After a few feverish seconds in the hall spent conjuring the door out of the stone wall, Malfoy slipped inside, this time taking a glance both ways down the hall to make sure no one was following him. He was greeted by the same collection of dusty instruments and books, and the same mysterious broken cabinet lay in the corner of the room as before.
Even though he was expecting it, the roar of the fire still startled him as the flames came to life, giving a warm glow to the otherwise gloomy room. This time though, Malfoy resisted the urge to sit before the fireplace. After what had happened last time he let down his guard, he had no desire to fall asleep anywhere but in his own bed.
If there was one thing that had startled him the most about his dream, it was just how real everything had seemed. He could swear that Voldemort had actually been right behind him. The hauntingly calm look on Dumbledore’s face was still etched into Malfoy’s memory, and no matter how hard he tried, he could not seem to rid himself of the thought that he could not have carried out his orders to murder Dumbledore, for that’s what it truly was. What scared him the most now was that he didn’t know whether, given the chance, he actually had the will or the desire to ultimately complete his mission. He had no way of knowing whether or not he would actually be able to go through with it, especially if it meant killing Dumbledore in the fashion predicted by his vision.
It was one thing to poison Dumbledore or kill him indirectly. It was another thing entirely to have him staring at you as you steal the light from his eyes. Malfoy reasoned that the only way for him to know that he could go through with his mission under such circumstances would be to become so detached from the setting and his actions that it would not faze him to kill someone. But how could he learn to kill someone without wavering? Malfoy knew of no one with a heart that cold other than the Dark Lord himself.
He did not know how the idea first occurred to him, but before long Malfoy found himself franticly tearing books from their shelves in search of an answer to his question. For what felt like an eternity, he searched feverishly through the volumes looking for a solution or bit of help that might guide him in the right direction, until he collapsed from exhaustion onto the floor, cursing his predicament.
The questions came again, and along with the questions came the feelings of desperation and separation from the world he had known. Why would the Dark Lord entrust such a dangerous and seemingly impossible task to such a fresh recruit? How could Malfoy ever hope to accomplish his mission? He had lost his innocence the moment he pledged his life to Voldemort. Now he saw what a fool he had been that night. Even so, no Malfoy had ever shown cowardice in the face of danger, and he would certainly not be the first to fail at such a pivotal moment in his life. After a few panicked moments on the floor he was once again composed, and he resolved to find some way to complete his mission. Pledging his service to Voldemort had not been the most foolish thing he had ever done, it was the smartest thing he could have done, and his future was safe because of it. Soon the Dark Lord would rise up and strike down all that opposed him to become the most powerful wizard of all time. He would be a pivotal part of Voldemort’s success, or so his father had assured him . . .
Malfoy sat on the floor, thinking over his situation, slowly looking around the room as if he might find his solution hidden behind one of the many dangerous looking objects that littered the room. His eyes once again fell on the broken cabinet that lay in the far corner. Eager to get his mind off of his current predicament, Malfoy stood up and walked over to the cabinet. He circled it several times, staring at it as though it might speak and reveal its secrets if he glared at it long enough. It seemed familiar somehow. Maybe it was just the ambience of the room that was familiar, but he couldn’t help feeling he had seen such a cabinet before. Bending to examine the remains more closely, Malfoy noticed the ornate woodwork along the undamaged base. There appeared to be an inscription of sorts, and though he could not make out the language, the menacing appearance of the lettering was enough to hint at its meaning.
Malfoy instantly knew where he had seen such a cabinet before. It was no coincidence that he instantly thought of Borgin and Burkes. He recalled feeling as if he had walked into that very same shop the first time he had entered the Room of Requirement several weeks earlier. He had seen a similar cabinet on one of his many trips to the store, and he was at once surprised that he had not recognized the woodwork instantly. Now that he knew what the cabinet was, he could not help wondering why it was here. How would an artifact from that shop find its way to Hogwarts? Even more important, how did it come to be so horribly wrecked? He knew he could not properly examine the cabinet until it was back to its normal state.
Standing, Malfoy raised his wand towards the cabinet and uttered the spell to bring the cabinet’s many pieces back together.
“Reparo!”
Instantly the various broken bits flew back together, and Malfoy found himself standing in front of a very ornate hardwood cabinet that he recognized from Knockturn Alley. He knew there was no way that this was the exact same cabinet he had seen in Borgin and Burkes, though how the two were related he did not know. The inscription which he had observed at the base was scrawled around the entire front door, and there were several ornately carved animals on each of the doors. They appeared to be some kind of horses, though they had been turned inside out. Below the nightmarish horses were two dragons which he recognized as the same breed as the dragon that had almost cooked Potter during the Triwizard Tournament. Opening the cabinet, Malfoy saw that it was completely empty, which he had to admit was a bit disappointing. He half expected to find something puzzling artifact inside.
Just then he heard a voice out in the hallway. “I wonder if that prowler has hidden himself in here? I can’t wait to breakout the old chains for this one. I don’t care what Dumbledore thinks, no one attacks you my sweet and gets away with it.”
Malfoy turned in horror to see the door creak open. He was trapped with nowhere to hide . . . unless. He dived inside the cabinet for shelter, hoping that the caretaker would not have the sense to check inside. He could see the light from Filch’s lantern filtering through the crack in the cabinet doors. After a minute or so, he expected Filch to leave satisfied that no one had hidden inside the room. To Malfoy’s dismay, he heard the soft scratching of Mrs. Norris’s claws on the front cabinet door.
“Found something have you my sweet?” cooed Filch.
Malfoy panicked. He looked around franticly, as if he expected to find a hidden compartment inside the cabinet, but its walls were bare. He was trapped. He stared at the floor, ready to accept his fate at Filch’s hand. The footsteps of the caretaker grew closer; Malfoy could see the hand reach out to the door handle, and then Filch opened the door.