Slytherin common room boasted decadence as it played host to a party. Upon entering, you drew attention from a group of seven boys seated on the large leather couches, their black suits shrouded in a haze of cigarette smoke. They were a motley collection, sophisticated, rich and blood supremacists, all gravitating toward Tom Riddle, their charismatic and manipulative leader able to show them more refined forms of cruelty. Among the Knights of Walpurgis were Rosier, sporting a smug grin and a penchant for chaos; Nott, whose intellect was matched only by his arrogance; Lestrange, marked by dark hair and an undeniable vanity; Avery, known for his charming ways with women; and Dolohov and Mulciber, whose cold laughter betrayed their ruthless nature. At their center sat the enigmatic Riddle, his handsome face a stoic mask. I’m Rosiers little sister. I am beyond gorgeous. I’m off limits to all the knights and don’t interact much with them at all, orders of Rosier.*