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Nurmengard

Chapter 4: Innocence

As he hobbled down the corridor as quickly and silently as he could, Harry Potter's mind was solely focused on one thought: survival. For someone like Harry, having his thoughts focused on one single goal was unusual, as his mind tended to be a rather chaotic place, with many different thoughts drifting in and out quicker then he could usually grasp them. Usually the only time when his mind was this clear was when he was either flying, fighting for his life, or when he was in enough pain that all unnecessary thought was completely banished from his mind; considering the nasty fall he had taken down the stairwell while running for his life, Harry's current predicament matched two of the previous three criteria.

Diving down the stairwell had proved to have been a very good idea, as well as being incredibly stupid. He had barely escaped being crushed by the first explosive collapse of the rooftop turret, before the stairways weakened passage started to crack. Harry was lucky that he didn't break any bones with his initial dive into the stairwell, but he did manage to give his body a decent beating when he knocked the wind out of himself before tumbling quickly down the hard stone steps. Harry came to an abrupt halt when he slammed hard into the wall as the stairs took the first of many confusing turns. Despite his dizziness, Harry had enough wits to quickly crawl down the stairs, before more rocks quickly began to fill the space he had just occupied. While the oddly twisting stairwells had been anuisance totravel through, they had helped prevent the ceilings collapse from becoming any worse, saving Harry from being crushed while temporarily blocking him from any Purifiers that had been chasing him on the fortresses rooftop.

Realizing that he would soon have more Purifiers chasing him, Harry began to travel down the corridors as quickly as he battered body would allow; Harry wasn't even bothering to check the bodies of fallen prison guards that he passed, as they had likely already been looted by Grindelwald's forces. Even moving as quickly as he could, Harry was still able to notice the differences in his surroundings in the outer triangle of the prison, compared to the inner circular structure. The hallways of the inner circle were more narrow and confusing to travel down, while the cells were all heavily fortified, with only a small hole in the solid metal door to look through into the hallway. By comparison, the hallways of the outer triangle were almost twice as wide and easier to transverse, with cells that seemed to more closely resemble the classical 'open bars' look, where an inmate could literally stick his arm out between the bars, unless some sort of spell prevented it. All the cells were also modified to hold multiple prisoners, instead of only one as had been the case of the inner circle. Harry could only assume that he was now traveling through the section of the prison where average inmates were held, while the inner circle was for solitary confinement, where only the worst and most dangerous prisoners were sent to serve their time; if Harry wasn't so worried about being ambushed by Purifiers while almost completely defenseless, he would have been pissed off at the fact that he was sent to a solitary cell like some hardened criminal.

Through sheer luck, Harry had managed to find a stairway down without having to run into anyone, but as he descended to the eleventh floor, Harry's luck quickly ran out – at the bottom of the stairway were two men arguing with one another, blocking his exit to the floor below. Coming to a complete and sudden halt, Harry silently observed the two Purifiers from the shadows of the stairwell. Looking closely, Harry could tell they were the exact same men who had captured him before – Harry could recognize the prominent scowl of the man he had hit in the crotch and the odd buzz-cut hairstyle of his partner.

As quietly as possible, Harry slowly removed the dagger he had taken earlier from a dead Purifier from its leather sheath on Harry's belt. The dagger itself had an extremely odd design: a solid, leather wrapped handle with a black cross-guard in the shape of what Harry was now considering Grindelwald's personal mark, the triangular symbol all the Purifiers wore on their uniforms. The blade itself was wide and flat, with several intricate runes carved straight through the metal, leaving gaps in the blade. The dagger's main edge was extremely sharp, and went up one side of the blade where it curved backwards at the tip, before changing to an uneven series of sharp edges that protruded from the back of the blade at odd intervals. For such a small weapon, it had a very sinister appearance overall.

Holding the dagger with the smooth, sharp edge facing towards him, Harry began to slowly creep down the stairs, making sure to not make any noise and to stick to the shadows. Harry's mind was racing almost as fast as his heart-beat; he was seriously contemplating going over to the man whose back was turned to the stairs and stabbing him from behind. Normally, the thought of actually stabbing someone in the back would have been completely revolting to him, as it would have gone against almost everything not only he, but Griffindor House as a whole stood for. For the past four years of his life, it had been drilled into Harry's mind to uphold the unwritten code of chivalry and honor in battle, and killing an unsuspecting foe without warning went completely against those beliefs. Of course, bravely announcing his presence to the Purifiers would be the height to stupidity, and almost assuredly lead to his capture, if not his death.

Harry vividly remembered the battle against Voldemort and his Death Eaters after he was resurrected, and despite all the killing he had performed and blood he had spilled, he couldn't remember actually killing someone when their back was turned, but only in self-defense. Did it really make any difference if he killed the killers while their backs were turned? Why should he feel guilty for launching a sneak attack on men who had carelessly stood by while defenseless prisoners were tortured and executed in front of them? It wasn't like they were just some innocent bystander's who got caught in the crossfire, so why should it be wrong to attack the men from behind when they weren't properly guarding the stairwells like they were obviously supposed to?

Harry was well aware his current thought processes were slightly different then normal; In fact one could almost say it was rather Slytherin of him to think of stabbing a man from behind rather then risk a suicidal frontal confrontation. But was it really wrong of Harry to think that way? The Sorting Hat did say Harry would do well in Slytherin House – maybe his inner snake was just finally beginning to surface due to all the crap he had been forced to deal with recently. It wasn't like he was some pure and wholesome entity: he had killed several people viciously several weeks ago, and had even killed his first human being, Professor Quirinus Quirrell, back when he was only eleven, assuming you didn't include the night when he first got his scar.

Harry could hide in the shadows and continue to split hairs on the moral issue till he was blue in the face, but seeing as he was backed into a corner with no other options, in the end it all boiled down to only one question: them or me?

After a brief moment's hesitation, Harry slowly crept forward, sticking to the shadows, and silently crouched just behind the Purifier who had his back to him, the calm one with the buzz-cut. Taking advantage of his small stature, Harry was able to hide behind the calmer Purifier without giving himself away to his temperamental partner. Slowly raising his hands, Harry raised himself up to the Purifiers shoulders and took a deep breath before he finally made his move.

As quickly as possible, Harry threw his left hand over the Purifiers shoulder, grabbing his face and lifting it up, while his right hand lashed forward and tore his dagger straight across the man's throat. Harry only had a second to register the warm blood that splattered across the side of his head and covered his arms and hands before he was quickly tossed over the wounded mans shoulder and hit the stone floor hard, knocking the wind out of him. More blood fell on his face as he tried to focus his blurry eyes on the man above him, desperately clutching at his throat to stem the blood flow.

A small, pathetic squeak came from Harry's lips as the Purifier with the permanent scowl slammed his foot down hard on his chest, leveling his wand straight between his eyes. There was a glint of uncontrolled rage in the angry man's eyes, as he opened his mouth and spat out, "Avada Ked..."

Without thinking, Harry quickly raised his blood-soaked dagger and drove it into the back of the Purifiers knee, causing the man to howl in pain and fall sideways. With a grunt, Harry twisted the blade before ripping it out, as the large Purifiers fell on his lower legs, preventing Harry from moving.

The other Purifier collapsed to his knees, gurgling feebly as he choked on his own blood, his eyes wide with pain and desperation. Harry reached out with his left hand and tried to take the man's wand from the hands still clutching at his bleeding neck. Despite his injuries, the Purifier firmly held his wand, refusing to let it go. With a massive tug, Harry was able to rip the wand from the man's blood-slicked hands, but he also pulled the dying Purifier on top of him. The bleeding man then proceeded to wrap his large hands tightly around Harry's neck, choking the teen as he stared hatefully into the boy's eyes.

Harry flailed helplessly, unable to push the heavy man off of him while also being unable to utter a single spell with his new wand. In desperation, Harry began to drive his dagger repeatedly into the dying Purifiers stomach, over and over as his vision began to blur. His hand was suddenly grabbed by the wounded man that had fallen on Harry's legs, preventing him from further stabbing the now weakening man who hovered over him. As the grip around his neck loosened, Harry used the last of his breath to blindly point towards the man who was struggling to get his dagger from him and croaked, "Reducto!" Harry felt another warm splash as his lower body was coated in blood and the other man hovering over him fell on his chest and stopped struggling.

For a few minutes, the hallway became completely silent with the exception of Harry's ragged breathing as he desperately tried to get more air into his burning lungs. Harry tried to control the almost violent urge to puke, before with a grunt he used all of his strength to push the two dead Purifiers off of him. Slipping slightly, the blood-soaked boy stood up on unsteady legs, surveying the carnage. It was like a gruesome scene out of a bad slasher film, and as the warm blood of both men began to cool and stick to his skin, Harry couldn't control the sudden fit of chills that suddenly seized his body.

The two dead men at his feet not only looked like they had been murdered, they looked like they had been butchered. One was covered with slash and stab wounds, while the other had been blasted in two,with his legs further down thew hall while the torso was resting at Harry's feet. Both men were completely drenched in blood and still wore expressions of pain and horror on their lifeless faces.

Harry couldn't help it – he fell to his knees and violently vomited.

He kept throwing up until there was simply nothing left in his stomach besides bile, and then began to throw that up as well. He clutched his sides as his head hit the floor with a hard thump and struggled to breath through his insistent dry heaves. Without the buzz of adrenalin rushing through his veins Harry was now left with nothing but the cold, hard reality of what he had just done. While it was true that both men were the enemy and were likely going to kill him, Harry himself had initiated the fight and had struck them from behind by surprise. The distinction between killing a killer in pure self-defense, or striking before they could attack you may not have seemed like such a moral dilemma for some, but for someone who so heavily rested on their own moral and ethical code as Harry it was a severe blow. Harry had coldly attacked and murdered two men he didn't know in order to guarantee his own survival, and was likely going to have to do it again before he could finally escape the hellish prison.

Finally mustering control over his own body again, the boy stood back up, sturdier then he was before. Clearing all other thoughts from his mind, Harry quietly muttered, "Accio!", and summoned the wand from the second guard he had killed. A quick test of both wands by using the Levitation Charm proved that while the wands would work for him, they were nowhere near as efficient or as powerful as either of the brother wands. Still, at least now Harry possessed a far better way of defending himself then a simple blade.

As he slowly began to move down the hallway, Harry stepped over the two dead guards and refused to look back. He didn't need another look to see what would inevitably be scarred into his memory until his dying moments. He purposely took very slow and deep breaths, calming his rapidly beating heart and clearing the turbulent thoughts from his mind. He could afford to deal with the guilt and shame of what he had done only when and if he escaped the dark fortress.

As Harry walked away, he failed to notice the tears that slowly cut a trail through the blood that heavily stained his cheeks.


Ehren Töpfer couldn't help the tears that fell from his eyes as he knelt over the mutilated body of his closest friend, Raimund Richter. So far Töpfer had met little resistance as he had ascended through the prisons outer structure. He could only assume that both his allies and enemies believed him to be dead, buried under the massive pile of rubble inside the prisons entryway. He believed that Hitzig's Element had mostly survived, but having seen most of his team slaughtered, and having awoken holding the arm of one of his fallen comrades, Töpfer gave up on the useless task of trying to dig through the pile of rubble that separated him from the others. Töpfer instead tried to stick to his original objective of scouring the prison and killing any of Grindelwald's forces that he happened to find and avenging his fallen teammates – he at least owed them that much for leading them into this death-trap. He also wished to find his friend Raimund and insure his safety, both from the Purifiers as well as the Gegentaktik.

The Lieutenant General's orders to execute anyone and everyone they encountered had continued to puzzle Töpfer; while he was well aware that the man was utterly ruthless and a complete asshole, Töpfer didn't think that Schwarz was also a needless butcher of innocents. While a large chunk of the prisons inmates were Grindelwald supporters, there was also a large chunk of the prison population that were political casualties of war or hapless fools who stumbled onto the wrong secret. Did the 'crime' of knowing too much really warrant death as a punishment? And what about the prison's guards? If any of them had survived, what was their crime? Töpfer knew that the inmate rebellion would be a 'stain' of sorts on the Zauberministerium's record, but how could the German Ministry of Magic simply try to cover the incident up by killing all of the survivors? It was absolutely barbaric.

Töpfer's sense of injustice were quickly silenced when he arrived at the sixth floor of the prisons outer complex. Passing though the prison and seeing the mutilated bodies of the prisons guards and the occasional dead Purifier gave Töpfer some idea of the massive struggle they had fought to maintain order within Nurmengard, and the death count seemed to increase the higher he climbed. Seeing the doorway to one of the prisons many guard stations on the sixth floor blasted off and the station left completely accessible had immediately caught his attention; All of the other stations Töpfer had passed had been put under heavy lock-down and were completely inaccessible without either resetting the prisons wards or a skilled ward breaker to simply blast their way in. It wasn't till he got inside that Töpfer found his deceased friend and discovered the reason for the discrepancy.

What was left of Raimund Richter was an absolute mess – he had a a large, jagged shard of black stone buried deep in his right side and his right arm was completely severed below the elbow. The most gruesome damage though was the large, bloodied hole that had been blown through Raimund's chest and had continued into the ruined control panel that was now covered in blood and gore.

All rational thought left Töpfer's head as he was completely filled with a volatile mixture of rage and pain. His best friend, the one who had suffered and endured countless hardships with him had been brutally killed. Not bothering to stop his tears that streamed down his face, Töpfer bent down over his fallen friend and gently closed Raimund's glassy, unseeing eyes. With his hand still resting over Raimund's face, Töpfer bowed his head and closed his eye's, offering up a final prayer for his fallen friend:

"Ewige Ruhe-Bewilligung zu ihm, O Herr; und lassen Sie fortwährenden leichten Schein auf ihn. Kann er, sich in Frieden ausruhen. Amen."

(Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord; and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen.)

Taking a deep breath, Töpfer slowly stood up and tried to reign in the chaotic emotions that swept through him. It had been drilled into both Töpfer and Raimund's heads early in their Gegentaktik training that unbridled emotions lead to mistakes that could get you and your team killed. His whole body trembled as he struggled to use Occlumency to try and tame the raging whirlwind of emotions that continued to tear though his mind and heart. Slowly all the sadness, pain, and rage were all forced down and locked up in a distant, dark corner of his mind. The emotions were far too raw and powerful for Töpfer to fully suppress, and although controlled for the time being, continued to bubble violently beneath Töpfer's now calm demeanor.

Quickly glancing at the ruined scrying communications panel behind his deceased friend, Töpfer couldn't help the tight, grim smile that formed on his face. Töpfer could see that the scrying stone had been active and in use just before it was destroyed, leading him to believe it was his friend that had sent the emergency call that had led him to this wretched place.

"Even in death, you still stand victorious, my old friend," Töpfer quietly spoke. Raimund had died to send off the garbled distress call that the Gegentaktik forces had intercepted, and it now fell to them to insure his death would not be in vain.

Wiping the tears from his eyes, Töpfer turned and left the ruined guard station, stepping over the two dead Purifiers that lay dead and bloodied just outside Raimund's post. Now devoid of distracting emotions and wandering thoughts, Töpfer stalked through the prisons silent halls. He passed the bodies of both Purifiers and prison guards alike without a sideways glance, his mind now reverting back to the intense survival training drilled into the minds of every Gegentaktik soldier: how to survive any danger and come out alive, regardless of the cost. Töpfer could absently feel how all the muscles in his body seemed to slightly tense, almost like a tightly coiled spring ready to go at a moments notice.

Without meeting any resistance, Töpfer was able to navigate the silent halls of Nurmengard without any difficulty and ascend the stairwell to the seventh floor. On this level Töpfer started to notice a change in the bodies that occasionally littered the hallways – some of them now wore filthy rags, leading him to believe they were former prisoners that had been killed trying to escape. If Töpfer didn't have his Occlumency barriers up in order to eliminate ay stray thought, he may have wondered why it was only now he was finding dead prisoners not of Grindelwald's ranks. However, he continued to pass the increasing number of dead with nothing more then a brief notice.

Töpfer was quietly heading towards the stairwell that would lead him to the eighth floor when the silence he had been surrounded by was quickly broken by the rapid scuffling of feet as they hurried down the twisting stairwell towards him. Töpfer quickly raised his wand up through the stairwells entrance just as the man who had been rushing down the stairs turned turned into view. Startling at having found himself at wand point, the ragged prisoner tried to stop but found himself quickly falling forward down the stairs from the rapid pace he had been running at. With a yell of fright, the man proceeded to tumble down the remaining ten stairs of the stairwell, coming to a final painful stop at Töpfer's feet with a rater pathetic sounding whimper.

Groaning, the man tried to sit up using his arms to look at the man who now held him at wand point. Töpfer watched silently as the man's eyes widened when he saw him before letting out a deep sigh of relief, his whole body seeming to relax itself; the prisoner must have recognized Töpfer's forest green uniform, which was worn by all the Gegentaktik forces and he seemed to believe that he would now be under the German Zauberministerium's protection and be safely extracted from the now chaotic prison.

But Töpfer didn't lower his wand.

His heart seemed to beat loudly against his ribcage, like a sombre war drum rhythmically banging just before battle. Faster and faster the beat sounded, causing a buzzing to fill his ears and a light sheen of sweat to cover his body. The word's of Captain Hitzig, his commanding officer, continued to drift through his mind. "... Kill anything that moves. It's as simple as that," Hitzig had coldly ordered. But Töpfer had argued – he wasn't some heartless killer that would assassinate any poor sod that the state had issued deserved the death penalty without a fair trial. Töpfer didn't join Gegentaktik to become a ruthless assassin for the Ministry, but to help uphold the ideals that he and Raimund had fought their entire lives to help enforce. Raimund, his dead friend...

Like a horrifying picture that now haunted him, Töpfer couldn't fully banish the image of his mutilated friend from his eyes. The blank eye's, once filled with joy, that had stared blankly forward; the grimace of pain that still haunted the cold, frozen face of his friend; the innards that had been sprayed across the guard station Raimund had died to protect...

Raimund's blood was still on his hands, with the repugnant metallic smell of death filling his nostrils. Töpfer's body began to tremble slightly as his vision seemed to tint to a crimson red. Inside his mind, the rage and hatred he had struggled to maintain control of began to swell and struggle to break the bonds that held them in place. A deep, guttural growl began to rumble from Töpfer as he struggled to maintain control of himself. Because of these fucking inmate's decision to rebel his best friend, his brother in everything but blood, was dead. All their laughter and tears together, their hardships and struggles together to fight for their beliefs, were now completely dead and gone, brutally blasted to pieces several floors below in a ruined guard post. Raimund had died to help suppress and guard the sniveling, groveling pieces of shit like the one now cowering before him...

The last remnants of logical thought were violently pushed aside as the raw feelings of pain and loss flooded through Töpfer again, quickly followed by endless rage. Raimund was dead...dead...DEAD!

Confusion covered the fallen inmates face as Töpfer grit his teeth and a expression of absolute agony swept over his features, before being swept away by unrestrained rage. "AVADA KEDAVERA!" Töpfer shreiked, quickly killing the helpless inmate before he could fully realize what was happening. As the dead inmate fell backwards, the now lifeless face barely registering the shock and fear felt by the dead man, Töpfer's rage refused to calm down, flowing through him and screaming at him to lash out and kill anyone who stood in his way. He wanted to make them all suffer for taking away his friend, to make them feel even a fraction of the misery and suffering that now freely flowed through his veins.

As if fighting hidden restraints that had him bound, Töpfer began to slowly step forward, over the body of the fallen inmate and into the stairwell that led upward to the eighth floor. Slowly he began to pick up speed and he ascended the twisted stairwell, and a new sense of conviction began flooding through him. All of the chaotic emotions sweeping around his mind began to synchronize and harden into one focused and clear goal as he stalked into the eighth floor: They would pay. He would make them all pay.


'Look at all the little ant's scurry about,' Grindelwald quietly thought to himself as the surviving inmates of Nurmengard who were not a member of his army desperately fled for their lives. People were very similar to ant's in that they all tended to thoughtlessly work together for one common goal, namely the survival of the species. People liked to believe themselves to be unique individuals, but just like everyone else they were all just tiny, indistinguishable ants lost in the larger crowd. The second the queen ant, or ruling power was not there to administer advice to the mindless hoards they foolishly scattered outward, with no real semblance of leadership or purpose. Just like ants, people were also pathetically easy to squash to death – it wasn't even a real challenge for him.

"Such weak, pathetic creatures," Grindelwald mumbled almost mindlessly to himself. He would be better then all of the brainless ants scurrying about, clinging to their short, empty lives. Grindelwald would never fall in line with the rest of the crowd. He would evolve beyond them all. Most of the pieces were already in place. The only thing left was to draw in the remaining pawns that were an important part to his plan.

Currently, two of those pawns were running around his fortress in a sad, hopeless attempt to escape: The British Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge, and the infamous Boy-Who-Lived, Harry Potter. They had both tried to escape from him when Grindelwald's execution of Nurmengard's political prisoners was cut short by one of the Minister's guards. What the fools failed to realize was that there was no true way of hiding from him within the area that Nurmengard encompassed – Did they really think he didn't have a way of monitoring everything that went on within his territory? Idiots.

Both of the escaped pawns had made a valiant, but ultimately futile attempt to escape and would soon be re-captured: The British Minister would be brought back by one of his own guards who was one of Grindelwald's hidden agents, and four Purifiers had already been sent to where the Potter boy was fighting his soldiers to drag the runt back as well. Once both of them were back under his direct control, Grindelwald could finally begin the next phase of his plan.

Excitement seemed to rush through Grindelwald veins, almost making the terrifying Dark Lord giddy; for the first time in decades, he truly felt alive. For better or worse, the world would soon change, and he would change along with it. All of his grand plans would finally come to fruition, and Grindelwald would let no-one, least of all some cowardly Minister or a foolish little child stand in his way.