Hello. Here is yet another fic from me – probably not a very good idea to have four stories on the go at the same time, but this is an idea I couldn't resist. I saw a thread over on the Fictionalley forums asking for fics with Grindelwald in Albus' body, and this sprang to mind. It's not quite the same thing, but it will have a few twists, as well as a lot on the as yet unexplored history of Grindelwald and Albus' role in that wart.
In addition, this fic will have a lot of foreign dialog, mainly in Dutch, which will be indicated by italics. I do not confess to be an expert in the Dutch language, and currently speak only a little, enough to get by. Therefore, if anyone wants to have a stab at translating the Dutch dialog, that would be much appreciated. Also, if anyone wants to translate this fic into any language at all, please do. All I ask is that I be given credit where due.
Enjoy, and do take a moment to leave a review.
DISCLAIMER
I do not own any of the trademarks, characters, settings or situations that are part of the Harry Potter universe. All copyrights for these are held by J. K. Rowling. All other material contained herein is my own. This material may be copied or reproduced in alternative formats, however I ask you out of courtesy to seek my permission before doing so. Thank you.
Harry Potter and Grindelwald's Rebirth
Chapter 1 – In the Beginning
"Lieber ein Ende mit Schrecken als ein Schrecken
ohne Ende". ("Better an end to terror, than terror without end") – German proverb, 1938.
"Mijn Herr?"
The female voice echoed around the dark room. Many who could have seen the place at the moment would have thought it to be underground. In fact, it was simply that any and all sources of external daylight had been meticulously blocked out.
The room was large. This much could be determined by the echo bouncing off the walls. And this would also lead one to conclude that the walls were made out of stone. Some kind of chamber, or cavern then. There were torches lit at each corner, casting their feeble light around the walls and floor. The room appeared to be mostly empty, but if one were to look closely, they would notice a small desk, with a rickety looking chair behind it. There were also shelves, oh yes, lines and lines of shelves with lines and lines of books. For books were something this room, and by extension its owner was by no means short of. And as any devoted librarian and literaturist will tell you, books equal knowledge, and knowledge equals power.
"Mijn Herr?" the voice repeated. "Are you sure about this?"
"Yes, my dear, I am. This must be done. The world has lived in turmoil and chaos long enough. I will not see my nation, my line, my people turned into pawns on a chessboard, weapons in a child's little game, sacrificial lambs to the slaughter."
The voice that spoke was, of course, male, with a strong accent. No one up until now had quite been able to place it, although many swore it was a mix of Dutch and Nordic. But alas, we digress from the main point of this narration. The voice held a melodic quality, one that seemed to soothe the soul, oozing reassurance, courage, hope and determination.
"I will go, and I will do my utmost to see that justice is done. No, I will not rest until justice is done. I will not rest until my line, my people are just, happy and content. I will do what should have been done long ago, right those that have been wronged, and set the scene for future generations."
"But Mijn Herr! We are not talking about something small. We are talking about something bigger than anything that has been done before. We are talking about changing the very essence of-."
The female was interrupted before she could continue. The voice that replied was firm, seeking no disagreement.
"No. It will be fine. You will see. No, afterwards we shall all see."
"Very well. But where you go, I shall follow. And it is no use arguing with me on that."
The voice was filled with conviction. The man sighed. She was right. There was no use arguing. If she wanted to follow, no power on Earth would stop her. It was a measure of the respect he had for her that he made no response. And this in itself was odd, as the man was by no means a pushover when he wanted or needed to get a point across.
"Fine." he commented. "Let us begin."
The female, and remember she was still wrapped in shadows and hence unrecognisable apart from her voice, walked forward a few paces. Her outline could be discerned, a few metres from the desk, as she raised her hand. A deep sigh was heard, before she started chanting in some unknown language.
The very atmosphere in the room seemed to grow heavy, and seemed to emit an almost tangible sense of anticipation and even longing. A white light filled the room, growing brighter to the point where it was painful to watch. A few seconds later, with the chanting continuing, there was a bang and then silence.
If one were to enter the room, they would find it exactly the same as at the beginning of this chapter. The same, that is, but for the two occupants, who were now nowhere to be found.
Two hundred and eighty eight miles, or four hundred and sixty point two kilometres away, a young boy, no man rolled over in his sleep. His dreams up until now had been terrible, filled with death and destruction. Little did he know that this would change from now on.
Well this is the first chapter. Short I know, but I always prefer writing shorter chapters and then combining them at a later stage. I can't promise when the next instalment will be out, as I'm slap bang in the middle of coursework at the moment. I'll just say it'll be soon, and leave it at that.
Hussein (patwas-potter)