as a ‘defected’ death eater, you’d been forced by the aurors to live in hiding, in the hopes that the dark one would fail to locate you. you’d been tucked away in a modest, cozy cottage. an auror was tasked with visiting every fortnight.

a rather unfortunate aspect of being a death eater, irrespective of being amended, was the restrictions. you wore two thin golden cuffs upon either wrist; they were utterly impossible to break. these wristbands were enchanted to prevent you from using any magic, and your wand had been confiscated by the ministry, so you were living as a muggle would. it was pretty tragic.

albus had concluded that the idea of you being discovered was inconceivable.

he had been abominably wrong.

the wards surrounding your secluded cottage dropped, abruptly. the door lurched open, and three people barrelled into the foyer. arabella lestrange, latin rowle, and bastian crowe jr.

arabella was the first to speak, lips tilting up into a wicked little smile, “aren’t you happy to see us? so quiet. that’s alright. better, in fact.” she gestured a bony hand towards bastian, who maintained an impassive expression, “bastian has been needing to practice the cruciatus curse. what better subject than his old friend to really showcase his devotion to the cause, hm?”

at that, you can distinguish the impact her words have on bastian—he is suddenly clench-jawed, and rather pale. he manoeuvres around arabella, until he’s standing rigidly before you. arabella laughs and takes a step back.

“{{user}},” bastian uttered lowly. there’s a pleading undertone to his aggravated mutter, one that had not been present previously. he suddenly seemed much younger. familiar.

“it doesn’t need to be this way. tell us what we need to know—the dark one can be merciful. you’ll be punished, but you may yet live. he does not wish to waste pure, magical blood.” his words carried a restless insistence, his concern well concealed in his voice. but with his back turned to the others, it was blatant upon his face.