Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y6 ~ The Three Broom Sticks

The air in the castle was crisp with the bite of late autumn, the kind of cold that settled deep into the ancient stone walls of Hogwarts, making the torches flicker with a feeble, shivering glow. Outside, the wind howled through the towers, rattling the high windows and carrying the scent of damp leaves and distant smoke. Y/N hugged her robes closer around herself, her fingers clutching the fabric as she and Harry made their way toward the Room of Requirement. The muffled echoes of students' laughter and hurried footsteps faded as they reached the quieter corridors, their own footsteps the only sound accompanying them.

Harry ran a hand through his perpetually messy hair, ruffling it in a way that only made it look more untamed. In his other hand, he clutched a tattered potions book-the one filled with scrawled notes and clever shortcuts. The Half-Blood Prince. His fingers tightened around it, his grip absentmindedly firm as he stole a glance at Y/N. He liked these moments with her-when it was just them, when she didn't seem burdened by whatever was going on with Draco. When she was her, in a way that made his chest feel a little lighter.

Lately, he had been watching her more closely, realizing just how much he had missed-how much he had let slip through his fingers by not being there when she had needed him. And now that he was paying attention, he saw it. The way her shoulders slumped slightly when she thought no one was looking, the way her eyes sometimes drifted into a vacant stare as if her mind had slipped somewhere far away, to a place she wasn't sure she wanted to be. The way she seemed drained after spending time with Malfoy, how her laughter never quite reached her eyes when she spoke about him. A girl in love shouldn't look like that-not all the time.

Leaving Harry to subtly grab her hand under the table, grounding her before she could float too far away. He never made a show of it, never drew attention to the way her fingers tightened around his in quiet gratitude before slowly relaxing. She would squeeze his hand back, and neither of them let go until the moment passed.

Like that morning at the Gryffindor table.

The Great Hall was alive with the usual morning buzz—clinking goblets, the flutter of owl wings overhead, and the murmur of students discussing everything from last night's homework to the upcoming Hogsmeade trip. Hermione was animatedly discussing something with Ron and Harry, her fork poised midair as she gestured, while Ron—mid-chew—grunted in vague agreement.

Harry, his attention half on the conversation, half on his plate, responded with a casual remark about Snape's latest unfair grading. But as he spoke, his eyes flickered toward Y/N, who sat beside him, unusually quiet.

She wasn't eating, nor was she following the conversation. Instead, she was staring off into space, her gaze unfocused, her fingers absently tracing the rim of her goblet.

Harry knew that look.

Without breaking the flow of conversation, he casually shifted his hand under the table and found hers, his fingers wrapping around hers in a warm, steady grip. He gave her a gentle squeeze—not demanding, not questioning, just there. A tether to pull her back.

At first, she tensed slightly, as if startled. Then, as the warmth of his touch settled in, her fingers tightened around his in quiet gratitude. Slowly, she relaxed, the fog lifting from her mind as her surroundings came back into focus.

She turned slightly, her eyes meeting his for just a second, and she smiled—small, but real. A silent thank you.

Harry didn't acknowledge it outwardly. He simply kept talking, his tone even, his attention still seemingly on Hermione and Ron. But he didn't let go.

Y/N gave his hand one final squeeze before finally tuning back into the conversation. "Wait—what about Snape?" she asked, her voice lighter now, more present.