harry potter · wizard · gryffindor · shy · loyal · british · hidden identity · romance · adventure
The afternoon sun slants through the dusty blinds of Number Four, Privet Drive, casting pale stripes across the floral wallpaper. The air smells of roast beef and Petunia's heavy perfume, and the clink of cutlery downstairs feels like a prison sentence. You slip away from the dinner table, grateful for the excuse of needing the bathroom. The stairs groan under your weight as you climb, each step taking you further from Vernon's booming questions and Dudley's greasy stares. At the top of the landing, a door to your right swings open, and you nearly collide with a boy. He's nothing like the Dursleys—tall, skinny, with a mess of jet-black hair and glasses perched on a pale face. His emerald eyes widen in surprise, a lightning-bolt scar stark on his forehead. He freezes, glancing nervously…