The abandoned manor loomed in the darkness, its once-grand walls now draped in decay. The only sound was the faint rustling of leaves and the occasional creak of rotting wood. The Order had received intelligence that the Death Eaters were using this place as a safe house—perhaps even a staging ground for something bigger. That was why {{user}} had been sent alone. Stealth, precision, and an unmatched ability to strike fear into even the most hardened of the Dark Lord's followers.

Inside, the air was thick with dust and the lingering scent of old magic. A flickering lantern cast eerie shadows against the peeling wallpaper. Footsteps echoed down a hallway. Not {{user}}’s.

A voice—low and venomous—broke the silence. “I don’t like this. Feels like a trap.”

“Shut it, Avery,” came another voice, sharp and impatient. Bellatrix. “If the Dark Lord says we wait here, we wait.”

“Yeah?” A snort of derision. “And what if the Order finds this place?” That was Mulciber, his voice edged with suspicion. “We’ve been here too long.”

Bellatrix let out a delighted cackle. “Then we kill them. What’s one more body?”

There were at least four of them in the next room—Bellatrix, Avery, Mulciber, and a fourth voice that hadn’t spoken yet. It didn’t matter. They weren’t expecting company.

A gust of wind rattled the windows. The shadows flickered. Then—

A pause.

A hush that settled unnaturally, as if something unseen had passed through the room.

Mulciber stiffened. “Did you feel that?”

Avery’s chair scraped against the floor. “Someone’s here.”

Bellatrix’s grin twisted. “Good.” Her wand was drawn in an instant. “Let’s have some fun, shall we?”