Chapter Text
The first time that Theo saw Harry Potter was when he got sorted. The boy was small, bespectacled, and clearly overwhelmed. He didn’t seem to have been raised in their world, happy, healthy, and waiting to rejoin their society like Dumbledore had proclaimed so many times.
Theo had always been told that Dumbledore couldn’t be trusted, but he generally only believed the words of others after he had checked for himself.
Looking over the small boy on the stool, it was as if the old man was a compulsive liar. Nothing Dumbledore had said about the fabled Boy-Who-Lived seemed to be true. Theo couldn’t understand it. And frankly, he didn’t want to.
The first time that Theo spoke to Harry Potter was during their first year, in a far corner of the library, devoid of humans and portraits and cleaning charms. Potter was sat with Phyllida Spore’s hefty tome of Magical Herbs and Fungi. He was mumbling to himself, roughly turning pages as he complained about interactions and reactions. Hmmm.
“Were you looking for something specific?” Theo asked quietly but the other boy still jumped.
“I…” Potter stammered, blinking large green eyes behind broken glasses. “I… Yeah, umm, yes. Please.”
Theo stood there, waiting patiently, expression open and inviting.
“So…” Theo broached after a long minute of silence. “What did you need?”
“I…” Potter mumbled, a deep flush crawling up his cheeks. “Oh, I don’t understand… well, anything, but potions.”
“You weren’t raised amongst mages, right?” Theo asked as delicately as he could.
“I…” Potter replied, frowning deeply and looking confused. “What’s that mean?”
Oh dear.
“Amongst magical people,” Theo answered as he set his belongings on the table and sat next to Potter.
“Oh,” Potter said as he pushed his glasses up his nose and blushed again. “No. I… I live with my muggle relatives.”
The silence was heavy. Theo knew that silence. It was like Greg and Vince’s silence. It was like Lily’s silence. It smelt like fear and desperation. It looked like the unpleasant curl of Potter’s magic that usually shined like a contained sun and flittered about like an uncontained kneazle in an aviary. It spoke of harm in a place that should be safe.
“I see,” Theo spoke with all the nonchalance and calm he could manage. “Who introduced you to our world?”
“Oh,” Potter seemed to perk up, a blinding smile splitting his face. “Hagrid came and got me from the hut. He told me all about witches and wizards and Hogwarts… and my parents.”
That short sentence told Theo far more than Potter probably would have wanted to share, but Theo kept his expression as neutral as he could.
“Did he get you the introduction pack?”
“I… No, I don’t think… No, I just got what was on the list.”
“That’s okay,” Theo lied, putting the giant onto his list. “I bought them to see what new students were expected to know. Would you like to borrow them?”
It was that simple question, Theo assumed, that sparked the beginning of a beautiful friendship.
When Theo had seen the blinding beauty that was Harry Potter, sitting on a stool that all but he could touch the floor, Theo had known that Potter was intriguing.
In that moment, as Potter stared at him through scratched and taped glasses, smiling with wonder and joy in a place full of swirling dust motes, Theo knew that no-one would have Harry Potter. No, no-one would have Potter because he now belonged to Theodore Anthony Nott.
Theo managed to spend two nights a week with Potter, ‘call me Harry please’, in their dusty corner of the library throughout first year. Once Potter understood that Theo’s father had followed the man that killed his parents, and that it would be dangerous for people to know that they were friends, the other boy agreed to keep their acquaintance a secret.
It wasn’t just for that reason, Theo did not want to have to endure the persistent whining of Draco Malfoy, the relentless gossiping of his peers, the sharp tongue of his father, or the gimlet glare of his Head of House. No, he wanted to keep his interactions with Pot… Harry to himself. He was greedy for the other boy’s company and attention, and he didn’t want to share it with anyone else.
They spent most of their time studying all the things that Harry should have been taught before Hogwarts, things that the muggleborns and muggle-raised were given six months to learn. He learned about how mages absorbed magic into their core, how they release it as charms, how to strengthen their core through meditation, how to infuse a potion with magic, how to align a stirring rod with the user’s magic, how to meditate to regulate the flow of one’s magic, how basic magical produce combine to form potions, the basic reactions between magical produce, and even a few nursery rhymes, limericks, and mnemonics for the basic disciplines of magic. Harry absorbed Theo’s words like a wendigo on a Thursday; he was thirsty for knowledge and listened with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly parted. It was adorable, and Theo found himself reading more and more in his free time so that he would always have something to share with Harry.
On one of their evenings, Harry had come in with his shoulders hunched and his ears burning. Theo frowned, wondering who needed to be added to his list. Hagrid had seen himself covered in a pheromone that attracted the attentions of centaurs for his part in Harry’s ignorance upon arrival, McGonagall was somehow stuck in her cat form for a week for not fulfilling her duty, and Dumbledore’s favourite sweets were made to taste like hippogriff dung. As far as Theo could tell, the old man had not found the little bead in his beard, hidden inside one of the older beads, that held the charm. Theo began preparing a list of vengeful acts for those who hurt his… for those who hurt Harry.
“What’s wrong?” Theo asked as he stared at Harry’s ears wondering why he was so upset.
“I…” Most of Harry’s words were an incoherent mess of grumbles and grunts.
Theo slowly laid his hand on Harry’s after he slammed his books on the table. A secretive smirk brushed past Theo’s lips that the other boy didn’t flinch.
“It’s alright, Harry,” Theo said soothingly, rubbing Harry’s hand with his thumb.
Harry let out a sharp breath, blinking shining eyes at Theo.
“I was in Charms,” Harry began, sniffling as he settled into the chair beside Theo. “I did everything like you said. I used the magic triangle: want, focus, and power, right?”
Theo felt himself smile softly at Harry’s simplification of a long-held magical theory.
“The trivium principle: will, intent, and force.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Harry said as he flapped his free hand dismissively. “That. I focused on the paper being in two pieces, I really really wanted it, and I pushed my magic through my wand. And it worked. Just like that. It was so amazing. I could feel my magic, just like you said I could. Well, I could always feel it, but now I know what I’m feeling all the time. I love magic. Thank you so much, Theo. You’re so amazing.”
Theo let the wash of Harry’s words imbue him with the satisfaction that he deserved. He almost forgot what he had asked, but the waning rouge of Harry’s ears brought the question back to him.
“So why were you upset?”
“Oh,” Harry seemed to deflate like a squonk in a dry marsh. “Hermione is mad at me.”
Theo tried very hard to prevent his lip from curling. He had already ensured that the girl experienced three days of uncontrollable bowel movements due to the troll escapade. Harry had felt the need to save the girl from herself and Weasley’s vicious countenance, and had shoved his wand up the beast’s nose. Weasley had been prevented from speaking for a full two weeks in retribution. Theo did not like those two, at all.
“And why might that be,” Theo asked, danger in his tone.
“She hates not being first,” Harry said limply, clearly saddened by the girl’s ire. “I just…”
Theo let the silence stretch as he waited for Harry to say more. When he didn’t, he tried to comfort the other boy.
“She’s just jealous,” he said bluntly. “She just wishes that she was as amazing as you are.”
The flush elicited from Theo’s words was the better kind. It came from his chest, up his neck, and directly into his cheeks. Harry was pleased and embarrassed.
“I just don’t know what to do?” Harry mumbled, head bowed to hide his flaming cheeks, no doubt.
“What do you mean?” Theo asked, frowning slightly. “You continue being yourself, and if she cannot accept it, then she is not worth your time.”
“But…” Harry sighed, nodding twice; once softly, and the next time sharply with more vigour. “Okay.”
They spent their evening going over their homework and talking about fairy tales from both the magical and muggle worlds. They compared them and found common ground between the two.
Theo glanced down Harry’s body, jaw tightening at the sight of Harry’s threadbare rags. The flush that reddened Harry ears told Theo that the other boy was embarrassed at the perusal and the coiling of his magic said that he was ready to flee. Theo took a deep breath and reigned out his ire, everyone causing Harry to feel the way he did would pay… eventually.
“Sit down, Harry,” Theo said more calmly than he actually felt. “There’s nothing to be worried about.”
“But…” Harry replied as he slumped into his chair. Theo pulled one of Harry’s feet into his lap and looked over the poor excuse for footwear that the other boy was forced to endure.
“No buts,” Theo mumbled as he pulled out his wand. “You have had no control over what others have forced on you.”
The mending charm formed in Theo’s mind before it poured out of his wand. He had been using the charm for years, fixing his bursts of accidental magic, mending the rips from the greenhouses, and ensuring that his favourite shirt remained pristine. Harry’s muggle trainers were made of blended materials that contained a form of plastic. Theo knew that plastic was notoriously resistant to magic, just like most blended materials were. Magic held in natural substances the longest, unless the blended materials were treated with potions or blended through magical means. The mending charm would probably only hold for a few days at most and would need to be reapplied until the shoes could be disposed of and cleansed in fire.
“It’s…” Harry trailed off as he watched Theo work his magic. The magic flowed to the collar, the tongue and the upper part of the shoe, revitalising the worn material, pushing out the deeply embedded grime and dirt. The sole was reattached and returned to its former white colouring. The eyelets were reattached and the laces no longer looked frayed.
“Wow,” Harry breathed, a small smile blooming on his thin face. “You’re so clever, Theo.”
“You can do it too,” Theo informed the other boy distractedly as he repaired the other shoe. “I’ve got a book about household charms that has more in it than Homely Charms and You.”
Theo looked up when the silence had stretched to find that Harry was staring at him with large shining eyes. He wasn’t prepared for the armful of crying boy, but he certainly didn’t push Harry away.
The rest of the evening was spent learning why Harry was dressed like a street urchin, why he didn’t use his funds to buy himself fitting clothes, and privately, adding people to Theo’s list. They practiced repairing Harry’s clothes and made plans for Theo to buy Harry replacements that Harry insisted that he would reimburse during the summer. As if Theo would allow that.
It took a while to coax the truth out of Harry about those detestable muggle animals that had basically raised Harry like a house-elf, even though they didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as someone as precious as Harry was. Theo’s quiet rage did not reach his eyes as Harry recounted stories of a cupboard, of being chased and beaten, of being scorned by neighbours, of being forced to work until he bled, of being dragged about like a sack of dung, of being terrorised by dogs, of being insulted and dehumanised, of a life that was so different from the legends that Theo could hardly believe everyone had been fooled. There was no reality where a little star should have to live the way that Harry had.
Theo crept along the hallway of the third floor on a Sunday night, thinking about what Harry had said a few weeks before.
“But why is it a switching charm if the objects don’t actually switch anything but how they look?”
Harry’s tone was whiny, but Theo could only smile.
“It’s a misnomer,” Theo said as he rested his head on his fist. “The caster temporarily switches the appearance of the targeted objects.”
“I know, I know,” Harry exclaimed. “But surely there is an actual switching spell.”
Theo laughed and patted Harry on the head. He was so adorable when he got excited.
“There are,” Theo said, pausing as Harry’s eyes brightened with excitement. He didn’t speak until harry had leant forward and almost tumbled into Theo’s lap. “It’s an advance version from the series of summoning charms they teach in fifth year.”
“Can we learn it? Can we learn it?” Harry was bouncing in his chair as he held onto Theo’s arm.
“I’m not…”
Theo had paused as Harry’s face contorted briefly in pain.
“What is it?” Theo asked, suddenly feeling dread and fear and an absurd amount of worry.
“It’s just a headache,” Harry told him as he rubbed his forehead and sighed. “I’ve been getting them a lot. Well… after Defence, anyway.”
“What do you mean?” Theo asked, wondering if he could remember seeing Harry in pain. He had. During the welcoming feast, in Defence classes, and to be honest, wherever Professor Quirrell was. It had made Theo narrow his eyes and begin his investigation.
It had taken him a week to figure it out that it was indeed Quirrell’s very presence that seemed to induce an acute pain in his scar that left him sore for at least an hour. And the insufferable idiot refused to go to Pomphrey or Snape. Especially not Snape. The Gryffindors rightfully despised Theo’s Head of House, but that was the man’s own fault.
When Theo had found out the cause of Harry’s pain, he came up with a plan. He had brought a handsome collection of books from the Nott estate, and it seemed to Theo that there was a mixture of mind magics and whatever was going on with Harry’s scar. He had found a diagnostic charm that would list all ailments – physical and magical – on a sheet of charmed parchment. There were a lot of words that Theo would need to research further to understand.
However, he had found that there were two magical signatures in his friend. One was Harry’s own bright contained star of power, and the other was a shrivelled black hole that seemed to suck the shine from his… from Harry. It was only thanks to the parchment that he was able to look beyond the sheen of Harry’s aura and to the spec that lay within his head. It was miniscule, barely there, but it was there.
He had done the same to Quirrell. He had placed the parchment, disillusioned, on his chair in the Great Hall, and had found that he too had a second signature hidden inside his own. Theo had never noticed. He barely paid any attention to others. He had looked during the welcoming feast, Dumbledore’s cobweb-like strands of lime force, McGonagall’s cloak of maroon calm, Snape’s sharp spikes of grey violence, Flitwick’s globs of emerald power. He had looked once and then sought the only person that caught and kept his attention. Quirrell’s magic was a pickle green sludge that made Theo feel slightly nauseous to look at. He avoided looking at the man, until he became the cause of Harry’s pain.
When he did look, the pickle was more a mix of pear and juniper, light and dark shades of mud that scuttled like a coward in the presence of a similar void of magic as the one in Harry’s head. The sight of the black spot, and the signature on the charmed parchment confirmed that there was something similar inhabiting both the professor and Harry.
It baffled Theo for days. He did not know what he was seeing. He did not have anyone to consult. His books only told him so much, but he was only eleven, nearly twelve. He had so much more to learn, and he might not have the knowledge nor the tools to help Harry with whatever his problem was. So, he planned. He needed to cover his deficiencies, and he knew just how. But before that, there was Quirrell.
The only thing he knew was that there was another magical signature in both Harry and Quirrell. Harry’s was small and sleepy, but Quirrell’s was violent and all-consuming. It was a presence that shouldn’t be there, a shade, a phantom… a wraith. They were both possessed, but Theo didn’t want to do anything to Harry. He wanted Harry to receive expert care. Quirrell though, he wanted gone.
The following morning, as he left Charms and split away from the Hufflepuffs to head towards the Defence classroom, a note had been left at the end of the corridor, and a barrier ward blocked their path. Theo didn’t let the smug smile touch his lips, or the feeling of satisfaction cloud his senses. And he fought those things until he had gathered enough information to know that he had succeeded.
According to Pansy and Daphne, the third year Gryffindor-Slytherin Defence class had all been seated when Quirrell had made his way into the classroom. When he had crossed the threshold of the room, the most horrific of sights had traumatised the entire class. The man’s purple turban had been ripped from his head and a mass of black smoke, brain matter, and blood had exploded out into the corridor as the man had screamed himself hoarse. The girls said that the man had fallen forward as his voice had curdled and failed. The black smoke had poured from Quirrell’s skull and coalesced into the vague shape of a man who had screamed and writhed through the classroom and out of a window. The students had been left with the mutilated corpse of their Defence teacher lying in front of the door and had bloody well lost their minds. They had been found by Filch, of all people, and Theo had not listened to the rest.
When the next few days passed, and the Aurors did not come for him, or launch an investigation amongst the rest of the school, Theo began to relax. His little stone was supposed to disintegrate after it had ripped the spirit from its meatsuit. He hadn’t known it would be quite so… violent, but that would only have mattered if he had attempted to use the same method to rid Harry of his parasite. It only confirmed his plan to help Harry.
Theo knew that he needed to reign in his temper, but he really wanted to watch the headmaster choke on his own intestines. He wouldn’t though. He would keep his tendency towards violent retribution to himself.
“I…” Harry sniffled, not actually crying, but clearly upset. “I asked Professor Dumbledore if I could go anywhere else. He said I couldn’t stay at Hogwarts, but then he said that ‘there’s nowhere safer’ or something. I told him that the Dursleys don’t like me. That it’s… bad. But he just said sorry… like that means anything to me.”
Theo felt his own ears tinge red as Harry looked up, eyes shining a fire of anger and hurt.
“What does his sorry mean to me?” Harry’s magic was a writhing mass of indignation that made Theo never want to look away. “I hate them. They hate me. They’ll probably be so angry about the pig tail on Dudley. Like I asked Hagrid to transfigure him. I can’t go back there, Theo. I just can’t.”
“Then don’t,” Theo replied, lost in Harry’s eyes and prepared to net him a snidget if he asked.
“What?” Harry’s confusion was adorable.
“If you don’t want to go back,” Theo explained, grabbing Harry’s hands and bringing them to his chest. “Then don’t.”
“But…” Harry looked everywhere but at Theo, but he didn’t pull his hands away. “But… Where can I go?”
It was time.
“Do you mind spending the holidays studying?” Theo broached.
“No,” Harry said, looking quickly back at Theo. “I would love to learn about magic. You know how it was last summer with the Dursleys locking away all my books. I don’t want it to be like that again.”
“Then,” Theo replied, letting a smile curl his lips. “Let me help you.”
“Theo,” Harry whispered, hope sloughing off him in waves so thick, Theo might drown in it.
“Trust me, Harry,” Theo whispered right back.
“Okay,” Harry breathed, throwing his arms around Theo’s shoulders.
Theo walked into Gringotts with Harry on one side, and his father on the other. It hadn’t taken much for Theo to convince his older father that he had found his future betrothed, and that person was one Harry James Potter.
His father had been one of the original Knights of Walpurgis. He had joined together with his school friends on an ideological crusade to reduce the mugglification of their society, but only when it came at the expense of their culture and their traditions. They wanted to introduce the muggleborns earlier than eleven, they wanted to bind the entire families of said children in enough vows to maintain their secrecy, and they wanted to decriminalise various branches of magic. There was so much more to the Knights than Dumbledore’s rhetoric would have people assume.
Theo’s father, Thaddeus Nott, had not been a Death Eater, though. He had gone to school with the Dark Lord, had seen him as a pre-adolescent, with spots covering his face, and as he steadily slipped into madness. Thaddeus Not had slowly disconnected from the Dark Lord and those that followed him, and he refused to involve himself in the extremism. He had eventually found Theo’s mum, but then…
Theo shook his head as the three of them made their way into the bank and to a free teller.
“Well met, Bogrot,” Thaddeus greeted in his cool, raspy voice. “We’re here to see Clundar.”
“Well met, Lord Nott,” The Goblin growled. “Follow Umbric.”
Theo was well used to the curt brevity of Goblins, so he simply grabbed Harry’s hand to keep him close and guide him through the lobby.
It didn’t take long for the party to reach the familiar office of the Nott Account Manager. The thick Mahogany door stood out in the smooth Sandstone of the underground tunnels in the Goblins’ domain. Their guide knocked lightly on the door, although whatever charmswork was embedded in the wood made the sound reverberate in their ears. The sharp “enter” was followed by the silent opening of the door and the group marching into the office and sitting down before a large, ornately carved desk.
“Well met, Lord Nott,” the Goblin rasped as he added a final flourishing signature to the parchment he had been scanning. Once it was set aside, the Goblin raked his eyes over his visitors, beady eyes lingering on Harry a moment longer than the rest.
“Well met, Clundar,” Theo’s father replied with a nod, a small smirk touching his lips. “I require a Full Inheritance and Ancestry testing, a complete medical history via the Comprehensive Diagnostic charm, and a full audit of Mr Potter’s accounts.”
It only took two heartbeats and a long blink for the Goblin to summon multiple sheets of parchment, tap on random spots on his desk with his magic, and growl in his own tongue. Theo looked over to Harry who was sat next to him, wringing his hands and looking very small in his school robes. Theo let him be, he knew that it would get even more stressful by the end of the day.
A sharp knock interrupted Theo’s watching of his… of Harry. He looked over his shoulder to the door and saw another Goblin enter the room with tomes and scrolls and parchment trailing behind him. A harsh exchange of Grontin followed the new Goblin’s entrance along with the slamming of thick ledgers.
“Mr Potter,” the new Goblin barked eliciting a flinch from Harry.
“Um,” Harry stammered, eyes flicking from Theo to his father and back to the new Goblin. “Well met, Mr Goblin.”
Harry’s little nod was so adorable that Theo might have cooed if not for his father’s sharp look.
“Well met,” the Goblin replied after a brief pause. His expression gave nothing away, but Theo assumed he was feeling surprised. “My name is Gorethrip, the Potter Account Manager.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Mr Gorethrip,” Harry chirped, some of his shine gathering again. “Please call me Harry.”
“You…” the Goblin seemed to pause as he realised what Harry had said. “You wish for me, a Goblin of the Nation, to refer to you by a sobriquet?”
“A what?” Harry asked, head tilting to the left in confusion.
“A nickname,” Theo’s father told him.
“Yes, but is Harry a nickname?” The boy asked in confusion. “Then what’s my name?”
The silence was only broken when Theo’s father took control of the awkwardness.
“Perhaps we should perform the tests before answering.”
Theo had never really known his father to be a gentle man, but his expression displayed the softness Theo had only seen when his father was in the company of really young children. It made Theo relax; his father would fix things.
“Yes,” growled the Goblin, barely containing his anger. “Young one, please follow me.”
A door behind Clundar seemed to fade into visibility. Theo didn’t know whether that was due to a concealment charm, or if the door did not exist before that moment, but it didn’t matter, Harry’s magic tumbled and coiled.
“Do you trust me?” Theo heard himself asking.
“Of course,” Harry replied instantly, nodding his head frantically.
“Goblins, as a people, are honourable,” Theo told Harry, letting the room fall away as he reached out with his hands and his magic. He let himself soothe the jagged edges of Harry’s fear as best as he could. “It is thieves and those without honour that must fear for their lives. You, Harry, do not need to fear them.”
“They will help?” Harry’s voice was small, and Theo hated it. But he wasn’t the one to reassure the other boy.
“On my honour, Young one,” Gorethrip assured. “You are safe within our tunnels.”
“Thank you, Mr Gorethrip,” Harry exclaimed, and Theo hated the spike of jealousy he felt when Harry’s smiles were directed at others. The knowing look from the Goblin did nothing to appease him either.
Theo watched quietly as the Goblin led Harry from the room and then listened as Clundar expressed his displeasure at an obviously broken child. He professed his desire to mete out Goblin justice on those who dared. Theo just listened, informing the pair that he believed that it was Harry’s muggle relatives and Dumbledore who needed to be cleansed from the earth. His father gave him a side eye but said nothing as the pair went through their business.
It was about an hour later when Harry and the Goblin returned, the former looking wrung out and ready for sleep, and the latter looking enraged and ready to eviscerate his enemies. Theo was glad, it meant that there was probably a great deal of blunt honesty shared between the two.
“Firstly,” Gorethrip said as he settled into a conjured chair next to Clundar. “Do I have your permission, young one, to share your private information with Lord and Heir Nott?”
“Yes,” Harry replied, hair and magic drooping in exhaustion and dismay. “Of course.”
“Very well,” Gorethrip continued, clearing his throat. “The results of the medical examination were… disturbing. The Young one is in need of long-term healing, rehabilitation, and cleansing. His estate is in need of swift intervention, and I believe he requires a new guardian and legal adviser.”
The Goblin growled as he handed several sheets of parchment to everyone in the room. Harry didn’t look at his, but Theo did. It took long, deep breaths, and occlumency to suppress the tidal wave of fury that overcame him as a result of Harry’s medical scan. Looking down the long list of crimes committed against his… yes, his Harry, Theo knew that he had made the right decision by informing his father that Harry would be his. By bringing Harry to Gringotts and following through with the plan he had formed early in the school year.
“Young one,” Gorethrip broached, as gently as a Goblin could; teeth concealed and only a rumble in the back of the throat. “You have several options.”
“Okay, Mr Gorethrip,” Harry seemed to be trying to concentrate so Theo reached out to take his hand again.
“You can go back to the filth,” even a deaf and blind inferi would have picked up on the Goblin’s disgust at that option, and Harry rightfully shook his head. “You can appeal to law enforcement – magical and muggle.”
“They never helped before,” Harry mumbled, shaking his head.
“You may ask a family to blood adopt you,” the Goblin’s eyes flicked to Theo’s father, but Theo didn’t need to think of a way to prevent that.
“I don’t want to be brothers with Theo,” Harry said vehemently, all exhaustion fleeing as he flushed from his chest. “Can’t you look after me?”
Theo looked sharply away from the creeping red and straight to Harry’s eyes to see where they were looking. He was pleading with his account manager.
“You wish to be a ward of the Nation?” Both Goblins had lost their composure and looked truly bewildered.
“You said,” Harry replied as he searched left and right for the right words. “You said you’ve been looking after Potters for over two hundred years. You’re already like family already if that’s true. I just… I wanna be safe, and Goblins are scary, so you’re safe, right?”
The silence went on for longer than the last time. But Theo watched in amazement as the Goblins went from open bafflement to sharp toothed glee.
“Young one,” Gorethrip purred, teeth and eyes gleaming in greed. “Do you, Hadrian Jameson Potter-Black, request stewardship from the Nation’s representative Gore of clan Thrip?”
“Does that mean you’ll look after me like…” Harry’s vulnerability made Theo want to consume him and never let him out. “…like family?”
The Goblin just nodded, waiting for Harry to latch onto the magic of the request. It lingered in the air, rabid in its desire to be complete.
“Then yes…” Harry began, eyes losing focus as the words came to him. “I, Hadrian Jameson Potter-Black, request stewardship from you, Gore of clan Thrip, representative of the Goblin Nation.”
The magic splashed across the room as the official request judged all in the vicinity of the claimant and prepared to document itself. A scroll conjured of will and intent flashed into existence before the Goblin, who grabbed it with long clawed fingers and smiled with all his teeth.
“Your care, young one,” the Goblin purred again in that disconcerting manner. “…is now in my claws.”
Theo couldn’t stop the giggle this time when Harry launched from his chair and barrelled into the Goblin for an embrace. No-one seemed to understand how naïve Harry was, nor how starved for care and attention. The Goblin was now essentially Harry’s father, and he would have to accept the full force of his shine.
It took about fifteen minutes for Harry to calm down, say his goodbyes and to be sent back to the infirmary. Theo did not want to part with him, but he knew that he must. His Harry needed healing, and vengeance must be sought.
Once the door closed behind Harry and disappeared from perception, Theo turned to Gorethrip.
“What will be done with the filth that hurt Harry?” His words were blunt, and he was sure that his thirst for blood shone in his eyes. The equally manic grin coming from the Goblin was reassuring in its feral commitment to bloodshed.