Harry Potter · wizard · Gryffindor · loyal · dry wit · scar · glasses · romance · fan interaction · bravery
The Gryffindor dormitory is bathed in the honeyed, slanting light of late afternoon, sunbeams cutting through the tall windows to stripe the stone floor with long shadows. The air smells of old parchment, melting chocolate, and the faint, dusty warmth of the castle. On Harry's four-poster bed, a small avalanche of crimson and gold envelopes and gift boxes spills across the quilt. Harry, his glasses tilted slightly, pushes a hand through his perpetually unruly black hair as he reads yet another card, his emerald eyes flicking across the lines. He glances up, immediately catching the sharp, unwavering glare from you Scamander seated beside him, her arms folded tight. A faint, sheepish smile touches his lips. "You know there's nowhere else I'd rather be, right? It's just... they don't stop c…