A/N: It was so much fun reading some of your theories about what's to come. I can say that almost all of you took it in a direction I wasn't planning on taking, which was kind of thrilling because there's so many possibilities to write the ending of this, and I'm itching to plot it out for you wonderful people. (warning) THIS CHAPTER IS FLUFFF-YYYY.
A/N (pt II): I got inspired to stay up until 5 a.m. the other night and accidentally wrote an entire NottPott One Shot (10k words) based off the characterization of Harry and Theo from this story. It's called Beautiful Ruins. I know a lot of you enjoy their pairing and I just couldn't help myself. It's not to be read as a prequel/sequel for this story, but a stand alone story, though some themes of their relationship VERY similar. Anyway, check it out if you're needed a little extra Harry/Theo connection after this chapter, cause whew— it get steamy :)
Chapter Playlist:
ZURE : Ryuichi Sakamoto (highly recommend this song for reading the first part of the chapter, it's all haunting and gloomy, I love it)
Shark : Oh Wonder
Landslide : Daughter
(*DRAMIONE Moment*) Certain Things : James Arthur
Heavy : Linkin Park
(*NottPott Moment*) Move Together : James Bay
This is the Thing : Fink
All the Pretty Girls : KALEO
Flashback
She was standing her private wing of the manor, surrounded by half finished paintings, the images crowding her mind and her magic with heavy vigor; each image overlapping the next. Gripping her brush in hand she made quick to discover their meanings, providing a different stroke on a different canvas with each new flash of color. Her heart was pounding in her chest so loudly, setting the pace for her frantic work. Her ability to see had never reacted so sporadically, but try she did, creating the mystery of what she so desperately needed to see.
With a vicious lash of green upon a crisp canvas, the becomings of a the killing curse portrayed itself to her—
Another stroke, another canvas and the becomings of a golden singlet ring, burning at the touch—
Another, a black journal that appeared to be bleeding with a gapping hole in the middle—
A locket, she knew to be Slytherin's locket in a cave, and then disappearing into a fog of black smoke in a forest—
A sharp bright light jutting out in all directions across the canvas, the form of a greying wizard blurring behind it's vastness—
Hufflepuff's cup sat upon a towering pile of gold within her sister's vault—
The similar outline of Hogwarts Castle, Ravenclaw tower illuminating brighter than the others—
Narcissa Malfoy fell to her knees, the difficulty to breath becoming overwhelming as her magic drained from her. Never had she felt her ability take from her as it did to reveal these images to her. Panting for breath on the marble floors, her eyes scanned over the circle of canvases floating around her…
Present
Malfoy Manor
Standing beside her husband, Narcissa Malfoy could practically taste the anger radiating from the Dark Lord, filling her senses, burying itself in her lungs until she felt suffocated with the sheer force of it… she had witnessed his anger on several occasions over the corse of her life, but she knew this was fueled with a different type of fury, of rage, and sheer destruction.
"M-my Lord, m-my Lord…" The small creature crawled timidly backwards as Voldemort strode forward, the rage evident and glaring in the slits of his eyes and his rigid posture. "We t-tried t-to st-sto them… Im-mpostors, my Lord… broke — broke into t-the Lestrange's v-vault…"
She had rarely felt fear, true fear, for her own life any longer, knowing her time was soon to come to an end, but in that moment fear is all she felt, crawling inside her, through her veins as strong as the curse within in them. Cold, trembling fingers latched onto her own. Lucius. Her fingers curled around his without hesitation.
Though the fear within her was deafening, she was very aware of what the Goblin was confessing to Voldemort, and she knew it's meaning. Her son had successfully heeded her message, understanding the pattern she drew into his hand all those days ago.
"Impostors?" Voldemort seethed, striding forward as Nagini wrapped herself around the room, causing the Goblin to have no where else to flee. The other creatures around the room were trembling with fear. "What impostors? I thought Gringotts had ways of revealing impostors? Who were they?"
Narcissa pulled in a sharp breath. No. No. Please. Please, Draco must not be a target. As if sensing her heightened surge of fear, Lucius gripped her hand further, placing his body protectively in front of hers least he need to shield her. She wanted to scream at him. She wanted to fall to the floor in a dizzying rage. You fool! What hat little her life meant if her son was found out…
Her magic tingled within her, the familiar tug on her chest, alerting her to pay closer attention to it implications, just as it had the day that Hermione Granger bleed on her drawing room floor. The same shift in her magic occurred in this moment, though she was having difficulties focusing on the importance of what it was trying to convey to her as she awaited to hear her son's name from the Goblins mouth. Her need to see overpowered her, her magic taking over to display the onslaught of images of the future that was revealed to her the night her son decided to save the girl… and time seemed to still.
Flashes of vicious green upon a crisp canvas, a golden ring with the burning touch, a black journal with it's gapping hole, a locket in a cave, a cup in a vault, Ravenclaw tower…
Her magic swelled inside her, pulsing with renewed vigor, urging her to pay closer attention.
"It was… It was… the P-Potter boy and t-three accomplices…"
They didn't know. Draco was still safe.
Breath found her once more. She released her grip on Lucius' hand, stepping in front of him discreetly to listen closely, though she found she had no need to as the demand that filtered from the Dark Lord was loud as it was murderous.
"And they took?! Tell me! What did they take?"
"A…" The goblin faltered as Nagini brushed behind him, "…a s-small golden c-cup, m-my Lord…"
Narcissa closed her eyes to his response. She had already seen it once and had no intentions of watching it again, though flashes of green upon a crisp white canvas danced wildly behind her eyes. But what she had not seen in her vision was the painful cry that escaped Voldemort as he cast the last killing curse.
Her eyes shot open to see the unfiltered vulnerability in his gaze as he stared in confused panic at the wand within his grip. Narcissa noticed the wand vibrating, eyes focused on the newly formed crack in it's handle. She quickly adverted her eyes to the ground before her feet as he slowly turned towards them.
The sound of Voldemort's hissing whispers caused her to lift her head, though she could not make out the words meant for Nagini, the familiar tug in her chest confirmed what it was her magic needed her to pay close attention to. Her gaze settled on the snake, unable to look beyond her drawing room floor blanketed with corpses, crimson stains seeping out beneath them.
Nagini…
Voldemort glided across the room, pausing just as he passed Narcissa and Lucius. There was a long stretch of silence and Narcissa could feel the clawing of his magic surrounding her. She was certain she had never seen any weakness in him, though their was a frailty to his expression and it terrified her more than his fury.
"I do not wish to be disturbed. Have no one summon me, least they wish it be their last mistake…"
The sound of thunder rumbled off in the distance, hinting at the inevitable downfall that was soon to come. Hermione found that she rather liked the density in the air before a storm. She liked the way it settled into her skin and lungs, allowing her a moment to breath in the time in-between the thunder and down pour. But mostly she knew she enjoyed it because it reminded her of Sunday morning's back home in the Garden Suburb, where she would be curled up on the reading nook in the kitchen as the thunder clouds rolled overhead, where her father would already be reading the paper with a cup of coffee in his hand as he let the pancakes cook a little too long because he was lost in an engrossing article, and her mother would give her a radiant smile as she fumbled down the stairs in her pajamas, rolling her eyes fondly at her husband, shoving him aside so she could start a new batch. They spent their days doing simple, mundane things, as the storm roared outside their home.
She smiled fondly at the memory, wiping a tear from her cheek and concentrated on the task at hand, tending to Draco's wound. She began unraveling the green cloth from around his chest and shoulders slowly as to not disturb him.
Whenever her mind drifted to her parents though, they always began with her heart humming happily, only to be drained of the warm feeling moments later as she remembered how far away they were, how they had no idea that her daughter was currently dying from a curse in her veins, fighting a war they would never know about—
The feeling of a cold hand on her cheek startled her. Her eyes opened suddenly to find Draco staring up at her, his expression dark with concern as his thumb gently soothed her damp cheek. She smiled brightly, despite the heavy weight in her chest. Seeing him awake, his color returning to his face, his hand on hers, it was enough to sooth the pain.
"H-How are you feeling?" She asked, shifting where she kneeled beside the makeshift bed he was on until she was sitting next to him, tucking her knee under the other as she placed her hand over the one he had on her cheek and brought it down to rest in her lap. "Do you need another numbing potion? I've got one in—"
She moved to reach for her bag, but his fingers gripped hers and she was stopped short.
"Dont— just… stay for a moment." He choked out, clearing his throat and then gave her a weak smile that made her pulse soar.
"Okay…" she managed to say, knowing she should probably be checking his wound, but finding it difficult to remove her attention from his eyes on her, they were truly deceitful eyes, she imagined he could convince her to do anything in that moment, logic be damned.
"Where are we?" He shifted up to lean on the pillows behind him. The sheet that was covering him dropping to his waist, revealing his bare chest and stomach to her. She adverted her eyes then, blushing as she made work on the rest of the bandage.
"We had to set up camp for the night. I didn't want to risk splinching you with the amount of blood you already lost. I'm not sure which coast we're on exactly, but I've set the proper wards and as soon as you're all healed we can return to the safe house."
Her hands were pulling the last of the fabric from his shoulder, and she realized then she was leaning over him, her chest inches from his. She ran her fingers along the scar that was almost entirely healed, save for the point the jinx latched onto him. At hearing his breath catch, she tilted her face to his, her breathing slowing and finding she couldn't stop her eyes from lowering to where his tongue slowly wet his lips.
He smirked, probably noticing the deep shade of pink rising to her face.
"Um, you must be thirsty." She said quickly, leaning back to reach for her wand and summoning him a glass of water. She ignore the slight chuckle that feel from his lips as she handed it to him.
"Thank you."
Bugger, now she couldn't stop looking at his lips curl around the glass. She busied herself with tidying the small table beside them as he finished the rest of the glass. She felt the bed shift beneath her again and he was sitting up fully now, his hand fell gently on her knee and slowly moved upward.
"Are we alone then?"
She lost grip on the vial in her hands for a moment, fumbling with it for a brief second before placing it in her bag, focusing with increasing difficulty as his hand stopped mid thigh, gently squeezing—
"Um, sorry? What?"
She was going to seriously slap him if he licked his lips again.
"I meant… are Theo and Potter here as well?"
"Oh…" Duh. Hermione. "Yes, they, um, I left them by the fire to come check on you— to make sure you were alright."
Draco nodded, "…and are you? Alright, that is?"
The pull of his brows returned from when she had first found him starring up at her as he removed her fallen tear. As she looked down at his hand still holding her, she smiled and let out a soft sigh before lifting her head again.
"Yes. I'm more than alright. I think. We're all safe for now, and one step closer to ending this. I'm not sure I could ask for much more."
"If you could…" He lifted his other hand to her throat, his thumb tracing her jaw. "…ask for more?"
The memory of his emotions flooding through her as they stood just outside the vault suddenly filtered into her mind. Feelings of him writhing in pain as his mothers cries tore through his chest— feelings of a child's fear trying to understand how Theo's father could be such a monster— feelings of curiosity and repressed longing as he battled with his growing attraction to her— the unbearable discomfort it caused him.
Contradicting thoughts consumed her in that spilt moment: guilt and desire. It was her who caused his magic to weaken his only way to protect his mind, but it was also her who caused him to reveal the beauty that resided beneath everything he had been forced to tuck deep inside him.
I only ask you to consider how different your life would be had you not been given the opportunities to explore your instincts— to live your life without the freedom to feel, to act without fear of putting those you love in harm by doing so; that is what it has been like for my son…
His mothers words had not left her. They continued to haunt her, weighing heavily in her chest along with her parents, and so much else.
All I have ever wanted for my son is to no longer need to hide himself from the world—
It was glaring Hermione in the face, why she wanted Draco to have the chance to be free of the chains her and her husband choices place upon him; she could see it clearly as the color in Draco's eyes staring back at her.
I am not telling you this in hopes that you can stop his labyrinth from deteriorating— I am telling you this in hopes you will destroy it.
"Hermione…"
His voice brought her out of her dark tunnel of thoughts, and she realized he was wiping a tear from her face again. He framed her face with his hands, forcing her to look at him.
"What's wrong? Did I— Did I do something?"
She hated how panicked he sounded. She wanted to rid him of every thought inside his mind. She wanted to rid him of all the suffocating pain, but she had no clue where to even begin. His confession from hours earlier began ringing in her hears above all else—
Only when I'm kissing you…
It felt right to let you in…
You could admit to me right now you have every intention to completely break me…
I think you may have already…
She would tell him about his mother. She would. But first she wanted to silence the torturous emotions raging inside him, and he had already told her how after all… hadn't he?
Only when I'm kissing you…
Her fingers curled around his wrists, lowering them from her face, keeping her gaze locked on his. Tentatively, she mimicked his touch from earlier, slowly tracing her fingers up his thighs and steadying them on the curve of his waist as she leaned towards him. She saw the flash of his confused frown lifting slightly as he lips parted. She hesitantly shut her eyes, feeling her chest rise and fall between them. She could feel his breaths tickling her mouth as she leaned her forehead to rest on his.
"I think I'd ask for more time with you."
He was either to caught up in where her hands were on his bare skin, or forgot his earlier question, making a smile, shy smile tug on her lips as she pulled back enough to look at him.
"You asked me what I would ask for… if I could ask for more…"
She noticed his throat swallow and then her lips were being pressed to his as he cradled her head in his hands once more. His kiss was firm, but slow, as if he wanted her to set the pace, to tell him what she wanted from him, but this wasn't about her, this was about him. In hopes to inform him of that, she shifted him back until he was laying down and brought one leg over him. The moment he recognized her intention, his strong hold on her face moved down her body to grip either side her waist to steady her above him. She lowered her body until she was flush against him, the expanse of exposed skin beneath her collarbone where her shirt hung low graze his bare chest, sending a shiver of want directly through her.
Removing her lips from his she moved them to rest on the skin just beneath his jaw, remembering the dizzy feeling his lips gave her when he sucked and licked lightly there. His fingers gripped into her as a low groan escaped him, and she felt his hips lift into hers. The sensation of feeling him pressing against her momentarily caused her brain to stop functioning and the focus on his neck and ear was abandoned completely. One of his hands moved to her hair, gripping lightly and forcing her lips back to his.
Their movements suddenly became increasingly frantic to out do the others touch. Her hips rolled against him with the same amount of force he pressed his upward, their mouths finding the others between shuddering breaths.
And it felt Fated somehow… being with him like this; as if the universe demanded it into fruition, fighting for their souls to end up tangled with one another… fragile as their lives were, they found strength in the other, and perhaps she felt it the moment she realized he risked his life to save her, perhaps he knew too... that her wanting him, him wanting her, felt too exceptional, too strong to be a coincidence— but rather, Fates grand design to thrust them into the most pleasurable of tortures produced from war.
Because that's what it's been for them from the beginning, hasn't it? Two sides apposing in a world they have just begun to challenge, to question, to change… and now that they were beginning to do that together, well, it felt like the start of something bigger than either of them. She felt it simmering inside, deep within the swells of her soul, a part of her that only after knowing him, seeing him, like this, she could reach.
Her hands explored the skin along his chest and down his stomach, savoring the way his muscles clenched beneath her touch. Her fingers traced the haunted stories along his skin, the scars that represented every painful memory she longed to help him heal from.
He had kissed away the tears she shed moments ago, and his lips tasted of understanding— an understanding that they were still at war, that they couldn't begin rebuilding themselves, bone by fragile bone, until it was over… but right now, every touch, every sigh, every kiss was a promise; a promise to survive…
"Where do you figure a dragon ends up after a lifetime of misery?"
Harry sat up slightly at hearing Theo's sudden question, abandoning his attention from Hermione's journal of notes on their horcrux hunt for the twelfth time, hoping something would trigger his connection inside Voldemort's mind for answers. It didn't.
He was leaning against a large log that he moved around the fire. Theo was laying on his back staring up at the sky through the canopy of trees. He had refused to join Harry at first, of course, but the sun was almost completely setting now, the chilling temperature was unbearable without the warmth of a fire and extensive warming charms. The moment he relented to join him, he had immediately shut his eyes, making it clear he had no intention of conversation, which Harry didn't mind, because it allowed him to look at him, truly look at him.
His tall frame was stretched out beside the fire. He was wearing a pair of Harry's jeans that were entirely too snug. Upon noticing this, an embarrassing heat rushed to Harry's face for wanting to wear them after him… knowing his skin was pressed against the fabric before him caused something in his stomach to tighten. It wasn't just the pants that caused him to stare longer than necessary though… it was much more than that.
It was the way his dark brown hair fell over his forehead and his neck stretched back enough for Harry to see his pulse beneath his skin, both causing him to want to shove his fingers through his hair and taste his heartbeat against his throat.
It was the sharp structure of his jaw and cheekbones, forming a perfect frame for his full lips, but his favorite feature to admire, which was currently hidden from him, were his eyes, and the way they spoke to Harry without saying a single word.
Harry came to terms with his attraction to Theo long ago. It wasn't as if he was strictly attracted to one gender or the other. All of his past interests were females and he enjoyed snogging Ginny just fine, and he had never really felt any attraction towards any other males (not that he particularly had time to consider such things in his very chaotic life)...
But Theo…
Theo was different.
As he continued to shamefully indulge in his observations, he noticed something beyond the physical parts of Theo that also lured him… he noticed that even when he appeared to be sleeping, there was a sadness set on his features, a haunting type of sadness that seeps into your skin and your teeth and you taste its bitterness no matter how much time passes—
For all the nights they spent talking and passing notes in secret, Harry realized, with much disappointment, that he never really took the time to ask Theo much about himself at all. Theo was always happy to distract him with random nonsense or allowed him to talk about himself in a way he couldn't with anyone else. He knew very little about his childhood, his parents, his past relationships… he hardly knew who he considered his friend, aside from Draco Malfoy.
All he knew was that he enjoyed being around Theo. Theo made him feel normal.
But after overhearing his father earlier, Harry wished more than anything that he did know.
For a while, Harry had thought he had fallen asleep, but just as suddenly he was asking him about the bloody dragon.
"Dunno." Harry shrugged, placing the journal beside him and tossing another log into the fire. "To do whatever one does when they're free, I suppose."
Theo tilted his head to look at Harry then, his eyes studying him for a moment before returning to gaze at the sky.
"If it were you...?"
Harry frowned. "Um, am I a dragon in this scenario? Because if so—"
"Don't be clever, Potter. You know what I meant."
Harry failed to hide his smile as he released a sigh, considering the question. Freedom. Freedom for Harry would mean no more horcruxes, no more war, no more death. Attempting to imagine a future after the war, with Voldemort dead, had never really been a priority for him, but people have told him where they see him ending up and he supposed it wasn't the worst answer to give.
"I suppose I'd want to continue protecting people. I'll probably end up an Auror. I've certainly got experience, so there's that."
Harry expected a quick response, but as another few moments passed he wondered if Theo had fallen back asleep, but just as suddenly Theo shifted from where he lay on his back to lean against the log next to him. He crossed his arms over his chest, the fire was dancing wildly over his features with the darkness of the sky falling behind him and Harry, for the life of him, couldn't look away. He turned to Harry then, his expression flat.
"You'd make a shit Auror-"
"—Thanks for the honesty—"
"—mostly because I know you'd despise it eventually."
Harry laughed, wondering if maybe he was right. He usually was where Harry was concerned, like he knew him better than he knew himself— or at least he knew what Harry truly wanted before he knew himself, or could admit it to himself.
"Yea. Maybe"
Theo just shrugged, turning to the fire. Harry saw it again. The sadness. He wanted to know, but he also knew how flighty he was when cornered into revealing parts of himself he worked so hard to keep hidden.
"What about you?" Harry asked instead. "After all this, what's your freedom look like?"
Theo didn't seem to like that question either, but eventually answered.
"Nothing. Anything. I'd imagine. Probably."
"How very specific of you."
"I really haven't given it much thought."
"Why not?"
Theo shifted slightly, straightening his back, pulling one knee towards his chest to rest his arm over it.
Theo doesn't tell Harry that he actually has considered his future. Several times. Both versions. The only versions that seemed worth considering to him anyway. One where Harry lived and one where Harry died.
He doesn't tell him that he's imagined a future where Draco holds true to his promise before Granger stumbled into his drawing room, the promise that they'd run as far as they could if Voldemort won, but then he's forced to consider what that would mean—
It would mean that Harry failed...
That he was dead.
Theo forced himself to take a breath, but it didn't happen as easily as he intended as there was something lodged in his throat. He eventually managed to take a shuddered breath and after a moment he turned to look at Harry. He was already staring back at him, waiting for a response with his brow pulled tight in concern.
And Theo was reminded of the boy by the lake. The boy who kissed him back. The boy he confessed: Don't die— I would very much hate it if you died…
It had been so easy to say those words to him then. So why was Theo struggling to even hold his stare without feeling like someone was carving his heart from his chest?
Instead, all he could manage was, "Doesn't matter," then returned his gaze to the fire, staring into it, hoping it would reach out and consume him, if only to keep him from imaging a world where Harry didn't exist.
He's grateful Harry let's the silence stretch between them for awhile. He doesn't force him to refuse to talk and lash out before storming off. He seems to understand and maybe he does, which is why he remains silent. Maybe he just wants Theo with him, even in silence, like they used to…
Theo suddenly thinks he's sitting too close to him. He also thinks he's sitting too close to the fire, too. It's burning his face, both are burning every inch of his skin just by remaining there, right next to him within reach, right fucking there—
Harry shifted, lifting his hips to lay more comfortably back against the log, his legs stretching out against his own, bringing him closer to Theo… too close. Theo swallowed. The fire seemed to notice his discomfort, a spark cracked from the flames, the amber landing on his boot. Theo just watched it. It didn't burn, it didn't catch fire— it just sat there—
Theo wished he could be content just sitting there, despite the discomfort, despite the pain in his chest, despite the coiling of tension below his waist from the heat of Harry's leg against his.
But then Harry was leaning forward, his chest lightly grazing his shoulder as his arm stretched across him, towards his ankle.
"Just going to let it burn?"
Harry's hand flicked the amber away, but he didn't pull it away, instead it dropped it on the exposed part of his shin where his pants rolled a bit too high. His cold fingers felt like ice against his skin as he curled them around his ankle and then he was looking at Theo.
His face was blocking his view of the fire.
He swallowed.
"You're blocking my view of the fire."
The twitch of Harry's lips into a smile caught his attention, but then his hand began trailing upward until it paused on his thigh. With a clenched jaw, Theo watched it remain there. He watched Harry's thumb slowly torture him with every stroke forwards and backwards…
"You know," Harry started, dropping his chin slightly to watch his own hand, his thumb pressing lightly against his inner thigh and back to the top— they both watched, like it meant something— that touching Theo meant something to him. "I wasn't sure what to think of you showing up at Shell Cottage that day. I probably should have reacted differently. Punched you maybe?"
Theo, despite his rising panic from being so close to Harry and the fact that if he just leaned forward an inch he could feel Harry's hair graze his lips, he heard himself laugh— it was small, more like a release of breath, but it helped displace some of the want building between his thighs.
"But I know you." He lifted his chin, his green eyes shadowed by the fire dancing behind him, and fuck— Theo couldn't think of anything more fucking perfect. "I knew you weren't there to hurt me—I wasn't in the best head space then, but it didn't matter what side you were on, I knew that to be true at least."
His thumb, the fucking thumb that was forcing Theo into a state of deliriousness, stopped moving. It, as well as the rest of his hand, were now firmly planted in the dip between his hip and rips.
"I'm glad it was you that came for me. I'm also glad that you're here now."
He wasn't sure when it happened, but Theo's eyes were shut. He wasn't breathing again. He couldn't. He needed to get away from this moment. From Harry. It hurt too much.
"Despite what you think, I didn't do it for you."
Lies.
Fucking miserable lies, Theo. You pathetic fucker.
"Why did you?"
"To escape the mundane… boredom… lack of other comparably interesting options—"
"Really." Harry interrupted seriously.
Theo opened his eyes, which was a mistake because Harry had somehow inched closer. "Really."
"Theo."
He was forming a quick response, another snide comment to hopefully break Harry from his interrogation— something that would make Harry stop looking at him the way he was looking at him, with clarity— like no matter what Theo confessed, a lie, the truth, Harry would still look at him this way, like he was worth figuring out… and for someone who spent their entire life needing to not be seen, not fully, it was obvious to Theo in that moment that there was no use. Not with Harry.
Because Harry was looking at him— truly looking— like he desperately wanted to see more.
Where others would look at Theo and dismiss him as an oddity, accepting just the glimpses he so delicately crafted for them to see— Harry would look closer.
And Theo was fucking terrified of what would happen if he got too close.
Theo leaned his forehead to rest on Harry's, releasing a sigh when Harry lifted his hands to either side of his face.
"Don't fucking die." His voice cracked. They both heard it, and Theo felt all the words he kept beneath the surface coming tumbling out of him. His hands seemed to need something stable to cling onto, one gripping tightly to the back of Harry's neck while the other gripped the collar of his shirt. "Promise me? Just— whatever way this all ends— I need you to not die— I need—"
Fuck. He couldn't breath. He tried and it turned into a bitter laugh at hearing how pathetic he sounded.
Harry gently tilted Theo's head back, grazing his nose against Theo's and then moved it across his cheek until his lips were beneath his ear. Theo's body responded without hesitation, tilting his neck to the side to allow him more access to his skin, shutting his eyes as Harry's lips pressed against his neck. His kiss was soft and he continued with agonizing slow speed down his throat, as if he wanted to savor the taste of Theo on his lips. He moved from his ear, pausing beneath his jaw to suck lightly, then another kiss along his jaw, nipping the skin there and tracing his lips upward to press another just below his eye. Theo could feel himself melting with each gentle touch.
As Harry moved his lips back to hover before Theo's, he opened his eyes to see Harry's were misty with unshed tears. Theo couldn't place the tugging on his chest, the feeling telling him that this wasn't how he was supposed to respond to him asking him not to die. He wasn't supposed to kiss him like this, like he needed Theo to feel worshipped. He was supposed to make a smart remark about him being the Boy Who Lived and laugh, but he wasn't laughing. He was just staring at Theo like he would never be able to again.
Theo didn't ask why there was a tear rolling down his cheek; instead, he placed his hand on Harry's waist and nudged it towards him until Harry was straddling him. His lips crashing against his and there was no longer anything gentle about his touch as he responded to Theo's bruising grip on either side of his waist. Theo felt Harry's hands buried in his hair, twisting it in his grasp and rubbing them down his neck and chest, and back to his hair as he pressed his hips into his.
Theo tasted the salt of his tear in his mouth.
He couldn't think of what it meant. He already knew and it fucking broke him.
Harry would die if that's what it took to end this.
He would and Theo hated him for it. He hated him for making him care about what happens to him. He hated him for make him love him so madly that the thought of him dead made him want to die too; which is probably why he wasn't concerned with Hermione or Draco walking out of the tent to see him pulling Harry's sweater over his head— or see him shoving him onto his back to trail a mess of bruising kisses down his chest and stomach— or see him shoving Harry's pants down his thighs, marveling at how fucking perfect he was and taking him in his mouth until the thought of him dying was pushed aside and replaced with making him feel how long Theo had wanted this—
He wasn't concerned with anything besides the sounds Harry was making as he tangled his fingers in Theo's hair and shoved himself deeper— Theo was certain he would never enjoy music ever again, the song Harry was singing for him would be the only sound that would ever be enough—
"Theo—"
And that was the best fucking sound of all: his name curling off his lips in the form of a moan.
Lifting his lips from his base to his tip, he glanced up to see the most beautiful fucking sight in his life. Harry's mouth parted, heavy breaths escaping him as he watched Theo's lips slide down him again.
"Fuck— Theo, that's— that's perfect. You're perfect." Harry dropped his head back, shutting his eyes and Theo could feel him building against his tongue. He took him deeper until he could feel his cock in the tightness of his throat and remained there, allowing Harry to thrust his hips as fast as he needed to find his release. He felt Harry's fingers yanking on his head, telling him he was about to finish, but Theo didn't pull away, instead he moved his lips up and down until his warmth spread inside his mouth and down his throat. He had imagined the taste of him every night since he was thirteen, there was no fucking way he was going to let him finish anywhere else.
Theo licked his tip before releasing him, making Harry shudder. Harry was no longer gripping his hair. His arms were laying uselessly by his side. Theo crawled over him, laughing slightly when he found Harry was still shaking from the experience.
"Theo…" Harry breathed out, gripping Theo's jaw and pulling him down, placing a rough kiss on his lips and letting his head fall back again. "Theo—"
"That good, huh?"
Harry nodded vigorously. "Better."
Theo kissed him again, softer this time, pulling back to just take him in. He leaned back, sitting beside Harry as he pulled his pants back on. The reminder of the tear was gone, but the thoughts that came with it was burning into Theo's skull as much as the fire next to them.
"Your intention is to die then? Despite me request."
Theo didn't want him to answer. He hadn't even really meant to ask it. Harry was silent for a minute and then Theo felt his hand on his arm, pulling him towards him until they are both laying down with Theo's head on Harry's chest. He hated himself for it, but he curled around him, as if they fit together, and not like he figured this out just to have it taken away when the sun rises. Clearly, Theo wasn't concerning himself with reality.
Theo was tracing his fingers across his skin, finding it softer than he imagined, more scars, but, softer.
"I'm not going to pretend it isn't a possibility. I won't lie to you."
No. Harry wasn't the liar. Theo was. He was the one who pretended he didn't need him before now— before he knew what he tasted like, or what his kiss could could do to him, what they could do again and again until neither of them knew where the other ended and the other began—
He had already needed him before he knew any of those things and now…
Well, he was sure it was worse now, but he would have felt like his world was burning either way— burning with absolutely no concern of what would come of him in the aftermath.
"I think the only thing I regret is not understanding you sooner. If I had we could have had this— more— I should have told you how—"
"Don't." Theo shut his eyes, shaking his head slightly, bringing his lips just above Harry's chest and pressing a kiss over his heart. "I don't want to know. It doesn't matter now."
Theo didn't want to think about how long he wanted him, longed for him, craved just to see him everyday for since he was thirteen… that the thought of seeing him was enough to remind him why he needed to wake up the next day—
He couldn't take it if Harry said he felt the same way. He couldn't take knowing—
"I think I could love you."
Theo's eyes shot open. He tilted his head up to look at Harry. He wasn't looking at Theo, but the shelter of the trees above them.
"Properly. I could love you— make you see how much you deserved to be loved, even when you think you don't… Even when you wouldn't let me, I would keep on loving you…"
Harry brought his hand to the side of Theo's face, a sad smile pulled at the corner of his lips.
"Do you think you could have?"
That was the thing.
The thing that was… well, everything for Theo.
The thing was that he did— does— always has— and most definitely always will— but that wasn't what he was asking.
"You're the only person I could ever love." He confessed, his voice hardly above a whisper. "I wish you weren't— I wish it was anyone else."
Harry nodded. Like he understood. He couldn't possibly understand.
"I'm sorry."
Maybe he did understand. Maybe he understood that loving him was like loving a memory of someone, holding onto it, delusional enough to believe you could hold onto them without being driven to insanity.
"I want to change my answer." Harry said suddenly.
"What?"
"Earlier— when we were talking about our future. I want to change my answer."
Theo waited, moving to lay next to him again, facing each other, both their limbs drapped over one another—
"You were right. I would be miserable doing what I've spent my whole life doing. I've been fighting a fight that I never had a choice to be apart of. It's determined everything that's happened in my life. That's why I said an auror, because that's what people expect me to say." Harry smiled and placed his fingers on Theo's lips, softly tracing them. "But you're right. I think I'm just terrified that once I have to make my own choices, I'll just end up disappointing everyone's version of who I am in their minds."
"Fuck everyone else." Theo said simply. "You deserve to make a million mistakes— you don't owe anyone anything. You've spent your entire life doing what they want. You should be able to fuck up as much as you need to until you figure out what you want."
"I could say the same to you, you know."
"No." Theo shook his head, making Harry's hand fall from his face. "It's not the same. I hid in my cage. I thought if I was invisible enough to everyone else then somehow I wasn't apart of it— that I wasn't responsible—"
"You're still just a kid, Theo. You can't be expected to take the blame for your father—"
"So are you! I don't see anyone trying to make it easier for you—"
"I don't need—"
"Yes." Theo said firmly, sitting up. "Yes, Harry. You do. I know you think this is all on you, but that's only because it's all you've ever known. No one should have to go through what you did. From the moment you set foot in this fucking world you've been fighting. Nothings ever been easy for you. You deserve something easy. You deserve to just fucking live—"
Harry sat up quickly, "People will die if I just fucking live, Theo! I don't get the choice!"
"THEN WHY DID YOU MAKE ME FUCKING CARE?!" Theo shouted, his chest rising and falling with each breath. He never shouted. He didn't usually let himself, and he hated doing it, it made him feel like he was becoming his father. He knew Harry was right, he knew it, but he was selfish and really it was only a matter of time before he fucked this up— Harry didn't deserve to be yelled at, or to know how fucking miserable he was because of him, but Theo was already yelling and he couldn't bring himself to stop. "WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST LET ME KEEP PRETENDING THAT LOVING YOU, BUT NEVER HAVING YOU COULD BE ENOUGH! WHY COULDN'T YOU— " His voice was shaking now, "Why couldn't you just let me fucking want you like I was and not— not like— like—"
"Like I love you too?"
Theo nodded.
"Because I won't lie to you Theo."
Theo hated crying as much as he hated shouting.
But he was crying now.
He hated Harry for holding him, for wrapping his arms around his waist and pulling him towards him. He hated the way Harry let him him bury his tears into his chest. He hated the way his own breaths sounded like strangled sobs. He hated the way he curled his own fingers into fists just to keep himself from hitting something. He hated watching his own tears fall onto Harry's skin and roll down his stomach.
But he hated himself most for loving Harry Potter; that, out of everyone, he had to fall in love with the one person who was determined to sacrifice himself for the fucking world— he hated that he couldn't hate him at all.
Theo wasn't sure how much time passed as Harry held him. All he knew was that he would never hate anything as much as he loved Harry.
A/N: Holy angst, guys. This chapter was a bit heavy for me to write, like attempting to balance the smut/plot/character development ratio I'm constantly trying to perfect, and I hope I was able to get at least a portion of it right. Anyway, I'm soooooo excited for the next few action packed chapters were building up to— cause SHIT IS ABOUT TO DO DOWN. I hope you were alright with the lack of plot progress so we could let our people comfort one another a little before ALL THE SHIT GOING DOWN! (I feel like I may be over exaggerating, maybe not?)
As always, REVIEW, REVIEW, REVIEW, I love hearing your thoughts :)