Finding Rosalind Gryffindor I √

fifteen

-Harry Potter-

I died a little, seeing Dobby's crumpled body covered in blood. He was that one string which connected me to the old times- that of equally hazardous. But he had dedicated his life to saving me against his masters devoted to ending me. How bad I wished that he kept his promise in the second grade about never trying to save me again. 

Every second was vital for him, although all I managed to do was to shout Hermione, "There must be something useful in your bag. Please. Please..." My voice faded in the tears shed. Hermione had shown equivalent emotional reaction- still no actions necessary were taken. Even the brightest witch of our age had nothing to avoid the unlucky fate that awaited our little friend now- a liberal house elf, who had searched for improved rights, a muse to her childhood society.

"Harry Potter," he sought. I ran into his arms, ready to give the compassion no one truly had in his life time, placing him on my lap. 

I replied my requests of aid, however, Dobby commented on the beach we had landed on, as if he was completely oblivious to what was happening. "It's such a beautiful place...to be with friends. Dobby is happy to be with his friend," he struggled to complete his sentences now. 

"Harry Potter," he finally breathed, before his soul quitting for a freer world, eyes shot open.

I flinched with the sudden pat of Luna, who the previously passed away elf had brought to Bill Weasley's house, along with Ollivander.  "We should close his eyes," she whispered as she gently closed his eyelids with her two fingers. "We can make a grave too," she suggested.

"I'll dig one myself. In muggle fashion."

+++ 

I walked down the hill, looking one last time at the modest grave- the following craved on the tombstone: Here lies Dobby, a free elf.  My friend.

Then I greeted Ron and Hermione, we had to confront Ollivander. He lodged in a bedroom at the top of the cottage. 

"Sir, could you see if these wands are safe to use?"

After a small inspection of the wands, he handed me them, including a note. "Perhaps Draco Malfoy's wand's allegiance has changed."

"Mr Ollivander, you talk with wands... as if they have feelings," I blurted out.

"The wand chooses the wizard, Mr Potter."

I felt slightly embarrassed about this simple phrase, but decided to pop the significant question anyways.

"Sir, what do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

"It is rumored there are three. The Elder Wand, The Cloak of Invisibility and The Resurrection Stone. Together, they make one master of death. But if you believe that such objects exists-"

"Do you?"

He looked hollowly for a second. "Well, I see no reason to put stock in a old wives tale."

"You're lying," I stated, reading through his mocking face trying to brush it off. "You know one exists. You told him about The Elder Wand and where he could go looking for it."

"He tortured me," he admitted, wrecked. "Besides, I only conveyed rumors. There's no telling whether he will find him."

It was time to break the bad news.

"He has found it, sir."

"We'll let you rest," Rosalind interfered, her eyes challenging me to say something of opposite sorts. 

"If it's true, what you say, I'm afraid you don't stand a chance," called out Ollivander as we quitted the room. 

"Scaremonger," Ron smirked.