A/N: I know that the situation with Daphne might seem confusing – if she and Theodore keep in contact with each other, then why would Theodore still be lonely (as previously pointed out in chapter 5)? Keep in mind, however, there is a big difference between writing someone and seeing that someone in-person. In addition, keep in mind that both Daphne and Theodore gave up on the relationship, which further affected the interactions they had with each other that occurred after the break up.

Just wanted to make things a bit clearer concerning that, in case anyone was confused.

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:

uhohspaghettiooos – Thanks so much!

xXMizz Alec VolturiXx – Thanks for reviewing again! :)

Chapter 12: Comfort

It was Valentine's Day and he encountered an unexpected sight.

Theodore found her sitting at the foot of the stairs that led up to the Owlery, knees drawn close to her chest, crunched up parchment, a letter he realized, in her hands. Her knuckles were white, her bushy hair bouncing in time with her sobs.

He froze.

Light streamed in through a nearby window, warming the room, casting a glow onto every object within. She was bathed in it, radiating warmth, hope, beauty, and happiness, but also a sadness and misery that he had never seen before, one that made his heart ache he shouldn't be here, he should back away slowly, let her cry it out, and when she had calmed down they could go back to what they were before, with him ignoring her and her trying to get his attention. They could go back to how they had been before the war happened, before everything changed, to the time when they had been complete strangers that didn't have anyone else, didn't have anyone who knew truth from lie, fact from fiction. To a time when everything was simple, with her pushing against their unjust society, with him dancing to his father's tune as all pureblood sons and daughters were want to do.

They could go back to the days of their youth when Draco would sneer and belittle her, Potter, and Weasley; when Theodore was relatively left alone, when he was ignorant of life's truths, when he was a child and his mother would read to him before going to bed. Before his mother had died, before he was broken, before everything changed with a push down the stairs, throwing his life into a constant state of paranoia and fear, when she was a little girl growing up muggle and simple, without war, without magic, without ever meeting him-

"Nott?"

Shit.

He stiffened under her scrutiny, her teary eyed suspicion – he didn't know what was written in that letter, but whatever it was made her cry; he bet it was Weasley, always making her cry, just like in sixth year, hell, just like back in first year.

The hand in his pocket tightened around the handkerchief he carried as his mouth opened but no sound came out. He closed it, swallowing, eyes turning their gaze to the floor. Then timidly, his feet began to carry him towards her (she should stay away, she needed to stay away, wait no, he should get away from her, he should stay away what was he doing?).

Step.

Breathe Theodore.

Another step.

And another.

And another.

Breathe.

Theodore stopped when he could see her shoes in front of him.

He tilted his head up, eyes meeting hers.

WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!

Hastily, he looked away. There was a very fascinating crack in the far wall, he wondered how that got there – he pulled out the handkerchief and held it out for her to take, cheeks flushing, teeth gritting, his heart pounding in his ears.

For a long moment, all he could hear was the sound of his heart pounding in his ears.

Silence – he had fucked up, what was he doing this wasn't part of the plan, what part of STAY AWAY FROM HER THEODORE didn't he get if she wasn't going to take the damn thing, he should just go but he couldn't leave her, it was too late for that now that he had come this far, and she was sitting right there.

Theodore was pretty sure she could see his hand shaking and bit his tongue – he could taste blood – and stood even straighter. His other hand, shoved deeply into the pockets of his school robes, clenched, his nails stabbing into his skin.

She touched his hand.

Time stopped.

Gently, Granger took the cloth from him. Smooth silk slide across his fingers before vanishing as if it had never been there in the first place. Theodore's panicking mind skidded to a halt, every thought, every modicum of self-hatred, disappearing, overcome by one resounding statement:

She took the handkerchief.

She took the handkerchief.

She took the handkerchief, she actually took it.

For several seconds, Theodore stood dumbly, wondering if that had actually happened, wondering if this wasn't just a dream. The sound of her blowing into the cloth became the only sound in the room, aside from the racing of Theodore's heart along with the rushing of so many emotions, thoughts, and insecurities being blown asunder within him. Anxiety. Joy. Panic. Giddiness. Worry. Relief. And one that he had only felt when he helped his friends, something that he hadn't done (or hadn't had a chance to do) in a long time. The feeling of being useful and the associating emotions that came with it practically knocked him off his feet, making him sway where he stood.

Then he realized that he still had his hand outstretched. Theodore jammed it into his robes' pocket. He hoped she hadn't noticed.

She did.

Granger's tiny giggle was muffled by the cloth blocking most of her face, but her eyes lit up and he could see the creases of laughter that dominated her expression. Despite growing redder and only making her laugh harder, Theodore could not help but hide the grin that she managed to somehow crack out of him breaking his mask for her, only her, for a moment lowering his walls so she could see if she looked carefully.

He made her smile.

He made her laugh.

The thought just made his grin wider.