You Take Me Over, You're the Magic in My Veins

chapter 9

The Queen returns on a Saturday, while Harry and Louis are still abed and rain falls in heavy sheets outside Harry's window, muffling the sounds of the party's return and the knock on his door before it swings wide. Harry sits upright in bed, heart pounding and clutching the blankets to his chest to try and conceal the fact that Louis is beside him, arm slung across his hips and face now buried in the spot where his head had been just moments before.

It's no use, though. Gemma is standing in the doorway, clothing damp and eyes wide as she stares at the outline of Louis' body beneath the blankets. "Harry," she giggles, pushing her wet hair out of her face and taking a few steps toward the bed, "is that..."

Harry chews on his lip for a moment, conflicted, but he can hear Louis snuffling into the pillow, can feel him tighten his grip on his waist and slide his toes against Harry's ankle, and his mouth curves up into a smile involuntarily. Even in sleep, Louis is pulling him closer, trying to maximize contact. Harry's heart twists in his chest and he drops the sheet, mindful to keep himself covered from the waist down. He's never kept anything from Gemma, and Louis is too important a piece of himself to start with.

"Oh dear," Gemma sighs. "I knew this would happen."

"We haven't - " Harry cuts himself off, cheeks flushing, and rests a hand over his belly. "Done everything. The risks are too great."

"Oh, Harry."

When Gemma doesn't continue, just blinks silently at him, Harry worries his bottom lip between his thumb and forefinger, happiness gone in an instant as the weight of the situation comes crashing back down. "I'm sorry," he whispers, dropping one hand to lace his fingers through Louis' where they are resting over his hip. "I know I shouldn't have -"

Gemma rolls her eyes and scoffs, "H, please, we both know I was never going to marry him. Even if I was interested, which I'm not, I would never do that to you."

"But the Queen -"

"Mum will be well pleased," Gemma barrels on, skipping over to his wash basin to wring out her hair and unbutton her sodden tunic. "We should write to her immediately so that she can make arrangements."

Harry's eyes go wide and his heart trips into his throat. It is not that simple, he knows it isn't, but just the possibility... Gemma sighs, ripping Harry out of his daydream about a royal wedding, about being able to sleep in Louis' bed freely, rule at his side, about the patter of little feet on stone as their children climb into bed to cuddle and whisper to them in the early hours of the morning.

When he looks up, Gemma is watching him with a tender expression on her face and her voice is soft when she says, "Talk to him. He can speak to the Queen. He wants this just as much as you do."

Gemma crosses the room and slips out the door without another word, and Harry flops back onto the mattress with a huff, careful not to land on top of Louis' head. Louis stirs, grumbling and yawning, so Harry turns to face him and watches him wake, studies the delicate pattern of veins beneath his eyelids, the way the corners of his mouth tighten, and his nose twitches as he registers the rose and jasmine scent of Harry's hair. When he finally drags his eyes open, they are hazy, the color of a stormy summer sky, and he smiles softly at Harry, murmurs a raspy, "G'morning, darling."

"Good morning to you," Harry grins, sneaking a hand up underneath the blankets to curl around Louis' side.

Louis yawns hugely and burrows back into the pillow before asking, "Were you talking to someone, or was I dreaming?"

Harry shakes his head, takes his time answering while he scoots closer and tucks his feet between Louis'.

"Gemma is back."