Chapter Forty-Eight:
( shell cottage )

▂✫⌒*･ﾟ

             THE FIRST SENSE THAT returns to her is hearing. Spencer thought she opened her eyes, but all she sees is darkness staring back at her, mocking her. When she first heard noises, she thought they were fake— that her mind is making it up to manipulate her or possibly try and make her feel better (isn't that the same thing?). Is it cruel for it to make her hear her brother when he is far away? Or Fleur's soft accent singing to her in French? Is that what it is? More punishment because she did not die? Spencer does not want to die and in her weakest moment, she craved for it. She remembers so clearly begging for her aunt to let go of Ricky, for her to just kill her instead of him. Or was it so she could no longer feel how horrible it felt? Even more so than the time Morgana had done it.

             "Sometimes are subconscious is awake first than our body," Spencer hears her mind mocking her with her brother's words. At that moment, she does not care because she misses him so, so much. "I hope this is true for your case, Spence. Ron told me Mordra got to you and that Bellatrix hurt Ricky and Hermione. They're alright, by the way. Sleeping, but alright."

             The second sense that returns is touch. That is when Spencer begins realizing that her mind is not playing tricks with her. Not when she can actually feel someone touching her hand, squeezing it tight hoping for a response. Spencer tries to return it, but she gives up after a few seconds when she realizes her body is still exhausted to do the same. She waits. And then some time passes and she can smell honey and herbs in one which makes her assume someone is making some type of tea.

             She waits again.

             And as she does, Spencer lets herself wander around her mind. It is calm, unlike back at the manor when everything went passing through her as if it was the last time she will be seeing it. Fortunately, no matter how troubling her mind is, she still has every bit of information and memory in there. Everything is different, however. It is like she is walking inside her mind, noticing a whole different piles of doors organized with age and trauma or happiness. It was never like that before. Usually, her mind is one of its own and anything pretty much goes through it but this time she feels at peace. Instead of teaming up against her— her mind is now letting itself work with her. Spencer can feel it. It is soft, warm, and exhausted of all it has gone through and now it is buzzing with ideas to get back on her feet and destroy her family that ruined her.

Don't be afraid of me any longer, and together, we can work better than we've ever worked before— just accept it.

             Spencer agrees and with that, her eyes begin fluttering open. She blinks numerous times the first few seconds before her vision is clearing at a figure whose head is laid down on the side of her bed, his hands still clutching onto hers. Her first thought takes her to Ricky, before she notices that this person has slight curls that are now longer than before. Ricky does not have curls. His hair is long, but straight. She squeezes her hand lightly when the person does it to her— and then the figure gasps and he straightens his position, turning his attention onto her face with one of relief.

             So, it was not a lie, Spencer connects, a slight smile appearing on her face when she notices it is indeed her brother. Daniel Montague gives her a shaky smile and she weakly raises her hand to wipe away his teared face that indicates that he has been crying. The two of them do not say anything, but there is a comfort in the air that assures the two that they are alive and are seeing each other for the first time in months. Months, not days or weeks, but months since Bill and Fleur's wedding.

             "How long have I been...?" Spencer finally speaks, her voice barely above a whisper when she realizes that she needs to drink something first to sound proper. Daniel hands over the tea that she has been smelling even in her sleep or whatever that was. Her hand tremble for a few seconds, surprised by the weight of the small cup, before it stops and she takes a sip on it. Her eyes close in awe having forgotten (or more like missed) how tea tasted like.

             When she places it down onto the table beside her, Daniel answers, "Not long since we assumed it would be longer. About four hours, to be exact." Spencer agrees with his statement. She would have thought it would be longer like how that one time it had been after the Department of Mysteries. A day completely unconscious, although, this time she has gotten used to barely batting an eye asleep. Either way, Spencer feels better— tired and weak, but way better than when she left the manor.

             Her eyes falls upon the room she is in and notices it is fairly small and yet homely. Unfamiliar and familiar at the same time— perhaps it is because of the pictures of Bill Weasley and Fleur Delacour placed on the side. It is them on their wedding day, before the Death Eaters attacked. That is the only thing there since besides that, the room is just empty with no colors. Someone still does not sleep there nor is it their room. Someday it might be if Fleur and Bill decide to have a child.

             "I'm sorry," her brother's words make her glance back at him in surprise. Daniel is not looking at her, but rather down on her arm as if she has something there. Spencer checks and she does not. Her eyes stare at him wondrously before noticing that he looks like if he is a puppy that has just been caught doing some wrong act and disciplined for it. His own eyes wander around everywhere except on hers. Guilt, is the first word to appear in her mind. Daniel feels guilty for what occurred to her. Spencer swallows deeply before placing her hand on his comfortingly. Slowly, he finally gazes into her eyes.

             "It's not your fault," she assures softly. "If it were I'd kick your ass even when I'm tired."

             Daniel chuckles quietly, sniffling while at it to cover it up. "I wouldn't know what I'd do if I lost you when I just got to know you, Spencer. I-I don't want to lose another person that I love," he whispers, his voice filled with complete lost and desperation. Instantly, she knows he was thinking about how their aunt had killed the person he loved. His girlfriend, Estela Gray, who died so young and became a victim to their family's cruelty.

             Spencer wants to tell him, "You won't." Except, she does not know if she will die or not die in this bloody war. Maybe she'll get caught in the crossfire like many finds themselves in, or perhaps she dies trying to save a friend, trying to help Harry, trying to fight—case in point, she does not know what will happen to her.

             So, instead, she squeezes his hand and voices, "I won't give up trying to live, I can tell you that."

             Daniel softens his gaze and the frowns continues to be on his face. "You almost did," he makes her remember how she had said the words continuously, how in that moment of weakness, she was craving death. Spencer mimics his expression before clearing her throat, trying to find the right words. She does not want to die. Will she fear it if it comes? In the beginning, definitely, but in the end? She will welcome Death if it comes to it.

             "I-I said those words for two different reasons, Daniel," Spencer clears her throat, letting her gaze go up to the blank ceiling. "For one, I remember hearing Ricky... he was crying out, screaming in pain and— and my name. I kept begging her to not hurt him. To not h-hurt him or—"

             "—kill him," Daniel finishes quietly. Spencer nods numbly.

             "And then... then I-I did want her to end it because it hurt so much, Daniel. It felt like my brain would no longer work and I'd rather die than be in the current state the Longbottom's are," Spencer reveals, letting go of her brother's hand to bring them up to her chest. Daniel lets a look of understanding pass his face which mixes with the one filled with anguish. He nods slowly and stands up, pressing a small kiss on her forehead. Spencer closes her eyes, missing how much affection she would gain daily. And then, she grabs his hand and pulls him back remembering about everyone else.

             "I want to go with everyone else," she demands immediately. Oh, how can she forget? Ricky and Hermione had been tortured! And how did Dobby suddenly appear? She does not understand anything. She gazes up at Daniel and notices his solemn look. "Daniel, what happened?"

             Her brother gulps slightly and sits back down. "Let me tell you what they told us first, and then I'll help you to them, okay?"

             And so, he tells her Ron's version of what happened. About Spencer, Hermione, and Ricky being separated from the two boys. How there they found Luna and Ollivander on the bottom of the Manor locked up. How Harry asked for help and suddenly Dobby appeared and he helped them take Luna, Dean, Griphook, and Ollivanders out of the cage. That which during that time the other three were being tortured. And them suddenly getting out of the cage where Wormtail— Peter Pettigrew, then actually killed himself. How they helped Ricky and Hermione escape from Bellatrix's grasp and when Ricky heard Spencer scream he somehow regained his strength and fought back despite his own weak state. Daniel begin breaking in between his sentences when he explained how Ron said he saw her on her knees completely lifeless until Ricky took away Mordra's wand. He continues to the point of when they arrived and then reveals that the elf who took them away had died on Harry's arms because of Bellatrix. Spencer can tell some points are missing and she gathers that they are the parts having to do or mention the Horcruxes (or in this case the Sword).

             Spencer sits up in panic and grief. "No..." she murmurs in disbelief. "Dobby is dead?" The question echoes in her mind completely baffled. Her gaze falls to the floor and she swallows away the lump that appeared in her throat. Even the most innocent creatures can die because of them. Dobby just wanted to help Harry... he just wanted to be free.

             Her hand goes up to her chest before it hits her that she no longer wears the necklace Blaise gave her. The one that has the ring and her necessities— Mordra took it, she took it... Spencer frowns at the reminder that the comfort she used to have is no longer with her. That she lost her brother's ring.

             "Daniel, I— I'm sorry," she apologizes, her eyes widen in alert. He looks at her in confusion. "Mordra took my necklace a-and your ring was there."

             He seems distraught for a few seconds before giving her a smile. "It's okay," Daniel whispers softly. "I still have you." His words surprisingly warms her heart, but she still feels the same way— oh, that's why he feels guilty still. She shakes her thought away when she thinks back about her friends.

             "I-I have to go with the others," Spencer stammers, shaking away her own wallow of pity knowing Harry is most likely more distraught than the others. Daniel looks as if he is to decline before he lets out a sigh and helps her up. His arms place themselves around her waist, letting hers be on top of his. She winces when her feet touch the ground before allowing herself to start walking out the door, not bothering to glance around the cottage when all she wants to do is see her friends.

             When the two of them got out of the room, her eyes widen to see Ricky already up and being smothered by Fleur and Bill. Their eyes meet and without warning, he stands up and heads toward her with the look of love and concern deeply imprinted. He stares at her like if she died and came back to life until he went in for a hug and despite how horrible she feels, she untangles herself from Daniel and tightens her hold against Ricky, inhaling the fact that he is with her and alive. They do not say anything, but the way they hold each other says enough. Daniel gives Ricky a kind smile when they part, and the three slowly walks forward.

             Fleur is the first to act upon noticing her and she lets out a sigh of relief, heading toward the girl pleasantly with the everlasting silverly blonde hair and beautiful face. She makes it in front of Spencer and presses a light kiss on her cheek. "I am more than glad you're okay, Spencer. It was 'orrible seeing you when you 'ave come," the married woman claims, letting her finger slightly trace over her cheek soothingly before stepping away.

             Then, Bill approaches her with a concerned look. "Should you be walking? Maybe you should rest until tomorrow," he questions in worry, staring right onto her eyes. Spencer smiles up at him, and she feels refreshed finally seeing another Weasley when it has been so long. These people here were some of her family— and she has missed them dearly.

             "I'm okay," she reassures, placing her hand on his assuredly before she looks to the side. The door is open and notices a few figures already outside. They follow her gaze before their faces turn into one of solemn and as she takes a step forward, they follow along.

             Everyone is silent when they make their way outside and watch as Harry wraps the innocent elf snugly in his jacket. Ron is sitting on the edge of the grave, stripped off his shoes and socks, which he placed upon the elf's bare feet. Dean produces a woolen hat which Harry takes and carefully placed upon Dobby's head, muffling his bag like ears. Spencer rubs her eyes, gazing down onto the elf with a solemn expression wanting nothing more but to bring him back. Except, even though magic is exquisite, nothing can bring him back.

             "We should close his eyes," a soft and dreamy voice recommends quietly. Spencer glances to the side and her eyes soften when they notice Luna Lovegood beside her. She is huddled in one of Fleur's coats (like how Spencer finally notices she is too) and then goes forward beside Harry. She crouches down and places her fingers tenderly upon each of the elf's eyelids, sliding them over his glassy stare. "There," Luna murmurs, "now he could be sleeping."

             Harry places the elf into the grave, arranges his tiny limbs so that he might have been resting, then climbs out and gazes for the last time upon the little body. Spencer squeezes Ricky's hand hearing his small whimper of cry. She does not stare at him and only gazes at Harry knowing he is trying his own best to not break down. He was the one who had been closest to the elf.

             "I think we ought to say something," Luna mentions. "I'll go first, shall I?"

             And as everybody looks at her, she addresses the dead elf at the bottom of the grave. "Thank you so much, Dobby, for rescuing me from that cellar. It's so unfair that you had to die, when you were so good and brave. I'll always remember what you did for us. I hope you're happy now."

             Luna turns and looks at Spencer with a warm smile, and the young Montague clears her throat to quietly murmurs, "Thank you. You're free at last, Dobby." Spencer closes her eyes and tilts her head downwards.

             "Thank you," Ricky cannot say anymore, for he turns away not wanting anyone to see him like how he is.

             Ron, in a thick voice says, "Yeah... thanks, Dobby."

             "Thanks," mutters Dean.

             Harry swallows. "Goodbye, Dobby," he murmurs quietly. Spencer knows it is all he can manage. Either way, Luna had said it all for them. Bill raises his wand, and the pile of earth beside the grave rises up into the air and falls neatly upon it, a small, reddish mound.

             "D'you mind if I stay here a moment?" Harry asks the others. They murmur words of acceptance. Spencer gently squeezes his shoulder before letting Daniel help her get back inside. They all leave Harry to be by himself with Dobby. Spencer sits beside her friend, resting on the side of the couch while she finally lets her eyes glance around the cottage itself.

             It is light-colored, pretty (most likely Fleur's choice) flowers among the drawers, with a small fire of driftwood burning brightly in the fireplace. Pictures of the Weasley and Delacour family are around the house to indicate both of their upbringings. Her focus returns to Bill who answers a question that Ron asked.

             "We are lucky that Ginny's on holiday. If she'd been at Hogwarts, they could have taken her before we reached her. Now we know she's safe too," Bill answers, running his hand through the long locks of his red hair. His eyes wander around until they notice a figure by the door, Spencer turns slightly and gives Harry a short smile. "I've been getting them all out of the Burrow. Moved them to Muriel's. The Death Eaters know Ron's with you now, they're bound to target the family — don't apologize," he adds at the sight of Harry's expression. "It was always a matter of time, Dad's been saying so for months. We're the biggest blood-traitor family there is."

             Harry purse his lips clearly not believing that is the only reason before asking, "How are they protected?"

             "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. Daniel comes and go to provide us help— doesn't stop moving, that one," he motions to her brother who awkwardly nods. "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-Gro; we could probably move them in an hour or —" Bill begins to explain.

             "No," Harry cuts him off toward the end, and Bill looked startles. Truthfully, they all are, but Spencer knows the reason for it. "I need both of them here. I need to talk to them. It's important." She raises her eyebrow hearing the authority in his own voice while everyone stares at him puzzled. "I'm going to wash," Harry tells Bill, looking down at his hands, still covered in mud and Dobby's blood. "Then I'll need to see them, straightaway."

             He walks into the little kitchen, to the basin beneath a window overlooking the sea. Dawn is breaking over the horizon, shell pink and faintly gold. Spencer lets her gaze wander away from him and glances back at Bill. "So everyone is okay?" She questions, wanting that reassurance that her family is okay and not having suffered like they did. Bill offers her a kind smile.

             "They are," he assures, ruffling her hair gently in acknowledgement. Fleur smiles generously, bending down to be kneeled in front of her. "And so is your boyfriend and his, if you wanted to know," the quarter-Veela comments offhandedly.

             Spencer parts her lips in surprise and shares a look with Ricky, noticing his own eyes widening. Fleur brightens up and motions to Daniel. "Didn't Danny tell you? 'E's been keeping up with Blaise's mother, 'aven't you?"

             Daniel sends her a small grin. "Figured you would want me to. No need to thank me," he replies easily, quickly adding in the last part when he notices her gratitude. Spencer wraps him in a hug, closing her eyes in relief. They're safe, they're safe!

             She rests her head among Ricky's shoulders, feeling a slight comfort being next to her friends. It does not take long when Ron and Hermione stand up to be beside the doorway of the sitting room. Spencer tilts her head curiously before tapping on Ricky's shoulder. He follows her gaze before nodding, helping each other up to head with them. They told the others the jest about what happened, but not why or what they were looking for. They most likely assume it has to do with Harry, but other than that, none of them spoke about the Horcruxes or the sword or any of the sort.

             She appears beside Hermione and whispers, "What are we doing?"

             Hermione jumps in surprise. "I— we're checking on Harry from a distant," she clears her throat, giving her a soft smile. Spencer returns it before doing the same as them. They watch as Bill and Fleur make their way toward him clearly wondering what the fuck is going on— Daniel is most likely minding his own business in the sitting room. Despite being older, Daniel seems to know better that they would not reveal everything even though he wants them to. When Harry begins to head upwards, her friend turns his head toward them four and calls out, "I need you four as well!"

             They all move into the light, looking oddly relieved. Harry stares at the two girls and Ricky with a small smile, appearing concern for the three of their health. "How are you? The three of you were completely amazing, you know? I'd never want you to get hurt because of me," Harry mentions, swallowing deeply as he realized they had done it because of him.

             Spencer offers him a kind smile— her mood increasingly better after hearing that everyone is safe and now that her mind has become like a gentle breeze. Almost like if they are friends. Everything still aches, but the comfort around her is rather soothing.

             "How are all of you?" Harry asks the three of them. "You were all amazingly strong, by the way. I'd prefer it if you just told them the truth or if you had a chance to escape without us instead of letting yourselves get—"

             "Harry, we would never do that," Spencer interrupts him, placing a kind touch on his arm. Hermione gives him a weak smile while Ricky pats his back in comfort. Harry softens his gaze and smiles all the same knowing it is best not to argue about why their lives are important to him.

             "What are we doing now, Harry?" Ron brings the attention to him. He raises his eyebrows, helping Hermione with her strength while giving the rest a graceful smile. Harry clears his throat and motions to the stairs. "You'll see. Come on."

             The five of them follow Bill up the steep stairs onto a small landing. Three doors are leading off it. In one of them, Bill opens up to which Spencer assumes is his and Fleur's bedroom. She glances around curiously, noting how it has the view of the sea that is now flecked with gold in the sunrise. She sits beside Harry where the window is allowing them access to the slight breeze of winds. Ricky slowly starts heading down onto the ground, resting his head by her legs, right across from Ron who sits in the arm of Hermione's chair. Bill reappears, carrying the little goblin, whom he sets down carefully upon the bed. Griphook grunts a quiet and gruff thanks, and Bill leaves, closing the door upon them all.

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

             "Painful," replies the goblin. "But mending."

             He is still clutching the sword of Gryffindor, and wears a strange look: half truculent, half intrigued. Fleur most definitely has removed his shoes by the looks of it. He is larger than a house-elf, but not by much. His domed head is much bigger than a human's. Spencer offers the goblin a kind smile not knowing what else to do.

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

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

             Harry and the goblin look at each other, sizing each other up. Spencer thinks back to the bank. She remembers how guarded it is. Goblins everywhere taking care of everything. Their family's gold shining visibly with the Montague emblem marked right on the middle because their family could not be any more proud of their status than anything else— they are not even as important as the Blacks or Malfoys and yet their ego might as well act like it.

             "You buried the elf," Griphook murmurs, sounding unexpectedly rancorous. Spencer stays quiet knowing this conversation will only be between Harry and him. "I watched you from the window of the bedroom next door."

             "Yes," Harry nods.

             Griphook looks at him out of the corners of his slanting black eyes. "You are an unusual wizard, Harry Potter." Spencer makes a face of agreement not knowing exactly why but definitely agreeing nonetheless.

             "In what way?" Harry asks, rubbing his scar absently.

             "You dug the grave."

             "So?" The goblin does not answer and simply stares at him in confusion. Spencer can only guess it is because anyone that is not a human wizard guarantees them to be 'inferior' which she finds absolutely ridiculous because it should not matter what creature, race, sexuality, blood type you are— you are still there, aren't you? Even ghosts! "Griphook, I need to ask for a favor."

             Griphook tilts his head and motions for Harry to continue. "Well, I need some help, Griphook, and you can give it to me."

             The goblin makes no sign of encouragement, but continues to frown at Harry as though he has never seen anything like him. Spencer notes how Harry seems extremely desperate in whatever he hopes his answer is for the favor he needs to ask. And then he voices, "I need to break into a Gringotts vault."

             Spencer widens her eyes and gapes at him in shock. She would say she is far too surprised at his words and yet they slowly begin to make sense for her because this is Harry. If there is anything she has come to know about him is that he does not lie. Except, to break into Gingotts vault? Now that is something that has yet to come back (apart in her first-year when the news exposed about that specific one). Even Ricky, Ron, and Hermione are staring at Harry as though he has gone mad.

             "Harry —" Hermione tries saying, but she is cut off by Griphook.

             "Break into a Gringotts vault?" repeats the goblin, wincing a little as he shifted his position upon the bed. "It is impossible."

             "No, it isn't," Ron contradicts him. Spencer smirks lightly knowing how incredibly smart her redheaded friend is. "It's been done."

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

             "The vault in question was empty at the time," snaps the goblin, "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," Harry continues. "It belongs to the Lestranges."

             "What the fuck?" Spencer slips out immediately, an astonished look on her face as she stares at him. This time she actually is surprise because the Lestranges? As in the one family Bellatrix is also a part of excluding the Blacks? He wants to break into her vault? Spencer is highly sure her friend has a death wish at this point because they just escaped the Manor! Barely!

             Griphook shakes his head. "You have no chance. 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," Harry rolls his eyes and waves it off. "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 looked slantwise at Harry. "If there was a wizard of whom I would believe that they did not seek personal gain," Griphook begins, "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," repeats Harry.

             "The right to carry a wand," the goblin mutters, "has long been contested between wizards and goblins."

             "Well, goblins can do magic without wands," Ron voices confusedly. An understanding look falls upon Spencer's face knowing what the goblin is meant to, well, mean.

             She clears her throat and quietly murmurs, "They can, but wands would allow them to do much more... extending the incredible powers they have, correct?" Spencer waits for the goblin to nod and after a few seconds, he does. "But, of course, wizards are incredibly full of themselves having some sort of awe of their supposed superiority to share the secrets of wand lore with other magical beings. It is annoying, I bet."

             Griphook stares at her curiously before agreeing, "Yes, exactly what Spencer Montague said."

             "Well, goblins won't share any of their magic either," Ron states in defense for the wizards. Spencer raises an eyebrow at his words. "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 —"

             "Well, of course they don't, Ron," Spencer scoffs, motioning to the goblin. "Don't you see the way people like Umbridge treat them? My own family? If I were being mistreated as well I would not give them any of my help. Except I do have the privilege and I'd rather help make a change rather than continue with this inequality—"

             "It doesn't matter," Harry cuts them off, noting Griphook's rising color. "This isn't about wizards versus goblins or any other sort of magical creature —"

             Griphook gives a nasty laugh. "But it is, it is about precisely that! As the Dark Lord becomes ever more powerful, your race is set still more firmly above mine! It is as the girl said. Wizards do have more of the 'privilege'. Gringotts falls under Wizarding rule, house-elves are slaughtered, and who amongst the wand-carriers protests?"

             "We do!" Hermione exclaims, pointing at all five of them. She has sat up straight, her eyes bright. "We protest! And Ricky and I are hunted quite as much as any goblin or elf, Griphook! We're Mudbloods!"

             "Don't call yourself—" Ron mutters.

             "Why shouldn't I?" Hermione snaps her head toward the redhead. "Mudblood, and proud of it! Aren't you, Ricky?"

             "For majority of my years at Hogwarts, I've been called a mudblood by individual pathetic kids. I spent so much time fearing them, despising that I was made fun of for something I had no control of. But they have no right to call me a mudblood and I'd rather own that name rather than be a complete victim to it." Ricky nods in agreement. "We are hunted the same way which should bring us closer together rather than apart. We have to fight with each other instead of against. Hermione and I were tortured for our status, back at the Malfoys," he helps Hermione out.

             At the same time, he lifts up his sleeves to show the deep imprinted cursed word of 'MUDBLOOD' across his arm which is still painted red and scarred. She swallows away the lump in her throat realizing Bellatrix had done that to her best friend. His screams, cries— calm down. She closes her eyes for a few seconds before reopening them only to let her gaze falls onto Hermione. The young girl pulls aside the neck of the dressing gown to reveal the cut of the same words scarlet against her throat.

             "Did you know that it was Harry who set Dobby free?" Hermione asks. "Did you know that we've wanted elves to be freed for years? Or that Spencer has to face torture from her own relatives to even help us when all she could do is announce her loyalty to him? All because she is a kind soul! You can't want You-Know-Who defeated more than we do, Griphook!"

             The goblin gazes at Hermione, Ricky, and Spencer with the same curiosity he has shown Harry. "What do you seek within the Lestranges' vault?" he asks abruptly. "The sword that lies inside it is a fake. This is the real one." He looks from one to the other of them. "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 questions. Spencer widens her eyes and turns to him with alertness. "Perhaps you've seen the other things in there?"

             A Horcrux in Bellatrix's vault? Spencer widens her eyes at that. Surely, her aunt would be outrageous if she knew... unless she does not.

             The goblin twists his beard around his finger again. "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." The goblin strokes the sword, and his black eyes roves from the five of them. "So young," he says finally, "to be fighting so many."

             Spencer leans back in surprise, her eyebrows furrowing at how true his words are. They are only seventeen years old. And there are people younger than them, muggle-borns who are being hunted. Children. Babies being discriminated for the status of their blood.

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

             "I shall... think about it," Griphook sighs maddeningly.

             "But—" Ron starts angrily; Hermione nudges him in the ribs.

             "Thank you," Harry nods either way. Spencer cannot blame Griphook for being hesitant, but she hopes that he will choose to help. The goblin bows his great domed head in acknowledgement, then flexes his short legs.

             "I think," he starts, settling himself ostentatiously upon Bill and Fleur's bed, "that the Skele-Gro has finished its work. I may be able to sleep at last. Forgive me..."

             "Yeah, of course," Harry agrees, but before they all leave the room he leans forward and takes the sword of Gryffindor from beside the goblin. Griphook does not protest, but Spencer knows he does not like the fact that it is being taken away. Either way, he lets them and they leave the room of which Bill and Fleur stay in

             Ron shakes his head immediately and whispers, "Little git. He's enjoying keeping us hanging."

             "Harry," Hermione murmurs, pulling them away from the door, into the middle of the still-dark landing, "are you saying what I think you're saying? Are you saying there's a Horcrux in the Lestranges' vault?"

             Spencer keeps her breath in as she waits for his answer.

             "Yes," agrees Harry. And she lets it go. "Bellatrix was terrified when she thought we'd been in there, she was beside herself. Why? What did she think we'd seen, what else did she think we might have taken? Something she was petrified You-Know-Who would find out about."

             Her eyebrows raise curiously and lets her mind listen to his words. She closes her eyes gently and feels the same buzz inside her head, peaceful and gentle as it recalls back to the horrid memory. Bellatrix did appear so frightful and at that time Spencer thought it might have been because of the sword, but maybe it is because of the Horcrux. And then she called her aunt. Her aunt! Bellatrix despises Mordra more than anything because they have been fighting to win the spot for Voldemort's favorite but what if—? She would never call Mordra to her place if they had caught Harry Potter because that would guarantee her glory as well which means... she must have the Horcrux.

             "It makes sense," Spencer cuts the conversation between Ron and Harry. The four of them glance at her curiously. "Ricky, Harry," she motions to the two boys she tells everything, "I have always told you two how Mordra and Bellatrix hate each other with a passion because of the competition of wanting to be the best. And Bellatrix called Mordra and basically gave her a gift. They will do anything to please You-Know-Who and Bellatrix could have had all the glory to herself if she did not call Mordra which means she has assurance that she is the favorite, right?"

             Hermione furrows her eyebrows. "I-I don't think that contributes to this," she lets out in confusion.

             "No, look. Bellatrix must know she is the favorite if You-Know-Who entrusted him with something that important," Spencer corrects, raising her eyebrows as if daring to contradict her. Ricky thinks over her words before slowly nodding.

             "I mean," he starts slow, "true... She could just be playing with Mordra then. Make her think they are fighting over his 'love' when in reality—"

             "—Bellatrix already knows," Harry finishes with a smirk knowing the two Ravenclaws has his back. Ricky gives him a smile and nods. "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. 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."

             When Harry finished speaking, Ron shakes his head. "You really understand him."

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

             Ron and Hermione looks bewildered but impressed as the five follow him across the little landing and knock upon the door opposite Bill and Fleur's. A weak "Come in!" answers them. Spencer enters behind Ricky, her eyes widening at the sight of Ollivander lying on the twin bed farthest from the window. He has been held in the cellar for more than a year, and tortured most likely. Spencer remembers clearly entering his wand shop, finding the blood on his own place while Daniel found the words 'Eld' which she is convinced that it is talking about the Elder wand. Perhaps, this is the time to find out.

             She pities him more than she does to herself seeing as he is emaciated, the bones of his face sticking out sharply against the yellowish skin. His great silver eyes seem vast in their sunken sockets. The hands that lay upon the blanket can belong to a skeleton. She sits beside the bed, her eyes gazing onto the man.

             "Mr. Ollivander, I'm sorry to disturb you," Harry apologizes right away.

             "My dear boy." Ollivander's voice is feeble. "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."

             Spencer did not do much help, but she is glad her friends had. Her eyes land onto Harry's who gropes in the pouch around his neck and takes out the two halves of his broken wand. "Mr. Ollivander, I need some help," he refers to his wand.

             "Anything. Anything," the wandmaker mutters weakly. Spencer frowns slightly, wondering if the man will turn out okay and hoping that he does.

             "Can you mend this? Is it possible?" Harry questions unsurely, handing him over his wand. Ollivander holds out a trembling hand, and Harry places the two barely connected halves into his palm.

             "Holly and phoenix feather," Ollivander murmurs in a tremulous voice. "Eleven inches. Nice and supple."

             "Yes," Harry agrees. "Can you — ?"

             "No," whispers Ollivander. Spencer had already seen that answer coming. "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 nods slowly having already known the answer as well but still taking it to heart. He takes the wand halves back and replaces them in the pouch around his neck. Ollivander stares at the place where the shattered wand had vanished, and does not look away until Harry takes from his pocket the wands he had brought from the Malfoys'.

             "Can you identify these?" Harry asks. The wandmaker takes the first of the wands and holds it close to his faded eyes, rolling it between his knobble-knuckled fingers, flexing it slightly.

             "Walnut and dragon heartstring," he murmurs. "Twelve-and-three-quarter inches. Unyielding. This wand belonged to Bellatrix Lestrange."

             Spencer makes a face of disgust. She gazes at the one that Harry shows to him next. Ollivander first describes the wand before announcing that it was the wand of one of the Snatchers that had been with Greyback. All of them grimace before Harry takes out another and this one is far too familiar that Spencer already knows who it is before they can even announce it.

             "Mordra Montague's," Ollivander coughs out, his fingers weakly trailing off it. "It seems to have a new owner."

             Spencer slowly gazes up at Ricky knowing he is the one who casted the Disarming Charm. Ricky widens his eyes in surprise and stares at her back. "B-but—"

             "You casted the charm, Ricky," Spencer explains to him vaguely. "It is technically yours now. Based on wands logic, of course." He seems as if he is unsure if that even is the right thing to have occurred. As if just touching the wand is poison and truthfully, she cannot blame him. It was the one that tortured her in the first place.

             "And this one?"

             Ollivander performs the same examination toward the last wand Harry wanted to show him. "Hawthorn and unicorn hair. Ten inches precisely. Reasonably springy. This was the wand of Draco Malfoy."

             "Was?" repeats Harry surprised. "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 is silence in the room, except for the distant rushing of the sea.

             "You talk about wands like they've got feelings," Harry acknowledges, "like they can think for themselves."

             "The wand chooses the wizard," Ollivander repeats what he tells every new wand-holder. "That much has always been clear to those of us who have studied wandlore."

             Spencer lightly chuckles and gives a nod in agreement. It still shocks even her that she spent her days at the library trying to find information about wands and then learning about it as if she were interested in the study. She is not, but she does know more than the average wizard. Of course, Ollivander is still the very best.

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

             "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," Ollivander explains softly.

             "I took this wand from Draco Malfoy by force," Harry murmurs. "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?" Ron asks pulling Wormtail's wand out of his pocket and handing it to Ollivander.

             "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 bid- ding, and do it well, than another wand."

             "And this holds true for all wands, does it?" asks Harry.

             "I think so," replies Ollivander, his protuberant eyes upon Harry's 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 true possession of a wand?" asks Harry. Ollivander swallows and Spencer knows they have now reached the moment they have been waiting for.

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

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

             Ollivander turns paler and Spencer's thoughts are confirmed. Against the snowy pillow he is light gray, and his eyes are enormous, bloodshot, and bulging with what looks like fear.

             "Only one wand, I think," he whispers. Spencer scoffs knowing now how her friends have been arguing pointlessly with her.

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

             "I — how?" croaks Ollivander, and he looks appealingly 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," Harry continues. Ollivander looks 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!" The wandmaker cries out. Spencer frowns lightly, feeling pity for the older man knowing he had to endure such pain. She cannot blame him for telling Voldemort whatever it is he wanted to know.

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

             Ollivander gets more horrified, transfixed, by the amount that Harry knows and it is then that Spencer does not regret telling him once that their connection might help if they knew which is real and which is fake. Ollivander nods slowly.

             "But it didn't work," Harry goes on. "Mine still beat the borrowed wand. Do you know why that is?"

             Ollivander shakes his head as slowly as he had just nodded. "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 does not answer.

             "Yes, he asked," whispers Ollivander. "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."

             Spencer releases a sigh of relief thankful that her mind did not betray her in that part— then again, right now it is actually working with her and it feels... better? Assured? Vengeful? Ricky stares at her with a grin, motioning for her to stare at Hermione with a smug smile. She rolls her eyes before glancing at the said girl and raising her eyebrow at the flabbergasted look on her face along with the one of embarrassment. It is obvious she does not want to admit that she was wrong and Spencer does not push her into it. They have different mindsets, she just has to allow herself to be more... open.

             "The Dark Lord," Ollivander starts in a hushed and frightened tone, "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 murmurs quietly. Spencer pales at the thought. If that is true then that will make him more confident and confidence is dangerous. It is what allows for people to be more powerful and in control. Uncaring of everything else and Voldemort already did not care!

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

             "Priori Incantatem," Harry sighs. "We left Spencer's, 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."

             The little color she had regained since their arrival drains from her face. Spencer sighs again, this time of tiredness and annoyance instead of the same fear that Hermione has. And this point, she just wants to end the fucking noseless man. Ron gives Harry a reproachful look, and tells him, "Let's not worry about that now —"

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

             Spencer smacks her face onto her hand.

             "And will it?"

             "The owner of the Elder Wand must always fear attack," Ollivander clears his throat, "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 asks and Spencer stares at her like if she has not been listening to anything that they have yet said. Hermione ignores her look and instead looks at the man for confirmation. Spencer glares at her in annoyance before leaning back waiting for the man to only confirm what she has been saying the past year.

             "Oh yes," Ollivander nods. "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 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 asks hopefully.

             Drowning sounds good right now, Spencer thinks to herself when she gazes out at the sea from where she arrived in. An odd thought, but after what Ollivander just exclaimed Hermione had to be kidding, right?

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

             Ollivander turns, if possible, even paler. He looks ghostly as he gulps. "But how — how do you —?"

             "Never mind how I know it," Harry waves off, closing his eyes momentarily. "You told You-Know-Who that Gregorovitch had the wand?"

             "It was a rumor," whispers Ollivander. "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 nods. He stands up and now being slightly confused, Spencer does as well just to follow his lead along with everyone else. "Mr. Ollivander, one last thing, and then we'll let you get some rest. What do you know about the Deathly Hallows?"

             Ollivander appears taken back by the question, a look of utter bewilderment on his face. "The — the what?"

             "The Deathly Hallows," Spencer repeats softly, tilting her head curiously. So, he obviously knows about the Elder Wand because of his study in wands, but does not know about the other two items. Either way, they have to be involved or else why would Dumbledore deem it important, right?

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

             Harry glances at Spencer and she shrugs unknowingly. He gives a short nod before staring back at the wandmaker. "Thank you," Harry mumbles. "Thank you very much. We'll leave you to get some rest now."

             Ollivander then gasps and grasps his arm. There is a struck of fear in his face that makes Spencer glance away. "He was torturing me!" He cries out. "The Cruciatus Curse... you have no idea..."

             I do, Spencer closes her eyes and shudders at the reminder of what occurred just recently.

             "I do," Harry frowns. "I really do. Please get some rest. Thank you for telling me all of this."

             Ricky gently grasps Spencer's arm and she keeps her hold on him while they follow Harry as he leads them back down the staircase. They pass Bill, Fleur, Daniel, Luna, and Dean sitting at the table in the kitchen, cups of tea in front of them. They look up, offering a kind smile, but Spencer only gives them a brief smile and wave before following Harry out into the garden. The reddish mound of earth that covers Dobby lies ahead, and Harry walks back to it.

             Spencer gazes at him curiously. He keeps wincing now and then that makes her note that there is something up with him. She places her hand on his arm and Harry looks up at her. Simply by making eye connection— she knows right away what is happening, or at least, what Harry is trying to conceal. He holds up a finger making her realize it is his way of saying 'just one minute, trust me' and so she nods.

             "Gregorovitch had the Elder Wand a long time ago," Harry starts slowly. "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."

             Harry closes his eyes and Spencer frowns, making sure to place a hold on him with her own hands despite herself being weak. No one says anything as they listen to his words and his meanings. "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."

             Spencer forgets about Harry in that moment and opens her mouth in surprise and realization. "He had it all along...?" She murmurs quietly, her eyes meeting Ron who voices the same question aloud, "Dumbledore had the Elder Wand? But then — where is it now?"

             She tries thinking of the connection real quick before her mind solely focuses on her friend instead of trying to figure things out. Spencer does not care at the moment because she agrees with it— herself? Harry is more important. Spencer grabs Harry's hand and without a second to waste, he squeezes on them as if that will help him with the pain he is feeling.

             "At Hogwarts," Harry reveals heavily, fighting to remain with them in the cliff-top garden. Spencer widens her eyes in surprise— at Hogwarts?

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

             Harry shakes his head, biting onto his lip and closing his eyes even more which only allows wrinkles to appear on the side. "It's too late for that," he denies. Spencer winces when his hold on her only tightens. Ricky notices the interaction and gives her a concerned and puzzled expression. "He knows where it is. He's there now."

             "Harry!" Ron gasps 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 shuts down the idea quick, and he sinks to his knees in the grass. Being caught off-guard and with her hand still holding his, Spencer flinches as she heads down with him. Spencer stares up at Hermione in worry only to see her with wide eyes not sure how to react to this whole ordeal. Fuck, fuck, Spencer thinks to herself before bringing Harry close to her lap. "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!" Ron moans.

             Spencer glares at her redheaded friend. "Ron! He's having a vision!" She snaps at him, motioning to the cottage for them to get some help to carry Harry back inside.

             Harry slowly stirs and shakes his head. "I'm not supposed to... I'm supposed to get the Horcruxes..." Harry cannot finish his sentence for them his head falls straight onto her lap and as far as Spencer can tell— he is unconscious, or somewhere around those lines whenever it comes to him having these types of visions.

             "Master of the wand," Harry murmurs within his state, his body completely shut down. Spencer pales knowing what that meant.

             (Lord Voldemort has now achieved the Elder Wand and they have yet to destroy all the Horcruxes).

▂✫⌒*･ﾟ

AUTHOR'S NOTE:
i will update the next chapter next week
bc i hate to say it but the book is almost
done and i have not finished writing the last
chapter cuz of procrastination (that has been
there since august) 😍😍

taking my midterms tmmr for english this
will be fun ‼️ hoping my brain does not
fail me this time 😄