Harry should have pushed back.
Should have rolled his eyes, made a joke, kept things light. That's what he did when things got too real, when someone tried to get too close.
But something about Theo's unwavering gaze, about the quiet certainty in his voice, made it impossible.
Because Theo wasn't just saying things.
Theo believed them.
And worse?
Some deep, twisted part of Harry believed them too.
But before he could think too much about why that sent a sharp thrill down his spine, Theo stepped closer—casual, deliberate, like a predator closing in.
"You don't understand yet, do you?" Theo murmured, voice quiet but heavy. "You belong to me, Harry."
Harry's breath hitched. "Bold of you to assume."
Theo smirked. "It's not an assumption. It's a fact."
Harry forced himself to scoff. "Oh? And what makes you so sure?"
Theo leaned in slightly, voice dropping to something dangerous. "Because no one else is worthy."
Harry felt that somewhere deep, somewhere buried in his bones where old magic whispered to him in forgotten tongues.
And for the first time, he wondered if Theo could hear them too.
That night, the whispers came again.
"Marked by Death itself…"
"The First of the Three…"
"Chosen not by fate, but by blood."
Harry sat up, heart pounding.
And there, in the dim candlelight beside his bed, sat Theo.
Wide awake. Watching him.
Harry exhaled sharply. "Merlin, do you ever sleep?"
Theo didn't smile.
Instead, he tilted his head, studying Harry with something unreadable in his dark eyes.
"They're getting louder, aren't they?"
Harry froze.
Because how did he know that?
Theo smirked, but there was something sharp in it, something knowing.
"Like I said," Theo murmured. "You're mine."
And for the first time, Harry wasn't sure if that was a warning or a promise.
Maybe both.
The whispers didn't stop.
They followed Harry through the halls, curling in the edges of his mind, threading through his thoughts like echoes of something ancient. Something watching.
"Marked by Death itself…"
"Blood of the First…"
"Heir to a throne unseen…"
He didn't want to believe them.
But Theo's gaze, sharp and knowing, told him he didn't have a choice.
"You need to stop watching me like that."
Theo didn't even pretend to look innocent. "Like what?"
Harry shot him a flat look. "Like you already know something I don't."
Theo smirked. "Maybe I do."
Harry huffed, crossing his arms. "Well? Care to share with the class?"
Theo leaned in, voice smooth, confident. "You're the heir to something greater than a name, Harry. And the magic knows it." His gaze darkened. "You feel it, don't you?"
Harry hesitated.
Because he did.
Magic had always felt different to him, but now it was like it was waking up, shifting beneath his skin, humming through his blood like an untamed current.
And Theo?
Theo was watching him like he belonged to him. Like he was guarding something precious.
Harry smirked, trying to shove away the weight of it all. "Alright, Nott, you keep talking about how special I am—starting to sound like a fan."
Theo chuckled, low and dark. "No, Harry." He tilted his head. "Not a fan."
His fingers brushed against Harry's wrist—light, deliberate.
"Just the only one who sees you."
And for once, Harry had no clever response.
Because the worst part?
Theo was right.
Harry was beginning to realize something.
Something dangerous.
Something inevitable.
He wasn't just another student at Hogwarts. He wasn't even just the Boy Who Lived.
He was something else entirely.
And Theo knew it.
"You keep looking at me like I'm some kind of answer," Harry muttered one evening, stretching out on the Slytherin common room couch.
Theo, sitting beside him, smirked. "Maybe you are."
Harry rolled his eyes. "To what?"
Theo tilted his head, eyes dark and unreadable. "Everything."
And that—the way he said it, like it was fact, like Harry had no choice but to be something more—made something sharp twist in Harry's chest.
Because, deep down, a part of him already knew Theo was right.
Something inside him was waking up.
And soon?
The world would know it too.
The whispers followed him into his dreams.
"The First…"
"The Lost Heir…"
"Death follows, but never claims…"
And when he woke, Theo was there.
Sitting beside his bed, watching. Always watching.
Harry exhaled, rubbing his temple. "You have got to stop this."
Theo smirked. "No."
Harry gave him a look. "You do realize how ridiculous this is?"
Theo leaned in slightly, voice smooth. "Do you?"
Harry raised an eyebrow. "Let me guess—more cryptic nonsense about my destiny?"
Theo chuckled, low and dark. "No, Harry. Just a reminder."
Harry sighed. "Of what?"
Theo's fingers brushed against his wrist—light, deliberate, possessive.
"That you're mine."
And for the first time?
Harry wasn't sure if he minded at all.