Title: Harry Potter and His Saving Theo Thing
Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and associates own these characters. I am writing this for fun and not profit.
Content Notes: Angst, violence, ignores the epilogue, past minor character deaths
Pairing: Harry Potter/Theodore Nott
Rating: R
Wordcount: This part 5100
Summary: Harry can think of worse things to do than helping Theodore Nott rejoin society. And after a while, so can Theo.
Author's Notes: This is another of my "From Litha to Lammas" fics, for an anonymous request that asked for a light-hearted post-war fic where Harry, deciding not to join the Aurors, doesn't know what he wants to do with his life. Feeling aimless and a little bored, he decides to help Theodore Nott, who has become reclusive, anti-social, and on the Ministry's list for suspicious individuals, rejoin society. There are also a few other parts of the prompt that I will be using. This fic will have multiple parts, but at the moment I'm unsure if it will be three or four.

Harry Potter and His Saving Theo Thing

Harry looked thoughtfully at the list that Ron had brought back from Auror training to their little flat. "Huh. I understand why most of these people are on here, but why is Nott?" It was hard to even conjure an image of Theodore Nott, when he thought about it. Pale, skinny, quiet, didn't follow Malfoy, always had a book whenever Harry saw him—yeah, that was about it.

Ron shook a finger at him from the other side of a large spread of takeaway boxes. "Remember, mate, that's supposed to be confidential. You can't tell anyone you saw it."

"Yeah, yeah." Harry rolled his eyes and put the list aside, reaching for a piece of fish from the nearest box. "I still want to know why it mentions Nott."

"Well, he's acted a bit suspiciously since the war, hasn't he? Hiding away in his house, refusing to talk to anyone. His dad offed himself, and Nott didn't even attend his funeral." Ron let his words trail off. "Come on, mate, you know this."

"No, I don't. You know I've avoided the papers."

"Sooner or later you have to rejoin the world, too, mate."

Harry snorted. "I've only spent a few months relaxing and thinking about what I want to do, and not joining the Auror Corps." He leaned back so the little rickety chair beneath him creaked warningly. Harry had thought about buying better furniture, but it might have felt like a comment on Ron's lack of Galleons, and honestly, having furniture like this was fine. "That doesn't mean I've become a recluse."

"Yeah, well, Nott is. He just hides behind wards in his house and even refuses the summons to the Ministry."

"What was he summoned for?"

"I forget." Ron shook his head and finished eating the noodles entwined around his fork. "Mostly that there were unanswered questions about his father's involvement with the Death Eaters and they wanted to talk to him, I think."

"But he doesn't have the Dark Mark himself."

"No," Ron conceded, sounding reluctant. "But you can see how it looks pretty bloody suspicious."

Harry tilted his head to the side. "Maybe I ought to go talk to him."

"What? I mean, mate, I know I said I wanted you to get out of the flat, but I think that magical creature rescue you were talking about starting with Luna is a better idea! You don't need to talk to Nott. He doesn't need your help."

"Look at it this way," Harry said, and let the chair tip back down, just for Ron's wince as it slammed into the floor. They were on the ground floor, but Ron seemed to have kept his feelings about noise from the Burrow, when he probably would have received a scolding from Molly for that. "Either I find out that there's nothing suspicious going on, and the Ministry can take his name off the list. Or I find out there is, and we have time to prevent him from going down the Death Eater road."

"So, what? Does that mean you'd bring him in? Kingsley would insist you be an Auror then."

"No, it means we could hopefully prevent anyone else from following Voldemort's ideals. Oh, honestly, Ron, he's dead."

"Just don't like the name," Ron muttered, and floated an empty takeaway box over to the bin. "Okay, fine. But he doesn't answer the Ministry's owls. What makes you think that he'd answer yours?"

"I was thinking of visiting Nott House, not sending an owl."

"Yeah, okay." Ron's eyebrows had winged up all the way. "Good luck, mate."

Harry stood outside the gates of Nott House and admired the theme it had going on. The gates in front of him were made of some twisted material that looked like wrought iron but was probably more pure-blood and fancy than that. It slunk together like vines that had grown and tangled around one another, and the points on top of the gates looked like thorns.

The path up to the house was made of black stone, utterly unreflective and refusing to shine in the weak summer sun above. The house itself stood on a green hill, and it was black, and loomed, and was probably made of the same stone. Harry could see arches, buttresses, columns, and half a dozen other architectural features that he'd forgotten the name of. The silver front door was the only splash of color that relieved the darkness even slightly.

There was a silver bell next to the gates, too. Harry rang it, and waited.

In utter silence, the gates swung open. Harry raised his eyebrows, but started walking down the dark path. He'd thought the first sign of acknowledgment, if he even got one today, would be a house-elf popping up in front of him or a doom-laden voice telling him to abandon hope.

This was fine, though.

The surface of the black road hurt his feet, as though it was somehow harder than concrete. Harry ignored that. If this went at all well, Nott would presumably give him permission to Floo or Apparate in.

When he reached the silver door, it opened with the same silence as the gates had. Harry walked in, although he made sure that his wand was loose in his sleeve, ready to grip. Just in case.

The entrance hall beyond the door was nearly the size of Hogwarts's, rising several floors and encircled by balconies. The only staircase in sight was a spiral one that a team of centaurs could have mounted. On one side of the enormous room was a corridor, almost tunnel-like, lined with torches, that flared to life.

Well, okay. I reckon I'm supposed to take that. Harry walked down the tunnel and found, past a labyrinth of other closed doors, a battered black oak one standing open at the end.

"What are you doing here, Potter?"

Nott's voice rolled through the room, deeper than Harry remembered. Then again, he didn't remember it from Hogwarts all that well. "Visiting you and seeing if you want to rejoin society or not and stop those annoying Ministry owls," Harry said. He stepped through the oaken door, and blinked.

The room here was almost comically small after the size of the great hall in front. There was a fireplace that ran the length of it, though, with a black marble mantel and what looked to be at least two whole logs burning in it. The shelves held leather-bound books that barely reflected the light.

In front of the fireplace was a set of black chairs so overstuffed that they looked as though they would erupt raven feathers any second. Nott sat in the farthest of them, with a frown engraved on his face.

Harry sat down in the other one.

"Why would you want to do that? We weren't friends at Hogwarts, and I didn't do anything to help you in the war."

"Well, I don't remember you doing anything to help Voldemort, either." Harry regretted his automatic use of the name a little when Nott flinched. "Mostly, I don't want you to be suspected of doing something wrong if you haven't, and I don't want to deal with another Death Eater if you're inclined to go down that path."

"So what you're saying is, this is selfish. You think they would call on you later to stop me, and you'd rather not have to."

"You could also be innocent. Nice of you to skip over that, Nott."

Nott sighed, and abruptly sagged a little back against the chair. He wore black robes with silver trim, because of course he would, and they'd made him appear taller than it seemed he actually was. His dark hair was even longer than Harry had thought, though, because of the way it had blended with the chair. "Does it matter, Potter? The Ministry is going to suspect me no matter what."

"I could be instrumental in helping them to stop suspecting you. I mean, if you really don't have any plans to take over the wizarding world."

"A few kind words wouldn't do it. Not after the atrocities my father committed. You'd probably have to live here, proclaim my innocence constantly, escort me to social functions, and show that you trust me."

"I could do that."

Nott's mouth flopped open a little, and Harry was almost certain that was the first time in Nott's life it had ever happened. Then he sat up and shook his head, recovering his poise. "What do you mean? You can't do that."

"Well, of course I would need your permission to move in here, and you'd have to accompany me to the functions I get invited to, but that's practically everything these days. And I have to be convinced of your innocence first. But that shouldn't be hard."

"Why not?"

"The black-on-black house and the gates that look as if they grew from the ground? Nobody who tries that hard can possibly mean it."

Nott nodded reluctantly. "You're right. This house is my father's legacy, and he wanted people to think he practiced even more Dark Arts than he did." He paused. "But you're going to need more than that to sponsor me into society again, right? What would do it? I have to admit that I don't look forward to being questioned under Veritaserum."

Harry shook his head. "I've done little in the last few months but read and think about what I'll do with my life. I still haven't decided on that, but I did learn an interesting spell from a book that my dad left in the Potter vault. It detects pure intentions. Will you let me cast it on you?"

"It would depend on what the spell means by pure." Nott spoke slowly, his hands clenching together in his lap. "I'll admit that I don't intend to stop using all Dark Arts, and I would like to punish my enemies if I get the chance."

"Do you want to torture them?"

"No!" Not shuddered a little, his hair seeming to detach itself from shadows again as his head moved on the chair. "Never. That was my father's ideal."

"Living with him must have been hell. I'm sorry."

Once again, Nott's jaw dropped, but he managed to control it better this time. "You're the only one who's ever said that to me," he murmured, studying Harry as though he expected to see someone else beneath the surface of his skin.

"I'm sorry," Harry repeated, and raised his wand. "This spell was specially designed. It won't take account of idle wishes for vengeance or ordinary irritation. My father tweaked it so that it wouldn't reveal when someone intended to pull a prank, in fact. His notes indicate that he was worried about what would happen if he didn't and my mother used it on him."

Nott smiled for the first time in their conversation. "Fine." He sat still as Harry moved his wand slowly down in the wide spiral that the book had described, and golden light appeared where it moved, snapping into a human silhouette that outlined Nott's body.

It continued to glow gold, with a few patches of red here and there—the particular points of anger that Nott felt. Harry smiled and banished the silhouette with another flick. "That's good enough for me. You aren't steeped in evil or going to become a Death Eater, no matter what the Ministry thinks. Now. Are you going to let me help?"

Nott studied him for long enough that Harry thought he would refuse. Well, it would be his right to do that. Harry stared back, enjoying the sensation of confounding someone again. It had been too long since he got to do that.

Nott tilted his head a little. "You would be willing to move in with me? Rumor says that you're sharing a flat with Weasley. What will he think?"

Harry shrugged. "I'll give Ron enough Galleons to pay the rent for a few months. Honestly, the only reason we've been sharing it and not something better is that Ron has some problems with money, and I didn't want to live alone or in the house I inherited from my godfather." He would be fine never going back to Grimmauld Place again, although he did visit sometimes to cheer Kreacher up. "You won't mind me taking one of the rooms?"

Nott rolled his eyes. "In a house this huge? We never have to be in the same room unless we want to."

"Good." Harry stood up. "Then I'll go tell Ron and make sure that he has the Galleons he needs. Do you have house-elves? Will they mind serving me?"

"They would serve any guest of the house. Even if you are not technically a guest."

"That's right," Harry said. "I'm your own personal savior."

He grinned at Nott and left before he could either ask how serious Harry was or change his mind. His step was lighter than he could remember it being in aimless months. Yes, this was what he wanted to do, to help someone.

Perhaps he should open that magical creature sanctuary as soon as he was done helping Nott.

Theo stood back, staring a little, as Potter guided a few floating trunks in. He hadn't even bothered to shrink them, and Theo could see why. This was pitifully little for a wealthy wizard to own, even assuming the trunks were both full.

"This is all you're bringing?" Theo had to ask, despite the obviousness of the question. It would have earned him a day's worth of silence from his father.

All Potter did was smile a little. "Yeah, so I shouldn't burden your house-elves or the cupboards of whatever room you want to put me in," he said, and tilted his head at Theo as the door shut behind him with a noiseless thump. Potter didn't even show uneasiness at the charms that controlled the doors depending on the will of the master of the house, something Theo thought remarkable. "Which room did you want to put me in?"

"I'm going to let you choose your own, of course," Theo said. "With the exception of the master suites, you can have any room in any wing." Potter shrugged, and Theo let exasperation sharpen his voice. "Did you think you'd just have to do whatever I told you?"

"I thought you would do whatever was least inconvenient to you. Or maybe there are rules for this that I don't know. I am sort of imposing on you, after all."

"You are not." Theo, in fact, had felt more capable of moving around the house, taking an interest in what the house-elves made for dinner, and even reading the papers since Potter contacted him than he had been in months. "I invited you here by accepting your presence."

Potter considered him and nodded slowly. "Anyway, that still doesn't answer the question of where I'm going to sleep."

Theo led the way up the spiral staircase, which honestly was the showiest thing in the house. He doubted Potter recognized that the marble of the steps came from a quarry Muggles thought had been played out centuries ago and that the banister was purest ebony, but it didn't need to be like that, or to be that big. Theo frowned at it, thinking it could stand to be different, equally luxurious but less ostentatious.

The trouble was, he hadn't the slightest idea how to go about changing the appearance so that it conveyed that impression.

They arrived at the top, and Theo nodded at the entrance to the northern wing, a huge, ebony (of course) arched doorway that had rearing thestrals carved in it. "There are most of the guest bedrooms."

"Thanks," Potter said, and walked through it with the trunks floating behind him. Theo hesitated. He'd intended to go down and start giving the house-elves some orders about varying the menu so they could determine what food Potter liked.

Instead, he found himself following.

Potter considered silver and black oak doors, and shook his head and kept moving on. He halted in front of the door at the end of the corridor that was made of bright golden wood. He glanced over his shoulder at Theo, his eyebrows raised.

Theo swallowed. The house-elves had kept up the room, of course, and people had even stayed there when Father was still alive, he reminded himself. "You can go in there."

Potter nodded and opened the door. Theo waited, shoulders higher than he liked, until he heard Potter's sigh of satisfaction, and then crossed the threshold behind Potter for the first time in eleven years.

The walls were a soft and shining gold, to match the color of the door. Unlike most of the rooms in this wing, the floor was wood instead of stone, and decorated with deep, thick rugs in soft rose and amber colors, abstract designs that sometimes became flowers winding through them. The bed visible through a half-open door was surmounted with a delicate canopy like silken spiderwebs, and the bathroom's door gave a glimpse of green. This particular room was a study, although the bookshelves were empty and the chair and desk had been replaced with spindly copies of what had once stood there.

"I like this," Potter said, and walked over to stand in front of the huge window that ran between the doors of the bathroom and bedroom. The subdued, sparkling design of rose-colored winged horses melted and showed the view out over the house's back gardens.

Theo heard Potter's breath catch, and nodded. "These are the right rooms for you."

It seemed Potter was more observant than Theo had dreamed, though, because he turned around with an intense, lingering stare. "Someone used to live here, didn't they? Not your father." It amused Theo a bit that Potter could have spent so little time in the house and still understood Father that well. "Do you want me to be here?"

"These rooms haven't been used in a long time, and you fit in them," Theo said. "Please, stay."

After some more scanning of Theo's face, Potter nodded slowly and walked over to the wardrobe against the wall facing the bathroom. Theo gave him one more look before he headed out to speak to the house-elves.

Potter had absolutely no reason to know that those rooms had belonged to Theo's mother, and that that was the last place Theo had seen her.

"I hope dinner tempts your palate."

Harry cocked an eyebrow at how formal and stuffy Nott sounded, but, well, he had revealed more through his expression and words earlier than he'd meant to, and perhaps he needed to step back a bit. The dining room was as huge as a cavern, lit by enormous glittering silver sconces that encircled the walls rather than the chandelier Harry had half-expected, and the dining room table was mahogany that had probably taken sixteen trees, although it was all made as one seamless, joined piece.

Nott took the head seat, a craggy black chair, out of what looked like pure habit, and then hesitated. Harry smiled and walked around to the seat on Nott's left, ignoring the place setting for him at the foot. They'd have to exchange stuffy nods at best down the length of the table if he sat there.

Nott blinked at him. The house-elves were more practical, though, since the place setting just disappeared and reappeared in front of Harry. Harry sat down and looped the napkin around his throat. Oh, wait, it felt as if it was made of silk, so it was probably a serviette.

"You wanted to sit closer to me?" Nott sounded as if he was exploring an unfamiliar idea.

"Sure. I don't see the point in us shouting. Or not speaking at all, because you're probably too dignified to shout." Harry smiled at him as a bowl of soup appeared in front of him. The soup was unfamiliar, with small rose petals or what looked like them floating on the surface, and the bowl was china, but at least it smelled good. "Now. Do you prefer Theodore or Theo?"

Nott dropped his spoon back into the bowl, which luckily didn't seem to crack the thin material. "What are you on about it? Why would we need to address each other by first names?"

"Oh, for the press? To keep up the idea that we're friends and I'm going to reintroduce you to society because I've found that you're a good person?" Harry leaned an elbow on the table, mostly for the sound of Nott's horrified intake of breath, before he grinned and removed it. "I won't call you by that in private if you don't want me to, but I'll have to in public."

He swallowed several small spoonfuls of soup to Nott's one before his voice said, almost inaudible, "I'm Theo to my friends."

"That's fine. You can call me Harry or Potter. I don't mind either."

"I—how can you not mind that? Surely you wouldn't want some stranger that accosted you on the street, or Rita Skeeter, calling you Harry?"

"No. But you're going to be living with me, and I hope that we'll at least be friends by the end of this."

Nott watched him more than the food as the soup disappeared and the next course arrived, which was a stuffed bird of some kind that Harry frankly didn't recognize. "Quail?" Harry asked, and Nott started and then nodded.

"Yes," he murmured, and went back to eating himself. His eyes still flickered up and down between his plate and Harry, but honestly, Harry took that as an encouraging sign. He had the sense that Nott spent most of his meals looking at the food and nothing else.

Harry spent most of the meal discussing what kinds of invitations they should accept—Nott advised accepting most of the ones to galas, charity events, re-openings of shops that had closed during the war, and lavish events thrown by pure-bloods to show how sorry they were, and denied that he wanted to go to simple parties, balls, or festivals—and talking about how soon he should give an interview to the papers about his deepening friendship with Theodore Nott. They argued for ten minutes about whether it should be before or after their first public appearance together.

"Before," Harry said firmly. "If it's after, they might think our appearance together is fake."

"I understand these things better than you do, Potter." Nott had a much more dynamic face when he was bent forwards over the table and arguing about something than when he was sitting back in the chair like a lord on his throne. "We do the appearance first, so that we'll seem as if we've finally brought something long-standing out into the open. Then the interview afterwards, so we can show that we're deigning to give the masses some sort of explanation."

Harry paused. "We? I thought I would be doing the interviews alone."

Passion flowed out of Nott's face like water. "You can if you wish that, of course."

Shit, I hate when he looks like that. Harry shook his head vehemently. "No, I just meant that you've become a recluse for a reason, and I wouldn't want you to have to go out in public if you aren't comfortable with that."

There was a pause long enough that Nott's face froze, and Harry frowned. Did I say something wrong? I don't know what it is.

"Consider," Nott said at last, "that if I'm willing to go to a gala with you, I'd be willing enough to speak in an interview. We could have the reporter come to Nott House, if we wanted."

"True enough," Harry said. "So. Which invitation is going to be first? I have three qualifying ones for this week alone."

Nott paused. "Is one of them for the weekend?"

Harry didn't have to think about it since he'd gone through the invitations just this morning, before he arrived. "Yeah. Saturday night, there's one to celebrate the re-opening of Florean Fortescue's. They're going to gather at the shop first, and then everyone will be given the Apparition coordinates of a 'more traditional venue.'"

Nott chopped his head down slightly. "I want until the weekend to be ready for this and make sure we have tailored robes."

Harry smiled. "There's that we again. I have tailored robes, Nott. I got them when I attended those funerals after the war." He blinked rapidly, and the torches stopped wavering.

Nott paused in the act of lifting a silver goblet to his lips. "Funeral robes are not the same as dress robes, Potter."

"They looked the same as my Yule Ball robes to me, except the color."

"Ball robes are not the same as the kind that you wear to an event where you won't dance, either." Nott looked a second away from pinching the bridge of his nose the way Professor McGonagall probably would. "Leave this up to me, please. I have more than enough money and no outlet for it. I'll set up an appointment for you with my own tailor and he'll have the robes ready by Saturday."

"You trust the tailor not to talk?"

Nott's smile was thin. "He'll come here. That's one thing the wards are good for, making sure that no one can cross the threshold with their memory completely intact unless I want them to."

"Your father was seriously paranoid, wasn't he?" Harry said, and then winced. He'd already seen that references to Nott's father made him fall silent.

But this time, although Nott's smile chilled out of existence, he said, "Not only him. Most of my other ancestors. I'm in control of what happens in the house, Potter. Don't forget it."

"So you want it to remain as dark as the inside of an anthill?"

"What?" Nott stared in a way that made Harry fairly certain no one had used that comparison before, although to him it just felt natural. "I—the black comes with the house, Potter. And you don't have to get rid of it. I had the impression that your rooms were bright enough for you."

"Yes, but I'd like to have some brightening elsewhere, too." Harry put on the kind of cheerful, innocent smile that used to drive Hermione mental, since she had no idea if he meant it or not. "So, can I?"

"I…suppose."

"Good." Harry dug into the pudding in front of him, a tiramisu that had remained perfect even though it had been there throughout most of the argument. "Thank you," he added to the air, and heard a house-elf squeak.

"You don't need to thank them, Potter. House-elves don't need that."

Harry squinted at Nott. "You know, I wonder if that isn't part of the harm that you've been doing to yourself?"

"What?"

"You've only taken what you need to live. I can't scold you for it. I went through a period of my life when I had to do pretty much the same thing. But now you're free from a shadow that must have covered your whole life, and you have money and time enough to do whatever you want. And what are you doing? Hiding inside a dark house. I don't think you were even coming up with plans for what you wanted to do, like I was."

Nott shook his head slowly, staring at Harry like a serpent mesmerized by a charmer.

"So let me change things. If you hate the results, you can change them back. Or we can talk about it." Harry finished his pudding and stood up, shaking his head as he glanced around the dining room. "But I can't stay for long in a place like this."

"Okay," Nott whispered.

Harry grinned at him. He looked a little dazed, and Harry found that he liked the effect, especially because it seemed that the dark hair drawn back in a long tail to flow down Nott's shoulders had begun to wisp free of the hold. Maybe all the thinking he's doing is setting up a kind of fire in his head, Harry thinks.

"We'll talk about it more in the morning. Good night, Nott."

"Call me Theo," Nott said, so abruptly that Harry paused, not sure if he was saying it because he wanted to or not. "I mean…we ought to practice so that it sounds natural when you say it in public."

Harry gentled his smile as he looked over his shoulder. He suspected it wasn't about that at all, but far be it from him to discourage signs of the man coming out of his shell. "All right, Theo. I'll see you in the morning. Sleep well."

"I wish you pleasant dreams," Theo whispered.

Harry waved to him and walked out of the dining room without looking back. At the moment, that would be too much, and he was pleased enough with what he had accomplished this evening.

Theo stood in his bedroom, looking over the gardens that stretched away from Nott House into a distance marked by the shimmer of magical barriers. The view was similar to the one from the window of the room Harry had chosen, but Theo's part of the gardens was filled with much more frequent twisted, black copses of trees that almost looked fire-blasted.

Theo had been able to imagine, only two days ago, looking at this view until he died, without substantial changes.

Now…

Theo closed his eyes and swallowed. His father was dead, having committed suicide in his prison cell when he realized that nothing would persuade the Ministry to let him go before it was his time. And his mother had vanished when he was eight. Theo had never been certain what had happened to her.

To know that a wind of change had swept into Nott House, and it had been begun with something as simple as his curiosity about what Harry Potter was doing at his gates unaccompanied, rattled Theo like one of those trees in a storm. He could have refused. He could have turned away, and although he doubted Potter would have given up, it wouldn't have been like this.

He breathed in slowly. When he exhaled, his allowed his lips to form the word he would have to wait some time to speak in front of the man it named.

"Harry."