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Sleep was foreign, even a year after the war. So, while Harry slept, Theo remembered.
His fingers traced an old, pinkish silver scar. Down, to the right, and diagonal—its shape was familiar and maddening, harboring far more anguish than any of the other scars that littered his body after the war. This scar, though, it was special; it meant victory, it meant perseverance, it meant hope. Despite the fitful insomnia and bursts of accidental magic when he finally fell into a deep sleep, the scar symbolized the end of war and the beginning of happily ever after.
Down, to the right, and diagonal; tracing as if by memory, his fingers caressed the raised skin to bring comfort and perhaps to remind himself that he was still here, still able to feel the unique pattern beneath his fingertips. He really shouldn’t have been—alive, that is. Between his father’s radical anti-Muggleborn beliefs and then being sold into the ranks of The Dark Lord, Theo should have been dead long ago.
When lightning had begun shooting from the storm clouds over the final battle, Theo thought it was the end—not just for him, but for everyone. That rogue Baubillious spell from a dark wizard’s wand caused so much havoc and, indeed, changed the course of Theo’s life forever.
His lips curled as the memory bloomed behind his eyes—he most certainly should have died when one of those bursts of lightning crashed into his chest. Instead, his life was given a new purpose; he’d found something he hadn’t even been looking for.
Theo traced the scar—down, to the right, and diagonal—and watched Harry’s eyelids flutter as his breathing deepened. He pushed the flyaway, raven hairs away from Harry’s forehead. Caressing the matching scar there, he wondered if fate had intervened and bound them together on purpose. Certainly, it felt true; the second his eyes had opened after the lightning hit him, Theo had felt a tug behind his sternum and brought his gaze to Harry’s without realizing he’d done it.
“I can’t sleep when you look at me that way,” a very much awake Harry muttered to him, eyes still closed even as Theo traced the lightning-shaped scar on his head.
Smirking at the way Harry’s body sought his, anchoring their torsos together, Theo let loose a husky chuckle. “Can’t help myself, Potter. You’re fit and breathing heavily. Reminds me what we got up to before you slipped off to sleep.” He trailed his finger from the scar down over the sharp line of Harry’s nose, and then to his full lips. “It was rude, by the way, not reciprocating that fantastic blowjob I gave you.”
Harry’s eyes slid open as his lips twisted up in a smile. “I just finished an eighteen hour shift, you twat.”
“And yet, you were awake enough to enjoy that thing I do with my tong hrmph —”
Harry’s hand wrapped around the back of Theo’s neck and dragged him down against his lips. All thoughts of a reciprocal blowjob were gone, and instead he focused on the delicious way Harry’s tongue swept against his. He pushed himself over his body and deepened the kiss further, earning a delightful moan from the back of Harry’s throat.
The bond they shared through their lightning-shaped scars amplified everything Theo felt. Sparks skittered along his spine and set a fire in his belly as Harry flipped them over and slid down Theo’s body. Winding his hand through the dark hair at the apex of his hips, Theo ran his thumb over the scar at Harry’s hairline—down, to the right, and diagonal, before his eyes fell closed and an incoherent mumble slipped past his lips.
It wasn’t until Harry’s hand climbed up his torso and just over his heart, settling over his scar, that Theo was able to let himself go, unable to stop himself tugging at the roots of his hair and muttering words of praise and love.
Finally, after nearly two days of insomnia, Theo began to fall asleep as Harry’s body curled around his. “Go back to sleep, Potter.”
“Rude,” Harry whispered, tracing the line of Theo’s scar—down, to the right, and diagonal.