After the assassinations

Foul whisperings are abroad. Unnatural deeds
Voldemort waits for his assassins to return.
Do breed unnatural troubles
He stalks up and down the shrouded ballroom of the borrowed castle, lost in his own thoughts as the remaining Death Eaters stand in attendance. Their numbers have grown, and larger meeting places are required now. No matter how much his army has grown, he never forgets that he is surrounded by inferiors for the most part. 'Pity Bartemius was killed,' he thinks randomly. 'He'd have brought me more Ravenclaws and they have brains, at the very least.'

The tension is palpable. If this fails... but it can not. It will not.
What's done cannot be undone.
Several pregnant minutes pass. Then there is the sound of cracking as five wizards Apparate into the middle of the large room. Voldemort turns on them. As one, they cringe back without even realizing and drop to their knees.

"Well?" His voice rings through the chamber. It is so quiet that he can hear the breathing of those gathered, and the rustle of scales against parquetry as Nagini slithers closer to him.
There's husbandry in heaven
"It is done, my Lord," says Gibbon. "They're all dead."
Their candles are all out.
It's not time to celebrate. Yet. "And were you seen?"

"No. We were in and out again, before anyone else came."

Lord Voldemort smiles. "Well done. Where are the bodies?"
There's daggers in men's smiles
The men behind the masks shift uncertainly. Gibbon, their leader, clears his throat. "My Lord, there were hidden alarms, they were triggered before we could stop them. There wasn't time."

"So you didn't carry out your mission completely?" Each word is bitten off and spit out as the anger builds within him. Transfiguring bodies into portable objects takes less than seconds, and they know it. He had made plans.

Gibbon shakes his head no.

Voldemort's eyes flash red, and he shrieks in fury. "I WANTED THOSE BODIES. YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BRING THEM TO ME!" He rages up and down the length of the ballroom.

The Death Eaters await their punishment for they know they have failed.

Then the Dark Lord stops suddenly. His features smooth out and he clasps his hands in front of him. When he speaks, his tone is almost kind. "No matter. The most vital part of the mission was accomplished."
To beguile the time
He stands directly in front of his faithful murderers.
Look like the time; bear welcome in your eye
He waits until the moment he sees chests under dark robes rise and fall in sighs of relief.
Your hand, your tongue: look like the innocent flower
Then he sweeps his wand over all five and screams, "Crucio!"
But be the serpent under 't.
He watches them writhe, and the expression on his face is one of elation. Despite this mistake, Voldemort knows the tide has truly turned.
What hath quenched them hath given me fire.
He is going to win.