lomonaaeren

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Chapter Sixteen—Imperial

“Hello, Harry.”

Hermione’s voice is subdued as she slips into a seat next to him at the breakfast table. Harry smiles at her and holds out the nearest teapot. Hermione accepts it with a nod and pours tea into her cup.

“You don’t need to cringe away from me, Hermione.”

Hermione bites her lip and cradles her teacup between her hands, not answering. Harry sits back and leaves her to make up her mind as to when she wants to speak. He doesn’t think she has that much to be embarrassed about, but if she’s going to do it this way, it’s up to her.

“I thought about it.”

“Thought about what?”

“Thought about taking the hex off Edgecombe.”

Harry just nods. He would be surprised if she hadn’t thought about it since their last conversation, given that she seemed to have forgotten about it in the years since. “And what conclusion did you come to?”

Hermione turns to face him. For a moment, her eyes glint. Harry is reminded of a lot of moments from last year, during the Horcrux hunt.

“I’m not going to take it off her. She deserved it.”

“Okay.”

Hermione opens her mouth, then snaps it shut. She studies him for a second. And then she says, “It would be easier for me to feel that Malfoy and the others deserve what’s happening to them if I knew what they’d done.”

“I did ask Theo if he would tell you, or let me tell you. He said absolutely not.” Theo snapped it, actually, and then held Harry against the wall with his wand to Harry’s throat. Harry is pretty sure that he wasn’t supposed to find that hot, but. Well.

He is what the war and his life have made him.

“He wouldn’t change his mind?”

“You’ll be the first person to know if he does at some point in the future. But I think it’s really unlikely.”

“It must have been really awful. What they did.”

Harry shrugs.

Hermione seems to realize she won’t get anything out of him, and goes back to eating eggs. Ron, meanwhile, stumbles into the Great Hall, yawning, sits down across from them, gives Hermione a casual glance, and promptly perks up. “Oh, good, the moral crisis is over.”

“Ron!”

Harry hides his own smile as he watches Ron and Hermione bicker, Ron trying to sound reasonable as he says that Hermione was always going to come to this conclusion, and Hermione leaning forwards to argue fiercely beneath her breath. It’s obvious from the way they focus on each other how in love they are.

Something hits the side of Harry’s head. He turns, scowling. If someone has launched a flying note at him—

But then he sees it’s a spark of rich, dark purple magic. Harry follows the line of it back to Theo, who’s sitting at the Slytherin table with his own teacup and his eyes glinting, and he can’t help the smile that melts across his face.

Speaking of being in love.

*

Theo leans against the tree that stands closest to the lake at Hogwarts, his head tilted back, his eyes closed. At the moment, Draco is writing to the Ministry to offer a huge amount of Malfoy Galleons for donation to impoverished Muggleborns. Pansy is cutting her hair. Daphne is struggling to complete her Charms homework, and isn’t going to do it well.

Theo is here because he got an owl that asked for his presence, and in writing that he didn’t recognize. He did tell Harry where he was going, and that he wanted to be alone. Harry accepted that, his eyes troubled, but promised to come after him if Theo was a minute late to their own planned meeting this afternoon.

Theo is smiling about that when someone he knows but never expected to see here steps around a tree trunk and beams at him.

“Hello, Mr. Nott.”

Rita Skeeter is dressed differently than she used to be, in rich red robes and with golden glasses, but she’s unmistakably the same woman. Theo thinks of some of the articles she wrote about Harry, and something cold and patient wakes up in him and watches through his eyes as he nods, not speaking.

“Thank you for answering my message.” Skeeter takes an acid-green quill from her bag. “I hope that we can have a chat about Harry Potter.”

“No.”

“What?”

Skeeter looks delightfully shocked, which makes Theo sure that she anticipated his refusal, and that she’ll try to work it into the article she’s writing about Harry somehow. Time to make her realize that she won’t write an article about him ever again.

“You’re not going to write anything about him again.”

Skeeter clucks her tongue at Theo and reaches up to touch something in her hair. It looks like it’s just a comb, but Theo doesn’t trust that, especially when the comb gleams silver and seems to be sharper than it was just a second ago. “Writing is what I do for a living, dear. And after all, dear Harry is such a public figure…”

“You’re not going to,” Theo says, as calmly as he can. Rage is roaring through his veins. The only times he’s felt it more strongly were when he was dealing with the Amortentia. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“What are you going to do, dear, kill me? I must tell you that secrets would emerge then that would—make certain people very unhappy. Oh, yes.”

“I know so many better things to do than kill you.”

“Let’s cooperate with each other, shall we?” Skeeter’s voice goes soft and coaxing, which only makes the pounding blood in Theo’s ears surge up higher. “You can’t use the knowledge of my Animagus form against me. I’ve been fined and paid for it. I’m popular enough that it’s better for me to write about Harry than someone else. I’m held to some standards of journalistic integrity, after all.” Her smile is a hungry, writhing thing. “And I’m sure that you wouldn’t want someone less understanding to capitalize on who your father is, dear.”

Theo’s wand is in his hand. Skeeter looks at it without fear. She must really think that her blackmail material will protect her.

Maybe she has blackmail material on his father. Theo doesn’t know. He doesn’t care. The urge, the desire, to protect, is dancing through him like magic itself.

“Linguae ignis.”

Skeeter’s eyes widen a little as the curse hits her, but maybe because it only flares around her in a small yellow corona and then dissipates, she doesn’t look very afraid. “A curse that affects the tongue?” she asks. “I know enough Latin to know that. And yet, here I am. Still speaking.”

“Do you have blackmail material on my father?” Theo asks lazily.

“Of course not. Why would I have any on him?”

A second after that, Skeeter turns pale and claps her hand to her mouth. Theo smiles.

“What were you planning on writing in the article about me and Harry?”

“Material as salacious as I could get away with. Enough to make the public fascinated but also upset that he was sleeping with a young Death Eater.”

Skeeter stumbles back a second later, her mouth working and her hand rising as if she thinks that she can cast on a spell on him with her quill. “What are you—what did you do to me?”

“A truth-speaking curse.”

“There’s no such thing! They wouldn’t have invented Veritaserum if there was!”

“It’s a curse particular to the Nott family.” Theo has never thought he would be so grateful to his father for teaching him this spell, and others that Father insisted he never use openly, lest someone try to take the secrets out of his head. “Now you won’t have a choice but to speak or write the truth.”

“I can tell everyone what you did to me!”

“I’m the only one who knows the countercurse. I wouldn’t tell others, if I were you, in case I decided that there’s no reason to cast the counter on you.”

Skeeter stands there with her throat working. Then she says, “If you would just tell me the truth about what it’s like to date Harry Potter—”

“Why should I?”

“People want to know!”

“That’s not a reason.”

“He belongs to the whole world!” Skeeter stomps a foot on the ground, and Theo feels as though someone has filled his veins with ice. He knows, none better, that every word that passes her lips right now is the absolute truth. “No one can just keep him—he has fans, people he’s responsible to—”

She falls silent. Theo wishes he could think that it’s because she’s gained some wisdom and listened to the ridiculous words she’s spouting, but he knows very well it’s because she got a look at his eyes, and finally learned some wisdom the hard way.

“Listen to me,” Theo whispers. “I will say this only once.”

Skeeter nods, trembling a little.

“Harry Potter belongs to who he chooses to belong to. That includes me, and I’m not going to give you permission to write a bunch of lies about him just because you want to. I won’t take the curse off you until you learn that.”

In fact, Theo has no intention of removing the curse, ever, but telling Skeeter that might make her more inclined to take risks, since she would think there’s no reason not to. Even a small amount of risk near Harry is unacceptable.

“All right,” Skeeter breathes.

“What?”

“I said all right!”

At least Theo knows she’s telling the truth, thanks to his curse. He tucks away his wand and smiles pleasantly at her. “I’m glad that we understand each other.”

“You won’t…”

“What?”

“Tell anyone that I have to tell the truth?” Skeeter’s face is a study of so many emotions that Theo gives up on interpreting them.

“Oh,” Theo says, “I won’t need to. I imagine that it’ll be obvious soon enough, when you start to lose your means of making a living.”

He brushes past her and walks towards the castle, ignoring the choked sound of despair from behind him. He doesn’t ignore the risk, of course, and keeps his wand close to hand, in case she tries to cast something at his back.

She doesn’t. She must still believe that he will really remove the curse if she behaves well enough, someday.

She doesn’t know me very well.

*

“You really cursed her to tell the truth?”

“Yes. Does that bother you?”

Harry shakes his head, trembling a bit. He wonders how he can convey the gratitude and the wonder inside him, and ease the worried expression on Theo’s face. Because that expression has no right to be there, Harry doesn’t want it there, but at the same time, no words he can speak would be enough to say what he’s feeling.

There are gestures he could use, but Harry is determined to let Theo set the pace of their touching.

Then he decides. He can make a gesture, and it will be Theo’s choice how he responds to it. He doesn’t have to. He just has to see it, and he can step back or shake his head, and that will be the end of it.

But Harry has to do it.

He bows his head and slips to his knees, then looks up. He can hear the words withering and dying on Theo’s tongue.

Theo stares at Harry with his mouth slightly open. Harry gives him a smile he knows is shy, tremulous. It doesn’t matter. The light in his eyes will have to speak for him.

“You would—you want to—”

Those words dry up, too, probably because Theo can see how frantically Harry is bobbing his head. For long seconds, he stands there, and Harry thinks that perhaps this won’t work at all. Theo will turn on his heel and stride away, the wound from the Amortentia still too raw.

It doesn’t matter. Harry can’t regret making the offer. He simply kneels there with his heart in his eyes.

Theo takes one step forwards. Then another.

Harry clenches his hands in his lap so he won’t reach for Theo, and simply keeps watching, nodding a little when Theo checks and looks as if he thinks Harry might be refusing.

There are so many different kinds of yes, and Harry wants to speak them all to Theo with his body.

Another step. Another. Now Theo is standing right in front of him, and searching Harry’s face with eyes that are wide and bright. He’s biting his lip. He reaches out a hand as if he’s going to touch Harry’s hair, then lets it fall.

Harry waits. He feels like he’s entered some clear, bright place of arousal and longing where waiting isn’t difficult at all. Of course he’ll be disappointed if Theo turns his back, but that’s his choice. What’s important is that he choose.

Theo folds his arms. That doesn’t conceal the tremor in his hands or his voice as he says, “Suck me off.”

Harry moves slowly forwards, eyes on Theo’s face rather than where his knees are falling. Theo nods. His tremor is worse, and Harry hesitates one more time before he reaches out to let his hands rest on the front of Theo’s robes.

Theo closes his eyes.

Harry watches him narrowly as he undoes the fastenings of the robes. It means his fingers fumble and he takes longer than he should, but that’s okay. If Theo is going to retreat, that will give him more time to do it.

But Theo doesn’t retreat. He does seem to be holding his breath as Harry slips the robes down his legs and stares at the outline of his cock against his pants. Harry can’t find his own breath. He can’t feel the inside of his mouth. There is nothing but the warmth, the rush of blood through him, and Theo’s cock in front of him.

And then, words.

“Suck me off.”

Theo’s voice shakes, and Harry knows what it must have cost him to say that. Harry nods, dream-like, and pulls Theo’s pants down his legs, too.

He almost chokes. Theo’s cock is hard and curved, flushed and hot. Harry knows that even before he reaches out and takes it in his palm.

“Harry?”

Harry glances up. Theo’s eyes are glittering the way they did when Professor Flitwick told Harry to pay attention in Charms class.

“I believe I told you to do something,” Theo says, voice shading down into darkness.

Harry wants to close his eyes and bask in that, but he wants to suck Theo off more. He opens his mouth and leans forwards, feeling the heavy salty weight of Theo on his tongue for only a moment before he begins to suck.

*

Theo has never felt something as visceral as this.

He would say he had, if someone asked him before this. Fear. Hunger. Rage when he realized that he’d been dosed with Amortentia. Satisfaction as he watched Draco and Daphne and Pansy suffer for what they did to him.

But no. Never. It doesn’t compare to this, the amber-colored, wonderfully warm sensation curling through him as Harry’s mouth closes around Theo and his tongue begins to move.

Theo reaches out a hand and snatches it back, then reaches it out and snatches it back again. He wants to touch, to seize Harry’s head and drag it to just where he wants it, but he doesn’t want to make him—

Harry utters an impatient, muffled noise, and then shoves his head up. Even now, he’s still letting Theo make the decision on whether to touch.

Knowing that, there’s no way Theo can hold back. He’s gasping as he runs his fingers gently around and down and through Harry’s hair, and then grabs either side of Harry’s head and tugs.

Harry gasps around Theo, creating the most marvelous buzzing sensation, and then leans back in and sucks Theo until he thinks that he’s going to come right then and there.

It does take a few more minutes, of tumbling through heat and pleasure shooting up through him as if it’s going to burn him, of feeling Harry lean into his touch and basically plead for Theo to touch him without words, but—

Theo comes.

And Harry swallows.

Theo collapses on the floor in the next instant, his legs too weak to hold him. His head doesn’t collide with the floor the way he expected, because it seems that Harry had the foresight to cast a wandless and wordless Cushioning Charm.

Theo rolls over and gapes at Harry. Harry smiles back at him, lips wet and shiny.

And his cock is straining against his robes, and, well. Theo can be cruel, but not to those who don’t deserve it.

He reaches out and lets the tip of his finger rest for a moment on Harry’s erection.

Harry throws his head back as he comes, his throat working the way it did when he was sucking Theo, but doesn’t make a single sound. The sheer intensity that implies makes Theo crawl over to him after Harry’s collapsed in a heap, and gather him close, bowing his head so that he can kiss Harry.

“I love you,” he breathes.

Harry twists around and kisses him, wet and frantic and messy. Theo doesn’t care. He cares about feeling the best he’s ever felt, and reassuring Harry so that there’s no possible way he can miss that.

“I love you, too,” Harry at last pulls away enough to say, and the look in his eyes—

Theo would go to war for that look. He would fight Dark Lords for that look.

He didn’t know, several weeks ago, that he would ever want Harry to do more than possibly help him hunt for the people who dosed Theo with Amortentia, and keep his secrets. Now, he can’t imagine letting him go.

And if defending Harry from the likes of Skeeter will always bring on this brilliant explosion of gratitude…

I’ll do it, gladly, for the rest of my life.