Harry closed his eyes, thinking of all that he had seen and heard. The more he

recalled, the less sense it made. . . . Voldemort had said nothing about Harry’s wand,

Nothing about the twin cores, nothing about Gregorovitch making a new and more

powerful wand to beat Harry’s. . . .

“He wanted something from Gregorovitch,” Harry said, eyes still closed tight.

“He asked him to hand it over, but Gregorovitch said it had been stolen from him . . . and

then . . . then . . .”

He remembered how he, as Voldemort, had seemed to hurtle through

Gregorovitch’s eyes, into his memories. . . .

“He read Gregorovitch’s mind, and I saw this young bloke perched on a

Windowsill, and he fired a curse at Gregorovitch and jumped out of sight. He stole it, he

stole whatever You-Know-Who’s after. And I . . . I think I’ve seen him somewhere. . . .”

Harry wished he could have another glimpse of the laughing boy’s face. The theft

Had happened many years ago, according to Gregorovitch. Why did the young thief look

familiar?

The noises of the surrounding woods were muffled inside the tent; all Harry could

hear was Ron’s breathing. After a while, Ron whispered, “Couldn’t you see what the

thief was holding?”

“No . . . it must’ve been something small.”

“Harry?”

The wooden slats of Ron’s bunk creaked as he repositioned himself in bed.

“Harry, you don’t reckon You-Know-Who’s after something else to turn into a

Horcrux?”

“I don’t know,” said Harry slowly. “Maybe. But wouldn’t it be dangerous for him

to make another one? Didn’t Hermione say he had pushed his soul to the limit already?”

“Yeah, but maybe he doesn’t know that.”

“Yeah . . .maybe,” said Harry.

He had been sure that Voldemort had been looking for a way around the problem

Of the twin cores, sure that Voldemort sought a solution from the old wandmaker . . . and

Yet he had killed him, apparently without asking him a single question about wandlore.

What was Voldemort trying to find? Why, with the Ministry of Magic and the

Wizarding world at his feet, was he far away, intent on the pursuit of an object that

Gregorovitch had once owned, and which had been stolen by the unknown thief?

Harry could still see the blond-haired youth’s face; it was merry, wild; there was a

Fred and George-ish air of triumphant trickery about him. He had soared from the

Windowsill like a bird, and Harry had seen him before, but he could not think where. . . .

With Gregorovitch dead, it was the merry-faced thief who was in danger now, and

it was on him that Harry’s thoughts dwelled, as Ron’s snores began to rumble from the

Lower bunk and as he himself drifted slowly into sleep once more.

The Goblin’s Revenge

Early next morning, before the other two were awake, Harry left the tent to search

The woods around them for the oldest, most gnarled, and resilient-looking tree he could

find. There in its shadows he buried Mad-Eye Moody's eye and marked the spot by

Gouging a small cross in the bark with his wand. It was not much, but Harry felt that

Mad-Eye would have much preferred this to being stuck on Dolores Umbridge's door.

Then he returned to the tent to wait for the others to wake, and discuss what they were

Going to do next.

Harry and Hermione felt that it was best not to stay anywhere too long, and Ron

Date: 2015-12-11; view: 792