Deepest Secrets- One Direction FanFiction

Chapter 1

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No one knows what to say. Louis lightly pats Harry's shoulder as he looks over it. Louis is a bit concerned because this entire time, Harry hasn't shed a tear. He hasn't shown any kind of emotion. No regret, no bitterness, no guilt, nor sadness...just, nothing. He's just an empty shell and that's starting to really scare Louis. All of the boys whisper their farewells over the casket, each lingering a few seconds over her body taking in one last view of her. Each one remembers the best moments they had with her, never the worst. They remember her laugh, her smile, everything. Louis walks along beside Harry, waiting for him to say something-anything. But since the day she passed, he hasn't had much to say...it was so unlike him.

Everyone clears out after saying their goodbyes, but Harry stays behind, his eyes never leaving her body.

"Mate? You coming?" Louis asked, not wanting to take him away too soon, but knowing it was time to leave.

"Give me a minute?" Harry croaks for the first time in hours. Louis turns to the other boys, each taking one last look before heading back to the car.

Harry moves closer, his breathing shallow, but steady and barely audible. He eyes her lifeless body, his hands trembling in his pocket. "You promised me..." He whispers. "You promised me you wouldn't leave me." One tear streams down, soaking into the black dress she was wearing. He pulls out a small velvet box and opens it slowly, revealing a small silver ring, dusted with diamonds. He circles the ring around his fingers before sliding it onto her fragile ring finger. "I love you, forever and always." He whispers, before kissing her one last time.

Leaving the funeral home and returning fast to the limo that had carried the boys from the studio, to the funeral home.

"Back to the studio, eh?" Niall's voice droned on in attempt to lighten the mood, but to no avail. It was a drastic day for everyone, especially Harry.

Harry's mind kept him from reality; he never wanted to face what was actually happening, not now. What if I had been there, like I said I would? Would she still be here? Thinking about all these things, and so much more, but even the thought of her, pained him. She didn't even say goodbye, not through a letter-nothing. The last time I saw her was, the day of the fight.

"Stop the car!" Harry yelled, finally able to find his voice once again. The car came to an abrupt halt, he hopped out, sprinting in the only direction he knew, the direction of her flat. Ignoring the protests of the others, he needed to be reminded of her-see her again, feel her presence once more before she disappeared forever.

As he arrived among the place he'd come to know, it was her place, her flat. It was all he had left of her, all he had left to remind him that she did, in fact, exist. It wasn't just a figment of his imagination, she was real. They were real.

As soon as he stepped foot into her flat, he was greeted by a doormat lying flat on the floor, that read "Leave your shoes and ego outside."

He chuckled to himself, remembering her telling him she bought that in remembrance of him, the first time she had invited him into her flat, she had said he had a big ego that he didn't know what to do with.

He kept walking until he came to her bedroom, her once occupied room left blank and plain. The teddy bear upon her dresser he had given to her for Valentine's Day. The once treasured scrapbooks and picture frames on the shelves of the bookcase. The sweet smell of her perfume he recognized almost instantly, he could always recognize it when they were together. Each room filled with each of her favorite colors, each room was exactly the way he pictured it from his memories with her. Her perfectly made bed lied empty and bare, it looked so lonely. Except for an object. That object was a brown leather booklet that was locked shut. The design of the locket on the book enticed him even more towards it. It was of a silver dragon, much like the one she'd told him about.

"Draco." He whispered, as he traced the outline of the dragon with his fingertips.

She had named him Draco. He chuckled once more as he remembered why. She had said it had to do with Harry Potter, which she loved; she would always watch it and fake a British accent just to quote them, and because it was Latin for Dragon and she thought it fit perfectly.

Already feeling tempted with the book itself he found it more intriguing as to what could be in it. As he played around with it even more, he felt the thickness of the key hole and where the key might have been. But it seemed he didn't need one as the dragon had already been opened, but it looked more like it had been ripped open, with force from the key, but not enough for it to be broken. Someone must have been in a hurry to get into it.

He read through the first couple sentences before immediately throwing it back on the bed.

It was her diary.

Harry knew it was wrong of him to read it, or even be here. He almost immediately felt instant guilt rush through him. But he felt a desire to know why. Why she would do it. He spun on his heel, ready to leave, before he wondered.

What if, the reason why, is in that book?