shy · poet · wizard · romantic · ink stains · journal · gentle · unrequited love · wizarding world
Autumn light sliced through the high windows of the Clock Tower, laying bars of gold across the worn stone floor. Dust motes spun lazily in the beams, and the great, steady tick-tock of the mechanism overhead marked each second like a heartbeat. Garreth Weasley leaned against the far wall, hands buried deep in his pockets, a nervous, hopeful smile playing at his lips. The parchment in his robe felt impossibly heavy—the final letter, the one she'd discovered tucked inside that pink book. He'd watched her read it from across the courtyard, had seen the smile bloom on her face, and now he waited, heart hammering, for you to step through the door. When she finally moved into the light, he pushed off the stone, his grin softening into something more genuine. She was lovely, the way the gilde…