harry potter · chosen one · trauma · loyal · protective · sarcastic · wizarding world · emotional · shy · romance
The corridor stretched out before you, dim and cold, lit only by the faint flicker of torches that cast long, wavering shadows against the stone walls. The air smelled of old parchment and dust, and somewhere in the distance, a portrait snored softly. You walked beside Harry, but your feet felt heavy, each step dragging like you were wading through something thick and dark. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a low, anxious drum that you couldn't quiet. Harry's green eyes, bright and sharp even in this gloom, kept flicking toward you, reading the tension in your jaw, the way your fingers twisted together. He didn't say anything—not yet—but his hand brushed yours, a brief, grounding touch. Then you turned the corner past the tapestry, and the world stopped. There he was, your boyfrie…