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remember
Ron
?
When
he
broke
his
wand
,
crashing
the
car
?
It
was
never
the
same
again
,
he
had
to
get
a
new
one
.
"
Harry
thought
of
Ollivander
,
kidnapped
and
held
hostage
by
Voldemort
;
of
Gregorovitch
,
who
was
dead
.
How
was
he
supposed
to
find
himself
a
new
wand
?
"
Well
,
"
he
said
,
in
a
falsely
matter-of-fact
voice
,
"
well
,
I
'll
just
borrow
yours
for
now
,
then
.
While
I
keep
watch
.
"
Her
face
glazed
with
tears
,
Hermione
handed
over
her
wand
,
and
he
left
her
sitting
beside
his
bed
,
desiring
nothing
more
than
to
get
away
from
her
The
sun
was
coming
up
:
The
pure
,
colorless
vastness
of
the
sky
stretched
over
him
,
indifferent
to
him
and
his
suffering
.
Harry
sat
down
in
the
tent
entrance
and
took
a
deep
breath
of
clean
air
.
Simply
to
be
alive
to
watch
the
sun
rise
over
the
sparkling
snowy
hillside
ought
to
have
been
the
greatest
treasure
on
earth
,
yet
he
could
not
appreciate
it
:
His
senses
had
been
spiked
by
the
calamity
of
losing
his
wand
.
He
looked
out
over
a
valley
blanketed
in
snow
,
distant
church
bells
chiming
through
the
glittering
silence
.
Without
realizing
it
,
he
was
digging
his
fingers
into
his
arms
as
if
he
were
trying
to
resist
physical
pain
.
He
had
spilled
his
own
blood
more
times
than
he
could
count
;
he
had
lost
all
the
bones
in
his
right
arm
once
;
this
journey
had
already
given
him
scars
to
his
chest
and
forearm
to
join
those
on
his
hand
and
forehead
,
but
never
,
until
this
moment
,
had
he
felt
himself
to
be
fatally
weakened
,
vulnerable
,
and
naked
,
as
though
the
best
part
of
his
magical
power
had
been
torn
from
him
.
He
knew
exactly
what
Hermione
would
say
if
he
expressed
any
of
this
:
The
wand
is
only
as
good
as
the
wizard
.
But
she
was
wrong
,
his
case
was
different
.
She
had
not
felt
the
wand
spin
like
the
needle
of
a
compass
and
shoot
golden
flames
at
his
enemy
.
He
had
lost
the
protection
of
the
twin
cores
,
and
only
now
that
it
was
gone
did
he
realize
how
much
he
had
been
counting
upon
it
.
He
pulled
the
pieces
of
the
broken
wand
out
of
his
pocket
and
,
without
looking
at
them
,
tucked
them
away
in
Hagrid
's
pouch
around
his
neck
.
The
pouch
was
now
too
full
of
broken
and
useless
objects
to
take
any
more
.
Harry
's
hand
brushed
the
old
Snitch
through
the
mokeskin
and
for
a
moment
he
had
to
fight
the
temptation
to
pull
it
out
and
throw
it
away
.
Impenetrable
,
unhelpful
,
useless
,
like
everything
else
Dumbledore
had
left
behind
--
And
his
fury
at
Dumbledore
broke
over
him
now
like
lava
,
scorching
him
inside
,
wiping
out
every
other
feeling
.
Out
of
sheer
desperation
they
had
talked
themselves
into
believing
that
Godric
's
Hollow
held
answers
,
convinced
themselves
that
they
were
supposed
to
go
back
,
that
it
was
all
part
of
some
secret
path
laid
out
for
them
by
Dumbledore
;
but
there
was
no
map
,
no
plan
.
Dumbledore
had
left
them
to
grope
in
the
darkness
,
to
wrestle
with
unknown
and
undreamed-of
terrors
,
alone
and
unaided
:
Nothing
was
explained
,
nothing
was
given
freely
,
they
had
no
sword
,
and
now
,
Harry
had
no
wand
.
And
he
had
dropped
the
photograph
of
the
thief
,
and
it
would
surely
be
easy
now
for
Voldemort
to
find
out
who
he
was
...
Voldemort
had
all
the
information
now
...
"
Harry
?
"
