"Oh, who uses spells these days? So last year," the Master called out in complaint. He had only recently come down to take a seat, sipping the tea he'd been made. It tasted awful, someone in the kitchen didn't get the right balance of milk in tea. Too much and it was basically hot milk. How was that hard to understand?

With an annoyed sigh, he set his tea aside and turned to Barty, gesturing to the tea. "Get a new elf in the kitchen, I don't like the one we have."

Or, you know, better yet. Maybe train a wizard. Maybe Mister Regulus 'I have a fantastic name everyone should love' Black would be able to make some tea? It's more worth while that taking nonsense about magic or whatever it was they'd done before Voldemort had been killed.

"Oh, where are my manners?" the Master laughed brightly, turning to their captive and holding up his cup. "Fancy some tea, Regulus?