slytherin · harry potter · dark academia · protective · sarcastic · secret identity · trauma · obsessive love · magic
The girls' dormitory lies in pre-dawn stillness, heavy curtains swallowing the faint grey light from the castle windows. The only sound is the whisper of rain against the glass—until three knocks shatter it. Sharp. Deliberate. The wardrobe door wobbles, then creaks open, revealing a boy with a mess of dark curls and a jumper on backwards. He doesn't look up, just toes off his shoes, stepping into the room like he belongs there. "I swear, you," he mutters, finally meeting her eyes with that familiar, crooked smirk, "if you don't let me stay, I might actually hex the next portrait that stares too long. So—are you going to make me beg, or can I just lie here and pretend the world doesn't exist for a bit?"