A/N: I'm not sure about the detail in this chapter, but I'll post it anyway lol.

Nott combed the hair from my forehead, tucking a couple strands behind my ear as we lay in bed. It was my second night at Hogwarts and I had finished sharing with him what happened during the question and answer session. I'm not sure what I expected from our conversation, but his response came as a shock.

"Corvus has the disease," he explained to me. "Pureblood male, just like me."

I blinked hard, recalling the manner in which Corvus had phrased his question to me and the manner in which Sinead reacted both times I told her to give him time. It occurred to me then, that there was a chance she knew about Corvus' disease or, at the very least, had an inkling.

Regardless, the young man wasn't interested in the dirty details of Harry's ultimate survival. All he wanted to know was whether it was possible to raise someone from the dead. I realized that then, when it was too late.

"He's so young," I voiced, moisture in my eyes, despite barely knowing the boy.

The Potions Master buried his head into the curve of my neck, kissing me. "Death happens," he said, as though it were his mantra. "One day, we'll all die."

I turned to him, aghast. "But he's just a kid! How could you be so casual about it?"

For a moment, there was silence between us, wherein my question settled in the atmosphere, transitioning the mood in the room from something small and intimate to something neither of us could ever have anticipated, leading up to our reunion.

"What do you want me to say?" Nott asked, sitting up, staring deep into my eyes, with growing tension in his own. " — that it's a shame modern Healers around the world have never been able to find a cure, or even a stabilizer?"

"No —"

" — that despite mine and Corvus' best efforts, the disease is incurable and will, one day, murder us like a common criminal?"

I sat up, following his lead, begging him with my eyes to stop. "Please, just —"

" — that it's our duty to be eternally distraught over the fact that we're cursed to live such pathetic, pointless lives?" he furthered, breathing in and out, his insides twisting and turning and binding over the impact of his words. "Fuck that. Fuck everything about that. I'm done being depressed about it, Granger. I'm —"

"Theodore," I interjected, grasping his shoulders and forcing him to look at me, as I noticed a stream of crimson pour from his left nostril, to his upper lip. "Stop. Just stop."

He paused, an alarmed look on his face as he brushed a couple fingers on the blood that stained his lip. "Shit." With that, he moved from the bed to the bathroom, and turned on the tap, scrubbing at his nose and mouth until the skin was raw.

I followed him, leaning against the door frame, watching him as he struggled, and as his hands shook. In all the years I had known him, I had never seen him like that before. I had never seen him so vulnerable or anxious or scattered. It made sense to me, that he reacted in such a manner. It was his life on the line — not mine. I had no right to push my opinions no him, expecting him to agree. I just…I wasn't used to disagreeing with him on anything, and I could he wasn't either.

It felt beyond horrible, knowing I had stirred this reaction within him, even more so knowing the only reason he had been looking healthier was because he had, for the first time in his life, accepted his fate and chose not to stress out about it.

I, on the other hand, had only stressed him out further since my arrival.

"Was that a fight?" he then asked, back turned, too ashamed to look at me. "Are we fighting?"

"I…I think so…"

In that moment, he glanced over his shoulder, noticing the emotion in my eyes and mirroring the same emotion in his. From there, he turned the tap off and wrapped his arms around me, holding me close to his chest. "I don't want to fight anymore."

"I don't either," I whispered to him, breathing in and out. "I love you."

It hit him hard, when those words came from my lips. It was no secret that we were in love with one another, but we rarely exchanged those words, carrying the same belief in preserving the impact behind them.

I felt his muscles relax, and together, we exhaled.

"Please forgive me," he murmured, kissing me along the bridge of my nose, and then lower, where my lips had been waiting for him since our mini-argument began. "I shouldn't have lost my temper on you. I'm not an angry person. You know that, right?"

"It's okay to be angry," I told him, brushing our lips together and breathing in as he kissed me back. "I shouldn't have pushed the subject. It was my fault, too."

Nott separated from me, long enough that I could see he didn't agree. "It's not your fault, Granger. You're passionate and honest and real, and the fact that you care so much is proof that you're not only a good friend, but the best damned human being I've ever met."

I couldn't help it, then.

I launched at him, wrapping my arms and legs around him, kissing him with a mix of hope and strength and fear and love and everything I could wrangle in the seven or so seconds it took, to let him know what I wanted. His arms held me in place, securing me to him as he carried me back to the bed. I exhaled, breathing harshly, watching as he yanked his shirt off and then dragged me onto his lap, bringing his lips to mine and devouring me in a kiss so deep and passionate, that I was seeing stars within miliseconds.

It appeared, this was make-up sex.

I quite liked make-up sex.

"Am I being too rough?" he managed to ask, separating, swollen lips, providing us with a couple seconds to catch our breath. "Granger?"

"No," I told him, rotating my hips on his lap, feeling his response beneath me, as I brought my mouth to his ear and whispered something.

His cheeks turned scarlet. "You want me to…"

"I want you to fuck me," I repeated, leaning forward, kissing him and biting on his bottom lip, hard enough that he winced — in a good way.

I'll admit, the conversation with Astoria had played a number on me, but more than that, there was a lot of build up between myself and Nott. I knew he was dying. He knew he was dying. Our time together was limited. Take that, and combine it with the fact that we had lost our virginity together, in that same school, and spent the past two years pretending we weren't attracted to one another — and the end result is something that can't simply be satiated with missionary on a Tuesday evening.

I wanted him in a deepest, most mind bending, agonizing sense.

Ten or so seconds passed, wherein he said nothing, simply staring at me, as though he were waiting for me to tell him I was teasing, but no such words came from me. I waited for him, watching as realization swept over his features and as his deep, midnight blue eyes, darkened even further. It was tantalizing.

"Take off your clothes," he instructed, hovering over me, on his knees, as I climbed from my place on his lap and did as he said.

I unbuttoned my shirt and parted with it, along with my bra and pyjama bottoms, tossing the items to the floor. My boyfriend shifted closer, behind me, kissing my neck and grazing my skin with his teeth. In doing so, he coaxed a throaty, raspy moan from my lips, causing my eyes to roll to the back of my skull, as he brought his hands to my bare breasts and pinched the points, soft enough that it didn't hurt but hard enough that I knew he wanted this, too.

"These, too —" he ordered, brushing his hands over my panties. "Now."

"Yes, professor."

I knew he couldn't see the smile on my face, but something told me he could sense it. Bearing that in mind, I hooked my thumbs around the waistband of my panties and slid them off, resting on my bum and lifting my legs up, before tossing them with the pile of clothes on the floor.

From there, we were facing one another.

Those eyes darkened as he caught sight of me, nothing on. "Spread."

I sucked in a long breath, bringing moisture to my lips as I spread my knees apart, eager as he moved between my legs. For a moment, I thought he would tear off his boxers and bury himself inside me, but the next moment, those thoughts were wiped clean. I watched, surprised but turned on as he bent his head down between my legs and without warning, ran the tip of his gorgeous tongue between my lower lips — tasting the effect he had on me.

It wasn't unusual for him to go down on me, as we went down on another almost every time he came home, but he had never done it like this before.

I arched my back, trembling, moaning, quivering, as he flicked and sucked hard on the most sensitive area. Every so often, he would bite down on it, gently, attuned with what felt the best and wielding it to his advantage. It would have annoyed me that he knew my body so well, had it not been for the orgasm that came crashing down on me, within the first minute of his tongue on me.

"Theo…" I all but shouted, breathing his name over and over again. "Oh my…Oh my gosh…"

But it wasn't over.

He kept going, bringing me to another and then another orgasm, quicker and with a little less self-restraint each time. I slammed my thighs together, with his head still there, and rode through the third orgasm in waves.

It was tangible, the manner in which he set my senses alight.

"Bend over —" he said with haste, lifting his head from my legs and flipping me so that I was on all fours.

"Yes," I breathed, chest pumping as he lowered his boxers and finally, buried his entire length inside me. It was everything. I cried out, grasping the bed sheets for dear life, hoping the walls in the dungeons weren't thin, because I had no intention of being quiet. "Keep — Keep going."

He did.

He crashed in and out of me with impeccable speed and just enough force to make both our heads spin with insurmountable pleasure. It was ecstasy. It was the tunnel and the light, without the drugs.

It was everything.

"This is how you like it?" he asked me, voice hoarse.

I moaned his name. "Yes, yes, yes…"

"Beg for it."

"Please…" I begged him, knuckles white from how hard I grasped the sheets, brain fuzzy as he lowered himself onto me, grinding our bodies together with his hands on my hips. "P…Please…"

"Louder," he challenged me.

I struggled to think straight, let alone speak. "Let me — Let me come. Please. P — Please. Please!"

It was all limbs and bashing and heavy moans from there.

Nott turned me over and pinned me against the bed frame, cupping both sides of my face and placing a smooth kiss on my lips — as though he were apologizing for being rough with me, even though I begged for it. Still, the feel of his lips on mine detonated my senses, along with his thrusts and slow, torturous grind.

I quivered against him, coming hard, simultaneous with him, as he brought his lips to my neck and groaned against my jugular, riding the waves with me.

Two Months Later

"Hermione?"

It was Friday, which meant late meetings and having to deal with other people — which I normally avoided at work. I wasn't a misanthropist. I was reclusive. I had a lot on my mind, and preferred to think about those things alone. But the more time I spent, barricaded in my office, the more my friends began to wonder.

Harry arrived at my door. "You missed the meeting."

I glanced up, and then at my wrist watch, noticing three hours had come and gone, without me even realizing it. "Oh, shit! I'm so sorry. I…I lost track of time."

"It's okay," he told me, entering my office with a file in hand. " — but you did miss something rather important."

"What is it?"

Harry opened the file and slid a couple sheets of parchment across my desk. "It's a new assignment, on location. I thought to take it myself, but I figured you could use the time away, as you've been stressed and as Theo is busy preparing his students for exams."

I smiled weakly at my friend, appreciating the fact that he cared enough to think about me, with a newborn child in his life. "How are Ginny and James?"

"They're doing well," he answered, returning my smile and eyes brightening at the mention of his baby boy. "You should come around more. James needs someone to teach him arithmancy."

"He's one week old," I laughed, having a gander at the assignment.

Harry shrugged, laughing as well. "A wise and gifted Head Girl once told me it's never too soon to learn."

"She's right," I told him, nodding with approval, skimming the handwriting in front of me. " — wait, New york? The assignment is in New York?"

"Is that a problem?" Harry asked, curious.

I blanked. "Just, New York is in a completely different continent. To my knowledge, we don't have jurisdiction in America."

"That's right," he confirmed. " — but with the newly established treaty between us and the American Ministry, we are allowed extradition of British criminals. It so happens there's a Scottish wizard hiding away in New York, for crimes against house elves."

"House elves?" I repeated, horror stricken. "Say no more. I'm on it. I'll extradite his arse out of America and into Azkaban, no questions asked."

Harry smiled. "I thought you might say that."

A/N: Thoughts? Was the sex scene too detailed? What about New York? A 'certain someone' is there, after all.

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