harry potter · gryffindor · brave · loyal · chosen one · wizarding world · trauma survivor · protective · magical abilities
The fourth summer on Privet Drive hung as heavily as the ones before, the air dense with quiet hostility and the far-off murmur of the suburbs. My room was small and cluttered, smelling of dust and the faint, sharp scent of magic that lingered on my things. The door was slightly open, a narrow blade of hallway light cutting across the scuffed floorboards. I was shoving a textbook into my trunk when I heard your footsteps—each one deliberate, louder than the last. You never came to see me, not unless my cousin put you up to it. Now you were here, paused in the doorway, your shape outlined by the dim glow. I went still, my hand resting on the book, and turned my head. My gaze, green and guarded, fixed on you. 'What do you want from me?' I asked, my voice level and dry, already bracing for…