larry- one shots

middle ground

okay, this is it. the final battle. young and beautiful or unbelievers? choose one.

Harry is carrying a heavy box down the halls when he's suddenly hit by a figure, sending both him and over a hundred sheets of music flying. Just his luck that he was so close to his destination as well, literally on the doorstep of his uncle's office.

He snaps out of the momentary daze from having his arse land on solid tiles and looks up to see the body that his bumped into. It's a slight one, drowning in a huge, black hoodie then squeezed into a dark pair of skinny jeans. When Harry's eyes reach the other boy's blue pair, he sees an apologetic look, almost like he's about to say sorry and try to help, before it disappears when a group of guys wander over.

"Oi, Tommo, you done talking to that prick? I swear he's got you in there every day, man," one of them says. The other boys snicker.

"Uh, yeah, I'm done," says the boy who Harry was analysing seconds ago, 'Tommo' apparently.

A quiet beat follows when everyone in that hallway registers the out of place mess surrounding them. Harry realises it's weird to just sit there so he quickly starts to gather up his paper, hoping that the others will leave, and he can get on with his afternoon.

"We're going to the skate park, come on."

Thankfully, they do just leave as expected so Harry continues picking up his mess. For some reason, he does look up briefly and surprisingly, he meets those blue eyes for a second time that day. The boy looked back.

But surely enough, he speedily looks away again. Harry decides to brush it off and hasten his gathering pace. It takes another minute or so but once he's done, he stands upright to knock on the door in front of him.

"Come in."

Harry turns the knob and walks into the awaiting room. It's a fairly plain office space and accommodates his uncle on a seat behind the large wooden desk.

"Hi, Uncle Paul. Just came in to get the keys for the music room," Harry greets him, putting the box down on the carpeted floor. "You alright?"

"Yeah, yeah, fine. But talking to that bloody boy put me in a right mood. I swear, he needs to buck up his ideas," Paul replies, muttering his complaints agitatedly.

"Who? That boy that just left here?" Harry asks.

"God, yes. I hope you didn't have to talk to him. He's a pain to me and this school. Dealing with him makes me regret becoming the principle of a sixth form college," Paul says.

"Why, what's he done?"

"What hasn't he bloody done? Louis Tomlinson is a no-good chav who'll never amount to anything," Paul grits out.

"Bit harsh if he's just a kid." Harry grimaces.

"He's eighteen. Which is good because that means we'll be shot of him soon with any luck. Unless he fails his exams, but I doubt he'll have the nerve to come back." Paul shakes his head before blinking his eyes up to look at Harry properly. "Sorry, enough about that. Let's get you your key so that you can start teaching, eh?"

Paul smiles at him then proceeds to rummage through his desk drawers.

"Yeah, that'll be good, thanks. My first student's tomorrow but I thought I'd get in there now since I haven't seen the room for a few weeks."

"No problem," Paul mumbles, still looking around for the key. He ceases frowning when he spots it. "Aha, here it is. Enjoy, Harry. Make sure you leave it nice and tidy for tomorrow, but you know all that."