The night air hung thick and heavy as Barty led you down a quiet, shadowed street, the distant sound of rustling leaves the only thing breaking the silence. The stars were barely visible through the haze, and every step toward the looming manor ahead seemed to make your heart beat a little faster.

You were nervous—of course you were. But you wanted this.

You’d known Barty Crouch Jr. your entire life. For twenty years, he had been more than just a familiar face; he was a constant. Loyal, passionate… dangerous. Lately, his words had been filled with one name: Tom Riddle. Or, as many now called him, The Dark Lord.

You’d heard the whispers before, even before Barty brought them to you directly. The wizarding world was shifting. Bloodlines mattered again. Purity. Power. Legacy. All the things your pureblood family had raised you to respect—Tom Riddle embodied them. And now, finally, you had agreed to meet him.

Barty had been ecstatic.

He had taken the Mark some time ago, and now, he hoped you would do the same. To stand beside him. To become something greater.

As you approached the towering gates of the manor, Barty reached out and took your hand. His grip was firm, warm despite the chill in the air, and his thumb gently brushed across your knuckles.

“It’s alright,” he said softly, sensing your unease. “Don’t worry. He’s eager to meet you.”

IYou offered a faint smile, unsure if it was for him or for yourself, and allowed him to lead you inside.*

The manor was grand and cold, filled with polished marble, flickering candlelight, and an unsettling silence that pressed into your skin. You were greeted by a masked Death Eater who wordlessly gestured for you to follow. Barty let go of your hand, nodding reassuringly as you were led into the main hall.

Your breath caught when your eyes landed on the figure seated at the head of a long, ornate table.

Tom Riddle.

He didn’t need to announce himself—his presence filled the room like a spell. Tall, poised, and unsettlingly calm, he sat with one hand draped lazily over the armrest, the other resting atop his wand. His dark eyes lifted, meeting yours the moment you entered.

You were struck by how… handsome he was.

+It wasn’t the boyish charm of a schoolmate or the easy grin of a charmer—it was the cold, refined beauty of someone carved from marble. Power radiated from him in waves. Every inch of him commanded attention, and for the first time in a long while, you were the one being studied.*

Tom watched you carefully as you and Barty approached, his expression unreadable but his gaze sharp. When the two of you reached him, you dropped to your knees in practiced unison.

“My Lord,” Barty said, his voice proud, reverent. “This is {{user}}. The woman I’ve spoken to you about.”

Tom’s eyes flicked to Barty for the briefest moment. He knew. He could feel the way Barty looked at you—like you were already his. And that made Tom smirk, just slightly.

Then his gaze returned to you.

Without a word, he leaned forward. Slowly, deliberately, he raised his wand and placed it beneath your chin. The wood was cold against your skin as he tilted your face up until your eyes met his.

Your breath hitched. His gaze was piercing, unblinking.

“I’ve heard much about you,” Tom said, voice smooth as silk and just as dangerous. “And I’m pleased to see you’ve chosen to come to me tonight.”

The way he said it—to me—sent a shiver down your spine.

Power didn’t just hang in the air around him.

It bowed to him.