SALEM ᵈ ᵐᵃˡᶠᵒʸ

xiv. Shell Cottage (Again)

THE walk was silent save for my hurried footsteps against the stone floors; sometimes a loud slap of my shoe that echoed across the passageway, and sometimes a skid when I half-jogged towards the end.

Nothing could be heard down here. It was a tomb, completely soundproof and completely unknown to the wanderer. I might've been under the kitchens, or even passing through the walls in between the Drawing Room—

A shiver went down my spine that had nothing to do with the drafty air coming from the end.

Stop thinking such things, I scolded myself. And walk faster.

As soon as it was said, I sprinted like hell, my breath coming out in short pants as I continued down the passage and looked straight ahead, the light from Draco's wand guiding me forwards.

Not once did I let myself think of anything else other than getting to Ron and Harry so we could rescue Hermione and get the hell out of here.

As soon as Draco had shut the door to the passage closed I had to stand and breathe in deeply in the dim light. It had taken all of my willpower not to open the door myself and kiss him silly again, or beg him to come with me. Even more when I walked away from him.

Merlin—I could still feel his lips—

I gritted my teeth and ran faster.

Think about it later think about it later.

Words couldn't describe the feeling of relief I felt as I finally skidded to a stop in front of a stone wall. This must be it. Merlin, I really hoped there was no one else outside.

I copied the movements Draco did and watched as the stone wall groaned open, cracking just enough for me to peer through — and see that it indeed led right at the entrance of the cellar.

It was a small and cramped space, with a steel stairway and a landing that displayed a thick door, already swung open to reveal Harry's and Ron's terrified and pale faces staring at the wall.

I almost let out a sob of relief. "Thank Merlin," I cried quietly and pocketed Draco's wand, "you have no idea—"

"How'd you get here?" Harry asked, still staring at the passage I just came from.

"No time!" Ron whispered urgently. "We need to get to Hermione, now."

We didn't let ourselves stand idle any longer. As quietly as we could, we ran up the stairs and crept along the dark hallway that led to the Drawing Room, the door already ajar allowing us to see what was happening inside.

I checked my breathing, making sure that it wasn't too hard, before squinting into the wide gap of the door. Bellatrix was looking down at a goblin holding the Sword of Gryffindor — the same goblin that's been taken with us — and there was a still figure lying on the floor at Bellatrix's feet.

A surge of emotions choked the insides of my throat as I stared at my broken friend. If only I was faster, if only I had been smarter, if I only hadn't wasted my time with Draco, then maybe Hermione would still be whole. I bit down on my lip, hard enough to draw blood as the guilt flooded through my veins, filling every pore and crevice in my body.

I didn't bother wiping the tears in my eyes as I listened to what Bellatrix was saying.

"Well?" she demanded the goblin. "Is it the true sword?"

"No. It is a fake."

"Are you sure? Quite sure?"

"Yes," the goblin replied, sounding monotonous and bored as if he wasn't facing one of the most dangerous witches in the Wizarding World.