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“Of COURSE yours is a fucking red panda,” Louis huffs as he watches Harry’s newly produced patronus tumble through the air between them. “Oh my god I love him,” Harry whispers, nearly poking himself in the eye with his wand as his hands fly up to cover his mouth. The little creature winds itself between Louis’ legs, pawing playfully at his feet before disappearing in a delicate wisp of silver. “Brilliant, Styles! If I were a prefect I’d shell out a few points to Ravenclaw,” Potter says with an appreciative grin. He looks over at Hermione before adding, “too bad I don’t know anyone who might be able to help us out with that.”Hermione rolls her eyes, her silver otter gliding around her waist in lazy circles. “Harry, you can’t keep trying to give Styles points just because you think he’s cute.” Behind Louis, Niall snorts. Potter presses his hand to his chest in mock outrage, only the faintest hint of a blush noticeable on his warm brown skin. “Excuse me, this time he actually earned it.” He turns back to Harry and winks. For a split second, Louis hates him. “Show her, Harry.” Harry grins, returning the wink with a dramatic, “Right away, Harry.” Everyone in the vicinity groans. “Expecto patronum!”  Harry’s little red panda erupts from the end of his wand, shaking itself before toddling over to Ron and Hermione. It plops down on its rump, cocking its head up at her expectantly. Before she has a chance to say anything, Ron throws his arms in the air and shouts, “three points to Ravenclaw!”Hermione shoots him a glare before turning to smile at Harry. “Well done, Styles. Two more points to Ravenclaw, because three points is a ridiculous number to dish out under literally any circumstance.”“Are you just saying that, or is that a sneaky way of admitting that Styles does deserve cuteness points?”“Oi!”“Ron, relax, I’m only joking.”“What about me, do I get points?” They all turn to face Niall, who’s looking a bit stunned as he stares down at the rather bewildered silver koala clinging to his leg. Hermione laughs. “Fierce, Horan. Five points to Hufflepuff.” “Three points for skill, two points for cuteness, right?” Niall says with an absurd waggle of eyebrows. “Absolutely not. You earned those on pure talent.”“What about me, Granger,” comes a haughty voice from across the room, “do I get points for being cute?”“Shove it, McLaggen. You haven’t managed a single wisp of silver this entire meeting.”“I’m cute,” Ron chirps helpfully.“Everyone is cute, but none of you are getting points for it.”“Oh so you do think I’m cute.”“McLaggen, shut up before I start taking points from Gryffindor,” Hermione retorts before hurrying over to help a group of third years who somehow managed to turn their friend’s robes into what looks to be a single, enormous lasagna noodle. “Five points from Gryffindor,” Ron mutters under his breath. Louis’ the only one who hears him; everyone else is too busy congratulating a surprised yet delighted Liam, who’s successfully produced the fourth patronus of the evening. His French bulldog yips playfully at Harry’s red panda before starting the floppiest game of chase Louis has ever seen, as neither animal seems to have much control over their weird little bodies. “Excellent,” Potter smirks, “remind me to tell the twins they each owe me a sickle.” At Liam’s raised eyebrow, he explains, “we had a bet going. I was positive yours was going to be some sort of dog.”“What were the other bets?”“Well, George originally put money on a hamster, but thought better of it and settled on a capybara.” Niall cackles. Liam, however, looks like he isn’t sure if he should be offended, though Louis suspects he’s simply never heard of a capybara. “Fred, on the other hand, was absolutely positive it was going to be a turkey.”Liam scoffs, definitely offended this time. “What?! Why??”“Why not?” George says, sidling up to Liam and throwing an arm around his shoulders. “The turkey is majestic.”“Very noble,” Harry adds solemnly, his dimples popping as a grin spreads across his face. “Loves to strut,” Niall suggests, setting his shoulders and puffing up his chest before taking a few exaggerated strides in demonstration.“I hate you lot,” Liam grumbles, flicking his wand so that his patronus disappears, sending Harry’s red panda head over heels in mild confusion. “No you don’t,” Ron chuckles, ruffling Liam’s hair. “Five points to Hufflepuff.” Then, quieter so that only Liam and Louis can hear, “And an extra point for cuteness.” He plants a loud, wet kiss on Liam’s rapidly reddening cheek before darting away with a self-satisfied smirk. “Wankers,” Liam grunts, attempting to sort out his rumpled mohawk. “Oh, don’t act like you hate it. You’d have a go with any one of the Weasleys given the opportunity.” “And what about you, Tommo?” Liam shoots back, “think Harry should finally give in to Potter’s incessant flirting and meet him for a late night swim in the prefect’s bathroom?”To his horror, the highlights in Louis’ piecey fringe suddenly flicker a violent shade of pink. “Liam,” he hisses, looking around frantically as he runs his fingers through his hair in an attempt to look casual. Thankfully, Harry is otherwise occupied, fawning over Niall’s koala as it ambles around awkwardly on all fours. Louis breathes out a sigh of relief as his highlights settle back into their normal mermaid blue; he’s old enough now that he usually has a handle on it, but his metamorphmagy can be a real pain in the arse sometimes. Especially when he’s flustered. “You’re hopeless,” Liam tuts, pinching the bridge of his nose. Louis ignores him, deciding it’s best to move on from the conversation entirely by pulling out his wand and exclaiming, “Expecto patronum!” For what feels like the millionth time that night, absolutely nothing happens. “There may have been a little spark that time, Lou,” Harry says brightly, sauntering over to lean against the wall beside Liam. Louis throws him a middle finger.“Heyyyyy.”“Don’t take it out on H, Tommo,” Niall scolds, sliding down to sit on the floor between Harry and Liam. “Have you tried using a different memory?”“Gosh, Neil, I can’t believe I didn’t think of that.” Louis snaps before rounding on him. “Obviously I’ve tried using different memories! What do you think I’ve been doing, twiddling my wand?”Harry barks out a laugh, eyes widening and slapping a hand over his mouth like it surprised him as much as it surprised everyone else. He flushes, sinking down to sit next to Niall, who’s chosen to ignore Louis outburst and is now emitting a gentle stream of bubbles from his wand. Louis bites his lip, suddenly sheepish. In lieu of an apology, he sprawls on the floor next to his boys with a dejected sigh.“I wish I knew what I was doing wrong,” he whinges, his head in Niall’s lap in quiet supplication. He shifts his hair from green to white to orange until Niall concedes, smiling down at him as he runs his fingers though Louis fringe. “What memory are you trying to use?” Liam asks. Louis raises an eyebrow. “Ok, fine, memories,” Liam says, holding up his hands defensively. Louis fiddles nervously with his nose rings, unsure what to say. He’s tried dozens of them at this point. It’s not like he’s got a lot to pull from before he got to Hogwarts; not that memories from home were bad, per say, but they were…complicated. So he’d stuck to memories he had with the lads—their sorting, their first Care of Magical Creatures lesson, the time they managed to charm all of the furniture in the Great Hall into a rousing rendition of “Be Our Guest” from the Beauty and the Beast soundtrack. What bothered him most wasn’t that he couldn’t produce a patronus: he knew it was difficult magic that some witches never achieved. No, the thing that bothered him most was what it implied. He thought he was happy at Hogwarts. In the seven years he’d been at school, he’d always felt content, even as the witching world began to realize that Voldemort was coming back into power. That was terrifying, absolutely, but when he had his boys around, Louis had always felt like he could do anything. But now, watching them produce three goofy little patronuses, he felt unsure. He felt left behind. “The wrong ones, clearly,” Louis mumbles eventually. He picks at his fingernails, changing them to a deep, midnight black, unable to bring himself to look up from his hands. Harry, however, has other ideas. He stands, wobbling a bit before reaching for Louis and yanking him to his feet. “Here, show me what you’re doing,” he says gently, moving to stand behind Louis. Louis wills his hair to behave, feeling ridiculous and suddenly very warm. He looks around the room, hoping no one is paying attention. They aren’t—the rest of the DA are busy wrapping up, chattering away about the Halloween feast and charming cushions into jack o'lanterns. Setting his feet, Louis raises his wand, takes a deep, steadying breath, and exclaims, “Expecto patronum!” At that very moment, Harry presses up against his back, taking hold of Louis’ hand to adjust the angle of the cast. Louis gasps; to his enormous surprise, a tiny jet of silver shoots from the tip of his wand before quickly dissolving into nothing. Louis whips around, grinning wildly up at Harry’s smiling face. “Hazza, I did it! Did you see that? I did it!” Harry laughs, his green eyes twinkling in the low light. “You did, Lou! Try again, maybe you’ll get it this time.”Louis spins around, determined, and tries again, holding his wand like Harry had shown him. 
“Expecto patronum!”
Nothing. His face falls, the shock of blue in his hair flashing a dull grey. “Lou—”But Harry’s cut off by Potter, who yelps, “Shit! It’s nearly half six. We need to get down to the feast before Umbridge gets suspicious. Fred, George, stop fucking around with those bloody pumpkins and take some fourth years down to the Great Hall.”“Right-o, mate,” Fred says, smashing his pumpkins on the ground before vanishing the mess with a quick, “Evanesco.” George chimes in with a cheery, “This way to the Halloween feast, ickle fourth years,” beckoning a surly group of teenaged Gryffindors through the heavy oak door. “Come on,” Louis says, helping Niall to his feet. “Let’s go before Potter decides to send us down with a gaggle of baby Ravenclaws.” Liam, ever the respectable arsehole, gives him a withering look before shouting, “Alright Hufflepuff fourth years, you’re with us.” Louis and Niall both let out long-suffering groans while Harry starts babbling animatedly about what kind of pie he’s looking forward to tonight.“The only pie Tommo wants this Halloween is a cutie-pie,” Niall mutters, quiet enough that only Louis can hear him.“Lou, are you ok?” Harry says, brows furrowed slightly in concern. “Your hair’s turned pink again.”

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“I just don’t get it.”“There’s not much to get, Lou.”“Like,” Louis continues, ignoring Liam as he reaches over Niall to grab a steaming bowl of mash, “why would you ever even want to juice a pumpkin?”“Same reason you’d want to juice anything? It tastes good?” Harry takes a dainty sip of his pumpkin juice as if he’s sampling some sort of posh wine. “And it’s got like, lots of good vitamins and stuff.” Lous rolls his eyes. “Sounds fake but ok. Accio rolls!” “Oh give it a rest Louis,” Niall says through a mouth full of stew. “You only hate it because everyone else loves it.”“You mean I have taste?” Louis shoots back, dipping a roll in his helping of cheesy pasta and shoving it into his mouth. Niall raises a single, incredulous eyebrow.“Don’t you have some important business to attend to at the Hufflepuff table?”“’Fraid not.” Niall hums happily, sopping up the last of his stew with a hunk of bread. “Ok, so.” He looks across the table at Harry and Liam, chewing thoughtfully. “Back to the patronus problem.”Louis groans. “Do we have to call it a problem?”“Sure, we can call it ‘your furry little problem.’” Louis scrunches up his nose. “That makes it sound like I have a poorly behaved rabbit or something. Also, what makes you think it’s even going to be something furry? What if it’s a snake, or, like, a dragon? Something cool.”Niall snorts out a laugh, showering Harry’s plate with little bits of half-chewed bread. Unfazed, Harry vanishes it away and helps himself to another scoop of shepherd's pie, an infuriating smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. Louis flicks his eyes to Liam, who’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin behind his goblet of pumpkin juice.“What?”“Absolutely nothing about you indicates your patronus will be anything remotely reptilian. You’re too—” Liam’s hand hovers over a plate of pasties as he thinks, nodding slightly before snagging one and finishing with: “warm-blooded.”Harry giggles, the sound covering the spell Louis mutters under his breath. There’s a small ‘pop’ and the pasty Liam just put in his mouth suddenly becomes a knobby pair of woolen socks. He makes a muted ‘mmf’ sound in surprise before spitting them out and pelting them at Louis’ face. Fortunately for Louis, Liam has terrible aim, missing him by several centimeters; unfortunately for Liam, the socks fly over Louis toward the Gryffindor table, bouncing off Granger’s head and into a large cauldron of tomato soup. She whips around, scowling at Louis.“Wasn’t me, I swear.” He points at Liam, who might have gotten away with it if it wasn’t for the way his face has flushed the color of the offending soup.“Seriously, Payne?” she says, annoyed and a little surprised. “Sorry,” he mumbles sheepishly, looking down at his plate.She chuckles. “Merlin, Liam, calm down. It’s just a bit of soup.” She nods her head at Louis. “I would’ve expected something like that from Tommo but from you it seems a little off brand.”“It is,” Liam grumbles as she turns back to her friends. He glares at Louis, who sticks out a forked tongue to further prove his point. “Use your metamorphmagy all you want, Lou, it’s never going to hide the fact that you’re actually the tenderest little soft boy in Hogwarts’ history.” “Am not.” “Are too,” Niall says, twisting in his seat so he can wrap Louis in a crushing hug. “You’re just so cuddly—”“Gerroff me.” Louis squirms, his protest muffled slightly under Niall’s robes.“Snuggly—”“Those are the same thing.” Louis gets an arm free and manages to twist one of Niall’s nipples.“So gentle—”Exasperated, Louis lets out a stream of unintelligible swear words.“A real delight—”“I am a delight.”“Full of rainbows—”“Homophobia!” Louis shouts as he emerges triumphantly from Niall’s vice-like grip.“Tomlinson!” All four of them jump as Professor McGonagall’s strides toward them, arms crossed. “I cannot believe I have to say this again, but you are forbidden from yelling ‘homophobia’ at the dinner table.” She sighs, resigned. “What was it this time?”Louis winces, wishing (not for the first time), that he had a little more control over his impulses. “Niall told me that I’m full of rainbows?”Louis swears he sees the corner of her mouth twitch. She blinks once, sighs, and says, “If you wish to shout, you may do so outside. Five points from Ravenclaw.”Once she’s gone, Harry immediately picks up right where they left off. “Point is, Lou, if you’re betting your patronus is going to be any less fluffy than one of ours, you’ve got another thing coming.”“Wait a minute,” Louis says, suddenly suspicious. “Does that mean…if the twins were taking bets on Liam’s patronus, were they also taking bets on mine?”“Mate, we’ve been in class together for seven years. Everything’s a bet with them.”“What’s this about a wager now, Horan?”Louis whips around to see Fred and George standing behind him.“How do you do that?”“Selective hearing,” replies George, waving him off. “So. Horan. What are we betting on?”“Erm…”“Louis was wondering if there were odds on his patronus, same as mine.”“Oh without a doubt,” Fred says brightly, digging around in his robes before pulling out a grubby little piece of parchment. “Let’s see…Tomlinson…Ah! There you are. So, we’ve got your basics—a handful in for house cat, a few down for rabbit—makes sense, you’re the bounciest fucker I’ve ever met—one for fox—” “That was me,” Harry says softly. Louis turns to glare at him, offended that Harry would make a bet of any sort behind his back, but stops short at the sight of Harry adjusting his pointed witches hat, presumably to hide his flaming red ears.Fred clears his throat loudly before continuing. “Longbottom was dead set on pigeon, which is absurd, no idea where that one came from.” He flips over the parchment. “Looks like the most popular wager, though, is hedgehog.” “Excuse me?” Louis bristles, the highlights in his hair flickering a deep scarlet. George gives Louis a once over, grinning as he gestures pointedly at, well, all of Louis. “Precisely.”Niall’s cackling so hard he nearly falls off the bench. Louis has half a mind to turn his gauges into cacti.“Get a grip on yourself, Neil, it’s not that funny.”“Hedgehog,” Niall wheezes, wiping his eyes and making sure he hasn’t smudged any of his eyeliner. He holds out an open palm to the twins, who give him two overly-enthusiastic low-fives. “Good one lads.” In the end, Louis decides to take the highroad, knowing that anything he might say or do would only serve to further their point. He smiles up at the twins serenely, his highlights returning to their normal shade of blue as he turns back to the table. The main courses have vanished, replaced with a mouthwatering array of desserts; directly in front of Louis is an enormous bowl of Honeydukes sweets, surrounded by trays of sticky toffee pudding, pumpkin pasties, treacle tarts, cauldron cakes, popcorn balls, and mini pies piled high with whipped cream. Louis selects a sticky toffee pudding, pulling it apart with his fingers as he looks across the table at Liam and Harry. Liam’s preoccupied, dazzled as always by the infectious atmosphere that always surrounds the Weasley twins. They’re still chattering on about their bets, having moved on to other DA members and considering whether or not McLaggen’s patronus will turn out to be a flobberworm. Louis snorts and glances at Harry, expecting him to be similarly enthralled. He’s not. Harry’s busy eating one of the mini pies, watching Louis in a way that feels too private for the dinner table. It’s too fond and too familiar and full of tension that neither of them have been brave enough to talk about. Not wanting the other lads to catch on, Louis throws Harry an exaggerated, playful wink, hoping the gesture might diffuse the situation before things get out of hand. His plan backfires spectacularly. Because here’s the thing: Harry reacts to pretend flirting the same way he reacts to actual flirting. Louis knows this, they’ve had this conversation before; Harry claims he’s never really learned to tell the difference, that the line between real and make believe is so fine that at some point it stops mattering whether it was ever really there to begin with. Now, as Louis watches him dip one of his long, boney fingers into the dollop of whipped cream atop his pumpkin pie, he’s starting to think Harry has a point. Not taking his eyes off Louis, Harry sucks his finger into his mouth, arches an eyebrow—the one sporting the thin black ring—and mouths “fox.” Louis can’t help it. Every single hair on his head turns a brilliant shade of magenta.“Oh shit, dessert!” Louis jumps, Niall’s delighted exclamation bringing him abruptly back down to earth. “Blimey, Louis, I’ve never seen that shade on you before.”“There’s a lot of things you don’t know about me, Horan,” Louis retorts in what he hopes is a lofty, unbothered sort of tone as his hair settles back into its usual color. “I am a man of mystery.”“Hardly,” Niall scoffs, smirking as he helps himself to a pumpkin pasty. “Speaking of, you still haven’t told us what memories you’ve been trying.”“You’re not going to let this go, are you?”“Nope. Not until we get to the bottom of this.”“There’s a chance I’ll never be able to do it anyway,” Louis says lightly, picking at the pudding growing cold on his plate. “Loads of witches never manage it. Maybe it’s just not something I can do.”“I don’t believe that for a second.” There’s a bit of cauldron cake on the corner of Liam’s mouth. Normally, Louis would leave it and tease him about it later, but Liam’s earnest belief in him has Louis reaching over to wipe off the chocolate before he can think better of it. “Oh, thanks Lou,” Liam says, swallowing before he continues. “Mate, you’re one of the top students in our year. Everyone knows that. All the professors love you, not because you’re a pleasure to have in class—you’re a right menace most of the time—but because you genuinely love to learn and have never met a spell you couldn't master when you put your mind to it.”“Until now.”“No, Lou, listen,” Niall says firmly. “Your spell work is brilliant. You’re brilliant, so it has to be something else.” He jostles Louis with his shoulder. “We’re not messing about, we just want to help you.”Louis blinks at him, touched. He turns to Liam, who gives him an encouraging nod, then to Harry, who’s smile is so warm Louis feels like he’s surrounded by Fiend Fire. He shifts in his seat, feeling slightly uncomfortable at their sincerity. He’s never quite gotten used to this part of their friendship, and as much as he loves it—loves them—it still makes him feel a little too vulnerable. It’s scary, really, but he trusts them. Louis clears his throat and decides to be brave. “I guess I really don’t know where to start,” he says quietly, forcing himself to meet their eyes. “I’ve tried so many that they all kind of just blur together.”“What about that last one, though?” Harry says, “The one when you managed that little wisp of silver?”“Remember that first time I tried to teach you lot to play footie? It was third year, I think.” Louis grabs a packet of Bertie Bott’s out of the candy bowl and pries it open. “We were out by the lake right after exams.”“Oh my god, yes,” Liam laughs, “the squid got involved because Harry kept kicking the ball in the lake by accident.”“Like you were doing any better, Payno. The only reason you managed to keep the ball on the field was because you kept summoning it when you thought no one was looking.”“How was I supposed to know magic wasn’t allowed?”“Because it’s a muggle sport, you numptie, what did you think—”“Alright lads, no need to get your wands in a knot,” Louis says quickly, “we established a long time ago that I’m the only sporty queer among us. And before you say anything, Niall, I’ve seen the way you look at Lee Jordan. You’re not fooling anyone.”Niall’s cheeks flush a lovely shade of pink, and Louis is rewarded with a swift kick to the shin. “Oi!” Louis gasps, surprised. “I guess I deserved that,” he grumbles, rubbing his sore leg. “Remind me not to tease you when you’re wearing Docs.” “Anyway,” Harry says with a pointed sigh, “So we’re at the lake playing footie. What else?”Louis shrugs. “Nothing else.” He pops one of the Bertie Bott’s into his mouth and immediately regrets it. “Ugh, baked beans.” He makes to spit it out before catching Harry’s eye, who’s got his eyebrow raised again in mild disapproval. Louis makes a pained face, swallows, and sets down the box of sweets, wondering why he ever thought they were a good idea in the first place. Baked beans, honestly.“That was it,” he continues as if nothing happened, keeping his eyes on Harry and ignoring the silent conversation Niall and Liam seem to be having about them. “Just us lads doing laddy things, not having to worry about homework or detention or bloody three-headed dogs.” He shivers, remembering how horrified he was to discover why the third floor corridor was forbidden. Fortunately, no one ever found out—they’d sworn themselves to secrecy and escaped without so much as a scratch. But Louis never forgot the look on Liam’s terrified face, the sound of Niall’s quiet sobs, or the way that Harry crawled into bed with him that night, shaking, and refused to let him go until breakfast the next morning. He never forgot that it was his idea that almost got them killed. If anything ever happened to his boys, if it was his fault, he’d never forgive himself. He feels a sudden surge of affection for them, hooking a foot behind Harry's ankle under the table and nuzzling into Niall’s shoulder. “Here’s the thing I don’t understand,” Louis says, wiping more chocolate off of Liam’s face so he doesn’t feel left out. “When I tried again on my own, I used the same memory, and nothing happened.” Niall and Liam look at each other as if they’ve both just understood something, which is mildly unsettling, and Harry simply says, “Huh. That’s weird.”“I’m not sure it is, though,” Liam says, still staring at Niall, who shakes his head almost imperceptibly. Liam either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care, because he barrels on: “What if—”“What if we share our memories with you, Lou?” Niall blurts, shooting Liam a warning look. “I‘ll start. Remember when Snape paired me with Pucey at the dueling club during fourth year? He cursed me and I ended up in the hospital wing?”Louis winces. “Unfortunately.”“Do you remember what you did?”Louis fiddles with his nose rings, suddenly embarrassed. “Vaguely?”“You called him a silly little fucking rat and turned his wand into a wheel of cheese,” Niall says whistfully. “It earned you a week's worth of detention from Snape, and you told him—”“I’d spend the rest of my life in detention if it meant keeping your arse out of hospital, yeah,” Louis finishes with a grin.“Exactly,” Niall says, throwing his arm around Louis’ shoulder and kissing him on the forehead. “Anyway, you lot sat with me while Madame Pomfrey sorted me out. Liam helped me with my charms homework and Harry made me cupcakes, and you sat there making your Professor Lockhart face and telling everyone you’d won ‘Bitch Weekly’s Most Alarming Smile award.’”Harry and Liam laugh, but Louis groans, embarrassed and a little appalled at his younger self. “I really am a little shit, aren’t I?”“No, you’re a good friend who said a stupid thing because you knew it would make me laugh and distract me from the pain I was in.” Niall looks across the table at Liam at Harry. “That was the moment I realized how important you lads are to me. Like, I knew, right? But to have the three of you take care of me in your own little ways without me having to say a damned thing—that’s when I really felt it.”“Fuck, Niall, you big sap,” Liam sniffles, wiping his nose on his robes. When he pulls away, there’s a little glob of bogies stuck on his septum ring. Louis doesn’t want to bring it up, afraid it will ruin the moment, but Harry vanishes them quietly, clearing the snot off Liam’s face and robes before either of the other boys notice. “Your turn,” Niall says, giving Liam a soft smile. Liam clears his throat and takes a sip of pumpkin juice. “Mmm,” he says, setting the goblet back down. “Remember that row we had over Haz’s turntable?” Louis snorts. “Which one?”“The One. The one where we all had…different ideas about whose turn it was to choose the record—” “Really narrowing it down there, mate,” Harry grins, earning himself a withering glare from Niall. “What?” “Is this really the time to be dense on purpose?”Harry bristles. “I’m not being—”“‘Course you aren’t,” Louis indulges, giving him a pitying pat on the forearm. “We all know you couldn't catch a hint if it was a rogue bludger to the face.” Before Harry can wind himself up to a proper retort, Louis turns back to Liam. “But seriously, Payno, you’re gonna have to be more specific. Hazza’s right, we’ve had that exact row like, a hundred thousand times.” Niall stares at him with a sort of vaguely annoyed disbelief. “How you two idiots ever got sorted into Ravenclaw is beyond me,” he mutters, taking a massive bite of pasty. “Uufleff.” “Oh you tell us then, if you’re so clever.”“Oi!” Liam snaps. “It’s my memory, so I’ll be the one telling it, thank you very much.” Harry flashes a sheepish smile, and Louis feels muddy yellow guilt creep into his fringe. “Soz,” he says with a soft nod. “We’re listening.”“Hmm,” Liam hums, clearly unconvinced. He takes another sip of pumpkin juice, eyeing them warily over his goblet. “Alright, so,” he says, when no one moves to interrupt. “We were at Harry’s—right at the end of summer hols, just before second year. Anne was out somewhere, and Gemma’d made us fish fingers—” “Ohhhh,” Louis ‘ohs’ before he can stop himself, the memories flooding back in perfect technicolor. Harry must’ve caught on too, because he says, “That row??”“Yes,” Liam agrees, looking slightly exasperated. “That row.”“But…” Louis starts, brow furrowed in confusion. “I…I don’t know if I understand. That day was so—so—”“Bad?” Niall supplies brightly, happy to rejoin the conversation now everyone else has caught on. “Well, yeah,” Louis says, ignoring the smug look on Niall’s face. “‘S not exactly the pleasant sort of thing Potter was on about, is it?”“Will you just let me finish? Liam sighs. “We’d just heard Little Creatures’ B side and everyone was shouting about who was on next and I didn’t care as long as we played something, because the fighting was making me nervous but I didn’t know that, so instead I got angry and lost control of my magic.” He takes a deep breath before barreling on in an obvious attempt to prevent any further interruption. “I melted Niall’s Graceland and Hazza’s Goodbye Yellow Brick Road and Lou’s Transformer, and as soon as I realized what I’d done I felt awful and a little scared—or maybe a lot—so I did the only thing I knew how to do and—and—” “Got lost in The Floo Network?”This time, it’s Niall who finds himself on the wrong end of a withering glare. Harry shushes him.“Was gonna say ‘scarpered,’ but I suppose it never hurts to be specific,” Liam says mildly. Louis remembers the mad scramble that’d ensued after Liam had disappeared through the fireplace with a choked sob and a whoosh of green flame—the way they’d stopped their squabbling and unanimously agreed to break one of Anne’s only rules so they could follow their friend and make amends. But then they’d arrived at the Payne house and found it empty, with no indication that Liam had ever made it home at all.“Anyway,” Liam continues, “when I wiped the soot out of my eyes and realized I was in a stranger’s house, I completely lost my head. By the time I’d finally calmed down enough to go looking for one of those ruddy telephones—” “We’d already gone after you,” Harry says. They’d come back through the hearth in a panic to find Gemma on the phone, using her calmest big sister voice to ask if Liam might “find a bit of mail” or “have a quick peek out the window,” and then pause before a cheerful, “hold tight, Lima Bean, we're coming for you.” She’d hung up with a grin and triumphant “follow me.” Several handfuls of Floo Powder later, they’d found themselves in an unfamiliar sitting room, coughing and covered in ash but enormously relieved to be together again.“Lucky you’d only gone one grate too far,” Niall says, biting back a smile.Liam chuckles. “Lucky Gems knows how to keep a cool head in a crisis.”“Does she, though?” Harry says, his voice playfully skeptical. “Could’ve saved us a load of trouble if she’d just had the sense to, you know, tell Liam to walk across the street. Might’ve met him at his house instead of having to explain to old Mr. Jeong why the neighbor lad and his sooty little friends had soiled his husband’s favorite rug.”Louis waves a dismissive hand. “There wasn’t any lasting damage—at least, nothing that wouldn’t be put right with a cheeky ‘Scourgify.’ And even if it was,” he says, waggling his eyebrows, “you know he had all of Lockheart’s books.”“Merlin,” Harry titters. “Talk about uufleff.” “I’m still not sure I understand, Li,” Louis says, propping his chin on his elbow with a frown. “Why is that the memory you chose? You were nervous, and angry, and scared—”“—not to mention embarrassed—”“Thank you, Niall—”“—I mean, we made up in the end, but it wasn’t anything you might call happy, was it?”“Sure it was. You came after me.”Louis blinks. “Sorry?”“You came after me. I threw a fit and ruined your things and I—I could have hurt you—”“But you didn’t,” Harry says firmly, his brow knitted in that way that suggests it’s best not to argue. “You didn’t hurt us.”“Well, no, I suppose not,” Liam hedges, as though the thought still haunts him. “But then I got lost at the neighbors, which is rather high on the list of mortifying things that can happen to an almost thirteen-year-old lad, and…you came anyway. You, and Gems, with your apologies and your assurances…you made me feel safe—like even though things had gone all wonky between us, I was worth rescuing.”“Oh, Payno,” Harry murmurs before pulling him into a hug. “We’ll always come after you.”“I know,” Liam says, patting Harry’s back with a slightly watery smile. “‘S why it’s the perfect memory.”Louis rubs at the sudden tightness in his chest. “Merlin,” he sniffs. “Who knew we were all so squidgy?” Niall wipes a sleeve across his face, smudging his eyeliner. Louis laughs. “Looks like I’m not the only tender little soft boy in this bunch,” he says, taking up his napkin and thumbing away the subtle smears of black. Niall giggles, squirming out of his grasp.“Go on, H,” Liam says, having gently extricated himself from Harry’s arms. “Make us cry.”“Erm.” Harry hesitates. He's not looking at them, which is weird. He starts picking at his nail polish with a far away look in his eyes, and it takes a minute before he speaks again. “You know like, when Potter asked me to the Yule Ball last year?” Louis’ heart does a little flip flop. “I said no, and then, like, panicked and couldn’t figure out why?” “Yeah, we found you hiding in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom,” Liam says. Harry turns to him, then Niall, who nods, encouraging him to go on. But Harry’s still refusing to look at Louis, and Louis is trying not to panic because he’s not sure where Harry’s going with this—he could be talking about any number of things, there was so much that happened the night of the Ball, but what if—“You lot calmed me down,” Harry finishes, finally meeting Louis’ gaze. Louis feels his entire body relax. “We told you we’d all go together, without dates.” Harry gives him a small smile. “Figured it would be easier to fangirl over The Weird Sisters that way.”“I still can’t believe we got to talk to them.”Niall laughs. “Liam, we didn’t talk to them, you shouted until they noticed us and waved back.” Liam looks momentarily confused. He opens his mouth, seems to realize something, and abruptly snaps it shut. Then he blushes. Louis narrows his eyes. “Liam, did you—”“This isn’t about me, Tommo,” Liam snaps. Oh yeah. There’s definitely a story there. Louis makes a mental note to wheedle it out of him when they aren’t having a Serious Conversation™. “Go on, Harry.”For a moment, Harry looks like he’s about to call bullshit. Instead, he shakes his head, smirking. “I can’t wait to hear that story,” he says, almost to himself. “Anyway.”This time, Harry looks straight at Louis. “When Potter asked me out, I had just started to realize I might like boys. I hadn’t said it out loud, but the fact that a boy was interested in me, and that that boy was Harry-fucking-Potter, was too much. I panicked and I wanted to tell you but I wasn’t ready. I didn’t have the words, and in the end, it didn’t matter. You were perfect. All of you.” He sniffs, taking off his witches’ hat and running his fingers through his curls. “Later, when I came out, it was obvious you already knew—don’t give me that look, Lou, you're not as good of a liar as you think you are—you already knew, but you pretended you didn’t because you knew how important it was for me to tell you on my own terms. You knew what I needed even when I didn’t, from the moment you found me wheezing in Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom to the moment Niall proclaimed himself the official token straight friend.” He gives Niall an appraising look so reminiscent of Professor Dumbledore that Niall chokes on his pasty. Louis has to smack him on the back a few times before he’s finally able to breathe again.“That’s pretty much it, I guess,” Harry finishes, pouring Niall some more pumpkin juice. Louis takes the flagon from him and pours himself the tiniest little splash. “Cheers, queers,” he says, raising his goblet. When they toast, Louis is almost able to forget how much he hates pumpkin juice. Almost. He gags.“So here’s my question,” Niall says, handing Louis the water jug, “What about these memories works for us? They don’t seem to be particularly happy. I mean,” he pulls absently on one of his gauges, his voice thoughtful, “They’re not not happy, but they’re…I dunno…kind of heavy?”None of them say anything for a minute, thinking. Then, Harry says: “It sounds to me like we all picked memories where we felt seen.”Niall nods. “Safe, like Liam said.” He turns to face Louis. “Does that help, Tommo? Can you think of a time where you felt like that?”Louis gives himself a minute to process. The honest answer is yes—he feels like that right now, actually. But what if it’s not enough? What if, after all this, he still can’t produce a patronus? And, if that happens, what does that say about him? The lads were able to turn how they feel about each other into magic, and if he can’t do the same, does that mean he doesn’t belong? Louis feels the corners of his eyes start to prickle. He blinks rapidly, willing himself not to cry.“Lou.” Louis looks at him. Harry’s gaze is soft, his eyes sparkling in the low light. “It’s ok. We’ll be here when you’re ready.” Louis squirms. He feels vulnerable, raw, and he has to look away. He tilts his chin up. The ceiling is surprisingly cloudless and starry for October. The floating jack o'lanterns that are lighting up the Great Hall are growing dim, and Louis suddenly realizes how quiet it’s gotten. Most of the students have already cleared out, leaving them and a few other stragglers alone at the house tables. He’s about to suggest they head out when a small cough breaks the silence. All four of them jump. “Sorry to interrupt, lads—Tomlinson, you ok?” Like the Weasley twins, Zayn Malik has the uncanny ability to materialize out of nowhere. Louis eyes him warily. “Fine, thanks,” he says, trying to keep his voice casual. “What’s up, Malik?”“You lot are playing at the party tonight, right?”“Yeah, I think we’re on at midnight, why?” “I’m on at eleven,” he explains. He looks at his watch. “I think they need us for sound check soon, it’s almost nine.”“Shit, really?” Harry says, looking at his bare wrist as if it might tell him the time. “Lou we better go, it’s gonna take us ages to get your drum kit down to the Shrieking Shack.”Louis scrambles to his feet. “Payno, Nialler, you coming? We can stop by Hufflepuff on the way.”“Actually,” Niall says, tripping over his robes as he climbs off the bench, “I told Lee I’d help him get the keg from Hog’s Head.” Louis’ eyebrows shoot all the way up into his hairline. “I know, I know,” Niall grumbles, his cheeks pink. Then, quieter: “When I’m ready, yeah?” Louis leaps into his arms and kisses him on the cheek. They turn to Liam, Louis still clinging to Niall like some sort of punked-out koala.“What about you, Liam?” Louis says, batting his eyelashes. “Are you ditching us for a hot date too?” Niall drops him.Liam doesn’t say anything. For some reason, he’s looking a little panicked, standing awkwardly between Harry and Zayn like he isn’t quite sure what to do with himself. Then, to everyone’s surprise, Zayn steps into Liam’s space and winds his arms around his neck. “What do you think, babe? Walk me to sound check? We have to stop by Slytherin first though, I want to change out of my robes.”Louis’ jaw is on the floor. Niall looks to be in a similar state of shock, but Harry, sweet, lovely, patient Harry, claps his hands together and says brightly: “Right, then!” He turns to Louis and Niall. “Lou, looks like it’s just us. Niall, wanna grab Liam’s bass when you stop by Hufflepuff?” Niall nods. “Perfect. Meet you down there in, say,” he leans over Liam, peering at Zayn’s wrist. “Forty-five?” When they’re out of earshot, Louis says, “What are you thinking, Haz?”“I’m thinking,” Harry says, eyes sparkling, “that we just discovered who Liam was with when he met The Weird Sisters.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

By the time they make it back to Ravenclaw Tower, Louis is out of breath. They’re running behind now, having wasted several minutes bickering over a particularly difficult riddle at the common room entrance.

“Absolutely ridiculous.” Louis pants as he follows Harry up the spiral staircase that leads to the dormitory they share with Davies and Pandya. “I swear that bloody knocker is just making shit up. Why can’t we use a fucking password like the Gryffindors and Slytherins?”

“Or the Hufflepuffs,” Harry grumbles, throwing open the door and trotting over to his four poster.

“I can’t believe Liam

still

forgets that stupid little tapping pattern. I mean, come

on

,” Louis shucks off his robes and starts rummaging through his trunk. “It's been the same for the last

seven years

.”

“I think that says more about Liam than it says about the Hufflepuff security protocol.”

“Does it though? They haven’t had to let us in since, like, the second day of first year. Last week, I had to rescue

Davies

because the only answer he could come up with for ‘what’s in a bed but doesn’t sleep’ was ‘a really awake lad.’”

Harry laughs. “To be fair, he wasn’t wrong.”

“You’re just giving him a pass because you think he’s fit.”

“To be fair, I’m not wrong.” Louis chucks an old copy of

Hogwarts, A History

at him. Harry throws up a shield charm just in time, and they manage to waste several more minutes chasing each other around the room with charmed school supplies.

“Ack!” Harry yelps, narrowly avoiding a rogue sack of dung bombs. “Lou—LOU! We need to get our shit together and head down to the Shrieking Shack before Liam sends a Howler.” Louis pelts him with a near-empty roll of Spellotape before tossing his wand on his bed and returning to the task at hand.

“Lou, have you seen my other pair of Docs? The green ones? Oh wait, here’s one—where…?”

Louis turns around to see Harry halfway under his bed searching for his other boot. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “For Merlin’s sake, you’re a wizard, Harry.

Accio Docs!”

In retrospect, Louis thinks he could have been a little bit more specific, as about six pairs of boots of wiz out from under stray bits of clothing and various pieces of furniture. He manages to catch a few of them just as the others collide with his chest, sending him toppling backward onto his bed with a loud “OOF.”

“Oh, why didn’t I think of that?” Harry says brightly, extracting two enormous, deep green shoes from the pile and yanking Louis back to his feet.

“Honestly, Haz, sometimes I wonder how you were ever sorted into Ravenclaw.”

“Says the lad who just got clobbered by an entire dormitory’s worth of combat boots.”

“Oh, shut up and put your trousers on.”

“Speaking of,” Harry says, turning back to his trunk, “which ones should I wear? I was thinking I’d go for the gray ones but I just remembered I spilled stinksap on them yesterday.”

“Ergh,” Louis makes a face, hopping up and down as he hoists his skin-tight black jeans up his thighs. “I dunno, I like the black ones with the holes in the knees.”

“Mmm, yeah, good plan, my arse looks great in those.”

“What arse?”

Harry ignores him and heads into the en-suite, presumably to sort out his hair. Five minutes later, Louis is standing in front of an empty trunk, its entire contents strewn around him in a halo of rumpled robes, cut off tanks, and about fifty different band tees. He crosses his arms over his bare chest, trying to decide what shirt he wants to wear. It shouldn’t matter, really; he’s almost impossible to see behind his drum kit anyway, but for some reason he feels nervous about tonight. He wants to wear something comforting without making it

look

like he’s wearing something comforting, something that shows off his tattoos and fits their aesthetic but doesn’t look like he’s trying too hard and—

“Yes!” Louis snaps his fingers and scans the mess in front of him. He frowns, realizing he didn’t see it when he was tossing things out of his trunk. He pulls his wand out of his back pocket, making a mental note to

be specific—

When he casts the spell, the sheer black long sleeve zooms out of the loo, followed by a very shirtless and disheveled looking Harry.

“Lou, if you wanted to get me out of my kit, you could at least take me to dinner first.”

Louis suddenly feels a foreboding tingle on his scalp and forces his hair to calm down. “Why were you wearing this anyway?”

Harry raises an eyebrow. “Because it’s mine?”

“Is it? I didn’t know,” Louis says, feigning ignorance and pulling the shirt over his head. It's big and warm and smells like Harry, like cut pine and damp earth and fresh-brewed tea and

oh shit.

Oh SHIT.

THAT’S the smell, the one he couldn’t place when they were in potions the other day and Snape had them brewing Amortentia. He’d simply thought it meant he loved being outside, which

is

true, but now all he can smell is

Harry

and—

For the second time that day, Louis’ entire head of hair shifts into a screaming shade of magenta.

He turns away and grabs his pair of maroon Docs out of the pile, not able to bring himself to look at Harry. The truth is, he’s known about his crush for ages, ever since third year when that curly-headed menace of a boy showed up on the Hogwarts Express with his first leather jacket, nattering on about Conflict and Crass and the Buzzcocks and somehow managing to get an entire car full of first years to chant “Fuck Margaret Thatcher” until the trolley lady threatened to withhold her wares. Louis thought he’d done a pretty good job playing it close to the chest, but the Yule Ball proved to be a bit too much for his stupid pining heart. He’d confessed to Niall and Liam, who had apparently known for years, and Harry…well, he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Not when he’s had a potentially life-altering revelation.

Because unless he’s been confunded, Louis Tomlinson is completely, unequivocally, arse-over-cauldron

in love

with Harry Styles.

It takes him a few tries to knot his laces properly. His fingers are shaking and his vision has gone fuzzy. He closes his eyes and takes a few calming breaths, trying to ignore the overwhelming scent of

Harry

as his hair slowly returns to normal. When Louis stands, he doesn’t have to look to know he’s there. He can feel the heat radiating from Harry’s chest in the split second before he wraps Louis in his arms. Louis relaxes into him, feeling exceedingly grateful that Harry’s had the decency to put on a new shirt.

“You ok?”

Louis tries not to shiver when Harry’s breath ghosts over his neck and gives a noncommittal shrug.

“Do you wanna talk about it?”

Louis shrugs again.

“Are you nervous about tonight?”

Do I make you nervous?

“No.”

Yes.

“Were you l thinking about your patronus?”

Were you thinking about how I make you feel safe?

“Well, now I am.”

Well, now I am.

“Wanna try again?”

Do you remember the Yule Ball?

“Erm.”

Do you?

They’re good at this, these conversations that say one thing and mean something else entirely.

“Yes,” Louis breathes.

Yes.

“Ok,” Harry whispers.

Me too.

Harry unwinds from his shoulders but doesn’t move away. As soon as Louis pulls his wand from his back pocket, Harry is right back in his space. He slides his palms over the soft sleeves of his stolen shirt, finding the delicate skin on the backs of Louis’ hands as he laces their fingers together over Louis’ heart. Harry pulls him close as he raises his wand arm.

“When you’re ready, Lou.”

I’m right here.

Louis grounds himself in Harry’s warmth and gives in to the memory.

“Expecto—”

A flurry of silver bursts into the room. Louis’ momentary elation becomes confusion when he realizes he hadn’t finished the spell.

“What—”

“It’s Liam,” Harry says, sounding surprised. Sure enough, Liam’s little French bulldog is sat at Louis’ feet, blinking up at them expectantly. They let go of each other, fast enough that it feels like a guilty secret and slow enough that it feels like a cautious promise.

“Isn’t he supposed to say something?” Harry asks, crouching down so that he’s closer to the dog’s eye level.

“Probably.”

There’s another flash of silver and Niall’s koala waddles out of the air, plopping down next to Liam’s patronus with unparalleled gracelessness.

“Bollocks.”

it chirps helpfully, its voice a tinny imitation of Niall’s gentle lilt.

Louis snorts out a laugh. Harry groans and drops his face in his hands. Before either one of them can say anything, a third silver animal erupts out of nowhere. The lynx pads over to them with practiced ease, looking rather exasperated.

“These idiots are trying to tell you to quit flirting and get your arses down here. You’re going to be late for soundcheck.”

The lynx garbles something unintelligible before Zayn’s echoey voice is back.

“Please.”

With that, all three patronuses disappear in wisps of silver smoke.

“Show off.”

“We really are late though,” Harry says, pulling on his leather jacket. “How are we doing this? If we levitate your drums we should probably use Instant Darkness Powder or something, otherwise Filch—”

“Actually, I want to try something else.” Louis maneuvers himself around Harry, points his wand at his drum kit and mutters,

“Reducio!”

The entire set shrinks to the size of a matchbox.

“Wipe that smirk off your face, Tomlinson, I would have been more impressed if you'd tried that

three years ago

. You know, when we learned the spell.”

“The best ideas take time, Styles.

Accio drumsticks!”

“You’re insufferable.”

I adore you.

“You’re mum’s insufferable.”

I adore you, too.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Sneaking out of the castle always proved to be a bit of a challenge, but that was part of the fun. They’d made a game of it, coming up with increasingly wild ideas that often landed them in detention. Over the years, it became less about the thrill of pulling it off and more about making each other laugh, which, in Louis’ opinion, was well worth a handful of hours spent mucking out the thestral stables under the supervision of a fondly exasperated Hagrid. Louis would shovel shit with a spoon if it meant putting a smile on Harry’s face. Arse-over-cauldron, and all that.

But tonight was not the night for their usual antics, not unless they wanted to give Liam an aneurism. After briefly discussing their options, (“We could steal Malfoy’s hand of glory” “Oh Merlin on a muffin, we’d never hear the end of it”

“‘Wait until my father hears about this!’

Please, as if that whiney little ferret would ever confess that he’d somehow allowed two aggressively unkempt muggle-borns to plunder the cursed home goods section of his dormitory”), they decided to go with a classic and bribe Peeves to cause a minor distraction of his choosing on the other side of the castle. Simple, but effective.

Not wanting to test their luck with the Whomping Willow—waltzing out the front door on Halloween seems a little

too

reckless, even for them—they make their way along the third floor corridor to the One-Eyed-Witch. Louis takes one final, perfunctory look to make sure they’re alone before Harry pulls out his wand and mutters,

“Dissendium!”

When the passage reveals itself, Harry gives an over dramatic little flourish that clearly means, “after you.” Louis rolls his eyes but doesn’t protest, hoisting his body through the opening and sliding down into the passage below. Harry follows close behind, barreling into him and sending them sprawling in a tangle of dust and limbs.

“Fucking hell, Styles, how many times have I told you to give us a minute?” he grumbles, shoving Harry off him and fumbling for his wand.

“Lumos!”

Louis blinks, eyes adjusting to the warm glow now illuminating the space between them. He jumps—Harry’s stood just a few centimeters away, brushing dirt off his arse and thighs and leather jacket before tossing his hair to the side and fixing Louis with a soft smile. He looks devastating, his mussed curls catching the light and casting sharp shadows against the delicate lines of his face. Louis feels like he’s been hit with a stunning spell.

“Lou.”

“Yeah?” he breathes.

“You’ve got dirt on your nose,” Harry whispers, swiping a gentle thumb along the bridge. “Just there.”

Louis has to use all of his willpower to keep his hair from turning pink again. “Oh, uh,” he murmurs, unable to look away. “Thanks.” Harry is so close, he can count the tiny gold flecks in his irises.

“Lou,” Harry says again, softer this time. Louis suddenly realizes he hasn’t pulled his hand away, that he’s now cupping his cheek with gentle fingers. Harry steps closer, his eyes flicking down to Louis’ lips, and,

no

, Louis would rather get hit by the Knight Bus than have their first kiss in this dank and musty tunnel.

“Last one to Honeydukes has to eat a tin of rock cakes.” Louis bolts, slipping out of Harry’s grasp and tearing off down the passage.

“Hey! No fair!”

“Less talking, more running, Harold. I don’t trust you to multitask without hurting yourself.”

A jet of red light wizzes past Louis’ ear.

“Oi! No cheating!”

By the time they make it to the end of the passage, they’re both out of breath, panting and cackling and covered in dust. Louis lets Harry win, only to watch him smack his head on the cellar door with a hollow

thunk

.

“Merlin, Haz, you do this every time.

Alohomora!”

The iron bolt slides out of place with a satisfying snick. Harry pushes open the trapdoor and wriggles up through the small space, nearly kicking Louis in the head in the process. Once he’s through, he thrusts an arm down and pulls Louis up and into the quiet candy store.

“Do you have the list?” Harry whispers, looking around at the neat stacks of boxes lining the walls of the cellar. Louis nods and hands him a small piece of parchment. “Do you really think we need

that

many Cockroach Clusters? Seems excessive.”

Louis shrugs. “Probably not, but I’d rather not get on Fred and George’s bad side. Best just stick to the list.”

They spend the next five minutes filling an empty box with all the classics—Chocolate Frogs and Liquorice Wands, Jelly Slugs and Peppermint Toads, Fizzing Whisbees and Exploding Bonbons—as well as a handful of sweets that were definitely more trick than treat.

“At least Blood Pops are on theme,” Harry says, tossing a sizable handful into the box.

“Honestly, I’d rather take my chances with the Cockroach Clusters.” Louis says absently, running a finger down the list. “I think that’s everything. Where did Pandya want us to leave the gold?”

“Behind the bin. They’ve got the morning shift tomorrow so they’ll ring it up first thing.”

“Excellent.” Louis deposits the sack of galleons in its hiding place and turns to Harry, who’s balancing the now-brimming box of candy on his hip. “Ready?”

Harry grins. “Ready.”

“You sure you don’t want to side-a-long? Can’t have you splinching yourself before the gig.”

Harry groans. “That was ONE TIME.”

“Which is one time too many, Harold. The memory of your bald head still gives me nightmares.”

Harry throws a Pepper Imp at him.

Louis deflects it with an easy flick of his wand. “Suit yourself. Just remember that ‘break a leg’ is an idiom, not a suggestion.” With that, he twists on the spot and apparates with a loud

crack!

Half a second later, Louis materializes on the porch of the Shrieking Shack and runs directly into Liam.

“FINALLY. Took you long enough. Where’s Harry?”

“Here,” Harry gasps, wheezing and wobbly but with all his bits intact. Liam gives him an appraising look before relieving him of his cargo.

“I can’t believe you let him apparate on his own.”

“That’s exactly what

I

said.”

“Are you quite finished?” Harry pouts, yanking the sweets box out of Liam’s arms. “Now if you don’t mind, I have a job to do.” Without another word, he turns on his heel and stalks off into the shack.

“I think we might have over done it this time, Tommo.”

“Oh he’ll get over it. You know how much he loves to be helpful. Let him set up the cheese plate and he’ll forget anything ever happened.”

“Still not talking about it, then?”

“Talking about what?”

Liam sighs. “Nothing. Come on, I want to watch Zayn’s sound check.”

The scene inside the Shrieking Shack is undeniably heartwarming. Niall and Lee are setting up the keg by the drinks table, giggling and talking close like two idiots who’ve never heard of

Muffliato.

Lee throws his head back in delight, and Louis doesn’t miss the way Niall’s eyes trail down the line of his throat. He smirks.

Token straight friend my arse.

Harry, Fred, and George seem to have finished with the desserts table and are now flitting about the room, lighting candles and charming jack-o-lanterns and arguing over the logistics of magical bobbing for apples. Potter and Weasley seem to be scolding a small group of second years who somehow managed to sneak their way out of the castle, which seems a bit rich, all things considered.

“Give it a rest, Potter. As if you weren’t out spelunking in the plumbing looking for a murderous reptile at their age.” Louis turns to the second years, who blink up at him with wide doe eyes. “Just make sure you grab one of us when it’s time to head back, yeah? Safety first.” They give him a serious nod and hurry away to the drinks table. “Oi! And no fire whiskey!” He calls after them, shaking his head before muttering to himself, “Merlin, I’ve been spending too much time with Granger.”

“I dunno Tomlinson, responsibility looks good on you.”

“Barking up the wrong bowtruckle, Potter.”

“I thought you fancied lads named Harry.”

“Go away before I curse you.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

Louis rolls his eyes and hits him with a silent

Levicorpus.

“Hang in there, Harry,” Louis simpers, “I’m sure the right person will come along eventually.” He winks and turns away, leaving a very bewildered Potter to dangle in midair and ponder his mistakes.

He finds Liam in the basement, watching Zayn’s sound check with the most sickeningly bedazzled look on his face. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds for Louis to realize it’s warranted.

Because, as it turns out, Zayn Malik can

shred.

He’s slumped over in a power stance that is positively sinful, a thin lock of hair dangling over his forehead with devil-may-care finesse. His movements are mesmerizing and expertly precise—tiny muscles in his forearms flicker in the harsh spotlight as his fingers race over the fretboard. Louis is fascinated by his phrasing, how he seamlessly weaves together elements of prog, jazz, and—is that flamenco?—Louis doesn’t know. What he

does

know is that Liam never stood a chance.

“You really like him, don’t you?”

“I really, really do,” Liam replies, barely audible over the sound of Zayn’s guitar. “I’ve asked him to come visit over Christmas.”

“Merlin, Liam, that sounds serious.”

“You and Harry spend Christmas together.”

“That’s different.”

Liam stares at him for a few seconds, looking like he wants to say something. He doesn’t. Instead, he sucks his teeth and turns his attention back to Zayn. “If you say so.”

Zayn plays for a few more minutes, fiddling with his pedal and a handful of knobs on his half stack. Louis nudges Liam, who turns to him with a grin. This is one of their favorite things about playing at the Shrieking Shack. Last term, they’d wired the basement with electricity so they could play their muggle instruments without making too many magical adjustments. The choice had absolutely nothing to do with sound and everything to do with principle: when you’re a muggleborn punk from some tiny nowhere town, using magic sometimes feels like cheating. Particularly when it comes to music.

Satisfied, Zayn sets his guitar in its stand and hops off the rickety little stage. Liam catches him around the waist and pulls him close, whispering something unintelligible that causes Zayn to blush furiously.

“Cheeky,” he mutters under his breath before pushing Liam away. “You better get on with it before Macmillan comes over with his clipboard. He could give Percy Weasley a run for his money, the way he’s been harping on about sticking to the schedule.”

Liam laughs. “Terrifying.” He turns to Louis. “I’ll go get the lads if you want to start setting up your kit.”

“Did you not hear what I just said?!” Zayn hisses incredulously, waving his arms about in what can only be a dramatic mime of an agitated person with a clipboard. “I’ll go get ‘em.

You

have a job to do.”

“I see why you like him,” Louis chuckles once Zayn is out of earshot. Liam pretends not to hear him, but Louis can see the tiny smile pulling at the corner of his lips.

Louis busies himself with his drums, returning the kit to its normal size and working his way through his warm up routine. He makes a few adjustments here and there while Liam and Niall fix their straps and check their tuning. Harry shows up a minute or two later, bent over the set list with a tiny crease in his forehead. He’s picking at his bottom lip, which is a good indicator of his nerves, and somehow manages to trip over the mic cord.

Endearing little shit. Suddenly, Louis feels bad for razzing him earlier.

“Alright, Haz?”

Sorry I was a bit of a dick.

Harry looks up, startled. When he meets Louis’ eyes, his shoulders relax ever so slightly.

He nods, smiling.

I know.

“Alright, Lou?”

I forgive you.

Louis grins. “Alright.”

They go over the set list and play a few songs, stopping occasionally to sort out anything that doesn’t sound quite right. By the time Macmillan bustles over with his clipboard to usher them off stage, they’re feeling pretty confident, flushed and sweaty and tingling with pre-show adrenaline.

“Malik’s on in thirty. We’ll take a tight fifteen—and I mean a

tight

fifteen. Then it’s you lot. Got it?”

“Blimey, Macmillan, this is a

party

, not an exam.”

“Got it??”

“Alright, alright, we hear you,” Louis says, holding up his hands in supplication. “Not a minute after midnight.”

Upstairs, it’s a proper Halloween bash. Harry flounces off to grab a round of butterbeers and quickly disappears; the air is already hazy, sticky and sweet with so many bodies packed into such a tight space. Students—some in uniform, some in costume—are huddled around the food and drinks tables, clutching red plastic cups and snacking on sweets as they chatter away with their friends. A dozen floating jack-o-lanterns cast a rather eerie orange glow over the crowded dance floor, and—

“Is that Potter and

Malfoy??”

“Good, maybe he’ll finally leave Harry alone.”

“Wanna bet on that, Tomlinson?”

“Merlin’s pants,” Louis exclaims, his hair momentarily standing on end as he rounds on George. “What are you, some kind of gambling demon? I swear you were just on the other side of the room.”

“You forget, young Louis. There are two of us,” Fred chirps, popping up over Niall’s shoulder. Niall yelps.

“Yeah and you’re both

right here.

” Louis gapes at the twins, gesturing animatedly between the two of them. “How??”

Fred and George turn to look at each other, smirk, and shrug.

“Magic,” they say in infuriating unison.

Louis groans, flopping his face in his hands. “You’re worse than Harry.”

“Who’s worse than me?” Harry says brightly. He hands Louis and Niall each a butterbeer and looks at Liam. “Zayn’s looking for you. Something about the toilets.”

Liam flushes a truly impressive shade of scarlet and dashes off without another word.

“I can see we’re not going to have any luck here,” George sighs, holding out an elbow to his twin. “Fred, how much do you wanna bet we can coax Crabbe and Goyle into trying a canary cream?”

Fred takes his arm with all the pomp and circumstance of the landed gentry. “Oh, I like the way you think. You can have that one for free.”

“What’s a canary cream?” Niall asks, watching the twins weave their way through the crowd.

“Who the fuck knows,” Louis says, taking a sip of of his butterbeer. “But I get the feeling we’ll find out before the night is over.” He tilts his head, suddenly distracted by the change in music. “Wait, is that—”

“Are they playing

The Pogues??”

“Don’t act so surprised, Horan, you’re not the only one with taste.”

They whip around to see Angelina Johnson standing a few paces away, her arms folded in smug defiance as she quirks an eyebrow in Niall’s direction. Katie Bell is stood beside her next to an ancient record player, smirking as she flips through a box of vinyl.

“Bloody hell,” Niall shouts, nearly spilling his butterbeer in excitement as he scrambles over to see what else is in the stack.

They spend the next twenty minutes playing DJ with Angelina and Katie, delightedly sharing their favorite albums and debating the origins of Riot grrrl. Louis wants to cry when Katie declares that The Clash are “overrated,” and Niall throws on The Specials in an attempt to teach Harry how to skank, which only results in minor injury before Louis has to put his foot down.

“Alright, alright, enough.” He says, pointing his wand at Harry’s split eyebrow.

“Episkey.

Let’s go downstairs before we have to send Harry to the hospital wing.”

The crowd has already gathered for Zayn’s set, buzzing with anticipation (and probably a bit of firewhiskey) as he takes the stage. Louis smiles to himself when he sees Liam standing front and center, gazing up at his boy with stars in his eyes.

“Uh,” Zayn starts, somehow managing to sound devastatingly cool even when he’s nervous. “I’m Zayn, so, uh, yeah.”

And he plays.

It’s absolutely electrifying, the way Zayn builds his sound. Everyone in the room is mesmerized, caught up in the addictive thrum pulsing through their chests. They sway and bounce and thrash and shoot sparks up in the air; at one point, a small circle pit forms somewhere in the middle of the crowd, and Louis lets himself go for a minute or two before squeezing back between the bodies to find Harry. He’s easy to spot, his mess of curls flying in a chaotic cloud as he headbangs to Zayn’s unbelievable sweep picking. When he sees Louis, he yanks him in, eyes wide and wild and full of unadulterated joy, and suddenly it’s just them, alone in a room full of people, and Louis wants to kiss him, wants to kiss him

so badly

it’s making his skin tingle, or maybe that’s just the adrenaline, who can say, really, because this,

this

is what it is to be made of magic.

When it’s over, everyone breaks, flushed and panting and glistening with sweat. A voice that sounds suspiciously like one of the Weasley twins shouts

Aguamenti!

—a jet of cool water shoots up into the air, precipitating a brief but blissfully restorative water fight that tragically relieves Macmillan of his clipboard. Drenched, sputtering, and completely undeterred, Ernie ushers them on stage. At exactly one minute to midnight, Louis’ sat at his kit, drumsticks in hand, watching Harry as he addresses the crowd of students.

“Hi there! I’m Harry.”

“Hi Harry!”

“This is Liam—”

“Hi Liam!”

Zayn wolf-whistles from the front row.

“Niall—”

“Hi Niall!”

Lee Jordan gives a resounding “whoop!”

“Louis—”

“Hi Louis!”

Harry winks at him before turning back to the crowd.

“And we’re The Kinkypunks.”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Louis is never more aware of his body than when he’s behind his drum kit.

Sweat drips from his fringe to his eyelashes to his cheeks, sliding down his neck to pool in the dip of his collarbone and saturate his chest, his thighs, the planes of his shoulder blades and the valley of his spine. It makes his clothing cling to him, a wetsuit of punk-rock armor holding him together amidst the heady torrent of sound. He feels the reverberations from each beat and tap and crash of cymbals—they skitter and zing through skin and muscle and rattle his bones, an echoing answer to the calculated questions of his movements. Of course, he can hear them, too, bounding across the stage to twist and twine with the booming notes of Liam’s base, the jaunty twang of Niall’s guitar, and the vibrant tones of Harry’s voice. The feeling intensifies in the moments when they all sing together, harmonizing to the lyrics they wrote in the quiet corners of the library when they should have been doing their homework. He’s light headed and his lungs are screaming and he can feel his heart pounding against his rib cage, and every time Harry catches his eyes his stomach whooshes like someone’s vanished it away.

As it turns out, playing music feels a lot like falling in love.

Their set ends the same way it always does. Niall takes an enthusiastic and probably ill-advised stage dive; Liam clenches his jaw, trying—and utterly failing—not to look too alarmed. But then the crowd catches him (as they always do) and Liam’s grimace becomes a grin, joining the raucous cheers with unbridled enthusiasm. In the final moments of crescendo, Harry perches precariously atop the kick drum, and he and Louis close the set with a resounding,

“but I don’t feel like going home.”

And suddenly Macmillan is back, resolute and unyielding even without his clipboard. It’s not entirely clear what’s got him in such a snit—they’re the last act of the night, and no one’s particularly keen on packing it in just yet—but Louis suspects his behavior has less to do with logistics and more to do with Ernie’s own fervent regard for the rules. So they humor him, allowing themselves to be hustled around the stage in a rather comical frenzy as they sort out their gear. Liam tries to put his bass in Niall’s guitar case for a solid five minutes before he realizes his mistake, and Harry gets jerked off his feet while carrying his mic stand over to the storage closet because he forgot to unplug the cord. Niall somehow manages to lose his guitar pedal, panicking for several seconds before Ernie rolls his eyes and points out that he’s already got it in his hand. This is the last straw for Louis; he doubles over, cackling, only to be cut off by a deafening

crash

as he bangs his head into his hi-hat.

Disaster gays, the lot of them.

It’s only once Louis’ kit is suitably shrunken and stowed that Macmillan takes his leave, hurrying away with an absent, satisfied nod. Louis makes a mental note to get him a new clipboard for Christmas. Maybe even a whole pack.

He tucks his drumsticks into his back pocket, smiling to himself as he turns around to find the lads. Liam and Zayn are suspiciously absent, and he catches the heels of Niall’s white Docs tromping up the stairs beside Lee’s trainers. Harry’s easy to spot, his tall, gangly frame surrounded by a small crowd of students who must have caught him as soon as Macmillan was out of sight. He’s beaming, listening to them chatter over each other as they share their favorite moments of the set and ask him irrelevant questions like, “where did you get your boots,” and “why is Tomlinson wearing your shirt,” and “how are you even real.” Louis’ highlights flash an acid green, annoyance and jealousy flaring in his gut before he can check himself.

He huffs. It’s not that Harry doesn’t deserve the attention—he’s talented and charming and put on a great show tonight. Louis’ just a bit disappointed he wasn’t the first to tell him.

He sighs and runs his fingers through his fringe, a comforting gesture that shifts it back to its normal shade. The sweat reminds him just how warm he is, and the thought of fresh air has Louis bounding up the stairs to the front porch. Harry can come find him when he’s ready.

Louis pushes open the screen door, pausing on the threshold to savor the cool autumn air. He’s not alone—he can see Hermione’s silhouette where she’s sat atop the railing, looking out at the dark line of the forest. He trots over and hops up beside her, nudging her trainer with the toe of his boot as he dangles his feet over the edge. She gives him a warm smile, the sliver of moon casting a silver glow across her midnight skin.

“That’s nifty,” Louis says, nodding at the little jar of fire she’s cradling in her lap.

“Isn’t it?” Hermione smiles down at the flickering flame with a fond faraway look in her eyes. She doesn’t say anything else, and Louis doesn’t press her. They sit in comfortable silence for a few minutes, listening to the crickets and the muted sounds of music filtering through the screen door.

“Is Ron being a git? Cuz I’d be more than happy to sneak into Gryffindor and hide all his pants or summat.”

Hermione laughs. “Tempting, but no. He’s—well, he’s not

fine

, it’s always something with him.” Louis snorts. “Honestly, I just didn’t want to listen to Oingo Boingo.”

It’s Louis’ turn to laugh. “Is

that

what this is?” She nods. “Blimey, remind me to give Angelina shit later.”

“I’m pretty sure we have Harry to thank for that, actually. My Harry, not your Harry,” she adds quickly, as if Louis needed the clarification.

“Obviously. My Harry would never.”

My Harry.

Merlin.

“Obviously.” She gives him an appraising look. “Speaking of your Harry, I noticed he was giving you a few pointers at the meeting tonight.”

Louis looks down at his knees. “That’s one way to put it,” he mumbles, his face suddenly warm.

“Well, I could have said, ‘I noticed he was wrapped around you like an octopus, which was extremely cute but entirely unnecessary for the purposes of the spell,’ but I wanted him to escape this conversation with his dignity intact.”

Louis chuckles. “How kind of you.”

“I thought so.” She bumps their shoulders together, smiling. “As I was saying, I noticed…well, whatever

that

was, and you definitely almost had it.”

Louis looks away again. He nods quietly, eyes fixed on the ground and the flickering shadows cast by Hermione’s little jar of flame. He’s tried not to think about it, how the only time he was able to make any kind of progress with the patronus charm was when Harry was pressed up against him. It’s embarrassing, even though he

knows

it shouldn’t be. But it feels a bit infantilizing, like everyone else learned to ride a bike ages ago and there he is, an eighteen-year-old with training wheels.

“Can I give you some advice?” Hermione says, breaking the stilted silence. Louis looks up and into her warm brown eyes. “Whatever you’re waiting for, whatever you’re afraid of—let it go.”

“I’m not—”

“Bullshit.”

“Did Hermione Granger just

curse?!”

“Stop deflecting while I’m trying to make a point.”

“Fine, fine.” Louis gives an exaggerated sigh. “Please, do go on.”

“As I was

saying,”

Hermione continues,“casting a patronus has nothing to do with happiness or talent or even

magic

, for that matter.” Louis raises a skeptical eyebrow, which earns him an exasperated eye roll. “Stop getting hung up on semantics and pay attention. A patronus is a protection spell, right?” Louis nods. “So in order for it to work, the caster has to harness the essence of whatever—or

whoever

—it is that makes them feel protected.”

Louis blinks at her.

She eyes him warily. “What?”

“Did you really just say ‘the real magic are the friends we made along the way’?”

Hermione drops her face in her hands. “Morgana, give me strength,” she groans, rubbing her cheeks before fixing him with a playful glare. “If you keep it up I’m going to send

Ron

over to hide all

your

pants. Or worse.”

“I am positively quaking in my boots,” Louis deadpans before shooting her a rueful grin. “In my defense, though, I’m pretty sure that’s what you were getting at.”

Hermione laughs. “If it’s easier for you to frame it that way, sure.” She pauses for a moment, looking down at her lap before pressing the jar of flame into Louis’ hands. She hops down from the railing and gives him a knowing smile. “Everything you need is right in front of you,” she says softly. “Let yourself believe you deserve it. Let yourself feel safe, Louis.”

Her words are a salve on a wound that never properly healed.

Louis has always had a complicated relationship with his metamorphmagy. While he loves the weird and wonderful things he can do with his magic, he’s never felt completely comfortable in his skin. Not because he doesn’t like what he sees when he looks in the mirror, but because he doesn’t like that everyone else can see it, too. Other people have a choice, but

his

body has a tendency to broadcast his feelings without his consent. Loudly, and without nuance.

But for once, Louis lets his body react to the emotion flooding his system. His stomach flutters and his heart clenches and his eyes well; his hair cycles through various shades of pink and red and purple and blue and maybe even a little yellow, shame and love and nostalgia and grief and anxiety swirling through his veins like some sort of neurological veritaserum. It often feels dangerously vulnerable, being so effortlessly seen. But right now it feels euphoric, because he’s given himself permission.

Louis wipes his eyes and looks at Hermione's smiling face.

“You really are the brightest witch of your age.”

“Oh shut up, Tomlinson,” she says, obviously flattered. “If I wanted a simp I’d just go talk to McLaggen.” She smirks and kicks at the toe of his boot. “I’m gonna go see what’s left of the desserts table. You coming?”

Louis shakes his head. “Nah, I think I’ll stay out here for a bit. Sounds like Potter’s got control of the music again.”

Hermione lets out a long-suffering sigh. “I’d apologize for his behavior, but it’s really none of my business.”

“It truly is a miracle that anyone associates with him.”

“Right? Embarrassing.”

“So

embarrassing,” Louis agrees with a serious nod. He holds out the jar of flame, but Hermione shakes her head and pushes it back toward him.

“You keep it. It’s a bit nippy out here and you’re all sweaty. Which—”

She pulls out her wand and does a complicated little wave. Suddenly, Louis' clothes are warm and dry, as if they’ve just come off the line on a hot summer day.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re the best?”

“Not nearly often enough.”

“Well, you’re the best, Granger.”

In response, she bows with a dramatic flourish and turns to leave.

“Hermione?”

She looks back at him.

“Thanks. Really,” he says softly. “For everything.”

She smiles.

“Always.” The screen door snicks shut behind her.

Now that she’s gone, Louis suddenly realizes his arse has gone numb from sitting on the thin railing of the porch. He carefully sets the jar of fire to the side and twists around, sliding off the ledge and onto his feet. The floorboards creak underneath his weight as he steadies himself, his legs a little wobbly as they tingle back to life. The sensation—and the chilly night air—sends a shiver up his spine; he turns back to the railing and leans against the rickety slats, bracketing Hermione’s flame with his elbows. He closes his eyes and drops his head, savoring the heat against his cheeks and chest and forearms. When he breathes in the piney scent of the forest, he thinks of Harry.

Everything you need is right in front of you.

Louis smiles to himself and opens his eyes. When he blinks away the blurriness, he notices something carved into the wood, half hidden under the fire jar. Curious, he shifts the jar over to reveal two names nestled inside a crudely chiseled heart:

Moony + Padfoot

Louis frowns slightly as he runs a finger over the etching. Warmth zings through his hand and tugs at his memory; the names are strange yet achingly familiar, but for whatever reason he can’t manage to place them. It’s possible Fred and George would know, considering they were the idiots brave enough to investigate the Shrieking Shack and prove that it is not, in fact, haunted—but that seems like more trouble than it’s worth. He might check his copy of

Hogwarts, A History

when he gets back to Ravenclaw Tower. Seems a safer bet.

He stares at the little heart for so long that his eyes slide out of focus. His mind wanders as he picks at the cuffs of Harry’s shirt, the sleeves just a tad too long where they wrap around his palms. Louis’ been stealing his muggle clothes for ages, declaring loudly and rather unnecessarily that they simply fit him better. Of course, this was patently false (even more so now), but Harry never really protested. Under the guise of retaliation, he’d occasionally pilfer one of Louis’ jumpers, but more often than not Louis would find it set atop his trunk, washed and neatly folded as if it had never left. They never talked about it, which meant that Louis never had to confront the real reason behind this very specific brand of petty thievery. Now, wrapped in the soft fabric of Harry’s favorite shirt, it’s impossible to ignore. Cut pine. Damp earth. Fresh-brewed tea.

Everything you need is right in front of you.

Louis pulls out his wand and holds it loosely in his hand as he leans back over the railing.

Let yourself believe you deserve it.

When Harry walked out of the en-suite the night of the Yule Ball, Louis was sitting on his four poster in nothing but his pants, flipping through the latest issue of

The Quibbler

. He’d had every intention of scolding Harry for taking too long in the shower, but when he’d looked up, every single thought in his head vanished as if he’d been obliviated.

Harry was leaning casually against the door frame, his hands resting comfortably in the pockets of his trousers like this was something he’d wear on any given Tuesday. He looked so natural, ankles peeking out over a pair of chestnut oxfords where he stood—not in dress robes—but in an impeccably tailored muggle suit that hugged every long line and soft curve of his body. It was cut in a deep emerald green, with thin lapels folded elegantly over a cream-colored shirt that was unbuttoned just past his collarbone, the tiny gold pentacle pendant he always wore tucked just out of sight. His slightly damp curls fell in soft ringlets around his face, framing pink cheeks and wide eyes and a somewhat anxious smile. This was his only tell, the only indication that he was still the same quirky little punk who claimed to hate any piece of clothing that wasn’t black or holey or riddled with safety pins. It was this window of vulnerability that stripped Louis bare, the naked feeling completely unrelated to his current state of undress, and all he could do was look at Harry and wonder how one person could contain so many beautiful impossibilities.

The silence had stretched into something meaningful and charged, and Louis had suddenly found himself back in his body in a way that felt foreign and constricting. So he’d squirmed and grumbled and darted into the shower in order to keep himself from screaming. When he’d emerged, the tension was still there, bright and electric and thrumming with new awareness that left Louis feeling uncomfortably exposed; in response, his brain wrapped him in a shroud of insecurity that he simply couldn’t shake. He’d thrown on his inky blue trousers and crisp white shirt with an air of nonchalance, turning away to hide his trembling fingers as he fastened his braces and cuffed his sleeves and knotted the laces of his wingtips. But when he’d turned back, Harry was looking at him like he’d just told a precious secret. In a way, Louis supposed he had.

A flicker of movement brings Louis back to himself. He blinks, momentarily confused by the softly falling flakes, because it’s October, and surely it’s not cold enough. Then, he looks at his wand.

Snow. He’s been making it snow.

And suddenly he’s standing under another sky, leaning against another railing while the muted sounds of another party filter through the chilly night air. But in this other place, he’s not alone. Harry is there, his hands finding Louis' waist before pulling him in, their bodies swaying in slow circles as they dance to the distant music of the Yule Ball. He’s unusually quiet, gentle and warm and so close that Louis can count the snowflakes in his eyelashes.

And then the music changes, something loud and jaunty blasting through the open windows of the Great Hall. They both jump, startled into laughter and out of their fragile moment. Louis realizes how cold he is and Harry insists they go inside, but not before he takes off his suit jacket and wraps it around Louis’ shivering shoulders. They don’t talk about it and it doesn’t happen again, but the electricity never really goes away; it’s always there, humming just below the surface, waiting for one of them to be brave enough to tap into the current.

Louis has never tried, because he wanted to be sure. But now, standing in the circle of his own snowfall, fringe pink with the truth of a not-so-distant memory, he realizes that certainty isn’t always a kiss or a word. Sometimes it’s just a feeling.

Sometimes,

almost

feels like

absolutely

. Sometimes,

almost

is the feeling of

promise.

Louis brushes the snowflakes from his fringe, sets his feet, and points his wand.

Let yourself feel safe, Louis.

“Expecto patronum!”

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Louis feels the magic before he sees it.

It sparks in the stuttering chambers of his heart, crackling through his bloodstream and overtaking every single neuron in his body. It’s the sensation of adrenaline and surprise and wonder, a gut feeling both foreign and familiar as it builds and builds and builds. It’s warm and vibrant and buzzing, pushing at the boundaries of his skin in a way that makes him feel so full, so settled, so

alive,

that finally,

finally,

Louis gets it.

Euphoria is the invincibility of knowing where you belong.

Silver light explodes from his wand in blinding swirls of smoke. It shocks a gasp out of Louis’ lungs—he steadies himself, blinking rapidly in the sudden brightness as the tendrils curl together into something more solid. There’s a tiny moment of recognition and Louis melts, his smile tender and private as he watches the little creature twirl in a clumsy circle. It catches its tail and tumbles over, righting itself before shaking out its fur and scampering over to sit on the railing next to Louis. There, it perches on its rump, its large round eyes blinking up at him with playful curiosity. Louis chuckles softly, content in the quiet with himself and his magic, glad, for once, that no one was around to witness it. Somehow, it makes the moment feel that much more meaningful, because it belongs to him.

He isn’t alone for long; just before Louis himself hears the creak of the screen door, his raccoon perks up and peers over his shoulder, ears flicking as it gives a small, happy chirp.

Cut pine. Damp earth. Fresh-brewed tea.

“OF COURSE yours is a fucking trash panda.” The laughter in Harry’s voice sounds a lot like pride.

“You’re just mad you lost a bet,” Louis teases back, smiling up at Harry as he joins him at the railing. As soon as Harry rests his elbows on the weathered wood, the little raccoon scurries up his arm, winding itself around his neck before settling atop his head.

Harry giggles. “Definitely not a fox.”

“What were you on about with that guess, anyway?” Louis says, scooting Hermione’s fire jar between them so that Harry can share its warmth.

Harry bites back a shy smile and drops his gaze. Louis’ raccoon hops from his head to the ledge to his feet and twines itself around his ankles. Harry follows the movement and stills before quirking an eyebrow at Louis.

“What’s with the snow?”

Louis' fringe flashes pink. “A passing flurry.”

“A passing flurry,” Harry deadpans.

“Yes.”

“Lou.”

“Haz.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“So are you.”

They stare at each other for a moment, eyes searching. This kind of stalemate is rare; they’re both in the habit of changing the subject when they fly too close to the truth, each allowing the other to get away with it if only because it gives them both the grace to do the same. But now, Harry’s looking at him in earnest, like he’s tired of the game. Like he’s ready but isn’t quite sure if he has permission. So Louis decides to give it to him.

“Hey,” he says softly, pressing a knee into Harry’s thigh. “I promise I’ll tell you. But you first.”

Harry huffs out a laugh. “Fair enough.” He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his wand.

“Expecto patronum!”

The little red panda bursts from his wand, somersaulting through the air before it flops over on its back, spreadeagled and panting on the ground in front of them. Louis’ raccoon pops its head between his legs and chitters excitedly, wriggling through the slats and scuttling over to the new silver creature. Harry’s red panda scrambles to its feet, plopping back on its hind legs just in time for Louis’ raccoon to tackle it back to the ground. They greet each other like old friends, squeaking with delight and nosing each other’s fur in a tangle of ringed tails and grabby hands. Louis laughs, amused and slightly bewildered by the familiar display of affection. Harry, however, doesn’t look surprised at all. His gaze is knowing and fond, as if the entire scene was what he’d expected all along. It’s a little unsettling, and Louis realizes he still hasn’t answered the question.

“Harry?”

“Have I told you my favorite name for the red panda?”

“No?”

“‘Fire fox,’” Harry says simply.

Oh.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

They stand there in the charged silence, watching their patronuses chase and pounce and mirror each other’s movements in the overgrown patch of grass beyond the porch. Louis desperately wants to say something, to acknowledge Harry’s profound admission with just the right words, but his internal monologue has abandoned him completely.

Well. Not completely.

“You know,” Louis says, his voice barely above a whisper. “Red panda’s aren’t really pandas at all. Their closest relatives are actually—”

“Raccoons,” Harry murmurs.

Louis looks at him. He’s still watching their bright silver animals wrestle in the weeds, but his smile is absolutely radiant.

“Raccoons,” Louis confirms, for lack of anything better to say. Anxiety is rapidly filling the space previously occupied by the confidence he felt when he was alone on the porch. He doesn’t know how to stop it, so he shifts his feet and fidgets with his nose rings and accidentally knocks his elbow into Hermione’s jar of flame. He blinks, startled by the shock of heat as the glass teeters precariously close to the edge.

Everything you need is right in front of you.

It falls.

Let yourself believe you deserve it.

And Harry catches it.

Let yourself feel safe, Louis.

“Careful,” Harry says, handing the jar back to Louis. Louis cradles it gingerly in his hands as Harry hops up to sit on the railing, settling in with his back to the forest. Their patronuses seem to have picked up on the change between their casters and have joined them on the porch, their playful energy replaced by something calm and soothing. Louis’ raccoon climbs up Harry’s leg and curls itself in his lap, purring contentedly, and Harry’s red panda perches on the toe of Louis’ boot and nuzzles his shin, it’s tail swishing through the dusting of flakes fanning out around his feet. Which, about that—

“So,” Louis croaks.

Merlin.

He clears his throat, sets the jar of flame back on the ledge, and tries again. “So. About the snow.”

Harry gives him an encouraging smile. “About the snow.”

Louis takes a deep, steadying breath, sets his feet, and looks at Harry.

“Do you remember the Yule Ball?”

It’s clear by the expression on Harry’s face that this was not at all what he was expecting. He bites his lip and starts picking at his nail polish, but to his credit, he doesn’t look away. When he speaks, his voice is quiet.

“Do you?”

“I remember the snow.”

I remember everything.

“Is that all you remember?”

I need to hear you say it.

“You know it’s not.”

“Tell me anyway.”

And Louis

could

tell him—he could tell him everything he felt under the softly falling snow, about the warmth and the stillness and the butterflies, about the shaky breaths and the pull in his heart and the electric feeling that never went away—but he doesn’t.

It’s simply not enough.

So Louis steps between his thighs, slides his fingers into his precious curls, and kisses him.

Without a single moment of hesitation, Harry pulls him in, his hands warm and sure where they cradle the soft curve at the bottom of his spine. Louis gasps a tiny whisper of surprise, and Harry catches it with smiling lips.

I remember you.

Sometime in the space between then and now, Louis feels a brush of cold against his cheek.

And another.

And another.

And another.

He flutters his eyes open.

“Harry,” he breathes.

“Mm?” Harry hums. Louis feels it in his chest.

“You’re making it snow.”

Harry’s brow twitches slightly in confusion and he tilts his head back. As he blinks up at the silent swirls of white, he huffs—a small, quiet laugh of recognition. When he looks at Louis, his smile is soft.

“A passing flurry,” he murmurs.

And he dives back in.

Later, when Louis' lips are tender and tingling, Harry presses a kiss to his forehead.

“I have a confession to make,” he mumbles into Louis’ fringe.

“Oh?”

He nods, pulling away just enough to look Louis in the eye. “When we were at the feast, I…well, I wasn’t entirely honest about my memory. The one I used for my patronus.”

Louis swallows. “No?”

Harry shakes his head.

“I mean, it wasn’t a

lie.

Not really. There was a lot that happened that night.” He smirks. Louis snorts. “I just left out the bit that mattered most.”

“Which bit?” Louis says. As if he doesn’t know.

“I think you know.”

Louis grins. “Tell me anyway.”

Harry smiles and cradles his face in his hands. “The bit about

you

, you gorgeous idiot.” He thumbs along Louis’ cheekbones. “You, in the snow, wearing those ridiculous braces–”

“Oi!”

“—

which I loved

, by the way, don’t interrupt—” He grins and smacks a goofy kiss to Louis’ lips.

“Anyway, I didn’t realize until much later that I wanted to kiss you so badly I thought I might die.”

“What?”

Louis yelps, incredulous. “Merlin, Harry, how could you

not know?

I was about to crawl out of my skin.”

Harry gives a careless, happy shrug. “The best ideas take time, Tomlinson.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “You’re insu—”

A loud

BANG!

announces the Weasley twins as they burst through the screen door, followed closely by a cackling Lee Jordan and very ruffled looking Niall Horan. Harry starts so violently he nearly toples off the porch; Louis catches his hands and steadies him, their patronuses chittering angrily from where they’re curled together in the snow. The four of them stop short, wide-eyed as they glance between Louis and Harry and their adorably agitated patronuses.

There’s a moment of stillness before Harry pulls Louis to him, bracketing his body with his thighs. Louis’ hair flares pink and he freezes, feeling rather exposed in the face of an uninvited audience. He can feel the panic rising in his chest and he tries to stay calm, tries to remember to

just breathe

—

Cut pine. Damp earth. Fresh-brewed tea.

Let yourself feel safe, Louis.

And just like that, the panic fades away. Louis relaxes into him, leaning back against his chest as Harry hooks his chin over his shoulder.

“Is this ok?” Harry whispers.

Louis shakes his head and gives him a fond smile. “I don’t mind.”

“Uh,” Fred says, breaking the silence. “Are you—” His eyes dart from Louis’ violently pink fringe to Harry’s hands at his hips. “Did we—”

Louis raises an eyebrow at him.

“Sorry lads,” George says, nudging past his bewildered twin and holding out a blonde sandwich biscuit. “Can I offer you a canary cre—”

Niall lunges forward and smacks it out of his hand. “Absolutely not.”

“Niall,” Louis says slowly, “Why are there feathers in your hair?”

“Bloody canary cream,” he grumbles, as if it means something. He runs his fingers through his hair in an aggressive two-handed rumple and dislodges several small, yellow feathers from his fringe.

“Sorry love,” Lee chuckles, reaching out to pick a bit of fluff off his shirt. “I did try to warn you.”

Niall sticks his tongue out at him before turning back to Louis and Harry.

“Lads, what’s with the snow?”

“Forget the snow,” Fred says, having regained his composure. “Tomlinson, is that—” he peers down at the little ring-tailed creatures now chasing each other around Louis’ feet. “Do you both have the

same

patronus?!”

Louis’ raccoon chirps indignantly, skidding to a halt and causing Harry’s red panda to run smack into its backside.

“That’s a raccoon, you numptie,” Lee says, squatting down to get a better look.

“Bloody brilliant!” Niall says, kneeling down next to Lee. He grins up at Louis. “Knew you could do it. What memory did you—”

Just then, Hermione pokes her head out the screen door. “Has anybody seen—” her eyes land on Louis and Harry, and she grins. “Excellent,” she says, stepping out onto the porch. She holds out a hand to George, looking smug. “A sickle, I think.”

“Oi!” Louis protests, squirming in Harry’s arms as he watches George pull a large handful of change out of his jacket. “You were betting on my patronus too?!”

“No, I was betting on you getting your shit together.” She winks. Louis’ hair is pink again. This time, he can’t bring himself to care.

Niall gapes at her. “Did Hermione Granger just

curse?!”

“Always the tone of surprise,” she sighs, pocketing the silver. “You lot better come inside. Harry’s threatening to play ‘Wonderwall’ and I fear Liam is powerless to stop him.”

They let out a collective groan.

“Why don’t

you

stop him,” Niall gripes, helping Lee to his feet. “He actually listens to you.”

Hermione gives a playful shrug, catching Louis’ eye. “It’s really none of my business.” She grins. Louis grins back.

They file back into the Shrieking Shack, Fred and George and Lee whispering conspiratorially while Niall and Hermione continue to congratulate Louis on his patronus. Reluctantly, Louis and Harry wave their wands, their gazes fond as they watch their silver animals fade into the crisp night air.

No one notices the flash of magic as Harry slides off the railing, lacing his fingers into Louis’ waiting hand. But if they’d bothered to look, they’d find a new heart carved in the wood beside Hermione’s forgotten jar of flame:

Trash Panda + Fire Fox