do you feel like a young god? // (Zarry AU)

ch 3; don't get cut on my edges.

The dark green silken sheets are messier than the boy's raven hair, who spends most of the stormy night tossing and turning in his bed. Sleep evades Zayn. He lets out a deep sigh as another bout of drizzling rain splatters against his bedroom window. He pulls the duvet upto his shoulders, tries to snuggle into a cozy spot but nothing helps.

"Lumos," he mumbles once he finds his wand, lifting his body up by his elbows and looming over the nightstand where his clock is kept. 12:24 am. His eyes fall on a moving photo frame kept at his bed side table. It's a picture of his parents with his sisters and him. They looked really happy that day. He watches as the picture strikes a pose and then the people in the photo erupt with laughter. Something about it never failed to make him feel warm inside.

He knows exactly why he's up. It's his bloody conscience which won't let him get some dumb sleep. Walking up to the seat created by his window pane, he lifts himself up to climb on it. A blanket covering him as he sits by his window, looking at the lightning and listening to the howling wind.

His forehead feels the cool of the glass when he rests it against the window. He briefly examines his wand. Ten inch long, made of hawthorn wood which had a unicorn hair core. Remembers the first time he used it. His dad wanted to teach him a simple spell, just to get him started but Zayn, he wanted to perform the spell which he had so many times seen his dad perform when he was little. He was so fascinated by it.

Extending out his palm on his lap, he waves the wand around it, muttering the spell. In a matter of seconds, winds start circling. As he moves his wand in circular motion, the storm or essentially, a tornado picks up. Dark, strong, windy. He doesn't know why he wanted to learn something like this for his first spell but he figured it reflected a part of him.

Growing up, he was taught to honor power above all. Power, strength and ambition to do things which ordinary people couldn't do. His grandfather being one of the strongest wizards there ever was in Dark Arts. His granddad wasn't necessarily evil, he just knew. He knew power and when to exert it and when to withdraw. Ended up working for the Ministry and taught Zayn a lot about the defense against Dark Arts.

That's the thing about Dark Arts, it is fueled by power. Zayn was also taught that pure bloods could exude the most power because they're magic through and through. Their blood doesn't know anything else. It's what attracted him to pursue it in the first place. It's the type of magic that is mainly used to cause harm but it's not evil. It wasn't his intent to be evil to Harry. Speaking of which, how does a mudbl- muggle born go around casting shield charms with such ease? It took Zayn forever to do those. He shakes his head, why is he even thinking about him.

"You sure whip up storms faster than you give hand jobs," Zayn rolls his eyes at the voice, he fists his palm and the storm falls apart when he opens it.

"Why are you still up, you twat?" he replies, seeing Louis grin at his joke and take a seat next to him on the window pane.

Louis shrugs, "Could ask the same to you," he kicks Zayn's foot with his own, "heard you got into a bit of a scuffle."

Zayn rubs his hand over his face, putting the wand away, "I wouldn't call it a scuffle, per se."

"Just tell me what happened."

"Uh," drawls Zayn, "As it turns out, I might've, you know- I might've cast some spells which might've led to some minor injuries."

Louis chuckles in disbelief, "We both know you don't cast spells for minor injuries, mate."

Zayn gives him a helpless look, looking at his feet as he spoke next, "I might've used a bit of," he furrows his brows, "force? But that's not the worst part of it."