Chapter Thirty-Nine: At Long Last, United
His new Apparition license tucked firmly into his pocket, Harry turned on the spot and disappeared from Grimmauld Place, arriving instantly at a small clearing just outside the Arrows' stadium. Not having to rely on the Knight Bus made visiting Astoria much more convenient, which was why he was making his third trip to Appleby in the past week.
As Scrimgeour had obviously intended, Harry's appearance at the Ministry the previous Monday had caused quite the stir, leading to rampant speculation in the press about him and his role in the war. The meeting itself was relatively brief, with the first few minutes involving the Minister handing Harry his Apparition license and confirming his exemption from the underage sorcery decree. The rest of the time was dedicated to a verbal jousting match between Scrimgeour and Professor Dumbledore, which, as far as Harry could tell, accomplished very little.
Shaking his head at the memory, he set off through the growing crowd in search of his girlfriend. After barely avoiding being trampled by a pack of rowdy young men wearing yellow and black — obviously supporters of the visiting team, the Wimbourne Wasps — Harry made his way into the area immediately surrounding the stadium. A large turnout was expected for the match, considering both teams were still in the running for the league title, and so the crowd gathered outside was correspondingly large and enthusiastic, making it difficult to spot anyone from a distance.
Fortunately for Harry, he wasn't searching for very long before Astoria managed to find him first.
"There you are!" she called to him from behind, and her lips were on his before he had even finished turning around. They swayed together on the spot for a few moments, until they were interrupted by another familiar voice — one which Harry hadn't been expecting.
"Astoria, need I remind you that we are in public?"
They quickly broke apart, and Harry looked up to see Elias Greengrass glaring at the couple with a stern expression.
"Sorry, Father," Astoria said contritely. Her cheeks flushed slightly at the reprimand, but Harry could tell from the playful glint in her eyes that she wasn't that sorry.
"Mr. Potter, always a pleasure…"
Wincing slightly at the obviously deliberate use of his surname, Harry moved around Astoria to shake her father's hand.
"You as well, sir," he replied. "I'm sorry; I didn't realise you were coming. Astoria said your schedule doesn't allow much time for watching Quidditch anymore."
"Sadly, that is true," said Elias, with an exaggerated sigh. "Fortunately, I was able to move some appointments around so that I could spend some quality time with my daughter and her suitor."
"Suitor?" repeated Astoria, with a touch of exasperation. "Really, Father, that sounds so old-fashioned…"
"There's nothing wrong with being old-fashioned. I happen to believe that the old ways of doing things tend to be better, more often than not," Elias contended, his eyes trailing towards Harry. "Although, I am attempting to become more open-minded about certain things."
"That's fair," conceded Harry. Come to think of it, Elias had probably never even imagined that one of his daughters might up with someone who wasn't a pure-blood. Even so, he had been largely accepting of their relationship to that point — something Harry would never have expected, after hearing Astoria's initial description of the man.
"One change for the better that I've been quite enjoying as of late is the Arrows actually competing for the title," continued Elias, skilfully shifting the conversation away from awkward topics. "Shall we head up to our seats?"
As they made their way into the stadium and into the stands, Harry learned that there was a long-standing rivalry between the Arrows and the Wasps, which no doubt added to the day's heightened atmosphere. Elias turned out to be a fountain of knowledge about Quidditch, and the Arrows in particular. It had been quite fascinating to hear about a famous international match from 1932, which Astoria's great grandfather had supposedly attended, where the Arrows had defeated the European champions from Bulgaria in a weather-plagued match that lasted sixteen entire days. On the more amusing side, Harry also learned that it had once been tradition for the club's supporters to shoot arrows from their wands every time the Chasers scored, until the practice was banned after a referee took one through the nose during a match.
"These seats are much better than ours from before," Astoria commented as they sat down. Harry was inclined to agree with her, as they were dead centre of the stadium and high up enough to where they wouldn't miss a second of the action.
"Tickets for this match were difficult to find, so I called in a favour," revealed Elias.
"Thanks for doing that," said Harry, as he took in the sights of the packed stadium. "I had no idea it would be like this today."
It wasn't much longer before the teams had been introduced and the match was underway. The first thing Harry noticed was that the Appleby Chasers seemed much sharper, compared to how they flew against Puddlemere United back in December. Not that Wimbourne were to be taken lightly, of course. Their Beaters were superb, and their Keeper proved very early on that he was up to the challenge.
After nearly an hour of play, the Snitch still hadn't made an appearance and the crowd was beginning to grow restless. Neither Seeker seemed to be in a rush to test the other, which is why Harry spent an unusual amount time observing the Chasers. There was something about the way the Appleby trio worked together that reminded him of his Gryffindor teammates, which only made him want them to win even more.
Wimbourne had just evened the score at a hundred points apiece when Astoria patted Harry on his knee and stood up from her seat.
"I'm running to the loo; do either of you need anything?"
They both declined, and as soon as Astoria disappeared down the stairs, Elias leaned over the now-empty seat between them to speak to Harry.
"What are your thoughts on the match so far?"
"It's been pretty even — obviously," Harry replied over the crowd. "The Arrows' Chasers look like a completely different unit compared to the last time I saw them."
"Well, that's probably because they finally benched Thompson and put in Robbins," offered Elias. "While I admittedly haven't watched him play this season, I've never believed Thompson was the answer."
"I'll take your word for it," said Harry. "I wish we'd see a bit more action out of the Seekers, though, if only to help out their Chasers. At this point, I'm not really sure why either of them bothered showing up in the first place."
"My daughter tells me you're an exceptional Seeker yourself," said Elias, nodding in agreement at Harry's analysis. "I hear you were recently approached by one of the professional teams — Portree, was it?"
"Puddlemere, actually," Harry corrected him. "Their manager spoke with me for a bit after our match against Hufflepuff."
"And do you see yourself playing professionally once you leave Hogwarts?"
"Well, to be perfectly honest, it's not something I've put much thought into until recently," he admitted. "I'd like to think that it could happen one day, but it's not something I really have time to focus on at the moment — at least not while Voldemort's still out there."
Elias managed to keep his face neutral at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, but a nearby witch apparently overheard Harry's comment and turned to give him a nasty look. The conversation quickly fizzled out after that, and so they recommenced watching the match in silence, even though Harry could tell Elias still had something on his mind.
He was proven correct only a few minutes later, when Elias suddenly spoke to him in a voice just low enough not to be overheard. "Astoria is rather adamant that you will be the one to defeat him," he said speculatively, while keeping his eyes deliberately focused on the match. "Not even Daphne was willing to completely discount the possibility, which speaks volumes in and of itself."
"She's very supportive," Harry replied diplomatically.
"That does not surprise me. However, I cannot help but suspect that she knows more about your situation than she has chosen to share with me."
Harry turned to face Elias.
"What is it that you want me to say?"
"I'm not sure I even know, myself," he responded heavily, finally turning to look at Harry. "You have already proven the lengths to which you will go to keep Astoria safe, yet I cannot help but worry about what the future holds. I have many questions, of course, but perhaps this is not the proper time or place for that."
"Probably not," agreed Harry.
"Perhaps you could join us at the house after the match," he suggested, drawing his cloak tightly around him. "Assuming it ends at a respectable time, of course. It's grown quite cold all of a sudden, so I do wish the Seekers would hurry up and get on with it."
"It has, hasn't it?" frowned Harry, as the almost unnatural chill made its way up his spine. "Hang on…"
Being able to see his breath on what had, up until then, been a mild April afternoon told him everything he needed to know. Without another word, Harry rose to his feet while reaching into his pocket for his wand, his eyes frantically scanning the horizon.
"What is it?"
"You don't happen to know the Patronus Charm, do you?"
"No, I never really had the — wait," said Elias, with dawning comprehension. "You don't mean…here? Now?"
Before Harry could replay, a blackened cloud appeared from just over the treetops, like an enormous, living shadow cutting its way through the hazy grey sky. As it rapidly drew closer to the stadium, it became clear that the cloud was, in reality, a horrendously large cluster of dementors — far too many to count. As he looked around at the thousands of Quidditch supporters gathered together in one place, Harry realised they were on the verge of a full-blown catastrophe and leapt into action. He quickly reached into his left pocket and pulled out the mirror his godfather had given him.
"Sirius Black!" he practically shouted at the mirror, and after a few excruciating seconds, the man in question appeared where Harry's own face had been only a moment earlier.
"Harry?"
"Dementors in Appleby — at least a hundred!" he replied urgently. "We're at the stadium!"
A look of sheer panic overtook Sirius's face. "I'll get help; hold on for as long as you can!" he blurted out before disappearing again.
A chorus of screams from around the stadium announced the arrival of the dementors to the crowd at large — which included the players, who all immediately flew as fast as they could in the opposite direction. The crowd began rushing for the exits in a blind panic, and Harry was forced to cast a Protego around himself and Elias to avoid being trampled. Knowing full well there would be no outrunning a swarm of dementors, Harry pushed upwards through the fleeing crowd in order to get a clear view from the top of the stands.
As the dementors swooped down into the stadium, the silvery lights of a dozen or so attempted Patronuses flared into existence, but they had little effect on the swarm. Now fully certain that it would be up to him to fight them off, Harry focused hard on his happy memory and channelled every last bit of his magic into the spell.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A gargantuan pulse of ethereal light burst like a shockwave from Harry's wand as his majestic stag Patronus erupted from the tip. Many of the nearby dementors were thrown back by the force of the initial spell, shrieking as they fled the area. Around a dozen of them were advancing on group of spectators cut off from the nearest exit, so Harry sent Prongs charging at them first. One of the dementors had grabbed hold of an older man and was preparing to deliver the kiss when it was gored through middle by a set of silvery-white antlers, forcing the cloaked terror to drop its intended victim and retreat.
"Incredible…" he heard Elias say from somewhere close by, but there was no time to acknowledge the complement.
Once they reached the stadium, the dementor swarm had split up and went off in all directions in search of prey. As powerful as Harry's spell may have been, it was far too much ground for a single Patronus to cover, forcing him to direct his stag back and forth from one side of the stadium to the other in order to rescue the trapped witches and wizards. Further complicating matters was the fact that every time he managed to chase off a group of dementors, some of them would quickly regroup and attack another area, resulting in a seemingly never-ending game of cat and mouse.
This went on for several minutes, until after what felt like ages, Harry had succeeded in driving away a large portion of the dementors — yet several dozen still remained. The good news was that his intervention had allowed most of the stadium's occupants to escape; the problem was that the remaining fiends had begun to focus specifically on Harry, having apparently figured out that he was source of their luminous, antlered nemesis. Harry continued to fight them off, but maintaining his Patronus for such an extended period of time was beginning to take its toll, and he wasn't sure how much longer he could keep it up.
Having chosen not to flee with the others, Elias was the only other person remaining in their section of the stands. Although he could not offer much in the way of assistance, he had at least not left Harry all by himself. That was, at least, until they found themselves surrounded by a swirling ring of black cloaks, neither of them immune to the growing sense of dread and hopelessness brought by the former guards of Azkaban.
"We need to find Astoria!" Elias suddenly called out, as the noose began to tighten around them.
"We will," Harry replied through gritted teeth, pushing even more magic into his Patronus. "She's safer being away from here!"
"I can't risk it — I'm going!"
"Elias!" yelled Harry, but Astoria's father obviously wasn't thinking clearly. Ignoring Harry's warning, he raced down the stairs towards the exit and away from the protection of the Patronus. Cursing under his breath, Harry followed after him as quickly as he could while still maintaining his concentration.
Elias's steps became clumsier as he approached the bottom and the full effect of the dementors took hold. Even so, he nearly made it, only to trip on the last step and send himself sprawling onto the pavement below. Sensing an opportunity, two of the dementors immediately broke off from the pack and swooped down on him.
Cursing under his breath, Harry immediately directed his Patronus to charge down the attackers, but right at that moment, a brilliantly shimmering arctic fox came bounding up the ramp that led beneath the stands and pounced on the nearest dementor, knocking it away from Elias just in time. The fox was joined by Harry's stag moments later, and together, the two Patronuses worked to successfully chase of the pair of dementors.
"I'm glad you're all right," shouted a relieved Harry, as Astoria slowly emerged from the tunnel, her wand held aloft in front of her.
"Father! Is he —"
"He should be fine, but we need to get rid of the last of them," said Harry, who was losing stamina by the minute. "One last push from both of us ought to do it; give it everything you've got!"
Astoria nodded in reply, and the two of them stood side-by-side directing their Patronuses, which had somehow grown even brighter. A high-pitched shriek rang out from the dementor swarm — whether out of discomfort or frustration was anybody's guess — and the swirling mass of black cloaks slowly began to retreat.
"You're doing great — just a bit more!" Harry shouted in encouragement, but he could tell she was already faltering and wouldn't be able to hold the spell for much longer. He was steeling himself to handle the final push on his own, when a blindingly white phoenix tore across the sky and engaged the dementors.
Having a third, exceptionally powerful Patronus arrive on the scene was apparently the final straw, and the remaining dementors all took to the sky to make their escape. The danger finally over, Harry ended his spell just in time to catch Astoria before she collapsed.
"We…we did it," she said weakly, though she had a smile on her face.
"You were amazing," Harry told Astoria, as he guided her to the nearest bench. "Your Patronus was loads stronger than the last time I saw it."
"All…because…of you," she panted in reply, leaning into Harry as he worked to keep her upright.
Taking a moment to look around, Harry could see Dumbledore striding towards them from across the pitch, with Kingsley Shacklebolt and another Auror he didn't recognise trailing a short way behind him. By that time, Elias was finally beginning to stir, much to the relief of both Harry and Astoria.
"What…what happened?" asked Elias groggily, as he pulled himself up into a sitting position.
"Your daughter saved your life," responded Harry, still slightly irritated with the man for running off and putting them both in danger.
"She did?" replied Elias, sounding puzzled. He was obviously still confused about what happened, but those feelings were quickly replaced by concern at the sight of his weakened and barely conscious daughter. "Astoria!" he cried, dragging himself to his feet and rushing to her side. "What happened? Was it the dementors?"
"Two of them were about to kiss you, after you ran off by yourself," Harry said testily. "Astoria used her Patronus to save you, and then she helped me keep the rest away until Dumbledore drove them off."
"Dumbledore?" he questioned, only to turn around just as the man himself was reaching them.
"Is everybody unharmed?" asked the professor, visually examining each of them as his royal-blue robes fluttered in the wind. "I came as quickly as I could, but I apologise for not arriving sooner."
"I am fine, thanks to these two," replied Elias, sounding slightly embarrassed. "My daughter, however… Astoria, where did you learn to cast the Patronus Charm?" he said, rounding on his daughter. "Have you any idea how dangerous that is for you?"
"I —" she began to reply, but her words seemed to be caught in her throat. "I don't think I can tell him," Astoria whispered to Harry. "Do you think —"
Harry nodded his understanding. "I guess it doesn't really matter anymore," he shrugged, before turning to address the adults. "The members of the Hogwarts Underground meet in the Room of Requirement."
It was immediately apparent that Harry's words did nothing to alleviate Elias's confusion.
"The Ministry tried to stop us from learning Defence Against the Dark Arts, so we took matters into our own hands," explained Harry. "Umbridge was threatening expulsion, so we used the Fidelius Charm to keep what we were doing a secret."
"You can perform a Fidelius Charm too?"
"My friend Hermione figured out the spell, actually," he clarified. "I'm just the Secret-Keeper."
Turning to Astoria, Elias slowly asked, "And you willingly joined this…subversive organisation...in direct defiance of the Ministry of Magic?"
Astoria nodded weakly.
"If she hadn't, you wouldn't have a soul right now," Harry pointed out, feeling defensive.
"I am well aware," snapped Elias, before sighing and rubbing his temples. "My apologies; this is simply a lot to take in. I still don't understand how you were able to teach Astoria how to cast a Patronus in the first place," he continued. "I would have thought that her condition would prevent her from using such a powerful spell."
"Casting a Patronus is mostly down to taking your positive feelings and channelling them into the spell. Astoria may not have much magical power, but she's really great at drawing on her emotions," Harry explained, causing her to blush slightly. "That's why she can cast the spell, but usually only for a few seconds — today was by far the longest she's ever gone with it, which is why she seems so drained."
"Quite a tremendous feat, especially when one considers the circumstances," praised Dumbledore. "If we were at school, I would award you one hundred points for excellent use of advanced magic in the course of defending another's life."
"Thank you, Professor," she smiled tiredly.
"Looks like they're gone, Albus," announced Kingsley, as he approached the group. "It appears a few people were kissed trying to flee the stadium, but all in all, it could have been much worse. According to Dawlish, witnesses are claiming that the ghost of a very large deer scared most of the dementors away."
Unable to help himself, Harry burst out laughing at the utter ridiculousness of the notion, which was only enhanced by Kingsley's flat delivery of the line.
"Yes, well…if that is all, then I should like to return home with my daughter," Elias interrupted. "She will need plenty of rest after this ordeal."
"You're welcome to leave, Mr. Greengrass, but take some of this with you," replied Kingsley, handing him two small, foil-wrapped packages. "It's chocolate I brought from the Ministry," the Auror explained. "It helps with the effects of dementor exposure."
Elias accepted the chocolates with a grateful nod, and then Harry helped Astoria to her feet before handing her off to her father.
"'Bye, Harry," she said softly. "I'll write you later; thank you for saving us again."
"Indeed," echoed Elias. "Regardless of what the confused people outside called it, your Patronus was a marvel to behold."
After a few more pleasantries were exchanged, the Greengrasses slowly made their way back outside the stadium where they could Apparate home. Once they had gone, Kingsley asked Harry a few questions about what happened, just so that he would have an official statement on record, before leaving to join his fellow Aurors outside the stadium.
"I should probably get home, too," Harry said to Dumbledore, once they were alone. "I'm pretty tired, and I'm sure Sirius is anxious to hear from me."
"I would say your rest has been well earned," replied Dumbledore, giving him a slight bow. "It was good thinking on your part, calling Sirius for help," he continued, removing his wand from his sleeve. "Before you go, please allow me to patch your knee up for you."
Confused, Harry looked down and noticed a small rip in his robes, his bloodied knee just barely peeking out of the hole in the fabric. Thinking back, he vaguely remembered dropping down to one knee for a moment while he chased after Elias, but at the time, he hadn't paid it much mind.
"Er — sure, thanks."
With a jab of his wand, Professor Dumbledore easily healed the scrape, and he even repaired Harry's robes for good measure. Having grown accustomed to observing the headmaster's magical technique, however, Harry was watching closely as Dumbledore performed the spells and spotted something unusual.
"Sir…your wand…" he remarked slowly, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Almost imperceptibly, Dumbledore froze for half an instant before quickly sliding his wand back up his sleeve. "What about my wand, Harry?" he replied in a flat, expressionless tone.
"It looks different. Did you get a new one?"
Dumbledore shut his eyes momentarily. "No, Harry," he replied, drawing his wand once more and holding it between his fingers. "This is the same wand I purchased from Gerbold Ollivander when I was eleven years old."
"Then why does it look different? It's definitely not the same wand you've been using in our lessons."
"I understand why you would say that, but I assure you that this is the same wand I have used in all of our recent lessons," he explained. "I will tell you why it appears different to you, but I must ask that we wait until we are both back at Hogwarts."
"Why?" Harry asked suspiciously. "What is it you aren't telling me?"
"You must trust me on this, Harry," insisted Dumbledore. "I promise you will get your answers."
There was something in Dumbledore's tone that told Harry he would not be happy with whatever the professor had to tell him, but he chose to let the matter lie for the time being. His propensity for selectively disseminating information was one of the headmaster's more irritating qualities, but Harry had accepted the fact that the man was unlikely to change anytime soon, so there was little point in getting worked up over it.
"Fine," he huffed. "Whatever it is, I have a feeling I'm too tired to deal with it anyway."
"Your patience is appreciated," replied Professor Dumbledore, obviously relieved that Harry hadn't reacted more strongly. "Let us plan to meet on your first night back at the castle, and I shall endeavour to answer any and all questions you may have."
"That works," agreed Harry, as they began walking together towards the exit. "Thanks again for coming to help us," he added. "You seem to have a habit of showing up right in time."
"Just as you have developed a habit of surviving against overwhelming odds, not to mention, saving the lives of others whilst doing so," returned Dumbledore, turning to look at him. "You make this old man proud, Harry. Whatever happens in the future, I hope you never forget that."
"I won't sir," he promised, and then they walked together in silence until they reached a spot where Harry could Apparate home.
oOoOoOo
It took nearly two whole days for Astoria to fully recover. She seemed to be in good spirits, though, even if her father did insist she stay home for the remainder of the break. Harry had also been in touch with Neville and Hermione, who had both written to him the day after the attack — a full account of which had been published in the Daily Prophet.
The rest of the holiday turned out to be rather uneventful. He stopped by Diagon Alley one day to check on Fred and George, only to find that Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes was practically set to open. While it still wasn't entirely clear what sort of shop it would be from the outside, the exterior had been painted in bright, attention-grabbing colours, and it was covered with large signs that read Opening Soon in flashing neon letters.
Within seconds of knocking on the door, Harry found himself being dragged inside, where the twins enthusiastically gave him a tour of the shop, which had already been stocked with an assortment of joke products and pranking supplies.
"This place is bloody brilliant," he had told the twins at the conclusion of the tour, a huge smile plastered on his face. "There's one thing I don't get, though. It looks like you're ready to open right now, so why are you bothering to wait?"
"Believe it or not, our young benefactor, but we've decided to wait until school is over," revealed George.
"Don't get the wrong idea, though," added Fred. "We couldn't care less about academics, of course. It's just that if we left school before our last Quidditch match, Angelina might actually kill us. We'd have a hard time running a shop if we're dead."
"Not that we wouldn't like to win the Quidditch Cup one last time, mind you."
"Very true, my less handsome brother, but we also think it'd be a good idea to keep up with the Underground, at least through the end of the year."
"Of course, we could sneak back into the castle just for meetings, but that wouldn't exactly be convenient, now would it?"
"No, it would not," concurred Fred. "And we also figured that if we're going to stick around for that long, we might as well sit our N.E.W.T.s while we're at it, just to keep Mum off our backs."
"Defence should be a breeze, and we're fairly confident we can pass Potions and Charms without putting in any extra work."
"It sounds like you have it all figured out," remarked Harry.
"That we do," nodded George. "Plus, we'll be able to tell all the students about the end-of-exam discounts we'll be offering at our grand opening."
"Free opportunities to advertise to our target market don't happen every day, you know," Fred chimed in, before launching into detail about their future plans for the business.
Aside from that, Harry spent most of his free time simply hanging around with his godfather. Sirius had been in a right state by the time he returned home from his adventure in Appleby, teeming with guilt over his inability to come to his godson's aid. Harry did his best to reassure him, of course. No one would have expected him to race off and confront a swarm of hungry dementors — not after suffering twelve long years in Azkaban — plus, him quickly sending Dumbledore in his stead might have made all the difference. Even so, he could tell Sirius was feeling inadequate over the incident, so Harry made it a point to spend as much time as he could with him before returning to Hogwarts.
Throughout the week, Harry's conversation with Dumbledore about his wand had been constantly playing in the back of his mind. No matter how many times he dissected the headmaster's cryptic words, they always led him to the same conclusion, and he honestly had no idea how he was going to react if it turned out to be correct. As much as he tried to put it out of his mind, he found his thoughts turning towards the mystery of the wand with increasing regularity as the date of his return to Hogwarts — and the answers he had been promised — drew ever closer.
When the day finally arrived, Harry decided to skip the train ride and Apparate directly to Hogsmeade, after spending most of the day with Sirius. Astoria had already told him that her father was planning on bringing her back, removing Harry's only motivation for spending several hours cooped up in a train compartment.
He timed his arrival so that he would beat the Hogwarts Express by a few minutes, allowing him to join the rest of his friends in the Great Hall for dinner without having to deal with the crowd of returning students. Unfortunately, that also meant riding up to the castle in a Thestral-drawn carriage, in the dark, by himself — which, apart from being generally unsettling, created the perfect atmosphere for allowing one's darker thoughts to intrude.
As he gazed out the window, listening to the soft clop clop of the Thestral's footfalls on the cobblestone, Harry found himself thinking about Voldemort — where he was, what he was planning, and most importantly, when he would finally make his big move. The Order had concluded that the incident in Appleby was a spontaneous action on the part of the dementors, but the Death Eaters had continued their pattern of small, targeted attacks across the country, and the casualties were beginning to add up. On top of that, a handful of mysterious disappearances had been reported in the Daily Prophet, which included at least two members of the Wizengamot.
All in all, everything seemed to be building towards some sort of conclusion, and something told Harry that it would be happening sooner, rather than later. He couldn't put his finger on what exactly it was; only that a thick blanket of tension seemed to have settled over the country, and it would only be a matter of time before something burst through.
Thankfully, Harry's mood began to brighten as the lights of the castle grew closer, and by the time he passed through the doors of the Great Hall, his worries had almost completely been pushed to the back of his mind. After a quick glance around the room, he cut a path directly towards the Gryffindor table to join his friends. Hermione was the first one to spot him, and she practically jumped out of her seat to wrap him in a bone-crunching hug.
"Harry! We're so glad you're back," she blurted out, as Harry fought to keep his balance. "I could not believe you had to fight off another swarm of dementors! Are you all right? I mean, I know you said you were in your letter, but I feel like I should ask," she continued, stepping back as if to properly examine him. "What about Astoria? We've all seen how badly her Patronus drains her, and I'm sure that was the first time she'd ever tried using it against actual dementors."
"I'm fine, Hermione, and so is Astoria," Harry reassured them all, as he and Hermione sat back down at the table. "She should be here any minute now. What about you all? Did I miss anything important?"
"Well, Percy was sacked," revealed Ron, with a look of grim satisfaction. "Apparently, Scrimgeour didn't see the need for a High Inquisitor and got rid of the position."
"Remind me later to tell you about my meeting with the Minister," replied Harry, suppressing a smirk. "So, what did Percy do? Did he finally apologise to you all?"
"As if," snorted Ron, shaking his head in disgust. "The git took off without saying a word. Ginny saw him on his way out though — said he looked more embarrassed than anything."
"I'm sure he'll come around eventually," Hermione offered consolingly.
"Yeah, maybe…"
"Anything else?" asked Harry.
"Not really," replied Ron, shrugging noncommittally. "Just Hermione being an absolute menace about O.W.L. preparation. I've revised more in the past two weeks than the last five years combined!"
"Oh, like that's saying much," argued Hermione. "Perhaps revising for O.W.L.s wouldn't be so strenuous if you'd put in even the tiniest bit of effort into your classwork all these years!"
"You see?" said Ron, ignoring Hermione's rebuke and speaking directly to Harry. "She could probably teach Mum a thing or two about bossing people around, honestly. Our kids won't stand a bloody chance."
Hermione, who had been taking a sip from her goblet, immediately started choking and sprayed pumpkin juice all over the table. Suddenly realising what he'd just said, Ron's face turned beet red as he began spluttering in an attempt to explain himself.
"I didn't mean — er — I mean, what I meant to say was they wouldn't stand a chance, you know, as in hypothetically speaking," he attempted, his ears now the colour of Luna's radish earrings. "I wasn't implying anything — it's just that between you and my Mum…oh bloody hell…Harry, you get what I'm saying, right?" he pleaded, desperately turning to his friend for support.
"Sorry mate, I'm staying out of this one," laughed Harry, using his wand to siphon away the splattered pumpkin juice while Ron beat his head against the table. "Unless, of course, congratulations are in order…" he added, with a mischievous lilt in his voice.
Hermione shot Harry a scandalised look, while her face — which was already somewhat flushed — quickly caught up to match Ron's scarlet hue. "Harry!" she shouted, while repeatedly slapping him on the shoulder.
"What? He's the one who said it!" he laughingly replied, holding up an arm to fend off her attack.
"Honestly, I don't know why I put up with the two of you…"
"Come on, you know you love us…"
"Depends on the day…" she grumbled, apparently deciding it would be best to ignore them both and go back to the book she was reading.
In an effort to move on from the prior topic, Ron struck up an awkward conversation about Quidditch with Harry, and even managed to pull a nearby Dean Thomas into the discussion. Before long, the rest of the students who had gone home for the Easter holiday arrived in the Great Hall, and dinner finally began in earnest. After having yet another of one his feats reported in the paper, Harry was on the receiving end of more than a few curious looks, but it was nothing he wasn't already used to.
Halfway through Neville's story about a particularly aggressive Fanged Geranium he was cultivating in the greenhouse, Harry peered up at the staff table and spotted Professor Dumbledore looking in his direction. They made eye contact for the briefest of moments, which was enough to let Harry know that the headmaster had not forgotten their agreement. Distracted though he was, he managed to make it through the rest of dinner with his patience intact — although he found himself repeatedly sneaking glances at Dumbledore, just to make sure he was still there.
"Are you coming, Harry?"
Apparently, he had been more distracted than he thought, because Ron, Hermione, and Neville were all standing up and seemed to be waiting for him. Up at the staff table, Dumbledore also rose from his seat — almost as if he had been biding his time until that specific moment — and began moving towards the side door that led out of the Great Hall, giving Harry a subtle nod as he walked. Taking that as a signal to follow after him, Harry quickly got to his feet and prepared to leave.
"Er — no, there's something I need to do first," he informed Hermione, as he started up the aisle.
"What?" she called after him.
"I'll tell you later…probably," Harry replied over his shoulder, leaving his friends standing there looking confused.
Harry took a right out of the Great Hall, navigating his way around a group of Slytherins lingering near the entrance before heading up the stairs. He reached the top just as the tail of Dumbledore's robe disappeared around a corner, prompting Harry to quicken his pace to try and catch up. The process repeated itself two more times until he found himself in an empty, but familiar corridor. Finally recognising where the professor was headed, Harry relaxed slightly and slipped into the secret passage behind the suit of armour with the dented visor, and after a few more twists and turns, he finally reached their usual duelling venue — the same room where Harry once briefly possessed the Philosopher's Stone.
"Good evening, Harry," said Professor Dumbledore, who was standing on the far end of the room. "I trust the remainder of your holiday was well spent?"
"It was fine, sir. How was yours?"
"Spent working, I am afraid. I apologise for leading you here in such a mysterious fashion; I simply did not wish to draw attention to the fact that we were meeting this evening, and I assumed you would have no difficulty in following me."
"It's fine, sir," Harry assured him, anxious for Dumbledore to get to the point.
"Very well. I suppose there is no point in delaying any further," he sighed. "I assume you have questions you wish to have answered, or perhaps even one in particular?"
Between the headmaster's words and the look of tired resignation on his face, Harry was positive Dumbledore already knew what he was going to say, so he didn't hesitate to ask the question that had been bouncing around his head for the past week.
"Do you have the Elder Wand?"
Dumbledore reached into his sleeve and drew out the wand.
"Elder wood, fifteen inches long, and rumoured to have the tail hair of a thestral at its core," he said, while appearing to examine the thin, mostly unadorned length of wood. "Crafted by Death himself, if legends are to be believed, and gifted to your ancestor, Antioch Peverell," continued Dumbledore, shifting his gaze towards Harry. "Exchanging hands countless times over the centuries, often violently, until finally coming into my possession in the year nineteen forty-five."
"Nineteen forty-five? Wasn't that —" Harry's eyes suddenly lit up. "Grindelwald!" he exclaimed. "You took the Wand from Grindelwald!"
"That is correct," confirmed Dumbledore. "Although, it would perhaps be more accurate to say that I won the Wand from Gellert, on the day I defeated him to end the war. You see, Harry," he explained, "the wands we often see as mere tools appear, at least to an extent, to have a mind of their own. 'The wand chooses the wizard', as Mr. Ollivander is so fond of saying, means that before a wand can be used to its full potential, it must first offer its allegiance to a compatible wizard or witch."
Harry remembered hearing something similar from Ollivander himself, on the day he bought his phoenix wand — or, on the day it chose him, he supposed. He'd never put much thought into it since, and he'd certainly never heard of a wand suddenly deciding to pick a different wizard.
"So…you won the Wand's allegiance when you defeated Grindelwald?" he replied, trying to follow along.
"That is correct. I may not be as learned in wandlore as the Ollivander family, but I have come to understand that some wands are more…temperamental than others," Dumbledore continued to explain. "The Elder Wand is particularly quick to change allegiances, especially when its master is defeated in combat…or forcibly disarmed against their will," he added, giving Harry a significant look.
"And you've had it this entire time?" pressed Harry, attempting to rein in his emotions. "Sir, I told you I needed it. Even if you had just let me borrow it, I could've cured Astoria by now! She was in bed for days after the dementor attack! What if…what if she never recovered?"
"Miss Greengrass's condition, while unfortunate, has never been considered immediately life-threatening," maintained the professor. "While I understand your feelings on the matter, I remain confident that a short delay in removing the curse would not cause her to suffer any additional long-term effects."
"You could've at least told me!" argued Harry.
"Perhaps you are right," conceded Dumbledore, again looking down at the wand. "I have known for some time now that you were destined to carry the Wand, but I did not believe you to be ready. You see, I was afraid that possessing all three Deathly Hallows might make you careless; perhaps even cause you to seek out Voldemort yourself."
"Why on earth would I do that?" asked Harry, visibly confused.
"Being clear to me now that you would do no such thing, I am afraid I cannot provide you with a rational explanation. Perhaps I was merely projecting my own faults onto yourself," he suggested, with a hint of sadness. "For you see, I have known for quite some time that you are a much better man than I, not to mention far more suited to power than I ever was."
"Sir?"
"Being as young as you are, you cannot possibly understand how incredibly rare it is for someone with your power and potential to be as kind and selfless as you are," said Dumbledore. "I confess that my fear of you being corrupted by the Wand is what has held me back, even though you are perhaps the most incorruptible person I have ever met. Only recently have I come to understand that you, perhaps more than anyone in history, are the one most capable of safeguarding the Hallows without succumbing to their influence."
"Er — if you say so, sir…" replied Harry, definitely feeling unworthy of the headmaster's praise. How many times had he used the Cloak simply to sneak around the school after curfew? How many times had he been tempted to use the Stone to summon his parents?
"I do say so," insisted Dumbledore, noting Harry's sceptical expression. "Answer me this: in the several months you have been in possession of the Resurrection Stone, how often have you actually used it?"
"Just the one time, when we were finding out how to break the curse. I did offer to let Astoria use it once to say goodbye to Daphne, but she says she's not ready yet."
"And neither one of those scenarios would I consider selfish," the professor stated with a gleam in his eye. "I imagine you were sorely tempted to bring your parents back, and yet you have — wisely, I believe — refrained from doing so. In addition, a Cloak such as yours could easily be put to a number of nefarious purposes, yet unless I am very much mistaken, the worst you have done with it these past four years is break the occasional school rule."
"I guess I see your point," replied Harry. "So, now what? Does this mean you're planning on giving it to me? Am I supposed to somehow win it from you? Because I don't see that happening anytime soon..."
Dumbledore smiled sagely back at Harry.
"Do you recall what I told you that day in Appleby, after you asked why my wand suddenly appeared different?"
"Well…yeah," frowned Harry. "You said you'd been using your Ollivander wand in all of our lessons, even though I definitely remember you using that one," he said, pointing at the Elder Wand.
"All of our recent lessons, Harry," Dumbledore corrected him, causing Harry to groan inwardly at himself for not picking up on the distinction at the time. "The Elder Wand had served me faithfully for half a century, up until four months ago, when it transferred its allegiance to a new, far worthier master," he revealed, peering at Harry over the tops of his spectacles as if to emphasise his point. "One who shares a familial connection with its original owner..."
"Wait, do you mean me? When —"
All of a sudden, Harry's mind flashed back to the Gaunt shack, replaying the moment when he disarmed Dumbledore before he could put on the cursed ring. Thinking back, he recalled the bizarre rush of power he felt when he picked up the wand. He had dismissed the incident at the time, figuring it made sense that Professor Dumbledore would have a powerful wand, but looking back…
"Ah, I see you have made the connection," the professor said brightly, speaking as though Harry had done nothing more than answer a question correctly in class. "Yes, from the moment you disarmed me inside the Gaunts' former hovel, you have been the master of the Elder Wand."
For several moments, Harry had difficulty finding the words to form a proper response. How was it possible for him to accidentally win the most powerful wand in the world, taking it from arguably the most powerful wizard in the world?
"But…but sir, I didn't know!" he finally managed to spit out. "I — I didn't mean to —"
"It is quite all right," Dumbledore said reassuringly. "I have given much thought to the events of that day and have concluded that they unfolded precisely the way they were meant to — all but confirming to me that you were the one fated to unite the Deathly Hallows."
"But then how —"
"I have been using my original wand ever since that day, only I have been employing a charm to mask its appearance from you. In my rush to assist you with the dementors, I must have forgotten to reapply the charm — or perhaps the Elder Wand simply decided it was time and took matters into its own hands."
"Is that really possible, sir?" asked Harry, finding the idea of a fully sentient wand somewhat disturbing.
"Magic is a mysterious, wonderful, and at times terrifying force," replied the headmaster. "We have spoken before about how magic appears to have a mind of its own at times, have we not?"
Harry nodded in reply.
"Well, you may consider this an extension of that lesson."
"Okay, but there's one thing I still don't understand. You've disarmed me loads of times since then, so why hasn't the Wand's allegiance switched back to you?"
"Ah, you are forgetting our lessons about intent," Dumbledore reminded him. "Our duels are conducted with the mutual understanding that their purpose is merely to practice, or to educate. The Wand recognises this and behaves accordingly. Of course, it is also possible that it feels a stronger affinity towards you because of the Peverell connection."
"Okay…so, now what?" Harry asked again, excitement beginning to set in, now that his questions had all been answered.
"Now, Harry, you come claim that which is rightfully yours," Professor Dumbledore declared solemnly, turning the Wand in his hand and extending it, handle first, towards Harry.
Harry took a few steps forward and then paused. For reasons he couldn't quite explain, he pulled the Cloak of Invisibility from his pocket and threw it around his shoulders, but without fully covering himself. At almost the same time, the golden ring housing the Resurrection Stone became clearly visible on his finger, even though Harry made no effort to remove the charm hiding its presence. If Dumbledore found any of this odd, he gave no indication.
A sense of anticipation gripped Harry as he slowly approached the headmaster, his eyes trained on the pale wood of the Elder Wand. He reached out with his hand as he drew nearer, and — seemingly of its own accord — the Wand shot out of Dumbledore's hand and into Harry's.
The effect was immediate. The moment the Wand touched his hand, Harry's fingers instinctively grasped the handle, and a wave of powerful magic immediately began coursing through his body. Even though the items themselves weighed next to nothing, the Cloak suddenly felt unnaturally heavy on his shoulders, as did the Stone on his finger.
"What is this?" muttered Harry to himself, as he closely examined the Wand.
The sensation was indescribable — far more pronounced than the first time he held it in his hands. In a way, it reminded him of his first visit to Ollivander's shop, only instead of the pleasant, warm sensation of his holly and phoenix feather wand, the magic of the Elder Wand was cold — ice cold, and yet strangely familiar, though Harry could not explain why.
"Some advice for you, Harry, if I may be so bold," said Dumbledore, who was looking warily at Harry.
"Sir?"
"I suggest you take some time to familiarise yourself with the Wand before attempting to cure Miss Greengrass. I fear that if you have not first learned proper control, you may find yourself unintentionally doing more harm than good."
"That's…probably a good idea," he agreed, still examining the Wand.
"I also insist that you allow Madam Pomfrey to supervise when you do attempt the counter-curse, in case any additional medical attention is required. You may also want to carefully consider exactly what you are going to tell Elias Greengrass."
"Right, I didn't even think of that," responded Harry. "How am I supposed to explain what we're doing without mentioning the Deathly Hallows?"
"It is a delicate situation, to be sure," nodded Dumbledore. "Aside from yourself, Gellert is the only one who ever knew that I possessed the Elder Wand. I strongly advise a similar level of discretion from yourself going forward. I also implore you to always remember the lesson of the first brother, who even with the Wand, ultimately fell victim to his own hubris."
"I will, sir," he replied sincerely. "I'll probably just keep using my phoenix wand for now, at least during school, but maybe you could show me the charm you used to change your wand's appearance."
"I would be glad to, though I believe you have the ability to work that out on your own."
"Yeah, probably," he shrugged, turning his attention once again to the wand in his hand. "Sir…what happened when you first took the Wand?" he asked hesitantly.
"I experienced a brief rush at the moment of bonding, but nothing like what I just witnessed," Dumbledore replied gravely. "I cannot say with any certainty whether it is due to your Peverell lineage or the fact that you have successfully united the Hallows, but there is no doubt that your connection with the Elder Wand is far stronger than mine ever was."
"I should've known…it's always something," muttered Harry, still staring down at the Wand.
"Of course, it may very well be that both aspects play a part, or it could be something wholly unrelated," continued the professor, returning to his usual teaching voice. "That is part of what makes magic so fascinating, Harry. I have lived for a very long time and have both witnessed, and — if you will once again forgive my lack of modesty — performed feats many others would deem impossible, and yet I still feel as if I have only scratched the surface of what magic is truly capable of. If I have learned one thing in all my years, it is that when it comes to magic, there is always another mystery — another riddle to be solved."
Harry sighed heavily. "I suppose it does keep things interesting," he replied, with just a hint of sarcasm.
"Indeed," smiled Dumbledore, ignoring Harry's tone. "Now, before we move on, there are two final things that I would like to impress upon you. First,even with the Elder Wand at your disposal, I do not think it wise to completely forsake the protection of the twin cores," he advised Harry, referring to his and Voldemort's wands. "At the very least, I advise you to carry both wands with you whenever possible. Secondly, you must not, under any circumstances, allow Voldemort to gain control of the Elder Wand," he added gravely. "I do not need to tell you how disastrous the consequences would be, if that were to happen."
Just the thought made Harry feel slightly ill. "I understand, sir," he nodded.
"Very well," said Dumbledore, apparently satisfied that Harry had been sufficiently warned. "Now, as we still have some time before curfew, may I suggest you use the opportunity to practice using the Wand? Perhaps some basic spells to begin with, and then we shall proceed from there."
"Sounds good to me," Harry readily agreed, and for a moment, he could almost feel a sense of elation coming from the Elder Wand as he prepared to cast his first spell.