Legal: I don't own anything except the plot and make no money from this story.

Chapter 12

Hermione couldn't believe it. Theodore Nott, scion of the pureblood bloody aristocracy, was asking her out. On one hand, she felt annoyed. Of course he was asking now, now that it was socially acceptable for him to do so.

'But it's not, not for his family. Not really,' she chided herself, 'If anything, he risks more than I do.'

On the other hand…

Hermione's stomach knotted with nerves. She wasn't very good at the whole dating scene. It had taken Viktor almost stalking her in the library her fourth year, for her to clue in that he just might be interested; him having to directly ask her to the Yule Ball when subtle hints hadn't worked. She'd had an inkling he'd wished to pursue more with her than securing just a dance partner, but she'd realized rather quickly that between their age difference and language barrier, they really didn't have that much in common and she hadn't felt the drive to make something out of nothing.

They'd parted as friends and remained as such throughout the years. She'd even received an owl from him as recently as this past summer, letting her know of his recent engagement to a Romanian herbologist named Loana. Hermione couldn't have been happier for him.

With Ron, their romantic interest had percolated for years, reaching the pinnacle of their attraction the day of the great Battle. Alas, it had taken them a few short weeks thereafter to realize they lacked the chemistry they — and others — had envisioned existed, and without it, their bickering began to edge toward bitterness and thinly veiled contempt and resentment. Being a romantically entangled couple seemed to bring out the worst in each of of them. They'd called it quits before they could hurt the other past the point of forgiveness, and had spent the remainder of the past summer filling and repaving the potholes created in the foundations of their previously laid friendship.

Ron would always be a close mate, but Hermione was supremely glad they'd realized early enough that some people just weren't destined to be romantically involved.

Cormac McLaggen had been an utter disaster of a date. He'd been boorish, utterly besotted with himself, and had absolutely refused to acknowledge her verbal and subsequent non-verbal insistences that she didn't want to snog him. It had taken a well placed knee and a strong repulsion spell to keep him at a distance, and had turned a wonderful night of networking — with the potential of a goodnight kiss — into a harried disaster that left bruises on her arms requiring multiple applications of healing salve.

She'd spelled his feet the following day to give off an overwhelming and repulsive odor. Before he'd had a chance to seek medical assistance, she'd had a discussion with Madam Pomfrey as to what and why she'd done it, to ensure her spellwork would be effective and enduring.

The mediwitch had been appalled at his behavior, and had agreed for everyone's sake that a lesson was in order. Madam Pomfrey had carried a soft spot for Hermione since her catastrophe with the polyjuice potion in second year, and had been delightfully and veritably unhelpful toward Cormac when he'd sought her out for medical assistance. It had been especially satisfying for Hermione to watch as even his mates gave him a wide berth due to his over ripe smell.

Hermione hadn't told anyone what had happened the night of Slughorn's party — not even Harry — nor what her retaliation was. She had, instead, silently let Cormac suffer for slightly over a month before she'd allowed Madam Pomfrey to 'fix' him with a subtly cast non-verbal incantation and an extremely sticky, painful cream.

She'd met a few muggle boys on her travels with her parents over the various summers, but between her perpetual awkwardness in social situations and the all encompassing secret that was her life in a magical society, Hermione hadn't even bothered to pursue anyone. She hadn't fancied winding up with a crush on a boy who she'd probably never see again, or if she did, it'd be so rarely their relationship would hardly count for much.

Her biggest reason for not integrating herself more into the muggle teenage world was that she'd never be able to be her true self. She'd be caught between two worlds — more than she already was — and that to her, was completely unfathomable and unacceptable.

'Ron was right. I'm alive, but I haven't really lived…' she thought, a refrain from one of their more heated arguments rising to the top of her consciousness as she reflected upon her meager dating history.

Theodore Nott, with his captivating eyes, wicked sharp wit and air of mystery, was in a category all his own.

A category she'd spent years scrutinizing and contemplating; one she was terrified of exploring and then being found wanting. He'd fascinated her for almost half their time at Hogwarts and his intellect intrigued her, as did the layers she felt and saw simmer below his surface. She'd been honest when she'd told him he puzzled her, that she truly believed he'd been holding himself back in their classes.

When their eyes had met on the train and in the Great Hall a few days prior, she'd been unprepared for the visceral reaction his gaze had evoked within her. She'd been secretly thrilled when he'd sought her out for the term project, and his anxiety attack — or panic attack, she wasn't quite certain — the evening previous had shown him to her in another new light. Theo was an enigma, and it didn't hurt that she found him incredibly attractive, nor that her body appeared to react favorably when he'd grabbed her hand earlier. He wasn't traditionally handsome, but he had a captivating presence, and his eyes…

"Hermione?" Theo said tentatively, shifting slightly, and she realized she'd yet to respond to his invitation. A surreptitious glance had her understanding that for all his confidence, those eyes were currently betraying him, broadcasting his nerves.

"I'd like that," Hermione said, giving him a shy smile and nodding her acquiescence. "I would very much wish to accompany you, Theo."

"Brilliant," he breathed out, and the smile that stole across his face was blinding in its warmth and veritable relief as his face relaxed infinitesimally. She felt her heart beat pick up inside her chest, her face flushing at the sight he presented.

Hermione rubbed her hand discreetly upon her robes to remove the evidence of her nerves before holding it out for him to shake. "I believe that with that matter settled, we have an agreement, Mr. Nott"

Theo shook her hand, his long fingers with their slightly ridged knuckles sliding securely against her palm to grasp hers. "We do indeed, Miss Granger."

Hermione felt acute disappointment when the handshake ended, and felt the void of his hand against hers left behind.

They proceeded through the Entrance Halls's double doors and out onto the grounds, neither seeming to have a pre-determined destination in mind.

"Where do you wish to walk?" Theo asked, and Hermione faltered slightly as she took in the dusk shadowed grounds. She'd been too distracted the night they'd arrived to take in much, her eyes flickering and skimming past and over details.

As she looked out now, upon the landscape that had shaped her youth, she was assailed… assailed by visions of blood, the smell of smoke, bodies strewn and the sounds… the sounds and senses of war overtook her.

She felt herself begin to tremble as her evening meal rolled within her stomach, threatening to expel itself. Her breath clawed at her throat, catching and clinging and making it difficult to draw air. Her chest tightened, pain radiating in her shoulder while the crushing weight of invisible memories overwhelmed and suffocated her.

This wasn't the first time she'd experienced a panic attack, nor the first time she'd experienced one in front of another, however; it was the first time she'd experienced one while being enveloped by so many of the actual triggers. Hermione had thought she'd been prepared, had worked hard over the summer to develop coping techniques, but standing there outside the castle's entrance, she realized how inadequately prepared she truly was.

'Breathe… in, hold… breathe out…' she repeated to herself, her arms wrapping around her torso as if to hold it back from splintering into pieces. Closing her eyes, Hermione focused on her breathing, letting the air clear her lungs and her internal chant ground her to the present.

Moments ticked by slowly before she was gradually able to bring her vision back from the horrors remembered, her breathing regulated, and her trembling began to subside. She could now feel the cool night air kiss her cheeks instead of heat and dust, and smell the crisp tang of the lake rather than smoke and decay. She heard the subtle sounds of the nocturnal insects making their rounds and the Owlery in the distance, rather than the sounds of screaming and curses and spells.

Opening her eyes, Hermione wasn't prepared to see Theo directly in front of her, bent so his eyes were at her height and close enough that she could begin to see the hint of shadow along his jaw.

He was speaking, and she was additionally surprised to find his hands rested gently but firmly upon her shoulders.

"Hermione!" He was saying, his voice having adopted the regulated soothing tones of a meditation narrator. "Hermione, you're alive and you're safe."

He was repeating the affirmations, his hands maintaining their light but steady grip upon her shoulders as he spoke.

He was coaching her through her panic attack, she realized belatedly, the smooth cadence of his voice skittering across her consciousness, assisting in pulling her back to the land of the living.

'A fucking panic attack… NOW!' she though, angrily wiping at the tears that always seemed to follow immediately after. Whether they were tears of relief, sorrow, grief, anger… she wasn't sure and frankly didn't think it even mattered what the qualifier was. They, along with the fucking panic attacks, were just souvenirs from the war she'd physically survived, but mentally… she was just one of the many ensnared in the war's residual grip.

She meant to apologize, to make some self-deprecating comment about how he'd surely want to rethink their Hogsmeade date, but instead, what came out was a whispered, "Thank you."

With a slight residual tremble to her hand, she reached up and cupped his cheek. "Thank you." She repeated, smoothing her thumb against the roughness developing along his jaw before lowering her hand.

"Thanks are unnecessary, Hermione. As you said to me…" he said, pausing before appearing to shore up his courage. "You aren't alone in this. I get them too, though nothing as encompassing as what I just witnessed; I'm glad I was able to be there with you tonight. I—"

Theo broke off, looking uncomfortable. "Ermm, can we keep walking? It makes talking easier…" He said, seeming to pull into himself a bit, and Hermione nodded, understanding completely what he meant. It was a tad intense, exposing your underbelly while looking someone in the eye, especially when the person you're confiding in was, in essence, a stranger.

"Absolutely. Alright if we head down toward the lake?"

Theo's relief was palatable and he nodded, hoisting her sac more securely onto his shoulder as they veered off down the main path toward the lake.