Harry No Last Name

You thought you could carry the hulking mirror all by yourself up the sticky, grimy stairs, even with the rain pattering down your face. Being out in the open, you couldn’t use a levitation charm… And you had never been in your new (yet very, very old) place at Grimmauld Place. That’s what happened with panic buys, even if you’d made them just to get you out of the country. Maybe the panic, the floundering meant you were a disgrace to your Pukwudgie house– a coward, feeble. That’s what he would say.

You felt your brow crease with frustration. There it was— the thought of him . That spark of anger you kept inside of you. The source of all of your shame. You tried to tell it to go away, to turn into submission, but you couldn’t quell the emotion.

Focus on lifting the stupid mirror, Y/N, you thought gently at yourself. You had learned long ago that you didn’t respond well to antagonism.

You used the same gentle tone as when you’d given yourself a pep talk about your secret move in— a pep talk about self-reliance and how you could do this, how you had to do this, how you had it in you despite what anyone back home would say.

You almost got to the top of the staircase before, thinking you could feel him watching you, your toe caught on one of the gucky-goopy steps. You pitched forward with a yelp, then over-corrected and went wheeling backwards. You thought that was it, that you were done for, but you suddenly sensed someone behind you, a strong presence, a force of nature.

This force of nature caught you awkwardly, yanking you away from the massively heavy mirror that had reeled backwards as well, keeping it from crushing you. The man’s arms were strong, and you heard him curse as you watched in horror as your thrifted mirror shattered to the ground, your broken reflection going with it. But you couldn’t watch for long, because the man (still cursing) shifted you again to shield you from the flying shards of glass. He was so fast that you probably should have been scared (he was a man!), but you were dumb-founded.

For a moment after the accident, you were stunned, and then, belated, your skin crawled from the physical contact. You could just feel his hands on you, and you wanted to throw up. You stared wide-eyed at your broken mirror, very aware of his large hand on your waist and the strength of his chest against you.

Then the man pulled back, apologizing profusely. You whipped around, and your first thought was that he had a boyish face, that he somehow was and wasn’t a threat, and that he somehow looked familiar. But that thought came and went. You took a large step away from him, because he was far bigger than you. His eyes were emerald green, hypnotic. He had a shadow on his jawline, and eye bags, and you swore you recognized him from somewhere, but–

“D’you need help?” he asked you nervously, stepping forward.

Belatedly, you went to pull out your wand, British Ministry or no Ministry. Who cared if you shouldn’t be waving your wand about? This No-Maj was obviously a threat–

Your coat flashed open, revealing the slim wood of your wand to your attacker. His green eyes landed on it, and he stepped back, like he knew what it was. 

A wizard, then.

He was a wizard. You hadn't been around a male wizard in weeks. 

You were still dazed, imagining unwanted, phantom touches. “Sorry?”

He didn’t look at you as though you were stupid, even though you most certainly were. “Sorry, I— I didn’t intend to… grab you,” he said indelicately, then grimaced.

You finally got some of your wits about you. This man– this wizard– had saved you from falling down a flight of stairs and being squished by a massive mirror. “Oh, oh no. No, you saved me. You didn’t– H-Here. I’m Y/N,” you stammered, offering your hand. You didn’t particularly want to touch him again, but the normal thing would be to shake hands.

The man shook your hand. You felt a jolt in your tummy at the contact, pure fear. You masked it. “Harry,” he said, flashing a hesitant, shy smile. “You’re, er, moving in? D’you need help?”

Your eyes went down to the broken mirror as your hand fell from his. “I, uh, yeah.” You came to your senses, hearing yourself– desperate, useless– and you said, “But no– I couldn’t. I mean, you saved my life.”

“Hardly,” said Harry. He absently brushed black curls from his face, and you watched him with wide eyes. His hair was damp from a shower, and he had kind eyes. And he had some sort of scar—

“You must be busy,” you said, trying not to intrude, trying to escape. “I can… I mean…”

You looked down at the shattered ground.

“I can help you,” said the man called Harry, unbothered. “Er– if you want.”

You hesitated. Then remembered the table you still had to bring up the stairs to the house from the back of your moving truck. The table was from a flea market, so it had been cheap, but you couldn’t afford to get another one. If the mirror incident was anything to go by, that cheap table would be kindling before the day was through.

But he was a man. Although he didn't look too physically strong, and he didn't look threatening in the slightest, he was still a man. The last thing you needed was to let him into your new place and end up getting killed or assaulted.

“Really, I just have a table and some chairs…” you tried, then trailed off as he examined you and clearly came to the conclusion that you couldn't carry either of those things.

This was pointless, wasn't it? And you didn’t want to make him mad. You were just a fragile, stupid woman– or so he would say. You couldn't do anything by yourself.

You smiled in defeat, eyes crinkling into submissive half moons. You felt his eyes on your face. “Only if you want to.”

You stepped over the wreckage to direct him down to the rest of your stuff, and he abashedly took your hand to help you keep your balance. You felt a rush of something in your chest, glitter and adrenaline mixed with panic. You glanced back at his apologetic look and managed a forced smile.

Harry No Last Name spent the next two hours helping you move into your apartment. You were very wary of him, but the man didn’t do anything threatening. He was lean and gentle-looking, and he was careful around you, like he could see how scared you were of him– Of course he can, you look like a little deer up against a Lumos Maxima.

You brought him a glass of water, subservient as ever, after he helped you with the table. The two of you stood inside your new home, Number 13 Grimmauld Place, and although it was dusty, it felt free. You were silent, unsure of what to say, afraid. He took it, watching you watching him.

You had to say something. He was going to think that you were mute.

“Uh, thanks,” you said in a small voice.

Harry held his glass of water carefully, awkwardly. “... of course. I’m sorry about your mirror, though.”

“I don’t need it. It doesn’t matter how I look, anyway.” Admitting to vanity was a death sentence. Even though you had the sin of liking to look pretty, you couldn’t admit that. Not to a man.

Harry, alarmed, studied you. He seemed to want to say something, but, wisely, he didn’t overstep his bounds. He drank his water, and you watched him, watching the line of his throat. He was handsome, boyish. That was the most threatening kind of man.

“You new to the area?” he asked you, his voice kind, his accent thick.

Of course, everyone’s accents here were thick. To them, you were the one who was aggressively American.

You nodded, belatedly. “I just moved here from America. Away from–”

Your jaw locked. Harry No Last Name noticed this, but again, he didn’t say anything.

The two of you got back to moving things in. Once everything was settled, he turned to you and said, “If you, er, ever need help with anything else–” He grimaced as he saw the look on your face, as you interpreted that as him hitting on you. “Not like… I didn’t mean… if you need help, I’ll help you.”

You stared at him. What was the catch?

“Okay,” you said, and then he was gone, and then you could breathe.

So Harry No Last Name helped you move into your apartment that very first day, and after that, you seemed to run into him at odd hours outside of your place (he seemed to live next door). Every last one of these encounters ended in you freezing up and skittering away before he could talk to you. Yes, he seemed nice, but you had never been the best judge of character. Best to trust your fear, to avoid getting hurt.

But eventually, his kindness (he always waved abashedly and asked if you were well) wore you down. You decided this running away was embarrassing behavior on your part. You were a woman. Not a mouse.

About a month into living next door to him, you tried to pay him back for helping you and say sorry for running away with a hand-knit scarf (ruby red). He’d turned crimson before accepting it. Which also made him less threatening. He’d clutched the parcel to his chest, looking like he wasn’t accustomed to receiving gifts for some reason. After this encounter, you felt a bit safer with him, although not safe entirely.

“Y/N!”

The man was locking his door with his wand discreetly the same time you were. This was about two months into living in this place; you two seemed destined to constantly interact, and he never seemed to know what to do with you, either. This time, however, Harry was with another man. This man had a kind face and red hair.

“Hey,” you said quietly, your eyes on your feet. You saw the stranger look at Harry out of the corner of your eye.

“ This is your neighbor?” asked the man, sounding impressed, which embarrassed you.

You waved your hand pathetically. Should you Apparate away? Harry No Last Name looked as uncomfortable as you. The red haired man’s eyes fell to the massive tome you clutched in your hands– Ancient Runes: A Dissertation – and your full bag of more books.

He looked at Harry. “Great. Another bookworm– I expect she’s a Ravenclaw–”

“Nice seeing you!” you said, panic overtaking you for some reason, then you scurried away.

You spent the rest of your day hanging out at the Leaky Cauldron, reading. When you finally allowed yourself to Apparate back home (you had wards and spells up that prevented anyone Apparating in, to keep him out), Harry was just stepping out of his place, presumably to breathe.

The two of you looked awkwardly at each other. He looked overwhelmed; you assumed he’d been entertaining, or maybe had a date. He still looked oddly familiar. 

“Sorry about Ron,” he said, speaking of his friend. He sounded like he meant it.

You shook your head. “No, he’s…” Well, you didn’t know him, but he certainly hadn’t bothered you, no more than any man would.

Harry’s eyes went to the Ancient Runes book you were holding again. He pointed at it with his wand. “Are you, er, decent?”

It took you way too long to realize he meant at the subject, not morally. You started. “Oh! Well– no. I’ve always been better at Potions. My best friend is really into Runes, though, so I–”

The door to Number 12 swung open, revealing the man named Ron and a beautiful woman with very bushy hair. Ron spoke. “Harry! Kreacher has been telling the same story about Regulus for a right ten minutes–”

“– he’s showing his appreciation for his departed friend!” said the bushy-haired girl hotly.

“– we haven’t even met all of the main characters yet, mate,” said Ron, aghast.

Then the two of them looked over at you. 

Why are you still standing here, Y/N?

You shifted in the autumn air. Your Pukwudgie scarf stirred at your neck, and the woman, with owlish eyes, zeroed in on it.

“Oh, you’re the American neighbor! And I see you’re a Pukwudgie. I’m Hermione Granger. You know I’ve always been fascinated by the correlation between the house system in Hogwarts and the one in America–”

“’Mione, breathe,” said Ron, following Hermione as she hurried down the stairs to shake your hand.

You had no idea what to do with yourself. Shocking you, you heard your own voice, timid, but excited. “Well, I think they’re adjacent, not equivalent like some think. Sure, you could align Pukwudgie and Gryffindor, but–”

“– there’s more nuance than that,” finished Hermione Granger. Her eyes were sparkling.

“Oh no,” remarked Ron. “There’s two of them.”

Babbling, you kept going, with more confidence. “You do see the correlation, naturally, but I think it speaks of greater correlations between British settlement and the farce of a different America–”

“Exactly. And the mythology of Native American creatures being represented acts only as a red herring to imply diversity that doesn’t exist at the school.” Hermione Granger’s eyes were bright. “Or, at least I’ve read.”

She extended her hand to you. “It’s nice to meet you.” Before you could shoulder your massive book and shake her hand, she was asking, “Harry’s having some of our old classmates over. Won’t you come in? I’d love to pick your brain about…”

You hesitated as Hermione kept talking. You felt yourself taking small steps backwards, trying to decline, but Hermione, not reading the room, took the Ancient Runes tome out of your hands and said excitedly, “Oh, I like you quite a bit already!”

Clearly excited to have a new friend, Hermione placed a small hand on your back and gently but firmly ushered you up Harry’s steps.

“Hermione, if she doesn’t want to–”

“Shush, Harry,” said Hermione absently. She thumbed through your book. “Are these all your notes? You seem to have confused wunjo and thurisaz–”

“–I’m really better at Potions,” you tried to say weakly.

Hermione pushed you into Harry’s home. “Potions! What was your professor like?”

You stammered something about Professor Tofana being scary but very kind as Ron and Harry shut the door to Harry’s place behind you.

You looked around with wide eyes.

Your first impression of the place was that it was warm, that it was bright. It seemed to radiate safety, with clean-scrubbed wood, portraits of what looked like clubs and tons of Gryffindor merchandise.

Hermione dragged you and your books to a living room, where a handful of other people were sitting, listening to a wizened house elf detail the heroics of a man named Regulus.

You sat for several moments, listening to this house elf. You weren’t quite sure how you had ended up in this situation. Hermione was almost holding you captive, your book in her arms. You could always just buy another one, but the new one wouldn’t have any of your notes in it, wrong as they were.

Then, the house elf finally finished his tale. A girl with very pale blonde hair clapped cheerfully, what looked like tiny radishes dangling from her ears.

Hermione at once returned to questioning you. “About the morality of Veritaserum–”

“’Mione, give her a break,” said Ron, looking at Hermione with affection.

Harry stood awkwardly next to Ron. A very confident-looking red-haired girl looked at you and asked, “Who’s this?”

You knew you had to speak up. “I’m, uh. Y/N?”

That barely qualified as speaking up. You weren’t sure they could even hear you.

But apparently they could. The blonde girl skipped over to you and shook your hand vigorously. You could feel Harry No Last Name watching you, probably wondering (like you were) how you’d ended up in his home, and you wanted to curl up into a ball.

“Y/N went to Ilvermorny,” said Hermione excitedly to the small crowd of wizards.

“What house?” asked a geeky-looking boy who was, for some reason, holding a potted plant.

“Nobody pays attention, do they? She’s wearing a Pukwudgie scarf,” said Hermione proudly.

Oh, you didn’t like all of these people staring at you. It was only a small group of people, but you got the impression that Harry and them had been friends for a very long time, and you didn’t want to just barge in and–

“What brings you to England?” asked Ron, grabbing a sandwich off of a plate on the table.

Him.

Once more, Harry spoke. “She doesn’t have to answer–”

“I, uh, just came,” you said, which was a lie. Your mouth just kept going. “I would have come sooner, but all of that business with your– your He Who Doesn’t Have a Name–”

“He Who Must Not Be Named,” said the plant man, looking ill.

“Voldemort,” said Harry quietly.

The air in the room got very strange, very tense, like these young people had known He Who Must Not Be Named personally. Which was, of course, bizarre. They were your age. Hadn’t He Who Must Not Be Named been, like, old?

And snakey?

Old and snakey. Y/N. He killed people. Have a little decorum.

“Sorry,” you said, feeling sorry you had brought it up at all. “I didn’t mean to– Well, I didn’t mean to bring anything bad up, I just–”

“Don’t worry about it, mate,” said Ron, clapping you on the back before he sat on the massive couch, sandwich still in hand.

Still, you felt bad. “I can’t imagine what it was like– having to rely on some bunch of kids when you were all just kids yourself–”

The entire group then looked at you strangely. You got the weirdest feeling, like you had said something silly, something ridiculous.

“Wh-What?”

To your surprise, it was Harry who coughed. “Do you, er, know anything about that ‘bunch of kids?’”

Everyone was staring at you. Why were you over here?

You scratched the back of your neck uncomfortably. “I don’t know? My mom wouldn’t let me read any of the news, really. She said she didn’t want me to worry.”

For some reason, Ron’s eyes were wide. Then he started to laugh. At the look on your face, he said, “Sorry, you don’t know anything about You-Know-Who?”

“Ron,” said Harry quietly.

You felt the need to defend yourself. “I know about— about that Potter kid, or whatever!”

Ron choked on his sandwich. His eyes went to Harry for some reason “You— You do realize—”

“Ron,” coughed Harry aggressively. 

Ron was staring. “But—”

What? What had you said?

The red-haired girl read the room (more accurately than you could) and seemed to take pity on you. With tact and grace, she started talking about Quidditch, which then took most of the heat off of you.

To your surprise, you stayed for the rest of the night. Kreacher the house elf (who asked you if you were a pureblood, alarmingly) served Firewhisky, and although you didn’t drink much, it was nice to feel like you were included.

Neville, the plant man, had too much of the stuff and ended up crying drunkenly about the butchering of Mandrakes and how he “wished they weren’t necessary for revival potions” because they were “cute.” The blonde girl with the radishes comforted him while Hermione went on a rampage about other possible revival ingredients. You felt like you could feel Harry No Last Name’s eyes on you, the heat of them, the entire time, but every time you looked, he was laughing with Ron.

Overall, you were surprised that you had a nice time.

Eventually it got late. The blonde girl–Luna– left first, hugging you goodbye unprompted and saying, “We’re going to be such good friends!” You found that, after some Firewhisky, that sentence didn’t scare you. She did wear radish earrings, and she reminded you of Selena, your rune-loving best friend from back home. How could you hate her?

Then the others, one by one, left, and somehow you were alone with Harry.

You knew you should be terrified of covering your whisky and escaping as soon as possible, but for some reason, you didn’t feel like you had to do either of those things. To be fair, it all definitely occurred to you, but you found your legs wouldn’t move. You wouldn’t escape, and it wasn’t just fear grounding you.

It was Harry’s turn to be uncomfortable. “I hope– I mean, I hope you had a decent time.”

“I don’t mean to hang around,” you said, struggling to stand up.

Harry hurried over to help you stand. The touch of his hands on your arm had your entire body sizzling, which scared you. Had he– had he cast a spell?

Were you just drunk?

He helped you stand, and you could smell the scent of woods and amber coming off of him. You wanted to lean into him, but you didn’t. You were paralyzed.

“Sorry Hermione made you come,” said Harry, not looking at you.

Was he ? You studied him.

“She’s really bright,” you said dizzily.

Harry laughed. “I’ll tell her you said that.”

For some reason, your entire body grew warm, and you watched him. Studied him. His face was boyish, sure, but handsomely chiseled. His jawline was sharp, and it looked like he had some sort of scar under his bangs that you couldn’t quite see.

“What do you do?” you asked suddenly.

He immediately averted his gaze. “Oh, I'm, uh. A professor. At Hogwarts.”

“Is that fun?” you asked. You’d always heard Hogwarts was amazing.

Harry made a face. “It’s safe,” he said quietly, with some sort of longing.

You were getting dizzier, sleepier by the hour. “You’re no…” You tried to recall the hero’s first name. Thanks to your mother’s news embargo, you still couldn’t. “... Something Potter?”

Harry’s eyes shot to yours.

You had never seen pictures of the wizard hero, or so you thought, just knew he had defeated Voldemort as a young child. If you had to, you'd assume him righteous and stodgy, powerful and threatening. He was probably nice, but you would keep away from him at all costs.

“Of course not,” said Harry. His voice was strained. “What do you, er, know about him?”

You strained your mind. You didn't want to think about Potter. You were getting more and more tired.

“I don’t really know anything, just that probably… well, I’d probably stay away from him,” you said finally. “Too powerful. Scary…”

Harry was studying you, his eyes on your face. You got the sense that you had said something wrong, but you didn't know what.

He didn’t detail it, though. Instead he helped you back out of his place and to your door. With one last smile at him, you dipped into your apartment and had to lean against the wall once the door closed so you could feel your heart race.

There was a knock on your door exactly at seven. Your brows rose into your hair, felt your heart flutter from something, probably with fear.

You were sitting on your couch, reading the runes book, twiddling your wand through your fingers. Your cauldron was bubbling away in the kitchen– you were making a sleeping draught to help get rid of your nightmares.

You couldn’t imagine who would be knocking on your door. You didn’t know anyone. It occurred to you that you could just not answer it, and you settled back into the couch. Then someone knocked again.

Your brows rose even further into your hair as you stood, wand at the ready, walking cautiously towards your door. Your stomach was rolling. Should you answer?

“Y/N! It’s Hermione Granger!”

Oh, the smart woman. You cautiously opened the door, your wand at the ready.

Hermione Granger wasn’t alone.

His eyes went immediately to your face, then to your swishy black dress. You felt his gaze differently from the other two somehow, like it was burning you. This didn't make sense to you at all. Maybe he really was going to hurt you.

Then Hermione spoke, peering past you into your kitchen on the other end of the place.

“Ooh, I see you’re making a potion,” she said, stepping into your place, excited.

“’Mione, you can’t just–”

Harry didn’t say anything, but he did follow after Ron once the red-headed man chased after Hermione.

Hermione was so excited to charge into your kitchen. You found you didn’t mind it at all, especially when she remarked, “This sleeping draught is superb. Even Professor Snape would be–”

“Don’t still call that git a professor,” said Ron.

“Oh, a Hogwarts professor? Like Harry?”

All three of them looked at you. Harry looked abashed once again, but he quickly tried to change the subject, saying, “I’m really nothing much.”

Ron seemed to take pity on the man and said, “Oh, yeah. Harry’s been great at Defense since we were–”

“– it’s really not important–” said Harry.

“– first years,” finished Ron.

“So.” Hermione clapped her hands. She seemed to be trying to dispel the awkward tension in the room. “You know, I’ve been looking for a really good sleeping draught, just for experimentation purposes of course, just to compare with my own. You know Professor Snape used to say mine wasn’t the correct level of thickness–”

“Well, I expect he knew all about being incredibly thick,” muttered Ron. Harry snorted.

Hermione shot the both of them a look. “He was a Professor–”

“And a git,” said Ron, once more, this time with more feeling.

“Severus Snape?” you heard yourself say. All three of them looked at you, with varying levels of surprise. “The potions master?”

It was Ron who broke the silence. “You know about Snape, but you don’t know about–”

“I only know about him because of my interest in potions! He was in all of the books I used to sneak from the library,” you said, accidentally interrupting Ron.

Ron rolled his eyes, but Hermione looked like she completely understood the urge to steal books from the library.

Harry finally spoke. “We didn’t mean to bother you.”

“Hermione did,” said Ron, with affection. Hermione shot him another look.

“Well, be that as it may, I think you should come over tomorrow night,” said Hermione.

You were alarmed. “Tomorrow night?”

Hermione looked over to Harry, who looked very much like he wanted an Invisibility Cloak. “Er, some of my school friends are coming over, is all. You don’t have to–”

“Harry and I just think you could use some good friends. Right, Harry?”

“Oi, what about me?” asked Ron, as Harry avoided looking at you.

Harry thought you needed friends? Did that mean he thought you were pathetic? Did that mean he saw you were a loner and was trying to help?

The fact that this man thought about you at all had your head spinning. His emerald eyes were on you then, deep and vibrant. His glasses had slid to the tip of his nose, and he pushed them back up with annoyance. His black hair was ruffled, messy. Your heart hurt for some reason.

You still weren’t sure if you should accept .“I– well, I don’t know if–” Then, inexplicably, something came over you. Like a sudden assertion on what you should do. A certainty that Harry wouldn’t hurt you. “I mean… yeah. Yeah. I’ll come. If that’s okay?”

Harry’s eyes met yours, and you felt your face heat.

“It’s okay,” said Hermione, and you had to smile.

Hermione arrived the next night to take you over to Harry’s, sensing that you were shy. She was a very nice person, you decided– a bit forward, but you appreciated the honesty.

Once the two of you were inside Harry’s place, you felt yourself getting nervous for some reason. You still had that surety, that positivity that Harry was safe, but you were still scared.

You had met some of Harry’s friends the other day, but you were worried they would hate you anyway.

But it was the same group of friends, and they all remembered your name. Neville, the plant man, greeted you; Luna gave you a hug. Ginny asked you immediately what your favorite Quidditch team was. Basically, you were welcomed instantly into the group. You sat between Hermione and Luna, and you quickly joined the group as they discussed world affairs.

“... the Ministry can’t just pretend they didn’t play a part in You-Know-Who’s rise, honestly–”

“– and underreported the influx of Wrackspurts–”

“We don’t really have to talk about any of this,” said Harry, glancing at you. Was it that obvious that you were out of your depth?

Just a glance at you had your skin heating, your heart racing. “N-No, I don’t mind,” you said. “I have to learn at some point.”

“No, not if it makes you… uncomfortable,” said Harry.

He really noticed you feeling uncomfortable? Sure, most of it was heat from him looking at you–

“How was Ilvermorny?” asked Neville.

You were excited to talk about something you knew things about, even if you were still nervous. “Oh, it was fine. I had a really good friend, Selena– she’s really good at Runes and Divination.”

Then everyone started asking questions about Divination at Ilvermorny, then making fun of their own Divination professor (someone named Trelawney?).

It was nice to be over at Harry’s, but after an hour or so, you started feeling anxious again. You excused yourself, hoping no one would notice. You wandered up a staircase, looking for a bathroom. You didn’t feel his presence, didn’t know he had followed you.

“Y/N?” Harry touched you, appearing suddenly, and just like it had every time before, it shocked you. You whimpered at the sizzling heat, and he immediately pulled back, apologizing.

You were too embarrassed to tell him you weren’t whimpering from fear.

What are you whimpering from, Y/N?

The very thought had panic shooting through you once more. Sometimes you felt like all you felt was panic.

Your heart started pounding, and you realized Harry was looking at you in concern. He took your wrist in his hand and pulled you into his bedroom, away from Neville and Luna, who had been ambling down the hallway towards the stairs (you hadn’t even noticed them!). Your heart immediately pounded harder. You were instantly having a panic attack.

He called your name again, but you could barely focus. He didn’t sound like him at all, but the panic was confusing, and the sound of his voice, even in echoing your head, was enough to bring you to your knees. You felt your wand fall from your hands, clattering to the floor. “Y/N!”

Harry’s grip on your wrists (he’d grabbed the other one) was firm, but not restrictive. Still, this, too, reminded you of him. You whimpered.

“Please don’t,” you said in a small, broken voice, flinching away from the man. He hadn’t even taken his wand out, but he could hurt you. He could do anything to you.

Harry instantly let go of you. You felt your knees go out, and then he was touching you again, catching you, rescuing you from fainting to the floor.

He muttered curses as he guided you over to his bed, the party of his friends forgotten. You knew he was talking to you, but you couldn’t hear him over the roaring in your head. You felt very, very cold.

“Shit.” You’d never heard him curse before. It was oddly attractive. The heat on your skin grew. “You’re alright. You’re alright, right? I don’t know what happened, but you’re alright,” he said panickedly. “What did I do? I won’t touch you! If that’s what you’re afraid of. I’m not going to hurt you, alright?”

The air spinning around your head was dizzying. You wanted to tell him you were mostly sure he wouldn’t hurt you, but you didn’t. Why were you even there? Why did you think you could be friends with this man? He was a Hogwarts professor! Of Defense Against the Dark Arts!

He was watching you with concern (and sheer panic), but your brain told you that concern was a lie. He had looked at you with concern once, too.

“Please,” you whispered again, backing into his bed. “I’ll be good!”

Harry hesitated, clearly confused. But it didn’t look like confusion to you then. It looked like anger.

You felt your body shaking. You couldn’t even see it or feel it as he directed you to sit, as he summoned a blanket to cover you without touching you. Then he began pacing wildly across from the bed, looking three seconds from a panic attack.

You yourself focused on breathing. The first thought you had when you “came to” again was that you were overreacting. Isn’t that just like you, said his voice in your head, and then you heard yourself whimper again.

Then what Harry was saying filtered in through your mind.

“... Hermione might know what to do, but I would have to take her downstairs, and I would have to touch her, and I’m not going to touch her again unless she tells me to, and she won’t tell me to, because I freaked her out, and I did something, and–”

“Harry,” you said hoarsely, trying to make him stop his frantic pacing.

“... obviously has an issue being touched, and with men–” He’d noticed that? “–should call Luna or– or– Ginny, or–”

Obviously has an issue being touched, and with men.

“Harry,” you said, your voice clear, strong. He stopped his pacing and looked at you, alarmed.

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine. Really, I am. You just surprised me, is all.”

Your eyes met.

That was obviously an understatement. You’d almost completely dissociated out of your body. And he knew.

Obviously has an issue being touched, and with men.

“I should go,” you said, breaking eye contact with him as you stood. He appeared at a loss for words as you went for the door, and in a flash, he was blocking you from fleeing.

“Y/N, really–”

“Well, you’re not going to touch me again, are you?” you snapped, looking up at him.

He looked surprised to hear your tone, the strength of it, the power.

“... no,” he said delicately, but he wouldn’t move away from the door. “But Y/N–”

“Look, we don’t know each other, and I’m– I’m–”

“You’re my friend, alright, Y/N?” he said fiercely, then looked terribly embarrassed.

Your heart stopped beating in your chest, squeezing.

Then, angrily, you gestured out the door, to where the party was. “I’ve torn you away from your party–”

Harry grimaced. “I don’t really care about parties. I don’t like the attention.”

You didn’t know what to say. “Why would they throw you a party if you don’t–” But it was none of your business. You stared hard at the door. “I just want to leave.”

Harry still didn’t move, but he did look apologetic. “You won’t talk to me again if you leave,” he said, and he was right.

You felt tears sting in your eyes. How did he know that? Were you that obvious? Why did you get the feeling he saw things about you, a lot of things about you that you’d rather hide?

You felt your anger deflate, flatten, disappear. You were very embarrassed then, and you felt hopeless. If he didn't want you to leave, you couldn’t leave. You were trapped.

Harry seemed to sense you feeling this. With a sigh, he stepped away from the door, and you knew you should run, but you didn’t.

The two of you stood there. Finally, instead of explaining yourself, you said, “It’s just easier this way.”

Harry opened his mouth to say something to that, but was cut off by a knock on the door. “Harry?” asked Ginny.

Harry grimaced. As the door swung open, Harry was forced back to the party, and you took the opportunity to run.

A few weeks passed where you avoided Harry like your life depended on it. A voice inside you nagged at you to stop– Why? Why should you stop? Was he really that great?– but you couldn’t stop. The memory of his hands on your wrists had your entire body bursting into hot flashes in random moments. Everything was very tense.

Then, you surprised yourself. You gave in.

You told yourself it was because you were being nice, not because you missed his searing (yet calming) presence. You found yourself outside of Harry’s door with some flasks of sleeping draught, knocking.

At first he didn’t answer. It was around eight at night, and he might be out, or he might even have gone to bed early. Just when you were going to scamper away, the door swung open, revealing the man in flannel pajama pants and a t-shirt.

You lost your entire train of thought. No, you lost more than that. You lost all sense of your name, who you were, and why you were there. His arms were lean but muscular, sturdy, strong. You could see scars galore on his skin, some dipping behind the cover of his t-shirt. You had the errant, mad thought that he should take it off so you could see the rest, so you could see all the things he’d survived.

What?

“Er– Y/N!” he said, surprised. “I thought you were–”

Ignoring me.

“Y-Yeah, I’m sorry,” you managed to say. “Can I… come in?” You glanced past you and saw Hermione in his apartment. Her whole face lit up and you felt your stomach drop. Hermione was in his apartment at night. And you were interrupting.

You took a step back. “Oh, I didn’t mean to– I mean, I was just giving you–”

Harry glanced back and saw Hermione, then his entire face turned pink. “She’s just visiting–!”

“I’m sorry.” You shoved the pouch of potion vials into his hands and then tried to run away.

He didn’t grab you this time, but his voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Y/N, don’t,” he said.

It wasn’t a command, but it had the effect of one. You physically couldn’t run away from him. Slowly, you turned around, your face heated.

Hermione appeared in the doorway, oblivious to the tension between you two.

“Y/N!” She hurried forward, a quill stuck behind her ear, tangled in her bushy hair. “You brought potions?”

You were embarrassed. “Well, I just saw you were impressed the other day, so–”

Hermione lurched forward, snatching the bag of potions from Harry. She started examining them in earnest, muttering to herself. Harry said her name once, then twice, and then she looked up, remembering that the two of you existed.

She glanced at Harry, who was watching the two of you with wide eyes. “Well, I was just visiting Harry, but if you two want to talk–”

You were abashed. “We don’t need to–”

“Thanks, Hermione,” said Harry firmly, then looked embarrassed by how harsh it had sounded. He didn’t apologize.

Herminoe read the vibe between the two of you then. She stole a vial from out of the bag, shoved the rest into Harry’s arms after thanking you for it, then Disapparated.

Harry ushered you into his place. He set the potions on his kitchen table, and you were very aware of the silence, of the awkwardness.

Why were things this intense between the two of you? You didn’t know each other that well. Why did you want to defend yourself for ignoring him? And/or apologize? Why did it matter?

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Y/N, I know you’re a bit… frightened, but I would like to– to be your friend. If that’s okay.”

He didn’t look sure of himself, not because he didn’t mean what he was saying, but because he wasn’t sure he should say it. He seemed afraid you would run away.

You stared at him, confused. “... Why?”

All you had done was freak out around him and embarrass yourself over not knowing European Wizarding history.

“It’s– do you want to sit?” He asked, gesturing for you to take a spot at the kitchen table. You walked over, sitting, your stomach rolling. Harry moved so he was sitting across from you, procuring two bottles of Butterbeer from thin air.

“Hermione?” you asked timidly, referencing the spell.

He grinned sheepishly.

At the sight of his dazzling smile, you couldn’t actually think of a reason why you shouldn’t be friends with Harry No Last Name. Sure, he could hurt you, but so could anyone else on the planet. He wasn’t super powerful, like the Potter kid, and he didn’t seem anything like him. But you never really knew.

But could you really live the rest of your life expecting every man to be like him?

You looked away from the handsome wizard. “I’m not really good at acting normal around men.”

You heard Harry sigh. Then, very awkwardly, he said, “I, uh, realized.”

That was it. He didn’t ask you to explain yourself, didn’t force you to tell why you were like this. You realized you really, really liked Harry.

“You don’t have to act… normal with me, Y/N,” said Harry gently, and you looked up, startled.

That was one of the things you had longed for someone to say to you your entire life. For some reason, you opened up more. “I was raised to believe that women… women like me were meant as objects for strong men,” you said, not in control of yourself.

You saw a flash of something on Harry’s face. Anger. “You’re not– you’re not an object,” he said, fiercely.

You forced yourself to keep looking at him. You felt yourself shrug.

Harry stood up. “No, Y/N. You’re not–” He seemed to realize he was starting to yell, so he quieted himself.

Then he sighed. He drank deeply from his Butterbeer, and you followed the line of his throat with your eyes. When he finished, he fidgeted with his hands, and you knew he had a lot more to say, but he didn’t say it.

“You’re my friend,” he said, and there was room for you to argue.

You didn’t.

So it was decided. You and Harry No Last Name were friends. 

You were still conflicted. You wanted to relax, to be at ease, to trust this man. And he made it so easy for you, with his disarming smile and oddness and abashed personality. But it was also so hard. Part of you couldn’t ignore his lean muscles, his height, and the fact that he was strong enough to be a Hogwarts professor.

You wanted to ask him more about himself, what his last name was, but you also were terrified if you researched him like you’d been planning, you’d only be more afraid.

Tonight was one of the many nights you two were hanging out. He would be there any minute, and you’d forced yourself not to prepare any new potions (Why, so you could show off? No!). You stared at yourself in your mirror, nervous.

You wore a pair of shorts that he had never let you wear and a t-shirt. It wasn’t anything fancy– shouldn’t you change? Shouldn’t you look better for Harry, for any man?

Before you could freak out and change, there was a knock on your door. Stomach twisting, you answered it.

Instantly you felt calmer. You didn’t understand that reaction, but you did.

Harry wore a simple outfit, jeans, trainers, and a t-shirt, but it was enough to make your heart race manically, but in a good way. The shirt was slightly small, clinging to his arms. You felt yourself start to salivate.

It took you a second to realize he was gaping at you. At your legs, to be more specific. You could physically feel the heat of his gaze on your thighs.

That can’t be right, you thought. He probably thought you looked bad.

“I can change,” you said hurriedly, your face hot. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’ll just–”

You went to dart away, but almost not in control of himself, Harry’s hand shot out, his fingers looping through your belt loops. He wasn’t technically touching you, but your heart raced like he had. Your heart raced faster than it ever had in your life.

“Don’t,” he said hoarsely. His eyes trailed back down your body, back to your thighs. You watched him swallow.

Your entire body was hot as fire. You felt heat between your legs, which alarmed you. You knew about lust, of course, but you weren’t really the lustful type, so you didn’t recognize it.

Or maybe you did. Maybe you just ignored it.

Harry seemed to remember himself. He let go of you, instantly becoming that shy dork, ruffling his hair and saying nervously, “Sorry, sorry. I didn't mean to– to grab you–” He was struggling to speak, his eyes still trained to your thighs, then darting a little bit up from them scandalously, then looking back down, embarrassed. “I mean, you look great– not that you don’t always look–”

You had no idea what to do with yourself. He was clearly babbling while ogling you, but it didn't make you feel uncomfortable. Something about Harry’s gaze made you feel safe, wherever it was on your body. Your stomach was a lake of fiery lust, but you told yourself you were having indigestion.

You didn’t think you could handle having a night in with this man. You didn't think you could trust yourself.

Because of your indigestion, of course.

“Do you want to go somewhere?” you asked nervously, trying to fix the problem. It wouldn’t do if you got sick while he was here.

Again. From indigestion.

Harry finally managed to tear his gaze away from your exposed skin. His entire face flushed cherry red, and he said, embarrassed, “Of– of course. Yeah. Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Y/N, I didn't mean to–”

You didn’t want him to apologize for staring at you. It occurred to you that for some reason you liked it, but you didn’t say that to him, of course.

“Do you think other people will stare at me if I go out in this?” you asked anxiously, trying to change the subject. Obviously he must have been looking because you looked strange.

Harry swallowed. “N-No,” he said. “You’re fine.” His voice was still hoarse.

The heat between your legs burned hotter. 

So you and your neighbor went out.

Both of you had trouble trying to pull yourselves together. Harry was embarrassed that he had ogled you, and you were embarrassed for reasons you couldn’t even place.

Maybe he had been right about these shorts. Only whores and harlots wore clothes like this, and they led even the greatest men into sin.

But Harry liked them. And Harry was not the kind of man who sinned, who was lustful, who leered.

The two of you ended up going to Diagon Alley. It was Harry who suggested it, noting your interest in books and potions. You’d overshared to Hermione that you’d only managed to rescue a few books and materials from him when you escaped. Harry must have overheard.

“Harry, I don’t have much money,” you whispered softly, as the two of you walked into the alley. You were currently in between jobs, having just moved to the country, and were budgeting severely.

“It’s alright,” he said softly. His hand reached for yours automatically. It wasn't aggressive, and he gave you the choice of not touching him. You never touched him.

You took his hand in yours. It felt as if your entire body blossomed, blooming beautiful colors. “I don’t need new robes. I can just keep wearing these shorts,” you tried to protest again.

Harry’s emerald eyes darted to your legs again. “Maybe you shouldn’t,” he managed. You felt confusion, then he seemed to remember himself as the two of you walked past stores selling broomsticks and cauldrons. “I mean, they’re not– not formal, and if you have a– a–”

Was he going to say date?

“... a dinner,” he said, not looking like he even knew what he was saying. “You can’t wear them to a dinner. Er, you can wear them to a dinner with me. You can wear them any time with me.”

He was as red as a tomato.

You didn’t really understand why he was so red. You felt breathless, though, and you held onto his hand tighter. A few girls walking past in glittering robes gaped at him, but it didn’t register to you in the moment.

“Flourish and Blotts?” asked Harry, very clearly trying to change the subject.

You looked at the alley around you.

You never really had any money growing up. Well, your family was comfortable, but your parents had never allowed you to buy anything, not even the necessities. You were famous at Ilvermorny for wearing the same outfit over and over on the weekends like a cartoon character.

“... I don’t know,” you said, overwhelmed, hesitating. Books were expensive. If he insisted on buying you one, you didn’t know what you would do.

So you dug in your heels. “I– I can’t let you buy me things,” you said, shaking your hand. “It’ll be expensive, and I can’t–”

“I want to,” said your friend. Your hand was still in his.

“But I’ll have to give you something in return,” you said, upset. “And I don’t know what I’ll give you. It’ll never be enough.”

Harry pulled you closer to him to get you out of the way of a passing couple. Then he hesitated. It was almost like he wanted to hug you, but he seemed to sense your embarrassment, so he settled for squeezing your hand.

“You don’t have to give me anything,” said the wizard.

You heard people muttering. You pulled back from him to see some teenaged boys pointing at Harry and talking amongst themselves.

Harry took your hand again. He ducked away from the boys, and walked away quickly from the small group of people who had witnessed your moment.

You didn’t ask about the teenaged boys. Maybe you should have. But you told yourself Harry must be a popular local figure as a professor. Or that they were staring at Harry because Harry was beautiful and crafted especially and masterfully by the universe itself. That was why you stared at Harry.

He took you into a store that had lots of books– leather bound, suede, crushed velvet; or crimson, or silver, or deep black. Books soared all around you, piled haphazardly, but somehow the whole thing worked. The smell of ancient pages and fresh ink filled your nose– the smell of home.

You forgot about the money issue for a small while. You darted around the store, touching everything, rubbing the lettered spines with your fingers and gaping at how elegant and erudite everything was.

Full of joy, you hoisted a massive tome on love potions from its stand, struggling under its weight, to show it to Harry. “Look how pretty this is!” you said excitedly to your friend. You could feel yourself beaming. “I can’t imagine why anyone would need this many love potions–”

You almost dropped the book.

Harry rushed over, taking the book half in his arms, helping you from crippling under its weight.

“Man, Selena would love this. She loves making fun of all kinds of love magic,” you said, still excited about the book.

You never really talked about your life from before, not even about your best friend. You had a wall up, knowing that if you shared one detail, you would share the whole story, and then he would know you were damaged goods, that you were ruined, and he would leave. Not even he had wanted you. How could any man? Especially a man as noble and honorable as Harry?

“A girl that pretty has no need for love potions,” said a cute girl in bright violet robes, appearing to help you corral the book back to its stand. “Especially not one with–”

“Did you need a new potions book?” asked Harry loudly, cutting the employee off.

You were confused by his reaction, but you allowed him the grace of ignoring it. You did need a new potions book, but–

You seemed to remember the money issue. It was like letting all of the happiness deflate from a balloon in your chest.

“I really shouldn’t–”

“I can buy you a book, Y/N,” said Harry seriously. The words were firm, and he grimaced, like he was embarrassed for being so pushy. 

Your face was hot, too. The employee was staring at Harry in awe. Actually, she was gaping. Astounded.

Harry gestured at an emerald green tome, distracting you. “Look. A potions diary. So you could record your potions.”

He remembered you made your own potions? You had babbled about some of them to him, but you hadn’t thought he was internalizing anything. Apparently he had.

The employee seemed to remember herself. She cooed over the journal, showing you another one in a different color. You looked between the emerald green one and the red one, then shyly picked the green one.

You would never, never tell Harry it was because the color matched his eyes.

That night, you couldn’t help it– you dreamt of him. And it wasn’t the kind of dream you were used to having. It had to have been spurred on by him taking charge that day, him forcing you to buy the diary with affection.

“H-Harry,” you trembled, the two of you close together, so close together.

He had caged you against a wall of books in Flourish and Blotts, pressing you up against them, intimidating you, thrilling you with his lean figure. His wand was in his jeans pocket; yours lay on the floor.

Harry bit at your neck. His hand snaked between your thighs, fingers brushing tantalizingly over you. You wore the shorts you had worn today, and they seemed to be driving him crazy.

You whimpered. Intoxication swirled heady around you– he was so tall, and so strong, but you didn’t want him to stop, you wanted him to keep going.

You quivered like a flower in a hurricane. “Harry–”

Harry kissed the skin at the base of your throat. He trapped you there; you couldn’t run, not even if you wanted to, but for some reason that thought was erotic to you.

“Harry, we– we shouldn’t,” you said, trying to remember yourself. He slowly, but forcefully, unzipped your shorts. You felt your breath intake, and soon his big hands were sliding the shorts down, past your thighs, until they hit the floor.

Harry’s hands smoothed over your thighs, lovingly gathering the softness there as his mouth collided with yours.

Kissing Harry tasted like Firewhisky.

It was a cliche, but you didn’t mean it metaphorically– he literally tasted like the alcohol, the spice of the liquor on your tongue as he devoured you.

Harry’s fingers smoothed lovingly up your thighs before tugging lightly at your panties.

“Harry,” you breathed, feeling, more than anything, safe. The lust coursed through your body, dizzying your head.

The man shushed you lovingly. “Pretty girl,” he whispered, and you could feel yourself melting. His fingers traced designs on the skin of your pelvis, underneath the fabric of your panties. around your clit. “You’re shaking, huh? ’S a good girl,” he said.

You whimpered again. “Some– someone will hear–”

“You’re gonna make noise for me, baby?” whispered Harry, grinning against your mouth, his accent sending heat straight between your hips. “Go ahead.”

Then you shot awake with a violent jolt.

You looked around your room wildly. A glance at your cutesy No-Maj alarm clock told you that it was three in the morning. Your heart was racing.

You stared, wide-eyed, into space.

What… the… fuck?

You didn’t have dreams like that. You didn’t. You were practically a nun, practically a priest– you had realized long ago that sexuality was a vulnerability he would only take advantage of. You’d pretended not to have crushes your entire childhood. You’d only been away from him for a few months.

And Harry? Sure, he was handsome. Okay, he really was handsome. And he was kind, and he’d bought you a book. But seriously?

Scowling, you grabbed a pillow to scream into.

I will not ruin this friendship because I’m a sinful degenerate, you thought. I don’t even– I don’t even like him like that. I don’t like anyone like that. I’m a nun. I’m sexless.

You had coped with that lie for so long that sometimes you even believed it.

But the feeling between your legs right now wasn’t sexless. You screamed into the pillow again.

You thought you were being quiet, screaming into your pillow, over and over again, for several minutes. Once you were done, you told yourself to go to bed, and you were just laying down when you heard someone knocking on your front door.

You shot back up. Dark wizards, you thought. Then: Why the fuck would a dark wizard knock, Y/N, you absolute scone?

Grabbing your wand, you were mentally going through every spell you’d learned in Defense in school. You creeped carefully to your front door.

But when you looked through the keyhole, you saw that it was Harry on the other side of your door, at three am.

Belatedly, you glanced down at what you wore. It wasn’t much, just a sleep shirt Selena had gotten for you for your last birthday.

“Uh, Y/N?” He sounded worried.

The screaming, you idiot, you realized.

You looked down at yourself again. You were a mess, and the sight of him had your skin heating all over again.

But you couldn’t just scare the man and then not answer your door. What if he called the aurors? Potter?

You opened your door.

Harry’s eyes went immediately to your legs, then to your wand, still brandished protectively in your hand. 

He stepped forward. It said a lot about how much you trusted this man that you weren’t scared, that you’d opened the door at all.

“Are you alright?” he asked seriously, his brow pinched. He looked behind you, as if expecting to find a dark wizard, or Voldemort himself. But there was no one.

Moments passed. You hid your wand behind your back, even though he’d already seen it. “I was– I was just–” You didn’t want to lie to him, but you obviously couldn’t tell the truth, either. “I had a nightmare.”

Harry seemed able to tell that you were lying. You felt yourself sigh internally.

“It’s– do you want to, uh?” You were too shy to say it. Luckily Harry understood what you were offering.

The professor stepped into your apartment. You shut the door, lowered your wand, and turned on the lights. It was only then that the two of you saw fully what the other was wearing.

Harry had on a black t-shirt and sweatpants. You wore only the sleep shirt and lacy panties. Which, to be fair, were covered by the sleep shirt, but still.

His eyes slid down from your face to the shirt. You were surprised by the way his jaw tightened as his gaze passed your breasts, but you didn’t say anything.

“I had a nightmare,” you heard yourself say again to him.

Harry looked back up at your face, his jaw still working. “Y/N,” he said gently, carefully. “Honey, I won’t ever push you or pressure you to tell me whatever happened to you, whatever it is that makes you so scared. But you can’t lie to me, alright? Don’t lie to me. I just want to help you.”

You stared at him.

To your horror, you felt tears well up in your eyes, and before you knew it, you were throwing yourself at him, throwing yourself into his arms.

And he caught you, almost like he’d been waiting for it. It was the first time you’d ever hugged, and you felt something soar inside of your chest. He took you in his arms, murmuring, “It’s alright, it’s alright. You’re alright. No one’s going to hurt you. No one’s ever, ever going to hurt you. Alright? I’ll take care of you.”

You felt yourself shaking.

How had this happened? On some level, you knew you should feel ashamed that he thought you were going through deep psychological trauma and screaming when you’d really been screaming over a sex dream. But somehow the two things didn’t feel that far apart. The guilt over any sense of sexuality was traumatic.

You burrowed yourself into his chest.

Harry’s hands smoothed over your back. He cupped the back of your head to him, and he waited until you were done crying, done shaking, to speak.

“You’re going to be alright,” he said soothingly, but you wouldn’t be soothed, not now that you were all worked up.

“You don’t know that! You can’t– you can’t protect me. You can’t. No one can. You’d have to be– have to be some big fancy hero wizard, and even then–”

“I’m telling you, I can protect you, Y/N,” he said forcefully, gripping you tighter.

“I don’t deserve that,” you said, tears spilling from your eyes. “You don’t know–”

“No,” said Harry, and you pulled back, eyes wide. The tone of his voice stopped your tears for a moment. “You’ve done nothing to deserve how afraid you are all of the time.”

“You don’t–”

“I don’t know that?” asked Harry wryly. “Don’t you think, objectively, you would have had to have killed many people to deserve this level of fear? And maybe not even then.”

You didn’t know what to say. You looked away from him.

Then it came out of you. “He– he– he said he liked me more than his wife,” you said, your entire body shaking. “He said– and I was, I was fourteen, and he said– he said –”

“Oh, Y/N,” said Harry, and you could hear the heartbreak in his voice. He pulled you to him again, directing you over to the couch where he sat you down and draped two different blankets over you. He went to go sit across the coffee table from you, but your hand shot out, latching onto his wrist.

“D-Don’t go,” your teeth chattered.

Harry hesitated for only a moment before sitting next to you on the couch. Seeking comfort, you instantly snuggled up against him, laying your head on his chest and snuggling in.

“H-He said I was h-hotter than my m-m-mother, and I didn’t know what to do,” you cried.

Harry shushed you comfortingly, wrapping an arm around you and hugging.

“I k-know that doesn’t m-m-make any sense to you, but– but I can’t–”

He shushed you again. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to tell me, Y/N.”

“I’m s-scared he’s going to find me,” you confessed, feeling very, very small. “That’s why I m-moved. I can’t stop him. I can’t– I could never do anything at all.”

Harry was silent, then, and you got the vibe that he was thinking. To your surprise, you felt yourself growing sleepy. You just felt that safe with him. It was a physiological reaction to his presence, that calm, that safety.

“I just want to be left alone,” you heard yourself say.

Then you fell asleep.

You woke up the next morning to the smell of coffee.

You shot up. You were on your couch in your living room; your two favorite blankets fell off of you, and you looked around.

Your eyes went to the kitchen. That’s where the smell of coffee was coming from. Your gaze widened when you saw Harry struggling with your coffee maker.

He felt your gaze on him. “Y/N!” The machine started whirring at him, loudly, and he cursed, his face pink. “I was trying to make you–”

You rose from the couch, hurrying over. “I don’t know how to work it, either,” you said. You had gotten it from a second-hand store, and it hadn’t come with directions. “At least you made coffee with it.”

“Yeah,” said Harry, his eyes on you. “But I think all of the grounds ended up in the mug, too.”

“I’ll still drink it, if you made it,” you heard yourself say as you took a mug off the counter.

Harry looked surprised. “I was just trying to make you coffee since you’re always making me things like potions, as you’re probably tired,” he said. “After…”

After last night.

You had told him a lot of things last night, things you hadn’t even told Selena. You felt panic flutter in your chest. You sipped the coffee carefully, straining the grounds with your teeth.

“You don’t have to drink it,” said Harry, embarrassed. He was watching you with soft eyes. Caring eyes.

“Don’t,” you heard yourself say.

Harry was confused. “Don’t?”

You took another swig of fucked up coffee. “Don’t look at me like I’m some tiny little messed up dove that got its wings stomped on.”

You expected him to have a response for that. Anyone would. You were pushing him away.

But instead, he looked at you, scrutinizing.

“What?” you asked, self-conscious.

Harry bit the inside of his cheek. “You really do talk a lot differently when you’re not terrified of someone, is all,” he said finally.

You opened your mouth, then shut it. You could feel the grit of coffee grounds, bitter, in your mouth.

“I guess I really am not terrified of you,” you said, realizing it as he said it. “You’re non-threatening. Harmless. Mostly. I mean, you’re no–  no auror, really. Is all I’m saying. You’re not scary.”

Harry looked very carefully at the ground. “And if I was an auror…?”

You shivered. It seemed to be all of the answer he needed.

Harry took a sip of the fucked up coffee, then made a face. “That’s vile. Honestly, you don’t have to drink that. Let me take you to breakfast, alright? You deserve better than this.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but you realized there was no point. Belatedly, you looked down and realized you were still in your panties and the oversized sleep shirt.

“And,” said Harry, a note of something in his voice, “You have to take that shirt off.”

You felt your cheeks heat.

Harry took you to his favorite No-Maj diner. He knew you hadn’t really done much exploring since you’d moved here, and you were surprised that he’d picked a No-Maj (or Muggle ) place to begin with. Harry clearly had depths that you hadn’t even attempted to traverse.

The two of you sat across from each other in a cozy booth. Harry ordered you coffee, saying again, “I don’t think anyone has ever made coffee that disgusting in human history.”

You felt yourself smile. “It really wasn’t that bad,” you said. “I always wanted to, uh, exfoliate my tongue.”

Harry snorted. He covered his face, but you knew he was smiling at you, and you didn’t have a choice but to grin at him, too.

He took his hand away from his face as your coffee arrived. You ordered a side order of pancakes, and Harry ordered a meal order of them. Then the waitress left.

“I really like the way you talk when you’re not afraid,” said Harry. Your chest felt tight.

You had the sudden urge to cross the booth and kiss him. He would kiss you back, you were sure of it; he would take you in his arms and mark you as his in front of the entire restaurant.

You sat on your hands, telling yourself to get a grip.

Thankfully, the waitress came with your food. Your side order plate was so small, and you asked the waitress, “Um, is the syrup free?”

She assured you that it was, giving you a container. Harry’s plate of pancakes was massive. Once the waitress left, you tried to start on your tiny pancakes, and Harry sighed.

“Y/N,” he said tiredly.

“Huh?” You looked up at him, confused. You were already struggling not to imagine kissing him– the way he said your name with his accent wasn’t going to help you behave.

Harry grabbed your plate and switched it with his. You realized, too late, that he had ordered the same thing on purpose, so you could eat more.

There came the tears again. “You don’t have to–”

“I want to, really,” said Harry.

“But I’m being a problem again–”

“Fine,” said Harry. You stared at him. He smiled genuinely. “Be my problem. I want you to.”

This time, his cheeks were decidedly pink.

There was no room to argue with him. Your heart racing, your stomach in a knot, you started to eat the pancakes.

To your surprise, you didn’t hide. 

Harry was busy for the next week or so, but one day, when you saw he was home, you gathered up the nerve to walk up to his door and knock.

Harry opened the door immediately, maybe because he had gotten used to you coming over at all hours. He grinned down at you, looking genuinely excited to see you, his black hair ruffled.

“D’you want to go to the Leaky Cauldron with me?” he asked, before you could say anything.

Your heart hurt. “That’s my line.”

“I didn’t think you had lines,” said your friend.

You smiled so hard it almost hurt.

Harry whisked you away to the Leaky Cauldron, Apparating the both of you outside of it and then holding the door open for you. You passed under his arm, smelling his cologne and feeling like you were levitating.

The two of you spent a few hours in the Cauldron. Harry ordered you Butterbeer after Butterbeer and cordially responded to all of the weird greetings the witches and wizards passing by gave him.

Why was he being accosted? You chose not to question.

When he wasn’t getting accosted, Harry and you had conversations about anything and everything. He asked you if you had an owl, then the conversation about his old owl (named Hedwig– how cute!) was the topic for a while. He asked you about Ilvermorny, and you asked about Hogwarts.

Things were going great until the blonde man showed up.

A cornsilk-blonde man appeared, materializing out of the crowd. He immediately sneered at the two of you, his eyes landing on Harry.

You automatically sensed that this was a problem. The man just looked mean. Who was he?

Harry noticed the man, too. In an instant, he was standing, wand bared, and somehow he had hoisted you up and was standing in front of you protectively.

“Woohoohoo,” remarked the man coolly, eyeing you up and down. “Look what we have here.”

“Malfoy,” said Harry lowly. Without hesitation, Harry grabbed your arm and started pulling you away from the man.

But the blonde man followed. Harry’s grip on your arm wasn’t restrictive; somehow you felt safe, safe so long as he was touching you. You knew nothing bad could happen to you so long as Harry was with you.

“Go away, Malfoy,” said Harry. “I’m warning you.”

The blonde man rolled his eyes. He glanced at you in the corridor, eyes trailing over you for a moment with disdain, ignoring Harry. “She’s way too hot to be out with you,” he remarked, disgusted.

You felt your stomach flip, and not in a good way. You felt your body edge closer to Harry’s, his hand searing on your arm.

This Malfoy character noticed. His eyes went over you in your dress, lingering. You contemplated scurrying away, but you didn’t want to abandon Harry.

Your eyes wouldn’t leave the floor. 

The three of you stood, tense, in the corridor of the Leaky Cauldron. He leaned down to look you in the eye. “Do you have a name, little girl? Or should I just call you ‘black dress?’ Do neither of you honestly know how to have conversations like civilized wizards?”

“Don’t talk to her like that,” said Harry, hotly. He stepped in front of you, protective. You were aware that his wand was out. If you were Malfoy, you’d be careful.

Malfoy, unbothered, let his eyes return to your face. “ You’re the fool’s girlfriend?”

You felt ice inside your chest. That was ridiculous, right? That someone like you would ever be considered Harry’s girlfriend. “I’m n-not his girlfriend,” you managed to say. You tried not to shake.

Fuck, this was mortifying. Why had you thought you could be friends with someone like Harry? He was too good for you.

“Interesting,” said Malfoy, with a very snake-like grin. A beat. Then–

“Does he pay you to spend time with him?” asked Malfoy coolly.

If you had been sipping something, you would have choked on it. “W-What?”

Malfoy seemed to relish in your horror, and in Harry’s silence. “The righteous fool,” he said confidently, moving closer to you. “I’m asking, does he pay you to spend time with him?”

You opened your mouth, confused.

“Why don’t you leave her alone and go back to marinating your hair, Malfoy?” said Harry through gritted teeth.

The insult didn’t even seem to register to Malfoy. In fact, he seemed to be enjoying the chaos he was creating in this hallway. He looked at you again, grinning. “Alright. But how else could Potter get a girl like you to put up with him?”

Potter.

Your heart thudded to an absolute stop.

You wanted to laugh. Really, that was your first reaction. Not because it didn’t make sense, but because it did. Every person ogling at Harry in public, Ron’s astonishment and humor about you not knowing Potter’s first name, all of the people who had just greeted Harry in this pub– it all made sense. It made sense because Harry was Harry Potter.

“Oh,” you said faintly, then your knees buckled.

Harry caught you. Of course he did.

Those strong arms that you loved so much wrapped around your body, crushing you to his chest. Somehow, squished as you were, you found you could breathe. Harry cast a wordless spell, and you heard Malfoy grunt. Then Malfoy, who was apparently done inflicting damage, stalked away. He Disapparated.

Then the panic set in.

Potter was the most powerful man in the country. He had beaten Voldemort. He was more powerful than anyone you’d ever met, and he was holding you, and he was Harry.

You tried to lurch back from Harry. Due to surprise, you managed to get a foot away from him, but Harry’s hands latched onto your wrists, holding you hostage. At first you saw confusion on his face, then it darkened with hurt.

“I’m not going to–”

“I’ll scream!” you threatened, yanking on your wrists. It had no effect.

Harry watched you, his expression pained. “I can’t just let you run off–”

You tried to gather air to fill your lungs for the scream, but instead you started hyperventilating.

“Y/N– honey– fuck , I’m not going to hurt you,” said Harry soothingly, his voice as gentle as the rest of him. Or as gentle as you’d always thought he was.

He could kill you. He wasn’t just a man– he was the man.

Spots started appearing in your vision. You kind of left your body, but also kind of stayed in it as you collapsed. You were aware of watching Harry carry your body into a room and onto a sofa, but you also weren’t.

Then Harry kneeled, anxious, by the sofa’s side, peering down at you. He fanned you panickedly with his hands.

“Y/N, please, no one is going to hurt you, it’s going to be alright,” said Harry. You watched him ( and felt him) brush your wild hair back from your face. That was what snapped you back to your body.

You gasped, your eyes flying open. You made direct eye contact with Harry, and instead of that calming you like it had in the past, it triggered even more panic in you.

“Don’t– don’t touch me!” You flung your body against the back of the couch, trying to get away from him.

You could see the way those words hurt him.

You weren’t aware of much, however. Just that you’d hurt him, and that you were suddenly freezing cold. Your teeth started chattering, and you wrapped your arms around yourself, shivering. You were so, so cold that you couldn’t possibly bear it.

You could hear Harry talking. “... come on, honey. C’mere,” he said. He didn’t touch you– no, he respected that boundary. Like you were a sheep and he was a dog, he corralled you through the bedroom and into the bath. He cast a spell and the tub started filling with steaming water. The two of you stood, hovering, in the doorway.

“C’mere, honey,” said Harry softly. And you found yourself collapsing into him.

He’s powerful. He’s terrifying. He killed Voldemort. You were aware of this. It was all you could think. Yet, at the same time, you clung to him. It was impossible not to touch him. He was all that existed.

The frigid chill shivered through your bones. You clung to Harry’s arm, your body pressing against him. You heard the tub filling, felt its warm steam, but the heat couldn’t penetrate your body. You shivered.

“So you… you could kill me,” you gasped, holding onto him for life.

“Y/N,” said Harry softly.

“This whole time you’ve been– you’ve been him. You killed– oh my God. I shouldn’t be here. I’m going to run away.”

“Please,” whispered Harry, and you knew you couldn’t run. Your body wouldn’t let you.

The tub was filled. You shivered against Harry, and you felt his hand smoothed down your back.

“C’mere, let’s get you warm,” he said. “You’ll be fine, Y/N. Come on.”

You let Harry lead you to the tub. Gentle and kind as ever, he helped you inside, and your black dress swirled around you.

Instantly, the warmth seeped into you. You felt like you were breathing in sunlight for the first time after living in a cold, dark cave. You moaned, sinking down into the tub, your hair dampening and fanning around you like a halo.

Harry watched you. His gaze was soft, caring. Intense.

“You’re scared,” he said quietly.

You shook your head. You didn’t want to talk about how strong he was. How could he be Harry Potter? How could he have killed Voldemort?

Of course it was a good thing he’d killed Voldemort. Harry was a hero. Harry was a hero.

“... you’re so strong,” you heard yourself mumble. Your eyes were closed. You let the warmth invade you, heal you.

“’M really not,” said Harry.

“I thought you were… I thought you were safe,” you said.

You felt him brush damp hair off of your forehead. “I am safe, Y/N.”

You melted into his touch. “Harry, nothing is ever safe for me.”

Harry’s fingers traced down your face, rubbing soothingly on your cheekbone. “Tell me.”

It was so simple. Two words. Tell me.

You found yourself talking. “I Apparated out of the country to get away from my father,” you said, the words rushing out. “I wasn’t supposed to leave, and I think– I think he’ll come after me.”

Harry, still kneeling by the tub, stroked a line down your throat. “He’s not going to hurt you.”

You did feel a blast of fear, despite the comforting heat. “You don’t know–”

“I’ll protect you.”

You shivered. You felt those words in your belly, in your heart.

No one had ever said that to you before. Not your father, who had terrorized you your entire life, the lecher. Not your mother, who had let him.

And here those words were, coming from Harry Potter. Harry. Fucking. Potter.

Could you believe them?

You were shocked to realize that, at least at this moment, you did.

You surged up from the tub, your hands smoothing over his neck as you buried your face in him.

You shuddered against Harry, not caring that you were soaking wet and he was dry, not caring about much of anything. He’d said he’d protect you.

“Harry,” you whimpered.

Harry’s hands smoothed over your back, pressing you against him. You pulled back to look at him, breathing hard, even though nothing had happened.

Harry stared into your eyes, his emerald eyes sparkling with heat. His glasses were starting to fog up from the heat of the bath, and you felt your breath catch in your chest.

Then he kissed you.

His lips collided with yours, searing and powerful. He tasted like smoke, and his lips were hard, claiming. His one hand moved up to cup the back of your head, fingers tangling in your wet hair.

He pulled your body to him, and you crushed against him, your breasts up against his hard chest as you kneeled in the tub, leaning against the porcelain.

“No one’s going to hurt you,” said Harry fiercely, against your mouth.

You moaned.

His hands ran down your sides, taking the sopping clothes in his fists.

“Harry,” you said against him. You started to shiver again.

“C’mon. Let’s get you out of those,” said Harry.

The hero helped you stand, which was hard with the soaking clothes. You were suddenly very aware of Harry’s hands, and the two of you made eye contact.

You looked away first. “You can,” you whispered, regarding your clothes.

Harry inhaled sharply. His eyes left yours, roaming down to your lips, and you saw him hesitate.

Then his hands were sliding the strap of your black dress down. His head ducked down, and he pressed a kiss on your bare shoulder.

You felt shocks of heat coursing through your belly, and between your legs. You moaned his name, which spurred him on. He slid the other strap down, and you clutched at his shirt, which was now damp.

Harry was breathing hard, but his hands were steady as they slid your dress down.

You were overtaken by an animal frenzy. All you felt was lust, was trust, was affection for this man.

Your dress fell down, baring your bra to Harry. Maybe you should have felt self-conscious, but you didn’t. Harry stood, lifting you up with him, and you stepped out of the dress.

Harry looked at you and groaned, his hands dipping down, gripping your bum.

His mouth collided with yours, and as he kissed you, he said, “I’m going to take care of you, Y/N. I swear I will.”

Somehow the two of you found your way out of the bathroom, leaving trails of water everywhere you went. Harry locked the door with his wand before pressing you up against the bed. He bit at your neck, murmuring, “We don’t have to.”

You whimpered against him, your hands sliding up his shirt.

“Not– not when you’re mad at me,” said Harry. “You have a right to be mad at me.”

But his hands were moving behind you, unclasping your bra. You let it fall away from your body, and Harry moaned, falling over you, taking one of your nipples into his mouth.

You were on your back, laying on the bed, and he was worshiping you. All you wore were your panties, but you didn’t feel scared. You had never felt scared with Harry– not really. 

Sweet Harry No Last Name could be the Potter kid. He could, and you would still feel safe with him. Because the fact of the matter was that Harry had never done anything but soothe you, so how could you fear him?

You writhed against him, your hands reaching into his hair and tugging. Harry’s tongue swirled around your left nipple, his hand cupping your other breast.

“... Harry, please,” you whined, and he pulled back from you.

He looked up at you, his gaze searing. “Tell me you’ll let me protect you,” he ordered, something simmering in his eyes.

“You can’t–”

“Watch me,” said Harry fiercely. He traced lines down your waist, all the way to your hips and the swell of your bum. “Tell me, Y/N.”

You threw an arm over your forehead. You were burning, burning for him. “O-Okay,” you heard yourself say.

Harry kissed the hollow of your sternum. “It’s going to be alright, Y/N, honey, d’you understand?”

You wiggled beneath him, trying to get friction at your core. Your panties were soaked, and not just because of the bathwater.

You didn’t know why Harry even cared. You certainly considered him your friend, but you had always liked people more than they liked you. Did he really see you as a good friend? So good that he was ready to fight your father for you?

Harry caught your chin in his hand as your mind wandered. “Say the words, Y/N. Say you understand.”

“I understand,” you said shyly, somehow embarrassed.

“’S a good girl,” said Harry, then he let go of your chin and moved down your body.

A pulse of heat went through you at his words. You hadn’t thought you could get hotter.

Harry pulled at the thin cotton fabric hiding you from him. He pulled at the sides of your panties and said, “Y/N–”

You started to squirm, shimmying, trying to get them off. He laughed, and the sound was beautiful. Then, he gently slid your wet panties down your legs, dropping them on the bedroom floor.

And you were completely nude. Instead of feeling embarrassed, you just felt a wave of even more lust. Your clit ached, begging him to touch it.

You realized you were talking. “... just want to be a good girl, and not because you scare me. You don’t scare me. I was scared for a minute, but you’re not like the rest of them and I trust you,” you babbled, reaching for him.

Harry grabbed your hips and adjusted you, moving you on the bed like you weighed fifty pounds. “You are a good girl, honey. Such a good girl,” he said.

Oh, God. You were gasping for air. The feeling of safety you had with him, even after finding out who he was, was intoxicating. He was so gentle with you, and kind.

Then Harry Potter, known god-killer, dipped down to press a kiss on your pussy.

You whimpered, your legs automatically locking around him. He smiled against you and moved lower, licking up your core before tracing a figure eight around your clit.

“Harry, Harry, Harry –”

You were babbling. He held your hips down with one hand and set to work, devouring you, his tongue practiced and well-experienced. He knew exactly where to lick to tease you until you were crying real tears from desperation.

Harry pressed a simple kiss to your clit, and you gasped for air. You felt him smile before he took the nub into his mouth, caressing it with his tongue.

He was quick, and passionate. He already seemed to know your body like the back of his hand, and in an instant, he had your climax building, impossible, heady. Breathtaking.

You bit into your arm to keep from screaming out, but just as you were about to come, Harry pulled back and said, “Let me hear you, Y/N, honey.”

You nodded desperately. Anything for him.

You took your arm out of your mouth as he builded your climax again. Then, with the force of planets colliding, it came.

You whined out his name, the sound breathy and fucked-out. The pleasure effused through you, delicious and warm, like melted caramel or chocolate.

It didn’t reach you that Harry was pulling away. When you came back down, he was laying next to you, watching you with something like wonder on his face.

“H-Harry–” you tried, but it was hard to breathe, hard to talk, hard to do anything.

Then you were overcome by the urge, breathless as you were, to be even closer to him. Using all of your strength, you rolled over, climbing on top of him until you sat on his waist. Harry inhaled sharply. Even through his clothes, you could feel he was hard. 

He looked at you apologetically. “Y’don’t have to–”

Experimentally, you ground your hips.

Harry’s head fell back, exposing his bare throat. A moan came out of him, and you had the thought that he was beautiful, stunningly beautiful. How come no one ever talked about how beautiful he was?

It was like having the entire universe lying beneath you. He was beautiful, and you loved him, you loved him, and for a moment you weren’t afraid of anything at all.

You didn’t focus on his apparent need to protect you. You didn’t focus on anything but the harmony of your bodies, and the space between them.

You rocked your hips back and forth, and you tried to look Harry in the eye as you did it, but the thought that he was pressed against you had you whimpering again.

Harry sat partially up, leaning on the pillows. His hands found your bare hips.

“Y-Y/N–” he panted. You ground against him, feeling the thick material of his jeans against your core, against your clit. You were soaking the front of his jeans.

“I want you,” you gasped out, chasing a high as you rubbed against him, back and forth, over and over. You could almost feel the outline of him through his jeans. “I want you I want you I want you–”

Harry sat all the way up, pressing kisses to your neck, sucking on your skin until you were sure it would leave a mark. You continued to grind against him, and his breathing got shallower and shallower.

It wasn’t that you had power over him, even though you did. It was that he clearly wanted you to. It was that his hands had always been so soft, so gentle. It was that he was Harry your friend and Harry Potter and you felt safe with both of them.

You ground over him one last time, and Harry bit into your neck as he came.

For a while the two of you were still. You could feel the harmony of both of your breaths, his chest rising and falling. You pressed your palm against his torso.

It was over. But you didn’t want it to be over. You nuzzled against him, pressing kisses on his jawline.

“Harry,” you said softly.

He massaged your sides, his hands in your waist, gripping you tightly. You wanted more– and you want it with him. It had been so hard growing up to ever get attached to anyone sexually, romantically, because of your creep of a father.

But Harry was different. It felt stupid to say that, like you were being naive, but all signs pointed to you being right.

And you weren’t just saying that because he was a famous hero. All of Harry’s friends were nice– Hermione was an intellectual delight, and Ron was comforting and funny. You liked Luna and Neville. And Ginny– she’d spent an entire hour trying to help you understand Quidditch, when she didn’t have to, just so you wouldn’t seem stupid. If all of those nice people thought Harry was good, then he was good.

You fell into him, shifting so that you lay next to him, your head on his chest.

Then he said something that ruined your peaceful moment.

“What’s his name?” Harry asked lowly.

You felt ice inside of your body. Spreading like poison through your veins, like a horrible potion, mixed by a sadist. You didn’t want to think about your father, and you certainly didn’t want him anywhere near Harry.

“You don’t have to–”

“He’s not going to hurt you,” said Harry flatly.

You found your body moving, your self sitting up. Harry did the same. You realized his glasses had fallen, and his face was bare. He was so beautiful that you wanted to forget the ice in your veins, that you wanted to tell him everything.

But your father ruined everything he touched. You couldn’t let him ruin Harry.

“Harry–”

“I don’t mean to push you,” said Harry forcefully, not looking at you. “But I won’t let you be unsafe–”

“I can handle it,” you said, starting to stand, starting to run away.

Harry’s face was frustrated. “I wasn’t implying that you couldn’t– it’s just that–”

“No. No. You’re not going near him, end of story,” you said, putting on your wet dress, picking up your wand and casting a spell to dry it. You felt shame, shame that you had seduced him, that you had let someone so kind and perfect touch you.

The thing was, your dad had always been able to twist reality with his words. Sometimes he said things in a certain way that made it look like you were the bad guy, that you were disgusting, that you deserved– or wanted – what he did to you. He had never touched you– your mother made sure of that–

But he had done just about everything else.

You shook your head. You tried to leave the room, but Harry caught your arm.

“Y/N, please–” His face was pained.

No. You couldn’t let this pure man hear the nasty things your father had to say about you. You couldn’t handle it if Harry looked at you with disgust, with reproach.

“I’m sorry,” you said softly, then you pulled your arm out of his grip and Apparated away.

The weeks that followed were the worst of your life.

It wasn’t just about Harry. Okay, most of it was, but the rest of it was pure terror that your father would show up and finally grab you now that your mother wasn’t there to protect you.

You carried your wand everywhere inside of your house. You took regular doses of an impervious potion, that made your skin slightly more repellant to curses.

You felt horrible about how you’d left things with your neighbor. You were aware that all the hero had been trying to do was help you, save you. And it wasn’t even that you thought he couldn’t (your father was no Voldemort).

It was that maybe you didn’t deserve to be saved.

After all, what if all of those things your father had said about you were true? You knew they weren’t, but then again, what if they were?

What if you had somehow invited your father to– to, for example, take you on dates on Valentine’s Day to talk about how you were his perfect woman and he liked you more than your mother?

To brag to his gross friends about how someone at a restaurant had assumed you were his wife?

To walk around, undressed, when you visited his apartment?

What if you had asked for that? What if you deserved that?

Harry would hate you if he knew you. It was best for everyone if you just avoided him.

This was easier said than done.

The first few days, he and his friends had knocked on your door multiple times. Hermione had even offered to unlock the door magically, but you’d heard Ron telling her that not every problem could be solved by breaking and entering.

“You should talk,” said Hermione hotly, outside of your door.

After a few days, though, things had gone silent. You assumed that Harry had given up on you entirely, and even though you expected to feel relief at that, you felt deep, endless grief.

You spent most of your time brewing random potions. You were slowly running out of ingredients, but you wouldn’t go outside the place for the foreseeable future. You would just make do.

Then, one night, very late, you heard banging on your door, and you knew it wasn’t Hermione this time.

You shot up, clutching your wand.

He said your name like it was bitter, like it was cursed. On autopilot, you felt your body move closer to the door, closer to where your father stood.

You knew that was stupid. You should have hidden. You should have banged on the shared wall and hoped Harry would come for you.

But your father had always had so much unearned authority. To put it simply, you were terrified to disobey him. It was why it had taken you so long to run away in the first place.

“Open the door, Y/N,” said your father in a growl, and your body betrayed you. You unlocked the door with shaky hands.

The door slammed open, colliding with the wall hard enough to leave a hole. Your father stormed inside, looking past you, scoffing at your meager set up of thrifted furniture. The open door let in the evening air, but you couldn’t move to close it. Like a terrified magnet, you were drawn after him.

Your father saw the collection of potions sitting in your kitchen, near your cauldron. 

“I see you’re still making useless things instead of doing as you’re told,” he said nastily.

Your body was shaking. “I was– I was just–”

Your father shook his head. “You never think about things before you do them.”

He pulled out his wand, and you trembled. “You really think there’s somewhere you can go where I can’t find you, Y/N?”

His voice was loud, booming, and the door was still open. With the night air and his voice, it felt like thunder was in your house.

Your father turned his wand to your potions, exploding all of them in one moment. Glass shattered, potions spraying everywhere, steaming.

You gasped. You went to go try and salvage some of them, but your father caught your wrist, and unlike when Harry did it, it wasn’t gentle.

“Let– Let go.” You tried to be brave, like your Pukwudgie house asked you to be.

But it was hard. You felt tears stinging in your eyes at the sight of all of your ruined potions.

Your father gripped you harder. “You should have thought about obedience, and loyalty, before you decided to run away like a whore.”

The tears were threatening to fall, but a part of you, the part of you that had run away in the first place, was angry. 

You were still terrified, yes. But you were also full of rage. How dare he come here and break your hard work? How dare he call you a whore when he was the one who had groomed you?

“Y-You should leave,” you managed, the fear and the anger mixing inside of you.

Your father started dragging you to your couch. You were surprised to feel your body fighting him. “I told you to leave!”

There was a smacking sound, and stinging on your cheek, and you realized he’d slapped you.

And that awoke all of the anger.

You wrenched your arm away from him, brandishing your wand. “ Everte Statum!”

Your father stumbled backwards as if getting hit by a great force. You heard a wheeze of pain before he slammed into your wall.

You were stunned. You had never so much as talked back to him in your life, and now you were casting spells on him?

It felt good.

But it wasn’t enough. Now furious, your father moved his wand, sending a disarming spell your way, which you dodged. The spell crashed into your kitchen, now destroying your cauldron.

You. Were. Going. To. Kill. Him.

“ Incendio!” you shouted furiously. He dodged, but the spell caught his sleeve, and his entire shirt was soon on fire.

This didn’t seem to do anything but piss him off. “You little bitch –”

He charged to you, and, your mind racing, alight with life, you yelled, “ Impedimenta!”

Your father slowed, and even as he tried to pat out his flaming shirt (and now pants), his movements were slow, like he was moving through gelatin.

You advanced. “You come into my home, you destroy my potions and my cauldron–”

The Impedimenta wore off quickly, more quickly than you’d realized it would. Your father tried to petrify you, and you dodged, but the next spell you couldn’t dodge.

“ Expelliarmus!”

Your wand went flying, and you yourself were slammed back onto your couch with brutal force.

Your father was on you in an instant. He didn’t seem to care that he was still smoldering. 

All of your rage vanished, and all that was left was pure terror. It felt like every awful thing he had ever done had been leading to this wretched moment. What was he going to do to you? Touch you? Hurt you?

“D-Dad–”

He smacked your face again, brandishing his wand in your face to keep you from fighting back. 

“You fucking bitch,” he said loudly. “You have no idea what I’m going to do to you, whore.”

Then he opened his mouth to say something, but instead of saying it, his entire body froze.

You watched, stunned, as your father’s entire form went still, and he fell backwards, away from you.

Revealing Harry.

You weren’t proud of how quickly you started crying. It felt pathetic, like some sort of fantasy princess from the 1950s whose only job was to be feminine and weak.

But sometimes you just can’t help when you cry.

Harry’s face was terrifying as he stepped over your father.

You had never seen him so angry, so terrifying. Finally you could reconcile your sweet neighbor, Harry No Last Name, with the famous Harry Potter. You half-expected him to curse your father as the man lay, glaring, on the floor.

Then Harry’s flaming gaze went from your father to you. “Did he touch you?” He asked, his voice poisonous.

You shook your head, tears still falling freely.

Ron and Hermoine arrived. Hermione, regarding your father like he was a massive slug, did a clever charm to bind him with a rope, and Ron said, with disgust, “What a rat.” The two of them levitated your father and then took him away, presumably to the auror office.

Then you and Harry were alone.

Wiping at your face with shame, you looked away from him. It was hard for you to speak. Still, you felt like you should apologize for some reason.

“I’m sorry I–”

“Don’t,” said Harry savagely. Your head shot up to look at him. It surprised you that you weren’t afraid. “Don’t apologize. C’mere.”

Gently, he gathered you up from the couch, taking in every inch of you. You assumed he was checking for injuries, but you did wish you weren’t wearing owl-themed pajamas.

Stupidly, you said, “You came after me.”

Harry’s face was still angry. “I’ve been keeping a sort of watch on you, just in case. I heard the git yelling at you through the wall. You–” He was too angry to speak. “You were brilliant.”

You felt yourself feel just a little bit safer, just because he was there. The night air still streamed through your house, mixing with the odor of spilled potions. “Oh, Harry,” you said.

He took this as permission to wrap you in his arms. You buried yourself in him. Into his chest, you said, about ignoring him, “I’m sorry.”

It took Harry a second to adjust. He patted your head, bringing you closer to him. In a powerful, intense voice, he said, “Y/N, I–”

Ginny burst into your house, followed by Luna and Neville. You sprang apart from him, like a teenager getting caught by her parent. Harry didn’t seem keen to let you go.

“Merlin, what happened?” asked Ginny, examining the house.

Harry didn’t seem to want to share all of your details, and he didn’t seem happy they were there. Shortly he said, “There was a duel–”

“I, uh. Set my father on fire,” you said in a small voice.

Everyone looked at you.

“Wicked,” said Ginny, finally. You managed a smile at her, relieved.

Luna examined the mess of potions on the ground. “Oh no. He wrecked your potions?”

“I can get you replacement ingredients,” offered Neville.

You felt such appreciation for these people as they examined your house, even if Harry was still glowering, never letting your body too far from his. Luna started putting your cauldron back together with a neat spell, and Ginny cleaned up the potion mess with one wave of her hand.

Apparently Ron had run into the lot of them as they were taking your father away, and all three of them had decided to check on you. It was enough to make your heart ache.

You looked around at your ruined house to distract yourself. Everything was a mess– there was a hole in the foyer from him slamming your door open, and a hole where his body had collided with the wall in your living room. And the whole thing smelled like foul potions.

You had won the battle. You had won the battle. So why were you shaking?

Harry noticed. “C’mon, let’s get you somewhere safe,” he said, and he started to drag you out of your house, his touch searing.

His friends– your friends?– followed.

Harry, his arm now around you, directed you into his place. Once inside, he seated you on his couch and then disappeared into the kitchen to make you a cup of tea.

You sat, shivering, all of Harry’s friends trying to make sure you were okay.

“Ron said you burned through multiple layers of skin,” said Ginny admiringly.

“With potions?” asked Luna, interested.

“With fire,” said Ginny.

Neville looked at you nervously, but also seemed impressed. Harry returned with the tea, handing you the mug with care before claiming the space beside you on his couch.

It was nice, sitting and talking with your friends for a while. It helped distract you from the magnitude of what you had just done. What would happen to your father, arrested in a foreign country? You didn’t care, but what would your mother think? What if Harry hadn’t come in time?

Harry’s thigh touched yours, comforting, as he seemed to notice you freaking out again. He was the only one.

It hit you, then. You were making, had made, friends here already. Your world was no longer reduced to your father’s control and the rare days when you’d sneak off with Selena. You weren’t a schoolgirl. You were a woman.

A free woman.

Suddenly, all you could think about was Harry beside you. His thigh touched yours, his leg muscles taut. He was worked up, too, and you could only guess what he was angry about. You had never seen someone so angry as he was with your father.

You couldn’t stop staring at him. The line of his throat, the stubble on his chin that you wanted to kiss. His eyes were the brightest green, his lashes lush. You wanted to bite his bottom lip.

“... really should have been in Gryffindor. I mean, setting your father on fire–”

“Or Ravenclaw!” They all looked from Ginny to Luna. “Quick wit,” said Luna dreamily.

The tension between you and Harry grew unbearable. As the group of them argued over what your Hogwarts house would be, Harry succumbed.

His arm wrapped around your waist, yanking you up and away from the small crowd of people. He pulled you away from everyone without apology or explanation, leading you up the stairs. There was a blistering heat between the two of you, and his dominance had the heat between your thighs going.

The party of them seemed to disappear. As Harry ushered you into his bedroom, all that mattered was his grip on you. All that mattered was that he had come to save you, that he wanted you–

The door shut behind you, and you found yourself looking into Harry’s green eyes.

He was beautiful. The most beautiful man you had ever seen. Your eyes traced the delicate, vibrant scar on his forehead.

Then his lips were on yours. He pressed you up against the door, seemingly not caring that anyone from the party could come looking for you two. 

You bit at his bottom lip, whimpering as his hands reached down to grip at your bum. His tongue touched yours, and you felt shock waves all throughout your body.

“Y/N,” he said against your lips, his hands trailing slowly up your body, settling in your waist.

You brought your lips back to his, and that was the final straw for Harry. In one movement, he had you trapped against the base of the bed. His eyes dark, he leaned over you, pushing you down to the bed.

“You don’t have to,” said Harry, his voice rough. You were shocked by the knowledge from his voice alone that he wanted you to, that he wanted you to touch him.

It was sweet that he was concerned about doing this directly after you’d destroyed your father, but you figured if anyone knew about destroying, it was Harry Potter. How could getting closer to him hurt you now? You weren’t scared.

You preened, squirming on his bed, needing his touch so desperately you were sure you would die. “Harry, please, ” you begged, reaching for his shirt, trying to undress him with urgency.

His strong hands caught your wrists. “You have to be sure,” he said fiercely.

You writhed on his bed, needing more, needing him. You knew you must have craved him your entire life, even before you met him, and even before you were born. Right then, you existed to crave him. You needed—you needed—

Your skin was hot, impossibly hot. You felt so painfully alive, like you hadn’t been breathing before this moment.

You reached for the hero. “Harry—”

“Say the words, Y/N, honey,” said Harry, his voice all-encompassing. He had so much authority, you thought. You were constantly reminded of it.

“... I want you,” you gasped.

Your eyes met.

His emerald-colored eyes on you, his black hair an impossible mess, his jaw darkened by stubble. He was so tall, and you wanted him, you wanted him, and it would never stop.

Harry seemed to exhale, his entire body searing. His eyes still on you where you lay on his bed, he stripped out of his sweater, then his shirt.

He was lean, yes, but definitely capable of beating someone up, No-Maj style. A dusting of dark hair trailed down to the waistband of his pants, and you felt your mouth water. You watched as he unbuckled his belt and threw it, looking just as affected by all of this as you.

Squirming, you reached for your top, flinging it off of your body, wiggling out of your owl sweatpants.

You went back to unclasp your bra, but suddenly a shirtless Harry was on top of you, his lips at your neck, sucking hard and biting. His fingers found your bra clasp, and he unhooked it easily, then threw it across the room. You weren’t shy, like you feared you might be; you didn’t cover your breasts. You felt safe with him, even now.

Harry carefully pinned your hands above your head. 

You watched as Harry took you in.

“ Fuck,” he exclaimed, and the No-Maj curse almost made you laugh. Then, almost not in control of himself, he fell over you, taking one of your vulnerable nipples into his mouth.

You writhed beneath him, crying out, his knees on either side of your hips, and your hands reached for his chest.

But Harry, overcome with passion, pinned them above your head again.

“Just let me– let me see you,” he said, before pressing a kiss between your breasts. You gasped for air.

“Yes—yes—anything you say—”

“Be a good girl for me, okay?” asked Harry, his voice lustful, and still rich with that characteristic kindness. “Can you do that for me, honey?”

“I’ll do any—anything for you,” you cried.

Harry groaned. Then he took your other nipple in his mouth, teasing the first one with his fingers, pinching.

You whimpered again, grinding your hips on nothing.

“Please—please—please—”

“’S going to be okay, honey,” said Harry, taking care of you, his body covering you as his lips pressed on yours.

Harry kissed you like you were the one that mattered, like you were the brave hero, and he kissed you so deeply you almost believed it. You ground against him desperately. You were aware that you still wore your panties, and that was unacceptable.

Harry’s Quidditch-calloused hand squeezed your breast, trying to cup it in his hand.

“Harry,” you breathed against his lips, trying to crawl inside of him. He let you bite his bottom lip for a second before pulling back.

His hand slid down your chest to your panties. You inhaled.

“So pretty,” said Harry, as if he was proud of you, unzipping his jeans. “Just so pretty, huh? I thought about you since the day you moved in. Thought I could invite you over and fuck you on my hand until you cried, if you let me. Thought about how I needed you, and how I could make you feel safe.” 

You didn’t know what to say, so you just watched as he kicked off his jeans. You were overcome by emotion– he had liked you since you moved in?– and you missed it as he shed his boxers. Then you felt him over you, his hands on your hips, sliding your panties down. That you didn’t miss.

Harry threw your panties somewhere in his bedroom, then let his eyes devour you, hungry. You went to close your legs, shy, but he forced them open wider, his legs between yours, murmuring lavish praises of your body the entire time.

Harry kissed his way down your naked body, starting with your throat and ending up on your navel. He took his time, and by the time he got down to your hips, you were about to burst into flame.

He pressed a kiss to both of your hipbones, and you mewled, shifting your hips, trying to get him to do what you wanted.

Harry took the hint that you were desperate. He parted your legs further and pressed kisses on your inner thighs.

“Oh!” He was so close to you. So close. You felt your fingers thread through his messy hair like you had always secretly fantasized about. “Please, please—”

Harry pressed an open mouthed kiss on your core.

“Fuck!” The whine that came out of you was animal. You were worried about the party downstairs hearing you. You pressed deeper into his bed, trying not to writhe because you wanted him to keep going.

You felt Harry’s rough hands keeping your legs open, and then you felt the tip of his tongue drag slowly up your core.

Still thinking of the party, you brought your arm up to bite into it. A muffled scream came out of you.

“No,” commanded Harry, rubbing circles on your inner thighs with his thumbs. “I don’t care if they hear, I want to hear you. Be a good girl, alright?”

“Okay,” you said dazedly. You felt your arm move from your mouth, and then Harry licked you again, this time his tongue circling your clit.

Then he began his assault.

You could tell from the purposeful movements of his tongue that this was not his first time doing this. 

You wanted to thank those women.

Harry’s tongue circled your clit, swirling over it until your toes were clenching and you were screaming his name. You felt your hands press him closer to you, and then you felt him grin against you, and it was all too much. His fingers started gently playing with your entrance, and then before you knew it, he was telling you how good you were and sinking one of his fingers inside of you.

You were very aware that his hands had killed, had destroyed, as well as soothed you and protected you. The feeling that engendered was pure heroin.

“So pretty, honey,” said Harry, sinking another finger inside.

“H-H-Harry,” you managed, and he pressed a kiss to your clit before taking it in his mouth and sucking.

He did that for a minute, then frustratingly pulled back to say, “My friends all love you. They think you’re brilliant. And you are, you know?”

He twisted his fingers in you and hit a certain spot that made you scream. “’S alright, pretty girl.”

You sobbed his name, climax approaching.

He didn’t stop pumping his fingers in and out of you. “Stay with me, alright? You can go ahead and come, baby.”

You came with a cry, your wetness drenching his handsome face as he kept pumping his fingers.

You rode out your orgasm together. He slowly stopped fucking you on his hand, pulling back so you could see his wet face. Then, he moved up your body and covered your mouth with his, kissing you passionately. Lovingly.

You mewled. His fingers found your core, and he gathered your wetness on them. You thought for a second he was going to make you taste it, but instead he reached down to rub it on his cock.

You tried to move so you could look down and see him, but he had you pinned down well, and he kept kissing you, keeping you distracted.

So your hero jacked himself off using your wetness, lubricating his shaft.

“Y/N, talk to me,” he commanded against your lips, his words full of that authority.

“ Please, Harry,” you begged, gripping his arm.

You felt the tip of his dick against you.

You whined, grinding your hips against him. The tip ground against your clit, and you whimpered, reaching for him, nails digging into his back.

“It’s alright, honey,” said Harry, comfortingly, kissing your neck. “’M not going to hurt you.”

He tapped his tip against your clit. Your eyes rolled back into your head, head tipping back. He grabbed your face and forced you to look at him. “Look at me, honey. No one’s going to hurt you.”

“’M not afraid of you,” you breathed, looking into his eyes.

His hair fell all around him, looking soft and beautiful. There was unmistakable lust in his eyes—lust for you.

Harry reached down, and the tip of his dick edged into your heat. You cried out, your nails digging into his back.

He groaned your name as he pushed in more. You could feel that he was big. Your belly was full of heat.

Then, as you teared up from the stretch, he leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Good girl,” he said, and then he pushed all the way into you.

You lost track of who you were. What you were. The fact that you even existed. With Harry inside of you, all you saw were neon stars like fireworks exploding on the black canvas of your eyelids.

His strong arms caged you, and then he started to move.

“You’re safe,” he said, voice rough. “You’re safe.”

And you felt safe, safe with him, safe with yourself. For the first time in your entire life.

He fucked you particularly hard, and you squeaked, your legs wrapping around him. He fucked you deeper, and you babbled something nonsensically at him, needing him to keep going.

Harry leaned down to press a searing kiss on your throat. Then he hit a certain spot inside of you with his dick, and the words just came out, spilling from you. You screamed his name.

“Such a good girl.” Harry cupped one of your breasts, squeezing. The sensation went straight to your head. “It’s okay, baby, let it out.”

You babbled the word ‘Yes’ over and over again. His pace was bruising, fast and hard, and you could feel something building in your tummy. You felt like you would genuinely pass away if he stopped.

Harry pulled back from you, grabbing your legs and holding them up before slamming his dick back into you. You yelled. His hands smoothed over your sides, soothing. 

“You’re going to—fuck—” He was struggling to string words together as his pace staggered. He was close. “No one’s ever going to touch you again, do you understand me?”

“Yes!”

Harry groaned. You felt yourself squeeze down on him, and that was it. With a deep groan, Harry came inside of you, his dick never ceasing its pace of fucking into you. You could feel his come, but he didn’t stop fucking, didn’t stop pushing it deeper into you.

You came around him as he pushed his come into you. You whined, clenching down around him, writhing in the sheets. Then you blacked out, and once you came to, you felt that Harry was kissing you, laying next to you and pressing kisses on your bare shoulder.

He muttered a spell, and the wetness between your thighs was gone. You turned to him, not quite sure when you had felt this peaceful.

You opened your eyes, looking into his. You exhaled and pressed a kiss on the tip of his nose.

There were a million things to say. Thank you, for being a good friend, and saving you from the mirror and being alone and a thousand other things. But that felt too corny, too sappy.

Instead you thought about the party downstairs. “Do you think they heard us?”

Harry exhaled. “Don’t care.”

You looked over at him, your entire body flush with heat and afterglow.

“I mean,” he said, “It is my house.”

You felt yourself smile.