Song Suggestion: Jacob Lee- "Demons" (philosophical sessions) There are two version of this song. I like the acoustic one.
Thank you MyPrivateInsanity for being an awesome person and beta!
Surprise! I managed to get this chapter out today with the help of my beta. Next update will be on Monday 1st/ Tuesday 2nd due to a family event that I have that weekend.
Artwork: I have had several artists gift me some fanart. They are embedded at the bottom of many of the chapters on ao3. Unfortunately, I am unable to embed art on ffn, so if you want to see them, you'll have to hope over to ao3.
Remnants of Decay
The jingle of a bell heralded the last customer leaving the store. With a flick of her wand, Hermione posted the "closed" sign.
Her first full day of work— she wanted to simultaneously shout in excitement, sigh in relief, and take a very long nap. Business had been slow, but she revelled in each interaction. A small smile, a nod of a head, a thank you.
The customers didn't stare at her in curiosity like they would have if she'd been herself. As Hermione, she'd stood next to Titus, Draco, or an auror— all deterrents for normal interactions. Transformed into an ordinary witch, she participated in society as if she'd been born into it.
After closing duties, Hermione gathered her identity papers, going over the details again, even though she'd spent days memorising them. She swallowed more polyjuice potion, providing her two hours to wander, though she tucked the flask into her pocket, just in case she needed an extra dose.
Before leaving, Hermione checked a handheld mirror she'd kept under the counter, staring at the alien appearance: short pitch black curls, olive skin, dark eyes. She moved her head side to side; without the weight of her normal curls, it felt odd, like cutting a nail too close
Hermione placed the mirror back in the drawer, finding it disconcerting to see another face— a person with an unknown fate. But she refused to dwell on it for long.
Exiting the shop, she locked the door and began her planned adventure. Grey clouds hung close to the ground, making the streets foggy. Hermione bundled in her cloak and glanced around, nervous the few people out in the nasty weather would see right past her disguise. But of course, they didn't, so she continued.
Hermione visited her old haunts first: books, ice cream, the menagerie. She even entered the quidditch shop just because she could, thinking about Theo.
With each step, her freedom sank into her further.
No one to tell her where to go.
No one to tell her when to go home.
No one trailing right behind.
As she stepped back outside, her eyes went to the Leaky Cauldron.
An idea unfurled in her mind. One she tried to dispel. But she'd daydreamed about it for far too long for her to banish the thought.
Since the Order attack on the ministry, apparition had been banned around most public wizarding spaces. The only way in and out of wizarding London was through floo— or by exiting Diagon Alley into the muggle city beyond.
Just behind the familiar pub awaited a mysterious tangle of streets and buildings. She'd been into the muggle world a few times, but never by herself, and always with a specific destination in mind, usually to drop Theo off at Kings Cross. The path had been set, and they didn't detour.
From what Theo told her, most of the muggles lived outside the big cities and populated the countryside, but a section of muggle London still functioned— a whole new set of shops and places for her to explore.
Her curiosity got the best of her; she desperately wanted to experience the world beyond the boundary containing her.
An auror stopped her in the Leaky Cauldron. He wore civilian clothing, so his appearance at the exit surprised her. His silver badge flashed with the firelight.
"What's your purpose in the muggle world and your destination?"
She couldn't back out now. Hermione searched her cloak, while creating a lie.
"I'm going to a nursery to pick up supplies for my employer. He needs a few plants only available there."
She straightened and attempted to act confident, though her hands trembled as she handed over her identity papers. He scanned them with beady eyes, looking for flaws, but she assumed Lucius Malfoy got the best money could buy.
"Who is your employer?"
"Malfoy."
That did the trick. The Malfoy name held a lot of sway. He gave a nod and handed back her paperwork, which she stuffed back inside her cloak pocket.
"Hold out your wrist."
She complied without hesitating, needing to look as if she'd done this before. Though she wished to ask questions, it might cause suspicion.
He placed his wand to the delicate veins. After a nonverbal spell, a blue light burrowed into her skin.
Even without speaking, she understood he'd just placed a temporary trace on her arm, recognizing the pattern. Titus had placed it on her several times before going out in case someone tried to kidnap her again.
"How long will this last?" she dared to ask.
"Three hours at the most. If you wish to travel beyond muggle London, you'll need to reapply the trace at the proper check points. Otherwise, if you attempt to exit the boundaries of the city or if you overstay, the authorities will be alerted."
Hermione did her best to keep her surprise off her face. She'd never had to go through a checkpoint before. Though she'd always been with Titus, so that might be why. He probably had a free pass to go wherever he wanted as a Mediator.
The checkpoint seemed extreme, and she wondered why they ordered it. Because of terrorism, she understood the scrutiny about going into Diagon Alley. But why would they care about wizards going out?
Hermione withheld any other questions. She gave a nod to the auror, clutched her wrist to her chest, and stepped into muggle London.
Her low heeled boots clicked along the concrete pavement as she walked down Charing Cross Road. The clouds turned darker, but her mood shone bright.
She almost swayed in excitement, but resisted because of the subdued mood around her. Several muggles walked beside and past her, but they kept their heads down, silent. A few cars passed intermittently, and even those proved too quiet.
Hermione became more covert with her curiosity once she started to notice the muggles flinching at her inspection. The people who did pass gave her a wide berth. It took her a bit to realise her clothes identified her as a witch, and a wealthy one at that.
Most of the muggles' clothes looked threadbare, with patches, stains, and tears in the fabric. Despite wearing one of her less expensive items, the fine make of her cloak and dress contrasted against the grungy environment. Something new and clean amongst the muck.
Trying to ignore the wary looks, Hermione pretended to be a muggle from the movies she'd watched with Draco, walking to a pub to meet with her friends to gossip. There would be drama, of course. Possibly later there'd be a surprise holiday to an island where everything went comically wrong. Maybe even an office romance!
But Hermione found the daydream hard to keep as she walked around, faced with obvious rampant poverty— an atmosphere night and day from pre-curse muggle London. Most of the buildings seemed uninhabited, graffitied and with trash littered near the edges. Broken windows. Overgrown plants. Rats skittering around. Ancient, rusted cars dotted the road, abandoned long ago, pushed aside as much as possible to allow a path through for other cars. She even saw an old double-decker bus, corroded with time, having not run its route in years.
An odd grief took hold of her heart. Instead of the burgeoning life she'd expected, all she found was the remnants of it in decay.
Before long, Hermione copied the people around her. Keeping her head down, only glancing up when needed. Coming to a red telephone booth, she investigated, finding the door hard to open, the phone system destroyed. Still, she touched the old relics, examining them until satisfying her interest.
Walking along, she stumbled upon a food stand. Her stomach rumbled, having not eaten since lunch. The man froze when she walked closer.
"Could I have this?" She pointed at the image of fish and chips displayed on a sign. He only sold a few items.
The man turned pale and jumped to the task.
She watched in fascination as he made her food. Her mouth watered with the smell. Finally, the man handed her meal over, and she took tentative bites of the piping hot chips.
"Do you like it?" he asked in a voice so quiet she almost didn't hear it.
"It's delicious." Not really. The soggy chips dripped in oil, and the fish smelt off, but she plastered on a fake smile.
The man visibly deflated.
Such an odd reaction. Pure fear, as if she'd curse him if she'd thought the opposite.
"How much do I owe you?"
"Oh… n–nothing. You can take what you want."
"That's ridiculous. Of course, I'm going to pay."
She extracted a galleon from her pocket. The food must be worth less, because his eyes went wide staring at the gold, and his hands trembled as he took it from her.
"I don't have the proper change to give back."
"No worries. Just keep it."
His eyes went even wider.
"Thank you." He gave a bow of his head that made her uncomfortable. "I can never repay your kindness."
Kindness? Hermione could admit that she didn't know what things cost. Her entire life she'd never held the purse strings. In both households, anything material that she wanted, she received.
Feeling disconcerted, Hermione continued on her journey. As the streets grew more populated and the functioning stores more abundant, she surmised that she'd reached a busier section of muggle London. Leicester Square— she recognized the vandalised statues from a book she'd read a long time ago.
Slowing down, she allowed herself to examine the new environment closer. She passed a muggle technology shop, where they sold refurbished items. Then a few clothing boutiques, marketing utilitarian clothing of rough homespun fabrics. A vendor sitting on the pavement attempted to give her a bottle of something he claimed cured everything from a headache to warts, but he stopped talking after realising she was a witch.
Ignoring the attention she drew from the small crowd, she inspected the windows of a shop that seemed to sell accessories— scarves, winter coats, and hats. A purple purse caught her eye, perched in the center of a display that she wished to get a closer look at. When Hermione walked into the shop, the workers went silent, eyes widening.
"W–what can I do for you?" They scrambled into position— one behind the counter, the other in front as if to shield her coworker. Hermione wondered why they seemed so terrified.
"I was— well, I was just looking." Hermione swallowed, uncomfortable. "But I really don't need anything. Excuse me."
She turned to leave, wanting to flee.
"Wait," the woman behind the counter yelled. She had pretty blonde hair and freckles across her nose. "Please don't tell your father or husband that we gave you insufficient service. We'll do anything to make you happy."
The hair on the back of her neck rose.
"I'm not— I don't have a father. Really, everything was perfectly nice. I just changed my mind."
The smaller girl burst into tears, and the other dragged her into a tight hug to comfort her.
"Please— my mother depends on me. She's sick, and we can't afford the treatment. If I lose this job, I won't be able to find—"
"Hush, Amy, you're making it worse."
Hermione's stomach lurched in distress. She wouldn't have even come inside if she'd known her presence would upset the girl. Once again, she dug into her pocket and extracted a handful of galleons and placed them on the counter without counting.
"Here, take this."
"What do you mean?" Both the women stared at the coins as if they were a trap.
"For your mother. You said she needed—"
Hermione stopped talking. Now they stared at her as if she'd just sprouted a new head.
"I can't take those," Amy said, eyes still filled with tears. "That— that's an entire year's worth of salary."
"A year?" It was just a handful of galleons. It was such a paltry amount, she considered it pocket change.
"Nonsense. I gave it to you. Take it."
"I don't feel good about doing that without you buying something."
Hermione inspected the purple bag from where she stood. Now that she'd entered the stop, she recognized that the item was of much lower quality than she'd first thought. She would probably never use it, but she couldn't leave without completing a purchase.
"I'll buy that one."
They bundled up her purchase, whispering thank yous for her charity. The blonde woman grabbed her hand with teary eyes and started to kneel.
"It's okay." She tugged out of her hold. "Please, there's no need for that."
Hermione nearly ran out of the store to get away, welcoming the chilled air against her skin to regain her balance. The interactions disturbed her, a contrast to her experience at the apothecary.
Hermione overestimated her ability to navigate the muggle world by herself. Next time, she'd be sure to bring along Draco.
Hermione pulled up her hood and placed a water-repellent charm on her cloak. She shuffled along, as silent and subdued as the muggles. The streets began to clear out with the weather. It looked like it was going to get dodgy, so that meant it was time for her adventure to end.
The same guard hovered inside the Leaky.
"Did you manage to find what you need?" he asked while taking off the trace.
"No, I didn't."
The man gave a laugh. "Doesn't surprise me. There's nothing worthwhile in the muggle cities. Just rats and people who resemble them."
Hermione took back her wrist and tried to smile at the man, but she failed. She walked quickly to the floos, hurtling through to the manor.
In the sitting room, she collapsed on a yellow couch, breathing heavily. Digging into her cloak, she took out a few extra galleons, flipping them over in her palm. They clinked together and then slipped from her fingers, crashing to the floor. They could go missing, and she'd never search for them. What would be the point when she could get more?
They meant nothing to her.
Hermione wished to crawl out of her skin. Titus' voice echoed in her mind.
Merlin, you're so fucking spoiled. Do you know how many people would trade places with you? You've never been without food. You always have the best clothes, while the rest of the country is struggling to survive. You have no clue what suffering really is.
To her greatest shame, Hermione realised that maybe he had a point.
Hermione picked up the galleons with care and placed them in her pocket, deciding to tell Draco what she experienced after she sorted through her thoughts.
A few days later, Theo dropped off presents from the Nott household.
Theo gave her a device that could be placed in her mouth, enabling her to breathe underwater. "It's so you can check to see if Malfoy's ponds have water beasts. Maybe I could join you on your exploration."
She'd laughed at the childhood memory and kissed his cheek with thanks, but waited until he left to open any others.
Later that night, she faced the remaining presents. Tabitha bought her a pretty red hat charmed to not fall off, along with a note saying how much she loved and missed her. Hermione held the parchment to her chest, knowing her nanny couldn't visit because her sister fell ill again.
After setting down Tabitha's present, she opened the others. Bitty made a flower crown from the Garden— something she often did in summers past— charmed to resist decay. Hermione sniffed the violets before placing it on her head. Eddy packaged her a whole apple crumble still piping hot.
Conjuring a spoon, she took a giant bite and then glared at the last present, smaller than the rest.
Hermione licked the spoon a few times before her curiosity got the better of her. She opened the pretty fabric, taking off the bow.
Inside rested a bracelet— a replica of what she'd given him, except made with a pale leather. Three strands, braided together. Titus had made it himself, per tradition. She could tell by the imperfections along the clasp. He gave no note to explain, but she didn't need it to understand the meaning.
They belonged together, it seemed to say. Forever intertwined.
Hermione set it back inside its box without wearing it.
By the end of the month, Hermione had orgasmed on almost every available surface of the manor— the dining table, the bed, in the gardens, in the potions room. Not to mention a memorable time in the library, where Draco tugged her on his face on a settee while she read out loud.
At night, Draco slipped his fingers under the band of her knickers, resting them possessively close. Sometimes he kept his hand there all night without moving, and sometimes she couldn't stand the torture and would tilt her hips up until he began to stroke her. And then in the morning, if she allowed it, he'd lick her slowly, as if he planned to savour her for as long as possible.
She understood his intention wasn't to tease. His intention was to seduce, entice her to open her legs further, to lean into his touch.
A part of her hated that she could enjoy the intimacy while her friends suffered. Hated that she wanted to trust the man who owned her, especially after hearing the warnings from the other muggleborns.
Each time she considered what it might be like to cross the boundary into sex, something held her back. Allowing him access to her body made her vulnerable. Having sex would be exposing her throat to a predator, hoping the beast wasn't hungry.
After she gave him what he wanted, would he transform into his father, cold and cruel? Would he take back every concession he'd made?
Instead of risking it, she took what she wanted, and he consumed what she gave, and she didn't see any reason to change that.
Hermione waited patiently until she heard the popping of the floo and then pressed her fingers together.
Snap.
The familiar discomforting tug and pull of apparition engulfed her body.
She landed in front of Draco right as he entered through the floo, brushing off his trousers. The soot proved stickier than normal, and he looked annoyed that it required cleaning with magic.
"Need help washing off?" She asked.
"Don't you dare–"
She poured a glass of water over him. He sputtered and tried to grab her, but not fast enough.
Snap.
She landed on the opposite side of the room, having gotten great at navigating the manor via apparition.
Draco glowered at her.
"You're always too slow."
"I regret teaching you that." He reached up and loosened his tie, only giving a brief glance down at his soaked white dress shirt. "Will you ever behave, or will you continue to play your games forever?"
"Stop my games? How else could I annoy you enough to chase me down?"
"Chase you? Is that what you're wanting today? Or would you like me to tell you how good you've been?"
Hermione's heart beat quickened. Draco pretended to hate her games, but he loved them too.
Hermione reached over and placed the empty glass—probably priceless and goblin made— on an ornate gold side table.
"Possibly both, but you'll have to catch me first."
He shrugged out of his outer robe, giving her a once over.
"Five second head start and not a moment more."
"What are the rules this time?"
He undid his watch and threw it on the couch for Mipsy to get later.
"No apparition. No magic at all."
"Like that muggle detective movie we watched?"
"Exactly." He held up a finger. "One."
"Wait, what about—"
"Two, Granger. I'm serious. The stress of today has left me feeling— aggressive."
She heeded the warning and sprinted out of the room, listening to the countdown behind her.
After several successful diversions, he caught her halfway up the stairs. She squealed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and cast a cushioning spell to break the fall against the hard edges.
"I thought you said no magic."
Pink bloomed on his cheeks as he grabbed her ankle and tugged her closer, forcing her arse to go down a step. He loomed over her, breathing hard. With another flick of his wand, he twisted the portraits around of his ancestors to give them privacy.
"I couldn't risk breaking your pretty little head." He reached for her shoes. He always undressed her with precision, a ritual, peeling back the layers to the soft skin below. It was much too slow for her tastes. She wanted to rip the fabric and claw at things, until they were half-bare against each other.
She attempted to rip at his shirt buttons, but he swatted her hand away.
"I don't think you'll ever learn patience."
"What's the point of patience when I could have what I want right now?"
This was his game— who could break who first. Some days he succeeded in halfway stripping her and then himself, tasting her flesh as he went, letting his tongue rest in teasing places. Some days, she broke his control, and he'd become just as frantic as she was or more.
This time it went back and forth, until she curled up her legs, exposing that she wore no knickers under her clothes, ready for him.
"Merlin, Granger," he groaned. "I'm not a muggle saint."
He played with her clit a moment while working on his belt. Greedy for contact, she grinded against his palm.
She licked the tense veins of his neck, leading up to his ear. "I've been wet for you all day."
"You're being unfair."
He struggled with getting the top of her dress unbuttoned, hands fumbling, and she felt the shiver under his fingertips, dragging the fabric roughly across her body. When he exposed her breasts, he caught one nipple between his teeth, dragging his tongue across it, still pressing and stroking her cunt.
"Did you touch yourself today?" he asked, glancing up with mercury eyes.
"Yes."
He paused.
"Did you think of me?"
"I imagined your cock in my mouth."
"Fuck, you win."
He made a desperate noise, as he pulled down his trousers just enough to grab his cock and slide the rigid length against her clit. They both groaned at the contact, his mouth still over her breast. Her lips pressed on his shoulder.
He rocked against her, pressing a little on his cock to give more friction. They'd improved since their first time, having spent their free time practising.
The stairs dug into her back, even with the cushioning charm, but she barely felt it in her haze, lifting her lower half up to meet each thrust.
One of his hands traced down the skin of her hip sliding inward to the delicate places between her thighs, almost pressing inside her on instinct. She froze a moment, and he pulled back and stared at her.
"I should have asked—"
"No, I— I'd like to try it."
He slipped a single finger inside a place she'd hadn't been touched for awhile—not since the ritual— and her body tensed.
"Is that too much?"
The sensation faded.
"No, it's okay." More than okay. It felt amazing. He waited a second before pressing it a little farther. Adding another finger, he thrust up, and her whole body lit on fire, remembering now how good it felt to have a part of him inside her.
She leaned her head back in bliss, as he once again sucked on her breast and thrust against her clit. Remembering Titus' lesson, she dug her nails in his shoulder.
"Curl your fingers. Stroke the top. There's a spot you can touch."
He bit his lip in concentration, experimenting until he brushed his fingers exactly right. She moaned, lifting his hips.
"Keep going," she begged. "Don't go faster or slower."
The dual sensations were too much. It only took a few more minutes before she arched into her orgasm.
"Fuck, finally." His fingers slipped out of her, and he tried to grab his cock to finish, but this time she swatted his hand away. She helped finish him off, until he groaned and came on her lower stomach.
They remained in their bliss for as long as possible, before he lifted himself to clean. With a simple spell, all traces of his release vanished.
In between teasing kisses, he helped her up.
Once both of them redressed, Draco stiffened.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"We have a guest."
"Who is it?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Your nosey, annoying brother."
"Theo!" Hermione shoved past Draco, pushing him to the side as she hurtled down the stairs, hoping she wore no evidence that Draco Malfoy just defiled her.
Something was dreadfully wrong. She sensed it immediately.
Theo had his back to them, facing the fireplace. But his shoulders hunched forward, curling inward.
Dread twisted inside her chest.
"Theo?"
He gave a sob, and her heart lurched into her throat. Finally, he turned, showing a face full of tears, red eyes, puffy skin.
"She's gone," he said, as if she should understand. "Caught an illness from her sister, went to sleep, and didn't wake up. She'd planned to come home—" another sob interrupted his speech.
Her body comprehended it first, going still. But her brain couldn't sort out what he tried to tell her. Or maybe she did know, but she was doing everything possible to find some other explanation.
"What are you talking about? Who's gone?"
Theo walked forward and grabbed her shoulders. In her peripheral vision, she recognized Draco's form waiting in the corner, wearing a grim expression.
"Tabitha's gone, Hermione."
"Gone where? Did she travel—"
"She's dead."
"No." Hermione trembled and shook her head, unable to process what he just said. "No— that can't be possible. She was old, sure, but witches live for much longer and—"
Theo pulled her into a hard hug, and she just stood there frozen. Her logic refused to work through the impossible idea that Tabitha was dead.
Hermione had never gotten to see her since the Trials, too focused on getting used to her new life.
Hermione put a hand over her lips, descending into the familiar darkness, the one that had stalked her since childhood.
Hermione stood in the same spot for a long time, soul numb. A few tears escaped, something that hadn't happened in years. It felt like acid dripping down her cheek, scorching her skin. Theo held her as he sobbed, and she let him. For hours they did this, until Theo knew it was time for him to go.
"The funeral will be on Friday. I'll come pick you up in the morning."
"I can bring her," Draco said. She'd almost forgotten he remained in the corner, waiting and watching.
Theo glanced up, just for a moment, apprehensive.
"You aren't invited, Malfoy." He bit his puffy lip. "I tried to talk to Titus— it didn't work. He doesn't want problems." Theo hesitated. "I know how hard it will be to let her go without you, but I promise to be right by her side the whole time. Tabitha was like her mother. She—"
"I know who Tabitha was to her," Draco bit back. He stared at Hermione and slipped his hands in his pockets. After a moment, he closed his eyes and sighed. "Of course, you can go to her funeral. Just— no, I trust you."
No matter how much Draco wanted to let her do as she wished, she knew a large part of him wanted to keep her in a little box, safe and secure— especially away from Titus.
Draco shook his head.
"I'm going to— well, if you need me, I'll be in the potions room." He paused. "I'm sorry, Granger. I know she meant a lot to you."
She gave a nod to him. Even though they'd been physically intimate many times, anything more remained unexplored. Pleasure didn't mean anything. He still kept his secrets close, just like she did. One day, they'd possibly chip through the walls and peruse everything private and fragile, but until then they remained impenetrable.
The shackles chafed her skin. She could have asked for a cushioning charm, but she wanted to let them hurt. It reminded her that they'd attempted to steal her magic. They'd taken her fangs and claws, leaving her defenceless.
She sat in a chair in the cold winter weather, wearing long black robes with a hood made of puffskein fur. Titus and Theo looked similar, wraiths sitting in the cold light.
Tabitha's extended family sat near them, giving the three of them a wide berth.
Maybe they sensed the tension. Brother next to brother, both silent, each drowning in their own grief. And next to them, an out of place muggleborn, wearing no expression.
Or maybe they felt the snapping magic around Titus. It brushed along her skin as one of her nephews spoke near the casket. Titus' eyes pierced the flowers spilling over the top.
He'd spared no expense. The best casket. The best floral arrangements. The best grave plot. But no amount of money could change the fact that Tabitha, the anchor of them, was gone forever.
Sometime toward the end, Titus' gloved hand clenched along his thigh. Watching him mourn felt like holding her breath under water. Lungs burning. The frantic scramble for oxygen. Titus glanced sideways and met her eyes, and she almost looked away after seeing the raw pain.
Tabitha might have been like a mother to her, but in many ways, she was more to Titus. Since his parents' death, she'd been his rock, the steady thing he'd leaned on when he had no one else.
Theo's growing up. I'm getting old. What would he do if everyone he loved flew away?
In a moment of uncomfortable horror, Hermione realised that Titus had no one now. Theo had a flat and a career separate from them. She had Draco. And now Tabitha was gone.
Who did he have left to love, besides Bitty and Eddy?
Despite her complicated negative emotions toward him, pity surged inside her, until it almost spilled out of her mouth in a torrent of hot coals and ash. She grieved for the boy Titus had been, orphaned, relying on his nanny to care for him.
They waited in frozen silence until the service ended. The cold wind whipped their cloaks around, but the three of them stayed still as the rest of her family mingled and talked and left. The gravesite owner came over.
"It's time for us to lower the casket."
"Give us a moment alone."
The owner left, seeming wary of the Butcher.
Once alone, Titus stood up and walked toward the casket. He laid a large, callused hand against the shiny, solid white and then he leaned forward and pressed his forehead against the top and gave a gentle kiss to her final resting place.
The action pierced Hermione's soul.
Unable to sit any longer, she made her way beside Titus and Theo did too, standing on either side of him.
Theo placed a heavy hand on his brother's shoulder, who still pressed his forehead into the casket. Titus groaned with the physical comfort and dropped to his knees, eyes still shut. Hermione hesitated, but it hurt too much to see him so broken. She added her own hand on his shoulder. He felt so strong under her hand, but he trembled. Titus reached up and held her wrist, keeping it in place.
"Don't leave me yet," he said. "Give me thirty minutes for us to be together."
The bracelet she'd given him long ago remained on his wrist. The three strands, comprising them, still woven together. She allowed the moment of affection, standing on the cold ground in front of the casket to their surrogate mother.
When Titus stood, he kept one hand firmly on the casket, as if he might collapse again.
"I'll miss you. More than you can comprehend. I don't know what to do without you."
It could have been directed toward just Tabitha, but she thought it might be toward her and Theo too.
Grieving the loss of everyone he'd ever loved.
