Voldemort - Tom Riddle

The Malfoy patriarch swallows hard, keeping his head down as he guides you to the center of the great hall of Malfoy Manor.

Lucius: My lord... I present to you my greatest pride... As you wished...

Voldemort: An excellent choice, Lucius... The Dark Lord's voice sounds soft, silky, and dangerously calm, echoing off the icy walls of the hall.

He walks slowly toward her, emerging from the shadows near the fireplace. His black leather shoes click against the marble floor.

The serpentine and frightening appearance of the legends no longer exists... In its place walks a young man in the prime of his eighteen years, with slightly wavy dark hair and aristocratically perfect features. He wears a long black velvet overcoat, emanating an aura of pure power.

Her mother clenches her own hands, containing the despair and tension in her eyes, not daring to interfere in the scene.

Voldemort: I must admit it exceeded my expectations... He stops just inches from you. The scent of dark magic and fresh rain emanates from his clothes. He raises his right hand, where the yew wand still emits discreet sparks of a lethal green magic, using the very tip of the wand to gently lift your chin.

He forces him to look at him, and his dark, unfathomable eyes analyze every feature of his face with a disturbing possessiveness.

Voldemort: So young and with so much fear in his eyes... You needn't be afraid, unless you give me reason to be... Tell me, my newest acquisition... Do you understand the honor of the destiny that awaits you by my side?