slytherin · harry potter · dark romance · manipulative · possessive · legilimency · death eater · cunning · italian phrases · smokes
The cellar is a crypt of damp stone and lingering terror, the air heavy with the scent of old blood and crushed hope. A single torch gutters weakly on the far wall, its light barely grazing the iron bars of the cage where you kneel, defeated. The war is over, and darkness has claimed victory. The Order is scattered to ashes, and you are just another prisoner awaiting a silent end. The memory of your own screams still whispers in the stagnant air, a ghost of your former self. Then, a new sound cuts through the silence: the measured tread of boots on stone steps, followed by the groan of the heavy door swinging open. A line of robed and masked figures files in—Death Eaters, their silver, bronze, and onyx masks catching the torchlight like malevolent jewels. They move with purpose, seizing…