𝗙𝗔𝗩𝗢𝗥𝗜𝗧𝗘 𝗖𝗥𝗜𝗠𝗘

ACT TWO, CHAPTER FOUR
the two best godparents anyone's
ever seen.

PENELOPE HADN'T LEFT Ron's side.

Of course she hadn't. Who could blame her? They had finally seen each other again after months of worrying and stressing. So there the couple sat in the living room along with everyone else. Penelope's hand was intertwined with Ron's and her head was resting on his shoulder as she paid attention to Bill, who was talking. The room they were in was pretty and light-colored and there was a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. After being in the grim environments of Hogwarts and Malfoy Manor, Penelope was glad for the change.

". . . lucky that Ginny's on holiday," Bill was saying. "If she'd been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she's safe too." He then turned, and Penelope looked to see standing in the doorway, covered in dirt and Dobby's blood. Venus instantly sat up straighter. "I've been getting them all out of the Burrow. Moved them to Muriel's. The Death Eaters know Ron's with you know, they're bound to target the family — don't apologize. It was always a matter of time, Dad's been saying so for months. We're the biggest blood traitor family there is."

"How are they protected?" Harry asked.

"Fidelius Charm. Dad's Secret-Keeper. And we've done it on this cottage too; I'm Secret-Keeper here. None of us can go to work, but that's hardly the most important thing now. Once Ollivander and Griphook are well enough, we'll move them to Muriel's too. There isn't much room here, but she's got plenty. Griphook's legs are on the mend, Fleur's given him Skele-Grow; we could probably move them in an hour or—"

"No," Harry refused, and Bill looked startled. "I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It's important." They all looked at him, very confused. "I'm going to wash. Then I'll need to see them, straight away."

"Well damn," Penelope muttered as Harry left the room, and Bill did too not soon after, probably to go talk to Fleur.

Venus then immediately looked at Penelope, an anxious look on her face as she asked Penelope how Charlotte and Elijah were doing, claiming that she had been worried sick about them. Penelope was honest with the girl — she told her that Charlotte was getting the harshest treatment because of who she was and how Elijah was constantly taking care of the girl. Venus didn't look particularly relieved or more worried at that, she just kind of accepted it. After all, Charlotte and Elijah were always like that — Charlotte speaking her mind and Elijah being along for the ride.

"I need you four as well!" Harry then called.

They all looked over. Harry was on the staircase with Bill, clearly ready to go talk to Griphook and Ollivander. Penelope, Ron, Hermione, and Venus all joined Harry on the stairs.

"How are you?" Harry questioned to Hermione. "You were amazing — coming up with that story when she was hurting you like that—"

Hermione smiled weakly. "Well, we should actually be thanking Penelope, because she saved me."

Penelope squeezed her arm. "I would never let Bellatrix hurt you."

"What are we doing now, Harry?" Ron inquired.

"You'll see. Come on."

Their group of five followed Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. There were three doors led off it.

"In here," Bill instructed.

He opened the door to his and Fleur's room. It had a beautiful view of the sea, now flecked with gold from the sky being lit up from the sunrise. While Harry and Venus stood by the window and Hermione sat in the chair by the dressing table, Penelope and Ron stood by the chair, his arm around her waist as she crossed her arms, leaning into his side comfortably. Bill then reappeared carrying the Goblin, whom he set down carefully on the bed. Griphook grunted a small thanks and Bill left, closing the door behind him.

"I'm sorry to take you out of bed," Harry voiced. "How are your legs?"

"Painful," Griphook answered. "But mending."

He was still clutching that silver sword, which Ron had told Penelope was the sword of Gryffindor. The Goblin had a strange expression on his face — half defiant, half intrigued. His skin was sallow, his fingers were long and thin, and his eyes were black. Fleur had evidently removed his shoes and his long feet were dirty. He was larger than a House-Elf but only by a little bit. His domed head was a lot bigger than a human's.

"You probably don't remember—" Harry began.

"—that I was the goblin who showed you to your vault, the first time you ever visited Gringotts?" Griphook finished. "I remember, Harry Potter. Even amongst Goblins, you are very famous." Harry and Griphook sized each other up for a moment, making Penelope and Ron share a look, before the Goblin spoke up again, sounding quite resentful. "You buried the Elf. I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door."

"Yes."

Griphook looked at him out of the corners of his eyes. "You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter."

"In what way?" Harry asked.

"You dug the grave."

"So?"

Griphook didn't answer. Penelope had a feeling that Harry was being sneered at because he didn't use magic to dig the grave for him.

Harry moved on. "Griphook, I need to ask—"

"You also rescued a Goblin," Griphook interjected.

"What?"

"You brought me here. Saved me."

"Well, I take it you're not sorry?" Harry said a little impatiently.

Griphook twisted the thin black beard on his chin with his finger. "No, Harry Potter, but you are a veryodd wizard."

"Right. Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me." There was a moment of silence where Griphook just stared at Harry with a frown. "I need to break into a Gringotts vault."

Penelope blinked in shock. Well, all right. She definitely wasn't expecting that. Her mind filled with questions.

"Harry—" Hermione started to protest.

"Break into a Gringotts vault?" the Goblin repeated, wincing as he shifted in the bead. "It is impossible."

"No, it isn't," Ron countered. "It's been done."

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "The same day I first met you, Griphook. My birthday, seven years ago."

"The vault in question was empty at the time," Griphook snapped. "Its protection was minimal."

"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."

Penelope felt as if her blood had turned to ice. "What?"

Harry looked at her. "Trust me, Pen. Please."

"You have no chance," Griphook told him flatly. "No chance at all. If you seek beneath our floors, a treasure that was never yours—"

"Thief, you have been warned, beware — yeah, I know, I remember. But I'm not trying to get myself any treasure, I'm not trying to take anything for personal gain. Can you believe that?"

The Goblin stared at Harry. "If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain, it would be you, Harry Potter. Goblins and Elves are not used to the protection or the respect that you have shown this night. Not from wand-carriers."

"Wand-carriers," Harry echoed.

"The right to carry a wand has long been contested between wizards and Goblins."

"Well, Goblins can do magic without wands," Ron stated.

"That is immaterial!" Griphook explained. "Wizards refuse to share the secrets of wandlore with other magical beings, they deny us the possibility of extending our powers!"

"Well, Goblins won't share any of their magic either. You won't tell us how to make swords and armor the way you do. Goblins know how to work metal in a way wizards have never—"

"It doesn't matter," Harry interrupted. "This isn't about wizards versus Goblins or any other sort of magical creature—"

Griphook gave out a nasty laugh. "But it is, it is about precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomesever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, House-Elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?"

"We do!" Hermione insisted, sitting up straight with her eyes bright. "We protest! And I'm hunted quite as much as any Goblin or Elf, Griphook! I'm a Mudblood!"

Penelope frowned at the slur. "Hermione, don't—"

"Why shouldn't I? Mudblood, and proud of it! I've got no higher position under this new order than you have, Griphook! It was me they chose to torture, back at the Malfoys', before Penelope intervened against her own mother! Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free? Did you know that we've wanted Elves to be freed for years? You can't want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!"

Griphook gazed at Hermione. "What do you seek within the Lestranges' vault? The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one." He looked around at all of them, his eyes lingering on Penelope's for just a little bit longer. "I think that you already know this. You asked me to lie for you back there."

"But the fake sword isn't the only thing in that vault, is it?" Harry countered. "Perhaps you've seen the other things in there?"

Penelope's eyes widened in realization. "You think—?"

Harry nodded.

The Goblin thought this over. "It is against our code to speak of the secrets of Gringotts. We are the guardians of fabulous treasures. We have a duty to the objects placed in our care, which were, so often, wrought by our fingers." His eyes roamed over all of them. "So young to be fighting so many."

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

Venus then interrupted, asking why Penelope couldn't just let them in because she was a Lestrange.

"Yeah," Penelope agreed. "I mean, it is my last name, and Bellatrix and Rodolphus are my parents."

Griphook considered her for a moment. "We have names attached to vaults, Penelope Lestrange. Inheritances, and such. Yours is not on the Lestrange vault, presumably because you use the Tonks one and are considered traitorous by the Lestranges."

She rolled her eyes. "Of fucking course. So . . . you'll help us break into my own family's vault?"

"I shall . . . think about it."

"But—" Ron began angrily before Penelope elbowed him in the ribs, signaling that it was enough.

"Thank you," Harry responded.

Griphook bowed his head at them in acknowledgement before flexing his short legs. "I think that the Skele-Grow has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me . . ."

"Yeah, of course."

They all left the room. Harry, however, took the sword of Gryffindor beside the Goblin as he left. He then shut the door behind them.

"Little git," Ron whispered. "He's enjoying keeping us hanging."

Hermione pulled them all away from the door. "Harry, are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Lestranges' vault?"

Penelope shared a look with Harry before nodding, letting out a sigh. "When you guys came to the Manor and Bellatrix saw the sword, she sounded terrified when she thought you had been in her vault. And if there's one thing about my mother, is that she's never terrified. There can only be one thing inside of there that she was fearful you could've seen or taken. Something she was scared You-Know-Who would find out about."

"But I thought we were looking for places You-Know-Who's been, places he's done something important?" Ron announced, looking baffled. "Was he ever inside the Lestranges' vault?"

"I don't know whether he was ever inside Gringotts," Harry replied. "He never had gold there when he was younger, because nobody left him anything. He would have seen the bank from the outside, though, the first time he ever went to Diagon Alley. I think he would have envied anyone who had a key to a Gringotts vault. I think he'd have seen it as a real symbol of belonging to the Wizarding world. And don't forget, he trusted Bellatrix and her husband. They were his most devoted servants before he fell, and they went looking for him after he vanished. He said it the night he came back, I heard him. I don't think he'd have told Bellatrix it was a Horcrux, though. He never told Lucius Malfoy the truth about the diary. He probably told her it was a treasured possession and asked her to place it in her vault. The safest place in the world for anything you want to hide, Hagrid told me . . . except for Hogwarts."

Ron shook his head. "You really understand him."

"Bits of him. Bits . . . I just wish I'd understood Dumbledore as much. But we'll see. Come on — Ollivander now."

Penelope shared a bewildered look with Ron before following Harry across the little landing. Harry knocked upon the door opposite of Bill and Fleur's.

"Come in!" a weak voice called.

They entered. Ollivander was laying on the twin bed that was the farthest from the window. Penelope immediately frowned at his state, a pang of guilt ricocheting throughout her body. It was obvious he had been tortured down in the cellar. The bones of his face were sticking out sharply against his yellowish skin and his great silver eyes seemed vast in their sunken sockets. His hands looked like they belonged to a skeleton. All of them sat down on the empty bed. The rising sun wasn't visible in this room — it instead faced the cliff-top garden and the freshly dug grave.

"Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry said.

"My dear boy," Ollivander responded. "You 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."

Penelope tried to swallow the lump in her throat. "Mr. Ollivander, I'm so sorry I never found a way to break you out. If I had known that you were down there earlier before I came to the Manor for Easter—"

The wandmaker shook his head weakly, and Penelope felt tears prick at the back of her eyes. "My dear girl, your valiant effort to try and get us out was good . . . good enough for me."

"Mr. Ollivander, I need some help," Harry admitted.

"Anything. Anything."

"Can you mend this? Is it possible?"

Harry placed the two barely connected halves of his wand — Penelope still hadn't heard everything about their Horcrux travels, so she was shocked to see this — into Ollivander's trembling hand.

"Holly and Phoenix feather," Ollivander announced. "Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

"Yes," Harry confirmed. "Can you—?"

"No. I am sorry, very sorry, but a wand hat has suffered this degree of damage cannot be repaired by any means that I know of."

Harry took his wand away and placed it in a pouch that was hanging around his neck. Ollivander continued to stare at his hand and did not look away until Harry took out the two wands he had gotten from the Malfoys'.

"Can you identify these?" Harry questioned.

Ollivander took the first wand and held it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his fingers — although Penelope could already tell whose wand it was. "Walnut and Dragon heartstring. Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange."

He held it out for Harry to take. However, Penelope reached forwards and took it instead. The wand felt very unfamiliar in her hands. She studied the curved shape for a moment. Penelope absolutely hated it.

"And this one?" Harry urged.

Ollivander performed the same examination. "Hawthorn and Unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."

"Was?" Harry repeated. "Isn't it still his?"

"Perhaps not. If you took it—"

"—I did—"

"—then 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."

There was silence in the room. The only noise was the distant rushing of the sea outside. Venus then noticed that Ollivander talked about wands like they were their own entities with their own feelings.

"The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander recited. "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 inquired.

"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. An initial attraction, and then a mutual quest for experience, the wand learning from the wizard, the wizard from the wand."

"I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force. Can I use it safely?"

"I think so," Ollivander answered. "Subtle laws govern wand ownership, but the conquered wand will usually bend its will to its new master."

Ron then pulled out Wormtail's wand from his pocket and handed it to Ollivander. "So I should use this one?"

"Chestnut and Dragon heartstring," Ollivander revealed. "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?" Harry asked.

Ollivander stared at Harry. "I think so. 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 true possession of a wand?"

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

"There are legends, though," Harry voiced. "Legends about a wand — or wands — that have passed from hand to hand by murder."

Ollivander turned even paler. "Only one wand, I think."

"And You-Know-Who is interested in it, isn't he?"

"I — how?" Ollivander looked at Penelope, Ron, Hermione, and Venus for help. "How do you know this?"

"He wanted you to tell him how to overcome the connection between our wands," Harry explained.

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

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

Ollivander looked horrified by the amount of knowledge Harry knew, but nodded slowly.

Harry went on. "But it didn't work. 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 should have snapped the borrowed wand, I do not know . . ."

"We were talking about the other wand, the wand that changes hands by murder. When You-Know-Who realized my wand had done something strange, he came back and asked about that other wand, didn't he?"

"How do you know this?"

Harry didn't answer.

"Yes, he asked," 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." Penelope sat up straighter, her eyebrows knit in thought — oh shit. "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," Harry admitted quietly.

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

"Priori Incantatem. We left your wand and the blackthorn wand at the Malfoys', Hermione. If they examine them properly, make them re-create the spells they've cast lately, they'll see that yours broke mine, they'll see that you tried and failed to mend it, and they'll realize that I've been using the blackthorn one ever since."

Venus then quickly suggested that they move on, because the little color Hermione had regained since their arrival had drained from her face.

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

"And will it?" Harry asked.

"The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack, but the idea of the Dark Lord in possession of the Deathstick is, I must admit . . . formidable."

Penelope's frown deepened. The idea of Voldemort in possession of the Elder Wand seemed to both enthrall and repluse him.

"You — you really think this wand exists, then, Mr. Ollivander?" Hermione questioned.

"Oh yes," Ollivander responded. "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 recognize. There are written accounts, some of them obscure, that I and other wandmakers havemade 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?"

"No. 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, you told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand, didn't you?" Harry interjected.

Ollivander turned even paler if that was possible and gulped. "But how — how do you—?"

"Never mind how I know it. You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch hadthe wand?"

"It was a rumor," Ollivander revealed in a whisper. "A rumor, 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," Harry agreed before standing up. "Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

Ollivander looked utterly bewildered. "The — the what?"

"The Deathly Hallows."

"I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about. Is this still something to do with wands?"

Penelope also agreed. She had no fucking idea what the Deathly Hallows were. It seemed like Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Venus had to catch her up on a lot of things.

"Thank you," Harry told Ollivander. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."

Ollivander looked stricken. "He was torturing me! The Cruciatus Curse . . . you have no idea . . ."

Penelope smiled sadly at him. "But I do. Please get some rest, you need it. And thank you for talking with us."

Harry led Penelope, Ron, Hermione, and Venus down the stairs. Bill, Fleur, Luna, and Dean were sitting at the table in the kitchen with cups of tea, but they continued to pass by them. They went outside into the garden towards Dobby's grave. Everything was swirling in Penelope's head. How did this all connect?"

"Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago," Harry said. "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. How Grindelwald found out that Gregorovitch had it, I don't know — but if Gregorovitch was stupid enough to spread the rumor, it can't have been that difficult. And 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 dueled Grindelwald and beat him, and he took the Elder Wand."

"Dumbledore had the Elder Wand?" Ron inquired. "But then — where is it now?"

"At Hogwarts."

"But then, let's go! Harry, let's go and get it before he does!"

"It's too late for that," Harry responded, He clutched at his head, making Penelope stare at him in concern. "He knows where it is. He's there now."

"Harry!" Ron exclaimed 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." Harry sank to his knees in the grass. Venus followed after him, trying to hold him upright, sending a panicked glance to Penelope, Ron, and Hermione. "Hermione's right. Dumbledore didn't want me to have it. He didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to get the Horcruxes."

"The unbeatable wand, Harry!"

"I'm not supposed to . . . I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes . . ."

And suddenly, everything started to make sense. Penelope shared a panicked look with Ron. They were seriously fucked.

・゜・。・゜。・。・゜★

OVER THE NEXT couple of days, Ron, Venus, and Hermione (not Harry — he was often spending his days alone and they were giving him his space) had told Penelope about everything they had gone through since the wedding. How they stayed at Grimmauld Place, Kreacher's new leaf, their journey for Horcruxes, why they needed the sword of Gryffindor, Ron's absence (best believe that Penelope screamed at him for it), what had happened at Xenophilius Lovegood's house, and how they had gotten to Malfoy Manor. Penelope, in the end, was just glad that they were all right.

Finally, it was three days after they had arrived at the cottage from Malfoy Manor. Penelope, Ron, Hermione, and Venus had found Harry in his usual spot — the wall that separated the cottage garden from the cliff. Hermione and Ron were in the midst of another argument about Dumbledore and the Elder Wand and shit like that. Penelope and Venus decided to take them outside to get some fresh air, but that seemed to be a mistake, because all they did was join Harry.

"But is he dead?" Ron asked.

"Yes, he is, Ron, please don't start that again!" Hermione pleaded.

"Look at the facts, Hermione. The silver doe. The sword. The eye Harry saw in the mirror—"

"Harry admits he could have imagined the eye! Don't you, Harry?"

"I could have," Harry answered.

"But you don't think you did, do you?" Ron questioned.

"No, I don't."

"There you go! 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 inquired.

"I dunno, it could've been his ghost!" Ron insisted.

"Dumbledore wouldn't come back as a ghost," Harry cut in. "He would have gone on."

"What d'you mean, gone on?"

"'Arry?" Fleur's familiar voice sounded, and Penelope turned to see her standing there outside the cottage, her long silver hair flying beautifully in the breeze. "'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."

It was clear that Fleur didn't like the Goblin. She looked quite irritable as she walked back into her house.

Just like Fleur had said, Griphook was waiting for them in the tiniest of the cottage's three bedrooms where Penelope, Hermione, Venus, and Luna all shared at night. He had drawn the red cotton curtains against the bright and cloudy sky. It gave the room a fiery glow at odds with the airy and light atmosphere of the rest of the cottage.

"I have reached my decision, Harry Potter," the Goblin revealed, who was sitting cross-legged in a low chair. "Though the Goblins of Gringotts will consider it base treachery, I have decided to help you—"

"That's great!" Harry voiced. "Griphook, thank you, we're really—"

"—in return for payment."

Penelope's eyes narrowed at the Goblin and she crossed her arms. What kind of payment?

Harry hesitated. "How much do you want? I've got gold."

"Not gold," Griphook refused. "I have gold." His black eyes glittered. "I want the sword. The sword of Godric Gryffindor."

"You can't have that. I'm sorry."

"Then we have a problem."

"We can give you something else," Ron offered. "I'll bet the Lestranges have got loads of stuff, you can take your pick once we get into the vault."

Griphook flushed angrily. "I am not a thief, boy! I am not trying to procure treasures to which I have no right!"

"Wouldn't be stealing if you have a Lestrange with you," Penelope stated. "I don't care if my name's on the fucking vault, I'm still a Lestrange."

Ron nodded in agreement. "The sword's ours—"

"It is not," the Goblin protested.

"We're Gryffindors, and it was Godric Gryffindor's—"

Griphook sat up straight. "And before it was Gryffindor's, whose was it?"

"No one's," Ron answered. "It was made for him, wasn't it?"

"No!" Griphook cried, pointing a long finger at Ron. "Wizarding arrogance again! That sword was Ragnuk the First's, taken from him by Godric Gryffindor! It is a lost treasure, a masterpiece of Goblinwork! It belongs with the Goblins! The sword is the price of my hire, take it or leave it!"

Harry glanced at the four of them for a moment. "We need to discuss this, Griphook, if that's all right. Could you give us a few minutes?"

Griphook nodded, looking quite sour. They all descended down the stairs to the empty sitting room. None of them sat — it seemed that this was a standing matter.

"He's having a laugh," Ron said. "We can't let him have that sword."

"It is true?" Harry asked Hermione. "Was the sword stolen by Gryffindor?"

"I don't know," Hermione admitted hopelessly. "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 about how the wizards are always trying to get one over on them," Ron replied. "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. They've been treated brutally in the past."

"Goblins aren't exactly fluffy little bunnies, though, are they? 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 countered.

There was a long pause. All of them were trying to think of a way around the problem.

"Okay, how's this?" Ron began. "We tell Griphook we need the sword until we get inside the vault, and then he can have it. There's a fake in there, isn't there? We switch them, and give him the fake."

"Not to shut you down, baby, but that would never work," Penelope responded. "He knew the difference between the real one and the fake one back at the Manor, remember?"

"Yeah, but we could scarper before he realizes—"

"You'd just be adding fuel to the fire of Goblin and wizard rivalry. We have to either give him something as valuable, or we actually have to give him the sword. I think Harry's right about the Horcrux being in the Lestrange vault — we can't let that get away that easily."

"Maybe he's lying," Harry suggested. "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 questioned.

"Changes how I feel about it." Harry took a deep breath. "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."

Hermione looked alarmed. "Harry, we can't—"

Harry went on. He can have it after we've used it on all of the Horcruxes. I'll make sure he gets it then. I'll keep my word."

"But that could be years!"

"Oh dear fucking Merlin, please don't let it be years," Penelope muttered.

"I know that, but he needn't," Harry continued. "I won't be lying . . . really."

"I don't like it," Hermione admitted.

"Nor do I, much," Harry agreed.

Venus also said that she didn't agree with it.

Penelope shrugged. "Sometimes you gotta do what you gotta do."

Ron stood up straighter. "Well, I think it's genius. Let's go and tell him."

Back in the smallest bedroom, Harry made the offer, extremely careful to phrase it so he wouldn't give a specific time for when he would hand over the sword.

"I have your word, Harry Potter, that you will give me the sword of Gryffindor if I help you?" Griphook inquired.

"Yes," Harry confirmed.

"Then shake."

Griphook held out his hand. Harry took it and shook.

"So," Griphook stated. "We begin!"

Before anything, they had to plan. They settled to work in the smallest bedroom which was kept in semi-darkness, which was Griphook's preference.

"I have visited the Lestranges' vault only once on the occasion I was told to place inside it the false sword," Griphook revealed. "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 . . ."

They remained shut in the small room for hours at a time. Slowly the days stretched into weeks. They were always finding out new problems to overcome, and the biggest one at the moment was that their supply of Polyjuice Potion was extremely low.

Hermione tilted the potion against the lamplight. "There's really only enough left for one of us."

"That'll be enough," Harry responded while examining Griphook's hand-drawn map of the deepest passageways.

It was evident to the other inhabitants of Shell Cottage that something was going on now that Penelope, Ron, Harry, Venus, and Hermione would only emerge for mealtimes. Nobody asked questions, but Penelope could feel the stares of them.

The longer they spent together, the more Penelope realized that she fucking despised the Goblin. Griphook was incredibly blood-thirsty — he laughed at the idea of pain in lesser creatures and seemed to like the possibility that they might have to hurt other wizards to reach the Lestrange's vault. Penelope could tell the others didn't like him either, but they never discussed it. They needed Griphook, after all.

Griphook 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 Ollivander. That was until Bill, following an angry outburst from Fleur, went upstairs to tell him that the arrangement would no longer continue. Griphook then started to join them at the over-crowded table, although he refused to eat the same food. He insisted on eating lumps of raw meat, roots, and various fungi.

Penelope, Ron, Venus, and Hermione were currently setting the table for that night's dinner. Luna and Dean were coming inside, their hair damp from the rain outside and their arms full of driftwood. Penelope was concentrating on putting down silverware as Harry came in, carrying to jugs of pumpkin juice.

". . . 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 told Dean as they relaid the fire.

"Luna, we told you," Hermione called. "That horn exploded. It came from an Erumpent, not a Crumple-Horned Snorkack—"

"No, it was definitely a Snorkack horn. Daddy told me. It will probably have re-formed by now, they mend themselves, you know."

Penelope smiled a little at the girl. Oh, how she adored Luna. Bill then appeared, leading Ollivander down the stairs. The wandmaker still looked very frail, and he clung to Bill's arm as Bill supported him, carrying a large suitcase. He was currently moving Ollivander to Auntie Muriel's, where he would be safer with the Weasley's and get more care.

Luna approached the old man. "I'm going to miss you, Mr. Ollivander."

Ollivander patted her shoulder. "And I you, my dear. You were an inexpressible comfort to me in that terrible place."

Penelope then approached, her hands clasped in front of her. "I'm truly sorry that I couldn't have gotten you out sooner, Mr. Ollivander. And you too, Luna — I had no idea they were keeping you down there." She reached forward and squeezed Ollivander's hand extremely gently. "Get better."

He gave her a small smile. "I will, my dear."

"So, au revoir, Mr. Ollivander," Fleur told him, kissing him on both cheeks. "And I wonder whezzer you could oblige me by delivering a package to Bill's Auntie Muriel? I never returned 'er tiara."

Ollivander gave her a little bow. "It will be an honor, 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 of the cottage.

"Moonstones and diamonds," Griphook noticed, who appeared out of fucking nowhere. "Made by Goblins, I think?"

"And paid for by wizards," Bill added, and the Goblin shot him a challenging look.

Strong winds gusted against the windows of the cottage as Bill and Ollivander set off into the night. The rest of them squeezed in around the table, elbow to elbow and barely enough room to move, but they started to eat nonetheless. A crackling fire was heard in the background. Fleur was merely playing with her food and kept glancing at the window every few minutes, but Bill had returned before they finished their first course, his long hair tangled by the wind.

"Everything's fine," Bill reassured them. "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. It cheered her up to have her tiara back, though. She said she thought we'd stolen it."

"Ah, she eez charmante, your aunt," Fleur said crossly, waving her wand and causing the dirty plates to rise and form a stack in midair — she caught them effortlessly and marched out of the room.

"Daddy's made a tiara," Luna announced. "Well, more of a crown, really. Yes, he's trying to re-create the lost diadem of Ravenclaw. 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, and everyone's head snapped towards it. Fleur came running out of the kitchen with a frightened expression on her face. Bill jumped to his feet and pointed his wand at the door. Penelope, Ron, Harry, Venus, and Hermione all did the same. Griphook silently slipped beneath the table. Penelope held her want tightly, an intense gaze on the door.

"Who is it?" Bill called.

"It is I, Remus John Lupin!" a voice replied over the howling wind. Penelope's breath hitched — what happened? "I am a Werewolf, married to Nymphadora Tonks, and you, the Secret-Keeper of Shell Cottage, told me the address and bade me come inan emergency!"

"Lupin," Bill muttered.

"Remus," Penelope whispered.

Her mind was scrambling. Please don't say something bad happened to Nymphadora, please don't say something bad happened to Nymphadora—

Bill ran to the door and wrenched it open. Remus fell into the house. He was white-faced, wrapped in a traveling cloak, and his graying hair windswept. Penelope watched him in concern as he straightened up and looked around the room.

"It's a boy!" Remus shouted. "We've named him Ted, after Dora's father!"

Penelope gasped and her hands flew to her mouth in shock. Tears instantly filled her eyes against her own will — she didn't even care that she was crying.

"Wha—?" Hermione shrieked. "Tonks — Tonks has had the baby?"

"Yes, yes, she's had the baby!" Remus confirmed.

Penelope let out a sob of happiness and ran up to Remus. She threw her arms around him, hugging him tightly and crying. Remus hugged her back. Penelope laughed slightly, wiping away the tears on her face and going back to Ron, who held his arms out to her.

"Congratulations!" Hermione, Venus, and Fleur squealed.

"Blimey, a baby!" Ron said like he had never heard of such a thing before.

"Yes — yes — a boy," Remus repeated, seemingly dazed by his own happiness. He then strode around the table and hugged Harry. "You'll be godfather?"

"M-Me?" Harry stammered.

"You, yes, of course — Dora quite agrees, no one better—"

"I — yeah — blimey—"

Remus then turned to Penelope. "And you, godmother?"

Penelope felt more tears well in her eyes as she frantically nodded. "Holy fuck, yes. Oh my God, a boy, named after Uncle Ted—"

Bill was now off to fetch wine, and Fleur was persuading Remus to join them for a drink.

Remus beamed around at them all, looking years younger. "I can't stay long, I must get back. 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, a great wizard in the making!" Remus voiced.

"'Oo does 'e look like?" Fleur asked.

"I think he looks like Dora, but she thinks he is like me. Not much hair. It looked black when he was born, but I swear it's turned ginger in the hour since. Probably be blond by the time I get back. Andromeda says Tonks's hair started changing color the day that she was born." He drained his goblet. "Oh, go on then, just one more."

The wind swept across the little cottage and the fire leapt and crackled. Soon enough, Bill was opening another bottle of wine. Remus' news seemed to have shocked them. Tidings of new life were exhilarating, especially to Penelope, who was so close to Nymphadora. She had been worried about her cousin and her pregnancy since she had found out.

"No . . . no . . . I really must get back," Remus stated at last, declining yet another goblet of wine. He got to his feet and pulled his traveling cloak back around himself. "Goodbye, goodbye — 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—"

"Give Nymphadora my love, will you?" Penelope pleaded — she had also not seen her cousin since the wedding. "And Teddy, of course."

Remus nodded. He fastened his cloak and made his farewells. Then, still beaming, he returned into the wild night.

Penelope nudged Harry in the ribs. "We're gonna be the best fucking godparents ever."

Harry smirked at her before Bill whisked him away into the kitchen. "Hell yeah, we are."

☆ 彡

penelope has no fucking clue her godmother role is bigger than she thinks hehehehehe