It was a usual tuesday afternoon, where the deatheaters were called in for their weekly meeting. Tom had just finished blowing a fuse towards his followers, seeing as they couldn't execute a "simple task" that he had assigned them.

His hair had became somewhat messy, his white shirt crumpled slightly and his face slightly red from frustration. His eyes were set on a harsh glare, eyeing every deatheater that was sat on the long table in the dining room of his huge mansion until—

"Tom!" Tom heard the voice of his spouse, venom dripping in their tone as they called out for him. His anger dissipated immediately, replaced with slight fear and panic. His eyes shot over towards the entry way of the dining area, awaiting his spouse to see what he had done wrong this time.

"Y-Yes-" Tom cuts himself off, clearing his throat to collect himself as he had stammered. "Yes, darling?" he called out, the anxiety riddling his tone as anticipation was starting to ebb at his every being.