chapter thirty eight | shell cottage

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        Stella Mason first came to when she could hear soft chatter coming from all around her. Her eyes were closed and her whole body was sore, but she was awake. Her mind caught up to her, reminding her of what occurred, making her want to keep her eyes closed forever. She didn't remember much of how Bellatrix Lestrange's knife found its way into her stomach, but it happened. And it hurt like hell. She also didn't know how long she had been asleep. It could've been a day, a month, she had no clue. She debated over opening her eyes for several minutes before she finally decided to make her awareness known. She felt a hand in hers, a thumb caressing her knuckles lovingly. A closed lipped smile made its way to her face as she squeezed the hand gently. She heard a soft gasp as a hush fell through the room.

        "Stella?"

        Harry Potter was worried sick. He wouldn't leave her side no matter the reason. She had been asleep for a week now. Hermione and Ron had spent a lot of the time with him, but left due to the need to eat and bathe. They had been successful in getting Harry to eat and bathe as well, but once he was done, he went right back upstairs. Their time by Stella's bedside was somewhat of a team meeting of sorts. They discussed their next move, where Horcruxes might be and who they thought they could trust. They had also discussed if Stella, when she woke up, would continue to come with them to find Horcruxes. Hermione warned the boys, mostly Harry, that the Mason would stubbornly tell the group that no matter her injuries and the effects that came with it, she would be coming with them to finish what they started. It wasn't until Harry felt a hand squeezing his did his spirits rise.

        "Stella," he softly spoke, watching the sleeping girl intently, "can you hear me?"

        There was a small groan, "remind me to never get stabbed again. It's not fun."

        Her three friends chuckled breathlessly, relieved at the sight of their friend opening her eyes. They moved closer to the girl while Hermione took her other hand.

        Harry spoke as he absent mindedly ran his thumb against her knuckles, "how are you feeling?"

        "I'm fine," the Mason answered, she let herself gaze around the bedroom she was in, "where are we?"

        "Shell Cottage," Ron explained, "used to come here as kids, now it's used as a safe house for the Order. Bill and Fluer are staying here currently. I knew we'd be safe here."

        Stella nodded as the boy before asking, "how long was I out?"

        Her three friends glanced at each other wearily before Hermione answered, "a week..."

        "A week," Stella exclaimed in disbelief, "well, what are we sitting around here for? We have to go, we have to," the girl tried to stand but stopped when a flare shot through her stomach, making her wince.

        "Stel," Harry sighed, helping her back to a comfortable position, "we can wait a few more days until you feel better. I'm not going to fight you with the whole 'you're not going with us' because you're too stubborn for that. And I'm not leaving you here."

        "But, Harry—"

        "No, Stel. Saving the world can wait a few days."

        Stella sighed, but didn't argue. She was relieved to know she would be going with them, wherever they would go next. She picked her head up from the view of her hands after a few moments, "can I ask a question?"

        Hermione chuckled, "of course, Stel."

        "Before I passed out," she started, "I saw this... bird coming toward me, I think. Was I just imagining that?"

        The trio looked surprised to see she had remembered that.

        "It was Fawkes," Harry told her, "he flew down and healed your stomach almost all the way, Fluer did the rest with some healing spells and some of Hermione's Dittany."

Stella furrowed her brows at the boy, "Fawkes? Dumbledore's phoenix that I was left in his will? How the bloody hell did Dumbledore... nevermind," she mumbled the last part, better not to question how Dumbledore knows, or knew, everything or how he knew she would need the healing bird. With that last thought leaving her head, she looked in between her friends, "so, what's our next move?"

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        Bill Weasley led the four friends to the guest room where Griphook, the Goblin who was also held at Malfoy Manor. The whole time at the Manor was a blur for Stella. She could remember keeping Hermione close to her and the sudden pain in her neck and limbs. Truthfully, the last thing she could remember was the beach before passing out. The wound on her stomach had healed for the most part, walking and going up and down stairs were fine, but she has yet to try jumping or any other existential movement.

        Stella stayed next to Ron and Hermione by the back of the room as Harry made his way to Griphook's eye line, who was sitting, hands folded, in a rocking chair.

        "How are you?"

        "Alive," the Goblin bluntly answered the green eyed boy.

        After a moment of silence, Harry spoke again, "you probably don't remember—"

        "That I showed you to your vault at Gringotts? Even amongst goblins you're famous, Harry Potter," Griphook expressed with little emotion, "how did you come by the sword?"

        "It's complicated," Harry answered vaguely, "why did Bellatrix Lestrange think it should be in her vault?"

        "... It's complicated."

        Harry sighed as the goblin was just as vague as he was and gave in to sharing details, "the sword presented itself to us at a moment of need. We didn't steal it."

        Griphook took in the information with a slow nod, "there is a sword in Madame Lestrange's vault identical to this one, but it is a fake," he revealed, "it was placed there this past summer."

        "And she never suspected it was a fake," Stella spoke up and asked.

        "The replica is very convincing," Griphook answered without looking back at the girl, "only a goblin would recognize that this is the true Sword of Gryffindor."

        Hermione was next to speak, "who is the acquaintance?"

        "A Hogwarts professor. As I understand, he's now Headmaster."

        "Snape," Ron scoffed, "he put a fake sword in Bellatrix's vault. Why?"

        "There are more than a few curious things in the vaults at Gringotts."

        "And in Madame Lestrange's vault as well," Harry asked.

        Griphook smirked, "perhaps."

        Harry ignored the menacing face of the goblin, sparing his friends a glance, "I need to get into Gringotts, into one of the vaults."

        Stella exchanged uncomfortable looks with Ron and Hermione, thinking to herself that Harry was treading on thin ice with the request.

        Griphook narrowed his eyes at the boy, "it is impossible."

        "Alone, yes. But with you, no..."

        "Why should I help you?"

        "I have gold. Lots of it."

        Griphook seized his eyes on the sword in the corner of the room, "I have no interest in gold."

        Tired of the back and forth, Stella stepped forward, "we'll give you the sword if you get us into the vault. We'll give you our word if you give yours."

        Her three friends looked at her slight surprise while the goblin smirked smugly, still not paying the girl a glance behind his shoulder. Without waiting for a response, Stella left the room, her friends following after her.

        Once the door was shut behind them, the four friends huddled in the hallway and spoke with soft voices.

        "What was that about, Stel?"

        "Goblins are known for making deals," Stella answered Ron as she noticed her friends' uneasy glances, "the only way to convince him to help was to offer something for him in return. All we have to do is live up to the deal and it will go smoothly."

        Her explanation seemed to satisfy the three, Hermione whispering, "are you thinking there's a Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault, Harry?"

        The boy nodded, "well, she was terrified when she thought we'd been in there. She kept asking you what else we had taken. I bet you anything there's a Horcrux in there, another piece of his soul. Let's find, and kill it, and then we're one step closer to killing him."

         "What happens when we find it," Ron whispered back, looking in between Harry and Stella, "how're we supposed to destroy it now that you're giving the sword to Griphook?"

        Harry didn't seem to have an answer and looked toward Stella for help.

        "Yeah, still working on that part."

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        The next person the teens had to talk to was Mr. Ollivander, who was taken to the Manor for a long period of time. Fleur warned them of how weak he had become because of what he had endured during his capture and ushered them inside. Harry moved forward to the bed, in front of the old man, who was sitting in a rocking chair by the window, while the other three stood in the back by the door again.

        "Mr. Ollivander," Harry started, not wanting to startle the frail man, "I need to ask you a few questions."

        The wand enthusiast spoke, his voice strained, "anything, my boy, anything."

        "Would you mind identifying this wand," the boy brought out the first of two wands he had and handed it to the man, "we need to know if it's safe to use."

        Mr. Ollivander examined the wand closely, squinting, "walnut... dragon heartstring... twelve and three quarter inches... unyielding. This belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange, treat it carefully."

        The four friends eyed the wand with apprehension before Harry passed on the second wand, "and this?"

        "Hawthorn... unicorn hair... ten inches and reasonably pliant," Mr. Ollivander observed, "this was the wand of Draco Malfoy."

        "Was," Harry blanched, "is it not still?"

        The man shook his head, "perhaps not. If you won it from him," he leaned closer to Harry, "I sense its allegiance has changed."

        "You talk about wands as if they have feelings... can think..."

        "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter," Mr. Ollivander explained, "that much has always been clear to those of us who've studied wandlore."

        Harry seemed to not be satisfied with the answer but moved on nonetheless, "what do you know about the Deathly Hallows, sir?"

        "It is rumored there are three," the man started, "the Elder Wand, the Cloak of Invisibility, to hide you from your enemies, and the Resurrection Stone, to bring back loved ones from the dead. Together, they make one master of death. But few truly believe such objects exist," the man almost let out a chuckle.

        "Do you believe they exist?"

        "Well, I see no reason to put stock in an old wives tale..."

        "You're lying," Harry stated bluntly, "you know one exists. You told him about it. You've told him about the Elder Wand and where he could go looking for it."

        Mr. Ollivander's face dropped completely, his face turning a shade lighter with a far off look in his eyes, "he tortured me. Besides, there's no telling whether he will find it."

        "He has found it, sir."

        Harry got up from the bed, ready to leave, when Mr. Ollivader's voice stopped him and his friends in their tracks.

        "He's after you, Mr. Potter," the man rasped, "if it's true what you say, that he has the Elder Wand, I'm afraid you really don't stand a chance."

        "Well, I suppose I'll have to kill him before he finds me then."

        With Harry's last statement, they left the guest room, and left Mr. Ollivander to his thoughts.

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edited: 6 april 2021