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CHAPTER ONE THE DARK LORD ASCENDING

The two men appeared out of nowhere, a few yards apart in the narrow, moonlit lane. For a second they stood quite still

, wands directed at each

other’s

chests; then, recognizing each other, they stowed their wands beneath their cloaks and s

tarted walking briskly in the same direction.

“News?”

asked the taller of the two.

“The

best,”

replied Severus Snape.

The lane was bordered on the left by wild, low-growing brambles, on the right by a high, neatly manicured hedge. The

men’s

long cloaks flapped around their ankles as they marched.

“Thought

I might be

late,”

said Yaxley, his blunt features sliding in and out of sight as the branches of overhanging tree

s broke the moonlight.

“It

was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be satisfied. You sound confident that

your reception will be

good?”

Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curve

d with them, running off into the distance beyond the pair of impressive wrought-iron gates barring the

men’s

way. Neit

her of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though th

e dark metal were smoke.

The yew hedges muffled the sound of the

men’s

footsteps. There was a rustle somewhere to their right: Yaxley drew his

wand again, pointing it over his

companion’s

head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-w

hite peacock, strutting majestically along the top of the hedge.

“He

always did himself well, Lucius. Peacocks . .

.”

Yaxley thrust his wand back under his cloak with a snort.

A handsome manor house grew out of the darkness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinting in the diamond-paned

downstairs windows. Somewhere in the dark garden beyond the hedge a fountain was playing. Gravel crackled beneath

their feet as Snape and Yaxley sped toward the front door, which swung inward at their approach, though nobody had vi

sibly opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumptuously decorated, with a magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floo

r. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed Snape and Yaxley as they strode past. The two men halted

at a heavy wooden door leading into the next room, hesitated for the space of a heartbeat, then Snape turned the bronze

handle.

The drawing room was full of silent people, sitting at a long and ornate table. The

room’s

usual furniture had been push

ed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome marble mantelpiece surmo

unted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley lingered for a moment on the threshold. As their

ASCENDING eyes grew accustomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene:

an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table, revolving slowly as if suspended by an in

visible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table below. None of the people seated u

nderneath this singular sight was looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed u

nable to prevent himself from glancing upward every minute or so.

“Yaxley.

Snape,”

said a high, clear voice from the head of the table.

“You

are very nearly

late.”

The speaker was seated directly in front of the fireplace, so that it was difficult, at first, for the new arrivals to make out

more than his silhouette. As they drew nearer, however, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snakelike, with slits

for nostrils and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical. He was so pale that he seemed to emit a pearly glow.

“Severus,

here,”

said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right.

“Yaxley

—

beside Doloh

ov.”

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape, and it was to him that Volde

mort spoke first.

“So?”

“My

Lord, the Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place of safety on Saturday next, at n

ightfall.”

The interest around the table sharpened palpably: Some stiffened, others fidgeted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.

“Saturday

. . . at

nightfall,”

repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon

Snape’s

black ones with such intensity that

some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaz

e. Snape, however, looked calmly back into

Voldemort’s

face and, after a moment or two,

Voldemort’s

lipless mouth c

urved into something like a smile.

“Good.

Very good. And this information comes

—”

“—

from the source we

discussed,”

said Snape.

“My

Lord.”

Yaxley had leaned forward to look down the long table at Voldemort and Snape. All faces turned to him.

“My

Lord, I have heard

differently.”

Yaxley waited, but Voldemort did not speak, so he went on,

“Dawlish,

the Auror, let slip that Potter will not be moved

until the thirtieth, the night before the boy turns

seventeen.”

Snape was smiling.

“My

source told me that there are plans to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus Charm has been place

d upon Dawlish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be

susceptible.”

“I

assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite

certain,”

said Yaxley.

“If

he has been Confunded, naturally he is

certain,”

said Snape.

“I

assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no fur

ther part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infiltrated the

Ministry.”

“The

Order’s

got one thing right, then,

eh?”

said a squat man sitting a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy gig

gle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be l

ost in thought.

ASCENDING

“My

Lord,”

Yaxley went on,

“Dawlish

believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to transfer the boy

—”

Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Yaxley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Voldemort turned back to

Snape.

“Where

are they going to hide the boy

next?”

“At

the home of one of the

Order,”

said Snape.

“The

place, according to the source, has been given every protection tha

t the Order and Ministry together could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, my Lor

d, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and u