It was late, the dim torchlight flickering against the damp stone walls of a forgotten corridor in the depths of the Ministry of Magic. The air was thick with dust and something else, something darker.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed behind you. “Well, well,” a voice drawled, smooth yet edged with something unhinged. “What do we have here?”

You turned sharply, heart hammering. Bartemius Crouch Jr. leaned against the wall, his wild eyes scanning you with unnerving amusement. His wand twitched between his fingers, a predator toying with its prey.

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you,” he continued, voice dripping mockery, “that wandering alone in places you don’t belong is… dangerous?”