(Y/N)'s POV

Me and Hermione shared a 'He can't be serious' look. Ron was staring at Harry as though he had gone mad. "Harry —" said Hermione, but she was cut off by Griphook. "Break into a Gringotts vault?" repeated the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed.

"It is impossible." "No, it isn't," Ron contradicted him. "It's been done." "Yeah," said Harry. "The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago." "The vault in question was empty at the time," snapped the goblin, "Its protection was minimal."

"Yeah, no shi-" I said before Hermione elbowed me for interrupting. "Well, the vault we need to get into isn't empty, and I'm guessing its protection will be pretty powerful," said Harry. "Do you know how deep it is?" I asked him.

Harry shook his head, looking confused at the question, "It belongs to the Lestranges." there would be time enough to explain after Griphook had given his answer. "You have no chance," said Griphook flatly.

"No chance at all. If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours —" "Thief, you have been warned, beware — yeah, I know, I remember," said Harry.

"But I'm not trying to get myself any treasure, I'm not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?" There was a moments pause.

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

"Wand-carriers," repeated Harry: "The right to carry a wand," said the goblin quietly, "has long been contested between wizards and goblins." "Well, goblins can do magic without wands," said Ron.

I shot him a glance to stop him antagonising someone we needed to help us, he didn't see it. "That is immaterial! Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wand lore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!"

"Well, goblins won't share any of their magic either," said Ron. "You won't tell us how to make swords and armour the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never-" I hit him on the back quickly, so he shut up. "It doesn't matter," said Harry.

"This isn't about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature —" Griphook gave a nasty laugh. "But it is, it is about precisely that!"

"As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?"

"We do!" said Hermione. She had sat up straight, her eyes bright. "We protest! And I'm hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! I'm a Mudblood!" I was too shocked at hearing her say that to protest.

"Hermione..." I said quietly, she looked me in the eyes with a fire that I rarely ever saw in them, I quieted down so she can make her point, what came next made me feel worse about everything that had passed at Malfoy Manor.

"Don't call yourself —" Ron muttered. "Why shouldn't I?" said Hermione. "Mudblood, and proud of it!" she proclaimed, her voice never faltering or breaking.

"I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! Bellatrix made that clear!" As she spoke, she pulled aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the thin cut Bellatrix had made, scarlet against her throat.

To further drive home her point, she rolled up her sleeve to show the words 'MUDBLOOD' carved into her arm. The sight of it made my blood boil beyond belief. I felt sick to my stomach both that I let this happen and because I hadn't slit Lestrange's throat for it.

I didn't see the injury when I was carrying her and the long dressing gown that Fleur had dressed her in had obscured it, my fury must have shown on my face or something because she gave me a sideways glance. "Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?" she asked.

"Did you know that we've wanted elves to be freed for years?" "You can't want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!" The goblin gazed at Hermione with the same curiosity he had shown Harry.

"What do you seek within the Lestranges' vault?" he asked abruptly. "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 in that vault, is it?" asked Harry. "Perhaps you've seen the other things in there?" The goblin twisted his beard around his finger again.

"It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers."

The goblin stroked the sword, and his black eyes roved from Harry to Hermione to Ron and then to me. "So young," he said finally, "to be fighting so many." "Will you help us?" said Harry. "We haven't got a hope of breaking in without a goblin's help. You're our one chance."

"I shall . . . think about it," said Griphook maddeningly. "But —" Ron started angrily; Hermione kicked him bluntly. "Thank you," said Harry. The goblin bowed his great domed head in acknowledgement, then flexed his short legs.

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

"Yeah, of course," said Harry, but before leaving the room he leaned forward and took the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin.

Griphook did not protest. I resisted the urge to shout "S.P.E.W. for life!" as I left, too focused on the scars that traced Hermione's arm and how the weight behind them made my own scars seem insignificant.

"Little git," whispered Ron. "He's enjoying keeping us hanging." "Harry," whispered Hermione, "are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Lestranges' vault?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we'd been in there; she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about."

"But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who's been, places he's done something important?" said Ron, looking baffled. "Was he ever inside the Lestranges' vault?" "I don't know whether he was ever inside Gringotts," said Harry.

"He never had gold there when he was younger because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley. I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he'd have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world."

"Why would he risk someone else's vault, couldn't he put it in his own, or a family vault, I imagine at the height of his power he must have been well off, wouldn't he just lock it up in his own?" I wondered.

"Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it the night he came back, I heard him." Harry rubbed his scar.

"I don't think he'd have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me . . . except for Hogwarts."

When Harry had finished speaking, Ron shook his head. "You really understand him." "Bits of him," said Harry. "Bits . . . I just wish I'd understood Dumbledore as much. But we'll see. Come on — Ollivander now."

We knocked upon the door opposite Bill and Fleur's. A weak "Come in!" answered them. 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.

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, beside 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." Harry said. "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 two barely connected halves into his palm.

It was his old wand. "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." Harry let out a solemn nod. "Can you identify these?" Harry asked.

Ollivander examined each wand he held them close to his faded eyes, rolling them between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing them slightly. "Walnut and dragon heartstring," he said for the first. "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."

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

I absentmindedly started twiddling my wand in my fingers, looking it over, now I thought about it, this wand and I had been through a lot together, fought a lot of people and pulled a lot of pranks, I probably sounded mental, but it was kind of like an old friend.

"The wand chooses the wizard that's the whole point" said Harry, I muttered to my wand before I knew I was talking aloud "I expect nothing but loyalty from you, you hear me? If you ever betray me, I will use you as kindling!" I said sternly to the piece of wood.

"Just kidding, love you really" I tapped the wand twice over my heart. Ollivander seemed to find this amusing, as small smile tugged at his lips, but the others looked at me like I was quite deranged. "He's finally gone fully mental." Said Ron to Hermione, who seemed found it hard to disagree

"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. Wand lore 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, and "Legends about a wand — or wands — that have passed from hand to hand by murder."

Ollivander turned pale. "Only one wand, I think," he whispered. "And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?" asked Harry. "I — how?" croaked Ollivander. "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!"

"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, but nodded "But it didn't work," Harry went on.

"Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?" Ollivander shook his head slowly "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."

"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?" But I understood.

"They can trace the spells" I thought aloud, thinking back to Umbridge interrogating me and Crouch interrogating Winky. "We left Hermione's wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys" I kicked myself. She looked between us in disbelief.

"If they examine them properly, they'll see that yours broke Harry's at Godric's Hollow, they'll see that you tried to mend it, and they'll realise that he's been using the blackthorn one ever since." I sighed.

Harry nodded "They can use Priori Incantatem or something like it, You-Know-Who's and my wands are linked, it'd be easy for them to check." As I sighed into my hands, Hermione looked distraught. The little colour she had regained since their arrival had drained from her face.

Ron 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 wand lore recognise."

"Which are?" I said, they all looked at me funny. "What, is it crazy to want to know an unbeatable wand when I see one?" Ollivander continued as if I hadn't spoken.

"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 even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped. "But how — how do you — ?" "Never mind how I know it," said Harry, "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.

"Oh for fu-" Hermione glared at me, "What? We asking Winky next? Maybe she knows about them. Or has anyone thought to ask Dean?" I said in exasperation.

"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 to me, cocking his head to the old man.

I sighed, muttering, "I swear this is all you guy use me for nowadays, or if anyone needs to take a beating." I investigated his mind, Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows. I shook my head and Harry was content.

"Thank you," said Harry. "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."

Harry led us all down to the beach to explain, I hope. "What was that all about? Don't start with this Hallows stuff again, that's not what we signed up for" I warned as Hermione rested against me to regain her strength "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. And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him-" I connected the dots, "Don't tell me-"

"-Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" said Ron. "But then — where is it now?" "At Hogwarts," said Harry, "But then, let's go!" said Ron urgently. "They buried the old git with it." I sighed.

"WHY DOES HE ALWAYS DO THIS!" I screamed into the sea, "Making stuff extra weird and complex and expecting us to deal with it! Why didn't he just leave his wand to you if you think he wanted you to have all the Hollows? Why wouldn't he have used it!"

"Harry, let's go and get it before he does!" "It's too late for that," said Harry. He clutched his head, trying to help it resist. "He knows where it is. He's there now." "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.

"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. . . ."

He collapsed into the sand, crumpling as he clutched his forehead. "Harry!" we all said in unison, all our frustration disappearing in an instant. Ron was forced to carry him inside as he recovered, Hermione and I lagging behind him.

My eyes couldn't help being drawn to her forearm, where the words were inscribed on her flesh, I took a breath to ask her if she wanted me to erase it, like I had before, but she looked at me and gave a small sad smile that was all I needed to see. But it still broke my heart.

From just that one glance, I knew it wouldn't heal, that the scar was cursed somehow, that the words that had haunted her since she was first accepted into the wizarding world would be written across her arm for years to come, possibly as long as she lived.

And right now, there was not a single thing on earth I could do to help her with the constant reminder of how people like Bellatrix would always see her, save for assuring her, that the words meant nothing to the people that really mattered to her.

Being at Shell Cottage felt as if we were taking a break from all the things that came before at first, but slowly, it all crept back to us, like a reminder that until the Horcruxes were destroyed we were never safe, we could never have normal lives.

I spent most of my time here tending to the injured and trying to heal my own wounds, a task made much more annoying by a missing hand. Griphook was all but recovered, Mr. Ollivander was no longer emaciated and had started getting more colour to his cheeks.

Winky was still bedridden because of the blood loss, but was in higher spirits, she had started helping with housework to fill her time despite my protests but would often end up bedridden again wherever she overexerted herself.

She had grown close to Fleur over the past few days. She kept whispering to me "The pretty lady is speaking funny" and giggling, I nodded, "Well, she probably thinks the same about us." I chuckled for the first time in a long while.

Hermione had gotten sick of me doting on her and assured me she was fine. She was able to walk about normally again and her strength had returned after a few nights rest, provided by Fleur giving her small doses of Sleeping Draught with every meal.

In the quiet, I was finally able to arrange my thoughts. Surprisingly, I slept quite well when I was in the cottage, the sound of the waves seemed to lull me to sleep easily. The ironic thing was that It was one of the only times of my life that I wanted to stay awake.

My mind was racing almost constantly, If the cloak existed and the Elder wand was in Voldemort's possession, then surely logic dictated that the resurrection stone existed too. I found my mind wandering to it constantly, so I tried to stay busy and be productive.

I spent a lot of time tinkering with stuff using my hands...hand. I tried my best to inspect Wormtail's silver hand so I could use it, I did everything I could think of to remove any curses or enchantments that Voldemort had put on it, but there was no way to be entirely sure.

I had melted it down, reformed it, shattered it and taken it apart but as far as I could tell, it was just a hunk of metal that for some reason, acted like a hand. That scared me more than knowing it had some dark enchantment on it. Because I didn't know what I was dealing with.

Hermione had looked it over too and she found nothing special about it, even Bill and Fleur had nothing to say on the topic, despite their expertise as a curse breaker and a Gringotts employee respectively, both of which are well versed with cursed metals.

Before I put the hand on, I decided it was best to get everything I needed sorted first. I called Ron into my room, before I forgot, I decided now was probably the best time to give him his gift, while we had some quiet.

"Listen, I made you this at Christmas before I knew you had done a runner, It seems a bit of a shame to let it go to waste, and it's only because of your quill that I could do it in the first place. So, here you are."

I handed him a few pieces of parchment and a pink quill, he looked at me as I had expected him to, with untrusting eyes and nervous looks, so I explained, "Look familiar? It used to be yours until I tweaked it a bit. It's the one the twins got you."

"The spell checking one?" I nodded, "It's how me and Hermione wrote letters to each other over the summer without her parents clocking what we were doing. I modified it so it can only be read by the person whose name you write on the top."

"Errr...thanks?" he said, taking them both and shrugging, I sighed, "Keep up mate. I know you miss your family and Lavender, so..." I gestured to the paper. "But can't it be intercepted?" I shook my head, "Nobody would have a reason to intercept it."

"My family's being watched! That's reason enough" I nodded. "Write something to Lavender, anything, don't worry, nobody will see it, not even me." "Just remember, you have to write 'Dear'... as in, 'Dear Lavender Brown' or 'Dear Molly Weasley'"

"Fine." He left the room and returned ten minutes later. "Sorted? Got all your x's underlined and hearts coloured in?" He sighed, "Yeah" I brought him downstairs. "'Mione. Can you do us a favour and read this?" She looked perplexed but began reading, "Out loud."

"Dear Lavender, hope you are doing well, Binky still misses you and Mr. Wazlib next door told me to say hello. Remember I'm going on holiday soon so don't feel the need to write back. W" She looked puzzled, but soon caught on once she saw Ron twiddling the quill in wonderment.

"W?" he looked confused, "As in Weasley? Bit obvious isn't it?" I shook my head, "Apparently not, because it's for 'Won-Won'" he glared at me and chucked the ink bottle at my head, I caught it with my wand. "You can change it don't worry. Watch."

"Tap the quill to the letter three times, think of St Mungo's." He did so and I passed it to Hermione. "Dear Miss Lavender Brown, St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries is writing to inform you that-" "NO WAY!"

Hermione smiled at me as she kept reading. "-the prescription for calming draught will be delayed this month due to increased patient demand. But you will be contacted when this product is available in the future. Apologies for any inconvenience this may cause. Dr B. Weatherby"

"This is simple compared to the marauders map, and it's so mundane nobody would check it. And if they did." "Quick, write me a note" I passed the quill and ink to Hermione who wrote a quick "Dear (Y/N) (L/N), I love you." I looked at it and smiled, kissing her quickly.

I passed it to Ron, "Buy cat food" then he tapped his wand to it and tried to use magic to reveal the message, the ink seeped off the page and across his fingers, falling to the floor after and making a little 'drip' sound as it did, the sight seemed to physically pain Hermione.

"Hey Ron, who just wrote that?" "Huh? I did, I was reminding myself to get cat..." he paused as his brain cycled through what had happened, after I fixed him, I said. "The ink is charmed, confunds you if you tamper with it or try to use magic on it."

"That's bloody brilliant!" he said, beaming at me "You wouldn't remember that name if you had it written on your forehead. And to top it all off, just in case she needs to get rid of them." I took the smudged ink stained paper.

"I (Y/N) (L/N), have read this letter from Hermione Granger" and the small note Hermione had written caught fire and burnt to ash. Ron was in shock. "You did all this for me?" he said, I nodded "Of course. Couldn't have you missing Lav-Lav could I?"

He shook his head, pulling me into a hug. "Thank you" he said earnestly, clapping me on the back before racing upstairs to write a dozen letters. I admit I got a little embarrassed. "Well, I had a lot of spare time after we got separated, I swear, give me a week and enough sugar and I could take over the world."

About an hour after that, I got sick of being one handed, so I made the others surround me, ready to attack me if anything happened, I called Harry down and put the silver hand on, it was weird, my other one felt like just having a hand, this one felt like I was wearing a glove.

It was like my hand was weightless. It was an odd sensation that was hard to describe. "I'd like to try something" I walked up to Harry and placed my hand close to his throat, to see if it would react at all. Nothing happened, and I had no urge to anything out of the ordinary.

"This might be weird, but I kinda liked the old hand better" That was until days later, when I realised, I could crush things into dust, after I had just obliterated a seashell.

"That's so cool" I muttered, as strong as my old hand was, this one outdid it. Though I was nervous about the next time I went to the toilet. Later Fleur called us to tell us that Griphook had come to a decision.

"'Arry?" Fleur had come out of the cottage, her long silver hair flying in the breeze. "Grip'ook would like to speak to you. 'E eez in ze smallest bedroom, 'e says 'e does not want to be over'eard."

Griphook was waiting for us, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage's three bedrooms, in which Hermione and Luna slept by night. He had drawn the red cotton curtains against the bright, cloudy sky, which gave the room a fiery glow at odds with the rest of the airy, light cottage.

"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter," said the goblin, who was sitting cross-legged in a low chair, drumming its arms with his spindly fingers. "Though the goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you —"

"That's great!" said Harry. "Griphook, thank you, we're really-" "-I feel a 'but' coming..." I muttered, "in return," said the goblin firmly, "for payment." Slightly taken aback, Harry hesitated. "How much do you want? I've got gold." "Not gold," said Griphook. "I have gold."

His black eyes glittered "I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor." Harry's spirits plummeted. "You can't have that," he said. "I'm sorry." "Then," said the goblin softly, "we have a problem."

"We can give you something else," said Ron eagerly. "I'll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault." He had said the wrong thing.

Griphook flushed angrily. "I am not a thief, boy! I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!" "The sword's ours —" "It is not," said the goblin.

"We're Gryffindors, and it was Godric Gryffindor's —" "And before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?" demanded the goblin, sitting up straight. "No one's," said Ron. "It was made for him, wasn't it?" "No!" cried the goblin,

"It's goblin made" I said in understanding, "You want to reclaim it" bristling with anger Griphook nodded, "It is a lost treasure, a masterpiece of goblinwork! It belongs with the goblins! The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!" Griphook glared at us.

Harry glanced at us then said, "We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that's all right. Could you give us a few minutes?" The goblin nodded, looking sour. Downstairs in the empty sitting room, Harry walked to the fireplace, brow furrowed.

Behind him, Ron said, "He's having a laugh. We can't let him have that sword." "It is true?" Harry asked Hermione. "Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?" "I don't know," she said hopelessly.

"Wizarding history often skates over what the wizards have done to other magical races, but there's no account that I know of that says Gryffindor stole the sword."

"It'll be one of those goblin stories," said Ron, "about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them. I suppose we should think ourselves lucky he hasn't asked for one of our wands." "Goblins have got good reason to dislike wizards, Ron," said Hermione.

"They've been treated brutally in the past." "Goblins aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?" said Ron. "They've killed plenty of us. They've fought dirty too."

"But arguing with Griphook about whose race is most underhanded and violent isn't going to make him more likely to help us, is it?" There was a pause while we tried to think of a way around the problem, I found only one outcome.

"I'll give him my wand, or we could hand him Pettigrew's-" I started, "Don't be silly! We can't just go around handing wands to goblins. It would cause an uproar." I scoffed, "As opposed to all the normal stuff we do and the Ministry takeover?"

"But-" she started, "-The sword is so much more important than a wand Hermione, we need it to destroy the things don't we. So, it comes first." "But that was the wand your-" "-I know that thanks Hermione! But that doesn't matter, we need a way to destroy the Horcruxes."

Ron offered his solution. "How's this? We tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the vault, and then he can have it. There's a fake in there, isn't there? We switch them, and give him the fake."

"Ron, he'd know the difference better than we would!" said Hermione. "He's the only one who realised there had been a swap!" "Yeah, but we could scarper before he realises —" He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.

"That," she said quietly, "is despicable. Ask for his help, then double-cross him? And you wonder why goblins don't like wizards, Ron?" Ron's ears had turned red. "All right, all right! It was the only thing I could think of! What's your solution, then?"

"We need to offer him something else, something just as valuable." "Brilliant. I'll go and get one of our other ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it." Silence fell between us again.

"Maybe he's lying," Harry said "Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn't take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history's right?"

"Does it make a difference?" asked Hermione. "Changes how I feel about it," said Harry. "That doesn't make it better!" I said.

He took a deep breath. "We'll tell him he can have the sword after he's helped us get into that vault — but we'll be careful to avoid telling him exactly when he can have it."

"You want us to use some 'Monkey's Paw' word trickery on a goblin so we can get him on a technicality and nick a sword from him until we're done with it?" Harry shrugged. I sighed, "He's gonna kill us all, but I can't think of anything else."

A grin spread slowly across Ron's face. Hermione, however, looked alarmed. "Harry, we can't —" "He can have it," Harry went on, "after we've used it on all of the Horcruxes. I'll make sure he gets it then. I'll keep my word."

"But that could be years!" said Hermione. "I know that, but he needn't. I won't be lying . . . really." Harry met her eyes with a mixture of defiance and shame.

"I don't like it," said Hermione. "Nor do I, much," Harry admitted. "Well, I think it's genius," said Ron, standing up again. I rolled my eyes, "You would."

"Let's go and tell him." Back in the smallest bedroom, Harry made the offer, careful to phrase it so as not to give any definite time for the handover of the sword. "I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?"

"Yes," said Harry. "Then shake," said the goblin, holding out his hand. Harry took it and shook. Then Griphook relinquished him, clapped his hands together, and said, "So. We begin!"

It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again. We settled to work in the smallest bedroom, which was kept, according to Griphook's preference, in semidarkness. It was a nightmare on my eyes.

"I have visited the Lestranges' vault only once," Griphook told us, "on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword. It is one of the most ancient chambers." "The oldest Wizarding families store their treasures at the deepest level, where the vaults are largest and best protected. . . ."

We remained shut in the cupboard like room for hours at a time. Slowly the days stretched into weeks. There was problem after problem to overcome, not least of which was that our store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.

"There's really only enough left for one of us," said Hermione, tilting the thick mudlike potion against the lamplight. "That'll be enough," said Harry, who was examining Griphook's hand-drawn map of the deepest passageways.

I had a thought once we found a long black Hair on Hermione's jumper a week into planning, "What if we don't have to break in, what if we get let in?"

After another few weeks of planning and several walks on the beach with Hermione that I thoroughly enjoyed, it was time for Mr. Ollivander to make his way to Muriel's to stay hidden. Luna was talking our ears off as he prepared to leave.

. ". . . and if you ever come to our house I'll be able to show you the horn, Daddy wrote to me about it but I haven't seen it yet, because the Death Eaters took me from the Hogwarts Express and I never got home for Christmas,"

Luna was saying, as she and Dean relaid the fire. "Luna, we told you," Hermione called over to her. "That horn exploded. It came from an Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack —"

"No, it was definitely a Snorkack horn," said Luna serenely. "Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know." "Well, houses don't" I muttered, and Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks.

Bill appeared, leading Mr. Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked exceptionally frail, and he clung to Bill's arm as the latter supported him, carrying a large suitcase.

"I'm going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander," said Luna, approaching the old man. "And I you, my dear," said Ollivander, patting her on the shoulder. "You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place." "So, au revoir, Mr. Ollivander," said Fleur, kissing him on both cheeks.

"And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill's Auntie Muriel? I never returned 'er tiara." "It will be an honor," said Ollivander with a little bow, "the very least I can do in return for your generous hospitality."

Fleur drew out a worn velvet case, which she opened to show the wandmaker. The tiara sat glittering and twinkling in the light from the low-hanging lamp. "Moonstones and diamonds," said Griphook, who had sidled into the room without Harry noticing. "Made by goblins, I think?"

"And paid for by wizards," said Bill quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging. A strong wind gusted against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night.

The rest of us squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, we started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them.

Bill returned before they had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind. "Everything's fine," he told Fleur.

"Ollivander settled in, Mum and Dad say hello. Ginny sends you all her love. Fred and George are driving Muriel up the wall, they're still operating an Owl-Order business out of her back room. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it."

"Ah, she eez charmante, your aunt," said Fleur crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair. She caught them and marched out of the room. "Daddy's made a tiara," piped up Luna.

"Well, more of a crown, really." "Yes, he's trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. He thinks he's identified most of the main elements now. Adding the billywig wings really made a difference —"

There was a bang on the front door. Everyone's head turned toward it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen, looking frightened; Bill jumped to his feet, his wand pointing at the door; we all did the same. Silently Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.

"Who is it?" Bill called. "It is I, Remus John Lupin!" called a voice over the howling wind. "I am a werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come in an emergency!"

"Lupin," muttered Bill, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open. Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a travelling cloak, his graying hair windswept. I was already upon him.

"What's happened! Is Tonks alright, is everyone ok? What's happened?" I said desperately, my heart sinking at all the possibilities. He straightened up, looked around the room, making sure of who was there, then cried aloud,

"It's a boy! We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!" Hermione shrieked. "Wha — ? Tonks — Tonks has had the baby?" "Yes, yes, she's had the baby!" shouted Lupin. My heart went from the bottom of my stomach to dancing around my chest.

"That's fantastic!" I bounced on the spot, all my energy having no way to release itself other then pulling Lupin into a hug and jumping up and down. He was pulled along into the jumping motion with a laugh.

All around the table came cries of delight, sighs of relief: Hermione and Fleur both squealed, "Congratulations!" and Ron said, "Blimey, a baby!" as if he had never heard of such a thing before. "Yes — yes — a boy," said Lupin again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness.

He strode around the table and hugged Harry; the scene in the basement of Grimmauld Place might never have happened. "Congratulations!" I said as he slipped into a hug with me, I was so excited I even ruffled his hair.

Then his voice became oddly professional, as if he were teaching me something again. "(Y/N), would you like to take the role of godfather?" he asked as if he was asking me about Grindeylowes. My brain went into meltdown mode.

"ME?" I asked, I was almost certain they would choose Kingsley or Mr Weasley or someone much more adult like. He looked at me with a nervous smile. "Dora insisted that you be the first choice. If you would like to of course."

My heart swelled at the thought, I couldn't find the right words. "Hell yes I would!" I shouted, then calming down I hugged him again and said, "It would be an honour." He beamed at me, pulling me into another hug.

"Dora's going to be over the moon." He said, I smirked, "Did you do that on purpose?" he just looked at me funny. Then thought on it and chuckled, "And if you wouldn't mind humouring me," He looked to Harry and I knew what he would ask.

"You'll be godfather as well?" he said nervously "M-me?" stammered Harry, his eyes darted to me as my heart did a little jumping jack. I nodded, that sounded awesome. "I — yeah — blimey —" Harry sounded overwhelmed.

I cheered loudly, wrapping my arm around Harry happily. "You and me, God-daddies together!" I celebrated, he chuckled, "God-daddies? All right then" he laughed harder.

Bill was hurrying to fetch wine, and Fleur was persuading Lupin to join us for a drink. "I can't stay long, I must get back," said Lupin, beaming.

"Thank you, thank you, Bill." Bill had soon filled all of our goblets, they stood and raised them high in a toast. "To Teddy Remus Lupin," said Lupin, "a great wizard in the making!" " 'Oo does 'e look like?" Fleur inquired.

"I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing colour the day that she was born."

"Multicoloured! Called it!" I celebrated as I downed some pumpkin juice with Winky sharing the same beverage behind me. Remus drained his goblet. "Oh, go on then, just one more," he added, beaming, as Bill made to fill it again.

The wind buffeted the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled, and Bill was soon opening another bottle of wine. We were all in remarkably high spirits. "No . . . no . . . I really must get back," said Lupin at last, declining yet another goblet of wine.

He got to his feet and pulled his travelling cloak back around himself. "Good-bye, good-bye — I'll try and bring some pictures in a few days' time — they'll all be so glad to know that I've seen you —"

He fastened his cloak and made his farewells, hugging the women and grasping hands with the men, then, still beaming, returned into the wild night. "Godfather! Oh that's so exciting!" Hermione exclaimed, pulling me into a hug.

"Frankly, I'd be offended if I wasn't, I've been trying to seed it for ages." I giggled, "Hermione, you need to teach me how to save money, I have birthdays to plan for." She smiled, then I had a masterstroke

"I wonder if Lestrange has something valuable in her vault I could pawn off to Dung" I said completely seriously, she took it as a joke and slapped my arm. "You're right, he's a sneak, he'd lower the price too much. Maybe I should try Slughorn?"