Harry didn't hear the whispers at first.
Not until the library.
It was late, the castle quiet, and Theo had insisted on personally escorting him to the restricted section. ("You're not sneaking around alone," he had said, his voice leaving no room for argument.)
Harry had rolled his eyes but let Theo lead the way.
They found the book easily enough—Bloodlines of the Forgotten Lords. A heavy, leather-bound tome covered in dust, its gold lettering faded with age.
But the moment Harry touched it, the whispers started.
Faint. Distant. Like a breath against his ear.
"Heir of the First… Blood of the Three…"
Harry froze. His breath hitched.
Theo noticed immediately. "What?" His voice was sharp, on edge.
Harry shook his head, gripping the book tighter. The whispers had faded, but the feeling remained. A slow, cold recognition curling in his chest.
Something was watching.
Something knew.
Back in the Slytherin dorms, Harry turned the pages, eyes scanning every line. Theo sat beside him, closer than necessary, his presence grounding. Protective.
Then Harry found it.
"The Peverells were among the first true Lords of Magic, their power extending beyond mere spellwork. Legends speak of their connection to Death itself, their bloodline marked by gifts unknown to other wizards. While many believe the Deathly Hallows to be a simple myth, records suggest that the Peverell lineage carried more than just magical talent—it carried a claim over forces that defied time itself."
Theo exhaled slowly. "So. You're not just Slytherin's heir." His voice was dangerously quiet. "You're Peverell."
Harry swallowed. "Yeah."
Theo's jaw tightened. "And Dumbledore never told you."
Harry let out a humorless laugh. "Of course he didn't."
Because if Harry Potter wasn't just some orphaned boy—if he was more than just the Boy Who Lived—then he wasn't something Dumbledore could control.
And Dumbledore needed control.
Theo's hand curled into a fist. His mind was already spinning. If Harry had this kind of power in his blood, there would be people who wanted to use him. People who would try to take him.
That was unacceptable.
Theo turned to Harry, dark eyes unreadable. "You can't go anywhere alone anymore."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who's going to stop me?"
Theo smirked, but there was no humor in it. Just a quiet, dangerous certainty.
"Me."
Harry blinked. The weight of Theo's attention was suffocating, possessive in a way that made something unfamiliar coil in his chest.
But instead of pushing back, he just grinned.
"Well," Harry murmured, closing the book, "at least I keep things interesting."
Theo huffed a laugh, shaking his head. But beneath the amusement, his mind was already calculating.
Because now, it wasn't just about protecting Harry.
It was about making sure the entire world knew that Harry Potter was his.
Chapter Fifteen: Whispers of Death
Harry didn't hear the whispers at first.
Not until the library.
It was late, the castle quiet, and Theo had insisted on personally escorting him to the restricted section. ("You're not sneaking around alone," he had said, his voice leaving no room for argument.)
Harry had rolled his eyes but let Theo lead the way.
They found the book easily enough—Bloodlines of the Forgotten Lords. A heavy, leather-bound tome covered in dust, its gold lettering faded with age.
But the moment Harry touched it, the whispers started.
Faint. Distant. Like a breath against his ear.
"Heir of the First… Blood of the Three…"
Harry froze. His breath hitched.
Theo noticed immediately. "What?" His voice was sharp, on edge.
Harry shook his head, gripping the book tighter. The whispers had faded, but the feeling remained. A slow, cold recognition curling in his chest.
Something was watching.
Something knew.
Back in the Slytherin dorms, Harry turned the pages, eyes scanning every line. Theo sat beside him, closer than necessary, his presence grounding. Protective.
Then Harry found it.
"The Peverells were among the first true Lords of Magic, their power extending beyond mere spellwork. Legends speak of their connection to Death itself, their bloodline marked by gifts unknown to other wizards. While many believe the Deathly Hallows to be a simple myth, records suggest that the Peverell lineage carried more than just magical talent—it carried a claim over forces that defied time itself."
Theo exhaled slowly. "So. You're not just Slytherin's heir." His voice was dangerously quiet. "You're Peverell."
Harry swallowed. "Yeah."
Theo's jaw tightened. "And Dumbledore never told you."
Harry let out a humorless laugh. "Of course he didn't."
Because if Harry Potter wasn't just some orphaned boy—if he was more than just the Boy Who Lived—then he wasn't something Dumbledore could control.
And Dumbledore needed control.
Theo's hand curled into a fist. His mind was already spinning. If Harry had this kind of power in his blood, there would be people who wanted to use him. People who would try to take him.
That was unacceptable.
Theo turned to Harry, dark eyes unreadable. "You can't go anywhere alone anymore."
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Oh? And who's going to stop me?"
Theo smirked, but there was no humor in it. Just a quiet, dangerous certainty.
"Me."
Harry blinked. The weight of Theo's attention was suffocating, possessive in a way that made something unfamiliar coil in his chest.
But instead of pushing back, he just grinned.
"Well," Harry murmured, closing the book, "at least I keep things interesting."
Theo huffed a laugh, shaking his head. But beneath the amusement, his mind was already calculating.
Because now, it wasn't just about protecting Harry.
It was about making sure the entire world knew that Harry Potter was his.
Harry didn't dream that night.
He heard.
The whispers were louder now. Not just in the distance, not just a breath against his ear—but curling through his mind like smoke, sinking into his bones.
"Blood of the First… Keeper of the Hallows…"
"The last true heir…"
"Marked by Death itself."
Harry jolted awake, his breath sharp. The dormitory was dark, the fire in the common room below casting flickering shadows against the walls.
And sitting beside him, awake and watching, was Theo.
Harry groaned, rubbing his eyes. "You're ridiculous."
Theo smirked, but there was something sharp behind his gaze. "And you're reckless."
Harry rolled his eyes but didn't argue.
Theo studied him for a long moment before speaking. "You heard them again."
Not a question. A fact.
Harry exhaled. "Yeah."
Theo's jaw tightened. He didn't like this. Didn't like anything about this.
Because this wasn't just about ancient bloodlines or forgotten magic. This was about something older. Something that had been watching Harry long before anyone else had realized what he was.
And if Theo had to fight Death itself to keep Harry his?
Then so be it.
The next morning, Harry barely stepped into the Great Hall before the whispers started again. But this time, they weren't from whatever force had been calling to him in his dreams.
This time, it was the students.
"Did you hear? Potter's a Parselmouth—"
"They're saying he's the heir of Slytherin—"
"I heard he cursed a Ravenclaw for looking at him wrong—"
Harry, utterly unimpressed, grabbed a piece of toast and flopped into his seat at the Slytherin table.
Draco arched an eyebrow. "So. Are you planning to address the fact that half the school thinks you're some kind of dark lord in training?"
Harry smirked. "And ruin the mystery? Never."
Blaise chuckled. "I have to admit, it's entertaining."
Pansy grinned. "And intimidating. No one's dared to say a word to you all morning."
Harry hummed. "Good."
But Theo?
Theo wasn't amused.
He had caught the way some of the older students had looked at Harry. Not with curiosity, not even with fear—
But with interest.
People were noticing Harry. People who had no business looking at him like he was something to be claimed.
Theo's grip on his goblet tightened.
Harry belonged to him.
And if anyone thought otherwise?
Theo would remind them why they should be afraid.