𝖛𝖎𝖎𝖎. the art of mystery

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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐄𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓.
triggers: cursing, graphic descriptions of a
panic attack, implied child abuse / neglect.

triggers: cursing, graphic descriptions of a panic attack, implied child abuse / neglect

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𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐑𝐘 𝐋𝐄𝐖𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐒  a mystery. That was Mrs Shields' first thought when she met the boy on her very first day at work. Harry was fifteen then, scrawny and too polite to utter more than one word in a day, but at the same time wise beyond his years.

Seriously, she learned that this kid skipped a year for his crazy intelligence; he never mentioned it to anyone but her when he wrote his personal statement for Oxford; he waited every afternoon for the clock to strike exactly 3:33, then he'd raise his bag and silently leave the office.

He never said goodbye, and Mrs Shields guessed it was because he never truly wanted to leave.

333. It's a lucky number, he had explained to her when she finally encouraged him to speak in sentences, it means encouragement.

She had tested him for every routined disorder in the books: OCD, Avoidant Personality, ASD. Nothing had flipped its head as conclusive. Harry was peculiar, he was reserved, and he was so very interesting to know.

Without fail, every day, for two years, Harry had spent his time in her office. He'd trail in during the morning, sit at the very end of the meeting table, open his textbooks and simply get on with whatever he needed to do. Then, he'd leave at the end of the day without a word.

When she had asked around, staff told her that things had always been this way. Harry didn't go to class, only seeped out of those four walls at break and lunch, and spoke to his teachers when no one else was around to intrude.

He panicked at the idea, said it was much easier to just stay here. Class is too much, too many people, he had mumbled after one hell of a stressful day full of shallow breaths and the poor kid hiding his face in his hands.

It was as if he was afraid of the world surrounding him. But, then, what was the cause of that? She had enquired about his primary school reports and all of them showed Harry was an joyous, communicative boy.

Something had switched inside of him and, now, it had superglued to never turn back.

So, Harry stayed with her, every day. Sometimes she would have him run errands or ask around for pupils, and Harry was okay with it.

That's what confused her. He didn't hate talking to people, revelled in it actually, and he had such a sharp and unique wit about him, but when given the choice Harry just didn't want to socialise. Harry Lewis was a mystery, and a fascinating one at that.

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