Douglas flexed his slightly stiff wrists and stepped down from the wooden stake with perfect composure, as though he had merely finished a somewhat tedious theatrical performance.
Wormtail threw Harry's holly wand onto the grass at his feet, then immediately scrambled back into the circle of Death Eaters as though fleeing the plague.
"Pick it up."
Voldemort spoke in a soft, almost coaxing tone.
"You've learned to duel, haven't you, Harry Potter? There should be a fair contest between us."
Douglas ignored the wand at his feet.
He merely rubbed his wrists at a leisurely pace, his relaxed manner, as though he were strolling through his own back garden, utterly at odds with the tense atmosphere around him.
He even surveyed the surrounding Death Eaters with interest, his gaze lingering half a second longer on one tall figure whose bearing was distinctly different from the others.
Lucius Malfoy.
Such blatant, undisguised disregard was more insulting than any fierce resistance.
A muscle twitched uncontrollably in Voldemort's snakelike face.
He felt that the sacred, solemn ceremony of his return, which he had so painstakingly orchestrated, was being eroded little by little by this damned brat in a way he could not understand, becoming ludicrous and laughable.
Beneath Malfoy's hood, his brows knitted more tightly.
His sense that something was wrong grew stronger and stronger.
This Harry Potter was far too abnormal.
Ever since he had appeared, every word and movement had conveyed an unnerving calm and composure completely at odds with his age and circumstances.
This was nothing like a frightened child.
He was more like... someone Malfoy knew, especially those eyes.
"I told you to pick it up!"
Voldemort finally failed to maintain his regal bearing and snapped, his voice laden with suppressed fury.
His voice echoed, making every Death Eater