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Can't Hide It, You Might As Well Embrace It by supernope

Together since they were teenagers, Harry and Louis are professors at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. They may also secretly be married. 

: Prologue

Harry is fresh off the welcome feast when it happens, too fascinated by the wondrous castle around him to pay attention to where his new housemates are going. He's standing in the entrance hall admiring four glass hourglasses, each filled with bright jewels the size of a baby's fist in one of the house colors, when he realizes his group has moved on without him. Heart dropping into his stomach, Harry races for the marble staircase, but stops short at the base of it, a thread of panic coiling at the base of his throat. There are dozens of places they could have gone - up the staircase, along a ground floor corridor, down the stairs into the dungeons - and Harry has no idea where to start looking for his new common room and dormitory.

Tears well up in his eyes as he spins in a helpless circle, but before any can spill over, there's a hand cupping his elbow and a high, gentle voice saying, "Hello there, little one, are you lost?"

Startled, Harry whirls around to see who's addressing him, and the whole room tilts on its axis, throwing him off balance. He's never seen someone so beautiful. He stumbles a bit, flushing bright red when the boy before him grasps his other elbow, as well, to try and keep him steady. Heart thumping painfully in his chest, skin tingling everywhere this boy is touching him, Harry whispers, "Yes. I've lost my house."

"Oh dear, the castle is quite distracting, isn't it?" the boy asks with a kind smile, bright blue eyes glittering in the torchlight. "Right, which house are you in? I've been here two years already, I know where all of the common rooms are by now. I can help you."

Gratitude leaves Harry a bit dizzy, and he sways on the spot, whispering a reverent, "Thank you."

Distracted again by the boy's smile, he doesn't say anything more, and they're both silent for a moment while the boy stares at him expectantly. Harry's brain has gone fuzzy, though, and he's not quite sure what the boy wants from him now. After a few minutes, he prompts, "Well? Which house are you in?"

"Oh!" Harry flushes even harder and slaps a hand to his forehead. Idiot. "Ravenclaw."

The boy's eyebrows wing up and he whistles, long and low. "A clever one, are you?"

Feeling suddenly self-conscious, Harry shrugs, toes turning in toward each other, and mutters, "I dunno. The hat didn't say much to me."

"No?" The boys asks, taking Harry's elbow again, this time to guide him as they start up the marble staircase. "The hat took ages with me. Couldn't decide where I belonged."

"Where did it put you in the end?" Harry asks, fascinated by this boy, this beautiful elfin creature with his high, lovely voice and expressive hands.

"Gryffindor," he says, puffing his chest out with importance.

Duly impressed, Harry whispers, "Ooooh."

"I know. I could be sleeping in the very bed Harry Potter himself slept in."

Harry is just about to respond with a reassurance, absolutely certain that he is, when they come to a stop. Harry hadn't even been fully aware that they were walking and climbing stairs. Oops. Tipping his head back, Harry sees that before them is an enormous oak door with a brass knocker in the shape of an eagle's head.

"Well," his guide says in a tone beyond his years, "this is where I leave you. You've just got to use the knocker and answer a riddle."

Suddenly terrified, Harry stares at the boy, wide-eyed and panicky. "But - but what if I get it wrong?"