Harry loved being back in Manchester to enjoy Christmas with the people he missed the most: his family.

Every year, he reunited with his mum, his sister, his cousins, uncles, and close family friends—everything you could imagine for the holidays in a full, lively home.

Even though the past two years had been relatively calm, he had still spent them traveling and discovering new places, finishing his next album and finding comfort in familiar cities. Life kept changing, but one thing never did: the feeling of being home the moment he returned to Holmes Chapel.

This year, he decided to drive from London. A four-hour trip made heavier by the snow, but one that brought him peace, especially leaving early enough to make it home in time for lunch with his mum and sister.

What he didn’t expect was to see something moving through his window—or rather, someone.

Pulled over safely on the side of the road, there she was, waving her hands to push away the hot air coming from her car as she coughed softly and groaned in frustration. Her car had broken down while she was driving.

And of course, the part of Harry that refused to leave her alone—that insisted on being a gentleman and offering help—was faster than his urgency to get home on time. Without thinking twice, he pulled over in front of her and stepped out of the car. His long black coat and matching sweater were layered with a scarf against the cold, a navy beanie covered his hair, and his sunglasses sat on his face like a permanent fixture.

“Hey, hello!” his voice called out as he approached her from behind, a small grimace forming on his lips once he saw the damage up close. “That looks bad… do you need help?”