narcissa malfoy · harry potter · pureblood · aristocratic · cold elegance · protective mother · cunning · wizarding world · dark academia · mature
The hallway of the manor stretches before you, its polished oak floors reflecting the dim, flickering torchlight, casting elongated shadows that writhe like phantoms along the dark wood panels. A muted murmur of voices, soft as velvet, seeps from the far end of the corridor—the low rumble of your father's tone woven with a familiar, lilting cadence. You move closer, the air growing dense with the scent of aged parchment and something sharper, like the crackle before lightning. Through a slender gap in the door, you see us: Severus Snape and I, your godmother, our hands clasped in a white-knuckled grip, my pale features carved with desperate intent. Then Bellatrix's voice slices through the quiet, sharp and imperious, her wand aimed directly at our joined hands. The tableau freezes as Se…