For In_Dreams.

This new one shot that was born of challenge day in Dark Arts Society on Facebook and was written for In_Dreams for Love Fest that's taking place over at Fairest of the Rare on Facebook! #TeamAphrodite, #LoveFest2020

My endless love to mcal for her alpha reading and encouragement, to Pronunciation_Hermy_One for pre-reading the interwoven scenes and confirming that this story should be linear in nature when I wasn't sure, and to Lunamionny for her bitchin' beta skills. I'm eternally grateful to have such a team in my corner and I adore you all.

Potter was hailed as the Savior of the Wizarding World, but it wasn't true. Not for all of them. For the mudbloods and the blood traitors, of course, for anyone who Albus Dumbeldore deemed worthy of saving. Theo and his friends, however? Not a chance.

When the Dark Lord's body disappeared, everyone who had fought to remove him from power cheered whilst they encircled Potter. They clamored to shake his hand, to hug his dirt-covered body, and to smile with relief while his bright green eyes watched on. The others, the castaways, stood in the courtyard in silence. The buzz of war still rang in their ears. Blood, sweat and magic were still caked in places they'd never be able to remove it from.

Theo only had eyes for him . Could only watch from a distance and wonder if he'd ever find the courage to approach Potter whilst he was surrounded by friends. It had always been just them—but everything changed with the fall of the Dark Lord.

He watched the specky Gryffindor sit alone in the library and flip through tome after tome, clearly trying to find something—Theo wasn't sure what. Potter would sigh, shove one heavy, leather-bound book to the side, and start all over again. It lasted hours upon hours, night after night.

Until one day, Theo approached him. He didn't say anything, just sat in the chair across from Potter and grabbed a book to flip through, unsure what he was looking for.

"I need to breathe underwater," Potter had told him eventually. "But I can't tell you why."

Theo knew why. Everyone did. The second task was to take place in the Black Lake; most of his house was hoping Potter would drown. Still, Theo simply nodded his head and continued to leaf through the pages of his book.

It was half past eleven when Potter stood up, yawned, and began to stack the books to put back onto the shelves. Theo closed his own book and helped, watching Potter's stoic face from underneath long lashes. Every time he added a book to the stack in his arms, a slight bit of skin would appear at the waist of his trousers. Theo tried not to notice, but failed quite spectacularly. It wasn't until he dragged his eyes away that he found Potter staring at him, and Theo shrugged.

"Didn't realize you were so thin," he said as he piled another book onto the rest. "Or so pale. What do those muggles feed you, anyway?"

Darkness passed through Potter's eyes and he sighed. "Thanks for the help tonight. I'll put these away."

Theo watched him walk to the cases at the far end of the library. He wondered if, maybe, in another life—if he hadn't been Slytherin and Potter hadn't been Gryffindor—they might have been friends.

Professor Umbridge was ruining education. For students who looked forward to Hogwarts for reasons other than Hogsmeade weekends, grand feasts and the wonder of magic, having the Ministry's hands choke-holding the school meant that learning the nuances of magic—and consequently, the very fabric of their futures—was under attack.

Theo watched his friends join arms with the Ministry. He watched Malfoy kiss Umbridge's arse and chase shadows through the school to try and get Potter and his friends into trouble. Not Theo, though. Instead, he found comfort in being a silent ally to The Boy Who Lived. He'd hide behind suits of armor and use trip-jinxes on Filch. Once, he'd disillusioned himself and stunned Malfoy as he chased Cho Chang through the third floor. But his favorite moment was when Potter finally noticed what he'd been doing.

A strong hand dragged him into a dark alcove and shoved him against the wall. Potter's face was so close to his, he could see every pore across his nose.

"What're you doing, Nott?" Potter had asked, giving him a sharp shove into the stone wall.

"Would you believe me if I told you I put crushed up Puking Pastilles in Dolores' scones?" Theo offered Potter his biggest grin and the most mischievous expression he could muster. "She'll be in the loo long enough for you and your friends to sneak off again tonight."

Potter let go of his robes and took a small step back. "Why would you do that?"

"Not a fan of how the Ministry is running things here, if I'm honest."

"I thought your father was in with Fudge?" Potter's hands were shoved in his pockets as he leaned against the opposite wall.

Theo shrugged and straightened his robes. "I've never quite taken to my father's point of view."

Potter lifted a single, thick brow. "What about my point of view, then?"

"Lesser of two evils, isn't it?" Theo grinned, enjoying the way Potter's face flickered through too many emotions to name before Theo turned and sauntered down the corridor, leaving 'The Chosen One' alone in the dark alcove with an entire night of rule breaking ahead of him.

Theo's lips twitched, inching towards a smile but not quite getting there. "My father's in Azkaban."

"I know," Potter said, ducking his chin in a jerky sort of nod. "I hit him with a stunner, I think."

A laugh he hadn't expected broke free from his lips, and he tried to cover it with a cough. "They're sending me to a ward somewhere in London this summer—since I won't have a family to stay with."

"I'd say I'm sorry, but—" Potter's words died away as his eyes fell to the ground between them. "Everyone knows now, you know? They know it's true and they know he's back."

The gravity of their new world crashed over them, a static woosh between Theo's ears that nearly outsang his thundering, nervous heartbeat. He steadied himself with a deep, slow breath and chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment before nodding his head.

"Yeah," he said finally, drawing Potter's eyes back to his. "They know now. And it makes everything more dangerous than before."

Potter's jaw ticked and Theo was drawn to it; he'd never noticed how sharp it was, how it was starting to darken with a shadow. They weren't innocent children any more.

Potter was so quiet, Theo had to lean in to hear him. "Are you going to join him?"

"I don't know what choice I have."

A finger lifted his downcast chin, and Potter's lips barely moved. "Everyone has a choice."

Autumn on the Quidditch pitch was cold and miserable. In fact, the only redeeming quality of having to watch Slytherin lose another match was catching Potter in uniform while he thought no one was paying attention to him. That was the beauty of being a seeker, after all: everyone else was following the quaffle and the seeker could slip through the flying paths of the other players with very little attention.

It was one of the things that had changed Theo's mind regarding Potter. After realizing The Boy With The Worst Luck Imaginable actually hated attention, it was easy for Theo to begin to feel pity for his lot in life. Forced by the whims of a man he'd never met, who murdered his parents and threatened to murder him at least once a year—more often lately.

Potter caught the snitch in record time. The game ended, and Theo found himself watching as he descended from the sky and landed on the grass to congratulate his team. Only when Potter was the last man left on the pitch did Theo descend the steps two at a time and hail the conquering hero.

"Not a fan of that scarf." Potter's greetings could have used some work, but Theo would take the heckling if it meant he'd always be rewarded with that cheeky smile.

"Green looks good on me," Theo said as he flipped the edge of the scarf over his shoulder and raised an arched brow. "Besides, who else would I support during a Gryffindor-Slytherin match?"

"Decided to join him then?" The playful Potter was gone and in his place was a man who showed no mercy to those who stood on opposite lines.

Theo felt the judgment in his chest; a heavy thudding of his heart and a weight as if an erumpent had settled there. "It's been decided for me. I told you I don't have a choice."

"I'm a choice."

Potter had moved closer to him. Theo's eyes flicked around the pitch, watching for stragglers or anyone who would report this—whatever it was—back to his father. He shook his head and brought his gaze back to those hardening eyes.

"You're far more than a choice, Potter."

"What am I then?"

His breath smelled like mint and his aftershave like rain. But his lips—they tasted like salvation.

"You're not sitting with Malfoy anymore."

"And you're paying far too much attention to what Malfoy is doing," Theo retorted as he cast his eyes to the dark ceiling of the alcove Potter had dragged him into. "Malfoy's only a sixth year—and he knows you're watching his every move. It's a waste of time."

Potter snorted and it pulled Theo's gaze back to his. "He's up to something," Potter said, lips tugged down and eyes hard. "I know he is."

"Did you pull me into the shadows to chastise me about Malfoy?" Theo lifted his lips, hoping to tease Potter out of whatever fanatical obsession he held for Theo's ex-best mate.

"No."

Fists locked into Theo's hair as he was backed up against the stone wall. Potter crowded him with a delicious heat that radiated from him and it sent sparks of desire zinging up his spine. Forget his head cracking against the wall, forget his body aching from Snape's strenuous Defense Against the Dark Arts exercises; if Potter's body could elicit such delightful responses from Theo's, all the discomfort was worth it and, he'd daresay, heightened the pleasure.

Potter's lips crashed into his—there was nothing sweet or gentle about it—and he moaned as their tongues met. Theo dragged his hands from their useless position at his sides and yanked at Potter's shirt, pulling it from the confines of his trousers and exposing his slender torso to his touch. The hitch in Potter's breath, the way his muscles constricted under the light swipe of his blunt fingernails, pitched an instant tent in Theo's pants.

Theo groaned and conjured all his willpower to push Potter away. "Nothing's changed. We can't do this."

Potter looked as if someone had kicked his kelpie; his bottom lip jutted out, swollen and red as a cherry. "Right. Sorry."

"Malfoy's up to something, you're right." Theo straightened his robes and wiped his lips on his sleeve. "Just—be careful."

He left Potter, and whatever was left of his sanity, behind in their dark alcove.

"You look… odd."

"I feel odd, actually." Potter patted down his chest and looked about as if he'd lost something. "Had some mead with Hagrid and Slughorn, and—have you seen a vial around here? It jumped out of my hands and…" He twisted his torso and glanced around his feet. "Ah, fuck it," he said as he began a purposeful stride towards the castle, leaving Theo in his bizarre wake.

Theo could do no more than gawk at the inane bumblings of The Boy Who Lived. How in the bloody hell had he lived? Out, running through the grounds in the middle of the evening, spending his time with giants and blood traitors. Absolutely-fucking-clueless about the dangers that constantly surrounded him.

He spotted it, though, the little vial. Something silver shimmered within it, thin and wiry—a memory. Who the hell was Potter stealing memories from? Maybe it was something kinky and he really didn't want to know. Whatever it was, Theo snatched the vial from the ground and hurried after Potter.

Theo fell into step with him, and cut his chin to the side. "What were you doing out here tonight?"

"Told you," Potter said, shrugging his shoulder and leaping far too spritely over a small pebble. "Had some mead with the mates."

"You're… mates… with Sluggie and the giant?" Theo lifted a brow and grabbed Potter by the cuff of his robes, forcing him to stop. "Do you have a death wish? Is that, like, your thing?"

Potter spun round so they were face-to-face and far too close for Theo's liking. Those eyes, those perfectly bowed lips—they were going to do him in. "Mione says I have a 'saving people thing'. You say I have a 'death wish thing'. Personally—" he grinned, nearly maniacal in the sheer breadth of it, and wrapped their hands together, "I think I have a 'Theodore Nott thing'."

Theo couldn't stop the groan that left him. He'd tried to let it go, tried to keep a safe distance, had even gone so far as to take tea in his room and frequent the unused lavatory on the fifth floor, rather than his preferred one on the third floor, in an effort to avoid him. And still, of all the luck in the world, he ran into Boy Wonder in the one place he shouldn't be, wearing that fucking grin that made Theo weak at the knees. Fuck it, indeed.

"Listen." Theo tried to yank his hand away, but Potter was having none of it and tangled their fingers together. "This isn't a good idea. There are so many reasons, not least of which is that I'm—my father expects me to actively try and murder you."

"You're doing a terrible job." Closer still; Potter definitely had a death wish.

"Clearly," Theo said, rolling his eyes and trying to ignore his free hand as it began to roam up Potter's gangly arm, up to his shoulder where his fingers bit into the thin flesh and bone. "This won't end well. You know that, yeah?"

"I don't think I do, actually." Potter's eyes dipped to Theo's lips, and he was utterly done. There was no willpower left in him to ignore what he'd felt building for weeks.

"Off to hell we go then."

Theo raised his hand to Potter's jaw and dragged his face towards him to press their lips together. He tasted of mead, like honey—sweet and crisp—and Theo wasted no time stroking his tongue deeper. He wouldn't ever tire of the way Potter's fingers caressed his throat, or the way he wasn't satisfied until their bodies were molded together. It felt natural, as if they belonged with one another, and it only made Theo kiss him harder.

It wasn't until they saw old Sluggie stumbling up the uneven path to the school that Potter finally broke away, breathless, flushed, and properly snogged. Theo promised to see him the next day after dinner, and despite all of his misgivings about entering into a relationship with the golden boy of Gryffindor, Theo wasn't strong enough to ignore the bond between them any longer.

Maybe it wouldn't end well—but maybe if Potter actually won it wouldn't have to end at all.

"I haven't been able to get you alone."

"Haven't wanted to be alone."

"I tried to warn you—"

"No, you didn't." Potter ripped his shoulder out of Theo's grasp and stepped out of reach with a sour expression on his face.

He should have sensed it, should have known it was coming. Potter had been avoiding him during the days leading up to the funeral, and it wasn't as if Theo blamed him. It was just—they'd spent months getting to know one another. They'd snuck off, hid in their little alcove away from the rest of the school, and shared things Theo hadn't shared with anyone, not even Malfoy. He knew he had to give Potter space, but this… fuck, it hurt .

"I told you Malfoy was up to something. I told you to be careful." Theo tried to grab his hand, to hold it and force him to listen for just a minute, to hear the desperation in his voice, the apology stinging his lips.

"You didn't tell me anything! I led Dumbledore right into Malfoy's hands—right to Snape! You. Said. Nothing." Potter swiped his hand away and stumbled against the wall. He caught himself just before tumbling over, but it didn't stop Theo from reaching for him again.

"Damn it, Potter, would you just listen?"

He wasn't having it, though. Despite Theo's protests, Potter left the alcove with nothing more than a "piss off" murmured from his lips.

The train ride was somber as they moved through the misty mountains and the overcast plains. Most of the older Slytherins had been summoned home early, but not Theo. He sat in a compartment entirely to himself. Younger kids pressed their greasy faces to his window and made faces, but Theo merely flicked his wand at the glass and dropped the shutter over their faces. His father thought it was a punishment to force him to ride the Hogwarts Express with his peers.

On the contrary, Theo found the solitude peaceful. Rather than begin his holiday facing The Mark, he began it with the option to run and never return home. His father would never show his face on the platform at King's cross, and now he was of age, Theo could travel home on his own. He could make a run for it—he could leave it all behind if he wanted.

He'd all but made up his mind when the frustrating and handsome face of Harry Bloody Potter peeked through his door. Didn't even bother to knock or take the lowered shutter as an indication that Theo didn't want companions. Just barged right into his compartment and sat himself down across from him.

"I owe you an apology," Potter said while looking down at his fidgeting hands.

"You owe me nothing." Theo kicked a foot over his knee and took in the downcast face of the man across from him. He hadn't shaved recently, hadn't bothered with the finer polish of appearance Theo still took care to employ. Instead he looked battleworn, with exhaustion bruising the skin below his eyes.

"I don't understand why you won't join the Order." Potter's arms rested against his thighs and his hands steepled under his chin.

"Maybe I don't want to join anyone. Did you ever think maybe we're too young to do this? To fight in a war and face death? I'm seventeen—I haven't lived, for fuck's sake. And everyone wants me to fight, but why? Why would I?"

The silence stretched for several moments and if he listened hard enough, Theo swore he could hear Potter's heartbeat thudding an erratic rhythm. Although—perhaps it was his own. He clawed at his chest and swallowed around a thick knot. The compartment was closing in around him, suffocating him and squeezing out what little air he could get to his lungs.

"For me." It was so plain, so impossibly bare, and it ripped Theo's soul into pieces. "Fight for me. Choose me."

Theo wanted to run. But, his every instinct fought against the thoughts blossoming in his mind; he could choose Potter, he could choose to fight for something larger than himself, he could change the trajectory of the life he'd been forced into. Freedom from the darkness of his family name dangled like a carrot and he wanted to snatch it before it was stolen away.

He reached out and plucked Potter's hand from beneath his chin. He held it like a lifeline and let out a slow, calming breath.

"Alright," he whispered, bringing Potter's hand to his lips and mumbling against his warm skin. "I choose you."

They didn't have much time. Potter wouldn't have come back to the school for no reason. When Finnigan had heard the warning from PotterWatch, Theo had known it was time. Lightning had struck. Potter was back.

The world was going to change. Its fate hung on a precipice, and it all came down to Potter's last move.

Nothing was going to stop Theo from having one, final moment. One last goodbye, if that was how it was going to end.

"Where have you been?" Theo wrapped his arms around Potter's neck and pulled him in close. His nose nuzzled against Potter's cheek and he breathed in a stale, smoky scent. "It's been almost a fucking year."

"You know I couldn't tell you in case—"

"In case I was compromised, I know." Theo threaded his long fingers into Harry's overgrown, wayward hair and crushed their lips together in a brutal, desperate kiss.

He had no idea how much time they had or what the plan was, but Theo wasn't going to squander his time by asking futile questions. He held Potter close and kissed him hard—until he pulled away and ran off to the Great Hall with the rest of the school at his heels.

Theo waited, didn't move an inch, while the school erupted in chaos and the Dark Lord's voice slithered through the halls.

He had to fight. From his hiding place behind the tapestry, with his wand poised, he struck down as many Death Eaters as he could. Kids—his classmates—were attacked in the corridors, and Theo did his best to save them all, but watched helplessly as the little Creevy boy was cut down by a man three times his age.

It wasn't until the Dark Lord's voice cut through the blasts and screams that an eerie calm overtook the school once again. It was then that Theo stepped from his hiding place and started his desperate search for Potter.

His heart fluttered in his chest as he watched Granger and Weasley hold tight to one another and cry on each other's shoulders. It surrounded him, people saying goodbye, witches and wizards lost to their grief. Theo's thoughts raced as his feet carried him through the school—up the staircases and through the corridors—until he finally found the one person he couldn't bear to lose.

Potter stood just shy of the staircase leading to the Headmaster's office; his hands rested on his hips, his face downcast and dripping with a mixture of blood, sweat and tears. He wiped a sleeve over his face and smudged the mixture across his cheeks, but it didn't stop Theo from grabbing him around the shoulders and crushing him to his chest.

"I have to go. I don't have time—I can't do this right now." Potter fisted his hands into Theo's shirt and his body shook. "Theo, you have to let me go."

The words sliced through Theo's relief and replaced it with dread.

"You don't get to give up. You don't get to leave." Theo held him tight—too tight, but he didn't fucking care—and whispered into the shell of his ear. "I chose you, for fuck's sake. I chose you and that means you don't get to fucking leave me, do you understand?"

Theo's shirt absorbed a wet sob and Potter finally wrapped his arms around his middle. He lifted his head and when their eyes met, Theo felt his entire life stutter to a halt; he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think. It all hung there, in the air between them, unsaid and raw, as they stared at one another and spoke without uttering a single word.

Time ticked by. In the distance, he could hear footsteps and cries. People called out for Harry Potter, asking where he was and what was happening. They stood wrapped in each other's arms for far too long, but Theo wasn't willing to let him go—not yet.

"There's something I have to do," Harry said some time later as he extricated himself from Theo's arms and sniffed away whatever emotion he'd let flicker across his face. "I have to go."

"I can't talk you out of it, can I?" Theo's eyes stung, but he refused to swipe at them. Let the bastards fall, for all he cared. His throat constricted and his stomach roiled as Potter shook his head and his eyes fell to the floor. "Promise me you'll come back?"

Those fucking eyes; they glazed over, wet and red. His lips twitched, pinched and chapped. Theo knew then—he knew what it meant and it was like sandpaper gliding over an open wound. He shook his head back and forth, muttering 'no, no, no' under his breath as Potter reached out for his hand and caressed his thumb along his cold, clammy skin.

"I can't promise that."

Theo screwed up his eyes against the fresh, stinging tears. "Promise—me."

Potter ran a thumb under his eye and offered him a watery smile, a half smile, a pittance compared to the bright, earnest thing Theo had fallen in love with.

"I think I love you."

His words hit like a stunner to the heart and Theo could do nothing as Potter turned and walked away for the last time.

Theo stood with his hands dangling at his sides. His fist curled around the porous wand that had failed him as Seamus Finnigan had fallen to the ground by his side, a victim of a flash of green light Theo had been unable to shield him from. The wand was still hot from successive spell work, the tip still lit in a dull, white light. Not once had he fired off an Unforgivable—but as far as he could see, he may as well have.

The do-gooders tossed sneers in his direction as they paraded to the Great Hall. Finnigan's body floated behind them, along with the rest of their dead and wounded. The Death Eaters and their children, however, remained prone on the filthy ground. Forgotten by the side who claimed all were of value. It was clear they hadn't meant everyone .

A hand clapped around Theo's shoulder. Fingertips dug into his collarbone and he winced. He didn't have to turn around to know who stood behind him; his father had a habit of slithering through a crowd unseen. He'd felt the looming, vengeful presence from a young age, yet his spine still straightened when he heard his father's voice.

"Time to go home, boy."

Theo glanced to the side where Draco had just been standing, but he was gone. The only ones who remained were those that had switched sides through the war, who had been clearly forgotten the instant it was over. He imagined the rest of the Death Eaters and staunch supporters of the Dark Lord had gone on the run—perhaps he should have, too. Anything was better than what would face him when he returned home with his father.

Nevertheless, the angry pull of apparition yanked at his gut like a hook and the remnants of the Hogwarts courtyard disappeared.

His father was on him in a second. His tall, thick frame bore down on Theo, offering him no space to breathe or think. Crooked teeth bared, Thaddeus Nott was a formidable man with a penchant for rage-filled tirades that often left Theo cowering in a corner long after the man had left the room. Even though he was considered an adult now, Theo still felt like a child in his father's shadow—he couldn't escape it.

"Think you're clever?" Thaddeus' fists curled into Theo's collar and he shook him until his jaw clamped shut. "Did you think I wouldn't see you?"

Theo growled and tried to pull himself out of his father's grasp, but failed. "Don't know what you mean." He shuffled his feet, but it did nothing to put distance between them. "I went with the plan. I switched when Potter had the upper hand. That's what you wanted!"

"What—I—wanted," his father snarled and shook Theo in his grip, "was a son who would proudly carry on my name! Not a useless boy who thinks life is a game. Did you think I didn't see you? Carrying on with Potter?"

"It was after it had been proven that the Dark Lord couldn't beat Potter!" Theo's raw voice tore from his throat as he placed his palms flat against his father's chest and shoved him away. He breathed in ragged, shallow bursts as spittle fell from his lips. "You'd be in Azkaban now if it weren't for me!"

If looks could kill, Theo would have dropped dead on the spot. His father's eyes, usually alight with a glaring green, were narrowed and black. His hand inched towards his wand, but Theo couldn't move himself in time. Something hot and purple collided with his sternum, and the world around him went black.

When Theo came back to consciousness, he was enveloped in a soothing warmth which spread right through him from head to toe. He shook his head as if to clear it, but a white noise—like static—still muffled his thoughts. One thing was clear, though: he had to find Potter.

"Good, you're awake." His father's voice filtered through the haze and Theo couldn't stop his gaze from meeting the frightening, devilish gleam staring down at him. "You have a new mission. Get dressed."

"How long have I been out?" Theo stood from his bed and dressed as his father watched on. A suit, just as his father always expected of him—to be proper , a true Sacred Child. "I feel heady."

"You feel fine." Thaddeus snarled and clenched his fist at his side. Odd; Theo did feel fine. "One hour—that's all I've allowed you. Go. Do as you're bid and don't come home until it's done."

His father's forceful instruction clouded his mind. Theo nodded his head, a short, sharp movement, and apparated from his bedroom with a loud crack.

Theo appeared in the courtyard he'd left after Potter defeated the Dark Lord. With the wards long since destroyed, the school was vulnerable in ways that the Order of the Phoenix hadn't anticipated. If they had, Theo wouldn't have been able to appear among the rubble and slink off towards the crumbling doors leading into the castle.

Their spot—hidden behind a tapestry of Mordred the Vile—remained untouched by the battle. It still smelled of Potter, still vibrated with the secrets that were forged in the darkness. Theo's face screwed up as he trailed his fingers along the rough stone wall; how many times had he hit his head against it, and how many times had Potter ignored the hiss of pain and tried to distract him by nipping at his lower lip?

Too many memories lingered in the small space. He wanted to dwell on them, wanted to find a reason to smile after so many months of grieving in Potter's absence. His only updates had come from the wireless network Finnigan had shared with him in the loo where he'd hidden from the Carrows.

Theo closed his eyes and swore at the voice in his head urging him to reach out to Potter. He didn't want to—and yet, he must.

Theo waved his wand, summoning the memory that made his soul sing. Warmth, safety, hope. He clung to it as he uttered, " Expecto Patronum ."

Time slowed. He paced. He kicked the wall. He grabbed tufts of his hair and pulled it as hard as he could stand. He willed Potter to stay away, but still he came. Potter came with his ridiculous winning smile and those earnest as hell green eyes, and Theo wanted to shout at him to go—but he couldn't.

"I looked for you—after," Potter said as he brought a hand to Theo's cheek. "The Death Eaters vanished, but I thought maybe you'd have stuck around." His smile grew wider and Theo wanted to scream. "Glad I was right."

Theo forced himself to smile, fleeting and halfhearted. He thumbed his wand, wondering if he could break it in half using only one hand. If he didn't have a wand he wouldn't be able to—do the unthinkable. But a nagging voice in his head refused to allow him to do it, as if his motor abilities were taken over and he had no control at all. He grit his teeth and tried to crush the wood in his hand anyway, but his hand wouldn't curl around it.

"My father needed a word after you—" Theo sucked his lips between his teeth and stole a deep, painful breath through his nose. He let the breath stream out slowly and brought his gaze to those burning green eyes that meant so bloody much to him.

"Vanquished." Potter loosed a nervous chuckle and took a step closer. "That's what they're all calling it, anyway. 'Vanquishing the Dark Lord.' Sounds prestigious, but I think it makes me sound like a wanker."

"You are a wanker." Theo rolled his eyes and allowed Potter to press him against the wall with his warm, familiar hands.

"Shut up and kiss me, you idiot."

So, he did. There, then, in the aftermath of war with the stench of battle still settling in the corridors of the bloody school, Theo grabbed Potter by the fabric of his shirt and crashed their lips together in a desperate, scorching kiss. He wasted no precious time searching out the warmth of Potter's tongue with his own. Getting lost in the kiss was easy; his hands roving over the ladder of Potter's ribs, fingers curving around his throat and tangling in the messy black locks at the nape of his neck. He moaned and Potter swallowed the noise, claiming it as his own in the otherwise silent alcove.

Something prickled in the back of his mind. He had to stop the kiss—had to cut himself away from Potter's loving touch, his soft lips. His soul revolted against his thoughts and dragged Potter closer still, so firm against his body that his erection was unmistakable even through a thick layer of jeans. Theo groaned and wretched his mouth away, left panting in the wake of the most delicious kiss he'd ever had.

"You're bleeding." He swallowed hard and tried like hell to ignore the roiling acid in his stomach as he lifted his hand to Potter's jaw. "Didn't you get looked at by a healer?"

The Most Frustrating Boy Who Lived shrugged and attempted another kiss, but Theo turned his face away. He wanted that kiss, wanted to savor those swollen, velvety lips until sheer exhaustion forced him to stop. But the voice in the back of his head, the one that grew louder and more commanding the longer he stood in Potter's presence, demanded otherwise.

Theo huffed a breath and flicked his gaze over Potter's face. He had a cut on his temple, hidden by a lock of hair. Theo's fingers brushed against it. His voice was barely a whisper. "Will you allow me to heal you?"

Potter's throat constricted, his Adam's apple bobbing under the weight of his swallow. "Of course. I trust you."

His molars clenched together. Harry Potter had proven himself a fool once again. Theo couldn't tell him to run, force him to get away and out of their safe space. The voice in his head wouldn't allow it, and a stuttering expletive forced its way through his lips. His throat beat under the wild thump of his pulse.

Theo lifted his wand and tried like hell to shove the overbearing voice from his thoughts. It wouldn't budge. A pained sniff filled the silence and his eyes stung as if someone were holding acid under his nose.

He couldn't stop it—couldn't force his hand to lower. The tip of his wand pressed against the angry red cut on Potter's temple. Theo breathed sharply through pinched lips.

Potter's hand wrapped around his. "Alright?"

Theo squeezed his eyes closed and straightened his lips in a thin line. He ducked his chin once, and a thin silver thread of light issued from the tip of his wand. His hand shook and he took a second to steady himself while a slick of acid clawed its way up his throat. The voice chanted words at him— do it, do it, do it —and Theo thought he might wretch under the weight of its power.

The spell bloomed from the end of Theo's wand; it pulsed against Potter's temple. A hand tensed over his, jolting the movement of his spell, but Theo held firm—the voice, the command —forced it.

"What're you doing?" Potter's voice was strained, issued through clenched teeth.

Theo didn't want to look, couldn't bear to see the recognition of what he was being forced to do settle into Potter's eyes. It didn't stop Potter from grabbing onto his chin and directing his lamenting gaze to those damnable, knowing green eyes.

Unintelligible words escaped him; his thoughts were broken as if someone had weaved them through static. He only knew his mission, what he had to do—for the good of his family, his father's will, to make everything go back to how it was before the Dark Lord darkened their doorstep at the end of fourth year.

"Nott?"

His voice was a plea, a desperate and breathless sound causing Theo to snarl and struggle against the nerves threatening to quake and destroy the magical thread being pulled out of Potter's temple. A thick, braided memory, intricately weaved—just as their relationship had always been.

A noise—pure anguish—tore from Theo's throat. Spit launched from his lips as his mouth curled down and he bared his gritted teeth to brace himself against the devastating realization that the tailend of the memory was dislodged from Potter's mind. He was gone, erased, never having existed in the heart, or thoughts, of the one person, the only fucking person , who loved him.

Potter stumbled back and fell to the ground. His head lolled to the side, eyes unfocused and staring up at Theo. He quickly shoved the translucent blue memory into a vial, robotic and monotonous, as if he stole memories of himself from lovers every day. He felt it deep in his heart, and yet he couldn't stop the movements, couldn't hand the vial over to Potter so he'd have something, anything, to remember him by.

And worse still, as Theo jammed the vial back into his pocket, he realized he would remember everything. Every kiss, every cuddle, every moment Potter had made him feel worth something. He'd know; every Prophet article about Potter's time during the war, everytime the Ministry held a gala and championed The Golden Trio. He'd look into Potter's eyes and be nothing but a stranger—perhaps an old school rival or nobody or the child of a Death Eater and nothing else.

A sob wrenched itself from his lungs and he bent over at the waist. Tears fell freely—he couldn't stop them if he tried. He heaved, with his head between his legs, clammy hands sliding against the fabric of his trousers and unable to gain purchase. He stood, hunched over, with Potter staring blankly back at him, for what felt like an eternity as his cries quieted and his breathing stabilized.

Despite his desperate attempt to fight, Theo lost. He was given no choice, no mercy, as the voice in the back of his head commanded him to leave the school and return to the one place Theo had never wanted to go back to.

He pushed away from the wall at his back, straightened his tie, and sniffed through raw nostrils. There was nothing left for him there. He would never get Potter's trust back after what he'd done; his father had made sure of it.

As he made his way through the corridors, Theo cast a lone shadow under the flickering light of the torches. He walked with his head held high, back through the courtyard towards the broken wards. When he apparated away, his soul shattered into tiny pieces, mimicking the rubble and the dust lying forgotten on the ground at Hogwarts.