Chapter 39:
The wandmaker was lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He had been held in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured on at least one occasion that Harry had seen. He was emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket could have belonged to a skeleton. Harry sat down on the empty bed followed by Alicia, Ron and Hermione. The rising sun was not visible here. The room faced the cliff-top garden and the freshly dug grave.
"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry said.
"My dear boy." Ollivander's voice was feeble. "You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you… never thank you… enough."
"We were glad to do it."
"You've been there long enough Mr Ollivander." Alicia promised. Her scar throbbed again and she and Harry shared a look. Harry moved to his pouch around his neck and pulled out his broken wand.
"Mr. Ollivander, I need some help."
"Anything. Anything," said the wandmaker weakly.
"Can you mend this? Is it possible?"
Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves into his palm.
"Holly and phoenix feather," said Ollivander in a tremulous voice. "Eleven inches. Nice and supple."
"Yes," said Harry. "Can you — ?"
"No," whispered Ollivander. "I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand that has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of."
Alicia placed a hand on Harry's arm, it would have been a blow even if he expected it.
Harry took back the two haves and replaced them into his pouch. He then took two wands from his pocket, stolen from the Malfoys.
"Can you identify these?" Harry asked.
The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.
"Walnut and dragon heartstring," he said. "Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange."
"And this one?"
Ollivander performed the same examination.
"Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."
"Was?" repeated Harry. "Isn't it still his?"
"Perhaps not. If you took it —"
"— I did —"
"— then it may be yours. Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change."
There was silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.
"You talk about wands like they've got feelings," said Harry, "like they can think for themselves."
"The wand chooses the wizard," said Ollivander. "That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore."
"A person can still use a wand that hasn't chosen them, though?" asked Harry.
"Oh yes, if you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."
The sea gushed forward and backward; it was a mournful sound.
"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," said Harry. "Can I use it safely?"
"I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master."
"So I should use this one?" said Ron, pulling Wormtail's wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.
"Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine-and-a-quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this shortly after my kidnapping, for Peter Pettigrew. Yes, if you won it, it is more likely to do your bidding, and do it well, than another wand."
"And this holds true for all wands, does it?" asked Harry.
"I think so," replied Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry's face. "You ask deep questions, Mr. Potter. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic."
"So, it isn't necessary to kill the previous owner to take true possession of a wand?" asked Harry.
Ollivander swallowed.
"Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill."
"There are legends, though," said Harry. "Legends about a wand — or wands — that have passed from hand to hand by murder."
Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow he was light grey, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear.
"Only one wand, I think," he whispered.
"And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?" asked Harry.
"I — how?" croaked Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Alicia, Ron and Hermione for help. "How do you know this?"
"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands," said Harry.
Ollivander looked terrified.
"He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I — I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"
"It's alright." Alicia said soothingly. "We're not accusing, or blaming or pointing a finger Mr Ollivander. You had no choice." she assured and he looked at her soft face before he nodded.
"I understand," said Harry. "You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"
Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Harry knew. He nodded slowly.
"But it didn't work," Harry went on. "Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?"
Ollivander shook his head as slowly as he had just nodded.
"I had… never heard of such a thing. Your wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why your wand should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know…"
"We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realised my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn't he?"
"How do you know this?"
Harry did not answer.
"Yes, he asked," whispered Ollivander. "He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand."
Harry glanced sideways at Hermione. She looked flabbergasted.
"The Dark Lord," said Ollivander in hushed and frightened tones, "had always been happy with the wand I made him — yew and phoenix feather, thirteen-and-a-half inches — until he discovered the connection of the twin cores. Now he seeks another, more powerful wand, as the only way to conquer yours."
"But he'll know soon, if he doesn't already, that mine's broken beyond repair," said Harry quietly.
"No!" said Hermione, sounding frightened. "He can't know that, Harry, how could he — ?"
"Priori Incantatem," said Harry. "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 realise that I've been using the blackthorn one ever since."
The colour she had in her face drained. Ron gave Harry a reproachful look, and said, "Let's not worry about that now —"
But Mr. Ollivander intervened.
"The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable."
"And will it?"
"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," said Ollivander, "but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit… formidable."
"You — you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?" asked Hermione.
"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 recognise. 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.
"No," said Ollivander. "Whether it needs to pass by murder, I do not know. Its history is bloody, but that may be simply due to the fact that it is such a desirable object, and arouses such passions in wizards. Immensely powerful, dangerous in the wrong hands, and an object of incredible fascination to all of us who study the power of wands."
"Mr. Ollivander," said Harry, "you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn't you?"
Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.
"But how — how do you — ?"
"Never mind how I know it," said Harry, closing his eyes momentarily and Alicia felt her scar burn, she glanced at Harry and nudged him slightly. He opened his eyes again. "You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?"
"It was a rumour," whispered Ollivander. "A rumour, years and years ago, long before you were born! I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business: that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!"
"Yes, I can see that," said Harry. He stood up. "Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"
"The — the what?" asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.
"The Deathly Hallows."
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?"
Harry looked into the sunken face and Alicia stood.
"It was just a question for curiosity." she said as she believed that Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows.
"Thank you," said Harry in agreement with his sister. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."
Ollivander looked stricken.
"He was torturing me!" he gasped. "The Cruciatus Curse… you have no idea…"
"I do," said Harry. "I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this."
"We do not blame you Mr Ollivander, what more could you have done?" Alicia asked as she placed a hand on his shoulder. "Rest now, you more than deserve it."
Harry placed an arm around Alicia's shoulders and the two led Ron and Hermione down the staircase. Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at Harry as he appeared in the doorway, but he merely nodded to them and continued into the garden, leading Alicia as Ron and Hermione followed behind him.
The reddish mound of earth that covered Dobby lay ahead, and Harry walked back to it. Alicia felt her scar burning more so, but she found it easy to ignore.
"Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago," he said. "I saw You-Know-Who trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn't have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Grindelwald. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don't know — but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumour, it can't have been that difficult."
"And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful. Alicia was right. 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 looked at Alicia who smiled slightly.
"Dumbledorehad the Elder Wand…" said Ron. "But then — where is it now?"
"At Hogwarts," said Harry.
"But then, let's go!" said Ron urgently. "Harry, let's go and get it before he does!"
"It's too late for that," said Harry. He could not help himself, but clutched his head, trying to help it resist. "He knows where it is. He's there now." Alicia placed a hand on his shoulder, hoping he'd continue to push Voldemort away.
"Harry!" Ron said furiously. "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," said Harry, and he sank to his knees in the grass and Alicia kneeled aside him, her hand on his shoulder and back incase he hobbled over. "Hermione's right. Dumbledore 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!" moaned Ron.
"I'm not supposed to… I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes…"
And his eyes closed. Hermione and Ron looked worried.
"He's at Hogwarts…" Alicia turned to them. "I'm sure someone would have found Dumbledore's wand. I bet if anyone goes to the tomb tomorrow, or later today, they'll find it split open and the wand gone."
"How do we beat him is he has the Elder Wand?" Ron demanded.
Alicia didn't answer. First of all, Harry had to die. Or at least be shot with the curse, what happened after that was still a guess and unknown.
But second, the wand didn't belong to Voldemort, so it wouldn't work for him properly. What was more, even if Voldemort worked out that Snape had killed Dumbledore and Voldemort did something about that so that he could own the wand, the Elder Wand never belonged to Snape either. For one, Dumbledore didn't even have his wand in his hand when he died, and two, Snape didn't kill for gain, he killed because he was asked to. It was a favour. A promise. The wand wasn't Snape's, it wasn't Voldemort's. Whether Voldemort had the wand or not, it was not truly his, and therefore, it would not truely work for him.
With that in mind, the wand was not really all that formidable as it should have been.
They could still win.