opal crystals promote emotional amplification and connections
———-
Harry can't sleep.
He's been laid up in his bed since the sun went down four hours ago, thinking. He couldn't stop thinking about her; about (Y/N). After having that single night with her, he doesn't know if he can sleep that restfully again without her. And he wasn't even next to her for star's sake! She was a wall away, while he stayed outside! It shouldn't have left such a lasting, intense impact on him. But it did. He just wants to hold her pretty body, and listen to her voice, and feel her (energy or skin, he's not picky). He knows he has absolutely no right to want all of that, as he's just met her and recognizes how crazy he sounds craving after her like this, but he does. He wants all of it; he wants her.
The whole time being in her presence had him feeling so complete and strong. He could almost describe it as being on a psychedelic high. He could feel everything; all of her energy, all of the animals' presence, all of the plants' life forces. He had a feel of everything around him. Then, as he watched her disappear in the distance down the mountain, it was like a switch flipped. He had been feeling the highest of highs for well over twelve hours, then he dipped into the lowest of lows. There was no tapering off, no grace period. As soon as her presence dropped off, he returned to the state he had been in prior to her. He almost felt numb compared to how he had been feeling with her around.
Harry's never experienced anything like this before, but he's heard of it. His mother had given him her old spellbook back when he was just coming into his powers, and he had read that thing through and through countless times. He could recite to you the glossary even. But there was one particular section that had always caught his attention. It was four chapters centered around something called Twin Flames (or Twin Souls depending on where you're from).
That section had explained through what a Twin Flame was and what it meant to have one. It—for all intents and purposes—was a soulmate. Harry remembers being so amazed when he read through the first time. He loved the idea of having another person out there share a bit of his soul and him hold a part of theirs. Not only was his soul given to another, also the smallest bit of his magic was given to them as well. There wasn't enough that it would make his partner a witch if they weren't meant to be one, but enough so that when they were together, Harry would be at his most powerful and his love would also feel the pull of magic. It caused a sense of euphoria to have both of those bits of yourself merged together finally. That's the only thing Harry could even compare to what he was feeling with (Y/N) there.
Witches usually don't find their Twin Flame, though. Many of them live nomadic lives which make it hard to find their intended. That just made it all the much sweeter for him. He was already so lucky having been granted (Y/N) as his Flame, and knowing he was one of the lucky few to even know they had a Flame, it was just so extraordinary.
He's put together a bit of a timeline for himself, thinking that around the time she would have been born that would have been when his magic had gone haywire. A part of his magic and soul was taken right out of himself, and given straight to her. It made him feel so happy. Although it might sound a bit odd, thinking that having a portion of your actual, human soul being ripped out of you and given to another, but Harry liked it. He loved the romantic connotation with it; a part of him was carried with her throughout her whole life and he had that small bit of her with him. Although he's just meeting her now, he's been with her through everything.
Another part of having a Twin Flame, was that it came with a ritual. Harry remembers being so confused when he read through those paragraphs. It talked all about something called an Alignment Ritual where he would take his intended out on a full moon, and make some special bonding potion and have them both drink it. It was like some type of witchy marriage ceremony. Some long, Shakespearean enchantments were meant to be said from both parties as they held hands under the moon and stars, with the energy of the earth baring witness to their joining. The ritual would also allow his own magic to stabilize, and stop her from feeling the lows that he's assuming she feels too (if he's right about all of this anyway).
He would do anything to have that with her. Harry would even leave his home in the woods to be with her, to be where she would be happiest. He'd do anything to live that life with her.
But how is he supposed to tell her that?
Harry can't even imagine what it would be like to tell her he's a witch, first off. Then to add on top of it, that they were destined to be together because "the stars say so". And—get this!—they had to basically get witch married or they would both experience intense highs and lows in emotion, that would over time scar them, emotionally and physically, if gone on too long. How is he supposed to say that?
Who's to say she'll even ever come back? What if she doesn't feel it in the same way he does? Or if she felt it at all? Harry doesn't even know how to contact her, let alone find her. Now, he just hopes that she'll somehow find her way back to him.
Harry knows he's not going to be able to sleep tonight.
—————
Harry's fucking suffering.
It's been almost two weeks since he's seen (Y/N), and he can't fucking take it. He doesn't know if it's just because he now knows what it's like to be with her, so being without her feels extra awful and he's just being dramatic. But, then again, there's been some new developments in his magic that makes him feel like he's not just being dramatic.
Most days, he'll wake up and his usually vibrant garden will be so overrun with weeds that he'll have to spend all morning carefully zapping out, or the already winding vines growing up his trellis would twist their way through his windows and overflow onto his ceiling inside. He's been having problems with accidentally changing the paint on his house as well. He's changed his usually cheery, pastel yellow paint to a bright cherry red (he thinks he might have been mad at Bonnie when that happened), a magenta (he was washing his clothes when this came about so he doesn't really know what happened there), and this deep, dreary blue he wasn't a big fan of (he thinks he was sad and thinking about (Y/N) when that came about). Then there's the whole issue of the fact that sometimes he'll unknowingly summon all of the wildlife within a five mile radius to him. It wasn't that bad, really, but some of them liked to stick around; a deer had even decided that his bed was now her bed and she slept there for a full five hours before leaving, a rival mountain lion had picked a fight with Bonnie, and little Dandelion was pushed into hiding in the garden till this hungry bear left. None of them seemed to bother Harry himself, always either ignoring him or being drawn to him as the more tame animals are. It's just not really convenient; none of it is.
And he's just sad.
He misses her. So much. Even if all the weird little things weren't going on, the fact that he misses her so much was punishment enough. If he lets himself go too long without a task to concentrate on, he feels himself slip. It's a deeper sadness than he thought it was possible to even feel. It's a feeling of isolation, and Harry never feels isolated. Sure, he's felt lonely, but being surrounded with all of the life around him would serve as a reminder that he wasn't alone. Now, if he doesn't keep himself in check, he forgets everything around him. He hates it. The only thing that breaks him out of it is her.
Although he's not able to physically be with her or embrace her energy, he's found a way to see her. Harry knows it's kind of (really) creepy, unethical, and probably illegal in most Wiccan circles, but he needed this; without it he's sure he was on the edge of turning into that crazy, mountain man people tell stories about around campfires.
On a particularly cold, lonely night (even Dande had wandered off and Bonnie was missing) Harry found himself by the edge of the creek. He was laid out on his tummy, his head peeking over the cutoff of the land. His fingers were dipping into the light current, conjuring up the smallest of vortexes and floating beads out of the river and letting them drop back in. (Y/N) had been on his mind, replaying each moment he had with her in his head and daydreaming of what it would be like the next time he sees her. He laid his cheek against the earth, his eyes closing as he wondered about what it is she could be doing in that moment. He submerged his hand into the current up to the wrist, wiggling his fingers about to try and ground him to this moment. Suddenly, the image of her in his mind became vivid, as if it were a movie. The current beneath his hand stopped, the water coming to a standstill. Harry raised his head back up, looking to see what it was that had shifted in the area. Looking towards the once flowing river, now it sat still with a translucent picture on the edge closest to him.
It was (Y/N).
She was in what he assumed what her bedroom. There were these small twinkling lights stuck up around the walls, her bed a fluff of light pink and soft yellow tie-dye. He could even faintly hear music he didn't recognize playing from this tiny little speaker. She was laid in her bed, on her lap was something he could only compare to that of those large computer kits that came out in the early seventies. As much as he was confused about those small details, he couldn't keep his eyes off of her. All of his daydreaming and memory surfing had not done her any justice. Her skin practically glowed, her hair shiny like she were the star in a shampoo commercial (or Cher), and her eyes—oh stars, her eyes. For the smallest of seconds, he felt at peace. All of that isolation, the numbness just melted away and he found his home in the universe again.
He had seen her move, turning off her lights and letting her personal computer kit go dark before replacing the lid. The music of her speaker went quiet as she pressed a button on something Harry didn't even recognize. A small tablet looking thing with no outward buttons, looking to be made of glass as the front side lit up like a television screen; if anything it looked like something out of a futuristic movie from the sixties. The dark of her room remained slightly illuminated by the screen of a television, giving enough light so Harry could see her settling into bed. Just as she had began messing with the small tablet again, Harry regained the small bit of sanity still inside him in that moment.
This was wrong, he couldn't just look upon her without her permission. This was her privacy, and he was had been invading it. He jerked his hand away from the stream, falling back to get away from the vision of her. As comforting as it was to see her again, this was the wrong set of circumstances. Even so, a couple weeks later now, Harry wasn't even sure how he was able to conjure her up. He had no intentions of projecting upon the river and spying on (Y/N), but he guesses that he had allowed his mind to slip a little too far into wishing she was a reality.
Harry was able to stay away for a few days before returning to that spot in the early morning light after not having had even a lick of sleep. Dande had slowly followed behind him, looking to see what Harry was up to. He knew that it was wrong, that he had no business to be watching her, especially when she could be showering or getting dressed or anything that absolutely needed privacy. But, he couldn't help himself. That morning he had dipped his hands back into the river, shooting Dandelion a sheepish look as she watched him. He concentrated on the thought of her, much like he had that first time, wishing they were together. Soon enough, the river ran still and that picture of (Y/N) came back up.
The second time he saw her, she had been sleeping still, her bedding kicked to the edge of her mattress. Her hair was thrown haphazardly across her pillows, with one hand dangling off the edge of the bed. It was very different than when he had let her sleep at his house. She wasn't cradled into one small space, with her limbs pulled close to her body. Her body wasn't covered in a dewy shine from being so close to the warm sun. No remnants of any worry or fear were on her features, just the slightest part to her lips and squish to her cheek from the pillow below.
She was in her natural habitat, as funny as that sounds. She looked so comfortable and peaceful, exactly where she belongs. (Although Harry does maybe think she belonged with him more than alone in her bed, but details can vary). The way she was splayed across her bedding, the pink lemonade-like fluffs piled around her with the tiniest amount of orange morning light coming through her white, laced curtains, highlighted every bit of softness and how pretty she is, and just everything he's been missing since she'd gone home that day. This look at her made Harry question if it was possible for a heart to grow so many sizes.
As much as it eased his vacant heart to see her, it also reminded him of the distance between them and the uncertainty of ever seeing her again. It's funny how something could make you miss someone less but also more at the same time.
Dande hopped her way to Harry's side, bumping her head against his thigh as he sat. Tearing his eyes away from the vision of (Y/N), he looked towards the little bunny looking at him with the most accusing pair of eyes a rabbit can have.
"Don't look at me like that," Harry pouted, feeling the current pick up the tiniest bit around his fingers. He knew he shouldn't be looking at her like this, and Dande wasn't helping. "I miss her Dande! What do y'want from me?"
Of course the bunny offered no response, instead turning around with her little puff of a tail facing Harry and stubbornly hunkering down. He knew what she was trying to do, and it was working. Harry turned, sparing one last glance towards (Y/N), trying to save a snapshot of that moment in his head. He pulled his hand out of the river, watching the current pick up and sweeping the vision of her away with it.
Finally, Harry felt at peace enough to lay down and try to squeeze in a few hours of sleep. Dande followed behind, slipping through the screen door, and plopping down at the foot of his bed.
With his eyes still closed and arms stretched behind his head, Harry spoke, "Dande? Are y'still awake?" Obviously, the bunny offered no response, instead bumping her head softly against his foot to indicate her consciousness. "Do y'think 'm going crazy? Be honest."
Harry peeked down at her, watching as she lazily blinked her eyes at him. Harry knew that look; she's given it to him many a-times, most of them more recently. It's the closest thing to a deadpan look that a rabbit could manage, yet Harry still got the message loud and clear. Yes. Yes, he was crazy and Dandelion was not afraid to let him know.
"Y'don't have to say it like that," Harry whined, pressing the heels of his palms into his eyes. Harry could feel his bunny shift at his feet, letting him know she was turning in for the night and done with his questions.
He knew he was acting kind of crazy; he knew it! He just didn't know what else to do. He knew that after a witch meets their flame, they go through a bit of an emotional obstacle course to sort it out. But he didn't realize how hard it would be.
———-
After Harry's "sleep" (he reckons it was more of a power nap really), he was up and at'em doing his normal daily routine. He decided to jam pack the day with activities and chores he would usually do throughout the week, all into one day just so he could distract himself. He knows he's going to regret it once he runs out and is left alone with his own thoughts, but he needed something.
He started his list off with laundry. He spent much longer of a time going through and washing his clothing, giving himself the needed distraction. (He only accidentally changed the paint color on the house once! A pleasant baby blue, but still an unwelcome change).
Hours later, he had began pulling the garments off of the clothesline. Especially since his magic had gone finicky all those years ago, Harry relied heavily on his intuition. And he felt something. Something was coming. He's not sure what it was, but there was a warming pull coming over him, grappling at his sternum.
All of the sudden, Harry felt like all of the pieces of his powers fall in to place. He felt strong, and connected the way he hasn't been in so long. This feeling has only come around once in the last forty years: when (Y/N) was around.
A rustling was heard from the edge of the clearing; the sound of leaves being displaced by feet and shrubbery giving way. She was here. He knew it, there was no other explanation. Harry dropped his woven basket, full of the clothes he had just taken down. The edge fell on the toe of his baby blue boots, but he hardly noticed with the anticipation seeping through his bloodstream. He slowly inched towards the section of the woods he heard her coming from, able to hear her frustrated mumbling to herself.
"I'm so stupid. What am I thinking going to some random spot in the fucking woods to see some guy? This isn't Twilight or whatever, I'm probably gonna fucking die—Oh, hi," her ranting was cut off as she entered Harry's area, seeing him already standing there like he was waiting for her (which he was).
"Hi," Harry sighed dreamily. His heart fluttered as her eyes scanned over him, and she took a step closer. She found him; she went out of her way to go to him. Maybe, she missed him as much as he missed her.
She wasn't at all dressed like she had been last time. Before, she looked like she had prepared for the hike, with proper clothing and shoes. Now she looks like she could have just found a random collection of clothing and put it on in a rush to leave. Harry liked to think she was in a rush to find him again.
"I finally found you!" her voice an exasperated huff.
Harry thinks he probably could have cried if he's being honest. She—she was looking for him. Like, she's gone out of her way to hike up the same mountain she had almost died on, just to see him again. He stood stuck in some type of trance, losing himself in the moment. He felt he couldn't move without her moving first, couldn't speak without ruining the romance edged scene he's created in his mind. So he didn't.
"I'm so sorry if this is weird, or whatever. I just felt like I had... left something here? I'm not even sure, it's such a weird feeling, but I had to come back," she further explained, a small, unsure waver in her voice. "I can totally leave if this is weird, though."
That was just what he needed to break out of his stupor. Hearing her talk about leaving was almost like a threat to him; to the dreamy bubble in his mind.
He took a hasty, stumbled step forward, dragging the toe of his suede boots through the dirt. "No, no! Don't leave," he rushed, taking a deep breath before continuing, "...Please. I know ex-exactly what y'mean. I... I feel like y'had taken something when y'left, too."
My heart, Harry thought.
He didn't mean to sound so desperate, really! But it's kind of hard to pretend like he hasn't been waiting for her practically everyday this past month.
She didn't seem to mind (or maybe notice at all, Harry hopes), as she took a step further into the clearing with him. "Oh, thank god," her shoulder sagged with relief, "I thought you were going to think I was crazy or something."
Harry didn't think he would ever think anything other than pure praises of her. "No, of course not," he responded, "Would you...would y'want to stay and have dinner?"
She didn't take even a second to think about it before she was nodding her head. "Yeah, actually... I hope that's okay."
Harry quickly nodded his head, tripping over himself to reassure her. He's sure anything would be okay as long as it was with her. "Yeah! I have vegetarian lasagna in the oven, right now. But I can make something else, if y'want."
"Oh no, that sounds so good. I've been craving that actually," she breathed a laugh, running a hand through her hair.
Harry smiles at that. He'd been craving it too.
————
They had sat outside, Harry conjuring up a little red gingham blanket for them to lay out on. The dwindling sunshine kept them warm, but Harry still took any opportunity to get closer to (Y/N). By then, Harry was almost done with his plate, and (Y/N) with her's. He'd been on edge for the start of the night, worried that she could bolt at any moment and he'd really never see her again. It wasn't until she started singing his praises over how good the food was, did he relax. Finally, he felt conversation come easier to him. Of course, he wasn't able to talk about everything, but being around (Y/N) made him want to.
After her last bite, she pulled out that small... screen he had seen when he look at her through the water. She began tapping away at it, and swiping her finger along the width. After another moment, she placed it back down on the blanket, allowing Harry an upside down peek at it. It had a blank background with grey and blue bubbles inhabiting their respective sides, small text inside each bubble. His brows furrowed as he tried to understand what exactly it was that he was seeing.
Was this a journal of some sort? Where she writes things down? A very odd format Harry reckons, but he doesn't think he has much room calling anything about her odd. (Y/N) seemed to notice his inspection and posed her own question to him.
"What? Are you okay?" She said, pausing his confusion.
Harry bit his bottom lip, hoping what he said wouldn't make him look stupid. "What... What is that?" pointing his finger at the screen.
"What do you mean?" (Y/N) responded, her own features contorting in confusion, "I'm just texting my roommate."
"I don't... I don't know what that means, 'm sorry," Harry answered sheepishly. He picked at his baby blue polished nails, embarrassed at his lack of knowledge.
"It's just my phone; like, my cell phone, you know?" she explained, slightly blindsided by his question. She didn't want him to feel bad about his questioning, he's just opened up and seemed less nervous. She liked talking to him and didn't want him to recoil now.
Harry's jaw dropped at that. That was a cell phone?! As far as he could remember, cell phones were large bricks with long antennas shooting out of the top. You could barely even hear the other person on the line with those phones, too. In no way could this small, sleek, thing be a phone; there aren't even any buttons!
"No way! It's so small!" he exclaimed, disbelief in his voice.
She laughed at his wonder, grabbing her "phone" and sliding up next to him. She sat back on her heels, her legs folded beneath her just as Harry was sat. The side of her thigh pressed against his. The feel of her bare skin from her shorts warmed him through his yellow bell bottoms.
She angled her phone for the both of them to see. "I was just texting my roommate, Sarah, that I'd be home later. See." She slid her finger along the length, showing him the "texts" between her and her roommate. "Her's are the blue messages, and mine are the grey."
She then took the time to explain all of this "texting" to him; showing him how to send one, receive one, and what they were at all. It wasn't until she let him hold it (he was going to type his own out that would just circle back to her phone), that Harry noticed something else about her cellular phone.
A set of lenses were stationed on the back of the device, mimicking that of a Polaroid camera he used to have way back when. With hurried hands he flipped the phone, checking each edge and side of the phone. Although he could find the camera portion, where is the slot for the photos to slide out? He couldn't find anything other than a small port on the bottom side, but that was much too small to develop a photo.
"Where do the photos come out?" Harry asked.
(Y/N)'s brows furrowed as she titled her head to take a look at what he was seeing, "What do you mean?"
"After y'take your photo," he started, pointing a finger at the lenses on the back, "where does it come out so y'can develop it? Y'know, your Polaroids. 'M not even sure how a photo would fit in here, though."
"Oh," she sighed, realization washing over her, "Harry, it's not a Polaroid camera. No pictures come out; it's all digital."
"How do y'mean digital?" Harry passes the phone back to (Y/N), eager to have her show him more.
"It's all stored in the phone, like a computer. Like, I could take a picture right now, and it would be in my phone until I delete it, but if I wanted a real copy of it I would have to upload it to a real computer and print it myself."
Harry's sure he still looked lost as she gave him a small smile. She leaned back and positioned the phone, so the camera side faced him. He saw her tap at the screen then smile as she looked at the screen. He assumed she's just taken a photo of him.
"Look," she said, turning the phone back to him to show him.
He had never seen a photo like this before; not in any of his magazines or on his own camera. Although he felt he looked quite silly in the picture, as he didn't smile or anything with a confused look instead, it was good. The quality was nothing like what had been around in the seventies. No grains were clouding the photo, his features in complete focus, and even the surroundings and background had great detail. He didn't even know pictures could be this beautiful. And there wasn't even one of those blinding flashes!
She took time showing him other features of the phone. She showed him these small boxes on her phone where little games like that of the arcades lived, and this one where it was an endless scroll of photographs with small comments underneath. She called it Instagram, and Harry reckons that might have been one of his favorite she showed (alongside this other yellow box where it was texting but all in photos). No matter what she introduced to him, he kept wanting to go back her camera and take photos of anything he could. He loved taking pictures in the seventies, always carrying around a large clunky camera or one of his Polaroids. Although he missed having the actual copy of the photo in his hands, but having another thirty in wonderful quality made up for that.
"(Y/N), this is amazing! I've never seen anything like it before," Harry exclaimed, taking another picture of the river (he loved that the pictures moved for a second before freeze-framing, especially of the creek).
"You've really never seen a smartphone before?" she asked, trying to hide the incredulous tone in her voice, but Harry caught it. He nodded his head in confirmation, a sheepish smile on his lips. "How come?"
Now, he didn't know how to answer that. As far as she knew, he was just a twenty-something man. He couldn't say he'd been hiding out in the woods since the early eighties, now could he?
"I'm sorry, that was probably really rude to ask. You don't have to answer," she rushed out an apology after Harry's silence.
"Oh, no! It's okay," Harry interrupted, not liking the saddened look on her face, "I jus'—uh—I... I grew up Amish."
He... grew up Amish?
"Oh wow! That's so interesting!" (Y/N) now looked amazed, like he had said something more groundbreaking that the fact she had a tiny computer with her at all times.
"Uh, yeah..." he trailed off, not wanting to dig this lie any deeper.
"Wow, I've only ever seen people like that on TV. Is that why you live like this now? Out in the woods, all 'natural' and everything?"
Harry quickly nodded his head, allowing (Y/N) to fill the details of his lie herself. "Yeah, yeah. Jus' used to it, and all."
"Do you make your own clothes, too?" she continued, an excited bounce accompanying her questioning.
Harry figures that yeah he kind of does; less in the sewing way, but he does conjure up his own clothing. "Yeah, I do."
"You're so talented! You look like you could be dressed in Gucci or Yves Saint Laurent or something."
Harry's heart warmed at that. He always thought he had an eye for fashion, so it's nice hearing (especially from (Y/N)) that, even in today's standards, he's fashionable.
There was a moment of silence between the two. Harry had already given (Y/N) back her phone during their talk about his "lifestyle", so now he had nothing to distract himself. (Y/N) took the silence as a moment to go through the pictures Harry took, laughing at a few (he had found the front camera on accident), and admiring the beauty of others. Harry spent his time, looking at her.
Seeing her now in her summer shorts and flowy top, it was hard to think that he had to look through a spot in his river to see a glimpse of her just hours ago. Those translucent scenes had nothing on the real thing. With the amount of times he had daydreamed about her since their meeting, he would have thought he would have remembered the way those few strands of hair framed her face like her features were the center of an elaborate renaissance painting. He thought he had memorized the contours and highlights of her face; the dips and curves of her Cupid's bow being his favorite. He thought he would have remembered it all. But seeing her now with the setting sun's rays radiating around her head, creating a golden, celestial halo, he's almost sure he had been blind before tonight. She looked—is gorgeous.
Harry's lucky. Very.
"Well," (Y/N) sighed, locking her phone, "Thank you for dinner, it was so good. It's getting dark, and I should probably get home before my roommate gets worried."
Harry's heart felt heavy at her words. He's just got her back, how can she leave again already?
"Oh, okay," Harry resigned, not wanting to push himself on her if she really did want to go.
Both him and (Y/N) stood, starting to clean up their picnic area. Just as Harry started folding up their blanket up, he felt a stirring. Since he practiced a natural form of magic, he was able to sense certain changes in the environment, particularly the weather. Like now. In the back of his mind, Harry could see heavy rain clouds forming and rolling in.
(Y/N) was busy with clearing their plates and collecting any other utensils when Harry said, "I think it's going to rain."
She looked at him with furrowed brows and and pouted lips. "What?" she questioned, looking up towards the sky, "The sky is clear; there aren't even any clouds."
"I don't know, I think we should get inside," Harry pushed, feeling the clouds grow.
"Harry, it's okay," she laughed, "I promise. Look at the sky, there's no clouds."
Just then, a lone grey cloud floated in. A light sprinkling started misting the area.
"Harry," she giggled, "it's fine! This is barely anything."
Harry went to protest again, but was cut off as the roiling clouds rolled in behind the single misting one. Along with the large, puffed clouds came large rain droplets. Harry could hear (Y/N) gasp an oh at the unexpected storm. She put her hand above her head, trying to cover her face from the cold rain. Almost immediately, they were drenched; (Y/N)'s once flowing top, now stuck to her skin, light wash denim shorts a deep blue. Harry felt his own clothing getting heavy, his once yellow pants now a warmed mustard color. He stuffed the blanket he had been holding underneath his arm and reached out to grab (Y/N)'s hand.
"C'mon," he said, pulling her towards his cottage in the pelting rain, "Y'can't go home in this."
Without waiting for her answer, Harry led her inside his home. He dropped the blanket just outside the door on the porch. (Y/N) let herself in, moving to stand in the small kitchen. She stood with her hands awkwardly twisting in front of her, while her feet toed at the floorboards.
"You—you can sit on m'bed, if y'want" Harry offered, gesturing to the bed behind him, "I don't care if y'get it wet."
(Y/N) nodded, a slight shiver in her body from the cold rain. She sat on the edge, pulling her limbs close to keep some semblance of warmth. Harry stepped over to his small end table where he's placed his record player. Flipping through the crate he's stored his records, he picked out Fleetwood's self-titled album and adjusted the needle to play Rhiannon. It had always been one of his favorites for obvious reasons. Looking back to (Y/N), Harry saw her checking her phone, probably "texting" her Sarah again. He moved towards the edge of the bed, wanting to sit next to her but not wanting to suffocate her with his presence. (Y/N) looked up at him, giving him a small smile. He took that as enough of an invitation to sit beside her (why he figures he needs permission to sit on his own bed in his own home, he doesn't really know).
"I can't stay the night," (Y/N) reiterated, looking at Harry next to her.
"But y'can't walk out there like this. You'll get sick." Harry felt himself deflate like a sad puppy at the thought of her being unwell. "Will y'wait until it stops?"
She sighed, "Okay. I just can't stay the night again."
Harry didn't mean to get upset, but hearing now for the almost fifth time that she just couldn't stay, made him sad. He shifted his gaze to his fingers, picking at the polish on his nails.
He knew he shouldn't ask; it wasn't his business and he knew the answer would only sadden him further. But he couldn't stop himself from asking, "Do—Do y'not like being here? Like with me and all?" His voice grew quieter through his questioning, embarrassed to be asking at all.
(Y/N) offered no response, biting her lip and looking down toward her feet. Harry didn't think she was going to say anything at all until he heard her take in a breath.
"I... I do like being here, and spending time with you honestly. I just feel weird when I come up here, I guess. I'm sorry, I don't know how to explain it," she explained, halfheartedly gesturing with her hands. She opened her mouth but closed it again just a second later. Harry understood; there was a lot he was feeling and wanted to say to her that he felt jumbled and confused. He couldn't even imagine how lost she felt, as she didn't even have his witchy background as a base to why she feels the way she does.
But, his heart soared at the words she did get out. She liked being here, being with him. If he had died right then and there, he thinks he would have been content. "I like having y'here, too," he said softly, peeking up at her from his fingers.
(Y/N) gave him her own soft-lipped smile, the shy romance of the moment sparkling in her eyes. Well, until she remembered she's drenched in cold rain, and a shiver ran down her spine. Harry immediately felt bad for not only being an awful soulmate, but a bad host as well. He's just let his guest sit in her freezing cold, wet clothes as he's just been too caught up in trying to get her to reassure him that she likes him.
"I'll be right back," he rushed, going out the front door to his porch.
Harry spied the knocked over basket of clothes he had hung up to dry during the day that he had left after (Y/N) had shown up. He knew they had to be just as wet as the clothes they were wearing anyway, but he figured a little wave of his hand could solve that problem. He usually isn't one for using magic for such simple, mundane things, as he didn't want to rely on his magic for everything, but this was for (Y/N). In an instant, a couple of sweaters and comfortable pairs of pants popped right in front of him. He used a simple spell, giving the clothing a warmth, like the enchantment he had used on his bed for her that first night. Harry stepped back through the threshold, now with the dry, warm clothes.
"Good thing these didn't get wet," he smiled, handing out a set of the comfy clothing for her, "Y'can change into these, so y'can get out of your wet clothes."
"Oh, thank you," she said, taking the set from him, "And they feel like they've been laid out in the sun, they're so warm!"
She didn't seem to question how exactly two sets of clothes were perfectly dry from the rain. She happily stood up, scanning around the cottage looking for a place to change.
"The bathroom is over there," Harry offered, gesturing in the direction of a door by the kitchen, "If y'leave your clothes, I'll set them out to dry."
(Y/N) nodded and gave a quiet okay, leaving towards the door he pointed at. Harry waited for the door to click behind her before changing into his own pajamas with a wave of his fingers.
Harry knows it's kind of desperate of him to just sit and wait for her; like he could go clean up the dishes, he could wash his face, he could really do anything. But instead he waits. He stood waiting in the kitchen, positioned to be able to see the bathroom door as soon as she comes back. He knows it's kind of pathetic, but he missed her. She's still there obviously, and hasn't even been gone for a minute yet, and he already felt that pit in his tummy and that fog in his mind. A streaming mantra of hurry, hurry, come back please ran through his mind. Harry's sure he just needs to drink some water and chill out (and stop being weird), but why would he do that?
Not soon enough (Harry thinks anyway), (Y/N) emerges from the bathroom. Her wet hair now thrown up into a pile on the top of her head, and his much-too-big clothes hanging off her body (he didn't realize how beautiful his faded and worn Fleetwood Mac Rumors tour shirt was until seeing her in it). She had a warm smile on her face, handing him her wet clothes she had draped over her arm.
"Here. I hope they dry enough by the time I have to go home," she mused, stepping back towards Harry's bed.
"Yeah," Harry agreed, already placing the same enchantment on the garments to make them all warm and dry, "Me too."
By now Crystal was playing from his record player, quietly heard through the rain outside. (Y/N) sat on Harry's bed, looking at him with her big eyes as he laid out her clothes 'to dry'.
"So, what do you do when it's like this? Since it's rainy and all," she asked, her voice trailing off.
Harry turned and smiled at her, making steps towards the bed to sit next to her again. He shrugged at her, his smile turning lopsided. "I really jus' listen to the rain, and m'records, and nap, I guess."
She hummed, her brows furrowing, "What do you do if it goes for a long time? Or it gets really rough?"
"Jus' wait it out," Harry responded breezily, "Whatever happens, happens. It'll be okay."
That was one of the essential things he was taught as a kid. No matter what, whatever it is that's troubling or unexpected or lovely, happens because it's supposed to. It'll all be okay in the end.
She seemed to think about what he said for a moment, before nodding her own head at him. "Is that what you would have done if I hadn't come over?"
Harry thinks he might have done some more moody 'looking into the rain' moments, and pining from afar if she hadn't been here, but thinks it would have been—at least—part of the night. "Yeah, probably."
"Can I join you, then? Maybe not the nap part because I still need to go home, but I don't think I've laid and just listened to the rain in a long time," she prattles, looking to him as if it were a question she actually had to ask. Of course, she can 'join him'. She could ask him to go sleep out in the rain and he'd do so without question.
"Course."
Harry picked the side of the bed closest to the window, wanting to make sure that if somehow his shielding spell he'd cast failed and bits of rain splattered inside the cottage, he'd be the one splashed and not her. She settled in beside him, burrowing under the covers as her wet hair kept a tremor of a shiver going down her spine. Harry felt a blush warm his cheeks and go down his neck as he felt her warmth under the duvet, just inches from him. He wanted so badly to get closer to her, cuddle into her side, but he knew that was definitely not something he could do. He's sure (Y/N)'s noticed his longing looks, and slight touches to her whenever he could find an excuse, but she's let them slide with no (visible) judgement but he's sure flat out snuggling into her would cross a line.
"What do you think about when you lay here?" (Y/N) mumbled, her voice quiet.
"Anything," Harry answers. Mostly you.
(Y/N)'s quiet for a moment before Harry sees her look to him from the corner of his eye. "What song is this?"
"It's called Landslide. Have y'never heard this before?"
"No... Who's it by?"
Now, this is something Harry could talk about for hours.
————
Halfway through Harry's explanation into Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Nicks, he saw (Y/N)'s eyes start dropping shut. He'd been periodically using his powers to play different Fleetwood Mac and Stevie albums, settling on replaying some of the softer songs as she grew more and more tired.
"Are you tired?" Harry questioned, interrupting his own storytelling.
Her eyes blearily opened, feigning an awakened gaze. "No, no. Keep going, I'm listening."
Harry watched her eyes fall closed with a soft smile on his lips. He went on about nothing for a couple of minutes, before he felt her energy fall into a peaceful lull.
Harry assumed she had fallen asleep, until her own voice broke the rain sodden silence. "Can I tell you something, Harry?"
He felt his heart flutter at the sound of his name. He tried his hardest to keep his voice level as he responded, "Of course. Anything."
"I really like being here, a lot. I don't know why, but while I was gone, I... missed here a lot. I missed you, a lot. I thought about coming here almost all the time," she mumbled, some weird slurring together in her sleepy confession. "I hope that isn't weird."
He knows he's got no reason to get so sensitive over her words, it wasn't like she said she'd marry him or anything like that. But he felt his throat get heavy and a sheen of tears threatening to break him. He blinked them away, relieved that she's too tired to even blink her own eyes open. "N-No, that's not weird at all. I understand completely; I feel the same way. I missed y'too. S'much."
She sighed, a sleepy smile painting her face. Only moments after, her features relaxed and her breathing evened. She had tried so hard to not fall asleep, meaning to stick to her word that she wouldn't spend another night here, but she lost her own battle.
Harry traced her features with his eyes, having only seen her this relaxed from afar. His gaze outlined the planes of her face the way he wishes his fingers could, tracing her smile lines and ghosting along the curve of her cheekbone. How he could have lived without her for so long, he's not entirely sure.
After committing the curve of her Cupid's bow to memory, Harry glanced at the open-palmed hand she's got relaxed next to her face. He could see her nails had small butterflies on them, painted a summery, pastel yellow. He felt his own hand twitch, wanting to thread his fingers through her's. He doesn't think he's ever wanted to hold a hand so badly in his entire life.
He chews on his lip for a moment, getting a feel of the energy in the room. He wanted to make sure she was deep in her sleep, taking advantage of the sweet dreams spell he had cast on her earlier in the night. He said her name quietly a couple of times, a more practical test of whether or not she was floating near consciousness. After coming up with the desired result each time—finding her deeply asleep—he slowly inched his hand towards her's. Finally, Harry pressed his palm against her own warm one, feeling the lines and grooves slot against his own. He flexed his fingers, wrapping them around her hand. She seemed to sink deeper into the mattress, a contented look on her face as she squeezed her own fingers around his.
Even in her deep sleep, she felt him and wanted him closer, even if it was just his hand in her's.
————
Harry doesn't quite know when he fell asleep last night, but he knows he spent much of the late hours of the night listening to the rain and basking in (Y/N)'s presence. How he could waste the precious time he has with her by sleeping, he doesn't know. But now, with the early morning sunlight streaming through the un-shuttered windows, he figures these early morning hours could make up for the lost ones.
Feeling her next to him, her hand in his, and seeing her in person was comforting and exhilarating at the same time. Everything felt perfect, like it was always supposed to be; like he hadn't lost touch with himself those few decades ago. As far as he could tell, his garden plants stayed in their respective home outside his window, instead of winding through and decorating the ceiling with their petals and leaves. He could feel the energy from the surrounding area, radiating through the walls of his cottage and into his own system. (Y/N)'s was the strongest, creating a bright yellow warmth like the sun was shining only on him. The soft sounds of Gold Dust Woman soundtracked the moment.
Harry is happy.
Usually, Harry's up-and-at-'em at the first signs of sunlight peeking over the horizon, but he thinks he could stay in bed forever with her. But, he knows that at some point—even though he'd stay forever—she'll be the one to leave; to pop the bubble he's created around them. That dark cloud of a thought, darkened over the edges of the sunny warmth he felt. He didn't want her to go; he doesn't want to be alone again.
Harry's sure his longing gaze on her was one (Y/N) started to feel even in her sleep as she started stirring. She began surfacing from her dreams, flexing her fingers around his, stretching out her legs the smallest bit. A petite, sleepy sigh escaped her lips, relaxing her features. For just a moment, she sunk further into the mattress, pulling the hand she had entwined with Harry's closer to her body. He only allowed himself a second to fawn over her before he feigned sleep.
Her once sleep softened body stiffened and froze. Maybe he wasn't quick enough, and she caught him watching.
"Shit," she breathed, moving underneath the duvet. Her hand slid out of his and Harry had to fight off the frown that threatened to blow his cover. He could feel her sit up next to him, the covers rolling down his own shoulders at her movement. He heard her mumble swears to herself, mixed in with how she wasn't supposed to get so caught up and stay the night again. She quiets for a moment, and Harry feels her eyes on him. Maybe—Harry hopes—she likes what she sees as much as he does when he looks at her.
He hears her sigh before breaking the moment and placing her hand delicately on his shoulder. She shook him, calling his name. "Harry, I have to go," she said.
Harry took the opportunity to 'wake up'. He blinked blearily, feigning the need to blink the sleep from his eyes. Seeing her awake with her bed head and eyes squinting at the morning light, Harry had to stop himself from cooing to her. She still looked so tired, like she could use a couple more hours of the restful sleep, and he wanted to just tuck her back in and give her that luxury.
"Morning," he grumbled, stretching out his limbs. Still laying down, he gazed up at her, wanting to soak in everything about her before she left.
"Good morning," she echoed, her own softened gaze on him. "Sorry I keep falling asleep here; I don't mean to invite myself over."
"No, no," Harry protested, his morning voice rasping, "I don't mind, really."
She smiled a sleepy smile, looking away to rub her eyes. The softest pout jutted out her lips, making Harry want to coo and awe the way he would at a kitten; she's just too cute.
"I should probably get going, though," she yawned, swinging her legs off the edge of the bed.
Harry sat up, fighting off the urge to take her and keep her with him forever. He worried his lip between his teeth, thinking of any way to prolong her time. "Um—do y'want breakfast? I can make us some, then I'll walk y'down. If that's okay."
He prayed to Mother Nature it was.
"Yeah, I'd like that."
The earth is a kind woman.
—————
They had a small breakfast of strawberry toast while sat in the rustled covers of Harry's bed. (Y/N) apologized just short of a thousand times about possibly getting crumbs in his sheets, while Harry paid little to no mind, relishing in their time together.
She changed back into her clothing from the night before, leaving the set she borrowed from Harry neatly folded in his bathroom. When he went to take them back to his closet, they smelled just like her (cherries, whipped cream, and a smallest bit of sugar Harry's deduced), and he doesn't mean to be weird, but he doesn't think he's going to wash them ever again.
Now, halfway down the hill, Harry was dreading making it to the tree line. He didn't want to watch her walk away again; he didn't want to be left alone with no guarantee of ever seeing her again. (He also has to try really hard not to grab her hand again).
Unfortunately, they do make it to the tree line, Harry having had cleared her path for her the whole way down.
"Thanks for letting me stay again, and walking me down and all," she thanked, a sunny smile on her face as she ran a hand through her hair. "I promise not to plan anymore sleepovers at your house."
He didn't mean to, but Harry frowned at her promise. "'S fine, y'can stay whenever y'want. I'm—I'm happy y'came over last night; I had a good time."
"Me too, Harry," she reciprocated, leaning her back against a tree and toeing the ground.
Harry took a moment to commit her to memory, now knowing that his visions of her in the river do her no justice. As much as he wanted to keep her forever, he knew he couldn't. "You... You get home safe, okay?"
She didn't take any steps out of the trees, instead peeking up at Harry through her lashes. "Can I ask you something? It's okay if you don't want to answer."
"Sure." Harry really hopes he could answer this. Truthfully anyway.
"Why don't you go any further? Like, stopping at the trees and all," she asked, looking at Harry with her big eyes.
"I—um," Harry stuttered. Now it was his turn to avoid her gaze by playing with the bell sleeves of his top. How was he supposed to tell her that he doesn't know what the world is like outside of these trees and he's forgotten what it's like to live among people? Is that a casual conversation or something he should tell her over dinner?
"It's okay if you don't want to answer. I thought it might be personal." She did a really good job of giving him outs.
"Yeah... sorry," Harry apologized, looking up at her to see her already watching him. She had even taken a step towards him, making his heart beat faster.
"Can I ask you one more thing?" She tried again, an unsure smile on her face. She held her hands behind her back, tilting her head to the side at him.
The moon knew exactly what she was doing when she made (Y/N).
"Of course, anything," he sighed dreamily.
"Is there any way that I can contact you? Like, call or text or something? I know you don't have a phone or anything, but, I don't know," she rambled, trailing off as her eyes saddened at the lack of options. "I think it might help me not be so... anxious, I guess, when I'm not here."
There was one way they could get into contact with each other, but it's probably not what she had in mind. There's also a huge chance this could out him and his powers, and who knows what (Y/N) knows—or thinks she knows—about his world. "There is something we can do," he started, "but I need y'to trust me."
She didn't affirm her trust in him, but she didn't say no, so Harry took that as a good enough sign. He told her he'd be right back, and hiked back up the mountain a small ways away. He could still see her, now with a confused and almost frightened look on her face; who knows what she had going through her mind at his requirements. He found a found a small patch of sunflowers, growing in the smallest ray of sunshine that peeked through the forest leaves. Harry plucked one, hiding himself behind the trunk of a larger tree before casting an enchantment on the flower. The petals became a brighter yellow, the stem straightening and even growing a leaf. Now, it was never supposed to wither away or fall victim to lack of essential needs.
Now armed with his special sunflower, Harry walked back those few yards back to his Flame. Her eyes were drawn to the yellow flower, her brows furrowing. He stopped in front of her, allowing himself the luxury to stand closer in front of her than previously.
He chewed his lip nervously, brushing his fingers over the petals of the flower. "I know this is going to be weird, but jus' trust me, okay?"
She hesitantly nodded her head, now looking more confused, as opposed to the frightened look she had before he came back with the sunflower. "Okay."
"This—um—this flower,"—he handed it out to her to take—"it's never gonna die or anything and... if y'hold it and think of me, y'can—," Harry struggles to find the right words; struggled to make this sound less crazy. "It'll be like a telephone. Y'can speak to it and whatever y'say to it, I'll hear and be able to talk back with m'own. Like those—uh—voice messages y'showed me."
Harry's voice grew softer and softer, embarrassed to be speaking so openly about something that was obviously foreign to her. But, he just needed to remember that—hopefully—she'd use this and they'd be able to speak to one another whenever they pleased; whenever he missed her too much.
She gingerly took the flower from his outstretched hand. "I—okay."
Harry could tell she didn't believe a single word he'd said, but at least she took the flower. Even if she didn't believe him now, maybe she'd humor him a little and speak into it anyway. Harry offered her a smile, hoping it could distract from what he'd just told her.
"I should probably go," she started, breaking from her examining of the sunflower, "thanks for last night, and breakfast, and... this."
"Anytime," he offered, "Bye, (Y/N)."
She started backing out of the tree line, waving her fingers at him. "Bye, Harry."
He stayed at the bottom of the mountain, watching her as he did before. She only looked back at him once this time, the rest of her attention on the flora in her hand. Too soon her energy dropped off the slope, and Harry missed her in every way he could.
Hopefully he hadn't scared her away already; that this wouldn't be the last time he saw her.
———-