Draco:
I shall go rescue Harry today. Do not worry, I have a plan. Thank you for telling me.
Ron
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Draco:
I heard Ron rescued Harry, that is great! It seems this was a joint idea of yours and Ron's. When did you two become so close?
Also, I plan to go to Diagon Alley on the twelfth of August to buy books and supplies for the start of term. Harry and Ron will be going around that time too. See you then, if we have the chance.
Hermione
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Draco:
I certainly do not mind that you sent a house-elf to Privet Drive to see me—I am more curious about what it looks like than being angry—I know you were worried about me. In fact, if you had not reminded Ron and made him decide to come and get me, I might have used magic to escape that place. The consequences could have been much worse.
I had a great time at Ron's; the Weasleys were very friendly. We are going to Diagon Alley next Wednesday, the twelfth of August, and I have told Hermione. Are you coming?
Harry
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At this moment, the recipient of these letters is not in his usual places—not in the library, the potions-making room, the private Quidditch pitch, the woodland trails of the manor, or his own bedroom.
Draco was wandering around somewhere in the basement of the mansion.
To be fair, it was not entirely unjust that Mr Weasley came to raid the Malfoys' house.
How could a building as historic as Malfoy Manor have a basement that is simply a newly opened potions-making room and a dungeon that has been deliberately aged?
He passed through a hidden door behind the bookshelves in the potions-making room, followed the inconspicuous passageway, past the broom room and the wand room, and finally arrived at a stone wall.
He skilfully touched a tiny protrusion on the wall, and a hidden stone door slowly opened.
That was the forbidden collection room, located directly below the drawing room of Malfoy Manor—the so-called secret room where Dobby had found that little black book.
A wisp of smoke drifted out from inside the door, and Draco quickly took a few steps back. As the smoke gradually dissipated, Dobby cautiously stretched out his arm and held a candle inside, observing intently for a while.
"There should not be any problem," Dobby said easily. "The candles did not go out, and they did not explode. You can come in now, Young Master. I shall show you the way."
Draco gave Dobby an approving look. He had not expected the house-elf to be so cautious. Holding his candlestick, he followed Dobby through the stone door, warily and curiously surveying everything inside.
"So, you come here often?" Draco asked Dobby.
"Yes, Young Master, there are many of your Dark magic artefacts here. In the past, Dobby would come to clean them every two weeks. Maintaining the artefacts, dusting and such." Dobby respectfully led its Young Master through several marble shelves carved with intricate snake patterns, taking them all in.
"Why would they send you to such a secluded place?" Draco asked. "Did you not say you used to... feel neglected?"
"Because it is extremely dangerous here, one wrong step and you could lose your life. None of the other house-elves wanted to come, so after a while, they just passed the responsibility to Dobby," Dobby said, blinking his big, glowing eyes in the darkness.
"Does a house-elf really pick and choose, and avoid hard work?" Draco was extremely surprised—he had previously thought that they were not very intelligent and had little judgement.
"When their masters are not looking, the house-elves also argue about assigning tasks... They all want to serve the mistress, because her job is the easiest, and she is relatively kind. The house-elves who can get a word in with the mistress are more likely to gain respect among the house-elves." Dobby chuckled softly, then shook his head dismissively.
Draco could hear its ears snapping against its head with great force. There seemed to be a hint of pride in its voice, "But right now, Dobby is the happiest! Dobby gets paid, he gets days off, they do not! Dobby likes this life, even though they spit on him and think he is a rebel!"
"Speaking of which, you played a big part in saving Harry last time," Draco said, a sudden, inexplicable pity for Dobby creeping into his heart. "I have decided to improve your pay, from one Galleon a month to one Galleon a week."
"Dobby does not—" The little elf suddenly stopped all other movements, leaving only the candle in its hand trembling violently in the darkness.
"Unless you think Harry Potter is unimportant and saving him is not something to be rewarded for," Draco said casually. "If you think he is some kind of slug or something, you can refuse."
"Of course not! Dobby would never think that way! The great Harry Potter! He is Dobby's idol, how could he be a slug—" Dobby said vehemently.
"Then it is settled. Whoever saved the great Harry Potter did a great deed and deserves a reward," Draco said, recalling the little elf's amazing act in his previous life. "If good deeds go unrewarded, who would be willing to do good deeds?"
"But Dobby did not save him for a pay rise! Even without a pay rise, Dobby would still save him! A thousand times over!" Dobby said in a shrill voice.
"Yes! I do not doubt your sincerity," Draco said. "But what about the others?"
"Other people?" the little elf asked, puzzled.
"How can you guarantee that everyone is as selfless as you? What if someone else has the ability to save Harry Potter but hesitates? If there is a reward, they will work even harder to save Harry Potter; without a reward, they might miss the opportunity whilst hesitating." Draco smiled in the darkness. "Was your initial intention in doing this not to save Harry Potter? You were not doing it for your own pay rise, nor to prove your sincerity. You are not taking this reward for yourself; it is to encourage more capable people who cannot be as selfless as you to save Harry Potter at the right time. Does that not align with your original intention in saving Harry Potter?"
"It seems... that is not wrong either," Dobby said, still feeling dizzy.
"Very well. It is settled then." Draco, seeing that things were going well, resumed his lazy, masterly demeanour. "Well then, let us not waste any more time. Continue with your work and introduce these collections to me."
Upon hearing the word "work," Dobby stiffened and immediately dropped the argument: "It seems like the number of items in the collection has decreased recently. Dobby heard from the elves who were in charge of cleaning up here that the old master took some Dark magic items and went to Knockturn Alley a few days ago."
Draco was not surprised by this.
He had already warned his father about the "Ministry of Magic's planned surprise inspection," so Lucius could not have been completely unprepared. It was perfectly normal for him to become more conservative about Dark Magic items.
Nevertheless, there were still quite a few eye-catching items on the shelves: bloodstained playing cards, glass eyeballs, skulls, nooses, and rusty, tooth-like instruments...
Draco even saw some familiar items—an Opal Necklace and the Hand of Glory.
He had no idea that some of the items he saw in Borgin and Burkes in his previous life originally belonged to the Malfoy family. Merlin, just how many Dark magic items has Father accumulated over the years, and how many things has he sold off?
"What is this?" Suddenly, Draco noticed an inconspicuous little black book on the shelf and asked Dobby, "Is this the one you gave me last time?"
"No, Young Master," Dobby shrieked. "That book has already been taken away by the old master. This is another one, a very dangerous notebook!"
"How dangerous? The kind that sprays out poisonous liquid and fumes when you open it?" Draco held the candle closer to examine it.
"When Dobby opened it, it was blank. But when he touched it, Dobby felt a deep fear; there might be very cruel Dark magic on it." Dobby could not help but shudder.
When Draco looks at them up close, he will notice the difference between the two small books.
The book he had come across had a cover made of a single piece of black leather, making it impossible to discern any extra writing. Although this book also had a black cover, upon closer inspection, one could still find the name "T. M. Riddle" written on it.
Who is T. M. Riddle? He frowned in confusion. He had never heard of that name in any pure-blood wizarding family.
This T. M. Riddle must have done something extraordinary with the Dark Arts. Otherwise, his father would not have hidden his notebook here so carefully. Draco thought as he surveyed the other Dark Arts items in the room.
After seeing these things, Draco found nothing unusual and closed the stone door again.
The corridor on the other side of the stone door was deep and long. Draco knew that there were several other similar stone doors that were not easily noticed. Behind the doors were rooms for storing valuables and forbidden books, and even a small lounge.
That said, unless one has Malfoy blood, no one else can open these stone doors. Even if the dutiful Mr Weasley found this place, he would have to return empty-handed.
Instead of checking the other stone doors, he returned along the same route.
He emerged from the hidden door and casually pressed something somewhere, and the bookshelf returned to its proper place as if it had never been opened.
It was getting late. Draco leisurely walked out of the potions-making room, climbed the stairs, and planned to return to his room to rest.
Suddenly remembering something, he asked Dobby, who was still quietly following him, "What is Father doing with that nameless little book? Do you know?"
"Dobby happened to overhear a little bit... when the old master came looking for the book, he was muttering 'Horcrux'," Dobby glanced at Draco in alarm. "Dobby did not dare listen any longer; Dobby should not pry into the masters' privacy."
Draco nodded slightly and dismissed Dobby.
He went back to his room and deftly manipulated the desk until he pulled out a small black book. This was not the named book from the secret room, but the nameless little book Dobby had brought him to look up information about Horcruxes.
He lay on the bed, studying the book over and over, trying to find some clues.
The book must be extraordinary to mention such profound Dark magic as Horcruxes. It seems even my usually indifferent father has an unusual interest in it.
This is more of a notebook than a book.
Because it was covered with handwritten text and symbols, some of which he could not understand at all, and some were blurred due to their age. The handwriting did not even seem to be from the same person, and some of the language appeared to be Ancient Greek.
It appears that someone translated the Ancient Greek text based on this notebook, turning it into fragments of English.
That is what the text about Horcruxes says.
However, this translation is incomplete; some parts are vague and lack annotations. To understand these specific details, Draco would need to learn Ancient Greek.
Merlin! I am so tired! Please do not give me any more new tasks, all right? Draco rolled over, covered his face, and lay on his back on his bed, wanting to give up like never before.