Chapter 28: Another one Bites the Dust II
The weekend rolled around, and Harry made his way up to Dumbledore's office. It was late afternoon, and the weather was mild. Harry had speculated as to whom he might be meeting, but had always come up empty. The obvious choice would be his mentor, Nikolas Flamel, but he had recently died, so that couldn't be. Other than that, Harry knew next to nobody that the headmaster was close to. Anticipation heavy in the air, he passed the Gargoyle with a muttered, "Jelly Babies." and made his way up to the door. He knocked, and was admitted. As he entered, Harry noted that the headmaster was, for the first time he had ever seen, wearing plain black wizards robes.
"Harry, we will be apparating to my friend's accomodation, so if you would be so kind as to take my arm?" The word 'friend' seemed stressed, and almost lacking in depth, but Harry set that information aside, and reached out to grasp the man's forearm. Even his skin tingled with magic, like touching an artifact of great power. A moment later, he was being squeezed through a temporal tube, before being shot out of the other end.
Harry stumbled on the cold stone floor. It was grey, and looked as if maybe once it had been of great beauty, although now it sat in disrepair. Silence weighed heavily, like in a library, or sacred place.
Harry looked over, and Dumbledore had his wand out, copying him, Harry withdrew his stick of Yew. "Where are we, sir." He muttered, to which he recieved a reply after several seconds,
"Nurmengard."
Nurmengard. The prison-palace made by Grindelwald, where he was now imprisoned. It was massively magically fortified. Grindelwald had dedicated massive amounts of power to imbuing every stone, every brick with power. And now it housed only one prisoner. Grindelwald. Hailed across Europe as the most powerful Dark Lord of mdern times, only beat in his 'evilness' by one Voldemort. Here he had rotted, since 1945, alone, and without guards or visitors. And yet Dumbledore claimed he was a 'friend'. The history books stated that the two hated each other, they fought on opposite sides of the war that tore Europe apart.
"He... is your friend? But..."
"My boy, it will all be revealed to you by Gellert himself, momentarily. Yes, we fought one another, and I did place him here, but make no mistake about it: we are friends. Brothers. Maybe even closer. He alone is my peer - how could I not be drawn to that, even after all that occured?"
Stammering, Harry replied, still reeling from that revalation, "B...But he was evil. A Dark Lord. How could you be friends with that."
"It will all be made clear soon. You have a lot to learn, but learn you will."
Minutes later, they came upon a cell. It was a simple room, with a desk and bed, and a toilet and sink, seperated from the rest of the castle by simple iron bars. Harry could feel the magic about the restraints, but it was decaying. Weakening. He could have easily torn through it, given some time. He could also feel Grindelwald, the small, greying man with blue eyes, only a few shades darker than Dumbledore's electric ones. Whereas the Headmaster's magic rolled ambiently off him like a subtle, magical scent diffusing, Grindelwald's differed. It was much more concentrated, much more dense. Heavy. It didn't billow and swirl like the Headmaster's, nor have tendrils and dance like his own. It was regimented. Solid edges and disciplined order. Hard corners. Where the Headmaster's was like a shield, and Harry's was like a flame, Grindelwald's was like a blunt force trauma.
The man looked up from where he sat writing at his desk, and his piercing eyes matched Harry's. Where Dumbledore seemed to see right to the core of you, Grindelwald seemed to understand, and empathise with Harry, even in gaze alone.
"Guten tag, Albus, Mr Potter."
"Gellert, I trust you are keeping well?"
The man chuckled, and then replied, "I did the research that you asked about - I see no reason why it shouldn't work, but sherbet lemons, Albus? Really?"
Dumbledore looked momentraily affronted, before replying, "Well of course. If one cannot have class in his inventions, then one should not invent."
"You and I, my friend, have very different takes on 'class'."
Dumbledore smiled. A simple radiant smile, that Harry couldn't remember ever seeing him wear. It suited him. "Gellert, I have a request for you. I trust you read my letter. Please, could you talk with Harry. Harry, m'boy, I will return in two hours. I wish for you to talk with Mr Grindelwald until I return. If you trust me, if you really are committed to this, then do this for me. Answer his questions honestly, and ask any of your own. I will see you soon."
With that abrupt statement, he left the chamber, heading back the way they had arrived.
There were several moments of silence, before Grindelwald spoke up, "Well, Mr Potter, you must be of special interest. Albus has never brought a student of his to meet me... Care to tell me why you are so different?"
Harry blinked, holding his eyes closed for several moments, before starting to reply slowly, in a measured voice, "I am somewhat a... prodigy. Youngest World Champion of the Underage Duelling Circuit, Boy-who-lived, (Harry sneered at the title), and set to take my O. a year early. However, the Headmaster is somewhat concerned that I may be too similar to another student 'of that caliber' - Tom Riddle, or Voldemort."
Grindelwald chuckled, and the stark similarities between him and Dumbledore really began to show. He looked at Harry with a perceptive and understanding gaze, and replied, "So I see that I am exhibit A, then, a case study into how it can all go wrong. This... is probably an accurate portrayal. You know, Harry, I never intended to be a Dark Lord, I had no dreams of Gradeour, no goals of immortality. All I wanted was a world where Magical people were free to be themselves, and not to hide in the shadows, not to mask their nature. Oh and what a world we could have made, those of us who lived for freedom, for love." - this ending sentance sounded bitterly nostalgic, an image of Utopia just, but permanently, out of reach. "I realise now that some goals are unobtainable - some things will forever be out of our reach. For me though, and even sometimes now, when I am at my weakest, the temptation almost seems to great: for such a brilliant, scared goal, isn't the risk worth it?"
This man, Harry thought, was no Dark Lord. The image of Grindelwald - warlord who had torn apart Europe on a quest for power, shattered in one. The man who sat in front of him was to be respected and heeded, not feared and despised. As much as he had heard what a monster he was, Harry couldn't align that with the man who spoke with such passion for such noble goals. Grindelwald seemed to notice his hesitation, and spoke, "Speak your mind, mr Potter, maybe between our, forgive my immodesty, rather spectacular minds, maybe we can reach the bottom of the matter?" Harry nodded, and then spoke,
"I was told that you were a monster. Not to be trusted, to be feared. That you were evil. Yet I cannot see that, when faced with you, the man. If you are the standard of 'Evil' then we are all surely doomed, for every petty office tyrant would be worse in morality than you. Your words compell me, yet they shouldn't, not the words of a Dark Lord."
Grindelwald frowned, just slightly, but his eyes lit up, almost hurridley he replied, "But there stands the difference Harry! The marvellous chasm that seperates me and you from such Tyrants. It all comes back to magic, see. In magic, only two things matter: Not Dark nor Light, not scholarship nor age nor creed nor race. Only two things matter. Power, and the Intent that wields it. And here is the crux of it, see! Tyrants without power rule over nothing but pidgeons. Should those pidgeons be valued as human, they would be by far classified as Dark Lords, some of the worst. Yet they don't. They lack the power. And for that reason they cannot act evil, no matter how twisted their hearts' desire. Power in itself isn't wrong. However, I was named a Dark lord because in my wielding of Power, I disregarded my Intent, and was carried down a path that caused nothing but suffering perpetually. This is why, Mr Potter, the mistakes we make haunt us, they follow us our entire lives. Their damage tends to be far more catastrophic, and far more permanent." He paused for a moment, gathering himself and breathing deeply, before contiuing at a more sedated pace,
"This is something I have thought on for many nights, alone. It is the solution to the problems of the likes of me and Albus. Tom Riddle is different. He was twisted from the start. He had none of the required ethical rigour to have a chance at being Great, at least not in a decent sense. Oh, he has power, but like always, power is only half of magic. No, the most important thing in order for you to get this right, in order for you to be revered, to complete the tasks necessary to save the fargile world we live in, is strength. True strength alone is the key to all of this! I took power without intent, Albus refused power for fear that he would lose way of his good intentions, and in doing so, became intent, lacking in power. In order to live in both worlds, you must bind them together. Raise both of them up. Hold them as one. And to do that you must become strong, you must have integrity, you must be as a Marble Cliff to hold form against the unending waves that batter at your being. You must pull yourself together, rather than tearing yourself apart. You do that... You manage that... You would be as a God. And when the Devil bays for blood, seeks to paint the streets red with the icor of the innocent, the oh-so rare and precious truly innocent, it is only a true God that may stand in his way. Harry, you are Hope. Yet you must take the potential, and your responsibility, and you must craft strenth, and then you will become as a God to all of us. And it is a God we need."
Silence held as Harry sat dumbstruck, truly, nobody had ever reached his core like this man before him. His words resonated, tuned to the same frequency as Harry's very soul. He didn't leave his reverie until the sky was already darkening outside the slit window, and then his mouth, dry and hoarse from disuse, opened, and he asked,
"Why don't you leave this place. It isn't right. That you, a man with far less malevolance in his heart than many who walk freely, should be held a captive. And I see no reason why you couldn't. I can feel the magic hear. It is weak. Even I could escape in a matter of days. Why haven't you?"
Grindelwald chuckled, and smiled sadly, "It is not my place to leave here. The guilt I bear is far greater than the value of my freedom, and it is better that people believe I was a Dark Lord. No, the world is a better place without me free, for them all. Better they hate my mistakes than forget them in order to allow me to walk free. I could leave yes, but I will not."
They sat in silence for some time longer, before Dumbledore arrived. They said their farewells to Grindelwald, and Harry and the Headmaster exited the prison and flooed back to Hogwarts. Still, Grindelwald's words echoed through his mind. Now he knew how he must become what was needed of him. And such a 'Why' would surely be sufficient to bear the 'How'.
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The rest of the term passed in a blur of studying. Although Harry was entirely confident in his abilities, the theory aspects of each exam were where he feared he may struggle. May arrived in a bur of mild British springtime, and with it came exams. He sat them, and did the practicals, which were no challange at all, the examiners that he had for wanded subjects practically gushing with praise, and he figured that, just maybe, he had over-revised.
After they ended, it was a Hogsmede weekend, and Harry was looking forward to being able to finally cut loose - he had planned to go into the village with Katie, and meet Rick, Leanna and Ollie in the Three Broomsticks for Lunch.
Harry and Katie meandered down the track towards the town, discussing the latest news in the castle, and different classes,
"Are you competing in the Duelling tournament again this summer, Harry?" the younger girl asked, Her brown heair, almost blonde from the sun now, tucked under a beanie, and wearing a jacket, having forgone the more 'magical' cloak. Harry smirked, thinking about just what a shock the other compeptitors were in for this year, with his greater power, and agumented natural capabilities,
"Oh yes, I most certainly am. I can get you some tickets if you want? You would probably have to go with Sirius and Amelia, but Jaques has said he plans to compete, an dI know he has been training a lot. I'm sure you want to see your Boyfriend again don't you?"
Katie blushed at this, and sputtered, "He's not... we're not... he'd never..." to which Harry just smirked,
"Aww, so you're too scared to ask him, I can do it for you if you want? Do I need to play the role of proxy-older brother? Should I have a chat with him? You know, I will be competing against him in the tournament."
Katie scowled, "You better not ask him anything of the sort. And if you hurt him..."
"Yeah, what're you going to do? Nothing." Harry finished, still smirking triumphantly.
They wandered through the town, Katie spending almost an hour, and several galleons of Harry's money in Honeydukes. Although she refused to touch sweets, she had a rather unhealthy chocolate addiction.
After Zonkos, they headed to the pub for Lunch, and found Ollie, Rick and Leanna at a table near the door. They pulled up three chairs - One each for Harry and Katie, and one for Siegfried, who had been shadowning them. Harry was on high alert; it was always this time of the year when happened. After ordering, and teasing Rick and Leanna about their latest date - a disasterous foray into the wilds of Madame Puddifoots, the conversation turned to Quiddich. Katie and Ollie both supported Puddlemere, whilst Rick was a Flmouth Falcons guy, and Leanna supported the Tornadoes. Harry, having no iterest in in, tuned out, and turned his mind to Gellert Grindelwald. He had sent the man two letters - the first thanked the man for his ideas, and gave Harry's personal take and breakdown of them, and the second requested the man to consider leaving Nurmengard, and assist in the inevitable war to come. He had recieved no reply for the first one, but the second one had been returned with a letter politely declining the offer for shelter, but offering instead his journals, full of spells he had created, adapted and used, as well as tactics and much of the information on how he had risen to such power - how to speak publically, how to think, how to escape prisons, how to become silver-tongued. Harry had fallen on these books ravenously, devouring the knowledge, both 'Dark' and 'Light' and adding it to his arsenal, incorporating the other principles into his life and his work.
Harry's seat was facing towards the door, and as such he was the first to see Draco Malfoy and his two little Gorillas enter the Three Broomsticks. The 1st Year scanned the room, looking around until his eyes fell upon Harry, who he made his way towards. As he arrived at the table, Harry had already drawn his wand discreetly, and held it, levelled at the boy, under the table.
Malfoy was turning what looked to be a silver ring inlayed with Jade between his gloved hands, and he looked down at it for a moment before looking up, smirking, and cacking, "Catch this, Potter!"
He pitched the ring towards Harry who, out of instinct, reached out his bare hand towards the object, only his increased reflexes stopping it form hitting his cheek. As his skin touched the smooth, cold metal, he felt a sudden, sharp Jerk at his navel, and was whisked away...
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Back in the Three Broomsticks, several things happened at once: Katie started screaming, crying hysterically; Leanna sat in shock, Ollie shouted unitelligably; Rick tride to stand up quickly, and got tangled in his chair; Draco Malfoy turned, a look of elation across his face, and started to bolt towards the door of the Pub.
After two steps, his face fell. Fear filled it, a look almost palpable. Paling, open mouth, drawn features, wide eyes. He started backing away. In front of him stood a giant Metal Man. As he retreated, it advanced, one hand reaching back over it's shoulder for the weapon that hung their, feet thudding dully on the wooden boards. Malfoy scrambled back, his hands reaching out as he realised he was in front of a table, he started to try to move round it. Siegfried closed the distance, reaching out with his empty hand, and grabbling the young boy's neck. His large, gauntletted hand fitting right around the throat, he lefted, and the boy clawed at the metal, ghasping for air, his wand forgotted in his robe pocket. With an almighty motion, the Goblin-Made armour slammed it's almost-closed fist down into the table, with a resounding crunch...
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Harry felt himself be lifted off the ground, yanked by the navel upwards, and moments later, felt his feet roughly slammed back onto a floor. Instantly, he erected a dome shield, a flash of molten silver, encasing him on all sides.
With the sound of a gong, he saw through slightly bleary eyes, a purple spell splash against it. He quickly regained his bearings and looked around.
The room he was in was poorly lit - he could make out a long table with a smooth, dark wooden finish on it, surrounded by slightly worn and dusty high-backed wooden chairs, the one at the end being a black stone throne instead. He stood with his back to a stone wall, and the doors were at the far end of the room, and were closed. The only other occupant was a tall man with a wand out, his sickly pale features and platinum blond hair giving away his identity,
"Lucius Malfoy." he sneered. Well, this was interesting.
"Harry Potter... The Boy who Lived." was the reply, also sneered.
"Elm, and Dragon Heartstring of a Welsh Green. A... mediocre wand for a moderately skilled wizard."
The man's eyes widened imperceptably, and he snarled back, "Well, Boy-Who-Lived no more. My master is returning, and he wishes for me to subdue you so that he can deal with you himself."
Harry looked on indifferently, "And all that he shall find here is your corpse. It's a shame really. You have sealed the fate of your entire bloodline. All of the Malfoys will die by my wand. Your filthy Dynasty will be wiped from this life. All because you chose to follow Him."
"Oh really, I will enjoy watching you try."
With that, the Malfoy Patriarch flicked his wand, and a ruby red curse streaked towards Harry. He waved his hand, levitating a chair into it's path, before returning fire, his wand moving in the shape of an eight, on each of the four edges of the turn sending a different form of bone-breaker. His opponent shielded, each spell rocking him back and causing his eyes to widen.
Keeping up the offensive, Hary guided a series of low=power fire spells - a whip, a series of fireballs and a gout of greasy flames, all at Malfoy's left shoulder. The man moved slowly to Harry's left, stepping out of the way of each spell, all the while trying to find an opening to cast back, the few curses he did get off missing their mark entirely.
As Lucius reached the point where he was standing at the far end of the table, behind the throne, Harry slashed his wand violently up, the table tearing itself apart in the middle, hundreds of splinters launching themselves at Malfoy. At the beginning, he started by slashing his wand furiously to deflect them back, but soon became overwhelmed, and several buried themsleves in his chest. At this point he ducked behind the chair, which Harry slashed down at, cleaving in two. From the far side, he heard a strangled shout, and the ex-Death Eater, stood, stumbling towards the chair to the left of the throne. Across his shoulder, a deep wedge had been cleaved out, blood pouring from it. He tried to aim his wand, his left hand clutching his wound, and he fired off another of the purple spells he had opened the meeting with. Harry batted it aside, leaving it to bubble against the remainder of the table.
Malfoy was now clutching the seat for support, and Harry stalked towards him.
"Oh Lucius, already done?" he mocked, disarming the man, and cleaving his wand in two as it sailed through the air. "I think it's time for me to leave, but first, I really aught to stop that bleeding... shouldn't I?" Harry smiled a sickly smile, before muttering a line in arabic, and tapping Lucius on the chest.
After a few moments, a pool of water started to form around his feet, getting wider and wider. Lucius' face became sunken, his eyes shrivelling, and his bones became more and more prominent. A few moments later, he died.
Harry turned and pointed at the throne-like chair, flicking his wand, and leaving a burning emblem of a sword stabbing through a snake's head glowing emblazoned on it. Then he raised his wand to the sky, summoning down a spell that had come from Grindelwald's notes. A bolt of grey lightning struck at his feet, through a hole that went stright through all of the floors and ceilings above him, until he could see the sky above. A moment later, he felt the oppresive weight of the wards that held him here fall, and he could, theoretically, leave.
Now for the trial part, pushing the thoughts of the murder he had just committed out of his mind with well-practiced ease, he twisted. In truth, he had never apparated before, but there was a first time for everything. With a violent crack, he dissapeared.
Nothing was missing. Good. Nothing was amiss as he stood by the gates of Hogwarts. Nothing but the second slight fracture on his soul. Nothing but the dirtiness he felt, not from the Dark magic he had cast, but from the very purpose he used it for. True, he had resigned himself to the fact that, "A man can have everything, if he is willing to sacrafice." But what cost was too much?
He had dreamed about it often, in those fitful nights. The monsters, myths incarnate that troubled his mind, some coming from the Outside, some festering within the walls, but all eventually coming to devour the village. At first the dreams had ended there. Harry, however, wasn't satisfied with this conclusion. Eventually, out of the ashes of the village, another monster rose. This one far more terrible than the last ones. It hunted them, avenging the villagers, allowing them to rebuild their Home. But it was still a beast. Still a danger, a threat. That too, wasn't enough. After months of that dream, it finally reached a conclusion late one April night. The Monster that rose up to protect the Village was a man. A standard villager by all measures... until the monsters came. Then, much akin to a werewolf in the moon, it Morphed into a terrible visage, hunting and tearing apart the threats to it's village. After the battle, it eventually shrunk in on itself, returning to the Man. The Monster was the Man. But still, the Man Ruled the Monster.
Harry would have to save Humanity. There was a storm coming, and he was the one to stand in His path. In order to save Humanity, he would have to sacrafice his own.
These thoughts of Myths and Secrets, Archetypes and Monsters consumed Harry until he reached the castle doors. Standing there was Albus Dumbledore.
"Come, Harry. We must talk."
He followed the man into his office, where he told him everything. Right down to the feeling in his soul. Dumbledore didn't speak., He looked at Harry, troubled. Tired. Pained. Once he knew that he had sustained no injuries, he sent the boy back to his rooms. Sitting alone at his desk, the old Headmaster removed his spectacles and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
Harry was not like him, of that he knew. Their only true similarity was the power they wielded, and Albus Dumbledore was not naive enough to believe that only one like him could wield power fairly. Yet he still worried. Soon he would be unable to stop the boy if he had to. Now was his last chance to ensure the trajectory was right. If it was not, then the third, and greatest shadow would soon fall over the Earth.
For a long night, Albus Dumbledore lamented in his role - last bastion against the rise of darkness. But by the light of Dawn he had a verdict.
At Seven in the morning, Harry Potter arrived in his office. He watched the boy as he took his seat. Now, he dare not use Legilimency to read his emotions, and the boy wasn't so obvious as to show them on his face.
"You killed another man, Harry."
Life seemed to drain from the boy as Dumbledore said this. Dissapointment crushing him like no wand nor action ever could.
"You killed a man, and yet you are not yet the villain. Oh, you are not a light Wizard. But maybe some shades of Grey will allow you to succeed where I have failed in safeguarding against the Darkness. I will train you, my Boy, I will trust you with my knowledge, my power. Bear it better than I."
Harry nodded, looking up to Dumbledore, and said, "I promise you, sir, I will do the best I can to fight the Darkness. Whatever form it takes. Although I may not be one who can improve our nation or change policies like you could, I will endevour to use the only place I have truly found a home - combat - to Hunt the Dark and protect the Innocent, the Light and the Grey. This I swear."
Satisfied, Dumbledore sat back. Mr Malfoy has yet to be informed about his father's demise. He is still at school, pending investigation. However, I do not believe he will remain for long. You must also be wary, Harry. Lucius was one of the biggest supporters of Minister Fudge. He will be coming after you once it gets out that it was you who killed him. I will play damage control for you, but I am almost certain that there will be reprocussions for you, of the more negative type."
Harry bowed his head. He had expected no less.
"I have contacted Sirius and Amelia, letting them know about the situation. I hope that they will both be on board. They may, however, take some convincing."
"For now, I have come up with a plan which sould see you covered for the first part of Summer. The rest of today you will spend in school, as if there had been no change. Tomorrow, you will leave for the Holidays early, and will go to France - I have a place prepared for you. You will train there with me and a number of others, and will attend the Duelling Tournament the same as last year. I will ensure your trial is for after then so that you may compete. Being Chief Warlock should allow me that small power. Meanwhile, I will work, with the help of Ms Bones, to devise a strategy for your trial, which I would anticipate will be at the end of July, or around then."
"That sounds... reasonable sir. Thank you, I will meet you back here tomorrow then?"
"That will be fine. Harry, this, all of this, I can't pretend to exactly be comfortable with, nor fully understand, but I am willing to move on, and trust and hope that at the end of it all, what comes of you is good. I understand the necessity of killing, yes, but I too fear it will be easy for you to revel in it."
"I swear, sir, that I will do all I can never to succumb to the arrogance or sadism that would allow that to fester. But I wish to set my affairs in the castle in order, as I am leaving tomorrw. See you then, Sir."
After returning to Griffindor Tower, Harry explained to his friends what had happened, glossing over some details. After he revealed that he would be leaving for the rest of the year, they had all looked grim, Katie crying openly, and insisting he made sure he saw them in the holidays. At the end, the Twins told him that, although they didn't spend as much time with him as the others, they were with him 'through this whole clusterfuck' and Rick took him to the side, and asked him to owl Moody in order to see if the Auror would be willing to give him some training, which Harry promised he would.
The group then all made their way down to the Great Hall for breakfast - Dumbledore was already seated at the head table, watching the door intently. 15 minutes, and three pieces of bacon in, a black-and-green robed, blond haired boy shuffled in. As he crossed the threshold, Harry leapt up, wand in hand, as he felt a massive, hostle wave of magic bluster through the room. All the floatingcandles suddenly blew backwards, and extingushed, ans the Headmaster rose. In a booming, shaking voice, he gravely intoned,
"Draco Malfoy. You are hereby expelled from Hogwart's School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, for greivous and malignant endangerment of a student's life: for trying to get them killed. Leave at once, and do not return."
The boy looked up from where he lay, sprawled on the flagstones, tears sreaking his face and eyes wide with fear. His eyes met Harry's, and widened. Clearly, he hadn't heard the verdict of the events the previous night. He was still half-wrapped in bandages, and Siegfried was slowly rising from his seat beside Harry.
Severus Snape took this as his cue to intervene, roughly grabbing Malfoy by his collar, and practically dragging him off towards the gates. The hall was silent...