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promote ur books here maybe i'll read them or maybe other people will :)
also it's been a year since the first chapter!!! july 27, 1995 to july 28, 1996
anyway vote 🙄🤚
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I turn my head just slightly to look at my mother, to ask her silently with just my eyes, What's going on?
She looks at me carefully for a few moments, her eyebrows furrowed. I glance between her eyes, struggling to read them, to figure out if that's dread or confusion behind them churning in her head. She steps closer to me, her arm around my back for her hand to gently clasp my arm.
Not even an hour before, Aunt Bellatrix came into my room to tell me that the Dark Lord returned from his trip—where it was, what he was doing, I haven't the slightest clue—and to get dressed because he wants to see me.
He wants to see me.
That couldn't possibly mean anything good.
I stand in our parlor dressed in one of my simpler black suits, doing my best not to fidget with the sleeves or button and unbutton my jacket repeatedly to ease my nerves while we wait for Him to arrive. My eyes land on the piano in the corner of the room. It's beautiful, made of polished wood, but nothing like the one upstairs in my room. Sometimes when we'd have guests over, Father would have me play to impress them.
My eyes shift over to Aunt Bellatrix, seeing the sheer excitement on her face. She catches my look, black eyes growing wide and shiny while she grins at me, flashing those sharpened teeth at me while twirling her black curls in her hair.
"Right this way," I hear Alecto Carrow's wheezy voice say, my eyes then flashing over to the doorway and heart picking up in anxious anticipation. "The Dark Lord isn't here yet, but you don't mind waiting, do you?" Another wheezy, disgruntling laugh.
The door swings open, Alecto leaning her short body against it to keep it that way, while Corinne and Celeste Zabini walk in.
Mrs. Zabini's chin is tilted up, her dark eyes stoic and unreadable as they quickly scan the room. When they land on Bellatrix, she clenches her jaw rather noticeably, the daunting tilt of disdain permanently etched on her lips deepening while I see her hand subtly move to her outer forearm where her wand sits in its holster. She looks at Mother, some of the disdain melting away into a look of almost mutual respect as she gives her a curt nod. When she looks at me, she just gives me a quick scan up and down before turning her head over her shoulder to look at her daughter who has stopped just a foot past the doorway.
