E C H O E | h.s. Fanfiction

*Chapter Two*

By the time the rain had stopped, the world outside had grown dim, swallowed by the creeping dusk. Inside, the house felt more like a tomb, a heavy, suffocating silence pressing in on me. The news of Harry's death had spread like wildfire, his name splashed across every headline and whispered in every corner of the media. But here, in this house that had once felt too grand for just the two of us, I was left utterly alone.

Flowers kept arriving, arrangements from people I barely knew, their pity enclosed in bright, suffocating petals. They piled up in the living room, filling the air with a sickeningly sweet scent that turned my stomach. But what stuck with me more was the cold, deafening silence from the people who truly mattered. Not one word from Lisandra, not a single call from his sister. I had tried to reach them both, my fingers hesitating before dialing, only to be met with the cold rejection of unanswered rings and silent voicemails.

I felt like I was a ghost walking through these halls, unnoticed and unimportant. Like an afterthought in a life that was no longer mine.

Then, there was a knock on the door.

The funeral services had arrived. Two men in dark suits stood on the doorstep. They were solemn, their faces carrying the heavy weight of bad news that had already been delivered.

"We're from the funeral home, Mrs. Styles," one of them said softly. "We're terribly sorry for your loss."

I nodded, not trusting my voice to respond. My hands gripped the doorframe, holding myself up as I waited for whatever they had come to tell me. My heart thudded in my chest, louder and louder with each passing second.

The first man stepped forward, holding a thin folder in his hand. "We've brought Mr. Styles' remains," he said gently, handing me the folder.

That hit me like a blow to the chest. I had been expecting something more, something tangible. But this folder felt too light, too thin to contain anything of Harry.

I opened it with trembling hands. Inside was a single document, stamped with the hospital's official seal, listing Harry's name at the top. The space for "cause of death" remained blank. Along with it, there was a smaller note. "All that was recoverable from the scene was trace evidence," the man explained, his voice steady but low. "There wasn't enough to... well, to identify conclusively. The hospital is recommending a DNA test, just for closure. We can arrange that."

I blinked at the paper in my hand, the words blurring in front of me. Was there nothing left of Harry to even bury?

I glanced at the other man, who remained silent but shifted awkwardly. I swallowed hard, feeling a cold pit of dread open in my stomach.

"There's no body?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

The first man shook his head. "Unfortunately, no. The explosion at the site destroyed most of what was left. We retrieved ashes, really. We know this is overwhelming, but you may want to follow up with the hospital for further confirmation."

Dust. That's all that was left of Harry?

My chest tightened, my vision blurring at the edges. My hands shook as I clutched the papers to my chest, feeling the room spin around me.

"We also wanted to let you know," the second man finally spoke up, "that we've posted the obituary on your front door, per the family's request. There have been many tributes left outside." He gestured to the door, where a laminated obituary had already been taped. Harry's name in bold letters, as if his life could be summarized in a few short lines.

In Loving Memory of Harry Edward Styles         

February 1, 1994