by: pintsandguitars
Summary:
Harry is Cinderella. Niall is Prince Charming. And that is just how the story goes.
°•°•°
.
Once upon a time, in a land far away, there was a beautiful kingdom. The kingdom flourished and everyone lived a prosperous life, as the King was nothing but noble and the Queen nothing but kind. But this is not the story of a King or a Queen. Nor a story of their beautiful daughter. No, this is the story of a village commoner that lives in this faraway kingdom. It’s the story of Des Styles and his son, Harry. He was an amicable man, Des, always full of smiles and warm brown eyes. But the smiles masked his pain, the brown eyes etched with hurt. He had lost his wife to polio.
The other villagers looked toward him with pity. He had to leave Harry in the care of various other villagers while he tried to keep their family bakery running. The bakery made really good money, as Des was the only baker in town. But it was hard work without his wife at his side. Des often fell asleep in the kitchen while kneading the dough, only to be shaken awake by Harry in late hours of the night.
“Why don’t you take another wife, Des?” his friend George had suggested.
“Don’t be silly!” Des had dismissed, “Who could ever replace Anne?”
But then one day, a fair maiden came about the shop. She had chocolate brown eyes and ruby stained lips.
Her name was Maybelle .
“I heard you make the best bread in town,” she had cooed, fluttering her eyelashes shamelessly. Des had stuttered and blushed and burnt the batch of bread in the oven.
Two months later, they had gotten married. Harry was twelve at the time.
Maybelle had two other sons; Eugine and Neville. Both of them were Harry’s age, but they acted with much less maturity. They would smiled sweetly and bat their eyelashes at Des; but as soon as he looked away, they would pinch Harry’s nose and pull on his hair.
It was a year later when Des passed away. It came about all of a sudden. One day he was jolly, full of pink cheeks and sturdy hands. Then the next, his health was so poor he had to be bed-ridden. Harry had to taken over the bakery in his absence, the child full of knowledge and skills his father had taught him.
That night they buried his father, his step-mother had packed up all his belonging in boxes and stashed them in the attic.
“Harry, it’s your duty to keep the bakery running,” Maybelle had told him. “Your father promised to take care of me and my boys, and since you’re his son, that responsibility has been passed on to you.” Her index finger, clad with purple nail tarnish, was pointed as his nose.
He had nodded stiffly.
She had then thrust the last box of his belongings into his hands. “Also, you’ll be sleeping in the attic from now on. Eugene and Neville are growing up now, so they need their own rooms.”
Behind her, Eugene had a menacing smirk plastered across his face. Neville looked haughtily at Harry, nose pushed high into the air.
Harry’s throat had clenched, but he couldn’t cry any more. All his tears had been shed at the funeral, emptied over his father’s grave.
He had taken his box of belongings and trudged up into the attic. There were spider webs hanging from every surface and it smelt like rotten eggs.
His shoulders sagged.
As a single teardrop rolled down his right cheek, how wrong he was about the limit of tears. When you had enough to cry about, they could fall forever
--Five years later--
“Harry! Breakfast isn’t ready yet. I have to go to the theatre in an hour!” he hears the shrill of Maybelle’s voice carry all the way up to his room in the attic.
In time, Harry had grown quite fond of this space. He could get away from anyone here, including Eugene and Neville. And those moments alone were the one’s he’s learnt to cherish most.
“Coming!” he yells back. He closes his leather journal with a sigh and tucks it away under his lumpy mattress. This was his prized possession, the only thing that solely belonged to him. Even his nosy stepmother had yet to discover his secret treasure.
Des had gifted it to him on his thirteenth birthday, a few weeks before his passing.
“Harry, feelings are important,” Des had told him. “Feeling are what make us human. From love to anger, everything you feel is very important.”
Harry had nodded unsurely.
“I have your birthday present,” Des had said. He pulled out a brown package from underneath his coat.
Harry had smiled with excitement, hands already grabbing for the present in his father’s hand. When he’d ripped the package open, he couldn’t hide his disappointment. It was a journal. A thick, leather bound journal. He looked at his father, praying that his was some sort of a joke.
His father had caught his disapproval, but merely smiled. “Harry, write things down. Write what you feel, why you feel them. Words are beautiful things, Harry. They convey messages our mouths often cannot.”
“Do you have one?” Harry had asked.
“I do. It’s one of my most important possessions,” Des had told him.
“Really?” Harry questioned skeptically. How important could a few scratches on parchment really be?
Des had nodded. “Words are good listeners. They wait patiently, never interrupting, taking in everything you give them. They help you figure out a lot of things, and they do it silently. They hold your memories, your triumphs, and your tragedies. They’re important. At least try. Promise me you’ll try.”
Harry had shrugged. He didn’t understand why this held such a significance to his father. “I Promise, ” he’d agreed and left it on his desk. Then he’d forgotten all about it.
He’d forgotten all about it until the night Maybelle had banished him to the attic. He saw it, the brown leather, resting a top the rest of the things she’d packed up.
And Harry had been livid. How could his father leave him like this? How could his father just leave him with nothing to depend on but his spiteful step-mother?
He’d thought about burning it. He’d even found a lighter.
But then he remembered his promise. And Harry Styles, even at thirteen years old, was a man of his word.
So he found a quill, flattened out the journal on his bed, and began to write. And write. And write.
And Harry had found that he could not stop writing. Not that night, not ever.
--
Making his way around to the kitchen he can hear Maybelle mumbling something about a “lazy and ungrateful imbecile”. Harry sighs because there is no one in world Maybelle loves to insult more than Harry.
“Sorry,” he grumbles as he makes his way over to the fire oven.
“No you’re not. You wouldn’t give two pences if I starved to death. You’d probably throw a feast,” she spits, glaring at Harry.
Harry tries his best to supress his laughter because she may very much have a point.
“Oh wipe that smirk off your face, Harry. It doesn’t look very pretty and your face isn’t so handsome to begin with.”
And this how a regular morning in the Styles household is.
Harry heads off to the bakery soon after feeding and cleaning up after his step-mother and step-brothers.
The thing is, Harry doesn’t even mind this. Because it means that after putting up with the three devils residing in his house, he can finally escape to the one place he can call his sanctuary: the bakery.
After Des Styles’ demise, and after Mayebele had practically forced Harry into slaving all his time away at the bakery so he can make money they blow off, Harry had demanded some extra help.
Knowing Maybelle as well as he does, he knew she would never ever get her own hands dirty kneading the dough and rolling the pin. He also knew that she would never ever put her poor babies through that kind of torture either.
So when she grudgingly agreed to letting him hire some extra help, Harry was through the roof because it would mean he’d actually get to talk to people whom he didn’t absolutely loathe.
“Only two. Just two other people, Harry. We don’t need you blowing our hard earned money just so you can slack off,” she’d notified. Harry had to bite back the snarky reply that made its way on to his tongue.
The first person Harry needed to hire was an arithmetician. Harry was shit as keeping track of numbers and he figured he needed someone sensible to handle the money matters.
He’d met Liam at the vegetable stands while Liam was yelling at his father to not sell the tomatoes at such a low price.
“Papa, we can’t sell the tomatoes for lower than it cost us to grow them!” Liam was shouting. By his defeated pout, Harry could tell that his father was not listening. He had smiled to himself and strolled up to the brunette with intelligent brown eyes. He’d asked the boy if he would like to go get a sorbet together, and Liam had blushes mightily.
When Harry had brought up Liam’s cries to his father, Liam had pulled out a piece a parchment from his trouser. “I wrote out the calculations and everything!” he had exclaimed, thrusting the parchment in Harry’s face. Now, Harry did not understand arithmetics. That was why he had needed Liam in the first place. But his calculations looked in order and the kid seemed pretty smart.
So, Harry had stuck out his hand to Liam and said, “Looking for some work?” Liam had beamed, immediately accepting Harry’s outstretched hand and shaking it vigorously using both of his.
Next, his bakery needed a front man. One who could convince the customers into buying two loafs of bread instead of one, and that too for the price of three loafs.
When he told Liam that, Liam has scoffed, “And what? You expect that kind person to drop out of the sky and land on your feet?”
No sooner than he’d said that, something had dropped from the sky and landed right in front Harry. (Liam calls it coincidence, Harry prefers fate).
It was a boy, dressed in white rags with dirt marks streaking his face. A golden bundle had been tucked safely under his armpits.
“Gentlemen. I’m Prince Louis and I’m being chased by a terrible band of misfits who have their thoughtless minds set on stealing my jewels. Could you do your civil duty and escort me to the nearest hiding spot?” the boy had said smoothly, standing tall and brushing the dust off of his attire. A bright smile was spread across his face and something mischievous glinted among the depths of his striking blue eyes.
Liam had immediately curtsied, “Of course, your majesty, right this way.” He hurriedly led Louis through a series of vegetable stalls and into a back alley. Harry had followed, supressing the laughter than threatened to erupt from his lungs.
“You are a great citizen. You must be honoured as a knight! I’ll tell my father, the King,” Louis had started saying to Liam, whose face in turn had turned a bright crimson colour.
“No—no it’s quite alright,” Liam had started stammering, but Harry interrupted
“Oh come off it! You’re not a prince,” he’d stated simply. It wasn’t hostile, nor accusatory. He’d just merely stated an observation.
Louis’ eyes had flicked over to him, studying Harry briefly. Then, an impish smile had claimed his face.
“Smart boy. Not a prince, no. Just a humble jewelry thief. But thank you for saving me, knight,” he’d winked at Liam.
And that was when Harry had known he’d found his front man.
“So, Louis, wasn’t it? If you ever get tired of all the running around and stealing, I have an offer for you…”
And that’s why at 8am on a Tuesday morning, Harry’s face is lit up with a wide grin as he pushes open the doors to his bakery.
He is immediately greeted with the smell of freshly baked banana bread, a new creation of Louis’ who swore up and down that it would taste better than the squash loaf he’d come up with just a few weeks ago.
“Lou?!” Harry calls out, and a few seconds later he spots a head full of golden brown hair pop out from behind the kitchen door.
“Haz! You have to try this. It’s brilliant. I should win a reward for this!” Louis exclaims, gesturing to the pan of bread he’s holding.
“That’s what you said about the squash loaf. And the tomato dough. They both tasted like feet,” Harry points out as he lifts his bag off his shoulders and on to a chair.
“I know! But that was before I’d tried them. I’ve actually tried this one and let me tell you, if human feet tasted like, I would be chomping of mine all the time!” His eyes are wide with excitement. But they are also blood-shot red and manic.
“Lou, have you slept?” Harry asks, his forehead creasing.
“Nope! Too busy perfecting this!” Louis all but shouts, nodding frantically.
Harry chuckles at his friends antics. He had decided a long time ago that Louis kept things interesting in his life. Louis kept things interesting and Liam kept Louis interesting things legal.
They worked, the three of them. They worked well and that could be seen in the bakery’s success too. Their goods were famous not only throughout this kingdom, but many other ones as well.
“Fine,” Harry gives in. He opens his mouth to Louis, who promptly rips off a chunk of the bread and places it in his mouth. Harry’s taste buds are whelmed by a taste of banana and vanilla. He closes and lets out a moan.
“Mhmm, Lou, this is actually great,” Harry admits, opening his eyes. His friend still looks frantic as ever, nodding his head enthusiastically.
Soon after, Liam comes in and it takes coaxing from both Louis and Harry to get him to try the banana bread. After he lets out a squeal of delight (Liam insists that it was a not squeal. It was) they all decide it should be out on the shelves.
After helping Louis make a few more batches, the three split off to take care of their individual tasks.
By the afternoon, the banana bread is all cleaned out.
“I got people to pay eight pence a loaf,” Louis announces at the end of the day, smiling proudly.
Harry smiles fondly at him. “Thanks, Lou. But that’s a little too much. Cut it down to five or six, okay? I don’t want to cheat anyone.”
Louis rolls his eyes at him, but agrees nonetheless.
By the end of the week, their banana bread is the talk of the town.
--
“Did you hear? Did you hear?” Liam bursts through the kitchen, shouting excitedly. He’s clutching a piece of parchment in his hand.
“Woah, Liam. Did your father finally get you a new abacus?” Louis teases, trailing in behind Liam.
Harry laughs.
“No. No—just read!” Liam huffs, thrusting the parchment into Harry’s flour covered hands. He drops the parchment beside the dough he’s kneading, wipes his hands on his apron and starts to unroll the parchment.
“Read it out loud!” Louis tells him, chin propped up against his hand.
Harry clears his throat dramatically and reads the message written on the scroll:
“Hear ye, Hear ye,
The people of the kingdom
are called forth to the
Horan Palace
for the annual masquerade ball.
It is to be an enjoyable event,
filled with feasts, friends and dancing.
Appropriate attire required”
He looks up from the parchment to see Louis’ mouth hanging off its jaw and Liam eyes sparkling with excitement.
“The annual ball?” Louis asks to.
“We’re finally old enough to be able to attend!” Liam everything but yells. He’s bouncing on the balls of his feet.
“It sounds like an alright time, sure, but no reason to be pissing your trousers, Liam” Harry says, going back to concentrating on kneading the dough. Sometimes the other two forget, but they have an actual shop to run.
“Seriously, Harry? Do you listen to anything I say, like, ever?” Liam whines and Harry looks up to find Liam pouting angrily at him. He shoots Louis a pleading look but Louis puts his hands up in surrender, throwing Harry completely under the bus. Coward.
“Zayn,” Liam says shortly and Harry completely understands the reasoning behind Liam’s giddiness.
He really should have figured it out earlier. Some best friend he turned out to be. Because really, the only thing that makes Liam Payne giddy, other than a shiny new abacus, is Zayn Malik.
Zayn Malik, the son of Archduke Yaser Malik. Zayn Malik, whose face has been sculpted by Aphrodite herself. Sharp, chiselled cheekbones, strong, sturdy jaw and soulful, hazel eyes. It’s been rumoured that some commoners actually fall unconscious when he walks by. So yeah, Harry gets it.
This courtship between with Liam and Zayn began a few months ago, when on a blessed Thursday afternoon, the Archduke’s son visit their bakery.
Liam had been thrust out to manage the front of the store because Louis had the day off. Because of the strong shove Harry gave, and because of the puddle of water Liam had forgotten to clean up, he had slipped and landed right in Zayn’s arms.
Zayn had smiled kindly, pulling Liam up right while Liam had stammered out a terrible apology cum explanation while blushing furiously.
Zayn had laughed. Liam had smiled. After that, Zayn just kept finding reasons to come in and Liam just kept giving him reasons to. And the rest, as they say, was history.
“So, we have to go Harry. You understand right?” Liam says.
“No can do,” Louis says immediately. “Gabrielle will yank me by the ear and toss me in the well if I go to a ball without her. And she’s not old enough just yet.”
Gabrielle’s Louis’ lady. She has been since he was eight. And as for Louis excuse, it was a well validated one.
“Fine,” Liam accepts. Then his eyes snap to Harry.
“No,” he says.
Liam’s pout deepens and he looks positively heart broken. But Harry truly can’t. “Liam, you know I can’t go tonight. Maybelle’s having her annual tea party tomorrow and I have to prepare everything!” Harry explains desperately. He hates feeling guilty. Where is that damn journal of his when he needs it?
Liam pouts some more, but solemnly accepts the refusal. Louis on the other hand, well, he’s Louis.
“No. Maybitch is not going to ruin this one for you too. It’s a ball, Haz! Which means tons of eligible bachelors! How long has it been since you’ve taken a handsome fella out for a night of romance? And anyway, you’re done pretty much everything. I can finish the odds and ends,” Louis insists.
“Lou—” Harry starts to say, but Louis cuts him off.
“Won’t hurt to ask, right?”
Harry sighs but agrees nonetheless because Louis will not let this go if he doesn’t.
--
“…so everything is already set up in the kitchen and Louis is going drop off all the food from the bakery late.” Harry takes a deep breath as he finishes explaining the progress to Maybelle.
“Okay, you can go,” she says, waving her fingers dismissively. But Harry stands still, chewing on the inside of his cheek.
Maybelle raises her eyes brows at him, “Did you need something?”
“Uhm…” Harry starts to say, fiddling with the strings on shirt.
“Harry, I really don’t have time for this. I have to go get ready for tomorrow,” she says, tone of irritation more than apparent in her voice.
“Well, there is the ball thing happening at the Palace tonight…” he says, shifting his weight from his left foot his right.
“I know. Eugene and Neville are thrilled. I hear this year Prince James is courting for a husband. And Eugene has been love struck by the Prince ever since he saw him last year. Wouldn’t he and Eugene just make the most darling pair? Eugene is quite the looker,” she gushes dramatically.
Harry would certainly agree that Eugene is a looker, although more in a way most would find rather unpleasing. But he figures this admittance won’t get him any closer to the ball.
“Yeah, sure. I actually…I was wondering if it was okay for me to go?” he asks, his voice squeaking a little.
Maybelle’s head snaps towards him, “You? At a ball? What would you do? Oh, don’t make me laugh, Harry,” she says, despite the fact that she’s already cackling away. Harry finds his hands clenching into fists.
“”M serious. I want to go,” he says more sternly this time.
Maybelle’s laughter ceases and she eyes narrow at him, “Harry. Tomorrow is an important day for me. I can’t believe you’d be so selfish as to go to a party instead of helping your mother out. Surely your dad raised you better than this.”
Harry feels his teeth gritting, “Don’t bring my father into this,” he mumbles. But she doesn’t hear him.
“No. No, you cannot go. I have a lot riding on this and I’m not going to let you ruin it because you want to go to a silly little dance,” she purses her lips, which signals the end of the discussion.
Harry is absolutely livid. He shoots her a poisonous glare, then spins on his heels and walks out of the room.
Louis was right in naming her Maybitch.
--
“She said no,” Harry sighs as he watches Louis unload the boxes of food on to their counter.
“Like, flat out? She’s just like ‘no’?” he asks, leaning against the counter and crossing his arms over his chest.
“Well, she called me selfish for wanting to go to a ‘stupid’ dance when I knew what a big day tomorrow was for her,” he recites, his jaw set hard.
“She called you ‘selfish’? You, the person who is the only literally reason she has food on her plate?” Louis asks.
Harry shakes his head in defeat, “Okay, that’s not fair Louis.”
“Why? Of course it’s fair. All she does is sit on her giant arse all day and order you around,” he points out.
“Yes, but I have a roof over my head because of her. And she owns that bakery,” he slumps his shoulders. That’s the only reason he didn’t walk out the moment Maybelle shoved him into the attic.
“I still don’t believe that your father left everything to her and not you,” Louis sighs. “Things would have turned out so much better for you.”
“He loved her. She was his wife. He didn’t have any reason to not trust her. He didn’t know, Lou. My father didn’t know. None of this is his fault, okay?” Harry insists. It’s not fair to blame his father for this, it’s not. His father was in love. Harry understands.
“I know, I know. I’m sorry!” Louis apologizes and Harry smiles forgivingly at him.
“Haz, you do know that just because Maybitch said you can’t go doesn’t mean that you actually can’t go, right?” Louis asks suddenly.
Harry catches a dangerous look dawning on Louis face.
“Lou, no. No, I can’t sneak out. She won’t ever let me back in if she finds out!” Harry shakes his head, very much afraid of Louis idea.
“Well then, we will have to make sure she won’tfind out then, won’t we?” he is grinning impishly and that always lands someone in trouble. “Look, she’s gone to one of her dinner parties until 12 o’clock tonight. If we get you back by then, then it shouldn’t be a problem.” Louis electric blue eyes lock with Harry’s jade green.
“Eugene and Neville are both going to be there. How am I supposed to hide from them both?” Harry desperately claws, trying to find a way out of the hole that Louis is digging him into.
“It’s a masquerade. Didn’t you read the parchment?” Harry can tell by Louis wolfish grin that there no chance of him getting out of this his way.
“I don’t have anything to wear,” by now, Harry has given up. This is more of a statement than an argument.
“I do.”
--
“I look terrible,” Harry whines, pulling at his golden cufflinks. Louis smacks his hands away from them and continues buttoning up his shirt.
“Wow, Lou. Who knew you owned such a nice doublet?” Liam calls from across the room. He is adjusting his own attire, playing around with the belt and straightening his collar in front of a mirror.
“Gabrielle tailored it for me,” he answers absentmindedly. When Harry and Liam both burst into laughter, he realizes his confession and turns beet red.
“So, Maybelle gave you permission? Did she fall ill or something?” Liam asks and he flattens his hair down with grease.
Harry and Louis share a look.
“Define ‘permission’?” Louis says, pursing his lips together. Liam catches his expression and realization dawns on his face.
“She—you’re sneaking out?!” Liam cries and Harry hisses at him to keep his voice down.
“It was Louis’ idea,” he explains. “And so what if I am sneaking out? I do honest, hard work. I deserve a damn break!”
Liam offers him a small smile, “You do, Harry. You truly do.”
Harry smiles back, nodding his head in appreciation.
“You load of saps,” Louis whines, but he smiles fondly nonetheless. He finishes straightening Harry’s doublet, then claps his hands together, “Done!”
Harry saunters over to the mirror to look at himself. The doublet he is wearing is navy blue and silver. The intricate details are very beautiful and Harry reminds himself to compliment Gabrielle on her mastery. His trousers are the same navy blue colour, and an ink black cumberband is wrapped around his torso. Not much could done with his unruly hair though, but Louis argues it is what will distinguish him from the pompous royals.
Harry sees his journal lying next to his apron from the bakery, and he hastily reaches over and hides it underneath his coat. Just in case.
“Oh, let me look at my boys!” Louis shrieks as he ushers for Harry and Liam to stand together. When they do, he makes a big gesture of pulling out his handkerchief and wiping at his eyes. Liam rolls his eyes and Harry chucks a shoe at him.
It’s no later than two minutes when they hear Liam’s mom shout, “The carriage has arrived!” All three of them make their way out of Liam’s room and to the porch.
They see a simple brown carriage waiting for them.
Harry looks over at Liam. “Ready?” he asks, and Liam nods. Louis hands each of them their masks and they place it over their faces as they climb down the steps. Stopping in front of the carriage, Harry turns around to wave Louis goodbye.
“Remember to be back by midnight, Cinderella!” Louis shouts from atop the steps.
“Farewell, Lou!” they both shout back. As they climb into the carriage, Harry feels his heart beating dangerously fast.
He really hopes the night is worth all this trouble.
--
The ball is in full swing by the time their carriage pulls up in front of the Palace. There are commoners and royals all hustling and bustling about, chatting animatedly and sipping on flavoured drinks.
As they step out of the carriage and on to palace grounds, Harry can’t help but marvel at the breathtaking piece of architecture looming in front of him.
Sure he’d seen the castle from far away plenty of times, and it had always been beautiful. But standing this close to it, Harry could feel the elegance it emitted, the splendor. He hears Liam let out a little gasp beside him.
He puts his arm around his friends shoulder and squeezes. Then he leans into him and whispers “Let’s go.”
As they enter the ball, they notice that as beautiful as the palace was outside, it is the tenfold of that on the inside. The ceilings of the ballroom reach to such heights that Harry isn’t sure he can tell where it ends. Beautiful silk drapery hangs artistically from the pillars placed throughout the room. The walls are covered in intricate patterns and magnificent tapestry, so full of immaculate texture that it makes Harry want to run his hands along the surface.
“Haz?” Liam suddenly says, pulling Harry’s attention from admiring the palace’s interior.
“Yeah, Li?” he says, turning to face Liam. But Liam eyes are locked on something else entirely and as Harry follows his gaze, his eyes land on none other than Zayn Malik. His face is covered with a golden mask, but his sharp cheekbones are a dead giveaway.
He’s dressed in a red and gold coat, white gloves covering his hands. He appears to be chatting amiably with a woman whose blonde hair is styled into tight curls, and whose bosoms are spilling out of the top of her gown. Upon closer inspection though, his smile appears to be strained and his eyes are glazed over.
“You should go over there!” Harry encourages, giving Liam a little shove in Zayn’s direction.
“No--he’s busy talking to that maiden,” Liam tries to say nonchalantly, but Harry catches the hitch in his voice.
“Yeah. And it looks like he’s being severely tortured by her too,” he tells Liam.
Liam turns to face him and he’s smiling now. “You think so?”
“Yes. Look at his smile. He looks constipated,” Harry snorts. His comment earns him an elbow nudge from Liam. “Go.”
Liam bites his bottom lip, eyes wide and unsure. “What about you?”
“I’m a grown man, Li. I’ll be fine,” he insists. Then, as if to reiterate, he gives Liam another push. Liam smiles gratefully at him and makes his way over to Zayn, lifting the mask so Zayn can recognize him.
Zayn catches Liam making his way toward him and his face visibly lights up. As Liam joins the pair, even the voluptuous blonde catches the hint and sulks away. The painfully large smiles Liam and Zayn give each other as they begin to talk makes Harry’s cheeks hurt.
Sighing, Harry looks around the ballroom for a quiet corner where he can sit and write in his journal. He notices a slight indent in the wall where a chaise is tucked away and makes his way over.
He plops down on the soft cushions and pulls out his journal from his coat, and a quill and a small vial of ink from the pocket in his trousers. The music and the laughter echoing off the walls makes Harry smile. Then, he begins write about the Horan Palace in agonizing detail, describing every inch to his journal.
He’s filled about two pages with words like “magnificent” and “lavish” when a shadow falls over him. Harry looks up to find himself in the presence of a blonde man who is dressed in white coat, golden epaulets and red trousers. His face is covered with a golden mask as well.
“Good evening,” the man says. He bends down slightly and holds out his hand to Harry. Harry notices the man’s blue eyes, just how beautiful and kind they looked.
Harry takes the offered hand and gives it a shake. “Good evening.”
“The ball too tiresome?” the blonde man asks and Harry can’t help but smile.
“Taking a short break,” Harry replies.
“Mind if I join? My feet are starting to ache,” he says laughing, although Harry doesn’t quite know what’s so comedic. He has a nice laugh, Harry decides. It’s open and friendly.
“Of course.”
“I’m Niall, by the way,” the man says.
“Harry,” he replies with a nod. The man smiles widely.
“Please to meet you, sir. Mind if I ask what you’re scribbling down in that book of yours?” the man, Niall, asks. Harry narrows his eyes at Niall, trying to decide whether or not he’s mocking him. The man looks back expectantly, his blue eyes curious and his smile genuine.
“Nothing really. Just describing the palace,” he says, truthfully. No reason to lie.
“Yeah? Do you like it?” Niall asks, gesturing towards the room standing in front of them.
“It’s…breathtaking,” Harry concludes his work of two pages into one short word.
Niall shrugs as if he doesn’t really think all that of it. “Is that all that’s written down in there? Descriptions?”
Harry’s the one to shrug this time. “Among other things…” he says vaguely. He wonders why this strange man is so intrigued by his journal.
“Such as?” Niall presses on.
“Thoughts, feelings, you know the sort,” he says dismissively. He hasn’t even told Louis about the contents of his journal. This wayfaring stranger was definitely not getting in on his secrets.
“You’re very ambiguous, did you know?” Niall says, letting out another laugh.
“Is that an issue?” he retorts, quirking his eyebrow.
Niall cocks his head, smiling. “Well, I’m trying to get to know a little better and your ambiguity is certainly not helping.”
“And may I ask why you’re so interested in getting to know me?” Harry asks, running his hands through his curls.
Niall doesn’t answer right away. He just smiles at Harry, blue eyes sparkling with amusement. “Because I think you’re beautiful,” he finally whispers.
Harry feels his breath catch and his cheeks burn with modesty. “You don’t know that. You can’t even see my face properly.” He tries to keep his voice even, even though his heart is hammering away in his chest.
Niall isn’t smiling anymore. No, he’s looking straight into Harry’s eyes. This is why Harry notices that Niall’s eyes are more so a mix of grey and blue than just blue.
“I can see your eyes though. They say that eyes are the window to the soul. And your eyes are filled with…passion. Passion and love. But they’re also a little shielded, like you’re trying to mask the wounded parts of yourself,” Niall tells him.
Harry can feel each individual breath as they fill his lungs and leave. The blood is pounding in his ears and beads of sweat trickle down his neck. He can hear the faint sounds of music and laughter behind him, but everything feels surreal and distant, like he’s in a dream. The only thing he is aware of is the pair of pale blue eyes that are fixed on his jade-green ones, searching within its depths as they try to find answers.
They both hold each other’s gazes for what feels like an eternity, and something very intimate passes between them in that moment.
Then, Niall’s lips begin to move and his voice pulls Harry back into reality.
“Would you like to dance?” Niall is asking, as he holds out his hand to Harry. Harry blushes again and nods timidly. He leaves his journal and quill on the chaise, accepting Niall’s outstretched hand.
As Niall leads them onto the dance floor, Harry smiles to himself and sends silent expression of gratitude to Louis.
--
They clamber out to the balcony for some fresh air, laughing loudly. Niall is holding on to Harry’s hand, their faces red from dancing, and Harry can’t remember the last time he had this much fun.
“Take your mask off,” Niall requests, reaching out to run his hands along Harry’s mask.
Harry shakes his head, “No.”
“Why not?” Niall whines, pouting. “You really can’t be that bad looking!” he teases, winking at Harry.
“I can’t, Niall. At least not tonight,” Harry insists, and Niall cocks his head. But he doesn’t demand an explanation and Harry is grateful for that.
“Tonight has been a surreal night for me. I’m afraid that if I take the mask of, reality will snatch me right back up again. And I’m not ready for reality just yet,” he vaguely explains, and Niall doesn’t push for any more.
“It’s a clear night out,” Niall observes looking at the heavens above. “The night sky looks beautiful.”
Harry tilts his head back, taking in the view above him. Niall’s right; it’s a very clear night and the sky is littered with twinkling stars. They remind Harry of Niall’s eyes and how they’re always shining, too.
“Harry?” he hears Niall whisper and he turns his head to face him. That’s when he notices that he’s pressed flush against Niall’s chest, their faces mere inches apart.
He feels his lungs slow down considerably as he feels Niall’s breath ghosting over his lips. Harry’s can hear his heart beating. For the second time that night, he feels his green eyes lock with Niall’s blue ones. But this gaze is charged with anticipation and desire. Niall’s eyes flick down to Harry’s lips, his tongue running over his bottom lip ever so slightly. Harry gulps.
Then, Niall leans in just a little, and his lips are pressed up right against Harry’s. Harry’s brain catches up to the events that are unfolding, and his response is more than eager. His lips move against Niall’s, the two falling into an unmentioned rhythm. It’s sweet and gentle. They both pull back from it with a smile on their lips.
And that’s when Harry hears a loud gong, as the clock strikes midnight.
--
“Ihavetogo!” Harry mutters to Niall, completely aghast. He’d lost track of time. He pulls away from Niall’s arms and Niall gives him a look of bewilderment.
“What? Harry, wait!” Niall calls after him, but Harry is already running back into the ballroom, frantically looking for Liam. He spots him leaning against a pillar, laughing with Zayn.
“Liam!” he shouts. Liam catches Harry’s expression and hurriedly check the time on Zayn’s watch. He places a quick kiss on Zayn’s cheek and runs up to Harry.
“Shit!” is all he gets to say before Harry is pulling him through the throng of people and out the palace doors.
Carriages are lined up already, waiting for the guest to depart. Harry and Liam jump into one, jolting awake the sleeping driver.
“Please, sir. As fast as you can!” Harry instructs after giving him the address. The driver, who is still a little startled after his abrupt awakening, hurriedly rushes the horses.
“Li, if she finds out, she’s going to toss me out of on the streets for sure!” Harry cries.
“Don’t worry. We’ll make it on time. It’s not that far of a carriage ride,” Liam says, trying his best to reassure Harry.
“I can’t believe I lost track of time!” Harry moans, dropping his head in his hands.
“Yeah, how exactly did you lose track of time? When I left you, I could swear you were scribbling away in your journal in a dark corner of the room,” Liam alludes.
“I was. And then a handsome stranger rescued me from my lonesome self. Which was why I wasn’t aware of the passing time” Harry explains.
“Handsome stranger?” Liam inquires, eyebrows raised high.
“Not now, Liam!” Harry complains and Liam shut up for the time being.
Harry asks the carriage driver to stop a few houses down from his own. As they step out of the carriage, he sees another carriage slowly come to a halt in front of his house.
“It’s her! Liam, its !” Harry shrieks frantically. He’s done for. This time, he is truly done for.
“Harry, go sneak in through the kitchen door,” Liam tells him, pointing to the house.
“She’s going to see me, Liam!” he protests.
“No, she won’t. I’m going to go distract her,” he says, gulping and nodding his head deterministically.
“How?” Harry inquires. What could Liam possible distract with?
“The one thing the absolutely adores: money.”
Then, he shoves Harry towards the back entrance while he himself builds up the courage to confront the very Maybitch herself.
--
Harry crashes into the kitchen through the back door, almost knocking over the boxes of food Louis had brought over for the party.
He catches bits and pieces of Liam’s and ’s conversation and smiles to himself because Liam is using words like “inventory” and “equipment” to try and confuse her.
He dashes up the stairs and lunches himself through the attic doors.
Once in his room, he quickly sheds his evening attire and shoves it underneath his bed to hide it from ’s sight. He crawls into bed, blows out his candle, and promptly pretends to be asleep.
It’s less than a minute later when he hears the door to the attic unhinge, lull for a few seconds, than fall back into place.
It’s only then that he breathes a final sigh of relief. But that doesn’t last for long. Because as soon as ’s gone, he instinctively reaches under his mattress to grab his journal.
And that’s when he remembers that he left it at the palace.
--
The rest of the week passes by with Harry moping around and sulking about his journal.
“What’s the big deal?” Louis asks once he’s had enough of Harry’s brooding.
“What’s the big deal?! Louis, that journal has my entire life in it!” Harry shouts.
“Harry, you’re being overdramatic! It’s just a journal. Get another one, mate!” Louis shouts back, irritated.
That’s when Liam tugs on Louis sleeve and whispers into his ear that Des had given Harry that book.
Louis continues to apologize profusely after that, the apologies extending over the course of three whole days.
Another week passes by after that, and Liam finally remembers Harry’s confession in the back of the carriage.
“So, who was that handsome stranger that whisked you away at the ball?” he teases Harry as they try to figure out the following months budget.
Harry just shoots Liam a menacing glare and Liam doesn’t bring it up again until—
“Did you hear about Prince James?” Louis suddenly asks a few weeks later as the three of them are gathered in the kitchen, trying to come up with something better than banana bread. So far, they’ve failed miserably.
“Hear what about Prince James?” Liam asks. Harry was busy washing his mouth out with water after they’d tried to make spinach loaves and voted Harry to be the first one to try it.
“Apparently he’d found his, and I quote ‘soul mate’, at the ball. But with the masks and all, the so-called ‘soulmate’ got away without revealing who he was to the Prince. So now everyone is on a frenzied search for the mystery boy.”
“Why? I’m sure if the Prince called out to the boy, he’d come running,” Harry says, offering up his two pence.
“That’s the thing, though. There are masses upon masses of lads waiting outside the palace doors, claiming to be the Prince’s mystery companion,” Louis tells them. “God, people are pathetic,” he sighs.
“And how do you know all this?” Liam questions, arms folded across his chest. Liam doesn’t enjoy gossip, god bless his soul.
“Stan. He’s one of me cousins. He works at the palace as a guard.”
Liam seems to accept this as a reliable source and he and Louis soon launch into a discussion about how a person couldn’t possibly find a soul mate in just one night, and just what an absurd thought that was. Harry slinks away from the discussion altogether, mumbling some excuse about making him do some extra chores at home. The thing is, if this was the night before the ball, Harry would have wholeheartedly agreed with his friends. He would have scoffed at the Prince for putting together a search party for someone he’d known only for one night.
But things had changed that night. Because that night, Harry had met Niall.
And although Harry is not quite in love in with Niall, he’s sure that given the chance, he very much could be.
--
One evening, when Harry comes home after closing up the bakery for the day, he sees a few carriages parked outside his house.
He decides on going in though the kitchen door because he really does not feel like putting up with ’s friends after a long day at work.
As he’s trying to sneak up to his room inconspicuously, he hears voices that are far too unlike the high-pitched shrills of ’s friends. He presses right his ear against the wooden doors, trying to listen in on the conversation happening on the other side.
“I’m more than sure Eugene is the mystery boy you’re looking for!” Harry hears his step-mother say.
“He—uhm—he didn’t say his name was Eugene,” says a muffled voice. It sounds a little familiar but Harry can’t quite place it.
“He goes by many names. Full of wonders, that boy is!” exclaims, voice dressed in a tone too fake to go unnoticed.
“Okay, I guess. Could you call him down?” the sort-of familiar voice says again.
“He’s not in town at the moment. Visiting one of his friends up in Humellville,” Harry hears explain. That was a blatant lie. Eugene was too nasty to have friends.
“Oh, well what do you propose then, Mrs. Styles?” the voice asks. Harry cringes at the name. He loathes sharing his surname with such a disgraceful woman.
“Would you come back in a week’s time, Prince James?” Eugene coos a little too sweetly.
Prince James. Things click into place in Harry’s brain. was trying to convince Prince James that his soul mate, the one he’d found at the ball, was Eugene.
Harry found the idea of Eugene being anyone one’s soul mate a little terrifying, let alone the soul mate of the heir of the throne. The idea of kingdom controlled by his step-brother was worse a night-mare than a kingdom controlled by trolls.
He sends a silent plea, praying that their Prince is actually a sane one and notEugene’s future husband. Harry then slips slyly past the search party present in their living room and heads up to his room. He pulls out his (new) journal and writes down all the different ways he would try and overthrow Eugene if god forbid he ever came into power (one of the ideas was to lure him into the well with a box of doughnuts).
--
Harry realizes that bursting into the bakery kitchen with big news is kind of becoming a thing now.
This time, it’s Liam.
He is panting, his face is red, and his tunic is drenched in sweat.
“Did you just run a marathon?” Harry asks, laughing at his friend’s distraught state.
“Harry, Harry, Harry,” Liam wheezes, breathing heavily.
“Calm down, Liam. Here, drink some water,” he says, handing Liam a filled glass.
As Liam is drinking the water, it is Louis who now bursts through the doors in a state similar to Liam’s.
“Harry. Harry!” he’s panting as well. What is going on?
“Is there a fire? What’s happening?” he asks his friends. He shoves a glass of water into Louis’ hand too.
Harry makes both of them finish two entire glasses of water and forces them to breathe properly for another minute before he lets either of them talk.
“I get to tell him!” Liam claims, waving his index finger at Louis.
“No, I get to!” Louis protests, grabbing Liam’s finger and twisting it.
“OW! Moron!”
“Ijit!”
“Oi, Tweedle dee and Tweedle Dum!” Harry shouts, interrupting the slur of insults being thrown around.
Both Liam and Louis immediately shut their mouths and turn towards Harry. They both share a similar expression: smiles so big it takes up half their face.
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on, or do I have to start firing people?” Harry challenges, an eyebrow raised at them.
It’s Liam who starts speaking. Louis lets him. “Okay, so remember the stranger you met at the ball?”
Harry’s shoulders drop. He doesn’t want to remember the stranger, but thoughts of him were the only ones that seemed to occupy his mind anymore. “Yes, but I don’t really want to talk about him. Can we just drop it?”
Louis starts talking next, “And also, remember your journal that you lost at the ball?”
Harry narrows his eyes at his friends. “What is this? Bring Harry Down day?”
They both ignore him, instead choosing to shout the last sentence in unison, “Remember how Prince James is looking for soul mate from the dance?”
Harry looks from Louis to Liam. They look back at him expectantly, eyes wide and faces lit. He sighs. “Yes. I remember.”
Louis looks to Liam, who nods, encouraging him to go on, “You’re the soul mate Prince James is looking for.”
Harry looks blankly at his friends. “Have you two completely lost it?” he asks rhetorically.
Now it’s Louis nodding at Liam, encouraging him to go on. This unusual display of co-operation between the two is making Harry oddly uncomfortable.
“Prince James, yeah? He’s going around town asking for people to recite specific passages from a journal. A thick, brown, leather bound journal that belonged the man he’d met,” Liam tells him.
Harry shakes his head in disagreement. “No. I didn’t even meet Prince James at the party, let alone spend the evening with him. I was with a man named Niall.”
Louis electric blue eyes widen with realization. “Haz. Prince James’ first name is Niall. Niall James Horan. PrinceNiall James Horan.”
--
“No. No no no. I would have known if I spent an entire evening with the Prince. Niall isn’t a Prince. He didn’t act like a Prince.” Harry keeps shaking his head. It didn’t make sense. Niall can’t be a Prince.
“And how exactly does one act like a Prince?” Liam asks, quirking his eyebrows at Harry.
“You know, all haughty and ‘I’m better than everyone’.” Harry replies, throwing his hands in the air. “He didn’t enough mention anything about being a Prince. I mean, if I was a Prince, I’d go around screaming it in people’s faces.”
“Well, good thing you’re not then,” Louis grumbles.
“Why aren’t you happy about this? The Prince thinks you’re his soul mate,” Liam points out.
And really, Harry doesn’t know why he’s not happy. He feels his throat tighten and his eyes sting, and soon, tears are rolling down his cheeks.
“Because I’m just regular ole Harry. I’m nothing special. How can the Prince of an entire kingdom be in love with someone as normal as me?” he confesses. He’s sobbing now, chest heaving, tears streaking his face. All he wants to do is curl up into a ball and go to sleep.
Liam looks at him with wide eyes. Louis comes to stand in front Harry and grabs both his hands.
“Harry, you’ve got to be kidding me. If anyone deserves this kind of love, it’s you. You’ve put up with and her snooty minions for five years because your father promised them he’d take care of them. You’re the one recognized the talent in Liam and gave him the opportunity to prove himself. Hell, you took a malicious hoodlum like me and straightened him out to work an honest man’s work!” Louis recounts, wiping away at Harry’s tears.
Harry looks up at Louis with large wet eyes, chuckling, “You’re hardly malicious, Lou.” Then, he pulls is Louis into an embrace. Liam joins in soon after, whispering sweet encouragements is Harry’s ear.
After they pull apart, Louis looks up and down at Harry and shouts, “Our little Harry is going to be a Prince!”
“Hardly,” Harry scoffs.
But his stomach still flips a few times at the thought of seeing Niall again.
--
They all decide to go up to the Palace the next day. Louis reckons his cousin Stan will sneak them in to the Prince’s room. Then, Harry will be finally be able to put his yearning heart at peace.
Harry whistles all the way home, a little extra spring in his step. His heart is fluttering like crazy and he can’t seem wipe the shit-eating grin off his face. He is so, so happy.
As he unlocks his front door, he can hear Eugene shouting inside. He rolls his eyes and braces himself for whatever all this is about. When he swings open the door, Eugene, Neville and are all gathered in the living room. All three heads turn to him as he steps inside. All three of them have a malicious glint in their eyes.
“Harry, we’ve been waiting for you arrival,” says, voice dressed in a sickly sweet tone. Then, she narrows her eyes at him and gives him a menacing smile.
And that’s when Harry knows that something is very wrong.
--
“Come in, have a seat. We have a few things to discuss, dear,” she says in that same creepy tone. Harry looks at her first, then Eugene, then Neville. His hands start to shake.
“Come on, don’t be shy. Now, Harry.” demands, pursing her lips. Harry slowly saunters over to one of the sofas and lowers himself on to the cushions.
“So, I’m sure you’ve heard that Prince James’ search for his beloved is still ongoiong?” she says, folding her hands together on her lap. Her eyes are unmoving from Harry’s face.
He nods slowly.
“And I’m sure you’ve heard that he has something belonging to his beloved in his possession?”
He nods again.
“Harry, I’m going to ask you this once and only once. Please, answer truthfully. I will know if you’re lying and I won’t be too pleased about it,” she threatens.
He gives her another nod, his throat too dry to be able to speak.
“Did you or did you not attend the annual Royal Ball?” she asks calmly.
Harry starts to spins. His stomach churns and a bad taste settles in his mouth. He feels like throwing up.
“I didn’t,” he lies.
“LIAR!” Eugene shouts so loudly that it rings in his ears. He is standing up, pointing an accusatory finger at Harry.
“Eugene, sit down,” orders. He obliges obediently.
“I told you I would know if you were lying,” she says, turning her attention back to Harry. Her lips are pulled into a thin lip, her eyes cold and hard.
Harry looks down at his feet. He’d never been a very good liar.
“Do you want to know how I know?” asks. Harry wonders why she’s putting him through this kind of torture. He wonders what he ever did to deserve her in his life. He feels a familiar sting in his eyes.
“Do you, Harry?” she repeats.
He nods, just once.
“Your journal.”
His head snaps up and he looks at . She’s smiling now, although it looks more like a grimace. She’d been beautiful once, even Harry admits it. But age had not been kind to her.
“How—how do you know about my journal?” It comes out shaky and rough. His throat is raw.
“Oh please. How stupid do you think we are? You take it everywhere,” Neville spits.
Harry chews on the inside of his cheek.
“You disobeyed me, Harry,” speaks up again. “I told you that you were not allowed to go to that ball and you disobeyed me. You are an insolent, disrespectful and unappreciative child that needs to be punished for his actions.”
And that’s when Harry cracks.
“I’m insolent?! I’m unappreciative?! I’m the goddamn reason you even have food to fill your stomachs. I work hard all day while you lot sit on your arses and blow the money that I’ve worked hard to earn!” he’s screaming now. His face is red hot with anger and he’s panting.
“I will not be spoken to like that! You should be grateful that I even let you stay here after you father died. That I didn’t toss you out on the streets like the dirty orphan that you are!” shouts back. Her eyes are manic and filled with hatred. He drops his gaze back on to the floor.
Harry has never blamed his father for leaving everything he’s owned to . But right now, at his moment, he’s furious. He’s angry at , at his dad, at fate. But she’s right. He’d be a homeless child out on the streets, scavenging for food if it hadn’t been for her. He knows that she only kept him around to run the bakery, but he has a roof over her head because of her.
He hears take a sharp breath. “I know you’re the boy Prince James is looking for. Although, god knows why he chose youout of all people.”
Harry feels as though someone had stabbed his heart with a dagger, and is plunging it deeper and deeper with every passing second.
“So, here is what is going to happen: But you’re going to help convince the Prince that Eugene is the one he met at the ball, that Eugene is his soul mate. He’s coming here tonight. In less than an hour’s time,” she informs him.
“No. I will do no such thing,” Harry refuses. has snatched away too many things from. His childhood, his happiness; she’s taken everything. He’s not going to let her take Niall too.
“Yes, you will. And you know why you will? Because if you don’t, I will burn the bakery down. I will burn down the only thing that’s left of your father.”
Harry’s slowly raises his eyes to look at . Her arms are crossed over her chest and she’s breathing heavily. The deterministic look in her eyes tells Harry that she’s not bluffing.
“You—you can’t,” he stammers. That bakery is his life. It’s his sanctuary.
“I can and I will. It’s made enough money to keep us going for a while now. And Neville and Eugene are old enough to find work someplace as well. I will burn the place down, which means you can kiss those two idiot friends of yours good bye, too. And I will toss you out on the streets. Without. A single. Pence.” she sneers.
A million thoughts race through Harry’s head. He can’t think straight. He needs someone, anyone, to help him figure this out.
But he’s alone, like always. It’s him against the world.
“So, what’s it going to be, Harry? The Prince or the bakery, your friends, and your home?”
--
They’re in the kitchen now. Eugene is hunched over the table with a quill in his hand, scratching away at a piece of parchment.
“Repeat that last part again,” he demands.
Harry lets out a shaky breath.
“…then passed right by, and never knew,” he repeats for the fifth time.
Harry is recounting parts of his journal of his journal to Eugene. Poems he’d written, stories he’d scribed.
Eugene clicks his tongue, “God, these are so awful. Half of them don’t even make sense.”
Or maybe you’re just too dimwitted to understand them, Harry thinks spitefully.
At that moment, the kitchen door swings open and struts in.
“You got it?” she asks Eugene and he nods.
“Mother, these are terrible. I don’t want the Prince thinking I wrote such horrendous pieces,” he complains. Harry has never wanted to hit anyone so desperately in his entire life.
“Shut up, Eugene. You wrote them. You wrote every piece in that book. Remember that,” she snaps at him. He cowers back under her gaze and at some level, Harry feels a sense of pity for ’s sons.
“Oi, buffoon, anything else I need to know about your dumb journal?” Eugene shouts at Harry, and he loses any sense of pity he was feeling for that ignorant cretin.
“Yes, that’s it,” he hisses.
“Good. They should be here soon. Go upstairs and put on a nice coat, Eugene,” barks at him, and he gets up from the counter and leaves the kitchen.
Then, focuses her attention on Harry, “As for you. Bring out the tea when they arrive, and then go upstairs and lock yourself in your room. I don’t want so much as a peepfrom you when the Prince is here. Understand?”
He nods his head.
That’s when the doorbell rings.
A slow smirk spreads across ’s face. “The Prince is here,” she shouts for Eugene and Neville. Then, she locks her eyes with Harry and brings her index finger to her lips, reiterating her threat. Harry turns away from her. He doesn’t want her to see the tear rolling down his cheek.
He hears the kitchen door swing open, then shut again. A few moments later, the front door clicks open and he hears ’s shrill voice greet someone. Probably Niall.
Harry feels the dagger in his heart sink even further. His hands are clenched into fists.
He pushes the kitchen door slightly ajar, and he can just make out Eugene bounding down the stairs, followed by Neville.
He hastily wipes away at his tears and shuts the door. He walks across the kitchen, puts some water in the kettle and begins to prepare a set up cups and some crumpets on a tray.
A few moments later, the kettle goes off and Harry pours it into a tea pot. The entire time his hands are trembling. He burns himself accidently with the scalding water.
Then, he picks up the tray, takes a deep breath, pushes open the kitchen door and walks into the living room.
--
is sitting on one end of the three person sofa with Eugene on the on the other end, and Neville squished in between. There are two other people sharing the love seat, and Harry scans over their profiles quickly. One of them has blonde hair and the other is a brunette, but Harry dismisses either one of them as Niall because they’re both burly and thick. His Niall was built a little more slender.
He notices someone sitting on a chaise, the person’s back to Harry. Harry’s breath slows down because—this person also had blonde hair.
catches his searching eyes and shoots him a glare. Then, eyes locked on Harry’s, she says, “Our servant, Thomas, has brought out the tea. Would you gentlemen care for some?”
The two men on the sofa grumble a yes.
“And you, Prince James?” her eyes settle on the blonde man whose back is to Harry.
“Yes, that would be great,” a familiar voice says.
It’s Niall. The familiar voice is Niall’s. Harry’s entire body goes rigid.
“Thomas?” calls to him. “The tea?” Her eyes are boring into Harry’s, her tone threatening. Her lips are pulled into a smile but her eyes are colder than ever. She runs her index finger over her lip, inconspicuously reminding him of her order earlier.
Not. A. Peep.
He slowly makes his way to them.
Harry places the tray down in front of the two men sitting on the other sofa first. He’s not sure if he’s ready to see Niall just yet.
“You’ll have to excuse Thomas’ silence. He’s a mute. We saw him struggling on the streets outside of our bakery, and we thought about how cruel fate had been to him. Eugene, god bless his good heart, offered up our home to the boy.”
Harry can hear the blood pounding in his ears.
“That was so kind of you all,” he hears Niall say.
Harry wants to scream. He wants to turn around and scream about what a rotten liar is. He wants to grab Niall’s face and kiss him hard and remind him of the evening they spent together.
But he shuts his mouth. He stays quiet, just like has ordered him to.
The two men tell Harry how they like their tea and he starts to prepare it for them. Behind him, he hears Niall speak again.
“So, Eugene…” he says.
“I had a lovely time that night, Prince James,” Eugene coos.
“What was your favourite part?” Niall questions doubtfully.
“The kiss we shared out in the balcony,” Eugene replies, without missing a beat. had made Harry recount the entire night to him.
Niall chuckles, “Of course. You left something at the Palace that day, didn’t you?”
“My beloved journal. Yes, I did,” Eugene lies. Harry grits his teeth.
“This may seem absurd but many people have been claiming to be my companion that night. If you don’t mind, just to make sure, would you please recite a passage from that journal?” Niall asks.
Harry closes his eyes and takes a sharp breath. His fingers are gripping the tray so tightly that it hurts.
He hears Eugene clear his throat. “She had blue skin, and so did he. He kept it hid, and so did he. They searched for blue their whole life through; then passed right by--and never knew. It’s one of my favourites.”
And that’s when Harry drops the tray.
It lands with a loud clang, the tea cups and the crumpets scattering everywhere.
He turns around quickly to pick up them up when his hands collide with someone else.
Harry looks up to find a pair of pale blue eyes staring back at him, unblinking.
And god, he’s beautiful.
“I am so sorry!” he shrieks, standing up.
“I thought you said he was a mute?” he hears one of the men ask behind him.
“He—by mute I meant—,” he hears desperately stammer behind him.
But he doesn’t pay attention. Because Niall’s pale blue eyes are holding his gaze, searching for answers yet again.
Then, Niall brings his hand up to Harry’s face, gently running a thumb over Harry’s cheek.
“Harry?” he whispers.
Harry just stares.
“It’s you. You’re Harry.” It’s not a question anymore. It’s a statement.
Harry finds himself nodding.
The next thing he knows, Niall’s lips are crashing into his own. This kiss is nothing like their first one. No. It’s desperate and intense, like Niall is trying to drown himself in Harry’s taste.
Harry responds just as fiercely, his arms flying up around Niall’s neck and his fingers knotting in his hair.
Everything around them falls away. He doesn’t think of the bakery, of Eugene or of .
Niall is here. Niall is his. And nothing else matters
--
EPILOUGE
After Niall and Harry finally break apart from their kiss, it seems like everything starts to fall into place.
No, Harry and Niall don’t get married and live happily ever after. Well, at least not right away.
As is screaming her head off about how Harry is lying, how Eugene is really Niall’s soul mate, she accidently lets it slip that Harry is actually her step son.
Niall makes his men do a little digging and it is soon revealed that had actually forged Des’ will. He’d left both the house and the bakery to Harry.
Harry breaks down after this revelation, and Niall’s hold him in his arms the entire time.
Harry hands the house over to . It held too many bad memories than good ones anyway. He then uses the earnings from the bakery, the money had stashed away, to buy himself another house. Liam and Louis move in with him soon after.
They still run the bakery together. Niall visits all the time, sometimes even running the front of the shop himself. He claims that he’s just doing it to spend more time with Harry, but Harry reckons he quite likes it. The business goes up quite a lot because of it too, so Harry is not complaining.
Zayn and Liam are actually the first ones to get married. Zayn proposed to Liam using an arithmetic problem and Liam squeals when he finds the solution spells out to be “Will you marry me?”
It’s a lavish wedding and all the townsfolk attend.
Niall nudges Harry during the ceremony and whispers, “That could be us.”
Harry chuckles and says, “Maybe, if you play your cards right.”
Louis and Gabrielle tie the knot soon after that, and Niall claims there is a wedding fever going around. He also says he might have caught it.
Harry laughs and tells him to get some medicine before he falls too ill.
Niall proposes to Harry using baked bread. They are having dinner when Niall claims that he baked banana bread for them. As Harry is slicing the loaf into pieces, he finds the ring baked right into the bread.
Harry cries. Niall cries. But of course, they are tears of joy.
And I would say that they lived happily every after, but the thing is, I don’t know.
That part you’ll have to decide for your selves.
(Although, I’ve decided that they do.)
THE END.
°•°•°
Word Count: 11 443