Author's Note: A birthday gift to the most lovely mcal. This was my first foray into a ship other than Dramione in a decade, so I hope you enjoy!

Alpha credits to LadyKenz347; this piece is unbeta'd and errors are my own.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise, and no copyright infringement is intended.

There was a young girl around Theo's age – her curly brown hair was a frightful mess, and her arms were folded across her chest as her narrowed gaze assessed the tomb of – from what Theo could surmise from a distance – Sir Isaac Newton.

Theo had realized earlier that day, while his father was preoccupied with his wealthy friends from the city, that if he focused really hard, he could force small golden sparks from his fingertips. But he wasn't allowed to work on his magic in front of Muggles. In fact, according to his father, Theo wasn't supposed to have any control over his magic yet, so he wasn't supposed to practice at all.

But his father had dropped him off at this Abbey for the day – quite a dry place, really – and what his father didn't know wouldn't hurt him.

Until he'd spotted the girl with the curly hair, nothing had caught his attention. Theo approached with caution, lest she notice him and run away. Most of the boys and girls he knew from the village were prone to running away when they saw him. But he preferred that to the times they made fun of him.

Theo, with the funny-coloured eyes. Theo, without a mum.

"Fascinating, isn't it?"

The words were sharp enough to draw Theo's attention, and when he turned, the girl with the monstrous hair was staring at him, her brows high and expectant on her forehead. Her eyes were brown like the colour of chocolate frogs.

"Er, sorry? Yes, I suppose it is." Theo rocked on his heels, peering closer at the tomb as if he, too, was interested in reading about a dead man.

"Did you see Mary, Queen of Scots?" the girl went on, that same appraising tone to her voice. "She was just over there. Did you know she was beheaded?"

"Yes," Theo lied. The girl offered a brisk smile, as if pleased to hear she wasn't the only one interested in ancient Muggle history. Slipping his hands into the pockets of his rumpled trousers, Theo said, "I'm Theo."

"My name is Hermione Granger." A small hand was extended in his direction, and Theo extracted one hand from within the multiple packets of Droobles' in his pocket; her hand shake was flimsy and warm. "Are you here with your parents?"

With a noncommittal shrug, Theo stared up at the vaulted ceilings as if the architecture intrigued him. "I don't have a mum. My dad's with his friends."

Face falling into a sympathetic tilt, the girl said, "I'm sorry. My parents are dentists. They're waiting for me in the gift shop."

Nodding, Theo said, "They sound nice."

"They are!" Hermione exclaimed with cheer. "Next, we're going to see Big Ben."

"Me too," Theo said, waving his hands at the coincidence. The girl, despite her hair and strange mannerisms, was the closest thing to a friend Theo had ever found. "I'll come with you."

"Oh, er, I'm sure that's alright," she said, shifting on the spot. "If that's okay with your dad? You don't seem old enough to be in London alone."

Theo shrugged. His father's tracking spell would find him just fine when Nikolas Nott was through with his meetings, but he wasn't allowed to talk about things like that in front of Muggles. "I'm nine."

"I'm nine, too. I'll be ten September nineteenth."

Shoving his hands into his pockets again, Theo said, "My dad doesn't mind."

Hermione flashed him a wide smile, and her teeth were white and perfectly straight. Theo found she had a pretty, genuine smile, and he wasn't used to anyone smiling at him like that. "Then let's go!"

By the time Nikolas Nott showed up to take Theo home, it was nearly dinner. He could tell Hermione's parents were nervous about leaving him alone at Big Ben, but Theo preferred to be alone anyways.

Although, he had really enjoyed spending time with his new friend. Even her parents seemed nice, and Theo wondered what it must be like to have both your parents care about you. His mum had died when he was little and he didn't remember her all that well.

And usually he was just in his father's way.

Mister and Missus Granger were relieved to see his father, even though he didn't even say hello to them when they introduced themselves. Theo's dad looked annoyed, but that wasn't anything new.

He pulled Theo away by the arm, and Theo tried to wave goodbye to his new friend Hermione, whose chocolate-coloured eyes were wide as she watched him leave.

"I want to say goodbye to my friend," Theo complained, yanking his arm free from his father's hold. Nikolas' eyes narrowed.

"What friend?"

"Her name is Hermione Granger."

Freezing, his father turned on the spot. His voice was icy cold when he spoke again. "Theodore. What have I told you about fraternizing with Muggles?"

Rolling his eyes, Theo scoffed. "That they're dirty. But Hermione and her parents are clean, I swear. They smell nice and everything."

Hermione and her parents began to walk towards their car, and Theo watched as his father's eyes narrowed, his face turning red like it did when he was angry.

The girl turned back on the emptying street to give Theo a warm smile, and before Theo could protest, Nikolas Nott cast a spell, waving his wand at Hermione and her parents.

He was forced to watch as the girl's eyes went vacant, her expression blank. Theo stared, alarmed, as his father's fingers dug into his arm, painfully tight, and dragged him away.

Hermione's face remained blank, as if she didn't know him at all. His only friend. And tears stung, unbidden, at the corners of Theo's hazel eyes as his worn trainers scuffed on the pavement.

Hazel eyes peered at her from across the library. Hermione was buried in a book, as had become her usual state since her eighth year began. For once, it was nice to focus only on her schoolwork – without the constant threats to her life.

The returning class of eighth year students – those who hadn't finished their schooling the previous year as a result of the war – was small, only a dozen or so students.

Hermione had been the most diligent with her NEWT preparations, but Theodore Nott took a close second. The boy was skittish and quiet, but they had been paired for a few Potions projects and he was agreeable enough. Clever, and witty, and a little self-deprecating.

But aside from classwork, they hadn't spoken enough for her to know anything about him, really, beyond the basics.

He was a Slytherin – quiet, resourceful, meticulous. His father had been a Death Eater – until the war had claimed his life, leaving Nott orphaned. She could relate a little too well to the sentiment, given the memory charm she'd cast on her parents had been found to be irreversible.

So his presence always tugged at her heartstrings, just a little.

Offering him a brisk smile, she dropped her head back to her assignment. Fifteen minutes later she looked up as his presence neared, and Nott slipped into the seat across from her at her table. His hazel eyes were wide, his dark hair scruffy and disheveled.

He usually looked scruffy and disheveled. But she couldn't deny it worked for him, and paired with the stubble he wore on the sharp lines of his jaw, Hermione often found a tinge of colour grace her cheeks when she looked at him for too long.

"Are you through Slughorn's essay from last week?" he asked, leaning forward, his hands pressed flat on her table.

Hermione scrunched up her nose. "Nearly. Twenty-four inches seems a little extreme for the uses of dung beetles, don't you think?"

Nott waved his hands, shaking his head. "Isn't it just? I'm stalled out at eighteen."

"We can compare, if you like," she managed, extracting her preliminary list from her stack of notes on the topic.

Releasing an exaggerated huff, Nott gave a nod. "Yes. I would like." He slipped a pair of reading frames on the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath as he skimmed her notes. "Embalming fluid? I suppose that does make sense, given the Egyptians' affinity for scarabs. But you'd hardly think there could even be this many usages for a beetle that subsists largely on fecal matter. Here."

He proffered his own list, and Hermione scanned it, noting a couple she had missed. "Excellent, thank you!"

"And you." Dipping his chin, Nott rose and returned to his own seat, but not before his sharp hazel eyes landed on hers. Hermione bit her tongue on the offer to stay.

"Here's the thing," Nott said, tapping his quill on the edge of the desk. Hermione turned towards him, dropping her face into the palm of her hand, her elbow propped on the desk. He tossed the quill into the air, following its trajectory as it spun lengthwise, and Hermione cringed as he managed the catch. "If you're using an archaic text, the interpretation of those problems is different than Vector teaches in modern Arithmancy."

The pair of them had finished their potion for the day early, and Slughorn had proclaimed their project full marks.

"But why would you be using an archaic text?" she asked, eyes landing on his.

Nott clicked his tongue, fixing her with a hard stare. "Time travel."

With a huff of a laugh, Hermione shook her head. "You're fascinated with time travel, aren't you? It isn't all it's cracked up to be, believe me."

Eyes squinted, he said, "Don't you have anything in your past where you wish you could have changed the outcome?"

"Yes," she whispered, thoughts on her parents, trapped in an alternate existence across the world. "But I've also learned time travel can have a vast array of unintended consequences."

Sighing, Nott looked away. "Can't believe you've used a Time-Turner before. I'd like to – just once."

With a wry smile, she mused, "And what would you change?"

His eyes snapped to meet her chocolate ones once more – and something jarred through her entire body. A small boy with hazel eyes and messy hair drifted into her mind's eye, a wry smile playing on his lips. The image passed as soon as it came, and Hermione frowned, hands grasping tightly to the edge of the table.

A furrow in his brow, Nott asked, "Are you alright?"

With a tight exhale, Hermione swallowed. "I think so – I just… I'm not sure."

"The fumes will get you every time," Nott said, waving a hand at their completed potion. "Maybe you ought to go to the hospital wing."

"No," she whispered, mind churning. "It's passed now."

The incident in Potions class with Nott lingered in the back of Hermione's mind – and she might have been able to put it out of her thoughts if not for the fact that it happened again, a few days later. The same young boy, only he was smiling and laughing, blowing large bubbles with his chewing gum.

Hermione thought she had seen her parents in the background. But that couldn't be. She couldn't for the life of her remember having experienced something like that, and she remembered the handful of friends she'd had as a child.

And beyond all that – the boy looked remarkably like a younger version of Nott. Only, younger than Hogwarts age.

She'd drifted through the trophy room one night on a whim. Nott had been gifted an award for Charms excellence in their first year, and his features had been narrowed, and more defined than the small boy in her mind. But the visit had confirmed she was seeing a younger version of Theodore Nott in the visions.

Making her best effort at avoiding Nott had been quickly proven futile, when they attended all the same classes, and more often than not, they both invariably ended up in the library after dinner.

But she couldn't keep her eyes from widening when he slipped into the seat across from her, sweeping a hand through his messy hair.

"Do you want to work on that Runes project together?" he asked, his jaw clenched as he scratched at the stubble. "Babbling said she didn't care."

"Sure."

Settling into his seat, Nott cracked a large bubble with his chewing gum. A flicker of something like a memory – the young Nott again. And the backdrop looked oddly like Muggle London. Gasping a breath, she found her heart racing as she stared at Nott.

"Sorry," he said, eyes widening. "Habit. It's immature, I know –"

"Nott," Hermione whispered, cautious as she leaned forward. "I need your opinion on something. And I need you to do your best not to think I'm crazy."

His expression went blank. "More crazy than you are already, do you mean?" His lips twitched with a hint of a smile.

She huffed an anxious attempt at a laugh. "More crazy than that, yes."

"Fine." He waved a hand, drawing a quill and ink from his bag. "What is it, then? Have you been cursed or something?"

Gaping at him, Hermione managed, "I think I might have been." At his raised brows, she went on in a soft voice. "I keep… seeing things that never happened. A young boy, and… and he looks like you. It's only getting worse."

Nott froze, his expression stoic. Leaning back in his seat, his arms folded across his front. "Memories?"

"If they are, I can't remember them," she whispered. Clicking his tongue several times, he merely stared at her, appraising, until Hermione grew irritated with the sound. "Well?"

"You're right," he finally said. "You're bloody crazy. But you've also been cursed."

"Shite," she managed. "How do you know?"

"Well, for one, your study habits are ridiculous –"

"Nott!" Glaring at him, she ground her teeth together.

His expression tightened again, as if he were measuring how much to tell her. It reminded her, when she often forgot, that he'd been sorted into Slytherin. Finally he huffed, tapping his fingers on the table and Hermione fought the urge to stifle the latest of his anxious tics. "You were cursed. And I know, because I was there."

A breath choked from her lungs. "What?"

"The day was the thirteenth of July, nineteen-eighty-eight. It was a cloudy, overcast, sort of day." He made a face of distaste, hazel eyes narrowing. "But humid."

Hermione frowned, rolling her eyes. "Never mind. I shouldn't have asked."

Ignoring her, he went on. "You were visiting Westminster Abbey with your parents, who were waiting for you in the gift shop. Helen and Victor Granger, dentists."

Her mouth fell open.

"After, you went to see Big Ben. You were enamoured of Big Ben."

"How do you know that?" she managed in a whisper.

"Told you." His face scrunched up, nose wrinkling. "I was there. My father was participating in some unsavoury business deals in London that day and he didn't want me there fucking it all up so he dumped me in Muggle London – at Westminster Abbey, to be more precise. Where I found you."

"We never met that day." Hermione frowned, scowling at him. "If this is all some joke –"

"We met." His expression was serious, and he leaned in. "I spent the day with you and your parents." He clicked his tongue again, and the noise barely registered. "At the time, of course, I thought you were only a Muggle. My father was furious."

Hermione choked out, "I met your father."

Nott's eyes found hers. "Your parents met my father." Leaning back, he went on, "He wiped your memories of the encounter." His face tightened with consideration. "Only… I can't help but wonder why the memories are now returning. Since the war?"

"Since the war," Hermione confirmed. "But more specifically, since we started interacting on a regular basis."

"Fascinating," he drawled, the word drawn out. "I wonder if it's related to my father's death."

Feeling a flush colour her cheeks, Hermione looked at him, but Nott was only pensive. She'd been given the impression he wasn't exactly sad over his father's death.

The air between them felt tense and heavy. "I wish I could remember."

"Well," he shrugged, "here." Lifting his wand to his temple, Nott drew a memory forth. Eyes widening, Hermione conjured a small vial, wrapping the memory in her hand when he was through. "If you can find a Pensieve, you can view it." He frowned, rolling his shoulders. "My father forbade me from ever seeking you out again, even though I found I quite liked you."

The flush spread into her cheeks; his eyes held something she couldn't place when they found hers again. Elaborating, he said, "I didn't have any friends growing up."

Despite herself, and the weight of the situation, Hermione teased, "Growing up?"

Mocking outrage, Nott scoffed. "I'll have you know, I've plenty of friends now."

"Are you counting me?" Her lips pulled into a smile, even as she marveled at the truth.

"Daphne's my friend." He frowned, leaning back in his seat. "And you are the other. Even after I found out you were a witch, I didn't dare bring it up. It just… seemed easier. Your friends were at odds with my house. My father meant to exterminate your kind." Waving a hand, as if casual genocide was infinitely banal, he sniffed.

Peering at him, Hermione said, "I wish I'd known. But I understand."

Nott mused, "I wonder if your parents are remembering that day as well. If the memory charm's begun to fail."

The thought shot through her like a jolt of energy. "They won't remember. I removed any trace of myself from their memories… during the war."

"Fuck, Granger," Nott huffed. "Really?"

"Really."

Shoulders sunken, he swept a hand through his hair. "I'm sorry you had to do that. They seemed like good people." A sad smile tugged at his lips. "I remember thinking, when I met them, that I wished I had parents like that. Ones that cared enough about me to stick with me in Muggle London."

A breath chased from her lungs; Nott was peering at her in a way that twisted her stomach into knots, and she couldn't quite avert her gaze.

One of his hands rested on the table, within range of hers, and his fingers twitched as if to reach for hers. But he glanced away, a knit in his brow.

"Thanks," Hermione breathed, looking away. "For sharing this with me."

"'Course," he muttered, pursing his lips. "It should have been your memory too."

"And I can't help but wonder," she added, "how odd of a child you were, if I was your only friend after spending one afternoon together."

"Granger," he chuckled, "you have no bloody idea. Just you wait."

Staring at the creased parchment in her hands, Hermione felt as if her head was about to implode.

It had been nearly two weeks since Nott had given her the memory of the day they'd met as children. McGonagall had given her leave to borrow the Pensieve in her office, and Hermione had relived the afternoon with a youthful exuberance.

Nott had been a scruffy, unkempt child – even more so than he was as a young man – and his mannerisms had been so bizarre she'd found herself chuckling as the two of them paraded along ahead of her parents, making childish smalltalk. And seeing the Grangers in the memory had brought a shimmering of tears to her eyes.

More startling had been three days ago, when Hermione had received an owl from the healers in Brisbane who had been trying – with no success – to reverse the memory charm she had placed on her parents before leaving with Harry and Ron to hunt Horcruxes.

The healers were baffled – in a sudden shift, her parents remembered her.

Nearly catatonic, with a glimmer of hope alive in her chest for the first time in months, Hermione had scrawled a quick return message.

The only possible solution the healers could come up with was that her own memory charm had simply layered on top of Nott's father's – and with the odd unraveling of the first charm, the second had gone along with it. The healers didn't even have a proper answer as to how Nott Senior's charm would have released in the first place, aside from magic.

Hermione hadn't known what to make of the situation, until she had received another letter that morning – from her parents. The tattered parchment already bore numerous creases from being folded and unfolded, as well as smudges from her tears.

She hadn't spoken more than a handful of words in passing to Nott since he had informed her of the situation and given her the memory.

But she found him in the library, at his usual table, reading frames perched on the bridge of his nose. The letter was clutched in her hand, and a breath chased from her lungs when he looked up, sensing her presence.

She managed to choke out, "Come for a walk with me?"

His mouth snapped shut with a click of his teeth; Nott shoved his work into his schoolbag without regard and was on his feet, eliciting a shaky laugh from Hermione. "I wouldn't dare miss a chance to see you out of your natural habitat."

Shaking her head, she elbowed him in the ribs.

Nott gaped, his gaze skipping between her, and the letter, and back again. "You're serious?"

"The healers can't understand it," Hermione said, nodding as they walked by the lake. "But… yes. It's true."

"Well fuck me sideways," he muttered, scratching the back of his neck. "That's pretty damn miraculous, Granger. Will you visit them soon?"

"Christmas." She couldn't help the smile from pulling at her lips.

Something in Nott's stare softened as his eyes met hers. "I'm really happy to hear that, Granger. I'm glad something good has actually come of all the terrible things my father ever did."

"You didn't like him much, did you?" she asked, voice soft and tentative.

His gaze flickered to hers again; his words were pained. "I genuinely believe the world is better off."

Stopping near the edge of the forest, Hermione pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. "I'm sorry you had such a terrible relationship with your father. And… that you lost your mother so young."

"I meant what I said about your parents, Granger," he mused, turning to look at her. "And for what it's worth, I was pretty devastated when my father wiped your memories of meeting me that day."

Hermione cracked a grin. "Actually, though? I was so bossy."

Lidded hazel eyes found hers. "I guess I liked it."

The heat in his stare warmed the pit of her stomach, and Hermione shifted on the spot. Her heart pulsed quicker in her chest.

"And," he went on in a low voice, "don't you remember, I told you I wanted to use a Time-Turner, just once?'

Gaping at him, she asked, "That was the time?"

Pressing his lips into a thin line, he nodded. "It was."

Shaking her head, Hermione released a tight breath. "That's a poor choice. I mean, logistically, there's no way you could go back in time ten years without completely disrupting the fabric of time. Not to mention –"

"Granger," he interrupted with a scoff. "Shut up."

Narrowing her eyes, she peered up at him, realizing how close he was. He remained silent for a long moment, and her arguments all died on the tip of her tongue as she forced a thick swallow.

"I wanted to undo the moment my father realized I'd been with you that day," he breathed, "because there was a silly, youthful part of me that had decided I wanted you in my life." Lifting a hand, Nott grazed the curve of her jaw with his fingertips. "And unfortunately… that part of me is still here."

"Unfortunately?" she echoed, lips twitching. Her hand found his wrist, fingers coiling around his arm. "Or fortunately?"

"Fortunately," he corrected in an instant, tongue flicking out to moisten his lips. Hermione was suddenly aware of her pulse roaring in her ears.

Her other hand landed on his chest, and steeling her nerves, she leaned up, pressing her lips to his in a soft kiss. Nott blinked down at her, his hazel eyes tight. Then his hand slid back into her curls, lips finding hers again. Drifting to the small of her back, his other hand hitched her closer, and Hermione sunk into him, lips parting to the sweep of his tongue.

His mouth was soft and warm, hands strong, and something within her core reared to life as she clutched him tighter, his tongue teasing as it grazed hers.

Keeping her drawn against him, Nott pulled away with a nip to her lower lip. His hazel eyes were hot on her, body firm and secure, and a smile tugged at his mouth.

"The good news," he whispered, pressing his lips to hers once more, "is that you already know your parents like me."

Huffing a breath, she shook her head, stifling a bright laugh. "Really, Nott?"

His gaze seared through her. "Really. That's all I've got."

Tangling her fingers in his hair, Hermione murmured, "I know you're more clever than that. You're going to need to work on it."

"Please." He scoffed, a grin cracking his features and brightening his face in a way that caused her heart to leap in her chest. "You've know I've got –"

Her hands pulled him back in; Nott fell silent.