"Mmm," he murmured, pleased by how quickly they had come to him; so willing to take any direction he might bestow on them. "My loyal servants. So promptly you have all arrived, spurred by your devotion. You have served me well as of late--such mirthless fervor, Fenrir," he nodded to the werewolf, standing up. Only the slightest tick ever rose at Greyback's unwillingness to bow to him the way his other loyal servants did--it was something to do with the werewolf's primal instincts, he supposed; but Greyback served The Dark Lord with such malicious enthusiasm, he could forgive the beast one unrequitted half-breed bit of ignorance. For now, at the least.
"And such such sharp, articulate dueling from the Carrows," he continued, feeling more and more pleased with his decision. "Tight. Angry. Your actions please The Dark Lord greatly. Thus he has decided to reward you this evening, entrusting you with a very important task, one that will further our cause considerably. We need to infiltrate the ministry before Millicent Bagnold is able to succeed Otis Wilde, before the vote goes to the Wizengamont. He needs to appoint his own successor--our pawn. Wilde's senior undersecretary is a spineless, useless, pureblood twit. You will go to his family's home in Devon and attempt to persuade him to join our cause by any means you wish. If he does not comply, I expect you to take him under your control, Alecto. Is this understood?"