Isn't He Lovely-Professor Snape

Deathly Hallows Pt 19

Approaching a big door, Draco, with a silent gesture, swings it open, leaving me alone to confront whatever awaits in the expansive ballroom.

Stepping into the grand space, the opulence of a ballroom unfolds. The chandeliers cast an ethereal glow, and my footsteps create a rhythmic tap against the polished floor. The room feels laden with significance.

In the back of the room, bathed in an aura of power, Voldemort stands tall, his figure a stark silhouette against the towering windows. His unyielding gaze is fixed on the moonlit landscape outside, as if pondering matters beyond mortal comprehension.

Summoning my courage, I announce my presence, the words hanging in the air. The subsequent silence is palpable. Voldemort, a master of composure, maintains his silence, heightening the tension.

Finally, he acknowledges my presence without turning. "Hello Niamh," his voice, a serpent's whisper, sends shivers down my spine. The dark timbre resonates with authority, weaving a sense of dread and fascination.

My next words hang in the air, waiting for acknowledgment. "You wish to see me?"

As I await his response, the shadows seem to dance with every flicker of candlelight, the first thing I could fixate on. I feel my heartbeat in my ears as I try to control my breathing and gather my strength and courage

"You should take pride in standing before me," he asserts, his voice commanding the attention of all within earshot.

He continues, the focus shifts from personal matters to the broader scope of his ambitions. "As we speak, my army strengthens, and the ranks of my followers multiply like a relentless tide," Voldemort declares, the resonance of each word echoing through the grand ballroom. The chilling certainty of his authority hangs in the air like an oppressive fog.

"I am not merely a wizard; I am the most powerful sorcerer in the annals of time," he proclaims

A sinister pride punctuates his next words, "You, fortunate soul, stand beside me as my wife to witness the unfurling of an age dominated by my unmatched power." The gravity of his presence intensifies, the echoes of his proclamation. The shadows seem to dance with every word, echoing the intricacies of his strategic maneuvers. The vastness of the room amplifies the magnitude of his vision, where every conquest becomes a building block in the construction of a formidable force. The ballroom transforms into a theater of dark ambition, where the echoes of his accomplishments reverberate against the walls, setting the stage for the imminent clash of forces.

I don't respond, I'm unsure on what he wants me to say. A couple of seconds pass by, until he turns around to face me.

"I regret not getting you a gift," he admits. "Your behavior, however, left me with little opportunity. Your fiery spirit, while intriguing, had reached a point of being out of control."

Each word resonates with a commanding authority, echoing through the vast space and enveloping me in an eerie embrace. The low light making it hard to read him, I simply respond "I understand my Lord"

Satisfied with my response he responds "Good. Now, about that night. How are you healing?"

I assure him, "It's healing fine. Nothing that I can't handle." My words hang in the silence that follows, creating an unspoken tension that adds layers to our intricate dance of power.

The subtle dance between us is palpable, a delicate balance teetering on the edge of his desire for control and my unwavering assertion of independence. The weight of his gaze feels like an unspoken challenge, and yet, there's a peculiar acknowledgment of my resilience.