lomonaaeren

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Chapter Three—Brooms

Albus sighed as he watched young Harry pick at his food over at the Slytherin table. He truly regretted his choices when it came to the boy. He had thought Harry would be in Gryffindor, that he would find friends and perhaps someone to fall in love with as his father had, and that Albus’s main task would be guarding the boy from people who wanted to use him as he lived out his childhood.

Instead, Harry had gone to Slytherin, and been isolated. And Albus had held back and hesitated.

He had been afraid to bring Harry into his confidence, especially concerning details like the prophecy, because he had known that at least some of the children in Slytherin could know Legilimency. They could not be permitted to rip details out of Harry’s head. And even if they didn’t know mental magic, well, young boys made friends.

Friends they wanted to impress. Friends they wanted to brag to.

Albus had been in that position, once upon a time.

All it would take was Harry saying the wrong word in front of Draco Malfoy or Theodore Nott, and the Death Eaters would know all Harry knew. Or Blaise Zabini, whom Albus had not expected to attend Hogwarts, might have taken those secrets to his mother, who would have sold them to the highest bidder.

Albus couldn’t chance it. He had held back, resolving to watch Harry’s behavior and tell him certain truths when it seemed safe.

It had never seemed safe. Harry had warred with the students of Slytherin and made no friends in other Houses who might have bolstered his confidence and taught him to be less bitter and more forthright. By the time Albus had come to believe that Harry would not tell other Slytherins those secrets, affairs had reached the point where he had to worry about whether Harry would act contrarily out of spite.

And, well, there was still Legilimency to contend with.

Albus breathed out slowly. In one way, his plans to give Harry a normal childhood had worked. He hadn’t been burdened with the defeat of Voldemort, or figuring out the Dark artifact that had been releasing the basilisk—something Albus had accomplished too late, when he’d found an empty diary and an empty body on the floor of the Chamber.

Albus would do those things on his own, or with the help of the Order. And if in the end Harry Potter had to die, as Albus had begun to fear…

At least he would not have spent years being used as a weapon, or prepared for war.

*

“Potter, I’d like to apologize—”

Crunch.

“Potter, I’d like you to know that I would defend you in front of—”

Crunch.

“I could take revenge for you on Snape if you w—”

Crunch.

Every time Nott approached him, Harry made ice crystals blossom over his hands. He had thought the sliver of his magic residing within Nott’s body would make it easier, but he had also expected the sliver to fade over time and not react within a fortnight or so.

It seemed that it was continuing to affect Nott and might indefinitely. Harry was enormously pleased with the success of his variant Chill Ward.

*

Theo was not.

He could feel himself tilting dangerously close to an edge he hadn’t known was there every time Potter glanced at him with cold eyes and made Theo’s hands cold in retaliation. Theo didn’t know what else he could do.

He had apologized. He had offered to stand up to Snape, an enemy Potter had never confronted himself, at least not after his first year. He had offered to be Potter’s defender in Slytherin House, to lend him tomes of obscure magic, to give him a place to go for the holidays (everyone had long since noticed that Potter always stayed at school for those, another thing Draco made fun of him for).

And now his latest offer, to hex Draco’s mouth to burn every time he said something about Potter, had been rejected with a silent glare. Theo lost it and spoke before Potter could send the ice gliding over Theo’s hands.

“What can I do? I’ve offered everything I know how to offer! I’ve apologized, and I’ve never done that for anyone else! How do you expect me to show you that I’m sincere in wanting to be your ally?”

Potter’s eyes widened, and he moved a step closer. Theo abruptly shivered. They were in the middle of a corridor that ran from the Potions classroom towards the common room, and while Theo preferred privacy for his confrontations with Potter, he was abruptly reminded how—alone they were.

But he was still angry, and he watched as Potter’s lips twitched and curved with the same feeling of anger.

“You can run,” Potter said softly.

“What?”

“You can run,” Potter repeated, and twitched his fingers and wand in an intricate gesture Theo had never seen before.

The world around them shuddered and bounced. Theo took a step back and bumped into something hard. He whirled around, because he had been sure that there wasn’t a wall there.

There wasn’t. Instead, he had apparently backed into an invisible ward that ran the length of the corridor. Theo reached towards it, and then stopped. He had had enough of touching Potter’s wards with his bare hands.

“Potter, what—”

“You can run,” Potter said again, like a chant, and took a long step towards him. “Unless you think a poor little half-blood couldn’t hurt a pureblood?”

Poor little half-blood was something Theo had called Potter in the past, and mortification burned in him even as he fell back one step, and then another. His back slammed into another ward on the other side, and he realized that they seemed to be making a long, narrower corridor down the one he and Potter were in, aiming straight ahead and leading—somewhere.

Theo didn’t want to run. But Potter was coming towards him, smiling, and Theo’s anger burned out into icy flames of fear.

He whirled and ran.

*

Harry laughed softly as he strode after Nott, who darted around the corner and vanished. It was all right. Nott could only run where the wards guided him, and Harry knew exactly where they were leading him.

His exultation burned hot and clean in him. He should have tried this years ago. Why had he been so cowed and frightened for so long?

But Harry knew the answer to that. Whenever he stood up to the Dursleys, they did something worse. He had been afraid of finding out what that “something worse” was when it involved magic. And, well, after a while he had just wanted to be left alone and silent, and as long as people did that, standing up to them hadn’t been an attractive option.

Now, though, he was in his seventh year, and no one would have the power to hurt him or stop him in a few months. He could use magic legally. He might as well get some revenge.

Harry followed Nott out to the Quidditch pitch, where Nott ran for the shed that held the school brooms. Harry smiled as he reached into a robe pocket.

He’d never been allowed to try out for the Slytherin Quidditch team; the laughter and mockery the one time he’d shown up still burned in the back of his head. And his first flying lesson had been nothing extraordinary. He had felt the way the broom responded to him, but Neville Longbottom had tumbled off his own broom and distracted everyone, and then Malfoy and Weasley had got into it over Longbottom’s Remembrall.

Still, Harry had bought himself a broom the way he’d bought himself a Pensieve. He didn’t have a lot else to use his gold on, fancy robes not being a distraction for him the way they were for Malfoy. And he had come down to the pitch sometimes or the Forbidden Forest at night and flown in silence, rejoicing in the pull of the air over his face.

Neither the broom nor the Pensieve were things Harry could easily replace, so he hadn’t trusted them even to his newly-warded trunk. He kept the Pensieve hidden behind the wards in his secret suite of rooms in the dungeons, and his broom shrunken and in his pocket when not in active use.

Harry pulled it out and resized it now with a small smile as he watched Nott run into the broom shed and come out with a Cleansweep.

The arsehole was in for a surprise.

*

Theo wasn’t sure why he had been allowed to reach the pitch and take a broom. For all he knew, Potter was going to use him for target practice in the air.

Still, Theo was fairly confident of his broom skills for all that he’d never tried out for the Quidditch team. He could dodge Potter’s magic more easily than Potter thought, and—

Theo looked down at a sudden movement behind him and almost fainted.

Potter was rising on a broom that was clearly a Nimbus, his eyes narrowed and his hair whipping around him from his speed. Theo turned sharply to the left, and Potter shot past him, but he was already correcting, swinging in a wide circle.

The only saving grace up here was that no wards constrained Theo.

He arced to the side again as Potter came back towards him, but this time, Potter let the tails of their brooms brush together in a Quidditch move this side of illegal. Theo swore as it sent him rolling and he barely scrambled upright again. Potter had never lost his balance, it seemed, simply twisting with the broom as if they were two parts of the same being.

Shit.

Theo had no idea why Potter had chosen to essentially duel him with broom movements instead of spells, but he would take what he could get.

He continued to brake and back and fly defensively. Potter swept around him with effortless ease, eyes narrowed with amusement. Even when Theo could have sworn that he was distant enough from Potter to avoid any collision between their brooms, Potter managed to close the distance and knock him spiraling.

Theo finally dived towards the ground. It seemed Potter was getting towards the point when he would knock Theo off, and at least this would give him less distance to fall.

He glanced back to find Potter following him in a dive that looked—

It was. It was a perfect Wronski Feint.

Theo barely got out of the way in time, and still got knocked over so that he was dangling from the Cleansweep by his hands. It didn’t matter, the pain or the fear or the sudden weight on his arms. He couldn’t keep his eyes from following Potter as he blazed past Theo and turned smoothly above the grass, rising back into the air as if he was doing this at the Quidditch World Cup before thousands of spectators.

A sensation like a blow hit Theo beneath the breastbone, and it had nothing to do with the way that his broom had finally fallen to the ground and he’d had to let go and land on his feet.

Potter had kept everything hidden. Wandless magic was one thing, and Theo could envision keeping that hidden as a last-resort defensive weapon. Or because Potter wouldn’t have wanted people to see it and try to manipulate him the way Theo had admittedly tried.

But being on the Quidditch team could have made Potter popular and respected. There was no reason to hide his broom skills except that he hadn’t trusted anyone to see them.

We could have had that. The Quidditch team could have had that.

Theo took a deep breath and felt as though something was growing out beneath his breastbone.

Potter could have had that.

Theo swallowed, and swallowed again. He had never—he had clashed with people before, and mocked them, and bullied them, and he’d never felt this way. He hadn’t felt this way even when he’d seen Potter’s wards and wandless magic and realized what kind of asset Potter could be to the right person.

It was a sense of absolute and shocking loss. And shame that Theo had caused this, had caused Potter to hide everything simply because he hadn’t been able to believe that anyone would honor it.

Theo closed his eyes, and only winced a little when he felt Potter’s wand come to rest in the center of his throat.

“Are you going to leave me the fuck alone, Nott?”

“Yeah,” Theo said softly, and opened his eyes. Potter stepped a little closer, his wand digging into Theo’s throat, but it was difficult for Theo to take his eyes from Potter’s. The clear gleam there, as if they were only glass before fire. “Yeah. And I’m sorry.”

Potter paused. Then he said, “Why does that sound different from your other apologies?”

“Because this time I really realize what I did wrong.” Theo rubbed his hand across his eyes. He felt tired, in a way that had nothing to do with the broom chase or running down to the pitch. “I was trying to come up with a way that would let me use you. And that was wrong.”

“I knew it,” Potter said, but his eyes were puzzled. “What brought this on?”

“You never would have kept your broom skills secret if not for me. And people like me.”

“And you’re sore about the Slytherin team losing the Cup. I get it.”

“No.” Theo didn’t raise his voice, but he did try to keep it solid, which stopped Potter from turning away. “I’m sorry for the effect it had on you. I thought—it would have—it would have let you live up to a certain kind of ideal. I’m not explaining this well.”

“No bloody kidding.”

“You could have been great. And I kept you from being that way. And it wasn’t because we were in direct competition. That would be something I could be proud of, beating a worthy competitor. This was just—I kept you from being everything you could have been because I was concerned with blood status, and I’m sorry.”

*
Harry stared at Nott. He didn’t understand what the idiot was babbling about, or why he had changed his mind after seeing Harry on a broom when wandless magic and wards apparently hadn’t changed his mind, or why Nott would be upset with himself when Harry was the one who had chased and threatened him.

“You’re not making any sense,” Harry finally said.

“I know.”

“You know? And you don’t care?”

Nott gave him a faint expression that started out as a smile and died halfway through. “It’s hard to explain a revelation that’s changed you.”

This at least sounded like more familiar ground. Harry folded his arms. “I don’t believe that you’re telling the truth when it comes to this. Any more than you did with the other apologies.”

Nott nodded. “I know. I understand. And just apologizing doesn’t do anything to help you or make up for what I did.” He turned and walked back towards the broom shed, tossing the Cleansweep through the door with an absent motion of his hand.

Harry watched him go with narrowed eyes. Nott didn’t turn or look back. Harry, in turn, permitted him to walk away instead of trying to keep him confined to the pitch to figure out what the fuck he meant.

Perhaps it would mean that Nott ceased his futile attempts to apologize. That alone would be worth it. And if it really did mean that Harry didn’t have to watch for this particular threat at his back anymore, that would be an improvement, too.

*

Theo stared out the window at the slice of Hogwarts grounds that led towards the Forbidden Forest, lying dark and cool in the half-moonlight. This was a window on the fourth floor he had found years ago and hidden under a semi-permanent Disillusionment Charm attuned to him, because he liked the wide sill and the view.

The shock of learning that he was a considerably worse person than he’d thought he was was still reverberating through him.

Oh, Theo had known he was never a particularly good person, the way the world understood such things. He had mocked people and laughed at others’ insults too often for that. He had hexed and jinxed and pranked Gryffindors who had never done anything to him except exist in a rival House. He had threatened people with worse than he’d done, threats that had made them back off and walk around him with lowered eyes.

But that had always seemed justifiable because it made people back off, or because it allowed him to deflect unfriendly attention, or because it made other Slytherins laugh with him instead of at him. Theo had never had to see it from someone else’s point-of-view.

Specifically, the point-of-view of people he had mocked or threatened.

And he had never felt this scalding shame at the thought of what he had cost someone else.

Maybe he would have if he had seen them the way he now saw Potter, as practitioners of powerful magic or skilled flyers. He would never know. Theo didn’t even remember every insult he had flung, every hex he had cast.

He was starting to suspect that the people he had insulted or hexed did.

Theo winced and closed his eyes. All right. He couldn’t time travel to the past. Apologies by themselves weren’t enough to make up for his actions, as Potter had made quite clear. And while he wouldn’t be doing it again going forwards, that wasn’t enough to ease the burning in Theo’s chest.

He would have to do something. Something that helped Potter, whether or not he ever ceased to blame Theo. It wasn’t about him accepting it. It was about doing it.

Theo would have to decide, soon, what that would be.