"Blaise Zabini."
Voldemort entered an empty dormitory and addressed Snape, who stood respectfully before him. "Is there something wrong with him?"
As he spoke, he pointed his wand at his own head.
He couldn't help asking. While all the students were burning with enthusiasm, that boy had actually been sneaking a laugh.
It was like walking into a cult and finding yourself the only person who was still sane.
If he hadn't been worried about how the young Slytherins would react, and if his impassioned speech hadn't been so poorly suited to interruption, Voldemort would have given him a taste of a nasty curse long ago.
"Er, he's a little solitary. You've met him before," Snape said cautiously.
"Yes, but at the time, I only thought he was excessively Pure-blood. I didn't realize he didn't want to fit in with the Pure-bloods, either." Voldemort still sounded displeased. "Which family is he from? Why don't I remember anything about his family?"
"His mother's a widow. She's been married six or seven times—I can't quite remember," Snape said thoughtfully. "He's always been conceited and self-centered."
"Does his family have any Death Eaters?" Voldemort asked.
"Not a single one," Snape answered promptly.
"I can't accept someone like him being in Slytherin. He'll diminish my presence. Do you have a way to deal with him... Never mind, I'll do it myself."
He waved a hand in disgust, temporarily banishing the irritating student from his mind, then said to Snape, "I need your help."
Snape froze. He didn't understand what Voldemort meant.
"I'll do my best to carry it out," Snape said at once, still taken aback.
"Help me get those two children out. Take them to... The Three Broomsticks Inn. I'll go there later."
As he spoke, Voldemort watched Snape's expression.
He wasn't sure