Happy Birthday to the late Alan Rickman. Happy belated Family day to all those who celebrate it (probably not a lot of you, but I figured I'd represent some Canadian's here). This chapter is kind of dense and a bit longer than the last few, so I hope that it's a good read. Thank you everyone for your favourites, follows, and reviews. It really encourages me to write, so please keep it up!

Enjoy!

Chapter 102 – Something's Wrong

No matter what I did, nothing would remove the blood from my hands. The red deluge had caked itself within the lines of my skin and trying to wash it away only seemed to make it stain deeper within the folds of my skin. Because the blood had leaked into the creases of each nail and had dug itself into my pores, it was everywhere. It looked like I was the victim, instead of the culprit of all the chaos that had ensued just hours before.

In the dunes behind me, Harry had created a grave for Dobby. Everyone who had escaped was there, with the addition of Bill and Fleur. It seemed that in the time since he had been laid to rest, all the animals of the surrounding area had even come to pay their respects…though I didn't understand how they had known to come. Perhaps they had heard my screaming when I tried to save him. Perhaps they could sense the death that lingered even after he was gone.

The annoying little elf had gotten in the way of the wrong witch this time – and now he was gone for good. The House Elf who had saved my brother's life time and time again had now vanished to a place where I couldn't lure him back. There was no energy to manipulate on a corpse.

I felt the sand around me shift when someone came to stand at my side. I didn't bother to look through my hair – I doubt I could have even if I tried. The blood on my hands was only rivalled by the blood in my hair and around my neck. Still, I hunched over toward the water, scrubbing the skin on my hands raw from my effort. It was starting to hurt, likely because I had started using sand to try and dig into my pores; but still it did nothing. The blood clung to me, just like the reminder of everything I had lost…and everything I was still so likely to lose.

The person hovering over me cleared their throat. "We should get you inside. If you're half as bad as Hermione, we need to look over your injuries."

My head snapped up to the side so quickly that I felt the caked blood pull painfully at the damaged skin on my neck. Fred Weasley had come to check on me…who knew when they had called him. Who knew how long I had been out here – hours, surely. It was enough to tell by the look in his eyes – so worried, so tortured. It made my stomach turn to look at the emotions he was trying to hide.

It was strange, seeing the same emotions in his eyes that I had felt weeks before. While he was in front of me and in one piece now, it had been just weeks ago that he had been bleeding and unable to defend himself. It was crazy to think that we had fought off Death Eaters at Malfoy Manor in December and now we were recovering again…this time with life lost on our side. But at least while I stood there covered in blood, Fred Weasley looked fine. I couldn't see any lasting damage from his own experience at that Death Eater hub. It was a relief to see it for myself, rather than to blindly trust that he would be okay.

I had a feeling that blind trust would not be something I could rely on anymore.

"Not often I see you so close to the water, Potter," Fred gave me a small smile while he dug the toe of his shoe deep into the sand. "Aren't you afraid you'll get sucked in?"

"That could be for the better," I mumbled to myself. "Besides, it'd give you a chance to live up to your promise…remember? You promised you'd teach me to swim."

"I did promise that, didn't I?" He nodded overdramatically, settling himself into the sand by my side. He must have realized that I would not be following him inside like he'd wanted, and I was glad for the pause in reality. I wasn't ready to face everyone…not yet. "I'm sorry I didn't."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here to learn," I paused, taking a deep breath. I looked up at him, hoping he would understand just how deeply the sentiment ran. "I'm sorry about everything. I've royally blundered this up, haven't I?"

"Are you kidding? I got to go on raids with the Audrey Potter," Fred smiled, nudging me playfully. "I'll have stories for a lifetime, so there's nothing to apologize for."

"A lot of good it did," I grumbled, again grabbing onto a handful of sand and scraping against my skin to try and be rid of the blood. I knew that he was trying to cheer me up, to get me help, but I didn't want it. The moment I started healing was the moment I admitted what I needed to heal from. I didn't want to relive anything that happened in that house…and I knew that I would be the one who had the most to answer for. "Is Hermione okay?"

"Ron's inside with her. I think she'll be alright."

"Good."

"Er—" Fred cleared his throat, moving a little closer to me. "Will you?"

It was a good question, but it was a question I didn't know how to answer. Nothing about what was happening felt all right at all. Everything suddenly felt very heavy and like it was weighing me down like lead.

"Harry and I had some issues with our wands," I evaded the question, blinking slowly. "Do you know how many managed to Apparate back with?"

"From what I know? A few," he responded, immediately digging into the pocket of his robe. "I came prepared and snagged one of the ones I found for you. I heard Harry talking to Sirius inside; he seemed pretty upset."

Once he was done searching through his pocket, Fred pressed a wand into my hand. I paused the moment I felt the awkward crook in it – I knew this wand without needing a second guess as to whom the wand had belonged to. It had just been used to torture me.

"This is Bellatrix Lestrange's wand."

"Oh, sorry. Er, I—" his eyes were the size of dinner plates as he reached forward to try and hide it from my sight. "I figured you'd want Malfoy's, so I just grabbed the next one I saw—"

"It's fine," I muttered, gripping the handle forcefully. I couldn't think about Malfoy right now – I knew I wouldn't be able to keep it together if I imagined how I'd left him. It was like how I had left Fred at Malfoy Manor…but somehow, this one was even more unfathomable. "I've had some violent reactions to wands in the past, so I figure it's just good that this one isn't assaulting me."

"Yeah," Fred agreed, nodding to himself. He took a moment to look me over before he let out a long sigh. "Listen Drea, we should really get you inside…you look…"

"I'm fine."

He let out something that sounded both like a scoff and a laugh. "As much as I'd love to believe you, you have a cut on your throat, your head, your hands, there's blood everywhere, Drea—"

"I know," I whispered, humiliated by the tears that stung at the corners of my eyes. "It won't come off."

I dropped the dark, crooked wand so that I could abuse another fistful of sand. Before I got too carried away, Fred grabbed hold of my arms to stop me from moving.

"You're just hurting yourself more and I think there's been enough damage done for one day," he announced. He nearly sounded stern – it was very unlike him. "Why don't we go inside?"

"I can't," my voice caught on the lump in my throat. I took a long moment to swallow it down.

"Audrey, I can't imagine how you're feeling – but I need you to take a minute to reason with me, okay?" Fred moved his hands down to my hands, holding them in place. I hadn't realized how badly they were shaking – from pain or shock, I wasn't sure. It was the first time I had felt something else besides the rough sand I was using to scrape the stain from my fingers. His hands were warm and rough, so my sensitive skin stung at their grasp. "You just expended so much energy that I don't know how you're still conscious. You were tortured. The blood has been off your hands for at least the past five minutes—"

"No, it's not—"

"Yes, it is, Audrey," he told me strongly. He pushed my hands back toward me, holding onto my fingertips so that he could stretch them out and present them to me. I couldn't see whatever it was he was claiming – sure, maybe the dried blood wasn't as bad as I thought; but the stain was still there. It had still absorbed into me like a burden I wouldn't be able to escape.

"I couldn't save him," I choked out after a moment. I couldn't look into his eyes, but I could tell that the eldest Weasley twin was watching me closely. "The little brat saved us how many times? But no, I couldn't save him the one time it mattered."

"You can't place all that responsibility on yourself, Drea," he whispered back, a bit of the humour back in his tone. "That's crazy. Just because you have the power to do…a lot…that doesn't mean you can do it all. You can't bring people back from the dead."

There was a stone out there that suggested otherwise, but I wasn't really in the mood to bring that to Fred's attention. Besides, that wasn't the issue. He hadn't been dead when I started, I had healed people before, I'd felt his energy beneath my fingers and tried to manipulate it…and then I felt it slip away.

That was on me.

"Then who will?" I asked him, taking the time to glare back up at him. "Who else could have done anything? And if they could have, why didn't they?"

"No one could have," he sounded oddly patient. "Apparently not even you."

There was a long moment where I considered him – considered everything that he was describing. He was right, I couldn't be expected to save every single person in this brewing battle. It couldn't possibly all fall on my shoulders…but that didn't mean that I shouldn't try. Not when Dobby had saved us, not when he had saved us so many times…

Besides, if I couldn't do it, I didn't know anyone left who could. I didn't know anyone else who would. A line had been drawn in the sand and people cared what side you were standing on; they even cared enough to let others die. Because it wasn't just the Order that was under attack…and I doubted people would run to the rescue of the Death Eaters. Particularly their 'fearless leader'. His priorities were never the lives of his followers, just the lives he'd stored away after murder.

Just as I'd maimed and murdered Death Eaters, myself.

"You always hated when your brother was called 'the Saviour'…since when have you tried to step in his shoes?" Fred asked me with a smile. I could not find the humour in what he was saying, but his smile didn't fade at my lack of reaction. "It has never been your job to save everyone's lives, Drea…but you've tried anyway. Dobby knew what he was risking – he didn't expect that you would be able to save him from someone like Bellatrix Lestrange."

I hadn't even been able to save myself from Bellatrix Lestrange.

My hand moved to the cut on my throat, still tight from the dried blood that had stuck all the skin together as if it were glue. I could remember it so vividly – the screaming, Hermione's screaming, the burning—

I grabbed a hold of Bellatrix's crooked wand in my hand, giving it a little flick.

"Accio knife," I whispered.

There were a lot of things that surprised me, considering we were in a battle over the fate of the wizarding world. I had come to accept surprises would be a way of life, for now. But nothing surprised me as much as when, without any hesitation, Bellatrix Lestrange's wand sailed toward my face. Not only her wand, but two more that must have been loose in the sand around Shell Cottage, 20 yards away

Fred and I both screamed and scattered from our area in the sand as the knives sliced into the soft sand around us. We took a moment to check ourselves over, before he barked at me.

"Well shite, Drea! Maybe ask for something more dangerous next time? This one didn't quite get my shoe…"

I held the crooked wand in my palm, inspecting it with wide eyes. "Did you – did you see that?"

"Yeah, I noticed all three of them, thanks," he mumbled, glaring at the knives as he moved over to me. Slowly checking me over and wincing when he looked at my neck. It must have looked worse than I thought, considering how often his eyes had wandered to it.

"No, Fred, the wand," I told him plainly. My brow furrowed as I inspected it. "It…it worked for me."

"Well, that's…" he stopped speaking, knowing how monumental this moment should have been and how marred it was because of the true owner of this wand. I looked at him, unable to mask the fear in my eyes.

"But…why is it working for me? Why of all the bloody wands in Britain does Bellatrix Lestrange's wand work for me?"

"I don't know," he cleared his throat, obviously trying to keep his cool. "Let's not overanalyze it, yeah? The wand works, that's a good thing. It means you'll have some extra firepower for whatever death-defying act you do next. I expect you'll be raiding houses, making plans, and back to burning Death Eaters soon enough—"

Right. Burning.

I flicked the wand in my hand as a test, forcing myself to stay calm as my speechless spell did its job and Bellatrix Lestrange's knife floated at my eye level.

I couldn't tell what was more amazing to me. The fact that a wand was finally working, the fact that it was Lestrange's wand that was working for me, or the fact that this damned knife was floating right in front of my eyes. I felt so many things mixing with my grief that it felt like a melting pot that was turning my insides into a bloody mess.

"That's a ragged looking thing, innit?" Fred leaned down to give the dagger a look-over.

"Should be," I told him as my eyes roamed over the old, unremarkable trinket. It truly wasn't anything special – a blade that I knew to be deceptively sharp and a dark, worn handle with no decoration or inscription. It looked completely benign…though it was anything but. "It's about a thousand years old."

"What?" He scoffed. "Why would Lestrange have something so random lying around at her sister's house?"

"Because it belonged to Salazar Slytherin," I told him simply, watching as the knife slowly circled in front of our eyes. "This is Slytherin's Skean."

Fred looked at it more closely, probably looking for identifying marks as I had once done in every picture that Slytherin had taken with it. But nothing was there to make it stand out…nothing but the pain it caused me whenever it touched my skin.

It was Slytherins' Skean, I was sure of it.

Fred opened and closed his mouth a number of times while he tried to understand what I was telling him. Finally, he settled on shaking his head in confusion. "So, this…is the knife Dumbledore left you in his will?"

"That's right," I grit my teeth, finding myself drawn forward even though I knew what to expect. I moved to wrap my hand around the hilt of the blade, but I wasn't even able to wrap my fingers around the wooden handle before I felt my skin begin to sizzle. I yanked my sore digits away with a hiss.

"Call me stupid for asking but," Fred made a face. "If Dumbledore gave that to you for your mission…why is it burning you?"

I clenched my jaw, glaring at the blade while I let it fall back into the sand at my feet, right near the sand that had been discoloured from the day. It looked at home, embedded there in the blood-soaked sand.

"I have no idea."

There were sheets covering all the furniture in this dark, cold room. I could see streetlamps outside the window, but it was as if I couldn't actually see anything they were illuminating. The world was full of a darkness that wasn't just night – it was all consuming, spilling around me and changing the picture around me like thick, black ink.

It was cold in the wasteland. I could see my breath as I walked over to move one of the sheets and see where the hell I was. A bedroom, perhaps? Right as I lifted the sheet, I heard someone take in a tattered breath behind me. It sounded like a wheeze and like the air was escaping as it was taken in. I froze, too afraid to turn as a ghastly voice whispered in my ear.

"The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches…" I tried not to shiver. Dumbledore's voice did not sound the way I remembered it. It sounded like he was already dead, like his corpse was whispering in my ear as he drew closer. I couldn't turn, I couldn't bear to, even as I felt him roam closer. "Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies…and the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but there will be a power the Dark Lord knows not…and either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives…the one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord will be born as the seventh month dies…"

A blackened, desiccated hand grasped onto my shoulder and spun me around as if they had all the strength of the living. In front of me was not what I expected – no happy, living Professor Dumbledore. No, Professor Dumbledore at all. I had heard the voice of the wrong Headmaster, which was clear enough as I moved away from the decaying body of my Potion's professor; his eyes black and unseeing as they rotted from his skin…

I awoke with a sharp gasp, Dumbledore's prophecy playing in my mind like a warning on repeat. I clawed at my chest, it felt like it wasn't taking in enough of the cold air that lingered from the open window above me. I looked around myself frantically, not really remembering if I was safe until I saw my brother at the foot of my bed. He said something to me, but I couldn't hear him while Bellatrix's screams echoed through my mind. The screech emptied it of all else as I tried to ward away the image of Snape's lifeless corpse grabbing for me...

His voice was low and tired when he spoke overtop of the screams again. "Are you okay?"

I didn't really know how to answer him, particularly when we both knew I wasn't. The fear from the dreams still had me shaken, so I decided to change the subject. "How's Hermione?"

"Better," Harry said quietly. "Ron and Fleur have been looking after her. But you're…"

"I'm fine," I interrupted his trailed off thoughts, already flustered by his protectiveness. There had only been a few times I had truly wanted Harry to be concerned over me…now that he was, I couldn't bear to see it in his eyes. "I overheard they got Ginny home safe? No more stolen students from the train, then? Everyone's safe?"

"For now," Harry responded lowly.

"Good." I nodded. My throat was dry, I felt like I wanted to chug down a litre of water and follow that with three litres of Firewhisky. It felt like the only way I'd be able to get through today in one piece. "What about all the other prisoners?"

"Recovering. They plan to move Griphook and Ollivander when they're well enough. They need to get them to proper healers; Griphook has been given Skele-Gro but he'll need more work. They'll probably be moved in a few hours…and I'm thinking we need to talk to them before they go."

"I agree," I moved from the couch bed that I had gotten so used to and groaned as pain ricocheted from one bone to the next. It was a deep ache that made its way through my muscles and seeped into my skin. Something about the deepness of the ache gave me the feeling I would feel this way for a while. "Godric, you'll never hear me say that bitch isn't effective."

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered. "I'm so sorry I wasn't there. I'm so sorry I couldn't help you…"

I shook my head, looking away from him. "Harry, you don't have to do that."

"Hermione told me what you did. She told me what Ma—" he stopped himself, taking a deep breath as if to force himself to correct his words. "What Draco did. He helped you, didn't he?"

"He helped us. I told him not to let them know it was you," I whispered, bringing my legs up to my chest. It somehow felt easier to breath that way even though the pull of my muscles hurt. "He didn't hurt me, Harry. He helped me. Though…I-I think I hurt him…"

The glass shards flying everywhere told me that it was more than a possibility. Would they have flown like that had it smashed on its own? I didn't know. All I could really think about was the way the blood had poured from his eyes…

My brother reached up to press against his scar, as if trying to fend off the pain there.

"Fred…he told me about the wand. And the knife…" he slowed his words to provide the emphasis he needed. "Is it really Slytherins Skean?"

"I'm pretty sure," I told him honestly. "I mean, I could be wrong – it's a pretty plain knife, there are probably hundreds that look the identical – but considering it burns me?"

"Maybe you are wrong though," Harry said with an annoying amount of hope. "Dumbledore doesn't do anything without a reason, so maybe it isn't the Skean and that's why it burnt you—"

"Or maybe the reason it's burning me is something Dumbledore wanted me to figure out," I told him in a monotone. "Maybe it's a sign that something's wrong."

"It…it does feel like everything's wrong," Harry mumbled helplessly, slouching from the stress of the statement. I nodded, unable to stop myself from sucking on my teeth irritably. "I didn't expect it to be this hard."

"No, I mean…" I sighed, trying to keep my voice level. "I think I'm what's wrong."

"What?" He looked at me as if he were afraid I'd just had an aneurism. "What are you talking about? There's nothing wrong with you…well, besides how stubborn you are about being healed—"

"No, Harry…I think something's wrong with me." I told him flatly, watching his face for any sign that he agreed with me. He still looked like he worried for my sanity. "I don't understand how everything is turning out but during this all – the hunting for Horcruxes, destroying them, all of this bloody turmoil – there's something about me that's just…wrong."

There was a moment that Harry looked like he would argue with me. But after a moment his shoulders slumped even more, and I watched him give into the negativity that had been building around us for months – it was hard to fight when you had just lost such an important battle.

"I know," Harry finally sighed. "I mean, I don't agree with you, but I feel the same way. It's like I can feel…him. Constantly."

"I can tell. You can't stop fussing with it, can you?" I motioned towards his scar with my chin, making him immediately touch it again. "So…what does all this mean for us?"

He shrugged, shaking his head in frustration. "I honestly have no idea…do you have any ideas?"

"I'd like to think this means we're on the right track: the sword, the locket, the skean…" I laughed. "But then again, this isn't a straight track, is it? But you have to admit, it's funny that Bellatrix was in possession of two of those three things..."

"I know," Harry nodded. "I've been thinking the same thing."

"That there's something else in her vault? Or that the pouch around your neck looks dorky?" I asked simply. We both heard the change in my tone as I got more excited over the idea of moving forward with the plan against Voldemort. I was so excited that I was even making fun of him – he seemed comforted by the normality of it. My brother looked down at the odd pouch that hung around his neck and frowned.

"Is that really what you're thinking about right now?"

"I'm a multitasker," I explained. "Besides, things being in Lestrange's vault…it's the only explanation that makes sense. I got to that conclusion hours ago."

"You know what that means, though?" Harry asked me with a frown. "You know what it means our next move is."

"I like breaking records. It'll be nice to add my list to someone who can break into Gringotts," I smirked at him, groaning a little while I leaned back on my couch-bed. It took a surprising amount of energy to be awake – I clearly still had a lot of healing to do before I could pull off the great heist we clearly needed to.

"Just what I was thinking," Harry nodded, giving me a small smile. "And probably just what you need."

"Ha, we'll see," I snorted and raised a brow. "Have you told Hermione yet?"

"No, I wanted to talk it through with you first."

Well, that was a first – and it was very sweet. I couldn't remember a time when my twin brother had considered me in a plan, rather than having me be an afterthought. And to think that he came to me before Hermione? To plan something intricate?

I tried to hide how flattered I was. "Really?"

"Are you kidding?" He laughed, moving closer so he could swing an arm around me. "Between you and Sirius – I have two of the best escape artists in the world here to help plan. I couldn't imagine doing this without you."

Would he be saying this had I not almost died a day before? Unlikely. But I wasn't going to lie to myself and pretend I didn't like his change of heart.

I narrowed my eyes but couldn't stop the smile from tugging at my face. "And wouldn't?"

"That either," he smiled back at me. "This is kind of your time to shine."

That it was. Harry hadn't gotten to see me in action; I'd been on my own besides when they hadn't listened to me at the Lovegood house and the surprise that was being captured by Snatchers. But planning ahead? I'd be in my element.

I was ready to impress.

"And you still haven't told Hermione?" I confirmed with him again. When he shook his head at me, I fully allowed the smirk I was holding in to spread across my face. "Please let me be there when you do. I can't wait to see if that vein in her forehead will pop…"

Harry agreed with me, I think because he was happy to see me smile. It was nice to start feeling something besides guilt, even if it was still coiled deep in my gut and somehow had settled in my throat. My brother soon left me to get cleaned up and ready for our interrogation of the goblin and the wandmaker. I was glad to have the extra time considering how slowly I was moving.

Everything ached, every movement felt like I was tearing at newly healed skin, every action I took thrummed in my head like the deep pounding of a drum. I had meant to rush, but I wasn't ready by the time Harry came back to get me. I hoped he didn't take the sluggishness as me not wanting to get answers because I was more than happy to get the project under way – whether or not Gringotts was our best move, we needed to start planning quickly. Voldemort wouldn't be lazy with his own plans now that we were finally getting our footing.

We couldn't risk losing the momentum we'd finally achieved.

Bill and Fleur stood at the foot of the stairs when Harry and I reached them. Fleur almost looked like she wanted to barricade the door, knowing our intentions. Bill stopped me with a look and a raised eyebrow, so I rolled my eyes.

"You seem more like yourself," Bill said simply.

"Yeah? Well, can't dwell forever," I mumbled, even though I still did not feel like myself. I still felt like curling in on myself and waiting for everything to go away – but that was not an option.

"We need to speak to Griphook and Ollivander," Harry told them.

"No," she said immediately. She moved in front of the staircase as if I wouldn't forcibly remove her to get to our goal. "You will 'ave to wait, 'Arry. Zey are both ill, tired—"

"And possibly our only hope to know how to save the Wizarding World," I finished. "But never mind that, if they're tired…"

"Non, Audrey," Fleur's eyes were sympathetic. "But you are ill, too. 'ou should rest."

"I'm sorry," Harry interrupted. "But it can't wait. We need to talk to them now. Privately – and separately. It's urgent."

"What the hell's going on?" Bill asked, seeming to have brimmed over with stress. "You two turn up here with a dead house-elf and a half-conscious goblin. Audrey, you and Hermione look as though you've been tortured, and Ron refuses to tell me anything—"

"We can't tell you what we're doing," Harry said flatly. "You're in the Order, Bill. You know Dumbledore left us a mission—"

"Wait," I held up a hand, shaking my head at my brother. "We're not playing this game. Dumbledore screwed us over with secrets – I'm not making the same mistake. Particularly because telling him what he needs to know won't impact anyone. You not telling anyone anything is what led to us being separated, so let's have it out as much as we can…Bill, yes, we were tortured. We escaped because of Dobby, who got caught in the crossfire. Now we need to talk to these two so that we can avoid more death. How does that sound?"

Fleur turned to look at her husband with wide eyes, but Bill didn't return it; instead, he stared straight back at me as if checking to see if I was being honest. Finally, Bill nodded. "All right. Who do you want to talk to first?"

I looked to my brother who hesitated. We wouldn't have much time, it was important to get all our questions answered before they were moved to Aunt Muriel's house. We needed to do this strategically and the reason our wands were working could wait.

"Griphook," Harry said, apparently following my train of thought. "We'll speak to Griphook first."

"Up here, then," Bill seemed annoyed with the circumstances, but it didn't stop him from leading the way up the steps to the top floor of the cottage. I knew from my time here that on the right was Bill and Fleur's room and on the left was the room left for Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's visits.

Before we entered, Harry stopped and looked behind us.

"I need you two as well!" I couldn't contain my eyeroll as Ron and Hermione popped their heads out from behind the wall, looking oddly relieved. Gryffindors were so damned nosy. As they began walking up the stairs toward us, Hermione and I caught each other's gaze for the first time since I saw her screaming beside me in Malfoy Manor and we both stiffened.

"Audrey?" She asked worriedly.

"We need at least two intelligent minds in there. I'm glad you're here," I told her honestly. Realistically, she needed to be there even more than I did…the past ten months had made that clear enough while she kept Ron and Harry safe without me. "It's not just any Gryffindor who can make up lies on the fly like that. I was impressed."

"You were amazing," Harry agreed, "coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that—"

Ron gave her a one-armed squeeze that made Hermione give back a shy smile.

"You were just as brave," Hermione gave a toothy smile. "Did you know that your sister spit in Bellatrix Lestrange's face, Harry?"

My brother raised a brow at me. I couldn't help the smirk that played on my lips.

"It was the best part of my day."

"Come on," Harry ushered us up the last few steps onto the small landing that separated the two rooms. Bill opened the door that traditionally led to his own bedroom. It had a nice sea-view displaying a golden sunrise outside. You would never know the blood that had been spilt today, not with that sunset. I moved over to the window, looking out at the sunrise and wondering just how much devastation such beautiful scenery could cover up.

If this kind of torture was happening to us – to important pieces in the war who weren't allowed to just be killed by low-ranking Death Eaters – what else was happening out there? What else was happening out in the Wizarding World that I had not been and would not be able to comprehend? If I hadn't been able to save my friends, my brother's friends or myself…what was next?

What tortures still awaited us?

"I'm sorry to take you out of bed," my brother began slowly. "How are your legs?"

"Painful. But mending." The goblin's voice was strained. I turned around, watching as Harry stood at the foot of his bed, Ron and Hermione settling in the chair in the corner. I had a feeling that Ron would keep sticking close by her until she was better…or at least until he was confident she wouldn't be tortured again. His perch on her chair was cautious, as if he didn't even trust us.

The Goblin, on the other hand, tightened his grip around Godric Gryffindor's sword. I wasn't sure how he had gotten it in the first place, but I could tell he didn't want to let it go. Maybe it was because he knew he wouldn't be able to put up a fight if we came for it. Not with how ill he looked – obviously, he had been hurt more than I'd acknowledged. Then again, I'd heard something about him needing Skele-Gro and no one handled that with at least a light pallor.

"You probably don't remember—"

"That I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?" Griphook answered. His eyes moved between Harry and me before they subtly flickered to the scars on each of our skin. After he found them, he moved his gaze back to my brother. "I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous."

"Don't even need the damned cloak to be invisible, do I?" I asked Ron with a roll of my eyes. He almost looked like he may smile, but the expression on Griphook's face did not give him space to.

"You are an enigma, Audrey Potter." The goblin's dark eyes cut into my own gaze. "We goblin's do not like solving puzzles without answers."

"Who said I need to be solved?" I asked him with a glare. "And who said I don't already know the answers?"

"If you did, I doubt you'd be here," Griphook's eyes moved back to my brother. "You buried the elf. I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door."

"Yes."

"You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter." His eyes narrowed. For a moment they looked back to me, as if waiting for whatever snarky response I could come up with…but I held myself back. We needed to keep focused.

"In what way?" Harry rubbed at his scar, as if insecure over it. But I knew that the pressure must have been building. Now that he had admitted to me that his scar was bothering him, it was almost impossible not to notice that he was constantly fidgeting with it. It must have been more painful than he was letting on.

"You dug the grave."

Harry gave me a side glance, obviously confused over his line of questioning. "So?"

Griphook didn't answer him. He looked to me.

"Are the animals still out there?"

"Probably," I told him honestly. I knew we couldn't see Dobby's grave from this room, but I was curious why he was asking about them. "Do you know why they showed up?"

"To pay vigil," he said simply. "To pay their respects. Surely you've seen that of such uncivilized creatures – wizards are the only kind who don't do it properly."

While I wanted to argue with him, the thought of Fawk's mournful cry as he flew over Dumbledore's grave caught itself in my mind like a web…and suddenly I didn't want to argue with him. Animals certainly did do things differently than wizards; it was why I loved them so much.

"Griphook, I need to ask—"

"You also rescued a goblin," Griphook added. "Very unusual, indeed."

"Er," my brother looked to each of us, trying to get someone to interrupt and tell him what he didn't understand. But besides intrigue, I wasn't exactly sure what this 'unusual' tendency would mean to Griphook. "What?"

"You brought me here. Saved me."

"Well, I take it you're not sorry he did that?" I asked impatiently. "Why don't you get to the point?"

"Audrey," Hermione sighed, annoyed with my impatience.

"No, Miss Potter…but your brother is a very odd wizard."

"I think the fact he's the only living wizard to survive the killing curse was proof enough of that," I muttered, leaning on the window ledge behind me. "How does this continue to effect you past now?"

"Right," Harry agreed. "Because, well, I need some help, Griphook. You can give it to me."

As much as I wanted to take the lead and get things done quickly, it was better when Harry did these types of things. And since people seemed to trust Harry more than they could trust me. It had been that way ever since we had been sorted. And the lot of us needed any morale boost we could get. People were always starstruck around him and usually quick to give honest responses…while I didn't think the goblin would be as accommodating, I'd be better watching the interaction and determining when he was and wasn't lying. Sometimes a bird's-eye-view was the best way to see the whole picture.

"I need to break into a Gringotts vault."

Dear Godric, never mind. This was why I did the talking.

"Harry—" Hermione gasped. I was right, the vein in her forehead did look ready to burst.

"Break into a Gringotts vault?" The goblin repeated, shifting to ease some of his discomfort on the bed. "It is impossible."

"Yeah," I scoffed. "That's what they said about Hogwarts – which has been broken into loads of times by the way. They said that about the Ministry – I did that on a whim. Oh, and don't even get me started with—"

"That is different."

"Not with my level of determination," I told him confidently. He watched for any truth in my eyes and when he saw that I was not backing down, he leaned back against his pillows.

"Besides, it's been done," Ron added. My brother nodded.

"Yeah, the same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago."

"The vault in question was empty at the time," the goblin snapped as if we were personally offending his own talents. "Its protection was minimal."

"Well, the vault we need to get into isn't empty, and I'm guessing will be pretty difficult," Harry muttered, leaning closer to him by resting against the footboard of the bed. "It belongs to the Lestranges."

Hermione gaped, looking over to me as if I would answer all her questions now. I shook my head minutely – now was not the time. She closed her mouth before she could catch flies, but not before Griphook saw and scoffed.

"You have no chance," the goblin stated 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," Harry moved his eyes to me as if to show his frustration. "But I'm not trying to get myself any treasure."

"We aren't even doing this for any personal gain," I told him flatly. The goblin looked between the two of us in suspicion.

"If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain, it would be you, Harry Potter—"

I rolled my eyes. "Well, that's rude."

"—Goblins and elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand carriers."

"You should like me more then, I barely use a wand at all," I told him innocently. The goblin glared at me as I spoke.

"And how is the newest wand working for you, Audrey Potter?"

I blanched.

Er – how did he know to even ask?

"Wand-carriers," Harry repeated slowly. "Why do you—"

"The right to carry a wand has long been contested between wizards and goblins."

"Well, goblins can do magic without wands," Ron shrugged.

"That is immaterial!" His voice was raised, and his creepily sharp teeth were practically bared at us in fury. "Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!"

"Maybe it's because you're so selfish and overprotective of things like our money," I muttered under my breath.

"What lies in vaults you do not have the key for are not of your concern," the goblin all but hissed. "You make that money off the backs of goblins, by taking our treasures—"

"Goblins won't share any of their magic either," Ron rebuked quickly. "You won't tell us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never—"

"This doesn't matter," Harry cut us off, looking between us all sternly. "This isn't about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature—"

Griphook gave a nasty laugh.

"But it is, it is about precisely that!" The goblin looked as if he wanted to move, he was so impassioned but ended up hurting himself and wincing. He moved to sit back properly on his bed, his eyes shooting daggers at us all. "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?"

"We do!" Hermione gasped in horror. Then her eyes went bright with anger. "We protest! And I'm hunted just as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I'm a Mudblood!"

Ron looked nauseated just hearing the word. "Don't call yourself—"

"Why shouldn't I?" Hermione fumed, glaring at Ron before realizing she should be turning her anger back onto the goblin. "Mudblood, and proud of it! I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys'!"

"Er…"

Hermione, to make her statement more meaningful, interrupted me by pulling down the neck of her pajamas to reveal the thin – nearly healed – cut from Bellatrix. It still stood out scarlet against her sallow skin, but at least it no longer looked open and deep.

"Audrey and I fought to keep you safe. We fought to give you time. A Mudblood and a Slytherin. Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free in the first place?" Her voice was so strong and meaningful that there was no need to interrupt with a response. "Did you know that we've wanted and fought for elves to be freed for years? You can't want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!"

The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiosity he had shown my brother. He looked between the four of us, as if contemplating something to himself before he gave a stiff nod.

"What do you seek within the Lestranges' vault?" I looked to my brother, hoping he had a better idea as to what we should be looking for. Before he could say anything, the goblin continued his judgements as he gripped tightly onto the sword of Gryffindor. "The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one. I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there."

"But the fake sword isn't the only thing in that vault, is it?" I asked him, watching as his eyes twinkled on me. "I bet there are other things in there. Old things. Magical things. Important things."

He did not seem to like what I had said because he fingered at his black beard again while he dismissed my words with a small shrug. "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."

"Does that include things that are held there because they were stolen from them?" I asked him.

The goblin considered my words while he stroked the sword affectionately. It was borderline sensual, and I almost felt uncomfortable by his obsession with it. Was it really worth so much that he was so possessive over it? His black eyes moved from Harry to Hermione to Ron and back to me, over and over.

"So young," he said finally, "to be fighting so many."

"Will you help us?" Harry asked I could hear him fighting to keep his tone cool and collected. "We haven't got a hope of breaking in without a goblin's help. You're our one chance."

Buttering him up – a good strategy for a creature as proud as this.

"I shall…think about it," Griphook decided slowly.

"But—"

"Thank you," Harry cut Ron off quickly, despite the redhead looking like he was ready to bear down on the goblin until he broke – but that would never happen. He would never break. He needed to come to this decision on his own…and the more we pressed him, the less likely that would be.

I should know, I was just as stubborn.

"I think," the goblin began, his voice sounding falsely exhausted considering his tone a mere moment before. "That the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me…"

"Yeah, of course," Harry moved so that we would leave. Despite knowing that leaving was the best bet, part of me wanted to stay. Part of me wanted to see what could be done to influence the goblin further – it didn't take a genius to know he would want something in return and I was in the mood to talk terms. But perhaps space was the best scenario for success here.

Each of us moved from our perches, readying ourselves for our next line of questioning. Before we left the goblin's bedroom, Harry leaned forward and snatched up the sword of Gryffindor from him. While he didn't protest, the resentment radiated from him. Good. That little move would make his decision come faster, of that I was sure.

He wanted that sword…and something instinctual told me that would end up being the price of his help.

Too bad I would never let the little snake have it.

"Little git," whispered Ron once we had closed the door behind us. We stood close together on the landing in an uncomfortable, cramped circle. "He's enjoying keeping us hanging."

"Harry," Hermione pulled us slightly further from the door – not that we could move much – before she spoke, "are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Lestranges' vault?"

"Why wouldn't there be?" I asked. "It makes sense. Think about what happened to us, Granger. You can't tell me it was only because she hated who we were – she was questioning us just as much as we questioned Griphook."

My brother nodded. "Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we'd been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken?"

"Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about." I finished.

"But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who's been, places he's done something important?" Ron asked slowly. He moved towards me, as if I was conspiring with him, personally. "Am I lost? Was he ever inside the Lestranges' vault?"

"I don't know whether he was ever inside Gringotts," Harry acknowledged. "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. 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 we can't forget the creepy love Bellatrix has for him. She'd do anything for him. She's from an old Pureblooded family with one of the kinds of vaults he would have always wanted. She and her husband were his most devoted servants before he fell, remember. They went looking for him when he vanished, they went to prison for him and never claimed innocence – they were proud to be his puppets."

Beside me, Harry rubbed at his scar as if it had responded to the conversation.

"I don't think he'd have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though," Harry added. "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, Hagrid told me…except for Hogwarts."

"Again," I rolled my eyes. "I've broken into these things too many times for me to believe it."

Ron let out a short laugh. "You're a bit of an exception though, aren't you, Drea?"

I couldn't help but smile back. "You're bloody well right, I am."

Ron sighed, shaking his head as he looked up to my brother. I was surprised by how quickly he had sobered, but I guess that was the risk of being in the middle of a war. "You really understand him."

"Bits of him," Harry sighed, giving a final rub of his scar before shoving his hands into his pockets. "Bits…I just wish I'd understood Dumbledore as much. But we'll see. Come on – Ollivander now."

Even though the other Gryffindors looked a little lost thanks to how quickly we were moving, Harry and I were keenly aware that we had little time to manage this all. I turned from my spot closest to the opposite door and towards the Weasley guest room, knocking on the door. My knock was almost too loud, it hurt my own ears and I nearly felt guilty for being so intrusive. But I had no time to wake him up gently.

It took a moment before we heard a weak, "come in!"

Ollivander was lying on one of the two small beds. The one he had taken was the farthest from the window. Considering how horrible he looked, the wandmaker likely didn't need to be distracted from his healing by the world outside. I did not know how long Ollivander had been tortured, but it was clear he would not be cured in the same way that Griphook's body was. No – no, this damage would take much, much longer to fade.

His bones were sticking out sharply from beneath pale, yellow skin. His large, silver eyes looked sunken and haunted. He was skeletal, looking mere moments from death – I wondered just how much longer he would have survived had we not been caught.

Harry sat down on an empty bed and jerked his head so that I would follow him. The three Gryffindors and I piled onto the bed, squishing ourselves close together so that we would all fit. I was happy that my brother allowed me to sit closest to the wall. Whether or not he knew what he was doing, I was glad I'd be able to lean instead of holding myself up. My energy was draining quickly.

"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry said slowly, testing the effect of how loud his voice was in the stale, quiet room.

"My dear boy," Ollivander's voice was as weak as he looked. "You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you…never thank you enough."

"That's exactly what we need to hear," I told him. "Because we have some questions for you."

"Drea," Harry gave me a subtle glare. I couldn't tell if he was mad at me for speaking or just irritated because of his scar. The slight pinch to his face told me that the pain was still growing – Voldemort was probably furious considering we had escaped. Harry, of course, would take the brunt of it. Harry took a deep breath before reaching into the dorky pouch around his neck and took out two halves of a broken wand – his broken wand. "Mr. Ollivander, I need some help."

"Anything. Anything," he sounded so grateful that it made me feel guilty for something I knew I wasn't doing wrong.

"Can you mend this? Is it possible?" Ollivander's hand trembled as he reached for the wand. Harry placed the severed wand halves into his palm. It was interesting to watch as Ollivander looked it over with a professional, critical eye.

"Holly and phoenix feather…eleven inches. Nice and supple."

"Yes," Harry sounded like it pained him. "Can you…"

"No," whispered Ollivander, placing the wand pieces back into my brother's hand with a sorrowful frown. "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 quickly stashed the pieces back in his little pouch and instead reached into his pocket to grab another. He elbowed me, as if I should have known to shove mine forward too. To be polite, the old wand maker took the wand I offered him first.

"Can you identify these?" Harry asked.

He held it close to his face while rolling it between his thin, knobbly fingers. He flexed the dark-wooded wand slightly as he examined it, nodding to himself as he thought aloud.

"Walnut and dragon heartstring. Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding…This is the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange."

"When you say unyielding," I began slowly. "What exactly do you mean?"

"A wand like this will not just bend to anyone's will," He informed me with a nod toward the walnut wand. "It has loyalties."

I couldn't keep the skepticism from my voice or my eyes. "You're talking about it as if it's a decision it makes."

"How else do you think the wand chooses the witch or wizard it will represent, Miss Potter?"

I frowned at his similar, skeptical tone. If the wand chooses the wizard, which I had heard time and time again, then why on earth would Bellatrix Lestrange's wand have started working for me? Why when hardly any wand I'd ever picked up would work at all? Why when Harry's wand injured me, when my wand misfired?

What the hell was I missing?

Harry cleared his throat, taking Bellatrix's wand from the old man's hands so that he could place in a much more familiar one. "And this one?"

Ollivander, too, did not seem to need as long to identify this newest model. "Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."

"Was?" I asked immediately, my brow furrowing. "Isn't it still his?"

"Perhaps not. If you took it —"

"I did," Harry interrupted quickly.

"— then it may be yours."

"Then why didn't you use the same description for Lestrange's wand?" I asked. "Why would Draco's wand allow itself to be taken but Bellatrix's wouldn't – just because it's unyielding?"

"It's more complicated than that," he shook his head. His glassy eyes looked lost in thought for a moment, though his voice was strong. "You see, 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 silence as we thought about what this may mean.

I couldn't remember, with all the pain still aching in my bones, how Bellatrix's wand had gotten in my grasp. I couldn't remember how Draco's wand had gotten into Harry's. All I remembered was vividly shoving my own wand into my ex-boyfriend's hands while glass shards leaked blood from his eyes…

I blinked away the sting behind my eyes, refusing to cry as I thought about it.

"You talk about wands like they've got feelings," Harry said slowly. "You say that they can make decisions, that they can think for themselves."

"The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander repeated, his voice soft. "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?" I asked tumultuously, leaning forward to place my elbows on my knees. My rapt attention seemed to surprise him.

"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." He explained. I looked back to my brother who was staring down at Draco's wand as if he was confused.

"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," Harry's voice was slow, his eyes darted to briefly as if he was worried I would berate him. "Can I use it safely?"

"I…think so," he frowned as he looked at the wand again. "Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master. Though this wand does not feel at odds."

"So, Lestrange's wand does?" I asked him to clarify. He looked at the wand within my grasp, refusing to touch it as if he feared it – yes, that was comforting.

"Indeed..."

"So, I should use this one?" Ron asked, producing a wand from his back pocket for Ollivander to examine. "It won't hurt me?"

"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. It would not hurt you."

"Wands have hurt me in the past," I mumbled, giving a flick of Lestrange's wand. I was glad when nothing happened because of it – with my ash wand, it probably would have.

"And this holds true for all wands, does it?" Harry seemed determined in a way I was not used to seeing him.

"I think so," he frowned, giving a glance back over to the wand I was spinning between my fingers. "You ask deep questions, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic."

"When a wand doesn't work for the owner," I said carefully. "What are the excuses for that, then?"

"Do you mean a wand that has chosen its handler, or a wand that has been taken?"

"Either or, both," I responded quickly. "A wand that doesn't respond in the same way to one witch or wizard as the next passerby to try it."

"It could be that the wand has wilted," Ollivander explained, tilting his head towards the window as he thought. When he saw my confusion, he continued. "Some wands change allegiance easily, some wands – like the wand of Bellatrix Lestrange – refuse. Let me ask you, Miss Potter, where is your wand?"

I cleared my throat of the lump that suddenly sat in it like a bezoar. I couldn't imagine where it was, I couldn't bring myself to think of where I had left it…

"You're looking at it," my voice rasped out the words while I moved the crooked wand out of sight and mind.

"Wilted wands, unyielding wands, it is a complicated kind of magic, Miss Potter," Ollivander explained. "But there are ways to win its allegiance. Other ways besides battle—"

"Like murder?" Harry asked carefully. "Is it necessary to kill the previous owner to take true possession of a wand?"

Ollivander swallowed.

"Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill."

"There are legends, though," Harry began slowly, watching for any spark of recognition in Ollivander's eyes…and I undoubtedly saw one. "Legends about a wand — or wands — that have passed from hand to hand by murder."

"Only one wand, I think," he whispered. His voice was so gentle that it seemed as if it had floated away along with the colour of his skin.

"Good," I narrowed my eyes. "Then you know exactly what we're asking."

"You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?" Harry added on to my thought process.

"I – how?" Ollivander looked between the group of each of us, one at a time, for some sort of explanation. "How do you know this?"

"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands," Harry guessed. The old man blanched even more.

"He tortured me, you must understand that…" his voice was so shaky that it was barely a whisper. "The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"

"I understand," said Harry. At least he did. To me, he had given the enemy a very dangerous piece of information…then again, it was easy for me to say that I hadn't given in during my hour of torture. He had been kidnapped for well over half a year. "You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"

Ollivander, stunned, could only nod.

"But it didn't work," I finished for him. "Because wands hold rules of loyalty, as you say. So, Harry's still won the battle between the cores even before he turned seventeen. Why is that?"

"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 should have snapped the borrowed wand, I can only guess…"

"And that guess was?"

"Well," his eyes flitted to my own. "It was quite similar to what I saw one day when I tried to get one sibling to attempt their other sibling's wand…open disobedience, rebellion…"

I closed my eyes while I let out a loud, obnoxious exhale. It was hard not to be frustrated just by the very memory of my pain. "Our wands. You're talking about when we tried each other's wands."

"But we never won either wand's loyalty. My wand cut her, but Audrey's wand worked perfectly for me," Harry continued. "And what does this have to do with 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?"

Ollivander seemed short of breath. "How do you know this?"

"Just answer the question," I gritted out.

"Yes, he asked. 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." Hermione nearly fell off the bed in shock. He continued on in a whisper, as if afraid that Voldemort would overhear him. "The Dark Lord 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," Harry thought to himself quietly.

"No!" Hermione sounded too sure for it to be based on anything besides logic. "He can't know that, Harry, how could he?"

"Priori Incantatem," Harry sounded just as confident. "We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys', Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they've cast lately, they'll see that yours broke mine, they'll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they'll realize that I've been using the blackthorn one ever since."

"You do always use the same spells," I mumbled to myself. My brother didn't even bother to roll his eyes at my quip, instead, he just blinked at me slowly to show his displeasure.

Hermione, however, seemed to have missed what I said entirely as she paled. Ron frowned dramatically when he saw her expression. "Let's not worry about that now—"

"Oh yes, let's ignore the facts that could get us killed," I nodded. "Because denial has always served us well."

Before anyone could respond to my remark, Ollivander cleared his throat to gather our attention once again. "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."

While the others took a breath, I decided to ask what we all worried about. "And will it?"

"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," said Ollivander with a shrug that obviously pained him. I understood I was in the same kind of pain. "But the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit…formidable."

What an understatement. One of the most powerful wizards of all time with the most powerful wand of all time?

'Formidable' was not an equivalent expression of danger.

"You…you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?" Hermione asked timidly. I wanted to chastise her, but Ollivander beat me to it in a far more considerate way.

"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."

"So, you-you don't think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?" Hermione asked hopefully.

"Why would it be?" I asked her irritably. "Hermione – you know just as well as we do that this world is a fairy-tale. This is the kind of world that you were told about before you went to bed – why is it so hard to believe that there is something magical out there that there isn't a comparison for? Why is it so crazy that there is something as rare as this when we know that two wands can connect if they share the same core, or that a basilisk lived for decades in the piping of the castle? Why is the ultimate, super-powered wand so hard for you to grasp?"

"Because it was said that it was made by Death!" Hermione frowned.

"Whether you believe the tale of how it came to be or not," Ollivander interrupted with a flourish of his hand. "The Elder Wand is real and there is evidence littered throughout history of that fact. 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 resembled a ghost with his lack of colour now. I wondered just how much Harry had seen from his glimpses into Voldemort's mind for him to be so in tune with what the old man had and had not given in to while he was being tortured.

"But how-how do you—"

"Never mind how I know it," Harry shook his head, closing his eyes for a moment. His scar must really be bugging him – I could see the discolouration on his own face. "You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?"

"It was a rumour," whispered Ollivander in shame. "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, before we go to let you get some rest…what do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

"The what?" The look on his face was not comforting – he looked dreadfully confused.

"The Deathly Hallows."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?"

"Er…never mind. Thank you," my brother turned to head closer to the door. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."

"Wait. A while back Ron and I…procured a wand," I said with careful wording to make sure that I would not influence whatever he had to say about wand loyalties. "It burst into flame when we weren't even using it. Can you think of a reason it would do that?"

"Into flame you say?" Ollivander hummed at the back of his throat, making a face. "Must have been made of sycamore. They refuse to obey other masters. Fickle things."

"I'm sorry," I shook my head, sitting up so I could properly look into the old wizard's eyes. "So, you're saying to me that some wands know enough about the different witches or wizards handling them that they will spontaneously combust?"

"If it feels it is being disloyal, it may."

"I thought that this kind of stubbornness was just my wand, but you're saying it can be any wand?" I asked him, my tone edging on anger. "Harry's wand, it attacked me. My wand would not listen. The Snatchers wand burst into flame. I don't see a pattern, here! You told me that my wand was a prat because Augurey's are loyal and that they only listened to their family—"

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

"Then why won't wands work for me – wands that don't second guess my brother at all?" I asked him strongly. "And why would a wand that isn't loyal to me pick me as its master?"

"Drea—"

"No, this is important," I assured my brother, moving my hand to signal for him not to interrupt. I doubted Ollivander could get any weaker than he already was, but he certainly looked more wheezy as ideas flew through his mind. "Why is the only wand that will work for me something that I didn't win, something that should rebel against me? This is the kind of thing wandlore should be able to explain."

"Not every wand is the same, Miss Potter. There are different ways a wand's loyalty can be gained: winning it, murder, having it choose you…perhaps it saw something in you that it saw in Bellatrix Lestrange. Something it should be loyal to."

If I could have breathed fire, I would have.

"Well, then I guess that's all the answers I need from an old, useless wandmaker," I hissed, shoving my hands against the bed so I could get up. "Remind me never to get another wand from this traitorous, old nut—"

"Audrey!"

"He was torturing me!" Ollivander gasped. "The Cruciatus Curse…you have no idea…"

"We have every idea," I hissed, glaring at him over my shoulder. I knew he could see my own wounds. I didn't care what he had said to Voldemort…I cared what he had just said to me. "I'm done with him."

I walked from the room, listening as my brother made his excuses for me. Better him than me. I had nothing else to say to that horrible, feeble little man. I stormed out of the room and down the stairs. Dean and Luna were having tea with Bill and Fleur as I flew past them in the kitchen. By the time I was out the door, I was practically sprinting out into the cool, sea breeze. The chill in the air helped smack me awake and out of my anger-ridden haze.

I sat in the sand with a huff while the waters roared around me. The sea was reminding me just how turbulent everything would be from now on. And it would stay this way until this damned adventure was finished. There was nothing safe anymore, nowhere that we could hide without endangering others. The water seemed to mimic my mood as waves crashed desperately around the shoreline.

Behind me, a cat mewled loudly. Part of me wanted to go find it, it was likely by Dobby's grave, but I just couldn't bring myself to move from where I had fallen into the sand. I felt weak, despite how angry and bitter I felt.

And while my body felt fragile, my mind was rampant. I felt like the puzzle pieces were joining together in an image that I couldn't even comprehend. Something was wrong, something was so wrong. And deep down, I worried that fixing this picture would bring its own dangers…for me. Because who was I kidding? There was no running away from the truth of it now…though I didn't understand how – yet – this obviously had something to do with me.

"Drea!" Harry called as he walked through the sand. "Drea, what the hell was that?"

"Don't you start with me," I hissed, holding out a finger in his direction. I scrambled to get back up, readying myself to storm off if he tried to lecture me. "I don't want to hear it. No – I deserve not to hear it. What I did for you and for that stupid, horrible little man – and then for him to…for him suggest…"

My brother sighed loudly as he finally reached my side.

"No one thinks you're anything like Bellatrix Lestrange, Audrey."

"Really?" I barked out a bitter laugh that tasted awful. I was horrified to feel the sting of tears prickle behind my eyes and to distract myself, I wound up and threw the walnut wand as far away from me as I could. It landed in the sand near the cottage and I forced myself to tear my eyes away from it before the tears would threaten to fall again. "Because I do."

"Don't say that—"

"Something's wrong with me, Harry. Don't you feel it? Can't you see it?" I raged, digging my hands into the sand so that I could throw it toward the water. "For years – years – I tried to make magic work for me as it does for everyone else. It never has. Not ever. And now the only wand to ever obey me is the wand that was just used to torture me…don't tell me that's not a coincidence. Don't tell me that's not strange…"

"You heard what Ollivander said," Harry argued, his voice repulsively calm. "There are lots of reasons that a wand will change allegiance…"

"I didn't win that wand, I didn't murder her, I didn't even take it from her – it's like it couldn't tell the difference between us, Harry. And there's no reason for it to recognize me besides recognizing the pain it caused me…and something tells me wands don't feel sympathy."

"Audrey…" Harry whispered, moving to sit down in the sand. He took the time to pat at the sand beside him as if asking me to sit with him. I took a deep breath, placing my hands atop of my head – I felt too restless to sit down. Everything within me hurt and I felt like if I sat again I wouldn't be able to get up…but at the same time, I was far too tired to fight him.

I gave in, falling into the sand beside him. Both of us watched the water for a long moment.

"Something's wrong," I assured him again. "Don't tell me there's not."

"I don't know what to say, Audrey," my brother murmured. "Who am I to fight you on this when I think there's something wrong with me, too?"

I looked over at him, seeing his face strained. "How bad is it, your scar?"

Harry moved his fringe to cover it as if I wouldn't be able to see it. "He's angry. Very angry."

"You've been in his head more, haven't you? That's why you knew all the things that happened with the wands." I noted. My brother didn't even care to hide the truth. He nodded and sighed, looking out at the water. I followed his gaze. "It's all coming to a head, isn't it? This is it…the final straw. The last line of defence before…well, whatever comes next."

"I think so," Harry muttered. Behind him, I saw that Ron and Hermione had come to join us outside. They moved closer slowly, as if afraid that I would attack them too. In her hand, Hermione was holding the wand that I had thrown away – I wasn't sure how I felt about using it, but realistically I shouldn't have been throwing it away. Not when it was the only wand that had ever worked for me. "We haven't found all the Horcruxes."

"We haven't destroyed them either," I muttered, grabbing a rock out of the sand and whipping it into the sea in front of us.

"But there's one in Gringotts…I'm sure of it," he spoke loudly enough for Ron and Hermione to hear now. "Bellatrix was too anxious about us being in her vault."

I shrugged, taking a deep breath. "Then we go to get it."

"What if the Elder Wand is in there?" Ron asked cautiously, afraid to step in our conversation. He sat down beside Harry, Hermione following his lead on Ron's other side.

"It's not," Harry assured them confidently. "Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago. 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."

"Pride," I muttered. "It's probably what spread the Elder Wand around most."

"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 duelled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand."

Ron gaped. In fact, I may have too. "Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?"

"It makes sense," I breathed.

"But then – where is it now?"

"At Hogwarts," Harry muttered, playing with his fringe again.

"But then, let's go!" said Ron urgently, clambering to get up from the sandy shoreline. "Harry let's go and get it before he does!"

"It's too late for that," Harry fully pushed against his forehead now. I guess he wasn't trying to hide it from Ron and Hermione anymore – then again, did he want to? Was he really fighting against the pain at all when it had just given him such vital information? "He knows where it is. He's there now."

"Harry!" Ron stomped in the sand, sending it flying against my knees. "How long have you known this – why have we been wasting time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? We could have gone, we could still go—"

"No," Harry muttered, shaking his head as if to clear it. "Hermione's right about the wand. Dumbledore clearly didn't want me to have it. He didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes."

"The unbeatable wand, Harry!" Ron moaned helplessly. He looked to me as if I would agree with him, but instead, I shook my head.

"It doesn't matter if we have the wand unless we've destroyed all of the Horcruxes ahead of time," I shrugged. "Even if we destroy his body, he still has his Horcruxes to fall back on. He'll just come back."

"So, our next move…" Hermione said slowly. "It's breaking into Gringotts?"

"How in Merlin's beard are we going to do that?" Ron threw his hands in the air, clearly still frustrated about losing his chance with the Elder Wand. "Those Goblins, they're tricky. They'll know that we're up to no good."

"That's why we need Griphook," Harry stated simply.

"And a foolproof plan," Hermione added with a wince. "Preferably with some sort of guide to the Lestrange's vault…I doubt we'd ever find it without help."

"Maybe something like a summoning charm? Or breaking in from where the lower vaults are, underneath Diagon Alley?" Ron offered with a frown. I swear, he'd be stroking his beard if he had one. "Without Griphook we'll never get through the front doors."

Harry turned to me. "Audrey, how have you broken into all these places? Should we tunnel in?"

It was strange being asked what to do by the Gryffindors. They had been a part of so many plots and plans, things that I had rarely been included in, to begin with. Now to think that they wanted my input? It was strange…but exciting. For once it was all about me. For once I was in control…and I knew exactly how to use – and abuse – that power.

"It's not a bad plan," I shrugged. "But let me teach you how to think like a real Slytherin."

Ron made a face. "And why would we want to do that?"

"Simple, because Slytherins don't get caught—"

"You've been caught multiple times," Hermione argued, her face looking very unimpressed. I frowned, feeling as if my eye should be twitching by how frustrated I suddenly felt.

"Fine, then how about because we are going to walk right into Bellatrix Lestrange's vault without any resistance. This is your problem, guys: you Gryffindors make everything so ostentatious. Slytherins are subtler…and trickery is how we're going to make this work."

Ron and Hermione looked at each other, then to Harry. He passed me back the wand I had chucked away from me into the sand.

"Alright then. What's next?"

Well, everyone, that's the chapter! The next chapter is…Gringotts! What do you guys think will happen now that Audrey is in the formula? I'd love to hear your thoughts! I'm working on responding to my reviewers, but let me first respond to those without accounts:

Guest: I know the story has taken way too long to upload, but I am so happy to hear you're still enjoying it! Thank you so much for reviewing, I hope you liked this new chapter.

Jhenifer: Honestly, it was intense to write the chapter, as well. I feel terrible taking so much time to update these chapters but there are so many intricate things I need to fit into them now that the story is ending that I want to make sure I don't miss anything (for plot, or for emotions) because things are about to happen quickly, as you know. I hope you liked this newest chapter as well and thank you so much for taking the time to review!

Steph: It's so funny you say that! Sometimes I write a chapter and then have to go through and say, "is this what Audrey would actually say, or what I would say?" and there's a lot of lines where I think, "this is way too nice, Audrey would not be this nice," that I have to adjust. Audrey has those tendencies that are very important to follow, or I agree, it will not be in character and she wouldn't survive continuing to be herself.

You're not the first person to yell at me for the Draco thing, actually. But in my defence, that's in the original novel! That wasn't me! I just spent a lot more time talking about it, adding Audrey into it, and made it a lot more emotional. Don't worry – I'll spoil it now and say he'll heal. Because it wasn't mentioned when we see him at Hogwarts, so it won't be mentioned here; don't worry, he'll heal.

I'm glad that you thought Drea stayed herself even in the face of torture, also in the face of realizing that she is not all-powerful; she has limitations. But you're right, I love that Dylan Thomas quote for this! I haven't thought of the quote in a long time, but I agree, it's quite fitting.

I'm honestly so honoured that you even consider my writing when you work on your own craft. To know that I've influenced anything is super humbling. I really hope that the writing of this chapter meant just as much to you. Thank you so much for reviewing!

honostenes: It's okay if you don't ship Draco and Audrey. Many people ship Fred with Audrey. But I am sorry that you don't approve of their relationship for the reason that they're the pairing you hear about most often. And you'll continue to (considering they're the main pairing), but I'm not going to tell you how to think! I hope you liked this chapter, particularly as it had a little bit of Fred in it. Thank you for taking the time to review!

S: Great catch on the skean! Not a lot of people caught it – in fact, I think you were the one of the (if not the very) first to catch on. Good job! I hope you liked this chapter and thank you so much for taking the time to review the last one :)

Paola rio: The knife did not burn Hermione in the same way it burnt Audrey. Now that we know it's Slytherin's skean, I'm excited to hear the theories people have about it. Thank you so much for reviewing, I hope you liked this newest chapter.

Royal Teeeya: Oh my gosh, thank you so much! I'm so glad that you liked the last chapter so much. I felt a lot of pressure over it, considering it's the one most people have been waiting for, so I'm glad that it came across so well. It was great writing all that drama and angst, particularly after having it playing in my head for so long.

I also got the feeling Bellatrix would have actually liked Audrey's gall, were it not for the obvious differences in moral alignment. We know that Draco has always been 'too soft' for her liking and Audrey fought against her – I feel like she would be the kind of person to respect that, but kill anyway, haha.
I'm glad that you liked seeing the contrast between Slytherin and Gryffindor action – subtly and impulsiveness. Harry was a good mix in between because I think he has a lot more Slytherin tendencies than he cares to admit; after all, the sorting hat wanted him there first. And Horcrux or not, he would have fit in there.

You were right, good job! The foreshadowing was for the skean, but there were a lot of little things in that last chapter that will come back later. I've actually been very slowly reading through the entire story again and making a document with all the foreshadowing listed out for each chapter. Then I'll be prepared for when people ask later, haha!

I have seen the Fantastic Beasts movies and I loved them. I want to be best friends with Newt – and I'm pretty sure Audrey would want to be, too. I won't say that they've really affected this story (they probably would have if I was still in the section of the story where she was in Care of Magical Creatures), but it does make me look at the Wizarding World a little differently. More perspective is always good for a complicated story like this. Speaking of a different perspective, I still think of the Seren and Tom storyline often – I don't know if it's realistic to get back to it, but I considered making it a mini-series with 10 different chapters spanning 10 years or so of when Voldemort was rising to power. But I'm still not convinced I'll pick it up again. It sucks that I lost the original. Anyway, thank you so much for your reviews, as always – I loved reading them and hope that you loved reading this!

Guest (2): I am not sure if you've made it this far yet (or if you ever will) considering you were reviewing chapter 86, but I hope you still like the story. Especially since Fred is also in this chapter talking to her about Draco. Thanks for the review!

Alpaca: First and foremost, I laughed so hard seeing how many times you had to tell me about different theories. Do not feel bad about it, it made me happy, haha. And also thank you! I always get worried over the bigger, important chapters because if I do them badly, it will affect everything thereafter, you know? I'm really feeling the pressure with these last chapters because they're going to have so much material in them…and if I messed up the ending, I'd never forgive myself. I actually scrapped the first half of this chapter and rewrote it when I realized I hadn't added enough important information that will be needed for later.

There is definitely a lot of foreshadowing that would work for your theories, I agree. Of course, I'm not going to give away any secrets, but I can only imagine your theories have started taking shape after some of the things we learned in this installment. I will say that some of the things you're thinking are on the right track. I can tell you that I'm having fun listening to all the theories. Especially because some people have started stumbling onto things that I was worried I'd kept too subtle…hopefully, it means I'm doing my job right!

I've always been drawn to the three Black sisters. I think the three of them are so different, but so wonderfully conceptualized so I get excited whenever there's a scene with any one of them in it. I'd actually love to do the Malfoy Manor scene and what happens after from Narcissa's POV, but I don't want to promise anything.

I do have the two different endings in mind; I'm really excited to write them both. I'm still not sure how I'll post them though – maybe the alternate ending in APP? I'm still conflicted. I also don't know which ending will end up being the one I use…whichever feels the most natural. I prefer one over the other, but it wouldn't be the first (or even tenth) time that this story naturally moved in a different direction than I'd planned.

Immy: You brought up a lot of good questions! I'm glad that you're analyzing it so heavily. That will really help you out in the later chapter, having all those theories swirling around. Your theories are really good ones, but I can't say anything more than that. I hope you liked this chapter, especially as some of your questions were answered, and thank you so much for reviewing!

Guest (3): That's not a bad theory! I'm sure you could even find some foreshadowing to back that up. Of course, I can't tell you if you're right, but I would agree that Snape would never settle for knowing that Audrey would have to be sacrificed. He would never have played along. Anyway, thank you so much for reviewing, I hope you liked this new chapter!

Mel: It's true, as much as she complains about him, she's pretty protective over her brother. I always think of those characters who say, "if anyone kills you, it's going to be me" (a la Sabertooth, Stewie Griffin, Damon Salvatore, etc.) while they protect the people they care about…I think it's something very realistic for Audrey to say. I'm glad you were invested enough to be torn apart – but I warn you that things are only going to get more intense.

Guest (4): I'm hoping to have a few updates out in the next week as well, so hopefully you'll be happy about this too! I'm glad you liked the last chapter and hope that you enjoyed this one as well. Thank you for reviewing!

Guest (5): Thank you, I'm so glad you liked it! This new chapter had some pretty intense moments and a bit more dense content. I hope that you enjoyed this one as well, thank you so much for reading and reviewing

Thank you so much for reviewing! This story is moving crazy-quickly now, I cant believe how close it is to being over. Please leave your thoughts, I've loved hearing everyone's theories! Remember to add me on twitter at EgyptsLegend for updates, facts, excerpts, and more.

Also please REVIEW!

-Egypt