No Matter What // Harry Styles AU -- Dunkirk inspired

Chapter Sixty-Three

Hazel's P.O.V

And so it goes for the new few weeks. Gran and Grandfather bicker about how many hours she should spend in bed, Jack spends his days at the factories assisting Uncle Ben and his evenings teasing me, and I do my best to secure time to slip out of the house and deliver secret letters to Harry. I'd be lying if I didn't admit to how draining this new schedule was mentally and physically, but each new letter from Harry makes the whole thing more than worth while.

My only real complaint is that despite my exhaustion, no matter how hard I try, I've been waking earlier and earlier each day. Today appears to be no different as I lie awake staring at the golden alarm clock that rests on the nightstand. A tiny dove sits perched on the end of each delicate and ornate hand, branching out across the face of the clock to indicate the time of a quarter past five. I let out a groan, frustrated by this new found sleep pattern of mine.

Resigned to my inability to fall back asleep, I creep out of bed and kneel beside the mattress, delicately pulling out all five of Harry's letters. I shiver as I tuck myself back beneath the heavy quilt, welcoming its warmth as if it were Harry himself laying beside me. The house lays quiet and still, the shifting of the old floorboards the only sound of life in the house. I welcome the peace, quietly open each letter, and drink in every drop of Harry's voice that sings off the pages.

While his words soothe my mind, it does little to settle my restless body. I close my eyes and my mind drifts back to the rainy night when Harry and I huddled in my bed together. My muscles somehow relax and tighten at the same time at the thought of this, allowing me to simultaneously sink back further into the mattress and yet twist inside like the wringing out of wet laundry.

I spread my palms against the cool soft sheets, trying to remember the touch of Harry's thin undershirt and the weight of his body pressed against mine. The memory sparks something deep inside of me, much like a match to a candle. My body shudders as the sensation begins to spread and I know that I long to be consumed by its flame.

I twist my legs together, aching to feel Harry near me when without fully understanding it, I allow my hands to wander across my body. Right as I think I might find the source of my restlessness, the two birds strike 6 o'clock, tearing me away from my sinful behavior with the shrill song of my alarm bell.

Flustered, I scramble to sit up. My palm hurriedly slams down on the top of the clock. Leaning back, I catch my breath, ashamed and guilt ridden by the foreign feelings coursing inside of me.

"Lord help me," I breathe out. 

I pull my knees to my chest and tilt my head back against the headboard. The crisp winter air travels in through my nose and settles down into the tips of my toes, much like the gentle snowflakes falling on the snowy ground outside. It swirls about, finding the little flame that burns inside of me, fanning it for a quick moment before blowing it out completely. My eyes flutter slowly open, and with a final sigh, I push my dreams of Harry to the farthest corner of my mind so I stand a chance at focusing on my tasks for the day.

Luckily, the morning turns out to be a quiet one. Uncle Ben and Jack are out at the factory, Grandfather rests in his study, and Gran focuses on writing letters to mother. Just when I'm about finish tidying and setting out medication for both Gran and Grandfather, I hear my name called.

"Hazel, m'dear!" Gran sings out. I put down the duster and pace quickly down the stairs into the drawing room.

"Yes, Gran?"

"I have a question for you."

"Don't be silly, Florence," Grandfather says, gruffly. "It's perfectly fine."