Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y7 ~ Luchino Caffe

The streets of London pulsed with life, an electric chaos of sights and sounds. Neon lights flickered against the rain-slicked pavement, their glow reflecting in puddles that rippled beneath hurried footsteps. The air was thick with the mingling scents of fried food, damp stone, and exhaust fumes, weaving together in the sensory overload of the city at night.

With a sharp crack, Y/N, Harry, Ron, and Hermione materialized onto the cobbled street, stumbling slightly from the jarring force of their disapparation. The ground felt cold and unyielding beneath their feet, and the dizzying rush still buzzed in their heads. Y/N, however, had misjudged the landing—her footing slipping as she staggered further than the rest, her vision still swimming from the abrupt shift in space.

A deafening honk split the air.

A double-decker bus hurtled toward her, its crimson body gleaming beneath the golden glow of streetlights, headlights slicing through the damp darkness like twin blades. The sheer size of it, the speed—it was closing in too fast. Her limbs froze, a strangled breath caught in her throat, her brain sluggish in catching up to the danger hurtling toward her.

"Y/N!"

Harry moved on instinct. His hand shot out, gripping her waist in a firm, almost desperate hold. In one fluid motion, he yanked her back, the force of it sending her colliding into his chest as the bus whooshed past, missing her by mere inches. The displaced air whipped around them, stirring loose strands of her hair, sending an eerie chill down her spine.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Harry's breathing was uneven, the rise and fall of his chest pressing against her back as he held her firmly against him, his fingers still curled into the fabric of her dress as if to reassure himself she was still there, still solid, still safe. His pulse thundered beneath his skin, the rush of adrenaline heightening every sensation.

"That was a close one," he murmured, his voice low, tight, laced with the fear that still clung to him.

Y/N exhaled shakily, her own heart hammering in her ribcage, her mind struggling to catch up with what had just happened. Her hand found his where it rested against her stomach, fingers curling over his in silent gratitude, in unspoken understanding. "Yeah," she breathed, her voice a whisper against the cool night air.

Around them, the city remained oblivious to their moment. Drunken pub-goers stumbled along the sidewalk, laughter and raucous voices bouncing off the narrow alleyways. A woman in a sleek dress wobbled on her heels, a man slurred something incoherent into his phone. The world didn't pause for them. It never did.

Harry loosened his grip but didn't let go completely, his hand sliding down to grasp hers instead—grounding, anchoring. His green eyes flickered with something unreadable as he scanned their surroundings. "Where are we?" he asked, his voice still edged with adrenaline. His breath curled in the night air, his grip unconsciously tightening around Y/N's fingers.

"Shaftesbury Avenue," Hermione answered, glancing around with a flicker of nostalgia. Her gaze drifted to the bright marquees, the golden lettering of theater signs glowing against the night. "I used to come here to the theater with my mum and dad. Just popped into my head. I don't know why..."

But there was no time to reminisce.

Something was wrong.

Shadows moved within the crowd, too purposeful, too steady amidst the drunken, swaying masses. The hairs on the back of Y/N's neck stood on end. Every brush against their shoulders, every passing glance felt sharper, more deliberate. A man in a long coat lurked near a lamppost, his gaze too fixed. A woman with crimson lipstick, smeared like war paint, let out a cackling laugh that sent unease skittering down Y/N's spine.