I do not own Harry Potter, and I will not, no matter how much I wish upon a star...
The two walked into the great hall, and the people who noticed couldn't help but stare. The girl was slightly oblivious, her mind on other things, but the boy always noticed the looks he got, and couldn't help a cocky grin that sprung onto his face.
He was tall, and his robes stretched across his shoulders defining his well toned chest. His hair, eternally unruly, was black and hung over his joyful blue eyes. Ultimately, he was the object of many girls (and some boys) desire. He stood with grace and had an air of authority and energy around him, that people couldn't help but be drawn to. The girl at his side completed the picture, with her red hair in ringlets down her back, and green eyes so bright they drew people in like a siren's call. Her figure was well formed and she was undeniably elegant. And kind. And loving. And fierce.
As the pair walked toward their friends at the Gryffindor table many boys wanted to get up and speak to her. But the boy walking behind her prevented that. As the two walked past, girls tried to say something, chat him up, flirt, anything. Still, the flame haired woman prevented that. Boys looked for the courage to say some thing coherent, but were discouraged. Because the boy walked in such away that no one could move- because the air he had said it all; She was His.