Trapped

𝓐 𝓗𝓪𝓵𝓯-𝓑𝓵𝓸𝓸𝓭 ... 𝔀𝓱𝓪𝓽?

"There is no way in hell I'm going anywhere near that demented guy!" Isadora's voice echoed down the corridor, filled with defiance and fear.

As Isadora's defiant proclamation reverberated through the corridors, the spectators in the viewing room were caught off guard. Their expressions ranged from concern to astonishment, some leaning forward in their seats as if trying to understand her sudden resolve. Lily Potter's hands flew to her mouth in shock, eyes wide with worry for the girl who had become like family to her son Harry. Euphemia Potter clasped her hands tightly, her face etched with concern and a hint of fear, fearing for Isadora's safety and the unfolding consequences of her defiance.

Among the onlookers, Sirius Black's brow furrowed deeply, his fists clenched in frustration, torn between wanting to protect Isadora and feeling helpless from afar. Remus Lupin's eyes were filled with empathy and worry, understanding the weight of the choices Isadora faced. Narcissa Malfoy watched with a mixture of surprise and concern, her usual composure momentarily shaken by the unfolding drama.

Barty Crouch Jr., usually composed, leaned forward with a calculating look in his eyes, processing the implications of Isadora's rebellion. Regulus Black exchanged a quick glance with Severus Snape, their expressions unreadable but full of concern for their friends. Bellatrix Lestrange, ever unpredictable, observed with a mix of curiosity and a hint of humour, wondering how this defiance would play out.

With determined steps, she fled down the dimly lit passage, her heart racing as she aimed to gather her belongings and escape from the oppressive atmosphere that had become unbearable. She had made a promise to Harry that she would leave whenever she couldn't bear it any longer, and that he was welcome to come with her. Now, she was resolute in keeping that promise.

As Isadora hurried towards her room, her arm was abruptly seized, stopping her in her tracks. She spun around, eyes wide with shock and disbelief as she found herself face-to-face with a figure whose presence sent a chill down her spine. His eyes burned red with intensity, locking onto hers with an unsettling gaze that seemed to pierce through her soul.

As Isadora's escape attempt was thwarted by a sudden encounter with a menacing figure, gasps and murmurs filled the room. The tension was thick, each spectator feeling the weight of the situation as they watched Isadora's struggle unfold on the screen, unable to intervene directly but feeling every ounce of her fear and determination.

Her breath caught in her throat as she recoiled instinctively, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She blinked rapidly, desperately hoping that the ominous figure before her would vanish into thin air, but he remained steadfast and real. Reality sank in as she realized this was no illusion or hallucination – it was a confrontation she couldn't evade.

"W-what are you—" she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before she could finish, he growled, "Did I just hear you call me a half-blood bastard?" Tom Riddle's eyes burned with fury.

Isadora flinched, the strength of his grip on her arm sending a shock of pain through her body. Her cuts, still fresh, began to ooze blood, the burning sensation intensifying with each passing second. She could feel her heartbeat pounding in her ears, but she summoned every ounce of courage she had left.

"Let me go," she demanded, looking him square in the eyes.

Her defiance only seemed to fuel his anger. Recognizing the determination in her gaze, he tightened his grip and dragged her down the corridor. She struggled against him, but his strength was overwhelming. He shoved her into her room, the force of the throw making her stumble and crash onto the bed.

The audience watching the screen reacted with horror and anger. Lily Potter's eyes filled with tears, her maternal instincts screaming to protect Isadora. Euphemia Potter gasped, clutching at her chest, the sight of the girl's wounds and her struggle stirring a deep sense of dread.

Sirius Black's face contorted with rage, his fists clenched tightly as if ready to break through the screen. Remus Lupin's expression was a mix of horror and helplessness, understanding all too well the peril Isadora faced.

Bellatrix Lestrange's eyes sparkled with a twisted form of amusement, while Narcissa Malfoy looked stricken, her usual composed demeanor shattered by the brutality unfolding before her.

Barty Crouch Jr. stared intently, his calculating mind trying to piece together the implications of this violent encounter. Regulus Black and Severus Snape exchanged grim looks, their concern for Isadora evident despite their stoic expressions.

The tension in the room was suffocating, each person feeling the weight of Isadora's plight as if it were their own, their hearts collectively aching for the brave girl facing the wrath of Tom Riddle.

Tom Riddle aka The Dark Lord loomed over Isadora, his presence dark and menacing. His eyes, cold and unyielding, bore into hers with an intensity that sent chills down her spine. He stepped closer, the air around him seeming to grow colder with each movement.

"You think you can escape me?" he hissed, his voice low and dangerous. "You think you can run from your fate?"

Isadora, trembling and defiant, glared back at him, refusing to show fear. Her heart pounded in her chest, but she held her ground.

Riddle leaned in, his face inches from hers. "You belong to me, Isadora," he whispered, his tone soft yet filled with malice. "There is no running, no hiding. I will find you, no matter where you go. You cannot escape me."

He grabbed her chin, forcing her to look directly into his eyes. "So you had better stop trying. Accept your place, or the consequences will be far worse than anything you can imagine."

His grip tightened, and Isadora winced, the pain sharp and relentless.

Isadora's defiance flickered, her anger and fear warring within her. She knew he meant every word, and the reality of her situation crashed down on her like a tidal wave. But even as her hope waned, a spark of determination remained. She would not give in, no matter the cost.

The audience watching the screen was gripped with horror and tension. The parents felt their hearts ache for Isadora, while the students were filled with a mix of fear and anger, realizing the terrifying power and control Voldemort had over magic.

Satisfied with her silent submission, he slowly released her chin, letting his hand trail down her neck where the mark lay, a cruel smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. The room felt colder, the very air seeming to shiver in his presence. He stepped back, his movements deliberate and controlled, exuding an aura of dark authority.

Riddle's eyes swept over Isadora one last time, his gaze lingering as if to imprint the image of her beaten spirit into his memory. "Remember," he said, his voice a deadly whisper, "you can never escape me. You are mine."

With that, he turned sharply on his heel, his robes swirling around him like a shadow. The room seemed to exhale as he moved toward the door, the tension easing slightly with each step he took away from her. He paused at the threshold, casting one final, menacing glance over his shoulder.

Isadora stood rooted to the spot, her body trembling with a mixture of anger and terror. She watched as he walked out, not before casting an  Expelliarmus, she watched her wand flying from her grasp and into his hand. With a final, chilling look, he said, "I'll be back in a few days. If you dare to leave, you won't like the consequences." the heavy door closing behind him with an ominous thud, sealing her fate with it. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by her ragged breathing and the distant murmurs of her parents in the hallway.

The audience, riveted to the screen, felt a collective shiver run down their spines. Mothers in the room clutched their hearts, tears brimming in their eyes at the sight of such a young girl facing such a monstrous figure alone. Fathers clenched their fists, a mix of anger and helplessness boiling within them. Students exchanged uneasy glances, the reality of Tom Riddle's cruelty hitting them hard. And somewhere in the back, Death chuckled, his laughter a chilling reminder of the darkness that had just unfolded.