- March 1945 -
Albus was awoken by a knock on the door. He blinked in the dark, unfamiliar setting. Mr. Flamel's guest room. Night. It was time. He pulled his clothes back on and wet his face in the wash basin that sat on the dresser. The water pooled in his cupped hand along the thin red scar. He traced the scar with his finger then held his palm up to the mirror and watched its reflection come to meet it. The glass was cold. The pendant around his neck rested heavy against his heart.
Downstairs, Elphias sat at the kitchen table while Mr. Flamel fussed over him, insisting he eat. A bowl of grey broth was forced on Albus as well amongst apologies. Food was still rationed and scarce. Albus sipped the liquid off his spoon. It was hot and salty. That was good enough. They ate as dark sky grew black and then they went to front hall. Elphias unlatched the cupboard under the stairs. He leaned inside and knocked three times on the back panel. There was some shuffling and then the panel slid open and a man emerged from the cupboard. The man's eyes were small, perfectly round, and solid black. He looked younger than Mr. Flamel but his skin was frailer. Albus may have mistaken him for a ghost. His form was solid though. Albus' hand did not pass though his upon shaking. His grip was cold as if he had just crawled out of the ice box instead of the cupboard. He wore a black cloak tied around his neck.
"Albus, this is Vladimir," Elphias said.
"It's good to meet you," Albus said "Thank-you for traveling all this way."
"Grindelwald is no friend of mine. Now, let's not waste the night."
They shuffled back into the kitchen gathered around the table. Elphias helped Mr. Flamel into a chair and moved the others out of the way. Albus lifted the pendant out from his shirt collar. It hummed in his hand and grew warm. Inside, the two blood droplets circled each other.
Vladimir reached for it and brought it close to his beady eyes. Crimson waves rippled across the black orbs. "The colour, so deep." His mouth dropped into a soft oh and he stroked the vial with his long yellow fingernails. "Oh this is beautiful. This is beautiful old magic. Look at the way the blood swirls. It's thick and rich with devotion and the strife of betrayal and heartbreak."
Albus swallowed. His teeth clenched. He wasn't looking for a retelling of that summer. He was here to burry it. "Mr. Flamel, do you have a stand for this?"
"Oh yes, of course, my boy. In the cupboard under my workbench. I'll fetch it."
"No, no you sit. I'll get it." Albus moved quickly around the table to the back door that led off the kitchen to the small, add on, workshop. The bench top was littered with glassware blown into odd shapes and tubing ran circles around the room. Gold streaks bubbled through a bright purple liquid in a round bottom flask over a flame in the corner. An alchemist's work was never finished.
He found the stand and returned to the kitchen. "Do you know there's something cooking in there?" he asked Mr. Flamel.
"Oh yes, my boy."
"Okay," Albus nodded. He turned to Elphias who shrugged.
Vladimir placed the vial in the stand. "We require a flask and a rod for stirring."
"Right," Albus said. "Anything else?"
"That is all."
Albus fetched the flask and stir rod from the workshop. Vladimir was crouched eye level with the vial, petting at it when he returned. "So, we're going to destroy it," Albus said to break Vladimir's trance.
Vladimir shook his head. "Such a shame." He reached beneath his black cloak. Albus jumped back and reached for his wand. Vladimir did not flinch and pulled out an iron stake. "We need flame. The iron needs to be white hot to pierce crystal."
Albus paused and looked across the table to Elphias. Elphias gave him a small nod. "Incendio." Orange flame shot from Albus' wand. He took the stake in his other hand and held the tip in the center of the flame until the silver metal glowed white.
"The blood in this vial is still of your body. You will feel this."
"Will he feel it too?"
"It is possible. Though it is thought to be of a lesser extent for he is not the one breaking the pact."
"We knew this wouldn't be a surprise to him," Elphias said.
Albus nodded. Heat radiated down the metal stake and it grew uncomfortably hot in his hand. He flexed his fingers around it and fixed his eyes on the white tip forged in flame. It would be hotter, unimaginably so. "Don't let me stop. This needs to be done."
Vladimir lifted vial from the stand. He took the stake and slowly pressed the tip through the metallic lattice casing and into the side of the crystal. A horrific screech erupted from the vial. Elphias clutched his ears. Gold sparks spewed from the point where the iron tip dug like a grinding wheel in a metal foundry. The two droplets inside careened out of orbit and crashed into each other. The impact point erupted like a volcano. The volume of blood multiplied by a tenfold, magma spewing from the collision. And it swirled, angry, fighting itself and the intrusion.
Albus braced himself on the table and clutched his chest. It burned from the inside out.
Vladimir pulled the stake away and held the vial over the flask. Blood drained from the small hole. The vial violently imploded as if it were in a vacuum.
Albus' rib cage collapsed in on him. He struggled to breathe.
The blood bubbled and hissed in the flask. "An exothermic reaction," Mr. Flamel said. "An unstable mixture. Volatile. Fated to destruct."
Vladimir took Albus' hand and placed the stir rod in his palm. "You must stir. Counterclockwise. One stir for each year the pact has been in place.
Albus leaned on his elbow. The burn had dulled into an ache. His chest was tight. He placed the stir rod into the boiling fluid and stirred to unwind time. The boil slowly subsided. He hung his head. He was dizzy. He didn't stop until he reached forty-six turns. The room tilted and spun. "I'm going to pass out."
"Lie down. Lie down," Vladimir said and took the flask from him.
Albus slumped to the floor. His vision was blurred but he looked up and watched Vladimir bring the flask to his nose. He swirled it and inhaled it like a fine wine. He smiled and then tipped the flask to his lips and drank the contents.
"Albus, are you alright?" Elphias slipped a tea towel under his head and crouched by his side.
"It itches. It itches." His skin crawled. Blood rushed through his veins. There was too much of it. It bubbled deep within like Grindelwald had for the past forty-six years. It threatened to burst from every cell in his body. He writhed on the floor and clawed at his arms and face. "Make it stop."
"Is it done? What do we do?" Elphias asked.
"Get the vial." Vladimir said.
Elphias disappeared from Albus' side and a black cloak descended on him. Two sharp points pierced his neck. The relief was instant. The hot blood released from his body and felt cool as it ran down his skin.
"What are you doing?" Elphias said, his words quick and voice pitched high with panic.
"The vial," Vladimir said.
The vial was placed at his neck. Vladimir pulled it away when it was full. The crystal had reformed to its original shape diamond shape and the puncture sealed. The metallic lattice and rod were gone.
"Now the stake," Vladimir said. "We must cauterize the wound to prevent him from turning."
Elphias casted a flame and held the stake tip to it. He pressed the hot iron to Albus' neck. Albus hissed and seized. The metal was pulled away and a cool cloth was pressed to his head.
"Is it done?" Albus asked.
"The pact is broken." Vladimir said.
Albus closed his eyes and breathed in deep to calm his body. When he opened his eyes again, three pairs stared down at him. They scanned his traumatized body for answers. He tried to blink them away but they did not relent. He sat up to escape their view. Elphias' hand quickly wrapped around his arm. Albus flinched but his tired muscles could not shake the grip and he allowed himself to be helped into a chair.
Elphias pulled the other chairs back around the table and Mr. Flamel thrust a cup of tea and stale sweet bread in front of him. Albus dunked the bread into his tea to soften it and gnawed at it, bite by bite, knowing he would not be allowed to leave until he ate. He wasn't hungry. Each swallow was a conscious effort under watchful eyes. When he finished, Vladimir excused himself for some fresh air. Mr. Flamel poured him a second cup and patted his hand before he retired to bed. Albus leaned his chair back on two legs to watch him shuffle along the rug down the hall.
"He's going to trip on that one of these days," Albus said once Mr. Flamel had made it successfully to the stairs.
Elphias chuckled.
"I need to move quickly. If he knows, he'll be preparing," Albus said.
"Do you think we could apparate?" Elphias asked. He sat across the table from Albus.
Albus wrapped both hands around the teacup and let its warmth radiate through him. He was cold and tired. He looked up at Elphias through the vial that sat on the stand in the center of the table. The blood was still and filled its glass case. It was bright in colour like a ruby mined from his body, forged over decades in the dark and the heat. "No. I wouldn't," he said. "I'm acquainted with few places in Germany or Austria. And apparition shields have been put up due to the war. As the fighting has pushed in from both sides I suspect more will have gone up. If you run into one of those, you risk a bad splinching or capture. Or worse."
"The floo networks are closed across borders. Portkeys are hard to come by."
"The one I used to cross the Channel was dodgy. I don't want to be asking around and calling attention to anything either. I think flying is the only option."
"If we fly, we could leave now. Six hours before sunrise. We could make it to the Swiss border."
Albus hummed.
"The Austrian Alps aren't much to go on."
"It's enough. Dark magic leaves traces. It demands to be seen so it can awe and terrify. It cannot sit humbly out of sight. It needs to boast. It doesn't need to be found. It will call out to whomever seeks it."
"What's the route?"
Albus shrugged. "The railway lines."
"Are you ready to face him?"
Albus shook his head, not in answer but in protest of the question. He pushed his chair back. "Let's get our things."
"Okay," Elphias said. He followed Albus upstairs and met him back down at the front door with his coat and satchel. "We should leave Mr. Flamel a note."
"We should get rid of this rug."
"You do the note, I'll do the rug."
Albus agreed and walked back to the kitchen. He dug a quill and parchment from his satchel.
Thanks for tea.
He propped it against the stand in the centre of the table, within the red wash of light that shone through the blood vial. He turned back to the hall. Elphias was crouched over the rug with his back turned. Maybe the urge to sneak out of the house into the night alone was the answer to Elphias' question but battle did not wait for soldiers to be ready.
Albus quickly added Elphias' name to the top of the note next to Mr. Flamel's. He took the vial from the stand and slipped through the workshop and out the backdoor. He pulled his broom from within the bag that appeared far too small to hold it and kicked off into the air.
The moon shone on his back as he flew north to the train station. It was busy. Crowds overflowed the terminal and occupied the surrounding streets. He was too high to see but he thought the crowds were likely soldiers in transit, some headed up to the front, others headed home. The tracks were silent, no whistle, no screech of brakes, no clang of rail cars being pushed into each other, no chug of engines pulling away. How long would they wait? Would they ever reach their destination? Would they board a different train on a different track and go somewhere else entirely, a third option, un-ticketed, un-known?
The tracks lead north out of Paris and then began to branch. He turned south east. He flew for hours over the dark French countryside. He descended closer to the tracks as clouds moved in over the moon and the air space ahead of him turned into a flat black wall. His breath hitched as he sped forever through that infinite barrier. The wind jostled his broom and it whipped against his skin and rushed in his ears. Every sense told him he was moving except his eyes. His eyes just saw constant, continuous, black. It was as if space and time stood still. His body felt weird, his grip on the handle, his forearms, shoulders, neck, and back. They felt like separate entities that he had to actively mold and control. They didn't feel as if they were his own.
The harsh black night faded into a sleepy grey dawn. Silhouetted buildings grew out of the relief. Albus set down. He tucked his broom away in his satchel. Down the track tall, ragged mountains reached up to the brightening sky behind the town. He was near the Swiss border. The border would be heavily guarded. He would have to wait for nightfall. His hands were numb. He needed to rest.
There was movement on the tracks up ahead. It wasn't a train. It was a person. The long barrel of a riffle protruded up from his shoulder. A soldier on watch. Albus paused. French? Maybe American? Not German. They had already retreated. It made little difference either way. He would be asked for papers he did not have. Any inn in the town would ask to see papers too. Albus stepped off the tracks into the farmland that ran beside them. Across the field was a barn.