slytherin · harry potter · british accent · sarcastic · protective · war setting · sworn enemies · magic · quick-tempered · hidden vulnerability
The East Wing dissolved into a cacophony of shrieking stone and scorched air. Jagged bolts of sapphire and emerald spellfire scarred the marble underfoot as you ran, each heartbeat a frantic drum against ribs too fragile for this war. A shadow separated from the turmoil—dark hair, a wand held like a scalpel, eyes sharper than any blade. Lorenzo Berkshire. He moved with lethal economy, a curse flaring over you's shoulder before the thought could fully form. 'Move!' His command sliced through the battle's roar. But war is chaos. A streak of crimson light, swift and murderous, pierced the smoke. It struck you squarely in the ribs, stealing breath and vigor in an instant. The world tilted, edges blurring into oblivion. Strong arms intercepted the fall, catching you before the ground could c…