Omnipresence ♾ Zarry

vi.

Christmas turns out to be the happiest time Harry's had since that fateful October evening. Anne and Gemma don't interrogate him, they treat him as if everything's fine, that nothing is happening and that is exactly what he needs. Harry just wants a bit of normalcy. He wants people to stop constantly reminding him of the horrible loss that is a dagger wedged inside his heart. He wants to at least pretend like he's completely happy.

Harry sees his family again, and friends and for a short moment in time, everything is okay. Most people were probably very politely threatened by Anne prior to seeing Harry not to mention The Thing because he wasn't swamped by lots of "my condolences" and "I'm sorry". They all mean well but it really doesn't help a grieving person. One day, Harry will get to a point where he will be able to say Zayn's name out loud without tears flooding his eyes, where he will happily tell stories about him, about their time together without breaking down. But today is not that day and neither is tomorrow.

He does tell people about the baby. There's no point in hiding it, even though he still very well could if he wanted to. Better tell people now than later when someone will inevitably start a rumour in the nastiest possible way. People take the news well and shower him in love that's actually welcome. It's not the strained "my condolences" but it's an "I'll bring you some good books about child-rearing I have from when mine were still little" and "I'm knitting the little one something before you head back south". It's good. It's really good to be around people again and have them treat you as a human, not as an empty shell that only knows grief. Harry might feel like that sometimes, and he's allowed to. He just doesn't need other people to reduce him to that.

When Harry gets back to London on January 7th, it's with a blue Ikea bag full of things for the baby, mostly knitting and books, and with a new determination. He's going to get an Ouija board.

Yes, it was designed as a toy and is kind of still sold as one. But he did some research, usually early in the morning when he was the only one awake thanks to the lack of nightmares providing him with good sleep. He's found that it's a conduit, no matter what it was designed as. So Harry thinks why not? There is some fucking ghoul in his house no matter what. If he gets nothing, then he gets nothing. He doesn't have much hope anyways.

When Harry sets the board out on the coffee table in the living room, he feels absolutely stupid. Talking to ghosts, sure that is a great idea. But he can't suffer through the ambiguity day after day. He needs to try and get answers.

Once the lights are turned off and only a large candle is lighting up the room, Harry begins the seance or whatever the hell people call these things. He utters those opening words and waits. Nothing happens.

He clears his throat and asks. "Is anyone here with me?" But the planchette underneath Harry's fingers doesn't move. "Please, just give me a sign," Harry pleads with whoever is here. "I know someone's here." Nothing yet again.

Harry sighs and leans closer to the board. "Can you tell me your name?" he asks. "Who are you?" Then he feels it. He fucking feels it. The planchette slides over the board and Harry blinks a few times, feeling certain that this is a farce, that he's dreaming. He isn't though, he's fully lucid and present. The planchette spells out Y-O-U K-N-O-W.

Harry swallows roughly, his entire body shaking. "No, I don't know. There's more of you," he says. "Please, just give me something. Anything." The planchette starts moving again and Harry jerks at the first movement. He closes his eyes for a flash and watches as some invisible force keeps moving his hands. S-T-A-Y.

"I'm not leaving," Harry frowns. "Do you want to tell me something?" Harry's gritting his teeth as the planchette slides quickly over the board. He can't fucking break down now. I W-I-S-H Y-O-U C-O-U-L-D S-E-E M-E.

Harry gasps out a sob. He's terrified yet he can't stop. "Um," Harry clears his throat. "Babe, if this is you, please tell me something. Have you been doing all this? Is it you?" The planchette doesn't move. Harry's tears are rolling down his neck now. "Please, if this is really you Zayn, talk to me," Harry pleads with the empty room. Nothing moves again. "I'm not scared. I miss you so fucking much, please just give me a sign if this is you and it's not some demon trying to possess me or our baby. Please, please, please communicate with me." The planchette stays still, hovering over the E stoically. Harry waits for a couple more seconds, minutes, but nothing changes.

He gives up. He ends the session, closes the gates or whatever, says goodbye to the ghosts and hopes for the best.

As Harry throws the Ouija board and the planchette to the bin outside a couple of minutes later, he realizes how foolish he was. He might've just talked to a ghost, or he's gone absolutely bonkers and imagined it all.

Instead of trying to make sense of it all, Harry finds Jolene (who was lounging on the couch belly up ready for rubs) and retreats to his bedroom. That was enough fuckery for one day.

----------------------

UMMM WHY WOULD HARRY PULL OUT AN OUIJA BOARD?????? i very much personally believe in the paranormal and ill tell you one thing - do not fuck with ghosts and demons lmao. EVEN if you think theyre your deceased loved one, its not always what it seems.