Two Dark Wizards
Summary: This story begins in the year 1940, at a time when the Muggles are at war, and the wizards are close behind in a war of their own. Grindelwald's power has reached its peak, and only one man can stop him.
Unknown to this man, Grindelwald has taken on an apprentice. But can Grindelwald be defeated? Will Grindelwald's apprentice truly side with him, or does this mysterious learner have plans of his own?
This story is Part One of the Retribution series.
Disclaimer: I don't own any characters, elements and other things that are canon. J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros have that great pleasure.
Author's Notes: The uppercase H in the word "He" is intentional. Such emphasis with respect to Grindelwald has been laid only when his followers speak about him.
Please note that the characters and genres of the fic may change in every chapter, so you might want to put this story in your favourites or bookmark it. Just a suggestion. Review responses for this chapter will be added in the next chapter.
Chapter One
A Visit to Azkaban
The crescent moon was rising on a cold summer night of July 1940. A dark fortress; situated on a small, far-flung island in the North Sea; was revealed in all its might.
This fortress was none other than the dreaded wizard prison of Azkaban, where the most hardened criminals of Britain (magical ones that is) were locked up. The dread that the name of Azkaban caused in the heart of the average wizard on the street was due to its wardens, the hooded Dementors. These soul-sucking fiends thrived in dark places and loved to feast on happy emotions. A weak human soul would be a perfect prey for them; if they used their deadliest weapon (the Dementors' kiss), the victim would exist with no sense of anything. They would be worse than dead.
As the Dementors were patrolling around the large gate and were keeping watch from its many towers, a tall, cloaked figure appeared out of nowhere.
The Dementors did not seem perturbed. Apparently, this person had managed to secure permission to visit one of the prisoners (unauthorised entry or exit was next to impossible).
This man's name was Albus Dumbledore. He was a tall wizard with long, sweeping auburn hair and beard. He was walking fast, with his cloak sweeping behind him. His bright blue eyes usually twinkled – but they were not twinkling tonight, for he had come here for something, which was very serious. He had come to meet a highly dangerous Dark wizard, Mark Yaxley.
Mark Yaxley was not the ultimate Dark wizard of that time, but he was one of Grindelwald's most trusted servants. Yaxley had been sentenced to life imprisonment in Azkaban for killing many innocent witches and wizards. It was ten years … ten long years since Yaxley had been brought to this place.
Dumbledore walked quietly towards the gates, clutching an old Daily Prophet newspaper, which was in fact an authorised Portkey. Tonight, he was wearing long midnight blue robes under a black travelling cloak. His eyes took in the sinister iron gates and the cold walls of stone. Two towers stood on either side of the gate. This gate was flanked by two Dementors, who (very strangely) backed away slightly as Dumbledore came near the gate. Perhaps it was due to a strange power that appeared to radiate from him. Yet, Dumbledore could sense the horrible, rotting smell and hear their terrible breath, rattling and creepy. There was an ever-present chill in the air around this hostile place.
"Number sixty-three," Dumbledore said, referring to Mark Yaxley's cell.
The gates opened. He glanced at the many graves of wizards who had expired within the walls of the gaol. He was directed towards Yaxley's cell. He walked on, keeping a good distance from the Dementor that was leading him, noticing that there was very little light along the corridors (it was no great wonder, of course).
After walking for about fifteen minutes, he came to a locked wooden door that had bars welded into it at the top where a rectangular hole was made, so that the solitary prisoner within could look outside into the corridor once in a while (if the very presence of the Dementors had not driven him completely mad, that is). The Dementor approached the door. It had a key in its rotting, hideous hand. Using the key, the Dementor unlocked the door.
Dumbledore moved inside and gazed at a thin, wasted-looking man who was sitting down on the floor, staring blankly at the morose ceiling. As Dumbledore came in, he stood up, tense and glaring, his pale, haggard face rigid, yet terrified. His hands had balled themselves into fists. He shook his unruly, straggly blond hair out of his black eyes.
"What do you want? Who are you?" he asked. His voice was high-pitched; there was combined anger and fear in it.
"I am Albus Dumbledore," said Dumbledore.
A look of recognition showed in Yaxley's face for a moment, then he sneered, "And what does a filthy, common half-blood want of me? I will not answer your questions, not as long as I remain loyal to my Dark Master, the greatest wizard the world has ever seen!" He drew a deep breath, still glaring. Azkaban had not failed to unhinge him.
Dumbledore looked straight into his black eyes. "The memory of your last meeting with your master," he said coolly.
"OH, REALLY!" he roared. "AND WHAT MAKES YOU THINK THAT I, HIS MOST LOYAL SERVANT, WILL BETRAY THE DARK MASTER?"
"The 'Dark Master', you call him," Dumbledore said, unfazed by Yaxley's behaviour. "It is only a fancy title that he has given to himself."
"HOW DARE YOU!" bellowed Yaxley. "YOU WILL PAY FOR THIS!"
"Calm down, Yaxley," said Dumbledore, forcefully this time. "Consider your position. You are unarmed and imprisoned for life. Even though you firmly deny it, I know very well that you are afraid."
Apparently, Yaxley knew that it was best not to yell any more. When he spoke this time, it was not anger; but fear that was dominant in his voice.
"You – you want to know what He said to me the last time we met … but if I give you the memory … He will kill me, the instant I disobey Him!"
"He may be powerful now, but he will fall, sooner or later; and not rise again – like many others before him," said Dumbledore calmly, even though he felt a spasm of anger.
"Empty threat, Dumbledore," said Yaxley, some colour returning to his unnaturally pale face. "You speak as though you intend to finish the Dark Master off. He is immortal." At this, Yaxley breathed hard. Perhaps he was getting too sentimental to see reason to hand over the memory.
"Consider your position," repeated Dumbledore. "You may be loyal to Grindelwald (Yaxley's face twitched in both anger and fear), but there is nothing you can do to help your master." He put an emphasis on the last eight words. Yaxley had registered that, for he had heard Dumbledore's voice rise.
Dumbledore looked at the wasted man before him straight in the eye. For a moment, he seemed to see a strange, vast room within them. Yaxley finally seemed to realize that he had lost the war of words.
"It appears that I have no choice," he whispered at last. "But it is not you who shall triumph, Dumbledore."
Dumbledore approached him, wand in one hand and a small crystal phial (whose stopper was open) in another. An onlooker might have thought that Dumbledore was about to attack Yaxley, but that was certainly not the case.
Dumbledore placed his wand to Yaxley's temple and said, "I need the memory." Yaxley's eyes were subdued as Dumbledore pulled his wand away slightly a few seconds later. A shining, silvery strand was clinging on to the wand. It coiled for what seemed like a long time until it finally broke free from the prisoner's temple.
Dumbledore placed the extracted memory carefully in the phial and closed it. Within ten minutes, he had left Azkaban prison and handed over the Portkey to the Ministry of Magic. He Disapparated to Hogsmeade after handing over the Portkey and completing the necessary formalities.
A second later, Dumbledore had appeared in the High Street at Hogsmeade. The magical lamps on the street were lit and most shops were closed, for it was late in the night. A great, famous castle was clearly visible from where Dumbledore was standing. Hogwarts was the perfect place to gain more information about the dreaded Dark wizard's obscure past. That was the reason Dumbledore was staying at the school for most part of the summer. If Dumbledore's suspicions were confirmed, then it would be a long, hard search with little hope.
I cannot abandon all hope, Dumbledore thought, before lighting his wand and moving along the road towards the boar-flanked gates of Hogwarts, which were currently locked. Only a few windows of the castle were lit. Dumbledore extinguished the faintly glowing light of his wand and magically opened the gate.
He walked along the driveway, glancing at the gamekeeper's hut. A sliver of light seemed to escape through the curtained windows. Dumbledore walked on towards the great, oak double doors of the castle and unlocked them.
The Entrance Hall was extremely dark. However, there was a faint light emanating from the adjoining Great Hall, whose doors were ajar.
Dumbledore stepped into the Great Hall. He noticed that five candles were hovering over the Headmaster's high-backed, throne-like chair present at the teachers' table. Armando Dippet was seated in that chair, bending over something. On hearing Dumbledore's footsteps, he looked up.
Dumbledore walked to his chair and said, "Hello, Headmaster."
"Ah, hello, Albus," said Professor Dippet, turning towards Dumbledore. He was an old wizard who looked rather weak. A few strands of his silvery-white hair seemed to glow in the candlelight. Dippet looked suspiciously at Dumbledore.
"Only half an hour ago, I found out that you had left the castle. Did you go to meet Nicolas Flamel, by any chance?" asked Dippet.
"Yes," said Dumbledore, little more quickly than he had intended. It was not as though Armando Dippet could not be trusted; but at the moment, Dumbledore wished to remain as discreet as possible. Apparently, that part of the plan had not worked as he had hoped.
Dumbledore saw that he had a piece of parchment and a quill. It seemed that he was doing his work in the Great Hall.
Very strange, thought Dumbledore.
"How did you find out, Armando?"
"I was patrolling near the Astronomy Tower. The Bloody Baron happened to tell me this."
A sudden image of the Bloody Baron haunting the tallest tower of Hogwarts sprung in Dumbledore's mind. Pushing this thought aside, Dumbledore said, "Goodnight, Headmaster," and walked towards his office.
To be continued …
Beta Comments:
Overall, I think that this is a fantastic story. It's original, and I cannot wait to read the rest of it (even if I am only editing it). I think this could have great potential as a heavily reviewed story if you keep up with it and are passionate about it. The only thing that I noticed that needed a little work on is word choice and flow. Some sentences are a bit hard to read and choppy. It's not overly detracting from the story, but being an avid BETA reader I notice this like this. You are very good at imagery of events in your story, which is good. It always makes the story more enjoyable to read when the author knows where they're going with it. Keep up the good work, and I hope to receive the second chapter soon. I wish you the best of luck.