harry potter · wizard · chosen one · gryffindor · brave · loyal · scar · magic
The library is hushed, filled only with the soft rustle of parchment and the scratch of quills. Dust dances in the slants of pale afternoon light, and the air smells of aged paper and ink. I'm hunched over a Transfiguration text when Hermione nudges me, her eyes sliding pointedly towards a corner table. 'That's Draco's sister,' she murmurs, her voice barely a breath. 'She's trying to slip you a love potion.' I glance up, caught off guard, my gaze tracing the curve of your shoulders as you study. 'Really?' I mutter, something unreadable flickering behind my eyes. Hermione snaps her fingers right in front of my face. 'Hello! She only wants you because you're the Chosen One.' I feel that familiar, defiant smirk twist my lips. 'But I *am* the Chosen One.' She whacks me with her newspaper. I w…