A/N: Chapter Fifty-Three

Both myself and Draco left for Puddlemere within that minute. No words. Nothing to satiate the tension and the fear ricocheting between us. It was clear to me, by then, that something had happened to Nott. To my knowledge, Daphne paid him daily visits since his return to England, and because of that, because of the fact that the letter was sent from her, our worst fears were confirmed. I walked to the front door, with an inescapable wave of nostalgia, before scrunching my right hand into a fist and knocking.

Draco stood with me, about six inches to my left, from where he brushed his hand against mine. On purpose or not, it was comforting to have him there and judging by the manner in which he then laced our hands together, I knew the feeling was mutual.

Seconds later, Ron answered the door, dressed in his classic maroon jumper with the letter R stitched in gold. From years of knowing him, I knew this particular jumper was something of a security blanket for him. Something that reminded him of Hogwarts, when we were younger and when life, even with Tom Riddle in existence, wasn't nearly as complicated. It was easier then, as survival was within reach — no matter our age or inexperience. Now older and more experienced, survival was as distant as the sun. Just as bright. Just as teasing.

"Good, you're here…" he breathed, softening the stress lines across his forehead, as though he'd been asleep no more than an hour ago. "Come, he's inside."

I followed, with Draco closely behind, our hands still locked, whilst Ron led us through the lounge, wherein myself and Nott had once passed out on the sofa after an amazing night of karaoke, sleeping blissfully before the subsequent death of his father. After that, we made our way through the kitchen, wherein Nott used to inadvertently stir me out of slumber with the aroma of his delicious concoctions, morning after morning. So many memories. So much time spent, with him, as friends and as lovers. It seemed too much, but I had to carry on. I had to keep going.

Moments later, we arrived at the door leading into his bedroom.

Daphne met us there. Her eyes were heavy and tired, with concern more than anything. Like Ron, she was dressed for comfort, sporting pyjamas with a cotton robe fastened around her waist. Her hair was tied in a messy bun and in her hands, she held several rolls of parchment.

"Alert the others," she instructed to Ron, placing the parchment in his hands and sparing a moment for his exit, before turning to us. "Draco…he wants to see you first."

His hand tensed in mine. I felt fear and anxiety radiate from him, with so much force that it was a wonder he didn't black out. There was a hard twitch on his bottom lip, from where a quiver was born, one that ran the length of his body, leaving him shaken and afraid.

"I — I don't think can do it," he choked out. "S — Sorry. I just — I can't —"

"Draco," I softly embedded, waiting for the weight of his gaze to fall on me. "You'll be fine."

Within that second, his eyes were layered with moisture. I knew the feeling. I knew the defeat. I knew the desperation. It was what propelled me into kissing Nott, over one week prior, and judging by the look on Draco's face, it appeared he finally understood what that visit had meant for me. Perhaps, even, why I had done, what I had done. It wasn't about attraction or nostalgia. It was about seizing the moment, knowing, in the core of my heart, that time was fleeting.

Bearing this newfound disposition, Draco bent down and brushed his eyelashes along my forehead, as his lips found the corner of my mouth, feathering a kiss there, as if to apologize.

I, then, loosened my hold on his hand and watched as he pushed through the door, slowly, extending my arm with him, for as long as I could.

Daphne remained there, now an appropriate distance from where she started, as if to give us space. She turned to me, then, and motioned for me to follow. I did, ending up in the lounge, where I found Harry and Ginny seated with Ron, having arrived not a moment ago. There was silence in the room, deafening silence. It reminded me of the night we returned to the Burrow, following the Battle of Hogwarts. The atmosphere was as tense as it had been that night, momentarily deferred by another knock on the door. Ron leaped from his chair, as though he couldn't bare this feeling any longer, and opened the door to find Astoria and Blaise, closely followed by Sinead and Corvus.

I noticed Sinead was dressed in a red cocktail dress, and Corvus in smart, black dress robes, as though they'd been out, celebrating Valentine's Day, when the news arrived.

Only then, did I remember.

Astoria and Blaise were dressed for the occasion as well, but the details of their ensembles were lost on me, as footsteps sounded from the corridor. I, as well as the others, turned to find Draco approaching. In his eyes, there were countless emotions — ache and remorse and desolation — but most prominent was the thin, but definite layer of closure that veiled those smoky orbs. Seeing him, like that, crashed over me in waves, reaffirming to me the seriousness and the inevitability.

Harry rose next, with Ginny at his side, and together they left the lounge and escaped in the dimness of the corridor. I didn't quite know the depth of Harry's friendship with Nott, but the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to me, that Nott had sought the Chosen One's aid two years ago. Like him, Harry knew what it was like to have his life hanging in the balance of a greater adversary. It was something I could never understand, and in that same second, I was glad that Nott had found someone with whom he could share his burden. Harry was an incredible friend, and Merlin, were those shoulders made to cry on.

Minutes later, Sinead approached me.

"Hermione," she spoke softly, as to not disturb the stillness that enveloped each person in the room. "I know this is a bad time but…I just…I want to thank you."

I blinked, dazed, from both the silence and the underlying chaos. "Sorry…I…I didn't catch that…"

"Thank you," Sinead repeated, with more conviction. "You've been an amazing mentor and an amazing friend, and I…I suppose…with what's happening…I just…I feel it necessary to let you know how much I appreciate your guidance and your unwavering support."

"Sinead…" I breathed, finding her in a light hug. "You're a good person. One of the best. It's my pleasure to guide and support you, and honestly, I don't know where our little task force would be without you."

The corners of her mouth turned into a kind smile, as she blinked the moisture from her eyes.

It was then that Harry and Ginny returned, with Harry's arms around his wife and her head pressed to his chest, crying. I longed to approach them, and Draco, and ask what had been said, what words had been exchanged, knowing those words were close to the last, but I kept my distance, unable to move. Around ten or twelve seconds later, Blaise found his turn, and after him was Astoria, followed quickly by Sinead and then Corvus. One by one, the loved ones of Theodore Nott rose from their seats and found their closure.

But there was one person missing, one person with whom Theo had shared a close, brotherly bond.

Shen.

"Are you ready…?" someone voiced, to me.

I turned to find Daphne, searching through my eyes, searching for some indication that I was able to make it through the next few moments. Nothing was said. Just one look and one motion from her, before I followed her through the lounge and into the corridor. It was dimmer than before, if that were possible. I noticed my footsteps echoed louder, too, and were punctuated by the hard, drum of my heart. Had this been a nightmare, I would have awoken the moment we reached that door. The dream would have ended, in an abrupt, mind numbing fashion, leaving me anxious and worried that it would soon become reality.

But it was reality.

It had always been reality.

Daphne left me then, and I listened as her footsteps faded into the background.

From there…something sharp and heated struck me deep in the chest, knocking the air from my lungs, as our eyes met from across the room.

I looked at him, at his plain clothes and his damp hair and his weak smile and the brush of redness under his nose, as though he'd bled through the night, as well as his eyes as he struggled to keep them open. He was in pain. There was an empty potion bottle at his nightstand, some sort of opioid, used to decrease the pain and simultaneously increase tolerance. Though, I could see that it had left him weak and distant, sedating him through…through death.

It was fast, the sweeping desperation.

"Granger…" he breathed, smiling.

I moved close, hurriedly wiping the wetness from my eyes, before falling to his bedside chair. Within that moment, he used one hand and drew me even closer, to the mattress, beside him. "Theo…" I whispered, lacing our fingers together, bringing his hand to my mouth, and pressing my lips to his skin. It was warm, which for some reason surprised me. In all the nightmares and all the distant fears, I had always imagined him cold to the touch, as he lay in his deathbed. But he wasn't cold. He was warm and alive and there, for me to see and to feel…

We didn't speak…not right away.

We sat in silence, riding the motions.

If I could have, I would have maintained the silence, as there was nothing I could have said to convey the lasting hold he had on me. Even like that, in his weakened state, the rising tide of his eyes brought colour to my cheeks.

"Let's…Let's play a game…" he suggested, using his hand to collect the tears that dangled from my chin.

I inhaled, breathing in the familiar scent of his bed sheets, reminded of the first night we spent together, in that same bed. "Which one…?"

"Strip poker."

"Er —"

"Kidding," he grinned. "Just…tell me about your day."

"My day?" I repeated, taken aback by his nonchalance, but at the same time, not really. If there was one thing I knew about Theodore Nott, it was his penchant for bringing light to the darkest situations. "I…I spent some time with Astoria and…I…" For some reason, the words weren't coming out. Not the way I wanted them to. Realizing this, Theo gave my hand a light squeeze. "Forget about my day," I quickly said, recalling the events that transpired less than an hour ago. "Tell me…tell me how you're feeling…or…no…that's a stupid thing to say…"

Theo neither agreed nor disagreed. He simply looked at me, smiling, as though he couldn't help it. "You don't have to be so nervous, Granger. It's me, you're talking to."

"Exactly," I voiced, glancing down.

"Hey…" he whispered, bringing my hand to his lips. "You'll be okay."

I breathed in and then out, trying to convince myself of the same thing, before looking at him, noticing the resolution in his eyes. It was happening. I knew it would, sooner or later, but I didn't expect the disease to take him as quick as it did. His father had lived a full life. Part of me hoped Theo would, too. But that was not going to happen. He would never have children. He would never marry. He would never live through another Christmas or another birthday. His time was fleeting. His smile. His warmth. The sound of his voice. The feel of his skin. It was all going to disappear, and soon, like Tonks and Lupin and Fred and even Lavender, there would be a day when I would close my eyes and strive to remember the look of his. The still, reflective surface. The mist. The depth.

It was a cruel thing, death.

But even worse, was dying.

"Do you…do you think you can do me a favour?" he then asked, his voice mild and restful. I nodded, watching as he reached for something within the confines of his bedside table. It was a vial of that same murky liquid from the apothecary; the cure. "Give this to Corvus."

Without another word, I pocketed the vial, reminded of my earlier meeting with the boy. He was young, too young.

Nott studied the emotions that danced from my eyes to my lips, using that finely tuned, analytical side of his brain and coming to the conclusion that it was not sadness I felt. It was guilt. "Granger…" he said to me, catching my gaze. "You're the closest anyone has ever come to perfection, and it brings me peace to know I'm not the only one who realizes that."

I blinked, moisture clinging to my upper and lower lashes.

"I meant what I said in the Hospital Wing," he furthered. "I'm not alone. I've never been alone."

It dawned on me, then, what he was talking about. His parting words, the last time we'd been separated. I'm not alone, he had said, propagating a whirlwind of mixed emotions and red flags within me, forcing me to look into the lives of my pureblood friends, wondering if they, too, suffered from the same disease.

Haunting words, for someone with the no knowledge of their meaning.

But, as I then discovered, it wasn't the disease, to which Nott had been referring. It was me. It was, as he had eloquently mentioned, his peace of mind in knowing there was at least one other person for me…that, no matter what happened, I would never be alone.

I blinked again, breathing in as an unexpected, slight but daunting shiver ran through his body. I felt it in my hand. I felt his struggle and his muscles, as they hardened and then released, over and over again. It was the worst feeling, but I knew there was nothing I could have done to cease his transition.

Though, there was one thing I wanted to do and thought not to do but decided, in the end, that it was best to throw caution to the wind and go for it. I lowered, smoothing one hand along the side of his face, aware that the tension in his muscles, and in mine, loosened in unison. No longer bound by the complexities of being forced apart, through decision and indecision, we were free. I embedded those feelings to him, with the brush of my lips against his, the only way I knew how.

But this time was different.

This time, was the last.

Nott trembled in response, first with surprise and then with desperation. His hands found my hair, running through it, as if to familiarize himself with the feel and the soft texture, one last time. My heart quickened, and then came the chills. It wasn't our best kiss or the deepest, or even the most intimate but it was — and still is — the most haunting. Seconds in, and I could already feel him slipping away. He held on, as best he could, kissing me back with slow but effective motions. I tried not to cry, I really did. But the moment I felt his tears ghost my cheeks, sharing his fears and his ache and the isolation he felt in being torn from this earth, still so young, was the moment I felt him fall apart.

"You'll be okay," I echoed, drawing back, brushing the corners of his eyes, feeling his entire body quake, embracing him, again, and rocking him back and forth.

Only then, did I not cry. Only then, did he.

It hit me in slow, excruciating waves, pooling over my heart and reminding me how lucky I was, to have known him…to have known this one person, to have called him a friend and a lover and a companion.

I closed my eyes, and breathed. "…I'll always love you."

Only then, did stillness sweep over him. Only then, did the fear and the ache and the isolation wash away.

A/N: "Knockin' On Heaven's Door" (Original) by Bob Dylan

Cheers

xo.