The old 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, Vega knew, 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. He did not look like the man Vega had seen so often when she was younger.
Vega felt guilty over what she had done, for not reaching to him any sooner, and she wished that there was something she could do to fix it. She sat down on the empty bed, beside Harry, Ron and Hermione. The rising sun was not visible here. The room faced the cliff-top garden and the freshly dug grave. It was quiet for a moment and then Vega looked up.
"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Vega spoke up quietly.
"My dear girl," Mr. Ollivander's voice was feeble as he spoke. "You and your friends 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," Vega said as she shared a look with Harry.
Even without words, Vega knew that their scars were throbbing right now, and they both knew – they were certain – that there was hardly any time left in which to beat Voldemort to his goal, or else to attempt to thwart him in the mission that awaited him.
At the mere thought of that, a flutter of panic raced through Vega's body... yet she had let Harry make the decision when they chose to speak to Griphook first. She motioned Harry to go through with it and he groped in the pouch around his neck and took out the two halves of his broken wand.
"Mr. Ollivander, I need some help," Harry said.
"Anything, anything," replied the wandmaker weakly.
"Can you mend this?" Harry asked. "Is it possible?"
Mr. Ollivander held out a trembling hand, and Harry placed the two barely connected halves in his palm, speaking in a tremulous voice, "Holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches. Nice and supple,"
"Yes," Harry said. "Can you –?"
"No," Mr. Ollivander whispered. "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 took the wand halves back and replaced them in the pouch around his neck. Mr. Ollivander stared at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and did not look away until Vega had taken from her pocket the wands she had brought from the Malfoys'. She held them out to him next so he could have a look at them as well.
"Can you identify these, Mr. Ollivander?" Vega asked.
The wandmaker took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly, "Walnut and dragon heartstring, twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange,"
"And this one?" Vega asked gently, although her shoulders had tensed upon the mention of her mother. Ollivander performed the same examination.
"Hawthorn and unicorn hair," Mr. Ollivander informed. "Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy,"
"Was?" Harry repeated. "Isn't it still his?"
"Perhaps not," Mr. Ollivander said. "If you took it –"
"– I did –" Vega pitched in.
"– then it may be yours," Mr. Ollivander said and Vega nodded quietly. "Of course, the manner of taking matters. Much also depends upon the wand itself. In general, however, where a wand has been won, its allegiance will change,"
There was a silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.
"You talk about wands like they've got feelings," Harry said. "Like they can think for themselves,"
"The wand chooses the wizard," Mr. Ollivander said. "That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore,"
"A person can still use a wand that hasn't chosen them, though?" Harry asked.
"Oh yes," said Mr. Ollivander. "If you are any wizard at all you will be able to channel your magic through almost any instrument. The best results, however, must always come where there is the strongest affinity between wizard and wand. These connections are complex. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand,"
The sea gushed forward and backward; it was a mournful sound.
"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force, and I gave it to Harry by hand," Vega said. "Can Harry use it safely?"
"I think so," Mr. Ollivander said. "Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master. It will work for Mr. Potter,"
"So, I should use this one?" Ron said, pulling Wormtail's wand out of his pocket and handing it to Mr. Ollivander.
"Chestnut and dragon heartstring," Mr. Ollivander spoke. "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, Mr. Ollivander?" Vega questioned.
"I think so," Mr. Ollivander replied, his protuberant eyes upon Vega's face. "You have always asked interesting questions, Miss Vega. Wandlore is a complex and mysterious branch of magic,"
"So, it isn't necessary to kill the previous owner to take the possession of a wand?" Vega asked, and Mr. Ollivander swallowed.
"Necessary?" Mr. Ollivander asked. "No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill,"
"There are legends, though," Vega said, and as her heart rate quickened, the pain in her head became more intense; she was sure that Voldemort has decided to put his idea into action. "Legends about a wand – or wands – that have been passed from hand to hand by murder,"
Mr. Ollivander turned pale. Against the snowy pillow he was light grey, and his eyes were enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looked like fear. Vega had never asked Mr. Ollivander such questions before – she had always been a mellow individual.
"Only one wand, I think," Mr. Ollivander whispered.
"And Tom Riddle is interested in it, isn't he?" Vega asked gently.
"I – how?" croaked Mr. Ollivander, and he looked appealingly at Harry, Ron and Hermione for help. "How do you know this?"
"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between his wand and the wand that belong to Harry," Vega said. Mr. Ollivander looked terrified.
"He tortured me, you must understand that, Miss Vega!" Mr. Ollivander said. "The Cruciatus Curse, I – I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"
"I understand, I don't hold it against you," Vega said. "You told him about the twin cores? You said he just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"
Mr. Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Vega knew, and he nodded slowly.
"But it didn't work," Vega went on. "Harry's wand still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?" Mr. Ollivander shook his head slowly as he had just nodded.
"I had..." Mr. Ollivander said. "Never heard of such a thing. Mr. Potter's wand performed something unique that night. The connection of the twin cores is incredibly rare, yet why his wand would have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know..."
"We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder," Vega said. "When Tom Riddle realised Harry's wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn't he?"
"How do you know this?" Mr. Ollivander said.
Vega did not answer.
"Yes, he asked," Mr. Ollivander whispered. "He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand variously known as the Deathstick, the Wand of Destiny, or the Elder Wand,"
Upon this, Vega glanced sideways at Hermione. She looked flabbergasted. Next to her, Harry looked excited and intrigued at the turn of events.
"The Dark Lord," Mr. Ollivander said in hushed and frightened tones. "Had always been happy with the wand I made him – yes and yew wood, 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 Harry's broken beyond repair," Vega said quietly.
"No!" Hermione said, sounding frightened. "He can't know that, Vega, how could he –?"
"Priori Incantatem," Vega answered the girl. "We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys', Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them recreate the spells they've cast lately, they'd see that your broke Harry's, they'll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they'll realise that Harry has been using the blackthorn one ever since,"
The little colour Hermione had regained since their arrival had drained from her face. Ron gave Vega a reproachful look, and said, "Let's not worry about that now –"
But Mr. Ollivander intervened, "The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Miss Vega, Mr. Potter. He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable,"
"And will it?" Vega asked.
"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," Mr. Ollivander said. "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?" Hermione asked.
"Oh yes," Mr. Ollivander said. "Yes, it is perfectly possible to trace the wand's course through history. There are gaps, of, course, and long ones, where it vanishes from view, temporarily lost or hidden; but always it resurfaces. It has certain identifying characteristics that those who are learned in wandlore recognise. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers have made it our business to study. They have the ring of authenticity,"
"So, you – you don't think it can be a fairy tale or a myth?" Hermione asked hopefully.
"No," Mr. Ollivander said. "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," Vega said. "You told Tom Riddle that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn't you?" Mr. Ollivander turned, if possible, even paler. He looked ghostly as he gulped.
"But how – how do you –?" Mr. Ollivander stammered.
"Never mind how I know it," Vega said, closing her eyes momentarily as her head hurt and she saw, for mere seconds, a vision of the main street in Hogsmeade, still dark, because it was so much farther north. "You told Tom Riddle that Gregorovitch had the wand?"
"It was a rumour," Mr. Ollivander whispered. "A rumour, years and years ago, long before you were born. I believe Gregorovitch himself started it. You can see how good it would be for business; that he was studying and duplicating the qualities of the Elder Wand!"
"Yes, I can see that," Vega said. She stood up. "Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"
"The – the what?" asked the wandmaker, looking utterly bewildered.
"The Deathly Hallows," Vega repeated.
"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about," Mr. Ollivander said. "Is this still something to do with wands?" Vega looked into the sunken face and believed that Mr. Ollivander was not acting. He did not know about the Hallows.
"Thank you, Mr. Ollivander," Vega said gently and with gratitude. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now," Ollivander looked stricken.
"He was torturing me, Miss Vega!" Mr. Ollivander gasped. "The Cruciatus Curse... you have no idea ..." Vega smiled weakly at him, feeling sickly.
"I do, Mr. Ollivander," Vega answered soothingly. "You heard me there ... I really do understand what you felt. And I do not blame you for anything. You did all you could. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this,"
Vega led Harry, Ron and Hermione down the staircase. She caught glimpses of Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They all looked up at Vega as she appeared in the doorway, but the girl quietly nodded to them and continued into the garden, Harry, Ron and Hermione behind her.
The reddish mound of earth that covered Dobby lay ahead, and Vega walked back to it, as the pain in her head built more and more powerfully.
It was a huge effort now to close down the visions that were forcing themselves upon her, but she knew that she would have to resist only a little longer.
"Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago," Vega spoke up. "Harry and I saw Tom Riddle trying to find him. When he tracked him down, he found that Gregorovitch didn't have it anymore: It was stolen from him by Gellert 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,"
A vision flashed through Vega's head – Voldemort was at the gates of Hogwarts; Vega could see him standing there, and see too the lamp bobbing in the pre-dawn, coming closer and closer. She forced herself out of her thoughts and squinted at her friends.
"And Grindelwald used the Elder Wand to become powerful," Vega continued. "And at the height of his power, when Dumbledore knew he was the only one who could stop him, he duelled Grindelwald and beat him, and Dumbledore took the Elder Wand,"
"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" Ron said as he, Harry and Hermione stared at her. "But then – where is it now?"
"At Hogwarts," Vega replied, fighting to remain with them in the cliff-top garden.
"But then, let's go!" Ron exclaimed urgently. "Vega, let's go and get it before he does!"
"It's too late for that," Harry said and Vega nodded. "He knows where it is. He's there now,"
"Harry! Vega!" 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," Vega replied, and bending slightly as she wrapped her arms around her stomach. "Hermione's right. Dumbledore didn't want us to have it. He didn't want us to take it. He wanted us to get the Horcruxes..."
"The unbeatable wand, Vega!" Ron moaned.
"I'm not supposed to..." Vega trailed off. "We're supposed to get the Horcruxes ..."
Vega found her friends vanish from around her and she was falling deep into the darkness. Then she landed heavily next to Dumbledore's tomb. The sun was barely visible over the horizon as Vega watched Voldemort glide alongside Snape, up through the grounds toward the lake where she stood with Dumbledore's tomb, a sick feeling arising in her stomach.
"I shall join you in the castle shortly," Voldemort said in his high, cold voice. "Leave me now,"
Snape bowed and set off back up the path, his black cloak billowing behind him. Voldemort walked slowly, as if waiting for Snape's figure to disappear. There were no lights in the castle windows. Vega watched as he casted a Disillusionment Charm upon him but she could still see him, for she was in his reality and not the individual he showed to others.
And Voldemort walked on, around the edge of the lake, taking in the outlines of his 'beloved' castle. Vega watched as he approached closer and closer to the white marble tomb. Voldemort raised his old wand and Vega felt anger arise in her.
The tomb split open from head to foot. The shrouded figure was as long as thin as it had been in life. Voldemort raised the wand again. The wrappings fell open. The face was translucent, pale, sunken, yet almost perfectly preserved.
Dumbledore's hands were folded upon his chest, and there it lay, clutched beneath them, buried with him. The Elder Wand... Vega stared at it. She had never paid too much attention to it no matter how many times she had watched him wield it. It was a beautiful wand... the carvings made it appear as if had clusters of elderberries running down its length.
Voldemort's spider-like hand swooped and pulled the wand from Dumbledore's grasp, and as he took it, a shower of sparks flew from its tip, sparkling over the corpse of its last owner, ready to serve a new master at last.
Vega stared in silence.
⚡️
Bill and Fleur's cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, its walls embedded with shells and whitewashed. It was a lonely and beautiful place. Wherever Vega went inside the tiny cottage or its garden, she could hear the constant ebb and flow of the sea, like the breathing of some great, slumbering creature – it was a beautiful place for a young couple.
Vega spent much of the next few days making excuses to escape the crowded cottage, craving the cliff-top view of open sky and wide, empty sea, and the feel of cold, salty wind on her face and the touch of her warm ruby ring hanging from her neck.
And as she stood there, Vega wondered, if she and her loved ones would be able to survive this war, and if she would get to live in a place like this with Fred.
A place where only the two of them existed.
The enormity of Vega's decision not to race Voldemort to the wand still scared her. She could not remember, ever before, choosing not to act on the face of danger. The constant doubtful and fearful questions from Harry, Ron and Hermione made her wonder if she had made a wrong decision in doing this.
"What if Dumbledore wanted us to work out the symbol in time to get the wand?" Harry asked.
"What if working out what the symbol meant made you 'worthy' to get the Hallows?" Hermione asked. "Instead of just handing them over to you?"
"Vega, if that really is the Elder Wand," Ron asked at the sight of her face. "How the hell are we supposed to finish off You-Know-Who?"
For the first time in her life, Vega had no answers – there were moments when she wondered whether it had been outright madness not to try to prevent Voldemort breaking open the tomb. Although in her heart, she knew why she didn't do it, she could not explain satisfactorily why she had decided against it:
Every time Vega tried to reconstruct the internal arguments that had led to her decision, they sounded feebler to her. The odd thing was that Hermione's support made her feel just as confused as Ron's doubts.
Now forced to accept that the Elder Wand was real, Hermione maintained that it was an evil object, and that the way Voldemort had taken possession of it was repellent, not to be considered. Of course, Hermione knew Vega best.
"You could never have done that, Vega," Hermione said again and again. "You couldn't have broken into Dumbledore's grave,"
But the idea of Dumbledore's corpse frightened Vega much less than the possibility that she might have misunderstood the living Dumbledore's intentions.
Had she thought too much into it?
Vega felt that she was still groping in the dark; she had chosen her path but kept looking back, wondering whether she had misread the signs, whether she should not have taken the other way. Scared that she may lead Voldemort to the way of killing her and Harry...
Why did Dumbledore not explain?
"But is he dead?" Ron said, three days after they had arrived at the cottage. Vega had been staring out over the wall that separated the cottage garden from the cliff when Harry, Ron and Hermione had found her; she wished they had not, having no wish to join in with their argument.
"Yes, he is, Ron, please," Hermione responded. "Don't start that again!"
Vega shared a brief look with Harry, who was already looking at her, ignoring Ron and Hermione. She could see that he was thinking quite similarly to her these days.
"Look at the facts, Hermione," Ron, speaking across Vega and Harry, who continued to gaze at the horizon in silence. "The silver doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror –"
"Harry admits he could have imagined the eye!" Hermione exclaimed. "Don't you, Harry?"
"I could have," Harry said without looking at her.
"But you don't think you did, do you?" Ron asked.
"No, I don't," Harry said.
"There you go!" Ron said quickly, before Hermione could carry on. "If it wasn't Dumbledore, explain how Dobby knew we were in the cellar, Hermione?"
"I can't – but can you explain how Dumbledore sent him to us if he's lying in a tomb at Hogwarts?" Hermione argued.
"I dunno, it could've been his ghost!" Ron said.
"Dumbledore wouldn't come back as a ghost," Vega spoke up – if quietly. If there was one thing that she knew for certain about Dumbledore, it was that. "He would have gone on,"
"What do you mean, 'gone on'?" Ron asked, but before Vega could say any more, a voice behind them said, "Vega? 'Arry?"
Vega looked around to see that Fleur had come out of the cottage, her long silver hair flying in the breeze, "Vega and 'Arry, Grip'ook would like to speak to you. 'E eez in ze smallest bedroom, 'e says 'e does not want to be over'eard,"
Fleur's dislike of the goblin sending her to deliver messages was clear; she looked irritable as she walked back around the house. Griphook was waiting for them, as Fleur had said, in the tiniest of the cottage's three bedrooms, in which Vega, Hermione and Luna slept by night.
Griphook 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. Vega allowed the others to go inside first before she entered behind them.
"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter and Vega-Nova Lestrange," 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!" Harry said, relief surging through him. "Griphook, thank you, we're really –"
"– in return," said the goblin firmly. "For payment," Vega and Harry shared a look with each other, and the black-haired girl had expected something like this to come up.
"How much do you want?" Harry asked. "We've got gold,"
"Not gold," Griphook said. "I have gold," His black eyes glittered; there were no whites to his eyes. "I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor,"
Both Vega and Harry's spirits plummeted.
"You can't have that, Mr. Griphook," Vega said. "I'm sorry, it is essential for us to have,"
"Then," said the goblin softly. "We have a problem,"
"We can give you something else," Ron said eagerly. "I'll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault,"
Ron 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 –" Ron started.
"It is not," said the goblin.
"We're Gryffindors," Ron said. "And it was Godric Gryffindor's –"
"And before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?" demanded the goblin, sitting up straight.
"No one's," Ron said. "It was made for him, wasn't it?"
"No!" cried the goblin, bristling with anger as he pointed a long finger at Ron. "Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First's, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a masterpiece of goblin-work! It belongs with the goblins. The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!"
Griphook glared at them. Vega glanced at Harry, Ron and Hermione, and then said, "We need to discuss this, Mr. Griphook, if that's all right. Could you give us a few minutes?"
The goblin nodded, looking sour.
Downstairs in the empty sitting room, Vega walked to the fireplace, brows furrowed, trying to think what to do. Behind her, Ron said, "He's having a laugh. We can't let him have that sword,"
"It is true?" Harry asked Vega and Hermione. "Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?"
"I don't know," Hermione said hopelessly and Vega shook her head no as well. "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," Ron said. "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," Hermione said. "They've been treated brutally in the past,"
"Goblins aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they?" Ron said. "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?" Hermione said.
There was a pause while the four of them tried to think of a way around the problem. Vega looked out of the window at Dobby's grave. Luna was arranging sea lavender in a jam jar beside the headstone.
"Okay," Ron said, and Vega turned back to face him. "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 these, isn't there? We switch them, and give him the fake,"
"Ron, he'd know the difference better than we would!" Hermione said. "He's the only one who realised there had been a swap!"
"Yeah, but we could get out of there before he realises..." Ron trailed off. He quailed beneath the look Hermione was giving him.
"That," Hermione said. "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!" Ron exclaimed. "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," Hermione said.
"Brilliant, I'll go and get one of our ancient goblin-made swords and you can gift wrap it," Ron said. Silence fell between them again.
Vega bit her lower lip as she tried to think of a way out of this situation. She was sure that the goblin would accept nothing but the sword, even if they had something as valuable to offer him. Yet the sword was their one, indispensable weapon against the Horcruxes.
Ignoring everything, Vega rubbed her face, listening to the rush of the sea. The idea that Gryffindor might have stolen the sword was unpleasant to her: She had always been proud to be a Gryffindor; Gryffindor had been the champion of Muggle-Borns, the wizard who had clashed with her ancestor, the pureblood-loving Slytherin. She wasn't sure what to think.
"Maybe he's lying," Harry said. Vega looked over at him. "Griphook. Maybe Gryffindor didn't take the sword. How do we know the goblin version of history's right?"
"Does it make a difference?" Hermione asked.
"Changes how I feel about it," Harry said. "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,"
A grin spread slowly across Ron's face.
Hermione, however, looked alarmed. "Harry, we can't –"
"He can have it," Harry continued. "After we've used it on all of the Horcruxes. I'll make sure he gets it then. We'll keep our word,"
"But that could be years!" Hermione exclaimed.
"I know that, but he needn't," Harry said. "I won't be lying... really,"
"I don't like it," Hermione said.
"Nor do I, much," Harry admitted.
"But that's the only way we've got out of this, don't we?" Vega said. "Regardless of how it would make us seem..." Her mind was swimming with the words 'For the Greater Good'. "Ugh,"
"Well, I think it's genius," Ron said, standing up again. "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. Hermione frowned at the floor while he was speaking. Vega was afraid that Hermione might give the game away.
However, Griphook had eyes for nobody but Vega and Harry.
"I have your word, Harry Potter and Vega-Nova Lestrange," Griphook said. "That you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"Then shake," said the goblin, holding out his hand. Harry took it and shook before Vega did so as well. She wondered whether those black eyes saw any misgivings in her own. Then Griphook relinquished Vega , clapped his hands together, and said, "So, we begin!"
It was like planning to break into the Ministry all over again. They settled to work in the smallest bedroom, which was kept, according to Griphook's preference, in semidarkness.
"I have visited the Lestranges' vault only once," Griphook told them. "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..."
Vega scrunched her nose at the reverence with which he spoke.
They 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 their store of Polyjuice Potion was greatly depleted.
"There's really only enough left for one of us," Hermione said, tilting the thick mud-like potion against the lamplight.
"One of you guys can use it then," Vega said, who was examining Griphook's hand-drawn map of the deepest passageways that was true to how she remembered the journey down to her vault. "I'll just use my Metamorphmagus abilities,"
The other inhabitants of Shell Cottage could hardly fail to notice that something was going on now that Vega Harry, Ron and Hermione only emerged for mealtimes.
Nobody asked questions, although Vega often felt Bill's eyes on the four of them at the table, thoughtful, concerned.
On the other hand, the longer they spent together, the more Vega vieve realised that she did not much like the goblin. Griphook was unexpectedly bloodthirsty, laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures and seemed to relish the possibility that they might have to hurt other wizards to reach the Lestranges' vault.
Vega could tell that her distaste was shared by Harry, Ron and Hermione, but they did not discuss it. They needed Griphook. The goblin ate only grudgingly with the rest of them.
Even after his legs had mended, he continued to request trays of food in his room, like the still-frail Mr. Ollivander, until Bill (following an angry outburst from Fleur) went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement could not continue.
Thereafter Griphook joined them at the overcrowded table, although he refused to eat the same food, insisting, instead, on lumps of raw meat, roots, and various fungi.
But Vega felt responsible: It was, after all, she who had insisted that the goblin remain at Shell Cottage so that she could question her; her fault that the whole Weasley family had been driven into hiding, that Bill, Fred, George, and Mr. Weasley could no longer work.
"I'm sorry, Fleur," Vega told Fleur, one blustery April evening as the younger girl helped the older one in preparing dinner. Harry quietly moved around, looking for stuff to help with as well. "I never meant you to have to deal with all of this,"
Fleur had just set some knives to work, chopping up steaks for Griphook and Bill, who had preferred his meat bloody ever since he had been attacked by Greyback. While the knives sliced behind her, Fleur's somewhat irritable expression softened.
"Vega, you and 'Arry saved my sister's life, I do not forget," Fleur said.
Vega and Harry shared a look. Gabrielle had never been in real danger. But they didn't say.
"Anyway," Fleur went on, pointing her want at a pot of sauce on the stove, which began to bubble at once. "Mr. Ollivander leaves for Muriel's zis evening. Zat will make zings easier. Ze goblin," She scowled a little at the mention of him. "Can move downstairs, and 'Arry, Ron, and Dean can take zat room,"
"We don't mind sleeping in the living room," Harry said, who knew that Griphook would think poorly of having to sleep on the sofa; keeping Griphook happy was essential to their plans. "Don't worry about us,"
And when Fleur tried to protest, Vega went on, "We'll be off your hands soon too, Ron, Hermione, Harry and I. We won't need to be here much longer,"
"But, what do you mean?" Fleur said, frowning at Vega and Harry, her wand pointing at the casserole dish now suspended in mid-air. "Of course, you must not leave, you are safe 'ere!"
Vega noted that Fleur looked rather like Mrs. Weasley as she said it, and both Vega and Harry were glad that the back door opened at that moment. Luna and Dean entered, their hair damp from the rain outside and their arms full of driftwood.
"... and tiny little ears," Luna was saying. "A bit like hippo's, Daddy says, only purple and hairy. And if you want to call them, you have to hum; they prefer a waltz, nothing too fast..."
Looking uncomfortable, Dean shrugged at Vega and Harry as he passed, following Luna into the combined dining and sitting room where Ron and Hermione were laying the dinner table. Seizing the chance to escape Fleur's questions, Harry grabbed two jugs of pumpkin juice and Vega grabbed the goblets and followed them.
"... 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 relit 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," Luna said serenely. "Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know,"
Hermione shook her head and continued laying down forks as 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," Luna said, approaching the old man.
"And I you, my dear," Mr. Ollivander said, patting her on the shoulder. "You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place,
"So, au revoir, Mr. Ollivander," Fleur said, kissing him on both cheeks. "And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill's Auntie Murie? I never returned 'er tiara,"
"It will be an honour," Mr. Ollivander said 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," Griphook said, who had sidled into the room without Vega noticing. "Made by goblins, I think?"
"And paid for by wizards," Bill said quietly, and the goblin shot him a look that was both furtive and challenging. Vega ignored it and moved to bid Mr. Ollivander goodbye.
"Good bye, Mr. Ollivander," Vega said. "Take care of yourself well, I hope we will meet someday again," Mr. Ollivander patted her back gently.
⚡️
A strong wind gusted against the cottage windows as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table; elbow to elbow and with barely enough room to move, they started to eat. The fire crackled and popped in the grate beside them.
Fleur, Vega noticed, was merely playing with her food; she glanced at the window every few minutes. Vega could understand her worries for her husband.
However, Bill returned before they had finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind.
"Everything's fine," Bill 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. Fred wanted to come by,"
"Did he?" Vega asked, her breath hitching as she looked up at him.
"Yes, but I told him that if he wanted to keep you safe, he would stay put for a bit," Bill replied, and Vega was grateful in a way. "Muriel wasn't happy that one of them wasn't leave. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it,"
"Ah, she eez charmant, your aunt," Fleur said crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in mid-air. She caught them and marched out of the room.
"Daddy's made a tiara," piped up Luna. "Well, more of a crown, really,"
Ron caught Vega and Harry's eyes and grinned.
Vega knew that he was remembering the ludicrous headdress they had seen on their visit to Xenophilius.
"Yes, he's trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw," Luna continued. "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 feed, his wand pointing at the door; Vega, Harry, Ron, and Hermione did the same. Silently, Griphook slipped beneath the table, out of sight.
"Who is it?" Bill called out.
"It is I, Remus John Lupin!" called a voice over the howling wind. Vega experienced a thrill of fear. "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," Bill muttered, and he ran to the door and wrenched it open.
Lupin fell over the threshold. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, his greying hair windswept. Vega stared at him. Lupin 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!"
Vega swayed in her place as she stared at him, unable to believe what she was hearing but Hermione leapt up to shriek, "Wha –? Tonks – Tonks has had the baby?"
"Yes, yes, she's had the baby!" Lupin shouted.
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," Lupin said again, who seemed dazed by his own happiness. He strode around the table and hugged both Vega and Harry; the scene in the basement of Grimmauld Place might never have happened.
"Congratulations!" Vega breathed, her heart beating so fast that it might burst out of her chest and she hugged Lupin back very tightly, her eyes leaking out tears of joy at the birth of her first nephew, and the yearn for seeing her family again. "Please take care of Dora, and little Ted!"
"Thank you, Vega, I will!" Lupin said as he released her and Harry from his hug. "You two will be the godparents? Of course, Vega's Ted's aunt but I think it'll be brilliant –"
"U-us?" Harry stammered.
"You two, yes, of course – Dora quite agrees, no one better –" Lupin said, unable to make full sentences out of his own happiness.
"I – yes – blimey –" Harry stuttered.
Vega felt overwhelmed, scared, astonished, delighted; now Bill was hurrying to fetch wine, and Fleur was persuading Lupin to join them for a drink.
"I can't stay long, I must get back," Lupin said, beaming around at them all: He looked years younger than Vega had ever seen him. "Thank you, thank you, Bill,"
Bill had soon filled all of their goblets, they stood and raised them high in a toast.
"To Teddy Remus Lupin," Lupin said. "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," Lupin said. "Not much hair. It looked black like Vega's when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing colour the day that she was born," He 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. Lupin's news seemed to have taken them out of themselves, removed them for a while from their state of siege: Tidings of new life were exhilarating.
Only the goblin seemed untouched by the suddenly festive atmosphere, and after a while he slunk back to the bedroom he now occupied alone. Vega thought she was the only one who had noticed this, until she saw both Harry's and Bill's eyes following the goblin up the stairs.
"No... no... I really must get back," Lupin said at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling 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 – you have to take care of yourself, Vega, Dora's really worried –"
Lupin 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 and godmother, and an aunt, Harry and Vega!" Bill said as they walked into the kitchen together, helping clear the table. "A real honour! Congratulations!"
As Harry set down the empty goblets he was carrying and Vega placed away the dishes, Bill pulled the door behind him closed, shutting out the still-voluble voices of the others, who were continuing to celebrate even in Lupin's absence.
"I wanted a private word, actually, Vega, Harry," Bill said. "It hasn't been easy to get an opportunity with the cottage this full of people," Bill hesitated. "You're planning something with Griphook,"
It was a statement, not a question, and neither Vega nor Harry did bother to deny it. They merely looked at Bill, waiting for what he had to say.
"I know goblins," Bill said. "I've worked for Gringotts ever since I left Hogwarts. As far as there can be friendship between wizards and goblins, I have goblin friends – or, at least, goblins I know well, and like,"
Again, Bill hesitated, and then questioned, "Vega, Harry, what do you want from Griphook, and what have you promised him in return?"
"We can't tell you that," Harry said. "Sorry, Bill,"
The kitchen door opened behind them; Fleur was trying to bring through more empty goblets.
"Wait," Bill told her. "Just a moment," She backed out and he closed the door again. "Then I have to say this," He went on. "If you have struck any kind of bargain with Griphook, and most particularly if that bargain involves treasure, you must be exceptionally careful. Goblin notions of ownership, payment, and repayment are not the same as human ones,"
"What do you mean?" Vega asked. She was starting to feel uncomfortable; she had been fearing this but hadn't wanted to hear or say it.
"We are talking about a different breed of being," Bill said. "Dealings between wizards and goblins have been fraught for centuries – but you'll know all that from History of Magic. There has been fault on both sides, I would never claim that wizards have been innocent. However, there is a belief among some goblins, and those at Gringotts are perhaps most prone to it, that wizards cannot be trusted in matters of gold and treasure, that they have no respect for goblin ownership,"
"We respect –" Harry began, but Bill shook his head.
"You don't understand, Harry, nobody could understand unless they have lived with goblins," Bill said. "To a goblin, the rightful and true master of any object is the maker, not the purchaser. All goblin made objects are, in goblin eyes, rightfully theirs,"
"But it was bought –" Harry started.
"– then they would consider it rented by the one who had paid the money," Bill said. "They have, however, great difficulty with the idea of goblin-made objects passing from wizard to wizard. You two saw Griphook's face when the tiara passed under his eyes. He disapproves. I believe he thinks, as do the fiercest of his kind, that it ought to have been returned to the goblins once the original purchaser died. They consider our habit of keeping goblin-made objects, passing them from wizard to wizard without further payment, little more than theft,"
At this Vega had an ominous feeling now; she wondered whether Bill guessed more than he was letting on. She eyed him closely and Bill seemed to have noticed the look in her eyes.
"All I am saying," Bill said, setting his hand on the door back into the sitting room. "Is to be very careful what you promise goblins, Vega. It would be less dangerous to break into Gringotts than to renege on a promise to a goblin,"
"All right," Vega said as Bill opened the door. "Yes. Thank you. We'll bear that in mind,"
Vega quietly left the room behind Harry and Bill, wondering if Harry was correct in thinking that she was like Sirius Black, but not only with how much she resembled him in appearance but with how reckless she's become over the course of this journey.
⚡️