When he saw her she was wearing an ugly Christmas' sweater in line at some coffee store he couldn't be bothered to remember the name of and all he could think was- 'I'm way too drunk for this' while simultaneously not being nearly drunk enough because because it was 7:45 in the morning and normal people weren't even up at these times and why was he here again? And, he had been sober for nearly two years now and it was a god-damned Sunday, or maybe it was a Tuesday but all he could really tell definitively was that he very much needed a drink and to not be there anymore.
She stood there innocently, not having noticed him, wearing muggle jeans that fit more like a layer of skin than entirely separate entity and that hit him as particularly unfair as his mouth went dry. She looked how sacrilege felt and he would know. He felt pretty god-damned sacrilegious for looking. Not that he could stop. She made him feel like he was unclean and he may never be clean enough to talk to her, to look at her, to realize he was next in line and was going to have to order something to avoid looking like an idiot. She made him feel which was new enough in itself, but then she always had.
It took her half an instant to realize he was there as she turned around to leave adjusting her very much too large messenger bag on her shoulder to better accommodate her grip on what must have been the Big Gulp of coffees and he took a step up. When she saw him she smiled and he fumbled and for half a second he was falling into the liquid gold of her eyes, but then he caught himself and he felt his lips quirk and he smiling too.
"May i have two extra large extremely caffeinated lattes?" He was asking the guy behind the counter who upon threat of death he couldn't have picked out of a line up or even know the color of his eyes because while he was talking to him he was looking at her and she was saying-
"Theodore? I-" now she's fumbling too and she's looking at him like she's trying to read his mind just by sheer will alone, and it almost seemed like she was going to say she had missed him which would have been ludacris, and then finally she says "Where have you been?"
"Liverpool," He says pulling a name out of thin air because anything sounds better than 'nowhere,' or worse, in bed alone, drunk. "Draco has a house there."
"Oh," she responds, absently moving off to the side so she isn't in the way while he grabs his coffees. "How is he?"
He call tell from the way that she says it that she doesn't care, not really, but he appreciates the question anyway. The chance to collect himself.
"He's…. Good, well, mostly. He has been spending a lot of time at his dad's company lately which is driving him spare but- it's Lucius so what do you expect? He keeps telling him that at his age he was already the head of the company."
She snorts, "I'm sure he's only handled that with the utmost maturity and decorum."
He thinks about the business cards, he ordered that said 'His Luminescence,' about the way Draco has been more reserved lately and runs his free hand through his hair.
"You could say that, yeah."
She seems to be battling with herself over something internally, which fucking welcome to his world, really, because when wasn't he battling something, but she looks divided and he wants to say something truly, he wants to, but he doesn't. He doesn't say anything instead he takes a sip from one of the coffees in his hand and he studies her while he waits for her to speak.
Hermione hasn't been this close to Theodore, Theo, in years. Not since the war, before that even, and she is having a hard time with the feelings she is experiencing. The feelings she had repressed, quite effectively up until that point.
On one hand all she wants is to talk to him, to be close to him for as long as she possibly can, and on the other, she was fighting the actual literal urge to run out the door. Immediately. What right did he have to show up and ruin her perfectly bland Tuesday, or maybe it was Sunday with all of the research she had been doing for the new Ministry laws she was having a hard time telling anymore, but still, what right did he have to just be here, real and imposing and-
"Are you busy? I mean- you have two coffees obviously, so you must be busy- what am i saying? Of course your busy," she's talking before she realizes she has even opened her mouth, which is very unlike her, honestly, and the corners of his mouth are straining like they do when he's trying not to smile, and bloody buggering hell, she has missed him, but obviously he's busy, so she should say something.
Anything. Really.
"Granger," He's saying, and it's like they're back in the library again, like they're them again, like the past is just there, just within reach, and she's reaching millimeters from touching it. "If you need help knitting another one of those truly atrocious sweaters that your wearing then my schedule is free. To be honest, i was afraid you weren't going to ask, but now that we're on the topic, it looks as though you may have missed a row, right-"
She could almost feel the years falling away, almost.
"Nott, that very nearly hurt," she's saying but she's smiling and, " you must have been practicing your repertoire of witty remarks, but i wonder," she shoots him her best conspiratorial glance, "What would the Malfoys do if they knew you knitted a good majority if the S.P.E.W. campaign?"
"Be immensely grateful they were never on the receiving end of any of my knitwear, I imagine." He replies drolly, but he drops the second coffee in the trash, and follows her out of the coffee shop and he's smiling really smiling and for the first time since the war everything feels alright.