Ought Nott by sveinity
Title: Ought Nott
Author:sveinity
Pairing(s): Harry/Theo
Prompt number: 19
Word Count: 4,000
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: Angst, AU
Beta(s): kamerreon
Summary: 1. Theo Nott has been planning to kill his Death Eater father since he witnessed him murder his mother when he was seven years old. Harry can help him do it or try to stop him. 2. Harry is in the Library studying on his own during GoF, Theo wants the book he's reading and they come to depend on each other over time. 3. Harry asks Theo about Thestrals and finds out that not all Slytherins are the same.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to Kay, for the beta, and Abby for guiding me to the proper ending. I could never have written this without both of you!
"Help"
I have done it again.
I have been here many times before.
Hurt myself again today,
and the worst part is there's no one else to blame.
Be my friend;
Hold me,
Wrap me up,
Unfold me.
I am small,
I’m needy.
Warm me up and breathe me.
Ouch,
I have lost myself again;
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.
Yeah, I think that I might break.
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe.”
-Sia, ‘Breathe Me’
“Harry Potter,” Hermione says, prodding him with her quill, “Why aren’t you studying?”
He shrugs noncommittally and rubs at his scar. Harry can’t concentrate enough to study. His mind is a jumbled mess, full of swirling blacks and blues rather than thought. With every blink he sees the faces of his peers, staring, judging, hating behind his eyelids. They are inescapable. Maybe Harry should be used to this. Maybe it won’t affect him eventually. But Harry doesn’t think so, because his life is just too surreal.
“Honestly, it’s almost time for dinner.”
“You go,” Harry mumbles, “I’m not hungry.”
As much as he appreciates Hermione still talking to him, she can really be exhausting. Her hesitation is obvious, but unnecessary. Harry makes a shooing motion with his hands. She leaves with an air of concerned disapproval. All Harry feels is guilty relief. An exaggerated sigh parts his chapped lips, rustling the pages of the book in front of him as he rests his cheek on the cool paper. Too bad he couldn’t just learn by osmosis or something.
Harry doesn’t know how long he stays that way. The windows grow dark and Hermione never comes back. Even though his stomach begins to growl in protest, Harry doesn’t move. All of his energy has been sapped by pity.
Half-asleep, he wonders if Ron will ever believe that he really didn’t put his own name in the Goblet of Fire. It’s not his fault that shitty things happen to him. Harry thinks that he could put up with everyone else hating him as long as Ron was his friend again. It’s not fair. How can he be surrounded by so many people and feel lonelier than ever?
When Harry hears footsteps round the corner, he assumes it is Madam Pince coming to kick him out. He squints his eyes open, ready for a rebuke. But it’s only another student. Theodore Nott. The Slytherin is too busy searching the stacks for a book to notice Harry. Flickering candles cast long shadows over his face, illuminating every curve and valley and imperfection. His angles are sharp, but not rough. Harry remains still, pretending to doze while blatantly spying. Nott is a Slytherin, after all. Though he’s never caused problems before, he could be up to something.
But all Nott does is peruse the shelf, searching for a title he can’t seem to find. The arch of his neck is long and graceful as he bows forward. Watching him is kind of relaxing; Harry wonders why, eyes fluttering as exhaustion overwhelms him. Before he can succumb, the table is jostled. Harry jumps awake, stomach wrenching in protest like he just took a dive on his broom. Nott sits across from him, shoulders hunched in defeat.
“Sorry, Potter,” Nott says, not sounding very sorry at all.
Harry grunts and rubs at his face. He would say something if he could think of anything. He’s not feeling particularly sympathetic after being disturbed. At least it isn’t Madam Pince. Harry yawns and arches his back, wincing when it pops. His chair scrapes over the floor as he pushes back, his book closing shut with a muffled thump. He should probably go find Hermione so they can practice. The first task is tomorrow and he’s running out of time.
Nott grabs his arm as Harry passes, staring down at his book. “Is that your copy?” he asks.
Harry nods. He’d read the library’s copy so much that Hermione got fed up and ordered him his own. Nott’s face falls, hand dropping to his lap as if it’d never left. Harry pauses a moment, considering, before placing the book on the table.
“Give it back when you’re done.”
--
“I’m telling you, Ron, I didn’t put my name in the Goblet. Why won’t you believe me?” Harry pleads, voice cracking. He feels close to tears; there’s a lump in his throat and his eyes are burning. He’s never felt more frustrated. Ron doesn’t even look at him.
There’s a POTTER REALLY STINKS badge lying on the table near him. Harry grabs it and chucks it at Ron’s face. It connects with Ron’s forehead but not hard enough to bruise. Harry wishes he could be more vindictive.
“Would you like me to throw another? Maybe it’ll scar.” Harry says, “I could even put on a mask and pretend to attack you. It would be great fun.”
“You’re a git. Stop talking to me.”
“Stop it!” Hermione interrupts, breaking her vow to remain impartial.
Harry closes his eyes. He wishes he could just block out reality. It doesn’t work. Hermione and Ron start their own argument, voices rising higher and higher until he can’t decipher either. Harry didn’t mean to cause problems in their relationship. But Ron is the glue that holds their threesome together. And now it’s fractured - maybe forever.
Harry leaves and they don’t even notice. He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that his feet are moving. The halls are empty and quiet. Even the portraits have nothing to say. When he ends up in the same unused classroom that held the Mirror of Erised, he’s not surprised. The first task is hours away. Harry could die and all he can think about is how his life is falling apart before it was put properly back together. Harry wants to lose himself right now… but of course Dumbledore would not have returned the mirror here. Not someplace Harry could find it.
Sighing, Harry Summons his Defense notes, figuring that a little practice wouldn’t be amiss. They come after just a couple of minutes. He grabs them before anyone might notice then faces the room. It’s barren. Harry stays anyway. The window sill is large enough to sit on comfortably.
Harry manages to study for a while before he just can’t concentrate anymore. He bangs a fist against the glass in frustration. Through the dust, there’s not much to see outside except for the sun. It’s mocking him, cheering the world when Harry can only be glum.
He casts Tempus and feels his stomach twist. Two hours left. Why does time speed up when all you want it to do is stop?
“Accio Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed,” Harry says.
Then he waits. The book takes far longer than his notes. Harry wonders if maybe he got the spell wrong. He’d struggled with getting it right. He’s just about to cast it again when he hears someone cursing in the hallway. Curious, Harry gets up and peers out the doorway. His book zooms towards him, Theodore Nott lurching behind, arm outstretched. Harry catches it as it comes within range. Nott barely manages to avoid barreling him over.
“Hullo,” Harry says, lips quirking involuntarily.
“Oh. Potter,” Nott gasps, “I thought your book was possessed."
Harry hums in denial, fingers tracing over the spine. He expects Nott to leave, but doesn’t know what to think when he doesn’t. Harry reclaims his seat on the window sill and rests his cheek against the cool glass. The dust doesn’t bother him. He lived in dust for the first eleven years of his life. Nott sits on the floor, drawing his knees against his chest so he can rest his chin on them. His legs are very long.
Harry doesn’t know how long they sit in silence. It’s neither awkward nor oppressive. Nott, Harry thinks, is surprisingly okay for a Slytherin.
“Did it help?” Harry asks.
He watches as Nott’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, lips thinning. Maybe he is uncomfortable after all.
“The book,” Harry clarifies, “Did it help?”
“Yes. I’m not very good at Defense.”
Harry wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know much about Nott. Only that he’s fairly quiet and usually keeps to himself. He’s not part of Malfoy’s gang, nor one of Snape’s favorites. He may not raise his hand often in class, but whenever he speaks he’s always got something worthwhile to say. Nott has always seemed rather clever. More so than Malfoy, that’s for sure; maybe even more than Hermione.
“It was a gift.” Harry says, “I usually don’t read much.”
“But isn’t that a waste of potential?” Nott asks, genuinely curious. “Don’t you ever wonder what you’re capable of?”
Yes, Harry does, and that’s the problem. His life is a mess, full of anomalies and accidental magic. He’s destined to defeat a great evil, and that scares him. Why can’t he be just Harry? He wants to be average - a nobody. Harry doesn’t know how to explain himself to a stranger.
“I can cast every spell in this book,” Harry says. “I’ve never had any trouble with Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“It’s everything else you struggle with."
Harry nods. He’s okay at Charms and Transfiguration, but they’re not easy. Harry can’t just instinctually get by. It’s frustrating and scary. Nott stares at him like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle - and maybe he is.
“I don’t see what your problem is,” Nott says. “You can’t change what your parents made you. Accept that and move on.”
Harry doesn’t want to think about it. He skims the index of the book, reminding himself of all the spells he might need to use just in case the first task doesn’t go the way he and Hermione planned, then casts another Tempus. It’s time to go.
He stands and stretches his hands to the ceiling. Sighing, he reminds himself that he can’t drop out of school over some silly game. The worst he can do is lose. Dumbledore won’t let him die. Hopefully.
Harry stuffs his Defense notes into the book. He holds them both out to Nott as he passes. Nott only hesitates for a second before he takes them. He stands so close that Harry can see amber flecks in his dark brown eyes. Proximity really makes a difference, Harry thinks; they don’t look nearly as warm across the room. When Nott lifts his hand, Harry can’t help but hold his breath in anticipation, though he doesn’t know what to expect. Nott runs his hand through Harry’s hair, fingers snagging little particles of dust.
“Good luck, Potter,” Nott says, his lips curving in amusement.
--
Harry suspects there is something wrong with him. Why else would he voluntarily meet with a Slytherin? He must be mad. But he needs the help. The whole arrangement is a little barmy, but it’s working. Harry can’t wait to see Snape’s face again when he can’t find anything bad to say about his potion.
“You’re late, Potter.”
“Two minutes isn’t going to kill you, Nott.”
Theo shrugs, as if to say you never know. Harry rolls his eyes, bag dropping haphazardly from his shoulder to the floor with a thump. They’re back in the room where the Mirror of Erised was. They both show up by silent, mutual agreement. At first it was random. Harry still remembers how weird it was to watch Theo walk through the door time and time again; mumbling a quiet greeting like it wasn’t a big deal. Then, more often than not, they would work on homework together or just bask in silence. Working with Theo, Harry thinks, is completely different than working with Hermione, who nags, or Ron, who doesn’t want to learn at all.
“What will it be tonight?” Nott asks while setting up a miniature potions lab in the corner of the room.
“Wit-sharpening potion. We’ve got a practical tomorrow.”
“Right. Give me a Patronus and you’ll get your potion.”
Harry rolls his eyes. Nott really isn’t very good at Defense. His knowledge is skewed. He knows a fair amount of advanced curses, but can’t grasp the basics. Harry suspects his upbringing didn’t help him any.
“I can’t just give you a Patronus. .” Harry says, “You’ve got to produce it yourself.”
“Don’t be a prat, Potter. You know what I meant.”
“Seriously, Nott, producing a Patronus isn’t easy. It might take a while.”
“I haven’t got anywhere else to be.”
“Right,” Harry says, scratching absentmindedly at his scar. “When I learned I used a boggart -”
“No!” Nott snaps, then squeezes his eyes shut. “I mean, mine won’t be a Dementor.”
“Oh,” Harry blinks, “right. Then we’ll just do without, then,”
It takes several days for Theodore’s Patronus to take corporeal form. It’s an octopus. He’s quite taken with it from the moment it shoots from his wand. When Theo has it chase Harry around the room, Theo laughs so hard there are tears streaming down his face. Harry suspects the tears are more than mirth, though, from the way Theo’s smile is rather strained.
Harry’s never seen a Patronus quite like Theo’s. It’s kind of weird as it floats around the ceiling, silvery tentacles wriggling all over. Theo says it matches his personality. Octopi are quiet and reserved, until they’re hungry, then they become predators. Those wiggling tentacles become less awkward and more dangerous; they’ll strangle you if you’re not careful.
--
The leaving feast leaves a bad taste in Harry’s mouth. He can barely stand to sit through it, watching as people cry or do nothing at all. Harry doesn’t say a word. His scar is still puffy and red, throbbing on his forehead. With every pulse it reminds Harry of what he’s lost - his parents, Cedric, even Theo who’s as good as dead.
Harry leaves as soon as he can without being rude. He walks alone through the halls, staring listlessly at all the portraits. He doesn’t want to go back to the Common Room yet, either. It’s hard to face so much life when he can’t get Cedric’s dead face out of his mind.
There are footsteps behind him. Harry thinks nothing of it as he steps onto a staircase. He’s not going anywhere in particular. He almost went to the unused classroom, but thought better of it. Harry won’t be going back there anymore. Not ever.
When the footsteps quicken, Harry pauses. He turns just in time to see Theodore Nott jumping onto the staircase as it moves. Harry’s eyes narrow in irritation. This was one conversation he was hoping would never happen. Dread swells in the pit of his stomach, twisting like poison.
“Potter,” Nott says, “I haven’t seen you since…” His words trail off awkwardly.
They both know he means the third task. How Barty Crouch Jr. imperio’d Krum, who then cursed Fluer and Cedric. Only Harry was able to save Cedric and they both grabbed the cup so they both could win, only they didn’t win. Cedric died - was murdered - and Harry brought back Voldemort with his own fucking blood.
“Piss off!” Harry hisses.
He wants to curse Theo. His mind is screaming liar, liar, TRAITOR. But Harry can’t. Not physically. He turns to walk away but Theo grabs his arm. His face has drained of color and his mouth opens like he’s got something to say. No sound emerges. Harry knows he’s go the upper hand because he’s never seen Theo’s face so expressive as it twists in supplication.
“I almost believed you,” Harry says, “before I went into the maze. Before I met your father.”
“I-”Nott begins, but Harry cuts him off. He doesn’t want to listen to anything Nott has to say.
“You lied to me. Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you are?”
Nott flinches, fingers slackening around Harry’s bicep. Harry can barely talk. His throat is swollen, but not with anger. Why is he this upset? They were never even friends. His chest rises and falls rapidly, but not as fast as Nott’s. Harry wishes they would both hyperventilate so he won’t have to say what he’s going to next.
“You’re a fool.”
Harry doesn’t know if he’s talking to Nott or himself.
--
Theo saw his first Thestral when he was a first-year. It’s not something he’s ever publicized. In fact, he never planned on telling anyone. Too many people, too many questions. Now, it seems, he doesn’t have a choice. There is an entire herd standing in front of his fifth-year class and Theo can’t look away.
They are disgusting. Beautiful. Their white eyes are haunting, glowing like Theo imagines a soul would if souls were tangible. Theo looks and they look back. They acknowledge the secret that he can’t bear to. They look at him and all Theo can see is death. His mother must look similar to them now - nothing but leather and bones.
Theo wants to puke as he watches the Thestrals tear into the carcass, pulling scrap after scrap of raw meat from hide. His stomach rebels, twisting into tight little knots that feel like lead. They poison him. He can feel it as his heart pumps an evil blackness through his veins. He can see it as his eyes cloud with hatred. His hands clench and the warm stickiness of blood pools beneath his fingertips. The dank stench of rot fills his nostrils, but Theo doesn’t know if it’s from the Thestrals, or the carcass, or his mother. He stops breathing.
When Malfoy makes a fuss about wanting to see them, Theo loses it. The void in his chest rips open, unleashing the hatred he’d locked away so many years ago. He clenches his jaw. There is a curse festering in his mouth, waiting to escape, but it was never meant for Malfoy.
As soon as the class is too busy to notice, Theo slips away. He can’t stand to be around the Thestrals for another second. It’s not like anyone will miss his presence, anyway. But he’s wrong. He doesn’t make it very far through the Forest before someone is shouting behind him.
Theo doesn’t think they’re shouting at him until his arm is grabbed from behind. As he is spun around, Theo lets his wand slip into his hand from up his sleeve. Sparks crackle around the tip. Theo’s about to curse the son of a bitch and teach them a lesson, but then he comes nose to nose with Harry Potter - and freezes.
“We need to talk,” Potter says, eyes flickering down to where Theo’s wand is resting against his chest and dismissing it all at once.
“I thought we already did.”
“I…I’m sorry,” Potter whispers, face contorted, “I should have trusted you.”
Theo doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Potter until he fidgets. Why should he forgive Potter anyway? It’s not like they were mates. They only had an agreement. Theo was using Potter and Potter was probably using him. Theo has half a mind to tell Potter to go fuck himself but his jaw clenches around the words.
“Please, Theo.”
Theo closes his eyes. That’s the first time Harry’s ever said his name. When a hand gently touches his chest, Theo can feel its warmth soaking through his robes. His anger recedes.
“Whatever,” Theo says, pushing his wand back up his sleeve.
--
Their meetings in the unused classroom resumed without fanfare. But it’s different now, Harry thinks. They’re closer, friendlier in a way that he can’t be with either Ron or Hermione. Harry sits on the windowsill as Nott practices different curses, just watching. Impedimenta, Reducto, expulso… He’s getting better. Harry’s certainly further along with Theo than with anybody else in the DA.
Theo’s olive skin is flushed with exertion as he attacks the dummy they’d transfigured several weeks ago. He’s already discarded his robes. The castle is tentatively warming with Spring. Sweat beads on Theo’s forehead and Harry can’t tear his eyes away as a drop rolls down Theo’s neck. Harry’s body reacts in a way he thinks it really shouldn’t.
Harry remembers last year when Theo mocked him for his piss poor performance at the Yule Ball during one of their study sessions. Harry had scoffed and glared since the git hadn’t even shown up to the ball at all.
“It kind of makes sense now, though,” Theo had said after the second task, “what with Weasley being your one true love and all. Maybe Patil was just missing the proper parts.”
Harry hadn’t answered. That comment had hit a little too close to something he’s never wanted to think about. But maybe he should now.
“There goes Zacharias Smith,” Harry says, trying to distract himself by looking out the window.
“Is he still being a prat?” Theo asks, walking over to peer out the window himself.
Harry nods. When is Smith not a prat? Theo stands so close that Harry can feel his body heat radiating off of him like a human heater.
“Budge over for a sec,” Theo says, flipping the latch on the window and pushing it open.
He leans out, wand first, and his chest touches Harry’s cheek. Harry can hear Theo’s heartbeat. He listens attentively to each palpitation like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. Harry doesn’t even know that Theo’s cast the Bat-Bogey Hex until Smith begins screaming bloody murder like a pansy.
“I can’t believe you just did that!” Harry laughs.
Theo looks down at him, body still stretched alongside Harry’s. Harry is startled silent. The distance between their faces quickly diminishes until there isn’t any. Theo’s lips cover his own and Harry moans into his mouth, arching up to bring their bodies closer. He happily welcomes Theo’s tongue by twining it with his own.
“I can’t help myself.” Theo says breathlessly some time later.
--
It’s almost time for breakfast when Theo is woken by a silvery stag. He is instantly alert. Something must have happened. He dresses silently, careful not to wake any of his housemates. He can only imagine what they would say if they saw Harry’s Patronus.
When Theo arrives at their unused classroom, he’s not surprised to find Harry curled up on the windowsill. But then he notices that his robes are dirty and torn and his face is flecked with something an awful lot like dried blood. Harry’s eyes are hollow behind his glasses. Theo pauses in the doorway to take in a deep breath and collect himself. He can’t fall apart when Harry so clearly already has.
Theo sits down next to Harry and pulls the smaller boy towards him, offering support in the only way he knows how. Harry’s head rests on his shoulder, face buried in the crook of Theo’s neck. His nose is cold and his cheeks are wet. Theo waits.
“I’ve lost everything,” Harry mumbles, “Everything.”
Theo sighs and tells him that he’s right here and doesn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Harry shakes his head. His arms wrap around Theo’s waist, fingernails digging into his back like hooks. Every breath Harry takes is loud and unstable.
“You’ll hate me.” Harry says.
Theo gently pushes Harry away so Harry can see how serious he is. “I won’t.”
Though he’s never been more serious in his life, it’s all to no avail. Harry won’t meet his eyes.
“You shouldn’t give promises you can’t keep,” He whispers, “I’ve put your father in prison.”
Theo’s blood turns to ice. His mind becomes an oblivion of swirling, convoluted thoughts. Azkaban, MURDERER, all alone, and what about revenge? Theo knows that nothing will ever be the same again.
“You’re wrong,” Theo says once he’s able, “Tell me what’s happened.”
Harry’s explanation is stilted. Though Theo’s still confused by the end it, he knows what’s affecting Harry most by the way his words lose any inflection as he speaks them. His visions, the prophecy, and Sirius Black most of all. Theo would give anything to make Harry’s pain go away.
“My favorite color was green until I was eight years old,” Theo says quietly, “My parents were arguing. I don’t even remember what about. My father got so angry he took out his wand. It lit up the entire room with this brilliant green light. The greenest I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even know what had happened until the light faded away and my mother fell to the floor like a broken doll. Then I decided I didn’t like green so much anymore.”
Theo cups Harry’s face with his hands, feathering his lips with small tentative kisses. Each one is full of promise.
“You might think that I’d hate you for putting him in prison, but you’re wrong, Harry Potter. You’ve given me everything and you don’t even know it.”
Author:sveinity
Pairing(s): Harry/Theo
Prompt number: 19
Word Count: 4,000
Rating: pg-13
Warnings: Angst, AU
Beta(s): kamerreon
Summary: 1. Theo Nott has been planning to kill his Death Eater father since he witnessed him murder his mother when he was seven years old. Harry can help him do it or try to stop him. 2. Harry is in the Library studying on his own during GoF, Theo wants the book he's reading and they come to depend on each other over time. 3. Harry asks Theo about Thestrals and finds out that not all Slytherins are the same.
Author's Notes: Many thanks to Kay, for the beta, and Abby for guiding me to the proper ending. I could never have written this without both of you!
"Help"
I have done it again.
I have been here many times before.
Hurt myself again today,
and the worst part is there's no one else to blame.
Be my friend;
Hold me,
Wrap me up,
Unfold me.
I am small,
I’m needy.
Warm me up and breathe me.
Ouch,
I have lost myself again;
Lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.
Yeah, I think that I might break.
Lost myself again and I feel unsafe.”
-Sia, ‘Breathe Me’
“Harry Potter,” Hermione says, prodding him with her quill, “Why aren’t you studying?”
He shrugs noncommittally and rubs at his scar. Harry can’t concentrate enough to study. His mind is a jumbled mess, full of swirling blacks and blues rather than thought. With every blink he sees the faces of his peers, staring, judging, hating behind his eyelids. They are inescapable. Maybe Harry should be used to this. Maybe it won’t affect him eventually. But Harry doesn’t think so, because his life is just too surreal.
“Honestly, it’s almost time for dinner.”
“You go,” Harry mumbles, “I’m not hungry.”
As much as he appreciates Hermione still talking to him, she can really be exhausting. Her hesitation is obvious, but unnecessary. Harry makes a shooing motion with his hands. She leaves with an air of concerned disapproval. All Harry feels is guilty relief. An exaggerated sigh parts his chapped lips, rustling the pages of the book in front of him as he rests his cheek on the cool paper. Too bad he couldn’t just learn by osmosis or something.
Harry doesn’t know how long he stays that way. The windows grow dark and Hermione never comes back. Even though his stomach begins to growl in protest, Harry doesn’t move. All of his energy has been sapped by pity.
Half-asleep, he wonders if Ron will ever believe that he really didn’t put his own name in the Goblet of Fire. It’s not his fault that shitty things happen to him. Harry thinks that he could put up with everyone else hating him as long as Ron was his friend again. It’s not fair. How can he be surrounded by so many people and feel lonelier than ever?
When Harry hears footsteps round the corner, he assumes it is Madam Pince coming to kick him out. He squints his eyes open, ready for a rebuke. But it’s only another student. Theodore Nott. The Slytherin is too busy searching the stacks for a book to notice Harry. Flickering candles cast long shadows over his face, illuminating every curve and valley and imperfection. His angles are sharp, but not rough. Harry remains still, pretending to doze while blatantly spying. Nott is a Slytherin, after all. Though he’s never caused problems before, he could be up to something.
But all Nott does is peruse the shelf, searching for a title he can’t seem to find. The arch of his neck is long and graceful as he bows forward. Watching him is kind of relaxing; Harry wonders why, eyes fluttering as exhaustion overwhelms him. Before he can succumb, the table is jostled. Harry jumps awake, stomach wrenching in protest like he just took a dive on his broom. Nott sits across from him, shoulders hunched in defeat.
“Sorry, Potter,” Nott says, not sounding very sorry at all.
Harry grunts and rubs at his face. He would say something if he could think of anything. He’s not feeling particularly sympathetic after being disturbed. At least it isn’t Madam Pince. Harry yawns and arches his back, wincing when it pops. His chair scrapes over the floor as he pushes back, his book closing shut with a muffled thump. He should probably go find Hermione so they can practice. The first task is tomorrow and he’s running out of time.
Nott grabs his arm as Harry passes, staring down at his book. “Is that your copy?” he asks.
Harry nods. He’d read the library’s copy so much that Hermione got fed up and ordered him his own. Nott’s face falls, hand dropping to his lap as if it’d never left. Harry pauses a moment, considering, before placing the book on the table.
“Give it back when you’re done.”
--
“I’m telling you, Ron, I didn’t put my name in the Goblet. Why won’t you believe me?” Harry pleads, voice cracking. He feels close to tears; there’s a lump in his throat and his eyes are burning. He’s never felt more frustrated. Ron doesn’t even look at him.
There’s a POTTER REALLY STINKS badge lying on the table near him. Harry grabs it and chucks it at Ron’s face. It connects with Ron’s forehead but not hard enough to bruise. Harry wishes he could be more vindictive.
“Would you like me to throw another? Maybe it’ll scar.” Harry says, “I could even put on a mask and pretend to attack you. It would be great fun.”
“You’re a git. Stop talking to me.”
“Stop it!” Hermione interrupts, breaking her vow to remain impartial.
Harry closes his eyes. He wishes he could just block out reality. It doesn’t work. Hermione and Ron start their own argument, voices rising higher and higher until he can’t decipher either. Harry didn’t mean to cause problems in their relationship. But Ron is the glue that holds their threesome together. And now it’s fractured - maybe forever.
Harry leaves and they don’t even notice. He doesn’t know where he’s going, only that his feet are moving. The halls are empty and quiet. Even the portraits have nothing to say. When he ends up in the same unused classroom that held the Mirror of Erised, he’s not surprised. The first task is hours away. Harry could die and all he can think about is how his life is falling apart before it was put properly back together. Harry wants to lose himself right now… but of course Dumbledore would not have returned the mirror here. Not someplace Harry could find it.
Sighing, Harry Summons his Defense notes, figuring that a little practice wouldn’t be amiss. They come after just a couple of minutes. He grabs them before anyone might notice then faces the room. It’s barren. Harry stays anyway. The window sill is large enough to sit on comfortably.
Harry manages to study for a while before he just can’t concentrate anymore. He bangs a fist against the glass in frustration. Through the dust, there’s not much to see outside except for the sun. It’s mocking him, cheering the world when Harry can only be glum.
He casts Tempus and feels his stomach twist. Two hours left. Why does time speed up when all you want it to do is stop?
“Accio Basic Hexes for the Busy and Vexed,” Harry says.
Then he waits. The book takes far longer than his notes. Harry wonders if maybe he got the spell wrong. He’d struggled with getting it right. He’s just about to cast it again when he hears someone cursing in the hallway. Curious, Harry gets up and peers out the doorway. His book zooms towards him, Theodore Nott lurching behind, arm outstretched. Harry catches it as it comes within range. Nott barely manages to avoid barreling him over.
“Hullo,” Harry says, lips quirking involuntarily.
“Oh. Potter,” Nott gasps, “I thought your book was possessed."
Harry hums in denial, fingers tracing over the spine. He expects Nott to leave, but doesn’t know what to think when he doesn’t. Harry reclaims his seat on the window sill and rests his cheek against the cool glass. The dust doesn’t bother him. He lived in dust for the first eleven years of his life. Nott sits on the floor, drawing his knees against his chest so he can rest his chin on them. His legs are very long.
Harry doesn’t know how long they sit in silence. It’s neither awkward nor oppressive. Nott, Harry thinks, is surprisingly okay for a Slytherin.
“Did it help?” Harry asks.
He watches as Nott’s eyebrows scrunch in confusion, lips thinning. Maybe he is uncomfortable after all.
“The book,” Harry clarifies, “Did it help?”
“Yes. I’m not very good at Defense.”
Harry wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know much about Nott. Only that he’s fairly quiet and usually keeps to himself. He’s not part of Malfoy’s gang, nor one of Snape’s favorites. He may not raise his hand often in class, but whenever he speaks he’s always got something worthwhile to say. Nott has always seemed rather clever. More so than Malfoy, that’s for sure; maybe even more than Hermione.
“It was a gift.” Harry says, “I usually don’t read much.”
“But isn’t that a waste of potential?” Nott asks, genuinely curious. “Don’t you ever wonder what you’re capable of?”
Yes, Harry does, and that’s the problem. His life is a mess, full of anomalies and accidental magic. He’s destined to defeat a great evil, and that scares him. Why can’t he be just Harry? He wants to be average - a nobody. Harry doesn’t know how to explain himself to a stranger.
“I can cast every spell in this book,” Harry says. “I’ve never had any trouble with Defense Against the Dark Arts.”
“It’s everything else you struggle with."
Harry nods. He’s okay at Charms and Transfiguration, but they’re not easy. Harry can’t just instinctually get by. It’s frustrating and scary. Nott stares at him like he’s trying to figure out a puzzle - and maybe he is.
“I don’t see what your problem is,” Nott says. “You can’t change what your parents made you. Accept that and move on.”
Harry doesn’t want to think about it. He skims the index of the book, reminding himself of all the spells he might need to use just in case the first task doesn’t go the way he and Hermione planned, then casts another Tempus. It’s time to go.
He stands and stretches his hands to the ceiling. Sighing, he reminds himself that he can’t drop out of school over some silly game. The worst he can do is lose. Dumbledore won’t let him die. Hopefully.
Harry stuffs his Defense notes into the book. He holds them both out to Nott as he passes. Nott only hesitates for a second before he takes them. He stands so close that Harry can see amber flecks in his dark brown eyes. Proximity really makes a difference, Harry thinks; they don’t look nearly as warm across the room. When Nott lifts his hand, Harry can’t help but hold his breath in anticipation, though he doesn’t know what to expect. Nott runs his hand through Harry’s hair, fingers snagging little particles of dust.
“Good luck, Potter,” Nott says, his lips curving in amusement.
--
Harry suspects there is something wrong with him. Why else would he voluntarily meet with a Slytherin? He must be mad. But he needs the help. The whole arrangement is a little barmy, but it’s working. Harry can’t wait to see Snape’s face again when he can’t find anything bad to say about his potion.
“You’re late, Potter.”
“Two minutes isn’t going to kill you, Nott.”
Theo shrugs, as if to say you never know. Harry rolls his eyes, bag dropping haphazardly from his shoulder to the floor with a thump. They’re back in the room where the Mirror of Erised was. They both show up by silent, mutual agreement. At first it was random. Harry still remembers how weird it was to watch Theo walk through the door time and time again; mumbling a quiet greeting like it wasn’t a big deal. Then, more often than not, they would work on homework together or just bask in silence. Working with Theo, Harry thinks, is completely different than working with Hermione, who nags, or Ron, who doesn’t want to learn at all.
“What will it be tonight?” Nott asks while setting up a miniature potions lab in the corner of the room.
“Wit-sharpening potion. We’ve got a practical tomorrow.”
“Right. Give me a Patronus and you’ll get your potion.”
Harry rolls his eyes. Nott really isn’t very good at Defense. His knowledge is skewed. He knows a fair amount of advanced curses, but can’t grasp the basics. Harry suspects his upbringing didn’t help him any.
“I can’t just give you a Patronus. .” Harry says, “You’ve got to produce it yourself.”
“Don’t be a prat, Potter. You know what I meant.”
“Seriously, Nott, producing a Patronus isn’t easy. It might take a while.”
“I haven’t got anywhere else to be.”
“Right,” Harry says, scratching absentmindedly at his scar. “When I learned I used a boggart -”
“No!” Nott snaps, then squeezes his eyes shut. “I mean, mine won’t be a Dementor.”
“Oh,” Harry blinks, “right. Then we’ll just do without, then,”
It takes several days for Theodore’s Patronus to take corporeal form. It’s an octopus. He’s quite taken with it from the moment it shoots from his wand. When Theo has it chase Harry around the room, Theo laughs so hard there are tears streaming down his face. Harry suspects the tears are more than mirth, though, from the way Theo’s smile is rather strained.
Harry’s never seen a Patronus quite like Theo’s. It’s kind of weird as it floats around the ceiling, silvery tentacles wriggling all over. Theo says it matches his personality. Octopi are quiet and reserved, until they’re hungry, then they become predators. Those wiggling tentacles become less awkward and more dangerous; they’ll strangle you if you’re not careful.
--
The leaving feast leaves a bad taste in Harry’s mouth. He can barely stand to sit through it, watching as people cry or do nothing at all. Harry doesn’t say a word. His scar is still puffy and red, throbbing on his forehead. With every pulse it reminds Harry of what he’s lost - his parents, Cedric, even Theo who’s as good as dead.
Harry leaves as soon as he can without being rude. He walks alone through the halls, staring listlessly at all the portraits. He doesn’t want to go back to the Common Room yet, either. It’s hard to face so much life when he can’t get Cedric’s dead face out of his mind.
There are footsteps behind him. Harry thinks nothing of it as he steps onto a staircase. He’s not going anywhere in particular. He almost went to the unused classroom, but thought better of it. Harry won’t be going back there anymore. Not ever.
When the footsteps quicken, Harry pauses. He turns just in time to see Theodore Nott jumping onto the staircase as it moves. Harry’s eyes narrow in irritation. This was one conversation he was hoping would never happen. Dread swells in the pit of his stomach, twisting like poison.
“Potter,” Nott says, “I haven’t seen you since…” His words trail off awkwardly.
They both know he means the third task. How Barty Crouch Jr. imperio’d Krum, who then cursed Fluer and Cedric. Only Harry was able to save Cedric and they both grabbed the cup so they both could win, only they didn’t win. Cedric died - was murdered - and Harry brought back Voldemort with his own fucking blood.
“Piss off!” Harry hisses.
He wants to curse Theo. His mind is screaming liar, liar, TRAITOR. But Harry can’t. Not physically. He turns to walk away but Theo grabs his arm. His face has drained of color and his mouth opens like he’s got something to say. No sound emerges. Harry knows he’s go the upper hand because he’s never seen Theo’s face so expressive as it twists in supplication.
“I almost believed you,” Harry says, “before I went into the maze. Before I met your father.”
“I-”Nott begins, but Harry cuts him off. He doesn’t want to listen to anything Nott has to say.
“You lied to me. Did you think I wouldn’t find out what you are?”
Nott flinches, fingers slackening around Harry’s bicep. Harry can barely talk. His throat is swollen, but not with anger. Why is he this upset? They were never even friends. His chest rises and falls rapidly, but not as fast as Nott’s. Harry wishes they would both hyperventilate so he won’t have to say what he’s going to next.
“You’re a fool.”
Harry doesn’t know if he’s talking to Nott or himself.
--
Theo saw his first Thestral when he was a first-year. It’s not something he’s ever publicized. In fact, he never planned on telling anyone. Too many people, too many questions. Now, it seems, he doesn’t have a choice. There is an entire herd standing in front of his fifth-year class and Theo can’t look away.
They are disgusting. Beautiful. Their white eyes are haunting, glowing like Theo imagines a soul would if souls were tangible. Theo looks and they look back. They acknowledge the secret that he can’t bear to. They look at him and all Theo can see is death. His mother must look similar to them now - nothing but leather and bones.
Theo wants to puke as he watches the Thestrals tear into the carcass, pulling scrap after scrap of raw meat from hide. His stomach rebels, twisting into tight little knots that feel like lead. They poison him. He can feel it as his heart pumps an evil blackness through his veins. He can see it as his eyes cloud with hatred. His hands clench and the warm stickiness of blood pools beneath his fingertips. The dank stench of rot fills his nostrils, but Theo doesn’t know if it’s from the Thestrals, or the carcass, or his mother. He stops breathing.
When Malfoy makes a fuss about wanting to see them, Theo loses it. The void in his chest rips open, unleashing the hatred he’d locked away so many years ago. He clenches his jaw. There is a curse festering in his mouth, waiting to escape, but it was never meant for Malfoy.
As soon as the class is too busy to notice, Theo slips away. He can’t stand to be around the Thestrals for another second. It’s not like anyone will miss his presence, anyway. But he’s wrong. He doesn’t make it very far through the Forest before someone is shouting behind him.
Theo doesn’t think they’re shouting at him until his arm is grabbed from behind. As he is spun around, Theo lets his wand slip into his hand from up his sleeve. Sparks crackle around the tip. Theo’s about to curse the son of a bitch and teach them a lesson, but then he comes nose to nose with Harry Potter - and freezes.
“We need to talk,” Potter says, eyes flickering down to where Theo’s wand is resting against his chest and dismissing it all at once.
“I thought we already did.”
“I…I’m sorry,” Potter whispers, face contorted, “I should have trusted you.”
Theo doesn’t say anything. He just stares at Potter until he fidgets. Why should he forgive Potter anyway? It’s not like they were mates. They only had an agreement. Theo was using Potter and Potter was probably using him. Theo has half a mind to tell Potter to go fuck himself but his jaw clenches around the words.
“Please, Theo.”
Theo closes his eyes. That’s the first time Harry’s ever said his name. When a hand gently touches his chest, Theo can feel its warmth soaking through his robes. His anger recedes.
“Whatever,” Theo says, pushing his wand back up his sleeve.
--
Their meetings in the unused classroom resumed without fanfare. But it’s different now, Harry thinks. They’re closer, friendlier in a way that he can’t be with either Ron or Hermione. Harry sits on the windowsill as Nott practices different curses, just watching. Impedimenta, Reducto, expulso… He’s getting better. Harry’s certainly further along with Theo than with anybody else in the DA.
Theo’s olive skin is flushed with exertion as he attacks the dummy they’d transfigured several weeks ago. He’s already discarded his robes. The castle is tentatively warming with Spring. Sweat beads on Theo’s forehead and Harry can’t tear his eyes away as a drop rolls down Theo’s neck. Harry’s body reacts in a way he thinks it really shouldn’t.
Harry remembers last year when Theo mocked him for his piss poor performance at the Yule Ball during one of their study sessions. Harry had scoffed and glared since the git hadn’t even shown up to the ball at all.
“It kind of makes sense now, though,” Theo had said after the second task, “what with Weasley being your one true love and all. Maybe Patil was just missing the proper parts.”
Harry hadn’t answered. That comment had hit a little too close to something he’s never wanted to think about. But maybe he should now.
“There goes Zacharias Smith,” Harry says, trying to distract himself by looking out the window.
“Is he still being a prat?” Theo asks, walking over to peer out the window himself.
Harry nods. When is Smith not a prat? Theo stands so close that Harry can feel his body heat radiating off of him like a human heater.
“Budge over for a sec,” Theo says, flipping the latch on the window and pushing it open.
He leans out, wand first, and his chest touches Harry’s cheek. Harry can hear Theo’s heartbeat. He listens attentively to each palpitation like it’s the sweetest sound he’s ever heard. Harry doesn’t even know that Theo’s cast the Bat-Bogey Hex until Smith begins screaming bloody murder like a pansy.
“I can’t believe you just did that!” Harry laughs.
Theo looks down at him, body still stretched alongside Harry’s. Harry is startled silent. The distance between their faces quickly diminishes until there isn’t any. Theo’s lips cover his own and Harry moans into his mouth, arching up to bring their bodies closer. He happily welcomes Theo’s tongue by twining it with his own.
“I can’t help myself.” Theo says breathlessly some time later.
--
It’s almost time for breakfast when Theo is woken by a silvery stag. He is instantly alert. Something must have happened. He dresses silently, careful not to wake any of his housemates. He can only imagine what they would say if they saw Harry’s Patronus.
When Theo arrives at their unused classroom, he’s not surprised to find Harry curled up on the windowsill. But then he notices that his robes are dirty and torn and his face is flecked with something an awful lot like dried blood. Harry’s eyes are hollow behind his glasses. Theo pauses in the doorway to take in a deep breath and collect himself. He can’t fall apart when Harry so clearly already has.
Theo sits down next to Harry and pulls the smaller boy towards him, offering support in the only way he knows how. Harry’s head rests on his shoulder, face buried in the crook of Theo’s neck. His nose is cold and his cheeks are wet. Theo waits.
“I’ve lost everything,” Harry mumbles, “Everything.”
Theo sighs and tells him that he’s right here and doesn’t plan on going anywhere anytime soon. Harry shakes his head. His arms wrap around Theo’s waist, fingernails digging into his back like hooks. Every breath Harry takes is loud and unstable.
“You’ll hate me.” Harry says.
Theo gently pushes Harry away so Harry can see how serious he is. “I won’t.”
Though he’s never been more serious in his life, it’s all to no avail. Harry won’t meet his eyes.
“You shouldn’t give promises you can’t keep,” He whispers, “I’ve put your father in prison.”
Theo’s blood turns to ice. His mind becomes an oblivion of swirling, convoluted thoughts. Azkaban, MURDERER, all alone, and what about revenge? Theo knows that nothing will ever be the same again.
“You’re wrong,” Theo says once he’s able, “Tell me what’s happened.”
Harry’s explanation is stilted. Though Theo’s still confused by the end it, he knows what’s affecting Harry most by the way his words lose any inflection as he speaks them. His visions, the prophecy, and Sirius Black most of all. Theo would give anything to make Harry’s pain go away.
“My favorite color was green until I was eight years old,” Theo says quietly, “My parents were arguing. I don’t even remember what about. My father got so angry he took out his wand. It lit up the entire room with this brilliant green light. The greenest I’ve ever seen. I didn’t even know what had happened until the light faded away and my mother fell to the floor like a broken doll. Then I decided I didn’t like green so much anymore.”
Theo cups Harry’s face with his hands, feathering his lips with small tentative kisses. Each one is full of promise.
“You might think that I’d hate you for putting him in prison, but you’re wrong, Harry Potter. You’ve given me everything and you don’t even know it.”