The Elder Wand
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter universe and all the characters in it belong to J.K. Rowling. This story is a work of imagination and is directed solely at readers of this website. No infringement of any rights is intended and no criticism of J.K. Rowling or her work should be considered to be stated or implied.
Author's note: Special thanks to my regular reviewer pawsrule. All reviews, good or bad, are appreciated.
Part 9. Finding the Stone
Harry found it difficult to get to sleep, fretting about his growing attraction to Hermione and reviewing ways in which he might broach the subject with her without the risk of suffering rejection and causing sufficient embarrassment to both of them that their friendship would be damaged. Soon after midnight, he finally decided that their friendship, in its current form, was doomed in any event and so he might as well take the plunge. He dropped off to sleep relatively easily after reaching this resolve but his dreams were troubled and by the time that he woke up in the morning he once again felt nervous and all of his previous doubts were returning.
As a result, he said little to Hermione as they made their way down to breakfast, just responding to her comments and not daring to look directly at her. Their conversation over breakfast, therefore, lacked the spontaneity of the night before and remained stilted and superficial. For her part, Hermione seemed edgy and was keen to get the meal over with so that they could go and find the Resurrection Stone. Harry, however, decided that his nervous stomach could best be settled by eating a hearty breakfast and so, while Hermione nibbled on a piece of wholemeal toast and drank black coffee, he was reaching for his second fried egg when an owl flew in through the open doorway and settled on the table in front of him.
Harry immediately recognised the owl as the one that he had sent off to the Burrow the day before with his message to Ron. Dropping his fried egg with an unpromising squelching sound onto the table top just to the side of his plate, Harry reached excitedly for the small piece of parchment that was wrapped around the bird's left leg. Hermione looked at him expectantly as, after a brief struggle, he opened the parchment and scanned the contents. She noticed with dismay how his initial smile gradually faded to be replaced by a miserable frown.
"Bad news?" she asked timidly.
"Ron's not coming," Harry answered with a deep sigh. "He wishes us luck, but he says that he still doesn't agree with what we are doing and would be worried that he might try to stop us. Anyway, he also says that he has promised to help Luna today as she thinks that she may have found another Crumple-Horned Snorkack horn to replace the one that was lost in the explosion."
"Oh dear, I hope that it isn't another Erumpent horn. Surely, Ron knows that there is no such thing as a Crumple-Horned Snorkack?" Hermione sounded concerned, but wasn't entirely disappointed that she and Harry would be left alone for another few days.
"Well, I suspect that's why Ron agreed to go along. I can't think of any other reason why he might," Harry replied thoughtfully. But then, as he sat contemplating the situation, his conversation with Ron, as they walked back to the Burrow, came back to him and he realised that perhaps he could use Ron's message to test the water a little with regard to Hermione's current feelings.
"Ron seems to be spending a fair bit of time with Luna lately, don't you think?" he ventured in as casual a manner as he could muster.
"I suppose so," Hermione shrugged.
"Doesn't that bother you? I thought that you and Ron were…" Harry let his sentence trail off.
"Harry, it's not what you…"
"I thought that I saw the two of you the other day."
Hermione's words were interrupted by the familiar sharp Scottish burr of Professor McGonagall, their former Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor house.
"What are you still doing here?" she asked, leaning lightly on the edge of their table for support.
Hermione fell silent, looking irritated by the interruption.
"Well, we don't really have anywhere else to go at the moment," Harry answered with an air of resignation, also annoyed by this sudden and unwelcome distraction. "We thought that we would leave the Weasleys to grieve for Fred without any outsiders around for a couple of days."
"Um, that is very sensitive of you." Professor McGonagall paused nodding her head in agreement. "But now that you're here," she continued brightening, "you can help us out. There's a lot of work to do before the students can all come back. The place is an absolute mess."
"We will be glad to," Hermione responded quickly, jumping up from the table and almost toppling backwards over the bench seat as it caught her behind her knees. "Only not just now, there's something that I dropped in the library yesterday and I must go and find it before someone else does. Come on Harry." She reached across the table and tugged on Harry's arm.
"Goodbye, Professor," she muttered, disentangling her legs clumsily from the bench seat, before heading for the doorway.
Harry shrugged apologetically and scooping up the fallen fried egg and dropping it onto his plate with the rest of his half-eaten breakfast, he followed hastily, calling out for Hermione to slow down. Professor McGonagall looked after their retreating forms with a mixture of surprise and concern.
Hermione seemed so agitated and keen to press on that Harry didn't dare bring up the subject of Ron's relationship with Luna - and therefore Hermione's relationship with Ron - again as they moved out into the hallway and so the two of them left the castle and wandered up the hill away from Hogwarts without exchanging any further words. The morning was overcast and grey with a gentle cool breeze coming out of the north. The clouds were high and there appeared to be no immediate threat of rain but the air felt dank and added to the general sense of foreboding that seemed to be prevalent. Hagrid's hut looked deserted as they passed by, with no tell-tale plume of grey smoke rising from the crooked chimney and so they headed on into the Forbidden Forest without stopping, presuming that Hagrid had taken Fang down to the castle for some reason. The same heavy silence that had afflicted them all morning still hung over them like a shroud, only interrupted by Hermione repeatedly asking Harry if he was sure that he knew where he had dropped the Resurrection Stone. Although Harry had been almost in a trance that night as he trudged his lonely, disconsolate way through the Forbidden Forest, every step of the journey was etched deep in his memory and he was able to trace his path, even through the thickest and most oppressive parts of the forest without difficulty. Hermione followed a few paces behind, panting slightly with the effort of keeping up with Harry's slightly longer stride, her hands held out in front of her to deflect the whip of branches as they sprang back after Harry had passed by. The forest was eerily quiet save for the sounds of their clumsy progress and the dew, still coating the lower branches and undergrowth, soon made their clothing damp and uncomfortable. In addition to his memories from that dreadful walk towards his anticipated death, Harry couldn't help thinking that there was something else at work guiding him towards his destination. Ever since they had approached the outskirts of the forest, he had felt a pull on his body as if the Resurrection Stone was guiding him towards it like some powerful, hidden magnet attracting a piece of metal lodged somewhere in his brain. It was a strange, unpleasant sensation that made Harry fretful but, unable to rationalise what he was feeling, he didn't reveal his growing concerns to Hermione.
Eventually, pushing between some low bushes, Harry arrived in the large clearing in which he had confronted Voldemort and the Death Eaters just a few short nights before and where the Resurrection Stone, having served its purpose, had dropped from his hand. To his relief, as they moved out of the shadow of the trees his head cleared and the inner voice that had been giving him unwanted and unnecessary directions finally fell silent.
"Here we are," he said in triumph.
"Are you sure?"
"Yeah, I'm certain." Harry raised his wand. "Here goes. Accio stone!"
Suddenly, the air was filled with tiny projectiles as pebbles lifted up from the forest floor and hurtled towards them from all directions. Most of the stones were small and only stung their arms and faces with their impact but fortunately Hermione, who also had her wand drawn in anticipation, was able to disintegrate a larger rock with a well-aimed blasting charm just before it made contact with Harry's head.
"Finite incantatem!" Hermione shrieked, waving her wand around them and the pebbles that had been flying towards them stopped dead in mid-air and dropped to the forest floor like a heavy hail storm.
"Honestly Harry," she scolded, bending to rub her shin, where it had been dealt a rather nasty blow, "you've got to be more specific. Here, let me try. Accio Resurrection Stone!"
There was a rustling from within the leaf litter close to Harry's feet and the Resurrection Stone flew up into Hermione's outstretched hand. She examined it briefly before quickly passing it to Harry.
"Put it somewhere safe and let's go."
But Harry didn't reply. He ran his finger over the jagged crack that now divided the shiny, black stone, made when Dumbledore's spell had destroyed the Horcrux that had resided within it, and a sudden feeling of anguish surged through him.
"Mend the stone. Use the Elder Wand," a voice spoke from behind him.
It was a man's voice, deep and melodious but sounding weak and muffled as if heard from the other side of a thick window pane. Harry turned and was shocked to see a figure framed between the trunks of two large oak trees at the edge of the clearing. The figure, which was of medium height and slim build, was dressed in a flowing brown robe made of a coarse cloth that was gathered at the waste with a piece of frayed rope, almost like a monk's habit. The sinewy hands, covered in fine dark hair, which protruded from the sleeves of the robe, held folded across the chest, confirmed that the figure was male and a pair of grimy, bare feet enclosed in brown leather sandals could just be seen poking out from under the hem. A deep hood, made from the same coarse material, was pulled up over the figure's head, casting its shadow across the face so that only a dark-skinned chin, covered with greying stubble and a thin mouth, that opened to reveal discoloured yellowing teeth, could be seen. The figure seemed to shimmer, as if viewed in a heat haze. Harry could tell that it wasn't a ghost - he couldn't see through it - but it didn't look entirely solid; it didn't seem real.
"Who are you?" Harry challenged, almost inaudibly, his throat suddenly constricting.
"Harry? What's the matter?" It was Hermione's voice, sounding as if from far away, even though she was standing right beside him.
Harry turned towards her, registering the concern on her face. He saw no signs of comprehension or fear within her eyes and quickly turned his gaze back towards the figure. To his surprise and alarm, the space between the oak trees was now empty and there was no sign of any footprints or any other disturbance to indicate that someone had come and gone.
"Did you hear anything?" he asked Hermione, puzzled.
"Only you muttering. What is it Harry? You're scaring me."
"Oh, it's nothing. I thought that I…" Harry left his sentence unfinished. He was sure that the figure could only have been a figment of his imagination conjured up by the memories and apprehension brought on by being back in this place. "I don't know what I thought. I'm just feeling a bit strange really…light-headed. It's probably because you wouldn't let me finish my breakfast." Harry tried a feeble laugh in an attempt to lighten the rather oppressive mood that seemed to have enveloped them.
"Well, I'm sorry," Hermione replied tetchily, "but I just want to get this over with. I can't explain it but I've been feeling very nervous all morning. I just don't know whether this seems to be such a good idea anymore. Anyway, now that we've got the stone let's get back and see what Professor Dumbledore has to say."
Hermione turned and marched off in the direction in which they had come, leaving Harry to follow her this time, mulling over the instruction to mend the Resurrection Stone that he thought that he had just received. Had he really heard those words or was it just his mind playing tricks on him? He wasn't sure why, but it seemed that mending the stone was very important for some reason and his thoughts were drawn back to the shadowy figures of his parents, Sirius and Lupin that had accompanied him on his previous walk along this same pathway. If the stone had been whole, could they have been more than just shadows? Harry resolved to fix the Resurrection Stone at the first opportunity but his sense of unease only grew as he followed Hermione's retreating back, retracing their steps, and for the first time in the past few days Harry found that he wasn't solely focused on admiring the movements of the slim figure walking in front of him. He felt as if he was being followed; as if something was lurking in the shadows just behind him, but every time he turned to look, there was nothing but the silent, unmoving shapes of the trees forming a rustling, green and brown wall across his line of sight.
They finally made it back to the castle in the late morning and headed along the familiar empty corridors and up the winding stairways towards the headmaster's study to confront Dumbledore's portrait. Before they had gone into breakfast that morning, Harry had left the Invisibility Cloak and the Elder Wand in a storage cupboard, just inside the main entrance hall - the very same cupboard that he and Hermione had hidden in before going off to rescue Sirius in their third year - protected by a very powerful concealment charm that Hermione had conjured. Harry retrieved them as he went by, wrapping the wand in the shimmering silvery cloth of the cloak and stuffing them both under his arm. The Resurrection Stone was safely stowed in a trousers pocket. He now had all three of the Deathly Hallows in his possession, ready for the challenge ahead.
As they passed along the final corridor leading to their destination, Harry suddenly noticed a large painting that was hanging on the outside wall between two windows. He must have passed the painting many times before without taking any notice of it - there were so many paintings adorning the walls of all of the corridors in Hogwarts that he rarely studied any of them - but on this occasion a sudden movement in the painting caught his eye. Some type of tame, hooded bird of prey - a falcon perhaps - that had been sitting quietly on a perch in the background, took off as they passed and flew quickly out of the painting with silent, firm beats of its wings, disappearing somewhere behind the picture frame. Harry was sure that he had seen a similar bird in another painting recently. He thought that it was probably one of the paintings of former headmasters that had been housed in the historical archive, but he couldn't remember which one. Harry stopped and went over to study the painting more closely. It was clearly a former scene from the grounds of Hogwarts. It depicted a senior student, dressed in an ancient-looking deep green smock and leggings - rather than the flowing student robes that Harry was more accustomed to - holding the Hogwarts' House Cup in his outstretched hands, while a crowd of other students, of all ages, dressed in similar smocks of green, blue, red and yellow stood around the periphery, some clapping and cheering, others sullen and looking glum. To the right of the figure stood an empty space, filled only by an ornate wooden table, upon which the cup had presumably previously been standing, and the now empty perch vacated by the bird that had first attracted Harry's attention.
Harry peered at the engraved brass plaque that was attached to the bottom rail of the picture frame.
"Sequis Magister, Headmaster of Hogwarts, presents the House Cup to the head student of Slytherin on the occasion of their record tenth win in a row," Harry read. "Hermione," he called, "did this painting use to be here when we were students? I don't remember it."
Hermione, who had walked on a few paces, turned and came slowly back towards him. She shook her head.
"I don't think so. Haven't you noticed? Most of the paintings now seem to show something to do with Slytherin. It must be the work of the Carrows. That's something that we can certainly help Professor McGonagall with once we've finished with the Elder Wand; putting all of the paintings back the way that they were and sending these ones down to the archives where they belong."
Harry laughed and the two of them continued on along the corridor. Neither of them was aware of the blue robed figure with the matching pointed hat and flowing white hair that ran panting into the painting that they had just been studying. It was Sequis Magister, alerted to their presence by his pet falcon and arriving just too late from his preferred location in his portrait in the historical archive.
"Harry! Harry Potter, I need to talk to you. There's something that I must tell you about the Hallows. It's vitally important," he shouted despairingly. But Harry and Hermione were already out of ear shot as they made their way towards the headmaster's study and didn't hear a word that he said.