𝗷𝗮𝗻𝗲, harry potter

˗ˋ 104

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FOUR
✧
-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH HARRY COMES CLEAN

. . .

Jane liked to believe that she knew her boyfriend far too well for the amount of time that she had truly known him. By now, it had been almost half a year since she had met him and, in the most literal sense, there was literally nobody in her life that she knew more.

They seemed to share a general understanding; on the same wavelength as one would say, something about the other that made sense to them even if it seemed like nothing to another. And, quite frankly, Jane could read him like a book. Whether Harry could do the same wasn't her most important focus, but she was entirely sure that even if it wasn't as intense as Jane's knowledge on her partner, he certainly had a sense for these things.

For every second that passed in the kitchen, with the tense, terrified Weasleys and the onlooking Sirius, who seemed to do nothing more than ensure that each and every one of them did not go tearing out of that house and risk giving up Harry's horrific newfound ability, Jane knew that something was wrong with Harry.

Something was bothering him, and when they all settled down to play the horrific waiting game Jane had asked him in as lowered tone as she could manage and she had gotten her answer. Then, the waiting game stretched into something more; not only were they waiting for news on Mr Weasley - which they eventually got - but also looking for a point when it was okay for Harry to get up and leave for five, ten minutes.

Finally he had managed to mutter out the excuse of needing the bathroom, but no one really believed him, especially when Jane escaped the kitchen behind him and they waited in silence, now for the couples return and for further reveal on the current health of Arthur.

"Harry-" Jane's voice carried up the staircase, somehow loud and quiet at the same time and not really taking notice of the fact that Mrs Black's portrait was right there, "slow down." She added afterwards. 

Harry slowed, his feet digging into the old carpet below him. He turned towards her, as if he would continue to walk up the steps backwards, before he shook slightly and sat down just before they reached the first landing, glasses pulled from his eyes and the heel of his palms pressed into them, rubbing back tears. "Fuck." He breathed out, feeling his hands be pulled away in the warmth of Jane's, her thumb running over the back of them and urged him forward into a hug.

He folded into her as though he was made of nothing but paper, curve of his nose pressed into his neck and the steadily growing hair - and now reaching the length it had been prior to Jane's haircut once again - tickled her skin there, the wetness of his exhausted, guilty tears staining the fabric of her top. 

Guilt was a horrendous emotion; Harry knew it well by now. He felt guilt for many years over things he had no control of like Cedric's death, like Jane's introduction to the wizarding world and now, most recently, the attack of Mr Weasley, a man who had welcomed him into his family without a question all whilst expressing bumbling interest in anything to do with muggles. 

"I'm sorry." He didn't think he would be able to cry like this again, not like he had after the reality of what had happened in the graveyard had settled in but here he was again, consumed by guilt and the rising of the deepset, integral wish that he wasn't Harry Potter and he wasn't forced into things that only ruined people's lives. His best friend's dad, and Harry had just watched. "I'm so sorry." He could feel himself shaking, cursed himself for being so weak, for being so unable, for being the wrong choice for something like this.