Better safe than sorry.
Lucius Malfoy kept reminding himself of that. It had always been one of his guiding principles for survival.
He had heard that almost everyone in Yaxley's party had died, with Yaxley himself barely clinging to life. Meanwhile, at the Dark Lord's resurrection ritual, the Death Eaters had suffered heavy casualties in the battle between Dumbledore and the Dark Lord.
He could not help feeling fortunate that he had only sent Will to take part, without joining the operation himself.
But now that the Dark Lord had summoned the Death Eaters for a meeting, he was trembling with anxiety—he really had contributed nothing this time.
Fortunately, the Dark Lord did not seem inclined to take him to task.
Inside the largest drawing room at Malfoy Manor.
Cold candlelight cast wavering shadows across the walls, and an unsettling atmosphere hung in the air.
Dozens of black-robed wizards sat on either side of the long table, their hoods lowered to reveal pale, haggard faces marked by varying degrees of fear or fanaticism.
Some were still wrapped in bandages, blood seeping through the gauze and gleaming dark red in the candlelight.
Voldemort sat at one end of the long table, with the two seats to his left empty.
His body had fully recovered. He was no longer that stick-insect-like monster, but a thin, pale, tall man.
Voldemort wore long black robes. His face was still flat and snake-like, his nostrils two narrow slits, his lips almost colorless, but his scarlet eyes were even redder than before.
"You must be curious about these two seats," Voldemort began, and everyone seemed to breathe a sigh of relief.
"First, Yaxley is gravely injured and unable to attend. But I am very pleased with his performance in the Department of Mysteries. The Yaxley Family