Chapter Twenty-Six

March 25th, 2004

Living together had wrapped Theo and Hermione in a wonderful little bubble that often shut out the rest of the known world, encasing the two of them and making time irrelevant as they fell into step with one another. Despite their exploring hands and explosive climaxes only occurring the day before, they'd broken the dam that had been their logical need to reserve some sense of propriety in an evenly paced—though still quick—courtship. After the blissful awakening, they relaxed in one another's arms, and Theo breathed in her scent, letting it lull him back to sleep.

When they woke for the second time and forced themselves out of bed after a good twenty minutes of thorough snogging, Hermione made breakfast while Theo dealt with the morning post. Once both tasks were completed and a healthy meal consumed, he dragged her down a long stretch of hallway and into—of all ridiculous things—a broom cupboard.

"I never got to do this at Hogwarts," Theo huskily whispered as he pulled her t-shirt up and over her head, exposing her breasts which he was officially addicted to, even after just the one taste. He kissed her deep, pressing her back against the wall—ignoring the fact that his actual broom had been jostled in their frantic movements and was, at present, digging its footgrip into his leg.

"I never did either." Hermione pulled away from him and unbuttoned his shirt with speed and precision to reveal the expanse of his chest. "It's Hogwarts. That's just . . . disrespectful," she said, laughing when he pressed his body against hers and nipped at her throat.

"Our home is just fine though?" he asked with a chuckle against her skin. "No disrespect there."

Our home. Ours.

She threaded her fingers through his hair as his hand slipped inside her jeans. "Oh, lots of disrespect," she said, lifting her leg and setting her foot on a shelf behind him, offering better access as he teased her. "This home used to belong to a Death Eater. And now his son and only heir is snogging a Muggle-born in a broom cupboard."

The frantic movements stopped, and Theo worked every touch with slow, calculated movements. He leant forward and pulled the lobe of her ear between his lips, biting gently before whispering, "Technically, this home still belongs to a Death Eater."

"Semantics." Hermione waved him off, closing her eyes and moaning.

He marvelled at her, still shocked that she didn't see his Dark Mark and recoil from it in horror. If anyone had the right to . . . but she didn't. Nor did she deny his participation in the past like some might, and often, did.

He knew, for a fact, that Adrian Pucey tried to have the tattoo removed in the Muggle world; when that had not worked, he refused to ever be seen in short sleeves or loose robes that might reveal it with casual movements. Draco often pretended the past didn't exist. He worked alongside and was friends with the most famous Muggle-born ever and married to a woman who, still to this day, wore a charmed Galleon as a necklace with the letters "D.A." engraved on it. War heroes, both. The times Draco was harassed in public, he rolled his eyes as though the insulters had stupidly mistaken him for someone else. Only when in the comfort of understanding friends did he ever mention the past, and even then only when it seemed necessary—or he was properly pissed.

Theo never ignored the past. He embraced it as a part of his life, accepted it, regretted it, and sought to make amends when possible. Hermione, however, acted as though that wasn't necessary. He was a Death Eater, sure, but it was just a part of him that needed no further introspection. No more so than the fact that he had brown hair and blue eyes, or that he was a Slytherin or a Nott. There was nothing special about being a former Death Eater. The Mark might as well have not been there at all the way she ignored it. He wished like hell he could ignore it as easily as she did. Wished he could accept himself as easily as she was.

"'Body of my woman, I will persist in your grace,'" he whispered in her ear as his free hand palmed and then squeezed a breast, memorising the feel of her skin and the way her body immediately responded to him.

She grinned and exhaled shakily before saying, "'My thirst, my boundless desire, my shifting r-ro—Oh!—road!'"

Theo smirked. "I don't recall asking for audience participation."

Hermione laughed. "This is hardly a one-man show, Theo."

He kissed her lips again, swallowing her laughter before pulling away and whispering against her mouth. "'Dark river-beds where the eternal thirst flows, and weariness follows, and the infinite ache.'"

"Ache? Mmm . . . I could help with that," she said, attempting to touch him.

"This is about you," he said, swatting her hand away from his trousers.

"You play the poet, the seducer, and the gentleman all while—oh god—doing th-that," she stammered as he strummed her like a finely-tuned instrument. "But you're not so perfect, Theo Nott. Something tells me you're hiding away your selfish side, your darker side, as though I'll go running if I see it." She took his face in her hands. "I won't."

He stared at her.

"Not always a poet, no," he admitted after a long moment. "And yes, I will be selfish, very, very soon I imagine."

To test the waters in regards to this inner darkness she suspected he had—and he did—he whispered, "Soon, I will selfishly devour you, tasting these pretty pink parts that only my hands have explored thus far."

Hermione whimpered in response. Well, that's interesting, he thought to himself as he began to wonder how far he could get away with the lack of sweet words meant for tender ears, and instead give verbal descriptions to his darker desires.

Going for broke, he reached up and brushed the pad of his thumb against her bottom lip, thrilled when she kissed the digit. "Soon, I will selfishly allow this sweet mouth to devour me," he said, pressing his hips against hers to make sure she got the message.

Her coming apart at those words was delightfully unexpected.

Fuck, he thought to himself. I'm going to have to pay Draco back for giving me this woman.

The rest of the day was spent lazily reading books in the library, making plans with friends for the weekend, and snogging in the breakfast nook where Hermione returned the favour, showing Theo how useful her hands could be.

March 26th, 2004

"You're less angry than when I saw you last," Blaise noted as he leant his broom against the wall to tighten the laces of his trainers. "You get laid already?"

Theo scowled at his friend, his grip on his own broom tightening as he looked out over the large field that Blaise's Rec League used to play the occasional game of Quidditch. Occasional meant at least once a month or whenever Blaise felt like calling people together, and dating a professional Chaser meant often because he had a desperate need to try and keep up with the witch on an athletic level.

Somehow Blaise and Ginny had both manipulated Theo and Hermione into coming. Hermione had agreed only because she would remain firmly on the ground as a spectator—and his designated Healer. Theo would be playing Seeker, which he declared was a "safe" position.

"I'll be out of the thick of things. Up in the air, looking for a tiny little ball," he told her when she worried for his health and safety. "It's the Chasers and Beaters that get the worst of it, I promise."

She scowled at him and crossed her arms in a stern way that made him awkwardly think about having children with her, but he shook away the thought before all the blood drained from his face and she started making a bigger fuss thinking he wasn't well enough to fly.

"I'll have you know that I paid close attention to Quidditch in school, and Harry ended up in the hospital wing all the time. He almost fell off his broom first year!"

"It was a cursed broom if Snape screaming in the common room was anything to go by," Theo pointed out with a grin, remembering the way his former Head of House had actually stomped through the dungeons swearing up and down that if any of them were caught trying to kill "Dumbledore's new pet" they would be cleaning cauldrons until graduation.

"Harry broke his arm second year when he was hit by a Bludger."

Theo snorted, finding memories of Potter getting injured far too amusing. "Which would have been easily fixed had that idiot Lockhart not attempted to fix it."

"He fell off his broom third year!"

"Do you see dementors flying around here?" he asked, gesturing to the field which was covered by a perfectly cloudless, blue sky.

"Sixth year he took a Bludger to the head, and it cracked his skull."

Theo outright laughed, remembering that game and then bit his lip to try and hold back his amusement when she looked like she might hit him—if he wasn't dying, that is. "Okay, I'll give you that one, but I'm still flying. If you want, I'll catch a Snitch for you."

She huffed and pouted. "And why would I care if you did that?"

"Because when we go to Malfoy Manor for dinner tonight, you can rub it in Draco's face."

That won her over almost instantly.

"Not that it's any of your business," Theo said, glaring at Blaise. "But no, I didn't 'get laid.' And when Hermione and I do engage in proper marital relations—as is expected considering we're to be bound in less than a month—I'll hardly be telling you any details, you ridiculous deviant. What a man and his witch do in the privacy of their home is just that . . . private."

On the other side of the field, Hermione leant back in her seat and watched as Ginny adjusted her gloves. "That man's fingers are a bloody national treasure, Gin."

"Good for you!" Ginny said with enthusiasm. "Didn't I tell you that Slytherin boys were fun to play with? But no, you wanted my brave Gryffindor brother and then that Ravenclaw you dated that last year at school. The one who lives with Neville now."

"Terry."

"Terry! And what did you tell me? Ah, yes, your intellectual conversations are positively . . . titillating."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I never said that. Terry was smart, but he was hardly titillating."

"'Cause he didn't like tits, now did he?" Ginny said with a smirk. "Theo on the other hand?"

"Seems to be very pleased with them," Hermione said with a shrug and then smiled softly. "He didn't see my scars."

"You glamoured them?" Ginny asked, frowning. "He'll have to see them eventually 'Mione. You're going to be—"

"I didn't," Hermione said. "I didn't glamour them. He just . . . He didn't see. Like he was looking past them. He doesn't care. Doesn't care that I'm . . . blemished by war."

"Well, so is he."

"Not for long," Hermione said with a deep sigh. "I'm going to save him. I'm going to marry him.".

"If I didn't know any better, Hermione Granger, I'd think that you were in love with your future husband."

Hermione ignored Ginny's teasing. "Have your Beaters take it easy on him, please. We're having dinner with Draco and Luna, and I'd really like him to not have a head injury, forcing me to put up with the pair of them on my own. You know how they get with an audience."

There were no head injuries.

It was a relatively safe game where Theo did, in fact, catch the Snitch, which made Hermione more excited than she was willing to admit out loud lest she ruin her reputation for despising the ridiculous sport.

The entertaining portion of the actual game came when Blaise accidentally hit Ginny with a Bludger, nearly knocking her from her broom.

"What the fuck, Blaise?!"

"It was an accident. Besides, you're a professional. You're supposed to be able to dodge Bludgers sent by us mere mortals," he said in a mocking tone.

Ginny glared at her boyfriend. "If I actually get hurt, I won't be able to play real Quidditch, and then you'll have a team of Harpies trying to stick broomsticks up your arse!"

Blaise hovered near her on his broom, ignoring the other players flying around them. "First, this is real Quidditch. Second, I'm used to dealing with harpies," he said, pointing his finger at her, "and third, if you want to invite your team into our bed, it'll be my 'broomstick' shoved up your—Ah!"

Ginny flew straight for him, fire in her eyes, and leapt from her broom to his, sending them both to the ground where she shoved his face in the grass.

He rolled her over, pinned her to the earth, and tried to make her eat clumps of dirt.

"Weirdest foreplay ever," Theo said as he landed next to Hermione, holding out a fluttering, golden ball in his hands to her. "M'lady. Your prize."

She smirked and took the Snitch then glanced down at her engagement ring. "Your presents seem to be getting less impressive," she teased him.

"I knew I set the bar too high with that bloody thing," he said, putting an arm around her as they walked off the field, listening to Blaise screaming behind them as bat-shaped bogeys began flying out of his nose.

When they arrived at Malfoy Manor, Draco met them at the fireplace as they exited, a narrowed gaze on his pointy face and a slip of paper in his hands.

"Greeting us yourself?" Theo asked. "I thought you enjoyed having house-elves do that sort of thing. I suddenly feel very special. Lord of the Manor here to take my coat."

"Look what Theo caught me," Hermione said with a bright smile, flashing the Snitch in Draco's face. "He's a very good Seeker. Did you know that? Best Seeker I've seen in a very long time. Might even be better than Harry, and everyone knows that he was the best Seeker of our age." She was practically bouncing on her heels as she watched the blond's jaw tick at the sight of the little golden ball.

"Trade you a Snitch for a credit card bill," Draco finally said, turning glaring silver eyes up at Theo.

"That was fast," Theo replied.

Draco handed the paper over, and Hermione took a peek, smiling at the printed out copy of the receipts of everything she and Theo had purchased on their date at Harvey Nichols and John Lewis.

"Care to tell me what the hell a toaster is?"

She looked up at the blond and smiled. "It's a machine that makes toast."

"Elves make toast."

"So do machines."

"You people are savages."

Theo grinned. "I took her shopping—"

"Technically, I took her shopping," Draco interrupted.

"—to get her things for the manor. Make her feel more at home," Theo said and smiled as he kissed the top of Hermione's head.

"She's turning you into a Muggle now?"

Theo laughed. "Says the bloke in Muggle jeans."

Draco pulled back his robes with a flare that Snape would have approved of, revealing his tailored jeans. He put a hand on his hip defiantly as he stated, "These are Armani."

Hermione smiled cheekily. "Muggle Italian designer is still Muggle, Malfoy. How'd you even get this?" she asked, picking up the credit card statement.

"The Muggle credit place saw strange activity on my account and reported it to the bank. It was picked up by the Gringotts liaison, who reported it to the Goblins, who owled me this morning," Draco said, snatching the paper back from her. "They wouldn't take care of it, though, and I had to go into Muggle London, track down this stupid store—and I didn't even know it was a store—and demand to know what had happened!"

Theo and Hermione shared a chuckle.

"It's Muggle London, you've been there before," Hermione said.

Draco scowled. "Luna came with me."

"Oooh."

"She told the manager of the store that it would be beneficial to keep the white wine closer to the feminine hygiene products because Nollywhatsits apparently enjoy a good drink before breeding season."

Hermione burst into hysterical laughter.