Chapter 5, here it is! Some of my own personal headcanons about Lucy are coming into the story now because we get so little of her childhood and background from the show. I hope you enjoy it, please read and review! New chapter in two days.

April 8th, 2006

Dear Diary,

I saw the article based around the interview today. It was a featured story within that weekly gossip magazine, and needless to say they sent me a copy. At first I didn't want to read it, disgusted with the whole idea of it and the pit in my stomach it created, but soon I felt myself scouring their clipped version of the interview, reading Harry responses. I didn't want to, it felt very creepy, but I wanted to see if he was obviously lying in a few. After not finding anything, I abandoned the magazine and went to make myself some breakfast, not even bothering to change out of my pajamas and brush my hair, when someone knocked on the door of the flat, and of course I went to answer the door looking no better than just rolling out of bed.

"Oh, hello," was the first thing that Harry said as he stood in the doorway. I hadn't seen him or properly talked to him since the interview, which made the pit in my stomach worse. I looked at him, not really sure what to think about why he was here or what he was thinking of my attire, and my brain was too cloudy from recently waking up for me to be embarrassed.

"Hi," I said, attempting to smooth back my hair. "Um, would you give me fifteen minutes?"

He looked at me and then gave a little smile which cracked the awkwardness of the situation quite a bit.

"Even in pajamas I think you look beautiful," he said rolling his eyes. "I don't really know what to say."

I let him in and fifteen minutes later I was dressed. He was drinking tea and reading the paper at my kitchen table as I walked in.

"I'm assuming you read the article," he said, not looking up from the paper as I went to make myself some coffee.

"Mhm," I muttered, not wanting to look at him. The air felt tense, and I didn't like it. I'd never felt this uncomfortable around him, but suddenly it was all hitting me at once.

"I hope it doesn't bug you," he continued. My back was turned to him as I stood over the coffee machine, making my movements slow so they would require more time. "I wouldn't want you to be uneasy."

"I'm not bothered," I replied. "It's fine."

Needless to say it wasn't fine. I remembered all the interviews I had done with my father, where he and my mother would have to sit there for hours, sometimes one interview after the other, just answering the same questions to five different news outlets. Half the time I wasn't even allowed in the room, and they would give me a book to read so I wouldn't make a sound.

"One word," he'd always tell me, "and you're sitting out on the sidewalk. You have a reputation of being a very mature, quiet child. Innocent and sweet. We don't to disrupt that do we?"

I would always answer with a shake of my head, and he would smile. On the occasion that I was allowed in the room and, rarely, asked a question, I had a very strict vocabulary to adhere to. Nothing but praise for my father and for Heaven and for the life I was blessed with. Anything else wouldn't have fit with the childlike innocence and amazement he had built up for me.

Why had I put myself back in the world of interviews and paparazzi? Isn't that what I was trying to run away from? By the end of the day my family would leave several messages on my answering machine, and my father would want to set up more meetings and PR events. They'd want to take my Harold Saxon away from me, and turn him into another bargaining chip. The perfect man for their sweet daughter, and that'd be it. I'd hit a wall. The romance would be gone, because the romance wouldn't matter.

But Harold Saxon didn't know that about me. He couldn't see my face, and he didn't know what was going through my head. All he heard was my assurance that I was feeling alright, even though, to me, it was painfully obvious I wasn't.

"Is that the only reason you came by?" I asked. "I mean you could've called me, it is pretty early after all."

He finally looked up at me, confused, and then glanced towards the clock.

"It's nine thirty," he told me, his expression showing nothing but puzzlement.

"I know," I said with a small laugh, feeling better, "but for a Saturday that's early."

"I'm sorry," he replied, cracking a small smile, "I suppose you'd call me a bit of a morning person. I don't really like to sleep."

There it was, the comfort settling over me, like a haze or warm water, slowly incasing me. It was that comfort and easiness that made me love him so much, even when I thought it would fail to return, somehow, it always came back.

"That's fine, but you still haven't answered my question. Did you really drive all the way here just to check up on me?"

"If that's alright," he told me, turning back to his tea. "I must admit I had more of a selfish reason as well, I wanted to see you, but checking up was a good way to get in the door wasn't it?"

He smiled and set down the newspaper he had been reading. Out of the corner of my eye I saw it was an opinion piece on the current status of the political race going on in England. He had been staring at in intently before, and I assumed he was mentioned in there somewhere. I guess if your future depends on the opinion of the people you're going to keep informed.' "Oh gosh," I said, rolling my eyes while trying hide my smile. Needless to say I failed miserably, but I got the feeling that though I wasn't an open book, Harry could read me.

"Since I'm here, and I've got nothing to do except shamelessly enjoy your company," he started, "why don't we go for a walk. Just talk a bit."

His personality seemed to change with every day. In the blink of an eye went from disinterested to complimenting me to changing the subject. I didn't understand him, and I knew that I should've felt like something wasn't right, but I didn't want to. Without really realizing it I accepted his offer and a few minutes later we were out the door, walking down the sidewalk and chatting aimlessly. I barely remember even getting to that place, and I don't remember what we said, I just remember walking as if I was in a haze and enjoying every minute of it. The feeling I have from those moments is so clear in my head, blissful calm, but I don't remember how I got to that point.

I do remember him tapping though, the same beat I heard him tapping in the interview, and at one point I think I was tapping it along with him, rubbing my fingers together the way he did as we walked and I listened to him talk. The beat was so soothing, and it's stuck with me even now, hours after he left.

The only vivid memory I have is about ten minutes into our walk we were partially ambushed by about three photographers, all from different news sources, desperate to get a picture of the new couple. Camera flashes were everywhere, and I turned away at first because of how bright they were and how badly they were hurting my eyes, but then I felt his arm around my waist, gently pulling me forward.

"Smile for the cameras Lucy," he whispered to me, and I turned my head back around to face them, trusting him completely. "Just a smile and then it'll be all over."

"Just a smile," I remember saying, feeling myself falling, and I complied. He came through on his promise so quickly, shooing them away as soon as he had a picture, and I was relieved. Only my Harry could do that, make them go away so quickly. My father would've kept me there for minutes at a time.

Maybe I won't mind this press stuff so much, if Harry can yank me out of it so quickly.

Maybe I'll even begin to enjoy it.

- Lucy