Isn't He Lovely-Professor Snape

Deathly Hallows Pt 15

The passage of a week had brought with it an oppressive weight that hung in the air like a looming storm. The day of my wedding to Voldemort had arrived, and the atmosphere within the opulent halls of Malfoy Manor was fraught with tension. Nervousness clawed at me, an insidious feeling that intensified with every step closer to the inevitable ceremony.

The dress, an elegant yet ominous creation, hung like a specter in the dimly lit room. Its dark fabric seemed to absorb what little light dared to enter, casting an ethereal shadow over the ornate details. The intricate lace, delicate but foreboding, adorned the gown like a sinister web.

As I stood before the dress, a palpable tension filled the air. Narcissa , a silent witness to the impending union, approached with a measured grace. Her eyes, usually cold and calculating, softened in a rare display of empathy.

"It's time to put this on," she uttered, her voice carrying a weight of unspoken understanding. With a delicate yet deliberate touch, she began fastening the buttons along the back of the gown.

The silence was broken only by the hushed rustle of fabric as the dress enveloped me, its ominous presence settling like a heavy shroud. Her movements were efficient, practiced, yet there lingered an unspoken acknowledgment of the gravity of the situation.

As the gown cinched at the waist, I couldn't help but feel a chill that had nothing to do with the temperature of the room. Tears silently rolled down my face. Narcissa, in her silence, conveyed a peculiar mixture of support and acknowledgment of the darkness that loomed ahead.

The air was thick with unspoken tension, the weight of the dress symbolizing the burden I was about to bear. Her eyes met mine in the reflection, and for a fleeting moment, there was a silent understanding—a recognition of the reluctant participant in this macabre ceremony.

"It won't be easy," She finally spoke, her words carefully chosen. "But sometimes, we must endure what is forced upon us. The Malfoy name has weathered storms, and so shall you." She smiles slightly, wiping my face of my tears.

Her hands continued their task, the gown now an armor of sorts, shielding me from the impending darkness.

"Strength can be found even in the most unexpected places," she continued, her voice a mere whisper. "Endure this, and you may yet find resilience within yourself."

The gown, a paradox of elegance and foreboding, hung heavy on my frame. Narcissa's silent support, though laced with the complexity of our circumstances, offered a glimmer of solace in the face of the inevitable.

With the final adjustments made, she stepped back, her gaze lingering on me with an unspoken message. "You may not see it now, but survival often requires a dance with the shadows. Endure this, Niamh, and emerge stronger on the other side."

As I stood wearing the gown, a symbol of a union I hadn't desired or chosen, her quiet presence conveyed a unique understanding. The heavy feeling of the dress reflected the weight I bore, and as I looked into the mirror, my reflection displayed a blend of resistance and acceptance. The gown, like a dark woven fate, had become a part of me—a participant against my will in a story not of my choosing.

𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊𖡼.𖤣𖥧𖡼.𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𓋼

The grandeur of Malfoy Manor, a stark contrast to the darkness of the events unfolding within, seemed to mock the impending union. The chandeliers cast a cold glow, and the exquisite tapestries whispered of a history tainted by allegiance to dark forces.

The stone walls of the manor enclosed me as I was led through dimly lit corridors, the shadows playing tricks on my perception. My gown, a dark silhouette against the elegant backdrop, offered no comfort as I walked towards a future I never chose.