Behind Pettigrew’s quivering mass sat Lord Voldemort in his throne, twirling his yew and phoenix feather wand in his right palm. He had on his glamour. His skin was bone white, and it looked like there were faint impressions of shiny scales. His lips were thin and practically non-existent. The Dark Lord was bald and his eyes had no pupils;they were glowing ruby red and staring coldly. He looked terrifying. It was the main meeting room for his elite, in front of Voldemort was a long ebony table, with serpents embellishing the legs. He was preparing for a meeting with only his most trusted. He told his Death Eaters not to disturb him unless it was extremely important. Narrowing his eyes, the Dark Lord spoke, "Good or bad?" in his high and sibilant voice.