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He shows up at the door of Number 12 Grimmauld Place in late May. It’s a humid evening, and sweat is dripping off both his and Draco Malfoy’s faces as they wait half-collapsed on the stoop. Draco’s laboured breathing punctuates the ambience of the night. Theo Nott has an answer at the tip of his tongue for the inevitable question of why they’re there when the door opens, but as Remus Lupin stares down at them in surprise, shouting words not meant for him with his wand pointed at Theo’s face, he’s at a loss for words.
There’s some shuffling inside the house, more shouting, and then Lupin is addressing them, asking how did you find this place and scanning the space beyond them for any sign of other people—other Death Eaters. Then, two things happen at once. Draco leans forward and coughs, blood spattering onto the steps. And from somewhere in the house, Theo hears a small voice ask, “Theodore?”
Everything happens quickly after that. Harry Potter appears at the door and drags the pair inside, despite Lupin’s protests.
“What shop did we first meet in?” Potter asks Draco, mostly to placate Lupin’s paranoia. It’s well-founded, though, and Theo can’t fault the older man for it.
Draco coughs again, this time into a handkerchief he’s pulled out of his trousers pocket. He stares at the blood for a moment before crumpling the cloth in his hand and answering, “Madam Malkin’s.”
Satisfied, Potter turns to Theo. “Which class did you beat Hermione in in fifth year?”
Theo scoffs. “Defence, though hardly for any valid reason.” He’s sure that if Umbridge hadn’t been the professor, Hermione would have remained above him in marks as per usual.
It’s then that Potter looks down at the box tucked under Theo’s arm. “What’s that?”
But then the girl in question appears. “Theo,” she says again. “You… You’re here.” He can tell she wants to approach, but doesn’t want to hurt him in case he’s injured.
“I’m here,” Theo replies softly. He hands the box wordlessly to Potter and extends his arm toward Hermione, and she steps into him, burying her face in the side of his neck. The embrace is brief, but it’s enough for now, even after all this time apart, so they can address the more urgent matter at hand.
Apparently satisfied with Potter’s identification, Lupin helps Theo move Draco out of the foyer and into the main room before beginning to cast diagnostic and healing charms on him.
Theo isn’t hurt, just exhausted, so he collapses into a nearby chair and tries to clean the dirt out from under his nails. Hermione gives Potter and Lupin a stack of damp cloths before pulling up a chair from the dining room and sitting next to Theo, casting her own diagnostic spells on him. He feels the brushing sensation of a gentle Scourgify down his body and instantly feels a bit better. He addresses the grime under his fingernails with more vigour, but gives up when he scrapes too hard against the bed, wincing as his finger throbs.
Hermione takes his hand in hers, gently weaving a warm cloth between his fingers, wiping away the caked-on mud and dust and terror with each stroke. They haven’t spoken since she first saw him in the entryway, but the silence between them is comforting.
Draco is calmer now, his breathing even and the seemingly permanent crease between his eyebrows relaxed. Lupin’s and Potter’s quiet discussion over the Slytherin is no longer terse and worried.
Theo closes his eyes. Hermione threads her fingers through his, and he can feel the soft brush of her lips on his knuckles before she leans her cheek against their joined hands. “I missed you,” she finally murmurs.
He rubs his thumb over hers, grazing her face just slightly. “I missed you, too,” he says softly. “How long has it been?”
“I’m not sure,” Hermione admits. “Time runs together. Too long, though.” She sighs. “How are the others?”
“Hanging in there. Doing their best. The Carrows are keeping everyone under their reign of terror, but your friend Longbottom is holding down the resistance fairly well, considering. His girlfriend—Abbott? A Hufflepuff, at any rate—is a whiz at healing. Her salves have been lifesavers more than once—sometimes literally. I feel like I saw different people every time I went into that room.”
“And your friends?”
“Doing their best to lay low.” Theo thinks about Daphne and Tracey, spiriting the younger students away after one of the Carrows levelled a Crucio at them. He thinks about Pansy, rallying the other Slytherins together despite everything feeling like a lost cause. He thinks about Blaise, who is decent at potions but even better at wandless magic, using shields on whoever the Carrows’ attention turned on to protect them as best he could. And he thinks about poor Astoria, still only fifteen but doing her best to help the youngest students feel as safe as possible—not an easy task, certainly, but Stori has a way with the younger ones that makes them more trusting of her than many of the older students. “But they’re helping where they can.”
They watch Potter and Lupin together as they work to clean Draco up, giving him a makeshift sponge bath and dressing him in clean clothes right there in the living room. Convenient that no one else has appeared, Theo thinks. If Draco were of sound enough mind to care about his state of being, he’d be appalled. As it is, the platinum-haired boy lies mostly limp and barely conscious, though no longer coughing or groaning in pain.
Hermione seems to read his mind, noting, “Most of the others are out right now, or sleeping. They had a long day yesterday.”
Potter and Lupin finish dressing Draco, and Lupin floats him carefully up the stairs, presumably to an empty bedroom. Potter cleans up the rags and Draco’s filthy clothing and shoves them into the laundry chute.
“I’ve been meaning to ask,” Potter says when he returns. “What’s in the box?”
The box in question, set aside in the chaos, is now the centre of attention. It’s small and unassuming, a simple cube of polished rosewood. Potter gives the box to Theo. He holds it reverently, staring down at it in silence. When he looks up a couple minutes later, both Potter and Hermione are watching him curiously.
“These,” Theo says finally, “are bones.” He runs his hand over the top and turns it toward the others. Engraved into the cover are the initials G. G. “Greg Goyle.”
“What happened to him?” Hermione whispers.
Theo only needs to say one word. “Dolohov.”
“Merlin.” Hermione rises from the floor and wraps her arms around Theo’s shoulders. Potter stares toward the kitchen, a faraway look in his eyes.
“I feel like this was my fault. That’s why I’ve brought him with me. I want to give him a proper burial.” Theo sighs.
“Of course.” Hermione hugs him again before standing up.
“There’s plenty of space in the Black Family graveyard. I’m sure they wouldn’t mind,” Potter offers.
Theo nods. “I think that would be perfect. But for now…” He sets the box down on the side table. As if on cue, someone’s stomach growls, and the moment of levity is a relief for all three of them.
“Are you hungry?” Potter asks. “Thirsty?”
“I could eat something,” Theo admits, “but I mostly want to shower. I still feel like I’m covered in a layer of dirt.”
“I think we have some leftovers in the kitchen still,” Potter replies. “I’ll see what I can scrounge up.”
“I’ll let you go clean up,” Hermione says. “I’m sure you’ve had quite the day.” She stands and leans down, presumably to kiss his cheek or forehead, but Theo tilts his face up just so, capturing her lips in a kiss full of longing and relief. It’s a fleeting connection, like the embrace in the foyer—neither of them likes public displays of affection all that much—but he knows they both need something. Hermione breaks away first, but she remains close, forehead against his, for a long moment before giving his temple a brief press of her lips and stepping away toward the kitchen.
Theo rises from his chair shortly after. “The bath is upstairs, second door to your left!” Hermione calls over the sound of dishes being pulled from the cabinets.
He makes his way up the staircase slowly, each step creaking beneath his feet. He’s exhausted, the bed in the first room he passes calling to him, beckoning him into its embrace, but he knows he needs to wash up first, and eat as well. Shower, food, then sleep.
When he’s scrubbed himself raw and his skin is red from both the vigorous cleaning and the scalding water, Theo descends the stairs again to find Lupin, Potter, Hermione, and one of the Weasley twins at the table. A bowl of soup sits at an empty spot. He slides into the chair and immediately digs in. It’s hot—nearly too hot to eat—but Theo doesn’t care. All that matters is that he’s not eating at a table with the Dark Lord at the head, surrounded by his father’s accomplices. He doesn’t feel the need to keep his wand in his sleeve as he eats, and instead of having to sit next to Yaxley or Mulciber, he can thread his fingers through Hermione’s and enjoy his meal in peace.
“Malfoy’s in bed,” Lupin says. “We managed to get him to eat a little bit, but sleep will do him good.”
“Good,” Theo replies. “He needs it.”
They eat in quietly, drained by the events of the evening, the silence only punctuated by the clinking of silverware.
When Theo is done, he thanks Potter quietly and waits for Hermione to finish. She sets her bowl near the sink and joins him, leading him up to her room.
They settle under the covers after preparing for bed, facing each other. They are silent, watching each other in the darkness. Theo can’t quite believe his luck, escaping his house even as the Dark Lord dined at his dinner table. He brings Hermione closer, and they close the door on this seemingly endless night. It’s the most peaceful sleep he’s had in months.
☼
It’s early when Theo wakes up, but the sky is already starting to become lighter. The other side of the bed is empty, but still warm. A piece of paper lies next to his wand on the nightstand.
Come outside when you wake up.
He rolls out from under the blankets and gets dressed, then creeps downstairs. Grimmauld is still quiet at this hour, though Lupin gives him a nod from the kitchen. He makes his way to the back door and slips outside.
Hermione sits cross-legged on the steps, a book in hand. Two cups sit next to her. She looks up and smiles at Theo, gesturing for him to sit down.
“Good morning,” she says. “Coffee?”
Theo accepts the cup and wraps both hands around it, grateful for the warmth. “You’re up early,” he observes.
“I could say the same for you.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Touché.”
Hermione looks out over the garden. A slate pathway leads into the grass, and a small greenhouse is set up near the back. “This was filled with Dark plants when we first moved in, but Neville’s been giving us tips on how to clean it up and replant useful things,” she says. “Dittany, valerian, aconite, starthistle. Things like that.”
Theo spies a hydrangea bush in the far corner and points at them. “Do you think… do you think it would be all right if we took some of those to the graveyard later?”
“That’s a great idea,” Hermione says. She takes his hand and squeezes it gently. “I’m sure Harry won’t mind.”
They sit in silence, sipping their coffee in contemplation.
“What do you think will happen now?” she asks after a while.
“I don’t know,” Theo replies honestly. “But whatever it is, we can face it together now.”
They sit together, shoulder to shoulder. By now, the crickets have gone silent, and the birds have taken up their songs. “It’ll be all right,” he promises. His lips press against her temple.
They sit together, hand in hand. The sun rises.