This is what I think should have happened in the 7th book. Or at least, my interpretation. Parts of it disregard the 5th and 6th books, but that's really all. Hope you like it- it's my first :)
An eerie mist was settling over the dark hills of Little Hangleton. A cloaked figure was gliding over the pathway, heading towards a dark forest. They had been called.
A glistening scabbed hand was clutching the robes, and it drew long rattling breaths. Behind it were many more of it's kind. They moved effortlessly over the grounds, and finally reached the privacy of the forest. After a few minutes, the group of cloaked figures stopped. In front of them stood a grand house, where the House of Gaunt used to be. But this building was much larger, and much more acclimated to hold many guests.
A feeling of intense cold swept over the people in the house. Many shivered. A single white being looked around the room, unscathed. A high, cold voice spoke out
"My dear followers, why do you shiver at the thought of our new alliances? They have only just arrived, and you are frightened?" All of the others looked around to the fireplace, in which a fire had just been burning.
"My lord, please-"
"Silence Lucius!" Thin, spiderlike white fingers grasped a wand, pointing it at the man who had spoken. With a flick, the man was on the floor, writing in pain. Another flick, and he stopped.
"Who else would like to plead mercy?" The cold voice of Lord Voldemort spoke. Nobody moved.
"I thought not. We are here today to plan the demise of a very special person. The boy they thought defeated me sixteen years ago. But look at me now, more powerful than ever!" Voldemort paused, letting the Death Eaters drink in his words.
"Lord Voldemort believes that we should plan an attack tomorrow night. Harry Potter will be leaving for the Burrow that night, and we will be there to give him... a welcoming surprise." Many of the Death Eaters nodded in agreement with the plan.
At that moment, the doors slid open, and the gliding creatures slid into the room. Lord Voldemort's white lips cracked a sly smile.
"Welcome, beings of despair. We plan an attack tomorrow, at five o'clock, PM. Are there any questions?" As an answer, the Dementor in front raised a scabbed hand in salute, then slid back out the door. The others followed.
"This meeting is now over. Ah, Wormtail, please wait a minute." The death eaters left the room, until only one remained, cowering slightly.
"No need to worry, Wormtail. I will give you one chance. You have been very helpful to me. Lord Voldemort rewards those who help. Therefore, I place you second in command for the attack." The small man named Wormtail beamed.
"Thank you, my lord, thank you," Wormtail fell to his feet, and began to kiss the hems of Voldemort's robes.
"Enough groveling," Lord Voldemort placed a single white finger on Wormtail's forehead.
"Be gone."