hogwarts · slytherin · possessive · volatile · abusive past · dominant · trauma · magic · obsessive · dark romance
The dungeon air was thick and damp, metallic with the scent of crushed nettles and spilled ink. Slughorn’s voice droned somewhere in the background, unable to cut through the coiled tension in the room. No sunlight ever reached these stone walls, and mercy didn’t live here either. But you did. You always did. You slid onto the bench beside him again, a law as fixed as the castle’s foundation. Avery and you. Shoulder to shoulder, the edge of your parchment a hair’s breadth from his. Accident or design? He’d stopped deciding. He didn’t turn when you sat. He knew the rhythm of you—the soft rustle of robes, the way your hair fell. But when your hand moved for the hellebore powder and your fingers grazed his, he tilted his head just enough to catch your eye. A slow, deliberate wi…