When Darya was a child and bad things would happen, like when she would disappoint someone or someone hurt her, she would tell herself over and over again that the pain was only temporary. That it would only hurt that much and feel so raw at that exact moment.  A good night's sleep or a long swim would usually take away the majority of the pain.

However, it's hard to tell yourself that the pain will be gone tomorrow, when you feel like you have lost everything. A few days had passed, and her thoughts were eating her whole body. She looked Tom Riddle in the eyes, and when he looked back, she wondered if he was thinking: 'I'm going to ruin you'. If he wasn't, he had probably been thinking it the first time they met, anyway. 'You're mine now.'

She was wearing black for the night. It had to be the first time in years she was wearing it — she hated the color. It reminded her of funerals. It was a long, flowing dress of midnight black, adorned with subtle, shimmering silver threads that caught the torchlight on the wall with every movement.

Her wand was hidden within the folds of her dress, a comforting presence despite the danger that surrounded her. Tonight, she would play a dangerous game, weaving a web of deception to protect those she loved.

"Come closer," Riddle commanded. "I want to give you something."

He brushed his hand along her arm before reaching into his pocket. He pulled out a small, intricately crafted seashell, glowing with a soft, ethereal light and handed it to her. She took the seashell, her fingers trembling slightly. As she held it up to her ear, the sound of gentle waves filled her senses.

Then, she heard a voice—Amalia's voice and laughter, as clear as if she were standing beside her. Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, but she blinked them back, forcing herself to stay composed.

"I thought you might find solace in this," he said, his tone uncharacteristically soft. "Amalia's death was unfortunate..."

"I-I- How did you do this?" Darya's voice broke.

"Magic has many facets, Darya. This is but a small comfort I can offer you for your loss. Amalia was dear to you, was she not?" Darya nodded as he spoke, her throat tightening with emotion. His hand tilted up her chin. "Grief is a powerful motivator. It can fuel great strength if you let it."

She wanted to believe that there was a sliver of kindness in everyone, even in him, and that this gesture was more than just manipulation. But she couldn't forget who he was, what he had done.

"Thank you," she managed to say. He scoffed in return.

As they stepped into the Drawing Room at Malfoy Manor, the atmosphere shifted. The room was filled with Death Eaters, their faces partly hidden behind masks. They all looked the same, but she could still tell which one of them was Regulus. Her heart pounded as she took her place among them, the seashell still clutched in her hand and the sound of Amalia's voice echoing in her mind. The ceremony was about to begin.

Tom raised his hands, commanding silence. "Tonight, we welcome new members into our ranks," he announced, his voice echoing through the hall. "They will receive the Dark Mark and show their loyalty."

One by one, the initiates stepped forward, their expressions a mix of fear and determination. Darya watched as Tom marked them, his power evident in every gesture. She only recognized one of them: Snape, who she had always disliked for an unknown reason.

Months had passed since the summer ball when Regulus had gotten his mark. That night stood in stark contrast to tonight. It had been hidden under glamorous dresses, glitter, and bright colors. Now she saw the Death Eaters for what they really were.

There had been a time when Darya could convince herself that the darkness was distant, an abstract concept that only brushed against the edges of her world. The summer ball had been filled with laughter and light, a dazzling spectacle that masked the truth. Regulus had been so confident, so sure of his place among them. But tonight was different. She stole a glance at him. Even he looked broken and unsure now.

As the ceremony continued, she found herself struggling to maintain her composure. Her mind kept drifting back to the night in his bed and the morning at the lake. To his words and dares...

Her thoughts were interrupted by a murmur of discontent from the crowd. One of the initiates, a young man with a haunted look in his eyes, was speaking out. "My Lord, I... I have doubts."

The room fell silent. Tom's eyes narrowed and his wand lowered. Before he could respond, Darya stepped forward, her wand at the ready.

"How dare you question our Dark Lord?" she said, her voice cold. "Your doubts are an insult to his greatness."

The doubter looked at her, fear evident in his eyes. She didn't want to hurt anyone, but she knew she had to play Riddle's game. She felt the weight of her decision pressing down on her, the darkness of the hall closing in around her.

"Please," the doubter begged, "I just need more time to understand."

"Your hesitation shows weakness," Darya said, forcing her voice to remain steady. "Weakness is not tolerated here."

Darya paused, her wand hand trembling. She could feel Regulus' eyes on her, urging her to stay strong. She knew what she had to do, but the thought of causing pain made her stomach churn. She glanced at Tom, who was watching her intently, his eyes cold and expectant.

"Crucio," she whispered, her heart breaking.

The action went against everything she believed in, every fiber of her being, but she forced herself to maintain her composure. She had to convince Tom of her loyalty. She had to stay strong. She had to protect the ones she loved. As the curse took hold, the doubter screamed, his body convulsing in agony. Flames of anguish licked at his skin, consuming him like a relentless inferno.

She had expected remorse to flood her, to drown her in a sea of guilt and sorrow for the suffering she inflicted, to be overwhelmed by the horror of what she was doing. But instead, something unexpected stirred in her.

Watching him writhe on the floor, she felt a surge of power. This man, this potential threat to the innocent, was now at her mercy. She was exacting a price for his potential to harm those she cared about. A satisfaction curled in her chest, a twisted sense of justice. The power she wielded at that moment felt intoxicating, a difference from the helplessness she always felt around Tom.

"Well done, Darya," she heard the Dark Lord say, but she didn't stop.

The words should have brought a sense of accomplishment, validation even, for what she had just done. Yet, instead of relief or pride, her heart clenched tighter with each agonized scream that tore through the air. This wasn't just a test of loyalty; it was a battle within herself.

She gritted her teeth, feeling power rush through her hand and to the tip of her wand. The doubter's screams echoed in her mind, mingling with the distant echoes of Amalia's voice from the seashell. How long had she been torturing him now? For a few seconds — or for minutes? The chamber blurred around her, the faces of her fellow Death Eaters becoming indistinct, though she could hear them cheering.

"Enough," Riddle finally commanded, his voice cutting through the air like a whip.

She released the curse, the rush of power fading into a cold emptiness that left her feeling hollow. The young man lay still, panting and broken. Yet she felt no need to run to him, to heal him, to apologize for the cruelty she had inflicted. Instead, she took a step back and blended into the ranks of Death Eaters once more.

"Let this serve as an example to all," the Dark Lord said, his voice resonating with authority. "You have really proven yourself tonight, Darya."

A murmur of approval rippled through the Death Eaters, their masked faces turning toward her. She sensed Regulus' gaze but looked directly at Bellatrix instead.

Despite the mask covering half of Bellatrix's face, Darya could sense the intensity of her jealousy burning through. Knowing what Regulus had told her—that Bellatrix was fiercely jealous of those who gained her lord's favor—Darya offered her a wink.

As the ceremony concluded, Bellatrix and the other Death Eaters began to disperse, some lingering to speak in hushed tones, while Riddle slipped away into the shadows. Needing air before traveling, Darya found her way outside.

The moonlight guided her steps along the gravel path as she passed statues and fountains. Finally, she found a secluded alcove beneath a large willow tree, its branches trailing gracefully to the ground, creating a natural curtain that offered privacy.

She slipped out of her heels and tore her mask off. Hearing a twig snap behind her, she spoke, "I know you've followed me, Regulus."

He approached her quietly, his hands behind his back. "You did well back there."

She looked him up and down, letting her hair down. The golden locks fell upon her black dress. "Take the mask off when you speak to me."

Standing before her, bathed in the silver glow of the moonlight, he took off his mask to reveal a smile. "You've impressed everyone tonight, including the Dark Lord himself."

She smirked. "He probably believes I'm on his side."

"You played your part convincingly. Almost too convincingly."

Darya raised an eyebrow, a wry smile playing on her lips. "You sound surprised," she teased lightly.

Regulus shook his head. A slight breeze whispered through the leaves, causing the willow branches to sway gently and casting shifting patterns of light and shadow on the ground beneath their feet. She let the wind push him ever closer to him.

"See?" she whispered. "I'm not broken. I can take care of myself. I can be tough."

"You've always been tough, Darya," he said gently. "You've been taking care of yourself for so long. Now I've joined in, too. Now we take care of each other."

She gently placed her hands on his chest, leaning against him. Then, she nodded slowly. "Y-yes."

"Darya," he whispered, "can I kiss you?"

She nodded again.

Regulus cupped her cheek in his hand, carefully pulling her face into his. His lips an inch from hers, she slid her hands up to his shoulders, up to his hair, and tangled herself in it. Then, they connected their lips. Slowly, they took their time, like there was no place they would rather be, and the intimacy of it made her whole body heat like a thousand burning stars.

Darya realized that this was something that she had wanted to do for a very long time. They pulled apart, and she looked into his eyes. They were so pretty... He was so beautiful... Those brown eyes had seen the worst of her, but they were still so full of love. He was still so full of love. Regulus had never been the horrible person she had thought he was. Like the sea, he felt like home, like the only safe place in the world. Regulus was gentle, kind, he was another star burning, he was here, and... she needed him.

"Again..." she whimpered, "please."

A breath passed, and then—they collided. Hands, lips, teeth. Her mouth crashed against his, and her back slammed against the willow tree. When his hands moved to her hips, she realized that he was just as needy as her. Nothing was soft anymore. She wondered how long he had thought of doing this to her.

When they pulled apart to share heavy breaths, she whispered, "Regulus, can I stay with you tonight? Again?"

Without hesitating, he enveloped them in the folds of his cloak, like he had done the day he had shown her his scars. Closing her eyes, pressing her forehead against his, she felt them vanishing into smoke. They obviously weren't Apparating, for he managed to get them inside his chamber on castle grounds. But she didn't want to ponder on his magic anymore; she just wanted him.

He sat down on his bed—and she immediately sat down on his lap. "You look so beautiful tonight," he breathed, his hands exploring her. "Fucking perfect."

Regulus kissed her neck over and over again. "I need you," she moaned.

"You don't ever have to ask again, darling. I'll give you anything you want."

Tearing their clothes off, she already knew the night would feel like forever.