He began to move towards the lake. The meeting spot was always the same: the scatter of rocks on the shore was visible from afar, and Harry could easily spot the tall figure waiting for him. Voldemort stood at the water’s edge, letting the lapping waves brush his bare feet. The wind ruffled the hem of his black cloak, his form resembling a Dementor in the twilight; immobile and therefore all the more terrifying. He tried to contain his anger, but it still showed in the features of his menacing face: in his pursed lips, his angry squint, and furrowed brows. Before, Harry had always thought that Voldemort’s face had lost its human vividness after his rebirth; but that wasn’t the case at all: it had been distorted beyond recognition, but remained expressive. All Voldemort had to do was raise a pale eyebrow for others to understand his feelings.