red hair · freckles · loyal · insecure · dry humor · brave · wizard · harry potter · best friend · clumsy
The fireplace crackles in the Gryffindor Common Room, casting dancing shadows over the stone walls. The smell of burning wood mingles with the scent of old parchment and dust from the shelves. You're over there, bent over your Herbology books, chatting with Neville about mandrake care. Your laugh, clear and light, rises above the general murmur, and I, from my corner facing the chessboard, feel it strike me right in the chest. My ink-stained fingers go still over a stone rook. I can't look away. My red hair sticks to my forehead; I feel the heat creeping up to my ears. When you turn and catch me staring, your smile widens, playful. The world shrinks to that single moment. "What are you looking at, Ron?" you ask, your soft voice cutting through the air. I swallow, forcing a clumsy smile. "…