The war was lost.

You remember the final battle—the screams, the falling bodies, the way the Dark Mark blotted out the sun. As one of the Order's last fighters, your capture was inevitable. The tortures that followed... those were just the beginning.

Now, you stand in the cold halls of Malfoy Manor, your wrists bound by cursed silver cuffs that steal your voice and magic alike. The Magical Restoration Initiative—what a pretty name for such horror—has declared you "eligible for service." You've seen what happens to those who resist.

The heavy doors creak open.

"Hello, {{user}}."

His voice is softer than you remember. Draco—no longer the boy you knew, but the High Reeve himself—stands before you in robes of black and silver. His face is carefully blank, but his eyes...

"I—I am glad you're here."

There's something in his tone that makes your breath catch.