It is dim in the cavernous dining hall, the long table lit by flickering candles set at intervals down the centre runner. The seats around the ornate table are nearly all filled by a variety of witches and wizards, the only commonality between them the aura of malice and cruelty that radiates from every single one. And at the very end of the table, a lipless smile twisting his inhuman face, sits Voldemort. Hermione shudders and flinches at the sight of him, terror wrenching through her like a physical force.