"Thirteen years since we last met. Yet you answer my call as though it was yesterday. We are still united under the Dark Mark, then! Or are we?" Leaving Harry at the head of the room, Lord Voldemort walked around the circle his followers had formed. "I see you all, whole and healthy, with your powers intact - such prompt appearances! - and I ask myself, why did this band of wizards never come to the aid of their Master, to whom they swore eternal loyalty to?" His steps remained quiet, his voice silky, as he continued, "I answer myself: they must have believed me broken, they thought I was gone. They slipped back among my enemies, and they pleaded innocence, ignorance, and bewitchment. And I ask myself, how could they have believed I would not rise again? They, who knew the steps I took, long ago, to guard myself against mortal death? They, who had seen proofs of my power, in the times when I was mightier than any wizard living? And I answer myself: perhaps they believed a still greater power could exist, one that could vanquish even Lord Voldemort, perhaps they now pay allegiance to another," Snape certainly did not imagine the icy glare the powerful wizard sent his way. "Perhaps that champion of commoners, of mudbloods and muggles, Albus Dumbledore?"