Please may I have Harry Potter headcanons of what if Harry Potter fell for Ron's older twin sister instead of Ginny Weasley. She was proven to be quite a skillful witch since her first year and not afraid to put Ron and Harry back in line if they fought at all..she was exactly like Molly Weasley in a way after she had hit Ron on the back of the head for being unfairly jealous of Harry when Harry needed his best mate after being accused of putting his name in the goblet of fire. She certainly wasn't afraid to fight back Malfoy when he teased her for being poor and used the leg-locker curse on him..but she genuinely was the nicest girl on the planet and she was the one who introduced him to her family as well as to the Wizarding world and to her brother who eventually became one of his friends. She was innocent and fearless during her first couple of years in Hogwarts before certainly being one of the most talented Witches in Hogwarts..
Harry Potter's relationship with her
Thankyou for requesting! I loved the idea and put a lot of effort into this, so sorry if it took longer than expected. Hope you like it!! Happy reading 💌
𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝑾𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒚 𐙚⋆°｡⋆♡
Harry Potter was used to unusual. He was used to surprises and things out of the ordinary. But perhaps the biggest surprise of all was falling for Y/N Weasley, Ron’s older twin sister.
He remembered the first time he saw her, saw her as more than Ron’s twin.
It was fourth year. The Goblet of Fire had just spit out his name like a bitter lemon drop, and Ron, still caught somewhere between disbelief, jealousy, and betrayal had given Harry the cold shoulder for three days straight.
He had been walking through the common room, mood foul, nerves shot, when Ron muttered under his breath about Harry “loving attention” and needing “a bloody autograph book.”
But Y/N, she stood up, strode across the room, and smacked Ron squarely on the back of the head with her Transfiguration textbook. It made a sound like a firework, earning salutes from Fred and George who were sat across the room.
“You absolute wart,” she snapped at Ron. “He didn’t ask for this. You’re supposed to be his best mate. Act like it.”
Harry stood frozen at the base of the stairs. No one had ever defended him like that—except maybe Hermione- but this was different. Y/N was different. He didn’t know why and he didn’t know how. But, he knew he wanted to find out.
Then Y/N turned to him. Her expression softened.
“You alright, Harry?” She asked.
He managed a nod. It may have been his imagination, but he was pretty sure she winked at him.
By Christmas, he realized he fancied her.
Terribly.
Awfully.
Embarrassingly.
She had this way of making a room light up whenever she walked in. Harry didn’t understand how he never noticed it before. How he never noticed her before.
He’d watched her jinx Malfoy into the suits of armor during a corridor spat in early December. Malfoy had snidely called the Weasleys “charity cases,” and without missing a beat, Y/N had muttered something under her breath before smiling sweetly and strolling off to Charms.
Malfoy threw tantrums for weeks after that.
“Do you have to look at her like that?” Ron asked one day after catching Harry watching Y/N laugh across the Gryffindor table.
“Like what?”
“Like she just saved your life and offered you front-row tickets to the Cannons,” Ron grumbled.
Harry flushed. “I’m not—I mean—I didn’t mean to-.”
“Give him a break, Ronald!” Hermione hissed.
“But you totally are…” she whispered as Ron looked away.
It was in fifth year that Harry realized he couldn’t keep it to himself anymore — he had to tell her. She was bold like Molly, protective in that quiet, steady way Arthur was, and her sharp, dry humor always caught him off guard when he least expected it.
But it wasn’t just the big things that got to him, it was everything in between.
The way she’d roll her eyes at Ron and then sneak him half of her toast when he wasn’t looking. The way she always carried two quills, just in case Harry forgot his again- which he always did. And how, when Harry was having one of those days, she’d bump his shoulder gently in the corridor and say, “Oi, Potter. You’re not allowed to look like that unless you’ve had another near death experience.”
She never coddled him. Never treated him like “The Boy Who Lived.”No, with Y/N he was just Harry, the boy who got ink on his hands during exams and forgot to pack his gloves for Hogsmeade every single time.
And Merlin, the way she smiled, not the forced, polite kind he saw too often from people who thought they knew him, but the real one, where her nose scrunched a little and her freckles pulled wide and she looked like she was holding back a laugh just for him.
He hated how nervous she made him. How every time she stood too close or looked at him like she was figuring something out, his brain short-circuited and he forgot basic words. Hermione had asked once why he turned into “a half-conscious Cornish pixie” every time Y/N entered a room.
And she was so casually confident around him. Like she knew what he was thinking before he did. Like she was waiting for him to finally get it together.
She’d lean against the back of the couch in the common room, arms crossed, and say things like, “You keep staring at me, Potter. Either say something or blink, yeah?”
He’d choke on his tea and mutter something idiotic like, “Wasn’t staring. Just… thinking…about… Peeves…”
She never pushed. Never made it a game. But sometimes — just sometimes — when they passed each other in the corridor, she’d catch his eye and smirk like she knew exactly what he was feeling.
And that was when Harry knew.
It wasn’t a crush.
He was absolutely, hopelessly, wildly in love with Y/N Weasley.
And he had no idea what to do about it.
Gryffindor had won. The crowd was deafening, the Snitch was still clutched in Harry’s glove, and the pitch felt like it was buzzing beneath his boots.
Before he could even catch his breath, Y/N was there, sprinting across the grass, red hair wild, eyes blazing.
“You bloody did it!” she shouted, launching into him. He stumbled back a step as she threw her arms around his neck, laughing breathlessly against his shoulder.
“We did it,” Harry mumbled, grinning like an idiot. “You were unreal—”
“Don’t start,” she cut him off, pulling back just enough to meet his eyes. “You know I hate sentimental post-match speeches.”
Then she kissed him.
Right there, on the pitch, with the stands still screaming and the team celebrating behind them.
It was fast and sure, and completely short-circuited his brain. She pulled away with a satisfied little smirk.
“Took you long enough,” she said.
Harry blinked. “Pretty sure you kissed me.”
“I did. Because you were obviously never going to.”
And just as she turned to jog back toward the rest of the team—
“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT?!”
They both turned.
Ron was standing about ten feet away, still in his Keeper gear, looking horrified like someone had just hexed his broom into a ferret.
“That was my sister!” he shouted, pointing accusingly at Harry like it might cancel the whole thing.
“Ron,” Hermione sighed from behind him, “please don’t make a scene.”
“I’m not making a scene! I’m making a perfectly reasonable objection!”
Harry, flustered, scratched the back of his neck. “Er—sorry?”
Y/N rolled her eyes. “Relax, Ron. He earned it.”
Ron looked scandalized. “Earned it?! What is this, a reward system?!”
“Should’ve kissed him last match,” she added breezily. “He was brilliant then too.”
A/N: Wrote this after crashing out over the Percy fic, it's pretty short because it's supposed to be a short husband domestic fic <33
Warning(s): marriage?? mentioned that youre good at cooking n baking <333
Word count: 900+
Dividers by @bronzewasp !!
The soft, warm, golden glow of a London morning. The entire flat is illuminated by the morning sun, opening the windows in the joint living room and kitchen had been your first plan of action when you woke up.
It’d been about four years since the second Wizarding War—since Cedric faced Voldemort and Peter Pettigrew during the third task of the TriWizard Tournament. Since his entire torso and his arms had long wavy, looping scars, pinkish against his pale skin. Since you survived fighting in the second Wizarding War whilst he was recovering from his coma.
And now, here you were. Married, safe, happy. Cedric became an auror without having to take the exam like many others, and you took a step away from the whole magic thing. You didn’t abandon it; of course not. You just felt it odd to pursue a career centred around magic after the war. So, you’d been living quietly in one of the hidden wizarding apartments in central London. You still used magic, of course, still hung out with your Hogwarts mates and even, occasionally, Harry and the Weasleys due to their now closer relationship with Cedric, but you opted for the quieter sort of magic.
You stood in the kitchen, already baking. It’d become your escape, your hobby. You’d become great at it. Your activities filled the apartment with the scent of brown sugar and honey as Elvis hummed softly from the record player. Your hair was still messy from sleep, and your legs bare save for a pair of Cedric’s boxers. Your top half covered only by one of Cedric’s shirts. You were making breakfast churros, swaying your hips lightly to the music filling your home.
You heard the distant creek of your bedroom door, followed by heavy steps coming from behind you. You smiled to yourself, continuing your baking before a taller frame enveloped your back, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you into his chest and dropping his face to your neck.
“Mm.. gosh, love, it smells so good.” He grumbled, voice still rough from sleep. His “perfect” brown hair was now absolutely everywhere, and he was wearing nothing but boxers himself. The warmth of his chest made you giggle, turning your head to smooch his hair before turning back to the churros. “Hey, baby. You’ve got that meeting t’day. Auror business.”
He groaned from your neck, and you giggled, abandoning your task momentarily to turn and hug around his neck.
“Good morning,” You cooed, watching as he lifted his head to press his forehead to you.
“Good morning, pretty lady.” He mumbled, peppering soft kisses along your face. “Gosh, I’m so lucky. You’re so perfect, baking f’me. Merlin, I wish I could carry a piece of you every I go.” He mumbled, lips trailing down to your neck, making you squirm and giggle due to the ticklish feeling.
You turned back to the churros, and he just hugged you tighter, kissing your neck softly, then your shoulder. “We need anything? I can stop by the market on my way back from my meeting.”
You hummed in response, frying the churros in the oil. “Er.. I need some more oat milk. Cinnamon sugar. White chocolate nubs. Some turkey and ham.” You began mumbled, sighing. “I’ll write you a list, dearest. Say hi to Harry f’me. Tell Ginny I’ll be bringing by some lasagna to dinner tonight at the burrow.”
Cedric nodded against your neck, finally releasing you. He grabbed the pot of chocolate sauce that’d been forming for the churros off the stove and mixed it a bit before bringing it to your lips for a taste. Once it received your stamp of approval, Cedric shamelessly spooned a mouthful into his mouth.
You gasped, swatting his arm, only making him grin a chocolatey smile. “Ced! Don’t drink it all! S’for the churros!” You huffed, making him gulp down the chocolatey goodness and give you a sheepish smile. “Y’know I can’t resist anything you make, baby.” He cooed in an attempt to free himself of your wrath. To his luck, it worked when you smiled softly at him. You grabbed a churro, scooped up some chocolate, and held it to his lips. He eagerly took a bite before practically moaning. His eyes nearly rolled back as he began practically professing his love for your baking and cooking. You giggled as he pulled you in to hug you as he kissed you all over your hair. You beamed when Sinatra played over the record, and he began to sway from side to side.
Your heart thumped slowly as you swayed together—-your life with him was more than what you ever thought you’d get. More than what you dreamt of. It was everything to you, beyond perfect and beyond fairytale-like. You’d grown up with him, been together since you were first years, since you confessed in sixth year, since you watched him go into a coma for almost a year, and since you fought in the second Wizarding War barely two years after that, whilst he was still unfit to fight.
You’d built a life after going through hell and back and surviving, built a home and a community.
As your hand slid down to rest on your belly, you smiled to yourself at the mere imagination of how he and everyone else’d react at dinner tonight when you told them all your home was gaining another heart to house.
summary: you and james spend a summer day with a drive and picnic
note: this was written almost 2 years ago and i never posted it
masterlist
𝜗𝜚
You weren’t sure where James had acquired the bright red muggle convertible, but you figured it was too late to be asking those kinds of questions.
The sun was beating down harshly on the two of you in the white leather seats as James drove along the coast. He’d promised a picnic, and you had been expecting your usual day out at a park, not a day trip to the beach in a car you were pretty sure he couldn’t be legally driving. But you weren’t one to turn down a chance at seeing him sun kissed and shirtless.
Your hair whipped wildly around your face as he cruised passed beaches crowded with people trying to soak in the last of summer. You grinned at James when he glanced your direction, his normal dopey smile appearing on his face. His free hand found yours, the other firmly on the steering wheel.
“Almost there,” he said, giving your hand a squeeze. The wind made it hard to hear, but James’ voice was something you were so accustomed to that the faintest whisper could be understood from across a crowded room.
Once past the main stretch of beaches and into what seemed like a large park, he finally parked the car off on the side of the road. The trees were thick but the sunlight still shined through the gaps left by the road.
The frilly sundress you’d thrown on that morning over your swimsuit was one of James’ favorites on you and you smoothed out the wrinkles while he got the picnic basket from the trunk. You tried to take the blanket and beach bag from him so he wasn’t carrying everything, but he shooed you away.
“This way, my fair lady,” he said cheekily, looking back to you as he started towards the tree line.
You stumbled through the woods behind him, your strappy sandals not exactly the best shoes for tripping over tree roots. Your left hand found its place on his bicep to keep you steady as you walked.
“You’re not leading me all the way out here to murder me without witnesses, are you?” you laughed lightly. You were starting to get out of breath from hiking through the underbrush, your cheeks flushed and your legs beginning to burn.
“‘Course not,” he shook his head, laughing. “I’d never get away with it either way. Moony and Lily would figure it all out before you’d even go cold.”
It was then that you saw the break in the tree line and noticed the thin layer of sand sticking to the blades of grass under your feet. You could hear the waves before you saw them, but once you got to the edge of the clearing, your breath was taken away.
It was a gorgeous white sand beach much like the ones you’d passed in the car, but this one was empty. No screaming kids, no grumpy old people, no garbage and coolers sinking into the sand. It was peaceful, quiet aside from the soft crashing of the waves and the soft sound of birds back in the trees.
“James-“
“Moony told me about it,” he said, not even needing you to finish your question. He led you further out onto the sand. “S’just like he said- the shore, where to park and everything.” He seemed proud of himself.
“It’s beautiful,” you said, your eyes glued to where the water met the shore. You could see his mouth open from beside you. “Don’t say it,” you told him, turning to look at him. He laughed, shaking his head.
“Used all my tricks on you, haven’t I?” he said, squinting in the bright sunlight. You hummed.
“I’m sure you’ve got a few more tricks up your sleeve,” you grinned, elbowing him. He laughed again, his same old bubbly laugh that sent butterflies swarming your stomach when you were younger.
“Shall we?” he said, nodding towards the beach.
The lunch he’d packed the two of you was the same as always: your favorite- an oddly specific sandwich that Sirius used to tease you for- and James’ favorite- peanut butter and jelly. And he could never forget the strawberries, both plain and chocolate covered.
“It’s not excessive! You have to have some for the meal and some for dessert, but they can’t be the same,” you’d told him one day on the floor of the common room back at school. “Don’t laugh at me!” you scolded him when he let one of his long held chuckles slip.
“Sorry! I’m sorry!” he laughed, his head dipping down.
His curls shook with his shoulders and the crease by his eyes that you would come to know crinkled with the weight of his laugh.
“You’re right, you’re right, it’s not excessive. It’s a perfectly normal amount of strawberries.”
“I think this is the best you’ve ever gotten the strawberry to chocolate ratio,” you said, using the back of your hand to wipe away the juice left on your lips, staining the back of your hand slightly pink.
“Learned from the best,” he smiled at you. You smiled back as you placed the leafy part of the strawberry on a nearby napkin.
“We should swim,” you said, placing the plate and napkins you’d used in the picnic basket to be cleaned later.
request: harry didn’t think seeing you with someone like dean could make him feel so… worthless.
word count: 2,667
warnings: FLUFF, slightly angsty bc harry compares himself to dean, swear words, lovely little smooch at the end, added a bit of romione somewhere, jealous harry, reader lowkey overthinks everything and it makes harry feel like shit, etc etc!
author's note: i’m sorry this is so late anon😭😭 i will proofread this later but i hope you like it!
taglist: @floweringrott ♡
more harry potter | masterlist | navigation
BEING ‘JUST FRIENDS’ WITH YOU OF ALL PEOPLE was proving to be a dangerous task for the Chosen One. Finally, he’d figured out his feelings—whatever bond the pair of you shared was certainly not cordial. And, he knew you thought it too.
So, naturally, he assumed there was an established sort of… situationship. Harry hadn’t really talked about it with you, but he was just going with his gut; a stupid thing to think in all honesty.
Clarification is key. But, because he hadn’t clarified it, he was forced to watch you have some sort of ‘conversation’ with Dean, who had just broken up with Ginny. There he was, laughing with you, touching your arm as you grinned in return, his fingers slowly trailing towards yours so they could intertwine—
“You’re clenching your fists,” a feminine voice broke Harry’s agitated daze, his green eyes snapping towards Hermione, who sat before him, her expression written with disapproval. Ron was too busy stuffing his face to acknowledge the pair. Pressing his lips together in irritation, Harry cleared his throat, staring at his plate of food—bangers and mash. He didn’t even want it now, not with the image of Dean Thomas and you giggling together like you were the best of buds.
The calm buzz of the Great Hall had returned. The sixth year hadn’t even noticed that he’d been staring for the last five minutes—why were you sitting with Dean? Sure, you shared Ancient Runes with him; that didn’t mean you had to walk and talk with him and even have lunch with the guy. You always sat with Harry—
“Harry—you’ve summoned a thundercloud!” Hermione interrupted once again, sighing with exasperation as the brunette glanced towards the enchanted ceiling of the hall, only to see what his best friend had described—it was a thundercloud, and it looked ready to strike him; be that as it may, his bushy-haired friend was quick with her wand, causing the cloud to dissipate.
“Thanks,” Harry mumbled, Hermione having to strain her neck just to hear him.
“What is with you? You’re not even reading your stupid Half-Blood Prince book—”
“It’s not stupid,” he was quick to defend his extremely informative textbook, furrowing his eyebrows as he looked away. “And, anyway, there’s nothing… ‘with me’. I’m fine.” Slurping his pumpkin juice, Ron practically guffawed, shaking his head as he placed his goblet down.
“He’s staring again,” he nudged Hermione, Harry rolling his eyes as both of their gazes flitted towards you and Dean.
“Ahhh,” she nodded, like she’d understood the situation at long last. “That makes sense, actually.” The Chosen One, who didn’t appreciate what his friends were trying to imply, simply scoffed, scratching the back of his head and forcing himself to stare at them instead of you.
“I’m not bloody staring. You’re staring,” was all he said in response to Ron, zipping his mouth shut when he watched your approaching figure.
“The fuck do you mean I’m staring—?”
“Hi, guys!” you beamed, bright as a ray of sunshine per usual, sliding in right next to Harry as you flipped your hair over your shoulder, your strawberry-scented perfume wafting towards him as he tried not to collapse right in front of you.
Everything about you was amazing. Your lovely, luscious locks. Your perfectly sculpted countenance. Your god-given body, not that he ogled it on a daily basis—Harry just appreciated how heavenly you appeared without even trying. An angel amongst men was what Harry once called you during a vulnerable moment… he meant every word. He’d say it every day just to see your graceful smile decorate your pretty lips, your dimples curated either side which made you shine like the planet Venus during the night.
Despite every thought sprinting through his mind, every image of you imprinted on his neurons, he couldn’t let go of you and Dean. The way you grinned at him—only Harry could make you grin like that.
“Harry?” your soft voice shattered his spiral, concerned eyes meeting his darkened ones, your fingers intertwining with his—Dean’s fingers had intertwined with yours—
DEAN, DEAN, DEAN—
“Are you alright?” Again, your murmur saved him from despair. But, it wasn’t enough. He couldn’t do this. Not now, not with you.
“Excuse me,” he muttered, suddenly sliding out of his seat, leaving you utterly befuddled as he stormed out of the Great Hall, messing with the Windsor knot of his tie as he walked. You gazed at his retreating form, thunderclouds anchoring the beats of your heart as you furrowed your eyebrows, meeting Hermione’s look of indignation—it wasn’t towards you, of course, but it was definitely aimed at Harry, who fled the scene like some coward. What was wrong with him?
“Is he okay?” you asked quietly, fiddling with your fingers, your gaze flicking between ‘Mione and Ron. “Did… did he leave because of me?” Everything between you and Harry had been fine earlier. Perfect, actually. He had walked you to your Runes lesson, listening to you rant about the difference between ehwaz and eihwaz—
“Genuinely makes no freaking sense. How the fuck am I supposed to remember that ehwaz means partnership and eihwaz means defense? They’re basically pronounced the exact same way!” You complained, pouting as you did so, your expression crumpling even further as you leaned your forehead against Harry’s shoulder, hearing his deep chuckle, his large hand cradling your head. “Don’t make me go in there…”
“You know you want to. Professor Babbling’s been off sick and she’s finally back—you said you missed her.”
“Well, yeah, but…” you ended up groaning quietly, hiding in his chest, Harry’s grin only widening. He loved seeing you like this; an adorable thing, you were, clinging to him like some bunny.
“Come on, love,” he murmured, his arms wrapping around you (he didn’t want you to go either, but he knew he’d be seeing you at lunch). His lips brushed your hair as your head tucked itself under his chin—anyone would think you were some odd, but normal couple with the way you both were embracing each other in the middle of the hallway.
They helped him, these hugs. Distracted him, even. Voldemort, Slughorn’s memory he was yet to retrieve, his impending NEWTs mocks… Everything was just too much—
But, you… you were his saving grace.
“Fine,” you grumbled, pulling away, albeit reluctantly, lifting your gaze—your sullen pout still stuck to your lips as Harry laughed. “But you better meet me in the hall after.”
“Of course. Always.”
“—Are you mental? No,” Ron retorted, pushing his plate away, wiping his mouth with his sleeve; Hermione grimaced, grabbing a napkin and wiping his mouth for him as Ron tried to reassure you. “You know Harry. He’s… just a bit thick sometimes. He forgot that textbook of his.”
“Yeah! Yeah…” Hermione agreed, tossing the napkin onto the ginger’s plate as she continued. “He’ll be back.”
“Right…” you nodded, feeling a little relieved as your eyes fell to your lap, swallowing the lump in your throat. He definitely did not leave because of you. Definitely not. Right.
Fuck.
“Uh…” you cleared your throat, standing up, running your hands through your hair before readjusting your robes. “I’ll just go after him—”
“Yes! Yeah, you do that,” Ron complied, Hermione’s head bobbing quite enthusiastically.
“We’ll be right here!”
With that, you zoomed off, politely pushing past people, your heartbeats growing louder by the minute—like a storm had concurred. Did something happen between Runes and now? Did you do something wrong?
“They need to shag already,” Ron mumbled in your absence, causing Hermione to gasp, swatting his arm like his comment had offended her personally. “What?”
DISTRACTIONS, DISTRACTIONS, DISTRACTIONS.
He was doing anything just to keep the thought of you away. In the comforts of his own room, nothing could bother him—not Dean, not Voldemort, not Slughorn…
Harry was on the floor of his dorm (shared with Ron, Seamus, Neville and damned Dean), the Marauders Map in his lap, just staring at the footsteps of random students going by—the pads of his fingers itched the ancient parchment, his lips pursed as if he was concentrating. A particular trail caught his eye, the prints belonging to Draco Malfoy, who had appeared in a random hallway out of nowhere; what was he up to?
Still and all, Harry did not care for Malfoy. Not when your footsteps decorated the page all of a sudden, leaving the Great Hall… by yourself? Shaking his head, Harry looked elsewhere, desperate to see where… well. Anyone. He couldn’t talk to you. Not like this. He was the definition of cowardice. Despair. Being jealous over a guy was… a new thing. Harry couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt like this—
Is this what love felt like? Is this what his father felt whenever his mother chose Snape over him?
The difference was that Dean was a decent bloke. Nice. Respectful. Good with spells. Similar to Harry in that sense. But Dean wasn’t… cursed. He wasn’t the Boy who Lived. He wasn’t going to be the boy who would soon be Voldemort’s demise—Harry knew that was his only purpose. You could be normal with Dean. You couldn’t ever be normal with Harry…
“Who are you spying on now?” The gentleness of your question splintered his deprecating thoughts, his head snapping towards the entrance of his dorm in slight surprise. He couldn’t tell if he was pleased or aggravated by your presence. For one thing, you caused his anxious tendencies to disappear. Anyhow, he was still peeved about Dean.
Fucking perfect Dean Thomas out of all people.
In your eyes, Harry merely grimaced—you had your own tendencies to contemplate and overthink… Harry was not grimacing (at least, not towards you), rather his expression was a mix of happiness and dreaded envy. Anyone could misinterpret that. The Chosen One was far too expressive, so much so that he’d normally get into quite a lot of trouble with Snape because of it.
“I can leave… you seem, um, busy—” your smile had dropped, and Harry immediately cursed himself, interrupting you swiftly.
“No!” his exclamation caught you off guard and he cleared his throat, looking away with coloured cheeks. “I mean, uh, no. Stay. Please,” his quiet mumble was purely out of shyness, in fear of rejection. You were special. A rainbow within a mass of thunderclouds.
Thunderclouds that no longer caged your aching hearts.
Your smile appeared as quickly as it left, the corners of your lips quirked up in a way that Harry knew it was genuine. He didn’t know if he was gaslighting himself, but he could’ve sworn you only smiled like this with him and no one else. In Harry’s eyes, your smile had fifteen different variations at the least.
Shutting the door behind you, you walked towards where he sat by his bed, careful to not accidentally trample Ron’s many socks that scattered his side of the room. You tucked your locks behind your ears before sitting down beside him, pulling your knees to your chest, your bright eyes finding his face. Troubled. He looked troubled. And, even though his two best friends reassured you, you couldn’t help but ask him…
“Did I do something wrong?” Your usually placid voice had now resounded to a disheartened whisper, something Harry was unintentionally the cause of. His head whipped around to meet your gaze, his eyebrows furrowed in slight devastation.
His jealousy had caused you to feel like this. Damn you, Harry.
“Of course not,” he assured, pushing the Marauder’s Map off his lap, his attention fully on you and you only. You nibbled your bottom lip, looking away from him, your knees relaxing.
“But then… Why did you leave?” Reluctance embraced your tone like it was an old friend. Harry knew you well, knew you well enough to understand your anxieties. Your nerves. He hated himself for even assuming you and Dean had something going on—it was now clear that that hadn’t been the case.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Harry sighed; it was your turn to furrow your eyebrows. “It wasn’t you—it’s never you,” your eyes met as he spoke with that soft tone of his, a tone he only really reserved for you. “I was… uh,” he struggled to speak, struggled to voice why he was slightly upset. He would only look pathetic.
You noticed this, of course. You always notice. Delicate fingers trailed towards his, your warm hand embracing his larger, calloused palm, comforting him. Reassuring him that you were there to listen. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he leaned against his bed, not finding the courage to look you in the eye anymore—the ceiling accepted his look of despair.
“I was jealous, is all,” he admitted, bewildering you as he scoffed to himself. “Of you and… Dean.” His words had knocked you for a twist; out of all things, you hadn’t expected him to say that—he had been jealous the entire time? Your initial bewilderment dissipated, wanting to understand, well… why?
“For what reason?” you asked, your lips parting as Harry’s head turned towards you.
“Just… the way you were both interacting, I guess,” he muttered, not knowing how to explain it.
“Interacting?” you repeated, amusement lacing your tone as he rolled your eyes—that smile you always adored found his lips.
“Shut up,” he mumbled, trying not to seem so affected by your quiet giggle in response. “You were both laughing and it just… set me off. I don’t know why,” he finished with a sigh, scratching his head after turning away from you, his eyes meeting the floor. “Dean’s everything I wish I could be. You might—” he stopped himself before he could go further, and that only increased your intrigue.
“I might what?”
“You might…” his eyes closed. Like he was defeated. Ready to accept his fate. “You might actually like me if I was more like him. If I wasn’t… the Chosen One.”
He was met with silence. He couldn’t bring himself to even look at you, but you were in a plight of shock; you didn’t even realise that Harry had let go of your hand. Shock might actually be an understatement. You already gathered that the rumours were true—that he really was destined to end You-Know-Who once and for all. Nonetheless, what you were contemplating over and over in your head, was his confession.
He liked me?
“As in… more than friends?” Harry smiled then, a breathless chuckle escaping him—he adored you, adored that you always had to be absolutely sure.
“Yeah. More than friends.” That was all you needed. Those four words. Those two sentences of reassurement to let you know that you weren’t just imagining this. And, you hated him, moreso yourself, for not telling you sooner. For making you overthink for the last couple of weeks.
“Harry James Potter,” you exhaled, shaking your head with disbelief. “You really are as thick as Ron says.”
“Wait. What—?”
The softest of lips mingled with his as soon as you leaned in, testing the waters before Harry reeled you in completely, your hand landing on his chest so you could steady yourself. Your eyes were closed, Harry simply enjoying how they felt like his pillows, your lips. How they felt heavenly against his. Gentle, light, tender—nothing like the palpitating storms that bothered him daily. As you steadied yourself, his hands found your hips, bringing you as close as possible so you could settle in his lap, the pair of you unable to break the kiss as it developed into something more; hunger, need, desire. You could feel it escaping him—every word he couldn’t give voice to melted like molten, hugging your heart like it was something you were used to; the thunderclouds disappeared long ago, and yet, Harry was making sure they were gone for good.
Lips locked together in a lovely embrace. Soft clicks filling the dorm like this was a normal occurrence.
Harry had never felt more at home. You in his arms. You in his heart.
pairing : harry james potter x fem! reader
warnings : physical abuse
a/n : I realized I cannot write angst.
wc : 1.1k+
summary: It had been months since she’d seen him, and when the weight of everything eventually broke her down, there was nothing left to do but run.
She didn’t know what was more suffocating — the ball or her mother’s piercing gaze. The mask did little to shield her from her mother’s silent wrath. With each suitor she declined to dance with, the air would grow thicker and slight cracks would appear on her mother’s composed facade. She might as well would have signed her own sentence. Her gaze flickered to the bracelet in her hand. The wine red clashing with her emerald dress. She lightly rubbed it and it soon was easier to breathe.
“It’s beautiful.” She gasped as he clasped the bracelet on her hand.
“It pales in comparison to you but I think it will pass.”
“Don’t get cheesy with me.” He clocked his head to the side as she sent a bashful smile his way.
“What will you do?” He shifted closer to her.
“For starters—” The words never come out as he began peppering her face with clumsy light kisses. Her soft laughs filled the air as his breaths felt ticklish against her face. She tried to retort but her laughs kept stealing her syllables. And ever so slightly in between Harry would stop to admire the smile of the woman he couldn’t possible live without.
Her mother grabbed her by the wrist, the bracelet digging into her flesh. She could handle the pain but started writhing when she felt the beads drop all across the hall as her mother dragged her towards a rather secluded section. She had lost a few beads but was glad for the ones that still clung to her wrist.
“If I see you reject one more, you are not going back to Hogwarts.” And just like that her whole defiance came crashing down. Plastering a tight lipped smile to her face she waltzed along the floor with someone. It was bearable since the boy maintained a safe distance from her and did dance decently.
“You are finally getting it.” She squealed above the sound of music as Harry finally twirled and dipped her without stepping on her feet. He might have gotten too carried away with the praise for the next second, he tripped on thin air and before she could catch him, he had booked himself a concussion.
“Is it still hurting?” She ran her hands through his hair trying to comfort him. And when his replies stopped coming, she looked down — only to find him fast asleep in her lap, his breathing steady and mouth slightly open. She poked his cheek, boinked his nose and lightly flicked his forehead. He was indeed sleep and too cute to not do that.
She gently shifted him off her lap, easing his head onto her arm as a makeshift pillow before lying down beside him. She felt him turn and wrap his arms around her waist as he pulled her close, nestling her face against his chest. A soft smile tugged on his face as he caressed the back of her head.
“I knew you were awake.” She lightly slapped his chest.
“Shush you will wake me up.” Sleep came easily to her that night on the floor of the Astronomy Tower — sweeter than any she'd known before.
Her mother was finally engaging in some conversations and her gaze had torn away from her. She could finally eat something though her corset wouldn’t allow much. Treacle Tart. The first dish she laid her eyes on had to be this. It was as if everywhere she looked, she was reminded of him. Her Harry. She needed him. She missed him soo much. Tears prickled at the corner of her eyes as she found it yet again difficult to breathe. Trying to distract herself, she looked all around the hall in an attempt to breathe only for her eyes to land on her father. He was hugging the boy from earlier, shaking hands with his parents as her mother was smiling for the first time that evening.
“I love you Harry.” She whispered as she brushed off the flour from his face.
“You are gonna be the death of me.” In an instant, he moved in for a kiss — but she was faster, popping a tart into his mouth.
“Like it Potter?”
She couldn’t stay anymore. She peeled the masquerade mask off her face running out of the house without bothering to change out of her dress. She had to reach him before her parents could notice her absence. She quickly exited the house and once she was a reasonable distance raised her wand to summon the Knight Bus.
“Godric’s Hollow” She gave the address to the conductor and just when the bus began squeezing its way towards her destination, she realized how badly she had messed up by wearing the dress in the bus. By the time she reached his home, her knees and elbows were scraped raw, stinging with every movement. The old bruise on her wrist had deepened to an ugly shade of purple, and blood trickled steadily from a gash she hadn’t even noticed until now. The wounds were least of her worries though. She had finally made it. That was enough. She knocked on the door anticipating each second.
“Harry check the door. It must be Sirius.” It was likely his mother. The door opened with a swing as she finally came face to face with him.
“Hi!” She waved towards him as Harry’s face morphed into that shock.
“I look messy right?” She let out a quiet laugh, surprised by how natural it felt.
“How did this happen?” He moved to cup her face, his hands trembling. Worry was etched on every feature of his face as he started panicking trying to keep track of all her injuries until he couldn’t. She wrapped her arms around him as if it was the only thing that kept her standing or rather breathing while she kept pulling him closer trying to get enough of him but unable to do so.
"I missed you."
“I missed you too, love. But please let me take care of your wounds and then you can hug me okay?” He was scared. Clinging to him, she shook her head refusing to let go and when he started gently rubbing her back, the prickling tears eventually cascaded down her cheeks. It didn’t matter if she was being clingy or desperate or even pathetic for it had been months since she had felt safe. She wanted to stay longer — to hold on just a little more — but it wasn’t meant to be for a tremble ran through her, and before she could steady herself, her knees gave way and she collapsed silently into his arms.
wolfstar!daughter au
summary: twas the night before you leave for hogwarts university. you and harry reminisce on moments from your day - moments from your life.
wc: 0.7k+
Harry’s arm lays casual around your shoulders, holding you close to him. The night is calm now that everyone has retreated back to their rooms, a melancholic fog settling over the lake. It had been an oddly emotional day for both your parents, who had been sending you to Hogwarts for seven years. Just because you were now going to the university, it doesn’t mean much has changed. Well, a little bit is changing for you and Harry; you’ll now live in a house with Hermione and Ron —the rest of your friends still close by— and while you won’t share all your classes together, you will share a home.
“First time I see Sirius cry.” Harry mutters, and you smile softly, glancing up at your boyfriend. He’s clearly replaying the entire day back in his mind: from the elaborate brunch you’d all had, celebrating your last breakfast before leaving to the relentless packing forced upon you by both your parents. Questions like ‘which bedding do you want to bring with you’ and ‘did you remember to pack your towels’ were new to you, and after the first hundred of these questions, you were ready to tap out.
Harry now grins down at you, eyes glimmering as he recalls the short break he had forced upon you. You had gotten to that point in the day where it seemed as though your parents were packing for you, but they still didn’t let you take a break, even as you laid down in bed rethinking your entire existence. Harry had called your name from downstairs, calling for help to find something in his bedroom. Remus had rolled his eyes in amusement, and you had groaned as you pushed yourself off the bed, trudging down the stairs to find your boyfriend.
When you reached the bottom of the stairs, you had found Harry pressing a finger to his lips and nodding his head in direction to the bathroom, where you had confusedly followed him. He had grinned, shutting the door behind you and pressing you up against it. It was only then that you realised his intentions, and you had strewn your fingers in his hair, letting him kiss you for as long as he pleased. Or at least until someone came looking for you.
Now, all your luggage stands in a pile in your respective living rooms, and your parents have gone to bed, probably reminiscing in a similar way to the two of you.
You shift on the dock, bringing your legs up from how they swing over its edge so you can sit in a criss-crossed manner in front of Harry, who twists his torso to look at you. “It’s funny, isn’t it?” You ask quietly, and Harry tilts his head.
“We started out playing in this garden as kids, then on this dock when our parents were confident we knew how to swim. We walked together to school everyday, and then we went to Hogwarts and made the best friends of our lives. But here we are again, just the two of us - not just friends anymore. And we’re starting the next chapter.”
Harry grins, bringing a hand up to the side of your face. His thumb caresses your cheek softly, and he whispers “Always had the most important person in my life by my side.”
“You’re being sappy.” You say, with a wide smile on your face. Harry leans in close to you, pecking your lips once and replying “You started it.”
His hand trails down from your face and to your waist, tugging you closer to him. He helps you manoeuvre yourself over his lap until you’re straddling him. You kiss him once more, letting Harry deepen the kiss for a moment when he presses himself harder against you. When the kiss breaks, you still keep your hold on each other, hugging the other as though you’re not going to the same place tomorrow.
“At least if we suck at making new friends it won’t be the end of the world.” You mutter, and Harry laughs softly, squeezing your hip. “Yeah, but it’ll be weird having a rivalry with the old slytherins when we won’t have our houses anymore.”
“Oh well, maybe that’s just your sign to become friends with Malfoy.”
Summary: It’s Thomas’s first official day as a Runner, and he’s ready to learn the ropes, except his two designated trainers, you and Minho, have way too much chemistry for him to focus.
CW: glader slang, minho is not subtle
A/N: he is so fine no further comments. if this was today, book minho would be a part of the sassy man apocalypse most definitely.
My fine shyts: @lucylockets - @dulcet-aurora - @kitkatscabinet -@hmb-dom-4real
The morning sun’s barely up, the first signs of light just passing the maze walls when Thomas stumbles into the Map Room, still rubbing sleep from his eyes. You’re already there, harness on, hands on your hips, grinning like you’ve got the Maze in your pocket. Minho’s close by, leaning next to you, casual as ever, flipping a pencil between his fingers, his eyes drinking in your figure.
“Greenie!” you call, loud enough to make him flinch. “Ready to run or ready to puke?”
“Uh…” Thomas glances between you and Minho. “Both?”
Minho chuckles, pushes himself off the wall. “You’ll get used to it shuckface. Or die. Either way, problem solved.”
You roll your eyes. “Ignore him. He just a shank who likes scaring newbies. Makes him feel tall.”
“I am tall,” Minho shoots back, moving to stand in front of you, tilting his head to display his jaw line. “And fast. And smarter than-”
“a bag of rocks,” you interrupt with a smirk.
Thomas blinks. “...are you two always like this?”
“Like what?” you ask innocently, grabbing your gear.
“Like… this,” Thomas gestures vaguely between you, like the sheer amount of banter is physically overwhelming him.
Minho just smirks. “Come on, Greenie. Rule number one , don’t get killed. Rule number two, try to keep up with her.” He nods toward you like you’re some kind of lethal weapon in running shoes, his gaze following the movement of your hips in those shorts.
You sling your pack over your shoulder. “And rule number three, if Minho tells you to turn left, double-check that he’s not messing with you.”
“That happened like once!” Minho protests.
“Twice,” you correct, already jogging toward the Maze entrance. “Let’s go, boys. The doors don’t wait for slowpokes.”
The thing about Minho, and you’d never admit this out loud, is that he’s infuriatingly good at getting under your skin. Always has a comeback, always pushes you to run harder, and always, always manages to look annoyingly good while doing it, his windswept hair, and his biceps (help my bicep problem is getting worse.) outlined by his faded blue button he wears everyday, which is his attempt at micro-dosing to becoming a cartoon character.
You’re not dating. Everyone knows that.
But everyone also knows there’s an unspoken rule in the Glade: don’t even think about it.
Not because you’re the only girl in the Maze, though that helps keep the dumbasses at bay, but because Minho’s made it crystal clear in that casual, dangerous way of his that you’re his.
And, well… he’s yours.
He grabs your waist gently, always looks at you when you talk to your fellow runners after mapping the maze, you always sit next to eachother, he ties your shoes sometimes, and the one time you got hurt? He didn't leave the med hut until Jeff complained to Alby, who forced one of his best runners to go back to doing his job.
So no one flirts. No one tries. The closest anyone has even gotten was Clint offering you extra water one hot afternoon, and Minho “jokingly” timed how fast he could beat him at arm wrestling right after. Spoiler: it was very fast.
The three of you are deep in the Maze when Thomas realises he’s been third-wheeling a training session. You and Minho dart ahead, trading playful insults as you vault over cracks in the stone.
“You call that fast?” you shout over your shoulder.
“Sweetheart, I’m pacing myself so you don’t eat dirt,” Minho fires back, catching up with a grin.
Thomas groans. “Are you guys seriously flirting while we’re running from things that can kill us?”
“Multitasking, Greenie!” you yell, laughing.
By the time you stop for water, Thomas is sweaty, out of breath, and more confused than ever. Minho tosses you his canteen without asking, like it’s second nature. You take a swig, pass it back, and he drinks from the same spot without hesitation.
Thomas catches it, the way Minho’s gaze lingers on you a beat too long, the way you smile at him like no one else exists. And the way everyone else back in the Glade definitely knows.
“You two…” Thomas says slowly, “...are something else.”
Minho shrugs, wiping his mouth. “Nah. We’re just good partners.”
You smirk. “The best.”
Thomas mutters under his breath, “Yeah, partners. Right.”
Somewhere far off, the Maze walls shift, and you glance at Minho with that spark in your eye. He grins back. And Thomas just knows, surviving the Maze might be easier than surviving you two.
Hope you all enjoyed this! Likes, comments, reblogs and requests are highly appreciated! Requests are open!
Sources! -
Header - @licedarko
Dividers - @hyuneskkami
Property of suigenerisisadiva, do not repost my work pls & ty!
˖°࿐ cedric as your tall, pretty boyfriend who constantly blushes around you and loves to keep his arms around your waist, his chin propped on your shoulder as you talk to your friends or do a menial task…
ugh guys, he’s so cute and pretty and kind and sweet to you. he constantly mushes up your cheeks to make you smile or because you’re too cute he can’t help himself. he loves when you put your hands under his clothes because you’re cold and you want to warm them up, he just wraps you up in his arms and lets you get all the heat you need. he’s sooooo endeared by you and is putty in your hands. ceo of #ilovemygf
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who can’t help but lay on your chest and bury his face into your skin. He inhales your scent like a man starved—audibly and unabashedly. He’ll press tiny, tender little kisses against your neck as his body relaxes into you.
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who locks his arms around your waist and keeps you pinned to the bed so you can’t escape his cuddles. He won’t put all of his body weight on top of you but he’ll make sure you’re not going anywhere.
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who glares at the other marauders when they come barreling into the dorm—interrupting the cuddle session with their loud hippogriff footsteps. He’ll pull your face to the crook of his neck as if to shield you while he stares his friends down.
“Oi, keep it down yeah, fellas?” He’ll grumble, fingers gently carding through your hair—the gentle gesture a stark contrast to his obvious irritation. “M’tryin’ to nap with m’love.”
SLEEPY JAMES POTTER who promptly goes back to ignoring the world because all that matters in this moment is you, and being in your arms.
Just SLEEPY JAMES POTTER in love with you <3.
note ━━━ first blurb kinda nervous. hope you angels enjoy!
Hi! I love your work so much. Can I request a George Weasley x Slytherin!reader with prompts 2 and 32? Thanks, have a good day <3
I am so sorry for responding to this so late but I hope you like it💛
------
George Weasley x reader
Summary: You accidentally call your boyfriend a nickname, one that could possibly break your relationship.
Tags: established relationship, Slytherin!reader, fluff, suggestive ending
George M List | Join My Taglist
Walking down the stairs, the first thing you hear was his voice. “Freddie, maybe we can try bat wings. It's already used in the swelling solution.”
Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, your lips curl into a soft tired smile at the sight of George, Fred, and Lee sitting on the floor, huddled around the table shattered in parchment, hushed whispers being shared like top secrets.
Clearing your throat, all three heads turn slowly as if the were expecting McGonagall and her stern disappointed glare.
“Well good morning.” Fred hums, leaning back as George wraps an arm around your leg, pulling you closer. Rolling your eyes, you look out the window, noticing how the stars are still out, twinkling above the forest. “It's still dark out. Why are you awake?”
Fred hums, leaning back against the sofa. “Better question. Why were you sleeping in our dorm instead of your own? Do you prefer the lion's den more than the snake pit?”
Scoffing, you sit down beside George, eyes fluttering close as George wraps an arm around your waist. “No. I simply like my husband more than my dorm mates. ‘S all.”
The boys tense, your words hovering in the air like a sword, leaving you none the wiser as sleep pulls you into its peaceful embrace once more.
Lee clears his throat, causing you to open your eyes. “What? Did I,” you yawn. “Did I say s’mething?”
Fred and Lee share a look before they start cackling, falling into the floor as their laughter bounced off the walls. “You just-” “You-”
George clears his throat, no hint of amusement on his face. The shadows from the flames dance across his face as he stands up, leaving you cold.
Bending down, George pulls you into his arms, holding you bridal style. “George what- George wait!” Without another sound, he marches up the stairs you just came down.
“What are we doing?” You ask, gasping as he tosses you onto his bed. “You..” George mumbles, pacing from the end of his bed to the door, hand running through his hair. “You come down the stairs in my shirt,” You look down, smiling as you were in fact that wearing his jumper that his mum made him for Christmas last year. “And you called me… called me your..”
His voice trails off as he stops in the middle of the room, his back still turned to you. Racking your brain, you try to remember what you said.
Oh.
Oh.
Oh.
Ice runs down your spine. Husband. You called your boyfriend of six months husband. You haven't even met his parents, not even talked about it.
Running your hands through your hair, tears welling in the corner of your eyes. You've ruined it. There was no way he would want you now. Who calls their boyfriend their husband?
“George.. I um…please..” George spins at the crack in your voice. “Please…I'm so-”
Shaking his head, George crosses the room in two strides. “No no sweetheart please,” He stutters, falling into his knees in front of you. “Don't apologize. I..um liked. I liked it. Loved it really. I mean you want to marry me? Little ole me who wears hand me downs from my three older brothers. Me?”
You nod, tears streaming down your cheeks. You didn't scare him off? “Haven't thought about it much honestly but yeah. I guess I do.”
George stands up, lips crashing against yours as he tilts your head up. Fingers run through your hair as your own hands find its place under his shirt. “Good.” George mutters again your lips, pressing another kiss before leaning back, a fire flickering in his eyes. In one swift move, he pulls his shirt off throwing it across the room. “Cause I plan on marrying you, preferably as soon as we get out of this bloody castle.”
Bonus:
Fred: Well guess we can't go to bed anytime soon.
Lee: Where the hell are we supposed to sleep?
Fred: pauses before jumping into the couch I call couch!
some boyfriend!harry james potter headcanons that make me giggle n kick my feet to think about <3
loves to buy you flowers. like, he knows the florist personally at this point because he's constantly working on new bouquets for you. he knows all about trimming the stems, cutting the leaves, fertilizing the water, he's really passionate about you having beautiful, fresh flowers around you all the time. "pretty girls deserve pretty flowers" <333
you guys heard about the orange peel theory right? well harry doesn't just peel your orange for you, he also pulls it apart, plates it, makes it look beautiful, and gets you a drink to go with it. he does not fuck around when it comes to doing favors for you, he will do whatever it takes to make even the smallest parts of life easier for you
on that note, he knows your preferences for everything. your favorite drinks and how you like them, your favorite meals from your favorite places, your favorite brands or stores, even down to how you like your clothes organized. anytime he learns how you like something a particular way he takes note, not because he has to, but because he loves learning about all your little details that make you so special to him
doesn't hesitate to buy something if it makes him think of you. if he knows you really like one animal, he'll buy random things with that animal on it just because they remind him of you. if something comes in your favorite color it's his first choice. he buys sweatshirts/sweaters in the hopes you like them enough to wear them yourself. he just loves having these little parts of you in his life to remind him how lucky he is to have you around :'(
gets a little jealous and flustered if you have a celebrity crush or start gushing over a character from the book you're currently reading. he knows it's not serious and doesn't let it get to him too much, but he can't help that he's protective over you, even if it's against a completely fictional character. still, he finds it incredibly cute when you blush talking about/seeing them <3
always feels so relaxed when he's with you that he actually gets sleepy. anytime you're cuddling or even just snuggled up on the couch together he starts drifting in and out of sleep, his body melting into yours. he can't help it, you just make him feel so safe and comfortable...most of the time you tease him for it, but sometimes he looks too cute sleeping on your shoulder for you to wake him...zzz...
absolutely loves to do all the cheesy boyfriend stuff for you: hold your bags, open doors for you, give you his jacket, pay for every date, he's just so proud to be with you and he wants you to know it. he's so excited anytime he gets to introduce you as his girlfriend, and takes any chance he can to bring you up in conversation. he just loves you so much he can't keep it to himself !!!
A/N: I love the idea of like a fun slytherin sm!! Like kind of the resident fun slytherin who literally just gets along with everyone!! I like to think reader took the pic of fred w the lil camera we see her with eheh
Warning(s): Reader is a slytherin but NICE, fred is completely enamored, reader is popular, extroverted, and loves parties!! Reader and Fred are in their last year, before he drops out to open the shop <33
Word count: 1.8k
Dividers by @muerdida !!
The Gryffindor common room pulsated like it had a heartbeat, fluorescing lights lighting up the room in flashes of red, blue, yellow, and green. The tables, chairs, and everything pushed aside to make a makeshift dancefloor. Nights like these were beautiful; people came, without house colours, but as themselves. People got along, danced and drank together. Nelly Furtado played over invisible speakers, silencing charms being tested to their limits. Bodies swayed under the strobing lights, the room was filled with obnoxiously loud singing and hammered sixth and seventh years yelling over the music to talk to each other.
You were the centre of it all, despite it not even being your house’s party; you were fanning the flame, all around the room. Taking shots off of Alicia Spinnet’s back one second, the next chatting up Roger Davies in another corner. You danced with Cassius Warrington, giggled with Katie Bell, even gossiped a bit with Angelina.
Again—life of the party. You were known, popular. You lit up every function you attended, knowing how to get people dancing, drinking, laughing. Your name was constantly being yelled from all corners of the room, you stuck around with everyone, drank with them, laughed and danced with them, then spun around to another corner—another person. It was a careful dance, you thrived in it.
What you didn’t expect was being pulled out of it as a large hand curled around your upper arm, pulling you into a corner by the stairs. You looked up, warm with alcohol as a pair of piercing chocolate eyes looked down at you, fiery ginger hair and a lazy grin. Your stomach fluttered as a grin grew on your lips.
“Freddie! I haven’t seen you all night, thought you bailed ‘n left poor George here.” You mused, looking up at his towering frame. He chuckled, crossing his arms. “Miss seeing you? I’d feel robbed of the prettiest glittering thing in the common room.”
He gestured to your excessive jewellery, you snickered in response, playfully swatting his wrist while he gestured. “Oh, hush! Don’t spend all your time here, want me to introduce you to a few? There’s a girl I feel you’d get on with—” You said excitedly before you heard his tongue click. He leaned over you, lowering his head to mumble in your ear.
“Think I’m happy enough with you, mhm?” He mumbled, making your cheeks burn. “Well– well, okay! I just— There’s people looking for me, okay?” You sputtered out, eyes wider as you patted his chest like your insides weren’t exploding. His grin only widened as he leaned back, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “Shame. Look for me, alright, pretty girl?”
You laughed in response, giving him a bright smile. “Oh, for sure. Who else’ll call me the prettiest glittering thing in the room? Can’t let go of that ego fuel, can I?”
He snickered, moving to loosely touch your hair, tilting his head. “If anyone else calls you pretty, tell ‘em I did first, will you?” The soft, subtle touch of possessiveness made your knees feel like jelly. Your name was yelled again, and you fell back into it, into the music and the laughter—but Fred hung at the back of your mind, sat in your ribs. Your breathing hitched just a tad whenever you heard his loud laughter from across the party.
You told yourself Fred was just touchy, you didn’t know each other beyond the parties, beyond the noise. You were fine with that, you always kept yourself occupied. He was always occupied.
But there it began.
Party after party, the common rooms switching but the people constant. With Umbridge’s rules and the fact it was the last year for so many, parties were thrown almost every single night.
You never minded, always attending each one. People needed it; to be able to let loose and have fun. But Fred came to each and every one too.
Every single one.
Fair, it was his final year too, you doubted he’d even finish it with how much he talked about his upcoming shop. But you felt his eyes on you through every one. You felt insane when you looked his face, only to see him doing something else. Not looking at you.
Were you the one thinking of him? Wishing he’d look at you?
You shook the thought, back on the dance floor, pulling people in as Sean Paul blasted over the speakers, making quite literally every girl in the room scream and dance together.
You were flushed, dancing with Katie Bell to the upbeat song, moving your hips as you and Katie sang the song at each other, grins wide.
You were completely consumed by it, swaying to the music. Spinning around with the rest of the bodies in the crowd. You looked around, spotting Fred on the outskirts of the dance floor just as the song switched, Everybody Wants To Rule The World, Tears for Fears.
The new songs pulled more guys in, and you moved to grab Fred’s wrist making him scoff and shake his head. “Oh, no no no—“ making you snicker, nodding as you tugged him into the crowd.
“Oh, yes, Weasley. You’re not shy, right?” You cooed, making him exaggeratedly groan. You danced to the slower song in front of him, singing with him. Though he was quite reluctant to, he sang with a soft smirk, rolling his eyes every once in a while when you very dramatically acted out the lyrics.
The next song came, then the next. You two stayed, he got more comfortable. Dancing, swaying, singing, grinning at each other.
You shared drinks, teased each other—had a complete ball.
Soon, your interactions shifted, evolved.
Parties turned into bumping into eachother in the back of the library.
Alcohol turned sharing coffee during hangovers.
The music started sounding like rain when you and him sit together in the Astronomy Tower. It sounded like the crackling of the Gryffindor Common Room fire when he and George made you wear a Gryffindor tie to sneak you in under the guise of you being the only tolerable Slytherin.
Talking at parties was natural, he went straight to you when he walked in; you always gave him your full attention in turn. The girl who was the human version of everywhere, all at once, began to find a place to be. Fred.
Gradually, people went to Fred when they needed you—and someone always needed you. She almost gave Fred a starter pack on how to help people if you were busy.
If someone asked Fred why he had a pouch in his bookbag full of pads, inflatable heating pads, spare underwear, lip balm, and pain-relief potion seven months ago, he’d have snorted and made some dumb joke about being the saint Mary for women’s needs.
But now? He quite literally was. Because of you.
You’d begun letting yourself into his dorm whenever you wanted; Lee and George were used to you hanging around their dorm at this point. You and Fred would sit on his bed, you’d tell him all the drama that looked for your advice on to make sure he could give his two cents whenever anyone came asking for your opinion. Late nights just sitting within the curtains of his four-poster bed, whispering and giggling people's problems. He’d occasionally snort at the ridiculousness.
Your heart swelled—you loved being everyone’s girl. Everyone’s person. But this? Sitting with him? It felt like you had a person, felt like you were his someone.
And on it went. Months. It came to a point, you and Fred snuck out of your common rooms, in nothing but dorky Merlin pyjamas you’d both bought on a whim to be funny.
He leaned against the railing of the Astronomy Tower, the air was cool, but not biting. Your shoulder kept bumping against his as you swayed softly, humming some Beatles song under your breath. He didn’t move, looked out towards the stars. The silence wasn’t alarming, you’d learned that Fred thought about stuff a lot when he was alone, and you always let him be alone with you.
Your fingers brushed too many times for it not to be deliberate.
“You know me ‘n Georgie’ll be leaving soon. The shop. Everything and whatnot. I won’t be here.” He said softly into the night, looking at you with the same intensity his eyes always had. He was like a live storm, no matter how quiet. You nodded once, looking back at him.
“I know. It’ll be weird. Can’t wait to see it, though.” You said in turn, offering up a smile. He didn’t reciprocate, not satisfied.
“I won’t be here.” He repeated.
“The hallways will be quieter.”
“I’ll be, like, gone. No more this.”
“I’ll miss it. I’ll write to you.”
He pursed his lips, narrowing his eyes at you like you were messing with him.
“Are you taking the piss?” He huffed, frowning at you. You frowned back, tilting your head. “Of what?”
He groaned, moving to face you, dragging a hand down his face. “Merlin, woman. Me. You. Us. Is there seriously nothing you want to talk about on this horrifically romantic night?”
Your heart picked up a few beats, looking at his warm chocolate eyes, now swirling with frustration. “Do you?”
He gaped, almost exasperated. “What—what do you even– Of course! You’re just– The whispering in my ear?! I–I have a bloody period kit for helping people because you asked! Not to mention the fact it’s a known fact that everyone knows that I always know your bloody whereabouts?!”
He grabbed your shoulders, you yelped. “Freddie!”
“You’re gonna make me go mad, okay? I’ll be leaving, love. Gone. You won’t see me. I can meet you at Hogsmeade but that’s it. I’ll be busy with the business. Next time we’ll be proper together will be ages from now.”
He glared, you turned sheepish.
“Say something or I’ll do something you may not like.” He mumbled, quieter but no less intense.
“Like kiss me?” You mumbled.
“Like kiss you.”
Your stomach fluttered, because he looked so undeterred, like a string pulled taut to the point of snapping.
“Do it then.” You whispered, making his hands move from your shoulders to your hips, squeezing the plump skin before tugging you closer.
“Fuckin’ crazy. You’re terrifying. I-I can’t even begin to keep myself sane near you.” He huffed, his lips ghosted over yours, making your pulse hammer inside your veins, against your skin.
He leaned down, teeth clinking into a messy, open-mouthed kiss. You were breathing into each other’s mouths, practically sucking each other in.
And so Slytherin’s party girl found something beyond the strobing lights and blasting music. Something equally as enjoyable, but just a bit closer to her heart.
Description: Harry has been crushing on you for awhile now, and for far too long the twins finally decided. Fred and George, being the geniuses they are, helped poor Harry out. Well, kind of…
𝐅!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫. Request here
Harry Potter, the boy who lived and well known as the chosen one, who has all the influence and fame more than he cared for; And yet, he can’t ask a girl out. How pathetic, am I right?
But you’re not just any girl.
Well, that’s what Harry likes to think. I mean, how can’t he want you? How is he supposed to be so casual around you when you seem to make everything better and feel a little less immense impending doom just by your proximity? Merlin, he was hopeless.
“Oh, cmon, mate!,” Fred loudly encouraged with that stupidly charming smirk of his. “Loosen up a little and live! You don’t wanna be a hopelessly unloved virgin forever, do you?”, “Fred!” Harry exclaimed in disbelief and embarrassment. He’s already regretting this conversation.
“I mean,” George starts, matching Fred’s stupid smirk. “Do you?” They both snicker, not taking this too seriously.
Harry huffs in a bit annoyance. “I’m serious. What if she’s just being friendly? I’d be embarrassing myself. Or worse, she’ll maybe become uncomfortable or weirded out!” Harry sighs.
“Mate, calm down. You’re overthinking, you’re the chosen one! Who wouldn’t want to date you?”, “and even if she does reject you, at least you can move on! You’re Harry Potter, you’re fearless and reckless.” George adds on to Fred’s point. Fred nods, “what happened to all that bravery, huh?” Harry rolls his eyes harshly, but know they’re right.
“Just forget it. I’m going to class - and don’t follow me!” He leaves frustrated, conflicted with his feelings, expectations, and fear.
Fred and George smirk mischievously, glancing at each other with a silent knowing of plan.
It’s been a few days and Harry found himself relieved yet suspicious of the twins. They never listen and especially not to him. Harry knows it’s not until a matter of time something bad will happen and their schemes.
“Harry!” He snaps his head towards the sound of your voice, heart quickening. He sees you running towards him, seemingly different? But he couldn’t place his finger on it. Harry furrows his eyebrows with worry, “Y/n? Is everything okay?”, “oh, yes!,” you catch up, stoping about an inch in front of him, closer than normal. “I was looking for you, this castle is quite big.” You exhaled heavily, a bit out of breath. Harry notices your flushed cheeks, slightly glazed over eyes and big smile on your lips. Your lips looking smooth and soft.
“I - uh..did you need something?” He finally choked out, trying to calm himself down. He’s not being casual at all.
You seem to beam at his question, “no, but I wanted to spend time with you! I mean, it’s been awhile since we’ve hung out, right? C’mon, let’s go do something!” Before he could respond, you grab his hand and start practically dragging him down the big and long halls of hogwarts. Harry is so confused, but he can’t help but notice how oddly warm your hand is, a bit smaller than his hand. It feels so right.
The day is spend playing chess, reading and doing homework together, anything you can think of. In a way, Harry didn’t mind;he’s finally found an excuse to be around you more and talk to you. But, it still didn’t feel completely right. You weren’t acting like normal. It wasn’t until later that night before curfew after walking you to your dorm and walking back to go to his for bed, it dawned on him like a frain train; those goddamn weasley’s.
He storms to their dorm and knocks loudly. “Weasley! Fred! George!” He didn’t care if they were asleep or not - knowing them, probably not.
To no surprise, they were awake, opening the door quickly. “Bloody hell, mate! What’s up with you?”, “did you do something?” He’s straight to the point, more concerned than anything.
Fred huffs, a horrible liar. “What! Me? Never!” George peaks over Fred’s shoulder, “to who exactly?” - “y/n! You did something didn’t you!” He accused rightfully so. Fred and George give each other guilty yet amused looks. Harry gasps, “you did! What did you do?? She’s acting..just - weird! I don’t like it.” Fred sighs a bit dramatically, failing to hide his creeping smug expression, “we might’ve given her a little something to Make her fall in love with you -“ “that’s what you wanted, ain’t it? We’re brilliant!” George finishes Fred’s sentence.
“No! I mean - yes, but - not like this! It’s forced isn’t it?” Harry slightly raises his voice, unable to control his irritation and worry. Fred leans his shoulder against the door frame and crosses his arms. “Look, the love potion should only last a week, it’ll be fi-“ “A WEEK??? Love potion?? You have her a love potion?” Harry cuts Fred off, completely exasperated and left in disbelief. “Oh, bloody hell, weasley!”. George tries to ease the tension, but Harry leaves, storming off to his own dorm, muttering “those bloody weasley’s..”.
It’s been a little over a week and Harry can’t help but feel relieved to have you back to normal. Kinda.
You’ve been acting normally again, except you’re still being affectionate and wanting to be near him constantly. It’s not as bad as when you were under the love potion, but Harry is confused. Shouldn’t you be acting like before? Maybe the potion hadn’t completely worn off yet? Merlin’s beard, Harry doesn’t know what to believe or think anymore. He’s never been more confused.
He ends up going to hermione;she’s brilliant, isn’t she? And he can’t trust that prat Ron to help him. He knows Hermione will be more logical and hopefully more helpfully too. Harry catches her in the hallways and quickens his pace, “hermione!” She turns, stopping her feet. Her eyebrows furrowed, “what’s wrong, Harry?” He catches up, a little flushed, fixing his glasses. “Please help me. The twins gave y/n a strong love potion and it lasted for a week but she should be back to normal by now! Why isn’t she??” Hermione looks taken back, confused and concerned evident on her face.
“I’m sorry, what?? Is she okay??” “Yes! I think - I don’t know!” Harry sighs heavily in frustration as he rubs his fingers through his hair anxiously. “Harry, calm down. Maybe she’s still feeling effects? That’s common with strong potions.”
“Well, yeah, but..it’s been almost two weeks. Even the twins are surprised she’s not back to normal,” he lowers his voice, “What if it becomes permanent?” Hermione can see the genuine worry and stress on his face;she’s never seen him so worried before. She sighs, her expression softening. “Harry, have you ever thought that maybe she’s likes you? You never asked, how could you know for sure she only sees you as a friend?”
Harry is one bloody git. How couldn’t he have known? All this pining and subtle glances (he thinks they were) and all this emotional turmoil and inner conflict for nothing. Merlin, he was blind and utterly stupid not to see you liked him.
By the third week, he finally worked up the nerve to talk to you - really talk to you. He slipped a note to meet later that day at the black lake for privacy. When the time came, he was a bit surprised to see you actually came. He softly smile, his fingers a bit fidgety with anxiety and anticipation.
“Hey. Glad you could make it.” Harry said, trying not to sound too excited.
“Hey,” your hair gently blows in the small breeze, a warm smile on your soft lips. “Is everything okay? The note sounded quite serious.” “Uh - yeah.. No-“ he dicreetly grimaced at his awkward stutter. He takes a deep breath, “no, everything isn’t fine.. im worried about you. You’ve been different lately.” He can feel his heart beating loudly in his throat and his stomach a bundle of nerves;searching your face for any kind of rejection or hesitation.
“Oh, uh, why’s that? I mean, I don’t think I’ve been acting different..” your eyebrows knitted towards a little In confusion, yet you’re hearing him out. He doesn’t know your heart is racing too.
Harry wets his lips with his tongue, “Fred and George slipped you a love potion and it made you..clingy. Very clingy. But, it should’ve worn off after a week..but you haven’t exactly - um..changed.” Harry immediately regrets his words, realizes how rude that might sound. He prays to Merlin you don’t take it that way.
You blink, not sure what to say. After a short moment you spoke up. “Oh..well, I’m sorry if I’ve made you uncomfortable or anything I just -“ you take a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart. “I really like you. Like, for a long time actually.” You quickly add, “but I wasn’t sure if you liked me back and I didn’t want to make things awkward or ruin our friendship because you’re such a good friend, Harry.. I don’t remember anything from two weeks ago now that I think about it…” you mutter the last part more to yourself.
Harry’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised, overjoyed and not believing he’s hearing correctly. Has he really been so blind this whole time?
“Wait - really?? You really like me? Like, more than friends?” His eyes never left hers, waiting with a hopeful anticipation. You nod, a small smile forming. Harry sighs in relief, a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He breaks out into a happy smile and chuckle in joy.
“What’s so funny?”, “nothing. I just..never thought you could possibly like someone like me. I mean..” he trails off, slightly shaking his head in a happy disbelief. You chuckle and step closer. “Is there something you’d like to ask me?” You ask a bit cheekily. He smirk softly, though his eyes are solely focused on you and how breathtaking you are. “I just might,” he gently grabs your hands with such carefulness it’ll be obvious to anyone his deep reverence and love for you is so genuine.
ㆍ H.P x Hufflepuff! Reader
ㆍ After years of pining, a yule ball spent alone, and a wall built in self protection.. the painful wait was worth it in the end.
ㆍSLOW BURN // strangers to enemies to friends to lovers
ㆍ10k
ㆍ r/q: @ashdreams2023
ㆍtaglist: @littlemadamred @raiweasley @iluvhrj @hoeforlifee @a1ienmush @marianaissocool @pottermagiczz @allielovesstars
ㆍa/n: dear god, i know never to apologies for a long fic but.. strap in.
Much love, Saige
[masterlist]
You should have known your friends wouldn’t let you back out.
The winter sun sat low over the Hogwarts courtyard, glinting off patches of snow that hadn’t melted yet. Students milled about, scarves wrapped tight, laughter steaming in the cold air. You and your little group of Hufflepuffs huddled on one of the stone benches—close enough to the courtyard path to see him coming, far enough away for you to pretend you were not here for this exact purpose.
“You look fine,” Marlene insisted, brushing your sleeve for the seventh time.
“You look more than fine,” added Tobias. “Honestly, if you don’t ask him now, I will.”
You snorted. “I’m sure he’d love that.”
“He’d love you more,” Hettie chimed, nudging you with her shoulder. “Come on. It’s Harry Potter. He’s nice! Mostly. Usually.”
“Except when he’s accidentally entered into a deadly tournament,” muttered Rowan, tightening his yellow scarf.
You tried to swallow the nerves tightening in your throat. The Yule Ball announcement had sunk into your dormitory like a spell—everyone buzzing, everyone planning, everyone pairing off. Except you. Except Harry, too, apparently.
And now… now your friends had decided today was the day.
You didn’t even want to look, but your eyes moved on instinct. And there he was—Harry Potter—hair already a mess from the wind, hands shoved into his robes, Ron beside him rambling about something Harry wasn’t listening to. His eyes drifted over the courtyard as though searching for a moment of peace.
Your friends exchanged the kind of look that meant you were being shoved onto a battlefield.
“Stop narrating me,” you hissed—but you stood anyway, your stomach dropping straight through your shoes. Your hands were shaking inside your pockets. You felt ridiculous. You felt brave. You felt like you might faint.
Harry and Ron were nearly passing when you stepped into their path.
“Um—Harry?” you managed, voice wobbling despite every pep talk you’d absorbed.
He blinked, surprised. “Oh—hi.”
Ron gave you a quick smile before catching sight of something on the other side of the courtyard and muttering, “I’ll… meet you inside,” before wandering off.
Which left you and Harry.
And suddenly you forgot every rehearsed line your friends had drilled into you.
“I—I just wanted to ask—um—I mean, if you weren’t going with anyone yet, I thought maybe—well, would you…”
You did not get to finish.
Harry’s eyes widened in pure panic, like a startled deer. “Oh—I’m—sorry—I can’t—I mean—no—sorry!”
He said it fast—far too fast—hands up like he needed to defend himself from your question. His voice cracked on the “no,” and before you could even breathe, he stepped around you, practically speed-walking toward the entrance like the castle was about to burn down.
You froze.
You didn’t even get a full sentence out.
Behind you, your friends watched with a mixture of horror and sympathy.
Hettie covered her face. “Oh my god. He didn’t even… let you finish.”
Marlene winced so sharply it looked painful. “That was… wow. That was rough.”
Tobias hissed through his teeth. “Okay, so confidence didn’t help. Confidence betrayed us.”
You stood there in the cold, heart crumpling faster than you could hide it. You tried to laugh it off, but the sound came out thin and hollow.
“It’s fine,” you said weakly. “It’s fine, I didn’t actually expect—”
But you had expected something.
Not a yes. You weren’t delusional.
Just… a moment. A chance to actually ask. A chance to not feel like a complete idiot.
Your friends surrounded you in a makeshift shield wall, ushering you away from the center of the courtyard. But the moment had carved itself into your chest, sharp and humiliating.
Across the courtyard, Harry disappeared inside the castle like he couldn’t get away fast enough.
And you were left staring at the snow, trying not to feel like you’d shattered on the spot.
The worst part?
His panic hadn’t looked cruel.
It had looked like something else.
And you weren’t sure if that made it better… or so much worse.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
You did not sleep well.
You told your friends you were fine—so many times that Hettie nearly hexed you—but lying awake and replaying Harry Potter’s panicked retreat left a dull ache behind your sternum. By breakfast, you’d convinced yourself you were overreacting. He didn’t mean to humiliate you. He was stressed, you were nervous… it was an unlucky moment. That’s all.
Still, walking into the Great Hall felt like willingly stepping into a spotlight.
You kept your head down, sliding into the Hufflepuff table beside Rowan, who offered you a supportive nudge under the table. Your friends didn’t mention the courtyard, and you were grateful for that, even if every one of them watched you with soft-eyed caution.
You reached for toast.
You pretended you didn’t see him.
But you did.
You felt Harry’s stare before you looked up—one of those prickling, uncomfortable sensations like sunlight on the back of your neck. Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, he sat between Ron and Hermione, shoulders hunched, eyes drifting over students as though looking for something—or someone.
You refused to be that someone.
When your eyes finally flicked up, he was already watching you. The instant your gazes met, Harry snapped his eyes down to his porridge like he’d been caught doing something wrong.
Hermione said something to him. He mumbled. She frowned at him.
You tried not to care.
But you cared.
You spread marmalade onto your toast with the energy of someone sawing wood. Tobias leaned in.
“You’re murdering that breakfast.”
“I like marmalade,” you lied.
“You hate marmalade.”
“Well, maybe I’ve changed as a person.”
“Right. Because nothing says character development like violently ruining a piece of bread.”
You sighed and set the toast down. “Can we not do this right now?”
Tobias softened. “Sorry.”
You weren’t actually angry with your friends. You were angry with yourself—for caring, for hoping, for letting one awkward fifteen-second interaction turn you inside out.
Across the hall, Harry kept sneaking glances.
You didn’t meet any of them.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Harry Potter was having the worst morning of his life.
He couldn’t focus on Ron’s complaining, on Hermione nagging him about homework, or on the fact that a school decorated with frost and floating wreaths was supposed to feel festive—not suffocating.
He couldn’t think about anything except the moment in the courtyard yesterday.
He hadn’t meant to react like that. He hadn’t meant to panic. He just… heard a girl’s voice saying his name and asking about the ball, and suddenly every awful headline and rumor about him echoed through his skull. He’d blurted out “No!” without thinking, nearly tripped over his own feet, and then fled like an idiot.
Now you were sitting across the Hall looking like you wished the floor would swallow you.
Ron nudged him. “Mate. You look like you’re watching your own funeral.”
Harry blinked. “What? I’m not—I’m just—nothing.”
Hermione peered over his shoulder and followed the direction of his eyes.
“Oh,” she said quietly. “Harry.”
Harry hunched. “Don’t.”
“You could apologize,” she whispered. “You didn’t give her a chance to finish.”
“I know,” he muttered, ears heating. “I panicked.”
“You panic a lot lately.”
“Yeah, thanks,” he said miserably.
Hermione’s voice gentled. “Just talk to her.”
But he couldn’t bring himself to stand up. Not when you were surrounded by your friends, not when he didn’t know what words would even come out. What if he made it worse? What if you hated him?
What if you didn’t want anything to do with him at all?
He poked his porridge.
Across the hall, you laughed at something Hettie said—a short, strained sound—and it made his stomach twist with guilt.
He’d hurt you.
And he didn’t even know how to begin fixing it.
You did not talk to Harry Potter that day.
In fact, you spent most of it dodging him without meaning to — ducking into classrooms just before he arrived, moving through corridors full of people, slipping out of lunch early to avoid overlapping with Gryffindor’s schedule.
It felt cowardly.
It also felt necessary.
Because the memory kept replaying: your hopeful voice, and his startled “NO—sorry—NO—”
He hadn’t meant to be cruel. You knew that. But knowing didn’t erase the sting.
You weren’t planning to cry over it, though. You would bounce back. You wanted to, absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent forget about this in a few days.
Probably.
Hopefully.
You told yourself that again on your way back to the common room—until you rounded a corner and almost walked straight into him.
Harry Potter.
Standing alone.
Looking like he’d rehearsed something in his head and forgotten every word the second he saw you.
You froze.
He froze.
Your breath hitched.
His did too.
It wasn’t the moment either of you expected.
And it was definitely not the moment either of you were ready for.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The common room feels different lately.
Not in any physical way — the same warm lighting, the same fluttering Hufflepuff banners, the same cosy beds draped in quilted blankets your grandmother would have adored. But the air had changed. It buzzed with excitement you couldn’t grab hold of, with laughter and whispered plans that wrapped around your friends like ribbons.
Around everyone except you.
Leane sat on her bed, legs kicked up in the air as she wrote in neat curls on a parchment — confirming plans with a seventh-year boy from Herbology who’d asked her so sweetly she’d nearly fallen over. Hettie was rummaging through her wardrobe looking for a dress that “matched her eyes but made her look older,” humming happily between her options. Rowan lay on her stomach with her chin in her hands, reading a letter from her date, someone from Beauxbatons who’d sent a small enchanted hairpin shaped like a lily. Tobias was sprawled out across the floor like a starfish, kicking at your trunk absentmindedly while debating whether to shave for his date or “maintain the charm of teenage chaos.”
They were all glowing.
You were dimming.
And no matter how desperately you tried not to, you felt like the only candle in a room full of lanterns.
“Hey,” Leane chirped, glancing over at you with a hopeful look. “Still nothing?”
You forced a smile. “Still nothing.”
“You don’t… have to wait for someone specific, you know,” Hettie said gently. “You could ask someone else.”
You shrugged. “It’s fine. I’ll just… go with all of you.”
This was met with a chorus of awkward “oh”s and half-hearted protests. They meant well. You loved them. But being the extra puzzle piece that didn’t fit stung more than you wanted to admit.
When the chatter picked up again, you quietly slipped off your bed, grabbed your stack of muggle books from your nightstand, and sank into the windowsill — your usual perch. The glass was cold against your back. The castle grounds glimmered with frost and lanterns. In another life, this view might have felt romantic.
You opened the top book.
A knight’s quest. One of those stories your mum gave you when you were younger; brave heroes, impossible odds, and love that always arrived right on time. You flipped through pages worn soft from years of rereading.
The knight always showed up.
The heroine always got her grand moment.
The ending always felt worth the wait.
Your story… wasn’t like that.
Not tonight.
Maybe not ever.
Below you, your friends laughed, Rowan shrieking because Tobias had levitated her hair around her head like floating snakes. It was warm, comforting, familiar noise.
But it wasn’t enough to drown out the ache.
You closed the book on your thumb and stared at the illustration of the knight on the page, shining armor, sword raised, gaze fixed on a girl he would always choose.
“Lucky,” you whispered to the paper.
Because your knight didn’t come.
Not yesterday in the courtyard.
Not today at breakfast.
Not tonight, or tomorrow.
All you had was the faint sting of humiliation, the ghost of Harry’s startled “No,” and the knowledge that he was probably going to the ball with someone lovely — someone brave, someone who didn’t freeze up or stumble over her words in a courtyard.
You pressed your forehead to your knees and tried to pretend you weren’t disappointed.
You weren’t entitled to his yes.
But Merlin, you were allowed to miss the possibility.
The lights dimmed slightly, curfew charms ticking over, and your friends finally began winding down. Dresses were draped over chairs. Schedules compared. Tobias asked if anyone had a spare comb because his hair was apparently “planning to mutiny.”
Someone asked if you were excited.
You smiled.
And lied.
Later, when everyone slept and the only sound was soft breathing and the gentle flutter of the curtains, you opened the book again.
You read about the knight who stayed through storms and darkness, who never ran, never flinched, never bolted at the first sign of fear.
You tried not to think about a boy who had.
You tried not to think about the way your stomach twisted when you caught Harry staring earlier.
You tried not to imagine that maybe — just maybe — he felt weird about the ball too.
The page blurred.
You blinked hard.
And for the first time since the courtyard, you let yourself feel it.
The disappointment.
You were not going to the Yule Ball with Harry Potter. You were not going with anyone at all.
And that was fine.
It had to be.
You curled tighter into the windowsill, clutching the book to your chest like the stories inside could shield you from your own feelings.
Outside, snow fell lightly across the grounds.
Inside, you fell quietly apart where no one could see.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The Great Hall had transformed.
You’d heard people say that so many times you expected it to feel repetitive, but stepping inside felt like walking straight into another world. Frosted garlands spiraled down marble pillars, evergreens glittered with glowing icicles, and the ceiling swirled with soft snowfall that never touched the ground. Warm candlelight shimmered off polished silver and the glassy ice sculptures that lined the walls.
It was beautiful.
You wished you didn’t feel so out of place in it.
Your friends sparkled — Rowan’s Beauxbatons-style dress flowed like stardust, Hettie glowed in icy blue silk, Tobias looked almost respectable in his robes (minus the chaos hair), and Leane couldn’t stop giggling with her date, who kept whispering something that made her blush crimson.
You trailed behind them like a satellite orbiting brighter stars.
“Come on,” Rowan whispered, looping her arm with yours as you stepped into the crowd. “Third wheel or not, we’re dancing first, alright?”
You nodded gratefully. You would’ve clung to her arm all night if she let you.
Until she didn’t.
Because two minutes later, her date whisked her away for a private slow dance “just while the floor wasn’t crowded,” and Hettie’s date pulled her toward the refreshment table, and Tobias practically tripped over himself racing to greet his.
And you were left standing alone.
The music swelled. Students twirled. Laughter lifted like bubbles over the hum of conversations. You tried to look fascinated by the ice reindeer centerpiece so you wouldn’t look pathetic.
It was going to be a long night.
You took a deep breath, smoothing the edges of your dress — secondhand, altered, but pretty. You weren’t expecting to catch anyone’s attention.
Which was why it was so startling when you did.
Harry Potter was staring at you.
Across the dance floor. Past Parvati Patil, who looked stunning in pink robes and was doing her best not to look irritated. Past Ron, who was sulking like a thundercloud. Past Hermione and Krum sweeping gracefully across the floor.
Harry’s gaze kept flicking toward you.
You quickly looked away, pretending to admire an enchanted snowflake sculpture.
But a heartbeat later, curiosity tugged, and you looked back—
Harry looked away so fast he nearly snapped his own neck.
Your stomach did a stupid, foolish flip.
Great. Exactly what you needed.
Meanwhile, the Boy Who Lived was living through the worst formal event ever.
Harry was miserable.
He’d expected the Yule Ball to feel cool, maybe even fun. Instead, he felt like he was suffocating. Sweat prickled under his collar. Parvati wasn’t speaking to him unless absolutely necessary. Ron looked like he wanted to be anywhere else. And Hermione… Hermione was dancing with Viktor Krum.
Harry didn’t even know where to put his eyes.
Well.
Except when they drifted to you.
He tried not to stare, but you looked… different tonight. Not flashy. Not trying too hard. Just, soft. Pretty, in a quiet way. The candlelight made your hair glow, and your dress shimmered like honey, and—
Parvati snapped her fingers in front of his face.
“You’re doing it again,” she huffed.
“Doing what?” Harry asked, ears burning.
“Looking everywhere except at me.”
“Sorry,” he muttered.
She crossed her arms. “If you wanted to stare at some Hufflepuff all night, you should’ve taken her.”
Harry choked. “I—what—no! It’s not—”
But Parvati had already turned away.
He really was the worst dance partner on earth.
Back on your side of the room, you drifted toward the punch bowl; primarily so you had somewhere to stand. The cool glass of the ladle felt grounding in your hand as you poured yourself a cup.
A few feet away, you overheard a whisper.
“Why didn’t she get a date?”
“I thought she liked Potter.”
“He said no, didn’t he?”
You stiffened.
Teenagers could be cruel without even realizing.
You reached for a sugared biscuit to busy your hands, crushing the delicate cookie the moment you heard someone say:
“She’s sweet, though. Shame.”
Shame.
Like you were a tragedy instead of a girl in a dress trying to enjoy her night.
You set the ruined biscuit down and backed away, cheeks burning.
Snowflakes drifted from the bewitched ceiling, disappearing before they hit your hair. You watched them dissolve, wishing your embarrassment would do the same.
“Y/N?”
You froze.
Harry stood a few steps away, hands stuffed awkwardly in his dress robes, hair sticking up more than usual, cheeks flushed.
Your heart thudded.
You hadn’t spoken in days. He’d tried to approach you once or twice, but you’d slipped away each time, too tangled up in your own feelings to unravel them enough for conversation.
He didn’t smile. He didn’t frown. He just looked… nervous.
“Hi,” you said, because someone had to.
“Hi.” His voice cracked slightly. “Um. You look—” He swallowed. “Nice.”
You blinked. “Thank you.”
A pause.
A horrible, stretching, silent pause.
Harry shifted from one foot to the other. “Are you… having a good time?”
You looked around at your friends dancing with their dates, at the beautiful decorations, at the couples laughing.
“Yeah,” you lied. “It’s fine.”
He nodded too quickly, like he didn’t believe you but didn’t know what else to say.
You were both saved when Parvati reappeared, grabbing Harry’s arm with a sugary-sweet smile that did a poor job hiding her irritation.
“Harry,” she said pointedly. “Are you coming back to the table?”
He flinched. “Yeah. Right. Sorry.”
She cast a tight smile your way. “Enjoy your evening.”
You smiled back because you were polite. Harry opened his mouth, like he wanted to say something more, but Parvati tugged him away.
You exhaled, chest tight.
You didn’t blame her. You’d be annoyed too if your date spent the night glancing at someone else.
But Merlin, it stung.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The night got lonelier from there
Your friends were busy. The music changed from waltzes to loud, thumping Weird Sisters songs. People jumped and shouted lyrics and spun around. You joined your friends when they dragged you into the circle, dancing like you meant it, laughing too loudly, pretending it didn’t hurt.
But every time you glimpsed Harry in the crowd — miserable, awkward, trying not to step on Parvati’s robes — you felt the bruise of something you didn’t have a name for.
You shouldn’t care.
You didn’t even know him well.
And yet.
When the song slowed again and couples paired off, you slipped back toward the wall, breathless and warm and slightly light-headed.
You leaned against a pillar, letting the cool stone soak through your dress.
Someone stood beside you.
You didn’t need to look to know who.
Harry.
Neither of you spoke.
He stared at the dance floor. You stared at your shoes.
After a moment, Harry said softly, “I didn’t… mean to say no like that.”
Your throat tightened.
“I know,” you said.
He nodded, but he didn’t leave.
The music floated.
Teenagers swayed.
And Harry Potter stood next to you like he wanted to say a dozen things but didn’t know how to start.
You felt it again — the bruise.
You didn’t move away.
He didn’t either.
You both stood there, painfully close, painfully awkward, painfully young.
No grand confession. No dance. No fairytale moment.
Just two people who’d made a mess of things standing under falling snow that never touched the ground.
And for one tiny, impossible second, you let yourself imagine an alternate world where things had gone differently.
Where he’d said yes.
Where you weren’t the girl watching everyone else live their stories from the sidelines.
The song ended.
Harry shifted, like he might turn toward you.
But then Parvati called his name again.
He flinched.
You stepped back automatically.
And just like that, the moment dissolved; quiet and fragile as the snowflakes.
Harry gave you one last unsure look before walking away.
You watched him go.
You didn’t know whether you wanted to laugh or cry.
Tonight, you didn’t get a knight.
But you got a moment.
And though it wasn’t enough, though it wasn’t what you wanted or deserved…
It was something.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Over the summer, something in you calcified.
Not all at once. Not dramatically. Just… slowly. Like frost creeping across a windowpane.
You didn’t even notice it happening at first. You just knew that the more you thought about the Yule Ball — the glances across the room, the almost-moments, the way Harry Potter couldn’t seem to make up his mind about wanting anything from you, the more foolish you felt.
So you stopped thinking about him.
Or tried to.
Trying turned into habit. Habit turned into armor.
When you returned to Hogwarts for your fifth year, people noticed before you did. Hettie told you your voice had sharpened. Tobias said you moved like someone expecting a fight. Leane accused you (fondly) of running low on your usual syrupy optimism.
“You’re different,” Rowan said one night in the common room. “Not bad different. Just… more guarded.”
You shrugged. “I grew up.”
But the truth was simpler and uglier.
You were tired of wanting things you never got.
Harry Potter noticed too.
Not that you gave him the chance to say anything about it.
You sat on opposite ends of classrooms now. You didn’t go out of your way to greet him in the corridors. When your eyes did meet accidentally, in passing — you looked away as if it cost you nothing.
It cost you everything.
Harry looked like he wanted to say something each time you brushed past him. Sometimes he’d take half a step in your direction before stopping, jaw tightening. Sometimes he’d frown like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t have the pieces for.
But he never called your name.
Not once.
You weren’t sure if that made it easier or harder.
Fifth year was chaos anyway.
Umbridge’s presence was a suffocating fog across the school. Pink and lace and fake smiles, all wrapped around punishments that made your stomach twist. The whispers about Harry grew louder, harsher. Everyone seemed to be choosing sides, or at least pretending to.
You wanted to stay neutral. Neutral was safe. Neutral meant uninterested, unaffected.
But you weren’t unaffected.
Not when Harry was getting punished nightly.
Not when he came out of detention pale and silent, fingers pressed to his hand.
Not when he kept his chin lifted even when it hurt him.
You saw it. You noticed it. You cared.
You just didn’t do anything about it.
Your walls were too high and too thick, and every time you thought about walking over to him in the corridors — just to ask if he was alright, you remembered the courtyard from fourth year. The panic. The running away. The way he couldn’t even look at you properly at the ball.
You pressed your lips together and looked straight ahead.
Better this way.
Easier.
Then Harry found new people to fill the gap.
It was the DA that finally did it. Splintered something in you that you hadn’t intended to crack.
Harry didn’t invite you.
He didn’t even look at you when the rumors started.
Your friends joined, of course. Hettie came back breathless with excitement, whispering about spells and secret rooms. Rowan said it felt like being on the brink of a rebellion. Tobias claimed Harry was turning into a proper leader.
Leane practically glowed. “You should come,” she said, tugging your arm. “It’s… it’s amazing. He’s amazing.”
You forced a laugh. “I’m glad it’s going well.”
“You don’t understand,” she insisted. “He’s changed. You should see him.”
You didn’t want to.
You’d already memorized too many versions of him.
But you did see him. More often than you meant to.
Hurrying down corridors with purpose. Huddled with Ron and Hermione, whispering fiercely. Rubbing the back of his hand when he thought no one noticed. Ducking into the Room of Requirement with a look on his face you couldn’t decipher.
And every time your paths crossed, his eyes flicked toward you.
Just for a moment.
Enough to sting.
You acted like you didn’t see it.
Eventually, he stopped trying.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
One night, the common room felt too small.
Too tight. Too bright. Too full of laughter that felt brittle and wrong. You slipped out into the corridor, pulling your cloak tighter around you.
You didn’t expect anyone to be wandering the castle at this hour.
You especially didn’t expect to see him.
Harry rounded the corner from the staircase, looking exhausted — hair messier than usual, robes rumpled, the faintest smear of ink across his knuckles. He flinched when he saw you like he’d been caught doing something secret.
You froze.
He froze.
For a moment, you stared at each other across a few feet of cold stone floor.
“Y/N,” he said quietly, like a name he wasn’t sure he was allowed to speak.
Your throat went dry. You lifted your chin.
“Harry.”
Something flickered in his expression — a brief hurt, then confusion, then something like determination. He stepped closer.
Not enough to crowd you.
Just enough to be heard.
“Are you… okay?” he asked.
It was laughable, really. Harry Potter, who was drowning in the weight of the world, asking if you were alright.
You swallowed. “I’m fine.”
He nodded slowly. “You don’t seem fine.”
You stiffened. “Well, we can’t all be off saving the world, can we?”
The words were sharper than you intended. They hung in the air, cold and brittle.
Harry blinked. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“I don’t know what you’re doing,” you said. “You don’t tell me anything.”
The moment the words left your mouth, you regretted them.
Harry’s eyebrows drew together. “Y/N… you haven’t talked to me either.”
You looked away.
He hesitated, then stepped even closer — close enough that you could see the tiny nicks on his knuckles, the tired purple under his eyes.
“I miss talking to you,” he said softly.
Your heart thudded painfully.
You forced your voice steady. “You’ve had plenty to keep you busy.”
“That’s not—” He stopped. Exhaled shakily. “It’s not that I didn’t want to talk to you.”
“Could’ve fooled me. Would’ve joined your little club if you asked- ”
He looked at you like you’d just slammed a door he didn’t realize he’d been trying to open.
You wrapped your arms around yourself, your walls slamming back into place.
“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered.
Harry opened his mouth, but footsteps echoed at the far end of the corridor — Filch or a prefect or someone worse.
You stepped back before he could say anything else.
“I should go,” you said quickly.
“Y/N—”
“Goodnight..”
You didn’t look back.
You didn’t see the way he stood there long after you disappeared, fingers curled at his side, jaw tight with something he couldn’t name.
You didn’t see how alone he looked.
But you felt it.
Somewhere deep beneath your armor, you felt it.
Which meant your walls weren’t as impenetrable as you hoped.
Not when it came to him.
Never when it came to him.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
You never expected righteousness to feel like this — tight and cold and heavy, like a stone pressing down on your ribs.
Hogwarts is buzzing in the wake of the explosion that was Dumbledore’s Army being discovered. The atmosphere feels scorched. Hallways that once hummed with secretive excitement now feel charred, brittle around the edges, the way parchment looks after an improperly controlled flame spell.
You walk those hallways almost untouched.
Almost.
Your friends whisper about it constantly, their voices cracking between awe and fear and a kind of exhilaration you don’t share. They huddle together during breaks, recounting the punishments that were handed out, weeks of detentions, brutal hours with Umbridge, the risk of being expelled.
You stand with them, but you are not of them.
You weren’t part of the DA. You never even knew it existed until it was too late.
And the strangest part, the part that keeps you up at night, is that no one ever asked you.
Not Harry.
Not anyone.
You tell yourself it doesn’t matter. You tell yourself it was safer this way. You didn’t break rules, you didn’t put yourself in danger, you didn’t offer up your future for Umbridge to shred.
But late at night, when the castle is quiet and the guilt crawls up your spine, you find yourself wondering:
Was it because no one thought you could help? Or because no one thought of you at all?
You’re walking back from dinner alone, trailing your fingers along the stone banister as the conversations around you twist and swirl like smoke.
“Did you hear what Umbridge made Johnson do—"
“I can’t believe Potter—"
“I knew Dumbledore was up to—"
You tighten your grip on your bag. Every mention of Potter hits like an echo, reminding you that he is somewhere in this same castle, probably bruised and exhausted and worn down by punishments you’ll never experience. He is drowning in the consequences of battles you were never invited to fight.
And somehow, that makes you feel both resentful and ashamed.
A group of first-years scurries past you, whispering loudly about “the rebellion.” One of them looks at you, recognition flashing.
“Are you one of Potter’s friends? The ones he trained?”
There’s something hopeful in their voice.
You shake your head quickly. “No. I wasn’t part of it.”
Their interest evaporates instantly. They hurry on.
You swallow hard.
In the Hufflepuff common room, things are worse. Chaos, drama, excitement…everyone has something to say. Your friends rush you the moment you step through the barrel entrance.
“Y/N! Did you hear? Hannah’s in detention for the next month—"
“And Ernie got caught trying to defend—"
“And Harry—"
Harry.
His name hangs like a lantern, flickering with everything unspoken.
You manage a small, tight smile. “Yeah. I heard.”
One of your friends Maisie nudges you. “You’re lucky, you know. If you’d been there, Umbridge would've skinned you alive.”
Lucky.
That word tastes wrong.
Because somewhere deep inside, a lonely part of you whispers:
I wish I had been asked.
The others move on quickly, their excitement sparking between them like static as they list every dramatic detail they’ve managed to collect. They show off rumors like trophies.
You sit on the edge of the sofa, hands clasped, feeling like you’re watching them through a pane of glass.
“You okay?” Maisie asks softly when the others turn away again.
You nod. A lie. A safe lie.
Because how do you explain the hollowness inside you? How do you explain that you feel like you’ve failed some invisible test no one told you about?
Later that night, you slip out of the common room, unable to breathe under the weight of everyone else’s stories.
The corridor outside is dim, quiet, the torches low. You lean back against the cold stone wall and close your eyes.
The loneliness feels… victorious.
You weren’t caught.
You weren’t punished.
You weren’t betrayed by someone in the group.
You were safe.
Except you also weren’t chosen. You weren’t trusted. You weren’t part of something bigger.
You’re halfway to convincing yourself that this is what you want — safety, solitude, simplicity — when footsteps echo down the hall.
You open your eyes just as Harry turns the corner.
He looks rougher than you’ve ever seen him. His tie is crooked, his hair even more of a mess than usual, dark circles smudging under his eyes like bruises.
And for the first time all year, your eyes meet.
His steps falter.
Your breath catches.
He’s alone, no Ron, no Hermione, no DA members whispering encouragement or guilt or anger. Just Harry. Just you.
For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air between you is thick with something that feels old and unfinished.
You are the one who breaks the silence.
“Are you… okay?”
It slips out quietly, almost involuntarily. His eyes widen, like he wasn’t expecting anyone to ask — least of all you.
He swallows.
“No.”
The honesty hits you. Startling. Raw.
You bite your lip, unsure what to say, what right you have to say anything when you weren’t there, when you weren’t part of any of this.
He shifts, glancing down the hall, then back at you.
“You didn’t… you weren’t in the group,” he says, voice low.
Your stomach twists. “No.”
He nods once, like he already knew, but needed to hear it from you anyway.
“You’re lucky,” Harry says.
And for some reason, the words make your chest ache.
You force a small, brittle smile. “That’s what everyone keeps saying.”
Harry looks at you longer this time, his eyes searching your face — really looking, for maybe the first time since last year. Something flickers in his expression. Regret? Curiosity? Maybe just exhaustion.
“You didn’t miss much,” he mutters.
You want to believe him.
You want to feel comforted.
You want to erase the hollow place inside you that whispers you were left behind.
But instead, you hug your arms around yourself.
“I don’t know,” you say softly. “Sometimes it feels like I did.”
Harry stares.
The silence stretches — charged, fragile, important.
Then suddenly footsteps echo from around the corner. Harry tenses like a hunted animal.
“I should go,” he says quickly.
You nod.
He hesitates. Just for a second. Like there’s something else he wants to say. Something he can’t quite bring himself to give voice to.
Then he’s gone.
You stand there long after the hallway is empty again, listening to the faint fading of his steps, wondering why your chest feels warmer and emptier all at once.
You turn back toward the Hufflepuff common room, arms tightening around yourself.
Your loneliness saved you.
But it also cost you something you don’t know the name of.
And for the first time, you think—
Maybe you’re tired of being safe.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
There is a strange, honey-gold light in the halls the day Umbridge leaves Hogwarts.
You feel it before you understand it — this odd, weightless sensation, like your lungs finally expand all the way for the first time in months. The castle seems to exhale around you. Even the portraits look livelier, trading gossip in bright, excited bursts.
When the news spreads, it moves like fire:
She’s gone. She’s really gone. The toad is out.
Someone swears they saw Filch crying. Someone else swears they saw Peeves saluting McGonagall. Someone DEFINITELY heard a rumor about centaurs carrying Umbridge’s handbag in their teeth.
You don’t know what’s true. But you know what’s real:
The war in your chest has quieted.
Your friends cling to each other in the Hufflepuff common room, laughing, crying, releasing months of tension in one roaring crescendo. Even you — so careful this year, so reserved — find yourself smiling. Really smiling. It feels strange, like using a muscle you’d forgotten about.
Hannah grabs your arm and yanks you into a hug. “We survived!” she laughs into your shoulder. “Merlin’s beard, we actually survived her!”
You laugh too. “Barely.”
A cheer erupts around the room as some older students start conjuring harmless showers of yellow sparks. The atmosphere is buoyant, effervescent — fragile in its joy, and all the more precious for it.
But it’s loud. Too loud.
You slip away quietly, slipping out of the barrel entrance and into the corridor, where the noise softens into something more bearable.
You wander.
For once, wandering doesn’t feel dangerous. It feels like reclaiming something she took.
You end up in the courtyard without meaning to. The spring air is cool but comforting, and for a moment you simply stand there, listening to the distant hum of celebration from windows all around.
This courtyard, where last year, everything went wrong.
You almost expect to feel a twinge of pain or humiliation. But instead you feel… older. Like the memory belongs to someone you recognize but no longer fully are.
You walk to the fountain and sit on the edge, fingertips brushing the cool stone.
The quiet is warm. Healing.
“Y/N?”
Your heart tugs at your ribs.
You turn just in time to see Harry crossing the courtyard.
He looks lighter than he has all year — not carefree, not untouched, but less burdened, like some invisible chain has finally snapped. His hair is messy in the way it always is, but he isn’t tense for once. His shoulders aren’t hunched. His eyes aren’t darting around for threats.
He looks your age. For the first time in months.
He approaches cautiously, like he’s not sure whether he’s allowed to interrupt you.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
He shoves his hands awkwardly in his pockets, glancing down at the grass before his gaze lifts to meet yours again. Something soft passes between you — a shared understanding, built from different kinds of loneliness carried through the same dark year.
“Everyone’s going mad in the common rooms,” Harry says, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s louder than the Quidditch celebrations.”
You huff a laugh. “Yeah, Hufflepuff’s a bit… chaotic right now.”
“I figured.” He rocks back on his heels. “You, um… wanted some quiet?”
“That obvious?”
His smile deepens just a little. “Yeah.”
There’s no mockery in it. No teasing. Just recognition.
A breeze rustles through the courtyard, brushing warm sunlight across both of your faces. Harry hesitates, then sits beside you on the edge of the fountain — not too close, not far. Just… beside you.
You feel the warmth of him like a candle at your side.
For a moment neither of you speaks, and it isn’t awkward. It’s peaceful. Strange. New.
“You didn’t get in trouble,” he says finally. “This year, I mean.”
“No,” you say. “I didn’t.”
He nods, eyes on the water. “I kept thinking about that.”
Your breath stutters.
He continues, voice low: “I’m glad you didn’t get dragged into all of it. Honestly. But…”
“But?” you whisper.
“But I noticed.”
Your heart lurches.
You stare at him, and he keeps looking at the rippling fountain, like the truth is easier to speak to the reflection than to your face.
“I kept thinking… I don’t know.” He shrugs stiffly. “That maybe you were staying away because of me.”
“That’s not— Harry…” You swallow. “I wasn’t avoiding you.”
He finally looks at you.
His eyes, green and so startling in the sunlight search yours, trying to read the truth from your silence.
“I thought you hated me,” he says softly. “After last year.”
You feel the courtyard tilt for a moment.
You inhale.
“No,” you say. And it’s the clearest thing you’ve said all year. “I never hated you.”
Harry blinks. Once. Twice.
Then something vulnerable flickers across his face, unguarded for just a heartbeat.
“I’m sorry,” he says. The words are rough, uneven, like they’ve been scraping against him for months. “For how I acted. Last year. In the courtyard. I was… scared, and stressed, and I handled it horribly.”
Your throat tightens.
You want to say the words don’t matter, that it was silly teenage awkwardness, that it never hurt as much as it did, but they would be lies.
So instead, you say:
“Thank you.”
Harry exhales, shoulders lowering just a bit.
The sun dips lower. The courtyard glows. Students laugh from nearby windows as the world slowly rights itself.
And somehow — after a year of distance, of silence, of cold hallways and missed glances — you and Harry sit together as though nothing is broken.
Or maybe more honestly:
As though something broken is finally beginning to mend.
He nudges your shoulder gently with his own. It’s awkward, an attempt at casual that lands somewhere tender instead.
“You want to… walk for a bit?” he asks.
Your heart stutters.
Slow burn, you remind yourself.
But you nod.
And as the two of you walk slowly around the courtyard — side by side but not touching — you feel something quiet blossom in your chest:
The first warmth of a second chance.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The summer passes differently this year.
Not easier, nothing feels easy after the threat of Umbridge. But quieter. Thicker. Heavier in some places, strangely hopeful in others.
You keep busy.
You throw yourself into chores, into books, into anything that keeps your mind occupied. But despite your best efforts, your thoughts keep circling back to Harry — back to the courtyard, to the way he’d looked at you when he apologized, to the strange softness in his voice when he said he noticed your absence.
You tell yourself it was nothing.
You tell yourself it was closure.
You tell yourself that the warm flutter you felt meant absolutely nothing.
And yet…
Some nights, when you’re lying awake with a book pressed to your chest and the summer air warm through your curtains, you find your thoughts drifting stubbornly toward him.
What he’s doing.
If he’s thinking about his friends.
If he’s thinking about you.
You try not to hope for too much.
Meanwhile, in a far gloomier house on Grimmauld Place—
Harry is spiraling. Quietly. Pathetically. Teenage-boy-ishly.
He sits at the kitchen table, chin in his hand, staring at a mug of tea like it personally offended him.
“You’re doing it again,” Hermione says, sliding into the seat across from him. Her tone is gentle. Suspicious. Deadly accurate.
“I’m not doing anything,” Harry mutters, stabbing the tea bag with a spoon.
Ron plops down beside him and steals a biscuit. “Mate, you’re brooding so hard the wallpaper’s peeling.”
Harry scowls. “I’m thinking.”
Hermione raises an eyebrow. “About a particular someone?”
Ron perks up. “Ooooh. That face. That’s the ‘I’m thinking about Y/N’ face.”
“It is not—” Harry nearly chokes on his tea. “I don’t— I wasn’t— she’s just—”
“A girl you’ve been thinking about nonstop for three weeks,” Hermione finishes, flipping open a book without needing to look at him.
Harry flushes scarlet.
Ron smirks. “Can’t blame you. She’s nice. Cooler than most of the Hufflepuffs.”
“Ron!”
“What? She is!”
Harry groans and drops his head onto the table with a soft thud. “I just said sorry to her. That’s all. We talked. It was — nice. But it’s not— nothing’s— I’m not—”
Hermione hums. “You’re doing that thing where you string words together because you don’t want to admit something.”
“I’m not—!”
She lifts her eyes over the rim of her book. “Harry. You smile when someone mentions her.”
Ron adds: “And you stare at the window after owls fly by like you’re expecting post.”
Harry goes silent.
Because… okay.
He had been staring at the window a lot.
It wasn’t weird. Lots of people stare out windows. ALL THE TIME. COMPLETELY NORMAL.
Hermione softens. “You like her.”
Harry’s ears burn. “I don’t— I mean, I just—”
Ron interrupts, matter-of-fact: “He does.”
Harry slumps back in his chair, defeated.
“Fine,” he mumbles. “Maybe. A little.”
“More than a little,” Ron says around another biscuit.
Harry buries his face in his hands, wishing the floor would swallow him.
Because he has been thinking about you.
Far more than he should.
Far more than makes sense.
He thinks about the way you looked surprised when he apologized, like you didn’t expect kindness from him anymore.
He thinks about the careful warmth in your eyes, the way you listened, the way it felt sitting beside you without tension for the first time in ages.
He thinks about how you weren’t in the DA and somehow that matters. He thinks about how you’ve always been a quiet constant in the background, and how he never noticed you properly until he did — and now he can’t stop.
He thinks about the Yule Ball
(but that memory hurts in a different way).
He thinks about that courtyard last month
(but that memory feels like a new beginning).
He thinks about you during breakfast, during dinner, during late-night wand-cleaning, during the moments when the house creaks and his grief gets too loud.
And he hates that he misses you.
Misses someone he’s barely allowed himself to know.
“How am I supposed to—” he mumbles into his hands. “We’re not even… anything.”
Hermione smiles softly. “Not yet.”
Ron claps him on the back. “Just don’t be weird about it.”
“I’m never weird!”
Both Ron and Hermione give him identical, pitying looks.
“…Okay, maybe a little weird.”
Meanwhile—
You are being weird too.
Your mum catches you staring out the window more often than you’d like. And sometimes, when you’re reading, you suddenly realize you’ve read the same sentence twelve times because your brain is too busy imagining someone with messy black hair and a terrible habit of apologizing with his whole heart.
You don’t write him.
You don’t know how to.
You don’t even know if he’d write back.
But you think about him.
About his smile in the courtyard.
About the strange lightness you felt around him.
About the possibility — tiny, fragile, impossible — that maybe he wasn’t the only one who noticed something that day.
And it scares you.
Because hope feels dangerous.
And Harry Potter feels…like something you could very easily fall into without trying.
One warm evening, you open your window and lie on your bed, listening to the distant hum of summer insects. You close your eyes and let the memory of his voice brush against you like a breeze.
“I never hated you.”
Why did that line stick in your chest so stubbornly?
Why did thinking about him feel like stepping toward the edge of something shaky and new?
You sigh and bury your face in your pillow.
You are in trouble.
Harry is in trouble.
Everyone knows it except you two.
And summer stretches on, bittersweet and slow, quietly weaving something between the two of you — something unspoken, something tender, something neither of you quite knows how to name yet.
But it’s there.
Growing.
Waiting.
And when the Hogwarts Express whistles again in September, you both already know:
This year will feel different.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The Hogwarts Express hisses in front of you, steam curling around your ankles like eager hands. Students chatter, owls hoot, trunks clatter — and yet everything feels strangely muted.
Maybe because you haven't set foot near Harry Potter for two months.
Maybe because you spent that entire time pretending you weren’t thinking about him.
Maybe because deep down, you know this year is going to feel different, and you’re bracing for it.
Your friends are already halfway down the train corridor when you pause at the doorway, your hand resting on the warm metal frame. The late summer air hums against your skin.
You’re not nervous. You just feel… weird. A different weird from last year.
Which is worse.
Someone behind you bumps your shoulder gently.
“Sorry!”
You turn, expecting just another student rushing past, but your breath catches.
Harry stands there.
A little taller.
A little more serious.
A little softer around the edges, like the summer scraped something away and left him rawer, truer.
His hair is a disaster.
His glasses are slightly crooked.
His expression is frozen between surprise and something you can’t name.
His eyes land on you.
And Harry’s brain completely stops functioning.
Harry (internally short-circuiting):
Oh no.Oh no.Why does she look like that?Why does she look older? Different? Amazing? Why am I thinking the word amazing?Why can’t I breathe?
He tries to smile.
It comes out strange. Too quick. Too nervous. Too earnest.
“Hi,” he blurts.
You blink once. Twice.
“…Hi.”
There is an awkward pause so thick it could physically suffocate both of you.
Harry swallows hard. “You, um… summer good?”
Fantastic, idiot. Very articulate.Hermione is going to murder him if she ever learns this is the best he could come up with.
You shift your grip on your bag. “It was… okay. Quiet.”
Safer, you don’t add.
Lonely, you don’t dare think.
He nods too many times. “Yeah. Mine too.”
Another pause. Students brush past, oblivious to the static thrumming between the two of you.
Harry fiddles with the strap of his backpack.
“You look—” He stops. Swallows. Restarts. “Different.”
Your heart does a dangerous little flip you absolutely did not give it permission to do.
“Different good,” he adds quickly. “Like— better. I mean, not that you weren’t— you just— it’s fine. I’m messing this up.”
You bite back a tiny, startled smile.
“So are you,” you say quietly.
Harry blinks. “I—what?”
“You look different too.”
You don’t say good.You don’t need to.
Your tone gives it away.
Harry’s ears go red. He opens his mouth, probably to say something catastrophically awkward, but Hermione’s voice suddenly rings out from the train.
“Harry! Honestly, you can’t wander off—”
She appears, mid-scolding, Ron behind her, both armed with snacks and expressions that shift instantly when they see you.
Hermione pauses.
Then one eyebrow rises slowly, deliberately.
Ron looks between the two of you like he’s watching a Quidditch match and hasn’t picked a favorite team yet.
“Oh,” Hermione says. “Oh.”
Harry glares at her. “Don’t.”
“You two should sit with us,” Ron blurts, because God bless him, subtlety has never once shaken his hand.
You step back. “Oh, I don’t— I mean, I usually sit with—”
“You can sit with us,” Harry cuts in, too fast, too hopeful.
All three of them stare at him.
You stare at him.
Harry looks like he wants to die.
“I mean— only if you want. Obviously. Or not. Completely fine. I’m— I’ll just stop talking now.”
Your heart stutters in a very annoying, very revealing way.
You should say no.
You should retreat to safety.
You should remember how lonely last year was.
Instead—
“I… yeah,” you say softly. “Okay.”
Harry beams.
Actually beams.
A real smile. The kind that lights up his whole stupid, earnest face.
Hermione smirks knowingly. Ron looks delighted. Harry looks like he’s just been handed his first birthday present ever.
You follow them into the compartment, your pulse a little too loud in your ears.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
You sit across from Harry.
He pretends he’s not stealing glances at you.
You pretend you don’t notice.
Hermione notices everything and quietly kicks Ron every time he tries to stare openly.
Harry asks about your summer.
You ask about his.
Slowly — awkwardly — delicately — you fall into conversation.
It feels almost normal.
Almost easy.
Almost like there’s something fragile and new sparking to life between you.
You catch him smiling at one of your comments.
A real smile, small and private.
Your stomach wobbles.
Hermione shoots you a tiny approving nod.
And for the first time in a long time—
You don’t feel like the forgotten Hufflepuff.
You don’t feel like the third wheel.
You don’t feel like the girl who wasn’t chosen.
You feel… noticed.
Seen.
Wanted.
Harry rubs the back of his neck, cheeks flushed, and asks if you want a chocolate frog. You take it. Your fingers brush his.
Both of you jerk your hands back like you’ve touched fire.
Ron snorts. Hermione sighs fondly.
Harry pretends he isn’t dying inside.
You pretend you aren’t.
And when the train whistles and Hogwarts looms into view—
You realize something terrifying and wonderful:
You missed him.
He missed you.
And no matter how hard you try to deny it—
The story between you and Harry Potter
is starting again.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
The castle feels… lighter.
Maybe it’s because the world isn’t crumbling at the edges this year. Maybe it’s because Hogwarts itself is alive again after the summer, each corridor humming with the quiet urgency of new beginnings. Or maybe it’s just the way your chest flutters when Harry Potter is somewhere within sight.
You sit at the back of the classroom, parchment in front of you, quill hovering, pretending to take notes on Ancient Runes. You’ve been back in classes for nearly a week, and the rhythm of lessons, homework, and early autumn sun spilling through the windows should feel comforting—but all it really does is make it harder to focus on anything other than him.
Because you know he’s in the same castle.
And, somewhere in the labyrinth of Gryffindor corridors, he’s thinking about you too.
The first time it happens, you’re walking toward the Charms classroom. The corridor is crowded with students shuffling to their next lesson. You’re keeping your head down when a flash of green eyes catches yours.
It’s Harry.
He’s carrying a stack of books precariously in his arms, robes flaring as he dodges a group of first-years. He’s smiling. That easy, ridiculous, half-embarrassed, completely him smile that makes you want to lean forward and never let go.
You almost drop your own books. Instead, you manage a tight, almost-practical smile.
He raises a single eyebrow.
You raise one back.
The world tilts for half a heartbeat. And then the crowd swallows him, and he’s gone.
Your chest feels simultaneously warm and hollow.
And you realize you’ve been waiting for that moment all summer.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Classes are formal and structured. Everyone has their seating, their lessons, their work to do. You sit with your Hufflepuff friends, laughing quietly, answering questions, occasionally glancing at the front where the professor drones on about enchanted objects or potion reactions.
But every time the classroom door creaks, every time someone shifts, every time a chair squeaks against the floor… your head flicks instinctively to the entrance.
And almost every time, he isn’t there.
But when he is — oh, when he is — your pen slips. Your notes falter. Your mind races.
He doesn’t walk over to you, not yet. He doesn’t need to. But when his eyes meet yours across a crowded room, something shifts.
A tiny spark. A twitch of acknowledgment. A silent, shared smile that says I see you. I missed you.
It happens in the library one afternoon. You’re searching the shelves for a reference book on magical creatures, reaching up when a shadow falls across the spine of a particularly stubborn tome.
“Need a hand?”
You freeze. Of course you do. It’s him. Harry Potter. Carrying his own pile of books, looking impossibly casual. His hair is messy again, the kind of messy you think only looks charming on him.
You frown, but the corner of your mouth twitches. “I can manage.”
“You look like you can manage,” he says, smile teasing but soft. “I’m just offering my services. Dangerous to be caught alone in here with a mountain of books, you know.”
Your laugh is quiet, almost a whisper. “I’m very intimidating.”
“Not at all,” he says earnestly, eyes meeting yours. “You’re terrifyingly clever.”
You roll your eyes, hiding the heat creeping into your cheeks. He grins, a half-smile that seems to light up the entire aisle. And then, just as suddenly, he’s gone—slipping to another row of shelves, leaving your pulse hammering and your thoughts scattered.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
In the Great Hall, the tables are abuzz. Friends chatter, trays clatter, and the autumn light streams through the windows in golden streaks. You sit with your Hufflepuff group, pretending not to watch as Harry slides into his usual seat in Gryffindor.
But when his eyes flick to you, just for a second, your stomach twists. And somehow, across the crowded hall, he smiles.
Not a full grin. Not a ridiculous, over-the-top grin. Just a subtle tilt of his lips, a flicker in his green eyes that says: I see you. I’m thinking about you. You matter.
You smile back, and the hall might as well have disappeared around you.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
Later, the castle quiets. You emerge from your last class, wrapping your scarf a little tighter around your neck. The sun is low, gilding the walls with amber light. You’re heading to the Hufflepuff common room when a familiar voice calls your name.
“Y/N.”
You glance up. He’s leaning against the stone wall near the stairwell, arms crossed, looking… strange. Vulnerable. Uncharacteristically unsure.
“Potter,” you say cautiously.
He shrugs. “Just… wanted to see you before the day ends.”
“Really?” You raise an eyebrow.
He hesitates. “Yeah. I… missed seeing you this morning. During classes.”
A flutter runs through you. It’s subtle, almost dangerous. You clear your throat. “I… missed it too. I guess.”
He steps a little closer, just enough that you can feel the warmth radiating off him without touching.
A shared silence. A quiet acknowledgment.
No words are needed. Not yet.
He smiles again. That small, nervous, entirely Harry smile, and your chest tightens.
“See you tomorrow?” he asks softly.
You nod. “See you tomorrow.”
And as he disappears around the corner, you realize that the year, your sixth year, has already begun.
The castle may be crowded, classes may be relentless, and your schedules may pull you apart — but something delicate has shifted between you.
Something soft, growing, unavoidable.
And both of you know it, even if neither dares say it aloud.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
He’s never been more aware of the thickness in his chest, or the heat in his palms, than the moment he tips the last drop of golden liquid into his mouth.
Liquid luck.
A tiny whisper of a potion that promises courage. Confidence. The impossible made slightly more… possible.
He swallows and immediately feels the surge. It’s like walking through the castle in slow motion, where every turn seems preordained, every person just a blur in the periphery, and every step is purposeful.
Time to find her.
─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───
He leaves the Gryffindor common room with a determined stride that somehow manages to teeter between heroic and absolutely ridiculous.
First stop: the library. Surely she’s buried in a book.
He tiptoes past students as if he’s a secret agent on a mission of the utmost importance. He nearly collides with Professor McGonagall.
“Potter!” she says.
“Nothing to see here!” he blurts, flashing the cheesiest grin he can muster and wobbling past her.
Smooth, he tells himself. Felix Felicis, don’t fail me now.
Library: empty. You’re not there.
Next, the courtyard. Maybe she’s taking a breath of air. He nearly slides on a puddle, smacks his head on the stone fountain, mutters a string of curses, and keeps going. Every stumble, every minor humiliation… somehow feels fated.
Finally, he hears it.
A soft laugh, just at the edge of the stairwell, and his chest twists. There she is.
“Y/N,” he calls softly, almost unsure if he’s aloud. But the potion is guiding him. The courage is unstoppable now.
You turn, startled. You’re perched on the steps, hugging a stack of books to your chest, and your heart does that little flip you’ve learned to recognize.
“Harry?”
He strides forward. Not too fast. Not too slow. Perfectly… impossibly, ridiculously bold.
“I… uh… I needed to find you,” he blurts, hands twitching as if he wants to hold you but doesn’t quite know how. “I—look. This is probably going to sound mad, but I—”
He stops, swallows. “I took—uh—liquid luck.”
You blink. “Felix Felicis?”
“Yes!” he says, relieved you know, and horrified at how ridiculous he must look right now. “I decided… I’d finally… finally tell you… how I feel.”
You stare at him, and your chest is tight. Your mind is screaming finally, while your heart pounds in your ears.
“And maybe… kiss you,” he adds, muttering the last part so quietly it almost seems shy.
You laugh — soft, incredulous, trembling. “Harry Potter, you really did take luck potion to tell me how you feel?”
“Yes!” he says, arms flailing slightly in earnest. “And I can’t… I can’t wait any longer. I mean… I shouldn’t. I— You—”
He steps closer. You feel the heat of him, the pulse of his heartbeat, and your knees threaten to give way.
“Harry,” you breathe, reaching out instinctively to touch his arm. “You don’t need magic to tell me that.”
He freezes for a second, eyes wide, and then like some dam breaking, he pulls you gently but insistently toward him. Your hands are on his chest; his on your waist.
“Then why did I need this potion?” he whispers against your hair, lips almost brushing yours.
“Maybe you just needed an excuse,” you murmur, and the heat behind your words makes his knees go weak.
The first kiss is tentative. Soft. Testing.
Then… it’s not.
Hands tangling in hair, fingers tracing along neck and back, mouths hungry in a way that makes the silly, ridiculous potion almost irrelevant. His laugh mixes with a groan as he presses closer.
“Finally,” he mutters against your lips, his voice low, thick, and so him.
You cup his face, tilting your head, exploring, tasting, the last months of longing and stolen glances and unspoken words spilling out with every brush of skin.
His hands roam, tentative at first, then bolder, discovering every inch you allow, memorizing the curve of your shoulder, the dip of your waist. You gasp softly when he presses closer, letting him feel just how desperate you’ve been for this too.
Time distorts. The castle is gone. Classes, rules, everything—gone. Just you. Just him. Just the heat, the pulse, the connection.
He pulls back for a breath. Forehead against yours.
“I’ve wanted… this… for so long,” he murmurs, voice ragged and trembling.
“Me too,” you confess, wrapping your arms around his neck. “More than I realized.”
He laughs, a little shaky, and presses another kiss to your temple. Then your lips again, deeper, slower, savoring the moment you’ve both been building toward all year.
Hands clasping, hips pressing, breaths mingling, the world shrinks until it’s just you and him and a fire neither of you can deny.
For once, there is no awkwardness, no hesitation, no distance.
The castle hums behind you. Students shouting, laughter bouncing off the walls, the clatter of dinner trays and the last bit of chatter from the Gryffindor and Hufflepuff tables blending into one constant, happy chaos.
But you and Harry don’t hear it.
You’re running.
Literally running.
Hands intertwined, hair flying, robes flaring around you, and the cool night air brushing across flushed cheeks. You don’t know where you’re going—doesn’t matter. The stairs, the corridors, the secret corners you know only because you’ve spent years wandering—everything feels like yours in this moment.
Harry is laughing breathlessly. “We— aren’t even— supposed to be out here!”
“Who cares?!” you shout back, voice ringing with reckless delight.
You press a little closer as he pulls you along, weaving through shadows and moonlit hallways. Every brush of his hand, every brush of his chest against yours, sends a delicious thrill through you.
He’s not just Harry Potter tonight. He’s your Harry Potter.
Brave, wild, reckless — and completely, wonderfully focused on you.
sharing clothes would be his favorite thing in the world. he'd love seeing you in his biggest hoodies/sweaters, fawning over how cute you look with them hanging off you. he'd get particularly happy when you sleep in them, waking up in the morning with messy hair wearing an old t-shirt of his. he'd also love getting them back & still being able to smell you on them.
always tapping, drumming, & fidgeting with his hands. always itching to do something, can't sit still for more than 2 seconds. gets lost in his thoughts constantly. always drifting off in his own world & accidentally missing parts of conversations.
cooking breakfast for you is the best way for him to start his day. he knows exactly how you like your tea, eggs, pancakes, even your favorite cereals and oatmeals. he'll sit in bed with you and just chat while you eat, asking how you like it as he eats his toast.
BEST gift-giver ever. like seriously. this kid knows exactly what to get someone, anyone, for both birthdays & christmases, & he always outdoes himself. always carefully listening & taking notes anytime you mention something you saw that you liked or thought about getting. tries to get you things you would never treat yourself to; money's no object when it comes to your look of surprise & joy opening his gifts.
again, physical touch is his love language, but he particularly LOVES when you play with his hair. he'll just lay his head in your lap hoping you'll get the hint & start running your fingers through his soft hair. he doesn't really like having long hair, but he certainly likes when you have more to play with, so he grows it out just for you. if he's especially stressed out or can't sleep the only thing that can bring him back to earth is your hands tangled in his hair.
constantly doing little good deeds even when people aren't around. picks up trash/litter he sees, leaves generous tips everywhere he goes, casts a quick spell to help someone in need, & always makes it a point to talk to more introverted people to make them comfortable around him. always gives the best advice when he notices someone struggling.
a/n: this is kinda short, but I wanted to write a cute little scenario. and I’ll probably be writing more fluff :)
—————
“Harry, it’ll be fine, we can figure it out.” You comforted Harry, rubbing his shoulder.
“We’ve been at it for hours, Y/N. There’s nothing!” He fussed, tossing the sixth book he’d read in the past hour to the side.
“We still have,” said Hermione, checking her watch. “Three hours until we have to go back to the common room. And still, we can bring some books back with us if madam pince allows us.”
“How about I just don’t show up,” said Harry, giving up. “What are they gonna do? Send me to azkaban?”
“Probably,” Ron said, “binding magical contract, remember?”
“Thanks, Ron,” said Harry, sarcastically.
Hermione picked up another book, “this is ridiculous! I mean, who would want to grow their nose hairs into ringlets?”
“I wouldn’t mind,” Fred suddenly appeared from behind a bookshelf with George at his side.
“Sounds fascinating,” said George. “Anyway, McGonagall wants you two,” he pointed at Hermione and Y/N, “in her office.”
The two girls looked at each other, “did we do something?” Hermione asked anxiously.
“Why would we know?” Said Fred, “now hurry up before she gets snappy. And good luck, Harry.”
“Thanks,” said Harry.
Y/N stood up, “we’ll see you in the common room, Harry,” she gave her best friend a side hug.
“Okay,” he said. “bye,”
Hermione and Y/N walked to McGonagall’s office, wondering why she needed them.
“Oh, there you are,” Professor McGonagall said when Y/N and Hermione entered her office.
She walked around to her desk and sat down. “Excuse me, Professor?” Hermione said, “why did you bring us here?”
“Yes, I knew you’d be wondering… well, there’s no easy way to put this, girls. You are all here for the second task.”
“All—?” Y/N started, but then looked around and saw Cho Chang, along with Gabrielle Delacour (Fleur Delacour’s sister) standing in the office as well.
“As some of you may know,” Professor McGonagall looked at Y/N and Hermione, “each champion has had a treasure taken away from them. They do not know what the treasure is, but—“
“Are- are we the treasure?!” Said Cho, shocked.
“Yes, miss Chang,” McGonagall sighed.
“But the clue—”
“Yes, miss Y/L/N.” Said Professor McGonagall, “The clue implies that the treasure would be at the bottom of the black lake. But please, do not worry, for we have ensured that no student will be in any danger.”
“You see, we will be putting a few special charms on you all. You will be unconscious, and will only awake when you have reached the surface.”
“That doesn’t make me feel much better,” Y/N mumbled to Hermione.
“Now, this won’t hurt, but prepare yourselves.” Said McGonagall. The last thing Y/N saw was the wave of her wand before everything went black.
-
“Oh, shit!”
Y/N had suddenly burst to the surface of the black lake. She looked over and saw Gabrielle struggling to swim, she helped her over to the dock and got up herself.
“Y/N!” Hermione shrieked, throwing a towel around Y/N’s shivering figure.
“Are you alright?”
“I’m fine- where’s Harry? What happened?” Y/N said, her teeth chattering.
“He’s not back yet,” Hermione said nervously, “I don’t know how—“
“Guys!” Ron appeared beside Hermione, “so basically, I fell asleep last night, but when I woke up, Harry told me that Dobby had given him this plant that helped him breathe underwater! And—”
“Woah woah woah, Dobby gave it to him?” Y/N asked anxiously.
“Yeah! But he’s fine, we probably would’ve known if he died down there, right—?”
“Ron!” Hermione scolded, “don’t say tha-“
Suddenly, a figure shot out from the water and almost landed on top of Y/N.
“Harry!” Y/N yelled. She took the towel around herself and wrapped it around Harry as he coughed.
“Y/N—” Harry gasped, pulling her into the tightest hug he’d ever given anyone.
Y/N hugged him equally as tight. “Are you okay? What happened down there?” She asked him over his shoulder.
“The grindylows,” he panted, pulling back to look at her, “or merpeople- I forgot. But they saw I cheated, they attacked me.”
Y/N looked at his neck and saw a bad tentacle-like burn, “oh my—“
“It’s fine, I’m fine,” he told her, bringing her back into another hug. “You scared me so bad, I thought—”
“Harry, I’m okay, don’t worry,” she reassured him. “You’d think this would make us warmer, but I don’t think we have any more body heat to share,” Y/N joked.
“Harry! Thank goodness you’re alright,” said Hermione, handing Y/N a warm towel.
Y/N sighed in content, “ooooh that’s nice, thank you.”
Harry suddenly looked around at everyone near, they all seemed to have lost interest in him. He then grabbed another towel and tossed it over his and Y/N’s heads.
“Harry, what are you doing?” She asked him. They could no longer see anyone else, only the black lake to the side.
“I didn’t want everyone watching,” he said quickly.
“Watching what—?” She tried to ask, but was cut off by Harry gently grabbing her face and smashing his lips onto hers.
She was confused for only a moment before she leaned in and kissed him back. She felt a million butterflies erupt inside her stomach, it was like a dream come true.
Y/N had liked Harry since third year: During the night of Halloween when everyone gathered in the Great Hall, she was anxious and Harry comforted her, even though he was the one in supposed danger.
The previous cold she was feeling was definitely gone now, her cheeks warmed up as she melted into the kiss.
After a minute, they pulled away for air. “Was that okay?” Harry asked, smiling nervously.
“I-“ she couldn’t find words. “it was amazing,”
He smiled wider before taking the towel off of them. “What was that about?” Asked Hermione.
“I wanted to tell Y/N something,” Harry shrugged. Y/N chuckled and stood up with Harry.
“Your attention, please!” Boomed Dumbledore. “The winner is Mr Diggory!”
Cheers and applause filled Y/N’s ears, she clapped along, supporting her friend.
“However, seeing as Mr Potter would’ve finished first had it not been for his determination to save not only Miss Y/L/N, but the others as well,”
Y/N smiled and patted Harry on the shoulder.
“We have agreed to award him second place!”
More cheers and congratulations erupted from the crowd and Harry's friends.
“Well done!” Seamus Finnegan said.
“Second place! Yes!” Ron thumped Harry on the back.
“For outstanding moral fiber!” Dumbledore finished, winking at Harry.
-
“Moral fiber, eh?” Y/N joked to Harry as they were curled up on the common room sofa that night.
“Shush it,” he muffled against her hair, tightening his grip around her.
Y/N hesitated, then said, “so uhm, about you know, that—”
“Yeah, right,” he sighed, “I’m sorry if it was too soon, I’ve just liked you for so long and I didn’t want to wait any longer. I understand if you don’t want-”
“No no, I liked it.” She said, “And I’ve liked you for a while too, I just didn’t know if you wanted to label it or anything yet, or if we should just see what happens. You know?”
He thought for a moment, “maybe for now we could just keep it on the low. Does that make sense?”
“Yeah, I get it,” said Y/N.
He kissed the top of her head and sighed in content.
“Is it too soon to say I love you?” He asked.
“No,” she smiled, “I think three years is long enough. I love you,”
summary: cute little scenario of harry being sleepy and wanting kisses ♡
——————————————————————
“Y/N?” Harry’s voice pulls you from your book as he walks into the common room after his quidditch practice.
“Harry, hi,” you greet him. He walks over and plops himself onto the sofa next to you. Harry’s still in his quidditch sweater, which is a bit too big for him. He pulls the sleeves over his hands to make paws.
“You okay? How was practice?” you ask him, putting your book down and patting your lap, inviting him to lie down. He sometimes reminded you of a puppy.
“Fine, and good,” he says softly. He leans down and stretches across your lap, groaning as he does. The wind messed up his hair, sticking everywhere, but not much more than usual. You stroke his hair as he leans into you more, undoing any small knots the wind had created.
His cheeks grow warm from the fireplace that is always lit. He sighs in contentment as the warmth spreads through his body.
“Need a shower?” you ask. He doesn’t reply for a moment, then nods his head. “Yeah,”
“Okay, well, go,” you nudge his head lightly.
“I don’t want to,” he says. “You’re comfortable.”
“My lap will still be here after your shower, Harry,” you say, smiling. “Now go, love. Take a nice, relaxing shower,”
He tilts his head to look at you. “Okay,” he proceeds to roll off of the sofa, hurting his behind in the process.
“Owww,” he groans tiredly. “That hurt,”
“No shit, Harry,” you sigh. “Now shoo, before I drag your arse up to your dorm,”
He lets a small smile slip onto his face before getting up and going to shower, but not before kissing you on the cheek.
You pick your book up and continue reading as he showers. After a while, you check the clock and see it’s been thirty minutes and you start to wonder if he fell asleep in the shower.
You put your book down and walk up to his dorm. You knock and wait for a sign of protest but hear nothing, so you open the door.
Walking in, you look over to see Harry lying in his bed with damp hair and no shirt on. He looks asleep, but you confirm he isn’t when you hear a muffled hi coming from his direction.
You look around to make sure the other beds are empty (they were), then walk over to him and sit beside him.
“How was your shower?” you ask him, reaching over and rubbing his bare shoulder. He flinches slightly at your cold touch.
“Good,” he seems to be talking to his pillow.
A sudden idea pops into your head. “Hey, sit up,”
He lifts his head to give you a questioning look.
“Love, sit up,” you repeat.
He stretches before obliging. He now sits next to you on the bed, his eyelids drooping slightly.
“Good,” you say quietly before crawling behind him on the bed and sitting down again. You raise your hands and begin massaging his shoulders so he can relax.
He tensed up for a second. You questioned why in your head for a moment before realizing why he felt so warm; your hands had been cold before.
“Sorry,” you say. “Do you want me to stop?”
“No, it’s okay, they’ll get warmer as you go on,” he says. “But that sure woke me up.”
A small laugh escaped your lips as you continued with your massage.
“How did everyone do during practice?” you ask him. Your hands are getting warmer now.
“Everyone did fine,” he says. “Ron missed a few, and Katie got lightheaded after an hour, but other than that, it was good.”
“That’s good,” you agree. “D’you think I'd make a good player?”
“With your aim? No way,” he jokes. “But maybe a beater. Do you like hitting things?”
“Sometimes,” you say. “One time I actually hit my sibling with a pillow and knocked them off our loft bed,” you cringe and half smile at the memory.
“Ouch,” he says.
“Yeah,” you say. “Maybe next year I’ll try for beater, who knows?”
“That’d be cool,” Harry says. “I’d get to boss you around, ha!”
“You already can, Harry,” you say without thinking. Your face turns red in realization but thankfully Harry can’t see.
“I– what?” he turns around with a slight smirk as he notices your shocked state.
You quickly compose yourself and say with as much confidence as you can muster, “You heard me. You already can.”
He narrows his eyes for a moment. “Okay, then. Get off the bed.”
You didn’t think he’d actually start to boss you around, but you oblige anyway. You crawl around him and off the bed, now standing in front of him. “Is that it?” you ask.
“Now, kiss me.”
You look at him. “Is that it?”
“Maybe,” he says. “Now do as I say. Please?”
“Fine,” you roll your eyes playfully before leaning forward and giving him a swift peck on the lips.
“Hey! That wasn’t a kiss!” he whines as you back away.
“It was!” you say.
“Barely,” he retorts.
“Fine,” you say as you walk up to him. Harry scoots back on the bed to make room for you to sit. You sit down and look from his eyes to his lips.
His hand cups your jaw as you both lean in for a kiss. Your hands go to his warm shoulders as your lips meet and suddenly your whole body is warmer than just a few seconds ago.
You lean into him to somehow feel him more, which makes the kiss more intense. One of his hands goes to rest on your hip and all of a sudden you’re sitting on his lap.
You pull away for air after a moment. “Good enough kiss?” you ask him.
“Almost,” he says. He leans forward once again and pecks your lips once, twice, then a third time before he says, “Okay, good.”
You smile and kiss him on the nose.
Harry pulls you with him as he lies down on his back, your head resting on his chest and his arms wrapped around you protectively.
“I’m warm now,” you say. “Thank you for sharing your body heat.”
“No problem, love,” he says through a yawn. “Can we sleep now?”
