The Defeat of Grindelwald: Part Three
N.B: The village of Chiddingstone is real, as are all of its environs, buildings and landmarks as described in this fic; I have taken some small liberties in moving them around, however. I don't believe in disclaimers; feel free to sue me if you think you're going to win copyright infringement for fanfiction.
The village of Chiddingstone, Kent County, England, May 1945
It seemed to Moody that he had spent hours resting against the tree. The sun had already passed the midway point, according to his best guesses, and was now glaring down with the ferocity of the early afternoon. Sweat had sprung up on his brow, and he had to mop it continuously with a handkerchief from his pocket. All this time, there had been utter silence save for the blasted crow, which was still irritating him up in the sky. He rolled his wand between his fingers, staring hard at the mansion for any signs of activity. He fancied that he'd heard voices once or twice, and a muffled bang about a half an hour ago, but he wasn't sure, and Dumbledore had told him to stay put.
Resting against the tree trunk, Moody pursed his parched lips. He was getting thirsty now, what with the heat and nervousness. He didn't dare try to conjure a drink, however; firstly because he didn't want to tell anyone where he was, and secondly because he didn't want his attention to be distracted from Chiddingstone Castle. His tongue was just beginning to feel like a dry, cracked sausage in his mouth when he heard it. The sound of things whistling through the air; shouts; and the utterly unique sound of curses being cast. He leapt to his feet, wand in hand, and moved to the edge of the clearing.
Then he saw them. Four people, racing into the clearing. The first one was someone that Moody had never seen before, a tall, blond-haired, painfully pasty-looking man dressed in black robes. He had his wand out in front of him, and was uttering curse after hex after jinx, flashes of multi-coloured light peeling off into the woods. From the direction of his aim came Albus Dumbledore, and Moody was so shocked that his breath left him entirely. Dumbledore was moving with the agility of a teenage Quidditch player, sprinting into the clearing after the first wizard. His long, white hair flew behind him, and his eyes seemed to burn like pools of molten lava in his face. The wizard seemed to be emanating a power so strong that the clearing thrummed with it. Each curse that the first wizard threw at him he blocked easily, spinning now and again to block more coming from behind. All around him, rocks were lifting themselves off the ground and pelting the Dark Wizard. The trees shook though there was no wind. It seemed like the woods themselves were fighting on Dumbledore's side.
Moody let out a battle cry and made to charge into the centre of the clearing, but felt himself propelled back towards the trees by an invisible force. For a split second, it seemed that time slowed down and he locked eyes with Dumbledore. Stay in the woods and await my signal, the Professor's words echoed through his head. He couldn't tell if the memory of them had some how sprung into his head, or if Dumbledore had contrived to put them there. All the same, he took a step backwards into the woods and watched as Dumbledore continued to duel with the tall, blond man. Not a moment too soon, either, as in that instant two more people came storming into the clearing from behind Dumbledore.
One was a witch who appeared to be somewhere in her late fifties or sixties – though with magical folk it was always hard to judge – with brown hair made up into a severe bun on top of her head. Her face was contorted into murderous fury, and she screeched curses down upon Dumbledore as she added the power of her own wand to that of the blond man. Lastly, another wizard, tall and thin like the first one, came into the clearing. Moody realised with a shock so strong he felt it physically that the newcomer was about the same age as him, probably even a year or two younger. His age didn't seem to be a handicap on his abilities though, as he threw a Killing Curse at Dumbledore. One of the larger rocks pelting around Dumbledore's head flew in the way of it, shattering into fine dust. Indeed, this boy seemed to be tying up most of the Professor's attention.
The three Dark Wizards formed a sort of triangle around Dumbledore, and for a moment, it looked to Moody as though they might beat him down. It didn't seem possible that one man could possibly deflect all those spells and hope to actually keep enough energy to fight back. But slowly, Moody realised, he was beginning to. Finally, after blocking one spell from the boy, Dumbledore took what seemed to be an impossible leap in the air, powered by magic. The Avada Kedavra spell, cast by the witch, flashed underneath his flowing robes as the Professor seemed to suspend himself in the air for a moment. Moody felt the pit of his stomach turn to ice as a rushing sound filled the clearing. The spell had caught the blond man, the first one into the clearing. He dropped to the ground, as dead as the dirt around him. Dumbledore landed easily on the ground and turned to the witch, firing a Stunning spell in her direction. Moody didn't know whether it was because the Professor had one less person attacking him, but once the blond wizard was gone, the other two also seemed weakened. It was one less person taking up Dumbledore's attentions, Moody realised. With a strangled howl, the witch crumpled to the floor, Stunned.
Moody had thought at first that the blond man was Grindelwald, when he came rushing into the clearing. He'd noticed, though, when the man had died, that he seemed too young, and that it would be unlikely that Grindelwald would be the first to fall. Then he noticed something out of the corner of his eye, and his stomach fell to his knees. That crow. It had been circling around the entire time Moody had been waiting in the clearing, and now it was swooping down towards the circle, screeching. Why couldn't I tell, he cursed himself, crows don't circle the same spot for three hours! Hoping fervently that this time it was his moment, he dashed into the clearing.
The crow swept down towards the Chiding Stone, and began to grow larger before Moody's eyes, becoming lump and round in places. A split second later, the crow had turned into a massive man who landed with an earth-shattering thud on top of the Stone. He was one of the largest men Moody had ever seen. Huge and powerfully built with long black hair, he seemed like some massive predator that had chosen the clearing as its den. He let out a snarl of fury that seemed to shake the ground. With the arrival of the enormous man, the battle between Dumbledore and the boy faltered; just as well for the boy, Moody thought, as it looked as though Dumbledore was about to defeat him. Taking advantage of the brief lull in combat the boy Disapparated with a crack that resounded through the clearing, but not before his eyes could lock with Moody's: the Auror felt the glance as if it were a physical slap to the face.
Now just the huge man on the Chiding Stone remained, glaring at Dumbledore, wand raised. Moody had his own wand on the man's back, but the Dark Wizard seemed to be aware of that, as he shifted around the Stone to allow himself the ability to defend both ways. The man's eyes were only on the Professor's, however, and the two seemed to be considering one another. Moody didn't know whether to attack or to wait; it seemed that the two were about to speak, so he held back.
"You don't look much older than when I last saw you, Albus," the huge man on the Stone boomed at Dumbledore in some kind of Central European accent, "The years have been kind to you."
The Professor, his eyes still burning with the fire that they had contained when he'd first dashed into the ring, shrugged at the other in response.
"It comes as a surprise to me too, Grindelwald, let me assure you," he whispered, "You would have thought the toll of cleaning up your mess would show in the lines on my face, wouldn't you? Do you know how many dead there are, Ludwig? Muggles included?"
"Why would you include muggles?" Grindelwald retorted, and Moody could tell that though the two men obviously knew each other, this reunion would not be lasting very long for one of them.
"Ludwig, some of us are born with a talent for music, others with a gift for painting, some with an eye for sculpture," Dumbledore went on, "Did it never strike you that magic is an ability like any other? That we should be proud of our talent, but respectful of those that do not have it?"
Grindelwald looked at Dumbledore with a piteous smirk. "No, Albus, it seems to me that we have these powers because we are their natural superiors. We are the elite, Professor, the chosen. The Germans have their juden, and we have our muggles. They are inferior! Just like those wizards who choose to spit upon their heritage and breeding. The boy realised it… why don't you?"
Moody didn't know what he was talking about. What boy? Surely he didn't mean the boy that was just here now? As he watched, Dumbledore's gaze hardened and grew more determined.
"You made a mistake, bringing one so young into this," the Professor murmured, shaking his head, "Far too young."
"Don't blame me for your own mistakes, Albus," Grindelwald hissed, and Moody could tell straight away that he'd said one thing too far.
"STUPEFY!"
"AVADA KEDAVRA!"
Both of the wizards cast their spells, and the beams of light met and exploded in the air, making the clearing glow even though they were in the mid-afternoon sun. Both of them cast again, and again the light exploded throughout the clearing. Moody wondered only for the briefest moment what to do, before shouting his own incantation.
"DIFFINDO!"
Moody watched his Severing Charm fly towards Grindelwald's wand arm. At the last second, the Dark Wizard jerked out of the way, wand spinning between his fingers. The spell deflected straight back towards Moody, and before the Auror had time to do anything about it, had cut straight through his leg just below the knee. He let out a howl of pain that rent the clearing, and collapsed.
Stars were spinning in Moody's head and he immediately felt sick. His wand was gone out of his hand – he didn't know where – and he felt a wave of icy cold wash over him despite the heat of the sun. You bastard, he thought, YOU BASTARD. He lay on his side in the grass, unable to tell if the screaming sound was coming from his own mouth or from the duel that was still taking place. He forced an eye open, to see the two other wizards battling furiously, and realised two things: first, that he was groping for his wand, and second, that he had never been so angry in his entire life. He felt that his entire body was vibrating with rage, and it soothed him. Seizing his wand, he dragged himself onto his side, trying not to watch the blood practically pouring out of the stump below his kneecap.
Dumbledore and Grindelwald were two blurs, performing curse and counter-curse, attempting to disarm, feinting and hurling attack after attack at each another. Dumbledore's voice echoed through his head again, stay in the woods and await my signal, and Moody thought what an utterly useless thing to remember now. He cursed his pain-addled brain. Then something struck him. Perhaps it wasn't. He'd felt it was the right thing to dash in when Grindelwald arrived, but had Dumbledore actually made a signal? No, he told himself, he hadn't. Anger still surging through him, he looked at Dumbledore. He was just stood there, arm upraised.
Grindelwald seemed to be so shocked by the upraised wand – assuming it a sign of surrender - that he didn't attack at once. Stay in the woods and await my signal, the words pounded through his head. This is it, he thought, this is the signal. With an almighty effort, Moody pushed himself onto his knees, trying not to cry out in pain at the pressure on his stump. Without knowing why, he raised his wand high in the air as well. Almost immediately, all background sound seemed to stop. The sound of his own breathing, his own groans of pain disappeared; the trees still moved in the breeze, but their leaves didn't make a noise; Moody finally understood what it meant to have a deafening silence.
Suddenly, loud words echoed through the clearing. Strange words in a language he'd never heard before. They were somehow soothing and intimidating at the same time, as if something of awful majesty had crept into his soul. His eyes were fixed on Grindelwald's face, which had turned completely white, his wand hanging at his side. Then he realised that Grindelwald's eyes were fixed back on him, not Dumbledore, but him. The next realisation nearly knocked him out: the words were his as well! Those strange, terrible words were coming out of his own mouth.
Before this had time to sink in, yellow lightning erupted from the tip of his wand. It arced up into the sky, thick and crackling with energy, before going to land on the tip of Dumbledore's. Once the two were connected, the words ceased. The middle point of the arc, which rested just above Grindelwald and the Chiding Stone, erupted with another burst of lightning that slammed into Grindelwald and the rock. Moody couldn't believe his eyes. Grindelwald immediately collapsed upon the rock, which began to glow and hum. He tore his gaze from the Dark Wizard to Dumbledore, whose eyes were closed. The man seemed to be in the deepest kind of trance, his mouth moving so fast that it looked like a blur. Then the crackling stopped and the lightning disappeared. Slowly, sound began to return to the world.
Moody stared at Grindelwald's prostrate form, and then to Dumbledore, who had just opened his eyes and was staring at the Chiding Stone intently.
"Professor--" Moody began to croak.
"Shh, Alastor. Look at the Stone."
Moody turned his gaze to the rock. By now all the energy had left his body, and he was sitting back. He knew that his face must be very pale, and that he had lost a lot of blood. But all thoughts of his own wellbeing were removed from his mind when the strangest thing began to happen upon the Chiding Stone. Grindelwald, who had started to stir, let out a scream of abject horror as a pair of ethereal hands reached out of the rock on either side of him, closing around his midsection. They arms seemed to be huge and strong, covered with animal furs, but Moody could tell by the way light passed through them that they weren't corporeal. That didn't seem to stop them being able to touch things, though, as the arms tightened around Grindelwald and slowly started to drag him down into the Chiding Stone.
It took five minutes in all before the Dark Wizard disappeared completely into the rock. Moody would have looked away from the horror, but it wasn't the sight that was so terrible. It was the sound of Grindelwald – the most feared Dark Wizard in all of Europe, indeed, all the world – shrieking and sobbing for mercy. This was a man who had killed hundreds in his own time, and whose deeds had helped to facilitate the deaths of millions. But he was screaming and crying as though a baby, as the huge, ghostly hands finally dragged him into the rock. His head was the last part to disappear, still babbling unintelligibly in a mixture of different languages and sobs. When it was done, Moody, feeling sick to the pit of his stomach, collapsed on his side. Everything turned to black.
When he finally came back around, Moody didn't feel as though he'd slept at all. His entire body ached, and he felt exhausted. He realised he was lying in a bed, though, and that comforted him. If he'd awoken to find himself on something cold and hard, he would have presumed attendance of a mortuary and become rather upset. He forced his eyelids open and tried to shake some of the dreamy delirium out of his head. As he did so, the image of Albus Dumbledore hove into view; the Professor was sitting on the edge of his bed, looking at him over the top of his half-moon spectacles.
"Ah, Alastor," he said, smiling kindly.
"Professor Dumbledore," Moody grunted weakly, and tried to sit up a little to look around. He noticed that this was the room of the Bed 'n' Breakfast he'd stayed in the previous night. As he did so, his eye caught sight of his leg. His stomach somersaulted. "Oh. I suppose that wasn't one of my dreams, then. In that case, I don't suppose the rest of it was, either?"
"Well, that depends on what you mean by 'the rest of it,'" Dumbledore said. "If you mean did we manage to find Grindelwald and defeat him? Then yes. Unfortunately, you also lost your leg."
"Defeat, professor? If I remember this rightly – and I'm not saying that I do, mind – he got dragged into a rock by some … well, something," Moody said, in between fighting to clear his throat of phlegm that tasted suspiciously of blood, "It looked to me like he might be dead."
"Ah, no. Ludwig Grindelwald is not dead. Not quite. You see, the Chiding Stone is not just a place of historical interest. Once upon a time, many hundreds of years ago, it was used as a druidical altar, as the muggles have long suspected," Dumbledore explained, removing his half-moon spectacles from his face and producing a purple handkerchief from his pocket with which to clean them, "It would appear that the particular Druid who used it trapped himself inside. That's why the Chiding Stone has achieved such a reputation for itself over the years as a Saxon land boundary, a place to pass punishment and, of course, a druidical altar."
Moody nodded calmly, but he realised he must have been staring at Dumbledore as if he was mad because the old Professor started to chuckle.
"Yes, quite a shock, I suppose. I should have told you earlier – only I wasn't sure if it would come in useful, or if it could be used against us. I didn't know if Grindelwald knew about it, you see, or whether it was just coincidence. When we got there, and he was stupid enough to land on it … Well, I knew then that he hadn't the slightest idea."
"Because he thought it was just stupid muggle superstition?" Moody asked.
"Precisely. Ironic, don't you think, that a man whose disregard for muggles made him into a living terror should in the end meet his downfall because of his disregard for them?" the Professor asked, still chuckling a little as he placed his spectacles back on. "You should sleep, Alastor. We shall go to St Mungo's in the morning and get your leg seen to."
"Actually, Professor, I think I'd like to keep it the way it is."
Dumbledore looked surprised, but didn't question him as Moody expected he would. "Hmm, some wounds can come in useful. I understand. I have a scar just above my left knee of the London Underground, would you believe it?"
Albus Dumbledore stood up, and having straightened his robe, started walking towards the door.
"Professor, may I ask just one last thing?" Moody said before he could stop himself.
"Of course, Alastor, what is it?" Dumbledore asked, turning at the doorframe to face the Auror.
"Just before you fought Grindelwald… You said that the boy was too young to have been brought into it, and Grindelwald said that you couldn't blame him for your mistakes. You were talking about the boy that was there, weren't you? The one that managed to get away?"
Instantly, Dumbledore's face fell. He paused in the door frame for a few more moments, and then walked again to the edge of the bed. When he looked at Moody it was with the closest thing to fear and sadness that Alastor had ever seen in the Transfiguration teacher.
"Do you remember me telling you about a boy I taught up until last year? He received a Medal for Magical Merit for his part in … stopping … the monster which was unleashed on Hogwarts three years ago. He went on to become Prefect, then Head Boy. He disappeared about six months ago. Do you recall?"
Moody racked his memory; then it clicked. Dumbledore had told him about this boy – brilliant beyond belief was how he'd described him at the time, he remembered. "Ah, yes… you said you'd be keeping an eye on him after the Chamber of Secrets incident, didn't you? Do you suppose that was him?"
"I'm afraid so," Dumbledore sighed, "His father and grandparents were found dead in their house in Little Hangleton three months ago, from the Killing Curse. His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle."
The End…
AN: So there we have it. I wanted to explore two coincidences in this fic, both to do with a particular date. On the Dumbledore Wizarding Card that Harry got on his first trip to Hogwarts, it said that the Headmaster had been responsible for the 'defeat' of Grindelwald in 1945. Aside from the fact it didn't say 'killed' (which I've accounted for above), the date interested me. Firstly, and most obviously, because it coincided with Hitler's death and the fall of the Third Reich; it seemed to me unlikely that Rowling would time the death of a powerful Dark Wizard with such an event without trying to draw implications. I hope I have handled the subject with due sensitivity and attention to facts. Secondly, the date also interested me because, as I describe in the fic above, it was just one year after Tom Riddle's disappearance following his Hogwarts graduation that Grindelwald met his downfall. Rowling has said elsewhere in her books that once Tom left the school, he sunk deeply into the Dark Arts. It occurred to me that if this was true, an obvious place for him to have started would have been with Grindelwald. We have no way if J.K. timed the dates like this, or if it was mere coincidence, but her past habits seem to indicate that it's quite possible, likely even. Finally, the Chiding Stone is a real object, and it does really exist outside of Chiddingstone, Kent. It's also true that local 'muggles' believe it to have been, at various times a Saxon land boundary, a druidical altar, and a place where the villagers would confer their 'chiding' upon wrongdoers. I hope you enjoyed the fic.