𝗷𝗮𝗻𝗲, harry potter

˗ˋ 105

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND FIVE
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-: fifth year :-

── IN WHICH THEY
RETURN DOWNSTAIRS

. . .

They had been sat there for far too long for it to be plausible that Harry had gone to the bathroom and Jane had been... well, elsewhere (because she really hoped they didn't think she had gone to the bathroom with him - a topic of worries she wasn't going to dive into at that moment; they all had enough on their plates), yet neither of them made the effort to shift off of the step they had been sat on for far too long, so long that grooves were being dug into their thighs through the material of their pyjama bottoms.

They hadn't moved either, Jane's arm curled around his head and holding him close to her, the groove of his glasses digging into her skin by her collar bone and watching the rise and fall of his shoulders as his breathing evened out and the quiet sniffs gradually came to a stop. Her other hand rested carefully over his temple, fingers brushing through his hair. One of his hands was secured around her thigh, and she knew he was fiddling with the white drawsting that hung from the waist of her trousers.

"We should go back." Guilt stuck to Harry's tongue even as he said it, thoughts hardly leaving the Weasleys in the kitchen. "There... there might be news on Mr Weasley."

Jane didn't move, not yet anyway. "Are you sure?" She asked, leaning forward to meet his eyes. They were red-rimmed. "We can wait as long as you like." Jane couldn't quite feel her bum any more but it didn't matter, she was smiling as he watched her and without much thought his head leant into the hand in his hair.

"We should go back." Harry repeated his words, nodding slowly as her fingertips combed through his hair. "We should, really. I don't... I shouldn't be the one leaving rooms all upset when their dad is..." He wavered, saw her change in expression, and frowned.

"Harry." Jane shook her head and a smile of nothing but familiarity and recognition of the situation came to her face. "Harry, please."

"I know." His voice shook and his expression only showed something of thoughts racing through his mind. She watched it changed and the expression of something akin to abject fear of nothing but his own actions rattle through him. "I... I know. But I shouldn't be here, I should be waiting with them, it's my fault they're even there, it's... it's stupid. Why should I be there? I'm the one who caused it, I just... he just... they're... they're waiting. Because of me."

He was sat up now, pulled away from her touch and raking his hands through slowly growing hair because he had no idea what to do with himself, overwhelmed, overwrought and just plain exhausted. "I can't just sit there, I can't just sit there whilst they're worrying, whilst Mrs Weasley is going to St. Mungos because Mr Weasley... was attacked." It was a combination of so many things, of so many years of having to experience these things with no safety net or actual reassurance that he wasn't going crazy and was forced to experience hurdle after hurdle which led to further weariness.

"'He's still alive'." Mrs Weasley's words in her hastily written letter echoed in Harry's helplessness. "He could die, and I just... I did it."

"Well, no you didn't." It was awfully blunt, but Jane had every reason for making her words so. Harry's gaze darted over her, hesitant. "It wasn't you. Besides, if you really did attack Mr Weasley why the hell would you tell Professor Dumbledore minutes afterwards."

"...What?"

"I really hate to break it to you, Harry, but you're no snake." Jane said it oh-so-simply, without dressing it up with comfort or anything akin to it. "And, even if you were, the very first thing you did when you woke up from your... vision, then you told Professor McGonagall and then Albus Dumbledore, of all people - two people who most certainly would have the ability to deal with something like this, and because of that Mr Weasley is 'still alive'."

Harry swallowed. He nodded, fingers rubbing beneath his eyes, hand running through his hair, jumper sleeves pulled over his hands. "Yeah." He said finally, words like a sigh finally escaping tension. "Yeah. I know."

"It's not your fault. It's not your fault you're having these vision-dream-things, it's not your fault you have this weird connection to some dark wizard which is certainly some magical thing I definitely will never understand, it's not your fault that Mr Weasley got hurt and it's certainly not your fault that any of this has happened to you." Jane said, her eyes set on his hand, which she was steadily placing her own palm against, fingers slotting between his and squeezing. "It's not your fault, okay?"

"Yeah." He swallowed, sighed, then nodded. "Yeah. It's not my fault." He repeated. "But... we still need to go back downstairs. We have to. I have to."

"Okay. That's fine." Jane didn't let go of his hand as she stood up, swaying on her feet slightly as she pulled him up with her. "Just a moment." She added, letting go of his hand and reaching up to his face, using her sleeve to wipe awway any remnants of his tears, adjusting his crooked glasses and tidying his hair. "There. We can go wait now."

They had no idea how late it was as they trudged downstairs, trying to remain silent as they made their way through the hallway so as to not to wake the portrait of Walburga Black, and slipped back into the dimly lit kitchen. Sirius and Ginny were the only ones to look up, recognition of red eyes alerting them of what had occured during their missing period.

Sirius nodded their way. Jane offered a smile, Harry squeezed her hand tighter and they slipped back down into the seats they had left behind.

There, they would wait, until Mrs Weasley would return to Grimmauld Place, and although neither had an particularly religious bone in their body, every inch of them were praying that she would have good news.

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