Chapter 39

Orlens was silent for a long moment before sighing.

“Ah, you Rolands… every one of you is stubborn to the bone.”

In the living room, Skool moved slowly as he tied the belt of his gray robe. It wasn’t as good as the one that had been damaged, but it had also been crafted by a skilled wizard and was enchanted with several useful spells.

That original robe had been designed to keep him off the Marauder’s Map, and to suppress traces of his presence and magical aura.

This one was weaker, but still serviceable.

Orlens closed the box, pulled up his hood, and raised his arm.

“Ready? Even as a side-along Apparition, the distance will take its toll on you.”

“I know. I’m prepared,” Skool replied, pulling on his hood and placing her hand on Orlens’s arm.

The crushing darkness of Apparition pressed in on Anne, her heartbeat racing. Pain flared from her still-tender wounds, and cold sweat dampened her forehead.

Her feet hit solid ground again, but the world around her was pitch black.

With a flick of her wand, the lights on the walls came on, and the hum of the central heating filled the air.

They were in one of Anne’s properties in Glasgow, England, an ordinary Muggle neighborhood lined with tightly packed suburban houses.

“Phew…” Skool exhaled shakily. Orlens guided her to the sofa and helped her sit down.

Checking his watch, Skool slipped his wand back into his sleeve and leaned against the couch, eyes closed.

Orlens opened the case again, double-checking the potions inside.

Then, with a loud crack, the wide living room echoed with the sound of Apparition.

Kreacher appeared, dragging a frail old man with tattered robes in one hand, and an unconscious goblin in the other.

Once his feet were steady, he announced, “Kreacher is here! Master ordered Kreacher to bring Mr. Ollivander and Griphook first, and to follow Mr. Skool’s instructions!”

“Good.” Skool’s voice was quiet but steady. “Once the healer has treated their injuries, take them to the innermost room upstairs and let them rest.”

Kreacher nodded and released his grip.

Orlens quickly examined both Ollivander and the goblin, administered potions to each, and gave Skool a confirming nod.

“Take them up,” Skool said.

Another crack, and Kreacher vanished with the two. Moments later, he reappeared, descending the staircase.

“Tell me what happened with Dobby,” Skool asked. “When will he be back?”

“He and Master Weasley were just behind me,” Kreacher replied respectfully. “He found Kreacher in the Hogwarts kitchens and brought Kreacher to a dark, damp dungeon. Inside were only Master Potter, Master Weasley, and the others, Griphook and Mr. Ollivander…”

Skool pressed her lips together and kept listening.

“Master Potter was very glad when he heard that Kreacher and Dobby had been sent by Mr. Skool. He told Kreacher to bring—”

Crack!

Four figures appeared in the living room with a burst of displaced air.

Skool, clutching her ribs, grabbed the sofa’s armrest and pushed herself upright.

Ron was supporting Hermione, who was pale and bloodstained. Dobby held onto Harry with one hand and Hermione’s sleeve with the other.

The little elf jumped excitedly the moment he arrived.

“Dobby did it! Dobby completed the mission! Dobby even blew up the Malfoys’ drawing room, so many, many portraits shattered!”

“Excellent, Dobby,” Skool said briskly. “You and Kreacher go upstairs and tend to Mr. Ollivander and Griphook. I’ll call you if you’re needed.”

Then, turning, “Ron, get Hermione to the bedroom. Let the healer take a look at her—” She pointed toward a wooden door in the corner of the living room.

Her voice couldn’t quite hide her worry.

Hermione, still pale, whispered, “I’m fine, really. The shielding charm took most of it—”

“Don’t talk,” Skool murmured firmly.

Orlens followed Ron and Hermione into the master bedroom.

Now, only Harry and Skool remained in the room.

“You’re not hurt, are you?” Skool asked.

Harry shook his head.

She handed him a glass of deep blue liquid, then sank back onto the sofa, one hand pressed to her ribs.

A fit of coughing seized her. Harry looked at her anxiously, but she waved him off.

“Tell me what happened,” she said hoarsely.

Harry drained the potion in one gulp and rubbed the lightning scar on his forehead.

“When we were moving to the next safehouse, we walked straight into a Snatcher patrol, five of them. We were surrounded. They disarmed us and dragged us to Malfoy Manor.”

“All of you?”

“Yes, just the three of us,” Harry said. “We tried to fight back, but it didn’t do much. They had us cornered. They took our wands and locked us up at the Manor. Voldemort wasn’t there, thankfully, but they were about to summon him when—”

“How many Death Eaters? Which ones?”

“Lucius, Narcissa, and Bellatrix,” Harry said through clenched teeth. “Lucius was thrilled to have caught me, he was about to call Voldemort, but Bellatrix stopped him. She’d seen the Sword of Gryffindor.”

He nodded toward the sword now lying on the floor.
Harry recounted the rest briefly, leaving out Bellatrix’s torture of Hermione and calling it “an interrogation.” But Anne could tell. Her breathing quickened, and her fists tightened.

“From what Bellatrix said,” Harry went on, “I’m sure there’s a Horcrux hidden in Gringotts!” His voice burned with certainty.

Skool nodded slightly in agreement.

“Anyway,” Harry finished, “we got their wands, tossed out all the bombs you gave us, and blew up half the manor. Oh, and thanks for the wand.”

He handed it back to her. Skool took it silently.

Another crack echoed through the living room.

Aaron appeared, wearing a shabby beige cloak and a mask, his hood pulled low.

The moment he saw Skool sitting on the sofa, hand over her abdomen, he burst out, “What on earth, Skool, what are you doing out of bed? You’re still injured—”

Then his eyes caught on Harry sitting nearby, mud-stained and exhausted. Aaron froze mid-sentence, his breath catching in surprise.

“Harry Potter?” he blurted, eyes wide. “What happened?”

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The complete release can be accessed through[P]atreon.[c]om/Crimson_Lore [remove brackets]