purplebitch

[theasstour]

Stave Two: The First of the Three Spirits.

STORY PAGE Word count: 8k

WARNING!: THIS PIECE OF WRITING CONTAINS MENTIONS OF CHARACTER DEATHS AND MENTIONS OF VERBAL ABUSE. READER DISCREATION IS ADVISED.

When Harry awoke in his chair, it was so dark, that looking out across the room, he could scarcely distinguish the transparent window from the opaque walls of his chamber. His dinner was cold beside him, the steam that had risen from his microwaveable food 40 minutes ago gone with the time Harry had spent asleep. The fire in the fireplace had nearly gone out, so Harry got up and put another log on, noticing how a faint breath vapour left his slightly parted mouth, and he instantly felt the coldness of his bedroom ice its way into his fingers. He crossed his arms over his chest, focusing on the flame before him, willing it to rise and warm him and his room up. In the distance, through his closed window, he could hear the peaceful song of church bells, calling upon Christmas Eve through a harmonious lullaby that settled over snowy London like a warm duvet.

Harry didn’t think much of the church bells, being used to them ringing every now and then, sometimes longer than he’d like them to, but he wouldn’t rip his hair out. But, looking up at the clock above his fireplace, Harry thought for a second that he might. Thee words of Niall’s ghost rang in his ears, making him paralysed with fear, and he suddenly remembered where he was and what had happened prior that night.

“If this scares you, you’re going to piss yourself when the three spirits of Christmas arrive in an hour.”

That had been 16:00. And as the last strike of five o’clock rang through Chelsea, Harry didn’t know what to expect. Niall hadn’t told him anything that would happen, only that he thought Harry had been miserable for years, which, to Harry’s defence, he had been because there were loads of reason to be miserable. Besides, how many annoying people could you meet in one day without snapping at least twice? Harry shook his head, not wanting to think about all of this, and instead focused on the fire before him. But not for long. Along the small fissure as the bottom of his bedroom door, there was a light. Harry knew that the only light in his whole house that he was responsible for was the one of the fireplace, so whatever light was on out in the hallway must have turned on my itself. The light got brighter and brighter, the warm yellow resembling the pleasant glow of a candle, and Harry started to grow very curious as to what was going on. About to get up and check for himself, the light stops moving, streaks of gold crawling in through the bottom of the door.

With huge force, the door flew open. Harry, about to scream so loudly his lungs might have fallen out his throat, jumped up. Facing the door, he backed away, shielding his eyes from the tortuous light. The light was so bright it brought a ringing to his ears, and he shut his eyes hard. Hitting the wall, Harry laid a hand flat against it, groaning before he tried to see what stood in his doorway. It is impossible. He cannot even make out his own room. It is as though it has disappeared from around him, the light burning everything in its wake.

“It’s okay.” A very familiar voice says. “I will put the cap on for you.”

As the light dimmed, Harry removed his arm from in front of his eyes, blinking a few times while doing so. His eyes sting, but they slowly adjust to their surroundings. But Harry had a hard time believing he 100% did. Because in front of him, in the doorway to his bedroom, stood a 7-year-old replica of himself. In his school uniform, arms behind his back patiently, and a huge candle cap on his head. The faint hum of fire came from under his cap, clearly not going out completely even with it on. Harry found himself just staring at what was in front of him, utterly dumbfounded. This looked exactly like him.

“What the fuck?�� He mumbled to himself, studying, what he could only assume, was the first spirit of Christmas in front of him.

“Niall said that was your favourite word.” Little Harry said, smile not wavering.

“What is?”

“That which you just said.”

Harry could not stop staring. Could not stop studying whatever was stood in front of him because he could not quite believe it still. He was completely mesmerised by the little version of him standing in front of him. Squinting a little, Harry took a small step forward, trying to get a better look.

“Who and what are you?” He asked, voice faint like a distant whisper.

“I am the ghost of Christmas Past.”

Suddenly, Past twitches as if a wind had blown through a candlelit flame, threatening to whistle it out. Harry frowned, standing up straight and blinking before he opened his eyes completely, taking in the little bloke.

“Long past?” Harry questioned, noticing how the flames in the fireplace was reaching for the ghost, like they were yearning to be part of the fire underneath his cap.

“Your past.”

It hit Harry then, why the ghost had taken the form of him. Though it still did not sit well with him that he was talking to the ghost of himself, the ghost of his past. Silence stretched out between the two, filling the room to the brim. Suddenly, Past took a step toward Harry, holding his hand out.

“What are you doing?”

But the ghost did not answer him, only took his hand and held it tight in his. Up close, the ghost’s whole body seemed to glimmer like a real candle; seemed to glitter of the Christmases of Harry’s past. Regardless, Harry flinched when the ghost took his hand, no weight to Past whatsoever, only the ominous feeling of a hand in his that he could not feel apart from the pressure of where a hand should’ve been. The ghost was air, his hand like vapour, but Harry could still feel the mass of a hand there, just not the heft of it. It was uncanny; sending a chill up his spine that shook through him. Past dragged Harry away from the wall, surprising Harry when he took flight. He positioned himself so that his face was level with Harry’s, and Harry had no doubt in his mind from then on out that this was all real. The ghost was him, the details of his old self’s face was strikingly correct, even the small scar under his right eye. Swiftly and gently, the ghost laid a hand over Harry’s heart. Harry was about to step back, terrified of what the ghost was going to do, but then he felt a warmth unlike any other he had felt all his life. Like wrapping your cold hands around a hot mug, your fingers prickling to life; the same sensation ran from Harry’s heart and out across his entire body. Under his white tucked-in shirt, black trousers and formal boots, Harry’s body was lighting up, much like the ghosts’. He blinked.

“Come along.” Past said, flying towards the window of the bedroom while Harry followed stumbling. “And walk with me.”

As they near the window, it opens on its own accord, and Harry hesitates, the night outside threatening and vast.

“Where are we going?”

“To your past.”

Bewildered, Harry uttered a slight, “How are we getting there?”

“We will fly.”

“I can’t bloody fly.”

The ghost’s hand caressed Harry’s chest once again, letting its fingers slide over his heart lightly. “And exactly what do you think I’m here for?” Past said, voice as comforting as entering a warm living room on a chilly winter’s night. “Why do you think your body is glowing as if, at its core, a candle is afire?”

Harry moved his face back from the ghost, brows meeting above the bridge of his nose. “Okay, you’re scaring me now, mate. At 7, I would never bloody say anything like tha-“

But Harry didn’t get a chance to finish his sentence, because suddenly, the ghost was dragging him, flying, back toward the opposite wall to the window. As fast as a light would turn on at the flick of a switch, the two were soaring through the room, Harry screaming, and through the frame of the window. They must have flown through something of a forcefield, because Harry’s ears popped, and his eyes watered with the force of the wind. Blinking the tears out of his eyes, Harry suddenly noticed his surroundings. He wasn’t flying above dark, quiet London; he was sailing above the white, wide grounds of the outskirts of Manchester. The same grounds him and Reuben ran across when they were little; the same exact ones he had been able to see from his window at his old house. The only house he had ever known real happiness in. The house everything had happened in. Suddenly the tears that were threatening to spill from his eyes weren’t only from the wind in his eyes.

He saw the house. The ghost was bringing him to his old house, the old farm, it seemed. The farm consisted of two houses, both made out of different shades of grey and brown brick. The roofs were a dark black, and on the main house - which stood to the left of the little bridge over a small river, you had to cross to get to the farm – had three small windows on the roof as well, two of those had belonged to Harry’s old bedroom, the other one to Reuben’s. A trellis wall stood on either side of the out-sticking foyer, vines would have stretched up and around those in summertime, though they were all dead now, covered in fresh snow. The smaller house that stood opposite to the little bridge, was for guests, and Harry rarely spent any time in there unless him and Reuben were playing hide and seek. Trees surrounded the gravel space that was used for parking, all void of leaves, but just as pretty now that Harry’s mum had twined Christmas lights around each branch, warm yellow shining through the snow.

Harry gulped as they stopped outside the door to the main house, feeling everything within him scream to run away, but also to walk inside. It was all very confusing, and he didn’t know what to do. The ghost beside him was quiet, watching his companion as Harry tried to figure out what to do now. He didn’t have to think long, because suddenly the sound of feet sinking into the compact snow behind them was audible, and then two very familiar sets of laughs sounded in the cold winter air. Harry managed to just step out of the way as the 10-year-old him ran past him, opening the door into the house for him and Reuben. He watched, his mouth agape, as him and his little brother did something as mundane as take their jackets and shoes off, talking and laughing.

“Mum?” Harry shouted, running into the living room, Reuben following. “Mum, can you make us some cocoa, please?”

The ghost flew the two of them after the brothers, catching their mother in the act of decorating the Christmas tree. Harry’s heart stopped. He had never seen anything as heart-breaking, while also fantastic, in his entire life. Brown hair was fastened in a bun at the top of Andrea’s hair, curls poking out every here and there, as she had clearly been decorating the whole house for Christmas all day. Andrea smiled as she saw her children, though, looking down from where she stood on a small ladder, stretching to place a red ball on a green branch, the lights on the tree already on. She was wearing her white apron, the same one Harry had made her for Christmas the year before, and Harry remembered always feeling proud when his mother wore it. And she always looked so beautiful wearing it as well. Harry had always loved his mother more than he thought he could ever love anyone. She was the gentlest human being on Earth, and Harry had always secretly thought she must have been an angel, though he never told anyone. Andrea’s dimples showed as she climbed down the ladder, a huge sigh leaving her lips.

“Marshmallows and cream, I assume.”

“I can’t have marshmallows.” Little Harry stated. “I’m allergic.”

“Very true, baby. You want sprinkles then?”

Harry screeched, running after his mother into the kitchen, disappearing out of view. Reuben followed his brother.

“I want sprinkles instead as well!”

Next thing Harry knew, images of what happened next flashed before him. Running through the most traumatic happening in Harry’s life like some sort of terrible movie montage. Reuben running outside to their father to join him buying presents in town. Harry’s mother giving him his full cup of cocoa, placing a kiss to his forehead. Harry walking into the living room. Tripping over and ripping a wire. Spilling his cocoa. The Christmas tree up in flames. His mother screaming. Everything in the living room up in flames. His mother screaming. Harry too stunned to do anything. His mother running into the living room, lifting Harry up. Screaming. Harry being the only one running out the front door.

Harry closed his eyes, not wanting to be shown more of this day, not wanting to be reminded of what he had done. The flickering of Past beside him and the whooshing of air around him had him opening them again, though, and when he did, they were somewhere else entirely. In a hotel room in town, none of the lights on and Harry’s father, Don, sat by the window, looking out into the night. It was Christmas Eve, none of them having eaten anything that day, and it didn’t seem they would. Don hadn’t said a single word to Harry since that day, and Harry was starting to believe he never would either. His father blamed Harry, his son, for what had happened to the love of his life and the mother of his children. Blamed him for the fire and had trouble looking at him without feeling rage pulse through him, without wanting to sacrifice him for his mother. Harry hadn’t thought of it that way, but that Christmas Eve, he started blaming himself, too. Because it was easier that way, finding a reason to something that you found inexplainable. It kept things in balance. The weight on his shoulders was terribly heavy, but he deserved it. Harry hadn’t smiled since.

“Harry?” Reuben’s voice came over the scene before Harry, a moment taken out of a time later that same Christmas. “Harry, open the door, please.”

Harry sat in one of the three rooms in the guesthouse, he remembered, his door locked. It was the room facing the burned down house. “No.”

It was quiet for a second, Harry’s dad in the hotel room running both hands over his face before he started crying. Harry barely remembered this time in his life, let alone how he was feeling and thinking. It had all be repressed and he didn’t want to go back and open that door, didn’t want to remember that dark period of his life.

“Please.” Reuben repeated.

Harry’s dad got up from the bed he was sitting in, still crying.

“Harry, it wasn’t your fault.” Reuben said softly, only 8 still. “You know it wasn’t your fault that mum died.”

Don walked up to Harry, unable to say anything as tears ran down both of his cheeks. Levelling his index finger with Harry’s face and he almost opened his mouth to say something, but he looked away, as if looking at his son physically hurt him.

“Harry-“

“-No, Reuben, leave!” Harry said through the door. “Leave me alone!”

“Please, dad said-“

“-I don’t care!” Harry’s voice got louder. “I don’t care what dad said, Reuben! Leave me alone! Just leave!”

In the scene before Harry and Past, Harry’s dad walked away from Harry and towards the door of the hotel room, not looking back at his son as Harry shook, sad beyond belief. The door shut behind him, leaving the room in a high-pitched beeping noise that Harry cover his ears. But not for long, because the ghost started flying them forwards in time. Suddenly, they were far up in the air again, land underneath them looking like a drawn map of sorts. Harry recognised the bulky and run-down streets of Cork, Ireland, though. He could recognise those any day, anytime. Blinking in surprise as the University of Cork stood out, shining in the light of the sun above them, Harry suddenly felt a weird sense of peace. He knew exactly what the ghost wanted to show him now.

Harry had studied Business Studies with Finance at University of Cork. He had never really had any interests; his only one was trying to stay out of the way of people, but he had just applied for five different universities, five different courses. And this was the one he had decided to go with. At Freshers Week, Harry met Niall, one of his five other Irish flatmates. Surprisingly enough, the two hit it off, despite their huge differences. Niall was always loud, happy, and laughing, while Harry was quiet, miserable, and grumbling. Music and Business Management was Niall’s degree, and his most priced and favourite possession was his guitar. It was very run down, stickers on it and dents in places Niall had accidentally dropped it, probably having felt himself lose 5 years of his life doing so. At night, Harry would sit in Niall’s room, and Niall would play on his guitar. Harry became interested in music because of Niall, and quickly bought an old guitar of his own. It sucked just as much as Niall’s, and the two had a fun time while Niall taught Harry how to play, the two quickly starting to play together in Niall’s room every night.

“You know,” Harry had said one night when one of his guitar strings had broken. “It would be much easier if we just made guitars of our own. That way the ones we use wouldn’t suck sweaty fucking balls.”

Niall’s face whipped up, looking at Harry in front of him with huge eyes. “Harry…”

“Niall.”

“That’s a brilliant idea.”

But the Ghost of Christmas Past didn’t stop for Harry to relive any of his university moments, just to fly over Cork and the university so Harry would be reminded of it. So, he would know what was to come. Because before he knew it, they were in London again, flying through the front doors of Dymond Headquarters and into Harry’s office there. The two were flying above the ceiling, taking in the scene from above, and even though Harry felt like he was watching a film he had never seen before unfolding before him, he knew exactly which day this was. Exactly what was going to happen in a minute. He had just moved in; the whole building having been renovated for this new chapter in Niall and Harry’s professional lives. Dymond was doing phenomenally well, and new employees were running around, all with huge smiles om their faces as they took in the new Dymond. Harry’s office had a glass door, same with Niall’s right next to his, and the people walking by were looking in, giggling and whispering to one another. Harry regretted saying yes to the glass doors. The rest of his office was painted a dark beige, bookshelves lining one of the walls, two blue leather recliners and a black coffee table the other, and his desk was facing the door, a huge chair behind it and loads of cardboard boxes around it. Books and documents were in all of the boxes, ready to be taken out and to find their new place in Harry’s office. He would ask one of the employees if they could do it as he wasn’t bothered. Though, he knew himself well enough that he didn’t want anyone else touching his stuff, so he’d end up doing it himself anyway.

“How’re you finding everything, partner?” Niall asked as he walked in, not bothering to knock before entering. “Quite the new place, huh?”

“Yea.” Harry nodded, looking behind him through the windows of his office, and out at white late-November London. “It’s spacious.”

Niall snorted. “It’s spacious, alright.” He rested his hands in his suit trouser pockets, smiling at Harry. “I’m going to bring in a grand Freud sofa, so I can lay there all day and have the time of my life.”

“Aren’t your clients supposed to lay there?” Harry said, opening a box and beginning to unload some books. “That’s what Freud did anyway.”

“I don’t give two shits and a flying teabag what Freud did, Harry, I want to lay in the sofa.” Niall said, walking over to where Harry stood by the cardboard box. “And what are you doing anyway?”

“Moving into my office?”

Niall looked into two of the other boxes, the frown on his forehead deepening with each stare. “Looks boring.”

“It is.”

“Would you mind me interrupting you, then?”

“You already are.”

Niall chuckled. “No, I have someone it’s important that you meet.”

“If it’s one of those girlfriends of yours that you change every week, then I’m not interested.” Harry said, making Niall laugh again.

“No, Harry, this is not my girlfriend. That would almost me like incest or something.”

Harry looked up at Niall, a blank expression on his face. “You should really elaborate on that or I’m going to assume-“

“-Fine, shut up.”

Niall walked out of Harry’s office, humming to himself as he turned the corner and disappeared for a few seconds. Harry bent down again, bringing some more books out of the box and placing them on the desk beside him. First, Harry heard Niall talking, and then a soft voice answering him. And hearing it now, as he was floating above the scene, watching it from afar, he felt himself draw in a little breath. Niall turned the corner first, a woman following in behind him. If Harry had been holding books like the past Harry below him, he was sure he’d have the same reaction. Because as past Harry straightened up, holding a pile of books, he right about lost the first three as shock took over him. Before him stood one of the most gorgeous human beings he had ever seen, making him lose control of everything he knew. She stood beside Niall, hands in interlaced in front, and a very casual, yet elegant, black dress on that complimented her form perfectly. She jumped a little as the books hit the floor, and Niall only threw his head back and laughed. Even Harry of the now, as he watched this, went through the same feelings as past Harry; knew the expanse and depths of the emotions he had felt seeing Y/N for the first time.

“This is Y/N.” Niall explained, holding a hand out to motion to the woman beside him. “She’s a family friend, and she’s going to be our new assistant. Hope it’s okay by you that I gave her the job without asking.”

Harry didn’t say anything but removed his eyes from Y/N as not to seem like a creep. Locking eyes with Niall, he raised his eyebrows, letting Niall interpret that himself. Y/N, however, walked over to Harry and hunched down, picking up the three books Harry had dropped. When she came up to a standing position again, her eyes met Harry’s, and if he hadn’t worked his arms out four times a week, he would undoubtably have lost all of the eight books he was holding.

“Nice to meet you, Harry. Niall’s told me a lot about you.” Her lips moved as graciously as the wind moved over and across the mountains, swaying with its swells and forms. Harry was hypnotised.

Harry blinked, trying to find words for a reply. “All bad, I assume.”

“Just that you like your own space, hate asking for help, can play the guitar pretty bloody well, love winter, and hate people.”

Harry’s mouth parted slightly.

“So… not too much.”

“More than I know about you, anyway.” Harry mumbled, and Y/N blushed.

At the sight of her looking down at the ground, trying desperately not to have all attention on her, made Harry of-the-now melt. She was so adorable, so incredibly pretty, when she showed her vulnerable side like that, when she let her true feelings show, unfiltered, through her body language. While Harry of the past placed the stack of books on the desk, the one of-the-now wasn’t able to take his eyes off of her there he laid floating, glancing down at her with a look so pure, so soft, it could only resemble the feeling of sliding your fingertips against silk. The smoothness of it relaxing you, making and instant feeling of pleasure and relief flood you. The mere thought of Y/N was wrapped around Harry’s heart in the finest silk there was, though he would never admit that out loud. Never admit that someone had him so good; that anyone could bring him to his knees like her.

The ghost beside him snickered, and when Harry whipped his head toward it, he only caught him for a second before he took Harry’s hand. Swiftly, Past flew the pair over to Niall’s office, and it seemed to be a few months later, almost a year, because the trees outside were green, though the leaves were turning yellow and brown at the edges. Harry guessed around September the following year of that November Y/N had started working. And he was very right.

“Y/N,” Niall sighed, laying in his Freud sofa and staring up at the ceiling. “Today was very embarrassing.”

Y/N, now wearing jeans and an elegant white blouse nodded, rubbing her sweaty palms together to try and calm herself down.

“You understand that, right?”

She nodded.

“Because I never want that to bloody happen again.”

“You told me to arrange the meeting for next Tuesday, so I did.”

“And it’s now Tuesday, and I told you to arrange it for Thursday. Wrong day. Everyone showed up, but the most important parts didn’t. The hosts – aka me and H - didn’t bloody show up. ”

“No, you did not tell me to schedule it for Thursday!”

Niall sat up. “Thursday.”

“You said Tuesday!”

“No, I’m 100% sure I told you to book the room, e-mail the details, and put it in my calendar for Thursday this week.” Niall got up. “You were sloppy last week ordering new string wires from that new company you said would be so much better than the one we were already buying from.” Niall said, his face turning a dangerous shade of red. “And now this? If you keep pulling stuff like this I might have to fire-“

“-You said Tuesday, Niall.”

Harry remembered this very well. He was leaning against Niall’s desk, arms crossed and eyes moving rapidly between Y/N and Niall as they were fighting. He remembered how scared he felt when Niall threatened to fire Y/N; the fear of never seeing her again. Harry also remembered how he had talked with Niall about the meeting being scheduled for Thursday, but that by that point, his crush on Y/N had grown into something more than that, and in that moment, he felt desperate. He wouldn’t let her slip from him this easily.

Niall, startled at Harry engaging in the fight, blinked a few times before looking at Harry. When their eyes met, and Harry, very quickly, let his fall on Y/N before Niall, Niall understood. Trying not to smile, not to show just how amused he was, Niall shrugged his shoulders. Y/N looked back at Harry, and in the glance she gave him, she said a quiet ‘thank you’, because it seemed she, too, knew she was in the wrong. Niall tried not to scream, feeling like he had uncovered a secret of sorts, or that his assumptions on how Y/N and Harry felt for one another was actually truer than he thought. But he played it off, walking to his desk, he smiled as the two others stood with their backs to him.

“Guess I was wrong.”

Flying through Niall’s glass door that opens when they near it, Ghost off Christmas Past takes Harry to the hallway just outside his and Niall’s offices. The lift. Harry could feel himself let out a shaky breath as he understood once again. Halloween decorations hung over the lift, bats hanging in yellow and orange strings along the walls, Dracula’s silhouette against the metal door of the lift. Harry didn’t care much for festive seasons, didn’t care about any time of the year in particular, but Niall loved decorating and making their workplace a fun place to me. Of course, Harry thought the decorations were pathetic, but he wasn’t about to tell Niall off for it. It made his best friend very happy.

Harry of the past walked past floating Harry and the ghost, the two of them watching as Harry pressed the button of the lift and then standing back. Footsteps sounded down the hall, and a panting Y/N stepped into the lift with Harry as it arrived. Harry only cleared his throat, holding onto his briefcase as he was going home for the day. Y/N was obviously doing the same, her dark coat hanging loose around her until she started buttoning it up. With everything he was, Harry tried not to stare at Y/N because if she saw him in one of the mirrors, or in any way caught him watching her, he knew it would be very awkward. So, he tried his very best to stare at his own reflection, refusing to make Y/N uncomfortable. But just as Y/N was about to finish buttoning up her coat, all the lights in the lift went out. It jolted, sending Y/N falling to the floor, and Harry about to, only just able to catch himself on the railing along the wall in time. The lights flickered back on, and Harry dropped his briefcase, hunching down beside Y/N.

“You alright?” He asked, voice soft.

“The lift stopped.” Y/N said, frowning a little to herself. “Why the fuck did it stop?”

Harry, who wanted to laugh at how cute and confused she looked, looked around at the lift, though nothing seemed to have triggered it in any way. Well, not inside the lift, at least. Y/N sat up, leaning against one of the walls as Harry stepped over her feet, trying to get a look through the slit of the doors to see if they were stuck between floors and how bad it was. He couldn’t see anything, though, and pressed the emergency button before calling the receptionist downstairs. He explained there was a black-out across the street, and that might have something to do with the lift. As much as Harry wanted to scream orders at the receptionist, he took a deep breath and talked calmly, asking him to call the fire department. Once he had hung up, he sat down opposite Y/N, looking through his briefcase to find something to occupy himself with.

Y/N chuckled.

Harry looked up at her, only to find Y/N already glancing at him. “In any moment, even in one of crisis, you fish out work to do. Every time.”

Harry huffed. “It’s called dedication.”

“Also called being a workaholic.” Y/N sang, and Harry bit his lip as his eyes fell to the paper, a deal he needed to seal that he had taken out to look at. “Did you hear me, I insulted you?”

“I blocked it out.”

Y/N smiled now, finding their bickering amusing. “Really? And why don’t you like constructive criticism?”

“It’s not constructive criticism if you’re attacking the receiving part.” Harry looked up at her again, pretending his heartbeat wasn’t picking up dangerously fast.

“I’m not attacking!”

“You just said you insulted me, though.”

“Yea, well…” Y/N trailed off, not knowing how to reply to that.

Harry smiled a little, and so did Y/N, to which Harry felt himself draw a huge breath.

“Just trying to make conversation, is all.” Y/N defended herself, unbuttoning her coat as she was starting to get hot.

“Next time, here’s another suggestion for a conversation starter:” Harry started, putting the file back into the briefcase. “Don’t be a prick.”

Y/N gasped, Harry chuckling at her reaction. “Harry Styles cracking a joke.” She shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest. “I would’ve never believed.”

“It wasn’t a joke, it was advice.”

“Sounded like a joke to me.”

“Then you should start revaluating a lot of things in life if you don’t know the difference between a joke and advice.”

Y/N gasped again, Harry now laughing. He had never laughed like that before that very moment, not since he was a child anyway. And how Y/N brought this side out of him, he had no idea. There was something about her, always had been, and those three hours they spent in that lift together only made his feelings for her that much stronger. He wanted to spend every waking moment with her; wanted to spoil her, make her laugh, and make sure she was nothing but happy till the end of time. He wanted to know the most deranged parts of her soul; to have her relive her most traumatic happenings so he could live them too; to know so much about her that he didn’t know what was his life and what was hers. It shocked him how strongly he felt for her, how many times he looked over his shoulder after her when they left that lift, and how many times she looked back, too. The thought alone made his heart flutter mad.

“You really fell hard for her, didn’t you?” The Ghost of Christmas Past said, voice soft as the Y/N and past Harry chattered along in the lift below them.

Harry decided to play dumb. “Who?”

“Y/N.” Said Past, the voice of his 7-year-old self talking back to him. “There’s a bond between the two of you as old as the universe, your souls created as one among stardust, but parted when you were put on Earth.” There was a slight pause as Y/N laughed, her hand in front of her mouth, Harry beaming at her. As she removed her hand, the two looked at each other, smiles on their faces and their hearts warmer than they had ever felt before. “You have spent centuries searching for one another, only to find each other now.”

In his mind, the time at the back of the conference hall flashed before Harry. Niall was doing a speech, all other lights in the hall dimmed, every single eye and floodlight on the Irish man on stage. He was talking into the microphone, enthusiastic and smiling, and it seemed that everyone was intrigued, liking what Niall had to say. Harry didn’t like attention, it was therefore that he stood in the very back, behind the audience, with Y/N. The speech was almost over when Harry felt the light pressure of a finger against the left side of his palm. The finger glided further into his palm, very slowly, as if doing it too fast might cause a reaction. Harry felt Y/N’s soft knuckles against his already damp palm, gulping loudly as he pressed his hang against hers, wrapping his fingers slowly and firmly to match her. Harry let go of a deep sigh, all the blood, all the happiness, all the love in his entire body rushing down to where Y/N’s skin met his. To where he was holding everything he’d ever wanted to hold. Neither looked at each other, their eyes on the stage and their friend who was now bowing, grinning up at the audience as they clapped for him. Harry held Y/N’s hand like it depended on his life, like it was his life force. But at the same time, the pressure of her against him overwhelmed him, the love she was trying to show scaring him. So, Harry let go of Y/N’s hand and rushed down the steps to the stage as everyone started getting up from their seats. Standing in the back all alone, feeling empty, and with a bitterly cold hand, stood Y/N, a breath hitched in her throat and tears of frustration in her eyes.

“How do you know this?” Harry asked, voice weak as the memory he had just gone over drained him of more than he thought it would.

“I know all you past, all your lives, and all your mistakes. All your failed attempts and how you could have righted a wrong.”

Harry frowned a little, facing the ghost, and still finding it eerie how it was his younger self he was taking this journey with. “Way to fucking kill the mood.”

The ghost took Harry’s hand and turned the two around, going back into Niall’s office where they were greeted with Y/N already standing before Niall’s desk. Niall sat in his chair and the calendar behind him read March 2016. Niall’s last full year alive. The thought made Harry flinch.

“… don’t even know what the fuck is going on, because I’ve done nothing but my best.” Y/N explained, leaning both her arms on the desk.

“Have you asked him if something is wrong? Like, if something has recently happened?” Niall asked, twisting a pen between his index and thumb, feet on the desk, and leaning back in his chair. “Don’t take it personal, Y/N. Harry’s always been miserable.”

Y/N groaned, turning around and rubbing her hands together, a habit she had when she was nervous or frustrated. In this case, it seemed both. This was the first moment they had visited today that Harry had not been part of himself. She turned to Niall again.

“I don’t want to work here anymore if Harry keeps on treating me the way he does.”

Niall took his feet down from the table then. “What?”

“He disrespects me, mumbles unnecessary comments under his breath about me, tells me to ‘fuck off’ at least 30 times a day or that what I’m saying is ‘fucking humbug’-“

“-Lovely phrase. Love that.”

Y/N chocked her head and Niall motioned for her to continue.

“I can’t… I can’t deal with someone being this unprofessional, Niall. I… I just can’t.” Y/N sighed heavily. “I feel used and unappreciated.”

“You are appreciated. Very much so.-“

“-Make fucking Harry say that, or else I won’t believe it.” Y/N groaned, pacing back and forth. “I-I don’t understand how he changed attitudes all of a sudden. I don’t understand what happened after… after…” Y/N trailed off, and Niall frowned.

“After what?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing. What matters is that I’m not treated right and I want to quit because Harry makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“Y/N, I’m going to talk to him about it, okay?-“

“-Can you do it now?”

Harry ran both hands over his face, about to burst as his heart was aching so bad he didn’t know what to do. He had no idea that Y/N had felt this way, no idea that this was what he had done to her. The ghost beside him just watched the scene unfold, the flame under the cap flickering and beating softly against the metal.

“Don’t.” Harry’s voice was horse as if he had been screaming. “Get this away. I can’t bear it.”

But the Ghost of Christmas Past doesn’t move, doesn’t seem to do anything but watch Y/N and Niall argue. Harry looked to his right away, the voices of his best friend and the woman of his dreams seeming to get louder and louder.

“Get it away!” Harry shouted, and suddenly they were falling through the window of Niall’s top floor office. Face first, Harry and the ghost soared, a scream not quite reach Harry’s throat as the shock and speed of it all took his breath away. The ghost took a hold of Harry’s shirt before they flew through and open window and into one of the conference rooms, this one flat, and with blue, silver, and turquoise lights filling the room. Christmas music was playing in the background and people were milling around, laughing and talking. Christmas Party on December 23rd 2017. Niall was running late as he had been catching up with a cousin. And by the bar stood Harry, Y/N walking up to him and sitting on the barstool beside him.

“No,” Harry said, shaking his head. He knew this night. “Please don’t.”

But the ghost didn’t listen, only drew them closer to Y/N and Harry by the bar. Their words weren’t audible, but Harry knew, as he remembered this night clearly, that the smell of a tropical cocktail had been on her tongue. Y/N was tipsy, and clearly on the brink of being drunk as she was willingly talking to Harry, but the two were still having a good time. One thing led to another, and the ghost making the moment pick up speed, zoomed in on Y/N and Harry as she leaned in, nose against Harry’s. The both had their eyes closed, both needing the other one to move that last little centimetre for their lips to touch. Harry remembered every single part of that moment; how Y/N’s skin had felt against his, how she smelled, the music that was playing in the background, and how his finger – from the arm that was leaning against the bar counter – skimmed her upper thigh every once in a while. Goosebumps ran up and down Harry’s spine, how brain not being able to comprehend what was going on, what could happen. Again, he felt his heartbeat in his throat. A sort of claustrophobia clutched at his organs, and he stepped away. Y/N opened her eyes, blinking rapidly. Harry pointed toward the exit, saying something under his breath about how he needed to leave, and so he did.

Y/N sat by the bar, eyes tearing up as the frustration of Harry never taking a hint, never taking the chance when she put herself out there, finally caught up with her. She wiped a tear away, turning toward the bartender. She was going to forget she still having feelings for Harry, because he truly didn’t deserve her anyway.

Past moved the two out of the building, following Harry’s Audi as he drove off and away from Dymond. His heart was still pounding, his head still screaming that he didn’t deserve Y/N, so pushing her away was a good idea. The only way to keep her away was to push her to the very edge. He knew he must mean little to her, and the thought hurt, but it was better this way. Again, the ghost started fastforwarding.

Harry stopping at a red light. His phone ringing. Niall’s mum’s voice over the speaker in his car. The lights turning green. Harry not being able to move a muscle as Niall’s mum’s sobs filled the car. Someone holding the horn down behind him. Harry still not reacting. Not reacting till Reuben had to come get him and drive him home. Not reacting till four days later when he felt a tear roll down the side of his face where he laid in bed, running into his ear and tickling him, but he didn’t bother wiping it away.

Feeling void of anything but death and unhappiness.

Feeling hatred towards the world a day later.

Feeling like screaming till he died.

“Get me away from this.” Floating Harry begged, hating how the Harry he saw in the car was someone he had once been. This time the ghost listened, and the two flew downstairs and outdoors where it was strikingly white all of a sudden, clearly a morning not long after the incident. The path up to Harry’s house was snowed up, no footprints in it whatsoever as no one had been to visit. But some days after Niall’s death, that changed. Y/N rang Harry’s doorbell and when he opened, she took a step back. He was wearing blue robes, his hair a mess, and the stubble on his chin grotesque.

“Harry…” She said, voice trailing off. “I’m… I’m so sorry for your loss.”

Harry swallowed, not knowing how he was supposed to handle someone being compassionate in this manner. Y/N stood before him, offering him sympathy, and he didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to react.

“Niall’s office…” Y/N started up again, knowing full well that Harry wouldn’t give him a proper answer. “What are we going to do about it?”

Harry shook his head, sighing. “Y/N, just leave. I can handle that some other day.”

“I-I just wan to help you-“

“-Please, leave.”

Y/N stood her ground, blinking a few times as a snowflake landed in her eyelashes. “I just wanted to say I’m sorry.”

“Don’t-“

“-He was your best friend, more like a brother, and your co-owner, and I’m sorry you lost that.-“

“-Y/N I told you to leave me alone!” Harry shouted, shaking with the effort not to break down completely right then and there. Y/N jumped at Harry’s raised voice, walking back away from his house. She turned around and walked rather quickly away from Harry, who watched her until she was in her car. There, she sat crying until her sight wasn’t blurry anymore from tears, and then she drove back home.

“Get this away from me!” Harry shouted at the ghost. “Please! I don’t want to see this!”

Images of Niall’s funeral started to manifest themselves, and Harry saw just the dark road this was going to go down. Blinking as the wind in his eyes got intense, Harry closed them and shouted once again.

“Get me out of here! Get me back to me house!”

But the ghost didn’t listen, just kept pushing on through a year that had gone by in a haze. Blurry images of a life Harry barely remember living, of people he didn’t remember, and places he had forgotten. Harry, who had felt nothing but hurt and pain and despair this whole journey, was starting to get fed up by the ghost. As the wind around them got intense, Harry reached for the cap above the Ghost of Christmas Pasts’ head, and started pushing it down. Down, down, down. He screamed as he pushed and shoved the cap down, the younger ghost version of himself disappearing from view as the light started shining bright again. As the inextinguishable, luminous rays flooded downward onto the ground, Harry suddenly found himself zipped back into his bedroom. Harry continued to push until the cap was one with an appearing floor beneath him, and everything around him disappeared. Utterly bewildered, Harry raised quickly, panting as he looked around his dark bedroom. Everything was normal. Nothing out of place. But in his chest, he felt that something was.

And he wouldn’t find out why until the second spirit was to visit. When, he had no idea. But he sat down in his bed, facing his door, and started recounting the events that had just gone down in detail.

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