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mysweetestcreature · 6 years

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Meus Amor (Hogwarts!Harry)

(Banner by the lovely @pretty-hazza)

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Series Masterlist

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Platform 9 ¾ feels gloomier this year, at least that’s how Harry seems to find it. The worried looks on parents’ faces as they watch their children board the train makes him uneasy, especially when he hears their crude whispers and spiteful glares when he walks past them. “That’s the Styles boy, you want to steer clear of him,” they say as though he isn’t only meters away from where they stand. He chooses to ignore it though, at least that way he can pretend that he isn’t the son of a fucking wanted criminal.

Usually, he would go and sit with the rest of Slytherins in the large car in the middle of the Hogwarts Express. It’s where all the girls catch up and try to outdo the other on who’s had the most extravagant holiday, and the boys compare their number of summer conquests. However, the turn of events in the last few months have made him somewhat of a hermit. Watching his house get turned upside down had really been the cherry on top to an already dreadful time. The less he interacts with them––or anyone for that matter––the easier sixth year will be.

He finds himself an empty compartment, and carelessly throws his bag on the rack above the bench. When his back hits cushion, he immediately finds himself melting into it, his tense muscles slowly finding ease. He turns his head to stare out the window, the sea of people slowly spreading thin as families disperse as they say their final goodbyes. He remembers his first year, everything had been all chirpy back then. Both his parents had been there to wish him and Gemma a successful school year and making promises to send the weekly care package of Anne’s baked goods and a collection of Desmond’s newly thought-out jokes.

It feels like a lifetime ago.

And maybe it was.

Lost in his thoughts, he doesn’t even notice that the door has slid open until the clearing of someone’s throat grabs his attention.

“Hi…do you mind if I join you? Everywhere else is full,” a girl he recognizes to be in his year asks. She offers him a soft smile as she leans against the frame, her sparkling eyes leaving him wordless for just a brief moment. He bites the inside of his cheek––so much for keeping to himself––before motioning to the seat across from him. “I’m-”

“Y/n Y/l/n, yeah. I know,” he cuts her off. Y/n nods and falls back onto the bench, her bag cradled in her lap as she plays with the thin straps. Her nose twitches slightly, but she quickly rubs the tip of it with the back of knuckle to maintain composure.

“And you’re Harry Styles,” she says, crossing one leg over the other. Harry gives a curt nod. They’ve had classes together since their first year, but it must be the House boundaries that form somewhat of an awkward divide between them. “Have a nice holiday?” she asks. He stops himself from scoffing at the question. His family is plastered all over The Prophet.

“Don’t keep up with the news?” he cocks an eyebrow at her and leans forward with his elbows steady on his knees.

She shrugs her shoulders. “My mum’s a muggle,” she proudly admits. “So, I spend my time out of school in Muggle London…haven’t really been caught up to date with all that’s happened since June.” He watches as she digs into her bag and pulls out a large stack of what appears to be pictures, and then hands them to him.

“These don’t move,” he says dryly, shuffling through the deck. Each image is of her, and who he’ll assume are members of her family.

“Of course, they don’t, silly!” she giggles. His eyes dart up for a second at the sound. “Have you never seen a polaroid before?”

“I don’t often immerse myself in…Muggle culture,” he lets himself linger on one photo in particular. It’s of her posing in one of those weird non-magic rides, with her flashing the photographer with her pearlescent teeth. He looks back up at her, before he reaches forward to hand the pile back. He returns his attention back to the window, watching as the luscious scenery of the countryside pass them by. The fleeting trees only fragments of this shallow memory of a ride.

“You should! I think you’d find it fascinating,” her silky voice enters his ears.

His father would have a fit if he were to find out his son had taken up interest in the subject. Everyone in his house would. “Doubt it.” If he remembers correctly, the girl in front of him is a Gryffindor. Explains a lot.

“If you want, I could teach you a few things.” His neck snaps towards her, a prominent crease sinks in between his eyebrows. Was this girl serious? It’s confusing enough that a little Gryffindor would want to share a compartment with him, but now she was offering to educate him on muggle tradition? Harry eyes her carefully, his lips pursing in a straight line. “Now why would y-” but he’s interrupted by the compartment door swinging open once again.

“Anything off the trolley dears?” the old witch asks in her usual spirited tone. Y/n gets up excitedly and looks over the top. She looks like a little kid, her aura uplifting in the presence of cauldron cakes and cockroach clusters.

“Maybe a chocolate frog…No! Wait, wait…Two pumpkin pasties, please,” she says as she goes back into her bag for some money. Her arm goes deep into it, and she’s biting her tongue in concentration as she searches for her wallet. “It’s the problem with extension charms, can never find a bloody thing!” Her arm goes so far into it that Harry thinks she might fall in. “I just had it,” she reassures everyone. Harry rolls his eyes at how long it’s taking her and stands up to pay the trolley witch himself.

Y/n turns to pout at him, “You didn’t have to do that.” But Harry simply shrugs. The trolley witch thanks him and proceeds to the next compartment. “How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says evenly.

She continues to pout as she opens up the wrappings of her pumpkin pasty. Before taking a bite of it, she looks down at the second one in her lap. “At least take the other one,” she holds it out for him to take. “I’d feel much better about it if you did.” And she’s smiling victoriously when Harry concedes. His hand brushes against hers for a brief moment when he reaches over to grab it, and for some reason it has him feeling slightly tingly.

***

The start-of-term feast is in full swing, and the sounds of silverware clanking against plates is only to be drowned out by the hundreds of conversations happening all around. Y/n sits beside her friend, a muggle-born called Liam, at the Gryffindor table. He’s going on about how his parents were hesitant about sending him back this year.

“I’m telling you, those Death Eater attacks are scaring the shit out of the muggles,” he starts, stuffing his mouth with some seasoned chicken. It’s true. Her mum had been only a few blocks away from the attack on the bridge, having been able to see the structure collapse from her office window. “What’s your dad got to say about any of this?”

Y/n lets out a defeated sigh. Her father hasn’t told her anything because he doesn’t want her and her mum to worry too much about the situation. He works for the Ministry under the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, an auror. Since Fudge’s resignation in June, he usually comes home late and apparates early the next morning. “I don’t know, Liam. He’s been trying to keep my mum and I clear of anything that’s going on. He’s even stopped having The Prophet delivered to the house.”

Liam gives her a sympathetic look before digging in further into his packed plate. She takes a bit of her own food, looking up to stare straight ahead. The familiar soft brown curls catch her eye from across the room. He’s sitting with just one other person, a blonde Irishman, Niall, she thinks his name is.

After he had paid for her pumpkin pasties, they did have a rather fluid conversation (it took a little coaxing, but Y/n upped the charm to get him to participate). Of course, he didn’t let her pry too much into his life. It had been all talks about classes and whatnot. She doesn’t know why, but she feels herself drawn to him. Maybe it’s because he’s always been one of the more tolerable Slytherins ever since she’s known––or much rather, known of––him.

She turns to Liam. “What do you know about Styles?”

“Not much,” he responds, taking a long gulp from his goblet. “Only that his father is one of You-Know-Who’s followers.”

“As in a Death Eater?”

“Yeah…Merlin, you really are clueless, aren’t you?” Liam teases. “Why the sudden interest in him?”

Y/n bites her lip and looks down to the napkin spread across her lap. “We sat together on the way here, actually. I didn’t get that kind of vibe off of him.” Of course, she should have guessed that he’d somehow be associated with that side. It’s a world divided these days, and if there’s one thing her father has told her, it’s to be cautious of people. But when she turns back just in time to catch Harry laugh, and she can’t help the adorning smile that lifts her lips up and rounds the high points of her cheeks.

*** It’s early on a Saturday morning when Harry flies his broom over to the Quidditch pitch. Slytherin isn’t scheduled to practice until Monday night, but he figures he can fit in some individual training before then. Besides, flying is something that makes him forget about all the stresses he’s got accumulated in his head. His mother had sent him a letter yesterday, informing him that aurors had come back to the house to question her and Gemma on the whereabouts of their patriarch. He allows for his mind to go numb as the cold September air flushes his cheeks of any warmth from the castle. The only thing comprehending in his mind are the puffs of breath that he can barely feel on the tip of his nose.

He’s angry. So infuriatingly angry that he’s just waiting for himself to crack. How dare his father be so selfish and abandon them, especially when he isn’t there to protect his mother and sister from Merlin only knows what.

Since his first year, he’s been trying to separate himself from his father’s reputation. But as the fates would have it, he’d been sorted into Slytherin, alongside the children of other Death Eaters. Harry doesn’t hate his house, in fact, he proudly wears the serpent on his robes. It’s the connotation that comes with the territory that he hates.

***

She spots his curls as he walks up the trail leading up to the castle. They have Double Potions together, but he usually keeps to the Slytherin side of the room. Part of her is telling herself to stay seated under the shade of this tree, where she’s been doing some advanced reading for Astronomy. But it seems as though a bigger part of her wants to talk to him again because she finds that her feet are scurrying over to his location.

“Harry!” she hears herself saying before she’s even processed any of her own actions. Harry looks at her, his face neutral as he wipes some sweat from his forehead.

“Y/n…hi,” he awkwardly greets. Harry wipes his face with the towel he’s got draped over his shoulder. He hadn’t expected to run into anyone this early, so he chose not to shower down in the changing rooms.

“I…um…haven’t gotten a chance to talk to you since the ride here. Classes going well?” she bites her lip and holds her book in her hands behind her back. But then she remembers that it’s been a week, and if she hasn’t had much work assigned, it probably means that he hasn’t either.

“So far, yeah,” he says, then starts towards the building, signaling for her to follow. “I’m really liking Professor Slughorn, man’s an exceptional brewer.” She nods in agreement, but then struggles to find a way to continue with the conversation.

They walk along the path in silence, only the sound of the early birds chirping up in the trees fills the void. She hugs her textbook closer to her chest, the hairs on her arms upright in this the chilled morning air. “You cold?” she turns to meet Harry’s seafoam green orbs.

“A little,” she bites her lips between her teeth. Harry unzips the training bag he’s got hoisted over his other shoulder and pulls out a warm-looking black jumper.

He hands it to her. “Here, put this on.” Their footsteps cease in the middle of the trail. She digs her toe of her shoe into the gravel, staring intently at the garment. “C’mon, can hear your teeth chattering.” Timidly, she locks her textbook between her legs as she pulls the oversized jumper over her head. Her hands reach behind her neck to free the hair that’s been trapped under the heavy material. She dares to look up to see his face but is unable to read his expression. Once again, he remains emotionless.

“Thank you,” she blushes, pulling the sleeves to cover her hands. When a strong wind hits them, she doesn’t find herself as cold as she would’ve been in the thin long sleeves she wore underneath. Harry nods his response, keeping his eyes forward as they continue to walk up the path. There’s this feeling in his stomach that he’s not so keen on, it feels airy and fluffy, all the things that he shouldn’t be identifying with. But when he sneaks a peek at her from the corner of his eye, the feeling only persists. She looks so small in his jumper, with its length falling midthigh, making her appear so fragile as the fabric clings to her form. There’s something he finds incredibly endearing about it.

Harry shakes his head to himself, choosing to push any thoughts about her to the back of his mind.

***

Whenever he’s feeling overwhelmed, Harry goes up to the owlery, where his snowy owl, Artemis, spends her time flocking about with the others. He runs the back of his knuckle down her beak, and she’s purrs into him, happy to be receiving some attention.

“How’re they treating you up here?” he opens up his handful of feed that he picked up in town. “Not starving you, are they?” he coos. She pecks at the food, her wings fluttering to her sides.

When she’s gobbled every last bit up, he’s clapping his hands together to rid them of any crumbs. Then he pulls out a letter from his jacket pocket. “Get this to Gem, yeah?” He ties the tightly rolled up parchment around her leg with a piece of string. Before he can blink, Artemis is off, the full expansion of her wings soars through the clouded sky. He stares out the glassless window, watching as his bird flaps gracefully until her image is lost in the clouds.

In his letter, he tells his sister about his first month back at school. He knows he should be writing more often, but there’s only so much he can talk about to dance around the frustrations he’s harvested towards his father. Gemma doesn’t need the added stress, considering that she’s the one taking care of their mum while he’s stuck out here in Scotland.

He’s been counting down the days until the Christmas holiday, when he’ll finally be able to see them and get some proper information about what hell has been going on. It’s obvious to him that Gemma’s been holding back because her words give off a little too much of a joyous tone, a major contrast from her usually sarcastic bite.

Suddenly, he feels something brush up against his ankles and his body stiffens for a moment before his eyes dart down cautiously. There’s a cat that’s draped itself over his dark suede shoes, its wild brown fur shedding on the bottom of his trousers. Harry looks around, but another human is nowhere in sight, which means this feline must’ve gotten here on its own accord.

“What are you doing here, little lion?” he picks the cat up and strokes over his head and smiles when its rubbing into his touch. His hand runs down its back a few times, stopping when he feels the leather of its collar. He feels for the nametag, moving some of the fur out of the way to make out the words.

“Ashes!” he looks to the door and sees a panting Gryffindor hunched over on her knees, staring at the cat with relieved eyes as she tries to regain breath. “There you are, you bugger!” Y/n walks over to them and reaches for her cat––Ashes, he supposes his name is––and hugs him tightly to her chest. “Oh, Harry, thank you so much for finding him! I’ve been searching for him all morning.”

Harry rubs the back of his neck a small smile gracing over his raspberry lips. “He sort of found me, actually,” he says, petting Ashes gently on the head.

“Well whatever the case,” Y/n says, her hand touches his arm, “I’m grateful.” And she doesn’t really know what’s possessed her to make this unnecessary physical contact, but it deliciously burns the palm of her hand, despite having only touched the top of his jacket.

“It’s really not a problem. Got yourself a fine little lion,” he pets Ashes’ head, and Y/n swears her heart must have just skipped a beat. She’s never seen him so soft before (besides when he’s joking around with Niall, but that’s really about it), and she thinks she likes it because the crevices of his dimples become more prominent whenever he smiles widely. “What are you doing here, anyway?” he asks her. Y/n doesn’t even realize she’s been staring until he’s waving his hand in front of her face.

“I…umm…was going to head into Hogsmeade and thought I’d bring him along,” she lifts Ashes up and waves one of his paws. Harry nods, slipping his hands into his pockets. It’s as though daunting silences always plague their conversations because she finds herself looking around the owlery to lessen the awkwardness she feels inside. But then she’s peering up to meet his breathtaking green eyes, and rush of confidence sweeps over her. “Do you want to join us, maybe?”

To say he’s taken aback by her offer would be an understatement. He really hadn’t had any intention of going this weekend, since he’d already picked up all that he needed the previous week, but Y/n’s hopeful expression has him fighting off the logical part of his reasoning.

“Umm, sure. Could use a butterbeer,” he says, and she’s squealing in delight and taking his hand to lead them down the steep steps.

***

They walk in sync, occasionally bumping shoulders as they follow the cobblestone road into town. Many students walk alongside them, chatting about what their plans are for this trip. Y/n’s let Ashes roam free in front of them, only scolding the cat when he’s trotted too far to the side.

“I love him to bits, but he’s a runner,” she snorts. “Poor thing has been cooped up in the Gryffindor common room for a month. He’s used to being at home where he’s got the backyard to keep him entertained.” Harry lets the information soak in, but he isn’t sure if he’ll ever need it in the future. He hasn’t the intention of getting too close to anyone, especially not with some girl that he’s only been properly acquainted with as of late. Niall’s the only one he can tolerate being around, and that’s just because they’ve been best friends since diapers. But listening as she talks about everything under the sun as though everything has a bit of magic to it, it makes his insides flutter. And dare he say he enjoys it.

***

The library is great place to study, but also to get away from the Slytherin Common Room. Malfoy’s been wanting to speak with him one-on-one since the start of term, but Harry really can’t be bothered with whatever the platinum blonde haired boy has to say at the moment. They’re friends, well close acquaintances, is more like it. Although, since Lucius Malfoy’s imprisonment, it’s obvious that the younger Malfoy is having trouble coping with all of it. And if what Niall’s told him is true, Draco may be partaking in the grand scheme of the Dark Lord.

If that is the case, he knows that it’s only a matter of time until they’re recruiting him to join their forces.

He finds himself an empty table in the back corner, just in front of the restricted section. His bag lands on the table with a loud thump, and he groans as he stretches his aching back. Yesterday, Flitwick had assigned them a six-parchment essay on the history and importance of the Aguamenti Spell. Opening up Standard Book of Spells by Miranda Goshawk, he skims through the long, wordy paragraphs and jots down some useful facts he can include.

***

Four hours of research and complete solitude, and his hand is cramping from having gripped he quill a little to tensely. Harry stares down at his completed sixth piece of parchment, smiling triumphantly as he reads it back to himself. “Invented in…” the words slip off his tongue, his voice a little husky from the dormancy of his vocal chords. He uses the feathered part of his quill to trace out the words, looking for any errors he might have made.

Once he’s satisfied with the turnout, he gets up and hops in place, stirring his body awake from having been sitting for so long. He walks through the aisles of books and watches as some of them fly to their rightful places on the shelves. He grabs a few that interest him, flipping through the pages. The smell of old paper in their bindings tickles his nostrils in the adequate lighting.

Suddenly, a shriek of his name has him wincing, and he recognizes it to belong to Daphne Greengrass. He carefully peers over his shoulder to see her coming for him in the distance. Dropping the book to floor, he hastily makes an escape. The witch hasn’t left him alone since they hooked up at the end of fifth year. He was drunk on fire whisky, celebrating the end of the O.W.L. exams and she’d been there, and the rest is blur to him.

“Harry, is that you?” he curses under his breath as the soundwaves carry her voice through the area. He had tried to let her down easy and explain that it was only a one-time thing, a clouded-mind mistake. But she’s tenacious in him giving her another chance to make it worth his while. There are only so many ways he can tell her no without sounding like a complete asshole.

Maneuvering through some third-year students in the reference section, he sees a familiar figure intently reading a small book while her back leans against the shelf. Y/n looks up and smiles as he draws closer to her.

“Hey, how’ve you be-oh!” she gasps when he’s wrapping his arms tightly around her waist and burying his nose in the crook of her neck. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands but hold them loosely on his hips on instinct. Her heart is beating at a concerning rate, and she can only hope he doesn’t feel its pounding against his own chest. “What are you…” but he shushes her before she can fully question him.

Fuck, he thinks as her scent floods his nostrils. She smells like strawberries, or something as mouthwatering and sweet as that. Her body feels so soft as its pressed up against his, and he’s internally scolding himself for having chosen her as his shield. She’s cuddly all over, just as he had imagined when he first saw her in his jumper a few weeks ago. (Not that she’s been drifting in and out of his thoughts or anything…okay, fine. It’s only happened a handful of times.)

They’ve been talking more frequently since going into Hogsmeade and laughing over a few pints of butterbeer. And one might look at them and consider them to be friends––but something about the title doesn’t sit well with either of them––they talk outside the potions dungeon before class starts. Harry usually arrives fifteen minutes early (he’s got a free period before then) because he knows she’s always at least ten minutes ahead of everyone.

“Harry? Where’d you go?” Y/n turns her head and sees the tuft of blonde hair float pass them, the scowl on the witch’s face as she glances down their aisle, only to have her vision obstructed by a few floating books, then she’s off to continue her search.

He raises his head just enough for her to feel his nose nudge against her hair. “Is she gone?” he whispers in her ear. The lowness of his voice sends chills down her back. She bites on her bottom lip and nods her head. “Fucking finally,” he breathes out in relief. His hands slowly fall from her and back to his sides. The loss of his heat has her slightly pouting, as she wraps her arms around herself to mimic where his had been.

“Sorry about that,” he apologizes, one of his hands running through his hair, as the other one slips into the pocket of his trousers.

“It’s fine,” she assures, but she can feel the heat crawl up to the apples of her cheeks. “The least I can do for the favors you’ve done me.” At first, Harry isn’t sure what she’s talking about, but then he recalls the pumpkin pasties and helping her keep warm and then the other day when he had helped her reach for the valerian root, and he’s hiding the smirk that’s threatening to display. “I have your jumper up in my dorm, I’ve just been forgetting to give it back,” she discloses, staring down at her feet. She doesn’t want him to think that she has no intentions of returning it––even though that might be a fair assumption.

She looks up and sees the curve of his lips, his soft-looking raspberry lips. Harry lets out a chuckle. “Keep it,” he says, the concave of his dimples making her heart flutter with bewilderment. “I think you might need it more than I do.” He noticed how cold her skin felt when he had been hugging her, makes him wonder if this girl was even capable of maintaining a decent body temperature. It doesn’t help that now that he’s actually touched her, all he can think about is wanting to keep her warm.

“You sure?” she asks, her big eyes searching his own. He chuckles again and nods, and she’s giggling and softly clapping her hands together. “Great! Because it’s really comfy and it smells really nice,” she finds herself saying. Harry stares amusedly at the Gryffindor, and he wonders if she’s ever worn it again since he let her borrow it. What he would give to see her swimming around in his clothes again.

*** The next time he sees her is outside of class, she’s sitting with a group of friends on one of the benches outside. At first, he thinks that they’re studying, but the way their squeals carry through the air, he’s sure it’s gossip that’s got them making such a fuss. He lets out a tired huff, looking back down at the reading he has to get done for Defense Against the Dark Arts. Now that’s Snape’s teaching it, it’s gotten much less enjoyable, and much more work-oriented. They’ve just finished up revision on spells learned last term and are now on to practicing nonverbal magic.

“So, Y/n, a little birdy told me that Oliver Rivers fancies you,” one of the girls’ voices draw his attention from the text.

“Shut up, he does not!” Y/n hushes them. “He only came by to ask me if I could tutor him with Arithmancy.” The other girls start giggling––Harry doesn’t think he’s ever heard a more obnoxious sound.

“I heard that he took it because he knew you were!” another one of them comments. Harry can’t help the roll of his eyes. Y/n is way out of Rivers’ league. He knows that the poor Hufflepuff wouldn’t be able to keep up with her, judging from how chatty she had been on the Hogwarts Express. It just wouldn’t work, he’s sure of it.

***

Y/n’s been glancing over at Harry now and again, more interested in how the mild breeze flaps the top of his hair ever so slightly. His brows creasing as he reads over book with such hardened concentration. She often finds him studying in the library, at a corner table that he seems to have designated as his. Sometimes she thinks about just taking a seat across from him, but it’s as if her courage dwindles down when it concerns him. And she hates it.

One of her friends tells her that Oliver plans on inviting her to accompany him to Hogsmeade this weekend. “Well that’s a shame because I’m not interested,” she sighs. Her last boyfriend, a Ravenclaw a year above her, had turned out to be straight up git. He had tried forcing her to take their physical affections further, but she made it clear from the start that she wasn’t ready for that sort of engagement. She ended up kneeing him in the balls and slapping him in the face before running out of the dusty broom closet.

When she thinks over the experience, she realizes that she wasn’t even attracted to him, it was more of the fact that all her friends were getting into relationships and she’d been feeling rather lonely with them giving her rainchecks in favor of dates. So, when the Ravenclaw had asked her out, she’d thrown all caution in the wind and went for it. Since then, she’s promised herself to wait until that perfect guy comes along to sweep her off her feet, much like in those fairytale books she has in her muggle home.

“C’mon, Y/n! It’s been ages since you’ve been out on date. Can’t tell me there’s not one wizard that’s caught your eye.”

Y/n glances back up at Harry, the utmost concentration still a permanent resident on his structured features. “There might be someone.”

***

During potions, when she’s not observing her brew, she’s looking over in his direction. He and Niall are joking around as they wait for the thirty-minute cooldown of their cauldrons. Harry’s visibly laughing at how the Irishman imitates their former potions professor’s nasally voice, laying a hand on his stomach as his head falls back from the humor of it all.

“He’s so cute,” she dreamily says. Liam eyes her suspiciously, and she just waves him off as she continues to admire the curly-haired boy. Her breath clogs in her throat when their eyes meet, and he flashes her a small smile. She offers one back, but then puts her head down when he looks away.

According to Witch Weekly’s quiz, Y/n has got herself a massive crush on a certain Slytherin. On their trip to Hogsmeade last weekend, she dragged Liam into Tomes and Scrolls to pick up various magazines that could help her figure out these feelings she’s been having whenever he smiles at her.

“You’re so obvious,” Liam mutters, while he mixes his Hiccoughing Solution.

“Am not,” she counters, but even she knows that that’s a massive lie. “Fine, but I can’t help it! Have you seen him?” The first quidditch game of the season, she and Liam had attended. It was Hufflepuff versus Slytherin, she cheered whenever Harry scored a point. She didn’t know what a fine chaser he was until then. The way he agilely sped across the field on his broom with such grace and finesse, had nearly every girl––and she really does mean every girl––swooning over him. “His eyes, they’re so dreamy,” she gushes, “and his hair, I just want to…oh my gosh, I’m pathetic, aren’t I?” she drops her face in her hands.

Liam snorts, but rubs her back comfortingly. “Just a bit,” he teases.

From the other side of the room, Harry watches them. A slight pang of jealousy itching the tips of his fingers as he watches how freely Payne grazes his hand over her. He doesn’t know much about him, but from what he’s witnessed just now, he already doesn’t like him.

“You know anything about him?” Harry asks Niall as he motions over to the other table. Niall follows his eyes and hums in response.

“Payne? Heard he’s wicked smart for a muggle-born. He’s kind of like Granger, except not as fun to look at.” Harry rolls his eyes but prods the blonde to continue. “He’s best friends with Y/l/n, and I know you fancy her.” Niall’s eyebrows waggle, a smirk spread across his face.

Harry scoffs, “And where’d you hear that?”

“Don’t think I don’t see you giving her lovesick looks during dinner,” he looks over to where Y/n is manning her potion. “Don’t blame you, mate. She’s a looker, she is. Really fit, too.” This earns him a threatening glare from his friend. Niall raises his hands in surrender. “Relax, she’s all yours.”

***

Harry officially can’t get her out of his head, which is actually quite annoying because now that he’s consciously aware of her, she’s popping up everywhere he turns. Her cute self that makes him feel all weird inside whenever she’s near, it drives him mad. And when he doesn’t see her, he finds himself looking for in the sea of students whenever a class period is up. Right now, he’s living for Double Potions on Mondays because that’s when he gets to be in the same room with her for an hour and half. It seems that she’s the only thing that’s able to make him forget about all his problems back home.

His owl had dropped a letter from his sister yesterday morning. In it, she expressed her grievances about their entire situation, telling him how she feels all their mother does anymore is cry. How he wishes he didn’t have to wait until December to see them, but with the Ministry keeping close tabs on their house, it’s difficult for both Anne and Gemma to leave. His mood had been quite sour, but then he ran into her in the East Corridor, and it’s like the light she radiates washed all bitterness away.

“Harry, mate, you’ve been looking at the door since we’ve arrived here,” Niall complains, taking a break from conversation with a pretty Ravenclaw that he’s had his eyes set on for ages. “Looking for your girl?”

“No, leave me alone,” Harry mutters back at him, but his eyes never leave the entrance to the Great Hall. He glances down at his wristwatch, 8:23 am, which means she should be coming down for breakfast soon. (Not that he’s been keeping track of what time she usually eats. That would be creepy…) Y/n is seen before heard, the sounds of her blissful laughter reaching his ears before he watches her walk in with the Weasley girl. Her hair floats freely down her back, swaying with each step she takes. One of her knee socks falls down mid-calf, and he groans as she slightly bends down to pull it up. The worst part is that she doesn’t even know the effect she has on him, it’s just her naturally adorable self-that’s getting him all wound up.

***

Leaves on the trees turn from luscious greens to vibrant shades of red and orange. The crisp autumn weather has students and faculty whipping out their comfy scarves to wrap around their vulnerable necks as they take walks along the grass. The end of October is celebrated with the Halloween feast, where the four grand house tables are to be overflowing with cavity-inducing sweets.

Harry is making his way through the courtyard, navigating his way through a group of Hufflepuffs that insist on walking in a perfect horizontal line. His attempts prove useless, however; and he’s stuck trailing a few paces behind them. “Tossers,” he mutters under his breath in pure annoyance.

“That’s not very nice,” he turns on his heel, a smile forming on his lips when he sees her. “I happen to know one of them, and she’s a saint!” Y/n teases, poking his side.

“I just want to eat, I skipped lunch to study for a Transfiguration test,” he clutches his stomach when it growls at back at him. She giggles at how cute his face looks when it contorts from what might be the agonizing hunger of a teenage boy. The crowd around them seems to have numbered down to just them and few other students running towards the Great Hall.

“If you’re that hungry…” she smirks, then grabs his hand and leads him towards the staircase to the dungeons. He doesn’t even bother to question where she’s taking him because his eyes are trained on how tightly her hand is squeezing his.

Witch Weekly had advised her to do something spontaneous that would catch his attention, so that’s exactly what she’s doing right now. She’s trying to ignore the quickening beating beneath her chest and prays that her hands don’t go all clammy.

*** It’s when Harry finds them in front of the kitchen that he pulls her back towards him. “We could just eat upstairs, love,” he raises an eyebrow at her, but she’s already tickled the pear, causing the portrait door to swing open for them. The house elves trot about, levitating heavy dishes of food over to specific tables to transport over to their counterparts in the Great Hall. The large brick fireplace providing a good amount of heat to make the room feel nice and snug. He’s only been here once, and that was during second year on a dare. One of the elves skips towards Y/n, giddily hopping in place.

“Miss Y/n! What can Winky do for you?” the house elf––Winky––eagerly asks. She grins widely when she pats her head.

“My friend here is really hungry, so we were wondering if you could whip us up something? It’s much too packed upstairs,” Y/n sweetly replies, swinging their still entangled hands as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Winky nods her head and ushers them to a smaller table off to the side of core five. “Winky will fetch Miss Y/n and Miss Y/n’s friend food right away!”

Harry pulls the chair out for her before taking his own seat. “Not what I pictured as a first date, but this is pretty nice too,” he winks, taking a sip from the glass of water that’s appeared in front of him.

“This is so not a date!” Y/n gasps, reaching over to swat his arm. She feels herself turning pink at the thought.

“So, you don’t want to date me?” he feigns hurt as his lips form a pout. “No! I do! It’s just I’ve been waiting for you to…” her jaw drops at her sudden confession and she’s covering her face with her hands when the triumphant smirk returns to his lips. His head tilts to the side as he gazes at how cute she is while she rambles into her palms.

“Hey, hey,” he gently wraps his fingers around her wrists to pull them down, so he can get a good look at her blushing face. “I’m only teasing. C’mon, look at me,” he says softly, but she shakes her head as her eyes seal shut.

“I rather not, if you don’t mind,” she mutters, and Harry laughs at how cute she is with her eyes squeezing so tight that he thinks they might burst. He looks down to where he’s holding her hands in his much bigger ones, then lifts them up just centimeters from his mouth. She feels his breath on her skin, until they’re replaced by soft pillow-like sponges.

Her eyes open up, despite the rest of her body’s protests. She bites on her bottom lip as he continues to ravish the backs of her hands with sweet supple kisses before running his thumbs over the skin. “Go out with me,” he says, eyes twinkling fondly at her as though she’s all that’s important in the world.

***

This stupid grin hasn’t abandoned her in nearly two days, but she can’t help it! Whenever she sees him giving her looks that make her weak at the knees and holding in the barrel of giggles she’s got pent up in her tummy. Only in passing did she tell Liam because she knows he’d be a little hesitant in letting her go on a date with the son of a Death Eater––he’s sort of like her dad when she’s at Hogwarts––but even then, no one could persuade her otherwise.

She’s walking up to Astronomy when she sees Harry, accompanied by Niall, exiting the classroom. When their eyes meet, he tells Niall to go ahead, and the blonde boy gives her a suggestive smirk as he passes her on the stairs. Her and Harry stand on the long platform step, letting other students pass them with ease, some shooting them suspicious looks.

“Can’t wait till Saturday,” he says, his hand slipping to the curve of her waist to prevent anyone from knocking into her. “Pick you up at six?” Y/n doesn’t trust her voice and opts for giving him a sweet nod of the head. He smiles down at her and pecks her forehead. “I’ve got to get to the greenhouse before Sprout has the tentacula attacking me for being late.”

Biting her lip, she watches him descend down the stairs, lightly bumping into Liam as he rushes to Herbology. Liam raises an eyebrow at the Slytherin before turning up to see his friend’s dazed eyes following the boy’s shadow.

“You alright there?” he questions, snapping his fingers in front of her eyes.

“Looks like you’re on something.” Y/n playfully shrugs her shoulders and shakes her head, taking one last look down the stairs before entering the classroom.

***

It’s when he’s coming up staircase to the Gryffindor common room that he realizes that he’s never actually taken a girl out on a proper date before. Sure, he’s had girlfriends and flings of the sorts, but never actually took the time to treat her to anything more than to some candy from Honeydukes or a butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks before they’re succumbing to those pesky teenage hormones. But Y/n is different, she actually makes him want to put in the effort. And even though he said to himself in September that there would be no canoodling with anyone, she’s possessed every inch of him and he’s not doing anything to stop her.

She’s waiting for him just outside the portrait hole, her fingers fiddling with tassels of her scarf. When she sees him, she’s fighting to suppress the giddy smile that still hasn’t left her. He greets her with a kiss to the cheek and there’s that giggle of hers that seems to have become his favorite sound.

***

There’s never been a time in his life where he’s felt this happy, with Y/n under his arm as they sit in a booth at Madam Puddifoot’s Tea Shop. It’s quite cliché, now that he’s taken time to process it. This is the spot where all lovey dovey couples go for dates, so they can snog over tea and biscuits and act as though ‘happily ever afters’ are a thing of the real world. The fully pink interior has it feeling like Valentine’s Day all the time, but that’s the novelty of it all, he supposes.

He’s never sat in here before, only stopping in to get some coffee to go before heading back to the castle. He likes knowing that his first time is with her. Y/n seems to be enjoying herself because this girl has got quite the sweet tooth on her. Since he’s not a fan of chocolate, he’s given her full reign on filling herself up with any of the desserts that might contain it.

“Oh my goodness, you have to try this one!” she holds up a piece of carrot cake in front of his mouth. He laughs because she’s just so god damn adorable, but bites into the cake nevertheless. The taste of cinnamon and a dash of nutmeg soothe his taste buds as he chews and then swallows. He hums in approval and opens his mouth up again for her to feed him.

“It’s really good, love,” he winks, brushing his hand just below her shoulder. His gaze lands on her mouth, where some crumbs have accumulated in the upper corners. “You’ve got a little…” but instead of telling her, he uses his thumb to wipe it all away, the palm of his hand resting on her cheek. “There you go.”

“What a gentleman,” she teases and brings the teacup to her lips as they wrap around the rim in such delicate fashion that now all he can think about is kissing her and molding their lips together. It’s honestly all he’s thought about since watching her eat that pumpkin pasty on the train.

***

They walk with their hands laced together, a blanket of fallen leave scattering around the cobblestone roads of the town. Sometimes she’ll lean her head on his shoulder, and he’ll nuzzle his nose into her fruity smelling hair when he sees fit. He bets when other people look at them now, they’d think that they were the most loved up pair at Hogwarts––which doesn’t bother him one bit because he’s already admitted to himself that he’s absolutely smitten with her.

This date is going much better than he had anticipated, all that’s left is to seal the deal with a kiss, so he can actually call her his, and not have to listen to any talk about other boys wanting to whisk her away. But just as he’s about ready to lean down, his eyes spot the same tuft of blonde hair that he just can’t seem to shake off.

“Harry!” she calls, and he’s groaning into Y/n’s temples. It’s too late to make a run for it. “I haven’t seen you in ages!” Daphne says with her abnormally high-pitched voice.

“We had class together yesterday,” Harry deadpans.

Daphne tuts her tongue, “Yes, but you’re always so focused that I can never get a word in.” She flips her long hair back over her shoulder and adjusts her skirt so that it’s a bit higher above her knees.

“It’s why I’m passing,” Harry states, and Y/n buries her face into his shoulder, so she can stifle the fit of laughter. “Find that funny, do you?” he whispers in her ear. Daphne looks at the two with an almost sickened face that Harry can see turning a shade of green.

“What’s going on here” she screeches and crosses her arms over her chest. “What are you doing cozying up with a Gryffindor?” He rolls his eyes because the witch really thinks he owes her any explanation for anything he’s doing.

“We’re on a date, and you’re kind of ruining it,” he replies and pulls Y/n in the opposite direction, “I’d like to get back to it.” They leave the blonde-haired girl with her mouth hung open as Harry leads them over to one of the less populated areas.

***

“I don’t think she likes me,” Y/n giggles, her back hitting the wooden fence. Harry shakes his head and leans into her, wrapping his arms around her midsection. “She’s just jealous.”

“Oh?” she feigns ignorance, and he hums to play along. “Is there a reason she should be jealous?” The hopeful expression that’s sketched over her soft features has his insides leaping and now all he wants to do is kiss her when his eyes fall back on her plump lips.

“Could give her one,” he whispers and his hands cup either side of her jaw, his thumbs stroke over her cold cheeks as he stares longingly at her lips. She swallows at how sultry it is as it replays in her mind. Her eyes are half-lidded as he slowly leans in, allowing for their breaths intermingle with one another before he’s fully pressing up against her. Already, he knows he could spend all day standing here, holding her close as their lips move together in perfect synchronization.

***

“You’re completely whipped,” Niall tells him at breakfast as he shovels scrambled eggs into his mouth. “Never thought I’d see the day.” Since arriving twenty minutes earlier, Harry and Y/n have been giving each other not-so-subtle googly eyes from across the room.

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a bite from his toast. “Shut up,” he mutters. It’s not his fault that the tables have turned, and Niall is the one without a girlfriend to be all soft around. And yes, Harry knows how soft he is when he’s with her or talking about her to Niall. Just the other day she had sneezed the cutest sneeze he thinks he’s ever heard, almost how a baby does before finding its voice.

The sound of hooting signals the arrival of the mail, and there’s Artemis with a letter between her talons. He skillfully catches it before it falls into his cereal, but Niall isn’t as lucky because his bird just dropped his package in his breakfast, poor boy. Harry opens up the letter, and immediately he feels all color drain from his face. His hands are practically shaking as he reads through the messily inked words on the paper.

“What’s wrong?” Niall asks, picking off the last bit of egg from his robes. The letter gets thrown into his bookbag before he’s running a frustrated hand through his hair. “It’s my dad,” he closes his eyes and breathes deeply through his nose. “He’s…he’s been arrested.” The words are bittersweet when he hears them aloud. He’s mad at his father, yes, but to see him get thrown in Azkaban? He can only imagine how his mum is feeling right now. Desmond Styles might not be the perfect family man, but he does love Anne more than anything.

Niall pats him on the back. “Are you alright, mate?” his tone slightly cautions because he knows that Harry doesn’t really like talking about his feelings.

Harry’s lips purse into a straight line as he focuses on his breathing. He stares back across the room and sees her giggling at something Liam must have said, and this makes him smile. She’s so innocent to all the bad that inevitably surrounds them, and his connections to that side has him constantly worrying about her. But now that his father is in custody, maybe he doesn’t have to live with that fear anymore. Maybe this is good for him, good for his family, good for them. He turns to his friend, who’s still got a frown of concern on his face.

“Yeah, I think I am.”

***

Now that they’re dating, he discovers that she’s not so keen on flying. He’d taken her for a ride on his broom, only to see that she had her eyes closed and buried in his back until they landed back on the ground. She says that she’s always been afraid of heights––imagine that, his brave little Gryffindor, afraid––and he’s determined to help her conquer that fear.

“Do we have to?” she whines, pulling on his hand to steer away from the quidditch pitch.

“Yes, yes we do,” he cheeks and kisses her hand to appease her. “How am I supposed to be romantic and take you on spontaneous dates when my girl’s afraid of flying?”

A gust of wind hits her face and has her hair flying all over her face, and she lets out a grunt trying to tame the loose strands. “That’s what walking is for and besides, you turn seventeen in February. You’ll be able to apparate us places then,” she argues. Her head falls on his chest and she’s left huffing because this isn’t what she had in mind when he said he wanted to take her out. They could be inside cuddling up in the library or sneaking into the kitchens or just about anything else.

“C’mon, love. Just one try. If you really hate it, we’ll stop and do whatever your cute little head has in mind.” He mounts himself off the ground, hovering just a few feet. With a grumble, Y/n swings her leg over the other side, then wraps her arms tightly around his waist. “You got to promise me that you’ll actually keep your eyes open this time,” he peeks over his shoulder.

“Don’t push it.”

***

The library is the perfect place to snog his girlfriend (and study too, of course) because being in different Houses becomes an issue when they’re as different as day and night. Often, they find themselves cuddles up in one of the armchairs as they review course material and quiz each other for whatever test one of them has coming up.

“How do you extract pods from a snargaluff?” Y/n holds the notecard to her chest, so he can’t cheat. But that’s not even on his mind right now, instead he’s much more entertained by the smooth skin of her neck as he peppers kisses all over it. “Harry! C’mon, you’ve got a test tomorrow!” she scolds.

He cups her cheek and brings her face down to meet him. “I’ll be fine, love” he says against her, “been studying for the last three days.” He buries his face back into her neck. “I need a break.” She can’t help the roll of her eyes, but quite frankly she enjoys how his lips feel when they trail wet kisses over her flesh, and her fingers tangle themselves in his hair to bring him closer.

Her thoughts become lost in his touch, all senses oriented to how amazing she feels whenever she’s with him, whether they’re actually studying––about forty-five percent of the time––or doing this. She knows it’s too early in their relationship, but she knows for sure that she’s in love with him. No one has ever made her heart beat the he does, and call her naïve, but she’s almost positive that this is what love is.

Another reason she knows she loves him is that she’s actually dreading going back home next week for Christmas. It means two weeks of not seeing him and only communicating through letters that his owl will have to relay.

“Going to miss you,” she pouts when she pulls away. Her thumb runs over his bottom lip to wipe away some of her lip gloss that’s transferred over. Harry kisses it, then pecks her once more before leaning back in the chair.

“I’m already going mad just thinking about it,” he sighs, playing with a small strand of her hair. “We promised to write each other, yeah? I’ll write you every day to tell you how much I miss you,” he cheeks and pinches her chin between his fingers.

***

What does one get a guy that’s so bloody rich that he probably has two of everything? That had been Y/n’s problem in the days leading up to Christmas break. She’s usually really good at gifting, but Harry’s her first serious boyfriend and she wants their first exchange to be special and thought out. He keeps saying that he doesn’t want anything, and she thinks that’s complete bullshit. When they were walking through Hogsmeade a few weekends ago, she noticed him eyeing some new Quidditch gloves in the window display of Spintwitches Sporting Needs. Maybe he’d appreciate that?

“I need your help,” she walks up to where Liam is studying at one of the tables in the common room. She slams a bagful of galleons in front of him. He dips his quill into the ink pod and opens up the pouch. “Bloody hell, Y/n! What’s all this for?” His eyes pop out of his head as he counts the golden coins one by one.

“It’s for Harry’s Christmas gift. I need you to buy it for me,” she says, then gives him an award-winning smile that would put Gilderoy Lockhart to shame. “Pretty please?”

“Why can’t you do it?”

She blows raspberries into the air and plops down in the seat adjacent to the desk. “Because it wouldn’t be a surprise then, now would it? I don’t go into town without him, so buying it without him knowing would be impossible!” Liam sighs, but puts the money in his pocket. They sit in a comfortable silence as he continues to revise his notes for Divination. (Although, she isn’t quite sure why he’s still taking it considering how much of a joke the whole ‘looking into the beyond’ thing seems to be.) “Not that it’s any of my business,” he starts, his eyes still dancing over his notebook, “but have you told your parents about him?”

She lets her mouth fall into a frown as she looks at him. She’d written her mum a letter gushing about her boyfriend, but she did fail to mention a surname because Godric forbid that her dad recognizes it and marches straight to Hogwarts to give her a firm lecturing on dating someone so closely associated to the people he works to put behind bars. But it’s not Harry’s fault for having been born into one of the wealthy Pureblood families that have a history of being involved in the dark arts.

“Of course…” and Liam lets out a snort because he knows her too well to know when she’s bullshitting him.

*** They’re on the Hogwarts Express back to King’s Cross Station when he tells Y/n that he loves her. And it’s such a relief to her because she was about ready to burst if he hadn’t beaten her to it. She declares it back and throws herself into his arms, causing them to fall back on the bench as they smother each other in sweet kisses.

For the rest of the ride, he’s got his head resting in her lap while she plays with his hair, her other hand being held right over his heart. He listens to her describe her family’s holiday traditions and whatnot. She describes how she used to believe in this mystic entity called Father Christmas that would leave gifts under the tree, only to find out the heartbreaking truth that it was just her mum sneaking downstairs in the early hours of the evening.

“It’s a bit creepy, having a long-bearded man break into your house,” Harry scrunches his eyebrows. “And muggle children want him to sneak in? That’s like if Dumbledore were to just appear in my kitchen.” It’s funny to think how he hadn’t any interest in anything from that world three short months ago, but now he’s actually engaging in non-magic conversation.

“That’s not the point! He’s what keeps their spirits up this time of year,” she pinches his nose. How she would love it if Harry were experience muggle Christmas with her and her family. But of course, he’s got his own family that would want him home with them. She knows enough about them, like how his sister, who’s four years older, is a healer at St. Mungo’s. He’d been more hesitant speaking about his father.

She outlines the soft lines on his forehead. “Are you going to be okay?”

“What do you mean?” he reaches up to caress her cheek, he smiles when she leans into him.

“You know…with your father and everything…” she hadn’t wanted to say it out loud, but curiosity has gotten upper hand.

“It’s going to suck for sure, but we’ll get through it eventually,” he gives her a lopsided smile. She nods her head and carries one with looping his curls around her fingers. He proceeds to change the topic to jollier matters, like how he’s excited to give her the present he got her. (She thinks it’ll be owled to her, but he’s got a little something planned.)

***

“Sentencing hearing for offenses committed by Desmond Styles, resident at 5 Willows Way Wiltshire, England. Interrogator, Rufus Scrimgeour, Minister of Magic. Charges against the accused are as followed: endangering the welfare of muggles, attacking a Ministry official, and casting the killing curse on eight individuals,” Scrimgeour’s deep voice echoes through the courtroom of the Wizengamot.

Harry, along with his mother and sister sit silently in their pew, lips sealed tightly. A cage erupts from the floor, revealing Desmond Styles entrapped within its confines, spikes surrounding the perimeter. His usually kept hair is untamed and greasy looking, his skin covered in scabs and scratches. From where they’re sat, Harry can even see the dirt under his fingernails. Visibly thinner from when he’d last seen him last Christmas, the man in front of them is nearly unrecognizable.

“If the defendant chooses to give the names and locations of his allies, then the Wizengamot is to make a bargain for his early release from Azkaban. Does the defendant accept these terms?” All eyes fall on the broken man, once known to be a pillar of wealth and luxury in the community. Desmond remains silent, shooting everyone in the pews dirty looks. He doesn’t event spare his own family any reassurance, growling like an animal when Scrimgeour repeats his question.

“What’s he doing?” Gemma whispers frantically to her mother. “Why can’t he just give them up?” Tears are flooding her eyes as she takes in her father’s appearance.

Anne croaks out a response that neither Harry nor Gemma can make out. Harry wants to get them out of there, it’s all just too much for his poor mother to handle with all the grief that Desmond has given them in the last six months.

Scrimgeour narrows his eyes at the caged man, leaning forward in his mighty seat. “If the defendant does not wish to cooperate, it gives us no choice but to send him back to Azkaban.” It’s a threat with intentions meant to carry through with the consequences. Harry holds his breath as he waits for his father to say something, anything to lift the weights he feels dragging him to the ground.

The man persists his silence.

***

Around three in the morning, she hears a tap on her bedroom window. At first, she thinks it’s some bird or whatever, so she buries her face in her marshmallow-y pillow. But the tapping continues, and she’s forced to open up her eyes that are still heavy with sleep. She feels for her wand underneath her pillow as she casts the illumination charm to reveal the source of such a disturbance.

“Harry?” she drops her wand and opens up her window to let him in. “Do you have any idea what time it is?” Right away she notices that something is off, and she cups his frigid cheeks in her palms and lifts his face to look at her.

“He’s getting life,” his voice cracks as he reiterates the words of the Minister had declared just earlier that day. They had come home from the trial, all wordless because what is one to say after something like that? One look at his mother, the desolate expression of hurt and betrayal ingrained in her. “Bastard didn’t even think twice about us.” And for the first time in years, he allows himself to cry. His head falls onto her collarbone and the bitter tears soak right through her night shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispers to him as she strokes his back and hugs him tight and listens to his bitter weeps. It’s the first time she’s ever seen him so vulnerable, and despite her wanting him to open up more, this leaves her heart to break for him.

He sleeps with her that night, in its most innocent definition. They lay underneath the covers arms wrapped around one another, inhaling each other’s scents. His eyes are hard, but genuinely tired all at the same time. He holds her close, the only thing that’s keeping him from spiraling down into fits of anger because she’s the only good thing in his life right now. “I love you,” he whispers, connecting their foreheads and rubbing the tip of his nose to hers.

“I love you,” she whispers back. He releases a long breath and it’s only a matter of minutes until he falls asleep, the glimmer of his tear stains causing tears of her own as she runs a thumb over to the irritated skin. With a kiss to the side of his mouth, she too drifts off.

***

He wakes up the next morning holding her in the same position he had fallen asleep in. Her nose digging into his neck as her arms lazily drapes over his stomach. He smiles to himself when he thinks he’d like to wake up like this every morning.

Last night, he’d shown a side of himself that not even his family has ever seen before. He’d been taught to never shed emotion in trying times because that signals weakness. And no respectable wizard would be considered weak. However, the trial had ended just as fast as it had started since his father refused to annul his allegiance to the Dark Lord, and the only person he could think to run to, was his girlfriend. Her presence alone allowed him to release all the pain that he’d been feeling, and laying here with her now, he doesn’t feel any of it.

“Y/n, love,” he coaxes her awake with wet kiss along her jaw and down her neck. “Wake up.” He kisses over her eyes as they flutter open to meet his.

“Good morning,” she snuggles herself further into his embrace, thoroughly enjoying the heat he’s providing her with.

She feels herself falling back asleep, but then a sudden realization has her eyes popping out of their sockets as she turns in his arms to reach over for the mini calendar she has on her side table.

“It’s Christmas!” she cheers softy (it’s still a bit early and her parents are probably asleep). She turns back to Harry, a bright smile on her face that melts his heart because she really is just the cutest thing he’s ever seen. “Happy Christmas, Harry.”

He tucks the hair that’s covering her face behind her ear and leans over to peck her lightly. “Happy Christmas, love,” and he hugs her close. Thankfully, he’s come prepared for today. He reaches over for where he had shed his trousers–– by the side of her bed, into the pocket and pulls out a small velvet box.

“I, um, was planning on this being more romantic, but I’m already here…and it’s Christmas, so…” he opens up the box and in it is the prettiest ring she’s ever seen. He notices how she’s looking at it with a bit of weariness, so he adds on. “It’s not an engagement ring, if that’s what you’re thinking,” he says sheepishly. Y/n giggles and kisses his cheek.

“I wasn’t thinking that, silly! It’s just, now this makes my present look like nothing!”

“Don’t say that, I love the gloves.”

Her mouth falls open in shock. “How’d you…”

“When I went to Hogsmeade before lunch to pick this up, I stopped by the sports shop to buy the gloves, but then Liam was there and told me that I couldn’t. Eventually he told me that you were planning on getting them for me yourself,” he smirks and boops her nose. “I really do love them.”

***

“Harry, love, can I speak with you for a moment?” his mum corners him when he arrives back at Styles Estate. He’d spent all morning cuddled up with Y/n at her house, only leaving when he heard footsteps out in the hall.

“Of course, Mum,” he smiles. “What is it?”

Anne’s lips purse into a thin line as she looks her son over. “I know that all that’s happened yesterday has been tough for you…it’s been tough on all of us,” she starts. She smooths the fabric of her skirt down, her wedding band catching the light and blinding his eyes. “It’s going to take some sacrifices, but there’s a way to get everything back to how it used to be.”

To how it used to be. What does she mean by that? Harry raises an eyebrow. With Desmond’s imprisonment, there’s no going back to how everything was before then. If anyone were to ask him, he’d want to leave this house with all its memories because the last thing they need is a constant reminder of his father choosing Voldemort over them.

“What do you mean by sacrifices?” although it’s not his intention, but it comes out as a demand.

“You see, the Dark Lord wishes to recruit the children of his followers to overthrow the Ministry.” He gapes at her. How would she have known any of this? His mum was never aligned with that world, so hearing this come out of her mouth is beyond controversial.

Become a Death Eater? There’s no chance in hell he’d ever do that! He’s got good things going in his life, siding with a fucking lunatic would ruin all of it. “No,” he says firmly.

“It’s the only way to get your father out of Azkaban!” she yells, “if the Dark Lord takes over, he’ll be freed.” The tears start to trickle from her eyes, but her overall demeanor remains elegantly composed.

“Then let him rot! He should have thought about the consequences before he pledged his allegiance to him,” he exasperates, a frustrated hand sweeping his hair back. “This isn’t you, Mum. How could even you ask me to do this?”

Anne swallows hard, her voice suddenly strangled under by inner turmoil. There’s a fear in her eyes that pinches at him. She starts to cry, wrapping her arms around herself, “Because we don’t have a choice.”

***

The ring that Harry gave her has a protean charm on it, which is linked to his matching one. It allows for them to communicate with each other when they’re in different classes on opposite sides of the castle. Sometimes she’ll feel it heat up and see cute little messages that he’s sending her while he’s stuck in History of Magic.

It’s what they use when they want to meet up in various locations to snog because Madam Pince had caught them in the middle of a particularly steamy session in the restricted section and now she watches them like a hawk whenever they enter the library.

Today he messaged that he’d be waiting for her outside of Charms, and time has never lasted so long. Her fingers tap one by one in repeated intervals as Flitwick explains the history behind the spell that changes vinegar into wine. Liam is fast asleep next to her, his face buried in his crossed arms over the table, soft sporadic snores whistling through his nose.

“…and that is why if done improperly, the result can lead to an explosion,” Flitwick narrows his stare at Seamus Finnigan, Hogwarts’ infamous explosives expert. Their professor lets out a defeated sigh when he sees that he’s lost nearly every student in the room––aside from Hermione of course, who is scribbling detailed notes down––he pulls his pocket watch out and glares at the time. “Well, seeing as though most of you are elsewhere, why don’t we end class a few minutes early?” Suddenly, everyone is wide awake and buzzing around the room for the exit.

True to his word, there’s her boyfriend leaning coolly against the wall across from the door. One hand stuffed in his robes pocket, the other firmly gripping the strap of his bag. She skips over to where he is and wraps her arms around his neck.

“Fun class?” he smirks before giving her a chaste kiss on the lips. She rolls her eyes at him because the dolt had failed to warn her about how dry this lecture would be (he has this class on Tuesdays); if she’d known, she would have brought her latest issue of Witch Weekly to help pass the time.

“Impossibly so,” she mutters. He gives her one last peck before he slings an arm around her shoulder as they walk through the current of students. “Where are we going today?” she wonders as they approach the staircase.

“Was thinking we could go to my room. Niall’s gone off on a date, and Malfoy’s crew is never around until later in the evening,” he tells her.

***

It’s the first time she’s ever seen the Slytherin common room. The atmosphere around it much different from her own house’s. The rough stone walls surrounding every inch of the room. Luxurious black leather couches in the centerground, with emerald green lamps scattered around to give just a bit of illumination. A fire crackles underneath the elegant mantel to keep the temperatures from dropping too low. No wonder Harry always dresses warmly.

“It’s so dark in here,” she says absentmindedly. There are a few Slytherins sat at some of the desks giving her annoyed glances. One of them goes as far as to shush her, but Harry shoots a warning look at the fourth-year, and he’s staring back down at his parchment, muttering curses under his breath. Harry chuckles lightly as he leads her through the doors to his room.

“That’s why I’m always with you in the library,” he cheeks. His bed is the second on the left, a poster of the English National Quidditch Team hangs above his side chest, where a small animated picture of him, his sister, and mum laughing sits. The smiles on their faces makes it seem as though they have no trouble in the world.

Harry drops his bag by the foot his four-poster bed, and plops down on the mattress with a relieved sigh. He pats the spot next to him for Y/n to take, and immediately snuggles into her neck once she’s laid down. She strokes the back of head, while her eyes admire the water of the Great Lake that covers over the frontside of the ceiling high windows.

“Is it weird sleeping under water?” she asks. She feels him shake his head against her. “It’s just I sleep up in a tower and actually get a view of things from my window,” she starts, “oh! Do you ever see the mermaids swim by?”

His head lifts up, an amused quirk on his mouth. “Yup, they watch me while I’m changing,” he teases. The pout on her lips makes his heart swell up, and he can’t help but kiss over them. “I’m only joking, love,” he says, continuing to ravish her. They move against one another so naturally, hands roaming over the other’s clothed bodies.

When their tongues meet in the middle of their parted lips, an audible moan leaves her, and the sound has the blood rushing down to his cock. He ignores the stirring his pants, his focus now on places hot wet kisses along her jaw and down the slope of her neck. His teeth nibble on her smooth silky flesh, leaving little markings that lets everyone know she’s off limits to everyone but him.

Using all her strength, she flips them over and straddles his waist. Her mouth reconnects with his, her hands moving up to cup his face. He helps her shed her robe and he sits up high enough to remove his own. The loss of the extra fabric doing well for them both. He sucks fervently on her bottom lip, his hands guiding her hips to grind against his growing erection. “Going be the death of me,” he murmurs into the kiss, letting out a moan when she presses particularly hard against him.

There’s an ache between her thighs that’s begging to be relieved. And now all she can think about is what it would feel like to have him in between her legs. At this point, everyone in their year is losing their virginities. Most of the girls in her dorm room have lost theirs, and often go into full detail about sexual rendezvous they’ve been on around the castle. Y/n had once said that she would give it up to someone she fully trusts and loves, and she’s positive that that person is Harry. There’s no one else that makes her feel quite like the way he does.

Her fingers reach down for the buckle of his belt, slipping the strap from its loops. She pulls away from him when she can’t quite get it unfastened. His hands wrap around her wrists, and she looks at him through hazy eyes.

“We don’t have to do this,” he rubs his thumb over her veins. “I don’t want to push you or anything.” She thinks her heart might burst because he’s just so genuinely sweet, and she leans down to kiss him fully, putting everything she’s got into it.

Their foreheads connect when they break apart in desperate need for air, his eyes never leaving her plump lips. “I want to,” she husks, and he watches as her bottom lip traps itself between her teeth. “Want you.” And that’s good enough for him. He flips her onto her back and pulls her jumper off. Her buries his face back into her neck while his fingers skillfully work to undo every one of the buttons of her polo.

He leans back on his knees and slowly slides his palms over her thighs, wanting to familiarize himself with every inch of her body. His fingers tread up to the top of her skirt and pulls down it down past her bum and down her smooth legs.

Gods, he’s excited. He’s been thinking about this for quite some time now––four months and a week to be exact––and now that he’s building them both up for it, he just hopes he’ll be able to deliver. He knows she’s inexperienced, and she’s well aware that he isn’t, but that doesn’t seem to matter at the moment because there’s a tiny piece of him that’s so bloody nervous in the midst of exhilaration.

Maybe it’s his dick talking, but he’s just so in love with her and how amazing she feels writhing under him from just the touch of his fingers. She’s perfect. There’s not a better word that can describe how he sees her. So maybe it’s not just how painful his erection feels as tries to get her ready for him. It’s that she’s the only person that he can show a full range of emotion to and not feel like a complete ninny afterwards. And he’s never had that with anyone before.

They’re both amazed at how some certain movements elicit a certain response. Both teens fully naked under his thin sheets, nipping and sucking on whatever they can. His fingers tease her entrance, covered in the glimmer of her arousal as his lips perform their assault on her pulse. She bucks her hips into him, desperate for even the slightest of relief to the tension that’s only continued to grow more intense. “Please,” she whimpers into his mouth.

“What is it you want, petal?” the new endearment slipping off his tongue so naturally. He kisses the apples of her cheeks, awaiting her response.

“Want your fingers,” she breathes out in frustration, pulling on his curls to edge him on. A single digit slides past her folds and circles around the rim of her. Her breath catches in her throat when she feels him pushing, only to pull out and continue the pattern.

Harry can’t wrap his mind around how bloody tight she feels around just one of his fingers. Just the thought of it being replaced with his excited cock has him just about ready to cum all over her stomach. “Need you to relax, love,” a guttural whisper into her ear when she feels her walls flutter around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight.” Another one of his long fingers enter her. The added thickness causing a pleasurable burn to her core.

Through lustful eyes, he watches the shifts in her expression as he quickly moves his fingers in and out of her. The sweet sound of her little whimpers and moans as he stretches her out makes him feel slightly delirious. And it’s only becoming more prominent when her delicate fingers reach down between them to grasp him and give him a little squeeze. The knot in her belly soon unravels and she experiences a feeling that she’s never felt before that has her toes curling tightly against the sheets.

“That’s my good girl,” he praises, bringing those two wet fingers up to his mouth.

There’s not a part of her that doesn’t absolutely crave for him right now. She feels herself succumbing to every touch he peppers onto her skin and courses through her veins and electrifies every cell in her body. She’s ready, very much so that she becomes restless and needy for him to give it all to her once she’s come down from her high. Their lips reconnected, his tongue finding its way back into her warm mouth. He feels for his wand on the small table next to them and mutters an incantation that she’s unfamiliar with.

All musing comes to an abrupt end when his tip sliding over her entrance and grazing over her bundle of swollen nerves. He whispers sweet nothings into her ear to distract her from what’s about to come. She sucks in a breath as the sharp pain of him sliding in tenses the muscles in her lower half. “I’m sorry,” he tells her, his fingers wiping over the tears that prickle in her eyes. Once he can’t go any further, he remains still, giving her time to adjust to his size. “I’ll give you a minute.” To control himself, he focuses on his breathing and counts backwards from fifty, just so his thoughts don’t wander around the fact that she’s so incredibly snug around him.

The initial painful burn eventually subsides, and she signals for him to move. He goes slow for a few strokes, wanting this experience to be all about her and getting to that place for a second time. He pulls all the way out, before slamming back in, his balls slapping against her bum every time. Her fingers dig into the skin of his arm as the sensations from earlier return and encase her body in its wondrous effects.

“Treating me so nicely,” his fingers interlace themselves with hers and hold them up beside her up. He leans down for a passionate kiss, his movements gradually increasing in speed and force. Her legs wrap around him to coax him even closer once he’s ready to plunge back into her heat.

A feeling of possessiveness courses through him as he feels his orgasm approaching in the distance. There’s a desire of wanting to be the only one to see her fall apart from the amounts of pleasure that eats at her body. He wants to be the last person she’ll ever kiss and say ‘I love you’ to because he’s selfish and wants all of her all to himself. But the feeling of protectiveness is just as strong as he looks into her eyes. He wants––no, needs––to protect her from all the evil in his world.

Even if it means having to join them.

***

A/N: I’m not really sure where this came from, but I hope you enjoyed it! Talk to me about it here!

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