Chapter 5

The Vanishing Cabinets

Draco left Flourish and Blott’s several minutes later with a heavy book bag swung on his right shoulder. Twilfitt and Tatting’s was located in the same shopping square as the past two stores he had visited, so he managed to make his way to the shop rather quickly. The same annoying bell chime from Madam Malkin’s rung once again as he opened the door and walked into the store.

“Draco! On time, excellent.”

Draco walked over to his mother, who was waiting in queue by the backroom of the shop, talking to two people who had their backs faced towards him. Though much larger than Madam Malkin’s, Twilfitt and Tatting’s was much more eerie and sombre, with the only source of light coming from a few flimsy lightbulbs that hung from the ceiling. Dust coated almost everything in the store like a second skin, which undoubtedly caused the orchestra of sneezes and coughs that seemed to play throughout the store without pause.

“Draco,” Narcissa said once he reached them, “you know Graham Montague, right? And Mrs. Montague?” She gestured to Graham, a big and burly sixth-year with a shiny mushroom haircut and black robes. A tall, spider-like woman with similar green eyes and chestnut hair stood to his right, smiling thinly.

“Draco,” Graham grunted with an acknowledging nod. He grabbed Draco’s hand and proceeded to shake it violently. Draco winced as he pulled his arm back to his side.

“Graham and Mrs. Montague are also here to buy their school robes,” Narcissa added.

“Yes. We, like you, have also found Madam Malkin’s standards to be slipping,” Mrs. Montague squeaked. She had a shrill, high-pitched voice that reminded Draco of his old house-elf.

Narcissa nodded gravely. “And in times like these… when the discrepancy between pure bloods and the rest matters the most…it’s appalling.”

“I’m afraid that Hogwarts is also taking a turn for the worse, Narcissa. Dumbledore’s….eerie affection of the Mudbloods frightens me and my husband. How do you find him, Draco?’

“Yes, he’s completely unfit for the job,” drawled Draco, bored. “What do you think, Graham?” He waited in anticipation for Graham’s reply; they were almost as hilarious as Goyle’s.

“Uh, what? Oh yeah….Dumbledore... real bonkers,” Graham mumbled. He ended his thoughtful proclamation with a grunt, while he stared at his mother in utter bewilderment, as if he’d just been told he was a giraffe.

Draco gave a strangled cough, trying not to laugh.

“ Bonkers indeed! Why, only last year did my Gram-gram get into an awfully tight spot thanks to Dumbledore’s carelessness.” Mrs. Montague shot her son a look of such simpering affection that even Narcissa subtly sneered.

“Mum,” Graham hissed.

“What?! They should know about your Headmaster’s irresponsibility.” She turned to Narcissa and leaned in to whisper, “I had half a mind to send him to Durmstrang, you know?”

Narcissa nodded as she patted Mrs. Montague on the shoulder consolingly. “Same with us. But it was just too far.”

Graham snorted from behind his mother’s back. He looked at Draco and pouted his fat lips as he brought his fists to his eyes, wiping away fake tears.

Draco raised his eyebrows. “Gram-gram?” he mouthed. He cocked his head towards Mrs. Montague, snickering.

Graham turned bright red and returned his attention to the conversation between their mothers.

“Those dreadful Weasley twins,” continued Mrs. Montague, “had decided to put poor Graham in the school’s Vanishing Cabinet as some sort of sick practical joke. And what was their punishment? Absolutely nothing. In fact, I was notified weeks later, after Graham himself had to Apparate out of the Cabinet- which he hadn’t done before, by the way, such a clever boy- and then, my husband and I tried lodging a complaint with the board. Of course, Dumbledore got in the way… .”

“Just awful,” consoled Narcissa. “It must have been traumatizing, Graham. I could only imagine.”

Graham nodded. “Sometimes, I thought I was going mad inside that blasted thing.”

Draco rolled his eyes at his companion’s dramatics. “Going mad? How’s that?”

“Don’t roll your eyes! I heard voices!”

“Oh really?! Let me guess…was it the ghost of the Vanishing Cabinet?” He chuckled.

“Draco, please,” hissed Narcissa.

“There were voices,” Graham insisted. “I could hear conversations- all the time. Always talking about the Dark Arts, or some nonsense like that. I clearly remember a rather loud argument about some Hand of Glory…I’m not lying!”

Draco felt his heart stop. Blood pounded in his ears. “The Hand of Glory?”

“Yes. There were two people talking about it; one wanted to buy it or something. But, the other man wouldn’t lower the price.”

“And all this happened inside the Vanishing Cabinet?”

“Well not inside the Cabinet. But…somewhere…I could hear it, either way.”

“Are you sure? You have to be sure!”

“I’m sure, alright! What’s this about anyway? Why are you suddenly interested?” Graham looked at Draco questioningly.

Narcissa narrowed her eyes as well. “Yes, Draco, why are you so keen?”

Draco felt his heartbeat slow down, and he took a shaky breath. “Oh, nothing really. As a prefect, I might be able to look into Montague’s incident a bit more; maybe even get those Weasley twins the punishment they deserve.”

Narcissa’s questioning stare disappeared and she smiled. “That’s a fabulous idea, Draco. About time you put your powers to good work.”

Draco nodded. His mind was fuzzy with hundreds of thoughts running through his head, all at once. All he knew was that he had to get out of there, now.

“Mother, I think I forgot to get a book at Flourish and Blott’s. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

Narcissa frowned. “But, Draco, surely we could all go and get it.”

“No, no, I don’t want to be a hassle. It’ll be much easier if I go by myself. Nice seeing you, Mrs. Montague. I’ll see you at school, Graham.” He shook both of their hands before Narcissa could retort, kissed Narcissa on the cheek, and hurried out of the store.

He broke out running down the road. Of course, he had no intention of going to Flourish and Blott’s. How could he have been so clueless…the answer had been in front of him the entire time. He knew about Montague’s accident from last year, but he’d never put the pieces together. The Vanishing Cabinet- that was the key. Rather, the Vanishing Cabinets. There was only one store that, to Draco’s knowledge, carried the Hand of Glory-Borgin and Burke’s…how many times had he seen that black cabinet, just lying there… ? He’d never realized it was a portal, connected to the cabinet in Hogwarts. Obviously it wasn’t working properly, Graham had been stuck in it...but there must be a way to fix it, there had to be. Draco’s train of thoughts paused…what would he do if he did manage to fix the cabinets? Shaking those unplanned details out of his head, Draco quickened his pace, passing store after store. He’d cross that bridge once he got to it, he decided. He paused slightly, distracted by a small, obnoxiously decorated shop, before realizing it was the Weasley twins’ new joke shop. He sneered and continued running.

Finally, he drew near Knockturn Alley. He checked his watch; he had about five minutes left before he had to go meet his mother again. He walked down the dark, winding cobblestone path, wary, his wand in his right hand. It was hard to ignore the eerie strangers that lurked within the shadows of the street, especially when most of them held trays filled with things like rat skulls and snake teeth. He kept his senses alert, and tried not to scream when a witch grabbed his elbow, which he shook away before hurrying onward. He breathed a sigh of relief when he reached the dusty door that led into Borgin and Burke’s.

He opened the door and scanned the room. He felt his stomach tighten; there it was, in the corner: a black cabinet.

“Hello. Mr. Malfoy.”

Draco jumped and spun around. “Oh, hello, Borgin.”

“How are you today? Doing a bit of shopping, I see. Though not for school, I am assuming.” He smiled creepily, showing all his rotten teeth.

Draco didn’t return the warm gesture.

“So, what are you interested in today, Mr. Malfoy?”

“That.” He pointed to the Vanishing Cabinet.

Borgin’s smile stayed plastered on his face, but Draco noticed his skin pale. “May I ask why you would be interested in a simple cabinet?”

Draco narrowed his eyes. “Don’t play games with me. I know what it is. And I know that its companion is in Hogwarts.”

Borgin’s complexion paled even more, from porridge grey to a ghostly white. “You mustn’t tell anyone; if it gets to the Ministry, I’ll lose-“

“Oh, shut up. Of course I’m not going to the Ministry. I happen to need the Cabinets, actually.”

Borgin looked immensely relieved, but now had a look of nervousness. “Why in the world would you need the Cabinets?”

“Ha, like I’d tell you! That’s private business. All I need from you is instructions on how to fix the other one. Do you know how to fix it?”*

“Possibly,” said Borgin, cautiously. “I’ll need to see it, though. Why don’t you bring it into the shop?”*

“I can’t,” Draco said, annoyed at Borgin’s unhelpfulness. “It’s got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it.”*

Borgin licked his lips nervously and said, “Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn’t guarantee anything.” *

“No?” sneered Draco. He moved closer to Borgin. “Perhaps this will make you more confident.” He raised his left hand, letting the sleeve of his robe fall down, revealing his Dark Mark.*

Borgin’s eyes widened, and he gasped.

“Tell anyone,” Draco continued, “and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He’s a family friend, he’ll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you’re giving the problem your full attention.” *

“There will be no need for-“*

“I’ll decide that,” Draco replied curtly. “Well, I’d better be off. And don’t forget to keep that one safe, I’ll need it.” He pointed to the Vanishing Cabinet.

“Perhaps you’d like to take it now?” Borgin seemed hopeful, as though he’d very much like to have the Cabinet out of his store.*

Draco rolled his eyes. “No, of course I wouldn’t, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don’t sell it.”*

“Of course not…Sir,” Borgin added hastily. He bowed deeply.*

“And not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?”*

“Naturally, naturally,” mumbled Borgin. He was starting to subtly usher Draco out of the shop; Draco willingly complied, seeing as Narcissa was probably fretting at that very moment. He walked out of the shop, the bell on the door tinkling behind him, and headed back onto the street.

Draco hurried onward, feeling rather pleased with himself. Not all was lost….at least now, he had a plan. Even if Borgin didn’t know what he was doing with the Cabinet, Draco could surely figure it out himself. And he still didn’t know what he’d do once the Cabinet’s were fixed. Nonetheless, a bubble of glee formed in his stomach as he imagined the look on Aunt Bella’s face when the Dark Lord bestowed the Malfoys with honours beyond their wild dreams, instead of the Lestranges… .They’ll see… Voldemort wasn’t crazy in choosing him-

Draco’s thoughts were suddenly interrupted when he stumbled backwards onto the gravel. Angrily, he got up while dusting himself, and then looked at the person he had run into.

Ginny Weasley stood with her hip cocked, staring at Draco coolly. “Well, Malfoy, you just can’t seem to get enough of me.”

Draco snickered. “Yeah, it’s the blood traitor hair and spattergroit freckles- I can’t resist.”

Ginny rolled her eyes. “Wow, you must have had that one planned for ages!” She shook her head with disgust. “Whatever Malfoy, you’re not even worth it.” She turned around swiftly and started to stalk back down the road.

Out of the blue, a strong pulse that begun in his stomach crawled up into his vocal chords, causing him to yell out, “Wait!”

Ginny turned around and waited expectantly, tapping one foot.

“What are you doing in Knockturn Alley, anyway?”

Ginny raised her eyebrows. Draco added nastily, “It’s not a safe place for blood traitors. And being a prime example, I can’t imagine why you’d come here.”

“That’s more like it. If you must know, I’m trying to find Ron, Harry, and Hermione.”

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Draco said, “They’ve disappeared?”

“Just for the moment, don’t worry. I know you’d be so upset if any of them were to be kidnapped.”

“Devastated.”

Ginny smiled, and Draco could see the beginnings of a laugh. But before it could materialise, she abruptly stopped herself, and her cool gaze returned. “Anyway, I’m leaving. I reckon that they wouldn’t go into Knockturn Alley, and even if they had- nevermind, why am I telling you this… . Well, bye then.”

Draco nodded. Ginny stared at him for a few seconds longer before turning and heading back. Draco watched her disappearing image until she was nothing but a dot of red amidst the mob of people in the streets. Draco decided he was wrong in his earlier assumption: that she was just like her brothers: all talk, no brains. But, the Baby Weasel was in fact, if possible, even more infuriating than her siblings. Her brain power slightly exceeded her brothers’ baboon-esque minds, and her angry outbursts rattled him instead of amusing him.

But, he thought to himself, he wasn’t going to give her another thought. It was frightening that a measly fifth-year, and a Weasley at that, had troubled him this much. He had bigger things on his mind; and if there was one thing he learned in being a Malfoy, it was that never, ever, let anything get in the way of what you want.

*= Quote taken directly from:

Rowling, JK. Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince. Canada: Raincoast, 2005. Print.