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HRHL# CHAPTER 179
🕑 Added 2025-05-12 01:37:46 +0000 UTCCassandra’s whereabouts?
Not only Harry and Veratia, but Dumbledore himself was also deeply curious to know where she was.
No particular reason—just pure curiosity.
“Where is she?” Harry asked urgently.
To his surprise, Gellert was in no rush. Instead, he flashed Harry a cryptic smile.
“Potter… your wandering heart doesn’t surprise me in the least. Has no one ever told you not to show concern for one woman in front of another?”
He never missed a chance to needle Harry, especially in front of his sister.
But—if he were in front of Cassandra, Gellert swore he’d use every trick in the book to pair Potter up with Miss Malfoy.
“Is that something your dear sissy taught you?” Harry shot back, wielding a particularly biting term.
At Harry’s sharp retort, Gellert’s face twisted as if he’d swallowed a pound of lemons.
The word “sissy” was devastatingly effective. A derivative of “sister,” it was commonly used to mock effeminate men—those deemed overly delicate or “girly.” In that era, such a term often carried the stereotype of being gay.
And for someone like Gellert, being called a “sissy” was utterly intolerable.
“Scarhead! If you want to know where your old flame is, take back what you just said!” Gellert snapped.
“Alright, P*ssy Boy,” Harry replied with a gleeful smirk, doubling down on the sarcasm.
Gellert opened his mouth to retort, but an invisible hand in the air seized the scruff of his neck, yanking him back by the metaphorical leash of fate.
Turning, he saw his sister sitting calmly, her gaze fixed on him.
“I saw Miss Malfoy,” Gellert said, somewhat begrudgingly. “It was at Christmas next year. We were having Christmas dinner here, the seven of us: her, another Hufflepuff girl, Al, Vinda, and us.”
Veratia glanced subtly at Harry. “So, you’re saying Cassandra will be back by next Christmas at the latest?”
“Yes, sister,” Gellert said with a soft smile. “Trust in my prophetic abilities.”
“Did you also foresee the thrashing you got today?” Harry interjected.
Gellert shot him a withering glare but said nothing.
“Can you see Cassandra’s exact location?” Veratia asked again. “Her place of slumber, for instance?”
“No,” Gellert answered honestly. “Perhaps we’re too far from her resting place, so I can’t pinpoint it… But don’t worry. If I can get closer, I’ll be able to make a prediction.”
“I understand,” Veratia said with a nod. She turned to Dumbledore. “So, Professor Dumbledore… I believe we can consider our agreement settled?”
“I have no objections,” Dumbledore replied.
He was hardly in a position to object.
Had he won the earlier duel, he might have had the leverage to refuse—perhaps not Veratia’s request to return to school, but certainly the idea of letting Gellert walk free. That was non-negotiable.
But the situation was what it was. While his mastery of spells might have edged out Veratia’s, he was still wearing that blasted robe cursed with ancient magic.
If he didn’t agree, Veratia wouldn’t be nearly as amicable as she was now.
With that thought, he reached into his pocket and drew out his wand.
“This is the Elder Wand, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said, handing it to Veratia. “You’ve likely heard of it. The Elder Wand is the most unfeeling, the most coldly ruthless of wands. It cares only for power. Other wands show a degree of loyalty to their wielder, so even if I’m disarmed, my wand would still serve me. They don’t abandon their masters so easily.”
“As Ollivander once said, when a wand chooses a capable wizard, it grows fond of its master… But the Elder Wand is loyal only to power. It has no sentiment and follows strength alone.”
Veratia said nothing, her eyes studying Dumbledore as if trying to discern some deeper motive.
“In 1899, Gellert stole this wand from Gregorovitch,” Dumbledore continued, his tone measured. “From then on, it was his. But in 1945, I defeated him in a duel, and the Elder Wand became mine—until just now.”
“You’re saying that because I won the duel, the Elder Wand’s allegiance is now mine?” Veratia asked.
She took the wand, examining its elderwood shaft. Her pinky nail subtly grazed the handle.
“Fifteen inches, thestral tail hair,” Veratia said, her lips curling with disdain. “Hmph, one of the Deathly Hallows?”
With that, she tossed the wand back to Dumbledore.
“Compared to a wand that only obeys the stronger, I prefer the one that’s been by my side all along,” she said.
“Few can resist such temptation, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said, a glimmer of warmth in his eyes. “I should warn you, though—this wand amplifies the power of spells.”
Veratia gave a faint smile and glanced at Harry.
“I still prefer the one that’s always been with me, Professor. I’m a sentimental person. No matter how dazzling a new wand might be, I’d never abandon an old friend.”
Then she added, “Speaking of which, you should cast a Disarming Charm on me to reclaim the wand’s allegiance.”
She picked up the wand from Dumbledore’s hand.
Dumbledore didn’t press further. A flash of light from an Expelliarmus later, the Elder Wand was back in his possession.
“Rather than a wand that’s useless to me, I’d prefer your support, Professor Dumbledore,” Veratia said with a gentle smile. “After graduation, I plan to study at a Muggle university. I hope the International Confederation of Wizards and the Wizengamot won’t make things difficult for an innocent, kind young witch like me.”
That was her request?
Dumbledore had no objections. He assured her, “You have my word, Miss Grindelwald.”
“Even if the Austrian Ministry of Magic objects?” Veratia pressed.
“Of course, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said solemnly.
At his assurance, Veratia’s face lit up with a satisfied smile, though a fleeting glint of triumph passed through her eyes, unnoticed by all.
This was the trap she’d set for Dumbledore—the cornerstone of her plan to trample the Statute of Secrecy underfoot.
And there was more…
In that brief moment, when her nail had grazed the Elder Wand’s handle, Veratia had etched a simple ancient magical rune into it.
Should its wielder ever attack her, the rune would ensure they’d suffer the consequences of their own spell.
Veratia never made a deal that left her at a loss.
“Pity,” Gellert said, clicking his tongue. “I rather liked that wand.”
Dumbledore smiled and turned to Veratia. “Legend has it that whoever possesses all three Deathly Hallows will become the Master of Death. Back then, Gellert and I were obsessed with this tale. We made countless plans to seize the Hallows—the Elder Wand, the Invisibility Cloak, and a third item we’ve never heard of. I’ve only ever seen the Elder Wand and the Invisibility Cloak, but the third remains a mystery.”
“Oh, Harry,” Dumbledore added, turning to him. “The Invisibility Cloak is the one I returned to you last Christmas—your father’s heirloom.”
Harry froze.
He hadn’t realized his cloak had such a storied history.
“Possessing the Deathly Hallows makes one the Master of Death?” Veratia scoffed. “Goodness, only the young and naive versions of you two would believe such a fanciful tale. To think that merely owning three artifacts could make someone the Master of Death? That’s far too absurd.”
“I came to the same conclusion,” Dumbledore said with a knowing smile. “With age and experience, I realized how foolish we were back then…”
He paused, then asked, “By the way, I didn’t see Miss Rosier here at Nurmengard. Where is she?”
“Rosier’s at Hogwarts, teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts,” Gellert said bluntly, not bothering to hide the truth. “At the start of the year, I foresaw my sister’s return, so I sent someone to Hogwarts to gather information. Then I heard you were hiring a new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. That fame-hungry, bestselling author Lockhart wasn’t exactly a stellar choice.”
“That Lockhart,” Gellert continued with disdain, “stole other people’s adventures, claimed them as his own, and even used Memory Charms on his victims. He became a celebrated writer and adventurer, reaping fame and fortune, while his victims were left to live out their days in a haze.”
Harry’s eyes widened. He hadn’t expected Lockhart to have such a sordid past.
So, he and Ron’s suspicions hadn’t been wrong—Lockhart was a fraud. Yet “Professor Lockhart” had proven to be an excellent and competent teacher.
“You’re aware, Gellert, that the Defense Against the Dark Arts position is cursed,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “No one has ever lasted a full year in that role at Hogwarts. That was Tom’s curse on the position.”
“I’ll admit, that student of yours had some skill,” Gellert said with a nod. “But I’d rather you let Vinda teach the full year. You won’t find a more qualified Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.”
“I agree with you there, Gellert,” Dumbledore said with a smile. He was all too familiar with the string of underwhelming Defense Against the Dark Arts professors Hogwarts had seen over the years.
Then he added, “But I’d prefer she teach as herself.”
“And the reasoning? How do we explain it to the students?” Gellert asked, frowning. “Everyone knows Vinda is a Saint…”
“A respectable lady uncovered a serial conspiracy,” Veratia interjected. “To gather evidence, she used Polyjuice Potion to take on Lockhart’s appearance, all to expose his true nature.”
Her words met with nods of approval.
“That’s a solid explanation, Miss Grindelwald,” Dumbledore said, inclining his head. He turned to Gellert. “Now, I think you owe me the truth about where the real Lockhart is. He deserves to face justice.”
“You still haven’t told me why you hired that fame-chasing fraud in the first place,” Gellert said, leaning back with a smirk.
Dumbledore gave him an enigmatic smile. “There was simply no one else available.”
Gellert chuckled, unconvinced. He leaned forward, locking eyes with Dumbledore. “Knowing you, you probably hired Lockhart to send a warning to someone… or to groom them, perhaps? You’ve always been like that—just like you were with Scamander.”
“Perhaps,” Dumbledore neither confirmed nor denied. “It’s getting late. I should return to Hogwarts. As for the rest, it’s no longer my concern. I’ll be waiting for your visit at Hogwarts, Gellert.”
With that, Dumbledore gave Fawkes’ rear a gentle pinch, and the two vanished from Nurmengard.
Once Dumbledore was gone, Harry leisurely opened his wallet and let Fiona out.
Merlin’s beard, that clingy phoenix Fawkes couldn’t be trusted anywhere near Fiona.
“It’s been ages since I’ve seen Fiona, sister,” Gellert said, casually crossing his legs. “Just like it’s been ages since I’ve seen you. You know, I haven’t dreamt of you reading me fairy tales to sleep since I was seventeen.”
Harry saw right through him. The old fox was playing the pity card to win Veratia’s sympathy.
“Because you stole from your sister’s vault when you were seventeen, Gellert,” Harry said, his tone dripping with mockery. “After that, your dreams were probably about how she’d deal with you when she returned.”
“Has anyone ever told you your tongue is downright venomous, Potter?” Gellert growled, glaring at him.
Harry grinned. “None of this has anything to do with me.”
Before Gellert could fire back, Veratia cut in. “Enough. It’s late, and we should rest. I assume Nurmengard still has spare rooms? We’ll prepare tonight, and tomorrow I’ll take you to stay with Mr. Flamel first.”
“Very well, sister,” Gellert said obediently. He called for a few of his trusted followers downstairs to prepare rooms for his guests.
T/N: If you find any typos or incorrect names, please leave a comment. Thanks, and enjoy reading!
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