Hello hello lovelies!
I'm currently on a writing/posting hiatus, but this is a random little thing I wrote the other day...and I couldn't wait until May to post it, so here we are. Hopefully you all like it x
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Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to J.K. Rowling, and only the story line and any OC's belong to me.
She is made of stardust and wonder. Unfortunately, Godric Gryffindor has never been much good with words. More accurately, he's never been good at waxing poetic about how he feels. His words are usally more daring, and spoken with bold ardour. When he speaks, it is often a challenge of some kind, and if not, it is with a teasing lilt. There isn't anything soft or romantic about the words that spring from his mouth.
Godric Gryffindor is a fairly simple man when it comes to what he wants in life, yet, he is utterly enthralled with the most complex creature he has ever met.
She is made of stardust and wonder. It is most assuredly the most romantic thing he can think of.
She sprints through forests and fields barefoot, she dances at the edges of lakes and seas—kicking up the water in a playful, childlike manner. She picks flowers and presses them in journals if only to keep their sweet scent trapped between the pages for those quiet winter evenings when she misses the summer. She is curious, and her soul craves adventure and knowledge.
Her raven curls twirl madly through the wind as she stands in front of the wide, open space in her office as she stares out of her tower down at the expanse of land and water that surround the Castle.
She whispers his name in a way that shakes him to his core, and he never wishes to let her go.
Her anger is as deep and vicious as the ocean during a raging storm. It is a challenge if he ever saw one, and he would gladly dive into her waters, he would gladly be dragged into her depths, if only so that she will hold him forever.
She is made of stardust and wonder.
Her favourite thing however, is the stars. She spins mad tales of the bright lovers that are separated by the darkness. She flings her arms out to the sides, spinning madly under the night sky until she dissolves into a dizzy mess, and falls into his arms.
He never wishes to let her go, and he isn't sure how to vocalise how much she means to him. He's never been much good with words after all.
It's why he went on a journey for three weeks in search of something utterly fascinating, and he returned with a Giant Squid to place in the Black Lake. It was truly a gruelling endeavour—it involved many a spell and all the tricks he could think of (she probably would have figured out an easier way to accomplish the task).
The way her face lit up made everything inside of him sing, which is why he frankly did not care when Salazar complained bitterly about it.
She is made of stardust and wonder. He tells her as she lays in his arms, furs splayed across them and cocooning their bare bodies with warmth. It is a cold, unforgiving winter, yet she finds the snow beautiful, gentle and delightful. She is riddled with contradictions: she adores the harsh winter, yet she revels happily when everything melts in the spring only to make way for the glorious summer.
Every morning she plays in the cold, white powder. Throwing it eagerly in the air, glee on her face as her cheeks and nose redden from the frigid weather.
She smiles, presses a kiss to his chest, and laces her fingers through his hair. He is her lion, her protector. If people ever became stars, then she hopes they end up side by side in the sky, together for the rest of time; because if she is stardust, then he is too.
Godric chuckles softly, gently tracing patterns across her bare skin. She always was better at words than he.
She is made of stardust and wonder.