He hates ice and as Fate would have it, there was a puzzle On ice that he needed to solve to cross the small bridge Made of ice with no other possible way around it.

A soft groan leaves Harry as his back collides with the snow below, landing once more upon the Sans Puff- at this rate he might as well call it a Sans Pancake- It it wasn't going so well...

Seventeen attempts and seventeen falls. A heavy sigh leaves the emerald eyed teen as soft giggles come from the folds of his jacket.

Standing, he dusted himself off and trudge his way up the trail once more before glaring at the ice with utter determination. This time he would make it through for sure. He refused to be so toughly trounced upon by a slipping slope of ice.

Taking a deep breathe and furrowing his brow in concentration, Harry takes a step onto the ice...

A moment later, he's falling...

Again.


Sixty-Four attempts.

It was getting dark- how that was possible, Harry didn't know nor did he care. He had officially thrown logic out the window as far as this place was concern- and he had yet to managed to cross one measly patch of ice. Honestly, its rather depressing. The only saving grace was the fact, Frisk had drifted to sleep a little after his twentieth attempt or his pride would be through crushed beneath their laughter.

Taking a deep breath, the emerald eyed teen forced himself to swallow his burning temper- If he melted the ice he would never be capable of crossing it and remain stuck on this side forever.

This time for sure. He could do it, he would do it.

Steadying himself he took his first step onto the ice, only to slip and fall head over heels- again- while quickly slipping towards the edge...

He was never going to live this down.

Yet unlike before he didn't fall, if anything he choked as he felt something tightly grip the back of his shirt and quite latterly drag him through the puzzle and down the ice bridge before throwing him into a snow pile. For a moment all the raven haired teen could do was blink at the snow surrounded him- What the hell?- before struggling his way out from under the snow, eyes darting everywhere for whoever had aided him...

But there was no one. Not even footsteps in the snow.


By time they reached Snowdin it was dark- how it was night underground when it had been bright and sunny only moments before was beyond Harry. Then again nothing here was making any logical sense anyway so why not?

The snow filled town was void of any and all life, most likely everyone else was already in bed. If not for the Christmas Tree and stars- gems that seemed to glow within the darkness- above there would have been no light at all. Everywhere he looked there where darkened buildings, it must of been truly late as even the Inn was closed.

And there itself lied the problem.

With the Inn closed there was no place to stay, no comfort or shelter from the harsh winds indicating a storm was coming and fast.

Maybe had he been alone he could have soldiered through the oncoming storm but with Frisk... Well he highly doubted they would survive setting theirselves on fire. To be honest, Harry really didn't wanted to know either. Tightening his grip around his Nibling Harry turned on heel and begin to head the other way- he had saw what looked to be an abandoned building earlier.

It wouldn't be an Inn but perhaps it could provide shelter.


He should stop them.

Sans knows he should.

Grillby's has never been reopened for a reason. The Elemental's security magic was dangerous- putting even Asgore in the hospital for a month when he attempted to help open up the restaurant for the Royal Guard's investigation. If it could do that to a Boss Monster there was no doubt what it would do to a human foolish enough to tempt fate.

It was a Death Trap and the older human was unknowingly walking straight for it.

Sans knows he should stop them, maybe offering them to crash at his place as he once did for the Freak, but he doesn't for that very same reason. The elder human still had the Freak within the folds of his jacket and there was no way in Heaven or Hell would he open his home to that abomination.

Never again.

Its better this way, he tells himself, quick and painless. Toriel would forgive him- She never liked seeing a child suffer- for being too late but he cannot save the elder without saving the Freak.

So he watches as the elder reaches out a hand for the doorknob, for certain death. He expects a flash of magic, he smell of a burning body, ashes in the wind.

Yet all he hears is a soft click as for the first time in twenty years, the door to Grillby's opens.

A moment later the Freak and the human are out of sight, having entered the building not even Asgore could.


Grillby's it turns out is a Tavern.

There's tables scattered around the room, a bartop with a fully stocked shelve behind it and a jukebox he automatically knows is broken. Its quite as the grave and full of cobweb from lack of maintenance.

Though Harry couldn't place his finger on it, there is something hauntingly familiar about this place.

Its not a bad feeling, if anything its the exact opposite. He feels comfortable, safe, almost as though he was at home.

Slowly he makes his way across the wooden floors and into a doorway with a Fire Exit sign overhead. Unlike what most would assume, its not an exit but a kitchen in desperate need of cleaning but fully stocked. There's a stairwell in the back near what must be another exit.

The whole second floor is a large Master Bedroom/Study combo with its own Master Bath and a walk in closet. He's tempted to explore the room a bit more but a soft mumbling from the younger has Harry quickly moving to dust off the bed instead.

Its not much, the sheets are stiff and could diffentally use a wash but it'll have to do.


Frisk, Harry had discovered early in the orphanage, is a bed hog; so its not that surprising when the elder of the two wakes due to being pushed onto the wooden floor. Its still dark outside and the small, ole timey alarm clock claims it to be just past One A.M. The elder fumbles around blindly; handing feeling around the nightstand for his glasses only to hear them clink as they fall onto the floor.

A heavy sigh leaves the raven haired teen, as he crawls around the floor.

Maybe his beloved little Nibling had been onto something when they suggested he get contacts?

A grip on his wrist cuts through his thoughts instantly- his head shooting up instantly but all he can see is the blurred darkness- before his glasses are dropped into his hand.

He feels as through he's in one of those bad honor movies the American's where so fond of; the ones where the killer helps the clumsy idiot find their glasses only so they could see as they death loomed overhead with either a bloody chainsaw or machete.

... Did that make him the clumsy idiot?...

A cold gleam of sweat raced down his spine.

The flames flicker underneath his skin as slowly- oh so slowly- Harry slipped on his glasses.

If this was like an Horror Movie the killer would kill him wither or not he could see him- though unlike most horror movie victims, this killer would be getting a nasty surprise the moment they attempted to slice through him.

Slowly his eyes moved from his clutched hands and the wooden floor upwards to where the killer would be standing. The 'starlight' lightening the room from the bedside window is just bright enough to see:

Nothing.

Absolutely nothing.

A nervous chuckle leaves the hunched figure.

God his imagination was really getting to him down here, wasn't it?

Then again, he was trapped underground with his younger Nibling in a place full of monster that likely wanted to brutally murder the both of them- and would all the likely do so as they slept if given the chance- for their SOULS...

Did he lock the door after entering the building? He couldn't quite recall.

Springing to his feet, Harry quickly began to make his way down the stairs to check- better safe then sorry.

Now that the door is locked, the emerald eyed teen slumps against the door taking solid breathes in an attempt to calm himself. He tries not to image what could have happened had anyone actually witnessed he and Frisk enter the building and actually tried the door afterwards.

He supposes he was just lucky; this time.


He watches silently as the human moves around the bar, granting it it's first proper cleaning in years.

There's a slight disappointment in those emerald eyes as he tries and fails to make the jukebox work, but its quickly brushed off in favor of cleaning the bartop. He can't help but be reminded of an old flame that once did the same.

An old flame who had been brutally extinguished within this very same room twenty years ago.


AN: While I already answered MelicMusicMagic question for them. I decided to post the answer publicly for anyone else wondering:

Harry is Eighteen. He raised Frisk since they where one, has a job and owns his own place. He is legal, not underage for those of you thinking in that sort of direction.