"Positive. And Travers is still alive."

Her eyes snapped up to him. "I was right. The owner doesn't need to die for the Lots to escape. It's just the arm."

Draco nodded. "There's something else though. Angelina Johnson and George Weasley left the castle by way of the front gate. They were pursuing several Death Eaters." He paused, and her heartbeat quickened. "A witness claims that Angelina fell when she followed George over the estate line."

She blinked at him. "Fell."

"The guard said she 'dropped like a sack of flour.'" He swallowed, staring intently at her. "Apparently she was convulsing."

Hermione's ears were ringing. "But she—"

"Got out, yes. George saw what was happening and vanished with her by Portkey. But I thought you'd find that… interesting."

Her eyes flitted about the room, her mind working in overdrive. Angelina's tattooed arm had been removed. She shouldn't be affected by the estate lines any longer.

"Was she conscious?" She twisted her fingers in the tie of her robe. "Was it just a momentary shock, or was she still convulsing when—"

"I don't know, Granger," he said gently. "And to ask about it would be too suspicious."

She chewed on her lower lip. "Maybe there's some… trace of the tattoo still. Some latent effect of the potion."

"I thought the same. She was able to Portkey inside with no issue. It's only when she tried to leave that she collapsed."

"Yes." Hermione began pacing. "It couldn't have happened when she escaped from Macnair's, or she wouldn't have tried to cross Edinburgh's estate line."

Draco ran a hand through his hair. "Not necessarily. Maybe she just didn't think it would happen at Edinburgh."

"No. They wouldn't have risked it. Which means that the potion is still active and showing novel properties almost a year later." A chill ran down her spine. "There's no precedent for this magic. We have no idea what its long-term consequences are, or if"— she drew a sharp breath—"if Angelina is even still alive. We need an antidote." She paused to look up at him. "The potion needs to be counteracted."

He nodded, following her logic. Pushing off the desk, he scratched a hand over his jaw and stared down at the carpets. "There's one last thing. On my way out of the Manor this morning, I found the body of a house-elf on the other side of the gates. Not one of ours."

"A house-elf?" she frowned. "You didn't recognize him?"

He shook his head. "He was Splinched."

Her brows pulled together. She'd never even heard of a house-elf being Splinched before. "He was trying to Apparate in?"

He paused. "That's what I assume."

She opened her mouth to ask why, and it dawned on her.

Her.

The True Order had sent a house-elf to cut off her arm and escape with her. And for some reason, the wards didn't allow it.

"But Dobby—"

"The wards were fortified to bar non-familial elves after the events of last year." Draco's jaw tightened. "I know Father did something to ours. Nott Sr. helped other pureblood families."