Written for the finals round two for the QLFC, Seeker position for the Kenmare Kestrels. Prompt is a quote, "We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe." -Andrea Gibson
This story could be a stand alone, however I'm choosing to write it as an Interlude of sorts for my story Blindsided. You don't have to read that to get this, but you know you want to anyways haha.
Authors Note: I don't own anything
We all have different reasons for forgetting to breathe.
Most of those moments, our breath is stolen by something beautiful, or perhaps horrifying.
I hadn't experienced one of those moments until my first year at Hogwarts. In this case, I was horrified that the famous Harry Potter didn't want to be my friend. I couldn't believe that he'd turned down my offered hand of friendship to stand next to a Weasley. There'd been an ache in my chest that I realized, once McGonnagall came to gather us into the Great Hall, had been from holding my breath. So when I sucked in a mouthful of air it made me dizzy. Which just made me even angrier at the two boys.
It became a bad habit of mine, not breathing. I'd find myself doing it while taking a potions exam, or right before I was about to catch the Snitch while playing Quidditch. I think I stopped breathing for a full minute when I got attacked by that Hippogriff in third year.
As I got older, around sixth year I'd say, it became somewhat of a calming technique for me. Stuck in a house with a lunatic for an aunt, and a monster who wanted to take over the world. I found myself holding my breath and counting, to try and calm myself down in stressful situations. It worked, mostly. Usually I'd get to around thirty—-before I'd be ok, sometimes less. But other times, the painful times, the being tortured by your aunt mercilessly times, those times took longer. Much longer.
My father, surprisingly, defected after that. Bellatrix had temporarily blinded me in her rage of Crucio's and other dark magic's that she'd thrown my way. It was too much for my mother to bear, and had even upset my father greatly. So he'd gone to The Order, and after questioning us for three days straight, they had split us up amongst the safe houses.
I'd still been blind at the time, so they sent me to a safe house where their top healer could take care of me. Three guesses as to who that was, but you'll probably only need one, maybe two.
Look at that, you only needed one. Yes, they sent me to stay with Hermione Granger.
My father had it worse though, he had to stay with the Weasley's.
Hermione and I had a rough start at the safe house. We didn't talk much, and because of my ailment there wasn't much for me to do around the house. Eventually she had me help her in the small garden, tending to the herbs and plants. It gave me something to do with my hands, it heightened my other senses.
It started giving me a sense of purpose. Weeks went by and she started leaving me alone in the garden, spending most of her time in her makeshift lab brewing potions. Sometimes the solitude was nice, other times I found myself wishing she'd join me, just so I had someone to talk to. Even if it was Miss know-it-all bookworm.
Close to two months went by before I heard anything from my parents. My mother had sent me a letter and I still couldn't see so Hermione read it aloud for me. It was kind. She'd really shown me nothing but kindness since I'd gotten there, and it was completely unexpected. Over the weeks we'd fallen into somewhat of a camaraderie.
Three and a half months and I started to get my sight back. It was the barest of colors that I could start to make out, and I felt like I could have cried. But I wouldn't, because I wasn't going to do that in front of her. She helped me regain strength in my eyes daily, doing reading exercises every night. Spending all that time with her, I started to develop feelings for her.
I still tell myself it's because it was only the two of us in the house. That I would have felt that way about just about any female I had to spend that much time with. But no one had quite taken my breath away like Hermione Granger in those few months.
Six months. It had been almost six months when I'd gotten the biggest shock of my life. My best friend, Theodore Nott, was alive. He was alive, and had gone to the Order back in our sixth year at Hogwarts. He and Hermione were in a relationship, they had been for quite some time. He had never once mentioned it to me, back at a time where we shared almost all our secrets with each other. Emphasis on almost, I guess.
I almost passed out when he came barreling through the door and Hermione had launched herself into his arms. I'd just come to terms with how I felt about her, and was even planning on telling her. I had been torn between being happy that my friend was actually alive, and completely distraught that they were in a relationship. My brain reminded me that I needed to breathe and I choked on the sudden intake of air.
Later that night she'd asked me if we were all going to be able to make it work. I didn't understand what she meant at the time, I still don't quite understand what she wants. We're still busy fighting the war, my eyesight is completely back and I'm able to go on missions now, but it means I get to see her less.
Theo goes on most of the dangerous missions with Potter and Weasley, he sees her less than I do. But they are still together. Even so, when I am at the safe house and he's away on a mission, her and I sleep in the same bed. Finding comfort in each other.
When he is there, he always offers for me to stay with them, but that's just too odd for me. I'm still trying to figure out how to navigate our friendship, it's not what it once was, and I'm not sure it will ever be that way again.
Besides, I like the stolen moments in the early mornings before she wakes. I can imagine she's mine, fully mine.
Those are my favorite reasons for forgetting to breathe.