School's out! Which explains the weird mid-week update.

I have exams next week, but meanwhile I should have a bit more time to write. I haven't written much in a long time, so I'm happy. :) I'm thinking of writing a "Year Zero" fic about Hogwarts during the year Harry was on the run, or a "true" Dramione fic this time, or maybe something entirely disconnected from this work to get a breath of fresh air. I don't know yet. What think you?

I've been fleshing out two very different ideas for Dramione fics, one called Mission Accomplished and the other one may be Blood and Ashes, but I haven't decided yet. I very much like both and think I'm going to settle on one as my next longfic, probably the second one.

This chapter starts off as pure fluff. :)

Chapter 33

The Most Obvious Thing

3rd January, 1999

He waited for her at the Quidditch pitch. He knew she would guess where he was and would come to him eventually. Especially with the weather they were having. It was the first snow of the new year, and the flakes were swirling around in the air. He had always liked snow, but then, who didn't? She did, and that was part of the reason why she would come. Even with the Great Hall's charmed ceiling, nothing beat actually being outside when it was snowing. It wasn't even cold, or not unbearably so. The wind was strong enough to make the snowflakes dance, but not harsh enough to make him shiver beneath his cloak.

It was better outside. He had spent the holidays out here, feeling almost free. Since Azkaban, he found he couldn't stay in one place too long without either opening the window or pacing back and forth like a caged animal. Classes put a strain on him; he found his attention drifting more often than not. Theo could, with a look, make that feeling of imprisonment even more overbearing. Pansy tried to lighten it, but he felt too guilty about her for it to work. Only books seemed to make him plunge into another world and forget about the walls around him; that was one of the reasons he had taken to spending so much time in the library.

Sometimes, she could make him forget, too.

When he had been younger, much younger, he had tried to catch snowflakes. They had always melted too quickly for him to get a good look. Back then, he had been disappointed, but today, when he reached out to catch a dancing snowflake, he smiled when it melted at his touch. Some things would never change, even when it seemed like the planet itself had flipped over on its axis.

He felt a smile creep onto his face when he caught sight of her, a few seconds before she did. Not very tall, cloak flapping behind her as she walked forward quickly, her head tucked into her shoulders. It had to be her; no one else would come to the Quidditch pitch in this weather and on the first evening back. The smile widened when she saw him, too, and waved. He nodded at her, and then she was half-walking, half-running over to him.

"Draco!" Hermione cried when she reached him.

She flung herself at him, unexpectedly, and he only barely caught her, stumbling backward as she wrapped her arms around him.

"Hey," he said when she pulled away. "Happy New Year. Did you have fun?"

"Oh, yes, very much," she said breathlessly. "I love this weather, don't you? I simply adore snow. It didn't feel quite like Christmas without snow."

She took a moment to wrap her cloak tighter around her. Her cheeks were tinted pink from the cold, and her shoulders and hat were covered in snow.

"Yes, I had fun. I saw Harry and Ron, of course, but all the others were there, too. Even Lee came over, to keep George company – Lee Jordan, you know, he used to comment a lot of your Quidditch matches."

"You mean the one who was so blatantly on Gryffindor's side?" Draco asked and she grinned.

"Yes, I suppose he was. But he was a good commentator, anyway. And I saw Teddy. You still haven't met him?"

He shook his head.

"He's adorable. I took some pictures, I'll show you tomorrow when I've unpacked my trunk. He doesn't look much like you, though – maybe the eyes, but I'm not sure." She glanced down at his right wrist, around which the bracelet she had given him was strapped. "You're wearing it."

"Have you tried the dreamcatcher yet?"

She smiled warmly at him. "No nightmares over the holidays. Thank you."

"You're welcome."

She looked at his wrist again. "Do you like it?"

"It's okay," he said, toying with it with his left hand.

It was slender and discreet, just three strips of black leather braided together, with a silver nugget in the middle. He wasn't the jewelry type, but he could make an exception for this gift.

"You're not wearing gloves!" she exclaimed. "Aren't you cold?"

"I'm fine," he started to say, but she reached out and took his hands in hers, rubbing them vigorously with her gloved fingers.

"You must be freezing," she said.

"It's not that cold."

"How was your Christmas?" she wanted to know. "With Nott and... Pansy?"

"I've had worse. It was all right, really. Just... normal."

Normal. When had anything ever been normal with him? But it was the truth. The holidays had been relief-inducingly uneventful, blissfully peaceful, and... normal. He hadn't known normal was possible anymore.

"Normal," she echoed, and he knew she understood.

He didn't know why he did it. He suddenly felt the urge to give her something. He drew his wand, and as she watched him quietly, no fear flickered in her eyes, only puzzlement. Why did she trust him, after all this time, after everything he had done? He didn't think anyone else trusted him. His friends in Slytherin... how could they trust him? He flicked his wand; a snowflake stopped in mid air for a second, then slowly floated down to Hermione who had, in amazement, reached out her cupped hands. It lay there on her gloves, unbroken, unmelting.

"It's beautiful," she said softly. "I love magic." Then she looked at him and laughed.

"What is it?"

"I was just thinking..." Her eyes lowered to the snowflake again. "Before the war, did you ever wonder if we could be friends?"

"No," he said truthfully.

"Neither did I," she said, still smiling. "It's almost funny."

"If you say so."

He looked at her teeth, which the bright smile showed off. If he remembered correctly, she'd had longer front teeth than that, years ago. When had that changed? He hadn't paid attention.

"So that's what you call this, then? Friends?"

"Of course," she said, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. "Do you know what I hate most about winter?"

The change of subject was so sudden it caught him off guard; the snowflake melted in Hermione's hands. "Wha – no."

"I like winter, in general," she said, looking up at the sky. "But I don't like that it gets dark so early."

He smiled. "I could teach you to like the night."

She had convinced Draco to go back in time for the feast in the Great Hall, even though he said he wasn't hungry. "Well, I am," she had said, and he had followed her inside. Supper had been uneventful but satisfying – she had eaten, she noted with some surprise, an acceptable quantity of food. Ginny, sitting next to her, asked her where she had been, and she lied outright. "I was right behind you the whole time." Ginny didn't believe her – it was a terrible lie anyway –, but she didn't comment.

She had left the Great Hall before Ginny, thinking to stop by the library before it closed,

"Granger."

She turned around, wondering who could be calling her by her last name, and fell face-to-face with messy dark hair, pale skin and eyes as black as midnight. Theodore Nott was standing in front of her, looking cool and collected. Assessing, maybe.

"Nott," she said when she realised she'd been staring. "Do you need something?"

"A word. It won't be long." He looked around at the passing students and lowered his voice. "Privately might be better."

"What can you –"

"I have a warning for you."

Her blood ran cold and she backed away, almost bumping into someone behind her. Nott's voice was cold, and his father was an imprisoned Death Eater, and – a warning? The war was over. The war was over. The war is over.

"I don't see –"

"Not that kind of warning," Nott said.

Was it her imagination or did he look amused? She suppressed the panic which threatened to rise in her.

"It's about Draco. You've been spending a lot of time with him this year."

Was that it? She relaxed. "I have. So what?"

Again the amusement, and the hint of a disdainful smile. "Come with me."

He led her into a smaller, darker corridor on the side. She followed, wary but not overly afraid. He didn't look aggressive.

"You want to talk about Draco?"

"Yes." He paused. "Don't spend any more time alone with him."

"What? Why?" She stopped. "It's because I'm –" Muggle-born, she was going to say, but Nott cut her off.

"No, it isn't." A wry smile curved the corners of his lips up, but this time it wasn't in amusement. The smile was faint, bitter, and self-mocking. "Just for the record, Granger, I never took the Dark Mark."

"I'm sorry," she said. "It's just that your father –"

"My father," he said, "will be in Azkaban for the rest of his life. Everyone knows he was a Death Eater, Granger. You're not telling me anything I didn't already know."

"Let's say you aren't prejudiced toward Muggle-borns," she said. "Then what do you have against Draco?"

He seemed surprised. "Draco's my friend."

"But then why –" she began, annoyed.

"Just because," he said cryptically. "Trust me, it isn't a good idea to get too close to him. Oh, and, by the way." He held out his hand. "The war's over, so... Truce?"

She stared at him. "What did you ever do to me?"

"I'm in Slytherin. And I was Draco's friend."

"Yes, I'm sure that makes you a criminal," Hermione said, shaking his hand. "You don't have to do this. But I appreciate the gesture."

He nodded, then took his hand back. "Look, Granger," he started, then hesitated.

"Yes?" she prompted him.

"I'm serious. Draco is..." He paused again. "I like him," he finally said. "W've known each other for years. I don't like having to tell you this, okay? But he's not in his right mind anymore. Not since Azkaban, really. Maybe not even before. And he's done things that would make your skin crawl. He's a really skilled wizard. He could be dangerous."

"I think I can handle myself," she said icily. "He hasn't done anything –"

"Not yet he hasn't," Nott said darkly. "Not to you, anyway."

Then he turned around and started walking away. Alone, she noted. Had she ever even seen Nott around Draco? Why did he so suddenly seem to care?

Before he was out of sight, he turned, as though remembering something, and said, his voice loud enough to carry over to her:

"Please remember what I said. Just... think about it."

A few heads turned, but Hermione ignored them. He cared. He didn't want her spending time with Draco. Why?

Be careful. What did that mean? He hadn't been doing anything to her.

Don't spend time alone with him. He wasn't against her seeing Draco... but if they were alone she had to be careful.

He could be dangerous.

Not to you, anyway. Not yet.

"Nott!" she called, running after him. "Wait up – Theodore."

He stopped and turned when he heard his name. "It's either Nott or Theo, Granger, not Theodore."

She flushed. "Sorry. Look – you're being too vague. I don't –"

"You don't understand?" His eyes darkened. "I'll show you, then." He glanced around. "Here, come with me."

He led her back into the darkened corridor, and then into an empty classroom which, as far as Hermione could tell, hadn't been used in ages. It was dark and dusty, and the desks looked like they dated back to the previous century.

Nott caught her gaze and smiled. "I know," he said.

"You wanted to show me something?"

He looked uncomfortable. "It's just... If Draco put you in danger, they'd throw him back into Azkaban again. I don't think he could survive that."

"He's not putting me in any danger," she said, confused.

"Not yet," Nott said for the second time.

"You keep saying that," she snapped. "What do you mean by it?"

Nott looked at her so intensely she wondered whether she should be afraid. She didn't know him, after all. They had never exchanged a single word. He was a Slytherin, he was a pure-blood, and his father was a Death Eater. That was the extent of what she knew about him, and none of it was good. And here she was, alone in a classroom with him.

She found herself examining him. Nott was tall and slim, all lean muscle and sinew. She remembered him – vaguely – as the silent Slytherin with the constant bags under his eyes from lack of sleep. He had always been thin, scrawny almost, but he had grown now. His gaze was piercing and intelligent, not unlike Draco's really, but without the haunted look beneath the surface. Unlike Draco, who still looked like the life had been sucked out of him, Nott had thrived during the war. What had he done? He said he hadn't been a Death Eater, but how could she know? He didn't look like he meant any harm, but he would certainly be able to cause some damage. Her eyes quickly located his wand, up his left sleeve.

"I'm not going to attack you," he said, and she snapped her eyes back to his face. "Salazar. I'm not the one you have to worry about."

He hesitated again, then reached up and tugged at the collar of his robes, exposing his neck. Hermione gasped. There, a thin, ropey scar stretched across his collarbone, then twisted its way down beneath the dark cloth. There was no doubt in her mind that it continued its path down his torso, maybe even down to his waist. It was an odd wound that would have had to be inflicted while the victim was standing still, judging from the length of it. But why would anyone let themselves be cut this way without fighting back or, at the very least, stepping back? Unless... unless they were restrained.

"Draco did this to me," Nott said. "He didn't want to, but he did. It was last year, when the Carrows ruled the school. I broke curfew, and they ordered Draco to punish me." His lip twisted into a sneer. "Turns out the Carrows and my father didn't get along too well. They thought it would be fun to take it out on me, pure-blood as I may be."

"I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said, shrugging. "It's not like it still hurts. I just wanted you to know what Draco is capable of."

Hermione shivered and involuntarily glanced down at her forearms, where the scars, concealed by her sleeves, were almost as prominent as the first day. Dark magic never heals. One look up at Theo told her he knew exactly what she had been through at Malfoy Manor.

"He didn't have a choice," Hermione said forcefully. "He's free now. He won't hurt anyone ever again. He didn't have a choice," she repeated.

"There's always a choice," Nott said. "I made mine. He made his. And he was damn lucky Potter was noble enough to save him from Azkaban." There was a steely undertone to his voice, almost completely concealed by his offhand tone. "He did do the things he was accused of, Granger. Don't ever forget that."

And he walked away.

Remember the chapter where Theo and Draco talked? I originally intended to give Theo a much bigger storyline, but when I read over the first few chapters I was worried it might be too heavy; as in, too many storylines + too many characters = confused readers. So I cut out a few scenes, summed up the rest, and gave Theo a minor role – or as minor as I can give one of my favourite characters!

Admittedly, they're all my favourites.

How do you portray Theo? Is the Nott of your imagination anything like the one from mine – or not?

Next update by this weekend.