Karkaroff cowered, shaking uncontrollably with cold and terror, the dementors' scabby hands clamped tightly around his thin arms as they dragged him through the Ministry's main lobby.
He was going back. Rookwood—only Rookwood had been worth anything—he was going back—
No one ignored his passing. The politest merely glowered, but through his tormented thoughts Karkaroff became aware of sneers and insults, rude gestures and bitter laughter fit for a filthy animal being dragged back to its cage.
Karkaroff had the sudden urge to speak, to scream out that he was human, too – but the dementors kept him silent.