Four years later...

May, 2001

She shouldn't have kissed him. She should know better than to even touch him. Hermione pulled the covers tight around her and curled onto her side, staring out into the dark. This bed was too big for her. It wasn't meant to sleep one. If she stretched out her arm, there was all this wide empty space and no one to hold. She wondered how Theo did it. How he slept in a bed that was far too big for any one person and lived alone in a mansion that was far too large for any one family.

One of her favorite memories was one he had given her. It was the only one he'd allowed her to take, and although she didn't have a pensieve to watch it, she'd hidden it away in her vault at Gringotts and left it sitting next to Draco's wand. After Harry had returned it to her she worried that the Ministry would try to confiscate it, so she'd kept it in the safest place she could think of. It's why she'd locked away the memory there, too. She wanted to preserve it and didn't trust that Theo wouldn't try to take it back.

Even so, she didn't need to watch it again, she had replayed it in her mind enough to know it by heart. It was when he and Draco were both seven. In the years before his mother had fallen ill, Theo had been very excitable as a child. Draco, on the other hand, was almost the same as he'd been during his earlier years at Hogwarts— mischievous and sly; that same roguish gleam in his eyes when he thought he'd gotten away with something.

Theodore was sleeping over and the two boys had drawn out a meticulous plan on how they were both going to sneak out of Draco's room after bedtime. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy were very serious about children going to sleep at a proper hour. The two boys thought it would be an adventure to sneak into the kitchens past midnight and make a mess so that upon waking the elves would wail with terror. Theo thought it would be funny to rearrange everything like if the knives and forks were in the pantry and the vegetables were left in the drawers and if the plates were stacked on top of the bowls, and the bowls on top of the serving plates—a tower of tableware precariously balanced.

And just imagine Dobby walks in and crash! laughed Draco. Theo had grinned widely because it was exactly as he imagined and he liked that Draco was imagining it the same way.

They'd both waited till midnight feigning sleep. Hermione had watched with amusement as Draco opened one eye and said, the coast is clear. Tiptoeing outside along the dark long corridors of Malfoy Manor, they made their way to the ground floor where the kitchens lay by moonlight. It was an ancient house and the wood creaked all round frightening them. It hadn't helped that it had been in the dead of winter making the Manor seem even colder and unfriendly.

Maybe we should go back, said Theo but Draco had scowled and accused him of being a Hufflepuff. Sidling closer to one another they continued on.

Suddenly an unfamiliar voice croaked.

I'm going to break your bones you wretched little boys! Go to bed!

They had screamed like two little girls and went running straight back to their rooms, leaping back into Draco's bed and under the covers. Their hearts were pounding and they hugged each other tightly as if the monster were on their heels and about to jerk the duvet off to punish them for their heinous crimes.

Once she'd resurfaced from the memory, Theo had clucked his tongue in amusement and explained that it had only been Abraxas, Draco's grandfather. A bloody portrait, he sighed, rolling his eyes.

Hermione had almost wanted to laugh, unable to fathom the idea of living in a house so large that you weren't sure what else resided in it.

Maybe it was why it was one of her favorite memories. Because they'd both been so innocent, so silly and bursting with childish glee. Because there were no more memories of them together like that after Theo's mother died, only paler versions of that night when Draco would try and coax the same excitement, the same spirit his friend had possessed before, but Hermione could see that there were two Theo's.

Before, and after.

Just as there were two Draco's and two Hermione's.

Before, and after.

So no, she shouldn't have kissed Theo. Shouldn't have ever peered into his memories. She had forgotten that they weren't just memories of Draco. They were memories of Theo and it had been a dangerous game to play.

A shiver ran down her spine at the paralyzing fear that Draco was watching, that his ghost knew of her traitorous heart and what she'd done. She'd never paid attention to religion but lately, she'd begun to think that when she died she'd go straight to hell… even if it had begun with saving a life.

It had happened last Christmas Eve. The Weasley's were throwing what they called, an intimate Christmas party, which had ended up with a list running close to a hundred guests, excluding their plus ones.

Hermione had worn a red dress at Ginny's insistence. It was a slip of a thing, silk, simple, with a low neckline and thin straps. Her friend had declared war on Hermione's non-existent love life.

"I know you miss him," she kept saying. "But you deserve to have a handsome wizard on your arm. Even Ron is bringing that silly American girl he met and Neville..."

Hermione tuned out. She hated when Ginny pointed out how long it had been since Dumbledore's death—since the war—since Draco's funeral. The truth was that no wizard wanted to date the girl who had once been in love with a Death Eater, especially a Death Eater who was notorious for being a turncoat and resorting to killing other Death Eaters and cutting M.L into their arms.

Sure, Rita's books had been destroyed but the rumors were enough.

"I'm wearing the dress, aren't I?" she muttered with a hint of irritation.

Ginny sighed as if this topic was as exhausting for her as it was for Hermione. "I want you to be happy," she said. "That's all."

She hugged her friend. "I know, and I love you, and that's why I'm wearing the dress—and make up—and heels."

The party itself was outside the Weasley's burrow, which had been rebuilt the year before. Hermione wasn't surprised when she'd first been invited to see the finished reconstruction, to find that there were Muggle appliances and other knick-knacks which Arthur had proudly brought home and presented to everyone as his hidden treasures.

The day before the Christmas party the grass was trimmed and a huge silver marquee erected to shelter them from the cold weather. It reminded her so much of Bill and Fleur's wedding that she couldn't help but think back to that night and how lovely it had all been until the Ministry collapsed and Death Eaters arrived.

However, tonight the Weasleys had gone above and beyond on Christmas decorations—muggle and magical. Fairy lights were blinking in multi-color and a large Christmas tree stood smack in the middle, almost touching the roof of the marquee, adorned with baubles, tinsel, and holly; garlands upon garlands of mistletoe and ivy. Outside, it was snowing, but a warming charm had been cast over the entire tent and it was snug and cozy inside. It took only a few minutes for guests to arrive and fill the entirety of it up. Glasses and goblets clinked, wizard crackers were popped, the sound of them like cannons firing filled the tent, and wands were turned into sparklers.

The dozens and dozens of gifts that were piled under the Christmas tree were slowly depleting as guests arrived and began opening their presents. Harry, Hermione and Ron had gotten together and bought Ginny a new broom and despite wanting so very much to ride it then and there she'd put it away and handed Hermione her gift. It was a perfume she'd wanted to buy but had decided against upon seeing the price. Muggle education had turned out to be a lot more expensive than she'd initially thought and she could no longer afford to spend the little she had left on just about anything.

And as usual, Harry and Ron had bought her a galleon's worth in book vouchers and she'd grinned because she was glad that some things would never change. Later on in the night, after two glasses of Christmas wine, Molly had announced to them of a surprise guest who had just arrived yesterday.

"Luna!" Hermione cried out.

They jumped into each other's arms and everyone else being a little drunk, fell upon them creating one big huddle.

Her friend had grown taller and a little plumper but was as beautiful and peculiar as always.

"I haven't seen you in years," said Ginny. "How was your trip? Where's your dad?"

Luna began to tell them all about her research and the adventures she and her father had embarked on since the war. Her father went to Russia and Luna to America in search of some odd creature called a Mulpin.

"Oh, and I'm engaged," she added casually after twenty minutes of explaining to them what a Mulpin was. Ginny's jaw dropped and a barrage of questions were thrown against Luna so fast the girl looked as if her head was spinning.

Hermione, on the other hand merely smiled. She was happy for her, but there was also the gnawing feeling in the pit of her stomach that writhed with envy at everyone else's happy endings.

And then another feeling. One so completely opposite to the former and which took her by surprise— relief.

Utter and selfish relief that Luna Lovegood had returned to Britain and it hadn't been for Theodore Nott… which meant that in the late hours of night when she couldn't sleep, she could still go to him and he would show her memories and they could snipe and snap at each other without another woman's interference or anyone else's opinion on how strange it all was.

Besides… Hermione needed him a lot more than Luna did. He was the one who had bought the publishing house and the rights to the Mudblood Lover. He was the one who had fired the Chief Editor and offered Hermione the job out of pure spite. He was the one who set the remaining copies of the book ablaze and told her everything would be ok. Who also suggested trying muggle medicine with magic to reverse the effects of the memory spell on her parents.

She needed him to arrive at her flat unannounced, barge into her bedroom and drag her to office on those difficult days. He was the one who criticized her, who called her out when her work was subpar, who insulted her till she was boiling over with such righteous indignation that she'd begun to excel at her job and proved, time and time again, that she, Hermione Granger, was still the brightest-witch-of-her-age.

It wasn't jealousy, she told herself. It was about surviving. And as if Luna could read her thoughts she asked, "How is Theodore?"

Startled, she looked around her. Harry and Ginny were dancing and Ron had gone to greet his date who had only just arrived.

"What?" snapped Hermione a little defensively. "How would I know?"

"I thought you two worked together."

She smiled politely. "He owns the publishing house, but Nott owns multiple businesses. It's not as if we have adjoining offices."

Luna's expression fell a little.

Trying to feign indifference, Hermione sipped delicately on her drink before asking, "You haven't spoken to him at all?"

"I've sent letters but he's never replied to any of them."

That answer gave Hermione some semblance of peace and she looked away into the crowd, wanting for some reason not to linger close to Luna for too long.

"I worry about him sometimes," she continued looking up at the twinkling lights on the Christmas tree. "He needs someone who cares."

Hermione took a large gulp of her drink and then another, remembering how he had once told Luna she was like the moon.

"It must be difficult for him to be alone today," she heard her say.

Frowning, she asked why.

"His mother died the day before Christmas." Her gaze drifted over Hermione and seemed to look around her, up above her head and over her shoulders...

Finally, Luna's eyes met hers and said almost pointedly, "I guess it's not me he needs anymore."

And then she was the one to drift away, like a strange ethereal being, leaving Hermione staring after, wondering, with utmost horror what she had seen.

She immediately shook the thought off.

Hermione excused herself and went to the washroom to get away for a moment from all the noise. Theo had never spoken about his mother. She'd never thought to ask and he'd never offered. And why would Luna assume he was on his own? Surely he was with Pansy and Blaise or one of his little trophy girlfriends—Merlin knew, he had a line of them waiting.

Nevertheless, the conversation left her with an anxious feeling. With a quick word to Molly about having drunk a little too much, she said she was going to retire for the night. Despite their protestations, Hermione floo-ed home with her gifts and then again to Nott Manor. It was almost midnight and it wouldn't hurt to wish him a Merry Christmas. It would settle the niggling worry and guilt she felt at her own self-centeredness. Never had she considered that Theo might not have plans nor want to see her on Christmas. He treated her like an irritation, like a rash he couldn't seem to get rid of or cure.

And yet she knew his actions said otherwise.

The manor was a stark contrast to the brightly lit and loud party she had just left. Not a single decoration had been hung. Here, in his home, it was as if it weren't Christmas at all. She called out his name as she walked up the stairs. It echoed down the empty corridors until it faded again into eerie silence.

Something didn't feel right. An inexplicable dread at the pit of her stomach. The same thing which had tugged when Luna had looked at her and seemed to know something she didn't.

"Theo?" she called again.

Her feet took her down the left corridor and to the library. He was usually there reading. It was one of the only rooms she remembered how to get to. That and his bedroom because that was where the pensieve was.

Lighting the end of her wand with a lumos she continued on till she reached the correct door. The room was empty and unlit. Maybe he was sleeping. Maybe he ignored Christmas Eve and treated it as if it were any other day and was already fast asleep in bed. Even still, she continued down to his bedroom instead of leaving. She wouldn't wake him, she'd just poke her head in and…

He was lying in bed, asleep, just as she'd thought.

Closing the door quietly she began to leave when it suddenly occurred to her that he'd been lying on top of the covers and not under them. He'd been fully clothed and the doors to his balcony left open. He'd catch his death. Rolling her eyes, she imagined that maybe he had decided to get into the Christmas spirit and just had a bit too much.

Hermione went back into the room and shut the balcony doors first and then to the edge of his bed to tuck him in. As she neared she kicked something, and it rolled away underneath the bed. With a groan of irritation, she bent down to retrieve it. Once she felt it in her hand she rose up and held the light close. It was a clear glass bottle with some sort of pills inside. She read the label but didn't recognize what it was.

A cold hand clutched at Hermione's heart as it dawned on her that the bottle was almost empty and what that might mean. The dim light from her wand flew around the room, lighting the candles.

She gasped, falling to the bed next to Theo.

He looked dead.

"Theo!" she shouted shaking his shoulders. "Theodore, wake up!"

She tried to revive him using her wand but it wasn't working. Hermione made fast work to check his pulse and exhaled in relief as she felt something. The faintest of heartbeats. She knew then what she had to do.

Even with a feather-light charm, he was dead weight against her and she almost stumbled as she lifted him to his feet and took him to the master bathroom. She turned the tap on with her wand and stepped into the shower, drenching them both. She held him under the spray of ice-cold water, and then because she'd never learned the spell, she stuck her fingers far down his throat to induce vomiting.

He began to retch. Stuttering through tears, she told him it was going to be okay and rubbed at his back until his stomach was empty. Shaken awake into semi-conscious by the cold water, he leaned against the marble tiles of the shower. She turned the water off, vanished his wet clothes and cleaned them both up. She helped him to his bed and forced him to drink a few sips of water.

Theo's body shuddered despite the blankets and warming charm she draped over him.

"Bet… bet you love seeing me like this," he rasped, his voice sounding like gravel. "Perfect revenge for you… isn't it?"

Her frown deepened. Even as he spoke his eyes glistened with unshed tears, his body shaking from the immediate withdrawal of whatever he'd ingested. She ignored him, sliding beneath the blanket and drawing it over them.

"Don't," he rasped.

Molding her small frame to his, she held onto him tightly as if it were her and not him that needed a lifeline. "Stop it," he choked, struggling against her with what little energy he had.

"It's okay," she whispered, tightening her hold on him. "It'll be okay…"

He buried his face into his pillow, his entire body shaking and she knew he was crying. After he fell back into unconsciousness, she spent the next hour listening to his shallow breathing, compulsively taking her index and middle finger holding them to the carotid artery on the side of his neck, counting out heartbeats.

One, two, three, four… his pulse was weak and slow. Almost dead, still alive.

She fell asleep like this and awoke with her fingertips still lingering near his pulse point. He seemed better, there was more color on his cheeks, and his breathing was deep and peaceful. Exhausted, she let her eyes fall shut. When she awoke the second time it was light outside, a wintery silver overcast and falling snow.

Theo was no longer in bed. She heard the water running in the bathroom. Sitting up, she noticed that the bedroom was spotless, except for a plate by his bedside with a half-eaten piece of toast and an empty vial of an anti-nausea potion.

Letting her head fall back on the pillow, she released a heavy sigh. He was okay and it was Christmas. In fact, it was almost noon and if she didn't leave now, she'd miss Christmas lunch with Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

But there was no way she was leaving him.

She didn't even want to. Last night had scared her. Finding him like that… Hermione could not bear the thought of losing him like she had lost Draco.

Writing a message to Harry, she said she would drop by tomorrow, that she had been asked to cover a colleague's shift at the clinic so he could be with his family on Christmas. A bald-faced lie.

And the last time she'd lied about who she was with and where it was because she was hiding a tumultuous affair with a Death Eater.

Hermione bit her lip as she watched her Patronus disappear and wondered what reason she had for lying now. She could have simply told Harry that she was with Theo and couldn't make it for lunch and she'd explain later. She could have even invited Theo to join them, it's not as if they would have minded him being there but she didn't want to be with them right now.

She wanted to be with Theo. Just Theo. And maybe that was the truth she was so afraid of admitting to them. To herself.

The bathroom door opened. A towel hung low around his hips as he stepped into the room. She tore her eyes away, looking everywhere but at him.

"You're still here," he said, sounding irritated that she hadn't left yet.

Ignoring him, she asked how he was feeling. He didn't respond and his silence forced her to look at him. He was staring. She followed his gaze to her shoulder and saw that the delicate strap of her dress had slid off.

"I was at a Christmas party," she explained quickly, fixing the strap and drawing a pillow over her braless chest. "Ginny made me wear it."

"She made you dress like one of Santa's little slags?"

Hermione grit her teeth. "I don't… I asked how you were feeling."

"I'm fine," he clipped, clearly unwilling to talk about it. "Look—thanks and all but you can go now."

"But it's Christmas," she shrugged.

"So?"

"I don't know. We could go somewhere—talk... you're not fine Theo."

He ran a hand over his face and up through his hair, a harsh laugh playing along his lips. "What? You think I actually want to spend time with you—today, of all days?"

She bit the inside of her cheek. "I just—you're alone and I'm… I'm already here so..."

"Stupid fucking bint," he muttered under his breath. "I don't want you here. I never want you here! I'm not Draco—you don't have me wrapped around your little finger!"

Hermione's mouth fell open.

He was shaking.

"I didn't—"

"I don't love you!" he yelled. "I don't even fucking like you!"

She stood, her heart throbbing because there was something so painfully nauseating at hearing those words as if he'd punched her in the gut and she felt like keeling over.

And when someone is trying to hurt you, your instincts tell you to fight back.

"I should've just let you die," she whispered. And the sentence floated between them, pulling him closer to her.

Her chest heaved with anger, watching his eyes, waiting for the thought to settle, for it to cut, for a retort, for a shouting match and she expected anything other than the shattered expression on his face.

"Is that what you really want?" he asked in a soft voice. "Do you want me to die?"

Her feet shuffled backward, the back of her legs hitting the bed frame. "Yes," she lied, her voice like sandpaper, fractured and rough. "I wish you were dead and Draco was alive."

His chest heaved, his jaw working to fight back the tears. "You don't mean that," he choked.

A single tear ran down her cheek and she tasted it when she lied again. "I do, I wish you were dead."

She fought for breath as he stepped closer, her body trembling. Trembling because she sensed what was coming. Knew he could sense it too. And then his lips were near hers, their warm breath meeting.

"You don't... You know you don't."

Her heartbeat drummed. A feather-light feel of his lips and then they were touching, just barely. Not yet a kiss but something else. Something broken. She moaned into his mouth as his lips parted, finally capturing hers. She pressed a little firmer, her hands moving to wrap around his neck and pull him deeper. Hermione felt his hands running down her back, pulling at the delicate fabric of her dress, his tongue gentle and wet in her mouth.

He broke the kiss.

God— she couldn't breathe, was too afraid to look at him.

He was panting, his dark eyes watching her as his fingers ran along the straps of her dress and slid them off her shoulders.

"This dress…" His throat bobbed.

The silk fell, her breasts exposed for him as he cupped them reverently. Her head fell back against the bedpost. Her nipples pebbled underneath his hands and she still couldn't breathe. Couldn't...

His palm slid up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing her skin.

"I want you," he rasped. "I want to fuck all the misery out of you… all the happiness… all the fire and light—fuck it right out of you so it can't torture me anymore."

Her eyes fluttered shut and she felt her cheek turn into his hand, her body shuddering at his promise. And then they were kissing again, his body pulling her against his. Their hands clawing and tearing, their mouths savage and devouring.

She fell back on the white sheets. Then his lips were on her neck, her dress hitched up to her waist and she heard the soft slap of his wet towel falling to the ground. She hadn't realized it had been her hands which had pulled at it and tossed it to the floor, that it was her hands tugging down her knickers and pulling him close, relishing the feel of his hard length pushing against her entrance.

She raised her hips impatiently and he practically flinched, releasing an anguished groan into her neck and she pulled him up to look at him.

Instinct—an old reflex.

Draco had always wanted her to look.

Except it wasn't Draco, it was Theo and he was wearing a pained expression on his face.

"Merlin, I can't, I… Hermione stop us."

But she didn't.

She didn't want to stop.

Because Draco was dead.

And yesterday Theo had almost died too. Hermione hushed him, pushing him off and climbed to straddle him. Her gaze unwavering, she sunk down on top of him, inch by inch. It was such a relief to feel the sensation of being filled once again that tears were springing to her eyes and she could have cried out her respite for the world to hear.

He uttered a curse, his hands running over her body frantically. "Please—please don't tell anyone," he begged and she agreed, not knowing if he was asking her to keep the pills a secret, or them… this. She fell forward, pressing her forehead against his.

His jaw clenched, his fingers dug into her flesh as she lifted her hips up and fell back down on him. It had been so long, but it came to her like breathing. She could feel his heartbeat underneath the palm of her hand but it wasn't enough. Her two fingers reached up to the side of his neck, pressing gently once again into his carotid artery. She kissed him while rising up and impaling herself on him, over and over again.

His pulse quickened, beginning to race while he let her count the number of beats out loud… till she could barely think straight…till her fingers slipped... till they were both writhing against each other, his hips slamming up to meet hers in desperation, begging and whimpering her name.

Later, after he came, she spent hours touching him, her fingertips turning his skin into gooseflesh, her lips, hot between his collarbone, peppering kisses over his chest, moving his body, his limbs, over and around gently, reading him like the pages of a book.

Lying next to him on her stomach, she took his left forearm and kissed his wrist above the faded Dark Mark.

"Did it hurt?" she asked—a question she had never thought to ask before.

"Like hell," he said bluntly. "It's almost sentient… as if it knows when it's not wanted."

Her fingers traced the veins running like blue rivers down his arm, starting from his wrist, leading up to the mark and over it.

He withdrew his hand, obviously uncomfortable with her looking at it and began trailing his fingers down her spine. She gave a contented sigh and closed her eyes.

"Dimples of Venus," she heard him murmur.

Hermione saw a flash of memory like an old film reel playing behind her eyelids.

Without meaning to speak the thought out loud, she whispered, "When my hair is wet it almost touches them." She opened her eyes to meet his, a blush suffusing her cheeks and that was the first time she saw it. The way he was looking at her… the way Draco used to look at her.

"I'd love to see," he said softly; very much like a confession.

Her heart constricted, terrified and ashamed.

And guilty, guilty, guilty.

And then she heard Draco's voice.

Not bad for a Mudblood whore.

That's when she told Theo. "We can't do this again. We can't..." The words stuck in her throat; a phantom taste of bile.

She felt the entirety of him stiffen.

His eyes never left hers as his fingers trailed lower, down to the base of her spine, along the valley of her bum. Gasping, her body jerked forward in surprise as his fingers suddenly entered her; her cunt still wet and filthy with their essence from the first time.

He hushed her when she began to whine, still sensitive from their first encounter. Then, for the second time that afternoon he entered her, from behind, his hands gripping her hips, both thumbs fitted over her dimples, thrusting.

She didn't dare look at him anymore and buried half her face in the pillow. Theo's palms slid up her back and over her shoulder blades; his warm body lowering and encasing hers.

His lips kissed the nape of her neck.

"You're so beautiful, it burns."

Fisting the bedsheets, her conscious screamed with self-hatred as her lips parted and it was Theo's name that escaped it. He bit into her shoulder, grunting in approval. She gasped as his thrusts began burying deeper, muttering a stream of gibberish as her mind began to blank.

He growled, his grip unbearably painful, but it was okay because they'd never do this again.

Never again, never again. God forgive her, never again.

Hermione must have said it out loud because he was agreeing, vowing with a shaky breath that it'd only be today. Then he slid out of her and turned her over to capture her lips, a desperate, longing kiss, his fingers reaching down to touch her softly, keeping the pleasure at the surface but never letting it come up for air. She clung to him, writhing wanting badly for him to finish what he'd started.

He bit his lip enjoying her desperation. "Be patient," he whispered.

Hermione whimpered in frustration but gave her body over. Together, they submitted to each other, prolonging Christmas as much as they could. Finally, at dusk, he allowed her to succumb to the sensations, to the pulse of them and her mind amidst the euphoric bliss, drifted to all those nights ago at Hogwarts, when he'd cornered her and told her he'd make it worth her while.

Theodore Nott hadn't lied and neither had she.

Because after that...

Never again.

The next day, she gave her notice of resignation and then a week later she opened up the Daily Prophet to find him pictured with some tall skinny brunette at a New Year's Gala.

The paper had turned to ash in her hand.