Summary: in which Zayn is a confused, ignorant Syltherin and Liam is a wide-eyed, muggleborn Hufflepuff out to change the world.
By: Unfortunate17.tumblr.com
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It’s the year that everyone’s gone out to play hero to save the Wizard World from the hands of He-who-must-not-be-named that constant, loyal Liam Payne, yellow and black tie knotted around his neck, finds himself watching the platform shoot past him as the Hogwarts Express pulls out the station.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to be here per say, but it definitely isn’t his first choice - what with his family out in open, muggle London and a target for more Death Eaters. He’d just much rather have stayed cooped up in their little suburban house and played hero for them rather than finish his seven years of schooling, which when the war properly broke out, wouldn’t hold much meaning anyway.
It seems everyone but him is out playing hero these days.
The day is gloomy with heavy clouds hanging overhead and drizzling rain cooling the window beneath his cheek. His hands shake as they smooth over his crisp new robes for the year. Tremble as he tightens his tie to perfection.
Because that’s who Liam Payne has been brought up to be - all hard lines of muscles, bulky, wide-set shoulders, and a good, average student that goes to his classes in the morning, does his homework in the evening, and goes to bed before ten-thirty at night.
He breathes carefully, steadily. In and out. In and out. Because rhythm is essential for balance and balance is essential for routine and routine is essential for perfection.
“Hey look it’s Payne.”
He flinches; beat broken, as the compartment door is slid open and two boys tumble in, wide, wicked grins set above their green and silver patches.
Liam glances up carefully and he’s met with hard, brown eyes, smooth skin and tousled hair. Zayn’s obviously the one who’s spoken and he has that unexplainable aura of cruelty clouded around his loose tie and un-tucked shirt.
“Mudblood Payne,” another boy, one whose name Liam has forgotten says, and it might have almost been a compliment if it wasn’t for the tone. He’s pale and athletic and Liam watches apathetically as he reaches forward and pulls his tie out of his robes, tightening the cloth around his neck.
He chokes at the abrupt pressure and Zayn lets out a whoop of rugged laughter, eyes crinkling into thick lash lines. And he’s stunning if Liam could say so himself but he burns the eyes - slender physique, thin wrists, and heartbreaking cheekbones. In fact, Liam remembers being eleven and watching him from across their first day of flying lessons and wishing that he could be as small and airy and filled with light the way Zayn was.
But Zayn’s pulling his wand out and Liam launches himself back in fear, hands flying to pull at his own still stuck in the sleeve of his robe.
“McCarthy,” Zayn hisses, “watch his hands, yeah?”
And the pale boy from before is twisting Liam’s hands together with one of his own as Zayn levels his death-stick in his face. Point blank range - Liam braces for whatever impact is to come because despite the Slytherin backdrop, it was well known that Zayn Malik was truly brilliant with spells, charms, enchantments, potions, and whatever else was taught in school.
Except there’s nothing and when Liam dares to look up, Zayn has one hand in his pocket, the other fisted loosely around his wand, hanging by his side, breathing heavily.
“Where are mum and dad, Liam?” His mouth curves upwards at the ends and his eyes glitter. Liam stays quiet, but Zayn doesn’t. “Still out there yeah? Well they won’t be for long.” He yanks on the edge of his tie again, pulling Liam close, “Because my father’s got a couple of special instructions for this weekend and it involves a visit to a little house at the edge of London.”
