“You seriously woke up on the wrong side of the bed, huh?” you joked.

“You could say that.” Harry’s deep voice was muffled by the white pillow. “Come back. A few more minutes.”

You laughed, facing your closet again. “I need to make breakfast. The pancakes are waiting for us.” 

“Please, I’m so cold,” Harry begged, pulling the pillow off his head and propping himself up on his elbows. “You wouldn’t leave me here to freeze, right?”

You sighed, turning on your heel and walking over to the bed. “Fine. Only to help you warm up.” 

Harry shifted on the bed, making room for you. Under the thick blankets, Harry embraced you, pulling you on top of him. 

“You’re not even cold, Harry.” You muttered.

“Being cold is a mindset.”

“Being warm must be a mindset, too, no?” You giggled, sitting up and straddling him. Harry’s scarred upper body glistened in the warm, sparkling morning light. You could feel his heartbeat and every breath he took.  

His hands slid to your hips, holding you there. “You look good in the morning.”

“Do I?”

“Always do.”

You leaned over, kissed his cheek, and ruffled his brunette hair. “Well, you have a terrible bed head.”

Harry rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair in an attempt to fix it. “I take my compliment back.”

You messed up his hair, biting back a laugh.

"Oh, okay. This is what I get for being nice." Harry scowled, fixing his hair again.

Then, you quickly ran a hand through his hair again, ruining it.

With a groan, Harry gave up and pulled you down again. “Asshole.” 

You fell into a fit of laughter as Harry playfully attacked your neck with kisses. 

Truly, you felt safe in his strong arms.

A bird chirped loudly again, reminding you to start your day.

“The pancakes aren’t going to make themselves, Harry.” You murmured against his soft skin.

“Fine. I’m coming down with you, though.”

Smiling, you lifted yourself off of Harry and stood up. Walking to your clean closet, you picked up a pair of sweatpants and pulled them on. 

Your eyes flickered to Harry’s hoodie on the ground; you picked up the piece of clothing and put it on as well.

“Once you wear that, you’ll never give it back, huh?” Harry said, opening the bedroom door. 

“You know me.” You and Harry walked down the hallway and into the honey-lighted kitchen.

—-

Making the pancakes was fun–but surely chaotic.

“No, the recipe said two cups, not three!” You massaged your temples, squeezing your eyes shut, attempting to get rid of your headache.

Harry looked from you to the messy mixing bowl. He held a plastic measuring cup in one hand and a spatula in the other, wearing a proud grin.

“At least I did something,” Harry said. “Most of the time I would be on the couch, watching you struggle.”

“I would prefer you be useless rather than mess up our breakfast,” you huffed, brushing off flour from your clothes. Facing the mixing bowl again, you added more flour to try to thicken the mix. 

Carefully, Harry approached behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. “I’m sorry for messing up the pancake batter.”

“It’s okay.” You sighed; you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of regret for getting mad at him. 

“Are you sure?”

“Yes, Harry.”

“You sound upset.”

“It’s just pancakes.” 

“Do you still love me?”

You snorted. “Yes, I still love you, even with watery pancakes.” 

Harry laughed, then kissed your cheek. “You have flour on your nose.”

“Wipe it for me?”

Gently touching your chin, Harry turned your face toward him. He kissed the bridge of your nose, the spot that apparently had flour on it.

“I said wipe, not kiss.” You smiled. The batter was finished, so you poured some onto the already warm pan. The mix sizzled from the heat, creating small bubbles. 

“I wanted to kiss you.” Harry tightened his embrace around you. “Because I love you.”

You reached over for the bag of chocolate chips, sprinkling a few on the pancake. “I love you too.”

Harry rested his chin on your shoulder, watching you flip the lopsided pancake and slip it onto a glass plate after a few moments.

“Here you go.” You placed the plate on the counter and poured more batter on the hot pan. With a quick kiss on your cheek, Harry picked up the plate and ate the pancake, still standing right beside you.

This type of warmth–not just from the stove, but the love between you and Harry–was what you craved. 

You wanted to have every morning like this for the rest of your life, even if it meant weirdly shaped pancakes were the outcome.

salt air wafting through the small cracks in the wooden doors. old paint flaked off the greasy cabinets in the small kitchenette. not much space is available for the bed, which was just big enough for two people to squeeze in. 

outside were footsteps in the sand. the deafening sound of waves crashing was  hiding the quiet promises whispered between the two. the serene scenes were just enough for a calming year, or years. the pair wasn't sure for how long they would conceal the issues waiting for them back home, but for now, their tear stained cheeks would prove their need to stay a little longer in the spot they learned to love.

tangled in bedsheets with not much of the blanket left, was how y/n loved to wake up in the mornings. the sun was pouring down buckets of sunlight through the sheer curtain and the sound of the lonely waves was carried inside the tiny house. 

some mornings were brighter than others, a smile standing its ground on her tired face, the smell of fresh brewed coffee overcoming the salt water's odor.

other times, harry would be the first to wake in the eve of a nightmare, cold sweat covering his shivering body, leaving him restless and not wanting to rise from the safety of their bed. y/n, being last to give up to the scarring imaginary from her nightmares, would not argue to a day spent in the warmth of being so close to harry.

and although there were half spoken talks about the plans they had on that day, the only thing that seemed important to them was mending wounds the past had so cruelly left.

today was one of those. y/n's name passing by harry's lips as his arms remained hugging her waist came as a sweet alarm clock to the woman. they smiled and planned to drink some tea later on, both knowing there was a slim chance of any activity, but sharing passing thoughts, that would happen today.

suddenly, after minutes turned into hours, the woman decided that a tea would be satisfactory for the state that both of them had woken in. so, with a start, she rose from the bed, making harry pout, the side of her bed left in an unfamiliar cold state he was not fond of.

'where are you off to?' he asked, now, too in a standing position, the cold of the wooden floor making way through his feet.

'to make us some tea,' she explained while maneuvering through the small space of the rather empty home, as both of them did not have many belongings to fill the space of the cottage.

y/n did not think it would be so hard to make tea, but with harry's arms wrapped around her waist, his face hidden in her neck, not making a sound, it proved difficult. although it was as hard as ever to bring the kettle to the mugs, she found it quite comforting and when they sat back on the bed, mugs in hand and silence between them, she knew that this was home. even with their shared past of sadness, grief and tragedy, no one could take this away from her anymore.

harry smiled, leaned forward, and kissed her. the kiss leaving the unspoken words of good morning, good night, thank you, and i love you. each left for her interpretation.

You heard your name being yelled out from somewhere in the crowd. Ignoring it, you sipped some mysterious liquid from your plastic cup–were they even calling out your name?

The music blasted from the speakers and rang in your ears, numbing out every thought you had. Swaying to the beat, you bumped into objects–people, chairs, dogs; you really had no idea.

You tripped, but caught yourself in time before falling into someone’s chest. Looking up, you locked eyes with a taller boy. Noticing his growing smile, you scowled.

“Ew.” You mumbled, flipping him off and staggering away. 

Where the fuck was Ginny? You thought, dumping your drink out on the ground and clumsily walking to the packed kitchen. I swear, if she's fucking some guy-

You poured vodka into your now-empty cup, gulping it down with one swallow.

She should’ve invited me if she was fucking some hot guy.

You laughed out loud to yourself and leaned on the counter in front of you. A few bottles tipped over, crashing on the ground, but you ignored it. 

The buzzing feeling in your head gave you enough ecstasy to last you years.

A girl was getting fucked on the counter beside you, so you couldn’t help but glance over. Seeing her flushed face and hearing her whimpers made your brain flicker. 

A quiet moment of realization, leading to a simple conclusion–

You were horny.

Crunching the plastic cup in your hand, you forcefully pushed yourself off the counter and stumbled away, bumping into a person on the way to the living room. 

“Hey- Y/N,” a person shouted. You turned, squinting your eyes to make out a tall ginger boy.

“Ron,” You grinned. As you tried walking over, your knees buckled beneath you. Ron instinctively held your arms at your sides, helping you stand.

“Too many drinks, huh?” He laughed. You shook your head.

“Nope…no…never too many.” You bit your lip, watching Ron’s eyebrows slowly furrow.

“Are you…alright?”

“Mhm. Yeah. Just…yeah.” You cleared your throat, looking behind him. “Where’s…um…Harry?”

Ron raised a brow. “Just went to the bathroom, why?”

“Ronald! Get your ass over here!” A rough voice yelled from the kitchen.

Ron slowly let go of your arms, stepping back. “I’ll see you around.” Before he left, he weakly smiled. “No more drinks, yeah? And don’t even think about getting back with Harry.”

Watching him join a drinking competition, you flopped down on a couch, unaware of whoever was around you. Every time you blinked, you saw sparks–stars. 

Ginny had taught you to think of the beach when you’re drunk. Water apparently helps with nausea. 

Wait.

Water. Like a sink. Or a bathtub.

A grin grew on your sparkly lips.

The bathroom.

You stood up from the couch and patted your hair down. Fumbling to the bathroom next to the kitchen, you stopped.

You knew it wouldn’t be a good idea to talk with your ex, Harry. 

But this nagging feeling kept pulling you closer to him.

Banging your fists on the wood, you implored, “Open up.” Once you pressed your forehead against the door, the doorknob rattled, then it opened.

There you saw Harry–brown hair messily falling over his forehead, no shirt on, and glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. His fingers pinched a burning cigarette. 

You felt a knot twist in your stomach.

Okay. Holy shit, you panicked internally.

“Y/N.” Harry raised his eyebrows. “Hey.”

“Hi.” You replied, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear. Your eyes kept flickering down to his lips. “How…how are you?”

“I’m fine. What’s…what’re you doing?” 

Awkwardly, you hazily looked at the ground. “I just…um, wanted to talk. To you.”

“Yeah, that’s…that’s what you’re doing.” Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Do you need the bathroom?”

“No, I just said…” You trailed off, looking into his stormy green eyes. “You’re really hot.”

Harry’s lips parted.

You felt your heartbeat in your throat.

Oh my god, what am I thinking?

“You’re really fucking drunk right now, Y/N,” Harry said slowly. A roar of cheers came from behind you–probably from the competition– but Harry’s eyes never left your face.

“So what?”

“You don’t mean that.”

“Yes, I do. I miss you, Harry.” You persisted, stepping in closer.

“No, you don’t.”

At that, you swiftly placed a hand on the side of his head and kissed him.

A long, passionate kiss that tasted like smoke and whiskey.

The thing was, Harry didn’t let go. Didn’t back away, or flinch. 

He only placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer to deepen the kiss.

Leaving each other’s lips, Harry looked at you with lustful eyes. 

“Fuck, we really shouldn’t do this.” He mumbled, breathing heavily.

You wrapped your arms around his neck with a mischievous grin. “But we really should.” Kissing him again, he pulled you into the bathroom, shut the door, and locked it with a snap.

–

“Fuck- be quiet,” Harry hissed, thrusting deeper into your wet cunt. You bit your lip hard, the side of your face pressed down on the cold bathroom counter. 

You wanted this. Harry knew too, he wanted it just as bad as your horny ass did.

You just weren't sure whether 'sober you' would've wanted this.

He slammed his hard dick into you, tilting his head back in pleasure, a small grunt leaving his lips occasionally.

You could hear the booming party from inside the humid bathroom. The neon lights slipped from the crack beneath the door. The lingering taste of vodka on your tongue makes your mouth water in need.

“Harry…” You moaned, squeezing your eyes shut as you felt the knot in your stomach tighten.

“A bit faster, yeah? You drunk slut,” Harry murmured. His pace picked up, both of your moist skins clapping against each other.

“Shit!” You whined loudly. Harry tugged your hair harshly, making your head lift inches from the counter.

“What the fuck did I say? Shut the fuck up!” 

You grinned, quietly enjoying the roughness. 

Am I still drunk? Are these sober thoughts? 

This was the high you’d dreamt of every night after you and Harry had broken up.

Now, you’re taking his full length at some college party.

Rolling your eyes back, you felt your stomach tense and the knot release. White lights flashed in your dizzy head. You felt like you were flying.

With your pussy convulsing around Harry’s cock, he groaned, his warm release seeping out.

His hands slid down to your waist, gripping it as he weakly thrusted through his high.

The doorknob rattled.

“Who’s in here?” A female voice called out, banging the wooden door.

Harry froze. “Gimme a sec!”

“Hurry the fuck up!”

Harry slowly pulled out your sensitive cunt, pulling up his pants. You turned around, still breathing deeply, and sorely leaned against the counter. 

“Do you need help walking-?”

“No, I’m okay.” 

He picked up your torn underwear covered in slick, holding it out for you.

“I don’t know if you still…want this,” Harry muttered. You laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I won’t need it.”

A smirk grew on Harry’s lips as he balled it up and shoved it in his pocket.

“Oh, that’s new.” You raised your eyebrows. Harry placed his hands on your waist and kissed your lips.

“A souvenir.” Harry let go of your body and opened the door. “I’ll tell the girl to give you a second.”

“Thanks.”

Before Harry walked back to his friends, he looked back at you. “See you soon, yeah?”

Smiling, you nodded. “See you, babe.”

You wouldn’t lie, saying that this didn’t hurt.

You signed up for this. It’s how you made a living. 

Selling sex videos on the internet for horny people who pay hundreds, just to see you fucked up and ruined.

You’ve only made three videos by now. You had two more to go today. That’s the deal you made with Harry.

“No, let me hear you, baby.” Harry rubbed his thumb in circles on your soft skin. 

“Too- fuck- too much, Harry,” You choked out.

“Yeah? Too big?” Harry mocked, snapping his hips forward.

As you felt his dick go deeper into you, your back arched up, making you scream.

Harry tilted his head up, hand still gripping his phone. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

You felt like you were seeing stars with every thrust. The purple-magenta LED light glowed against you and Harry’s skin, the smell of weed waving through the air.

It was an ethereal state you wanted to die in.

Your watery eyes flickered below–you could see the bulge of Harry’s dick from inside you. Another roll of his hips made you whimper, and a tear slipped down your cheek.

“You see that, baby? You can see me in you,” Harry patted your lower abdomen, rubbing his hand around the bulge.

You weakly nodded, biting your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. 

Harry continued sliding in and out, camera facing on your numb body. 

“God, you look so fucking good like this,” Harry groaned, his grip on your hip tightening more and more. “So fucking needy and all mine.”

Your stomach tensed, indicating your orgasm was coming soon. The knot was getting tighter and tighter.

Harry pushed you right to the edge. He always did.

“Tell me you want it, baby. Lemme hear it.” Harry growled, tracing his tip around your wet folds. 

“Harry…please…” you begged. Harry pressed on your sensitive clit, making you whine again.

“Please what?”

“Fuck me!”

With that, Harry rammed into your dripping pussy, hitting that spongy spot constantly.

The knot ripped. A moan tore from the back of your throat, making your eyes roll back. 

Harry’s body stilled, thrusts going rigid, then you felt his warm liquid shoot inside of you. 

Stuffed with his cum, he fucked it further into you. Harry put his phone closer to your pussy, showing how full you were.

You felt the warm semen drip down your cunt; every thrust in your overly sensitive pussy made you hear static.

“Stop…Harry…” you whispered, already feeling lightheaded.

He immediately slowed to a stop and put his phone down next to him. “Sorry baby, does it hurt?”

You nodded, looking at his lust-laced face. His eyes were glistening—misty—a haze that asked for more.

“I’m- no, I just need a…break,” you murmured, catching your breath from the violent pace Harry thrusted at. 

Harry simply rubbed your thigh, gently pulled his half-hard cock out of your weakly throbbing pussy, and leaned down to kiss your stomach. 

“Just tell me when you wanna go again.”

You nodded hesitantly, your leg bouncing. “Yup. I know.”

“Sixth. Six.” Harry pressed. “That much caffeine is enough to kill a Victorian child.”

You snorted, pushing your chair back. If he wouldn’t get it, you would.

Harry’s hand grabbed yours. “Okay, fine, I’ll get it for you. If you die, it’s not my fault.”

As Harry walked over to the cashier, you checked the time: 6:12 PM. 

You zipped your jacket up. Though the cafe was warm, the customers coming in and out the back door let in a heavy breeze. Yawning, you rubbed your eyes.

In thirty minutes we’ll go, you thought, starting to organize the notebooks on the messy table. Just need to finish this part…

“Here.” Harry set a cup of steaming dark coffee in front of you.

With a grin, you looked up at his tired face. “Thank you, Harry.”

“Seven. Seven cups now.”

You rolled your eyes. “Noted.”

Your eyes flickered back to your notebook filled with scribbles; you took a sip of the warm coffee.

Lighter. Less…chocolate-y.

“Harry!” You scoffed playfully, setting down the cup and looking at the innocent-looking boy across from you.

“Hm?” Harry bit back a smile.

“Decaf? Are you kidding me?”

He couldn’t help but let out a laugh. 

“And you’re laughing. I see how it is.” You leaned back in your chair and picked up your chewed pencil.

“No- okay, I’m sorry, I did it because I care,” Harry recollected himself, crossing his arms with that stupid sly grin. “You could have a panic attack with that much caffeine in your system.”

You sighed heavily, continuing your studying and making a mental note to ignore him for the rest of your time being here. 

But he persisted.

“Are you mad at me now?” He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “You’re all shaky–wait, probably from the six hundred milligrams of caffeine you’ve consumed in the past three hours.”

“You’re such an idiot, Harry,” You smirked, smacking his forearm. You tried your best to contain your jittery body–thanks to the coffee–but you couldn’t help but shift in your seat constantly.

“Not an idiot, just observing you move in your seat like there’re ants on your ass,” Harry chuckled, looking out the cafe window. 

The sun was beginning to set, its rays fighting their way through the thick clouds. The sheets of rain splattered loudly against the glass, merging with the chatter, clinks of glasses, and the opening of doors.

“What I’ve also observed is that you haven’t written a single thing for ten minutes.”

You put your head in your hands. “I know I haven’t. I just can’t…think.”

Harry reached over, slowly shutting your laptop. You could still feel its warmth from the radiating vibrant light. Maybe that’s what was giving you that massive headache.

“Time to go home, then, huh?” Harry ruffled your hair, standing up and piling up the books and paper. 

“But I’m not done, Harry,” you huffed. 

“I know you aren’t,” Harry placed all your materials into your book bag, buttoned it, and slung it over his shoulder. “But you have tomorrow. And the day after that. And the week after that. There’s time; no need to rush.”

Sighing, you hesitantly got up from your chair. Your legs felt numb after sitting for hours.

“Ready to go now? Or are you grieving?” Harry joked, nudging your shoulder. You rolled your eyes, following Harry to the exit.

The cold air stung your cheeks; thin water drops hit your face as you and Harry walked down the sidewalk. 

“Thanks…” you mumbled, crossing your arms.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“Not letting me die from caffeine and…overworking myself.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, a puff of fog coming from his lips. “Anytime. As long as my bestfriend’s still alive.”

You moved closer to Harry for warmth, smelling his scent of cinnamon and vanilla.

Harry cared–truly–even through small acts.

And with him, you’ve never felt more loved in your life.

Harry simply enjoyed your presence. He didn’t have to explain himself to you all the time. You wouldn't push him to talk about his feelings. He liked that.

Every comforting hug you gave him, he melted into. A bit of weight lifted from his shoulders when he was with you, and it did so from even seeing your face.

So when he told you he was having trouble sleeping, you slept with him. You would lie on his chest as he ran his fingers through your hair.

Harry would sometimes shake in his sleep, his breathing coming in unhinged patterns. You would calm him by tightly holding his hand.

He would do the same for you—in the fifth year, he held your hair back as you threw up in the toilet. When you were injured, he would bandage your wound flawlessly. Every time you were insecure about something, he would immediately make you feel better about yourself.

It wasn’t all fueled from attraction.

It was bonding. An understanding. A way to cope.

Just two friends finding comfort in each other.

You truly loved him. You would never deny it. 

Ron would whistle teasingly every time Harry’s hands lingered on your waist longer than expected after a hug. Hermione would wink at you when you fixed Harry’s messy hair.

But it wasn’t the time for girly confessions or love letters. 

A war was going on. People were dying, systems collapsing , and the Ministry growing corrupt.

You and Harry had Voldemort to worry about first.

—

The waves crashed upon the rocks ferociously, loud enough for your eyes to snap open.

Dobby’s lifeless body flashed through your mind as you blinked off the fragments of your violent dreams. Propping yourself up on your elbows, you glanced to your left.

The spot next to you was cold. 

You swung your legs over the hard mattress and stepped on the creaky floorboards. The cottage was still, acting as if it were anxious with every gust of wind.

Walking down the stairs, the temperature dropped, causing you to shiver. The living room was also empty, wind chimes softly bumping into each other.

In the kitchen, windows were plastered everywhere, moonlight illuminating the area. Pots and pans hung on hooks above the stove and spice racks lined the walls next to the cutting boards.

It was a comfortable, safe space that left a tinge of light in your heart.

Out of the big window perched above the sink, you squinted, making out a figure sitting outside in the sand, watching the mediocre waves dribble onto the shore.

It was your bestfriend, Harry. Alone.

You opened the door and were greeted with a freezing draft. Speckles of sea water hit your body as you walked closer to the brown-haired boy.

Without a word, you took a seat next to him and feebly crossed your scarred arms, preserving as much warmth as you could.

The silence spoke louder than any words could—not a single scream or cry could fill the hollow space between you both.

As you looked over at him, his face was dimmed by the murky grey sky. His eyebrows were furrowed, a concentrated expression plastered on his face. You observed every inch of his drained face—his eyebags, the cuts on his cheek, and his busted lip.

Memorizing it like it was the last time you would.

“You need to sleep.” You mumbled after a second, pulling your knees to your chest. Harry pushed his wobbly glasses up the bridge of his nose.

“I can’t.”

 “My presence isn’t helping anymore?”

Harry shook his head, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve. “No, it’s not that. I just need to…think.”

Your eyes found their way back to the subtle sea, memorizing its pattern—like breathing: the waves curl, building up slowly, then crash down. “That’s all you’ve been doing lately. You should rest.”

“You need to as well,” Harry responded. “Are you cold?”

Before you could even reply, he shrugged off his jacket and placed it over your shoulders. The warmness embraced you fully.

“Thanks.” You smiled, looking into his adoring green eyes.

“You're welcome.”

You leaned your head slowly on his shoulder, looking straight out to the sea.

“How are you feeling?” Harry asked after a brief moment, 

“Horrible.”

“Yeah. Me too.”

You closed your eyes, listening to the ecstatic sounds of the wind.

“What’re we…going to do next?” You asked, the weight of the question lifting from your back. 

“Find the rest of the horcruxes,” he said shortly. “Protect bystanders; not let the Death Eaters kill anyone else in the process.”

You hummed in understanding. The rocks ahead glistened under the moonlight, sparkling like they were bedazzled with diamonds.

The silence persuaded you, not preparing you for Harry’s next words. 

“Y/n, you’re not…coming with us.”

You blinked, lifting your head from his shoulder. With a frown, you asked, “What?”

Harry kept staring blankly at the ocean, jaw clenched.

“The next time we leave,” he said quietly, “you’re staying here.”

“I…I can’t stay, Harry.” You trembled beneath his jacket—not from the oncoming wind, but by bubbling frustration rising in your chest.

Hesitantly, Harry’s eyes found yours. “It’s safer here. Bill and Fleur can protect you.” He sighed, softly taking your hand. His fingers intertwined with yours, then he whispered, barely audible, “I’ve already lost Dobby. I can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

A breath hitched in your throat as tears stung your eyes. Harry noticed, tightening his hold on your hand.

“You can’t keep deciding for me. I don’t want to stay.”

“I’m trying to protect you—”

“And who’s protecting you, Harry?” You huffed, a single tear falling down your cheek. “I’m sick of pretending that I’m not worried about you!”

Your emotions got the best of you. You thought you'd never say it.

But now you did.

With his other hand, he wiped the tear from your face, reluctance lacing his every movement. “I don’t want you to worry. That was never my intention.”

“Then why are you making me feel like this? Like I didn’t just get abducted with you!” You sniffed, breathing heavily. 

With every passing second, Harry’s heart was crumbling. 

You meant everything to him.

And now his reason to live was slowly falling apart.

“Everyone around me dies, y/n.” He mumbled. 

“Then let me at least die with you.”

A pause. A tense, unsure moment.

“Don’t say that.” His voice cracked, shaking his head.

Harry pulled his hand away, standing abruptly from the sand. “Don’t talk like dying beside me is some sort of…privilege.”

“Then don’t tell me that abandoning me is ‘protecting’ me!” You stood, facing him. “I can’t-” your voice broke, tears streaming down your cheeks before you could stop them. “I can’t be alone.”

Harry’s stomach twisted in regret.

For years, you were forced to live single-handedly because of your past.

The nights you remembered, you would cry to Harry.

Both of your parents were tortured and killed by Death Eaters.

You didn’t want to relive it all again. You didn’t want to be lonely anymore, not when it reminded you of it all. You couldn’t even sleep in a dark room by yourself.

Harry only realized it now. 

It showed, flickering across his face. A quiet sob from your parted lips broke his train of thought.

“You know why, Harry, you know everything. I spent years wishing I had done something—anything—to save them.” You gasped, wiping your wet face with the sleeve of Harry’s jacket. “I don’t want to watch you die while I sit here. I’m not going to live with that type of guilt!”  

Your heartbeat threateningly increased as your hands clenched into fists, fingernails digging in your palms. The wind howled in your ears as if telling you to say words to fill the emptiness.

But you had nothing left to say. Your tears were louder than any sentence you could’ve constructed.

Wide-eyed, Harry slowly stepped toward your shaking body. Stopping inches away, he tucked a piece of stray hair behind your ear with remorseful eyes. “I’m sorry, y/n.” He cupped the side of your face gently. “I just…didn’t know how else to keep you safe.”

You looked away, hicupping, eyes puffy. “But you know exactly what affects me, yet you still push it back into my life.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” Harry whispered. He noticed your still, nervous demeanor; he wrapped his arms around your waist, embracing you. “I’d never hurt you.” With a squeeze—as if piecing you together like a broken glass figure—he said against your head, “I promise.”

You reciprocated the hug, holding him tightly and biting back another sob.

You were drained. Sick of fear, sick of feeling like you were drowning every second.

The waves began to rush more violently, as did the gusts of wind; your hair whipped delicately in the damp breeze.

After a few seconds, Harry pulled away to look at you, wiping your face from any lingering tears. “Do you…forgive me?”

The corners of your trembling lips turned upwards. “I-I think I do.”

Harry’s expression softened into something painfully relieved.

His eyes flickered to your lips—so quickly, you thought it didn’t even happen. Like a ghost, or some imaginative fantasy.

But he leaned in, slowly but surely, his breath fanning across your face.

And before either of you could overthink it, his lips brushed against yours, then he kissed you.

A soft, sweet kiss that made you smile against his lips.

Your hands trailed to the sides of his neck, deepening the kiss. His hands rubbed the sides of your waist comfortingly, the moonlight shining brightly over both of you.

Separating from your face, he just stood there. You did too, simply admiring his face and his wide eyes. He looked dazed staring at you—as if you weren’t even real. Neither of you broke eye contact, both of your breaths coming in quick paces.

The loud sea filled their ears. It didn’t seem to bother your intrusive thoughts of disbelief, shock, and the temptation of wanting more.

Harry’s hands absentmindedly stayed planted on your waist. The close space between you was filled with uncertainty, yet…

Understanding.

Another shiver ran down your spine. It was very late, and the morning had many things planned. You blinked, reluctantly pulling away from his grasp.

 “Let’s go inside?” You murmured with a slight smile.

Harry gently took your hand in his, rubbing his thumb soothingly over your knuckles. “Yeah. Good idea.”

As you two walked quietly, engulfed by darkness, thoughts still lingered heavily in your mind. 

It wasn’t our fault for being afraid, you thought, stepping carefully through the sand.

Trauma’s just a weird thing most of us can’t avoid.

With a smile, you tilted your head, spotting Harry walking over. Stopping beside you, he looked into the distance.

“Hello.” You beamed, observing his face. Patting the spot next to you, you murmured, “Sit.”

Harry obliged, slowly sitting next to you. You sniffed, smelling fresh linen and clean laundry.

“Were you cleaning?” You asked, raising an eyebrow. 

Harry scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah, I helped fold your clothes. Well, tried to.”

You laughed, leaning your head on his shoulder—a few birds scattered in the light orange-blue sky, chirping as they weaved.

Harry’s hand brushed against yours. Unhurriedly, you intertwined your fingers with his calloused ones.

“I was thinking we get a dog.”

“A dog?”

“Yup. A golden retriever. Or a Labrador.” Harry shifted a bit. “Good for a family.”

Your heart melted. Imagining Harry with a dog was a sight worth seeing.

“A bunny wasn’t enough?” You inquired. 

Shaking his head, he muttered, “They eat too much.”

You giggled, watching the bright yellow sun rise slowly, as if it were being lassoed higher and higher.

Harry would absolutely make a great father.

He was gentle, patient, and understanding. Never rushed anything—always enjoyed the moment as it was.

Not to mention, Harry truly cared for the people he loved.

He cared about you. Immensely.

You smiled to yourself as you immersed yourself in thoughts about him, the silence being filled with the long grass rustling against each other from the breeze. 

“What’re you thinking about?” Harry mumbled after a moment. 

You shrugged. “Us.”

“Is that so?”

“Mhm.” 

“What about us?”

“Our future. Especially the names of our children.” You lifted your head from his shoulder and faced him. 

Harry’s corners of his lips turned upward. “Think of anything you’d like?”

“No…not yet.” With a frown, you looked back into the distance.

Harry tucked a piece of hair behind your ear. “What about your middle name? It’s pretty.”

That idea sparked something in your brain. “Hm. I actually kind of like that.”

“Yeah?” Harry leaned forward a bit, grazing his fingers on your cheek. Chills went down your spine at his touch–the ghost of his fingertips on your delicate skin.

“Yeah.” You looked at him with innocent eyes, then flickered to his lips. As you fluttered your eyes shut, he took that cue to kiss you.

A passionate, soft kiss that engulfed your senses with warmth. 

The taste of sweet Carolina cherries from the garden in your backyard filled your mouth; you could feel Harry’s thumb skimming across your cheekbone.

Hesitantly, you defiantly pulled away from his touch.

Harry raised his eyebrows in confusion. “Did I do something wrong, baby?”

“You didn’t say ‘I love you’ before kissing me.” You furrowed your brows. “You always say it.”

He grinned, kissing the tip of your nose. “I love you. Better?”

With a hum, you leaned in again, kissing him lightly. Harry reciprocated, deepening the feathery kiss into a meaningful one. 

You soaked into it–the touch, the loss of breath, the knot in your stomach yearning for more.

Every inch of you loved Harry. You really did, and it would never change.

You couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with him.