Bewitching Harry ~ H.S. (Complete)

I

We're only getting older baby

And I've been thinking about it lately

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Boo

When I first saw Harry Styles walk into my yoga class when he was still sweet 16, I thought, SHIT. Boy was cute as a button. We could let out our pubescent sexual frustration on each other, I thought. I thought wrong. As I stalked Harry from the floor to ceiling mirror of the studio, our pretty yogi immediately saw my knees unlocking and embarrassed me in front of the class. "Just because a cute boy is around, doesn't mean you have permission to have weak knees, Boo."

Everyone laughed.

Fuck Harry. But boy was he cute, I thought. I stole a glance at him and saw him grin and blush.

"Lock those knees," my yogi reminded.

This was before One Direction days. He came in with this hot older woman, which made me worry, but I later overheard him calling her mom. I was ecstatic. He wasn't really there to exercise, as he sat at the end of the classroom, probably ogling at women's arses. None of the women seemed to mind. They fawned over him after class as his mom introduced him. I minded though.

I minded when he caught me looking at him another time and he smiled. I hated him then and there, as I turned into a red tomato and saw it all happen on the yoga studio's giant mirror, my neck, my ears, my face turning fucking crimson. The boy was probably a sorcerer, I thought. It had never happened to me before, blush like that. I just don't usually blush. In fact, I never do.

I hated him even more when I caught him looking at me while I was doing the tree pose, you know, the usual yoga pose where you balance yourself with one foot. Well, anyway, this was a beginner's pose, but I was a beginner, and there, staring at me was this adorable fucking boy. Since the yogi told us to listen to our breaths, I heard mine hitch and speed and umph when I landed on my ass, distracted.

I can't count the times I was put to shame and this one curly haired boy was at fault.

I hate Harry Styles. So much. He came once a week to class, we even became friends and hung out, oh what a mistake. Until suddenly he completely vanished and appeared on television and became this huge ass star, dating all these fucking hot mega stars. His mom told us to vote for him when he was still on the X-factor and at that time, I swallowed my pride and did. I thought he'd eventually see the error of his ways and come crawling back to me, telling me why, fucking why he never even texted when he disappeared. Not a single fucking text. I hadn't really realized the extent of the hate I'd have for him.

Before all that, Harry was just another adorable English boy who got excited quickly but had a tempo problem with his speech. Before all that, we were friends. Close friends some would say. But can you actually be friends with someone you secretly hated with all your fucking guts?

There was something satisfying to know about the fact that he was single, haha, poor him. He must be lonely. I'm single too, but I'm happy. It's annoying though that he's got like a million followers or should we say, lovers. I mean, it's just twitter but I bet they're all fucking him in their dreams. Who can blame them? I can't. I blame Harry.

Harry f*cking Styles.

Harry f*cking Styles who at sweet sixteen couldn't resist dating the hottest girl in the room. Harry Styles, who dated our f*cking yogi.

I click another video of them on youtube. Zayn is eating Harry's candy thong, I decided he's the worst human, ever, to enslave someone like that in public!

It's been four years and only I'm getting old. Look at him, ageless f*cker. I know I let go of the whole he's-probably-a-practitioner-of-dark-arts-as-well theory back then, but maybe I was wrong.

So I decide to do the world a justice and I take out my sewing kit and my voodoo doll. Then I search under my bed for my dusty chest, and there, among piles of pictures of Harry and the rabbit's foot I made from his beloved's carcass, is the bottle I've always known would be useful one day. I take the hair out of the bottle and sew it on the doll...

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Harry Styles (in a cot in the Mystery Machine)

I say hi to my reflection. I sure am cute. A woman raising herself up from her yoga mat obscures my view. She's got a nice bum, but I try not to stare. But I fail. She leans down, bending from her waist and from between her spread out legs, she sees me, caught in the act. It's almost like her head's come out of her own bum. She looks angry. I look away. I look back at and smile at her sheepishly. I should apologize.

But she's mad, I can see it in her brows. She's mad.

Head still glaring at me from her bum, she walks backwards and towards me. Like The Grudge Yoga version. Before I know it, her face is freakishly up close. Brown eyes stare at me.

Her.

I know her.

And this bum hitting my forehead.

I jolt awake.

Boo (in her bedroom in Manchester)

Fuck. He recognized me.

I clutch the voodoo hard in my hands.

Harry Styles (in a cot in the Mystery Machine)

Wheeze.

Boo (in her bedroom in Manchester)

I soften my hold. I might have been too much on the first try. Hmm...

Harry Styles (in a cot in the Mystery Machine)

Exhale. What a nightmare. Long day tomorrow, I better get to sleep. What was my nightmare about? Can't remember. That's good. I hope I get a sweet dream now.

Boo (in her bedroom in Manchester)

Eureka! Thanks Harry for that supremely evil idea you helped me come up with. Muwahahha.

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An* Hi guys! So finally updated the first chapter and will continue to do so once a week. This'll run for around ten or less. I'd like to know what you think and tell me, if you had the power to enter Harry's dreams, what would you do? What do you want to see? Would you dress him in a puppy suit? Feed him tacos? Make him eat your c-c-cooking? I might just write it into the story!

Let's have some fun shall we?