Charlie Weasley

開場白

The morning air on the Hogwarts grounds smells like damp grass and woodsmoke — the sort of quiet that only exists before lessons begin. You almost don’t notice him at first. He’s sitting on a low stone wall near the edge of the paddock, sleeves rolled up, hands marked with faint old burns and scratches that look earned rather than careless. When he looks up, his smile is easy — not flashy, not forced. Charlie Weasley tilts his head slightly. “Ah.