Blood Moon | Harry Styles

Part 4: Pentagram

"Hello, dove."

When you glance up from your books, you're unsurprised to find Harry standing at your table. You've been wondering when he would show up. But you start at his use of that pet name. He holds a steaming coffee in one hand and an entire meal in the other, and he doesn't ask permission before he slips into the booth across from you, setting his refreshments down on the tabletop, laying the plate of food on top of your book.

"Had a lot o' trouble finding yeh today."

"Why's that?" you ask as you sift your way through the contents of the sandwich he's placed before you.

"Dunno. Maybe whatever magic's in your blood is sparkin' up. Yeh're gettin' hard to trace."

"You trace me?"

"Not with a spell or anythin'," he says with a shake of his head. "Jus' been pretty easy to kind o' feel out your presence. Air feels weird around yeh."

"Well, that makes me feel good about myself," you mumble with a thick sigh. "Why did you buy me a panini? I'm not hungry. And how do you know that you picked something I like?"

"Well, I was guessing based on what I know about yeh, but yeh could have said thank you." Harry sips his coffee and leans his head against the back of the booth. "Or yeh could at least not act rude about it. Just thought yeh could use a good meal right about now. Wha's wrong?"

You sigh again and settle your chin into your palm, picking at the sandwich bread with your free fingers.

"I have all these midterms coming up. And they're not for my major-required classes they're just general classes that everyone needs to graduate. Which is stupid because why do I need to take a college-level math course as a Latin major? That makes no sense. Any career that I end up—"

"I get it," Harry says with a soft chuckle. "But it might come in handy. I liked t'skip out on my Latin studies when I was younger, and look where that got me. I need a mortal t'help me perform fuckin' spells."

"Well, first of all, I'm not all mortal," you tell him with a frown.

"Mortal enough," he mutters, twirling his coffee cup to stir its contents. You ignore him for the time being.

"And second of all, that was rude of you. Are you upset that you need me? Because I can just stop helping you at any time."

"No, Y/N, no." Harry smiles that annoyingly amused smile of his. "Not upset that I need yeh t'help me with translations. Just upset that I can' do 'em myself. Makes my mum crazy proud o' me, I'll tell yeh that much. Eat your food, please."

Despite your prior statement, you do find your stomach aching for the panini he's ordered you. It's nearing eight thirty in the campus library. The other students that have been working throughout the day have already trickled out in search of their own dinners or a Netflix recovery session from all the studying they've suffered through. You wish you could join them. The fluorescent lights above you haven't helped to keep you peppy and motivated.

You cave and take a grateful bite.

"Thank you," you whisper to him when you've finished chewing. "I actually haven't eaten for about six hours. I'm just stressed out."

"Well," he says, leaning forward with a quirk to his lips, clearly smug, "tha's perfectly fine, because I think I have the perfect way to relieve your stress. Yeh 'bout ready t'be done for the night?"

There are surely mountains of work for you left to do, preparations to make, papers to map out—but with your mouth full, you give him a desperate nod.