A/N: Holy crap guys, my marks just came in and I barely passed by the skin of my teeth. Since I'm in such a good mood, I've decided to upload this next chapter early!

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

Title: The Past Does Not Define Us

Rating: T

Pairing: Theodore Nott/Hermione Granger

Summary: "I'm sorry." Those two words shot like an arrow through his soul and Theodore found that there was nothing he could do to stop himself from falling.

Warning(s): Mentions of child abuse and suicidal thoughts

Chapter 3: Gone

Theodore remembers wandering the grounds of Hogwarts in search of the bodies that needed burying not long after the battle had ended, after the Dark Lord had been defeated once again by Potter.

After his father had been killed – blasted off the Astronomy Tower to the ground below, unable to save himself as his wand flew from his hands, out of reach.

Theodore found his mangled body in the greenhouses, the shattered hole in the glass ceiling where he had fallen through the only thing letting light in. He had landed on top of one of the wooden tables, causing it to collapse in on itself and sending everything on it into a mess on the ground. There was blood pooling onto the dirt-covered floor from a wound on his head and for a moment, Theodore could only stare.

He half expected the man to groan, to blink his vacantly staring eyes, and slowly sit up. He imagined him noticing him before hissing and spitting like he had done many times before, his face, so much like Theodore's own, twisted into an ugly sneer, ordering that Theodore heal him. His body moved on autopilot, stepping towards the broken form and kneeling down beside it and with a wave of his wand, he began casting every healing spell he knew (and Theodore knew a lot of healing spells; it was, unfortunately, necessary with who his father was).

He stopped the bleeding, closed the wound. Upon finding the multitudes of broken bones, he healed those too. But with each wound that was patched, Theodore found himself becoming more and more distressed, his breathing becoming more and more laboured, and he wasn't sure why. With a panic and an anxiety that made his movements frantic, his Slytherin mask crumbled, breaking and shattering into pieces onto the bloody floor and all he could think about was how it was all his fault how his father would kill him if he couldn't do this one thing how he would deserve every last crucio because he was a useless excuse of a wizard-

A hand came to his shoulder and he jerked as if he had been burned.

"He's gone."

Blaise Zabini, normally so flamboyant, normally so confident, was kneeling next to him, ironed dress pants dusty and covered with splatters of dried blood, his lips turned down in a frown. His crisp white buttoned up shirt was caked in dirt, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows, his dark hands calloused and felt damp from sweat. He had lost his green and silver tie sometime during the fight when the Slytherins joined in, but he didn't seem concerned.

This was the most fucked up that Theodore had ever seen his friend, and the calamity of the situation came back to him. His father. His father was dead. His father was dead. His father was dead just two feet away from him.

Theodore didn't know whether to laugh in relief or cry.

Blaise simply pulled him into a hug and said nothing.