Harry whirled around and Griphook tightened his hold around Harry’s neck: A tall, think wizard with a crown of bushy gray hair and a long, sharp nose was striding toward them.
“It’s Travers,” hissed the goblin into Harry’s ear, but at that moment Harry could not think who Travers was. Hermione had drawn herself up to full height and said with as much contempt as she could muster:
“And what do you want?”
Travers stopped in his tracks, clearly affronted.
“He’s another Death Eater!” breathed Griphook, and Harry sidled sideways to repeat the information into Hermione’s ear.
“I merely sought to greet you,” said Travers coolly, “but if my presence is not welcome…”
Harry recognized his voice now: Travers was one of the Death Eaters who had been summoned to Xenophilius’s house.
“No, no, not at all, Travers,” said Hermione quickly, trying to cover up her mistake. “How are you?”
“Well, I confess I am surprised to see you out and about, Bellatrix.”
“Really? Why?” asked Hermione.
“Well,” Travers coughed, “I heard that the Inhabitants of Malfoy Manor were confined to the house, after the… ah… escape.”
Harry willed Hermione to keep her head. If this was true, and Bellatrix was not supposed to be out in public—
“The Dark Lord forgives those who have served him most faithfully in the past,” said Hermione in a magnificent imitation of Bellatrix’s most contemptuous manner. “Perhaps your credit is not as good with him as mine is, Travers.”
Though the Death Eater looked offended, he also seemed less suspicious. He glanced down at the man Ron had just Stunned.
“How did it offend you?”
“It does not matter, it will not do so again,” said Hermione coolly.
“Some of these wandless can be troublesome,” said Travers. “While they do nothing but beg I have no objection, but one of them actually asked me to plead her case in the Ministry last week. ‘I’m a witch, sir, I’m a witch, let me prove it to you!” he said in a squeaky impersonation. “As if I was going to give her my wand—but whose wand,” said Travers curiously, “are you using at the moment, Bellatrix? I heard that your own was—”
“I have my wand here,” said Hermione coldly, holding up Bellatrix’s wand. “I don’t know what rumors you have been listening to, Travers, but you seem sadly misinformed.”
Travers seemed a little taken aback at that, and he turned instead to Ron.
“Who is your friend? I do not recognize him.”
“This is Dragomir Despard,” said Hermione; they had decided that a fictional foreigner was the safest cover for Ron to assume. “He speaks very little English, but he is in sympathy with the Dark Lord’s aims. He has traveled here from Transylvania to see our new regime.”