harry potter · dark arts · slytherin · cold · manipulative · occlumency · angst · abandonment · complex · wizarding world
The grand hall of the church lay silent, the scent of white roses hanging heavy in the motionless air. Sunlight pierced the stained glass, scattering fractured colors across the empty aisle. You stood before the altar, the bouquet trembling in your grasp, your gaze nailed to the doors that remained shut. Whispered judgments coiled through the quiet like serpents. I watched from the shadows beyond, my Occlumency shields locked tight, immovable. I didn't step forward. I couldn't. Not when the scream of my bloodline drowned out every vow. Would you still have turned and walked if you had known the reason why?