In any case.
Voldemort had certainly put on an impressive display of composure.
He paused, his gaze passing over Bellatrix, Selwyn, and Crabbe before finally settling on Nott.
"However, as a precaution—"
His voice grew softer, more dangerous.
"I need to transform the three of you."
This had been Voldemort's plan all along. Even as a Horcrux incarnation, he was somewhat afraid and did not dare to go himself, yet he could not truly show his fear. All that poise earlier had been an act.
The air froze.
Selwyn's face turned deathly pale in an instant, his rough features filled with disbelief and terror. His lips trembled. He wanted to say something, but found that no sound would come out. Instinctively, he looked toward Bellatrix—the eyes all over her were moving.
Dark-red light flickered beneath the morning sun, eerie and horrifying. It was the most terrifying thing he had ever seen, not because it was ugly, but because it was inhuman. He did not want to become like that.
Crabbe froze as well. On his dull, wooden face, within those usually vacant eyes, complicated emotions churned—fear, resistance, and a trace of undisguised disgust. He lowered his head to stare at his rough, callused hands, imagining them covered in eyes. Nausea churned in his stomach.
Nott's reaction was the most intense. The blood drained from his young face, leaving it pale as paper. His lips shook violently, and his eyes were full of terror. He took one step back, then another, until he bumped into Crabbe behind him. He opened his mouth, wanting to speak, but all he could produce were meaningless, breathy sounds like a drowning man.
Voldemort watched them, no emotion visible in his three scarlet eyes. He merely stood there in silence, waiting, as though awaiting the answer