As the large chandelier came rocketing down towards me, I knew this would be the end. Instead of thinking of all that I'd done, I began to think of all the things I'd never done.

I wouldn't get to tell Tracey I was sorry.

I wouldn't get to save Harry Potter's life a couple more times.

I wouldn't get to see Voldemort die.

My parents would never remember me. No one would.

Except—

Malfoy.

My eyes snapped open. I couldn't die.

Bellatrix screamed, lunging out of the way, and then there was another crack. Small hands gripping my wrist, and one second I was laying in my own blood, the next, I was watching the chandelier come crashing down on the marble floor where I had been moments ago, shattering into millions of small shards of glass. I covered my eyes with my good arm, flecks of glass hitting my skin like tiny needles.

I turned to see a house elf wearing socks and a saggy, used pillowcase, his big blue eyes finding mine. A free elf.

"You are," he lowered his voice to a whisper so that only I could hear, "Elvira Steele?"

I nodded. He glanced down at my arm, rivulets of blood twisting around my hands like thin, scarlet ropes, dripping onto the floor from my fingertips.

"I am Dobby. You are injured."

"I am," I said as his bony hand rested on my shoulder.

In front of us, Bellatrix got to her feet, glass crunching under her boots as she charged towards us, wand outstretched. A burst of green light exploded from her wand, but Dobby snapped his fingers, disarming her.

"How dare you!" she bellowed. Behind her, Draco and Hermione—still me—stood up, small cuts decorating their faces. Pansy and Zabini stood on either side of them, Nott nowhere to be seen. He was probably changing back.

I gasped. Any second now, Hermione and I would change back to our normal selves as well.

"Dobby, we have to get out of here!" I said, and he nodded.

"Of course."

Lucius and Narcissa appeared, Lucius running towards Dobby. Dobby held up a hand, causing Lucius to fly off his feet and slam into the wall.

"You dirty little monkey! You could have killed me!"

I turned to see Bellatrix raging at Dobby. Dobby stood fearlessly across from her, defiance radiating from him. "Dobby meant only to maim or seriously injure, not kill."

"For God's sake, Cissy, you've got a wand! Use it!" Narcissa hesitated. Crack!

Dobby waved his little fist and Narcissa's wand flew from her hand.

"How dare you take a witch's wand. How dare you defy your masters."

"Dobby has no master! Dobby is a free elf, and Dobby has come to save Harry Potter's friends!"

He snapped his fingers once more, the the Sword of Gryffindor zooming towards us. I grabbed the hilt, and Hermione's beaded bag flew into Dobby's fist.

"Give the Dark Lord our regards," I said through gritted teeth, clutching my arm to stop the bleeding. I held onto Dobby's hand, the drawing room beginning to spin. Bellatrix's face twisted into an ugly blur. Her arm rose, dagger in hand. There was a flash of silver.

With a great whoosh, we tumbled onto solid earth. I could hear waves crashing. Stars whirled above me, and I blinked, trying to clear my vision, clutching my arm. Blood seeped through my fingers, and I felt extremely lightheaded.

"Dobby," I said, reaching out to shake the house elf who was crouched over. He stumbled back with my touch, falling to his tiny knees. And that was when I saw the hilt protruding from his chest. "No!" I screamed. "Somebody, help us!" I shouted. I grabbed the house elf, trying to staunch the bleeding somehow, my blood mixing into his on the sand below us.

I turned to see Harry and Ron turning towards us. My hair was slowly changing back, skin becoming paler, nails shortening.

"Damn it, don't you die on me! I only just met you," I said to the small creature laying my arms. "I still have to thank you."

"Dobby!" the name tore from his chest as Harry fell down beside us. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry . . ."

I backed away from them, tears pooling in my eyes, the pain rendering my right arm useless. Both of my sleeves were rolled up.

Fleur Delacour and Bill Weasley were outside, helping me into the house.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Fleur sat by the bed, whispering, "Vulnera Sanentur." Slowly, the skin began to pull together, until it finally left only faint scars behind.

"These will heal with with time," she said in her strong, French accent as she cleaned up the blood with a quick Tergeo, and a bandaging charm. I didn't bother pulling down either of my sleeves . . . everyone knew I was branded with the Dark Mark by now.

"Thanks, Fleur," I said, and she smiled, nodding her head.

"You should rest."

"I will," I said. She got up and left the room, and I swung my legs over the edge of the bed, getting up. Although my arm was healed, there was a phantom pain there that I just couldn't stop feeling.

I walked over to the window, peeking out. Harry was sitting by Dobby's grave, one he dug by hand. His heart was broken.

I opened the door slowly, walking down the stairs. Bill stood in the kitchen, filling a kettle. Luna tapped the wind chime hanging in the window and a ghostly refrain filled the room.

"It's beautiful here," Luna said softly.

"It was our Aunt's. We used to come here as kids. The Order uses it now as a safe house—what's left of us, at least."

Luna seemed to ponder over this, then tapped the chime again.

"Muggles think these keep evil away. But they're wrong."

Bill studied her curiously.

I stepped down a stair, the wood creaking under my shoe. They looked up at me.

"How are you feeling?" Bill asked.

"Better than I look," I smiled.

There was a knock on the door. It swung open, Hermione standing in the doorway, dressed in my clothes, but the polyjuice potion had worn off. Her hair was soaked through and her eyes were red.

"Elvira," she said, eyes brimming with fresh tears. She walked across the room, pulling me into her arms. My chin rested on her shoulder and I held her close, my eyes stinging. We stood like that for a while, holding onto each other.

Harry walked into the room, Ron walking down the stairs, and the three of them embraced.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. "I'm sorry he died."

"My friends are Dobby's friends," Harry said gently. "When he heard you got caught saving me, he wouldn't take no for an answer. And we owe you, Elvira. Greatly."

"You don't," I shook my head.

Harry let out an empty sigh. "I need to talk to the goblin."

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Harry and Griphook struck a deal. The goblin would get the true sword of Gryffindor if he helped them break into Bellatrix's vault in Gringotts to find another one of Voldemort's Horcrux's—Helga Hufflepuff's Cup. Hermione would take Bellatrix's form, and they would head to Diagon Alley in the morning.

"Will you come with us?" Harry asked, taking off his glasses to rub his eyes tiredly. Hermione took the glass from him, muttering a spell to clean the lenses. Then, she handed them back to him.

"I can't," I shook my head. "I have lessons." I paused. "With Snape."

"Snape?" Ron asked, alarmed.

Harry shook his head, disgusted. I could see where he was coming from—Snape had killed Dumbledore in front of his eyes.

"Why?" he asked.

"So I can practice wandless magic," I explained. "He thinks it's a good idea, and I mean, why not? It'll only benefit me."

"It's a good idea," Hermione agreed. "Let us know if he does anything . . ."

"Shady?" Ron offered, and she laughed.

"Yes."

"Good luck," I said, getting to my feet. "I'll take that, Bill." I walked past the redhead, taking a steaming cup of tea from a tray he was holding. "I'll see you all in a bit." I shut the door behind me, and disapparated.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Snape was waiting for me in the Defense Against the Dark Arts Tower.

"Ah, Ms. Steele. I was beginning to think you weren't going to make it."

I took out my wand, setting it aside.

"Today, we're going to start with simple spells," he began. "Let's begin with—"

"I used Diffindo a few days ago," I said, cutting him off. "Let's do a few tougher ones?"

"Alright," he nodded. "Lift this, without saying the spell." He pointed to a pewter pot lying in the corner of the room. I smirked in amusement. Once a Potions Master, always a Potions Master.

I focused on it.

Wingardium Leviosa.

The pot trembled, but didn't even lift off the ground. Confused, I tried again. Nothing.

Again.

It grated against the floor, only moving a centimeter.

"Don't roll it, Ms. Steele. Levitate it!"

"I'm trying!" I replied, my face beginning to flush. This was harder than it looked, and quite embarrassing.

"You wanted to do tougher spells. This is a simple one," he said, his lip curling into a sneer. "Are you telling me a first year spell is too difficult for you?"

"No!" I tried it again, and it lifted a centimeter off the ground, falling back with a loud clang.

"Again!"

I let out a cry of frustration, and the pot flew into the sky, smashing into the roof. It came crashing back down and fell to the ground, cracking in half.

"There," I said, breathing heavily.

"I asked you to levitate the pot, not break it in half," Snape drawled.

I groaned. This was going to be a long night.

"Open those windows," he pointed.

Aberto. They flew open, a gust of chilly night air blowing inside.

"Open those doors," he ordered, jutting his chin towards the entrance of the room.

Bombarda. I cursed silently when it didn't work. I narrowed my eyes, focusing my energy into my left hand. Bombarda!

The door busted off its hinges, flying into the corridor. I turned to face Snape, satisfied. There was a smirk on his face.

"The wall," he said.

Huh?" I said, confused.

"Remove that wall."

"I—"

"I can fix it. Remove the wall, Ms. Steele."

I inhaled deeply, facing the wall, a burst of adrenaline rushing through my veins from excitement.

Bombarda Maxima! my mind screamed. Stones shifted, clacking against each other.

"Bombarda, Maxima!" I shouted, thrusting my arms outward. There was a huge explosion and a burst of dust. I coughed, waving my hand in front of my face to keep from inhaling the debris. When it cleared away, our eyes fell on the large hole in the wall. I grinned. "Next," I waved my hand nonchalantly.

He set up a dummy.

Confringo!  I set it on fire, blasting it off the desk after six tries.

Snape seemed pleased. Very, very pleased.

"In all of history, there has only been one wizard that has been able to do this," Snape finally said, five hours into the class. "Of course, you may not be able to do it as well as he does, but nonetheless, you're not terrible at wandless magic."

"Who?" I asked.

"Are you, by any chance, related to . . . Gellert Grindelwald?"

I barked out a laugh of disbelief. "The greatest dark wizard of all time? Yeah, right."

"He was defeated by Dumbledore more than forty years ago, at the peak of his power."

There was no way. I came from a long line of Gryffindors. Grindelwald hadn't even gone here.

A student at Durmstrang Institute, Grindelwald was expelled for twisted, dark experiments and near-fatal attacks on his fellow students.

"He was evil. My ancestors are not evil . . ."

"Who are your ancestors, Ms. Steele?" I opened my mouth to respond, but realized I had nothing to say.

"My grandmother played Quidditch professionally," I muttered under my breath. I had no idea who anyone was before my great, great grandfather. "I don't . . . I don't know." My parents had always told me a came from a long line of Gryffindors. That's all.

He mulled over this statement.

"Take a seat, Miss Steele. It's time for a history lesson." I did take a seat, then, curious to hear what nonsense he would come up with.

"Grindelwald was a good friend of young Albus Dumbledore. Together, they made plans to find the Deathly Hallows and lead a Wizarding  revolution to end the International Statue of Secrecy, creating a benevolent global hierarchical order led by wise and powerful witches and wizards that dominated Muggles."

"Forgive me, but that's bull," I cut him off. "Dumbledore would never have done that!"

Snape scowled. "You know nothing of Dumbledore," he hissed. "He wasn't the man you thought he was. And anyway, their partnership fell apart after the two were involved in a three-way duel with Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, that resulted in the death of Dumbledore's sister, Ariana. Grindelwald left and later stole the Elder Wand from Mykew Gregorovitch, proceeding alone with the revolution he and Dumbledore had planned."

"And then Dumbledore defeated him?"

"Grindelwald was a complex figure, highly idealistic and talented, dedicated to achieve his ends at any cost." The pure definition of a Slytherin. "A revolutionary operating outside the law, he committed numerous crimes, including several murders. He established a power base at Nurmengard. After he was defeated by Dumbledore," Snape explained, "he was subsequently imprisoned in his own fortress for decades."

"He must be a million years old now," I blinked, exhaling.

"Realistically, maybe one-hundred-and-fifteen."

"This is all great, but I can't be related to him."

"He was extremely talented, first in his class."

"I was second, professor." Right after Hermione.

"He was very Dark-Magic oriented," he said, raising his eyebrows.

"Well, I rest my case. I'm in no way Dark-Magic—"

He raised an eyebrow.  My mouth snapped shut. I realized how stupid I must've sounded in this moment, the Dark Mark tattooed on my arm, swearing I was not "Dark-Magic oriented."

"Grindelwald was incredibly skilled in both wandless and nonverbal magic, either of which is advanced and often difficult to perform even individually, making Grindelwald's prowess all the more impressive, as he usually performed both simultaneously."

I swallowed. "Right. But, I'm not advanced, and I can't do both at the same time."

"I believe with the right amount of practice, you can."

I couldn't believe my ears. Were these words really coming out of Snape's mouth?

"Grindelwald was able to fend off around twenty aurors simultaneously without speaking a single incantation. Grindelwald could also heal his own wounds by simply running his hand over it. Would you like to try?" he offered, raising his wand.

"No!" I gasped, jumping up and knocking over my chair. His smirk deepened.

"Fine," he drawled.

"Where is Grindelwald now?" I asked, scowling.

"Nurmengard. He's imprisoned in his own prison by Dumbledore."

"I'm going to talk to him."

Snape looked at me, bewildered. "You're what?"

"I'm going to Nurmengard."

"And how do you suppose you'll get there?"

"By apparating, professor," I snapped.

"How can you apparate to a place you've never even heard of?"

"Are you trying to tell me that you can take me there?" I asked, raising an eyebrow. "Do you know where it is?"

"I do," he said, turning his back to me, busying himself with fixing the wall.

"Can you please take me there?"

He smiled coldly.

⚡️⚡️⚡️

Nurmengard was a gigantic, towering building made of black rock and with high, jet-black walls—a grim, forbidding fortress. The cell that was inhabited by Grindelwald  since had been a dark and ominous room in the highest tower, with a hard bed and a ragged, thin blanket, according to Snape.

"How do you know all this?" I asked him as we walked up the stairs of the prison, towards the highest tower. I had a cloak wrapped around me, following Snape.

"Dumbledore."

"He trusted you with all this information, and you decided to stab him in the back, just like that that," I scoffed.

Snape ignored me, continuing to walk up the steps. A chilly burst of air made me shiver, and I wrapped the cloak tighter around myself. We reached the top of the tower, and began to walk down a narrow hallway. I peeked through the small windows of every cell, only to find them empty, beds made.

"Here," Snape said, stopping in front of one of the doors. "I'll leave you to talk in private."

He walked off to the end of the corridor.

Suddenly, it felt like an icy drop of water had slid down my spine. I took a few shaky steps towards the Dark Wizard's cell, and peered through the window.

What I saw was the complete opposite of what I had expected.

The greatest dark wizard of all time sat in the corner of the cell, his frame nearly skeletal. With hollow cheeks and eyes that were sunken in, he stared at the wall ahead of him.

Slowly, his head turned to me. My eyes met his—one a deep, sapphire blue, and the other, almost a grayish-white.

"Grindelwald?" I whispered.

"Hmmm . . ." he responded. "My first real visitor in many decades," he rasped, as if hadn't used his voice for many, many years.

He lifted one bony hand, pointing at me. I tried not to flinch.

"You, go away," he spoke slowly, as if speaking pained him. "I do not know where the Elder Wand is. I do not have it anymore. It is not in my possession."

"That's not what I'm here for," I said quickly. "I just . . ." I glanced at Snape, who was out of earshot, "I was wondering if I might be related to you."

A strange look spread across his face.

"Did you have any children, Mr. Grindelwald?"

"Just . . . one," he said, as if I had just sent him many years back. He smiled at himself. "One daughter. She was . . . just like me." He pointed at his eyes. "Albus told me never to talk to her, to never let her know who her father was. To protect her."

"Did she ever find out that she was related to you?" I asked curiously, nearing the door.

"Never. She died only thirty years later. Someone found out about her, someone who wanted revenge on me. He killed her." My heart began to race.

"Did you ever find out who it was?"

"I tore his throat out with my bare hands," he said, the low pitch of his voice matching the darkness of his eyes.

"I'm . . . sorry for your loss," I said, forcing the words out through clenched teeth. How could I sympathize with the man who destroyed the lives of so many people, including Dumbledore's? "Did . . . did your daughter ever marry?"

At this point, I didn't know what I felt. Excitement? Terror?

All I knew was that I had to prove to myself that I wasn't related to him, that I wasn't secretly evil, and sorted into Slytherin because of my dark ancestral background. But, if I was related to him, I would finally understand why the Sorting Hat put me into Slytherin. All my questions would be answered.

Gellert Grindelwald shook his head.

"She never got a chance to."

I exhaled, realizing I'd been holding my breath this whole time. I leaned against the door, my legs shaky.

Was this relief I felt . . . or was it disappointment?

This was good. I didn't have the lust for Dark Arts running through my blood. I was safe. Dark Magic wouldn't tempt me like it did him. It wouldn't be my ultimate downfall.

"But everyone falls in love," he spoke slowly, "and my daughter, Aracelis, fell deeply for a muggle."

My bloodline was pure. This was yet more proof that I had no blood shared with Grindelwald, and I still didn't know how I felt about that.

"What was his name?" I pressed further.

"He called himself Sam Daire," Grindelwald rasped, leaning his head against the wall behind him. He closed his eyes, and I waved at Snape to catch his attention. When he looked at me, I motioned for him to get ready to leave.

"Well, Mr. Grindelwald," I cleared my throat, turning towards the old man, "thank you for all the informa—"

"But," he cut me off sharply, "his full name was Samuel Daire Steele."