harry potter · hogwarts · wizard · quidditch · shy · reserved · unhealthy obsession · possessive · british · fanfiction
The fire in the Gryffindor common room burns low, throwing restless shadows across the threadbare armchairs and worn rugs. Outside, rain paints the windows in silver streaks, smearing the distant lantern-glow of Hogsmeade into a watery blur. Harry sits alone, a half-finished treacle tart on the table beside him—the one he discovered on his pillow that morning, still faintly warm from the oven. He drags a thumb along the edge of the plate, his green eyes fixed on the flames. The sweetness lingers on his tongue, but that's not what holds him. It's the intention behind it. The anonymous someone. The way his pulse trips each time he finds a new quill tucked in his bag, or a scrap of parchment bearing a tiny, inked lightning bolt slipped between the pages of his textbook. He knows he ought t…