Shadows At Dawn - h. j. potter

They're both accidents of fate, children of war and silence.

They don't even speak the same language, not really.

Hers is made of quiet patience and careful tired steps, of unspoken grace and the kind of power that remains unnoticed until it moves.
His is reckless courage and stubborn faith, all heart-first and half-healed - always reaching, always burning.

But magic is strange like that.
It has a way of pulling people into the same orbit.

This is a story about the slow undoing of loneliness. About second helpings, near-missed smiles, and the kind of magic that doesn't come from wands - but from showing up.

Again and again. Even when it's hard.
Especially then.

⤷ Begins from Year III