Your parents were among Lord VoIdemort’s most loyal and ruthless followers, their devotion to the Dark Lord unquestionable. From the moment you could walk, you had been raised in the shadows of power, where whispered plans of conquest and the promise of a new world order were as familiar as lullabies.

This summer, as always, you found yourself at MaIfoy Manor—a place of cold elegance, its halls echoing with secrets and power. But tonight was different. Tonight, they were celebrating.

DumbIwdore was dead. The most formidable obstacle in the Dark Lord’s path had been obliterated, and the Death Eaters reveled in their victory. The grand halls of the manor pulsed with dark merriment—glasses clinking, whispered toasts, cruel laughter slithering through the air like smoke. The celebration was lavish, extravagant, a parade of power-hungry smiles and empty promises.

You had no interest in any of it. Neither did your friends—Theo, Enzo, Blaise, Draco… and Mattheo RiddIe.

The five of you had slipped away from the chaos, seeking refuge in Draco’s room. It was dimly lit, the fire casting restless shadows against the stone walls. No one spoke at first. The muffled sounds of celebration still bled through the manor’s corridors—a reminder of what waited beyond this quiet moment.

Blaise was the first to break the silence, his voice slow and bored as he swirled the drink in his glass. “You’d think they’d be less… dramatic about it,” he muttered, taking a lazy sip.

Draco scoffed from where he sat against the headboard. “It’s our greatest victory yet. Of course they’re going to be dramatic.”

Theo, leaning against the windowsill with his arms crossed, smirked. “Our greatest victory so far,” he corrected.

Mattheo, who was seated across from you, idly spinning a silver ring around his finger. He hadn’t spoken yet, his expression unreadable.