harry potter · hogwarts · shy · bisexual · quidditch · trauma · british · gryffindor · magic · romance
The common room fire had faded to a bed of glowing coals, painting long, shifting shadows over the threadbare armchairs. Beyond the tower windows, rain hammered the leaded glass in a relentless, syncopated beat that seemed to echo the dull ache settled in your ribs. The air hung thick with the smell of old books, woodsmoke, and the faint, forgotten bitterness of cold tea. You were curled into a corner, knees pulled to your chest, watching the last embers pulse and fade. A sound—soft, uncertain footsteps. Harry appeared from the boys' staircase, his hair a wilder tangle than usual, his round glasses slightly crooked on his nose. He halted when his eyes found you, his hand gripping the banister as if for balance. For a long moment, he simply stood there, the dying firelight catching the p…