Work Text:
Harry Potter didn’t like small spaces. Didn’t like the dark, the feeling that he was slowly being squeezed until he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. Spending the majority of your first eleven years of life in a cupboard under the stairs would do that to you, he supposed, before hastily clearing his mind of such thoughts. Those could be dealt with another day, far, far in the future.
Or maybe not. “It’s called claustrophobia, Harry,” Hermione had told him as they sat together in a warm, empty corner of the Gryffindor common room one evening. Ron had somehow roped Ginny into a game of wizard's chess and was beating her soundly, so they were alone for the time being.
Harry had briefly mentioned his… dislike… while joking about how long it took him to become comfortable with closing the curtains around his bed when he arrived at Hogwarts, something that was all too necessary when sharing a room with several other boys going through puberty. He wished he hadn’t said anything. He wasn’t in the mood for a lecture. At least he had been smart enough to leave out exactly why he felt that way. He didn’t need one more person brushing him off, or worse, pitying him, especially one of his best friends. Harry didn’t know if he would be able to deal with that.
Hermione continued, “An irrational fear of tight or crowded spaces. A lot of people have it, it’s nothing to be ashamed of. I’m sure I can find you some books on it if you like.”
No, Harry would not like. He quickly declined the offer, perhaps too quickly, based on the hurt and worry that flashed across his friend’s face. Harry hastily added a thanks, Hermione, maybe later, but Hermione retained her look of concern. He decided making an escape was the best course of action. It usually was in these situations.
Harry walked over to where his best friend and girlfriend were playing a second (or maybe third) round of wizard’s chess, doing his best not to give the impression he was running away, although he most definitely was. He doubted he succeeded in this endeavor, a notion that was supported by the knowing but sympathetic look he received from Ron when he eventually realized his friend was standing next to him and glanced up from the chessboard. Ron had been on the receiving end of Hermione’s well-meaning, if occasionally a tad overzealous, attempts to help them with their problems even more than Harry had, a truly impressive accomplishment.
Ginny noticed him walking over much sooner, bored with the game she was playing, and looking for a distraction while Ron decided his next move. She smiled as Harry came closer, standing to wrap her arms around him. He gave her a quick kiss, and they disentangled themselves from one another once Ron started paying attention. As much fun as it was to see his disgusted expression whenever Harry and Ginny were together, he just wasn’t in the mood. Harry said his goodnights and trudged up the stairs, hoping that for once he could just go to sleep and forget his problems for a few hours.
~*~*~*~*~
Long after he had gone to bed, yanking the curtains closed a little too hard, Hermione’s words repeated over and over in his mind, circling and spiraling until he could think of nothing else. Harry had heard that word before, claustrophobia, but had never really understood what it meant- wizards, after all, weren’t exactly known for their psychological expertise- and had certainly never applied it to himself. Why would he? It wasn’t fear, he wasn’t scared. Couldn’t be scared (a little voice in his head noted that even if he was, it definitely wasn’t irrational. He had plenty of experience to back it up). Voldemort, dementors, the deaths of those he loved- those were the things he feared, things that showed up every time he faced a Boggart. Harry would readily admit to that, Gryffindor though he was.
Although Harry once felt shame for his fears, years of nagging from his friends and the family he had found for himself during his time in the wizarding world had mostly cured him of that. After all, who wouldn’t be afraid of such things? Even the Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One (he really did hate those god-awful nicknames). As long as he still did his duty and fulfilled the prophecy, played his part as the savior of what amounted to the entirety of Britain, certainly, no one would think badly of him for being a bit frightened. Well, excluding certain Slytherins, but Harry didn’t think they really counted, given that they would take any perceived weakness he had and use it to torment him. He supposed that was in their nature. Slimy gits. But panicking whenever he was in a crowd that was a little bit too dense, a room a little bit too small or too dark, that wasn’t allowed, wasn’t expected, wasn’t normal.
You’re a freak, boy. A disgusting little freak, just like your parents.
So yes, it was settled, he definitely disliked small spaces but he was not afraid of them and he most certainly did not have a problem that would need to be dealt with sooner rather than later. He was fine.
~*~*~*~*~
The next week passed uneventfully (well, as much as it could for someone like Harry) following Harry and Hermione’s discussion concerning the problem-which-shall-not-be-addressed-because-Harry-has-bigger-issues-to-deal-with-dammit, aside from the occasional worried glance and attempt to continue talking about things he didn’t want to talk about from Hermione. That day began in much the same way. Breakfast, classes, lunch, more classes, dinner, and of course, making out with Ginny, one of his current favorite pastimes aside from quidditch and trying not to get killed by evil wizards… maybe not that last one, although he certainly spent enough time doing that for it to be considered a hobby.
Ginny and Harry had decided to take a walk around the castle together after dinner. They initially were doing just that, walking and generally spending time together alone and away from all their friends, something that did not happen nearly enough in Harry’s opinion. However, as tended to happen between them, things quickly evolved into something a little more heated. Kissing Ginny made him feel… warm. Safe. Sure, it felt good too, he was just an average teenage boy, but that wasn’t the main reason he enjoyed it so much. He could just fall into it, fall into her. And he did. He let her take the lead, content to just exist in the moment and let the world fall away for a little while, to not have to worry about dark lords or prophecies or war. This was why he didn’t realize what was happening when Ginny started to pull him into a broom closet until it was too late.
Harry knew that broom closets were one of the main locations that Hogwarts students frequented when they wanted to be alone with their partners, so it really shouldn’t have come to a surprise that Ginny would lead them there. It was something of a tradition for students at that point, although one that he had not yet taken part in. Ginny had clearly decided that this was the time to do so. Normally Harry wouldn’t have a problem with such a thing, but as Hermione had discovered earlier that week, small spaces and he did not go well together. At all.
Maybe it was the surprise, the fact that he was unable to mentally prepare himself for suddenly finding himself in such a space that did it, although Harry wasn’t sure how much that would have helped. Just as soon as he entered the closet with Ginny, he felt like all of the air left his body at once, like the walls were pressing in on him, suffocating him. He started to hyperventilate, desperate for air. He wasn’t with Ginny in the closet anymore. It was just dark, and he was so scared, and he felt like he was dying. His heart pounded, and he started shaking, and oh god what was happening to him. It seemed to go on forever, like he would always feel like this. It was terrifying and he thought he was going to be sick.
Someone was talking to him, a calm, quiet voice acting as an anchor, connecting him to the present, to rest of the world. “You’re safe, Harry. You’re in Hogwarts, you’re with me. You’re safe.” Ginny. She took his hand in hers, placing it on her chest so he could feel it slowly moving up and down as she breathed. “Breathe with me, Harry. In, out, in, out, in, out.” He tried to do as she instructed. It was hard at first, his breaths frantic, gasping for air. It slowly became easier and he could feel himself calming down.
When he finally came back to himself after what felt like a lifetime, Harry realized he was no longer in the closet. He felt fuzzy, like nothing was real, like he wasn’t real, and he was absolutely exhausted, but it wasn’t dark anymore and he didn’t feel like he was trapped. His legs began to collapse, and he felt himself being guided down to the floor. He took in his surroundings, trying to ground himself solidly into reality. An open hallway, stone walls that were cold to the touch, stone floors hard beneath him, the gentle hum of magic surrounding him. Hogwarts. Home. And Ginny, side by side with him on the floor, his hand still on her chest and covered with her own smaller ones. Warm. He was safe, he believed her. For a moment everything was still. However, the calm couldn’t last forever. It never did.
As Harry began to feel more and more like himself, he realized what had just happened, that Ginny had seen him freak out about a stupid closet. He snatched his hand away and started to panic, although not as badly this time. He still felt mostly in control. But he was terrified of how Ginny would see him now. Did she think he was crazy, or weak, or pathetic, or any number of things that would ruin his relationship with her? She seemed calm and hadn’t run away yet but that could change. He knew all too well how quickly a person’s mood could change, and the consequences that could come with it. Harry was absolutely mortified. He contemplated running away but something about that felt wrong. He was a Gryffindor, he should face these things head-on, right? But what if-
“Harry? Are you okay?” Ginny asked. When Harry just stared at her, she continued, “Yeah, didn’t think so. You don’t have to be embarrassed, you know. I get them too.” She smiled in a way she hoped was comforting.
“You… what? Get what too?” He calmed down a bit once Ginny had spoken because at least she still wanted to talk to him, but still felt very uneasy. He felt like he had just run the world’s worst marathon and his brain was moving at about the same speed as the slugs Ron had thrown up in second year.
“Panic attacks. Like what just happened to you. At least I’m assuming that’s what it was, I’ve had enough of them I would hope I’d be able to recognize them now.” Harry was having a very difficult time processing that. That happened to Ginny? But she always seemed so… strong. Fearless.
“Oh… I thought…” She waited for him to gather his thoughts, still listening but not pushing. “I guess I thought it was just another weird Harry Potter thing.” I thought I was just a freak.
“No, they’re actually pretty common, I guess. Here, we can talk more about it but let’s go somewhere more comfortable, yeah? I don’t think that a hallway is necessarily the best place for this conversation. Do you think you can walk?” Ginny stood up and offered him her hand.
Harry took stock of his body and nodded. He still felt a little weak, but he didn’t think he would fall over this time. He took his girlfriend’s hand and stood. Hand in hand, they walked to a nearby empty classroom.
~*~*~*~*~
Harry and Ginny were sat on the floor of the classroom in a similar position to the one they were in previously, but much more comfortable. They had summoned blankets and pillows to sit on and wrap up in, and Ginny had somehow managed to convince one of the castle elves to bring them some hot chocolate to sip on while they talked. They hadn’t quite gotten around to the talking bit yet, both having things they wanted to say, but the topic was far from easy to talk about. After a few minutes, Ginny cast a sound muffling charm and began to speak, curling into herself a little as she did so.
“So, mine started after first year. Big surprise, huh? Having the… spirit? Essence? Whatever of an evil sixteen-year-old who would go on to become a mass murderer talking to and possessing you through a cursed journal for a solid year apparently isn’t great for a developing child’s mind. Who would have guessed?” She laughed, but it sounded bitter. Hollow. “Of course, the near-death experience probably didn’t help, even if I was unconscious for the majority of it.”
Harry’s heart sank. It made a lot of sense. Of course, she wouldn’t be able to go through that and then just get on with her life with no issues at all. Who could? So why hadn’t he talked to her about it? Why hadn’t he made sure she was okay? She was just a kid. God, they hadn’t even discussed it since they got together. What was wrong with him?
Seeing the look on Harry’s face, Ginny quickly added, “I know what you’re thinking and don’t you dare think this is your fault. It’s nobody’s fault but Voldemort’s, and you blaming yourself doesn’t help me, doesn’t help anyone. We were kids. You didn’t know any better, and what would you have done anyway?”
Harry didn’t know what to say. Luckily, Ginny seemed to understand what he was thinking without him even speaking. “Harry, you’re a good person. Things happen and you can’t always stop them. Besides, I’m alive, aren’t I? Sure, I have panic attacks now and then, and it sucks, but it could have been so much worse if you hadn’t come down there and saved me that day.”
“But that isn’t really the point. What I wanted to say is that you aren’t alone in this. I may not be able to relate to exactly what you’ve been through, but this isn’t something that you have to be ashamed of or hide. Panic attacks are a thing that happens to a lot of people for a lot of reasons, and sometimes for no reason at all. You have a lot of people who care about you, Harry, and we’ll help you with anything you need, okay?” She looked at Harry and smiled, holding out the hand not holding her mug. He took it and gave a small nod and smile in return. They sat in silence for a while, letting everything sink in.
Harry steeled himself. He didn’t want to talk about this, but it was Ginny. He was safe. He swallowed harshly, wrapping the blanket around himself tightly. “You know that my relatives and I… don’t get on, right?” Ginny nodded encouragingly, squeezing his hand. “Well, it’s a fair bit more than that. They, uh, hate me. Really, really hate me. They hate magic and my parents and pretty much everything about me.” Harry took a sip of his hot chocolate. He felt like his throat was trying to close to keep him from speaking. He explained the verbal abuse, the beatings, the neglect. How he was starved, how he had no clothes of his own, how he wasn’t allowed his books over the summer. Ginny was clearly trying to hide it, to stay calm for him and listen, but he could see the rage in her eyes, as well as deep sadness. Just one more thing to go over, the hardest for him to talk about right then.
“Up until I went to Hogwarts, I lived in a cupboard. I slept there. I was locked in there when they got tired of me, or when I did something freakish, or when there was company. It was so dark and cramped and it was the only place that was my own, but it was also terrifying. I was always alone, even when I was hurt. No matter how much I cried or asked for help, I was left in there. Some time since I got my own room, I developed this thing where I freak out any time I’m in a small space, especially if it’s dark. It’s so stupid and I hate it. Hermione said I probably have claustrophobia, but she also said that claustrophobia is irrational, and this doesn’t really feel irrational so much as an overreaction.” If Harry was exhausted before, it was nothing compared to what he felt then. Emotionally and physically he was just so drained. Like someone had stolen all his energy. He had never talked so much about his family before.
Ginny was silent for several minutes, processing everything he had said. She slowly leaned in to hug Harry, making sure it was okay. When it was clear she had permission, she held him tightly, trying to convey her feelings through touch in a way she couldn’t through words. She ended up holding him, his head on her chest while she stroked his hair. “I don’t think that’s an overreaction, Harry. What they did to you is awful. It’s inexcusable and you deserve so, so much better. Of course, you would have a strong reaction to something like that. I am so sorry, I would never have tried to pull you into a closet if I had known.”
“I know, it’s not your fault,” Harry murmured. He felt himself losing his battle against sleep. He was so tired.
“I’m still sorry.” Noticing him grow heavier in her arms, Ginny held him closer. “Go to sleep, Harry. You’re safe.”
Harry believed her and drifted off to sleep.