Heinrich Grindelwald and the Tide of Darkness

Chapter 6

He knocked on the door silently. The sound of the knocks echoed through the empty hallway as Heinrich waited for an answer to come. He hadn't thought much about what had happened the night before, too tired to process everything and too giddy for having succeeded to actually care. Yet here he now was, having succeeded and bringing thus food to the survivors of the ordeal. He had left Gellert to speak with Hagrid, since while he didn't doubt the fact he could drive the point across too, he'd rather talk with the girl and get her settled in.

It was kind of a shock moving from one prison to another after all. Yet it wasn't as if this prison was actually one to begin with. Well, it had been one, but now it was one no longer. Heinrich sighed as the door slowly creaked open, and the pale skinned girl with a clear and severe case of starvation showed her face. He brought up the small tray he held within his hands and whispered.

"Food?"

The girl opened the door a bit more, biting her lower lip as if she was conflicted over it. It was just food after all, what was there to worry about? That he had laced it with something? Heinrich pushed the tray forward and the girl grabbed it quickly, probably also licking her lips in the meantime. It was nothing grand of course, but after Azkaban even a cracker would look like some sort of prize from heaven. He just hoped they had gotten to both of them in time to avoid lasting damage.

"Thanks." Hermione replied quietly, just standing at the door and staring at him with a worried expression. It was a moment, Heinrich could see the flicker of an inner battle being fought within the confines of the girl's mind, before it finally broke through and the question was asked.

"Why?"

"It was the right thing to do." He murmured back, "You should rest now. We'll…We'll speak later on, when you're better." Heinrich commented, "It will take some time to get you back on your feet. If you're still hungry just ask: I'll be by the kitchen, down the hallway." He gestured to the end of the corridor, pointing in the direction of the kitchen, "You're not a prisoner." He added that with an afterthought. He hadn't expected that those simple words would make the girl start to sob and nod meekly, before turning around to drop the tray on the desk of her room.

Then the girl turned around and hugged him, tightly.

"Thank you." She whispered, before slowly letting go of the embrace and disappearing within the room, the door closed behind her. Heinrich took a deep breath, and then moved towards the kitchen. His thoughts began to linger on the feeling of…weakness that the girl had practically radiated, and the fact that while holding her he hadn't thought much on what to do.

No, while holding the girl, he had just thought about which curses could kill her easily in the blink of an eye. He shivered as he sat down at the kitchen's counter, looking into his hands that were apparently trembling from something. Was it fright? Was he afraid of becoming a monster of his own? What had he done? The right thing? The Good Thing? What if he had fallen for the same ideals of Greater Good that Dumbledore spewed out? He had killed a man, hadn't he?

The thought made him sick as he lurched for the kitchen's bin to retch in. The smell of rotten peeled skin, the coppery scent of blood, the metallic taste in the back of his mouth all came back to him with a terrifying backslash that left him to wobble with his hands on the floor. He had killed a man, and in that moment, in that precise moment it hadn't been Heinrich Grindelwald to take the kill. It had been Salazar Slytherin.

Was the man really a part of him? Was he really his reincarnation? What if he was then, and what if he wasn't? Had he finally gone mad, that he had to separate his self in two? Had he really a second personality that came out when death was needed? He coughed out the few remains of vomit from his mouth, slowly bringing his right hand up to the counter to lift him up, to grab a glass of water and wash the bitter taste out. He looked at the windows of the kitchen, so wide and crystal clear, showing a beautiful horizon that was slowly morphing into a beautiful day.

How sick it was, that murderers could still look at those wonders of nature and feel relieved. How sick that such a blue sky could be shared between good and evil, between monsters and saints. How utterly repulsing and disgusting was it, that he dared stand beneath such a piece of art that was the rising of the sun. Yet he stood there, because no god would come down to remove him from his spot. Yet he stood there, because he had earned his right hadn't he? He could have died just like that axe guy could have, and yet…

Yet he hadn't, and the man had. He chuckled. He laughed. He banged his head against the window panel he had walked forward to without even realizing it. He was stronger than most. He was better than most…but was he the best? No.

Not yet, anyway.

*Lillian Potter*

She hated to use her fame. She hated to be photographed around as the Girl-Who-Lived and be forced to sign autographs and smile to the press. She hated to be used as a way to earn votes for a re-election of the Prime Minister of the wizardry world, Cornelius Fudge. Still, this was a way to at least enter Azkaban and see Hermione. She had to hear it from her friend after all, maybe…maybe there was something they had overlooked, and with the minister present then she could have her grace stamped out.

The feeling of dread within the cold humid walls of Azkaban didn't make her feel any better. She didn't know when she had begun to cry, she didn't know when all her happiness had left her, but she knew that this feeling had lasted up until her father's Patronus, a bright silver stag, had departed from the tip of his wand to clear the hallway. The remaining Dementors had rushed away, disappearing and leaving the group able to continue.

There was a small contingent of Aurors following them. This was mostly filed under a 'visit' to the prisoners of Azkaban, that the minister had to perform once per term to see if he had any graces to hand out. If Hermione was graced, then she'd be out and free…and that was what she hoped for. Still, she could do nothing for Hagrid, and that thought in particular weighted down on her conscience. What if they saw him, and yet could do nothing? Hagrid's fault had been to endanger the students with his Acromantulas, and it had been shown that poor Macmillan had been eaten by one of such beasts.

She couldn't help but cringe as they took the steps upwards, to reach the higher up levels which were by contrast the milder ones to the Dementor's presence. They were stopped midway however, as one of the guards of the prison walked towards them.

"We weren't expecting ye so soon Guv'!" The man spoke gutturally, "They're still prepping up the girl."

"Mulciber." Her father spoke with a tightly controlled anger, "What are you doing here?"

"Oh my, you know each other?" Cornelius said pleasantly, the fact that he did so without an oily tone could only mean that the man was indeed with his head among the clouds, if he couldn't realize the amount of anger her father seemed to be radiating.

"Fought on the wrong side, the Imperius was bad." Mulciber replied with a small smirk, "Avery just went ta get the girl and make her presentable."

Lillian let out a startled cry of surprise when her father launched himself forward to grab the man by the ruff of the neck while letting out an angry hiss.

"You better not be playing games Mulciber, I still remember Diagon Alley."

"Wouldn't dream of it…twas the Imperius…I'm so sorry it happened, old pal." The snickering tone of the man was anything but truly pleading for forgiveness, and yet as the aurors separated the two of them while Fudge went on about how true gentlemen should behave, she couldn't help but worry for Hermione. Had…had they done anything to her friend? She clenched her fists as her hand went slowly towards her wand. If anything happened…

"Gentlemen, please behave." Cornelius snapped as the Aurors finished separating the two. "It is unbecoming. Now do shake hands and…"

"She's gone!" Another guard yelled from the other side of the hallway, "They've taken her out of the cell!"

"What?" She murmured, and just then, chaos ensued.

More than one voice spoke at the same time, with her father brandishing his wand in the face of 'Mulciber' while the minister was becoming purple from an effort to make everyone calm down. It didn't take long for the aurors to finally bring the calm back, but by then…by then she was already been held tightly by her mother.

"This is preposterous!" Cornelius exclaimed, "There is no way out of Azkaban!"

"She's been moved sir," an Auror piped in, having descended the stairs to probably ask someone. "Dementors moved her in the execution block, she's…"

"What!?" The blood curling scream made everyone wince, and it was only after their eyes turned to her that she realized just who had screamed. She had. She had screamed her disbelief and her anger outright, her entire frame trembling, "No!" She screamed, trying to run but being held firmly by her mother. "NO!"

"It will take some time to get down." Another Auror whispered, "Minister?"

"This is all so much improper: really, I can't begin to fathom who would have done such a thing…" Cornelius spoke clearly embarrassed, "But I will find out and I will have his head, of course it's sad that we might not be in time to…"

"Let's go instead of talking!" Lillian yelled, only to be stopped by her mother.

"Lillian. Stop." Lily whispered, "It's no use."

"But she's…Hermione's innocent!"

"We wouldn't reach her in time, Lillian." Lily whispered, "It takes at least an hour to bring down someone to the execution chambers…and there are a lot of doors to pass that are secured and…"

"No." Lillian whimpered, shaking her head. "No, no. No." She sobbed, clutching tightly against her mother's chest as she cried her tears.

"Mulciber?" She could hear her father's voice behind her, "If I find out you…"

"I would never!" The other man repeated, with that mocking tone always there. "Suppose the visits are over then Minister?"

"Yes they are." Cornelius tightly said. "Let's go Lord Potter. I am very much saddened by…"

"Minister: don't expect my vote of confidence." Her father muttered back to the man, before turning to march out of the place. The only problem was the sudden pool of dread that increased in intensity, as if a veritable stampede of pure eldritch horrors were barging their way upwards, in their directions. The reaction time of the Aurors came just close, but it still managed to pin to the ground all the important people, herself and her mother included as a true storm of Dementors flew in the air.

Their screeching sounds and noises echoed those of the most horrid nightmares, in a land twisted of flesh and death she felt nothing but sheer fear and sadness as her hands clenched against the strong stone surface of Azkaban's floor. Yet she did not move, she could not actually, because the Auror pinning them down had yet to release them, and as the thick blanket of despair fell upon them, the Dementors suddenly vanished from the corridor.

Nobody said a single word, as the fright and the fear were too much. She felt the familiar hands of her mother pulling her up and tightly hugging her as if her life depended on it, soon joined by her father who fussed over them. She gave a small look behind and gasped.

There, standing still with drool coming down his mouth, stood the kissed body of Mulciber himself. He, differently from them, had been too slow.

*Heinrich Grindelwald*

Parry, block, counter. Had it been a sword-fight, those moves would have been his. No lights, no loud pronunciations. No 'Verdimilious duo' or 'trio' or whatever. No long enchanted Latin incantations. No crackling powers of utter destruction. Lights of sickening dark shades flung themselves from one side to the other, in a battle that tore apart an entire forest. He grabbed the hand and smashed the bone; his opponent flung the dagger and pierced his heart. The heart was mended as he took a step back.

The battle raged as the thunder struck down. Fire, earth, wind and water were mere elements. Transfiguration was at the tip of his mouth as creatures appeared from the mere cracking ground, morphed to be nightmares of the abyss itself. Snakes with strong muscles and hardened scales, just a step away from dragons themselves, launched with fangs glistening with the most horrendous of poisons. Yet the man kept on fighting.

Why couldn't he just see?

"Salazar!" That sword of his, stolen from the goblins, just like his armor taken away from its rightful owner. Thief once and twice and thrice, of sword and shield and blood…and yet there he stood roaring among the forces of the light, while here he stood.

"Godric!" He roared back. Hell itself would answer his call: wands were unneeded instruments of his will after all. Battered shields clunk against blood soaked weapons, as the two of them took their breath, their armies clashed once more. A battle of attrition, a battle of power, a battle of belief. Fire met fire and sword met sword, axe splintered head and fist tore throat. Blood pooled and rain poured, as his eyes settled on his opponent once more. One final clash, one final pull…he would win, he knew that much. He could not lose.

It was all in the intent, after all.

Heinrich woke up with a startled cry, his sheet soaked in sweat as he gasped for air. He gathered his bearings as his glasses slid on his face, the walls of his room in Nurmengard now something so common for him to see. Yet he couldn't help but feel the pain on his back, as if an arrow had pierced him and was now sticking out through his chest. He touched himself to make sure it was all but part of a dream, and he realized he was still in one piece.

He was still intact, still whole…still a murderer. He hastily got up from his bed and dressed. It wouldn't do to sleep long. It wouldn't do to keep the others waiting. Normally he would have already woken up with a chilly bucket of water dumped on his face, but today nothing of the sort would happen. Today was August the thirteenth, and this was the day they left for Durmstrang.

The school began its lessons earlier, on the twentieth of August. Something to do with acclimatizing the students before the true cold hit in, but they had to depart a week earlier for another reason. They had to get new wands for both Hermione and…and get Hagrid's own repaired. The Half-Giant had actually recovered first. Apparently he hadn't been moved into the death rows until the very day they had come to their rescue, while Hermione had instead been there for at least twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours in contact with all that madness, it was a wonder she had bounced back up to a minimum of normalcy. The girl still looked underfed, but at least no longer seemed to have come out of Auschwitz. Hagrid had resumed smiling. Whatever the Giant blood was made of, it certainly appeared to have some natural properties in getting people back up on their own feet. The half-giant had actually decided to go to Durmstrang too, to take a look at the animals. Since the school did have big enough grounds for far more beasts than Hogwarts, Heinrich shivered at the thought of what monsters lurked in the shadows.

Still, he got himself dressed up, before pocketing his wand within his sleeve. He had to buy something to get his wand tied to his wrist. Maybe try and get a bunch of superglue to do it? He hadn't received any gifts for his birthday, but it wasn't as if it matter anyway. He was fine with what he had: freedom. And this small outing out in a 'rustic and picturesque' village, as Gellert referred to the spot…the fact the man had smirked and grinned at those words did not make the thing any better, but it wasn't as if he had anything to fear.

He opened the door and walked briskly towards the kitchen, the few remaining moments of tiredness from the nightmare passing by him as he reached for the counter and poured a bowl of cereals. He had never wondered much on where the food came from, and knowing Grindelwald it was probably something as simple as having some villagers somewhere have a magical cabinet of sorts and filling it with food that teleported up.

That or an owl service that delivered the groceries once a week, or maybe there was still food being set-up for the possible 'guards' of the prison. Something like that was probably normal, seeing as the small inner garden of the prison couldn't possibly feed everyone. And he highly doubted there were plants that grew cereals…albeit with magic, he supposed it could be slightly possible.

A squeak got his attention and as his eyes focused down to his feet, he met with the 'Rat', the rat being the pet of Hermione who apparently had followed her dutifully from Azkaban itself. The animal was clearly intelligent and probably magical too. If only he could remember if there was any type of mouse that was magical in nature. He doubted there was a sort of 'Mickey-Mouse' variation…but he had a hybridized poultry believing himself a messenger owl, so what was the problem actually?

He nicked a piece of cheese to the mouse, who fed on it ravenously before squeaking his way out of the room. Heinrich sighed and resumed his late hour breakfast. He was glad that Gellert had gotten some time off him to concentrate on Hermione's magical theory and bring her up to speed. The girl would need it in Durmstrang. He couldn't help but start toying with the cereals, growing soggier by the minute with the milk poured inside. The mush looked so much like a splattered brain that it wasn't even funny. Where had that thought come out from to begin with? Had he ever seen a splattered brain?

Of course he had. Troll, first year, girl bathroom. He could feel that something was wrong with him, but it was nothing life threatening. It was just a bit of madness probably, nothing to worry about. He groaned in frustration. If there was one thing he still longed for, it was a visit to a supermarket's electronic department. All those new Pc models and hardware…the new games coming out with better graphics…he felt himself salivating at the thought. Yet here he was, fighting for freedom.

Just like a good little child soldier; only he had a stick as a weapon and his stick could destroy buildings with a flick of the wrist. He gave out another sigh as he slowly walked his way out of the room and down the hallway, heading for the stairs. This would be the first time for him in the outer garden of the prison. Still of course within the wards, but at the same time out of the prison's walls itself. The walls that made him actually feel safe also constricted Hagrid and Hermione: both of them spent basically all the time they could outside, rather than inside. The tan they had proved it, of course.

He was still a sickly pale color himself, and that coloration of his skin didn't seem willing to leave. His hair had grown a bit more, and he groaned in frustration at the fact that indeed, it had been dyed blond. Just like Hermione's own had changed from the slight reddish hue to a raven black. It was better to be safe after all, than to be sorry. He took a step out of the massive doors of Nurmengard and exhaled slowly afterwards. No Aurors appeared out of the blue to capture him, so he was good: still within the wards and all.

He walked towards the outer 'garden' and there he snickered slightly to himself. Gellert was desperately trying to bring his opinion across, while at the same time Hermione was doing the exact opposite. Hagrid was nowhere in sight, so he either had already gone ahead or he had yet to come down.

"I'm saying that blood purity is crap: I mean, really? Why do you have to believe that some are inferior to others when…"

"Miss, it's the twentieth time I already told you the same words: I was young."

"That does not excuse…"

"Heinrich! Come here before Jean decides to pull out another one of her muggle scientists: we were waiting for you." Gellert's voice was warm, a small smile spreading on the old man's lips as he probably found the scene interesting to say the least. Hermione shut her mouth in a few seconds, turning around raven haired and all and puffing her cheeks out.

"Heinrich, tell him!" She exclaimed, pointing at the retired and 'in redemption' magical Hitler, "He still thinks some are better than others."

"Well…You are certainly better than a flea, are you not?" Gellert retorted.

"But those are different species!" Hermione, who was called Jean as her false name, replied hotly. "You can't compare them!"

"Why not?" Gellert insisted, "They are still living beings, right? We should all help ourselves to a nice brunch of rocks if we were to believe 'all are equal'."

"But you can't have humans treated differently: how would you feel to be a second rate citizen?" Jean replied exasperated, trying to make any sense of what the man was saying.

"You know that for centuries, slavery was commonly practiced right?" Gellert began slowly, "The Greek Polis flourished only because they could enslave other cities. The Roman Empire grew through the slaves and till well into the fifties, and I'm speaking of nineteen-fifty, it was a common thing for black men to be discriminated against. Yet somehow morality changed again. Let's make a game girl: tell me, who is worth more between a doctor and a homeless man?"

Jean bit her lip, before replying in an unsure way, "They're both lives. They're equal."

"Mistake." Gellert replied quickly, "One life is more precious than the other. Both are equally precious mind you, I am not saying the opposite…but some are more equals than others. It is in the nature of the human race to consider some superior and some inferior. You can believe all you want, and as strongly as you want that Democracy is the key to equality…but it's false. People flock to a leader: they always have and always will. That his name morphed from 'Lord', 'King', 'Emperor' to 'elected representative at the parliament' means nothing. He is still a man chosen by the mass: he is still a superior being among inferior ones. There cannot be equality."

Gellert smiled bitterly, "If anything, it's the fault of the inferior beings that they decided to select said course of action, but it's their choice you see? They decide because they are the majority, but the majority is a lie. I've lived long enough to know that a single man can change a country by sheer will. I've lived long enough to see a minority rise to power and control the sheep without fail…So you know why in truth you're fighting me over this triviality?" The old wizard said, asking the rhetoric question kindly.

"Because you're afraid I'm right. You're afraid to be a sheep in the middle of a thousand others. You're afraid that nothing you can do will change the world and somewhere deep down you've come to accept it…but you refuse to see it for what it is. Men and women can change the world even alone, Jean. All they need is their voice and their hands; that they choose so by yelling at pubs and marching in the streets guns in hand or that they do so through long winded speeches…in the end they change the world because they wish to."

Heinrich didn't move as he could see that Jean was trying her hardest to find a fault in the old wizard's argument, but as nothing came up, he sighed and walked over the two, preparing himself for a massive headache.

"But treatment should be the same for everyone, shouldn't it? Inferior or superior beings…they both should be treated in the same way: with respect." To those words pronounced by him, Gellert smiled and nodded.

"Good of you to catch my words, Heinrich. Even the slaves in Rome were treated far better than how they were portrayed. Sometimes…sometimes freedom is but a hassle. If you have food, a job and a boring life, what do you do with 'freedom' if not to only get the pain of having to make your own choices?"

"Why didn't you stay in prison then," Jean muttered back, "You don't seem to like being in a cell though." She crossed her arms over her chest, raising her chin in defiance. "People should all have the same rights."

"But about their duties, girl?" Gellert replied, "Why should some people prey on the government while others work their asses off? Why should some be differently treated because of nepotism, of blood ties, or the likes?"

"But you just said people are different!" Jean exclaimed once more.

"I said that, didn't I?" Gellert chuckled, "Yet my armies held giants, vampires, werewolves and many more 'creatures' that indeed were as living and breathing as you and I, sometimes even smarter than myself. I said people can be naturally classified, Jean. I never said the criteria for it, did I? I never said if it was a matter of skin or brainpower or something like that now, right? You see." The old wizard coughed slightly, "It's but a matter of perspective."

"I'm lost." Jean whispered, as Heinrich merely smirked slightly. He had learned long ago not to talk about political views with Gellert. It was sort of the reason people like Hitler and Mussolini rose to power: they always had a way with words that made them look like they were right, even to their opponents. He refrained from entering the argument as much as he could precisely because he knew it was a lost cause.

You can't convince a one hundred and eleven years old magical Nazi to suddenly drop the swastika. Sure, you can convince him to leave the flag in the closet, but burn it? You'd be better off trying to shoot him down.

"All right, last metaphor and then we grab the portkey and go get you a wand." Gellert deadpanned, "I already sent Hagrid ahead to get a new wand and handed him over the portkey for Durmstrang so there will be no need to worry about him any longer."

Heinrich raised an eyebrow, but said nothing more. The tone was nothing less than kind, but it still smelled the sort of kind that Dumbledore of all people used. He had to remember not to completely lower his guard with the old man. He knew not to trust him with all of his secrets, like the invisible and invisibility cloak, but he knew he needed him. He needed the man to train him, to make him stronger, and he just hoped he wouldn't get an arrow in the back for doing so.

He just hoped…yet somehow, he believed that hope was not enough.

"A man who does not work should not eat." Gellert pointed out, "and he should starve to death and die." He added. "This is the moral of the famous story of the ant and the grasshopper by Aesop."

"Yes. So?"

"The Ant is superior to the grasshopper. The Grasshopper is an inferior being: he did nothing and expected the same as the one who did something."

"But didn't you just…what about the voters then? You said all those who believe in democracy are inferior, didn't you?" She snapped back at him, only for Gellert to laugh.

"No. The sheep which whine that nothing is done are inferior beings. They keep on ranting about how they voted another person who should be their representative, their equal, and when he does nothing the fault goes to him…and not to them who voted someone who was not able to do as they willed. Weak willed people elect weak willed candidates. Inferior beings are elected by inferior beings which leads us to the point where a superior being needs to gain command and control them, before they hurt themselves."

"And such a 'superior being' would be you?"

"Me? No. I'm out of bounds." Gellert snickered, "I'm in retirement. The moral of the story however is always one: difference exists for a reason. People are inherently different. Some are stronger, others are smarter, some are quicker on their feet…the point is that the strong person in an element should always lead. Not the one who has the majority of the people on their side: those who rule must be strong, not pleasant to the eye."

"But if they become tyrants then…"

"Enough for today child," Gellert said, dismissing the argument, "We'll talk later on. Let us get you a wand, and I'd be surprised if it wasn't made of babbling wood with a core of babbling draught."

The portkey was a simple rope, and after Gellert placed a warming charm over both 'Jean' and Heinrich, he activated the portkey. Once it was touched, it brought the trio of them knee deep into the snow of what seemed like a small no-named village in the middle of a blizzard. In the middle of this truly 'rustic' village a small sign stood hanging with icicles at its bottom.

"Gregorovitch has the best wands of all of Siberia." Gellert said assuredly as Heinrich groaned. Thankfully he did have the warming charm on himself, because the entire rustic feel of the village seemed more of an out of the world experience, with them being in some sort of rendition of the North Pole. The wand shop was small and dingy, similar to Ollivander and yet at the same time profoundly different. There were small candles illuminating the place, as a man stood behind the counter reading a book, his hair of a pure white color, just like his beard. He looked like Santa Claus, if only not because of his clothes and because he doubted Santa would actually be found reading a book that appeared to be a trashy romance novel.

A trashy romance novel written in Latin, of course, but still one...the Satyricon.

"Gregorovitch, old pal!" As soon as Gellert spoke in a nice Germanic accent, the wand maker literally threw the book his way and grabbed a wand, before launching a set of curses so dark it made the hair on the back of Heinrich's neck rise as he dove for cover. The flurry of spell was interrupted after a successful one hit the wand maker in the chest, flinging the man backwards and on his knees, all energy apparently sapped from him.

"He can be a bit cranky if you interrupt his reading." Gellert said quietly, slowly making his way behind the counter. "Of course we actually need the wands, not your expertise Greg." The old wizard added, "So...stay there and be a kind host, all right? Miss. Gregorovitch, please come closer."

For a moment, nobody moved. It took a few instants for 'Jean' to realize that her surname had apparently been decided. She slowly moved forward as she half-expected Gellert to probably be like Ollivander in choosing the wand, instead all that the old wizard did was simply grab a bunch and give them to the girl to hold.

The procedure was repeated until, as a small pile of wands cluttered the floor, one in the bunch that Jean had been currently holding sparked. With a grin of satisfaction, Gellert removed a bunch of even more wands of the same type as that one, and in the end chose the one that 'sparked' the most for her.

A flick of the wrist later and the cluttered on the floor wands were back in their own boxes.

"See? I always wonder why wand makers have to make a fuss about it with 'try this' or 'try this one'…go with quantity and you can't miss the right one between all of them."

"Did you put the wands back in their proper order?" Jean suddenly asked, as she flicked her new wand right and left carefully.

"Of course not." Gellert grinned, "Let good old Greg take care of it when he wakes up…and realizes it."

"Why shouldn't he…"

"Obliviate."

Jean bit her tongue. She was probably fighting between the desire to yell at the man and the fact that she had been saved specifically because laws hadn't been followed. If she had yelled on rule breaking…wouldn't that have made her a hypocrite? Yet rules were rules, weren't they?

"Fourteen inches Hawthorn it is then, with a core of Hebridean Black heartstring." Gellert commented, before beckoning Heinrich closer. "Your turn Heinrich: you will need a second wand after all."

It felt like betrayal. He didn't want to. The wand was his and his alone, and he was its bearer and its user…and yet he knew the words were right, and another was needed…the true one was needed. Why true? Heinrich blinked at the notion that he was looking for a 'true' wand, not understanding where the thought had come from or why, but accepting yet another stack of wooden wands. The process was repeated until, in the end, a single wand came out that sparked with crimson bloody glints.

"Uhm…Now what is this wand to begin with…" Gellert mused, before looking back at Gregorovitch and shrugging. "Can't hurt to check. Legilimency!" It took a moment, and then the old wizard chuckled. "Really? They exist? The Quibbler was right on something? My…I shouldn't be surprised…the girl was a seer after all."

Heinrich raised an eyebrow in wait, looking over this second wand that appeared to be still sparking out.

"Well Heinrich, you've got yourself a thirteen inch long Hazel wood and Heliopath's tail core of a wand…and for why I'm laughing to myself, it's that Heliopaths are actually considered myth. The simple fact there's a wand here however makes me believe that someone isn't actually writing article while drunk." Gellert chuckled, "Had I known…"

"It's still sparking sir." Heinrich stated, as Gellert merely looked over the wand with curiosity.

"Indeed. That wand, my son," and this time the 'my son' was said with some sort of fatality that he did not miss, "is controlled by your emotions. Lose your temper and its fiery core will burn all around you to ashes. Harness the fire, and all will burn before you." Gellert chuckled as he finished speaking, "Truly a wand for those who have a set course…however," the old wizard whispered, "Heliopath means both 'something which feels like the sun' but also 'suffering like that of the sun'."

"Great." Heinrich muttered, "More pain coming my way."

"Without pain, there is nothing to gain." Jean whispered in a tiny voice, as she looked around the shop for a moment, before heading off to grab something from a rack. "Sorry." She added as an afterthought while looking in Gregorovitch direction. Returning to them, Jean sported in her hands two sets of wand chains, of the highest quality available: dragon leather.

"So…" Gellert snickered, "We move from being righteous to being thief-eous?"

"That word doesn't exist," the girl snapped back before handing one set over to Heinrich, who accepted it graciously, "And secondly I'm expecting you to pay him."

Gellert rolled his eyes, before dropping some Galleons on the desk of Gregorovitch.

"It's been nice making deals with you Greg! See you!" And the next moment, with a loud pop sound, the three of them disappeared. Left behind knocked unconscious and obliviated, Gregorovitch wouldn't remember a thing. Heinrich couldn't help but think if this was the right thing to do…but at least Gellert had paid the man, hadn't he?

Few seconds later, had they stayed, they would have seen the Galleons transform into pebbles.

Author's notes

Just to make sure nobody gets too comfortable with Gellert. His opinion is only his. Thus it's the opinion of a Magical Hitler who has renounced a bit of his beliefs but not all of them (General superiority still lingers, as does the belief that a single man is more powerful as a ruler than a majority).

Hermione Granger is now 'Jean Gregorovitch' and Harry Dursley is now 'Heinrich Grindelwald'…for how long, I wonder.

I think Gellert is being portrayed as I wished him to be: a sort of 'grandfather' that however was also Hitler. Think about having Hitler as the Grandfather that spoils you. You know he did some bad things in his youth (really horrible things), but he's your grandfather and he spoils you. That's the feeling of 'wrongness' that I'm trying to deliver with him, tell me if I managed.

The bit where he is more 'excited' is because he does have six years as a Ravenclaw student feigning his age and some things do linger around. For the wands, I'm actually enjoying reading the wikis on all their types and forms and how they work. It's kind of like the Jedis who need to build the lightsaber and find the cores: wand+core= specific wizard type.

That said, yes, something is amiss with the fact that Heinrich sent Hagrid first and the two kids later. What is wrong will be seen later on (probably).

Next chapter: Durmstrang! And you'll be surprised at where I put that damn place. (No really, take a guess and if you're right, I'll give you a digital cookie)

The theme for this book will be mostly centered on what is right and what is wrong, while talking of what is good and what is evil, mixing it with perspective and 'absolute evil does not exist'. The usual morality isn't set in stone thing I like to do.

Thanks for reviewing by the way! I'm glad the story is liked this much.

PS: The Satyricon was, (at least for when it was written) a parody about a guy who loved another guy who was fought over by a third guy who hated the first guy. It was a trashy, 'romantic' but ultimately a parody of the Roman times. Of course now it's just a good old piece of literature, but keep it out of the hands of kids.