written in red (ootp) - harry james potter x fem!reader
you and harry had only been dating for a few weeks, and everything still felt new and unsteady. being friends first made it easier in some ways, but the shift into something more left room for awkward moments neither of you quite knew how to handle.
like this one.
harry had come into the gryffindor common room late, his footsteps quiet but deliberate. he stopped short when he saw you sitting at one of the tables, your head bent over your work, your free hand tucked under the table.
“hey,” he said softly, stepping closer.
you glanced up, startled, before quickly moving your hand to your lap. “harry. what are you doing up?”
“couldn’t sleep,” he said, slipping into the chair across from you. “what about you?”
“just… catching up on work,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.
harry’s brows furrowed as he leaned forward. “you okay? you look—” he hesitated, his gaze flicking to your hand. “—tense.”
“i’m fine,” you said quickly, but your eyes darted away from his, and you tucked your hand further into your lap.
harry’s frown deepened. “y/n… what’s wrong?”
“nothing,” you said, your voice rising slightly in defensiveness.
he tilted his head, his green eyes soft but insistent. “can i see your hand?”
your stomach twisted as you shook your head. “it’s nothing, harry.”
he reached out, his fingers brushing yours lightly. “please?”
his voice was so gentle, so full of worry, that you hesitated before slowly placing your hand on the table.
his eyes immediately landed on the angry red words carved into your skin: i must not be late. his face darkened.
“she made you use that quill,” he said, his voice quiet but filled with anger.
“it’s not a big deal,” you said, trying to pull your hand back, but he held on gently, his thumb brushing over the scar.
“not a big deal?” he repeated, his voice rising slightly. “y/n, she made you carve this into your hand. how is that not a big deal?”
“she does it to everyone,” you said, avoiding his gaze. “it’s just how she is.”
harry shook his head, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. “that doesn’t make it okay.”
“harry, it’s fine,” you said, glancing up at him. “really. it doesn’t even hurt that much.”
he didn’t say anything for a moment, his thumb tracing over the words like he was trying to erase them.
“you shouldn’t have to deal with this,” he said softly, his eyes meeting yours. “you shouldn’t have to hide it.”
your cheeks warmed at the intensity of his gaze. “i didn’t want to make it a big thing,” you admitted.
“it is a big thing,” he said firmly. “you can tell me these things, y/n. that’s… part of this, isn’t it?”
you blinked, surprised by his words. “yeah,” you said softly. “it is.”
he nodded, his expression softening as he squeezed your hand gently. “next time, just tell me. okay?”
“okay,” you said, a small smile tugging at your lips.
he didn’t let go of your hand, and neither of you moved for a moment, the silence stretching out between you. it wasn’t awkward, though—it was warm, comforting.
“does it still hurt?” he asked after a while, his voice quiet.
“a little,” you admitted, glancing at your hand.
he frowned, his thumb brushing over the scar again. “i wish i could do something about it.”
“you are,” you said, your smile growing. “just… being here helps.”
his cheeks turned a bit pink, but he smiled back. “good.”
and as he continued to hold your hand, his touch gentle and reassuring, you realized that maybe this whole “dating harry potter” thing wouldn’t be so awkward after all.
