bags, dress in the semidarkness, then creep out into the garden, where they were to meet
Hermione and Griphook. The dawn was chilly, but there was little wind now that it was
May. Harry looked up at the stars still glimmering palely in the dark sky and listened to
the sea washing backward and forward against the cliff: He was going to miss the sound.
Small green shoots were forcing their way up through the red earth of Dobby's
grave now, in a year's time the mound would be covered in flowers. The white stone that
bore the elf's name had already acquired a weathered look. He realized now that they
could hardly have laid Dobby to rest in a more beautiful place, but Harry ached with
sadness to think of leaving him behind. Looking down on the grave, he wondered yet
again how the elf had known where to come to rescue them. His fingers moved
absentmindedly to the little pouch still strung around his neck, thorough which he could
feel the jagged mirror fragment in which he had been sure he had seen Dumbledore's eye.
Then the sound of a door opening made him look around.
Bellatrix Lestrange was striding across the lawn toward them, accompanied by
Griphook. As she walked, she was tucking the small, beaded bag into the inside pocket of
another set of the old robes they had taken from Grimmauld Place. Though Harry knew
perfectly well that it was really Hermione, he could not suppress a shiver of loathing. She
was taller than he was, her long black hair rippling down her back, her heavily lidded
eyes disdainful as they rested upon him; but then she spoke, and he heard Hermione
through Bellatrix's low voice.
"She tasted disgusting, worse than Gurdyroots! Okay, Ron, come here so I can do
you . . ."
"right, but remember, I don't like the beard too long"
"Oh, for heaven's sake, this isn't about looking handsome"
"It's not that, it gets in the way! But I liked my nose a bit shorter, try and do it the
way you did last time."
Hermione sighed and set to work, muttering under her breath as she transformed
various aspects of Ron's appearance. He was to be given a completely fake identity, and
they were trusting to the malevolent aura cast by Bellatrix to protect him. Meanwhile
Harry and Griphook were to be concealed under the Invisibility Cloak.
"There," said Hermione, "how does he look, Harry?"
It was just not possible to discern Ron under his disguise, but only, Harry thought
because he knew him so well. Ron's hair was now long and wavy; he had a thick brown
beard and mustache, no freckles, a short, broad nose, and heavy eyebrows.
"Well, he's not my type, but he'll do," said Harry. "Shall we go, then?"
All three of them glanced back at Shell Cottage, lying dark and silent under the
fading stars, then turned and began to walk toward the point, just beyond the boundary
wall, where the Fidelius Chard stopped working and they would be able to Disapparate.
Once past the gate, Griphook spoke.
"I should climb up now, Harry Potter, I think?"