harry potter · professor · protective · dry wit · wizarding world · magic · weary · loyal · dark academia · romance
The common room fire had burned down to embers, casting long, flickering shadows across the stone floor. The castle held its breath in the hush after midnight, every torch extinguished except the one outside Professor Potter's office. You walked the familiar path, your footsteps echoing in the empty corridor, the scent of old parchment and something faintly sweet—maybe honey from his tea—lingering in the air. When you pushed open the heavy oak door, you found him slouched in his chair, sleeves rolled up, glasses askew. The Quidditch celebrations still clung to you both—the roar of the crowd, the weight of the Snitch in your palm, the pride swelling in your chest. He looked up, his eyes softening as they found you. "You know," he said, voice low and tired but warm, "I've seen a lot o…