Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y7 ~ Godric's Hollow

Harry moved quietly along the edge of the clearing, his wand drawn, the tip glowing faintly as he reinforced the protective enchantments. Each careful movement traced a shimmer of invisible wards into the crisp night air. The forest stood still around him, solemn and watchful. Pine needles crunched softly beneath his boots, and the damp scent of moss and cold earth clung to the back of his throat. High above, the sky stretched out in endless velvet, studded with stars that blinked like distant secrets. A gentle breeze rustled the trees, making their branches whisper like ancient sentinels.

From the center of their camp, the tent glowed faintly, the warm light from within creating blurred silhouettes on the canvas walls. Inside, he could just make out the shifting shapes of Y/N and Hermione—one seated, one pacing—shadows moving like ghosts behind the veil.

He paused, exhaling slowly, his breath clouding in the chill. His hand fell to his side. A flicker of longing stirred in his chest—how he wished he could bottle this moment and press it close like a talisman: safe, quiet, undisturbed.

Then, a sharp burst of static cracked through the silence.

Harry flinched, instantly on alert. The noise had come from the tent. His brow furrowed, irritation and wariness warring on his face as he took a step closer.

The static faded—but in its place, a melody unfurled. Soft, fragile. It began with an instrumental tune that tiptoed into the night, haunting and half-familiar. Then the vocals began, he knew the song. It tugged something deep inside him, stirring a memory just out of reach.

And then—

A voice.

Y/N's voice.

Humming.

Barely louder than the breeze, yet it wove through the night air like silk. Each note was deliberate but tender, like a lullaby for a wounded soul. Her tone wasn't cheerful—it was reverent. Melancholy. And yet... calming.

She wasn't just humming—she was following the song, matching the notes softly, trailing the lyrics with tender precision. Her voice blended seamlessly with the broken radio, like she had known this song for years. It wasn't loud. It wasn't cheerful. But it was steady, filled with a quiet ache.

Drawn like a moth to the glow, Harry crossed the last few steps and ducked inside.

Warmth wrapped around him immediately. The thick canvas held in heat, and the scent of chamomile tea and old parchment hung in the air. Lantern light bathed the interior in soft gold, throwing long shadows across the cramped space.

Y/N sat cross-legged near the wireless, her journal open on her lap. She wasn't even looking at the pages—just doodling abstract shapes absently, the quill tracing lazy arcs as she hummed. Her hair was a bit mussed, her jumper too large for her frame, sleeves swallowed halfway down her hands. There was a quietness in her posture, a kind of resigned calm—as if the act of humming was her only anchor.

Harry's gaze drifted to Hermione. She was curled up on her sleeping bag, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, but the book in her lap lay closed and untouched. Her eyes weren't on Harry. They weren't on Y/N. She just stared at the radio, the flickering light casting tired shadows across her face.

She looked hollow. Haunted.

The kind of sad you don't speak about.

Harry shifted awkwardly, unsure whether to speak or sit or just quietly disappear again.

"It's a Muggle station," Y/N said, still watching the radio. Her voice was quiet and thin, like the song itself. "Caught it by accident. Something must've slipped through the airwaves. Lucky, really. I guess the magic's not strong enough to block all the signals."