Marvolo nods, eyeing the two sitting chairs in this library-like room. "Please, sit." They sit, nearly of equal height, less than a metre and a half from each other, and he allows his body to relax and his voice to loosen into a drawl. "Curious given that Harry, however he might or might not be an enemy of mine, is still the son of Lily Evans. He is the son of a woman you begged me, begged me, to spare, a woman you claimed to love. A woman who died for that boy. Was your love so insubstantial, then?"