Chapter Six: The Rubbish Chute
The rubbish chute was cold and slippery as ice, made from polished black slate. The drop was too steep to control how you fell, so Ginny tumbled this way and that.
After what seemed hours, the drop became more level. Minerva's cloak swished behind Ginny, the only sign she was not alone. A chink of light finally shone from a distant kitchen above, where bits of food rained down. Slave came into view, huddled into a ball in front of everyone.
When they were past the kitchens things became cleaner. Ginny allowed her muscles to untense, but her breath was taken away as the chute dipped sharply toward its final destination: the Black Lake.
"Why have we stopped?" hissed Minerva.
"There's a blockage," whispered Arthur. A huge pile of rubbish supported them.
"Bother," muttered Minerva.
"Dad. I want to get out," gasped Ron. "Are we going to go into the lake?"
"Yes, we will have to," whispered Arthur. "You okay, Ron?"
"No..."
Minerva blasted the rubbish out of the way with another green spell and a loud splash sounded as they hit the lake.
Aunt Muriel prided herself on running an underground cafe, and served a tray of butterbeer to a couple Death Eaters. They laughed at something, and Aunt Muriel peered out to see what.
Her jaw dropped.
In the light of the full moon, headmistress Minerva McGonagall, covered in rubbish, was dancing like a madwoman on top of the dump near the Black Lake.
Aunt Muriel peered through her smeary window again. It was indeed Minerva McGonagall, with three children? Then someone else became clear: Molly's no-good husband, Arthur I'll-Do-It-Tomorrow Weasley.
Aunt Muriel clattered down the wooden gangway of the cafe to alert the Dark Lord of their location.
Minerva remained calm. "I've filled the chute back up with rubbish and sealed it," she said. "But that won't delay the Dark Lord. He'll find us somehow…"
Everyone fell quiet as Aunt Muriel's silhouette scurried away in the moonlight.
"Right, then," said Minerva. "We'll have to get as far away from here as possible."
"A boat!" cried Ron, pointing at the quay. "Let's steal it."
Ginny and Ron were only too pleased to steal the boat, but Slave refused to get in. Arthur was forced to shove him inside, but not before making sure Aunt Muriel would be kept busy. Fire shot from his wand, at the traitor's cafe.
Flame snaked into the night as Aunt Muriel's cafe blazed.
Ten minutes later they were a mile down the river.
"I love the open water!" said Ron. "This boat is broad and steady, with new red sails. A good shade of green, too."
Minerva eyed the boat. "How does it work, then?" she asked.
Ron butted in. "Sails," he said. "She sails."
"Who sails?" asked Minerva.
Ron fluttered his eyes. "The boat does."
Minerva threw the rope to Ron, who caught it and stowed it in the prow, then grabbed at the tiller as sails flapped wildly, and Slave took an unpleasant, sharp turn to the left.
"Shall I take the tiller?" offered Ron.
"Take the what? Oh, this handle thing here? Very well, Ron. I don't want to tire myself." Minerva wrapped her cloak around her and shuffled to the side of the boat. "I've never been in a boat before," she confessed. "I think I'm getting seasick."
Ginny and Slave curled up on the other side.
"Where are we going?" asked Ron.
"Shell Cottage," said Arthur.
They picked up speed, heading toward the fast current in the middle of the river. Minerva closed her eyes. "Shell Cottage?" she asked in a shaky voice.
"Yes," said Arthur. "We'll be safe there. We'll put up protective enchantments. No one will ever find it."
"Very well," said Minerva.
The green boat faded into the horizon.