The Raven's Call

Rescue Mission

"Put the boys in the cellar!" Bellatrix's voice rang through the ceiling like the snarl of a rabid animal, muffled by stone but unmistakably cruel. I stiffened. The hairs on my arms rose instinctively. Luna's fingers gripped mine tighter. Footsteps—heavy ones—followed, growing louder as they descended the stairs. A key turned harshly in the lock, metal scraping metal, and then—

Thud—thud.

Two bodies were shoved forward and hit the floor hard. The door slammed shut behind them, leaving the dungeon in a stunned silence. A groan. Then movement. One of them rolled onto his side, coughing. "Bloody hell," the red-haired one muttered. My heart skipped. I knew that voice. "Ron?" Luna said softly, stepping forward. The other boy lifted his head toward her. "Luna?!" Ron used the Deluminator he'd received from Dumbledore to brighten up the cellar.

Harry scrambled up and pulled her into a hug so fast it made her stumble. "You're alive—you're okay—" "I'm fine," she whispered, resting her forehead against his for a second before pulling back. "Atticus?" He asked, noticing me a moment later. "Harry," I said quietly, scratching the beard that had grown during my time here. "You made it."

He looked like hell— bruised, swollen, shaking from adrenaline or pain or both—but somehow, even here, he was a spark in the dark. His gaze flicked to Luna, then to the others: Ollivander, quiet and pale in the corner. Griphook, a goblin from Gringotts, hunched and watchful, freshly bruised.

"Where's Hermione?" I asked. Harry's jaw tightened. "Upstairs. Bellatrix has her. She thinks we stole the sword of Godrick Gryffindor from her." "She's—" Ron started, but his voice cracked. He shook his head and turned away, pacing like a caged animal. A scream rang out from above. Hermione. Ron slammed his fist into the wall. "I'm going to kill her—I swear to Merlin—I'm going to kill her—"

Harry staggered a step forward. "We have to be smart. We're wandless and outnumbered. Atticus—Luna—how long have you been here?" "Long enough," I said. "Too long." "You're the first people we've seen in weeks," Luna added, her voice calm despite the chaos overhead. "Other than the guards. And Draco, sometimes. He won't look at us."

Hermione screamed again.

The sound was so raw, so full of agony, it felt like it tore through bone. My eyes burned. I couldn't look at Ron—he was shaking, fists clenched so tight his knuckles had gone white. "We have to do something!" he snapped, his voice cracking with fury and desperation.

"There's no way out of here," Ollivander said quietly, regret heavy in his tone. "We've tried everything. It's enchanted—every wall, every inch." Harry didn't speak. He knelt in the corner, pulling something from his sock—a jagged shard of glass, glinting faintly in the dim light. He brought it to his lips and began whispering to it.

Luna, soft as ever, murmured, "You're bleeding, Harry. That's a curious thing to keep in your sock." Hermione screamed again, higher this time. Ron pressed himself against the wall, as if trying to claw his way through it to get to her. "Let her go!" he roared upward. The man on the opposite side sneered, stepping down the stairs. He pointed his wand directly at Ron. "Shut up. Get back." He turned his wand toward Griphook. "You. Goblin. Come with me." Griphook hesitated—but stood. After the man took Griphook and locked us up again, there was a moment of silence until..