Sneak Peek of Witch Harry part 2!! (Patreon)

Here is what I have thus far! I hope you guys like it :D

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ii.

Harry should mind his business.

He used to be very good at it -- minding his own. If Harry was not directly involved or asked to partake in something then he would not bother his time concerning over it. That’s why it was so much easier for him to do some particularly unprincipled tasks when he’s asked to do it, whether it be something as simple as giving small tips on how to pick a lock or as complex as summoning a demon to disrupt the life of an angry woman’s ex-boyfriend. It’s why he doesn’t ask questions, he only does, and that is what makes good business, he would say. Nobody wants to be in any sort of arrangement with a Nosy Nancy. He’s almost positive that’s the first thing they teach in Marketing 101 -- he would know if he bothered going to UNI.

So he usually minded his business and only bothered with himself, his family, and Oat.

Well, and Y/N a little bit now -- which is what’s making him not so good at minding his business.

They locked fingers nearly a week ago and it felt as if it were set in stone, a little seedling implanted in his brain that was destined to grow and flourish. Whether he liked it or not, she was a concern of his now -- he’d promised they would have each other’s backs and he got caught up in it. The only people that have had Harry’s back are his family and himself (a few select demons but he rarely counts them, since they only have his back at a price), so he wasn’t used to this sort of camaraderie he was experiencing now. If he was honest, it made him uncomfortable to a certain degree, because he really wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

Instead of ignoring how the hair at the nape of his neck stands when the cold wind blows tainted air, stained with the bitterness of an unknown evil -- he messages Y/N. He confirms that she felt it too and depending on whether or not it felt strong enough to follow, they would decide whether they let it pass or pursue it. Both had agreed that it had not felt as aggressively as it had the night at the blood bank when the air felt stuffy with the ‘no good feeling’ (Y/N started calling it that -- Harry told her she sounded like a three-year-old but continues to refer to it like that in his head); then it had felt like they were drowning beneath it. It had been suffocating and all-encompassing, and the only time it had even eased was right before the walls started to ooze and when he was in the comfort of Y/N’s flat.

He’d only been to Y/N’s flat once more since then and it was only for a moment so that he could drop off one of his old books to her that outlined every demon he’d come into contact with (she’d requested it because “If you go through it you might miss something since you were there in the moment - an outside perspective might help” and Harry couldn’t be arsed to argue with her). Since then he’d been eager to return -- he felt safe there. Her protection spell was lovely, of course -- he burned the leaves in every room, he downed the vial of liquid she’d prepared like a shot with her at his side. His home had never felt better, in his opinion -- it felt lighter. It also felt like it was embodying its own little world because as soon as he shut his door, the outside horrors couldn’t get in. It mimicked the feeling that he got at Y/N’s.

For some reason or another, Y/N’s flat is just far better in that regard, which is why he is maybe a little too excited to return.

Harry had not been doing much of anything when he’d gotten her message. The cocoa pops in his bowl of milk had gotten soggy so the crunch with each spoonful was lackluster, and he was dancing between the idea of drinking the semi-chocolatey milk or pouring it down his drain. He tries to cut back on sugar during the days because as soon as night comes around he has the most unignorable sweet tooth that he always placates. Oat was resting on the counter, gnawing absently at her old collar so she could unravel the threading, and he was snapping picture after picture on his phone of her. Not for anyone but himself really -- sometimes he sends photos to his mum, but otherwise he keeps Oat as his little joy apart from the rest of the universe (some of the demons like her, Harry has found, and he thinks sometimes they whisper sweet little things in her ear because she’ll start purring if some of the calmer ones are around -- she has her favorites just as Harry does).

As he angled his camera just perfectly to capture an amusing shot of her with her mouth hung open looking ravenous, a notification slid at the top of his screen. Once he’d seen it was Y/N, he clicked it without a second thought.

Come around to the store before close tonight so I can give you chamomile.

also you can come to my place after, I have some questions about your demon book and your magic

also, also, please bring Oat, Thumper and I miss her

A small, closed mouth smile graces Harry face as he swallows what was in his mouth. He pulled up his images, picked one of Oat where she’s showing her belly and her claws dug into the nylon collar that she so adamantly disliked, and sent it to Y/N with we’ll come if you bake pumpkin banana bread. Y/N is allowed to see her because -- well, by all technicalities, Oat was born from the soil of her garden. She has just as much the right to appreciate the absolute endearing ways of Oat as Harry does.

Y/N responds back immediately.

fuck off but for Oat i’d do anything

He was excited to go to her flat, but not so excited about the fact that he was going to have to wait all day. Y/N closes up her shop around 9 to 10 PM and it was just barely 11 AM, so he had about ten hours of anticipating what she may want to ask him. And Harry hated waiting -- it made him restless and antsy. His mum always told him that his impatience would bite him in the bum one day and he never doubted her. . .he’s quite sure it has bitten him a few times already.

For the first few hours of waiting he allowed himself to be sluggardly since he’d caught up with most of everything, he had to do this week. He took a slow shower, scrubbed himself clean with an apple-scented exfoliator that left his skin feeling as soft and raw as a newborn and washed his hair. He decides what color he might paint his nails then, dancing between a mint-colored green or a pumpkin orange, and he wonders if Y/N will actually bake pumpkin banana bread or tell him to sod off. He hopes she would. . .Harry loves baked goods but he did not like the process of having to bake, nor the clean up afterward. And, from the few times Y/N had made muffins to sit on her counter for her customers, he recalls they were far more than just palatable. If not for the slap she’d given his hand when he tried to take another muffin, he might have even tried to take the whole plate.

After his shower, and his nails, he checked the time and saw it was only half past noon, and with a more than heavy sigh as he grabbed his keys and shoved his shoes on. Of course she would make him wait all bloody day, the rotten girl.  He grabbed his crossbody bag that he toted around for the sole purpose of bringing Oat into the stores she otherwise would not be allowed in, filled it with one of the blankets he’d knitted for her, and made a little nest before placing her in it. Oat loves their days out and they hadn’t done one in a little while, so Harry figured they would find something to do while they waited.

That’s how they ended up visiting a variety of places -- first, the bookstore, where he zipped up most of his bag but left a gap that Oat could look out of so long as she kept her little head hidden (he would reach in every so often to scratch the downy fur behind her ear). Harry ambled around the aisles, though he does find himself drawn to a book by Kazuo Ishiguro that he’d been hearing about lately, through the grapevine at little socialite parties stocked with novelists and bibliophiles (whether they actually gave a fuck about books or just enjoyed the aesthetic of being someone who liked to read, Harry wouldn’t be able to tell you, but he could say that they have some of the most creative requests). He slid it off the shelf, held it down to his bag where Oat reached out and patted her foot against the page (this was her silent nod of approval -- he would be reading it aloud to her, so he liked to let her have a small say in what they read).

And then he went to go get lunch because he might as well have, but this was the problem. He’d gone to the diner that he and Y/N had visited, and he suddenly gets a flashed memory of her raving over their grilled cheese for some reason or another. Had even offered him a bite of it, that’s how sure she’d been that it was one of the best things she’d had in her entire life, and while he had politely declined, he had remembered just how much she loved it. That and the strawberry milkshake that she had drunk (and loved, which for some reason, felt like a nice stroke to his ego since he was the one who suggested it to her).

Then he starts to wonder if Y/N had anything for lunch. Did she bring her own? Did she go eat with that Niall bloke? What if she were busy and she had no time to step out for her lunch?

So instead of minding his business like he ought to do, he orders her a meal.