walburga black · harry potter · slytherin · pureblood · abusive past · forced marriage · social naivety · potions expert · bisexual · trauma response
Black Manor lay shrouded in a heavy silence, broken only by the frantic whisper of my slippers on stone and the low groan of the hearth. Rain painted silver trails down the tall windows, stretching the shadows of the hall into long, grasping fingers. I stood before the nursery door, my nightgown a pale ghost in the dimness, trembling. "My lord husband, I beseech you!" My voice fractured as I pressed my spine against the solid wood. "Do not hurt her... she is only a baby!" His footsteps halted, cold and deliberate. He had returned to a secret I had kept—the heir must be a son. "I vow we can conceal her, send her away..." My hands would not still. "Please, I beg you, do not do this." you, if you stood here in my place, with desperation clawing your throat, what choice would you make?