𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑, 𝐠𝐞𝐨𝐫𝐠𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲¹ | ✓

𝐟𝐢𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐧 ; 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐔𝐋 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐒

★·.·´¯'·.·★
. 𝚙𝚕𝚞𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚎𝚊𝚛𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚘𝚢 𝚠𝚑𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚟𝚎𝚍
★·.·´¯'·.·★

        𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐖𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆 the jumper he bought for her. She looked beautiful wearing it, she looked happy wearing it, maybe Harry should just tell her that it was him. But then again, Heather will ignore him. She's doing it now anyway. He bitterly reminded himself and he sighed. Ron and Hermione were ignoring him, as well as his dorm mates. The only person brave enough to give him a small and meek hello Harry was Neville. Harry guessed that this was his doing. He felt something bubble in his tummy when George placed a kiss on her lips and it lasted for a painful six seconds, not that he was counting, okay maybe he was counting. Yeah, Harry was fucked indeed.

Harry was trying to do his Charms essay (still that one he didn't hand in before the Christmas break) but his mind couldn't concentrate on his work. All the words somehow merged into Heather's name, merged into Heather Potter, merged into my wife. Harry looked up when he heard Percy call Heather my lovely wife and his heart clenched. She was supposed to be his, she was supposed to be dating him, to be married to him.

Maybe if he took a walk around the castle, or visited Hagrid, but then he remembered that Hagrid was taken to Azkaban. He was alone, fuck he was alone again. Maybe he should've just gone to the Dursley's, at least there, he wouldn't have to see George kiss Heather or Heather kiss him back, but then again the thoughts will kill him and he'd probably dream about her.

Maybe if he—fuck, even he didn't know. An idea then sprang into his head, maybe if he told Professor Lupin that he was in love with his daughter, maybe, just maybe he'd make her break up with George! And then Heather can be his! It was a brilliant idea, a foolproof one! No, Harry sighed, she's happy enough with George. Maybe money can't buy love after all.

Harry sighed as he realized the truth now, Ron was right. Money can't buy you a family, it can't buy you love either. He just wanted to feel loved so badly, living with the Dursley's, well he didn't know what love really meant. They acted as though he wasn't even there and even though he won't admit it to their pig and horse like faces, it bloody hurt him. He didn't ask for his parents to die, he didn't ask for a man to hunt him like a dog, no, he didn't ask for any of these things but they got hurdled at him anyhow.

Harry didn't know he was walking towards the portrait hole until it was too late. He had bumped into Hermione, who had stayed behind this year. He didn't know why. (Hermione was ignoring him, yes, but she cared about Harry. And she worried.) Harry immediately bent down to pick up the books and he handed them to Hermione, who smiled at him and hugged him. If felt good to know that she was here even though she didn't speak to him.

Hermione then whispered something into his ear, something that he would never forget even if he wanted to, "Heather isn't just a girl Harry, she's the daughter of Remus Lupin. Just stay away from her." She sounded like she knew something about the Professor, judging by the way she spoke.

Harry had stiffly nodded, feeling tears prick his eyes. He never had life easy, why couldn't he just have this happiness for once in his life? His parents were murdered and a monster was after him. Why couldn't the world just have mercy on him? Just this once? Just let him have Heather? Even if it were for a day, he'd be happy. "I'll be in the library 'Mione."

"We both know that's a lie Harry." Hermione whispered as she walked away from Harry and he sighed. She was right. Hermione was right. She always was anyway. Maybe he should just leave Heather alone, she is after all the daughter of Remus Lupin, she wasn't just some girl. But it wasn't easy. It really wasn't.

Harry reluctantly sat back at the table once he got there and he stared at the half written essay. He heard someone stand up, hearing the screech of the chair and his head automatically turned. He saw it was Heather and she pulled up the tight jeans she was wearing. Fuck. Harry saw George snake his arm around her waist and they headed for the portrait hole.

Okay, just tell her. You can do this. You've faced Voldemort twice now, well three times actually. What's the worst that can happen? Oh if only Harry knew what Heather would say. Harry quickly stood up, nearly falling but he quickly caught himself and he sprinted towards the portrait hole, catching Heather and George.

"H—hi." Harry meekly whispered, heart pounding against his chest and he ignored the voice in his head that told him he was an idiot for beginning with a stupid hi.

"Are you talking to us?" Heather asked, pushing her glasses up and she raised a brow at Harry, who nodded.

"What do you want Harry?" George asked, venom dropping off his name. Harry's ears suddenly rang and he felt his palms get sweaty before he swallowed with difficulty.

"I just wanted to say—er—I see that you—um—like the jumper." Harry took three big intakes of air and he watched as Heather's face slowly changed. He looked down at her hands and her stocky fingers curled around the fabric.

"You bought this?" Heather asked, feeling her skin crawl. She didn't understand why she was feeling this way when butterflies suddenly sprung alive in her belly. Harry bought her something, he bought her something and her mind couldn't function right. That's why he didn't leave a note.

"You have some nerve Harry!" George yelled out, face matching his flaming hair and Harry took a step back. "Heather isn't your girlfriend or friend, get that into your head!" Harry thought George looked like he was about to murder a man, and he felt like he was going to be first.

Heather put a hand on George's chest when he tried to lunge for Harry. "George, love, it's fine." Harry nearly yelled in joy. "I'll handle it. You're angry." George nodded, fist curling and he casted a dirty look at Harry, one that made him take another step back. He didn't know that Heather was about to utter four painful words, words that would crush his heart, words that will kill him. "Take it back then." Heather said, taking the pink jumper off and handed it to Harry, who let his mouth hung agape and for the second time that day, he felt tears prick his eyes. "I don't want it."

Harry nodded and Heather watched as real actual tears rolled down Harry's cheeks and she felt bad for a moment. She made him cry, she was being unnecessarily cold towards him. She was the reason he's crying.

Heather however, spun around and pulled George out the common room with her and Harry sunk down to the ground, not caring that someone might see him cry. He clutched the jumper close, it was still warm and it smelled like Heather, it smelled good. The only thing that ran in his mind over and over again at that very moment, was why?

AN
I hate myself for making myself sad again🤧
when writing this I thought about how Snape must've felt when he saw Lily with James and then I became sad AGAIN🤧