Boats Against the Current || Theomione || Post-War AU || Part I
[Un-beta'd. Any and all errors are, naturally, faults of mine.]
~ Dedicated to Colubrina, the badass Slytherin anon on Tumblr (*hearts* to both of you amazing snakes), my TumblrTwin LyndaLoyde (*hearts*), and one of my best friends Hope, for giving me the idea to begin with. (*all the hearts* ~
He was scrubbing a particularly vile spot of something from the bar when she walked in. Magic had the oddest of limitations sometimes, and whatever concoction had been spilled on the counter earlier in the day had long since dried by the time he'd come in for his late shift. Thankfully, he wasn't as helplessly ignorant of muggle remedies as the 'good guys' would paint him. Bar Keeper's Friend was an aptly named product; of that he was certain. He was not, however, quite sure just what Hermione Granger was doing in this grimy hovel. Alone, no less.
She sat at his bar, at the very end of it, but she still purposefully chose to be served by him. Not that he was advocating for his coworkers – at all – but still, she was Hermione Granger.
"Aren't you a tad too pleasant to be down here?" He asked, trying to keep his voice as friendly and commending as possible.
Her smirk disarmed him, hesitant though it was. "Aren't you a tad too aristocratic for muggle cleaning solutions?"
He smiled and it was as easy as it was sincere. "Never bought into that rot, love," he said, tossing the sullied cloth into the nearby bucket on the floor full of its predecessors. "Certainly an entire society can't be obsolete, lesser even, if they've managed to produce a powerful, pretty little witch like you."
Her eyes narrowed slightly, playfully, and he found himself noting the various colors the firelight brought out in them. "You're trouble, Mr. Nott," she teased. "But decidedly less awful than people assumed in school."
"Oh, I was a prat at Hogwarts," he assured her, still grinning. "Now, I'm no Malfoy by any stretch of the imagination, but my patience for our peers was next to nonexistent."
"You always seemed happiest in Arithmancy," she said, her pretty eyes still full of mirth. "In sixth year, at least."
He dimpled at her. "Perks of advanced courses, darling, you only share the class with capable people."
She smirked. "Theodore Nott just called me capable. I may faint."
"And you haven't even had a drink yet. I think we may have to redefine 'lightweight'," he teased. "What'll it be, love?"
"Firewhiskey's fine, thank you."
He discretely looked her over while he made her drink. With no school robes to hide her figure, the shallow part of his mind had a chance to appreciate how lovely she was. When they were in school, she was a fantasy he'd never allowed himself to dwell on. Between their house rivalries, his own house's various prejudices, his father, and the war, any and all ideas of possibly courting the pretty muggleborn before him had died before they'd fully formed. But now she was sitting in front of him drinking firewhiskey, flirting with him, and looking far too tempting to be safe, especially in an underground pub in Knockturn Alley. Nevermind her war heroine status.
"What are you doing down here, pretty witch?" He asked her. "Shouldn't you be sprawled out on a gaudy chaise somewhere being fed grapes by your doting dolts?"
She almost choked on her whiskey. "Harry and Ron, worshiping me?" she snorted. "What universe do you live in?"
One where there are little veins of gold in your eyes, he thought. "I thought you and Weasley were…ah…an item?" He managed.
She quirked a brow. "The stressors of war make a lot of things seem like a good idea. Including, but not limited to, dating someone with the emotional range of a teaspoon."
He pressed the back of his hand to his mouth to stifle his laughter. "Ahem, condolences, I suppose?" She snorted again and mumbled something in the negative. "I do hope things ended cleanly."
Just not cleanly enough to leave any hope of their relationship being rekindled, of course. He wondered if there was a muggle product for removing emotional attachments. Naturally, his curiosities were purely for her sake and not at all selfish in nature.
"He abandoned us for a while when we were on the run, you know," she said suddenly, staring pensively into her whiskey as she spoke. "Hindsight and all that. Doesn't particularly matter. We're all adults, all war veterans. Can't exactly get together on a Saturday night like ordinary chums with that sort of history, you know?"
He did. "I'm sorry, Granger."
She blessed him with another one of those smiles, even though this one was slightly tinged with mourning for her once best friends. "If we can graduate school, we should be able to graduate to first names too."
He gave her a small smile. "Let's start over, shall we? I'm Theo."
She shook his outstretched hand. "Hermione."
He brought her fingers to his lips, surging with triumph when she blushed. "It's a pleasure, Hermione."
"Oh, no," she said quietly. "I think the pleasure's all mine, Theo."
She came back two nights later, arriving a little earlier than she had the first time. He was anxious. He'd been given a slightly earlier shift, one that meant he could leave thirty minutes after she'd arrived. After their two-and-a-half-hour chat last time, he wasn't eager to be removed from her presence so soon. But would his company be welcome if he…if he stayed?
"Hello, Theo," she greeted brightly. She was the only thing in this dingy hell hole that shined. She was foreign, an outsider, and, perhaps for the first time, not because of her parentage.
"Hermione," he returned with a smile. "You look lovely."
She did. Her robes weren't fully closed, revealing a very flattering pair of muggle jeans and a snug black halter number to his eyes. The gentleman in him didn't stare, but the worthless shallow sod in him was in heaven.
"This?" She questioned, glancing down at herself in honest confusion. "Get your eyes checked, Nott."
"I thought we'd graduated to first names, pretty witch?" He quipped.
She scoffed and rolled her eyes. "Trouble."
"I am?" He grinned at her heatless glare.
She asked about his week. He asked about hers. He made her a drink. She sipped it while they talked. All too soon, the last thirty minutes of his shift flew by. He frowned when he glanced up at the clock.
"What's wrong?" She asked him, her eyes betraying her worry.
He sighed. "I," he said, "Am officially free of the employment obligations bestowed upon me today."
Tension danced between them as she chewed her lip and he tried to think of a way to extend their time together.
"Well, Theo, since you're free," she said hesitantly, "Can I buy you a drink?"
He blinked at her, too stunned to be pleased. "Absolutely not, but I'd be forever indebted if you could allow me the honor."
Bemusement colored her features, but a slight grin had returned. "Sexist," she accused.
"Gentleman," he corrected.
He lost track of time throughout the evening, though he did dutifully keep an eye on the number of drinks she'd consumed and managed to keep her from getting completely pissed.
She lived alone, he learned, just far enough away from Diagon Alley to give her some semblance of privacy, but so far that the commute was ridiculous. She saw Potter and Weasley maybe once a month, usually less, rarely more, to his great pleasure, and spent her days however she pleased.
"I did attempt honest employment," she told him, "But with the heroine status and hero worship, it really became more trouble than it was worth. Occasionally I get a personal research project funded and if my findings benefit the ministry, I profit. Not that I need it."
"Welcome to a life of privilege," he'd told her with a snort. "It's rather boring, isn't it?"
She had agreed.
They talked about her projects and about his life immediately after the war. She found out he roomed with Draco Malfoy, but that the prick was in Paris indefinitely with his mother.
"Don't get me wrong," Theo assured her, "He's an arse, but I've known him since I was two, so I suppose I've built up a tolerance."
She tactfully asked him about their relationship. He shrugged.
"I'm sure you've caught on to this, but most of the pureblood families are a bunch of hypocrites," he said. "They act all high, mighty, and conservative, but in reality, Abraxas Malfoy was bisexual and had two – um…what's the male term for a 'mistress'? Partners? – two whatevers and his wife was gay, so she had Salazar knows how many mistresses."
She'd giggled. "Lucius Malfoy's parents were both…?"
He raised a brow at her and grinned, "Like grandfather, like grandson. Mine were no better, but my mother's side was less skilled in hiding it, I suppose. We're two bisexual peas in a pod, pretty witch, but we stopped dating months ago. Ended things before they got messy. Just roomies now. And friends."
She blushed slightly and said, "I've never…ah…experimented, I suppose? But my natural inclination is, well, inclined towards beautiful creatures such as yourself."
He grinned and it was slightly predatory. "Hermione Granger called me pretty," he teased. "I may faint."
He told her about the flat he'd bought in a small forward thinking pureblood district and how Draco had completely taken over, turning the thing into a masterpiece of modern muggle architecture. All clean angles, matte painted steel, glass, and concrete. It was beautiful and crisp and non-traditional. He loved that flat and wondered if maybe she'd like a tour sometime.
She asked him if sometime meant a few moments from now.
He said it certainly could if the pretty witch wished it to.
She wished.
His face was pressed into something warm, voluminous, and soft when he slowly woke from the best wet dream of his life. A deep breath filled his nostrils with a delicious citrus and vanilla scent that he greedily inhaled again as he burrowed deeper into the source. His heart stopped and soared simultaneously when he opened his eyes and found himself snuggled up with a certain curly-haired witch.
He hadn't been dreaming. She had come home with him the night before.
She was spooned against him and – Circe help him – was equally naked as he was, providing him further proof that the night before had, indeed, been real. Even the wildest of the fantasies he'd entertained about her during sixth year did not compare to his partially alcohol-hazed memories from the night before.
The shallow part of him entertained sending his ex-boyfriend a note and informing the prick that he owed Theo twenty galleons. Not because Theo had gotten the witch they'd both lusted after into bed fair and square, but because the witch in question was not as demure in bed as Draco had assumed. Far from it.
A slow smile made its way onto his face as he remembered discovering a few itty bitty tattoos and the discrete onyx stud in her tongue. How he hadn't noticed the piercing before was beyond him. Maybe it was a newer addition.
He took his time carefully detangling from her and slowly slipped out of the warm bed with no small amount of reluctance. But he needed to use the loo and he was determined to make her breakfast. Last night would only be a one night stand if she wanted it to be. He had other plans, however. He grabbed his wand from the bedside table before standing.
The door didn't creak when he slipped out and, not for the first time, he found himself thankful for the wonderful oddity known as the modern muggle. Hardware stores and WD-40 were treasures to someone who had grown up in a manor that was as old as time itself. Most of the flooring in the flat was smooth concrete, but the halls and living room were white-washed hardwood and it never ceased to amaze him that the boards didn't squeak. Neither did the faucets. And he couldn't hear the plumbing within the walls either.
After visiting the other side of the flat to use Draco's bathroom - as not to wake his guest by using his own facilities - Theo made his way into the kitchen and started setting out the things he needed to make them a decent breakfast. Muffins, he decided, were always good and there was still a pack of bacon in the fridge. He got to work.
He wasn't sure when she'd woken up or how she managed to be so quiet that he didn't notice her until he was almost finished cooking. He jumped slightly, mentally cursing himself as he did, when he turned around and found her sitting on the other side of the island. She was laying on the countertop, her head resting on her crossed arms as she watched him cook. The first thing he noticed was that she had tamed those sweet smelling curls into a thick braid which rested over her shoulder.
"Morning," he said a beat too late, before he turned back around to dish their omelets onto plates.
"Good morning," she returned. "You didn't have to go through all this trouble, you know. I'd have been content with tea and toast."
He made a noise of disagreement in the back of this throat. "That would be abysmal morning after etiquette, love. Besides," he turned off the burner and slid her plate across the island, "I wanted to."
She smiled a bit as he reached into a drawer and slid her a fork as well. "Etiquette, huh? Is there a book on this somewhere? I'd like to read it."
His lips twitched into a partial smirk as he opened the oven door so he could levitate the pan of muffins and the cookie sheet with their bacon onto the stove top. "Yes. Manners, the 9th Edition by Decent People."
She snorted, almost choking on her food. "Fair enough," she said. Then, after pausing briefly, "It's odd seeing someone else blend muggle and magical things. Pleasant, but odd."
The strips of bacon sizzled loudly as he tried to come up with something to say.
"I've never been the type to believe things blindly, even things I was told from birth," he said eventually. "I learned not to question my father's beliefs out loud very quickly, but I didn't believe him because his arguments were weak." He walked around the island and moved one of the stools to the other side so he could sit across from her while they ate. "You were a big part of that, actually," he admitted hesitantly. "Muggleborns are weaker than we are, they told us. They're vulgar, uncouth, barbaric, unintelligent. And every time I heard that shite all I could think was 'Hermione Granger is the top of our class and she's muggleborn, Father, explain to me how she fits in your bigoted agenda.'"
"Books and cleverness," she muttered, somewhat bitterly with a shrug, "None of it mattered. I still didn't – don't – belong. People tolerate me because of my part in the war, but it changes nothing. Now I'm just a socially acceptable oddity."
"You're perfect," he said quietly, staring at her with a small amount of concern. "Hermione, you don't understand. We had to be brats in school for appearances, but we - me, Draco, Pansy, hell even Blaise – we all knew and acknowledged you as an equal, a better, even. Sometimes begrudgingly, sometimes it was laced with envy and jealousy, but…I…" He faltered, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. "If Voldemort had never happened and my father hadn't been the man he was, we would have been all over you, sweetness. Pansy would have been trying to convince you to run away and be gay with her forever. Blaise and Draco would have been throwing expensive things at you, following behind you at Hogsmeade and buying everything you glanced at twice. You were, for all intents and purposes, exactly what all of us were told to look for in a partner, only the war did happen, so we were forced to dismiss you because of your heritage."
She was deeply confused by the time he'd finished his little speech, and for a moment he worried that their budding friendship – or whatever this was – wasn't ready for the admission he'd given. Thankfully, he was wrong.
"What about you?" She asked gently. "Where would you have been, if I'm even entertaining the idea that Draco Malfoy would have been chasing my skirt in any universe?"
He grinned at her with a false sense of bravado at his heart staccatoed in his chest. "I would have waited for you to go to a bookstore and when Draco and Blaise inevitably started to argue about who was going to buy you what book, I'd have asked you to tell me about whatever book you were currently reading over lunch." He paused briefly, looking at her smile and realizing, quite suddenly, that his answer had made her happy. "Or dinner," he added, only he wasn't talking about alternate universes anymore.
"Dinner," she repeated, still smiling, "I'd like that."
"Tomorrow night?" He asked, "Six-ish?"
"Sure. What should I wear?" She asked.
He dimpled at her. "Something muggle, pretty witch. Casual."
When she left after breakfast, after he'd gotten a sweet kiss goodbye at the door, Theo turned to his empty flat and slowly let out a breath. He hadn't been this excited for something since…ever. Grinning and probably looking as foolish as he felt, he flicked his wand at the dishes to get them washing themselves and made his way to his shower.
Tomorrow. He'd see the pretty witch again tomorrow…
Thank you to everyone for reading~ Reviews are loved and appreciated.