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HRHL# Chapter 65: Grindelwald: "Do You Think My Sister Would Mourn for You?"
🕑 Added 2025-01-10 17:54:56 +0000 UTC"Mate?"
Ron watched as his brothers disappeared from sight, still goofing around. Turning back, he noticed his best friend looking unusually pensive.
“What’s wrong?” Ron asked, walking over with concern.
“Nothing.” Harry shook his head and handed Ron a letter. “Just feeling a bit sentimental.”
Ron took the letter, skimmed it quickly, then hastily handed it back. “Mate, you’re getting way too invested in this,” Ron said, patting Harry on the shoulder. “That’s a feud between that Harry Potter and Malfoy from a century ago. What’s it got to do with you?”
“But,” Ron added thoughtfully, “if I were you, instead of fretting about how Malfoy didn’t research time magic for that Potter, I’d be more worried about something else.”
“What’s that?” Harry asked, looking up.
“Well, it’s about Miss Grindelwald,” Ron said, waving his hand in a circle. “Think about it—what if her brother turns out to be that Grindelwald? You know, the dark wizard defeated by Dumbledore. What would you do then?”
“What’s it got to do with me?” Harry asked, perplexed.
“It’s got everything to do with you! Bloody hell!” Ron clutched Harry’s shoulder with exaggerated sympathy. “Imagine a dark wizard with a grudge finding out that his sister left their family over someone named Harry Potter. And guess what, mate? You’re also named Harry Potter…”
“And then?” Harry still couldn’t follow Ron’s logic.
“By Merlin’s beard!” Ron groaned, clutching his head. “Who knows what he’d do? Probably say something like, ‘Mr. Potter, do you think my sister would mourn you?’ Then—bam!—hits you with a Dark curse. He wouldn’t care which Harry Potter you are, as long as he kills one to vent his anger.”
The thought sent a chill down Harry’s spine.
Although Ron’s theory was far-fetched, Harry couldn’t shake the memory of his visit to Nurmengard in Austria—once the heart of the Austro-Hungarian Empire—where he’d met Gellert Grindelwald.
Sure, Gellert had seemed harmless then, like a sulky parrot incapable of magic, with a face almost pinchable. But the hostility in his eyes had been unmistakable, glaringly so when Veratia had wiped cream off Harry’s nose. Gellert’s gaze had practically burned with rage.
There’s a saying: The child is father to the man. Judging by Gellert’s attitude back then, Harry had no doubt the adult version would be just as troublesome. Considering Veratia’s magical talents, her brother was unlikely to be a slouch either.
After a century of honing his skills, who knew what heights of power Gellert had reached?
Harry certainly didn’t think he could take him on in his current state.
“You’ve got a point,” Harry admitted, putting away the notebook and letter. He decided to search the Room of Requirement one more time.
Ron’s insight had reminded him of something: the Room of Requirement could take on many forms. There was a chance their friends’ belongings weren’t in the meeting-room version they’d been using.
Seeing Harry begin to search, Ron asked, “Harry? What are you doing?”
“Looking for more letters or clues,” Harry replied, his head lowered. “I’m curious about that Harry Potter. He seemed… extraordinary. I’d like to know more about the man I share a name with.”
Fortunately, Harry kept his head down, so Ron didn’t see the awkward expression on his face as he complimented himself.
“Fair enough. We should look around,” Ron agreed with a shrug. “After all, my great-grandfather Gareth was mates with him too.”
Despite their efforts, they found nothing new.
Left with no other option, Harry exited the Room of Requirement, feeling a twinge of disappointment. It was getting late, after all.
As they walked, Harry couldn’t help but feel frustrated.
Cassandra…
Rationally, he understood why she’d stopped searching for him. Emotionally, though, it still stung.
Maybe it’s for the best, Harry thought, trying to shake off the melancholy.
Lost in thought, he bumped into Ron.
“What is it?” Harry asked softly.
“Harry, look over there,” Ron whispered.
Harry raised his head. He wasn’t using his Invisibility Cloak but had cast a Disillusionment Charm. In a nearby abandoned classroom, a mirror stood alone.
Strange, Harry thought. That wasn’t there before.
“Want to check it out?” Ron asked.
“No, let’s head back,” Harry replied, feeling a deep sense of unease.
“Alright,” Ron said, turning to leave.
Unbeknownst to them, Dumbledore was nearby, concealed by the shadows. His sharp eyes glinted behind his half-moon glasses as he observed Harry and Ron.
When Ron noticed the mirror, Dumbledore straightened slightly, a flicker of anticipation crossing his face. But when the two boys walked away without investigating, he sighed softly.
With a wave of his hand, Dumbledore transfigured a nearby statue into a black-robed figure with greasy hair—a near-perfect likeness of Severus Snape.
Young wizards are always terrified of Severus, Dumbledore mused as he directed the statue toward Harry and Ron, hoping to steer them toward the classroom with the mirror.
Under the dim light, Ron couldn’t make out the approaching figure clearly. But the greasy hair and unmistakable black robes triggered an instant association.
“Harry, it’s Snape!” Ron whispered urgently. “We’re done for if he catches us! Let’s hide in that classroom!”
Harry frowned. Something felt off.
Snape’s sudden appearance was too coincidental, too unlike his usual behavior. After enduring so many detentions, Harry knew Snape’s routines like clockwork. At this hour, Snape should’ve been in his office, meticulously sorting potion ingredients. Wandering the sixth floor wasn’t his style. Catching students out of bed was Filch’s job.
Could this have something to do with the mirror? Harry wondered.
“No,” he whispered to Ron. “Just stay here. He won’t notice us.”
Ron obeyed, pressing himself against the wall as Harry instructed.
“Don’t make a sound,” Harry murmured. “We’ll leave once he’s gone.”
Watching the boys from his hiding spot, Dumbledore felt a mixture of pride and exasperation. Their caution was admirable, but their refusal to investigate the mirror was a minor setback.
No matter—he could adapt.
Dumbledore directed the Snape-like statue to stride closer, its presence growing more imposing with each step.
Harry, sensing danger, quietly drew his wand and pointed it at the approaching figure.
Dumbledore: …What?!
