Clandestine {Harry Styles Fanfiction}

Part 3

So here's the third chapter! I am SO sorry it took me this long to post this. I've been sick and I am so busy. Finals are coming up, I'm taking drivers ed, I have so much homework and extra-curriculars and my life is just crazy right now, so I hope you still love me!! I've barely even had the time to stalk my five boyfriends on twitter, that's how busy I've been. ;)))) I hope your ovaries enjoy the gif on the side of Harry being a freaking cupcake.

If you vote or comment I love you. If you don't, I love you anyway.

Madeline

“So how is London?” my grandfather asked me over the phone. It was Friday afternoon, and I had been in England for just over a week.

How was London? It was…okay. Isabelle was talking to me again, after last week’s Harry incident. She took every waking opportunity to verbally abuse my outfits. Every day, she would come home with a new designer shopping bag filled with expensive merchandise from Prada or Tori Burch. To be honest, I didn’t really like half of the things Isabelle bought for me. I was perfectly fine with my bargain-brand North Carolina clothes. But the clothing was so expensive and I didn’t want to hurt her feelings, so I kept them. Besides, I could use some winter clothes. It was freezing here.

I coughed into the phone. I had a nagging cold that wouldn’t seem to go away.

“London is…cold,” I said, and my grandfather laughed.

“That it is,” he mused. I felt a slight pang of homesickness. I missed my Grandfather more than anyone else.  We were very close, closer than I was with anyone. He was born in London, and moved to America in the 50’s.

“You know, your grandmother loved London,” Grandpa said softly. I nodded, forgetting that he couldn’t see me over the phone.

My grandma had been a dancer. She was born in London. When I was two, my grandma signed me up for my very first ballet class. She had only sons, never a little girl to spoil. Grandma always used to say dancing wan't just in my blood, it was in my soul. 

My parents worked for the government, and commuted back and forth from North Carolina to Washington D.C. So I spent most of my childhood at my Grandparent’s cozy two-story cottage. My grandmother went to every competition, every play, and every recital. She stitched my ballet shoes, did my hair, bought my costumes. She and my grandfather were there every step of the way. Then, when I was sixteen, my Grandma died.

The two months after my Grandma died were the hardest two months of my life. I knew however hard it was for me, it must have been twice as hard for my grandfather. I couldn’t even imagine what it was like to lose your soul mate.

My Grandfather cleared his throat, shaking me out of my thoughts.

“I know it’s different than Charlotte, honey. But give it a chance. It’s a special city. It’s where your grandmother and I fell in love. Maybe you’ll fall in love there, too,” I could picture him smiling and holding that photograph of their wedding day that he kept by his bedside.

“Thanks Grandpa,” I smiled, “I better go. I have ballet in an hour and I’m not even dressed yet!”

He said goodbye and we hung up. I got off the comfy window seat, my go-to spot for these long afternoon chats. Well, morning for him. I was still getting used to the time difference.

I quickly got ready for ballet, pulling on pink tights, leg warmers, a black leotard, and moccasins. I threw my hair up into a ponytail and tossed my Pointe shoes into my tote bag. I was going to be late. Mr. Fritz was going to have a fit!

I was taking ballet classes at English National. My teacher was a well-known ballet director named Ross Fritz. He didn’t like me. In fact, he didn’t seem to like any of his students.