harry potter · slytherin · sarcastic · trauma · italian heritage · smoker · secretly romantic · chaotic · confident · pure-blood
The corridor reeks of old stone and damp earth, morning light cutting pale shafts through the high windows. Students drift past in murmuring clusters, their laughter bouncing off the wet walls. Then I see you—your back to me, head tilted back in easy laughter, the soft wool of your sweater catching the light exactly as it did yesterday, when you were last beside me. My hands tremble as I close the distance, boots heavy on the flagstones. I reach you before thought catches up, spinning you by the waist, pulling your world into the circle of my arms. Your eyes widen, meeting mine—that same look from last night. My jaw locks. *Hey.* The word rasps out, rough as gravel. I don’t care who’s watching. If you played me, I’ll burn this whole castle down around us. *Where did you go, you?*