(very slow updates)
"I don't want to hurt you."
"You could never hurt me."
ᗢ + ϟ
Y/N Russo was just 9 years old when she came across a glowing, yellow stone.
She was living in a cottage, somewhere in New York, with her uncle for the summer. Y/N dec...
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"Shit..."
✷·ﾟᗢ ⋆ ♔ ⑨ ¾ ϟ ☾ ﾟ·✷
Madam Pomfrey insisted on keeping Harry in the hospital wing for the rest of the weekend. He didn't argue or complain, but he wouldn't let her throw away the shattered remnants of his Nimbus Two Thousand. He knew he was being stupid, knew that the Nimbus was beyond repair, but Harry couldn't help it; he felt as though he'd lost one of his best friends.
He had a stream of visitors, all intent on cheering him up. Hagrid sent him a bunch of earwiggy flowers that looked like yellow cabbages, and Ginny Weasley, blushing furiously, turned up with a get-well card she had made herself, which sang shrilly unless Harry kept it shut under his bowl of fruit.
The Gryffindor team visited again on Sunday morning, this time accompanied by Wood, who told Harry (in a hollow, dead sort of voice) that he didn't blame him in the slightest. Y/N, Ron, and Hermione left Harry's bedside only at night. But nothing anyone said or did could make Harry feel any better, because they knew only half of what was troubling him.
He hadn't told anyone about the Grim, not even Ron, Hermione, or Y/N, because he knew Ron would panic and Hermione would scoff. He didn't know how Y/N would react, though. But from the couple of months of knowing her, he knew that she most likely would react the best out of the three. So, he decided to tell her about the Grim.
After getting her alone at the Hospital Wing, he explained everything to her. She didn't scoff or panic, she just listened closely and nodded through everything he said and didn't interrupt. Though Y/N didn't show it, she was panicking on the inside, but she stayed calm and collected on the outside. He finished explaining everything and looked at her, waiting for her to say something to make him feel better.
She sighed and started to rub his arm, "You don't have to worry about his whole Grin —"
"Grim," said Harry, slowly smiling.
"— Whatever. Because from what I've heard so far, you're immortal. You can survive anything. No offense, but if Tom Riddle couldn't finish you off, I don't think the Grin-Grim thing would be the thing to finish you off."
This made him feel a little better, but the fact remained, however, that it had now appeared twice, and both appearances had been followed by near-fatal accidents; the first time, he had nearly been run over by the Knight Bus; the second, fallen hundred feet from his broomstick. Was the Grim going to haunt him until he actually died? Was he going to spend the rest of his life looking over his shoulder for the beast?
And then there were the dementors. Harry felt sick and humiliated every time he thought of them. Everyone said the dementors were horrible, but no one else collapsed every time they went near one. No one else heard echoes in their head of their dying parents.
Because Harry knew who that screaming voice belonged to now. He had heard her words, heard them over and over again during the night hours in the hospital wing while he lay awake, staring at the strips of moonlight on the ceiling. When the dementors approached him, he heard the last moments of his mother's life, her attempts to protect him, Harry, from Lord Voldemort, and Voldemort's laughter before he murdered her.... Harry dozed fitfully, sinking into dreams full of clammy, rotted hands and petrified pleading, jerking awake to dwell again on his mother's voice. This is the part Harry decided to not tell Y/N, though he didn't know that she heard his mothers screams too.
