~November 8th 2016~

The silence in the house became deafening to all those involved in the disaster of days prior, and Melanie Fray had taken it upon herself to leave the house as much and as often as she dared. It became the only way she could avoid her problems, the only way she could avoid the moment in which she had to face the angry redhead again; in fact, Mel had been surprised to have been sleeping and living so peacefully for the few days that had passed since the horrible death of Jeremy Pierce. Mel blamed herself, and she was sure that at least a few other ghosts in the house blamed her too, yet... no one had tried to talk to her or confront her about it; not even her boyfriend, Tate Langdon.

It'd been so quiet that it had almost been as if nothing at all had happened, yet she could still see it in the way in which Tate looked at her now and again; the ghost in his eyes, the subject he wanted to talk about but didn't and silently begged her to not bring up burning in the dark of his pupils. Leaving the house more often than not had become a way to evade him as well; though his touch remained gentle and full of love, the counted times they'd interacted had been darkened by the subject he didn't want to touch. How bad did things have to be that Mel found herself more comfortable outside of her home than inside?

Well, that day did not pass like the others. Usually she'd have woken up, taken a quick shower, eaten a small breakfast after feeding her little kitten and left to wonder around Los Angeles in search of a job of any kind. An excuse, of course, merely the continuation of an old activity she'd picked up to pass time that at that moment only became a distraction and a getaway. But that day, with curiosity and nostalgia beating at every corner of her mind, Mel had led herself in the direction of the attic instead of the outside world; the promise of her old black leather trunk awaited for her when she reached the top of the pulled down stairs, and the dire need for a reminder of when her life had been almost completely less complicated reigned her every thought.

It was there, sitting in front of the open leather trunk, with her fingers tracing the outline of an old painting of her parish, that she heard his voice for what felt to her like the very first time. "I find it incredible that you still managed to keep all those memories intact for such a long time." Mel's heart twisted around in her chest, her eyes closed, and she could swear any and every breath stopped leaving or entering her lungs during the short time it took her to slowly turn her face toward the source of the familiar tone.

"Harry." She smiled, more of a sad grin that reached her newly open eyes in the form of slowly forming tears in an otherwise genuinely joyous expression.

He chuckled, nodding his curly haired head before he allowed himself to slowly sit beside the brunette girl. "Hello, Melly." Harry McClair greeted, his young appearance making one of the formed tears upon Mel's eyes to spill slowly against her cheek. "Don't cry." He whispered, lifting a hand from against the wooden floor so he could gently graze the pad of his finger against the ageless skin of Mel's face.

At the contact, her eyes closed. A sniff echoed around the two old lovers as Mel's head shook against Harry's touch. "I thought it'd been all a dream." She whispered as her own hand lifted to rest it against the familiar roughness of Harry's own, which, once there, trembled shortly at the very cool contact. "I thought I had gone insane with grief." She didn't know why, but once the pad of Harry's thumb grazed against her skin once again, Mel allowed a short-lived chuckle to escape her lips. "I thought it'd been all in my head."

"Mel." Harry called, much like the way she had sworn she'd heard from inside Jeremy Pierce's head when they met on the day of his death. "Mel..." Harry repeated. "Open your eyes." He requested, forbidding himself from removing the contact upon her cheek.

When Mel's lids fluttered open slowly, Harry McClair allowed himself to smile. His ageless green eyes illuminating with the sort of love that lasted for centuries as his old aged demeanour continued adorning his every move. "Hey." He whispered, only then allowing his hand to lower without letting his eyes stop looking into hers.

"Hi." She greeted, smiling once again. "You're real." Mel sniffed, chuckling softly, and using her now free hand to attempt to wipe away the remains of the few shed tears.

"In a way, yes." Harry admitted, nodding his head and allowing the smile Mel had once fallen in love with to adorn his lips, and the old Cambridge accent to continue colouring his words. "I do believe I remain dead, but I am also as real as any other spirit in this house." He confided as he shifted on the floor to a comfortable position before Mel, who only smiled at the old-age feeling that adorned every single one of the ghost's movements. Can you still hear me? He curiously wondered in a thought in Mel's direction.

"Of course." She quickly replied, chuckling tearfully once more and sniffing before she led the painting she'd been observing back into the old leather trunk. "I could hear you from inside that boy's head; I thought I was losing my mind." She admitted, feeling a whole lot lighter when Harry's expression shifted to a relieved one communicated with a nod. I thought I was as well. Harry admitted toward Mel, who only smiled a little brighter.

Mel had almost forgotten then manner of acceptance that radiated from her old lover's every fibre. At that very moment it was as if time hadn't run its course at all; like nothing at all had happened and it was only a very common day in which Mel sat in the attic of her London home with her husband to keep her company centuries back, for the manner in which he took advantage of her mind reading gift had always been something that had made the half-demon feel completely accepted. And apparently that wouldn't change even now.

Back then, the two lovers would have complete conversations in such a manner, Harry would think, Mel would listen and reply, like a game. One in which both parties got to do what they wanted: Harry detested to speak, something quite funny to learn about a teacher back in such a time, yet Mel loved to listen; and with such a gift as hers, it hadn't been long after Harry had been in the know, that conversations such as the one taking place at that very moment started happening. "Harry?" Mel suddenly wondered, her shiny blue hues searching the features of the one person she never in her wildest dreams thought to ever see again. Yes? He quickly replied in the calmest of thoughts, the curly haired boy's head tilting softly in a very familiar way to Mel. "You're dead." She almost noiselessly whispered, her lids blinking in short confusion that only mirrored in the old ghost's brow-rising features. Well spotted. He thought, finding humour in the dark as per usual and smiling because of it. Have been for quite a while, actually. He joked, yet with words to mirror his thoughts, Mel shifted the whole mood of the conversation. "You've been dead for so long..." Mel echoed, quickly making the smile disappear from Harry's young features the moment the recognition of her tone hit home in his ghostly heart. "...I just don't understand." Her head shook, lids attempting to blink away the confusion and the ever-present guilty thoughts that overpowered her mind. "How are you even possible?"

Harry's green eyes lowered to the dusty wood that made up the attic's floor, and a frown shadowed his features softly. "I'm not sure." He admitted out loud and in a whisper after a very long time of thinking about her inquiry. "I don't remember much." He paused. "Not in between lives, anyway."

It was Mel's turn to raise her brows, her head ticking back questioningly. "In between lives?" She repeated with a curious tone. "What does that mean?" Her eyes, though the brightest of blues, looked upon her old lover with a tinge of worry. Something that increased when the curly haired boy before her chuckled.

"I do believe an explanation will give your mind a tangle." He confided; his smile reaching his eyes in ways that made Mel's heart twist inside her chest.

"I live in a house full of ghosts." She responded with a short roll of her eyes. "I mean; a house in which souls become trapped if they die in it." She blinked. "I'm a half demon girl that's been alive for a few centuries, and I've seen my fair share of the supernatural." Shifting on her place on the floor so she could be a little more comfortable and aware of Harry's words, she finally encouraged him to continue. "Try me."

Harry couldn't help but widen his grin; his big lashes blinking against the top of his cheeks before making his curls dance with the motion of a nod. Alright. He thought, taking a breath a lot longer than Mel's patience would have liked, exhaling, and clearing his throat. "I reckon the best way to explain it is to tell you what I remember."

"Okay...?" Mel frowned once he didn't speak for a moment, her hands mindlessly wondering toward the closest object on the floor to play around with, while her mind paid no attention to what the object was as it was set on observing every expression and movement of the green eyed boy before her. "I'm listening."

"Right. Well..." Now it became Harry's turn to frown; one of his hands lifted to ruffle against the mess of his curls for a short second as he started telling his tale. "I remember dying." He admitted, forcing himself to look into Mel's eyes and nearly hating himself when he saw them darken with the strange smoke-like tone that he'd grown used to centuries prior. He'd planned to tell her everything; tell her about the pain he felt before he died, tell her about the way he suddenly just stopped feeling, tell her about the way he stood right in front of her as a ghost watching her cry over his dead body. But seeing the manner in which her eyes darkened and hid shortly behind closed lids, he decided against it. "I remember coming to in this... empty white room." He skipped ahead. "There were no shadows, no sound other than my breath, no colour other than the shades of my clothes. Just... nothing." Only then did Mel look up into Harry's greens again, yet the frown continued shadowing her blues. "A man appeared out of thin air," he continued, "an old man that called himself Joshua. And then everything around us started changing, growing and shifting into the image of the parish we met in." At this, he smiled. "'This is your heaven,' He told me; he was an angel. And at first I was confused, because... well, all I could think of at the moment was you. The way I wanted- no, needed to get back to you, and so I asked him to help me do just that.

He said it was impossible. That I was dead, and it was final, that there was absolutely no way I would ever see you before the moment of your death." Harry's words died out with the tone of a gentle chuckle, one in which Mel's frown only deepened. "I knew you would not die, Mel. I didn't tell you that day because we quarrelled, but that was exactly why I was so cross. Because you would not die and I would; not because of the way you dallied with the boy at court,-" Harry's hand shot up to stop any of Mel's oncoming words, for her lips had parted to expel her defence. "I know you weren't, I only but remember thus being my argument, that's all." Mel's lips closed, and her head bobbed in a nod; at this, Harry smiled and dared continue. "No, I was not upset because of that; I was upset because I realised that at one point or another I would leave you alone to deal with your unknown power, and I found it unfair."

"How did you know?" Mel wondered; her frame still unmoving and her slightly darkened eyes refusing to move away from his.

"I figured it out." Harry shrugged. "Your lack of physically aging made it clear that you were not like everyone else; of course, the mind reading and the interesting black eyes had made that clear before, but this..." He shook his head. "It just became obvious; you don't age... why would you die?" Mel nodded, and Harry smiled. "So I found it unfair because I didn't want to leave you alone." He sighed. "And then I left you alone that day, anyway."

"Harry... that's not your fault." Mel quickly expressed; her frown evident and deep in the middle of her forehead. "Your death was m-"

"Do not say it was your fault, because it wasn't." Harry interrupted, "It was my fault for knowing how shaken you became with anger and still pushing on the argument. I don't blame you, and you have less reason to do as such."

"Harry-"

"No, shh, case closed." He said, shifting on his place again so that he could sit only an incher closer to Mel. "Quiet, let me finish my story, will you?"

Mel couldn't help it; Harry's familiar stubbornness brought a smile to her lips, and a gentle and short chuckle escaped them soon after. "Fine." She allowed with a grin. She wouldn't win the argument even if she tried, so for the sake of her own curiosity, she would let it drop; "for now." She informed him, ignoring the roll of his eyes that followed. "So, the angel." She prompted. "He told you you'd never see me again unless I had died."

"Right." Harry nodded, smiling victoriously regardless of the only half won battle.

"And then what happened?" Mel wondered, resting her weight on the side of the open leather trunk as she readied herself for the promised confusion.

"Well, Joshua told me that even if you did die, the possibility of finding you would be small, for heaven is a place as big as earth, if not bigger." Harry paused, clearing his throat enough for his next words. "And then there was also the matter of if you ended up in hell after you died." Mel's brow rose. "Joshua's words, not mine." He admitted, sighing shortly after. "Anyway, he informed me of the fact, and I simply couldn't accept it. So I made it known to the angel that I would be a big bother if he didn't show me a way to cheat thus." He chuckled; something that only made Mel smile. "You know how stubborn I can be." Mel nodded. "Well, Joshua soon after found out too. And it turns out angels aren't as patient as they are made out to be, so I finally made him give." Harry shrugged again without being able to wipe out the smile from his lips. "He informed me that I wasn't the only stubborn soul in heaven, and that the fact alone was the reason for which there was one other choice.

'If you go through with this you could end up miles away from her,' Joshua told me, 'and even if you didn't, she could be dead by the time you're old enough to find her.'" Harry's eyes rolled shortly and landed on Mel once again; she smiled, listening to his every word, and he absolutely loved it. "So, I told him that it made no difference, that I knew you would not die, and I would most likely have all the time in the world." A scoffed breath left from his smiling lips. "He took me to a hospital, here on Earth, and he explained to me that the only way to do what as wished was to live life again through another weaker soul. He told me to look upon the offer as saving a life." Harry nodded. "That I would be able to help a mother avoid the suffering of her child's death; that the weak little soul of a stillborn could get help surviving if I helped them.'The weak soul will still be there', he said, 'and you will most likely not even remember your own life, nor your identity. You and the soul you help will become one. Only to be separated in death.'"

Mel listened to the complex explanation and nodded in understanding of his words. So her initial theory had been correct: an old soul. "Reincarnation." She whispered, Harry nodded.

"Precisely." He smiled. "So I agreed," He continued, "I saved a little girl and lived an entire life through her. I would become aware of where I was once in a while; things like places I'd visited before, or symphonies we used to listen to, or even books I'd read would shift something within my soul that would awaken me in the soul I saved. And I would feel the girl remember, l believe such a thing upon this age is referred to as déjà vu." He chuckled, shifting in place once again. "But then it would be like I was never there again; not until the girl died and our souls separated again.

Joshua greeted me when the time came for the girl, asked me if I'd found you." Harry sighed, making Mel frown softly again. "But of course I had not, and he knew it; the merging of my soul with the girl's made me forget everything, just like he said.'It takes a lot to break a soul,' he told me, 'the odds of you being conscious enough to remember what you wanted are small.' So I told him that I wanted to try again. And again, and again until I was able to find you."

"Why would you do that?" Mel suddenly whispered, lifting a hand to wipe away the tear she'd been surprised to have shed.

"Well..." Harry breathed, exhaling slowly and shaking his head once before daring to speak again. "At first it was because I wanted to be with you. For the unfairness of my leaving you, for..." He scoffed a breath "...I don't know, because I was sure you would need me." He chuckled, lifting a hand again before Mel spoke the words that she clearly wanted to utter. "But then..." He said with a risen tone enough to make Mel's lips close and an equally defeated and amused expression shift her features. Harry smiled at this and continued. "But then I started doing it only so I could let you know my death wasn't your fault." He finally admitted. "That and the act of saving a person who would have died without my help... it all made the possibility of forgetting completely worthwhile.

So I kept doing it." Harry sighed again, lifting a shoulder and letting it drop on the same second. "I kept living the lives of others and remembering bits and pieces only after their death. Some lives were shorter than others, of course; I only knew this because of the time in between visits to Joshua in heaven. Down here, in the body of someone else, time didn't have a meaning. I didn't really have much of a meaning either, actually." He chuckled and kept the smile for a few last seconds, and then his story-filled green eyes lifted to meet Mel's once again. "Then came Jeremy Pierce."

Mel's frame stiffened a little, and a breath escaped her lips in a sigh as she nodded, not moving a limb more than that as she forbid herself from doing anything other than listening to her old lover's tale. "He was a special case, in fact." He chuckled, making Mel's forehead become invaded with a frown once again. "His soul was so weak that Joshua himself told me he'd be a bad idea. But the baby was barely a step away from death, so I couldn't help it; I had to try." He smiled. "When I touched his little hand everything went black for me just like all the other times; I remember most of his life right now exactly because I was such a bigger part of him than his weak soul had been, but during his life I was nothing but the companion keeping him alive. I was simply his ticket to life, just like I was with the other lives I helped." His smile wavered for a moment, watching Mel looking at him with all the attention in the world and unable to stop thinking of her like the friend he adored when he was only a child. "One moment I was touching little Jeremy's hand," He concluded, "and the next... I was hearing your voice."

A breath Mel hadn't realised she'd been holding left from between her lips, her eyes blinked again, and her whole frame felt alive once more. She moved only a little, shifting the position of her legs for no reason other than comfort. "Did you do it?" She asked, finally after a few silent moments. "Did you remember?" Her bright blue eyes searched Harry's as she dropped the weight of the question.

Harry instantly understood. "No." He said apologetically with a shake of his head, watching Mel nod. "I didn't remember of my search for you until I heard your voice." He admitted. "Jeremy ending up here was merely a coincidence, Mel. I didn't become aware of anything until you said my name. And even then, I didn't understand why you'd said it, or how it was possible that I had found you; not until I saw the kid after his death." This time, the features of his face shifted to express surprise, wonder and even joy. "It seems the amount of help I provided the boy with reflected in more than just the piece of me in his soul." He chuckled. "He's basically my bloody twin."

"You're telling me." Mel confirmed, a short chuckle escaping her lips. "I nearly well had a heart attack." But then frustration slipped into her tone, "And now you're trapped in this house because of me." She sighed, lifting her hands to roughly rub on her face prior to them pushing her hair back.

"What?" Harry shook his head. "No. Mel; hey... Melly." He continued calling for her, his hands lifting to take Mel's own away from her hair before allowing one to set under her chin so he could tilt her face gently up in order for her to look right at him. "Stop, will you?" He soothed shortly. "Trapped? I'm not trapped here, Mel, what are you talking about?"

"You can't leave this place now, Harry." Mel confessed. "Only on Halloween." It was automatic the way in which her hands responded to his and held as much comfort as she dared.

To Mel's surprise, Harry McClair chuckled. "I know that, darling. The old redhead maid was kind enough to brief me on the oddness of the house."

"You met Moira?" Mel asked, a curious brow lifting and confusion adorning her features.

"I did, indeed." Harry admitted. "You've been out of the house a lot, and I hadn't had the opportunity to talk to you alone." At this, a short pause ensued, but then he cleared his throat. "What doesn't seem to be obvious to you, Lady Fray, is that one must want to escape to be trapped." He smiled. "There is no reason for me to leave."

Though for a moment Mel found herself smiling, suddenly her heart became heavy with guilt; her eyes fell away from Harry's and the image of a brown eyed, blonde, curly haired boy crossed her mind. "Tate." She suddenly whispered in a tone so low that it truly had been audible only to the two old lovers; yet when she lifted her eyes to look into Harry's she became surprised to see him smiling.

He seemed to be nodding. "I'm aware of your relationship with the young lad." Harry admitted, making Mel's head tilt softly to the side, and a little frown to adorn her brow. At this, Harry chuckled. "My dear Lady Fray, I beg of you, relax." He gave her hands a gentle squeeze. "I am not spying on you, I assure you." He reassured her. "During your times in the outside world I spoke to many of the ghosts in this house, and a few of them told me of your relationship with the lad. It seems to me like none of the happenings in your humble abode are as private as everyone wishes them to be.

In fact, I served as much help to a few of the souls I spoke with as they served as help to me." He admitted, inching closer to Mel only so he could hold her hands while being comfortable himself. "And I can assure you that none of it matters to me." He said. "Seeing you is more than I hoped for in a very long while, and I am content with only being the friend I was to you all those years back."

Even though Mel could see the truth behind Harry's words in his mind, she nearly couldn't believe it. It seemed both old lovers were on the same page as they always seemed to be, and just like Harry himself, Mel knew that seeing him and having him close to her again was more than enough; for her love for the kind Tate Langdon was real, and it hadn't wavered or changed despite the appearance of her dead husband. In fact, she didn't see him as such; to Mel, Harry was only her best friend. The guy she could confide in, the guy she could trust, that so happened to marry her and attempt to father her children. But in the end, Harry McClair had always been her best friend. It was as clear as crystal in both her mind and his.

But on the spot beside the stairs of the open attic door, there was a mind that was unable to see things in as a black and white manner as the two old lovers above. His curious ears had heard most of the conversation, for he'd seen Harry McClair walk upstairs where the woman she wanted to talk to had decided to hide out; and he couldn't help it. Though Tate Langdon should feel reassured about the words spoken above, he felt scared. After all, what was his young relationship with Melanie Fray compared to the one she shared with her dead husband? Friends or more, it didn't matter. He was there, and though according to what he'd said he wasn't there to attempt to steal Mel from him, Tate couldn't help but be absolutely terrified of the possibility of the situation changing. What if by being friends they fell in love again? What if her feelings for him changed solely because Harry was around? What if?!

The question remained in his mind, and though the reasonable side of his brain assured him that he should be, if anything, reassured and happy at the words he'd overhead, the other side of it continued to tirelessly nag inside his head like a broken loop, once and again with the same inquiry over and over:

What if?

To Be Continued.