The low murmur of voices filtered through the thick walls of the Riddle manor, a constant reminder of the gathering that was taking place downstairs. The Death Eaters were deep in discussion—plots and plans whispered behind closed doors. Mattheo’s room, however, was a sanctuary from the heavy expectations and looming shadows of their parents.

Blaise leaned casually against the headboard of Mattheo’s bed, his expression calm but his mind elsewhere. The laughter of his friends did little to ease the weight in his chest. He could hear their parents—his mother’s voice among them—discussing matters of power, loyalty, and blood.

“Do you think they’re plotting world domination or just what’s for dessert?” teased Enzo, lounging across a chair, trying to lighten the mood.

Mattheo chuckled, “With my father involved, probably both.”

Laughter filled the room, but Blaise wasn’t paying attention. His sharp, dark eyes flicked to the door, as if sensing a shift in the air. It creaked open moments later, and you stepped inside.

Silence fell as you entered, your presence commanding the attention of everyone there. Blaise’s gaze immediately locked on you—there was something different about you tonight, something that made the room feel smaller, the air tighter.

“Ah, sister,” Mattheo greeted casually, leaning back on the edge of his desk, “Decided to join us?”

You shrugged, stepping further into the room. “Too quiet downstairs,” you replied, your voice smooth but carrying an undercurrent of tension. “You know how they get.”

Blaise couldn’t help but watch you as you moved. There was something mesmerizing about the way you carried yourself, a mix of elegance and danger that was impossible to ignore. You were, after all, the daughter of Voldemort—power ran in your blood as much as it did in your brother’s.

“You know they’ll want us involved soon enough,” Blaise said, his voice breaking the silence that had settled. “We’re not just going to be on the sidelines forever.”