I am glad you guys like the fic! I haven't had any complaints so far, but the writing is supposed to seem choppy in some places.

I do not own American Horror story or Harry Potter

Chapter 2

"If you love someone, you should never hurt them."-Tate

The moment Harry stepped onto the grounds he felt it.

Old magic. Powerful magic.

Harry closed his eyes and sent his magic into the land. Someone had cursed this ground. Those who died on it stayed for eternity. It was a very powerful curse, indeed.

Hoped welled up inside of Harry.

Tate had died here.

Harry searched with his magic.

There were many trapped souls here, dozens, but only a handful of them were aware. Others had faded into some sort of sleep only coming to awareness when something triggered them.

Tate was here. Tate was one of the aware and he was strong.

Harry held back from caressing Tate's dark aura with his own. Instead, he walked into the house to explore.

The spirits didn't bother him. Most watched him curiously although unknowing that he was aware of their presence.

Harry walked around the house. It was beautiful and the atmosphere was wondrously dark. The darkness inside of Harry practically purred. The house couldn't hurt him as it had hurt the others.

Harry, Death, was beyond it.

Finally, he ended up in Tate's old bedroom. It stood painfully empty.

Harry had never been in there before. They had always met at the ocean, but Tate had described it. Harry would take this room as his.

Harry exited the house and pulled out his cell phone.

"Yes, I'm calling about the house. I want it."

Everyone was curious about the new owner. He had bought the house outright and furnished it, but hadn't stepped foot inside of it since the first day. The nicer ghosts were thinking of ways to scare him out of the house, to protect the seemingly innocent teen, but the other ghosts couldn't be bothered.

Tate had been playing in the basement with Beauregard and had not seen the new owner, but he was curious.

Those that would still talk to Tate only described him as a young man with long black hair. He wondered if Violet would like him. She seemed lonely.

Tate loved Violet, she may not love him anymore, but that was okay. He had done horrible things to her family.

Maybe Ben was right and he didn't deserve to be loved.

Tate could love though. He loved Harry still despite his absence and he loved Violet despite her hatred of him. He also loved Beauregard and Adelaide even though she was horrified at what he had done.

Tate could love and he would never hurt those he loved. Well, not on purpose anyways.

Then he came.

Tate couldn't breathe.

All he could see was emerald green eyes and a faded lightning bolt scar.

"Harry." He breathed in disbelief.

The new dark haired owner of the house was Harry.

Harry who had been gone for twenty years.

Harry who Tate had loved desperately, still loved desperately.

Harry who Tate had given up on ever returning.

Everything Tate felt for Violet paled drastically in comparison to what he felt for Harry. Harry was everything. He had always been.

The first day Harry returned to the house, Tate remained hidden from his sight. Harry looked much younger than Tate thought he would. He matched Tate's physical age instead of the thirty year old he should be.

Harry was beautiful. Stunning. His eyes had brightened and his scar faded. He had grown his hair out and wore it in a long French braid that draped to the middle of his back. He was just a few inches shorter than Tate, and petite. Harry had grown up rather androgynous looking. Not that Tate was complaining.

Once again Tate was ashamed of himself and what he had done.

After all of this time he was ashamed to show himself to Harry, to tell him of all that he had done. Harry had been Tate's conscience, and without him Tate had lost control. Harry's memory had not been enough. Tate knew Harry would be incredibly disappointed in him. He had done many terrible things.

Two days later, Tate had yet to show himself to Harry and the wizard was growing annoyed. The maid had shown herself using the image of an old woman. Harry invited her to tea and worked out her cleaning schedule. She was rather nice actually.

Harry was rather curious of the other image she possessed of a young woman.

She must have died young, but maintained the façade of aging to the world.

How tragic.

Harry was more curious about Tate however, he had yet to show himself and Harry was growing rather fed up.

Harry climbed out of the shower, dried off a bit, and wrapped a towel around his waist. He quietly padded into his room before stopping, stunned.

He stared at the figure on the bed, his heart beating hard.

"Tate." He whispered.

Tate hadn't changed much but Harry hadn't expected him to. Tate had died young, not long after Harry had left the States actually.

Tate sat on the edge of the bed stiffly. Staring down at his lap looking like a guilty child.

"Tate." Harry repeated louder.

Tate looked up at Harry, meeting the other eternal teen's face.

Jesus, why had he decided to show himself again? This was stupid. So stupid.

Before he could fade out into nonexistence Harry lunged at Tate startling him.

Tate fell back on the bed. Harry crawled on top of him and kissed him desperately.

Tate broke the kiss.

"Harry I-"

"Tate, shut up and fuck me. I've waited decades for this moment."

There wasn't much talking after that. There was need and desperation. There was lust and love. There was twenty years of pent up god damn waiting and finally they didn't have to wait anymore.

Harry was here.

Tate was here.

And that was all that mattered.

Later, they would talk about Harrys lack of aging, and Tate's ghost status, but for now all they wanted to think about and feel was each other.

AN:so…I wrote this. This chapter was lighter than I was expecting, but itll get all doom and gloom again. I Promise.