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Louis has lost his rabbit.
It’s grey and it has floppy ears and it’s called Dusty, and Daisy is going to end him when she finds out.
“Shit. Shit, shit, shit.”
Louis does another lap of the kitchen, jogs through the dim living room and into the tiny bathroom and then back out again.
“Shit!”
His bedroom door is still shut, the front door is shut, the tiny utility room is shut, the back door is shut, and Louis has run out of rooms to search.
“Bloody, buggering, stupid fluffy bastard!”
He kicks the skirting and then leaps back at a sudden yelp.
“Dusty?” He hazards.
The skirting board is silent.
“I’m going mad. I am going mad.”
He heads back towards the bathroom, grumbling about old houses and hoping and dreading in equal measure that the blasted rabbit might have gotten stuck behind the water pipes. He should never have agreed to look after it. He never would have if he’d realised he would be hosting a rabbit escape artist.
“ You can’t just leave it .” He mimics, in a poor, high-pitched imitation of his sister. “ The old tenant might come back for it. ”
The old tenant, as far as Louis is concerned, is probably dead. They wouldn’t have rented the man’s flat if they’d though he was coming back now would they? And besides, if he’d really liked the rabbit then he wouldn’t have left it to starve in his empty flat, or at the very least one of his family should have come to get it. Anyway, as nasty as Louis feels for even thinking it, he’s pretty grateful for the vanishing act, because he wouldn’t have gotten this place so cheaply if it weren’t for the need for immediate letting lowering the rent.
Then again, he’s only been here a day and his rabbit's already vanished. Louis shivers, walking back out into the cosy living room and wishing it was a bit less cosy and a bit more welcoming. It had probably been pretty nice before somebody died in it.
Well maybe not in the flat, Louis reassures himself. Surely they’d have found the body if that were the case? At the very least he would have smelled it by now…
The doorbell rings, and Louis’ heart jumps up into his throat, out of his mouth and goes on a small tour of London before settling back into place.
“Fuck!”
He jogs to the door and pulls it open in one swift motion.
“Hello there.”
The man on his doorstep has a smile that’s doing nothing to convince Louis that this is a good place to live. He looks like a shark.
“Umm. Hello.” Louis manages.
The man grins wider. His teeth are disturbingly white. Maybe he ate the last owner?
“Can I help you?” Louis squints at him.
“I’m not sure yet.”
“Right.”
He shuffles awkwardly, wondering if it would be impolite to simply shut the door. His mom would probably say so, but then his mom’s not here and it’s his flat, and his door. He swings the door a little, considering.
“How about I introduce myself, and then you can do the same?”
Louis feels about five inches tall and five years old. He swings the door again.
“My name is Simon,” the man presses on, “and I live upstairs. And you must be Louis.”
Why would you ask me to introduce myself if you already know who I am? Louis thinks. “That’s right.” He says, because his mom raised him better than that, and sober Louis is mostly polite.
Simon nods. “I’m sure we’re going to get on very well, Louis. You look like a responsible young man, I’m sure there won’t be any loud noises or unpleasantness.”
“Right.”
The teeth are back out again, only the smile doesn’t reach the man’s eyes.
“Excellent.”
Louis feels like a leaf. A leaf under a microscope having all his secrets peeled away, layer by layer.
“Right.” He says again, because his skin’s starting to itch.
Maybe the last owner hadn’t died. Maybe he was just hiding.
Seconds drag by and Louis can feel a small twitching start up at the corner of his eye. Hiding is starting to feel like a very good idea.
“Well it was nice meeting you.” Simon says finally, when Louis’ skin has crawled off his face and his eye has developed a permanent squint. Louis wonders what he must look like to this man. He can feel his hair standing on edge like a defensive hedgehog. “Don’t hesitate to knock if you need anything.”
Louis nods again blankly.
He takes a step back and swings the door; it closes with a satisfying thump, and Louis sinks slowly to the floor. He’s almost recovered when there’s a thud from the kitchen, and another mysterious yelp, and Louis is just about decided that even a cheap flat isn’t worth this amount of trouble when a grey shape flops around the corner and resolves itself into his missing rabbit.
“Oh thank god.”
--
The problem – Louis thinks, as he hears a smash from inside the kitchen and waves goodbye to yet another mug – is that the flat is clearly haunted.
Maybe he’d been wrong when he’d decided the body wasn’t in the house. It’s probably buried in the walls, he thinks miserably. He’s heard the stories – people cut up into tiny pieces; alkali to dissolve the squishy bits and then the bones plastered in behind the hardboard, or in the crawl space beneath the floor. It was probably Simon. Louis should probably leave.
It’s been three days now, and things are only getting weirder. His rabbit disappears at least once a day, and every time he gets back from lectures some new piece of crockery is smashed, and he’s sure he can hear something in the walls at night.
He doesn’t feel good about himself when he sets out mouse traps, and he isn’t sure if he’s irritated, terrified, or relieved the next day when he finds they’ve all been sprung - their bait decidedly missing and not a mouse, rat or gremlin in sight.
He heads into the kitchen to stare at the new pieces of broken china, “Dusty, I think we have to move.” He calls out to his empty rabbit cage. The damn thing has gone again, but he’s stopped worrying about it – it always comes back.
There’s another strange yelp that he’s so used to, but he doesn’t turn around. There’s never anything there.
It’s just him, his broken crockery, and a dead man’s rabbit. In the murder house .
There’s another noise, and Louis screws his eyes shut and counts to five.
One .
Another squeak.
Two .
A thump.
Three .
Something’s definitely behind him.
Four.
A yelp.
Five.
He spins around.
There’s a man.
A very small man.
A very small man .
He’s got one tiny knee on the back of Louis’ rabbit, and the other hanging in in mid-air, and the hem of his Very Small jumper seems to be trapped in a cupboard door. The rabbit seems unbothered.
Louis shuts his eyes.
He opens them again.
The tiny man is still there.
“Sorry about the mug.” The man says.
Louis tries to make space in his mind for broken crockery. “Uh, I can fix it?” He says numbly.
The man nods. “A little assistance?” He says, attempting to wriggle his grey jumper out of the cupboard door – or perhaps himself out of the jumper – and achieving neither.
Louis lets go of his common sense for a few seconds, because there’s no way that there could be a tiny man riding a rabbit in his kitchen, and even if there was, there’s no way that his voice would come out at the same volume as a normal person – all deep and rich. Louis cracks the cupboard door open anyway. The tiny man pulls himself free and settles in a practiced movement onto the back of the rabbit.
Louis stares.
“You’re five inches tall.” He says finally.
“I am about that.” The tiny man agrees.
“You’ve been making strange noises and scaring the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry.” The tiny man winces.
“You’ve been breaking my things.”
“Not on purpose.”
That voice is still disconcertingly deep, and Louis keeps wanting to look up and find the fully grown person that it must surely be coming from. He takes a deep breath and moves onto the next impossible point.
“You’ve been riding my rabbit.” He says.
There’s a tiny smile on the tiny man’s face. “He’s taken to it very well.”
Louis slumps against the wall, staring unblinkingly. “He has?” He says, sliding to the floor.
The tiny man on the rabbit nods, and then shrugs. “Yeah. He’s my rabbit, by the way.” Harry frowns. “Well no, he’s the landlady’s rabbit but she let me look after him. I suppose he’s yours now.” The little man sags for a moment before rallying and holding out one tiny hand. “I’m Harry. I live here? Or, I suppose I used to live here.”
“Louis.” Louis replies automatically, holding out his index finger for the man to shake before a surge of curiosity breaks through the shock and Louis sits up a little straighter. “You’re the person who used to live here?”
“I am. Nice to meet you Louis.”
Louis nods. “You’re not dead then.”
“Umm.” Harry frowns and looks down at himself. “I don’t think so?”
Louis nods again. That’s good. That’s very good. “How come I can understand you?” He asks.
“I speak English?”
Louis taps his fingers against the cold kitchen tile. “But you’re five inches tall.”
“I’m still English though.” Harry frowns and puffs up his chest, as if Louis were rude to suggest otherwise.
“Okay…” Louis tries slowly, “well then how come I can hear you? Shouldn’t you be making tiny squeaking sounds?”
Tiny Harry relaxes back down again, apparently satisfied that his Englishness is no longer being called into question and shrugs. “Umm. I could, if that would help?”
Louis covers his face with his palm.
“No. Ok no. Look.” He tries again. “What are you?”
“Human?”
“Human’s aren’t five inches tall.”
“A very short human?”
“Ok.” Louis is starting to get a headache. “Have you always been five inches tall? I mean, this flat was made for a normal person and I don’t see any little ladders or anything? So have you always been able to turn five inches tall or is this something… err… new.” Louis can’t believe this is a real conversation that he’s having in his real house with this very real, very small person.
Harry shrugs, and Louis thinks he can read helplessness in his small features. “I don’t know. I don’t remember. I must have been big once though because I know this is my flat, I remember living here. I remember some things.” A note of frustration has crept into his voice.
Louis shuffles a little closer. “What sort of things?”
Harry shrugs again. “Just little things. I remember spilling an espresso on that rug.” Harry points to a dark stain, “and I remember buying those curtains.”
Louis looks up at the cheerful yellow daisy print. He actually quite likes those curtains, and Daisy had loved them.
“Ok.” Louis shuts his eyes. If he can’t see him, he can almost imagine Harry is a normal sized person. “Ok, look. If we’re going to have this conversation then we’re going to do it at the kitchen table over a cuppa like normal people. I’m not having you sitting there on top of my – your runaway rabbit on the floor.”
Harry stares at him for a moment and then a huge grin spreads across his face – or well, it would have been huge on someone else. On Harry it was about the width of Louis’ thumbnail.
--
Once Harry has been lifted gracelessly onto the table and Louis has finished panicking about nearly crushing him to death (it turns out that Harry is not a doll, and should not be picked up like one) they both settle down. Louis has gone about making two cups of tea and then placed them both in front of himself in confusion when he’d realised that Harry could just as easily swim in his as drink it. In fact, Louis realises with horror, Harry could drown in it, and he can feel the guilt starting to build when the tiny man points out that he can in fact swim, and he’s strong enough to pull himself out of a cup of water.
Harry could still have been burned though, and Louis can’t quite shake the sudden nerves, because it’s just occurred to him that he’s probably responsible for this tiny person – they live in the same house after all, and seemingly Louis is the only one who knows of his existence.
In the end, Louis decants some of the tea into a teaspoon and places it on the table and Harry sips from it daintily - which should be impossible, considering it’s like drinking out of a bowl for him, but he somehow manages. Then again, perhaps everything is dainty when you’re five inches tall.
Louis squints at him for a moment. “Ok. Important stuff first.” He says.
Harry sits back from his tea, looking curious in a small sort of way, and Louis sighs, pausing for a second to work out what ‘important stuff’ actually is. If Harry used to live here and had been missing for long enough for his family to sell his things then Louis must have been right – it’s unlikely that anyone else knows he’s here. And now that Louis has him at more or less eye level, he can see that Harry’s cheeks are hollow and there are shadows under his eyes that Louis doesn’t think are dirt. But then, they could be, because the man is dirty. Very dirty, and Louis can finally see that there are multiple rips in his jumper and jeans and that there’s more dirt and some dark stains that look suspiciously like blood.
So the first order of business, Louis reasons, is making sure that Harry’s ok.
“Are you hungry?” He asks, and Harry’s eyes widen comically.
Louis smiles; Harry’s actually sort of cute, in a little toy doll sort of way. Daisy would love him.
“I’m ok,” Harry shakes his head, “You drop breadcrumbs sometimes, and I managed to get the cheese off the traps.”
A wave of guilt hits Louis, followed by a sudden stab of irrational fear for what might have been, and then predictably, a hot rush of anger.
“What? What’s wrong with you! They could have been poisoned! You could have been killed!”
Harry cringes and Louis sits back guiltily, pressing a hand to his forehead. Louis isn’t sure why he’s decided to take responsibility for his tiny house mate, but he can’t just leave him like this. It’s his mum’s fault, probably.
“Harry you have to be careful,” he says, “You can’t just-- Look, I didn’t know. I would never—shit.”
There’s a strange prickly pressure on his arm, and when Louis looks down Harry is jabbing at him with small fingers.
“I’m fine, Louis.”
“You could have died.”
“I’m small, I’m not a child.” Harry pokes him again. “Springing a trap isn’t rocket science, and I only ate a little bit at a time just in case.”
Oh god. Louis thinks he might feel even worse now. He knew he should have gotten the catch and release traps. He’d agonised over the decision, and he’d felt terrible laying them.
“Shit.” Louis shakes his head. The best he can do is deal with the issues of right now. “Ok look. You seem to be holding together pretty well, considering, but you’re not alone now. I can get you food, water, clothes. What have you been drinking? Where have you been sleeping?”
Harry stares at his tiny trainers and shrugs. “Dusty shares his water.”
Louis shuts his eyes firmly. Dusty shares his water. He winces. And on top of it all, Louis gets the uncomfortable feeling that sleep for Harry must be few and far between. Louis tries to think of what it must have been like - small noises made deafening, cold draughts like a winter gale, no reliable food, flies the size of his head, spiders-- Louis cuts off the thoughts and stares at his new friend. Yeah, Louis wouldn’t have slept much either.
“This all stops now.” He declares
Harry scrunches his face up in confusion. “What?”
“We’re a team now, yeah?” Louis folds his arms on the table and drops down to rest his chin on them.
“I—oh. Thank you.”
The little man cautiously approaches, moving faster when Louis gives a small nod, and when Louis shuffles his head to rest in the crook of one arm, Harry hauls himself up to hesitantly sit on the other one. Louis wonders how long it’s been since Harry’s had proper human contact. He’s a little tempted to reach out a finger and pet him like a hamster, but he holds himself still because it might be weird, and also because presumably to Harry his whole body is massive and potentially terrifying. He shifts self-consciously, suddenly very aware that Harry can probably see up his nose.
Still, that same nose is noticing that Harry probably hasn’t had a wash in a pretty long time, so he’ll call them even.
“I don’t know what happened.” Harry starts slowly, and Louis holds very still. “I lived here, I’m sure of it. I remember—I think I had a job, and a—a family.”
Harry’s staring at the table top as he quietly breaks Louis’ heart. Louis can’t imagine it – he’d be lost without his mom, his sisters, and Harry can’t even remember his. It makes him irrationally angry.
“We’re going to fix this Harry.” He says.
Harry nods. “I don’t remember much more. I just—one day I woke up on the living room floor and I was this size, and most of my memories were gone. There’s been food – sometimes people have come here and left things, and woman used to come here and feed Dusty, but I don’t-- I don’t remember much from the beginning. The first few weeks were weird. Blurry. Like I wasn’t really here.”
Louis tries not to think of that and focuses instead on the woman. Daisy? Louis wonders, but then no, before that… perhaps a sister? Or maybe a girlfriend? Or maybe the landlady, Anna-something? She’d been around quite a lot when Louis was moving in. But if Harry had been like this the whole time he was missing then he really must have been out of it, Louis realises with a shudder, because it hadn’t been weeks since he’d disappeared. It was months .
“It’s been a bit confusing.” Harry shrugs. “I tried to talk to her, but she couldn’t hear me. I don’t know why.”
Louis frowns and files that piece of information away.
“Ok.” Louis nods. “Ok, well the first thing we’re going to deal with is clothes. You’re going to have a bath and I’m going to wash your clothes.”
He isn’t surprised when a wide smile lights up Harry’s face and he jumps down from his perch on Louis’ arm. He is surprised when said tiny man starts unabashedly stripping in the middle of his kitchen table.
Louis stares in shock at the very naked, very small bottom in front of him. “Ok then,” he mutters.
--
The bath is easy - Louis rigs up a tupperware with some shower gel, and then has a go at washing the clothes in the sink with some fairy liquid.
A tiny squawk followed by a splash has Louis sprinting back to the table, but when he gets there he finds Harry giggling to himself as he attempts to make a seemingly elaborate bubble sculpture.
“What do you think?” Harry asks.
Louis squints at it. “Some sort of snowman?” He hazards.
Tiny Harry gives a tiny pout. “It’s Dusty.”
Louis drops himself down to eye level and tilts his head. “Very artistic, Harold.”
Harry nods, and then barks a startled laugh as Louis dumps a handful of bubbles onto his head. He ducks under water, still snickering and emerges with his long hair slicked back. Some of the dark smudges on his chest catch Louis’ eye, and Louis is finally able to identify them as microscopic tattoos. He studies them curiously for a moment before he realises he’s staring and that might be considered creepy. Harry tilts his head back and gives a sultry wink, leaving Louis decidedly nonplussed.
He hurries back to the sink to finish scrubbing the clothes.
In the end they come mostly clean, and Louis is pretty satisfied with his achievement. He can’t get rid of the rips, but hopefully they can replace them soon anyway. Drying them is a bit harder, and it quickly becomes apparent that even with the use of his hair dryer he isn’t going to get them done in a hurry.
He heads back to the tub to find most of the bubbles gone and Harry determinedly swimming very short lengths.
Louis still can’t help but stare at the tiny body he can see through the water. Five inches tall. He’s like a Ken doll come to life. Harry takes that moment to switch from breast- to back-stroke and Louis can’t help his wide eyed stare. Ok, so definitely not a Ken doll.
“Ready Harry?” He asks, trying not to worry about his new friend’s exhibitionist tendencies.
Harry flips himself upright again and swims to the edge, and Louis jogs back to his room to bring out the only towel he owns. It’s clean at least. Well, mostly.
He bunches it up into a sort-of nest and feels pretty gratified when Harry crawls into the middle of it and settles himself down with a little sigh. After that, Louis finishes blow drying the clothes and then pokes his head into the fridge while Harry dresses.
“So… pasta?”
“Oh my god, yes.” Is Harry’s enthusiastic reply, and Louis gets a nasty little twist in his chest at the reminder that Harry has been living off of potentially-poisoned-cheese and possibly literal rabbit food up until this point.
“I’ll cook tomorrow.” Louis hums to himself in thought. “And we’ll get you some vegetables. You've probably got scurvy by now.”
“I do not have scurvy!” Harry protests.
Louis grins and then hesitates when he automatically pulls out two plates.
It’s the voice that’s the problem, he thinks as their pasta reheats. Harry’s got a normal-person voice. A not-five-inches-tall voice. When Louis can’t see him he keeps forgetting that Harry’s so small.
The pasta beeps and Louis dishes himself up a portion. He briefly reconsiders a separate plate for his guest, but he isn’t sure how to go about it.
“Share?” He tries instead, and can’t help but grin at Harry’s excited nod.
It’s strange really - with Louis sitting on a chair and Harry cross legged on the kitchen table, sharing a plate of pasta - that it’s not stranger. In fact, Louis is finding the silence surprisingly companionable. They eat steadily; Harry gleefully devouring a single piece of tomatoey farfalle while Louis swallows down the rest, and afterwards, Louis brings him a small dish of warm water to wash his messy hands and face in.
“I have to go to class tomorrow morning,” Louis says quietly when the dishes are done.
“Ok.” Harry nods.
“But when I get back we’re going to get you sorted out.”
“Thank you.”
There’s still a few hours of the evening left, so Louis suggests T.V., and Harry excitedly requests some baking show. Louis places his hand flat on the table for Harry to climb onto, rather than reenact the nearly fatal grip that he’d tried previously.
Harry wobbles a bit on the way, or maybe it’s just Louis’ nervous imagination, but they get there in one relieved piece.
When they reach the sofa he places his hand down again, only Harry stays curled in his palm, his arms wrapped around Louis’ thumb.
“Can I just stay here?” Harry asks quietly.
Louis doesn’t know what to say to that, but it makes something inside him feel weirdly warm, so he detours to his deep-seated armchair and tucks his legs up beneath him, settling his hand palm-up on his knees. Harry lets go of his thumb and turns to rest his back against it instead, his lips curving up in a little smile.
They stay like that for the evening, Harry somehow managing to make the baking show interesting with his scathing commentary of the contestants, and at one point Louis finds himself shouting at one particularly useless chef who insists on using dark chocolate when any idiot could see that the dish needed white while Harry giggles gleefully.
“Bed?” Louis asks softly when the show has finished and Harry’s looking halfway to sleeping in the palm of his hand.
Harry nods.
“I don’t have a spare room.” Louis frowns, suddenly unsure of how to go about this. Harry might not want to share his room, but the thought of him out in the living room in the dark by himself makes Louis’ skin crawl. “My room?”
“Your room,” Harry says hurriedly, and Louis nods, relieved.
They brush their teeth together - Harry rubbing toothpaste on with his fingers, and after that Louis builds Harry a small nest of soft blankets by the side of his bed and smiles fondly when Harry immediately strips off and crawls into the middle of the pile.
“Night Lou,” Harry mutters sleepily.
Louis smiles. “Night Harry.”
--
The next morning Louis wakes up to find Harry gone.
He panics for about thirty seconds before sprinting into the kitchen, and it’s only when he sees Dusty’s empty cage that he settles down.
Harry, as it turns out, has been the one letting the rabbit out, and although he can’t really steer from his perch atop its back, it hasn’t stopped him riding the damn thing around the living room.
“It’s too far to keep walking,” Harry protests when Louis firmly asks him to desist.
Louis scoops both Harry and Dusty up into his arms and carries them into the kitchen. The rabbit he puts back in the cage and Harry on the table.
“I did not consent to that,” Harry says, and Louis almost feels bad before he sees the grin on Harry’s face. It seems that Harry likes being manhandled more than he likes his rabbit-riding freedom.
“Well I didn’t consent to having rabbit shit all round my flat, but here we are.”
Harry’s smile gets bigger, and Louis is almost tempted to make a jab about Harry’s own bathroom habits - even tiny people poop right? But he saves the ammunition for when he might need it.
Louis doesn’t have much in the way of breakfast, but he makes himself some toast and jam and breaks a bit off for Harry. He can’t help but watch in fascination as Harry all but dislocates his jaw in order to take a mouthful. He isn’t sure if he’s horrified or impressed, so he settles on both, and lifts Harry gently back to the floor before he leaves.
He has two lectures back to back, and he sits through them diligently, paying not a single bit of attention before they’re finally done and he can sprint back home. He was supposed to be spending the afternoon going over his final year project, but he has far more important plans now.
“Harry we’re going shopping.” He says as he bursts through the door.
“Well hello to you too. Nice morning? Mine was lovely thank you.”
Harry’s sitting on the damn rabbit again, loping their way through the living room.
“Why do you ride him if you can’t direct him,” Louis asks, ignoring Harry’s snark.
Harry shrugs his little shoulders. “He listens to directions. And it’s fun. It’s soft. It’s warm.” He ticks the points off on his fingers. “It gives me something to do, and before you came around it was the safest way to find food.”
There’s that guilt back again, but Louis rallies quickly. “Which is why we’re going shopping. So you can have your own soft warm things, and uh, defensible things.”
“Defensible things.” Harry parrots with a confused smile.
“Defensible things.” Louis nods, warming to the idea. “Like a weapon, a toothpick or something. Something to fight spiders with.”
“Fight spiders?” Harry’s grinning properly now, but Louis won’t let himself feel stupid.
“You are going to be protected Harry Tinyperson, even if I have to make a complete fool of me’self to do it.”
Harry’s grin fades a little. “Styles.” He says quietly. “Harry Styles.”
“Styles.” Louis nods, swallowing heavily. “Ok then. Harry Styles, we are going shopping.”
--
They catch a bus into town, and Louis is worried enough for Harry’s safety that he changes into an extremely unfashionable shirt with a breast pocket for Harry to ride in rather than risking a coat or hoodie.
Harry seems to be enjoying it anyway, by the way he’s giggling.
“I can see your nipple,” Harry says unexpectedly whilst they’re in the DIY shop.
Louis stops dead; a woman clutching a tin of wood varnish crashes roughly into him.
“What,” Louis says flatly, ignoring the woman’s irritated stare.
He can feel Harry shifting around again, and he’s just reaching up to find out what’s going on when--
“Ouch!” What the fuck.
Harry had tweaked his nipple. That little bastard had honestly pinched his nipple!
There’s another giggle from inside his pocket, and this time Louis looks down into Harry’s beaming face.
“Just for that.” Louis says, “it’s Hawaiian shirts or nothing.”
Somehow, that only seems to make Harry grin wider.
Louis leaves the DIY shop in defeat, deciding that it probably wasn’t the right place to search for a tiny weapon. He has a sudden moment of genius though as they pass the models in Games Workshop, and Harry becomes the proud owner of his very own Harry-sized sword, and then he can’t help but pick up a little lightsaber when they pass some collectible figurines, and then there’s the Disney shop, and before Louis knows it he finds his wallet considerably lighter, with Harry now the slightly confused but overjoyed owner of one tiny bicycle, two more swords, a cape, a full set of green combat gear and for some reason, a small trident.
Louis isn’t really sure what overcame him, and he starts to regret the last half hour when Harry delivers a rather savage stab to his chest. He looks down to see Harry fiercely wielding the trident.
“Take that!” Harry shouts, “and that!”
“Harold love,” Louis mutters out of the corner of his mouth, “your body might be tiny, but your voice isn’t. Kindly zip it, if you don’t want to end up as someone’s lab experiment.”
“Oh right. Oops.”
“Hawaiian shirts and leggings.” Louis threatens. “So tight your bits will fall off.”
Harry’s face only lights up further at the prospect.
Their last stop is ToysRUs, and it’s so vast that Louis can only stare in terror. Fortunately, he’s soon jolted out of it but an angry father of three with a toddler strapped to each hip and an unruly pre-teen on a mission to escape.
“Move!” The man shouts as he pushes roughly past.
Louis gets a sword to the chest during all the commotion, but he doesn’t complain when he sees Harry’s deathly pale face.
“Sorry.” Harry mutters, ”it just feels a bit-- powerless, being this small.”
After that Louis doubles his guard, not letting anyone so much as nudge him.
They head to the dolls section first, and Louis might be trying his best for his new charge, but he’s still a bastard at heart, so he makes good on his threat and takes Harry to the small selection of ‘Hawaiian Ken’ options, sneaking him quickly onto the shelf.
It’s immediately clear though that they’re all too tall for five inch Harry. Fortunately (or perhaps, unfortunately, depending on how you look at it, Louis thinks), they have disproportionately small waists. So although Louis isn’t able to make good on his skinny jeans threat, Harry is at least able to pick out a few pairs of shorts that cover him to the knees, multiple pairs of speedos to use as underpants, and a few pairs of long board shorts that reach his feet.
The shirts leave Harry swimming in fabric, so it’s with a rather evil smile that Louis deposits him instead onto the Barbie shelf. Disproportionate body types hold true here as well, as Harry finds himself fitting baby doll t-shirts over his head, each new one more hilarious than the last, and leaving both Louis and Harry red-faced and snickering. In the end, Harry picks out a white fitted shirt with ‘Hello, Hello, Hello’ printed on it, a striped crop top, and three plain pink t-shirts. He hangs on to a couple of the Hawaiian shirts as well, which makes Louis snort again, and a mother of two look at him strangely and hurry her children away.
They’re finally calm and heading towards the checkout when Louis has a flash of brilliance and stops to snatch up a pair of brushed cotton baby-booties. “Sleeping bag.” He grins. “Oh wait, pyjamas?”
“Naked,” Harry replies with a wink.
Louis hesitates and stares down at the tiny item in his hand, wondering if there isn’t something inherently wrong about a grown man sleeping naked in a tiny shoe made for an infant. He decides not to think about it.
“Oh, plates!” He says instead. Pushing the conversation into more stable territory.
He walks them over to a large dolls house, and the two of them consider it for a few moments before Harry shakes his head. “It looks cold.” He says. “And lonely.”
Louis opens it up and pokes the bed experimentally. “And uncomfortable.” He nods, and then double takes as he sees the price-tag. “And stupidly expensive.”
The idea of a bed isn’t a bad one though, so they find a mattress out of a doll’s crib (and seriously, Louis thinks to himself, dolls have crib’s? ), and Louis picks up some tiny blankets as well. He sneaks a few doll-size plastic plates and cups to Harry in his pocket, because he’s already paying for enough and they aren’t sold separately, and then they unanimously decide to get groceries and head home.
There are plenty more things that they could buy of course, but Louis is poor and Harry isn’t planning to stay small, and after all, why buy a bathtub when there’s good Tupperware around?
Their food shopping ends in an interesting balance between Harry’s desire for healthy ( translation: expensive ) foods, and the capabilities of Louis’ wallet and cooking skills, but they manage with Louis only receiving a few more pokes from the small metal trident, and then finally they’re back home and they can both heave a sigh of relief.
*
The next few days pass far more comfortably than Louis would have imagined; if he’d tried to imagine sharing his house with a man five inches tall that is.
He has to scrabble to catch up with some of his uni work but Harry doesn’t seem to mind, and he even tries to help out a bit - although it soon emerges that Harry’s almost-degree in food science is not entirely helpful in the field of music technology.
Still, his patient cheerleading has done wonders for Louis’ self-esteem.
In the evenings, Harry becomes determined to teach Louis to fend for himself, if not become a culinary master. Apparently, pasta and toast is not a sufficient cooking repartee for a final year student.
“And now finely chop the mint,” Harry says patiently.
“Hazza love, I’m not bloody Gordon Ramsay.”
“But you will be.”
“I’d better not be,” Louis mutters under his breath.
“What?” Harry calls.
“All I’m saying,” Louis continues, “is that there’s no point cooking all of this for only one person.”
There’s a stony silence, and when Louis turns around Harry’s got his arms folded and is glaring at the table top.
Louis absolutely does not find it cute. His mouth ticks up at the corner.
“Well,” he corrects, “one portion.”
Harry’s expression softens a little. “You could cook for your family.” He mutters.
Louis smiles, thinking of his mother's reaction if he said he was going to cook for them all. He should do it just to see their faces.
“Ok.” He decides, heading purposefully towards the little green leaves. “Chopping the mint.”
“And you have to turn off the oven.”
Louis grumbles his way through the rest of their meal, privately impressed with both himself and Harry for what they’ve managed to achieve.
“You should bring your family here,” Harry says when the food is all gone and the both of them are sitting contentedly in the living room. Harry’s curled in Louis’ hand again, and the TV is flashing bright colours behind them.
Louis smiles. “Yeah maybe. I bet they’d love you.”
Harry recoils, and Louis sits back, startled by his sudden reaction.
“No, I didn’t mean--” Harry shakes his head. “Not like that. I’d have to hide. You can’t tell them about me, you can’t tell anyone about me.”
“What? Why not?” Louis tries not to feel too bothered by the fact that Harry apparently doesn’t want to meet his family, but something dark and ugly twists his stomach.
“It isn’t safe!”
“It’s my family Harry, they aren’t going to hurt you.” He snaps.
Harry flinches back and Louis feels the fight drop out of him.
“Harry, they wouldn’t hurt you.”
“I know.” Harry’s wide, sincere eyes do more to soothe his stomach than his words do.
“But they might tell someone, even just by accident.”
Louis frowns. “You’re afraid someone will come to take you away?” Louis’ flippant comment a few days ago about Harry being someone’s lab experiment doesn’t seem so amusing anymore. Maybe he can understand why Harry doesn’t want to risk more people finding out. If he were in Harry’s place he would probably feel the same.
But Harry surprises him again. “No. My family might find out.”
Louis frowns. “Your family?” He’d forgotten about Harry’s family. He suddenly feels guilty for not thinking of it before. “Shit, I’d forgotten -- Harry we need to tell your family.”
“What? No!” Harry jumps back, and it’s only Louis’ quick reflexes that keep him firmly secure in Louis’ hand. “You can’t!”
Louis shuts his eyes for a moment, slowly calming his thudding heart. Harry could have fallen. All the way to the floor. Louis doesn’t think he’s even noticed. He swallows before trying again, this time forming a backdrop with his second hand. “Harry, don’t you think they would want to know you’re alive.”
Harry sighs and slides down the new hand as if it were a wall, coming to rest in a gloomy slump in Louis’ palm. “I don’t know who they are.”
“I can find them.”
“But I don’t remember them.”
“That’s ok, you used to live here and we know your name. It shouldn’t be hard.”
Harry shakes his head. “You don’t understand. I can’t remember them.”
Louis frowns, relieved at least that Harry’s still sitting down safely. He shakes his head in confusion.
“They think I’m dead.” Harry starts slowly. “How are they going to feel when they find out that I’m five inches tall with no memory.”
“They won’t care Harry, they’ll be happy you’re alive.”
“They’ll lose me again. I can’t do that to them.”
Louis shakes his head in stunned silence. “But you’re right here.”
“But I won’t be! I’ll be like a coma patient! They’ll have me alive but I won’t be the person they know.”
“How can you even think that? Harry this is nothing like that. You’re still you. You can still talk, you can learn what you’ve forgotten.” And even if you can’t, sometimes just knowing someone’s alive and not hurting is enough.
“Can I? I don’t even remember!”
“But--”
“Please Louis? Please don’t tell them. Don’t look for them. Don’t do anything. Please?”
Louis shakes his head in defeat. He doesn’t understand Harry’s decision and he’s struggling not to snap and shout about how pointless it is, but it’s hurting him even more to see Harry’s pained, pleading face.
“Ok Haz, I won’t tell them.”
Harry drops his head into his hands. “You won’t tell anyone? Not a single living soul?”
“Not anyone.”
“And you won’t try to find them?”
“I won’t.”
Harry leaps up and hugs Louis’ thumb. “Thank you, Lou.” He breathes.
Louis lets the TV drone on whilst Harry hugs it out with his thumb and wishes there was someone full size for him to lean on. Instead, he settles for pulling his legs up tighter and sinking into the sofa, curling his hand up at his collar bone with Harry’s warm body fitted snugly in the gap.
--
The problem, of course, is that Louis has the self control of Dusty in mating season.
He makes it four days before he finally cracks and finds Harry’s facebook - his profile left for friends and family to leave messages of mourning.
He clicks through slowly at first, glad he’s in a lecture and not at home for Harry to find him.
Harry’s mom is called Anne.
He has a father.
A stepfather.
A sister.
They’re heartbroken. They’re grieving. They haven’t given up on him.
Louis slams the computer shut, the glare of his lecturer nothing to the rolling sickness and tightening in his chest.
--
Things are a little strained after that, and Louis knows it’s his fault - he feels guilty so he’s been acting weird and he can’t seem to stop. Harry seems to be trying to compensate for the strangeness by being extra cuddly, and it’s starting to make Louis’ chest ache every time Harry wraps himself around his thumb, or flops across his arm, or curls into his chest. Louis wishes the could return the easy affection, but he daren’t hug Harry for fear of crushing him, and the guilt is making him pull away as much as it’s making Harry cling harder.
He shouldn’t have poked his nose in, he really shouldn’t, but it’s too late now. He should just confess, but somehow that seems less and less appealing by the day, and the longer he leaves it, the more difficult it becomes.
Instead, he throws himself wholeheartedly into research, scouring the internet for some clue about what might have happened to Harry. Unfortunately, separating the truth from fiction is almost impossible, and Louis eventually retires despondently after spending the last hour learning more than he ever wanted to know about a certain 90’s film.
“This isn’t working.” He says to Harry.
It’s a Saturday morning and Harry’s slumped in the crook of Louis’ arm, seemingly content. He’s tugged at Louis’ jumper, bunching up as much as possible to cuddle into, and is staring at the screen drowsily. Louis has been typing one handed to avoid disturbing him.
“You aren’t helping.” Louis mutters fondly.
“Hmm,” Harry hums, curling deeper into the soft material. Louis isn’t about to admit that he’s been choosing his clothes for texture rather than style these days.
“Harry,” Louis sighs, not wanting to disturb the peace, but apparently doing it anyway. A now familiar stab of guilt goes through his as he chooses his next words. “I think we need to start looking a little closer to home.”
“You mean something in the house?” Harry murmurs.
Louis’ mind briefly turns to possible trinkets or talismans, but he shakes his head, refusing to be distracted no matter how much he doesn’t want to have another argument.
“No. I mean your life.”
Harry’s body goes stiff, and Louis imagines he can feel a faint icy chill coming off it.
“Please Harry?” Louis tries. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but this can’t have been an accident. We need to start looking into the people close to you.”
“The people close to me.” Harry says, sitting up suddenly.
“I know you--”
“Lou, you’re a genius!” Harry barks.
“But, I-- What?”
“Simon!”
“What?” Louis stares at Harry’s excited smile. “Who’s Simon?”
“Simon, our neighbour!”
“Oh, right. That Simon.” Louis had forgotten about him. He had been pretty creepy Louis remembers, though he hadn’t thought about him since that day he visited. He’s made the minimal amount of loud noises and the man hasn’t been back to see him. “You know him well? You remember him?”
“Yes!” Harry bounces. “Or, well no, not really, but he’s creepy and he gives me voodoo vibes. And he’s close!”
Harry wiggles his fingers in the air in a way which Louis suspects is supposed to convey magic.
I didn’t mean physically close. Louis thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “Have you talked to him much? I mean, can you remember?” He asks instead.
Harry nods eagerly. “I think so. I think he used to come round sometimes when I was baking. I remember him eating cookies?”
“He came to talk to you?”
“I think he came to try my cookies.” Harry frowns.
“Oh.” Louis wonders what’s so suspicious about that, but he’s met Simon, so he knows it was probably creepy. Anyway, any idea is better than none, and Harry’s looking up at him with wide, excited eyes. “Do you remember ever fighting with him?” Louis tries.
Harry nods again. “I think I did! It was just before I shrunk! I remember a woman came to talk, and then she went and Simon came, and I remember shouting!”
Louis nods. It definitely could have been Simon then. They’ll need to watch him for a while, monitor his habits. It would be helpful if they could get into his house as well - he could invite himself round maybe? Louis hums as he ponders their options. Perhaps the landlady might let them in? Anne-Marie or something? Louis had liked her. She’d been essential when he’d moved in, and her lipstick was always on point. Maybe Louis could fake an emergency? Pretend there was water coming in through his ceiling or he smelled burning or something? “Ok then. We need to plan.” Louis says finally.
“We should search his apartment.”
“Yeah, ok. We need to find out when he’s out.”
“He’s out now.”
“What?” Louis’ thoughts come to an abrupt halt.
“He’s out now, I heard him leave, let’s go now.”
Now? He frowns. “How are we going to get in?”
“You can put me through the letterbox.”
“We can’t--” It’s too soon. They need to think about this, they need to plan. “How are you going to get back out?”
“We can tie a rope round my waist. You can lower me down and then leave the rope there.”
“I don’t have any rope.” Louis can feel the situation spinning out of his control.
“Elastic bands then? I saw some.” Harry points towards Louis room.
Louis racks his brain. Rope would actually be string, he supposes, but he didn’t have any of that either. He did have elastic bands though, but… “We don’t know when he’s coming back.” He tries.
“He won’t be back for hours.”
“How can you know that?”
“Because he’s always gone for hours. I’m here all day with nothing to do Lou. I notice these things.”
Louis slumps back. He’s clearly lost, so he thinks about it for a while. Harry’s small, so if Simon did come back he could probably hide.
“Fine,” Louis huffs eventually. “But you’re changing into your old clothes first.”
Harry looks down at the gaudy blue Hawaiian shirt and beams. “Ok.” He says.
--
In the end, Louis daisy-chains together a handful of elastic bands with his shoelaces, and Harry changes excitedly into the combat gear Louis had bought for him, and the two of them creep upstairs.
“This is such a bad idea.” Louis mutters for the hundredth time as he triple checks the elastic bands looped round Harry’s legs in a sort of harness. Harry’s wearing a tiny soldier’s helmet with a little black strap under his chin, and despite his nerves, Louis is having to fight a constant grin.
Harry’s tiny metal trident is in his hand, and as Louis reaches out to lift him up Harry darts forwards and spears his sleeve. “Take that!” He shouts. The trident tears a neat hole in his jumper. “Oh. Oops. Sorry, I was just testing it.”
Louis snorts in amusement. “You were testing it?”
“I’m really sorry.” Harry’s turned on the big soulful eyes, and Louis doesn’t stand a chance.
“Never mind. We can fix it.” He gazes back at the letterbox doubtfully. “This on the other hand...”
“It’ll be fine. I’ll be fine. I’m ready.” Harry beams up at him, the little helmet slipping slightly over his eyes.
“Take that off.” Louis finally lets his mouth curve up and gently pokes the too-big helmet.
They have a very brief, very small staring contest, until finally Harry pouts and drops it into Louis’ hand. Louis has a suspicion that the smile on his face right now could be considered a bit loopy.
“Ok.” Louis says finally, as the smile drops away. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly.
He’s wedged the letterbox open with a pencil that he’d snapped in half, but he’s been putting off actually dropping Harry through the small gap.
“What if you fall?”
They’ve been over this before.
“I won’t.” And Harry’s said that before.
“What if one of the bands snaps? Or the laces?”
“They won’t.” Harry jumps a bit bouncing on the elastic. “See? It’s fine.”
Shit. Louis is out of excuses.
“Lou we have to go now. Someone might see you.”
Louis nods miserably. He holds out his hand for Harry to climb onto and then watches nervously as Harry jumps onto the sill of the letterbox.
“Ready?”
“Ready.”
--
Louis’ hands shake the entire time he lowers Harry down, constantly fighting his desire to yank the tiny man back up as Harry gleefully rappels backwards. And then Harry’s on the ground, complaining about the rubber bands; “they’ve pinched my bits Lou! It might fall off!”, and then Harry’s rushing off to explore, and then Louis is on his own, sitting on the cold floor in a dim corridor.
Ten minutes tick by. And then another ten, and another, and another.
“Harry?” Louis quietly calls out when it’s been a full hour and there’s a band of worry tightening his chest.
He shouldn’t have let Harry go. Anything could have happened. Harry could have fallen into some sort of gap. Or a bucket of water, or off a chair. There could be a cat.
“Harry?” Louis barks out, a little more sharply and a little more urgently.
No, he’d have heard if anything happened. The letterbox is still propped open and Harry’s voice is as loud as his own.
He strains his ears as hard as he can and there’s nothing, nothing, and then, there-- Louis relaxes at the sound of footsteps.
Only they’re getting louder, and they are much too slow and much too loud for someone who’s five inches tall.
“Shit.”
He looks around himself in a panic, but Simon’s the only person on this floor and it has to be him. Shit. Louis makes a split second decision. With shaking hands he leaps to his feet and pulls up the band-and-shoelace rope and yanks the pencil out of the letterbox.
It falls shut with a clang as Simon rounds the corner and Louis stands guilt-still.
“Louis.” Simon says.
“Uh. Yeah, hi.” Their breaking and entering gear is still clenched tightly in his hand. He Slips it carefully into this pocket.
“What can I do for you?” Simon says.
Shit. Louis looks around himself for inspiration. There’s no reason for him to be in this corridor. Nothing.
“I… wanted to ask you something?” Louis stutters hesitantly.
There’s a painful silence that Louis recognises from the last time he spoke to Simon before the man flashes his white teeth and goes to unlock his door. He ushers Louis in, placing a plastic carrier on the kitchen table.
And now Louis is in his house.
After all that.
He takes a subtle sweep of the room, but there’s no sign of Harry.
“So what did you want to talk about Louis?”
Simon doesn’t offer him a seat, but it’s probably for the best. This way he can still run if he needs to.
Louis looks round again. The house is quiet and relatively sparse - all glass tables and clean modern lines. Nothing suspicious. Nothing that says evil sorcerer.
He searches desperately for inspiration. Something. Anything. His eyes fall on the plastic bag. There are groceries inside.
“I wanted to ask you about… eggs.” He draws out slowly.
“Eggs.” Simon says.
“Yes… eggs. I, uh, I wanted to ask you about uh, testing eggs?”
“Testing eggs?”
Simon doesn’t look too impressed, and Louis is darting his eyes furiously around but there’s still no sign of Harry and he’s starting to panic now.
“Yes.” He just needs time. Harry will be able to hear him. He can wait by the door and they can leave together. He raises his voice, just in case Harry hasn’t heard him yet. “I just wanted to ask about testing eggs. To see if they are bad or not!”
“Please don’t shout in my house.” Simon says.
“Sorry.” Louis takes a nervous step back from the man. The smile has slipped off his face and Louis still hasn’t seen Harry.
In a fit of sudden panic he darts forwards and snatches up the carton of eggs, fumbling them open. He’s sweating. He can feel it beading at his temples. It’s not even warm outside.
“I mean.” He rambles, panic fueling panic now. “These must be fresh right? Because they are new? But uh, I have some. I mean, not here. I have some downstairs. In my own house. And I don’t know-- I just thought--”
It all happens in quick succession. A tiny darting figure catches his eye, and he’s turning his head, turning, turning, and Simon’s turning his head, and Louis is still fumbling with the eggs, and then Louis is throwing up his hands to catch Simon’s attention because Simon isn’t allowed to see Harry, no one can see Harry, and so he waves his hands madly in the air-- his hands, he realises with dawning horror. His hands that the eggs are in. His hands that the eggs were in.
They spin through the air, all six of them, and one tumbles to the floor, and two smash wetly against Louis’ leg, and one falls onto the table and the last one, the very last one flies directly forwards, forwards, forwards, in the slowest of slow motion, until it finally lands, breaking squarely against Simon’s grey jumper.
It looks like cashmere.
It looks ruined.
“Umm. I can fix that.” Louis says in painful monotone. There’s static in his head, and wild horses in his chest, and then there’s a final surge of panic because there’s something crawling up his leg.
It’s Harry, he realises suddenly, as something sharp jabs him in the leg. That bloody trident.
It must be Harry.
Please be Harry.
“I’m sorry.”
Simon’s coming towards him now, and Louis moves on instinct, sidestepping away, away, fighting the urge to shake his leg, to kick or scratch at the prickling sensation.
Please be Harry.
“Louis.” Simon says.
Louis doesn’t want to know what he’s going to say. He doesn’t want to know, and now he really wants to get out of here, and his heart is still pounding and he can’t think straight.
He reaches into his pocket and there’s the elastic bands, and the shoelaces, and beneath that, money. Loose change. Money can buy eggs. It’ll do. it’ll have to do. Money can buy eggs.
“I’m sorry.” He says again, dropping the handful of change on Simon’s kitchen counter, as the static pulses into a bizarre sort of serenity. He’s outside of his body now. He’s someone else. He has no idea who this weirdo is in his neighbours kitchen. “I’ll pay for them.” He says calmly, watching as pounds and pennies roll noisily onto the floor. “Thanks.” He nods, because he doesn’t really know what words are at this point and any are better than none. “Thanks, good talk. Ok, bye.”
Simon takes a menacing step forwards and reality slams back into Louis, fight or flight kicking in with a vengeance. And with one last terrified look at the enraged man he spins and sprints for the door, yanking it open and darting out into the corridor and down the stairs.
He stops at the bottom with a sudden white hot fear about Harry, and he yanks up his trouser leg and Harry’s there, tucked into his sock and looking decidedly green but safe and whole and Louis holds out his hand for Harry to jump onto and then he curls his fingers protectively as he tumbles through their own door and back into the flat.
--
“Shit.” Louis slams the door behind them.
He wants to wrap Harry up in his arms, to make sure that he’s really back in one piece, but he can’t because Harry’s too small, and besides, Harry’s giggling uncontrollably from his seat on Louis’ hand.
They head for their own kitchen, but it’s not long before the adrenaline wears off and they are left sitting at (or in Harry’s case, on ) the table in silence. Harry’s smile quickly drops off his face as they both settle, and Louis doesn’t have to ask before he starts talking.
“It wasn’t Simon.” Harry says, finally tossing down his metal trident.
Louis flops back with a sigh. “You’re sure?” He had expected as much, but it still stung a bit.
Harry nods. “I looked everywhere. There was nothing suspicious, no books on magic, no talismans, no notes.”
“Nothing at all?”
“He pays two lots of rent a month.” Harry shrugs. “That’s a bit weird.”
“Maybe he has another house? He could have magic stuff there?”
Harry nods, and then shakes his head. “I don’t think so. I don’t think it was him.”
“Or maybe there was stuff that you didn’t find.” Louis presses.
“No.” Harry shakes his head. “It wasn’t. I don’t know how I know it, but I’m sure of it.”
“Damn.” Louis sighs. Maybe it could still be Simon, but there’s no point arguing about it, and he isn’t about to start debating magic with Harry. Anyway, if Harry somehow knows it wasn’t Simon then who is Louis to disagree? He’s not the one who’s five inches tall.
Harry only nods. “What do we do now?”
Louis shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath. It’s just a setback. They’ll just have to keep going. It’s not like they’re in a hurry - Harry’s already been declared legally dead and being small doesn’t seem to be affecting his health, they just need to calm down and think. To relax. Louis does his best to rally.
“Well, first,” he declares, wincing at the drying egg on his trousers, “I’m getting changed, and you’re having a bath.”
Harry perks up at that, and Louis comforts himself that at least he can do this. Even if they can’t restore Harry to his proper size, at least he can look after him, make sure he’s comfortable, feed him, cheer him up. And if he can’t restore Harry’s memories then they’ll just have to make new ones. Better ones.
Louis ignores the twinge in his chest telling him to contact Harry’s family. He hasn’t been on Harry’s Facebook since he found them, he can’t bring himself to look again.
He gets out the tupperware to distract himself and then goes to fetch his towel. Harry’s already naked and standing with his arms folded when Louis gets back.
“Not that one.” Harry points to his bath. “The bigger one.”
Louis snorts at that, but obediently goes to fetch out the bigger one that had been an optimistic gift from his mother. She’d said something about making lasagna - which now that he thinks about it, he might actually manage with Harry’s help.
“Do you want to be able to touch the bottom?” He asks.
Harry shakes his head. “I want to dive in. I can swim.”
Louis shakes his head with a smile on his face. He goes back to the cupboard and pulls out a second tupperware and upends it next to the first and then places the towel down to the side, impressed with his own creativity as Harry climbs up the towel onto his makeshift diving platform.
Harry waits while Louis takes it to the tap, fills it and then brings it back.
“In you get then.” Louis says.
“It’s not ready yet.”
“I haven’t got a bigger one!” Louis throws his hands up in mock exasperation and is rewarded with a small giggle.
“I want a bomb.”
“A bomb.” Louis says blankly.
“A bath bomb.”
“What’s a bath bomb?” Louis feels like he should know this, and judging by Harry’s face, he would agree.
“A bath bomb! You put them in the bath and they fizz!”
“Oh… Well I haven’t got one.”
“You have.” Harry frowns. “I saw one.”
“You did?”
“In the wardrobe.”
“Ah.” Louis feels a little ashamed of the contents of his wardrobe. Moving had been a bit hurried, with term already started and he’d not had chance to unpack everything, and then his mother was visiting and his flat was a mess and he’d just panicked and the wardrobe had been right there… “The wardrobe.” He flinches.
Still, Harry’s been through a lot today, so Louis capitulates and dutifully sits through Harry’s description, before dragging several sack-fulls of junk out of the offending storage unit until he finds the oval purple bar. It must have come from Daisy. She was always trying to get him interested in new things.
“Ok then.” Louis shrugs when he gets back, and Harry gleefully leaps into his bath in preparation. “One bath bomb.”
He tosses the bar in and they both stare at it for a second before it starts to fizz and Harry’s face lights up. Louis grins as he heads into his room to change.
--
He peels off his jeans slowly, grimacing at the sticky denim. At least he knows how to use the washing machine now - yet another thing he’s grateful to Harry for.
A yelp rings out from the kitchen and Louis smiles to himself. And at least Harry is easy to please, although his constant desire for baths is going to be a bit harder for Louis to deal with when he’s back to full size.
Louis buttons his jeans and pulls a clean jumper on before his thoughts catch up with him.
When he’s back to full size.
When he’s back to full size, there won’t be any reason for Harry to be here at all.
He shouldn’t even be with Louis now, really, Louis thinks suddenly, a cold weight falling in his stomach. Harry should be with his family. His family who are still looking for him.
“Louis!” Harry shouts from the kitchen.
“In a second Haz.” He calls back.
He suddenly finds he doesn’t want to go back in there. He doesn’t want to have this now that he’s finally realised that he isn’t going to keep it. What happens when Harry is big again? Louis lives in his flat now, and Louis has no claim over him. His chest seizes. Harry isn’t a pet, he’s a person with his own life, he--
“Lou--!”
There’s something different in this yell, something that turns the cold Louis is feeling into hot fear.
He sprints into the kitchen and stops dead at the sudden devastation.
There’s purple foam everywhere. It’s bubbled out of the tub, it’s on the table, lining the floor, and there’s no Harry. There’s no Harry anywhere.
Louis rushes forwards and his chest seizes as his eyes fall on a dark shape.
He was wrong. Harry is there. He’s there in the tupperware, floating just beneath the surface.
He’s not moving.
No.
Louis’ brain stalls. A numb white fuzz crawls in behind his eyes as he sprints forwards, slipping and tripping and sliding over the wet floor.
He pours out the tub on the table, too afraid of his shaking grip to pull Harry out with his hands, and now Louis doesn’t know what to do. Harry’s too small for CPR and Louis doesn’t even know if he’s breathing, he’s too small and Louis doesn’t know what to do.
No. No . No!
His hands are trembling too much to be useful as he nudges Harry onto his side.
“Hazza,” Louis chokes. “Hazza please. Hazza!”
His throat is tight and his eyes are burning and he’s choking on panic. Louis takes his finger and rubs it down Harry’s back, up and down, up and down, but Harry still isn’t moving and Louis can’t think straight and he still can’t see if Harry’s breathing because he’s too small and Louis doesn’t know how to fix him.
“Please?” Louis croaks, not knowing who he’s trying to bargain with but desperate for anything.
He scoops Harry onto his hand, ready to start thumping him on the back, to risk the damage that he might do to Harry’s body.
There’s a groan.
Louis hesitates, letting his fingers drop . “Harry?” His voice is trembling.
Harry’s still for another heart-stopping second, and then he’s coughing and rolling over.
“Shit.” The relief steals Louis’ strength from him and he slumps forwards.
He gently slides Harry back onto the tabletop, fighting the urge to cuddle his tiny body close, not wanting to risk hurting Harry while he’s is still weak and in shock.
Harry pushes himself up slowly, sucking in gasping breaths as his body gives an almighty shudder. He’s turned away from Louis, and Louis is still on the edge of panic, still nauseated and afraid and he wants so much to know that Harry’s safe and alive and ok, but he doesn’t want to push him.
“Harry.” Louis whispers shakily.
Harry stills.
“Lou?”
Harry’s facing away from him and his arms are curled tightly around himself, and Louis wants to tell him not to talk because his voice is so rough and sounds so painful, but Louis’ too selfish in his need to hear Harry. To know that he’s ok.
“Haz?” Louis’ voice cracks.
“There was too much foam,” Harry chokes out, “it was too slippery, I couldn’t get out-- Lou.”
It’s too much for Louis. He finally reaches out with his hands, cupping them protectively around Harry, not really sure what he’s doing but desperate to try and offer some sort of comfort, and desperate to feel that Harry’s alive, that he’s safe.
He tugs the sodden towel towards himself and drops his head onto it. It’s damp and uncomfortable and he barely notices it as he turns one hand, shakily running the edge of his finger against Harry’s trembling body. Needing to touch, to reassure himself.
“You’re ok.” He murmurs, “Hazza, you’re ok.”
Harry finally turns around, and his face is ghostly white and his eyes are a little too wide. Louis has a second to take him in, tell himself that he’s still breathing, still ok, before Harry runs towards him. He stops a breath away, hesitates for a second and then throws himself forwards. Louis can feel Harry’s tiny warm body pressing against his cheekbone, little shivers racking his little frame. Harry’s arms are spread out in a sort-of-hug, and Louis brings his finger back to rest against his back. It’s the best he can do, and now for the first time he actually understands how desperate he is for Harry to be his normal size. How desperate he is to be able to pull Harry properly into his arms. Even if it means Harry will leave him. It doesn’t matter. Louis just needs him to be ok.
“Hazza.” He whispers again.
There’s a tugging at his hair, and if he shuts his eyes he can almost see Harry curling up against the side of his face, burrowing against him. Louis has started buying conditioner, expensive shampoo, fabric softener, moisturiser. Anything to make things more comfortable for Harry, to make him happy. It finally strikes him just how many little changes he’s been making. Just how important Harry’s become to him.
“You’re ok.” He breathes.
Harry moves back in front of him then, a dark blur too close to really see, and then there’s the faintest pressure against Louis’ bottom lip and there’s a warm rush tightening Louis’ chest and Harry’s hurrying back to curl up in his hair again.
“You saved me.” Comes the quiet reply, whispered into Louis’ ear.
Louis thinks of all the things he could say: of course I did, I’ll always save you, I’m so sorry, please be more careful, I don’t want to lose you, I’m so afraid something’s going to happen to you, I’m so afraid I’ll hurt you, I don’t know how to help you, I would never let anything happen to you, I don’t know how to save you…
But what comes out is something else entirely.
“Harry,” he chokes, finally understanding how selfish he’s being in keeping Harry here, in not telling anyone, in not trying harder to get Harry full size again. He’s been pretending he would get to keep his tiny housemate. He’s been treating him like this was permanent. Like Harry was some sort of pet. Louis feels sick. “We can’t do this,” He mutters, and now he’s started the words are rushing out all at once, clumsily tumbling over themselves. All the things he should have said days ago. Weeks ago. “Harry, we have to tell your family-- I mean, I found them already. I’m sorry, I should have told you - I didn’t talk to them, but I found your facebook, and they’re real and they haven’t given up on you, and Harry, I don’t know what to do if something happens to you, I need you to be big again, and you had a life, and friends and family and it isn’t ok for me to keep you here, it isn’t fair to them and it isn’t fair to you, and it’s got to have been someone you knew that did this Harry, it’s got to be, we have to talk to them, they might know something, Harry, we have to get you big again, Harry--”
He’s babbling out of control now, and there’s a sharp stab of relief when Harry finally stops him.
“Lou.” Harry’s voice is still quiet, shaken, and now the fear Louis had been feeling is drowned out by a tide of guilt because Harry sounds so broken .
“Shit.” He takes a deep breath. “Hazza I’m sorry. This isn’t the time--”
“No” Harry stops him again, and there’s a sharp tug at his hair. “No Lou, Don’t. You’re right. I need to speak to them. It isn’t fair for me to be here, pretending like I can just stay.”
Louis shakes his head in confusion. “Pretending--?”
And then the warmth of Harry is gone from his hair and the tiny man has backed up and Louis can see his face as Harry studies him. He looks pale and determined, and his eyes are so sad, and Louis doesn’t know how to make him feel better but he has to try, so he swallows his nerves and goes for the truth.
“I’m so sorry Hazz.” Louis whispers. “I should have told you I’d found them. I just didn’t want you to go, but I promised you I wouldn’t look and I broke my promise.”
Harry’ face softens but he doesn’t say anything, and Louis wants to ask if he’s mad. He wants to ask Harry to forgive him, but he needs to think about Harry right now, not himself, so he takes a shuddering breath and pushes himself up from the table, frowning down at Harry and finally noticing his naked torso and pile of wet clothes.
“You’re going to get cold love. Let’s get you dressed.”
--
Jeans and shoes are out. Louis isn’t leaving the safety of the living room after a scare like that, so he bundles himself up in jogging bottoms and his softest hoodie and Harry puts on some Ken-doll speedos and demands that he be carried around in one of the faux-fur-lined baby-bootie slippers, and then Louis phones for a chinese and they curl up in the arm chair that’s somehow gone from being Louis’ to being theirs.
The disaster in the kitchen will just have to wait.
It takes a while for them both to settle, but finally the food arrives and Louis finds himself ignoring the Saturday night TV to watch in silent fascination as Harry methodically chews his way down a noodle that could wrap around his whole body at least twice. Something unwinds in Louis’ chest when they’re finally done and Harry turns to smile at him, crawling up his hoodie to curl in the dip of Louis’ collarbone.
“Show me them?” Harry asks quietly.
It takes Louis a second to work out what he means, but then his brain starts moving and he puts Harry carefully down on the chair and goes to fetch his laptop.
They go through the pictures slowly, and Harry’s frowning and he looks sad again but they keep going. Louis doesn’t go to Harry’s page, not wanting to put him through the messages of grief, and Harry doesn’t ask to see them. At one point he leans forwards to place his hand on the screen.
“Gemma.” He says quietly.
“You remember?”
“I think I do. I think I remember. We should call Gemma.”
“Not your mom and dad?”
“No.” Harry shakes his head. “Not yet. Gemma.”
They have to log on as Harry in order to get Gemma’s phone number, and it’s a relief that his password still works. And then they have the number and there’s no excuse.
“How do you want to do this?” Louis whispers, not sure why he isn’t willing to speak louder and wishing it was later than 8pm and they could use the excuse to call tomorrow.
“You call.” Harry says. “Maybe-- tell her that I’ve lost my memory? Or maybe tell her you think you might know something?”
“Ok.” Louis shakes his head. “I’ll think of something.”
--
The phone rings and rings, but Harry won’t let him hang it up now that they’ve started so Louis waits with mounting nerves until it finally connects and there’s the sound of someone fumbling.
“Hello?”
“Hi. Umm, yeah. Is this Gemma?”
“Yes?” The voice on the other end is cautious, but not worried.
“Hi, this is Louis.”
The silence is awkward, but Louis feels somehow better that she isn’t making it easy for him.
“Umm. Right, ok. Look, I live in Ha-- In your brother’s flat.”
He hears her breath catch, and he’s glad that Harry can’t hear it.
“What can I do for you?” Gemma’s voice has gone formal and a little bit cold, and Louis wonders what she thinks he’s calling for. Perhaps he might have found something of Harry’s?
“I… I have some information about your brother.” Louis cringes over the words coming out of his mouth.
“Information about Harry.” She says flatly, and Louis can’t tell what’s going through her head. He can’t even predict it. Her brother’s been declared dead. Would she be angry? Desperate?
“Yeah.” He takes a deep breath. “Look, I’m not trying to wind you up, but I’ve found something at the house that I think you need to see, so-- yeah. Look can you come round tomorrow? I think that might be best.”
There’s a very, very long pause, and Harry’s eyes are wide and he’s moving from foot to foot and opening his mouth, and Louis shakes his head at him because he doesn’t know what would happen if this person suddenly heard her dead brother’s voice coming down the phone.
“I’m coming over.” She says finally, and Louis gives Harry a thumbs up.
Harry drops down in relief, landing hard on Louis’ hand as Louis lets out a long breath.
“Ok good. Great. That’s great. So tomorrow then?”
“I’m coming now.” Gemma says.
“You’re-- now?”
“See you in ten Louis.”
“But--”
And then the call is disconnected and Harry and Louis are left staring at eachother.
--
The knock on the door comes as Louis is desperately scrubbing at the purple residue on the table and Harry is struggling into his best new clothes. Louis had suggested that Harry might want to change into his own things that he’d shrunk with, but Harry had pointed out that he didn’t want his sister to think that he wasn’t being cared for. Louis is still smiling about it.
There’s another knock as Harry straightens his blue Hawaiian shirt and Louis’ smile turns a bit manic. He’s run out of time to change, so he carefully deposits Harry into the pocket of his hoodie, keeping him hidden until Gemma has had a chance to get settled.
“Hi.” He pulls the door open with his too-wide smile stuck firmly in place.
The woman at the door is pretty, probably the same age as Louis himself and has a sharp look in her eyes that makes Louis fidget. Her straight fashion-white hair, minimal makeup and baggy t-shirt look deceptively casual, but Louis has four teenage sisters and he knows a well-crafted image when he sees it.
“You must be Louis?” She holds her hand out and he shakes it quickly, gesturing for her to come in.
She looks around the flat quickly, and Louis sees the first hint of cracks in her calm facade. It had probably looked different when Harry had lived here, but then, Louis hadn’t had the money for new furniture and he hasn’t moved much so-- not that different.
She takes a shaky breath. “It still smells like him.”
Louis keeps his mouth shut because he suspects that comment wasn’t for him. It probably does. He realises as Harry shifts in his pocket to peer out of the side. Louis’ cleaning supplies, laundry powder, and even his shampoo had been chosen by Harry, and there’s a candle on the side that he’d been convinced to burn.
Louis is going to have to get to the point quickly at this rate, before she works it out herself.
“He’s been here.” She stares at him, and Louis sees the mask falling away, leaving a fierce desperation and a deep, burning anger. “Where is he?”
“I--” Louis doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know where to start. He doesn’t know how to do this.
“Where is he?” She bites out. Taking a step forwards.
“Gemma?” Harry says.
They both freeze.
His voice is a normal volume, but Harry’s still tucked away, and it can’t be clear to Gemma where it’s coming from.
“Gemma, it’s me.” Harry says again.
“Harry?” Gemma unfreezes abruptly, spinning around quickly. “Harry!”
She darts from room to room, her searches increasingly frenetic. Louis has never felt more useless and he knows he’s making a mess of this, but he doesn’t know how to fix it without forcing Harry’s hand. He stays still.
“Gemma, stop. Gems.” Harry calls softly.
She comes to rest back in front of Louis. Her eyes are shiny, but there aren’t any tears yet.
“Harry?” She whispers.
“I’m here.” Harry says, but he’s not come out, he’s not showing himself.
“Harry, I-- I can’t see you.” Gemma chokes.
“I know. I’m not-- I’m not really here. Not like I’m supposed to be.”
“Harry I--” She turns to Louis, and finally the first tear falls. “He’s dead?” She asks. He sees the moment when she realizes what she said. When logic kicks back in. “No.” She shakes her head. “There’s a speaker somewhere?”
“Something like that.” Louis says, not sure what else to do. “He’s not dead.”
Her body slumps in relief. “And he can hear me?”
Louis nods.
“Yeah, I can hear you Gems.”
Louis wonders if Harry knows he’s slipped in the nickname, or if he’s starting to remember.
“Harry. Wh--” She breathes, and then she stops. And stops.
If Louis had a clock he imagines the tick would be extremely loud right now.
Harry isn’t talking. Gemma isn’t talking, and Louis decides that maybe it’s time he takes control.
“Harry had an accident.” He says slowly. “He’s ok, but he doesn’t remember everything--” There’s a sharp poke to his gut and so Louis tries again. “He couldn’t remember everything, but I showed him some pictures and now he does?”
No poke. He takes that as a good sign.
“He couldn’t remember.” Gemma parrots slowly.
Louis nods again. “He still doesn’t remember everything, but we’re going to fix it. He remembers you.”
He’s stretching the truth, but once more there’s no poke so he assumes it’s ok.
“He lost his memory.” She repeats quietly. ”Why can’t I see him?”
Louis freezes, not sure what he’s supposed to say. “He--” Harry’s being annoyingly quiet in his pocket. “He’s changed?” Louis tries. No poke. “It’s a bit weird.” Sharp poke.
“I don’t understand.” Gemma says, and there’s a note of frustration in her voice. “Just tell me what happened to him!”
Louis hesitates again, but what else can he do? “There was magic. Harry shrunk.”
Harry punches him. Sorry. Louis thinks.
“Harry shrunk.” She says flatly.
“Yes.”
“You expect me to believe that.”
“No?”
“Where’s Harry!”
He see’s the moment when her calm veneer finally cracks. She jumps forwards, her hands reaching out for him. Louis leaps back as she lunges, and then there’s something tugging his jumper, and he looks down and his heart stops, because Harry’s frantically climbing out of his pocket.
“Harry no!” Louis shrieks, reaching out to grab him before the idiot can fall.
He cups his hands around him, raising him protectively to his face.
“You can’t keep doing that!”
“Sorry.” Harry looks sheepish.
“No. It’s not ok Harry, you--”
“Harry?” They both freeze at Gemma’s shaky voice. “Harry? You weren’t-- You weren’t joking. You-- Are you real?”
“Hi Gems.” Harry whispers.
--
After that, things go a bit more smoothly, and Louis is impressed with how well Gemma seems to be taking it. There’s even a teary reunion where Harry hugs her thumb and Louis watches with sharp eyes and hands at the ready in case she forgets herself and tries to squeeze him back.
Once that’s out of the way they decide to get down to business, and the three of them sit at the kitchen table to go over their options. Louis had tried to give them some time alone, but Harry wasn’t having it, so he settles instead on making tea while Gemma quizzes her brother on his health. The two full size adults get mugs of tea, and Louis carefully scoops out some of his into a bottle top for Harry. He also pulls out one of his smaller tupperwares that Harry likes to use as a chair and a scrap of foam that they used as a cushion.
“You-- the two of you--” Gemma frowns. “You really have been here a while.” She says finally, looking at Harry.
Louis nods. They’d gone over the basics before sitting down - Harry’s been here the whole time, he can’t remember much, he doesn’t remember what happened to him, he isn’t getting any smaller, magic apparently exists.
“And you’re ok here?” She asks Harry, seemingly willing to ignore Louis’ presence.
“I’m ok Gems.” Harry grins. “Except for being a bit short.”
“And having no memory.” Gemma says.
The grin slips straight off Harry’s face and Louis sends a glare at her. “He remembers some things. His memory is coming back.” He says a little sharper than he meant to.
Gemma nods, ignoring his tone and staring unblinkingly at her brother. “But you don’t remember what happened to you?”
Harry shakes his head. “Louis thinks it must have been someone I know.”
She nods again, her eyes unfocusing. “That makes sense. Someone from uni maybe? An ex? Nick? Jeff?”
Louis ignores the way his stomach clenches at the confirmation of Harry’s dating habits. Nick, Jeff. Nice names. Male names.
Louis should have guessed that - probably could have guessed that from the tiny kiss Harry had given him after his near-drowning, and they’ve not even talked about that, and Louis is still terrified about what might happen when Harry gets big again because Louis can’t bear to lose him. And Louis isn’t even sure if Harry likes him that way, and he doesn’t want to bring it up because Harry’s five inches tall and surely it’s creepy for Louis to even think it? But then Harry is still an adult regardless of his height-- Louis cuts the thoughts off, focusing instead on the names that Gemma is rattling off. At least she hasn’t listed a current boyfriend.
“I don’t remember them.” Harry says softly.
There’s silence in the kitchen before Gemma finally slumps back. “Ok. That’s ok. I’ll go through your contacts. Mom gave me your things, I’ve been looking through them in case there was a clue-- the police closed the case but we’ve still been looking. We never gave up on you Harry.”
“Gems--”
“I’ll go back through everything.” She presses on, apparently not wanting another bout of tears. “I can talk to family friends, exes, anyone who might be linked.”
“We tried Simon already.” Louis says.
“Simon?”
“The man upstairs. He’s pretty creepy--” Louis trails off. In retrospect ‘being creepy’ hadn’t been the strongest motive. He shrugs. “Harry didn’t find anything, it wasn’t him.”
“Can you be sure?” Gemma asks. “How do you know, could he have tricked you?”
“He pays rent twice every month so I don’t think he’s exactly a criminal mastermind.” Louis snorts. “Anyway, Harry said it wasn’t him.”
“It wasn’t.” Harry jumps in. “I’m sure of it. Maybe it’s some magic thing? Maybe when the right person is near me I’ll just know it?”
The conversation presses on, and eventually they agree that Gemma will investigate from her side and anyone suspicious will be sent to Louis and Harry on some made up reason for investigation. In the meantime, Louis and Harry will trawl through Harry’s facebook friends to see if anything rings a bell. Gemma also agrees to drop off Harry’s lecture schedule for the two of them to investigate. If nothing else turns up they can try retracing Harry’s old routes to see if anyone tingles Harry’s apparently magic radar that he’s decided he’s got.
Gemma’s standing by the door and wringing her hands together when Louis suddenly realises that Harry should be going with her. He fights the urge to reflexively pull Harry close to his chest, leaving his hand flat and as steady as he can with Harry sitting cross-legged in his palm. He hadn’t even thought about it - it was second nature now to lay his hand flat for Harry to climb onto, to keep Harry close. But Harry had a family now. It wasn’t fair for Louis to keep hold of him.
“I--” Louis doesn’t know how to do this. “You should go with Gemma.” He says finally, staring at the floor to avoid Harry’s hurt expression and Gemma’s frown.
“You want me to leave?” Harry says quietly.
Louis shakes his head. “You have a family Harry. They thought you were dead. It isn’t fair of me to keep you here.”
“But, do you want him to leave.” Gemma asks, still frowning.
“I--” Louis’ breath catches. “It isn’t about what I want. It’s about what’s right.”
“So you don’t want him to leave.” Her expression softens.
“You thought he was dead.” Louis presses on, the guilt waging a war on his stomach. “You need to tell your parents. It’s not fair of me to keep him here.”
“Are you keeping him here?”
Louis frowns.
“Can he leave?” Gemma presses.
“I... suppose so.” Louis says slowly.
“Louis, Harry’s small but he’s an adult. He can leave if he wants to.”
“I don’t-- I just.”
“It’s ok Lou.” Harry pipes up, and when Louis looks down the hurt is gone from his face and his eyes are fond. “I know you want to help, but this is the best way. I can’t go home like this.”
Gemma nods. “We need to get him big again first. The more people that know the more dangerous it is. He could come with me but--” She trails off, looking pointedly at Harry.
“I want to stay with you Louis.” Harry says.
The sudden ceasefire in his stomach leaves him light headed. “You want to stay with me.” He parrots.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
“You’re not going anywhere.” Louis can feel a dopey grin stretching across his face, but there’s nothing he can do about it.
Harry wants to stay with him.
Gemma snorts in amusement. “Well, now the soap opera’s finished, I’m going to go and make a start on my research.”
Louis nods dazedly.
Harry wants to stay with him.
Harry’s beaming up from his palm as Gemma reaches out a careful finger to ruffle his hair. “I’ve missed you little brother.”
“See you soon Gems.” Harry waves as Louis lets Gemma out, and Louis is still riding a wave of relief as he shuts the door and slumps against it.
Harry wants to stay with him.
--
If Louis had been asked a week ago how things were going he would have been pretty positive. Now though, there’s a weight gone that he hadn’t even realised was there, and Harry’s being cuddlier still. And on top of that, he’s started brushing tiny kisses onto Louis’ hands, his fingers, his cheek whenever he’s in range. It’s forcing Louis to walk around the house with a stupid loopy grin on his face. Plus, Louis is finding that not being the only person to know of Harry’s existence is a definite bonus.
On the other hand, Louis’ patience with Harry’s sister is starting to wear thin, because Gemma seems to be sending them everyone Harry’s ever met to be vetted, and so far, none of them look guilty.
Well no, Louis thinks as he presses the door firmly shut behind their latest home invader; some of them certainly seem guilty, only not of having shrunk a person. And Louis must have caught the contagion from his mini housemate, because Louis is also starting to think he’ll just know when they find the culprit. Shrinking someone must be a very singular, and probably very specific type of guilt. It’s bound to leave a mark.
It’s not long after the seemingly nicest, kindest, closest friend of Harry comes around when Louis starts to get wise to the fact that Gemma must be panicking, because there’s no way that James ‘Oh god it still smells like him, I’m sorry, I don’t think I can do this’ Corden would ever have been involved in this. And Gemma must know that.
“It wasn’t him.” Louis says, as the door finally falls closed.
Harry hums in agreement.
“It wasn’t any of them.” Louis presses, wandering into the kitchen and depositing Harry safely onto the table. The rabbit’s water’s almost out, he notes. He’ll have to fill it up in a minute.
“Nope.”
“You don’t seem that upset about it.”
“I liked James.” Harry shrugs, draping himself across Louis hand with a grin. “He seems nice. I don’t remember him though.”
“That’s not the point.”
Harry shrugs again, and Louis doesn’t want to fight with him, but Harry’s apparent lack of caring is also starting to get to Louis, and Louis is just gearing himself up to be good and irritated when the doorbell rings.
They both stare at it in silence before Harry shifts. “Send them away.”
“They might be here for you.”
“It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t them.”
“You can tell from all the way over here?” Louis says disbelievingly.
Harry shakes his head. “No, but it doesn’t make any sense. Even my exes don’t hold a grudge. I was clearly a lovely person, why would anyone shrink me?” He grins his tiny grin.
Louis snorts.
The doorbell rings.
“Shit.” Louis sighs, gently returning Harry to the table and heading over with a resigned slouch to open the door.
He frowns up at the lady on his doorstep; tall, short brown hair, fierce lipstick.
“Flat inspection.” She says without prompting.
“Oh. Uh, hi.” Louis says to his frowning landlady, suddenly remembering real life and all it’s pointless requirements. “I thought those were going to be on Fridays?”
He shuffles a bit, off balance. Flat inspection. He was supposed to have them every two months. Had Harry really been with him for two whole months?
“It is Friday.” Anne-Marie says.
“Oh.”
Louis’ body is still blocking the door, and he’s trying to multitask and desperately work out how he managed to lose so much of the week at the same time as trying to work out how he can get Harry off the kitchen table before she sees him. He’d liked his landlady, he remembers. He’s less impressed as she stares determinedly at him.
“Right.” He says.
“Can I come in?”
“Of course! Of course. See, but the thing is, we-- I’d forgotten, and it’s a real mess, so maybe-- another day--?”
She raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow at his babbling and Louis’ hope fades. He backs away in silent acquisition.
It actually is a mess, because they’ve been digging through Louis’ things looking for stuff that they could pretend was Harry’s to give to their visitors. It’s a weak excuse to get them to come to the house, but it’s been working so far. Of course, the original plan was to use Harry’s actual things and then get them back when Harry was big again, but in practice, Gemma seems determined not to give away any of Harry’s real things, so Louis has found himself reluctantly parting with odd little trinkets that he and Harry agreed would be convincing - one of the candles Harry had made him buy, another bath bomb, a pair of cufflinks he didn’t know he had. It’s a little bit annoying.
Louis looks around hopelessly for inspiration. Maybe if she gets mad enough about the mess she won’t check the kitchen and find Harry out in the open on top of the bloody table? Maybe she’ll just leave? And then kick him out.
Eugh. Louis pouts as he leads the way around their flat, pointing out anything he can think of to buy them time whilst he works out how to hide Harry. It isn’t actually hard; she seems determined to inspect every inch of the place.
“And here’s the heating pipes.” He nods to the corner of the bathroom. “Sometimes they get hot, and er, sometimes they’re cold. When the heating isn't on. They’re cold.”
“Good.” She stares at him blankly, unimpressed. “Well this all looks fine. Very similar to how it did before. A bit messier though.”
Louis hesitates for a second too long. “Great. Yeah. Ok. I’ll tidy up a bit. So we’re done then?”
“Just the kitchen left.”
“Just the kitchen.” Louis says. “Do we really need to see the kitchen?”
“Yes.”
Louis stays firmly in place.
“Shall we go?” She says.
“Ok.” Louis doesn’t move.
“Now.” She takes a step forwards, forcing a miserable sigh out of him.
“Right.” He says, backing slowly towards the offending room. Maybe he can just make a dash for it? Grab Harry before she sees? Louis curses himself for putting Harry down. They should have stayed together. He should have kept Harry where he could protect him. Louis shakes his head. He’ll have to make a run for it, it’s the only way.
There’s a second when he turns back to Anne-Marie and the two of them trade frozen stares-- and then he goes for it.
The problem with running to get to the kitchen first. Louis considers as he’s scrambling clumsily forwards, is that there isn’t enough space for a decent head start.
Still, he reaches the kitchen doorway a full second before Anne-Marie and quickly scans the area, ignoring the presence at his side as she casually catches up.
Where’s Harry, where’s Harry, where’s Harry.
They’re silent as two sets of eyes search the area.
Where’s Harry, where’s Harry, where’s Harry.
Louis can’t find him. He can’t see him.
He shuffles in frustrated silence.
“Louis, what on earth is that?” Anne-Marie says finally.
Louis’ chest turns to ice and he spins round to follow her line of sight. He can’t see Harry. He still can’t see Harry!
“Err.” He sweeps horrified eyes over the tabletop once more, but there’s nothing, and he has a terrifying flash of inspiration and tilts his head to pan his eyes over the floor, and lets out a relieved puff of air when he doesn’t see Harry’s tiny body broken body. He didn’t fall.
“My rabbit has no water.” She says flatly.
The rabbit. He lets out a relieved sort of snort. Louis’ chest is tingling, and not in a good way.
“Your rabbit? Oh that rabbit.” He goes for casual and misses. “We take good care of him. Me that is. And my sister. Me and my sister, when she comes to visit. She likes him. She wanted to keep him. I was just, umm, about to fill it up when you arrived. Do all your tenants look after him? I mean, not at the same time-- I know Harry used to have him.”
“You knew Harry?” She asks sharply.
“No? Nope, never met him. Nope.” Louis is starting to sweat. He can feel his eye ticking. What is it with this building and invasive people? How had be ever thought this woman was nice?
“Right.” She says.
She pokes around a bit more and Louis holds his breath as she opens every single cupboard door , but there’s still no sign of Harry. He’s thoroughly strung out and his face is flushed an unfortunate shade of puce when she finally seems done with what has turned into an appallingly thorough flat inspection.
“So, everything’s ok?” Louis asks. He’ll need a bath after this. A hot bath.
“I suppose so.” She says, heading towards the door. “I’m glad to see you’re looking after the place, do keep it up Louis, and make sure Duty has enough water, I won’t be happy if anything happens to him. See you next time.”
And then finally she’s gone and Louis pushes the door shut firmly, determined not to open it again until at least tomorrow.
“She’s gone Haz.” He calls, taking a moment to shut his eyes and breathe.
There’s no sound from the flat.
“Harry?” Louis pokes his head into the kitchen, but Dusty is still in his cage and there’s no sign of his errant housemate. “Haz, I need you to come out now.”
Louis’ pulse jumps back up again, easier now that it’s been racing on and off for the last hour. He scans his eyes over the living room. “Harry this isn’t funny.” He darts into the bedroom. Not there. Not in the living room. Not in the bathroom. “Hazza please don’t do this. Haz?!”
There’s the faintest sound from the kitchen and Louis rushes back in. “Haz?”
The noise comes again, and it’s the damn rabbit! But, no - Louis peers closer - there .
“Haz?” Louis carefully scoops out a trembling Harry from where he’s pushed himself as far underneath Dusty’s fluffy body as he could go. “Haz, what’s wrong? What happened?”
Louis lifts him high, cupping his hands together protectively. “Harry?”
He lifts his thumb, relieved when Harry immediately rushes forwards to hug his arms around it.
“Harry what’s wrong.” He says again quietly, when he can no longer feel Harry’s tiny body trembling through his hands and he’s slumped at the kitchen table like he’d never left.
It’s still quiet, so quiet, but then Harry’s saying something, and it’s so quiet that Louis can’t hear properly. Or maybe he can hear. Maybe he just doesn’t want to. Because they’ve found something. They’ve finally found something. And the pressure has crept back into Louis’ chest and he doesn’t know if it’s good pressure or bad pressure but he does know that it hurts. They’ve finally found something. And now the little life they’ve built together is going to be over.
“It was her.” Harry whispers.
--
After that things move too fast for Louis to understand. He wants it to be over, but he doesn’t want it to be over. He needs Harry to be big, but he doesn’t want him to leave.
They tell Gemma, and she sweeps through Anne-Marie’s contacts with disturbing ease. She finds her work colleagues, her friends, her house.
“Three things don’t add up.” She says one evening, when the three of them are curled up in the living room. “Her friends say she talked about a boyfriend, but I haven’t been able to find one. She seems to have more money than she should--”
“How can you possibly know that?” Harry interrupts.
“You’re not the only one who can be sneaky little brother.” Gemma grins. “And three,” she presses on, “I can’t find her family. Not one single family member.”
“Maybe she doesn’t have one?” Louis asks.
“Maybe she shrunk them too.” Harry grumbles.
Louis shrugs. “Do you think it’s important?”
“I don’t know.” Gemma says. “I don’t think we could discount anything.”
“We could ask around?” Louis tries.
“I’ve talked to all her friends I could find.”
“Or maybe a tenant, or a neighbour?” Harry says.
“Hmm.” Gemma hums, her face suddenly going blank.
“Or we could ask her butcher, or her baker, or her vet!” Harry continues, getting into his stride.
Gemma shakes her head, and then shakes it again. She opens her mouth, closes it again, opens it, blinks. “Harry you’re a genius.” She says.
“I am?” Harry grins. “You think her vet knows?”
“I have to go.”
She leaps up, and before either of them can process it she’s out the door with one last, “Harry you’re a genius!”
“I’m a genius.” Harry grins, when the door has banged shut.
“You are.” Louis agrees amiably.
“Do you think her vet knows?” Harry asks.
“I really don’t.”
--
It’s two days later when Gemma finally comes back with a contrite looking landlady, a set of talismans apparently guaranteed to protect them from magic, and Simon of all people.
“You were part of this?” Louis says, confused. Harry had been so sure it wasn’t Simon.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Simon snorts. He looks uncomfortable though, and Louis isn’t sure he believes him.
“Her vet knew then?” Harry’s voice calls out, and Louis shakes his head, grinning.
“Her what?” Gemma frowns in confusion.
“Never mind.” Louis says.
Gemma stares for a moment and then steps forwards, poking Anne-Marie non too gently in the back. “Anyway. How about you explain to my brother why you shrunk him?” She says.
“You’re brother’s dead.” Anne-Marie snaps.
“Am I?” Harry’s voice calls.
Louis hastily catches hold of a frowning Harry as he pulls himself out of Louis’ hoodie pocket. Simon, Louis and Gemma stare at him in silence.
“You don’t seem surprised.” Louis turns to Simon.
“He’s the one who gave us the talismans.” Gemma interjects.
“I met Annie at rune classes.” Simon says. Annie: Anne-Marie, Louis’ brain translates. “I always was impressed with her talent. I didn’t know she could do this though.” He gestures at Harry.
Louis taken a moment to let that sink in. Rune class.
“So you use magic.” Harry says.
Simon shrugs.
“Then why didn’t I find anything when I searched your house?”
“What.” The cold in Simon’s voice could freeze a volcano.
Harry spins away hurriedly, bringing him suddenly into view of the woman who got him into this mess. He shrinks back. “You shrunk me.” He says quietly.
Thus far, Anne-Marie has been ignoring proceedings in favour of staring pointedly at the wall, and Harry’s muttered accusation does nothing to change her stance.
“You pretended you couldn’t hear me.” Harry says. “I remember-- I think I remember. At the beginning. You came round after-- I tried to talk to you.”
Anne-Marie keeps her eyes trained on the wall.
“He’s talking to you!” Gemma snaps.
“Who?”
“My brother!”
“You’re brother‘s dead.”
Louis turns to look at her in disgusted silence, but Gemma isn’t having any of it.
“You won’t look at him? Really? You won’t look at the love of your life?” She says.
What. Louis looks down to share a confused look with Harry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Anne-Marie says.
“She was in love with you Hazza.” Gemma says. “Well, sort of. She thought you were pretty and she wanted you all to herself. She’s been telling her friends that you were her boyfriend.”
Anne-Marie opens her mouth. “I--”
“Nope.” Gemma shakes her head and Anne-Marie’s mouth snaps angrily shut.
Harry shakes his head. “But we weren’t--”
“No you weren’t.” Gemma interrupts. “And apparently that was the point. Our Anne-Marie isn’t so keen on things she can’t have.”
There’s a growl from Anne-Marie’s direction but no words seem forthcoming.
Louis shakes his head, looking around the small group before coming to a sudden realisation. “But if she did it, why are you here?” He nods at a scowling Simon.
“Oh that’s the best part!” Gemma claps her hands together. “Simon’s in love with this one.” She points her thumb towards Anne-Marie.
Simon glares. “No. I just--”
“Nope!” Gemma bellows, getting a little over excited.
“Er, right. Ok?” Louis and Harry share a confused glance.
“In fact, he’s so in love with her, that he hasn’t been checking how much rent she’s been taking.”
“No--”
“Shh!” Gemma snaps, stopping Simon’s protests.
Simon scowls harder. “Fine. Whatever. So if we could just get all this sorted out I can get back what I’m owed and your useless brother can get back to his usual troublesome size.”
“Apparently money trumps love.” Gemma shrugs, ignoring Simon’s laser glare.
Louis stares from Simon to Gemma. “The extra rent he was paying.”
Gemma nods. “Simon agreed to protect us from the magic and get Harry back to full size.”
“In return for--?” Louis prompts.
“If I brought her here, and gave him all of the information I’d found on her when I was looking for something to help Harry.”
Simon opens his mouth, and shuts it again at Gemma’s look. Louis isn’t sure if he should be terrified or impressed.
“How did you get her here?” Louis says.
“I told her I had evidence that she’d been stealing from her tenants and I’d go to the police if she didn’t come with me. I also told her that you had copies and you’d go to the police if I didn’t come back.” Gemma grins smugly.
Anne-Marie is still staring at a fixed point on the wall, seemingly ignoring the conversation.
Louis frowns, turning everything over in his head. Simon had nothing to do with the shrinking then, that was all Anne-Marie. “So what, she just showed up one day and shrunk Harry?” He says finally.
“I think… Simon came here.” Harry says slowly. “I remember. There was an argument?”
Simon frowns.
“The day he disappeared.” Louis prompts.
“Oh. That.” Simon looks sheepish. “I came downstairs and she was in your flat.”
Simon’s not actually looked at Anne-Marie yet, Louis realises. They met at rune class. He still doesn’t think he can get his head around it.
“If she was in the flat then where was Harry?” Gemma asks.
Simon shrugs. “Kitchen? She was just leaving and her hair was a mess. It didn’t look good.”
“So you shouted at her?” Gemma says doubtfully.
“You thought they were together.” Louis jumps in, piecing it all together.
Simon nods.
“And you got into an argument about it?” He asks.
Simon nods again.
“And then what?” Gemma prompts.
“She shrunk me.” Harry says suddenly. “I was-- Simon said--”
“I told her your brother was gay.” Simon snaps, staring once more at Gemma, “and that it would never work out, and I left.”
“But you came back.” Harry’s looking at Anne-Marie again, and Louis can almost see the memories building back up. “You came back and asked me if I liked women and I said no, and you asked me if I liked you.” Harry blushes then. “You’d came for the flat inspection really early and I hadn’t slept very well and I was in a bad mood. You asked me if I liked you and I said no.”
Anne-Marie is still staring at the wall.
“And then you shrunk him.” Gemma finishes.
They stand in silence for a while until Simon seemingly has enough.
“Right. Well if all the melodrama is over now--” He rubs his hands together and finally turns to glare at Anne-Marie. “You’re going to return Harry to his normal size or I will tell the police that you stole from me, and then we are going to the bank and you are going to pay me back or, again, I will tell the police that you stole from me.”
Anne-Marie huffs, still staring at the wall but then she mutters something under her breath and flicks her wrist and Louis is suddenly nose to chest with something large, male, and wearing a truly garish Hawaiian shirt.
“Thank you.” Simon snaps, and then Simon is dragging Anne-Marie out of the flat and the front door falls shut with a crash.
--
“Lou?”
The voice is exactly the same. Exactly.
Louis opens his mouth. Nothing happens. He leaves it open just in case.
“Harry!”
There’s a flurry of movement, and Louis finds himself forced back as a frantic blur that slowly coalesces into Gemma wraps her arms around her brother.
“You’re back.” She whispers.
“I never left Gems.” The large man’s voice rumbles.
“What do you remember?”
“I remember you. I remember Lou.”
He smiles fondly, and Louis suddenly wishes the man was five inches tall again because he doesn’t know how he is supposed to deal with a full-sized Harry and his full-sized smile.
“I remember mum.” Harry’s forehead crinkles into a frown. “God, she must be so worried.”
He’s got green eyes. Louis can see them now. He’s got dimples.
“Harry, we need to go see her.”
“I know Gems, but--”
“No. Harry we need to go. Harry, the police told her you were dead.” Her voice cracks.
Louis doesn’t understand why she’s falling apart now of all times. She’s dealt with learning magic was real, finding out her brother was alive, and every second of panic when they didn’t know if they would ever get him back to normal, and now that he’s finally back she’s crumbling.
Louis opens and shuts his mouth again but he still can’t seem to make a sound. I’m not exactly doing much better.
“Ok Gems.” Harry turns his huge eyes to Louis. “I have to go Lou.”
Louis nods numbly.
“Just to see my family.” Harry disentangles himself from his sister and moves towards Louis. “It isn’t fair to let them think I’m dead.”
“Ok Haz.” Louis finally manages.
“I’ll be back though.”
“I know.”
“There’s a lot we need to talk about.”
“Ok.” Louis has no words. Louis has nothing.
Harry sweeps forwards, and Louis finds his nose pressed firmly into a warm collarbone, and Harry’s body is solid, and firm, and something he can finally wrap his arms around without being afraid of hurting him. He clings on as hard as he can.
“You’re taller than me.” Louis manages.
“I guess so.” Harry huffs out a faint laugh, and Louis would feel stupid about how desperate he feels, only Harry’s holding on just as tightly.
“Your shirt is really rough.” He whispers, refusing to let go. It’s ok though, because Harry’s not moving either.
“I don’t think Ken doll clothes are very good on the skin.” Harry admits, and Louis can hear emotion shaking his voice but it’s too much for him to process. Relief? Joy? Louis can’t begin to guess how Harry’s feeling. Overwhelmed. “How can I thank you, Lou?” Harry whispers finally.
Louis tries not to think about what’s going to happen next. Of how much that sounds like goodbye.
“Just come back, ok?”
Harry nods, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder.
“Harry?” Gemma whispers from behind them.
“Ok Gems, ok.”
Something warm presses to Louis’ neck and Louis only has a brief second to register soft lips before Harry pulls away, and then Gemma is tugging her brother towards the door and Louis can’t seem to move his feet.
“I have to go Lou.”
Louis’ neck is tingling.
“I’ll come back.”
His chest feels like there’s something crushing it.
“Bye Lou.”
The door shuts.
--
The day after Harry leaves, Louis doesn't look out for him. His family had spent months thinking he was dead, they deserved their time with him.
The day after that is a Sunday, and Louis thinks maybe, but he doesn’t get his hopes up. A year is a long time to miss someone.
And then it’s Monday, and Harry doesn’t come, and Tuesday, and Harry doesn’t come, and Wednesday, and Thursday, and Louis is jumping up every time the doorbell rings.
A week goes past. And another. And another.
And then it’s Friday night, and the doorbell rings.
--
Louis stares.
The man in front of him is tall. Well, taller than Louis anyway. He’s got short brown hair that must have been cut in the last few weeks, and twinkling green eyes and broad shoulders. He’s wearing an extremely soft-looking knitted jumper and disturbingly tight jeans, and when he smiles there’s a dimple.
Louis stares.
And stares.
He should say something. He has important things to say.
“Hazza, I haven’t showered in three days.” Is what comes out of Louis’ mouth.
A smile starts at the corner of Harry’s mouth, and then it creeps out and out, until it’s all Louis can see. His teeth are white and his grin is huge. “We can fix that.” Harry says, taking a step closer.
“The flat is filthy.” Louis barrels on.
“We can fix that.”
There’s the faint brush of a finger under his chin, and then warm, soft hands are tilting his head up.
“I’m not sure I’m that good at living alone Haz.” Louis whispers, as human-sized lips hover over his.
“We can fix that.” Harry says.
--
There’s the sound of a key in the lock and then Harry’s sweeping in and poking around the kitchen, pulling carrots out of the fridge and slicing one up for Dusty.
“Remind me why you took over Simon’s flat when you’re always here?” Louis asks over his shoulder.
He’s chopping up a courgette for some sort of vegetable linguine that Harry had wanted him to attempt, but he stills the knife as strong arms wrap around his middle and a warm, dry kiss is pressed into his collarbone.
“Missed you too Lou.”
Louis puts the knife down and spins around, letting Harry press his back to the counter. There’s a grin on Harry’s face that softens to a soppy-sort-of-fond when Louis tugs at his collar, bringing his mouth into range.
Louis likes this mouth. Louis has gotten a lot of miles out of this mouth the past six months, and even though full-sized Harry is somewhat harder to maneuver (and Louis secretly misses being able to pick him up and put him in his pocket), he isn’t about to wish him small again.
Harry dodges his lips, pressing more kisses into Louis’ neck until Louis’ breath starts to catch his hips start to move, and then pulls away with a smug smirk.
“Remind me why I gave you a key again?” Louis says, frustrated.
Harry laughs, and Louis takes advantage of his distraction to tug him into a bruising kiss.
“You are in trouble Mr Styles.” Louis says.
“Can’t wait.”
Louis stares into green eyes and a cheeky smirk and feels his chest tighten. He’d had plans for romance, for a big grand gesture, but-- He presses another kiss to Harry’s bottom lip, soft this time. He’s been waiting for the right time, for the perfect moment, but this is Harry, and he suddenly finds that maybe the right time is always, and the perfect moment is now ; with just the two of them, in their home, just as they are. He steels his nerves and takes a deep breath. “Seriously Haz. You’re here all the time, you have a key. You should just live here properly. Move in with me?”
His heart starts to thump as Harry stills.
“What?” Harry pulls back, his eyes wide and clear and green and Louis is so, so glad that he gets to see this Harry , gets to see every nuance in his face, every emotion. A slow grin creeps across his mouth.
“Well I would have asked over dinner, but someone came early.”
Harry’s grin spreads and spreads until Louis feels like he can’t look at it for fear of burning up. “Lou. Lou!” Harry surges forwards, kissing Louis’ lips, his nose, his cheeks.
“That’s a yes then?” Louis laughs, relief spreading through his fingertips even though he’d known Harry would say yes.
“Yes.” Harry’s frantic kisses slow down, turning fluttery, gentle. “Always yes.”
Louis lets Harry nuzzle into his neck for a few minutes, enjoying the warm, solid body pressed against him, the familiarity, before spinning back around to his chopping, giving them both a moment to settle.
Harry pulls back a fraction to let him go and then plasters himself up against Louis’ back. “So what are we having?” Harry asks.
“I thought maybe rabbit?” Louis says.
“No!” Harry slaps a hand over Louis’ smiling mouth. “Shame on you Lou! Don’t joke about that with Dusty right there.”
Louis peels the hand away and presses a soft kiss to Harry’s palm. “Well maybe it’ll teach you to take your damn rabbit back.”
“He’s not mine.” Warm lips brush Louis’ jaw. “And anyway, he likes it here.” Harry whispers into his ear, sending a shiver down Louis’ back. “We both like it here, and I needed an excuse to keep coming back.” He presses another kiss into Louis’ shoulder. “Besides, I live here now.”
A surge of warmth washes through Louis’ chest. “Yes you do.” He says through a smile, his mind spinning back to that first awkward day; with Harry big, the strange sort of physical closeness they’d built up that didn’t actually work anymore - Harry couldn’t exactly hug Louis’ thumb now. Louis had been panicked and terrified that he was going to lose Harry when it came time for him to go home, and Harry must have been feeling the same, because he’d taken a glance over at the rabbit on his way out and stilled. ‘ I’ll be over tomorrow to feed him then?’ He’d said, and Louis had nearly melted in relief.
There’s cold at his back as Harry finally pulls away, and when Louis turns curiously around Harry’s staring thoughtfully at the rabbit in his cage.
“You know, I always wondered why Anne-Marie kept Dusty.” Harry says, as louis walks up to stand beside him.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, he was never actually hers.”
Louis frowns. “He wasn’t?”
Harry shakes his head. “No, he was here when I moved in, apparently the previous owner left him and she agreed to take him in.”
“His owner didn’t want him?” Louis is starting to feel bad for this rabbit.
Harry shrugs. “I never met him. He moved overseas.”
“Maybe he just didn’t want a bunny that escaped every five minutes.”
Harry laughs and turns to wrap his arms around Louis’ waist, and Louis obliges him by hooking his arms over Harry’s shoulders. He presses a gentle kiss to the underside of Harry’s jaw, and then another, just to be safe.
Harry sighs happily. “But that was me Lou, remember?”
Louis snorts. As if he could forget. “He still does it now you know. I think he must have watched how you did it or something.”
Harry laughs, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis turns his head to bury his nose in Harry’s soft hair. They stand like that, breathing each other in, and Louis doesn't understand what he did to deserve this gorgeous, ridiculous individual, but he’s going to hang on to him for every single second that he can.
He can feel harry’s smile curved against his neck when Harry suddenly freezes.
“Lou.”
“Everything ok love?”
Louis pulls back a bit, frowning at Harry’s wide, worried eyes.
“Lou, Dusty keeps getting out of his cage.”
“Mhmm.” Louis nods in agreement.
“He’s really smart.”
Louis nods.
“He was really good at following directions.” Harry says.
“He’s a smart rabbit.” Louis says, slow realisation creeping up in him a cold wave.
“A really smart rabbit.” Harry whispers.
They both stare at the rabbit in horror.
**
As it turns out, ‘Liam’ is very, very pleased when he’s finally not a rabbit anymore.