Chapter 54

Unexpectedly, Diana nodded seriously. “Alright, as long as you like it. Even if you sell wine, Anne, I’m sure the Roland family will make a tidy profit.”

Anne was momentarily speechless. Then she leaned back against the lab table and smiled at the three of them. “Okay, let me make you the only ones who know all the correct answers to these five questions.”

“The third question, why Harry was captured by Voldemort, was because I sent someone.”

“Surprised?” Anne laughed. “There’s even more. Don’t think Voldemort was the only one who could plant a spy in the Order of the Phoenix, there was also a spy from the Order inside Voldemort’s ranks.”

“How come I didn’t know?” Aaron asked.

“Because this spy only took orders from the Order’s leader, and he trusted only the leader.”

“Who?”

“Snape.”

“No way!” “But him?” Aaron and Hermione both asked in succession.

“Dumbledore’s death was unexpected, but part of the plan. Because of the injury on his arm, Dumbledore only had a year left. He allowed himself to die in Snape’s hands to make it more meaningful.”

The three fell silent.

“Snape delivered Harry. Only if Harry appeared dead would Voldemort come to Hogwarts, and that’s when I had the chance to use the secret weapon.”

“So in the end, Snape saved Harry, Apparated him out of the wind-blade zone?” Hermione asked.

Anne nodded.

Hermione finally understood why Harry hadn’t told her.

“But Harry didn’t actually die?” Aaron asked.

“That’s all I can explain, Uncle Aaron. Anything more gets into even more complicated territory, and we promised Dumbledore we wouldn’t reveal it. All in all, the result now is the best one, right?”

“Alright. What about the wine?”

Anne smiled. “It’s a mix of white liquor and red wine.”

“What’s white liquor?”

“A high-proof alcohol from Asia,” Diana explained. Then she asked, “Anne, why did you store so much wine?”

“To give to people in the black market. When they see a drink they’ve never tried before, it piques their curiosity. Then they talk, and someone always ends up trading with me.”

“Anne? Don’t tell me… every time you went on missions with Moody, it was to the black market bar?” Aaron frowned.

“Cough—” Anne glanced at her watch. “Ah, I need to go see Grandfather Orlens for a checkup. Let’s go! Diana, Aaron, you’re probably late for work by now.”

By early December, after just two days, heavy snow fell all day and night.

“Anne, the Order of Merlin has decided to award Skoll a First-Class Merlin Medal.”

At lunchtime, Diana mentioned it. Anne paused mid-cut. “Such an honor? Wow… feels like we should accept it—”

“But let’s not,” Anne said, cutting a piece of meat and eating it. “Skoll doesn’t want to return to Britain. He wants to travel.”

That afternoon in the study, Anne held a quill, scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

Hermione walked in with milk tea, cake, and pudding, frowning. “Anne, didn’t Mr. Orlens tell you to read less and avoid newspapers?”

“I haven’t. I’m writing something, aren’t I?” Anne smiled, putting the quill down and walking over to Hermione.

“Does it make a difference?” Hermione said, displeased, placing the plate on the desk.

Anne hugged Hermione affectionately. “I just wrote a few lines. Barely used my left eye, mostly closed it while writing.”

“That’s not okay either,” Hermione said firmly.

“Alright, alright—” Anne said, holding Hermione tightly. “I want pudding and macarons. Feed me.”

Hermione picked up the spoon and pudding.

Anne ate a spoonful.

As Hermione fed her, she glanced at the parchment.

“Skoll’s handwriting? Weren’t you going to—”

“Oh! I’m too dumb. How did I not think of this?” Anne said suddenly, smiling.

She hugged Hermione tighter. “I still have you.”

Hermione’s ears flushed. “What’s this about?”

“My girlfriend can mimic Skoll’s handwriting,” Anne said. “So you handle the writing, I’ll read.”

“Write what?”

“A children’s legend book, planting a seed in young witches and wizards’ hearts. And another for adults, showing the real life of the Order of the Phoenix, so rumors don’t spread,” Anne explained, leading Hermione to the chair. She took the spoon and pudding from Hermione’s hand.

Anne scooped a large spoonful of pudding and happily said, “Both books have the same title: My Life in the Order of the Phoenix.”

Hermione, still puzzled, knew Anne would explain eventually. She picked up the quill and wrote on a blank parchment: My Life in the Order of the Phoenix.

“Start with the adult version, then adapt it for children,” Anne said. “Shall we begin?”

Hermione nodded seriously.

“My name is Tom Glick. I’m a squib and a gatekeeper at the Order of the Phoenix’s outer headquarters. I met Mr. Skoll on a rainy day—”

“—The first time I saw the Order of the Phoenix’s emblem, Mr. Skoll told me the phoenix symbolizes rebirth—”

Anne continued eating dessert, occasionally feeding Hermione cake or pudding. Hermione’s initial confusion slowly gave way to understanding and admiration. The pile of parchment on her desk grew thicker and thicker.

“Finally, Mr. Skoll asked me to tell you: the Phoenix emblem can be shared. You can make it in iron, copper, plastic, or draw and modify it freely. But a friendly reminder, never make it in gold. It’s easily stolen. He also said that although the Order of the Phoenix disbanded, some things remain, an attitude, an idea.”

“He asked me what I understood it to mean,” Anne continued.

“I said that whenever I face a tough choice, I’ll remember this emblem. I know there are people working quietly behind the scenes for the peace and safety of the wizarding world.”

“Mr. Skoll said I understood it correctly, and he’s proud of having me as a member of the Order of the Phoenix’s outer circle. He also said that some people die, but live on in everyone’s hearts; and some live, but are already dead in everyone’s hearts. I like this sentence and asked if it could be engraved on my tombstone. He said, maybe one day, he’d help.”

Anne finished, and Hermione added a period on the parchment.

Outside, night fully fell, snow began again, and the fireplace flames leapt high, warming the study.

Anne walked behind Hermione, gently massaging her shoulders. “Tired? Sorry, I got carried away and lost track of time.”

Hermione stood, hugging Anne. “Not tired. Really. Anne, your metaphor is perfect. This storybook will plant a seed in every young witch or wizard’s heart. When they grow up, they’ll understand what they cannot now.”

Anne held Hermione’s right hand, massaging her wrist. “You say you’re not tired, yet several lines of your writing are crooked. Dear girlfriend, you always understand me instantly. Do you think this book will sell well?”

“Of course. It definitely will,” Hermione said, kissing Anne.

Three days before Christmas, a Roland family-owned publishing house contacted the largest magical book printer. Printing went on nonstop for a full day and night.

Yet My Life in the Order of the Phoenix sold out before Christmas.

That Christmas, Diagon Alley shops not only sold Christmas goods but also dedicated an entire shelf to Order of the Phoenix-themed pins, badges, stamps, bracelets, earrings, and rings.

After the holiday, the publisher announced in its newspaper that the author of My Life in the Order of the Phoenix would donate half the royalties to the Muggle-born Cooperation Alliance, and the other half to the Squib Cooperation Organization, sending them blessings.

Suddenly, both organizations’ profiles soared. Everywhere in the UK’s magical world, people were talking about these groups and the book.

Many speculated about the author’s identity. It was unsigned, but most believed Skoll had written it.

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Note: Next, school life will begin.