𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐈𝐎𝐍 | 𝐅. 𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐄𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐒

𝟷𝟺. 𝙰 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁

𝚃𝚘: 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙴𝙰𝙳𝙴𝚁𝚂
𝙵𝚛𝚘𝚖: 𝙿𝟻𝟷𝟹𝟾𝟸𝟻𝙷
𝙳𝚊𝚝𝚎: 𝟶𝟻𝟷𝟶𝟸𝟶𝟸𝟷

𝙲𝙷𝙰𝙿𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁𝚃𝙴𝙴𝙽: 𝙰 𝚂𝙴𝙰𝚁𝙲𝙷 𝙵𝙾𝚁 𝙰 𝙱𝚁𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁

━━━━━━

"Harry?"

Your voice was quiet, laced with worry, as you stepped further into the dim attic. Your brother didn't move. He just sat there on the floor, legs crossed, his small hands curled into fists as he glared at the Umbrella Academy figurines scattered in front of him. His breath trembled with frustration. His cheeks were still red from earlier—anger, shame... and something else.

He had been humiliated by Sir Reginald Hargreeves. In front of everyone.

You were there. You saw it all.

Hargreeves stood on those mansion steps, cold and detached, as Harry—hopeful, proud, trembling in his homemade uniform—pleaded for a place among the Umbrella Academy.

But Hargreeves hadn't even looked at him.

Ben had watched from inside, frozen by his own fear. And Luther... he had stepped forward, blocking Harold's path with that same apologetic look he'd always given when following orders.

You hadn't spoken to the old man. You were too afraid. But your eyes had searched the group and landed on a boy standing beside Ben. A boy with hands tucked into his coat pockets and furrowed brows—Five. His gaze wasn't mocking like the others. It was worried. He saw Harold cry and saw you pull your brother away. And he had watched you both leave.

Now, here you were. Back in the attic.

"He could've at least taken you," Harold mumbled, still staring down at the little figurines. "You have powers, (Y/n). You could be one of them."

You slowly walked over and knelt behind him, wrapping your arms around his shoulders. He tensed at first, then let out a shaky sigh as your warmth eased some of the storm inside him.

"And even if I was offered to stay with them," You said softly, your chin resting on his shoulder, "I can't leave you, Harry. You're my brother. I won't abandon you just for them."

Harold blinked and turned his head slightly, just enough to catch your eyes. He finally let the tension leave his body. His fists relaxed. A soft smile tugged at his lips as he placed his hand over yours.

You were born minutes after Harold. People called you twins, even though technically you weren't. Still, you were inseparable. And your birth came with a cost—your mother's life.

It was something your father never forgave.

He never hit you. Not after the day he tried and you lashed out, your power surging in fear and fury. A crack of light blasted from your hands and sent him across the room. He never laid a finger on you again. But Harold wasn't so lucky. Your father released all that pent-up hatred on him instead.

"Harold! Get your ass down here!" You and Harold heard your father's voice roar from downstairs, venom-laced and slurred with alcohol.

Harold sighed and pushed himself up. You watched him carefully, worried, as he turned his back to the figurines. You stayed a moment longer, your eyes lingering on the little characters. Your gaze caught the empty space where Sir Reginald's figure used to be. And then—just beside it—stood a small Number Five figurine, neat and untouched. You reached for it... but paused when your brother called you.