Chapter 38

THE EPICENTRE OF HISTORY

Karkaroff muttered the keyword, and as if mist had cleared, the castle of Durmstrang was revealed on top of Korvatunturi. It was a four-storey building made of jagged dark stones; there were not many windows, and they were all small. The castle did not have such beauty as Hogwarts had, no lifelike ornaments forming fascinating patterns or anything, and unlike Hogwarts, the feeling of magic was ominous, quite like the one in the Black townhouse.

"We might not have long," Karkaroff warned me sourly. "Moscow will send people here to take control of the school. They will breach the wards, because they know the keyword. Lenin forced the school to accept the supreme authority of the central government."

"Yes, and Voldemort knows this as well," I said. "He will certainly come to deal with you before there's the risk of the Russian officials witnessing his assault."

"Then why did you want to come here?" Karkaroff snarled. "We're both in danger!"

"Viktor Krum gave me a list of those magical arts that are more extensively available here than at Hogwarts. We're clearing the library of all valuable books, or at least all that will fit in my trunk. Don't look like that; if we don't loot them, Voldemort will. You'll be the scapegoat either way."

"What are you going to do with so many books?" Karkaroff huffed while opening the main entrance, a surprisingly small doorway considering the size of the castle.

"If you weren't so petty, you'd've realised that I'm a wizard of equal potential as Voldemort, Dumbledore and Grindelwald. The problem is that I'm young! But if I study and train enough, I will eventually eclipse them. I'll be the greatest wizard in the world, and if you serve me well, you'll benefit from being my assistant. Right now the assistance I need is your expertise. I'm very capable of Legilimency; you should be able to impart all your knowledge in a few years. To give you some further incentive, I may even free you of the Vow."

"I've heard boasts and promises like that before," he muttered.

"You'd better get used to them. You're now stuck with me; it's in your best interests to make sure my boasts become reality."

We walked down the dark, damp and unwelcoming hallways, Karkaroff leading the way. The entire interior of the castle was much like the Slytherin dungeons of Hogwarts.

The library was much smaller than that of Hogwarts, but the tempting feeling of Dark magic was so strong that I had not felt anything like it except when I had handled all of my Horcruxes at the same time. The place was probably the most promising source for learning the Dark Arts in the entire world. So many books, and what was more, so many books Voldemort had never had his hands on.

"Magnificent," I breathed. "Show me the books Grindelwald read. I want to know what the experiments were for which he was expelled. What could possibly be too radical even to this school's standards?"

"Hah!" Karkaroff scoffed. "Grindelwald's expulsion because of too radical experiments is a lie told by Grindelwald himself. He wanted to be as notorious as possible and that's why he told the lie to everyone who listened. As if you could get expelled from here because of the Dark Arts! No Headmaster would dare to insult such a dangerous student. Horrible experiments are, on the contrary, rewarded as a way of keeping on the good sides of the most dangerous students."

"So, what is the truth about Grindelwald's expulsion?"

Karkaroff grinned. His mood seemed to have changed very quickly.

"He was expelled because he's a Mudblood."

"What?"

"That's right. I'm one of the few who know the truth. I learned about it in the school archives after I became the Headmaster. Of course, there are countless rumours about Grindelwald's heritage, and the truth is hidden in a mountain of stories so implausible that no one believes any of them."

"How did he get accepted to study here in the first place?"

"His parents fabricated a lie plausible enough, because they knew about magic. He does have magical heritage, see. His great-aunt is the famous historian, Bathilda Bagshot. Her brother was a Squib who married a Muggle. Their daughter was a Muggle who married a Muggle. Grindelwald is their son."

It was somehow strange to think that such a prominent Dark Lord had actually been an outsider in the wizarding world. In Britain, Muggle-borns were unambitious and unpretentious almost without exception. But then again, I had been an outsider as well, one who had come to Hogwarts one day as an unremarkable poor orphan from London with only talent as a way of earning a place in the wizarding world. Perhaps Grindelwald's campaign had stemmed from the desire to forge his own place in the wizarding world, just like mine. The social hierarchy of wizarding societies was so stiff that it would take several generations for a family to rise from nothing to great power and esteem with such Hufflepuff methods as diligence, networking, flattery and austerity. Of course outsiders with Slytherin tendencies preferred blasting the old hierarchy in pieces and then remaking it with themselves at the top. If Grindelwald or I had been born to rich pure-blood families, we might never have found any great ambition, but ended up wasting our potential in a lavish, decadent lifestyle like Lucius Malfoy.

"You were his follower once," I said and sat down at a table, gesturing Karkaroff to take a seat too. "I'd like to know more about his personality and deeds – more than what is common knowledge in Britain."

"Follower – not exactly," he said and sat down. "Not in the same way I was a Death Eater later. He controlled the wizarding countries of most of Europe. I was just one minor wizard who was enlisted to fight in the war like so many others. The alternative was defecting, but since Grindelwald seemed unstoppable, placing my stakes with him was the obvious thing to do. Besides, there was some appeal in his policy of the Greater Good."

"Still, you know personally how he operated."

"Yes, I do, more than you may think. I wish I didn't know, actually." He looked quite depressed. "It broke me. I had been brainwashed to worship him, and when I learned what he's actually like, it felt like my world had shattered. I had to admit that the villagers of Solovetsky were right to hate him, but there was no going back for me. In a way it was a relief to learn later that he's just a Mudblood."

"This is getting interesting," I said. "Speak, my good man!"

"I've never told anyone, because it would've been bad for me politically, but I was one of the last people who met Grindelwald before his duel with Dumbledore."

"Really? Tell me everything about it!"

"It happened at the end of April, 1945. I had just come to Berlin from a reconnaissance mission after my commander had heard that Grindelwald had returned after having been away for a long time. His forces had almost been defeated, and the Muggle resistance against the Red Army was breaking. That's why even I was allowed into his headquarters despite being so young and quite inexperienced. There I… actually, I could show you my memory of it. I can't make it justice otherwise. We must get a Pensieve."

"I've got one in my trunk," I said very eagerly.

A minute later the Pensieve that I had purchased from Borgin and Burkes was on the table and Karkaroff was extracting his memory. He had closed his eyes in concentration, and I waited patiently. The longer it took him to extract, the longer and more detailed the memory had to be, and thus more interesting.

Finally the memory was swirling in the Pensieve, and we dived into it – Karkaroff first, obviously.

The mist turned into a grey and depressing world. Heavy clouds covered the sky, allowing little light to reach the ground where a ruined city was spreading as far as the eye could see. Smoke rose from many buildings, and the rumble of artillery fire blared in the distance. It was the end of an era, and the downfall of a once-mighty empire was near.

A single wizard was riding a broomstick through the air, and Karkaroff and I floated after him. This part of the memory was quite indistinct; young Karkaroff was obviously exhausted, and half a century had passed since the moment.

After a blur of most likely entirely reconstructed memories young Karkaroff arrived at a modest air raid shelter that was teeming with people. He shambled in and paused to have a look at the wizards around him. Most of them were young and every one of them looked weary, malnourished and discouraged. Young Karkaroff was no different.

"You there, what's your name?" barked a voice. It spoke in German, but since Karkaroff was fluent in it, I could somehow understand the words as well.

"Igor Karkaroff, sir, of the Southern Reconnaissance Company," said the young Karkaroff to the old wizard who had addressed him.

"Good, we've been expecting you to report," said the old wizard. He seemed to be a commanding officer; he wore fine robes and had an impressive beard that suggested that he was almost a hundred years old, but he fared only little better than the troops around him. "Come, we need you in the command centre."

The young Karkaroff followed him through the building until they reached a door. A group of wizards came out, and when Karkaroff and the old wizards entered, there were only three people in the room. It was a large one for an air raid shelter, but much smaller than the average Hogwarts classroom. A stylish table was in the middle, not looking like it belonged there, and there were still many kinds of junk next to the walls; the room had probably been used as storage during Grindelwald's absence and only partially cleared upon his return.

The Dark Lord Grindelwald sat at the table, looking as strong, relaxed and well-fed as a human being could possibly look. He was tall and handsome, he wore magnificent clothes and had a luxurious golden hair and a face so beautiful that it reminded me of an angel. Such a strong natural charisma radiated from him that it was no wonder he had been the most accomplished demagogue in history. One very striking thing about his appearance was a golden necklace shaped like the symbol he used: a line, a circle and a triangle.

"Report from the south, my lord," the old wizard said.

The young Karkaroff stepped forward, bowed and looked down at a large map of Brandenburg on Grindelwald's table.

"My lord, there's a contingent of French wizards approaching from the south-west. Most of my company stayed behind to halt their advance, but our captain can't promise more than one day."

Grindelwald waved his wand and created markings in different colours on the map to symbolise the strategic situation. When he stopped, I realised that the wand he used was a familiar one.

"Hey, that wand," I said. "Dumbledore uses it now."

"Really?" said the older Karkaroff in surprise. "He must've taken it after the duel."

"It seems we'll soon be trapped," Grindelwald said dispassionately. He had not granted the young wizard in front of him even one look.

"If we attack the main enemy force soon, you can face Dumbledore before he has gathered his forces," the old wizard said, coming close to the table to point with his wand. The young Karkaroff backed away to make him more room.

"True," said Grindelwald, rubbing his chin, "but we have no reports telling how large a force he is commanding, making the planning of a counter-attack impossible."

"We caught one of his lackeys yesterday," said the old wizard.

"Tear the information from his mind."

"I planned to do just that, but he claims to be a defector – Contact Number 714."

"Hm, the English brat?" Grindelwald mused aloud. "Interesting, if true. Bring him to me."

"Yes, my lord."

The old wizard left. Karkaroff had not been dismissed, but he had taken a few more steps back after he had not been asked any questions, and now he stood in a corner next to a pile of boxes where his grey robes somewhat camouflaged him against the plain concrete wall, and Grindelwald seemed to have forgotten his presence. Karkaroff clearly wanted to leave, but did not want to disturb the Dark Lord who studied the map intently and muttered to himself.

The old wizard was gone for a minute and then returned with a gaunt-looking young man. So exhausted the supposed Contact Number 714 was that he could barely walk, and immediately after having been helped into the room he sank into a chair without even asking for permission from the Dark Lord. Grindelwald, however, did not seem to care about such a violation of etiquette, but locked his eyes upon the young man's. As those weary eyes became glazed from being subjected to Legilimency, I suddenly recognised him.

"That's Augustus Rookwood!" I cried.

"You recognised him, huh?" the older Karkaroff said. "Yes, this is the first time I met the man whom I decades later exposed as a Death Eater. Soon you'll understand why."

Of course I recognised Rookwood. He had graduated from Hogwarts in 1941, and we had been on friendly terms. As one of the top students of his year, he had become the Head Boy and the student leader of Slytherin, and he had understood my vast potential. Every now and then we had discussed magical subjects, mainly his NEWT level coursework, and a few times I had been of help to him by having precocious insights. After his graduation he had visited Hogwarts often as Professor Slughorn's guest in the Slug Club, and he had become more and more interested in my increasing power. After I had opened the Chamber of Secrets and many guests had been reluctant to visit Hogwarts, Rookwood had actually grown really eager, and as far as I could remember, he had been present at every single Slug Club meeting during my fifth year and had actively sought my company. The last thing I had heard about him before being trapped in the diary was that he had been planning to join the war on the continent – apparently in order to defect to Grindelwald's side.

Rookwood began to tremble uncontrollably, and Grindelwald stopped invading his mind.

"All right, Contact Number 714, I see that you are what you claim to be," Grindelwald said in English, produced a bottle of restorative potion as if from thin air and offered it to Rookwood who drank it at once. "Your reports have been among the most interesting ones. I've got them over here."

Grindelwald opened a drawer of his table and took out a bundle of parchments. Rookwood tried to speak, but could only cough a little. At that moment hurried footsteps approached, and Grindelwald raised his hand.

"Gather your strength, Contact Number 714, it seems I'll have to deal with one of my pesky minions first."

The door was opened again, and into the room rushed a man wearing a Muggle military uniform with a red armband having a black hooked cross on white background. I let out an involuntary gasp, because I recognised him too; the toothbrush moustache was very familiar from the newspaper pictures I had seen during my summers in the orphanage. However, the man had grown frail from the stress of the Second World War.

"Master Grindelwald, I see you have returned at last," Adolf Hitler said gruffly. He seemed very displeased with the Dark Lord he served.

"Good evening, my dear Adolf," Grindelwald said pleasantly and went to meet his puppet. "What a pity we couldn't meet on a less stressful day."

"The Russians are almost here," Hitler snapped impatiently. "Your wizards tell me that your rival Albus Dumbledore is approaching with them and is shielding their artillery from magical counter-attacks. What are you going to do about it?"

"Since Albus has finally come to the frontline, our long-awaited confrontation will happen soon," Grindelwald said. "But first, do you have all the confiscated items?"

"We lost Auschwitz and Chelmno months ago," Hitler said. "The Final Solution has been halted, but the last batch of confiscations has been kept here waiting for you."

A Muggle officer whom I had not noticed before because Karkaroff had not paid him any attention stepped forward and dumped a large sack on Grindelwald's table. It turned out to be full of all kinds of unremarkable items, mostly jewellery, apparently taken from the Jews in the extermination camps. Grindelwald began to check the items with the air of someone who had done so numerous times before; he did not look particularly keen or expectant, but rather annoyed. Item after item was deemed worthless, and as the pile of discarded ones grew larger, Grindelwald grew more frustrated.

"What is so important about such trinkets?" Hitler asked.

"I am trying to find a magic stone," Grindelwald snapped irritably. "It is within the realm of possibility that one of the Jews possessed it. That's why I want to check all their belongings, even unremarkable children's pebble collections. But the Final Solution serves another purpose as well: if the magic stone is in the possession of some Jew-loving philanthropist, he will certainly use it to undo the genocide, and such a miracle will not go unnoticed."

"Undo…? What does the magic stone do?" Hitler asked. "How can we use it to win the war?"

"My dear Adolf, the stone is no weapon. It will not change the course of the war."

"What?!" Hitler roared. "Are you saying that we have wasted all this effort for a fool's errand? The Realm is in ruins and the Russians are here any day now! What are you going to do to save our lives?"

"My life is not in danger," Grindelwald stated indifferently and brandished his wand. "None of our enemies are of match for me."

"You betrayed me!" Hitler yelled. "You betrayed our Realm and our noble Aryan race!"

"Finding the magic stone is what is important to me," Grindelwald said. "Everything else is just a means to an end." He smirked in a very obnoxious way. "I'm afraid the Third Realm has failed in its purpose. No Jew possessed the stone, and no Jews have begun to mysteriously return to life. However, there is still something you can do for me, Adolf."

"Wh-what?" Hitler whimpered.

"Thanks to our propaganda campaign, the German people regard you as a god. Maybe the stone is possessed by a Jew-hating person who would like you to continue your grand Final Solution."

Hitler stared at Grindelwald, not understanding what the Dark Lord had meant. I, however, realised it immediately, because I too enjoyed such a cruel play with words, and it did not come to me as a surprise that Grindelwald raised his wand and pointed it at Hitler.

"Crucio."

The Muggle puppet of Grindelwald's Germany collapsed, shrieking in unimaginable agony.

"You have served your purpose, Adolf," Grindelwald said. "I'm sure there is a very special place in Hell for those who were foolish enough to trust me. The Fourth Realm will rise one day, and it will be the reborn Atlantis, a realm of magic. I'm afraid there will be no room for under-men like you, Adolf."

Grindelwald spoke just for his own entertainment; there was no way Hitler could have heard anything from his own scream. By the time Grindelwald finished, Hitler's nervous system was completely broken down. The scream ended, and Hitler breathed no more.

The scream was followed by utter silence. The young Karkaroff, Rookwood and the Muggle officer seemed shaken to the core. Only the old wizard had seen Hitler's fate coming and was unmoved.

"Surprise promotion, Chancellor Goebbels!" Grindelwald said to the officer in a mock happy voice that made him appear totally deranged. "You must inform the world of the unfortunate news that our beloved leader has passed away."

Goebbels bowed mutely and fled the room as quickly as his dignity could carry him.

"Now, your reports, Contact Number 714," Grindelwald said in English again, nonchalantly stepping over Hitler's corpse and returning to his table. "This war would have gone differently if I had not learned of Albus's movements from you – or, rather, the lack of them. However, as you probably noticed, I was equally interested in what you wrote about the opening of the Chamber of Secrets."

I gasped again. This memory did not lack surprises.

"My lord, I'm sorry I couldn't continue my research after the Chamber was closed," Rookwood said, glancing nervously at the corpse.

"Understandable," Grindelwald said while leafing through the parchments. "How sure are you about your suspicion that the true heir of Slytherin is this Tom Riddle?"

My mouth hung open. The last thing I had expected to be discussed in the room where Adolf Hitler had just died was myself.

"Almost positive," Rookwood said. "I did all I could to find out about his ancestry, and it is likely that he is related to the family of Gaunt. The Wizengamot trial documents tell that one Marvolo Gaunt, whose first name is Tom Riddle's second name, was very vocal about being an heir of Slytherin before he was sentenced to Azkaban."

"Is this Marvolo Gaunt still there?"

"No, my lord, he was there only for six months. The house he lived in is deserted. I can only assume he died shortly after his release due to being weakened by Dementor exposure. His son Morfin is currently in Azkaban for live."

"Any other relatives?"

"According to the trial documents Marvolo Gaunt had a daughter, but she, like Morfin, was never entered into the civil registry. However, it's not very difficult to make a few assumptions here. Morfin pleaded guilty to having murdered the Muggle family of Riddle. He had a long-standing enmity with them."

"I see," Grindelwald said. "Morfin Gaunt's sister gave birth to a half-blood and he never forgave the father for desecrating a pure-blood family descended from Salazar Slytherin himself. The half-blood is Tom Marvolo Riddle."

"Precisely," Rookwood said. "He lived in a Muggle orphanage, so it's safe to assume that his mother is dead."

It was fascinating to listen to how interested Grindelwald had been about my heritage, but it also caused me some concern. What was going on? Why was it so important, especially when Grindelwald was supposed to have much more pressing matters to attend to? The younger Karkaroff was clearly thinking something similar, because he looked both confused and tense.

"So, apparently Tom Riddle is the last living Parselmouth," Grindelwald concluded. "I will not keep you here, Contact Number 714, seeing how the situation has changed after I asked you to come. Return to Britain and keep it a secret that you have ever been in contact with me. Use your connections and infiltrate the Department of Mysteries. Then, if Tom Riddle ever rises into a position of power, make yourself his invaluable confidant."

"Yes, my lord," Rookwood said, stood up and bowed deeply.

"And when the time is right," Grindelwald continued, sparkling with such sinister fervour and raw magical power that the room suddenly felt more crowded, "you will hear from me again. Once this distraction of a war is won, my true plan will be fulfilled, and I will claim the ultimate prize!" His voice rose and eyes blazed with maniacal fire. "The secret that Salazar Slytherin so cleverly hid! The true Final Solution will be executed – for the Greater Good!"

"For the Greater Good!" Rookwood replied before hurrying out of the room. Grindelwald grabbed the reports and followed with the old wizard on his heels. The young Karkaroff hesitated for a moment, gulped and left the room as well. He was probably thinking the same thing I had in mind: that he had witnessed the conversation only because Grindelwald had not actively remembered that he was present. The room turned into mist, and the memory ended.

Karkaroff and I returned to the present. I sat silently for a long while, trying and failing to arrange all the questions that had popped in my mind. Karkaroff waited silently and smiled thinly as if he had wanted to share this memory with someone for ages.

"Well, that was quite a lot to take in at one go," I said finally. "Do you think Rookwood was actually loyal to Grindelwald ever after and just pretended to be serving Voldemort?"

"I have no idea," said Karkaroff. "Few people remain loyal to a master who loses everything and ends up in his own prison. But now you understand why I was always afraid of Rookwood – afraid of what he might do with the knowledge he learned from the Department of Mysteries."

"What happened after the conversation?"

"I was sent to sleep for a few hours, then I was yanked out of my bunk and told to fight to the end. The final battle of Grindelwald's Second War took place, and I flew all around Berlin and fought the wizards who accompanied Dumbledore. I was injured many times, I saw many of my comrades in arms being killed, we were losing… and after hours and hours of horror I had had enough. Grindelwald had just killed his puppet and told how little he cared about anything, and I couldn't see any reason to fight for him anymore. I fled, barely evaded the enemy troops and survived. My desertion had zero effect to the outcome of the war."

"And Rookwood avoided all suspicion?"

"As far as I could tell, yes. He probably sneaked out of Berlin at the last moment. I couldn't be interested in any of it in years. I wanted to forget everything. But when I got my life back on track, my curiosity finally awoke. I joined the Death Eaters after having been recruited by my old school friend Antonin Dolohov. When I learned that Grindelwald's Contact Number 714 was the Dark Lord's spy in the Department of Mysteries, I grew worried. Rookwood had followed Grindelwald's order."

"This Tom Riddle," I said. "Did you ever find out about him?"

"I tried to, but there wasn't much information about him around. I don't know what became of him."

"Well, I do. Tom Riddle became famous with his chosen name, Lord Voldemort."

Karkaroff yelped and his eyes grew wide.

"What?! But that means Rookwood actually did follow Grindelwald's order to the letter. Tom Riddle did rise into a position of power! And… and that also means that the Dark Lord is a half-blood! Yuck!"

"Yes, many pure-bloods seem to be content with complaining about the state of things, not going through the trouble of changing it. Anyway, now I'd very much like to know if Rookwood ever suggested to Voldemort that Grindelwald should be broken out of Nurmengard. Do you know about such a suggestion?"

"No, I was never a very high-ranking Death Eater, and I had learned not to go around asking questions. The best survival strategy in the Dark Lord's service was to avoid attention. But if I'd known he's Tom Riddle I would've told him about the mission Grindelwald gave Rookwood. And I'm quite sure the Dark Lord wouldn't have been interested in breaking Grindelwald out of Nurmengard. They would've been rivals."

"What about the magic stone Grindelwald spoke about?" I pressed on. "Do you know what it is? A stone that could undo the genocide? Sounds a little like a Philosopher's Stone, but not quite. It's supposed to keep a living person alive, not to bring a dead one back to life."

"Yes, but who knows what a Philosopher's Stone can truly do? Nicolas Flamel didn't share any of his research. The magic stone was the first thing about the conversation that intrigued me after the years it took me to recover from the war. I read about ancient magical items and the only one that matches Grindelwald's description is the Resurrection Stone from that one children's story."

"The Tale of the Three Brothers," I mumbled. Older Hogwarts students sometimes told it to the younger ones on Hallowe'en, and that was how I had first heard it in 1938. "But it's just a – well, a children's story. It doesn't seem like something Grindelwald would take seriously."

"I agree," said Karkaroff. "Unfortunately, there's nothing more I could tell you about it."

"Voldemort will surely try to break all Death Eaters free from Azkaban, and considering how the Ministry refuses to believe he has returned it's only a matter of time it happens. Rookwood will soon be free again, and I want to interrogate him. Prepare for some drastic measures to abduct him."

"A-all right," Karkaroff stuttered. "But it'll be really dangerous!"

"Fighting and making the first move is certainly the last thing they'd ever expect from you," I said and stood up. I wanted to think, alone. There were things about the conversation I did not want to share with Karkaroff, Unbreakable Vow or not.

What was this singular secret that Grindelwald had wanted from the Chamber of Secrets, 'the ultimate prize?' And what could it have to do with 'the true Final Solution?' Of course, the answer could be a simple one, using the Basilisk as a weapon of mass destruction, but surely a wizard of Grindelwald's talent and ruthlessness could have come up with an alternative way of achieving the same result. Besides, Grindelwald had not considered the secret necessary to defeat Dumbledore, his only equal. Since that was the case, the secret had to be something of immense importance even after Grindelwald would have crushed all opposition.

And the obvious next thought was that the secret had something to do with the symbol I had seen on the Chamber's floor when Salazar's statue had shared the stored memories with me – the same symbol that Grindelwald had taken as his own. After all, Salazar's memories had not explained at all why the symbol was there.

Either Grindelwald had just speculated or there was even more to the Chamber of Secrets, something Salazar had decided not to share with his heir. I would get to the bottom of this mystery and claim the ultimate prize as my own!

Posted on the 1st of March, 2021.