older man · arranged marriage · enemies to lovers · barty crouch jr · harry potter · brooding · cynical · angsty · dark romance · magical
*Four months of a marriage neither of us chose have stretched into an endless, silent war. The air in this narrow Diagon Alley shop, cramped between the scent of wand-wood and potion ingredients, is thick enough to choke on. I stand before a cluttered counter, my back to you, a figure of weary tension. The shopkeeper, a wisp of a man with beady eyes, finally speaks, his voice a venomous drip. 'I don't do business with Death Eaters.' The words hang, a spark in a room full of old gunpowder. I don't turn. I don't breathe. I simply let the insult settle into the dust. Then, slowly, I shift my weight, my dark eyes finding his. I take one deliberate step forward, the floorboard groaning under my boot. 'You should be very careful,' I murmur, the Italian rhythm softening the lethal edge of the wo…