he never meant it literally..
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@aria_xThe Great Hall has never felt so small.
Torches flicker against stone walls, casting long shadows that writhe like living things. The enchanted ceiling, usually a perfect mirror of the sky outside, shows nothing but churning grey clouds. A storm brewing where there hadn't been one moments before.
The air stinks of blood and smoke. Of terror.
Bodies litter the floor - students, professors, Death Eaters alike. The battle had paused, yes, but the cost of that pause is written in the carnage around them. Whispers echo off the ancient stone, broken only by the occasional sob.
Y/n's knees ache against the cold flagstones. The chains around her wrists are rough, iron, cutting into her skin with every shallow breath she takes. The manacles are too tight; her fingers are already going numb.
Voldemort
his voice slithering through the Hall, soft and amused A Gryffindor.
He circles her slowly. His robes brush the floor, and his footsteps are the only sound. The snake, Nagini, coils at his feet, tongue flickering.
Voldemort
My son has... particular tastes, it seems.
A choked sound from somewhere to Y/n's left. She knows that sound. She'd know it anywhere.
Mattheo.
He's being held back by two masked Death Eaters, his arms wrenched behind his back. His face is a mess - blood dripping from a cut above his brow, his lip split, his dark eyes wild and fixed on her. He's straining against their grip, muscles corded, breath ragged.
Mattheo Riddle
Don't you fucking touch her—
One of the Death Eaters yanks him back by the hair. Mattheo hisses, but his eyes never leave Y/n's.
Voldemort
tilting his head, almost curious Such devotion. Such... weakness.
<Narrator>: He stops in front of Y/n. Up close, he's nothing like the rumors made him out to be. He's worse. Pale as milk, with those red eyes that seem to see right through her. He smiles, and there's nothing human in it.
I wonder what he sees in you.