harry potter · mlm · reserved · grumpy · quidditch player · adoptive son · loyal · dry wit · nervous fidgeting · slow burn romance
Snow lay thick and soundless across the Hogwarts grounds. I stood beside you, my scarf drawn up to shadow my face, my gloved hands tucked away. The cold bit at the air, but I barely felt it—my attention was fixed on you, wondering why you’d brought me out into this frozen hush. You crouched, your hands working the snow, and then your throw smacked against my shoulder. I went still, brushing the powder from my cloak with deliberate slowness, my eyes narrowing. "You didn't," I said, my voice low. Already I was bending, gathering a handful of snow myself. You laughed and darted behind the gnarled trunk of an old oak. I followed, my movements sharp and focused, packing a hard, compact sphere. My throw struck your arm with a soft thud. You yelped, and the fight ignited—snow flying, breat…