Chapter Nine: Shell Cottage

Albus spied through a broken window of Gryffindor Tower. Voldemort stroked his snake, leaning back in a red and gold armchair. It had happened. He was able to come and go from Hogwarts.

Voldemort made a rasping noise as his servant climbed through the portrait hole.

"I hope, Wormtail," Voldemort told the trembling man, "that you have some interesting news for me."

The servant panted and shook, unable to speak. Albus blew out the fire in the fireplace so Wormtail shivered harder.

"What are you doing?" asked Voldemort.

"I - I'm cold, my lord."

"Is she dead? I will not be able to remain in the school if she comes back. If my search is not complete by then, you will be responsible. Do you want to be killed, Wormtail?"

"We believe they escaped by boat," squeaked Wormtail.

Voldemort cast a withering look at him. He emerged from his chair and swept into the dark and silent hall, leaving the portrait swinging open.

Snow, blown in from windows he had broken, covered the floors. Voldemort took the moving staircases to the entrance hall where he burst through double doors and strode across a courtyard. As he made his way to Hogsmeade, he struck down one of his guards with a killing curse.

Albus was not pleased at how the Dark Lord treated the school, and hoped he did not find the thing for which he was searching.

The silence was deafening. Neither Fred nor George banged on the bathroom door so Percy would hurry up with his shower. Charlie did not play mindless tunes on an old, broken flute as Bill called "Shut up, I'm trying to concentrate on school!" Molly didn't even yell at anyone for getting out food. Ron, however, snored.

Ginny sat up to embers crackling. She wrapped her quilt around despite; the air had a damp chill, and the boggart had haunted her dreams, slimy paws and beady eyes slithering in and out. She raised a hand to her head. The gold circlet was still there. She'd forgotten to remove it, and its digging into her head contributed to her nightmares.

"I never even got to start homeschool," she sighed. "...Left right when I finally turned eleven…"

She threw the crown on the floor. Then she put her head back to her pillow and stared at Slave, on the floor next to her. With his hair matted up, a lightning shaped scar on his forehead became noticeable.

The cottage was dark apart from the dull fire, but Ginny's eyes grew accustomed. She trailed her quilt along the floor to explore.

The cottage was small, so its downstairs was only one room. At one end burned the fireplace with gently smouldering logs. Ron lay fast asleep in front of it, wrapped in a patchwork quilt with moose on it.

In the room's middle was a flight of narrow stairs with a cupboard underneath, a sign hanging over it reading: KEEP OUT. Ginny peered up to the darkened room where Minerva and Arthur slept.

The low ceiling showed rough-hewn beams supporting the cottage. Hanging from them were boat paddles and fishing hats, bags of shells, some garden tools and sacks of potatoes, as well as shoes and bundles of reeds.

The windows had frost on the glass. Ginny drew a face in it, then tiptoed outside. The wooden door shut behind her.

"Oh no! Now I can't get back in because of the protective enchantments..." She sat on a wooden bridge to wait for someone to wake and let her back inside.

The bridge crossed a broad channel to the marsh. Water brimmed over the banks, so flat it appeared as if thin skin stretched over its surface, except when some water overflowed onto the bank. Waterbirds dipped their long, curved beaks into it.

Finally, a weak winter sun broke through the mist and silence changed to stirring animals. Clucking made Ginny jump.

A fishing raft crewed by chickens floated past. They were not very good at sailing. All they did was peck and scratch, scratch and peck, while the raft drifted where it pleased.

"Boo!" yelled Ron.

Ginny was not startled.

Ron settled himself on the bridge. "What is that?"

"Chickens sailing on a raft?" said Ginny.

A fat, grey chicken dipped its head into the water, raking it back and forth as if her neck were a broom. She brought a water beetle up in her beak, and swallowed.

"Ahh haha! Why do chickens always look so funny?" Ron laughed at their raft as it went by. One chicken stared at him with its head to the side.

Ginny and Ron waved as their raft drifted out of sight.

"I wonder where the boggart is?" asked Ron. "He seems like a pretty mysterious creature. I want to see him again, he's an interesting one."

Ginny yawned. "Maybe he's at the bottom of the marsh or a mud pool."

"Suppose he bursts out when we're least expecting it," said Ron. "That would be startling." They scanned the marsh for his shadowy shape.

Slave came up behind them so they both groaned.

"Go away," said Ron. "No one likes you. You left that rock I used to prop open the door so we can get back in, right?"

"What are you looking at?" asked Slave.

"We told you to go away," said Ginny, folding her arms. "Brothers and sisters only."

Slave threw a rock into the channel, just missing the chicken raft, which was almost out of sight.

"You idiot!" cried Ginny, as Slave stared ahead. "You could have killed one of those chickens."

"I lost the glasses I had in my pocket," said Slave. "So I couldn't see those chickens."

"I saw some round ones laying on the mantle," said Ron. "Were they yours?"

Slave ran back to the cottage.

"Mental, that one," said Ron. "I wish he hadn't come with us."

"The water's lying low today," said Arthur. "A good day to explore the island." He handed a lantern to Ron. "I fixed the door's protective enchantments to recognize the five of us, so getting back inside the cottage won't be a problem anymore."

Slave lagged behind Ginny and Ron, adjusting his glasses and shivering every now and then, as they left Arthur and Minerva beside a bonfire. "I wanted to stay at the fire," Slave whined, as they approached a dock surrounded by an undulating black blanket.

"Then why did you come?" asked Ron.

The snow had melted, so the footpath was soggy. It ran along the island's edge.

"A colony of rabbits!" Ginny pointed. The footpath crossed over their burrows. They ran over the humps, screaming as they sped down big ones. Crossing them brought them to a low-lying mud patch with suspiciously green grass.

"D'you reckon there might be more Devil's Snare in there?" Ginny whispered, hanging back.

Bubbles floated to the mud's surface and she jumped back.

"Not if I've got anything ter do with it, there won't be." Boggart's face pushed through the surface. "Mornin'," he said.

"Good morning, Mr. Boggart," said Ginny.

"Just Boggart'll do, ta."

"Is this where you live? I hope we're not disturbing you?" asked Ginny.

"Well you is disturbing me, as a matter of fact. I sleeps in the day, see." The boggart blinked again and began slinking back into the mud.

"We'll leave you in peace," said Ginny.

"Yeah," agreed the boggart, disappearing back into the mud.

Ginny, Ron and Slave tiptoed back up the path.

"He was cross, wasn't he?" said Ginny.

"I reckon he's always like that," said Ron. "He's okay."

They reached the blunt end of the egg shaped island: a grassy mound covered with thorn bushes.

"Don't you think there's a funny feeling under your feet?" asked Ginny.

"My boots are still wet, now you mention it," said Ron.

"I mean the ground under your feet. It feels kind of ... er..."

"Hollow?" asked Ron.

"Yes. Hollow." Ginny did a jig on it. It didn't cave, but squished a little.

"Must be those rabbit burrows," said Ron.

A hill with wooden stairs over it led them to a duck pond with a duck house. Ginny chased a duck so it honked and hissed. "Where's Slave gone?" she asked, after it splashed away through the pond.

"Probably gone back to the cottage," said Ron. "Good riddance." A yellow, baby duck ate a berry out of his hand.

"I guess we better look for him," said Ginny. "Let's go back to that dock."

They arrived back near the edge of the marsh. Ron's lantern light still cut through the fog, thicker here, but now it illuminated something concerning: the marsh had risen.

"How did you get back so fast?" Ginny asked Slave, windchimes jingling as she closed the cottage door. "It took me and Ron ages with the marsh flooded." Mud coated their legs up to their knees. "We kept getting lost, even with the lantern."

Slave smiled, but said nothing. He kept his hands in his pockets.

"Oi!" said Ron, pointing to the window at a speckled barn owl with an envelope in its beak.

"Maybe Mum sent it," said Ginny.

"Maybe," said Minerva, coming over to them. "And maybe not. Opening the window to let in an unfamiliar animal is very risky at the moment."

Arthur nodded from an armchair, where he was cradling his injury, wrapped in a new bandage made from one of the cottage's quilts.

"Yes, I suppose," said Ginny. She squinted to read the address. "But it says it's from Molly Weasley, residing in the house of Hagrid!" She unlatched the window and stroked the owl, taking the envelope. "Message begins:

Hello, Arthur dear. And Ginny and Ron. I couldn't sleep all night. Albus came and told us Death Eaters have gotten inside Hogwarts. Percy disappeared on our way here, near the riverside. I am afraid he has fallen into a trap. We are going to search for him today. Aunt Muriel's cafe has been burned to the ground. Arthur, please send the owl back and let me know how you are. Love, Molly."

Arthur stood and paced back and forth. "I shall have to go back," he said, "And look for Percy. Who knows what might have happened?"

"Percy's got a big head, Dad," said Ron. "He'll be all right. I expect he just got lost. He'll be back with Mum by now."

Minerva excused herself and went upstairs. When she strode back down a book was in her hand. Her robes accidentally sent a pile of flasks flying.

"It's so small in here," said Minerva, brushing multicoloured stains off her cloak. "I want you to go and look for Percy, Arthur," she announced.

"Now?" said Arthur.

Minerva thumped her book onto the table, rattling more flasks.

"I have been going through this book about the Dark Arts. I only wish I had had a copy back at Hogwarts." Minerva tapped the book with her wand. It lifted above the table and opened to a particular page. She pointed to a sentence Arthur bent over to read.

"You must go, Arthur," said Minerva. "Percy may be in great danger."

And so the next morning Ginny and Ron waved Arthur off.

"Tell Fred to find my Chudley Cannon shirt," called Ron. "It's in my secret spot. He'll know what that means. Don't forget to bring it back!"

"Okay, Ron," said Arthur. "That's not my priority..."

"And ask him for my Cleansweep," called Ginny.

"I'm probably not going to do that, we're supposed to be in hiding," said Arthur. "You can't be seen flying a broom high in the sky."

"Tell George to give Scabbers his food every night at midnight. He likes midnight snacks," called Ron.

"If I remember..."

"Oh, and tell Charlie-" but Arthur had disappeared. The only sound left was the familiar inquiry: "You followin'?"