A/N: Chapter Forty-Nine!

It was significantly darker than I had imagined, with an air of occultism ingrained within the walls and the long, rectangular floorboards. I looked from left to right, in something of a daze, noting the shelving and the cupboards and the various jars and containers with ingredients — both legal and almost legal. It was unlike the apothecary in Diagon Alley. I could tell, from one look, that there were no children rushing in and out of this particular apothecary, hastily purchasing potions supplies before start-of-term.

For this place, I imagined a different clientele; one that echoed behind the door situated on the far side of the shop (large, mahogany, brass handle); one that gave the owner reason to keep his shop meticulously clean, as though hiding his tracks.

Something told me Miguel's sources were wrong.

An unnerving feeling tugged at my chest, and from there, Mad-Eye Moody's voice echoed in the back of my mind, as it usually did in an unstable situation.

Constant vigilance, I thought, again and again, whispering those same words under my breath, tracing a single digit down the length of my wand, as though the action of doing so brought its magic to life.

It occurred to me, that I should probably have turned back and alerted Miguel that something was awry, but I didn't. I stood there, at the ready, prepared for whatever waited for me on the side of that door — feeling the same tendril of uncertainty tug at my chest, the moment that brass handle twisted open.

One second

Two seconds

Three.

"Granger…"

I braced myself, uncertain as to whom or what lay beyond that door, squeezing my wand so hard that I was sure I had lost circulation, prepared to fire whatever spells necessary, should the need arise, and doing my absolute best to — wait. I knew that voice. I knew that inflection.

"Granger," he said again, closer this time.

Without thinking, without realizing, my eyes had fluttered shut before the door had so much as hovered an inch. In that moment, I forced them open, blinking hard, adjusting to the darkness and then, to the sight before me.

Dressed in black, with his lucky leather jacket and biker boots, and his hair messily coiffed, as though we were teenagers again, was Theodore Nott. In that moment, I was transported back to the dungeons, back to my sixth year, back to the second I had properly laid eyes on him. Tall, dark-haired, blue-eyed and Slytherin. Merlin, another second and I swear to you, I could have fainted.

But the thrilling, heart stopping, earth shattering surrealism that swept over me — mind, body and soul — came to a crashing halt, the moment he stepped out of the shadows and into the moonlight.

I lowered my gaze and noticed the cane under his left hand, supporting his weight, looking fairly worn, as though he'd been using it a long time. Then came his eyes, sunken and weary, with whispers of blue, as opposed to the oceans I remembered. I swallowed hard, holding back the rush of emotion that pooled around my eyes, and released several sharp expulsions of air, overcome with all the feelings at once — again and again and again.

From there, there was no hesitation.

His cane clattered to the hardwood floor, echoing after him, as he moved towards me, limping as fast as he could, struggling, holding back the strain in his eyes and his muscles, with silent tears streaming down his hollowed cheeks, whilst knocking the air from both our lungs in one swift move, as he found me in the centre of the room and for the first time in over two years, reminded me what it was like to be held by a man as strong and as noble and as flawlessly unselfish as Theodore Nott.

Chills.

From head to toe.

A/N: I should mention that I'm going on hiatus. I need time to clear my head. Anyway, what are you thoughts?

Cheers

xo.

(Draco fans: No, this does not mean she has "chosen" Nott. Right now, we don't know what this means.)