History Repeats Itself - A Prince Harry Fanfiction

Chapter Three

Harry awoke on the morning of his thirtieth birthday far earlier than he would've liked. His alarm had been set purposely so he would have enough time to sit and watch the previous day's football results before a shower and a long time getting himself presentable would undoubtedly await him. He sat up.

Thirty. He didn't feel thirty. He didn't feel any different. What an anticlimax.

He swung his long legs from the bed and stumbled to the bathroom, wishing that the following day he would return, hungover after a night out with his friends. But no such luck. The Invictus Games apparently came first. Then came his family.

His father was coming over for lunch the following day, just his father. Apparently he wanted some one-on-one time with his second son. Harry shrugged as he thought about it. Why? Oh god. He immediately found himself praying that his father would not turn up with Alexander and Emmy. Harry was tired of being a pawn in their chess game of love.

He smirked to himself at his own metaphor. Wow. He'd never been one to be poetic. Maybe that was what thirty was all about? Discovering talents you never knew you had. Harry scoffed; was poetry even a talent?

He set himself down on the sofa and smiled; the first hour of the day was going to be relaxing, calm and his ideal way to celebrate (after getting drunk of course, but you can't have everything). Sky Sports was a welcome break to the silence of the apartment, and he sat back, outstretched, and grinned at the news that the premier league would soon be starting again.

His first day and night as a thirty-year-old man was fun, yet somewhat nerve-wracking. Well, very nerve-wracking. His speech in front of the thousands of people in the crowd and those watching on television had his heart hammering, trying to break out of his chest, but he survived. His speech was even a success! And that was definitely reason to celebrate, which he did. With none other than James Blunt and Ellie Goulding. It was a good night.

The next morning...not so much. A headache and a few dashed trips to the bathroom to throw up the alcohol that was unwelcome in his blood quickly put a downer on the whole affair. But Harry was used to hangovers, he knew what helped him recover, and by lunchtime he was as right as rain. Well, his stomach still felt weak and vulnerable, his tongue was still burnt from the bile, but he was fine. And ready to see his father.

"Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you!"

Harry grinned bashfully at his father and ducked his head as he entered the room. Charles stood, grinning broadly at his son, and he quickly pulled him into a hug.

"Thirty. How does it feel?"

"Not much different, to be honest."

"I remember when you were born."

"I'd be offended if you didn't," Harry quipped, and both chuckled. "So it's just us? I half expected some strange girl and her father to be joining us."

Charles rolled her eyes. "Is Emmy strange to you?"

"I wasn't talking about Emmy."

"Oh good." He smiled. "Come take a seat. Lunch is already in the oven."

Harry sat opposite his father and glanced at the cutlery, just as his father said, "Wine?"

Harry grinned. "I don't think that's a good idea. It was the closing ceremony yesterday."

"Oh yes, I know."

"Well, the after party wasn't exactly alcohol-free."

Charles chuckled and shook his head to himself. "You're never really been alcohol free either."