Chapter 21 - Just you and me

Theo's first stop after leaving Dumbledore's office is Greenhouse Four, the most likely location for Neville to be on a Saturday morning.

He spots him, hands in the dirt around a Silver-Leafed Tickling Tree, giggling intermittently as the tree wiggles its leaves under his arms and at the side of his neck. Theo watches from the doorway for a minute, finding the whole display shockingly attractive.

"A bit handsy, isn't it?" he remarks, announcing his presence.

"Oh!" Neville says, turning around and extricating himself from the tree with a wide grin. "Done with Dumbledore already? How was it?"

Theo wanders over and recounts the meeting in detail. Neville frowns when he gets to the part where Dumbledore asked about Theo's friends.

"He mentioned me?" Neville asks, voice rising to a near-squeak.

"Yeah, and then he mentioned that I don't hang around with Potter and then he said that was 'interesting'," Theo says, with a liberal use of air-quotes.

"That's all he said? Just interesting?"

"Yeah."

"Then why did he bring it up?"

"I don't know." Theo shakes his head. "But then he asked if I understood what the letter meant, about the cup and everything, and I said no, and then he said, 'There are some things better left unknown'." Theo again makes liberal use of air quotes. "So I'm thinking we should go to the library and try to find out."

Neville fumbles to spell the dirt off his hands and put away his trowel. "You think so? If Dumbledore said you shouldn't…"

"It's my letter," Theo says indignantly.

"Yes," Neville agrees. "Although —" He cuts himself off and moves to set the Tickling Tree back on it's ledge.

"Although, what?"

"It's just, it's sort of Lucius Malfoy's letter, isn't it? Not that he should be the one to have it of course," Neville says quickly. "But — it might be dangerous."

"I thought you'd want to know too," Theo says, only mildly accusingly. "Shouldn't we know as much as we can?"

"I guess so…" Neville says. "But if Dumbledore's taking care of it…"

"I just want to know what horrible thing my father was involved in," Theo insists. "And anyway, I probably won't find anything out. I don't even really know what to look for."

"Alright," Neville says, still somewhat hesitant.

"Okay, well, I think I'm going to go now, so…"

"Give me a second to water the saplings and I'll come with you."

So Theo's treated to another moment of marvelling at Neville while he tends the plants. As he watches him, the elegant slope of his neck, the precise, practiced movements of his hands, the look of utmost concentration on his face, Theo's struck by the waste of it all.

Of blood purity ideologies and house systems and Dark Lords and mysterious letters and Chosen Ones and resistance efforts and all of it. What a waste of perfectly good lives and perfectly promising youths. It's not fair.

He just wants to take Neville up to the dorm and snog for hours. Or lie in the grass together and read books. Or wander around the lake, holding his hand.

Instead, he's off to do everything he can to understand the contents of a letter from one homicidal zealot to another.

"Ready?" he asks, as Neville tucks his wand back in his pocket and collects his bag.

"Yep," Neville replies, grinning through slightly worried eyes.

As they step out of the greenhouse, Theo takes Neville's hand in his. It's not quite a leisurely walk around the lake, but it will have to do.


Hermione visits Ron in the Hospital Wing every day. He's unconscious for the first three.

She usually runs into either Lavender (who is distantly polite) or Harry (who is distantly rageful).

Sometimes she talks to him, sometimes she holds his hand, sometimes she quizzes Madam Pomfrey on his condition. Mostly she sits nearby and does homework.

It's not entirely clear, even to her, if she would have visited this diligently last year, or any year previously. Genuine concern, friendship, and guilt all blur together.

She's lucky enough to catch Ron alone on her first visit after he wakes up.

"Hey, Hermione," he says cheerily. "I was poisoned!"

"Yes, I heard that," she says fondly, taking a seat on the edge of his hospital bed. "Have you seen Harry yet?"

"Yeah, he was here this morning." Ron narrows his eyes. "He asked me the same thing about you. Are you guys not talking again?"

"Um," she says.

Ron sighs.

"It's nothing," she starts. Ron raises an eyebrow. "Fine, it's not nothing. It's — Harry was already a bit on edge about, you know, about Malfoy and stuff."

"I'm familiar," Ron says drily.

"Right, well, on the first day you were here, right after it happened, well, I came as soon as I heard of course," she says. "But then — I, er, had to leave — and I wasn't gone long, but I didn't — couldn't –– tell Harry where I went, so…"

"He thought it had something to do with Malfoy," Ron fills in the blanks.

"I suppose so."

"And did it?"

"Ron…" she pleads.

"I'll take that as a yes."

There's a moment of silence, Hermione shifting her weight around on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?" she asks, changing the subject. "Better?"

"I'd feel better if you'd just tell me what's going on with you," Ron says, changing it right back.

She sighs, pressing a finger to the bridge of her nose. "I can't. Someday I will tell you, I promise. I just can't yet."

"But it's us, Hermione."

She takes Ron's hand in hers and squeezes. "I've got to go," she says tightly. "Loads of homework. I'll come back tomorrow with my notes from everything you've missed."

"Alright," Ron concedes sadly.

Hermione gathers her things and walks out of the room, hoping desperately that this barrier she's erecting between herself and Ron and Harry is only temporary. It's just until Draco can put this whole murder-plot episode behind him. Then she'll tell them everything.

They've argued before. And they've been through far worse than arguments. They'll be mad at her at first, of course. But in the end, things will right themselves.

They'll have to.

Just down the hall from the hospital wing, she runs into Draco. He seems to have been waiting for her.

"So I've had a thought," he says.

"About the cabinet?" she asks eagerly.

"No," he says flatly, frowning. "It's about Easter, actually."

"Easter?" she asks absently, the holiday being the furthest thing from her mind as they wander slowly towards the Great Hall for Lunch.

"Yeah," he says. "I don't exactly want to go home, cause — well, you know why. I don't know if I'll be able to get out of it entirely, he'll want to check in, and I would like to see Mother… But if I tell her I need to study and tell him I need to keep working on the cabinet… I might be able to come back early."

"Okay," Hermione says. "Was that your thought?"

"Not entirely," he says, grinning slightly. "I was mostly wondering what your plans were?"

"I — Well, I was going to go to the Burrow," she starts. "The Weasleys' house, you know. But with Ron in the hospital, and — well, everything… I might stay here."

"What about your family?" he asks.

"My parents decided to go on holiday after I told them I wanted to go to Ron's."

"Excellent," Draco says.

She glares at him.

He sighs. "It's too bad that your plans aren't working out, Granger. I'm sure the… Burrow would have been pleasant." He looks sincere for just a moment, then his grin returns. "But that means we'll have more time together, fewer other people around. Just you and me."

"I suppose it would be good to have some time to try and figure things out without so many distractions," she says, thinking aloud.

"Yeah, among other reasons." He smirks.

She indulges him with a little smile and knocks the back of her hand gently against his. Alone time with Draco would not be the worst thing in the world, she thinks, a flutter building low in her stomach. She bites her lip.

Draco looks at her, meeting her eye for a fraction of a second, before whirling his head around the empty hallway and finding the coast clear. He ducks his head to her level and swallows her in a kiss.

He sucks her lower lip roughly into his mouth, tugging on it fiercely as he pulls away.

Hermione can't stop thinking about it all day.


Theo picks a table in the back corner of the library and Neville casts a silencing charm on the whole area. At this time on a Saturday afternoon, the library is nearly empty.

"Well," Neville asks, "where should we start?"

"The cup," Theo says definitively. "And the sword."

He doesn't know what the sword has to do with anything, exactly. It doesn't relate to the letter in any obvious way. But he has a feeling.

It might be nothing. It might just be a regular, everyday feeling. Or. It might be a divination feeling.

"Okay…" Neville says. "But how do we find a book on the cup, if we don't know what cup it is? Or what powers it has? Or… anything?"

"There's got to be books on important magical objects, right? Or something?"

Theo is really not enough of a swot for this. Neville isn't either. They stare at each other in collective academic overwhelmed-ness

But then Neville nods, a frown of grim determination settling across his features as he strides over to the shelves. For all his reluctance and anxiety in the greenhouse earlier, he seems quite committed to the project.

Theo begins by wandering back over to where he found the books on swords he used for his divination essay months ago. If it's displayed in the headmaster's office and showing up in his dreams, it has to have some sort of significance.

He finds the same book on the history of swords he read before and flips through it carefully, scanning for anything with a ruby-encrusted handle.

Neville shows up back at the table with a small stack of options and begins flipping through the first text.

After what feels like ages, but in reality is perhaps 45 minutes, Theo finds it. There, in black and white.

He's not sure how he missed it the first time he had this book. Although — he does remember being distracted. Neville was there, sitting in the light, looking utterly golden and making Theo ache with hopeless wanting.

"It's the sword of Gryffindor," he breathes.

Neville's head snaps up from his book. "But that's the sword Harry used to kill the basilisk!"

"Well, it's hanging in Dumbledore's office, now," Theo replies. "And in my dreams."

"What does it say about it?"

Theo reads the passage aloud — Goblin-made steel, only takes in that which makes it stronger, forged in the 10th century, last remaining relic of Godric Gryffindor, rumoured to present itself to true Gryffindors in times of need, et cetera.

"Well that settles it!" Neville chirps. "You must be a true Gryffindor!"

Theo balks, on instinct. "I mean, I think that's only if it presents itself in real life, not in dreams…"

Neville smiles knowingly.

"I mean there's nothing wrong with being a Gryffindor, of course," Theo continues. "But I'm not brave or heroic or rowdy or — well anything Gryffindor at all. Not compared to you, or Potter, or —"

Neville's knowing smile becomes a most unNeville-ish smirk. "Says the guy who just stood up to his father."

"My dead father," Theo argues.

"Okay, then the guy who went to the Headmaster's office to deliver crucial information to take down Voldemort."

"It was just a meeting."

"Okay, how about how you stood up to Malfoy when you found out about the cabinet?"

"I had a fight with a friend, everyone does that. And anyway, I haven't actually done anything to stop him, have I?"

Neville's grin only grows. "But you have a plan."

"Barely," Theo mutters.

"So," Neville continues, talking over him, "that means you're the best of both worlds. Cunning and brave."

"But —"

"And anyway, you're having dreams about the sword of Gryffindor."

"Dreams." Theo insists, setting his jaw stubbornly.

"And what happens in these dreams?" Neville prompts him.

"You get taken from behind the tapestry and somebody hurts you."

"And then you come and save me," Neville states triumphantly, as though that settles it.

"Well, yeah, but it's you. Anyone would try to save the person they love from being tortured," Theo mumbles thickly. "But it's just a dream."

Neville grins again. "If it's just a dream, why are you here researching swords?"

Theo narrows his eyes at him, in a fond sort of glare. "Hmmph."

Neville leans over the table and gives him a smug little peck on the forehead. "My dashing Gryffindor hero," he teases.

He didn't want to be a hero. He still doesn't. He's never wanted anything more than to exist quietly on the sidelines.

And yet.

Something in Theo's heart swells at Neville's words.

"Have you found anything about the cup?" he asks, the gruff tenor of his voice betraying his feelings.

"Maybe, actually. I was just about to say," he replies, holding up a book. Theo squints at the title: The Masters of Our Fates: Britain's Most Influential Magical Objects. "Helga Hufflepuff's last known relic was a goblet. I also read something about some eighteenth century cups that turned any liquid into doubly-potent firewhisky, but that's all I found so far. The Hufflepuff thing seems more likely."

"Two founders' relics," Theo murmurs. "That we both came across at the same time… That's weird, right?"

"Very," Neville confirms.

"But what in the actual fuck does it mean?"


The Easter break comes around the last week of March. Hermione spends the morning of the first day of holidays curled up on a couch in the Slytherin common room, lazily flipping through a book as the dorm empties out.

"Staying at school, Granger?" Pansy asks, coming up behind her and snooping at her book.

"It's just a biography of Morgana, nothing scandalous," Hermione says, rolling her eyes. "And I've already told you that."

"Ah, but you didn't tell me Draco was coming back early as well," she trills. "Though I'm sure that's unrelated, isn't it?"

"A coincidence," Hermione agrees.

Pansy smirks. "Well," she says, "if you would like something more scandalous to read, I've left something out on your bed for you."

Hermione sniffs and pretends at disinterest until Pansy is out the door, her elegant suitcase levitated behind her.

Then she slips back to the now empty girls dormitory and finds, as promised, a book laid out on the middle of her bed. Sex Magic for Beginners. She gasps and shoves it under her pillow, then hastily looks around, despite the complete emptiness of the room. Pansy!

Although — It couldn't hurt to glance through it. Later.

She marches back out towards the common room, only slightly flushed.

How could Pansy know she was considering — Did Draco say something to her? Hermione's not even sure if she wants to, if she's ready, if Draco's the right person, if —

"Hi." And there he is now.

"Hi, Draco," she says weakly, a brief flicker of the line-drawn figures on the book's cover flitting through her mind. "I thought you'd left already."

"Without saying goodbye?" he scoffs. "Surely you ought to have a higher opinion of my manners by now, Granger."

"And yet somehow I manage…"

He rolls his eyes. "I do need to go though," he adds, softening. "Only a couple minutes until my portkey."

His breath shakes a little on the last bit. Hermione had nearly forgotten in all the flurry of holidays and Pansy's sex book. He's off for his conference with Voldemort.

"Good luck," she says heartily, throwing her arms around him and holding on tightly.

"I'm really good at occlumency," he promises against her hair. "And I'll be back before you know it."

"What if they keep you there?" She pulls away so they're at arms' length, still holding each other.

"They won't."

"But what if they do?"

"Then I'll stay."

"No, you couldn't possibly, there has to be a way —"

"Hermione," he cuts her off gently. "This is a hypothetical. I'll be back in four days."

"But what if you're not?"

"Then I'll survive. Probably." He frowns. "If it does happen — and I'm not saying it will, it won't — don't you dare come up with some sort of noble Gryffindor rescue plan."

She bites her lip. "Do you really think — Is that a possibility?"

"No, Granger, that's literally my point." He envelopes her tightly in his arms again. "I'm phenomenal at occlumency," he whispers. "Everything will be fine."

Hermione spends the next 48 hours becoming increasingly convinced that everything will not be fine. Somewhere around the twelve-hour mark, she digs into Pansy's book, in an effort to distract herself.

It works, for a while. Sex magic is quite fascinating. And, yes, some of it might be useful. Other parts seem a bit much for a beginner's guide. But still, fascinating.

Regardless, it's only distracting for so long. After she puts the book away (at the very, very bottom of a drawer), she has a hard time falling asleep, kept up by thoughts of Draco being tortured, of him not being quite as good at occlumency as he thinks he is, of Voldemort getting bored of toying with Draco and instead simply murdering him.

When she wakes from her fitful sleep, she goes to the library and flips through all the books with references to vanishing cabinets. She's read them all twice already. There's nothing new, no epiphany to save the day.

She shoves the books back on the shelves, frustrated and restless, and takes off on a brisk stroll around the nearly empty grounds. It's lonely. She expected quiet and emptiness, but the speed at which the loneliness sets in is rather alarming.

Maybe it's that it's been a while since she was truly alone. She was alone often when she was young, and in those first few months of Hogwarts, but she's rarely been on her own since she became friends with Harry and Ron.

They must be getting spoiled with Mrs. Weasley's chocolate eggs right about now. She remembers the tiny egg she sent her in fourth year, when she'd thought she had broken Harry's heart. She can't imagine the microscopic size of the egg Mrs. Weasley would send if she knew about Draco.

Maybe she should write to them — to Harry and Ron. She can't tell them everything, certainly not in a letter, but maybe another apology? Let them know she misses them?

She vows to do just that when she gets back up to the castle.

Hermione keeps walking for a while, around the edge of the lake. The surface of the water shimmers in the early spring sunlight. It's blindingly bright. So bright, in fact, that she hardly notices Theo until she practically steps on him, tucked away as he is on a rocky ledge.

"Oh!"

"Granger," Theo acknowledges, his tone even and unsurprised. He gestures at the hard ground next to him, for her to sit. "I suppose you're also an Easter-orphan?"

"That's one way of looking at it."

"Hm," he says. "I briefly considered spending a week at my house, give my elf something to do for a change, but I figured the castle has better views of the lake, on reflection."

Hermione gets the sense that he's saying something that holds meaning for him, though it mostly goes straight over her head.

"You have an elf?" is all she comes up with.

"Came with the house," he shrugs.

"Do you think they would enjoy working at Hogwarts?" she asks. "Harry inherited an elf, too. It's not ideal of course, but they can be so fearful of being set free… At least here they have some company."

Theo hms. "I think Conglomerate Nebula likes the Manor. It's his home more than mine at this point."

She blinks. "His name is Conglomerate Nebula?"

"The ancestral Notts were an exceptionally pretentious people."

"Huh."

"Indeed."

Theo pauses for a moment, looking forlornly out over the lake.

"Anyway," he says. "What are the odds I'm back in Professor Dumbledore's office on April first?"

"Sorry?"

"Neville and I are going to Dumbledore if that cabinet plan isn't stopped by the end of the month."

"But that's in six days!"

"Yes. And you've had seven weeks already." Theo's gaze is dripping with disappointment. "For a while, I really thought you had this handled."

It stings, hearing the thing she has been dreading more than anything.

"There's not going to be a miracle solution, Hermione," Theo continues sadly. "He has to make a choice. There's no easy way out."

"But he can't choose!" she protests weakly. "It's impossible."

"What you need to start doing, is making your own choice," Theo advises sagely. "You need to know whether you'll stand with him, whatever he decides."

Hermione stares at the lake for a while. She's not ready to face it, not nearly. She doesn't know. She's not ready. She can't abandon Draco, not after they've come this far, against so many odds. But could she even look at him, if he lets the school get attacked?

"What are you going to do?" she asks Theo eventually.

"Me? I'm standing with Neville. And he's standing against the Dark Lord. So, I guess, if Draco chooses the Dark Lord, I'll be against him too." The set of his jaw is firm, unwavering in his conviction. She wonders how he got there.

And how she got so far from where she used to be.


Draco arrives back from the Manor, as scheduled, without major incident.

Hermione waits in the common room for him, telling herself repeatedly that just because he said he'd be back "Wednesday evening," that doesn't mean she should expect him at exactly 8:00pm, or worry if he's later than that. She worries anyway, fretting and pacing until he arrives.

He arrives at 8:03, though it feels much later to Hermione.

"You're back!" she cries, rushing over to him. "And you look —" she glances over him "— fine. Are you fine?"

"Fine, eh Granger?" he says, grinning wryly. "High praise, that."

He steps closer to her, grin shifting into something hungrier, and lowers his lips to hers. The kiss is brief, with just a flick of his tongue against her lower lip that promises more.

She lingers in the feeling of it for a moment, nearly swaying on her feet. "So I take it you are okay, then? He didn't do anything to you?"

"Nothing worse than usual." Draco grimaces. "I had to watch his snake eat a cat. There was something of an implication that I could be next."

"Oh Draco," she intones, stepping closer and wrapping her arms around him, pressing her head to his chest. "That's awful."

"Could have been worse," he says, overly casual. "He doesn't know I'm anything less than loyal to him. He thinks I'm incompetent, which is almost as bad, but — I still have time."

Now would be the time for Hermione to tell him that they don't have time actually, only three days left and nothing even vaguely resembling a plan. But she can't bear it, when he's only just got back.

Instead, she lets him take her hand.

"You can help me unpack," he whispers, a blatant excuse to lead her back to his room.

The boy's dorm is clean and perfectly tidy — a far cry from the last time she was there. The elves must have been by. The cleanliness, the quiet sterility of it, makes it seem out of time somehow, like — well, like magic. A moment just for them.

Draco tosses his bag haphazardly on top of his trunk. "On second thought," he says, "I can unpack later."

They move towards each other slowly. Her pulse quickens in sudden nervousness.

Draco runs a hand over her hair, threading his fingers through it, before coming to rest on the edge of her jaw, tilting it slightly upward. The kiss that follows is perfect, soft and warm and familiar.

"I missed you," he whispers, breathing against her mouth.

He lets his hands roam further down her body, grazing along her sides and coming to rest at her waist. She stretches up, wrapping her arms around his neck and pressing her hips into him.

They scramble back, stumbling, until they hit his bed. She falls backwards and pulls him with her, so she's pressed between him and the soft silk of his bedspread.

They kiss for what feels like ages, Draco's warmth and weight comforting and protective above her. He runs a hand along her thigh, gripping just underneath the hem of her skirt.

She wants, badly, to sink into the moment. To turn her mind off and just be. But Theo's words about cabinets and choices echo around in her head. Maybe she should know his choice or at least ask, before...

"Draco," she says. "We don't have much time."

"What do you mean?" he murmurs. "We have all the time in the world."

"I –– You're right."

He pulls away for a moment, looking at her with a furrow in his brow. "What is it?"

"Nothing," she says, managing a smile. "Everything's fine. Great, even."

He grins back at her. "Are you sure?"

"Yes. Absolutely." And she slips her hand around the back of his neck, pulling him back to her.

She thrusts thoughts of choices out of her mind. It doesn't matter right now. Or it does, but she can't bring herself to ruin this moment. She just can't. It took them so long to get here.

After that, it's like she gives herself –– and him –– permission to go faster. Do more. They push and pull against each other feverishly, her mind going blissfully quiet. Centered.

She slips a hand under the edge of his shirt and he takes the cue to pull it off over his head.

Hermione catches sight of a smudge of black on Draco's forearm. She grabs it, twisting the mark towards her. He freezes.

"Hermione, I forgot, I should have glamoured it or ––"

She stares at it for a long moment, then shakes her head and lets his arm go.

"I hate it," she whispers. "Someday, you're going to figure out how to get it taken off."

"Yes," he promises. "Yes, I will."

She places a hand against his thin chest, before tracing it lightly over his shoulder and dragging him back to her.

Later, when Hermione remembers what follows, she'll mostly think of Draco's face. The way his wide-eyed look of nervous excitement had changed to one of breathy pleasure and exertion. The blank, slack-jawed expression of complete bliss at the end.

The intimacy of it, the knowledge that he had surely seen similar expressions on her face, feels far more revealing than anything else. She wants to hold it in her mind forever.

Hermione sleeps the night in Draco's bed and lets everything else fall away. It can all wait until tomorrow.