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MUGGLE PARIS; 2004 (Part 2)


Theodore Nott was in hell.

He couldn't count the days he'd spent wishing on coins tossed in fountains or on stars blazing across the sky that he might accidentally run into Hermione Granger in Paris, and then have a reason to talk to her again. He couldn't count the days he'd spent cursing himself for being a coward but knowing she was untouchable while dating that ginger idiot. He couldn't stop thinking about how badly he wanted to tell her the reason he'd encouraged Draco to Paris was that he knew she was there, and he thought that they may cross paths occasionally enough to satiate his ever-growing desire for her.

If only she knew Paris was all for her .

After the war, he and Draco had been released of most of their accused war crimes, due to their young age and both of their behind-the-scenes efforts to topple Lord Voldemort's reign from the inside. Not every kid inducted into the Death Eaters got out; it wasn't like the Ministry was feeling bad and sorry for all of them, patting their head sand offering them pumpkin juice. Rather, Theo was quite sure the Ministry would have loved to make an example of them, lock up all the kids who fucked up their lives super young as a warning, never let them see the light of society again. Merlin knows that Goyle likely wishes he'd died with Crabbe in the Great Battle, considering that he was going to be lucky if he saw a lick of sunlight from Azkaban ever again. And Pansy, who hadn't been an awful bird in their youth (annoying as hell, sure, but fine), who had made all the wrong choices for Draco, who would never love her back. She hadn't realized all of Draco's hesitations, hadn't seen the doubt cloud his face, or how he was really only ever loyal to his mother. And she'd paid the price for it. After her sentencing went through, a life-time in Azkaban with maybe parole after sixty years, she'd turned an Auror's wand on herself. Since it wasn't her own, it hadn't cast right, but it had done the job.

Pucey had told him it had been bloody, and perhaps the worst thing he'd seen since the war began. Theo didn't ask any more questions about it. He did not need to know, did not want to know.

So yes, they'd been exhumed of their past selves, shoved out into the sun with a year's worth of probation at Hogwarts to finish up their last year properly, told they were free, but all the while were being watched for any sort of infraction. Theo was almost sure if he'd sneezed the wrong way, someone would have been hauling him back to Azkaban for 'disturbing the peace'.

The only choice they had was to go into something together. A potion shop, since the last one in Hogsmeade had been destroyed, was a good choice.

But it had been hard work. It had been grueling those first couple months out of Hogwarts. Had it not been for Headmistress McGonagall's stamp of approval on the two wayward Slytherins, along with a starting gift for graduating (both of their fortunes had been all but seized by the Ministry with little hope of ever returning to them), they probably would have failed.

Their potions were lauded for their success, but the brewers were examined harshly in England.

But it didn't matter. The level of mastery of their items had already caught the attention of many foreign Ministries and business mongers. By the next turn of the year, they had offers to expand their brand outward.

What did any of them have left in England? Draco hadn't been dating Luna at that time, and Hermione had been out of the country for a bit too. It seemed the only thing that England was offering were catty, hypocritical jerks who somehow didn't understand that prejudice and hate against someone was exactly how the all the worst Wizarding wars had begun.

Their offers had been plentiful. As soon as they'd secured intelligent people to mind the shop in Hogsmeade, they'd begun to examine these carefully. America, France, Egypt, Romania, and Russia were all sending owls regularly to the shop. Draco had been partial to Romania originally, as he experimented especially in Dragon's blood, and obviously, he'd have a lot to work with there. However, it had been Theo that had persuaded their first abroad shop to open in Paris.

He'd reminded Draco that Paris was his family history, albeit pretty far back. He also told Draco that the French Ministry was offering them galleons upon galleons, plus their renown was beginning to reach the circles there. It wouldn't be long before they were filling back up their accounts with their own hard-earned money. By the time that they had been really set on making a choice, Draco had started a relationship with Luna, and this had been the last thing to drag Draco to Theo's choice. It was far easier to hop from France back to England than from Romania.

For Theo, it had always been France.

He had remembered the night in the Astronomy Tower where he'd been so close to kissing Hermione, nearly doing something he knew was wrong. He'd been trying to be so good that year. The old Theo may have. This Theo, given a second chance at life, couldn't.

But she'd talked so vibrantly about her love of France and the beaches there. How some of her happiest memories had been with her parents on the shores, and walking around Normandy or stopping in Eze. She had been so descriptive with her memories that Theo could almost taste the salty air, or smell the spices at the market, or see the ivy crawling up the Parisian townhouses.

He couldn't be sure Hermione was there, but she wasn't in England.

He had to try.

When he had heard through a friend of a friend that Hermione was indeed living here, Theo had felt so relieved in his choice. It had felt like things were finally lining up for him, for them maybe.

But then he hadn't run into her for nearly a year and his hundreds of drafts of letters had been unsent.

He recalled when both he and Draco had heard the news.

"Granger's here?" Draco's eyebrows had risen, "Theo, did you know this, mate?" It had sounded casual enough, but Draco's eyes had turned a shade of gray that appeared when something was clicking in his brain.

"I hadn't."

By now, Draco knew when his friend was lying, but also telling the truth. Same as Theo did for him.

"Well, isn't this a coincidence," He'd snorted, "You're bloody impossible, Nott. A goddamn romantic." He'd gagged in his mouth, "I need to go wash out my mind with some bleach now. Bloody Granger...can't seem to get away from those three Gryffindors…" He'd left back into the shop, muttering sourly.

Up until then, Theo hadn't thought that of himself. Romantic. He wasn't writing love poetry to her, or sending her bushels of roses the same color as her cheeks when she was embarrassed, or planning some grand way to confess his feelings. But when put into perspective that he'd moved countries basically following a girl on a conversation that had happened nearly five years ago, maybe it was so.

He'd practiced what he'd say to her in the shower, trying to conceive every angle when they did inevitably run into each other again so that nothing was left up to chance. He had felt he had prepared for everything. Except this, of course.

And now, the singular day that he had come across her, he wanted to be anywhere else.

Not because she was boring him. There was something endearing with the way she just talked and talked like she had at Hogwarts. He watched as her fingers twitched on the book covers. He saw how her whole face turned red and tried to memorize the freckles across her nose from the warm Parisian sun and how her hair looked effort as it tumbled around her shoulder blades. He tried to scan up and down her body as covertly as possible, knowing that it may be months again before this happened. There were a lot of ways in which she reminded him of the Granger from Hogwarts, which did nothing to keep him from growing half-hard. He wasn't that bloody sweet, okay? Yes, he wanted her mind and her heart, but he also wanted her body.

He clenched his hands. Fuck, he couldn't think about that now, not unless he wanted that to be said all at once. It was so difficult though since he couldn't keep his eyes off her as he mentally chartered her, marked the differences and compared it to his last meeting with her.

But Merlin, how badly he needed to keep his mouth shut and his walls up.

He steeled himself. He'd done this in the war. It was the only way he'd managed to fence both of the sides. Shove away parts of his mind behind walls so when Voldemort decided to go on a little mind-reading spree, the poison he was slowly releasing into the maniac's ranks were undetectable. A lesser Occulmens would have failed. Tortured and destroyed. Luckily, he was not a lesser wizard.

He was so bloody grateful that this potion had been created by him and Draco after Lord Voldemort had fallen because no one would have been able to resist this.

He could feel the words begging to be released, like a grenade detonated on his tongue, how firmly he kept his lips together. He felt tired from the physical exertion of suppressing the potion inside him. The harder he fought, the dizzier he became. There would become a point where his own determination in refusing to speak would tire him out and then the words would spill out anyway.

He needed to remember this since that was important to note of. He tried to think about how long he could keep this up. If he sat and talked with her more, surely, he'd say something he didn't mean to. It wasn't a sense of 'if' but 'when', that is unless he could very reluctantly peel himself away from Hermione and their currently one-sided conversation.

If he spoke freely, she may be overwhelmed.

In all his plans, he revealed his feelings to her tactfully, hopefully, after some sign from here, it was mutual. He was a Slytherin; he wasn't going to cut open his own heart to hear her pity. He'd rather watch her quietly from the sidelines, unconfirmed, than have his own hopes shattered.

She'd only ever been friendly toward him. He was stupid to think that her friendship meant anything more than exactly that. She didn't deserve his complete and rather passionate declarations, not when he suspected her and Ron were together.

Even thinking of Ron made his blood boil and threatened his seal on his lips.

He tried to keep his answers as succinct as possible. He hoped it was working.

"Ron and I are still together," Hermione said. She sounded almost forlorn. She was looking at the ground. Theodore had been gritting his teeth, focusing on a sad-looking shrubbery up until this point. He couldn't help it. This was his number one hot-button, the singular thing that riled him up more than anything else. Whenever anyone talked about how 'adorable' or how 'meant-to-be' Ron and Hermione were (and people did; they were heroes, celebrities now. He couldn't open a Prophet page without someone writing something about one of them), he wanted to seriously knock some sense into someone. Non-violently, of course, per his promise to the Ministry. He was reformed now, duh.

But the point still stood. Anyone who thought their relationship was anything more than a lukewarm disaster needed to have their whole body checked; vision, mind, ears, even their bloody noses. Everything about this pair seemed so wrong to Theo, and not just because he wanted Hermione. The last time he'd run into someone who was gushing about them in person, it had taken Draco tugging firmly on his robes and Apparating them away to stop Theo from punching them.

Hermione should live with a wizard who worshipped her, as he did. He felt the warm fuzzies spreading, raising his hair on his arms as he thought about how he wanted every part of her. As soon as he realized he was thinking of that, he switched his mind to recite more potion recipes. He distracted himself from Hermione, no small feat. As it was, the way she was hesitant biting her lip was making him hard.

Then she talked about getting married to him.

Theo knew, sorta-kinda, that Hermione was off-limits because she was dating someone else. But marrying them? That took her out completely, and somewhere deep inside, his composure snapped.

"You're wasted on Ron." He didn't know where his thoughts began and his words ended, but from the widened-eye look on Hermione's face, he'd spoken out loud. Shit. And now that he had started on this, as Draco often rolled his eyes about, it was impossible to stop, "You deserve so much better, Hermione. Merlin! I'm sure you're a fine couple," Salazar, did that lie take basically everything he had to force out instead of saying 'you two make a dementor and Umbridge seem like a sweet love story', but hey, he'd done it, "But...you…" He had tried to keep his thoughts down, but his mini-lie had taken all his walls down, "I don't get why you're with him."

She deserved the world, Merlin! He was sure that there was something about them that was appealing, because otherwise why would they be together, but he didn't understand why she was with him. It drove him mad, nights spent trying to figure this out.

He didn't know what he was saying all at once and what was his personal thoughts. Didn't matter, not now probably. He'd said too much with his first comment. It was done. The damage was done.

So he thought.

"As opposed to who? Someone like…"

He knew what the end of the question was. It didn't take a genius, but more than that, it was the intensity in which she was looking at him.

If he hadn't been under the effects of the potion, he wouldn't have said his next words. He probably wouldn't have said anything at all, just seethed about the woman he couldn't have and the fact she was with someone who didn't love her how she ought to be. He'd go home and think of Hermione as he rubbed one out, cursing his life and wishing he'd made a move before. He probably would have muttered something incoherent, apologized, and made a hasty exit right now. He might have told Hermione to forget this conversation.

But the potion fried his good sense and compelled him to confess.

Oh, did he try not to. He felt his body shake and his head float. He thought he was about a second away from passing out. When he sniffed, he tasted blood on the back of his tongue, telling him that he was seconds away from a nosebleed. He was going to smack his head on the pavement as he collapsed ungracefully in roughly about two seconds if he didn't let go a little.

"Fucking bloody Merlin," He exhaled, realizing his options were (a) faint. Seemed like a way to get out a conversation. Not a good way, but a way; (b) cite some fake emergency and pop away right now, which was probably the smartest...and he might have had the strength to do if there wasn't such hope he saw in his eyes. Merlin, he hoped he wasn't imagining it, or choice (c )...let go. The choice was made for him, and there was a part of him relieved, "Someone like me."

Hermione dropped her books like her arms had lost their bones. Just as he was about to offer to help pick them up, Hermione was inches away from him. She put her hands up, and at first, Theo was sure she was going to slap him like she'd done with Malfoy when they were children.

Instead, she kissed him.

And fucking hell, Theo wasn't an idiot. He kissed back.

It only took a moment for his fingers to catch up with is brain as he dragged her closer. She wobbled on the books, so Theo pushed her back. Back against the sooty and old wall of a street building, pressing up against her without leaving an inch of air. Hermione's fingers were at his nape, tugging and scratching, as Theo's hands slid down her waist to her bottom.

Not violently, but also not sweetly or tenderly, he jerked her knees apart to press in between her. He slotted his leg between her thighs, rutting up for that friction that he needed. He kissed her possessively, almost angrily.

They'd had years of unresolved sexual tension that lead up to this and Theo needed this release. They'd have so much time later for sweet adoring kisses, Theo told himself. Right now, he just wanted to feel her. He wanted to consume her, hoping that she would understand that this is how Theo had felt for the past ten years. More than that, nearly eleven for him, since he'd decided somewhere mid-second year to try and gain her friendship. He wanted Hermione to be gasping for air, head barely above water. He wanted to pour all the things he had burned away in his letters, never sent, his nighttime rambles and waxings about how he'd love her so right, if she'd only let him.

Hermione was clawing back at him.

This was so much better than his dreams.

Theo couldn't have stopped his actions if he tried. Somewhere, in the logic-based superego part of his mind- ever the scholar- he wondered if the potion was affecting his hands, his motions? If he had lost all control of his body, falling deeply within his baser instincts. He probably would have kissed her, sure, but all the rest of what he was doing he wouldn't have dared to do right now, right here. Superego was quickly taken out back and shot dead by Id while ego popped popcorn and pressed Theo on. Pressed him against, actually.

As it was, he honestly forgot where 'right now' and 'right here' was.

The world was just Hermione to him. Hermione, and her curly hair. Hermione, and those little gasps she made. Hermione, and her body and how perfect it fit against his. Hermione, Hermione, Hermione.

Theo took like a victor of Rome, hoarding his treasure without restraint or thought. It was all impulse, all hot blood racing through his veins, congregating all in one spot.

Theo pushed Hermione up the wall, enough so that her toes were off the ground for a second. Perfectly timed as clockwork, Theo dropped his palms to her behind, hiking her up onto his waist, using the sturdiness of the wall and his own strength to keep her suspended between. Hermione's legs twined around his back to give him better leverage, entrusting herself in his arms that he wouldn't let her fall.

Theo bit her lip, sharp enough to cause a little pain, but knew that there would be pleasure with it too. He loved to ride that edge and wondered if Hermione would as well. From the sound in the bottom of her throat, he was pleased to see it was so. He licked at the spot, a tang of copper coating his mouth. He'd broken skin, but knew it would heal quickly.

The position they were in was so much better, at least in his opinion. It put Hermione exactly where he most wanted her; their hips connecting. Yes, there were many layers between them, two pairs of pants at the very least. Still, it was enough so that he could feel the warmth and he was sure she could feel him. From the frantic movement of her hips, the need for the friction just in the right way, he knew.

Dirty thoughts invaded his mind. The urge to find a way to have her now.

Just as his fingers were trailing on the edge of her waistband and trying to pop the buttons on her jeans, a car honked. They jumped away, realizing they were on a public street.

Hermione's whole face was almost purple, flushed with a mixture of embarrassment, desire, and shock. She was panting, her lips swollen and hair even more mussed. She wiped her bottom lip, her body shaking as he saw her clicking together the chain of events that had just happened.

Before he could say anything, Hermione panicked and apparated away in broad Muggle daylight, leaving Theo surrounded by abandoned books in the streets of Paris.


A couple of you were quite surprised I had this happen so quickly, this kiss and all! Even if that's true, there's still a long road before they get together, so we still have plenty of 'now' chapters left, and of course all the flashback chapters ;)

Hope you enjoy!