Harry Styles One Shots

Witch Harry part 2

ii.

Harry should mind his business.

He used to be very good at it – minding his own. If Harry was not directly involved or asked to partake in something then he would not bother his time concerned over it. That's why it was so much easier for him to do some particularly unprincipled tasks when he's asked to do it, whether it be something as simple as giving small tips on how to pick a lock or as complex as summoning a demon to disrupt the life of an angry woman's ex-boyfriend. It's why he doesn't ask questions, he only does, and that is what makes good business, he would say. Nobody wants to be in any sort of arrangement with a Nosy Nancy. He's almost positive that's the first thing they teach in Marketing 101 – he would know if he bothered going to UNI.

So he usually minded his business and only bothered with himself, his family, and Oat.

Well, and Y/N a little bit now – which is what's making him not so good at minding his business.

They locked fingers nearly a week ago and it felt as if it were set in stone, a little seedling implanted in his brain that was destined to grow and flourish. Whether he liked it or not, she was a concern of his now – he'd promised they would have each other's backs and he got caught up in it. The only people that have had Harry's back are his family and himself (a few select demons but he rarely counts them, since they only have his back at a price), so he wasn't used to this sort of camaraderie he was experiencing now. If he was honest, it made him uncomfortable to a certain degree, because he really wasn't sure what to do with himself.

Instead of ignoring how the hair at the nape of his neck stands when the cold wind blows tainted air, stained with the bitterness of an unknown evil – he messages Y/N. He confirms that she felt it too and depending on whether or not it felt strong enough to follow, they would decide whether they let it pass or pursue it. Both had agreed that it had not felt as aggressively as it had the night at the blood bank when the air felt stuffy with the 'no good feeling' (Y/N started calling it that – Harry told her she sounded like a three-year-old but continues to refer to it like that in his head); then it had felt like they were drowning beneath it. It had been suffocating and all-encompassing, and the only time it had even eased was right before the walls started to ooze and when he was in the comfort of Y/N's flat.

He'd only been to Y/N's flat once more since then and it was only for a moment so that he could drop off one of his old books to her that outlined every demon he'd come into contact with (she'd requested it because "If you go through it you might miss something since you were there in the moment - an outside perspective might help" and Harry couldn't be arsed to argue with her). Since then he'd been eager to return – he felt safe there. Her protection spell was lovely, of course – he burned the leaves in every room, he downed the vial of liquid she'd prepared like a shot with her at his side. His home had never felt better, in his opinion – it felt lighter. It also felt like it was embodying its own little world because as soon as he shut his door, the outside horrors couldn't get in. It mimicked the feeling that he got at Y/N's.

For some reason or another, Y/N's flat is just far better in that regard, which is why he is maybe a little too excited to return.

Harry had not been doing much of anything when he'd gotten her message. The cocoa pops in his bowl of milk had gotten soggy so the crunch with each spoonful was lackluster, and he was dancing between the idea of drinking the semi-chocolatey milk or pouring it down his drain. He tries to cut back on sugar during the days because as soon as night comes around he has the most unignorable sweet tooth that he always placates. Oat was resting on the counter, gnawing absently at her old collar so she could unravel the threading, and he was snapping picture after picture on his phone of her. Not for anyone but himself really – sometimes he sends photos to his mum, but otherwise he keeps Oat as his little joy apart from the rest of the universe (some of the demons like her, Harry has found, and he thinks sometimes they whisper sweet little things in her ear because she'll start purring if some of the calmer ones are around – she has her favorites just as Harry does).

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

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

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

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

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

Y/N responds back immediately.

fuck off but for Oat i'd do anything

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

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

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

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

Then he went to go get lunch because he might as well have, but this was the problem. He'd gone to the diner that he and Y/N had visited, and he suddenly gets a flashed memory of her raving over their grilled cheese for some reason or another. Had even offered him a bite of it, that's how sure she'd been that it was one of the best things she'd had in her entire life, and while he had politely declined, he had remembered just how much she loved it. That and the strawberry milkshake that she had drunk (and loved, which for some reason, felt like a nice stroke to his ego since he was the one who suggested it to her).

He starts to wonder if Y/N had anything for lunch. Did she bring her own? Did she go eat with that Niall bloke? What if she were busy and she had no time to step out for her lunch?

So instead of minding his business like he ought to do, he orders her a meal.

And then, instead of waiting until 10 PM like he ought to, he drives the ten minutes to her store and tells Oat that they're going to visit Y/N and Thumper. Though as he pulls into the graveled parking lot, hearing the crushed rocks run beneath the rubber of his little blue Kia (that he barely drives as is – he much prefers walking but when he has Oat, it is much too cold to), Harry begins to reassess the situation. This wasn't weird, was it? He worried for a moment that she would think he was flirting or making a pass on her or even kissing her arse...he just thought maybe she would be hungry. Knowing the soft little white magic witch sheltered between the stained oak walls, she would surely lay it on with a trowel; Harry may be the one who teases the most between them, but she did well to get beneath his skin too. Though he could handle that, a bit of teasing, if she were to start thinking that Harry had done this for any other reason than just an act unfitting of his character from the true kindness of his heart – well, he would just have a full-on strop about it.

He rethought going in at all, but Oat had removed herself from the bag to stare at in that unhurried yet critical way that she could, and he sighs as he grabs the crinkled paper bag and Oat in her makeshift carrier. The gravel crunches beneath his feet as he walks up to her door, the band of his rings clinks against the brass doorknob as he twists it and pushes in with his elbow. Harry hadn't expected her to be doing much with the store – the more he thought about it, the more he realized that she would be paying extra special care to her flowers as it grew colder, to circumvent the natural life course of her summer and spring flowers – so he wasn't surprised when he saw she wasn't putzing around cleaning her floors or restocking

If Y/N was not within immediate sight, she was typically tending to her garden, so he travels the short distance from the front of her store to the back door that was cracked open and letting a thin stream of cold air invade the otherwise warm shop. Though just as he's about to swing the door open to announce himself, he hears her voice low...just barely above a whisper...a soft murmur that he has to strain some to listen, he does catch her honeyed tone. It is a voice Harry himself has never been privy to, and only a version of it had been shared with Oat when they had met one another. It fills him with tender comfort, akin to the coziness of being sat by a fire in the midst of an ice storm with a belly full of hot soup and a mind dipped in dreams. The kind of voice that could read him to sleep; speak in an old drunken author's asinine prose and whisk him to a blissful slumber. Tea would be unnecessary in his pursuit of unconsciousness because her voice may have properties that soothe better than chamomile ever could.

For once, Harry finally understands why her flowers bloom and blossom so beautifully.

"Aish, you lot usually tell me when you feel extra hungry," she coos, and when Harry peeks around the corner, he sees that she's on her knees facing away from him, speaking what appears to be a beautiful flourish of sweet pink snapdragons, "Ink-demon-monster-thing or not, you are my top priority. I'm never too busy for you," she sighs, a finger caresses one of the petals gently as she pours a stream of water that looks a little too blue to just be water, at their stems, as it sinks into the soil like the flowers were taking it hungrily, "I won't tell you about the horrible things I've been reading in this book, I fear they would scare you guys to wilt. I don't – I don't know how Harry does it...I would be so scared all the time." She straightens out the watering can – Harry notes she wears patchwork overalls, and a white blouse that billows when the wind blows, "He is brave, I'll give him that. A right meanie, but very brave. And has great dimples, but you didn't hear that from me."

Harry's cheeks warm as he steps back, out of her view as he clears his throat and calls, "Oi, Good Witch of the West," he says it in an effort to make it seem like he hadn't been there listening to her, "I come bearing gifts."

He steps forth and sees Y/N has turned to face the door, her brows raised, "Oh look at that, you speak about the devil and he appears," she says, standing from her knees and brushing dirt from her knees, "I was just telling my snapdragons about you."

"Yeah? Good things I hope," he plays stupid, and it isn't very hard to trick her as she rolls her eyes, plucking her watering can up and fixing her fingers around it tightly.

"Told 'em how much of a gremlin you are," Thumper appears at her feet, nose twitching as he makes his way over to Harry just a little further ahead than Y/N, "What's in the bag?"

His mouth pouted, he walks backward back into her store toward her counter where he sets the greasy bag down, "I have half the mind not to tell you now since you're so rotten, but I brought you lunch, and Oat wanted to see you guys sooner."

Sure, it had been a bit of a fib on his part, but Oat did not object to it in any clear way. She only emerges from his bag, knowing that she could hear, and crawled onto the counter to greet a very confused looking Y/N, who does not deny Oat's advances to crawl into her arms. It's almost as if it is second nature for her to allow Oat to crawl into her arms so easily, without question or doubt that she should be nestled close to her chest. Oat loves it, clearly, and he wonders for a moment if a little more estrogen is what Oat wanted in her life – she really didn't get to hang out with any other girls.

She does, however, appear hesitant to reach for the food, "What's the catch?"

Harry's brows pinch, "What?"

"The food – what do you want? I'm already giving you chamomile, and if this is an effort to buy my silence from what I've read in your book then –"

"It's neither of those things," he cuts her off, huffing with a shake of his head, "I was just being nice, but you know what I'll just take it back."

"No!" She rushes, and with one arm ushering Oat onto her shoulder (which is exactly where Harry perches her for his convenience) while she grabbed the bag and unraveled the top, peeking in, "Thank you very much, actually, I just wasn't expecting you to do something so nice. What did you bring me then?"

Thumper thumps the pad of his foot against Harry's shoe, so Harry is quick to lower and pick him up by the velvet white fur covering his stomach. He placed him in the crook of his arm so that he could pet between his ears comfortably, and automatically, with the bunny in his arms, the tension that had built in his shoulders eased away, worked from his muscles instantaneously, "Grilled Cheese from the diner. A strawberry shake too but I'll be honest I drank most of it in the car."

Eyes going wide, she tears into the bag much quicker, "You didn't!" Her voice is brimming with excitement – maybe too much over a diner grilled cheese, but he couldn't help the sense of pride that he felt either way, "Oh, you did! Thank you, I'm so excited, I was like – gosh, I was starving, but this morning had been so busy I didn't think I would have time to step out for anything."

"You can repay me with at least three compliments or a blowie, m'not picky," she glares at him, and he raises his hands like a white flag, "Or not, it was just a thought."

"What did you get, hm? That turkey melt?" She plucked his sandwich from the bag, and the side of onion rings he'd gotten with it before flattening out the bag and strategically placing both of their meals atop of it, "Hm, lemme see..." she looks around where she's sat, before her gaze caught something pressed away in the corner and a smile drags at her mouth, "Good! Okay, here's a chair let me just wiggle it out and you can sit and eat with me."

"Oh, no, it's fine I'm just going to –" Harry begins to object, but he is soon finding that when Y/N has something in her head she will right quite hard for it.

That's why she ignores his protest entirely as she heaves the chair from where it was tucked between boxes underneath some oddly high desk top, somehow managing to not perturb Oat any, who is nuzzling and nestling against Y/N's ear, "Your food will get cold if you try to take it home and then it'll be shit," she tells him, "I promise not to keep you long. Also, it's not that terrible to eat with me, I chew with my mouth closed and everything."

Harry thinks he may not mind if she kept him long at all.

. . .

A quick lunch turns into a full day event and Harry can't say that he minded all too much. It felt weird to eat lunch, leave, then come back at night anyway so he figured he might as well just stay. Plus, by the time he was going to go, Thumper and Oat had cuddled against each other and were sleeping blissfully beside the lavender in Y/N's garden and neither had it in their heart to move them.

They do not have ample time to delve into the questions Y/N had about his book of demons considering almost as soon as they had sat down to eat, she had about a hoard of customers enter at once. She called it an after school stampede, because a gaggle of high schoolers would get out for the day and a good amount of college students have finished their last lecture of the day, so they appear like clockwork. Her store is not necessarily on the cobblestone paved main street that everyone spent their time bumbling along, but it was close enough that it got just the same amount of visitors practically. And there was no other store like it within at least 80 kilometers in any direction you thought to go, so everyone was pretty interested in it. There was also the pleasant fact that the things they purchased had their desired effect and after a while, customer satisfaction floats through a town just as easy as the spread of a head cold.

Y/N does put him to work though, and has him stock shelves, or checks people out while she finishes the shitty bits of being a store owner (crunching numbers, paying bills, detailing shipments, taxes, etc). He didn't mind it – it surely gave him something to do rather than twiddle his thumbs while he waited for her to get off. Of course, they bicker, but it wasn't as ferocious as it had been in the past. Though when Harry teased and accused her of going soft for him, she showed him her delicate middle finger, with an aquamarine gemstone implanted on a golden band nestled at her knuckle.

Finally, 10 PM bends the corner just as the last few customers who had been idly wandering the store left and Y/N flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED, "Oh thank god," she had exclaimed just as Thumper and Oat both walked back into the shop like they knew it was just about time to go, "I really thought they would never leave."

When they make it to her flat once the shop is clean and restocked, all her plants are fed, and Harry is given four baggies with an ample amount of chamomile in each – Y/N wastes no time. Almost as soon as she's kicked off her shoes, she's turning on the electric fireplace and plopping down on the soft white rug in front of it. She produces his leather-bound book and places it in front of her, motioning for him to sit on the other side of it, and he does so after settling Oat on the couch and pulling his bag from over his body.

"So, I just have a few questions and a few theories, but I'm not like – a hundred percent on all of them," she opens his book, and it's only then Harry realizes that there are sticky notes on every few pages, brightly colored with black ink notes scrawled across the small surface area, "You're the only dark witch I know, y'know?"

"Figured I was when you acted like I sacrificed animals." He wiggles out of the big, navy hoodie he'd been wearing, dragging it over his head and tossing it haphazardly in the direction of Oat (she liked to snuggle in them).

Y/N looks at him curiously, "You don't?"

"Of course not," his face contorts in disgust, "That's precisely why I steal blood, fuck sake! You think if I was into getting it for free I would go through the trouble?"

She raised her hands, flipped to one of the pages in his book, and used a pen to cross out something she had written, "Okay, okay, sorry," she scooted a little closer to him as she used one hand to fix her sock more snuggly around her ankle, "Apart from the demons, what does your magic involve? You've mentioned doing incantations, I know you do them little crystal things – is that what most of it entails?"

It throws him for a moment, that she actually wants to know. Harry is so used to the angered glares and disgusted frowns if he even so much as mentions his craft. Nobody ever wants to know – nobody particularly cares when they have already set in stone their opinion on who you are as a person – which makes it hard to explain. What does he do, exactly? And why does he find himself trying to soften it up so as to not scare her?

"My powers don't come from the demons," he decides to start with because it's a common misconception that gets thrown his way entirely too often, "Sure, I wasn't like – born into being a witch or what have you, it was something that I sought out for myself but the power came easily. I could do all the cutesy little things you do probably, but that wasn't where the money was for me, so I help arseholes sort their way through life in the easiest way possible. A lot of the things they ask for like – money, notoriety, a spy on their partner, a scare for an enemy, etcetera – I could do that without the demons, but the demons work quicker. I tell them that and they choose the demons."

Y/N nods, running the pad of her thumb over the hair of her eyebrow, "Okay, that makes a whole lot of sense, but I do have to correct you on something," she started, and Harry tensed at the prospect of what she might say, "You were born to be a witch. It's like a destiny thing, my nan told me...even if it was something you sought out and had to practice, power doesn't come to just anyone. Summoning demons and not immediately being drained and overtaken also doesn't "come" to any bloke on the road. You're special, you should understand, accept, and revel in the fact."

Harry feels hot...his cheeks are warm again, and he wonders if she can see it.

"Anyway, I just wanted to know, because I kind of figured when I was reading some of your spells. You can start a fire and stuff?" He nods, "That's cool. I practice the elements but so far I've only really been able to do anything with earth and water, like making things grow quicker or making pond water ripple which – well, really does nothing for me, but Thumper hates stagnant water."

From there on Y/N goes through each note in her book. They touch on three different demons she thought could be the one they were dealing with. One of them Harry had encountered when he was newly a self-proclaimed witch and accidentally summoned a blood demon who secreted a thick ooze from its body – she thought the ooze could be like the one that was coming from the walls, and while this was a good connection, he had to let her know that the ooze coming from that demon was an oaky green in color and that demon had been nowhere near strong enough. Then she suggests a demon who went by the name Atramento which was literally Latin for ink; she told him she not only chose him because of the name but because it was the one Harry had come into contact with most recently, only a few months ago. Again, the goo that this demon produced was nowhere near the amount, strength, or power that the demon they were encountering had. And the third, again, a demon that he recalls emerged from black sludge that appeared on the floor of his summoning room.

"I think you're focusing too closely on gooey demons," Harry had told her after she'd finished, and her face warped into a pout, "Whatever we were dealing with is more powerful than it's secreting muck from the walls, but it was a good start."

They theorize some about other demons Harry has encountered, but the conversation eventually veers away from the actual problem they are facing and heads toward just demons Harry has experienced. He finds Y/N is very intrigued by them, more so than she had ever let on in the past, but he figures that it was in the same way people are interested in horror films, spooky legends, and folklore. Harry tells her of many demons he'd encountered, but the one that had really gotten to her and made her shiver was one who he would not even speak the name of in fear that he would unintentionally summon him.

He was an odd creature, and the lore behind him was that he was once a man who longed for eternal life and sold his soul to the goats on his farm. Day-by-day he went through a gruesome transition, his knees cracked back so they faced the other way, his face morphed into the shape of his goats and the skin melted from his face, leaving behind only a skull and horns. Wiry wings grew from his back that served no purpose other than to help him catch up to his prey quicker, allowing him to hover a mere meter off the ground. He stalks forests, consumes deer, and unsuspecting humans who wander alone on his territory in the Alps.

Harry had summoned him for a demon enthusiast who wanted to prove her friend wrong about his presence. He had reservations about it, but for enough money, Harry could push those to the side and explore whatever it was that they wanted him to do. Though he could safely say it was the most unruly and distressing summoning he has ever done; the blood bowl offering (with both his and the customer's and her friend's blood) had grown, bubbled, and boiled before tipping over and burning him. The demon had appeared in a cloud of fog, had quickly begun trying to possess the poor friend whose eyes had glossed a horrible, pitch black and chin that had begun displacing in a very snout-like manner. Harry had never had to banish something to hell that quickly before, and it was stressful, and pretty hard to do with a leg that felt like it was being seared by fresh lava.

Y/N listened as her mouth fell wide open, eyes speaking nothing but horrified fascination.

"You're staying the night tonight," she had uttered decisively, "There is no fucking way I'm staying alone after that."

Harry is glad she suggested it because there was no way he was going home alone after that story either.

. . .

Y/N thinks it was quite weird being in the same room as Harry and not being at each other's throats.

She's glad for it – their constant back and forth was tiring, especially during a critical time with them being the only two who were truly aware of the situation, yet having no idea about what it was causing the trouble in the first place. They needed to be at least civil with one another to mesh brains and combat the problem together, and Y/N would say they were being far more than civil. They sometimes even danced around friendly territory, but she would never say that aloud. Their banter felt much less riddled with cruelty and spite, and much more playful – or at least Y/N would say so. Her feelings aren't hurt nearly as much as they had been.

After Harry had explained his craft to her a bit more, she had an appreciation of sorts for it now. She still despised what it brought into the world and the dark, drooping darkness that appeared as he did, but she could recognize the bravery it takes to do something like that. And apparently, it made good money, and while he had yet to go in-depth about why he was so worried about the amount he was making, she just assumed it must be for good reason. At least, for him to go through the trouble and stress of dark magic and demons, she would guess that it had to be.

Plus, with the horrible, all-encompassing chill that this new darkness was bringing them, she could say in comparison the things Harry conjured was not nearly as awful.

Her flowers were feeling it; the negative air makes them much less willing to grow, so she's had to be extra diligent and meticulous in the elixirs she was making for their food. She made sure to keep her conversations with them light, not tinged with the horrors of the underworld that she was learning about with Harry, and instead, discussing what she believed to be a kindling friendship between the two of them. The plants (especially the ones at her shop, who were so used to them arguing with one another) were confused by the shift in their energy around one another. Her marigolds held accusations of romantic feelings in their bright orange petals but Y/N was quick to deny it.

Even if I did like him, he doesn't see me in that way.

Thumper had tapped his foot harshly on her fingers that had been stretched out against the pavement as she watered the marigolds as if to disagree with her, but she strategically placed a handful of hay from her pocket in front of him so that he would be preoccupied. The Holland lop's accusations of potential romantic feelings toward Harry had been more than frequent and she worried, in his familiar like ways, he would alert Oat of his ideas and Oat would let Harry know because the sweet little thing didn't know any better.

She thinks she lucked out that familiars can't go around transmitting their little thought waves to other witches or Thumper would have given Harry a brain full about how maybe she takes extra care to tuck him in the times he's spent the night at her flat. Or how she may or may not have allowed herself a small revel in the scent of her quilt after Harry had been cuddled up in it instead of washing it right away (which she had said would be silly because he was only going to use it again anyway, but that didn't mean she needed to keep it on her couch and use it for naps sometimes and feel all too comforted by the smell, but she doesn't go into that). And yeah, maybe she was a little too flustered when he touched her for any sort of reason, whether it be to catch her before she tripped over her own feet or to grab her wrist with a pout while he begged her to make him some tea – but if her heart started racing at that, that was her own problem.

(And yeah, maybe she shouldn't spoil him with all the tea, but she would much rather make it for him than have him clunk around in her kitchen and end up making the wrong one – with their luck combined, he'd probably brew a rejected batch of whatever kind she had lying out on the counter and they'd both have cat ears and a tail.)

Y/N doesn't think she has a crush on him. She thinks it may just be one of those things where they are spending more time with each other and it isn't like Harry isn't cute...plus, he's kind of sweet when he wants to be. And the more she opens herself up to learn more about what he does, the kinder he is to her flowers, and they enjoy the extra attention, even if it's just a dark witch commenting on their enchanting colors. If anything, the softness she's feeling for him is the same sort of feelings that stir when you've made a new friend and you like them so wholly you don't know what to do with yourself. A little less like that, but closer to it than an actual, fleshed-out crush.

The extra time spent together was nice. No matter how accepting of witches Niall had been, Y/N had always felt a little lonely being the only witch, even though she wouldn't admit it to herself. It was nice to speak with someone who understood it all entirely.

So today, when she made the trek to her garden that she kept hidden in the forest, she offered for Harry to come. He had never been there as far as she knew – she had made this area strictly off-limits for him and his practices when they had first met as a condition for her to let him do as he pleased. However, he was already at her store today just before her lunch break and it was necessary she tended to them. Sure, she could have left him at the store, but she thought that maybe her flowers would like a little extra company and affection if he were willing to give it to them. Her forest flowers always acted touch starved when she found them, though they were on purified grounds with an abundance of food, sunlight, and warmth for them to grow (she had spent several weeks preparing the site with a bountiful amount of incantations and potions). Y/N knew they were just a bit theatrical, and while she would never want to give in to their sensed bleats and moans about only ever seeing her, she thinks Harry would make them happy.

"You'll be kind to them," she tells him as they walk up a particularly steep hill on the dirt path, worn down by the soles of her shoes – in order to scramble herself up the slope she has to grab to a nearby branch to keep her balance, but with Harry behind her...well, he just holds onto her hips and gives her a shove up, "And speak to them, please, even if you feel silly, they like it so much. Reckon they're sick of only hearing my voice."

"Alright," he heaved himself up the slope with only the branch as his guide, but he does so a lot more fluidly and with much more grace than she's ever been able to, "But I don't want to hear you crying if they decide they want to be planted in my garden instead."

Harry is good at speaking to them, Y/N finds, especially the oat grass and her heliotrope flowers, they took to him well. She could sense their delight when they saw him and he crouched down beside them to take a seat, almost like they were being greeted by an old friend. Her honeysuckle and stargazing lilies were tempted by the visitor, and she watched as the wind blew, they took their opportunity to lean toward his direction and stay there (enchanted flowers had minds of their own, and she knew, if they could push themselves from the ground and walk around with their roots, they very well would).

"This is my friend Harry," she introduced him, "If you are kind to him, he'll be kind to you."

"I've got a kitten named Oat," he tells the oat grass fondly, "Maybe you've heard of her."

It's going well, and even after she's finished feeding them, they sit among the flowers of her garden and speak to not only each other but them as well. Harry may be unable to feel the plants as she is able to, but she translates the sensations they give to her, to him. She wondered absently if Harry would ever be able to obtain the ability to sense them, or if it was merely a bond she and the flowers shared. Though her thoughts don't go very far when a sharp vibration in her jean pocket nearly makes her jump from her skin.

"She's a jumpy thing, isn't she?" He tells her peach-colored honeysuckle, letting his fingertips dance along the stem as Y/N digs into her pocket for her phone. When she digs it out, her screen shows that she has a message from the elder witch she had gotten into contact with before, "Who is it?" Harry inquires.

"It's the witch – the one who told us about the...oh," she tails off her sentence as her eyes scan over the message.

I had NO idea that you were my dear friend's grandchild. Come to my cottage immediately, I can do more to help you with this problem you're facing. Bring the boy.

Scoffing, Harry looks toward the flowers and then to her, "So she was going to leave us in the dirt if she didn't know your Nan? What kind of shite is that?"

"Yeah, that's a bit odd but at least she's going to help now," her fingers hover over the keyboard, 'What do I even say to that? Thanks?"

"First off you tell her she's a wicked old hag," she glares at him, "And then you ask her what day and where she lives. Why should you thank her when she hasn't done anything yet?"

Y/N opens her mouth to inform him that he leads a very rude way of living, but her words fall short when an icy, chilled gust of unsettled wind blows through the trees. The leaves rustled soundly, and with them, the low, threatening growl of an unseen force brings dread to her being. Y/N scrambles in the dirt to be nearer to Harry – they are safe within the confines of her garden, she'd gone out of her way to make any area in which her plants were safe from all other disturbances when Harry came to town. However, instead of blocking off the feeling entirely as her store did or her flat, the traces of it still wiggle down to her bones. Its tendrils curl through her marrow, laying the eggs of trepidation.

Harry feels it too if his face is any indication. The oatmeal knit cardigan that he wore slumped around his shoulders loosely, below the short sleeves of his Debbie Gibson shirt – but that's what she grabs for. Her fingers curl around the loose material, brows furrowed and eyes darting, "Oi," he began but made no move to pry her off of him, "Be careful, this was expensive."

"What is that?" She asks him, fingers sinking into the soft yarn.

"What d'ya mean? It's the same shite we've been feeling." He dismisses it but shuffles closer to her, his eyes also searching for a mass of black seeping from around the roots of the trees.

"It's daytime, Harry," she stresses, "I haven't felt it in the day, only at night."

He shifts, uncomfortable at the thought, "So? What does that mean is it just..." getting stronger, falters on his lips when the looming darkness swells, and swells, and swells, like the buildup in a Beethoven classic. The tension is heavy in their bones, they tighten all over as if in preparation for a scare – the same feeling one gets when anticipating something in a horror film...the conditions are just right for something to pop out and drag the main character away.

But then it stops.

Drops away.

A fake-out, that makes your shoulders sag and your heart noticeably calms from the initial excitement of it.

"Fuck sake," Harry groans, and it only then Y/N realizes that he has his hand fixed around her thigh, which he had been squeezing tightly but he loosens his grip on now – her cheeks warm, "All that build up and it does bugger all, m'sick of it."

Though she doesn't much want to, Y/N lets her hands fall away from his body when she takes a look at her flowers, "Aish, you guys," she sighs, crawling over to her moon daisies, that's petals had recoiled toward the disc, "It's okay, it's gone...you don't have to hide." They're reluctant to, she can feel it, but she watches as they slowly unfurl from where they had hidden, "There we are," she coos, patting at the soil around her stems, "You're okay, you're okay."

"That's so..." Harry draws her attention from her flowers, his brows raised, shaking his head, "I've never seen them react to you before. I'll be honest, I thought you were really losing it – or like one of them old birds who is convinced that the trees are listening to our every move but...they really just listen?"

Y/N's brows knit as she nods, "Yeah? If they didn't I wouldn't bother speaking with them."

"I –" he begins, but he nods his head and shrugs his shoulders, "Okay, yeah, I guess that makes sense. I've seen weirder."

"Are you free this Saturday?" Y/N sits back on her heels, plucking her phone from where she had dropped it on the ground in her hurry to get closer to Harry, which...well, she can't get over. They had been very close for a moment – probably closer than they had ever been before, and Y/N was smelling him as she usually does with her quilt. His body had radiated heat and no matter how much she feared whatever was lurking behind the thick trunked trees of the forest, she had felt safer the closer she was to him. It makes her heart race, maybe even a little bit quicker than what imminent danger lies hidden to them.

She really had no time, nor the will power to unpack what might be the reason for that though, so instead, she pulled the message thread of the elder back up – her name was Gretal Maisie, Y/N remembers from her website, and she makes a mental note to ask her Nan about her. Though she realizes that she would have to tell her Nan what was going on and explain the reason that she hadn't told her in the first place was that she didn't want her getting worried...she was too old to worry about anything, Y/N would say. All she wanted her Nan to be concerned about were high tides, and how the sea waves plodded against the mountainside she lived on.

"Yeah, I'm sure I could work you in. Could tell Bradley I'll meet him Friday – he's still fucking freaked about what's going on."

"What's with that guy?" She asks as she types out her reply, asking not only if the woman was free for Saturday, but if she was what time she would like to meet and where they would be meeting. Once she finishes she locks her phone and slides it into her back pocket, "Like...Niall feels it but not enough to be scared, so why can this guy feel it."

Shrugging his shoulders, Harry plants his hands flat against the packed dirt beneath them, and Y/N notices that he had slid his rings off his fingers (she figures he's hidden them in his pocket), "Besides being a fucking prick, I have no clue. Maybe it has its eye on him or summat."

"Shouldn't we warn him? Or do I need to make him another protection spell or something, have you asked if he'd like one?" She picks up her watering canister and starts back where she'd left off on her stargazing lilies, "Don't you care if he gets hurt?"

"Listen, I have no emotional ties to any of my customers, I'll be honest. They're typically rotten as decade-old milk and what they experience is none of my business unless they pay me. If he wants more, then he can very well ask for it but I won't offer."

Y/N is...well, she's stunned, for lack of a better word. She knew he didn't care for Brad but to not care for him this deeply – that even if he was in danger, Harry wouldn't reach out unless he had money in his hand. She wonders if there was something more than what Harry was letting on – he seems to really hate the guy. He seems to really hate most of his customers, actually, and the richer they are the more disdain Harry carries in his voice when he speaks about them. And believe Y/N, she was all about the EAT THE RICH! movement, but she felt Harry's hatred went far deeper than that.

"But –" she had tried because even though Harry could ignore it, she didn't know if she could.

"Let's just drop it, alright?"

She lets him change the subject to the heliotrope flowers, but her mind still wanders and wonders.

Why did Harry hate the guy so much?

. . .

Saturday came quickly.

Y/N really hadn't expected it considering the anticipation that had been building surrounding it. Gretal had contacted her on Wednesday, so Y/N had thought each day would drag on slower than the last, however, it turns out when she's with Harry the entire day it kind of goes pretty quickly. On Thursday, Harry had come to her flat just before she left for work and rode with her, Oat in his cross-body bag and Thumper sitting comfortably in his lap. He theorized that maybe they were dealing not with just any old demon, but a royalty of hell, which may explain the strength of the feeling it brings when it slides through the town. When Y/N asked if they were easy to cast back to where they'd come, Harry shrugged his shoulders and simply replied, "Well, it depends what they want."

He helps out around her shop now, which gives her more time to cater to her garden that was becoming more and more in tune with the danger that each wind like that brought. They were much shyer, and in turn, were not so forthcoming in blooming, or replicating her enchantments into their cells. Plants could fear demons too – strong demons at least, and Y/N hadn't known that, so now she mixes in some of her protection spell elixir with the water she was feeding them with, and burns extra of her dried fern leaves. It eases their worries tremendously, and in turn, eases her own.

That night they were going to part ways to their respective flats until they'd heard one of the last customers she had in the store speaking on the phone.

"I know, it's fucking crazy – no, how everyone's actin' you'd think the newsroom was a madhouse...if it happens one more time after tonight, I reckon they'll push for it to be world news."

Harry had pulled out his phone immediately, brought up a live stream of their news channel, and low and behold, another person had seen a black, dripping ooze from their wall that told them to suffocate their roommate. And though he thankfully failed, Y/N was still horrified, so when Harry looked up from his phone and over to her, she held no shame in requesting that he stay the night again.

"Y'know, the more you ask, the more I'm convinced you just love my company."

"Piss off."

(Since he did stay the night, he got to speak a bit with Y/N's Nan on the phone, who was explaining to them that her and Gertal Maisie had met forty years ago at a small little witch's conference and had been close ever since, no matter the time passed or the lives they'd created for themselves. Her Nan tried to poke and prod a bit into what Harry did but Y/N didn't let it get very far. Instead, she switched the conversation to the tropical storms that had been happening as of late – she didn't know her view on dark witches, but she didn't want her to say anything unintentionally mean that might hurt Harry's feelings...her nan had a knack for being blunt, but it often got her in trouble.)

On Friday, Y/N closes up the shop a little earlier than normal so that she could prepare for the day trip tomorrow. It was a two-hour drive north of them, and they were taking Harry's car because Y/N believed it would ride much smoother than her own on some of the backroads they would take to their destination. While it did take some coaxing, Harry not only agreed to the usage of his car, but to also drive most of the way (Y/N never held much over his head, but she did take the chance to hold the endless amounts of chamomile she provides him with right above his curls and he rolled his eyes before a surrendered agreement) so it took away some of the stress.

Thumper and Oat wouldn't make the trip but would instead stay safely at Y/N's flat, so she prepped it for them, from a good amount of both rabbit food and cat food to Thumper's timothy hay and Oat's litter box along with a few toys – she wanted them to be comfortable. Neither Harry nor Y/N leaves either of them for very long, so she made sure that they would be well fed and entertained in their absence (not that she thought Thumper needed it any – the grumpy lug might as well just sleep all day, he would be at his most content without her bugging him).

Saturday morning, Harry had pulled around just as the clock ticked over to 7 AM and the sun was reluctantly crawling over the horizon. The morning dew frosted over the thin blades of grass, while the frigid air blew golden leaves from the branches they'd clung to previous. Oat greeted her kindly, with kisses to her nose that made her smile and eased the nerves she'd garnered in suspense for what they would learn today. She'd stayed up probably a bit too late stressing over the drive, meeting Gretal Maisie, and what she might have them do – her Nan said it was likely a spell. Gretal's magic was sought out by many because she could aid in the transcendence of physical form to a different realm, an alternate reality, a future. From what was explained to her, a session with Gretal is typically a hefty wad of cash (she thinks she and Harry would get along great if that were the case) so the fact that they were getting this for free was something to be acknowledged, which is why as Y/N crawls into Harry's passenger seat she reminds him to be on his best behavior.

"Whether I want you to be or not, the type of company you keep is a reflection of you, and if Gretal gets a bad read then my Nan will be nothing short of livid and I don't want to hear it from her. So please be kind to this woman."

Harry had sighed with a heavy roll of his eyes, "What'd you think I was gonna do, walk-in, and spit on her? I'm aces with old ladies, we'll be fine."

It did little to soothe her nerves but she let it go. She packed them both an on the road snack and brought two of her water bottles filled with passion fruit tea (a recipe she'd been working on for quite a while, and Harry would be the only person other than Niall to try it – how he felt about it determined whether she started selling it, only because she knew Niall wouldn't tell her if he hated it to spare her feelings) which Harry was more than happy to try and eat right away. While she advised him that he would get hungry again an hour in if he didn't ration it correctly, he happily ignored her, set the Tupperware on his thigh, and immediately tore into the croissant.

The croon of Shaina Twain plays low throughout the speakers, and as the heater blasts from the vents, an apple cinnamon scent twirls through the car that soothes her. It reminds her of being little – a specific memory invades her mind, sitting in her Nan's kitchen when she was younger, swinging her feet because they didn't touch the floor yet when she sat at the table. She was talking to the monstera on the window sill beside her, detailing her day to it, watching with such delight as its leaves tilted toward her. Her Nan appeared behind her, squeezing her shoulder tightly, "I reckon he likes you, hm? Keep speaking to him."

An apple cinnamon candle had been burning, the flames flickered and danced in the glass jar, and Y/N remembers returning home and begging her mother to burn the same scent in her room. The plants liked her better when it smelled good, is what she thought – she still can't say that that wasn't entirely true.

It puts her at ease. Not only the apple cinnamon, but the trace of Harry's own scent laced within the vehicle, and while she was reluctant to admit it aloud the smell of him had begun bringing her great comfort, she would admit it in her head. And that, coupled with the murmured hum of his voice to the music mollified her racing mind, but she wouldn't let him know that either. If Harry had any clue about the hold he could have over her mood she had no doubt in her mind he would utilize it to the fullest and for his own benefit.

That's something she had learned about Harry though - it was him first, everyone else second. Which, sometimes that's a good way to go about life but Y/N isn't sure how he does it so guiltlessly. From what she understands of his involvement, had this monster that's lurking beneath the shadows of the town not been a questionable variable to his business, he wouldn't care. People are much more reluctant to involve themselves in dark arts when something sinister like that's floating around – that's what he'd told her. Even then though, she knew he was making enough still it shouldn't be too much of a concern. Maybe other demons would be harder to conjure if there is a more dominating presence? Perhaps this thing that was sweltering and growing, would be a potential competitor – though she can't imagine that it had any other currency options than a soul.

Or maybe he didn't care at all, but she forced him to be involved and he has nothing better to do?

"Did you make the croissant?" Y/N nodded when Harry spared her a glance, pressing the container lid over the two danishes she'd given him (one had a chocolate filling and the other had strawberry), "It was good."

"Thank you," she turned to look at him, only then noting the outfit he had chosen for today. It was cold outside – Y/N herself had chosen a sweatshirt that allowed her to hide from the onslaught of wind that would batter them despite the autumn sun's golden rays. Harry wore a thinner shirt – more like a blouse even, white in color and buttoned up only halfway, and it's a bit big on him, so the fabric pools around his hips some as he sat and Y/N had a feeling that it would billow around his body if he stood in front of a fan. Sure, he had a long pair of trousers to counteract it, but still, Y/N had no idea Harry was so committed to fashion that he would freeze himself out, "You aren't cold?"

"Hm?" His lips are sucked into his mouth as he wets them brows raising as he looks down to his attire, "Oh, yeah a bit – I've got a coat in the back though," he switches so his left hand is the more dominant on the steering wheel, taking his right hand and stroking the scruff that had grown on his upper lip with his thumb and forefinger, "I was looking into her magic a bit last night – her whole transcendence thing? Typically spells like that require getting a bit wet, so I wouldn't be surprised if she has us submerge in a vat of goat milk or summat. Wore this 'cos it's easy to take off and I can put it back on without feeling my damp skin against the inside of a sweatshirt – hate that."

Y/N feels silly now in her sweatshirt, so she shuffles some, "Have you done something like this before?'

It's hard not to admire Harry as he speaks, with how the light cuts through his window, illuminating him with the backdrop of yellows that form the acres of untouched land that surrounded them on either side. The further they'll get, the more hills and valleys they'll see which never fail to be beautiful – during spring Y/N will come to visit the wildflowers that grow there.

"Once a year or two ago, but it was nothing spectacular and was incredibly draining," he reached for the pink water bottle that he had claimed as his own, attempting to twist the cap open but missing the button that he's meant to push that pops the lid – Y/N does it for him, wiggles it from the tight cup holder and hands it to him, "One of my mates wanted to see if her boyfriend was cheating on her with our other mate's girlfriend, so I did a spell. Long story short I smelled like goat milk and rye for two weeks, and they were indeed cheating. It was a mess."

Y/N tilts so she faces him a bit more, "Was it scary? To be like...out of body like that?"

He shrugs, "It was different, not necessarily scary...I felt like a proper creep because I'd set it up for ten minutes so I kinda had to sit there and watch them fuck."

"Aish," she rubs at her eye, "I wonder if she'll have us do that then, and maybe we'll be able to see who's doing all this...if it's even a person."

Harry looks like he may reply but his phone buzzes from where it sits on the stand fixed to his dashboard and the sound of a notification plays over Stevie Nicks misty, lulling tone. His brows dip as he reaches out with his finger to press it, "Christ," he rolls his eyes and swipes out of it.

"What's wrong?" Y/N pokes, and instead of commenting on her being nosy as he usually does, he continues.

"Brad won't fuckin' leave me alone," he tuts his tongue, "Told him the earliest I'd be able to see him is tomorrow night, and I may not be able to get him what he needs, but he's still blowing me up."

"Is he okay?" Y/N asked, feeling somewhat concerned, "Is the protection spell not working for him?"

He sighs, "It is," he places both hands on the steering wheel now, "Too well, if you ask me, so now he's asking for some for his girl."

"Oh. I don't mind making some more for her too, it doesn't take much time."

"But I mind," Harry tells her, "They'll suck you dry, Babe, like bloody leeches so we can't be too forthcoming with things or they'll start to expect it and ask for more. Plus there's no guarantee she actually even needs it, they're just paranoid watching the news."

She reaches for her own water bottle, "Harry, it really isn't a problem for me – has he told you why he thinks she needs some too?"

"Not yet, which is why I don't feel bad for not handing some over," he shakes his head, "Don't worry about it, I'll let you know if I need you, yeah?"

This is the second time Harry had dismissed Bradley's worries, and Y/N just couldn't piece together what it was about this guy that Harry despised so thoroughly. Enough that the thought of having to help him stay alive seemed mentally draining to him. Were they old school mates? Had Bradley wronged him in a past life and Harry was the only one who remembered it? Or maybe Bradley like – she doesn't know, fucked his partner at the time?

"Can I ask you a question?" She is nosy – she would never admit to it, but it's so clear that she wants to know everyone's business about everything.

"No," he answers immediately, but a smile twitches at his lips, "Kidding, go ahead."

Y/N rolls her eyes, but continues, "Why do you hate him so much? Or all your clients, for that matter?" She watches as his face loses the playful light that had been there prior, "I just – you can be rotten sometimes, but you don't strike me as someone who would just completely disregard someone else's life."

"What makes you think you know a goddamn thing about me?"

Her brows raise, mouth falling agape – Harry had always been a little snippy with her, but never like that. There was never such unadulterated spite laced within his words. That and the way his knuckles whiten from how tightly he's gripping the wheel lets Y/N know that she touched a particularly tender spot, and even with her brewing curiosity, she knew better than to poke an angry bear. So she clears her throat gently, shaking her head, "Okay, never mind," she replied calmly, "We don't have to talk about it."

Silence is what she's met with, the tension is so thick it sits on her chest and weighs her shoulders down considerably as she tilts her head to look outside instead. The fields are so expansive – nothing but acres of land for her eyes to dance along, so she tries desperately to do just that, rather than focusing on the seething man beside her. She just wanted to know...her words were true. No matter how rotten Harry was, he had never seemed to be someone who would so deliberately turn his nose toward someone's safety...but he was right too. What did Y/N know about him exactly?

Well, she knows that he's a witch and a dark one at that. She knows that he loves the smell of strawberries and can't sleep without chamomile (or just being in her flat, apparently). She knows that he has a cat named Oat that he loves with his whole heart, that he likes Thumper second to Oat, and she'd learned that he was very malicious thoughts toward anyone who doesn't love animals (which, Y/N couldn't say she blamed him for). She knows that he is reasonably fashionable, but manages to always seem comfortable and cozy, like someone you might want to snuggle up against if it got too cold. She knows that he can be a team player if persuaded, and strawberry milkshakes with malt are a necessity, and he likes the sugary bite-sized cakes at the bakery she frequents and made a habit of getting him treats from when she got her own.

And she knew he hated her.

Thirty minutes pass with no avail, and while the tension slowly dissipates with time, Y/N still feels awkward.

That is until Harry sighs, one so deep and slow it felt like he'd pressed a reset button to the mood in the car. "When I was growing up, my family didn't have much money," he began, and Y/N turned to look at him, the material of her coat brushing against itself makes her movement known, and he glances at her before returning his eyes to the road, "My dad ran out on us when I was young, me Mum cleaned up houses and did some gardening but the pay wasn't great, and my sister and I were too little to be of much help so we struggled." Y/N blinks at him, realizing now that he was giving her an explanation – letting her into a bit of his life that she didn't think she would ever have knowledge of, but she tries to keep her eagerness unidentifiable. She didn't want him to stop, and it was clear he was uncomfortable – the least she could do was act a bit indifferent, she reckons he would respond much better to that.

"I grew up in a smaller town, so there were only a handful of schools and instead of being with mainly kids who were within our socioeconomic status, I was with a lot of wealthy ones. And they were never very...kind. I'm trying hard not to label a ton of kids as arseholes, because they were kids but fuck sake – they were awful." He shook his head, mostly to himself as he reaches up and brushes his hair back, the curls moving as fluidly as water with his fingers, only flopping back to their same spot in a few moments, "I make my prices so high not because I'm a money-hungry prick – or, at least not entirely that," she giggled a little and he smiled just faintly, "I can comfortably take care of myself and of me mum and sister back home. It's part of the reason why I got into magic at all. But every time I look into Bradley's face," his expression soured, "Any time I look at any of their faces, I just see the same kids who would taunt me 'cos I had holes in me clothes, or I was only bringing bread for lunch." He shrugs, "Maybe it's immature to be stuck on it, but it's hard to shake, all things considered. And it had become increasingly clear to me that once they grow up, they manage to get worse – the only reason why they speak with me is because I can give them something they want. Otherwise, they wouldn't leave their little classist bubble. The whole thing is just tiring."

Y/N swallows, at a loss for words, but with so much understanding of Harry's character beginning to piece together, "Thank you for telling me that," she settles on saying, "That makes sense. I apologize for being nosy."

"You are a Nosy Nancy," he labels her, as they ride over a hill, "But I apologize for snapping at you like that. I don't get close with many people, so I'm not used to anyone trying to pry into my life and I reacted poorly. So I'm sorry." She nods, and Harry reaches out, very tenderly, and out of character for him, patting her thigh carefully, "You can choose the next song, but make it good."

The rest of the drive is much more blissful. They take turns choosing songs, dancing, talking, and pretending like the thirty minutes of silence hadn't happened at all, which Y/N could definitely live with. Hell, things had taken such a pleasant turn, that Y/N had forgotten why they were in the car in the first place until the map navigator spoke loudly telling them that their destination was coming up on the right.

Understandably, Y/N is a bit confused, considering there seemed to be nothing but a patch of trees ahead of them. However, the closer they got to the patch of trees, the clearer Y/N could make out that quite a few of them sat on a particularly large hill, and on the side of that large hill there was a door. There was a single car parked in a grassy spot, so Harry carefully pulled in right beside it, "This is it right?"

"My Nan said she was quite eccentric, so I reckon living inside of a hill would make sense." She unbuckled, pressing the door open quickly, but before Harry could even pop his seatbelt, the door of the house opened and there stood the woman in a long purple dress, with about thirty bracelets on her arms and several necklaces (she appeared just like the slightly older version of the one she saw in the pictures her Nan sent), "Hi Gretal Maisie," Y/N began, walking around the car, "I'm –"

"Get over here girl, I know who you are," she grinned brightly, and Y/N found comfort in her smile, "Look just like your Nan – always told her them damn genes were stronger than the royal family." Her gaze flickered over to Harry, who had made it to Y/N's side, "And you're the boy – Harry? Aren't you just a doll?" She reached out and cupped his cheek gently, Y/N noted the rings on her fingers, a matching aquamarine one that Y/N shared with her Nan as well, only the stone was much bigger, "Your soul is so gentle, how is it that you're conjuring demons?"

Harry doesn't seem in the least bit uncomfortable as he responds cheekily.

"I'm just extra sweet, Ma'am, they can't do a thing to me."

The bastard was telling the truth – he was great with old women.

She gets them inside and wastes no time in having them sit – the interior was just as whimsical as the exterior, though the walls were fixed and stable with wooden platforms while she had been expecting to see nothing but soil. Every inch of space was covered apart from the carefully constructed walkways and sitting areas, but it was not without purpose. Anything Y/N saw, felt as if it had a space in this home that it was meant to have, whether it be unidentified mason jars or the cute little figurines and pictures in sturdy iron frames. The living room was spacious, yet cozy, and there were two exits to the right – one to the kitchen and the other had a door that was fixed shut. She knew it couldn't be her bedroom because that was down a narrow hall to their left.

There were a lot of shelves, filled with a lot of things, but she grabs for a large leather bound black book and all but throws it onto her coffee table. Harry and Y/N sat on navy colored floor cushions across from where she lowered to sit on a similar one, pulling open the book and turning it so that the print faced them. The book was placed just perfectly so that the glasses of water she'd given them framed it, just barely touching the corners when she slid it toward them, "From what you have explained to me in your emails, I believe you're dealing with something I call Personatus Daemonium which is really just a fancy way of saying masked demon." She explains, and her bracelets clink and jingle together as she does, "It has no true form, but rather takes the form of those around him, whether they be other demons or humans – the goo that is seeping through the walls is another demon and just a convenient way for him to enter buildings and homes."

One finger pokes and points at the circled picture in her book, a drawing of red ink that showed a figure with no formless face, and a body that was the amalgamation of man and animal, "He is inhabiting an area – he's hiding where the negative energy is strongest. To get rid of him is to find that spot, call him to it and go through the process of banishment."

"How do we find that spot?" Y/N asks, brows furrowed, and shaking her head, "It feels like he's everywhere. The wind will blow at night and it's just sickening...vile and dark and all-encompassing, but even when I followed where it was strongest, it just took me to the blood bank. Other days the feeling is stronger in different areas of town, and it's like – I don't know, I'm not even sure what its motive is."

She smiles softly, "Well, Sweetheart, the motive is to feed. There have been murder attempts, correct? He's hungry and looking for a soul to devour, but here is where our problem lies – he was either conjured or he came by himself. If he came on his own devices, then he will eventually leave whether he finally gets what he wants or if it proves to be too hard. If he was summoned, then he won't leave until he's given what was promised.'

Y/N turns to face Harry, who looks between her and Gretal before he becomes defensive, "Oi, I didn't summon the fucker! I know who I summon and when I summon them, and I make a point of knowing they've gone back. Not a bloody amateur."

"He's right," Gretal nods, "If he was conjured, then it definitely wasn't done by someone who knew what they were doing. Had that been the case, then whatever he was promised would have been given immediately and he would not be seeking it out himself. No, this was done by someone who was not properly trained in conjuring – this is where I was when you first emailed me. Stagnant. I couldn't figure out how I could be of any use to you other than recommending the protection spells to ensure the both of you are safe." She motioned toward a picture frame on her TV stand and Y/N sees it is the same picture of her Nan and Gretal that she had been shown, "But I just had a gut feeling that maybe if I sent you out of this realm and into the in-between dimension where you could potentially see for yourself – we could get closer to the truth. Though I worried that you may not be able to handle it, and when I mentioned your name to your Nan, she let me know that I was speaking with her granddaughter – any kin of her is strong enough to weather the greatest of storms. You are a strong bunch."

Y/N feels her cheeks warm under the praise, before she nods her head toward Harry, "I – will he be able to as well?"

"Of course! I have no doubt in his strength either – to deal with demons and remain what appears to be unscathed speaks volumes," she presses herself to a stand, "Follow me, and I will get you ready."

The closed-door had been hiding a large room with more paneling with thicker wood than in her living room, but there was more water than it was anything else. Or, Y/N thought it was water at least – there were a few steps that led into a dark-colored pool of liquid with a sweet aroma that filled the air and made her stomach turn. She thought she'd been doing good to hide her nerves, but apparently, Harry could feel it exuding off of her. Instead of poking fun though, like she would have expected, he squeezes her shoulder and murmurs lowly in her ear, "You're okay."

"Have either of you done this before?" Gretal asks as she walks along the outer edges of the bath, toward the table in the far corner that has plenty of jars and bowls set up.

"I have," Harry answers, "Y/N hasn't."

"That's no problem, Dear," she clinks things together, moving objects around on the table but not turning back to them as she explains, "Transcendence isn't a scary thing, and my bath makes it quite easier – you'll undress, submerge yourselves in the water and I will repeat a series of incantations that will send you into that middle point. You must clear your mind apart from the objective at hand – finding the source of negative energy that this demon is feeding on – and you will say the safeword "plum blossoms" when you want to return. It's as easy as that," she turned around, a bowl of whatever concoction she'd been making that she grabs fistfuls of and tosses into the dark water, "The only difference that is made since there is two of you, is that you will need to hold hands and be near to one another so that you are within the same realm, or you'll have different experiences."

Y/N is still filled with nerves, not knowing what to expect out of the situation. Harry has told her it wasn't scary, only weird, but that was coming from a guy who regularly dealt with demons so she had no clue how much she could trust him. Not only that but now she was about to be stripped naked in a black water bath (which every horror movie would tell her to avoid) with Harry of all people. And she didn't normally just strip down to her knickers in front of people, so her heart is hammering against her chest as she's stood in her corner. Her goal was to undress so unreasonably quickly that she could dip in the water before Harry could even turn around, but this plan proved to be futile. She could hear him enter the water just as she wiggled out of her underwear, and with a deep breath, she turned around with an arm covering her breasts and her hand over her private bits.

Harry has sunk to his shoulders and is looking toward her with a roll of his eyes, "Oh, Glinda Good Witch, what is it, hm? Think I'm gonna get me an eyeful of your bits?"

The water is cool as she places her foot into it, watching as she sinks down where her body disappears beneath the water. Goosebumps dot up her spine the further she goes, "I think a lecher like you would try to get an eyeful of anyone's bits," she grumbled, her hand falling away from her crotch once that was submerged in water and her arm across her breast falls away once her nipples are covered.

"Don't flatter yourself," Y/N is able to walk toward him, her neck and head the only things, not beneath the dark pool. She couldn't make out just exactly what dried leaves were floating around with them, but she reckons if she could settle her mind on anything other than what was about to happen then she could think up a few. Her mind is racing, her heart is slamming so hard against her chest she wonders if Harry and Gretal could hear it, and if not for the cool temperature of the water she's sure she would be covered in sweat.

She hates to say the only ease she finds is when Harry takes a hold of her hand, slotting their fingers together familiarly as he leads her further toward the edge of the pool. It's bordered by white, uneven pieces of stone, and with the hand not held by Harry, she grabs a hold of it, looking up to where Gretal overlooks above them.

"Lie your head against the stone and let your body float to the top of the water," they do as she's told – Y/N looks toward Harry for guidance and though he sighs (but it sounds more like a pitied laugh), he takes the hand not holding hers and starts at her shoulder, gently following the edge of her body down to her thigh where he takes a handful.

"Wha-" she begins but he shushes her.

"Relax," he murmured, "I'm gonna help you position okay? But I'm trying not to shove my hand where it doesn't belong. Start leaning back and take slow, deep breaths."

Y/N follows his instructions, lying her head back against the stone, taking slow easy breaths, and allowing him to help slowly raise her body until most of her is floating just beneath the surface. It's hard not to stare at him – this is her first time seeing his upper half completely bare and there are more tattoos than she could even count. He's muscular without being overtly buff – he still looks soft and pleasant no matter how his biceps bulge and make the boat tattoo on his arm seem small.

Harry's hand finds her stomach, his palm flattened against the skin to keep her beneath the water until she finds that spot where she is practically stationary. It felt like the laws of physics worked differently in this pool – the water moves around her but she no longer moves with it. After he has, he lies beside her, their hands still interlaced and he finds his spot much easier than she was able to, "Good," Gretal comments, nodding her head and smiling, "Do you feel safe?" Y/N nods – she thinks Harry does too but she isn't looking over at him, "Let your eyes fall closed, listen to the quiet of the room, focus on your breaths and the breaths of each other. Focus on what you want to see – an idea of who brought this demon, or where the demon is residing." Y/N tightens her grip on Harry's hand, and again, slightly out of character for him, he brushes the pad of his thumb back and forth soothingly, "You will transfer to the in-between...the middle ground of your reality and another's. This is no alternate realm, but the same realm you are in, experienced from a different perspective. You will see things that your eyes have not met. If at any point you want to return, you say 'plum blossoms'."

Without further explanation, she throws herself into the incantations. Y/N knows they're in Latin, and the roll of her tongue speaks words that render Y/N's body still – her heart races, but her mind clears. White light dances behind her eyelids, the same galaxy of stars that appears when she knuckles too harshly at her eyes. She focuses on her breath and on Harry's breath, she's so hyper-aware of Harry's breath that she attempts to match his. The slow, steady inhale and exhale equal in length. He's calm, it makes her want to be calm, and his thumb never stops rubbing carefully at her hand.

"Repeat after me," Gretal says, her voice just above a whisper, "Denegatio trascendentium."

They repeat it in unison.

Denegatio trascendentium.

It feels like a plunge. How it would feel to be lifted at a plane level in the sky, then dropped into the ocean below and Y/N wonders for a moment if their heads are under the water. She really couldn't make out where she was exactly until she realized that her eyes were closed and she needed to open them. It was hard as if rocks were weighing her lids down, but eventually, they struggled to flutter open and Y/N was staring into two familiar eyes. When her brain re-centers in her head, she finds that those eyes belonged to Harry, and his mouth was moving but she couldn't hear him. The walls ripple and move like waves – she thinks they're in a room but she couldn't tell where.

"What?" She asks, shaking her head, and when Harry repeats himself again to no avail, he leans in closer – he's hovering over her body, every inch of their skin is touching and his lips graze against her ear.

"Focus on me and you'll hear me, idiot."

When he pulls back, Y/N is glaring at him, but she takes his advice – she focuses on only him rather than the rippling walls surrounding them, as he repeats himself, "Are you okay?" She nods her head, and he slowly withdraws, "Follow me, and don't let go of my hand."

"Okay," their voices echo, bouncing off the walls and hitting their ears in waves. Her grip on him is tight as they look around, finding a single white door at the far end of the room, the only stationary portion of the wall.. He leads them to it, fixing his palm on the knob and pulling the door open without a second thought. Y/N has found that Harry is very forward, straight to the point, and with little fear he takes charge when it comes to dark things like this. She's jealous of his bravery but tries not to give herself too little credit when the fact of the matter is, he deals with demons at work and she's growing enchanted plants.

The door leads to a room — a big room, more like a basement...are they in a basement? She looks around a bit and tries to make sense of where they were. It looked nice, even in the fuzzy, dream-like state that she was seeing it in, but there was no furniture and the walls were white and pristine. A chandelier sparkles and twinkles in the center of the room, swinging gently, like a gust of wind had blown through the walls. Where it looked like furniture should be, there was a large pentagram drawn out onto the polished wooden floors. It was dark — it looked freshly made, and the longer they stared and the closer they got to it, the more she realized that it was bubbling. The paint or the blood that it was made of came to life, gurgles soundly like they were in the belly of a beast.

Her heart begins pounding once more, hammering against her rib cage and she feels Harry's grasp becomes bone-crushingly tight. The image flickers, the white walls come alive, stained with a milky black substance that slowly slips down toward the floor, hands emerging through the goo. There are hundreds surrounding them, fingers reaching out blindly — Y/N has never seen anything so horrible, and she opens her mouth to voice as much, but she can't. She can't speak — and when a hand that isn't Harry's grabs at her bicep, she can't scream.

It rips her from his hand, and Harry snaps to look at her, "What the fuck?"

They drag her back, her voice only returns when Harry reaches to grab her, just for a moment so she can scream a distressed cry of his name but the inky black substance seeps into her mouth. A pungent, bitter taste slides across her taste buds, slithering down her throat in slimy tentacles that slip around the walls of her stomach. It fills her veins, drags her deeper into the dark, and only when she thrashes and grapples can she find her way through it, to horror even worse than the hands.

She's alone – she feels it so intensely...more intensely than she had ever felt anything as she looked around and there was nothing. There was nothing, and Harry wasn't there, and she wanted him and she needed him desperately but she was all alone. And when she whips her head around to what she had thought was the sound of his voice, she instead sees her garden, but no comfort is brought to her. There was no color; muted hues of her petals and leaves that had wilted and shriveled, they were lifeless, where the flower met the stem curved downward so they faced the ground. But all of that hadn't even been the worst of it.

No, the worst of it, was that she couldn't feel them.

She couldn't feel them at all.

Her heart felt as if it had been wrenched out of her chest, her stomach fell to the floor, her mind fizzled into a numbed silence but she felt herself screaming. She feels herself ripping at the seams, cracking down the middle, crumpling to the ground onto her knees as she reaches for them, and feels nothing. They speak to her – they have always spoken to her, even in an ill state like this, but there are no words and there is no continuum of their lives from seed to seed. There was no way to salvage them – her flowers were gone.

A hand clamps down on her shoulder, prying her upward from her crouched position and making her face them. Once again she is eye to eye with Harry, only this time he grabs ahold of her hand again, slotting their fingers together, and holds her tighter than he ever had before.

"Plum blossom."

Y/N startles with a gasp as she opens her eyes, back in the room of water that she had started out in. Her mind is overwhelmed, brain frazzled, and misfiring as she tries to make sense of anything that she just saw, but before she can her eyes are filling with tears. Big, fat drops slide hot down her cheek and the water sloshes around her as she turns to face Harry who is looking at her worriedly, "Babe –" he begins but Y/N's body collides with his, her arms slung around his neck and her face smashed against his chest.

"Thank you," she says between sobs, sucking in shaky staccato-like breaths, "Thank you for getting me out of there, thank you, thank you, thank you." She's shaking her head, both the thought of being unable to feel her flowers and being away from him, too much to bear – they made her feel ill. And Y/N hadn't realized just how much she relied on Harry now for the comfort of his presence to be as desired by her as the comfort her flowers provided. For both to be equally as painful spoke volumes that Y/N was in no mental state to unpack.

So she only holds onto him tightly and melts into him when he begins to cradle her against his body.

. . .

Harry was worried.

He was not much of a worrier – Harry had always been decently calm when it came to many things in life, and he much preferred to take things as they come rather than stress over what the future may bring to him. The thought of being a ball of consistent anxiety made Harry's head pound so ferociously, he couldn't imagine what it must be like to stay in Y/N's mind for even a moment. All that girl does is worry, and stress, and plan – she wears him right out with her theorizing, especially when they've been at it all night and Harry's finally shutting down for some rest.

But now he was worried.

After what happened today, he thinks he would have to be made of stone not to be. When Y/N had been nervous about the idea of transcendence in general, he had an inkling of a clue that it would not go as smoothly as anyone hoped. And while it did work for a moment, and they certainly had more than they had before, the fact that Y/N had not only gotten ripped from his grip, pulled into a wall and thrown into her own personal hell – well, it certainly put a damper on things. He may not have been seen by her, but he could see everything that had happened...he floated above her as she looked around for him, and he watched as her garden flickered into view, and he saw and felt the pain that coursed through her body at their wilted, soulless appearance. It was only when she had dropped to her knees, flattened her hands to the floor, and began to sob that Harry was able to pry himself from where he was fixed to the wall. He floated down, he grabbed onto her, and he got them both the hell out of there.

That wasn't the worrying part though, or at least that's not when he had become worried. His worry had manifested when the tangible, real Y/N was sobbing into his chest and shaking her head. It got worse when she was finally toweled and dried in the bathroom getting dressed when Gretal Maisie admitted to him that, "This is a little worse than I thought. It should not have been able to interact with either of you." And it was even worse after that, once they had gotten back in his car after about thirty extra minutes speaking with her, and Y/N promptly laid her head on the window and fell asleep (she was drained – the whole process had him more exhausted then he might like to admit, but she had been so clearly and unalterably exhausted by the encounter that she couldn't bear being awake for a second longer).

Yet, her negative reaction to the experience was not the only worrying aspect of it. What really was encompassing Harry's mind was how impossible it was for him to shake this overwhelming, protective feeling that he had so suddenly garnered for her. Or, well, he couldn't say it was sudden – he had always felt a weird sense of protectiveness around her, but in the few moments they spent in that in-between state of the world, it had only grown and flourished aggressively. Burgeoning as soon as she was ripped from his hands and the panic that flooded his body was unlike any other. How hopeless he felt only floating above her when he wished to bring her to his chest and hold her so closely that she might as well be a thin sheet adhering to his wet skin.

Harry's care has only ever extended from himself to his family and he liked to keep it that way. Everything got too messy otherwise, or at least he thought so – all his relationships were kind of soured by the whole witch bit of it, mostly because he couldn't tell them exactly what he was doing. It was really none of their business, but he soon figured out that being with someone meant that your business could be their business too, and that was just something Harry couldn't get behind. He minded his business, they should mind theirs.

But Y/N – Y/N was absolute shit at minding her business, but he never cared. Told her a chunk of his childhood that he had never thought to bring up to anyone, and had even felt bad when he had snapped at her to begin with. Harry had always sort of felt bad when he snapped at her, no matter their dynamic, but this felt different. . no, he had felt truly guilty when the tension laid thick in the car and it was his doing. She had only wanted to know why his outlook on his clients was so piss poor, and he bit her head off initially. And how could he be so angry that no other witches would ever hear him out on how he did his craft and what it entailed to him, only to get upset when another witch actually shows interest in his life?

His mind is fucking mess as he drives them home – it had felt like they had only been transcending for five, maybe ten minutes, but time worked differently there so the sun had lowered in the sky by the time they walked out of Gretal's home. Cotton candy clouds float over the horizon in a gorgeous sunset to be the backdrop of a beautiful autumn forest, but all Harry can focus on is the sleeping girl beside him. The heat is blasting, enough to stir a bit of a sweat for himself, but she had felt so cold before. When she threw herself into his arms and held him, her skin was icy – not as warm as he knew it could be. As warm as he liked that it was the few times that they had held each other in any way, or sat too closely on the couch, or their hands skimmed when passing off Oat or Thumper.

He kept checking her; he'd reach over and gently slide his fingertips against her knuckles, and even when he found that her body was finally warming in the heat of the car, he kept it cranked up. She looked so peaceful resting and he would rather see this blissful face, then the one stained with tears, puffy eyes, and horrified. When they had been there in the water, floating around in a part of the realm that they weren't meant to be in, Harry had never felt so close to another being in his life. To feel everything she felt was both beautiful as it was excruciating – to be connected in that way...the thought of it was still making his heart race.

By the time they returned home, the sun had disappeared, and outside had only grown colder. Harry had already set in his mind that he would be staying the night with her, only so that he could watch over her and make sure she was alright. He wakes her when they're outside of her flat, and she blinks her eyes open, looking all sorts of confused and disoriented.

"We're home, Babe," he patted her thigh, squeezing it slightly – he'd found he liked squeezing it quite a bit, if not for just the contact with her, for the way she unknowingly melted from it, "Come on, Thumper and Oat will be happy to see us."

"You drove all the way home?" She rubs at her eyes, still trying to realign herself with the situation, "I'm sorry. You could have woken me."

"Don't worry about it. Let's get inside, I'll make you something to eat, yeah?"

Harry isn't a cooker – he typically sticks with frozen meals and diner food. Anything that he could quickly stuff his gob with was usually the way he'd go, without the trouble of preparation, watching over it, the clean up involved. That didn't mean he had no clue how to cook a meal though, and from a young age, his mum had taught him how to make a wicked broccoli cheddar soup that warmed the insides thoroughly. So that's what he makes her, after setting her up in the living room and handing her Oat to keep her preoccupied (she would sit with Oat for hours, Harry had found, and not move even a little bit as long as Oat cuddled up against her and slept). He works quickly, only taking a little over thirty minutes to prepare it for her before taking it out to where she's sat.

While she's still fuzzy, it doesn't mute the surprise on her face and the gratitude that she exudes toward him, "Thank you," she holds her hands out for it, and Oat shifts from her lap to lie beside her thigh, "This is so sweet, Harry, you didn't have to do this."

"S'nothing to it," he assures her, waving it off as he takes a seat with his own bowl, "We need it after a day like that, hm?"

As Y/N blows on a spoonful, she looks up to him, "Did you recognize where that basement was?"

Harry shakes his head, having already shoved a spoonful into his mouth and he waits to swallow before responding, "Not at all. Might have helped if there was literally any furniture or decorating in the slightest, but it just looked like a room. How'd you figure we were in a basement?"

"Smelled like a basement smells." Is the only explanation she really offers and Harry takes it, watching as she finally tastes the soup and her brows raise, "Oh wow," she murmurs, dipping her spoon in for more, "This is good."

"What did you question my soup-making skills? I'll have you know I'm aces at making soup."

"Thought you were aces with old women?"

Harry feels himself relax as he realizes that she was returning to her normal self, and he bites down on a relieved smile.

"It's been proven to you tonight that I'm aces with both."

After they've finished, and Harry cleans up the kitchen while Y/N takes a shower to rub the basement smell off of her skin, he brews her some tea. He figured it was the least he could do, since she's always doing it for him, and she had a few baggies just laying on her counter. Harry wondered if that's where she always kept them, and he thinks about how silly it is to just have them lying out but they looked well enough like her chamomile, so he gets the kettle on the stove.

By the time she returned from her shower, smelling like rose petals, appearing refreshed and soft – he had finished making them both a mug, "Here," he held out the mug for her, "Made us tea."

"Why are you being so nice to me?" Y/N questions him, as she cradles the mug between her palms, maneuvering where her arms lie so that Thumper could comfortably sit in her lap, "Not that I mind it, but you've – you've never been a mama bear toward me."

And – well, how could Harry respond? He really had no clue himself even, only that she had looked and felt so small in the water, all he wanted to do was protect her from the world. But he couldn't say that, could he? That was just a little too much.

"You just seemed like you needed it, is all."

Y/N accepts that as his response, and Harry relaxes even more.

They drink their tea, and while it tasted a little different than it usually does, Harry had brushed it off by the fact that Y/N is usually the one making it. He reckons that even in their dried, crumpled state the tea leaves still prefer her to him, which is why every cup she makes for him is twice as good and extra special. She doesn't seem all too concerned with the taste either, because she drinks it until the mug is empty and dry, and it strokes his ego in a weird way that he can't really explain. He's just happy that he could make her two things that clearly brought her comfort, if the way her eyes appear heavy and her movements sluggish mean anything. She's sleepy, and his own fatigue finally catches up with him, but instead of retreating to grab him his quilt and leave like she usually does when they decide it's time to go to bed, she pauses. Almost like she's calculating something.

"What is it?" He asks as her brows pinch, mouth having opened and closed a few times like she was meaning to say something but just couldn't get it out.

"I –" she began, seeming unsure, "Do you think maybe you would want to – um, you can – we could – like sleep in my bed? Instead of being alone for tonight? Would that...would you be okay with that?"

And how could Harry say no when she's so nervous?

It's unlike anything they've done together but it feels like they should have been the whole time – at least for Harry. He showers too because she says he smells like a basement still, and when he steps out of her bathroom into her bedroom he finds that she has snuggled on her size with Thumper and Oat at the foot of the bed. She peeks out at him from beneath one of the rolls of the blanket and a playful smile tugs at his mouth as he chuckles. With a shake of his head, he flickers the lamp in the corner of her room off before crawling into bed beside her, getting snug beneath the covers.

"No funny business," he murmured, "I know I'm beautiful, but you'll have to keep them mitts to yourself."

Y/N unearths her hand from the mass of blankets to smack his arm.

"Piss off."

. . .

Y/N was hot.

Not the kind of hot where she was baking beneath the unforgiving sun in the middle of July, or where droplets of sweat would build up at the back of her neck and make her feel icky. No, it was the kind of hot that ran beneath the surface, zipping through her insides like lava had replaced her blood. All of that heat concentrated in her lower belly, like a swarm of bees to their honeycomb; she feels...she's wet – even in her half-awake state, she could feel that she was unbelievably sticky between her thighs. And she would question if it was her period had she not already had that earlier in the month, and the telltale tenderness of her breasts or the consistent groan and whine of her uterus had been absent. No, she wanted something – it was the kind of wet that she would typically just lower her hands beneath the covers and relieve herself, but even then...even then, she feels far wetter than that.

Maybe she would lower her hands, but she was lying on her side and that wasn't a comfortable position to touch herself in, especially when she's lying on the hand that she would use. She can't turn though, because someone is pressed up close behind her, their chest to her back and it only takes her a moment to remember that it was Harry. She had offered for Harry to stay the night in her bed and he was cuddled up against her, her body fit into his like a puzzle piece. Was that why she felt like this? Her insides crackling with need, teeming with warmth and want – it couldn't just be because Harry was snuggled up against her, could it?

As she wakes up further, she realizes the gravity of the situation – she feels wet enough to have soaked through not only her underwear but the soft bottoms she'd been wearing to sleep in. She could only pray that it hadn't gotten on him, or that he thought she pissed the bed. The only reason she's so sure she hadn't was because she reached down, dipped her fingers around her hole, and withdrew them to see nothing but the clear, sticky substance that would've been there if she was horny. Which she was – god, she was, and for absolutely no reason.

She attempts to break from Harry's hold, but his arms tighten around her, and he grumbles something low and unintelligible into the back of her head. Y/N can't help but melt back into him, her body being so clear in its unadulterated want for another being that she would risk the embarrassment of Harry waking up to find her like this only to be closer to him for a little while longer. Only when she sinks against him, she becomes very much aware of something nudging at her bum, and when she shuffles a little to readjust her hips and Harry groans low and throaty – her heart races. He was hard...Harry was really, really hard and she was practically sopping wet. What happened within the span of the seven hours they were asleep for them to both be like this? Harry's she could even excuse, she knew guys just woke up hard sometimes, but for her? She doesn't even remember having a significantly naughty dream, and even if she had, she had never been wet before.

Y/N tries once more to pry herself from his grip, but he has one arm slid around her waist, beneath her arm and holding just beneath her chest while the other she had her head atop of his bicep. Harry was strong, and it was clear he didn't want her to move in his actions alone, only proven by his now, very much intelligible, "Fuck sake, stop moving."

"Harry," her voice sounds like gravel, she clears her throat and tries again, "I have to pee, budge up."

"Just wee yourself, I'm warm." He responds and Y/N feels more panic slither through her spine as he shuffles, his cock pushes against her bum again and he says a quiet, "Oh," he huffs a breath through his nose, "My fault, Poppet, guess I might've been rubbing against you last night."

Her stomach somersaults, "I –"

"Oh, did you," his hand slides from around her and slips down to feel between them, "You're soaked, Babe. I reckon you didn't wee yourself, 'cos with this much I'm sure we'd be gagging from the smell."

She whines, sliding away from him, "You're so gross," she grumbles, trying to untwist from the sheets, "I don't know why I'm like this –"

"Well, when you're aroused you –"

"I know that! I'm saying I don't know what got me like...I didn't have a dream or anything," she murmurs, keeping one of the sheets still partially covering her and looking down to check it out – she didn't want to just get up and find out that her shorts had a big spot on them. She's trying to measure the damage and how much she had actually gotten wet, but she's distracted when Harry's head appears beside her.

"Oh wow, you really are drenched, look at that."

Y/N places her hand on his shoulder and shoves him away, brows dipped, "Ugh, Harry –"

"C'mon, Sweetheart, don't be embarrassed," he motions toward his crotch that is still obscured by the pile of blankets, "You're forgetting that I'm hard – bit wet myself too, but I can't tell so much if that's from you or me," he takes ahold of blankets and raises it like he's checking himself out, "You can come have a peek too if you want?"

"I –" she feels breathless, the thought of seeing his prick makes her mouth water, and her whole body vibrates, "The only thing that could have made us like this would be an aphrodisiac." Y/N shakes her head – she doesn't ever really keep that in the flat though unless she's making it. She'd been making some of her aphrodisiac tea and the chamomile but Thumper jumped up on the counter, hopped onto one of the trays, realized that it was still hot from the oven, and started bouncing around, effectively mixing them up. And Y/N had still bagged up a few of them thinking that maybe she had salvaged at least some of the chamomile, but then she got too worried that some of it would still have the aphrodisiac leaves within it so she threw them away.

Or...well, she planned on throwing it away but she remembers getting distracted by Thumper whining and going to make sure his paw was still wrapped. So she left them on the counter and...and she never did throw them away, did she?

And Harry made them their tea last night.

"Harry," she began, "Where – what tea did you use for us last night?"

His head tilts to the side, "What you had on the counter."

She presses her palms to her eyes, "Oh fuck me," she sighs, shaking her head, "Harry, that was – we just – I think we drank an aphrodisiac."

"Shit, did we? Why do you just have that on your counter?" He seems confused but doesn't seem nearly as distressed.

She shook her head, "I was going to throw it away! I was but I got distracted and now we fucking drank it. Oh no."

Harry lays his hands on her legs, "Hey, don't stress out, it could be worse, hm?" He squeezes her thigh, "What do you make it to do then? Like how long does it last?"

"It should only last until whoever took it is finished like – having sex." She explains, rubbing her temples.

"Alright," he nods, "Then let's have at each other and then we'll get through it."

Y/N's mouth drops open, her eyes going wide and her heart quickens at the thought of being with him in that way. He's so big and soft, and she thinks the feeling of their skin rubbing together as they got off would be just too much for her to handle, "But – I um, you – won't it be weird?"

"No it won't be weird," he looked at her like she was batty, and he took the blanket covering him off to reveal his cock. From beneath the fabric she could tell how hard he was, and how big he was, "I – people do this sometimes don't they?" He places his hand over his prick, giving it a squeeze and his eyes flutter, "Unless – if you don't want to, then we can just – we can just watch each other or summat? Or I could go to the living room and you could stay here?"

She shook her head, "I – not I don't think it'll work if I do it by myself," she swallows thickly, scooting a little closer to him, "It won't be weird?"

"Not at all, Baby," he gives a shaky sigh, running the bottom of his palm along his prick again, "You can be the boss, hm? D'ya wanna be the boss?"

Y/N helps move the blanket further away from his body, crawling between his legs, "I don't know if I'm good at being the boss."

"Oh sweet little thing, you would do so well," he leans back, spreading his legs further so that she could fit more comfortably in between, "Why don't you take my cock out, and show me who's in control?"

She helps him remove his boxers, his cock slapped up against his lower abdomen and he might have been just as wet as she was. Precum left the head of his cock shiny, drooling from the tip and sliding down his shaft toward his balls. "You're so big," she murmurs, feeling overwhelmed, lust searing through her body as she grabs a hold of his cock. She opens her mouth, pressing her tongue against her bottom lip, and slaps the head of his cock against her tongue. Harry moans, splitting his thighs even further and tipping his head back, one hand curled up in the pillows beside him.

"F-fuck," he whimpers, "Yeah, m'I big? Too big for your tiny little mouth."

Y/N slips the head of his cock into her mouth, suckling tenderly while her other hand grabs at his supple thigh. She swirls her tongue around the tip, slurping and sinking down to take him further into her throat – even when she gags, she barely stops for a breath, only keeps pulling and sucking with her mouth. Engulfed in the wet heat, she takes him down to the back and swallows around him/ When she really does need a breath, she drags her lips and tongue down his shaft from the sensitive frenulum to his balls, carefully putting her mouth over it and tonguing around.

His moans make her wetter (if that were possible), and when her gaze flickers up to look at him, she watches as his eyelids flutter and his hips thrust forward. Y/N frames his hips with her hands, and when he rolls upward again she presses down, keeping him to the bed, "Oi," she murmurs against his cock, "Stop it."

"How can I help it when you're making me feel so good?" He purrs, reaching down to stroke the hair from her face, letting his thumb drag across her swollen bottom lip, slicked with spit, "You have such a filthy little mouth, I should've known with how quick that tongue is."

Her brows dip, he slides his thumb against her tongue, "Your mouth is filthier," she huffs, slipping her hand back to his cock and slowly stroking, feeling as the muscles in his hips and abdomen stiffen, "Your mouth has always been so filthy."

"Give me something to do with it then," he murmurs, "Sit on my face."

"Yeah?" She sits up from him, tucking her fingers into her shorts and panties, and begins to wiggle them down her thighs, "I bet you'd like that wouldn't you? You're such a naughty boy."

Harry slides his tongue over his lips in anticipation, making grabby hands at her hips as she uses her knees bracketing each side of his body to walk up toward his face, "M'so naughty, baby," he murmurs, dragging her up closer to his mouth, "God, you have such a beautiful little pussy, look at her," he slides his arms around her thighs, using his fingers to spread her lips open and she has no sense to feel shy about it – she's too wet for it. All she can think about is what his mouth might feel like fixed against her, not about the fact that she hasn't been seen like this in a very long time. She's definitely never sat on someone's face before, but few nerves spike through her when she looks down and meets Harry's gaze. His usually bright, green eyes are dark – pupils blown as he looks up to her, and his lips are bright red like he might have been chewing on them. Each breath she feels washes over her as he drags his tongue over the insides of her thighs where her mess has slid down the skin.

He starts to suck at the skin, closer and closer to where she's pulsating and needy for him, and she reaches one hand down to card her fingers through his hair before curling them at the root. She gets a good grip and tugs slightly, making him groan, and it sends dizzying vibrations through her body.

"C'mon," he mewls, "Sit on my tongue – please, please sit on my tongue, let me taste you, baby."

She lowers to his mouth and he cranes his neck to meet her, his tongue slides through her folds hungrily as he fixes his mouth around her petals and laps at her. He moans like he couldn't be happier than to be between her thighs, and she has to grab onto the headboard and lean her forehead against it as she tries to center herself. That's almost impossible though when Harry is suckling, lulling, and playing with her swollen clit with his wet, soft tongue. He moves his face back and forth some, completely immersing himself within it, his hands are fixed at hips and guide her to start rocking against his mouth. The hair on his upper lip and around his face tickles her, it makes her giggle and in turn makes him laugh against her, which has her giggle cut off short and thrown into another moan.

It's too much – ecstasy swims through her veins as he tastes her, flicking his tongue over her clit over and over again, her thighs tremble around his head. She felt herself nearing an orgasm so quickly, the ardent, passionate movement of his mouth sent heat rocketing throughout her body, "I'm going to cum," she keens, "You're going to make me cum."

He moans against her, doubling the efforts of his tongue for a moment before he drags his lips over her, letting them meet at her clit where he sucks in quick, hard little movements, "You g'na cum on my face?" He speaks, his lips stroking against her with each word, and between a few words, he licks over her "Please, baby, please cum on my face. I've been good for you haven't I? Been your good boy," Y/N moans, letting her eyes flutter closed, "Be good and cum on my face."

Harry slips his tongue inside of her and she's done for; she came hard, shockwaves of her release, and her body trembles above him. Her moans mixed with Harry's even though his are muffled against her, he's holding onto her so tightly she would be surprised if there weren't little spots left in his wake. Though she's found her orgasm, her body still seesaws with arousal and need as she starts to pull away from him. He leans forward and suckles one last kiss against her clit, laughing when she flinches away, too sensitive for his tongue anymore.

Y/N is struggling to catch her breath, chest heaving as she's blinking at him, and while she knows he had told her she was the boss, she was losing her footing. Harry must have realized it, a soft knowing smile tickles at his mouth as he nods toward his cock, "Why don't you sit on my cock?" He offers, patting his thighs, "Fuck me how I deserve it, Sweetheart."

"Who says you deserve it?" She asks but she's already straddling his lap, helping when his hands find the hem of her shirt and pull it up her body, off her head so now both of them are stark naked.

"Cos I just made you cum with my mouth in a little under six minutes," he murmurs, "Take my cock and put it inside, yeah? I'm a filthy boy, fuck me like one."

Y/N's breasts meet his chest as she leans forward, positioning the head of his prick at her entrance and slowly easing it inside of her. The sound that leaves Harry is something Y/N would replay over and over again if she could – it was one of desperation and relief, and true, carnal desire. From how wet she is, Harry fits inside of her easy enough but she still stretches around him and the burn of it makes her toes curl. He was so big, he filled her right up, and even with just half of him in she feels so unreasonably full. She rocks her hips down, Harry slides his hands up her sides and toward her tits, kneading them gently, running his thumbs over the nipples, "Fucking hell," he keens, his head falls back with his chin tilted up and he bares the skin of his throat at her.

Leaning forward, Y/N drags her tongue against the salty skin, and Harry chuckles, "Look at you," his hips buck up just slightly, sinking her further onto him and she gasps against his skin, "Gonna mark me?"

"Mhm," she hums, fixing her lips around the spot they had already been lying and sucking hard – she drags her teeth against it, laves her tongue around it, groans when she rolls her hips and he's pressing up right against that spot inside of her that she wanted to be stroked against, "Oh –"

"Does that feel good?" He asks her, rolling his hips up into her, "It sounds like it feels really good."

Y/N nods, mustering all of her strength to take his hands from her breasts, holding him by the wrists and pressing them up above his head, "Does it feel good for you?" She asks, her stomach and chest move with each breath, and when she looks down, Harry's eyes are lidded, staring at her tits as they hover in front of his face.

"I couldn't even describe to you how good you feel," he murmurs, "Wish I could stay in this little pussy forever." He lifts his head, his tongue out from his mouth as he finds her nipple and takes it between his lips, sucking at it tenderly. She squeezes around him, his hips buck up again a little harder and Y/N moans before she's rocking back and forth on his cock, he's so deep that she can feel him in her tummy.

One hand she uses to keep his wrists above his head, while the other she mimics his earlier actions with her, sliding her thumb over his lips before dipping it into his mouth. He curls his tongue around it playfully, suckles at the pad of it before pecking a soft kiss to the skin. "Kiss me," he demands, "Give me that sweet mouth."

Y/N doesn't think twice, pressing forward and letting their lips find each other. He tastes like her still, and his scruff tickles around her mouth as she licks into his mouth, their tongues stroking together, and he takes this time that she's focused on kissing him to slip his wrists from her grasp. His hands meet her hips once more, fingertips dug into the skin as he stretches out his legs and begins to fuck up into her. He hits against her spot, again and again, she parts from his mouth with a whimper, their foreheads touching, noses brushing together as they all but moan in each other's mouths. One of her hands she uses to cradle the side of his face, and again, when her thumb hovered over his mouth he pulled it back between his lips.

"You feel so fucking good," he whines, "So, so, so fucking good."

"M'gna cum again," she warns him and he nods, going even harder until she's squeezing him in rapid little motions and he moans grow louder with hers.

"Squeeze me, baby, squeeze me tight, make me cum." He rolls his hips four more times before he's sliding out of her, running his hand over his cock with Y/N moving her hand on top of his before he starts to cum, thick white shots – some fly up into the air before it drops back against his abdomen. Some soaks and coats their hands as he's finishing, his body shaking, his chest heaving, and his heart hammering just like her own.

They take a moment to breathe, Y/N flops onto her mattress at his side with the hand covered in Harry's cum lying limply on her belly. Harry is the first to start laughing breathlessly, which makes Y/N start, and when they look over and lock eyes they laugh even harder.

"Wow," Harry shakes his head, "Who knew you were so filthy, Bambi?"

She uses her clean hand to push hair away from her eyes, "My aphrodisiacs are very potent. That's why they always sell out."

"No fuckin' kidding," he stretches his arms out, searching blindly on the bedside table for his phone before plucking it up, "Think m'g'na be touching myself to memories of that for a minute."

"Harry –" she begins to scold him, but she's cut off with an annoyed huff and a muttered curse leaving his mouth, "What's wrong?"

Harry looks over to her before flipping his phone around so she could see, "When I say this fucker does not leave me alone, I mean it – and now he's got his friends asking for some too." Y/N's eyes read across his screen, seeing that there were two missed calls from Bradley, and ten missed messages to go along with them.

Pressing herself up from the mattress, she's careful to maneuver her hand covered in Harry's cum around away from her sheets, "Listen," she begins, "How about we make him a few, yeah? And before you say no – at least then we can check to see if he's the idiot that summoned this demon, right? I can show you how to make the protection spell too."

"How are we meant to see if he's the one?" Harry asks, still laying down with one arm above his head, his hand holding onto the headboard while the other had found its place sat on her thigh, "We do our business at the club and he's rarely up for a chat where he tells the truth – if I start asking him, he'll deny it no doubt."

"If what we saw was really the basement, then we – we'll have to go see for ourselves, won't we?"

Brows furrowed, Harry looks at her confused, "I'm not following, Bambi, what are you suggesting we do?"

Y/N lets the nickname slide this time, only because she likes how his hand feels on her bare thigh a little too much.

"We're gonna have to start doing house calls."