A/N: It's sure been a while, and yes this is still going. I have every intention of finishing this as the end includes scenes I've always wanted to write. Again, excuse the occasional error, hopefully any don't sour the chapter. We're getting there, big things are in the works!

The Curse and the Wand

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Ollivander's hands shook in ways that betrayed something more than old age as he placed yet another finished wand into a box the size of a trunk beside him. Voldemort observed the maker of his wand with a trace amount of fascination as he watched from the shadows of the cell he kept the Wandmaker in. Preparations were moving forward at a satisfactory pace, which allowed him time to address a certain problem that lingered within the depths of his mind.

Harry Potter had long proven that he was the boy of prophecy, yet had countless failings that destined him to die by his own hand. He was certain of that. Yet, when he - in his curiosity - dueled the boy just after his rebirth, their wand's had locked together.

Of course, wands of all types locked when their spells met in specific ways, but this had been different, unknown. In Magic, any unknown quantity was dangerous, yet he'd never had such a mind to dissect such effects until now. Normally he would have in the summer, but he'd been too busy to turn his attention to this particular problem. The subject did intrigue him, despite what one may think. After all, one did not attain such power without effort and study. "Garrick." He called softly from his corner.

The wandmaker twitched violently, turning almost to face him, fear evident upon his wizened features. "What do you require?" The usually measured and lingering nature of his voice shook. The ethereal nature of the man's tone bluntened some by months in captivity.

Voldemort observed the man intently, ready to detect any attempt at falsehood. "What do you know of the peculiars of wand-locking or wand-connection?"

Ollivander blinked owlishly, but replied in a lecture tone anyway. "The inherent magic that forms each spell of a certain type, intermingles with each other, binding both jets of magic along a single axis. It happens most commonly with combat spells as they take the form of a kind of projectile. The power or will to defeat the other, along with/or a breaking of the connection are the only methods of nullifying such an effect."

Voldemort struggled to tame his rising frustration. The wandmaker was being truthful, and such magic was interesting, but it gave him no answers.

Ollivander, most likely sensing his rage, hurried on. "The only other type of wand-lock, is that of brother-wands."

Voldemort stood suddenly, moving closer, excitement rising. "Explain." He hissed.

"The locking of brother-wands is the ultimate contest, both wands sense their brother, and shy away from harming each other, thus forming a barrier between their owners and the outside world. If one wand is forced to overcome the other, the defeated wand will regurgitate its memory of the same spell cast that caused the wand-lock. Neither owner can lose as long as the regurgitation continues… Yet, there are no records of what happens after a wand has regurgitated all of its magic."

A wave of satisfaction washed over him as it matched his observations, yet the fact that he would not be able to kill the boy because he apparently shared the same core of his own wand was infuriating.

Voldemort moved in the blink of an eye, dragging the wandmaker to his feet observing him closely, he would not be able to lie to him. "How do I circumvent this effect?" He growled.

"U-Use a wand with a different core."

He shook the old man roughly, sensing more to his answer. "Or…" He whispered silkily and darkly.

"Find the Elder Wand." Ollivander replied easily.

The nature of the answer raised his suspicions, so he delved into the man's memories. With a smirk, he withdrew. The Wandmaker believed the wand existed, even though it was perhaps a myth. He also believed that it would distract him and spend many fruitless years searching for it, putting his plans on hold.

Such a weak plan amusing him greatly, yet he had to teach the old man a lesson for his tricks. "Crucio." He whispered, power flowing through his arm to the man he held. Much like it had in the Orphanage all those years ago, he'd never really needed a wand to make people hurt.

Ollivander screamed in his grasp for a few seconds before he released the curse. "Tell me about the Elder Wand…" He hissed, voice laden with dangerous intent.

Harry woke with a start, promptly vomiting onto his bed covers in his disorientation. On reflex, he grasped his wand and shakily vanished the remains of his dream. Feeling too dizzy to lay back down, he rolled into a sitting position, pushing aside his own hangings.

"Harry?" He glanced up at the fuzzy shape that the sound had come from, Dean - the lighter sleeper of them all - peered through his hangings at him. He was glad that the only light in the room came from the small wood burning heater in the center of the room for a couple of reasons. Namely, to hide how terrible he no doubt looked, and to hide Dean's expression from him.

"Bad dream." He muttered in reply, not wanting to wake the others. With a groan, he swung his legs out properly from the warmth of bed summoning his glasses to hand with a twitch of his fingers. "Go back to sleep."

Dean - now in focus - looked at him disbelievingly. "You sure you're alright?"

Harry tried a grin, hoping it was convincing. "Yeah… just need to stretch my legs."

"Alright." Dean replied with a look that plainly said: 'If you say so' before dissappearing behind his hangings once more.

As he began putting his clothes on as a twinge of guilt passed through him. How often had he lied or brushed off his dormmates this year? He glanced around the darkened room, there were only four beds where there had once been five. The room looked hopelessly empty without Ron's bed. Had he become so blind this year? Lost in his own world with Hermione, he'd barely noticed the rest of the school, even those he slept in the same room with. Neville, of course, was the exception, a brother-in-arms that had been there all along.

All he'd needed to do was look.

He made a note to interact more with his dorm-mates from now on, Seamus and Dean weren't too bad really. They'd just been… unimportant to his… mission? They were just so… normal. A part of him felt bad for intruding upon their simple lives with his problems.

But then he glanced once more at the space where Ron's bed had resided.

There was time for interaction once he'd won. Once he'd prevented more death at the hands of the Wizard that had torn his life apart. Even as the thought popped into his head he felt uneasy about it.

Those in his year would perhaps be the only people that knew him at all for the rest of his life. The only people that knew Harry Potter was more than the legend - though usually less. Simply a boy trying to find himself, awkward, cold, quick to anger and unsure of himself as the rest of the teens in Hogwarts.

His self-debasing thoughts kept him unaware of his surroundings as he descended the stairs and navigated his way through the deserted common room. It was only the shock of a cold castle that allowed him to collect himself. With a wave of his wand, a message laden patronus was sent to the Headmaster as he didn't fancy having to wait outside in the corridor until later in the morning.

A surprised blink of his eyes betrayed the fact that he'd forgotten the Map, Invisibility Cloak and girlfriend. He paused, almost turning around to wake her up before deciding against it to press on. All he had to do was relay what he'd seen and get some answers. I don't need to wake her up just for that, do I?

Hermione, as proven through the holidays, he'd found to be someone that didn't appreciate their sleep interrupted. Usually because it meant she wouldn't have full brain-power the next day, and an uncooperative brain irritated her to no end. A nightmare was tolerable, but a sudden midnight jaunt to Dumbledore's office to discuss weighty subjects? No thanks.

He'd tell her in the morning anyway, over a coffee and whatever they chose for breakfast.

He hurried through the cold still air of the castle, casting 'Homonem Revelio' every so often in lieu of the map. As he took a shortcut through the seventh floor, a door suddenly appeared in the wall before him.

Quickly he disillusioned himself and silenced his footsteps, trying to blend in with a Tapestry of Barnabus the Barmy trying to teach Trolls to dance.

Slicked back platinum hair covered the head that poked a head out of the Room of Requirement slowly, obviously checking if the coast was clear. Such a sight was odd in itself, he had never seen Malfoy out of bed after hours since first year. And right now he looked more bedraggled than he felt, his hair falling from its slicked back look to hang in front of his face. Malfoy's eyes betrayed a tiredness beyond the norm, a sight seldom seen. He couldn't help but smirk in memory of the scumbag trying his best to get himself and Hermione in trouble in first year, only to earn a detention himself.

What is he doing in there? At this hour? Without his lackey's? Come to think, I haven't seen them at all since the summer.

A part of him hoped he'd killed them both for attacking the Granger's, but there was no way to know for sure. They hadn't returned for their sixth year that much was certain, due to being too stupid to attend or prefering to spend their time attacking innocent people. Or worse.

Probably a good thing for them, if he ever saw them again… It went without saying.

It didn't take much thought to delay his visit with Dumbledore, the old bastard. Malfoy had been quiet this year, suspiciously so in his mind. The fact that he never actually SAW anything to match his suspicions kept him from mentioning it to anyone. He'd had much bigger fish to fry this year. Much bigger than some blonde pompous prat sneaking about.

Thinking quickly, he covered his mouth, facing the direction of the corridor he'd just come from. With a non-verbal 'Sonorous' he did his best imitation of Mrs. Norris, trying his best to project it as far from himself as possible.

With the amount of times he'd had a run-in with the infernal feline, needless to say, his imitation was flawless. The result was a panicked look on the boy in front of him - emphasising his sickly pallor - and a hasty exit, leaving the door behind him to swing closed on its own.

Just before Malfoy rounded the corner, and the door shut. He conjured the first thing he could think of to jam the door open; a plastic ruler, similar to the one he'd had in primary school. Before Dudley had broken it that is.

When Malfoy was no longer in sight he hurried up to the door and barely kept in a woop. He'd done it!

Without another thought, he eased open the door, stepped into the room and found…

Junk.

Mountains of it.

His eyes swept the room, making out some odd sights: McGonagall's humungous chess pieces from first year, a plethora of old brooms, books, cauldrons, the hundred or so keys from Flitwick's challenge in first year. Centuries of odd, broken or illicit stuff filled the cavernous room. Pixies lazily flitted in and out of the dust laden detris.

He didn't move an inch, not wanting to disturb anything while he thought over things.

Why was he in here? How the hell am I going to figure that out? Whatever, no girlfriend to save your ass now Potter, figure it out.

After a minute or two of problem solving in silence, he had it.

The dust!

"Lumos!" He called, and with a throw, lobbed a ball of light into the air. It was by no means bright, but it was enough to see differences in the dust that lay thick upon everything.

He squinted for a moment trying to find the right angle of light before he spotted it. A path clear of dust, it spoke of just how often Malfoy had visited the room.

He set off, following the dustless trail deep into the labyrinth of clutter. Straight, left, straight, straight, right, straight, left, left. After that, the trail disappeared and he looked up.

A cupboard, large enough to fit a man, sat before him. It towered over him, close to twelve feet in height and covered in faded golden runes. It looked odd for a cupboard, much too artistic and intricate to merely keep linen or pots and pans.

When his senses reengaged with his environment once more he heard it again. Muffled, metallic scratching sounds eminated from the very edge of his hearing range. After a few moments of fruitless searching, he extended his wand and awareness. "Specialis Revelio."

The spell worked like a charm, and his vision was filled with colour. Each colour representing different types of enchantment upon items that were strewn around him. The 'cupboard' before him was lit like a Christmas Tree under the charm. The only issue with searching for enchantments in an enchanted room, in a magical school, was that everything worth hiding carried some type of spell upon it.

His senses overwhelmed, he dropped the charm and growled in frustration.

Maybe I should have woken Hermione.

He huffed again in frustration, before he heard something. A sound he knew and felt. A Horcrux. Somehow in this very room. Somewhere close. Despite this, the amount of junk defeated each method he thought of finding it. And he did have an appointment to keep.

Defeated, he exited the room the way he came, and pressed on towards his original destination. The rest of his journey was more uneventful this time around and he found the Gargoyles that guarded the Headmaster's office seemed to be as tired as one normally would be at this hour. They stepped aside lethargically, much to his amusement.

The door swung inwards after his first knock, revealing a dimly lit office and a tired looking Headmaster.

"Harry." Dumbledore called softly. "I trust you have a reason for wandering the halls at such an hour?"

He crossed the room, looking vibrant in comparison despite his own tiredness and collapsed in the chair he usually took. "I had another dream. He's got Ollivander, forcing him to make wands, and was asking him about the Elder Wand."

"Ah." The old man slumped in his seat before returning to his original position, using his uninjured left hand.

He got a glimpse of Dumbledore's wand hand, the blackness he'd originally spotted earlier in the year had now spread up the man's forearm. "Sir? Your hand?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, as if knowing this question would be asked one day. "A reminder to never fall to the temptations of the past, or power. Something Tom will never realise it seems."

Harry was undeterred. "What's wrong with it?"

Dumbledore gazed blandly at his blackened hand. "The remnants of a curse upon a Horcrux I destroyed over the summer. There is no cure, despite Severus's intervention."

"Snape!?" He snapped.

Despite his decision during the summer, he found himself attending almost all of his classes this year. With the reduction in classes taken, and the corresponding free-periods, he usually undertook some form of self study in between. Hermione, somehow, had found time to help in between the gruelling essays set by each of her teachers. As a result, the grades of his essays and assignments dropped markedly when compared to his OWL results.

The Room of Requirement had become a second home, and wherever his girlfriend had stopped by to help him well… He just had to show her just how much he appreciated her help, which would lead to a night spent in the wonderous room.

Those glorious nights however, were few and far between. And Snape had wasted no time decrying his lack of written work, the only one of his teachers that would not back down. Despite the constant sniping - during which he practised his Occlumency - he attended every DADA class because they were still somewhat useful to him.

That didn't mean Snape hadn't been anymore of a bastard about it.

"Severus has far more extensive knowledge about curses than I, you know this Harry." Dumbledore replied as snappishly as he ever got.

"But-"

"I will die." The old man interrupted, and with a sigh fixed his gaze upon the ceiling. "Perhaps within a year, the exertion of finding pieces of Tom's soul has seemed to accelerate the spread." He observed with a shocking amount of unconcern. Silence filled the room for a time - only the quiet tattering of the Headmaster's many odd contraptions interrupting it - before it was broken by Dumbledore. "The wand Tom is searching for is this." He held up a long knobbly wand for the teen to see, gaze still fixed toward the ceiling. "He merely seeks a way to defeat the Brother-Wand connection you experienced in the Graveyard."

Despite the shock that the old man in front of him would be dead within a year, and the fact that he would not be able to stand between him and Voldemort for much longer. His curiosity prodded at him, and the conclusion lined up with what he had seen. "So then the Brother-Wand connection stopped him from killing me?"

The old man nodded tiredly. "Yes. Yet, the loss of such protection is inconsequential in comparison to his Horcruxes. Despite whatever you may hear about the Elder Wand."

He nodded but was still curious about the Elder Wand and what made it so special. He made a mental note to consult Ollivander's notebook later. He tried not to think about the eroding protections that had saved him from Voldemort in the past.

"At least we know what they are." Harry supplied.

"Indeed… Though the snake is a guess." Dumbledore removed his gaze from the ceiling, rubbing the spot where his spectacles normally sat upon the bridge of his crooked nose.

"Sir, your glasses, what happened to them?"

The old man fixed him with a slightly mischievous look. "I trust you enough to not need them in your presence."

Harry blinked. "But can you see?"

"Witches and Wizards only really need glasses when their magic fails due to age. Most, including I, use spectacles that have been enchanted in some way to see beyond what the normal eye can not."

Shock flowed through him at such a revelation. "Mr. Weasley? Amelia?"

"Both no doubt use enchanted lenses that reveal the nature of magic around them, as required by their jobs."

"Me?"

"You can see Madame Pomfrey anytime to get your vision corrected. Although, for a boy who has always 'needed' them. Such a surprise would fall any who expects you to be debilitated without them in a fight."

"So after all this time?" He fought to regain control of his emotions. How many times will this old fucker mess with me? "A year is too long Albus." He spat, sweeping from the room, slamming the door behind him…

Until his anger reminded him of a certain pale teen he'd run into on the way to Dumbledore's office. Almost petulantly, he spun on heel with a grimace and reentered the same battleground he'd just left.

The man himself hadn't moved an inch, candlelight illuminating the tired lines on his wizened face. "Yes Harry?" His tone was sullen and weary.

"Have you been watching Malfoy this year?" He asked sharply.

A guarded and curious expression stole over the Headmasters face. "Why?" Harry simply gave him an exasperated look, getting tired of the usual games. "Yes." Dumbledore corrected tiredly.

"Why is he going into the Room of Requirement then?"

Dumbledore suddenly leant forwards. "Severus and I are unable to ascertain exactly why… so far."

He blinked for a moment or two in surprise at the fact that Snape was apparently watching Malfoy for some reason. Should I have been as well? "I've found it, some enchanted cupboard - it's beyond me, what it does. But it… doesn't feel right. Like the Locket."

The old man's gaze met his own at that, before leaning back and gazing unseeingly at the wall behind Harry silently.

After nearly a minute he sighed. "Milpy." An elf cracked into being between them. "Please bring me one of Madam Pomfrey's Pepper-Up potions." A nod and the elf reappeared with a vial of something that was bright blue and seemed to sparkle appetisingly.

Harry, meanwhile, had watched stonily. Being somewhat violently reminded of Dobby's death, and to a lesser extent, Kreacher's.

Dumbledore drained the contents of the vial and gestured for him to lead on, straightening his askew robes and summoning his glasses to hand much the same way he himself had earlier as they exited into the cold corridors of Hogwarts.

"Draco Malfoy's soul is still redeemable." Countered Dumbledore as they gazed at the Cupboard and its surroundings.

"What's that got to do with anything!?" Harry exclaimed. "We've established that this is a back-door into Hogwarts! Why don't we destroy it?"

"Because Draco has been tasked with my murder, by Voldemort." Dumbledore said simply.

Speechlessly, he thought furiously over this nugget of information, trying in vain, to rein in his frustration. Piecing together everything he'd heard so far. "And this would help with that?"

Dumbledore simply stood, pondering. "The only reason that makes sense is to let reinforcements into the castle to overwhelm me… Foolish." He said softly, as if forgetting Harry was there at all.

"Sir?" Harry asked in lieu of anything else to say.

"Anyone able for Draco to smuggle into the Castle, save for Tom, would not be enough for the likes of myself." Out of anyone else's mouth, it would have come across as arrogance in the extreme. Yet Harry couldn't help but agree, the Deatheaters were dangerous, but Dumbledore was above them.

Although… He had never seen the Headmaster look so weak before. And not all of it could be attributed to being woken in the middle of the night. The curse had to be taking a toll on the Headmaster's constitution… A terrible thought struck him. "You want Draco to kill you?" He asked incredulously.

Dumbledore was silent for some time. "It would spare him… This task is merely a punishment you see, punishment for Lucius's failure in the Department of Mysteries. It was probably why he waited so long to breakout those particular followers from Azkaban this time around."

The recent Azkaban breakout of those captured in the Department of Mysteries raid had been front page news a month previous. Minister Bones had quickly used it to call for the destruction of Azkaban as a prison, it being obvious that the Dementors had switched sides. The abominations of magic had begun to roam the country, attacking the magical population at random. Christmas festivities in particular had drawn much of the recent attacks, though some remained upon the island with the few remaining prisoners.

"But you're talking about letting Deatheaters in Hogwarts! What if they decide killing you isn't enough? KIlling Muggleborns as well?" Harry spat, thinking instantly of Hermione facing down several black robes figures.

Fuck that.

Harry drew his wand. "I'm not taking that chance Albus." He took a step back, pointing the Holly wand at the cabinet. "Step back." Dumbledore didn't seem to hear him, so caught up was he in his own thoughts. He'd had enough waiting though: "Debilito Elido." The cabinet began to creak, bending impossibly as if being crushed from all sides like an empty beer can.

With a gesture from his off hand, he increased the power of the spell and the Cabinet suddenly crumpled in upon itself. Dumbledore, now simply watched, not being quick enough to interfere.

With a flick, he sent the crumpled mass towards the cavernous ceiling with a silent 'Acencio'. With impeccable timing born from his hours of training, he sent an 'Expulso' where the crushed cabinet would meet its apex before deciding once more.

A cold explosion sent pieces of the Erstwhile Vanishing Cabinet in every direction, showering the Room of Hidden Things in pieces of ancient wood.

Wordlessly, Dumbeldore produced a shield around them that protected them both from the odd piece of splintered wood that flew in their direction.

Despite the explosion being close to the ceiling, the shockwave knocked many of the odds and ends around them askew. In particular, an ugly looking ceramic bust toppled to the floor and smashed, drawing the eye of both Wizards.

An ancient looking discoloured tiara, inlet with a single sapphire sat before them on tangled in a blonde wig. Instantly, he felt that same feeling of unease. The sound of metallic scratching filled his ears, loud enough that he took a step away from it.

Dumbledore could no doubt tell by his reaction at what it was, even without his own eyes widening in recognition. "Rowena's missing Diadem." He muttered under his breath.

His own eyes widened in surprise. "That's it?"

"Indeed it is Harry. Yet again, you stumble along so brilliantly as to find exactly what we are seeking." The old man looked incredulously amused at the current situation.

At least until Harry asked something he'd been meaning to since finding the Locket in the possession of Mundungus Fletcher. "Can you hear them, sir?"

Dumbledore tore his gaze from the Diadem, glancing sideways at him. "I cannot."

"Why me then?"

"Why indeed…" Dumbledore replied absently, gaze flitting across the room for several moments before giving an answer. "The best theory I can come up with is vague Harry. The connection you share with Tom, allows you to sense his horcruxes."

"That's it? How?"

At that, the old man smiled. "How does the Lumos charm produce light? How does one conjure something from nothing?"

"Magic." Harry replied sullenly, yet frustrated at the lack of an answer.

Dumbledore held out the Tiara to him, almost as if a gesture of truce. "Perhaps those who study the nature of magic in the Department of Mysteries could give you a more substantial answer. I've spent too many decades selfishly expanding my own power and knowledge to care about such theories. Magic simply IS, and that has been enough for me."

Harry grasped the Tiara and made for the exit, intending to head back to the Headmaster's office. Dumbledore placed a hand upon his shoulder and followed him. "I can see how such a weighty subject would captivate your interest nevertheless. No magical being living, nor dead, has seen or felt as much esoteric and unique magic, as you."

"And I hate it all." Harry grumbled in response, shrugging off the Headmaster's hand.

In his mood, he mindlessly asked the room to provide an exit next to the Headmaster's office. After preventing said Headmaster from exiting while he did so. The look of almost child-like glee upon the old man's face as they stepped into the corridor right next to the Gargoyles that guarded the office ALMOST made him laugh.

A part of him wished he would grow old enough to feel excitement at such things, to live beyond the weight of Voldemort, being the prophesied saviour of the Wizarding World and live a simple life with Hermione.

With a sharp exhale, he forced such alluring images of his girlfriend from his mind as they ascended the stairs to rid the world of another one of Voldemort's abominations of magic.

As it turned out, not waking Hermione had been a mistake.

He had indeed informed her of the night's events over coffee and whatever they had chosen for breakfast. - He: scrambled eggs, bacon and a mountain of fried tomatoes. Her: a stack of raisin toast.

Her reaction wasn't what he'd been expecting.

"But your dreams ARE important." She answered earnestly. "If you're hurt, or sick, I expect to know, so I can do something about it!"

All he could do was continue eating and nod. He didn't know why he was so surprised, she'd been this way ever since they'd become friends. Before even, if you count her repairing his glasses within the first few seconds of their meeting. She'd always strove to help, keep him from doing something rash - or at least look before leaping.

And I feel the same way. He thought with a start. Seeing her laid out in the Department of Mysteries with a gash from collarbone to hip had put it rather simply in his mind. There was no living without her. Yet still, it wasn't the straightforward fear of losing her that tore at him. A fondness for her had grown, or had already been there for a long time. Events had shaped it, molded it into something else, something more.

The monstrous maleness inside him yearned to protect her bodily from harm, to help whenever he could, to be her rock. Yet this was Hermione, someone so capable and headstrong she rarely flagged. So he cherished the moments she relaxed, or looked to him for help. The only problem was that THAT usually happened during some sort of dangerous situation so it took the sheen off of it.

Hermione hadn't paused in her rant. "Gods sake Harry, I know you feel the same way." She finished, her gaze boring into his.

A part of him suddenly lamented the fact that they usually sat opposite each other at meal times, mostly for the equal discussion they partook in. Or the fact that she needed more space to place her various textbooks that made their appearance at mealtimes. Otherwise he would have pulled her into his side and planted a kiss into her hair, agreeing with her and ending her admonishment like he knew it would.

So he went with the other option: "I do. I also feel sad that you're sitting too far away to kiss and make up properly."

Her expression fell into one of long-suffering annoyance at his cheek, yet also betrayed a small mischievous smile that he loved so much. Her nose scrunched up ever so slightly and her eyes narrowed at him like she knew exactly what he was thinking - as she usually did.

They fell into companionable silence and continued eating once more, until he spied Neville entering the hall. Neville strode over and joined them, looking far taller than he had in years past, despite the taller and wider frame he'd always had.

He and Hermione shared a significant look at his appearance. They'd discussed bringing Neville in properly to the small circle of knowledge that was the Horcrux hunt. But the Great Hall was no place for discussions of such import.

"Morning guys." He chirped as he plopped into place next to Harry.

"Nev." He greeted his friend with a smile before popping some more fried tomatoes into his mouth.

"Morning." Hermione added, turning a page of her floating textbook.

Neville pulled a plate of fried eggs towards him and began piling a large amount onto his own. "What was the commotion last night Harry? Dean mentioned you having a nightmare."

Hermione glanced at Neville incredulously. "You managed to sleep through it?"

Neville spread his arms, nearly poking Lavender with the fork he still held. "I'm a heavy sleeper." He then fixed Hermione with a suspicious look while obviously struggling to hide mirth. "You mean you cannot? When have you slept… in the same room as him?"

Hermione, caught, resorted to the same silent annoyed expression she favoured Harry with earlier. It caused Neville to chuckle uncontrollably, egg falling from his fork and he shook with mirth. Obviously it hadn't been a closely-guarded secret that He and Hermione would disappear for a night on occasion. Especially to those who shared dorms with the couple.

Harry basked in the collective mirth for a moment before getting back on task. "We'll have to have a look in that notebook after dinner." He said, directing a significant look at Hermione.

She interpreted his look correctly, nodding, then glanced at Neville before returning his gaze. He didn't see any issue with Neville knowing about the Notebook, other things though… The whole silent conversation was completed in seconds, and was noticed by their companion who kept his peace.

"Sure." She replied. "I haven't heard of the Elder Wand."

THAT drew a comment from Neville. "The Elder Wand? You're joking surely." His outburst drew confused looks from the couple. "It's a made up thing from a children's story." After no answer, and more questioning looks, he elaborated. "It's from The Tale of the Three Brothers, a bedtime story. Gran would read it to me when I was little, as well as the rest of Beedle's stories."

Both Harry and Hermione asked their questions at the same time.

"Beedle?"

"Tale of the Three Brothers?"

Neville snorted before answering, glancing between them. "The Tales of Beedle the Bard, and it's a story about not trusting strangers, accepting that you will die one day, that sort of thing."

"Bit dark of a subject for a children's story isn't it?" Asked Harry.

Neville simply shrugged.

"But Ollivander thinks it's real." Hermione countered.

Neville's eyes widened. "Really? The most powerful wand in the world?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed, something he noticed. "Mione?"

"A wand is only as powerful as the Wizard, I haven't seen anything to the contrary." She stated.

"That's what I thought as well." Agreed Neville. "But the Ollivander's have been making wands for a LONG time…"

The group fell into silence as each paid attention to their own musings rather than the conversation.

Harry could only feel a certain amount of trepidation at learning this new information, Voldemort with an apparently more powerful wand gave him even less of a chance at taking revenge on the Dark Lord. The only saving grace was that he knew Dumbledore currently possessed it. Given that the Headmaster had all but sworn to stand at his side facing Voldemort, it added another problem: What if Dumbledore was defeated and Voldemort took possession of it before he could?

Grimly, he pushed that new problem to the back of his mind and decided to move forward with their original plan of seeing if Ollivander's notebook could shed any light upon it.

Classes that day seemed to drag on forever without the anxiety-filled Defence Against the Dark Arts with Snape.

Potions however zipped by as if he'd used a Time-Turner that could somehow move forwards. Slughorn had decided to act as though what had happened at the party in the lead up to Christmas had never happened. The consummate Slytherin acted in the much same manner as before. The fact that his and Hermione's continued their brilliance in the class, probably helped with that immensely.

Their little edits, guided by the Half-Blood Prince were expounded upon by Slughorn who loved to dissect just how they improved various potions. At one point, he'd asked why their textbook hadn't been revised if such improvements are possible. Potions classes in his previous years had been unconducive to discussion, he wasn't the only one to pose a question or two to their professor this year.

"Why don't you rewrite it sir?" Harry asked.

"Ah, but that's the beauty of the textbook!" Slughorn beamed. "While any true Potions Master could improve most of the recipes in this copy of Advanced Potions making. It gives students the room to apply their knowledge in new ways! Potions is a rare discipline in that rote learning can only get you so far, the knowledge of the properties of the ingredients you use and how methodology affects the outcome."

He didn't fully notice Hermione stopping in her notetaking beside him.

That had been the highlight of his day, so much had it dragged on, so he'd been relieved to sink into an armchair in the corner of the Gryffindor Common Room. Hermione had settled on a cushion between his legs and weaved a few subtle concealing charms to keep the notebook secret. Said charms had been remarked upon by Neville who crossed them to collapse in his own armchair with a momentary widening of the eyes, followed by a comment: "Nice work."

His girlfriend waved a hand, on her lap, was Ollivander's notebook. "Now, Neville, I hope you know not to-"

"Tell anyone?" He finished, giving her a long-suffering look.

She demurred with a small smile. "Sorry."

Harry massaged her shoulders for a brief moment, before resting his hands there. "Is it in there?"

With some deft movements, she found the correct page and read aloud quietly for the group. He, meanwhile read over her shoulder:

Elder: The rarest of all woods and the most difficult to master. It will naturally seek those who hold the most power and skill of their companions with great prejudice. No doubt this is where notions of the wood being unlucky come from. Any Wizard or Witch who possesses it for any great length of time is a rare breed, remarkable at the least. Those chosen by Elder and Rowan have a peculiar habit of finding one another. The Elder Wand, or the Deathstick is the most famous wand ever forged to this day.

"And the core?" He asked. Before she could reply, he caught sight of Neville's surprised look. "Nev?"

"It's real." He observed, voice laden with awe. "That notebook would be priceless, how did you find it?"

He and Hermione glanced at each other before he replied. "A little summer jaunt to the burn out shell of the shop with Dumbledore. Apparently he left it for me." He finished with a shrug."

Neville smirked. "A little jaunt with Albus Dumbedore eh?"

He flipped his friend off. "Yeah yeah, Mione?"

She twisted between his legs to look up at him with narrowed eyes. "I don't know what the core is, we'll just have to hope he wrote about the wand in more detail."

He gestured for her to search for it in the aging collection of pages, which she did, flipping through them for some time until she reached the portion of the notebook titled: Observations. From the flashes of words he caught sight of, it looked to be parts of history that the wandmaker had seen first-hand, or heard of.

Ollivander himself seemed as old as Dumbledore, to his eyes at least. What had he seen?

A suspiciously blank page drew his attention as it did Hermione's. After a moment of consternation, Dumbledore's words came back to him and he tapped the page with his wand. From the point where his wand touched the paper, ink spread and formed into the slanted handwriting of Ollivander. He noted absently that the Wandmaker's handwriting always seemed to be in a hurry, much like what he'd seen of the man himself, scurrying around searching for wands.

Hermione glanced around furtively for a moment before reading aloud for Neville as Harry read over her shoulder once more.

The Elder Wand of the Brother's Three, a most infamous wand, with the bloodiest history of any Magical Weapon, even that of 'Excalibur'. The tale is that it came as a gift from Death itself, the nattering of old wives no doubt. The Peverall Brothers were dangerous wizards beyond the description of talented, possibly related to the Founders and/or beyond. Antioch, Perhaps inspired by Godric's Sword, crafted a Wand of Elder and Thestral Hair.

I say Thestral Hair, despite not examining the wand myself, because of the Wand's somewhat well known characteristics. The wood of Elder especially, seeks those of the greatest of power and skill, the addition of Thestral, no doubt enhances this trait in the extreme. The story of winning such a wand from Death would be a product of those who knew of the wand's core. Or perhaps the fact that a wand capable of such extraordinary power attracts great Wizards and Death wherever it goes.

Such a wand would only remain loyal to those with the most power, not to the wielder themselves. That would mean, as the wand passes from Wizard to Wizard, it learns from them, gaining an affinity for magic most powerful and encompassing. Of course, it will allow itself to be overpowered, unlike some wands that will defend its owner till the last possible moment, even regurgitating magic in some rare cases. The only caveat is that the wand Antioch crafted allows its wielder to channel as much magical power as their body can sustain, unlike any other known wand in existence.

This, in effect, makes the wielder almost invincible, as the histories describe. Blatantly ignoring the fact that it passes from hand-to-hand easily. Sometimes it's quite obvious that as a society, we tend to get lost in the mysticism of certain things, obfuscating the truth.

Silence followed as they all digested Ollivander's words.

"All of that and he has never even seen the wand!?" Neville exclaimed.

Harry shrugged. "No one ever said the man wasn't brilliant." He brushed one of Hermione's errant locks of hair back to gain her attention. "Speaking of, can you translate that for me Mione?"

He wagered he could imagine the look upon her face at that very moment with absolute certainty. A mixture of eye-rolling, at his self-derogatory humour and his confidence in her.

"I'd say." She began after a moment. "For us, it means that the Elder Wand would be easier to defeat than normal wands, the only problem is that whoever wields it would be incredibly powerful through selection."

"So it wouldn't do what mine did when you held it?" He asked.

"It wouldn't move on its own accord… But it learns spells the current owner uses most frequently over time."

"Still not great." He observed, sharing a look with Neville.

Neville however, was on a different wavelength. "How will this help get rid of Voldemort though?"

It was a fair question, nevertheless Hermione answered him quickly. "It helps to know what we're up against, now that we know he's seeking it. Even if Dumbledore currently possesses it."

Neville's eyes widened. "Dumbledore has it? Merlin… Then we're safe?"

"I'm not so sure anymore…" Harry replied, glancing around once more. "He's… not too healthy nowadays. Nev, you can't tell anyone this…" Neville nodded. "He's taken a bad curse over the summer, and it's… killing him slowly."

Neville sat back, shocked. For someone raised as a Pureblood in Britain, Albus Dumbledore was akin to a god among men. A man over a century old, who was expected to live for decades more, the head of some of the most prestigious organisations in the Magical World. To hear that such a man was dying would no doubt have been a shock. "Was that why you brought the Defence Association back?" He asked.

"One of the reasons I suppose." Harry replied. As he spoke, the decision on whether to let Neville in on the secret of the Horcruxes solidified in his mind with a metaphorical snap. "Nev… There's something else as well…"

The next morning brought with it a development he perhaps should have expected, but still hadn't given much thought.

Malfoy hadn't taken the destruction of the Vanishing Cabinet well, if his ashen face and general demeanour were any indication. An island of solitude in the mass of chattering students, he didn't even notice his gaze upon him as was his usual won't. The blonde boy almost had a sixth sense for his gaze whenever it had passed over him during the years.

Still, he felt a grim sort of satisfaction at the foiling of Voldemort's plan. On the other hand however, he would be in the dark about any kind of Plan B Draco would be ordered to enact in the future. Maybe Dumbledore had a point. But given they had no indication of a timetable to smuggle Deatheaters into the Castle, it was the safest option in his opinion.

Of course this whole debacle spoke volumes about Malfoy's true loyalties, and just how far he was willing to go. A reasonable amount of deduction placed him as the fulcrum of some of the more darker events of the year. Having developed a sort of blindspot where the rest of the school was concerned, he hadn't gone after Malfoy after what had happened to Katie.

Of course he cared about her immensely, being the youngest members on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team they'd bonded to a certain amount. But knowing she was on the road to recovery and safe, satisfied him enough to concentrate upon other matters. Especially with the whole to-do with the Horcrux they'd found in Mundungus's possession, along with other things the thief had nicked. There was also the fact that Hermione drew a good portion more of his attention these days. Mustn't forget that.

Going after Malfoy, provoking him, ultimately wouldn't give him anything though. Perhaps he felt like giving the ponce a few licks for treating his girlfriend like shit for the last few years, but she might take offence to not getting her shot at him first. Either way, that particular point was moot given the almost total silence of Malfoy this year. Said silence emphasised a sort of competence in his service to Voldemort, a worrying development indeed. He would bear watching in the weeks to come.

When he had time of course, his priorities were different these days.

This was emphasised particularly by his plans for the weekend, an overdue visit to Madame Pomfrey, a sanctioned floo call to Mad-Eye - who was hopefully at Headquarters - to ask about what to enchant his glasses with, and finally, a meeting of the D.A.

He glanced over at a quiet Neville, maybe it was time to get him even more involved in leading the D.A. Probably not tonight though, given everything the pair had divulged to him last night about Voldemort and his Horcruxes, he was right to a little introspection. While the couple had agreed mutually to involve Neville in the whole saga, his own reasons for doing so were different than hers.

Neville, losing his parents to Voldemort and his followers would understand, he would be able to do what Harry would do to see that particular evil defeated. One particular fact had brought them closer:

The fire in the hearth had been dying for some time before they'd reached this point. It was the best indication of just how long the divulging of secrets and discussing them had taken. They'd started with Horcruxes, which led to Tom Marvolo Riddle, which led then again onto the nature of the Prophecy they'd fought - and which Ron had died - for.

"Born as the Seventh month dies?" Neville repeated.

"And born to those who defied Voldemort thrice." Hermione clarified.

"I'm not sure if you know Nev." Harry started. "But you also qualify for that specific part of the Prophecy, your parents defied him like mine, he just… well, found us first."

Neville's eyes widened as he realised fully the fate he'd dodged, he might be clumsy occasionally, but stupid he was not. "I think we're all lucky then, that it's you."

His own surprise at probably the most insensitive thing Neville had ever said was betrayed by his and Hermione's speechlessness.

Neville didn't miss the response his words had elicited. "You know what I mean Harry. There's no way that I could do the things you've done, I could tell from the moment I saw you in these halls. You're… hardened, I don't know by what, but you don't fear anything, you've never hesitated when something happens."

Harry felt his ire rise, despite the fact that Neville knew nothing of his upbringing, his words found and pressed a particular button. "You think that any sane person would do what I find myself doing?" He answered dangerously. "You think someone who grew up normally would throw himself at a Troll at eleven? You think I fought ten on one to get out of the Department of Mysteries, instead of offering my own death to get you all to safety?"

Silence met his words, yet he pressed on, looking his friend directly in the eye. "I'm trusting you Nev. That you can finish what Dumbledore and I started, that you will do whatever is needed to rid the world of the fucking scum that ruined our lives." Hermione gripped his hand but said nothing, she would no doubt give him a bollocking later when they were alone.

Further silence followed, punctuated only by the crackling and hissing of the dying embers.

Neville broke eye contact and stared directly into the fire for several long moments.

Finally he spoke, still staring into the glowing embers. "I'll do it, I don't know why you think I could, but I'll give it my best."

Harry almost snorted. "You can do whatever I can, Nev, you've just never had the opportunity. You're not one of the leaders of the D.A. for nothing."

Neville grimaced no doubt not believing fully what Harry had said, but nodded all the same.

Such a discussion would leave anything in a contemplative mood, he surmised. After all, Hermione and Ron had accused him of brooding quite a bit in the past. He left Neville to it and discussed with his girlfriend what her thoughts were regarding his glasses.

Her thoughts on his fatalistic words came before any ones about enchanted glasses, and they were very direct indeed.

"Now." Harry began, standing in front of the assembled D.A. members. "Not all of you have gotten the hang of silent casting, but those that do, are going to practice chaining spells together. Spoken incantations aren't useless now you know how to silent cast, IF you follow them up with silent casting. Work on mixing them up. Everyone else, you're working on combining direct spells with Transfiguration and Charms."

He pointed toward the many dummies that lined the walls evenly spaced, one for each member. "As usual, I don't care if you don't get it right the first few times, as long as you TRY. You'll get it eventually, that's the point of practising, even more, if you want to perfect one specific combo; do it. If you aren't going to work on flexibility, you better work on the pacing of your chosen spells." He gestured for them to find their places. "As usual, blue sparks for help and red sparks for accidental spell damage."

With everything on his mind recently, he hadn't had enough time to plan something new, but what Hermione had suggested was an acceptable substitute. This way, they could each provide individual advice and help, and everyone could progress at their own pace. The latter was doubly important with the new influx of members with wildly varying skill levels and innate power.

Ginny was the perfect example, he noted as he watched her furious casting for a few moments. Her spells were blindingly fast with tight aggressive flicks and direction. Her infamous Bat-Bogey Hex was sent towards the dummy followed closely by her almost equally infamous 'Reducto', both spells nearly hitting the dummy simultaneously. Nonsense spells intertwined with more dangerous ones like this were exactly what he'd been preaching over the months. Her subsequent Body-Bind curse trussed the dummy up exactly like a sunday roast.

He couldn't contain a snort at the ridiculous sight, which she heard and shot him a grin.

Heaven help her next boyfriend. He thought wryly. Between her, and her brothers…

After wondering for a moment if Ginny was hungry before his eyes flitted over his girlfriend as she guided a third year through the correct sequence of wand movements. As he watched her, he realised that she'd come a long way over the year or so being involved with the Club - now - Association. Hermione had never seemed to have a confidence problem, but her people skills and patience had improved in leaps and bounds since helping him run the club.

He didn't hold this against her even though she'd come across as bossy and narrow-minded when they'd originally met in the Hog's Head. It was obvious now that she was developing the skills she needed to teach, something - despite his own lack of confidence where people were concerned - he'd already had in some quantity. Pride bloomed within him as he watched her interact with other members and share her substantial knowledge.

In fact, he was proud of the entirety of the club he led - jointly led. Combined with Snapes brutal Defence class, he hoped they'd all survive what was surely yet to come. The older years especially, who would leave the safety of the school and live in a dangerous Magical public come the end of the year. A public which hadn't had to deal with as many raids as he'd heard happened in the first war, yet at least. Small raids, like the one that had moved the Granger's into Grimmauld Place still happened frequently enough that very few felt relatively safe.

His gaze fell upon Katie Bell, who had outwardly recovered from the attack on her. She'd been quieter in the days following her return from St Mungos, as did most who had family members that were attacked in their homes or in public.

He hoped what he taught would help them, the members were becoming like an extended family, different houses learning and growing together. A certain responsibility for their safety had settled upon him and was getting heavier with each meeting. Especially with the younger years, an example would be Colin Creevey: The once annoying boy had grown older and less… intense. A few Muggleborns brought old fashioned cameras into Hogwarts, but Colin's was older, apparently it was a classic of some kind.

That, compared with his flair and enthusiasm, led to the - now - teen making himself a good deal of gold taking photos on request. His younger brother Dennis had Ginny's vivacity, but a greater work ethic, which worried him slightly. The younger brother was already as tall, and physically bigger than Colin, and also seemed aware of their situation as Muggleborns in this current climate.

Of course he was as excitable as Colin, but it was directed in a different direction. It reminded him of himself, THAT was the worrying part. The fact that the second-year despite being physically the size of the average fourth-year, he would work himself to magical exhaustion almost every meeting.

His thoughts were derailed by the sight of Luna and Hermione in a sort of battle to help Seamus. Guessing that their opposing advice was confusing his poor dormmate, he made his way over. "Seamus?"

The teen in question looked a little relieved as his appearance paused Hermione's and Luna's disagreement. His girlfriend looked slightly frustrated, Luna looking as oddly serene as usual. "I can get the silent spells to work, but they're too bloody weak."

He gestured for him to demonstrate. "Go on."

Seamus's first spell, a fiery dart lanced towards the dummy, which he followed up with a silent 'bombarda' which should have blown the dummy over, yet it only twitched. A glance at the large cigarette burn in the dummy - most likely the intended effect of the spell he was unfamiliar with - didn't match the power of the silent spell. Seamus's spell work was a bit wild, but he didn't think that was the problem, it just matched his personality in general.

"Try to just cast the silent spell in a way that feels natural, like you're about to blow that shit apart." He said, which made Hermione frown, and Luna wander off.

Seamus thought silently for a moment before repeating his first spell, stance in the usual style he'd stressed to the group since the beginning, something Moody had nodded in satisfaction at in the summer. He then reversed his forward step, bringing the wand past his body and thrusting it as if gesturing to his own innate tendency to make things explode.

The heavy dummy was nearly blown off its attachments to the ceiling. He couldn't hold back a grin at Hermione's raised eyebrow, textbook was never something used to describe Seamus, in any sense.

The boy in question grinned then frowned. "Isn't this against the stance thing you go on about?"

He shrugged in response. "It's not that bad if it gets the spell to work, you'll probably be on the defensive if anything comes at you in that stance. Just keep that in mind."

"Cheers Harry." Seamus said before turning back to the still swinging dummy.

He glanced at Hermione and found her expression a mix of frustration and pride. "What?" She shook her head and gestured for him to change the room.

Which he did. The Room of Requirement flowed and warped to meet his needs, the Dummies disappearing as the room grew larger, a realistic village grew in the expanded space. The buildings that grew like trees from the floor reminded him of those in Hogsmeade. A few gasps filled the air at the sudden change in scenery but he concentrated upon finishing the alterations.

"Teams three, four, five and seven: Spread out! You're to respond to an attack how we've trained! Teams one, two and six: Over here!"

As the D.A members scurried about following his instructions, Hermione set up enchantments in the little square they occupied. When those under attack made it to this square, a loud honk would sound, signifying them as 'safe'. The only spells allowed to land were non-disfiguring, and a single spell Hermione had found in a book about Magical Painting, of all things. A paintball spell, that would mark each member who had been 'injured'.

The objectives of the exercises were simple: Make it to the designated safe zone with as many of their number as possible, ideally all of them but that would rarely happen anyway. The defenders would be spread out on purpose so they had to find each other before coordinating any movement, fighting back all the while. The attackers merely filled the role of Deatheaters and practised fighting as a team.

While there was little actual danger, the point of it was to think clearly and plan while under stress. Something pointed out to him from his experience in the Department of Mysteries. There was no point learning spells and getting more proficient if they crumbled and panicked when under real attack.

A part of him had wondered if this exercise was a bit much, if he was turning into Moody. But it's worth was proved the second time they tried it, more confident members kept their heads, and more and more came out with less paint splattered on their robes.

Hermione charmed his and her own clothes red, a marker that advertised their status as observers only. Nevertheless, his excitement grew, to most of the members this was a game, to him this was real.