The Serpent and the Lion [L.S]

Chapter 7

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"Expecto Patronum!"

Harry musters all the energy he can summon into the words as he thrusts his arm out, wand pointed towards the afternoon sky. His chest heaves with the motion, and the muscles in his arm ache as he attempts the spell for what feels like the hundredth time.

A few silent, empty moments pass, and the beginnings of Harry's Patronus start to form—shapeless threads of arctic blue air sputtering together before fizzling out completely.

The failed result isn't a surprise. Harry doesn't say anything, simply looking over his shoulder to where Louis is sat on a fallen tree trunk, supervising. Harry drops his arms and tilts his head to the side, as if to say, I told you so.

"Try again." Louis coaches. He cups his hands around his mouth and breathes a warm puff of air into them, a poor attempt at keeping his fingers from freezing off. The middle of October came far sooner than Louis anticipated, bringing the bite of a fierce and relentless winter wind along with it. "You'll get it."

Truthfully, Louis was hoping Harry would grasp the concept of the spell sooner rather than later. His toes were starting to feel numb. They had come out to the forest behind Hagrid's well over an hour ago, when Harry insisted that Louis teach him the concept of Patronus communication.

"I'm too far away," Harry all but whines, a lame excuse if Louis has ever heard one. "Maybe I should come closer?"

"It has nothing to do with how far away you are. C'mon, give it another go. Remember, happy thoughts."

Harry huffs out a deep breath, and pushes his sleeves up past his forearm. He'd discarded his jumper, working up a sweat and tying it around his waist sometime around the tenth time he attempted the spell.

He glances wearily back at Louis, who gives him another patient smile and a thumbs up.

Harry holds his wand out again. He glares at it, all eleven inches of deep brown chestnut wood, almost like an extension of his own arm — his grip goes tighter, and he closes his eyes, trying to bridge the gap between his mind and the magic. Pushing his heel into the dirt, he imagines rooting himself there, like a tree; he steadies his wand.

After another centering breath, Harry opens his eyes, and flings his arm out once more.

"Expecto Patronum!"

This time, the blueish sparks shoot immediately from the end of his wand, forming together to make a floppy-eared bloodhound.

Louis jumps to his feet in an instant, his face split by a wide grin.

"Bloody hell, Styles, you've done it!"

"Yes!" Harry pumps his fist as he cheers, though the celebration is premature; the dog begins to fall apart and vanish just as quickly as it appeared. "No, no, no — come on!"

Louis looks on affectionately as Harry's shoulder's slump over, the excitement leaving his face. Louis takes his place again, sat on the tree trunk.

"Don't get too down, Styles, that was progress. You're doing well."

"This is hopeless," Harry sighs. "We've been at this for an hour. It isn't going to work."

"Not with that attitude, it won't." Louis reminds gently. "It's like with any spell. It's all about your intent. If you've already convinced yourself you can't do it, the magic won't hold up its end of the bargain."

"Alright, Professor Tomlinson, I'll be sure to keep that in mind for next time." Harry says sardonically, catching the way Louis's eyes light up at the joke. Harry smirks, his eyebrows raising. "Oh, did you like that?"