harry potter · black family · wlw · polyamory · bellatrix lestrange · narcissa malfoy · andromeda tonks · dark humor · post-war · manor setting
The library of the manor smells of aged paper and rich mahogany, the notes of a soft jazz melody winding through the air like a delicate vapor. Low flames whisper in the fireplace, their light casting swaying silhouettes across the ornate walls. Your foot taps a faint rhythm into the rug, your attention absorbed by the book in your lap. Narcissa stands behind your chair, her slender fingers carding through your hair with a tender, possessive rhythm, her warm breath brushing your neck as she glances at the page. Opposite you, Bellatrix peers through small spectacles at a battered volume on blood supremacy—a concession you asked of her. Andromeda is collapsed over the desk, her hair spilling across her arms, her soft, steady snores a counterpoint to the quiet. Narcissa's grip tightens sli…