His eyes flicker to the boy across from them, a tall boy who’s on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team. During the Gryffindor-Hufflepuff match a couple of weeks ago, Harry may have cheered Hufflepuff on for a bit until Louis practically flew into him in the sidelines with a look of utter betrayal on his face.

Louis’s voice says, “Gawking at Payne again?” and Harry jumps.

“I was not gawking,” he says indignantly.

Louis smirks. “You looked it.”

“We should get back to retrieving the Snargaluff pods,” says Harry, and absently wipes at some sweat and dirt at his forehead.

Payne across from them looks to be in a similar state—Harry reckons that Payne actually might look worse, because he’s not working with anyone—but Harry shakes his head and catches himself. He might’ve actually been gawking that time.

Louis evidently doesn’t notice it, though. “You evidently know how to ruin fun,” he says. He cracks his knuckles.

“Making fun of me is fun, now?”

“It always is,” says Louis, before grabbing a secateur.

Zayn slides in between them during lunch a couple of days later. “What’s going on?” he asks, nicking a piece of chicken from Louis’s plate, which Harry is glad for.

“Quidditch practice this afternoon,” Harry says. Louis’s slumped over on the table, not even retorting for Zayn stealing his food. “He’s either skipping or making me go.”

“Because I’m tired and don’t wanna go,” says Louis. “You deserve to suffer with me.”

“I deserve nothing.”

“Then don’t go,” Zayn says, taking some corn from Louis’s plate, too.

Louis brings his head out of his arms and looks at the both of them. “Neither of you know anything about Quidditch,” he says. “I’m going to skip Transfiguration after this and take a nap.”

“That’s what you get for trying to find those stupid rooms you keep talking about,” Harry says.

Louis waves his hand absentmindedly at him and gets up from the table.

“I’m not covering for you either!” Harry calls after him. “McGonagall’s gonna be pissed!”

“What secret rooms?” Zayn asks.

Harry rolls his eyes. “Louis swears that he read Hogwarts, A History,” he says, “which first of all, is bullshit—”

“I haven’t read it,” says Zayn.

“Yeah, me neither, so like.” Harry shrugs. “Whatever. He says that it hints towards the castle having secret rooms and he’s been trying to find some, or one, or whatever.” He cuts a part of his shepherd’s pie. “Anyway, other than that. How’re you?”

“Don’t really feel like sitting with my Housemates.” Zayn picks at the food on Louis’s leftover plate.

Harry can’t really sympathize, but he’s used to this; he and Louis met Zayn during second year when some boys were bullying him out of an empty compartment on the train, and he and Louis attempted to stand up for him. Unfortunately it didn’t work out terrifically and they’d each gotten some rather minor physical injuries from it, but then at the castle Harry and Louis had told Professor McGonagall and the bullies had gotten a week’s worth of detention and they’d made a new friend, so.

Zayn often says that he prefers the company of Harry and Louis but Harry’s sure that he just doesn’t very much like the other Ravenclaw boys, which Harry is fine with. He’d rather have Zayn hang around than be with people who seem to suffocate him.

But, “Ought to branch out,” he says to Zayn, though in a soft voice. “Join a club or something, maybe?”

“I don’t.” Zayn shrugs and forks at some potatoes. “Maybe, but. We’ll see.”

“I love being your friend, mate,” says Harry, and nudges his shoulder with his own. “I want other people to love that, too.”

The Gryffindor Quidditch captain is an intimidating girl who before dinner demands to Harry, “Where the hell was Tomlinson today?”

“I-I don’t,” Harry sputters. “He was—tired, I guess? Maybe?”

Nelson lets go of his robes and huffs, eyebrows creased in fury. “Well the next time you see him tell him he’s got hours to pay off for missing today’s practice!”

After dinner, Harry goes to the Gryffindor sixth year boys’ dormitory. “Are you avoiding Nelson?” he asks Louis.

Louis’s lying flat on his back, bouncing some round Muggle contraption against the canopy of his bed. “Yep.”

“You slept through practice?”

“Yep.”

“You know that McGonagall probably wants to kill you too.”

“Yep.”

“What’re you going to do?” Harry goes over to Louis’s bed.

“Probably die,” Louis says, and Harry shakes his leg.

“Don’t say that.”

“Eh, then practice Quidditch on my own.” Louis stops bouncing his—whatever it is. He grabs his wand from the windowsill and silently turns it into a frog.

“Good to know that you’re capable of third-year Transfiguration spells,” Harry says, rolling his eyes. He slips off Louis’s bed.

“Yeah, but nonverbal though!”

“No—noooo, you can’t make me do this,” says Harry as Louis tries to wrestle him down. “You know I’m pants at Quidditch.”

“Yeah, but it’s hard practicing on my own, you know,” Louis miraculously manages to say when Harry shoves a handful of robe into his mouth. “C’mon, just—Keep for me, or something?”

“Zayn would be better at Keeping,” Harry points out.

Louis sighs and stops. “I already asked Zayn, for your information,” he says. “He’s studying for the N.E.W.T.s right now.”

Harry’s baffled. “It’s Saturday morning,” he says, and Louis says, “I know.”

He manages to get Harry out, somehow, though Harry will lie about his eyebrows ever looking uneven and insisting they’d always been that way. Louis manages every shot he makes at Harry, and as he struggles (and fails) to catch the Quaffle for the fifth time in a row, he shouts, “What’s the point of me being here anyway?”

“To feel like I’m actually trying!” Louis shouts back, before the Quaffle soars through another one of the goal posts yet again.

“Of course you’re not trying, I can’t do this!”

Harry dives for the Quaffle yet again but it doesn’t even reach his fingertips. After a while, he says, “We should take a break!”

“We’ve only been in the air for ten minutes,” says Louis.

“Ten minutes too long!”

“Do you want to do Bludgers next?” Louis asks, and Harry nearly falls off his broom.

They practice for a bit longer, before people start appearing in the stands, even though it’s just the two of them. “What’s going on?” Louis asks, flying over to the Gryffindor side.

Harry follows him, though Louis flies with more grace and Harry just sort of prays for the broom to go in the right direction and it miraculously does. Some people cheer when Harry joins Louis, and Louis looks pleased with himself.

Most of the other stands are empty, though Harry notices a lone figure on the Ravenclaw side. “Look, isn’t that Zayn?” he asks Louis, and they go over there as well.

“What’re you doing here?” Louis asks. “Thought you were studying?”

“Well I’ve got to take a break once in a while,” says Zayn, grinning.

Harry lets out a sigh of relief. “Good, then you can take my place,” he says.

Zayn shakes his head. “Nah, man, afraid of heights, remember?” he says. “Plus, I don’t think you’d want to disappoint your fans over there.”

He nods over to the Gryffindor stands. Harry blushes and says, “I think you’re mistaken.”

“I’m the real Quidditch player here!” Louis says indignantly.

Zayn says, “I’m sure they’re yours, Styles, unless you want to explain another reason for them not commenting on your eyebrows.”

As they fly away, Zayn says, “Go Gryffindor!” with Louis grumbling and Harry feeling a tad embarrassed for himself. He’s pretty sure Louis throwing the Quaffle at him the next time (and managing to go through the goal post, at that) is completely justified.

The mock Quidditch practice happens for an hour and a half—long enough that Nelson at the least comes out and notices and her scolding Louis for missing the previous practice isn’t as loud as it would’ve been otherwise. After that, Louis humors Harry by letting him try in Chaser position, although it doesn’t quite work out because Louis catches the Quaffle every time Harry throws it at him.

“Well,” says Harry as they dismount their brooms. “That was a practice that was completely unnecessary for me.”

“You enjoyed it, don’t lie,” says Louis, and Harry says, “Except I didn’t.”

They don’t really notice the crowd of yellow and black robed figures until they’re heading towards the Quidditch pitch entrance and nearly bump into them.

Harry nearly has a heart attack because Payne’s there and has his broom against his shoulder and looks really really good. He has half a mind to ask Louis what position Payne plays (mostly because Harry is awful at keeping track of things when he actually watches games), except the Hufflepuff Captain is eyeing them kind of offendedly.

“We’ve got practice right now,” she says. “What’re you doing here?”

“Calm down, we’re just leaving.” Louis puts his hands up innocently. “I promise.”

“Where’s the rest of your team?” She looks Louis’s red and gold robes up and down.

“I missed practice earlier so I’m making up for it. Talk to Nelson if you need to,” Louis says as sincerely as possible.

The Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain nears Harry, who leans back, a little. “Are you on the team?”

“Ah—no, I’m not, just helping a mate out,” he says in his most innocent voice possible. “I’m sort of terrible at Quidditch, actually.”

And then remembering Payne’s kind of there, like, right behind the Captain, he quickly adds, “Well not that terrible, I’m like. Alright.”

Louis snorts, “Don’t lie,” and the Hufflepuff Captain rolls her eyes.

“C’mon team, let’s go,” she says, and they head towards the middle of the pitch.

Harry’s eyes follow as they leave—specifically, at Payne (and maybe a bit at Payne’s arse.) A few members of their team actually glance back at them a few times, and Payne does too; for a moment his eyes meet Harry’s before Harry freaks out and convinces himself that was a coincidence.

“D’you think he paid any attention to me?” he says, looking to Louis again. But Louis’s stifling a laugh behind his hand.

“You looked like a complete dolt,” he says. “‘I’m like. Alright,'” he mocks in Harry’s deep drawl, and Harry punches him in the arm.

Zayn comes up to them then, having descended from the stands. “Why’re you still here?” he asks. “I thought you would’ve been inside already.”

“Delays,” Louis says. Stealing a quick glance at Harry, he adds, “Someone’s in love with a Hufflepuff.”

“Don’t say it like that, you wish you were in love with a Hufflepuff too!” Harry says indignantly. “And he’s fit and on the Quidditch team, so!”

“I approve,” Zayn says. “Though that’s redundant, being fit and on the Quidditch team.”

“Well no, because there’s that one on the Ravenclaw team,” says Louis, nodding to Zayn. “I mean, he’s good, but I wouldn’t argue being fit…”

They talk about that on their way back to the castle, and then Louis and Harry sneak Zayn into their dormitory in Gryffindor Tower (sneak meaning ignoring the Fat Lady’s usual glares of disappointment and really not having anyone in the common room take a second glance at Zayn’s Ravenclaw badge.) They get lunch together, after showering and changing, and Harry takes quick peeks at the Hufflepuff table every once in a while, before remembering that their Quidditch team is still out practicing.

Zayn invites them to study in the library late afternoon on Tuesday, which is odd because Zayn tends to prefer studying alone. Harry notices Zayn’s leg jittering and asks, “You alright, mate?”

Zayn looks up from his book. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he says, and seems to try to calm himself down.

Louis stares at Zayn for a long time (probably because he doesn’t want to stare at his book instead, and spends most of his time bugging Harry anyway). He says, “Are you actually studying?”

“Yes,” Zayn says, and it comes out kind of bitingly that even Harry looks up from his textbook.

Zayn abashedly returns to reading. “Sorry, I’m fine,” he says. “Just… nervous.”

“Nervous about what? The N.E.W.T.s?” Louis gives Zayn an incredulous look, which Harry is glad Zayn is too busy burying himself in his book to see. “They’re not for another year or something. You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Yeah,” Zayn mumbles.

Harry leans over to whisper to Louis, “Maybe that’s not what he’s nervous about.”

“I can hear you, you know,” Zayn says.

Louis ignores him. “Yeah, but if he wants to tell us, he can tell us,” he says.

Harry says, as promisingly as he can to Zayn, “We’re here, mate. If you want us here. Or if you don’t, just tell us to leave—”

“—and we’ll stick around anyways,” Louis interrupts.

Zayn gives them a smile. He’s still shaking his leg under the table, but his, “Thanks,” sounds genuine, to Harry.

Harry is good at planning—he has his way around Hogwarts, at least, among the staff and other things—so when a House Elf interrupts their Herbology class next week with a large pot of flowers and announces, “Delivery for Liam Payne!” in a squeaky voice, Harry feels more proud of himself than relieved.

“Oh my god Styles,” Louis hisses to him as the House Elf bounds over to a bright red Payne. “You didn’t.”

“I did.” Harry continues poking at the dissected Venomous Tentacula.

“You are an absolute idiot. Romantic or whatever.”

Harry will admit that it seems a bit over the top, sending Payne so many colorful flowers with a note scribbled on From Your Secret Admirer. Payne is reading it when Harry glances over at him, and seems to be still reading it a few seconds later. It takes Harry a moment to realize that Payne can’t stop reading it, and not that he’s just a slow reader.

Louis is still sort of laughing in bewilderment and, “Idiot,” he keeps saying to Harry, before, “And you’ve embarrassed him too, look at that.” He gestures to the rest of their class who keep giggling and looking over at Payne.

“I don’t think he’s noticed,” says Harry.

“He’s,” Louis starts, and then just cuts himself off. “When’s the last time you’ve even talked to him?” he asks, instead.

“Last Herbology class when I asked if he could hand over a shovel,” Harry says.

“This is pathetic,” Louis says. He’s smirking, though, so at least he’s enjoying making fun of Harry. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’m in love,” says Harry defensively.

“Pathetic.”

Harry always looks forward to Hogsmeade weekends, not because it’s “more exciting than being cooped up in the castle and learning” (as Louis put it), but because they usually make a habit of buying more sweets than necessary, and shopkeepers are extra nice to him anyway. Sometimes he’ll end up getting more in his bag than he paid for.

“‘S because you’re so charming, mate,” says Zayn as they dismount from the horseless carriages that bring them to Hogsmeade’s entrance.

“I’m polite, yeah, but no one gets anywhere without being polite,” Harry says reasonably. “Plus, no harm no foul anyway—”

“Except on my dignity,” says Louis, rolling his eyes. “Makes me sick. Try to find a shopkeeper within ten kilometers of this place who isn’t absolutely endeared with you, Harry.”

“There’s like, no one within ten kilometers of Hogwarts,” says Zayn.

“Whatever. Fifty then.”

As they walk into the village, Louis asks, “Where should we go first? Honeydukes? Scrivenshafts? Ooh, wait no, Zonko’s—I need to stock up on some things—”

“We’re going to Zonko’s last or else I know you’ll use some of the stuff on us,” Harry says firmly. “Zayn, where d’you wanna go?”

“I, uh.”

Zayn’s avoiding Harry’s eyes, looking how he did earlier when they’d all been studying together. “Anywhere right now is fine.”

Harry leans in close, trying to read him. “You sure? Are you okay?”

Zayn half-heartedly mutters, “Yeah.”

They go to Honeydukes and fool around with the large magical chocolate fountain for quite a bit. Harry keeps an eye on Zayn the whole time, and he’s sure that Louis does too; Zayn seems like his same old self, though a bit more jumpy. The three of them have come to Hogsmeade so many times together, though, and Harry really can’t think of anything either he or Louis have done to make him act this way.

They leave Honeydukes, Harry with two more Liquorice Wands than the two Galleons and four Knuts he paid. He gives the Wands to Louis and Zayn.

“And you’ll give me some of your extra best chocolate when we get back,” says Louis, to which Harry replies, “You wish.”

“I, uh.” Zayn gnaws at his liquorice. “I have to go now.”

Both Louis and Harry spin around at him. “Go where?” asks Louis.

“I’ve, um. Got a date.”

Harry practically spills his candy all over Louis, he’s so shocked. “A date with whom?”

“Well,” says Zayn. “Earlier this week in Herbology this—Slytherin bloke asked me out, um, this weekend, at like—” he checks his watch “—in ten minutes.”

“Oh my god,” says Louis. “Why didn’t you tell us? Being all social and asked out!” He pats Zayn’s cheeks like some fond mother.

Zayn mumbles, “That’s sort of why.”

“Where are you going?” Harry asks interestedly.

Louis practically squawks out a laugh. “Oh god, you’re not going to Madam Puddifoot’s, are you?”

“No. No!” says Zayn, looking alarmed. “Just the Three Broomsticks.”

“What’s his name? Should we come?” Harry glances at Louis, who’s nodding already. “To spy, mate,” he assures Zayn, “we won’t intrude or anything.”

“His name is Niall,” says Zayn, “and I don’t—whatever, the Three Broomsticks is always crowded, anyway.”

Harry lets out a little squeak of excitement and Louis says, “Let’s go!” He loops his arm into Zayn’s, who looks a bit like he regrets telling the two of them.

The Three Broomsticks isn’t as packed as it would be in the winter, but Harry does immediately spy a lone boy in school robes sitting in the middle of the pub. As soon as Zayn waves over to him and the boy waves back, Louis lets go of Zayn.

“Have fun, and use protection!” he whispers to him.

Zayn doesn’t turn around and Harry’s pretty sure Zayn’s rolling his eyes as he goes over to greet his date.

“Where should we sit?” Harry whispers into Louis’s ear. “Somewhere near them so we can hear? Or farther away so we’re more discreet?”

“How about over here?” Louis points at the table in front of the bar. “So I can check out Rosmerta while we’re at it.”

“She doesn’t even know your name,” Harry says to him, and Louis says, “Oh, but she will.”

Zayn and his date are talking—Harry knows that Zayn is nervous again, by the way his leg is shaking under the table—but he’s also grinning and laughing a bit and his eyes won’t stop crinkling at the sides, so Harry takes that as a good sign. Then his date glances at Harry and Louis at the side, and then Zayn looks at them too.

“Psst.” Harry hits Louis, who’s definitely staring at Madam Rosmerta from the corner of his eye, under the table. “Our cover’s blown.”

“What? Oh shit!” Louis jerks his head up. “What’re we gonna do?”

“Well, not shout like you have,” Harry grumbles. He tries to hide his face in his robes.

When he checks on Zayn again, Zayn’s beckoning them to their table. “He wants us to join them?” Harry says to Louis.

Louis takes a quick peek over his shoulder, and then in the next moment he and Harry have stood up. They stumble over to Zayn and his date, and don’t quite fit on the bench with Zayn. Harry hangs off to one side.

“It’s not like I didn’t see your mates when you came in,” Zayn’s date says, grinning at Harry and Louis. “Nice to meet you, I’m Niall.”

“Harry,” says Harry, and Louis looks at Niall’s drink and says, “Firewhiskey. I like you already. Louis.”

Harry nudges him. “Don’t be a freak.”

“I’ll show you freak, freak.”

“Sorry you’ve got to put up with them,” says Zayn.

Niall shakes his head. “I really don’t mind, as long as you don’t,” he says. “I’ve actually got a friend coming in soon to join us—if that’s okay?”

Zayn nods, and then they return to talking about whatever they’d been talking about before Harry and Louis had come.

“What are we doing here?” Harry whispers to Louis. “Aren’t we interrupting their date?”

Louis repeats his questions into Zayn’s ear, who very loudly whispers back to the both of them, “Niall thinks more company is better, and it’s less embarrassing having two of my best mates on a date with me than in the corner staring at the bartender and pretending to be subtle.”

Niall’s watching the three of them, amused.

“We were so subtle!” Harry hisses to him over the table, just as Niall says, “Oh, my friend’s here. Hey, Liam!”

And Harry’s heart stops. Louis’s never looked at him with more incredulity and amusement in that moment (except maybe the time they snuck out one night and Harry got knocked over lightly by the Whomping Willow.) Harry can already feel his cheeks glowing red, as Niall stands up to greet Payne.

“Which one of them’s your date?” Payne asks, eyes flickering over the three of them. Harry hopes Payne looks at him a half second longer.

Niall laughs. “Oh, right. The fit one.”

“They’re all kind of fit,” Payne says (Harry tries to catch his eye again), at the same time Zayn says, “I’m really not fit at all.”

Niall laughs again. “Then the really not fit but cutest one,” and he blushes at his own words. Zayn blushes, too.

Payne grins. “Fair enough.” He sits down and thumbs at Louis. “Tomlinson, right? You’re on the Gryffindor Quidditch team?”

Louis puts his hands up in admittance. “Guilty as charged.”

“And…” Payne turns to Harry.

“Harry,” Harry says quickly. “I’m, um. Not on the Quidditch team. But we’re in the same Herbology class together!”

Louis is sniggering beside him. Niall’s watching the two of them, eyes darting between Harry and Payne.

“Right,” Payne says, though Harry could probably write a paper on how he totally looks like he recognizes him, and not just humoring him. “Liam.”

(And he says this to mostly Harry anyway, or so Harry would argue.)

“D’you want a drink too?” Niall asks Zayn, who nods. “A firewhiskey over here!”

“I’ll have a butterbeer,” says Louis.

Niall says, “I’m not on a date with you,” and magicks a galleon and couple of knuts over to Rosmerta as Zayn’s firewhiskey floats over.

“I’ll get it,” Harry says. To Liam, “Do you want anything?”

“Butterbeer works for me, too,” he says.

Harry gets up to pay for their drinks. As Louis begins slurping his, Liam asks, “You don’t want one?”

“I steal some off Louis,” says Harry.

Louis protects his flagon. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Liam looks between the two of them with a confused smile and says, “You can have some of mine, if you want.”

“I don’t really,” Harry begins, but then he gets three knees to his own under the table. Liam’s still watching him with an innocent sort of smile, so Harry very pointedly ignores Louis and Zayn and Niall, and says, “Thank you, Liam.”

The Gryffindor-Slytherin match is in the beginning of the following week, and at breakfast when Zayn comes over to wish Louis good luck, he’s unsurprisingly with Niall, who’s got magic paint on his face that flashes green and silver.

“Oi, ought to warn a bloke for that,” says Louis, shielding his eyes.

Harry’s amused. “He’s obviously trying to throw you off your Chasing game.”

“Yeah, trying and failing.” Louis takes a bit of his sausage.

“I’m sure,” says Zayn. “You’ll do great, Louis.”

“But not as great as we will!” says Niall. “We’re gonna roast you Gryffindors to the ground!”

Louis waves a forkful of eggs at them. “Zayn, tell your boyfriend that he’s obviously delirious, because we’re gonna win.”

“Can’t do that, sorry mate,” says Zayn. “I’m on his side.”

“What?” says Harry. “But you’ve got two—well, I’m not on the Quidditch team, but—”

“Roasted to the ground!” Niall shouts enthusiastically, while Zayn shrugs and smiles sheepishly.

“He’s not on the Quidditch team either, but look at him.”

“If you take my side and we win, I’ll kiss you.” Niall looks more ready for the game than Louis does, though on Louis’s part he looks like he’s focusing on his food and getting his head cleared, which Harry understands is a strategy.

Zayn leans in to peck Niall on the lips anyway. Niall stops jumping for a moment, and blinks.

“I’m already on your side,” says Zayn.

“I’ll cheer for Gryffindor.”

Liam appears suddenly, cutting between Zayn and Niall.

Niall leaps up and says, “Liam!” before, “Wait, no, what about me?”

“Well you’ve got Zayn here,” says Liam, separating the two of them briefly and joining Louis and Harry on the Gryffindor bench.

Harry’s sure he’s just taunting Niall, but also Liam is right there next to him and he just wants to say something to Liam, anything. He ignores the kick at his ankle coming from the other side.

“Fine then,” Niall’s saying, taking Zayn’s elbow. Zayn looks caught between pleased with himself and amused. “We’re good with what we have.”

They leave the Great Hall. Louis asks, “You think Zayn’s gonna snog him to calm him down?” and Harry almost chokes on his pumpkin juice.

“They seem really happy.” Liam takes a chip from a nearby bowl. “So probably.”

“Are you coming to the game, Liam?” Harry asks. “I mean, if you’re cheering on Gryffindor, you can sit with me, if you’d like—”

“I don’t really have anything else to do,” says Liam. He smiles at Harry. “So, sure.”

Harry internally—and maybe a little externally—pumps his fist.

Louis bumps against him again and Harry whines, “Stop.”

“Tomlinson!” they hear Nelson’s voice call out, and then the rest of the Quidditch team.

Louis takes one last bite of his sausage and says, “Gotta go. See you at the game, lads.”

“Good luck!” Harry calls, and Liam says, “You’ll do great.”

They watch Louis leave. “I suppose the game’ll start soon,” Liam says. “Wanna leave early to get good seats?”

Harry will do anything to spend more time with Liam, honestly—though he’s alone with him now. Harry doesn’t know if that’s lucky or not.

“Sure,” he says. They leave the table too, as the Quidditch teams line up and other students start to leave.

They don’t really talk about much as they head toward the grounds, though Liam asks a few general questions about his friends like, “So how long has Louis been on the Quidditch team?” and, “D’you think Zayn likes Niall a lot?”

“Well he seems to enjoy himself when he’s with Niall, so.” Harry shrugs. “They’ve been like, sort of together since Saturday.”

“Niall hasn’t been able to stop talking about him since last week,” says Liam, “when he asked him out.”

“Oh right, forgot about that.” Harry thinks back to Zayn’s strange behaviour earlier. “Oh. So that’s what Zayn was acting weird about.”

“Niall was acting weird too,” says Liam. “He invited me out to watch the Slytherins practice but could hardly pay attention the whole time. Pinnock kept yelling at him.” He chuckles. “Then he told me about Zayn afterwards and it made sense.”

“Niall’s an energetic one,” says Harry, and Liam laughs.

“Putting it lightly.”

They find a nice spot near the Gryffindor side of the stands, though a few Hufflepuffs call over, “Liam!” and, “Payne, what’re you doing over there?”

“I’ve got Gryffindor friends to cheer for!” Liam shouts back, before to Harry— “Right, we’re friends?”

“Oh yeah—no, of course,” says Harry quickly. “You’re with me, you’re—”

Well they haven’t really talked since the Three Broomsticks. But Liam seems pretty cheery with him and laughs when his Hufflepuff friends call him a traitor and says, “Niall was my only outer House friend before this, so.”

“I feel like if he tried, Niall could make the whole school friends,” says Harry. “Get rid of all the Houses and everything.”

Liam laughs. “Yeah, but there’s probably also Houses for a reason. Plus, he hasn’t yet found out that I live right near the kitchens and I want to keep that from him.”

“Do you?” Harry grins.

“Well, I’ve definitely mentioned it at least once, but I think he’s forgotten,” says Liam. “Ah, I shouldn’t say more to you, either.”

Harry’s still grinning. “No, go on Liam, I want to hear more.”

“You won’t hear another word out of me,” says Liam. He folds his arms.

Harry bumps his hips against Liam’s, and Liam lets out a small noise of surprise. “That was a word,” Harry says. “Kind of.”

Liam makes motion across his mouth. Harry eyes him carefully and then gives a small tickle at his armpits.

“I won’t tell Louis or Zayn or anyone else,” Harry says. “I promise.”

He doesn’t even care about knowing where the kitchens are, really (although in retrospect it’d be a nice thing to lord over Louis.) But having something just between Liam and him makes him all giddy inside, and Liam eyes him for just a moment before saying, “Alright.”

Throughout the game Harry shouts, “Pick it up, Tomlinson!” and Liam cheering, “Go Louis!” Niall’s making jeering faces at the Gryffindors and trying to rally up the rest of the Slytherins in some sort of chant. Zayn is smiling at his boyfriend, and quirks his mouth and shrugs when he meets Harry’s eyes.

Harry leans over and says, “Niall’s such an idiot,” before remembering that Niall was Liam’s friend first and maybe they don’t know each other well enough to make comments like that.

But Liam nods and says, “He is,” so that’s okay.

Gryffindor wins 170 to 110, mostly because the Hufflepuff Seeker had let the Snitch slip from his fingertips and into the Gryffindor Seeker’s. Liam and Harry go down to meet with Louis, and find Zayn and Niall there too.

“That was too close,” Niall’s rambling to Zayn. Harry wonders if he notices that Zayn catches his hand when Niall waves it around a bit too wildly, and doesn’t let go.

“Looks like I picked the right side,” Liam teases.

Niall says, “I’m watching you, Payno.”

Louis comes bounding out of the changing room then, and practically jumps on Niall. “What’s up, Slytherin?” he says. “Got your arse kicked by a Gryffindor?”

“I’m not even the one who got my arse kicked, you bloody—”

Niall tries to wrestle Louis off him, and instead they fall to the ground, roughing at each other until Zayn goes over and says, “Hey—Louis—be careful—”

“I’m good, Zayn,” says Niall, as Louis rolls away from him. “Just gotta—”

He pushes Louis into the grass and then Louis starts to climb on top of him.

“That’s my job,” says Zayn indignantly.

Louis gets off and Niall shoves him away anyway, and then kisses Zayn on the mouth. Zayn responds enthusiastically.

“So that’s settled then,” says Liam, giving Harry an amused look.

Louis looks between them.

“Let’s celebrate with lunch?”

Harry and Louis have Herbology a few days later, which Harry will admit to looking forward to. They haven’t seen Zayn very much as of late, mostly because Zayn goes to the Slytherin table during mealtimes now, aside from the semi-usual occurrence when both he and Niall join them.

And Harry doesn’t know exactly what to expect since Liam hasn’t been their friend for very long. But when they enter the greenhouse, Liam notices them immediately and a little clumsily runs over as they head over to where they usually sit, to join them.

Louis asks, “Alright, Liam?” and Liam nods.

“I think we’re working with Devil’s Snare today,” he says.

“Oh, brilliant.” Louis rolls his eyes. “A wonderful flashback to third year.”

“Yeah, you got yourself caught in that that time,” says Harry. Liam chuckles.

Professor Sprout hands out their assignment—they are working with Devil’s Snare, and not the tamer version that Louis had to be sent to the Hospital Wing for back in third year, either. Once Professor Sprout hands them their pot, Louis immediately goes, “Incendio!”

Harry brings down Louis’s arm. “Not Incendio, you prat!”

“Oh right, blue bell flames,” says Louis, and taps his wand experimentally. The plant waves a tentacle tauntingly at him. “Stand back, lads, I’ve got this.”

“So, uh,” Harry says to Liam, as Louis attempts to control their plant. “We’re celebrating Gryffindor’s win from the Quidditch match earlier this weekend. If. You wanna come?”

“Is that allowed?” asks Liam, eyes wide.

“Well.” Harry shrugs. “You cheered for us.” Then, with a little smile, “I’m pretty sure that’s why we won.”

“Because my support’s so magical,” says Liam.

Behind them, Louis’s successfully conjured up little blue flames and is shouting at the plant, “Back, I tell you!”

Harry grins at Liam. “Well, magic,” he says.

Liam says, “You give a persuasive argument, Styles.”

“I know I do,” says Harry. His heart is doing stupid jumpy things.

“I won’t steal any secrets from Gryffindor Tower,” says Liam, and makes a miming motion at his mouth, like he had at the Quidditch match. “I promise.”

Harry grins. “I didn’t even think you would.”

“Look!” Louis leans over to them. “Harry, Liam, I got it, I finally—waghhhh!”

At the belated Gryffindor victory party, Louis still has a few vine-shaped bruises on his arm—”I hate Herbology,” he says, “why am I taking the N.E.W.T. for it?”

“So we have all our classes together,” says Harry cheerfully, and clinks his bottle of butterbeer with a boy coming up the staircase.

“I will burn every plant to the ground,” Louis grumbles.

Harry goes over to the table of drinks and hands a bottle to him. “No one’s gonna see your bruises,” he assures Louis. “They’re not even gonna look at your arm. C’mon, join the rest of the team!”

So Louis does, and when it’s seven thirty by Harry’s watch he goes over to the portrait door. Louis slightly pissed and singing some sort of victory song with the other Chasers, all three held up on their Beaters’ backs.

Liam’s standing outside the portrait hole, bright-eyed and beaming. Harry beams back and says, “Come in!”

“Bringing in another student from a different House?” comes the Fat Lady’s voice. “I’ll have a word with your Head of House, you know—”

“Yeah, yeah.” Harry dismissively waves a hand at her (which she can’t see anyway), and shuts the portrait once Liam’s inside.

Liam looks worried. “What if I get in trouble?” he says. “What if you get in trouble—with McGonagall, too—”

“Don’t worry about that,” says Harry. “Empty threats. Butterbeer?”

Liam nods and Harry grabs him a drink. They sit at a couple of armchairs near the table of snacks, and watch the rest of the common room play around and sing.

“What’s he on?” Liam nods towards Louis, in the middle.

Harry takes a careful look at the bottle in his hand. “I think I might’ve given him firewhiskey,” he says, and Liam spits a little of his drink on his hand.

“Well he clearly likes it,” Harry adds.

Liam nods and licks the butterbeer off his fingers. “Clearly,” he says.

They sit around and laugh at the others for a bit. Liam later says, “I haven’t heard from Niall all day,” and Harry says, “I haven’t heard from Zayn.” They share sort of a stupid smile, even though they’re not talking about each other at all.

A little bit later through the party, when it’s been a few hours and Harry feels significantly lightheaded, Liam leans over and whispers to him, “Do you want me to show you that thing I told you about before?”

Harry’s too focused on Liam’s hot breath against his ear that it takes a moment for the words to register. “What thing?” he says.

“The kitchens.” Liam’s grinning. “Right next to the Hufflepuff common room.”

“Oh! Right,” says Harry, and then, “Yeah, of course!” His insides are fizzier than the drink in his hand.

They head toward the portrait hole, and somewhere behind them Louis yells, “Styles! Where are you going?”

“Liam and I are gonna head out,” Harry calls behind him.

He’s very, very sure that Louis shouts out a teasing, “To snog?” and purposefully ignores it, hoping that Liam hadn’t heard.

When they’re out, Harry asks, “Which way?” He shakes his head for a second to adjust himself.

“That way.” Liam points and Harry starts walking.

Liam’s the one who mostly leads them downstairs, but by the time they make it past the dungeons, Harry’s head feels clearer. “Have you had a good time so far?” he asks. “You weren’t, like, bored—”

“Oh, no, I’ve been, uh.” Liam determinedly faces forward instead of looking at him. “I wanted to show you this since I told you about it, but I wasn’t sure about the right, um. Time.”

“Oh,” says Harry.

Liam seems nervous. They’re underneath the castle now, though it’s not like the dungeons, cold and stony. Just warm, and dimly lit, near large wooden crates and barrels.

Harry says, “You know that, uh. The flowers that you got during Herbology a couple of weeks ago?”

Liam’s cheeks flush, which means that Harry’s mission of making him less uncomfortable is not working. “Yeah, I,” he says. “Right, everyone in class saw that.”

“I sent them to you,” says Harry.

Liam takes two more steps, and then stops. “Did you?” he asks.

His cheeks are still a bit dark but a part of Harry wants to think that’s a good thing. “Yeah,” he says.

He notices that he’s only a little bit taller than Liam when he’s not slouching.

“I mean, awful secret admirer, aren’t I, if that’s the only thing I’ve sent you.”

“Ah, yeah,” says Liam distractedly, before, “I mean, no, I don’t think you’re awful. An awful secret admirer. Or. Anything.”

“Like,” says Harry. “I’ve liked you for quite a while. So.”

He feels stupid.

“So there you go,” he says.

They’ve stopped in front of a large painting of a bowl of fruit. Liam is staring at Harry now, though he gestures to the painting.

“You can get through the kitchens through here,” he says.

Harry says, “Yeah?”

“If you tickle the pear.”

Liam makes some sort of motion with his fingers to where Harry presumes the pear is, though he’s not looking.

“Sorry,” says Harry, “if this is weird, because like—I don’t know if you like me—of course, I want you to like me,” he adds, mostly to himself, and—

Liam cuts off his thoughts with a light kiss on his nose, which Harry had definitely not anticipated but he’ll take it. “I’m pretty sure it’s hard not to like you,” he says, bumping his forehead with Harry’s.

He has both of Harry’s hands in his, too, and Harry wonders if the haziness coming to his head are aftereffects of the butterbeer or insane giddiness.

“Louis thoughts the flowers were childish and overly romantic,” he says. “Did you think they were childish and overly romantic?”

“They were extremely unexpected,” says Liam, “and very, very nice. Like you.”

Harry giggles and presses his nose against Liam’s this time.

post script

Louis bounds over to them on Monday morning during breakfast, exclaiming, “I found the secret room! And way to ditch me this morning, Harry.”

“Sorry,” Harry says, rearranging the eggs on Liam’s plate.

Louis looks down at them. “Ugh, disgusting,” he says, before, “Not at you two, just.”

Harry’s made a smiley face out of the eggs and bacon on Liam’s plate. Both Zayn and Niall are rolling their eyes at it too, but Harry doesn’t care and takes a swig of his pumpkin juice.

“Anyway!” Louis dramatically slams a hand on the table. “Secret room! I don’t know how to get to it again, but I know where it is—”

“Yeah, yeah,” says Zayn.

“And I ran into a prefect.” Louis’s grinning. “Well, she caught me, but—”

“Is she hot?” says Niall.

“Yeah. Ravenclaw?”

“Hey yeah, I think I know who you’re talking about!”

As Louis and Niall discuss Louis’s hot Ravenclaw prefect, Harry glances to the disgruntled-looking Zayn. “Well this gives you more time to study,” Harry says to him, and Liam snickers from the side.

Zayn eyes Harry’s cup, and as Harry drinks from it again, his pumpkin juice suddenly turns scorching hot.

“Ow!”

Harry puts his drink back down to meet Zayn’s smirking face.

“And you might wanna study your nonverbals,” says Zayn.

Liam offers, “I can help out with that.”

Harry kisses him lightly. “Thanks.”

Across from them, Niall breaks out of his conversation with Louis to say, “Payne, don’t pretend you know shite about nonverbal spells!”

“I know enough about nonverbal other things,” says Liam.

Zayn, Niall, and Louis let out a groan.

Harry kisses Liam again.

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you’ve got me moving too fast

by aroceu

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© 2009-2026 aroceu