Boy Wizards | Harry/Louis (Zayn/Niall) | NC-17 | Harry is the Ravenclaw prodigy and Louis is the Gryffindor hotshot who can’t seem to stop staring at him.
Notes: So remember how LTY took me like, three days to write? This took like, three hours. OH WELL. Hope you enjoy :)
Harry wasn’t sure of anything. And by that, he meant he wasn’t sure of Louis.
The memory of Louis’ kiss on his cheek lingered with him for the remainder of the weekend and well into the start of the new week; it had even served as fodder for several naughty dreams and subsequent wank sessions in the dead of night, forcing him to siphon his mess as clandestinely as he could with his wand. He thought that maybe he’d woken Niall or the other boys several times, but their light snoring thankfully never let up.
It was getting out of hand, Harry realized midway through the week. By then, his mind had been occupied completely by the boy with the piercing blue eyes and the cheekbones that seemed meticulously chiseled to perfection. It was hard to keep his attention elsewhere, especially with Louis in the majority of his classes. At least he had Niall to distract him, but even then, the blond boy seemed distracted himself, occasionally staring off into space with the same look of wistful daydreaming that he’d accused Harry of several times before. Harry thought about asking why, but his words always seemed to fail him whenever he looked up to find Louis winking at him from across the room.
He accidentally jabbed his dove in the eye the last time that happened in Transfiguration.
Oddly enough, Potions class was the period during which they’d spent the least amount of time making contact of any kind. Harry thought that maybe he could bring up the kiss – was it even a kiss? Maybe Louis’ lips had slipped and accidentally landed on his cheek – before class started on Monday. And just when he made way to start the conversation after Louis’ arrival, Eleanor appeared out of nowhere and took the seat to his left.
There was really no reason to be jealous, especially when Harry hardly considered himself to be the jealous type. He’d always kept a level head no matter the situation. In fact, he rarely ever cared whenever Niall skipped out on him in favor of hanging out with some of his Quidditch team members. People weren’t meant to be owned, and it wasn’t as if things like that ever bothered him to begin with.
However, Eleanor’s sudden presence in Louis’ – and, by transitive property, Harry’s – life brought about a particularly nasty shade of green to his vision. He didn’t even notice that Eleanor was in their Potions class to begin with, and yet there she was every day afterward, sitting and waiting like it was her job to dote on Louis.
Not like it was anyone’s job in particular, Harry had to remind himself from time to time, even though he wouldn’t have minded taking on the job himself.
Then again, Louis promised that he’d be there for Harry. Although it wasn’t like the boy had physically left him – because he was there, sitting beside him all the while just like always – he couldn’t shake the feeling that he had been abandoned. After all, Louis seemed more concerned with keeping Eleanor entertained with quiet jokes and funny observations, all of which Harry desperately wished had been whispered in his ear instead.
And whenever he turned to talk to Niall like usual, he would find the other boy staring absentmindedly at the front of the class. Or, whenever the Slytherin students became especially rowdy, glaring toward the west corner of the room.
“They think they’re so entitled and above everyone else,” Niall sneered on that following Wednesday. “Malik, in particular. I caught him harassing a Ravenclaw first-year the other day and I had to tell him off because he’s a prefect, for Merlin’s sake.”
“That’s nice,” Harry uttered, distracted by the way Eleanor’s laugh had reached an annoying pitch of glee following one of Louis’ offhand comments.
On Thursday, Harry’s antidote to some revolting poison Snape assigned them had bubbled for much longer than usual; he’d been paying more attention to Louis and Eleanor’s conversation about treacle tart than his cauldron. In turn, he submitted his second-worst potion of term to a smug Snape, just behind the unfortunate one that Louis had tampered with.
Even then, it ended up being something funny that they could laugh at later and share together. But this second time had been nothing more than a reminder of how utterly caught up in Louis he’d become, just how far gone he really was. And it was a miserable kind of conclusion to come to, especially when the object of his desire seemed more concerned with some girl who’d literally popped up out of nowhere at some party.
By Friday morning, Harry was actively glaring at Liam in all of his classes. It wasn’t like he hated the boy or anything, and it wasn’t exactly like Liam had played any real part in Louis and Eleanor’s sudden friendship; he hadn’t even been at the party to begin with. But some childish part within Harry was convinced that if it hadn’t been for Liam’s countless attempts to set the two of them up together, they wouldn’t have even started talking at the party.
He knew it was all unreasonable, just like it was unreasonable to even believe that Louis and Eleanor had actually just ‘taken a walk’ after the party. He knew how things worked. Even if he never participated in any of it, he knew what protocol was like at Hogwarts. And it was with that crushing realization that he decided that any chance he had with Louis – did he ever really have a chance? – had been swept away in a haze of wavy hair, pretty lips, and bronze legs; there was no competition.
With the week finally winding down to a close (and Louis and Eleanor shamelessly flirting throughout Potions class), Harry was more than grateful to dart out of the dungeons and into his weekend as quickly as possible. He hadn’t forgotten about Louis’ invitation to Hogsmeade last weekend, but he figured that the reality of that was about as probable as the Chudley Cannons coming out on top at the end of the season. Still, that didn’t keep him from thinking up excuses to keep from going to Hogsmeade on the slim chance that Louis had somehow remembered.
Prepared for a soul-crushing weekend in the library or in his bed (one that would have Niall undoubtedly sneaking off to wherever it was that he was going), Harry avoided both his best mate and his would-be date as he maneuvered his way to the front of the class. But before he could even escape into the corridor outside, a warm and familiar hand grasped his arm, sending waves of shitshitshit and nonono up and down his spine.
“Hey, Haz.”
And Harry practically melted into goop at the mention of his wonderful, Louis-only nickname.
Wheeling around, he was more than a little surprised and relieved to find that Eleanor wasn’t standing behind the Gryffindor boy. Instead, he had him all to himself; the thought made him more than a little giddy.
Louis grinned at him, albeit with a note of hesitancy that Harry didn’t fail to notice. He wasn’t going to lie; that made his heart sink slightly.
“I’ve been…you know, being preoccupied all week.”
If this was an apology, he was certainly doing a shit job of it.
But instead, Harry just said, “Yeah, I saw. ‘S all good though.”
Louis arched a brow. “Is it? I thought you would’ve minded, given that you’ve got that possessive streak in you.”
Any aloofness that Harry might have felt only moments ago completely disappeared, giving way for a rush of color to his cheeks that made his sheepishness perfectly obvious. Fuck.
“I’m not – I don’t own you,” Harry stammered, wishing more than anything to bolt down the corridor and jump out the nearest window, nevermind the fact that they were well into the castle’s basement.
Louis just shrugged.
“Pity. Anyway, I hope you haven’t forgotten about our date tomorrow. I’d be terribly disappointed if you were to come down with a nasty bout of flu, or if you had some paper you suddenly remembered you had to write. Besides, I’m in all your classes, so I think I’d remember those.”
Harry wanted to retaliate with, ‘Well, you don’t really pay attention in class to begin with,’ but his cheeks chose to betray him again as they turned a deeper shade of red, further proving his transparency.
“Right,” Louis said amusedly. “Thought so. I’ll see you tomorrow, Hazza. You might want to get that blushing problem checked out beforehand.”
And with another cheeky, maddening wink, Louis was gone.
***
The next morning was wild and stormy – or at least, that was what the rain and sleet pounding against the window of their dorm seemed to suggest. And though that should have been enough to convince Harry to stay in, he made his way down to breakfast by himself; Niall immediately rejected his invitation to go to Hogsmeade with some excuse about having to check on the well-being of his broom and slipped out of the dorm before Harry could even say another word.
Breakfast was more than a little disappointing – if not for his lack of Niall’s company, then for the lukewarm sludge meant to be oatmeal that he scooped into his bowl. Though he’d gone to bed utterly excited and just a bit frustrated at Louis’ attempts to embarrass him, he woke up feeling more than a little apprehensive about the day’s trip.
Louis called it a date, and though he must have meant it innocently enough, it was enough to send Harry into a right state of panic. It wasn’t like he wasn’t comfortable with the idea of hanging out with people other than Niall; plus, he’d hung out with Louis enough that he knew that to be untrue. But if this actually were a date – why would it be a date? – then he was sorely unprepared. Excited though he was to spend some time with Louis, he’d never actually been on a date, and he was almost absolutely certain he’d be shit at it.
But before he could even question what merited a date and what didn’t, the clock struck the appropriate hour and it was time to meet in the entrance hall. Feeling more than slightly sick to his stomach, Harry threw a piece of fruit in his mouth for good measure before meeting the growing crowd outside.
As always, Filch stood in front of the oak doors, checking the names of the students permitted to go into Hogsmeade. The rheumatic, old caretaker rattled off names miserably, causing several Slytherin boys in the corner to chuckle lowly to themselves and a group of Gryffindor girls to look on in mild revulsion.
Harry looked around for Louis, silently hoping that he might have shown up with Liam and cast away all fears of this being a date out of his mind. But when he saw the Gryffindor boy standing alone on the edge of the group, wearing a beanie and a smile that threatened to undo him completely, his legs went a little numb.
“Hazza!” Louis greeted. “You look absolutely ridiculous. I love it.”
It was too early to be blushing like this. But even Harry had to admit; he probably did look absolutely ridiculous. After catching a glimpse of the miserable weather outside, he’d padded himself with the thickest coat he could find and the warmest gloves in his possession. And just in case, he threw on the only hat in his possession: a big, thick furry thing that looked like a small animal resting on his head – with pom poms dangling down by his shoulders for good measure. He was a child.
“Thanks, I guess,” Harry muttered, tugging on the itchy scarf that coiled around his neck. “I invited Niall, but he had somewhere to be. Again.”
“Hmm,” Louis murmured thoughtfully. “Liam’s busy, as well. If I didn’t know better – ”
“Never,” Harry said quickly. “Never in a million years.”
Louis shrugged. “Just a thought. Alright there, Curly?”
Harry was alright; he was just more than a little warm in Louis’ vicinity. And his extra layers weren’t helping any.
“Yeah,” he grumbled, and Louis just smirked.
The walk into Hogsmeade was about as horrible as Harry expected. The rain had lessened slightly, but that didn’t make the wind any less harsh or the clouds any less stormy. Everyone seemed huddled together, bent over in an attempt to avoid the bitter winds that lashed at their faces. However, Louis seemed generally unbothered by all of it, maintaining his usual pace and walking beside him with an annoyingly amused sort of expression plastered on his face. Once or twice, their knuckles knocked together, sending momentary warmth coursing throughout his body and into his bones. If Louis noticed, he showed no indication of it. But that didn’t mean that his eyes didn’t light up with mischief every time their bodies made any sort of contact.
With every other step, Harry wondered whether he might have had a more decent time in the library, regardless of how pathetic the plan might have sounded. His mind wandered off to Niall, who might have ended up making the smarter decision in the end, after all.
As the other students started filing off into different directions, Harry made way to follow the ones that were heading to the inevitable warmth of Honeydukes. Harry remembered hearing Niall talk about rumors of a secret passage that led directly from Hogwarts to the sweets shop, but he’d brushed it off as nothing more than idle chitchat. Still, it was something interesting to think about, and he made a mental note to ask Louis at some point – not that he would know, or anything.
However, Louis grabbed onto his arm with a thickly gloved hand before he could join the rest of the students waddling off to the tempting confections.
“You’re not going there, are you?”
Harry blinked. “I was planning on it, yeah. Did you have other plans? A dance in the rain, maybe?”
Louis chuckled. “Didn’t take you for a dancer.”
“I can dance,” Harry said with a disproportionate degree of confidence. “I mean, I’m not not a dancer.”
“Oh, Haz,” Louis said in a manner that made Harry want to tug the curls out of his head. He reached over and fondled one of the fuzzy pom poms dangling just over Harry’s collarbone; his breath hitched involuntarily. “I’m just saying that you’ve gone and made yourself all warm and bundled up. I wouldn’t want to put all that effort to waste just yet. What if we went for a walk?”
Harry could have scoffed; Hogsmeade was a village made for shopping, not walking aimlessly.
But instead, he just gazed at the other boy wide-eyed and curious.
“A walk?”
“You’re catching on,” Louis said before tugging Harry in closer to him and draping a sleeved arm around the younger boy’s shoulder. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
Harry actually did scoff then, but he was all too eager to follow Louis when he was wrapped around him like this.
Suddenly, the weather didn’t seem too bothersome when they were walking together like that; and maybe the rain had lifted a little bit. Even so, Harry was more than willing to take advantage of his proximity to the other boy. As they walked together, he took careful note of the light dusting of freckles across the older boy’s cheeks, as well as the flecks of light gray that were peering out at him through those crystal eyes. Louis smelled sweet, he decided, but in a way that suited him. It was a smell that Harry definitely wouldn’t have minded smelling over and over again.
Several minutes of silence passed before Harry wondered whether others could see them embracing each other like this, but he discovered that no one so much as spared them a sideways glance as they walked past them. And for a brief moment, Harry wished that they had been looking. He wanted to show Louis off like this, wanted to show off that he could hold him like this while the others couldn’t.
“Still cold, Curly?” Louis eventually asked.
Harry shook his head instantly, nuzzling his nearly frostbitten nose into the cushion of Louis’ coat.
“No.”
“Liar,” Louis said mirthfully, tightening his grip on Harry’s shoulder.
And Harry could have died. He didn’t care if Louis was holding him like this because he was cold; the point was that he was holding him at all.
However, Harry suddenly became very aware of where they were headed, and an inexplicable degree of fear tugged in the pit of his stomach.
“Louis?”
“Yeah?”
“Where are we going?”
“I thought we’d make our way over to the Shrieking Shack. Is that okay?”
He hadn’t meant to, but Harry abruptly stopped in his tracks, causing Louis to lurch and stumble forward. He regretted it immediately as Louis’ arm flew off his shoulder, leaving him cold in its absence. Louis just gawked at him.
“What?”
“The Shrieking Shack?”
Louis’ eyes widened in understanding as a wry smile worked its way across his face; Harry hated him so much.
“Aw,” Louis said in a sickly sweet voice. “Is baby Styles afraid?”
Heat. Unwarranted heat flew to his cheeks.
“No. It’s just – ” It came out even before he could help himself. “It’s haunted!”
Louis stared at him dumbly, almost like he’d been whacked clear across the head. Harry wished he could run off and away toward the castle, or better yet, dig his own grave there and then, burrowing deeper and deeper into the earth until he disappeared completely and Louis could forget that he ever existed. But before he could make progress on any of that, the sickening sound of Louis’ rising laughter cut through the air and made Harry’s insides coil and contort with the most peculiar combination of annoyance and affection.
“What?”
Louis was wheezing, and Harry didn’t understand why he wanted to both clap his hand across the boy’s mouth and also slip a finger into it.
“It’s not haunted,” Louis said, though there was no trace of impatience in the way he said it. “That’s just a bunch of rubbish. It’s meant to keep rapscallions like us outside!”
Harry had only the slightest notion of what a rapscallion was, but if it meant being one with Louis, then he was more than ready to accept the title.
“Look,” he said, his voice laced with urgency. “I just don’t…want to, okay? Can’t we just do something normal? What do people usually do on things like this?”
Louis’ laughter died off, replaced with mild confusion in its stead. Harry bit his lip almost instantly, hard enough to draw blood.
“Things? Things like this?”
Harry wished he were dead. That was really all he had a right to ask for, at any rate. He deserved nothing less than death, the most painful and embarrassing way to die –
“Haz? You’ve gone all glassy.” He sprung back to attention. This time, Louis was gazing at him with genuine concern.
“Haz,” he repeated. “Are you okay?”
Harry felt the floodgates bursting.
“It’s just that – I mean – I dunno,” he sputtered out effortlessly. “I’ve never done this before. I’ve never been asked out on a date before, so I don’t know what I’m doing and I just want to sit down and have a butterbeer or something because that’s what everyone else does, or at least, it’s what Niall does whenever he tries to get into a girl’s knickers and I’m just cold and thirsty.”
The silence that fell between them after that reverberated with a charged sort of energy, and Harry honestly wished someone snapped his wand in half and shoved both shards into his eyes. But before he could sputter out another tirade of incoherency, Louis wrapped another arm around him and oh.
“Harry,” Louis said, half-chuckling. “Relax. Please. You’ll give yourself a stress ulcer and Merlin knows that’s not very sexy.”
Harry kept his gaze pointed at the wet ground beneath them.
“And…you’ve never done this before? You’ve never done…this before?”
The way that Louis asked each question made Harry want to burst into flames; how much more obvious could he have made his point?
“Oh,” Louis said, understanding instantly. “Okay. Well – erm, you’re – well, you said you’re cold, right? I know just the place.”
Harry didn’t even bother questioning the other boy’s change in tone. Instead, he let himself get pulled back to where they had entered, walking in between clumps of students with new sweets and goods dangling from their arms. Harry would have reveled in Louis’ embrace as they made their way back, but he was too concerned with the aftermath of having made a total fool of himself. He started contemplating ways to switch his seat in Potions come Monday afternoon.
Soon, a burst of warmth wafted over Harry’s face. Looking up, he registered his surroundings as the interior of the Three Broomsticks.
Butterbeer. So he had heard it all.
But before Harry could properly scope out a table for them to share, Louis was still pulling him off toward the back of the shop into a store room that he’d only ever seen Madam Rosmerta enter – not other students. But Louis traipsed in like it was the most natural thing in the world to do, and none of the other patrons gathered near the entrance paid them any attention. Harry swallowed hard.
“Louis?”
The older boy let go of him and turned his attention to a trapdoor that remained inconspicuous behind barrels of liquor. He pulled on it and revealed narrow steps that led into a lit cellar below.
“I know you said butterbeer,” Louis said, casting him a warm glance. “But I figured we could use something a little harder. Besides, Rosmerta loves me, and she never minds when I sneak into her private stores. C’mon, you first.”
By this point, Harry didn’t care much for right and wrong. So he did as he was told and wiggled his way through the small trapdoor, carefully navigating his way down the stone steps that led to a cellar crowded with even more barrels and bottles like the ones they’d seen upstairs.
Louis followed immediately after him, shutting the trapdoor lightly so that they were assured a certain degree of privacy – privacy that Harry didn’t quite know what to do with. But before Harry can say anything, Louis is off to the corner, inspecting several bottles under the candlelight.
“Do you care what we drink?”
Harry’s throat is thick, so really, he doesn’t care as long as he drinks something soon.
“No.”
“Fantastic,” Louis said, wheeling around with a dusty bottle. And with very little wristwork, he popped the top off, covering the stone floor with a mist of strong-smelling liquid. He drank a fourth of the bottle before handing it off to Harry. “Here.”
He accepted instantly, copying all of Louis’ movements with little hesitation because he’d made enough of a fool of himself already. And it was in that moment that he realized he’d never really had firewhisky before, so he wasn’t quite prepared for the burn that followed and ran down his throat before bubbling up in his stomach. He tried his best to suppress a grimace, but he must’ve failed at that, too, because Louis was looking at him like one would look at a three-legged puppy.
“So it’s a day of firsts,” he said, not so much a question as much as a very astute observation. “Excellent.”
Harry set the bottle on the nearest shelf. “Might as well get it all out of my system in one go.”
“Definitely,” Louis said, and before Harry could figure out what was happening, the other boy’s hands were on his cheeks, cradling his face gingerly and holding it closer to his for further inspection. And Harry’s breathing threatened to stop altogether.
Louis’ eyes were dark, although that could have just been the dim lighting of the cellar. Regardless, Harry couldn’t read him at all; he was just there, completely mysterious and unreadable and so fucking desirable that Harry didn’t know what to do with himself. So rather than doing anything, he just stayed there, pliant in Louis’ grip.
Before he knew it, Louis was rubbing small circles into his cheeks with his thumbs, massaging the swell of skin just over his cheekbones.
“Your cheeks are freezing,” he whispered.
Harry shook his head. “No…kind of hot, actually.”
“It’s because of your layers,” Louis said with a light smirk. He lifted one hand from his cheek and tugged on the dangling end of his hat. “Can I?”
“Please,” Harry hissed.
With that, Louis tugged the hat off his head and tossed it to the ground. In one fluid motion, he tore his hand upward and ran his fingers through his curls and fuck almighty that felt good. Harry couldn’t resist the automatic response to shut his eyes and feel himself loosen under the circles being massaged into his scalp. Every inch of his body seemed to burst into flames.
When he opened his eyes, he found that Louis had moved impossibly closer to him so that they were barely separated by a breath. If he felt so inclined, Harry could have counted all the freckles on his nose.
“Eleanor,” Harry found himself breathing, and he bit down so hard on his tongue that he was sure he was bleeding.
But Louis didn’t seem to mind the question – was it even a question? – and he just gazed at Harry with those same unknowing pools of intensity.
“Just a friend. Honestly,” he said, his breath hot against Harry’s prickling skin. “More a favor to Liam than anything else. Besides, I’m not so sure if I swing that way anymore, if you know what I mean.”
Harry gulped, ignoring the conflicting tides of relief and worry inside him. “You’re not?”
“Nope,” Louis said with a slight shake of his head, leaning in closer.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
And it wasn’t like Harry couldn’t see this from a mile away, but it was still the sweetest, most breathtaking burst of surprise when Louis’ lips moved forward and brushed against his and Merlin, they were kissing.
His mind took a little longer to catch up with his body, which already responded willingly to the change in contact; his hands instantly reached out to grab at Louis’ neck while his lips eagerly welcomed the pair that slid perfectly against his. Louis’ hands wandered from his hair down to his neck down to the small of his back, rubbing softly there and gently bringing him up closer to him so that they could position themselves better.
It was like someone had kindled a fire within him, igniting his veins and sending sparks shooting down to the tips of his limbs. He could hardly think straight, not when Louis was gripping him tightly and pressing their bodies even closer together, and especially not when Louis’ tongue was flicking teasingly against his lower lip. All he wanted was to pull the boy closer to him, digging his fingernails into the exposed flesh he found just above the waistband of the boy’s pants and massaging vigorously against the protruding hip bones he found hovering just over his.
The gap in contact was too much for Harry to bear, so he surged forward and met Louis’ hips with his own, eliciting the most amazing sound of pleasure from the back of the other boy’s throat and meeting it with a keening noise of his own. Their lips moved violently yet maintained an elegant sort of pace at the same time, compelled by the simultaneous need for more and the need to slow down.
Harry’s heart was pounding in his chest and drumming in his ears and it wasn’t until Louis’ hands found their way back into his hair that he sobered up enough to realize that he needed to breathe. But even when he pulled away, the older boy moved along with him, desperate to maintain contact. But Harry was actually going light-headed, so he moved backward, all the while keeping a firm grip on the boy’s waist to remind him that no, he wasn’t going anywhere.
When Louis looked at him, a surge of emotion welled in Harry’s heart at the sight of the boy so utterly spent and disheveled by his doing. And though he was certain he looked exactly the same way with pink, puffed lips and eyes glazed over in euphoria, he couldn’t help but succumb to the small blossom of pride that was there.
Harry had to press a quick kiss to the other boy’s chin to get him to speak again, much less snap out of whatever haziness had settled on him in the aftermath.
“Right,” Louis said, blinking rapidly. “Erm. Still cold?”
Harry tried laughing, but it came out a breathless pant when Louis surged forward and started nipping and licking at the new skin exposed by the scarf that had fallen midway through their wrestling.
“No,” he breathed, letting Louis push him up against the wall as he explored his neck with a startling degree of vigor. “Not at all.”
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