The Curse's Bow
Harry felt lost. He hadn't any idea where to start. Or what he was starting. Or how he felt on what he was starting. All he knew for sure is that he had the most distinct feeling that something was about to go terribly wrong.
And it did, as things began to untangle before his eyes. Everything really started when Theodore Nott disappeared.
It couldn't have been more than twelve hours after Draco's disappearance that the other Slytherin vanished. The evening found Harry along with Ron, Hermione, and a still silent Goldstein in the Hospital wing, making weak, idle chat at Ginny's bedside as they waited for her to wake again. She'd been in and out of consciousness, slowly gaining lucidity as her eyes cleared of their haze more each time she opened them. The last time she'd even croaked for a glass of water, which she sipped, gazing at the ceiling placidly, before fading away yet again. That had been just after dinner, which they'd all reluctantly attended under Ron's wrathful mothering.
Their voices were hushed, even though only the ill first year remained at the other end of the room, reading a comic. Silence in this room seemed as mandatory as it was in the library, but just as it was there, it was broken.
"Anthony!"
They all whipped around at the voice that rang through the room, their indignant gazes turning to confusion at the sight of a near hysterical Terry Boot running up to them.
"Terry, what is it?" Goldstein asked, half catching Boot as he stumbled to a stop, catching his breath in great gulps.
"Anthony, he's gone,"
They all froze at his words and Harry could feel all eyes turn slowly to him to gauge his reaction. After having explained what had happened in Dumbledore's office, everyone had been treating him gently, much like Ginny once did. He just frowned and bared it though, even granting them all a reassuring smile when Goldstein, who appeared to have no grudge against him, gave him a consoling pat on the back.
"Who's gone?" Goldstein straightened Boot as he wobbled upright, tears glimmering in his eyes.
"Theo, Theo's disappeared!"
Theodore Nott, that smug, bored creature that Draco had been staring at not too long ago, was Boot's boyfriend wasn't he? Harry had forgotten that Boot was Goldstein's friend, and in turn one of Ginny's. The only real thought he'd ever given to him was vague images of him snogging Draco, which made his stomach roil in something he then wouldn't admit to be jealousy.
"What do you mean, he's gone?" Ron asked sharply, looking rather pale.
"The teachers can't find him anywhere," Boot choked, "Some of his things are gone from the dorm and no one has seen him since lunch."
"Has Dumbledore been searching?" Hermione asked, but the sob that shook Boot was all the answer she needed. If Dumbledore couldn't find him, then that meant there was no way he was still in the castle, or on the grounds for that matter.
Two Slytherin boys had vanished, there was a Gryffindor in a comatose-like state, and two boys had been left without word as to where their boyfriends (Merlin, Harry didn't know if he could even be classified as such) had gone to.
It was one of the things he'd been left to ponder, if Draco would have left him some kind of explanation if he'd gone of his own free will. Wasn't he worth a letter or a goodbye? According to Dumbledore, he'd been given his freedom as a parting gift, the haunting command of, 'let me go, Harry'.
He couldn't. He was disobeying by clinging to that spider's thread tied to some mystery, the smallest of reminders, the faintest of melodies. There was no doubting the connection he had to Draco, or the smarting of his scar as the day stretched on, and the knowledge that his master, wherever he was, was scared.
"Harry?" Boot was staring at him timidly, appearing to have calmed down while Harry had been thinking.
"Yeah?"
"Did...did Draco say anything to you? About Theo?"
Harry felt very uncomfortable, especially with everyone staring, which he should very well be accustomed to, but not when they were all so…sad.
"Why do you ask?" he countered.
"Well they were talking together the other day in the common room, drinking Firewhisky," he told him.
Firewhisky. Everyone seemed to be having a go at that lately. Harry, Winky, Ginny had seen those two age-old bottles, and now Draco and Nott. Nott and his Firewhisky…it was like a skipped chorus falling into place suddenly.
Draco had said something about Nott.
"Harry, Nott is bad, him and his Firewhisky and Boot. He nicked my Firewhisky, Harry. That elf—"
Harry had dismissed it as drunken rambling, the name Nott making no sense until it was now paired with Terry Boot and those bottles of ancient Firewhisky Draco had had. Nott was bad, Nott was now gone, Nott had the Firewhisky.
But how?
Harry had no idea in just what way Nott was bad, nor how he'd disappeared along with Draco, he did know, however, how he might find how he'd gotten his hands on Draco's Firewhisky.
Harry stood, waiting for objections and questions, but only finding a grim understanding on their faces, a watery curiosity on Boot's.
"Did he get that Firewhisky from the kitchens, then?" Harry asked.
Boot shrugged and turned back to Goldstein as he told his friend all he knew about the disappearances that day. Harry turned to his friends, a lame excuse on his lips, a lie that Hermione's disapproving glare would cut right through.
"I—I want to go and ask Dobby if he's seen anything," he said, not entirely untruthfully, "You'd be amazed at the things house elves see while everyone else is too busy to notice."
Hermione looked immediately satisfied at the rightful praise of house elves and sat a little less stiffly in her chair. He smiled wanly before going out of the Hospital wing and down toward the dungeons, looking for an elf, but not for Dobby.
Harry was aware that he received unwelcome looks from the elves when he entered the kitchens; barely any gave him more than a nod now. He didn't know if this was because of the huge amount of messes he'd left them over the years, or that he was generally one of them now, or more likely that they didn't much approve of his drunken exploits with their least favorite coworker.
Winky was in her usual place near the fire, hiccoughing and looking out of sorts and bleary. Harry looked around cautiously for any sign of Dobby, knowing that the elf would desperately wish to protect him from what he was about to do. Thankfully, he was nowhere in sight, so Harry plopped himself down beside Winky and gazed for a few moments into the fire, listening to her sniffles.
"Do you remember the Firewhisky?" he asked quietly, glancing again at the elves busy at work nearby.
"Winky remembers the rumored," Winky snuffled, giving him a hopeful look as if to ask if he was going to give her some more.
"Where is it now?"
"Your master asked the same, Harry Potter, not long ago," she shuddered as if recalling something frightening.
"And?"
"And Master was angry, very angry, Winky punished herself for—but she was only obeying her!"
Harry was baffled now; perhaps he wasn't as accustomed to the manner in which house elves spoke as he'd thought he was.
"Obeying who?"
"She says rumored to be saved, rumored is to be given to her friend," Winky was looking at a poker lying near the grate with a terrible interest gleaming in her glazed eyes. Harry knew that feeling all too well, that pull of a confusing chord, guiding you to an edge on a leash you could barely resist.
He shook himself and went on, "Winky, what's 'rumored' mean?"
"Tis what she said, it twas rumored it was there."
"You mean to say…it was rumored that the Firewhisky was somewhere?"
"What Winky is saying, Harry Potter." she replied impatiently.
"Where was it rumored to be?"
"In that place, that place your master goes,"
A chill ran up Harry's spine, but instead of demanding just where his master went, because he was fairly sure of the answer, he addressed a niggling at the back of his mind, something that could very well be nothing, but felt like something. Something important.
"Who said that it was rumored to be there, Winky? Who is she?"
Winky looked at him as if he'd asked something obvious, which he very well might have, but then a knot was suddenly unraveled, and the thread of it, the knowledge, seemed to bind his throat shut at Winky's reply.
"Mistress Weasley tells Winky, she tells Winky of the rumored and that Master Malfoy keeps it away somewhere. She tells Winky that she should follow him so that Winky may find it."
Ginny. Ginny had come in that night Draco had found the Firewhisky, hadn't she? She'd barely glanced at it, but she'd always been an excellent liar. She'd sent Dobby off on some a chore to get his meddling presence out of the way so she could have Winky report back to her, tell her where the elusive Draco Malfoy was disappearing to and doing Merlin only knows what. But Harry had been there that evening, getting disgracefully smashed on the Ogden's and to the memory of his Master.
She was wrapped up in this—no longer just the worried, pushy, mildly irritating girl that was trying to hang onto something that was already gone and away, in the hands of a pale boy with grey eyes. She'd known then, that Draco was doing something in the Room of Requirement, dropping her sinister hints. Did she know what it was then? What had she been doing there this morning?
What had been done to her? And by who?
He wasn't sure who own the knife that he felt was being slowly, harshly driven into his back. It could be Draco's again, his first betrayal having long since faded to a disbelieving sorrow, a resentment of his own stupidity. Ginny's was new, laced with the sweetest of pities that did nothing to soften the blow, love and pain seemed to make everything sharper.
"Winky?" Harry asked, surprised at how level his voice was, "Who has the Firewhisky now?"
"Mistress Weasley's friend, Master Nott," she sniffed, turning her gaze back to him, away from the flames that danced on her watery eyes.
Harry only nodded, mind working furiously. Ginny had been trying to find out what Draco was doing in the Room of Requirement by sending Winky on a faux errand, and Nott now had the Firewhisky. Nott was bad, he was dating Boot, Ginny gossiped with Boot, Nott was gone. Draco was gone.
Nott knew something, and Ginny probably did too.
"Harry Potter?" Harry blinked down at the elf beside him, "Harry Potter's master is no longer at Hogwarts, is he?"
Harry could only shake his head, the knot in his throat abruptly becoming impossibly large and choking.
"Harry Potter must find him, won't he?"
Harry nodded, adamantly, because he was going to find him, bring him back, just as soon as he knew where he was.
He could find that much out from Ginny.
~o0o~
When he slipped into the Hospital wing it was late, past the time that Madam Pomfrey allowed visitors. He wasn't surprised that Ron and the lot had been ushered out already, even the first year was absent from the dark room.
Harry was surprised that Ginny was sitting up in her bed, as if she were waiting for him. He approached carefully, casting a Muffliato along with a wary look toward Pomfrey's office. Ginny just watched him with round eyes that had gained more focus since the last time she'd been conscious.
He seated himself in one of the chairs that had been left behind, wincing as it squeaked and realized that it was Ron, rather than Hermione, that had conjured the seat. Ginny seemed to read his mind, her eyes brightening substantially as she smirked.
"First time he ever tried to conjure a proper chair, he made this wonky, three-legged creature that scuttled off whenever anyone went to sit in it."
"Creepy," Harry remarked, "Rather like a spider."
"Oh, he was good and terrified, no question."
Quiet, not at all comfortable, lapsed between them and Harry steeled his will. This idle talk was meaningless, stalling, they both knew. She was wringing her hands in her lap in a nervous gesture that was not lost on Harry. She knew what he knew by his steady, piercing gaze and she didn't want him to know any more than he already did.
But he would, they both knew.
"I wanted you to be happy," she said to her lap.
"Ginny," she flinched at his hard, determined tone, "What did you do?"
Her hands twisted around, gaze unmoving, before she gave a shake of her head, long hair falling into her eyes and Harry knew he'd won whatever battle of wills had commenced in that few second's silence.
"I noticed it first, of course, it's always been there, the way Malfoy can capture your attention so completely," she began, something heart-breakingly wistful to her voice, "But it changed, the way you look at him. Sometimes—sometimes it was the way I would have liked you to look at me."
Harry felt a shamed chagrin heat his face, but Ginny didn't see it, curtained by her hair as she went on, undoubtedly with a rueful smile, bittersweet and longing.
"I didn't think anything of it for a while. Honestly, how mad was it to think that you fancied Malfoy? But then, something changed, you were acting odd, Malfoy was about you more often, and you were watching him differently.
"You—you weren't yourself Harry, it was like you were drunk, because you'd laugh with Malfoy and act as if you liked him, but then you'd get angry with him, like you were your old self. The outbursts of magic, how you were defending him, and then there's the way you just stared at him—I thought you were under a Love Potion, or a curse. It just wasn't natural, Harry."
It was a sort of drunken feel, wasn't it? It was a heat like Firewhisky, all dizzy, blissful and warm, but not without its temper and the unquenchable thirst for more, more of Draco, more of his affection. Dare he say it—more of his love.
"So when I started talking to Terry, I was worried that he was somehow taking advantage of you," she now looked at him, and Harry couldn't tell in the dim light if her eyes were glazed with the spell that head claimed her consciousness, or if it was tears clouding her eyes. Either way, he found himself giving her his hand, and a sad, thankful smile spread across her face.
"You know very well how much I tried to tell you that, obviously," she gave a flutter of a chuckle, "You're about as stubborn as Ron is, I should have known that.
"But then, Theo came and started to…hint at things, just making these innuendos as if Malfoy was truly doing something horrendous, and that it was in a room that I knew, that only a handful of people knew, that he was being dastardly in."
"The Room of Requirement," Harry said, and she nodded grimly.
"But he said he couldn't get in there to see, and so we made a plan to send Winky in to tell us. Bait her with alcohol and she's off."
"Did you find out from her?"
"No, Theo went and asked her, I believe. After catching you getting drunk I hadn't tried to get down to the kitchens again."
"He did, he had the Firewhisky,"
"Draco had some, didn't he? That time he ambushed you in the corridor?"
"Yeah, he was plastered and freaked out."
"I could smell the Ogden's on him, that stuff was quite old and powerful indeed," Ginny shook her head, "I had thought that Theo just fancied Malfoy maybe, but he seemed just jealous of Malfoy rather than you for some reason. He had some sort of vengeance to deal out and I hadn't any bother helping him to do it."
"Ginny," Harry asked slowly, the urgency of the question welling up in him, "What happened in the Room of Requirement?"
Her face twisted, all remnants of a smile gone as she looked pained and shamed, something that appeared to be fear sparking in her eyes as they unfocused, glowering back down at her lap.
"He told me he'd found out how to get into the Room," she said, her voice more quiet than ever, shaking in a way that didn't fit Ginny's brash, fearless personality, "And after what Malfoy had done to Anthony, I knew what was going on in that Room, and so did Theo.
"It was just after I'd taken Anthony to the Hospital wing, and we went straight to the wall we could never get past. We were thinking the same thing, all about secrets and Death Eaters."
Harry felt his scar twinge, lightening ricocheting through his skull at the mere mention of anything so close to Voldemort, so close to his Master.
"He was in there, whispering to himself like mad. He was in a right state pacing and twitching, and I started to feel uneasy about it, but Theo looked so triumphant."
Harry could see Draco worked up into that state, the terror of his own actions drenching his body in self-loathing, his mind drowning in memories and he stepped furiously through the dust, the cold façade he so bravely hid behind gone and melted away under the flooding waves of horror.
He could see Nott too; smug and smiling like a shark. It made Harry's blood boil, the curse fidgeting restlessly as they scene unfolded with Ginny's words.
"Theo said that he told him so, and Malfoy looked more afraid than before, but he told Theo to fuck off. He had his wand, but we did too, and honestly I didn't think he was in any condition to cast a spell. I was afraid it'd be another Unforgivable, he looked so insane.
"And then Theo said, 'this is the fate of traitors, I warned you, didn't I?' So I was confused, and I asked him what he was talking about, but he ignored me and Disarmed Malfoy suddenly. I really shouldn't have trusted him, he is a Slytherin after all, but I just stood there like a dolt as he Disarmed me as well. Then he cursed me, with the Imperius."
Harry hissed in outrage, part of him thankful, however, that it hadn't been the Cruciatus. Ginny was scowling, squinting.
"And then everything was all covered in clouds, muffled and kind of…soft," she smiled sheepishly, but Harry encouraged her on, "But I heard Theo say, 'I'm going to take your place, I'll be rewarded,' some such like that. Malfoy said that he'd never get him. Then there was all this blurred thrashing and I think they started to fight, and Malfoy was screaming, 'Let me go! Let me go!' and finally there was this slamming sound."
She paused and Harry's blood was cold in his veins, relief that Draco's final order hadn't been to severe their bond, to leave Harry hanging by that last fraying thread of hope that maybe it wasn't then end, could do nothing to warm him. Not when the words mistaken for freedom were his pleas for help before—
"He was just…gone,"
Harry nodded faintly. He was gone, somewhere, in a dark room stained and blacked with malice and the entertainment of a madman. He was waiting, wanting; an order poised on the tip of his tongue, but kept silent by something Harry decided was irrational and awful. He felt the pull, he knew the need, and he could almost hear the words, the aching, struggling notes of an instrument just before it breaks.
Save me.
Harry wasn't going to let his master break.
"Harry?"
Ginny must have seen the volition in his eyes because she looked suddenly frightened, the grip on his hand tightening.
"You know I only want the best for you," she whispered.
"I know that, Gin,"
"So that's why I'll only say for you to be careful and not get yourself killed," she giggled at his incredulous stare, "Harry, anyone with eyes can see that now, unfortunately, its Malfoy that's best for you."
He felt a flush color his face, but felt himself hesitantly nodding as Ginny kept laughing quietly.
"That and you're about three times as stubborn as Ron."
He rolled his eyes and rose, working a kink out of his neck and trying not to think of the challenge that awaited him, a rescue mission that could very well fail. He also tried not to think about last year and tried to fill himself with a plan of some sort. He was going to get Draco back; he would obey his orders to the last.
The assurance he felt was very much like that of last year, when he knew that Sirius was waiting for rescue in the Department of Mysteries. But he wasn't thinking about that.
Ginny's gaze, so familiar and so worried, but bravely smiling, followed him to the door of the Hospital wing. Harry felt her confidence in him, her hope, and resolved not to let her down, especially when she called his name again and he turned, making sure to smile at her.
"I'm sorry," she said, solemn, regretful.
"It's alright, Ginny, I understand," he flashed her a grin before slipping out the door.
He understood, because he was still sorry too, much less, but there were the smallest traces of the leaden substance of guilt weighing down his heart. Those traces only grew and spread like an infection as he padded silently down the darkened corridors, thinking about all the people he was abruptly leaving behind to go on a mission that he could only feel the importance of with a connection that was supposedly dissolved. Dumbledore was going to be right furious with him, that was for certain.
He couldn't wait to tell the others, who would surely want to accompany him, or leave a note, because then they'd surely try and do something, and that something likely would get themselves hurt. He remembered a cursed and unconscious Hermione with a lurch of the stomach, and Ron and the brains that left their mark on his arms. There was also the looming knowledge that this was possibly one of the most dangerous things he was ever to do, even more dangerous than breaking into the Department of Mysteries and all its hazards. He could be killed, tortured, any number of horrific things as he marched into Voldemort's den. But he had to, for he was sure, even if he wasn't so determined by his own will that he must go and save his master, the curse would eventually drag him, willful or not, to his master's side, where he was needed so desperately.
A horrid sort of excitement buzzed at his fingertips, like accidental magic waiting to be released. That uncontrollable, seemingly limitless power was also at his disposal, if only he could figure out how to use it. Elf magic seemed to eclipse any other, now that Harry thought of it, but it was chained and collared, the property of the master it was bound to.
He hoped Draco would break that restraint, for a moment anyway.
Taking every secret passageway he could think of so as to avoid Filch or any ghosts that might want to stop and chat, he stole into the fifth floor, down the corridor and to the usually empty wall. The Room of Requirement was waiting for him with that worn, old door and the dusty collection of rubbish within. He walked slowly through the alps of lost things, keeping an idle eye out for anything that would be of use to him and his mission. He felt terribly unarmed and rather naked, only his wand and the Map in his pocket.
Something of use was waiting for him, however.
"Harry Potter sir!"
Harry started, his wand in his white-knuckled fist in an instant as he spun about, glancing madly around. He'd just come to the clearing where Ginny had been lying, and there was nothing, just the lack of dust and that old sheet on the floor.
Then there was the softest whisper of fabric as something iridescent, paler than moonlight, slipped away from a tiny form standing in the middle of the dustless floor and gawping at him with large green eyes.
"Dobby?" Harry heaved a sigh of relief, his severely frayed nerves ready to snap without having the life scared from him by nothing more than a house elf. Wearing his Invisibility Cloak.
"Why do you have my Cloak, Dobby?"
Dobby started to fidget, and when he did that it meant some kind of bad news. Harry tapped his wand against his thigh impatiently while the elf watched him with a meek smile.
"Dobby is thinking Harry Potter sir needs it."
Harry blinked, "What for?"
"Winky is be telling Dobby that Harry Potter asked things," Dobby explained, twisting the cloth in his hands, "And that Harry Potter's master is being gone."
Harry swallowed thickly. "Yes,"
"So Harry Potter is to be going to find his Master,"
"Yes," Harry repeated, defiantly. Dobby seemed to be expecting this, however, as he smiled and stood taller.
"Dobby is to be helping."
Harry gaped, the little elf in all his jumper-and-sock-wearing-glory, proud and ready to face a horde of Death Eaters and the Dark Lord himself. It made Harry swell a little in pride—for his friend and for house elves.
"No," he deadpanned, watching as Dobby deflated and gave him a disappointed look, "You'll be hurt, or killed."
"But—But Harry Potter sir!"
Harry growled to himself. This was why he wanted to avoid Dobby as much as possible throughout the curse's progress and the mission he was about to take on. Dobby wanted to be helpful in all ways to Harry, which usually meant nearly getting Harry or himself killed in the process. He wasn't about to let anyone at all march off into a battle that really wasn't even his to fight. It was unnecessary, to Dumbledore's eyes, to the world that was counting on him, expecting him not to take risks unless it was for the greater good. But this was for Harry's greater good, for Draco's.
"Harry Potter sir needs Dobby, sir!" Dobby squeaked rather indignantly, "Harry Potter will get hisself lost!"
"I may not know exactly where I'm going, but that doesn't matter," Harry snapped, "I only matters that I go. Now,"
Dobby looked troubled but was standing firm and resolute. Harry really, really didn't want to curse the little elf.
"Dobby knows all about Malfoy Manor," he announced, almost smugly, as he crossed his arms, "Harry Potter does not."
"Malfoy Manor?" Harry asked numbly, he'd nearly forgotten that years ago Dobby belonged to the Malfoys, his family. It was an odd feeling, as if he and Dobby were suddenly long lost step brothers of a marriage unwillingly made. He shook his head to clear it and gave Dobby a level look.
"What does that matter?"
Now Dobby definitely looked smug. Harry wondered if it was because of too much time in the ever haughty Malfoys' company.
"Malfoy Manor is where Master Draco is being right now,"
Fear shot through Harry. If that was where Draco was then that meant—in his own home slithered the most evil of all serpents, hissing his curses and staining the carpets of his ancestral home. Nightmares slinking through corridors, waiting behind shut bedroom doors, like the monsters in his closet that he realized never had existed, born into reality and made much, much more dark than the fears of a child could ever blacken. Trusted faces, leering, jeering and the curses—oh Merlin, the sound, the sight, the pain-
Harry clapped a hand to his scar as it burned, a slow, sharp agony rippling into his mind. He knew what his poor, poor master was feeling, and Harry didn't want him to feel that way for another moment.
"How—how do you know?" Harry demanded.
"Nippy is told Dobby, happened upon each other in Diagon Alley and she was scared, saying about the Manor and her masters and the cabinet—"
"The cabinet?"
"Master Draco's cabinet, he couldn't mend it said Nippy, Mistress Narcissa was fretting over it,"
Harry's eyes glanced to the contemptuous figure of the black cabinet that stood behind Dobby, looking ready to consume the elf. Harry had thought that it was the only think that could possibly be of any importance to this much-paced clearing. The disappearances, the mission Draco had been given by Voldemort, the Room of Requirement, and the slamming noise: it all knitted together to form a clear picture.
A Vanishing Cabinet.
Harry had the most slinking of suspicions about the cabinet—he vaguely recalled that it'd been smashed before to get him out of a jam involving Filch. Ginny in her half-consciousness had looked at it and mumbled, 'Malfoy's'. It was his; Draco had to be mending it now, for his mission, as its twin sat in Malfoy Manor. Cold fear ran through Harry as he realized that it had to have been working to an extent to whisk away two boys. Harry could just imagine what horrors could be unleashed upon the school in the form of cloaked figures in masks sending green everywhere.
That couldn't be allowed to happen.
He comforted himself with the thought that Dumbledore would have to concede that this was a task worthy of the Chosen One, saving the school and his master in the process.
"Dobby," the elf had been watching him with concern, but stood at attention now, "Do you know where in Malfoy Manor they keep a cabinet like this one?"
Harry pointed at the Vanishing Cabinet and Dobby examined it with interest, but shook his head. Harry shook his own as he stepped toward the cabinet, pressing a reluctant hand to the door and feeling its incredibly frigid, smooth surface, like touching ice. He opened it, finding himself starting into an unremarkable darkness, just a shadow. But that shadow was waiting to swallow him and thrust him into the belly of a beast he wasn't prepared to face. Harry was, however, prepared to do anything to get Draco back.
He climbed into the cabinet, Dobby scrambling after him. Harry kept the door open, just a sliver, his breath quickening and filling the cramped space. He felt like he was going to use the Floo for the first time, but travel in ice and darkness rather than fire and light. It was quite frightening a prospect, the ideas conjured by his overactive imagination—splinching, getting lost in some limbo of a place, awakening after a fortnight to find himself in a toilet, and, of course, getting to his intended destination and failing. Which meant death.
"Harry Potter sir?" Dobby voice somehow echoed in the cabinet.
"We're going to Malfoy Manor," Harry said firmly, part of him trying to plead with the cabinet.
"Yes sir," Dobby was scared, but so was Harry, so it was alright.
Slowly, Harry pulled back his hand from where it held open the door, listening to the deafeningly loud creak as the Vanishing Cabinet closed and left them in an all-consuming darkness.
~o0o~