Work Text:
“No,” Niall says meaningfully, resolutely, unwaveringly. He tilts his chin upwards a fraction of an inch, tightens his arms across his chest, and digs his socked feet a little more firmly into the carpet like he’s expecting Liam to haul him off. “Absolutely not.”
“Niall,” says Liam patiently, “you don’t even cover half that door, you know.” It’s not a question, but a reminder, because he knows it from the sight in front of him, and he knows that Niall knows it too.
Niall huffs. He makes a big show of uncrossing his arms and splaying them out on either side of his body, until he feels his fingertips brush against the door frame. “No,” he repeats.
“There’s something not right about you trapping me inside the Gryffindor commons—you know, my own commons.” Liam emphasizes these last words, as if the gold and scarlet scarf around his neck is not enough of a reminder.
“You’re not leaving,” Niall says firmly, until another Gryffindor student excuses herself between them, and Niall quickly lowers his arm with a, “Sorry!” to let her pass. Unfortunately, this is all the time Liam needs, and he ducks right after the girl. Niall’s attempt to block him is fruitless, and so is his attempt to grab the back of Liam’s robe and tug him back because he can’t understand why his best friend would willingly want to ruin his life like this.
“Liam, you can’t do this!” he shouts as he scrambles down the hall, dodging one student after another.
If later he hears gossip about some Hufflepuff boy seen running through the hallways in nothing but his pajamas, he adamantly denies all of their accusations.
“You’ve been in love with the same bloke for two years, and instead, you were chasing me out into the snow?”
“Shut up,” Niall says kindly, dropping another book into Liam’s arms. “I couldn’t let you just run out there and tell him.”
Liam sighs, stiffens, then turns his head and sneezes. The sound seems to bounce off the library’s walls, and Niall can only hope they’re deep enough into the bookshelves that no one will find them. Deciding that the stack of books in Liam’s arms is high enough, he comes down from the step ladder.
“You’re helping me study, remember?” he tries to remind Liam on their way back to their table, but his words don’t quite reach his friend’s ears.
They reach their table and Liam is still talking: “Remember when Lydia was looking for a new home for that cat and you wanted it, but you waited too long, so then somebody else took it?”
“I was going to talk to her,” Niall grouses.
“Well, it’s going to be the exact same way with Harry, and once you find out he’s with someone else, you’ll spend a week sulking in your room with a packet of uneaten cat food. Again.”
“First of all, Harry’s not a cat, and I’m taking personal offense to that implication. Second of all—“
“Hi.” A dark-haired boy clad in blue and black appears around the corner.
“Zayn!” Liam grins by way of greeting.
“Hi, Zayn,” Niall says distractedly.
“Mind if I sit?”
“Go ahead.” It’s Liam who replies. “We’re just discussing Niall’s lack of initiative.”
Niall glowers. “Second of all,” he reiterates, “he’s never been with anyone for the whole time I’ve known him.”
“A staggering two years of nearly failing Potions because you’re far too busy staring at him instead of your cauldron,” Liam deadpans, and Niall is torn between feeling proud and feeling attacked. When did Liam’s wit sharpen? “Besides, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t want to be with anyone. Maybe he likes someone.”
Niall cocks an eyebrow. “Hate to break it to you, Liam, but I’ve done my research—“
“And I’m the one in the same house as him.”
There is silence, in which Zayn stands by the table and watches the two stare at each other for several moments.
Niall is the one to break first. “I’m too late,” he moans, then half-staggers, half-drags himself out of his chair and into the nearest aisle, either to gather more books or to sulk.
Liam is fighting back a grin when Zayn finally pulls out a chair and sits in front of him. “Harry’s finally seeing someone?” he asks curiously, reaching for a book and opening it at random.
“Not really.” Liam shrugs, unapologetic. He keeps his voice soft. “But I thought if Niall heard that, he’d finally do something…” He pauses, listening for the telltale sound of Niall’s fingers dragging morosely along the line of books. “I suppose I was wrong.”
“If he wanted to do something, he’s had two years to make a move.” Zayn turns a page impassively.
Liam nods in agreement, until he realizes something. “Wait. Niall told you?”
“Told me what?”
“That he likes Harry.”
“No,” Zayn replies, “but two years ago, when he, Harry, and I were in the same astronomy class, he thought he discovered a new star and wanted to name it after him. It turned out that the star was actually the bottom corner of the big dipper, but that point aside, it was when I figured he liked him.”
“Ah.” Liam leans back in his chair, wondering if best friends should be able to tell when best friends like somebody. He decides not to mention that he has only known since yesterday. “Well. It’s just too bad, because it’s not completely one-sided.”
This draws a reaction from Zayn, who glances up sharply from his book. “He…?”
Liam nods grimly.
A slight frown appears across Zayn’s features. “So why hasn’t either of them…?”
“Because they don’t know,” Liam answers simply. “About each other, I mean.”
“Shouldn’t we tell them, then?”
“Well.” Liam takes some time to consider the piece of paper he’s wedged into his Herbology notes back in his room and the mental layout of a plan he’s been constructing for the last twenty-four hours—and he makes a decision. “I was thinking of something else.” He leans in, as if to share a great secret.
“Does it involve doing something about this?” Zayn makes a general gesture around them. “Honestly, doesn’t Niall remember the time he wanted that cat, and he took too long to ask for it, so—“
“Yes, I remember the cat,” Niall snaps, suddenly reappearing from the shelves.
Liam jerks back in his seat and nearly topples over.
“Liam, please hold off getting hurt until after you help me study,” Niall says. His expression is still unhappy, but unaware of the conversation he has missed, and as he sits and begins perusing a textbook, Liam steadies his chair and meets Zayn’s eyes meaningfully across the table.
“So, I first add a clove of garlic, right…” Niall begins prattling off a list of ingredients for a Magicleanse potion.
“Don’t worry,” Liam assures him. Niall takes it as encouragement for his studies, but Liam means something else, too.
With his plan, Niall needn’t worry at all.
“Good morning,” chirps one of the paintings, but Niall is practically a blur of gold and black, rushing towards his first class before he becomes a half hour late.
“Is that the same boy who was running around in his pajamas the other day?” asks a woman, holding an acrylic pitchfork in her hand.
“I believe so,” replies an oil portrait of a bald man above her. “Adolescents, these days.”
When Niall finally arrives, he immediately begins apologizing to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. To his relief, she appears only mildly bothered and mentions no sort of punishment. Niall allows himself to exhale.
I’m going to kill Louis, he’s thinking, because this is not the first time he’s woken to lemons in his shoes, but that’s for later.
For now, his professor is currently leading him to Harry Styles.
“Uh,” Niall says, a sound stuck somewhere between a proper word and a squeak, and his professor sighs in resignation.
“You and Mr. Styles will be working for the duration of this unit.”
“What?”
The word falls out of his mouth before he can help himself, and it must come out rather bluntly, because uncertainty flickers across Harry’s face. Niall is quick to backtrack:
“I mean— I’ve been Liam’s partner since last week, ma’am.” Upon surveying the room, he realizes that not only is Liam missing, but so is approximately half of his original class…and there are about ten more students that he does not recognize. “Did something happen?”
“Had you been here on time, Mr. Horan,” she says primly, “you would know that. Now get to work.”
Then she’s walking away. Niall is left standing with the Harry Styles, and suddenly, he would rather have the professor glare at him all period—at least she doesn’t make his cheeks light aflame like Harry does.
“Are you all right?” Harry asks, and it’s probably because Niall’s cheeks are becoming an unhealthy shade of red, but his voice is so smooth and languid and it’s all Niall can really focus on. Also, it’s not helping his blush.
It’s as if his tongue can’t decide what to say first, so, to his mortification, they all come out as one jumbled sentence:
“I— Yes, I’m all right, where’s Liam?, I’m Niall, hi?”
Harry gives him a funny look. “Good, he’s probably transitioned to Apparition, I’m Harry, hello?” He doesn’t sound like he’s judging Niall—just a little amused.
Niall wants to die. Or perhaps drink some of that failed camaraderie concoction that made him nothing but green for two days straight. Both options are equally appealing.
“I’m sorry. I’m—stressed.” He hopes his disheveled appearance will make the lie all the more convincing. “You said something about Apparition?”
Harry’s eyes flit downwards for a few seconds, then back up to his own again. He hums. “Apparition classes began today,” he explains. “Everyone who signed up switched over, so they’ve combined both Defense Against the Dark Arts classes until the unit is over.”
“Unit?” Niall echoes.
“Defense against hexes?” Harry prompts.
“Defense against hexes.” Niall nods in understanding.
“Right,” says Harry.
“Right.” Maybe, Niall thinks, if I tell him how Louis put lemons in my shoe, he’ll understand why I’m so scatter-brained this morning— “Should we, uh, start?”
“Should we start?” Harry parrots.
Niall blinks, distantly aware that he has to crane his head a little to compensate for Harry’s height advantage, and how there’s a little part of him that is secretly pleased with it. “What?”
Harry cocks his head. “What?”
You’re making fun of me, Niall realizes, but apparently he has said it out loud, because there’s a hint of a grin on Harry’s face. “Just a little,” he says, and Niall thinks he can fall in love all over again with his Cupid’s bow lips and green, green eyes.
Before he can come up with a smart response, Harry wisely suggests, “I think we should get started.”
“Yes.” Niall can’t quite keep the happiness from his voice. “Would you like to go first?”
“—so I cast the hex at him, and he must have been unprepared because it nearly caught him off-guard, but he was able to deflect it in time. Liam, you should have seen his technique. Even if he wasn’t prepared, he was still graceful. The way he held his wand, the way he moved…”
Liam nods along in exaggerated rapture. It’s partly out of support and partly out of fear. After all, they are in the Hufflepuff commons, and he’s heard rumors of Niall’s strange little traps around the place. As a result, Liam has moved a grand total of two times in the past fifteen minutes: once to reach for a tissue box, and another time to withdraw his hand when he realized it was too far away to reach without moving a foot. Also, Niall looks dangerously deep in thought.
“I just…” The blond trails off softly. Niall is one of the easiest people to read, Liam thinks, so when he meets his bright blue eyes, he can see the distress there. “Oh, God, I almost killed him.”
Liam groans. Just when he thought they were finally getting somewhere. “It’s not like you scared him to the point of asking for another partner.”
“I almost killed him, and now I’m probably about to fail Defense Against the Dark Arts, and I still haven’t successfully brewed a Magicleanse potion so I’m probably going to fail Potions too, and—“
“Well, it’s not my fault you’ve been obsessed with making Magicleanse ever since you dumped your drink all over him. Does he even remember it was you?”
“Of course he does!” Niall sounds all the more indignant: “That reminds me! How could you leave me yesterday?“
“You knew I signed up for Apparition.”
“You didn’t tell me you were switching yesterday. And you didn’t warn me that I’d be paired up with—“
“The love of your life?” Liam refrains from explaining that he had subtly suggested to their Professor that Harry, who was not very good with defensive reflexes, should be paired with Niall, who was considerably more adept. He continues: “The apple of your eyes? The boy of your dreams?”
Then Zayn is there, ambling over from Niall’s bookcase and chiming in with a, “The object of your deepest, sincerest affections?” for which Liam gives him a high five and Niall, flushed pink, shouts, “Stop that!” Whether he’s referring to Zayn’s seemingly magical ability to appear without anyone noticing or to their relentless teasing, it isn’t quite clear.
“I’m serious,” he says at the end of their laughter. “I don’t want to scare him away. I really like him.” This, he says meekly but sincerely, and it strikes even Zayn’s cool, rational mind.
“We’re going out to Hogsmeade to celebrate, tomorrow night,” Zayn tells him. “A new café that just opened. Want to come?” Like most Ravenclaws, however, he doesn’t really pose it as a question; Niall knows that the answer will be yes, no matter what his mouth says.
He raises his eyes to meet Zayn’s. “Is that the one with the hot chocolate that everyone calls magical?”
“As magical it can be in a world that’s literally founded on magic, yes,” Zayn says, and Niall pretends to roll his eyes.
“You know what I meant.” Slowly, the embarrassment of having nearly killed his crush is fading, and Niall runs a hand through his hair. “We should probably get to dinner.”
There seems to be a general agreement, so he and Zayn begin walking towards the door.
“Uh, guys?” Liam’s voice stops them in the middle of the doorway.
“Why haven’t you moved?” Zayn queries.
Liam doesn’t look at him, instead giving Niall a meaningful look. He doesn’t say out loud, I pissed Niall off and now I don’t know which spots on the floor are booby-trapped, but it’s implied. Niall is pleased.
“Two steps forward and one step to the left,” he says brightly, then leaves the room.
Liam and Zayn share a look.
“At least he didn’t question what we were celebrating,” Zayn offers, and then he’s leaving too, and Liam is alone, surrounded by traps that only an angry, passive-aggressive Hufflepuff can devise.
He follows Niall’s directions, prepared for the worst, but he surprisingly makes it to the door unscathed. Liam sighs in relief, quickening his pace in order to catch up.
Dinner continues smoothly until a Howler makes its way to Liam’s place, where it proceeds to park mid-air and, well, howl, “LIAM JAMES PAYNE, HOW DARE YOU BETRAY THE TRUST I GAVE YOU WHEN I TOLD YOU OF MY MOST VALUABLE SECRETS? I WAS UNDER THE IMPRESSION THAT THE BLOOD PACT WE MADE WITH KETCHUP WAS OF THE UTMOST SERIOUSNESS, BUT IT IS CLEAR THAT I WAS WRONG. THIS IS RETRIBUTION. Also, I rubbed poison ivy on the insides of your socks earlier. Cheers, Niall.”
Liam’s face is beet red before the Howler can even finish tearing itself to pieces.
Niall wraps his scarf a little tighter around his neck and hurries down the street of shops. How Zayn had managed to procure a slip that gave him permission to leave school grounds, Niall has no idea, but he is certainly not complaining.
There are few students milling around, as most were only allowed to leave on the first and third weekends of each month. When Niall finally reaches the newly opened café, there are even fewer customers inside. He’s thankful for that – he’s not shy by any means, but he has never been fond of small places packed with people.
It appears that he is the first to arrive out of whomever Zayn has invited—though, knowing him, it would only be himself, Niall, and Liam. They’ve become a surprisingly close trio over the years, but Niall still has hope that Zayn will one day expand his social circle.
A Hufflepuff, a Ravenclaw, and a Gryffindor walk into a café, he muses silently as he takes a seat at one of the stools by the counter. It sounds like the beginning of a bad joke.
“We’ll be right with you,” someone calls from the back.
Niall raises a thumbs-up. When he realizes that there is a wall separating them and his gesture must look half-mad to everyone else, he sheepishly lowers his hand.
“You only look half-mad,” an interloper comments, and Niall startles.
There’s Harry, shrugging off his brown coat and loosening his tasseled scarf. His long legs are clad in dark pants that only accentuate their length, and his boots clink against the metal part of the stool as he takes a seat next to Niall.
Now things are really beginning to sound like a joke, Niall thinks. “You’re a pessimist, then?” he tries.
“Me?” Harry’s eyebrows furrow in an endearing display of confusion.
Ah. “You know, because it’s the same as looking at a glass half-full or half-empty, and saying half-mad is the same as saying half-empty, so you’re a pessimist…” Niall can feel a little part of his heart slowly dying. Stop talking, it pleads for mercy, so Niall clamps his mouth shut.
“Oh. Oh, I get it.”
Lo and behold, Harry Styles looks not disturbed. If anything, he looks delighted with that slight grin. “Okay, I’ve got one for you too.” The stool squeaks and he turns to face Niall, rubbing his hands together, green eyes sparkling. “Did you hear about the kidnapping the other day?”
Niall’s jaw drops. “A kidnapping—? What kind of a joke is—“
“No, no, don’t worry.” Harry lays a hand atop his and stares into his eyes earnestly. “I heard the kid finally woke up.”
Niall stares, and Harry stares back.
“You…” Niall begins.
Harry bursts out into laughter. “You were about to fall for it,” he crows. “No, you did fall for it.”
“I—“
“Get it? It was a kid napping, so the kid finally—“
“Stop, stop. If you explain the joke, it loses its charm.” Niall punctuates the last word with a flimsy wave of his hand.
That’s when he realizes that his other hand is still on the counter and currently trapped under Harry’s warm palm. Harry, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to notice, and Niall doesn’t know if he is genuinely unaware, or if he likes making people’s hearts skip a beat.
“The same way you explained yours?” Harry asks, and he’s teasing.
“Yes.” Niall summons his inner actor in order to nod grimly. “And look where that got me.”
“Another joke lost,” Harry agrees emphatically. “It’s all right, I’ve got enough to last a lifetime.”
“A lifetime?”
“A lifetime. Here’s another: Why do b—“
They are interrupted by a young man who suddenly rushes out from the back, his apron flapping. “I’m sorry it took so long,” he tells Niall and Harry, “but the helpers were being rather…unhelpful.” In the distance, they hear the tiny shouts of some angry creature.
“No problem,” Harry tells him, although Niall doesn’t completely share the sentiment; that had been a rather nice conversation.
“What could I get for you today?” the man asks, smoothing his apron down. “We have a Valentine’s Day offer of two heart-hot chocolates for the price of one.”
Niall wonders if he gives that offer to everyone, then sees that he and Harry are still technically holding hands. At that moment, he meets Harry’s eyes and freezes, thinking that the awkwardness will finally settle in.
But Harry surprises him for the umpteenth time by squeezing his hand, nodding seriously towards the man. “I think that sounds great,” he answers, and it takes Niall a few seconds to realize that he’s asking for his approval.
“Uh, yeah,” he adds quickly. “That, please.”
The man simply nods. “It might be a while,” he warns, before disappearing through the back doors again. There is a brief cacophony of tiny, high-pitched yelling, until the door swings shut and the café is doused in silence.
An old man sitting by the window turns his newspaper.
“Hope that was okay,” Harry finally says.
He pulls his hand away, and Niall allows the bitter wave of disappointment to wash over him. It ebbs quickly, though; he’s still sitting in a mostly-empty café with Harry. This could be a date. There is only him, Harry, and the old man—
“What brings you here?” he asks without meaning to.
Harry’s expression turns unreadable, and his body shifts away from Niall slightly. Niall, though he’s not sure why, feels like it was the wrong thing to say.
“Zayn said something about celebrating,” he says.
“Huh,” Niall says. “He told me that, too.” His tone is innocent, but suspicion is beginning to prickle in the back of his mind. Liam could have easily swayed Zayn to his side. After all, over the recent days, Niall has spotted them talking together quietly more times than he is comfortable with.
“I don’t suppose he told you exactly what he was celebrating?” Harry questions at the same time the back door opens and out comes the young man, shaking something off his leg.
“Not a thing.” Niall shakes his head as the man sets two mugs in front of them.
“Well.” Harry doesn’t give this too much thought, lifting his mug and blowing at the rising steam.
Niall looks down at his own and admires the foam heart swirling over the surface of the liquid, pebbled by quaint heart-shaped marshmallows. “Magical hot chocolate,” he says by way of praise, raising the mug to his face and inhaling its sweet scent.
Harry smiles. “There’s our celebration.” He holds his mug out to Niall, and whatever had bothered him before is gone now, replaced by a crooked smile. “To magical hot chocolate.”
“To magical hot chocolate,” Niall agrees.
They toast.
Niall thinks he knows what’s going on, days before he finally admits it out loud. He starts seeing Harry everywhere—he appears at the library during the same period that Niall is studying, he happens to have a book that Niall desperately needs for Potions, and they start crossing paths in hallways that Niall has never seen him in before.
And it’s—it’s odd, yes, but it’s also nice, because Harry brings a sort-of atmosphere that’s very warm and very bright, and when he sits down exactly in front of Niall so that it only takes a raise of his head to look into his bright eyes, Niall feels his heart flutter.
Their time at the café had gone easily. Niall can’t find any other word for it. He’s not sure why he’s been so afraid of talking to Harry before, when the words seem to naturally fall between them. Harry seems to actually care about what Niall says, his head angled towards Niall as he listens in rapt attention.
“I hate it,” he wails to Zayn one morning, after a particular incident with Harry in the morning. (Harry had finally told him the joke he meant to say at the café: “Why does a banana need to wear a lot of suntan lotion? Because it peels easily!”) They’re on their way to Divination, and Zayn looks spectacularly unperturbed by the panicking boy next to him.
“It’s for the best,” is his cryptic response.
Ten minutes into Divination, Harry walks in and Zayn’s message finally becomes clear to Niall.
“I’m going to kill them—“ he whispers sharply, though the rest of his threat is overpowered by Professor Trelawney.
“Mr. Styles, arriving just as I expected. I know you do not have to be anywhere of importance, so would you be so kind as to help us?”
Harry blinks, resembling, as the Muggles said, a deer caught in headlights. “I just forgot—“
“Your Herbology notes, yes, I know. However, Mr. Tomlinson is not with us today, and Mr. Horan does not have a partner. Sit with him, please.”
Harry sighs like he’s tired, but when he looks around and catches sight of Niall, his face brightens up a little. He grabs a pile of papers from Professor Trelawney’s desk before heading across the classroom and dropping into the chair beside Niall.
Meanwhile, Niall tries to meet Liam’s stare across the room, only for the Gryffindor boy to look at the walls in blatant ignorance. He gives up on trying to incapacitate Liam by staring and starts fiddling with his fingers, trying not to notice how Harry’s leg brushes lightly against his own. Please don’t let it be a practice day, he pleads silently, although there’s a large part of him that’s saying, Yes, please let it be a practice day.
“Today will be a practice day,” says Professor Trelawney, which elicits a noise from Niall that sounds like a laugh and a cry rolled into one.
He feels something nudge his shin. You okay? Harry mouths from across their tiny circular table, and Niall gives him a weak nod of reassurance.
They’ve been given instructions before, and Professor Trelawney only needs to tell them, “Begin,” before the students break out into chatter, reaching for each other’s hands across their tables.
Niall sighs and reaches for Harry’s.
“So we meet again,” Harry’s saying, his hand ever warm and pliant in Niall’s own.
“I feel like I’m going to read your palm and find some sign that will tell us we’ll meet again tomorrow,” Niall tells him as he runs his fingers over smooth skin. “Yup. Here it is.” He lays two fingers over the center of Harry’s palm. “At precisely ten o’clock tomorrow, you will drop from the sky and land in front of me in another event of coincidence.”
“No, no.” Harry looks troubled, leaning down to squint at his own hand. “It clearly says that I’ll already be in the same room even before ten o’clock.”
Niall passes him a look of exaggerated wonder. “You have a true gift.”
“I do,” Harry agrees. “It might also be that ten o’clock is right in the middle of our Defense Against the Dark Arts Class, and I’ve been your partner for the past week, give or take.” His eyes wander over to something behind Niall’s head, and when Niall turns around, he spots Zayn in the middle of looking at them. The dark-haired boy quickly looks back down at his own partner’s hand.
Niall isn’t sure if there’s a gentle way of saying, I think my friends are trying to hook us up, and I’m really sorry that they’ve been bothering you, but I’m also not very sorry at all, because I’ve thought you have been the most wonderful person since I spilled coffee all over your coat on the first day we met.
He settles for an eloquent, “Yeah, that too.”
He decides he’ll confront Liam and Zayn about it later. Harry’s switching between looking at his hand and at the door, and Niall feels guilty, like it’s partly his fault that Harry came for his notes and got stuck holding hands with him—again. So in order to make things less painless, Niall shifts in his seat and focuses on Harry’s palm; the faster he finishes this, the faster Harry can leave.
“This is your head line, right here,” he says. His voice must be soft against the sound of everyone else talking, and he thinks Harry leans in closer to listen. Niall traces the second curved line on his palm that formed the second downwards stroke of the M on his palm. “The markings here mean that something significant will happen in your youth…” He pauses. “Or does it mean it will happen in your old age?” He doesn’t remember.
“So my luck will either turn within the next few years, or after a few decades?” Harry says lightly.
“Sounds about right,” Niall agrees. “And this.” He shifts his fingers up a few centimeters until they rest on a parallel line. “This is your heart line. It’s pretty straight and parallel, which…” He stops and shakes his head.
“What?” Harry asks.
Professor Trelawney saves Niall from having to explain, exclaiming, “Technique! I see many problems with technique! One must be careful to distinguish between the lines…”
The rest of the class lapses into a lecture that leaves no more room for conversation. When class finishes, Niall stands up and marches over to Liam and Zayn, and then proceeds to haul them both out of the room. Well, he doesn’t physically haul them from the room; his sharp gaze alone is enough to send his friends obeying. As he begins his tirade, he misses the way Harry tries to call after him.
“Slice the crocodile eye,” Niall reads out loud as the substance gives way under his knife. He’s sitting in the middle of an empty, quiet room, with nothing but his books, his cauldron, and himself. Really, the Room of Requirement is the only entity thus far that has never disappointed him.
He drops the eye into the mixture and flips the page. “Stir once clockwise…then thrice counter-clockwise…”
On the third counter-clockwise stir, the cauldron fizzes happily, and Niall beams. It smells distinctly of the Muggle product Lysol, which means it doesn’t smell like burning, which means he hasn’t done anything incorrectly yet, which means he may finally, for the first time in two years, succeed.
“Now, let simmer.” He taps the spoon against the rim of the cauldron before taking it out completely and laying it out next to the book.
Then he flops on his back and exhales loudly.
Valentine’s Day.
It’s Valentine’s Day, and he’s in some empty closet trying to make a potion. Others were out there, eating chocolate—and he’s here making a potion for a mistake that he made two years ago.
“It’s the thought that counts,” he huffs to himself. There is also the fact that he hasn’t been able to get chocolates and therefore has nothing to present to Harry. Of course, they have barely spoken outside of class since he finally told Liam and Zayn to stop meddling, which must mean Harry only sought him out because Liam must have told him to.
And Niall is fine. Really. It’s not like he hasn’t filled up thirty-one flasks of failed Magicleanse potions and spent approximately eight hours trying to perfect it. It’s not like his robe has been discarded on the floor and his shoes have been thrown at the wall in frustration and his chin is ashen from the one time the cauldron unexpectedly poufed.
No. Not at all.
He simply wants to make amends, so that he can give it to Harry, they can call it a truce and maybe be friends, and Niall can spend the rest of his life pining.
He turns his head and squints at the book, wondering why it doesn’t specify how long the mixture should simmer.
Amidst considering sending a letter of complaint to the textbook author, the door opens.
“Hey,” Niall starts in irritation—he’s very, very close and he’s not willing to tolerate some lost first year accidentally stumbling into the Room of Requirement, but the boy who enters is not a first year and makes Niall’s irritation deflate like a balloon.
“Niall?” Harry asks in a small voice. Tall, a little hunched, curls held back by a headband, hands clasped behind his back, eyes still green.
Of course it’s him.
“What’s this?” he asks.
Niall feels vaguely concerned that Harry can see his rumpled state and his soon-to-be-surprise right there, but lack of sleep makes it difficult to care. He finds himself answering, “Magicleanse.”
Harry gestures to the plethora of flasks. “Did you stain your entire wardrobe, or…?”
“No, no.” Niall has to chuckle at that, waving the suggestion away. “Remember two years ago? When some guy sat next to you on the train platform, said hi, then spilled his drink all over you?”
Harry raises an eyebrow. “Yeah. Do you?” He asks this calmly, like he’s always known, like he hasn’t thought of the incident at least once every day since and felt some twinge of regret. “Wait,” he suddenly says, “are you saying you’ve been trying to make Magicleanse for me?”
Niall groans, dropping his head back to the floor and covering his face in sheepishness. “Maybe,” he says into his hands. “If you’ll excuse me, I’d like to wallow in my embarrassment alone. Are you lost?”
“Actually,” Harry begins. Niall hears the sound of the door clicking shut, followed by footsteps. He opens his eyes in time to see Harry standing above him, finally unclasping his hands.
In a flurry of black and red and gold, he reveals a bouquet of roses.
“Ah,” says Niall, quite dumbstruck.
“They’re for you.” From where he’s lying, he can see red creeping up Harry’s cheeks to the tips of his ears. “I— I was looking for you.”
Niall pushes himself up to a sitting position as Harry kneels down, flowers still out. “And you found me,” he says, and he doesn’t care if it sounds cheesy. He’s studying Harry’s face, the fondness written clear across his features. He realizes it’s not a far cry from the looks that Harry has given him before—and he wonders how he’s missed it all this time.
“The Room of Requirement usually lets you do that, and right now,” Harry says, offering a hand, “I require you to stand up and take these flowers, because the floor looks uncomfortable.”
“It’s very comfortable,” Niall says lightly, but he takes Harry’s hand and doesn’t let go even when he’s on his feet ten seconds later, holding the roses in one hand and Harry’s in the other.
“So,” he says.
“So,” Harry echoes.
They’re both smiling then, words spoken without being said aloud, and when Niall leans up to touch his lips to Harry’s cheek, it’s gratifying, it’s momentous, it’s long-awaited for two years.
“I think you let it simmer for too long,” Harry whispers, and he’s surely referring to the cauldron that’s producing strange, purple bubbles.
“Ah, well,” is all Niall says, before he envelops the other boy in a hug.
Harry very much returns it.
That night’s dinner, Liam spends his time staring forlornly at the students exchanging boxes of chocolate and imagining what could have been, if he and Zayn had simply accomplished their self-appointed task.
“We tried,” Zayn offers in an attempt to console him.
It is at that precise moment that a Howler enters the hall, zipping down the line of students and heading straight for Liam like an arrow seeking its mark.
It halts in the air in front of him.
“LIAM JAMES PAYNE, I STILL CAN’T BELIEVE YOU ACTUALLY DID ALL OF THAT TO ME,” the Howler howls. “DID YOU KNOW THAT BY THE TIME YOU GET THIS MESSAGE, I’VE PROBABLY MADE FIFTY-THREE ATTEMPTS TO BREW A MAGICLEANSE POTION? Also, Harry and I have had changes of heart, and we’re going for a fly. Since his broomstick’s under repair, we’ve decided to use yours. Cheers, Niall and Harry."