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lomonaaerenTitle: As My Lord Wishes
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Theodore Nott
Content Notes: Hogwarts “eighth year,” humor, fluff, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1300
Summary: After the war, Theo Nott is not only seeking Harry out when he never did before, he’s referring to him as his lord. It’s driving Harry mental.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Solstitial Shorts,” shorter fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice.
As My Lord Wishes
Harry watches with a kind of hypnotic despair as his essay for Slughorn drifts to the floor near Nott’s chair. The Potions class that includes the returned NEWT students is small enough that they’re broken up more by age group than Houses.
And Harry hasn’t dropped his essay on purpose. Honest. It just sort of drifted there.
“Oh, dear,” Nott says, picking up the essay. He smiles at Harry. He has pale skin, and brilliant grey eyes that Harry never noticed before the war, and a confidence Harry is pretty sure wasn’t there to be noticed. “Excuse me, my lord. Let me return your essay.”
He leans across the aisle to hold out the parchment. Harry grabs his wrist and leans close. He doesn’t think he’s mistaken that Nott’s breathing is quickening.
What Harry doesn’t know is why.
“Stop calling me lord,” he hisses, one eye on the front of the room. Slughorn isn’t here yet, but he could show up any moment.
“What else would I call you? Potter sounds so plain for what you are to me.”
Nott is grinning. Harry releases him with a rough shove and reaches for his essay. Nott lets it go, despite what looks like some serious thought about holding onto it, and Harry tucks it away, flushing.
“I’m nothing to you,” Harry can’t help snapping, given that Slughorn still isn’t in the room yet. “Just someone who doesn’t play any particular role in your life.”
“But I want you to play a role in my life, my lord.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why, my lord? Many people would find it flattering to be referred to that way. We fought a whole war with someone who wanted that title.”
Harry leans towards Nott. At least what he’s going to say next ought to make Nott shut up, given that his father was a Death Eater. “You mean Lord Voldemort?”
Nott doesn’t flinch in the slightest, but only nods serenely. “Yes, my lord. Him.”
Slughorn still isn’t here, and Ron looks utterly unsympathetic—he’s talking with Hermione, anyway—and people have been giving Harry awed or frightened or bitter looks all week, depending on what the Prophet prints about him, and suddenly, Harry is just done. “Meet me after class so we can settle this and I can stop you from doing that,” he snaps.
“Yes, my lord.”
Nott looks delighted. Harry looks away, gritting his teeth, just as Slughorn steps into the classroom and waves jovially at them.
Nott thinks that he wants to follow me around and obey me? Let’s see what he thinks once he gets a glimpse of what it would mean.
*
“You’re sure you’re okay dealing with a mental Slytherin, mate?”
Harry sighs a little. He can see the way that Ron is glancing up the corridor, longing to follow Hermione. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Go on.”
“Thanks, mate.” Ron goes loping away with a grin over his shoulder that’s already changing into a dreamy look. Probably dreaming of all the snogging he gets to do, the lucky git. Harry sighs again. He wishes he could find someone he could trust like Ron can trust Hermione.
“My lord?”
Harry jumps and turns around. Nott is standing in front of him, leaning one shoulder against the wall and surveying Harry with an odd expression. Harry doesn’t know how to place it, so he just plunges right into the conversation he wants to have. “Stop calling me lord!”
“Why?”
“It’s stupid. It’s going to make people think I’m stuck-up. They already think I’m stuck-up without that. Don’t make it worse.”
Nott gets an oddly thoughtful look on his face. Harry did remember hearing he was the clever Slytherin, although he sort of doubts it when Nott insists on calling Harry what he does. “Do you care that much about their opinions, my lord?”
“Yes,” Harry snaps, frustrated. “Maybe I should be a good little hero and above it all, but I do. I don’t want people to flinch away from me or stare at me in pity. I just want to have a normal life where I can go into a shop on Diagon Alley and hide my scar and have people serve me without a second glance.”
“Hiding your scar is a normal life, my lord?”
“It’s as close to one as I can get.”
“I don’t believe that’s true at all.” Nott takes a step towards him. “You have friends who treat you normally. You can find others. You can find someone to date who would treat you normally. Even stand up to you and argue with you.”
Harry narrows his eyes. Nott has an unusually intense tone in his voice, and he’s gesturing with one hand as if he wants to cut the air without a wand, and most of all, he’s finally stopped referring to Harry as a bloody lord.
“Someone like you?”
Nott blinks with blinding innocence and smiles in a way that allows Harry to have a good look at how white his teeth are and how much his grey eyes sparkle. They really are a pearly, pale grey, the color not one that Harry has seen before in Sirius’s half-mad eyes or Malfoy’s pebble-like ones.
“If my lord wished it so.”
“That’s—” Harry exhales. “Why in the world didn’t you just ask me to go on a date with you, Nott?”
“Oh, come on, Potter,” Nott says, in a normal tone that Harry likes a lot better. “Like you would have granted me a date. I saw what happened to those poor fools who asked you out in the Great Hall and Hogsmeade.”
“They just wanted to date me for my fame.” Harry’s skin still prickles a little at the thought of rejecting Ursula Guinness, a Ravenclaw he’d heard giggling about love potions, and a sixth-year named Estelle Crowley. He didn’t want to hurt their feelings, especially since they’re both younger than he is, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of dating someone who would want to be gaped at.
“And would you have thought the same thing if I approached you?”
Harry hesitates. “I don’t know. We’ve never really interacted, and you are a Slytherin…”
“So I played the game that would allow me to get your attention and show you that I’m not in awe of you, or afraid to irritate you. I’m not afraid to irritate people who would try to shove cameras in your face, either.” Nott bows his head, but it’s obviously false humility; his eyes shine with delight. “What do you think, my lord? Will you allow me to spend time with you and prove to you that I do want to date you?”
“Not for my fame?”
“For the pleasure of seeing your eyes light up,” Nott says softly. “Out of frustration, or anger, or, I hope, happiness, one day.”
Harry studies Nott for a long second. It’s a weird game that Nott played, and Harry doesn’t necessarily like people who play games like that.
On the other hand, he doesn’t like fame-seekers, either, or people who mindlessly agree with his every word. He could use help holding the former type off, and he knows that Nott will never be the second type.
And even more, Harry doesn’t know if he knows what he likes. The only person he’s really dated is Ginny.
“As long as you promise that you would speak up if I made you at all uncomfortable.”
“I think I can promise you that my complaints would be long and loud.”
“And let me know right away if you wanted to end this.”
“I wouldn’t suffer mindlessly for the sake of not making you uncomfortable.”
No, Nott doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would, Harry admits. He was perfectly willing to make Harry uncomfortable by calling him a title, after all.
Harry finds himself smiling reluctantly. He’s not certain what Nott will do next, but he knows he wants to witness it.
“All right. Then please accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend, Nott.”
“As my lord wishes,” Nott says, and sweeps a low bow.
“Oh, shut up.”
But Harry is smiling, and Nott smiles back.
The End.
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Pairing: Harry/Theodore Nott
Content Notes: Hogwarts “eighth year,” humor, fluff, present tense
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1300
Summary: After the war, Theo Nott is not only seeking Harry out when he never did before, he’s referring to him as his lord. It’s driving Harry mental.
Author’s Notes: This is one of my “Solstitial Shorts,” shorter fics being posted between Halloween and the winter solstice.
As My Lord Wishes
Harry watches with a kind of hypnotic despair as his essay for Slughorn drifts to the floor near Nott’s chair. The Potions class that includes the returned NEWT students is small enough that they’re broken up more by age group than Houses.
And Harry hasn’t dropped his essay on purpose. Honest. It just sort of drifted there.
“Oh, dear,” Nott says, picking up the essay. He smiles at Harry. He has pale skin, and brilliant grey eyes that Harry never noticed before the war, and a confidence Harry is pretty sure wasn’t there to be noticed. “Excuse me, my lord. Let me return your essay.”
He leans across the aisle to hold out the parchment. Harry grabs his wrist and leans close. He doesn’t think he’s mistaken that Nott’s breathing is quickening.
What Harry doesn’t know is why.
“Stop calling me lord,” he hisses, one eye on the front of the room. Slughorn isn’t here yet, but he could show up any moment.
“What else would I call you? Potter sounds so plain for what you are to me.”
Nott is grinning. Harry releases him with a rough shove and reaches for his essay. Nott lets it go, despite what looks like some serious thought about holding onto it, and Harry tucks it away, flushing.
“I’m nothing to you,” Harry can’t help snapping, given that Slughorn still isn’t in the room yet. “Just someone who doesn’t play any particular role in your life.”
“But I want you to play a role in my life, my lord.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Why, my lord? Many people would find it flattering to be referred to that way. We fought a whole war with someone who wanted that title.”
Harry leans towards Nott. At least what he’s going to say next ought to make Nott shut up, given that his father was a Death Eater. “You mean Lord Voldemort?”
Nott doesn’t flinch in the slightest, but only nods serenely. “Yes, my lord. Him.”
Slughorn still isn’t here, and Ron looks utterly unsympathetic—he’s talking with Hermione, anyway—and people have been giving Harry awed or frightened or bitter looks all week, depending on what the Prophet prints about him, and suddenly, Harry is just done. “Meet me after class so we can settle this and I can stop you from doing that,” he snaps.
“Yes, my lord.”
Nott looks delighted. Harry looks away, gritting his teeth, just as Slughorn steps into the classroom and waves jovially at them.
Nott thinks that he wants to follow me around and obey me? Let’s see what he thinks once he gets a glimpse of what it would mean.
*
“You’re sure you’re okay dealing with a mental Slytherin, mate?”
Harry sighs a little. He can see the way that Ron is glancing up the corridor, longing to follow Hermione. “Yes, I’ll be fine. Go on.”
“Thanks, mate.” Ron goes loping away with a grin over his shoulder that’s already changing into a dreamy look. Probably dreaming of all the snogging he gets to do, the lucky git. Harry sighs again. He wishes he could find someone he could trust like Ron can trust Hermione.
“My lord?”
Harry jumps and turns around. Nott is standing in front of him, leaning one shoulder against the wall and surveying Harry with an odd expression. Harry doesn’t know how to place it, so he just plunges right into the conversation he wants to have. “Stop calling me lord!”
“Why?”
“It’s stupid. It’s going to make people think I’m stuck-up. They already think I’m stuck-up without that. Don’t make it worse.”
Nott gets an oddly thoughtful look on his face. Harry did remember hearing he was the clever Slytherin, although he sort of doubts it when Nott insists on calling Harry what he does. “Do you care that much about their opinions, my lord?”
“Yes,” Harry snaps, frustrated. “Maybe I should be a good little hero and above it all, but I do. I don’t want people to flinch away from me or stare at me in pity. I just want to have a normal life where I can go into a shop on Diagon Alley and hide my scar and have people serve me without a second glance.”
“Hiding your scar is a normal life, my lord?”
“It’s as close to one as I can get.”
“I don’t believe that’s true at all.” Nott takes a step towards him. “You have friends who treat you normally. You can find others. You can find someone to date who would treat you normally. Even stand up to you and argue with you.”
Harry narrows his eyes. Nott has an unusually intense tone in his voice, and he’s gesturing with one hand as if he wants to cut the air without a wand, and most of all, he’s finally stopped referring to Harry as a bloody lord.
“Someone like you?”
Nott blinks with blinding innocence and smiles in a way that allows Harry to have a good look at how white his teeth are and how much his grey eyes sparkle. They really are a pearly, pale grey, the color not one that Harry has seen before in Sirius’s half-mad eyes or Malfoy’s pebble-like ones.
“If my lord wished it so.”
“That’s—” Harry exhales. “Why in the world didn’t you just ask me to go on a date with you, Nott?”
“Oh, come on, Potter,” Nott says, in a normal tone that Harry likes a lot better. “Like you would have granted me a date. I saw what happened to those poor fools who asked you out in the Great Hall and Hogsmeade.”
“They just wanted to date me for my fame.” Harry’s skin still prickles a little at the thought of rejecting Ursula Guinness, a Ravenclaw he’d heard giggling about love potions, and a sixth-year named Estelle Crowley. He didn’t want to hurt their feelings, especially since they’re both younger than he is, but he couldn’t fathom the thought of dating someone who would want to be gaped at.
“And would you have thought the same thing if I approached you?”
Harry hesitates. “I don’t know. We’ve never really interacted, and you are a Slytherin…”
“So I played the game that would allow me to get your attention and show you that I’m not in awe of you, or afraid to irritate you. I’m not afraid to irritate people who would try to shove cameras in your face, either.” Nott bows his head, but it’s obviously false humility; his eyes shine with delight. “What do you think, my lord? Will you allow me to spend time with you and prove to you that I do want to date you?”
“Not for my fame?”
“For the pleasure of seeing your eyes light up,” Nott says softly. “Out of frustration, or anger, or, I hope, happiness, one day.”
Harry studies Nott for a long second. It’s a weird game that Nott played, and Harry doesn’t necessarily like people who play games like that.
On the other hand, he doesn’t like fame-seekers, either, or people who mindlessly agree with his every word. He could use help holding the former type off, and he knows that Nott will never be the second type.
And even more, Harry doesn’t know if he knows what he likes. The only person he’s really dated is Ginny.
“As long as you promise that you would speak up if I made you at all uncomfortable.”
“I think I can promise you that my complaints would be long and loud.”
“And let me know right away if you wanted to end this.”
“I wouldn’t suffer mindlessly for the sake of not making you uncomfortable.”
No, Nott doesn’t seem like the sort of person who would, Harry admits. He was perfectly willing to make Harry uncomfortable by calling him a title, after all.
Harry finds himself smiling reluctantly. He’s not certain what Nott will do next, but he knows he wants to witness it.
“All right. Then please accompany me to Hogsmeade this weekend, Nott.”
“As my lord wishes,” Nott says, and sweeps a low bow.
“Oh, shut up.”
But Harry is smiling, and Nott smiles back.
The End.
