Butterbeer

"Master, you are omnipotent. Let us accept his invitation and duel him! This time, you will definitely be able to kill that brat." Bellatrix Lestrange took a tentative step forward, speaking in her babyish falsetto.

"I don't believe a damn word he says! That rotten brat is vicious! Harris is a disgrace to Purebloods! If I really go, do you think they'll still fight me one-on-one?!" Voldemort spun around and glared furiously at the female Death Eater, making her tremble and shrink back. Having suffered a major loss once before, Voldemort did not believe Harris would engage him in any fair duel. This deliberate attempt to provoke him might well have been intended to lure him out—temporarily extinguishing his thoughts of going after the Television Station.

Then Voldemort looked around at the hooded faces surrounding him. Though there was no wind, a faint rustling seemed to pass through the crowd.

"You believe there is a power greater than mine, one capable of defeating Voldemort. Have you already pledged yourselves to someone else... perhaps that arrogant brat on television, or the protector of Mudbloods and Muggles, Albus Dumbledore..." He walked slowly past each Death Eater, his footsteps pressing heavily upon them. He stopped before a tall Death Eater. "There are even traitors among us. Cowardly, weak, useless traitors. That disappoints me... I admit it, I am disappointed..."

The short, fat Death Eater before him, with a close-cropped bowl cut and long gorilla-like arms, suddenly threw himself to the floor and crawled to Voldemort's feet, trembling from head to toe—this was Old Crabbe, father of Draco's follower Vincent Crabbe.

"Master," he called in a muffled voice, "Master, forgive me, please forgive me. I'll never dare again..."

Voldemort sneered and raised his wand. "Crabbe, you dared to flee before I gave the order