94 Diagon Alley

I don't know - but if Gregorovich is stupid enough to brag about it, it shouldn't be hard for others to know. "

Voldemort was at the gates of Hogwarts, and Harry could see him standing there, and he could see the lights, floating in the predawn air, getting closer.

"Grindelwald made himself strong with the Elder Wand. In his prime, Dumbledore, knowing that he was the only one who could stop him, went to a duel with Grindelwald, and Overcame him and took the Elder Wand."

"Dumbledore ever owned the Elder Wand?" Ron asked, "So—it does it now?"

"At Hogwarts," said Harry, trying to keep his mind from leaving the clifftop garden, not leaving them.

"Then let's go!" said Ron eagerly, "Harry, get it before him."

"It's too late," Harry said, holding his head tightly, trying to help it fend off, "He knows where the Elder Wand is, he's already there."

"Harry!" said Ron angrily, "how long have you known this—why have we been wasting our time? Why did you talk to Griphook first? Or we'd be gone—we're still You can go-"

"No," said Harry, kneeling on the grass, "Hermione was right. Dumbledore didn't want me to have it. He didn't want me to take it. He wanted me to Find the Horcrux."

"The wand that never loses, Harry!" Ron complained.

"I shouldn't have... I should have gone for Horcruxes..." Harry said intermittently, and Voldemort's eyes kept flashing in his mind, "Didn't you hear Ollivander? Dumbledore hoped He found the wand, that's why Ollivander told him that—and he's getting it soon."

"I don't know why," Hermione asked suspiciously, then said firmly to Harry and Ron, "but I believe Ollivanders - only bad wizards do it. Blame the failure on the weapon. Harry, if You-Know-Who wants to beat you, it's impossible with an Elder Wand alone."

Everything was cold and dark at the moment, and Voldemort floated beside Snape, across the playground towards the lake.

"I'll meet you in the castle later," he said in his high, grim voice, "now you go."

Snape bowed and returned down the path, the black cloak fluttering behind him. Harry walked slowly, waiting for Snape to disappear. Can't let Snape see where he's going, can't let anyone see. But there were no lights in the castle windows, and he could hide himself... He immediately cast a disillusionment spell, and he couldn't even see himself.

He continued to walk, around the lake, watching the outlines of his beloved castle, his first kingdom, his birthright…

Arrived, right by the lake, reflected in the black water, white marble tombs, a superfluous stain in the familiar landscape. Again he felt that restrained urge for joy, that exhilarating feeling of destruction. He held up the old yew wand: it would be its last feat, how fitting.

The tomb was split from head to toe, and the body wrapped in the shroud was as slender as before, and he raised his wand again.

The wrappings spread, and the face is translucent, pale sunken, yet nearly perfectly preserved. The glasses were still on the crooked nose, which made him feel ridiculous, and the old man was now a cold, disgusting corpse. Dumbledore clasped his hands on his chest, and it was there, in his hands, buried with him.

Does this old fool think marble or death will protect the wand? Did he think the Dark Lord dared not invade his grave? The spider-like hand slid down and pulled the wand out of Dumbledore's hand, and a stream of sparks burst from the tip of the wand, glistening on the corpse of the previous master, and the Elder Wand was finally about to serve a new master.

Not trying to get ahead of Voldemort to get the Elder Wand, the huge decision still horrified Harry. He couldn't remember when he had chosen not to act before. He was full of doubts, and Ron couldn't help expressing those doubts whenever he was with Ron.

"What if Dumbledore wanted us to understand the sign in time and get the Elder Wand?" "If knowing the sign means you're 'qualified' to acquire the Hallows, what What?" "Harry, if that's the Elder Wand, how else are we going to get rid of You-Know-Who?"

Harry had no answer: at times he wondered if it was very stupid not to try to stop Voldemort from smashing the grave. He couldn't even explain satisfactorily why he decided not to resist: every time he tried to extrapolate the inner rationale that led to his decisions, they felt more and more untenable.

Oddly, Hermione's support and Ron's skepticism baffled him as much. After being forced to admit that the Elder Wand really existed, Hermione insisted that it was an evil thing, and that the way Voldemort possessed it was disgusting and unthinkable.

"You would never do that, Harry," she said over and over, "you would never break into Dumbledore's grave."

But Harry felt that facing Dumbledore's body was less scary than the possibility of misunderstanding Dumbledore's intentions during his lifetime. He felt like he was still groping in the dark, choosing a path but constantly looking back, wondering if he had read the sign wrong and if he should have gone the other way. The resentment against Dumbledore came back to him from time to time, like the sea below the hut hitting the cliff, resentment that Dumbledore had not explained it clearly before he died.

"But is he dead?" said Ron three days after they arrived at the cabin. Just now Harry was staring out the wall between the garden and the cliff when two companions found him. Harry didn't want to join their argument, really hoped they hadn't.

"Yes, he's dead. Ron, please stop talking about that!"

"Look at the facts, Hermione," Ron said across Harry, who continued to stare at the sky, "Silver doe. Sword. A chocolate frog picture answered our call for help. —”

"Harry admits that the picture blinking may have been an illusion! Isn't it, Harry?"

"Probably," said Harry, without looking at Hermione.

"But you don't think it's an illusion, do you?" Ron asked.

"Yes," said Harry.

"That's right!" Ron said quickly, preventing Hermione from interjecting, "If that's not Dumbledore, please explain how Dobby knew we were in the dungeon, Hermione. ?"

"I can't—but can you explain how Dumbledore sent Dobby to save us? If he lay in his Hogwarts grave?"

"I don't know, maybe his ghost!"

"Dumbledore won't come back as a ghost," said Harry. There was very little he was sure about now about Dumbledore, but he knew this: "He may continue." Before two people asked him what he meant by "continue," he said quickly, " But we can ask Dobby."

The smallest of the three bedrooms in the Shell Cottage, Dobby the elf is lying on the bed quietly, like a fragile feather. Luna hummed a weird but nice tune and put a bunch of purple blood herbs on the head of his bed for decoration. After seeing a few of Harry, he left like stepping on a cloud, leaving them alone space.

"Harry Potter." When they entered the house, Dobby had just drank a large glass of blood tonic and turned his head hard to look at the person who came. "You saved Dobby!"

"Actually, I told everyone that you saved us." Harry hurried over to his bed before he twisted his neck. "And I hurt you."

Hermione tilted her head to hide behind Ron's shoulder and wiped away tears.

"Dobby will be out of bed in a few days." The elf was so moved that her nose was bubbling, and she wiped her nose with a pillow towel. "Dobby successfully helped Harry Potter."

"You need a good rest." Hermione choked out. "Potions don't always work on elves, and Harry is better than you." Turning his head, he didn't dare to look at the still open wound on Dobby's back.

"Dobby, I want to ask you a question." Harry gathered his courage and said, "Who sent you to save us?"

Dobby covered her mouth and shook her head vigorously.

"Is that Dumbledore?" Harry asked anxiously.

The elf started banging her head against the pillow, screaming, "Dobby can't say it. It's for Harry Potter."

"Is he still alive?" Harry and Ron almost jumped up.

"The old headmaster is dead." The elf buried his head in the pillow and said in a muffled voice, "He is buried at Hogwarts."

Ron slumped down in his chair in frustration, but Harry held on.

"But I asked him for help, and then you appeared in the Malfoy's dungeon." He analyzed the ground and said, "If it wasn't Dumbledore, who else could it be?"

"No—!" Dobby screamed, slamming into the bedboard harder, Harry and Ron having to keep it under control.

"Don't do that to it—" Hermione began to scream too.

Furong's brisk footsteps came from the stairs, she pushed the door open a little angry, and drove away a few people in front of the bed.

"It's so sick, do you have to chat with it at this time?" said the beautiful witch indignantly, "Look at its wound, it's bleeding again. No matter how good the tonic I can't stand such a toss."

"Let's go." Hermione whispered, pulling Harry and Ron's sleeves.

Harry looked at Dobby apologetically and let him take care of him