Before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done

while he travels.”

“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to

receive some portion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the

Department of Magical Transport. If Potter Apparates or uses the Floo Network, we shall

know immediately.”

“He will not do either,” said Snape. “The Order is eschewing any form of

Transport that is controlled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust everything to do

with the place.”

“All the better,” said Voldemort. “He will have to move in the open. Easier to

take, by far.”

Again, Voldemort looked up at the slowly revolving body as he went on, “I shall

Attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is

Concerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors

than to his triumphs.”

The company around the table watched Voldemort apprehensively, each of them,

by his or her expression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry Potter’s continued

Existence. Voldemort, however, seemed to be speaking more to himself than to any of

Them, still addressing the unconscious body above him.

“I have been careless, and so have been thwarted by luck and chance, those

Wreckers of all but the best-laid plans. But I know better now. I understand those things

that I did not understand before. I must be the one to kill Harry Potter, and I shall be.”

At these words, seemingly in response to them, a sudden wail sounded, a terrible,

Drawn-out cry of misery and pain. Many of those at the table looked downward, startled,

For the sound had seemed to issue from below their feet.

“Wormtail,” said Voldemort, with no change in his quiet, thoughtful tone, and

without removing his eyes from the revolving body above, “have I not spoken to you

about keeping our prisoner quiet?”

“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man halfway down the table, who had been

Sitting so low in his chair that it appeared, at first glance, to be unoccupied. Now he

Scrambled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a

Curious gleam of silver.

“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his

followers, “I understand better now. I shall need, for instance, to borrow a wand from one

of you before I go to kill Potter.”

The faces around him displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that

He wanted to borrow one of their arms.

“No volunteers?” said Voldemort. “Let’s see … Lucius, I see no reason for you to

have a wand anymore.”

Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared yellowish and waxy in the firelight,

And his eyes were sunken and shadowed. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse.

“My Lord?”

“Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand.”

“I …”

Malfoy glanced sideways at his wife. She was staring straight ahead, quite as pale

As he was, her long blonde hair hanging down her back, but beneath the table her slim

Fingers closed briefly on his wrist. At her touch, Malfoy put his hand into his robes,

Withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in front of his red

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 653