Work Text:
The castle feels quiet this year. Zayn knows that’s stupid, knows it’s just as loud as it always has been, with students running around and ghosts drifting through walls and paintings making commentary and the odd spell going off—but it feels quiet. It’s weird, that feeling, because usually coming back to the castle feels like a burst of noise. Like somehow magic has a sound, and home is magicless and silent, just him and his family and his books.
But this year…this year, there’s no Louis in the train compartment next to him, pooling their pocket money for snacks from the cart, telling him in great detail everything he did that summer and all his plans for next year. There’s no Louis making faces at him from the Gryffindor table during the feast. There’s no Louis to plop down next to him at breakfast and horrify all the Ravenclaws by loudly and emphatically looking at Zayn’s schedule and comparing it to his, this year and last, and informing him exactly how awful it’s going to be.
It shouldn’t even be this different, Zayn thinks, as he heads down to the dungeons for his NEWT Potions class. Louis was always a year older than him, so they were never in the same classes; they hadn’t even been in the same house, so they couldn’t hang out in each other’s common rooms (even if Louis had made it his mission to answer the eagle’s riddle). Zayn had other friends, Ravenclaws who he lounged by the fire with, other classmates, even Gryffindors like Liam, who was Louis’s friend but had become Zayn’s too by sheer proximity. But he’s never been at Hogwarts without Louis there, since he happened to catch him cursing Adolphus Mogal’s toad on the train his first year and hadn’t covered for him instead of turning him in. Without Louis there to know him better than he knows himself, to catch people’s eyes so Zayn doesn’t have to.
He can be here alone, though. He knows that. Louis’s having the time of his life off with the Bangers, from the owls he sends Zayn when he can, and Zayn can do this on his own. He’s not the lost little boy Louis took under his wing after that moment on the train anymore.
He reminds himself of that, sternly, then enters the Potions dungeon. Slughorn’s puttering at front, and the class is slowly filling up, people being less prompt than usual given it’s the first class of the new year. Zayn glances around, but he’s the only Ravenclaw taking NEWT level Potions this year, apparently. He had thought so, but sometimes someone might want to add something last minute. Zayn would rather not be here, if he’s being honest—Potions had never been his strong point—but it’s necessary for him to know, so here he is.
He sets his bag on the floor next to him, and is flipping through his book when laughter fills the air. Zayn, like everyone else, looks over. In the doorway two boys in robes and Hufflepuff pins are laughing. Zayn only spares them a glance because he likes Niall, whose hair is a star-spangled green today, and because it almost looks like they’re looking in his direction. The taller one is ducking his head, then he elbows Niall, who laughs again before they both trip across the room—right at Zayn.
It takes Zayn a bit aback, but he and Niall are friends, even if, like most of Zayn’s friends, he was friends with Louis first. They do know each other well enough that it makes sense that Niall should come over and claim the station across from Zayn, even if it’s a bit weirder his friend takes the one next to Zayn, instead of next to Niall.
“Zayn!” Niall grins his greeting. Zayn’s always wanted to find a way to bottle his smile, somehow, see if he could make a killing off of the sunshine of it. “Nice to see you, man. How was your summer?”
“Good. You know, quiet. You?”
“Sick! Went on, like, a tour with these warlocks I met in a pub, ended up in—” The boy next to Zayn clears his throat, and Niall laughs again. “Sorry. Harry, this is Zayn. Zayn, Harry.”
Zayn turns fully to look at the boy next to him. He’s tall, a good few inches taller than Zayn, and even if Zayn thinks he might be a bit broader in the shoulder this guy fills out his robes more than Zayn ever could. His hair is pulled back from his face by a Hufflepuff scarf that’s bright against his chestnut hair, and he’s smiling like sunshine too, though a different sort than Niall’s. This is high noon, Zayn thinks, almost blinded by the force of it, and Niall’s is more like early morning.
“Hi, Zayn!” Harry says, sticking his hand out enthusiastically. “I’m—”
“Think everyone knows who Harry Styles is,” Zayn interrupts. He almost winces, at the gracelessness of it—this is why he needs Louis to talk for him—but it’s true. Everyone knows Harry Styles, Hufflepuff keeper, widely reputed to be the most sought after Hufflepuff for a date since Cedric Diggory himself.
Luckily, Harry doesn’t seem offended. He just smiles harder, and keeps his hand out until Zayn thinks to put his in it. “Well, I don’t know who you are. Which seems a crime, really. How didn’t I meet you before?”
Zayn shrugs. “I tend to stick to myself,” he explains. It’s true enough. Louis doesn’t count.
“You knew Niall.” Harry juts out his bottom lip in a pout, almost like he’s blaming Zayn for not knowing him before.
But Zayn’s been immune to being guilted into or out of things by three sisters and a manipulative as fuck best friend, so he just chuckles. “Well, everyone knows Niall, don’t they?”
“It’s true,” Niall admits, and Harry laughs, his eyes bright on Zayn.
Those eyes don’t seem to leave Zayn at all as Slughorn reads off the assignment—“a nice simple thing, to ease you in!”—and leaves them to it. In fact, Zayn only really feels them move when Harry curses quietly, and Zayn looks away from his diced mogswort to see Harry waving his finger in the air.
“Haz, not again,” Niall sighs, like this is normal. “Profess—”
“Don’t worry.” Zayn grabs Harry’s hand, and Harry instantly stops waving it to turn those big eyes on Zayn again, as Zayn rests the injured finger on his palm. Harry has warm, big hands, his fingers almost spanning Zayn’s hand, crossing lines in a way Zayn was sure Divination experts would have a field day with. “Episkey,” he mutters, tapping the cut with his wand. Six years of adventurous Gryffindor friends has made him pretty apt with a healing charm.
“Brilliant, Zayn,” Niall mutters, and goes back to his dicing. Harry looks at the blemish free skin, then up at Zayn.
“Wow, thanks!”
“No problem.” Zayn shrugs. He feels like he should move his hand away, but Harry isn’t moving his, so if he moved his Harry’s hand would fall. “But, be careful, yeah? These things could be poisonous.” It’s such a stupid thing to say—Harry got into a NEWT class, of course he knows that—but it’s out of Zayn’s mouth before he can think better of it.
“Oh, Haz is always a klutz,” Niall informs him. Harry glares at him.
“I’m not! I’m just spatially challenged, sometimes.”
“Spatially challenged?” Zayn repeats, laugh, and Harry’s glare disappears to beam at him.
“Yeah, like, I trip on things. But not because I’m clumsy!”
“Then what was this?” Zayn asks. He should get back to his dicing, probably. But it’s hard to remember that with Harry’s sheepish smile.
“This? This was—” he blinks, shakes his head, like he’s having some sort of argument with himself. “I just got distracted. Not clumsy!”
“Okay,” Zayn agrees, laughing, and goes back to his work.
---
Zayn’s potion is the correct pastel blue by the time Slughorn calls them to order, so he’s not worried while Slughorn makes his rounds, glancing in each cauldron with commentary. But Harry is shifting between his feet, like he’s nervous—and everyone knows Harry Styles is never nervous—so Zayn looks over. His potion is a royal blue that makes Zayn think he forgot to add in a counterclockwise stir a few times. It’s not awful, it’ll still do most things except there’ll be a hiccupping side effect and the subject’s ears might become furry for a while, but it’s maybe E material.
Sure enough, Slughorn tsks when he sees it. “Not quite up to your usual, Styles!” he informs the room. Harry looks away. “Pressure getting to you?”
“No, sir.” Harry’s smiling when he looks back up, almost like he really doesn’t care. “Just need to ease back into it, I guess.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll improve! Need you in top form for those NEWTs.”
Harry grins, and Slughorn smiles back and moves on to Zayn’s potion.
“Very good,” he says. Zayn’s never been one of his favorites, or anything near it—poor Muggle-born Ravenclaw, smart but not brilliant, too quiet to be anything important. But he’s never gotten on Slughorn’s bad side, either, and he’s always had that one magic connection. “And how’s Tomlinson doing, these days? I’m sure you’ve heard from him if anyone has!”
Zayn shrugs. “He’s doing well. Enjoying himself.”
“Good, good.” Slughorn stirs his potion, then nods. “Add a bit more dragon liver here, but it looks quite satisfactory.”
Zayn nods, and Slughorn moves on to Niall’s cauldron. Harry’s still looking at Zayn; maybe he feels like Zayn showed him up, somehow. “You okay?” Zayn asks under his breath.
Harry nearly jumps. He’s really jumpy in general, really. After so many years of Louis, it’s kind of nice being the one who isn’t always being surprised. “What? I wasn’t—Yeah. I mean. Why wouldn’t I be?” He laughs, shakes his head, and pushes back a lock of hair out of his face. It’s unfairly charming. “Sorry.”
“It’s fine. And, you know, the clockwise stir’s hard to remember when you’re doing so many, it’s nothing to worry about forgetting one.”
“Forgetting.” Harry’s still playing with his hair, with the ends of that yellow scarf. “Yeah, right, that’s.” He grins, dimples deep in his cheeks. “That’s what happened, exactly, nothing else.”
“Really?” Niall asks. Slughorn must have moved on. “You weren’t distracted or anything?”
“No,” Harry snaps, but there’s no heat in it. “I forgot, Niall, didn’t you hear?”
“Yeah, I heard.”
“Then that’s what happened.” Harry says it like the saying of it makes it a fact, like the words themselves are a spell. “Anyway, Zayn, where are you going next?”
“Um, the Ancient Runes?” Zayn pulls his schedules out of his bag to check. “Yeah, Ancient Runes.”
“Great! That’s near where I’m going too.”
“Weren’t you going back to the Common—”
“It’s where I’m going,” Harry repeats, grinning like he hadn’t just jinxed Niall’s mouth closed. “We can walk together!”
“Sure?” Zayn can’t help but smile in the force of the beam Harry’s pointed at him. He feels a bit like he did the first day he met Louis, all that energy coming over him at once, dragging him along to his compartment with him, but he’s not eleven, and he has energy of his own. “If it’s not too far away from your common room, that is.”
“Just a hop and a skip,” Harry assures him, as they rinse off their cauldrons. “Come on, you can tell what Ancient Runes even is, because I’ve never really been sure.”
---
“No really, I don’t get how I didn’t meet you before,” Harry says, as he settles into the station next to Zayn’s again the next Potions class. Zayn’s a bit surprised, really, that he’s still there, but people do tend to fall into habits. “Like, you’re hard not to notice.”
Zayn shrugs. “I keep to myself.” It’s not all of it, of course. It’s that he’s spent six years or so in Louis’s shadow, being the quiet background to Louis’s noise. He never minded it—it’s where he likes it best, a bit to the side of the spotlight—but it means he’s never really shone, not like Louis did. “And I hung out a lot with the year above us.”
“Oh, too cool for our year?” Harry asks. Zayn narrows his eyes, trying to decide if there’s malice behind that, but it looks like it’s just teasing, so Zayn laughs too.
“Nah, just, Louis was a year older, so I hung out with all of his friends, you know?”
“Louis?”
“Yeah, my…” Zayn doesn’t even know how to describe who Louis is. Best friend isn’t enough, somehow. Brother comes close, but it’s not right either, because he loves Louis differently than how he loves his sisters. “Louis Tomlinson,” he explains, finally, “He graduated last year, Gryffindor Beater, you know?”
“Oh, right. Him.” Harry glances away, towards his cauldron. Niall is keeping oddly silent, but he’s always been good for that. “So you—”
“Settle down!” Slughorn calls, and Harry bites his lip and doesn’t say anything more.
Or, he doesn’t say anything until they’ve started on their potion for today, the beginnings of a Wideye Potion that they’ll finish up next class. Harry’s found his smile again, apparently, because he’s almost bouncing as they gather up the ingredients and return to their station.
“Oh, wow!” Harry grabs at Zayn’s wrist. Zayn avoids his hand out of instinct, but when Harry gives him an odd look, he remembers this isn’t Louis grabbing him for some sort of prank, and lets Harry catch him, lets him turn his wrist over so he can look at the ink revealed there by the loose robe. “That’s so cool!”
“Thanks.” Zayn grins. He loves Hogwarts, but the robes that cover up all his ink during the school week are some of the worst parts. “It’s—”
“Why isn’t it moving, though?” Harry cuts him off, prodding at the flower over Zayn’s vein like that will provoke it.
Again, it doesn’t seem like there’s malice in the question, so Zayn just laughs. “It’s muggle ink. Not going to move.”
“Muggle ink?” Harry pushes at it again. His hand is hot, somehow, hotter than it should be, and it almost wraps all around Zayn’s wrist. “Why?”
Zayn shrugs, but that’s—that’s not what most people ask, when they see his tattoos. “I get them when I’m home.”
“Home? So you’re—”
“Muggle born,” Zayn snaps, and yanks his wrist away. He knew it would be a thing. It always is, somehow. Or if it’s not, it’s a thing that he doesn’t renounce it, doesn’t forget where he’s from. Harry has a pureblood sort of air about him, a poshness. He turns back to his cauldron. It doesn’t matter.
Harry’s quiet for another moment, then, softly, “It doesn’t matter.”
Zayn snorts.
“No, it doesn’t!” Harry shakes his head so fiercely that his hair gets in his eyes. It’s kind of cute, Zayn has to admit. “I was just wondering. I’m pureblood myself, more or less—like, not a Black or anything, I think I’ve got some muggle in me somewhere, but it’s mostly magic through and through. The ink’s cool, though! It’s more solid like this.”
Zayn blinks, and turns to Harry. No one’s ever said that before either. No one’s understood that. That he needs the ink not to move, needs something solid and constant on his body, needs it like he needs the memory of his family back home, like he needs Louis’s owls to keep him grounded. “Yeah,” he says, and smiles tentatively at Harry. Harry grins back. “And, I like the artistry of this. It’s always just what I wanted, you know? But I’ve got some wizard tats as well.”
“Yeah?” Something changes in Harry’s smile, and for an instant Zayn thinks he sees the Harry Styles that gets girls lining up to ask him to Hogsmeade. “Maybe you can show them to me sometime.”
Zayn raises his eyebrows. He can give as good as he gets, sometimes. “Well…” he trails off, and Harry leans forward, like Zayn’s going to tell him a secret. “There’s this one.” He rolls up his sleeve a bit farther, to find the bird that he originally got on his hand but likes to hang out around his elbow.
Harry’s lips twitch, like he was expecting something else but is pleasantly surprised, then leans in to inspect it, grabbing Zayn’s wrist to see all the other ones on his sleeve. “What about—fuck!” he swears, letting go of Zayn to fan at his boiling cauldron and noxious fumes coming off of it.
“Watch it!” Niall yelps, and Zayn flinches away from it, laughing, as Harry starts to stir frantically.
---
Over the next two weeks, Harry manages to cut open his finger three times, spill boiling water on himself once, and turn his skin polka-dotted, and somehow Potions is still the highlight of Zayn’s week. It’s just…in Potions, he doesn’t remember the absence at his side, doesn’t remember how even if he hangs out with Liam or any of the other Gryffindors, it still feels like something’s missing, something not even Louis’s regular letters can help. But in Potions, it feels like Zayn’s laughing too hard at Harry and Niall’s antics to remember that.
But still, Zayn’s getting a bit worried, because Harry hasn’t really nailed a potion yet. He’s gotten by, because Slughorn likes him, and that’s enough, for Slughorn’s class, but it won’t be for the exams. He’s not quite sure why Harry’s having so much trouble—he’s plenty smart enough—but he always misses things.
“Hey,” Zayn says quietly as Harry gazes forlornly at another cauldron without the tell-tale bronze sheen. “Just add some dragon’s breath next class, it should settle.”
“Yeah.” Harry shakes his head at it. “I forgot to stir in the silverweed completely.”
“That’ll do it.” Zayn slides his book into his bag, Harry waiting patiently next to him. Harry’s taken to walking him to his Ancient Runes class every week, even if Zayn’s pretty sure he just heads back to the Hufflepuff common room after, but it’s nice to have the company for a while. “I could, like—if you wanted…”
“Wanted what?” Harry bounces on his feet. His grin somehow encompasses the group of third year girls walking towards the dungeons, who turn in on themselves and start giggling. “Bet I do.”
Zayn rolls his eyes. Harry flirts like he breathes. “We could study together? If you wanted? I could maybe give you some pointers?”
Harry blinks, then dimples deeper. “Yeah! That’d be great! I’d love that.”
“Cool, I—” Zayn’s eyes narrow as he catches sight of the group of fourth years at the end of the hall, a bunch of Gryffindors and a Slytherin if he sees them right. “One second.”
He jogs forward, so he catches the end of a Gryffindor boy’s taunt of “What, not going to get Voldemort to protect you, Slytherin?”
“Shut up!” the girl throws back. She’s spitting fire, Zayn thinks proudly. “Just because you can’t throw a bloody quaffle—”
“There a problem here?” Zayn asks, coming up behind Lottie smoothly. When the boys look up, he crosses his arms, and gives them his coolest look. He’s not really that good at glares, he knows, not like Louis, who could quell anyone with a look, but he can be intimidating when he wants to be. He doesn’t look like the other people here, with his earrings and tattoos, and sometimes that helps.
“No,” the boy mutters.
“Good. Then don’t you have class?”
“You’re not a prefect,” another one retorts.
“I’m not,” Zayn agrees. “But I know them. And I know how to get into the Gryffindor dorms, so—”
“Fine.” The boys scatter. Zayn snorts. That was easy.
Then he turns to the girl who’s chest is still heaving angrily. “You didn’t need to do that!” She snaps at him.
Zayn rolls his eyes “You okay, Lottie?”
“I’m fine, and I would have been fine if you weren’t here. You don’t need to protect me, you aren’t my brother.”
God, Tomlinsons. Zayn can’t help his grin. “Your brother would have killed me if I hadn’t done anything.”
“You aren’t my brother,” Lottie repeats, setting her chin. “I’m not your sister.”
“I know, Lots.” Zayn ruffles her hair. “Doesn’t mean I don’t love you.”
“I—” her chin falters. “Well, thanks.”
“No problem.” Zayn grins. His sisters might be as Muggle as they come, but at least this feels like he’s helping someone. “You know if you’re having problems, now that Louis’s gone—”
“I’m fine.” Her hand comes up to her hair, and she’s starting to smile again. “They’re just bitter I beat them.”
“That’s my girl.”
She laughs, then—“Oh!” she says, and her eyebrows rise as someone approaches. Zayn turns—it’s Harry, coming up behind him with a weird look on his face. “Making friends, Zayn?” she asks, teasing. “That’s a first.”
“I can!” he protests. “It’s possible.”
“Just unlikely.” She grins fully, then pitches her voice lower, so hopefully Harry won’t hear them. “You told Louis about him yet?”
“No, why would I?”
“No reason. Hi!” she says brightly to Harry. “Lottie Tomlinson.”
“Harry Styles.” Harry’s grin is his most devastating, and Zayn can see it work its magic even on Lottie. “Any friend of Zayn’s.”
“I’m sure.” Her eyes narrow. “Yeah, definitely telling Louis about this one,” she tells Zayn, then turns her best Tomlinson glare on Harry. “He’s basically my brother,” she tells Harry sternly. “So watch it.”
“Thought I wasn’t your brother,” Zayn teases, and she rolls her eyes and sticks out her tongue.
“You’re whatever suits me,” she informs him, and turns her back to flounce away.
“You’re welcome!” Zayn calls after her, laughing. He’s still laughing when he turns back to Harry. It’s almost as good as having his own sisters there. But Harry’s giving him a look he can’t interpret. “What?”
“She’s Louis’s sister?”
“Yeah. So, like, honorary sister, yeah? Gotta watch out for her, now that Louis can’t.” Zayn shrugs. “Makes me feel better about not being able to do it for my sisters.”
“You’ve got sisters?” Harry’s eyes are bright again, curious, and if there’s one thing Zayn can do it’s talking about the girls, and Harry listens intently as they continue on towards the Ancient Runes classroom.
---
Studying with Harry Styles, Zayn discovers, is a whole different sort of experience. On the one hand, Harry’s a good listener, and he focuses on Zayn so intently that it’s almost uncomfortable sometimes. It’s a lot easier than studying with Louis, in that respect, because Louis could never focus for more then ten minutes before he had to do something else. But Harry can concentrate on Potions for as long as they need, doesn’t try to distract Zayn at all. And Harry’s clever, too; maybe he’s just better in theory than in practice, but he generally knows his stuff, which is loads better than some of the Gryffindors Zayn’s studied with.
On the other hand, it’s almost as bad as it was with Louis, with people coming up to him all the time to talk to him. Harry smiles at each one, asks them about their cat or whatever, things he clearly remembers, as Zayn tries his best to focus on the textbook and not be noticed. That never works, though, because Harry introduces him each time, so Zayn has to mutter his hellos and make small talk. Louis at least knew how much Zayn hated small talk, and would do it for him; Harry seems to want him to actually talk to all the people.
“Hi!” Harry says, to the latest person to stop by their table in the library. It’s the fourth person in the past two hours; Zayn’s basically ready to give up for good. But at least he recognizes this one, vaguely. It’s a Gryffindor Louis was friendly with, he thinks. “How’re you, Andrew?”
“Good, just wanted to say hi.”
“Hi!” Harry repeats. Zayn rolls his eyes, but then Harry’s turning to him. “Do you know Zayn? This is Zayn.”
“Yeah, you’re the one who was always with Tomlinson, right?”
“Yeah.” Zayn holds out his hand to be shaken.
“How is he?” Andrew asks. He lets go of Zayn’s hand, so Zayn can wrap it around his book, thankfully.
“He’s good.”
“Enjoying not being the best for once?”
“Don’t tell him that, he hasn’t noticed yet.” It’s a bit of a lie, because Louis’s raving about how much he’s learning on the team, even if there are also lines about how much he’s impressing everyone. And he was never as confident as everyone but Zayn thought he was.
Still, it gets Andrew to chuckle. “He wouldn’t. I’ll see you later, Styles. Tell Tomlinson I said hello,” he tells Zayn, who nods, and then thankfully he goes away, back to a table across the room where he sits down with a few other Gryffindors.
“So,” Zayn says, to get them back on track, “According to Schwartz’s third principle—”
“Why do people always do that?” Harry interrupts. When Zayn looks up at him, he makes an odd squeaking noise, and almost knocks his book over, but then he manages to keep it on the table. “I mean, they always call you the person with Tomlinson.”
“That’s cause that’s why they noticed me,” Zayn explains. “The third principle—”
“They should have noticed you anyway,” Harry mutters. Zayn hides his smile in his book, bites down on the urge to blush.
“Like you did?”
“I must have been blind,” Harry promises, that flirty grin back on his face for a second before it goes back to the confusion, “But the rest of the school can’t be.”
Zayn shrugs. “Well, Louis’s, like, very…loud.” It’s the kindest way to explain him, probably. “And I’m, you know, quieter. So everyone always noticed Louis first.”
Suddenly, there’s a hand over Zayn’s on his book, and Harry’s looking at him like he’s had some sort of stupefy put on him. “For what it’s worth, I like quiet,” he says, smiling so both his dimples show, and Zayn should be able to stand against charm like that, but he finds himself smiling and ducking his head anyway.
---
“No way!” Niall’s laugh is loud, over the sounds of the various stages of brewing the class is at. “There’s no way she said that, Harry.”
“She did! I’m telling you, Ginny Potter called me cute!” Harry insists, taking a break from chopping his dandelion root to pout at Niall. “It happened. I’ll get my mum to tell you.”
“I still won’t believe it,” Niall shakes his head. “Right, Zayn? Back me up.”
Zayn chuckles into his cauldron. It’s nice, like this, to listen to the two of them banter, to fill up their station with noise and laughter. It makes the castle feel like home again, whether it’s them here in Potions, or Harry smiling at him in the library, or how he’s taken to waiting for Zayn at breakfast, charming all Zayn’s Ravenclaw friends, so they can walk to Potions together, Zayn letting Harry’s chatter bring him slowly to wakefulness by the time they get to the trick step so he can make sure Harry gets over it.
“I don’t know,” he muses, pursing his lips like he’s thinking very hard about it, “He is pretty cute.”
“Fuck!” Harry mutters. It’s second nature, now, for Zayn to grab Harry’s hand, mutter the quick spell over it. “Thanks,” Harry says, ruefully looking at their hands. Zayn lets go immediately. “And see, Niall?” Harry goes on, like that hadn’t happened. “There is no reason Ginny Potter wouldn’t think I’m cute.”
“I’m not saying you aren’t cute, I’m saying you never met her, and if you did she wouldn’t say it,” Niall argues, and dumps in the dandelion root all at once. Zayn bites his lip, winces at that. It’s not going to do anything for the jig-dancing side effect. “She’s married to Harry bloody Potter, her sister-in-law’s Fleur Weasley, there’s no way she thinks you’re cute.”
“Your disbelief hurts,” Harry tells him, clutching at his heart before he delicately drops some of the dandelion root in. That’ll be much better. “Zayn, he’s being mean to me.”
“It isn’t fair to compare him to a Veela,” Zayn agrees. “No one can measure up to that, right?”
“Well, maybe not no one,” Harry throws in, glancing at Zayn with a smirk. Reacting only encourages him with his incorrigible flirting, so Zayn bites at his lip and manages not to smile.
They all finish adding their root in silence, and Zayn narrows his eyes at the cauldron as he watches it bubble. It should do this for a count of thirty, then—“Zayn,” Harry says, loud in the quiet that had fallen.
“Yeah?” Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two…
“I was wondering—if you aren’t doing anything, do you want to go to Hogsmede with me, this weekend?”
Thirty. Zayn gives the requisite three stirs clockwise, then two and a half-counterclockwise, then taps the cauldron briskly. Then he focuses back on Harry. He hasn’t gone to Hogsmede yet this year. He hasn’t really had anyone to go with, because it’s awkward to go with Liam and the other Gryffindors without Louis there, and he could go with the other Ravenclaws but he’d as soon stay in the Tower with them and sketch a bit. It’d be nice to get out of the castle, though, and he can’t think of anyone he’d rather go with than Harry. “Sure. Niall, are you coming too?”
Harry gives Niall one of those best friend looks Zayn recognizes from how he and Louis look at each other, the pseudo-legilimancy. “Nope!” Niall says at last. “I’ve got other plans.”
“Too bad,” Zayn shrugs—then grabs at Harry’s hand when he looks ready to keep stirring forever. “Tap first.”
“Right.” Harry’s smile is enough that Zayn’s hand tightens on his wrist, out of sheer confundedness. “I knew that.”
“Um. Good.” He can feel the heat of Harry’s hand under his hand, and he’s not pulling away to tap, and—and Zayn should let go, then. So he does, lets go and stirs four times, too fast, so he has to flip through the Advanced Potion-Making to find out how to remedy that, and by the time he has Harry’s already breathing on his potion, his cheeks flushed from the heat.
---
Hogsmede is picturesque as it usually is, and it’s nice to walk through with Harry, both of them bundled up against the December chill. Louis’d always dragged Zayn through, from place to place, too fast for Zayn to really admire the prettiness of the village in winter, but Harry’s more content to meander, even if his nose is turning red in the cold, and there’s not much of his face to see under his fluffy knit hat and garishly patterned scarf. It had made Zayn laugh to see it, when Harry came over from the Hufflepuff table, bouncing excitedly on the balls of his feet, but Harry had just told him it was the latest muggle fashion and Zayn hadn’t had the heart to correct him.
“Do you want to go inside?” Zayn asks, as they reach the Three Broomsticks. “You look like you’re freezing.”
“I’m not,” Harry insists. His dimples are barely visible underneath his layers. “You should be. Why don’t you have a scarf?”
Zayn shrugs. “It didn’t work with my outfit.”
“Like anything wouldn’t work on you,” Harry teases, grinning. “I bet your hat hair is beautiful too.”
“Not my fault my hair behaves,” Zayn retorts, and tucks one of the stray wisps of a curl back under Harry’s hat. Harry beams at him.
“Nah, just the fault of all your freezing charms, right?”
“No charms.” Just a lot of gel, but if Harry doesn’t know Muggle styling, he’s not going to disillusion him. It’s nice, to have Harry look at him like he’s magic. Or magic if he was a muggle.
“Of course not.” Harry shakes his head. “We could—what about Madame Puddifoot’s? It won’t be so crowded.”
“But it’s so much farther,” Zayn points out, and nods at the pub. “This is right here, and look—there’s a table by the window. Let’s go.”
Harry glances at the table, cut off from the rest of the room by the Christmas tree, so it’s between the tree and the windows, in its own little nook, which is probably why no one noticed it. “Okay, yeah. Warming up sounds good.”
“Cool.” Zayn pulls open the door, braces himself for the burst of heat and noise, and lets Harry in first before he closes it. “I’ll—”
“You get the table, I’ll get us drinks,” Harry says, and he’s heading to the bar before Zayn can say anything.
Zayn knows how this works—it’ll take Harry forever to get anywhere, because he has to talk to everyone, so Zayn slips through the crowds of students and finds the table still empty. It’s cozy, isolated in its corner, but Zayn can still look out the window and watch all the people walking by, the stores with snow drifting around. It makes him want to paint, a bit; to see what he could do to get the snow to swirl just right like this. Maybe a mixture of muggle paints and magic? Something to anchor it, and something to move?
“What are you looking at?” Harry asks. Zayn’s past being surprised, but that was a lot faster than he expected.
“Just the snow.” Harry sets down two butterbeers on the table, then sits down across from Zayn. He tugs off his hat, his curls tumbling down like a waterfall, then starts to unwind his scarf. It’s another thing Zayn wouldn’t mind painting, Harry Styles in the process of unwrapping himself. “How much—”
“On me,” Harry assures him, quickly. “Why were you watching the snow?”
“I was trying to figure out if I could paint it.”
“You paint?” Harry’s eyes light up, and he leans forward. The table’s smaller than Zayn had thought, so their feet are touching under the table.
“Yeah, a bit. Professor Flitwick is helping me experiment with paints and shit.”
“That’s really cool! Is that why you’re so good at Potions?”
“Nah, I don’t like Potions much. Too much following instructions, not enough creativity, like.” Harry’s still looking at him like that’s the most interesting thing he’s heard in years, and it’s making Zayn want to squirm. He’s not used to people looking at him like that. “What about you? What are you going to do with your Potions NEWTs?”
“I’m not sure, but I think, like, I want to be a baker.”
“A baker?” Zayn snorts. Harry grins, but he nods.
“Yeah. I go to the kitchens and play around a lot, and Potions is a lot the same, you know? Figuring out ingredients. The house elves love me, they don’t mind me there.”
“I’m not surprised,” Zayn teases, and Harry gives a shameless grin.
“It’d be cool to have a shop in Diagon Alley or something, you know?” Harry goes on. His eyes are unfocused, like he’s looking ahead, dreaming about it, and Zayn can’t look away. It’s not something most people see, he thinks, this Harry Styles who doesn’t want to charm everyone, be the star. Who just wants a bakery to make people happy. It…honors Zayn, that he can see it. That Harry’s letting him see it. Then Harry focuses back in. “I’ll be sure to show your paintings! I’ll make you famous.”
“I’ll be counting on that,” Zayn retorts. Harry laughs, shakes back his hair, and takes a sip of his butterbeer. Right. They have drinks. Somehow, Zayn had forgotten, in the onslaught of Harry, so he takes a sip too, lets that warm him up from the inside out.
Harry giggles. “What?” Zayn demands. There’s nothing—he hasn’t done anything to be laughed at. This is the problem with getting noticed.
“You’ve just got a foam mustache,” Harry’s not even trying not to laugh. Zayn scowls, and brushes it away. “No, it’s cute! You should grow a mustache, I think it’d flatter you.”
“No way.”
“Please? For me?” Harry flutters his eyelashes. “Pleaaase?”
“No.” Zayn can’t help his grin, but he’s standing firm on this. “You’re not going to convince me with those puppy dog eyes either. I’ve got sisters.”
“I’ll get you to,” Harry swears. His foot is on Zayn’s. “Trust me. I’m very convincing.”
Zayn runs his eyes over those big eyes, the wicked mouth and broad shoulders under his robes. “I believe it.”
“Hey, you’ve still got something.” Harry rises a bit out of his chair, so he can lean across the table. His thumb is on Zayn’s cheek before he can think, the wand callouses, or maybe Quidditich callouses, rough on his cheek, and it freezes everything in Zayn, that careless touch, how Harry’s suddenly right there, and the butterbeer is warming him everywhere, and Harry’s lips are so pink and full, and he’s looking at him like he sees him, and—
“Well, look who it is,” a voice comes from behind him, and Zayn jumps and spins around, dislodging Harry’s hand.
“Louis?” He doesn’t really believe it until he sees it, but there he is, standing next to the Christmas tree, Louis Tomlinson in his worn robes with his cocky smile and dancing eyes. “Fucking hell, Louis!”
He’s out of his chair in an instant, pulling Louis into a hug that Louis returns just as hard. God, he’s missed him, all the wiry muscle under Zayn’s hands, how he holds Zayn like he’s an anchor. “You never said you were coming,” Zayn accuses, when they let go.
“Wanted to surprise you.” Louis tells him, grinning. Zayn rolls his eyes, but really, this is one of the more innocent surprises Louis’s pulled over the years. “I had to come down to talk to Madame Hooch, figured I’d stay a while, see you and everyone.”
“You’re still an ass,” Zayn informs him, and Louis laughs and throws an arm over his shoulder, squeezes.
There’s a small sound from the table. Right. Zayn turns, so he’s including Harry in the conversation. Though he’s never noticed Harry not being able to insert himself into a conversation if he wants to—he’s sat down at the Ravenclaw table while waiting for Zayn to wake up plenty of times, chatting with whoever’s next to him. “Lou, this is—”
“Harry Styles, right?” Louis asks. He’s got on the sort of grin that never bodes well for anyone, so Zayn nudges him with his hip.
“Be nice,” he mutters. Louis turns that grin to him.
“I’m always nice,” he retorts, which is such a lie Zayn has to laugh. “And I know Styles because I’ve played against him.”
“Tomlinson,” Harry replies, sticking out his hand. Louis shakes it firmly. “How’ve you been?”
“Good. Good to be back, yeah? Make sure this one’s doing well.” His hand goes to ruffle Zayn’s hair, but Zayn catches his hand before he can. “Got to keep an eye on him, you know. Otherwise who knows what mischief he’ll get up to.”
“Like I ever got up to any mischief that wasn’t your fault,” Zayn retorts. “Hey, Harry, mind if he—”
Harry glances down at his butterbeer, but when he raises his head again he’s got a smile on, even if it’s not the one that’s a confunding spell. “Sure, join us!” Harry agrees, gesturing widely. “Any friend of Zayn’s a friend of mine.”
“Wide circle, that,” Louis teases, and Zayn rolls his eyes and cuffs him on the head before he sits down. Louis doesn’t bother to pull up his own chair, just pushes Zayn over until he can share half of his. Zayn knows what he’s doing, even if he’d never admit it. Louis’s always liked to be close, needed touch. They both have. And after this long, it’s nice to have the physical reminder of Louis here, next to him. So he wraps an arm around Louis’s waist, to make sure they stay balanced, and doesn’t say anything, just shrugs when Harry gives it a look. “So, Harry, you have to give me the gossip. Zayn’s useless about that. He never knows anything good.”
They talk for a while longer, then head back up. Harry’s quieter than usual, but it’s hard not to be in the face of Louis, who’s turned it on full force. It’s almost overwhelming for Zayn, after months without it, but in the best way. He’d forgotten how much Louis’s noise woke him up, filled up all the walls of the castle so Zayn never felt alone. But he doesn’t like Harry’s quiet either, because even if Harry can be quiet, he seems down, and that makes something twist in Zayn’s stomach.
“You okay?” he asks, as they enter the castle. Louis’s gotten ahead of them bounding forward to go talk to a Slytherin sixth year he knows from somewhere that he noticed coming up from the dungeons, so it’s just them again. “Sorry he sort of crashed, he does that.”
“No, it’s okay.” Harry’s fiddling with the ends of his scarf. “I just—I had a nice time today, Zayn.”
“Me too.” Zayn grins. “Maybe you’ll let me try some of your baked goods sometime.”
“Only if you show me a painting,” Harry retorts, dimpling. He shuffles forward, so Zayn has to tip his head up a bit to keep looking him in the eye. “I—”
“Zayn, you coming?” Louis calls, the yell echoing around the cold stone. He’s finished talking to the Slytherin, is standing by the door to the Great Hall, clearly impatient.
Zayn rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I should go, he might blow something up,” he says. “But, we’re still on for studying tomorrow?”
“Yeah. Tenish?” Harry agrees.
“Sounds good.”
“Zayn!” Louis whines, and Zayn sighs.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Harry.”
“Yeah,” Harry agrees. “Thanks for coming today.”
“Anytime,” Zayn tells him, and goes over to catch up with Louis before he does blow something up.
He eats dinner that night at the Gryffindor table for the first time since Louis graduated, next to him as he demands all the stories of the last few months and shares all his own stories about the Bangers, from the time he almost started to the time he fell off his broom in front of Oliver Wood. It feels like déjà vu, like every day of the past six years, Zayn nodding along to Louis’s stories, as everyone looks at Louis. Except—when they get up, he happens to turn, and Harry’s looking at him from the Hufflepuff table. Zayn raises his eyebrows in a question, and Harry just glances away, which is weird because usually at least Harry makes a face back at him. But Zayn knows better than anyone else moods happen, so he heads out of the Great Hall with Louis.
They hang out with Lottie for a while after dinner, Louis showing her pictures of the twins and hearing stories about her pranks with pride, then they head up to the Ravenclaw Tower, where Zayn answers the riddle to let them in, Louis sticking his tongue out at the eagle.
“Not in school now,” he tells it proudly, “Can’t keep me out any more.”
The eagle doesn’t answer, but the door swings open a bit more snootily than usual.
Louis nods hello to some of the Ravenclaws he knows in the common room, but they head right up to Zayn’s room, where Tom just says hello from his bed when Zayn and Louis get into his bed, draws the curtains. Louis might not have ever actually made it into the Tower before, but they all know him, and him and Zayn.
Louis leans back against the headboard with Zayn, his head resting on Zayn’s shoulder. Once he’s finished talking about Ernest’s latest magical accident, “Merlin,” he says, “I’ve missed this. I’ve missed you.”
“Missed you too.” Zayn tells him, into his hair. It’s getting longer, almost a mullet.
“Can’t wait until you graduate.” Louis says into his neck. “I need you. Who else is supposed to tell me when I’m being too crazy?”
“Don’t know,” Zayn laughs. This is the Louis he really loves. Or no. He loves the Louis from the Great Hall as well, but this is the Louis who’s his best friend, just his. The one who stuck with him through all the years, who taught Zayn how to do his Patronus charm when Zayn was struggling, who stood up for Zayn when people called him a Mudblood or a paki or anything, who went with Zayn to get his first tattoo, who was loud so Zayn didn’t have to be. “Sounds like you’re managing.”
“I am.” Louis pauses, then, “I’ve met someone.”
“Oh?”
“I wanted to tell you in person.” Louis’s actually blushing. This is maybe the best day in Zayn’s life. “Her name’s Eleanor, she’s—Merlin, she’s amazing, Zayn. You’ll like her.”
“Not like Molly Gardner?”
“Not like Molly Gardner,” Louis confirms, shuddering, “I mean it. We’ve been seeing each other for a few months. It’s going really well, I think.” He looks up at Zayn, and he’s not quite smiling, “You’ll come up during Christmas Holidays? You can meet her.”
“Of course I’m going to Floo up.” What does Louis think, Zayn forgot about him? He always spends part of the holidays with the Tomlinsons. “I can’t wait. Though you ass.” He shoves at Louis’s shoulder, so Louis almost falls off the bed before he catches himself and glares at Zayn. Zayn just smirks back. “You didn’t tell me! What are letters for?”
“What about you?” Louis retorts. “I had to hear about it from Lottie!”
“Hear about what?”
Louis blinks, then shakes his head in that irritatingly condescending way he has. “Sometimes I worry about you, Zaynie.”
“Shut up.”
“Actually, though.” Louis’s face sobers, like it so rarely does. “I’m glad you’re doing okay. I was a little worried about you here.”
“I can take care of myself,” Zayn retorts. He doesn’t need to say anything about the quietness of the castle without Louis, about how it’s only just started to feel warm again.
“That’s sort of the problem.” Louis shoves at him, then pulls him into another hug.
---
They stay up late talking, so when Zayn drifts awake with Louis’s freezing foot digging into his calf, the sun’s already sneaking through the hangings. Louis’s awake, messing about with Prada, Zayn’s cat who’s decided to sneak onto the bed during the night.
“What time’s it?” he asks blearily.
Louis pulls out his watch. “Ten to ten.”
“Okay.” Then the words sink in. “Fuck!”
“Hm?” Louis asks, reclining in the bed as Zayn grabs the first clothes he finds on the floor near his bed and pulls them on. He doesn’t have time for robes, just grabs his bag, glances in to make sure it has the right books.
“I’ve got to meet Harry in the library in ten minutes.” He looks down at himself—jeans, hoodie, shoes, deodorant, he’s good, then at Louis, who’s still in bed in his pajama bottoms. “Coming?”
“To watch you study? I did that enough while we were here. Nah, I’ve got to get going anyway. I’m seeing El this evening.” He’s blushing again. If Zayn was in less of a hurry he’d take a picture. “I’ll see you in a few weeks, though?”
“Yeah, we’ll figure it out. I’ve got to—”
Louis groans, then holds open his arms. Zayn gives him a quick, firm hug, then he dashes to the bathroom to brush his teeth quickly, then he’s out the door and running down all the stairs in the world.
He makes it to the library only ten minutes late, which isn’t that bad, all considering. Harry’s already at a table, leafing through their textbook, and the morning sun is streaming through the windows and catching in his curls, bringing out the strong line of his jaw and softness of his skin. There’s a plate with some muffins on it next to him, and it’s just the most beautiful thing Zayn thinks he’s seen in a long time.
“Hey,” he says, with his most sheepish, apologetic smile, “Sorry I’m late, I overslept.”
“No problem.” Harry grins at him, “I was a little late too. I was baking this morning.”
“Good.” Zayn collapses into the chair, stares at the table. Potions. Right. He can do this. He can think about this. “Hey, just wanted to say sorry again about yesterday.”
“It’s okay.” Harry smiles again. It’s too early for Zayn to deal with this. Someone needs to invent an auto-caffeine spell. He’d pay a bloody fortune for it. “We could always do it—why are you wearing a Gryffindor sweatshirt?”
Zayn looks down at himself. Sure enough, it’s the Gryffindor Quidditch sweatshirt Liam had gotten for the whole team after they won the championship last year. “Oh, I was in a hurry this morning, must have grabbed Louis’s hoodie by mistake.”
“Louis’s? Right.” The grin’s gone from Harry’s face. He closes his eyes for a second, his lips twisted into a smile that’s nowhere near happy. “I am so—of course. Louis’s. So fucking—I’ve got to go.”
“What?” Zayn blinks. He’s not awake enough—what? “Why?”
“I’m so bloody stupid, I can’t—just, yeah.” Harry shoves his books into his bag, and surges to his feet. Zayn doesn’t understand it, what happened? What did he do? “I can’t do this, Zayn, I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“What?” Zayn repeats. He’s so confused, and Harry’s still leaving.
Then he turns back, and maybe he’s going to explain what’s wrong—but instead he walks back, and pushes the plate towards Zayn. “Here. Have a muffin. I made one for you,” he almost spits, like he’s mad, and then he’s storming off, and Zayn has a muffin and no bloody clue what just happened.
---
Harry doesn’t come over to walk Zayn to Potions on Monday. Zayn doesn’t even see him at breakfast. Maybe he’s sick, Zayn reasons, and heads over by himself. He’s setting up at their usual table, putting out his cauldron and the ingredients listed on the board, when Slughorn comes over.
“So, I heard Tomlinson made a quick stop at the old stomping grounds this weekend!” he says, his chest puffing out.
“He was here,” Zayn agrees.
“Didn’t get a chance to see him myself, but he must have been in a rush, a lot of people to catch up with,” Slughorn goes on, “How are the Bangers treating him?”
“Very well. He said to thank you for talking to the manager.” He hadn’t, but he would want to. Or he should, even if he didn’t.
“It was no problem my boy, none at all,” Slughorn chuckles. “Living in London now, is he?”
“He’s with his family now,” Zayn informs him. The room’s starting to fill up, but Slughorn doesn’t appear to notice. “We’ll move to London when I graduate.”
“Oh, of course! Couldn’t have him get away from you.” Harry walks in, and Zayn smiles at him. “He’s a good one, Malik, isn’t he, our Tomlinson?”
Harry takes one look at him, clearly sees his smile—and keeps walking, goes to another table with two Slytherins who look surprised but not displeased. “Yes, sir,” Zayn agrees on autopilot. What had he said? He hadn’t done anything. Was that what it was? Had Harry finally realized Zayn was boring, wasn’t loud or brilliant after the comparison with Louis?
Niall comes in a minute before class starts, looks at Zayn at the table where a Gryffindor had set up, probably to hear what Louis had been up to, then at Harry. His forehead wrinkles, but he goes over to the table where Harry is.
Zayn can’t concentrate on his euphoria potion that day. He tries, tries to focus on following the instructions like usual, but he keeps on just seeing Harry. Harry, who’s laughing with Niall, though Zayn doesn’t think it’s his big, full-hearted laugh, who’s smiling at the Slytherins. What if he cuts himself, and Niall doesn’t know how to heal him? What if he messes up again? Zayn thinks, and then jumps back when his own potion lets out an unexpected pop.
Slughorn shakes his head when he looks at it at the end of class. “Not your best, Malik,” he tells him. Zayn just nods. He knows. “But you were distracted this weekend, weren’t you?” Slughorn goes on, “Still, can’t let unexpected visits through us off our game! Would never get anything done, would we?”
“No,” Zayn mutters. He hasn’t fucked up this badly all year.
Slughorn chuckles and keeps going. When he gets to Harry, he smiles. “Beautiful, Styles!” he announces loudly, putting a hand heavily on Harry’s shoulder, “There it is! Finally getting your stride back, aren’t you!”
Zayn can’t hear what Harry replied, but he can see how he smiles charmingly, and Zayn can’t look at it, just goes back to bottling his own potion.
“Before you pack up,” Slughorn says loudly. Zayn pauses. “Remember, next week we’ll be doing a practice NEWT, so we can have the week after to do something nice and holiday themed. So study up!”
Right. Zayn had sort of forgotten, but he’s not really worried, if he can just figure out how to focus. He packs up quickly, then lingers by the door to wait.
“Hey, Harry!” he gets out, when Harry comes by. Harry glances at him, and slows down so Zayn can fall into step with him, but he doesn’t look happy about it. “Cramming for the exam on Sunday?”
“I think I might be busy, I don’t know,” Harry replies coolly, and speeds up to catch up with the Slytherins. Zayn just stops walking, watches him walk away, gaping.
---
Winter is usually Zayn’s favorite time of year. It has Christmas, both Louis and his birthdays, and the castle is warm and fun and even more beautiful than usual. But this year it feels quiet and cold, even though there are the usual caroling paintings, the wreathes and decorations everywhere. He hasn’t felt this alone since the beginning of the year, and he can pretend it’s because Louis’s flying visit made the contrast greater, but he knows that’s not it. It’s just—he doesn’t get what he did to Harry. He’s not even looking at Zayn now, and whenever Zayn looks at him he turns away. And somehow, without Potions to look forward to, without their study sessions during the week, the whole week seems bleaker. Zayn’s never been this discontented with the quiet, as when he doesn’t have Harry or Louis to fill it.
And Louis’s no help at all. When he writes to him, complaining about Harry’s incomprehensible behavior, Louis sends back laughter and note that I’m not saying anything as payback for Clarissa Mayberry in fifth year. But you should stop being an idiot about it. Zayn burns the letter, because Louis’s an asshole and he doesn’t see how the time he hadn’t told Louis that Clarissa, the Ravenclaw sixth year, had a crush on him while he agonized over asking her out had anything to do with it.
Zayn’s mournfully sketching in his and Harry’s normal table on Sunday—he hadn’t expected Harry to show, but maybe he thought he might, thought he should come, just in case—when Niall shows up, plops down in the chair across from him. His hair’s a lurid shade of violet today.
“Hey,” Zayn says, surprised. Niall hasn’t been ignoring him as thoroughly as Harry has, but he’s clearly taking Harry’s lead.
“Hi.” Niall isn’t smiling. It’s unnatural enough Zayn almost wonders if it’s someone polyjuiced as him. “I was wondering if I would find you here.”
“Yeah, just, like, studying.” Zayn gestures to the book in front of him. He hasn’t looked at it, but Niall doesn’t know that. “You?”
“Mainly seeing if you were here.” Niall glares. “I don’t appreciate you messing Harry around.”
“Messing him around?” Zayn echoes. “I didn’t—”
“If you had just been upfront with him at first, he’d have respected that,” Niall goes on. “You didn’t have to lead him on.”
“Lead him on? What are you—”
“And you can stop now. He’s gotten the message. I just wanted to let you know so he wouldn’t have to.”
“What are you talking about?” Zayn demands at last. He puts down the sketchbook, crosses his arms over his chest. “I haven’t, like, led Harry on at all.”
“Sure you haven’t,” Niall retorts. “So what was calling him cute?”
“A compliment?” Zayn shoots back. But he’s not backing down, not even in the face of Niall’s glare. He might be quiet, but he is not a pushover. “I have no idea what you mean, Niall, and I don’t appreciate you insulting me for something I didn’t do.”
Niall gives him a long look. Then a smile bursts over his face, and it’s almost more disconcerting in its suddenness. “You really don’t, do you?”
“No.” Zayn scowls. “Care to explain?”
“You don’t,” Niall echoes, and then he starts to laugh, big belly guffaws, “Oh, wow. Sorry, mate. I’ll leave you to your studying.”
“What?” No, he hadn’t wanted Niall to leave, he’d wanted Niall to explain. “Niall—”
But Niall’s still laughing as he leaves, and Zayn’s even more confused than before.
---
Zayn tries to study for another hour, but he’s getting nowhere. He needs to figure this out. He needs Harry to tell him what’s wrong, to smile at him and laugh and be there, but as he can’t, he does the next best thing, and finds an empty fireplace to use that floo powder he’d been stashing in case of emergency homesickness.
“Zayn!” Joanna cries delightedly when she sees his head in the fireplace. “How are you?”
“I’m good,” Zayn tells her, smiling. He’s always liked her. Especially how she remembered to add portions for him in the care packages she’d send Louis and Lottie at Hogwarts, and still does even now when Lottie gets some. “Is Louis around?”
“I think he’s in his room. One second.” Her feet recede, and Zayn waits patiently until Louis comes into view.
“Hey, Zaynie.” Louis grins, a hint of mischief in it. “Missed me that much?”
“What do you mean by being an idiot about it,” Zayn demands.
“I don’t know what you mean.”
Louis’s innocent face is really shit. “Louis.”
“You’re an idiot about a lot, Zayn, there’s plenty you could be referring to.”
“Lou.” Zayn brushes his hair out of his face, rubs his temples tiredly. “Come on, please? I’ve got no idea what’s happening. You’re better at this shit.”
Louis’s smile softens, but he still shakes his head patronizingly. “You really are an idiot.”
“Not helping.”
“Okay, look. I don’t know exactly why Harry’s being so weird now, but I saw him with you for an hour and I can tell you this. That boy’s head over heels for you.”
“What?” Zayn sputters. “No, Harry flirts with everyone.”
“Does he ask everyone on dates?” Louis replies, smirking. “’cause I don’t know if you knew, but that’s what I crashed. And I’m flattered you let me disturb it, but mate, feel free to throw me over to get in.”
“What? No.” Zayn shakes his head. Harry’s not. He isn’t. “No. I mean. We’re friends. You only saw us for an hour, you said.”
“Lottie told me he was into you months ago. I might have come down partly to check him out, make sure he was good enough for you. For what it’s worth,” Louis adds, offhand, “I like him.”
Zayn’s still stuck on the ‘into you months ago’. “But—I would have noticed.”
Louis snorts. “Oh Zaynie my Zaynie. No. You wouldn’t. That’s what I’m here for.”
“He would have said something.”
“Maybe he had a reason not to, I don’t know. I just know that people don’t look at you like that when they don’t want to fuck you and then cuddle you afterwards and probably make you breakfast the next morning.” Zayn’s jaw drops, and Louis laughs. “Oh, come on. You know that.”
“But—” Zayn’s not even sure what he’s protesting. It just…he had never even considered that. Harry’s Harry Styles. He’s the kind of guy people like Louis go out with, not people like Zayn. Zayn’s still surprised Harry even noticed him at all, or that Zayn kept his attention once he did.
“Do you not like him?” Louis asks. It’s a rhetorical question, and they both know it. No one can read him like Louis.
“Well, yeah. Of course.” He hadn’t thought about it, not like that, but—of course. Harry, who makes him laugh, who makes him feel warm, whose smile confounds him, who’s the loveliest thing Zayn’s seen in a long time.
“Then there you go.” Joanna yells something, and Louis tilts his head to listen. “Okay, I’ve got to go. But I expect a double date over the holidays, give Harry and El both a real test. And Zayn.” He winks, waggles his eyebrows. “Remember, a gentleman always swallows.”
“Fuck you,” Zayn retorts, laughing, and pulls his head out of the fire.
He settles back on his heels for a long moment once he has, though, the laughter fading with Louis’s voice. Then he gets up. Even if Harry had liked him once, clearly that’s over now, and Zayn will just have to live with that. Maybe he can channel this newly discovered heartbreak into his work, at least. He wishes Louis were here, though. He’d make fun of him, but then he’d cuddle him too, distract him until he forgot all about Harry Styles.
---
“Hey, Zayn?” Zayn looks up from the soup he’s been staring broodily into for the last five minutes abruptly. Harry’s standing at the bench of the Ravenclaw table, shifting his weight between his feet. His hands are clasped behind his back, and he looks nervous. He looks amazing. How had Zayn not noticed, how the slow honeyed drawl of his voice settled into Zayn’s skin, made him ache? How his gaze flicked over the broad chest and narrow hips under his robes?
“Yeah?” he replies, though. He thinks he keeps his voice admirably steady.
“Are—Can we talk, maybe?” Harry asks.
Well, maybe at least Zayn will finally get his explanation. He nods, puts down his spoon, and follows Harry away from the throngs of students eating dinner in the Great Hall.
Harry heads up, pulls open a door, and nods when he sees the classroom is empty, ushers Zayn in. Zayn does, then hops onto a desk, his arms crossed.
Harry lets the door swing closed behind him. Zayn swallows. He’s been alone with Harry plenty of times. He doesn’t need to think about this.
“Look.” Harry pushes his hair back from his face, presses his lips together, then nods, like he’s deciding on something. “I just,” he starts again, “I know what the answer probably is, but Niall was saying something, and I’ll never be able to focus on Potions tomorrow if I don’t know, so I just. I need to confirm.”
“Confirm what?”
Harry looks up. His jaw is set, like he’s bracing for a blow. “You’re dating Tomlinson, right?”
Zayn blinks. It doesn’t compute.
“I know you are,” Harry goes on, as Zayn tries to find words, “I just—it’s so stupid. I’ve been stupid. I know you’re together, you’re just so—”
“Harry!” Zayn interrupts him. He found that word, at least. “Harry, shut up.” Harry does, his mouth snapping shut so fast Zayn’s not sure he didn’t cast a spell. He runs his hand over his face. Dating Louis. He could laugh. “I’m not dating Louis. He’s my best friend. But no dating.”
Harry’s jaw is actually dropping. “But—you slept together.”
“Yeah. Slept. Because he needed to crash and we had a lot to catch up on. We’re…like, we’re really close? Obviously. But that’s all.” Zayn narrows his eyes. “Really? You thought we were together?”
“Well, I mean, everyone talked about him when they talked about you, and asked you about him, I just—I assumed—not dating?” Harry echoes, incredulously.
“Not dating.”
“So…you’re single?”
“Yeah.”
“Why?” Zayn laughs, and Harry blushes. “No. I mean. Merlin, you make me so—I’m better at this, usually.” He tugs at his hair, then grins, both dimples showing. “I swear, I’m smooth. Really.”
“Lies,” Zayn shoots back, and Harry laughs, stepping forward, almost a slide, leading from his hips. Zayn can’t help glancing down, then quickly back up at Harry’s face. Thank god he doesn’t show a blush.
“When it’s not you, I am. Sometimes I even make sure people know they’re going on a date with me.” He makes a face, then sighs. “Although that was sort of on purpose. Then it could not be a date if it meant you were cheating.”
“On my non-existent boyfriend?”
“Well, then he showed up!” Harry protests. “And he was…”
“A lot,” Zayn fills in. “I know. I think he was trying to be, thought it was funny.”
“No, he was—like, I’d been imaging him as an asshole, you know?”
“Oh, he is.”
“No, but like, this asshole long distance boyfriend who was never here and ignored you and I was, I dunno, saving you, giving you something better.” Harry drops his head. “But he just…like, it’s so clear you guys love each other.”
“Well sure. He’s, I mean, he’s the brother I never had. Except, one I like.”
“And then you in his sweatshirt…” Harry goes on, shaking his head. He’s still not meeting Zayn’s eyes. “I wasn’t just your friend to get in your pants. I swear. But I couldn’t, Zayn. I wasn’t saving you from an asshole, I was making a move on a guy in a good relationship. And that’s not my game.”
“Except there’s no relationship,” Zayn clarifies. Harry looks up at that, and there’s that grin, the one that rocks Zayn back, that makes his stomach flip. “Remember?”
“I remember.” Harry steps forward again, so he’s almost in between Zayn’s legs. “But—what if I wanted there to be?” Zayn’s wrinkles his nose, trying to parse that, and Harry laughs. “That was badly phrased. But it was me asking you out.”
“Oh. You should have said,” Zayn teases, and Harry sticks out his lower lip.
“Za-ayn.”
“I didn’t notice,” Zayn has to admit it, before Harry really says anything. “I didn’t—I’m not used to people seeing me. They always just see Louis. So I didn’t notice.”
“I can clarify.” He actually is in between Zayn’s legs now, his eyes somehow soft and hot all at once.
“No, but—I’m not going to get louder, or more exciting.” He’s always known why people notice Louis first, and he needs Harry to know. “I—”
“Told you.” Harry’s hands are on his shoulders, and somehow Zayn’s have gotten to his waist. “I like quiet.”
“Oh. Good. Then.” Harry’s hands drags up his shoulders, until they’re cupping his face, his thumbs running over Zayn’s cheeks again. God, he’s probably good with his hands. “Zayn, are you in a relationship?”
He’s looking at him like he’s can’t see anyone else in the world, and it fills Zayn up, toes to his fingers. “Yeah. Guess I am.”
“Yes!” Harry cheers, then he’s kissing Zayn before he can say anything else. Zayn grabs onto his neck and pulls him closer, savors the sweetness of his mouth, those full lips, how Harry kisses like he’s on fire. But Zayn can give back as good as he gets, and he sucks on Harry’s lip until his mouth falls open and Zayn can really kiss him.
“Shit,” Harry mutters, when he finally pulls away, presses his head into Zayn’s neck. He licks it, so Zayn’s not too worried, though he does shiver, with that and how Harry’s hands are stroking up and down his back. “I’m never going to be able to pay attention in Potions now.”
Zayn laughs. “Maybe we can figure out a rewards system.”
Harry lifts his head up, grinning cheekily. “Or maybe you can just kiss me so much I get used to it.”
Zayn chuckles, and pulls him back in to obey.
---
The practice NEWT is hard, but not impossible, especially as Zayn managed some last minute studying last night, him and Harry sharing a chair in the library and holding hands around the book in between kissing and getting yelled at by Madame Pince. But Zayn thinks he manages at least an E when he sets his finished potion on Slughorn’s desk. Slughorn nods at him, and Zayn goes back to his station to pack up. Niall makes a face at him from across the table, and Zayn gives him a sympathetic look back, then heads out. Harry’d finished five minutes earlier than him, but he’s not just outside.
Where he is, it turns out, is in an empty classroom a level up, which Zayn learns when there’s a “Zayn!” yelled from inside.
He barely gets the door closed before Harry’s grabbing him, pulling him to him.
“How’d you do?” Zayn asks, giggling as Harry rolls his eyes.
“Fine, I think. I’m good at Potions, when I’m not being distracted by fit Ravenclaws.” Harry gives him a pointed look when Zayn keeps smiling at him. “That was an invitation to distract me right now, by the way.”
“But I’ve got to get to Ancient Runes,” Zayn points out, laughing when Harry’s pout grows.
“You’ll get there,” Harry informs him, and kisses him, hard enough Zayn stumbles back into a wall. Harry always kisses like he means it, like he’s going to die if he doesn’t get all of Zayn, right now, and his hands are roaming down Zayn’s back. Zayn’s just as bad. He wants to explore all of Harry, to strip him naked and taste every inch of skin, to find the colors that match his blush.
“You still have to show me your wizard tattoos,” Harry murmurs, as he tilts his head back to let Zayn kiss down his jaw, taste the pulse in his neck before he comes back up.
“Later,” Zayn replies, bringing their lips together again. They’ll have a later, they’ll have break, they’ve already discussed how they’ll meet up. “Oh.” He pulls away from Harry, and through some form of occulmency he didn’t know he had, manages not to be sucked into another kiss right away, because Harry looks well kissed, his hair messy, his robes askew, his lips swollen. “By the way, Louis likes you, and he wants to meet up over holidays.”
“I don’t care what Louis thinks,” Harry replies, and tugs Zayn back in. They only snog for another few seconds, though, before Harry stops them. “No. I mean. I do care about what Louis thinks, because he’s your best friend, and you care what he thinks.” Zayn can’t stop smiling, lets his head fall onto Harry’s shoulder to quell his laughter. “Zayn! Shut up, I know his approval is important to you, so I care that he approves, and obviously I’ll meet up with him, and I’ll probably like him when I’m not horribly jealous. But really I just care that you approve.” Zayn lifts his head from Harry’s shoulder, and Harry’s smiling at him, something even worse than that huge smile, something small and just for him. “The thought of him isn’t making me fail Potions.”
Zayn snorts, and pushes at Harry’s shoulder until he moves away. “Shut up. You walking me to Ancient Runes?”
“Of course.” Harry lets him separate them, then he tugs at Zayn’s collar to set it straight. When he’s satisfied, and Zayn’s gotten Harry as respectable as he’s going to, Harry picks up his bag again. “You might get lost, otherwise.”
“I might get lost?” Zayn replies, raising his eyebrows. “Bet I know the castle better than you. I’ve been running with Gryffindors.”
“Fine, maybe I’ll get lost.”
Zayn chuckles, and holds out his hand. “Don’t worry, babe. I’ll get you there.”
Harry slides their hands together, looks at them for a second, then beams at Zayn. It’s no less confounding on this side of kissing, especially not when Harry’s squeezing his hand tight, like a reminder he’s there. “Never doubted it.”
“And I’ve been practicing healing charms for when you trip,” Zayn goes on, as they leave the room. Harry’s laughter fills up the corridor, bouncing back like it’s multiplied a thousand times, like Hogwarts itself is laughing and noisy and as happy as Zayn is right now.