Malfoy Manor.
The Hidden Chamber was dimly lit. Voldemort sat in a high-backed chair, looking at the people kneeling on the floor.
Lucius Malfoy, Yaxley, Parkinson, and the others were all there, silent... The Death Eaters kept their heads lowered, scarcely daring to breathe.
Yaxley trembled all over, cold sweat dripping from his forehead onto the floor.
"Yaxley," Voldemort said, looking down at him, his voice terrifyingly calm, "tell me, where are those Dark Wizards from Hogsmeade now?"
Yaxley opened his mouth, his voice shaking. "M-Master, they..."
"They're dead," Voldemort finished for him. "Every last one. A pack of useless fools. Is that all you managed to recruit?"
Yaxley had grievances he couldn't voice-who could have known those Dark Wizards would be that useless?
Was causing trouble in Hogsmeade really so difficult?
Even if they couldn't carry out the mission perfectly, at least a few of them should have come back.
With things ending like this, none of them could save face.
Voldemort continued, "How is the training of the Death Eaters I assigned to you coming along?"
Yaxley hurriedly replied, "Master, they've all mastered quite a few Origin Spells. Their strength has increased considerably.
They're certainly much stronger than those outside Dark Wizards who haven't completed their advancement."
That had to count for something. Yaxley certainly didn't want to be punished.
Voldemort nodded. Whatever else might be said, the Death Eaters were his own followers. Those outside Dark Wizards hadn't yet entered their ranks, so naturally, he wasn't particularly sorry to lose them.
Voldemort turned to the white-haired, middle-aged man. "Lucius."
"Master."
"What news is there from the Ministry of Magic?"
Lucius hurriedly replied, "Master, Scrimgeour has been appearing frequently in public lately. His complexion is dreadful.
According to our intelligence, he always wears a pair of gloves now.