xxviii

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It's hard because I want you all to myself, but there is no possible way I could. ❞
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The sixteen year old boy was sitting in the corner of his bedroom with a textbook on his lap and a pencil in his hand as he listened to loud rock music. His curly hair was pushed to the side so that he could have a better view of the figure he was drawing. His head moved to the beat of the music and the pencil he was holding drew straight lines fast against the paper.

A knock was heard on the door making his head tilt up towards the direction of the sound but he decided to not reply and instead returned his gaze back to his drawing. From the corner of his eyes he saw the door open and then someone walked in calling his name.

"Harry." his father's voice reached his ear but he ignored him. Soon the music stopped and Harry let out an angry groan.

"Why did you do that?" he asked angrily standing on his feet.

"Because I want you to listen to me." his father said, Harry rolled his eyes.

"Don't you think it's too late for that?" He asked crossing his arms over his chest.

"It's never late. Look, I'm sorry that you had to learn it that way."

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