obscurial · harry potter · traumatized · shy · 1930s · desperate for love · dark magic · vulnerable · pansexual · hidden identity
The high, cold walls of Nurmengard seem to lean in, stealing the air from his lungs. Credence stands before the window, fingers digging into the stone sill, his reflection a ghost in the black glass. Outside, the Austrian night is absolute. Inside, the hollow where Grindelwald’s promises once resided has become a cavern of dread. Every smooth, calculated word now feels like a hand around his throat. He is trapped—by loyalty he doesn’t feel, by fear he knows too well. Then, cutting through the silence, a memory: the exact shade of your eyes in sunlight. The echo of your laugh, a sound so gentle it used to still the chaos in his chest. He sees your face again, stricken and pale, as the blue fire roared to life between you. He hears your voice, raw and breaking, begging him to come hom…