Letters to Lou *Larry Stylinson*

Age 16

"Who the bloody hell are you?"

Darcy froze mid-step on her way down the stairs, her knuckles white from clutching the banister. Harry stood in the front doorway, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder from work. He stared at Darcy shocked with his mouth gaping open. Darcy stared back, unmoving.

"...P-papa?" she stuttered carefully, her voice trembling. "Are you alright?"

Harry started back at her, eyes wide. "Papa? I don't have children! What are you doing in my house?" Harry says, lost. Although he was very much a children person, he didn't expect to see possibly a sixteen year old girl sneaking down his stairs when he got home. But yet, he wasn't exactly sure what he expected when he arrived home.

"You're house? You mean our house! Papa, it's me, Darcy!" Darcy exclaims, "I'm your daughter!" she says, her voice strained. Her eyes scan for any glimpse of recognition on Harry's face, but only confusion was mapped across his features.

"I don't know any Darcy's, and I certainly don't have a daughter.  I don't know who you are, so please get out of my house before I call the police." Harry states, not sure what this girl was trying to do. He sure wasn't going to wait to find out.

"No, Papa! You can't kick me out of my own house! It's almost Christmas! What are you doing to me?" the girl full on sobs, and Harry's heart wrenches. His head thuds with confusion, but he holds the door wide open.

"Please, leave. Return to your family, young lady." Harry says, watching as the girl stays put, sobbing. "Now." Harry adds. He hates being this way to children, but his own spine was tingling with unease now, and he did not like it one bit.

Darcy ambles down the stairs, making sure her phone was tucked in her jeans pocket before stepping into her shoes by the doorway, feeling Harry's stare cut like glass into the back of her neck. With one look back, she meets Harry's green eyes, swimming with confusion. She steps out onto the concrete steps of the porch, and into the cold winter air.

"Papa..." she tries one last time, before the front door she's known for years slams in her face. She stares at the wreath hanging on the door swinging side to side, one that she and Harry had just bought together last week. It was ordained with pine cones and red ribbons, and smelled crisp like the icy winter air.

Darcy steps off the house property just in case Harry was still watching from inside, and slowly walks to the end of the street, opening up her contacts on her phone. She scrolls to the first number, and dials. It is picked up on the third ring.

"Hey, Uncle Li? Could you pick me up? I need your help."

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Harry shakes his head, sliding off his bag and slumping down onto the couch. He sighs in content as his spine eases out it's creaks from hunching over on his desk all day. He rests his eyes for a moment, savoring the silence that was oh so absent in the office. Harry scrunches his forehead. Somehow, the silence didn't feel quite right.

Harry still hasn't erased the horrified expression on the girl's face from his mind, and he knew he wasn't about to. He sits up, staring at where the girl had grasped so tightly on the banister, before easing off the couch and ambling quickly up the steps. The first room on the second floor had its door open ajar, and Harry peeks in.