Harry couldn't hold it in anymore. He needed to get away. He needed to get away right now. If he didn't, all his anxiety and anger would explode out of him in front of everyone. He was the defeater of Voldemort, the saviour of the wizarding world, the hero. Harry couldn't let everyone down by showing them how much of a mess he really was.
"Harry"—Hermione placed her hand on his arm—"are you alright?"
He didn't answer her. He couldn't. Instead, he turned around and ran.
Harry escaped into the maze of hallways and stairs inside the Ministry. He took one random turn after another, not caring where he ended up. He wanted to forget his past. He wanted to not have to worry about the future. He just needed to get away. No more trials. No more funerals. And no more bloody politics.
He ran and ran and ran. But no matter how fast his trainers hit the floor, Harry's doubts and fears continued to whirl around in his head. He gritted his teeth when he felt tears prickling at his eyes.
Slowing down to a jog, Harry attempted to catch his breath. He wiped the sweat from his forehead threatening to sting his eyes and came to a stop in a dim alcove.
Harry looked around but recognised nothing. He was utterly lost.
Realising how true his last thought was, Harry tried to choke back a sob, but the thin pane of glass holding the tumult of his emotions at bay finally gave.
As tears spilt from his eyes, Harry began to slam his fists against the wall in front of him. "Fuck!" he screamed again and again with every strike. He ignored the pain, even when his knuckles became bloody.
Taking Harry off-guard, large, strong hands wrapped around Harry's wrists and pinned them behind him. Immediately, he began to struggle. "Let me go!"
The hold on him tightened, almost painfully so. Harry gasped. A confusing yet pleasurable jolt shot through him. Instead of becoming more frightened, he felt something else. There was something about being restrained and controlled that calmed and also excited him. Harry couldn't believe it when he relaxed into the body behind him and his cock started to harden.
The person behind Harry seemed to pause at his reaction, and for a time, all the person did was support Harry's weight.
"Harry, have you calmed down?"
Harry's eyes widened, immediately recognising Kingsley's rich voice. He nodded, swallowing hard. "Yeah," he rasped. "You can let me go. I promise I won't do anything."
Kingsley released him, almost reluctantly.
The lingering heat of Kingsley's touch made Harry want to rub at his wrists, but instead, he clenched his hands. The movement irritated the wounds on his knuckles, and he winced. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned around.
Kingsley took a step back so Harry wouldn't have to crane his neck so much. The expression on Kingsley's face was alert but also incredibly kind. Harry always marvelled at how Kingsley could be both so commanding and reassuring at the same time.
"What's wrong, Harry?" Kingsley asked. "Did you see something that frightened you?"
"No," Harry rasped, shaking his head. "I didn't see anything."
"Then why did you run?"
"I...I..." Harry felt another swell of tears.
Kingsley's wrapped his arms around Harry and pulled him to his broad chest. "I understand. Now that the war's over, everything's catching up with me, too. It can be overwhelming."
At first, Harry was wide-eyed with his arms stiff at his sides, but with every word that Kingsley spoke soothingly vibrating against his cheek, his discomfort lessened. Winding his arms between Kingsley's robe and waistcoat, he closed his eyes. Harry couldn't help but turn his head and bury his face into Kingsley's heat. He sighed softly; the scent of bergamot and cedar he smelt was intoxicating.
