Work Text:
In November, they stumble across each other in the Transfiguration section, having chosen the same subject for their first-term essay. Theodore Nott summons the book out of Hermione Granger’s hand and she screeches just quiet enough to keep from alerting Madam Pince. She pulls him back by his collar and reaches around to snatch the book away. It is so incredibly undignified that Theo finds himself laughing as he fights her off.
Granger’s look of flushed triumph when she recaptures the book makes Theo’s blood rush. Her robes are askew and her hair is escaping its plait, and she looks so damn smug.
Theo grasps the fabric of her robes between his long fingers and straightens it. Granger freezes as her robes fall back in place, the smugness dissolving into shallow panic. “Next time, Granger,” he says in her ear just before he lets her go, and he likes to think she shivers.
When she disappears through the stacks, he watches her leave. Someday, he’s going to make her his; he just hasn’t figured out how yet.
Just after winter holidays, they’re paired together for an Ancient Runes assignment. Granger is predictably frazzled, with it being their first year of NEWT classes, and has somehow compiled the largest workload of any student in their year.
Theo points out she’s bringing it on herself, and Granger throws a quill at him.
“You could stop revising,” he suggests, and Granger’s eyes grow wide in horror as if he’s just suggested letting her cat wander into an acromantula nest. Every reaction he manages to elicit from her now is another he files away to remember later.
He’s well aware that drowning in Hermione Granger may be a death sentence for a person in his position, but he’s been at her mercy for more than a year. She’s brilliant, but she and her friends lack subtlety, and he thoroughly enjoyed watching when she started a duelling club under Dolores Umbridge’s nose. His peers may not see it, but Granger is a rebel, and that speaks directly to his Dark Arts-tainted soul.
“Not if I want to pass!” Granger hisses, leaning over the table as if she’s sharing a deadly secret. Theo wonders what drives her to respond that way. Is it the fear of failure? The idea of Granger failing at anything is ridiculous; he’s never met a person more destined to succeed.
Theo pulls Granger’s entire stack of books across the table and banishes them. The fury that rises in her face makes him smile, and he meets her eyes, ready to burn alive if she commands. She just might, and Theo feels heat rising in his veins.
“We worked on our translation for three hours. You’re not allowed to do anything else tonight,” he insists.
Granger’s hair is getting into the argument, expanding as she panics. “I have an essay—”
“Which is due when?” He smirks as Granger falters. Her hair deflates as her shoulders slump. “Take a break, Hermione.”
Her lips part at the sound of her name, and Theo’s mind conjures a variety of ways he can make her part her lips in that exact same ‘O,’ none of which have to do with runes or transfiguration.
“Fine,” she says. Theo startles at her unexpected acquiescence. A suspicion niggles in the back of his mind that just saying her name may get him everything he wants. “Where did you send my books?”
Maybe not everything he wants. She’s still Granger; Theo wouldn’t want her if she wasn’t. “The Slytherin dorms. And if you want them back before Sunday, you’ll have to brave the snake pit.” He shrugs as she gapes. “If you take tomorrow and Saturday off from revising, I’ll bring your books back to Gryffindor myself.”
He sees the calculation in her eyes, balancing the risk of going to Slytherin against the challenge of not doing homework. She isn’t stupid; the war has not officially breached Hogwarts, but the battle lines are drawn. Theo is daring her to cross them.
He wonders if she realises he’s offering to cross them himself.
“Meet me here at two PM,” she says finally. She straightens her robes, picks up her book bag, and turns to walk away from their table before she stops. She leans down until her cheek is just an inch from his. “Okay, Theo?”
He swallows as her hot breath hits his ear. “Have a good night, Hermione,” he says, and is relieved when his voice doesn’t crack.
Sunday at two comes around and Theo sits in the library with Hermione’s stack of books as promised. She appears, an uncharacteristic five minutes late—
And he takes a moment to control himself as his eyes skate over her purple skirt and knee-high boots. She is still wearing a uniform shirt, but her tie is missing and the first three buttons are open. Theo does his absolute best to keep his eyes north of her plunging neckline, but her legs are calling to him.
“Thank you,” says Hermione, scooping up the books.
“Did you relax or did you do Potter’s homework?” asks Theo. He knows he’s right when Hermione flushes pink. “I told you—”
“I need to make sure—”
“Potter is not your responsibility—”
“—Harry and Ron both need to pass—”
“—and neither is fucking Weasley—” growls Theo with a frown. He admires many of Hermione’s traits, but he doesn’t like the way her ‘friends’ take advantage of her loyalty. Maybe one day he’ll have a chat with her about it, and maybe she’ll actually listen.
It’s unlikely, but he’s intrigued by the challenge.
His eyes accidentally drift down to her collarbone, and naturally follow the line of her sternum until it disappears into her shirt.
“—and since someone made sure I couldn’t do my homework—” The pink in Hermione’s cheeks is quite bright now. Theo snaps his eyes away from her neckline, which may as well be an arrow pointing to his hopes and dreams.
“That doesn’t give you leeway to do someone else’s homework, Hermione—”
“I was going to help them anyway—” she insists, and Theo notices the curve of her throat as it disappears into her collar.
“You need to relax,” he replies, determinedly not trailing his eyes over the defensive set of her shoulders, or noting the way her hands grip her stack of books. Her slender, firm hands, wrapped tightly around—
“These are NEWT classes, I’m not going to relax—”
Theo stands from the table, towering six inches over Hermione. “Yes, you are,” he says. He steps forward and one of her feet drifts behind her to anchor against his approach. “You need to have some fun,” he murmurs, and draws his hand along her jaw. Hermione’s breath catches as Theo tilts his head to hers. His lips barely brush her top lip before he starts craving more.
Hermione squeaks when he presses into her and Theo catches the stack of books before they fall to the floor. He pulls away and sets the books on the table before he turns back. “May I continue?”
Hermione’s mouth is open and he is almost worried she is going to run away. Instead, she surges forward and hooks her fingers through the belt loops of his trousers. She pulls him against her, and Theo captures her lips again. He knows he is rapidly getting hard against her hips, and he doesn’t particularly care. Let the witch feel what she does to him.
When she moans into his mouth, Theo thrusts his hips against her and he can feel the way she shivers. He lets one of his hands wander down to gather her skirt while the other works its way inside her shirt, grasping at one of her covered breasts. He is torn between relieving her of her bra and trying to find out exactly how wet he is making her.
Hermione makes the decision for him when she pulls back. “We can’t—not in the library.”
“You think I can’t get you off in the library?” Theo murmurs in her ear, and the involuntary whimper she lets out has him reaching for her hem again.
“I think you shouldn’t,” she clarifies as she tries to still his wandering hands.
Theo moves his lips to her neck, kissing her skin to persuade her otherwise. Getting Hermione Granger off in the library seems like a brilliant idea. She gives the sort of sigh that sends blood rushing to his cock as he leaves his mark on her neck. He is amused at the idea of her showing up to see Potter and Weasley, looking thoroughly snogged.
His hands begin to gather the fabric of her skirt. “I want to.”
Hermione pulls his head back to hers and gives him a searing kiss that nearly makes Theo see stars. “Not today,” she says breathlessly when she releases him. She trails one finger inside the waistband of his trousers. His skin is burning where she’s touched him, but before he can do anything about it, her hands vacate his stomach. With a furious blush that contradicts the boldness of her actions, Hermione picks up her books and walks away.
Theo stays hidden at the table, his hands clenched and eyes closed, for several minutes after she leaves.
She is back in uniform when she arrives to work on their translation in their usual spot. Her eyes have skated over his lips no fewer than three times, and he spends most of their study session memorising the subtle curls of her hair. Gone is the bushy-haired lioness of their younger years; Hermione’s hair has been tamed sometime in the last two years. It only achieves its former glory when she’s angry.
Theo wants to see if it will do the same when she’s screaming his name.
An hour into their evening, Hermione removes her robes. Her cheeks burn as she gives the excuse it’s too warm, even though it’s January in a draughty castle. Theo stifles a smirk, curious what sort of seduction Hermione is planning, and if it will require sharing body heat.
Her fingers begin to play with the buttons on her shirt, but Hermione loses her nerve somewhere around slipping the first button open. Theo is only half-disappointed; she’s clearly interested in pursuing what they started a few days earlier.
Somehow, they make it through three hours of amiable debate. Their project is coming along nicely when Hermione decides to call it a night. Theo remains seated as she packs away her quill, parchment, and three reference books. When she reaches for her robes, he grabs her wrist.
“I think we have some unfinished business,” he says, tugging her to his side of the table.
“Do we?” asks Hermione, sounding breathless. Her eyes are usually the colour of polished mahogany, and at some point, Theo wants to memorise every striation in her irises. Now, however, the mahogany is a thin ring around blown pupils. Cautiously, she steps to straddle Theo, and he counts his lucky stars as he places his hands on her legs. Hermione is nervous, which won’t do.
Theo sits up straight and nudges Hermione’s knees to bend until she’s sitting on his lap. She gasps as she rubs against his erection, and Theo threads one hand into her hair. “I’d like to kiss you now.”
She doesn’t give permission; instead, Hermione’s head dives down and she forcefully kisses Theo, pushing him back against the chair. She adjusts her hips, and Theo groans into her mouth as she accidentally—or not so accidentally—grinds against his erection again.
Her tongue finds its way into his mouth before Theo can think clearly. Suddenly, he knows what it’s like to be devoured by Hermione Granger. She’s new to this, but for all of his bravado, so is Theo. This is a new type of heaven, and he is dying to feel every inch of Hermione’s body. His unoccupied hand skates up her thigh beneath her skirt to the hips that are rubbing against his.
There are no knickers blocking his path.
“Hermione,” he groans, and she smiles and rolls her hips again. A moan strangles Theo as Hermione’s lips move to his throat. “You played me.”
“Maybe,” she says. The coquettishness is so unexpected that Theo’s mind goes blank with confusion as Hermione’s teeth begin to graze his neck. She traces his veins, surely leaving marks in her wake.
“I’m supposed to seduce you,” he says when he can form words again. His fingers trail from her hip down to her slit. Her trimmed curls are soaked, and he feels victorious when he slips a finger inside her and she moans.
“I don’t think we wrote up an agreement,” Hermione counters. Her back arches as Theo adds a second finger.
“How long have you been planning this?” He moves his fingers slowly, watching Hermione’s face and memorising every tiny reaction.
Hermione adjusts again, giving Theo’s hand more room, and bites her lip. “Two months?” she says, and the blush is back. “I wasn’t sure if—”
“If I wanted you?” Theo fills in, and brings one of Hermione’s hands to his covered cock. “More than you know.”
Hermione’s hands make quick work of Theo’s belt. She pulls his shirt out of the way and drags his trousers down far enough to free his erection. Theo is almost distracted enough to forget they’re in the library, but there’s something about having his cock on display where anyone could walk by that brings him back to reality.
“Hermione, we should—”
“Notice-Me-Not, and a few other charms,” she murmurs, wrapping her hand around him. Theo’s eyes roll back in his head and he forgets to move the hand that is pleasuring Hermione as she strokes him.
Suddenly, his hand is free and his lap is bereft of daring Gryffindor. A pair of lips descend on his, and Theo opens his eyes just as he feels the heat of Hermione’s core against the head of his cock. He’s wound enough to explode and begins reciting the steps to brew Strengthening Solution as she slides onto him. She gives little gasps as she takes each inch, until she lets out a single long mewl in the crook of his shoulder.
By the time she is finally seated on him, they’re both panting. They share languid kisses and Hermione adjusts her skirt to hide their joined hips. If anyone were to see past her Notice-Me-Not, they would see a couple snogging, but nothing more.
Well, they would see Hermione Granger snogging a Slytherin, but nothing more than that.
Theo thrusts once and Hermione squeaks into his mouth. He begins to search for an angle that will make her moan, and Hermione slowly rolls her hips, introducing Theo to the most blissful friction he’s ever felt. He’s read about this and heard plenty of stories from one of his roommates about how to make a woman come, but he never anticipated being at the precipice of losing control from the moment he entered her.
This will take practise. Theo tells her as much, and Hermione kisses him hard again, sliding up his cock and slowly back down. It’s a painstakingly slow rhythm that is going to kill Theo if he can’t come soon.
The words I love you are on his tongue and he barely manages to hold them in. His hands grasp Hermione’s thighs, and if he had the capacity to feel anything besides how wet she is on his cock, the way her body is begging for him to come, he would worry about leaving bruises on her skin.
“Are you close?” she whispers in his ear, and Theo nearly loses it as her hot breath hits his skin.
“Are you?” he manages, and Hermione shrugs.
Unacceptable.
But he has no opportunity to protest as Hermione doubles down. The sensation of her teeth on his neck and the energetic movements of her hips cause Theo to lose himself. He sees stars as he erupts in her, and she doesn’t stop riding him as he paints her walls.
He pulls Hermione’s mouth back to his and tangles his tongue with hers, pulling her body tight against him. Her hips go still, and she holds his softening cock inside. He’s not particularly inclined to ever remove it.
“Tomorrow,” he says into Hermione’s mouth. “Tomorrow, you’re coming first.”
Hermione pulls back, her cheeks beautifully flushed. “I have to—”
“I forbid you from choosing your studies over allowing me to get you off.”
She is blushing harder than he’s ever seen. Theo wishes his refractory period were shorter. There’s nothing he wants to do more than take Hermione again, this time setting the pace himself.
“We should probably meet somewhere other than the library,” says Hermione.
“Not romantic enough for you?” he teases. The idea of pressing Hermione against the bookshelves while she screams is enough to make his blood start travelling south again.
Hermione tilts her head, her lips parted slightly. “Is romance part of this equation?”
“If you want it to be.” Embarrassment rises in Theo’s chest when Hermione doesn’t immediately respond. Surely she’d realised his attraction to her was more than physical.
She begins to stand, and Theo’s cock slides out of her. He schools his face to hide his disappointment while Hermione straightens her skirt.
“What would romance entail?” she asks as he re-fastens his belt. She slips her robes over her shoulders and begins searching for the buttons.
“A social contract, by which I seduce you with flowers and books,” quips Theo, hiding his nerves behind humour. “In return, you let me drag you into alcoves and snog you senseless until we get caught.”
A smile tilts Hermione’s lips and she giggles. “I am a prefect, remember?”
“A prefect who just took someone’s virginity in the library.”
Her mouth opens and Theo worries that admitting he’d been a virgin until ten minutes ago was a grave error. “You were—I was—” Hermione stops, her robes only halfway buttoned. “I was your first?”
“Does that bother you?”
Slowly, Hermione shakes her head. The smile returns, only this time it’s gentle. There’s a hint of hope in her eyes, he thinks. “I expect romance,” she announces. Theo feels his own smile break out, and he settles against his chair as Hermione finishes buttoning her robes. “No poetry. Harry received a terrible poem for Valentine’s Day second year, and it put me off poetry permanently.”
“No poetry,” agrees Theo. “Anything else? Chocolates? Diamond earrings? Roses?”
Hermione wrinkles her nose at the suggestion of jewellery, and Theo laughs. “I know you’re filthy rich, but I’d rather you stick to a reasonable budget.”
“Heirlooms—”
“You’re not giving me bloody heirloom diamonds,” says Hermione, looking horrified. Theo thinks he’s just discovered his new favourite game.
“Fine,” he agrees, but he quirks a mischievous eyebrow to keep Hermione on edge.
“Roses are my favourite,” she says slowly, keeping her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “But I hate the whole concept of cut flowers. And I do like chocolate. The way to my heart, though…” Hermione picks up her book bag and slings it over her shoulder. “You’ll have to find that on your own.”
Theo stands and wraps one arm around Hermione’s waist, pulling her close. “I accept your challenge.”
The final kiss of the evening is delicate, though Theo can still feel the simmering want between them. There are no words of goodbye, just the kiss, and Theo wishes he could follow her as she leaves.
Their first two dates go well, and Hermione comes with her thighs clenched around Theo’s head as he hides beneath the table in the library. They discover they quite enjoy taking turns beneath the table. Two weeks in, Theo can barely sit down to study without getting aroused, which seems like a potential problem.
Hermione is in a mood when she arrives on Friday evening, but she refuses to explain, choosing instead to snap at Theo whenever he dares to speak.
“Up,” he says finally, closing his books and then hers. Hermione has murder in her eyes as Theo forcibly puts their things away. “We’re fast-forwarding to the romantic part of the evening.”
“Theo—” Hermione stops mid-whinge, and looks at him with wide eyes. “Did you just use a Muggle phrase?”
Theo grins, pleased she caught on. “How else am I supposed to enchant a Muggle-born witch?”
Hermione stares at him in wonder, and Theo feels a moment of pride. She challenged him to find the way to her heart, and Theo knows his witch won’t be earned through cliches. “Where are we going?” she asks, and for the first time tonight, she doesn’t sound angry.
“Wait and see.” Theo steps out of their corner first, and Hermione follows at a safe distance. They skirt a pair of nosy Hufflepuffs by darting into a broom closet. Their proximity is too close, much too close. The buttons of Hermione’s robes accidentally come loose beneath Theo’s hands. Twenty minutes go by before Theo remembers they had a mission. He stops teasing Hermione’s nipples and she bites his earlobe in response.
“This wasn’t my plan,” he groans, too hard to walk straight. Hermione’s hand is caressing his cock. Her thumb swipes over his weeping head and Theo nearly falls into her. “We have—there’s—”
“Yes?” asks Hermione, her voice amused in the dark. If there were room, Theo is sure she would have her mouth wrapped around him, pulling him toward ecstasy.
“Come on.” Theo manages to pull Hermione’s hand from his trousers and re-fastens his robes. He thanks a handful of deities as the robes hide his erection from any suspicious passerby as he finally leads Hermione out of the castle.
“Where are we going?” she asks, jogging to catch up to him. They slip into the shadows and Theo takes her hand. Her fingers are firm and sure as they intertwine with his. Hermione approaches many things with certainty—her answers in Ancient Runes, her belief in creature equality, her commitment to her prefect duties—but socially, she has always been unsure. He’s seen her in every phase of her friendship with Potter and Weasley. He’s seen the way she holds back in conversations until she’s ready to burst.
Her hand is warm, not clammy, and steady, not uncertain. Theo doesn’t overlook the significance of what she’s giving him.
The greenhouses come into view, and Theo draws his wand. A quick Alohomora later, Hermione is protesting as they slip unnoticed into Greenhouse Four. Her protests about rule-breaking die when she sees the southeast corner. Hermione drifts forward, dropping Theo’s hand, and walks into the tiny rose garden.
“They’re safe, right?” she asks, but she’s already pressing her nose into the first flower before Theo can answer.
“They’re non-magical,” he assures her. He tries to muster exasperation at her recklessness, but there’s a slight glow from the moon shining through the windows of the greenhouse, and she looks angelic. This moment belongs on a museum wall, and Theo regrets that he doesn’t know how to paint. He settles onto a stool and satisfies himself with watching Hermione as she flits from flower to flower. With her hair slightly mussed from their earlier activities, errant strands falling around her face, Hermione is living art, and Theo is drowning.
The greenhouse is pleasantly warm and slightly humid. Theo takes off his robes and rolls up the sleeves of his shirt. He’s debating whether or not to remove his tie when Hermione speaks.
“I hate blood-purity.”
The words are startling, and Theo looks at Hermione in confusion. “What happened?”
“You don’t believe any of that stuff, right?” Hermione tugs at the sleeves of her robes, and Theo nearly scoffs in offence that she would dare accuse him— “I mean, you—you know things about Muggles and you—”
“And I’m dating you,” he says. Theo stands and crosses the greenhouse. Hermione is almost shaking when he reaches her, and he wonders if this is why she was upset earlier. “What happened?” he asks again, softer.
“Every time I try—every time I—” Hermione stops to gather herself. Theo wraps his arms around her shoulders and cradles her in a hug while she searches for the right words. “They’re afraid of me. The pure-bloods. They’re afraid I’m coming in to destroy them.” She laughs, though it feels more like she’s choking against his chest.
Theo tightens his grip and says nothing, because she’s not wrong. His classmates, the children of his father’s friends, are afraid of Hermione. They fear her more than any other Muggle-born because she’d forced them to see her as an equal.
“I wish I could,” she confesses. Hermione pushes back from Theo, her head bowed in shame. “Does that make me a terrible person?” Her voice is so soft, he can barely hear her. “I want to destroy them. I want to tear down their houses until they’re left with nothing.” She gets progressively louder, angrier.
“Even mine?” asks Theo, his voice teasing, but the question is serious. He wouldn’t blame her if the answer is yes.
Hermione’s eyes burn in the moonlight. “Will you hate me if I say especially yours?”
The statement intrigues Theo, and he raises an eyebrow. “And why is that?”
“Because I already know how to end it.”
Theo steps back, apprehensive and curious all at once. “You aren’t planning to murder me, are you?”
Of all insane reactions, Hermione giggles. “No. I—I could stop using contraceptive charms.”
The words float through Theo’s brain for a solid minute before he finally untangles their meaning. “So, your idea for destroying the Ancient and Noble House of Nott—”
“I know it’s extreme, but—”
Theo surges forward, mostly relieved that Hermione isn’t planning to murder him. His lips capture Hermione’s, and he barely remembers to grab his robes to cover the floor. Gently, he lays Hermione on his discarded robes, and begins kissing his way down her throat. He’s hard against her hips, desperate to bury himself in her, to dare her to make good on her threat.
Just how brave is his little lioness?
Pacing himself is the most difficult thing Theo has ever done. He makes quick work of Hermione’s robes, and finds her shirt still unbuttoned from their broom cupboard adventure. Her plain white bra is swiftly discarded and Theo latches onto one nipple. He swirls his tongue around her nipple, bringing it to a peak while her hips arch toward him. Theo grinds his stiff cock against her before pulling away. He’s going to come in her at least twice tonight. He’s wasting nothing before that.
Theo’s left hand plays with Hermione’s other breast, while the neatly manicured nails of his right hand scratch down her stomach. He keeps the pressure of his ministrations just shy of painful, and she wordlessly begs for more.
“Theo,” she whimpers when he teases her waistband for the third time.
His mouth is busy trying to make her come by just stimulating her breasts. It’s one more thing he’s read about in books, and Hermione’s desperate attempts to wrap her legs around his hips seem to indicate she’s close.
“Give me your fucking cock, Theo.”
Now he knows she’s close. Hermione’s mouth is filthy when she’s too aroused to care about her filter. Out of curiosity, he flips up her skirt and pulls down her knickers to see just what his cock can look forward to.
Hermione is positively dripping. Theo slips two fingers into her core with ease and pumps once. When he adds a third and passes his thumb over her clit, he feels her cunt contract once around his fingers. Hermione keens, desperately rocking against his hand as she tries to get herself off.
The time for patience is over. Theo keeps working Hermione’s nipple as he discards his trousers. His cock hangs heavy, automatically seeking her heat. Before he’s even an inch inside her, Hermione wraps her legs beneath his arse, angles her hips up, and pulls him in without the slightest warning. His pelvis hits her clit, and Hermione shatters, screaming his name as her cunt pulses around him. Instinct tells Theo to drive into her, make her scream and shake until she’s boneless on the floor, but he knows that’s a one-way ticket to coming too soon.
He settles on a slow rhythm, intentionally keeping Hermione from the full potential of her orgasm. Her eyes are closed as Theo strokes in and out.
“You’re fucking beautiful when you come,” he murmurs in her ear, and Hermione’s hips rise to meet his steady pace. “You’re beautiful like this, beneath me, taking my cock. But you want more than that, don’t you?” Theo is only half-conscious of what he’s saying; the words are coming out like he’s been waiting for this moment since the first time he felt something for her that was more than simple curiosity.
Hermione’s eyes flutter open and meet Theo’s. She’s still chasing the tail end of her climax, and he sees the effect of his dirty words in how her eyes narrow. He feels the effect in how her hands slide under his shirt and dig into his skin. The bite sends a thrill straight to Theo’s cock. Hermione doesn’t like pain, but he thrives on it.
“Come for me,” commands Hermione. She gasps when he buries himself with a sudden thrust, and her nails slide down back. Another thrust at a slightly different angle pulls a moan from Hermione, and a third pulls a helpless whimper.
That’s the response he’s been looking for.
“You’re going to look so beautiful carrying our child,” he says, carefully stroking his cock against the same spot deep in Hermione’s cunt that makes her clench and moan. He lives for the feeling of her nails on his skin as she tightens her grip around his body. “Our child,” he says again. “Our little half-blood baby. Do you want that? Do you want me to give you my child?”
Hermione is again at the precipice of pleasure, but she manages to say three words that snap his self-control. “Ruin me, Theo.”
Her lips latch onto his, and they hold together as Theo snaps his hips again and again, preparing to do exactly what Hermione wants. He swears all of the blood in his body surges to his cock as his limbs go numb and his head grows fuzzy. He can no longer feel the ground beneath his knees or Hermione’s skin beneath his hands. The only sensation that exists is the heat where he is joined with her. Her walls rub against his head, stimulating him in the most exquisite way, almost painfully delicious as he tries to stay in control, and he feels her snap.
Hermione’s lips break free of his as she writhes beneath him. Theo manages two final strokes before he can no longer hold back his release. He pushes as deep into her as he can manage, cumming as close to her womb as physically possible. He barely notices that the force of his release extends Hermione’s orgasm until she is, in fact, boneless on the ground.
Theo doesn’t immediately withdraw. Instead, he stays between her thighs and rests on his elbows as he weaves his hands into her hair. It’s nearly five minutes before he can properly talk again, but he kisses her first. Hermione smiles beneath his lips and gives him a lazy kiss in return.
I love you, he doesn’t say again, because this still isn’t the right time.
“You know I won’t be able to keep my hands off of you now,” he says instead.
Hermione tilts her head. “The way you were keeping them off of me before?” she teases.
He refuses to acknowledge her point and kisses beneath her ear. “I’m going to fuck you in every alcove in the school before the month is out,” he promises, and she gives a little gasp when he nips her neck. “The idea of you carrying my child is going to drive me absolutely mad. And when you are—” He places one hand over her lower stomach. “You’re going to look like a goddess.”
Hermione draws back just slightly, a nervous expression on her face. “You’re okay with this?”
“Am I—Hermione, I want this. I want you. Are you, my darling Gryffindor, brave enough to ruin a thousand-year-old pure-blood name?”
As he expects her to, Hermione scoffs. Her legs cross just behind his thighs, gently preventing him from pulling out. “I hope you plan to fuck me again, Theo.”
“Just give me time, witch,” he says with a grin, and returns to adorning her lips with unhurried kisses.
As promised, they christen several of the alcoves. Theo pulls her away from her friends between classes, hiding behind tapestries as he takes her against walls while she stifles her silent screams in his robes.
He thoroughly appreciates that he has to cast a Silencing Charm on her at least once a day; twice when he’s lucky.
“My friends are going to start wondering where I disappear to,” she says one morning during their free period between Arithmancy and Transfiguration. She bats away Theo’s hand as he skates it up her thigh beneath her skirt. They’ve already fucked twice—he’s already come in her twice—and his libido is begging to go again.
“Like they did when you had the Time-Turner?” As Hermione gapes, Theo snorts. “Your friends aren’t the smartest kneazles in the litter, love.” He places a hand on her flat stomach, imagining what it will feel like swollen.
God, he wants to tie her to a bed and keep fucking her until he finds out.
“Patience,” says Hermione, as she always does when Theo caresses her there.
“Patience is for the birds.” Theo rests his nose next to Hermione’s, barely grazing her lips. She chases his mouth, wrapping her arms around his neck, and he lets himself be caught.
When she’s finally put together enough that no one will suspect she’s been fucking Theo’s brains out behind a tapestry, she leaves.
I love you, he swallows as she disappears. He can’t help it. She’s brave and brilliant and beautiful. She’s all of the romantic poetry she hates and every symphony ever written.
Pure-bloods marry young, but she wants to destroy pure-blood families. Not for the first time, he wonders what their arrangement will be if she actually gets pregnant. He decides it’s a problem for another day.
The day she tells him she’s pregnant, it snows. They’re in the greenhouses again, next to the roses. Theo strips her of her cloak, robes, and uniform before she even thinks to protest, and falls to his knees as she stands bare before him. He places one kiss to her stomach, and looks up to meet Hermione’s eyes.
“Lay down,” he says softly. She complies without protest, because this moment is not a battle for power. This is time for worship.
When he enters her, this is no purpose-driven fucking. This is the words he can’t say yet. He knows Hermione can tell the difference, because she doesn’t moan filthy words and her nails don’t dig into his skin. This is slow, deliberate, the kind of sex that only occurs when two people know each other’s bodies well enough to make the pleasure last.
I love you, he doesn’t say, but his body confesses it all the same.
They consider bringing the war to their doorstep. Theo wants to claim her, to rest his hand on her back in the corridor and whisper in her ear between lessons. He wants to risk the wrath of Potter and Weasley, the incredulity of everyone else.
Hermione, for her part, looks sad when she reminds him of the dangers. Potter’s wrath will be nothing compared to what happens if Theo’s father learns of their relationship—especially if Theo’s father learns just how far this relationship has gone. They mutually agree the risk is too high.
But after the third time Hermione draws into herself after they make love, Theo chooses loyalty over self-preservation. He pulls Hermione’s hand into his as they wait for the earlier Arithmancy class to let out, and she freezes, terrified their classmates will notice. Dean Thomas raises an eyebrow but says nothing. He shifts to stand in front of Theo and Hermione, effectively blocking them from view. A silent agreement passes between Theo and Thomas as they enter the classroom. An alliance is born, and Hermione doesn’t even notice.
Within a week, a handful of students are placed strategically around the school. Theo hasn’t said a word, but Thomas is smart and knows something is going on. Dumbledore’s Army, it seems, is far more loyal to Hermione than she realises. A pair of Hufflepuffs intervene before Draco Malfoy can spot Theo and Hermione. Neville Longbottom takes to casually chatting with Hermione in the corridor, using his exceptional skill of going unnoticed to make her invisible. Daphne Greengrass joins the ranks of the DA and keeps Pansy Parkinson distracted. By mid-March, it’s an open secret that Theo and Hermione are together. Somehow, Malfoy, Parkinson, Potter, and Weasley don’t figure it out.
Theo kisses Hermione goodbye one afternoon before they part ways for Charms and Transfiguration, and she smiles.
He was right. She looks fucking ethereal with her stomach distended beneath his hand. The bump is still invisible beneath her clothes, but spread out in the greenhouse like this, Theo can’t keep his eyes from her.
“That’s my son,” says Theo in wonder, just as he does every time he can get Hermione alone. She’d cried the first time, but now she laughs.
“Our son,” she corrects without malice. To his surprise, she hasn’t argued against the idea their child will be a boy; in fact, she has an air that says she knows something he doesn’t.
Theo kisses her stomach even as his fingers move up in her inner thigh, preparing her for their second round of lovemaking for the day. If he’d considered her enticing before, she is inescapable now. He hates that she wakes up in Gryffindor tower, alone in her bed instead of wrapped in his arms.
He pushes away all thoughts of the coming summer holidays and what that will mean for them. Instead, he slips two fingers into her cunt and curls them as Hermione sighs in content.
“Fuck me, Theodore,” she says with her eyes closed.
Theo licks her sensitive clit and her legs shudder. “I will,” he promises. “In a bit.”
When Death Eaters break into the school and Professor Dumbledore is killed, Theo makes his choice. Brooking no argument, he informs Hermione that he won’t leave her side from now until the Dark Lord is dead and gone.
Together, they board the Hogwarts Express after Dumbledore’s funeral. Theo joins Hermione in her compartment, to the outraged protests of Potter and Weasley. Longbottom and Luna Lovegood arrive as Potter draws his wand, and greet Theo like they’ve all been friends for years. Throughout the trip, several people pop in to say hello, from Dean Thomas to Daphne Greengrass, until Potter is staring wide-eyed at Hermione.
“What is going on?”
Apparently, even being the Boy-Who-Lived doesn’t garner Potter as much of an audience as Hermione and Theo are receiving now. Gryffindor’s premiere Muggle-born and the son of a Death Eater willingly breathing the same air is fueling the rumour mill, and their allies in the DA are pleased to see their hard work paying off.
Theo feels Hermione struggle for words before she yawns. Instead of explaining, she leans against Theo and closes her eyes. She’s still tense with nerves and he pulls her down, laying her head in his lap while she tucks her feet behind Longbottom. A loose set of robes is draped over her, and Theo runs his fingers through her hair until she falls asleep.
“Explain,” says Potter when Hermione’s breath is even. Weasley’s face is red and confused, Lovegood is staring at something just above Hermione’s head, and Longbottom is studiously examining a new pack of Exploding Snap cards.
“He loves her,” says Lovegood when Theo chooses not to respond. “And she loves him.”
“What do you mean love?” spits Weasley while Potter frowns. “He’s a Slytherin!”
“How incredibly observant of you.” With that, Lovegood turns to the window and says something nonsensical about wrackspurts before Weasley can form a coherent thought.
“Hurt her and I’ll murder you,” says Potter after a tense silence.
Theo places a possessive hand on Hermione’s hip. “If I hurt her, I’d deserve it.”
The tent is quiet when Potter and Weasley disappear for their daily duelling session. Theo suspects they spend every waking hour outside the tent because of Hermione’s unpredictable mood swings. One moment, she’s affectionate and doting, and the next she’s sobbing uncontrollably. The slightest thing sets her off, and Potter learns quickly to never mention her parents.
This morning has been particularly rough. Hermione insists on keeping watch for a few hours every other day, despite the protests of the men. She spends the following mornings exhausted, but driven to work. Theo spends more time worried about Hermione than Voldemort.
“Off your feet,” he instructs as Hermione wanders around the tent, tidying up after Potter and Weasley. She’s nesting as best she can under the current circumstances. The tent surely hasn’t been this clean since the day Arthur Weasley’s coworker purchased it. There are conjured drawers stuffed into shelves, and a truly astonishing amount of baby items. Theo does not like the idea of raising his son in a tent, but it seems he has no say in the matter.
Everything that can be charmed yellow has been charmed. Hermione keeps adjusting the precise shade, much to Weasley’s distress, but he only complained twice before realising the cardinal rule of pregnancy: never argue with a pregnant woman. She will cry.
Hermione refuses to settle down, and Theo summons Potter’s socks from her hands. He catches her protest with his lips, and Hermione melts into his arms. Her hand is reaching for Theo’s trousers before he’s even touched her skin.
There’s another reason Potter and Weasley vacate the tent during the day. Hermione is ready to ride Theo at the drop of a hat. He wonders how soon after the baby is born, Hermione might be up for having another. He’s getting quite used to this.
They stumble back to their shared bunk and Theo divests himself of his trousers. Hermione carefully lowers herself for the floor, and Theo closes his eyes as she takes him in her mouth, quickly bringing him to full mast. He dares to look down just as Hermione swipes her tongue beneath his head. He groans, thrusting into her mouth. Past her head, he can see her swollen stomach, and it sends a thrill of mine through his body.
Before he can come, he holds out his hands and helps Hermione stand again. As soon as she’s on her feet, Theo is flat on his back, cock standing at attention. When she straddles him and sinks down, Theo relieves her of her dress. He wants to see every curve. He sits up and kisses her breasts. Her nipples are wickedly sensitive these days, and she whimpers the moment he pulls one between his teeth.
It doesn’t take much for Hermione to come this way. When she begins to shake and then shatter, Theo holds still. He’s not finished yet.
They move carefully, swapping positions. When Hermione is laying down with her eyes closed, Theo begins to work his way down her body. He adored it before, back when they snuck nights together in the greenhouse, back when they first decided to have this child; back when he fucked her every day, hoping to someday be exactly here.
His hands wander over her stomach, where their son is nearly ready to join the world. Theo trails his lips over the curve, and worships this woman who is literally creating life. By the time he arrives at her cunt, Hermione is in a frenzy again, and he laps at her slowly until she threatens to murder him if he doesn’t make her come in the next thirty seconds.
Theo positions himself over her and slides home. Hermione gasps with each thrust as he progressively takes her harder.
Just as her eyes roll back, he slows.
“Theodore,” she snaps as her orgasm is stolen away again.
Theo rubs his thumb over her clit, keeping her just at the edge. She pants, frustrated. There’s murder in her eyes as she rocks her hips forward. Theo pulls back and stills his thumb.
“Do you think we’ll have another one?” he asks.
Hermione frowns, thoroughly displeased. “What?”
“Kids. Do you think we’ll have more than one?”
“I—” Hermione stops and there’s confusion in her face. “I don’t know. I didn’t know if you would want more than—” Her hips cant again, and he snickers, withdrawing farther. Hermione whines. “For the love of God, Theo.”
“I want more,” he says, slowly sliding back into her. “I’m not ready to be done with—” he gestures at her, a goddess splayed beneath him. He leisurely moves in her, perfecting the familiar angle that makes her thighs tighten against his hips.
“You want—” Hermione chokes as Theo draws her back to the precipice, “—with me?”
No moment has been perfect, but Theo thinks this moment might be close. He opens his mouth to confess that he loves her, and something else falls out. “Marry me,” he says.
Hermione’s mouth drops open, and Theo pushes into her again. “Oh. Oh. Oh, fuck, fuck, Theo.” Her hands grab his arms and her nails dig into his skin, and the pain sends pleasure ricocheting through Theo. He nearly loses control, and barely holds back from fucking her into the thin mattress.
“Marry me,” he says again, this time on purpose.
He grins as Hermione narrows her eyes. “Yes, fine, now fuck me, you bastard.”
With renewed enthusiasm, Theo drives into Hermione until she can’t speak. Her eyes flutter shut, her mouth forms his favourite O, and her Oh, Gods have become nothing more than gasps as she scratches at his arms. When she shudders beneath him, he feels the imminence of his own release. Hermione’s legs wrap around his and lock him in place, holding his pelvis to hers as she breaks. She lets go of his arms and yanks the pillow from beneath her head, stifling her scream. Her spine twists and her cunt pulses around Theo, violently dragging him over the edge.
Her orgasm lasts longer than his, and he watches her gradually come down, flushed and sweating in the cool October air.
He’s not done with her. He can’t imagine he ever will be.
November is cold as they sit huddled in a tent in some godforsaken countryside. Hermione has refused to leave Potter, even as things get more difficult as her due date approaches. Theo and Weasley have become quite adept at sneaking into towns and pilfering food. The little adventures keep up Weasley’s morale even as hunting Horcruxes wears on with little progress. Theo teaches Weasley little spells that toe the line of morally grey; in return, Weasley teaches Theo how to think like a chessmaster. The realisation that he and Weasley are friends strikes Theo over the head one afternoon as they share an inside joke that neither Potter nor Hermione understand.
If only they could figure out a way to destroy the evil little locket in Hermione’s bag of tricks.
The Horcrux becomes the least of their worries in mid-November, when Hermione winces. She says nothing, and Theo only notices when she winces twice in under five minutes.
“Fuck,” he says, and jumps into action. They can’t Apparate her anywhere and they have no Portkeys. “Weasley!”
“Yeah, mate?” asks Weasley from where he’s kicked back, reading an old Quidditch magazine.
“Go get your mother!”
“Wha—oh, shite. Right. Right.” Weasley stumbles to his feet and tosses the magazine at Potter as he runs out of the tent.
Hermione is infuriatingly calm. “Get hot water and towels. I made sure the fourth bunk was clean this morning—”
“You knew?” demands Theo, significantly less calm than his fiancee. “And you didn’t say anything?”
“My water broke last night,” she says dismissively, “but the contractions weren’t that bad—”
“What the fuck do you mean your water broke last night?” Theo is only vaguely aware that he’s shouting.
Potter runs into the tent and stops dead, staring wide-eyed. “Is she having the baby?” The panic on his face seems to make his hair stand on end.
Suddenly, Molly Weasley is there and throws out instructions to each of the men as she conjures a chair and guides Hermione to sit. Theo is given the terrifying task of sitting behind her and holding her hands and Hermione begins to push. Weasley and Potter look green as they finish their tasks, and gratefully dash out of the tent as soon as Mrs Weasley tells them to leave.
Time doesn’t exist as Hermione’s hands squeeze Theo’s. He stays quiet—Hermione doesn’t need or want encouragement murmured in her ear—and focuses on keeping himself calm.
He doesn’t know how long it is before he hears the baby cry. Theo realises he and Hermione are crying, too, as Mrs Weasley neatly severs the umbilical cord. Gideon Theodore Nott is perfect, and Theo doesn’t think of what led them to this moment, of how their son is meant to be a massive fuck you to pure-blood culture. All he sees is Hermione and Gideon, and the rest of his life.
“I love you,” he says to Hermione. Mrs Weasley is bustling around them, cleaning and offering bits of advice about how to get the baby to latch.
Hermione tilts her head and smiles, her eyes still red with happy tears. “Took you long enough.”
“Out with you!” says Mrs Weasley to Theo, not unkindly. “We have a bit of work left to do. I’m sure Ron and Harry want to celebrate.”
Theo and Hermione exchange an incredulous look, but Theo lets himself be shuffled from the tent and pushed into the cheerful back-slaps of Potter and Weasley.
Hermione slips into bed and slides under Theo’s arm. When she kisses him, he bends his arm and threads his hand into her hair.
“Hello, wife,” he murmurs.
Hermione holds up a tie. “I’ve been thinking.” She puts the tie on the pillows and lifts her wrists. Theo is suddenly much more alert than he was a moment ago, and shifts beneath the heavy blankets
“You’ve been thinking?” Theo takes the silk tie between his fingers and dances it around Hermione’s wrists.
“We should try for a girl.”
Theo removes his hand from Hermione’s hair and reaches for her cunt. She’s already wet, and who is he to say no to anything his wife suggests? Their three-year-old son is proof of that.
“And what if we don’t get a girl?” asks Theo, moving aside to centre Hermione on the bed. When she’s comfortable, he grabs his wand and secures Hermione’s wrists above her head, anchoring the tie to a hook just above their headboard.
Hermione tugs on the tie and nods with approval. “Then we try again.”
He summons two more ties, and lashes them around her ankles, spreading her legs wide. This is going to be a long night.
“And again?” asks Theo, moving down between Hermione’s thighs.
She squirms as he flicks his tongue over her clit. “If you want.”
“I want.” Theo straddles her and takes himself in hand. He strokes his cock as she watches, heat and envy in her eyes. “I want every room of this house filled.”
Hermione laughs. “I’m going to cut you off before twenty.” The way she licks her lips as Theo continues stroking himself has him moving forward.
“That’s fair,” he says, nudging his cock between her lips. Her tongue expertly swirls around his head and he thrusts in farther. He’s not going to come in her mouth, not tonight, but there’s something about Hermione entirely at his mercy that gets his blood flowing.
He fucks the back of her throat and he feels her shift, trying to rub her thighs together. Excellent.
“Good girl,” he whispers as he pulls out. His hand returns to his cock, stroking languidly. He crawls back and traces his head along her slit, causing Hermione to shiver. He allows just the head of his cock to slip inside her cunt and she swears as he gives her the shallowest of fucks.
When he pulls out, Hermione growls. Theo moves down to her thighs and places careful kisses, moving toward her centre at a snail’s pace. If her legs were free, she would have already attempted to crush his head. As it is, Theo teases her, moving one kiss forward and two kisses back when she thrashes.
“Stay still,” he commands. Hermione only listens for sixty seconds at a time. Theo begins to punctuate every third kiss with a barely-there lick of her clit as punishment. Hermione calls him a dozen unflattering names, intermixed with Oh God—his favourite name of all.
When he’s finally worked his way up both of her thighs, his tongue makes quick work of bringing her just to the edge. She’s whimpering, begging for him, begging for release, begging for his mouth, and begging for his cock.
“What do you want most?” asks Theo, letting his hot breath ghost over her cunt.
He can see her mind working. What she wants most is to come, but choosing how—
“I need you to come in me, Theo,” she manages.
Theo’s cock is heavy and aching as he lines himself up with her entrance. It has been years since they’ve done this, with this intention, and he doesn’t expect he’ll last long.
“You want my come?” he asks when his mouth is level with her ear. He pushes fully into her and groans. He wants to give it to her, to fill her with his seed. He wants to see her swollen again, to see his son or daughter growing again. “You want my child?”
“I want it. Theo, I want it.”
“Beg.” He’s too close. Whether or not Hermione begs, he’s going to give her what she wants.
“Please, Theo.” She moans, and he feels her tug fruitlessly at the ties on her ankles. “Theo, ruin me.”
Suddenly, Theo is seventeen again, making love to a girl on the floor of a greenhouse, surrounded by roses. He buries his head in her neck and drives his hips forward, desperate as Hermione pants in his ear. When she shatters, Theo lets go. He pushes in until it should be painful, willing his seed to take root.
“I love you,” he whispers.
Hermione wandlessly disengages the tie holding her wrists. “I love you,” she echoes. She pulls the tie forward with a wicked grin. “Your turn.”