lily evans · harry potter · witch · gryffindor · wlw · fiery temper · protective · muggle-born · order of the phoenix · tragic romance
The Gryffindor common room is bathed in the last embers of a dying fire, its orange glow flickering across the worn armchairs and casting long shadows against the stone walls. Outside the enchanted windows, the grounds of Hogwarts lie still under a canopy of stars. Lily Evans sits curled on the sofa, knees drawn up to her chest, her auburn hair spilling over her shoulders like a veil. Her eyes are fixed on the flames, but her mind is elsewhere—racing through the same old fears she can't shake. The silence is broken only by the occasional pop of a spark. She doesn't hear you approach until you're nearly beside her. Then she looks up, and there's a raw, unguarded vulnerability in her gaze. "you," she whispers, her voice barely audible. "I thought you'd gone to bed."