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Louis groaned as he stumbled out of the bedroom, almost walking straight into the doorpost. His eyes refused to stay open, which was what made his inability to sleep all the more frustrating.
He ambled down the hall, not in any hurry to get anywhere. The only thing that would greet him was a silent house. With everyone else in bed, Louis would have to occupy himself. Something he wasn’t good at doing.
His eyes managed to open a little more the longer he stood. Maybe his brain was catching up to the fact that they had finally given up on the whole sleep thing.
Louis’ eyes scanned the pictures that lined the hallway in an attempt to keep his eyes open as he walked. It had been ages since he’d last looked at them. Really looked at them, that is. They’d become such a part of the house that Louis had almost forgotten they hung there. His attention was only ever drawn to them when Harry decided to put up a new one about once every few years or so. This was the hall reserved for the most special of the pictures.
Louis stopped at the oldest one first. It was the one that hung closest to Louis and Harry’s bedroom and was, therefore, the least likely to be seen by guests’ eyes. A seventeen-year-old Louis smiled and waved before looking at a seventeen-year-old, giggling Harry.
They were in their black Hogwarts robes, with Louis’ Slytherin badge and Harry’s Gryffindor one glinting in the light.
It was strange to think back to those days. To when their relationship had felt difficult because so many people were against it. To when being a Slytherin or a Gryffindor had meant much more than it did now.
Not that their houses didn’t mean something even today. Louis would always be a Slytherin, Harry a Gryffindor. But it had lost its power over Louis’ self-identity. He didn’t make decisions by deciding if they were Slytherin enough anymore. He just made them because they seemed like the right way to go.
Dating Harry had been the first time he’d done that. Even before Hogwarts, he'd made decisions based around what was expected of Slytherins. Harry had been a good start towards changing that.
Even in their first picture together as a couple, Louis could see the beginnings of a strong relationship. One that, he wished he could tell seventeen-year-old Louis, was guaranteed to last for more than a decade, probably quite longer. But that would ruin the fun for his past self.
While the first picture involved Louis and Harry posing for the camera, the second was a lot less staged. Niall had taken it when he was supposed to be unpacking boxes like the rest of them.
Instead, he’d captured Louis and Harry bent over and rummaging through the stuff they had summoned to their new flat an hour before.
Harry’s face was half visible, a half smile showing even as he did what should have been an unenjoyable task.
Louis’ face wasn’t visible at all. Only his backside could be seen in the picture, the Muggle pants he was wearing tightening over his arse as he leaned down.
It was the only reason this particular picture had made it to the wall, no matter how much Harry wanted to deny it.
The next one made Louis smile wider. It was similar to the first picture except his and Harry’s black Hogwarts robes had been replaced with dress robes. Louis’ a modest black and Harry’s a brighter color that he had said was more in line with the celebration.
The picture had been snapped by Jay as Louis and Harry greeted their guests after becoming husbands. There was a lot of movement in the photograph as the couple smiled for the camera and began talking to their guests, arms tight around each other.
It was both Louis’ and Harry’s favorite picture of them as a couple and had easily usurped their formal wedding pictures for a spot on the wall. Anne in the background trying to stifle her tears and the shaky movement of the photo that hinted at Jay’s own emotions sealed it for Louis. It wasn’t something that could be staged or faked. It was real and in the moment. The best kind of picture.
The next picture was another housing milestone. The day they had moved out of their flat in downtown London and into this house an hour away instead. When Louis was already apparating to Yorkshire for work, it hadn’t been a hassle for Harry to do the same to London each day, and it had felt like a good idea.
It had been a good idea.
This picture was more posed than the flat one. Louis and Harry stood outside the house, smiling widely at the camera with arms around each other like always. That time everyone had been too busy helping unpack to snap a sneak picture, but this one worked just fine.
After that, only the kids covered the wall. It was only fitting when they had overshadowed Louis and Harry in almost every way.
Louis didn’t have to panic over how he looked whenever Harry pulled out the camera anymore because it was rarely directed at him. Douglas had inherited his aversion to Harry’s camera though, while Chris ate up any attention he was given.
But that was now that they were old enough to know what the camera was. The first two pictures here showed two infants. One babbling happily and one staring up at the camera as if contemplating what it was. Odd that those two boys had switched expressions over time.
Louis continued smiling to himself as he ambled out of the hallway and into the kitchen instead. He made a beeline for the tea. After his failed attempts at sleep, he would need some caffeine.
Fixing tea was something Louis could do in his sleep, and the drooping of his eyes returned as he went through the motions.
Still, even in his half asleep state, he could sense when Harry entered the kitchen behind him just as the tea finished steeping. Louis turned around to look at his husband as Harry reached a hand up to rub the sleep out of his eyes.
Louis offered Harry a smile as he lowered his hand, and Harry returned it as he stepped forward to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist.
“It’s five twenty-six in the morning,” Harry pointed out after glancing at the clock on the kitchen wall. His voice held the same gravelly quality that it usually had in the mornings.
Had it really been less than ten minutes since Louis had gotten out of bed? He swore he’d managed to pass more time than that.
He hummed in agreement, turning himself around to bury his face in Harry’s chest. His tea sat on the counter for him to come back to in a moment.
Harry rubbed one of his hands up and down Louis’ back while the other rested on his waist.
“Nerves?” he asked into Louis’ hair.
Louis nodded. It was too early to speak words. How Harry was managing it, Louis didn’t know.
“There are still three days left,” Harry continued.
Louis groaned again at the reminder. Three days wasn’t enough. He needed as many as he could get. He’d never be prepared in time.
Harry seemed to hear all of this as if Louis had spoken it out loud. Then again, Louis had been nervous for days, so it wasn’t like Harry hadn’t heard it already.
“You’ll play great, Lou. You always do.”
“I’m going to be the oldest player on the pitch,” Louis muttered, face still pressed against Harry’s chest.
For a month, he’d been saying that same thing like a mantra. He knew he should stop because the thought only brought him down, but it was eating away at him and wouldn’t stop. He hated when his mind did that. Last week, he had begged Harry to let him invest in a pensieve, but Harry had some belief that avoiding thoughts was more dangerous than working through them or something crazy like that. Harry’d gone into a long speech about how pensieves are used correctly for looking at memories to learn, but Harry knew Louis wouldn’t use one that way. So, no pensieve for Louis.
Not that he’d ever tell Harry, but Louis was an inch away from obliviating himself, if such a thing was possible. He might have to go by Flourish and Blotts and find a book on memory spells.
It was just that then he’d have to hide the book from Harry. Considering they never hid anything from each other, Louis wasn’t sure how to do that. Harry always knew where everything in the house was. There wasn’t a free space to use as a hiding spot.
Maybe Louis would have to get over his nerves on his own.
“Lou,” Harry said sternly, tilting Louis’ chin up to look him in the eyes. “You’re not even thirty. Stop worrying.”
“Quidditch is for young people, Harry. You know that. I’m already past the age where half of players retire. Only the great ones make it much longer past thirty. I’m not going to fool myself into thinking I’m like that.”
“You’re on the English National Team. The first English team, I might add, that has managed to make it into the Cup for twelve years and the first to make it to the championship game in decades. They chose you out of all the English players for a reason, Louis, and their decision is paying off.”
Louis blushed even though this wasn’t the first time Harry had said all that. He’d been saying different versions of the same speech since he pulled the strings to get Louis a spot on the Yorkshire team. This was just what it had morphed into as Louis made the English team and then helped them work their way to the championship.
The first championship game England had been in since 1976. Right.
He might faint again.
Harry’s arms tightened around Louis’ waist to support him, and Louis took the opportunity to let himself sag a little. He took a few deep breaths before he was confident he could stand on his own. Then he pulled away from Harry far enough to grab his tea off the counter.
Spiking it with some anti-nausea potion might be a good idea. It made the tea taste terrible, but sometimes, it was the only way Louis could keep anything in his stomach these days.
He opened the cabinet to see the potion sitting in its usual spot near the front. The bottle only contained a few more swallows. Louis heard Harry make a noise when he pulled the bottle out, and he knew his husband was taking a mental note to make more. The last time Louis had tried to make it by himself, they’d had a minor explosion to clean up in the kitchen.
Harry wouldn’t have been so distraught over it if Douglas hadn’t been in the room at the time, but the boy still considered that the most exciting day of his life. Louis would consider it the most terrifying. He shuddered as he thought about the exact moment he realized the potion was going to explode and had to launch himself on top of Douglas as a human shield. He got it. He didn’t want to make the potion either.
Louis settled himself at the table with this tea as Harry began humming to himself and looking for food in the cabinets.
“It’s five thirty in the morning,” Louis pointed out much like Harry had earlier.
“Five thirty-six.”
Louis glanced at the clock and then raised an eyebrow at Harry’s back. The man hadn’t even glanced at the clock as he shuffled things around in the cabinets.
“Shit,” Harry muttered as he knocked a third item over in his quest for whatever it was he wanted.
Harry’s head swung around desperately several times in search of his wand, but they both knew he wouldn’t find it. He was in nothing but sweats and a thin t-shirt. Nowhere to store the wand that was no doubt still sitting on Harry’s bedside table.
Harry stilled. Louis could tell he was deciding whether walking back to the bedroom for his wand would be a more efficient use of time than continuing to knock things off the shelves.
“You don’t happen-”
“Nope,” Louis replied, popping the “p.”
He opened his arms wide in a half-hearted attempt to show Harry he was just as wandless as he was. Apparently, they were useless excuses for wizards, but in their defense, you didn’t think to grab anything at five in the morning.
Louis smirked in amusement as Harry knocked a fourth box over, swearing as he did so. But several seconds later, he let out a happier exclamation and emerged from the cupboard victorious, a bottle of cinnamon in his hand.
Cinnamon toast then. Louis’ favorite. Of course.
“It’s five forty in the morning,” Louis repeated. This time he looked at the clock to make sure he couldn’t be corrected.
“Plenty of people are up around now,” Harry said, setting the cinnamon on the counter and gathering the other ingredients. “Just not posh Quidditch players.”
It was a lie. Louis was up for work just as early as Harry at least half of the time, and they both knew it. He just got the benefit of off seasons.
“The world sleeps until six at the earliest,” Louis whined. “It should be impossible for people to be up before then. Unless they never went to bed in the first place.”
Something Louis hadn’t done since Chris was a newborn and had kept waking them up until they decided to pull an all-nighter. It had only made things worse, but it was the last time Louis had willingly not slept an entire night. He couldn’t remember the last time he had stayed up unmotivated by kids. It only served to reinforce the belief that he was old.
So old. And playing against some players who were recent graduates. So old.
“Hardly anyone stays up until six a.m. willingly,” Harry pointed out.
Even though he was facing the stove, Louis knew the comment was because Harry sensed what Louis was thinking. Louis smiled at him gently even though it went unseen. It was a pathetic attempt and did nothing to invalidate Louis’ thoughts, but it was sweet nonetheless.
Cinnamon toast was also sweet. And delicious. Very delicious. That became all Louis could think about when his plate was laid out in front of him. The potion had calmed his stomach by now, and he had no problem wolfing down what he was given while Harry did the same.
Louis noticed all the ingredients were still sitting out, and he knew he could expect more once the kids were awake for breakfast. By then, they’d be into the hectic part of the day that allowed Louis some peace of mind. He wouldn’t have time to worry anymore. If only the clock would tick faster.
XX
The next day, Louis’ nerves had increased exponentially. He didn’t even know what that word meant, had only heard it in some Muggle movie Harry insisted on watching, but it seemed to fit what Louis’ nerves were doing.
The English team had the day off. Tomorrow he, Harry, the kids, and the rest of the English team would arrive back in Greece for the tournament. The game was two days from now. Louis might hyperventilate just thinking about it.
He needed a distraction, and Diagon Alley felt like the right place to provide it.
Taking both of the boys out anywhere without Harry was always a hassle and, therefore, the perfect distraction.
Harry was at the Ministry, working until at least dinner time, probably longer. He was trying to make up for the vacation time he was taking to go to every game of the tournament England was in. Only one more game to go. Merlin.
“Shoes on?” Louis asked one last time before they left the house.
It was asked for Chris’ benefit. The two-year-old had an affinity for barefootedness. It was like a combination of Louis’ hatred of socks and Harry’s dislike of clothes in general. The boy wanted his feet free, and it made outdoor trips quite the struggle at times.
Sure enough, Chris’ bottom lip stuck out in a pout so much like Harry’s that Louis had a bad habit of giving in.
“There are nasty things on the street in Diagon Alley,” Louis said instead. He focused his gaze on the kid’s forehead to avoid the puppy dog eyes. “Do you want to step on chewed up gum or nails or something?”
The kid look unperturbed. He’d never experienced stepping on a nail, so how should he know the consequences? All he knew was that wearing shoes was a bad thing.
Louis sighed but didn’t give in. He double checked to make sure he had the magical ointment to use in case Chris did manage to step on that nail after kicking his shoes off.
Douglas was much more content with his own shoes, but he was growing impatient with the stalling.
“Stop it!” the six-year-old yelled as Chris bent down to mess with (i.e. take off) his shoe.
Louis sighed. Douglas was usually patient with his younger brother. More so than he was with anyone else. However, the excitement over going to Diagon Alley was getting to him this morning.
“Douglas, don’t yell,” Louis scolded.
He bent down to pick Chris up. As the two-year-old’s lip quivered in what could quickly become sobs, Louis rocked back and forth and patted him on the back. It seemed to work, and Chris calmed again with only a little bit of wetness still shining in his eyes.
Once that crisis was averted, it was time for the fun part of getting two small children through the fireplace all in one piece.
“Grab on, Douglas,” Louis told his eldest.
This was always the scariest part because it relied on Douglas doing exactly what he was told. If he didn’t, he could wind up coming out of any fireplace on the floo network with, possibly, disastrous results. Louis would never be able to live with himself if that happened, but floo was still the easiest, and typically safest, way to travel with children.
Douglas, who had been warned of the potential dangers of floo powder since birth, got it though, and so far, nothing bad had happened.
Louis grabbed a fistful of the floo powder and stepped into the flames, tightening his grip on Chris and paying close attention to Douglas gripping his robes. So far, so good.
Both boys were silent as they waited for Louis to state their destination. Louis opened his fist, letting the powder fall a split second before enunciating, “Diagon Alley!” as much as he could. There was a fraction of a second when Louis could feel the grips of both boys tighten. Then they were being whisked through the floo network, unable to pay attention to anything but the feeling of being jerked this way and that.
In no time at all, they were in the Leaky Cauldron. Louis was barely able to stay standing, especially when Douglas lurched to one side upon landing. Louis looked over both boys, finding them dirty but unharmed.
Once he’d brushed as much soot off them as he could, he stopped to take in his surroundings. The Leaky Cauldron was busy for a weekday morning. Everyone went about their day as normal, which Louis was envious of. None of them had an important Quidditch game on their shoulders.
He was recognized, not unusual these days although he still hadn’t gotten used to it. There was always this feeling that people were whispering about someone else, not him.
The kids had become a barrier since they were born. People were more hesitant to approach Louis when Chris and Douglas were with him. Today, several of the people sitting around turned to watch them, but no one stopped Louis to say anything.
Louis led the boys through the pub and pulled out his wand to tap the bricks in the familiar formation. Chris giggled like always as the bricks rearranged themselves into a doorway. Louis stored his wand back in his pocket and reached down for Douglas’ hand as they stepped onto the busy street.
Summer meant Hogwarts students with free time on their hands. While the streets weren’t as busy as during the weekend, many older Hogwarts students were ambling about the place.
Louis could remember doing the same with Sierra as a teenager before he had started dating a Muggleborn and she began acting like he was the scum of the earth. Good times.
He’d seen her once after graduating while shopping in Diagon Alley. Harry had been with him, and they’d had a three-year-old Douglas in tow. She’d sneered at him just like she had during their seventh year at Hogwarts.
Good to know she was above sucking up to a famous Quidditch player. It spoke wonders about her character.
Part of Louis missed his former best friend, but he didn't miss the person who thought she was better than him because she’d found a husband with “pure” blood. Louis had seen Cooper Fiorina. It looked like something unpleasant smelling had attached itself under his nose, and he couldn’t escape it.
The man also had a nice build, but Louis had higher standards than that. Like people were were capable of smiling.
Louis pushed those thoughts from his mind as they walked along the cheerful street. The boys were both smiling widely, as they always did when they were allowed to visit Diagon Alley. Douglas kept bouncing up and down at Louis’ side, shaking the arm that he was holding onto.
“Where to first?” Louis asked, although he knew the answer. This trip was a distraction for him. The kids would decide the itinerary of the day, and they would always make the same choice.
“Ice cream?” Douglas asked, tilting his head up to Louis.
Chris started chanting, “yes!” in Louis’ arms, and it was confirmed that Florean Fortescue's was first on their list.
“Okay, okay,” Louis said as he began walking in the direction of the shop. “Just make sure you add Uncle Niall’s shop into the plans somewhere. You know how he’ll get if he finds out we were in Diagon Alley and didn’t visit.”
“Uncle Niall next,” Douglas stated. It was no longer a question now that he had assumed control of the day.
It was a good plan too. Niall’s music shop was only three doors down from Fortescue’s.
It was hard to believe that place was nearly a decade old. Niall had graduated Hogwarts unsure what he would be doing with his life and had ended up selling enchanted instruments. There were the ones that played themselves (which Niall complained were rubbish as they took away skill) and the ones that had various other properties that enhanced their use. Louis' favorite was the guitar enchanted to sound like any other instrument you wanted it to be. You could learn just one instrument yet play any part you wanted.
Most of Niall's time in the shop consisted of sitting behind the counter and strumming his own enchanted guitar. In other words, Niall was living his own version of "the life," especially after he hired Zayn to do the financial part of the business. That had come after Niall had been too lazy to update the books and a crisis had ensued.
Zayn had been the only thing that saved Niall's shop from ruin, and Niall had seduced him away from his Ministry job only weeks later. Now he came in three times a week to check on things and spent the rest of his time messing around with art. Ideal for the both of them.
Louis still couldn’t believe they had all gotten what they wanted, even if it wasn’t in an expected way. Somehow, they were all making money and also pursuing their biggest passion. Even if, for some strange reason, that passion was working at the Ministry like it was for Harry. Liam may have worked for the Ministry too, but Louis got the appeal of being an Auror, not working a desk job.
The hot summer day meant half their ice cream melted before they could scarf it down, and cleaning charms were necessary before the boys were presentable again. Chris’ shoes had also inevitably come off once they sat down, and wandless magic on the two-year-old’s part had led to Louis scrambling underneath another table for one of the shoes while a shocked family watched a star Quidditch player crawl around their feet and apologize profusely.
The boys were both hyped up by the time they headed to Niall’s shop, and Louis let them run ahead of him for the few metres or so down the street.
By the time Louis entered the shop, bell ringing above him, both boys had attacked Niall and were jabbering on with their words blurring together and becoming indistinguishable. Chris might have actually reverted to babble instead of words.
Niall, smiling brightly, glanced up when Louis entered.
“There’s your dad,” he said, setting Chris back onto the floor before standing up. “Try not to break anything,” he reminded them as he went to greet Louis.
It was a useless warning, but anything they did manage to break could be fixed after they were reminded why, exactly, the warning was given in the first place.
“Anything new or interesting?” Louis asked, crossing his arms as his eyes scanned the shop.
“Not new, no.”
They went silent, watching the boys play with a drum that made whatever noise the player was thinking of when struck, one of their favorite items in the shop.
Louis knew Niall wanted to ask about the World Cup Championship more than anything, but was worried about how Louis would take such a conversation Their friends knew how Louis got before big games, and the championship especially had put him into a right state. It didn’t take a genius to get why Louis was in Diagon Alley the day before such a big game. It only took knowing him like Niall did.
“The team gets to Greece Friday morning, right?”
“Right. Coach thinks that’s enough time for us to get settled in before it’s our turn to practice on the pitch.”
“You’ll be ushered around all day Friday and Saturday, then? No time to relax?”
Louis wanted to ask how Niall thought anything before the championship game could be relaxing, but he didn’t. That would involve admitting out loud that he was nervous.
“We’re supposed to have time to relax around our practice. Good for us to be well-rested and all that.”
“You’ll come by our area of the campsite then?” Niall asked. “We’re going to have five tents for our group. It’ll be a riot. And your mum is supposed to be close by too? With Anne, isn’t she?”
Louis nodded. “Yeah, mine and Harry’s whole family are camping together. Like lot 1463 or something like that.”
“Twenty down from us then. We did good with that. Greg’s still jealous I even got tickets, but of course I did. One of me best mates is playing. No way I wouldn’t be there.”
Louis smiled nervously, and Niall’s smile slipped when he realized where Louis' thoughts had gone.
“Anyway,” the Irishman went on in a quick change of subject. “We’re going to be partying all night. Even with the kids around. Not like they’d sleep with the noise anyway. Once in a lifetime opportunity and all that. Only be better if you were playing for the Irish team.”
Louis smirked. “I don’t think they’d take me. What with my accent and birth certificate and all.”
“Better team though,” Niall stated. It was said as a patriotic brag, but it was also true. Ireland’s Quidditch team had been better on average than England’s team for the last century. “Except you of course.”
“Thanks, Niall. That means a lot.”
“No problem, mate. Just be thankful it’s not Ireland you’re playing. We’d whoop your arse.”
“You lost out in the first round against Portugal.”
“Fluke,” Niall interjected. “That was a fluke. I told you.”
“Okay, Niall,” Louis said with a laugh.
Niall had been insistent that the one Irish chaser hadn’t meant to drop the Quaffle a total of three times. It was some mad coincidence. Some angry Portugal fan must have been behind it despite the many precautions against enchanted balls, brooms, etc. in professional Quidditch.
“Next year,” Niall said wistfully. “Ireland versus England, and we’ll see who plays better.”
“You wouldn’t root for Ireland over me. You wouldn’t. I couldn’t live with that betrayal. I’d be too distraught to play. They’d have to drag my sobbing mess out of the locker room and onto my broom.”
Niall laughed as Louis increased his dramatics throughout his short speech.
“That would make me Ireland’s secret weapon then, wouldn’t it?” Niall asked, smile bright. “That’d be ace. Highlight of my life that. Greatest achievement.”
“Arsehole,” Louis muttered quiet enough that the kids couldn’t hear, but the meaning was lost due to the fondness in his voice.
“Just a proud Irishman, Tomlinson. England can never take that from me. Merlin knows I still have to pop over once a week or so to regain my amazing Irish-ness. I’d waste away otherwise.”
Now it was Louis’ turn to roll his eyes at Niall’s dramatics. He always made such a big deal about Ireland, but like he said, it was Niall who was choosing to remain in England for whatever reason. It wasn’t like Ireland didn’t have any wizarding villages where Niall could have set up shop, yet he was here. It made it a bit difficult to take his comments about England too seriously.
“Whatever. How long are you open for today?”
“Closing at three. Was gonna use the extra time to pack.”
“I assume you haven’t done any of it yet?”
“I assume Harry did all of yours?”
Louis smirked at the comeback. They both knew it was true.
“How about dinner?” Louis suggested instead. “I’ll send a quick message to Harry and let him know to meet us at the Leaky Cauldron.”
“Sounds good, but should you be pigging out on pub food two days before the biggest Quidditch game of your career?”
Niall probably only asked so directly because there was a genuine note of concern in his question. Louis had to take a deep breath to steady himself before answering.
“What the coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Louis retorted.
“But you’ll stay away from the alcohol after what happened that time you played the Holyhead Harpies, right?”
Louis scowled, wanting to knock the smirk off Niall’s face. Sure, getting hungover right before a game had been one of his stupider moves, but did it deserve to be brought up years later? Would they never stop the mocking?
“We all agreed that my flying was impressive that day.”
“In comparison to the average hungover person, yes. In comparison to the average professional Quidditch player, you were a laughing stock.”
Louis groaned. “I guess the one consolation is I can’t possibly screw up that much before the championship. That stunt almost got me kicked off the Yorkshire team.”
“Bet you could get away with it now,” Niall commented as he watched the boys run in circles around some brass instruments.
“Probably,” Louis admitted. “But I’m not as young and reckless as I was then.”
The loud children running around them were a testament to that. They were always forcing Louis to be a bit more mature than he would be otherwise. Only a bit though.
Niall shook his head in disbelief.
“Those were the days,” he said, voice nostalgic. “We had some fun times back then. Then you lot all went and got married on me. Can’t believe Miriam’s wedding is in six months, and then Cameron, Jade, and I’ll be the only single ones left.”
“Just be glad their breakup was on good terms,” Louis reminded him, referencing Jade and Cameron who had broken up only several months ago. “When Miriam broke up with Keith back then we were all worried, remember?”
Niall smiled, getting lost in memories. “That I do remember. We swore it was the end of our group, but look at them now. Just as close as they were before. Miriam really came into her own after that, didn’t she? Who would have thought you and Harry would finally inspire her to come to terms with her sexuality?”
“And then we wouldn’t have Andrea around, and Merlin knows that woman is a blessing to everyone around her.”
Louis was just a little fond of Andrea. Hell, everyone was fond of Andrea. She was the final missing piece of their group that they hadn’t realized they needed. At least until their few remaining single members, including Niall, found people to bring into the fold. None of them were in a rush though, so that might take a while.
Louis was enjoying their reminiscing of the past, but a loud crash alerted them to Douglas rolling with a drum across the floor, and that was the end of that.
XX
Between Niall and Harry, Louis managed to stay distracted from his nerves for the rest of that day, but that was gone once he woke up the next morning. It was the day they would leave for Greece. The day before the championship game, and Louis was a mess. A very sick mess.
After vomiting for a third time, Louis started to wonder if this was something like food poisoning and not just nerves. He might never be able to eat at the Leaky Cauldron again.
Whatever it was, Louis was grateful that Harry was home to take care of the kids while Louis hunched over the toilet seat the entire morning.
This was the championship game though, and he would play no matter what his stomach decided to do. If he had to fly on his broom while letting forth a steady stream of vomit onto the ground below, it was happening. Louis didn’t care what anyone else thought.
Except he did. That was the problem.
His stomach had settled a bit by the time they left to meet their portkey. Unfortunately, portkey travel was not for easily upset stomachs. No type of magical travel was.
It was a good thing he had been in charge of Douglas and let Harry hold Chris because Louis’ legs gave out as soon as they touched solid ground. He hardly had time to release Douglas’ hand from his own before he was on all fours and dry heaving. It took a few moments of Harry rubbing his back before Louis felt confident that he wasn’t going to vomit again.
Louis sat back on his heels, leaning into Harry’s side and letting his husband wrap an arm around his waist.
“I’m a pathetic excuse for a Quidditch player,” Louis said with a groan.
Harry’s only response was a laugh that caused Louis to bury his face in his neck and groan even more.
“Come on,” Harry urged, standing up and tugging Louis along with him. “Your practice is in less than an hour, and we have to find our tent first."
Louis was about to tell Harry that he couldn’t make it when he noticed that Harry was rummaging for something in one of the bags he carried. Louis watched him with a raised eyebrow until Harry pulled out a glass vial that he'd summoned from the depths of the bag.
“Anti-nausea potion,” Harry explained. “I was making it all morning after we ran out but only just finished right before we left.”
“Thank, Merlin!” Louis exclaimed. “I thought I was going to have to go without and die up in the air while trying to grab a Quaffle.”
Harry laughed again as Louis knocked back a long swig of the potion. It tasted as unpleasant as always, but Louis thought he was adjusting to it. At least he could feel the nausea dissipating as he gathered up Douglas’ hand and began leading the way to their assigned tent.
Once they got there, Harry set to work unpacking their things and setting them up as if they were settling in for an undetermined amount of time and not two days.
“You realize we’ll hardly be in here, right?” Louis asked. “Niall’s already roped us into partying with him all day tomorrow, win or lose. This tent is for sleeping only.”
“Win,” Harry said, and it took Louis a moment to realize that Harry meant England would win, not lose. He smiled slightly as Harry continued. “And that doesn’t matter. It can still be nice for whenever we are in here. Nothing wrong with that.”
“No, there’s not,” Louis admitted. He leaned back on the sofa provided with the tent and propped his feet up on the low table in front of him.
He ran a quick hand through Chris’ hair. The boy had curled up in his lap and drifted off to sleep as soon as they got here. It would throw off his sleeping schedule since they had switched time zones, but Louis didn't have the heart to wake him today of all days. He was due for a nap anyway, and right now, Louis was okay with pushing off having a tired and irritable child.
He knew Harry had some sleeping draught in one of their bags. Enough for both him and Chris to use that night, so a nap now it was.
Louis didn’t bother to pay attention to the time. When he did, all he succeeded in doing was allowing the nausea to resurface again.
He knew when it was time for practice because Harry came to sit beside him, smiling as he motioned for the sleeping Chris to be handed to him.
Louis suddenly felt possessive. Any other day, he would have handed Chris over to Harry with only a little reluctance, but today, the boy had become his shield. As long as he held Chris, he didn’t have to go to practice. He didn’t have to play the championship game.
He let out a long, suffering sigh that caused Harry’s smile to soften. Instead of going for Chris, Harry pushed himself closer into Louis’ side and lifted a hand to play with Louis’ hair.
“You’ll be amazing,” Harry said, leaning in to kiss Louis on the cheek. “Absolutely amazing.”
Louis could feel his insides warming despite himself.
“You say that every single time,” Louis pointed out.
“Because it’s true every single time.”
“Pretty sure you said it before that Holyhead Harpies game that was the worst moment of my career.”
Louis maneuvered himself so that he could lay his head on Harry’s shoulder.
“First of all, if you can only come up with one bad game, you’re doing more than fine, Louis Tomlinson. Secondly, that was still amazing for being hungover.”
Louis snorted and shook his head into Harry’s shoulder. Harry giggled before he shifted a bit to dislodge Louis and get him to look up.
“Really, though,” he said. “You need to get going. Come on. Give me, Chris.”
Louis made a whimpering noise as if he were only a baby. It caused Harry’s already gentle eyes to get a slight spark of something like worry. If he tried hard enough, Louis could have convinced Harry right then that he shouldn’t go to practice, but Louis wouldn’t do that. He couldn’t. This was his career they were talking about. He needed to do this. Had to do this. There was no way he wouldn’t.
“It’s just practice this time,” Harry reminded him, rubbing a comforting on Louis’ thigh.
“Right, just practice.”
The squeaking of Louis’ voice showed how difficult it was for him to be nonchalant. This wasn’t just any practice. This practice had the pressure, at least, of an average game.
Harry gave Louis a bright smile, although Louis could also detect the hint of worry still in his eyes. With a deep sigh, Louis pulled away and got to his feet, depositing Chris into Harry’s arms.
“Well, then. This is it. Wish me luck. I may not return.”
Harry laughed at Louis’ dramatics, and it helped ease Louis’ nerves as he apparated to the designated spot connected to their locker room for the game.
It was dead silent when Louis popped into the room, and for a moment, Louis thought he was alone. Then he stepped into the area that was actually the locker room and saw that most of the team, as well as their staff, were already present. Half of them were even dressed and ready to go.
This incarnation of the English team had only been brought together for this World Cup. Although four of them were repeat players, the younger three had mixed up the dynamics. Primarily by reigniting Louis’ fears that he was old for a Quidditch player, but it had changed how they played as well.
All seven of them had gotten along from the start, and it was strange to see everyone sitting around with frowns without attempting conversation. Louis couldn’t let that happen no matter what state he had been in only moments before.
“Supposed to rain in an hour then,” Louis said loudly as he placed his bag down on a bench, rummaging through it for what he needed. “Good practice, but I imagine we’ll only just manage to get dried off come time for the game.”
Louis’ words didn’t even get a grunt in response. He frowned as he tugged on his practice Quidditch robes. They were less amazing than what he would be wearing tomorrow to represent England. While tomorrow’s uniforms would show their patriotism, these were varying shades of brown and unremarkable.
By the time Louis was completely dressed, the last remaining member of the team had arrived. No one broke the silence until the coach stood in front of them all and cleared his throat.
“This is our last practice before tomorrow,” he reminded them unnecessarily. “Don’t wear yourselves down so much that you’ll be useless tomorrow, but do everything you can to prepare yourselves.”
Useful advice that. Not the sort of thing each of them had already been trying to do ever since they made it past the first round of the tournament.
Louis didn’t say his sarcastic thoughts out loud. Now was not the time to be antagonistic towards the people he had to work with. From now until the game, they couldn’t have any differences. Everyone had to be on their game.
The anti-nausea potion Louis had taken wore off halfway through practice. Louis had expected his nerves to dissipate by then, but they hadn’t. Instead, he was on his broom feeling like he was more likely to hurl vomit, not Quaffles.
It wasn’t surprising when it actually happened.
Not for Louis, at least. Wyatt was very much surprised to get a vomit covered Quaffle thrown to him, and Louis had never felt more sorry for someone in his life.
It was an awkward moment to recover from, but it broke some tension after Barrett laughed. Soon, they were playing better than they had been before. It was truly like magic. Louis couldn’t bring himself to regret vomiting if it led to this, although he was thankful that the nausea disappeared as they improved.
They were all in much easier going moods when they left later that day, wet from the rain pouring down on them in a complete disregard for Quidditch.
Louis apparated straight to the village of sorts that his friends had created. The children were with their grandmothers, and Harry would be with their friends. That’s what they’d discussed earlier at least.
Louis hadn’t expected to appear right in the middle of Liam and Zayn, startling Zayn enough to send him to the ground. Louis was happy for it because it provided a much needed laugh. The glare from Zayn could be a sign of future retribution. He’d have to help win the Cup as a peace offering.
“Nice night,” Louis commented in a joyful manner.
It was. The rain had gone and nightfall was rapidly cooling off what the sun had warmed during the day. Louis loved this sort of weather when you could get away with short sleeves or a light jacket without looking crazy.
“It was until you toppled me over,” Zayn snapped.
Louis clicked his tongue. “Not my fault you were standing where I apparated, Zaynie. You should have been more careful.”
Zayn rolled his eyes but took a swig of firewhisky instead of snapping back. The boy was too soft to go after Louis the night before a game.
“Got any butterbeer around?” Louis asked, swiveling his head side-to-side to look for any potential drinks. “No alcohol before the game and all that, right? Butterbeer’s my only option.”
“Niall brought butterbeer and pumpkin juice,” Liam said. “They’re both in there.”
He pointed towards one of the tents which had Leigh-Anne and Jesy standing near the entrance.
Louis headed towards them, smiling at them as he approached and wishing he couldn’t detect how their eyes were searching his for any hints of nerves.
“Drink?” he questioned simply even though he was sure to be capable of finding them on his own.
The girls both nodded, and instead of just pointing him into the tent, Leigh led the way and Jesy followed behind him. Had his friends made a group pact to not let Louis out of their sight for the night? What did they think his nerves would make him do? Or were his nerves making him see things that weren’t there?
Leigh motioned grandly at a large table filled with more than enough to keep the whole group busy all night.
“Butterbeer and pumpkin juice,” Leigh announced as she motioned to a particular section of the table.
Louis selected a bottle of butterbeer at random and popped the top off before taking a swig.
“How’s work?” he asked when it became clear that neither Leigh nor Jesy planned on leaving him alone just then.
“Good,” Leigh said as she took a seat on the couch that was part of the currently unused furniture set in this tent. No one else was in there unless they were hiding away. Louis couldn’t blame them for choosing to be outdoors.
“Sales are up, and we haven’t even reached the Hogwarts rush yet,” Leigh continued. “Ms. Rowe attributes it all to me, and obviously I’m going to accept the credit. Things are looking good. I think I’ll be sticking around there for a long time.”
Leigh had worked her way up the corporate ladder. Something that was more difficult to do in the wizarding world than the Muggle as wizards tended to prefer smaller businesses, not corporations. Yet here Leigh was, climbing up higher and higher.
“Work’s been good for me too,” Jesy said. “I’m thinking they may give me my own show soon. Can you imagine that? My own show on the wireless? It’d be amazing.”
“That’s great!” Louis exclaimed.
He hadn’t heard this yet. Probably because Quidditch had dominated everything else since the tournament started. He would have to make it a priority to catch up on all of his friends’ lives after tomorrow when the season would be over.
He went ahead and started now though. Never let it be said that Louis Tomlinson was a procrastinator. When it came to things he wanted to do at least.
Almost as soon as Louis, Leigh-Anne, and Jesy had sat down, rain started falling outside. Everyone filed into the tent they occupied since it contained the food and drinks. It was a tight fit, but no one complained as they squashed close together.
Louis tucked himself as close as he could into Harry’s side while Jesy’s leg pressed up against his.
“Doesn’t this remind you of trying to compact ourselves into a compartment together on the Hogwarts express?” Louis asked out of nowhere.
He wasn’t sure why he had thought of it, but the memory brought a fond smile to his face.
Everyone else murmured their agreement as well with happy smiles on their faces. Andrea was the only one of them who didn’t know, but she was smiling along with them anyway. It was one of the reasons Louis liked Andrea.
“Can’t believe that was more than a decade ago,” Liam said with a shake of his head.
There was more murmuring in agreement.
“Can’t believe what we wore back then,” Jade said with a shudder.
“Or what our hair was like,” Perrie tacked on with a laugh.
The rest of the night continued on like that, with musings on their past. Louis remembered that he had been friends with these people for such a small fraction of his time at Hogwarts. He knew he shouldn’t have regrets, but that was one of his biggest ones: that he hadn’t been better at realizing who his real friends were. It would have saved him so much trouble. Merlin, he and Harry might have been together years earlier.
Those thoughts had drifted from his mind by the time the next morning rolled around. Now the only thing he could allow himself to think about was Quidditch. He ran plays in his mind all through breakfast, reciting them under his breath and then swearing Douglas and Chris to secrecy. The boys laughed in amusement, and Louis knew they would take the secrets they held to the grave.
“Good luck,” Harry said, arms around Louis’ waist as Louis prepared to go off and prepare for the game. “You’ll fly brilliantly. Switzerland won’t know who hit them.”
Louis smiled back. Somehow, his rampant nerves had simmered out into something more akin to a buzzing throughout his entire body. One that seemed to be amping him up for the game more than anything else. It was a familiar sensation that he still hadn’t come to expect.
“Thank you,” Louis said sincerely.
He leaned in to peck Harry on the lips before ducking down to his sons’ levels. They rushed toward him and launched themselves into his arms.
“Good luck, Daddy,” they said in unison.
Despite the fact they did this before every game he played, Louis felt tears prick behind his eyes, and he took a deep breath to steady himself. He tightened his arms briefly around the boys before releasing them and standing back up.
He looked at his family and their happy, smiling faces for a few brief moments to bask in the glorious moment of now and how he felt. His first, and likely only, championship game. This was huge. So fucking huge. He had to stop thinking about it or he would piss himself.
With a few more goodbyes, Louis apparated into the locker room once again. Even with the time until the game, loud thundering around them was evidence of the crowds already filling up the stadium.
Louis took another deep breath and began pulling everything out of his bag again. This time he felt a rush of emotion as he pulled out the English Quidditch robes in the same design he had watched countless players before him wear.
He had worn them before, obviously. A fair number of times by now. But he had never worn them to a World Cup Championship game. Such a small percentage of Quidditch players ever reached this moment. Louis was never supposed to be one of them that did.
If it weren’t for Harry, Louis wouldn’t have even been playing professional Quidditch. He was going to have to thank his husband for that again later on. Win or lose.
Louis was straightening out his hair when the commotion at the door started. He gave up. It was useless anyway when flying produced enough wind to thwart your efforts within seconds. Instead, he glanced over at the door and might have literally pissed his pants when he saw Harry Potter walk into the room.
Louis knew the Potter family were Quidditch fans. The first time he’d played for England, they’d been there, and Louis had lost his shit.
He hadn’t met any of them though, and Louis’ mind was working in overdrive trying to decide what the appropriate behavior here was.
Relief flooded through Louis when the group started on the opposite side of the room and began making their way through the players. They were all there: Harry Potter, his wife Ginny, their kids, and some of the Weasley family. All of them famous. Louis could name every single one of them and even give a brief biography. He’d studied the Second Wizarding War in school for Merlin’s sake.
He may have been have been too young to comprehend what was happening during the war itself, but he knew the story.
Teddy Lupin had been in his second year when Louis graduated Hogwarts, but as a Slytherin, Louis had never spoken to him. Harry and Liam had a few memories of him that they'd mentioned before, but seventh years didn’t hang out with second years. All Louis knew was that twelve-year-old Teddy Lupin hadn’t liked talking about his godfather to the other students.
The metamorphmagus was with his family now, and Louis wished more than ever that his husband was with him. Maybe Teddy would have remembered Harry. It would have been an icebreaker.
Merlin, Louis hadn’t freaked out this much about meeting a celebrity since he met his hero Indira Choudry soon after becoming a Quidditch player. This might top that between the cameras and general commotion throughout the room now that Harry Potter was in their presence.
Louis smiled as the group approached him, trying to appear calm. He focused on the teenagers of the group, finding them less intimidating than their war hero parents.
After the initial shock of it all, talking to them wasn’t bad. They were normal people, surprisingly, and Louis had them laughing at his jokes like he did most of the people he met. It filled him with pride to know he’d managed to make the famous Golden Trio laugh about something. It was going on his list of accomplishments.
Not long into their conversation, a staff member informed the family that it was time for them to leave.
Harry Potter clamped a hand on Louis’ shoulder.
“Good luck,” he said. “I’ve seen you play, and I'm looking forward to seeing it again tonight.”
“Thanks,” Louis stuttered out before trying to recover with a joke. “Can’t be as difficult as defeating the most evil wizard of all time, right?”
As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Louis wanted to point his wand at himself and perform Avada Kedavra to escape the humiliation that was sure to follow. He wasn’t prepared for the laughs that came from every member of the family, including Harry Potter himself.
“You might be right,” Harry agreed easily, still laughing.
Louis tried his hardest to smirk confidently. He had, after all, made The Chosen One laugh.
“Still difficult though,” Harry Potter continued. “So good luck.”
“Thank you,” Louis replied again, this time keeping his jokes safely tucked away in his mind.
The rest of the family echoed the sentiment as they filtered out of the locker room. As soon as they were gone, Louis took a deep breath and leaned against the wall to take it all in. He’d just met the most famous wizard in the world. Every witch and wizard grew up learning about Harry Potter. He wasn't a Quidditch player that only the fans really knew. He was the Boy-Who-Lived. The Chosen One. The one who had defeated Voldemort after dying himself as a sacrifice and coming back to life. The man of legend.
The other members of the team were buzzing just as much. Switzerland’s team wouldn’t have gotten to meet Harry Potter. Obviously, that was because he was English. Their source of national pride. England could have chosen him as their mascot, and the rest of the world would have wept in jealousy. It left Louis feeling like they had some strange advantage in this game even though it had nothing to do with their Quidditch skills. Having Harry Potter rooting for you meant you had to win.
As the time for the game approached, the buzzing anticipation that had been set off with Harry Potter’s entrance grew more and more. By the time they left the locker room, there was an intense buzzing in Louis’ ears that could have been either from the massive crowd outside or nerves. He wasn’t sure anymore.
Nausea hit Louis again as they stepped up far enough to see glimpses of the crowd. Louis avoided the sight by fiddling with his broom. He didn’t look up again until he was up off the ground and soaring in circles around the pitch.
The wind blew through his hair and hit his face. His stomach dropped, but it wasn’t in the nausea-inducing way it had before. This was the exact thrill that Louis lived for. This was what had prompted him to play Quidditch in the first place. It all came back to how invigorating it felt to ride on a broomstick.
The cheering was nice too as long as Louis could focus on it and not the boo’s. They helped build him up, but he couldn’t pay too close attention or he’d start feeling pressured.
Who was he kidding? He already felt pressured. The feeling kept building as they did their laps around the pitch and then sat through the mascots' performances. Louis took deep breaths and focused on the wind hitting his face and the broomstick underneath him.
His entire body felt like it was shaking by the time all the balls had been released from their case. Louis leaned forward in anticipation as the Quaffle rose up in the air. He sprung forward, grasping it seconds before a chaser from the other team.
Louis kept going straight towards the other team’s goal post. He could feel a Switzerland player inching up behind him, but a whooshing sound and then the player falling behind signaled that Louis’ teammate had gotten a bludger in.
He lifted his arm, aimed, and the quaffle went soaring straight into the goal post. The Swiss keeper never stood a chance. Louis could see her mouth move as she swore at him. He smirked as he swerved his broom around and got ready to steal the quaffle back as she tossed it to her teammates.
Ten points, and they were only seconds into the match. It left Louis feeling elated. He could feel his nerves being replaced by pure adrenaline.
That hype stayed up for the entire game. The teams stayed close together for twenty minutes. England would score only to have Switzerland score soon after. It was enough motivation for Louis to push harder, and soon, England was pushing ahead, scoring and not letting in any Swiss goals.
By the time the seekers had caught sight of the snitch, England was 140 points ahead. Switzerland catching it would mean they won by only ten points. Louis steeled himself, continuing to play as he silently hoped that the English seeker came out on top.
Louis grabbed onto the quaffle, streaking across the pitch with it as the seekers fought neck and neck for the snitch.
The quaffle went flying through, and Louis smirked. Not five seconds later, the announcer was yelling that the snitch had been caught. Louis looked up to see the English seeker with his fist held high. Louis cheered.
Even without the snitch, they would have tied thanks to Louis' goal, but now they’d won by 300 points. Louis had himself to help thank for that.
The English team swarmed together, clapping each other on the back and screaming loud enough that the crowd couldn't drown it out.
They were whisked out of the sky not long after and up to the top box where the Minister of Magic sat along with those of Switzerland and Greece. Louis smiled at them. This was nothing after meeting Harry Potter earlier that day. He was too amped up from his adrenaline to worry about the important people in front of him. Especially not when all eyes were already on them.
They applauded for Switzerland, and then accepted the screaming that accompanied the announcement of their win. Louis couldn’t make out the Minister of Magic’s personal congratulations because of the noise, but he nodded and mouthed a thank you back all the same.
There were a million people to see even after the spotlight had been taken off the top box. All the important people wanted photographs with the winning team members. Louis didn’t know who half the people who approached him were, but he talked to them anyway, smiling because he had just won the Quidditch World Cup.
Louis’ mood was still high when he finally found his husband and children back at their tent.
Douglas and Chris ambushed him as soon as he walked through the tent opening. They hung off him as he walked. Louis bent down to scoop Chris up into his arms before plopping down beside a smiling Harry on the sofa. Douglas was quick to crawl up onto Harry’s lap, and Louis relished in the feeling of having his family so close.
“Congratulations.” Harry’s smile was so wide that it seemed difficult for him to get the word out.
“Thank you,” Louis said, trying to reign in his own smile a bit.
He leaned in to give Harry a kiss, ignoring Douglas’ protests.
“By the way,” Harry continued. He looked reluctant to say whatever it was he needed to so soon after Louis had won. “Lucy Ransom was in our box.”
Ah. Louis’ former keeper when he’d been the captain of the Slytherin Quidditch team. Right. One of the players who had nearly sabotaged Louis’ chances at being a professional Quidditch player because she couldn’t get over him dating a Gryffindor. And she had run into that same Gryffindor who was now Louis’ husband.
“She wanted me to say hi to you for her,” Harry continued.
It was clear from his tone that Harry knew Louis wasn't impressed.
“Huh,” was Louis’ only answer. He didn’t know what else to say.
“She told me how to reach her too, if you wanted to write. Just so you know.”
Louis shrugged. “She’s only doing it because I’m a big shot now. Not like I’ve forgotten what she did.”
“No, but I know you miss Sierra a lot. I know Lucy’s not the same, but maybe you shouldn’t rule out reconnecting with some of your old Slytherin friends.”
“I have Leigh-Anne,” Louis replied stubbornly, causing Harry to frown at him.
“You know what I mean.”
“I do, but you’re also wrong. Sorry, love.”
He leaned in to kiss the pout off Harry’s face.
“I do miss Sierra sometimes,” Louis allowed. “But I miss the old Sierra who didn’t disapprove of my life choices just because she’s a bigot. I don’t want to reconnect with her, and I certainly don’t want to reconnect with Lucy.”
“As long as you’re sure…”
Louis smiled reassuringly at Harry.
“I’m sure. Now, let me celebrate. Merlin, I won the Quidditch World Cup!”
Harry and the children giggled, and soon, Louis had dissolved into laughter too. He launched into a dramatic recount of the game, enjoying how all three sets of eyes stayed trained on him, not even blinking.
He felt good. Possibly the best he’d ever felt in his life. Seeing his family’s faces as he told the story might have been better than winning had been. Especially when they looked so proud.