The Short Stories of Harry Styles

Devil's Night: Part 1

Author's Note:

PLEASE NOTE THAT THIS IS NOT REAL HARRY. HIS LIKENESS AND AESTHETIC ARE USED FOR CHARACTERIZATION ONLY.

Now enjoy.
*wink wink*

-Balletclutz

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To be the fallen star, His former favorite son, is not a simple title nor is it an easy job to have.

He has gone by many names, preferring some more than others. Call him whatever you like, he doesn't mind in the least. He'll just give you that sanguine smile of his and carry on his merry way.

Today though, he is preferring the name Harry. Just, Harry. He's not sure why but it seems elegant in an old timey sort of way. It gives him an air of poise and grace that delights him fully.

It is also a suitable name for a common cat.

You see, amongst the mortals, Harry's corporeal form cannot be humanoid, a curse from the big man above himself. In their dimension he must take the form of mongrels and woodland creatures, petty, dumb creatures. He cannot inhabit the form of a human to manipulate the very souls he wishes to collect. No, he must use that of the lesser of heaven's creations to do his work.

Harry usually prefers snakes...his most iconic of forms but when he's feeling particularly good about himself, he prefers that of a midnight coated cat, his glowing green eyes the only real tell of who he may be.

Humans are too young and naive to catch onto that fact, only the most holiest of holy recognize him and curse him away. Mainly priests and shamans but he usually doesn't make that mistake. No, he saunters his furry legs away from those pesky nuisances and mainly trails around the streets, his shiny collar marking his name for those ignorant souls brave enough to get a close look.

Harry, yessss, he prefers that name today.

Harry has been quite the hit with the ladies.

Just a short hour ago, an innocent beaming soul made her merry way over to him with shrieks of delight as she scooped him up into her arms. He played coy at first, of course, pretending to be afraid of the dainty human who just had to pet him.

Just had to touch that which was not of this realm.

Yesss, she'd scooped him up into her frail arms and cooed to him, a bright and shiny smile upon her lips, and as she dipped her head to kiss the top of his, he whispered.

To a human, it would sound like a calming purr, something reasonable, something unmistakably normal. All the while he was planting the seed.

Sometimes it was something small, something minuscule like greed or envy, other times he whispered treason and reckless abandon.

Sure, did Harry have lesser demons to do this kind of particular work? Yes, but there was something so tiring about being the one to sit upon the throne of Hell and let everyone else have all of the fun.

Harry dearly loved to have fun.

The night air was too cool, too crisp. He preferred warmth and flame. Even this furry, feline body of his did not provide him with enough heat to keep him from shivering. The rancid city streets were littered and the homeless pitched their tents amongst the filth.

It was a sight he loved to see. Human suffering was amongst his favorite things, the only thing that made his poor excuse for a heart to flutter in pure ecstasy.

The pads of his paws pressed languidly into the concrete and he resisted the urge to blanch with every step. He loathed the human realm. He missed his long legs, his strong body covered in tattoos, and especially his long hair that curled down just before reaching his shoulders.