Amaryllis

6

"You drugged me."

"I did no such thing."

"You slipped something in the tea you had me drink. Don't lie to me, Liam."

Louis snorts from where he's perched on the window seat. Zayn chuckles, too, and Liam sends them both glares that could potentially wither flowers.

They've all ended up in the kitchen again, somehow - Harry had been positively ravenous after sleeping for three hours. He is most definitely fucking up his sleep pattern, but all he cares about is the ham sandwich currently dropping crumbs into his lap.

"It was plain tea, Harry."

"It does say Calming on the box," Louis quips, evidently amused. Harry resists the urge to throw a napkin at him, simply because it's Louis, and Harry can't for the life of him figure him out. And because napkins don't generally fly far when thrown.

"And he did call me Zaynie," Zayn reminds everyone helpfully, for the fifth time in the last fifteen minutes. Harry hates him a lot.

"Honestly, Harry," Liam starts again, bringing the puppy eyes out full-force. "It's just herbs. You may have gotten a bit high off of them, it could be a werewolf thing."

"Or you could have drugged me."

"You're not letting this go, are you."

"No?"

Louis sighs. "I put a drop of lavender in it, for the love of God. It was me."

Harry frowns. "Lavender?"

"Helps you sleep," Louis says amicably, hopping down to refill his mug with tea. "It actually is a werewolf thing."

Just as Harry is about to respond with something very rude, his shoulder cramps so tightly he forgets to breathe. Automatically, he looks outside.

The sky is glowing a faint orange. Harry knows the moon is supposed to be up just before five, but he'd been hoping that it would only have effect on them after it turns visible.

"Oh," Liam breathes, "already?"

"My joints are feeling a bit creaky," Zayn assesses, turning his arm every which way. Another muscle twitches violently in Harry's leg.

"Do you guys have somewhere I could go?" he asks. He could probably hold on for a few more hours and ignore the occasional pain, but there’s no harm in locking himself up early.

"You don't have to, Harry," Liam turns to him. "Between the three of us, we can keep you out of trouble."

"No. I want to—do you have a place or not?"

"Sure," Zayn lays a calming hand on his shoulder. "We have a basement, you'll be fine there, but it's a lot more painful if you're contained like that. You sure you don't want—"


"I'm sure," Harry says. "Can you show me where to go?"

Wordlessly, Zayn and Liam stand up, leading him out of the kitchen. They open one of the doors Harry hasn't been through, right at the end of the hall. Cold air rises towards them as they climb down a set of damp, slippery stone steps, making the hair on the back of Harry's neck stand up. The walls are made of the same ice-cold stone, providing no leverage where he's desperately trying to catch on and not break his neck falling down into the darkness.

Once the floor evens out, Harry focuses on cranking up his eyesight, everything around him bathed in shadow. He can see a single door on the other end of the small, square room, and a rickety table propped up against the wall. Everything else is bare stone.

"Wow."

Zayn laughs. "Yeah, it's not exactly the Hilton. Through here, come on."

Behind the door is one more room, slightly bigger. It makes Harry feel uneasy with how much it resembles a cell—a small barred window near the ceiling and a pile of rusty chains in one corner. The walls emanate cold, and Harry shakes. There is a dull, throbbing pain in his right calf, reminding him that soon, it will be time.

"Harry. Are you sure about this?" Liam is looking around, gaze travelling over the neatly-laid stones in something like disapproval.

Harry realises, for once since this whole circus has started, that he absolutely, definitely is sure. This is the one thing that he can do to prove himself to himself.

"Yes. Just. Tell me if there's something special I need to do."

He barely notices Zayn's arm snaking around his shoulders. He feels the warmth emanating off the other werewolf, so intense it warms Harry down to his bones, calms his racing heart. "There's chains, but you really, really don't need those. You should leave your clothes outside, though."

Harry nods. "Are you gonna lock me in?"

"We don't—"

"Does the door have a lock?"

Liam's shoulders slump; his eyebrows furrow. "Yes."

"Good. Please lock it, yeah?"

Liam and Zayn watch Harry mutely as he goes about stripping out of his clothes. He's slow at it, the movements of his muscles reluctant. He's lost his modesty ages ago, really, he doesn't care about them seeing him naked; it's the desire to stay warm that makes him want to hold on to his baggy trackies and thick jumper.

He gets his necklaces off, too, folding them carefully into a pocket so they don't get lost. He dumps it all on the table in the first room, not bothering with folding anything. Liam and Zayn avert their gazes politely when he walks back in. It makes Harry smile a little.

As soon as he sits down in the corner opposite the chains – just in case – he feels his skin stick to the stone, spikes of icy cold latching onto his skin. He feels it in his joints and muscles, too, imagines himself covered in ice crystals from head to toe. His teeth start chattering within seconds, quivering arms wrapping around bony knees to preserve some warmth.

"I don't want to leave you like this," Liam says, miserably. Harry tries to grin at him, but it comes out a grimace.

"I'll be f-fine."

"Whatever you say."

He steps out of the room then and comes back with a tattered piece of cloth. Once upon a time, it may have been a blanket. Despite Harry's protests, Liam wraps it around his shoulders, tucks it against the wall behind Harry's back and into the crooks of his arms. "I promise you can totally tear this apart."

Harry nods, closing his eyes. He has a headache coming on, slowly but surely. Bizarrely, he remembers something looking into Liam's solemn eyes.

"I d-didn't bring you b-books back. 'M s-sorry," he says, teeth chattering.

"No worries, " Zayn answers him, "You can bring them back whenever."

It's another invitation, another welcome extended to him, and Harry wants to cry a little with how grateful he is. He doesn't have the time or the ability to voice any of his thanks right now, though.

Liam and Zayn leave him, with pats on the shoulder and sincere whispers of "good luck" and a "see you in the morning". Harry focuses on listening to them fumble behind the closed door and doesn't settle until he hears the heavy click of the lock.

Alright, then.