When Voldemort unhurriedly mentioned that "Wizet Lovegood is dead," the uproar in the Great Hall vanished once more.
Some students involuntarily gaped, their faces turning deathly pale in an instant.
Some suddenly clenched their fists and slammed them heavily onto the tables, as though trying to use the pain in their knuckles to determine whether they were dreaming.
Others bit their lips hard, their eyes quickly reddening with tears glimmering within. They did not dare blink, afraid that the moment they did, the tears would spill down their cheeks.
"You must have seen similar rumors long ago, haven't you?" Voldemort's malicious voice rang out again, growing even more piercing.
"Think carefully—who exactly brought all this about? And think back: how long has it been since you last received any news of him?"
"He was clearly so famous, appearing in all sorts of newspapers and magazines every so often, yet he suddenly vanished without a trace. Don't you find that strange?"
"Do you need me to repeat it? Wizet Lovegood is dead!" He savored the moment so greatly that he could not help letting out several bursts of loud laughter.
His laughter was unbearably shrill. Many students frowned, pain showing on their faces.
Yet he remained fairly restrained. After laughing only a few times, he fell silent of his own accord, as though expecting the students' emotions to ferment further during his silence.
Dumbledore let out a somewhat disappointed sigh. "Voldemort, after saying all that, your sole purpose is to make the students afraid."
"After they overcame the fear brought by defeating you, you realized they were no longer so easily frightened. To keep yourself from looking too foolish, you have even begun to lie."
"Do you have proof that he is still alive? If you do... why not present it,