Let Your Good Heart Lead You Home (Zarry AU)

Part 11

Never again, Harry tells himself, will I go out for drinks with Niall Horan. On a Monday. He's so drunk that he can't even remember what they were celebrating. It doesn't help that he's a lightweight. What was he doing again? Right, home. He's standing in front of his apartment door with a puzzled expression, feeling like he should remember something. Of course he knows he has to open the door, but he's also convinced he has to keep looking at it because then he'll remember something.

''I'm staring at a door,'' Harry mumbles to himself. ''DooOOooor. Deer, daar, diir.'' He rests his forehead against it, and almost collapses when he forgets to hold himself up. With a groan, he fumbles for his keys and attempts to open it. ''I remember now,'' he hisses. ''I hate doors.'' It takes some effort, but he manages to stumble into his apartment and not knock anything over.

Harry shucks off his shoes and lets his hands glide along the walls as he makes his way to his bedroom, contemplating if he should take his T-shirt or jeans off first, since there's no guarantee he'll get them both and he has to make the decision which one would be worse to sleep in. Jeans, definitely jeans.

Without much grace, he faceplants on his bed and rolls over so he can start working on taking off his pants. They're too tight and it was hot in the bar, so they're sticking to his legs. Everything feels sticky, even his eyelids. He can't keep them open. Harry tries to weakly kick off his jeans, but before he knows if he did it, he's fast asleep.

The first thing he notices when he opens his eyes is that he feels better than he should; no pounding head or dry mouth or sore limbs from knocking into objects and people. Another thing he notices is that it's still dark. And he can hear the sea. He sits up, confusedly taking in his surroundings and concluding that he is in fact, still in his bedroom. Nothing else seems out of place, and for a moment he considers just going back to sleep, until his curiosity gets the better of him.

Harry gets out of bed because he wants to check outside; maybe he'll see something from the balcony. As he gets closer to his balcony doors, there appears to be a faint scent of salt in the air, just a hint at what might be behind the doors. When he does open them, he's utterly perplexed.

In front of him is a large ocean and nothing else, with waves calmly lapping at the bottom of his balcony. The sky is a bright blue, void of clouds. When he looks behind him, his room is still dark. There's really nothing out here, so he decides to go back into his room and go back to sleep. It strikes him as odd that his apartment seems to be in the middle of the ocean, but he isn't bothered by it.

Just as he's about the lie back and burrow his face in his pillow, there's yelling. Muffled by walls, but still clearly yelling. The bad kind, the one that means fights and tears and tension at the dinner table. Harry wants to go back to sleep and ignore it, but he has to know what's going on. If he should be afraid.

Quietly but swiftly he opens his bedroom door, stopping in his tracks when he finds himself in his old house. There's the unmistakable staircase with the stains at the top left by the many spilled drinks from running up too fast, and the dim orange light in the hall downstairs. A glance to his right reveals that his sister's bedroom door is still closed. Maybe she's still asleep.

It's easy to find his way down; he's familiar with the steps, the feel of the carpet against his bare feet and the way he bounces off the last one like he's a kid again. The yelling is louder, coming to a climax that only bodes ill. There's a pit in Harry's stomach and a pressing feeling against his heart that only intensifies when he comes closer to the source of the fight - the kitchen. The lights are still on everywhere so he can see clearly; nothing out of place, except one thing. The alcohol cabinet is open, the one he likes to look at because the bottles behind the glass somehow make him feel like he's in Potion's class at Hogwarts. His mom says they're bad bottles; they make you sick.