The voice that broke the solitude was a gavel in an empty space. The owner rose from atop His seat with all the singular grace afforded Kings of old, an ancient deity brought back to life with imposing anger and delight all wrapped up into an unkind package. It took Hermione only a moment to recognize the telltale caress of His magic stirring to action, something soft and comforting that fought to send her into a lulled daze when soon enough it mixed and melded with Bellatrix’s from down below her. The myriad of scars crisscrossing her body all suddenly sparked alight with joy as a particularly strong wave of emotion reached her cage, all her muscles stretching languidly while she preened and basked beneath the attention, every hair on her body standing on end. He moved only slightly, calm and composed, but that was more than enough of a threat to command all the rabble gathered at His table, the whole of them excepting two all turning away to face anywhere that wasn’t  Him.