Harry Potter one shots

His favorite thing

It's a rough year for everyone, especially with Umbridge as headmaster.

Her punishments are barbaric, and Harry Potter is a big victim of her cruel schemes.

Walking out of his detention, his bloody hand dropped low by his side, but he can't help the blood pouring and dripping out on the floor.

It's becoming that bad, pools of blood surround him. His hand is scarring bad too, his skin mingled and terrifying.

He hoped Hermione and Ron wouldn't bother him about it.

You were on your way to the library, when you saw Harry a couple feet away. He looked up and you two looked at each other, holding each other's gaze.

Your eyes lowered to his hand, inspecting the damage. It was bad, really really bad.

Making your way over towards him, he held his gaze. You two weren't exactly on speaking terms. While Harry was a Gryffindor and you were a Slytherin, it was obvious why you two weren't on friendly.

But that didn't stop you from being concerned and wanting to help, he must be going through enough as it is, right?

When you were not 3 feet away from him, you took his hand and lead him over to one of the deserted bathrooms.

The walk was silent, neither spoke, but it felt like nothing needed to be said, since enough was spoken through the air.

You pushed open the door, and when you saw that there's no one inside you followed in, Harry walking behind you.

Still holding his hand, you walked over to a sink and held his hand under the running water, mainly to wash away the blood.

"Does it hurt a lot?" You asked, whispering for no apparent reason.

Harry looked from his hand to you, captivating you with his intense stair. His eyes glooming and bright, even in the darkest times.

"After a while you get used to it." He answered, in the same voice.

There was this tension in the air that bound your tongues, neither wanting to break the air with strong voices.

You turned of the sink and motioned for Harry to sit down with you. You lowered yourself to the floor and sat, one leg stretched out in front of you and the other crossed under that one.

Harry sinked down in front of you, he had a hint of confusion on his face, but he didn't let himself show his emotions, he never did.

Grabbing his hand again, you placed it on your thigh. Such a small movement, and it changed the mood entirely. The air captivated the moment. His skin on your bare skin.

His hand resting on your thigh, you were digging around in your bag for something.

When you found it, you opened the small container and dipped a bit on your finger.

It was a bit of a brown colour, but it was translucent.

"For pain, and it will reduce intense scarring." You told him.

Harry just nodded, staring intently at his hand, your thighs, and you entirely.

Your fingers moved delicately over his hand, careful not to hurt him.

You both felt it, everything. The way his skin is on yours, the way you caressed his hand. The tension.

When you finished up you looked around for some bandage in your bag, and since you're the mother in your friend group, and your friends are idiots, you had everything in your bag, just in case your friends get themselves hurt like everyday.

Wrapping it carefully around his hand you looked at him. The way he was staring at his hand, until he looked up at you. This is so different than all the other times, in every way.

"This will do." You whispered, and knotted the bandage and placed the rest back in your bag.

"How are you feeling?" The question came out softer than you intended, it was a delicate whisper, barely sounding like a medical question.

Harry didn't answer immediately, he looked at you, he thought about, but couldn't find a good answer. "Better,"

You nodded, and made to stand up, but your legs felt too weak to carry your weight, all of a sudden.

His hand was still on your thigh, and he didn't move or intend to remove it from its place.

It felt like seconds, and ages at the same time. You two just looked at each other, stared at each other, consumed each other's airs.

No one ever made you feel this way when they're touching you, but you acted like it didn't bother you.

Still, you both knew. You were both translucent in that moment.

When the bell rang, you startled, Harry stood up, his hand not longer where is was placed, giving you a cold and empty feeling, just for a couple seconds before Harry stuck out his other hand to help you to your feet.

You two walked out of the bathrooms quietly, nothing needed to be said, and you both knew no one would speak of this.

This started to become a routine. They would meet in the hallway, Harry coming back from his detention, you were on your way to the library. You would lead him to the same deserted bathrooms every time. His hand on the exact same place.

It bounded your tongues, your thoughts, your feelings.

No one knew what is was, but no one put the effort to figure it out, because they were okay with how it was.

She became the only thing why Harry enjoyed his detentions.

A/N: pretty short, but it popped into my head and I thought it would be nice, since I haven wrote anything in a long time.
Sorry about that btw, been really busy.