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‘Severus, here,’ said Voldemort, indicating the seat on his immediate right. ‘Yaxley – beside Dolohov.’

The two men took their allotted places. Most of the eyes around the table followed Snape and it was to him that Voldemort 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 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 gaze. Snape, however, looked calmly back into Voldemort’s face and, after a moment or two, Voldemort’s lipless mouth curved 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.