#ot3-1

 It took days for the news to spread. Voldemort dead, really dead. It was out of habit that Harry stuck with the wizarding community, but he’d left to get away, and even walking into a pub became a two-hour ordeal. Harry lost count of the number of people who’d shaken his hand and sobbed on his shoulder. His money was useless and he left dozens of drinks untouched for the generosity of his fellow wizards.

And inevitably he’d run across someone who knew him, actually recognized his face from school and the first question from their lips- “Where are Ron and Hermione?”

A unit, one he was never meant to be separated from. And yet he had willingly left them.

So he left behind the world he had saved in favor of anonymity. In favor of a world where he wasn’t known or adored or depended upon to comfort. A world he could be Harry— just Harry.

 It took some getting used to life in the muggle world. He might have been raised without the aid of magic but the past seven years had been formative and even things like light switches were a routine he had to re-learn.

“I never hear the telly in your room,” the pleasant landlady he rented a room from commented one evening at dinner. “I don’t think I could cope in all that silence.”

“It’s nice,” Harry said truthfully enough. “That’s the reason I chose this place, the quiet.”

He’d tried a room in London but the noise of the city had been maddening and there’d been too many people. A red-head at every corner that caught his eye. A mean-looking man who reached for his mobile with too much speed for Harry’s comfort.

So he’d settled in the country. Jumping from town to two before settling on this one. A small town square, country fields with paths for him to wander down. Whispers behind his back about the strange man but not questions to his face. The exact sort of oblivion he’d been craving.

 A fortnight into his stay, his routine dinner at the tiny pub was interrupted by a new face. Young, no more than a year older than he and although the man was greeted rather than eyed with suspicion like Harry, it was clear he didn’t belong in the village. His clothes too pressed, hair too stylish.

“Is this seat taken?”

His accent was hard to place. Foreign yet familiar. It didn’t feel quite polite to ask.

Harry shook his head as an invitation and the man sat, offering his hand.

“Theo Page.”

Harry hesitated, but it was clear that this was no ordinary encounter as the man’s eyes swept his forehead, searching for the scar just barely obscured by Harry’s bangs.

“Harry Potter,” he gave in and the man eyes widened though he had the tact not to say anything.

They sat quietly, side by side. Neither broaching the unspoken subject until Theo’s drink was before him, the barman out of earshot.

“You didn’t go to Hogwarts,” Harry told him, appraising the taller man.

“No, I didn’t,” he frowned. “Mother wouldn’t hear of it. She tolerated the country but the second she could she leveraged my education to move us back to France. It’s one way to give a kid a weird way of speaking.”

Theo took a sip in a manner that seemed strangely dignified. “I suppose it was for the best with the way everything went to shit in the last few years.”

“Yeah, sorry about that,” Harry said without thinking.

To his surprise Theo snorted and looked highly amused. “I should be thanking you shouldn’t I? Hero and all that? Or is it more customary to buy you dinner?”

Harry shook his head. “The most I’ll tolerate is a drink.”

“Shame,” he replied and something about the air seemed to shift. “Even if I were to take you someplace nice?”

  Theo asked, but never directly. Treated Harry like a normal person, or, at least as normal as anyone could treat someone who they knew had done impossible things.

It came up when talking about quidditch—“I was captain my last year, or I would have been but halfway through the season I got put in detention for almost killing another student.”

Or when they were reading—“I don’t know about a cure but basilisk venom can be stopped by Phoenix tears.”

And of course when the dragon they’d let loose was found making a nest of a farmers wheat farm-“Yeah that was me.”

But Theo never looked frightened or pried Harry for more. He merely shook his head and said “I should have expected.” Before kissing Harry’s cheek and turning the page.

It was somehow easy being with him, gave him the same sort of serenity that being with Luna did. Or Ron…Ron.

Harry did his best to filter out the similarities between the two. From the color of their eyes blue, but with flecks of gold when the sun was rising to the way they pronounced armor. Or the way they grinned and stared when Harry made some witty comment. The way that grin would make Harry feel like the funniest person in the room. The way that grin made Harry’s heart swell. The way he’d give anything to make that grin occur again.

Close, but not close enough.

 “You know, I was only supposed to stay in England for a month,” Theo mentioned to Harry three months into his stay. “My parents keep writing asking when I plan to continue my tour.”

Harry had avoided talking about it, the day Theo had to leave. His world tour the customary trip for graduating students. England was just supposed to be a stop and Harry knew he was too.

“I understand,” Harry accepted at once.

Theo looked at him, disappointed. “You could come you know.”

“What?”

“I’m headed to Brazil,” Theo explained. “Everything’s already sorted. You could come too.”

“To Brazil?” Harry repeated.

“And then a few stops in North America and Eastern Europe,” he went on, voice a strange sort of casual. “I suppose I should go down to Egypt too, that’s where I’m supposed to have been all this time you’ve been stealing from me.”

“I never asked you-“

“You’re not hearing me,” Theo said, for the first time frowning. “I know you didn’t ask, I wanted to stay.”

“And you’d want me to come?” he asked stupidly.

“Yes.”

And so he did.

 Traveling with Theo was different from their life in the countryside. No longer did they have to sneak around, try and hide their relationship from prying eyes. At dinner and at clubs Theo would put his arm around Harry proudly, showing him off.

“Hero of the wizarding world,” he would announce to curious eyes. “Harry Potter.”

The war hadn’t left England but news of it had reached far. The fear had spread across boarded enough to make Harry a hero in a place it hadn’t even touched.

“You don’t have to tell everyone,” Harry said, irritated when night after night Theo had paraded him around like a show dog.

“You should celebrate,” Theo told him sincerely. “When I found you you were so miserable. You deserve happiness.”

“I’m happy with you,” Harry argued. “Not with everyone knowing who I am.”

“You’re uncomfortable.”

Harry didn’t answer.

“I’m sorry, I never realized.” Theo looked disappointed in himself. “I just wanted you to be happy and here I am-“

“Look you didn’t know,” Harry swooped in, taking pity on him.

“But I should have. You were hiding for a reason.”

“You didn’t know,” Harry assured him. He put his hands on either side of Theo’s face and forced him to look at him. “It’s not all the time it’s just…I like my privacy where I can get it. Just don’t go shouting my name, yeah?”

 They went on to Los Angeles and to the desert where old rituals were supposed to have been performed. Experimental magic, spiritual. And as he stared up at the cloudless night sky and was filled with wonder at the sight of hundreds, no, thousands of stars twinkling back at him, Harry couldn’t help but wish a different man was holding his hand.

They’d written, Ron, Hermione, Mrs. Weasley, Ginny even Luna, uneventful descriptions of her day which Harry cherished. But he’d found every excuse not to write back. To avoid the questions about where he’d been spotted. About who he’d been spotted with. But as the crisp fall air of the Americas turned frosty and holiday decorations took over towns, Harry re-read their letters with a lump in his throat.

“I think I’d like to go back,” he said casually after days of trying to work it into conversation. “To visit.”

Theo’s eyes had widened. “I thought you liked traveling.”

“I do,” Harry replied earnestly. “I just…I miss home.”

“I didn’t know that you had one.”

 Harry didn’t have to ask Theo to come along with him. He merely took the lead, packing their things, arranging a portkey. Harry a passenger on a trip he should have been conducting. The ministry was bustling when they landed, disorientating, hearing familiar accents after months of foreign ones.

He’d wanted to get one to a less crowded destination, but Theo had insisted, seemed to revel in the attention Harry was receiving. His head raised high as Harry ducked his own, wanting not to be seen.

Harry? Harry Potter?

Voices he didn’t recognize all around him, whispering his name. But then, just as quiet, he heard his name from far away and turned at once.

There they were like he’d never left, sitting on a bench at the far end of the corridor. When he spotted them he broke into a run and they jumped up and met him, Ron first, nearly knocking Harry off his feet and Hermione hitting him like a bullet.

It was hard to remember what he’d feared returning to in that moment, arms wrapped around one another, oblivious to the onlookers and it was only when he heard a gentle clearing of a throat that Harry even remembered he’d left Theo behind.

Even so it was difficult to pull away, put his hand in Theo’s and introduce him to the two most important people in his life.

“Ron, Hermione, this is Theo.”

There’d been no ability to gauge their reactions via the post and Harry wasn’t quite sure how they’d receive him. News of their relationship hadn’t exactly been quiet but Harry had told them anyway.

Of course, Ron’s messy scroll had answered. We’d be happy to have him.

“How do you do?” Hermione asked, the first to offer her hand.

Rather than shake it Theo did the funny sort of bow that he did whenever he was trying to be charming to a lady and raised her hand to kiss it. Ron and Hermione shared a look that Harry did his best to ignore before Ron offered his own hand to shake and quickly abandoned Theo in favor of retrieving Harry’s bags that he’d thrown to the ground.

“So, America?” Ron asked, throwing his arm around Harry possessively. “Charlie says they have some wicked magic over there.”

 Theo had wanted to go out but Ron and Hermione had planned a dinner in. An intimate night with wine and catching up on names.

“Dean and Luna?” Harry chocked out.

Ron snickered. “I don’t know who was more surprised, Dean or the rest of us.”

“They did spend a fair amount of time together at Shell Cottage,” Hermione defended, a small frown on her face.

“What’s that you were always calling, it?” Ron asked, “Trauma bonding?”

Hermione nodded and Harry turned to Theo. “Dean was in our year, spent the last year on the run and Luna…”

“She’s the one you’ve been writing to?”

Harry could feel Ron’s eyes shoot to him and he refused to meet his questioning look. “Yes, the one I’ve been writing to.”

For the first time since his return the air was strangely tense. Theo, oblivious, launched into another line of questioning which Hermione was eager to answer and only when Harry thought it safe did he dare glance at Ron. His hurt, confused look hadn’t faded. It made Harry’s heartache to know he’d been the cause.

 It was only when dinner was finished and they’d been volunteered to clean up that Ron asked. Alone in the kitchen, Theo and Hermione at the bookshelf swapping recommendations.

“You’ve been writing to Luna?” Ron asked with forced casualness.

“Er—yeah, we exchanged a couple of letters.”

“Ah,” Ron said grumpily, turning his head and staring out the window. “Well, glad you had someone you felt safe writing to.”

“It wasn’t like that.” Harry defended.

“Like what?” Ron demanded. “What was it not like?”

“It was…” he paused, “Easy, writing to her. There weren’t any expectations.”

A pause, a shift in conversation, and Harry knew it wasn’t just Luna they were talking about.

“But my letters, they were asking too much of you?”

Harry shook his head but did not say anything. After a minute Ron sighed, turning around, leaning against the counter and putting their faces in very close proximity.

Harry hesitated. “There were just things…things I wasn’t ready to talk about.”

“With me?”

“With anyone.” He paused, fussing with the towel he’d been drying with. 

Their eyes met and for a moment Harry was lost in the deep blue. Then Ron nodded towards Harry’s guest and he understood the question.

“He doesn’t ask,” Harry whispered. “Doesn’t care about what happened to me.”

“I don’t care,” Ron breathed, begging. “I won’t ask.”

Harry let out a long breath. His eyes were beginning to sting yet he dare not look away.

“But you have Hermione.”

Ron blinked, glanced into the other room, and when Harry dared look over his shoulder Theo and Hermione were both staring at them.

“Right,” Ron nodded, pushing himself away from the counter. “I have Hermione. Which means I’m not good enough for you.”

“No, Ron-“

“Is everything alright?” Hermione asked then, rising and walking towards them.

“We’d better be going,” Harry said suddenly. “Long day.”

“Harry?”

If it had been Ron, he might have stopped. But he didn’t speak another word. Merely watched as they put on their cloaks and shook Theo’s hand.

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

  By morning news of his return had spread so far that when they left their accommodations in the morning a crowd was outside to greet them. And while Harry tried keeping his head down, tried ignoring the calls for autograph or explanation of where he’d been, Theo gave his dazzling smile and waved and looked to be thoroughly enjoying himself.

“Sorry,” Harry excused when they finally managed to break through the crowd a quarter of an hour later. “We got caught up.”

“You could have just stayed at ours,” Ron said, a trace of a scowl on his face. “It was like this for us too.”

“It’s no trouble,” Theo excused. “Wanting to welcome their hero home.”

Ron and Hermione exchanged a look that in light of Ron’s outburst made Harry want Ron to hurt too and he put his hand in Theo’s.

“I’m sure it will die down once they’re used to me,” Harry excused as if the attention didn’t bother him.

Ron’s eyes widened in disbelief and Hermione, oblivious or intentionally trying to avoid an argument said bossily, “Well, we’d better get a move on, otherwise we’ll miss out reservation.”

  The tension carried them through the day, the week. Hermione chattering on as though nothing was wrong. Ron with his arm around her and offering compliments for the most mundane statements, Harry firing back with his own displays of affection.

A silent war, infecting their afternoons in London, dinners with the Weasleys. Harry hyperaware of wherever Ron was, who he was speaking to, what he was saying. He cataloged every time he put his arm around Hermione, every time his lips met her skin, every time his laughter rang out.

Theo was merely a distraction, an annoying insect always trying to rope Harry into whatever conversation he was having. As though he couldn’t recount their travels on his own. As though he were incapable of meeting someone without introduction. But Harry had traveled the world with him. He knew Theo’s capabilities and finding a way into someone else’s conversation was a natural-born talent.

  “Drinks?” Ron prompted at the end of one night.

Their time back in England had flown by in the blink of an eye and tomorrow afternoon a portkey would take them on to France to celebrate the New Year with Theo’s family. A trip Harry dreaded more and more with each passing day.

“Oh, no I’m afraid we’ll have to decline,” Theo answered, trying to help Harry into his cloak.

“If you don’t mind I think I’ll go with them. Last night and all.”

Harry didn’t miss the way Ron’s shoulders relaxed, the relieved grin on his face. Theo turned expectantly to Harry, and he knew he wanted him to decline. But Harry wasn’t ready to let it go, let them go. Their time here hadn’t been enough and although they’d yet to resolve the underlying tension between them, Harry didn’t want to let him out of his sight.

“I’ll make sure you’re comfortable,” Harry told Theo, ignoring the way his eyes glinted with disappointment.

Another pause, Theo staring at him expectantly. But he didn’t dare say anything challenging in public.

“That’s alright,” he said, making a show of looping Harry’s scarf around his neck and using it as leverage to kiss him. Harry allowed their lips to brush, allowed Theo to tussle his hair. “Don’t stay out too late, I was hoping to pack.”

Harry knew it to be a lame excuse. He almost never did the packing. Theo didn’t like the way Harry was content with disorganization. Still Theo lingered, wanting no doubt for Harry to escort him home and when Harry declined to offer he made a show of walking out, flashing his smile at strangers while they followed meekly behind.

It was only when he was gone that Harry felt the tension leave his own brow. Snow was beginning to fall, making the streets of Hogsmeade picturesque. It made Harry’s heart swell, a feeling doubled when Ron threw his arm around his shoulders.

“Where to?”

   “Theo mentioned he planned to stay in France,” said Hermione in an innocent tone. “After the holiday.”

Somehow they’d avoided mentioning him all night. It was until they were back in Ron and Hermione’s flat, cheeks still rosy from the bitter cold that he was mentioned.

“Er, yeah,” Harry said evasively. “I think that’s his plan.”

“And what’s your plan?” Hermione questioned.

The tone, which had been homely and jovial, was suddenly very serious.

“Because you could stay here,” Hermione went on, she looked to Ron for back up. “With us.”

But he couldn’t look at her, didn’t care for her reaction. Instead his eyes sought Ron’s.

“We wish you’d stay,” Hermione went on, begging. “It feels like you only just got here.”

“Do you really?” Harry questioned, unable to help the whine in his voice.

But he wasn’t asking her. Eyes still trained on Ron, begging for him to meet his look. Begging for a reason.

“Of course,” Ron answered gruffly, still refusing to meet Harry’s gaze. 

He paused, waiting for Harry to—what? Argue with him? Their eyes met again, one of those long, tense stares that they had become experts in. What he needed was Ron to need him but that didn’t seem a possibility.

“But only if you want to.”

It was the same blow repeated again and again ever since his arrival in England. All Harry wanted was to be wanted by the one man who didn’t seem to care.

Suddenly he couldn’t stay quiet. His liquor lubed lips couldn’t hold it in.

“You don’t like him,” Harry accused.

Ron’s cheeks enflamed but his tone was meek. “Do you?”

Harry had expected a fight, had been itching for one to relieve the uncomfortable air between them, but this?

“Of course I do.” Harry snapped. “Why would I have traveled the world with him if I didn’t like him? Why would I bring him back here, to meet you no less, if I didn’t like him?”

Ron and Hermione exchanged one of these infuriating glances.

“What is it?” Harry asked, his temper rising. “Why don’t you like him?”

And still Ron refused to take the bait, letting out a long sigh and settling back in his chair.

“You’ve been my best mate for years,” Harry went on. “Don’t you think I can tell?”

“He’s using you,” Ron snapped at last. There was a moment where he looked as though he regretted the words leaving his mouth and then he doubled down. “You want me to be honest? Fine, I think he fancies you because he likes the attention and I don’t like the idea that he’s using you for your name.”

“He’s proud of me,” Harry defended.

“And!” Ron’s voice raised over his, “I think you came back because you knew we wouldn’t like him and wanted an excuse to kick him to the curb.”

“I didn’t-“

“Then what? Why’d you bring him here?”

“Because I thought you’d be happy for me!” Harry shouted.

They’d both risen to their feet and Harry wasn’t sure when it had happened. “And don’t you think you’re being a little hypocritical?”

“Hypocritical?” Ron asked, glancing back at Hermione who was now in the doorway to the kitchen, hanging back.

“Yeah, well, you and Hermione started shagging-“

“Oi! We’re dating Harry,” Ron said firmly. “Though I wouldn’t expect you to know you ran off before we even knew what it was.”

Harry felt his eyes roll and a second later felt himself blasted back and Hermione voice shrieking “RON!”

He pushed off the hands trying to help him up, searching for his own wand but Hermione was too quick for them both.

“Expelliarmus!”

Harry watched as both his and Ron’s wands shot from their hands and clattered to the ground beside Hermione.

“What’s gotten into the pair of you?” she shouted from just feet away. “What’s the matter with you?”

“You said you were okay with it!” Ron growled.

“And what would you have done if I had said I wasn’t?”

They stared at one another in confusion and as his mouth caught up to his brain, Harry could feel his whole face flushing.

“What?” Ron asked, stunned as Harry turned away, searching for his wand on the ground. “Why wouldn’t you’ve been okay with us dating?”

Harry shook his head, wiping at his face as if it would remove the heat from his cheeks.

“Harry.” His tone was different now, the fight was over just as quickly as it had begun.

There was a gasp and when Harry looked up it wasn’t Ron but Hermione, her face alight with realization. “But you never said.”

Harry hung his head in shame. He’d run away to avoid this conversation, had convinced himself that he’d be able to hide it and here, now, within days Hermione had figured it out.

“Never said what?” Ron asked, his confusion turning into anger once more. “Never said what?”

“There was never a good time,” Harry muttered, staring at his trainers as if they were the most interesting thing in the world. “I never…and then-“

Hermione bustled over, stepping between him and Ron and stared at him, her face just inches from his.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“No, it’s not,” Harry told her. His eyes were now stinging and just seconds away from leaking. “The two of you, you’re happy.”

She sighed, putting her hand on his face and stroking his cheek. Harry dared a glance at Ron and found his face red with fury.

“You said!” he began but Hermione merely raised one hand to silence him and at the same time leaned in to whisper in Harry’s ear. “It’s alright, tell him. We’ll be okay.”

And then she was gone, Harry sight of Ron unobscured.

“I don’t love Hermione,” Harry told him before Ron continued to get angry. “I mean, I do, just, not like that.”

“I don’t understand,” Ron said plainly, glancing between them. “Then what’s the issue? Why was seeing us together so terrible you had to run half a world away?”

Harry sighed and shook his head. “It wasn’t you, I want you to be happy together. I do, honest.”

“Then what?” Ron begged.

He paused, took a deep breath, and then said quietly. “It’s just, I want to be happy too.”

“I don’t understand,” Ron repeated. “If you’re not happy then-“ Harry took a step towards him. “Then why’d you leave?”

“Tell him,” Hermione urged.

“Harry?” Ron asked, begging.

“I swear, I didn’t know. I think I didn’t have time to process, what I was thinking,” he paused and revised, “feeling.”

And Ron, who he knew better than he knew anyone, took only a beat to process. His eyes widened and then flickered up and down Harry, waiting for him to laugh, to retract.

“So you?”

“Yes,” Harry whispered. “Yes, I do.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron breathed, looking suddenly very unsteady on his feet.

Without thinking, Harry rushed forward, offering him a steadying arm and Ron grasped him, staring desperately at Harry’s face. They were so close now Harry could feel his breath on his cheek, the jumping of his heart…or was that his own?

Then, just as sudden, there was no space between them.

Their faces inched together and then together they closed the gap, both to their lips crashing together, Ron’s hand clutching at his arm, his back, weaving into his hair and gripping possessively and Harry reciprocated, stepping into him, putting to good use all of the wasted kisses he and Theo had shared in open spaces.

Theo. The name drifted from Harry’s brain without guilt or consequence.

“When did you? How did you? When did you realize?”

Harry’s eyes drifted open and found Ron before him, staring desperately. But there was no horor on his face. No hint of shame or regret.

“You were always watching Hermione,” Harry replied and in sync their eyes drifted to their observer. “I was watching you.”

Ron’s hand tightened on his back but they didn’t look at each other still.

“I’m fine,” she declared despite the tears in her eyes. “Honest.”

Still clinging to him desperately, Ron begged, “I don’t want things to change.”

Hermione let out a little chuckle. “It doesn’t have to be a bad thing, change.”

“But I love you,” he told her, and then turned to Harry, panicked. “I love you.”

“And I love you.”

The words he had been so afraid to be discovered now passed between them casually. It made his heart swell, tears stinging his eyes.

“Don’t cry,” Ron said, panicked. “Bloody hell, I can’t deal with you crying.”

“Sorry,” Harry said, reaching up to wipe the tears from his eyes but Ron beat him to it, pushing up Harry’s glasses somewhat clumsily and smearing the tears with the pad of his thumb.

Harry couldn’t remember anyone being so tender and he had to double his effort not to sob.

“Is this why you left?”

Harry nodded, bowing his head.

“You should have said something,” Ron repeated. “I would have-“

“We’ve always been pretty lousy with feelings,” Harry mumbled, allowing Ron to tug him close, taking refuge in his shoulder. “And after the Horcrux.”

Ron stiffened, but only for a moment. “Yeah, I suppose we have.”

From the safety of Ron’s neck, breathing in the scent he’d been so desperate to recreate Harry whispered. “You’ve always been the thing I’d miss the most.”

“Bloody hell,” Ron said in an awed sort of voice. His lips pressed against the crown of Harry’s head and warmth spread down his spine.

Harry looked up at him, amazed again at the tender look in his eyes. “What does this mean?”

As they’d always done when faced with something impossible, they looked to Hermione, tucked under Ron’s other arm and staring at them with happy tears in her eyes.

“Harry I’ve always been there for you,” Hermione said firmly. “Why would this change anything?”

Harry laughed, unable to help himself, putting his arm around her at last and she leaned up onto her tiptoes, kissing Ron’s cheek then Harry’s.

“Just promise you’ll stay,” she begged, “I can handle just about anything except you leaving us again.”

Harry nodded, looking to Ron for confirmation.

“You’ll have to end things with that pompous git,” Ron told him firmly.

“Ron!” Hermione shouted.

“What?” Ron asked, “I agreed not to say anything but I told you the moment we met him he reminded me of Malfoy.”

Harry paled and Ron, in the true fashion of a best mate, let out a barking laugh.

“Bloody hell,” Harry muttered, his face growing hot. “You should have said something.”

Ron took pity on him, lifting Harry’s chin with one finger. “Just wanted you to be happy.”