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There’s nothing that could’ve possibly prepared Harry for what he’d find when he finally managed to open the heavy door.
To be fair, this whole thing wasn’t his idea, and on his way through the forest and sneaking his way through the tower, he spends his time cursing all his decisions and missteps that lead him to this moment.
(His mother had warned him not to mess with the boys from the neighbouring kingdom, she said they just wanted to take advantage of him, but he didn’t listen…)
Of course, he’s heard about the treasure that the king keeps hidden somewhere in the middle of the kingdom’s woods, but he never had a particular personal interest in getting to it. He was never that into politics and the weapons, jewels, magic sticks, or whatever it was that kept their king seemingly undefeatable meant very little to him.
But, okay. It’s okay. He’s almost there, snuck past the guards and all the way up to the hidden door at the end of the hidden corridor in the tower, and he has a plan — a vague one, but a plan nonetheless. He just needs to open the door, shove whatever he finds in his bag, and run for his life.
It’s a good plan. Unfortunately, once the door creaks open, the room is empty.
There are no weapons, no jewels, no gold. Only…
Well. He lied. The room isn’t empty.
On the floor, by the wall, in a sad little pile sits a man. His legs are spread wide in front of him, his arms chained to the wall, and his hands held awkwardly in front of his body are covered in scars. His head’s hung low, but Harry can see him glaring at him through his eyelashes.
“Um–” Harry lets out, caught off guard as the man speaks up.
“What are you here for now? Wanna tie me up some more? Another favour? Drain my blood?” His voice startles Harry a little bit, quiet, snarky and… kind of nice, honestly. He stays in place, keeps staring. The man lifts his head, looks Harry up and down slowly. Raises his eyebrow.
“You look a little dirty,” he says, and Harry takes a careful step inside.
“I’m…” he pauses to clear his throat. “No, I’m here to…”
The man blinks at him. “Yes?” he says, sounding sort of bored, sort of curious.
“Sorry,” Harry says sheepishly, like the worst thief in the history of thievery. “I’m just, well… you’re a… you’re a person?” The end of the sentence lifts up into a question. Something flickers in the man's eyes.
“I am,” the man says slowly, distrustfully. “So are you.”
Harry nods thoughtfully, as if contemplating his own personhood. “It’s just that. I sort of came here to steal…um, you.”
The man’s eyebrows jump up and now he looks vaguely amused. “I beg your pardon?”
“Sorry! Sorry,” Harry takes a few more steps towards him. “Not, like, you, like, I didn’t expect it to be you, you know, I just thought… you might be like a really cool tiara or like, I don’t know, a magical armour or some sort of, um, thing…”
“Right, well…” the man shrugs, chains clanking a bit with the movement. “Sorry?”
“Are you, um, okay?” Harry asks carefully, reaching hesitantly for one scarred hand. The man watching his every move.
“Peachy,” he scoffs, looking directly into Harry’s eyes for the first time. Up close, if you imagined him without the little cuts and the mud and the rough state of him, he looks quite beautiful. Harry has to make a decision, fast.
It’s not a difficult one to make.
“Let me help you,” he says, grabbing his hand, lifting the thick metal cuff closer to his face and examining the lock on it. “I’m going to get you out of here.”
“You really are serious about stealing me, huh, thief boy?” The man sounds openly amused now, but he lets Harry do his thing. If there’s anything Harry is good at, it’s a stubborn lock.
“Of course not,” Harry scoffs. “My job was to get the king’s secret weapon to, um, some people. Not to kidnap anyone.”
“I am the king’s secret weapon.”
Harry breathes out slowly. “What’s your name?”
A little smile in response. “Louis. And I’m being serious. Are you sure you wanna unlock these?”
“You’re a person,” Harry says stubbornly, dropping one of Louis’ hands and starting fumbling with the other lock. Louis lifts his arm up like he hasn’t done it in ages.
“I could hurt you,” Louis points out, chuckling when Harry stays quiet. “What’s your name?”
Harry unlocks the other chain, sitting back on his heels. “Harry. Can you stand up?”
“Are you seriously doing this?” Louis asks, his eyes narrowing, “What will I owe you?”
“Louis,” Harry says, exasperated. “A person should not be chained up in a tower somewhere. I’m getting you out of here, and then you’ll be free to go.”
Harry goes to stand up, take a step back. His foot gets caught on one of the chains, now haphazardly laid on the floor. He yelps, but before he can fall down, Louis’s on his feet, one arm holding him around the waist, his other hand over Harry’s mouth.
“You’re the worst thief ever, oh god,” Louis whispers, but his eyes are soft. Soft and blue. Oh lord.
There’s commotion outside in the hallway and Harry’s eyes widen. The guards. He reaches for his dagger, strapped clumsily to his thigh, but Louis is staring dangerously at the door, he’s pushing Harry behind him.
“Louis,” Harry whispers but Louis shushes him. The guards come running in.
It feels like time slows down. The guards are yelling, there’s so many of them and they have weapons, oh no, the weapons. Harry fights internally between cowering in the corner and fidgeting with the dagger, pulling Louis towards him, Louis, who he’d wanted to save and has instead put in more danger…
Louis’ eyes glow golden when he glances back at Harry. The guards keep yelling, but it’s not a battle cry anymore, it’s screams and pleas and horror and pain. Harry watches with his mouth wide open as beams of light seem to be flowing out of Louis’ fingertips, dripping onto the floor like lava, like molten gold and crawling towards the guards, sneaking up their legs and burning off their clothes.
There’s yelling and there’s sun in his eyes and then there’s quiet. There are warm hands touching his face gently.
“Harry,” Louis says quietly, even though in the sudden silence left in the room it sounds loud. Harry doesn’t remember closing his eyes. “Harry, we have to go.”
Louis’ hands are trembling and they look more scarred than they were before. Harry takes one of them and runs a careful finger across Louis’ palm.
“Did I scare you?” Louis whispers, and he sounds shockingly insecure for being the most powerful person Harry’s ever met in his entire life.
“You were–” Harry swallows– “so beautiful.”
He startles a quiet laugh out of Louis. “What?”
“It was like you brought the sun into the room.”
“Harry…” he wants to say something, then seems to change his mind. “Let’s go.”
They step over the guards in the doorway, and make their way down without saying a word. Louis’s walking fast and cradling his palms, Harry behind him, watching.
“Where are you going to go?” Harry asks once they’re outside, once they walk a little bit further into the forest and the tower is out of sight.
“I think I’m just going to…” Louis says, looking at a squirrel running up a tree like it’s the best thing, like he hasn’t seen it in ages, which he probably hasn’t. “Wander around.”
Harry smiles.
“What about you? Going back home?” Louis turns to look at him.
Harry thinks about his mom and his sister, worried sick. He thinks about the boys from across the border, waiting for him to bring them the treasure, or more likely waiting for him to fail so they can…
“No,” he shakes his head. “I guess I’m going to wander around for a bit too.”
Louis smiles at him and the sun seems to shine a little brighter.