The Great Hall; 1998

Hermione scrawled aimlessly in the side parchment of her notes. Ancient Runes was so boring today; the students were currently doing a recap of what they'd learned before the break. It was so tedious. It was also something Hermione had mastered far before, so Hermione was given free rein to do whatever she pleased. Theo was glaringly absent. Glaringly because Hermione hadn't been able to keep her eyes off the door, waiting for him to appear. After that scribble in her notes, the one that made her stomach flutter whenever she looked at it (it was currently torn out and sitting as a 'bookmark' in a journal from her parents), she found herself watching his movements far more than she ever had.

It was like her brain was hard-wired on a Theo-detection device. Whenever he passed anywhere in her vicinity (whether it was in the edges of her sight or far in front of her in a crowd) it was like she was immediately focused on him. She'd be chatting with Susan, Faye, and Hannah and Theo would get up from his Slytherin table and Hermione knew. He'd pass her in the busy halls on his way to Advanced Flying (Yes, Hermione also was well aware of his schedule) and she'd see him card his fingers through his hair five floors below her, passing as she went to Charms. He'd enter a room that she was in and some part of her body was so in tune with his magical signature that she couldn't help but look up like he was bringing in a breath of a breeze wherever he went.

So yes, she was acutely aware that Theo was not in class, but had no idea where he might be right now.

He was more likely to play hookey if he assumed the class would be useless today and honestly, Hermione was tempted to just get up and leave too.

It would be easy enough; they were currently convening in the Great Hall. Their usual classroom was being fumigated because of an infestation of flesh-eating slugs, due to a miscalculation in an Arithmancy class next door, and had been booted away until Hagrid could clear the area. The risers were still up from the 'Welcome Back' choir performance and Hermione had decided to perch here, where she had a clear view of the Great Doors, to prepare herself in case Theo did decide to make an appearance.

It was pretty obvious halfway through class he wasn't, however, and their professor hardly seemed that she minded. She hadn't even tried to give Hermione some more advanced work yet, leaving the Gryffindor to entirely her own devices.

Begrudgingly, Hermione decided to write poetry.

Yes, she knew what anyone who heard that must be thinking. Hermione, writing something other than a term paper? Absurd!

Hermione herself almost found it laughable. She wasn't great at, err...creative aspects. She liked the tangible, touchable stuff...research papers, her logical analysis, accounts. Anything that was writing beyond that, the more nebulous sort, confounded her.

But the truth was she had so much guilt and trauma and anger and sorrow about the war that she was worried she didn't know what she'd do with it. It was the ultimate cocktail of emotions, though it was more apt to say someone at the bar of her feelings had decided to go crazy and pour every bottle into one big vat and swirl it around.

She knew others had their ways of coping; Ron and Harry with their Junior Auror's training every weekend, Neville was obsessed with his plants, Ginny needed to go for a run every morning at 5 am or she'd be jumpy all morning, and Hannah required a long soak at room temperature in the Prefect's bath where her body could just disconnect from her mind.

Hermione had tried all of them. Nothing had helped.

At her last therapy session, she'd been told perhaps she should try journaling or poetry. Hermione had laughed; what a foolish idea that was! Didn't this witch know the sort Hermione was?

"That is why you should try," She was prodded, "Because this isn't typical teenage angst. This was a war. You survived hell. Nothing about this is typical, so why should the way you express these feelings?"

That had stuck with Hermione. She told herself that no one needed to see her poetry. She didn't need to present it or make it perfect. That in itself would be difficult. She had never done anything for the sake of doing it, it was always for a grade or praise.

So, well, okay...maybe she should just try it?

But Hermione was not good without structure. To say 'go off and write poetry' was too large of a task, too much choice. She'd floundered around until telling herself some guidance was okay. It would still be creative.

For each class, she'd write a poem based on her feelings. Not in research or fact, but how that class made her feel. And she'd do this for a week. If it helped, she might consider it a daily challenge or prompt, and if not, she'd tried. She would have given it an honest-to-Merlin effort.

She was on her third poem. Her first class, DADA, had made her feel helpless. Not that she was, she knew so much more than what they were being taught, and it was stupid that they even needed this credit.

No, what made her feel helpless, was how few things that they were teaching. It was the most advanced Defense class and Hermione couldn't help but sit there and feel so helpless for these students because if they were in a real war, they would have no idea what to do. But equally, it made her feel almost angry. She had to remind herself that they likely wouldn't be in a war. That was something Hermione had to take on, and they did not have to.

Yes, good emotions, she'd told herself as she'd pressed her quill so hard through the parchment it nearly broke.

Her second class was Herbology and this made her feel panicked. She remembered how they never had enough herbs for medicine at any time; they were always missing this ingredient or that and half the time their crops would be killed long before harvest. When she entered, all she could think was splicing and blood and pressing pressure and hoping it would be enough.

Today, in Ancient Runes?

Hope.

She felt hope.

Though Theo was not in the room, he guided her choice. To be sitting here, friendly with a Slytherin...to the point others were too and not to be ridiculed, it gave her so much hope for the future. That they could all nurse their wounds and be not the same judgemental people they'd been before, that had led so many Slytherins to isolation and bad choices.

She was penning her poem when someone came up behind her and poked both sides of her stomach, causing her to yelp and drop her quill. She spun to see Theo behind the risers, grinning at her with a look of childlike mischievousness, laughing at her reaction.

"Great Salazar, what was that sound you just made?" He asked, pulling himself onto the back row of the risers with ease, coming to sit next to her.

"It's not nice to sneak up on people," Hermione said, her face blushing scarlet.

"You were nose-deep in writing. A herd of hippogriffs could sneak up on you."

Hermione almost said 'maybe, but I should have seen you', but held her tongue, for that may be admitting too much to him.

"Binn's History Paper? It's not due for two weeks." Theo guessed.

Hermione protectively shielded the parchment close to her chest, considering she may lie and agree. However, looking at Theo, she felt safe sitting here.

"Poetry. My therapist, she...she said to try it. Because-,"

"You don't have to explain it." Theo was not saying this as in he didn't want to hear, but rather, he understood why. And she was grateful and her heart hurt to imagine he also knew why all at the same time.

"Is it working?" He asked after a pause, "I...I can't…" He licked his lips, unsure how to finish.

"I'll tell you in a week," Hermione said with a watery smile.

There was a long pause. Theo lounged back on his chair, so far Hermione was sure he'd topple off the side. She went to cast a protective spell and he smirked, knowing what she assumed would happen, and tipped back even more just to tease her.

When he had her laughing, even a tiny bit, he shrugged, "I bet you'd be good at it."

"At what?"

"Writing. Creatively, you know," Theo rubbed the back of his neck, "And I'm sure it would be great. Not that you have to show me," He said after a cough, "I'd read it! I wouldn't, like, say no. I would. But, well, only if you wanted me to."

The idea of anyone reading this previous, this sacred and personal space to pour out every feeling that pushed against her brain, was scary. And even if Ron, her boyfriend asked, she might deny him that access. But she wanted Theo to see...maybe. Or, at least, she could agree that perhaps one day she'd let him, which was a huge step.

"Not now, but one day," Hermione said with a promising sigh, "If you wanted to. If you were serious and not just being nice."

Theo gave her a genuine, uncomplicated smile, "I wouldn't have a reason to lie. I'm curious."

"Do you have a way to, well, you know?" Hermione asked, deciding to switch the subject. She didn't know if she was brave enough, despite being a Gryffindor, to show him this poem. This one that was influenced by him in every line, every inch of prose. This poem that couldn't possibly give life to the brilliance she saw in Theo but she wanted to capture, and with that, her joy about the possibility of change.

Theo blew out a long breath, "Potions?" He said after a second, laughing about it, unsure.

"Potions? That's interesting," Hermione turned toward him, smiling with interest.

"I just...when I can't sleep, because of…" Theo coughed, "Anyway, I'll just grab a potion book, and I'll just start reading it. I don't do it, but I just read through it and I sit there and wonder if it could be done better. Draco did it with me this past summer. I'm better at the theoretical, but you put ingredients in front of Draco and he just knows 'hey, I think we should be scraping this, instead of cutting it'. I mean, Snape did mentor him. Point is, I'm better with substituting ingredients, Draco's better at streamlining."

"And what have you found out?" Hermione leaned in, utterly entranced and totally curious.

"Well, for one, the entire First Year's Potion book needs to be re-written," Theo scoffed, "The way they do it is just asinine. And, if you're trying to teach firsties the art of it, the mastery of the subject, it's even worse!"

Hermione tilted her head, "Perhaps you should try re-writing it."

Theo scoffed, "Well, yeah, that surely would keep me busy." He hummed, "Maybe one day. If they'd publish it even. Might have to use a pen name. Sure parents wouldn't like the new curriculum to be made by the two most infamous Junior Death Eaters."

"Theo…" Hermione's heart broke.

"What do you think of the name Harper? I think that would be a fine pseudonym." Theo said, trying to infuse more lightness into the conversation, a tone of humor.

"As a first or last?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

The bell chimed signaling the end of class. Hermione and Theo had very little to gather. As Hermione was climbing down the risers, she saw Theo's hand move, as though he was about to reach out and offer his palm for her to steady herself, but brought it back at the last second, inhaling sharply.

The reminder of where he'd touched her sides, even briefly, burned underneath her shirt. It was the first non-accidental, very specific motion he'd made to touch her and her heart fluttered at the small contact.

They exited the Great Hall to head downstairs; Hermione to Advanced Potion's and Theo to his study hour, which he usually took lounging in his common room, they passed Jack Sloper. He was one of the Gryffinodors in their next class. Ron wasn't in Advanced Potions and Harry had opted out after losing Snape's copy of the textbook.

"Yo, Nott! Pick-up match this weekend?" He asked. It seemed that Theo's outcast illusion only went as far as adults. In fact, not that many students seemed like they hated him. If most, luke-warm tolerance, but no outright slurs like some staff said under their breath. Maybe they'd survived this war young and had the wisdom to see that Theo, like so many other Slytherins, were caught by circumstance and unable to change, or that they wanted to try to do better.

"Ah, maybe," Theo shrugged, "I promised Blaise I'd go to London with him for drinks. I'm not sure I want to exercise before heavy drinking." He said with a dry laugh.

"Okay, but Weasley will be upset. You're his first pick."

Hermione shot her head around, "Weasley? As in-,"

"Ron," Theo replied, "I believe you know him," He gently ribbed with a shit-eating grin.

"Yes, well, of course, but you two…" Hermione paused, screwing eyebrows together in deep thought and confusion.

"Friends I guess," Theo said uncertainty, as though almost surprised by it, "Maybe just acquaintances. We met over the Quidditch Camp this summer."

Hermione had completely shuttered that event out of her mind, since she didn't care for the sport and she was so busy with everything anyway, "Oh." She said simply.

"Well, we still do pick-up games every now and then. I mean, Ron's a good captain and really knowledgeable about the sport. Sometimes we get food after. I wouldn't say that I'm about to braid his hair and gossip at sleepovers, but…" He couldn't think of how to define it.

Hermione was shocked. Of course, of course, her crush and her boyfriend were now buddy-buddy. Because the universe hated her.

She wondered why Ron hadn't mentioned it, but then again...why would Ron mention it? He had no idea that she and Nott were close at all. Ron probably assumed she didn't even know his first name! Plus, Ron had plenty of new friends, as she did too, so to offhandedly mention that Theodore Nott was now on that list specifically would be very strange.

Still, this information bothered her in a way she could not explain. It bugged her, taking up real estate in her mind, causing her to make a simple, stupid mistake during Potions that even Slughorn was shocked about.

As she washed her hands from the goo mess she'd made, she had to ask herself...why was this friendship between Theodore and Ron so troubling to her? What did she think Ron would find out? Or, why did she think there was something for Ron to find out at all? And more...what was Theo's game, if there was one, to befriend her long-time boyfriend?

This entire situation made her wary because well, the truth was one of those things that always came out eventually.

Gasp!? Is your dear author actually going to start updating this regularly?

Only time will tell! I hope so, but I've made those promises before and... yeah. If I do update on a regular story, it'll be every other week!