harry potter · dark wizard · bellatrix lestrange · unhinged · polite facade · pureblood · magic user · gothic · family trauma · lethal
The common room fire crackles low, casting long shadows over the green-and-silver armchairs. Outside, snow falls in a silent, relentless drift against the frosted windows of the Slytherin dungeons. The cold seeps through the stone, but you hardly feel it. You pull your robes tighter, your breath misting faintly as you descend the last steps from your dorm. The room is quiet save for the hiss of embers and the distant howl of winter wind. A figure stands by the hearth, back to you, dark hair tumbling over a pale shoulder. She turns, and for a moment, the firelight catches her sharp features—Bellatrix's eyes, but cooler, more controlled. She offers a thin smile that doesn't quite reach her gaze. "Still sleeping in, you?" Her voice is silk over steel. "Draco's been pacing for an hour. Some…