Blood Moon | Harry Styles

Part 2: Hellfire

It's been three days and a whole lot of doubt since Harry dropped you off back in town, calmly and casually, without mentioning anything about a future meeting. You've spent every free moment wondering if you've lost your mind. That's the only reasonable explanation, isn't it? Your entire life, witches and magic and spells have been reduced to mere fiction. And with no form of contact with Harry, you've got no way to prove yourself sane. That's what you're thinking, at least, when the bell above the door to your favorite cafe rings. It's not the first time it's rung since you've been here, and you're sure it will ring again before you leave, but something makes you look up anyway.

Harry whisks through the door, a fall breeze following him and fluttering the ends of his jacket. His hands are tucked into his pockets as he lifts his head and glances around the sitting area. Your heart nearly stops as his eyes land on you. All at once, relief floods through you. You're not going crazy.

Harry settles into the other seat at your table, a ghost of a smile on his lips. He looks down at the book you've been attempting (and failing) to read through.

"More Latin?" he asks.

"Research for a paper," you correct once you've recovered your wits and taken a breath. A smile of your own surfaces. You weren't aware how much you've been anticipating this moment. "How did you find me?"

Harry grins. He doesn't answer your question, only slides your mug across the table and takes a sniff of the drink inside.

"Brought this."

Harry pulls a folded up sheet of paper out of his pocket and tosses it onto the pages of your abandoned book. You know what it is before you even open it.

"How do you know I have time for this?" you ask, flattening out the paper as you speak.

"Could make yeh have time, if I need to." You glance up at him, but he's smiling at you, leaned back casually in his chair, head cocked playfully to the side. "I won'."

Harry sits patiently as you lean over a sheet full of Latin scribblings, making notes and wracking your brain for memories of words that you don't see very often. Sometimes he leans over to read upside down what you've jotted down. Other times he tugs mindlessly at the ends of his hair. Occasionally he jogs his leg beneath the table. He's tapping silently on the table's surface as though playing an invisible keyboard when you finally set your pencil down.

"Yeh finished?"

Harry looks almost excited as you pass your translations across the table. His eyes rush to scan your handwriting.

"Faeries?" you ask, noticing the way that Harry's brows have drawn together, the divot that has formed between them. "I thought you said other mythical creatures weren't real?"

"No," Harry reminds you, "I said vampires weren' real." He sits back once again, looking up at the menu hanging behind the cafe counter. "All these fancy drinks. Doesn' anyone jus' drink black coffee anymore?"

"This is telling you to pull the wings off of a faerie and you're thinking about buying a coffee?" Amazed, and resigned from your studies, you close your book.

"Good," Harry says as he watches you. "Pack up your stuff. Gotta go find ourselves a faerie." He stands, pushing his seat back in. "And yes, I'd like a coffee if yeh wouldn' mind."

Harry leaves you to shove your things back into your bag and gulp down the rest of your beverage while he orders his own coffee. He's back before you stand up.

"Do you want that?" you ask as you sling the strap of your bag over your shoulder, nodding toward your translations.

Harry switches his steaming coffee into his left hand and ever so casually reaches down to run his fingers over the page. Sparks flair beneath his touch. Slowly at first, and then suddenly all at once, the paper bursts into flames.