I made it inspired by a CoS cover
It took a while to make and my brain is confused with colors now lol
The faces are a bit bad and a bit saturated, but realism is not my strong point.
^without the filter
Say, is there anyone who can tell me what does Dobby the house-elf have in common with The Great Gazoo, that little green alien who appeared in some of the episodes in the cartoon show of The Flintstones?
77 Votes in Poll
72 Votes in Poll
53 Votes in Poll
Click for full images
this contains spoilers for deathly hallows, you have been warned
Btw venucia potter is me
Rin.or.ruhi is her, and also it's her fandom username as well
Don't mind if it ain't funny our sense of humour is broken lol
~
No.1:
Explaining the Battle of Hogwarts
No.2
Mourning Dobby's death
No.3
However you wanna describe this lil memo...
No.4
Aberforth and Albus
~
Yep that's it for now ig!
dRaCo'S pErSpEcTiVe. I made this a few years ago when I was really into writing :))). I think it's Chapter 7 if I'm counting right.
_______________________________________________
Christmas
Ever since Potter had won the quidditch match, Draco had been in a terribly bad mood. To make him feel better, he taunted Potter often. It gave him the satisfaction of seeing Potter get angry.
In one Potions class he had said, “I do feel so sorry for all those people who have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas because they’re not wanted at home.” His gaze was pointed at Potter. “I think a wide mouthed tree frog will replace Potter as Seeker.”
But no one except Crabbe and Goyle sniggered because they were impressed from the last match. Boiling with anger, Draco made fun of Potter having no family. Yes, it was cruel but he couldn’t let Potter get too proud of himself.
When the class had ended, he went out and into the corridor.
"Would you mind moving out of the way?" Draco’s drawled coldly from behind Potter and Weasley who were talking to Hagrid. "Are you trying to earn some extra money, Weasley? Hoping to be gamekeeper yourself when you leave Hogwarts, I suppose - that hut of Hagrid's must seem like a palace compared to what your family's used to." He laughed.
Weasley had dived at Draco just as Snape came up the stairs.
"WEASLEY!"
He let go of the front of Draco’s robes.
"He was provoked, Professor Snape," said Hagrid, sticking his huge hairy face out from behind the tree. "Malfoy was insultin' his family."
Draco was grinning. He was finally going to get justice, Snape would favorite him and not Potter.
"Be that as it may, fighting is against Hogwarts rules, Hagrid," said Snape silkily. "Five points from Gryffindor, Weasley, and be grateful it isn't more. Move along, all of you."
Draco, Crabbe, and Goyle pushed roughly past them, scattering needles everywhere and smirking.
The next day Draco and his friends left for the Holidays on the Hogwarts Express, leaving Potter at Hogwarts. He would finally get some peace.
In Malfoy Manor, he went to bed that night but not before looking at his presents. To his dismay none of them were broom shaped packages or parcels. So there was no chance of him getting a Nimbus Two Thousand like Potter.
The next morning Draco got up early to find even more presents. He then heard footsteps. It was his father.
Draco silently watched his father come down the stairs of their manor. “Father,” he began, hoping his father would be in a happy mood.
“What?” he said menacingly
Draco flinched and stepped back out of fear. “Nothing, Father,” he mumbled. Who wasn’t happy on Christmas day?
His father arched an eyebrow when Draco’s mother came down the stairs.
“Now, now, Lucius. It’s Christmas,” Draco’s mother said, who had clearly been observing earlier.
Draco tried to put on a smile. “Happy Christmas, Mum.”
She smiled back. “Why don’t we open presents?”
Draco’s father sneered and just sat down in a chair, not even caring to watch. His parents had gotten him Chocolate Frogs, Bertie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans, and more sweets. They gave him fifty galleons for spending and new quidditch balls for practicing as well. They also gave him silver rings with the Malfoy crest on a few and one with a snake on. He slid the snake one on his right hand’s ring finger and smiled.
“Why don’t we have our feast?”
Even during the feast, Draco’s father didn’t talk and had barely eaten, his eyes vacant. He didn’t care at all that it was Christmas. Draco just finished up the last of his roast turkey and asked to be excused.
His mother gave him a short nod and Draco left the room, looking for Dobby the house elf. He wouldn’t call Dobby his friend, considering he was a servant to them, but he was really the only one to talk to.
“Dobby!” he called in a hushed tone.
“Sir?” Dobby answered.
The house-elf was jamming his ears in the oven. Draco opened the oven door quickly and pulled Dobby away.
“What are you doing that for?” he questioned.
“Master reminded Dobby to give himself punishment, ” Dobby asked.
“Well, I guess you have no choice,” mumbled Draco. “I don’t want you to do that, at least not when I’m around.”
Dobby started crying, tugging on Draco’s robes. “Thank you, sir! But Dobby will not stop himself,” the house elf squeaked.
“I wish there was more I could do. Now, stop crying!” Draco demanded, his ears in pain. “Father will hear.”
“Dobby seriously doubts it, sir.” Dobby raised one of his ears.
Draco could hear his mother quietly scolding his father in a hushed whisper.
“It’s Christmas! The boy is still young, do something for him. You know I got him all those presents but all you know how to do is give him galleons,” she muttered.
Draco’s father stayed silent. He walked into the room, hoping to take advantage of the situation.
“Can you get me the new Nimbus Two Thousand? Harry Potter got one because he’s the new Gryffindor Seeker,” Draco growled, contempt bubbling from the insides of his stomach.
His father finally looked up. “Harry Potter?” he questioned. “I thought I told you to get on his good side!”
Draco winced, surprise sparked inside him but quickly died down. “Well… things d-didn’t go as planned. He turned me down.”
His father sighed disappointedly.
“And stupid Potter is friends with Mudbloods and he himself is a Half-blood! Surely you don’t want me to befriend someone who’s friends with the Weasleys?” Draco asked defensively.
His father stood up. “The Weasleys? Like Arthur Weasley? The Blood Traitor?” His voice was a snarl and his eyes that were glaring at Draco were cold.
Draco took a step back. “Y-yes, Father.” He started explaining to his father more and more about school, all of the red haired Weasleys and Mudbloods, and Potter. Stupid Potter.
58 Votes in Poll
Yeah I found him at a book store, and I was like: omg I have to get this guy. And it took a while, tbh. Worth it!
Better image:
Sock:
Book:
Cake:
Yep! The Dobby Lego set built! And I’m getting further into book 5. Only 300 more pages!
I have a little Lego setup from when I did a small short on it. So don’t ask lol
-Flurry
A picture of the whole set:
First half of book:
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003829962
Previous Chapters:
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003833123
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003838588
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003840013
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003841380
Tags:
@SaphireStark @Missy Clara Oswald @CatsAndRoblox @Pervaza972 @Interested.me @Mega.mind.harry.potter
Chapter Twenty-Three: The Wandmaker
It was like sinking into an old nightmare; for an instant Harry knelt again beside Dumbledore’s body at the foot of the tallest tower at Hogwarts, but in reality he was staring at a tiny body curled upon the grass, pierced by Bellatrix’s silver knife. Harry’s voice was still saying, 'Dobby...Dobby…’ even though he knew that the elf had gone where he could not call him back.
After a minute or so he realized that they had, after all, come to the right place, for here were Tulip and a very pregnant Tonks, Luna, Dean, and Theodore, gathering around him as he knelt over the elf.
‘Tracey,’ he said suddenly. ‘Where is she?’
‘Allison has brought her into the house,’ said Tonks. ‘Don’t worry about her, Harry, she’ll be ok.’
Harry looked back down at Dobby. He stretched out a hand and pulled the sharp blade from the elf’s body, then dragged off his own jacket and covered Dobby in it like a blanket.
A light wind was rushing between the trees and over the lake that was somewhere nearby; Harry listened to it while the others talked, discussing matters in which he could take no interest, making decisions, Dean carried the injured Griphook into the house, Tulip hurrying with them; now Tonks and Theodore were talking towards Harry, but he couldn’t hear them. He gazed down at the tiny body, and his scar prickled and burned, and in one part of his mind, viewed as if from the wrong end of a long telescope, he saw Voldemort punishing those they had left behind at the Malfoy Manor. His rage was dreadful and yet Harry’s grief for Dobby seemed to diminish it, so that it became a distant storm that reached Harry from across a vast, silent ocean.
‘I want to do it properly,’ were the first words of which Harry was fully conscious of speaking. ‘Not by magic. Have you got a spade?’ And shortly afterward he had set to work, alone, digging the grave in the place that Tonks had shown him at the centre of the garden, in a small clearing. He dug with a kind of fury, relishing the manual work, glorying in the non-magic of it, for every drop of his sweat and every blister felt like a gift to the elf who had saved their lives.
His scar burned, but he was master of the pain, he felt it, yet was apart from it. He had learned control at last, learned to shut his mind to Voldemort, the very thing Dumbledore had wanted him to learn from Snape. Just as Voldemort had not been able to possess Harry while Harry was consumed with grief for Sirius, so his thoughts could not penetrate Harry now while he mourned Dobby. Grief, it seemed, drove Voldemort out…though Dumbledore, of course, would have said that it was love.
On Harry dug, deeper and deeper into the hard, cold earth, subsuming his grief in sweat, denying the pain in his scar. In the darkness, with nothing but the sound of his own breath and the small waves of the lake to keep him company, the things that had happened at the Malfoys’ returned to him, the things he had heard came back to him, and understanding blossomed in the darkness…
The steady rhythm of his arms beat time with his thoughts. Hallows…Horcruxes…Hallows…Horcruxes…yet no longer burned with that weird, obsessive longing. Loss and fear had snuffed it out. He felt as though he had been slapped awake again.
Deeper and deeper Harry sank into the grave, and he knew where Voldemort had been tonight, and whom he had killed in the topmost cell of Nurmengard, and why…And he thought of Wormtail, dead because of one small unconscious impulse of mercy…Dumbledore had foreseen that…How much more had he known?
Harry lost track of time. He knew only that the darkness had lightened a few degrees when he was rejoined by Theodore and Allison.
‘How’s Tracey?’
‘She’s resting,’ said Allison. ‘Theo gave her some Calming Draught, and Tulip is watching over her.’
Harry had his retort ready for when they asked him why he had not simply created a perfect grave with his wand, but he did not need it. They jumped down into the hole he had made with spades of their own and together they worked in silence until the hole seemed deep enough.
Harry wrapped the elf more snugly in his jacket. Theodore sat on the edge of the grave and stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed on the elf’s bare feet. Allison presented hand knitted mittens and hat that Harry knew were made by her mother, which Harry placed carefully upon Dolby’s hands and head, muffling his batlike ears.
‘We should close his eyes.’
Harry had not heard the others coming through the darkness. Tonks was wearing long maternity robes, Tulip a travelling cloak, from the pocket of which protruded a bottle of what Harry recognized to be Skele-Gro. Tracey was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, pale and unsteady on her feet; Theodore put an arm around her when she reached him. Dean had also come with a blanket around his shoulders. Luna, who was huddled in one of Tulip’s coats, crouched down and placed her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf’s eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare.
‘There,’ she said softly. ‘Now he could be sleeping.’
Harry placed the elf into the grave, arranged his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbed out and gazed for the last time upon the little body. He forced himself not to break down as he remembered Dumbledore’s funeral, and the rows and rows of golden chairs, and the Minister of Magic in the front row, the recitation of Dumbledore’s achievements, the stateliness of the white marble tomb. He felt that Dobby deserved just as grand a funeral, and yet here the elf lay in the middle of a dormant garden in a roughly dug hole. He only somewhat registered that Allison was now by his side with her arms around him.
‘I think we ought to say something,’ piped up Luna. ‘I’ll go first, shall I?’
And as everybody looked at her, she addressed the dead elf at the bottom of the grave.
‘Thank you so much Dobby for rescuing me from that cellar. It’s so unfair that you had to die when you were so good and brave. I’ll always remember what you did for us. I hope you’re happy now.’
She turned and looked expectingly at Theodore, who cleared his throat and said in a thick voice, ‘Yes…thank you Dobby.’
‘Thanks,’ muttered Dean.
Harry swallowed. ‘Good bye Dobby, you were always there for me when in you most.’
It was all he could manage, but Luna had said it all for him. Tonks raised her wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rose up into the air and fell neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.
‘D’ya mind if I stay here a moment?’ he asked the others.
They murmured words he did not catch; Allison gave him a little squeeze and then let go, Harry felt gentle pats upon his back, and then they all traipsed back toward the cottage, leaving Harry alone beside the elf.
He looked around: There were a number of large white stones, smoothed by the lake, marking the edge of the flower beds. He picked up one of the largest and laid it, pillowlike, over the place where Dobby’s head now rested. He then felt in his pocket for a wand. There were two in there. He had forgotten, lost track; he could not now remember whose wands these were; he seemed to remember wrenching them out of someone’s hand. He selected the shorter of the two, which felt friendlier in his hand, and pointed it at the rock.
Slowly, under his murmured instruction, deep cuts appeared upon the rock’s surface. He knew that Theodore or Tracey could have done it more neatly, and probably more quickly, but he wanted to mark the spot as he had wanted to dig the grave. When Harry stood up again, the stone read:
“HERE LIES DOBBY, A FREE ELF.”
He looked at his handiwork for a few more seconds, then walked away, his scar still prickling a little, and his mind full of those things that had come to him in the grave, ideas that had taken shape in the darkness, ideas both fascinating and terrible.
They were all sitting in the living room when he entered the little hall, their attention focused upon Tonks, who was talking. The room was a light coloured blue, pretty, with a small fire of fresh firewood burning brightly in the hearth. Harry did not want to drop mud upon the carpet, so he stood in the doorway, listening.
‘…lucky that Canini was expelled over the summer. If she was at Hogwarts right now they would have taken her hostage before we could save her. Everyone should now be safe,’ she looked around and saw Harry standing there, her face softened. ‘Up until now You-Know-Who and his forces have mostly been leaving your family alone in hopes to catch you returning to them or us making contact with you, but after tonight we’re pretty sure he has become more desperate and more than willing to hurt us to get to you. I got Remus and Canini to move in with my mum and—don’t apologize,’ she added at the sight of Harry’s expression. ‘No matter what it was a matter of time before he targeted our family to get to you. And it’s all ok, everyone is safe.’
‘How are they protected?’ asked Harry.
‘Remus has cast a Fidelius Charm. Mum’s the Secret-Keeper. And back when Allison moved in with us I did the same here; I’m Secret-Keeper for this cottage. None of us should really leave the house, but mum, Remus, and myself haven’t really left our respective homes much these past few months anyway. Once Mr Ollivander and Griphook are recovered, we’ll have them move in with mum as well. There isn’t enough beds here, but she has two extra bedrooms not currently being used plus a pull-out couch. Flower has given Griphook some Skele-Gro for his legs so he’ll probably be ready to move in—‘
‘No,’ Harry said and Tonks looked startled. ‘I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It’s important.’
He heard the authority of his own voice, the conviction, the voice of purpose that had come to him as he dug Dobby’s grave. All of their faces were turned toward him looking puzzled.
‘I’m going to wash,’ Harry told Tonks looking down at his hands still covered with mud and Dobby’s blood. ‘Then I’ll need to see them, straight away.’
He walked into the little kitchen, to the basin beneath a window overlooking the sea. Dawn was breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold, as he washed, again following the train of thought that had come to him in the dark garden…
Dobby would never be able to tell them who had sent him to the cellar, but Harry knew what he had seen. A piercing blue eye had looked out of the mirror fragment, and then help had come. Help will always be given at Hogwarts to those who ask for it. Harry dried his hands, impervious to the beauty of the scene outside the window and to the murmuring of the others in the sitting room. He looked out over the ocean and felt closer, this dawn, than ever before, closer to the heart of it all.
And still his scar prickled, and he knew that Voldemort was getting there too. Harry understood and yet did not understand. His instinct was telling him one thing, his brain quite another. The Dumbledore in Harry’s head smiled, surveying Harry over the tips of his fingers, pressed together as if in prayer.
You gave Allison the Deluminator…You understood her…You gave her a way back...And you understood Wormtail too…You knew there was a bit of regret there, somewhere...And if you knew them…What did you know about me, Dumbledore?
Am I meant to know but not to seek? Did you know how hard I’d feel that? Is that why you made it this difficult? So I’d have time to work that out?
Harry stood quite still, eyes glazed, watching the place where a bright gold ray of dazzling sun was rising over the horizon. Then he looked down at his clean hands and was momentarily surprised to see the cloth he was holding in them. He set it down and returned to the hall, and as he did so, he felt his scar pulse angrily, and then flashed across his mind, swift as the reflection of a dragonfly over water, the outline of a building he knew extremely well.
Tonks and Tulip were standing at the foot of the stairs.
‘I need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander,’ Harry said.
‘I don’t know, Harry,’ said Tulip. ‘You should wait. The goblin is in a lot of pain, and Mr Ollivander is incredibly weak—‘
‘I’m sorry,’ he said without heat, ‘but it can’t wait. I need to talk to them now. Privately—and separately. It’s urgent.’
‘Harry, I trust you and will do anything to help you, but could I please get an explanation on what has happened tonight and to you?’ asked Tonks, a deeply worried look on her face. You arrive randomly after eight months with your friends, a dead house-elf, your friend who fought with you in the Department of Mysteries, the boy and goblin who were with my father when he died, Tracey appears to have been tortured, and Allison and Theodore refuse to speak about anything without you—‘
‘We can’t tell you what we’re doing,’ said Harry flatly. ‘You’re in the Order, Tonks, you know Dumbledore left us a mission. We’re not supposed to talk about it to anyone else. I’ll tell you what I can when this is all done, but for this moment I have to focus on the mission.’
Tulip made an uneasy noise, but Tonks did not look at her; she was staring at Harry. Her round and exhausted face was hard to read. Finally, Tonks said, ‘Very well. Which one do you need to talk to first?’
Harry hesitated. He knew what hung on his decision. There was hardly any time left; now was the moment to decide: Horcruxes or Hallows?
‘Griphook,’ Harry said. ‘I’ll speak to Griphook first.’
His heart was racing as if he had been sprinting and had just cleared an enormous obstacle.
‘First door up here on the left,’ said Tonks, waddling as she lead the way.
Harry had walked up several steps before stopping and looking back.
‘I need you three as well!’ he called to Tracey, Allison, and Theodore, who had been skulking, half concealed, in the doorway of the sitting room.
They moved into the light, looking oddly relieved.
‘How are you?’ Harry asked Tracey. ‘You were amazing—coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that—‘ Tracey gave a weak smile as Allison gave her a one-armed squeeze.
‘What is your plan, Harry?’ Allison asked.
‘You’ll see. Come on.’
The four of them followed Tonks up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Four doors led off it.
‘Use this room,’ said Tonks, opening the door to her and Tulip’s room, it too had a view of the lake, now flecked with gold in the sunrise, in the corner a crib was set up. Harry moved to the window, turned his back on the spectacular view, and waited, his arms folded, his scar prickling. Tracey took the chair beside the dressing table; Theodore and Tracey stood on either side.
Tonks reappeared, carrying the little goblin, whom she set down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunted thanks, and Tonks left, closing the door upon them all.
‘I’m sorry to take you out of bed,’ said Harry. ‘How are your legs?’
‘Painful,’ replied the goblin. ‘But mending.’
He was still holding Slytherin’s Locket, when he noticed Harry staring at it he tossed it to Tracey who just barely caught it.
‘I believe this is yours.’
‘Er, thanks,’ she muttered, and once again her small emerald locket was joined by the ancient broken one.
It was now, in proper lighting, that Harry finally got to have a good look at the goblin. He wore a strange look: half truculent, half intrigued. Harry noted the goblin’s sallow skin, his long thin fingers, his black eyes. Tulip had removed his shoes: His long feet were dirty. He was larger than a house-elf, but not by much. His domed head was much bigger than a human’s.
‘You probably don’t remember—‘ Harry began.
‘—that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?’ said Griphook. ‘I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous.’
Harry and the goblin looked at each other, sizing each other up. Harry’s scar was still prickling. He wanted to get through this interview with Griphook quickly, and at the same time was afraid of making a false move. While he tried to decide on the best way to approach his request, the goblin broke the silence.
‘You buried the elf,’ he said, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. ‘I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door.’
‘Yes,’ said Harry.
Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes.
‘You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter.’
‘In what way?’ asked Harry, rubbing his scar absently.
‘You dug the grave.’
‘So?’
Griphook did not answer. Harry rather thought he was being sneered at for acting like a Muggle, but it did not matter to him whether Griphook approved of Dobby’s grave or not. He gathered himself for the attack.
‘Griphook, I need to ask—‘
‘You also rescued a goblin.’
‘What?’
‘You brought me here. Saved me.’
‘Well, I take it you’re not sorry?’ said Harry a little impatiently.
‘No, Harry Potter,’ said Griphook, and with one finger he twisted the thin black beard upon his chin, ‘but you are a very odd wizard.’
‘Right,’ said Harry. ‘Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me.’
The goblin made no sign of encouragement, but continued to frown at Harry as though he had never seen anything like him.
‘I need to break into a Gringotts vault.’
Harry had not meant to say it so badly: the words were forced from him as pain shot through his lightning scar and he saw, again, the outline of Hogwarts. He closed his mind firmly. He needed to deal with Griphook first. His friends were staring at Harry as though he had gone mad.
‘Harry—‘ said Allison, but she was cut off by Griphook.
‘Break into a Gringotts vault?’ repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed. ‘It is impossible.’
‘Actually it isn’t,’ Theodore contradicted him. ‘It has been done once before.’
‘Yeah,’ said Harry. ‘The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago.’
‘The vault in question was empty at the time,’ snapped the goblin, and Harry understood that even though Griphook had let Gringotts, he was offended at the idea of its defenses being breached. ‘Its protection was minimal.’
‘Well, the vault we need to get into isn’t empty, and I’m guessing its protection will be pretty powerful,’ said Harry. ‘It belongs to the Lestranges.’
He saw his three friends look at each other, astonished, but there would be time enough to explain after Griphook had given his answer.
‘You have no chance,’ said Griphook flatly. ‘No chance at all. “If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours—“‘
‘“Thief, you have been warned, beware”—yeah, I know, I remember,’ said Harry. ‘But I’m not trying to get myself any treasure, I’m not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?’
The goblin looked slantwise at Harry, and the lightning scar on Harry’s forehead prickled, but he ignored it, refusing to acknowledge its pain or its invitation.
‘If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain,’ said Griphook finally, ‘it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers.’
‘Wand-carriers,’ repeated Harry: The phrase fell oddly upon his ears as his scar prickled, as Voldemort turned his thoughts northward, and as Harry burned to question Ollivander next door.
‘The right to carry a wand,’ said the goblin quietly, ‘has long been contested between wizards and goblins.’
‘But can’t Goblins perform magic without a wand?’ asked Allison.
‘That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!’
‘That is true, but goblins don’t share any of their magical secrets either,’ said Theodore. ‘Such as how you imbue your metal with magic that allows it to only become stronger. Magic wizard inventors have never been able to—‘
‘It doesn’t matter,’ said Harry, noting Griphook’s rising colour. ‘This isn’t about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature—‘
Griphook gave a nasty laugh.
‘But it is, it is precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?’
‘I do,’ said Tracey. With great effort she sat up as straight as she could. ‘My friends and I have always protested against mistreatment of others, human or not. And to those currently in charge I don’t stand much higher than you Griphook, a proud daughter of a muggle! They say my blood is filth!’
‘But that’s not true—‘ said Allison.
‘But it is,’ said Tracey. ‘I am equally proud of my muggle brother and dad as I am my magical mum. Bellatrix chose me to torture, back in the manor!’ As she spoke, she pulled up the sleeve of the dressing gown to reveal the cuts Bellatrix had made, spelling crude scarlet letters:
“FILTH”
‘Tracey…’ Theodore tried to begin in shock, but Tracey continued.
‘The elf that died, his name was Dobby, and it was Harry who freed him five years ago,’ she stated. ‘And my boyfriend and I have been members of a free house-elf organization at Hogwarts for a couple years now. The four of us want You-Know-Who and his bigotry to end as much as you do, Griphook.’
The goblin gazed at Tracey with the same curiosity he had shown Harry.
‘What do you seek within the Lestranges’ vault?’ he asked abruptly. ‘I doubt four Slytherins seek the Sword of Gryffindor. Even if that were your intentions, I should warn you the sword inside is a fake.’
‘It’s true, we don’t seek the sword, but the fake sword isn’t the only thing in that vault, is it?’ asked Harry. ‘Perhaps you’ve seen other things in there?’
His heart was pounding harder than ever. He redoubled his efforts to ignore the pulsing of his scar.
The goblin twisted his beard around his finger again.
‘It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers.’
The goblin’s black eyes roved from Harry to Tracey, to Allison, to Theodore and then back again.
‘So young,’ he said finally, ‘to be fighting so many.’
‘Will you help us?’ said Harry. ‘We haven’t got a hope of breaking in without a goblin’s help. You’re our one chance.’
‘I shall…think about it. If I do agree however, I will require compensation, and I won’t accept wizarding currency,’ said Griphook maddeningly.
‘But—‘ Allison started angrily; Tracey nudged her in the ribs.
‘Thank you,’ said Harry.
The goblin bowed his great domed head in acknowledgement, then flexed his short legs.
‘I think,’ he said, settling himself ostentatiously upon Tonks and Tulip’s bed, ‘that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me…’
‘Yeah, of course,’ said Harry, but as they were leaving the room Harry couldn’t help but feel the goblin’s eyes lingering on him as he closed the door.
‘He already has an answer,’ whispered Allison. ‘He just wants us to wait to become more desperate. And what does he mean by "compensation other than wizarding currancy"?'
'I think we'll have to find that out,' said Tracey quietly.
‘Harry,’ whispered Theodore, pulling them all away from the door, into the middle of the still-dark landing, ‘do you want to get into the Lestrange vault for the reason I think you do? Do you believe she has a Horcrux?’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Bellatrix recognized the locket as having belonged to You-Know-Who, that he’d kill everyone in Malfoy Manor if it was discovered to be destroyed. She specifically said that it was one of the objects he had hid, implying she knew of at least one other. When she was the most desperate she let slip that she thought it came from a vault, she might have thought that because that was what she herself did. Before seven years ago it was unthinkable that anything could be stolen from Gringotts, so if she was asked to hide something that was probably the best place she could think of.’
‘I thought Dumbledore said we should look for places You-Know-Who has been, places that are important to him?’ asked Tracey. ‘Why would her vault be important?’
‘I don’t know whether he was ever inside Gringotts,’ said Harry. ‘He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley.’
Harry’s scar throbbed, but he ignored it; he wanted his friends to understand about Gringotts before they spoke to Ollivander.
‘I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he’d have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world. And don’t forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it the night he came back, I heard him.’
Harry rubbed his scar.
‘I don’t think he’d have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide…except for Hogwarts.’
When Harry had finished speaking, Allison shook her head.
‘You sound as though you know him…’
‘Bits of him,’ said Harry. ‘Bits…I just wish I’d understood Dumbledore as much. But we’ll see. Come on—Ollivander now.’
Tracey, Allison, and Theodore looked bewildered but very impressed as they followed him across the little landing and knocked upon the door opposite of Tonks and Tulip’s. A weak ‘Come in!’ answered them.
The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He had been held in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured, Harry knew, on at least one occasion. He was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to a skeleton. Harry sat down on the empty bed, beside his three friends. The rising sun was not visible here. The room faced the lake-side garden and the freshly dug grave.
‘Mr Ollivander, I’m sorry to disturb you,’ Harry said.
‘My dear boy,’ Ollivander’s voice was feeble, you rescued us, I thought we would die in that place, I can never thank you…never thank you…enough.’
‘We were glad to do it.’
Harry’s scar throbbed. He knew, he was certain, that there was hardly any time left in which to beat Voldemort to his goal, or else to attempt to thwart him. He felt a flutter of panic…yet he had made his decision when he chose to speak to Griphook first. Feigning a calm he did not feel, he groped in the pouch around his neck and took out the two halves of his broken wand.
‘Mr Ollivander, I need some help.’
‘Anything. Anything,’ said the wandmaker weakly.
‘Can you mend this? Is it possible?’
Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves in his palm.
‘Holly and phoenix feather,’ said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. ‘Eleven inches. Nice and supple.’
‘Yes,’ said Harry. ‘Can you—?’
‘No,’ whispered Ollivander. ‘I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of.’
Harry had been braced to hear it, but it was a blow nevertheless. He took the wand halves back and replaced them in the pouch around his neck. Ollivander stared at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and did not look away until Harry had taken from his pocket the two wands he had brought from the Malfoys’.
‘Can you identify these?’ Harry asked.
The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.
‘Walnut and dragon heartstring,’ he said. ‘Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange.’
‘And this one?’
Ollivander performed the same examination.
‘Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy.’
‘Was?’ repeated Harry. ‘Isn’t it still his?’
‘Perhaps not. If you took it from him—‘
‘—I did—‘
‘—then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change.’
There was a silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.
‘You talk about wands like they’ve got feelings,’ said Harry, ‘like they can think for themselves.’
‘The wand chooses the wizard,’ said Ollivander. ‘That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore.’
‘A person can still use a wand that hasn’t chosen them, though?’ asked Harry.
‘Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand.’
The sea gushed forward and backward; it was a mournful sound.
‘I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force,’ said Harry. ‘Can I use it safely?’
‘I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master. I believe that is the case with this one.’
‘Would that mean I should use this one?’ asked Theodore, pulling Wormtail’s wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.
‘Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this shortly after my kidnapping, for Peter Pettigrew. Yes, if you won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand.’
‘And this holds true for all wands, does it?’ asked Harry.
‘For the most part. Some wand woods are more loyal to their original owners, Ms Lestrange’s would prefer its old master, but its spells should at the very least not rebound,’ replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry’s face. ‘You ask deep questions, Mr Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic.’
‘So to clarify, it isn’t necessary to kill the previous owner to take the possession of a wand?’ asked Harry.
Ollivander swallowed.
‘Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill.’
‘There are legends, though,’ said Harry, and as his heart rate quickened, the pain in his scar became more intense; he was sure that Voldemort has decided to put his idea into action. ‘Legends about a wand—or wands—that have been passed from hand to hand by murder.’
Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow he was light gray, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear.
‘Only one wand, I think,’ he whispered.
‘And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn’t he?’ asked Harry.
‘I—how?’ croaked Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Tracey, Allison, and Theodore for help. ‘How do you know this?’
‘He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands,’ said Harry.
Ollivander looked terrified.
‘He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I–I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!’
‘I understand, I am not mad at you for the information you gave him,’ said Harry. ‘You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard’s wand?’
Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Harry knew. He nodded slowly.
‘But it didn’t work,’ Harry went on. ‘Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?’
Ollivander shook his head slowly as he had just nodded.
‘I had…never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand would have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know…’
‘We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn’t he?’
‘How do you know this?’
Harry did not answer.
‘Yes, he asked,’ whispered Ollivander. ‘He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand.’
Harry glanced sideways at Theodore. He looked flabbergasted.
‘The Dark Lord,’ said Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, ‘had always been happy with the wand I made him—yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches—until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only way to conquer yours.’
‘But he’ll know soon, if he doesn’t already, that mine’s broken beyond repair,’ said Harry quietly.
‘How—?’ began Allison.
‘Priori Incantatem,’ said Harry. ‘We left your lot’s three wands including Tracey and the sycamore wand at the Malfoys’, Allison. If they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they’ve cast lately, they’d see that Tracey’s broke mine, they’ll see that she tried and failed to mend it, and they’ll realize that I’ve been using the sycamore one ever since.’
It wasn’t Harry’s intention, but his last couple statements seemed to have made Tracey quite uncomfortable as all the colour drained from her face. Allison gave Harry a hesitant look, and she said, ‘That’ll be a problem for later, tonight we—‘
But Mr Ollivander intervened.
‘The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable.’
‘And will it?’
‘The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack,’ said Ollivander, ‘but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit…formidable.’
Harry was suddenly reminded of how unsure, when they first met, of how much he like Ollivander. A memory of him yelling at Sirius for customizing his wand stuck at the surface of his mind for a second. Even now, having been tortured and imprisoned by Voldemort, the idea of the Dark Wizard in possession of this wand seemed to enthrall him as much as it repulsed him.
‘So—you truly believe the Elder Wand exists, Mr Ollivander?’ asked Theodore.
‘Oh yes,’ said Ollivander. ‘Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand’s course through history. There are gaps, of, course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity.’
‘Then it isn’t just a story myth?’ Theodore tried to confirm.
‘No,’ said Ollivander. ‘Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands.’
‘Mr Ollivander,’ said Harry, ‘you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn’t you?’
Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.
‘But how—how do you—?’
‘Never mind how I know it,’ said Harry, closing his eyes momentarily as his scar burned and he saw, for mere seconds, a vision of the main street in Hogsmeade, still dark, because it was so much farther north. ‘You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?’
‘It was a rumour,’ whispered Ollivander. ‘A rumour, years and years ago, long before you were born, I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business; that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!’
‘Yes, I can see that,’ said Harry. He stood up. ‘Mr Ollivander, one last thing, and then we’ll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?’
‘The—the what?’ asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.
‘The Deathly Hallows.’
‘I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?’
Harry looked into the sunken face and believed that Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows.
‘Thank you,’ said Harry. ‘Thank you very much.’
Before he could leave the man to rest, Allison had her own question.
‘Mr Ollivander, I lost my wand in the manor as well. My family is French, and my mother told me about her making my wand, but she never got to show me how. When you are more recovered could you tell me what to do?’
‘The makings of Ollivander wands are a family secret, but if you are determined to make your own wand I can give you some tips to start you on the right path,’ Mr Ollivander said with a tiny smile.
‘Thank you,’ said Allison with a nod.
‘We’ll leave you to get some rest now,’ said Harry, his voice took his small smile away.
Ollivander looked stricken.
‘He was torturing me!’ he gasped. ‘The Cruciatus Curse...you have no idea...’
‘I do,’ said Harry, ‘I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling us all of this, I know it couldn’t have been easy.’
Harry led the other three down the staircase. Harry caught glimpses of Tonks, Tulip, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at Harry as he appeared in the doorway, but he merely nodded to them and continued into the garden, his three friends behind him. The reddish mound of earth that covered Dobby lay ahead, and Harry walked back to it, as the pain in his head built more and more powerfully. It was a huge effort now to close down the visions that were forcing themselves upon him, but he knew that he would have to resist only a little longer. He would yield very soon, because he needed to know that his theory was right. He must make only one more short effort, so that he could explain to his friends.
‘Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago,’ he said, ‘I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn’t have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don’t know—but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumour, it can’t have been that difficult.’
Voldemort was at the gates of Hogwarts; Harry could see him standing there, and see too the lamp bobbing in the pre-dawn, coming closer and closer.
‘And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand.’
‘Dumbledore’s wand was THE Elder Wand?’ said Tracey. ‘What, but—who owns it now? Where is it?’
‘At Hogwarts, Dumbledore was buried with it,’ said Harry, fighting to remain with them in the lake-side garden.
‘Then we have to go, we have to protect it!’ said Theodore urgently. ‘Harry, we can’t let it fall into his hands!’
‘It’s too late for that,’ said Harry. He could not help himself, but clutched his head, trying to help it resist. ‘He knows where it is. He’s there now.’
‘Harry!’ Allison said anxiously. ‘When did you learn this? While you were burying Dobby, Theo and I could have—‘
‘No,’ said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass. ‘You guys were right. Dumbledore didn’t want me to have it. He didn’t want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes.’
‘But with it he’ll be unbeatable!’ moaned Theodore in defeat.
‘I’m not supposed to…I’m supposed to get the Horcruxes…’
And now everything was cool and dark: The sun was barely visible over the horizon as he glided alongside Snape, up through the grounds toward the lake.
‘I shall join you in the castle shortly,’ he said in his high, cold voice. ‘Leave me now.’
Snape bowed and set off back up the path, his black cloak billowing behind him. Harry walked slowly, waiting for Snape’s figure to disappear. It would not do for Snape, or indeed anyone else, to see where he was going. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and he could conceal himself…and in a second he had cast upon himself a Disillusionment Charm that hid him even from his own eyes.
And he walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright…
And here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters. The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape. He felt again that rush of controlled euphoria, that heady sense of purpose in destruction. He raised the old yew wand: How fitting that this would be its last great act.
The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long as thin as it had been in life. He raised the wand again. The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved. They had left his spectacles on the crooked nose: He felt amused derision. Dumbledore’s hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him.
Had the old fool imagined that marble or death would protect the wand? Had he thought that the Dark Lord would be scared to violate his tomb? The spiderlike hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore’s grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.
First half of book:
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003829962
Previous Chapters:
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003833123
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003838588
https://harrypotter.fandom.com/f/p/4400000000003840013
Tags:
@SaphireStark @Missy Clara Oswald @CatsAndRoblox @Pervaza972 @Interested.me @Mega.mind.harry.potter
Chapter Twenty-Two: Malfoy Manor
Harry looked around at the other three, now mere outlines in the darkness. He saw Allison point her wand, not toward the outside, but towards his own face, ‘Furnunculus Maxima.’
There was a burst of golden light and he buckled in agony, unable to see, all he could feel was pain and someone forcibly pushing his glasses off his face. He could feel his face swelling rapidly.
‘Get up, vermin.’
Unknown hands dragged Harry roughly off the ground, before he could stop them, someone had rummaged through his pockets and removed the sycamore wand. Harry clutched at his excruciatingly painful face, which now had about a hundred giant boils the size of kumquats and felt unrecognizable beneath his fingers. He was forced to squint, both from the lack of glasses, and because boils were pressing upon both his upper and lower eyelids. As he was bundled out of the tent: all he could make out were the blurred shapes of four or five people wrestling Theodore, Allison, and Tracey outside too.
‘Hey! Let her go!’ Harry shouted as he watched three big Snatchers struggle to forcibly keep Allison still.
If his pain wasn’t already enough, Harry then received a punch to the gut, knocking the wind out of him and almost making him collapse.
‘Beau! No, stop, please don’t hurt him!’ screamed Allison as she ceased to struggle.
Quickly glancing over, Harry spotted Theodore and Tracey being held tightly by two other Snatchers.
‘Your boyfriend’s going to have worse than that done to him if he’s on my list,’ said the horribly familiar, rasping voice. ‘Deliciousgirl...whatatreat...Idoenjoythesoftnessoftheskin...’
Harry’s stomach continued to turn over. He knew who this was, Fenrir Greyback, the werewolf who traumatized Remus and Canini for life and had developed cannibalistic cravings even when not in werewolf form.
‘Search the tent!’ said another voice, and with Allison no longer struggling one of her captures ran into the tent.
Harry was thrown face down onto the ground. A couple thuds told him that Theodore a Tracey had been cast down beside him. They could hear footsteps and crashes; the man was pushing over chairs inside the tent as he searched.
‘Now, let’s see who we’ve got,’ said Greyback’s gloating voice from overhead, and Harry was rolled over onto his back. A beam of wand light fell onto his face and Greyback laughed.
‘I’ll be needing butterbeer to wash this one down. What happened to you, ugly?’
Harry did not answer immediately.
‘I said,’ repeated Greyback, and Harry received a blow to the diaphragm that made him double over in pain, ‘what happened to you?’
‘Sensitive skin,’ Harry muttered. ‘There isn’t exactly Bubotuber pus or Ten-Second Pimple Vanisher out here.’
‘You look like a Mimbulus mimbletonia,’ said a second voice.
‘What’s your name?’ snarled Greyback.
‘Dudley,’ said Harry.
‘And your first name?’
‘I—Vernon. Vernon Dudley.’
‘Check the list, Scabior,’ said Greyback, and Harry head him move sideways to look down at Tracey, instead. ‘And what about you, curly?’
‘Bridget Maloney,’ said Tracey.
‘And you?’ Greyback said to Theodore.
‘Luke Avery,’ said Theodore.
‘Like ’ell you are,’ said the man called Scabior. ‘Avery is more than double yer age, an’ has no need running from Death Eaters seein’ that ‘e’s one.’
There was another thud.
‘I’b Maxwell,’ said Theodore, and Harry could tell that his mouth was full of blood. ‘Maxwell Lazenby.’
‘The surname is familiar,’ rasped Greyback. ‘So you better hope it’s a good familiar and not a bad familiar. And lastly, your pretty feisty friend…’ The relish in his voice made Harry’s flesh crawl.
‘Easy, Greyback,’ said Scabior over the jeering of the others.
‘Oh, I’m not going to bite just yet. We’ll see if she’s a bit quicker at remembering her name than Max. Who are you, girly?’
‘Zoe Accrington,’ said Allison. She sounded terrified, but convincing.
‘What’s your blood status?’
‘Half-Blood,’ said Allison.
‘Easy enough to check,’ said Scabior. ‘But the ’ole lot of ’em look like they could still be ’ogwarts age—‘
‘It’z Holeda,’ Theodore tried to say.
‘Out for Easter Holiday, is that what you’re trying to say, sonny?’ said Scabior. ‘Well if you actually had been to Hogwarts recently then you’d know this year’s Easter break was cancelled and almost no students were permitted to go home. Besides, an innocent little Easter camping trip wouldn’t explain one of you using the Dark Lords name?’
‘It was a simple accident,’ said Tracey, even with Harry’s poor vision he could tell she was shaking.
‘Accident?’ There was more jeering laughter.
‘You know who used to like using the Dark Lord’s name?’ growled Greyback, ‘The Order of the Phoenix. Mean anything to you?’
‘Doh,’ replied Theodore.
‘Well, they don’t show the Dark Lord proper respect, so the name’s been Tabooed. A few Order members have been tracked that way. We’ll see. Bind them up with the other two prisoners!’
Someone yanked Harry up by the hair, dragged him a short way, pushed him down into a sitting position, then started binding him back-to-back with other people.
Harry was still almost entirely blind, barely able to see anything through his puffed-up eyes. When at last the man tying them had walked away, Harry whispered to the other prisoners.
‘Anyone still got a wand?’
‘No,’ said his three friends from either side of him.
‘This is all my fault. I said the name. I’m sorry—‘
‘Harry?’
It was a new, but familiar voice, but one he couldn’t quite place. And it came from directly behind Harry, from the person tied to Allison’s left.
‘You’re Dean Thomas, Gryffindor, and D.A. member?’ whispered Theodore.
‘Yeah, that’s me,’ Dean whispered back. ‘Never thought I’d be happy to see a bunch of Slytherin’s. The guy with the boils, is that real him.’
‘You’ll understand that we can’t confirm or deny that. You could be a Death Eater trying to trick us,’ said Allison, dead serious. ‘We competed in Quidditch together and trained together in the D.A., I trust you Dean, but not that much.’
‘That’s fair,’ Dean admitted with a sigh. ‘Still, it’s good to see you four.’
‘Not a bad little haul for one night,’ Greyback was saying, as a pair of hobnailed boots marched close by Harry and they heard more crashes from inside the tent. ‘A Mudblood, a runaway goblin, and these truants. You checked their names on the list yet, Scabior?’ he roared.
‘Yeah. There’s no Vernon Dudley un ’ere, Greyback.’
‘Interesting,’ said Greyback. ‘That’s interesting.’
He crouched down beside Harry, who saw, through the infinitesimal gap left between his swollen eyelids, a face covered in matted gray hair and whiskers, with pointed brown teeth and sores in the corners of his mouth. Greyback smelled as he had done at the top of the tower where Dumbledore had died: of dirt, sweat, and blood.
‘So you aren’t wanted, then, Vernon? Or are you on that list under a different name? What house were you in at Hogwarts?’
‘Slytherin,’ said Harry automatically. It was both the truth, and the option that would give them the highest chance of surviving the night.
‘Funny ’ow they all thinks we wants to ’ear that,’ leered Scabior out of the shadows. ‘But none of ’em can tell us where the common room is.’
‘It’s in the dungeons,’ said Harry clearly. ‘You enter through the enchanted wall. It’s under the lake, lamps that emit green light, large tapestries, and all the furniture is carved from stone.’
There was a short pause.
‘Well, well, looks like we really ’ave caught a little Slytherin,’ said Scabior. ‘Good for you, Vernon, ’cause there ain’t a lot of Mudblood Slytherins. Then again there still are a handful of Slytherin’s on our list. Who’s your father?’
‘He works at the Ministry,’ Harry lied. He knew that his whole story would collapse with the smallest investigation, but on the other hand, he only had until his face regained its usual appearance before the game was up in any case. ‘Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes.’
‘You know what, Greyback,’ said Scabior. ‘I think there is a Dudley in there.’
Harry could barely breathe: Could luck, sheer luck, get them safely out of this?
‘Well, well,’ said Greyback, and Harry could hear the tiniest note of trepidation in that callous voice, and knew that Greyback was wondering whether he had just indeed just attacked and bound the son of a Ministry Official. Harry’s heart was pounding against the ropes around his ribs; he would not have been surprised to know that Greyback could see it. ‘If you’re telling the truth, ugly, you’ve got nothing to fear from a trip to the Ministry. I expect your father’ll reward us just for picking you up.’
‘But,’ said Harry, his mouth bone dry, ‘if you just let us—‘
‘Hey! Look at this. Greyback!’ a dark figure came bustling toward them from the tent. ‘Look at this, in the Prophet!’
As the Snatcher said it, Harry’s scar, which was stretched tight across his distended forehead, burned savagely. More clearly than he could make out anything around him, he saw a towering building, a grim fortress, jet-black and forbidding: Voldemort’s thoughts had suddenly become Razor-Sharp again; he was gliding toward the gigantic building with a sense of calmly euphoric purpose…So close...So close...
With a huge effort of will Harry closed his mind to Voldemort’s thoughts, pulling himself back to where he sat, tied to Allison, Theodore, Tracey, Dean, and Griphook in the darkness, listening to Greyback and Scabior. ‘“Allison Runcorn”,’ said Scabior as he read the paper he was handed, ‘“the traitorous daughter of Chief Investigator of Magic Thieving Muggles Albert Runcorn, is known to be traveling with er suspected boyfriend Harry Potter.”’
Harry’s scar burned in the silence, but he made a supreme effort to keep himself present, not to slip into Voldemort’s mind. He heard the creak of Greyback’s boots as he crouched down, in front of Allison.
‘You know what, little girly? This picture looks a hell of a lot like you.’
‘I’m Zoe Accrington, I’m not her!’
Allison was a good actress, but despite her hair being longer her face was still the same as it was in the photo. Greyback ignored her protests.
‘…known to be traveling with her suspected boyfriend Harry Potter,’ repeated Greyback quietly. ‘Didn’t you call the ugly one “beau” earlier?’
A stillness had settled over the scene. Harry’s scar was exquisitely painful, but he struggled with all his strength against the pull of Voldemort’s thoughts. It had never been so important to remain in his own right mind.
‘Well, this changed things, doesn’t it?’ whispered Greyback. Nobody spoke: Harry sensed the gang of Snatchers watching, frozen, and felt Allison’s arm trembling against his.
Greyback got up and took a couple of steps to where Harry sat, crouching down again to stare closely at his misshapen features.
‘What’s that on your forehead, Vernon?’ he asked softly, his breath foul in Harry’s nostrils as he pressed a filthy finger to the taught scar.
‘Don’t touch me!’ Harry yelled; he could not stop himself, he thought he might be sick from the pain of Greyback touching his scar.
‘I thought you wore glasses, Potter?’ breathed Greyback.
‘I found glasses!’ yelped one of the Snatchers skulking in the background. ‘There was glasses in the tent, Greyback, wait—‘
And seconds later Harry’s glasses had been rammed back onto his face. The Snatchers were closing in now, peering at him.
‘It is!’ rasped Greyback. ‘We’ve caught Potter!’
They all took several steps backward, stunned by what they had done. Harry, still fighting to remain present in his own splitting head, could think of nothing to say. Fragmented visions were breaking across the surface of his mind—
—He was gliding around the high walls of the black fortress—
—No, he was Harry, tied up and wandless, in grave danger—
—looking up, up to the topmost window, the highest tower—
—He was Harry, and they were discussing his fate in low voices—
—Time to fly...
‘…To the Ministry?’
‘To hell with the Ministry,’ growled Greyback. ‘They’ll take the credit, and we won’t get a look in. I say we take him straight to You-Know-Who.’
‘Will you summon ’im? ’ere?’ said Scabior, sounding awed, terrified.
‘No,’ snarled Greyback, ‘I haven’t got—they say he’s using the Malfoy’s place as a base. We’ll take the boy there.’
Harry thought he knew why Greyback was not calling Voldemort. The werewolf might be allowed to wear Death Eater robes when they wanted to use him, but only Voldemort’s inner circle were branded with the Dark Mark: Greyback, in their minds a Half-breed, had not been granted this highest honour.
Harry’s scar seared again—
—and he rose into the night, flying straight up to the windows at the very top of the tower—
‘…completely sure it’s him? ’Cause if it ain’t, Greyback, we’re dead.’
‘Who’s in charge here?’ roared Greyback, covering his moment of inadequacy. ‘I say that’s Potter, and him plus his wand, that’s two hundred thousand Galleons right there! But if you’re too gutless to come along, any of you, it’s all for me, and with any luck, I’ll get the girl thrown in!’
—The window was the merest slit in the black rock, not big enough for a man to enter...A skeletal figure was just visible through it, curled beneath a blanket…Dead, or sleeping..?
‘All right!’ said Scabior. ‘All right, we’re in! And what about the rest of ’em, Greyback, what’ll we do with ’em?’
‘Might as well take the lot. We’ve got at least one Mudblood, that’s another five Galleons. I’m also sure Runcorn would be willing to pay yet another small fortune for the return of his daughter…after I’m done with her.’
The prisoners were dragged to their feet. Harry could hear Tracey’s breathing, fast and terrified.
‘Grab hold and make it tight. I’ll do Potter!’ said Greyback, seizing a fistful of Harry’s hair; Harry could feel his long yellow nails scratching his scalp. ‘On three! One—two—three—‘
They Disapparated, pulling the prisoners with them. Harry struggled, trying to throw off Greyback’s hand, but it was hopeless: Tracey, Allison, and Theodore were squeezed tightly against him on either side; he could not separate from the group, and as the breath was squeezed out of him his scar seared more painfully still—
—as he forced himself through the slit of a window like a snake and landed, lightly as vapor inside the cell-like room—
The prisoners lurched into one another as they landed in a country lane. Harry’s eyes, still puffy, took a moment to acclimatize, then he saw a pair of wrought-iron gates at the foot of what looked like a long drive. He experienced the tiniest trickle of relief. The worst had not happened yet: Voldemort was not here. He was, Harry knew, for he was fighting to resist the vision, in some strange, fortress-like place, at the top of a tower. How long it would take Voldemort to get to this place, once he knew that Harry was here, was another matter…
One of the Snatchers strode to the gates and shook them.
‘How do we get in? They’re locked, Greyback, I can’t—blimey!’
He whipped his hands away in fright. The iron was contorting, twisting itself out of the abstract furls and coils into a frightening face, which spoke in a clanging, echoing voice. ‘State your purpose!’
‘We’ve got Potter!’ Greyback roared triumphantly. ‘We’ve captured Harry Potter!’
The gates swung open.
‘Come on!’ said Greyback to his men, and the prisoners were shunted through the gates and up the drive, between high hedges that muffled their footsteps. Harry saw a ghostly white shape above him, and realized it was an albino peacock. He stumbled and was dragged onto his feet by Greyback; now he was staggering along sideways, tied back-to-back to the four other prisoner. Closing his swollen eyes, he allowed the pain in his scar to overcome him for a moment, wanting to know what Voldemort was doing, whether he knew yet that Harry was caught…
The emaciated figure stirred beneath its thin blanket and rolled over toward him, eyes opening in a skull of a face...The frail man sat up, great sunken eyes fixed upon him, upon Voldemort, and then he smiled. Most of his teeth were gone...
‘So, you have come. I thought you would…one day. But your journey was pointless. I never had it.’
‘You lie!’
As Voldemort’s anger throbbed inside him, Harry’s scar threatened to burst with pain, and he wrenched his mind back to his own body, fighting to remain present as the prisoners were pushed over gravel.
Light spilled out over all of them.
‘What is this?’ said a woman’s cold voice.
‘We’re here to see He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named!’ rasped Greyback.
‘Who are you?’
‘You know me!’ There was resentment in the werewolf’s voice. ‘Fenrir Greyback! We’ve caught Harry Potter!’
Greyback seized Harry and dragged him around to face the light, forcing the other prisoners to shuffle around too.
‘I know ’es disfigured, ma’am, but it’s ’im!’ piped up Scabior. ‘If you look a bit closer, you’ll see ’is scar. And this ’ere, see the girl? His sweetheart who’s been traveling around with ’im, ma’am. There’s no doubt it’s ’im, and we’ve got ’is wand as well! ’Ere, ma’am—‘
Through his swollen eyelids Harry saw Narcissa Malfoy scrutinizing his swollen face. Scabior thrust the sycamore wand at her. She raised her eyebrows.
‘Bring them in,’ she said.
Harry and the others were shoved and kicked up broad stone steps into a hallway lined with portraits.
‘Follow me,’ said Narcissa, leading the way across the hall. ‘My son, Draco, is home for his Easter holidays. If that is Harry Potter, he will know.’
The drawing room dazzled after the darkness outside; even with his eyes almost closed Harry could make out the wide proportions of the room. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling, more portraits against the dark purple walls. Two figures rose from chairs in front of an ornate marble fireplace as the prisoners were forced into the room by the Snatchers.
‘What is this?’
The dreadfully familiar, drawling voice of Lucius Malfoy fell on Harry’s ears. He was panicking now. He could see no way out, and it was easier, as his fear mounted, to block out Voldemort’s thoughts, though his scar was still burning.
‘They say they’ve got Potter,’ said Narcissa’s cold voice. ‘Draco, come here.’
Harry did not dare look directly at Draco, but saw him obliquely; a figure slightly taller than he was, rising from an armchair, his face a pale and pointed blur beneath white-blond hair. He looked almost sick, and Harry couldn’t tell if it was because a full moon had just passed, or if it was that the monster who had infected him stood right behind Harry.
Greyback forced the prisoners to turn again so as to place Harry directly beneath the chandelier.
‘Well, boy?’ rasped the werewolf.
Harry was facing a mirror over the fireplace, a great gilded thing in an intricately scrolled frame. Through the slits of his eyes he saw his own reflection for the first time since leaving Grimmauld Place.
His face was huge, lumpy, and pink, every feature distorted by Allison’s powerful jinx. His black hair nearly reached his shoulders and there was a dark shadow around his jaw. Had he not known that it was he who stood there, he would have wondered who was wearing his glasses. He resolved not to speak, for his voice was sure to give him away; yet he still avoided eye contact with Draco as the latter approached. They had shared a dorm for six years, and nearly all their classes, and while Harry’s face may currently be nearly unrecognizable, he feared Draco would recognize his mannerisms or regular robes, and of course Draco had to have recognized Theodore, Allison, and Tracey.
‘Well, Draco?’ said Lucius Malfoy. He sounded avid. ‘Is it? Is it Harry Potter?’
This was it, Harry thought. There was a brief time between the end of their third and fifth year that Harry had considered his relationship with Draco neutral, even on one or two occasions he thought of him as an ally, but ever since Harry’s actions resulted in Lucius getting caught at the Ministry Draco had hated his guts. Harry wasn’t even sure if he could blame him, Lucius’ capture had resulted in Draco being forcibly infected with lycanthropy and placed in a soul crushing year long mission under the threat of the death of his parents and himself. All that combined with Harry accidentally nearly torturing him to death Harry was certain that any second now Draco would—‘
‘I can’t—I can’t be sure,’ said Draco.
Harry almost let a sound out in shock.
Draco was understandably keeping his distance from Greyback, but also seemed as scared of looking at Harry as Harry was of looking at him.
‘But look at him carefully, look! Come closer!’
Harry had never heard Lucius Malfoy so excited.
‘Draco, if we are the ones who hand Potter over to the Dark Lord, everything will be forgiv—‘
‘Now, we won’t be forgetting who actually caught him, I hope Mr Malfoy?’ said Greyback menacingly.
‘Of course not, of course not!’ said Lucius impatiently. He approached Harry himself, came so close that Harry could see the usually languid, pale face in sharp detail even through his swollen eyes. With his face a boily mask, Harry felt as though he was peering out from between the bars of a cage.
‘What did you do to him?’ Lucius asked Greyback. ‘How did he get into this state?’
‘That wasn’t us.’
‘Looks more like a modified Pimple Jinx to me,’ said Lucius.
His gray eyes raked Harry’s forehead.
‘There’s something there,’ he whispered, ‘it could be the scar, stretched tight…Draco, come here, look properly! What do you think?’
Harry saw Draco’s face up close now, right beside his father’s. They were extraordinarily alike, except that while his father looked beside himself with excitement, Draco’s expression was full of reluctance, fear, and even possibly regret.
‘I don’t know,’ he said more vocally, and he walked away toward the fire-place where his mother stood watching.
‘We had better be certain, Lucius,’ Narcissa called to her husband in her cold, clear voice. ‘Completely sure that it is Potter, before we summon the Dark Lord...They say this is his’—she was looking closely at the sycamore wand—‘but it does not resemble Ollivander’s description…If we are mistaken, if we call the Dark Lord here for nothing…Remember what he did to Rowle and Dolohov?’
‘What about the brute, she’s his girlfriend?’ growled Greyback. Harry was nearly thrown off his feet as the Snatchers forced the prisoners to swivel around again, so that the light fell on Allison instead.
‘Wait,’ said Narcissa sharply. ‘Yes—yes, she was in Madam Malkin’s with Potter! Look, Draco, isn’t it the Runcorn girl?’
‘I...maybe...yeah.’
‘And I can confirm this one is Nott’s son, he’s been living with Potter and his family for years!’ shouted Lucius, striding around the bound prisoners to face Theodore. ‘It’s them, Potter’s friends—I’ll let your true father deal with you later, you blood betraying cur.’
‘And the other girl, isn’t that the Davis’ daughter, I saw her picture in the Prophet!’ cheered Narcissa nearly in joy.
‘Yeah,’ said Draco again, his back to the prisoners. ‘It could be.’
The drawing room door opened behind Harry. A woman spoke, and the sound of the voice wound Harry’s fear to an even higher pitch.
‘What is this? What’s happened, Cissy?’
Bellatrix Lestrange walked slowly around the prisoners, and stopped on Harry’s right, staring at Allison through her heavily lidded eyes.
‘But surely,’ she said quietly, ‘this is the Runcorn girl?’
‘Yes, yes, it’s Runcorn!’ cried Lucius, ‘And beside her, we think, Potter! Potter and his friends, caught at last!’
‘Potter?’ shrieked Bellatrix, and she backed away, the better to take in Harry. ‘Are you sure? Well then, the Dark Lord must be informed at once!’
She dragged back her left sleeve: Harry saw the Dark Mark burned into the flesh of her arm, and knew that she was about to touch it, to summon her beloved master—
‘I was about to call him!’ said Lucius, and his hand actually closed upon Bellatrix’s wrist, preventing her from touching the Mark. ‘I shall summon him, Bella. Potter has been brought to my house, and it is therefore upon my authority—‘
‘Your authority!’ she sneered, attempting to wrench her hand from his grasp. ‘You lost your authority when you lost your wand, Lucius! How dare you! Take your hands off me!’
‘This is nothing to do with you, you did not capture the boy—‘
‘Begging your pardon, Mr Malfoy,’ interjected Greyback, ‘but it’s us that caught Potter, and it’s us that’ll be claiming the gold—‘
‘Gold!’ laughed Bellatrix, still attempting to throw off her
brother-in-law, her free hand groping in her pocket for her wand. ‘Take your gold, filthy scavenger, what do I want with gold? I seek only the honour of his—of—‘
She stopped struggling, her dark eyes fixed upon something Harry could not see. Jubilant at her capitulation, Lucius threw her hand from him and ripped up his own sleeve—
‘STOP!’ shrieked Bellatrix, ‘Do not touch it, we shall all perish if the Dark Lord comes now!’
Lucius froze, his index finger hovering over his own Mark. Bellatrix strode out of Harry’s limited line of vision.
‘What is that?’ he heard her say.
41 Votes in Poll
Letter: E
Character: Elves (Dobby and Winky mainly Dobby)
So Dobby was set free when Lucius Malfoy brought him along on his visit to Dumbledore's office at Hogwarts....but why did Lucius bring along Dobby in the first place? Just to humiliate him? Dude probably wouldn't have lost his servant if he hadn't done that. Plothole?
62 Votes in Poll