As he turned into darkness, he caught one last view of the drawing room: of the pale, frozen figures of Narcissa and Draco, of the streak of red that was Ron’s hair, and a blur of flying silver, as Bellatrix’s knife flew across the room at the place where he was vanishing –

Bill and Fleur’s ... Shell Cottage ... Bill and Fleur’s ...

He had disappeared into the unknown; all he could do was repeat the name of the destination and hope that it would suffice to take him there.

The pain in his forehead pierced him and the weight of the goblin bore down upon him; he could feel the blade of Gryffindor’s sword bumping against his back; Dobby’s hand jerked in his; he wondered whether the elf was trying to take charge, to pull them in the right direction, and tried, by squeezing the fingers, to indicate that that was fine with him ...
And then they hit solid earth and smelled salty air.

Harry fell to his knees, relinquished Dobby’s hand and attempted to lower Griphook gently to the ground.
‘Are you all right?

' he said, as the goblin stirred, but Griphook merely whimpered.
Harry squinted around through the darkness.

There seemed to be a cottage a short way away under the wide, starry sky, and he thought he saw movement outside it.
‘Dobby, is this Shell Cottage?

' he whispered, clutching the two wands he had brought from the Malfoys', ready to fight if he needed to. ‘Have we come to the right place? Dobby? '
He looked around.

The little elf stood feet from him.
‘DOBBY!

'
The elf swayed slightly, stars reflected in his wide, shining eyes.

Together, he and Harry looked down at the silver hilt of the knife protruding from the elf’s heaving chest.

Chapter 2