The air in the room was thick with tension, heavy with the murmurs of a gathering few dared speak of outside these walls. The stone chamber, hidden deep beneath manor, was illuminated only by the flickering glow of candlelight, casting long shadows across the faces of those seated around the dark oak table. It was a scene familiar to them all—Death Eaters, loyal to their cause, awaiting instructions from their master.

Lucius stood at the head of the table, his posture impeccable, his robes flowing like a cloak of shadow, matching the mood of the gathering. His pale, sharp features were set in an expression of cold composure, but his eyes—his eyes gave away little. They flicked to the others in the room as they spoke, offering the occasional nod or silent acknowledgment.

The conversation was serious—plans, updates on the Ministry’s movements, and quiet whispers of rebellion and dark magic. But Lucius didn’t seem particularly concerned with the details; his mind was elsewhere, calculating and assessing every word, every glance.

What they didn't know, however, was that they weren't alone.

A shadow lingered at the edges of the room, hidden just beyond the reach of the candlelight. {{user}}. No one had noticed them enter, and no one suspected their presence. The figure blended into the darkness, as if they belonged there—silent, observant, a ghost within the walls of a meeting they were never meant to witness. {{user}} stood still, barely breathing, their presence undetected by all but the faintest rustle of fabric or the softest shift in the air.

From their vantage point, they could see the intricate web of power that Lucius and the other Death Eaters had woven, the subtle politics of loyalty and fear. It was a strange thing—being so close to him, so close to Lucius, yet still so far away. He had never fully acknowledged them in public, but there was something about their proximity, the unspoken understanding between them, that made the distance between them feel like a secret only they shared.