Blood Moon | Harry Styles

Part 3: Candles

Magic. That seems the be-all and end-all. It's what your translations are helping Harry to work, and what the two of you have decided his payment will be. Magic. In exchange for your help with his Latin, he will teach you how to harness magic. At least, as far as your mortal self can harness it.

"All beings have a li'l bit o' magic in them," he explained to you. "Some more than others. Witches an' creatures have the most—more than yeh can probably imagine. But I think you have a li'l bit more than the average mortal. Maybe there was a witch somewhere in your ancestry, way back down the line."

"Really?"

"Way down the line," he emphasized.

But the idea was still there. You might have witch blood in you. And you had thought you couldn't be any more enthusiastic about what you were doing.

Now, the inside of Harry's car smells of his usual spice, but also of damp leaves and dirt. The windows have been cracked open. It's one of the nicest days that you've seen since fall began, and even though the sun is descending, there's still a subtle warmth in the air. It beats the biting chill that you've become accustomed to. With the soft sounds of the car's engine and the outdoors, the even softer hum of an acoustic guitar from the stereo, you're at risk of being lulled to sleep.

Harry puts the vehicle in park when you reach his house. The little cottage has come to offer a sort of comfort to you. Perhaps it's the fascination that Harry and his knowledge have to offer you, or perhaps it's only the tea that he serves you.

"C'mon," Harry murmurs, rolling up the windows.

With a bit of effort, you unbuckle and lift yourself from the car, following Harry inside. The windows of the house have been cracked open as well. Nicks sits on the sill of an open window in the living room, peering at the little insects that float by. It smells fresh inside. Not so much clean, with the scent of dirt wafting through the air, but less shut in, less stifling. You take a deep breath and let out a yawn.

Harry glances at you as he sheds his jacket, slinging it over the arm of the couch.

"You tired?"

You shake your head, covering your mouth to hide the end of your yawn. "No, no, I'm fine."

"Y/N, no offense, but yeh look like yeh haven' slept in days." Harry cocks his head and raises an accusatory brow. "Yeh almost fell asleep in the car."

"I'm sorry," you say. It's punctuated by another louder yawn, and you lean against the wall where you're standing. "I had some pretty important exams the past couple days."

"'S fine. Yeh can take a nap upstairs an' we'll just do some work when yeh're better rested."

"Harry, I don't need—"

"Yes, yeh do." Harry wanders over to the windows and scratches at Nicks's head. You can hear her purring from across the room. "Don' need yeh mistranslating a word and makin' me blow up the whole house. Go ahead. We're not in a rush."

Despite your protests, you're relieved by the offer. You don't say another word before you slip off your own jacket and shoes, and make your way up the narrow staircase behind the couch. It's the first time you've been in Harry's bedroom, and it's just as simple as the rest of the house. A bed, a side table with a candle atop it, and a wardrobe. You wonder briefly whether the wardrobe might take you to Narnia, and then laugh to yourself as you climb into the bed. The window in here is open as well. The air temperature has begun to drop with the sun. You pull the blankets around yourself and yank them up to your chin. The bed smells like Harry. Your head has barely touched the pillow before you feel sleep pulling at you, dragging at your heavy eyelids.