the teachers asked what happened I told them I cut it myself—I didn’t want them calling home and landing  my parents in trouble. I was very distraught though—and my hair was awful for months after that. My classmates took to calling me ‘blowball’ for the rest of the year.”

He frowned, “It sounds as though, at nine years of age, you were able to recognize that it was wrong of them to leave you alone for such extended periods of time. Would I be correct in that inference?”  

Hermione’s jaw ticked. “I suppose I recognized that other people would find it wrong.”

“And you made the decision to lie about the abuse you faced, to protect them?”

“The last thing I wanted was to unnecessarily end up in this country’s poor excuse for a child protection system,” she snapped, “so it was partially for my own sake as well.”

His pen scribbled quickly across his notebook. “Did you ever tell them about the incident, when they returned?” 

She shook her head. “No. And thankfully, my hair was grown out enough when my parents returned from Switzerland that they didn’t even notice.”

“Thankfully?”

“Why are you scrutinizing my word choice?” His prying had begun to grate on her nerves.

“Our choice of words reveal a lot about our subconscious,” he replied gently, setting his notebook aside to give her his full attention. “Thankfully, implies that you might have felt relieved that they never found out. Would you say that this is accurate?”

It irritated her further that he was right. “I suppose.”

“Why is that?”

“I didn’t want them to worry I guess.”

“Did you tend to do that a lot?” he tilted his head. 

She sighed heavily, “do what.”

“ Withhold the truth to protect their feelings?”  

“That’s a little dramatic,” she scoffed.

“You needed them and they weren’t there. You must have felt horribly alone, perhaps a little overwhelmed, being as young as you were at the time,” he continued, “by not telling them, you chose to internalize those uncomfortable emotions, effectively parenting yourself for the benefit of full-grown adults,” he furrowed his brows, “would you not agree that it is part of their duties as parents to support you emotionally, and to help you work through growing pains?” 

Hermione felt herself growing agitated and took a deep breath before responding. “I simply think condemning them for it is a little silly, considering I was quite advanced for my age.” 

“If you had a child in the future, do you see yourself aligning with those same values? Would you leave your own child to fend for themselves if you felt they were advanced enough to do so?”

She glared at him and responded shortly, “probably not.” 

“Why is it then, that you find yourself defending their actions now that you’re grown up?” he questioned. “Do you feel that you deserved less than that as the little girl that you were?” 

“ What? ” she threw her hands up in disbelief, “I didn’t say that I—” she closed her eyes, centering herself with a sigh. “Look. In retrospect, perhaps I would agree that it wasn’t the best situation for a child to be in, but I turned out just fine.”

Fine enough to end up here.

The words hung in the air, but a professional such as Dr. Grant would never dare to say such a thing.

“What is your relationship with them like these days?”

Her stomach bottomed out.

“Fine,” she answered. “I see them every holiday, and we do family things. Is that the answer you were hoping for?”

“I wasn’t hoping for any particular answer, Hermione.” Dr. Grant smiled solemnly at her. “I can see this is perhaps a sore spot for you. Would you prefer if we talked about something else for now?”

“Good Godric!” she huffed, “yes, if you please .” She tried to hide the way her eyes widened as she used the peculiar turn of phrase without thinking.

Dr. Grant still caught it, staring at her quizzically. Thankfully, he moved on, reaching for his notebook once more. After a long moment of record-taking, he put it aside once more and leaned forward with a more serious look on his face than she’d previously seen him tote. “I was hoping to address something else actually. Something troubling I heard from the patients you held a session with before we met.”

She shifted in the chair, sitting up a little straighter.

“I heard that something quite traumatic happened to you when you were fifteen. Do you know what it is I’m referring to?”

Something traumatic had happened to her every year since she’d turned eleven. 

She wanted to laugh to herself about the ridiculous statement, but she wasn’t feeling particularly humorous. “Yes.”

“It would be remiss of me to avoid the subject.” Dr. Grant proceeded gently. “Would you be comfortable discussing it with me? If it would be easier for you, you could start with whatever you told the others, as the chances that I’ve already heard the same story are quite high.”

Hermione stared at him, picking idly at her nail bed. She wasn’t sure if she even could tell him more than that, given the magical nature of it. She could spin it into a more mundane tale, sure. But would it be better to just not bring it up at all?

She wiped a thin sheen of sweat from her forehead as she recalled the grisly details once more, trying to craft a perfect tale to tell him that would be at least parallel to the truth.

“I was stabbed,” she swallowed the thickness that clung to her throat. “It collapsed my left lung and I was in the hospital for a month, during which I almost died a few times.” Her breath came in deep and heavy bursts. “It still hurts slightly to breathe sometimes—when I exercise and such.”

A silence fell between them and she cast her eyes to the floor. 

“Thank you for sharing that with me, Hermione.” When she glanced back up at him, she noted that he looked ready to recoil at her flippant recounting of the event. “Did you know the man responsible?”

“No.” 

“How did you find yourself in that position?” he asked gently, “did he seek you out?”

“Er—” she hesitated, “I was on a field trip, from my…boarding school—my parents sent me when I turned eleven,” she added. “I was in a shop at the wrong time. When he drew the knife to harass the shopkeeper, I got in the way.”

“When you say you got in the way, do you mean you did so on purpose? Did you try to defend the woman?”

“Perhaps,” she sniffed, “I was worried for the woman.”

Ginny. She had been worried for Ginny. 

He nodded, his brows knit together in contemplation. “Forgive me if you feel I’m overstepping, but I heard that the man died and that you were aware of this fact. Would you care to expand on that?”

“Sure.” She fisted her jumper. “It was a…botched execution.”

His eyebrows shot up in surprise, “I thought those were quite rare here.” 

“He was…Russian. They deported him.” The lies began to slide from her tongue easily. “Funnily enough, he wasn’t even done in for stabbing me. I read in some foreign papers that it was because of his anti-government rhetoric.”

“How did you feel when you learned of this?”

“I laughed,” she admitted again. “I still sometimes laugh when I think about it. Is that sick?”

“No, it’s not a sign of sickness, Hermione,” he smiled sympathetically at her. “We all process these things differently—humour is a very powerful tool for healing.”

She snorted, “sure.”

“Why do you think you intervened that day in the shop?”

She shrugged, “it was the right thing to do, I guess.”

“Even if that means putting yourself in danger?”

She shrugged, only nodding at him in response.

“You feel obligated to offer protection to others when they are in a vulnerable position.” Dr. Grant stated clinically. “You wouldn’t leave your child unattended for months out of the year because you know they’re vulnerable—as much as they might try to prove otherwise, yet you don’t see yourself as a vulnerable person, ever. Do you see a pattern here, Hermione?”

A flash of anger coursed through her.

“So all of this comes back to my parents?” her voice rose a few decibels, “it’s all their fault , because they went on fucking vacation?” She stood with a huff, “honestly, this is ridiculous . You don’t have a clue what you’re talking about.”

“I’m sorry if I’ve upset you, Hermione. It’s my job to draw attention to patterns and behaviours that are harmful to my patients.”

“Well you don’t know the half of it!” she shouted, “you don’t know the half of what I’ve been through and you’ll never understand. As much as you try to prove otherwise.” 

“Ms. Granger—”

“No!” she paced, “I’m quite done for today I think.” 

“Very well, we’re almost at time anyways,” Dr. Grant responded softly, standing to face her. “Please, do yourself a favour and think about what I said. You’re a fiercely smart woman and I hope our next few sessions might help you to better understand yourself.”

She laughed theatrically, shaking her head. “ Whatever !”

“This is all to help, you, Hermione,” he pleaded, “but I cannot help you if you refuse to help yourself. I hope that you give our conversation some thought, however uncomfortable that is for you, and perhaps you can come to the conclusion yourself.”

“What conclusion?” she scoffed, hand on the doorknob.

“That you are worth something, even if you are not giving all of yourself to others—that you are entitled to be vulnerable too. It’s okay to need the support of others.”

Her eyes watered as the frustration in her chest threatened to burst out of her tear ducts.

“You can use all of the manipulative tricks in your bag and I’ll always be two steps ahead of you, Dr. Grant.” she spat through gritted teeth, storming out the door without another trembling word.

☘︎

“That man—is UNBELIEVABLE!” Hermione spat, storming into the library to find Theo, slouched against the shelves in the same position she left him in. “Honestly, who the fuck does he think he is?” When she caught a glimpse of his face, she stopped in her tracks. “Theodore…are you crying?”

“Yes I’m bloody crying!”

She studied him, slightly unnerved by his unusual demeanour. “What on earth is wrong?”

“This fucking book is what’s wrong!” he sniffled. “Are you a sadist or something?”

She clamped her hand over her mouth to stifle her snort of awkward laughter that burst from her throat.

“Oh you think it’s funny do you?” He stood, brows pulled together in frustration. “I didn’t take you for a complete arsehole, Granger.”

She stopped laughing at that. Her brows furrowed, “what did I do?”

“A soldier with a cold bastard for a father—joining the war even though he didn’t want to? All a little pointed, don’t you think, Granger?” 

“Theo…” she spoke softly, ”I’ve never even read that book, I was just taking the piss when I gave it to you.”

“What?” he looked confused, “how is that any better!”

“I’m sorry, I really didn’t know what it was about…” she spoke softly, gently taking the book from his hands, ” really Theodore—I just grabbed a random book from the shelf so you’d give me mine back. If I had known—” She chewed on her lip.

He looked affronted, but she was pleased to see that the tears had stopped gathering in his eyes at least. “So now I have to suffer, and I’m not even allowed to be mad at you for it?”

“You can be mad at me if you wish,” she placated, patting his arm in consolation.

He looked down at her with a frown, wiping his face a few times before he straightened his back. “I don’t think I can,” he muttered, fighting a smirk of his own.

A smile bloomed on her face, “ gosh you’re volatile.” 

“As mental patients usually are,” he sniped with a grumpy tone that sounded forced. 

“Would you like to tell me about the story?” she probed.

“I hope I never have to think about it again,” he sniffed. 

Hermione studied the book in her hands, debating on whether she should read it for herself, or if she should let it rest. She settled on tucking back into the shelves behind him—if he wanted to tell her about it, she would let him do it on his own terms.

“Want to go raid the kitchens? I’m bloody starving again.” he piped up after a long moment, voice thick with mischief. 

She quirked a brow at him, pleased to see that the grief on his face had nearly dissipated entirely. “Won’t there be staff in there right now?”

He shook his head, “they don’t come in until at least half-eleven to prep for lunch.” 

“Of course you would know that,” she laughed, rolling her eyes. “Let’s go then,” she tugged his arm, “I suppose I owe you one after that.”

“Oh you owe me at least two,” he grumbled from behind her, “one for putting me through that, intentional or not, and two for witnessing me sob like a fucking child.”

“I’m not about to tease you for crying, Theodore,” she sighed, pushing the door open. “I’m glad you have a heart.”

It was curious to her that he didn’t seem to have any quips to say in response, instead he remained silent, pulling ahead of her to lead them to the kitchens.

☘︎

Hermione’s feet carried her sluggishly towards the activity room as she tried to fight off the fog of the afternoon nap she’d just awoken from. Overindulging in sugar and carbs tended to have that effect on her—and when Theodore had nicked an entire family-size box of cookies from the kitchens, they’d gorged themselves on the chocolate-chip treats.

He’d really kept up the victim act, bickering with her until she had agreed to give him her dessert that evening in recompense for the book incident—even if it were her favourite.

When she quietly slipped into the room, she saw him sitting lazily in one of the comfy armchairs that they had set up for the occasion—because what was knitting without an armchair to fall asleep in. She snuck up on him from behind and wrapped her arms around his neck, bending down to mutter softly to him. 

“Are you still mad at me, Theodore?”

He flinched at the contact, settling a moment later. “Perhaps only mildly irritated.”

“Can I still sit with you, or are we no longer friends?” She teased softly. 

He twisted his head to look at her, a smirk playing at his lips. “I suppose we can still be friends. But you might have to earn my trust back.”

She rolled her eyes, fighting her own smirk. “Is the promise of my dessert not enough for you? I thought we’d already come to an understanding.”

He shook the knitting needles in his hands, muttering just loud enough for her to hear him, and nobody else. “You could start with explaining what the fuck I’m supposed to do with these so I don’t make myself look like a fool.” 

She barked out a laugh, releasing him to sit in the neighbouring chair. “What is it about me that made you assume I know anything about knitting?”

“I don’t know , you’re a girl ?” he teased.

“A girl who has ridden a dragon and trapped a reporter in a jar!” she countered with a giggle. “Didn’t really have time to knit between all of that business.”

His lips parted, but the words escaped him—instead he blew out a breathy laugh, “alright, I’m going to need a thorough story time from you about both of those comments, which for the record, I don’t believe in the slightest.” 

“Good afternoon everyone!” An older woman’s voice sounded out. Hermione and Theodore turned to observe as she closed the door behind her, shuffling in with a large bucket of colourful yarn. Her grey hair was wild and curly, despite her apparent age, and a few strands of dark blonde still tethered her to youth.

Hermione sank into the reasonably comfortable cotton-fabric cushions of the neighbouring blue armchair, reaching for the knitting needles from the small folding table that had been set up in front of her station.

“My name is Susan!” she exclaimed cheerily—she had quite a soothing voice. “It’s lovely to meet you all. I hope that we can find some enjoyment in such a simple craft together this afternoon.” 

‘ Hi Susan ,’ a few voices responded with a clinical greetings.

“I see a good amount of you have already begun to familiarize yourself with your tools, but does anyone here already know how to knit?” She cast her light blue eyes around the room with a warm, dimpled smile.

Theodore snorted when Sam’s was the only hand to go up, sliding hesitantly into the air. 

Sam shot him a childish face and slouched into his chair.

“Only one of you!” Susan’s smile didn’t falter. “Well I suppose we can work with that—what’s your name?”

“Samantha!” Patricia piped up from Theodore’s other side, followed by a wheezy chuckle. 

Sam scowled at her as a few laughs rang out around the room. “My name is Sam ,” He replied, deeply unenthused.

“Nice to meet you, Sam! Perhaps for the first little bit you can assist me in helping any of the others who might have trouble getting the hang of some basic stitches?” she didn’t give him the option to decline, nodding her head at him in thanks. 

He let out a deep sigh, rubbing his face in exasperation.

“I’m going to pass the bucket around. Please take one skein to start—any colour that makes you happy.” Susan beamed, plucking out a pastel purple heathered yarn for herself before pushing the bucket to her left where Charles was sitting patiently.

When it was Hermione’s turn, she plunged her hands into the pool of soft yarn skeins, fishing for a colour she liked. 

“Never would have guessed, Granger.” Theodore deadpanned from beside her as she pulled out one in scarlet red.

She rolled her eyes, kicking the bucket in his direction. When he pulled out an emerald green she scoffed. “How are you going to judge me and then go and pick that colour?”

He laughed, pushing the bucket over to an eager Patricia. “You’re too easy to wind-up.”

She bit back a smile and worked to unravel the loose end of her yarn as she awaited further instruction.

☘︎

The heaviness that had settled over Hermione’s eyelids had only been made worse as she had listened to Susan drone on about the basics of knitting.

Unfortunately for her, the basics did not strike her as very basic at all, and by halfway through the session she’d grown slightly frustrated with the whole process—not to mention that her wrists had begun to throb with a dull ache.

Her scarf—or what was supposed to be the beginnings of one, was lazily wound together and severely misshapen. Truthfully, she’d lost count of her stitches ages ago and had stopped caring. She smirked to herself as she considered joining the two ends of it together and adding a few rungs to the bottom—thirteen to be exact.

She snuck a peek at Theodore, who was in the process of joining what looked to be a perfectly knitted sleeve together.

“How are you so bloody good at this?” She huffed.

He lifted his hands, wiggling his fingers with a smug smirk. “I’m good with most anything that involves my hands.”

She rolled her eyes, dropping her head lazily back against the armchair with a tired huff. Her project sat looking lopsided and uneven in her lap while she shook out the ache in her wrists.

“I see a lot of you are channeling the spirit of our dear old Saint Patrick—loving the greens I’m seeing here.” Susan smiled, pacing slowly around the circle. When she reached Theodore, she stopped, eyebrows raised with pleasant surprise. “ Nice job! ”, she beamed, “at this rate you might have a whole jumper ready for the holiday!” 

“Thank you, Susan—you’re such a wonderful teacher.” Theodore crooned as she carried on around the circle of mental patients.

Hermione scoffed, “do you even know what St. Patrick’s Day is , Theodore?

“Of course I do! It’s where every March seventeenth, you get pissed out of your robes,” he paused, looking around the room with a curious gaze, “though I’m unsure what the colour green has got to do with it.”

“That would be the muggle holiday you’re most familiar with!” she laughed. “The green is symbolic… sort of. It’s like camouflage for the Irish, you know because everything is so sickeningly green in their land— supposedly it makes you invisible to the leprechauns.”

“Then why can Stephen still see me waving?” Theodore obnoxiously waved at the short man from across the circle.

Hermione and Theodore fell into a fit of laughter as Stephen gave Theodore a strange look, turning his attention back to his own project.

“Are you telling me you get drunk on the seventeenth of March and have no idea why you’re doing it?” Hermione asked with a wide grin.

“Any excuse for a nip is good enough for me,” he responded.

“You don’t…get dressed up for it though? You just, drink?”

“Dressed up?” he looked at her incredulously, “is that what the muggles do?”

She nodded enthusiastically, “oh yes, it’s quite fun actually. It’s almost tradition to buy silly accessories, or shirts with funny slogans on it and go get obliterated in a stupidly-packed pub.”

“And I’m to assume you’ve partaken in this…ritual?”

She nodded, “Ginny and I used to sneak out of Hogwarts for it. Obviously we only revived that tradition last year.”

“Sneaking out of Hogwarts to get drunk?” he lilted, “colour me surprised .”

“Oh yeah, we pulled out all the stops. Gin’ even wore a shirt that said ‘Kiss Me, I’m Irish’, just to piss Dean off when they were on a break.” Hermione laughed at the memory. 

“Why would anyone want to kiss someone Irish?” Theodore pulled a face. “Remember that little short prick from our year, what was his name Sean? Simon? Merlin, was his name Stephen too? Are they all fucking Stephens?”

Hermione smiled amusedly at him, “You mean Seamus Finnegan?”

“Yes! He had a temper, that one,” he reminisced with a slow shake of his head. “Salazar, he used to have a go at me for the smallest things.”

“Really? Like what?”

“I don’t know, Draco used to get a kick out it when the bloke would blow shit up by accident,” Theodore started casually, “he was a little…down in the dumps in sixth year—I’m sure you remember.” he cleared his throat with an awkward laugh. “Anyways, I started offering him a little assistance , in the hopes that it might cheer Draco up.” 

“What do you mean , assistance?” Hermione crinkled her brows together, listening intently.

Theodore paused his frantic knitting. “Oh this and that—” his mouth twisted up at the corner, “I would replace a few of his potion ingredients for more…reactive ones—he was too dumb to notice.”

Hermione’s face twisted into an expression of subtle horror.

“Or there were a few times he left his rubbish notes lying around in the library while he chased that broad Hannah around,” he snorted. “It was easy enough to replace some of his charms notes with the wrong wand movement diagram—again, too dumb to notice. ”

“Theodore!” her mouth parted in shock.

“Anyways, one day he caught me trying to jinx his exploding bon bons in the courtyard—little man tried to lay me out. He got a few good hits in too…” Theodore laughed like the memory of the whole experience was heartwarming for him. “Fortunately, I have much more experience in hand-to-hand combat than he did, the little shit.” 

Hermione might have wanted to laugh too… just a little —but her Gryffindor loyalty had her biting her lip to stop herself. “You totally deserved that!”

“I personally think it was a bit disproportionate to what I did.” Theodore scoffed. “Those shirts should say ‘Kiss me, I’m Insane’— that would better capture the Irish essence , I think. ”

His comment broke her resolve entirely and a laugh escaped her.

This seemed to please him, for that smug smile reappeared on his face as he turned back to his knitting for the last little bit of their session.

Hermione gave up entirely, curling up into the chair to relax instead.

☘︎

When pudding rolled around that evening, Hermione begrudgingly slid her strawberry shortcake in Theodore’s direction. “Consider us even!” she pouted.

“ Certainly ,” he winked, picking up her fork with his other hand as if to devour both his slice and hers at the same time. 

She offered him a theatrical frown in the face of his obnoxious gloating—but when he dug one of his forks into the fluffy white sponge of her former slice, he began to make train noises. “Open up for the WMC express, Granger, you’ve earned yourself a one-way ticket to the funny farm.”

When she laughed, he shoved the bite into her mouth. 

She yelped, nearly choking on a chunk of strawberry. Laughter slipped out through a mouthful of the cake as she wildly flailed her arms to push him away. When she finally swallowed the ridiculously large bite, she wiped the tears from her eyes and gave him a healthy shove. “Why would you do that!”

“I can’t take your cake, Granger,” he cooed affectionately. “Not after the way your eyes lit up!”

“My eyes didn’t light up and yes you can , that was the deal!” she scolded playfully, “and I won’t have you holding that book incident over my head for the next few weeks!”

He hummed knowingly, “stubborn and prideful—must be Gryffindor.”

“You’re a clown !” she teased.

He shoved a bite of his own cake into his mouth, leaning in to mutter under his breath. “What is a clown?” 

She groaned, “the muggle school for clueless wizards is closed for the evening, unfortunately.”

“Fine. I shall ask someone else,” he responded nonchalantly. “Charles!” his voice boomed as he addressed the man, who still sat quietly, chatting only to Cindy, who sat in her usual spot beside him.

Charles looked up, eyes boring into Theodore’s. “What is it?”

“Can you please tell me what a clown is?” 

Charles stared blankly back at him, and in an action most unlike the usually helpful man, he simply iced him out and turned his attention back to Cindy, who looked mildly uncomfortable.

Theodore scrunched his face up, shooting a questioning glance at Hermione. “What the fuck is his problem?”

“I’m…not sure, Theodore.” Hermione watched on with mild annoyance as Charles bristled. “Perhaps he could benefit from an extra therapy session this week. He’s been awfully rude lately,” she whispered just loud enough for Charles to hear that as well.

“Yeah or he could try a stiff drink like the rest of us!” Theodore joked, teasing him. 

“ Enough !” Hermione flinched as Charles stood abruptly, his chair clattering to the ground behind him.  

“Charles—” Cindy stood, tugging at his arm. 

He waved her off, red in the face. “You two are acting like this is some kind of holiday , with your jokes and your tactless pranks!” 

Hermione held her breath, unsure whether the slight tremble in his voice was due to anger or something else.

“ Mate —” Theodore started in warning.

“ No ! You are behaving despicably ! Everyone else is here to heal themselves, and you are making a complete mockery of them. What you did to Adam was childish, and ignorant! And you—” he took heaving breaths between words, pointing at Hermione, “posing as a doctor in the manner that you did was a complete violation of trust, and a disgusting display of insensitivity.”

Hermione gasped as Charles slammed his hands on the table. Theodore instinctively flung a protective arm across her chest as he leaned in to glare at both of them. 

“I’m not sure if you know this, but you two are patients here as well. And you know something? I reckon the pair of you might be even more fucked up than the rest of us!” 

Hermione tensed as he tore off out of the cafeteria without another word. She stiffly craned her neck to look around, suddenly all too aware of the several sets of eyes that were trained on table three. With an uncomfortable glance at Theodore, who also looked to be slightly shell-shocked by the outburst, she cleared her throat and stood. “I’m going to my room.”

“Right behind you.” Theodore stood to meet her, hand pressed to her lower back with a gentle prod.

Whatever chatter had occurred at table three as they moved to leave was lost on her thanks to the ringing in her ears and the heat that prickled at her neck.

☘︎

“Granger—” Theodore’s voice called from behind her as she stormed into her room.“Granger!”

She whirled around, tears stinging at her eyes. “What?” 

“Are you upset?” He furrowed his brows. 

With a sniff, she sat down on her bed, trying and failing to fight the frown growing on her face. 

“About that fucking arsehole?” he said as if her reaction was the silliest thing in the world. “Hermione—” his voice was soft as he took a seat beside her and latched his hand around her fidgeting wrist. “That man is certifiable ! I don’t care how put together he’s been pretending to be—I had him pegged from day one.”

“And we aren’t?” her voice faltered.

“What?” Theodore searched her eyes. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean —” she sniffed, “don’t you think he might have a point?”

“Me? Sure. But there’s nothing wrong with you!” he insisted, bringing his hand up to her cheek.

“There is, Theodore,” her lip trembled. “I think there really is and I don’t think I’ve admitted it to myself yet.” 

“It’s just been a long day—” he muttered softly, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I should wring his fucking neck for the way he just spoke to you.”

“It’s more than just today though, isn’t it? We joke around and laugh about all of this, but then I go and I have conversations like the one I did this morning—or a doctor tells me everything I don’t want to hear based on what fucking colours I chose to paint with—”

Theodore’s face fell an inch at the mention of their art therapy session.

She took a deep breath, blinking through the blurriness in her eyes. “And then it all becomes uncomfortably real for a few moments. And my first instinct is to brush it off like it’s nothing! What if it’s not nothing?” Her voice broke, “what if they’re all right?”

He stared at her, green flickering over glistening amber.

And then he was pulling her into a hug, strong arms wrapped around her with a tightness that had her relaxing into him just a little. His scent enveloped her. It was soothing, like a coastal forest, earthy and energizing. It grounded her some as she breathed it in and realized all of a sudden, that it was now a familiar smell to her—one she might even associate with memories worth smiling about.

It had been a long time since she’d had something like that to cling to—something that wasn’t rotten or tainted.

“You’re not fucking crazy, Granger,” he whispered into her ear. “I’m amazed, actually, that you’re not—after…everything.” 

She pulled away, angling her head so that he couldn’t see the way she wiped at her eyes in an attempt to erase the evidence of her distress. “Everybody puts me on this pedestal, Theodore, but I’m not this extraordinary person they all think me to be. I’m jaded and I’m miserable.”

“Aren’t you allowed to be?” 

Her eyes remained downcast as he moved to crouch in front of her, forcing her to look at him. “Do you understand the gravity of what you did for our world? And you still came out the other side of that as this person who can make me genuinely laugh?”

When she caught way he was looking up at her, a rabble of butterflies burst to life in her chest, easing her grief with each flutter of their velvet wings. Awe, and something else she most likely didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of, was present in his expression. 

Admiration— yearning maybe? 

“You don’t know me, Theodore,” she breathed out, “not really.”

“I think I do, actually.”

She shook her head in protest. “If you did, you would see what a train wreck I am,” her following laugh was thick with defeat.

He smiled at her softly, “I do see it, Granger.”

“And yet you still want to hang out with me?” she exclaimed, her voice laced with doubt.

“I am willingly allowing myself to be held captive in a building of crazy muggles—just to spend more time with you.” His thumb traced soothing circles across the cold skin of her hand. “What do you think?”

She wiped away the last of the moisture that lingered on her face. Even though she felt vulnerable doing so, she let him see the redness in her eyes, and she allowed him to remain there, comforting her for a moment longer.

Just as she was about to consider putting herself out on a limb by asking him to stay with her that night, Nurse Evans’ voice called out from the hallway.

“Nott?” He summoned Theodore, bursting the blissful bubble that had formed around them. “Time to return to your own room—it’s nearly lights out.”

Theodore rolled his eyes hard, causing Hermione to laugh.

He smirked, standing to tower over her. “I can come back later…if you want.”

Her mouth dried up as she stared up at him, trailing her eyes over his tall frame. “Maybe…” 

“I’ll need an enthusiastic yes , unfortunately,” he teased, sighing dramatically when Nurse Evans’ knocked insistently on the metal of Hermione’s open door. “You know where to find me, Granger.”

Her mouth twitched, “sleep tight, Theodore.”

She didn’t move a muscle, drinking in every last precious second that she had to observe him as he disappeared from view. The door closed behind him and she curled up into her mattress, tangling herself in the sheets.

The only good thing that came from the draining day, was that sleep claimed her almost immediately.

☘︎

Hermione stirred, something in her mind coaxing her to consciousness in the dead of night. She wasn’t entirely sure what had roused her—the halls were quiet, only the creaking of her bed broke the silence as she shifted onto her back with a soft sigh.

Her mind drifted, as it usually did in the later hours. But rather than sad memories and catastrophized scenarios—a face popped into her mind instead. One with forest green eyes and soft lips, curled into a devious smirk. She let herself admire the image her mind had conjured of him, here in the privacy and darkness of her room.

‘Like what you see, Granger?’

The cocky words echoed in her head and she found herself smirking back at the mental image, pulling her lip between her teeth. It sounded exactly like something he would say.

‘You have no idea,’ she admitted to his mirage.

‘Excited, are we?’

In her mind, his eyes flickered as if they were coveting her body, the same way she had sworn he’d done a few times since they arrived to this place. Heat spread across her cheeks.

‘Perhaps a little. It’s a shame this is all in my head.’

‘Ah, but the beauty of this being all in your head is that you can do something about it.’ 

The warmth quickly consumed the rest of her body.

‘Nobody will know,’ the sensual voice urged.

Her eyes widened, surprised by the explicit thoughts that her psyche was dreaming up. 

Visions of his tan stomach and muscular shoulders floated through her head, catching the breath in her throat. She flushed as memories of his fingertips trailing down her arms burst forth. It felt so real that gooseflesh prickled down her arms, the same way it had that day in the park.

A dull throb started between her legs. 

‘What if this were real?’ his phantom form lilted.

‘What if it was?’ she responded in her mind, voice thick with longing.

‘It could be…how would you know?’

“That’s impossible.” She whispered aloud.

‘Is it?’

She swore she could feel his lips where they pressed against her pulse point in her mind. 

‘Are you going to lay there frazzled all night, or are you going to take care of yourself for me like a good girl?’

The throb morphed into a desperate ache as those lips moved up and across her jaw. 

‘You should have thrown our bet. This could have been real.’

Her heart began to pound, wave after wave of desire roiled over her body until she could no longer handle it. Slowly, she trailed a hand down the expanse of her stomach. It was a concentrated effort on her part, not to cry out with relief as she found her centre and a shock of pleasure shot through her.

He’s in the next room. Even her mental voice was breathy as she desperately tried to reason with herself.

‘I’m closer than you think, love.’

Godric even his voice , a figment of her filthy imagination, lilted low and soft in her mind— thick with a wanting of its own.

What if he hears me?

‘Then he’d be the luckiest bastard on this side of hell, listening to you come undone to the thought of him.’

A breathy moan escaped her lips and she swiped a tongue across her bottom lip. She circled her centre with slow, intentional strokes. The more she built herself up, the more she wanted to have some fun with that wicked voice in her head.

‘Would you touch yourself too? If you heard me?’ she spoke into the ether of her dreamscape.

‘Oh believe me, Granger. I already am.’

She bit back a louder moan. 

‘Don’t fucking hold those noises in. I want to hear them.’

‘Then everyone will hear me…’

‘No they won’t. I’ve been silencing our rooms. Do you think I can sleep with Barry psychotically ranting in his sleep down there?’

Hermione stilled, heart pounding out of her chest.

Was this real? Even she had to admit, that particular narrative was a peculiar thing to dream up while she sat in her dark room, pleasuring herself.

She listened for a moment—admittedly, it was eerily quiet for a psychiatric ward.

‘Let me ask you something,’ his voice prodded after a moment.

A nervous breath fell from her lips. ‘ What?’

‘If I told you it was real, would you deny yourself this?’

She gasped, heat flooding her cheeks. ‘ How are you doing that?’

‘The same way I do all wandless magic.’

‘Legilimency is advanced even with a wand.’

‘I’m an advanced wizard.’

‘But—’

‘I’m waiting, Granger,’ his voice teased, though she thought that she might detect a slight tremble to it. ‘Make your choice so I can come in my hand to the sound of you.’

Desire overtook her with such force that her eyes began to water. 

‘This is such an invasion of privacy!’ her mental protest was weak at best. She could not deny the way she felt a thrill shoot through her system at the thought of what might soon transpire.

‘How about this? You can keep your pretty mouth shut tonight, as long as you come for me, and I’ll keep mine shut tomorrow, so that you can pretend this was all in your head.’

She ached, her heart beating much too hard to hope for sleep to find her again. She had no choice, really. At least that’s what she told herself as she slowly trailed her shaking hand back between her legs.

‘Fuck—’ his voice was strangled as he praised her, ‘—that’s a good girl.’ She saw a flash of him again—his teeth grit in pleasure, head tipped back.

The image had her quickening her pace until that dull ache grew into something stronger—sweeter . A barely audible moan slipped past her lips that she stifled as fast as it had come out. 

‘Such a filthy witch, touching yourself for me—’ his voice was gravelly now, coaxing her along, ‘are you soaked at the thought of me?’

‘Yes, god yes!’ Her back arched as she slid a finger through the moisture that gathered there.

‘Do you know how desperately I want to know what you taste like?’

She was close now.

‘How badly I want to know how your warmth feels around me?’

Another squeak escaped her as his words, dripping in honey, grew even more racy and his voice more desperate—a few more seconds of this and—

‘I would fuck you until you can’t walk, make you come over and over again—‘

With a sharp inhale, she fell over the edge, biting her lip to stifle her cry. 

‘Just like that.’ She could swear she heard a smile in his bodiless voice.

‘Fuck—’ she whined in her head, the trembling in her legs finally slowing. Her mind went silent as she came back to herself, panting.

‘Theodore— “ she cast the thought outwards into the void, “ was this real? ”

‘Wouldn’t you like to know? ’ he teased, though his voice sounded strained, breathy.

‘I would…’

‘You’ll have to ask me to my face tomorrow if you want to know so bad, love.’

‘Not fair.’

‘Sleep tight, little witch.’

‘Theodore!’

A chuckle echoed through her mind, and then—silence.

She might have stewed on the interaction for the rest of the night, debating whether it was real or if it had genuinely been a product of her imagination—but she found herself so sated that sleep pulled her under within minutes.

Chapter Text

There was a gleam in Theodore’s eyes as she emerged from her room the following morning—one that unsettled her deeply.

“Morning, Granger.” He drawled, carding a hand through unkempt curls.

A flush crept up her neck. “Morning!” She squeaked out, breezing past him at light speed towards the cafeteria.

“What’s gotten into you today?” Theodore prodded from a few paces behind her.

She grimaced, pasting a smile on her face before flashing it over her shoulder to acknowledge him. “Nothing! Not sure what you’re talking about.”

He caught up to her. “You’re acting very strange.” 

“I’m really not!” She tried and failed to tamper the uncharacteristic enthusiasm in her voice. “Perhaps you simply don’t know me the way you think you do.”

“Oh I know that I do,” he chuckled. “I reckon we’ve grown quite close, you and I.”

Her cheeks burned and she stopped, whirling around to face him with furrowed brows. “What are you playing at, Nott?”

“You know, Hermione—I’ve think I’ve quite had enough of this little dance we’re doing this morning.” Theodore smirked, backing her into the wall of the hallway. “Why don’t you just tell me what’s bothering you?”

Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. All she could focus on was the feeling of his hand as it pressed gently into her waist. Her pulse quickened. “What do you mean,” she whispered.

“Did you have a bad dream last night?” He quirked his brows. 

“I—” She stuttered, lips parting. 

His eyes grazed her face, lingering on her lips for a long moment before his own twitched upwards. “I heard you tossing and turning is all.”

She scoffed, finally gaining the good sense to slap his chest. 

He caught her arm as she moved to pull it back, “my, my —you’re quite mean when you’ve not had your beauty sleep.”

“Don’t you have someone else to pester?” she chided in response, though her voice lacked its usual confidence.

“Nobody quite as fun as you, Granger,” he swiftly dropped her arm, as Nurse Evans rounded back through their hallway towards the cafeteria. “Why don’t we follow that ginger cunt and go get some breakfast, yes?”

With his hand off of her waist, she found herself able to breathe again. But it seemed that no matter how much air she inhaled, she could not get enough oxygen to clear the dizziness from her head. Not as long as Theodore was there in front of her. For the first time since they’d arrived, Hermione was finding it difficult to be in his presence.

She simply nodded, taking a tentative step from the wall.

“Do you know what I was thinking about last night?” He added, worsening her already frazzled condition.

“Not a clue, Theodore.” She cleared her throat.

“I was thinking about how nice our little outing at the park was, and how we ought to treat ourselves and sneak out one of these nights.”

“Sneak out…” Hermione repeated, willing her nervous energy to dissipate. 

“Yes, I rather think we’ve earned it.”

Hermione barked out a laugh as they reached the cafeteria. “You haven’t even had your first session yet!”

He sighed, “you’re no fun.”

“I resent that, actually. I’m simply pointing out that to say you’ve earned it, is a stretch.” Hermione responded, eyes scanning the trays that had been laid out buffet style as they had the previous week. It appeared to be much of the same selection, though she could not complain.

“Uh oh.” 

Hermione furrowed her brows, glancing at Theodore to see what he had noticed. She followed his eyes to their table, and the two imposters who took up their seats.

Spoon-sucker Paul and the woman who had escaped a cult sat amongst the familiar inhabitants of table three.

“Oh you cannot be serious!” Hermione whined. “And he accuses us of acting like children!” 

Sam and Barry were in their own little worlds, piling food onto their plates. Charles and Cindy didn’t bother to look up at all, busy muttering to one another solemnly. Even their only loyal ally at table three, Patricia, was distracted—utterly transfixed by the things Paul was doing with his mouth. 

“What the fuck do we do now?” Theodore sighed.

Hermione hummed sarcastically. “Skip breakfast?”

“I’m bloody starving, Granger,” he whined, scanning the room. “Table two has some spots…”

“ Adam’s table?”

“Well it’s not like he’s using his chair this morning, what with his fancy room service and all.”

“Do you think they make him eat in the marshmallow room as well?”

“ Marshmallow room?” Theodore tilted his head in questioning. 

Hermione smirked, “you know, the room made of the white-padded walls?”

“What a lovely name for something so utterly terrifying,” he huffed out a laugh. “Almost makes you want to stay a night.”

“Don’t worry Theodore, I’m sure you’ll get your turn.”

Theodore grimaced, assessing the three occupants left at table two. “You know what, I just might.”

Hermione, chewed her lip. Lucas, at least, looked as normal as one could hope to encounter in such a place. But James, the strange man from their hall, was practically non-verbal, sitting pin-straight in his chair while he glared at an amused Stephen. 

“Come on,” Theodore sighed, giving her a nudge. 

She pouted, begrudgingly moving to follow him.

“Er—Lucas, is it?” Theodore nodded as he took a seat. 

Lucas gave them an apathetic nod, watching curiously as Hermione slinked into the chair next to Theodore.

“Sorry lads, I’d ask if it’s alright if we sit here, but you’ve really got no choice in the matter.”

“Honoured to ‘ave a doctor at the table,” Stephen chortled, spooning some eggs onto his plate. “But you’ve got ta’ share the beans, love. I heard a rumour you’re a big fan of em.’”

Hermione slowly released a breath, scooting closer to Theodore. “Of course,” she muttered meekly.

The table was silent for a long while after that, to the point that Hermione, introverted as she was, was beginning to feel exceedingly uncomfortable. She had a strong feeling that it might have been mostly thanks to James, who still sat on high-alert beside her.

“Are you going to eat anything, James?” she turned to him with a polite twitch of her lips, “did you need me to pass you anything?”

He didn’t take his eyes off of Stephen, only moving to shake his head almost imperceptibly.

Hermione turned towards Theodore, scrunching up her face in disbelief. 

He only shrugged, scarfing down his sesame bagel.

“James isn’t hungry at all, is he now?” Stephen prodded with a hint of distaste.  “He’s afraid I’ve poisoned his eggs, he is,” he let out a deep belly laugh. 

James fumed beside her, white knuckles curled into fists upon the table before him.

“Sorry, do you two not like each other much or something?” Hermione prodded.

“You know what?” Stephen pretended to think for a moment, “For some reason I don’t think he’s the biggest fan of me.” 

Lucas sighed, resting his head into his hands. “You two are giving me a headache!”

Theodore piped up from beside her, “why is he sitting here then? He doesn’t usually, does he?”

“Nope,” Stephen smirked, taking through a mouthful of eggs. “He’s been posted here for ‘exposure therapy’ they say, but all it’s done is piss me off!”

“ Exposure ?” Hermione scoffed, “exposure to what ?”

Stephen laughed again, “the Irish of course!” 

Hermione stared blankly at them, sharing a pointed glance with Theodore. “Well we’ll…leave you to it I suppose.” 

Theodore hummed in agreement.

With an awkward sniffle, she turned back to her own plate.

☘︎

Two days had passed and still Theodore and Hermione were ousted from table three—strangely, she missed its inhabitants. She wasn’t sure when she had grown to care for such a strange bunch, but she knew deep down that enough was enough. Seeing Charles’ sorry face at each meal was keeping her on edge. If there was one thing Hermione could not stand, it was an unresolved argument.

So when Theodore had left for his first session, and she spotted Charles alone in the corner of the small library, she resigned to approach him. 

All her courage allowed her at first, was to awkwardly clear her throat, hovering uncomfortably over the plastic chair opposite his. When he still didn’t acknowledge her, she took a deep breath and spoke his name.

“Charles?”

He flicked his blue eyes up to assess who had just called his name, pressing his lips into a thin line when he realized that it had come from her. “Ms. Granger.”

“Er—” she hesitated, “would it be alright if I had a seat?”

“It’s a free ward.” 

Hermione snorted, reigning in her smile when she didn’t see any amusement upon his own face. “What are you reading?” she tried, skimming her eyes over the textbook.

He simply issued her a blank, tired stare. 

Hermione swallowed uncomfortably and shifted to pull her chair in. “Look,” she started, picking nervously at the skin on her thumbs, “I just wanted to apologize.”

“Whatever for?” He responded and turned his face back towards the textbook, tracing over its pages with his thumb to find the spot he had left off. 

She pulled her lip between her teeth, searching for the words. “My behaviour, of course.” Hermione tried her best not to grimace as he sighed in response, dog-earing the page he was on before shutting the book and turning his attention towards her.

“Go on, then,” he nodded stiffly, though his expression betrayed nothing about his state of mind. 

Hermione looked at him for a moment, longer than she probably ever had. He had some wrinkles, but nothing too serious for a man his age. The most deeply-set lines were concentrated at the corner of his eyes, though a softer line had begun to develop between his brows. It occurred to her then that he hadn’t always been such a serious man. Perhaps he had been happy for a time—until he’d ended up here of course. The revelation had her feeling a fresh wave of shame.

“What you said in the cafeteria,” she exhaled, “you were right.”

His brows quirked up ever so slightly, but he regained his composure soon after.

“It was a childish bet,” she chewed on her cheek. “Theodore and I thought it would be fun to see who could get our stay extended the longest. I know that might actually make you think even less of me than you already do but…I felt in order to apologize I ought to give you the whole truth.”

A pensive look crossed his face. “And Adam?”

Hermione furrowed her brows. “I didn’t know what Theodore was up to—I mean I had suspected he was up to something but I had no part in it until…” she thought back to the day at the cafeteria when her participation had been the trigger to Adam’s breakdown. “I didn’t stop him either, which I probably should have, but…” 

She paused when she felt a hand gently grasp her fingers to halt her nervous tick—though her cuticle had already begun to bleed. “I’m not an executioner, Hermione. You’ve got my ear and you’re free to say whatever you wish to say. While I might have strong feelings about your actions, I’m not too proud to hear out your apology.”

Hermione felt a familiar thickness in her throat as she wrestled with her next words, scrunching her fingers into fists. “I will be honest, I knew it was wrong. I just—not that it’s any excuse at all, but I’ve had to emotionally detach myself from a lot of…horrible things. This whole experience, my presence here—” she paused in thought, “I think I’ve been detaching from the reality of that as well.”

“What you’re describing is a very normal human reaction to any sort of discomfort or trauma,” Charles responded, “though I had already observed as much throughout your stay here.”

Hermione looked up at him, furrowing her brows in questioning. It surprised her to see that his face had softened, but she couldn’t keep eye contact for more than a short moment as she continued. “I should learn to be less flippant about these things, but it’s just how I’ve coped through the years. I’m sure you understand to some degree.”

Charles regarded her thoughtfully. “It’s not my style, but I certainly understand.”

“And I can’t speak for Theodore, but I know he is an exceptional person. Sensitive too…believe it or not. I think there is still a great deal for me to learn about him. But I think we’re very similar in that respect.

“We have all been through adversity, Hermione. Look around you.” Charles acknowledged softly. “Truthfully, I’m a little ashamed of how I behaved towards you and Theodore.”

“No!” Hermione refuted immediately, “I mean it was a little harsh, but… you were right.”

“If it’s alright with you I’d like to apologize for it all the same.” 

Hermione nodded, chewing once again on her cheek. “What you said earlier, about having observed that detachment in me?”

“I used to be a psychiatrist.”

This, Hermione thought with a dry huff of laughter, was the least surprising fact of all. “Wow, that makes a lot of sense.” 

Charles smiled softly, but it was clear to Hermione that his mind was fixated on a heavier matters. It fell as soon as it had appeared. “Can I be candid with you?” he asked after a moment of hesitation.

“Of course,” she urged.

“I normally have very good control over my temper, but you remind me of my daughter… and that was very hard for me to navigate.”

Her brows shot up. “You have a daughter?”

Charles blinked uncomfortably, “I used to.”

Hermione’s stomach sank. 

“Her name was Charlotte, though she liked to go by Charlie.” Charles smiled and his eyes wrinkled at the corners. “She was very smart, much like yourself,” he paused in thought. “Perhaps she too, might have detached from some experiences that I could not even begin to understand as a man. She was wickedly funny, would light up the whole room. But the detachment, it eats away at a person, Hermione.” 

She was too scared to ask what had happened, but a moment later, Charles continued. 

“The one thing I could relate to her on was the loss of her Mother.”

“Your wife?” Hermione asked gently, a lump growing in her throat.

Charles nodded. “she died of a rare disease when Charlie was thirteen. It was hard on us both, but for a teenaged girl…you can imagine, I’m sure. But some other things happened, of which I will spare us both the details,” Charles’ voice was faltering slightly, “losing Charlie was the biggest failure, and most profound tragedy of my life.”

“I’m so sorry, Charles,” Hermione grabbed his hand, “I had no idea. You don’t have to tell me any more if you don’t want to.”

“I’m long past that at my age.” He smiled softly at her, pulling his hand back to tap nervously upon the table. “I had thought she was strong—so strong that even I, an esteemed psychiatrist, missed the warning signs. It happened the night before she was supposed to go to her prom.”

Hermione casually wiped a tear from her eye that threatened to escape.

“I found her in the morning. She had…” his voice broke at last, his own eyes welling up with tears.

“I understand, Charles, you don’t need to elaborate.” Hermione reassured.

“I knew she had been struggling, whether she had admitted her feelings or not. I had been so looking forward to seeing her enjoy herself after everything— to be a part of it during that father-daughter dance she had likely been dreading. You know, before they kicked all of us old parents out and pretended not to notice their drinking.”

Hermione laughed softly as Charles face broke out into a reluctant grin. 

“I was robbed of that—I think I’ll always feel that way.”

“Surely you understand that it wasn’t your fault, Charles?” Hermione responded softly.

He nodded. “I understand that now, but I was still her Father.”

“And you’re…here now.” It was a question, disguised as a statement to give him an out if he didn’t wish to reveal anymore. But to her surprise, he offered her a response.

“That is the more mundane part of my story. I started drinking and years later I couldn’t put it down,” he sighed. “I completed a program, held strong for a few years even. But one day I thought I saw her in the supermarket and…I relapsed. That was a year ago. I admitted myself here soon after.”

“You’ve been here for a year?”

“Almost,” Charles sighed, “it has helped. I think that is part of why I took your actions so personally. Partly because this place has become important to me, and partly because you resemble her.”

“I do?”

“Only a little bit. Perhaps you might have shared the same eye colour, but your hair is all your own—and she was much taller than you, even at seventeen.”

Hermione smirked softly, “it certainly is. Even my own parents had no idea what side of the family the curls came from.”

“Do you still have both of your parents?” Charles asked curiously.

Hermione’s stomach tightened into a familiar knot. “I’m very grateful that you’ve shared your story with me, Charles, but I don’t think I have the capacity to discuss that with anyone at all right now.”

“I understand,” Charles nodded, “it’s important to hold boundaries. I was only curious if you might have been able to relate to Charlie, if even a little. Not knowing what she was feeling is often the hardest part for me to digest.”

Hermione saw the lingering devastation in his eyes and recognized all too well that such a pain would never fully disappear from one’s heart. In fact, in her opinion, it would be a tragedy if it did. If you could not feel the pain of the loss, had the joy of the thing lost ever existed in your heart to begin with?

“I had a friend,” Hermione started, “he didn’t have either of his parents—had never even met them. He also went through things no child should ever even be able to conceptualize.”

Charles looked up at her pensively. “And?”

“I think perhaps the fact that he held them so close to his heart, meant that they were there with him all along. I think his belief in them is what made them real to him.” Hermione missed Harry in that moment, and caught herself thinking fondly about her life outside of the ward for the first time since she had gotten there. “I think Charlie would have believed that she was with her, just as you should believe they both are with you now.”

“I have spent a majority of my career discouraging the belief in imaginary beings,” Charles grinned. 

“Never too late to start,” Hermione prodded, nudging his arm.

“Thank you, Hermione, that is a very comforting thought.” His eyes drifted over her shoulder, and she saw him relax a little. 

When she looked back, she saw a concerned looking Cindy hovering a few feet behind them. “I’ll leave you to it, Charles. Thank you for hearing me out. You’ve given me a lot to think about.”

He nodded as she stood, “it was a pleasure.” 

She paused, “I should note that I’ll be quite offended if our seats are occupied at dinner.” 

Charles smirked at her as she turned to leave.

“Hermione?” 

She cast a glance at him over her shoulder.

“Who won the bet?”

Her mouth tugged up at the corner. “I did.”

He pressed his lips into a thin smile, issuing her a nod. “Then I shall be glad to still have you around for a while longer.”

Hermione made to leave the library while the smile still lingered on her face. 

☘︎

It was nice being back at table three for dinner. But it was beginning to feel like Hermione’s problems took the form of a hydra. Whilst she had cut the head off of the monster that was her argument with Charles, it seemed that two had grown back in its place. 

Theodore had been nowhere to be found following his session. While he graced her with his presence at last, sitting quietly beside her, the only emotion he had shown was surprise about their resolved seating arrangements. She noticed that he was barely even touching his food.

Charles had noticed too, casting her a questioning glance. 

She shrugged, nudging Theodore’s leg with her own. “Are you alright?”

He looked exhausted as he set his green eyes upon her. A soft frown graced his face as he nodded. “Just tired.”

Hermione furrowed her brows, sipping at her tea. “How did your session go?”

Theodore tensed and she knew that she had pinpointed whatever it was that had thrown him off-kilter. “Unproductive.” 

She hummed her acknowledgement, resigning not to press him any further lest he too, snap.

“So, how was your time at table two?” Patricia prodded.

Her gaze drifted to where they had sat for the past couple of days. A scene much the same was taking place, Stephen minding his business, and James, also minding Stephen’s business. “It was, er… interesting. Those two don’t get along for whatever reason. James is fairly hostile.”

Sam snorted from across the table. “Yeah he’s hostile alright. He doesn’t like the Irish at all.”

“How come?” Hermione questioned.

“He was there in seventy-four—you know,” he leaned in to whisper, “ at the pubs .”

“ Oh.” Hermione’s eyes widened. She cast a glance to Theodore but he seemed disinterested and a little distracted. “Well that certainly explains it.”

“Then he’s really going to hate the green pancakes we’re supposedly getting on the seventeenth.” Patricia cackled.

“They’re dyeing our food?” Barry asked nervously.

“Don’t fret Barry, you’ll only be green for a few days.” Patricia gave him a hard pat on the back, eliciting a yelp. 

“Don’t feel too bad for Stephen, that bloke is a maniac!” Sam laughed, taking a sip of his chocolate milk. “He’s only in here because he chose it over jail for locking a man up in his apartment.”

“ What? ” Hermione asked, “why did he do that?”

“Apparently he had a bit of an episode—thought he was some modern-day philosopher or something. I guess the guy was rude to a barista at his local cafe, and he tried to ‘enlighten him’, whatever that means!” Sam snorted, “Evidently the meds are working ‘cause he hasn’t given table two a lecture in some time now.” 

“ Merlin .” Hermione whispered under her breath.

“How do you know all of this Sam?” Patricia accused.

“You’d be surprised what you hear when you shut your mouth long enough to listen Patty,” he smirked at her.

The table broke out into snickers.

A soft hand touched her shoulder and she turned towards where Theodore was leaning into her space. “I think I need to have a lie down.”

Hermione assessed him with concern. “You should eat something first.”

He shook his head. “Not really hungry. I’ll be fine.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, you can stay—eat,” he said. His hand fell from her shoulder and he stood to push in his chair.

“Okay…” Hermione responded quietly and watched on as he carded his hands through his disheveled curls on his way out of the cafeteria.

☘︎

Hermione’s entire mind had been focused on Theodore for the rest of the evening. When she got back to her room, she found his door already closed. Though she couldn’t quite tell if he was asleep or just isolating himself for whatever reason.

“Theodore?” she whispered through the vent an hour or so later when she too, turned in for the night. 

No response.

“Can you at least tell me if you’re alright? I’m worried about you.” 

Still, his room remained silent. 

She sighed, lying back down to stare up into the darkness. Her thoughts ran wild, as they usually did. Jumping from topic to topic, but eventually settling back upon Theodore. The truth is that she kept returning to that moment in her conversation with Charles—the one about how lively and funny his daughter had been. Hermione wondered whether Theodore was holding things in as well. 

Eventually she grew much too concerned to sleep at all—she needed to see him, to make sure he was alright.

Perhaps he might hear her call for him in her head?

THEODORE! she tried a few times. No imagery or response of any sort reached back out to meet her.

She chewed her lip, mulling over her options before leaping out of bed to check the lock on her door. 

“Fuck,” she whispered. It didn’t budge as she rattled at the knob. An idea struck her then, and she stood tall, centring herself while she attempted to harness her magic as Theodore had taught her that day in the park.

It took a few tries before she felt even a spark of warmth in the centre of her chest. It sputtered out almost as soon as she first felt it. She huffed in frustration, taking a deep breath before trying again. But each time it evaded her.

“This is ridiculous!” she whispered angrily to herself in the darkness. “It’s my own bloody magic and it doesn’t even want to work with me!” 

After the tenth failed attempt, she whined and trudged back to her bed to crawl into its scratchy sheets. But not before she pressed her ear to the vent one last time. When she didn’t hear anything she furrowed her brows, willing the concern in her chest to relent just a fraction to allow herself some sleep.

It wasn’t until at least midnight that she finally drifted into sleep.

☘︎

Hermione forgot what it was she had been dreaming about the moment she woke up. But it couldn’t have been good, seeing that Theodore was there, in the early hours of the morning, frantically shaking her into consciousness—and she was clinging to him like he was a lifeline, breathing heavy, panicked breaths.

“Granger!” he whispered loudly, gently slapping her cheek, “ wake up! ”

She finally came to, registering his presence and the worry that played at his expression. “Theodore?” She unclenched her hand from the fabric of his jumper and attempted to catch her breath.

“Fuck sake , are you alright?” he sighed, sinking to his knees beside her bed.

With slow, languid movements she rubbed at her bleary eyes, utterly confused. It was only when she swiped her hand across her face that she felt the dampness. “I’m—I don’t know I think I was dreaming.”

“You were screaming bloody murder and crying. Fuck Hermione, you scared the shite out of me.” His voice was shaky.

“I’m…sorry?” she offered, sitting up to massage her face. She must’ve been having a horrible dream because she always woke up with the same uncomfortable tension in the muscles of her jaw. She looked over to where he knelt to her right and tilted her head. “How did the staff not hear me?” 

He stared back at her through the darkness, eyes searching hers as if he were weighing something out in his mind. “You don’t remember what you were dreaming about?” he pressed, glazing over her question.

She shook her head, relaxing an inch as she pressed a hand to her chest to feel that her heart rate had begun to return to normal. “Not a clue, but it doesn’t feel like it was good.”

“Didn’t sound like it either, Merlin , I—” Theodore was visibly shaken, “I thought someone had come in here and was trying to kill you or something.”

“Unfortunately not,” she huffed dryly.

He glared at her. “Right well I’m staying as I don’t fancy a heart attack before breakfast.”

“You don’t have to stay—it was just a bad dream,” she scoffed.

“I’m staying,” he practically barked at her through the darkness and stood to his full height above her, “move over.”

Hermione’s stomach flipped. “This is a twin-sized bed, Theodore.”

“Well we’ll just have to make do.” 

“What if they catch you in here?” she offered a weak protest.

“They won’t.” he whispered back as he slipped into the sheets beside her.

She held her breath, trying not to focus too hard on the warmth of him as he settled beside her. 

“I really don’t need you to babysit me,” she admitted aloud, shifting to get comfortable.

He sighed, his breath hot on her neck. “Just…try to sleep.”

“Hard to when I’ve got no room to do so!” she mouthed off, shifting onto her side to face him.

Her breath stuttered as he shifted onto his side to face her as well—so close that her hands were tucked into his chest. “Is that better?” he whispered.

The warmth she had so fervently sought out the previous evening returned to her chest without her even needing to call upon it. “Yes,” she squeaked, swallowing her nerves when she realized how close she was to his face. 

“You think very loud,” his chest rumbled beneath her hands as he spoke. “What’s wrong?”

“I was worried about you last night,” she prodded.

“You were, were you?” he retorted dryly. “Well there was no need to be, I was just tired. I told you as much.”

She chewed her lip before she pressed him once again. “I’m not stupid, Theodore.”

“Yes, alright?” He sighed. “It was my session. The arsehole poked and prodded about my life—he had no business doing so. He opened old wounds, and I’m angry with myself for letting him.”

Hermione furrowed her brows and took shallow breaths. “That’s kind of the point of therapy, I think.” 

“Well it was kind of stupid,” he snapped, “seems counterintuitive if you ask me.”

“You would think so, wouldn’t you,” she smiled softly at him, “honestly I felt the same way.”

“And before you ask—no, I do not want to talk about it.”

Hermione nodded almost imperceptibly, breathing in his familiar scent. It was intoxicating—so much so that she found herself emboldened to broach another topic that had been on her mind. “Can we talk about something else then?”

He stared at her for a long moment, “it depends. What is it?”

“Maybe you could answer a few questions for me?” She smirked.

“Once again, it depends.”

She analyzed his features, ready to catch any slight change in his expression before he was able to conceal it from her again. “The nurses didn’t hear me because you’ve silenced our rooms, true or false?”

He blinked, searching her face with a suspicious glare. “True.”

Hermione’s mouth dried up. “Okay…did you downplay how good you are at wandless magic?”

His full lips pulled into a smirk and his eyes traced a trail from her eyes to her lips, and back again. “Perhaps.”

Her breath stuttered. “Are you a legilimens?”

He shifted closer to her until his head was almost on the pillow she had kept for herself. “Are you sure you want to know?”

She swallowed, fingering the material of his jumper with a slow nod.

His green eyes remained fixed on hers, the blacks of his pupils dilated in the dark of the night.

Yes. 

She gasped as his voice echoed loudly in her mind. “Have you been in my head before?” she muttered breathily, swallowing as his stomach flexed beneath where her hands still tugged at his jumper.

“Only once,” he whispered, “but you invited me in.”

“What?” she flushed, “ no I didn’t !”

“Oh yes, you did, Granger. You were dreaming about me. It woke me up.” 

“How would you know if you weren’t already in my mind?” her breathing picked up.

“I’ve sort of trained myself to listen for my name,” he clasped a hand around her wrist. Her lips parted as he leaned in to whisper, “and you were calling it. ”

“So…the other night?”

He wet his lips with his tongue, “do you have a question for me, Granger?”

She flushed, “was it real?”

A soft whimper escaped her as his hand grazed her arm on its way up to her neck where he swiped a thumb across her pulse point. He latched on, pulling her face to his. “ Salazar , was it ever, Granger,” his voice was low and predatory as he muttered filthy words against her lips, “and you were such a good girl for me, hm?” 

She went liquid as his lips feathered hers. And it was impossible to stop herself as she lunged for them. 

The sound of the breath leaving his lungs as their lips connected was electrifying. Like fuel to the already out-of-control blaze that was Hermione Granger’s nervous system. She thought she had worked out how it might feel to kiss Theodore Nott—had thought she might be ready to do so without losing her good senses.

It paled in comparison to the reality of kissing him.

The second her lips began to move in time with his, desire overtook her with such force that stars burst in her vision. Within seconds his hands were in her hair, crushing her to him so tightly that she thought she might suffocate from his closeness. His lips moved over hers like he’d never tasted anything so sweet.

The feeling was fucking mutual, she decided in that moment.

A groan escaped him as she slid her fingers beneath his jumper, splaying them out against the hard planes of his chest. 

She writhed against him as his lips left hers and trailed across her jaw and down the column of her throat. It was impossible to hold back her moan as he pulled the flesh of her neck between his teeth—just enough to send a shockwave of pain and pleasure shooting through her.

He practically growled as she curled her fingers inward and dragged her nails down his stomach, dancing at the hem of his waistband.

A moment later and he was wrapping muscular arms around her to pull her on top of him. They both sighed with relief as she felt his hard length pressed against her centre. He sucked in a breath as she slowly rotated her hips over his. 

“Fuck—” he whispered.

She leaned forward, capturing his bottom lip between her teeth and giving it a good yank to communicate just how badly she needed him— but just as she was about to bring her mouth back down onto his they both froze.

Keys jingled by the neighbouring room’s door.

Their eyes widened. 

“Get down!” Hermione shifted off of Theodore and pushed him down under the sheets in an instant. She threw the covers over him frantically. He had just barely made it under the sheets, pressed up against her stomach as Nurse Evans peered through her window. He fiddled with the keys, rapping on her door to wake her up as he usually did before swinging it open a notch. “Time to get up Ms. Granger.”

Theodore’s large hands slid up her bare waist and she could feel each burning kiss as he peppered them across her stomach.

“Er—be out in a minute!” she blindly reached to halt his movements as she tried to temper the tremble in her voice. 

By some miracle, Nurse Evans didn’t linger too long at Theodore’s room, and didn’t notice that he was completely missing from his bed.

Theodore dragged her under the sheets, smothering the sound of her gasp with his lips. She melted into him for a moment longer before reality hit her—her door was wide open and the parade to the cafeteria for breakfast would be passing them at any moment now.

“Theodore—” she muttered against his lips, patting his chest urgently.

He sighed, dragging his lips from hers to rest his head against her chest while he caught his breath. “I’m going to kill that ginger bastard.”

Chapter Text

Theodore’s hands had been on her all day—gently prodding her lower back, tugging at stray strands of her hair during group therapy, and even grazing her thighs on his way back up from retrieving the fork he had so conveniently dropped beneath the dinner table.

Hermione was one brush of his steady fingers away from dragging him into the broom closet to shag the lights out of him. In fact, she was utterly fuming as she readied herself for bed—her gums angry and red from how hard she had brushed her teeth, lost in thought about what else his hands might be capable of doing.

“For Godric’s sake ,” she muttered under her breath, splashing her face with ice cold water. As she stared back at her reflection in the tiny mirror above the basin, she found herself momentarily distracted.

Her face looked different—it appeared more plump, glowing almost from within. Her lips, once cracked from how hard she would unconsciously gnaw on them, were now completely healed—supple and tilted upwards when at rest. Even her eyes were wider, brighter. She was transfixed by it, the almost uncanny resemblance that her reflection now bore to the one she used to know.

Her brows furrowed as she stared for a moment longer.

She supposed that two weeks away from her soul-sucking job might be to thank for the sudden revitalization of her spirit—not that it was likely to be her job for much longer. 

She chuckled to herself, packing away her toiletries.

Fuck it. 

Fuck the job, fuck the Ministry, and fuck the ten-year plan that was already about three off track. There was beauty to be found in lounging around without purpose—the proof was there, staring back at her.

By the time she had made it back to her room, her mind had strayed far enough from Theodore that she hadn’t even noticed that he’d already turned in for the night. She nodded at the night guard, situated just down the hallway who kept his careful gaze upon her as she pushed the door to her room open and slipped inside.

With a sigh she peeled off her ward-issued jumper, reaching for the clasp of the plain, padded bralette that they had also provided to her upon her admittance.

“While I so desperately wish for you to continue in blissful ignorance, I should probably let you know that I’m in here.” Theodore’s voice whispered through the dimly lit space.

She gasped, too late to stop her expert fingers and whirled around, hand pressed to her chest to hold the material in place. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“Relax! ” he drawled, “I’ve turned around like the good boy that I am.” 

“Theodore!” She fumbled to get her clothes back on. 

He sighed. “Look. This thing needs to happen tonight before I go fucking stir crazy in here.”

Her cheeks flamed. “ What?” 

“You know, our little plans to sneak out?”

The steady thrum of her pulse slowed a measure at this, but it was an effort to reign in the almighty scoff she wished to vocalize. “You can’t possibly mean to say you want to sneak out right now?”

“Why not? We’re not getting any younger, Golden Girl.”

She glared at him, clearing her throat to signal that she was decent. 

He slowly twisted around, dragging his eyes up her slender frame. His mouth twitched. “What say you?”

Hermione studied him for a moment, the familiar gleam in his eyes served to both excite her and make her exceedingly nervous. 

And the tuft of brown hair that fell disheveled, just above his brow...

He took a step towards her, lips pulled into a soft smile that only made his expression even more captivating. “Keep staring at me like that and we’ll not be going anywhere.”

Her mouth dried up and she stuttered, “I—okay. Let’s go then.”

His smile stretched into a mischievous grin, and with a quick maneuver, he had disillusioned them both.

“Ready? Have you got your wand—identification?” she felt the heat of his breath prickle the back of her neck.

 A shiver racked through her. 

“Hilarious,” she deadpanned after she had a second to compose herself.

“Got your knickers on?”

She scoffed. “Wouldn’t you like to know!”

“Why bother asking me the question if you already know the answer?” he teased as he unlocked her door and cracked it open. 

She shushed him, “the guard is still down there you know!”

Theodore chuckled, firmly grasping her wrist and pulling her out the door after him. “No. He should be asleep by now.”

Hermione would have given him a double-take had she been able to see him. She dug her feet weakly into the vinyl floor as they reached the door to the stairwell. “ What? Did you slip him a dreamless sleep or something? Are you hiding a potions laboratory in your room as well?” A quick glance in either direction confirmed to her that there was in fact, no guard to be found.

Theodore hummed, pulling her eagerly through the door and into the echoey stairwell. “What is the equivalent of a potion in the muggle world?”

Hermione, perplexed, rattled off, “it depends on what the goal is. I suppose… pills?”

“Yes that was definitely it. Pills,” he said, sounding entirely too enthusiastic about it.

“You drugged him?”

“He’s the one who left his water cup lying around. It was practically an invitation.”

“Why do that when you’ve silenced and disillusioned us with your bare hands? Do I detect a crack in that brute self-assuredness you possess, Theodore?”

He laughed, “ Oh no, no no— I’m quite sure of myself. I just wanted to see what would happen.”

“Where did you even get them?”

He led them through a double set of doors after they had travelled four floors down, poking his head around the corner to scope it out. “I found them.”

She followed him blindly down the desolate hallway. “In a bottle perhaps? In a locked cabinet? Behind plexiglass?”

“No, they were in a…crevasse of sorts.”

“What? Where?”

“In the loo.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “That is vile."

“I suspect Barry is behind it. Certainly wasn’t Patricia, I know that woman wouldn’t waste a good pill.” 

A couple of doors later and they were at last greeted by a fresh, crisp breeze. Hermione sighed, enjoying the sensation of the chill upon her overheated skin.

Theodore removed the charm on her, leaning casually against the old brick building. “Alright Granger, I did my part. Now where?” 

“This was your plan!”

“My plan was to sneak us out, which I have succeeded in,” he chided. “I’m perfectly happy to spend some quality time with you up against this hard brick wall—or we can do something less fun. Up to you.”

She shook her head, greedily breathing in the fresh air before she overheated again. “I might know a place.”

“Excellent, to a place we go!”

☘︎

It had been a very long time since Hermione Granger had felt like a teenager that was misbehaving. The way Theodore’s eyes glittered at her through the darkness brought her right back to those days. It should only have exhilarated her, but it also felt like a knife to the chest that twisted with every playful nudge of his arm.

“What are you so busy hypothesizing about in your head over there, witch?”

She appreciated him for a moment, the ghost of a smile on her lips as they strolled through the winding streets, looking quite a sight in their ward-issued sweatsuits. “It’s just been a while since I’ve felt like this.”

Theodore’s brows twitched upwards but he kept his expression unusually controlled. “Felt like what?”

She dipped down a familiar alley and he kept pace beside her. With a sigh she relented her thoughts to him. “Like I’m up to no good, but the kind of ‘up to no good’ that doesn’t end in injury or a brush with death.”

He knit his brows together wordlessly. 

“It’s this way,” she muttered after a long moment of silence, still deep in thought about the childhood that had escaped her. A hand grasped her arm and pulled her back around to face him just as she was about to turn the corner. 

She gasped when his hard body pressed hers against the chain-link fence. It whined and creaked beneath her back.

“Where are we going, witch?” He lilted as if to challenge her to stay right there, pressed up against him.

Her lips parted. Hopefully to find a motel. She was helpless as her mouth flopped open and closed like a fish—there was no hope of articulating her thoughts when she could feel the steady beat of his heart beneath her hand—when her lips tingled in wanting.

A smirk played at his lips, “you know, you could have just asked me to follow you into the dark and ominous footpath—you didn’t need to lure me here.” It was an effort not to fall over when he finally released her from his thrall with a chuckle.

She straightened the hem of her jumper, loosing a breath. “I’m craving a little treat…that’s where we’re going.” 

“A treat!” he nudged her playfully, “do they not feed you at home?”

She bit back a smile, rolling her eyes at him just as they turned onto the street she recalled from her youth. The lights from the market came into view, and so too did the memories from so long ago.

“What is that place?” Theodore asked with a hint of admiration. 

“That’s where we’re going,” Hermione answered softly, “it’s a little market. Snacks, trinkets—in the winter there is even a little make-shift ice rink, but I expect it’s grown much too warm to still be open.”

He scrunched his face up, perplexed and fell into step beside her. “You know, I’m so bloody tired of not knowing things, I’m just going to let you take the lead here.”

“You’ll see, don’t worry,” she laughed, tearing off towards the entrance. 

The market was just as beautiful as she remembered it to be, tucked within the greens of St. James Park. If it weren’t for the blaring of the ambulances and car horns, Hermione might have felt as though she’d been transported to the countryside. Still, there was a respectable illusion of it here—even the air smelled a little fresher, save for the subtle scent of fried onions that blanketed London no matter where you were within it.

“I know this is going to be a very stupid question—” he paused with a sniff, eyes trailing the glow of the Edison bulbs with curiosity. 

“There are no stupid questions, Theodore,” Hermione interjected with a teasing tone.

“I don’t know about that…this one is likely pretty stupid,” he laughed. “How have they managed to capture light like that, if not with magic?”

“Have you ever heard the name Thomas Edison?” she replied, also admiring their warm glow. 

“Negative,” he drawled.

“Well, that is the name of the man who invented it—in the late 1870s if I recall correctly, and it progressed from there,” she replied with a smile, “though the whole thing involves a lot of science that I’m honestly not well-versed on. So no, it’s not an entirely stupid question.”

“That’s…frighteningly recent,” Theodore commented, “were they carrying around hot coals before that?”

Hermione laughed, “something like that.”

Theo blew out a breath, shaking his head. “To be honest, I’ve been biting at the bit to ask someone that for like, fucking years. After a while it just got too embarrassing to admit.”

Her answering grin had his own growing a little wider. 

“Where is this treat? You’ve gotten my hopes up.”

She paused, leaning in to speak quietly as sporadic groups of muggles navigated around them. “We have to get the money first.”

He looked scandalized, whispering back, “are you telling me you forgot your wallet?”

“Sod off!” her face hurt from smiling, as it always tended to when she was around him. “Do you see that fountain?” She jerked her head over to the stone-bird fixture that quietly trickled into its wide basin.

He sucked breath in through his teeth, “I’ve heard that’s terrible luck—at least in Rome.”

“Well, we’re not in Rome and it’ll just be a few quid. I’m prepared to suffer brief consequences if it means I can get a little tipsy.”

His brows shot up. “Wait, there are spirits involved?” 

She nodded, biting her lip mischievously. “And chocolate.”

“Why didn’t you just say that.” He took off his shoes and rolled his pant legs up with a fervour that had her doubling over. 

“You’re going to do the honours, are you?”

“I can’t have you getting your pretty little feet wet,” he charmed.

She pursed her upturned lips and teased him, “please tell me you’re not into that stuff!”

Theodore glanced at a couple who had slowed their pace, studying them with mild disgust. “I could be, for twenty galleons,” he spoke at an unnecessary volume. His gaze lingered at their shoes before he trailed it up to their face with a casual and questioning smile.

The man slowly guided his girlfriend away with a hushed whisper, “there’s some weird fucking people out here tonight.” 

“She was considering it,” Theodore teased before he took off towards the fountain. He tossed a cheeky look back at Hermione, who had dissolved into a fit of laughter at the scene.

She wiped the tears of laughter away from her eyes, watching on as he followed through, climbing stealthily into the distant fountain to sift his hands through the murky spring water. It was fortuitous that the fountain wasn’t well-lit and the blanket of the evening provided the cover it did. Because when he made his way back, the massive lumps of change in his pockets were the first thing she noticed.

A shiver racked through his body as he rolled his damp pant leg back down and slipped on his trainers. “I’ll be honest with you, I’ve never had to do anything like that for money.” He tilted his head, reconsidering his statement. “Actually, I’ve never had to do anything for money period.”

“You’re a spoiled prat.”

“Guilty,” he admitted, swiping his hands upon the soft material of his clothing to dry them off. “But I’ve also been known to be generous.”

She snorted, “is that so?”

“I’ll prove it to you one day, you watch,” he smirked, causing her stomach to flip. “When we’re out of here, you can walk in and tell the Minister of Magic to go fuck himself. I’ll take care of you, Hermione.”

She knew he was teasing, but the thought still made her flush. “I reckon I don’t need to do that. They’ve likely already replaced me.”

“And yet you don’t sound too sad about the possibility,” he pressed, reaching into his pockets to grab a handful of change.

“I think it’s relief that I’m feeling.” She knew it was the truth the second the words rolled off of her tongue, freed from her analytical mind at last.

“That’s the spirit,” he thrust a handful of change into her hands.

She laughed, “well this is definitely more than enough to get tipsy with.”

☘︎

Hermione watched on eagerly as Theodore took his first, testing sip of the boozy hot chocolate. Then she watched on with slightly parted lips as he swiped his own clean of whipped cream with his tongue. She knew it was entirely performative, and so very Theodore.

He fought off a knowing smirk, “this is bloody delicious. Can’t even taste the alcohol.”

Delicious it was—the rich chocolate mingled with the strong peppermint schnapps that the cashier at the booth had poured with a heavy-hand. Theo had tipped her well, of course—whether it was because he was truly as generous as he had claimed or he didn’t know a pound from a pence, she wasn’t sure. But she’d still cast them a funny look while she had dried the lingering fountain water from her hands.

“You’ve been here before I take it?” he asked after a moment.

She nodded, “I came here with my father over the holidays in fourth. I was so high-strung from watching Harry nearly get cooked by that dragon,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t stop worrying about the next tasks—drove him so crazy going on and on about them that he bought me a few of these just to take the edge off.”

Theodore made an uneasy noise. “I remember that too.”

“You don’t say,” she replied sarcastically. “That wizard has a lucky streak.”

He snorted, “or unlucky, depending on how full your glass is. That was a bloody close one—even Draco was holding his breath when he saw him dangling from those spires.”

“I’m sure he was. I’ll bet that he bought those fancy binoculars just for that occasion.” Hermione huffed, taking the last swig of her drink.

“Slow down there, witch, we’ve only got enough money for ten more!” He teased, downing the last half of his in two gulps immediately after.

She sifted through her pile of change and issued him a sickeningly sweet smile, “another peppermint one please.”

He took the coins from her with a wink that had her heart fluttering and raced off to the booth. The warm and cozy lull of the alcohol was already washing over her. Suddenly she noticed that the lights around her sparkled just a bit brighter, and her head cleared up just enough for her to relax a bit.

When he returned a short few minutes later, he did so with a tray in his hands.

“Theodore!” she burst into drunken giggles. “What did you get?”

“One of each flavour. You can have the peppermint of course. Though there is also…er—” he paused, racking his brain, “raspberry, mo-cha, and scotch—although I call firsts on that one. Scotch is one of the only muggle provisions I am familiar with.”

“Right,” she laughed, wrestling the peppermint from the recycled tray. “It’s pronounced ‘mo-ka’, and that will keep you up all night. It’s coffee.”

“Calling firsties on that one too then, that sounds lovely,” his eyes practically sparkled as he pulled out the scotch-chocolate. Hermione could nearly smell the strength of it from where she sat on the bench beside him. 

“That’s quite alright, the raspberry was calling my name anyways,” she smiled warmly at him. 

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask—care to tell me how you sweet-talked Charles into giving us our seats back?”

Hermione chewed on her lip, fighting the sudden wash of melancholy his question triggered. “I apologized to him.”

He scoffed. “You apologized? Number one rule of warfare, Granger, never show weakness!”

“I did, Theodore. I reflected a little and I came to the conclusion that perhaps we were being a little callous,” she sighed.

He sighed deeply, “I know.” 

“He was very nice about it all. Though I did learn a little more about him,” she paused, casting a sheepish glance at Theodore. “He apologized too, by the way, for the way he spoke to us.”

He waived her off, “that’s all well and good but now you need to tell me what you learned about that enigmatic old man. I’ve been dying to know.”

“It’s actually rather sad,” she took a healthy sip of her drink.

Theodore’s curious expression fell into one of pity as she recited the details of their conversation to him. “Oh,” he grimaced, “that is fucking sad. Now I feel like a super-arsehole.”

“Me too,” she sighed, swallowing the super-sweet remnants of the drink that lingered at the bottom of her cup before placing it in the stack of empty ones they’d collected. “I was thinking though, I’d like to do something for him, if I could.”

Theodore regarded her softly, “like what?”

“I don’t know...” she sifted through the mess of thoughts in her head as she reached for the raspberry hot chocolate. “Would it be crazy to hold a ward prom or something?”

“Now you want to dance with the guy?” Theodore teased light-heartedly. “I didn’t know I had competition. Who’s next, Sam? You’ve certainly cracked his shell.” 

Despite the warmth and contentedness she felt, her teeth still clattered when she opened her mouth to respond. “Competition for what?” she lilted as she nuzzled into his side. 

“Don’t play stupid, it’s unbecoming of you,” he teased, wrapping his free arm around her. “Are you cold?” 

“A little.” She melted beneath the heat of his arm, but it disappeared from her side a moment later. Hermione went to cast him a dramatic pout, only to see him with his jumper halfway over his head. She gasped as he stripped down to the thin white muscle shirt that had been hiding beneath it.

“Arms up!” 

“What are you doing? ” she argued, but stretched her arms up into the air anyways. “You’re going to freeze,” her voice was muffled through the material as he pulled it over her head.

He scoffed, “oh I’m fine, I’ve had a warming charm on me all night. You should have spoken up earlier.”

She made an offended noise and blindly slapped him with her loose sleeve. Her mouth dried up when she surfaced to appreciate the sight of him. His arms were toned—his stomach even more-so. And the way the thin material stretched across the expanse of his—she cleared her throat, “want to walk a little?”

He exchanged his cup for the remaining boozy mocha concoction. “It might be more of a stumble at this point but sure. I had a good tolerance going before I got locked up with you, this is nice.” 

It was definitely a stumble—when Hermione took her first few steps down the winding pathway she realized just how tipsy she’d gotten. “Woah—” she steadied herself with a giggle, “sorry.”

“You’re swimming in that jumper.”

She fiddled with the sleeves. She did feel ridiculous with two chunky jumpers on, but she could smell him all around her—and it was still warm from his body. “I rather think you’re a few sizes larger than I am,” she chided.

He hummed suggestively, “you haven’t seen anything yet.” 

The colour flooded back to her cheeks and she hid her face behind her cup as she took a drink. 

He spared her, changing the topic with a breathy laugh. “I’m glad you showed me this place, it’s lovely.”

Her mouth stretched into a smile. “This sort of thing was what I used to think magic was—the twinkling lights, the way the city came alive with distant music and celebration.” 

“Did you come downtown a lot with your parents?” he asked thoughtfully. 

She shook her head, “not often, no. But when I did…” she smiled wistfully. “I recall one night Dad and I were waiting for a car just across the river—there must have been a club or something on the other side. You could hear the bass and laughter from across the water and the skyline was breathtaking. I knew I wanted to be a part of whatever it was—it sounded liberating.”

“Party animal,” he teased. 

She smiled, “London always felt so big back then. But now that I’ve lived in the heart of it, now that I’m older—at times it feels small and suffocating. Honestly I’m terrified that I might feel like that wherever life takes me in this world.”

“At the risk of sounding like a spoiled prat again—” he hesitated, “you haven’t lived small and suffocating until you’ve been born into a pureblood family.”

She appreciated the way he spoke about his status with derision, instead of the prideful cadence in which she was accustomed to hearing it discussed. “I’m sure it had its cons.”

“Many of them,” his tone was dismissive—final. 

When she peeked at him again, his distant gaze was fixed upon the still and silent landscape—distracted. It did not escape her that the topic made him clam up whenever they broached it. She knew the feeling well, so she didn’t press any harder. 

They walked in a peaceful, but loaded silence for a few minutes. He occasionally brushed up against her and she suspected it was on purpose. Everything the man beside her did seemed to be calculated and intentional.

He only spoke again when they reached an old wooden bridge that overlooked a calm lake and stopped at the peak of its arch to lean over its railings. “Do you ever find it strange that we exist in an entirely separate world than them and yet, we’re really not all that different?” His gaze was fixed upon the distant patriotic glow of the London Eye.

She considered his question for a moment, from her own perspective. “I found it quite unfair. Especially when we have so many potions and cures that could help a lot of people—save them from a death that shouldn’t be certain at all.”

The only indication that he had heard her was the slight furrow of his brow. Without looking at her again, he spoke quietly. “I wonder sometimes, what my Father might have been like if he had been exposed to it all as a younger man—the way I have.” He took the last swig of his drink and swayed on his feet.

Hermione was afraid to ask about the things she had heard back in their youth. It wasn’t that she was afraid of the answer—she’d seen horrible things first-hand. Rather, she was afraid it might upset him, and upsetting the man beside her was not something she had the stomach to endure at the moment. Not when he seemed to be opening up to her for the first time since they’d met again. She settled for a safe response—a warm reassurance. “Anyone is capable of change if they want it enough, Theodore. Whatever kind of man he was...he had the same choices that you did when it came down to it.”

His throat bobbed as she shifted closer to him. “We should probably head back, I’m knackered.”

Hermione discarded her empty cup on the edge of the railing before she drunkenly jumped up to perch on it. 

“Salazar, be careful!” he scolded, moving to spot her until he was certain she was steady. “Were you planning on swimming back? I was thinking more of a casual stroll myself.”

With a soft laugh, she reached out a delicate hand to tug at the hem of his shirt. 

He studied her, allowing her to pull him into her orbit. “What are you doing?” 

“What do you think I’m doing?” she lilted, pulling her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I can’t be sure, Granger.” His glassy eyes darkened. “You’ve been shy since we kissed this morning—more so than usual. Forgive a man for needing clarification.” 

She knew it wasn’t a question but she answered him anyways. She wrapped a hand around the back of his neck and pulled his lips to hers. 

He responded immediately, curling his arms around her to hold her in place as he kissed her back. It was soft and pleasant at first—a direct contrast to that morning.

But when a soft gasp slipped from her, he deepened the kiss.

His tongue swiped into her mouth and she met it with her own, wrapping her legs around his torso to pull him even closer. He groaned, grazing his fingers over the bare flesh of her back.

Her eyes watered with the rush of desire that the feel and taste of him provoked within her. 

She sighed into his mouth as he trailed his hands downward, slipping one of them just below the hem of her pants. She arched her back beneath his fingers as he curled them inwards—like he was trying to stop himself from taking what she might not be ready to offer.

She was ready, but… she whined quietly, pressing a hand to his chest to slow him down. 

He pulled away, panting and hungry.

“There’s CCTV, like fucking everywhere, Theodore,” she whispered against his lips.

He released an exasperated sigh and issued her a questioning and desperate look.

“Cameras —you know the one they use to make movies?” Her voice was strained as he threatened her resolve, gently passing his fingers over her sensitive skin.

At this, a devious smile threatened to break over his face. “Movies, you say.” But his teasing didn’t last long when she wriggled against him, desperate for friction. 

He clenched his eyes shut and loosed a heavy breath. His practiced hands slid down to her thighs and grasped them firmly. “No more. Or you will leave here a proper movie star.”

She was tempted to test him on that, and judging by the way his intense gaze was fixed upon her face, he knew it.

“Fuck— ” he whined breathily, helping her off of the railing with reluctant movements. He released her, carding his hands through his hair.

She ached for him to the point of near pain— never had she desired someone so much in her life. Her eyes followed him as he turned around for a quick moment to adjust himself. 

Her mouth watered.

He cleared his throat, jerking his head at her to get a move on. “Move. And stop looking at me like that, I’d prefer not to have to explain why I need a new pair of pants in the middle of the night.” 

This broke her out of her trance—she howled with laughter. 

He quirked a brow, slightly bemused. “Are you finished?”

“No but—”

He held a finger up to interrupt her and shook his head as he began the trek back.

When she followed, it was with a pep in her drunken, uneven steps.

☘︎

“This feels like recycling wishes,” Hermione said.

They stood over the fountain, flicking coin after unused coin back into its depths with a hushed wish of ‘good luck.’

“It’s got to be better luck than pocketing it,” he huffed humorously. 

The lights had long since been flicked off, and the people and staff and cleared out for the night. The only light visible was the various hues of yellows, purples, pinks, and blues that shone from the city skyline through the trees. That and a few dim, flickering street lamps.

“Now that you’ve pointed out those cameras, I’ve noticed them everywhere!” he exclaimed with an underlying tone of suspicion. 

“I told you.” 

He quirked a brow. “Who’s on the other side, watching our movie?”

It was an effort to hold in her laugh at his turn of phrase. She gave him a conspiratorial shrug, flipping a coin into the fountain with a soft splash. “The muggle government.”

Theodore hummed in contemplation. “I’m starting to think Adam might have been onto something.”

She snorted, “there’s quite a large community of people who would agree with him.”

“Ready?” he said, handing her one of the last two coins. “The last one is for us so make it good.”

She smiled, clenching her eyes shut for dramatics. But she would never tell him that she hadn’t made a wish—that she didn’t want to mess with the equilibrium she had found right where she was.

Chapter Text

They’d gotten back in without event the night prior, but Hermione had been paying for the sugary drinks this morning. Luckily, she hadn’t had the urge to be sick, but the ache in her head was otherworldly enough to still make her Saturday morning eggs unappetizing. As she sat in the chair in Dr. Grant’s office, awaiting his presence for her second scheduled session, she regretted not forcing them down anyways.

It was evident that he was feeling much better than her as he coasted into his office with an aromatic coffee that made her mouth water. When he produced a second from the tray he held, she nearly keeled over in relief.

“Good Morning! Are you feeling alright?” he greeted with his trademark warmth, depositing the coffee—a flat white—into her hands.

“Is this real espresso?” she fawned, taking a hearty whiff.

He flashed her a sparkling smile and a nod. “A perk of being my first session of the day!”

He’d officially won her trust, she mused as she took a sip of the rich coffee—at least until he inevitably pushed her to irritation again. But she would play nice for now. “Well I’m much better now, thank you.”

He settled into his chair. “Not one hundred percent today, are we?”

“Just a little tired,” she replied, casually tapping the sides of the cup.

“Well, I suppose we’ll get into it then, while you’re still awake,” he grinned. “How has your week been going since we last spoke?”

She couldn’t fight the smile that threatened to betray her cool demeanour. “Good, I suppose.”

So fucking good.

His brows rose a smidge. “Not the answer I was expecting! But I am glad to hear.”

“You expected me to be miserable, did you?” she drawled.

“Perhaps I was too quick to jump to conclusions when I read through your file. There was an altercation noted between yourself and Charles the evening of our last session together.”

“Is that a question?” she deadpanned, shifting in her seat.

“It is an open invitation for you to discuss it with me, however, you are under no obligation, if you do not wish to do so,” he responded with an irritatingly gentle tone.

She sighed, though in all honesty she had been wanting to discuss it with him anyways—if only to get his help in arranging the ‘prom’ she had spoken to Theodore about the night before. “Yes,” she relented, “we did get into a bit of a row.”

“What was the nature of this spat?” he pressed.

“I hardly think it’s worth rehashing when I’ve already spoken to him and apologized.”

He studied her. “It could help me understand your headspace a little better, Ms. Granger, if you would humour me?”

A yawn gripped her and she rubbed at her still-bleary eyes. She sunk into the cushion of the chair and tucked her feet up. At least the grippy socks and sweatsuit combo were comfortable—if she’d had to wear a straight-jacket in here she might have thrown up.

With another sigh she detailed the entire situation. Dr. Grant, to his credit, appeared to remain neutral the entire time—even when she revealed the cruel prank that had been going on beneath the noses of the staff.

He considered her for a moment when she finished, a soft expression on his face. “It takes a lot of courage to admit when we’re wrong, and even more to reject a lie we’ve told ourselves. It sounds as though you’ve done some reflecting about your place here.”

“I’m sure this place could benefit many people, Dr. Grant. It doesn’t mean that I am a suitable candidate for this level of intervention.” Hermione chewed her lip. “I mean, I know I’ve got…things to deal with, but I’m an outlier here—and quite frankly, so is Theodore.”

Dr. Grant’s voice was gentle as he responded. “I’m not allowed to discuss what other patients have disclosed to me in confidence, but I should warn you not to make any assumptions about what others may be carrying with them. Often, it is the things below the surface that do the most damage, and those are not always visible.”

Hermione took a slow sip of her coffee. All of a sudden, she wished very much to know what Theodore had revealed to the man in front of her. Could she have misunderstood his playful and carefree personality entirely? It occurred to her then, how little she might actually know about him. She sniffed, reverting the topic at hand back to herself. “In any case, after so long I’m somewhat apathetic about everything that I’ve faced and I don’t tend to dwell on them. That’s why I reckon I don’t belong here…they don’t affect me the way that they used to.”

“Apathy is not always the answer, Ms. Granger,” Dr. Grant’s brows knit together. “In fact, often it’s not true apathy, but a physical response to emotional overload. You’re very well-read, have you ever heard of the polyvagal theory?”

Hermione shook her head. “Actually, I never delved too deep into psychology.”

“It is a relatively modern theory about how our nervous systems react to stress,” Dr. Grant detailed. “Right now, perhaps,” he paused with a cheeky grin, “you’re at ease and functioning normally—breathing, thinking, et cetera. That is the ideal state. But when threatened, our nervous system shifts gears.”

Hermione could not stifle her academic curiosity and engaged with him despite her better judgement. “Fight or flight, you mean?”

“Those are two great examples, yes,” he encouraged with a smile. It was obvious that he was in his element as he attempted to educate her, and was delighted by her participation. “Fight or flight is often the body’s first response. However, when things become too overwhelming for a person, the body flips a switch of sorts. The term is called shutdown, and while any person has the potential to experience it, it is more prevalent and easily triggered in those who have experienced significant or prolonged trauma.”

Although she’d never heard of the theory before, it did not take her long to figure out his trajectory. “What happens when this ‘switch’ is flipped?”

Her expression must have betrayed her, because he prompted, “I have a feeling you might be able to explain it to me for yourself. Would that assumption be correct?”

She hesitated, picking at the skin of her cuticles. “It’s the numbness, isn’t it?”

He issued her a sympathetic nod. “Amongst other symptoms. Your heart rate slows, you might feel low energy, and yes, you may feel numb, distant—perhaps as though you’re not even in your body at all.”

Hermione’s gut clenched as she found herself relating to all of the symptoms he had described. “Dissociation?” she asked with a quiet voice.

He affirmed her suspicions with a nod. “So you see, sometimes it’s not laziness or apathy that you are feeling, but the symptoms of a body trying to preserve itself. It’s a survival response, and it serves only one purpose; to protect the mind. It pulls the plug.”

“And you think that’s what I’m experiencing?” she asked, careful to temper her tone.

He tilted his head. “You are the only one who can answer that question. But I can certainly aid you in finding the answer. Would you be open to exploring it a little more?”

The idea made her uncomfortable, but beneath that, there was a nagging thought in her head that perhaps she owed it to herself to try. “What would that entail?”

“First, you can tell me if you do indeed connect with the symptoms we discussed, and then we can start with figuring out when the feeling first presented,” he responded. “Somewhere along the line, your brain discovered that if it shut itself down, it could protect you from the harmful emotions that overwhelmed you. Unfortunately, this response blocks out the positive emotions as well.”

“That’s…rather bleak.” She stared into the air in front of him and avoided eye contact as she pondered when she last felt enthusiastic about anything—beyond Theodore, of course. Though she suspected that could be blamed on some other sort of chemical reaction. As far as her life and her job and even the small day-to-day things that used to bring her joy—she struggled to remember finding the feeling of contentedness within them. Books no longer inspired feelings and ideas, rather she felt like she was reading them because that’s what the old her was always doing. The sunlight that shone in through her window was now a mere product of the daytime, instead of a small piece of magic that used to spark peace within her. Even the numerous plants around her flat had become a daily chore instead of a devotion.

“It is a tragic side effect of the human experience.” Dr. Grant considered her with his friendly blue eyes. “But it is not the way it must be.”

When she thought about it that way, it almost made her sad—which might have been a good sign. Hermione nodded after a long moment. “It’s grown worse over the past few years. I thought it was just burnout.”

“Thank you for sharing that with me,” Dr. Grant praised. “I’d like to circle back later and discuss those feelings you harbor towards your job, but for now, I want you to think back—as far back as you can recall. Is there a particular incident, or series of incidents, during which you had an overwhelming emotional response?”

Hermione clutched the warm cup in her hand, and moved to trace the smooth skin of her arm. The truth was that she didn’t have a fucking clue where to start. Was it the three-headed dog? The troll? The werewolf? What about the first time she learned about the word mudblood? Most certainly when it was carved into her skin—but by then the apathy had already begun to poison her. She’d been in survival mode since…a flash of silvern magic against a looming cloud of black and death and cold.

Her fingers curled into her skin—that was it.

Close calls with creatures and childhood arguments were largely overshadowed by the first time she’d seen her best friend on the brink of death. Even though the present version of him had been right beside her, hoping to see his dead father come back from the dead to save him—it had still made her heart race to watch him lay limp upon the beach. Seeing them devouring his kind, selfless, and resilient soul—it had almost broken her. And each instance after that night had been even worse.

Cedric, Umbridge, Dolohov, Bathilda, Greyback, Malfoy, Bellatrix.

The battle.

Lavender, Fred, Tonks, Lupin—Harry’s dead body, and the horrible laughter of the serpentine creature that had once been a man made of the same elements as she. Had he once felt the way she had? Had it eaten his soul and disrupted his moral compass? Or were people born evil?

Her breaths came in heavy pants, “I—” she swallowed, blinking through the black clouds in her vision.

“Are you alright, Hermione?” Dr. Grant looked on at her with concern. “If you need a moment, do let me know.”

“I know where it started—” her voice shook so lightly that she thought he may not have noticed.

But he had. “Take a deep breath, and tell me only when you’re ready.”

She took heed of his words and took one shaky breath after another until the serpent that constricted her lungs began to uncoil.

“We spoke about an incident during our last session?" His prompt was gentle and cautious.

Hermione shook her head. “No. No, it was…earlier.”

Dr. Grant remained silent while he waited for her to continue, listening with intent.

Her teeth clenched with familiar frustration as she strained to recall details beyond the vivid moment deep within that forest. It was strange to her how she had trouble remembering the details of anything from her third year onwards. It was as if there was a fog around them, like she hadn’t experienced them first-hand.

“Take your time, we are in no rush today.” Dr. Grant prompted her back to reality.

Hermione hesitated and scanned her eyes over the seams of her armchair. “I just…can’t remember the details.” She wondered how she could even tell him if she could. Dementors—werewolves—she’d get another three years in this place if she told him the truth as it were.

Dr. Grant seemed to be as deep in thought as her. “Can you recall the feelings?”

She nodded. “Vividly. But the images…not so much. Save for one moment.”

“We can work with that,” Dr. Grant encouraged. “I would like to try an exercise with you. If at any point you feel unduly overwhelmed, we can stop. You need only speak up, alright?”

Hermione issued him an uncertain nod.

He gave her a warm smile. “Very good. I’ll have you start by closing your eyes. And if you could place your coffee on the side table for the duration. You’ll need both of your hands.”

She set down her coffee and shifted in her seat to sit upright. After a moment of contemplation, she let her eyes flutter closed.

“I want you to bring yourself back to that one moment you said you can recall—no matter how uncomfortable it is for you. Bring yourself back, and focus on the feelings you had while you were experiencing it.”

She bit her cheek, unease flowing through her as she pulled the image to mind. Jet black hair, slick with water and sweat—even darker figures looming above his unconscious body.

“Have you recalled it?”

Her nails found the fabric of the armchair. “Yes.”

“Great job, Ms. Granger. If you would please begin tapping your knees—but hold that image in your mind.”

She cracked an eye open to find his gaze. “What?”

“Trust the process,” he reassured her with a nod of encouragement.

Her shoulders relaxed as she sighed and reentered the memory. Slowly, she brought her fingertips to her knees and began tapping, uncertain whether the pattern mattered. Her fingers naturally found the beat of her heart.

“Focus, and tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

With shuddered breaths she focused in on the recollection. It was eerie, the way she swore she could feel the chill of the night wind—as it had been then. Something settled upon the centre of her chest. “It’s heavy. Like there’s a weight on my chest.”

“Anything else?”

She nodded, gooseflesh breaking out across her limbs. “I’m cold, but there is a heat in my veins…like a buzzing or something. Not restlessness—something stronger. Like I’m desperate to escape or do something but I can’t.”

“Very good. Keep tapping, and I would ask you to share with me the visual details of the scene. Context does not matter, simply say the first things that come to mind.”

Her breathing picked up and she could feel her features twisting. She didn’t want to look at the image—it was bad enough having to feel it again. Hermione’s jaw ticked as she focused on the bespectacled boy upon the foggy, pebbled and frozen shore within the forest. “I see my best friend. From childhood.” Her voice was strained.

“What are they doing?” Dr. Grant asked.

It was a blessing to her that his voice and the constant tap of her fingers worked in tandem to ground her to the present, where she was safe in the chair. But the memory did not hurt any less. “He’s…dying.” A dizziness settled over her.

The room was quiet for a moment. “What happened to him?”

There was an urge deep within her to vocalize the truth. The fact that she couldn’t—at least not to him—threatened to call tears to her eyes. She took a deep breath to steady herself while she worked to craft an alternative tale in her mind. “He’s being mugged. They’re beating him.”

“Keep tapping if you please. What else can you tell me about the scene?”

She hadn’t realized she had stopped. Hermione steeled herself and found the pattern of beats again—more swift now. “I’m watching. My friend is beside me. We’re waiting for help.”

“Where are you?”

Her mind worked fast, despite her discomfort. “A forest—behind our school.”

“What part of this disturbs you the most?”

It was a morbid question, she decided—but effective. “His face. He’s pale—staring up. He’s unfocused, like he’s—” she spoke through the lump in her throat, “like he’s given up. But he never gave up—not ever.”

“Focus on that for a moment while I ask you a few more questions.” Dr. Grant requested was firm and purposeful. “What would you have done, if you could have done anything differently in that moment?”

“I would have moved sooner.” Her eyes welled up behind closed lids. “I was so terrified, so hopeless—I couldn’t move. I was useless! He was dying and I was just standing there.”

“Can you elaborate for me, what you mean by you would have moved? While doing so, I want you to visualize yourself doing exactly that. Within the existing memory.”

Hermione’s lips parted, her tapping hands fell off-beat. She pictured it then, what would have happened if she hadn’t been frozen in place.

She pulled her wand before Harry fell to pieces beside her when he realized his father wasn’t coming to save him. The orb of silver that slipped from his mouth morphed into silvery wisps that flew from her wand to protect him. Warmth and hope curled around his weak silhouette, blasting away the evil that surrounded him and his godfather.

“I would have fought them and pulled him out of there.” Scene by scene, Hermione repainted that night from her third year and told Dr. Grant a different version entirely. It was fuzzy, but it worked to her advantage. The lie she had told herself had seemed to gain a life of its own amidst the lingering feelings.

“Open your eyes.” Dr. Grant requested just as she finished reframing the true event that existed within the privacy of her own mind. She opened her eyes to find his thoughtful blue gaze fixed on her intently.

“Remarkable work, Ms. Granger.” Dr. Grant’s cadence was more serious than usual. “You did very well for your first time.”

After a few breaths, she swiped her sleeve over her eyes. “What was that?”

“A technique that can be used to rewire traumatic experiences in your subconscious,” he responded. “How are you feeling?”

“Drained,” she sniffed, picking at her sleeves. “Emotionally exhausted.”

“That’s completely natural. All of that is a good sign that you’ve had a necessary emotional release.” Dr. Grant recited before his expression softened again. “I know it is very difficult to face these things, but it is necessary in the process of healing. You did wonderfully, Hermione.”

Hermione gave him a flat smile and took the last gulp of her coffee to wash away the tightness in her throat. She was unsure what to say back.

“I know you’re feeling very taxed, and considering the progress we’ve already made, I think we should leave it there for today. Let me get us some water and I’ll give you a moment to decompress.” He stood to collect her empty coffee cup.

Her eyes trailed him as he left the room, and for a moment she longed to follow him just so she wouldn’t be left alone with the storm of emotions in her chest. The second he left they came crashing down around her. 

She threw her head in her hands and strained to focus on her breaths. The exercise had been intense. What she would give to find Harry and hold him in her arms—the urge was nearly strong enough to ask Theodore to break her out of there that very evening.

But something deep inside called for her to stay and see her sentence through.

The door creaked open again and Dr. Grant deposited a glass of water into her hands a moment later. “Drink it all—hydration is very important for the brain.”

The water was cold and soothing as it wet her throat, working to dislodge the lump of emotion better than the coffee had. She drained the glass with a soft exhale. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” Dr. Grant soothed. “Is there anything else you’d like to discuss before we part?”

“Actually,” Hermione hesitated. “Yes. You are aware, I presume…of Charles’ er—daughter?”

Dr. Grant gave her a curious tilt of his head before schooling his expression once more. “You know I can’t answer that, Ms. Granger. For what reason are you bringing such a thing up?”

“Of course—” she sat up straighter. “Well er—I was going to see if perhaps we might arrange something for him. Godric, this is going to sound so silly but I was hoping you might be able to help me—a prom, of sorts.”

A flicker of surprise flashed across Dr. Grant’s tan face. “A prom?”

Hermione nodded. “Do you think it’s morbid…or could it be a nice thing for him?”

Dr. Grant was very obviously conflicted, but considered her proposal all the same. “We do have a bit of a slush fund for such things.”

“Really? That’s wonderful!” A spark of optimism bloomed in her chest. “Do you think you would be able to help me arrange it?”

“I would advise that we pose it as a general event, rather than something specifically dedicated to Charles. But that would be my only concern.” Dr. Grant smiled. “Let me speak to the office and see what we can do. I’ll be in touch.”

“Thank you!” Hermione smiled, “Of course it wouldn’t be anything fancy. Music, perhaps a simple set of lights and some refreshments? I think it could be lovely…for everyone.”

“That it would,” he agreed with a thoughtful nod of his head. “Now if there is not anything else, I’ll be seeing you on—” he paused, flipping through his planner, “the eighteenth.” He frowned. “I’m afraid it’s a little less than a week, but I’ll be out of town for a few days so I must squeeze you in.”

“Don’t worry about it! I can wait until you get back,” she teased, standing from the armchair to stretch her limbs.

He laughed at this. “Nice try.” His hand hovered over her back to guide her to the door. “May I ask you one more thing. What do you mean when you say ‘Godric?’ You’ve said it before and I must admit I’m quite perplexed by the expression.”

A jolt of panic shot through her. “Er—I don’t know, I just sort of…say it? I think it was something I picked up from my friends.”

He scrutinized her, as if deciding whether or not to believe her response. “Hm,” he hummed. “Peculiar.”

She gave a causal shrug and paused at the doorway. “Thank you by the way. For the session.”

He gave her a knowing nod and a pat on the shoulder. “See you next time Ms. Granger.”

☘︎

A whistle sounded from behind Hermione as she made her way into the movie room later that afternoon. “Is that a new outfit, Granger? It suits you.”

Hermione laughed, turning around to find Theodore appraising her uniform—the same one she’d been sporting for the duration of their stay there. Their gazes locked and his smirk widened into a full-blown smile that crinkled the edges of his eyes. It simultaneously took her breath away and made her realize that she hadn’t ever seen it in its full glory.

She blushed, unable to hold eye contact for much longer or she might find herself in a puddle on the floor.

Theodore sunk into the right side of the beanbag chair she’d chosen. It was made for two people, but it was still a bit of a squeeze for a man of his stature. He sniffed the air, likely picking up the same faint scent of smoke that still clung to the room. “No popcorn today I guess.”

A smirk tugged at her lips. “You’ve an insatiable appetite.”

“That I do, Granger—for many things,” he teased, shifting closer to her.

She could hardly bear to keep her hands off of him, both relishing the warmth of him next to her and craving something more.

He must have had the same compulsion, because he let his hand fall, resting casually on her thigh, positioned so that only the pair of them could see it from their angle.

Her heart leapt and she took a nervous sip of her water. “How was group?”

Theodore sighed and gave a shake of his head. “You’re a lucky bastard for missing that one.”

“Why?” Curiosity gripped her. “What happened?”

Theodore shuddered. “Got a full recounting of how Paul was sat on as a baby.”

Hermione gasped and her hand flew to her chest. “What!”

He nodded. “Mind you I’m not sure how he knows all of that considering he was a literal infant…leaves me with more questions than answers to be honest. A lot of unnecessary details later and I did come away with an interesting tidbit of information at least.”

“Which is?” Hermione grimaced.

“He’s in here because he had a meltdown at work.” Theodore detailed. “Apparently he trashed his office.”

“That’s more tame than I would have expected, honestly.” Hermione replied.

“Yes, until he got to the part where he remembers ‘repeatedly smashing his head against the wall,’” Theodore drawled. “Bloke gave himself a ‘concussion’—never heard that term before. I was sorry I asked. Sounds like nasty business.”

Hermione tried not to laugh at poor Paul’s condition, but it proved quite difficult given his odd behaviour. “And did they address his…oral fixation problem?”

Theodore didn’t even try to hide his snickers. “Yes. Apparently, that’s a quirk of parental neglect.”

“Good Godric…” Hermione muttered as she processed the information.

“Yeah,” Theodore huffed. “I’ll tell you, that explains a lot about Pansy Parkinson.”

Hermione gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth to stifle the laughter that finally escaped her. “You’re horrible!” Then a wave of unsavoury feelings overtook her…was that jealousy?

Theodore smirked as he read into her expression. “Relax, Granger. It was Draco’s wand she was after. Not mine.”

She flushed, looking away from him with a theatrical shudder.

“While we’re on he topic of mouths,” he leaned in and whispered into her ear. “I’m dying to know…did you enjoy yourself last night?”

She bit back a shy smile, capturing her bottom lip between her teeth. “I could think of a few ways in which it could have been improved.” Her own boldness surprised her, but Theodore had continuously proved he had a knack for disarming her defences.

His gaze darkened, fingers twitching on her thigh. ‘Do share your ideas with me.’

She sucked in a breath—it still caught her off guard to hear his sultry voice in her mind. And she could feel him lingering there, warm and soothing, as if he was awaiting her response.

Before she could curate the perfect one, her mind drifted naturally to their kiss the night before, on the bridge.

His lips twitched, but he kept his gaze glued to the screen in front of them. ‘Do you want to see a trick?’

‘I’m unsure whether I should agree to the demonstration of a trick from the likes of you,’  she answered in her mind.

The lights flicked off, signalling the start of the film. The staff had chosen ‘The Wizard of Oz’—she did not look forward to the onslaught of questions Theodore would have about that one.

His voice came through again a moment later. ‘Just say yes.’

Excitement fluttered in her stomach. ‘Okay…yes?’

She gasped as she felt a sensation travel down her neck—like a phantom finger, grazing her skin.

Theodore shushed her aloud with a shit-eating grin. “If you would please keep it down? I’m trying to watch the film.”

Her witty comeback escaped her as she felt it again, trailing down the back of her spine. Her back arched reflexively and heat flooded her cheeks. “Stop that!” she whispered.

He didn’t listen—the next graze was to her inner thigh.

A shallow breath later and she was looking into his eyes again.

He held her widened gaze. ‘I’ll stop if you tell me when we are going to sneak out again?’

’St. Patrick’s Day.’ Her voice was even breathy in her mind.

“That is eight days from now.” He responded aloud with a pout—she wanted to snog it right from his lips.

“You’ll survive, Theodore.” Her mouth twitched into a smile. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“Alright, but I won’t be held liable for what happens in the interim.” Theodore’s gaze glittered with mischief, but then drifted beyond her with a raised eyebrow.

Hermione whirled around to find Barry staring at them with a perplexed look on his face. A second later he flailed, yelped and pressed a hand to his bottom.

Theodore chuckled behind her.

“What did you do?” she accused and gasped a moment later as she felt a phantom pinch on her bottom. “Theodore!”

He laughed, settling into the beanbag chair for the movie with his hands stretched behind his head. “He was staring.”

She shook her head, unable to conceal her grin. And she settled in beside him, as close as she could get before the staff might think to intervene.

☘︎

Theodore was a lovely distraction, but still not strong enough of one to calm the wave of thoughts that invaded her mind from her session once they’d stopped yammering on and teasing one another. The soft smile that he had made a somewhat permanent fixture on her face, had faltered beneath the weight of the memories. And with each passing minute, she grew more and more restless.

After half an hour of furtive glances, Theodore finally called her out. “Are you doing alright?”

She faked a smile and gave him a nod.

His brows rose. “You’re full of shite.”

“No I’m not!” she whispered back with fervour. “I’m just watching the bloody film!”

His eyes grazed over her features, then down to where her fingers mutilated the skin of her cuticles. With a sigh he offered her an ultimatum. “You can tell me, or I’ll go in and find out myself.”

Panic gripped her. “You wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh but I would.” His tone betrayed no hint of a lie, flat and serious.

“Well you can’t get in if I don’t let you!” she sniped back, though she knew it was all talk. She had zero control over her psyche when it came to keeping out a legilimens.

His responding laugh was dark and low, “I’ve been in minds that I shouldn’t have been able to penetrate. Yours should be as easy as blinking, I’d expect.”

His words gave her pause. When she peered over at him, his gaze flickered with something heavy—a warning of sorts. She wasn’t sure whether it was to communicate to not test him or to not ask questions. Not wishing to push him on it, she issued him an ultimatum of her own. “Well, you wouldn’t, because that would be a massive invasion of my privacy and I would never forgive you for it.”

His face grew a measure more solemn than she’d ever seen it. “I think you’ll find there is no line I wouldn’t cross for those I care about—even if it means losing their trust.”

Her stomach flipped. “You’d be losing a whole lot more than just my trust,” she threatened, but there was no bite in her tone.

Theodore’s face softened when he saw the scowl form upon her face. “Hermione, I’m only concerned about you,” he whispered softly, “I don’t know what’s going on but your energy just got…heavy, all of a sudden. I’m sensitive to these things, you know. Or perhaps you didn’t know that…but now you do.”

“Well maybe it’s all in your head,” she responded too quickly and clenched her fists.

“Don’t do that,” he commanded. The serious look etched upon his face did not suit his soft features. “Don’t say that to me.”

“Fine,” she tried to tease, desperate to dispel the tension that was building between them. “I’m brainstorming the least painful way to end it all.”

His eyes searched hers and his mouth pulled into a frown. “Not funny, Granger.”

“It’s a little funny,” she huffed, going still as he leaned into her space. From any other angle, it might look as though he was whispering, conspiring with her about something mundane.

“Talk to me,” he pleaded with a whisper, his voice soft against her cheek.

She took shallow breaths and kept her gaze fixed upon the film. His proximity was like a drug—the most intoxicating one she had ever taken. But still she hesitated to reveal her woes. Hermione turned her head until her eyes were level with his mouth. Slowly, she dragged them up to find him looking back at her with an expression that threatened to knock the wind from her chest.

“Please,” he urged. “Was it your session?”

She swallowed her unease, tearing her eyes from his with a swift nod.

“What happened?” His thumb circled her thigh.

After a long moment of contemplation she spoke. “Do you remember your childhood very well?"

His hand froze. “Why do you ask?”

“I recall it…what I felt… but most of the visuals are blurry. Almost like they happened to someone else—like I was a bystander,” she said, biting her cheek.

“How young are we talking?” he asked, perplexed.

“At least third year. Definitely after that,” she whispered.

He considered her for a moment and then looked away. “I remember every second of my upbringing.”

She looked at him, at the way his jaw ticked before he found her gaze again. “Good memories?”

“No,” he said with that same sense of finality that Hermione had come to expect from him when the topic of their childhood was raised. “Yours?”

She shook her head. “They’re not great.”

“Third year,” he repeated, as if throwing his own consciousness back in time. “I remember something happening, but Snape was pretty tight-lipped about it. Of course the staff were always like that with anything involving you lot. I’d imagine we only got a fraction of the truth.”

“You’d be right,” was all she said.

“That was the year—” His eyes darkened with concern. “Did Sirius Black…do something to you?”

“No!” Hermione protested immediately. “Sirius was a good man.” A lump settled in her throat as another wave of longing to see Harry washed through her.

“But you did meet him?”

She nodded. “Theodore…I’m sorry, I’m just really quite drained. I’d rather not get into it right now.”

“Alright then,” he responded with a gentle squeeze to her thigh. “You know you can talk to me though, right? If you ever feel like you need to talk to someone who…understands our world.”

She huffed out a laugh. “I wouldn’t burden you with my baggage.”

Gooseflesh prickled across her body when he swept the unkempt tangle of curls over her shoulder and traced his fingers down her neck. “There is nothing you could possibly say that would make the sound of your voice a burden to me.”

Her breath stuttered.

His words and the intense expression that accompanied them eviscerated any lingering emotion in her chest and triggered a rush of need. Need to feel his lips on hers—to feel his warm body pressed up against hers. Her fingers toyed with the fabric of the beanbag chair. She didn’t say another word. Instead, she cast him a long, heated glance and hoped that he saw the invitation concealed within it as she got to her feet and walked out of the film room.

“Popping over to the loo,” she said sweetly to the sleepy-looking nurses on the staff couch at the back of the room.

Nurse Mandy issued her a lazy nod, but none of the others paid her much mind as she took off down the hallway.

But she was not headed to the bathroom—instead she ducked into the darkened library, knowing that they staff would be off on their afternoon break.

‘Where did you go?’ Theodore’s uncertain voice echoed through her mind.

She bit her lip and grinned wickedly to herself as she paid him back in kind for his invasion of her dreams a week back. She pushed visuals back that would have made even the most lecherous man blush. Her mind was silent for a long moment before his response came.

‘You’d better hope the staff don’t get back soon, witch, because I will not be interrupted this time.’

A thrill skittered down her spine when she heard the library door click closed. She ducked behind the shelves, peering around each aisle to catch him off guard.

But he found her first.

She gasped as a large hand latched onto the back of her shoulder. His towering figure was barely visible through the dimly lit library as she whirled around in shock.

His lips came down on hers hard, leaving no room for protest.

It was an effort not to pass out as he claimed all of her oxygen. He wasted no time sweeping his tongue into her mouth and grazing his hands over her hips and thighs until all she could taste and feel was him.

A whimper escaped her as he lifted her into his arms. She wrapped her legs around him and carded both hands through his disheveled hair.

The sound of his answering groan as he pressed her back against the rows of shelves had heat pooling in her abdomen. He slid his hand up into her curls and jerked her head back to expose her bare throat to him.

She whined as he nipped and sucked at her neck, grinding over the solid length of him that throbbed against her. “I need you—”she panted and wriggled so much that he dropped her from his arms. Capitalizing on the moment, she pushed him against the opposing bay and grabbed his chin between her fingers, running one along his smirking bottom lip.

His tongue traced the path her thumb followed and his dilated eyes were glued to her face, dark and starving and glittering with a desire perhaps even more intense than her own—if such a feeling was even possible. “You need me, hm?”

She gave him a languid nod and pressed her hands to his chest as she leaned in to press kisses across his jawline. “Like fucking water,” she whispered into his ear, feathering her hand up the hard length of him.

He grunted, bucking into her palm in surprise before wrapping his hand around her other wrist—to take control, she recognized.

A fresh rush of need ripped through her and she pressed her finger to his lips to cut off his impending words, which knowing him, would be lascivious enough to throw her off of her game and give him the upper hand once more.

Much to her surprise, he heeded her command immediately, but she could see the way his blazing eyes followed her every move as if to figure out the best time to strike.

Replacing her finger for her lips, she kissed him soft and slow. The way he responded to her in kind had her melting into him until she worked up the will to pull away once more.

He chased her mouth, releasing her bottom lip from between his teeth with a gentle nip. But the smirk fell from his face as he watched her lower herself before him, emboldened by the molten desire that coursed through her. His features twisted into something primal as her knees hit the floor.

She looked up at him through her wispy lashes and trailed her fingers over the waistband of his trousers.

His thighs clenched beneath her palm and she heard the uptake in his breath—could see him twitching beneath the thin fabric of the ward uniform.

Her mouth watered as he sucked in a breath, still glaring down at her with that intense look of his that always made her shiver.

His hand was back in her curls a moment later, tipping her head back to get a good look at her. His eyes, though still full of desire, held a tinge of uncertainty. It disappeared when she pressed her lips to his toned stomach, working her hands to release him from his trousers.

A breath fell from her lips when she saw the size of him—and how heavy with desire he was. She swallowed, stealing one more glance at his face. Her nervous energy was off the charts and the anticipation threatened to send her into insanity. He shivered as she wrapped a trembling hand around his throbbing length and tested him with a languid stroke.

“Hermione—” his voice was strained and his hand pulled her hair taut into his fist. He looked down at her with a hunger that would have the strongest woman second-guessing whether they could handle such promised intensity. But then his other hand came up to press his thumb into her mouth and she grew dizzy with desire.

Her teeth grazed it as he slowly dragged it back past her lips and down her chin.

He twitched beneath her grasp, sporting an expression that told her he was quickly losing control—a fact that delighted her so much that her lips parted for him.

A string of delicious expletives fell from his mouth, deep and raspy as she leaned forward to take him in her mouth. Each uttered profanity echoed through her bones and fuelled her desire to please him. She moaned around him, working her tongue around his tip and enjoying the way it made him buck his hips further into her.

She looked up at him, where he held his shirt up with a lazy grip, giving her a view of his rippling midriff. His head was tossed back, rested against the bay of fiction books like he was in the throes of ecstasy. His eyes fluttered shut and his lips parted with a sated sigh.

It was then she decided that Theodore Nott was the most beautiful creature she had ever laid eyes upon.

He stiffened further in her mouth as she picked up her pace and his hand tugged gently on her swath of curls again. “Look at me,” he ordered.

The command sent a burning heat to her centre. She squeezed her thighs together with a whimper as she looked up at him again, desperate for friction.

He was staring down at her now, with flushed cheeks and burning, blackened eyes. “Fuck, Granger,” he groaned as she swiped her tongue up his length again. “Just like that,” he whispered as his movements grew erratic.

Hermione worked him harder, drinking in the sultry sound of his pants from above her.

“Hey—” he released his grip on her curls after some time to give her a gentle tap on the shoulder in warning.

She merely smiled around him and brought him further into her mouth until he was hitting the back of her throat.

“Fuck!” he whispered. “I’m serious Granger—”

She was serious too.

He tapped her again and she pinned his hand against the bay with a scolding glance. His eyes widened when she trailed her hands over his stomach and down his thighs, leveraging his body to guide him further into her throat.

He groaned and she felt him twitch. “Hermione—” he gave a weak and breathy protest as she dug her nails into his thighs.

When he hit the back of her throat on the next bob of her head, she held him there.

He swore and grasped at her head to steady her, resting his other hand at the base of her neck.

The sound of his long, laboured breath as his release filled her mouth had her aching—ravenous for him. She moaned, savouring every last drop of him until he stopped twitching and fell slack beneath her. The noise he made when she finally slid her mouth from him and swallowed would play a starring role in her dreams that evening.

His shoulders sank against the bays for a moment while she caught her breath, the tension falling from them.

The ache in her belly was nearly unbearable as his darkened gaze connected with hers, awestruck.

He swiped his tongue across his lips and tucked himself away—not once breaking eye contact. 

An electric current tore through her veins as he reached out his hand to help her up, exploding throughout her body.

Judging by the look on his face, he had felt it too. He didn’t say another word, instead yanking her eagerly into his bubble to kiss her again. Her mouth was swollen from him and she knew that her lips must have felt soft and pillowy beneath his.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, pulling back to press kisses down her neck. “Do you want to leave?” His voice was breathy as he slid his hand up to cup her breast, his other secured tightly around her waist. “We should leave, right?”

Her eyes fluttered closed beneath his touch and for a moment she was nearly convinced—nearly said ‘yes.’

“Salazar—the fucking things I want to do to you would make you—” he started, but his raunchy speech halted when she felt him go rigid beneath her hold.

She felt dazed and confused through the fog of her desire. “What’s—” Her speech was cut off as he pulled her back to him and clamped a hand over her mouth.

“Shh,” he whispered into her ear.

She felt a rush of warm magic blanket her and then they were disillusioned. Her skin prickled with heat in all of the places that they connected and her chest heaved beneath his hold.

The lights flicked on, blitzing her from her confusion. Her eyes clenched shut as she scrambled to adjust to the harsh change in lighting.

“Did you see them?” A familiar voice inquired—Nurse Evans.

Hermione held her breath with widened eyes and stiffened in Theodore’s grasp.

“No—she said she was using the loo, but I didn’t get much out of Mr. Nott—” Nurse Mandy’s voice responded. “He just walked out.”

Nurse Evans scoffed. “And you didn’t think to ask him where he was going? If something happens I am not going to lose my job to cover for you!”

“I’ve stopped asking questions with that one.” Nurse Mandy released a deep sigh. “Should we…check the loo?”

“You check there then.” Nurse Evans agreed reluctantly. I’ll take a poke round’ here.”

Theodore leaned down to whisper into her ear. “I’ll distract them—you go to the loo and pretend you were sick. You have three minutes before I remove the charm on you, alright?”

“What!”

“Now!” He scolded, releasing her and removing his disillusionment.

She watched on, stunned as he summoned a gossip magazine from the closest aisle. It flew into his hands only a half-second before Nurse Evans rounded the corner and halted in his tracks.

“Afternoon!” Theodore charmed.

Nurse Evans’ brows rose. “Did you hear all of that and not think to let us know you were in here?”

Theodore smiled brightly at him. “I was just so absorbed by my reading material, can’t blame a wizard can you?” He flipped the magazine around—its bikini-covered glossy pages read ‘Who wore it best?’ in blocky yellow letters.

Nurse Evans seemed to be at a loss for words. “I’m going to do you a favour and not jot down that you still seem to be convinced that you’re a wizard—purely because I can’t wait for the day that you depart—but you must return to the film room.”

Theodore scoffed. “That movie is ridiculous! Lion’s don’t fucking talk, and they most certainly do not behave like insufferable milksops.”

Hermione stifled a laugh before she began to quietly shuffle away to make it to the loo in time.

“Not a suggestion, Mr. Nott.” She heard Nurse Evans’ retort as she cleared one of the stacks and raced out of the library. “Up.”

☘︎

Eight days, as it turned out, was entirely too long of a wait.

It had only been four since she’d had a taste of him and she was starting to suspect that Theodore was seeking to punish her—or work her up until she couldn’t stand the inches between them. She had expected him to come to her room the evening after their moment in the library—or any of the evenings that had followed. But he hadn’t, instead choosing to work her up during the day and then move just out of reach when she tried to pull a move on him.

She was practically steaming from her ears as she continued knitting. Although she had long since given up the hope of making anything of value, she didn’t mind the way it kept her hands busy.

Theodore’s eyes were for once, trained on something other than her as he knit furiously beside her.

Susan was most proud of him, keeping close watch to see when he would finish his project. They had attended one other session since they’d began, and at the last one, he had already had piles of knitted green pieces strewn across his lap—and had been well on his way to adding more.

They were nearing the end of their current session by the time Theodore had a sizeable green jumper in his hands. He had worked tirelessly to join the pieces together, and was just tying off the thread of the left sleeve when he finally spoke to her again.

“Psst.”

Hermione’s head snapped towards Theodore’s obnoxiously loud whisper.

He looked far too pleased with himself when she met his smug expression. “Psst, Granger!” Evidently, he was undeterred by her glare.

“Theodore, you do know everyone can hear you?” She scanned the room, catching the curious glances of their fellow patients.

“That’s the point.” He winked, shaking the jumper in his hands.

She observed the jumper and let out an amused sigh. With a shake of her head, she fought the grin that tugged at her lips. “Show the class then.”

He smirked back at her, eyes dancing humorously as he looked around at the circle before standing to his feet. He turned towards the wall to pull the infuriatingly well-knit jumper over his head.

Hermione burst into laughter as he turned back around with mussed hair and a wry smirk that did something to her insides.

The jumper, emerald green and sporting an obnoxiously-sized and misshapen shamrock, read the poorly knitted phrase, ‘Kiss me, I’m insane.’

Susan gasped, clearly far too proud that her pupil had managed to make a functioning jumper to question the phrase he’d woven into it. “Excellent job, Theodore! Oh just brilliant!” She beamed at him, motioning for him to show her the whole creation.

The whole group dissolved into laughter as Theo did a little spin and a dance.

Despite her best efforts, Hermione couldn’t hold her own laughter in as she caught the genuine pride in his expression.

Green really did suit the bastard.

Chapter Text

Hermione had heard back from Dr. Grant regarding the ward dance she was hoping to arrange only a few days prior. He had stopped her in the hallway with a sparkling smile and pulled her aside to give her the go-ahead.

Naturally, Hermione had been in full planning mode ever since—between various sessions of course. She found it strange to have purpose again, however trivial, and had enjoyed the renewed sense of responsibility so much, that affairs were already in order—save for a few minor details. The rest of the staff however, seemed uneasy whenever she exercised the superficial authority that Dr. Grant had awarded to her. That authority did not go very far, but it certainly disrupted the natural rhythm of the ward. It came as no surprise to her that they seemed most on edge when she had used the office telephone to call up the cheap and dirty DJ she had found in the back of the phonebook.

They were able to relax today, however, being as it was St. Patrick’s day, and she’d had plans that evening that commanded her attention.

It was seven fourty-five and she sat on the edge of her bed, deep into practicing her wandless magic to pass the time. Like with most other attempts, she hadn’t succeeded, but she was able to hold the spark of magic in her fingertips a bit longer each time.

It was exactly eight-fifteen when her door creaked open—fifteen minutes past lights out and exactly when Theodore had said he’d be around to break her out.

“Salazar, have you just been sitting there staring at the wall this whole time?” He prodded, stepping towards the bed to loom above her.

Her stomach fluttered when she peered up at him through her lashes, recalling in explicit detail, the last time he’d been positioned above her. “I was practicing wandless magic. And failing.”

Twisting a finger around a stray curl he tugged gently. “Not to worry. With your track record, you’ll surpass my abilities in a month.” He held her gaze, staring back down at her with a gleam in his eyes that told her he might have been enraptured by the same memory.

“Yeah it’s…doubtful.” Pink tinged her cheeks. “It’s a challenging skill. I have to give you credit where it’s due.”

“Enough moping,” he scoffed, reaching for something he’d concealed behind him—where he’d kept the object hidden, she didn’t care to know. He produced a green-knit scarf, clad with the same four-leaf clover he’d weaved into the obnoxious green jumper he touted for the occasion.

“Did you make this for me!” She laughed as he wrapped it around her neck and untucked her curls before tilting his head to assess her.

“It’s a nice colour on you,” he winked. “Ready to get fucking wasted?” It was almost reverent, the way he spoke—like he craved nothing else in the world at that very moment. He didn’t give her time to respond before he was tugging her to her feet.

She squealed as he lifted her into his arms, and guided her legs around his waist. Her thighs tingled beneath the graze of his strong hands, touch-starved and delighted to feel him again—in any capacity. Her arms laced around his neck, gripping his shoulders to steady them both as he moved towards the door. “Put me down, you’ll get us caught!”

“All taken care of, love,” he drawled, cracking her door open. “I’m nothing if not thorough.”

She wanted to close the distance before he could step out into the hallway, to kiss him deep and slow. But that would mean they would sequester themselves in her room for the rest of the evening—and while the thought titillated her senses, she so terribly craved a drink. Or ten. Her head lowered to rest upon his shoulder as he disillusioned them and took the same path out they last had.

It was already fairly dark outside and the streetlights had glowed to life along the winding streets.

Theodore yielded to her squirming, letting her down from his grasp. “You’d be terrifyingly easy to kidnap, Granger.”

Hermione had to laugh at the statement. “Turns out I am.”

He side-eyed her with slight tilt of his head, as if he were afraid to ask. It was a horrible joke born from a horrible memory—one she stopped herself from following to its conclusion.

“Do you often think about kidnapping women?” she teased. It felt wise to change the subject.

“I prefer a less aggressive approach to romance,” he quipped. Hermione caught the twitch of his lips as he added, “at least in the beginning.”

A thrill shot through her. “Takes a while to get to know the real you, does it?” Hermione’s mouth dried up when her looked back at her, eyes glittering beneath the London lights.

A promise, then.

The sound of libations spilled out into the piss-scented streets as they walked at Hermione’s directive. “We need to change out of these clothes before we get there. I’m afraid we’ll stick out like sore thumbs if we show up dressed as mental patients.“

“But we are mental patients,” Theodore drawled.

She snorted, scanning the strip of shops for a promising storefront. “Yes, but this is your first muggle St. Patrick’s Day, we’re doing it right.” Hermione smirked, stopping in her tracks as her eyes landed upon a familiar storefront just across the road. Green flashing necklaces and shamrock hats spilled out of tightly-packed displays in the window front.

Theodore halted beside her, peering at her with a curious gaze. “Oh yeah? What did you have in mind, Granger?”

With a jerk of her head, she moved to cross the congested street “We’re going to Poundland,” she called back to him as he moved to tail her. Cars honked and screeched their brakes as the pair darted between them.

Theodore reached her side again as they made it to the safety of the sidewalk. “I’m not sure what that has to do with dear old St. Patrick but…” his brows rose slightly, an amused expression growing on his face, “just to be crystal clear, I will be the one doing the pounding in this scenario. Right?”

Hermione stared blankly at him.

His eyes widened, brows furrowing with genuine concern. “Right?”

“It’s a shop you lecher!” Hermione laughed, shoving at his chest.

“Funnily enough, relief was not the first thing I felt when you said that.” He caught her hand, pulling her towards him. “What are we shopping for?”

Hermione looked up at him, her lip pulled between her teeth. “Well…I wouldn’t call it shopping, exactly. I don’t have any muggle money on me.”

Theodore gave her a scandalized look, tilting his head at her. “Hermione Granger, are you suggesting we rob some muggles?”

“Firstly, it’s a greedy corporation. Nothing is even a single pound anymore! In any case, just of a few festive items,” she justified with a smile. “You’ll need to distract the shopkeeper. Think you can manage?”

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t just ask me that,” Theodore scoffed. “After you!” he swung his arm up as they reached the store front, yanking the door open for her.

Hermione ducked under his arm, trailing her fingers over his waist as she passed him. When she entered the shop, she halted, holding her hand up to give him pause. “Change of plans…” she muttered quietly, eyeing the sandy blonde man that worked the cash. “I’ll distract. You…grab me an outfit from the seasonal aisle, and…anything else you want. Green things.”

He hummed derisively, following her through the door. “And I’m supposed to be okay with you waltzing up to Professor Lockhart over there to flirt with him?”

Hermione turned to frown at him. “Are you feeling insecure, Theodore?”

He squinted at her. “You’ll find out soon enough that I have nothing to be insecure about.”

“You’ve got a big mouth for someone who hasn’t visited my room in eight days.”

“A bit hypocritical of you, don’t you think?” he drawled, eyes flickering across her face. “We’ve already established how big yours is, Granger.”

Her aforementioned sizeable mouth opened in scandal.

It was an effort to hold in the embarrassing noise that tried to escape her mouth when he tugged on the scarf he made for her. It tightened around her neck. “Does it bother you? Has it been driving you mental that I haven’t returned the favour?” Her eyes widened as he leaned in, breath hot on her cheek. “Go on. Flirt with the poor lad. I’m happy to do the dirty work.”

He released her, tearing off into the cramped aisles of the shop.

When he disappeared from view, Hermione lifted her trembling hands to the scarf, working to loosen it as she attempted to regain her composure. With a deep breath, she straightened her back and sauntered towards the shopkeeper.

“Excuse me?” she prompted after quickly adjusting her hair, voice dripping with honey. The man looked up to where she leaned suggestively against the counter, roving his eyes over her with idle curiosity. “I’m sorry to bother. You don’t happen to sell cigarettes here do you?”

He laughed at her. “If we sold cigarettes at Poundland, the whole of London would be addicted.”

"So what you're saying is you do sell cigarettes at Poundland." Hermione flashed him a cheeky grin.

He huffed out a laugh and offered her a sympathetic shake of his head.

She responded with a wistful whine that might have been misinterpreted in a different context. The key to seduction, Hermione Granger had learned throughout her years as a woman, was in the smallest of details. Make them think it had been their mind, dredging up such filthy thoughts. “Fuck,” she breathed out, carding her fingers through her hair. She bit her lip, eyebrows knit together in disappointment. Then she turned her amber eyes back onto his. “You wouldn’t happen to have any would you?”

He eyed her with lingering suspicion. “There’s an off-license across the street.”

She grimaced, throwing her face in her hands. “I know…it’s just that my ex is working tonight.” Her eyes trailed over his arms, and she ensured to subtly raise her brows in appraisal. He shifted under her gaze and the suspicion evaporated. Hermione leaned in further, tilting her head at him. “If I’m completely honest, I’m just hoping to forget it all tonight. In any way I can, you understand.” She clawed at the neckline of her jumper, languidly massaging her fingers over her exposed collarbone. “Drinks just don’t do the trick alone anymore.”

His eyes were glued to her lips, a faint flush creeping over his features. “I have some,” his throat bobbed. “How many did you need?”

“Really?” Her eyes lit up, the first part of the ruse that wasn’t just an act. She hadn’t expected her efforts to actually work, only that it would distract him long enough for Theodore to gather the goods. “Oh whatever you can spare, honestly. I’d be grateful for half of a cigarette at this point.”

He smirked at her. “Sure. I got you.”

“So you do,” she bit her lip, offering him a shy smile.

He hesitated, pulling at the cash drawer to ensure it was locked. With a nod he said, “I’ll be right back.”

Hermione smiled at him, her face dropping theatrically when he disappeared from view. With quiet steps, she used the opportunity to duck into the seasonal aisle, to find Theodore with his hands full of things. He looked delighted with all of the choices, if not a little confused. “Time to go, Theodore,” she whispered.

He paused, giving her a once over. “Now?”

“Yes, now!” she whispered back. “Go!”

Theodore paused beside her at the mouth of the aisle. “Are you not coming?”

“I’ll be right there, just go!” She jerked her head towards the door, racing back to the cash.

In her peripherals, she saw him slipping through the double sets of doors. The tension fell from her shoulders as he turned the corner, into a nearby alley they had passed.

The shopkeeper appeared from the door at the back just a moment later. She played it off, leaning lazily against the counter as he reached her, hand outstretched with an entire package of cigarettes.

Hermione gasped, pressing a hand to her chest. “No fucking way!”

He chuckled. “I have a bit of a habit myself. Always have a spare so it’s no problem.”

“What’s your name by the way?” she cooed, leaning in to wrap her fingers around the package.

“Jake,” he answered. “What’s yours?”

“Hannah.” Hermione responded, thinking quickly. “Thank you, Jake,” she smiled back at him. “You’re a lifesaver.”

He blushed, fidgeting with the pocket of his trousers. “Are you going out to the pubs tonight?”

“I was certainly considering it,” she smiled. “Any good ones around here?”

He pulled his lips to the side in contemplation. “There’s the Drunken Dragon—over on Fenchurch.”

“Is that the best one, you reckon?”

“Probably packed tonight, if that’s your style,” he replied. “Just a street over, towards the tower.”

“Right. Well maybe I’ll see you there,” she winked. “Cheers, Jake!” she shouted back to him, cigarettes waving in the air as she left.

☘︎

Theodore was leaned against the stone wall of the neighbouring alley when she found him, dressed in brand new black trousers that hugged his arse in all the right places. His emerald eyes flickered as she approached him. “Make a friend in there, did you?”

“Perhaps,” she said with a smirk, shaking the carton of cigarettes in her hands.

His brows rose, eyes sweeping down her frame. “What did blondie want for those, hm?”

She gasped, whacking him in the chest. “Nothing! You’re a horribly jealous man.”

He hummed, slipping a hand around her waist to tug her in. “It’s not jealousy, love.”

Hermione’s cheeks heated. The possession in his gaze told her everything she needed to know. “Perhaps you’ll have to explore that compulsion of yours with Dr. Grant. It’s rather unhealthy.”

“I don’t think so.” His lips pulled into a feline smile. She felt something press into her chest and she looked down to see a mix of plaid and green sequinned clothing.

“What is this?”

“Your outfit.” She would have heard the smile in his voice if she hadn’t been staring right at it. As it stood, she was still utterly transfixed by the sight of it.

Snatching the material from his hand, she issued him an order. “Cover me.” He let her pull him around, twisting so his large frame concealed her.

She hung the black long-sleeve top over his shoulder, left with a tiny article of black and green plaid and black-strapped buckles. “This is an awfully skimpy choice for someone who doesn’t appreciate seeing other men speak to me.”

He chuckled, low and dark. “Good thing nobody else will be touching you tonight then.”

“I wonder if you’ll even bother,” she prodded, stepping out of her trousers with a quick glance to the dead-end of the alley—just to make sure they were actually alone.

“Do you know that old saying, Granger? ‘Good things come to those who wait?’”

She huffed out a laugh, shimmying the skirt up her waist. “You know what I think, Theodore? I think you just like to watch me suffer.” She shook her head as she noted that the straps sat snugly upon her thigh, just beneath a less-than-modest slit.

“Suffer? No. It’s delightful to see you squirm though.” His eyes connected with hers as she peeled off her scarf and jumper, swapping it with the black shirt over his shoulder. He smirked, not even trying to be subtle as he tilted his head downwards, assessing her partially-bare chest. She scoffed, flicking a finger up his chin to scold him. He cast his gaze to the darkened sky with a deep and dramatic sigh.

When she pulled the shirt over her torso, she gasped. A laugh escaped her when she saw two glittering shamrocks on either side of the deep ‘V’ neckline—right over her tits. “You’re unbelievable. I’m going to be cold all night in this and you’re in a fucking jumper!”

“No you won’t.” A wash of magic blanketed her, a tingling warmth caressing every inch of her exposed skin. He stepped back, sweeping his eyes over her with silent satisfaction. “Give us a spin, yeah?”

She glared at him, biting back a smile. Then she slowly turned, blushing as he whistled. “You look fucking hot,” he nearly whined. She felt a tug on the rear of her skirt and the material slipped down an inch further. “Better. But one last touch.” Theodore produced two flashing shamrock pins from his pocket, securing one of them to her chest. His fingers grazed her soft skin in a way that she knew was meant to drive her insane. He finished, wrapping the scarf back around her neck and secured the other to his jumper.

Hermione rolled her eyes, amused. “Come on. I know where we’re going.”

☘︎

“No—no, no, no,” Hermione offered the bouncer a strange look as he protested their entrance when they finally reached the Drunken Dragon pub. “You—” he pointed at Theodore. “Out. You’re banned from ‘ere!”

“Me?” Theodore protested. “What did I do? I’ve only just arrived!”

“I wouldn’t expect you to remember, bloody nutter.” The bouncer pointed to a slew of photographs, plastered upon a worn cork board. Hermione gathered quite quickly that it was a wall of shame—if the nature of each photograph were of any indication. Her hand came up to her mouth to stifle a laugh as she spotted a photograph of Theodore. He was stood upon the an old oakwood bar, pint glass outstretched like a wand. His eyes were unfocused, lids heavy—so obviously plastered.

Theodore seemed just as shocked as her to see the image. “That must’ve been the night then,” he said matter of fact, turning sheepishly to the bouncer. “Say, did I leave anything behind when I was here? I’m missing a…stick. Long, wooden…ring any bells?”

“Get the fuck out of here mate!” the bouncer grunted, waving them aside.

“Alright, alright!” Theodore held his hands up in surrender. “Bloody twat.”

Hermione laughed and tugged at his arm. “Come on, I saw another place like two doors over anyways.”

“They named it the bloody ‘Drunken Dragon’ and expect people not to get fucking pissed in their establishment?” Theodore complained the whole two doors down. “Bloody plonkers.”

Hermione said through fits of laughter. “You really don’t remember a thing?”

He shook his head. “Never seen that place in my life, I swear.”

“I think it was here—” Hermione paused, peering into a dark alley. Music and laughter floated into the street from a sketchy black door. She pursued it, and by some miracle, found no bouncer waiting by the door to ask for identification that neither of them would have.

Hermione was delighted to discover it was a grimy establishment. The kind that forwent wallpaper in place of thousands of band posters and odd stickers, peeling and torn across every inch of the wall. The bass of the music, the smell of sticky beer and liquor—it went straight to her head.

She wanted to shriek with delight, for how long it had been since she’d looked forward to this kind of fun. Hermione turned to find Theodore grinning ear to ear as well. “Seeing as we’re dead broke, I’ll need to chat with someone to get us some drinks. You realize that, yes?”

Theodore’s eyebrows shot up. “Do what you need to do, I’m a secure man.” He gave her a wicked grin. “But Granger,” he called, grasping her wrists as she turned to leave. “If whatever poor sod paying for our liquor this evening touches you, I’ll have to remove his hands.”

A laugh bubbled up her throat, but she choked it back when she saw the spark of verity in his eyes. It shouldn’t have thrilled her the way it did. She met his stare with a fiery gleam of challenge. Hermione hiked the waistband of her skirt up the inch he’d deemed too short. His eyes darkened, sending a flutter to her stomach before she turned on her heels to search for her victim.

It didn’t take long.

She leaned against the bar, surveying the crowd. Only a few moments later an older gentleman approached her, mirroring her lax demeanour. “If you’re looking for someone, you’ve found him.”

Hermione feigned boredom as she scanned her eyes over the man—salt and pepper hair, blue eyes—a bit older than she’d usually go for, but it’s not like she was actually intending on sleeping with the bloke. “Well I was looking for someone to buy me a drink,” she drawled.

He chuckled. “Confident. I like that in a woman.”

“Do you?” she said, as if it were the most boring conversation in the world. Men tended to like that, she’d also discovered.

“As I said. You’ve found him,” he closed the space between them, leaning in to speak over the thumping music. “What are you drinking?”

Hermione tilted her head in contemplation, turning around to scan the bar. She knew, when his eyes drifted to the curve of her arse, that she’d landed a sinker. “Scotch, maybe? Two nice, tall glasses? On the rocks.”

“You’ve got great taste,” he gave her an appraising smirk. “I could definitely do with a stiff one of those right now.”

“Make sure you order three then.” Hermione graced him with a partial smile, trying not to gag at the emphasis he’d placed on the word ‘stiff.’ “Do you have a name?”

He laughed, signalling the bartender and relaying the order. “Killian.”

“What do you do for a living, Killian?” she lilted. “Must be something decent to afford all of that scotch. Her eyes greedily trailed the bartender’s heavy pour.

“I’m in private equity,” he boasted.

This got her attention. She pressed her lips into a thin smile, twisting towards the bartender. “Sir—yes, sorry. I’ll actually take the bottle please.”

Killian barked out a laugh, the sound was raspy, and to her horror— attractive. Hermione wondered when she developed issues related to father figures, but did not find it shocking at all that she had. “You’re an audacious little thing, aren’t you?”

She hummed, dragging her eyes over his crisp black attire. “Why, do you like it?”

“Very much so,” he drawled.

“Mummy boss you around as a boy?” she dismissed.

“You’ve got me all figured out, don’t you?” he flirted, eyes trailing the column of her neck.

“A glass, please?” Hermione added to the bartender, who promptly slid a highball her way. She poured a heavy helping of the smoky scotch into the glass, speaking as she worked. “I do, actually. And I reckon you respect hard work, perhaps delay before gratification. So I’ll leave you with this.” She slid the glass in Killian’s direction. “And I’ll meet you back here at ten, when I’m nice and drunk, yes?”

His eyes sparkled with confirmation, though a hint of curiosity and uncertainty still lingered there, so he wasn’t all stupid. “You’re an odd one…but sure.”

“My name is Hannah, by the way.” The bottle resonated as she dragged it across the sticky bar by its neck. She stood on her tip toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Thanks for the drink, Killian." She flicked her eyes up to the clock above the bar, biting back a laugh as she tore off into the crowd and disappeared.

It was already 10:15.

The smile fell from her face when she found Theodore, standing where she left him. But he wasn’t alone. Two blondes in matching green tube-tops and glossy lips hovered in his bubble. Each brush of their polished fingers against him grated on her patience.

He spied her, and any envy she felt dissipated when she registered the way he was looking at her. But her competitive nature persisted. Paying no attention to the blondes, she slid into his side. Her arm laced around his neck, the bottle dangling over his shoulder. And then she pressed her lips to his.

He loosed a breath, leaning into it with equal intention.

It was an effort not to get caught up in one another. They only broke apart when he tugged on the bottle. “What’s this you’ve got?” He muttered against her lips. She pulled away with a victorious smile, keeping her eyes glued to his, dilated and hungry.

The blondes had left at least. Good riddance.

She tugged it back from his grasp, taking a healthy swig. A cough burst from her throat with no warning. It had been a while, she’d forgotten how smoky the liquor tasted. “Scotch. Do you want to invite your girlfriends back here? It would be horrendously selfish of me to hog it all for myself.”

Theodore hummed, looming over her. “Now who’s jealous?”

“At least I’m honest about it.” Hermione scoffed.

He wrapped his large hand around hers, which gripped the neck of the bottle and smirked, bringing it to his lips. He too coughed, sending Hermione into a fit of laughter that broke the building tension between them. “Merlin, is this distilled from human piss?”

“It must be the good stuff, the man I swindled it from was in finance.”

“Finance?” He cocked his head, confused.

She snorted. “Nevermind. Want to play a drinking game to catch up with the rest of these drunkards?”

“I’m game,” he offered her a crooked smile.

“Alright then,” Hermione plotted. “Ever heard of fuck, marry, kill?”

He looked uncertain, furrowing his brows. “Definitely not. It sounds rather…involved.”

Hermione laughed, biting her lip as his mouth touched the bottle’s spout. “I’ll give you three names. Tell me who you’d fuck, who you’d marry, and who you’d kill.”

“I’m confused. When does the drinking come in?” he asked between swigs.

“I don’t know, drink between rounds I guess.” Hermione smirked, taking the bottle back. “Okay. First three names.” She took a swig while she thought, passing it back to Theodore. “Lavender Brown, Parvati Patil, Padma Patil.”

He choked on his next shot. “Granger, two of those people look exactly the same and the other is fucking dead.”

“Are looks all that matter to you?” She teased. It was a horrible joke, but it was how she coped and she would not feel guilty about such a thing. Theodore too, she knew.

“You’re sick, you know that?” He shook his head with a sigh, playing along like she knew he would. “Fine. Fuck Parvati. Marry Padma. Kill Brown…for obvious reasons.”

“Because she was insufferable?” Hermione bit back.

He pressed his fingers to his nose in exasperation. “Because she’s already dead, and I don’t have to feel guilty about it.”

“How did you decide between the twins?” Hermione was genuinely curious about that one.

“I’d marry Padma, because she’s a fucking saint for taking your ginger cunt of an ex-boyfriend to the yule ball.”

Hermione burst into laughter. “Okay, fair enough. You’re turn.”

He grimaced. “I don’t know if I want to hear your answers, but sure. Let’s see…keeping on trend with the Gryffindors; Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas.”

“Easy. Fuck Neville, Marry Dean, Kill Seamus.”

“Glad we’re aligned on that last one there…but going to need some justification for the first one if I’m going to get any sleep tonight,” he said dourly.

“Come on, he grew into himself!” Hermione smirked. “But I prefer the more assertive type, thus, not suitable for marriage.”

“Alright—don’t like it, but sure,” he nearly growled. “Blaise Zabini, George Weasley, Terry Boot.”

“It’s my turn!” Hermione protested.

“I get an extra round because you’ve offended me.” Theodore stated with a saccharine smile.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Fine. Marry George, kill Terry. He was such a know-it-all little shit.”

“And Blaise?” Theodore gave her a pointed look.

“I would fuck Blaise.” Hermione laughed, throwing her face into her hands. “I really would.”

“I don’t like this game,” Theodore really growled that time.

Hermione snickered in response. “Don’t be such a poor sport!”

“You’ve just admitted that not only do you still have a thing for the Weasleys, but that you’d also fuck one of my best friends.”

“Ask me which one of your best friends I’d kill though.” Hermione snorted, swallowing another mouthful. “My turn! Ginny Weasley, Luna Lovegood, and er…Daphne Greengrass.”

Theodore stepped into her bubble, looking her in the eyes. “Marry Luna, Kill Ginevra.”

“And Daphne ?” Hermione asked, unable to hide the bitter undertone in her voice.

“Fuck Daphne, because I already have.”

A spark of envy burned through her. “You’re a mean drunk.”

“You started it, little witch.” He smirked. “My turn. Or do you not want to play anymore?”

Hermione’s spine straightened and she met him with the full force of her stubborn nature. “No, be my guest!”

His hand drifted to her waist, “Theodore Nott,” he muttered, leaning in. “Theodore Nott,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to her jaw. “And Theodore Nott.” he finished with lips still grazing her face.

Her breath stuttered. “You’re not giving me much to choose from there.”

He pulled back, grinning as he took another drink. They’d nearly demolished half of the bottle already and Hermione was most certainly beginning to feel it. “That’s because you don’t have a choice.”

“I don’t?” she contested. “That’s news to me.”

His eyes didn’t leave hers as he took a swig. Hermione was about to push him for more when a lively Irish song began to boom through the speakers. She gasped, eyes widening with excitement when she recognized the familiar tune.

“What the bloody hell is this?” Theodore smiled, despite himself.

“Only the best drinking song ever!” Hermione shouted over the cheering crowd. They began to sway and jump to the grating sound of the accordion and then the kick-drum started. She remembered when she heard it for the first time, saw the way the crowd came to life with each abrasive note. Her and Ginny had gone absolutely feral when they’d heard it on their illegal outing—in fact, the memory of it alone nearly gave her a headache.

She grabbed his arm, dragging him into the overheated crowd. He didn’t release his hold on her hand as they moved with the crowd. Hermione laughed, not from a stupid joke, and not half-hearted—she laughed from pure joy. Sweat dripped down her brow as she bounced around with the crowd, never letting go of Theodore’s hand.

“You’re fucking mental!” Theodore laughed as well, over the music. She thought it was the most beautiful sound in the world.

When the song ended she clung to him. “Wanna have a smoke, Theodore?” she slurred, stumbling over her own feet. He caught her, securing a hand around her waist, despite his own intoxication.

He nodded, guiding her towards the back door which led to a smoking area. They burst into the crisp March air with lingering fit of laughter. “Salazar, these muggles go fucking hard.” Theodore proclaimed with a hint of admiration in his voice.

“Life is a lot harder to deal with,” Hermione responded, “without magic, you know?” Her ears rang, voice strained from how hard she’d been screaming the lyrics inside.

Theodore quirked an eyebrow as she pulled the carton of cigarettes from her bra, discarding the near-empty bottle of liquor on the ground beside them. “I thought those looked bigger than usual,” he quipped.

“Sod off, you rake,” she scoffed, pulling a stick from the pack with nimble fingers. “Oh nooo!” she whined with it pressed between her lips. “I forgot to steal a fucking lighter!”

Theodore smirked as he crowded her into an isolated corner and snapped his fingers together. A flickering flame bloomed from his fingers. Hermione was mesmerized as he brought the flame to the end of her cigarette to light it. The flame reflected in his glassy eyes for a long, loaded moment before it sputtered out. “Good thing you’re with an exceptional wizard.”

He plucked it from her lips before she could inhale. “Hey!” she argued, watching as he wrapped his own lips around it, inhaling deeply.

“Fuuck, these are phenomenal,” he whined, holding it just out of her reach. She pouted back at him, eyes following the white cylinder.

“Yeah, wish I could relate,” she snapped with a roll of her eyes.

“Quit rolling your eyes at me, witch,” he teased, smoke pouring from his mouth that she ached to inhale.

“You make it astonishingly easy, Theodore.” She crossed her arms, scrunching her nose up in distaste.

He looked all too amused, chuckling between inhales. As if he read her mind, he held the next drag in and leaned forward. Hermione stilled as his eyes bore into hers with a mischievous gleam. His lips grazed hers and then parted, smoke billowing towards her mouth.

She inhaled lazily, the taste of the smoke was much more harsh than that of the scotch, and the burn even more so. But it hit her veins just as hard, turning every nerve into a live wire. Her eyes drifted back to Theodore’s, whose own were locked onto her lips as she exhaled the smoke.

His eyes flicked up to hers when she took the cigarette back, placing it between her lips, gaze dark and hungry for him. She leaned in and blew the smoke out in a soft puff. Theodore met her half-way, greedily inhaling the intoxicant—but the way he was looking at her had her wondering whether it was the drugs he was after, or the breath from her lungs.

She got her answer when he took a purposeful step forward, crowding her into the wall. And then he locked his grasp around her arm, pushing it against the stone. The lit cigarette fell from her fingers, sparking as it hit the pavement.

His lips found hers and she breathed out a sigh, the last of the smoke feeding into Theodore’s lungs. Drunk as she was, she could still feel the way her body reacted to him—the way it needed him. She moaned as his lips left hers to trail up her jaw, behind her ear, down her throat—every inch of her skin burned beneath the feel of him, more intoxicating than even the scotch or the smoke.

He pulled back to look at her, but before he could come back in to consume her once more, she bit her lip and pressed a hand to his heaving chest. With a smirk she ducked under his arm, darting inside, into the fringe of the crowd, amidst the flashing lights and pulsing music.

“Come here,” she lilted, dragging her eyes over his imposing frame as he caught up to her. He looked right at home beneath the green glow of the St. Patrick’s day lights, with his emerald jumper and glassy eyes.

He took a step forward, and it was only on instinct that she took one back. He cocked his head at her in inquiry, a renewed hunger glittering in his eyes. Then he backed her into the battered, poster-covered wall, into their own little pocket of existence. Her skin tingled as his hand trailed up her neck, coming to rest at the base of her jaw. His eyes glittered with mischief as he spoke. “Open up."

Her eyes were wide, amber, and curious in the worst way as she peered up at him, lips parting under his command. His eyes darkened and his thumb came to her lips, gently guiding them further open to allow for the last swig of their bottle.

“I’ll need a chaser,” she protested before tossing her head back and allowing the smoky liquor to slide down her throat. While she drank in the pungent mouthful, his other hand trailed up beneath her sequinned shirt, gliding across the smooth flesh of her stomach. It curled around her ribcage in possession.

Heat flooded her body and her back arched under his touch.

She swallowed. And when his hungry eyes dipped to her lips, she dragged him to her mouth. The sound of shattering glass pierced her ears as he dropped the bottle upon the sticky floor. He loosed a breathy groan and she swallowed that too.

Theodore pressed her back into the wall with a rough shove. The breath left her lungs upon impact.  She whimpered, wrapping her leg around the back of his knees to pull him closer. His hand grazed her thigh, sliding higher and higher.

She pulled his lip between her teeth, eliciting a growl from him when she broke skin. Her tongue slipped out to wet her lips as he pulled back to swipe the droplet of blood from his. A thrill shot through her as they pulled into a dangerous smirk and his fingers dug into the flesh of her thigh where he still gripped her.

Her mouth dried up as he leaned in. His lips brushed the shell of her ear and the taste of metal still lingered on her tongue. “You’re going to pay for that.” 

Her eyes widened as his hand slid all the way up to her knickers and toyed with hemline, his breath hot on her neck. She struggled under his grasp, breathy and ready to relinquish control to him.

“Right here?” she squeaked.

“Oh yes, Granger, right here.” His free hand clamped over her mouth, stifling her gasp as he slipped his hand beneath the fabric. She went liquid when his fingers feathered her throbbing centre. She couldn’t help herself from gently nipping his hand when he swiped two fingers against her slick warmth.

“Salazar,” he rasped into her ear, “you want me so bad don’t you? Have you been this wet for me all week, little witch?”

Her heart thumped wildly in her chest. “Yes!” she gasped as he circled back again, teasing her entrance. She thought she might combust beneath him, writhing desperately against his fingers.

He paused, pressing his lips to the column of her throat, trailing them up and across her jaw before they were on hers again. She sucked in a breath as he pressed his fingers into her. He caught the sound with his starved kiss, slipping his tongue into her mouth.

A dizzy spell overtook her senses when he curled his fingers and brushed against that perfect spot deep within her. She moaned, louder this time.

“How am I supposed to fuck you with all of these people watching?” He whispered against her lips.

Her neck prickled with heat, waves of pleasure crashing over her with each thrust of his fingers. “Do it anyway—” she moaned when he rocked his fingers inside of her particularly hard.

“No.” His tone was final, commanding in a way that had her fluttering around his fingers. “When you give me that privilege, it will be just for me, won’t it? I’ll keep it in a vial by my pensieve, and revisit the visceral memory of your warm cunt whenever I wake up aching to bury myself inside of you.”

She whimpered, grinding harder against his palm.

He cursed under his breath and began to pound his fingers into her with renewed force. Strangled moans escaped her throat. She raked her nails down his back and dug them into the fabric of his jumper. Tears sprang to her eyes as she felt the stirrings of an orgasm begin deep within her.

His movements didn’t cease, he fucked her relentlessly with his skilled fingers, twisting and curling at exactly the right moments. The rest of the room fell away, along with her concerns that someone might see them, tucked away in the shadows.

“I wish I could taste you.” He panted into her ear. “I’d thought about waiting until we left this fucking bar, but the drink has desecrated my self-control, as per usual.”

“What a shame for me, then—” Hermione gasped, unable to finish her teasing as he brought his thumb up to circle her centre in tandem. She slipped a hand beneath the collar of his shirt, grasping frantically at his shoulder as he brought her to the edge. “Theodore—” she whimpered.

“The night is still young, I suppose,” Theodore lamented, and on the next practiced curl of his fingers, she buried her head into his shoulder, shattering beneath him.

“Fuck—” her voice was muffled by the wool of his jumper and she could feel the heat flooding her cheeks as release tore through her.

His chest rumbled with a chuckle, his movement slowing as she jerked in his steady arms. When she finally stilled, panting, he withdrew his hand, rubbing comforting and sensual circles into the top of her thigh. She caught her breath, breathing in the scent of him as she waited for the dizziness to subside.

“You’re just a mindless slag like the rest of them then, hm?” A voice slurred from nearby.

Hermione pulled away from Theodore’s shoulder to glance to her left with widened eyes. Killian, the man who had bought her the scotch, stood seething about three feet away from where they still stood, passionately entangled with one another.

“What did you say mate?” Theodore barked, shifting to shield her from him.

“Theodore—” Hermione slurred, tugging anxiously at his arm. He pulled it away.

“You women are all the fucking same!” His laugh was bitter, vicious. "Users and whores. I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised anymore.”

Hermione shouted Theodore’s name just as he sprang forward and launched himself at the man. Killian held his own, ducking away from Theodore’s fist and landing one of his own in his ribs.

A scream burst forth from her, but Theodore didn’t even flinch. Hermione attributed the lack of response to his level of intoxication. She could barely feel her own feet as they moved to intercept the brawl.

Kilian’s arm swung out, knocking her backwards as she was caught in the crossfire. Faceless hands from the gathering crowd caught her before she hit the ground, helping her back to her feet.

Theodore looked back at her with blatant concern, wide-eyed and fearful, and then a cold fury washed over him. His whole body twisted, fist connecting with Killian’s cheek. Blood spattered across the wall from what Hermione could only assume was a broken nose. Then Killian was pressed up against the wall, Theodore’s hand around his neck, muttering threats into his ear.

Hermione screeched, lurching forward to pull Theodore away from the scene. “We need to go, Theodore!” she shouted at him, sobered temporarily by the adrenaline. “Now!”

He didn’t listen, clutching a dizzied Killian by the jaw with an iron grasp.

Hermione slipped between them, begging him to listen to her and at last his wide eyes registered her. “Come on, please Theodore,” she begged, trying to temper her voice, to deescalate the situation. “Let’s go,” she tugged at his jumper. “Please—before the police show up.” 

On her third tug, he released Killian, pushing him to the ground. His arm gripped hers, pulling her through the dense crowd, escaping through the back doors just as the house lights turned on.

“Run,” he urged, pushing him ahead of her. “I’m too drunk to apparate us.”

Hermione’s feet pounded against the pavement. It was an effort to stay the course with the amount of alcohol pumping through her system.

When they reached the corner of the street upon which the Westminster Mind Centre was located, Hermione stopped to lean against a chain-link fence. She heaved, from physical exhaustion and rapidly growing panic. It had been a long time since she’d witnessed violence like that, and she would be lying if she said it didn’t disturb her.

“Hermione—” Theodore’s regretful voice broke from behind her. “Are you alright?”

“What was that!” she whirled on him. “Why the hell did you do that?”

His hands, which had been braced to reach for her, froze and fell to his sides. “I don’t—” he carded his hands through his hair. “Merlin, I’m so sorry, Hermione. You could’ve gotten fucking hurt!” His eyes trailed over her body, as if to make sure she hadn’t.

“No you could have gotten hurt!” she shouted as her eyes welled up. “Did you not hear me when I said that the muggles around here carry knives, Theodore?”

He took a step towards her, pleading “I’m so fucking sorry, Hermione. Please believe me, it’s just—” he seemed wholly uncomfortable, and incredibly distraught. “I get weird, you know, with men like that. Hypervigilant.”

Hermione’s brows knit together. She swiped a stray tear from her cheek. “All he did was say something foul, Theodore, you started the physical fight.”

“I know,” he breathed out, approaching her. “That’s how it usually starts, and I—” he groaned, rubbing at his red-ringed eyes.

“How what usually starts, Theodore? You’re making no sense!” Hermione protested, softening as she saw the genuine regret in his features. She stepped forward, pulling his hand from his face to replace it with her own.

He searched her eyes, though his were unfocused as he leaned drunkenly into her touch. “I’m sorry if I frightened you.” His hand came up to cover hers. It was cold from the early morning chill.

“We’re horribly drunk. It happens.” Hermione’s thumb feathered his cheek. “We should probably go back, get some sleep though, yeah? We can talk about this tomorrow—or never again, if you’d prefer.”

He nodded. "Yes—alright.”

☘︎

“Have you got it?” Hermione prompted softly as Theodore struggled with the locked door of the stairwell to their floor.

“Having a bit of trouble—” he said through gritted teeth. “Fuck—” he threw his hands against the door. “For fuck sake!”

Hermione stumbled clumsily towards him. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m too bloody pissed, can’t focus,” he sighed, leaning his head back against the door with a thud. He slid down, legs outstretched before him in resignation.

“Hey,” Hermione slipped into his side, brushing a hand down his shoulder. He rolled his head to peer at her and her stomach fluttered. In the stark white light of the stairwell, Hermione could see the extent of his injuries. His lip was split, and there was a small cut on his eyebrow as well. She reached a hand out to lift his jumper when she recalled the hit Killian had landed. His hand flung out to stop her.

“Stop,” he whispered.

“Why, is it bad? Are you in pain?” Her eyes flickered over his face.

“No it’s just—” his breathing picked up, fingers curling around her hand with a gentle squeeze. “I don’t want you to see.”

Dread washed through her. “See what? What’s got you so afraid?” The look on his face was pained, like he was warring with two versions of himself. A moment later he dropped her hand with a shuddering breath.

“I don’t have to Theodore, I just wanted to make sure you didn’t break a bloody rib, that’s all,” she urged, struggling to decipher his odd behaviour. She wasn’t used to seeing him so…emotional. Amber spirits could do that to a person, she supposed.

He breathed out a strained laugh, waving his hand out in a flourish of permission to proceed. Her brows knit together, and she reached again for his jumper. He tensed beneath her gentle touch as she pulled it up towards his ribcage.

She inhaled sharply when she saw it.

Not the bruise—though there was a sizeable one developing in the middle of his ribcage—but the scars. His skin was littered with them, jagged and vicious and marred. Magical in nature and not properly healed. Not by a landslide. When she pulled the other side of his jumper up, she saw much of the same—no rhyme or reason, just everywhere.

For the second time that evening, tears pricked her eyes.

“Don’t do that,” he pleaded, and she could hear the lump in his own throat. “Don’t cry.”

Her voice trembled as she responded. “Who did this to you?”

“I usually keep them glamoured, but,” he offered, ignoring her question. “Is my rib okay?”

Hermione felt as though she shouldn’t push, even though she had a strong suspicion that she already knew who had done it to him. “It’s—” she had to clear her throat, to try and dislodge the emotion trapped there. “There’s a bruise, I’d reckon it’s going to hurt quite a bit tomorrow.”

He shrugged. “I’ll heal it when I sober up.”

“Godric, you know healing magic too?” Hermione asked, flustered.

He merely nodded. “Had to learn.”

Her lip quivered and she choked back a sob.

His hands came up to her face, cradling it. “Stop that,” he ordered. “Stop it.”

“I’m sorry—” she hiccuped, sniffling. “It’s just—”

He interrupted her response with a kiss—deep and slow, just like she’d craved earlier that evening. And she breathed into his mouth, kissing him back with all of the emotion that threatened to burst from her chest.

He pulled away after a long moment and wrapped his arms around her to tug her into him. She basked in the warmth of him, in the wild beat of his heart beneath her ear.

They stayed like that until her eyes grew heavy and fluttered shut.

Chapter Text

Hermione had drifted in and out of consciousness a few times throughout the evening, never fully lucid. Strong arms had enveloped her body—or at least that’s what it had felt like. Akin to a weighted blanket, secure and comforting.

The warmth was the first thing she noticed as she came into herself again. It was quickly overshadowed by the bolt of searing pain that tore through her head. It jarred her so much that her eyes fluttered open with a groan. Her eyes involuntarily chased the ceiling as it seemed to spin around and around again.

And suddenly she was fully conscious, mouth filled with saliva.

Jerking upright with a vengeance, Hermione leaned over the bed and vomited into the bin beside her cot. Tears sprang to her eyes as she emptied the contents of her stomach into it. There was not much that she hated more than being sick. Hard liquor was not her usual choice of poison—only when her sole objective was to let loose and forget everything that had ever happened to her.

“Hermione?” Theodore’s groggy voice called through the dim blue light of dawn that glowed from the hallway.

She froze as she felt the tiny cot move beside her while she panted over the bin. Gentle, languid hands gathered her unruly curls into a bunch safely behind her shoulders. When she opened her mouth to speak, she needed to lean into the bin once again.

“Are you good, love?” Hermione couldn’t answer between coughs and gasps for breath. She clenched her eyes shut and tried with all of her might to focus upon the soft glide of his hands along her spine. Her panting began to subside as he slipped his hands beneath the back of her jumper, cooling her overheated skin. “Granger?”

Hermione nodded, coughing and spitting into the bin. “Fuck—” she gasped, suddenly all too aware of the state he was seeing her in. “I’m sorry this is horrible.” A black tidal wave crashed over her senses and she groaned as she let it pass, steadying herself with an elbow upon her mattress.

“Don’t apologize,” he responded with a gentle tone as she sat up to get her bearings. Theodore smoothed the hair back from her face, cautious and achingly gentle.

A flood of memories came back to her—they’d been outside. “What are you doing in here?”

Silence blanketed the room for a long moment. “You asked me to stay.”

Red bloomed in her cheeks and she was glad he could not see it. “How did we even get here?”

“I couldn’t sleep. Sobered up enough eventually to get the locks,” he whispered back. A wash of magic and the mess she’d made had been scourgified from the bin. “You should lie down, you look awfully faint.”

“What time is it?” she croaked.

“Around five, I think.”

She cursed and dragged her hands down her face. And then she felt a tug at her arm and she heeled to it. The warmth of his body as he tucked her into his arms was a tincture to her upset stomach, the rhythm of his breaths a grounding force. Despite her hangover, her eyelids were still heavy, begging her to succumb to sleep.

“Theodore?” she mumbled, twisting to face him. “You don’t have to stay.”

He looked back at her curiously through the near-darkness. “Do you want me to leave?”

No! “Only if you don’t want to be here,” she mumbled into his shirt.

He offered her no response, instead his arms tightened around her and he pulled her in. “Sleep. I’ll clear out just before rounds.”

Hermione wouldn’t have had the energy to fight him if she’d even wanted to. So she relaxed against him, allowing her stomach to settle as sleep claimed her once more.

☘︎

A gentle knock at the door signalled the end of their session later that morning. “Dr. Grant?” Nurse Mandy’s soft voice greeted him as she poked her head through the crack of the door. Hermione noticed that her hair had dulled a few shades since she and Theodore had arrived.

“Good Afternoon Mandy,” his voice was warm, but still solemn from their topic of conversation. “You’ve brought Henri with you?”

Hermione sniffled, wiping at her eyes.

The door swung open but Henri was not there.

“Actually, Nurse Evans is on his way with him. They should be here in a couple of minutes,” she hesitated. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but I’m needing to borrow Ms. Granger.”

Hermione’s head swivelled at this, her brows knit together.

“We were wrapping up anyways, it’s no trouble,” Dr. Grant reassured. “Hermione, are you alright to go with Nurse Mandy or do you need a few minutes alone?”

She blinked through the dampness in her eyes. “What do you need me for?”

A warm smile took over her face, “I’m not sure, darling. The front paged me a few moments ago asking for me to bring you up.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, standing on wobbly legs with a nod. “I’m fine to go.”

“I’m here until eight this evening, should you need me.” Dr. Grant placed a comforting hand on her shoulder as he led her out to hand her off to Nurse Mandy. “Just tell your attending—Dr. Evans, I believe?”

Hermione nodded, following Mandy out the door.

She was an absolute wreck as she trailed behind her a few paces—more so than usual. She wiped at her puffy eyes with the stretched sleeve of the oversized jumper she had kept from the first evening she had snuck out with Theodore.

Her breakfast had been spent curled over the toilet and she had been forced to eat in her room. At least they’d given her anti-nausea medication—it seemed to have settled her stomach a little, though the headache remained. The thought of spending her free period with Theodore dulled the ache of the wounds that had been ripped open and dissected, but it did not mend them. She knew from experience that only time could do such a thing.

And the mental exhaustion—it was an effort to put one foot in front of the other while she made her way to the administration office. Her session had drained her so much that she thought she might collapse right in the middle of the hallway, humming with fluorescent lights and smelling of bleach and sanitizer.

Dr. Grant had made her try the strange exercise again, and she’d made the mistake of thinking she was ready to confront one of her biggest traumas. It hadn’t gone so well this time—mainly she had cried and nearly blacked out when she had tried to focus on it. She could swear her arm had begun to itch because of the attempt.

“Ms. Granger?” A vaguely familiar woman asked of Nurse Mandy upon their arrival to the office, who nodded in response. “Do you know if the other is on his way?”

Nurse Mandy nodded, “they’ll be along shortly.”

The blonde woman turned to greet her. “Come with me, Ms. Granger—you’ve got visitors.”

“Visitors?” Hermione followed her through the doors, stomach in her throat.

Her heart jumped when she was greeted by a sheepish man with bright green eyes and shaggy black hair. She gasped, melancholy and hangover nearly forgotten at the sight of him. Then she darted towards him.

“Harry!”

He accepted her with open arms and gave her a tight squeeze as she collided with his form. He smelled the same way he always had—quidditch leathers and fresh laundry. He had never been one for scented washes and colognes.

“Hermione!” he sounded relieved as he pulled back, scanning her person.

It was then that another scent invaded her nose. Minty and woodsy, entirely tailored to its person and most definitely cologne. She recognized it before she saw him—like a punch to the gut. Her eyes darted to the left, a little behind Harry. The wizard in question stood tall and silent in a coat far too fine for a place like this.

She soured. “What is Malfoy doing here?”

He, as per usual, was just as quick to jump on the offence with that familiar bored and aristocratic drawl that used to get under her skin so much. “I think the question as it stands is what are you doing here?”

“Malfoy, please,” Harry warned.

Malfoy snapped his mouth shut, pursing his lips as if to seal his silver tongue behind them.

She regarded him with distrust before turning back to Harry. “I don’t understand—” she stuttered, at a loss for words, “what are either of you doing here? How did you even find me?”

“You don’t understand?” he asked incredulously. “Seriously, Hermione?”

A crease formed between her brows and unease settled itself once again in the pits of her stomach.

“You haven’t shown up to work! No one has heard from you or seen you—there’s not even a trace of your magic to be found! What the bloody hell do you mean you ‘don’t understand?’”

Draco seemed to be enjoying the way Harry was flying off the handle a little too much—Hermione saw his lips twitch upwards in amusement.

“Do you mind?” she sniped, glaring at him. “If you’ve come to check yourself in, I’m sure the nice lady behind the desk can get you some forms!”

“Hermione—” Harry cautioned.

Malfoy opened his mouth to retort whatever vitriol was hanging from the tip of his tongue, but then his storming eyes drifted behind her and the furrow reappeared between his own brows.

“Draco?”

Hermione whirled around to see Theodore, just as dumbstruck by their appearance as she had been.

“Nott, what the fuck!” he accused as Theodore halted at Hermione’s side, lingering, as he had been doing lately—her shoulders relaxed an inch.

“Language boys!” the blonde staff member hushed them. “Let’s all move into the visitor’s room, yes?”

“All of us?” Hermione asked with a pointed tone.

“We have two of them available at the moment so split yourselves up accordingly, but I will not have any further inflammatory language in the lobby, if you please.”

Theodore glanced at Hermione and she responded with a slight shrug. The feel of his gaze upon her was a balm, and she lingered beneath it for a long moment.

Draco's eyes flickered between the pair of them with silent curiosity.  “Right, you two piss off to that room,” he ordered to Harry, breaking her from her reprieve. “Nott.” He jerked his head to the room on the left and stormed off.

Harry watched on with equal curiosity as Theodore’s fingers lightly grazed her wrists before he broke off from her side to follow Draco into the room.

“Let’s go then!” Hermione huffed, tearing off into the opposite room.

Harry slinked through the door just as she sat down on one of the opposing sofas, shutting it quietly behind him. He sighed and slumped down beside her with raised eyebrows. “I was bloody worried about you, Hermione. I had no clue where you were—if you were even alright!”

She crossed her arms, tucking her socked-feet beneath her.

His eyes softened as he recognized the tell of her vulnerability. “Are you alright? Why are you in this…place?”

“You can say the word, Harry,” she said with a dry laugh, “the psychiatric hospital—the looney bin—go on!”

He frowned. “I’m not here to antagonize you Hermione.”

She melted a little, gnawing on her lip. “My neighbour called the police on me. Wellness check.”

“Judith?” he uttered with a confused tilt of his head. “When I asked her if she’d seen you she said she hadn’t!”

Hermione scoffed. “I’m not surprised! She’s a lying slag.”

Harry laughed, “she’s eighty-nine!”

“You’d be shocked to learn what they get up to at that age.”

His continued laughter was music to her ears and her mouth twitched, just a little.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” she resigned after a long moment.

His expression deflated. “Your flat was in quite a state when we found it. Bloody hell, my stomach dropped when I stepped through that door—the smell! I was relieved not to find your corpse in the tub!” He paused with a grimace. “Then I was a little angry with you, I won’t lie.”

“You have every right to be, I'm so sorry.” She grabbed his hand with a squeeze. “I was just so tired, Harry. When they put me in here I sort of gave up. And it was only supposed to be three days!”

His brow quirked, “you’ve been M.I.A. for nearly a month.”

She flashed him a guilty smile. “It’s a very long story.”

“Does it have anything to do with the fact that Theodore Nott is in here with you, and seems to be glued to your side?”

She flushed.

“Oh my god, Hermione!” he gasped, “are you blushing?”

“Shut up!” she curled in on herself, trying and failing to hide her face from her best friend.

“What the hell is the story there? At least give me something!” he begged.

“It’s quite ironic, isn’t it,” she commented passively.

“That the muggles have managed to lock up a wizard from of the most sacred bloodlines in Wizarding Britain?” Harry led, “Oh it’s not ironic! It’s probably the funniest shite I’ve seen all year.”

Hermione broke into laughter with him. “He was drunk and well…he shouted at some muggles that he was a wizard. If you ask me, this is best-case scenario—it could have been an Azkaban sentence had they believed the drunken arsehole.”

“Malfoy said that was when he last saw him—out drinking,” Harry said bemused. “You should have seen him, walking into my office with his tail between his legs to appeal for my help.”

Hermione snorted, “I can’t believe you even let him in!”

“Oh I didn’t!” he protested. “He bribed my secretary and somehow managed to clear my calendar of meetings.” Harry looked comically uneasy as he continued, “I think he threatened a few of them, because the rep at MACUSA won’t call me back.”

“That’s pretty on brand for him, isn’t it?” Hermione chided.

“Yep,” he hummed, “he’s a little frightening at times.”

“How did you find us then?” she pressed.

“Not easily!” He shook his head in disbelief. “I was about one day away from accepting Malfoy’s highly illegal suggestion to use dark magic, Hermione!”

She scrunched her face up in sheepish apology and let him continue.

“It was completely by chance. Lee Jordan took some leave for three weeks and just happened to see you two out staggering down the bloody streets last night. He tailed your drunken arses back to this place and flooed me straight after.”

She whined, “I’m so sorry,”

“Three in the morning, Hermione!” he complained, but his expression shifted again into one of warmth. “While I was very tired and irritable, it was a massive relief to know that you were okay…sort of. Godric, the red tape here to visit was out of this world! You have to book at least three days in advance and fill out a bunch of bloody forms!”

“It hasn’t been three days…” Hermione squinted at him. “Why does it feel like you’re leaving something out?”

He cringed.

She gasped, “what did you do?”

“Accepted a highly illegal suggestion of dark magic,” he mumbled under his breath.

“Harry!” she attempted to scold but couldn’t stifle her laughter. “That’s a horrible abuse of power, Head Auror!”

His laughter quieted after a moment as though he’d remembered something unsavoury. “It’s a funny thing, Hermione,” he started, “when I suggested that we check to see if you were at your parents’ place, Ron got this funny look on his face—you know the one where he’s hiding something and doing a really shite job of it?”

Her stomach lurched, “Harry—”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he interrupted softly.

“I don’t know, I—” She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth, struggling to find the words, “I wanted to, I really did but… so much time had passed—”

“Why didn’t you tell me before all that time had passed?” A flicker of hurt flashed within his gaze.

Her eyes watered again as she contemplated. “I didn’t want you to have anyone else to worry about."

“I worried about you anyways, Hermione. You are my best friend—it stings to think you had to hold all of that in while you were busy holding all of us together.” His own eyes watered, causing hers to spill over with a mix of deep-seated grief and relief.

He pulled her into a tight hug.

“Theodore as good as said you would say that,” she sniffled into his shoulder.

“You told Nott?” he asked with a pointed but gentle tone. “You’ve grown pretty close then, have you?”

She pulled away, stealing a tissue from the worn coffee table between them. “A bit. I still don’t know an awful lot about him but… he’s funny, and kind, and honestly I might have gone crazy in here without him. You should see some of the people in here.”

A warm smile dawned on Harry’s face. “I’m surprised neither of you have made to break out of here yet.”

She laughed through lingering tears, “would you believe it might actually be helping us?”

Harry issued her a half-smile, patting her on the hand before squeezing it beneath his own. “I’m glad you have someone to talk to, Hermione. I’m only sorry that you didn’t think you could talk to me but…perhaps I’m a little too close to the narrative to have offered the right advice.”

Hermione hesitated, another admission dying to break free of her heart. “While we’re being truthful, can I tell you something else?”

Harry quirked a brow and nodded.

“If the Ministry hasn’t already replaced me, I’m going to resign when I get released,” she spoke quickly, “I’m utterly miserable there and it’s time that I admitted that to myself. I think I was just frightened because that had always been the plan and…outside of it, I don’t have another one.”

“What?” Harry feigned shock. “You miserable with work? Noo.”

“You knew?”

“Hermione—someone filed a report with me, which stated that at the last vote you cursed the brand-new Chief Warlock out and broke the hinges off of the fifteen-foot door on the way out,” he chuckled, softening again. “Nobody with an ounce of happiness in their heart could have succeeded in yanking something that hard.”

“There might have been some accidental magic involved,” she grinned sheepishly.

“My point exactly.” He smiled at her. “So…when do you get out?”

“End of the month.”

“Do you want me to...come get you or anything?” he offered with a questioning look.

She shook her head, eyes drifting to the curly-haired wizard pacing the lobby. “I think I’ll be alright."

“Unless he gets himself arrested—that lady out there does not look happy,” he joked.

Hermione smirked as she watched the staff member trying to get Theodore and Draco to stop verbally sparring once again in the common space. His eyes connected with hers and she saw that his mouth was moving rapidly, perhaps with a hint of exasperation.

A moment later the door burst open and the two of them were funnelling in through the door.

Hermione’s gaze was locked onto Theodore, but drifted when she saw the dismay in Draco’s eyes. He stared beyond the reinforced glass window behind the sofa that Harry and Hermione still perched on. She turned around to see what he was looking at, only to see Patricia screeching to a halt while Barry carried on beside her, view obstructed by the blanket he’d placed over his head to dilute the fluorescent lights.

“Good fucking Salazar, what the fuck is that woman doing?” Draco sneered as she waved suggestively to him and winked.

Hermione stifled a laugh.

A crash sounded followed by a muffled yelp when Barry collided with a door that had just swung open.

“Oh that’s Patricia,” Theodore laughed, eyes sparkling as they landed on Hermione at last, “she’ll be courting you, I’d expect.”

Hermione snorted. “Harry do yourself a favour and look away before she gets a load of you. She loves the boyish look.”

Harry flushed—moving to turn too late.

Patricia blew him a kiss.

Draco’s lip curled in disgust and he finally tore his eyes away from the scene that ensued behind the thin wall. He looked at Theodore with an accusatory glare. “Don’t tell me she got to you!”

“She wishes.”

Harry cleared his throat and stood from beside her. “Er—Nott? May I have a word?”

Theodore seemed unsure of what to make of Harry’s request, but relented anyways. “Sure—I suppose?”

Hermione and Draco exchanged a look of distaste at being left alone in a room together as Harry took the lead out the door.

“Nope! Back in the room or I'll have to call for security!” the woman scolded as Harry took the first step into the lobby, shoeing them aggressively backwards.

“Please—I promise we’ll behave!” he pleaded, “we’re just having a quick chat.”

“We are clearly the reasonable pair in this dynamic quadrant! Nothing to worry about.” Theodore charmed, shooting Draco a warning look.

The lady squinted at Theodore and then rolled her eyes. “I give up. Yep, had enough, I have!" she muttered angrily. Her rolling chair whined as she plopped herself back into it without ceremony.

And then the door closed, locking them in together.

Hermione kept her mouth shut, soothing her anxiety by tapping her fingers on her knees. The room felt twelve sizes smaller all of a sudden.

Draco scrunched up his nose, taking a stiff seat upon the opposite sofa.

She cast a furtive glance beyond the room but the pair of them were concealed by a pillar. With a sigh, she sat up straighter, feeling the need to protect her vitals from the predator across the room.

“You can relax a little, Granger. I’m not going to hex you,” he chided. “Not in the middle of a muggle nuthouse at least,” he muttered under his breath.

She responded with an angry huff. “You just can’t help yourself, can you?”

Draco’s face twisted and he huffed back at her. “What did I do now?”

“What haven’t you done?” she snapped. “Why are you even here? I find it impossible to believe that you actually give a shit about anyone beyond yourself!”

He seethed with quiet annoyance before answering her with an unusually tempered tone. “Theo is my best friend, and I’m here because he disappeared off the face of the fucking Earth. I was worried about him. Silly of me, I know—come to find out he’s been hiding in here with the likes of you!”

“We’re not hiding!” she shouted just as Theodore and Harry returned from the lobby.

“Looks like it from here." Draco drawled.

“We’ll chalk it up to you not knowing the first thing about what it means to experience personal growth,” she mocked.

“Bloody hell—” Theodore whined.

“We left you two alone for less than three minutes and you’re already arguing—what the hell is going on?” Harry asked excitedly.

“Granger was just throwing a tantrum as per usual,” Draco declared, standing up to give a languid stretch of his too-long legs.

She scoffed.” You know what? You’re one to talk about hiding, Malfoy! You’ve been hiding from consequences every day of your miserable, sheltered life!”

Draco stormed over to where Hermione had stood in retaliation, pointing a lithe finger in warning. “You don’t know the first thing about my life, Golden Girl. It would be wise of you to keep your mouth—”

“Draco!” Theodore cautioned and the familiar wash of a silencing charm blanketed the meeting room.

“No!” Hermione puffed. “Let him speak! He came all this way to enlighten me on what it’s like to be rich, and oh so sad.”

Draco’s nostrils flared and he got up into her face.

She held strong, meeting the fury in his mercurial eyes head-on.

“I hope you never know what it’s like to not have a choice in the trajectory of your life,” he seethed. “I wouldn’t wish that on my worst fucking enemy—which by the way, is you at the moment. Like in all things, you persist.”

“Nobody forced you to take the Dark Mark, Malfoy!” she spat viciously. “You got off on it! I saw the way you peacocked around the castle at the beginning of sixth year—like you possessed some higher level of being than the rest of us. You were proud of it! Until it became too much pressure for you, of course. You never could follow through on your threats.”

“Hermione!” Harry and Theodore both urged from behind Draco, but she paid him no mind.

“I suppose that’s why your Godfather had to finish the job for you.” She let a bemused huff of laughter fall from her mouth. "But hey, at least you got one over me before your side lost, you utter coward.”

His composure slipped.

“Draco!” Theodore’s command boomed in warning as Draco pressed a finger to her sternum and leaned in. Hermione held her breath when she clocked the tremble of frenzied rage that had begun to overtake his good senses. Even his eyes were darker than she’d ever seen them.

“You can think what you want about me. But don’t for one second, delude yourself into thinking that you have even a fraction of understanding of what it is like to be me. You were fortunate enough to be on the right side of the war, and now feel as though you have some moral high ground over people like me—but that will never change the fact that your arrogance and your judgement, remain unparalleled!”

Hermione’s hand connected with Draco’s face so hard that the slap echoed through the room. The other two boys sprang into action—Theodore dragged Draco backwards and Harry stepped in front of Hermione.

Draco’s jaw ticked when he looked up at her, even angrier than before. The sound of the dark chuckle that rumbled through his chest as he fought against Theodore’s grip sent a chill down her spine.

“Mate—drop it. Let it go.” Theodore coaxed as calmly as he could manage, but there was no mistaking the threat that edged his tone.

“You always did know how to pick them, Nott,” he spoke with a cruel tone. “I hope she opens her mouth at least half as much for you.”

Theodore’s expression fell. He swung the door open with a blast of magic that just barely broke the statute of secrecy, and pushed Draco through it. She’d never seen him so angry as he followed him out in a rage.

The door slammed shut behind them and she flinched.

“Hermione—breathe.” Harry rubbed her back and shoulders.

She tried, but it turned into hyperventilation. The threat was gone and all of the anger and sorrow and fear was catching up to her—clouding the edges of her vision.

Her teeth chattered as Harry guided her gently down into the sofa. “Come on, Hermione,” he spoke softly but his voice was edged with concern. “Merlin—do I need to call someone or something?”

“No—” she gasped. They’d put her in that room—that might just kill her.

He looked back, his head on a swivel for seemingly anyone he could find. “Nott—do you want me to get him?”

Hermione couldn’t answer—she was in the thralls of a panic attack beyond any she’d ever experienced before. All of it was too overwhelming—the flashbacks, the stale emotions of past horrors that were clawing their way to the forefront of her mind and heart—it was all too much.

She heard Harry calling out for Theodore—hadn’t even realized that he’d left her side. And the last thing she remembered was the scent that enveloped her—woodsy and familiar.

☘︎

She awoke, puffy and aching all over, but she was warm—safe, she recognized. Her sheets rustled as she twisted in them, blinking the bleariness from her eyes.

That was when she saw him, sitting with his legs outstretched against the wall opposite her. He stared straight ahead, unblinking and weary. Hermione was hesitant to speak as her lips parted. Her voice came out barely audible. “Theodore?”

He startled at the sound of her voice, and his spine straightened when he looked over to see that she had awoken.

“Are you okay?” she whispered with a hoarse voice.

“Hermione.” His own was gravelly as if he’d been yelling—and tired. There was a strange mix of relief and devastation written across his features as he stood.

It was second nature, the way she tucked her legs up to allow him room to sit next to her. He took a cautious seat, his mind appearing to drift elsewhere. Hermione’s eyes caught the bob of his throat as he swallowed. The state of him troubled her deeply—the way he seemed to be cracked in half, his emotions on full display. She knew how that would make him feel, vulnerable—scared. But she couldn't quite figure out why. Had something else happened while she'd been unconscious?

“What the hell was that?” His eyes swam with frustration when she looked at him, startled.

“What?” The hurt panged through her chest first. Then came the indignation when she replayed his question in her mind. “Are you gearing up to blame me for all of this? Please don’t say that’s what’s happening, Theodore, because I don’t think I can handle where it might lead.”

Her throat felt like it was closing up when he didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her and all she could see in his eyes was conflict.

“Will you please say something? I—”

His hand came up to pause her, “look—” he seemed to be choking on the words too, “I’m not going to sit here and argue about who started what but…you were both out of line.”

She sat up straight and her body went numb.

“What you said to him,” he sighed, “it was depraved, Hermione.”

Her breath came in heavy pants as she tried to come to terms with what she was hearing. “Theodore—” she stuttered, tongue-tied.

“You took some of the worst moments he has ever experienced, and threw them in his face like it was a schoolyard insult. But it was way more than that. It was cruel and callous.”

“No!” she argued, “what he did was cruel and callous! I hardly think calling him out for it was a worse crime than the actions themselves!”

“You don’t think he knows that already?” Theodore’s voice was strained as he attempted to keep it level. “No. No—you didn’t see the look on his face, Hermione. I’ve—fuck—I’ve never seen him like that before. You really hurt him.”

“And you think he didn’t hurt me?” Her eyes watered and her hand sprung instinctively to her left arm.

“That’s not what I said, Hermione! Don’t put words in my mouth.” He choked up and carded his hands through his hair. It was unsettling to her, to see how distraught this all made him. But her scars were deeper than his emotions, and they won out.

Bitterness coated her tongue. “I suppose people like him get to walk away clean, right?”

Theodore’s face twisted into anger. “You think he walked away clean? Do you think he doesn’t carry what happened with him every waking hour since they started tallying the dead? And what of me? I am people like him, Hermione. You can’t possibly think that you’re the only one who suffered in that war!”

A few tears escaped with every word that slipped from the mouth that had brought her peace for the past three weeks. Each syllable was like a slicing charm to the chest.

“He chose the wrong side!” Her heart thumped. “There are consequences, Theodore! He chose that side out of the horrible selfishness of his heart, and now he’s feeling sorry for himself. Forgive me for not feeling sorry for him when I watched people I love die because of the atrocities that the side he chose committed.”

Theodore shook his head, rubbing at his red-tinged eyes. “You don’t know what he went through.”

“And you do?” Hermione accused. “I don’t see the mark on your arm!”

He looked at her then, fighting some internal beast she might never understand. “It almost was!” His voice was manic, exasperated—and his eyes gleamed with a desperation that she wished to never witness again.

Her mouth snapped shut and her stomach lurched with nausea. “What?”

He stood, pacing the room for a moment before speaking. “If it had been there on my arm the first time you saw me—would you have been so vicious to me?”

“You’re not Draco—”

“I’m not!” he spoke over her, “I’m not because of him!”

Hermione’s breaths were laboured and ragged as she fought back a flood of tears. “What are you saying?”

“He volunteered, Hermione! Not because he wanted glory or power! He volunteered so that nobody else would have to—it disgusted him. It nearly killed him. But he did it anyways because that’s who he is at his core!” Theodore’s voice broke with a horrible cadence that grated on her heart. His shoulders rose and fell with emotion. “It could have been me up in that tower. But nobody would have come to save me.”

Hermione choked on a sob, rendered speechless.

“You knew him as the boy he used to be before his entire world imploded. You think that he’s prejudiced, and that may have been true, but you have to face your own before you can cast anymore stones at him. This vile world that we exist in is not all black and white, Hermione. He is a good man, and he is my brother.”

The way his voice broke threatened to shatter something within her own heart.

“He stopped harassing you the second he got wrapped up in all of that evil shit. We all knew better, but we refused to wake up to the gravity of the truth until it was too late. I saw the change in him—the pain and fear he experienced—that we all experienced. You don’t come out of the other side of something like that unchanged.”

Hermione trembled as he approached her and crouched before her, resting his hands on her thighs.

“You’ve spent so long as a victim to evils I wish with all of my heart that you never had to face, Hermione, but it feels like you don’t know how to handle not being one. You’ve been given a gift! Your life is a gift. Your living and breathing family and friends are a gift, and you’re wasting it stuck in old patterns that don’t serve you anymore!”

Her heart strained and shattered entirely when he reached for her hand and she felt the way his usually strong and confident grasp trembled beneath hers. His voice was hoarse as he spoke. “I have grown to care about you, deeply. I don’t know how or even when it happened, and it’s not an easy thing for me to digest. But my care for Draco runs just as deep. And as it stands, I’m not willing to give either of you up. Hurting him, hurts me too. The hatred has to stop somewhere.”

She pulled her hand away, wiping at her face. “You might care for me, Theodore, but you don’t know the extent of what I went through.” She choked back a sob. “There are things that weren’t released to the public that would make your skin crawl. Things I can hardly bear to remember—that my own brain has written off to protect me!”

Theodore’s jaw ticked. He asked the question, even though it was evident to her that it terrified him to do so—like the answer might make or break something he wasn’t ready to face. “Was he responsible for them?”

She hesitated, too afraid still to answer him in earnest. Instead, she shook her head. “But what he stood for, perpetuated them. They got as far as they did because of people like him.”

This gave him pause. “Do you not believe that people are capable of change? Do you believe that they’re irredeemable, the product of their worst decisions and mistakes? Is that why you are so convinced you have to hate him forever?”

“All I see when I look at him, is everything that has happened to me!” Hermione’s lip trembled and it felt like her lungs might collapse from a lack of oxygen. Theodore was responsible for the way she had felt like she could breathe again after so long. Being here, doing this with him—it was almost more suffocating to her than the burden of her existence before him.

“Hermione—” The way he seemed primed to continue on his defence of Draco and to persist in his gross misunderstanding of her—it was the twist of the knife that had her bleeding out. “I know he’s not a perfect person, but it’s unfair to put the entirety of your suffering upon his shoulders.”

“If he’s so worthy of your loyalty, then why didn’t you leave with him?” She regretted the words as soon as they had slipped from her mouth.

He searched her eyes for a moment before his expression fell slack. “Because I said I would finish this. And I don’t quit.” He shook his head, priming to leave her again. “I suppose you could though—leave, that is. Now that I’ve taught you how to do so.”

No.

No he couldn’t leave like this—not with such a misrepresentation of her character in his head. The words she’d tried so hard to hold in earlier clawed their way out of her throat just as he was about to breach the threshold of her tiny room.

“His aunt carved me up on his floor!” They came out strangled, like a plea for him to stay.

Theodore halted in his tracks and slowly turned around to look at her with a disoriented expression. “What? What are you talking about?”

His eyes drifted to her shaking hand as she roughly pulled her sleeve up to reveal the scar she’d been hiding from the world since she’d received it. It was still as angry as it was when it had been etched into her skin. Nobody knew it still plagued her.

Theodore went still.

“He saw the whole thing—” The confession may as well have been a whisper. “He stood there, staring at the wall like nothing was happening.”

His breath came out fractured, uneven and jagged as he moved closer to inspect her marred skin. “No, that—” Disgust flitted over his features. “He wouldn’t have watched that—wouldn’t have let that happen.” 

“Except he did." Her eyes blurred again and she struggled to make out his expression.

He didn’t move for a long moment, staring at the ugly, debasing scar that she would carry with her for life.

She had never felt so naked as she did then, beneath his emerald gaze.

He stood and she held her breath.

“I need some time—” he tugged at his hair, “—to digest all of this.”

A sob wracked through her. “You’re going to ice me out?”

He was distressed, that much was obvious to her as he spoke again after a moment of loaded silence. “Look…we both need to be here, that I’ve come to understand. But I can’t—” he rubbed at his reddened eyes. “I think it’s best we figure ourselves out alone. Then we can…talk.”

Her heart thumped rapidly as she watched him leave, and each beat sent a vicious ache that radiated through her entire body. Then, as it always did right when she was about to pass out from the overwhelming surge of emotions, she flatlined.

She ceased to feel a thing at all.

With stiff movements she curled up into her sheets—into herself. And she stayed there for the rest of the day.

Chapter Text

Hermione stared blankly at her plate of eggs. The seat next to hers was empty—devoid of the warm soul that usually occupied it. Her sleep had been fitful. She always had trouble sleeping when she actively pursued it for purposes of forgetting the waking world. It was a punishment of sorts, she mused, when she had awoken covered in sweat with a hoarse throat, for attempting to ignore the price of existing as a sentient being in this world.

“Hermione!” Patricia’s voice croaked from across the table. She didn’t look up. “Are you going to tell me who that blonde gentleman was? The one that you and Theodore were talking to yesterday?”

She didn’t respond.

“Where is Theo this morning?” Sam asked curiously.

“Not sure,” was all she said, taking a bite as an excuse to keep her mouth busy. The sudden urge to vomit overtook her and she set her fork down. She’d thought he might feel differently after a good night’s sleep, had thought she might feel differently. It had been a far too emotional afternoon and she had been certain that their spat had been a side effect of this. But her heart had fallen to the pits of her stomach when she’d arrived to find his seat empty and her appetite had went to hell right with it.

Hermione Granger had been raised in such an environment that when disagreements of such a calibre did break out, they were brushed off, forgotten in the morning—internalized, she found out only when she got older, to her own detriment. But knowing things did not always mean that she chose to heed her better judgement, and Theodore Nott did not seem to operate the way her family had. She didn’t quite know what to do with that information, and Hermione was uncomfortable when she didn’t know something. Did it mean the damage had been irreparable? Was this it for them?

“There he is!” Patricia waved at someone in the distance. Hermione stiffened, every inch of her body coiling up beneath an invisible threat.

“He looks exhausted, poor boy,” Cindy said thoughtfully. “Where is he going?”

Unable to help herself, Hermione peered over her shoulder. He did look tired, she thought. There were dark circles around his eyes and his hair was in quite a state. His heavy-lidded gaze drifted to hers and her heart jolted. She couldn’t look away—assessing him as he swept his eyes over her as if to see if she was in one piece. She wondered whether he had heard her screaming again.

A feeling that was entirely unidentifiable washed over her and she jerked her head back to the grey-washed surface of table three. She could feel Charles’ eyes on her as she focused all of her attention on the graining in the paint.

“Why’s he sitting there?” Barry asked brightly.

“Excuse me,” Hermione muttered, standing to leave the cafeteria. She ignored the confused murmurs that broke out around her table as she took off.

☘︎

The tears flowed steadily as she tried to muffle her cries in the last stall of the ward lavatory. She’d only just made it there before she had broken down. The horrible ache in her chest made her miss that spectacular sense of numbness that she had felt yesterday.

But then wounds always healed this way, didn’t they? It was the adrenaline that saved her from the worst of it while it happened, but sooner rather than later, it would tear open again and leech itself into her bloodstream. Emotional pain had to be the worst of them all, she reflected. It clouded her mind of anything but itself and sat heavy and terrible upon the centre of her chest. Even now she could hardly breathe.

The nausea she felt was something that she couldn’t quite place.

What was she to do if the one person she wanted to confide in was the reason she needed to do so in the first place? Dr. Grant’s words echoed in her head. Apathy—she craved it, but what good would it do her now? Would it destroy her to let it consume the joy she had felt with Theodore, whether this was the natural conclusion to them or not?

She thought it might.

☘︎

Hermione pounded her fist on the door of Dr. Grant’s office. “Dr. Grant?” she choked out. “Dr. Grant?”

“Are you alright, dear?” Hermione felt a hand fall upon her shoulder. Her head swivelled to see a nurse that she only vaguely recognized passing by with a concerned look on her face. An older woman who usually only stood guard in the cafeteria on weekdays.

“I need to speak with Dr. Grant,” she sniffled, resting her head against the door.

The nurse gave her a sympathetic look. “Oh dear, he’s out of town for a few days.”

Of course. Hermione had entirely forgotten what he’d said. She hadn’t anticipated she would have an urge to voluntarily speak to the droning man.

“We have a doctor on standby, let me get him for you,” the nurse said.

“Oh!” Hermione composed herself to the best of her ability amidst a rush of panic. That wouldn’t do at all. They wouldn’t get it and she didn’t have the energy to bare herself to another person. She’d done quite enough of that lately she reckoned—and it hadn’t gotten her anywhere. “No it’s quite alright,” she tempered her voice, “I must have gotten our session mixed up.”

The nurse regarded her for a long moment. “Are you sure, dear?”

“Mhm!” Hermione nodded with a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “I’ll just be off to the library.”

“Alright then,” the nurse responded hesitantly before continuing on down the hallway. She only looked back once. When she turned the corner, Hermione let the tension fall from her shoulders and furiously fought off the wave of grief that threatened to crush her.

You survived a fucking war, Hermione. Her thoughts were filled with grim affirmations as she tried to hold the pieces of herself together on the way to the library. You can survive the shortsightedness of a spoiled, pureblood arsehole. Pain lanced through her heart. It was a lie—she was lying to herself. Because she had so desperately hoped Theodore would be different, had hoped he might understand her own prejudices when she’d shown him her second biggest scar. The largest of course, had left its mark on her soul.

Hermione reached the library, tactfully avoiding the aisle in which she’d dropped to her knees for him, and stuffed her nose into a book. The book he’d been reading. For she was desperate for any insight she could get, lest she fall apart entirely.

☘︎

She’d been lucky to have not had any sessions with him the previous day and fortunate that the residents of table two had decided not to ask her any further questions regarding Theodore’s new seating arrangements.

When she’d seen the curious look on Charles’ face that morning, she suspected she had him to thank for that all along.

Reading had proved to be an impossible task. Her mind had decided it couldn’t focus on the book’s meaningless words when it was in such toil. The letters had blended together, spelling out questions and phrases that plagued her mind until she had slammed it shut in a fit of rage.

Staying silent had been easy. Stifling her own feelings to make others more comfortable was something of a specialty of hers. But it, as had always done, bred a potent fury within her. And she was mad. So completely pissed off and…utterly shattered. It might not be fair to fault Theodore for the renewed ache in her chest, but he certainly could be credited some of the blame.

Her whole life she had been misunderstood, so woefully misinterpreted and never supported in the way she needed. And she had doomed herself to such an existence, mindless, forgiving creature that she had pretended to be. She learned quite fast that if she wanted understanding and support, she needed only to look inwards. She didn’t need anyone else.

Certainly not someone she had just gotten to know.

An ugly, wrenching feeling coiled around her ribcage as she made her way to art therapy. Her thought swirled in infinite loops, coming back around to haunt her just as she thought they’d run out of fuel. Time, she knew, would be the only thing that would bring peace—acceptance.

The breath left her chest in a hard puff as she collided head-first with something hard and warm. Strong hands gripped her waist to steady her. A sinking feeling settled in her chest when she caught their scent. Her traitorous eyes flicked upwards where she knew she would find him.

“Hermione—” his voice was raspy, tired. The rest of the words died on his tongue as they made eye contact. His hands quickly retreated and he took a step back. His gaze twisted towards the floor with a nearly imperceptible nod. Whether it was of hello or goodbye, she was uncertain. Perhaps it was merely to let her pass unfettered.

It was unclear to her which one she found more disappointing.

Everything flooded back to her and grief tore through her chest, burning through the resolve she’d forced into it. Her body clawed and screamed for reprieve and she darted into the art room without another word. It was strange, the way her mind was choosing to process the interaction. If she closed her eyes, she might imagine herself back on the grounds of Hogwarts, spells flying this way and that, striking the hearts of her friends, mentors, and classmates.

How foolish was she to have ever assumed she had complete and total control over such things.

Her vision blurred and she tried to blink through it. Distantly she heard a man’s voice calling her name, the tone one of both concern and summons. Through the haze she saw Charles. He had stood from his seat and was squinting his eyes at her, a crease between his brow. His hand settled on her shoulder, and she focused on it, feet following his until she felt a hard plastic chair beneath her.

“Are you alright?” The clarity of his voice was startling. Hermione looked over at him and felt her pulse settle a beat. Her head nodded of its own accord. Of course she was alright, she was always alright. Though he didn’t look convinced, he let the subject drop.

Dr. Edwards’ introduction was drowned out by the thrum of her pulse in her ears. But then it was time to close their eyes, to connect with their emotions. Hermione thought idly that it would be a waste of time for her at present, for her emotions were in the front of her mind, weighing heavy on her chest and were already demanding to be heard.

She closed her eyes anyways, and tried to connect with the loudest one.

Was it a good sign that she could feel them now? Or was it a testament to just how powerful and all-consuming her anger was, that she could feel it despite her faulty wiring? Her heart thrummed, and where it had once worked silently in the background, each pump of the feeble organ in her chest sent waves of pain through her entire body. It was revolting, uncomfortable, and worse, impossible to ignore.

When she opened her eyes after five minutes, she wondered whether the others could see the fire within their depths.

Red.

Her brush reached for the red paint and she smudged it all over her canvas, disrupting the pristine white hemp cloth with violent and bloody lacerations. She’d chosen it, she reluctantly acknowledged—to follow Amelia’s instructions—because it was the colour of all that was wrong within her. Physical wounds, hate, rage, and love.

Was this how Tom Riddle had felt as a young wizard? Misunderstood, neglected, unwanted? Was that who she could become if she allowed it to consume her? Fear poked through her haze of fury and she knew it to be true. But unlike Tom, she was not afraid of death—she was afraid of life.

It was all so nonsensical, but the release she felt when she carved the brush into the canvas was significant enough for her to continue.

Her anger dulled and she reached for black. Lower, she swirled it into the canvas, mixing with the red until it was riddled with burgundy splotches. It reminded her of Gryffindor and looked out of place without the golden hues to accompany it. So she reached for the yellow and in the colour it produced, she found her own warm brown eyes. It was a mess of colours and patterns but somehow, it felt like a mirror.

And then she reached for the blue, but she couldn’t understand why. It had just called to her, she supposed. Hermione slathered it at the very bottom. The black bled into navy like a journey into outer space.

“Five more minutes,” Dr. Edwards called out gently, the gentle clack of her heels echoed through the subdued room. Hermione’s eyes drifted, settling a few rows in front of her. Theodore sat there, posture slack and staring at his canvas. She caught a glimpse of purple and orange—acrylic, not watercolour, she noted with reluctant curiosity.

Her eyes didn’t linger long—she couldn’t bear it.

The muddled colours upon her paintbrush sat thick and coagulated between its bristles as she set it down onto the base of the easel. Exhaustion washed over her, a different kind than she was used to. It wasn’t physical, it was emotional—and for the first time, it didn’t feel like nothing. The emotions had been depleted, as though they had said their piece for the time-being, and all that remained was a dull throb in her chest.

But it wasn’t nothing.

It was the first time she had truly sat with them and she wondered why she hadn’t done it sooner. They were a part of her that she had continuously denied. Much like her limbs and her hair and her fingernails, she realized at last that she couldn’t sever them without causing herself more pain. Would she lob off her arm if she had a cut or a bruise, simply because it was imperfect and uncomfortable?

She could, and the pain would one day subside, but it would leave her with something missing—something vital.

Movement in her peripherals drew her from her thoughts. Dr. Edwards had snuck up on her, loitering in her bubble for a long moment. Hermione wasn’t sure she wanted to hear what Amelia would see in this painting. For a long moment, she contemplated tearing it up before she could open her mouth.

But she sat idle, peering up at the doctor. Her head was tilted, eyes roving over the canvas with intense interest. The subtle shift of her brows made her uneasy but she waited, wringing the material of her jumper between her fingers.

“Well done, Hermione,” she said at last. Hermione’s brows furrowed and she worried her lip between her teeth. “I see a lot here. Anger is the predominant feeling. Would you confirm, whether you used the red first or last?”

Hermione’s lips parted, “first,” she croaked.

Dr. Edwards nodded. “I had hoped that was your answer.”

“Why?” she couldn’t help but to ask.

“Because it means you listened to your anger, until it felt comfortable revealing its true identity to you.” Dr. Edwards issued her a warm smile, her finger stretching out to trace the patterns as she continued. “The black, although a sinister colour, is nothing to be frightened of. It is merely an unknown, a visual manifestation of uncertainty. Perhaps there was some fear involved—but the blue—the blue is the true discovery of your piece. Do you have any ideas as to what I might say next?”

Hermione swept her eyes over the splotches of blue, and though she thought she might know the answer, she didn’t want to vocalize it. She shook her head.

“Blue is very often associated with sadness. Quite often the roaring anger we feel comes from that very same place, even if it presents differently. In my professional opinion, anger is by its nature, rooted in sadness. Although the snobs at the scan labs might tell you differently, I have worked with many patients over the course of my life, and I am not too proud to admit that there are things even science can be wrong about.”

Hermione’s lip trembled and she dug her nails into her palm to distract herself from the levy of emotions that threatened to collapse. She felt the half-moon crescents forming in her palm as she issued a stiff nod. It was all she could manage without falling apart in front of her peers.

Dr. Edwards’ hand came down upon her shoulder and squeezed. “You were very intentional this session, and I hope you might have gotten something out of it. Whatever it is that you focused on to help you come to that conclusion, you are well on your way to accepting it. If you are intentional about your healing here, you might find the battle is halfway over. If you are okay with it, I can make a note in your file. You would benefit from exploring this with Dr. Grant.”

Another nod and Dr. Edwards’ smile broadened. “Very good, dear,” she said, scratching it into her notepad. Before she turned to address another patient, Hermione called back out to her.

“Dr. Edwards?” She had a question that she couldn’t help but to ask, lowering her voice so only the pair of them could be privy to the conversation. “I’m just curious…what does purple represent?”

A thoughtful look passed over her features. “Conflict—usually introspection within the mind. Depending on the depth of its hue, it can also represent regret or uncertainty.” Hermione fought the urge to peek at Theodore’s canvas again. “Although, paired with warm oranges, it is most certainly regret.” Hermione’s brows shot up at the knowing look in Dr. Edwards’ eyes.

And then she was gone, leaving Hermione alone with her canvas.

☘︎

Hermione played sick the following day. She couldn’t face it. That familiar drag of her feet, the lull of time—it was one of those days where she couldn’t find the strength within herself to even turn over in bed.

The nurses had been in to check her temperature, and thankfully, though she suspected her magic had a hand in it, her temperature had been higher than usual. So they’d allowed her to stay in her quarters, bringing her trays of food that she couldn’t bring herself to look at.

She pulled the red-covered book out from beneath her pillow—a crime in these quarters, but she could care less. For all of her books and cleverness, she couldn’t understand Theodore the way she had hoped. Or perhaps it was the case that she had never understood him at all.

Anton, the protagonist—if you could call him that, was a lot like Theodore. He was, perhaps, a bit less hedonistic, but was raised by a cruel father who demanded strength above all else and belittled him for that beautiful and redeeming softness within him. It had made her think about him—about his scars and the way he had been spooked when she'd awoken him from his sleep in their first art session. It was like he'd thought he was being attacked. It would do her no good to waste mental energy trying to understand the full picture until he was ready to tell her. If they ever spoke again.

Another crushing wave of disappointment gripped her.

Anton also had a mother, warm and affectionate, before she passed that was, but she wasn’t sure if that was something Theodore could identify with. There was something warm within him, though she hadn’t ever asked about his mother, she thought sadly.

Anton had enlisted himself in a war that was not his to fight—solely to earn his father’s approval. But war was a merciless teacher and the further she read, the further she saw the protagonist fall into its clutches. His kindness, his gentility—squashed beneath the horrors.

How senseless it all was, and a horrible shame to imagine the world being robbed of a person like him.

It occurred to her as she read, that there was something to be said for hanging onto the soft parts of yourself through unthinkable hardship. Is that where Theodore differed from Anton? Except she was certain Theodore had not willingly chosen the path that Anton had—he’d been commanded to with no room for argument.

Still, she was not intimate with the details, no matter how terribly she wished she was.

Anton returned on temporary leave from the war and to his disappointment, found his father just as he had been before. His father treated him much the same and Anton failed to understand that it was not due to his own shortcomings, but his father’s.

Dread had settled in her gut when he decided to return early, and she pondered whether she wanted to finish the novel at all. She was familiar with the Battle of Stalingrad that it was set in, and knew where Anton was headed and what would occur next. She wasn’t sure if she could stomach it. But Dr. Evans had made the decision for her, when he’d shown up at her door and deemed her well enough to join the rest of the patients for dinner.

She’d been okay to oblige him, finding her own reality less depressing than Anton’s.

This was why she loved books so much. They offered her an escape, whether to a happier place or to a more miserable one that made her thankful for her own existence. Her thoughts drifted into the fictional narrative as she made her way to the cafeteria, trailing sluggishly behind Dr. Evans.

☘︎

Hermione picked at the small meatball in her spaghetti, twirling the noodles around her fork but never bringing them to her mouth. Hunger still evaded her and she was content to listen to the aimless conversations of those around her.

“Are you feeling a little better, Hermione?” Cindy asked with that gentle tone of hers. “We heard you were feeling sick this morning.”

Hermione merely nodded, not bothering to look up at them. “A little, thanks.”

Sam’s voice piped up a moment later, “Oh! Look they’ve brought Adam back.”

This made her look up. His eyebrows were raised, a curious look across his features. Hermione turned in her chair to follow his gaze. Adam, ashen and shifty, was making his way across the cafeteria to a free seat at a nearby table.

Guilt washed over her at once. He wasn’t looking too well, but she mused that had she been locked up in solitary confinement for as long as he had been, she wouldn’t be in a great state either.

“Was he not at lunch?” she heard herself ask, trying very hard not to let her eyes stray to the table at which she knew Theodore was sitting.

“Nope,” Sam responded. Hermione’s brows furrowed as she turned back to her plate. A quick glance at the concern on Charles’ face as he observed the man had her feeling a renewed sense of guilt about the whole situation.

A very strong urge to apologize had her standing from her chair the next moment. Ignoring the questions that floated over to her from her table, her feet carried her in his direction. Her eyes found Theodore and it was clear by the expression on his face that he was feeling very much the same about Adam’s reintegration to the ward. Her stomach lurched as his eyes met hers. A deep crease formed between his brows as he looked between Hermione and Adam.

Adam couldn’t see her coming up from behind him, so she spoke softly so as not to startle him. She laid a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to whisper gently, “Adam, would it be alright if I—”

The loud screech of his chair echoed through the cafeteria as he shot up from his seat. Hermione jumped backwards as his plate fell off of the table when his legs hit it. It clattered to the ground in a mess of red sauce.

“Adam it’s—” Her eyes widened as he lunged at her and her screech interrupted her efforts to ensure him that she wasn’t coming to him as a threat.

His hands met the collar of her jumper and she stumbled backwards, tripping over her own feet. He came down on top of her in a flurry of unintelligible shouting and cursing and then his hands were around her throat.

Panic jolted through her and she kicked her legs out. She flailed and writhed beneath him. Before she could do anything else, a large figure tackled Adam from her. Pain lanced through her neck as his nails raked across her flesh.

Hermione scrambled away, blinking through the blur of her vision. She whirled around to see where he had gone, mind and body on high alert, and saw Theodore on top of him, shouting in his face and holding his hands down to his sides as he scanned the cafeteria for the staff members.

Where the fuck were they?

Hermione’s eyes widened as Adam caught him unaware and slammed his skull into Theodore’s. A scream tore from her throat as Theodore fell off of him, dazed and clearly having trouble as he tried to stand.

The cafeteria broke out into chaos.

Instinct had her rushing over to Theodore without a second thought for her own wellbeing. His nose was crooked and bleeding and he was blinking rapidly. She had tunnel vision, her concern for him outweighing any anger or sadness he may have provoked within her. But right as she tried to reach for him, she felt herself falling backwards.

The wind fell out of her chest as she hit the floor.

Adam’s hands were on her neck once again, tighter now. The thrum of her pulse began to roar in her eardrums. He gripped her neck so tightly that he stifled any pleas she may have tried to vocalize. Moisture sprang to her eyes, burning hot upon her cheek.

Her vision spotted with stars and panic set in.

She could make out black hair and hateful eyes and then all of a sudden she was back in her own nightmares. It was Bellatrix—she was sure of it—had never been so sure of anything in her life.

And she was terrified.

Her arm burned and she flailed and screamed and fought for her release, trying to shout, trying to beg that she had done nothing wrong. She didn’t take anything, please! His hands left her throat and as she gasped for breath she felt hands pinning her to the ground and she finally got a word out.

“Draco!” Tremors racked her body from the remnants of the cruciatus curse. It was like one thousand volts tore through her body with each spasm. Each wave boiled her blood and tore through muscle and sinew.

Draco, please!”  she cried out, coughing. The sound of her trembling voice was foreign to her own ears— hoarse and strained.

“Hermione!” she heard a voice calling before it spoke again, loud and furious, “I’m going to fucking kill you, you piece of shit!”

Was he coming to save her? Would he really help her?

Her arm burned and her throat was hoarse from screaming. Then it was bright again and she was stunned. And Draco was not there to save her. There was a sea of bodies milling around her, shouting and scrambling towards—Theodore.

Adam lay unconscious beneath him. And he wailed on him as he shouted. Her ears rang and she couldn’t make out the words. She saw his fist connect with Adam’s face once—twice—on the third strike, blood flew from his mouth and two nurses were tearing Theodore from him. He fought and nearly escaped their grasp before they wrestled him back to the ground.

Hermione was gasping for air, struggling to crawl towards them but there were arms holding her down too. Her own flung out and she saw fresh blood beneath the fingernails of her right hand.

Something sharp pricked her neck and blackness claimed her.

Chapter Text

It itched.

It fucking burned.

Hermione wasn’t sure where she was, sat beneath a soft flood of red lights, all she knew was that she had to get it off of her skin, had to scratch until she felt a different kind of pain that could cancel it all out.

But no matter how hard she screamed and clawed at the soft flesh of her arm in the dimly lit room she couldn’t get it out, couldn’t erase the excruciating scorch of the dark magic that had embedded itself into her skin—had become a part of her after all of these years.

She wasn’t sure who was in the room with her, only that she could smell metal and hear the thrum of her pulse in her ears.

A prickle ran up the back of her neck, ice cold and burning hot all at once.

Whatever it had been, she was thankful for the blackness that consumed her once more.

☘︎

Something bright flashed behind Hermione’s eyelids. She clenched her eyes closed tighter, trying to block it out without success. A hoarse groan crept up her throat.

“Hermione?” A familiar voice called out for her and she opened her eyes with a start. Her head swivelled when her wrists met resistance as she tried to bring them up to shield her eyes from the harsh white light. “Are you awake?”

“What’s going on?” she croaked to a concerned looking Dr. Grant as she noticed the restraints clamped tightly around her wrists. “Why am I tied up?”

“I will get to all of that in a moment, but can you tell me how you are feeling?”

Hermione drew her brows together. There was cotton in her mouth, at least that is what it felt like as she tried to swallow and felt the friction in her esophagus.

“Thirsty—I’m thirsty,” she muttered, blinking away the grogginess from her eyes. A dull and painful ache throbbed within her skull.

Dr. Grant sat beside her bed in the strange, white room, and picked up a glass of water that had apparently been in his hand the whole time.

She drank it in greedily as he brought it to her lips, sputtering when some of it went down her airway. He pulled the precious liquid from her mouth beneath furrowed brows.

“Can you tell me what you remember?” Dr. Grant asked. His voice was soft—as it usually was—but it held a different intonation to it than as was usual for the man. It was like he was expecting her to break from such a simple question.

But why—

It all flooded back to her. The cafeteria—Adam.

“Theodore?” Her heart gave a start and once again she was looking around the room as if she might find him there, bloodied and dazed. But all she saw was endless white. It surrounded her—threatened to close in on her.

“Theodore is doing alright, Hermione, are you?”

She pulled at her restraints, yanked hard three times before Dr. Grant’s hand fell across her wrist to halt her movements.

“Why am I tied up?” she yelled, but she couldn’t achieve the volume she had intended.

“You woke up from the sedative several hours ago and you hurt yourself quite badly. Do you have any recollection of this?”

Hermione paused, looking into the blue of his gaze in questioning. And then she noticed the bandages upon her arm and felt the throb there. It ached quite badly, she would admit, but nothing she couldn’t handle.

“No, I—” she breathed out, “I don’t—I just remember Adam. He attacked me.”

“He did,” Dr. Grant nodded with a solemn look on his face. “I want to firstly apologize to you, Hermione, for the gross negligence displayed by the staff on duty that day. We take matters like this very seriously and an investigation has already been opened.”

“Can you take these off of me?” her voice shook. She hated feeling trapped—cornered.

Dr. Grant nodded. “I’ll be right back. I have to grab the key. Sit tight.”

Hermione watched him go, panic gnawing at her chest. What if he didn’t come back? What if the building caught on fire and she was just here, chained to a fucking bed.

Breathe, her inner voice pleaded. This isn’t life or death, you’re safe, you’re going to be released.

Her heart rate picked up despite her inner consolations and she yanked hard at the restraints, over and over, desperation bubbling to the surface that she hadn’t felt for years. Heat flared up her chest and down her arms and then a soft clink sounded off. Her arms flung up so fast that she smacked herself in the face. She gasped, jerking her gaze over to where the restraints had been.

They were open.

Dr. Grant wasn’t back yet and they were open.

The reality that she had just successfully done her first bit of wandless magic was overshadowed by the fact that she had no way of explaining how she had gotten the restraints off in the two minutes that he had left her alone.

She had just finished buckling herself back in, clicking the tiny lock back into place as he reemerged from the doorway. He strolled over to her at a moderate pace, leaning down to release her once more.

Hermione took a deep breath and sat up in the bed, rubbing at her eyes until she saw stars. And then she pulled her legs to her chest and tried to steady her breathing.

“I’m sorry that we had to resort to such measures, but you were in danger of harming yourself. I’d like to be fully transparent with you, are you alright with that at the moment?”

She nodded, head still resting upon her knees.

“You’ve been in here for a little over a day now, and we’ve had to clip your fingernails. You scratched your arm open quite badly. You required three stitches and we’ve had to bandage you up.”

“And Adam?” she enquired.

“Adam has been transported to a facility that is better suited for his needs.”

Hermione’s shoulders slackened a little at this. She looked up at Dr. Grant, realization dawning on her. “Weren’t you supposed to be out of town?”

He smiled softly at her. “I am on call for emergencies. I was contacted immediately following the incident.”

Hermione frowned. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Oh please don’t apologize, Hermione, it is my job—one I take great pride in—and you are my patient. You have nothing to be sorry about.”

“This is my fault, I shouldn’t have approached him, I should have known better,” Hermione shook her head, thoughts once again drifting to Theodore. She had to see him, had to see if he was alright—sort out the rift that had stretched between them.

“The incident was unfortunate, but it was not your fault. Certain patients require a different kind of intervention, and while I cannot provide you with details, you can rest assured that Adam had already shown warning signs even before your initial incident with him,” Dr. Grant spoke firmly—kindly, but firmly. “I’d like to ask, if it is alright with you. I think some context could help me in my next session with Theodore and with yourself. I noticed there has been some distance between you two. What happened?”

“I told him something and I think it scared him,” she answered quietly after a moment of debate.

Dr. Grant eyed her wearily. She felt horrible as she saw the bags beneath his eyes, but he didn’t seem upset or inconvenienced by her in the least, so she pushed the guilt from her chest. “Ms. Granger, I apologize for the intrusion, but it would be remiss of me to breeze over your choice of words. Have you been having any ideations of self-harm or anything of the sort?”

“No, it wasn’t that.” Hermione shook her head quickly and an ache shot through her skull. “I just should have known better!” she growled out. “It’s just what happens—I’m there for everyone but the second I fall apart, it’s like I’m not allowed to! I’m supposed to be this mindless, forgiving creature that only absorbs it all. Nothing is allowed out!”

“You’re angry,” Dr. Grant stated, urging her to acknowledge her emotion.

“Furious!” she spat.

“Why?”

“Why?” Hermione said through gritted teeth. “Because nobody ever hears me, and the second I get my hopes up that someone finally has, they prove me wrong!” Except Theodore. Theodore had been the very first—the first to hear her and to care anyways. But even he had let her down. What was she to do with that information?

When Hermione remained silent for a long stretch of time, Dr. Grant stood from her bedside. Her eyes followed him as he nodded to a staff member she could see through the glass pane of the room’s door.

“It’s quite late, nearly midnight. I think that it is best we discuss this in a formal session as there is no immediate threat to your well-being and sleep is very important for our mental health. Are you hungry?”

Hermione gave a slight shake of her head.

“I shall let you get some real rest then. I expect we will have you back in your room by tomorrow mid-morning. If you need anything, Nurse Bedi will be working the infirmary’s office until tomorrow morning’s shift change. I am available to you should you wish to talk further as well. Alright?”

Hermione nodded, but she couldn’t speak, didn’t feel like thanking him for locking her in this room.

“Good. We will speak soon,” Dr. Grant gave her a warm smile and swiftly exited the room. When he left, the bright fluorescent lights dimmed into black, replaced by the flood of warm red light that she thought she had imagined. It gave the room a comforting glow, just dark enough to sleep in, though she failed to feel genuinely soothed by it.

☘︎

As she lay awake staring at the shadowy tiled ceiling, Hermione didn’t know how she had gotten to this point. So much had come to pass in her brief lifespan to present. Beautiful and wonderful things, but also horrible things—things that had, at the time, felt insurmountable to her.

Perhaps they had been all along.

She wasn’t sure now, whether she had truly passed over each mountain of adversity to find the lush valleys below, or if she had instead stuffed it deep down inside of her, where she foolishly thought it would remain without consequence.

It was also a curiosity of hers, what kind of person she might have been if she had been allowed a normal family, a normal childhood—a muggle life even. Sometimes she wondered whether the cost of belonging to this world was too steep. There came with it a burden of sorts. With this awe-inspiring magic they had been blessed with, they could do so much good—but just as much bad. And even then, the extent of their benevolence was limited by the statute of secrecy, so what did that make it other than an unfair advantage?

Sometimes during her worst moments, like right now, she fantasized about being obliviated—a secret spell sent at her back—and left in the muggle world to find a new purpose. But she had learned in this place, with nothing to distract her but her own thoughts, that while her mind might forget, the truth would bury itself down to the bone. After, she would be left with only pain—pain that she would never be able to root out.

It could be worse.

She could be fantasizing about death. She had tried to imagine it, once or twice, but she had spent so long fighting and clawing for the promise of her future, that when it actually arrived, she hadn’t the slightest idea what she would do with it. But it seemed sacrilegious to consider the possibility that she extinguish it entirely.

Dr. Grant had told her it would do her well to turn her mind off and listen to her body. She intellectualized her issues, analyzed them to death until the emotions she had been exposed to were nothing but a foggy memory. Yet each time she did, the weight on her chest grew heavier and heavier.

Maybe she should try it.

Hermione cleared her throat softly and let her eyelashes flutter closed.

☘︎

It had been an ungodly hour in the morning when she drifted awake again. She couldn’t have gotten more than an hour of sleep, but the restlessness had settled inside of her the second she awoke again. There had been nothing she could do to settle herself. Her compulsion to find Theodore had grown much too ferocious to ignore.

So she’d left her room with a sloppy unlocking charm, stunning no less than four nurses on her way to the floor she knew he’d be on. Of course she had felt bad about it, but for some reason, the sleeping charm had been unsuccessful without a wand. She suspected it had much to do with her state of mind that the stunning charms came much easier to her.

After peering into three empty rooms, she had finally located him.

She’d imagined bright white lights and sterile, white-padded walls. But that wasn’t quite what she found as she slipped into his holding cell at last. The walls were white, yes, and padded too, but the light was minimal—a dusky red colour just like the lights they’d had on in the infirmary. Grim indeed, but she could see the appeal—the patient could sleep and the staff, had they been conscious, could still keep an eye on them. But why was he still in here?

Theodore sat against the wall, away from the spongy, white mattress they’d provided him. His head of disheveled curls was resting on his knees, shoulders slackened as he fidgeted with his hands. Something about the way he was curled into himself made her gut churn. She ached to reach for him, to check if he was alright. Would he even want to see her?

“Hi...” Hermione managed, weak and hesitant. Theodore’s head drifted upwards and then he was scrambling to his feet.

“Hermione—” he breathed out before rushing over to her. Though he seemed to have thought better of it and stopped just before he could reach for her, to pull her into his arms, she mused. Hermione looked up at him, eyes gleaming in the low glow of the room. His cheekbone was bruised, she noted sadly. But other than that, he came out unscathed. How she ached to close the distance between them. She didn’t think she’d ever wanted a thing more.

A deep crease formed upon his brow and he reached his hand out. Hermione stiffened as he grasped her jaw, only relaxing when she realized he was gently guiding her chin sideways to get a better view of her neck.

“You have bruises,” his voice was stiff, carefully tempered.

“I—” Did she? “I hadn’t noticed.” His scowl deepened and his thumb swiped tentatively over the contusions. Now that he touched them, she could feel that her skin was tender.

“I could kill him,” his voice came out a little louder that time, and just as hoarse as hers had been only that morning. “I should kill him for touching you.”

“He’s sick, Theodore,” she protested, “he had an episode.” His jaw slackened at this and his hand fell languidly from her throat. She swallowed, gooseflesh rising in the wake of his fingertips.

“Not a fucking excuse!” Theodore nearly shouted, carding his hands through his hair. Her eyes followed his movements as he paced before her. “He will learn as much when I get my fucking hands on him again!”

“Well you won’t!” Hermione shushed him, nervous that if he spoke a little louder he might wake the nurse up from the stunner she’d placed on him. She lowered her own voice and added, “he’s been transferred elsewhere.”

Theodore paused, searching her eyes. “He’s gone?”

All she could manage in response was a stiff nod.

“Then he should consider himself lucky,” he growled.

“Why did you do it?” she spoke so quickly that she nearly interrupted the tail-end of his profession.

“What do you mean, why?” He wore the same perplexed expression as he tilted his head at her.

“You made it pretty clear that you needed some space from me,” Hermione responded with a carefully tempered tone. “And I don’t expect you to fight anyone for me. I thought I made that clear the other week.”

“Was I supposed to just let him choke the life out of you?” Hermione winced and his features softened an inch, but his gaze still held an edge of that same fury to it. “He could have killed you, Granger! And the staff were busy fucking chatting in the hallway!”

“He could have done worse to you,” Hermione snapped, unable to disguise the tremble in her voice. “You can’t incite people when they’re having episodes like that!”

“I don’t give a fuck! I wanted to come find you when I came to,” Theodore pleaded. He stepped forward again and she allowed him into her space. “They’ve—fuck—I don’t know! They’ve given me something and I can’t feel my magic the way I used to—can’t talk to it. I’ve just been stuck here wondering if he’d snapped your fucking neck!”

Even when furious, his voice was music to her ears. Perhaps it would be dramatic to say that she’d missed it, being that it had only been four days since she’d truly heard it—but she didn’t care. Because she had missed it more than anything else. Theodore had been the first thing she had longed for since she’d unknowingly turned on autopilot a few years back.

“Did he hurt you?” Hermione whispered just as he was about to speak again. She found herself frightened of what might come out of his mouth next.

A laugh.

She hadn’t been expecting that. He laughed and shook his head as if she had made a joke in asking him that. “No, Hermione. He didn’t hurt me. It’s quite hard to do that. I’m well seasoned.”

The churning started in her gut again.

“It’s hardly funny, Theodore.” She shook her head, stepping out of his bubble. “You can’t just go around getting into fucking brawls!”

His continued laughter grated on her. What he found so funny about it all was lost on her. Here he stood, looking a mess and locked in the fucking marshmallow room, and he was laughing?

“I can’t listen to this,” she snapped, turning on her feet. His laughter faded out, replaced by the soft pad of his swift footsteps against the cushioned floor.

“No—” his voice held a twinge of desperation as his hand circled around her wrist to stop her. “Please…stay. I’m sorry, I’m just—well I’m exhausted. Physically…emotionally…” his voice trailed off.

So am I, she wanted to shout. She was so drained, so depleted. And sad. She was so fucking sad, and tired of feeling fucking sad.

“Why?” she spoke with a tremble in her lips.

“What?”

“Why do you want me to stay?” His hand dropped to his side as she pulled her wrist away. Silence stretched on between them for a few long moments before he spoke again.

“Because there’s something I wish to say to you." He sounded as though he had a hard time getting the words out. His lips pressed into a thin line, as if they protested whatever he had to say next.

“It had better be an apology." She found herself emboldened by her heightened emotions for once, rather than hindered. Especially now that she could see he was alright—uninjured. But she avoided looking to hard at his face or she knew she might forgive him just for being pleasant to look at.

He stepped forward, closing the distance between them once again.

“It’s so much more than that,” he professed and her breath hitched as he closed his hand over hers. She found herself grateful for the contact as she waited patiently for him to search for the words within his heart. But something unsavoury stirred in her gut the longer the silence stretched on. Hermione frowned up at him—she could see he was struggling with the words, but still her own did not come. Theodore’s expression was pained and he appeared to war with himself. The next moment he was pulling her into him, wrapping his arms around her. Tears threatened to overtake her as his embrace tightened.

“You walked away, Theodore—” her voice was thick with emotion, demanding to be released. “Why did you just leave?”

“I’m sorry,” he pleaded without missing a beat. It was as if the words had been dancing at the tip of his tongue since he’d embraced her. “I’m sorry,” his voice broke. The sound of it had her falling apart against him. “I—there’s no excuse I could possibly give you that would be worthy of your forgiveness. I should never have left you alone after you showed me something like that. I didn’t want to believe it, if I’m honest. Draco—I don’t think I could ever put what he means to me into words. Not in a way that you might understand. But I’m loyal to him. To a fault, it would seem.”

Hermione choked back a sob against his shirt, melting into him. She was so exhausted—so drained. His arms, warm and enveloping, tightened further and he buried his head into her hair.

“I heard you call his name,” Theodore’s soft voice cut through the gale of thoughts. “The way you were screaming, Merlin, Hermione, I never want to hear that again. I’m sorry that it took reliving it on your part for me to understand the atrocity of what you went through.”

Her chest rose and fell with heavy breaths. There was an array of emotions that gripped her in that moment, such a multitude of them that she couldn’t begin to pinpoint a single one.

“I heard the desperation—fuck, the hope in your voice that he might help you,” his voice broke, calling a sting of tears to her own eyes. “And you tried to tell me that—you showed me your deepest scars and I just walked away. Fuck, Hermione I’m so deeply sorry.”

Her body trembled as she burrowed herself harder against his chest. If she could crawl into his skin and hide away from the rest of the world, she would do so in a heartbeat. But it still stung fiercely, the way he had left her. She didn’t make it a habit to open up to just anyone like that before and he’d betrayed that. The thought had her tugging free from his grasp, rubbing at her dampened eyes.

“Will you tell me all of it?” she asked after a long moment, voice barely a whisper. “I just—I don’t understand. I saw the worst of it through the lens of the Order and I want to understand. At least I want to know if it’s possible for me to understand,” she finished.

She could feel his burning gaze fixed upon her as she paced around the room for a long moment and then settled into a seated position upon the mattress. It dipped beside her as he joined her, back resting against the wall.

Theodore’s throat bobbed and he tossed his head back against the padded wall, eyes fixed upon a low ceiling just the same. Hermione watched on with unease as his jaw ticked with tension. With a shuddering sigh he brought his gaze back down to meet hers.

She allowed him a moment of silence, fidgeting with the loose fabric of her trousers.

He swallowed, drawing in a breath. “I don’t know, Granger. I don’t even know where to start.”

“Did you...meet him?” Hermione asked after a moment of loaded silence. She was petrified of the answer. Theodore’s shoulders rose and fell more rapidly, but he never took his eyes off of her. She itched to reach out to him, to offer her comfort, but she wasn’t sure that was a great idea until she knew she could trust him completely with her heart—with her fractured soul.

Dread pooled in her stomach when he issued her a stiff nod.

“Growing up, hearing the stories...they felt like some distant, twisted fairytale. And quite frankly, I didn’t have the capacity to dwell on such things when I fought for breath every day of my life. Bad things happen. I’d come to expect as much.”

Hermione bit her cheek in an effort to stifle the onslaught of new questions that formed in her mind.

“Draco and I were terribly close as children and remained so, you see. And we used to do dinners every once in a blue moon with his family. Usually between terms and such,” he finished, swallowing his emotions down.

“We?” Hermione prodded.

“My father.” Something about the way Theodore said the word made her weary. “It was never a pleasant gathering, I’ll leave it at that. But Lucius and my father always had business to attend to together.” He paused, staring down at his hands. “It was Christmas of fifth year when I met Tom Riddle for the first time.”

It perturbed Hermione greatly, how easily a name could send fear coursing through her veins. She shifted in her seat, trying her best to keep her breathing calm.

“Draco greeted us at the floo. He was more pale than usual, more sallow too—like he hadn’t been eating. He led us through the manor and I kept trying to ask him what was going on but…his mind was a fortress—completely and utterly occluded. I couldn’t get through to him.” Theodore’s hand curled up into a fist. “We reached the dining room and his family was there—Narcissa, Lucius. And so was the Dark Lord. It was the first time I had ever truly understood the gravity of those tales. And all I’d done was sit ten feet from him.”

Hermione took a deep breath, closing a hand over the fist he knocked against his knee. She felt him relax an inch.

“I needed to know what was going on. I’ve never done well in the dark and I was terrified,” he continued. “He must have still been weak…I went into his head.”

Hermione gasped, “he could have killed you for that!” The threat was long gone, she knew, but it still settled heavy on her chest to learn that Theodore Nott’s life might have gone quite differently had luck not been on his side that evening.

“It was godless, Hermione,” his voice shook and she saw his eyes glaze over. “It was the darkest, coldest, and most desolate I’ve ever felt. I had to leave it as soon as I had found my way in. But I did get something. He had plans—plans to mark one of us that summer for a mission. And it was supposed to be me. My father had already decided to volunteer me.”

Hermione’s lip trembled and she shifted closer to him just so he might be allowed to speak such a devastating truth a little quieter. For anyone it would have been so unfair, but for Theodore—beautiful, soft, and adoring Theodore. It made her fucking sick.

“I’ve had to be very strong throughout my life. And I haven’t always been good at it. But I threw up for five days from the nerves.” His fist uncurled and he took her hand in his, clutching it like a lifeline. “When we got back to school I told Draco and Blaise what was going to happen to me. Because I wasn’t foolish enough to think it was something to be stopped. We didn’t talk about it again until that summer. One evening, colleagues of my father—purebloods—gathered in our parlour. He pulled me out of bed and dragged me downstairs. I felt the Dark Lord’s presence there before I even saw him and I knew—I knew it was time.”

Hermione fought back tears, swiping her thumb over his hand, though she knew it wouldn’t do much in the way of comfort. She knew first-hand how visceral it could feel when reliving memories like the one Theodore was about to tell her, and there was no potion in the world that could erase the feeling.

“My father was about to throw me into the centre of them when Draco stepped into it of his own accord.” Theodore’s breathing picked up considerably. “After that I stopped fighting my father’s grip and I raced in to argue my case. But Draco pretended I wasn’t there. He spoke to him, told him why he was the best choice to receive the mark. And it worked,” his voice broke, eyes clenched shut like he was choking on the next words.

“Hey—” Hermione smoothed her free hand up his arm, whispering to him, “You don’t need to tell me anymore if you don’t want to.”

He looked at her then, devastation written plainly across his soft features. “His screams—” Theodore’s voice trailed off. “I don’t think I’ll ever forget such a noise. It was the worst thing I’ve ever had to partake in. I still can’t bring myself to speak of the details and I’m not sure I ever will.”

This despicable thing hadn’t even happened to Theodore and yet he was as traumatized as if it had. That much was clear to see. Hermione might have done the same for many of her friends if she had been in that position. But it was Malfoy. Rotten, spoiled Malfoy who never thought of anyone beyond himself. She had a hard time reconciling that version of him to the one who would do something so selfless. But was it entirely selflessness?

“Why would he do that?” She had to know.

“Because he’s known my father since we were boys. He saw what I had to live with over the years and had decided, like he was some fucking god who had authority to do so, that I had suffered enough,” he cut out bitterly. “I’d never seen him so discomposed. He was pleading like a little boy—pleading to the Dark Lord to make it stop. And the bastard just smiled.”

Before then, Hermione wasn’t sure she could have ever felt pity for a creature like Malfoy. He was a horrible, dreadful wizard most times, but even she could admit that he had still been a boy. A boy much like the one sitting next to her.

“Were you angry with him?”

“Furious,” he responded quickly, voice edged with anger. “But he wouldn’t speak to me. He withdrew from our group of friends—I didn’t even know the details of the mission he’d been given. All I know is that I would have died in that tower. Had it not been by Dumbledore’s hand or one of the Death Eaters, it would have been by my own.”

“Don’t say that,” Hermione whispered, fingers curling into his arm.

“It’s the truth,” he breathed out. “I wouldn’t have survived it, and he knew it too. I think that was part of his decision as well—he knew I was far too soft to even bear the weight of such a burden if I had somehow managed to succeed with whatever that monster was planning to task me with.”

Hermione reached over, pulling his head to her chest. “Softness is an incredible strength to have, Theodore,” she muttered, gliding her fingers through his hair. “Not enough people have it in them anymore. The war desensitized us all and the fact that you managed to stay in one, perfect piece in spite of it is testament to your true strength.”

Even though the answer seemed so obvious to her now, she wanted to ask about the scars—whether it had been his father or someone else. Just to be sure. But he’d already delved into something so deep and dark that she felt its gnawing blackness penetrate the muscle of her own heart. So she just held him close, offering him one last olive branch.

“I’m grateful…that Malfoy protected you from that,” she muttered quietly. “I admit, I never would have thought him capable of such an act, but I hope someday you can understand as well why I find it hard to look past what happened to me.”

She wasn’t sure he had enough left in him to do so, but he didn’t taunt her or argue with her. He simply grabbed her hand and pressed his lips to her palm.“Draco is not perfect. He, much like myself, is very complicated.”

Hermione thought about this for a long moment.  “I suppose I am too,” she conceded. “But I can’t just switch it off, Theodore. It’s going to be harder than that, even if we both have the best of intentions.” Theodore pulled back from her embrace to search her eyes.

“There’s a room,” his voice was nearly a whisper when it finally came out again after a long moment of silence had passed between them. “In Draco’s manor—his parlour.”

Heat shot up Hermione’s neck, but she remained silent and let him continue. Theodore’s eyes searched hers for any hint of confirmation, a soft crease forming between them.

“It’s been locked up ever since he returned from the battle. He flips his shit if any of us even mention it. We never understood why, we always used to drink in there when he’d host but… “ his voice trailed off.

Hermione’s thoughts took off at a sprint. Her mind ran crazy with memories, trying to make sense of it all. Malfoy was evil, he had always been a perpetually bad person to his core. Why would he go to such lengths, why would what happened to her bother him so much? What was she to him that he couldn’t even walk his polished, dragonhide shoes over the floor where it happened?

Her train of thought was distracted by the feeling of the sleeve of her jumper as it was rucked up her arm. She went pull her arm away but he stopped her with a hand to her wrist. His gaze pleaded with her to let him see it, and though she was reluctant, she supposed he would see it eventually.

She swallowed, twisting her palm to give him access to her forearm. His thumb swiped gently over her wrist as he extended her arm out and finished slipping her sleeve upwards. Despite everything, she found that she still trembled in the face of it. The soft clattering of her teeth was the only sound to be heard as he set his eyes upon it.

His brows drew together as he caught sight of the heavy bandaging. “Why did they bandage you? Didn’t this happen years ago?”

Her teeth ground together as she mustered the courage to answer him. “Sometimes it flares up. But this time I just…scratched at it. While I was having an episode of my own I suppose.” She felt his fingers curl softly around the material and begin to peel it from her skin.

A breath fell from his lips as the angry wound was revealed. His fingers traced softly around the edges of her marred flesh. “I thought I had imagined what it said.”

She couldn’t speak, not for lack of desire but because she still didn’t know how to talk about it. “Let’s not get into it. Not tonight, okay? We’ve had a long enough day as it is.”

He nodded slowly, meeting her eyes. She inhaled sharply as he leaned forward to press his lips to the edges of her scar, slowly placing kisses up the length of her arm until his head rested in the crook of her neck.

“You are so much more than your blood. You know that, right?” his other hand came up to pat down her curls.

“I’ve had a lifetime to come to terms with the prejudice in this society, Theodore,” she responded, heart fluttering beneath his gentle touches.

“You shouldn’t have had to come to terms with it.” He pressed his lips to her throat again between sentences. “I’m going to find a way to fix your scar. I promise.”

“I’ve tried so many things already.” Her lip began to tremble again. “At a certain point I just decided I need to learn to live with it. I can’t waste my whole life chasing the impossible.”

He brought his face up to hers, leaving inches in between them. “Well I’m quite content to waste mine if it means you don’t need to suffer this despicable mark,” he argued.

“It’s cursed, Theodore,” she answered softly above the thrum of her pulse that roared loud in her eardrums from his proximity. “There is no answer to this one.”

“I’m going to find one,” he muttered. “I swear to it.” His hand came up to caress her face.

It had been a long time since Hermione had allowed herself hope when it came to healing her scar. But in that moment, as his eyes darted to her lips and his thumb stroked soothing circles into her cheek, she let it fill her.

Her lips parted as he leaned in. Tears fell from her eyes as she felt the familiar press of his mouth against hers. And she welcomed it—needed it. She pulled him closer to her and he stuck an arm out to balance himself with a soft groan of relief before he brought it up to her waist.

He felt so good against her—so right.

His kiss deepened, but he made no move to touch her. While she craved it as his soft lips trailed up her jaw, she knew nothing could happen between them tonight. They needed some sleep and some time to process their conversation, and it wasn’t like she could stay. The nurses in the lower hallway would be awake at any moment now and she couldn’t just keep them stunned all night.

“I missed you,” Hermione pulled back with a breathy whisper and guided his chin to her to press a few more soft, lingering kisses to his mouth.

“I’m sorry I screwed it all up,” he whispered against her lips. “These last few days were fucking miserable without you.” Their pants settled heavy between them, foreheads pressed together as they caught their breath.

“I can’t stay here tonight,” she whispered, eyes watering.

“I know,” he answered with reluctance. “I’m supposed to be released back into the ward tomorrow.”

She laughed softly. “You make it sound as though you’re a wild animal.” He smiled back at her and she thought it was the most beautiful thing she’d seen in days.

“Aren’t I, though?” he hummed thoughtfully. “I don’t much like the marshmallow room. There are definitely none to be found in here.”

“Certainly not,” she responded with another laugh, settling her head back against the wall beside him. “But you get out on Sunday,” she added with a nudge to his arm.

He let out a dry laugh. “No. Actually I don’t.”

“They extended you?” Hermione supposed she shouldn’t be surprised.

“March 31st, same as you,” he responded with a tired rasp in his voice. “Didn’t I say I’d earn my stay?”

“I suppose you did,” she bit back a smile. “But that’s not a funny joke.”

He let out a heavy sigh. “It’s not a joke. I’m a man of my word,”

Hermione furrowed her brows. She wasn’t ready to leave, but she had to. “I should go back to my room before they wake up.” Theodore stood, stretching his hand out to help her upright. She savoured the feeling of her hand in his as she got to her feet.

"So you finally achieved wandless magic, hm?” He smirked at her as they walked towards the door.

She pulled her lip between her teeth with a smile. Then she stuck her hand out and with a quick movement sent a pinching charm to his arse. He startled and then laughed, a deep musical sound that she would never tire of hearing.

“I suppose I deserved that,” he teased as he wrapped his arm around her waist to drag her against him. She sighed into his mouth as he kissed her again, slow and soft and reverent. It would not surprise her if he could see a visible sparkle in her eyes with the way it filled her with the happiness that she had been desperately missing.

“Goodnight, Theodore,” she whispered.

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yes?” The full weight of his viridian gaze fell upon her face.

“I’m not going anywhere, so yes,” she muttered back. He squeezed her waist before releasing her from his embrace.

“Go, before they get up and find you in here. I’m not great with wandless memory charms,” he urged.

She swallowed back her disappointment about having to leave him and issued him a nod of assent as she wandlessly unlocked the door.

“Try and get some sleep,” she ordered softly as she slipped through the door without a glance backwards. If she did, she might stay—damn the consequences.

Chapter Text

It couldn’t have been thirty minutes that she lay awake in her bed, eager for things to return to normal later that morning, that the hallway lights were turning on.

Speakers crackled to life and so too did the patients in her hallway.

“Emergency evacuation initiated. All staff to assigned their assigned wing to commence evacuation procedure,” a tense voice rang out through the PA system. Then an alarm was blaring.

Goosebumps broke out over her body—she loathed emergency alarms. Had she not had personal acquaintance with them during the war, she reckoned they still had a foreboding frequency to them that would have put anyone on high alert.

At least she was already wide awake—though it looked like she might be pulling an all-nighter. Her door rattled, unlocked by a night nurse, who was in a strange hurry despite the dark circles beneath his eyes.

“Please assemble by the stairwell door—we have to evacuate the building.”

“What’s going on?” she asked, rushing to put her shoes on. But the nurse was already three doors down by the time she emerged into the bright hallway.

“All patients please assemble by your nearest stairwell and wait for a member of our staff to accompany you to our emergency meeting point,” the speakers sounded off again between the blaring alarms.

“Fire!” Hermione heard Barry screeching from just down the corridor. “There’s a fire!”

“What have you done, Stephen?” James’ voice rang out down the hallway

Stephen flipped James off, very much not a morning person. “Fuck off James, you bloody racist!”

“Oh god, this place is going to blow!” Barry was wide-eyed, pacing the hallway.

“There’s not a fire!” The nurse shouted firmly as he released Paul from his room. “Proceed to the stairwell and you’ll be given information in a few short minutes!”

“I hope they let Theodore out before the place blows,” Patricia croaked. Hermione recoiled at the smell of her breath as she spoke far too close to her face. She gave her an exasperated look before making her way to the stairwell.

She was overstimulated between the ranting and arguing and panicking. Barry was about to open his mouth again when Hermione pinned his arms to the wall. “Stop it! They’ve just said there’s not a fire, Barry! Just calm the fuck down before I knock you unconscious!”

“But—”

She interrupted him again, “do you see flames? Do you smell smoke?” Barry relaxed an inch at this and she let her hands fall from his arms. 

“Right, bloody calm down. No need to have a cow!”

“Do you think they’d let me use the loo before we go out?” Patricia asked casually. At least she could keep a cool head.

Hermione huffed, eyeing the nurse as he strode over to unlock the stairwell.

“Single file line and do not leave the bounds of the carpark!” he growled.

“What happens if we do, handsome?” Patricia cooed, eyeing up the nurse as she slipped beneath his arm.

“They might have snipers up there waiting to take us out,” Barry trembled. The nurse’s jaw ticked.

“What’s going on?” Hermione prodded him while the others filed down the stairwell.

He let out a long-suffering sigh, closing his eyes. “Possible gas leak. Nothing to be concerned about.”

Oh god. Perhaps the place was going to blow.

“Oh!” Hermione laughed nervously. “Well in that case…” she nodded at him and tailed James down the stairwell, who was keeping an annoyingly slow pace behind Paul.

She shoved a hand at his back and he yelped. “Hey!”

“Do you honestly think Stephen would do something like that while he’s still in the building?” she sniped. “Get a move on—he’s at least ten feet in front of you.”

His eyes widened and he raced ahead, nearly knocking Patricia down the flight of stairs as he weaved through the sea of patients coming from the next floor down. She knew that she shouldn’t take such delight in riling the others up, but she had never been a nice person when she was strung out.

The fresh air was welcome as she finally made it through the doors. Though a little chilly, it was exactly what she needed. She kept her distance from the gathering crowd, yearning for silence and some fucking rest. This place was going to have the opposite effect on her if she stayed here any longer. For the first time in a while, Hermione longed for the mundanity of her outside life. But mostly for her bed and her expensive espresso machine.

Fire engines blared their alarms in the distance, though they sounded to be getting closer.

She sighed, resorting to lying down on the pavement. Sleeping on hard surfaces was not something she was unfamiliar with, but at least then she’d had sleeping potions at her disposal.

The interior alarm was muffled from behind the closed doors and distantly she could hear the gathering patients muttering about the supposed gas leak. Whatever. If the place blew, she would not be allowing them to take her to a second location. That would be it—the universes way of saying ‘time to go back to the real world, you coward.’

“Not the comfiest bed I’ve ever slept on.”

Hermione’s eyes flew open to find Theodore lounging beside her, staring up at the grey sky. His head lolled to the side to look at her with a cheeky smile. It was a sore sight, but a welcome one. His face was bruised beneath the eyes and the gauze, spotted with rusty splotches from where he’d been bleeding, was still secured firmly to his nose.

She frowned. “They let you out early, did they?”

“I suspect that even the most unhinged of us don’t deserve to die in the marshmallow room,” he teased. “What’s with the frown? Not happy to see me?”

“You look a sight, Theodore,” she sighed. “I could barely see the bruises earlier.”

He shrugged, turning his head back to the sky.

“This is inconvenient. I’ll not get any sleep now and I don’t do well on no sleep,” she ranted.

“You can thank yourself for that one, Granger.”

“Me? Why?”

He laughed. “Four nurses mysteriously passed out in the same hallway.”

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Oh my god! That’s why they think there was a gas leak?”

“I heard them when they came to. It was a whole thing. I must say, this natural gas arrangement seems rather dangerous.”

“Well, at least you’re out early,” she smiled after a long moment. “I daresay it worked out in your favour.”

Theodore hummed. “Perhaps the wheel of fortune has come around for me at long last.”

The sirens blared louder. They sounded to be right on the other side of the building now.

“What is that fucking racket?” Theodore hissed.

“Fire engines,” she drawled plainly.

“There’s no fire,” he pointed out.

“They respond to gas leaks too—” Hermione tilted her head in thought. “Actually, they respond to a lot of emergencies that don’t involve fire, strangely enough.”

Theodore scoffed. “And whose bright idea was it to bring engines made of fire into the vicinity of a gas leak?”

Hermione burst out into laughter. Theodore sat up on his elbows and leaned over her.

“I’d missed that sound,” he lilted with a sparkle in his eye.

“Are you taking the piss?” she responded with a bright smile.

He smirked. “Yes. I do know what a fire engine is believe it or not.”

“I don’t believe it,” she teased, sitting up on her elbows.

He leaned in with a whisper, “I learned all about them in the library.”

“You were reading about fire engines in the library?” she laughed. “That must have been a riveting book.”

“It was. In fact, I learned about a lot of muggle things while I was in there. I think it was called an ‘encyclopspedia,’ though I was expecting it to be something to do with Greek history, I can’t say I wasn’t intrigued by its contents nonetheless.”

She smiled brightly up at him, unable to contain it around him. Though their conversation had taken a darker turn earlier that morning, she almost felt like they were back to normal. Theodore had a way of making even the shittiest of situations fun—she thought that this quality might have been what she had missed the most.

“What are you smirking about now?” he muttered, poking the tip of her nose with his finger. “You’re always smirking at me. Do I amuse you?”

She swatted his hand away and jerked her face away from his finger. “You’re a nuisance.”

“Born and bred,” he boasted.

“What else did you learn about?” she asked.

He pulled his lips to the side in contemplation. “Fireworks—though I was already familiar with those. Firearms—terrifying. Fishing—bloody cruel practice the way they do it, by the way. And…fissures…though I wish I had skipped that entry.”

“Theodore, why do those all start with the letter ‘F’?”

He winked. “Once I understood the general layout of the book, I went looking for more exciting material. Though I didn’t have any luck. ‘Fucking’ was not documented, despite the cover boasting that its pages contained the knowledge of pretty much everything.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Godric, you’re a rake.”

“Can you blame a wizard for missing you?” he pouted.

Hermione’s smile faltered as a warmer feeling enveloped her. “I missed you too. I don’t think I’ve ever had a friend like you before.” It was true. Harry and Ron were great friends, but there was something about Theodore. The way he just got her in a way they never had.

“Friend?” His determined gaze grew heated. “Is that what you call the people you drop to your knees for?”

Hermione groaned and dragged her hands down her flushed face. “I only meant that I think that’s the best foundation upon which to find a romantic partner, don’t you?”

“We haven’t even had a date yet, are you planning our wedding already?”

Hermione blushed. “Of course not.”

He leaned in further and she nearly got lost in the green of his eyes. “I call bullshit,” he whispered. “What will our colours be? Red and green?” His eyes lit up. “We could do a Christmas wedding!”

“Sod off!” she shoved at his chest and sat all the way up, though something tingled in her chest at this.

He laughed. “Salazar, I’m fucking hungry. I haven’t been this hungry in a long time. I hope we still get breakfast after what you pulled.”

☘︎

They did indeed get breakfast.

About an hour after the firefighters had cleared the building, they were sat in the cafeteria amidst a feast. The ward hadn’t had time to prep food so they’d ordered in a smorgasbord of fast food.

“This is bloody delicious,” Theodore let out a noise that could have been misinterpreted for an orgasm as he stuffed his third sausage roll into his mouth. “Who is Gregg, and why haven’t I eaten his sausages before?”

Patricia wheezed out a laugh. “I’ve had many Greg-sausages in my life, but this is the best by far.”

Hermione grimaced.

Charles shook with quiet laughter across the table. “Glad to see you’re both on the mend. That nose looks sore though, Theodore.”

“Did they give you any painkillers for that?” Cindy asked through furrowed brows.

“They gave me something, but it didn’t do shit. If anything it made my brain feel a bit foggy.”

Hermione scrunched her face up. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know—I just felt a little numb I guess. That and a few frantic trips to the loo.”

Sam snorted into his coffee. “Sounds like they gave you antidepressants, mate.”

Theodore stopped chewing. “Anti-what?”

“Happy pills. Have you got any left?” Sam responded.

Theodore cast a sidelong glance at Hermione. “They have happy pills? Is it like, you know,” he leaned in to whisper, “pepper-up?”

“Not quite, Theodore,” she mumbled back. “Are they making you take anymore of those?”

He nodded. “They said they were going to see how I responded to them over the next few days. And that they might prescribe some to me for…after.”

“Was this Dr. Grant’s recommendation?”

Another nod and he was chugging his glass of chocolate milk with a fervour she hadn’t seen from him before.

“And you feel numb?” Hermione commented sadly. “You need to speak with him about that.”

He shrugged. “Sure, but I don’t reckon he’s going to listen. He insists that I need them for some reason or another.”

“Yes, but there are other variations he can try on you. It shouldn’t feel like that.” Hermione frowned, wondering what might have occurred in their sessions for Dr. Grant to suggest a treatment like that. “It means they’re not the right ones for you.”

“Hermione’s right,” Charles added with a prim sip of coffee. “That’s not a good side effect. There are a multitude of options that might work better for your specific brain chemistry.”

“How do you know about all of this?” Theodore turned to her again.

She issued him a thin smile. “My mother was on them.”

“Oh.” He raised his brows. “Well alright. I’ve a session with him tomorrow. I’ll bring it up.”

“Can I have your attention please,” a nurse piped up in the middle of the cafeteria. The mutterings died down and everyone turned their attention to her. “We’ve got an exciting announcement to make! But first, we’d like to address a few matters. Thank you all for your admirable behaviour during this mornings unfortunate proceedings. We hope you’re enjoying the special breakfast we’ve brought in. We recognize how important it is to be well rested, so we’ve cancelled all of your morning sessions. You’re all probably due for a little lie in. Sleep is very important for the mind.”

“Thank fuck,” Theodore groaned. Hermione couldn’t agree more.

“Once you’re done eating, please feel free to return to your rooms. If you feel well rested enough, we’ll have a film on in the theatre for you to enjoy. Or you can visit the library. Your choice!”

“What about a smoke break?” Patricia piped up. The room buzzed with laughter. Hermione bit back a snort of her own.

“Er—please speak with your attending after this Ms. Sutherland,” the nurse addressed her politely. “As for our special announcement. We’ve got something fun in the works for you all.” The nurse beamed around the room. “Next week, we’ll be hosting our very first ward prom! There will be music, sweets, and fizzy pop for you all to enjoy. Something to break up the monotony of life here. If you’ve any questions, please consult your attendings.” The patients had grown excitable by the end of her speech, drowning out her thanks and goodbyes as she exited the room.

Theodore raised a brow at Hermione, who tossed a glance to Charles. She could feel his eyes on her. She flashed him an innocent smile. “That sounds lovely!”

He seemed pensive, though there was the ghost of a smile on his face as he nodded at her. “It does.”

“Alright. I’m taking a fucking nap,” Theodore sighed with relief. “They better have cleared my calendar this afternoon as well, because they’ll have to drag me out of bed and hogtie me to a chair if they think they’re going to get a paintbrush in my hand at all today.”

Hermione laughed along with table three. Although she was quite tired, there was a lightness about her in the moment that she hadn’t felt in a very long time. A nap did sound perfect, but she ached for the library even more now that she’d had a coffee. Perhaps she would read while her blood pressure came down a bit.

☘︎

Hermione only lasted thirty minutes or so in the library before her eyes had grown heavy-lidded.

Book in hand, she knocked softly on the door to Theodore’s room. He groaned, raising his head from its place, flat against his pillow to investigate the person who had appeared at his door.

“Granger,” he muttered sleepily.

She smiled to herself, breezing in through the open door to perch beside him on the bed. “Having a good nap, Theodore?”

“I was,” he answered. “Have you come to join me?”

Hermione’s lips parted. “I..er—came to give you this.”

He reached out to inspect the book she held in her outstretched hand with a quirked brow. Her stomach flipped as she looked at him, hair mussed from sleep and a red impression on his face from how hard he’d been napping. He was truly adorable.

“10,000 ways not to make a lightbulb,” he recited. A smile broke out on his face. “Is this about lightbulbs?”

“What gave it away?” she deadpanned. “ I thought it might interest you.”

“You thought correct,” he smirked, placing it gently on the shelves above his bed. Then he flicked his hand and the door to his room slammed shut.

“What are you—”

“Get under the sheets,” he interrupted.

She gasped as he wrapped a large arm around her and pulled her down. “Theodore—”

“I’m not done napping,” he protested, shifting to lift the sheets over her.

“They’ll get us in trouble for this,” she argued weakly. He was very warm and she couldn’t think of anything she wanted more at the moment than to yield to him.

“Of all the things we’ve done, this won’t be the thing that gets us kicked out. And if it does, then that’s all the better, isn’t it?” Theodore muttered against her ear.

She sighed. “Alright. Just a nap though.” His mouth curled up at the shell of her ear as she conceded, tucking herself into his chest.

He was all around her, hands wrapped around her waist, legs tangled up into hers. She nuzzled her face into his pillow. It smelled like him.

Her eyes fluttered closed and she fell into sleep with a smile on her face.

☘︎

Theodore

Theodore Nott had not known much warmth throughout his twenty-three years of life. There had been moments, though he reckoned as she had slept quietly in his arms that morning, that they had not been true warmth, but a contrast to the moments of fear and rage and pain that had plagued his existence since he’d drawn his first breath.

When she’d slipped into his room after lights out the previous night, he’d been thankful for it. Their nap earlier the day before had been one of the best he’d had in a long time. No nightmares, no terror—he’d even slept through the entire afternoon until they’d been summoned for a late lunch. Thankfully, it had been Patricia who had alerted them and not a nosy nurse who would have had his balls for having Granger in his room.

Now more than ever, his past had been creeping up to haunt him. That stupid muggle doctor and his prying—he knew he was in for it again today. 

Fear, on the other hand, was something Theodore Nott had known a lot of throughout his life. At least that was familiar to him. He’d had quite enough of the unfamiliar over the last little while and was getting restless to return to their world—with her of course. He had no intentions of letting her go once they were released from this zoo.

His fucking nose still hurt. It was swollen and tender and he hadn’t stopped having nosebleeds since Adam hand landed the punch upon his face. He could fix it in two seconds if it wouldn’t make the muggles suspicious. How some of them lived with even worse injuries was unfathomable to him. He found it somewhat admirable in fact—now that he’d had a taste of natural healing. But it did strike him as quite unfair.

It had been worth it to protect her.

He would do it all over again. Had she not been there with him last night, he would have most definitely had dreams about the horrible scene. His blood boiled as he sat in the chair of Dr. Grant’s office in waiting. Seeing Adam’s hands squeezing around her neck—he had to stop ruminating on it—had to stop thinking about how it reminded him of his mother.

“Care for a tissue, Theodore?”

Theodore’s head shot up to see Dr. Grant holding out a tissue box with that grating smile of his. His brows furrowed and he brought a hand up to his nose. He swiped at it to see that it was indeed bleeding again. With a scowl he took a tissue and pressed it to his nostrils.

“Thanks,” he mumbled. He hadn’t even heard him come in—perhaps his catlike instincts were slipping. Probably also a side effect of the poison they’d been feeding him.

“Are you excited for the party?” Theodore wished Dr. Grant would cut to the chase. He didn’t care much for the verbal foreplay he insisted upon each time he was forced to sit and chat with the man. 

“I’m not much of a dancer,” he responded with a sigh. “So, no.”

“Fair enough,” Dr. Grant laughed, taking a seat in the chair across from him. “I suppose we should get started, then.”

“Please do,” Theodore urged caustically. Dr. Grant issued him a piteous smile. It did nothing to stifle the urge Theodore had to earn himself another bloody nose.

“I was hoping we might address something we touched on in our last session. I recognize that it seems to be a heavy topic for you, but in light of recent events, I think it is a good time to explore it.”

Theodore stared blankly at him for a long moment before loosing a long-suffering sigh and sinking into the cushions of his armchair. “I don’t have much of a choice, do I.”

“You always have a choice, Mr. Nott. It is not my goal to trample upon your agency. I only wish to help you, that is my only motive. Sometimes, if not most times, it involves uncomfortable conversations,” Dr. Grant reassured. “If you wish to help me to help you, we can start with the incident in the cafeteria this past Thursday.”

Theodore groaned. “Haven’t we already beaten that topic to death?”

“From an objective standpoint, yes. This time I wish to explore what you might have been feeling during the incident.”

“I don’t know, probably fucking infuriated?” Theodore snapped. “I don’t pummel someone because I’m happy, do I?”

“But you do when you’re angry,” Dr. Grant responded softly. “Is that a fair assumption?”

“It depends how much I think they deserve it.” Theodore sniffed, crumpling the tissue between his fist.

“Might we talk about your parents?” Theodore’s heart sank. “I know you’ve been hesitant in the past, but I think this topic might warrant an exploration into your early childhood as well.”

He looked back at him with a guarded expression. “What about them?”

“Can you tell me a bit about them? Their relationship with one another, their parenting styles, anything you might think relevant.”

Theodore swallowed and clenched his fists tighter. “Anything in particular you’re poking around for?”

Dr. Grant eyed him beneath creased brows. “I can certainly be more straightforward with you, if you would prefer it,” he hesitated. “Were you exposed to a lot of extreme emotions as a child?”

Theodore laughed. “Yeah, I reckon I was. Anger, right? That’s what you’re getting at?”

Dr. Grant nodded once.

He was starting to sweat, as he usually did when he thought about his father. Which wasn’t often. The man had been dead to him long before he’d drawn his last breath. When hadn’t he been angry? The man was barking.

“He’s dead.”

Dr. Grant’s brows shot up. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Theodore spat. “He was the worst man I’ve ever known. It disgusts me that his blood flows in my veins.”

“That’s a heavy feeling to carry, Theodore,” Dr. Grant acknowledged. “Can you tell me a little about why you feel that way?”

“Why does it matter if he’s dead?” Theodore argued. “He doesn’t exist to me anymore. He’s gone. In the dirt where he belongs.”

Dr. Grant set his clipboard down and clasped his hands together. Theodore knew by now, that this strange tick of his always prefaced the worst of their conversations. “When did he pass?”

“1998,” Theodore clipped. “Not soon enough.”

“When did you start wishing that he would?” The blunt question hung in the air, morbid and infuriatingly relevant.

“Can’t remember a time that I didn’t wish he was dead if I’m honest,” Theodore admitted. He always found himself admitting things to this man that he would hardly admit to himself. It infuriated him. It made him want to throttle him as he had Adam.

“What was he like while you were growing up?”

“Angry,” he scoffed. “I thought that was obvious by now.”

“Was he ever physical with you?”

Theodore’s mouth snapped shut. He worried his bottom lip between his teeth and issued him a terse nod.

Dr. Grant cocked his head, his features fixed into a carefully stoic expression. “Was this behaviour isolated to yourself, or was he physical with your mother as well?”

“I don’t want to talk about that!” Theodore snapped.

“I understand,” Dr. Grant conceded. “We don’t have to get into the details. Would you be willing to tell me how you felt when these things would happen?”

Theodore wanted to be sick. Even thinking about thinking about it brought up stale emotions that he had worked so hard to bury beneath nonchalance and humour. It astonished him, each time he would come into these sessions convinced he held no feelings about it whatsoever, that they would deign to reemerge.

“When I was younger,” he started, “it would frighten me.” There was no way but through with this man, otherwise he would be dancing around the same questions for the remainder of the hour. Perhaps if he only admitted some of the truth, he might get out of here faster. “When I grew older, I think I ended up feeling as angry as he was. If not more. Each time he flew off the handle, which was pretty much every day, it got worse.”

“Can you recall any physical sensations you had?”

“I would shake,” he answered with a carefully tempered tone. “I’d feel hot. Sometimes I couldn’t even see properly.”

“That must have been frightening,” he stated. “Think back to a moment, perhaps one of your worst. If you could have stopped it from happening, how might you have gone about it? As you were back then, not as the man you are now.”

The man he was now. He hadn’t changed at all. He would have killed him back then if he’d had the means, and he would do it now if he wasn’t already dust. His worst memory of his father—he buried the images the second they started to emerge. But the feelings could not be buried. They were far too strong.

“I would have choked him.” No wand needed. He would have taken pleasure in watching the life drain out of his eyes—hopefully it might have been recycled to a soul that actually deserved it.

To Dr. Grant’s credit, he didn’t seem phased by his answer. “Was there no option to reason with him?”

Theodore’s jaw ticked. “No. He wasn’t to be stopped when he got like that.”

“Got like what?” Dr. Grant prodded. “Can you walk me through it?”

Theodore’s pulse quickened, but he couldn’t stop the words from tumbling out. “It would start with something small. Something meaningless that would trigger him—even something as silly as a broken dish. He’d start shouting, breaking things.” Beating the daylights out of their house elf, Tilly. “That was never enough for him. He would turn on my mother first. Because she would never fight back. When I got older, I used to provoke him before he could get to that point. Then at least she might escape unscathed.”

Dr. Grant frowned. “You felt obligated to protect your mother?”

“She was helpless,” Theodore growled. “She’s a sharp witch, but she was too soft to defend herself after so many years with that monster. She was a shell of a woman. Was I supposed to just let it happen?”

Dr. Grant pursed his lips in thought. “What is it you were afraid of happening?”

“The last time I allowed him to touch my mother, he nearly killed her!” Theodore bit down on his tongue, surprised by his own admission. A soft, but noticeable tremble began in his white-knuckled fists.

“I see.” Dr. Grant remained silent for a long moment, letting Theodore’s admission hang in the air. “Can you tell me what Ms. Granger means to you?”

Theodore’s face scrunched up at the abrupt change in topic. “What the fuck does that have to do with anything?”

“It has everything to do with it,” he responded gently.

He stared at Dr. Grant for a long while. It was annoying, the way he could draw the truth from him. But Theodore was no fool, he had already made the connection. He just hadn’t wanted to admit it to himself yet. The truth was, when he cared for someone, they ended up hurt. No matter how hard he tried to prevent it. He didn’t want that for her. Somehow, in such a short span of time, she’d wormed her way into his iron-clad heart and dismantled its deadbolts. The truth was she’d broken him open. That was why he’d been so quick to jump to her defence—not once, but twice.

Fuck.

He loved her.

A breath fell from his lips and his expression went slack.

Dr. Grant issued him a soft, understanding smile. “Theodore, I do not condone violence. However, I do understand it was a precarious situation and that you reacted in a way that has served you in the past. Please know that it is not a shortcoming, it is simply an instinct. I admire your selflessness and your willingness to face such difficult situations. Not everyone has such a proclivity for courage, and it is most certainly not something I wish to stamp out of you. I only wish for you to leave here with a fresh perspective. To understand that you can think before you act. That you don’t always have to resort to such tactics, and that it doesn’t always have to be your burden to bear. Mostly, I wish for you to leave here with the understanding that you are not your father just because you share his genetics.”

Theodore felt that thickness in his throat that he so loathed. His eyes blurred and he fought the urge to scream at him and demonstrate each way in which he was like the scum who took part in his creation. But it was drowned out by his words as they repeated over and over again in his mind.

You are not your father.

“I don’t know how to stop it,” he choked out. “I don’t know how to overcome it.” His shoulders fell in defeat. “It’s all I’ve ever known.”

“It takes some practice to rewire your instincts. It is not a linear process, and it takes patience and the openness to forgive yourself when you inevitably mess up.” Dr. Grant gave him a pointed look. “But know that it is possible. If you are open to it, I can give you a technique to consider?”

Theodore swallowed, fighting the frown that wavered on his face. He shrugged, afraid that if he spoke one more word, actual tears might fall.

“The next time you find yourself in such a situation, physical or verbal in nature, just take a breath.” He held up a finger. “One breath. It is important that you do allow your ugliest thoughts and most brutal instincts the first thought, but never the second. Acknowledge them, and then question them—if only for a moment. It is not the first thought that defines us, but the last.”

Theodore scoffed. “That sounds much easier said than done.”

Dr. Grant nodded. “Growth is not easy, but it is possible. You, and you alone, have control over your impulses, Theodore. It is often the war with ourselves that is the most difficult to overcome. But it is in winning that, which comes true change. Try that enough, and soon you will find yourself changed entirely.”

“I wonder,” Theodore started with hesitation. “If my father had stood back for a breath, would he have seen me as a son and not an enemy?”

“There was never a reality in which you could have changed your father, Theodore. It starts and ends within ourselves. Even though he has passed, it is clear that you still carry the weight of his wrongdoings on your shoulders to some degree. You must release yourself from his guilt. That does not belong to you and it never has. You were a child, and I’m truly sorry that you and your mother had to experience such pain. I am also sorry that you could not rely on your her the way you should have been able to. It is alright to feel as though she failed you in a way too.”

“I love my mother,” Theodore argued.

He answered softly, “both can be true.”

Despite himself, Dr. Grant’s words resonated somewhere deep within him. He loved his mother, he did, but they never discussed any of it. And perhaps that hadn’t been his fault either. Perhaps the one parent he had left had failed him to a degree. He swiped at his eyes, trying to hide the evidence of vulnerability that finally broke free from his ducts as he acknowledged his reality.

Theodore Nott had most always relied on himself alone.

“Do you have children?” He asked when he gathered himself a little.

Dr. Grant shook his head softly. “I sometimes wish that I had, but life had other plans for me.”

Theodore could hardly believe the words that left his mouth. “They would have been lucky.”

“That’s a very nice thing of you to say.” He beamed back at him. “I hope that you know, should you ever choose to start a family of your own, that you have it within you to break the cycle that started long before your father.”

“I’ll think on that,” Theodore muttered.

“Thank you for being so open with me today,” Dr. Grant relented. “Our time is nearly up, but I was also hoping to ask you how the medication has been feeling for you. Any feedback?”

Right. That. “I don’t think it’s doing me much good,” Theodore admitted.

“How so?”

“I kind of feel detached for several hours after,” he mumbled. “Like numb, do you understand? And it bloody hurts my stomach.”

“Thank you. That’s very helpful. I’ll have the nurses switch your prescription starting tomorrow. And make sure you have something in your stomach before you try these ones, alright?”

Theodore nodded and stood on shaky legs. “Sure.”

“Enjoy your dinner. Sunday roast tonight!” Dr. Grant winked. “Eat well, and make sure you get some rest.”

“Thank you, Dr. Grant.” Theodore muttered as he strode for the door.

☘︎

Hermione

Hermione stared up at the sky, not that London had much to offer amidst the light pollution, yet one or two stars twinkled down at them, bright enough to cut through the haze. 

“I can’t believe you’re just showing me this now!” she accused with a smile as she heard the heavy metal door close behind her. Theodore reached her side with a cocky grin.

“I can’t pull out all my tricks at once, Granger.”

“You’re in a good mood this evening,” she supplied with a hint of suspicion.

“Am I so perpetually miserable that that's a novelty to you?” he teased.

“No, it’s just a change, is all,” she responded casually. “You seem, I don’t know…lighter?”

“Lighter?” he quirked a brow. “I’ve about two pounds of roast beef in my stomach and another two of the sides.”

She laughed. “You know what I mean, Theodore."

“Is that so?” he hummed, following her eyes back to the sky.

It was true, he’d been a little pensive at dinner but by the end of it, he seemed more peaceful than was typical for him. Especially after a session. She wondered if it had been a good one at last. “Did you speak to Dr. Grant about your medication?”

“I did,” he sighed, placing an arm around her shoulder to pull her into his side. “He’s trying me on something new tomorrow.”

“Good,” she responded softly. The sounds of London echoed through its historic streets, but it wasn’t enough to distract her from the questions that had started whirling around in her overactive mind. “Theo…” he turned his head to look at her expectantly. Hermione swallowed her feelings at the sight of his deep green eyes fixed upon her face. “Can I ask you something? You can say no, of course.”

“Uh oh,” he sighed. Hermione furrowed her brow, biting her lip anxiously. “What is it?”

“Back at Hogwarts…” she hesitated. “Those rumours—about your father.” Theo’s eyes flashed with an unreadable emotion before he schooled his features into passiveness again.

“I had wondered when you were going to ask.” The confidence was gone from his tone, but he didn’t seem as closed off as he usually was when it came to his past. “What did you hear?” he added softly.

“I—“ Hermione barely wanted to speak them aloud, they had been so horrible. But she looked at the way his shoulders slackened and thought that he might even want to talk about it with her. So she plucked up her courage. “They were horrible, Theodore, I really don’t want to spoil your mood. Are you certain?”

“It was never going to be an easy conversation, Hermione,” he sighed, brushing a thumb against her collarbone. “Just ask. It’s much easier for me to affirm what you’ve heard than it is for me to tell you myself. You’d be doing me a favour.” Her gut churned. But if he was willing to be brave about his own abuse, then she should be too.

“I heard that he used to beat you, quite badly. That he almost killed your mother, and that you saw the whole thing.” She swallowed her discomfort, her voice growing weaker the more she spoke. “And I heard that he used to make you practice unforgivables on her.” Theo’s jaw feathered and he tore his gaze from hers to look back out at the city lights.

“It’s all true.”

Her heart sank, nausea settling in her gut.

“He made me practice unforgivables on others too. Though I never did end up mastering the killing curse—didn’t have the heart I suppose. He didn’t like that much…broke my arm in three places for it.” Her eyes watered at the nonchalant way in which he recalled such horrific abuse. He did a double-take upon seeing the pity that flooded her expression. “Don’t look at me like that Hermione—don’t pity me.” He frowned.

She bit her lip, unable to hide the tremble in her voice. “You were just a child. A grown man wouldn’t even deserve such things.”

“As I’ve been told,” he said with a tempered tone. Hermione stepped closer. He turned his body towards her with a guarded expression. She carefully reached out a hand and he followed it closely with his eyes. He tensed as she settled it on his cheek, before his eyes softened and he relaxed into her touch.

“I can see that it still hurts you, Theodore.” Her bottom lip quivered. “The way you flinch when someone touches you and you’re not expecting it. The way you shut down whenever the topic comes up in group.”

“All I can do is try to be better than he was.” His voice was weak, emotional as he looked down at her with glassy eyes.

“You already are, Theodore. You’re a burst of sunlight, you know. You make everyone near you smile and laugh even though it’s clear that you spent most of your life unable to do so yourself. That’s a remarkable gift. You’re gentle and patient and warm, despite…everything,” she choked out on a breath. “It is a privilege that you’ve allowed me in. It’s a gift to be your friend.” Hermione whispered, gliding her thumb gently across his cheek. His eyes fluttered and when he reopened them, she saw that they were filled with tears that wouldn’t quite fall.

“There’s that word again. Friend. Is that what you want from me when we get out of here, Hermione?” he whispered, furrowing his brow. “To be friends?  Because I don’t think I can go back to that now. Not after all of this.” A heavy energy settled between them as they looked at each other, soul laid bare for one another. She hitched a breath as he settled his deep emerald eyes upon her lips.

He leaned his head into her bubble, hesitating about an inch from her lips. She closed the distance with a soft, testing kiss, unable to fight the magnetism between them. They both held their breath for a moment, gauging the other’s reaction—and then their lips met with more purpose. Hermione gasped as Theo entangled himself with her, pulling her flush to his chest as he kissed her. Her body instinctively melted into his warm embrace as she met his kisses with equal passion.

“Hermione,” he whispered, pulling back an inch, his hot breath hitting her face. She looked up at him, panting heavily, intoxicated by the lingering feel of his lips. “If we’re really going to do this, there’s something I need to tell you.”

She kept her eyes glued to his with an encouraging nod.

“I’m terrified,” he admitted. The expression on his face a mix of apprehension and longing.

Her brows drew together. “About what?”

“That I might hurt you,” the words tumbled from his mouth on a shaky breath.

Her lips parted. “You’re not going to hurt me, Theodore.”

“You don’t know that. I’m not always this—” he hesitated to find the words, “light-hearted. Sometimes I can be cold and closed off, and sometimes I say cruel things that I don’t mean because of it.”

“And I can be selfish and prideful and hot-headed. And I stick my nose in all the wrong places,” she whispered back. “That doesn’t make me a bad person. They’re just flaws. We all have them.”

“You deserve someone whole, Hermione.” His voice broke, a tear finally leaking from his eyes. “You don’t deserve to be weighed down by half of anything.” The sight of him, barely maintaining control above her only spurred on her need to soothe him. She ached to touch him, to lick his wounds and sew his heart back together from where his father had tried to break it. And the way his face had fallen, like he was deciding for both of them that he didn’t deserve this—it threatened to crack her own composure.

Hermione brought both hands to his face, forcing him to look at her. “Do you want to know something else about me?” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers. The way he was looking at her made the rest of her words come easily. “I can be horribly stubborn. And I’ve already decided that I want to give this a try. There is nothing you can say to convince me otherwise.”

He hitched a breath, searching her eyes for any hint of a lie. She pulled his mouth back to hers and he breathed into it. An epiphany—that was what he delivered to her as his lips moved over hers. It wasn't just lust, beautiful as he was. It was filled with more emotion than she’d ever experienced in a kiss—even with Ron. This was what it was supposed to feel like. This was what they wrote poetry and sang songs about. It nearly made her see stars as their breaths picked up and he backed her into the guardrail.

She drank him in without shame, deepening their kiss. A soft noise rumbled in his chest—kindle to the smouldering embers in her stomach. She swiped her tongue along the seam of his lips and he opened readily for her, meeting it with his own.

Her whole body burned from his touch. She moaned into his mouth, hands tightening around the fabric of his jumper. His arms curled around her back and she shivered beneath the soft graze of his fingertips. They trailed over her sides and up and down her spine that arched for him. It felt as though they were a perfect mold, crafted to fit together perfectly. 

And she could feel the hard press of him against her. She writhed against him, savouring the way he reacted with small winces and groans. 

And oh how she needed him.

Their kisses grew hard and fast and needy. She willed her fingers to release the soft fabric and slip beneath it—they sprawled across the hard planes of his chest before dancing at the hem of his trousers. Theodore pulled back, eyes blacker than the sky above them as he considered her. 

“Is this truly what you want?” he whispered as though he hated that he had to ask—that it might not be what she wanted despite her earlier protestations. Hermione let out a shuddering breath and nodded. 

“I want all of you, Theodore. More than that, I need you more than anything in the world right now.” Her voice was breathy, desperate as she swiped a single finger against his waistband.

His eyes smouldered as he searched her face, his length twitching in response to her touch. But his hand came down upon hers and halted her movements.

A complaint nearly left her tongue before he was pulling her to the ground beneath him, pressing his lips to hers with renewed force. She exhaled into his mouth and he trailed kisses down the column of her throat, hands working to yank her own bottoms down. 

She shifted frantically to allow him room to maneuver and writhed beneath the rush of cool air against her thighs. They weren’t cool for long because he slipped her knickers down and his hands settled there.

Hermione writhed as he gripped her tightly in place, kissing the inside of her thighs and kneading her soft skin beneath his fingers. He paused and looked up at her from between her legs, eyes dripping with lust and determination. All of her focus was on him—even her breathing had stopped as the corner of his lips tugged upwards. 

Then he swirled his tongue around her centre with a deep groan. She cried out, her body letting out an involuntary jerk as it adjusted to the foreign feeling of his mouth on her.

A gasp escaped her throat as he pulled her clit gently between his lips and her hand weaved into his curls. His breath was hot and needy against her centre as she gave them a tug. It seemed only to spur him on more.

He wrenched her legs apart with frightening strength to allow him more room. He buried his face into her and she could feel herself rising quite rapidly to the precipice of her pleasure. 

“Fuck—“ she gasped, unable to move much beyond grinding herself against his skilled tongue. The noise that rumbled against her in response told her that he really fucking liked what she had just done. She writhed again and again, pressing herself flush to his mouth. Each time, his hands got a little tighter upon her thighs, his tongue a little greedier as he tasted her.

She was hot all over and seconds from collapse. His hands slid up and splayed across her abdomen, leaving her nowhere to wriggle as he consumed her. 

On the next flick of his tongue she cried out and shattered around him.

He flicked it over her a couple more times, sending a jolt through her sensitive centre. She screamed, tugging eagerly at his hair as she trembled from the aftermath.

“Theodore—please,” she begged him, dragging his mouth to hers. She could taste herself on his lips as she wrapped her legs around him and reached for his waistband again. Her fingers found purchase and she rushed to tug them down, hands grazing over his skin. 

He pulled away, helping her in shifting them the rest of the way down to release himself. They panted for a moment as they relished in the feeling of him throbbing against her centre, hot and heavy. Her eyes watered as desire like nothing she had ever felt tore through her.

When he slid himself against her slick centre she whimpered, angling her hips so that he might accidentally slip inside of her before he could keep teasing her so cruelly. 

He chuckled, some of his own bravado dissipated by his own desire. She saw it in the blacks of his eyes, that hunger she wished he would unleash on her. 

He brushed himself against her still sensitive clit, slow and languid until she felt herself rising to the occasion once more. He was trembling nearly as much as she was, desperate to sink himself into her. But he seemed just as content to feel her squirm beneath him.

She was about to cry out and beg him when he slipped his cock downwards and lined himself up at her aching centre. He met her eyes one last time and then buried himself inside of her with a breathy groan. 

Hermione saw stars as she adjusted to him with a gasp.

He slowly withdrew himself and then pulled her hips up towards him so he was fully seated inside of her. She cried out, savouring the way his fingertips dug into the soft flesh of her arse beneath his grip. 

“Fuck, Granger—“ he lilted.

“Yes!” she gasped as his hips snapped into her again. Her head lolled backwards, eyes clenched shut as he began to rut into her with increasing pace.

She had never felt such pleasure with anyone before. He fucked into her with abandon and she felt the stirrings of another orgasm as he knocked against her inner wall over and over with delicious force.

“Oh god, Theo—“ she whispered as she neared the peak, “fuck, just like that, please—“

He growled, wrapping his hands around her back and shoulders to sit her upright. Her lips parted as she sank deeper onto him, legs straddling his own. He guided her up and down, his hips snapping up to meet her.

Her spine arched as she raked her nails down his back, careful not to leave a mark. 

“Look at me—“ he whispered against her ear. 

Her lids felt heavy with overwhelming pleasure as she turned her gaze onto his. They burned like a forest fire as he thrusted up against the swollen spot deep within her. She cried out and on the next rut of his hips she was coming around him.

He grabbed her chin just as her head threatened to tip backwards and forced her to look at his face as she shuddered and spasmed around him. 

“Merlin—fuck—“ he cursed and she went liquid in his arms as she felt him follow her over the edge. He pulled her tightly to him as he filled her with his release. She moaned, burying her head into the crook of his neck as his movements slowed beneath her.

He exhaled a shuddering breath into her hair as he came down from his high. She was panting, still warm and wet and seated over him as he pressed soft kisses to her head. 

A moment later he was gently guiding her backwards and slipping out of her. She felt the absence of him immediately, a rush of warmth slipping from where he’d found his pleasure deep within her. She was almost ashamed to admit how hot the idea made her, knowing he’d claimed her in such a way. As she peered up at him, she saw the same heat in his gaze.

His tongue swiped at his lips before he leaned over her to kiss her again. She breathed into his mouth, wrapping a leg around him to pull him back down with her. 

Theodore yielded to her, allowing her to roll them onto their side. They kissed for a long moment before Hermione had to pull away for a breath. She rested her head upon his chest as she caught it. He was so warm, so familiar to her as his chest rose and fell in time with hers.

“I don’t think I’ve ever felt like that before.”

Hermione twisted her head to look up at him with eyes as big as saucers. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been with women before. But I’ve never…”

“Liked them? Known their name?” she teased nervously. Her whole body shook with anticipation. It was like she was buzzing with happiness. She knew what he meant. She hadn’t ever felt like this before either.

He rolled her off of him and pinned her beneath his muscular body. “Already back to teasing me, are you?” he squinted at her with a determined look in his eyes. She smiled brightly back up at him and his expression softened again. “I was going to say that I’ve never been close to them. Not like this.”

“You can admit that you’ve fallen madly in love with me, Theodore,” she whispered, only half-teasing. He searched her eyes with parted lips. As though he was about to speak but thought better of it.

“Do you ever take your own advice?” He said at last, brushing the hair from her face.

She breathed out a laugh, doing her best to ignore the violent flip of her stomach. “No. but I should probably start.” He smiled, staring at her for a few long moments.

“Will you stay with me again tonight?” he asked. His eyes were deep and glassy as she gazed back at him. The thought crossed her mind that they were prettier than any star she might have seen that night.

“Yours or mine?”