lomonaaeren (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
lomonaaeren) wrote2024-08-14 06:46 pm
lomonaaeren) wrote2024-08-14 06:46 pm
[More Theo/Harry in the World Project]: A Cacophony of Love and Violence, PG-13, 1/2
Title: A Cacophony of Love and Violence
Pairings: Harry/Theo
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, Hogwarts “eighth year,” violence, drama, angst, outsider POV, courting traditions, gore
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Theodore Nott has fallen in love with Harry Potter and decided to court him with the most solemn and violent of pureblood traditions. The biggest surprise is that Harry Potter has fallen in love back and fully accepted the courtship. And everyone around them has to deal with it.
Author’s Notes: This story is part of my “More Harry/Theo in the World Project” series of short fics. LawfulEvil gave me a prompt that is basically the summary, although with a few details changed. This will have a second part, to be posted next week.
A Cacophony of Love and Violence
“Harry, what is that?”
Hermione thought it was a fair question. For one thing, although Harry got a lot more post now than he had before the end of the war, packages were still rare. And so were ones that Harry tore into eagerly instead of checking for curses or poisons.
There was also the fact of what this particular package contained.
“Aren’t they beautiful, Hermione?”
“Um.”
Hermione had to admit that the violently black roses Harry was holding up were something. They glowed so deep a color, or lack of color, that Hermione found it hard to look at them. There was also the glistening, dripping thorns, and the fact that all of the flowers had mouths made of petals that snapped restlessly at the air and writhed in Harry’s hold.
“Who sent them to you?” Hermione had to ask, as Harry nestled his face closer to the flowers and breathed in a scent that was too much like blood for Hermione’s taste.
“My suitor.”
“Your what?”
“My suitor,” Harry repeated with a concerned look at her. “Did something happen to your ears from that Deafening Charm the other day, Hermione?”
“No. I heard you. But since when do you have a suitor?” Hermione felt a little breathless. How could she have missed such an important occurrence in Harry’s life as someone courting him?
“Oh.” Harry gave a private smile and inhaled the smell of the flowers for a long second. The writhing roses didn’t come close to biting him, Hermione noticed. “It’s been a few weeks. He sent me a private courting gift, and a letter about whether I would be open to being courted in the first place. I told him that I was, after a few days to think about it. I mean, I had to read up on what it meant, you know? And I thought that at first it was a joke. But I got to meet him, and he was serious. He’s serious about me.”
Harry sounded almost dazed with happiness. If Hermione hadn’t known that he could throw off the Imperius Curse, she would have been worried. She cleared her throat. “And you didn’t say anything to me about this? Or Ron?”
“No. I wanted it to be private at first. But it’s obviously not going to be if he’s sending me courting gifts in public now.” Harry stroked the petals of the roses with a besotted expression again.
“Who’s your suitor?” Hermione asked it as casually as she could, while her mind swam. Part of her was saying: He? How did I not know that Harry was interested in blokes? And pureblood bokes who would do this kind of silly thing at that?
“Theodore Nott.”
Hermione had to struggle to place the name. Of course she knew he was a Slytherin, but that was more because she recognized his last name as the name of people who had been in Voldemort’s service. It was utterly surreal to think that one of them was interested in courting the Boy-Who-Lived.
“Did he—say why?”
“He says he fell in love with me during the Battle of Hogwarts.” Harry’s voice was low, and his eyes shone. He touched the petals of the roses again, and then tapped his wand against them and shrank them down. As Hermione watched, a crystal cube unfolded from somewhere in the vase and surrounded the roses, probably holding them invulnerable until Harry could get them in water. “He’s so honest, Hermione. So open. And so fierce.”
“Fierce?”
“Yeah. He already cast spells at a few people who were making fun of me, to show that he’s serious about defending me.”
Hermione swallowed. She didn’t want to make Harry defensive of Nott, but—“That sounds like the kind of thing that could get out of hand.”
“Maybe. But when did anyone ever defend me like that before, Hermione?”
“Ron and I did! We were there when people thought you were mad, and when they thought you were the Heir of Slytherin—”
Harry smiled at her again. “Yeah, you were. But sometimes I just want someone who will hex people for me.”
“As long as he doesn’t use Dark Arts,” Hermione said, a little weakly. She couldn’t say that she hadn’t hexed people for Ron’s sake, although a few times those people had been Ron himself.
“I’m going to be careful, Hermione, I promise.” Harry smiled down at the black roses in their crystal cube and then looked at the watch Mrs. Weasley had given him. “Oh, we should get to Potions.”
Hermione nodded and rose to her feet. Her gaze went to the Slytherin table across the room, where she was used to seeing Draco Malfoy lounging like a king. Of course, he did less of that since they had come back for their eighth year, since he was an accused Death Eater who had only gone free because Harry had testified for him. But still.
Now she saw that Theodore Nott was the lounging one. He rested an arm on the table, his eyes locked on Harry. He had dark eyes and hair and a silvery-grey sheen to his robes that Hermione was reasonably sure was against Hogwarts’s student uniform regulations. Then again, those regulations tended to get ignored in the case of the eighth-year students.
He raised a glass in toast, and for a startled second, Hermione thought he was toasting her. Then she realized that his eyes were locked behind her.
Hermione looked over her shoulder. Harry was blushing.
Merlin help us.
*
“Nott, what’s this about you courting Harry?”
“I’m courting him, Weasley. Surely you’ve heard of the practice.”
Ron halted, frowning. He’d thought Nott would either get defensive and snap that his courtship was none of Ron’s business, or he would deny it was happening at all. Then Ron could go back to Harry and tell him that his suitor was lying, and he should break the courtship off.
Really, Ron thought, Harry should break it off anyway. Nott hadn’t been a Death Eater, but all that meant was that he hadn’t been stupid enough to follow Voldemort. And Ron had heard rumors for years of the Dark Arts he practiced, even if evidence of them was somewhat thin on the ground as well.
Nott leaned against the wall of the greenhouse and raised his eyebrows. “Did Harry send you to question me? Or does he not know that you’re here? Because if he wanted to break off this courtship, he would tell me himself.”
Ron scowled harder. “I’m here about the gift that you sent him this afternoon.”
“Did he not like it?”
Ron perked up. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to—
But then Nott relaxed back into his arrogance as though nothing had happened. He chuckled and shook his head a little. “Of course he did. He would have come to tell me if it was less than perfect.”
“Of course it was bloody less than perfect!” Ron yelled. “Because it was Dolores Umbridge’s severed head!”
Nott smiled a little at him. “I didn’t cause her death.”
“You still killed her!”
Nott shrugged. “This portion of the courtship requires a gift that demonstrates my commitment to keeping Harry safe. What better way to do that than to show him I’ll cut off the head of anyone who threatens him?”
Ron didn’t like the way Nott’s voice lingered over Harry’s name. It wasn’t—Nott didn’t have to—it wasn’t necessary.
“Hermione is preparing to investigate you for murder, you know.” Ron had debated telling Nott that, since it might mean he would be able to hide the evidence, but then he’d reassured himself that a little warning wouldn’t keep anyone safe from Hermione. And maybe it would make Nott decide to back off.
“Let her.”
“Did you hear what I said, Nott? A war hero is preparing to investigate you for murder.”
“She won’t find anything.”
“You sent the victim’s head to Harry in a box!”
“And who’s to say that the real murderer didn’t plant the head on me to try and implicate me?” Nott’s eyes widened, and his lower lip trembled in a way that Ron wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself. “They did that right after the war, you know. They tried to tell people I’d been a Death Eater, despite the lack of any Mark or memories from anyone who saw me doing anything wrong.”
Ron glared at him. Nott just looked back at him with a faint smile, and then his gaze darted past Ron and softened. He stood up and bushed a hand down his robes as if removing invisible dirt, and then strode forwards with his arm extended.
“Harry.”
Ron spun around to see his best mate there. Harry didn’t appear to have noticed Ron at all. He had eyes for Nott and Nott only. He breathed, “Theo,” and came forwards with both arms out, embracing his—suitor.
And then they kissed.
Ron had thought prior to this that the most awkward kiss he’d ever had to be there for was when he’d stumbled across Ginny kissing Dean and a couple of her other boyfriends. But now he knew better. This went on and on and on, and it was wet, and Harry looked flushed and overwhelmed, and Nott was starting to bend him backwards like he was a heroine in those swoony novels Mum liked, and—
“Hey!” Ron finally managed to say.
Harry and Nott parted with a few loud squelching noises that Ron didn’t want to examine too closely, and beamed at each other. Nott’s face was softened in a way that Ron never would have believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Harry’s hands were resting on Nott’s shoulders.
“Thank you for the gift,” Harry whispered. “No one else would have done that for me.”
“Harry—do you hear yourself? He murdered someone!”
“She needed murdering,” Harry said, with a glance at Ron that immediately returned to Nott. He looked soft, adoring, in a way that made Ron want to get far, far away. “Do you want to skive off Herbology?”
“Your wish is my command, my beloved,” Nott said, and held out his arm like he was escorting Celestina Warbeck. Harry took it, and they walked towards the Forbidden Forest.
“What am I supposed to tell Hermione?” Ron yelled after them.
“That we’re not interested in a threesome!”
Ron dragged his hand down his flushing face as he watched them vanish. He wanted—well, he really should write to the Ministry and tell them Nott was responsible for murdering Umbridge, he thought.
But on the other hand, Nott had been confident enough to send Umbridge’s head to Harry in the middle of the common room. What if he did have an alibi? What if Ron looked like a fool for reporting it?
There was also the fact that Ron sort of agreed with Harry that Umbridge had needed murdering, since she had claimed to be under the Imperius Curse during the war and so had never been tried for all the awful things she did to Muggleborns. But still.
“Ugh,” Ron muttered, and kicked a stone to relieve his feelings. Then he had to hop on one foot, since he’d stubbed his toe.
Why did Harry have to fall in love with a murderous Slytherin?
*
“Professor McGonagall?”
Minerva halted with a small smile. She had gone looking for Harry, but here he was, walking towards her. It was a coincidence that meant she didn’t have to hunt him down in front of his peers and embarrass him. “Harry,” she greeted. “Would you mind coming to my office for a moment?”
“Of course. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
Minerva smiled more widely and led to the way to the Headmaster’s office—she still usually thought of it that way—while talking to Harry about his classes. He smiled and mentioned a few spells he’d learned in Filius’s class, how he was studying for Transfiguration with a group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and how some people still wanted him to lead the Defense study group.
“I told them that the curse on the Defense post is gone and Auror Dawlish is perfectly competent, but they didn’t believe me.”
“It would be hard to do, after all the years that we suffered under it,” Minerva admitted, and touched the gargoyle with one hand. It leaped aside. “Tell me, do you find the stares annoying?”
“Oh, yeah, the Conqueror thing.” Harry rolled his eyes. Minerva was delighted to see that he was immune to the title the Prophet had decided to bestow on him after he’d defeated Voldemort. “It’s annoying, but they’re mostly kids and can’t help it.”
“Some of those kids are only a few years younger than you.”
“Do you think that makes them less immature?”
No, Minerva had to admit in the privacy of her own head, even as she remonstrated a little with Harry. The people who had taken an active part in the war were older than those who had hidden or fled or not been able to fight, even if they had been born in the same year.
Harry looked around the Headmistress’s office (someday Minerva would get used to calling it that) with a painful little smile. Minerva couldn’t imagine what memories it must awaken for him. Then he sat down in the chair across from her desk and said calmly, “I’m going to ask you to speak to other students about not interfering in my courtship with Theodore Nott.”
“I—I was going to speak to you about that, as well,” Minerva said slowly. “But I was going to ask you not to conduct the courtship where other people could see it.”
“What? Why not?”
Harry sounded so surprised. Minerva leaned back behind her desk and resisted the urge to glance at Albus’s portrait. She didn’t know if he had ever had to deal with something like this when Harry was a student, but it really didn’t matter. The only important thing was that she couldn’t have a courtship that involved murder going on at her school.
“I’ve had numerous complaints from the parents of other students, Mr. Potter, as well as the students themselves,” she said. “They feel that you are condoning murder, and that I would be doing the same thing if I let your courtship continue.”
“But that’s ridiculous! This is a pureblood tradition, they ought to be in favor of it!”
“They are not in favor of killing, Mr. Potter.”
She got an extremely cynical look. “Of course they are. It’s just that they’re not in favor of killing Ministry officials like Umbridge.”
“Well, no.”
“What about you?”
Minerva bit her lip sharply so that she could hold onto her expression. It would not do to show the satisfaction she had felt when the news of Umbridge’s severed head had made its way to her. That woman had made Minerva’s life difficult for a year, and had forced a painful recovery from several Stunners on her.
But that didn’t make a difference. Couldn’t make a difference. Minerva still couldn’t let someone just get away with flaunting the evidence of her murder.
“My personal feelings do not matter,” she settled for saying. “I still cannot allow these violent traditions, this bloody kind of courting, to go on in the school I am in charge of.”
Harry settled back and studied her for long enough that Minerva heard Albus cough lightly in his portrait. Harry looked up at the picture, and for a moment, his face had the same cynical look that he’d worn when he was talking about purebloods approving of killing.
“How did this courtship get started, dear boy?” Albus asked.
Harry’s face went soft and dreamy. Minerva had never seen him look like that, and she could understand why he found this tradition so appealing, for all that she didn’t herself. He probably valued the person who could make him feel like that.
“Theo fell in love with me,” he said.
“But when, Harry? It seems you never interacted much when you were students here before the Battle, unless I’m forgetting something.”
Minerva held back a cynical snort of her own. Albus forgot nothing.
“It was during the Battle,” Harry said. “Theo could appreciate courage, even if he was never Sorted into the House that values it most. And he wanted to show me that he would do his part to fight and keep me safe from enemies, even though he left with the rest of the Slytherins during the Battle itself.”
“And are you in love with Mr. Nott, as well?” Albus asked. Minerva saw the stir of a shadow from the corner where Severus’s portrait was listening. She shook her head. She didn’t know if that was because Mr. Nott had been his former student, or because he hadn’t given up the habit of spying even now.
It had been a severe shock, to realize where Severus’s loyalties truly lay.
“Yes, of course I am.” Harry sounded startled again. “Why wouldn’t I be? He fights for me, and he chose to court me despite knowing that I might turn him down, and he’s handsome, and he gives me great kisses, and—”
“We do not need all the details of your sex life, Potter,” Severus snapped.
Harry’s face went calm and remote for a long moment. He glanced at Minerva. “Is he going to be here for this conversation, Headmistress?”
“Yes, he is,” Minerva said. “I have no ability to banish him from the office, Mr. Potter.”
“A shame. You could have made sure that the portrait didn’t get hung, anyway.” And Harry turned back to Albus’s portrait as though dismissing her along with Severus. Minerva swallowed, a little shocked at how much that hurt. “Sir, you know that I’m in love with Theo. Why would I allow anyone to court me if I didn’t love them?”
“Lust can make fools of us all.”
Minerva choked on air, and heard Severus do much the same thing. She didn’t want to hear details about sex, either!
“It’s not just lust, sir. It’s love. And I’m sorry you can’t understand that.” Harry turned towards Minerva as if Albus’s portrait had been Transfigured into air. “Can you make sure that no one interferes with my courtship or not, Professor?”
“Don’t talk to the Headmistress like that,” Severus snapped.
“Severus, please,” Minerva said. She did not want to undermine the man who had sacrificed so much in front of Harry, nor Harry, who had also sacrificed so much, in front of a man who had hated him. She turned back to Harry. “I hardly think complaints about a severed head constitute interference, Mr. Potter. I will ask that you speak to your—suitor—and tell him to keep the more violent courting gestures at a distance.”
“You’re really going to ask that of me?”
“Yes, I am. This is a school, not a—a killing ground.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “It was once.”
Minerva couldn’t help her flinch. She still often walked around a corner and expected to see blood splattered on broken stones, or saw phantom visions of bodies lying in the Great Hall. “Mr. Potter,” she whispered. “Please leave.”
Harry shrugged and stood up. “I’ll tell Theo that he shouldn’t send violent gifts when I’m in public anymore, but I won’t drop the courtship or whatever it is that you wanted me to do.”
“I am no longer sure what I wanted you to do,” Minerva said, sourly, honestly.
Harry startled her by flashing her a quick smile. “I know, Professor. It’s always hard for people to see love displayed as nakedly as Theo is willing to display his.”
Minerva put a hand over her face. “Please do not say the word nakedly to me, Mr. Potter.”
He laughed all the way out the office door. When it shut behind him, Minerva heard two portraits clear their throats.
She shook her head and stood up. She knew they had been brave and great men, and had spared no effort to see You-Know-Who defeated. But both of them were paint and shadows now, and could not feel the memories the way she could.
“I will not speak to Mr. Potter again, unless he actually does commit murder on Hogwarts grounds,” she said flatly, and left, to walk up to a tower where she could feel the free wind on her face.
*
Rita looked around Hogwarts and shook her head. It looked the same as it always had, which was ridiculous, in a way. She knew the school had been damaged in the Battle. And they had taken the time to put it all back together exactly as it had been? Without doing any renovations?
Hogwarts was a dear place, she would always be the first to say that, but it did seem pathetic that they hadn’t tried to add more defenses, or strengthen the wards, or do something other than simply replicate the past.
A smile flitted across her face as she strode towards the school. At least the story she was here to report on was new. So new that Rita didn’t think all the confused rumors could be the truth, because they would be too delicious if that was the case.
Alas, the world was always less delicious than it seemed at first.
She changed into a beetle to flutter through a window that someone had left conveniently open, and then buzzed down the corridors until she saw a clump of Gryffindor students. Snagging onto a cloak, she rode comfortably with them in the direction of the Tower. She was sure that she would overhear something interesting in their common room.
And she did. Antennae quivering, Rita flitted from couch to couch, and heard tales about murder, uneasy murmurs, speculation in hushed voices about whether dear Harry Potter had really started practicing Dark Arts or not.
The most delicious of the rumors turned out to be true, of all things! There had been a severed head sent to Mr. Potter, courtesy of Theodore Nott, and Potter had embraced it. Accepted it. Gone out and kissed the killer on the mouth several times, as a matter of fact.
Rita quivered and shivered all over with the deliciousness of it by the time she got out of the common room and rode down with one of the students who was going to dinner. She would write such a good article, and people would see that she wasn’t, as some dear reviewer had said after her book about Dumbledore, “solely confined to research into the past.”
This would be the best story she had ever written!
*
Ginny sighed a little as she sat down next to Harry. It had been disappointing to find out that he had a suitor, yes. But Harry had changed a lot over the summer, and she had to admit the person he’d become scared her, a bit.
He was welcome to Nott, and Nott to him.
She did wonder how he would take the story on the front page of the Prophet, though, which proclaimed that Nott had committed a murder for love of him. It was true, but Skeeter had twisted the words subtly, as always, to make it sound like it was really Harry’s fault the murder had happened, instead of Nott’s.
Harry unfolded the paper, looked at the story illustrated with a photograph of him splattered with blood and looking exhausted in the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts, and laughed.
Ginny stared at him. Harry saw her staring and shook his head, folding up the paper. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to murder Skeeter right in front of you.”
Ginny felt a tide of color flooding her cheeks. It was embarrassing to have her thoughts figured out that easily. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t worried about that. I just thought you would be more upset than this.”
“Why would I? She’s telling the truth, after all.”
Ginny would have liked to say something else, but just then, Nott stood up from the Slytherin table and sauntered over to meet Harry halfway. He took Harry’s hand and kissed the back of it with delicate lips, then put a palm on Harry’s back to escort him out of the Great Hall.
Ginny shook her head. She wouldn’t have thought Harry was the sort of person who would want to be fawned over like that. Ron had told her that Harry had embraced the pureblood courting traditions, but it was still odd to see.
Oh, well. Not her problem anymore, except as Harry’s friend.
*
Seamus eyed Harry a little uneasily. He’d received a wrapped and decorated box that morning at breakfast, obviously from Nott, but after Harry’d peered into it, he’d smiled and closed the lid. And carried it about with him during the day, sure, but not opened it again or shown anyone what was in it, the way he had with the box containing Umbridge’s severed head. Now and then, though, he’d stroked the lid in the most unsettling way.
People had stared at him and looked away and whispered and muttered, but it seemed obvious that no one was going to go up to Harry and ask about the mysterious box. That meant Seamus was probably the only one with the courage.
Oh, all right. And his curiosity was killing him.
Seamus cleared his throat. Harry glanced up. They were in a quiet corner of the common room, one that Harry had been sitting in more and more often lately. Even Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to want to spend time with Harry when he was sitting there, writing letters to Nott or examining his courtship gifts.
Not that I can blame them.
“Yeah, Seamus?”
“I’ll be blunt.”
“Please do.”
There was a smile lurking in the corners of Harry’s mouth, which gave Seamus the courage to sit down next to Harry on the couch. “Everyone is curious about your courtship gift. You didn’t display this one to the Tower.”
“Well, no. Everyone got so upset when I displayed the last one…”
“So this is like the last one?” Seamus couldn’t help the way that he leaned forwards so far he almost fell off the couch. He was already close enough to see Harry’s expression and everything, but he couldn’t see the box, which Harry had sitting on the floor next to him.
“Yeah. You could say that.”
Seamus concealed a sigh. He wished Dean, or Hannah Abbott, or someone, would look at him with the fondness Harry was using to stare at his parchment. Seamus didn’t know who he wanted to settle down with, and he sure didn’t want to court someone the way Nott was courting Harry right now, but…
It would have been nice if someone liked him that much. That was all.
“I want to see it. Even if no one else does.”
Harry looked at him with a different kind of smile tugging at his mouth than the one he had when he’d been thinking of Nott. “Really? Weren’t you one of the ones saying that the courtship traditions were so violent they were in poor taste?”
“Well, in front of little kids. But there’s no little kid here right now, only two of us eighth-years who lived through a war…”
Harry’s face darkened for a second, but then he nodded and reached for the box. It was a black lacquer wood one, decorated with ribbons and what looked like carved flowers. Seamus looked closely at the flowers as Harry tilted back the lid.
Nightshade, he thought. Belladonna.
Urk.
Harry looked at the object inside the box one more time with that ridiculously fond expression. Then he spun it around so that Seamus could see it.
Seamus looked and then leaned back. It was hard to get his breath. He stared at Harry and croaked, “Is that what I think it is?”
“Depends on what you think it is.” Harry shut the lid again, after one more glance at the object, as if he couldn’t believe it existed.
“It was Skeeter’s?”
Harry nodded.
“But then, won’t—I mean, everyone knows that she just wrote that article about you.” Seamus licked his lips and choked back his own nausea. “So won’t people at least suspect Nott once they hear about this?”
“Oh, I thought you knew,” Harry said with exaggerated shock. “There was an article about it in the Prophet this morning. Third page. A coworker of Skeeter’s got angry because Skeeter was stealing credit for articles that reporter researched, and attacked her.”
“Why?”
“Years of pent-up rage, is what the article said.”
“But…”
Harry gave him a smile so full of dark satisfaction that Seamus shuddered, even as he again thought about what it would mean if someone liked him that way.
“Think about it,” Harry said softly. “She’s been writing these articles for years, angering me but also lots of other powerful people. Before, she had the protection of Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry, and then she wrote that book about Dumbledore and wasn’t writing articles for a while. But now?”
Seamus nodded, understanding. He retreated to his bed, where he shut the curtains and lay on the bed staring up at the canopy.
Nott could have arranged for Skeeter to die, but probably that wouldn’t have appeased him. But it was incredibly hard to heal maiming, unless St. Mungo’s had an enormously powerful Healer treat the victim within a few hours of the injury.
And Seamus would bet that Nott had also arranged it so Skeeter couldn’t get to a Healer in time.
In the meantime, he had sent Harry a box with Skeeter’s hand in it.
Seamus closed his eyes and shuddered, envious and sickened and making a mental note not to anger Nott.
Or get too close to Harry, for that matter. Who knew what Nott would take offense at next?
Pairings: Harry/Theo
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, Hogwarts “eighth year,” violence, drama, angst, outsider POV, courting traditions, gore
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Theodore Nott has fallen in love with Harry Potter and decided to court him with the most solemn and violent of pureblood traditions. The biggest surprise is that Harry Potter has fallen in love back and fully accepted the courtship. And everyone around them has to deal with it.
Author’s Notes: This story is part of my “More Harry/Theo in the World Project” series of short fics. LawfulEvil gave me a prompt that is basically the summary, although with a few details changed. This will have a second part, to be posted next week.
A Cacophony of Love and Violence
“Harry, what is that?”
Hermione thought it was a fair question. For one thing, although Harry got a lot more post now than he had before the end of the war, packages were still rare. And so were ones that Harry tore into eagerly instead of checking for curses or poisons.
There was also the fact of what this particular package contained.
“Aren’t they beautiful, Hermione?”
“Um.”
Hermione had to admit that the violently black roses Harry was holding up were something. They glowed so deep a color, or lack of color, that Hermione found it hard to look at them. There was also the glistening, dripping thorns, and the fact that all of the flowers had mouths made of petals that snapped restlessly at the air and writhed in Harry’s hold.
“Who sent them to you?” Hermione had to ask, as Harry nestled his face closer to the flowers and breathed in a scent that was too much like blood for Hermione’s taste.
“My suitor.”
“Your what?”
“My suitor,” Harry repeated with a concerned look at her. “Did something happen to your ears from that Deafening Charm the other day, Hermione?”
“No. I heard you. But since when do you have a suitor?” Hermione felt a little breathless. How could she have missed such an important occurrence in Harry’s life as someone courting him?
“Oh.” Harry gave a private smile and inhaled the smell of the flowers for a long second. The writhing roses didn’t come close to biting him, Hermione noticed. “It’s been a few weeks. He sent me a private courting gift, and a letter about whether I would be open to being courted in the first place. I told him that I was, after a few days to think about it. I mean, I had to read up on what it meant, you know? And I thought that at first it was a joke. But I got to meet him, and he was serious. He’s serious about me.”
Harry sounded almost dazed with happiness. If Hermione hadn’t known that he could throw off the Imperius Curse, she would have been worried. She cleared her throat. “And you didn’t say anything to me about this? Or Ron?”
“No. I wanted it to be private at first. But it’s obviously not going to be if he’s sending me courting gifts in public now.” Harry stroked the petals of the roses with a besotted expression again.
“Who’s your suitor?” Hermione asked it as casually as she could, while her mind swam. Part of her was saying: He? How did I not know that Harry was interested in blokes? And pureblood bokes who would do this kind of silly thing at that?
“Theodore Nott.”
Hermione had to struggle to place the name. Of course she knew he was a Slytherin, but that was more because she recognized his last name as the name of people who had been in Voldemort’s service. It was utterly surreal to think that one of them was interested in courting the Boy-Who-Lived.
“Did he—say why?”
“He says he fell in love with me during the Battle of Hogwarts.” Harry’s voice was low, and his eyes shone. He touched the petals of the roses again, and then tapped his wand against them and shrank them down. As Hermione watched, a crystal cube unfolded from somewhere in the vase and surrounded the roses, probably holding them invulnerable until Harry could get them in water. “He’s so honest, Hermione. So open. And so fierce.”
“Fierce?”
“Yeah. He already cast spells at a few people who were making fun of me, to show that he’s serious about defending me.”
Hermione swallowed. She didn’t want to make Harry defensive of Nott, but—“That sounds like the kind of thing that could get out of hand.”
“Maybe. But when did anyone ever defend me like that before, Hermione?”
“Ron and I did! We were there when people thought you were mad, and when they thought you were the Heir of Slytherin—”
Harry smiled at her again. “Yeah, you were. But sometimes I just want someone who will hex people for me.”
“As long as he doesn’t use Dark Arts,” Hermione said, a little weakly. She couldn’t say that she hadn’t hexed people for Ron’s sake, although a few times those people had been Ron himself.
“I’m going to be careful, Hermione, I promise.” Harry smiled down at the black roses in their crystal cube and then looked at the watch Mrs. Weasley had given him. “Oh, we should get to Potions.”
Hermione nodded and rose to her feet. Her gaze went to the Slytherin table across the room, where she was used to seeing Draco Malfoy lounging like a king. Of course, he did less of that since they had come back for their eighth year, since he was an accused Death Eater who had only gone free because Harry had testified for him. But still.
Now she saw that Theodore Nott was the lounging one. He rested an arm on the table, his eyes locked on Harry. He had dark eyes and hair and a silvery-grey sheen to his robes that Hermione was reasonably sure was against Hogwarts’s student uniform regulations. Then again, those regulations tended to get ignored in the case of the eighth-year students.
He raised a glass in toast, and for a startled second, Hermione thought he was toasting her. Then she realized that his eyes were locked behind her.
Hermione looked over her shoulder. Harry was blushing.
Merlin help us.
*
“Nott, what’s this about you courting Harry?”
“I’m courting him, Weasley. Surely you’ve heard of the practice.”
Ron halted, frowning. He’d thought Nott would either get defensive and snap that his courtship was none of Ron’s business, or he would deny it was happening at all. Then Ron could go back to Harry and tell him that his suitor was lying, and he should break the courtship off.
Really, Ron thought, Harry should break it off anyway. Nott hadn’t been a Death Eater, but all that meant was that he hadn’t been stupid enough to follow Voldemort. And Ron had heard rumors for years of the Dark Arts he practiced, even if evidence of them was somewhat thin on the ground as well.
Nott leaned against the wall of the greenhouse and raised his eyebrows. “Did Harry send you to question me? Or does he not know that you’re here? Because if he wanted to break off this courtship, he would tell me himself.”
Ron scowled harder. “I’m here about the gift that you sent him this afternoon.”
“Did he not like it?”
Ron perked up. Maybe this was the perfect opportunity to—
But then Nott relaxed back into his arrogance as though nothing had happened. He chuckled and shook his head a little. “Of course he did. He would have come to tell me if it was less than perfect.”
“Of course it was bloody less than perfect!” Ron yelled. “Because it was Dolores Umbridge’s severed head!”
Nott smiled a little at him. “I didn’t cause her death.”
“You still killed her!”
Nott shrugged. “This portion of the courtship requires a gift that demonstrates my commitment to keeping Harry safe. What better way to do that than to show him I’ll cut off the head of anyone who threatens him?”
Ron didn’t like the way Nott’s voice lingered over Harry’s name. It wasn’t—Nott didn’t have to—it wasn’t necessary.
“Hermione is preparing to investigate you for murder, you know.” Ron had debated telling Nott that, since it might mean he would be able to hide the evidence, but then he’d reassured himself that a little warning wouldn’t keep anyone safe from Hermione. And maybe it would make Nott decide to back off.
“Let her.”
“Did you hear what I said, Nott? A war hero is preparing to investigate you for murder.”
“She won’t find anything.”
“You sent the victim’s head to Harry in a box!”
“And who’s to say that the real murderer didn’t plant the head on me to try and implicate me?” Nott’s eyes widened, and his lower lip trembled in a way that Ron wouldn’t have believed if he hadn’t seen it for himself. “They did that right after the war, you know. They tried to tell people I’d been a Death Eater, despite the lack of any Mark or memories from anyone who saw me doing anything wrong.”
Ron glared at him. Nott just looked back at him with a faint smile, and then his gaze darted past Ron and softened. He stood up and bushed a hand down his robes as if removing invisible dirt, and then strode forwards with his arm extended.
“Harry.”
Ron spun around to see his best mate there. Harry didn’t appear to have noticed Ron at all. He had eyes for Nott and Nott only. He breathed, “Theo,” and came forwards with both arms out, embracing his—suitor.
And then they kissed.
Ron had thought prior to this that the most awkward kiss he’d ever had to be there for was when he’d stumbled across Ginny kissing Dean and a couple of her other boyfriends. But now he knew better. This went on and on and on, and it was wet, and Harry looked flushed and overwhelmed, and Nott was starting to bend him backwards like he was a heroine in those swoony novels Mum liked, and—
“Hey!” Ron finally managed to say.
Harry and Nott parted with a few loud squelching noises that Ron didn’t want to examine too closely, and beamed at each other. Nott’s face was softened in a way that Ron never would have believed if he hadn’t seen it with his own eyes. Harry’s hands were resting on Nott’s shoulders.
“Thank you for the gift,” Harry whispered. “No one else would have done that for me.”
“Harry—do you hear yourself? He murdered someone!”
“She needed murdering,” Harry said, with a glance at Ron that immediately returned to Nott. He looked soft, adoring, in a way that made Ron want to get far, far away. “Do you want to skive off Herbology?”
“Your wish is my command, my beloved,” Nott said, and held out his arm like he was escorting Celestina Warbeck. Harry took it, and they walked towards the Forbidden Forest.
“What am I supposed to tell Hermione?” Ron yelled after them.
“That we’re not interested in a threesome!”
Ron dragged his hand down his flushing face as he watched them vanish. He wanted—well, he really should write to the Ministry and tell them Nott was responsible for murdering Umbridge, he thought.
But on the other hand, Nott had been confident enough to send Umbridge’s head to Harry in the middle of the common room. What if he did have an alibi? What if Ron looked like a fool for reporting it?
There was also the fact that Ron sort of agreed with Harry that Umbridge had needed murdering, since she had claimed to be under the Imperius Curse during the war and so had never been tried for all the awful things she did to Muggleborns. But still.
“Ugh,” Ron muttered, and kicked a stone to relieve his feelings. Then he had to hop on one foot, since he’d stubbed his toe.
Why did Harry have to fall in love with a murderous Slytherin?
*
“Professor McGonagall?”
Minerva halted with a small smile. She had gone looking for Harry, but here he was, walking towards her. It was a coincidence that meant she didn’t have to hunt him down in front of his peers and embarrass him. “Harry,” she greeted. “Would you mind coming to my office for a moment?”
“Of course. I wanted to talk to you anyway.”
Minerva smiled more widely and led to the way to the Headmaster’s office—she still usually thought of it that way—while talking to Harry about his classes. He smiled and mentioned a few spells he’d learned in Filius’s class, how he was studying for Transfiguration with a group of Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, and how some people still wanted him to lead the Defense study group.
“I told them that the curse on the Defense post is gone and Auror Dawlish is perfectly competent, but they didn’t believe me.”
“It would be hard to do, after all the years that we suffered under it,” Minerva admitted, and touched the gargoyle with one hand. It leaped aside. “Tell me, do you find the stares annoying?”
“Oh, yeah, the Conqueror thing.” Harry rolled his eyes. Minerva was delighted to see that he was immune to the title the Prophet had decided to bestow on him after he’d defeated Voldemort. “It’s annoying, but they’re mostly kids and can’t help it.”
“Some of those kids are only a few years younger than you.”
“Do you think that makes them less immature?”
No, Minerva had to admit in the privacy of her own head, even as she remonstrated a little with Harry. The people who had taken an active part in the war were older than those who had hidden or fled or not been able to fight, even if they had been born in the same year.
Harry looked around the Headmistress’s office (someday Minerva would get used to calling it that) with a painful little smile. Minerva couldn’t imagine what memories it must awaken for him. Then he sat down in the chair across from her desk and said calmly, “I’m going to ask you to speak to other students about not interfering in my courtship with Theodore Nott.”
“I—I was going to speak to you about that, as well,” Minerva said slowly. “But I was going to ask you not to conduct the courtship where other people could see it.”
“What? Why not?”
Harry sounded so surprised. Minerva leaned back behind her desk and resisted the urge to glance at Albus’s portrait. She didn’t know if he had ever had to deal with something like this when Harry was a student, but it really didn’t matter. The only important thing was that she couldn’t have a courtship that involved murder going on at her school.
“I’ve had numerous complaints from the parents of other students, Mr. Potter, as well as the students themselves,” she said. “They feel that you are condoning murder, and that I would be doing the same thing if I let your courtship continue.”
“But that’s ridiculous! This is a pureblood tradition, they ought to be in favor of it!”
“They are not in favor of killing, Mr. Potter.”
She got an extremely cynical look. “Of course they are. It’s just that they’re not in favor of killing Ministry officials like Umbridge.”
“Well, no.”
“What about you?”
Minerva bit her lip sharply so that she could hold onto her expression. It would not do to show the satisfaction she had felt when the news of Umbridge’s severed head had made its way to her. That woman had made Minerva’s life difficult for a year, and had forced a painful recovery from several Stunners on her.
But that didn’t make a difference. Couldn’t make a difference. Minerva still couldn’t let someone just get away with flaunting the evidence of her murder.
“My personal feelings do not matter,” she settled for saying. “I still cannot allow these violent traditions, this bloody kind of courting, to go on in the school I am in charge of.”
Harry settled back and studied her for long enough that Minerva heard Albus cough lightly in his portrait. Harry looked up at the picture, and for a moment, his face had the same cynical look that he’d worn when he was talking about purebloods approving of killing.
“How did this courtship get started, dear boy?” Albus asked.
Harry’s face went soft and dreamy. Minerva had never seen him look like that, and she could understand why he found this tradition so appealing, for all that she didn’t herself. He probably valued the person who could make him feel like that.
“Theo fell in love with me,” he said.
“But when, Harry? It seems you never interacted much when you were students here before the Battle, unless I’m forgetting something.”
Minerva held back a cynical snort of her own. Albus forgot nothing.
“It was during the Battle,” Harry said. “Theo could appreciate courage, even if he was never Sorted into the House that values it most. And he wanted to show me that he would do his part to fight and keep me safe from enemies, even though he left with the rest of the Slytherins during the Battle itself.”
“And are you in love with Mr. Nott, as well?” Albus asked. Minerva saw the stir of a shadow from the corner where Severus’s portrait was listening. She shook her head. She didn’t know if that was because Mr. Nott had been his former student, or because he hadn’t given up the habit of spying even now.
It had been a severe shock, to realize where Severus’s loyalties truly lay.
“Yes, of course I am.” Harry sounded startled again. “Why wouldn’t I be? He fights for me, and he chose to court me despite knowing that I might turn him down, and he’s handsome, and he gives me great kisses, and—”
“We do not need all the details of your sex life, Potter,” Severus snapped.
Harry’s face went calm and remote for a long moment. He glanced at Minerva. “Is he going to be here for this conversation, Headmistress?”
“Yes, he is,” Minerva said. “I have no ability to banish him from the office, Mr. Potter.”
“A shame. You could have made sure that the portrait didn’t get hung, anyway.” And Harry turned back to Albus’s portrait as though dismissing her along with Severus. Minerva swallowed, a little shocked at how much that hurt. “Sir, you know that I’m in love with Theo. Why would I allow anyone to court me if I didn’t love them?”
“Lust can make fools of us all.”
Minerva choked on air, and heard Severus do much the same thing. She didn’t want to hear details about sex, either!
“It’s not just lust, sir. It’s love. And I’m sorry you can’t understand that.” Harry turned towards Minerva as if Albus’s portrait had been Transfigured into air. “Can you make sure that no one interferes with my courtship or not, Professor?”
“Don’t talk to the Headmistress like that,” Severus snapped.
“Severus, please,” Minerva said. She did not want to undermine the man who had sacrificed so much in front of Harry, nor Harry, who had also sacrificed so much, in front of a man who had hated him. She turned back to Harry. “I hardly think complaints about a severed head constitute interference, Mr. Potter. I will ask that you speak to your—suitor—and tell him to keep the more violent courting gestures at a distance.”
“You’re really going to ask that of me?”
“Yes, I am. This is a school, not a—a killing ground.”
Harry raised his eyebrows. “It was once.”
Minerva couldn’t help her flinch. She still often walked around a corner and expected to see blood splattered on broken stones, or saw phantom visions of bodies lying in the Great Hall. “Mr. Potter,” she whispered. “Please leave.”
Harry shrugged and stood up. “I’ll tell Theo that he shouldn’t send violent gifts when I’m in public anymore, but I won’t drop the courtship or whatever it is that you wanted me to do.”
“I am no longer sure what I wanted you to do,” Minerva said, sourly, honestly.
Harry startled her by flashing her a quick smile. “I know, Professor. It’s always hard for people to see love displayed as nakedly as Theo is willing to display his.”
Minerva put a hand over her face. “Please do not say the word nakedly to me, Mr. Potter.”
He laughed all the way out the office door. When it shut behind him, Minerva heard two portraits clear their throats.
She shook her head and stood up. She knew they had been brave and great men, and had spared no effort to see You-Know-Who defeated. But both of them were paint and shadows now, and could not feel the memories the way she could.
“I will not speak to Mr. Potter again, unless he actually does commit murder on Hogwarts grounds,” she said flatly, and left, to walk up to a tower where she could feel the free wind on her face.
*
Rita looked around Hogwarts and shook her head. It looked the same as it always had, which was ridiculous, in a way. She knew the school had been damaged in the Battle. And they had taken the time to put it all back together exactly as it had been? Without doing any renovations?
Hogwarts was a dear place, she would always be the first to say that, but it did seem pathetic that they hadn’t tried to add more defenses, or strengthen the wards, or do something other than simply replicate the past.
A smile flitted across her face as she strode towards the school. At least the story she was here to report on was new. So new that Rita didn’t think all the confused rumors could be the truth, because they would be too delicious if that was the case.
Alas, the world was always less delicious than it seemed at first.
She changed into a beetle to flutter through a window that someone had left conveniently open, and then buzzed down the corridors until she saw a clump of Gryffindor students. Snagging onto a cloak, she rode comfortably with them in the direction of the Tower. She was sure that she would overhear something interesting in their common room.
And she did. Antennae quivering, Rita flitted from couch to couch, and heard tales about murder, uneasy murmurs, speculation in hushed voices about whether dear Harry Potter had really started practicing Dark Arts or not.
The most delicious of the rumors turned out to be true, of all things! There had been a severed head sent to Mr. Potter, courtesy of Theodore Nott, and Potter had embraced it. Accepted it. Gone out and kissed the killer on the mouth several times, as a matter of fact.
Rita quivered and shivered all over with the deliciousness of it by the time she got out of the common room and rode down with one of the students who was going to dinner. She would write such a good article, and people would see that she wasn’t, as some dear reviewer had said after her book about Dumbledore, “solely confined to research into the past.”
This would be the best story she had ever written!
*
Ginny sighed a little as she sat down next to Harry. It had been disappointing to find out that he had a suitor, yes. But Harry had changed a lot over the summer, and she had to admit the person he’d become scared her, a bit.
He was welcome to Nott, and Nott to him.
She did wonder how he would take the story on the front page of the Prophet, though, which proclaimed that Nott had committed a murder for love of him. It was true, but Skeeter had twisted the words subtly, as always, to make it sound like it was really Harry’s fault the murder had happened, instead of Nott’s.
Harry unfolded the paper, looked at the story illustrated with a photograph of him splattered with blood and looking exhausted in the wake of the Battle of Hogwarts, and laughed.
Ginny stared at him. Harry saw her staring and shook his head, folding up the paper. “Don’t worry. I’m not going to murder Skeeter right in front of you.”
Ginny felt a tide of color flooding her cheeks. It was embarrassing to have her thoughts figured out that easily. “I wasn’t—I wasn’t worried about that. I just thought you would be more upset than this.”
“Why would I? She’s telling the truth, after all.”
Ginny would have liked to say something else, but just then, Nott stood up from the Slytherin table and sauntered over to meet Harry halfway. He took Harry’s hand and kissed the back of it with delicate lips, then put a palm on Harry’s back to escort him out of the Great Hall.
Ginny shook her head. She wouldn’t have thought Harry was the sort of person who would want to be fawned over like that. Ron had told her that Harry had embraced the pureblood courting traditions, but it was still odd to see.
Oh, well. Not her problem anymore, except as Harry’s friend.
*
Seamus eyed Harry a little uneasily. He’d received a wrapped and decorated box that morning at breakfast, obviously from Nott, but after Harry’d peered into it, he’d smiled and closed the lid. And carried it about with him during the day, sure, but not opened it again or shown anyone what was in it, the way he had with the box containing Umbridge’s severed head. Now and then, though, he’d stroked the lid in the most unsettling way.
People had stared at him and looked away and whispered and muttered, but it seemed obvious that no one was going to go up to Harry and ask about the mysterious box. That meant Seamus was probably the only one with the courage.
Oh, all right. And his curiosity was killing him.
Seamus cleared his throat. Harry glanced up. They were in a quiet corner of the common room, one that Harry had been sitting in more and more often lately. Even Ron and Hermione didn’t seem to want to spend time with Harry when he was sitting there, writing letters to Nott or examining his courtship gifts.
Not that I can blame them.
“Yeah, Seamus?”
“I’ll be blunt.”
“Please do.”
There was a smile lurking in the corners of Harry’s mouth, which gave Seamus the courage to sit down next to Harry on the couch. “Everyone is curious about your courtship gift. You didn’t display this one to the Tower.”
“Well, no. Everyone got so upset when I displayed the last one…”
“So this is like the last one?” Seamus couldn’t help the way that he leaned forwards so far he almost fell off the couch. He was already close enough to see Harry’s expression and everything, but he couldn’t see the box, which Harry had sitting on the floor next to him.
“Yeah. You could say that.”
Seamus concealed a sigh. He wished Dean, or Hannah Abbott, or someone, would look at him with the fondness Harry was using to stare at his parchment. Seamus didn’t know who he wanted to settle down with, and he sure didn’t want to court someone the way Nott was courting Harry right now, but…
It would have been nice if someone liked him that much. That was all.
“I want to see it. Even if no one else does.”
Harry looked at him with a different kind of smile tugging at his mouth than the one he had when he’d been thinking of Nott. “Really? Weren’t you one of the ones saying that the courtship traditions were so violent they were in poor taste?”
“Well, in front of little kids. But there’s no little kid here right now, only two of us eighth-years who lived through a war…”
Harry’s face darkened for a second, but then he nodded and reached for the box. It was a black lacquer wood one, decorated with ribbons and what looked like carved flowers. Seamus looked closely at the flowers as Harry tilted back the lid.
Nightshade, he thought. Belladonna.
Urk.
Harry looked at the object inside the box one more time with that ridiculously fond expression. Then he spun it around so that Seamus could see it.
Seamus looked and then leaned back. It was hard to get his breath. He stared at Harry and croaked, “Is that what I think it is?”
“Depends on what you think it is.” Harry shut the lid again, after one more glance at the object, as if he couldn’t believe it existed.
“It was Skeeter’s?”
Harry nodded.
“But then, won’t—I mean, everyone knows that she just wrote that article about you.” Seamus licked his lips and choked back his own nausea. “So won’t people at least suspect Nott once they hear about this?”
“Oh, I thought you knew,” Harry said with exaggerated shock. “There was an article about it in the Prophet this morning. Third page. A coworker of Skeeter’s got angry because Skeeter was stealing credit for articles that reporter researched, and attacked her.”
“Why?”
“Years of pent-up rage, is what the article said.”
“But…”
Harry gave him a smile so full of dark satisfaction that Seamus shuddered, even as he again thought about what it would mean if someone liked him that way.
“Think about it,” Harry said softly. “She’s been writing these articles for years, angering me but also lots of other powerful people. Before, she had the protection of Cornelius Fudge and the Ministry, and then she wrote that book about Dumbledore and wasn’t writing articles for a while. But now?”
Seamus nodded, understanding. He retreated to his bed, where he shut the curtains and lay on the bed staring up at the canopy.
Nott could have arranged for Skeeter to die, but probably that wouldn’t have appeased him. But it was incredibly hard to heal maiming, unless St. Mungo’s had an enormously powerful Healer treat the victim within a few hours of the injury.
And Seamus would bet that Nott had also arranged it so Skeeter couldn’t get to a Healer in time.
In the meantime, he had sent Harry a box with Skeeter’s hand in it.
Seamus closed his eyes and shuddered, envious and sickened and making a mental note not to anger Nott.
Or get too close to Harry, for that matter. Who knew what Nott would take offense at next?