Voldemort's Decision

The long table stretched silently across the center of the dim hall.

This was a council chamber deep within Bagnold Manor. The surrounding walls had been eroded by dark magic, their stone surfaces resembling solidified shadows, devoid of any decoration. Beneath the towering vaulted ceiling, candles floated in midair. Their flames did not flicker, yet they cast twisted, elongated shadows, like countless watchful eyes.

Voldemort sat at the head of the table.

He did not speak. He merely sat there in silence, pale fingers interlaced, gaze lowered. Yet the atmosphere throughout the hall seemed to be gripped tightly by an invisible hand, making even breathing cautious.

The Death Eaters took their seats one after another.

Bellatrix Lestrange sat closest to Voldemort, her back ramrod straight and her expression nearly fanatical. Her gaze never left that figure, as though she would immediately pounce and tear apart his enemies at a single look from him.

Rookwood sat quietly on the other side, his face grim, hands clasped together, eyes flickering uncertainly like a venomous snake lurking in the shadows.

Rodolphus Lestrange leaned against the back of his chair, his posture forceful and domineering, as though this were still the old era when he could do whatever he pleased.

Fenrir Greyback appeared distinctly out of place. He leaned slightly forward, an undisguised cruel smile on his lips, his gaze roaming among the others as though selecting prey.

Apart from them, there were seven Death Eaters who had just escaped from Azkaban, Morvina, leader of the Banshees, and Govak, leader of the Ogres. They sat farther from Voldemort, displaying their lower status compared to the first four, so they would not be discussed further here.

At the very back of the long table sat several figures who were clearly not quite as "at home"