The Sword (Prince Harry fanfic #3)

Chapter Seventeen

Coldness seeped into the house even as Lucy let him in. The heater was on but Harry still had chills.

As he walked in, the hallway opened up into whiteness. Harry didn't understand how she could live in a house so clean and white when the rest of her life was filled with color. Perhaps Lucy hadn't wanted to change her grandfather's house. As the hallway went straight back with an office to the left and a living room on the left. Going back further, there was a kitchen and a dining room. A door led downstairs to a finished basement, and stairs led straight up to the second level filled with four bedrooms and two bathrooms. If the house was filled with children, three bedrooms would share one bathroom while the master bedroom had its own bathroom and walk-in closet.

Yet, the house was clean and white. The scent tickled Harry's nose. He hated it. This wasn't Lucy. "Did you clean?" he asked, knowing she hated cleaning.

She shook her head. "After my grandfather's body was taken away, some cleaning people showed up. So that's why it smells like this." Lucy crinkled her nose. "At least it doesn't smell like death." Harry noticed Lucy did that a lot, she talked about death easily, after coming so close to it many times. Her grandfather's death was apparently expected, since he smoked and drank a lot, some of his many vices.

"A tour," Lucy said.

He nodded.

They took his things upstairs to one of the many bedrooms. Her grandfather's door was open and his bed was made, where he had died. It was better not to close yourself off from the situation and she did just that. Lucy had perhaps gone in there many times. She led him to the room next to hers, where her door was open. It was like seeing a young and high school Lucy, which she wasn't that person anymore. All the belongings of her life prior to the shooting was laid around the room, like she hadn't cared enough to forget about them. Harry knew her well enough and knew those things weren't her life anymore.

Lucy did take him for a tour around the house, and it was interesting to see an American house. Truthfully, Lucy came from money and she saw it in the house, with it easily costing more than $400,000. This house was in a nice neighborhood where all houses cost this much, in Minnesota. Harry knew about her city, where not all houses looked like this. Lucy would show him more of her city, and he expected to see quite the change. Though technically in the town, she was on the edge, closer to a richer city nearby. This wasn't like most American houses, and this wasn't where Lucy grew up. That house had been sold long ago.

It wasn't until they came back upstairs, to the second floor, that Harry got a full view into Lucy's room. It wasn't truly her room and he saw her old life, with pictures sprinkled around of her old friends, mostly dead, and of her family, all dead. There were a few items that represented her life now, especially her love of traveling. Of course, when his eyes to one wall in her room, her life made perfect sense to him.

Hundreds of books were stacked on top of the shelves, if not reaching a thousand books. Some were classics and others were young adult. She didn't seem to have a type, as long as she could escape. Harry had been forced to read much when he was young, so to have a reader live among him was an interesting thing. His lips parted in awe and shock, and Lucy laughed.

"I think your library is still bigger than mine," she said.

"Mine is for show." Harry's blue eyes turned back to her. "You have read all of them?"

"Yes, technically, there are a few I skimmed because I ended up hating them." Her fingers brushed along the books. "Anything to escape."

"Do you have a favorite book?"

"The Handmaiden's Tale by Margret Atwood, How to Kill a Mockingbird, anything Louise O'Neill, and a few more."

Harry laughed. "I thought many people didn't like How to Kill a Mockingbird."

"You don't like it because you were forced to read it in school," she stated, "but it has many parallels to today and in the past. We still face the same issues because racism doesn't just go away. It isn't just forgotten. People don't just stop one day. They carry it with them, all through their lives. No is born racism or sexist or homophobic, but they are raised to believe those people are less than them. They're wrong."

There was silence as Harry took in her words, which he heard many times before. "Can you remember the plots of all these books?"

"No," she laughed, "not even most of them."

"Will you ever read them again?"

"Some probably but most of them, no."

"Why not?"

"There isn't enough time in the world. There are too many things to read and to do. There are some books that you have to read again because you didn't fully understand it the first time. There is another story hidden beneath the words. I'll read those books again; I'll never stop reading them."

"What will you do with the books you never read again?"

"When I run out of space, give the books away. Find them a home where their words will come alive in someone's mind."

Harry smiled. "Do you have a book you think I should read?"

Lucy accepted the challenge. Stepping forward, her eyes scanned the book cases. It had been a while since she stopped and stared at her books, admiring the beauty. Harry wasn't much of a reader so it would have to be something quick and something easy to understand. Perhaps something he would easily remember. The idea came to her quickly and she pulled it off the shelf.

"This one." She handed it to him.

He took it and twirled it in his fingertips. Given a moment, he looked at the back and read it. A smile tugged at his lips. "Do I want to know how you chose this book for me?"

Lucy smirked too. "Think of it like a preview to your love of reading."

"Thank you." Harry took her hand in his and put her smooth skin to his kips, pecking softly. There was a thought in her head that he only did this to make her blush. He succeeded.