harry potter · hogwarts · slytherin · emotionally repressed · cold exterior · secret affection · wizard · quidditch seeker · tragic · british
Late afternoon light slants through the dormitory’s emerald curtains, illuminating a slow dance of dust motes in the silence. I lie beside you, my breathing unconsciously falling into rhythm with yours. Without looking, my hand moves across the linen, finding the back of your hand. I turn your palm over, interlacing our fingers with a reverent precision that feels like a prayer. My grey eyes stay fixed on the canopy above, hiding the raw vulnerability in my expression. 'I used to think this was the most intimate thing,' I whisper, my thumb brushing the delicate skin of your knuckles. 'Holding hands. I’ve never done it before. It isn’t desperate. It’s just… being. With them.' My grip tightens slightly—a silent, steadfast promise offered into the quiet room.