The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy

Chapter 29: The Revels of Helga Hufflepuff

They landed hard in the front garden of the Potter Cottage.

Draco breathed shallowly through parted lips. The air smelled like pollen, felt thick and unbreathable. The only sound was the ripple and flap of the tents around them. No one was speaking, although the others were all facing his way.

He couldn't meet any of their eyes. What was there to say? They all knew the truth. There would be no antidote for his father, miraculously procured, to save him from the venom of the sword. Lucius was already losing consciousness when they'd escaped. By now, he was dead.

Draco knew this, and yet it couldn't be true. His father, the cornerstone on which he'd built his identity for so long, couldn't have crumbled away from the world within a number of confused seconds. He couldn't be gone.

He found himself looking to Dobby the house-elf first, who was gazing up at him with those tennis ball-sized eyes. "Ah, sir," Dobby said, looking away. Draco heard a hint of sympathy, but there was no sign of regret in the elf's face.

The elf's words seemed to puncture the shock. Ron swallowed and gave his head a little shake. "What are we going to do?" he said in a hoarse whisper. "Hermione..."

But their arrival had attracted attention. The door of headquarters burst open, and a terrified-looking Mr. and Mrs. Weasley ran into the garden, followed by a dozen members of the Order.

"What on earth happened?" Mrs. Weasley demanded. "Ronald Weasley—where did you go? What were you doing? You should have been back twenty minutes ago! You said you were going somewhere safe, you said—"

She broke off mid-tirade, scanning their group. Everyone gathered seemed to come to the question at the same time.

"Where's Hermione?" said Bill in a quiet voice.

"Bellatrix has her." The words came from Draco's mouth, but his voice sounded like a stranger's.

Mrs. Weasley's hands clamped over her mouth, but she was one of the few who moved. Most of the Order froze in place as though Petrified.

Remus was the first to recover. "Bellatrix will not kill Hermione," he said, grave-faced but steady-voiced. "We know that much. She will be an immensely valuable prisoner."

"How did it happen, Potter?" said Kingsley. "Why were you near Lestrange?"

Harry explained the broad strokes, omitting details of the Horcrux. The news that they'd gone to Gringotts caused an immediate babble of questions, but none of it meant anything to Draco. He stared unseeing into the veins of ivy upon the walls of the Potter Cottage. His father's body was probably still lying there on the steps. Who would claim it? And even now, Bellatrix might be whisking Hermione or his mother back to the Lestrange House to torture them. There was no room in his mind for anything else, not even the Horcrux or how they would destroy it.

Remus was right, though. That was one comfort: Bellatrix would keep Hermione alive. She would want to trade Hermione for the cup, and now that they had stolen it from under her nose, Bellatrix wouldn't dare to summon Voldemort. Another shred of hope that Draco clung to like a drowning man to a scrap of driftwood.

Still, none of this would stop Bellatrix from hurting Hermione in ways that only his aunt could devise. Nausea churned in Draco's stomach. He wanted to run, to yell, to shatter something. He fixed the Lestrange House in his mind. Yes—they had to storm the place. They had to rally the hundreds of people from the safehouses to Bellatrix's doors. It would invite open warfare upon her grounds, but Draco didn't care. He was ready to burn down all their plans for this one chance—to save the only two people left in the world that he loved.