Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince

“The other’s in Borgin and Burkes,” said Malfoy, “and they make a kind of passage between them. Montague told me that when he was stuck in the Hogwarts one, he was trapped in limbo but sometimes he could hear what was going on at school, and sometimes what was going on in the shop, as if the Cabinet was travelling between them, but he couldn’t make anyone hear him… in the end he managed to Apparate out, even though he’d never passed his test. He nearly died doing it. Everyone thought it was a really good story, but I was the only one who realised what it meant—even Borgin didn’t know—I was the one who realised there could be a way into Hogwarts through the Cabinets if I fixed the broken one.”

“Very good,” murmured Dumbledore. “So the Death Eaters were able to pass from Borgin and Burkes into the school to help you… a clever plan, a very clever plan… and, as you say, right under my nose…”

“Yeah,” said Malfoy who, bizarrely, seemed to draw courage and comfort from Dumbledore’s praise. “Yeah, it was!”

“But there were times,” Dumbledore went on, “weren’t there, when you were not sure you would succeed in mending the Cabinet? And you resorted to crude and badly judged measures such as sending me a cursed necklace that was bound to reach the wrong hands… poisoning mead there was only the slightest chance I might drink…”

“Yeah, well, you still didn’t realise who was behind that stuff, did you?” sneered Malfoy, as Dumbledore slid a little down the ramparts, the strength in his legs apparently fading, and Harry struggled fruitlessly, mutely, against the enchantment binding him.

“As a matter of fact, I did,” said Dumbledore. “I was sure it was you.”

“Why didn’t you stop me, then?” Malfoy demanded.

“I tried, Draco. Professor Snape has been keeping watch over you on my orders—”

“He hasn’t been doing your orders, he promised my mother—”

“Of course that is what he would tell you, Draco, but—”

“He’s a double-agent, you stupid old man, he isn’t working for you, you just think he is!”

“We must agree to differ on that, Draco. It so happens that I trust Professor Snape—”

“Well, you’re losing your grip, then!” sneered Malfoy. “He’s been offering me plenty of help—wanting all the glory for himself—wanting a bit of the action—‘What are you doing? Did you do the necklace, that was stupid, it could have blown everything—’ But I haven’t told him what I’ve been doing in the Room of Requirement, he’s going to wake up tomorrow and it’ll all be over and he won’t be the Dark Lord’s favourite any more, he’ll be nothing compared to me, nothing!”

“Very gratifying,” said Dumbledore mildly. “We all like appreciation for our own hard work, of course… but you must have had an accomplice, all the same… someone in Hogsmeade, someone who was able to slip Katie the—the—aaaah—”

Dumbledore closed his eyes again and nodded, as though he was about to fall asleep.

“…of course… Rosmerta. How long has she been under the Imperius Curse?”

“Got there at last, have you?” Malfoy taunted.

There was another yell from below, rather louder than the last. Malfoy looked nervously over his shoulder again, then back at Dumbledore, who went on, “So poor Rosmerta was forced to lurk in her own bathroom and pass that necklace to any Hogwarts student who entered the room unaccompanied? And the poisoned mead… well, naturally, Rosmerta was able to poison it for you before she sent the bottle to Slughorn, believing that it was to be my Christmas present… yes, very neat… very neat… poor Mr. Filch would not, of course, think to check a bottle of Rosmerta’s… tell me, how have you been communicating with Rosmerta? I thought we had all methods of communication in and out of the school monitored.”

“Enchanted coins,” said Malfoy, as though he was compelled to keep talking, though his wand hand was shaking badly. “I had one and she had the other and I could send her messages—”

“Isn’t that the secret method of communication the group that called themselves Dumbledore’s Army used last year?” asked Dumbledore. His voice was light and conversational, but Harry saw him slip an inch lower down the wall as he said it.

“Yeah, I got the idea from them,” said Malfoy, with a twisted smile. “I got the idea of poisoning the mead from the Mudblood Granger, as well, I heard her talking in the library about Filch not recognising potions…”

“Please do not use that offensive word in front of me,” said Dumbledore.

Malfoy gave a harsh laugh.

“You care about me saying ‘Mudblood’ when I’m about to kill you?”

“Yes, I do,” said Dumbledore, and Harry saw his feet slide a little on the floor as he struggled to remain upright. “But as for being about to kill me, Draco, you have had several long minutes now. We are quite alone. I am more defenceless than you can have dreamed of finding me, and still you have not acted…”

Malfoy’s mouth contorted involuntarily, as though he had tasted something very bitter.