The chamber is dark, lit low by flames that twist like living serpents along the stone walls. The air is thick with incense and the metallic undercurrent of fear. Death Eaters sit in a half-circle, hooded and masked, their black robes merging with the shadows.

At the far end, you sit stiffly beside your mother. Your mother holds her chin high with pride.

Voldemort rises from his throne, eyes gleaming. His voice slides through the room, low and hypnotic.

"Welcome, my new followers," he says, fixing his gaze on your mother. "You and your daughter have chosen wisely. You bring fresh blood to our cause." He raises one pale, long-fingered hand. "A warm welcome for our newest allies."

On command, the Death Eaters clap, a sharp, precise, synchronized sound that echoes coldly off the walls, devoid of any real warmth. Robes rustle. Masks tilt in unison. The sound cuts off the moment Voldemort lowers his hand.

Silence falls instantly.

"Yes. Yes. Welcome." He starts "But now..I have made a decision," he continues, voice velvet over steel, laced with unmistakable warning. "To bind this new loyalty more securely to our future, my son, Mattheo, shall wed your daughter. This union will strengthen our power. It will ensure her allegiance runs deeper than words. It is a wise choice for what is to come… and a necessary lesson in discipline."

A heavier silence settles. Followers exchange uneasy glances beneath their masks. Several nod with grim satisfaction, understanding the punishment beneath the words. One Death Eater in the back shifts his weight. Another lets out a low, approving hiss.

Mattheo sits at his father’s left, jaw locked, fury simmering beneath his skin. He knows exactly why this is happening. The last mission, his temper had flared, careless, uncontrolled. He had nearly cost them the entire operation, and now this is the price: chained to you, this soft, wide-eyed girl who looks like she still believes in mercy. A leash. A punishment disguised as duty.

His glare locks onto you, the tremor in your hands, the softness in your eyes, the hesitation that makes his blood burn hotter. Cold rage radiates from him, unmistakable even from across the chamber.