Priory // h.s.

chapter forty-eight

all right, so i don't write in Harry's point of view and i'm pretty sure i'm never going to, but lately i've gotten in the habit of using songs/music to help communicate feelings in writing(actually i always do that while writing, but this time i'm sharing the songs i pick with you guys :)). and i figured that since Harry in this story is pretty impossible to figure out, i'd help everyone out a little bit. so on the sidebar is a song that i think expresses Harry's thoughts quite clearly. and then there's a picture, too, that i really liked because it's like exactly what i imagne Harry to think. those are the only hints i'm gonna give for a little while, but yes, there is an explanation for everything that happens in this chapter. that said, i make no promises that none of this is Harry's fault; you know what a stubborn guy he is, and i believe that though people can change, it isn't instantaneous. i probably make no sense right now and holy crap this is such a long author's note. okay shutting up and letting you read.

The first thing I become aware of is the pounding in my head. It feels like someone drilled a hole straight through it; the pain is so sharp I can hardly breathe for the first few seconds.

When I finally get the strength to open my eyes and blink away the stars that swim in front of my vision, I take in the scene around me.

A burly man with short black hair and a gun stands over me: the intruder who knocked me out. I recognize him as one of Mr. Lee's bodyguards, one of the two we saw at the hangar. He's not pointing the gun at me, but the coil of his muscles tells me that if I make a single false move, he won't hesitate to do so.

Glancing around, I realize I'm lying on the floor of room 142. Strange. If they're trying to kidnap me, why wouldn't they just take me away? My groggy mind tries to compute an answer.

Then a familiar hoarse voice rasps, "Amber."

No. No, no, no. I refuse to believe they got him, too. Don't turn around. He's not there. Don't. Turn. Around.

I turn around.

And almost faint with relief.

Harry's there, but he's standing up on his own. Another bodyguard stands across from him, but he himself is unencumbered. Free. They're not kidnapping him--or whatever they tried to do with me.

What is he doing here, though?

The bodyguard closer to me answers my question. "I suppose you recieved our text, Mr. Styles?" he says coldly, his Asian accent thickening with every brutal word.

What text? Hold on. Am I being held as some sort of hostage?

"I did," Harry says with surprising coolness. It's only by the tense set of his shoulders that I can even tell that something's wrong. "And you're wrong."

The men exchange amused looks before reciting like a pair of mindless, very ugly drones, "Mr. Lee was not wrong. Mr. Reeves was not wrong. Your silly act doesn't fool us for a second. We know exactly what we're doing. You thought you were invincible, that we couldn't find a single way to hurt you, since you don't seem to give a shit about your own life. But we did find a way to hurt you. She is your weakness." He jerks his head towards me. "And as long as we have her in our hands," here he pauses to casually jerk the muzzle of his gun upwards, towards me, "You will do anything we ask."

"You're wrong," Harry whispers again, but there's no conviction in his tone.

"Stop lying, boy. If you didn't care for her, you wouldn't be here right now. If you refuse our requests, you doom her."

No. They can't do that.

Except they can, and they will.

God, I underestimated the danger of our investigation.