No one answered Voldemort's question. Everyone stayed silent, afraid to speak.
The tallest poppy gets cut down first.
Everyone understood that, so everyone chose to keep quiet.
Voldemort rubbed his hand twice over his cane. The Phoenix on his shoulder flapped its wings twice.
In the silence, those sounds carried a particular weight.
"Dear Dark Lord."
Unable to bear the silence any longer, the Patriarch of the Fawley family rose and bowed slightly to Voldemort before speaking. "It's not that we don't want to choose. We have no choice but to remain out of sight because of our family's rules."
Voldemort turned to look at him. Since they were standing so close and the other man was on his feet, Voldemort had to look up at him.
This frightened the Patriarch of the Fawley family, who hurriedly bent forward, careful not to presume too much.
Voldemort merely smiled and waved a hand, indicating that he needn't be so cautious.
"The last time I came to visit, Mr. Fawley, you said the same thing."
Voldemort rose, leaning on his cane. He did so both to avoid looking up at the other man and to spare him from remaining bent halfway over.
"I can't say you're making excuses. I still stand by what I did more than a decade ago: 'Respect every Pure-blood.'"
Mr. Fawley nodded gratefully. Several other representatives of Pure-blood families who didn't want to join the Death Eaters or get too close to Voldemort also breathed a sigh of relief.
But they had let out that breath a little too soon.
"But times are changing, my friends. Things are no longer as we first imagined."
Voldemort spoke with complete sincerity, but no matter how sincere he sounded, this was a turning point.
A turning point that made many hearts