Hello lovelies! Happy Wednesday!

I've adjusted this chapter so that Draco's reunion with his friends has its own chapter, so Hermione's return will be pushed back from chapter 197 to chapter 198. Thank you for your continued patience concerning her return. Don't worry, she'll be back before you know it x

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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, only the story line and any OC's belong to me

For Muddy Waters. Feels like the conversation we had about part of this chapter was eons ago now, but it's finally here!

Draco Potter was at Hogwarts. Ron was aware of this because, well, everyone was. More than one person milling about the halls had spotted Draco when he and Harry wandered off. Also, Ron had bumped into Daphne, and with a knowing smirk she informed him that Draco was here.

News spread like fiendfyre and shortly students were madly gossiping about it throughout the Castle—even in their classes, which earned more than one harsh glare from Professors trying to teach. (The Professors were in the dark for the time being, but that would change by nightfall.)

Wild rumours were already spreading. A select few knew the truth about Draco and Hermione's disappearance; although the fact that they had travelled back in time was somehow a well-known fact amongst the Castle's occupants. However, most didn't know how far back they'd travelled, or any of the other specifics (much less that they now went by Hermione and Draco Potter).

Ron wished to avoid all the commotion inside, but he was desperate to see Draco before he left. Ron was unsure where he fit within Draco Potter's priorities, but hope filled his gut like fizzing butterbeer. Hope that he was somewhere on Draco's list of important persons.

So, Ron situated himself outside on the Entrance Hall steps—his thick coat bundled around him—stared off into the fog, and waited.

Hopefully he leaves the same way he came and doesn't disappear through a floo, Ron considered briefly. Didn't even consider that his talk with Harry could last hours. In spite of his doubtful thoughts Ron stayed put; he would wait and see.

Ron was daydreaming—worlds away—in a field of wildflowers, with the scent of summer ripe in the air. It was a field close by his house in between theirs and the Lovegood's properties. His siblings and he loved to run through the flowers and roll down the grassy hills closeby when they were little.

"Lost in thought, Weasley?" A familiar, deep but velvety voice said on his right, and Ron started at the sound. He instinctively reached for his wand, but paused as he glanced at the other wizard. It was Draco. Draco Potter.

"Something like that," Ron murmured, taking in Draco's appearance. There was an air of contentment attached to him, despite how red-rimmed, bloodshot and puffy his eyes were. He'd obviously been crying.

"I take it you found Harry then?" Ron asked. Tinkling sounds of laughter and excited chatter reached his ears from the other side of the ajar Entrance Hall doors. Ron peeked and saw a group of younger students openly watching them.

"Perhaps this isn't the best place to talk," Draco drawled, narrowing his eyes at their shamefully obvious spectators.

"Probably not, we could relocate," Ron suggested, prying his eyes away from the growing crowd.

"No, it's okay. You're waiting for someone right?"

"I was waiting for you."

Draco's eyebrows rose, the only physical indication of his shock. "Why?"

"Thought that we could go grab a pint or something."

(Sixth and Seventh years were allowed to go to Hogsmeade once per week regardless of if it was an official Hogsmeade weekend or not. The Eighth year's liberties were far greater, they were permitted ten visits per month granted that their marks were up to par; if not their Hogsmeade privileges were revoked altogether.)

"I repeat…why?" The surprise was thick in his voice. "Not that I am opposed, I just thought that you would still…"

"Hate you?" Ron supplied. Draco shrugged noncommittally.

Ron squared his shoulders and the speech he'd prepared for this moment fled his mind. Instead, he spoke from the heart, or at least tried to.

"After you and Hermione left, Sirius and Remus started talking about you and how you'd changed. I had a hard time adjusting at the start, but then I figured since you were so important to them and Hermione I should learn more about you. They offered to show me some memories…" Ron trailed off, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck.

"They showed you memories?" Draco grinned, pearly whites on full display. "Good ones I hope. I'd assumed they wouldn't say much until we got back, but memories? Brilliant."

Draco's expression shifted into an intensely contemplative one, his eyes icy grey and piercing Ron's soul. It should have unnerved Ron, but it didn't. In fact, he recognised that Draco was carefully pondering his next words. It was strange how Ron felt like he knew the other man, but perhaps, it was because in a way he did.

"Honestly, whenever I pictured what our first conversation would be like upon my return, there was a lot more vitriol on your end." Draco paused, rolling his shoulders back before he continued.

"I was scared since I grew quite fond of you through Hermione. She spoke of you often, and told me plenty of stories of you three's exploits—"

"Good ones?" Ron hurled Draco's earlier question back at him.

Draco smirked. "A mixture. Either way, I guess we'll have a lot to talk about over that pint you mentioned."

"Seriously, which stories," Ron asked. The mischievous glint in Draco's eyes was mildly concerning. Draco clapped Ron on the back and began the trek down the hill towards the gates and inevitably to Hogsmeade.

"Let's head to the Three Broomsticks and we can talk about it then."

"The Three Broomsticks? But Rosmerta detests you." Ron gaped. He then vaguely recalled that Draco would have spent a lot of time at the establishment when the Marauders were teenagers, but he doubted Rosmerta had forgiven and forgotten his transgressions as Draco Malfoy.

"Rosie is an old friend. It'll be fine," Draco replied with a dismissive wave of his hand.

"When she hexes you, how much of an old friend will she be then?" Ron muttered under his breath.

"I heard that Ronald," Draco called over his shoulder. "I suppose we're about to find out."

For all the bravado in Draco's earlier statements, Ron could tell the man was uneasy as Draco diffidently crossed over the Three Broomsticks' threshold into its cozy interior. Ron was a step behind him.

Rosmerta was currently bustling about the relatively empty pub, cleaning up a recently vacated table. The sound of the tiny brass bell above the door signalled their arrival and caught her attention. A radiant smile lit up her face as she turned to greet her patrons, but it quickly contorted into a dark glower when her gaze fell on Draco.

Rosmerta abandoned her task, a dish towel in hand that she wrung viciously as she stormed over to them. "You have the audacity to show your face in here, Malf—"

"C'mon Rosie, is that any way to treat one of your favourite customers?" Draco winked boldly. Outwardly he appeared the essence of calm and collected, but Ron could sense the tension in the other man. The wink stopped Rosmerta dead in her tracks.

Gobsmacked, Ron could only stare as she dropped her dish towel, and her hands flew to her face. She subtly shook her head in disbelief, her eyes widening by the second, and recognition bloomed across her face. "Potter?" She cautiously approached the pair. One tiny step at a time.

"I know it's been a while but—" Draco started but cut himself off when Rosmerta closed the distance between them—hands falling limply to her sides—it was as if she'd seen a ghost from her past. Which Ron supposed was an accurate description.

Draco chuckled when the shorter witch pulled him into her by the front of his shirt—grabbing fistfuls—and gruffly hugged him. Draco smiled gently, wrapping one arm loosely around the tiny witch and patting her head with the other.

She abruptly pulled away and swatted his arm. "What in Merlin's name, Potter? Explain now!" Rosmerta demanded.

"Can I give you the shortened version? I would rather not regale the whole epic tale right now."

Rosmerta's brows rose, her hands folded over her chest, and she impatiently tapped her foot.

Draco sighed, scratching above his left eyebrow. "You knew me first as the little shite I used to be, Draco Malfoy. Then Hermione Granger and I got sent back in time, took a de-aging potion and we grew up as Potters. That's when you met me for the second time, but for you, it would have been the first. Does that make sense?"

"Used to be a little shite? You're still an irritating twat, Potter." Rosmerta smiled.

"You wound me, witch."

"You'll get over it. If I know you—which I do—I imagine you're here because you want something," Rosmerta guessed, her features knitting together as she appraised Draco.

"I swear I have no ulterior motives today. I'm here for a pint and a quiet booth round the back," Draco swore, he raised his hands in surrender.

"Bollocks," Rosmerta chuckled, and then it was as if she only just noticed Ron was with him. "Oh…does that make Harry Potter—" Rosmerta started, as if the thought occurred to her upon spotting Harry Potter's best mate.

"My nephew? Something bizarre like that," Draco grinned.

Rosmerta fondly shook her head, talking directly to Ron. "Both a blessing and a curse that your best mate has this bloke for an Uncle." She turned to Draco. "Your old booth is free. It's not busy yet but people will be pouring in soon. It's Friday night after all."

Rosmerta eyed both of them carefully, and with a wistful smile, she said, "I'll bring you your usual drinks."

Draco gave her a curt nod and muttered his thanks before he wove his way between the tables toward the back. Ron dutifully followed him. The booth was in the back right corner. Draco ran his fingers over the tabletop before he slid into the booth, settling himself on the black leather with a soft sigh. Ron joined him, sitting opposite his companion.

"This booth was the best because we got privacy and could be as loud as we wanted at the same time, but the downside is we often had to go get our own drinks," Draco said aloud. Ron had sat here on a few occasions so he could relate to Draco's statement.

Easy silence passed between them as they waited for their drinks. Rosmerta brought Ron a sturdy, glass mug of butterbeer, the foamy top threatening to spill over the sides at any moment. A Firewhisky neat was placed in front of Draco alongside a mug of butterbeer to match Ron's.

Draco's gaze lingered on the butterbeer before he looked up questioningly at the older witch.

"You drank both depending on your mood, and sometimes you had Elf wine, but usually only when the Evans girl wanted it," Rosmerta explained gently. She inclined her head respectfully at the two wizards and retreated to the bar to prepare for the evening rush.

"Lily liked Elf wine?" Ron asked, genuinely curious.

"She preferred butterbeer, but sometimes she fancied some Elf wine and I always got roped into splitting a bottle with her," Draco recalled with warmth seeping into every syllable.

"I didn't get to see that in the memories," Ron said offhandedly.

"Right, the memories. Mind sharing which ones you saw?"

"After you tell me what stories Hermione told you," Ron grumbled, taking a large swig of his butterbeer. Foam coated his upper lip and his tongue swiped across it to get rid of it. The liquid was smooth, yet fizzy and exploded uproariously against the roof of his mouth before its warmth slid down his throat. It was a sensation that never got old.

"How about we trade a memory for a story?" Draco offered with a crooked grin. His hand enclosed around his mug handle but he didn't take a drag of his drink like Ron. His gaze was unfocused and locked on the space between them. "I'll go first."

"They showed me what happened after your Mum's death—Dorea I mean," Ron blurted. He hadn't meant to speak, but the words tumbled out of him without provocation. It had felt like he was keeping an enormous secret. He'd seen Draco at his most vulnerable. He doubted any of Hermione's stories put them on equal footing.

Draco's grin faltered, and sombre lines drew down his face. Draco took a small sip of butterbeer.

"Sorry for bringing it up, I shouldn't have said anything, I'm a bit nervous and when that happens I tend to say things I don't mean to—"

"It's okay, Ron," Draco assured him. He slumped back in the booth, letting his head fall back and he stared up at the ceiling. "Hermione told me about the time you managed to get the better of the twins, and snuck one of their own concoctions into their shampoo in their flat in Diagon Alley…the one above their shop…before things got really bad."

"Their hair was neon pink and sparkly for weeks," Ron hummed, immensely pleased with himself as an image of his irritated yet impressed brothers came to mind.

Ron was grateful for the change in topic, but he didn't trust himself to speak without making another inappropriate confession, so he kept his lips firmly pressed together and waited for Draco to break the silence.

"Dorea Potter was one of the best witches I have ever known, and I miss her every day. She was my Mum in all the ways that mattered, and when she was taken from us—it made the future losses we were going to endure more tangible.

It was so sudden, and you're never ready when you lose someone…but it was harder because we never got to say goodbye."

Draco straightened up, rolled his shoulders back and met Ron's eye. "We don't really talk about her passing anymore. We did our grieving, but we also stopped talking about her."

"You can talk about her with me if you want," Ron said. It felt like the right thing to say. He hoped it was.

Draco smiled, it was wistful and his eyes swam with unspoken nostalgia. "She smelled of daffodils, refused to wear orange because she claimed it made her look ghastly, and she could barely cook, but she was phenomenal at most other things. She had the rare talent of harnessing and using Elemental magic, but she couldn't brew for shite."

Draco snorted out a laugh, his thumb tracing an errant pattern on the side of his mug as he continued to speak. "I asked her for help with my potions homework once during Christmas holidays in third year, and she claimed she was busy, hurried off and fetched Dad. I didn't need help…but I wanted to spend time with her…"

"She seemed amazing from the glimpses of her I got to see," Ron said. All the mirth faded from Draco and he fixed Ron with a contemplative stare.

"I was jealous of you when I was younger. As Draco Malfoy I mean. There was never any doubt about the depth and magnitude of my Mother's love, but my Father's always felt conditional. If I did well in my language lessons when I was little, and then if I was the best at school, not to mention how suitable I was for the inheritance of the Malfoy name and everything that came with it.

But, your raucous family—which was everything my Father taught me to detest—seemed bloody brilliant at times. You were a family, and you didn't always get along, but you could tell that you liked one another, and it was strange to me." Draco confessed. "And I also hated you for it."

"And Dad—Charlus—was kind and strong, and a fantastic man. Always tracked mud into the house after spending hours out in the garden. He rarely used magic because he said it interfered with the process."

Ron nodded as Draco spoke. Neville was a firm believer in only using magic when absolutely necessary when it came to dealing with various plants. He also mentioned that he felt more grounded, more connected to the plants—magical or otherwise—when he got his hands dirty.

"Dad…he kept our family together after Mum passed. Even though he must have been dying inside, he held it together for our sake." Draco trailed off, eyes glazing over, most likely lost in thought over his late Father.

"He was also wicked funny from what I saw," Ron chirped.

A languid grin. Draco nodded. "Cissa taught me a lot about love and familial sacrifice the first time around—and she was a brilliant Mother—but Dorea and Charlus were… different. Their love came easier, it was more effortless?" Draco's brow puckered, as if mulling over what he'd just said.

"There was less pressure on you since the Potters weren't a very traditional Pureblood family," Ron added.

Draco clapped his hands together. "Exactly! Being a Malfoy came with certain expectations and appearances were of the utmost importance."

There was a comfortable lull in the conversation until Ron cleared his throat. If you'd told him four months ago that he would be sitting in a booth with Draco of all people—and they would be pouring their hearts out to each other—he would have guffawed until his sides hurt and tears pricked the corners of his eyes.

Ron rolled his shoulders back. "My family wasn't perfect, and sometimes I felt like I would never outgrow the colossal shadow my older brothers cast over me. It wasn't their fault, but I was never as smart as Percy, or clever as the twins, or brave as Bill or Charlie. Never quite as brilliant—"

"But you have a mind for strategy and you see things others don't," Draco cut in. "And you can't keep comparing yourself to them because you are brilliant in your own way, and have your own unique skills."

"Maybe," Ron muttered. He had outgrown most of his self-doubt that stemmed from a sense of inadequacy in comparison to his brothers' various achievements, but some of it lingered every now and then.

"Hermione told me that after Harry became obsessed with the Deathly Hallows, you were the one who kept them on track, kept them going."

"Did she forget to mention that I left them—"

"But you came back," Draco said sharply. "I've also run away, Ron. You saw me run as far and as fast as I could after my Mum died, but the most important part is that you came back."

The shame that normally knotted his gut whenever he thought about how he'd left Harry and Hermione loosened and relief slipstreamed through him as Draco spoke. Draco understood better than most how he felt. They'd both run away at one point.

The two discussed lighter topics for a while as they finished their butterbeers. Ron ordered another one while Draco sipped his Firewhisky.

"Theo and Ginevra are actually courting?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Unfortunately," Ron replied, but the bright grin on his face revealed his true feelings on the pairing. "And try to avoid calling her Ginevra to her face, she detests it."

"What do Teddy and Blaise call her?"

(Ron knew from experience that only Draco and Blaise were allowed to call Theodore Nott by the moniker 'Teddy'.)

"Little Red." Ron knew Ginny didn't like that nickname much either, but she tolerated it. She'd been called much worse.

"Little Red it is then. Teddy's always had an infatuation with your sister, but the fact that he acted on it? That part is shocking." Draco shook his head in mild disbelief before taking another sip of his drink.

Draco placed his glass down on the table, breathing in deeply before heaving out a sigh. "I hate to ruin a perfectly good conversation, but I figured I should ask. Since we're on the topic of unlikely pairings, do you know about Hermione and I?"

"That she's your significant other now?" Ron asked. He downed the rest of his butterbeer.

"They told you?" "They showed me as well," Ron said quietly. He reflected on the memories he'd seen, the depth of the love they shared for one another and it brought a small smile to his face.

"They included that in the memories?"

"The love the two of you share is something to behold," Ron answered.

Draco swallowed thickly. "Hermione is my heart, and her wild fire breathes life into my soul. That being said, I'm going to ask her to marry me when she gets back."

Ron noted how casually Draco spoke of his love for Hermione, there was no embarrassment or stumbling words. He loved her and he didn't care who knew it. In fact, he proudly wanted everyone to know that she was his witch.

It must be so freeing to talk about his relationship with whoever he wants now, or the fact that he can throw it into conversation without fear of retaliation from his Unbreakable Vow, Ron thought. Or having to pretend that she's his twin.

"Blimey." Ron whistled lowly, propping his forearms on the table and leaning forward. He was carefully pondering the new information that Draco had shared.

Marriage is a big step, Ron thought. But I guess it only makes sense. A small smile brushed his lips at the thought. They would need to throw a grand celebration after the proposal; it was the least the two of them deserved.

Playfully, Ron said, "you know, as one of her best mates, I would normally be obligated to warn you that if you break her heart…I'll castrate you and feed you your own bollocks."

Draco's mouth parted and he blinked rapidly. Ron smiled pleasantly, and his shoulders jumped in a cavalier shrug.

Draco snorted, but his subsequent grin was wild and bright. "I'd like to see you try, Weasley."

Ron's smile bled away, and a profound gravity swept over his body. "Hermione can more than handle herself, but I can't help worrying about her. She's my best mate…but as long as you make her happy, I'll be happy."

Draco's bottom lip quivered for the briefest of moments—so brief, Ron thought that maybe he'd imagined it—and a smile grew on his face. "Thank you, Ron."

Ron's vision blurred as he pointedly stared at his empty butterbeer mug. He had something else he wished to discuss; a topic he was afraid to broach. Ron swallowed thickly, his tongue heavy. "Does she—Does Hermione still consider me one of her best friends?"

Originally Ron was so focused on when Hermione and Draco were going to return, that he hadn't spared much thought to what would change between him and his friend when she did.

After wandering through Sirius and Remus's memories, thoughts of his dynamic with Hermione and how it would shift mounted inside him with frightening ferocity. He tried not to linger on them. However, his conversation with Draco brought them to the forefront of his mind.

"What?"

"She lived another life, she is part of—you have a pack—" Ron tripped over the words, unsure how to express his jumbled feelings.

He was delighted about the joyous—for the most part—life Hermione had lived in the past, and the bonds she'd forged, but he didn't know where he fit anymore. It was like doing a jigsaw puzzle but some of the crucial pieces were missing.

"Ron, I think you're underestimating just how much you mean to her," Draco said softly, leaning forward and staring deeply into Ron's eyes. "We may be a pack, but the bond you, Hermione and Harry share is unlike anything I've ever felt before. In a way it's like you three forged your own soul bond."

Ron didn't have words, but he hoped that the gratitude and awe coursing through him were conveyed on his face. Draco smiled reassuringly.

Shortly thereafter, the pair settled up their tab and stepped outside into the crisp evening. Ron let out a heavy sigh and his hot breath fogged up the air in front of him.

"Thanks for this, Ron. It was just what I needed," Draco said.

"No, thank you. I think I needed this too," Ron added with a slight smile.

Draco let out a haggard heave of air, and gripped Ron's shoulder. "That being said, I don't have it in me to go visit the Dungeons. I'm not sure I'll be able to handle it."

"They've missed you a great deal. They probably won't say it quite so plainly, but they have. They came to visit McGonagall's office every night right alongside Harry and I."

Draco mulled over Ron's words, silently deciding on his next course of action. "I'll send a Patronus," Draco said with a firm nod.

Draco withdrew his wand—a hand still on Ron's shoulder—and cast his Patronus. The silvery blue creature that sprung from the tip of his wand elegantly stood before them.

"Hi. I can't think of a more profound greeting at the moment so that's the best you're going to get. I accidentally bumped into Daphne this afternoon , so she's most likely ruined the surprise and told you I'm back. If not, I'm sure the gaggle of students gawking at me earlier have spread word throughout the castle."

Draco paused as he took note of Ron's subtle nod in agreement.

"Regardless, I'm back. I'm not too keen on seeing too many people yet, so grab Blaise, Pansy and Daph, and meet me at Malfoy Manor tomorrow round midday. Oh, I heard you finally asked Little Red out. Took you bloody long enough."

Draco waved his wand with a graceful flourish and the fox bounded away through the quaint village towards the ancient Castle. Streaky wisps followed closely on its heels where it moved through the air; the thick fog quickly swallowed it whole and the blur of light disappeared from view within moments.

"Draco?"

"Mm?" Draco made a non-committal sound in acknowledgement and tore his eyes away from a spot in the distance (he had been intently watching his Patronus sprint away).

"I'm sure Hermione will be back soon… but in the meantime…you aren't alone—you have us—you have me. If you ever need anything, I'll try to help as best as I can." Ron said in a blistering stammer. The words had a life of their own.

The corners of Draco's eyes crinkled as he smiled.

Draco had always been attractive in the Malfoy way where they looked like descendants of ethereal fae, but the lack of warmth in his face had made his features sharper and slightly unpleasant since a scowl was nearly always affixed to his face. Now, he was devastatingly attractive in a different way. The slight smile line impressions morphed his face into something more open and more pleasant to look at.

"Same goes to you," Draco replied. "Doesn't matter how trivial it is. If you need help with Potions or any of your other NEWT subjects, floo call me or come visit Potter Manor and I'll help best I can—granted Minnie permits it."

"Don't renege on that offer when I harass you with stupid questions. I'm still pants at Potions, but I'm trying my best," Ron sighed.

"It would be my pleasure to help you if I can, Ron," Draco said.

The subsequent smile the two of them shared was a promise for the future. A promise of a new friendship forged over a couple pints of butterbeer. A weight lifted from Ron's shoulders, one of his worries about Draco's return thoroughly assuaged.

Draco and Ron parted with warm words and promises to see one another soon.

As Ron trekked back up to the Castle, his boots sinking into the soft earth, he pondered on the past few hours. A loud crack echoed in the distance and Ron halted in his tracks. He swivelled to look back at Hogsmeade—the buildings were dark shadows in the distance.

Draco's gone, Ron mused. He shoved his hands into his trouser pockets.

Ron resumed his journey back to the Castle with thoughts of Hermione persistently circling through his mind. He hoped for her swift return for everyone's sakes.

Come home soon, Hermione. We need you.

Meanwhile — Slytherin Dungeons

In comparison to the other days in Theodore Nott's schedule, Fridays were the lightest. He had potions for a few hours in the morning and the rest of the day was his to do with as he pleased

(Normally that involved a mountain of assignments and neverending studying, but he'd opted for a much needed break instead.)

At the moment they were working on a pairs project in potions that was due a couple weeks before their NEWTs; Ginny was his partner.

In order to accommodate the eighth years who had returned to properly finish their education, there were a lot of classes that the Seventh and Eighth years shared.

This development was the reason he'd seen a different side to Luna Lovegood, and he saw her how Ginny viewed her. The witch was sharper than her dottish, airy exterior portrayed. She sprinted circles around him in Transfiguration, and thus he's taken to studying the subject with her in the library from time-to-time.

Slughorn's class for the past few weeks was centred around revision for the first half, and working on their projects for the remainder. They weren't obligated to stay after the revision session. The moment it concluded Theo dragged Ginny from the Potions classroom over to the Slytherin dorms.

The couple had been sequestered away in Blaise, Draco and Theo's room since. (They'd left Draco's area exactly as it was the day he disappeared.)

The Slytherin's dorms were laid out differently than the other houses. Normally, three wix shared a room and years were separated into different sections. Undetectable expansion charms paired with other complex spellwork ensured that there was more than enough room for everyone. The Castle somehow always provided the perfect number of rooms every year.

Often, their roommates would change yearly, but since fifth year Draco, Theo and Blaise were always together. Greg and Vince always shared a room across the corridor; at least they used to.

A light sound from the witch in his arms drew Theo from his dazed state. Ginny was lying back against Theo in just her crimson red, lacy undergarments. They left little to the imagination. Theo was wearing black, silk pants and matching socks that came halfway up his shins. His feet got cold easily.

Despite skiving off earlier, they hadn't fooled around—there had been a couple languid snogs—but they'd both craved skin-to-skin, and so they'd stripped down hours ago.

In the early days of their courtship, Theo considered that it might end like all his previous relationships had; even if he didn't want it to. They would eventually run out of witty banter or topics to discuss. The spark between them would burn out and they would tire of one another. He couldn't have been more wrong.

Ginny was a headstrong, fiery witch, extremely sharp and an excellent conversationalist. She was endlessly fascinating. She'd pleasantly surprised him. Thus, he often wondered what she saw in a cynical, miserable bloke like him.

He'd asked her once, and her eyes softened before she toothily grinned and replied, " everything. You may be a cranky bastard sometimes, but I like that about you. Besides, you're hilarious without trying to be, and you don't just spout useless drivel on a regular basis ."

At the time Theo wasn't sure whether she was paying him a compliment or not.

"You like that I'm miserable ?"

Ginny scoffed. " Is that all you got from what I just said?"

Theo didn't respond.

Ginny spoke softly. Her big, blue eyes fixed on his, and she lightly held his face, "you have a good heart, Theodore Nott. You don't show it to that many people, but I'm glad you decided to show me. And you aren't as wretched as you'd like people to think you are."

That was several weeks ago. The level of comfort they'd achieved with each other in such a short span of time terrified him. He was falling hard for Ginny. She gave him ruddy butterflies in his stomach, yet she evoked a sense of safety and security that he'd only experienced with a handful of others.

I am in love with Ginny Weasley, Theo thought to himself. He wasn't ready to admit it aloud. Trust and emotional vulnerability don't come naturally to him, and he doesn't always possess the ability to express his emotions correctly. Which wasn't a surprise since he'd been raised by an emotionless, vindictive monster. Ginny on the other hand found no trouble in letting any and everyone know how she felt.

Theo's prior relationships were physical arrangements that were often accompanied by blurred lines between friendly acquaintances and cordial friends. They never lasted long, especially since they weren't deep connections.

(He and Daphne had tried to have a proper relationship in their sixth year, but it hastily ended; it didn't feel right to either of them. They decided their friendship was worth more than the casual sex was.)

Theodus Nott had drilled into Theo's head that emotions were frivolous things. They made you vulnerable. Those emotional ties made you weak. Anyone you dared to love could be used against you, and your feelings for them would cloud your judgement.

The only reason Theo had any outlet for the emotions he didn't comprehend (and bottled up) when he was growing up was because of Draco and his other friends. However, learning to mask his emotions from a young age came in handy when he started Hogwarts. Their ruthless seniors like to prey on the weakest ones amongst their ranks.

Especially Marcus Flint and his mates, Theo recalled dully. They never did anything too malicious, but they definitely made life harder when you weren't deemed worthy.

Theo started opening up to Ginny about what his early adolescence was like a few days ago. Once he started, the words wouldn't stop. She'd raptly listened. It was rare that the wild woman stayed still for very long, but she gave him her undivided attention as he divulged the information about his past.

Ginny was unnaturally quiet as he explained how he received the various scars scattered across his body. She'd kissed every one of them when he finished, and when she looked into his eyes, she stared directly into his soul. She saw him exactly for who he was, and accepted every piece of him. It scared him.

Ginny didn't even mind that he cussed like a brute. Although, she constantly reminded him that when he met her parents he would have to keep the profanities to a minimum, and if possible remove swear words from his vocabulary altogether. Ginny always casually mentioned meeting her parents, which baffled him at first. In his world, one only met the family of a witch they were courting if one was thinking of proposing marriage.

Once, a wizard would need permission from the witch's family to court her, or even be in her presence unattended, but only the most traditional types still followed those rules.

It was another example of what different lives they'd led before their paths crossed. Another reason why they shouldn't work. And in spite of the odds stacked against them in terms of their likely compatibility, they had defied every one thus far; practically leapt over the hurdles with ease. It was mildly unsettling.

Fuck, it's getting harder not to tell her I love her. Theo thought in resignation as he pressed a kiss to the top of Ginny's head. Theo's hands were wrapped around her abdomen, his fingers laced together and resting on her stomach. Ginny's hands were on top of his. She sighed happily, burrowing back into him.

"Are we working on our project? Or do you think we should call it a night?" Ginny asked, her words weighed down with sleep.

Theo opened his mouth to respond when a silvery blue fox sprang through his curtains. It landed in front of their entangled feet, its tail swished back and forth.

Whose Patronus is that? Theo thought, baffled. The answer came when a voice he'd been desperate to hear for months came from the fox.

"Is that—is that Draco?!" Ginny asked incredulously.

Theo shushed her. Ginny flicked his hand, and he threw her a dirty look that she did not see. He intently listened to the rest of the message. It was over too quickly. He wished he could replay it, but the fox faded into stringy wisps and then into nothingness.

Theo ignored the teasing remark about his relationship with Ginny. On the other hand, Ginny was squirming and dying to press him for details. Draco's statement revealed that Theo's interest in Ginny was not new, and armed with this information, the ginger girl could barely stop moving. She somehow managed to shove any commentary on her tongue back down her throat.

"The fucker has seen Daphne but not me?" Theo grumbled. "She hasn't told me a fucking thing, she's probably been snogging Potter the entire afternoon."

Ginny lightly elbowed him, adjusting her position so that she was staring him in the eye. "You do realise that we've been locked in your room for hours? When would she have told you?"

"Daph is capable of sending a Patronus, it's the least she could have done. I swear if she's told everyone but me—"

Ginny rolled her eyes at his dramatics. "Gorgeous, this isn't about you. Maybe she wanted to tell you face-to-face."

"Sorry love, but I doubt that's it. She's used a Patronus to summon me for menial shite before, but she can't use one when it's actually important?"

Ginny shrugged. A moment later her eyes widened and she twisted in his arms to firmly grip his shoulders. "If Draco's back, does that mean Hermione is as well?"

"No idea, but wouldn't Potter tell you if that was the case?" Theo asked with a frown.

"Probably," Ginny said. She bit down on her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth. "Ron briefly mentioned that their appearances have changed." They were both aware that Draco and Hermione had been adopted by the Potters in the past, and that their appearances had been altered to suit. For the most part, that was all the information they'd been provided with.

"Anything else?"

"He warned me that they've changed a lot. Not in a bad way. But he refused to share whatever else he saw in Sirius and Lupin's memories."

Theo sighed. Answers to his questions would have to wait until the following day as Draco had clearly already vacated the grounds.

I've waited months for him to get back, I guess I can wait one more night, Theo thought. It was the longest he'd gone without seeing Draco in years. Ever since the summer the Malfoys spent at their chateau in Nice when they were nine.

Hopefully he hasn't become a bleeding heart Gryffindor. Theo gripped the witch in his arms an infinitesimal amount tighter.

The truth was, even if Draco had transformed into a bubbly nuisance Theo wouldn't mind. Wouldn't mind much. It would irritate him endlessly but he would put up with it because Draco was his family; one of the few that had been honoured with the title.

No blood connected the pair, but they had been bound as brothers from the time they met as young lads. They'd barely developed a sense of self, but they'd managed to become brothers all the same. With the pure simplicity that most children constructed lasting friendships, not for any concrete reason other than they liked each other.

Blaise, Theo and Draco had been inseparable from the moment they met. They'd made friends with other children their age like Vince and Greg, but it hadn't been the same. The only ones who came close were Daphne and Pansy, and those two had their own special connection. The 'snarky sisters' as Blaise affectionately called them.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked softly, reaching up to stroke his cheek.

Theo nodded, a smile tugging at his mouth. "I'm going to see my brother tomorrow. I'm fucking fantastic, Gin." Now he just had to think of an appropriate homecoming gift. Theo's grin grew wickedly gleeful as an idea formed. He'd have to arrange a consultation with Blaise first thing in the morning. It was remarkably simple but it should do the job.

With that thought, Theo extracted himself from Ginny long enough to tug the thick fleece-lined blanket over the two of them. As they settled in for bed, Theo tried to stifle his mounting excitement lest he find himself unable to sleep. The promise of tomorrow was sweet on the tip of his tongue. Tomorrow he will finally be reunited with his brother.