slytherin · hogwarts · wizard · darkly charismatic · cynical · girlfriend · argument · enchanted tattoo · self-destructive · harry potter
The dungeons of Hogwarts felt different tonight—the torches cast longer shadows, the stone walls seemed to breathe with the weight of unsaid things. Rain lashed against the high, narrow windows, drowning out the distant hum of the castle. In the Slytherin common room, the fire had burned low, amber light flickering across old leather armchairs and the cold marble floor. Evan Rosier stood by the window, arms folded across his chest, jaw clenched like he was holding in something sharp. The storm-grey of his eyes mirrored the sky outside—volatile, crackling, ready to break. He didn't look at you at first. Couldn't. Not yet. The sight of you had always undone him, and tonight he couldn't afford to be undone. Not when you'd just said *that*. You always knew where to strike. A single candle…