Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y3 ~ Time Turner

Y/N woke abruptly, her heart pounding as if she had just surfaced from a nightmare. The stillness of the hospital wing enveloped her, broken only by the rhythmic ticking of a clock on the wall. The scent of antiseptic filled her nostrils, sharp and cold, mingling with the earthy smell of old stone walls. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, she saw the thin beams of moonlight streaming through narrow, leaded windows, casting long, ghostly shadows across the room.

Disoriented, she sat up in the bed, her breath coming in short, shallow bursts. The stark whiteness of the infirmary sheets bunched in her fists as she scanned the room, panic rising like bile in her throat. Where am I? What happened? Her mind raced, the events of the past hours a blur, but then, her gaze landed on familiar figures huddled together near the foot of her bed—Harry, Ron, and Hermione.

Her friends. They were here. They were safe.

A surge of relief flooded through her, but it was quickly eclipsed by a darker, heavier dread that gripped her chest. The memory of her father—Sirius Black—rushed back with startling clarity. The last time she had seen him, his face pale and gaunt, his eyes full of anguish. He was innocent, and yet...

Her pulse quickened as she swung her legs over the side of the bed, her voice breaking the heavy silence. "Where is my father?" she blurted, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. Her voice cracked with desperation, and her hands clenched the bedsheets, white-knuckled.

The words spilled from her lips with such urgency that Harry, Ron, and Hermione snapped their heads toward her. Hermione's face was pale, her eyes swimming with a sorrow she hadn't yet voiced, and the sight of it made Y/N's stomach lurch.

Hermione exchanged a sorrowful glance with Harry before speaking, her voice barely above a whisper. "He's locked in a tower. They're going to send him to the Dementors." Her gaze dropped to the floor, her fingers twisting nervously in her lap. "They're going to take his soul, Y/N."

Y/N's heart stopped. Her world tilted dangerously. "No..." she whispered, her body going cold as the blood drained from her face. Her voice rose, shaking with disbelief. "No, no, that can't be. They—they can't—" Her breath hitched, and a sob clawed at her throat. "Where is Peter Pettigrew?" The words came out sharp, frantic, her voice bordering on hysterical.

Hermione lowered her gaze, unable to meet Y/N's eyes. "He escaped."

The room seemed to close in on her, the walls pressing down, suffocating her. Panic took hold. It felt as if the floor beneath her feet was crumbling, pulling her into a void. She couldn't breathe—her father was innocent, and yet he would die for crimes he hadn't committed. They were going to take his soul.

"NO!" Y/N's voice cracked, raw with emotion, the sound bouncing off the stone walls. She swung her legs out of bed, her hands trembling as they grasped the edge of the mattress for support. Her vision blurred with tears she refused to shed. "We have to stop them—we have to do something!"

Harry, usually so composed in the face of danger, stood frozen, his jaw tight with frustration. He exchanged a helpless glance with Ron, whose brow was furrowed, his mouth a grim line. None of them knew what to say. They had tried everything, and still, the world seemed set on punishing the innocent.

Suddenly, the soft creak of the door pulled them from their silent despair. Professor Dumbledore entered, his silver robes brushing the floor, and his presence immediately changed the atmosphere. He carried an air of calm, but beneath it was something more, something heavier—a quiet intensity that made Y/N's heart thud painfully in her chest.

"Professor, you have to believe me—my father is innocent!" Y/N's voice shook as she stepped toward him, her emotions raw and unguarded. Her eyes shimmered with tears, her chest tightening with a mixture of fear and hope.