A/N: This chapter actually gave me a bit of trouble. After the last one, I wasn't sure where to go next. But here's the product – hopefully it seems like a natural transition.

ALSO, I'D LIKE TO LET YOU GUYS KNOW THAT FROM THIS POINT GOING FORWARD, I'LL BE UPDATING EVERY FRIDAY, BI OR TRIWEEKLY. This is mainly due to me having two courses this semester in addition to work, which barely gives me time to write, let alone update.

Truth be told, I do have the next two chapters ready, but I'm unsatisfied with chapter 11 for a bunch of reasons. The problem is, is that if I change chapter 11, I'll be reconfiguring the entire rest of the story. And with the limited time I now have to write, I literally haven't made ANY progress in doing so.

So sorry about that :P

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.

Reviews:

Guest – Thanks for thinking so! I'm glad that the change I made to the original chapter was to peoples' liking!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx – Once again, thanks for reviewing!

Chapter 10: Avoidance

He starts to avoid her.

It's harder than he thought – she seemed to know more of the castle's secrets than he did (though to be fair, she was friends with Potter and Weasley, and those two always had a habit of being caught in places no one should be).

Sometimes, she would try catching him during class and as a result, he began making it a habit to arrive seconds before the bell and leave as soon as the lesson was over. He avoided the library like the plague, preferring to instead hide within the relative safety of his dorm room.

The only place he visited with any regularity was the Astronomy Tower, but he doubted she would look for him there, given the irregularity with which he did so.

He would clench his teeth whenever he saw her in the halls, digging his nails into his palms to discourage himself from speaking to her (hard enough to draw blood on more than one occasion; Madam Pomfrey would stare him down with a look of disapproval when he would visit her several times a week). Then he would walk right past her, eyes focused on the floor in front of him, trying to ignore the heartbroken look on her face (no, she was just upset that she lost her pet project, he would say to himself; she couldn't possibly miss him).

Despite his efforts, his heart ached and bile rose in his throat every single time.

The right choice was rarely the easiest one, he would tell himself. He had to do this. It was for her own sake. If she was around him, he would involuntarily drag her back down into the dirt that she had worked so hard to rise out of. The masses would rise against her, questioning, suspicious, waiting for the moment when the truth would be revealed, for when they could tear her down from the pedestal she was being raised upon – for a muggleborn couldn't hold such status, they would say; the world they live in could never accept such a thing.

It was for her own good.

Even so, he couldn't help but watch her. He would sit at the back of the class, staring at the bushy mop of hair that always sat in the front row – the two seats on her right and left remained vacant, even after months of attending classes. Her hair always seemed to glow whenever the light hit it and he found himself enraptured. Meanwhile, he himself would sit in the shadows closest to the door, ready to bolt as soon as the bell rung. It was stupid how the butterflies would well up in his chest whenever he watched her, bidding him to just return to her side – he resisted the compulsion.

However, he figures that it would only be a matter of time anyway until she would confront him.

That was just the kind of person she was.