Ordinary Days (Harry Potter x Fem!Reader)

saudade

saudade: n. a feeling of longing, melancholy, or nostalgia
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Harry could not sleep. So when the sun rose that warm June morning, he was glad to have a reason to get out of bed.

He packed up his belongings quietly, as to not wake the other boys who were still asleep. Harry envied them. What he'd give to sleep, to close his eyes and momentarily forget how terribly wrong everything was.

He folded his scarf, allowing the soft fabric to pass over his skin. The same scarf (Y/N) would wear when she'd claim to have forgotten hers. The same scarf she would hide her pink nose in when they were caught in the snow. Harry wondered who would pack her things now that she wasn't there. He thought of all of her textbooks and clothes neatly tucked away in her dormitory, her organized, yet messy notes on her nightstand, her empty unmade bed. Who would bring her things from Hogwarts to the Burrow, and then, who would unpack it in case she came home? His fingers curled around his scarf.

How he wished things were different.

"Harry?"

He turned with a start. Dean Thomas was just waking up, his voice drowsy with sleep. Harry recalled the night before, when he mentioned (Y/N)'s disappearance to him and Seamus. Hermione thought they ought to know. However, when Harry saw the intense worry in their eyes, and Seamus woke up constantly throughout the night, he thought it would have been better left unsaid.

Dean still looked quite upset as his gaze lingered on Harry's red and gold scarf. He must have remembered (Y/N) liked to wear it, for he was often nearby when she would ask.

"Is she really gone?"

Harry felt his chest tighten. He wished Dean had just stayed asleep, or kept his mouth shut. He didn't want to speak about (Y/N) with anyone; they couldn't understand. And the only person who would was her.

He turned away from him and carefully placed his scarf with his other belongings and closed the case. He didn't want to answer, but the words came tumbling from his lips in spite of him.

"Yes," he answered shortly. "And I don't even know where to start to get her back. I don't know where she is, or what they'll do to her, or if she's still–" Harry stopped himself, frightened by his own anxieties. He tried to bite it back, but he still finished, "–alive."

Harry could hardly remember what life was without (Y/N). He couldn't recall many memories where he was happy before her. Would he feel the same way then?

Dean, looking quite alarmed by Harry's words, sat up a bit straighter. "I-I'm sure she's alright. (Y/N)'s really smart, and... she doesn't give in easy. She'll come back."

Harry appreciated his trying, but he wished Dean sounded a bit more convinced. He gave a stiff nod of thanks just as Ron stirred. Harry glanced at the time. It was nearly time for breakfast, and then, Harry would go with the rest of the student body to his headmaster's funeral.

It was a bleak affair, as Harry thought most funerals were. He'd never been to one before. After Sirius died, there was no body to bury. He didn't find himself searching for any chance Dumbledore would come back as he had with Sirius, and he did not cry at first. But as the ceremony went on, he thought of (Y/N) and what he would do if it was her funeral instead, and then he cried for everything at once. Dumbledore and (Y/N), and her death that seemed more likely than a reunion.

Hermione slipped an arm through Harry's and rested her head on his shoulder; her way of reminding him that he wasn't alone, that it would be okay. But Harry didn't find much comfort in her touch, as tears were falling thick and fast down her cheeks, like she knew just like he did that everything was ruined.