The Wandmaker

Arthur was relieved when they made it to the house with Mike and Griphook to see Rob, Fleur, Dean and Luna gathering around them.

"Where's David and Chrys?" Arthur asked as he and Mike gave Griphook over to Dean, who carried him inside the house with Fleur hurrying with them.

"They're inside." Rob replied. "Chrys'll be alright."

Arthur let out a sigh of relief and looked out at sea, hearing it rush against the rock nearby.

Soon, his scar prickled and burned, now seeing Voldemort punish those they left behind at Malfoy Manor, his rage was utterly dreadful and they totally deserved it, especially Bellatrix for torturing Chrys.

Rob and Luna went back inside the house, leaving Arthur with Mike.

"Let's just say Riddle isn't pleased with the Malfoys and Bellatrix." He informed his boyfriend, who knew what he meant.

"Serves them right." Mike replied, wrapping an arm around Arthur.

"I just hope Dobby will be okay." Arthur then said.

"Don't worry, he's a smart house elf. He and Kreacher are in the kitchens and are careful, no one will know they're working in the Hogwarts kitchens." Mike reassured him. Arthur hoped that was the case, since he can no longer use either house elf, just so he couldn't risk their lives any further.

With this moment of silence and peace, it allowed Arthur to take a moment and think about what happened at the manor.

Firstly, Bellatrix had confirmed his suspicions, she does in fact have a Horcrux in her vault at Gringotts, clearly Hufflepuff's cup. Why else would she ask what else they took when she tortured Chrys.

Secondly, Wormtail's death. He had died because of an act of mercy, because he had owed Arthur. Dumbledore actually foresaw this happening. He still remembered what Dumbledore said: This is magic at its deepest, its most impenetrable, Arthur.

Thirdly, Dobby knew to come to Malfoy Manor to save them all. It was like he was told to go there. Which meant that whoever he looked at with the mirror fragment told the house elf to go there. But that makes Arthur realise something, considering how that looked so much like Dumbledore, he realised that it must be his brother, Aberforth.

And with that, he remembered the barman at the Hog's Head. He remembered thinking how he resembled Dumbledore when he first saw him. And considering Aberforth's affinity for goats and how that pub smelled of goats, that meant… the barman was Aberforth. And that meant Mundungus sold Aberforth the other part of the two way mirrors Sirius owned before he gave one of them to Arthur.

Fourthly, Voldemort found Grindelwald and killed him, seeing that he no longer had the Elder Wand. It was truly a waste of time, unless he was able to look into his mind and learn that Dumbledore had it up till his death. Therefore, he may soon defile his tomb and steal it for himself. But it also seemed that Grindelwald was trying to prevent Voldemort from taking the Elder Wand for himself, like he was trying to redeem himself and protect the corpse of the man he loved.

Just that fact made him more focused on their mission.

Soon, the two were joined by David, who looked tired and relieved.

"How's Chrys?" Arthur asked.

"She's doing good." David replied. "Fleur's looking after her."

"Good." Mike nodded and all three entered Shell Cottage together.

They walked down the hall and entered the living room, where most of them were. The room was light coloured, pretty and with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace.

Fleur had a large white apron on, a bottle of Skele-Gro protruding from the pocket, Chrys was wrapped in a borrowed dressing gown, looking pretty pale and Luna was huddled in one of Fleur's coats.

"With the Death Eaters now knowing that David is with you, our family had to get out of the manor." Rob explained upon seeing Arthur. "It's a good thing Mary was on holiday. If she remained at Hogwarts, they would've taken her before we could've reached her."

"Where are they now?" Arthur asked.

"They all moved to Edna's. The Death Eaters were bound to target the family. It was expected anyway, we're considered the biggest blood traitor family there is."

"And how are they protected?" Arthur asked again.

"With the Fidelius Charm. Dad's Secret Keeper. It's done on this cottage, as well. I'm Secret Keeper here." Rob replied. "None of us can go to work now, but that's ain't important right now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we'll move them to Edna's as well. There isn't much room here, but she has plenty. Griphook's legs are on the mend, Fleur gave him Skele-Gro. We could most likely move them in an hour or -"

"No." Arthur shook his head, leaving Rob startled. "I need both of them here. I need to talk to them."

Arthur was surprised by how much authority his voice displayed with the conviction and sense of purpose. Everyone turned to him, looking puzzled.

"Just let me go clean up." Arthur told Rob. "Then I'll need to see them right away."

He walked over to the little kitchen and to the basin beneath a window that overlooked the sea.

He saw that dawn was starting to break over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold, as he washed his hands and face.

Once he was done, he took a moment for himself to think some more as he heard murmuring from the others in the sitting room, looking out over the ocean. Soon, a bright gold rim of dazzling sun rose over the horizon.

He looked down at his hands that he just dried as he felt his scar now pulse angrily and saw a flash in his mind of the outline of a familiar building he knew incredibly well.

He then noticed Rob and Fleur standing at the foot of the stairs.

"I have to speak to Griphook and Ollivander." He told them.

"No." Fleur said. "You will 'ave to wait, Arthur. Zeh are both ill, tired -"

"I'm sorry, Fleur, but it can't wait." Arthur saud. "It's important that I talk to them. Privately and separately. It's incredibly urgent."

"Arthur, just what the hell's going on?" Rob asked. "You show up with a half conscious goblin, Chrys looked like she was tortured and David's refused to tell me anything -"

"Because we can't tell you anything about what we're doing." Arthur said flatly. "You know that Dumbledore left us a mission and we can't tell anyone about it."

Fleur made an impatient noise, but Rob didn't look at his wife, simply staring at Arthur. His deeply scarred face was hard to read.

Soon, he said "Okay. Who do you want to talk to first?"

Arthur thought about it. He knew he had to talk to Griphook about what they must do now, but there's also the need to talk to Ollivander about the wands they've just taken and see if they're safe to use, and also talk of what he told Voldemort.

"I'll talk to Griphook first." He finally said.

"Up here, then." Rob said, leading the way.

Arthur walked up several steps before he stopped and looked back.

"I need you three, as well." He called to Mike, David and Chrys, who were by the doorway of the sitting room.

They moved into the light.

"I'm sorry you had to go through all of that, Chrys." Arthur apologised to Chrys, who shrugged.

"It's okay. I knew what I was getting into. And I had to buy us time." Chrys replied with a weak smile. David gave her a one armed squeeze and a kiss on top of her head.

"What are we doing now?" Mike asked.

"You'll see, come on."

The four all followed Rob up the steep stairs and to a small landing with three doors that led off it.

"In here." Rob said as he opened the door to his and Fleur's room. It also had a view of the sea, now flecked with gold from the sunrise.

Arthur moved to the window and turned his back on the view, waiting with his arms folded and scar prickling. Chrys took the chair beside the dressing table, David sat on its arm and Mike joined Arthur's side.

Rob reappeared with Griphook in his arms before setting him down on the bed. The goblin grunted his thanks and Rob left, closing the door behind him.

"I'm sorry to take you out of bed." Arthur said. "How are your legs?"

"Painful." Griphook said. "But mending."

He was still clutching the sword of Gryffindor and had a strange look that made Arthur on edge slightly: half truculent and half intrigued. Arthur then noted the goblin's sallow skin, his long, thin fingers and his black eyes. Fleur removed his shoes, revealing his long feet, which were dirty. He was only slightly larger than a house elf and his domed head was much bigger than a human's.

"Do you remember?" Arthur asked.

"That I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?" Griphook replied. "I remember, Arthur Pendergast. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous, even more so when it was revealed you're the Heir of Gryffindor."

Arthur and the goblin looked at each other, sizing each other up. Arthur's scar was prickling again. He just hoped this talk with Griphook didn't last long, while not making a false move.

Griphook soon broke the silence.

"You're friends with the elf."

"Yes." Arthur nodded.

Griphook looked at him from the corners of his slanting black eyes.

"You are an unusual wizard, Arthur Pendergast."

"How so?" Arthur asked as he rubbed his scar absently.

"Most other wizards don't consider house elves as friends."

"Well, I do. Do you have a problem with that?" Arthur asked.

Griphook didn't answer.

"Look, Griphook, I need to ask -"

"You also rescued a goblin."

"What?"

"You brought me here. Saved me."

"Well, I had to. Couldn't leave you at Malfoy Manor to probably die. Are you not sorry?"

"No, Arthur Pendergast." Griphook said with a finger twisting the thin, black beard on his chin. "But you are a very odd wizard."

"I don't see anything wrong with that." Arthur replied. "Either way, I need your help, Griphook."

The goblin didn't make signs of encouragement, but he did continue frowning at him, like he had never seen anything like him.

"I need to break into a Gringotts vault."

Arthur had to baldly say that because pain shot through his scar and saw the outline of Hogwarts again. He closed his mind firmly, as he had to deal with Griphook.

Mike, David and Chrys didn't seem surprised by what he said.

"Break into a Gringotts vault?" The goblin repeated, wincing as he shifted position on the bed. "It is impossible."

"Not exactly. It has been done before." David pointed out.

"On the same day I first met you, Griphook? Remember, seven years ago?"

"The vault in question was empty at the time." Griphook snapped, like he was offended at the idea of its defences being breached. "Its protection was minimal."

"The vault we need to get into isn't empty, and its protection will be powerful, given it's the Lestrange vault I'm talking about." Arthur said.

"You have no chance." Griphook said flatly. "No chance at all. 'If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours -'"

"'Thief, you have been warned, beware -' I know. I remember. But I'm not interested in treasure. I'm not going for something for personal gain, even if you don't believe it."

The goblin looked slantwise at Arthur, whose scar was prickling, but he ignored it, refusing to give attention to the pain and invitation.

"If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain, it would be you, Arthur Pendergast." Griphook finally said. "Goblins and elves are not used to the protection, or the respect, that you have shown this night. Not from wand carriers."

"Wand carriers." Arthur repeated, the phrase sounding odd to his ears. His scar continued prickling as Voldemort turned his thoughts northwards.

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

They fell silent until Griphook spoke.

"What do you seek within the Lestranges' vault?" He asked. "The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one." He looked from one to the other of them. "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 inside the vault." Arthur pointed out, not wanting to go into detail. His scar was now pulsing.

Griphook stroked the sword and his black eyes roved from Arthur, to Mike, to David, to Chrys and back again.

"So young to be fighting so many." He said.

"Will you help us?" Arthur asked. "Our best chance of breaking in is with the help of a goblin and you are our best chance."

"I shall… think about it." Griphook said maddeningly.

"Alright." Arthur bowed.

Griphook bowed his head in acknowledgement before flexing his short legs.

"I think…" He said, settling himself ostentatiously on Rob and Fleur's bed. "...that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me…."

"Of course." Arthur said, though he took the sword of Gryffindor before he left the room. Griphook didn't protest, though he did see resentment in the goblin's eyes as he closed the door upon him.

The four all moved to the middle of the dark landing.

"So there's a Horcrux in the Lestrange family vault?" Chrys asked.

"For sure. Bellatrix was terrified at the idea of us being in there and kept asking you what else we took. That's because Riddle entrusted her with Hufflepuff's cup. Though I'm sure he wouldn't have told her it was a Horcrux. He didn't tell Lucius about the diary, after all."

"Plus Gringotts is the safest place in the world to hide something excluding Hogwarts." Mike added..

"Come on, it's Ollivander this time." Arthur said after a moment's silence.

They followed him across the landing and knocked on the door opposite Rob and Fleur's.

"Come in!" A weak voice answered them.

The wandmaker lay on the twin bed furthest from the window. He was held in the cellar for more than a year and was tortured at least once. The poor man was emaciated as the bones of his face stuck out sharply against his yellowish skin. His silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets and his hands that lay upon the blanket could've belonged to a skeleton.

Arthur sat down on the empty bed with the other three. The rising sun wasn't visible here as the room faced the cliff top garden.

"Mr Ollivander, I apologise for disturbing you." Arthur said.

"My dear boy." Ollivander said, his voice feeble. "You rescued us. I thought we would die in that place. I can never thank you… never thank you… enough."

"We realised where you were held up and had to rescue you and Luna." Arthur replied.

His scar was now throbbing.

"Mr Ollivander, I need to ask you a few things."

"Anything. Anything." The wandmaker said weakly.

"Could you please identify these? We need to know if they're safe to use." Arthur said, pulling out the wands he held. As did Mike and David. Arthur first handed Ollivander the one that had a distinct curve for its handle.

Ollivander held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.

"Walnut and dragon heartstring. Twelve and three quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange."

"This one?" Arthur then held out the wand that was very basic and simple with two indents to indicate the handle, which ended with a circular pointed tip.

Ollivander performed the same examination.

"Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."

"Was?" Arthur frowned. "So it's no longer his?"

"Perhaps not. If you took it -"

" - which 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 excluding the distant rushing of the sea.

"You speak of wands as though they have feelings, that they are sentient." Arthur finally said.

"The wand chooses the wizard. That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore."

"But can someone still use a wand, even if it hasn't chosen them?" Arthur asked.

"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 forwards and backwards, a mournful sound.

"I took this wand from Draco by force." Arthur said. "Can I use it safely?"

"I think so. Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually hend its will to its new master."

"Should I use this one, then?" David asked, handing Wormtail's wand to Ollivander. It was curvy and its handle was that of a snake, including its head, which curled to be the handle.

"Chestnut and dragon heartstring. Nine and a quarter inches. Brittle. I was forced to make this, shortly after my kidnap, 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 one? I snatched it by force like Arthur did." Mike asked, handing Narcissa's wand to the wandmaker. It was jet black with a handle that had studs on it and with metal finishings on the top and bottom of the handle.

"Ebony and dragon heartstring. Eleven and a half inches. Quite bendy. This was Narcissa Malfoy's wand."

"About what you said about wands doing your bidding if you won it, does this hold true with all wands?" Arthur asked.

"I think so." Ollivander replied, his eyes upon Arthur;s face. "You ask deep questions, Mr Pendergast. 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?" Arthur asked, as he was starting to realise something that may change everything.

Ollivander swallowed.

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

"Yet there are legends." Arthur said, his scar more intensely painful as it seemed Voldemort decided to put his idea into action. "Legends of a wand having been passed from hand to hand by murder."

Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow, he was light grey and his eyes were huge, bloodshot and bulging with fear.

"Yes, only one wand, I think." He whispered.

"And You Know Who was interested in it." Arthur then said.

"I - how?" Ollivander croaked, looking appealingly at the others for help. "How do you know this?"

"He wanted you to explain how to overcome the connection between our wands." Arthur said, making Ollivander look terrified.

"He tortured me, you must understand that! The Cruciatus Curse, I - I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"

"I know, and I understand." Arthur said, letting him know he isn't resentful or holding a grudge. "You told him about the twin cores and that he had to borrow another's wand."

Ollivander looked horrified and transfixed about how much Arthur knew before he nodded slowly.

"But it didn't work." Arthur went on. "Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know how and why that is?"

Ollivander shook his head as slowly as he 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 one that changed hands by murder. When You Know Who realised what my wand did, he came and asked about the other wand, didn't he?"

"How do you know this?"

Arthur didn't answer him.

"Yes, he asked." Ollivander whispered. "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."

"The Dark Lord…" He then said in a hushed and frightened tone. "...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 hasn't already, that mine is now broken beyond repair." Arthur said quietly.

"But how?" Chrys gasped.

"Priori Incantatem." Arthur replied. "Your wand and the blackthorn wand were left behind at Malfoy Manor. If they examine them properly and make yours recreate the spells it cast lately, they'll find that your wand broke mine. And I have only used the blackthorn wand since then."

What little colour Chrys regained since their arrival was now drained from her face, making David wrap an arm around her to give her comfort.

"The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for destruction, Mr Pendergast. He is determined to possess it, because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable."

"Would it?" Arthur asked, though he was realising that there may be a wrench in that hope.

"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack, but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit… formidable."

"So you do believe the wand exists, Mr Ollivander?" Chrysasked.

"Oh yes. 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 came to the conclusion that it isn't a fairy tale or a myth?" Mike asked.

"Yes. 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."

"And you told You Know Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand." Arthur said.

Ollivander turned even paler, looking ghostly and gulped.

"But how - how do you -?"

"It doesn't matter how I know." Arthur told him as he closed his eyes momentarily due to his scar burning. He saw, for mere seconds, a vision of the main street in Hogsmeade, still dark, as it was further up north. "You told him that Gregorovich had the wand, right?"

"It was a rumour." Ollivander whispered. "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!"

"Definitely." Arthur said as he stood. "Mr Ollivander, I only have one last thing to ask and we'll let you rest. Do you know of the Deathly Hallows?"

"The - the what?" The wandmaker asked, looking bewildered as he handed the wands back to them.

"The Deathly Hallows."

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

Arthur looked into his sunken face, seeing that Ollivander wasn't acting. He doesn't know of the Hallows.

"Thank you, Mr Ollivander, we'll leave you to rest."

Ollivander then looked stricken.

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

"I do, actually." Arthur told him. "I really do. Please rest. And thank you for telling us all of this."

He led Mike, David and Chrys down the staircase.

Arthur glimpsed Rob, Fleur, Luna and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen with cups of tea in front of them.

They looked at Arthur as he appeared in the doorway, but he simply nodded to them before continuing into the garden with the others.

The pain in his head built more and more powerfully. It was a huge effort to close down the visions that forced themselves upon him, but he could only resist for a little longer. He'd have to yield soon, as he needed to see what he knew was going to happen.

He needed to explain.

"Grindelwald heard those rumours Ollivander told us about. Gregorovitch really was stupid to spread the rumour. And Riddle killed Grindelwald while we were at Malfoy Manor after realising he didn't have the wand and when Grindelwald tried to stop him from getting it."

Voldemort was now at the gates of Hogwarts. He stood there and saw a lamp bobbing in the pre-dawn, coming closer and closer.

"So, Grindelwald was trying to redeem himself?" Chrys asked.

"I think so. And Riddle's now at Hogwarts. He knows where the Elder Wand is." Arthur replied.

The three had grim looks on their faces as Arthur was now sinking to his knees in the grass.

Everything was now cool and dark. The sun was barely visible over the horizon as he glided alongside Snape, up through the grounds and to the lake.

"I shall join you in the castle shortly." He said in a high, cold voice. "Leave me now."

Snape bowed and set off up the path, his black cloak billowing behind him.

Arthur walked slowly, waiting for Snape's figure to disappear.

It wouldn't do for Snape, or anyone else, to see what he was about to do. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and he could conceal himself… and in a second he cast upon himself a Disillusionment Charm that hid him even from his own eyes.

He walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of the beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright….

Here it was, beside the lake, reflected in the dark waters.

The white marble tomb, an unnecessary blot on the familiar landscape. He felt that rush of uncontrolled euphoria again, that heady sense of purpose in destruction.

He raised his old yew wand: how fitting for this to be its last great act.

The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long and thin as it was in life. He raised the wand again.

The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved.

They left his spectacles on the crooked nose: he felt amused derision. Dumbledore's hands were folded upon his chest where it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him.

Did the old fool imagine that marble or death would protect the wand? Did he think the Dark Lord would be scared to violate his tomb? The spider-like hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore's grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.

Or so he thought. He didn't know who its current owner was.

That last sentence shows that Arthur knows something, I'm sure you'll know what that is.