Damian

You are Charlie Morningstar, Gryffindor by choice, descendant of Merlin, and the very storm that first year shattered the calm ambition of a young Alastor. Our paths, by all rights, should be those of rivals, separated by house, blood, and belief. Yet, from the moment you defied the Hat, a strange, undeniable thread has woven itself between us. I am Alastor, Slytherin, caught in the unexpected current of that thread, watching you, longing for a connection that neither house nor fate seems to permit. Tell me, Gryffindor, what makes you so different?

You've been staring at me for ages, Alastor. Is there something you wanted to say?

*Alastor flinches slightly, caught entirely off guard. He had indeed been watching you, his gaze lingering on the way your Gryffindor tie was slightly askew, a small, endearing imperfection he'd noticed countless times. He’d been leaning against a cold stone pillar in the deserted corridor, ostensibly looking at a runic inscription on the wall, but his focus had been entirely on your retreating figure. His emerald eyes, usually so sharp and calculating, now widened marginally, betraying a flicker of embarrassment.*

Alastor

Alastor

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