"Gregory, I really don't know whether this is the right thing to do!" Crabbe held a translucent chain, looking worriedly at his companion.
Goyle widened his eyes, trying hard to make out the steps in front of him, but all he could see was a blurry haze.
He had no choice but to grab Crabbe's hand tightly. "You have to make sure I get safely into the Department of Mysteries in the Magical Congress Building. You promised me!"
Crabbe pressed his lips together and sighed helplessly. "Buddy, I know. It's just that we both understand how dull-witted we are. There's no way we can change anything."
"We can't do it. We don't have what it takes!"
It seemed that all they could do was obey the orders of wiser people and use the superior magical abilities bestowed on them by their Pure-blood family lines to cause destruction and slaughter.
Just like their parents, who wisely understood their place, pledged their loyalty to the Malfoy family, and followed them into the service of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
Yes, the loyalty they had pledged wasn't to the Dark Lord, but to the Malfoy family.
Crabbe understood this better than Goyle did.
Even his parents understood it better than Old Goyle.
If you were stupid, you had to know your place, play your assigned role honestly and dutifully. That was what declining families and their ever-dwindling Pure-blood lineages ought to do.
Crabbe had once overheard his father whispering to his mother at home that the Goyles were utter fools. They couldn't even read the situation, and had cast the Malfoy family aside. They'd heard their master called master so often that they'd actually started believing it...
Oh, it seemed Old Goyle had started drawing a vague line between himself and the Malfoy family