Work Text:
“Of course, Staghart’s pretty good, but the Chasers are completely uncoordinated! They lost the Quaffle during a Pembroke Pass, for Merlin’s sake!” Ron complained. “I mean, that’s one of the simplest passes there is!”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione were gathered around the kitchen table in the house that they’d all shared since the Battle of Hogwarts almost two years earlier. After a long and busy day (most days were, as the trio had to go about their regular business while avoiding the paparazzi), the three friends had sat down for their regular evening hangout over ice-cold butterbeers. At the moment, Harry and Ron were discussing the latest Quidditch match between the Falmouth Falcons and the Kenmare Kestrels, much to Hermione’s exasperation.
“Probably would’ve been fine, if the Kestrels’ Keeper wasn’t so good,” Harry pointed out.
“Yeah, at least Phipps held off the Kestrels’ Chasers well enough,” Ron conceded. “But still! 340 to 110!” He slumped in his chair in disappointment that England’s team was doing so badly.
“On the bright side, they’re not the bottom of the league,” Harry answered, torn between amusement and sympathy. “The Chudley Cannons still hold that honor.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that,” Hermione exclaimed, glancing at Ron.
At this, Ron sat up and looked at Hermione in confusion. “Since when do you care about Quidditch?”
Harry turned to look at Hermione, too, and she blushed.
“Well, no, I don’t care, I mean— I just know they’re your favorite team, Ron, so I’m sorry to hear that they’re not doing so well.”
Hermione blushed even harder, and Harry struggled not to laugh.
“Oh, that was years ago,” Ron said dismissively. “Merlin, I was so obsessed with them as a kid…. Remember my room was all orange with Chudley Cannons posters and stuff?”
Harry did remember; he’d thought his eyes had turned orange when he’d been in Ron’s room for the first time.
“Hey, Hermione,” Ron added, suddenly laughing. “I can imagine your room as a kid… books and books and books and books and books….”
Hermione slapped him lightly on the arm, but then she smiled. “Well, yes, there were quite a few books…. All the walls were covered in bookshelves, actually, and I had my bed in one corner and this reading nook in another corner—”
“A bedroom full of books with a reading nook is exactly the sort of bedroom I’d expect you to have,” Harry teased.
“Thank goodness for Expansion Charms, or our room would be impossible to get into with all the books in the way!” Ron added.
“Oh, shut it, you two. Harry, what was your bedroom like?”
Harry thought back to Number 4, Privet Drive. “After I moved out of the cupboard, I got Dudley’s second bedroom—”
“Second bedroom?” Ron exclaimed.
“Cupboard?” Hermione repeated at the same time.
Harry froze.
Crap.
He hadn’t meant to mention the cupboard; it had just slipped out. He’d never told Ron and Hermione, or anyone really, about what things were really like at the Dursleys….
Harry decided to just ignore Hermione’s question in favor of answering Ron’s.
“Yeah, Dudley had two bedrooms, one for—”
“Harry, what do you mean by moving out of the cupboard?” Hermione interrupted again. Her eyes were narrowed suspiciously, and Ron was looking at him strangely.
Under the table, Harry dug his fingernails hard into his palms, trying not to panic. “It’s nothing, Hermione,” he muttered, avoiding her gaze. “So— um — one room was for him, and the—”
Ron cut him off. “You’re a terrible liar, mate. We’re not going to let this go. What’s the cupboard?”
Harry realized that he was not going to get out of this conversation. Berating himself for ever mentioning it, he dug his fingernails in harder. Looking down at the table, away from his two friends, Harry huffed out a harsh breath and decided to just get it over with.
“When I was little, I slept in the cupboard under the stairs.”
There was a pause.
“Holy shit,” Ron whispered. “Holy shit….”
“Harry— oh my god… I—” Hermione began, but then she broke off.
Harry kept his gaze firmly on the table. “It’s fine, guys, really. It’s not a big deal.”
“Harry, that’s really, really terrible….” Hermione said in a quiet, horrified voice. “Making a child sleep in a cupboard— oh, Harry!”
She suddenly jumped up and rushed to throw her arms around Harry. Consumed as he was by memories of the Dursleys, Harry couldn’t stop himself from throwing up his arms to shield his face and pushing his chair back so fast that he fell to the floor, hitting his arm hard on the ground. Hermione stopped suddenly and cried out in horror; Ron yelled, “Harry!” and jumped to his feet.
Harry’s face felt hot. There was a pounding in his ears and his whole body tingled as energy or magic or fear or something rushed through him.
I need to get out of here— I need to get out—
Harry scrambled to his feet and ran out of the kitchen, out the front door of the house, before Ron or Hermione could react. He ran across the front yard in the darkness, towards the forest that lined the edge of the property. He ran and ran and his chest burned and his legs ached and his vision was blurred. Harry collapsed to the ground and realized he was crying.
Calm down Potter, he scolded himself. Think. Assess.
Harry leaned back against a tree, the bark rough on his back, and took two sharp breaths, sucking in the frigid air. He could still feel the panic, but he could breathe, and his head cleared a little. He looked around to see where he was.
Somewhere in the forest, though he wasn’t sure where. He’d been running for five minutes maybe, so he couldn’t be too far from the house.
A quick Point Me spell indicated which direction the house was in, and he rose to his feet and began walking in that direction. He lit his wand with a Lumos and pointed it at the ground so he could see where he was going. Harry realized that he could just Apparate back to right outside the wards, but he wanted a little more time to think before he had to talk to Ron and Hermione again.
They probably think you’re a coward, he told himself bitterly. Running away like that— Hermione was just trying to hug you! God, you’re so stupid. And mentioning the cupboard! Everything was fine until you blurted that out. Nineteen years of keeping it a secret, and then you just go and tell them! They pity you now… think you’re weak….
Harry’s head jerked up suddenly as he heard shouts from up ahead. It was Ron’s voice.
“Harry— mate— come back! Where are you?”
Then Hermione’s voice. “Harry, we don’t have to talk now. I’m really sorry, please come back!”
Guilt constricted Harry’s throat when he heard the fear in Ron’s voice and the anguish in Hermione’s.
And now you’ve upset them…. You ruin everything.
Harry swallowed hard, forcing his voice to work. “I’m here, guys!” he called out.
“Harry?! Oh, Harry!” Hermione suddenly burst through the trees in front of him, followed immediately by Ron.
Hermione started towards Harry, then stopped. Ron slowly stepped forward, holding up his hands as if in surrender. Harry felt suddenly angry that they were treating him like a frightened animal. Then the loathing turned inwards.
I’m such a freak.
“Harry?” Ron said softly.
Harry didn’t look at him or Hermione, instead turning his head to look around at the trees. “Yeah?”
“Why don’t you come back now?” Ron suggested. “We’ll just go straight to bed… we don’t have to talk about anything….”
“Okay,” Harry said flatly.
The three headed towards the house and quickly got ready for bed without a word. They got into their beds in the room that they shared, and Hermione turned off the light with a whispered, “Nox”.
Though no one spoke, it was a long time before any of them fell asleep.
The half-finished Butterbeers sat forgotten on the table.