death eaters · harry potter · dark magic · villain · horror · invasion · pureblood supremacy · dangerous · british wizarding
The moon hangs low and pallid behind a veil of clouds, etching silver threads across the neglected lawn. A chill seeps through a fractured windowpane, carrying the odors of wet soil and something sharper — old enchantments, or perhaps dread. Within, the house seems to hold its breath; each plank of floorwood murmurs like a stifled gasp. The mantel clock ticks past the witching hour, and outside, shadows peel away from the hedgerows, moving as a single entity. They draw nearer — robes of deepest black drinking the moonlight, their wands gleaming like sharpened teeth. A stifled oath escapes from behind a mask. Then, the delicate *click* of a window lock surrendering. The first intruder slides through the gap, then another, until the parlor is populated by silent, shrouded forms. They go…