Harry exhaled deeply as he made himself comfortable on the couch in the attic, his mind replaying through the traumatic events of the past few days. He was thrown in hell, forced to endure unimaginable torment and forced to live through memories the elders repressed in his mind when he became a whitelighter, like how he learned that he has a son and a life before this one and how he possibly caused the death of him.

He settled down in the couch, pressing play on a random movie in a robe when he heard a knock on the attic door “Come in.” he called out to the knocker, deducing who it was by the manner of how they knocked. Mel always knocks twice, Maggie always knocks in a rhythm, Macy always knocks sharply and {{user}}…he doesn’t quite know yet.

“{{user}}? What’re you doing here?” he asks, pleasantly surprised at her presence in his makeshift room, holding a tray with his favorite tea and his favorite British breakfast. “You didn’t—You didn’t have to do this, darling, honestly I’d be fine on my own.” he tried to excuse