A New Place to Stay Chapter 59 - Harry Potter

A letter from Neville’s gran gives Harry the missing piece: wand allegiance can shift, and it is not just the Elder Wand. In the Room of Requirement, the realization hits like a Bludger, and Harry bolts to confirm his theory with old clippings from 1945 to 1946. Sneaking under the cloak through the dungeons, he hunts proof and overhears Dumbledore pressuring Slughorn, as Harry closes in on the truth of who’s been holding the most dangerous wand in the world. 

Transcript

Chapter 59: Realizing Who Has the Wand

"That's my Gran," Neville replied. "Would you like to read it?" He folded the letter as a teacher passed by, careful to keep it hidden.

It contained nothing incriminating or worrisome, but Neville had grown accustomed to keeping secrets. After everything that happened to his parents, his feelings, and his friendship with Harry, he understood the importance of discretion.

He didn’t know much about Horcruxes, but he was aware that they involved the darkest of magic. It explained how he had survived, but it didn’t clarify how Harry had managed to do so.

He doubted anyone would ever fully understand; it would remain a mystery for all time. "Sure," Harry said, grabbing his backpack and stuffing the letter from ‘Snuffles’ into it, planning to read it later.

He was more curious about what Neville's grandmother had to say. Being from an older generation, she likely held a wealth of knowledge that wasn’t readily available these days.

Still, he wasn’t sure if she would share anything new. She certainly wouldn’t know as much about plants and fruits as Neville did, especially when it came to the Elderberry tree.

As an afterthought, he picked an orange from the bowl; he was still a bit hungry. "Come on then," Neville said, grabbing his own bag after stepping away from the chair.

His face turned red, no matter how old he got—he always seemed to forget things. Truthfully, he wasn’t as forgetful as he used to be, especially during his first year at Hogwarts.

Harry’s constant reminders helped; he was a good friend who understood all of Neville's strengths and weaknesses and never seemed bothered by them. Plus, with Harry around, Neville never had to worry about forgetting the password, since Harry always knew it.

Together, they rushed up the steps, relieved that the stairs didn’t seem to be in a mischievous mood that day. They passed the corridor leading to the Gryffindor common room and continued upward until they reached the...

Neville walked past the seventh floor three times before the door finally appeared. Glancing around to make sure no one was watching, they stepped inside and closed the door, causing the room to vanish once again.

“So, what does she say?” Harry asked as he settled into one of the chairs Neville had conjured for them. The room resembled the Hogwarts library, but instead of rigid rows of hard chairs and desks, it featured cozy seats where they could relax.

He yanked his bag off his shoulder and sighed in relief as the weight lifted. The feather-light charm must be wearing off; either that or someone had pulled a prank.

He was inclined to believe it was the latter—spells didn’t just “wear off.”

“My Gran wrote three pages,” Neville replied, glancing over the letter with a bemused expression. Both sides were filled with ink.

“Hmm,” said Harry, leaning in closer. They began to read the letter together, reacting with surprise at the information they encountered.

Apparently, it wasn’t just the Elder Wand that could change its allegiance; all wands could. This fascinated Harry.

If that was true, what did it mean? Did a wand not work to its full potential if it had switched allegiances?

Could whoever originally owned it summon it back to them? Neville’s grandmother mentioned that wizards often took the wands of their defeated opponents, not necessarily because they were more powerful, but as a mark of their accomplishments.

“OH, I’M SUCH AN IDIOT!” Harry shouted, jumping to his feet. The letter floated to the floor, and Neville instinctively scooped it up, looking at Harry with curiosity.

“What?” Neville asked, wondering if Harry was ready to share what was on his mind. “I’ll be right back!” Harry exclaimed, grabbing his school bag.

He noticed Neville’s skeptical expression. “I mean it, I’ll be right back!

I just need to find something… I’ll meet you back in the Gryffindor common room!” 

“Alright,” Neville agreed, wondering how long Harry’s “I’ll be right back” would actually take. Shaking his head wryly, they both left the room, Harry bounding down the stairs.

As Harry headed toward the Gryffindor common room, he found himself wondering where he was really going. Was it the library?

After all, it was only four floors down. When he neared the dungeons, he ducked into a passageway and slipped on his cloak.

Taking a deep breath, he realized he had just bolted down seven flights of stairs. He wasn't exhausted, just a bit breathless.

A few years ago, he wouldn’t have been able to do that at all, and if he had, he would have been nearly passed out on the floor. Listening intently for any sounds on the other side of the passageway, he nodded to himself, thinking he was probably safe.

He slid out and began his trek to the dungeons, specifically to his room in Severus’s quarters. Holding his breath, he pressed himself against the wall as a large group of Slytherins rounded the corner.

"Damn," he thought, realizing he should have turned back. There was no way they’d pass without bumping into him.

He backed as far as he could into a small crevice, letting out a relieved breath when, miraculously, none of them touched him. He waited until they left before daring to move again, listening for any other students who might come that way.

A lot of Slytherins had chosen to stay for Christmas, and he wasn’t sure why. Maybe the pressure was getting to them—they all knew Voldemort’s true name and blood status.

It was no surprise they didn’t want to join him, but he knew that if push came to shove, they would do what they had to do to survive. After navigating two corridors, he finally slid into his dad’s quarters.

It was silent, and he couldn’t tell if Severus was in his lab or not. Regardless, he made his way to his bedroom and summoned the newspaper clippings, specifically needing the ones from 1945 to 1946.

The papers flew toward him, neatly arranged by date. It suddenly dawned on him that he could have used Dobby, but it didn’t matter now.

He rolled his eyes and quickly left the room. If he was right, he would…

Harry cursed himself.

It should have been right there in front of him all along. He didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it felt like the most likely scenario.

The corridors of the dungeons were empty as he made his way to the Potions corridor. Just as he reached the corner, he heard voices—mostly one voice shouting.

He paused to listen intently. It sounded like Professor Slughorn and Dumbledore.

Dumbledore was furious, while Slughorn sounded pathetic and worn. Harry could catch only a few snippets of their conversation before a silencing spell seemed to cut them off mid-sentence, plunging the dungeons back into silence.

He heard phrases like "need to know" and "vitally important to the war efforts" from Dumbledore, while Slughorn denied whatever Dumbledore had implied. Harry suspected Dumbledore could see through his cloak, or at least assumed so.

He knew he couldn’t linger much longer; he didn’t want to get caught by the Slytherins when they returned. Taking a quick look around, he took a deep breath and bolted away from the dungeons, deciding he would think about what he heard later.

It might have something to do with why Dumbledore wanted him at Hogwarts so desperately. As he glanced at the seven floors, a disgruntled expression crossed his face.

With a sigh of resignation, he removed the cloak and stuffed it into his backpack, not caring who might see him now that he was far enough from the dungeons. Not that there seemed to be anyone around; it was too cold to be wandering outside, so most students were likely in their common rooms, keeping warm by the roaring fireplace.

With that thought in mind, he began running toward the Gryffindor common room, keeping an eye on the time. "Hey," Neville said, looking up, slightly surprised to see Harry back.

"When you said you'd be back, it sometimes took half an hour." 

Breathing deeply, Harry just waved his hand, unable to speak as he tried to regain control of his breathing. He bent over, hands on his knees as Severus had taught him, taking long, deep breaths until he felt steadier.

Harry's insides finally settled as he slumped onto the floor, allowing the warmth to soothe him. “What did you figure out?” Neville asked impatiently, eager for answers.

“It’s just a suspicion I have right now. I can’t believe I didn’t see it before,” Harry replied.

“Alright, what do you suspect?” Neville inched closer so they could speak without shouting. “The trail for the wand ended around 1899, when Gregorovitch was rumored to have it before it was stolen.

Now, tell me, what powerful wizard was around during that time?” Harry said, his voice low. “In Germany, of all places.” 

“1899?

That’s a long time ago, nearly one hundred and eighteen years,” Neville frowned, trying to grasp what Harry was implying. “Yes, think along the lines of a Dark Lord,” Harry said, flipping through the papers.

His green eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he found proof of his thoughts in the black-and-white photographs. “Grindelwald?” Neville gasped.

“You don’t mean Dumbledore has it, do you?” 

Harry looked up and grinned. See?

Neville was smarter than people gave him credit for. “This is a picture of Dumbledore at his sister’s funeral, during the fallout with his brother…” Harry said, flattening the paper and handing it over.

It depicted Godric’s Hollow, where his own parents were buried. “Their wands are drawn—look at Dumbledore’s.” 

“Alright,” Neville said, accepting the paper.

“That doesn’t look like an Elder Wand… or how I imagined it.” 

“That’s because it’s not the Elder Wand. This is,” Harry said, handing over another paper that featured Dumbledore’s accomplishments in defeating Grindelwald and returning to the UK after his arrest at Nurmengard.

The wand in this picture was strikingly different, not only in shape but also in length. Neville could clearly see the distinct imprints where the berries had been.

“Well, we don’t have... "To worry about him getting it then, he’s scared of Dumbledore and wouldn’t dare try anything," Neville said, looking a little relieved.

"I don’t think he’s figured it out yet," Harry replied. There was no way he’d want Draco Malfoy to deal with Dumbledore if that were the case—unless it was part of his plan all along.

Get Draco Malfoy to kill him, then Voldemort kills a seventeen-year-old boy to claim the Elder Wand for himself. He’d figured it out; surely it wouldn’t take Voldemort that long.

Then again, he wouldn’t want anyone else to know, and it wasn’t as simple as flipping through newspapers for him anymore. "How come?" Neville asked, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion.

"Just a suspicion I have," Harry said, shaking his head. Unfortunately, he couldn’t share everything with Neville, especially not anything about Draco Malfoy.

To Harry, he was just an idiot—imagine letting himself be marked as a Death Eater and thinking he had what it took to kill Albus Dumbledore when everyone else had failed. "Shouldn’t you warn Dumbledore?

I mean, it doesn’t have anything to do with the... you know what’s," Neville said.

The Elder Wand was a Deathly Hallow, not a Horcrux. "He would want to know how I knew," Harry said, shaking his head.

No, he wasn’t about to tell Dumbledore anything. That reminded him of the conversation he’d overheard; perhaps he should share it with Severus when he could.

"I guess," Neville added thoughtfully. "How did you figure it out?

What was in my Gran’s letter that made you realize?"

"The fact that the victor takes the wand as their own. I connected the dots—the wand's disappearance, the Dark Lord Grindelwald, and Dumbledore defeating him," Harry said with a shrug.

He was good at piecing together information; he’d been doing it for so long now. "I told you it was just a suspicion to begin with," Neville nodded, acknowledging that was true, but Harry hadn’t said everything.

Harry wasn't going to say anything until he was completely sure. “Well, that’s one thing solved,” he said, slumping down to gaze at the ceiling of the common room.

It had been a few days since he’d seen his dad, and he knew he needed to go visit. He was eager to ask about what he meant by ironing out the details—his dad was definitely up to something, and Harry wanted to know what it was.

He had wanted to ask right then, but Malfoy had been there, glaring at him the entire time. It sparked his curiosity; why would Malfoy be jealous of him?

If anyone had a reason to feel jealous, it was Harry. “Bloody hell,” Neville exclaimed.

“What?” Harry asked, sitting up and looking around as if he expected Hermione Granger to be lurking in the shadows. “It’s lunchtime… It’s lunchtime already!

I can’t believe it,” Neville stated, gaping at his watch as if he couldn't comprehend how time had flown by so quickly. Stifling a yawn, Harry glanced at his own watch and realized Neville was right.

“It might only be lunchtime, but I’m exhausted,” he admitted, wishing he could just roll into bed and sleep for a few hours. “Well, you shouldn’t have stayed up until three o’clock in the morning,” Neville said.

“Are you coming down, or should I bring you some food?”

“Dobby would be quicker,” Harry replied, but he stood up anyway. Flicking out his wand, he recast the Feather-Light Charm on his backpack.

After slipping it on his arm and loading it with papers, he secured it on his back, and together they made their way down to the Great Hall, astonished that it had already been four hours since they had last been there. “I can’t believe it’s only two days until Christmas,” Neville said thoughtfully.

“I know,” Harry agreed. “Too bad Luna’s dad decided he wanted her home for the holidays.” He knew how much Neville missed her; he missed her too, but not nearly as much as Neville did.

“I know,” Neville murmured sadly. This wasn’t their first holiday as a couple, but it was a special occasion.

He had hoped to spend New Year's with her. He had to admit, he was terrified every day that something could happen to her.

The home wasn’t exactly extravagantly protected. Just one more year of Hogwarts—if they survived the nightmare that was Voldemort, they would be free to do whatever they wanted.

Luna could drive him crazy, but just a few minutes later, he would remember exactly why he loved her. “Her dad wouldn’t let anything happen to her,” Harry said, knowing it was merely a platitude.

Neville would see through it; he just didn’t know what else to say. Harry understood what Neville was likely thinking, and he wanted to try to make him feel better.

It was even more dangerous because she was his friend. If anything happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

As they walked into the Great Hall, Harry took a seat at their table and glanced up at the teachers. Meeting Severus' eyes, he was about to look away when he noticed Severus gesture to his watch.

Harry turned back and nodded, realizing his dad wanted to talk to him.