The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy

Chapter 18: Malfoy Manor

"L—" Luna's name stopped at the tip of Draco's tongue as he remembered his disguise.

"Who are you?" she asked. Her voice, always so dreamy, was a parched slip of a thing now.

Draco managed to eke out the name on his Spizzworth's application. "A-Aidan March."

"You aren't a Death Eater." It wasn't a question, but it made Draco's left forearm tingle. Luna's eyes travelled over his caterer's uniform. "Are you here to help us?"

"Us?"

Luna drifted back from the door. As Draco held his wand closer to the barred window, he made out a man lying motionless against the wall nearby, though he looked not so much like a man as a corpse, emaciated and grimy, a mass of filthy grey hair hanging around his skeletal face.

It was Ollivander. The wandmaker bore hardly any resemblance to the man who had clapped with delight when Draco, eleven years old, had swished this very wand through the air to produce a shimmering tail of white flame.

Fear and disgust pulsed through Draco. It was all he could do not to step backward from the sight. This was what awaited him, Hermione, and Harry if they were captured tonight—this, and worse.

"Is that a uniform?" said Luna, moving back in front of the window. Though her voice was hoarse, she sounded innocently curious, too, as if Draco had swung by for tea and light conversation.

"I... I work for a caterer. There's a Ministry of Magic gala upstairs... Hundreds of people."

"Oh. I see." She nodded, seeming to consider. "I suppose it would be quite difficult to get us out unseen, then."

Quite difficult, Draco thought, was the understatement of the year. As he thought of Bellatrix, his fear redoubled, sending ice over his skin. If Malfoy Manor was now being used for this purpose, his aunt must have taken precautions to ensure their captives didn't escape.

He didn't know what to do. He had to think pragmatically. He knew that if he told Hermione or Potter about this, they would insist on trying to save Luna and Ollivander, but it wouldn't help the captives if the three of them got chucked into this cell alongside them. Their circumstances would only worsen if Potter, in particular, were killed. It might not be worth the risk to try—might be the better option to take the Horcrux, go, and focus on the Dark Lord's fall.

And yet even the idea of keeping this from Hermione made him feel that oppressive sense of shame again. He could only imagine her fury and disgust if he walked away, if he didn't tell her about this until after they'd returned to headquarters.

But it would be to keep her safe, he thought. To keep all of us alive.

Still—Ollivander's gaunt, twitching face... the way Luna had said, Are you here to help us?

"Why are you here?" Draco said shakily.

"My father's the editor of The Quibbler. Have you heard of it?" she added with some pride.

Her love for her father's ridiculous rag had never seemed less funny. "Yeah," Draco said.

"Good. Good," Luna said absently, nodding. Her hand shook as she moved a lock of dirty blonde hair back from her face. "Well, I suppose they don't like what he's been printing lately... He's been writing stories about the Order of the Phoenix, and how we should band together to support Harry Potter. So, they took me from the Hogwarts Express when I was on the way home for Christmas Break."

She looked around the cellar. "They hurt me rather a lot when I arrived... I've met Bellatrix Lestrange before, you see. She was pleased to see me again." Her large, ghostly eyes looked suddenly hollow. "After an hour or two, they had a few people chase me through the woods... They told me I could leave if I could reach the gate before them, but now that I think of it, I doubt there was ever a gate at all."