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Don't Stop Believing VadikV
1
Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
By J. K. Rowling
Chapter One
The Dark Lord Ascending
The two men appeared out of n o
where, 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 started 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 bramble
s, on the right by a high, neatly man i
cured 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 trees broke the moonlight. "It was a little trickier than I expected. But I hope he will be sati
s fied. You sound confident that your rece p
tion will be good?"
Snape nodded, but did not elaborate. They turned right, into a wide driveway that led off the lane. The high hedge curved into them, running off into the di s
tance beyond the pair of imposing wrought-iron gates barring the menТ
s way. Neither of them broke step: In silence both raised their left arms in a kind of salute and passed straight through, as though the dark metal was smoke.
The yew hedges muffled the sound of the menТ s footsteps. There was a rustle som e
where to their right: Yaxley drew his wand again pointing it over his co m panionТ
s head, but the source of the noise proved to be nothing more than a pure-white peacock, strutting m a
jestically along the top of the hedge.
“He always did himself well, Lucius. Pe a
cocks …” Yaxley thrust his wand back u n
der his cloak with a snort.
A handsome manor house grew out of the dar k ness at the end of the straight drive, lights glinti
ng in the diamond paned downstairs windows. Som e where in the dark garden b
e
yond 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 n o
body had visibly opened it.
The hallway was large, dimly lit, and sumpt u ously decorated, with a magnificent ca
r
pet covering most of the stone floor. The eyes of the pale-faced portraits on the wall 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, si t ting at a long and ornate table. The roomТ s usual fu
r niture had been pushed car e
lessly up against the walls. Illumination came from a roaring fire beneath a handsome ma r
ble mantelpiece surmounted by a gilded mirror. Snape and Yaxley li n
gered for a moment on the threshold. As their eyes grew accu s
tomed to the lack of light, they were drawn upward to the strangest feature of the scene: an apparently unconscious h
u man figure hanging upside down over the table, r e
volving slowly as if suspended by an invisible rope, and reflected in the mirror and in the bare, polished surface of the table b
e low. None of the people seated underneath this
singular sight were looking at it e x
cept for a pale young man sitting almost directly b e
low it. He seemed unable 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, ho w
ever, his face shone through the gloom, hairless, snak e
like, 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 Ц beside Dol o
hov.”
The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table fo l
lowed Snape, and it was to him that Vold e 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 nightfall.”
The interest around the table sharpened palp a bly: Some stiffened, others fid
g eted, all gazing at Snape and Voldemort.
“Saturday … at nightfall,” repeated Voldemort. His red eyes fastened upon SnapeТ s black ones with such in
tensity that some of the watchers looked away, apparently fearful that they themselves would be scorched by the ferocity of the gaze. Snape, ho w
ever, looked calmly back into Vold e mortТ
s face and, after a moment or two, VoldemortТ s lipless mouth curved into som e thing like a smile.
“Good. Very good. And this inform a tion comes Ц “
“ Ц 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 thi r
tieth, the night before the boy turns seve n
teen.”
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 placed upon Daw l
ish. It would not be the first time; he is known to be su s
ceptible.”
“I assure you, my Lord, Dawlish seemed quite certain,” said Yaxley.
“If he has been Confunded, naturally he is ce r tain,” said Snape. “I assure
you , Ya x
ley, the Auror Office will play no further part in the protection of Harry Potter. The Order believes that we have infi
l trated the Mini s
try.”
“The OrderТ s got one thing right, then, eh?” said a squat man sitting 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 wa n
dered upward to the body revolving slowly overhead, and he seemed to be lost in thought.
“My Lord,” Yaxley went on, “Dawlish believes an entire party of Aurors will be used to tran s fer the boy
Ц “
Voldemort held up a large white hand, and Ya x ley subsided at once, watching resentfully as Vold
e mort 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 together could provide. I think that there is little chance of ta
k ing him once he is there, my Lord, unless, of course, the Ministry has fallen b
e fore next Saturday, which might give us the opportunity to discover and undo enough of the enchan
t ments to break through the rest.”
“Well, Yaxley?” Voldemort called down the t a ble, the firelight glinting strangely in his red eyes. “
Will the Ministry have fallen by next Saturday?”
Once again, all heads turned. Yaxley squared his shoulders.
“My Lord, I have good news on that score. I have Ц with difficulty, and after great effort Ц su c
ceeded in placing an Imperius Curse upon Pius Thicknesse.”
Many of those sitting around Yaxley looked i m
pressed; his neighbor, Dolohov, a man with a long, twisted face, clapped him on the back.
“It is a start,” said Voldemort. “But Thic k nesse is only one man. Scrimgeour must be su
r rounded by our people before I act. One failed attempt on the Mini
s terТ s life will set me back a long way.”
“Yes Ц my Lord, that is true Ц but you know, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforc e
ment, Thicknesse has regular co n tact not only with the Minister
himself, but also with the Heads of all the other Ministry depar t
ments. It will, I think, be easy now that we have such a high-ranking official u n
der 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 disco v ered before he has converted the rest,” said Vold
e mort. “At any rate, it remains unlikely that the Mini
s try will be mine before next Saturday. If we cannot touch the boy at his destination, then it must be done wh
ile he tra v els.”
“We are at an advantage there, my Lord,” said Yaxley, who seemed determined to receive some po r
tion of approval. “We now have several people planted within the Depar t ment of Magical Transport. If Potter A
p parates or uses the Floo Network, we shall know imm
e diately.”
“He will not do either,” said Snape. “The O r der is eschewing any form of transport that is co
n trolled or regulated by the Ministry; they mistrust ev
e rything 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 revol v ing body as he went on, “
I shall attend to the boy in person. There have been too many mistakes where Harry Potter is co n
cerned. Some of them have been my own. That Potter lives is due more to my errors than to his tr i umphs.”
The company around the table watched Vold e mort apprehensively, each of them, by his or her e
x pression, afraid that they might be blamed for Harry PotterТ s continued existence. Voldemort, howeve
r, 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 unde r
stand those things that I did not u n
derstand 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 mi s
ery 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 r e
moving his eyes from the revolving body above, “have I not sp o ken to you about keeping our pri
s oner quiet?”
“Yes, m-my Lord,” gasped a small man hal f
way down the table, who had been sitting so low in his chair that it appeared, at first glance, to be unocc u
pied. Now he scra m bled from his seat and scurried from the room, leaving nothing behind him but a cur
i ous gleam of silver.
“As I was saying,” continued Voldemort, looking again at the tense faces of his fo l lowers, “
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. “LetТ s see … Lucius, I see no reason for you to have a wand an y
more.”
Lucius Malfoy looked up. His skin appeared ye l
lowish 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 fi n
gers 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 eyes, exa
m ining it closely.
“What is it?”
“Elm, my Lord,” whispered Malfoy.
“And the core?”
“Dragon Ц dragon heartstring.”
“Good,” said Voldemort. He drew out his wand and compared the lengths. Lucius Malfoy made an involuntary movement; for a fraction of a second, it seemed he expected to receive VoldemortТ
s wand in exchange for his own. The gesture was not missed by Vold e mort, whose eyes widened maliciously.
“Give you my wand, Lucius? My wand?”
Some of the throng sniggered.
“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 displaces you, Lucius?”
“Nothing Ц nothing, my Lord!”
“Such lies Lucius … “
The soft voice seemed 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 VoldemortТ s chair. It rose, seemingly en d
lessly, and came to rest across VoldemortТ s shoulders: its neck the thickness of a manТ s thigh; its eyes, with their ve r
tical slits for pupils, unblinking. Voldemort stroked the creature absently with long thin fingers, still loo k
ing 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?”
“Of course, my Lord,” said Lucius Malfoy. His hand shook as he wiped sweat from his upper lip. “We did desire it Ц we do.”
To MalfoyТ s left, his wife made an odd, stiff nod, her eyes averted from Vold e
mort and the snake. To his right, his son, Draco, who had been gazing up at the inert body overhead, glanced quickly at Vold e
mort and away again, terrified to make eye contact.
“My Lord,” said a dark woman hal f way down the table, her voice constricted with em
o tion, “it is an honor to have you here, in our familyТ s house. There can be no higher plea
s ure.”
She sat beside her sister, as unlike her in looks, with her dark hair and heavily lidded eyes, as she was in bearing and demeanor; where Narcissa sat rigid and impassive, Bellatrix leaned toward Vold
e mort, for mere words could not demonstrate her lon
g ing for clos e
ness.
“No higher pleasure,” repeated Voldemort, his head tilted a little to one side as he considered Bell a trix.
“That means a great deal, Bellatrix, from you.”
Her face flooded with color; her eyes welled with tears of delight.
“My Lord knows I speak nothing but the truth!”
“No higher pleasure … even compared with the happy event that, I hear, has taken place in your fa m
ily this week?”
She stared at him, her lips parted, evidently co n fused.
“I donТ t know what you mean, my Lord.”
“IТ m talking about your niece, Bellatrix. And yours, Lucius and Narcissa. She has just ma r
ried the werewolf, Remus Lupin. You must be so proud.”
There was an eruption of jeering laughter from around the table. Many leaned forward to exchange gleeful looks; a few thumped the table with their fists. The giant snake, disliking the di
s
turbance, opened its mouth wide and hissed angrily, but the Death Eaters did not hear it, so jubilant were they at Bellatrix and the MalfoysТ humiliation. BellatrixТ s face, so r
e cently flushed wit happ i
ness, had turned an ugly, blotchy red.
“She is no niece of ours, my Lord,” she cried over the outpouring of mirth. “We Ц Na r cissa and I
Ц have never set eyes on our sister since she married the Mudblood. This brat has nothing to do with either of us, nor any beast she marries.”
“What say you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, and though his voice was quiet, it carried clearly through the catcalls and jeers. “Will you babysit the cubs?”
The hilarity mounted; Draco Malfoy looked in terror at his father, who was staring down into his own lap, then caught his motherТ s eye. She shook her head almost i m
perceptibly, then resumed her own deadpan stare at the o p
posite wall.
“Enough,” said Voldemort, stroking the angry snake. “Enough.”
And the laughter died at once.
“Many of our oldest family trees become a little diseased over time,” he said as Bellatrix gazed at him, breathless and imploring, “You must prune yours, must you not, to keep it healthy? Cut away those parts that threaten the health of the rest.
”
“Yes, my Lord,” whispered Bellatrix, and her eyes swam with tears of gratitude again. “At the first chance!”
“You shall have it,” said Voldemort. “And in your family, so in the world … we shall cut away the canker that infects us until only those of the true blood remain …”
Voldemort raised Lucius MalfoyТ s wand, pointed it directly at the slowly revolving figure su s
pended 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,
“Severus! Help me!”
“Ah, yes,” said Snape as the prisoner turned slowly away again.
“And you, Draco?” asked Voldemort, stroking the snakeТ s snout with his wand-free hand. Draco shook his head jerkily. Now that the woman had woken, he seemed unable to look at her anymore.
“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 Witc
h craft and Wizardry.”
There were small noises of comprehe n sion around the table. A broad, hunched woman with pointed teeth cackled.
“Yes … Professor Burbage taught the children of witches and wizards all about Mu g gles …
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 … “
“Silence,” said Voldemort, with a n other twitch of MalfoyТ
s wand, and Charity fell silent as if gagged. “Not content with co r rupting and polluting the minds of Wizarding
children, last week Professor Burbage wrote an impassioned defense of Mudbloods in the Daily Prophet
. Wizards, she says, must accept these thieves of their knowledge and magic. The dwindling of the purebloods is, says Professor Burbage, a most desirable circumstance … She would have us all mate with Muggles … or, no doubt, werewolves … “
Nobody laughed this time. There was no mista k ing the anger and contempt in Vold
e mortТ s voice. For the third time, Charity Bu
r bage revolved to face Snape. Tears were pou r
ing from her eyes into her hair. Snape looked back at her, quite impassive, as she turned slowly away from him again.
“ Avada Kedavra”
The flash of green light illuminated every co r
ner of the room. Charity fell, with a resounding crash, onto the table below, which trembled and creaked. Several of the Death Ea t
ers leapt back in their chairs. Draco fell out of his onto the floor.
“Dinner, Nagini,”
said Voldemort softly, and the great snake swayed and slithered from his shou l ders onto the polished wood.
Chapter Two In Memora
n dum
Harry was bleeding. Clutching his right hand in his left and swearing under his breath, he shou l
dered open his bedroom door. There was a crunch of brea k
ing china. He had trodden on a cup of cold tea that had been si t ting on the floor outside his bedroom door.
"What the --?"
He looked around, the landing of number four, Privet Drive, was deserted. Possibly the cup of tea was Dudley's idea of a clever booby trap. Keeping his bleeding hand elevated, Harry scraped the fragments of cup together
with the other hand and threw them into the already crammed bin just visible inside his bedroom door. Then he tramped across to the bat h
room to run his finger under the tap.
It was stupid, pointless, irritating beyond belief that he still had four days left of being unable to pe r
form magic…but he had to admit to himself that this jagged cut in his finger would have defeated him. He had never learned how to repair wounds, and now he came to think of it Ц particularly in light of his imm
e diate plans Ц this s
eemed a serious flaw in his magical education. Making a mental note to ask Hermione how it was done, he used a large wad of toilet paper to mop up as much of the tea as he could before retur
n ing to his bedroom and slamming the door behind him.
Harry had spent the morning completely empt y
ing his school trunk for the first time since he had packed it six years ago. At the start of the intervening school years, he had merely skimmed off the topmost three quarters of the contents and replaced or u
p dated them, leaving a layer of general debris at the bottom Ц
old quills, desiccated beetle eyes, single socks that no longer fit. Minutes pr e
viously, Harry had plunged his hand into this mulch, experienced a stabbing pain in the fourth fi n
ger of his right hand, and withdrawn it to see a lot of blood.
He now proceeded a little more cautiously. Kneeling down beside the trunk again, he groped around in the bottom and, after r e
trieving an old badge that flickered feebly b e
tween SUPPORT CEDRIC DIGGORY and
POTTER STINKS , a cracked and worn-out Sneakoscope, and a gold locket inside which a note signed R.A.B. had been hidden, he f
i
nally discovered the sharp edge that had done the damage. He recognized it at once. It was a two-inch-long fragment of the enchanted mirror that his dead godfather, Si r
ius, had given him. Harry laid it aside and felt cautiously around the trunk for the rest, but nothing
more remained of his godfather's last gift e x
cept powdered glass, which clung to the dee p est layer of debris like glittering grit.
Harry sat up and examined the jagged piece on which he had cut himself, seeing not h
ing but his own bright green eye reflected back at him. Then he placed the fragment on top of that mor n
ing's Daily prophet, which lay unread on the bed, and attempted to stem the sudden upsurge of bitter memories, the stabs of regret and of longing the discovery of the broken mi r
ror had occasioned, by attacking the rest of the ru b
bish in the trunk.
It took another hour to empty it completely, throw away the useless items, and sort the r e
mainder in piles according to whether or not he would need them from now on. His school and Quidditch robes, cauldron, parc h
ment, quills, and most of his textbooks were piled in a corner, to be left behind. He wo n
dered what his aunt and uncle would do with them; burn them in the dead of night, prob a
bly, as if they were evidence of some dreadful crime. His Muggle clothing, Invis i
bility Cloak, potion-making kit, certain books, the photograph album Hagrid had once given him, a stack of letters, and his wand had been r
e packed into an old rucksack. In a front pocket were the M
a rauder's Map and the locket with the note signed R.A.B. inside it. The locket was accorded this place of honor not b
e cause it was valuable Ц in all usual senses it was worthless Ц
but because of what it had cost to attain it.
This left a sizable stack of newspapers sitting on his desk beside his snowy owl, He d
wig: one for each of the days Harry had spent at Privet Drive this su m mer.
He got up off the floor, stretched, and moved across to his desk. Hedwig made no movement as he began to flick through newsp a
pers, throwing them into the rubbish pile one by one. The owl was asleep or else faking; she was angry with Harry about the li
m ited amount of time she was allowed out of her cage at the moment.
As he neared the bottom of the pile of newsp a pers, Harry slowed down, searching for one partic
u lar issue that he knew had a r
rived shortly after he had returned to Privet Drive for the summer; he reme m
bered that there had been a small mention on the front about the resignation of Cha r
ity Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher at Hogwarts. At last he found it. Tur n
ing to page ten, he sank into his desk chair and r e
read the article he had been looking for.
ALBUS DUMBLEDORE REMEMBERED
By Elphias Doge
I met Albus Dumbledore at the age of eleven, on our first day at Hogwarts. Our mutual a t
traction was undoubtedly due to the fact that we both felt ou r selves to be outsiders. I had co
n tracted dragon pox shortly before a r
riving at school, and while I was no
longer contagious, my pock-marked visage and gree n ish hue did not encourage many to a
p proach me. For his part, Albus had arrived at Hogwarts under the bu
r den of unwanted not o
riety. Scarcely a year previously, his father, Percival, had been co n
victed of a savage and well-publicized attack upon three young Muggles.
Albus never attempted to deny that his father (who was to die in Azkaban) had commi t
ted this crime; on the contrary, when I plucked up courage to ask him, he assured me that he knew his father to be guilty. Beyond that, Du m
bledore refused to speak of the sad business, though many a t
tempted to make him do so. Some, indeed, were disposed to praise his f a
ther's action and assumed that Albus too was a Mu g
gle-hater. They could not have been more mistaken: As anybody who knew Albus would attest, he never revealed the r e
motest anti-Muggle tendency. Indeed, his determined su p
port for Muggle rights gained him many en e
mies in subsequent years.
In a matter of months, however, Albus's own fame had begun to eclipse that of his f a
ther. By the end of his first year he would never again be known as the son of a Muggle-hater, but as nothing more or less than the most bri l
liant student ever seen at the school. Those of us who were privileged to be his friends benefited from his example, not to mention his help and encouragement, with which he was always ge
n erous. He confessed to me later in life that he knew even then that his greatest pleasure lay in teac
h ing.
He not only won every prize of note that the school offered, he was soon in regular corr e
spondence with the most notable magical names of the day, i n cluding Nicolas Flamel, the cel
e
brated alchemist; Bathilda Bagshot, the noted historian; and Adalbert Waffling, the magical theoretician. Several of his p a
pers found their way into learned publications such as Transfiguration T
o day, Challenges in Charming, and
The Practical Potioneer . Dumbledore's future career seemed likely to be meteoric, and the only question that r
e mained was when he would become Minister of Magic.
Though it was often predicted in later years that he was on the point of taking the job, however, he never had Mini s
terial ambitions.
Three years after we had started at Hogwarts, A l
bus's brother, Aberforth, arrived at school. They were not alike: Aberfor
th was never bookish and, unlike Albus, preferred to settle arguments by dueling rather than through reasoned discussion. However, it is quite wrong to suggest, as some have, that the brothers were not friends. They rubbed along as co
m fortably as two such different boys could do. In fairness to Abe
r forth, it must be admitted that living in Albus's shadow cannot have been an altogether co
m fortable experience. Being continually outshone was an occ
u pational hazard of being his friend and cannot have been any more pleasu
r able as a brother. When Albus and I left Ho g
warts we intended to take the then-traditional tour of the world together, visiting and o b
serving foreign wizards, before pursuing our sep a
rate careers. However, tragedy intervened. On the very eve of our trip, Albus's mother, Kendra, died, leaving
A l bus the head, and sole brea
d winner, of the family. I postponed my departure long enough to pay my r
e spects at Kendra's f u
neral, then left for what was now to be a solitary journey. With a younger brother and si s
ter to care for, and little gold left to them, there could no longer be any question of Albus accompan y
ing me.
That was the period of our lives when we had least contact. I wrote to Albus, descri b
ing, perhaps insensitively, the wonders of my journey, from na r row escapes from chimaeras in Greece to the exper
i ments of the Egyptian a l
chemists.
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