"Just... Make sure you keep your collars straight." Antoinette Avery fretted mercilessly over her two children, patting down their clothing and combing back their hair.

Dusting off Ignatius' shoulders, she stepped back to look over the two of them. Both of them were quite tall, although this and their brunette hair was the only notable similarity between the siblings.

Esmerelda had very much taken after her mother - deep set green eyes and an angular jawline. She looked much like Antoinette's family (a long line of tall, slender, French, pureblood witches and wizards known particularly for their striking appearances). Ignatius, on the other hand, was resembling his father more and more every day. Both father and son had longer faces, with slightly crooked noses.

"It's fine, Mum, please!" Ignatius writhed, swatting away his mother's hand and adjusting his hair himself.

Esme smirked with amusement, "Oh no, keep going. Ignatius does look an awful mess today."

"Esmerelda." Her mother quipped, "Quiet, please, for once." As Antoinette untucked the collar from beneath Ignatius' jumper, he peered around her to mischievously raise his eyebrows at his sister. In response to this, he was met by Esme sticking her tongue out at him.

Esme was thankful Ignatius was being his usual self. It was a small shining light in the darkness that some normality remained in her life - a brief distraction from the darkness looming over them, the fear of what was to come.

"You both need to make a good impression, yes? For your father. This is very important. Best behaviour mes anges." Antoinette leant down to press a kiss to each of their cheeks, causing her children to blush furiously and wipe it off their faces.

"You're so annoying." Ignatius grumbled under his breath.

His mother raised an eyebrow at him.

"Sorry maman." He mumbled.

Then a sudden crack sounded in the other room.

"Stand up straight." Antoinette told Ignatius, and then turned to Esme, "No wit."

The children nodded once, and with that the woman turned and stored down the hallway to open the front door.

Swiftly, the large front door slid open, revealing several witches and wizards stood on their doorstep. All wearing the finest robes, and carrying an aura of reserved caution, they hovered in the doorway.

"Come on in, welcome." Antoinette greeted their guests.

The Avery household was very large and exquisite - a result of combing the immense wealth of two high-society families. The grounds sprawled the whole width of the valley the home was built in, masking it from the nearby muggle village on the other side of the hill.

Regulus Black was one of the last to enter the house, following closely behind his parents into the hallway. It had been quite some time since he'd been in the Avery home, but it hadn't changed in the slightest.

The walls were still lined with grand, historical paintings and there were more doors leading off from the hall than there were rooms in the entirety of Grimmauld Place.

There was no mistaking the pride the Avery's had in their home, as every inch from the glistening floors to the highly arched ceilings was immaculately decorated.

"They have not arrived yet." Antoinette informed the adults, giving away a sign that she was beginning to get a bit nervous as her accent grew thicker.

Bellatrix coughed, "Well, we wouldn't want to be late now, would we? Never keep the Dark Lord waiting."

"When will he be arriving?" Rodolphus asked, adjusting his robes.

Lucius Malfoy sneered, "Lucas best not be wasting our time. There is important business to be discussed."

Narcissa placed a hand on her husband's arm, "Today is not for business. It's a day of celebration. We're welcoming in the younger ones, after all." She turned to face Esme, a half-smile ghosting over her lips.

She could feel the blood draining from her face and instinctively she looked across the room to Regulus, who met her gaze unwaveringly.

Then.

Another sudden crack.

This time from within the drawing room.

Silence fell over the group, and an unusual wave of coldness washed over the room. Esme senses the hairs on the back of her neck standing up, as a pit opened in the bottom of her stomach.

The drawing room door creaked open, revealing Lucas Avery. He wore long navy robes, and black gloves, and his light brown hair was tightly combed back.

"He is here." Lucas stated simply, before searching the crowd for his son, "Ignatius, it's time."

Everyone turned to the boy, who flashed a clearly fake smile of confidence, and slowly walked towards his father. Lucas placed one hand on his son's shoulder, offering a gentle squeeze before allowing him to enter the room. Lucas closed the door after Ignatius so he stood on the other side.

Immediately Antoinette rushed to her husband's side, anxious for some comfort.

After a few moments, the witches and wizards began having rather hushed conversations amongst themselves, no voices raised more than a whisper.

But Esme remained still and silent. She felt like if she tried to talk she might burst into tears. She had to play it cool.

"Looking a little nervous, are we?"

Esme turned to see Bellatrix had spoken. The woman with wild black curls was grinning from ear-to-ear as she pushed the the long sleeves of her cloak.

"I don't know what you're talking about." Esme mumbled weakly.

The woman hissed, "Your loyalties better be with the right people. Don't think for a single moment that I trust you. I've heard the rumours."

In the future, Esme decided whether the next thing that happened was a blessing or a curse. Of course, she would say without a doubt that it was the worst moment in her entire life, but perhaps it also saved her from being caught out by Bellatrix.

The drawing room door opened again, suddenly causing silence to crash over everyone. And then... A voice. It was a strange mix of a shout and a whisper at the same time. But the words were unforgettable. Undoubtedly clear.

"Esmerelda Avery."

Using all of the might that she could, Esme dragged her heavy feet across the floor. Time had slowed down and it appeared to take hours for her to enter the dreaded room.

Someone, she didn't know who, clicked the door shut behind her as Esme cemented her feet to the floor, her back pressed hard up against the door she had just entered from.

Illuminated by the light from the grey overcast brightening the room, stood a figure in the window. He stood with his back to her - not moving.

In her mind, Esme'd had this image of the Dark Lord being some sort of fiery demon. Of course, she was wrong.

As he turned around... Esme recognised him.

She had never really stopped to think about it... About who the Dark Lord might be. Although she had known he was a friend of her father's, she'd never put the pieces of the puzzle together.

Standing there, on that fateful day, she recognised the man to be none other than Tom Riddle.

He had changed though. His face was more gaunt, his frame more slender and bony. But there was something else... Something else that was different about him.

Then she noticed it.

Only as Tom Riddle slowly approached the girl did she finally see it... The image that would be burned into her worst nightmares for the rest of her life.

His scarlet red eyes.

Everything else about him seemed relatively normal. His brown hair was slicked nearly back, there was also the faintest trace of a smirk haunting his lips.

But his eyes.

They were unnatural.

"Ah, Esmerelda Avery. My, my, you have blossomed." He sneered, coming to a stand awfully close to her.

She tensed up, trying not to wince as he ran a hand through her long hair.

He leant back, gazing up and down her, "Do you remember me?" He inquired.

"Yes." Esme's voice was hoarse, feeling as though her whole throat had suddenly clamped up, "I... Nobody said you were Mr. Riddle."

Something flashed over his features. Perhaps disgust? Whatever it was, Esme instantly regretted having spoken at all.

"I go by a different name now. Do you not know of it? I would have thought you did, given you're willingness to give yourself to me like this."

Esme could feel the lump rising in her throat, and was scared to open her mouth in case she vomited everywhere. Taking a deep breath, she whispered, "The Dark Lord. I-I know your name."

"Good." He mused simply.

Then. Then all of a sudden his wand appeared in his hand.

"I've heard great things about you. A very talented witch. Extraordinary, almost. I could make you formidable, with a little training."

Esme could feel every ounce of blood pumping through her veins as he spoke. She felt as if, at any moment, she might pass out.

"Arm." He stated. Instead of waiting for her to raise her arm however, he reached forward and snatched it himself.

He turned it over, exposing her unmarked forearm. Tightening his grip on her pale flesh, Esme tensed her jaw at the discomfort from his long nails digging deep into her skin. She trained her gaze on the far corner of the room and was almost certain that his cuts were drawing blood.

Slowly, she felt the wand press down onto her arm.

"Look at me. I want to see your eyes." He hissed.

Then, just as Esme lifted her heavy gaze to meet his beady red eyes, her arm started to burn.

Not like a sunburn, though.

It was a blinding pain flashing through her arm and across her whole body. Esme could see spots in her vision as the grip on her arm tightened, feeling as though it was beginning to cut off the blood supply.

There were too any different feelings to comprehend.

A pit of dread opening in her stomach. The threat of being sick any moment. The chills coursing through her veins battling against the nervous sweat soaking her skin.

Then her knees started to buckle, to weak to hold her up for much longer.

The searing pain caused spots to appear in Esme's vision as she used every ounce of strength she had left to just keep standing still.

Then, it stopped.

Just like that.

And Esmerelda Avery was bound to the Dark Lord.