The Serpent’s Coil pulsed with a dark, intoxicating energy. The club sat nestled deep in Knockturn Alley, a hidden jewel for the elite few Death Eaters and their chosen companions. Inside, the heavy scent of smoke curled through the dimly lit room, blending with the sharp tang of spilled liquor and the soft glow of green-hued lights flickering from the sconces on the walls. Shadows clung to every corner, and the music throbbed, low and rhythmic, a heartbeat that kept the night alive.

The Rosier family spared no expense in crafting the club, a place where black leather and velvet upholstered chairs were scattered like kings' thrones around tables carved from dark mahogany. Along the bar, rows of decanters filled with everything from firewhiskey to rare elven wine gleamed under soft candlelight. The bar itself, long and sleek, was a favored spot for the Marauders though now they were no longer students. James, Sirius, Remus, and Peter had found their place among the Death Eaters, though their presence, much like everything about them, was more feared than welcomed.

They leaned against the bar, glasses half-drained, eyes sharp with boredom. It wasn’t the drinks that kept them here, not anymore. The waitresses, most of whom they’d already had their fill of, flitted around the men in the club, offering flirtatious smiles, but nothing caught their interest. Not tonight.

“There’s no one worth our time here,” Sirius muttered, his dark eyes scanning the crowd, a sneer curling his lips. He pushed his drink away and rolled his shoulders, restless.

James huffed in agreement. “Same dull faces, same tired tricks,” he said, knocking back the last of his whiskey. “Where’s the challenge?”

Peter nodded along, although his gaze darted around nervously, as if waiting for someone to prove them wrong.

Remus remained silent, his eyes flicking across the room. But his attention shifted suddenly, and the change in his posture caught the others' attention. There, dancing among the crowd, was someone new someone they hadn’t seen before in this particular haunt.

She moved like smoke, graceful and elusive, her laughter soft but wicked as she twirled, fingers trailing along Barty Crouch Jr.’s arm. Barty, smirking with smug satisfaction, held her close, his hand possessively resting at her waist.

Lucius Malfoy’s little sister.

Sirius was the first to react, his predatory gaze locking on the scene. “Well, well,” he murmured, his voice thick with dark amusement. “Seems we spoke too soon.”

James straightened, eyes narrowing. “That’s Malfoy’s sister.”

“She shouldn’t be here with *him*,” Peter added, his voice hushed, a mixture of awe and disgust lacing his tone.

“She’s wasted on him,” Remus said quietly, but there was an edge in his words, a dangerous undercurrent that ran through the group. It wasn’t just her beauty that intrigued them it was the audacity of her being with Barty Crouch Jr. She was pure, and more than that, she was theirs or so they’d decided the moment they saw her.

With a shared look, they moved. The Marauders had always been a force of nature, and now, as Death Eaters, their power was palpable. The crowd seemed to part for them as they made their way across the room, their steps measured, deliberate, dangerous.

Barty was laughing, unaware of the storm about to hit. He spun her around once more, pulling her close as her laughter filled the air. But then he noticed them. His eyes darkened, his grip tightening protectively around her.

“What do you think you’re doing, Crouch?” James asked, his voice dripping with false politeness as he stopped just short of them, the rest of the Marauders flanking him.

Barty raised an eyebrow, but his posture stiffened. “Enjoying the evening,” he replied coldly, his lips barely curling into a smile. “I’d say the same for you, but it seems you’re interrupting.”

“She’s not yours,” Sirius said, his voice sharp, his eyes locked on Barty with dangerous intensity. “You know that.”

Barty’s smirk widened. “She’s here with me, isn’t she?”

Remus stepped forward, his gaze icy, though his voice was calm, almost soft. “She deserves better than you.”

Barty’s grip tightened on her waist, his jaw clenching. “She’s exactly where she wants to be,” he snapped. “And she’s not leaving with any of you.”

Peter chuckled darkly from behind the group. “Is that a challenge, Crouch?”

James leaned in, his voice low and threatening. “You don’t get to decide. Not when it comes to her.”

The air between them crackled with tension, a powder keg waiting for the right spark. Barty’s eyes flickered with defiance, but there was something else, something that told him he might be outnumbered, outmatched. Yet he didn’t let go.

“Careful, boys,” he said, his voice tight but holding its ground. “You’re treading dangerous ground.”

Sirius’s smile was a cold slash across his face. “We live for danger.”