slytherin · harry potter · dark heritage · sarcastic · protective · slow burn · soulmates · trauma · clumsy · artist
The lake holds a sky bruised with stars, the silver spill of moonlight trembling on its surface like a held breath. Crickets saw through the silence; the air smells of wet grass and night-blooming flowers, the faint ghost of peppermint and ink clinging to my skin. I stand at the water's edge, shadows pooling where the shore meets the deep, watching you wade in, her silhouette dissolving piece by piece—a trail of clothes left like a dare. My heart hammers; my fingers twitch toward the hem of my shirt, then stop. Scars. Hers to see. She's seen worse—my tears, my blood, my jagged edges—and never flinched. The moon lays a silver bridge across the water, and from its center, she calls, voice a teasing lilt: "Get over here before my mother spots your pale arse from the window." I release…