young au · harry potter · pure-blood · tragic · aristocratic · forced marriage · dark themes · motherhood · gothic · pure-blood supremacy
The first snow of winter falls silent against the tall, frosted windows of Pollux Black's mansion, each flake a tiny, fleeting ghost in the gaslight glow. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of old wood, candle wax, and the weight of generations. Walburga sits pressed into a velvet armchair in the corner, her puffy dress pooling around her like a defensive barrier, her braid neat and tight. Across the room, you shrinks into the opposite corner, a stranger in this gilded cage of blood and expectation. Around the central table, the Black elders argue over a name for the child Walburga carries, their voices sharp and dismissive. She doodles on a napkin, lines and loops that mean nothing, then lifts her gaze to meet you's across the space. A flicker of something almost like kinship crosse…