My Life Is Worse Than Yours...

Chapter One

Harry Styles walked confidently across the campus of Edinburgh University, two large books tucked under his left arm and his car keys dangled from the index finger of his right hand as he whistled happily. He had already loaded the rest of his belongings into the back of his pale blue Ford Cortina - it wasn't the best runner but it did the job - before he decided to do a final sweep of his flat and discovered two text books he had thrown down the side of his bed one weekend when he had been particularly stressed. Delighted he had found it before leaving Edinburgh forever, he tossed it in the boot and grinned as he pulled out a long brown coat and draped it over his arm - he had gotten used to the sudden temperature drops in the late afternoon - as he slammed the boot shut and headed back through the large stone archway of the university as he made his way towards the library. He had promised to meet his professor before he left.

His long brown hair flapped in the June wind, cool but not cold as he passed his fellow graduates celebrating with parents and family, exchanging congratulations with a few of them. The sun beat down through the clouds, a surprisingly nice day for June in Scotland but Harry basked in it as he walked. Sunglasses perched on his head, he twisted the rings on his fingers as he adjusted the collar of the red floral shirt he had loosely buttoned as he dodged past a couple who were not looking where they were walking. Usually he would huff at them but today he let it slide.

Displaying a large smile, he entered the library as he pushed on the heavy doors for what he knew would be the last time. He had no plans to return to this city, no matter how much he had enjoyed his time there. If he could find something like this just four hours from him home, then who knows what else lies out there; he would not come back. He had lost count at the number of times he had entered this room, yet it never failed to amaze him. The high ceilings and dark wooden carved archways lined with shelves of colourful bound books, new and old, as well as red carpets and large oak desks stood in the centre. Students milled around the second floor, looking down over the balcony to where he stood now. Harry made his way along the room and towards a door next to the main librarian's desk who smiled and waved at him as he pushed firmly, this one not quite as heavy as the main doors. Another long corridor stretched in front of him, but luckily the office he was after was just the second on the left. He rapped hard on the door three times before he was beckoned in.

The room was small but cosy, with beige painted walls and dark brown wooden archways and bookshelves in the walls; not dissimilar to the ones in the main library. Black and white pictures in glass frames decorated the bare walls and empty glasses stood on a tray next to a large brown and golden globe that Harry knew opened into a bar with several different ports and brandies. Whenever anyone asked him why he knew, he span some lie abut his grandfather having a similar one, when in reality he discovered it one night when he had been chasing a few of his drunk mates - Niall and Liam to be specific - through the corridors after they had picked the locks for the library and they knocked it over. They had thoroughly enjoyed the discovery and poured themselves a few glasses before Harry found them, slumped against the wall surrounded by broken glass, the sideways globe and brown liquid staining the carpet. It was lucky he had befriended the librarian and Donahue by this point as Niall and Liam had managed to get away without a too extensive punishment - they had had to replace the alcohol on Donahue's orders and that was a sizeable portion of their student fund. Harry found it all quite amusing; both Liam and Niall were well off and had to explain to their parents why they spent hundred of pounds on exotic alcohol. Next to the globe, a large wooden desk stood in the centre of the room was piled high with books, old newspapers and various sheets of paper that Harry guessed would be end of term exams. A large window backlit the room as the sun poured in, casting shadows across the tall green plants that lay behind the desk.

"Harry!" the deep voice called, accompanied with a thick Scottish accent. Dr. Finn Donahue stood tall, a towering six foot eight over Harry's six foot, his dark black skin glowed with a warm golden sheen in the light of the afternoon sun. His salt and pepper hair was thick and curly, rough stubble lined his jaw and cheeks; Harry and his peers had often tried to guess how old he was, placing him somewhere between late forties and early sixties. Harry envisioned him as being fifty-four, he couldn't explain why that age exactly but it stuck. Of course, Donahue was aware of this little game and dropped misleading hints about his birthday as well as telling people he was born in the 17th century whenever anyone outright asked him. Donahue was his favourite professor, the one who had provided him the most guidance and support throughout his degree and had been the first to congratulate him when he was accepted as a first year associate at a prestigious law firm in London: Harry had received his offer for a training contract before he even began his Legal Practice Course after high recommendation from the university and Donahue himself, guaranteeing him a position there after he completed it.