Chapter 62:
THE DARK LORD ACENDING

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•°★ CASSIOPEIA wasn't wrong that it was only a matter of time until there will be a mass breakout in Azkaban.  Her father had arrived in the Manor, looking sunken as ever. His once blue eyes that is so similar to Cassiopeia looked grey. His long, healthy platinum blonde hair seemed to look white and grey instead. He had thinned, and his face looked sharper and paler than before.

Lucius Malfoy seemed to have learnt his lesson during his time in Azkaban, at least that is what Cassiopeia had hoped.

There had been so many missing muggles and half-blood witches and wizards. Greyback had managed to seize control of the werewolves, the Carrows seemed to enjoy the thought of cleaning up Hogwarts. It had been dreadful.

Voldemort had callen a meeting, making their dark mark to burn as hot as ever. It was painful, and many death eaters have gathered in Malfoy Manor. All, except Cassiopeia and Snape.

Cassiopeia had spent most of her time at Snape's house. It was much more comfortable, and she didn't have to sleep with one eye open. It was also a sense of comfort that she is around someone that knows what she is up to.

Cassiopeia and Snape had appeared, and started walking in the same direction. The lane was boarded on the left by wild, low-growing bambles, on the right, high neatly manicured hedge.

They remained silent as they walked, Cassiopeia had glanced at the white peacock that moved at the corner near the fountain. Gravel crackled beneath their feet as Snape and Cassiopeia sped towards the front door, which swung inwards at their approach, though nobody had visibly opened it.

The hallway was large, dimly lit and sumptuously decorated, with magnificent carpet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the walls followed them as they strode pass.

They halted at a heavy wooden door leading to the next room, Cassiopeia turned the bronze handle.

The drawing room was full of silent death eaters, sitting at a long and ornate table. The room's usual furniture had been pushed carelessly up against the walls. Illumination came from the roaring fire beneath a handsome marble  mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror.

Cassiopeia blinked for a moment, and soon their eyes grew accustomed to the la lack of light they were drawn upwards to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious human figure hanging upside down over the table revolving slowly as a suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bear polished surface of the table below.

None of the people seated underneath this singular site was looking at it except for a pale young man sitting almost directly below it. He seemed to be unable to prevent himself from glancing upwards every minute or so.

"Cassiopeia. Snape," said a high, clear voice from the head of the table. "You are very 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 shown through the gloom, hairless, snake-like, with slits for nostrils, and gleaming red eyes whose pupils were vertical.

"Severus, Cassiopeia, here." said Voldemort, indicating at the seat on his immediate left and right. They both walked, and sat down. Most eyes followed Cassiopeia, as she was the one that Voldemort spoke first. "So?"

"My lord," said Cassiopeia, "The Order of the Phoenix intends to move Harry Potter from his current place to safety."

"And when will this be?" questioned Voldemort.

"Next Saturday, my lord, nightfall." She replied. Cassiopeia's eyes landed on her father, who she had just seen ever since he was thrown to Azkaban.

"Saturday...at nightfall," repeated Voldemort. For a moment, Voldemort's lips curled into a smile. "Good. Very good. And this information comes---"

"From the source that we have discussed," said Snape, before Cassiopeia could answer.

"My lord," said a voice, Cassiopeia's eyes landed on Yaxley, who leaned forward and looked down the long table. 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 13th, the night before the boy turns seventeen."

Snape was smiling, Cassiopeia frowned. "Our source told me that there are plants to lay a false trail; this must be it. No doubt a Confundus charm has been placed upon Dawlish, it will not be the first time, he is known to be susceptible."

"I assure you my lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain," said Yaxley, Cassiopeia narrowed her eyes at him.

"If he has been Confuded," spat Cassiopeia, though her voice remained quite calm. "Naturally, he is certain."

"I assure you, Yaxley, the Auror Office will play no futher part in the protection of Harry Potter," said Snape. "The Order believes that we have infiltrated the Ministry."

"The Order's got one thing right, then, eh?" said a squat man sitting from a short distance from Yaxley; he gave a wheezy giggle that was echoed here and there along the table.

Voldemort did not laugh. His gaze had wandered upwards, to the body revolving slowly overhead, he seemed to be lost in thought. Cassiopeia was too; she seemed to look up at the body, her eyes narrowing, trying to think who that is. She seemed oddly familiar, which made Cassiopeia frown.

"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 that the Order and Ministry could provide. I think that there is little chance of taking him once he is there, My lord, unless, of course the Ministry has fallen before next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchantments to break through the rest."

"Well, Yaxley?" Voldemort called down the table. "Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?"

Cassiopeia sent him a glare, and Yaxley squared his shoulders. "My lord, I have good news on that score. I have---with difficulty, and after great effort---succeeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse."

Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked impressed. "It is a start," said Voldemort. "But Thicknesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be surrounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Minister's life will set me back a long way."

"Yes---my Lord, that is true---but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Thicknesse has regular contact not only with the Minister himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry departments. I will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official under our control, to subjugate the others, and then they can all work together to bring Scrimgeour down."

"As long as our friend Thicknesse is not discovered before he has converted the rest," said Voldemort. "At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Ministry will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, the 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 apprehen- sively, 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 had 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 his displayed nothing but shock; he might have announced that he wanted to borrow one of their arms. Cassiopeia remained silent, as her eyes travelled to the floating body.

"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?"

"My lord?" mocked Voldemort, Cassiopeia watched as her father seemed to scramble his words. "Your wand, Lucius. I require your wand."

"I..." Lucius 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, Lucius put his hand into his robes, withdrew a wand, and passed it along to Voldemort, who held it up in from of his red eyes, examining it closely.

"What is it?"

"Elm, my Lord," whispered Lucius.

"And the core?"

"Dragon. Dragon heartstring." He replied.

“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his own wand and com- pared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive Volde- mort's want in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Voldemort, whose eyes widened maliciously. "Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?"

Some of the throng sniggered, Cassiopeia's eyes looked at Snape who looked at her for a moment before looking back at Voldemort.

"I have given you your liberty, Lucius, is that not enough for you? But I have noticed that you and your family seem less than happy of late... What is it about my presence in your home that displeases you, Lucius?" Voldemort sneered.

"Nothing nothing, my Lord!" stuttered Lucius, Cassiopeia's eyebrows lifted.

"Such lies, Lucius..."

The soft voice seems to hiss on even after the cruel mouth had stopped moving. One or two of the wizards barely repressed a shudder as the hissing grew louder; something heavy could be heard sliding across the floor beneath the table.

The huge snake emerged to climb slowly up Voldemort's chair. It rose, seemingly endlessly, and came to rest across Voldemort's shoulders; its neck the thickness of a man's thigh; its eyes, with their vertical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still looking at Lucius Malfoy.

"Why do the Malfoys look so unhappy with their lot? Is my return, my rise to power, not the very thing they professed to desire for so many years?" asked Voldemort.

“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. "We did desire it—we do."

"The three of you, except Cassiopeia, of course," added Voldemort, as he glanced at Cassiopeia with his red eyes.

To Lucius' left, Narcissa made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Voldemort and the snake. To his right, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Voldemort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.

Voldemort raised Lucius Malfoy's wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure suspended over the table, and gave it a tiny flick. The figure came to life with a groan and began to struggle against invisible bonds.

"Do you recognize our guest, Severus?" asked Voldemort. Snape raised his eyes to the upside down face. All of the Death Eaters were looking up at the captive now, as though they had been given permission to show curiosity. As she revolved to face the firelight, the woman said in a cracked and terrified voice.  "Se- verus! Help me!"

"Ah, yes," said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.

"And you, Cassiopeia?" asked Voldemort, stroking the snake's snout with his wand-free hand.

Cassiopeia shook her head, "No, My Lord..." she said, though she narrowed her eyes to see who it really was.

“But you would not have taken her classes,” said Voldemort. "For those of you who do not know, we are joined here tonight by Charity Burbage, who until recently, taught at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry."

There were small noises of comprehension around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.  "Yes... Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Muggles... how they are not so different from us..."

One of the Death Eaters spat on the floor. Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape again. "Severus ... please ... please ..."

Cassiopeia looked at Snape who did not have a single emotion on his face. Cassiopeia swallowed hard, of course she remembered now. Professor Burbage is the woman who taught Muggle Studies, and Hermione took her classes.

"Silence," said Voldemort, with another twitch of Lucius' wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. "Not content with corrupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mud- bloods in the Daily Prophet. Wizards, she says, must accept those thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance... She would have use all mate with Muggles... or, no doubt, werewolves..."

Nobody laughed this time; There was no mistaking the anger and contempt in Voldemort's voice. For the third time, Charity Burbage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pouring from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from his again.

"Avada Kedavra."

The flash of green light illuminated every corner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Eaters leapt back in their chairs, Cassiopeia remained seated, though her eyes flickered. She inhaled deeply, and she continued to focus in closing her mind.

"Dinner, Nagini," said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shoulders onto the polished wood, it hissed and finally...opened its mouth.

Cassiopeia looked away as the snake started to bite, and she looked at Snape who looked at her. He shook his head, and Cassiopeia lets out a breath.

From the corner of her eyes, and the sound, she could hear the snake enjoying its dinner...of flesh.