Peripheral characters were created by me, but all recognizable names and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling. A few historical figures also appear; they obviously belong to themselves.
Chapter Six: A Revelation in the Tunnel
Albus's fingers went numb; his wand dropped onto the ground. He raised his hands to his mouth in shock, unable to register what he was seeing. This couldn't be happening. It simply couldn't. The thin, glowing green cords encircled Mireille from her shoulders to her feet, wrapping around her and Grindelwald, binding her to him. Her arms were lashed tightly to her sides by one cord; he could see it cutting into her flesh. Each of her legs was bound to his by another cord, spiralled tightly around her. Although she was of average height, her feet dangled above the ground, and the top of her head just met Grindelwald's chin. The only color in her stark face was a ghastly greenish glow cast by the cords; her dark eyes were wide and panicky.
Hagrid gasped and stepped closer to Albus, his hand reaching out in panic. Albus clutched his arm, steadying him and holding him back.
"Albus." Grindelwald's deep voice with the slight accent rang out as he walked toward them. "How very nice to see you again. It's been what? Fifteen years since we last met? I can't tell you what a pleasure it was to meet your charming wife. Right away, I became terribly--attached to her." He laughed, a booming sound that echoed around them.
"Let her go, Gustavus." Albus's teeth were clenched, his voice hard, low and full of rage.
"Of course, of course--as soon as I have what I need." Grindelwald's voice was silky and reassuring. He had reached them now, stopping a few steps away, close to Riddle. "I give you my word, Albus, that if you cooperate by getting me the Philosopher's Stone from its vault in Gringotts, I will let her live. In the meantime, perhaps you'd be so good as to hand over your wand?"
Albus stared. "My wand? Surely you aren't so mad as to think I'm going to give over the only thing I have to protect her."
"Careful, Albus," warned Grindelwald, a crafty smile stealing over his face. "I've taken the liberty of securing a little protection for myself. Any charm, any spell, anything you try will hit her first."
"You're disgusting--using a pregnant woman as a shield. What a coward you are, Gustavus."
The smile disappeared, and Grindelwald held up his wand. The tip glowed red; the air above it writhed with heat. He held it close to the side of Mireille's face, and she screamed. "She's not terribly pretty, but even so, it would be a shame to have her face burned off--don't you think, Albus?"
Now it was Albus's turn to scream. "STOP! Stop it!" He kicked his wand away from his feet; Riddle reached out his hand, and the wand sprang into it. Grindelwald lowered his own. "I'll take your second's wand as well, if you please."
"He doesn't have one." Albus's hand tightened imperceptibly on Hagrid's arm, warning him to stay quiet.
"No? And whyever not?" Grindelwald's eyebrows rose, clearly disbelieving.
Now Riddle laughed again. "He was expelled in his third year at Hogwarts. I was there. He's not even a properly trained wizard. I can't imagine why Dumbledore would choose him as a second. Must be dreadfully hard up for friends." Again, the sneer twisted his handsome mouth. Albus gave him a long and penetrating stare, holding his eyes until Riddle sullenly looked away at Grindelwald, awaiting instruction.
"Well, then, shall we have a little excursion?" said Grindelwald lightly, as though he were inviting them on a picnic. "There's a tunnel through to Gringotts on the other side here. Riddle, you have the map; lead the way."
"Yes, my Lord," said Riddle. He took a small piece of parchment from his robe. A series of phosphorescent lines ran across it, gleaming yellow, green, red, blue, purple; circles and squares dotted the lines at intervals, and the station names appeared in black next to them. He searched the map for a moment, then tapped one of the blue squares. The lines shrank and receded, and another schematic appeared as if under a magnifying glass; this one showed long rectangles and large circles. Albus could see a shimmering golden line that ran from the end of one rectangle. Riddle studied it for a moment, then said, "Ten paces into the tunnel, there should be a white brick. That'll be it." He tapped the map with his wand again. The magnified portion shrank as if sucked into the parchment, and the original glowing diagram returned. He rolled it up and tucked it loosely into the front pocket of his robe.
"This way," he said, and jumping down onto the track, led them to a small door in a brick wall that interrupted the tunnel. Unlocking the door with his wand, he entered the disused running tunnel. Grindelwald motioned for Albus and Hagrid to follow, then walked behind them catlike, somehow unencumbered by the weight of the woman bound to his body.
Riddle had already proceeded a few steps into the tunnel; there was a sudden thump and a curse as he crashed into something. "Lumen crescare," he muttered angrily; just behind him, Albus could see that the light from Riddle's wand showed that the tunnel contained wooden crates, but even with the increased candlepower, it was impossible to see how far back they went. "What is all this muck?" the boy wondered aloud. He looked around and saw a hastily-rigged light bulb which had been suspended near the door. He yanked the chain dangling from it with an impatient jerk; a few coils of wire which had been carelessly tacked up came loose and dangled low, swinging like a hangman's noose. In the glare of light that suddenly flooded the tunnel, they could see that the crates took up a large portion of it, lining both walls.
Riddle pointed his wand at one of the crates. "Transmonstratus." The wooden side of the crate gave a shiver, then became as clear as glass. Inside, Albus saw, looking over Riddle's shoulder, was part of a marble frieze.
"Ha," said Riddle in a strange voice. "My Lord!" he called, raising his voice. "Come and look at this!"
Grindelwald shoved past Hagrid and Albus; for an instant Albus could feel Mireille's skin, hot and feverish, as they brushed by.
"The Elgin marbles," said Grindelwald in surprise. "They must be storing them here to keep them safe from bombing." He laughed. "Excellent, Tom. I think we will be taking these back with us."
"A very good idea, my Lord. But let us return to the getting the Stone first. We'll need these crates shifted so I can find the entrance to the Gringotts tunnel."
Grindelwald, still looking at the frieze with glinting eyes, spoke casually to Albus. "Have your second move them out of the way."
Hagrid looked at Albus, who nodded. Then, seeing Hagrid's hand move toward his cloak, he said, "They shouldn't be any trouble for you to lift, Rubeus," and forced a smile. Hagrid's eyebrows knit for a moment, then his eyes lit with understanding.
"Right," he said. "Stan' back, everybody." He began lifting and stacking the crates, the muscles in his enormous arms bulging. While they stood waiting for him to clear a path, Albus looked at Mireille at what he hoped was a reassuring smile. He thought that it probably looked more like the grin of a madman, but it was the best he could do. Then she spoke in a low, hoarse voice.
"Why didn't you tell me, Albus?" she said.
The pretense of a smile vanished. "Didn't you get my owl?" he asked.
"I did. But I was in the middle of bottling up a shipment of tinctures, so I want didn't to leave and go to my parents'. How could I know I was in danger?" Her voice was filled with reproach and not a little anger. "You didn't tell me."
He looked down as tears started in his eyes. Guilt flooded his heart. This was all his fault. God, if anything happened to her, how could he live with his mistake? He faced her again. "I'm sorry, Mireille. I didn't know this would happen."
Now she tried to smile, but it was a forlorn and hopeless little ghost of a smile. "Just don't lie to me again, Albus."
"I won't," he choked miserably. "Not to you or to anyone else, either."
Grindelwald rolled his ice-blue eyes. "Quiet, both of you. You're making me sick."
Hagrid came back out of the tunnel. "All righ', it's cleared back about ten feet. That should be plenty of room." He spoke to Riddle gruffly; his eyes said that he would cheerfully tear the other second from limb to limb if he could.
Riddle cast him a disdainful look. "At least the great brute is good for something." He walked in and past the stacked crates, looking for the brick. Albus had to grab Hagrid by the back of his cloak to restrain him from lunging after the other boy. He stepped in front of Hagrid and into the tunnel. The others followed, Hagrid's hot angry breath gusting down the back of Albus's neck.
The bare bulb near the entrance made a feeble attempt to illuminate the pitch black before retreating into the shadows of the disused tunnel. Its stark glare, which cast high shadows of the crates that were stacked up further ahead of them, heightened the unpleasant tension between light and dark. Above them, stalactites that had grown in the years of disuse dripped dismally onto the ground, forming large puddles of dank, foul-looking water.
"Here it is," Riddle said, his voice bouncing in hollow echoes from the round walls of the tunnel. He tapped it the white brick once with his wand. For a moment, nothing happened; then the white brick disappeared, and the space it left grew into a small, pointed archway which led into a tunnel carved out of rock.
"Go on, Albus. Go ahead with Riddle and your--" his eyes glanced upward at Hagrid--"your pet giant," laughed Grindelwald. "I'll be waiting here for you." His hand came up and cupped Mireille under the chin, his thumb briefly caressing her cheek. "With your lovely wife." Her face tightened in revulsion.
I'll kill him, thought Albus. So help me, I'll kill him, if I have to do it with my bare hands.
Albus entered the passage, flanked by Riddle and Hagrid. They could feel a slight incline as they walked; after about ten minutes, they came to an iron door. Over it was a sign in the same lettering as the plaques over the entrances outside, in Diagon Alley, but this one said simply, Please ring for entry.
Riddle pushed the button and they heard a deep tone resonate on the other side of the door. Almost instantly it was opened by a goblin who regarded them without surprise. "Yes?" he said.
Albus felt a sharp prod in the back from Riddle's wand. He started, then said, "I'm Albus Dumbledore. I need to get the Philosopher's Stone from vault 713."
The goblin looked at him for a moment, then nodded. "This way."
They followed him along a stone corridor that turned sharply and ended at an opening, beyond which lay a line of carts and a track. "Terminus!" announced the goblin happily and irrelevantly. He climbed into a cart at the front of the line, and they piled in after him, Hagrid shifting clumsily, trying to fit and not quite making it. The cart started with a jerk, then rolled forward, gaining speed as it rattled over the tracks. Albus was tense and silent. Riddle was grinning a smug and irritating grin. Hagrid looked as though he were trying hard to keep his lunch down.
When the cart stopped with another jerk which threatened to undo Hagrid's precarious balance, the goblin unlocked the vault with a stroke of his finger. He fetched a small package wrapped in plain brown paper from inside the vault, and handed it to Albus. The cart reversed gears with a crunch, and they returned the way they had come.
As they came out through the arch and into the tunnel again, Grindelwald held out his hand expectantly. Albus hesitated, looked at his wife, then put the stone into Grindelwald's hand.
"Albus, no!" said Mireille sharply. Albus looked away, unable to face her.
"Thank you, my dear Albus," chuckled Grindelwald, pocketing the stone. "That wasn't so difficult, was it?"
No, thought Albus, not difficult at all. All I had to do was sacrifice the lives of thousands of other people to save my wife and child. Nothing to it, really. His face burned with shame.
"And now," said Grindelwald with artificial mournfulness, "I'm afraid you two lovebirds must bid one another farewell."
Albus's heart lurched, and he looked wildly at the stony face of Grindelwald. "You gave your word!" he screamed. "You promised you wouldn't hurt her if I gave you the stone!"
"I have no intention of hurting her," purred Grindelwald. "It's you I'm going to kill." He raised his wand and Mireille shrieked and twisted within her bonds. Hagrid roared and leapt forward, only to be thrown back against the wall of the tunnel by a casual flick of Riddle's wand. He sank to the floor, knocked out.
"Wait!" yelled Albus. He tried to think, desperate to buy time and come up with a plan. He had to get Hagrid's wand somehow--but then even if he could, he thought with a sinking heart, he could do nothing to Grindelwald without hurting Mireille. Still, he couldn't just lie down and die here without fighting.
"Gustavus, if you're going to kill me anyway, do me the honor of answering a few questions first." The satiric emphasis was out of his mouth before he could bite it back, but Grindelwald did not seem to take notice. His eyebrows rose in curiosity.
"As you wish."
Albus flailed mentally, then his eyes landed on the map, still sticking out of the pocket of Riddle's robe. "The map," he said. He licked his lips--his mouth felt like a desert inside--and took a shot in the dark. "Did that come from Hadrian Malfoy?"
"Why yes," smiled Grindelwald. He shrugged. "No harm in telling you now, I suppose. Hadrian has been working for me for some time. He found the map in an old book somewhere in Knockturn Alley, and thought that it might be useful. He's known of my little army for quite a while, of course. And I must say, his information from the council meetings has been most helpful."
"So that's why he bought himself a place on the council," said Albus bitterly. That bastard, he thought. I'll see him in Azkaban for this. He hoped Gilly would be all right, would not be forced into revealing where she had been and what she had done. If she did, she was as good as dead.
"Why else?" agreed Grindelwald. "Malfoy's patriotic interest doesn't extend beyond cheering for Britain in the World Quidditch tournaments."
What else, what else? thought Albus desperately. Keep him talking. He forced his voice to be calm and his body to stop trembling.
"What is it that you hope to gain, Gustavus? Why are you doing this?" He actually did want to know this. He couldn't fathom what the answer might be.
Grindelwald smiled a strange little smile. "An interesting question. If you wish, I'll show you."
And then, with a flick of his wand, he showed them.
The side of a large crate lit up like a screen, and dark forms moved from the ground onto the middle of the crate. The shadows became clearer and at last a ghastly picture formed.
It was a scene from hell itself. Emaciated men in striped uniforms, their bodies so shrunken from starvation that they seemed to be no more than skin-covered skeletons, stood in rows. The picture panned outward, and forty men became four hundred. Row upon row of prisoners stood silently, dogged, waiting for death and utterly devoid of hope.
Another flick of the wand. Now a mob of people, ragged and frightened, streamed off the cattle cars of a train. Men, women, old people and children were sorted into two groups by soldiers. Most--including the children and the old people--were then herded into a large building.
Flick. They stood naked and frightened; then began clutching their throats and screaming. They twitched, they shuddered, they writhed, they fell. In a matter of moments, each and every one lay dead on the ground. Mireille gasped.
Flick. The men in the striped uniforms came through and began doing something to the bodies. With mounting horror, Albus saw that they were pulling gold fillings from the teeth of the dead. They then loaded the bodies onto carts and took them outside.
Flick. The dead bodies, naked and flopping helplessly, were being shoved into spaces at the bottoms of vast chimneys. The doors were closed; the picture panned up and out. Columns of thick dark smoke poured from the chimneys, roiling and twisting against a silent sky.
"Beautiful, isn't it? Oh, yes--I almost forgot," said Grindelwald casually. "A little London postcard I created just for you before you came down here, Albus. I call it 'Souvenirs of Aldwych.'" Flick. The scene changed to the street outside. People were pouring out of the station. Out of nowhere, a V2 came whistling down and exploded in their midst. When the smoke cleared, there was a crater in the street, body parts and debris lying in it and around it. Albus caught sight of a shred of sweater embroidered with strawberries. He leaned over and threw up.
The side of the crate went black. Grindelwald pulled his lips back in a horrifying grin. "Marvelous, isn't it? I've never thought the Muggles could do anything so efficiently and quickly, and on such a huge scale! It's opened my eyes to such possibilities, I tell you." He shrugged. "Naturally it's a little clumsy, but I expect I can update it fairly quickly with a bit of Dark Art work."
"But why, Gustavus? Why?" Albus could barely choke the words out.
Grindelwald gave him a disbelieving look. "Because they're scum, of course," he said, as though explaining something to a small child. "Every society has its undesirable elements; for the Nazis, it's Jews, Poles, gypsies and homosexuals. For us wizards, it's the half-bloods and Muggle-borns. Like this little piece of trash you married," he snorted. "Though I imagine she'll be entertaining for a while--especially for having been your wife." The hand caressed her cheek again, and this time Mireille turned her head to the side and snapped out, her teeth sinking into his hand hard enough to draw blood. Grindelwald tugged his hand from her grip, looked at the blood almost admiringly, and said, "Yes, indeed. I find resistance most--stimulating."
Rage so fierce boiled up inside Albus that he thought his head would explode clean off his shoulders, but he controlled it somehow, clenching and unclenching his fists by his side.
Suddenly he had an idea...but it would require perfect timing at the perfect moment. If he could stay alive till that moment came, he and Mireille might have a chance at getting out of this.
He licked his lips and concentrated on staying alive. "But Hitler is almost defeated, Gustavus. He has a few months left at most. Why assemble your army now, when his is stumbling and about to fall?"
Grindelwald's bloodied hand waved dismissively. "Hitler's plans are of no real importance. His occupation was useful for the European stage of my program because the people were already cowed and ready to turn on each other to save their own skins. Eastern Europe never had a chance; the French got sold out by their own corrupt government. Now that I've purged the continent, it's time for Hitler to fall, so that I can move on to England. Because England is different. It's fought too long against occupation, listening to that fat Muggle's blathering speeches about fighting on the land, the sea and the air.... And because they've been besieged for so long, they will fall all the more readily for the promise of peace."
Albus shook his head. "What do you mean?"
Grindelwald sighed. "For someone who married a Muggle, Albus, you don't seem to understand them very well. My army of wizards will move into post-war England, powerful beyond imagining, yet unseen and unnoticed by the Muggles, who will be too busy rebuilding their lives, and enjoying the relief of the war being over. When their...eccentric...neighbors begin to disappear, they'll tell themselves that nothing's out of the ordinary, because they won't want to notice anything out of the ordinary. They've been living with things being out of the ordinary for the last six years. They're tired of it."
"But you're after half-bloods and Muggle-borns," objected Albus. "Don't you think their families will notice if they disappear?"
"And what will they do about it?" sneered Grindelwald. "Go to Scotland Yard? Do you think any Muggle detective is going to find a trace of the Unforgiveables? Fingerprint a wand? Analyze a potion? And if the unfortunate victim's Muggle family is so misguided as to tell the police that that the dearly departed belonged to the wizarding world, led a magical life unknown to the other half of the human race, don't you think they'll be clapped into the nearest insane asylum, diagnosed with some sort of war-induced mental trauma?"
Albus could not reply. Grindelwald's logic was chillingly irrefutable. He could feel Mireille's eyes on him, begging him to look at her, but he didn't dare. He had to ignore her, concentrate on keeping Grindelwald talking--instead of killing him--for as long as he could, until the right moment arrived.
"My army," Grindelwald continued, "will have an endless supply of elixir from the Stone. No spell will be able to harm them or stop them. And they'll have the motivation of all the gold they could want in reward. The Mudbloods will be shipped to the camps on the continent, which will be made unplottable; the Muggles will not be able to find them to interfere with my program, even if they wanted to. And believe me, Albus--they won't want to. They'll be all too eager to forget that such a thing could have ever happened, eager for the shame of their complicity to fade into forgotten history. So now, I'm just waiting for Hitler's army to surrender while I make my preparations."
"And what did he do when he began to lose the war? asked Albus. "When he figured out that you had abandoned and betrayed him?"
Grindelwald laughed. "Oh, he had a fit. He actually had the nerve to threaten me, Albus, can you believe it?" His tone was good-humored and casual, a sort of just-us-wizards intimacy in it. "He stopped that rather quickly after a Cruciatus, of course. And some of his more stupid decisions have been the results of an Imperius curse...but mostly, I let his own madness destroy him, along with his grandiose plans. So you see, Hitler is eminently expendable; he is only a Muggle, after all."
This was the moment. Albus seized it and wrung it for all it was worth. "Then how very curious it is that you should choose a half-blood for your assistant and second, Gustavus."
He felt rather than saw Riddle go rigid with fury; Grindelwald just looked at him with a disbelieving smirk. "Don't be ridiculous," he said. "Tom's blood is as pure as mine."
"Really, Gustavus?" Albus said lightly. "Didn't you notice how naturally Tom flicked on the electric light in this tunnel? Where do you think he learned that?"
Grindelwald laughed again, dismissively. "Oh, I know that he grew up in a Muggle orphanage. His parents died when he was an infant, and the Muggles placed him there. I do not hold such a thing against him. Especially when his knowledge of the Muggle world may prove to be extremely useful."
Albus shook his head. "He lied to you, Gustavus. He was in that orphanage because he is a half-blood...the offspring of a witch mother and a Muggle father. Everyone at Hogwarts knew that. I can't imagine how he managed to fool you--the most powerful wizard on the continent--into believing otherwise."
Grindelwald turned to Riddle, anger and dismay on his face. "Is this true, Tom?"
Albus didn't wait to hear Riddle's protesting reply. The instant Grindelwald's eyes left his face, he made his move. He leapt across the tunnel, tore open Hagrid's cloak and seized the pink umbrella. Pointing it at Mireille and Grindelwald, he yelled, "Fractafibra!"
But just as the last syllable left his mouth, Grindelwald snarled out a Impedimenta, while Riddle threw a Stunning spell. Albus ducked low and managed to avoid being Stunned, but the force of both spells intersecting caught him in the midsection. The umbrella went flew out of his hands, and he went sprawling hard. He felt his nose connect with the side of a crate and heard the crunch of bone shattering. Grindelwald's counterspell was a split second too late; it only knocked the spell off-course instead of deflecting it completely. Sparks flew from the umbrella as it soared upward, but instead of severing the bonds which held Mireille to Grindelwald, they cut the wire which Riddle had knocked loose from the light when he had turned it on. The bulb went out, plunging them into darkness.