Harry Styles One Shots

Witch Harry part 2

As he angled his camera just perfectly to capture an amusing shot of her with her mouth hung open looking ravenous, a notification slid at the top of his screen. Once he'd seen it was Y/N, he clicked it without a second thought.

Come around to the store before close tonight so I can give you chamomile.

also you can come to my place after, I have some questions about your demon book and your magic

also, also, please bring Oat, Thumper and I miss her

A small, closed mouth smile graces Harry face as he swallows what was in his mouth. He pulled up his images, picked one of Oat where she's showing her belly and her claws dug into the nylon collar that she so adamantly disliked, and sent it to Y/N with we'll come if you bake pumpkin banana bread. Y/N is allowed to see her because – well, by all technicalities, Oat was born from the soil of her garden. She has just as much the right to appreciate the absolute endearing ways of Oat as Harry does.

Y/N responds back immediately.

fuck off but for Oat i'd do anything

He was excited to go to her flat, but not so excited about the fact that he was going to have to wait all day. Y/N closes up her shop around 9 to 10 PM and it was just barely 11 AM, so he had about ten hours of anticipating what she may want to ask him. And Harry hated waiting – it made him restless and antsy. His mum always told him that his impatience would bite him in the bum one day and he never doubted her...he's quite sure it has bitten him a few times already.

For the first few hours of waiting he allowed himself to be sluggardly since he'd caught up with most of everything, he had to do this week. He took a slow shower, scrubbed himself clean with an apple-scented exfoliator that left his skin feeling as soft and raw as a newborn, and washed his hair. He decides what color he might paint his nails then, dancing between a mint-colored green or a pumpkin orange, and he wonders if Y/N will actually bake pumpkin banana bread or tell him to sod off. He hopes she would...Harry loves baked goods but he did not like the process of having to bake, nor the clean up afterward. And, from the few times Y/N had made muffins to sit on her counter for her customers, he recalls they were far more than just palatable. If not for the slap she'd given his hand when he tried to take another muffin, he might have even tried to take the whole plate.

After his shower, and his nails, he checked the time and saw it was only half past noon, and with a more than heavy sigh as he grabbed his keys and shoved his shoes on. Of course, she would make him wait all bloody day, the rotten girl. He grabbed his crossbody bag that he toted around for the sole purpose of bringing Oat into the stores she otherwise would not be allowed in, filled it with one of the blankets he'd knitted for her, and made a little nest before placing her in it. Oat loves their days out and they hadn't done one in a little while, so Harry figured they would find something to do while they waited.

That's how they ended up visiting a variety of places – first, the bookstore, where he zipped up most of his bag but left a gap that Oat could look out of so long as she kept her little head hidden (he would reach in every so often to scratch the downy fur behind her ear). Harry ambled around the aisles, though he does find himself drawn to a book by Kazuo Ishiguro that he'd been hearing about lately, through the grapevine at little socialite parties stocked with novelists and bibliophiles (whether they actually gave a fuck about books or just enjoyed the aesthetic of being someone who liked to read, Harry wouldn't be able to tell you, but he could say that they have some of the most creative requests). He slid it off the shelf, held it down to his bag where Oat reached out and patted her foot against the page (this was her silent nod of approval – he would be reading it aloud to her, so he liked to let her have a small say in what they read).