Harry
Harry waits for rings three times before a voice speaks up.
“Hello!” greets a cheery female voice.
“Hi! This is-”
“Welcome to the Sector C bureau line. To contact your local council member, dial 1. To locate your local federal building, diall 2…”
Harry blushes at having replied to a machine. He waits as the automated voice (that sounded much too happy given that it was the end of work hours on a Monday) listed number after number, all the while drumming his fingers along the heat whitened wood of the dining table. He always wondered who the voices on the machine recordings belonged to. The voices always sounded so generic, and Harry can’t conjure a face that would be so generic as well.
“... to notify an official of disorderly behavior presented in a citizen, dial 7…”
Harry dials seven.
“Please hold.”
Soft piano music flows into Harry’s ear. Sometimes Harry wonders if that music was legitimately made for the person waiting to enjoy, or simply made to fill awkward silences and tell the listener that the phone hadn’t hung up yet.
“Hello?”
Harry sighs in relief.
“Hi, this is Harry Styles-”
“Sorry, what complex are you from?” the gruff voice interrupts. Harry could imagine it belonging to a late forties man, with peaking white hair and a crisp collared shirt.
“I- uh, Complex 7B” Harry answers. The man made no sound, and Harry could only assume that he had nodded.
“Hmm, and what is it you would like to report, Mr. Styles?” the voice drones with no effort put in interest.
“I- uh, would like to report my daughter’s elementary school teacher.” Harry stutters nervously. The man was silent again.
“Go on.”
“He- uh, Louis Tomlinson, has been teaching my daughter some… unorthodox ideas.” Harry continues.
“And what are these ‘unorthodox ideas’?” the man asks, and Harry can hear the voice dripping with boredom.
Harry scratches the back of his head. His brown curls jangle.
“He has, uh, told my daughter… cynical things about the government.” Harry fumbles. This time the man lets out a hmm before Harry hears the creak of a chair leaning forward.
“Mr. Styles, is it?”
“Yes.”
“What did you say that man’s name was?”
“Uh, Tomlinson. Louis Tomlinson.”
“Lou-ess Tomlinson? Are you sure it isn’t Lou-ie Tomlinson?” the man questions.
Harry frowns.
“I-I don’t know. I guess that’s possible.”
The man hums again.
“Well, that’s interesting. We certainly know of a Lou-ie Tomlinson. Thank you for notifying us, uh, Mr. Styles. We need more citizens like you.”
For the first time in the call, Harry feels uplifted.
“Thank you, sir.”
******************************
A week passes before Darcy lifts her head up from her dinner of macaroni and cheese. She had been stabbing and unstabbing- torturing, essentially- her macaroni all night.
“Mr. Tomlinson wasn’t here today.” Darcy states.
“Really?” Harry hums, trying to keep his eyes low. Darcy nods.
“Yeah. He hasn’t been in class for a week. The new substitute doesn’t have a cool accent.”
Harry doesn’t respond, but he can feel Darcy’s eyes burn into his head. Another ability inherited from her mother.
Darcy goes back to scraping at her noodles, before speaking up again.
“I miss Mr. Tomlinson. I think you would have liked him.”
Harry pauses.
“What makes you think that?” he asks. Darcy shrugs.
“You both like tattoos. Mr. Tomlinson likes jokes too, although his are funnier-
“Hey!”
“-and you both have brown hair.”
There are times when Harry thinks Darcy is on to something, and there are times when he doesn’t.
“And why would we get along if we both have brown hair?” Harry asks, amused.
“Well, you and mommy didn’t get along, and she had blond hair.”
Harry is silent.
“Interesting observation, Dar Dar, but that isn’t always the case.” Harry bops Darcy’s nose, earning a slap to the wrist.
Conversation flowed much smoother and lighter after that. Before long, the plates were cleared, and Darcy and Harry went to settle themselves into the sofa cushions for movie night. Just before hitting play, though, Harry needed to use the bathroom. He had drank a lot of water at dinner.
“I’ll just be a sec, darling. Need to use the bathroom.” Harry explains, making his way toward his bedroom, which hooked up to his bathroom. As soon as he steps into his bedroom, a massive force slams the air out of him and his back hits the solid wall.
“Oof!”
“Shhh!” a furious hush tickles Harry’s ear. Harry’s head throbs, and he tries to make out the figure holding him against the wall. It took a second to realize that a person holding him to the wall meant there was a stranger in his house.
Harry is about to open his mouth to scream bloody murder before a hand clamps over his mouth.
“Haven’t you done enough tattling on me life?” the voice, a rather light silky voice whispers angrily. Harry suddenly realizes the man said “me” instead of “my.” He remembers something about that from somewhere.
“Promise you won’t make a sound, and I’ll-”
“Mr. Tomlinson?”
The bedroom floods with light, and suddenly all forces that held Harry against the wall were relieved. Darcy stands in the doorway, gazing at the two people curiously
“Why, hello there Darcy!”
Harry stares at the man in front of him
The first thing Harry notices is that “Mr Tomlinson” is quite short and small considering his strength. True to Darcy’s word, he bares splatters of ink all over his body. His face reminded Harry of elves or something. The sharp cheekbones and icy blue eyes screamed mischief. The man’s hair seems ruffled, and looked rather soft and feathery. Harry wanted to reach out and touch it.
“Y-you’re my daughter’s teacher?” Harry is on the verge of shouting.
“Yes.”
Harry thinks he wants to laugh. Or cry. Preferably both, with a side of ice-cream.
For a second, Harry’s mouth is simply gaping open, unsure what to say. Darcy fills in for him.
“Mr. Tomlinson! I haven’t seen you in forever! Where have you been?” Darcy scrambles to Mr. Tomlinson’s legs, hugging them. And okay, Harry is not jealous. He’s not jealous at all that his own daughter is hugging her home perpetrator of a teacher instead of her own father that just experienced a life threatening event.
“Well, Dar Dar-” and hey, that is Harry’s nickname for her,”-I’ve been… rather preoccupied recently.” Mr. Tomlinson says, eyes trailing up to glare deathly stares into Harry’s head. It seems like everyone owned laser vision these days except Harry.
“Oh,” Darcy furrows her eyebrows, confused but not questioning further. Her eyes suddenly lit with a question.
“Why are you here?” she asks, and Harry couldn’t have thought of a better question. Mr. Tomlinson kneels to Darcy’s height- and Harry notices the guy still has his shoes on on Harry’s carpet- and puts a hand on her shoulder.
“Well, you see, your daddy doesn’t like what I’m teaching you at school, so I thought I’d drop by and remind him who is the one that has the degree in teaching. You like my lessons, don’t you, Darcy?” Mr. Tomlinson looks at Darcy innocently.
Harry suddenly realizes where all of Darcy’s sass comes from.
Darcy nods, and all Harry could think was traitor!
Mr. Tomlinson nods, satisfied, before pushing himself back up to Harry’s height. Well, sort of Harry’s height. The guy was a good head shorter than Harry (but than again, Harry was a gangly mess of bones on stilts.)
“Are you going to stay over?” Darcy asks hopefully. Harry expects Mr. Tomlinson to shake his head, but instead, icy blue eyes glide up to him, smirking. Harry has a feeling he will be seeing that smirk a lot.
“Well, that’s what I wanted to discuss with your daddy. You see, your daddy really didn’t like my lessons, so he told some important people. Now these important people took away my home and my things, and they want to put me in jail.” Mr. Tomlinson says the last part through gritted teeth. Harry has a feeling that the jail Mr. Tomlinson spoke of wasn’t the local district prison.
“Oh,” Darcy frowns. Her face lights up. Harry feels his heart drop.
“Oh! You can just stay with us, Mr. Tomlinson!” Darcy cheers. Mr. Tomlinson smiles, and ruffles her hair.
“Isn’t that sweet of you! Why don’t you ask your daddy first, though?” Mr. Tomlinson says, as if he gives a damn about asking daddy first.
Darcy gazes up at Harry hopefully. Harry sighs, and looks at Mr. Tomlinson.
“You’re a criminal.” Harry states.
“A criminal in a land of despotic and punitive laws, yes.”
Harry wants a hole to just open in the ground and swallow him up.
“Okay, look. It’s movie night with my daughter, and I don’t have time for this. Go disappear for two hours and I’ll be back here after my daughter is tucked in to bed. Then we’ll talk.” Harry compromises. Mr. Tomlinson nods.
Harry frowns.
“I don’t know if I already asked this before, but how did you get in?”
Mr. Tomlinson shrugs.
“There’s a way in and out of everything if you’re desperate enough.”
Harry nods slowly. He needs to check if his windows are locked later.
“Okay, uh, Mr. Tomlinson-”
“Louis.” Louis pronounces like Lou-ie.
“Louis. Nice to meet you. Harry.”
They shake hands.