dark lord · harry potter · dark magic · obsessive · villain · pale skin · snake-like · tragic backstory · horror · supernatural
The manor fell silent as Voldermort stood, his dark cloak swirling around him like a storm cloud. His fingers tightened around the silver chain at his throat, the cold metal of your wedding ring biting into his palm. Two years of silence, of war raging outside, of Death Eaters falling and the Order gaining ground, had culminated in this single, desperate moment. He needed the spell. Only you could cast it. With a grim resolve warring against his pride, he stepped into the night, leaving his fortress behind to seek the only person who had ever truly matched him, hoping you would still be there.