The study was dim. Voldemort leaned back in a broad green leather armchair.
Across from him sat Old Avery, the representative of the Avery family, looking ill at ease.
The old man, nearing a hundred, looked even older than Dumbledore.
His eyes, squeezed into narrow slits by wrinkles, were dull, with the occasional flicker of fear or helplessness.
"Uncle Avery."
Voldemort's words made the old man opposite him instinctively shudder.
His gaze grew distant and unfocused. Voldemort guessed he was thinking of what had happened fifty years ago.
That was when they first met.
He had been an outstanding Hogwarts student, while Neville Avery, his classmate, had been at the mischievous age.
Back then, Old Avery had been in his prime and had helped him a great deal.
"During the years I suffered, I often thought of Neville. You know how close we were. I've regretted what happened."
Old Avery froze, his eyes reddening.
Tears seemed to swirl in his eyes, but no matter what, they wouldn't fall.
Not every old man had tear ducts as active as Dumbledore's.
Perhaps the man before him had already cried all his tears dry.
"Dark Lord, I..."
"Call me Voldemort, Uncle Avery. You practically watched me grow up. You're one of the people who can call me that."
As he spoke, Voldemort gestured with his right hand.
Lucius, sitting in the shadows nearby, immediately got up, poured a glass of water, and prepared to hand it to Old Avery.
But before he could, Voldemort stood, took the glass, and set it down in front of Old Avery himself.
"If there's anything you'd like to teach me, or anything you need me to do, please just tell me. We don't need to hide anything from each other, for Neville's sake—and Young Avery's."
Voldemort's deep