A Promise Kept - Chapter 69 - A New Role

A New Role

He read over the summary of expenditures and budget set aside for the Creature Registration Act and shook his head, tutting disapprovingly before tapping it with his forefinger.

“This is a waste,” he declared. “The entire department will need to be scrapped. I want every shred of parchment pertaining to this on my desk by the end of the day.”

Umbridge nodded unhappily.

Harry could see that she wished to speak, to defend herself, but evidently thought better of it.

“And what is to be done about those employed in the department?” she asked.

“You have the wonderful job of firing them all. Walden Macnair is dead, so that is your duty, Dolores. When I have the all of the necessary parchment work, I will decide on your future. If there is anything you wish to say, now is your opportunity.”

Her nostrils flared and she puffed herself up.

“I have served the Ministry of Magic for many years, P-Minister. I have dedicated my life to the people of this country, and I wish to continue doing so.”

Harry hummed before making a note of her plea.

“By the end of the day, Madam Umbridge, and if even a shred of it is missing, I will bring charges against you for impeding my investigation. That is all.”

The woman left the office, and Harry fought the urge to curse her before the door closed. She was a detestable woman, who had served only her own prejudice views.

How Fudge had allowed her to run as roughshod as she had was beyond him, and he could only put it down to the man’s incompetence. Still, he could not deny that she was an astute woman in her own right, and there might just be some use for her yet.

“Come in, Madam Bones,” he called as the expected knock sounded at his door.

The stern redhead entered with another man in tow, and Harry offered both a nod in greeting.

“I apologise that it has taken so long to meet with you both, but I wanted to be certain of several things before doing so,” he explained. “Please, have a seat.”

They did so, and Harry finished skimming over another of dozens of reports he’d received since taking office just over a week prior, which had seen him spending much of his time getting up to speed with the state of the Ministry.

For the most part, it made for dreary reading, but he was certain vast improvements could be made swiftly.

“You must be Gawain Robards,” he addressed the man. “An Auror for twenty-two years, and the head of the department.”

“Yes, Minister Potter,” the man replied.

Harry fought the urge to grimace.

The title was something he was still getting used to and made him feel rather unclean given his experiences with those who preceded him.

“According to all reports, you are doing an excellent job, and you have the confidence of Madam Bones. That is more than enough for me. Now, the two of you will know better than anyone else the threat we are facing, and that is why you have been allocated a further forty percent on your usual budget. Spend it as you see fit to bolster the department.”

Bones could only blink at the piece of parchment he slid towards her.

“Where did you find the funding for this?” she asked.

“It wasn’t so difficult,” Harry said dismissively. “After disbanding Umbridge’s department and finding the coffers that others have been attempting to hide, the Ministry received quite the windfall.”

Amelia looked at him sceptically.

“You found that all by yourself?”

“No,” Harry chuckled. “I had the goblins go through the finances with a fine-tooth comb. They found several cases of misappropriation of funds that have now been remedied.”

Amelia shook her head.

“You look a little too proud of yourself, Potter.”

“Well, this has been more fun than expected,” Harry admitted, “but the novelty is beginning to wear off. I won’t deny it has been satisfying trimming the fat and putting things right. I knew politics and government were full of corruption, just not so much of it.”

“You seem to have done a good job fixing it,” Amelia praised. “I wasn’t so sure about this, I’m still not if truth be told, but if there is anyone I can rely on to do the right thing where Voldemort is concerned, it’s you. Just don’t make a mess of it, Potter. Absolute power can corrupt absolutely.”

“Believe me, I don’t intend to be here any longer than necessary. Something had to be done.”

“But you’re no politician. What made you put your name forward?”

“Necessity,” Harry answered, his mind drifting back to his first meeting with the three goblins who’d insisted upon his appointment to this very office. “Oh, and Robards, you can have the Aurors back who serve as my guards, they won’t be necessary. I have my own security detail arranged.”

The man frowned.

“Minister, it is a requirement…”

“I get that, but they will be better served doing their jobs. I am more than capable of handling my own protection. Sorry, but I have to cut the meeting short. I have to meet with the muggle Prime Minister, but if there is anything either of you need, let my Undersecretary know, and he will set some time aside for you.”

Amelia nodded as she stood.

“And how is your Undersecretary settling in?”

“Well enough,” Harry replied with a grin.

It had been quite the promotion for Arthur Weasley, who had proven that his many years working within the Ministry of Magic had seen him accumulate significant knowledge of things that Harry would undoubtedly overlook.

Sirius had been right to consider the man for the Minister’s position. He was senior enough to have become rather astute but had been ignored enough by others that he wasn’t corrupted by the influence of the higher-ups on the Wizengamot, who paid no heed to the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office.

Perkins too had been pleased with his own promotion, so two people had gotten a much-needed boost in their careers.

Arthur Weasley had been overlooked, as had many others who’d been passed over for various reasons, mostly because of the blood flowing through their veins.

Harry was under no illusion that he could fix everything here, but he felt as though he’d made a good start.

“Then we will leave you to it, Minister Potter,” Amelia said a little too gleefully for his liking, before gesturing for Robards to follow her from the office.

When they were gone, Harry deflated and prepared to meet with his muggle counterpart, who was also new to his role.

(Break)

Potter’s tenure as the Minister of Magic had been nothing short of disastrous for his movement. Already, he had disbanded the team put together to enforce the Creature Registration Act, who consequently, would’ve been doing the same when the Muggleborn Registration Act was inevitably launched.

He had been so close to bringing a significant portion of the magical population to heel, and yet, Potter had put a stop to it.

It was quite the slight against him, though no more so than having him hounded by those he’d killed many years prior.

Fortunately, upon returning the Potter’s to Godric’s Hollow, Hepzibah Smith had vanished, though the Dark Lord wondered how it was Potter knew of her demise, and his hand in it.

“The cup is safe within my vault, my lord,” Bellatrix assured him. “I checked it myself only a few days ago.”

As ever, Bellatrix had proven to be a most useful, loyal follower, and Potter having discovered his secret was unfathomable. The boy was good, but he was no seer, nor was he an expert in such magic.

It had taken the Dark Lord decades to gather the knowledge he possessed, and Potter could not hold a candle to his sheer brilliance and expertise.

Even so, the boy becoming the Minister of Magic was quite the bold, brilliant move, but this was far from being the end. No, the Dark Lord had many other plans in motion, and if he could not bring Britain under his control using politics, he would do it by force.

The thought alone brought a smile to his lips.

That was how he had been successful during his first uprising, and the same tact would serve him well enough now.

With his focus now firmly away from the political field, he could leave Potter to play his games with the Wizengamot. Lord Voldemort would play his own elsewhere, would once more strike fear into his enemies the best way he knew how, and would claim Britain as his own in a way that suited him.

The streets would run red with blood, and the ground filled with the corpses of his foes.

Potter may have won what he deemed to be a great victory, but in truth, he had merely delayed the inevitable and condemned many to the harshest of ends.

Neither magical nor muggle would be safe, not until both bowed down to him and recognised his authority as their superior. Firstly, however, Potter needed to die.

That would all but seal his efforts and everything he had been building these past decades.

With Potter dead, there was no other they could look to and would have to accept their fate.

The thought brought something of a smile to his lips, and as he began to ponder his next moves, he could see it all unfolding now; Potter’s lifeless body being paraded through magical Britain for all to see, the fear in the eyes of those who’d dared defy him, and the defeat as they prostrated themselves before him.

That was what would be.

“Augustus, is there something you need?”

The man had been waiting at his periphery, as patient as ever.

Stepping forward, he seemed rather uneasy, but he nodded.

“My Lord, I have been thinking about how Potter managed to conjure those… apparitions.”

It was something the Dark Lord had been unable to dismiss out of hand. The more he pondered them, the more troubling they became., but he was no closer to figuring out how the boy had done it, let alone how they possessed the knowledge they did.

“What are your thoughts, Augustus?”

The Dark Lord could not fathom anything beyond Potter having delved into the darkest of magicks to accomplish such a feat, or it had simply been an exceptional trick of sorts.

“Well,” Augustus spoke reticently, “when I was working for the Department of Mysteries, there were things I came across, nothing of any real substance, of course, but enough that there must be a kernel of truth to the dozens of accounts throughout the past one thousand years.”

“Go on.”

Rookwood appeared to be even more reluctant as he handed the Dark Lord a book, and he raised an eyebrow as he accepted it.

“The Tales of the Beedle and the Bard?”

“Page fifty-four, my lord.”

He flicked through the book of gathered stories one might tell a child and read through the tale of the three brothers. As a child, he would’ve been enthralled by it, and as a grown man, he couldn’t deny he was curious, though a little concerned.

“Death’s champion,” he whispered.

“My lord?”

“My mother, or whatever it was claiming to be her, she said that Death had chosen his champion, that he had a power I could not fathom.”

“I remember, my lord.”

It truly was concerning.

As ludicrous as it sounded, perhaps there was some substance to what he’d read, but a stone that could raise the dead, a wand so powerful that it was virtually unbeatable, and a cloak that could truly conceal someone…

If Potter possessed any such items, it could spell disaster, but if the story he’d just read held any modicum of truth, then it seemed that both Fate and Death were somehow steering the two of them towards each other.

Death.

No, not even Death could undo what the Dark Lord had done, and yet, he could not deny his own sense of unease.

The stone, however, held no appeal to him. Only the weak allowed themselves to die, but the wand on the other hand…

Pondering his predicament for another moment, he nodded.

If such a wand did exist, there was only one man he could think of who might be able to tell him more about it.

“Augustus, I have a task for you. Send for Rodolphus and Scabior.”

“Of course, my lord.”

It was unsettling to say the least to even think that the Deathly Hallows existed, but if they did, he wanted them for himself, especially the wand that would give him untold power, which he already possessed.

How much more powerful could he become if he claimed it for himself?

(Break)

“It beggars belief that your people would elect someone so young. I met with Yaxley when I first took office. He was a most gracious, strong man.”

Harry took an immediate disliking to Tony Blair.

There was something rather rodent-like about him, and peering into his mind told him all he needed to know about the man. He was as cunning and slippery as they came, and was grateful he would have little to do with him.

Nonetheless, he was not ignorant of the danger of the muggle Prime Minister being controlled by Voldemort, and he needed to ensure that did not happen, subtly of course.

“Well, Yaxley is a criminal,” Harry replied with a shrug, “and is currently on the run from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.”

Blair frowned.

“I found it rather odd when I first met him, odd that there is your kind out there. He warned me that you were dangerous, that should you wish to, you could run the country.”

“We could,” Harry assured his counterpart, “and were it not for people like me, that is what would happen. You see, Prime Minister, there are those of us that believe we should have as little to do with one another as possible. I am one of those, but there are also those that believe we should be in charge of the entire country. Think yourself lucky that they have not succeeded in seeing their ambitions come to fruition. I can assure you, you would not like that one bit.”

“Are you threatening me?”

Harry rolled his eyes at the man.

“I do not need to threaten you, you daft prat,” he sighed. “There is nothing you could do to me to make me feel the need to. I came here only to introduce myself, but since I can see you’re going to be difficult, I will take my leave. Oh, before I go.”

With a few waves of his wand, the muggle Prime Minister’s gaze became clouded over.

Harry thought it best the man did not remember the conversation, nor question why a wizard would be watching over him.

“He’s an idiot, Dawlish, but we can’t afford for him to be compromised. For the foreseeable future, you and two others will be taking it in turns to watch over him. For the sake of security, none of you will know who the others are.”

“Of course, Minister,” Dawlish replied. “I will keep him safe.”

Harry nodded appreciatively before stepping through the fireplace, his expression darkening at the sight of Dolores Umbridge waiting for him on the other side of his desk.

“Who let you in?”

“I do not need permission…”

“You, especially, need permission,” Harry cut in. “What can I help you with?”

The woman’s cheeks reddened in anger, but she composed herself as she placed a stack of parchment on the desk.

“The reports on the Department of Magical Transportation you asked me and Weasley to provide.”

Harry nodded as he picked them up, frowning as the three same names were shown repeatedly accessing the floo network when it was not necessary to do so, and even approving portkeys using names of their colleagues.

Arthur had evidently been busy exposing them, and as expected, it appeared as Umbridge had attempted to play down their parts in it.

He’d wanted nothing more than to fire Umbridge, to have her dragged from the Ministry, but it was better to keep her close where he could watch her. She was a shrewd woman, and would attempt to undermine him at every turn, but that was preferable than having her doing so outside his scope of vision.

Besides, Arthur was doing well in watching over her, and she was not as clever she thought.

“Thank you, Dolores, I will read them in more detail when I have a moment. You may report back to Mr Weasley.”

She scowled at the mention of his name, and did not even offer him a farewell before slamming the door on her way out.

“Horrible old cow,” he sighed, pleased that the day was almost over so that he could shift his focus to something more worthy of his time.

As yet, the goblins had not held up their end of the bargain, and Harry would not expect them to until he proved that the entire register of creatures created by the former administration were destroyed, freeing them from the scrutiny of the Ministry of Magic.

To that end, he would soon be meeting with Dirk Cresswell to discuss repairing the damage done to the relationship with the creatures, and whether it could be salvaged.

The last thing he needed was a goblin rebellion on his hands.

Still, he was hopeful it wouldn’t come to that, and as the expected knock sounded at the door, he could only wish it pertained to finally putting an end to the Dark Lord, but the past days since taking office had created something of a lull in the war.

Not that he expected it to last.

Voldemort would already be plotting his next move, as was Harry, and soon enough, the two of them would collide once more.

Of that, there was no doubt.

(Break)

“They do not appear to be getting along.”

Donald Winthrop did not sound pleased, and Augustine could only shrug.

If truth be told, he did not like the Winthrop boy. There was something rather unsettling about him, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.

Still, he could not deny the concerns of the father.

His son and Sabine not only didn’t seem to get along at the best of times, but Augustine could also see his daughter despised her intended, and he had become rather cold and disinterested towards her.

The longing, lingering looks remained, but they were not affectionate or fond. They were leering, and unpleasant to witness as a father.

“I cannot say that they are,” he sighed. “They have little in common, and well…”

He broke off not knowing how much he should divulge.

“Well, what?” Donald demanded.

He was quite the intimidating man to most, largely built, square-jawed, and eyes almost as black as the night sky, but Augustine was not troubled by such men, not even one with Donald Winthrop’s reputation.

He knew much worse, after all.

“Well, Sabine has had a very difficult time recently, and it is mostly my fault.

Donald frowned and gestured for him to continue, and Augustine released a deep breath, summoning a couple of glasses before pouring them both a generous measure of scotch.

“You’ll need this,” he assured the man. “It is quite the tale, and one I do not believe you will enjoy.”

By the time he finished explaining all that had transpired over the past several months, Augustine deflated. He had played it over in his mind countless times, but he’d never spoken of it aloud, not even with his wife whom he’d experienced his own trauma with.

Doing so made him relive it and made him realise just how harrowing it must’ve ben for his daughter, who had never discussed her own struggles.

Sabine had remained mostly silent on the matter, had been withdrawn and even outright hostile towards him and her mother.

Perhaps he should’ve spoken with her, opened up about just how awful it had been for them spending months wondering if she was even alive.

“Potter, the new Minister of Magic for Great Britain?”

“The very same,” Augustine sighed. “The first time I met the boy, he was only a second year, and I believed him to be a arrogant, cocky, and full of himself. It wasn’t until he arrived here before he retrieved Sabine that I realised just how wrong I was about him. I watched him torture and kill two men just to get the information of where she was being held, and he was back only a matter of days later with my daughter. He went in Malfoy Manor alone, and I cannot even begin to wonder what he did to get them all-out of there.”

Donald grunted and took a sip of his drink.

“And your daughter is in love with him.”

“I think she was even before any of that. My wife confessed the two of them had grown close during their time at school.”

Donald frowned and shook his head.

“That will not do, Augustine. So long as he lives, she will pine for him.”

“And I am telling you, the last person you want to make an enemy of is Harry Potter, not because of his position, but because of what he is. I have never met another like him, Donald. He is as cunning, as ruthless, and as gifted and powerful as they come. It is as though someone took the best and worst of Dumbledore, Grindelwald, and even Voldemort and put it all together in hm. Trust me, Donald, if you go after him, you will not live to see another day when he decides he wants you dead.”

Donald chuckled in response and drained his glass.

“Then there is only one thing for it. They will be married within the month. I have been gracious enough with you, and with this hanging between us, it is the only way to remedy it. I will make the arrangements.”

He left before Augustine could formulate a response, and he cursed under his breath.

That was not how he’d intended the conversation to go, and now, if Sabine did not despise him already, this would undoubtedly tip her over the ledge she was barely keeping a toe on.

He cursed once more, shaking his head for opening his damned mouth in the first place.

(Break)

“This is the register of every creature who submitted themselves, or was forcibly taken in by the Ministry,” Harry explained, placing the sizeable stack on the table the trio of goblins were seated behind. “The group of witches and wizards who were tasked in tracking others down, and harassing your kind have been disbanded, and every last one of their reports will be investigated thoroughly. Any found to be responsible for any wrongdoing will face harsh punishments.”

The goblins spoke amongst themselves for a moment, and even addressed Dirk Cresswell, wo had joined Harry for this meeting.

“It is rare that we find common ground with humans,” the goblin in the middle spoke, “and I admit, I had my doubts, but you have proven to be a man of your word, Minister Potter. I offer you my thanks for your efforts, and it is not something my kind will forget. Mr Cresswell, if you would spare us a little time, we will resume our own meeting shortly.”

The man nodded and took his lave of the room, shooting Harry an appreciative nod.

He’d been concerned that the relationship he had been cultivating for many years had been destroyed by Yaxley’s efforts and had voiced such during their brief meeting before coming here.

“You prove to an interesting man, Harry Potter,” the goblin on the left spoke. “You are powerful, yet compassionate. Such a thing is rare indeed, and since you have held up your end of the bargain we struck, we will be honouring ours.”

He left the chamber via a hidden side door, and returned around ten minutes later, levitating a simple, gold cup in front of him, sporting a look of revulsion.

“Even among our kind, such things are an affront to nature,” he said grimly. “I have no doubt you will see it destroyed.”

“I will,” Harry promised, securing the cup in an enchanted bag he’d created to minimise the effect it could have on him.

It was indeed one of Tom’s horcruxes, meaning that his efforts to acquire had not been wasted, and now, Harry was certain he possessed all of them, minus the diary which Tom had already destroyed, inadvertently, of course, and the last one that yet eluded him.

He would likely need assistance obtaining the snake, but for now, he allowed himself to breathe a sigh of relief.

“Then our business is concluded, Minister Potter,” the goblin on the right declared. “You have our thanks, as I am sure we have yours.”

Harry offered the creatures a shallow bow before leaving the room to be greeted by Garnuff and Cresswell.

“All is well, Minister?” the latter asked.

“As well as can be,” Harry answered. “Go on, they’re waiting for you.”

Cresswell nodded.

“Thank you,” he said sincerely.

He re-entered the chamber, and Harry followed Garnuff back towards the lobby of the bank.

“They think highly of you, Lord Potter. You have their respect now and always shall.”

“And there was me thinking you were all a bunch of greedy, bloodthirsty sods.”

Garnuff chuckled.

“Oh, we are all of those things, Lord Potter. Why do you think your kind and mine found ourselves at war? Humans were just better at all of those than us.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully.

He couldn’t deny what Garnuff had said, and even when he left the bank a few moments later, he could find no argument to the contrary. Humans, as a whole, were greedy, and bloodthirsty, something that had proved time and again throughout the course of history.

He shook his head of those thoughts as he was distracted by a familiar sign he had passed dozens of times now, and nodded to himself before entering Ollivander’s, perhaps the most famed establishment in the wizarding world to purchase a wand.

There was an odd lingering smell within, and the counter the wandmaker served behind was old, perhaps as old as the shop itself, dating back several centuries, but there was not a speck of dust to be seen, only stacks upon stacks of boxed wands lining the walls and the hallway beyond.

“I shall be with you in a moment,” a voice called from somewhere.

The footsteps that followed thudded dully against the hardwood floor, and the man who arrived pause at the sight of him, giving Harry the opportunity to observe him.

He was old, though not frail, with tufty grey hair and an almost matching hue in his keen, intelligent eyes.

Harry had heard of the difficulties of studying Wandlore, how so few could even begin to grasp the subject, and the Ollivanders had been doing it as good as any for generations.

“Minister Potter,” the wandmaker greeted him with a smile.

“I think that any man who has served Britain much longer than I have been alive can forgo the formalities, Mr Ollivander. I am not here in my official capacity.”

His smile widened as he nodded.

“Very well, what can I do for you?”

“I’ve been told by a few people that I should pay you a visit, not for any particular reason, but since I am here, I was wondering if you would look at my wand.”

Ollivander nodded and held out his hand expectantly.

Handing it over, Harry watched as he inspected it closely, humming to himself before twirling it in his fingers.

“Ah, a Shikoba Wolfe, it is not often I have the pleasure of assessing one of his creations. He is an excellent craftsman in his own right,” he declared before humming once more. “Ah yes, Mahogony, much like many Potters before you, and Elder, rare, but not unexpected.”

He paused and raised the wand to his ear.

“Thunderbird,” he whispered, “a particularly vicious but beautiful male, and my, yes, the feather of a spectacular golden griffin you are very familiar with. Indeed, I can feel the bond between the two of you, Mr Potter. Now, this is a volatile mix, but in your hands, it is harmonious.”

Harry was impressed.

Ollivander had been able to deduce all that made his wand what it was and had done so without any trouble.

“Would it be possible to maybe upset the harmony just a little?” he asked, removing the tooth he’d pulled for Norbert from around his neck.

Ollivander frowned as he accepted it, chuckling to himself.

“Oh, he is keen, but fangs are rarely used, especially from such a beast. The venom is quite potent and doesn’t play well with other things. However, it seems that neither the thunderbird nor griffin are opposed to it. I can incorporate it into your wand, Mr Potter, if you will allow me just a few moments to do so.”

“Of course,” Harry replied, and Ollivander all but skipped into the back of the shop, where he proceeded to go about his business.

Harry did not know what he was doing, but he heard an odd array of sounds, and the wandmaker even struggling.

When he returned, he wiped a layer of perspiration from his forehead with the back of his hand.

“It is done, Mr Potter, but if your wand was volatile before, it is outright hostile now. I dare not hold it without my gloves,” he said giddily, urging Harry to take the wand.

He did so, and the sudden influx of magic was quite overwhelming, and yet, it felt as though it belonged to him. Releasing a deep breath, he nodded, and Ollivander eyed him thoughtfully.

“I have always been curious to see which one of these would’ve belonged to you,” he murmured, gesturing to the many wands surrounding them. “If you would indulge me?”

“That could be interesting.”

It was the only invitation Ollivander needed, and he began fetching several boxes, muttering to himself as he did so, returning some with a shake of his head, and by the time he was satisfied, he held a dozen in his arms.

“Eleven inches, mahogany, unicorn hair,” he recited, offering the first.

It felt wrong.

The wand rejected him immediately, and Ollivander snatched it from Harry’s grasp.

“Definitely not,” he declared. “It is intimidated by you. I expect these will be the same,” he added disappointedly. “Try this. Hornbeam, twelve inches, dragon heartstring.”

Harry took the net one in his grasp, and though it wasn’t as resistant as the first, it wasn’t so accepting of him.”

“No,” he informed the wandmaker.

Ollivander retrieved the wand, pausing as he held up a hand.

Slowly, he walked towards another stack of boxes and removed one from the middle.

“I wonder,” he whispered.

He seemed almost reluctant to hand it to Harry, smiling sadly as he inspected it.

“Eleven-and-the-quarter-inches, Holly, and a phoenix feather.”

The moment it was placed in his hand, Harry felt the connection, how it interacted with his own magic in such a familiar way.

“Fawkes,” he whispered, his gaze flitting towards Ollivander, and somewhere in his consciousness, he could hear the bird trilling.

Fawkes often came to visit him still and had never not appeared when Harry had need of him. The relationship the two of them shared was far from what the phoenix had with Dumbledore, but he liked to think they’d bonded over the past few years.

“A most exceptional creature,” Ollivander said fondly, “but he gave another feather, just one other,” he finished gravely.

“Voldemort.”

Ollivander nodded.

“Thirteen-and-a-half-inches, yew, with the very same core as the one you hold.”

It was a trill of sadness Harry sensed from Fawkes, who likely struggled knowing a part of him had been used for the most nefarious of things.

Truthfully, Harry didn’t know what to say.

There was a connection with it, that he couldn’t deny, and maybe in another life it would’ve been his, but not this time.

Even Fawkes seemed to agree with his assessment, and he handed it back to Ollivander.

“It would’ve been mine had I come here, but I have walked a much different path than the one I would’ve if I had.”

Ollivander smiled.

“I expect you have, Mr Potter. Now, what about the other wand you are carrying? I can sense it, but it does not speak so readily.”

Before Harry could think of a response, he felt a disturbance, a sudden influx of magic.

“Threatening and foreboding,” he whispered. “You should close the shop.”

Ollivander did so with a flick of his wand, and Harry placed a finger to his lips to prevent the man from speaking.

“He’s closed.”

“Maybe he is working in the back!”

“We do not want to cause a scene. We must do it quietly. We will come back. Scabior, watch from the apothecary. We will be on the roof.”

He waited until their footsteps withdrew away from the front of the shop before shaking his head.

“Oh dear,” Ollivander murmured.

Harry nodded his agreement.

“Scabior, Rookwood, and Rodolphus Lestrange,” he informed the man. “Have you done anything to upset Riddle?”

“No, but he seems to have need of me. I think perhaps it would be best if I go into hiding to avoid that.”

“I do too, but if you would be able to supply me with a strand of your hair, I could use this situation to my advantage.”

Ollivander’s eyes widened, but he did not hesitate to provide him with what he needed, and Harry accepted it with an appreciative nod before drawing the elder wand.

The wandmaker frowned as he took it and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before opening them.

“I always believed it was real,” he whispered. “There were too many stories, too many coincidences for it not to be. Gregorovitch, I’m certain, has seen this. He hinted as much to me many years ago.”

Harry chuckled to himself as the pieces fell into place.

“Grindelwald took it from him, and Albus took it from Grindelwald when he defeated him. The wand is not unbeatable…”

“No, but it is an incredibly powerful creation, like nothing else I have ever seen,” Ollivander broke in. “Elder, thirteen inches exactly, with the hair of a thestral, but not just any thestral, Mr Potter. The thestral is dead, yet somehow alive, even now. It was crafted almost one thousand years ago.”

“And given to Antioch Peverell by Death.”

Ollivander swallowed deeply.

“You are familiar with the story of the three brothers, then perhaps you already know that…”

“I am descended from them,” Harry interjected.

“But not Antioch.”

Harry shook his head, and Ollivander nodded knowingly before removing a trunk from within his robes. With a wave of his wand, those he had created began to fill it, leaving only behind their empty boxes lining the walls.

“You have proven to be much more interesting than I could’ve imagined, Mr Potter.”

“As have you, Do you have somewhere you can go?”

Ollivander offered him a smile.

“I do not believe that even you could find me if I did not wish you to. Good luck, Harry Potter. I hope that I can one day return to see you emerge the victor.”

Harry accepted the proffered limb, and Ollivander vanished, leaving him alone with a strand of hair, a risky plan, but with all the determination to rid himself of three of the Dark Lords most dangerous followers.