I stand with Harry's fingers tangled with mine, his sister standing on the other side of him.

We are all outfitted in black as the crisp atmosphere surges around us. For late November it is a little warmer than usual but still stiff enough to continuously send shivers down my back.

My heart shatters, not just for Harry but for the divided family that couldn't even come together to pay their last respects to Logan. He may not have been the best of men out there, he has his fair share of concerns and ill-doing within the world, I am sure, but everyone deserves to be surrounded by family as they are lowered into the earth.

As I look between the four of us: Harry, his sister, the priest and myself. I take a deep breath as I realise that in life, you get what you give and sometimes that just isn't reasonable enough. I recognize Logan gave more than to deserve a whole four people bidding him farewell for the last time. It disheartens me that this gentleman really did have nobody in his life besides for his work. I couldn't envision having a life where it was just me. Imagining a life without having family around me or falling in love is a life I would never want to live. Logan didn't even get to discover the love of his life... He hardly managed to reconnect with his broken family.

I wince at the sound of Harry sniffling through tears while he holds his sister to his side, taking his role of the big-little brother with pride. I allow our hands to part as he moves to embrace his sister. I can only assume regret is to blame for most of the tears that are being shed today. It wasn't their fault though, their father formulated a mess that split the three siblings, they were all at dead-end roads.

What else would one do when finding out their father created a love child with a woman that wasn't their own mother? Resentment is an unrelenting drug that sometimes carries over for too long and for the wrong reasons.

The priest says a few words and prayers before the lifeless silence permeates the crisp air around us, nothing but the howling of the wind and the last of the stagnant leaves rustle against the gravel sound. All while accompanied by ravens cackling while watching over us in an eerie manner.

Harry's arm curls back around me and he draws me closer to him as the wind chill gets colder. I feel him hold me tighter and closer than usual while using the coldness as an excuse, but I know better. He's holding onto me because I am his safety blanket at the moment— his safe haven you could say. Through thick and thin.

As his vows to me said— I will hold with him as well.

"I promise to cherish you through everything, to be your anchor when you need it, to be the shoulder you cry on, and the one to hold you up when you're down. On days when you can only give twenty percent effort, I will give the other eighty."

Today is one of those days where I hold the eighty percent while he musters up the twenty in return. It is days like this where my shoulder is his comfort to rest his head on and my presence is to hold him up while he is down.

*** ***

While my hand is clasped against Harry's arm, I sense him tense beneath it. He grumbles something under his breath as I detect someone coming into view, leading towards us from the shadowy trees in the distance. He is dressed in black suit pants, a white button up, and a black coat and his hair is Achilles-gold and coiffed to perfection. Despite the tragedy, someone else showing up to pay their respect overflows my heart with a little bit of happiness. It's pleasing to know that the three of us aren't the only ones who Logan had contact with besides work colleagues.

The closer the unknown man gets, the more I feel Harry tense beneath my tender touch. "Harry," the man approaches, offering his hand to Harry, but Harry rejects it, sharply.

The man drops his hand to his side and clears his throat, "Harry-"

"No." Harry shakes his head, cutting the man off.

It is unusual for Harry to be rugged and edgy with others unless it has to do with business. I can sense a cutting edge between these two men, but I can't figure out what it is.

Perhaps they're business competitors that I have no idea about? Maybe they are old antagonists from when Harry was starting out?

"Gemma," the man glances towards Harry's sister.

I'm abruptly stumped when I notice Gemma somewhat sinking behind her brother. I've never once observed her apprehensive or to be the one to disappear behind her brother, usually, she's the one having her way with words with people, not today. "Don't talk to her, she doesn't want anything to do with you." Harry is swift to spit out powerfully. "Elise, go to the car with my sister." Harry commands as he stares at his brothers grave, "I'm not going to ask again," His voice is austere as I bestow a glimpse towards Harry's sister and she gives me a nod, signalling to let him be and to go back to the vehicle.

"Elise-" my wrist is mildly grasped.

I feel the blood hum through my veins and my nerves abruptly spasm at the unexpected touch of the unknown individual. Naturally, I don't wish to be touched by anyone unless I am familiar with them, it leaves me on edge when I am caught off guard. Quite honestly, it shakes me to my core, especially since that one day I was rammed into a side alley and ambushed by two men.

"Don't fucking touch her," Harry's voice induces me to jump within my skin, my heart occurring to beat fast while I draw my wrist away from the strange man.

Harry permeates the space between me and the man, his eyes darker than I have ever observed them before, "don't think for a second that you are wanted here. You touch her again and I swear you will be buried next to him. Don't fucking touch either of them." Harry gestures between me and his sister.

The man clears his throat, "you seem to forget who you're talking to."

"You touch my wife again, it'll be your funeral I attend next," Harry speaks through his teeth, doing his best to keep himself composed. "Elle, go to the car with my sister, please." Harry again indicates towards our car. I glance at Harry, exploring deep within his stare in an attempt to figure out what his next move will be. His brows furrow and I recognize his jaw clench– that's when I know to just listen to him. "Go, he won't touch you," Harry informs me, giving me an unrelenting stare.

The walk is a long-drawn and silent one, our heels tapping the gravel as Gemma and I draw our coats tighter around our bodies.

While walking towards the car, I take notice of the headstones that I pass. Most of the headstones are cracked and withered with the voyage of seasons.

This cemetery has to be notably old, at least over 100 years old. Some of the inscriptions I have managed to take note of are dated back to the 1800's. These monument stones of cold, decaying cement have presumably observed more people and tears of both melancholy and exuberance than one could probably picture.

It disheartens me that as I escort past all these graves towards the car, I am passing people who have once lived and wandered this very earth.

We reach the car and I encircle the button in my hand to unlock it as I turn to Gemma.

I notice his sister with a few streaks of mascara down her cheeks and it swiftly hits me. Although Harry had very limited time with their brother, she had absolutely none. She was the outsider with the relationship and knew very little about Logan. I'm quite surprised she even knew about him, to begin with. Harry didn't tell me until that night Logan was snooping for records and I assumed he did everything in his power to keep the secret from his mother and sister in an attempt not to shatter their world. There's nothing he wouldn't do for the two of them, he may not visit them very often, but he'd move heaven and earth to keep them felicitous, safe and pain-free.

"Who is he?" I softly challenge, flicking my head towards the man that we encountered.

She shakes her head and wipes a tear away, "nobody important."

"Do I need to be concerned?"

"I'm not sure... Harry knows his limits with him." She responds while she opens the car door.

Harry's sister gets in the back seat of Harry's car. I can't help but observe the two men, incompetent to catch anything but several muffled cuss words. I keep my eye on Harry and this man, disregarding the freezing air and the eerie character of the graveyard. I perceive Harry's hands rise, my breath hitches as his palms hit the other mans chest.

Oh, fuck. No.

"Get the fuck away," Harry's speech resounds powerfully, sufficient to not just frighten me but the perching birds in the aged oak trees enveloping us.The trees look skeleton-bare and eerie at times, no matter what way I look at them. To my surprise, the two men don't end up in a scuffle, thankfully. Instead, the man strolls away from Harry and exercises towards the car I assume he came in.

I take a breath and watch Harry standing at the corner of Logan's grave, staring at the beautiful flowers Harry precisely and painstakingly selected out.

I wander towards Harry, he's squatting now, gazing at the soil. My heart shatters the second I overhear him sniffle as I get closer. It's on rare occasions I have seen this man weep, very rare occasions. He is a strong man to break down and crack, to observe him with tears of sorrow, it pierces my heart.

The deafening silence is intruded abruptly and without signal by the ghastly screech of a blackened crow. Again, it cries, and again. I tremble as a tingle operates through my body, the character of the crow sounding like nails on a chalkboard.

I benevolently clasp my hand to his back, startling him by accident, "it's just me." I immediately assure him as his crystal enchanting, clay-grey eyes glance up at me.

My heart cracks further and if there was anything I could do to fix his despair and grief, I swear I'd do it. I'd do anything to take away the sorrow laced between his eyes and crystal tears, I'd do anything so he never has to feel this ache, this loss, and this grief. He wipes away the few tears and I thoroughly bend down to his level, wrapping my arm around him.

Nothing I say will bring Logan back or change things and I think what Harry is struggling with is not being able to have control. He constantly has control of things but this-this he has no control over.

Harry clears his throat before standing to his feet, advancing his hand to help me back to my feet.

When we stand back up, I open my arms, immediately pulling him in closer to me. I hold him close despite our height differences. He weeps into me as he wraps his arms around me and all I can do to console him is to keep my arms enveloped around him while my hand benevolently strokes the back of his head.

*** ***

We step back to the car and he takes a breath, taking one last glance at where his brother lays, "Let me drive," I hold my hand out for the keys. I expect him to shake his head and refuse, but to my surprise, he hands me the keys without an issue. He accompanies me to the driver's side and opens the door for me like a gentleman before I get in.

The drive through town and back to Harry's childhood home was withdrawn, neither Harry nor his sister spoke a word.

The moment we get back to Harry's childhood home, Harry disrobes into more comfortable clothes and disappears into the back terrace. His mother and sister both glance at me and I give them a delicate smile while clutching four mugs to make us all a cup of tea, something that is much required. "He just needs to collect himself." I breathe, wishing I had a better explanation for his unexpected disappearance.

"I didn't realise Harry was so close to this old friend," his Mum glances out the back doors, more than likely searching for her son that I presume has gotten lost in that back garden quite a lot while growing up. I am almost positive he and his sister travelled around the garden various times while discovering several hiding spots. "Can't see him... did he take his journal?" She challenges while looking towards me and Gemma.

I blink at his mother for a moment, scrambling my thoughts to think of whether or not he marched out with anything in his hand. Then I remember, I've never noticed him with a journal. Call me a shocking wife, but never once have I observed a journal of any sort in his hands. I know he's a man of mystery and doesn't show me everything at first, but I thought I had him figured out. I guess not.

"I didn't know he had a journal," I softly comment, feeling incredibly ignorant for not knowing the things my husband has and doesn't have. "I'm not a bad wife, I promise," I immediately attempt to justify myself, "he just doesn't show me everything... he didn't sing for me until just a few months ago."

"Elise, it's okay," his mother promptly assures me, "there's a side to him he always closes off... I don't think he remembers that I even know about the journal."

I step outside into the frigid air, glancing around and stepping to the right like Harry's Mum informed me, I follow her instructions and of course, I discover him resting under the tree with his journal in his lap. "Thought you might like something warm," I propose him my warmest smile while holding the cup of tea towards him. The tree has feathery combs of moss and branches that look like reaching arms.

He glances up, "not really feeling it."

"It's just how you like it," I grin, knowing him well enough to know that he is unquestionably desiring this tea, he's just too much of an emotional wreck to realize it. "Extra honey and made with love." I gesture to it and he graciously takes it from my hand.

"Will you sit with me?" Harry's voice is muffled yet shrieks with a need for affection and love.

I relax myself down beside him, the glucose smell of amber leaks from the tree bark while I grow withdrawn, not wanting to cross any lines that may cause him to become unsettled or hostile. I don't want to challenge him about the journal and I don't want to stare down at whatever he may have scribbled in it; I don't want to invade his privacy. I lean my head on his shoulder and close my eyes, allowing his quietness and the reassurance that he may need. He comprehends just as well as I do that neither of us requires saying anything to reveal that we are there for each other. We both know that if he desires to talk, he'll do it on his own terms, until then, I will rest by him for as long as he requires and I will keep him company even if it's during silence and a bitter windchill.

*** ***

It has been several days since the burial. Harry hasn't been himself since. He has been sleeping a lot more than he ordinarily would and no matter what I do, I can't manage to get him to smile at anything. Nothing appears to work. It breaks my heart to recognize him like this so dispirited and out of touch with the world. He won't acknowledge emails regarding the company, he won't answer Niall's text messages; I can't get Harry to communicate with me for more than a few minutes, I just can't seem to grasp his attention for very long. His enrapturing, loam-grey eyes lose interest and he appears to zone out of whatever discussion I propose to endure with him.

I glance up from my position in his mother's lounge with my novel, observing Gemma as she saunters into the modest living room. "Hey, my brother still in his room?" she questions and I nod my head, "does he plan to come out? What's he even doing?"

"He is watching TV and scribbling in his journal... Don't think he feels like getting up. I'm about to go check up on him," I smile, laying my book down on the coffee table and standing to my feet, "hopefully he is in a better mood this evening." I respond over my shoulder as I walk towards the corridor, making my way down to Harry's childhood room.

I enter and give him a smile as he is resting on his stomach, one arm tucked under his pillow, his cheek caressed to his pillow while he gazes at me with a stray curl falling over his forehead. "Hey, darling," I greet as I wander in, my heart ceasing for a moment as I witness his lips curl up into a petite smile.

"Hey, sweetheart," he greets me, "was jus' thinkin' 'bout you," his voice is muffled and faint while I make my way closer to his bed.

I raise a brow and hum as I relax down on the edge of his bed. I caress my palm to his back and massage it softly and soothingly, "That so?"

"Mhm, always think of ye'," he replies.

"Do you plan on getting out of bed anytime soon?" I softly challenge, shifting my hand to run through his hair, "Because I think you need to eat, it's seven... Your mum made a lovely dinner."

"Did you save me some leftovers?"

"Of course I did," I acquaint him, "come on, darling. Up you get," I encourage, withdrawing my fingers from flowing through his hair and standing back to my feet.

Harry murmurs to himself for a moment and gently reaches for my hand, "tha' felt good though," he pouts his lips and I give him a small smile, "do I really have to get up and put pants on? Can you be a darl and bring it to me?"

I shake my head, "sorry, darling... Never thought I would say this, but put your pants on."

Harry groans, "I suppose," he responds and I step out of his bedroom, leaving him to put on his pants and force himself out of the bed he has lost himself in.

I make my way into the living room where I find Harry's sister staring out the window intently, "is it finally snowing?" I question, assuming she's watching the snow delicately fall outside in the first snowfall of the winter. I have to admit, I have always found it more enchanting to watch snow fall while out in the country. There's something different about the way snow falls and blankets the ground in the country compared to the city.

She shakes her head, "can you get my brother?"

"He said he'll be out in a minute... what's the matter?" I challenge while I walk closer to her, a little apprehensive about the way she's acting.

I've seen her in many situations and none of them have I ever seen her with shaky hands and a fragile voice that sounds as though it's about to crack any minute. When she doesn't respond I bite my lip before I call for Harry, his name echoing through the house multiple times before he emerges into the living room while pulling his head through his sweater, "What? What's going on?" He promptly asks while staring at his sister and I. "Sounded like a bloody emergency," he mutters while stepping around the furniture and making his way towards us.

"He's here." Gemma's voice is soft and fragile as she speaks, her eyes looking over towards her brother in a glossy manner.

"Who?" Harry questions as he takes his place beside me, towering over his sister and me.

I feel my breath hitch in my throat and my nerves pulsate when I overhear the sound of the doorbell chirping through the house as silence breathes between the three of us.

Harry's sister looks up at Harry while her lip trembles, "Dad."

The doorbell sounds again this time sounding more disturbing.

"Where's Mum?" Harry asks as he looks around to obviously find his mother missing.

"She went out with a friend... Harry–"

"It'll be fine, Jus' stay in the kitchen." Harry instructs as he gives his sister a quick hug, "I mean it, stay in there." He gestures towards the kitchen, shuffling the two of us in there before he walks towards the front door.

As usual, I don't listen to Harry's orders, not to purposely be obstinate or to piss Harry off, but to make sure that Harry is handling things okay. There will always be apart of me that worries about him in certain situations, primarily ones that revolve around sensitive circumstances such as his father.

He never speaks much of him, just that he was worthless and was never around for him and his sister. His father has scarred him in ways that not even I can begin to fix or even understand, but the man I'm in love with is better off without the man who assisted to create him. Harry has told me enough about the father for me to know that Harry doesn't need to be left alone with him for too long.

I shuffle towards the front door and overhear a howl that transfers shivers down my back, a voice that echoes all too familiarly. As I get closer, the aroma of whiskey pervades my senses and I feel my body have the impromptu urge to go weak. The voice and scent feel as though they're etched into my body and soul in a vindictive form that I'd rather disremember.

"Elise... No-Noelle... Cartier!" Harry's father slurs as he sees me from behind Harry, blowing my cover of attempting to stay quiet and in the distance. I wander closer as Harry turns around, his enrapturing, loam-grey eyes are dark as they stare me down. I observe them burn into my soul and rip me to shreds— he's pissed— and more than likely it's because of me not listening. "Such a pretty face," Harry's father coughs, "stubborn... jus' - jus' - like you."

Harry turns back to face his father, moving insignificantly to keep me behind him. "You need to leave." His voice is comparatively calm and I can only assume inside he's a furious compound ready to explode with fury.

"The fuck I do. My house."

Harry shakes his head, "No, it's not. You need to leave."

"You need to fuck off, mate. Always putting your nose where it ain't needed." ...

"Go home and drink more Whiskey. 'Bout the only damn thing you're good at." Harry grumbles.

His father makes eye contact with me and I feel myself shrink within my own skin, the man enduring to break down every barrier imaginable with me. His voice, his eyes, and his whiskey scented trail destroy me. Now I know how Harry exhibits when he just speaks of his nerve breaking father. The man is intimidating, the appearance in his voyager-blue eyes resembles nothing less than a shadowy evil that wants to ravage your body and soul.

"Let me say hi to ye' wife and that sister of yours."

"Go home."

"I said, let me say hi." The father endeavours to shoulder his way past Harry, but Harry doesn't allow it.

"I said, no!" Harry's voice raises and he shoves his father back out, causing him to flounder backwards.

"Careful, boy. Ye' know you're not as strong as ye' used to be." ... "ye' fucking with the wrong person."

"Go to hell." Harry spits, slamming the door shut, prompting the frames on the walls' to shiver before locking the door. Harry swings around, his eyes stare down at me and I feel myself desiring to curl up in a corner. "I fucking told you to stay in the damn kitchen. But you never fucking listen."

"Harry–"

"No, don't 'Harry' me. It's like I talk to a brick wall. Goddamnit, Elise! Don't want you anywhere near that son of a bitch and you just don't listen."

I become withdrawn, well aware that he may be enraged but he has a satisfactory reason for it. He doesn't know how to channel all the emotions he is handling at the moment. He lost his brother and has earned his inebriated father, one he desperately strives to disremember. I can only assume his mind is a furious mayhem waiting to explode and lose control.

"The more I attempt to protect you the more you fuck it up. Is it that difficult to listen? Do you not understand when I speak?" He continues to have an elevated voice while we stand in the midst of the corridor, his back facing the door. "Christ, Elise. Ye' might as well put an X on my chest and kill me now because if anything happens to you I'll never forgive myself. So stay the fuck where I tell you to." He grouses with austere eyes and trembling hands, one of them folded up into a fist. "For fuck's sake... don't fucking cry. Damnit." Harry huffs out of frustration, "come here," he opens his arm but I don't step into his embrace, "come here... I'm jus'... he fucking destroys my nerves." Harry steps closer to me and draws me into him briefly, just long enough to comfort me and stop me from crying before he stretches away. He doesn't say a word, he just marches away from me.

I compose myself and settle myself back down on the sofa, Harry's sister perching in front of the fireplace with a glass of wine to calm her down from tonight's events.

I attempt to get back to the story of my book, but I can't withdraw my mind from pondering over tonight's proceedings and previous events of the last few weeks. For every genuine thing that has endured to happen, a downfall has occurred, quite literally. I find it unusual that Harry's Dad is abruptly making appearances now, it has been almost seven years and I haven't seen him until now. It is as though he has been in hibernation this whole relationship I have had with Harry and now he aspires to pop up and stir trouble.

If anything, I expected his father to show up once Harry managed to become successful right out of University, but no. I had thought he would at least attempt to show up at the wedding or congratulate his son but I didn't even see that. I hardly know this man, but Harry is undividedly accurate when he states his father is insignificant. I can't begin to imagine the heartache that Harry must undergo to go through the torment their father puts him and his sister through.

Part of me wants to know the complete story but at the same time, I don't think I ever want to hear the profound misery Harry has gone through with his father.

"Do you have to go back to London? Can I just steal you from my brother for a bit?" Gemma questions as she pours herself another glass of wine while the family cat jumps up on the sofa and nestles into my legs.

I chuckle and shrug while I rest my hand to spread through the fluffy fur of the kitten, "I have to go back."

"When are you coming back? Harry keeps you all to himself." She pouts and I again giggle, he does keep me to himself but he doesn't honestly mean to. It's just how life works out.

"Uh, not sure," I shrug, "maybe in a few weeks when it is Christmas?" I respond, thinking about how Christmas is just a few weeks away from us.

"Guess I will have to make that drive to see you guys then."

My eyes flicker over to Harry as he walks in, he rubs the back of his neck and looks at his sister and me.

He clears his throat, "Elle, I need you for a minute."

I think about turning him down and leaving him to cool off longer but the tone of his voice and the look in his eyes tell me to tend to him. I get up and follow him down the hallway to his childhood bedroom.

He closes the door behind us and I take my position on his bed, "I'm sorry," he begins as he leans against the old dresser drawers.

I cock my head to the side, "for what?"

"Raising my voice at you."

"Are you sorry or are you just saying it? I know you just say sorry because you feel compelled to at times."

He shakes his head, "I'm actually sorry... I shouldn't have spoken to you like that... forgot you were my wife and not my work mate," he declares, surprising me by acknowledging that he sometimes speaks to me in the same CEO temper that he uses on his workers. "I jus' get frustrated... I am sorry... Once I cooled down, I realised how you were kinda shaking and jumpy with me. I never intended to scare you, Elle."

"You didn't," I inform him. Truth is, him elevating his voice with me wasn't what caused me to want to cry, it was just a small part of it.

"Oh..." he trails off, raising a brow at me.

"I need to tell you something and I'm not quite sure how you will react." I lament, deciding now is as good a time as ever to come clean about what has been operating through my mind since he unlocked the door to see his father.

Harry nods, signalling for me to go on. "Your father was a the hospital,"

"After my accident? Surprised the fucker visited me."

I shake my head, "no... when I was there. He visited when you and your brother were out somewhere."

"So he visited you while I wasn't around?... You're just now fucking telling me this?" His voice suddenly raises towards me and he crosses his arms over his chest, "do you not think that is shit I should know. For fuck's sake, Elise."

"Are you done raising your voice at me?" I heavily sigh as his eyes stare at me. He quite honestly views like he wants to kill me.

I would try to lighten the mood by calling him grumpy, but that will only infuriate him even further. "You just apologized for raising your voice and here you are, doing the same thing," I murmur, gesturing between the two of us

"Because you don't fucking tell me things, you keep secrets."

"Look who is calling the kettle black, Mr. I keep secrets for years." I immediately hiss referencing the family mysteries he has kept that I don't know about and the ones that I do know about.

"That is fucking different and you know it. Why the fuck did you not tell me he visited you?"

"Well... I didn't realise it was him until tonight... Stop being an ass to me. You might be grieving but you don't get a free pass to be a dickhead."

Harry rolls his eyes, "don't roll your eyes at me, Styles." I directly call him out and he takes a heavy breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

"Elise Noelle, you are so fucking infuriating but I love you," he extends me a smile as he steps closer to the bed. He crawls onto the bed and pushes a few strands of hair behind my ear. "I love you too, Harry," Harry endeavours to mimic me before leaning in and kissing me softly, "I love you," he mumbles against my smooth lips.

"I love you too." I benevolently extract away and cup his face between my two hands, "but you need to stop getting so angry at me," I whisper as I look into the same eyes that I fall in love with more and more each day.

He nods, "I am sorry, gotta work on it. He jus', he's not someone I want near you." Harry murmurs as I run my thumb smoothly over his stubble.

"Mhm," I nod, leaning down and kissing him benevolently before I draw away, "what did he do?"

"A lot of things," he responds, leaning in and kissing me sweetly, his hands moving to rest on my sides while I allow us to share a few kisses.

I extract away and he pouts his lips, "Harry, what did he do?"

He groans at me disconnecting the kiss, the only form of communication we have really managed to have in the last few days of disaster. "I'd rather kiss than talk about him."

"Harry," I sigh as he kisses my cheek and I gingerly extend away from him.

Harry sighs and glances away for a moment, "Elle... he's just a horrible man... Not a man anyone should be around."

"What did he do?"

He raises his shoulders into a shrug, "a lot of things, love..."

"I love you, but I don't think it is okay for you to still be so closed off, especially with me." I benevolently press for him to open up even if it is just a little bit. I don't think it is good for him to be holding back all these emotions at the moment.

Harry takes a breath and looks down at his left hand before his beautiful eyes flutter back up to me, "you know the scar on my hand?" he questions and I nod while I take his hand to flip his palm over so I can see his scar. I run my thumb over the scar, something I have done many times during our relationship. "How did I tell you I got it?"

"Hmm, you said it was a bar fight that happened right before you and I met."

Harry shakes his head, "that's a lie," he informs me, catching me off guard... I never really expected Harry to have lies and secrets with me. "Before you get mad for lying, I have a good reason... My father is the reason for it."

"The fuck did he do?"

"Long story short, love. One night, he got drunk and about tried to kill me. So, there's that reason why I can't have him near anyone in my family, shall I continue on why I can't have him near you or do you get the picture?" Harry questions as I continue to run my thumb over his scar.

"He tried to-" I struggle to finish my sentence, appalled on how his own father could attempt such a thing.

Harry shrugs, "he was drunk and didn't succeed. Maybe one day I will tell you the full story of my father, but right now, I can't, Elle... Jus' can't." ... "I'm sorry for getting so mad but I jus' don't need you anywhere near him... I am ending this conversation and heading to bed."

I nod and decide not to ask any more questions, essentially because I know he will eventually tell me when he feels he is ready.

Now I know why Harry was always apprehensive about children and why I occasionally catch him talking to Niall about whether he will make a good father or not.

Pieces are gradually coming together.

Piece by piece.