Chapter Text
Harry decides to let it go, because there’s no point in worrying about something that Niall obviously wasn’t going to tell him about. He always thinks things through too deep, and ends up going insane over it. Whatever happens would happen, but Harry wasn’t going to think about it until it became a problem.
Ah, logic. If only he’d had it a few years ago.
Harry pulls his arms up, stretching until his spine popped. He’d always had a bad back, after a bad incident with his father years ago. The strenuous activities that he’d taken part in every day had slowly destroyed his posture until it felt natural to have a slump, and the extra muscles he’d gained forced it to curve more. The past few days hadn’t helped it, either.
Niall had dozed off in the middle of their conversation late last night. He was curled up at the edge of the bed, in what seemed like an uncomfortable position. Harry watches the way his blonde hair shifts slightly with every breath. Even while sleeping, he has a slight smile.
Niall was like the younger brother he never had. He was just so positive, all the time, and Harry couldn’t help but like him. To be honest, Niall was the most comfortable and familiar person he’d met, with his charisma and humor, and Harry could actually say that Niall was a friend.
Harry stays in his relaxed position for a while, before he decides to make Niall more comfortable. He sits up carefully, noting his aching bruises, and stretches over to the end of the bed. Lifting Niall is, surprisingly, a quite easy task. The boy is light, even with the amount of food he eats.
It’s almost scary, how light he is. Harry gives him a full body check, noting his skinny legs and arms, his rounded face. There’s no signs of unhealthiness or starvation, but a closer look tells him differently.
Niall used to have muscles. Although he’s now stick thin, with no fat and limited muscle, Harry could tell by the way his arms and legs curve slightly. Harry really can’t imagine Niall as a ripped, buff person, but there’s the aftermath of strength.
With a closer look at Niall’s stomach, Harry can see the way his skin is stretched, almost to the point of breaking. There’s only one possible scenario for this- Niall was starved. He must have been extremely, close-to-death skinny and underfed, before somehow getting food and growing into his body.
The worse thing, Harry finds, is the scars littered all over his body. It makes sense, especially as a rebel from a tough past, but this is a little far. To be honest, it’s almost as bad as Harry’s, himself. He’s got little white lines all over, most likely from some sort of blade, but some of them are bigger, and others are stab marks. The most disturbing is the puffed up brand on his left hip.
It’s quite small, but very recognizable. The 021 and VINCENT are a dark red, sticking up out of his pale white skin. It must have been burned on, and Harry knows firsthand how much that hurts.
What had happened to him?
Harry stares at the motionless figure beside him, his mind racing. Who would possibly want to do this to him? He’d heard and read many stories about people that would kidnap kids off the streets and force them to work. And prostitution, a small voice in the back of his mind adds. Harry pushes it away. He couldn’t bear the thought of Niall being forced to-
He shakes his head. It wasn’t his place to think about his past. He was already invading his privacy by looking at this. He pulls Niall’s shirt back down and slumps against the pillow. His eyes are heavy and a yawn escapes him.
Niall, in his sleep, mumbles something quietly before turning over to face Harry. His arms unconsciously wrap around Harry’s waist, and he cuddles closer. It’s the same position as the morning before, and Harry smiles enduringly.
Then he remembers Louis. The tips of his mouth quirk down as he thinks of the rude attitude of the other boy. It was probably just due to lack of sleep, but it was still slightly bothering. If Louis stumbled into this room in the morning, Harry would probably laugh at the coincidence.
He drifts off to sleep, thinking about Louis.
Harry was probably asleep for a few hours before he’s woken up. However, it’s not due to the sun this time. Niall is writhing beside him, letting out heartbreaking sobs and gasps.
“Please, no, I don’t want to. Don’t make me.” He’s muttering under his breath as he fights the invisible force of his nightmares.
Harry rolls over to get nearer and tries to touch Niall’s shoulder. In return, Niall throws a fist back at him, and Harry barely manages to catch it before it hits his face. Niall is fighting back with all of his strength now, struggling to get out of his grip.
He’s still muttering under his breath, something indistinguishable, but Harry is glad that he’s not yelling. It would be troublesome to try and explain that he didn’t do anything.
It only takes a few seconds to see that Niall knows how to fight. Harry manages to grab Niall’s other wrist, being careful to make sure it doesn’t bruise, and tries to contain the Irish boy. Harry takes back what he said earlier- Niall still has quite a lot of muscle, hidden beneath his scrawny arms.
The fight ends once Harry flips himself on top of Niall and hugs him tightly, effectively pinning his arms to his sides. He uses his greater size to stop Niall’s frantic jerking. They’re both out of breath, and Harry makes sure to try and keep most of his weight off of the other boy.
Niall’s eyes slowly flutter open. Harry relaxes, thinking that Niall would realize the difference between reality and dreams. Niall is still limp, and Harry is about to roll off of him when he gets a glimpse of his blue eyes.
They’re haunted and empty. The breath escapes Harry’s lungs as he sees them- they remind him of Zayn’s, after his sisters died. They’re dazed and unfocused, and as they look up to see Harry, there’s no spark of recognition.
Niall tenses before making his move, which gives Harry just enough time to anticipate it. Niall jerks up suddenly, trying to struggle out from under Harry, but he’s unsuccessful. Harry is quite heavy, with his height and muscles, and he’s somehow able to keep control of Niall.
“Niall. Niall!” Harry hisses at the other boy, who is still jerking his entire body. “It’s me. Niall!” The other boy ignores him, letting out rapid panicked gasps. He’s still stuck in some sort of gruesome memory.
“Please, Niall!”
“Get off of me, no, stop it, don’t, please,” Niall spews the words out as he struggles, alternating between pleading and cursing. “Fuck, shit, no, get off of me you dickhead, damn it!”
“Niall, it’s me, please!”
Niall keeps repeating himself, struggling, but Harry waits. Zayn used to have these sort of nightmares, where he’d wake up screaming, and Harry had his fair share of them, too. There was nothing to do except wait it out.
It takes around thirty minutes for Niall to completely calm down. Harry just holds him tightly, cooing softly in his ear. He rolls off of him when Niall stops fighting, but keeps his arms wrapped around him.
Niall’s breathing eventually evens out, and they lay there silently for a while. There’s tear tracks down Niall’s cheeks, and his face is flushed and pale.
“Sorry.”
Niall is the one that breaks the silence, his voice raspy and low.
“It’s fine.” Harry replies. He runs his fingers through Niall’s fluffy hair, and tries to calm him down more.
“I get- I mean, I have nightmares every once in awhile.” Niall sounds exhausted and broken.
“It’s fine.” Harry repeats himself. “Do you want to talk about it?”
He’s not exactly a therapist or anything, but he remembers how much better he felt once he had told Zayn- it was as though the weight lifted off his shoulders, because the truth was out and he had another person to share the burden of memories with.
“There’s only one other person who knows,” Niall’s voice is soft and he plays with his hands, twisting them with agitation. They lapse into another silence, before Niall says abruptly,
“Oh, fuck it.”
“I was five, I think, when me mum and da died. Soldiers or something, I don’t remember. It was just me and my brother, Greg, who was twelve at the time. We lived on the road, going from city to city, stealing and kissing up to old ladies and shit. Life wasn’t perfect, but it was okay.
“Then Greg goes ahead and knocks up some girl, they have a kid called Theo. I’m around ten by then, when he settles down, and I decide to leave. I didn’t want to be a part of some happy family, because look at what happens when you get attached. They all die.
“I left them and went wandering by myself. It wasn’t to bad, really, until I bumped into Vincent.”
Niall pauses to lift his shirt up, showing Harry his brand.
“He ran an underground club sort of thing. He picked kids up off the streets, made ‘em fight each other. I was the exact kind of guy he looked for- orphan, no family and no one who cared what happened to me.
“He knocked me out, took me off the streets into his elaborate system. There were probably fifty or so kids, all rough and tough and willing to kill, in order to live. Kind of like a twisted parody, huh?”
Niall lets out a cold chuckle. His face is impassive, stone cold, reciting as though he was reading.
“I didn’t want to fight, at first. I hated the idea of hurting other people, kids just like me. It’s actually part of the reason I decided to become a medic. There was this boy, his name was Josh. We became close friends, until he was killed. Murdered, really, by another one of the boys. I really didn’t think then, I was just so mad and I didn’t know what to do. I killed the boy.
“After that, it was as though a lever was pulled. I learned to fight. It was do or die, pretty much. I fought, stayed away from other people, and survived. Then there was a girl.”
Niall hesitates and eyes Harry. He worries his bottom lip with his teeth, blue eyes flickering guiltily. He obviously knows something.
“She was- is great, really. The only other person that I got close to, other than Josh. And really tough. Could hold her own against anyone. One of the only girls in the entire place. She was actually kidnapped, not just taken from the streets. Vincent went specifically for her. Got sold by the- by her father.
“I fell in love. Knew everything about her, too, and she knew about me. We eventually took down Vincent’s organization. I killed him myself. We freed all of the other kids and escaped, just the two of us.
“We met Louis and Liam along the way, and decided to take down the monarchy. It might sound stupid now, but at the time, we were just two kids in love. At that point, we could do anything. And, well, we got this far.
“Us three boys became the co-captains, and my girl was General. A born leader, she is.”
Niall smiles. Harry can’t help but grin, too, looking at the way his entire face lights up at the thought of her. It’s sweet really, and Harry can’t help but admit that he’s a complete romantic, although he’d never say it out loud.
“Disgusting, you really are.” Harry teases him lightly. Niall looks much better than before, his eyes shining and his lips curled upwards.
“You just wait, you’ll be biting your words,” Niall smirks back at him. He has a knowing look in his eyes.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Harry laughs. “I haven’t even met anyone I like!”
“That’s what you think. God, you’re so ignorant!”
Harry pouts. Niall squishes his face so that he’s forced to smile mechanically.
“No frowns here!”
“Gerroff meh,” Harry mumbles through frozen lips. Niall releases his tortured cheeks and Harry rubs them ruefully.
“Wait, this girl is alive, right? Where is she?”
“She’s on a special mission. You’ve heard of the Shadow Rebel, right?”
Harry snorts.
“I don’t know whether that laugh is at the absurdity of not knowing about him, or how cheesy the name was. I’m going to go with both.” Niall grins at him.
“Anyways, she’s trying to get in contact with him. We all have been, because he would be an amazing asset for the rebel side. But he’s so fucking hard to find.” Harry hums in agreement.
“The royal guards have been chasing him for ages, but they’ve never even found a hint. That guy is insanely good at what he does. Your girl isn’t gonna find him unless he wants to be found.”
“We can try, though. Besides, wouldn’t he want to be part of the rebel movement? I mean, he’s literally against the monarchy.”
“Yeah, but he works alone, right? All he really does is hunt down different nobles and guards of the monarchy. He’s killed, like, hundreds of them and just disappears without a trace. Maybe he doesn’t want anyone else with him. He might work better by himself.”
“I know, but…” Niall trails off. “Whatever happens, happens, right? All we can do is just sit and wait.”
Harry leans back and relaxes. The first rays of sun are pouring through the window, and it highlights reds and oranges on Niall’s face, contrasting with his bright blue eyes. It’s as though he’s on fire.
“So, what’s your girl’s name?” Harry asks conversationally. Niall has been intentionally avoiding her name this entire time, and it’s been bothering him. He’s been suspicious every time he gives away part of her identity, and Harry wants to know why.
“Classified information, that is,” Niall replies smoothly. “Can’t tell you, sorry, mate.” He seems at ease, but Harry heard the hitch in his breath, the way Niall’s eyes don’t meet his.
“Besides, she’s coming back soon. You’ll get to meet her in a few days.” Harry frowns at him. He really wants to know who this mystery girl is.
“Ugh, now you’re making me feel bad. Stop it!” Niall whines at him, pushing softly at his shoulder. “You’ll know when you know. Don’t give me puppy eyes.” Harry fixes his features to please Niall, but he’s still extremely eager to know who it is.
“You were right- I feel alot better now that I’ve told you all of my secrets and stories,” Niall changes the subject. Harry is about to say except for the name of your girl but Niall cuts him off.
“Do you have a sad backstory you want to share?” Harry hesitates. Zayn, Gemma, and Nick were the only people who truly knew him, and even with that, Zayn was dead, Gemma was gone, and Nick wasn’t that close to him. One look at Niall’s earnest, innocent expression decides for him.
“Alright.” He takes a deep breath, and starts.
His mind goes numb has he starts from the beginning. He describes his happy life- him, Gemma, and his mother were so close. His father was overbearing and scary, but life was great. Then his mother dies. He tries to explain how he felt when his mother died, tries to puts his feelings into his words, and Niall just smiles softly and nods to show that he understands.
He talks about Gemma- what she looks like, what she sounds like, how brave and sweet and strong she was. Something flashes across Niall’s face, but it disappears just as fast as it appears, and Harry just plunges onwards.
His father is a hard subject to breach. He can’t really explain what it was like, and he really doesn’t want to revisit the memories that he has locked away. He just gestures to his bare chest and says, he did this and Niall understands.
He explains how Nick saved his life over and over, how he was the father figure Harry had always wanted and needed. Niall realizes why he had to let Nick escape, and he just smiles softly and encourages him to keep him going.
Zayn is even harder to talk about. He thinks about not talking about his childhood best friend, but as bad as that part of his past was, he isn’t willing to erase all of the nights he spent with Zayn, the way he felt free when he was with him. It’s at the end of this part of his story that he freezes- how is he supposed to explain what happens? I’ll get back to it later, Harry says to Niall. I can’t do this right now, and Niall nods and lets him move on.
He explains how Gemma was always there for him, even when Zayn was gone. Harry is able to recite the note word for word, every letter. He pours all of his sadness into it, all of his pain and suffering. Niall holds him tight as he cries silently and tries to make him understand how he felt when she left. He can’t.
He isn’t able to, so instead, he shows Niall his thighs, the self-inflicted scars. Niall doesn’t shy away in disgust like he expected. Instead, he holds him tighter and makes him promise to never hurt himself again. That’s when he realizes how much he needed this- how much he needed a friend like Niall.
He describes how his life was pretty much over after Gemma left. There really wasn’t anything there after her, and the next few years were filled with nothing but pain and emptiness. In an ironic way, getting kidnapped was one of the best things that had happened to him.
I want to join the rebel movement. Niall just beams at him and hugs him tight. Harry feels warm all over- someone appreciates him. Someone actually wants him. He promises himself to try his hardest for Niall. He doesn’t want this feeling to go away.
He’s described his life, front to back, except for one part- Zayn. It’s his closest guarded memory, one of the worst nightmares of his past, the one bitter secret he’s never told anyone. Until now.
“Zayn’s death was my fault. I killed him.”
It had been almost a year since Zayn’s sisters died. He still blames himself for their death, but he’s starting to piece his life back together. Harry sees him smile sometimes, and the haunted, empty look in his eyes is sometimes forced out by genuine happiness. It’s been a long fight, and it’s still ongoing, but Zayn is starting to come back.
It’s been so long since Harry has felt whole- without Zayn being himself, he can’t focus on anything else. Zayn’s well being is the most important thing at the moment, and as sad and dangerous as it is, Harry’s happiness is just a reactant to Zayn’s. He can’t truly be happy unless Zayn is.
Gemma is the only stability in their lives. The both depend on her wholly, because she can stay calm and collected. She can hide her feelings, and be the anchor they need. They spend every day trying to avoid their fathers, in their tree, up on the castle roofs, or in the forest.
Harry spent long hours in the castle library, too. He’d pour himself into the books and maps and charts, reading and learning about everything there was to know. History, science, mathematics, culture, his country. He’d rub his aching, burning eyes and continue in candlelight, long past midnight and into the morning hours, promising to be a better King than his father. A king worthy of his people.
In the morning, after an hour or two of sleep, he’d drag his weary body away from the book he’d fallen asleep on and train with Zayn. Before, they had both hated any sort of fighting or exercise, because their fathers would force them to, but they were driven for a different reason this time- revenge.
They’d mock fight with swords, knives, spears, bare hands. They’d go on long runs in the forest, toning themselves to become stronger. Better. Good enough to fight back. They’d train with thoughts of how they’d kill, how they’d exact their vengeance.
On days where Zayn was exhausted or didn’t want to train, he’d wander around the capital. The main city wrapped around the castle, where it stood proudly in the center. He knew that the capital itself was mostly well-off, with nobles and higher-up people, but he could still see where the poor had left their marks.
He’d stroll around, watching his people, seeing what they were like, noting problems within the city and finding ways to solve them once he became King. Sometimes he’d go further, to other cities less well-off. Then, at night, before he resumed his studying, he’d write down everything he’d learned that day.
Life was beginning to look up.
Then his father had realized that he went missing for hours on end every day.
The King told him that his studies and training with him would start again. Harry loathed him by now, and he refused. He didn’t want anything to do with the King; he was just waiting until he had the chance to rule and fix all of the mistakes his father made.
It was the worst decision of his life.
Although he had felt amazing, turning and walking away from his father, the results were devastating. His life continued on, and he realized with twisted glee, that his father had not done anything. He could test his boundaries- perhaps at this point, he would have more freedom than before.
It was night when they came, dragging him out of bed. He’d fought, but it had been hopeless- there were simply too many. He was taken down to one of the cellars. It was cold and dark.
Zayn was pulled in just a while later, after Harry was chained up and helpless. He couldn’t do anything but watch as his father pulled out a knife. The commander-in-chief was there, too, watching his son with cold eyes.
Harry can’t breathe-all of the air has been sucked out of his lungs. His and Zayn’s eyes meet. They’re both filled with panic and fear, and time freezes for a second. Then Zayn is dragged to the ground and everything is moving too fast.
Harry is pulling at the chains on his wrist. He can feel blood already soaking from the red circles around his arms, dripping onto the stone floor. He watches in horror as his father pulls out a knife.
It glints dully in the torchlight. Harry’s eyes are glued to the blade as it is brought down against Zayn’s tan skin. A red line appears. And another. And another.
Every single cut seems to burn into Harry’s own skin. Zayn’s screams echo throughout the room. It’s just the three of them now- the guards have left, along with Zayn’s father.
The cuts get deeper, more savage. Blood pours out of the lines, bright, angry crimson. There’s blood, so much blood. Harry can’t even see the skin on Zayn’s back anymore.
“You did this, Harry. You did this to him.”
“If you had listened, this wouldn’t have happened.”
“You should be ashamed of yourself.”
“You’re the reason Zayn is getting cut.”
“You’ve broken the trust you had.”
“This is all your fault.”
“Maybe you should have listened to me, huh?”
Zayn’s screams echo in his ear. It’s all he can hear. His eyes are closed, and his back is a bloody mess. His father whistles and a guard appears.
“Take him out to the woods. He’ll either bleed out or the wolves will get to him.”
Harry watches as Zayn’s unconscious body is dragged out of the cell. A trail of red and echoing screams are all that’s left of his best friend.
“You killed Zayn.”
His father’s voice rings in his ears, followed by fading footsteps, and then he’s left all alone. He finally understands what it feels like to be truly broken. He can’t find a reason to live. His mother is dead, Zayn is now dead. He should be dead, too. Zayn should be alive, not him. He needed to disappear before he killed Gemma, too.
Harry sat there in the cold, blood dripping down his wrists, pooling onto the ground, mixing with Zayn’s.
I killed him.