Memories of the Heart || Harry Potter x Reader

Y7 ~ Ottery St Catchpole

The early morning air was laced with the sharp bite of frost, each breath forming delicate clouds that vanished into the golden hush of dawn. The sky stretched out in a tapestry of lavender, rose, and gold, the sun not yet cresting the tree line but already staining the horizon with promise. A few stubborn stars still clung to the fabric of the sky, blinking sleepily as daybreak approached.

In the heart of the forest clearing, a weak fire dozed in a shallow metal bowl, its embers glowing faintly beneath a thin veil of ash. Wisps of smoke curled lazily upwards, dissipating into the canopy above. The faint crackling was the only sound—until it wasn't.

Y/N lay curled within her sleeping bag, cocooned in layers of worn wool and patchwork blankets. Her brow furrowed as the distant crunch of underbrush pierced the stillness. At first, it was faint—barely noticeable. But then came another step. And another. The unmistakable rhythm of two pairs of feet approaching with haste.

Her eyes snapped open.

Adrenaline surged through her veins like lightning. Without hesitation, she pushed herself upright, heart pounding violently against her ribs. Her hand shot out, fingers closing around Hermione's wand that lay resting beside the makeshift table near her bedding.

Barefoot, Y/N slipped out of the tent, the cold earth biting at her soles. She held the wand in front of her like a lifeline, her breath trembling in the frigid air.

The forest around her breathed with shadows and shifting light. The trees loomed like sentinels, their skeletal branches tangled above, filtering the morning glow into spears of gold and grey. Her eyes flicked across the clearing, sharp and searching.

Then she saw them.

Two figures emerged from between the trees, their outlines blurred by the mist curling along the forest floor. One had a familiar, chaotic halo of black hair. The other—tall, lean, and unmistakably redheaded—moved with an urgency that clashed against the calm dawn.

Her breath caught, and a cry burst from her lips before she could stop it.

"Ron!"

Her voice cracked with a cocktail of disbelief and overwhelming joy. She ran—barely feeling her feet strike the ground—as tears welled up in her eyes. She collided into him with a force that made him stagger slightly, arms wrapping tightly around his middle

Ron gave a short, surprised laugh, catching her and lifting her clean off the ground in a bone-crushing hug.

"Y/N," he said into her hair, his voice thick. "I'm back."

She pulled away slightly, just enough to see his face, her hands gripping the sleeves of his jumper. Her eyes searched his features—his tired, scruffy face, his eyes rimmed with guilt and something rawer beneath it.

"You're really back," she breathed. "Hermione—she... she's going to be so happy."

Ron chuckled softly, but it was a strained sound. "Yeah, well... I hope so."

It was then that Y/N's gaze drifted to Harry, who stood a few paces behind, dirt-smudged and silent. His hands were wrapped tightly around the hilt of something unmistakable—the Sword of Gryffindor, still gleaming despite the dull light. And beside him, blackened and split open like a twisted clamshell, was the Horcrux locket.

She froze.

"You found it," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "You found the sword... and you destroyed it?"

Harry nodded, lips twitching into a proud, if exhausted, smile. "Yeah. Ron—he destroyed it."

Y/N turned her wide-eyed gaze back to Ron. "You—?"