Harry Potter Preferences & Imagines

Img: Harry Potter • Panic Attack

Description: Harry gets a dehydration headache that gives him a panic attack and makes him certain that the Dark Lord is back, and the reader has to coax him out of it. Takes place when they are both adults.

Word Count: 988

TW: PTSD and a panic attack.

Reader POV

Harry hadn't drank any water at all that day. Both of us had been far too busy to notice this at the time, but Harry had become very dehydrated. As a result, a dehydration headache started to form behind his eyes and forehead.

We were walking around in Diagon Ally picking up a growth potion for our garden when he first started to really notice it. He reached a hand up to his scar, rubbing it roughly as if to relieve the pain.

"Harry dear, are you alright?" I asked him gently, rubbing his free arm to try to comfort him. He just nodded stiffly and removed his hand from his head, his face paling slightly.

"What was that just now?" I asked my fiancé as we turned into a small gardening shop. He shrugged, mumbling a simple 'dunno' and continuing on. I knew that it hadn't been nothing, but decided to let it go.

"Hello, there! Welcome to Flora's! How may I help you today?" A happy little elderly woman standing behind the counter asked us. I smiled at her, but Harry just pursed his lips again.

"We were wondering if you had anything that would help with—" Harry had to cut himself off as he sucked in a sharp breath. He covered his scar with both hands, wincing at the pain.

"Are you alright, sir?" The lady asked. I knew something was up, so I quickly excused us and lead Harry from the store.

"Harry, it's clearly not nothing. What's happening with you?" I asked him, leading him into the narrow alleyway between the flower shop and a darker colored, gloomier shop.

"(Y/N), i-it's Voldemort! I can feel him, he's here." Harry explained frantically. It hurt my heart to hear his tone; he almost sounded like a scared child asking for his mother.

"Here, here?" I clarified with alarm, looking around. Harry nodded. There was no one anywhere around us and no signs of the Dark Lord whatsoever. I instantly calmed, a sudden realization setting in from earlier that day. 

"Harry, Voldemort died a year and a half ago. He's not back. Voldemort is dead." I assured him, prying his hands away from his head. He was suddenly breathing heavily as he backed himself up against the wall behind him.

"No, (Y/N). I feel him. Whenever he's here, my scar starts hurting and it's—it's hurting now. But it feels l-like he's more... powerful. Stronger. It's different, but it's the same pain. It's Voldemort." He rambled, his eyes not focusing on anything, his breathing picking up rapidly.

"Harry, this is just a headache. Think about it, okay? What have you had to drink today?" I asked him completely calmly, grabbing each of his hands in mine. He tried to pull away, but I didn't let him, giving him a pointed look.

"I-I don't know, (Y/N)! That's not the most pressing matter right now. Voldemort is trying to kill me!" He nearly shouted.

"Harry, look up at the sky. Do you see any skull-shaped clouds or stormy skies?" I asked him seriously. He paused his panic for just a moment, looking up at the brilliant clear sky.

"No... but what if it's different, (Y/N), and he's come back stronger? So that there are no clouds? So that he can sneak up on us?" He spiraled. He was out of control. I sighed and pulled him into a bear hug, putting my head in the crook of his neck.

"Here, just breathe with me." I instructed, breathing pointedly big and slow breaths. He was already pushing me away but I held on tighter to his torso.

"No, we don't have time for this. We need to be ready, for Voldemort! He's going to kill me." Harry repeated. I didn't let him go.

"Breathe in." I instructed, dragging out my inhale as I spoke. He still panicked in my arms, not slowing his breathing in the slightest.

"And out." I continued, ignoring his squirming. I repeated the breathing strategy a few more times, and it ended up with Harry breaking down in tears.

"(Y/N), I'm scared..." Harry cried, now hugging me back, almost crushing my ribs with his hug. I slid one of my hands into his hair once I was sure he wasn't going to hurt himself or run off. I continued the breathing strategy until he joined in with me, slowly becoming less hysterical.

"It was just a headache, Harry. You are just dehydrated. Voldemort is still gone." I reiterated to him. He hesitantly nodded into my neck. I still held him.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N)." Harry apologized miserably. I played with his hair comfortingly, and rubbed his back.

"This is not something you have to apologize for, not ever." I promised him. He nodded again. I wished, for his sake, that he'd had a better childhood. There was nothing I could do about it now, though.

"Do you want to go back into the store, or just right home?" I asked him. He finally let go of his death grip on me to lean back and look me in the eyes.

"Just right home, if that's alright." He answered, his eyes red and puffy. I nodded and gave him a reassuring smile.

So that was what we did. We went home, got Harry rehydrated, and then watched stupid muggle movies for a while.

That was not the first time that the War had caught up to him, nor would it be the last. Though, as the years passed, the events of the War started to take less and less of a toll on his poor soul.

The whole time, I never doubted him or got annoyed by his problems for a moment. He was Harry Potter, the boy I loved, the boy who I married, the boy who I spent the rest of my life with. My soulmate. And no amount of nightmares or flashbacks or breakdowns would change that.