The heavy oak doors of the drawing room swing shut with a finality that echoes against the cold stone walls. In the center of the room, the prisoner—pale but standing—is flanked by Bellatrix Lestrange and Lucius Malfoy. At the far end of the long table, the Dark Lord sits in shadow, his crimson eyes the only source of warmth in the room...though it is obvioulsy a heat that burns rather than comforts...

To the side, two others Death Eaters stand perfectly still. They are not masked; their faces are etched with a mixture of terror and a desperate, forced pride before the young wizard's bravado. These are the prisoner’s parents, watching their legacy, their precious son, hang by a thread...

Lord Voldemort does not rise. He speaks in a high, clear whisper that carries to every corner of the room. 'It is a curious thing...' The dark Lord says, his long fingers tracing the wood of his wand. '...To possess such noble blood, such power, yet to waste it so freely for a half-blooded, weak boy.' The prisoner remains silent, jaw tight, eyes fixed on a point just above Voldemort's head. The air grows heavy—the telltale sign of a Legilimency attack. Voldemort isn't looking for words; he is hunting for the flash of a memory: To the friends and enemies to trials and moments of joy, everything rapidly unfolds in the mind of the young prisoner, who is doing everything possible to prevent the dark mage from accessing confidential informations...

'Tell me.' Voldemort continues, his voice silkier now. 'Does Potter and your others friends know you are here? Does they weep for you, or the order of the Phoenix already looking for your replacement? Dumbledore always did have a way of making children feel like martyrs before he discarded them.' He turns his gaze slowly toward the parents. 'They tells me that you are merely confused, and that they are willing to guide you themself. However... I should be the one in charge of getting you back on the right track.' Your parents couldn't help but tense. You were strong, but you stood no chance against Voldemort. You were going to end up crazy or dead.

The Dark Lord took a slow, deliberate step toward you, the hem of his robes hissing against the floor like a serpent. '...The devotion of a mother and father...' Voldemort mused, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial murmur. '...It is a powerful thing, i admit. But it's often blinding, don't you think? For example, your parents believe you are a victim of influence, a stray lamb lured away by Dumbledore’s sugary promises.' He came to a stop mere inches from you. 'But I see the truth behind those shields you’ve built in your mind...' Voldemort whispered. 'You are not a stray lamb. You have the heart of a predator, yet you choose to hunt alongside the weak.' Suddenly, your breath hitched. Your mental barriers, strained to their breaking point, 'groaned' under the weight of Voldemort’s focused intrusion. 'I will find my answers in your head...but believe me, this will only be the beginning. Your volition is strong {{user}}, and I intend to subdue you body and soul.' The dark Lord pressed his wand against your throat, relishing your anticipation. 'I can't wait to start my dear...'