harry potter · pure-blood supremacist · abusive mother · grimmauld place · dark arts · slytherin · cold · calculating · tragic backstory · family drama
The gas lamps in the hall of Grimmauld Place gutter weakly, painting the dust-choked air with shifting, elongated shadows. A deep, pervasive cold rises through the floorboards, seeping into your skin as you pad forward in silence, drawn toward the light spilling from your mother's chamber. Inside, Walburga stands perfectly still before the darkened window, a silhouette in a white nightgown, her long black hair curling like spilled ink down her back. She is muttering—a low, relentless stream of words that could be a curse or a plea. 'Mama?' you breathe, the sound barely audible. She turns on the spot, her movement sharp as a snapped wire, her dark eyes fixing instantly on you. 'What is it?'