Sundays are often a minimal affair at Hogwarts. Especially Sundays like this one where it's dark and gloomy and it's been raining constantly with frequent lightning and thunder. It's also one of Harry's favorite days of the week because he can luxuriate staying in the bed past 9 AM. But today, he is woken up by the sound of loud thunder and he was too hungry to fall back asleep so, he waddles into the Great Hall for some late breakfast, pulling his sweater's sleeves to cover his palms for some much needed warmth.
It's late but it's not that late, there's many empty seats at the tables of every House. He knows Niall is still sound asleep and will be out till they practice their Quidditch today. A shudder runs through him when he even thinks of Quidditch in this weather; all he wants is to stay indoors, wearing his fuzzy socks and soft, soft sweats which hang low on his hips.
There's hot chocolate poured in a cup when he sits at the Gryffindor table and he quickly wraps his palms around the warmth, a satisfied hum escaping his lips.
Taking a sip, the sweet chocolate melts on his tongue readily. Appreciating the much needed quiet morning, he curls up with the mug, the side of his forehead against the table. After a solid week of running around for classes and doing mundane homework, this morning is certainly well deserved.
Harry jumps when he feels a hand on his back and shoots his head up to find Sophia Smith, the Captain of Gryffindor Quidditch Team.
"It's just me," she flashes him an easy smile before settling down beside him. He's thankful that her voice is low and soft enough to blur into the quietness of this morning. The last thing he needs is any disruption to his haven.
"Very grateful that it's just you," he grins, taking another sip.
"Always this charming, eh?" shaking her head fondly at him, she gets to the point, "But listen, we need to talk."
"About?"
"The Quidditch match. Seamus will be replacing you as a Chaser," Sophia informs him.
Harry feels a mountain of relief, "I'm fine with sitting this one out, believe me."
"Yeah, no. You're still playing." She bites a piece of her toast, a grin forming when she sees his face fall at the news, "But we've decided to bring you in as a Seeker."
"What, why?" he grumbles, covering his face in his hands.
She laughs, rubbing his back as if to coax him to be a Seeker, "Because we're playing against Slytherin and you know, Zayn Malik is their Seeker. Remember what happened to Seamus last season?"
He nods. Harry does remember. Had heard that once Zayn gave a glaring look at Seamus and he backed off from catching the Snitch. And in another match, he shoved Seamus so hard that he woke up in the infirmary a week later. Not just him but most Slytherins play a very intense game. It's always a challenge playing against Slytherin and sometimes, Ravenclaw. Difficult to predict where it could go.
"It's great that you're setting me up for such violence," he supplies cheekily, looking at her with a playful tinge of betrayal.
She rolls her eyes at him, "Well, he won't do that to you. I saw you guys talking the other night. Aren't you like, mates now?"
"Not really," Harry says, shrugging his shoulders.
He had forgotten about that night after not seeing Zayn in the succeeding days. His fingers tighten around the mug as he remembers what Zayn told him about Liam. Who is he to go around making blanket assumptions, they've barely spoken to each other decently once. But Harry can't help but feel a nagging fear in the pit of his stomach, that Zayn might be right. Spent a couple nights thinking if it was true and if it wasn't, why it was affecting him this much.
She bats her hand, "I'm sure he won't do that to you." Quick to get up, she leaves before he's able to protest further, "Thanks, Haz. See you on the pitch."
Harry sighs as his gaze falls down on the hot chocolate and his half eaten buttered toast. He's going to miss this so much.
Reluctantly, he finds himself in the Gryffindor Changing Rooms. Half hour before their team meeting, he figured he should get padded up and practice on his broom. Merlin knows he needs it, he's been off of his broom for weeks.
At the other side of the pitch, there's the Slytherin Changing Room.
"Half the team hasn't even made it out of the bed, has it?" Luke says with a laugh, coming up behind Zayn.
He plasters a smile, shaking his head at Luke. Zayn's always liked how capable the older lad is. Even with a spare glance at the team, he could tell you everything. Like he's done this a thousand times over. Maybe that's why Zayn admires him. They all do. Luke is pure Slytherin, in his sixth year and he's the guy who gets things done.
"Heard they have a new Seeker," he hears Luke murmur, who is looking out of the small window. When Zayn comes closer, he raises his brows in surprise.
"What do you see, Zayn?"
This is one of Luke's favorite questions. He would ask this often when he's in this zone of scrutiny, wanting to hear other's thoughts as if it adds something to his own perception. Zayn doesn't miss the way Luke is looking at Harry with utmost attention, like if he'd glance at Zayn for even a second, he'd miss something crucial.
"His balance is off," Zayn begins, watching over Harry who breezes through the corner of the field with his broom, "Grip too tight, he's afraid of falling."
Luke's blue eyes tear away from Harry and looks at Zayn, the corner of his lips quirking up, "Muggle."
It's Luke's way of calling Harry 'ordinary.'
Muggle, my arse. Zayn wants to say but he bites his tongue. Harry is magic through and through and if he didn't know he was a muggle born then Zayn would've never been able to tell. He has a way with magic, he's careful with it. He reminded Zayn of himself the day he had Theo and Blaise practically off their wands. They're cocky, though. Being pure bloods has made them take it for granted, has made them think that magic is subservient to them. Quite the contrary, magic is subservient to those who can contain it.
The room fills up with people who are languidly sneaking in and getting changed.
"Go easy on him, will you?" the older lad tells him, clasping his hand behind his back.
"Nope."
Luke smirks, patting Zayn on the back, "Atta boy."
In the next fifteen minutes, the whole team is set to go. It's a practice match for the House Cup next month but it still matters. No matter how much Gryffindor changes their order is of little relevance to Zayn. He just has to catch the snitch then the game ends. And the sooner the game ends, he is out of this bloody rain and cold wind.
The Quidditch match requires seven players; three Chasers who will keep possession of the scarlet Quaffle which is a leather ball, a Keeper who will prevent the opposite side to make a goal, two Beaters who will bat the Bludgers towards their opponents and a Seeker who will catch the Golden Snitch. Catching it will give the House 150 points and end the game.
Professor Hooch, who is the flying instructor, ensures both Houses' Keepers and Beaters are in their position. Aiden, who is Slytherin's Keeper, is guarding the three Hoops.
Once Zayn is in the air with his broom, he catches Harry's gaze for a brief second before the trunk is opened, whistles blow and the game begins.
The Quaffle is caught by Gryffindor players who are quick to pass it among them and are heading towards the three Hoops on Slytherin's end to score a goal. But Harry can't focus on any of that because the Golden Snitch spreads its wings and flies right in the middle of the pitch.
He leads forward, his broom swiftly flying towards the Snitch but Zayn is quicker to reach, making the Snitch fly upwards. They chase it together to the top of the clouds, both soaking wet. It's so cloudy that Harry has trouble seeing anything, let alone the Snitch. He can't even hear it amidst the grumbling of thunder. But then he hears a swift sound and when he looks over his shoulder, Zayn is flying towards him with an enormous amount of speed.
His eyes widen but his brain is quick to act, moving out of the way just in time before he nearly avoids a collision but the whole thing throws him off balance.
"Holy fuck," he cusses as he tumbles, hands grabbing the broom tightly to avoid a fall. He didn't know Zayn was this fast.
The Snitch gives both of them a hell of a time, Harry especially. He has never played in the Seeker position and Merlin only knows how Seamus managed to do it because one moment, he's flying between the clouds and the next moment, he's chasing it two feet above the grass.
And Zayn is relentless. He does not give a fuck whether he collides with Harry. Too quick to zoom past him every time while also not getting hit by the Bludger. They fly between the Ravenclaw tower, meandering in the air together.
The brooms fly so fast that Harry swears he can't even feel his fingers anymore.
"Gryffindor scores another point, 50-20" announces the score keeper. And as soon as Zayn hears the score, he flies towards Harry, shoving him out of the way. This throws him off balance so much that Harry goes off his broom and takes a hard fall, his body rolling on the ground then skidding against the sandy surface.
Before he can even come to his senses properly, Zayn flies above him.
"Hope you ride Liam's dick better than that," he smirks at Harry.
"Fuck you, Malik," Harry retorts as he gets on the broom quicker than he anticipated and gives Zayn a shove too, who looks like he's fuming that Harry even dared to do so. They keep shoving and trying to push one another off the broom, the Snitch ever evading them.
Harry is unexpectedly really close to catching it, he flies to one end of the Quidditch pitch, his fingers nearly touching the Snitch before his broom is struck with the Bludger and turns the other way round, bumping into Zayn, who was flying right behind him.
Zayn huffs out a breath, groaning, "At least, Seamus knew what he was chasing."
That sets Harry off, he's practically boiling at the moment. So riled up that he gives Zayn a push and chases the Snitch faster than before. Zayn and he are almost at par now.
"Why do you have to be such a jerk?" Harry hits back, ducking to miss the Bludger. He's more focused now, faster too. He moves with the Snitch, taking sharp turns along the Oval of the Pitch.
"Why do you have to be in my way?" Zayn knocks Harry off again only to get hit back with an equal force.
Below them, the Quaffle is passed between Theo Nott and Pansy Parkinson who dodge Gryffindor players smoothly. However, they are halted in their efforts to score a goal by Niall, who is the Gryffindor Keeper. The few people in the crowd cheer at the splendid effort.
From the corner of his eye, Harry sees Zayn extending his hand out to grab the Snitch from the other end of the Pitch.
Now, it's really upto the one who gets there faster.
Neither of them hesitate to go faster, eyes on the Snitch. It's pretty neck and neck. Harry's a millimeter away from catching it, when he is pushed out of the way by Zayn's entire body then the next thing he knows, both of them are off their brooms before falling on the sand pit with a loud thud.
The collision leaves Harry a bit light headed but the whistle blows. As it turns out, Zayn had managed to catch the Snitch. The Slytherin end of the crowd erupts into a roar of cheers as the game ends.
Harry sees Sophia fly towards him and she hops off her broom, extending him a hand. He takes it, lifting himself off the ground.
"You did well, Harry," she smiles at him kindly, lounging her arm around his shoulder as they walk back to the changing room.
"But we lost. The score was 70-40 but he bloody caught it. And he was so fast, Soph."
She lightly chuckles at him, "You see what we're up against? But no, it was good for your first try, Haz. You actually made us last twenty minutes more on the pitch than Seamus ever did."
Harry looks like he's got the wind knocked out of him. Eyes wide, curls matted to his forehead in a careless manner, his fingers pruned and soaking wet, his clothes messy and muddy. But he does not care. Zayn was better than him in every way. It's not the loss that bothers him, it's that he was completely unprepared and he under performed.
He swears he's going to practice harder.
............
Muffling a yawn, Harry walks into the Great Hall for dinner. What was supposed to be a post Quidditch nap turned into four hours of sound sleep. He needed it after all that he went through and yet his whole body is still sore, aching in places where he bumped into Zayn or was pushed against the ground. Rough game.
It's quite early for dinner, he notices as the hall is half empty. But his grumbling stomach hasn't had food since the afternoon so, he's just hoping for a quiet dinner and more sleep.
Someone draws a stool and sits beside him, pulling his attention their way. It's Zayn Malik. He looks at him questioningly.
"Didn't want to sit by myself," Zayn shrugs, digging into the Yorkshire pudding.
And it's quite a sight, Zayn Malik at the Gryffindor table. Even though they're allowed to sit with their friends from different houses on Sundays, it's unusual when Zayn does it. He has always stuck to his house and from what Harry knows, he hangs out with a few Ravenclaw students too but never Gryffindor. Of course, this draws in many eyes, people talking in hushed tones to which Zayn pays no heed.
Harry doesn't know what to make of this, he never really knows what to do when it comes to Zayn. So, he keeps his eyes down and focuses on his pudding.
"What flavor is that?" Zayn asks, spooning a mouthful from Harry's pudding and tasting it.
"Strawberry. What flavor is yours?"
"Strawberry," Zayn grins, making Harry roll his eyes, "You were terrible today, I hated it."
Harry snorts, "You weren't exactly nice to me."
"Do you expect me to shower you with petals?" he murmurs lowly, eyes gleaming teasingly as he eggs Harry on, "If you're going to beat me, you're gonna have to do more."
"Alright, what should I do in Zayn Malik's expert opinion?"
Zayn seems to take the bait, his lips quirking up in a faint yet imperious smile. It's always kind of funny to Harry how much Zayn likes to be dotted upon. Even a back handed compliment only adds to his confidence. He's arrogant but there's no reason why he shouldn't be. He knows what he's doing and how good he is at things. It has made Harry slightly jealous that Zayn seems to know things like the back of his hand; it sort of, motivates him to reach that level of self-actualization.
"Practice," he says with a lopsided smirk.
"I'll practice, alright," Harry scoffs, fiddling with his spoon, dipping it into the pudding.
Zayn turns to him completely, a tantalizing smile on his face when he says, "The broom wants to go fast, it is steadier that way. I've never been hurt going all out. It's just the hesitation that'll kill you."
"You should also be gentler in holding the broom, you tilt to the right a lot," he goes on, brows furrowing as if he has analyzed Harry's every move. It causes a flush of pale pink rise up to his cheeks to witness this level of scrutiny.
"I thought I was the enemy. Why are you helping me?"
"Maybe I'm deliberately deceiving you," he snickers under his breath, taking another spoon of pudding.
"Maybe," Harry replies with a slight smile of his own.
He didn't realize how close they're sitting to each other up until now. Zayn looks at him like he's searching something in his eyes, transfixed. His eyes are light brown intertwined with golden specks, Harry's never noticed that. For a moment, he swears he catches Zayn look down at his lips and his stomach flipping at the realization. They often have these moments where it's quiet for a minute, none of them speaking but sharing a longing gaze; the silence that only comes when two people understand each other.
But then Zayn's gaze shifts behind at Harry and something changes, the vulnerability gone. Harry turns to find Niall behind up. He looks a bit taken aback to find Zayn at their table.
"Zayn's here to gloat," Harry flashes a dimpled smile at Niall who chuckles in return, "Zayn, this is Niall, my best friend. Ni, this is-"
"The fastest Seeker in Hogwarts," the blonde lad grins, shaking Zayn's hand.
"Don't feed his ego, he has majored in arrogance," Harry laughs, shaking his head.
"Don't listen to him," Zayn looks way too pleased at the comment, nudging Harry slightly, "What about me being the fastest Seeker?"
Harry thinks he can't roll his eyes any more at Zayn but luckily, they fall into an easy conversation. Covering the Quidditch match to classes and almost everything. It's always easy when it comes to Niall who surprisingly speaks to Zayn like they've been mates forever. He's glad that they don't piss each other off unlike Liam.
He gives Zayn a look of concern when he finds the raven haired lad thumbing at his temples as if to soothe the pain.
"Headache," Zayn musters, his lips pursing.
Harry lights up at that, shoving his hand down the pockets of his sweats. Zayn looks at him incredulously, his face contorting into a confused look at what Harry pulls out. He had been carrying the meds around since evening because he obviously caught a cold getting scuffled in the rain.
"Take these," Harry hands Zayn a glass of water.
"What are these?"
"Aspirin," he says easily, looking too delighted to have it on him.
"Muggle medicine but it actually works," Niall chimes in with a half grin.
Zayn shares a quizzical look with Niall, glancing down at the two tablets in his hand, his head titled to the side like he's never seen it before. Harry would be lying if he said he didn't find Zayn's childlike curiosity about two bloody aspirin tablets, endearing.
"Do you just happen to carry all the cures in the world, Harry?" Zayn looks amused, a hint of adoration reflecting in his eyes after he downs the meds.
"You should see his Potion bag. I swear, he's Madam Pomfrey in disguise," Niall interjects with his thick Irish accent, laughter laced in his words. Harry glares at the two of them as they high five each other and laugh at his expense.
Sundays are often a minimal affair at Hogwarts, often spent in the company of good friends and practicing Quidditch. Harry thinks he likes seeing Zayn like this, a pleased smile plastered on his lips. He scrunches his nose and laughs at Niall's story, his chin resting on his hand. Zayn no longer seems elusive. What Harry and Zayn don't realize is someone's gaze on them at the end of the hall, someone who is already distasteful of what's been happening.