A/N: Smack dat crack.
Enjoy!
When Harry first heard of the Elder Wand he was obviously very concerned. If he had to rate how concerned he was exactly, it would be up there with learning Snape was a double agent, and that one year Hermione had taken up baking – both bitter, hard to swallow truths in his opinion. Fortunately for him, unlike that time Hermione had taken up baking, the Elder wand had been easy to locate and destroy.
So when three years later, Lord Voldemort himself decreed he had retrieved and repaired the lost Wand, Harry Potter (understandably) nearly had an aneurysm. When it was revealed to him that Draco Malfoy and Severus Snape had played a hand in the wand's return from Death's sweet embrace, Harry Potter – the man, the legend – proceeded to fling the Black family dining table at the pair of miscreants in what could only (for historical accuracy of course) be described as 'a raging fit of uncontrolled magic and shock'. It is said Harry did not speak to either Malfoy nor Snape for another three weeks after the aforementioned incident.
On the day of the Final Battle, a twenty-and-a-half year old Harry Potter bravely faced off against a plethora of Death Eaters, dementors, and other unsavoury sorts, fueled by years of untapped anger at the loss of his family and the thought of shoving that bloody wand up Malfoy's [REDACTED] assuming they both made it out alive. Well, assuming Harry made it out alive, at the very least.
It was in this spirit that he called upon Lord Voldemort to duel, and it was this same spirit that left him as soon as he saw the recently restored Elder Wand. Softly, almost reverently, Harry Potter asked, "How many have you killed with that wand, Tom? How many have you tortured?"
The Dark Lord smiled with snakelike sincerity, "Two hundred rounds of the Cruciatus Curse and counting, Potter. But deaths...there are none. I've been saving that privilege for you, nemesis mine."
Then, as if the thought of torture had finally taken his sanity, the Boy, nay the Man-Who-Lived fell to the ground, sobbing. For a moment it seemed as if the evil had won, but it had not. Harry Potter was laughing so hard tears were pouring down his face.
"Aye, ya'h've better cleaned tha between uses, mate!" Harry exclaimed, having inexplicably gained an accent not unlike Hagrid's from the shock of what he was seeing, "Go oan then. Do it."
Perplexed but ultimately knowing he was about to win against That One Baby He Couldn't Kill, Voldemort raised the Wand and shouted, "AVADA KEDAVRA!"
And nothing happened. Silence reigned, except Harry was still sobbing with glee so it didn't really. Voldemort's face turned to shock, then rage, "What have you done to the Elder Wand? Potter?!"
But what Harry did or did not do to the Wand, the Dark Lord never found out, for Minerva McGonagall decided she had had enough of the overgrown Slytherin and had McGonnagone and sent a killing curse in his direction. This was the only fatality listed that joyous day.
As for why Harry was and continued laughing in the Hogwarts' Entrance Hall for half a day? No one ever found out, and no one cared enough to ask. The wizarding world soon had other things to worry about – namely, the widespread outbreak of gonorrhea amongst former Death Eaters. When asked for insight into this curious affliction, double agent Severus Snape replied with a rather cryptic, "I ain't no ho."
What he meant by that statement also remains a mystery to this day, though his apothecary business saw a large profit rise from pureblooded tyrants for the next several years.
The Elder Wand is currently held in the Ministry of Magic's Curiosities Devision, on display for all to see.
[Pictured: The Elder Wand. A strange wand with a tapered grip and large, bulbous head. White with several button-like objects along the shaft. Curiously, has the words 'Hitachi Magic Wand' scrawled across it. The most powerful wand ever to exist. Manufactured by Death Himself.]
"Hermione, what are you doing?" Harry asked, nervous. If ever there was a time to worry, it was when Hermione was sat on the computer, giggling to herself.
"Nothing, Harry," she grinned, eyes never leaving the monitor, "I've been asked to contribute to the next volume of Hogwarts: A History."
Harry frowned, "That's why you're giggling? Historical accuracy a joke now?"
The woman shook her curly head, "History is written by the winners, Harry. You wouldn't understand."
"Oi!" Harry protested. But he didn't understand. Few rarely did, you see. For if one manages to slog through Hogwarts: A History more than once, without skipping a single word (as a certain Miss Granger could claim) then the book would transform and reveal questionable but far more interesting histories, starting with The Tragic Tale of Slytherin's Sock by Salazar himself.
Such is the prize for patience.