This is the first Mass in which I have paid less attention to the liturgy and more to the people present in the church.

Father Lupin performs the chant with his beautiful voice, but the words are lost on me as I watch Hermione. She is as awkward as any child I have seen at their first Mass, but her beauty outshines the rest of the church. Not even the stained glass windows can hold a candle to her face. I watch her as she stands when we are meant to, bows her head in respect, holds hands with those around her when prompted, and passes on the communion because she is not a believer. No one bats an eye or gives her a scathing look. She is welcomed as the skeptic she is, but I can see that even she is affected by the beautiful singing.

Theodore's voice is most certainly a gift from God.

The Church begins to file out, genuflecting as they leave their pews, and I stand beside Theodore, watching as she hesitates outside of the doors and turns left, away from the rest of the crowd. The rest are going home, but I know where Hermione is heading.

Theodore tugs lightly at my sleeve, and when I look at him, there is something in his eyes. Sadness, but not quite. Concern, perhaps.

"Be careful, Brother," he says, his voice solemn and low, only for my ears. I had not realized Theodore even noticed Hermione. Again, that jealousy rears its ugly head inside of me, attempting to stake a claim to my heart. My heart that has already been promised away, just like my soul – wretched thing that it is.

"I will be."

I turn and bow lowly to both Father Lupin and the altar before I, too, leave the room, my steps betraying me with their swiftness as I turn away from the crowd and walk towards the garden. Toward the tree of Good and Evil. To my Eve and her apple. To the damnation of all of humanity.

Or so it feels.

She is sitting on our bench – our bench, as if it were any such thing – and her skirt flutters around her ankles in the soft breeze of the Sunday morning. She looks up at my approach, her hands tugging her sweater tighter around her shoulders. I look deeply into her eyes, searching for what she might say before she can say it. Does she despise me for asking her to sit through it? Can I be so lucky as to think she has changed her mind and will become a member of the Church? Worst of all, perhaps, do I want her to? How selfish I truly am to think, even for a moment, that I would rather her risk her eternal soul to remain the worldly woman she is than to have her come to God and be saved.

I open my mouth, unsure as of yet what I am going to say, but she lifts a hand, silencing me in a single movement. That same hand tucks a fly-away strand of hair behind her ear. It revolts, coming back around in the breeze to float across her face.

"I want to talk before you say anything."

I nod, sliding my hands into my sleeves. Our conversation in the school returns to me. This may be the last time we talk. I told her that I could not promise to keep up our friendship, and perhaps she remembers that, too, and she is preparing herself to tell me goodbye. My heart constricts in my chest, and I can only hope my thoughts are not written all over my face.

I wait. She stares at everything but me, it seems. I watch her eyes drift toward the garden's gate, on to where the school rises up in the distance, to the doors of the church, to the cross that rests at the top.

"Hermione." My voice is soft, and only then does she look at me.

"It was a very beautiful service." She means it. I can see the sincerity in her eyes, golden and glowing as they seem to be in the morning light.

"You were a welcome addition to the Church this morning."

"Draco," she pauses, "Brother Draco, I told you I wanted to talk before you said anything." Her hands clasp together in her lap, and I nod, again. "It was a very beautiful service, but I don't think I'll be coming back for a second." My face must fall, because she quickly hurries on. "Not because it upset me, but because, well, I just don't think searching for spirituality and belief is something that should be done in such a public setting with so many people who already believe in it."

I frown. "What does that mean?"

"It means," she pauses and stands, her fingers pushing through her wild hair, "that I would still like to come here and talk to you, at least on occasion. I don't believe in God, and I'm not saying that will change, but I can see how much you do, and that, well, it interests me."

I interest her. How much of a charlatan do I feel now, masquerading as a pious priest when all I can think about is how her hair flows in the wind, how it cradles her face, how I wish my hands were those strands of hair so that I might cradle her face in the way the wind does. She looks at me, and she speaks of how my faith makes her curious, but I look at her and see her freedom.

And I covet it.

"I know you said that you couldn't promise me a friendship, but I want to ask you to reconsider. Surely, the Father of the Church won't begrudge you a friendship with a heathen if we discuss religious matters?" The way she says heathen is with a sense of amusement that has my lips tugging up into a small smile. Her tongue will be the death of me. Of this, I am certain.

"No, Father Lupin would not mind, so long as it does not interfere with my studies." After all, the more we talk about these things, the more I should be able to convince her to believe. Isn't that how it works? How it should work? Can I do this? Perhaps, she should become friends with Theodore. He is much better with words than I can ever hope to be.

"So, you'll still see me? I don't mind coming here. This garden is…"

"Peaceful." I supply her answer, and she smiles at me. It is the same smile she first gave me, when she held the rose. It seems to have been a lifetime ago.

"Yes, peaceful."

We are still standing in the same spot, but I find that I do not want to move. Not even for our habit of walking around the garden. The sun is hidden from most of the garden, not quite directly overhead, so parts are still in shadow where the high walls of the church keep the corners in shade; but where we are standing, the sun is fully on her. It brings out the lighter shades in her hair, highlights the golden flecks in her eyes, turns her smile into something that would make the most beautiful birds grow quiet in fear that their songs would never be as beautiful. I could stand here and stare at her all day.

"Yes," I find myself saying, exhilarated and chastised by my own tongue. "Yes, I will still talk to you, Hermione. Of course, I will."

Her smile brightens somehow, more than it already was. She takes a step toward me, and I can almost feel her arms around me before she stops herself. A slight flush colors her cheeks, and mine must surely reflect that shade.

All the dreams and visions I have suffered since meeting her come to me in bits and flashes, then. Her mouth on mine. Her skin against mine. Her hands on me. My hands on her. Adultery and sin and desire all rolled into one, stuffed so far down my mouth that I cannot breathe, buried so deep in my veins that it is my desire for her that pulses through me rather than my own blood. She is a part of me, irrevocably, and I do not – cannot, will not – get her out.

The bell chimes behind and above us. The Brothers will all be gathering together for lunch and prayer, but I linger. I linger, though I know I should not.

"When will you come back?"

Her head tilts to one side as she listens to the ringing, and she does not answer until it reaches twelve, the last chime reverberating off the stone walls surrounding the garden.

"A few days. I have my own studies, you know."

"Yes, of course."

She opens her mouth to say something else, but the rush of air from a swiftly-opened door comes from behind me, and I turn to see Brother Vincent come swiftly through. His face is paler than normal, and his eyes are wide with fear.

"Brother Draco, come quickly!"

"What is it?"

"It is Brother Theodore. He has fainted."

I turn to look at Hermione, and her face is pinched with confusion and worry. "I will see you in a few days, Hermione." I take the briefest amount of time to nod my head towards her, my heart twisting in my chest at our brief farewell, and then I turn to go. "Where is he?" I ask Brother Vincent, and he gestures towards the corridor that leads to the sleeping quarters. "Go and find Father Lupin, he will know what to do." I run through the doors, barely hearing Hermione's goodbye or the squeak of the gate as she leaves. Part of my heart leaves with her, but the remainder beats in steady fear.

The Church is quiet, only making me more nervous and anxious. Do we call the hospital? An ambulance? Theodore's family? There have been times where a brother has fainted during Mass, usually from locking their knees while standing for the duration of the service, but never after the service, and never Theodore.

I burst into our room to find that Brother Vincent must have already placed Theodore on the bed. His robe is draped across the chair at his desk, and he looks so much smaller without it. I had not noticed how much weight he has lost, but now that I see him in his plain clothes, I cannot help but notice the way his skin clings to his bones. Paper-thin. Weak.

Dying.

I place a hand to his forehead. He is cold, pasty, and covered with sweat.

There is movement behind me, and Father Lupin rushes into the room.

"Father Lupin, I – "

"Draco, go get a warm washcloth, a cup of water, and Theodore's medicine."

I nod, and turn on my heel towards the wash room. My hands and feet move mechanically to fulfill the duties. My mind goes completely blank. I know Theodore is sick, but I did not know his sickness has progressed this far. The fear is a chill down my spine. A shard of ice in my heart. Theodore has been a solid presence in my life for so long, that thinking of living in my room without him is unbearable.

"Here, Father," I say when I return to the room. I give Father Lupin the washcloth and place the glass of water on the table before opening Theodore's desk drawer to fish out his medicine. "Is he going to be okay?"

Father Lupin uses the washcloth to wipe the sweat from Theodore's face before pressing it to his forehead. "I do not know," he says, his voice quiet as his other hand feels for Theodore's pulse in his wrist.

"Should he go to the hospital?"

"Perhaps. He may have just grown too weary and hot in the Sanctuary. His pulse is normal." I nod, not even asking how Father Lupin knows that. I learned long ago that Father Lupin knows much more than I have ever anticipated. "Pray for him, Draco."

I lower myself to my knees beside the bed, careful not to be in Father Lupin's way. My heart pounds too quickly in my chest, and even now, Hermione's face drifts into my mind, making me feel unworthy to be the one to pray for the health of another person. Will God even listen to someone like me?

I pray, anyway. My thoughts tumble over each other as I try to phrase them just right in my head. I hope that Father Lupin was right when he told me that God knows what we want to say to him, even if we cannot find the words ourselves. I cannot lose Theodore.

"Draco, the water."

I look up. I do not know how much time has passed as I attempted communication with God, unsure if he even listens to a fallen priest like myself, but the first thing I see when I start to rise are Theodore's eyes, open and blinking slowly as they study me. My fingers shake as I hand Father Lupin the glass.

"Drink, Theodore." Theodore does, his eyes never leaving mine. I feel his gaze pierce my very soul, and for a moment, I cannot breathe. He sips the water, and begins coughing immediately. Father Lupin helps him sit up, and Theodore grabs the washcloth to cover his mouth as the coughs shake his entire body. I cannot help but notice how his shoulders jut out from his frame, bony and jagged. His arms, when not enclosed in the sleeves of his robes, look so very breakable. How have I not noticed his weight loss before now?

Shame and guilt flood me. Of course. Hermione has distracted me, and I have allowed it. My selfishness and ridiculous attitude have cost me precious time with a friend. The only true friend I have made in my time here. The only one who put up with my surly attitude since we were children.

Theodore pulls the washcloth away from his mouth. I see the specks of red before he places it beside him, out of my eyesight.

"My pills, please," he says, and I reach to unscrew the cap before Father Lupin can.

"Do you need anything else, Theodore?"

"Just rest, Father Lupin. Thank you." His voice is so quiet, meek. Father Lupin rises from his bed. I do not look away from Theodore to see the concern in his blue eyes, but Theodore offers him a small smile.

"Call for me if you need anything. I will have Brother Vincent or Brother Gregory bring lunch to the two of you in here."

"Thank you, Father Lupin."

"Of course, Theodore."

The door clicks quietly as he closes it behind him.

I sit beside Theodore on his bed and turn the pill bottle to the side to shake one out into my palm. Theodore's eyes narrow slightly at the sound, but he takes the pill from my outstretched hand, regardless. His fingers are clammy where they brush against mine.

"It seems I should have been the one telling you to be careful," I say. Theodore is still looking at me, and I cannot tell if he is embarrassed by what has happened, or if he even cares. Either way, he does not respond. "You should have stayed in bed if you did not feel well, Theodore," I try again to get some response from him. His silence unnerves me.

"I am fine, Draco."

It is such a blatant lie that I can only stare at him as he tilts his head back to swallow the pill.

"You fainted, Theodore. That is most certainly not fine."

"Were you careful?"

"Yes."

His eyes spear into mine. Theodore's body might be weak, but his mind has never been sharper. I know that, even now, he can see straight into me. I should have noticed his shrewdness long ago. I should have noticed that, while I was trying to compete with him, he was merely watching. Watching and learning.

But why me?

"You have never been a good liar, Draco." He still does not look away from me, but I have to break the eye contact. I turn my head away, staring at my bed, still pristinely made. My eyes close, but it does not matter. I can still feel his gaze on me. His thigh presses against mine in our closeness. I take in a deep breath, and when I exhale, I try to release all the tension, all the fear, all the worry, all the feelings I have for Hermione, all the desire for a life other than this one. I try to be what Theodore is. I pretend that I am a pious man, that my only love is for God, for His Church, and for the life that my parents have given me through this dedication.

I try, but I cannot even convince myself.

"I never thought I would have to be."

A/N: So, I lied. This was obviously NOT very soon at all. I am so, so sorry for making you all wait so long. Between my father passing, getting a new job, and double majoring at Uni, I have had zero time for writing. Hopefully, the rest of the updates won't take as long, now that I'm getting into the swing of things for the new year. I will try my very best, at least. I also realize that this chapter wasn't as heavily Dramione as some of you might have wanted, but there are plot points that I have to reach. I hope you all continue to like it and continue to leave me wonderful reviews. Keep faith in me. I promise I'm not going to abandon this story.

-Running