𝐀𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬- 𝐚 𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐏𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐦𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬

Harry- 14. Heart Me

Warnings: modern!au

A/n: you can find a playlist on spotify by the name 'Heart Me'. enjoy!

_

If laziness had a face, Harry asserted inside his mind, it would have definitely been him and Y/n. Taking a quick glance out of the heavily fogged window, he sighed inaudibly at the chewing thought of what happened last week when Y/n had decided to switch to this sleep alluring music.

He needed some cacophony.

As he trudged out of the little divine they made on the couch, the girl was shaken from her reverie. Cold waft was never her thing.

Screw you, Potter.

Her eyes lingered on his receding figure as he tiptoed out of the room and somewhere two rooms away, the door crashed shut like a Potter made missile was shot through a cannon.

Merlin, she rolled her eyes as she reluctantly shook off the blanket that squished her into the so-called infinite horizon of the couch, this boy loved being secretive as much as he loved troubles (she wasn't going to herald that he loved her more than anything...what's the fun if your words ain't star-crossed?)

As the sharp bang clashed and echoed through the otherwise serene apartment of theirs, Y/n was already trying not to wrap her head around this oncoming surprise...maybe this would be the forthcoming of the wild Potter as if the long gone Dark Lord had possessed him again.

She well knew that he wasn't into gory stuff, at least not with her. So what was this upcoming hurricane about?

As if on a cue, the wooden door was banged into her face, and Harry's eyes, much to the prior contentment, turned berating as he got the brunt of the situation.

Yeah, very well, actually screw you, Potter.

"I'm-"

"Shut up," Y/n hissed, turning away from him, the murderous glint of red flaring through her orbs.

"Sorry," Harry mumbled, timidly flexing his burly arms, a strange habit he caught over time whenever he messed up with things.

As he watched her storming away from him, well actually towards the kitchen counter, he was mentally (very prudently) calculating what ways the kitchen could aid to murder a man.

Knife? Check.

A murderous girlfriend? Checked for the whole lifetime.

As he sheepishly advanced towards the living room, the sound base spurring some lazy songs much to his displeasure was enough.

Hurricane Potter (if you even call him that) wasn't storming away to be mocked. With quick darting steps, he shut off the current playlist that was obviously chosen by Y/n, eliciting a nasty groan from the kitchen.

Ten seconds for mission 'Murder Scarhead'.

Quite not.

Instead he was met with a strained smile and two foaming cups of coffee.

There were times he wished to fall in love with this girl all over again, the same crave which anyone would get after finishing a mind blasting book. It wasn't much of a surprise that he fell in love with her, the very same way you would get lost in the wide world of any story...skeptically, slowly but surely.

"If you are wondering again how you fell in love with me," he shook his head as her mellifluous voice infiltered into his ears, "that was Ron's fault...maybe, Hermione also."

"You mean Ron pushing you off the stands?" There was a glint of mischief in his tone as she swatted him, thereafter sighing by the momentum of those fond, rather life-threatening memories.

"He did push me," her voice seemed small, "but hey! Hermione didn't even scold him!"

"Perks of being a cupid?" Harry furrowed his brows from behind the same frame of his glasses, fumbling with the ceramic handle of the new mug.

"Perks of being a partner in crime, to be precise."

"Godric," his fingers drummed the periphery of the sound base, the eagerness obvious in his voice, "now this calls in for extreme measures."

"Go on then, Potter," she sighed, flopping back on the couch, hiding her red nose behind the mug, the delicate vapour misting into the cold atmosphere. "I hope you don't expect me to join."

"Got me right."

What a cheeky bastard, Y/n scoffed under her breath as he tugged the hem of her sweatshirt, forcing her to match his stupid moves.

If one thing you must know about Harry Potter it is that he won't give up dancing- no matter how imbecile it gets.

With mug still dangling in both their hands, they continued 'vibing' to music (as Hermione told them few years back), Harry's free hand, resting on her waist, as they nearly crashed on the couch but (to Y/n's utter displeasure) he continued leading the way to every corner of the house, his movements dunce as ever.

"I'm great of a dancer, aren't I?"

"Sure," she rolled her eyes, "you are a nincompoop."

Finally as the clock striked eleven at night, he finally realised that all their energy was long drained and the moment both of them hit the surface of the couch, their eyes fell on the still filled mugs.

"So what's the message today?"

Y/n giddily smiled at him, throwing his heart into a whirlpool of flutters as she slyly shrugged and got into sipping her now cold coffee.

As he started draining the caffeine into his system, a smile etched across his face as he saw those two words printed inside the mug.

Heart me.