Hermione returned from her trip to the Goblin Hold with one of the weirdest contracts she'd ever seen. It'd been signed in blood, with her own red and the Fae's shining blue, but it still gave her an odd feeling.

The Fae had agreed to teach her how to make a ley line. Hermione had been warned that it would be painful. She was relatively certain 'painful' was a drastic understatement from how the Faerie had been going on, but if it was temporary, she figured it would all be worth it in the end.

"This is going to be so much cooler than whatever stupid Dark initiation the Death Eaters have," Hermione murmured to herself, writing out a draft of a full ceremony in a notebook, a sketch of the pendants in the side margin. "Learning secret ancient magic instead of getting branded. Way more awesome."

Working with the Fae made her hesitant. It didn't seem like a good idea, but the contract was iron-clad, and the benefits were too good to ignore. She didn't know why the Fae wanted more ley lines, but she also didn't understand what their priorities were.

"The Sidhe shall respect the gnomon," she murmured to herself, toying with her pencil as she recalled one of her prophecies, "and together make magic evolve."

Unfortunately, Hermione had to set her planning matters aside to attend another matter, one she was distinctly wary of: Theo was calling in his favors, and Hermione had no idea what he was going to want.

The fact he was calling them in now, after he knew she'd mastered Fiendfyre, was doubly concerning, but Hermione had to at least hear him out on what he wanted from her. Someone who wouldn't hold to their word would be worse than exiled in Slytherin; they'd be reviled. And Hermione couldn't allow that to happen.

And so, it was exactly one week after receiving the initial letter that Hermione arrived at Nott Manor precisely on time, her robes neat and her hair tied back. Theo was waiting for her, looking at her with a wry eyebrow.

"Wearing dragon skin under your robes?" he commented.

"Basilisk skin," Hermione countered. "Figured I'd better be prepared for anything."

Theo snickered. "Fair enough. Follow me."

Hermione followed him through the dusty, empty mansion and up a creaking staircase. He took her down one of the halls, around a bend, and into a room – one significantly less dusty and more lived-in than the others.

"My room," he said, rather unnecessarily.

His room was neat, with deep green linens draped on the four-poster bed. His wardrobe and furniture were a dark cherry wood, and everything looked expensive and well-maintained. Theo led her over to an area in the corner of the room between a few bookshelves, where the floor under the window had been lined with plush green and silver pillows.

"We can't be overheard here," he told her.

Hermione nodded slowly. "Okay."

He gave her a long, slow look.

"I have thought long and hard about whether or not to trust you with this," he told her. "Until recently, that decision was 'no' – it was too personal, too painful to reveal to anyone. But recently…" He paused, looking at her. "…the potential benefits have outweighed the risk."

That would be the Fiendfyre ability, Hermione thought wryly. Across from her, Theo still looked nervous, though he was doing his best to hide it. She waited patiently, wondering what was so secret, what would leave him so vulnerable to admit to, that he was still doubting his decision to bring her in even now.

Theo took a deep breath.

"First, I would have your silence," he told her. "You are never to tell another person what you and I discuss here without my explicit permission to disclose it to them."

"You have it," Hermione promised. "What favors do you need?"

Theo paused. It was clear he was fighting with himself internally, and Hermione watched as he warred with himself. When he finally spoke, there was raw anguish in his voice, an emotion Hermione had never heard from her potions partner before.

"I want a photograph with my mother," he said finally, looking up at Hermione with wet eyes, "and then I want you to set her free."


After some prodding, Theo elaborated, determinedly wiping his face with the arm of his robe and not looking at Hermione as he spoke.

His first favor was a photo. He didn't have any pictures with his mother, he explained, not since he was a small boy. He could barely remember her, and he wanted a picture to remember her by when she was gone.

"I… I don't mean to be obtuse," Hermione said carefully. "But… isn't your mother dead?"

Theo took a deep breath.

"That's the other favor," he said. "Not quite, you see."

Anthea Nott's death was a tragedy, he explained, one that was well known. Few people knew exactly what accident had befallen her, but everybody knew there had been a fatal accident, one that killed her and left her husband and child behind.

"She fell," Theo said. His eyes flashed. "Don't ask – I don't know if my dad pushed her or not. He says he didn't, of course. But he'd say that regardless, wouldn't he?" he said bitterly.

Hermione bit her lip. "Did you find her?"

"I heard her cry out, and I heard her scream," Theo said. He glanced away. "I came running, and I found her at the bottom of the servant's staircase. It's very narrow, and it goes all the way to the top of the manor. My father was at the top, hurrying down the stairs."

Voice rough, Theo told Hermione of finding his mother and watching her as she lay dying at his feet, reaching out to him, and crying.

"Her last words were that she loved me," Theo said, discreetly wiping his eyes. "That she loved me and she was proud of me. She reached out to touch my cheek, and then her eyes closed. She gave this long kind of sigh, and then she died."

There was a heavy silence.

"Theo," Hermione said, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't be," Theo said, his voice rough. "The next part is worse."

Thoros Nott had not been willing to lose his young wife, Theo told her. As one of the Dark Lord's first followers, he had been taught Dark magic greater than most had ever seen.

"The Dark Lord had started teaching a select few very, very Dark magic," Theo said. "There were multiple ways of storing souls he taught them, with the eventual purpose of making Inferi out of people who were still alive."

That was what his father had done, he said – he'd bound his mother's soul to her body, making her own body a sort of horcrux, tying her to this realm so she couldn't depart.

"So… she's a ghost in her own body?" Hermione said, horrified. She tried to hide part of her reaction with her hand, but she couldn't be neutral in the face of such evil. "She's just been trapped like that for years?"

"She can kind of move around a little," Theo said bitterly. "Her body is kept locked down in the darkest, most hidden basement we have, with all kinds of Dark Magic wards on it. All her ghost does is wail and plead for my dad to set her free. She shatters cairns sometimes, too. I'm not supposed to go down there. No one is."

Thoros Nott was still searching for a way to bring his wife back to life, Theo told Hermione. He was determined that if the Dark Lord had a way to return from the dead, then so too could his wife. He just had to find it, and then he could magically restore his family to be whole.

"Even if it was possible," Theo said, glaring at his bookcase angrily, "she would have never wanted it. She was good, Hermione. She was good. She'd never want such terrible Dark magic used to resurrect her."

So far, his father had learned how to create a simulacrum, which was useless to him; he hardly needed a new body for Anthea, as he still had her original body perfectly preserved. He knew how to create Inferi, which was one of the Darkest magics known, but that wouldn't suit his needs either – he wanted his wife back with her soul inside, not a mindless body obeying his demands. And he'd learned of a ritual to sever one's soul and put part of the soul into another object, though he didn't know the particulars.

"The horcrux creation ritual," Hermione breathed, and Theo gave her a grim look.

"He hasn't found the entire thing yet," he said, "but he's been searching for years. It's only a matter of time."

Hermione's eyes were wide.

"He can't, Theo," she told him urgently. "Theo, it's bad. It's the evilest thing imaginable."

Theo snorted. "Try me."

Hesitant, Hermione explained what she knew of the ritual – and that it demanded the annihilation of a soul as sacrifice. Theo's eyes grew wide as she spoke.

"He'd use me," Theo said in horror, once she was done. "He'd tear my soul asunder for another moment with her, without a doubt."

"You're his only son," Hermione protested, and Theo snorted.

"You think that would mean anything once he got his wife back?" he said. "He could just make more sons with her then."

"That's—That's incredibly cold," Hermione said, taken aback. "He's raised you for thirteen years, Theo. You don't think he's gotten attached?"

"He's raised me for maybe five," Theo shot back. "My mother raised me before he killed her. He tolerates me, and I leave him alone to do his research."

Hermione didn't know what to say. Her own parents were incredibly supportive and loving; she had no idea what it would have been like to suddenly lose a parent and then grow up in an incredibly twisted and emotionally cold house for years.

"So those are the favors I want," Theo said, determined. "A photo with my mother, and then for you to free her once and for all."

Hermione gnawed on her lip, considering.

"It sounds like her body is pretty off-limits," she said, "and we have no way of controlling it even if we do get it free. Do you have any ideas about the photo?"

Theo heaved a sigh.

"Yeah," he said. "Yeah, I do."

He went to a chest in the corner of his room and dug around for a bit, pulling out a flask.

"I still have this. And I have her old hairbrush. It wouldn't really be with my mother," he said. His eyes were wet. "But… it'd look like her in the photo. I could develop it muggle style. It'd be close enough."

Hermione's heart went out to him, and she considered the Polyjuice Potion thoughtfully.

"I have an idea, but I have to check and see if it would work," she told him. "Can I get back to you about the first favor tomorrow?"

"What are you going to check?" Theo said, immediately suspicious. "You can't tell anyone."

"I will tell no one of your dead mother in the basement crypt," Hermione assured him. "But I'd beg your permission to discuss the photo with one person. I promise you, they would speak of it to no one, and the result would be far greater."

Theo eyed her, skeptical.

"No one from our year?" he asked.

"No one from Hogwarts," Hermione assured him. "An adult."

Theo scowled and heaved a sigh.

"Fine. I guess." He made a face. "If I'm finally admitting this and we're doing to do this, we might as well make sure we do it right."

"Theo…" Hermione gently laid a hand on his wrist, looking at him, and Theo looked up into her eyes. "You realize it's okay to be upset, right? You lost your mother as a child – that's incredibly traumatic for anyone. You're allowed to cry and be sad."

"'Crying is for children'," Theo said immediately, his voice bitter. "My father—he made sure I knew to stop crying over my mother where he could see. He taught me to be stoic, to keep my emotions to myself."

Hermione bit her lip.

"Well," she said slowly. "Your father's not here, and what he doesn't know won't hurt him. And—I don't know if you're aware of this, Theo, but—" she gave him a crooked grin "—we still count as children. For another three years at least. And if crying is for children…"

She trailed off, and Theo looked down at his lap, where Hermione's hand laid gently on his arm. Hermione gave him an encouraging smile, squeezing his arm gently as Theo sighed softly. Finally, after a long moment of silence, Theo took a huge, rattling breath, and then quietly, ever so quietly, he began to cry, tears streaming silently down his face.

He hid his face from her in his hands, but Hermione stayed with Theo, offering him the comfort of her presence and her sympathy and empathy and support as best she could. If that meant she had to hold a safe space for him where he could cry without shame, then that's what she would do.