Chapter Text
The town of Silverpine wasn't remarkable by any grand standards. It wasn't the kind of place that made headlines or drew tourists. It was small, nested between rolling green hills and sleepy lakes, where the seasons came and went in soft hues. Never too extreme, never in a hurry.
The kind of town where the roads curved lazily, lined with shops that had been around for generations, their signs weathered but their windows always welcoming.
Life here had a rhythm, an unspoken understanding among its people.
Mornings started with the scent of fresh bread from Nancy’s bakery, the old bell above her door jingling as the first regulars shuffled in for their daily coffee and gossip. The market square came alive soon after, filled with the hum of conversations, the warm sound of laughter, and the occasional bark of a dog tied to a post, waiting patiently for its owner.
Kids rode their bikes down the streets, cutting across alleys they weren’t supposed to, their shouts echoing between the buildings.
And at the very heart of it all, was Harry Styles.
Not that Harry would ever say that.
In fact, if you asked him, he would wave you off with a sheepish laugh, maybe hide behind a stack of books until you dropped the subject entirely.
But everyone knew it.
Everyone in Silverpine knew Harry Styles.
Not just as the boy who ran the quaint little bookshop on Ash Lane, or the one who made the best cinnamon tea this side of the mountains. But as someone who was theirs. He had been born here, raised here. He was loved here.
Especially after the accident.
Seven years ago, a drunk driver on the winding road outside Silverpine stole his parents from him.
He was only seventeen.
For a while, everything had dimmed, his light, his laugh, the sparkle in his eyes.
But he moved in with Niall, his best friend since childhood, and somehow, the town rallied around him without asking for permission.
They brought meals, left flowers, quietly restocked his parents bookshop shelves when he wasn't looking.
Silvepine had tucked Harry under its wing like he was a wounded bird, it refused to let him go when he was at his worst.
Harry had grown since then, softer in some ways and stronger in others.
Now, in his mid-twenties, he carried a serenity about him, a gentleness that felt rare, like a secret whispered into your palm.
But there was more to him than kindness.
Things happened around Harry.
Little things.
Curious things.
Roses bloomed longer in his windowsill. Wounds healed quicker under his touch. People left his bookshop with more than they came for. Like they remembered something they forgot they needed.
No one ever said anything out loud.
Not really.
But the older townsfolk had started calling him “a bit of a blessing” when they thought he couldn’t hear.
Only Niall, Zayn and Liam knew the truth.
Only the three of them knew Harry had magic.
He didn’t wear it like a cloak or wield it like a weapon.
It slipped through him like music, threaded into his voice and his hands, drawn to need, to pain, to longing.
He didn’t fully understand it, but he used it the way he lived - quietly, kindly, and only when necessary.
And nowhere did that magic show itself more than inside his shop.
Foxglove and Fable.
Nestled in a crooked brick building that looked like it had grown out of the earth itself, the shop was unlike anything else in Silverpine.
The door was painted deep green with golden vines circling up the sides, and tiny silver bells chimed even when no one touched them. The windows were fogged at the corners, always warm despite the weather, and overflowing with foxgloves, the pale purples and silvery whites climbing up trellises and spilling from window boxes in defiance of the seasons.
Inside, it smelled like old pages and fresh lavender, cinnamon bark and honeyed wood. Plants grew freely here, tangled and thriving in ways that defied explanation. Trailing ivy curled around bookshelves, their leaves dusted with sparkling dew. Ferns hung in the corners like chandeliers, and small mushrooms peeked out of terracotta pots.
Some of the flowers only bloomed when someone smiled at them. Others leaned toward Harry when he passed, like they recognized him.
The books were just as alive.
Stacked in uneven towers and tucked into nooks where you could swear you hadn’t seen a shelf the day before.
Leather bound tomes hummed faintly under your fingertips, and the picture books whispered their titles when no one was looking.
Harry was restocking one of the windows when Niall wandered in, already holding a croissant in one hand and rolled up a tabloid in the other.
“You’re quiet today,” Niall said, his voice echoing softly in the ivy framed silence.
“I’m always quiet,” Harry replied without looking up.
“Yeah, but this is your ‘ brooding in the woods’ quiet. What 's up?”
Harry hesitated, brushing a hand along a vine that curled into his palm like a cat nuzzling for attention.
“Dunno. Something just feels… different today. Off. Like the air is holding its breath.”
Niall hummed, leaning on the counter like he owned the place. A tiny moth danced near his shoulder, then settled on a dried chamomile blossom.
“You know, when most people feel ‘off’, they take a nap. They don’t read the wind’s mood.”
Harry shot him a look.
“Says the man who swears his hangovers can predict rain.”
“Hey, I’m right like seventy percent of the time,” Niall said with a grin.
A soft jingle interrupted them as the shop door opened.
In came Mrs. Cartwright, her cane tapping rhythmically, scarf pinned with a brooch shaped like a cat.
“Morning, boys,“ she called.
“Morning, Mary,” Harry said warmly, already coming around the counter.
“I told you not to fuss over me.” she said, though she didn’t stop him from taking her tote bag or helping her to the armchair near the fireplace, an old armchair with star-shaped buttons and a cushion that never flattened, no matter how often it was used.
“You say that every time,” he said, kneeling beside her. His fingers brushed hers, and just for a second, the stiffness in her knuckles eased. She blinked, but said nothing, only patted his cheek.
“Thank you dear, you are special,” she whispered.
Harry froze for a fraction of a second before smiling.
“Just good at tea.”
Mary smiled knowingly, eyes twinkling as she reached for the cup Niall brought her.
“She knows,” Niall mouthed when Harry returned behind the counter.
“She doesn’t,” Harry whispered back. “She is just kind.”
“She definitely knows.”
They were interrupted again when Jonah, a teenage boy with a mop of curls and scraped up elbows, rushed in holding a torn backpack.
“Harry, do you have that comic you told me about? The one with the talking raccoon?”
Harry smiled.
“Back shelf. Third from the top. And there’s some lavender cream in the first aid drawer. it’ll help with your elbow.”
“I didn’t even show you… how’d you know…”
Harry just winked and tapped the side of his nose.
Jonah beamed, disappearing between shelves.
Niall looked at him sideways.
“Still thinks no one notices?”
Harry sighed.
“Not the way it really is. They just…chalk it up to luck or charm or timing.”
“Or,” Niall said. “They’re choosing not to say anything because they like having a bit of magic around.”
Before Harry could reply, Niall perked up.
“Oh, right! Liam’s friend is moving in today.”
Harry blinked.
“The detective?”
“Yeah. Louis something. Big city guy, nearly died on the job, had an epiphany, decided to trade handcuffs for coffee cups. He is gonna help Liam run the cafe.”
“Seems like a strange place to pick a fresh start.”
Niall shrugged.
“Silverpine got a reputation for healing people. Like a warm blanket, or a magical book boy.”
“Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying,” Niall said with a grin. “Liam said he is arriving this afternoon. You should come out tonight. The pub. Just a few of us. Me, Zayn, Liam…meet Louis, have a pint, pretend you are not part woodland spirit.”
Harry hesitated.
“You know it’s not always easy. Being around too many people. Letting my guard down.”
“Maybe that’s the point. You’ve been here your whole life, H. You’ve spent it fixing everyone else. Maybe it’s time to let someone else walk into your story for once.”
Harry rolled his eyes, but something in his chest tugged.
“Alright,” he said softly. “I’ll come.”
“Good,” Niall said with a grin, already halfway out the door. “Who knows? Maybe you'll like him.”
Harry returned to his place behind the counter, letting the quiet hum of the shop wrap around him. Somewhere, a foxglove unfurled a new blossom.
Outside, the wind stirred the roses on his windowsill.
Harry passed a hand on his chest when he felt his heart skip a beat and thump faster.
And somewhere in the distance, a car passed under the wrought iron sign at the edge of town that read:
Welcome to Silverpine.
***
The road into Silverpine curved like it wasn’t in a hurry to arrive.
It wound through hills and trees, quiet and sure of itself, slipping through the land like a secret instead of a statement.
Louis had been driving for hours, the city now far behind him, but something in him still hadn’t slowed down.
He caught sight of the town before he reached it.
Silverpine appeared in pieces.
A few rooftops here, a church steeple there, the low curl of smoke drifting above the valley. The trees pulled back just enough to offer a glimpse. The sun was beginning its descent, softening everything in amber light.
Then he saw the sign.
An iron arch, weathered and old, rose across the road ahead. Its design was simple, curled metal shaped into branches, with a plaque swinging gently from its center. Welcome to Silverpine - Established 1864. Ivy climbed the legs of the sign, the leaves a deep, glossy green even now in early autumn.
The sign looked like it had always belonged there, quiet, rooted, enduring.
Louis slowed the car without thinking.
As he passed beside it, the ivy moved.
It shimmered slightly, a flicker of motion like a breath held too long and then let go. A few tendrils swayed, not away from the car, not with the current of air, but toward it.
Just slightly.
Just for a second.
Louis frowned and glanced in the rearview mirror, heart thudding against his ribs.
It’s just the breeze , he told himself. You are seeing things Tomlinson .
But his hands gripped the wheel tighter as he felt his stomach flutter in anticipation.
He drove on, the iron arch disappearing behind him in the mirror . The ivy stilled once more, quiet and patient. The breeze picked up again like nothing had happened.
Silverpine unfolded slowly as he entered it.
The town didn’t try to impress… it simply was.
Stone paved streets. Brick forefronts. Lamp posts dusted with rust.
People moved at their own pace, unhurried and unbothered.
He passed a woman walking a sleepy golden retriever, two teenagers sharing fries outside a tiny diner, and an older man watering a window box full of violets.
It wasn’t loud, or busy, or polished.
But it was real.
He parked in the square and sat for a moment, watching the heart of the town move around him.
This was Liam’s home. Had been for eight years. Long enough to build roots, to find rhythm. Long enough to become something more than just a visitor.
Louis had never been anywhere long enough to feel that.
He reached for the keys and turned off the engine.
He had told Liam everything. About the hospital, the breathless nights after, the quiet decision he had made when the doctors said ‘you were lucky’.
It wasn’t luck.
It was a wake up call.
It was the sound of blood rushing in his ears while the world turned too fast and too sharp.
After that, he had looked at his life, really looked at it, and realised how much of it felt like survival. How little of it felt like living.
So, he quit the job that drained him, the one that made him feel like a ghost in a suit. He gave away half his clothes, sold his apartment, packed what was left into a car he didn’t love but could rely on.
And he drove.
He wasn’t sure what he was looking for.
But something in him wanted space. Quiet. A chance to start over. Or maybe just start something.
Liam had been the only person who didn’t blink when Louis called out of the blue and said; Can I come visit for a while?
Of course you can, Liam had said.
No questions.
No conditions.
Just that old, steady friendship that had never asked him to be anything but himself.
They had known each other long before Liam had moved here, before Liam had found Silverpine and decided to stay.
Even when life had scattered them in different directions, their friendship had remained. Texts. Calls. The kind of easy loyalty that didn’t rust with time.
Louis had never had much family. The one he was born into didn’t like to be talked about, and he didn’t talk about them. It was easier that way. Cleaner. Safer. He learned how to live without them.
Liam was the closest thing he had. And himself, of course.
He was his own family now.
Had been for a while.
But he had always wanted a place to… be. Not to belong to someone else.
Just… to belong to himself.
Maybe that was why he hadn’t turned around halfway here.
Maybe that was why his chest had ached as he passed that iron sign.
He stepped out of the car and into the square. The air smelled like coffee and something warm and spiced, cinnamon maybe. The cafe had a faded rust red awning and little wooden tables lining the sidewalk, each one with a mismatched teacup full of herbs.
Before he could move, the door swung open and Liam stepped out like he had been waiting there the whole time.
“There he is,” Liam said, voice full of warmth, no fanfare, no judgment.
Louis smiled, tired but real.
“Didn’t think I’d make it?”
“Thought you might stop at the edge of town and turn around,” Liam teased, pulling him into a hug.
“Almost did.”
Liam’s arm lingered around his shoulder for a second longer than necessary.
“Glad you didn’t.”
Louis pulled back, letting himself look around.
“This place is… something.”
“Told you.” Liam smiled, but there was a softness behind it. “Creeps up on you.”
Before Louis could reply, the cafe door opened again, and another figure stepped out.
Blond hair, ocean blue eyes, a cheeky grin that hinted at trouble. He wore a denim jacket over a graphic tee and looked exactly like the kind of person who might sing in the street and get away with it.
“Niall, this is Louis, “ Liam said. “Louis, meet Niall, record shop owner, part time menace.”
Niall stuck out a hand.
“Nice to meet you, mate. Heard a lot about you. Mostly good things. Some things I’m choosing to ignore.”
Louis laughed and shook his hand.
“Depends on the source.”
“Well, we will see what is true or not. Welcome to the slightly strange, occasionally magical, always mildly sarcastic town of Silverpine. Population: us.”
“Sounds charming.” Louis laughed about the enthusiasm of the man.
“Oh it is,” Niall said. “We’ve got a gossip network faster than Wi-Fi, a woman who swears her cat is haunted, and a guy who plays the accordion like it’s a religious experience. But the sunsets are top tier.”
Liam raised an eyebrow with a fond smile on his face.
“You forgot to mention the ghost tour you invented just to mess with the few tourists we got a few years back.”
“Hey, some of those ghosts might be real. I stand by Barbara in the post office, she is definitely from another dimension.”
They stepped inside the cafe, and the warmth hit Louis immediately.
The scent of roasted beans, cinnamon, something subtle floral curled around him like a welcome.
The space was small but full of life, plants hanging from macrame loops, books stacked in corners, mismatched chairs and tables that looked like they’d been gathered slowly over the years not bought in a rush.
Niall led them to a table near the front windows, a little round one with iron legs and a chipped sugar bowl in the center. The sunlight spilled through the glass in soft amber stripes, and from this angle, Louis could see directly across the square to a green painted storefront.
Quiet.
Inviting.
The words Foxglove and Fables were etched in gold above the door.
Louis felt something in him loosen.
“So.” Niall said, dropping into a seat and tipping back precariously. “You sticking around long? Or just passing through on your existential road trip?”
Louis gave a tired smile.
“Little bit of both.”
“We’ve all been there,” Niall said with a nod. “This place is good for that, though. Existential stuff. It’s the fresh air. And the local wine. Mostly the wine.”
“Pub night’s today.” Liam added. “Whole town turns up. Might be a good way to meet people.”
“Harry said he’ll be there too,” Niall added, casually picking at a string on his sleeve.
Louis tilted his head, noticing Liam’s smile getting bigger with the information.
“Who is Harry?”
“The bookstore owner,” Liam replied, nodding toward the green storefront across the street. “You passed it on your way in.”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Louis said, eyes drifting back toward the bookstore window. He couldn’t see much from here, just warm lighting, a glimpse of wood shelves, and the sense someone would be there reading something slowly, reverently. “What’s he like?”
Niall paused. Something shifted in his expression, not suspicious exactly, but a kind of quiet evaluation.
“He’s a good person,” Niall said finally, the usual sarcasm tempered with something softer. “Kind. Keeps to himself a lot, but once he lets you in… he is solid. Loyal.”
Louis tilted his head.
“You two are close?”
“Yeah. He is like family to me,” Niall said, tone suddenly serious. “One of the best people I know. Which is why I’m telling you this now; if you are thinking of messing with him, don’t.”
“Niall,” Liam warned gently.
“I’m not messing with anyone,” Louis said, holding up his hands. “I don’t even know the guy. I was just asking.”
Niall relaxed a little, a hand going to the back of his head in embarrassment.
“Sorry. Just… he’s been through enough.”
Louis nodded, eyebrows drawing together.
“Okay. Didn’t mean to overstep.”
“You didn’t,” Liam said, giving him a small smile. “It 's just… Harry’s different. You’ll understand when you meet him.”
Louis glanced back out the window.
There was something about the shop, even from across the street, that felt… still.
Not in a lifeless way.
More like the air around it had decided to rest. Something about the green paint and the soft golden lettering reminded him of the stories his mum used to read to him when he was little. When life was easier. The kind with spells whispered in corners and keys hidden beneath floorboards.
“He's special,” Niall added quietly, more to himself than anyone. Then, as if realising he had said too much, he cleared his throat and reached for the sugar bowl. “Anyway. If you're staying here a while, you’ll see.”
“He sounds…” Louis trailed off.
“Like someone you’ll like.” Liam finished with a knowing smile.
Louis looked across the street again.
The bookstore was still and quiet, light spilling from the windows in warm pools. There was something about it.
Not loud, not bright.
Just… right.
Like it had been waiting.
Louis just didn’t know what for.