The Disappearances of Draco Malfoy

Chapter 9: The Queen of the Night

"I still don't think we should follow some unsigned note scribbled in a public place," Draco muttered as they approached the Potter cottage again. "Anyone could have written it."

"Yes, well, that's why we just went on a miniature goose chase, isn't it," came Granger's whisper from thin air. "To shake them off if they were watching."

After reading the note, they'd drifted away from the cottage like disinterested tourists. They'd gone right out of Godric's Hollow, swapped their Transfigurations for Disillusionments, and Potter and Granger—the two smallest of their number—had donned the Invisibility Cloak for good measure before they'd sneaked back into the village.

Now, standing in front of the cottage again, Draco didn't like the idea of going inside. "What if they've set up some kind of ward or alert?" he said.

"As long as it's not an anti-Apparition ward, it doesn't matter," Granger whispered back. "And we can check for that. Everyone remember the plan?"

"If anything fishy happens," Weasley muttered, "Disapparate to that cave where we stayed after they found us last time."

"Good," Potter said. "Come on." The ivy on the post beside the iron gate trembled slightly, as if in a breeze, as he and Granger climbed up and over it.

Draco sighed, but followed.

The Potter cottage was made of handsome weathered stone, though it was mostly obscured by the dark ivy that had grown wild over its face. The front door must have once been a bright, inviting crimson, but the paint had dulled in the intervening sixteen years, peeling and flaking between the boards, the door handle rusted.

"Let's look for a side door," Potter whispered. "I don't think we should just... just walk in through the..."

Draco didn't miss the strain in his voice. Draco suddenly imagined himself coming back to Malfoy Manor after a decade to find it overgrown, the gardens a mess of weeds, the windows stained, the upper storey blasted apart—the picture of neglect, disuse, and outright damage.

Weasley had clearly also sensed Potter's discomfort. "Come on," he said, "let's try this way." He took the lead, and they fell into step after his faint outline.

They picked around the side of the cottage, trying to follow the path of cracked flagstones so as not to leave depressions in the grass or dirt. At the cottage's back corner was a small overhang, and beneath it, a second red door with black brackets.

"Alohomora," whispered Granger's voice. The lock whined and scraped as it opened, and Weasley pushed the door wide.

They entered a small kitchen with slightly outdated fixtures. It might, at one point, have been a cozy place: Draco's eyes lingered on nested copper pots atop the cabinetry, and on an enchanted plate mounted on the wall, where a painted rooster pecked eternally at some seeds in a few brushstrokes of grass. But time had worn away the comforts. The air smelled of rot, and the corners of the ceilings were spotted with mold.

It seemed that the sign had spoken literally. No one seemed to have touched the place at all since that Halloween night. Draco's gaze fixed on a detail that felt somehow appalling: a single water glass that stood on the edge of the counter, near the sink. Someone might have just pulled a drink of water from the tap and left the glass there to rest.

Weasley shut the door behind them, sweeping a section of the hardwood floor clean. Otherwise, the dust was like thin carpet, undisturbed—except for a single pair of footsteps that led forward, into a dark, narrow hallway.

"Look," Draco said. "Some—someone's been here." He didn't like that his voice had come out higher than usual.

"We know someone's been here," said Granger, clearly trying for a matter-of-fact tone, but she sounded tense, too. "Whoever left the note."