Title: The Law of Being Desired
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this story for fun and not profit.
Rating: PG-13
Pairing: Harry/Theo, one-sided Harry/others, Ginny/Dean, past Ginny/Harry
Content Notes: Ignores the epilogue, Hogwarts "eighth year," slight angst, courting, humor, slight violence
Wordcount: 4700
Summary: Harry and Ginny are casually dating in their repeated year at Hogwarts, but when they break up, other people start circling. Harry is amused and fascinated by the lengths that people who need nothing from him will go to win his attention—and charmed despite himself by the way Theo Nott is going about doing it.
Author's Notes: This is one of my "Songs of Summer" fics, one-shots being posted between the summer solstice and the first of August. Vampiric_mcd requested Ginny and Harry breaking up in their eighth year at Hogwarts and Slytherins being very interested in getting Harry to date them.
The Law of Being Desired
"I just don't think I can do this anymore."
Harry turned to look at Ginny, concerned. She had her head down, her eyes fixed on her hands. Her fingers twitched now and then, as if she was grasping and letting go of invisible coins. "Gin?"
She took a deep breath and looked up at him. "I don't think I can date you anymore," she said, in a low voice, but one still loud enough to attract attention. People turned around to stare, and of course gossip would tell the ones who couldn't hear what was happening soon enough.
"Okay," Harry said slowly. He and Ginny had agreed to take things as slowly and casually as possible during this year, getting to know each other again after the trauma of the war, so he wasn't totally surprised. But he was surprised that she was doing it in public. "So you want to break it off for a while?"
"Yeah," Ginny said, and gave him a nervous smile while her eyes darted down the table. Harry followed her gaze and saw Dean watching them intently.
Oh. Harry thought he knew what this was about now. Ginny was breaking up with him in public so that Dean would know she was serious about the breakup and she was free to date if she wanted to. Doing it in private meant Dean might not have been around, and might have disbelieved that anyone would willingly break up with Harry Potter.
Harry wanted to shake his head. He had plenty of flaws, like his temper and his tendency to believe the worst of people. Just because he was famous didn't mean the people who knew him best, like Ginny, would put up with that.
"Okay," Harry said. "I understand. I can't promise to be waiting when you come back, though."
"I know," Ginny said. Harry wondered if she did, but that wasn't his problem. If they both found people they were serious about during the time they were apart, then that was just what would happen.
The buzzing and gossiping went on, but Ginny stood up to walk down the Gryffindor table and sit next to Dean, and Harry went back to eating his breakfast. He saw Ron and Hermione exchanging looks before Hermione leaned over to him.
"Was that planned?"
"Not by me," Harry said. "But she had to do it in public so Dean would really accept she was single, I think."
"Oh." Ron frowned after his sister. Harry snorted and addressed himself to his mashed potatoes again. If Ron was unhappy with who Ginny dated, that was one tangle Harry was more than glad to be outside.
"Hello, Potter."
Harry glanced up. Blaise Zabini was sitting down in the chair across from him in the library with studied grace. Harry held in his laughter to a cough, but it was difficult. "Hello, Zabini. What do you want?"
Zabini's mouth was open. He shut it and looked a little more closely at Harry. Then he flashed a charming smile. "I wanted to officially introduce myself. Of course, we've shared classes for years, but we've never spoken."
"No, but of course I noticed you. You're so handsome that it would be difficult not to."
Zabini looked completely thrown off his stride. Harry hid his smile behind his quill.
"I—well, then maybe you'll be more interested in what I have to say," Zabini said, and abruptly whipped something out of one of his robe pockets, so fast that Harry wasn't sure which one it had come from. "It would be my honor if you would accept this courting gift."
Courting gift. Huh. Harry picked up the package that Zabini handed him, because presumably if Zabini could touch it without his fingers melting, the same was true for Harry. He turned it back and forth. It was a small, square shape in dark blue paper that slipped like velvet under his touch.
"Are you going to open it?"
"Does that mean that I'm accepting I have to date you or marry you?"
"Wh—no. This is a way to show my good intentions."
Harry eyed Zabini, then shrugged and did. The box inside looked like a miniature trunk, wooden with a hinged lid. Harry tilted the lid back and gasped a little as he saw what was inside.
"You like it?"
"It's so complex," Harry said, to replace an answer, because he honestly wasn't sure what the answer was. He lifted the—thing out of the box. It was—a necklace? Maybe? It looked as if it was made of strands of spidersilk, except the spidersilk was platinum, and it had a circle in the middle that might be meant for his head and golden fringes along the sides that might be meant to lie above his collarbone.
"You deserve to be adorned in ornaments fit for your beauty."
Harry eyed Zabini and decided not to ask how much it had cost. He did ask, "So what does this mean? Do I get to keep it regardless of whether we get married or not? Do I have to date you now?"
"No." Zabini folded his hands on the table and gave Harry a smile that might have been intended to be angelic. It gave Harry too many shivers for that, though. "Do keep the gift. But please look favorably on me."
Harry managed to fold the necklace back together with some difficulty; it was like trying to trap an eight-winged bird. "Okay," he said, and shut the lid of the trunk. "Thanks. But I do want to know one thing."
"Yes?"
"You weren't involved in the war at all. You didn't need me to speak for you at the Death Eater trials or something like that. Why court me? I could understand someone like Malfoy, because my testimony was key to making sure his mother didn't go to prison, but why you?"
Zabini's smile deepened. "You should get used to being courted for your beauty and your power, Potter. I suppose Weasley didn't do any of that."
"She had other things to offer," Harry said shortly. He was remembering now that he had once heard Zabini talk about Ginny as being pretty but a blood traitor. "I'll let you know about the date thing."
Zabini rose, gave a little half-bow, and left the library.
Harry sat there and felt as if he'd just stepped out of a rocking train compartment. Then he lifted the lid of the box and sneaked another glance at the whatever-it-was.
And he smiled.
Because, damn it, as slimy as Zabini's motivations probably were, Harry would probably never get over the sensation of Gifts! For me! that had been with him at his first Christmas. And after the last few years and being Undesirable Number One, he could do with a little of feeling wanted.
"Potter. Do you have a quill I could borrow?"
That was Theodore Nott, who Harry had never spoken with, leaning over next to him in Potions. Harry blinked at him, nodded, and dug for a second in his bag. He had plenty of spare quills, thanks to Hermione giving him a set of a hundred as a gift for his birthday.
"Thanks," Nott muttered, taking the quill and turning back to his own brewing station.
Only after a moment did Harry wonder why Nott had wanted one. They were out of the note-taking portion of the lesson now and into the practical brewing portion. Harry had to keep a close eye on the simmer beneath his cauldron as they prepared the antidote to Veritaserum.
Well, maybe Nott was making his own annotations in the book, the way the Half-Blood Prince had. Harry still thought of that book wistfully.
Just as Harry was reaching towards his mashed lavender petals, a shriek filled the air. Harry jumped and spun around, wand leaping into his hand without his thinking about it. He carefully didn't look down. Sometimes the wand was elder and sometimes it was holly, and he didn't want to see which at the moment.
Malfoy was holding onto his arm, his eyes wide. Harry blinked. The back of Malfoy's hand was bleeding from a single, precise slash. It looked too thin to have been made with a Potions knife, though.
"Mr. Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy!" Slughorn bustled over, clucking his tongue. Harry had noticed how Slughorn had avoided Malfoy since the beginning of the year—which Harry thought was stupid—but he seemed to have lost all his wariness in concern now. "What happened? I hope you didn't cut your newt halves with the point of the knife aiming at your hand!"
Malfoy sniffled and, for some reason, glanced at Nott. Harry did, too, and found Nott looking perfectly bland. He was leaning back a little in his seat, twirling the quill Harry had given him between his fingers.
"Yes," Malfoy said after a long moment. "I must have done. I'm sorry, Professor." He bowed his head without taking his eyes from Nott, who was nodding. Harry wondered if he had actually witnessed the accident. It wasn't like Malfoy to be that careless.
"Well, well, my dear boy, do remember for next time." Slughorn patted Malfoy's shoulder. "And go clean off that hand. The potion will be ruined by any blood that gets into it, you know."
"Yes, sir, I know," Malfoy said, sounding a little more like his arrogant self. He cast Nott a fuming look as he slipped away. Harry shook his head and went back to adding the handfuls of lavender to the potion that were needed.
While his potion didn't turn out the perfect shade of silver-clear, it still looked pretty good. Harry was cleaning up his area when Nott said, "Here's your quill back, Potter. I don't need to keep it."
Harry turned around with a frown, and stopped when he saw the quill's sharp nib covered with blood. He stared at Nott.
Nott inclined his head to him, said, "Malfoy was talking shit about you and how you should done more for his father, but I think he's learned his lesson," and slipped away before Harry could say a thing. Harry stared after him.
"Potter. Might I have a moment of your time?"
Harry sighed and folded up the newspaper he'd been looking at. He hadn't paid any attention to what had happened to Death Eater Alexis Nott, apparently Nott's father. Yes, Mr. Nott had been at the graveyard when Voldemort was resurrected and standing guard at the Department of Mysteries the night of the battle, but apparently after that he'd vanished completely from the war and stayed holed up at the manor. The Ministry had decided that a suitable punishment was requiring him to stay there for three years while Aurors visited at random times to check on his Dark Mark and for any possession of Potions ingredients that could relate to resurrection.
It didn't explain why his son would be so eager to defend Harry against Malfoy. And, like Zabini, he didn't need anything from Harry to keep his family out of prison or improve his social standing.
Not that Harry's social standing was what it had been even a few months ago. Yes, he was the man who'd defeated Voldemort, but the papers were just as happy to move on and start talking about his romantic life as anything else. He didn't have the prestige a Slytherin would probably want in a spouse, what with everyone trying so hard to forget about the war.
"Potter?"
Harry flushed and glanced up. He hadn't even consciously realized that someone was standing there waiting patiently for him to notice her, which was really bad. "Er, Greengrass, right?"
"Yes." She gave him a perfectly polished smile and sat down at the table across from him. Harry was reminded of the way Zabini had done it, although she did it with more poise and less grace, and they were in a different part of the library. She took out a package wrapped in silver paper and slid it across the table. "This is for you."
"And doesn't necessitate us going on a date or anything?"
"No. Although if you like it, I would appreciate you accompanying me to the next Hogsmeade weekend."
"Okay," Harry said slowly. He opened the package, which was longer and thinner than the somewhat pretentious trunk Zabini had given him. Inside the paper was a black lacquer box. When he lifted the lid, he jumped a little. There lay a thin silver knife, with a hilt that looked like it was made of bone, and carved with a motif of ravens.
"I—thank you?"
The uncertainty in Harry's voice seemed to amuse Greengrass. She had a pretty smile when she wanted to use it, but there was still the ice-coldness in the back of her eyes, a bright hazel. "Do you like it?"
"Why would you want to give this to me? It doesn't look like a Potions knife." Harry carefully took the hilt and gingerly held up the blade. It almost seemed to disappear when he looked at it straight on.
"It's a tradition in my family to carry one. We call it the 'last surprise.' It's enchanted to cling to your arm without a holster and to never cut you, as well as to be invisible to everyone else. No one can take it from you, and it's always there if you're disarmed."
Harry felt his eyebrows tick up. Well, that was useful. He had to admit that if he did become an Auror, he would probably want something to defend himself after someone's Disarming Charm hit him.
"Thank you," he said. "Do I need to do anything to attune it to me?"
Greengrass shook her head. "No. The first person who touches the hilt attunes it, and you already did that." Her smile deepened as she watched Harry carefully stick the knife to his left forearm, where it clung so easily that it felt like a patch of his own skin. "Does that mean you like it?"
Harry spent a moment studying Greengrass. She was another one whose family hadn't been involved in the war. Someone who didn't need him for prestige, either; Harry remembered passing at least one Potions shop with her family's name on it in Diagon Alley. And he had to admit that the idea of a gift that would let him defend himself was intriguing.
"All right. Shall we meet after breakfast on the Hogsmeade Saturday?"
"I look forward to it," Greengrass purred, and stood, performing a little curtsey to him before walking away.
Something stirred in the shelves behind Harry. Harry spun around, wand raised, mind thinking, I should have known that she could use something like this as an ambush—
But even as he was thinking that a better time to attack would have been when he was utterly distracted by the knife, something came winging out of the shelves and landed on the table next to Harry. Harry cast a few charms at it to unfold it without touching the parchment while he kept looking in the direction it had come from.
The note said only, Daphne Greengrass is engaged to Roger Davies, and since he's left the school, he hasn't paid her much attention. She thinks this will snare him.
Harry blinked. He didn't know anything about that one way or the other, but he stood and called back into the shelves, "Are you still there? Hello?"
Nothing answered him, not even the sound of retreating footsteps.
Harry thought about it, then shrugged. As long as Greengrass was prepared to go on a pleasant date with him, he found he didn't much care about her motivations. It would be nice to spend the day with someone who wasn't Ginny, anyway.
"By yourself, Potter?"
Harry glanced up at Nott and shrugged a little. "I did originally have a date," he said, and didn't bother conveying more than the slight disappointment he did feel. "But she had something else come up at the last moment."
He'd received a note from Greengrass via a school owl the night before at dinner, saying only, I have what I wanted. Thank you, Potter. Keep the knife.
"Is that the case?" Nott leaned on the wall beside Harry and squinted at the glass display cases of rare ingredients in front of them. Harry had never spent much time in Pippin's Potions before, but then again, he had never really wanted to do well at Potions during his first five years, and in sixth year he'd had the Prince's book. "Well, you know, some people say that she has an arrangement going with Roger Davies."
Harry stared at Nott. He had half-wondered if the note in the library had come from Nott, but he hadn't been able to figure out a motive. Any more than he'd had one in mind for Nott stabbing Malfoy with the quill.
Harry raised a Privacy Charm around them with a flick of his wand, and Nott quirked him a slight smile. "Impressive, Potter. You've really stepped up with your nonverbal casting."
"Thanks," Harry said automatically, and then shook his head. "Listen, Nott, what the hell? Why did you borrow my quill like that in Potions?"
"Because I wanted to stab Malfoy, and didn't have a quill handy. I couldn't have used my knife, you know. You heard Professor Slughorn. Any blood would have ruined the potion, and I still had some tubers to cut up."
Nott faced Harry with sparkling eyes. Harry stared into them. They were a dark, smoky grey color, kind of like the quartz that was on display in a case not that far past Nott's elbow.
"But why would you care what Malfoy's saying about me? Or whether Greengrass was faking a date with me?"
"I want to date you, of course."
"But why? Your father doesn't need my help to keep out of Azkaban, and I know that you weren't ever accused of any crimes and need my help to get your social standing back—"
"And you think those are the only reasons someone would want to date you? Really?"
Nott's voice was soft. He was leaning a little closer to Harry than Harry had realized. He resisted the temptation to step back. He didn't feel that he was in any danger, not really. Just—
Nott was so close. And he reached out and slid one hand down Harry's arm and started a trail of sparks and shivers in its wake.
"I know the others were courting you with gifts," Nott said. "And I did like Daphne's. But I thought I should show you what you might not have ever experienced in your life so far, when you have experienced jewelry and weapons."
"What's that?" Harry asked, hearing how low his voice came out, and deciding not to disabuse Nott of his delusions about how familiar Harry was with jewelry.
"Someone who will protect you."
Harry's throat seemed to close up for a second. He coughed. Nott didn't move, still sliding his hand up and down Harry's arm.
What the hell? Harry asked himself. I've never been this comfortable with a Slytherin this close.
He would have stepped back, but he would bump into a desk or one of the display cases if he tried. Nott smiled at him, a ghostly expression that slid across his face and was gone. Harry found he wanted to bring it back.
"I—but whatever Malfoy's ranting about can't harm me," he said after a moment.
Nott shrugged. "Not in any great way, but I saw the look on your face when dear Draco created those badges in fourth year. I'm sure that you wished for some way to strike back then, and didn't feel able to do so. I promise that I'll take all the revenge you need."
"And Greengrass?"
"I thought she might tell you what she wanted, and give you the knife to sweeten the price. But she didn't, so I thought it prudent to warn you."
Harry nodded slowly. He didn't think he would have got too involved with Greengrass before seeing through her, but he couldn't be sure, either. He had agreed to go on a date with her, and that knife was still a brilliant gift.
"I'll also admit," Nott murmured, his voice softer than the sounds of his fingernails as he ran them up Harry's arm, shoving back his sleeve as he went, "that I was jealous. If Daphne hadn't found her way back to Davies before today, then I might have encouraged her to find something else to do this morning."
Harry felt his eyelashes flutter, and fought to keep his eyes open. Nott gave him the smallest of smiles. This time, it didn't dart right off his face.
"You didn't answer my question," Harry whispered.
"Which one?"
"The one about why you wanted to court me. I know it's not for personal advantage, and you've talked about what you could offer me, but not what I could offer you. I mean—I know that you're pretty academic, and I'm far from the smartest kid in the school—"
"If you knew."
Nott's voice was lower than before, but charged with so much passion that Harry started. Something tinkled behind him. He couldn't turn around to see what it was, though, caught as he was by Nott's softly shining eyes.
"You're honest," Nott said, and this time, he raised his free hand to Harry's cheek without stopping his stroking of Harry's arm. Harry leaned towards the touch, swayed almost. Nott seemed to know just how to touch him. Or maybe it was the combination of his touch and his words. "You're generous, sometimes to a fault. You were prepared to sacrifice everything in you and of you for the sake of a bunch of people who in some cases wanted you to be captured and taken to the Dark Lord. You're handsome, and you laugh as though…" Nott seemed at a loss for words. "You laugh when you're happy," he said at last. "I want you to be even happier so that I can hear it more."
Harry was breathing fast now, and Nott had shifted so that his body was blocking anyone from seeing into this part of the shop. Harry thought he saw the shimmer of a ward behind him, too. Harry managed to force air into his lungs, so he had to speak.
"I—I didn't know you would value that," he murmured, and Nott went still except for his stroking hand to listen. "Once Voldemort told me that the only thing that mattered was power. I assumed his Death Eaters would believe the same thing, and what they would teach their children—"
"I grew up that way," Nott agreed quietly. He hadn't flinched at Voldemort's name. His hand on Harry's arm switched to tracing circles. Harry had never felt anything like that before, but it made him immensely greedy, to have it and keep and keep feeling it. "My father was never abusive to me, but he was cold. But that only made me more likely to see and value the opposite when someone who embodied it came along."
Harry could feel a blush in his cheeks, and was sure that he must be so red he couldn't look attractive. But Nott was still standing in such a way as to shield Harry from the rest of the shop with his body, and his eyes were deep and hungry.
"And you think you could make me happy?" Harry didn't recognize his voice when he spoke. Was he flirting? That wasn't like him, either.
"Yes, I'm sure of it," Nott said. "I can balance your generosity when it goes too far and shield you from threats. I can make sure that you don't become the scapegoat that you've sometimes been in the past. I can shelter you and teach you anything you need to know."
"What if you don't know it yourself?"
"Then I'll learn it."
Harry blinked. His eyes felt slower and heavier than usual. Then he made his decision, and leaned forwards and kissed Nott.
Nott gasped, his mouth opening for a moment, but he didn't try to extend his tongue. He just kissed Harry with slightly parted lips, his hand on Harry's arm frozen at last, and Harry stepped forwards and let his chest touch Nott's for a second.
When he stepped back, he was pleased to see that Nott was flushed, too, enough that he looked healthier than he usually did with his pallor.
"I think we've both offered each other a lot of promises," Harry said. "But we need to make sure we can keep them."
Nott licked his lips. "So what are you going to do?"
"Return Zabini's bloody necklace to him, for a start. I never did figure out how to put it on."
Watching Nott's face brighten with suppressed laughter was nearly as good as kissing him.
Zabini studied the box that Harry held out to him with a solemn expression. Harry had managed to catch him early outside the Potions classroom, and convince Zabini to follow him around a corner, so they weren't in full view of everyone. "Have I done something to displease you?" Zabini asked slowly, eyes rising to Harry's face. "If you think—"
"No, nothing like that. I just found someone else to date, that's all."
Zabini blinked and then smiled. "Ah. Dear Theodore finally made a move."
"He hates Theodore—" Harry snapped, and then broke off and flushed, because Zabini was laughing quietly. Right, he'd just confirmed Zabini's suspicions. And he supposed Zabini had been calling Theo that for some of the same reasons that Theo had used "dear Draco."
"Yeah, he did," Harry said, and grinned. "And I don't want you to be out this necklace, or the money for it, or whatever." He offered the box to Zabini again.
"Keep it," Zabini said, his eyes glinting. "I hope that you'll wear it sometimes and think of me, but you can sell it or gift it to someone else if you want. It was an honor to offer it to you." He half-bowed and stepped back.
Harry glanced over Zabini's shoulder and saw Theo looming near the door of the Potions classroom, glowering at them both. Harry managed to stifle his snort and walked towards him, slipping the box from Zabini back into his pocket.
"What was that about?" Theo asked, his eyes tracking Zabini with unwavering intensity. Zabini waved back with two fingers and sauntered over to talk to Padma Patil.
"He said that I should keep the necklace. Wear it, gift it, sell it, he didn't care." Harry rolled his eyes as Theo turned his head to keep track of Zabini. "Watch it, Nott, or I'm going to think he's the one you want to date."
It worked. Theo's eyes immediately snapped back to Harry, and he looked stricken. "Harry, I would—never—"
"I know that," Harry said softly. "But I never want you to think that you have anything to be jealous of."
And he leaned forwards and kissed Theo right there in front of the other Potions students. He could hear more than one gasp, more than one half-stifled complaint that had his name in it, or Theo's. Theo stiffened for a second in his arms.
Then he leaned in and gave as good as he got. Harry was flushed and grinning by the time Slughorn opened the door and invited them in.
Of course, Harry had to field astonished questions from Ron and Hermione. And he knew there would be others, if the startled, scandalized looks that people in the class were giving him was any guide.
And of course, he and Theo might not last forever.
"Hey, Harry, can I borrow a quill?" Theo asked with a mild smile on his face, leaning over Harry's shoulder.
"Sure," Harry said happily, and handed one over, and smiled at Malfoy's yelp of pain a second later.
But at the moment, it sure felt like he and Theo could be.
The End.