OCTOBER

"Ginny left today," said Hermione, taking a biscuit out of the tin.

Malfoy mirrored her actions, stealing the triple chocolate ones she doesn't like. "Is that why I heard Potter whaling this afternoon?"

"Ha-ha. No, actually that was Cho. She and Ginny had kind of bonded over the past few weeks."

With a mouthful of crumbs he said, "Didn't work did it?"

Hermione sighed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand, "No. The potions helped get some feeling back in his feet, but not enough. So it looks like we are still stuck here."

"Where are the other safehouses?"

"I can't tell you that. You're a Death Eater, remember? That would risk you revealing the Order's secrets."

Malfoy glared at her straight expression. "You know fuck all on where they are, don't you?."

She shrugged, implying that maybe he was right, maybe he was wrong.

Nights had bled into weeks of the two of them meeting at midnight. Sometimes Hermione would see Malfoy standing at the front gates, but everytime she was in the kitchen first, he wouldn't go out there. Eventually, each night she waited for him to go down first so that he could.

She figured he might rely on it the same way that she relies on food.

Most nights they bickered to different extremes, yet never to the point when one had to walk away. Hermione liked making Malfoy mad, but she liked it even more when she made him smile. She was never very good at telling jokes, so it meant something when he would shake his head and laugh through his nose.

"Confession time," Hermione said, dusting the food off her hands.

"Are you asking me to confess or are you going to confess?"

"Asking."

He rested his elbows on the table, intertwined his fingers and pressed his thumbs into his eyeballs. "Okay, go."

"First night we did this, you asked me if I couldn't sleep at night because of nightmares. Did you ask me that because you get them? Is that the reason why you're always awake at night?"

The twelve seconds that it took for Malfoy to reply seemed like an hour. Hermione could feel the floor shaking from his knee bouncing up and down. He kept his thumbs on his closed eyes and ran his tongue over his bottom lip.

"Not always. It's the part when I'm laying in bed and waiting to fall asleep that I can't stand. I've learnt it is easier to stay awake until I collapse."

His knee didn't stop bouncing when he finished talking but he pulled his hands away from his face. She could tell that he was trying to focus his vision when he looked over at her.

"In school," she said "my dreams were exciting and wild, the type that children talk about to their parents. But now, I only dream of old memories. It feels as if I'm right there in the moment, yet I'm aware of all the bad things that are about to happen. It's like rereading a book and already knowing that the ending is terrible."

"You don't think that there will be a happy ending? That's not very Gryffindor of you."

She reached over to grab a packet of crisps, "Yes, well. Unless you know a way for Harry to walk again, or where You-Know-Who is hiding out with that snake, then my hopes are not very high."

"If you do find him, tell my parents that I say hi."

Hermione stopped chewing her crisp and let it clump up in her mouth. Malfoy continued to make his way through the food on the table without seeing how shocked she was by his statement. In the weeks that they had been meeting, neither had brought up the reason why Malfoy was actually staying in the attic.

When he noticed that she hadn't said anything in over a minute, he glanced over to see her still sitting there with a crisp mid-chew.

"What?" He asked, bluntly.

She swallowed and a sharp corner scratched the back of her throat, "I didn't know that your parents were still with him."

"Where did you expect them to go?" He frowned, leaning back in the chair. "They'd gotten this deep, doubt they've asked for redemption now."

"There were rumours that you had died at the battle. Do your parents know that you're even alive?"

He pinched the tip of his nose, "Probably not. I think they'd prefer to believe that I was dead than whatever it is I'm doing here."

Hermione's glass heart just cracked even more. As much as her parents didn't get along, she was the centre of their world. There was never a time that she ever doubted how much they loved her. Knowing Malfoy never got to experience that, sounds like he was destined to be broken.

"What happened out there, Malfoy?" Her voice quivered when she asked this. "Was it Pansy? Did you see her die?"

Something snapped in the back of Malfoy's mind. His hands began to tremble from the old Crutiatus curses, and they didn't stop even after he clenched his fists together.

"No," was all he said. Piercingly sharp.

"This was bound to be brought up-"

A nearby fork was being stabbed into the table. "I'm not talking about this, Granger," he spat.

"You can tell me what happened, I won't say anything to anyone. Whatever you're going through, I probably feel the same seeing Ron die."

She was almost pleading at this point. All she wanted was for someone to understand the type of pain she was drowning in.

"I said I'm not fucking talking about it." He stood and pushed the table so hard that it hit Hermione in the stomach. She groaned, clutching herself. "Stop trying to know everything about my life. Whoever it is you're wanting me to be, I'm not a fucking surrogate. Got that?"

Hermione pushed her chair back and couldn't help the whimper that slipped through her lips while she stood. She cast a silencing charm on the room so that she could yell, "I never said I was asking you to be someone else!"

"Yes you are! Are you blind? You're waiting for me to be this good guy so that you don't feel so guilty about enjoying my company!"

He went to leave the room but Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder and twisted him back, "Don't you dare walk away!"

Her touch must have set him off. Malfoy grabbed her by the neck and pushed her down onto the table. A high pitch ringing noise filled her ears the moment her head smashed against the wood.

"Do us both a favour and fuck off, Granger. Stop coming down here." His hands were tight around her throat and she couldn't swallow. "We're not friends. You don't get to ask me about Pansy, or my parents ever again."

She tapped his wrists four times trying to get him to release his grip. He didn't listen, instead he squeezed harder.

There was this look in Malfoy's eye that was so dark it was indescribable. He was seconds away from killing her.

By the time Hermione felt her heart slow, she gave into the inevitable.

If dying meant that she didn't have to wake up everyday and pretend to be fine, then she was ready. They'd give her a nice funeral when the war was over, won or lost, and the gravestone would say: Hermione Granger, daughter, friend, tried really fucking hard. Even the idea of Malfoy being the one to blame felt good too.

The room was going black as her eyes lost their vision. A croak fell from her mouth and her arms went limp. Then just when she thought she was going to pass out, he let go.

She gasped, falling off the table and onto the floor. It burnt to breathe in.

Malfoy knelt in front of her and his hands shook while they hovered over her flaccid body. His teeth jittered. Hermione felt hot tears falling down her cheeks as she heard herself audibly wheeze.

He sat there on his knees mortified at what he had just tried to do. It was written across his entire face, the fear that he was turning into someone he had run away from.

Hermione didn't have the energy to push him away or tell him to leave. She didn't hate him for trying to kill her, she hated him because he didn't finish the job.

There was an apology that looked like it was going to come out of his mouth, but it never did. Taking the cowards road, he stumbled to his feet and left the kitchen in a sprint. Hermione stayed where she had fallen, clutching her neck and staring up at the ceiling.

She stayed like that until the sunrise peeked in through the window.

The urge to be sick sat at the pit of her stomach. She understood why Malfoy strangled her. He didn't do it out of anger, or because she had ticked him off, he did it because he missed Pansy.

When people asked Hermione about Ron, she wanted to punch them square in the jaw. Apparently she knew how to contain her emotions better than Malfoy did.

These were just the symptoms of a war.

Crawling up the stairs into her bedroom could well have been one of the hardest challenges the witch had ever faced. Her eyes were heavy from crying and a headache pulsated through her dehydrated brain. It didn't take long for her to fall into a deep sleep.

That morning she dreamt of Easter when she was seven. It was the last one before her Grandfather died, where he gave her a medal he received in World War II. The next year when he passed, she placed it in his hands inside the coffin and vowed to be as brave as him one day.

Cho knocked on her door some time later in the day, but Hermione told her that she was sick and needed to be left alone. Her hoarse voice made it seem like she was. All she did for the next two days was drift in and out of sleep.

If anyone else checked up on her, she didn't hear. Eventually her stomach hurt from hunger one night. It was still pretty dark which meant there was a risk that Malfoy could be downstairs. Once more, Hermione forced herself to go back to sleep until she knew for sure he wouldn't be there.

Later when she did wake, from her window she could see people out in the paddocks practising their duelling skills. Her body was heavy and dragged when she walked to the bathroom. The shower helped wash off the sadness that clung to her skin.

In the mirror, Hermione traced the bruises along her neck. It was a daunting image to look at. They hurt when she pressed too hard and the purple colouring reminded her of a potion she made in second year.

Her wand found no difficulty covering it up with a glamour charm. It worked better than concealer would.

She wondered if Malfoy had injured his hand holding her so tightly like that. Did he crack a knuckle? Was his wrist sprained?

Somehow, Hermione knew that if he hadn't hurt himself by accident, he definitely would have done so on purpose when he got to the attic. To what extent though, she wasn't quite ready to know.

With a fresh pair of clothes and pep talk from her reflection, she went to the kitchen. Everyone else was still out the back practising except Andromeda, who was feeding Teddy at the kitchen table.

"Hello darling," she smiled. "Are you feeling much better?"

Hermione froze as the smell of the kitchen entered her senses. She didn't realise it had a scent until the memory of Malfoy leaning over her reminded her.

"Hermione?" Andromeda asked.

"Y-yes," she choked. "Much better, thank you. I am a little hungry though, do you mind if I make myself something?"

"Of course, darling. Of course."

Teddy banged his hands onto the table and babbled while his aunt tried to stuff mashed bananas into his mouth. It seemed that while she was unwell in her room, the baby had learnt the word no. He said it repeatedly in denial of his lunch.

"Where do you think he picked up on that?" Hermione chuckled, grabbing eggs from the fridge.

"Harry, without a doubt," Andromeda answered. "All that boy ever says is no these days. If he teaches my grandson the words go and away I may just clip him in the back of the head."

"Don't let Teddy anywhere near Fred and George then. They'll teach him the words piss and off before he learns to walk."

The elder witch grimaced, "Well that is just inevitable."

Not finding the will to eat in the kitchen, Hermione ate in the living room. She knew Andromeda wouldn't judge her for the amount of fried eggs that were piled on her plate, except that maybe she would. Who's to know what an appropriate amount of eggs were before someone called you out on it.

She ate the entire serving within minutes and still craved something sweet.

People were beginning to come back into the house, some calling first in the shower, others yelling that they needed to be healed, and then there was Harry, who found Hermione sitting in the living room by herself.

He rolled to sit next to her by the armchair. His face was drained from the colour that Ginny had brought back, and his brow was permanently creased again.

"Hi," Hermione said. "How was everyone out there?"

Harry cleaned his glasses with the hem of his shirt, "Oh you know, the usual. Just as prepared as they were in May, but lacking a real battle to put it into practice."

"It seems very wrong, praying for a fight to commence. Don't you think so?"

"Nothing has felt right for a while." He said this like he had been telling the same thing to himself for months now. "What about you? How are you feeling?"

"Better. I don't know what came over me, it must have been a bug. I'm glad no one else got it though, it would be awful if we all fell ill. Has Theo gone to the market? We can do a trip later on if the house is in need of anything. Is he taking a shower? Andromeda says that Teddy picked up his first word from you. It was rather funny, how much influence we have over someone so young. Not long ago we were the young ones th-"

She was dabbling, and she knew it. It was a habit that came out when she was nervous. Harry wasn't dumb, he knew all her too well. His arm came and rested on top of hers, intertwining their fingers. A calming wave came over her and she inhaled deeply.

Her breath was still caught in her chest when Harry spoke, "It's alright if you just needed a few days. You don't need to lie to me."

His words smelt like alcohol. Hermione hid her reaction to the sharp scent hitting her face, exhaling as a way of getting rid of it. She leant her head on his shoulder and tried very hard not to cry.

She wished Ron was here.

"Do you miss him, Harry?" She whispered. There was no questioning who she was talking about.

Harry kissed the top of her head, then rested his cheek to her hair. "Yeah. More than I've missed anyone. I can't get his face out of my head, the one he had before we were hit. Every time it's quiet I can hear that crack of the cement."

Hermione had forgotten about that sound. The reminder of it was the soundtrack to the tear that fell down her nose and curled around her lip.

"What do you think would've happened that night if he didn't die?"

A quick pause, and then he said with certainty, "We would've won."

His thumb wiped away the tear from her mouth and their hands stayed conjoined. Everything in Hermione wanted to tell Harry how she felt about Ron, the good, the bad and the ugly.

If she did, he would say that it was okay. He was far too forgiving like that. But in truth, it isn't okay. Nothing about her was okay anymore.

Hermione brought her head back up and looked Harry directly in the eye, "Why wasn't I hit that night, too? Why was I the one that was left unbroken?"

The greenness of his eyes were as welcoming as an open field. They were so solid. Firm in knowing that he was going to make this world a better place. Yet, when he looked down at her desperate face, they weren't so confident anymore.

"Sometimes I think this world runs on fate, like it's all meant to be this way for a reason. Other times I think we're all just a result of consequences. I've never been able to figure out what the right answer is. One thing I know for sure, is that you didn't come out of the battle unbroken."

He squeezed her hand twice and continued talking. "If we ended up this way because it was always supposed to be like this, then I think that's pretty bloody unfair. But if Ron died because of the choices I made, then I don't know if this world is worth fighting for."

They rested their foreheads against one anothers. Hermione was reminded of what Malfoy had shared about his parents doing the same thing. With the lump in the back of her throat and the paralysed chosen one sitting across from her, she realised that this wasn't a substitute for intimacy. This was survival.

The two friends sat in each other's presence for a few undisturbed minutes until Theo came thumping down the stairs calling out for Harry. The house was big enough for his voice to bounce off the walls. Harry groaned, rolling away from Hermione.

He didn't go far because Theo found them in the living room.

"Oh, there you are," he said, looking between them.

"Me or her?" Harry asked.

Theo shifted on his feet, "Uh, Hermione. I saw her bedroom door was open, thought you might not have known she was out yet."

Harry looked over his shoulder at Hermione, who felt very awkward. He raised a single eyebrow up at her asking something. She shrugged her shoulders sweetly as a silent reply.

"Take it you're feeling better?" Theo came and joined her on the opposing arm chair. His hair was wet from a shower, and a curl fell into front of his eyes. His fingers fed it back through where he wanted it to.

Hermione shifted her body so her legs were facing away from him, "Yes, I am. Thank you for asking."

"Was weird not having you around for a few days. The whole house was a bit chaotic, to be honest."

He smelt like the vanilla and honey body wash, but didn't pull it off the way that Malfoy could. There was no depth to it, no magnetic draw. He just smelt clean.

"Oh, I'm sure I wasn't missed that much. " She faked laughed for the sake of his ego. "Everyone was probably getting sick of my nagging. You all deserved a break."

Without missing a beat Theo said, "I missed you."

The room as well as Hermione's back were set on fire. Harry was silently watching the interaction from his chair by the door. She could sense his animosity from a mile away.

"In a way that I wished you were there when Dean did the washing," Theo continued like he didn't just change the entire dynamic of the house. "Prick put a fucking red tea towel into same pile as the white load. All my pants are bloody pink. Yours pink too, Potter?"

Theo chuckled and didn't actually care for Harry's answer. You could tell by the way he looked across the room for two seconds and then returned his gaze back to Hermione.

He cupped his palm around her knee, tapped it three times and then stood back up. He adjusted the waistband on his trousers and strode across the room, like an absolute cock.

"You and I should meet up later to talk about our next shopping trip. I got a few things I wanna discuss. Drinks? On the porch after dinner?"

"Give me strength," Harry mumbled in time with a roll of his eyes.

Hermione felt pressured to agree. "Sure," she said. Then regretted it the moment the word came out of her mouth.

Theo gave two nods, one to Hermione and then one to Harry. He left the room as confidently as he had arrived. The living room felt as hot as lava.

"What the fuck was that?" Harry said, using his arms for a dramatic effect.

She scrunched her hair in her hands and blew raspberries. "I don't know, everything happened so fast, I barely had time to think."

"Is something going on-"

"No!" She cut him off fiercely. "Absolutely not. Theo is bored and thinks that entertaining me will keep his mind off what is happening out there. He doesn't actually want me, I'm just more likeable than Cho. If any other girl were here he would be doing the same thing to them."

Harry looked at her from his turned face. "Don't let him use you, 'Mione." He said this with care. She imagined that if she had a brother, he would say it the same way.

"I won't. I promise. We've handled things much worse than the conniving ways of Theodore Nott."

He laughed through his nose. It didn't make her feel as good as when Malfoy did it. There was no challenge in making Harry smile, so there wasn't any satisfaction that came after either.

"I'll be in my room if you need me."

That was code for, I'm going to go drink and don't disturb me unless someone's dying. Hermione waved him goodbye.

Suddenly, as the room lost its heat, she regretted binge eating so many eggs. The taste was dwelling on her breath, and it made her nauseous. She craved a biscuit or six to wash it away.

Fred and George were in the kitchen when she walked by. They wouldn't care if she grabbed an entire packet and devoured the whole thing in front of them. But she still couldn't do it.

As much as it pained her to admit, she missed Malfoy's company. He was a prat who gave no indication of trying to be anything other than a prat, but she could at least eat around him.

Walking up the stairs to the second floor, her hands automatically went to her neck. She could still feel his hands there, stripping her of her life; blessing her with what she didn't have the guts to do.

The string that led up to the attic swung in the centre of the hallway. Hermione looked at it. Touched it. Was tempting to pull it. Then walked away knowing damn well that nothing good would come from seeing Malfoy in the daylight.

Cho was sitting on the floor in her bedroom, painting her nails. Everyone had gifted her with a set of polish for her birthday in August. She was humming a song that Hermione couldn't recognise.

"Hey," Hermione said, walking into the smaller room. "Can I join?"

This was the first time she had willingly asked Cho for her company. The witch was visibly thrown by the request.

"I need a friend," she explained.

Twisting the lid back onto the jar, Cho placed it onto the floor and padded the spot next to her. Hermione sat, pulling her legs up to her chest.

"Do you need me to be like an actual friend or do you just not want to be around boys?" Cho asked on the verge of a giggle.

Hermione tucked her chin in between where her knees meet, "I think after nine years I've finally realised the full extent of how frustrating men can be."

"Please, wait till you get a boyfriend. Then you'll know how annoying it is when they're embarrassed to hold your hand in public but make you feel too nice behind closed doors to let you complain about it."

Hermione swore quietly.

"Here," Cho said, turning to sit in front of her. "Let me paint your nails. It'll make you feel a little bit better."

Having no energy to argue, Hermione agreed. Cho laid on her stomach and filed her nails until they were all an even oval shape. The friction made her cringe. Choosing between an orange or pink paint colour, she settled on pink.

A small crash of something hitting the floor or the attic filtered through the roof. Both girls looked up, looked at each other and then looked at Hermione's nails.

"Draco must be rearranging his room," Cho murmured.

Without even thinking about it Hermione said, "Yeah. He does that."

Her middle finger was almost full coated when she realised what she said. Cho had pursed lips, clearly trying to suppress whatever it was she wanted to say.

"I just said something I shouldn't have, didn't I?" Hermione rolled her neck to rest on the mattress behind her.

Cho smiled to herself, "You didn't say anything I didn't already know."

"What exactly is it that you know?"

The first coat of her left hand was drying by the time she replied. "That Draco isn't dead. That he's up there, in the attic. That…"

Hermione held her breath, praying to a God she didn't believe in that whatever Cho was going to say next had nothing to do with the kitchen.

"That he's probably never going to come down because he thinks he's to blame for Pansy's death, and that everyone in the house blames him for our friends dying too."

Curiosity teased Hermione. Her eyes were focused on Cho's art on her right hand, but her mind was spinning with ways she could manipulate the conversation to get the answers she'd been wanting for weeks.

"Were you close with Pansy? In school?"

"Not entirely. We had similar friends but not a direct friendship."

That didn't work. Next question.

"I thought the Slytherins were sent to the dungeons during the battle. How did she get out?"

"It's Pansy Parkinson. She slimed her way out."

Okay, she was just going to have to ask, and hope it didn't make her seem nosy.

"Cho… how did Pansy die?"

Her heart didn't like the way the black haired witch looked up at her. Her lashes fluttered and her cheeks sucked in, Cho blew on Hermione's right hand. She got up off her stomach and sat on the wall opposite to the bed.

"I was there when she was struck. A werewolf had bitten Lavender Brown when I ran past the Potions classroom. I had to stop and vomit, I was so scared. When I looked up, Draco was yelling at his friends to go and get his wand from Harry. Pansy was right behind, screaming at him for something to do with being a traitor."

"A traitor? For doing what?"

"I'm not sure. He told her that he couldn't be the person she wanted him to be."

That argument in the kitchen echoed in Hermione's memory. As did those exact words.

She shook the image away, "What happened next?"

"Pansy got angry. She said that if he was trading sides then he might as well kill her. Draco told her to stop being so dramatic, which made her even more mad. A Death Eater came around the corner, hungry to kill, even if they were school children. There was vengeance in his eyes."

Cho tucked the fringes of her hair behind his ears. She traced circles on her knees, avoiding saying the next part of the story.

"I don't know if what she did was because she wanted Draco to take back what he said, or if she wanted him to save her. He had this look on his face like he had finally figured out what he wanted to do. Who he wanted to be. It was gone when she stepped into the hall and told the Death Eater to kill her."

Hermione gasped, quietly, to herself.

"Her hands were up in this surrender pose, it was so arrogant. Draco looked at the Death Eater, then at Pansy. He had enough time to pull her away, but I think he was still so happy he made up his mind that he didn't do it fast enough. Pansy fell on his feet and the Death Eater told him to hurry up and to kill anyone with a uniform. I-uh-II ran away after that."

No matter how many speculations Hermione made on how Pansy had died. None of them involved accidental suicide.

She scrunched up her face and looked up at the ceiling. Her blood was boiling and her heart was racing. All the people she went to school with, the ones she loved and the ones she avoided, none of them deserved this war.

She wondered what happened to the graduation they were supposed to get? The dead end jobs they were supposed to earn? The lifeless marriages they were supposed to enter? All of it. The thrilling and the mundane.

Now all they had were nightmares and impending funerals.

Cho cleared her throat and laid back down to paint another coat onto Hermione's hand, "So, no wonder Draco wants to stay up there. Right?"

The polish was cold when it accidentally smudged onto her skin, "He shouldn't have to. Pansy was eighteen, being a teenager, doing something drastic for the boy she fancied. She should have been able to make a mistake without it costing her life."

"Where does all this wise talk come from? Do you read a book on it?" Cho shook her head. "You really did have to grow up fast. Both you and Harry."

Come now Hermione, you are nineteen, that's enough.

She pumped her eyebrows, "Maybe one day we can get our innocence back. You too."

The two witches smiled at each other with a glimmer of respect. Cho went on to finish the final coat on Hermione's nails, scraping her own around any mistakes.

They kept the reminder of their conversation on the surface level for another hour, trying to gain a friendship like normal people would in a normal world. In the end, Hermione walked back to her own bedroom with peace wrapped around her heart.

It wasn't until she was drifting off for an afternoon nap that the story of Pansy Parkinson played back in her mind.

That was probably the reason why Hermione dreamt of the day she caught her crying in fourth year over another fight with Malfoy. Either from memory or a dream-time invention, Pansy told Millicent Bullstrode that he had given other girls love bites. Hermione had no idea that girls wore mascara to school until she saw it smudged under Pansy's eyes.

She didn't sleep long. Her brain was exhausted but her body was raging with energy.

To burn it off, Hermione plotted around the house cleaning, even things that people wouldn't think to clean. Blessed as being a witch, it didn't take long, but the size of the house was demanding.

No one had remembered to do the dishes when they went to play cards in the living room. Hermione restrained herself from saying anything in fear of sounding like her mother.

When the house was spotless, the kitchen was cleared and everyone was distracted, Hermione was drawn to the food cupboard. Her hands were just reaching for a packet of ginger biscuits when Theo's voice echoed into the room.

"Hermione?" He said in a sing-song tune.

She cursed herself for forgetting entirely about agreeing to have drinks with him. Then cursed herself again for her people pleasing ways.

Giving the biscuits a promise that they would be devoured later on, she stepped out of the pantry and gave a half smile to the pearly toothed boy standing by the fridge.

"There you are," he made a gesture with his hands, "I thought you might have slipped off to bed."

Hermione gave a single laugh, "Not yet."

"Let's sit. I'll grab us something to drink."

Theo pulled out a chair for her at the head of the table. The same one that she would sit at every night when she ate. He took the seat directly next to her, one closer than what Malfoy had grown to prefer.

Their feet knocked under the table.

"So I've been thinking," Theo said as he poured her a glass of wine. Since when did they have wine? "You and I should make a roast for the house on Sunday."

Hermione took a big sip, "A roast?"

"A roast. I liked when you taught me how to make cheeseburgers. I'm on supper again this Sunday, and something about you tells me that you have very good roast cooking abilities."

The way that Theo talked was like he was telling you how you felt. He made you sound better than what you really were. Hermione couldn't help but like that he thought she had mastered the art of a Sunday roast. It tickled her.

A freshly painted finger traced around the rim of her glass, "I wouldn't define my abilities as very good, but I am sure I can remember my father's recipe just fine."

"Excellent," Theo drawled, "We can gather the ingredients tomorrow. The house is in need of some other stuff as well. This whole fortnightly shopping trip isn't quite working."

"Yes, I agree. I think a new plan needs to be put in place. The other safe houses only have five or less people, and we have a far greater number. Perhaps a weekly trip is necessary.

His hand came across the table to rub hers, "And perhaps we can use that time to get to know one another better." Hermione went to open her mouth but he continued, "Purely as housemates of course, until the timing is more appropriate."

Tossing between her nicest rejections, Hermione realised she had an automatic mindset to say no because she felt devoted to someone else. Only now, that someone else was dead.

She took another large sip of her wine, truly indulged in the taste of it, and then wrapped her hand properly around Theo's.

"Let me finish this war first, okay? That's all I can give you right now."

A future with Theo Nott was not the worst replacement for the one she was supposed to have with Ron. He was cool, handsome, and on occasion, funny. There was a neon light above his head, flashing all his faults, but who didn't have that?

He was someone you could see yourself marrying because he made you feel special for being chosen by him.

Maybe Hermione was special for being chosen by him. It's not like men would be pouring themselves at her when this was all over.

"Win the war, then win the girl." Theo kissed the back of her hand. "Got it."

It felt nice to be swooned. It was better than being insecure on whether someone fancies you or not. It wasn't quite as good as being choked to death by a blond, though.

Theo had no issue filling their glasses up until the bottle was empty. From the clock on the wall it had hit 11:30pm and Hermione knew better than to stay any longer.

He walked her up to her bedroom and bid her goodnight. His smile was stained by the tint of purple alcohol but it was still as charming. j,

Hermione watched him walk down the stairs with a blank expression. Her gut was twisting. Her head was spinning. Her heart was calm.

There was no thrill when it came to Theodore Nott. No fire set a flame to her life.

She opened the door to her room and sighed, yearning to get into her bed and be away from reality for a few hours. Except, when she closed the door and went to do exactly that, someone was waiting for her.

On the bed, sitting like he owned it, was Malfoy.