C H A P T E R    S E V E N T E E N

Rescues and Reasons

❄●❄

                 THERE WERE A few things that Harry thought he'd never do in his lifetime. They included jumping out of an airplane (elves didn't use airplanes at the North Pole), hating peppermint, riding a bicycle, and caring about something more than Christmas so much that he'd give up the chance to save said holiday were the opportunity to ever present itself.

                  But that day looked like it might have arrived.

                  It was killing him, of course. This wasn't a decision he was going to be able to stick by lightly. He was letting down everyone – all of the elves, the entire world, really. His family. His mother couldn't wrap her head around it any more than he could, so he had to get out of the house for a little while. Thankfully, Ed was free.

                  They were sat around his kitchen table much the way they used to pass time. Ed had his feet propped up beside a glass of spiked eggnog, a guitar in his lap and a notebook left forgotten on the floor near him. Harry sat across from him, his legs outstretched beneath the table, feet occasionally tapping the legs of Ed's chair. He had the journal Louis gave him lying open, and he was tapping his pen against the page he'd just been writing on. Ed was playing some little drabble he's been working on, occasionally mumbling some words to go with it that Harry couldn't always make out, but it was nice. This was nice.

                 It felt like an entire lifetime ago since they sat around like this last. Everything was a lot less complicated then. They were weeks away from being promoted to Hit-Maker Elves in time for Christmas, Harry was spending his free time with elflings, and – obviously – the holidays weren't canceled.

                  A pair of blue eyes flickered behind his closed eyelids for a short second.

                  Of course. And he didn't know Louis even existed.

                  He stopped tapping his pen and began writing again. After a second, he checked the time on his phone. If that little lion man in question wasn't out with the lads making poor life decisions, he'd be calling Harry soon, preparing for bed. Harry hoped he wouldn't forget. He wanted to make sure Louis was actually alright after that phone call earlier.

                  Ed's humming and mumbling grew louder suddenly for a moment before his music cut off entirely. Harry peeked up at him.

                  "So," Ed began, propping his guitar on the floor against the table. "Tell me about the reason you keep checking your phone every five minutes."

                  Harry raised a brow and continued writing. "I'm not checking my phone every five minutes."

                  "You also left lunch to take a phone call earlier. Same reason?"

                  "There is no reason. Was just a phone call."

                  "Those poems, then. No reason for them either?"

                  Harry sighed. "Why are you pressing right now?"

                  "I'm just curious. We haven't seen each other in a while. I'm not used to you having friends outside of me," Ed laughed. "Tell me about them. You must have some."

                  Harry figured if he said as much about the other boys as he did about Louis, then Ed wouldn't know any better. Although at the same time, he wasn't really sure why he was being so secretive. Was it so strange for him to have feelings for someone? And Ed has been his best friends for years. They always told each other when they had crushes. What's changed?

                  "Well, there's uh... There's a few people I work with who are pretty cool. Ella is really nice."

                  Ed nodded but didn't interrupt.

                  "Then there's also this group of guys I met at a diner. They like my poems, so sometimes I write with them."

                  "You all write poetry together?"

                  "No," Harry snickered. "They're in a band. I figured that after being around you so often and since poetry and song-writing are pretty similar, I could help them out a bit. They seem to like having me around, so."

                  "Well, on with it. Tell me about them."

                  Hoping to not be so obvious about it, Harry lifted his phone and checked the screen again. Still nothing. He cleared his throat. "There's, uh, Liam. He's kind of like this broad-shouldered, teddy bear type of guy. Really sweet. And then there's Niall. He's Irish. Drinks unlike anyone I've ever known. But he's really funny, almost always in a great mood. Then there's Zayn. At first he seemed kind of quiet and stuff, but he opens up eventually. When he speaks it's like he's almost always saying something introspective and important, and he's really caring. Kind of hot, too, if I'm honest."

                   Ed laughed, and Harry felt a little bit better about how this conversation as going, so he joined in. After a second, he added, "You'd like him a lot. He's really into his music. Takes it very seriously. Killer vocals, and I haven't even heard the real deal yet – just some humming and the soft stuff, like you were just doing kind of."

                  "Maybe someday you can introduce us. That all? Just the three of them?"

                  "No, there's Louis as well. He's, uh... He's cool. Really little. And he's got a younger sister called Lottie who's – "

                  "Cool? Really little? That's all I get about that one?" Ed butt in, holding his hands out, expectant.

                  "What do you mean?"

                  "Do you not like him as well as you like the others?"

                  Harry swallowed. "What? Of course I do. He was the first of them that I met. I mean, he's sort of hard to explain, I guess. The kind of person you have to witness or you wouldn't believe he's real."

                  Shit. Damn. Shit. Fuck.

                  As soon as Harry said that last sentence, he knew he shouldn't have. It automatically made Louis seem more interesting than the other three boys, and of course he is, but Ed wasn't supposed to pick up on that. Harry was sure he'd tell him about Louis eventually, but he just didn't want to do it right now. He kind of just wanted to get through this trip unscathed so that he could go back to London and quit disappointing everybody here.

                  Ed hummed a response and folded his arms. But thankfully, instead of pressing the matter any further, he picked up his eggnog, gulped a mouthful down, and then picked up his guitar. "They sound nice, Harry. I hope I can meet them sometime."

                  "Yeah," Harry nodded. "Yeah, hopefully sometime soon."

                  "Do they know?"

                  "No. I haven't told them."

                  "Will you? I probably won't be able to meet them if you don't."

                  Harry pressed his lips together. "I don't know."

                  "Your phone lit up."

                  "I'll be right back."

                  "Tell Louis I say hello."

                  With his phone halfway raised to his ear, Harry paused and blinked at his friend. Ed was staring down at his own fingertips as they lazily plucked his guitar strings, but he glanced up at Harry long enough to leave him with a wink.

❄●❄

                  "LOUIS!" HARRY CHIRPED, climbing onto Ed's bed and sitting himself against the headboard. "I'm glad you called."

                  "You always sound so excited when I do. How could I miss it?"

                  "I like when you call. Could be because I've never had a cell phone before now, but regardless."

                  "Still can't believe that," Louis breathed. "How are you?"

                  "Better now. Ready for your personal poetry reading? I've picked out some good ones."

                  "Wait. Was there something wrong before I called?"

                  Harry's brow furrowed. "Not really, no. Just... Kind of excited to get back, is all."

                  "Are you sure everything is alright? How's your family?"

                  "My family's my family," he shrugged. "Love them, but you know...they're family."

                  "That doesn't sound like nothing's wrong to me," Louis chuckled quietly.

                  "Yeah, I mean... Like nothing is really wrong; I just feel like I'm disappointing everyone. It's easier when I'm in London because then I'm not aware that I'm doing it, you know?"

                  "How could you possibly be disappointing them? Other than the fact that you're shit at drinking, there really isn't anything you aren't good at that I can think of off the top of my head."

                  "You're sweet," Harry blurted before he could stop himself, smiling fondly at the right knee of his jeans while he picked at a loose thread. After clearing his throat, he added, "But it's not really that. More like a family business kind of thing. Can't really do it from London."

                  "They want you to stay home?" Louis guessed, his voice suddenly small.

                  "Yeah, but I'm not going to. Don't worry. I'm leaving for London tomorrow afternoon. Got my ticket ready and everything."

                  "Yeah?"

                  "Yeah. How are the lads? Did you meet up with them tonight, get that song finished?"

                  "We worked on it, yeah. They're all good. Asked about you. You're practically part of the band now, Harold."

                  Harry chuckled. "I'll never be part of the band. Not my scene. I'll be the band's mascot."

                  "Who occasionally writes songs for us?"

                  "Exactly. Your mascot who occasionally writes songs for you."

                  Louis giggled. "I like the sound of that."

                  "I like the sound of you."

                  "You've made it weird, H. You've made it weird."

                  "Sorry. Tell Lottie I say hello when you see her next. And, oh, um... One of my friends says hi."

                  "Who?"

                  "His name is Ed. I'm with him right now, but, well, in a different room. He's into music too. Not in a band, but he writes songs and stuff and plays loads of instruments."

                  "Oh yeah? You're with him now?"

                  "In a different room technically, but yeah. Anyway – "

                  "What's he like?"

                  "What? Who, Ed? I don't know. He's lazy as hell, gets into trouble, sometimes makes me want to punch him or pull out his ginger hair. I grew up with him though, so I deal with it. Why?"

                  "I was just curious. You don't talk about your friends or family much."

                  "Yeah, I, um... I don't think I do it on purpose. I'd just much rather talk about you."

                  Louis snorted. "You are clearly relentless tonight. Maybe we should get to those poems so that I actually get some sleep before work tomorrow, yes?"

                  "I suppose you're right." Harry dug into his back pocket and pulled out the scraps of paper he'd scribbled on earlier in preparation. "Okay. So, the first one I was going to read for you is by T. S. Eliot, and it's – "

                  "Wait, wait, wait. You aren't reading your own poems?"

                  "One of them is my own. But part of being a poet is reading other people's work as often as you write your own, so I figured I'd share with you some poems that I think you'd really enjoy even though I didn't write them."

                  Louis sighed. "Alright, I guess. Lay it on me."

                  "Are you all tucked in?"

                  "Just read the damned poem, Harold."

                  Chuckling, Harry unfolded his piece of paper. "Fine. As I was saying, it's by T. S. Eliot, and it's called The Naming of Cats."

                  "Sorry?" Louis said immediately. "The naming of what? Cats? Is this a joke?"

                  "Have you never heard of this before?" Harry wondered, intrigued. "Aren't you an English teacher?"

                  "That doesn't mean I know every poem by famous poets! What on earth. Eliot wrote poems about cats?"

                  "Several," Harry grinned. "He had a collection of them released. This is the first one. Okay, ready?"

                  "Probably not."

                  "The naming of cats is a difficult matter," Harry began. He's always loved the way these poems were written, loved how lyrical they were. He always wanted to write a little collection of his own poems that were similarly whimsical, but then Louis came along, and he hasn't been able to write about anything else since. So he'd have to make do with re-reading the classics.

                  "It isn't just one of your holiday games; you may think at first I'm as mad as a hatter when I tell you, a cat must have three different names."

                  "Three names?" Louis exclaimed. "What was this man on?"

                  "Shh! As I was saying... First of all, there's the name that the family use daily, such as Peter, Augustus, Alonzo, or James. Such as – "

                  "I'm sorry, but who would name their cat Alonzo? Or Peter? Any of those, really; they're horrible human names."

                  "Louis!" Harry laughed. "Stop interrupting."

                  "Sorry, sorry. Proceed, peasant."

                  "You are infuriating."

                  "I said proceed!"

                  The smile on Harry's face was painfully large as he continued on, but he couldn't fight it off no matter what he did. "Such as Victor or Jonathon, George or Bill Bailey – all of them sensible, everyday names." He could hear Louis laughing quietly in the background, probably at the names again. He went on, "There are fancier names if you think they sound sweeter, some for the gentlemen, some for the dames."

                  "What about everyone in-between?"

                  "It was the 30s, Lou."

                  "Fine. Carry on."

                  "Such as Plato, Admetus, Electra, Demeter – but all of them sensible, everyday names. But I tell you, a cat needs a name that's particular, a name that's peculiar, and more dignified. Else how can he keep up his tail perpendicular, or spread out his whiskers, or cherish his pride?

                  "Of names of this kind, I can give you a quorum, such as Munkustrap, Quaxo, or Coricopat – "

                  At this point, Louis barked a laugh that was so loud that Harry had to pause until he was quiet again, mostly because he nearly laughed himself.

                  "Such as Bombalurina, or else Jellylorum – "

                  Louis laughed harder. "I'm sorry. I can't. What the fuck is this poem?"

                  Harry began giggling. "Louis! It's almost finished. You are not appreciating the art!"

                  "Do you hear the names you just said out loud, Harry? How can you say them with a straight face! I can hardly listen to them with a straight face."

                  "Shh! Let me finish."

                  "No promises."

                  "Names that never belong to more than one cat. But above and beyond there's still one name left over, and that is the name that you never will guess. The name that no human research can discover – but the cat himself knows and will never confess."

                  "Of course he won't, the little asshole," Louis muttered.

                  Harry tried to ignore him and go on. "When you notice a cat in profound meditation, the reason, I tell you, is always the same: his mind is engaged in a rapt contemplation of the thought, of the thought, of the thought of his name. His ineffable, effable, effanineffable, deep and inscrutable singular name."

                  It was quiet on both ends for about half a minute before Louis finally asked, "Is that the end?"

                  "That's the end."

                  "Dear God. I think I'm more awake now than I was before. Was that your intention?"

                  Harry tipped his head back and smiled up at the ceiling. "No. But I won't complain."

                  "Next cat I have, I'm naming it Coricopat."

                  "I quite like Munkustrap, I think."

                  "Let's dump Charming and Dashing off on Lottie once she moves out and get our own cats. They can be siblings."

                  "Oh, if we're getting siblings, then we should name them Mungojerrie and Rumpleteazer."

                  "What the fuck?"

                  "They're from another of Eliot's cat poems. They're siblings who get into all kinds of trouble," Harry explained.

                  "Fine. Our cats will be Jerrie and Teazer, and we'll have some guinea pigs called Strap and Pat."

                  "Our friends will never come to visit us."

                  "That's the point."

                  They both dropped the act at that point and burst into laughter. Louis' uncontrollable giggles on the other end made it next to impossible for Harry to stop even if he wanted to, and honestly, he didn't really want to. But when they finally did, they found themselves sitting in a comfortable silence, catching their breaths. It wasn't late enough for Harry to be going to bed as well, but he felt a peaceful exhaustion slip over him, and he could probably fall asleep this way with Louis on the other line.

                  "More poems?" he eventually asked, closing his eyes.

                  "Maybe just one," Louis said softly. "The one you wrote."

                  "Aw," Harry smiled. "I think you're my biggest fan."

                  "You say that like anyone other than me has actually read your poems."

                  "Don't ruin it," he mumbled.

                  "Harry? Are you falling asleep?" Louis asked, amused.

                  "No, no. Just admiring the inside of my eyelids is all."

                  "Let's save the poem for when you get back then. You can read it to me in person, and the lads and I will play you your song."

                  "Your song," Harry corrected him. "But I like that plan. I can't wait to hear it."

                  "Don't hype it up too much. You might be disappointed."

                  "Impossible. Will you sleep alright?"

                  "There will likely be a lot of cats involved in my dreamworld, but sure, I think I'll sleep just fine. Don't worry."

                  Slowly, Harry opened his eyes. His smile began to fade. "I'm glad I help. Sometimes. I'm glad that sometimes I help you forget about it."

                  There was a long pause before Louis spoke. "Me too."

                  "I'll see you Thursday. Don't be a stranger tomorrow if you get bored. I'm a call or text away."

                  "Dually noted. Goodnight, Harold."

                  "Night, love."

❄●❄

                  HARRY WAS NEARLY finished packing his bags when he heard a knock on his old bedroom door. Before he could say anything, it opened, and he glanced over his shoulder to see his mother poking her head into the room.

                  "Can I come in, bub?"

                  "Sure. What's up? Is lunch ready?"

                  "Nearly. Gem's just finishing up with, uh... Harry?"

                  "Yeah?"

                  "Could you stop with the packing and talk with me for a bit?"

                  He exhaled slowly through his nose, calming himself down before turning away from his suitcase and taking a step toward the door. "Sure."

                  "You can't go back," she frowned, pleading with him more so than she was commanding him. "You've got to stay here, babe, we're so close to fixing this. They've agreed to speak with you! That's a huge deal."

                  "Why can't they speak with you? You want Christmas to happen as much as I do, so... Like, I don't understand why it has to be me. I have a life now. I've got friends, I've got a job, I've got... I've got someone waiting for me there. Why can't you speak with them?"

                  "Oh, Harry," Anne said sadly, reaching for his shoulder. "You didn't tell me you met someone."

                  "It wasn't relevant before now." He shrugged. "And anyway, it doesn't really matter. You won't be able to meet him. I can never tell him about all of this."

                  Anne tilted her head and looked away. "I know you have a life in London now, and I understand that you want to go back to it. And you can. Just...after the holidays, Harry. After the holidays you can – "

                  "I can't stay here that long, Mum. I need to go home. You'll just have to talk to the Elder Elves. They're acquainted with you anyway, and they're probably much more likely to listen to you than me."

                  "You're wrong," she insisted. "They want you. They asked for you specifically."

                  "Why? I've never met a single one of them in my life. I'm nothing special. I'm literally only half-elf. They shouldn't have any interest in me at all."

                  "But they do, Harry. They do because you left. You made a statement. No elf just leaves the North Pole, quits the job they've been training their entire lives for – not even half-elves. They want to know why, and they want to know what you've witnessed and experienced since you left."

                  Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "They can talk to Hit-Maker Elves about the humans. They're with them as often as I am."

                  "They want you, Harry. If anyone can save Christmas this year, it's you. You're the only one."

                  Annoyed, Harry abruptly spun away from his mother and glared at his old bed. The duvet was the same dark blue/gray color of the London sky at dusk, which was sometimes the color of Louis' eyes when he was having a bad day. They became stormy and charged, the exact opposite of lifeless and empty, and that was always how Harry could tell that that boy could move mountains if he ever needed to. Harry knew there were parts of Louis' past that continued to haunt him, but if Harry every doubted that Louis could get through it, all he had to do was look into Louis' eyes on a bad day.

                  It was inspiring. Harry hoped his own eyes hid the same kind of power during moments like this one when he had no idea what to do. Maybe they wouldn't need to. Maybe all he'd need to do was look into Louis' eyes.

                  Without another word, he picked up a folded shirt and set it into his suit case on top of the others he'd already but there. He did it again with a pair of jeans, and again with his last pair of sweats. He heard his door close quietly behind him after that, and he closed his eyes, feeling guiltier than he's ever felt before. He's never denied his mum anything. He's never turned his back on her or his family or Christmas, but it was happening.

                  After his suitcase was packed, he sat on the bed beside it and pulled his phone out of his pocket. He quickly typed out a message for Louis and sent it before bracing himself for a final lunch with his family and Ed.

                  Leaving in an hour, I'll see you soon. x