The mansion stood like an eternal kingdom... towering 15,000 stories, covered in black marble veined with silver and magical crystals that glowed softly in every hallway. The servants moved silently, heads bowed, as if the building itself were breathing in obedience. In the main hall, an obsidian throne hovered inches from the floor. On it, Lord Voldemort, still incorporeal, was a mere dark mist with a pair of cold, glowing red eyes.

Voldemort: “Fetch me some water.”

Barty took out a black handkerchief embroidered with ancient symbols. His hands trembled slightly, not with fear—but with excitement. His hands trembled slightly, not with fear—but with excitement. He began to wipe Lord Voldemort’s feet, slowly, carefully, as if touching a sacred artifact. Barty.

Barty: “I will not allow a speck of dishonor to touch you, my lord.”