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1st July 1899, the Durmstrang Institute of Magic, Scandanavia
It was cold; freezing in fact, despite it being summer time, but that was not the reason why Grand Master Artemiy Victorovich Cheynov was attempting to conceal his shivering. He was used to the cold, he had been Grand Master of Durmstrang for the past two decades, and a teacher at the same institute for thirty years previous to that, and so was completely adapted to the freezing, windowless cell which passed as his office. Why someone would build an office completely out of stone with no windows or hooks for tapestries was beyond. Something to do with not sitting easily on your throne, perhaps … he mused. Well, that was unlikely to happen with the crops of students he had taught during his career. Still, he'd never seen anything quite as bad as this. Now that … that was the true reason he was shivering, despite his pretence to the contrary as he pulled his furs more firmly around him, it was the realisation of who … no, what, after what the personage before him had don he was no longer sure if he could think of the child sitting opposite the desk from him as human. I mustn't show weakness, or he'll pounce, like a dragon … stop being stupid! You were middle-aged and immensely powerful before he was even a glimmer in his father's eye, nay, before his father was even thought of! With that slightly more reassuring thought, Cheynov squared his shoulders, brushed his long, silver hair out of his eyes, succeeded in stopping the proto-shiver which had been building in his core, and got firmly focused on the business at hand.
The Grand Master again regarded the boy sitting opposite him. Wild, dangerous, clever, persuasive … pretty … those were only some of the words he had heard in relation to this man, no, child (despite all he had done, and the way in which he behaved, Cheynov knew that he had to remember that this was a child before him, barely sixteen, maybe he'd been led astray, surely…), in the last day from various members of staff and the student body, which, in itself, was unusual, as they were usually a relatively uncooperative bunch. …Mad… 'Brilliant, of course, but completely and utterly insane. Yes, and dangerous, as most of the time he appears normal, charming even. Be on your guard, the boy is persuasive.' Master Taklorov had said- and he was not one to lie … or to be afraid of students if there was not a very valid reason.
Looking at the young man in question, none of the words surprised him, nor, honestly, did Taklorov's warning. Despite his youth, which gave the boy an almost girlish beauty with his clear, pale skin and mass of blonde curls, as well as his glittering eyes and smile, which gave him a wild, merry look, and which seemed to attract so many of his fellow students to him, and his handsome features, slimness and heights, it may have been in his imagination, but Cheynov believed that the boy's eyes contained a darkness. They seemed to imply that the boy knew far more than he let on, and far more than the masters, thankfully not including Cheynov himself, had ever taught him. The child's smile unnerved him. Perhaps it was only luck which allowed us to catch him … usually his minions get punished, and although he certainly disregards the rules, nothing like this has ever happened before … he's never before let any of the trouble be linked back to him. … Was it maybe contrived? … Cheynov stopped himself right there, that was madness lay. You could not be completely paranoid and in charge of somewhere like Durmstrang. For sure, you had to be careful, as some of the students were definitely plotting against him, but nothing, (in most cases, he amended), that would cause any actual bodily harm. However, the boy's posture, and, if he was honest, everything about him, gave credence to the Grand Master's first thought. Despite being seated on the most uncomfortable intricately carved black forest carved chair in the ice-cold office (Cheynov had not got to become Grand Master of Durmstrang without learning the value of discomfort when dealing with disobedient students), he seemed completely comfortable and at home. In fact … surely he couldn't be … no, to Cheynov's amazement, he was, damn it, he was lounging! Cheynov had a nasty feeling that the boy, in his own mind at least, was far more in control of the situation than the Master himself. If his aim, he thought, in a moment of complete understanding, disregarding the layers of self-confidence and arrogance he had built up throughout his life, is to unnerve me, it is working perfectly.
He had to deal with this now. Get rid of the boy with the knowing eyes and the insane plans. 'Herr Grindelwald,' the Grand Master began, taking yet another deep breath, as the boy's dancing eyes rose to meet his own from where they had been focused on examining the master's desk. It held only the boy's, rather lengthy, records, a quill, ink and timepiece, which the boy had been studying with a bored, detached interests, which was similar to the expression worn by a tourist studying the habitat of a particularly interesting, but nonetheless not particularly intelligent, zoo animal. 'Despite your OWL results, which I must say, although you are not yet supposed to know, were spectacular, and your other scholastic successes at this school,' Cheynov paused to allow the boy to smile in triumph, as students were usually wont to do after finding out that they had succeeded in exams. Grindelwald did not. 'You leave me no choice.' The Grand Master was not going to be intimidated by a sixteen-year-old child, he thought, although his conviction on this point was decreasing at a rapid rate.
'Ich verstehe.' The young man replied. He had allowed his appearance of bored detachment to drop for a second, allowing Cheynov to see that he was clearly itching to go, wild and merry now definitely. Not the reaction the Grand Master had expected, but then again, who knew what went on behind those curls? 'Fucking bag of monkeys.' One of the other masters had said, and despite his disgust of the crassness of the phrase, Cheynov was beginning to see where he was coming from. The tall boy's blond curls bounced slightly as he squirmed on the seat with … what? … anticipation?
'Your actions alone would be enough for you to be permanently removed from Durmstrang, no, any institution of magical education, and, more importantly for your undoubtedly bright future, any place of work. But, in addition to this, worsening the whole situation, your apparent lack or understanding, empathy, or remorse for what you did wrong …' Cheynov purposefully ignored the grin which was slowly spreading across the boy's face. He deliberately shook his head, as if the say such talent, such a waste. 'And of course the wanton vandalism of that wall, as well as your other actions …' For the first time in his long life, Cheynov's voice was failing him. It was something about that boy's smile. There was something about the look in his eyes now which the Master could not quite place. Something dark. Something, he thought, again suppressing a shiver … scary. Like the calm before the thunderstorm, when you know something is going to happen, but you are not quite sure what. No- that was not the look, not entirely … Blood filled the Master's mouth as he bit back an urge to yell. It would not help with this student. In fact, the old man suspected, it was probably whay the boy wanted him to do. Bearing in mind his previous actions, if Cheynov lost control of himself, he was not sure what Grindelwald would do next.
'In brief,' he just wanted to this appointment over with, 'there is no place for you at Durmstrang next year.' Thank Merlin. 'Now, we cannot take your wand.' There! For the briefest moment, a tiny bit of fear, of real humanity. 'As technically there is no specific law against what you did.' Because any normal person would ever have even considered doing it, nay, not even thought of it, in fact. 'Now, I recommend you consider joining some form of training programme or perhaps another school until you reach your majority and enter some form of employment.' If anywhere will take him. Sure as hell if I looked at his record, and met him of course, I wouldn't! 'We, at Durmstrang, would of course be more than happy to help you with this process if you wish.' Just so long as we get rid of you...
'Ich verstehe.' The boy repeated, that infuriating smile having reinstated itself once the momentary fear of wandlessness had passed. Magic is worth more to him than anything …
'Gellert,' Cheynov forced a smile onto his face, he had never before interacted with this student, therefore perhaps another angle would work better, after all, this boy was, the Master reminded himself yet again, little more than a child, despite all he had done. Maybe it was just teenage experimentation and curiosity. No, attention-seeking, that was it, especially when the boy's home background was taken into consideration. Cheynov most definitely did not listen to the small part of him which said, quite wisely as it turned out, 'Merlin's beard, if this is what he is like in his adolescent phase, what on earth could he become as an adult?!' 'I am aware that you are an orphan, but is there any member of your extended family you would prefer me to call instead of your current guardian.' He had read in the child's record that he had been bounced from family member to family member since he was a small boy, which the Master did not find surprising, giving his temperament. His current guardian was an aunt of some sort living in Prussia with her husband and five young children, who had had charge of Gellert for about three years, and who was singularly unsuited in character and circumstances to managing the boy. 'We have to, as, although you may perform magic due to the laws of Prussia, you are only sixteen and therefore not yet technically of age. Maybe another relative, guardian … friend.' The boy made a slight face before his smile returned. From what he'd heard from the staff this did not surprise him. Gellert Grindelwald was compelling to other students. He had a group of devoted followers who swallowed his every word like they were the finest firewhiskey, but he had few, if any, true friends at school who actually trusted, and none that Cheynov was aware of who had already graduated, and therefore would be willing to take the boy in until he reached seventeen. As for his school fellows, of those in his little pack, Cheynov had, before meeting the young man in question, disregarded rumours of friends, well, perhaps still not trusted ones, of a far, far closer sort. Before meeting Gellert, Cheynov had ignored the rumours, deemed them impossible, but then again, the way the boy was grinning, the look in his eye … the look of knowledge …
'Nein. Just call Tante Inke. She will farm me out to whoever without any further inconvenience to yourself.' No emotion changed the teasing of his grin. This should be bothering him! Most children would be, after being bounced around so much. Cheynov finally, desperate for anything, opened the file which he had read earlier and which was currently resting on the fine mahogany of the desk before him. So full of contradictions. Yet again Cheynov ignored that small, rebellious part of him, which was filled with screaming warning bells, although it was becoming harder each second he spent with the boy. He perused the names of possible family members in the file, he was determined that Gellert would go off to a relative, and therefore no longer be the Grand Master's responsibility, as soon as possible. One of the names struck a chord of familiarity in him.
'Perhaps your Großtante in England, Godric's Hollow? The historian, Frau Bathilda Bagshot? I did not realise that you were related to her? Do you know her well?' Anything to stop that smile. And, which made Cheynov feel a small surge of triumph, it did provoke another miniscule reaction; those eyes lost some of their merriment and a slight scowl briefly marred the young man's features.
'Maybe. I do not know her particularly well. We write sometimes.' It was obvious that, to Cheynov's satisfaction, and increasing his belief that another human being was in fact sitting before him, that the boy did not relish discussing his familial situation, and the desire to leave immediately had returned to his countenance.
'Well … your Tante Inke … Frau Bechtel I mean,' Why was Cheynov still feeling unnerved! 'will come to collect you later this afternoon. I will have an owl sent to her immediately. You are dismissed. Please go and get your things together. I wish you luck in your future, Herr Grindelwald.' That's a lie. Cheynov very nearly sighed in relief. No longer my problem. Though I pity the poor sods who have to take over now! The boy rose gradually, as if he had all the time in the world and sidled languidly to the door, before pausing with his hand resting on the doorknob.
'I wish you luck too, Herr Grand Master.' He turned once more, smiling at Cheynov, whilst one of his hand reached, almost unconsciously it seemed, at the neck of his jacket, and touched a symbol on a chain around his neck. The Grand Master's eyes were not what they once had been, meaning that he could not quite see the symbol on the silver metal against the dark grey uniform. But he had a horrid feeling that it could be the same as the one now adorning the wall above where … the incident … had occurred, and which was resisting all attempts so far to remove it. Another impressive bit of magic …
With that final act completed, and a look of something disturbingly like triumph, Gellert Grindelwald, now a free boy at sixteen, turned the handle, and left. For good, and good riddance! Grand Master Cheynov, for just a moment, allowed his age to catch up with him; he felt truly ancient, he was too old to deal with this sort of thing. But he suspected that he may have to eventually. Not now, however. No longer my responsibility. And hopefully not for a while, maybe never, depending on when I retire. That thought allowed Cheynov to force down, with some success, the sense of foreboding resting heavily on his wizened shoulders. 'If that's the last you hear of Gellert Grindelwald,' it said. 'I'll be damned.' 'Shut up,' he told it. 'What that boy dreams of is impossible.' And, with that reassuring thought, he went back to focusing on the letter he needed to pen to Frau Bechtel in Prussia, then on to other business. The issue was resolved in his mind. … How wrong he was. Little did he know the events he had set into motion, and would, much, much later, look back on this day in horror. The face of evil …
Meanwhile, a boy with blond curls was striding down the corridor away from the office, away from Durmstrang, into a bright future in the huge, wild world. A world he intended to change. 'So much to do,' he thought.
1st July 1899, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland, Great Britain
Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore was, for the first time in years, actually looking forward to the holidays. A chance to escape from home had finally arisen, and he intended to make the most of it. Despite his thoughts to the contrary on that heady summer day, the seventeen-year-old boy did not yet entirely live up to the grandiose nature of his name. In looks certainly, he was far from impressive. He was tall, yet gangly, and had waist length red hair and the incredibly wispy beginnings of a beard, which was a very recent addition. Despite its wispiness, which his friends ignored out of respect for him, he'd become rather attached to the way it looked and so had decided not to shave if off when he had the time for such an activity after the frantic rush of the NEWT exam season. In his piecing blue eyes it was clear he, as well as the rest of the school, knew he had passed with flying colours. Albus was on the way to greatness, and this summer would be the beginning, he just knew it.
Currently, however, he was not doing anything particularly extraordinary, although he would have argued with anyone who said that it was not intellectually stimulating to some extent. He was packing. Well, attempting to, with the growing realisation that he was going to have to improve the spell increasing the size of the innards of his trunk to accommodate the many booked he seemed to have acquired during the academic year, as well as the periodicals, journals, notebooks, papers and various other trappings of the academic lifestyle he intended to pursue. After this year … this year he was determined to be young, to travel, for a few brief moments, to actually be free. An hour or so more packing, one more breakfast here, a brief trip to the train station and then he was off! Off into the world! A world he intended to change!
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