Prophecy

Pairing: Nottpott (Theo Nott x Harry Potter)

Universe: fairytale/Disney AU

Rating: T

Summary: Olivie Advent cont'd.

Prompts: 1) a Tangled AU; 2) archery; 2.5) There's Only One Bed.

Prophecy is a tricky thing. Anyone who has ever been the subject of one will tell you that, though in most cases said subjects are difficult to find. Take young Lord Voldemort, for instance, who is both not young and not a lord, but that's not the point. For the purposes of this story he's a cheeky young lad running around unattended, murdering left and right where it suits him with all the virility of youth, and then one day he hears an unfortunate rumor: A baby that will be his end will be born at the end of July! The worst possible news for any given Tuesday.

Things go wrong as they always do when one tries to bargain with prophecy, which is a bit like fate's kid sister, mostly in the sense that for all we know, fate may not care much for prophecy's shenanigans but there's still a sense of possessiveness there. So young Lord Voldemort, who is not the hero of this story but certainly a character of importance, runs off to kill his baby archnemesis and then, surprise surprise, it doesn't work. So what does he do? He takes the baby. He disappears.

Why? Unclear. As far as the world can tell, both the baby and our dashing young antagonist are gone, and the world, including me, waits for both its hero and its villain with baited breath. Somehow, there's a sense for all of us that something, somewhere, is missing; Death Eaters and Snatchers wait one way, while the rest of the world waits another. A different boy turns seventeen and opts to disappear rather than choose a side, though nobody cares much about him. Another story, another time.

Well, this story, this time. But at the moment I don't have a lot of spare breaths, because you see, I'm on the run. Again. Most likely I will be on the run for the entirety of the story, if not the whole of my life. But what's important is, again, the prophecy, and it isn't about me.

It's about him.

The story starts here:

Two days before Harry's seventeenth birthday, he wakes to find his father standing over him and jumps. "Holy Salazar fuck," he says before he can stop himself, and his father leans back with a sigh.

"Language, Harry," is what comes from beneath the cloak. "Are you awake or not?"

"I am now," says Harry, who typically rises early, but this is so early as to still be night, and therefore closer to late. He rubs his eyes blearily, frowning around his room. "Did you need something, Father?"

Father is very mysterious, as he always is. He doesn't care for questions. "I have an errand to run," he says. "I came to tell you I won't be back until Thursday."

"But that's two days from now," says Harry.

"Yes," Father says. "And you mustn't leave here until I return."

Harry is never permitted to leave here for a variety of reasons; primarily, the muggles. Father tells him frequently of the dangers of muggles, which have enormous teeth and sometimes claws and who all want Harry to be dead. There are also mudbloods and apparently some half-breeds, which equally can't be trusted. Essentially, it's safest if Harry just stays here, where Father's untraceable wards can protect him. Even magic isn't enough to keep him safe among the outside world, though only Father has it.

"You've never been gone so long," Harry says uncertainly, and Father gives a weighty sigh.

"I found something I've been looking for, Harry. I need to fetch it. Just stay here," he says. "I've left you plenty of food. Read a book," he suggests.

"What a wonderful idea, Father," says Harry.

Eventually Father rummages around collecting things and prepares to depart, plucking his usual bottle of tonic from Harry's shelf. Father is very particular, and he must take this tonic each evening. It is Harry who procures the ingredients, though he doesn't stray too far. After all, outside of these wards, danger is lurking. Muggles are waiting to eat his flesh; to pick at their teeth with his bones.

"Behave," says Father. "Father loves you."

"And I love you, Father," Harry says solemnly, retrieving a book from his shelf and settling into his chair, beginning to read this particular story for the fourteenth time. "Have a wonderful trip," he says, and watches his father slip out the door, heavy cloak disappearing into the night.

Harry has a good life here in the forest, safe inside his untraceable plot of land. That much is unquestionable, as he is securely kept from harm and he is loved by his adoring father and he has quite a lot of books and also arrows for procuring his father's tonics. He has everything he could need.

Though, Harry also has a secret, and it is this:

He is deeply, prodigiously bored.

The next day, Theo is running, as he always is. The trick to stealing is not the stealing itself but the running, because anyone can snatch something up, but not everyone can disappear quickly. Sometimes he uses a broom, though Theo doesn't care for flying. He has long legs and an impossible stride and if he looks a bit weedy, that's only because of the long legs and impossible stride, which make him an uncommonly gifted thief.

Yesterday, Theo paid a visit to Hogwarts, which is not a school he attends, but rather a school he used to attend until recently and is now something of a veritable treasure trove he still uses in order to eat. He went there long enough to learn Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, which means it was sufficient time to understand the only thing that truly makes food is money. So, from time to time Theo pops by and plucks up an odd book or a remembrall or something he can turn around and sell in Knockturn Alley, and on this particular capital venture he has stolen a bit of chatty silver, but also something else.

Theo, nearly briefly caught, was forced to hide inside a cupboard when the Headmaster suddenly burst into the kitchens, saying something to one of the elves about treacle or possibly nitwit, blubber, oddment, tweak. The most important thing about this story is the wand sticking out of the Headmaster's pocket, which for some reason (fun?) Theo steals.

The second most important thing about this story is that today, Theo, who was spotted by the castle's poltergeist upon scaling down from a second-floor window, is now, once again, on the run.

"Did ye hear?" wails one of the patrons at the Hog's Head. "Dumbledore's gone—killed, yesterday, and 'is wand stolen, too!"

An unfortunate coincidence, Theo wants to say, but doesn't.

"Who could have possibly killed Dumbledore?" someone asks, dismayed.

"Some sort o' weedy little thief. A former student, if ye can believe that—"

"No," gasps the patron's companion. "A student, really?"

"They say it's one of the purebloods," another patron says, overhearing. He glances around before adding under his breath, "Nott."

"The Death Eater, you mean?"

"The very same. 'Course it was Peeves who saw 'im," says the first patron, "and everyone knows what Peeves' about, but the bugger doesn't lie, does 'e? Dumbledore's dead, and it's Nott who's killed 'im."

Upon hearing his name, Theo thinks one thing: Fuck.

Then the barkeep locks eyes with him, brows furrowing, and Theo thinks another, more familiar thing:

Run.

Harry contemplates the line on the ground that represents his safety. It's a spell, his father tells him. Something to keep him safe, and to keep others out. Something untraceable. Beyond the line is danger. Here, though, Harry is secure, impossible to locate. Safe.

Harry eyes the line and toes it, then stops.

When nothing happens, he takes a step, and then another. One at a time, his feet plant themselves outside the line of his father's spell.

He takes a breath, free of his father's magic for the first time in his life.

Then something collides with him, and he goes tumbling down to the ground.

"Holy fuck," says something, which is evidently someone, and Harry wrestles himself away with his usual quickness, producing an arrow from his quiver and holding it to the obstacle's face.

"Who are you?" he demands. "Are you a muggle?"

The thing, which is strangely familiar in that it is mostly Harry-shaped but with skinnier limbs and less wild hair, glares up at him. "What the fuck?" says the thing, which must be a person. "Is that a fucking arrow?"

Harry quickly loads the arrow in his waiting bow and shoves his foot down on the thing-person's chest, causing it to groan. "Are you a muggle or aren't you?"

"I hardly think it matters," coughs the man-monster. "What are you doing running out of nowhere like that?"

"Out of nowhere? This is my house!"

"Uh," the thing says. "What house?"

So then Harry stops, eyes widening, because he has forgotten something in his calculations: He has, up until this point in his life, lived in an untraceable house on an unfindable plot of forest where his father has assured him every single day of his life that no one, ever, would be able to reach him.

Now that he is outside it, of course he can no longer see the house.

Immediately, Harry panics. The arrow, strung tight in his bow, shakes a little in his hand. He has no method of safety now. He has the little wooden whistle in his pocket, which he blows to make the horned horses come, and he has his arrows, but he has no way of returning home.

Instead of panicking for long, however, Harry notices something about the boy-thing he's currently stepping on, which is a wand. A very familiar wand. Something he's seen before in a book he has read several dozen times, and which has always given his father a strange, disconcerting look.

"Where did you get that?" Harry asks. "You shouldn't have it."

"I know," says the man-boy-thing, though he adds afterwards, "Why, is it valuable?"

"It's invincible," says Harry, frowning. "And lost."

Whatever it is that's just collided with him smiles so archly Harry can see all his teeth, which are not pointed, though it's not unscary and Harry certainly isn't unscared.

"Not lost anymore," says Harry's new problem.

The person who calls himself Harry is essentially a feral thing, which is ideal, because he clearly doesn't read the Daily Prophet and therefore has no interest in turning Theo over to any Aurors. Theo suggests they get some food and talk about whatever wand this is he's procured, mostly for the conversation but also to be polite, but instead Harry draws his arrow lightning-fast, prowling into the woods, and within minutes sets up a spit for what turns out to be delightfully seasoned rabbit.

"It's the Elder Wand," Harry says, having at least the decency to chew politely, so he wasn't entirely raised by wolves. "My father's looking for it."

"Oh?" says Theo, realizing Harry's father will know how to find it quite soon if he reads the papers, which could be either good news or bad. "Is he a buyer?"

"He's quite ill," says Harry. "He requires a nightly tonic I have to hunt."

By this point Theo has learned a few other things about Harry: one, he's a lunatic. He seems to be obsessed with teeth. Two, Harry seems to have never left his house or this forest, which means he knows absolutely nothing about anything if it hasn't existed in books, and therefore Theo is unsure what he means by tonic.

"Oh, I hunt the horned horse," Harry says. "Well, I summon it, and then—"

"The tonic is unicorn blood?" Theo asks with horror. "But anyone who kills a unicorn lives a half-life. A cursed life—"

Which would explain a lot, but Harry gives a happy-cheery sort of shrug. "I don't kill it," he says. "I just ask it for some and it gives it to me, and then I put it into a bottle for my father."

Theo is starting to think he's come across something very, very strange.

"About your father," Theo says. "Is he… normal?"

"He's a bit skeletal," says Harry thoughtfully. "Which is why he wears a cloak. But he keeps me safe," he adds with a shrug.

"He keeps you hidden," Theo corrects, "and he's looking for an invincible wand, and he thinks—" Slowly, too slowly, Theo pieces this together. "Wait. He hates muggles?"

"Only the ones with teeth," Harry says, and Theo is about to say something like holy shit I think maybe your father isn't actually your father or if he is then you are in terrible trouble whoever you are, because suddenly I have an idea who actually killed Headmaster Dumbledore and also, I think I know what he was after and now, inconveniently, he's going to be after me, only someone interrupts them.

"Theodore Nott, put your hands in the air!"

Aurors. Lots of them. Theo winces, about to rise to his feet in surrender, but then Harry draws an arrow, and then another.

Harry, Theo realizes, is either the best thing that has ever happened to him, or the worst.

Theo rushes Harry out of the forest, which is not a place Harry has ever thought to have a beginning or an end. The forest was his entire world until this morning, but now Theo is dragging him into some sort of village and furiously wiping the blood from Harry's face.

"Do you realize what you just did?" Theo demands.

"Saved you," Harry says. "Why?"

Theo pauses for a moment, tense, but then sighs.

"Fine, yes," Theo tells him raggedly, "but still, be careful with those arrows."

"Were those muggles?" Harry asks him, feeling a wary concern for Theo's safety now that he knows they're both vulnerable to being eaten alive, and in answer, Theo gives him a hard look.

"Come on," Theo says, and sucks Harry into the air, into time and space, until they're standing somewhere bright and blinding.

This, Theo explains, is a place called London. Specifically, this is the British Museum, which is filled with a lot of interesting things, some of which Theo has tried to steal (a crime, Harry admonishes him, which for some reason Theo ignores) and others he just looks at.

"See these people?" Theo asks Harry, who can hardly see at all, it's so bright. "All muggles. The whole lot of 'em. Muggle from tip to toe."

"But—" Harry stares at them, awed, and clutches his bow tightly. "But their teeth are—"

"Normal? Yes," Theo confirms, and waves his wand again, sending them somewhere new this time, which Theo calls a pub. "Now, tell me about your father and this wand."

Harry repeats what he remembers from the tale about Death and the three brothers, which is of course every line, but then he realizes it's getting late and he tells Theo he'll have to get back before his father arrives home. Father was going to fetch something, but he'll be very worried if Harry's gone. They'll have to make it back to the unsearchable house before Harry's birthday, which is tomorrow.

Well, tonight at midnight, technically.

"I'll take you back," Theo says to Harry. "For now, though, come with me."

Theo takes Harry to an impossibly tiny room above the pub, which he claims is his flat. He tells Harry they'll stay there for the night, and then tomorrow, when Harry is seventeen, they'll be able to find Harry's house in the woods.

"How do you know?" says Harry.

"Just a hunch," says Theo, and adds, "Besides, I think your father might come looking for me."

For a moment Harry wonders where he'll sleep in the interim, but Theo just shoves him onto the bed and lies down on the floor, claiming it's not the worst thing he's ever done. Harry argues and they speak crossly until Harry points an arrow at Theo in frustration and Theo knocks the bow from Harry's hand, calling his bluff.

"You're not going to hurt me," Theo says, throwing Harry's only weapon across the floor, and for a second Harry is angry and a little frightened.

"No," he says miserably, "I'm not."

He misses his father. He misses his house. For a second he wishes he had never taken a single step outside those wards, but then Theo is standing in front of him and Theo curls his hands around Harry's face and Theo doesn't have claws and his teeth are carnivorous but normal and when Theo breathes, Harry breathes.

When Theo comes closer, Harry soars.

Theo's lips touch his and Harry changes his mind about missing things. He changes his mind about houses and wands. He changes his mind about muggles. Theo lips touch his and Harry changes, he's rebuilt from the inside out and reconstructed, piece by piece. Harry wants to take this new form and put it closer to Theo, as close as he can. He wants to be one with Theo, indistinguishable. He pulls Theo onto the bed with him and faces him and looks at him and breathes him and kisses him and Theo does all of that too, like a mirror. Like a reflection of Harry himself.

Theo changes Harry and Harry changes Theo, too. He can see it happen. He watches Theo traverse from shock to hunger to wonder and Harry thinks enormous things, like how he wants to put an arrow in Theo's hands. He wants to put all of his arrows in Theo's hands, to give them to Theo to keep them safe. He wants to put his hands all over Theo until there isn't an inch of him untouched. Harry doesn't even get tired, not like he normally does. He doesn't miss books. None of this is in books. In books there are brothers and lovers and somehow, for Harry, Theo is both.

By the time the sun rises, this new version of Harry has lived an entire life in a night.

But then, like two days before, Harry wakes to his father standing over him, one hand closed around Harry's throat, and once again Harry is alarmed, though for different reasons this time. His father is looking not at him, but at Theo, and it occurs to Harry that actually, his father has strange teeth and ugly eyes and his hands aren't much different from claws.

Maybe his father's sickness can't be cured.

Prophecy is a tricky thing. It leaves out the details, like if you foolishly try to kill the boy born to parents who've thrice defied you and it doesn't work, then you have the option of either letting the boy grow up to be some sort of symbol of the resistance inevitably leading to your death or you can hide him in the woods, somewhere no one could ever find him. You could teach him to fear the outside world and make him dependent on you, force him to hunt fragile things for you. But of course, what a young lad like you might not understand is that beautiful things can still come from ugliness. They do it every day, so maybe you can raise a child with hate and he will still turn out a beautiful, prophetic thing.

Prophecy does not include the caveats, like how a baby with defiance in his blood might one day grow up and slip out from his cage only to find another, worse boy who comes blessed with a pair of long legs and light fingers. It doesn't tell you that if you fail to kill the baby who later becomes a man, then the world will conspire to save him. The world, in the form of a weedy, irresponsible thief, will point an invincible wand at you on the morning you planned to finally kill your abducted son/nemesis and say, "Neither can live while the other survives," which is this thief's way of saying hasta la vista, baby.

So then Lord Voldemort dies and the subject of this particular prophecy turns to me and I, irresponsible thief and freshly-minted murderer that I am, think well fuck, here we go, time to run again, but he kisses me, and I kiss him back, and the story doesn't end, because I turn the page and there's more story, endless, and I kiss him like that, like I have no end, because there's only one prophecy that matters, and at the moment, it's the one that says:

Your fate has just caught up with you.

a/n: Happy birthday to my love UnicornShenanigans!