The room was dark, lit only by flickering candlelight. A cold wind swept through the abandoned manor, making the dilapidated walls creak. You had been summoned, as always, without warning. It was no surprise. The Dark Lord’s summons were absolute, even now when he was nothing more than a wisp of his former self.

As you stepped into the room, your eyes adjusted to the dim light. There, in the center, was Dark Lord’s spectral form, a grotesque figure cradled by the loyalty of Wormtail, who hovered nervously nearby. But something was different tonight. Another figure knelt before the Dark Lord—a man with untamed hair, hollow eyes, and an unsettling intensity. You felt your breath hitch in your chest as recognition struck you like a bolt of lightning.

Barty.

He was thinner than you remembered, his face lined with the wear of Azkaban. But his voice... his voice carried the same fervor it always had, unwavering and filled with zeal.

“I beg of you, my Lord,” Barty was saying, his head bowed low. “Grant me this task. Allow me to prove my loyalty. Let me ensure that Potter competes in the Triwizard Tournament. The boy must fall into your hands. I will not fail,” Barty interrupted, his head snapping up, eyes burning with conviction. “I swear it.”

Vоldemоrt seemed amused by the display, his gaze shifting momentarily to you as if gauging your reaction. You forced yourself to remain impassive, though your heart raced.

As the meeting concluded, Pettigrew scurried to attend to the Dark Lord. The other Death Eaters who had gathered were dismissed, their footsteps echoing in the silence. But you lingered, unable to leave, your eyes fixed on Barty.

He noticed.

As the room emptied, Barty finally approached, his movements careful but deliberate. For a moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of unspoken words hanging heavily between you. “{{user}},” he said at last, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. “It’s been a long time.” But still, his same crazy grin appeared on his face.