Two days later, Potter and the others received Malfoy’s owl. They read the letter quickly. “What should we write back?” asked Granger, retrieving a piece of paper and a quill.
Potter dictated the response they would send. “Malfoy, Ginny’s out for a week so we can’t do anything just yet. We owled Ernie MacMillan about getting us a key to Snape’s vault but we haven’t heard from him yet. Bill’s coming down soon, we’ll come get you when we take action. Potter.”
They sent the owl out the window, not knowing that Malfoy would never read the letter.
Just then there was a knock at the door. “Let’s hope it’s Bill,” said Fred, going over to the door. He peered out the peephole. “Oh, yep, it is.” He opened the door and the red-headed man stepped inside.
“Hi, everybody,” he said loudly. The portrait of Mrs. Black sprang into life, screaming about Mudbloods and blood traitors and filth. Bill winced. “Oops, sorry, guys.” He had no trouble, however, wrenching the curtains closed, and he and Fred proceeded back into the parlor.
Ginny was lying on the couch, her eyes half-closed. “Hi Bill,” she murmured.
Bill knelt down beside her. “God, Ginny, what happened?”
“Oh, they didn’t tell you?” Ginny shifted in her position on the couch. “When the Death Eaters kidnapped us-”
“WHAT?”
“Guys, did you tell him anything?” asked Ginny incredulously. “Well, anyway, these Death Eaters captured me, Ron, and Malfoy-”
“So you really are working with Malfoy?” Bill sighed. “That’s what I’d heard, from Mom, but I couldn’t believe it…”
“Well, it’s true. He’s changed, I guess…” Ginny didn’t sound convinced, either, but she plodded on. “Anyway. The Death Eaters kidnapped us and stuck us in this basement. Then we heard a lot of noise, so I went up to the door to listen, and it got blasted. I was knocked out for awhile, and I got a concussion. I’m okay, though.”
Bill passed a hand over his face. “Anything else you guys want to fill me in on?”
“Now that you mention it…” said Fred.
Bill studied their faces. “It’s bad news, isn’t it?”
“The worst,” sighed Granger.
“Could you just tell me already?”
“Right,” said Potter. “Well, remember how I killed Voldemort?”
“How could I forget?”
“Yeah. He didn’t actually die.”
“WHAT?” Bill jumped up from his crouching position. “Are you saying Voldemort’s alive?”
“Yes.”
“But, how?”
“He made another Horcrux,” Potter sighed. “Just before I killed him. We didn’t know about it. It’s the Sorting Hat, and it’s in a trapdoor in Snape’s house.”
“Snape? That dirty, foul-”
Potter cut Bill off. “Bloody traitor, yes, we know. We can’t do anything without the key to the trapdoor. We think it’s in his Gringotts vault.”
Bill frowned. “I don’t think so. Snape wouldn’t keep something that valuable in a regular vault, would he? I mean, I think he’s smarter than that.”
The impact of Bill’s words hit Potter hard. “Oh,” he said slowly. “You’re right…”
Bill rolled his eyes. “We can look, I suppose. But I highly doubt it’s there.”
Nobody said anything.
“Do you have any idea where it could be?” asked Bill finally. “Any other hunch?”
Potter looked around at his friends blankly. “Um…I don’t know.”
“It could be anywhere,” remarked Weasley, looking frankly bewildered.
Ginny groaned. “God, we could be looking for ages…”
Bill whistled. “This definitely isn’t good.”
“So, do you think we should still check out Gringotts?” Weasley asked.
Bill thought. “Well, it seems unlikely that he would put something so important in such a predictable place, but we should probably check anyway. Won’t hurt, at least.”
“Good, then. When Ernie writes back, or when Ginny gets better, we’ll go.”
“When will that be, though? We can’t wait too long,” cautioned Bill. “Gringotts will be running normally soon. If we’re going to take advantage of the chaos we need to go soon. Tomorrow at the latest.”
“Fine, then,” said Potter, after a slight pause. “Tomorrow.” He looked at Ginny, lying sulkily on the couch. “Sorry, Gin. You won’t be able to come.”
“I know,” she said grumpily.
“Someone should stay with her,” said Bill.
“I will,” volunteered Granger.
“Then it’s settled,” said Potter decisively.
* * * * * * * * * * *
In the Riddle mansion, Malfoy had fallen asleep in the dark closet where he’d been imprisoned. He awoke with a start as loud footsteps sounded outside the closet. Malfoy’s chest constricted in fear, but they passed by the closet, leaving Malfoy alone.
Malfoy sat up gingerly, wincing at the pain in his back. It was very sore. The Cruciatus curses were bad enough without sleeping on the floor. He rubbed his neck. It was stiff and every slight movement sent twinges of pain down his spine.
Groaning, Malfoy inched over to the wall and leaned against it. Why had he been so stupid lately? He didn’t know, but he was paying for it dearly now. Who knew what Voldemort might do to him today. Maybe even kill him, end his wretched, pathetic life…
I’m a traitor, he thought miserably. I came back to Voldemort. I was stupid and foolish, but now what am I going to do? How can I help Potter now…without getting myself killed?
The answer came at once. Escape.
Much easier said than done.
Something poked Malfoy in the leg. He shifted and pulled whatever it was out of his torn, dirty robes. My wand! Malfoy’s heart leapt at the sight of it. How could Voldemort have forgotten to take his wand?
Malfoy struggled painfully to his feet. “Lumos,” he muttered and the closet was bathed in a dim glow. Just being able to see heartened Malfoy, giving him hope.
He pressed his ear against the splintery closet door, listening. There was no noise outside, no voices, no footsteps, nothing. “Alohomora,” he whispered. He marveled when the door swung open. Perhaps Voldemort had thought him to cowardly and weak to do anything at all, even with a wand. Well, I’ll show him, thought Malfoy defiantly, stepping out into the dark hallway.
Now, he thought, scurrying down the corridor as quietly as possible, I’m gonna get out of here…
Footsteps sounded behind him, making Malfoy panicky. He ducked into the nearest room he found, praying it was empty.
It was.
Malfoy looked around, then locked the door. He wasn’t in a room, just another closet. This one was bigger though, and practically empty, except for a pile of robes and a heap of Death Eater masks. An idea formed in Malfoy’s head.
He seized a robe from the pile and slipped it into it. It was a little big, but otherwise okay. Then Malfoy grabbed a mask and slipped it over his head.
My hair, he thought frantically. They’ll recognize it for sure. With a simple charm he turned it a mousy brown color.
Then Malfoy took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and reentered the hallway.
Unfortunately two Death Eaters were walking down the hall at that precise moment. They weren’t wearing masks, but Malfoy didn’t recognize them.
“Hey, who are you?” asked one of them suspiciously.
“Er-my name’s-Neville, er, um, Neville Barker.” Barker? he thought, mentally kicking himself. How stupid!
The two Death Eaters shrugged. “Okay, then.” They walked on and Malfoy breathed a sigh of relief.
He hurried back down the hallway, enjoying the feeling of being invisible, blending into the scene. He was just like any other minor Death Eater. Perfect.
He passed the closet where he had been imprisoned and again marveled at Voldemort’s stupidity. Well, he thought wryly, Snape is going to be the one punished for my escape. It may have been Voldemort’s mistake, but what were the chances of him seeing that? Next to nothing. But Malfoy wasn’t sorry at all as he reached a staircase.
The Riddle mansion was huge, and Malfoy stopped to think about where he should go. Maybe I should just Apparate now, he thought. He was about to leave when a hand gripped his shoulder. He turned.
It was Snape.
His pulse sped up about a million miles, but he willed himself to act normally. He doesn’t know who I am, he assured himself. I’m invisible, remember?
“Er, hello,” he said, making his voice deeper than usual.
“Hello,” said Snape curtly.
“I, uh…what do you want?” Malfoy asked. Snape’s cold eyes boring into him was quite unnerving.
“I need a few people to help me with a special project,” he replied silkily. “Would you be interested?”
Malfoy’s heart sank. So much for leaving, he thought glumly, but tried his best to mask his emotions. “Sure. What is it?”
“There’s a location I need to enchant, and the incantation takes a few people to ensure its power.”
“Where?” asked Malfoy.
“The hiding place of the last Horcrux,” Snape snapped. “Now are you interested or not?” he narrowed his eyes. “You don’t look familiar. What’s your name?”
“Neville Barker.”
“Well, Neville. I need to gather a few more people to accompany us and then we will leave. I’ll come back here. Don’t move,” he added threateningly.
When Snape had gone, Malfoy’s thoughts drifted to this enchantment. This could be good, he thought, his spirits lifting, I can tell Potter what he’s up against, but how will I get out of here?
Soon Snape returned, followed by two Death Eaters who looked to be around Malfoy’s own age. One of them was carrying an empty butterbeer bottle, undoubtedly a Portkey. The four men grabbed ahold of it silently.
They were whisked away and landed with a thump in a familiar place.
Snape’s cellar.
So we were right, Malfoy thought. The Horcrux is here after all.
Snape got up and dusted his robes off. “Come here,” he snapped. “Now, on the count of three we are all going to cast a spell on this trapdoor. The incantation is Abrogus.” He glanced around the group; they had their wands pointed at the trapdoor. “One, two, three.”
“ABROGUS!” came four male voices. The trapdoor glowed a bright blue; then it disappeared, leaving a silvery mist hovering above the door.
“Don’t touch the mist,” Snape instructed. “Our work here is done. Apparate back to the Riddle mansion.”
Malfoy weighed his options. He could Apparate away right now and risk getting caught, or he could go back to Voldemort.
He took the obvious choice.