The Last of Romantics
Genre: General/Suspense
Rating: PG (K+), may grow up to PG-13 (T) in later chapters (for references to torture and violence as well as for in-depth description of some characters' questionable moral values)
Summary: 1944 is not the best year for Grindelwald and his supporters. Little do they know that the chain of events leading to their ultimate demise was started long ago… and it involves an eccentric transfiguration professor and a supposedly non-existent Heir of Slytherin.
Disclaimer: standard.
A/N: This is my first attempt to write a big non-MS fanfic. I decided to translate it into English 'as is', despite the fact it is still a WIP. My apologies for mistakes.
Chapter 1. The Dead Season
October 1944, Bernese Alps, Jungfrau Region.
A traveler ascending to the Vertigo Pass from the north-western direction had a perfect possibility to feast his eyes upon the particularly beautiful view of the Schwarze Lutschine valley and of mountain city of Grindelwald lying by the river-head. The lower part of the valley was covered with coniferous woods; they appeared from a distance as a gloomy, lowering cloud of dark-green; above them ran the alpine meadows with their soft silky grass, alternating with islets of rust-colored dwarfish pines; still above there were stones and naked cliffs with glacier spots here and there; and, finally, above all that magnificence the mountains themselves were towering. There was a good chance to find among the many peaks of the mountain ridge three the most known ones, which have been sung up in legends, – Jungfrau, Eiger and Monch.
To say the truth, today this mountain trinity doesn't seem to the valley dwellers so frightening and inaccessible as it was long time ago, when all the legends that brought glory to it were made up. A technological progress, having already reached this place, has conquered the ancient fear of destructive forces of nature. Since the last part of the railway that connected Eismeer station to the Jungfrau foot was finished, the White Maiden, constantly under siege of eager-to-get-higher tourists, bade farewell to her romantic glamour.
Stories about evil mountain spirits, residing in the fick of the glaciers, and about lost wanderers, fallen into their icy web, were still popular among the locals, especially when there was a need to tell a bed-time tale to a child or to boggle a mind of some touring folklore gatherer. A time of mysterious and terrifying forces has passed irrevocably; they exhaled like a breath of wind, like an icicle in hot flames of the fireplace; without a trace or a memory; and the particularly progressive skeptics even began to ask themselves if those forces existed at all.
Nevertheless, despite the profound reasoning of technological progress supporters, 'mysterious and terrifying forces' did not even think of the retreat. Their presence was not so evident by now, indeed, - but it mattered a little. As before, they wielded power over this place completely. One needed only to go behind the Vertigo Pass in order to see it with his own eyes.
The Vertigo Pass, or rather a mountain valley behind it, was quite an interesting place, well-known in particular circles. Not long ago it was possibly to meet there visitors from all over the Europe and even all over the world, and the animation reigned in that place could easily compete with fuss and ado of the resort city of Grindelwald down there. But neither in the 'better times' that had passed, nor today, when 'the dead season' came - you would not find this place on the map; it was thoroughly concealed from the eyes of the profaners; and its glory – it was a secret glory, known only for a select few.
Trentius Wald
At Christmas time in the castle of Trentius Wald a rather small but an extremely refined society had been gathered. Baron Trentius was a rich man and thus could easily afford to hold a far more splendour gaudi, and yet he restrained from doing so – due to considerations most clear. Perhaps, Ivonne, Baron's current spouse, was slightly disappointed, but he did not worry much about that. Present time was completely inappropriate for entertainment and gaiety or to connivance of women's silly ideas. Besides, baron was not so young, and noisy crowds of half-known or even unknown visitors, who were loafing about his castle, started to annoy him. He was looking right inside their hearts: dwellers of so-called 'high society', arrogant issues of noble families from all over the Europe, who were pretending to be 'victims of persecutions and oppressions' but in reality no more that simple cowards; all those hapless prophets, cheep actors and charlatans… After the death of Aurora, his second wife, he turned them all out; he swept them out like useless litter.
Ivonne was disappointed. Young baroness Wald, of course, pictured herself a completely different way of living, when she was united in matrimony with Trentius Wald, an elder brother of none other than Heinricus Wald, who had been known to all Wizarding World under the name of Grindelwald. But there was nothing to be done, and his sweet Ivonne will keep down her appetite. Her motives was as clear to Trentius as the motives of all those 'carrion-crows', of which he had already managed to free himself.
In a few minutes he had to greet his guests who were invited to the castle for Halloween, and having this in mind, Trentius, vested in rather pompous formal robe, was heading for Dining Hall. He strode through seemingly never-ending suite of rooms, equally luxurious, empty and dusty, which separated his chambers from the Hall, and at last arrived to big folding doors – the vague but recognizable murmur of reception was already heard behind them. Trentius waited for a moment and put on his traditional smile of slightly absent-minded, but impeccably polite host and then entered the brightly lit hall.
'Ah, our dear baron!' Mincing comically and slightly limping, Frau Octavia Eisgrotte approached.
How old is she? Well over eighty; wrinkles and flabby cheeks could no more be concealed with charms. An old hag. What's the need for her childish frills?
'You look splendid, as always,' he said, accepting her hand gallantly. Civility, just plain civility. How much time should be wasted on it, and there is no chance to be spared.
He was searching the hall with his eyes till he found Gualando Eisgrotte and nodded almost imperceptibly. Eisgrotte answered him with obscure half-smile, very meaningful but signifying nothing; he was busy – along with Jurgen Glass, he was talking with a young stranger, who was dressed in plain black robes, utterly inappropriate for the occasion. Trentius did not know this youth and frowned, trying to recollect; oh, yes, Glass had been saying something about 'very interesting man' a fortnight ago. They were going to invite him on the week after the Halloween, but, probably, they did not have much time if Glass had brought him here as early as today.
They did not have much time indeed.
Trentius closed his eyes for a moment and suddenly saw them all as if from the outside: small porcelain figures like in mechanical clock; very neat, shiny with bright colors and gilt, so magically-beautiful. For now they are happy and joyful; they are dancing under the sounds of light festive music; their movements are sharp and graceful; but the winding mechanism is almost stopped, and soon it will fully stop…
Frozen, lifeless picture.
Trentius shook up his head and restored his slightly faded smile. The evening had just begun, and he had many things to do.
Jurgen Glass
What baron Wald might only have guessed, Jurgen Glass knew for sure. He could easily count all the time remained for them - to second - had he a slightest wish to do so. The end was indeed approaching. Everything has its breaking point: a piece of metal, a man, even the whole nation. All is interrelated, and the weakness of a single small screw results in demolishing of the entire complex mechanism, carefully built and thoroughly established. 'This is just a fluke', waved away Gualando Eisgrote the day they learned about what had happened in Muggle Germany, fifteen years ago. Trentius Wald was silent, as always; and Felsen, a sly fox, knew from the very beginning what it would result in. 'This is the politics, my friend', said Felsen a month after, when all of them understood that that was by no means an accident and when it was, to say the truth, already too late.
He didn't like the politicians. But he was able to be on good terms with them.
And now all of them came to him; crawling like coward dogs. They believed his studies to be a complete waste of time, a useless oddity, a whim; only he himself knew how this all is important for Grindelwald. This 'whim' was an axis, a base, upon which everything was built; all their power, all their crowds; even their terrible, useless fame. All of those would not come into life if there had not been the Idea that had brought these dissolved parts of other's dreams and ambitions together, fasten them like cement, and created from all these petty wishes and intrigues a colossal, unconquerable might.
An idiotic theory? A delirious idea? Just a dream? Maybe. But the dream that can be made true; that is what was important. If not for this 'stupid childish tale', there would be nothing. Now - they are what they are; no more, no less. But if they stop now, if they not turn this tale into truth and dream – into reality, they will become nothing again; and their tedious existence before the beginning of all this ado will seem to them a heavenly pleasure compared to the fate which is waiting for them otherwise.
'And for how long, Mr. Potter, have you been interested in Unforgivables?'
'For about a year; I've studied only energetic aspects, as you understand.'
Just a boy; he is hardly twenty. Romantics and the lust for power, all they are starting from that.
'An interesting hobby, but unpractical,' maybe, the voice of Dr. Glass was too cold, but he was not going to soften it; let these arrogant British know that even 'geniuses' like them are not welcomed here with outstretched arms.
'For now – yes; but it holds much promise. If we find the way to store the energetic imprints, these exercises will surely come in handy.'
Andrew Potter, a young genius from the hostile British Islands. There was no one among them who has mastered a mathematical magic to this level; Glass understood this immediately, though he had chance to look through Potter's works only briefly. But in the field of magic energy storing they achieved much more than anyone can expect. Too early to tell him about that, though.
However, there is no need to fool himself; in any case, he had to tell him sooner or later. This Potter had been under observation fro two month already; Glass knew that Eisgrotte never broke the procedure. He seemed to be lucky: he is really the person he claimed to be. Well, why not. Not every single one is a spy, after all. Now – the final stage of the testing, his visit there. But everything was clear already; Glass needed only ten minutes to verify that the boy had indeed written all these works; but Eisgrott for some reason showed a desire to talk with him himself.
Let him try, our 'gallant Gualando'. Glass knowingly was choosing for the talk the most boring theoretical topics. Eisgrotte was trying to conceal his irrelevance and ignorance behind wide smiles and dubious jokes, but – and Glass knew it – felt himself quite out of place. Well, it serves him right. Glass nodded and with his best serious look asked Potter about one of the most puzzling formula from his last work; there was no need for the question, of course, but it sounded truly impressive – there were 'matricat matrixes', and 'inverse Shklovski magic coefficient', and even 'M-field vector' . Potter raised his eyebrows perplexedly, probably being surprised by the unnecessariness of the question, but nevertheless began to answer. He gave very detailed explanations, but at the same time they were not superfluous, so that Glass found himself to be indeed interested; then he ask another question, this time real, not 'for show', and after that the discussion came into complete scientific maze; and it was so pity that they could not get into the Laboratories immediately – some thoughts were so interesting that he was eager to check them right away…
A half an hour after, more than satisfied with the results of the discussion and definitely determined to involve this promising newcomer into the project as soon as possible, Glass suddenly noticed that Eisgrotte was not with them for some time already. When and where he left, he paid no attention, and had no intention to inquire.
Gualando Eisgrotte
This strutter know-all Glass continued to wag his tongue; he must be showing off before this weedy Potter-wunderkind, or vise versa, it is Potter who were showing, whatever. He was forgotten at once, and, should he say, wrongly. If it was not for Gualando Eisgrotte, where all they were for now? Department of Control would have checked this British for none less than a six months, and after that he should be assigned to live in some of New Outlining Territories for a couple of years before any job of slightest of importance could be allowed for him; and as to Grindelwald Laboratories – it was impossible even to dream about them… Yes, it should have been exactly as he said. And what did you think, Mr. Potter? That we have here a safe heaven for refugees? 'Come unto me all who are weary and burdened…'
'Good evening, my young friend!'
Tristan Wald flashed his eyes and snorted, having ignored the greeting. Just look at him: Hamlet, Prince of Denmark. His daddy has paid heaps of money in order to bring on this soiree this French Ophelia. Lorrain Delacour would have never agreed if he, Gualando Eisgrotte, had not taken care of that. By the way, Trentius has disappointed him with this request: he himself would have never allowed his children to meddle with veelas. But there is nothing to be done; poor fellow was always too soft. Aurora had him turned about her little finger, doing whatever she wanted, and as times goes by, Ivonne will certainly inherit all her habits. It is strange that she was not interfering yet.
'Swee-etheart,' the oily voice of his other half, Octavia, woke him up from his thoughts.
'Yes, darling?'
'Ksenia wrote me that Baron Wald had invited none other than Lorrain Delacour here. Imagine, the 'Luminous Lorrain' in person! Is it true?'
'Well, I will not deny it.'
'And you said nothing!' the offence of the Octavia was strained since she knew extremely well about this visit for a week already. He said it himself, as though as a great secret.
'Guilty, guilty…'
By now this little family sketches were for no reason at all; he had to speak with Trentius before Klaas Felsen arrived. Potter was an unscheduled figure, at least for these few days, but, fortunately, Glass decided to take him out to the Laboratories tomorrow. It was very appropriate: the fewer ears the better.
'Baron! It's been ages!'
Only two days, but who knows.
'Greetings, my dear friend. Would you like a piece of apple pie?'
'Thank you, why not.'
Trentius turned away to the tray that was standing on the chimney piece, and Eisgrotte was able to see the reflection of his face in the large wall mirror.
'Tomorrow at ten', whispered baron silently.
Gualando smiled and took a proposed piece of apple cinnamon pie.
'You have an outstanding cook, my friend. I will order to steal the recipe of this tasty-thing from him. This two hundred a month on the intelligence we spent; what is it for, just for nothing?'
Wald jokingly made a threatening gesture:
'Ah, this is not so easy, dear Eisgrotte. Every man has his own little secret; no need to strip them out of this small pleasure. There are not many of them left… Are they?
There is a silent pause, and then Eisgrotte bursted out laughing with his famous contagious, choked laughter.
To be reputed as brainless cherry fellow is not so easy and mot so pleasant, but… it is paying off.
Andrew Potter
It was well into the night; all guests were already off to their bed-chambers and, without a doubt, were sleeping peacefully. Andy turned the lamp off, looked at dimly red firelights from the chimney which were dancing on the room walls, thought for a moment and muttered a spell to extinguish the chimney fire as well. Then he waited for a minute in order to get use to darkness, unfastened the tight collar of his jacked, stretched his arms several times and came to the window. Outside the castle a terrible snowstorm was roaring, and it was completely impossible to see anything. Nevertheless, a witness from the outside – if there had been any – would certainly think that Andy was looking for something.
He was lucky to have this room: its windows were looking north-west, precisely to the steep. Somewhere in that direction, as far as he knew, the famous Grindelwald Laboratories were situated, the very laboratories doctor Glass told him about this evening and those he had already been familiar by hearsay with.
The institution that doctor named with a dry scientific word 'Laboratories' was in reality a sort of small factory. All of them, Glass, Felsen, Eisgrotte, were people of quite practical sort, as he had seen with his own eyes today, so, such concept as 'pure science' was simply inexistent for them. Abstract academic research was thought to be a completely waste of time in their circle; they believed it to be just a plaything for idle loafers. Of course, they would never share their opinion in public, and he by no means could expect them to do it in the conversation with almost complete stranger – let even say, with rather suspicious stranger that he was. But this fact did not change anything; the information he had on these people was enough for him to picture their way of thinking.
Andrew Potter knew that to invent a super-weapon is not easy, but he believed that to use it efficiently was no less as important; and sometimes between these two stages there was an insurmountable gap. Specialists of this place have conquered this obstacle brilliantly, having not only brought a dream into reality, but established the mass production of their inventions. Their system worked efficiently and clear; the freshly created potion or charm were tested immediately (on experimental muggles as he had heard), and, if the outcome was satisfying for the authors, were assigned for mass using at once. All this was performed quickly, right off the bat, thorough - and at the same time without unnecessary pathetic element; so that in Andy's native land, in England, they simply failed to keep pace with Grindelwald's scientists in order to prepare countermeasures.
He saw the victims of the charms, composed in the Laboratories by Grindelwald's researches, and – oh, that was impressive. Very impressive, indeed. It was another argument in favor of the decision he had made: at all costs to get into this inner circle. He had to understand how all those things were possible, even if he had to become subject to the variety of stupid tests and verifications and to take serious risks. He ought to do it, he ought to get into the very heart to their stronghold - or, should he say, to the brain of it – it order to discover the secret of Grindelwald unseen magical power, the secret due to which they overrode the whole Europe, Muggle as well as Wizarding; the secret that could have granted the world domination for those who could use it; the secret which promised so much more than simple 'world domination'…
…Andy closed his eyes and evened his breath, disappointed at himself. He should not have allowed himself to dream about the past; it was useless, and it was distracting. Now he should concentrate again.
Having settled himself down, he came back to the watching and stood at the window for another two hours. But for all this time he failed to catch a single trace of magic using, despite all his phenomenal flair. To say the truth, it did not mean anything: he could be just too far from that place, and, aside from that, the Laboratories must have been well-protected.
Perhaps, even too well. Perfectly, he daresay. Dr. Glass had every reason to be proud of it.
Andy smiled. He knew that every defence, even the most perfect one, has its weak point.
A/N: Thank you for reading. I will appreciate your reviews!