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“Potter?”
The sudden burst of sound in the otherwise dead corridor startled Harry out of his quiet repose in a deep window looking out to the Black Lake. His head slammed back into the stone behind him, glasses askew and sliding down his nose.
“Fuck!” Swinging his legs around, Harry faced the intruder interrupting his solitude.
“What—Nott?”
“What are you doing up here? Hiding from your adoring fans?” Harry’s eyes rolled so far back in his head he heard them click.
At lunch, a few fifth-year girls had fawned over him, trying to fetch him things and clear his dishes.
He hated it. Each mention of his accolades, every whispered “chosen one” or “saviour” made him sick. He wasn't proud of his victory, he was devastated by the death he left in his wake.
"I was just… Just thinking.” Eyes going a little fuzzy, Harry lifted his hand to rub his temples.
“Uh, mate… You’re bleeding.”
"Fuck off, Nott." Pushing quickly to stand, Harry got on his feet, feeling funny and a little woozy from the hit.
Gentle hands flew up to rest on Harry’s shoulders, holding him still.
“No, really. I’m serious.” Nott reached behind Harry’s head to touch the tender spot then pulled his hand back covered in blood. A lot of blood.
“I think we might need to get you to the infirmary, Potter.”
Shoving at the hands smothering him, Harry shouldered his way around the irritating human obstacle and started down the corridor. He made it about five steps before the floor was suddenly rushing towards his face.
“Fucking stubborn Gryffindor,” was the last thing he heard before he passed out.
Ducking his head against the driving rain, Harry jogged off the pitch towards the sports shed. Gryffindor had won the first game of the season, and he was still riding the high from leading the team to victory and catching the snitch.
Shouldering open the door of the rickety shed, he shook his hair out, droplets of rain flying through the air around him.
“Merlin, Potter. Warn a bloke next time.”
Harry’s head snapped up, his gaze landing on the wizard he couldn’t seem to avoid despite the snaking corridors and sheer size of the castle they resided in.
“You got me in the eye.” Theo rubbed at his face, whinging about a little water in his eye when he was already muddy and dripping.
“Oh no, you poor baby.”
Nott’s hand flew to his chest as he dramatically gasped, staring at Harry with his mouth hanging open. “Is that how you treat the person who saved your life?”
Hanging his broom from the hooks on the far wall of the shed, Harry heaved a deep sigh. “You floated me to the infirmary where I got treated for a concussion. That’s hardly a life-threatening injury, Nott.”
With a sniff and a haughty lift of his chin, Nott said, “Well, it could have been.”
“What are you even doing in here? You don’t play Quidditch.”
“Can’t a wizard take refuge in the sports shed for a little peace and quiet?”
Pulling his gloves off with his teeth, Harry tossed them and his shin guards into the basket by the door and scoffed. “Yeah, if you’re a serial killer, maybe.”
When Harry glanced up, Theo was eyeing him with an unnerving stare, and he started to wonder if his flippant comment held truth. “What?”
A slow smile crossed Nott’s face. “Just thinking about how pretty your head would look on my wall.”
Barking out a laugh, Harry shook his head. “All right, let’s get out of here. It’s damp and smells funny. It’s probably dinner time by now.” He headed out the door back into the rain, not waiting for Theo to follow.
He caught up to Harry, jogging to keep pace with him as he glanced at Harry, his eyebrows wiggling up and down. “Are you asking me to dinner, Potter?”
His eyes rolled. They seemed to do that a lot lately around the slightly infuriating Slytherin. Just like he found his teeth sinking into his lower lip or his breath catching in his chest more frequently. It seemed no matter where he went, Nott was there. He wouldn’t admit it aloud, but Harry had started to look forward to his early classes because he knew Theo would be there, ready with some snarky remark on his tongue.
“I’ll race you.”
“What?” Before Theo finished speaking, Harry had already taken off towards the castle, laughing at the muttered, “For fuck’s sake,” in the air behind him.
Snow fell on the cobblestone streets of Hogsmeade, melting into nothing as soon as they touched down. Though the sun was out, the air was chilly, and Harry could see his breath each time he exhaled. The bell above the door of Madame Puddifoot’s tinkled merrily as Theo stepped out, two steaming cups in his hands.
When he stepped foot in the street, a horde of third-years bustled by, making all sorts of noise and playfully shoving each other. Quick as a wink, Theo stepped back, raising his arms to lift the cups above their heads as the rowdy group passed.
“Nice save.” Harry took the cup Theo handed him, the two of them walking side by side, stopping here and there to look in the shop windows decked out in holiday finery.
“Ah. You’re impressed by my quick reflexes, aren’t you? Think I could make seeker?”
“In your dreams, maybe.”
“You know nothing of my dreams, Potter. You’d be quite scandalized if you did, I’m sure.” Harry looked over to see Theo’s hot gaze running over him, a salacious smile plastered on his handsome face.
An elbow to Theo’s gut knocked the wind out of him, and he bent in half, wheezing and laughing like a loon.
When he managed to stand straight again, he slipped his hand into Harry’s and they continued on down the road, to-go cups and each other in their hands.
On New Year’s eve, Harry sat on the floor in the astronomy tower, head leaning on the shoulder of the wizard beside him as they stared up at the inky black sky lit with stars.
“That one looks like a willy.”
Harry chuckled. “Are you five?”
“It does!”
Somewhere in the castle, hundreds of voices counting down from ten were heard. The others were celebrating in the Great Hall, but Theo and Harry didn’t much like crowds. They’d come up here to ring in the New Year.
Shifting beside Harry, Theo turned to him.
“Five!”
Fingers tucked under Harry’s chin.
“Four!”
Slight pressure brought Harry’s face to the side, and the two of them blinked at each other, so close now there was barely a breath between them.
“Three!”
“Happy New Year, Harry.”
“Two!"
“Happy New Year, Theo.”
“One!”
On the final count, their lips met, and Harry raised a hand to tangle in the hair at the back of Theo’s neck, desperate to feel him closer. Fireworks shot up in the sky from the Quidditch pitch, lighting their skin in a multitude of colours, but it barely registered. Theo’s mouth on his, here like this, overtook Harry’s every sense.
Happy New Year’s, indeed.