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Harry Potter and the Last Horcrux [final]
Neither Life Nor Death Be Proud
By Mike [FP]
Stories begun in 2006 (post-HBP)
This is the final, edited, complete version of Harry Potter and the Last Horcrux. Chapters 1 through 14 were completely written prior to publication of Deathly Hallows in 2008; chapters 15 through 19 and the alternate ending were in draft or outline form by that time.
Neither Life Nor Death Be Proud
They emerged from the ground into chaos. Several of the buildings around the village green were aflame, and spells flew everywhere. The burly Icelander immediately shoved both Harry and Hermione to the ground and his staff swung just above their heads. There was a high-pitched sound and Harry saw a sickly purple light deflected away. He looked into the distance and saw that flames were dancing across the roof of the Weasleys’ temporary home.
Hermione clutched at Harry’s arm. “M-my parents!” she shrieked.
“We will save as many as can be saved,” Magnus said gravely. “Mr. Potter… it was told to us that you may be the one who can destroy Skí-maðr. Is this the truth?”
“If you mean Voldemort then yes, it is,” Harry sighed.
Magnus said, “Go on to the gathering place. Miss Granger, if you wish to remain –”
“Not without me, she won’t,” snapped Harry. “They wouldn’t dare kill me. Voldemort aims to do that and they’d never get in his way.”
“Is he here?” Hermione asked.
Harry thought for a moment, and then answered, “No.”
“Good,” she said; “Aestus antemoenitus!” A massive wall of flame emerged from the ground between them and the green. He heard cries of aguamenti! but the wall persisted.
“Go!” Magnus barked.
“Where did you learn that?” Harry called out as they ran.
“From Rowena’s notes,” Hermione returned; “Harry… do you trust me?”
Harry huffed, “You have to ask?”
“We'll never make it in time,” she said; he could hear the strain of running in her voice. “I’ve not tried this yet, not exactly, but I did master a variation for sending something away, but that typically requires a rune to… oh, sod it! If you trust me, then stop and take my hand.”
Harry hesitated for a moment, but did as he was asked. Hermione closed her eyes and said urgently, “Advexi excandesco!”
A pillar of fire erupted around them. Harry didn't manage more than to shout, “What the –?” before the flames closed in. There was a bright flash and they emerged, slightly singed but intact, a few feet from the Weasleys’ home. Everyone and everything stopped just long enough for Harry and Hermione to dive clear and for Harry to fire a cutting curse at a Death Eater creeping up on Mr. Weasley.
“Harry! Get out of here!” Mr. Weasley shouted.
“So much for surprise,” Harry muttered under his breath even as he dodged a vicious curse. Hermione cast a shield that shunted aside a second attack. He used the reprieve to hit the Death Eater with a Blasting Curse.
“My parents...” Hermione bit out.
“Inside!” Harry ordered gruffly and covered her movement around the side of the house as best he could. It wasn't easy; the battle entirely surrounded the house. Tonks was taking on three Death Eaters at once. Bill Weasley was down and the twins edged toward him through a hail of spell fire. He saw Lupin and someone literally brawling. Part of him wanted to fight – to help any way that he could – but he couldn't let Hermione down, not where the lives of her parents were concerned.
Harry had to block three spells on his way through the front door. They were friendly fire. A dishevelled Mrs. Weasley was herding bruised and dirtied children into groups while Ginny passed out portkeys. Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood were at two of the windows, alternating between shielding and serving as snipers.
“Harry! Dear Merlin, leave here at once!” Mrs. Weasley shrieked.
“My mother and father -” Hermione began.
“- are on their way home,” Ginny said quickly; “They're safe. Now focus! I could use your help.” In that moment, she seemed much older and harder – more like Ron or Hermione than Harry wanted to admit. Hermione was startled into action and transformed into the Head Girl that she might have been. She cajoled and comforted and helped Ginny send the children off to Hogwarts – where they should have been in the first place if their world hadn't been crushed by Voldemort. As soon as Hermione was safely distracted and had pocketed a portkey of her own, Harry crept out the front door into smoke and death.
Magnus and Einar and their companions had all entered the fray. Harry helped Mr. Weasley and Fred drag Bill toward the house. Neville dispatched a Death Eater who had the drop on them for a moment. All of them dove to the floor of the porch as a storm of spells came in at waist-height.
“Fire suppression... not enough...” Bill mumbled. He was right: flames were beginning to lick at the siding where a Lightning Curse had struck.
“We have to retreat,” Mr. Weasley said. “Gather everyone you can. I've held back enough portkeys for the last of us.”
Fred peeked through the doorway into the living room; “I don't see any more of the midgets. Mum...?”
“It's just the seven of us inside,” Mrs. Weasley returned.
“Off with you, then,” Mr. Weasley demanded.
Harry heard scuffling against the porch behind him and whirled around. Ron had pulled himself outside. “I was scouting from upstairs,” he said. “We still have Lupin, Tonks, Cresswell, Galatius, Brackens, Purdy, the blokes from Iceland, and Dawlish out there,” he said and then added, “There's something off with Dawlish – take care with him.”
Mr. Weasley's brow rose. “Off...?” he asked.
“I've seen half a dozen Death Eaters miss him entirely,” said Ron. “I'd say they're meaning to miss.”
“Stun him and we'll sort it later,” ordered Mr. Weasley; “We can't afford to lose any more of our people.” He headed toward Shacklebolt and two of the Icelanders.
Harry fought his way across the field toward Lupin, who was still brawling. He heard a squeaky voice call out, “Argentus spiculus!” and Lupin fell, bleeding heavily.
“REMUS!” Harry shouted.
Lupin's opponent was Fenrir Greyback. Greyback turned toward Harry and laughed, “Planning to curse me, boy? Go on, then – do your worst.”
Harry gave his wand a furious wave but said nothing. Greyback dove to the right in a blur and directly into the path of Harry's actual curse, straight from the lesson plan of the Half-Blood Prince. Sectumsempra neatly sheared through the werewolf's right arm at the shoulder and sliced open his calf on the same side. Greyback collapsed and Harry raced to Lupin. Three sharp silver points protruded from Lupin's belly; he tried to say something but only managed to blink his watery eyes furiously.
“It's all right, Remus,” Harry babbled. “We'll get you to Pomfrey and everything will be square... up and around in no time at all...”
Lupin put on a strange smile and slowly shook his head. “Not this time,” he rasped. “Look after Tonks...
“Don't you say that!” Harry shouted. “Don't you dare say that! Here... this is your portkey; I nicked it from Mr. Weasley. Let's get you out of here.” Lupin's eyes moved slightly to the right of Harry. A shadow moved along the trampled ground and crossed the bloodied face of a slain refugee.
Lupin moved slightly and cringed from the pain of it. He bit out, “1... 2... 3... ROLL!”
Harry responded without thinking and rolled to one side. Summoning inhuman strength from some final place inside, Lupin sprung to his feet and pulled Greyback into a crushing embrace. The exposed ends of the silver spikes entered Greyback's chest with a sickening crunch.
“NOOOOO!” Tonks cried out from far away. As Lupin and Greyback tumbled to the ground, a wand jabbed into the back of Harry's neck.
“I'm sorry, Harry...” the all-too-familiar squeaky voice said, “but I must take you to the Dark Lord.”
Harry remained still but said, “You won't do that, Wormtail.”
“What, because I owe it to your parents?” Pettigrew asked. “You don't understand the power that the Dark Lord possesses – not yet, but you'll understand it soon enough.”
“There's a higher power than his,” Harry said; “You owe me.” The wand point against his neck twitched.
“I... I... couldn't possibly... it's not that simple... I...” Pettigrew stammered.
“You owe me a debt and it's time to pay,” Harry said.
“I... wh... what sort of payment...?” asked Pettigrew.
“Kill Voldemort,” Harry said calmly.
“Wh... what? Y-you're joking!” Pettigrew laughed until he began to cough. “It's not possible, can't be done... y-you're mad! I won't... gah!” His hand shook so hard that his wand came loose. Harry quickly seized it.
“What have you done to me?” Pettigrew whined.
“You owe me and I've called it in - should have done it long ago,” said Harry. “You can't escape this. If you won't kill him, then kill all the Death Eaters here.”
Pettigrew began, “I can't... gkkk!”
“Then call them off,” Harry demanded.
“They won't listen to... arghh!” Pettigrew gagged, and he fell to his knees.
Harry's eyes were riveted to Pettigrew's silver hand; “Then you will die,” he hissed in Parseltongue. The hand pulsed in ripples and Pettigrew shrieked in pain. As the pulsing grew, the hand withered and blood began to pour from his sleeve. Harry knew that it wouldn't stop.
He peeled Greyback clear of Lupin – which took tremendous effort and a charm or two – and set Greyback's body ablaze. Tonks shrieked in fury amidst an unearthly blaze of spells; it sounded as if she was cutting down Voldemort's entire force single-handedly. There were a series of pops as Death Eaters began to flee. Harry set off Lupin's portkey and the last of his parents' friends disappeared just as Tonks reached him.
“No... oh God, it can't... no, Harry... no, no... NO!” Tonks screamed. She pounded at him with her fists until he embraced her.
“Greyback's dead. Pettigrew's dead. I sent Remus on to Hogwarts. We have to go,” Harry said flatly. He took the remaining portkey from his pocket and the two of them spun away, leaving behind lingering spellfire and dozens of bodies in the morning fog.
July 22, 1998 Hogwarts Castle and environs, Perth & Kinross, Scotland
Seventy-seven coffins stood on transfigured biers in the courtyard. The house-elves had worked for two days to restore the surrounding part of the castle; now only the sight and sound of students was missing. The Bloody Baron and the men of the Headless Hunt had stood watch for two days and the refugees were grateful for it. McGonagall quietly informed Harry that no new ghosts had joined their company. No one had contemplated that the Fat Friar might officiate services, but he and Sir Nick organised the affair on their own. They arranged brief ceremonies for each of the dead, to be followed by a larger combined remembrance. The Guardians of Midgard attended each, as did Mr. Weasley and Shacklebolt.
Given everything he had done for the cause, Mr. Weasley had asked the Friar to place Remus's ceremony as the last before the large gathering. After a ten minute delay, the only living persons in attendance were Shacklebolt, the Guardians of Midgard, a representative from the Norwegian Ministry who had reached Hogwarts a day after the escape, Neville, Luna, Ron and the rest of the Weasley family, Gudrun, Tonks, Hermione and Harry.
Harry was furious. When the Friar moved to begin, he fired sparks from his wand and said firmly, “We wait.”
“Mr. Potter, the main remembrance is scheduled to begin in ten minutes -” the Friar began softly.
“We – will – WAIT,” Harry growled. People began to gather for the larger ceremony but hesitated at the entries when they spied the small group huddled around Lupin's bier.
“Mr. Potter...” the Friar whispered.
“No, I've had enough of this,” said Harry. He cast a Sonorus charm on himself and his cold, quiet voice echoed across the courtyard toward the people standing in the shadows.
“Remus Lupin was... he was a friend to my parents,” Harry began. “He was a friend to me, at least after Dumbledore was... you know, this is utter shite. Remus Lupin was a werewolf, for God's sake.” The mass intake of breath was nearly as loud as Harry's voice.
“Oh, do shut up!” Harry snapped as everyone held their hands to their ears. “He was a ruddy werewolf and you were afraid of him. He taught your children, he organised the Resistance, he saved your lives and you were afraid of him.”
“Harry!” Mrs. Weasley squeaked.
“No. I'm going to tell these cowards exactly what's on my mind,” Harry fired back. “The people standing with me cared for Remus. Where were the rest of you when he was fighting off Death Eaters so you could escape? You were probably hiding your children from Remus as much as the Death Eaters – and he was out there in the fighting. He died because someone shot him with silver spikes... I could have saved him... but do you know what he did? He ran the other end of those spikes into Fenrir bloody Greyback! He saved you again, rid you of the worst child-killer Britain ever saw, and where are you now? You're hiding in the shadows! Pathetic!” Hermione slipped her arm around him. He waited for her to tell him he was wrong, but she didn't.
Someone had the temerity to call out, “It's his fault everyone's dead! Where was the protection? Where were the wards?”
Shacklebolt cast his own Sonorus charm and snapped, “These people are dead because of the Minister-in-Exile. Dawlish insisted on moving non-combatants further forward than originally planned and then he sold us all to You-Know-Who. He's a traitor and he'll die a traitor's death for it. Lupin argued against the plan and then did the best he could manage under the circumstances. How dare you place blame upon him!”
“Enough! This is about Remus, not about those idiots!” Tonks barked out. Other refugees - some guilty of hiding and some merely arriving for the large ceremony - entered the courtyard in twos and threes as she moved to the Fat Friar's side.
“We offer blessing for the life of Remus John Lupin,” the Friar said. “He was a werewolf and he was a good man. Despite what some may choose to believe, he was one of God's children, and we now ask intercession for his immortal soul...”
Harry put on a stony expression; he'd be damned before he would give any of the cowards the opportunity to see him break down. Part of him was aware that the Fat Friar was going on far longer than he had with the other individual ceremonies; it didn't occur to him until nearly the end that many of the remarks had been in Latin.
“... Fidelium Deus omnium conditor, et redemptor animabus famulorum, famularumque tuarum remissionem cunctorum tribue peccatorum: ut indulgentiam, quam semper optaverunt, piis supplicationibus consequantur. Qui vivis et regans in saecula saeculorum. Amen,” the Friar finished. He drew his hand through the air in the form of a cross, and added, “Requiem aeternam dona eis Domine.”
“And let perpetual light shine upon him,” Hermione whispered.
“Requiescant in pace,” said the Friar. He made one more sign with his hand and then nodded to Tonks. She stepped to the head of the bier and began to speak. She cast no charm, and so the gatherers began to move closer to hear.
“I loved him,” she said. “It was taboo. It was illegal, not that it matters now. When everything went to hell, I suppose we could have said something, but it would have been a distraction and there was already enough to go on about. So, the Ministry and the sodding ICW would say otherwise, but as far as Her Majesty and the Church of England are concerned, Remus was my husband.” She waved her wand and a modest gold band came into view on her ring finger. Hermione clapped her hands over her mouth in shock and eight sets of Weasley jaws dropped.
Her hands shook as she went on, “Let me tell you hypocrites something: Remus was more of a man than most of the men here could ever dream of being... close company excepted, of course. I loved him. He needed that and it was easy to give, the easiest thing I've ever done in my life. That sodding curse ground him down but he wouldn't quit. He would help anyone any time, even when the people he helped treated him like something they had scraped off of their boots. Remus was a damn fine looking bloke, too. I'm not blind, you know – I spotted all the women who wouldn't have dirtied themselves with a werewolf but couldn't keep their eyes off of him. So, I think I'll say one more thing about my husband – and believe me, it was your loss, ladies... he was bloody brilliant in bed.”
With that, she set a flower atop the bier, turned heel and left the courtyard. The whispering and the gasps may as well have been amplified. Harry desperately wanted to laugh; it was painfully clear which women had drawn Tonks's ire.
Instead he moved to one side and watched the mass ceremony. Hermione stayed close with the Weasleys, which left Harry to his own thoughts about bravery and cowardice and Voldemort and whether the wizarding world was worth dying for. After an hour, he decided that the world wasn't worth it, but some of the people in it were.
July 24, 1998 Hogwarts Castle and environs, Perth & Kinross, Scotland
“That's the last of it,” Elphias Doge said. “Now we wait for Pedersen.”
Erik Pedersen, the Norwegian representative, had been appointed the official counter for the election. “I have been counting the ballots as they were cast,” he said.
“On with it then,” said Amos Diggory.
Pedersen stood on his chair so that he could be seen by all present. He began formally, “Ladies and gentlemen, Resolution 1998-27 of the International Confederation of Wizards required that eligible electors gather to select by secret ballot a Minister for Magic of England and Scotland –”
“Not the U.K.? I didn't catch that before,” someone called out.
Doge returned, “The Ulster crowd decided to go with the devil they know. O'Leary almost managed a united Ireland during the First War, so it's not a complete surprise. 'England and Scotland' is the old form – it dates back to bloody King James, a curse to him and all of his works.”
“Bloody King James,” a number of people from the older families echoed, and they all spat on the floor as one.
“What was that about?” Harry muttered.
“Witch hunts,” Hermione whispered into his ear.
Pedersen spoke up, “Pardon...? May I continue? Said gathering has taken place and said balloting has occurred, and as representative of the International Confederation of Wizards, I hereby certify that the requirements of Resolution 1998-27 and all related legal requirements have been satisfied. The results of the balloting are as follows: five votes for Edgar Attenborough... two votes for Robert Bath... one vote for Stubby Boardman...”
Harry's eyes shot toward Luna Lovegood, who gave an unapologetic shrug.
“...seventeen votes for Amos Diggory... nineteen votes for Herbert Macmillan... thirty-one votes for Harry Potter...”
Harry went ghastly pale. “Votes? For me?” he croaked to a fair bit of laughter.
“...one hundred ninety-six votes for Kingsley Shacklebolt... and fifty-three votes for Arthur Weasley. Accordingly, I introduce to you the Right Honourable Kingsley Shacklebolt, legally recognised Minister for Magic of England and Scotland.” The crowded classroom responded with loud applause, and he added, “Minister, would you care to speak?”
Shacklebolt said, “I am not a politician nor am I a speech maker. I have spent my entire professional life in law enforcement. As I see it, you have elected me to win the war and to bring us home, nothing more and nothing less. For me, a title means nothing unless it is earned. I appoint Arthur Weasley vice-minister, and it has been well earned indeed. Mr. Potter, Mr. Macmillan and Mr. Diggory will have important roles, as will many others as we move forward. We need time to heal and time to evacuate the children and anyone else who cares to go, and the uncomfortable truth is that we have very little time in which to act. I believe that all of this will be concluded – one way or the other – by the end of the month. With that, there is work to be done. Thank you.”
Fifteen minutes later, the new Minister brought Mr. Weasley, Tonks, Gudrun, Ron, Hermione and Harry into what had once been the Defence classroom. He said, “With Lupin gone – and I'm so sorry for that, Tonks, you know that – we've taken a severe blow in terms of organisation and planning. Unfortunately, there's no obvious replacement and we have to move onward. This means everyone is going to take on greater responsibilities. I trust everyone in this room. If I'm wrong about that, then we've already lost. Harry, where do we stand? Do we have the last horcrux?”
“Horcrux...? Sounds ominous,” Mr. Weasley said; “Is that what you've been chasing after for all this time? Is that... did a horcrux – whatever it is – do that to Ron...?” Harry gave a brief and matter-of-fact explanation to Mr. Weasley, who blanched at the very idea.
“So have you come up with the last, then?” Shacklebolt asked again.
Harry took a deep breath and said, “Yes, sir. Now we need to know how to be rid of it.” He brushed back his fringe and tapped on his scar. Mr. Weasley stumbled backward out of his chair. Hermione squeezed Harry's hand hard enough to turn his fingers white.
Shacklebolt's brow rose and he said, “I say. Rotten luck, that.”
“Quite,” Harry deadpanned.
“Oh, Harry... that just isn't right...” Ron managed.
“This is not good, not good at all,” Gudrun muttered; “I must consult with the faúra-gaggja... she knows of soul magics...”
“Obviously we need to get the Unspeakables in on this,” Shacklebolt said. Gudrun frowned at that and Harry positively scowled, so he added, “That's only after we test them with Veritaserum. Pedersen brought a few doses with him; we used one on Dawlish, just to be certain.”
“Dawlish is dead?” Harry asked.
“It was done yesterday,” said Shacklebolt; “We kept it as quiet as possible. There's enough anger already.”
“I was hoping for something all traditional-like – I mean, we are in a castle. A public beheading in the courtyard would have been smashing,” Tonks snarled.
Harry returned to the point, hoping to distract Tonks. “We've already talked to those Unspeakables about the horcruces, and they weren't exactly helpful. They don't know about the last one and I want to keep it that way. Under the circumstances, I think I have the right to decide that,” he said. Shacklebolt hesitated before he nodded in agreement.
“Gudrun, I've come across a few things in a grimoire that may be relevant,” Hermione said. “I could use an expert opinion...?”
“I will gladly assist you,” said Gudrun.
“There's the matter of your wand as well, isn't there, Harry?” asked Shacklebolt. “I recall Dumbledore mentioning a brother-wand problem.”
“We might have something for that,” Tonks said. “How's the old man coming along, Gudrun?”
“Not well,” sighed the healer. “I can give him comfort but he will die soon. He does wish to meet with Harry and this must happen very soon.”
“Who wants to meet with me?” Harry asked.
“Ollivander,” said Tonks; “We found him and a few others trussed up at the Death Eaters' encampment. Most of them were cursed half-to-death, but I guess Ollie's all the way there.”
Gudrun's eyes narrowed. “Mr. Ollivander's health is not a subject for jokes,” she said.
Tonks said with a shrug, “As long as you can keep him fresh until Harry's done, I'm satisfied. He's creepy, that one is.”
Hermione and Gudrun accompanied Harry to the Hospital Wing. Ollivander was almost skeletal and his skin was a sickly shade of yellow. His eyes lit for a moment when Harry entered. He said haltingly, “Hello, Mr. Potter. Holly and phoenix feather... eleven inches... still supple? A most unusual wand, indeed. Ah, Miss Granger... vine wood and dragon heartstring...”
“Hello, Mr. Ollivander,” Harry said; “Is there anything we can do for you?”
“You can kill that beast V-Voldemort, and I believe that I may be able to help you in that task,” Ollivander said.
Harry was caught flat-footed. “You... what?”
“Come now, Mr. Potter,” Ollivander chuckled but burst into coughing. After Gudrun settled him, he went on, “Surely it's obvious that you're the one; the Chosen One, they called you. Albus claimed a disdain for prophecy... he claimed many things... but the late Minister Scrimgeour made it perfectly clear that you and Voldemort are bound together in some fashion, at least for those who had the sense to listen. I haven't much time – no one is likely to counter a Wasting Curse cast by him - but I do have a wand for you... and perhaps a story or two that you will find instructive.”
“What sort of wand is it?” asked Harry.
“One of which I'm quite proud,” Ollivander returned. “By all logic, it should simply fly apart, but there you are. I was so proud of it that it was displayed in my shop window for decades. That was foolish of me, for I should have known that Voldemort would see it for what it was. Thankfully, I had it spirited away before I was taken.”
“Why should it fly apart?” Hermione wondered aloud; “I didn't know that any sort of wood and core material were wholly incompatible.”
“Of course you wouldn't, dear girl,” Ollivander said. “Wand making is a rather secretive craft. It runs in families and thus is only a subject to be found in grimoires, not in libraries or even the great oral traditions. Elder wood and a phoenix feather should repel each other as surely as magnets in opposition. Elder wood is only compatible with acromantula silk, thestral hair or dragon heartstring, and barely those. For whatever reason, this particular branch wanted a phoenix feather... craved it, in fact. Do you know the properties of elder wood, Mr. Potter?”
“It's not something really covered...” Harry dissembled.
“Elder wood is -” Hermione began.
“I was speaking to Mr. Potter, my dear,” Ollivander said kindly. “I offer you a lesson, then. Herbologists see the magic of woods one way; I see it another. The elder tree speaks of regeneration – of the power of life itself. It brings power and hope at the dark parts of the year's cycle. An elder wand is best wielded by those who have a strong connection to Samhain or Beltane -”
“– and I couldn't have a stronger connection to Samhain, could I?” Harry said.
“Good, you're following thus far,” Ollivander said. “Even the folk magic practitioners knew that elder is a natural ward against malevolent spirits. People used to hang it on doorways and such. It also symbolises loyalty; oddly enough, it flourishes near badger setts. Elderberry wines are still favoured by seers; folk magicians thought it induced prophecy. Elderberries were also used to dye one's hair black. Mr. Potter, the connections... were you not marked by Voldemort, I do believe this wand would have called to you.”
“You have it with you?” Harry asked.
“Oh, even better than that,” Ollivander said; “It's hidden in Albus's office.”
“Charming... should have seen that coming,” Harry grumbled.
“Of course, I would say that elder is more suitable against injustice than evil, per se. Gryffindors cast everything in terms of good and evil, so I doubt that I make sense to you,” Ollivander said. “Magic is neither good nor evil, Mr. Potter. The individual possesses the traits of good and evil. Magic is just, and magic is unjust. An evil man can cast magic justly -”
“- Just as a good man can cast the great injustice of them all,” Hermione finished.
Ollivander's eyes widened. “Where did you hear that?” he asked.
Hermione held up Ravenclaw's grimoire. “You must have been in Ravenclaw, sir,” she said; “Her notes have challenged nearly everything I thought I knew.”
“Where did you get that, girl? Put it down, promptly! Voldemort has surely tainted it!” Ollivander wheezed.
Harry insisted, “This is a different copy. The Grey Lady showed me how to find it... but how did you know that Voldemort had a copy of Ravenclaw's Grimoire in the first place?” He directed his wand toward the bed.
“Voldemort stole it from me,” Ollivander explained; “I swear upon magic herself that I, Ozymandias Ollivander, am the last living member of the Great and Terrible House of Ravenclaw.”