Light spilled out over all of them.

  ‘What is this?’ said a woman’s cold voice.

  ‘We’re here to see He Who Must Not Be Named!’ rasped Greyback.

  ‘Who are you?’

  ‘You know me!’ There was resentment in the werewolf ’s voice, ‘Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!’

  Greyback seized Harry and dragged him round to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle round too.

  ‘I know ’e’s swollen, ma’am, but it’s ’im!’ piped up Scabior. ‘If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ’is scar. And this ’ere, see the girl? The Mudblood who’s been travelling around with ’im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ’im, and we’ve got ’is wand as well! ’Ere, ma’am –’

  Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinising his swollen face. Scabior thrust the blackthorn wand at her. She raised her eyebrows.

  ‘Bring them in,’ she said.

  Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps, into a hallway lined with portraits.

  ‘Follow me,’ said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. ‘My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.’

  The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.

  ‘What is this?’

  The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry’s ears. He was panicking now: he could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort’s thoughts, though his scar was still burning.

  ‘They say they’ve got Potter,’ said Narcissa’s cold voice. ‘Draco, come here.’

  Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely: a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair.

  Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier.

  ‘Well, boy?’ rasped the werewolf.

  Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing with an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes, he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place.

  His face was huge, shiny and pink, every feature distorted by Hermione’s jinx. His black hair reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached.

  ‘Well, Draco?’ said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. ‘Is it? Is it Harry Potter?’

  ‘I can’t – I can’t be sure,’ said Draco. He was keeping his distance from Greyback, and seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.

  ‘But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!’

  Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.

  ‘Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—’

  ‘Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope, Mr Malfoy?’ said Greyback menacingly.

  ‘Of course not, of course not!’ said Lucius impatiently. He approached Harry himself, came so close that Harry could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. With his face a puffy mask, Harry felt as though he was peering out from between the bars of a cage.

  ‘What did you do to him?’ Lucius asked Greyback. ‘How did he get into this state?’

  ‘That wasn’t us.’

  ‘Looks more like a Stinging Jinx to me,’ said Lucius.

  His grey eyes raked Harry’s forehead.

  ‘There’s something there,’ he whispered, ‘it could be the scar, stretched tight … Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?’

  Harry saw Draco’s face up close, now, right beside his father’s. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while his father looked beside himself with excitement, Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, even fear.

  ‘I don’t know,’ he said, and he walked away towards the fireplace where his mother stood watching.

  ‘We had better be certain, Lucius,’ Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. ‘Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord … They say this is his,’ she was looking closely at the blackthorn wand, ‘but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description … If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing … remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?’

  ‘What about the Mudblood, then?’ growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Hermione instead.

  ‘Wait,’ said Narcissa sharply. ‘Yes – yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! I saw her picture in the Prophet! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Granger girl?’

  ‘I … maybe … yeah.’

  ‘But then, that’s the Weasley boy!’ shouted Lucius, striding round the bound prisoners to face Ron. ‘It’s them, Potter’s friends – Draco look at him, isn’t it Arthur Weasley’s son, what’s his name –?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. ‘It could be.’

  The drawing-room door opened behind Harry. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound Harry’s fear to an even higher pitch.

  ‘What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?’

  Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry’s right, staring at Hermione through her heavily lidded eyes.

  ‘But surely,’ she said quietly, ‘this is the Mudblood girl? This is Granger?’

  ‘Yes, yes, it’s Granger!’ cried Lucius. ‘And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!’

  ‘Potter?’ shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. ‘Are you sure? Well, then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!’

  She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master –

  ‘I was about to call him!’ said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. ‘I shall summon him, Bella, Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority –’

  ‘Your authority!’ she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. ‘You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!’

  ‘This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy –’

  ‘Begging your pardon, Mr Malfoy,’ interjected Greyback, ‘but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold –’

  ‘Gold!’ laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. ‘Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his – of –’

  She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve –

  ‘STOP!’ shrieked Bellatrix. ‘Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!’

  Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode out of Harry’s limited line of vision.

  ‘What is that?’ he heard her say.

  ‘Sword,’ grunted an out-of-sight Snatcher.

  ‘Give it to me.’

  ‘It’s not yorn, Missus, it’s mine, I reckon I found it.’

  There was a bang and a flash of red light: Harry knew that the Snatcher had been Stunned. There was a roar of anger from his fellows: Scabior drew his wand.

  ‘What d’you think you’re playing at, woman?’

  ‘Stupefy,’ she screamed, ‘stupefy!’

  They were no match for her, even though there were four of them against one of her: she was a witch, as Harry knew, with prodigious skill and no conscience. They fell where they stood, all except Greyback, who had been forced into a kneeling position, his arms outstretched. Out of the corners of his eyes, Harry saw Bellatrix bearing down upon the werewolf, the sword of Gryffindor gripped tightly in her hand, her face waxen.

  ‘Where did you get this sword?’ she whispered to Greyback as she pulled his wand out of his unresisting grip.

  ‘How dare you?’ he snarled, his mouth the only thing that could move as he was forced to gaze up at her. He bared his pointed teeth. ‘Release me, woman!’

  ‘Where did you find this sword?’ she repeated, brandishing it in his face. ‘Snape sent it to my vault in Gringotts!’

  ‘It was in their tent,’ rasped Greyback. ‘Release me, I say!’

  She waved her wand and the werewolf sprang to his feet, but appeared too wary to approach her. He prowled behind an armchair, his filthy, curved nails clutching its back.

  ‘Draco, move this scum outside,’ said Bellatrix, indicating the unconscious men. ‘If you haven’t got the guts to finish them, then leave them in the courtyard for me.’

  ‘Don’t you dare speak to Draco like –’ said Narcissa furiously, but Bellatrix screamed, ‘Be quiet! The situation is graver than you can possibly imagine, Cissy! We have a very serious problem!’

  She stood, panting slightly, looking down at the sword, examining its hilt. Then she turned to look at the silent prisoners.

  ‘If it is indeed Potter, he must not be harmed,’ she muttered, more to herself than to the others. ‘The Dark Lord wishes to dispose of Potter himself … but if he finds out … I must … I must know …’

  She turned back to her sister again.

  ‘The prisoners must be placed in the cellar, while I think what to do!’

  ‘This is my house, Bella, you don’t give orders in my –’

  ‘Do it! You have no idea of the danger we are in!’ shrieked Bellatrix: she looked frightening, mad; a thin stream of fire issued from her wand and burned a hole in the carpet.

  Narcissa hesitated for a moment, then addressed the werewolf.

  ‘Take these prisoners down to the cellar, Greyback.’

  ‘Wait,’ said Bellatrix sharply. ‘All except … except for the Mudblood.’

  Greyback gave a grunt of pleasure.

  ‘No!’ shouted Ron. ‘You can have me, keep me!’

  Bellatrix hit him across the face; the blow echoed around the room.

  ‘If she dies under questioning, I’ll take you next,’ she said. ‘Blood traitor is next to Mudblood in my book. Take them downstairs, Greyback, and make sure they are secure, but do nothing more to them – yet.’

  She threw Greyback’s wand back to him, then took a short silver knife from under her robes. She cut Hermione free from the other prisoners, then dragged her by the hair into the middle of the room while Greyback forced the rest of them to shuffle across to another door, into a dark passageway, his wand held out in front of him, projecting an invisible and irresistible force.

  ‘Reckon she’ll let me have a bit of the girl when she’s finished with her?’ Greyback crooned, as he forced them along the corridor. ‘I’d say I’ll get a bite or two, wouldn’t you, Ginger?’

  Harry could feel Ron shaking. They were forced down a steep flight of stairs, still tied back-to-back and in danger of slipping and breaking their necks at any moment. At the bottom was a heavy door. Greyback unlocked it with a tap of his wand, then forced them into a dank and musty room and left them in total darkness. The echoing bang of the slammed cellar door had not died away before there was a terrible, drawn-out scream from directly above them.

  ‘HERMIONE!’ Ron bellowed, and he started to writhe and struggle against the ropes tying them together, so that Harry staggered. ‘HERMIONE!’

  ‘Be quiet!’ Harry said. ‘Shut up, Ron, we need to work out a way –’

  ‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’

  ‘We need a plan, stop yelling – we need to get these ropes off –’

  ‘Harry?’ came a whisper through the darkness. ‘Ron? Is that you?’

  Ron stopped shouting. There was a sound of movement close by them, then Harry saw a shadow moving closer.

  ‘Harry? Ron?’

  ‘Luna?’

  ‘Yes, it’s me! Oh, no, I didn’t want you to be caught!’

  ‘Luna, can you help us get these ropes off?’ said Harry.

  ‘Oh, yes, I expect so … there’s an old nail we use if we need to break anything … just a moment …’

  Hermione screamed again from overhead, and they could hear Bellatrix screaming too, but her words were inaudible, for Ron shouted again, ‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’

  ‘Mr Ollivander?’ Harry could hear Luna saying. ‘Mr Ollivander, have you got the nail? If you just move over a little bit … I think it was beside the water jug …’

  She was back within seconds.

  ‘You’ll need to stay still,’ she said.

  Harry could feel her digging at the rope’s tough fibres to work the knots free. From upstairs they heard Bellatrix’s voice.

  ‘I’m going to ask you again! Where did you get this sword? Where?’

  ‘We found it – we found it – PLEASE!’ Hermione screamed again; Ron struggled harder than ever and the rusty nail slipped on to Harry’s wrist.

  ‘Ron, please stay still!’ Luna whispered. ‘I can’t see what I’m doing –’

  ‘My pocket!’ said Ron. ‘In my pocket, there’s a Deluminator, and it’s full of light!’

  A few seconds later, there was a click and the luminescent spheres the Deluminator had sucked from the lamps in the tent flew into the cellar: unable to rejoin their sources they simply hung there, like tiny suns, flooding the underground room with light. Harry saw Luna, all eyes in her white face, and the motionless figure of Ollivander the wandmaker, curled up on the floor in the corner. Craning round, he caught sight of their fellow prisoners: Dean and Griphook the goblin, who seemed barely conscious, kept standing by the ropes that bound him to the humans.

  ‘Oh, that’s much easier, thanks Ron,’ said Luna, and she began hacking at their bindings again. ‘Hello, Dean!’

  From above came Bellatrix’s voice.

  ‘You are lying, filthy Mudblood, and I know it! You have been inside my vault at Gringotts! Tell the truth, tell the truth!’

  Another terrible scream –

  ‘HERMIONE!’

  ‘What else did you take? What else have you got? Tell me the truth or, I swear, I shall run you through with this knife!’

  ‘There!’

  Harry felt the ropes fall away and turned, rubbing his wrists, to see Ron running around the cellar, looking up at the low ceiling, searching for a trapdoor. Dean, his face bruised and bloody, said, ‘Thanks,’ to Luna and stood there, shivering, but Griphook sank on to the cellar floor looking groggy and disorientated, many welts across his swarthy face.

  Ron was now trying to Disapparate without a wand.

  ‘There’s no way out, Ron,’ said Luna, watching his fruitless efforts. ‘The cellar is completely escape-proof. I tried, at first. Mr Ollivander has been here for a long time, he’s tried everything.’

  Hermione was screaming again: the sound went through Harry like physical pain. Barely conscious of the fierce prickling of his scar, he, too, started to run around the cellar, feeling the walls for he hardly knew what, knowing in his heart that it was useless.

  ‘What else did you take, what else? ANSWER ME! CRUCIO!’

  Hermione’s screams echoed off the walls upstairs, Ron was half sobbing as he pounded the walls with his fists, and Harry, in utter desperation, seized Hagrid’s pouch from around his neck and groped inside it: he pulled out Dumbledore’s Snitch and shook it, hoping for he did not know what – nothing happened; he waved the broken halves of the phoenix wand, but they were lifeless – the mirror fragment fell sparkling to the floor, and he saw a gleam of brightest blue –

  Dumbledore’s eye was gazing at him out of the mirror.

  ‘Help us!’ he yelled at it in mad desperation. ‘We’re in the cellar of Malfoy Manor, help us!’

  The eye blinked, and was gone.

  Harry was not even sure that it had really been there. He tilted the shard of mirror this way and that, and saw nothing reflected there but the walls and ceiling of their prison, and upstairs Hermione was screaming worse than ever, and next to him, Ron was bellowing, ‘HERMIONE! HERMIONE!’

  ‘How did you get into my vault?’ they heard Bellatrix scream. ‘Did that dirty little goblin in the cellar help you?’

  ‘We only met him tonight!’ Hermione sobbed. ‘We’ve never been inside your vault … it isn’t the real sword! It’s a copy, just a copy!’

  ‘A copy?’ screeched Bellatrix. ‘Oh, a likely story!’

  ‘But we can find out easily!’ came Lucius’s voice. ‘Draco, fetch the goblin, he can tell us whether the sword is real or not!’

  Harry dashed across the cellar to where Griphook was huddled on the floor.

  ‘Griphook,’ he whispered into the goblin’s pointed ear, ‘you must tell them that sword’s a fake, they mustn’t know it’s the real one, Griphook, please –’

  He could hear someone scuttling down the cellar steps; next moment, Draco’s shaking voice spoke from behind the door.

  ‘Stand back. Line up against the back wall. Don’t try anything, or I’ll kill you!’

  They did as they were bidden; as the lock turned Ron clicked the Deluminator and the lights whisked back into his pocket, restoring the cellar’s darkness. The door flew open; Malfoy marched inside, wand held out in front of him, pale and determined. He seized the little goblin by the arm and backed out again, dragging Griphook with him. The door slammed shut and at the same moment a loud crack echoed inside the cellar.

  Ron clicked the Deluminator. Three balls of light flew back into the air from his pocket, revealing Dobby the house-elf, who had just Apparated into their midst.