Harry's POV

"DOBBY! HELP!" I cried out.

Dobby had found himself to be collateral damage of Y/N's plan to help us all escape. I frantically tried saving him with water but it was dark magic, there was no saving him. His fate was sealed.

Dobby gave me one last look, a pained smile on his face. "Dobby is happy to be with his friend, Harry Potter."

And with that, he was dead.

There was silence as I shut his eyes before carrying his limp body. No one spoke to me as I buried him, they all watched with sad eyes. I used a rock to carve his name onto a makeshift tombstone, once I had finished I took a step back and looked at my creation.

'Here lies Dobby, a free elf.'

I took one last look at the grave of my friend, took a deep breath before turning around and walking towards the cottage.

Bill and Fleur's cottage stood alone on a cliff overlooking the sea, it was a lonely and beautiful place. Everywhere I went I could hear the tides constantly crashing against the rocks - a peaceful pattern. I spent my days following the events of Malfoy Manor admiring the cliff-top view, soaking in the vast ocean and letting the salty wind hit my face.

It wasn't until a few days later I realised I couldn't spend the rest of my days like this, I had to carry on. I had a task.

Griphook. He was the first person I was going to speak to. Bill led me to the room where the goblin resided and brought Hermione and Ron along with me. Hermione seemed to be doing better, it took us all a couple days to recover from the events. We hadn't dared to mention Y/N, we continued as if he simply didn't exist.

"You probably don't remember- " I began.

"-that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?" said Griphook. "I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst goblins, you are very famous."

I looked at him. "Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me.

A pause. "I need to break into a Gringotts vault."

"It is impossible."

"No, it isn't," Ron contradicted him, "it's been done."

I nodded. "Yeah, 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.

I could tell that the goblin was offended by our request. "Well, the vault we need to get into isn't empty, and I'm guessing its protection will be pretty powerful. It belongs to the Lestranges."

"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."

My heart was pounding, for some reason I was more nervous than I should have been. "But the fake sword isn't the only thing in that vault, is it? Perhaps you've seen other things in there?"

I had my suspicions that Voldemort had hid another Horcrux within the Lestranges' vault, I had to get in to confirm my suspicions. Griphook was silent, he didn't want to respond so I urged him for an answer. His glossy black eyes met mine.

"Will you help us?" I pleaded. "We haven't got a hope of breaking in without a goblin's help. You're our one chance."

Griphook looked at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. "I shall think about it."

I realised that was the best that I was getting from the goblin so I bid him farewell before looking for the next person I wished to interview, Ollivander.

"Mr Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you." I said whilst gently pushing open the door of the room he was currently resting in. "But I need some help."

"Anything. Anything." the wandmaker said weakly.

The first thing I asked was if he could repair my wand. I had already braced myself for the answer I knew he was going to give me but it didn't mean it hurt any less. This wand had been with me since the day I stepped into Diagon Alley with Hagrid - another one of my loyal companions had fallen.

After his answer, I produced a couple of wands and asked Ollivander to help me identify who they belonged to.

He took the first of the wands and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his fingers, flexing it slightly. "Walnut and dragon heartstring," he said, "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?" I repeated. "Isn't it still his?"

"Perhaps not. If you took it, hen 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."

"A person can still use a wand that hasn't chosen them, though?" I asked.

The old man nodded at me. "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."

"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," I stated, "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 a wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.

Ollivander examined it exactly how he had examined the previous two wands. "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?" I asked, slowly getting to my main point.

"I think so," replied Ollivander, his eyes latched upon my face, "you ask deep questions, Mr Potter. 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?"

Ollivander swallowed. "Necessary? No, I should not say that it is necessary to kill."

"There are legends, though." I replied, referring to the tale of the Deathly Hallows.

"Only one wand, I think." he whispered.

"And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?" I asked, watching the expression on the man's face drain almost instantly.

"I-how?" croaked Ollivander, and he looked at Ron and Hermione for help. "How do you know this?"

"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands." I continued.

Ollivander looked terrified. "He tortured me, you must understand that! I had no choice but to tell him what I knew, what I guessed!"

"I understand," I replied calmly, "you told him about the twin cores. You said he just had to borrow another wizard's wand?"

Ollivander looked horrified, transfixed, by the amount that I knew. He nodded slowly.

"But it didn't work," I 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 would have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know..."

"When You-Know-Who realised my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that, didn't he?"

"How do you know this?"

I did not answer.

Ollivander continued, his voice a whisper. "Yes, he asked. He wanted to know everything I could tell him about the wand known as the Elder Wand. The Dark Lord 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." I said quietly.

"No!" said Hermione, sounding frightened. "He can't know that, Harry, how could he-?"

"Priori Incantatem," I explained, "we left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys', Hermione. If it hasn't been destroyed and if they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they've cast lately, they'd see that yours broke mine, they'll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they'll realise that I've been using the blackthorn one ever since."

Colour drained from Hermione's already pale face.

"The Dark Lord no longer seeks the Elder Wand only for your destruction, Mr Potter." Ollivander interrupted. "He is determined to possess it because he believes it will make him truly invulnerable."

"You really think this wand exists, then, Mr Ollivander?" asked Hermione.

"Oh yes."

There was nothing else I had to get out of him so I gave him a small smile. "Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this."

As soon as we walked out the room, I was subject to an interrogation from both Ron and Hermione. I began my explanation. "Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago, 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. 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, he duelled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand."

"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" asked Ron, shocked. "But then, where is it now?"

"At Hogwarts." I replied.

"Then, let's go!" said Ron urgently. "Harry, let's go and get it before he does!"

"It's too late for that." I said solemnly, I couldn't help himself and clutched my head, trying to resist Voldemort's intrusion and thoughts. "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," I said firmly, "Dumbledore didn't want me to have it. He didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes."

The two looked at me as I clutched my forehead in pain again. I could see the vision clearly now. I knew what Voldemort was doing, I saw it all.

There he was, standing above Dumbledore's tomb. His 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.

At last, it was ready to serve a new master.