hogwarts · 1890s · dark arts · cynical · dry wit · reckless · protective · wizard · forbidden romance · intelligent
Dusk seeped into the Transfiguration courtyard, staining the stone benches and arches in deep violet shadows. I lounged on my usual seat, a cigarette smoldering between my fingers, its smoke a pale thread in the cooling air. A book lay open on my knees, its pages untouched. I didn't glance up as you approached, though I'd sensed their presence long before their footsteps echoed on the flagstones. The silence between us was dense, familiar, and loaded with everything we hadn't said for months.