Edit: There has been a change to the ending, please check below and read the AN!
A Bug On the Wall:
Harry felt like he was back in school sitting quietly through another detention he'd earned from missing an assignment or being caught by Filch after hours. He'd just endured another round of admonishment from Mrs. Weasley, but Mad-Eye, an unsettling calm Kingsley Shacklebolt and most surprisingly, Tonks, had also stopped by. Now, he was locked in the first floor office of Grimmauld place.
It wasn't like Harry couldn't get out if he wanted to, they knew that as well as he did. But Harry remained, a part of him understanding that this was, slightly, deserved. He did run a very risky operation behind the Order's back, and did very nearly get himself and three others killed. Though in his defense, the Death Eater attack was an unwelcome surprise to them all.
He didn't mind, Hermione was safe and that is what was most important. It was hard for the Order to find any real fault in anything he did, beyond simply being reckless, when he arrived unharmed with Hermione in his arms. Right now she was being attended to, they'd been kind enough to let him know she'd woken up from the enchanted sleep she was put under at St. Mungo's.
When Harry's news broke that Minister Scrimgeour was dead, the main force of the Order had reconvened in Grimmauld Place. Upon arrival, Kingsley confirmed the Ministry had fallen, with Pius Thicknesse in place as Voldemort's puppet. Of course Harry hadn't heard this news first hand at the meeting, being locked away in this drab, dingy office; but Dobby had passed on enough information for him to piece it together, along with a note which had come in for him, reading only: Tonight.
It wasn't even dinner yet.
Having believed he'd paid enough penance for his rash actions, Harry stood and called, "Kreacher!"
The old elf appeared with a delayed snap. "Half-blood master calls." Kreacher bowed, his hunched back contorted hideously.
"I'll be needing a favor, Kreacher," he said. Beneath his sagging wrinkles, the elf gave Harry a hard stare. "Years ago, you were close with Sirius' brother, Regulus, weren't you?"
Something softened in house elf's eyes. "Kreacher looked after Master Regulus, yes. Young Master was a good boy, he made his mother proud. Why does new master ask?"
"Did Regulus ever carry around a locket, one he might have thought was special?" Harry asked.
Kreacher's eyes shot open in panic and he started to shake uncontrollably. Harry was concnered for the elves wellbeing until it broke into heaving sobs, wailing at the top of its lungs. "Kreacher failed—Master Regulus, Kreacher is sorry! Kreacher failed! Kreacher tried his best!"
Harry grabbed the elf by his tiny, frail shoulders, and shook him to attention. "Shhh! Kreacher stop crying." Harry tried to calm the elf, but Kreacher was too busy blowing into the pillowcase around his neck like blow horn. "Kreacher, where is the locket?" Harry asked.
That seemed to do the trick, as the elf looked up at him with wide watery eyes. "Kreacher, knows… Kreacher has kept the locket safe for Master Regulus." Without warning, the elf snapped its fingers to disappear, and returned moments later with something cradled within its hands.
Harry could feel the dark, malicious magic of the object from across the room. It sunk into your skin and crawled through your veins like venom. Wrapped in a frayed piece of silk, Harry uncovered a large golden locket, a green S inlaid at its center with glittering stones. "Did Regulus want it destroyed?" Harry asked.
The old elf nodded without a word.
"I'm going to destroy it."
Kreacher looked up at him with disbelief, his face resembling that of a soaked piece of leather. "Kreacher tried for years…"
"We'll keep trying," he promised the elf. "I know someone—a girl who is cleverer than most. If anyone can figure it out, she can."
Kreacher was old, but that did not mean he wasn't sharp. He caught on quick. "The Mudblo—" He stopped and corrected himself. "Miss Granger?"
Harry nodded. "She's finally up. I was going to go see her now." Walking to the door, it opened under his touch. Down the hall Harry could hear the muffled sounds of some sort of commotion building in the Dining Room. He ignored them, walking up the stairs with Kreacher at his heels. The elf led him up to the third floor and a room just off the staircase.
Entering, he was met with the sight of Ron and Ginny hovering over a bed in which Hermione was sitting upright. He caught Hermione's eye immediately, but in doing so he didn't see the steaming hot redhead who marched up and smacked him in the face.
Grabbing his stinging cheek, he looked at Ginny. "That's for being a brainless prat," she said, before throwing her arms around him in a tight embrace. "And this is for saving Hermione."
Ron burst out laughing and Hermione was cracking up too, although her face grimaced in pain. Harry stepped forward.
"It's okay, I'm fine," she said, clutching her fists along the bedding near her stomach. "I'm just not used to laughing."
Harry didn't know what to say. Instead, he leaned over and pulled her into a hug.
"How are you in here? I thought you'd be locked away like me." Harry turned to speak with Ron.
His friend had a wry smirk on his face. "Strictly speaking, mum doesn't know I was involved with what happened at St. Mungo's… Heath kept me out of the story—I'm sure mum has her suspicions though, so I figured I would lie low up here for a while."
"I knew you two were up to something!" Ginny glared at them both. "I should have said something at breakfast. I just didn't expect Fardale to be in on it with you."
"If you did, we wouldn't have got Hermione," Ron pointed out.
Ginny blushed and looked over at her friend. "You know I didn't mean that," she said in a small voice.
"It's okay, Ginny." Hermione grabbed her hand, shooting Ron a familiar scowl. "It's my fault I sent Harry that note. I just—I saw Hedwig… and I knew that meant Harry… I'm sorry…" Hermione couldn't finish, her eyes brimming with tears.
Ginny wrapped her arms around her friend, whispering quietly in her ear.
Harry knew he was asking a sensitive topic, but understood he had to do so. "Hermione, what happened?"
It took a moment for her to settle herself, sniffing and wiping at her runny nose. Ron passed her a cup of tea, which had been sitting on a table nearby, and she sipped from it. "At Hogwarts, I was hit by a spell and taken," she started, her voice quiet, "I didn't know where I was when I woke up—some sort of a basement or dungeon. I was alone for days, but I was brought enough food and water to survive. They finally took me out of my cell—I'd lost track of time at that point—and I figured I was in an old pureblood's house. It was far too lavish and decorated to be anything else. Some Death Eater I didn't recognize questioned me about where you'd gone and what happened to the Order, but I couldn't answer them, so they sent me back down.
"From that point on, the same thing happened day after day. I was brought upstairs, taken to a small room somewhere at the back of the house and questioned by the same man. I learned his name was Mulciber. He always smelled of wine and I think he was a bit of a drunk. He always asked me the same questions over and over again, and nothing he asked me I could answer—I knew as little as they did. Maybe he didn't believe me, or maybe he was trying to scare me… That was until one day, when she was there."
Hermione stiffened, her skin paled, and her eyes glazed over as though stuck in a memory. Trembling, her hand struggled to lift her sleeve, but when she did, Harry felt sick. Thin white lines stuck out like chalk on a board, and they read Mudblood across her forearm. Ron pulled the sleeve back down immediately, covering the sight of her scars.
"Bellatrix…" she said, her lip quivering, but she bit it and continued on bravely, "she had a whole new set of questions, but wasn't interested in my answers."
"Did she?" Harry couldn't manage to say anything else.
Hermione nodded. "Only once," she said. "It could have been much worse, Snape came down to my cell that night and gave me a cream to cover it."
"Snape!?" Ron looked just as shocked as Harry felt. "The prick was probably there to get a look at Bellatrix's handiwork for himself."
"I… I'm not sure, Ron. He didn't have to give me anything," Hermione said, looking thoughtful. "I never saw him again after that, but from then on, Mulciber came every night to bring me the cream instead."
It didn't make sense to Harry. Why would Snape take the time to help Hermione? He hated her. At Hogwarts he bullied her every chance he had.
"With Mulciber coming every night, I saw my chance to escape. He was always quite drunk in the evenings, but one night in particular he was struggling to even stand. I stole his wand, stunned him, broke out of the house and apparated to the first place I could think of. I didn't think after breaking free I would be taken captive again."
"You're free now Hermione, that's all that matters." Harry said, laying his hand gently on her arm. "And when this is all over, we'll go find your parents."
Hermione's eyes lifted towards him, swimming with so much emotion it almost pained him to look. A watery smile trembled at her lips. "Thank you, Harry," she whispered.
Turning to Ron, Harry asked, "How long have they been in that meeting?"
Ron shrugged. "About an hour I'd say. I reckon they'll be at it for at least a few more."
"Good," Harry said, "there's something I need to go do."
"What's that?" Ginny spoke up, shooting to her feet as though she might try and block his way to the door. "You can't just run off and do another crazy thing, Harry. I know you saved Hermione, but the Order is mad. We work together. We share what we learn. We don't go off on special missions unless we're all in agreement. That's the way it's been since Dumbledore died."
Harry wasn't sure if that was a slight at Dumbledore, but the comment irked him the same. And when you share too much information that's how plans fail and that's how people die. If Dumbledore had taught him anything, it was the necessity of secrecy in war.
"Listen, I'm only meeting someone." Harry raised his hand before they could interrupt him. "I can't tell you who, I'm sorry."
"Harry, you can't keep hiding secrets from us." Ron spoke up in agreement with his sister.
Harry could feel the frustration building in his head, and the Elder Wand itched. "I'm doing this to protect you! This person is not someone you want to meet. I can't let you get involved with them. This meeting has nothing to do with the Order, so they don't have to worry about what I'm up to. I promise I'm not doing anything crazy, it's just a meeting."
The three of them looked at him with disbelief and disappointment.
Harry didn't care. I can't let anyone else get involved with him. I just need to set a place up for him to lay low.
Running a hand through his hair and scratching at the burn along his jaw, Harry removed the silk wrapped locket. From the corner of his eye he saw Ginny flinch. "Careful…" he said, moving Hermione's tea from the table and setting the locket down. "I'm trusting you with this, so please listen."
Ron and Hermione leaned in with interest, but Ginny was slowly backing away, a look of fear in her eyes. "This is one of the most dangerous and important weapons we have against Voldemort," Harry explained. "Nobody can know about this besides the four of us, do you hear me? I don't care what policy the Order has about honesty. Not your parents, not Moody—nobody." He scanned the room, waiting for each of them to nod in agreement. They did. "Dumbledore trusted me, only me, with this information. He died with it, so now it's up to me to choose who I trust. We do this Dumbledore's way, not the Order's." Nobody said a word. "There's a piece of Voldemort inside of this locket and if we want to kill him, we have to destroy it. If he finds out we know about this, let alone have it in our hands, we lose."
"What is it?" Hermione asked, eyeing it with intrigue.
"That doesn't matter," Harry said.
"How do we destroy it?" Ron asked.
"I know a few ways."
"Then what do you need us for?" Ron sounded annoyed.
"I need you guys to figure out how to open it. Whatever is inside there is what we need to kill."
"It's dangerous don't touch it." Ginny snapped.
Harry's eyes darted over to see Hermione, eye's wide with guilt, her finger hovering over the glittering S. She slowly retracted it.
"I think it would be best if you don't go near it, Ginny. It's powerful," Harry said.
"Wasn't planning on it." She looked disgusted.
"I need your help," Harry admitted. "I don't have the time to try and figure out what opens it, but I need to know soon. This is some of the darkest magic in the world. Don't put the locket on, don't stay in its presence for too long. Treat it like you would the diary that possessed Ginny. If you need someone to hold on to it, use Kreacher. He's been looking after it for years. I'm trusting you."
"Kreacher," Hermione called, "could you look after the locket for us?" The little elf nodded eagerly, suddenly quite kind to her. Hermione folded the silk back up and passed it to him. "I'll look through the library later and see if there's anything that can help."
Harry grinned. That sounded like the old Hermione.
Saying his goodbye's and promising not to get in any trouble, Harry slipped out of the bedroom and climbed back down to the main floor. At the bottom of the stairs he nearly ran into Bill, who'd turned the corner and was looking to come up.
"Wait, Harry," Bill called, stopping Harry from getting away, "I'm glad I bumped into you."
"What's up, Bill? Is the meeting over?" Harry asked, hoping it wasn't.
"Oh, no, not yet at least. I was just stepping out, gets toasty in there sometimes," he said, pulling at his collar. Harry noticed he was looking a bit out of sorts, and was playing with something on his finger. It was a ring. Harry wished he hadn't noticed. "Anyway, I've been meaning to talk to you."
"You have?" Harry said, feeling suddenly nervous.
"Yeah, I just wanted to say that what you did for Hermione is incredible. I know the Order is going to give you stick about it, but you should be proud. Knowing that there are people out there who would do anything for you—who will never leave your side, no matter what—I uh… I wish I had that. I guess I just wanted to say, I'm glad you're back around."
Harry's breath was knocked right out of him. It felt like someone had just punched him in the gut. He grunted out a response, and Bill seemed happy enough about that, leaving him behind.
Leaning heavily against the wall, Harry steadied himself with deep breaths. He reminded himself never to be alone with Bill again. He wasn't sure he could handle it.
Doing his best to close the front door with as little sound as possible, Harry exited Grimmauld Place for the second time that day and apparated away.
Harry landed on cobblestone, in a darkened alley hidden safely from the view of Muggles. There was a bite to the air as the sun began to leak colors over the darkening sky. The path exited on to a quaint muggle square, one dotted with civilians enjoying the last bit of their day. Harry was certain there were a few wizards mixed in between, but dressed in his muggles clothes and covered by the dimming sunlight, Harry was safe enough out of his invisibility cloak.
He scanned the familiar town. Home it had once been, as funny a thought that was. The statue of his parents disguised as an obelisk stood proudly in the center of the town square. Walking towards the cemetery, he watched the obelisk morph silently into his family and back again. The urge to go and gaze at the sculpture was no longer there after having his Horcrux destroyed. Nothing can ever compare to what they're really like…
Approaching the church, he could see it was empty, the lights were off and not a soul was inside, save for a single man standing on its front steps. Harry walked over to him.
Grindelwald smiled, and from the folds of his cloak he took out a newspaper, passing it over to him. Harry saw it was from the Evening Prophet.
Minister Dead After Botched Break-In at St. Mungo's
After Pius Thicknesse was named the replacement for deceased Minister for Magic, Rufus Scrimgeour, new information has been unveiled since the release of our Emergency Report from this morning. We here at the Evening Prophet are proud to share exclusive details from this morning's tragedy with our devoted readers. Contrary to popular reports of a Death Eater attack this morning being the cause of former Minister Scrimgeour's death, new reports suggest otherwise. Eyewitness testimonies from the scene placed none other than thought-to-be-dead Harry Potter, The-Boy-Who-Lived, at the scene of the crime. Could it be possible that Harry Potter faked his own death to recruit his own army? Were those the men seen with him at the attack of St. Mungo's? Could Harry Potter be linked with the death of Minister Scrimgeour, as he'd once been with fellow Triwizard Champion Cedric Diggory? We here at the Prophet would never presume to make such accusations. However, one faithful reader had this to say, "I swear I saw him! It had to be him! But he looked different—not like in all those pictures they put of him in the magazines. His eyes were glowing red; he was covered all in blood. I thought it was a demon, but I'd recognize that lightning scar anywhere." There we have it, straight from the hippogriff's mouth, evidence of Harry Potter at the death of Minster Scrimgeour. Has the Boy-Who-Lived turned murderer? The Prophet cautions all our readers to be careful, these are dangerous times, and if you see Harry Potter, please do not approach him, call the appropriate authorities.
"This have anything to do with you? I got it just ten minutes ago." Grindelwald cocked an eyebrow at him.
"That fast huh? I thought it would be at least a few days before they started spreading their propaganda." Harry crumpled the paper, wanting nothing more than to light it on fire. "I hated the man, but I didn't go to kill him."
"What were you there for?"
"To save a friend," Harry replied, shortly.
Grindelwald took back the paper, flattening it out against his chest. "Six dead… countless injured," he read out, a dark humor twinkling in his sharp grey-blue eyes. "It doesn't look like you did much saving, does it?"
This time Harry did take the paper and light it aflame with the tip of his wand. It flashed and crumbled to ashes. "You wouldn't understand," Harry said.
"It is true, I likely would not," he admitted, scattering the ashes into the air with his shoe. "Now, why did you bring me to Godric's Hollow? I suppose Albus told you this was where we first met."
"Not you directly, but he mentioned someone. There's a safe place here where I think you can stay for some time," Harry said, leading him down the street which ran along the cemetery.
"I remember there being a Potter property nearby from when I stayed here in my youth, though it was unused back them. Is that where you are taking me?"
"That's where my parents died," Harry replied, not breaking stride and continuing down the narrow, winding streets of Godric's Hollow.
Grindelwald did not speak for a few moments. "I suppose not then." He clucked his tongue, thinking. Something must have clicked in his mind, perhaps the familiarity of the path or the fact he ran out of any other feasible options, because he stopped without warning. "Surely not," he said, eyeing Harry strangely. A short bark of a laugh escaped from his throat. "Oh, Mr. Potter, I commend you and your sense of humor."
"I'm sure your Aunt has missed you very much."
Grindelwald caught up to Harry with his long strides, just as they approached an old, rundown home. "In the time we've been separated I've almost forgotten why I like you so much, Potter. You're snappy."
Climbing the creaky front stoop, Harry knocked on the door.
"One minute, dear! I was just setting us down some tea!" A croaky voice called from somewhere in the house. Harry could hear shuffling come from behind the door. "You're here a bit early—Oh!"
Bathilda Bagshot looked much the same as when Harry last saw her, perhaps more hunched and wrinkled. "Harry Potter?" She peered up at him with squinted eyes. "My dear, I was not expecting you of all people to show up at my doorstep. And who is this with you, a friend of…"
Mrs. Bagshot's eyes bugled, her hand shot to clutch her chest, and for a moment it looked like she might keel over. Harry was afraid they had almost killed the poor woman.
"Good evening, Aunt Bathilda," Grindelwald said with a thin-lipped smile. Unlike his Aunt, Grindelwald's face was not overjoyed. In fact, his expression was exactly that of a petulant child who had been forced to visit their over enthusiastic gran, who kissed them sloppily every chance she got.
The old historian had yet to speak, her mouth opening and closing in a silent cycle of lost words.
It must have been quite chilly, Harry noticed, she was dressed only in a set of evening robes. "Mrs. Bagshot," Harry said, "do you mind if we step in?"
She nodded silently, still staring at her nephew who was looking increasingly uncomfortable with each passing second. Harry couldn't help but feel a thrill of satisfaction of getting one over the old man. Something must have clicked in Mrs. Bagshot's mind, as she slowly turned and beckoned them inside the house.
The house was a cramped mess. Where books had once been stacked to the ceiling along the walls, they were now thrown across the floor and scattered over her furniture. Doing well not to step on any of her collection, they were led past a staircase and into a kitchen that doubled as a makeshift library; books in the sink, books overflowing from cupboards, and books set in place on the table.
"The place hasn't changed much, has it?" Grindelwald found a seat and reclined, his eyes gazing impassively over the room.
"It's really you? Mein Schatz?" Mrs. Bagshot's skin was as white as her hair. Her hand raised tentatively as though afraid to touch this apparition of the past in front of her.
"Of course it is," Grindelwald said, summoning a cup of tea from a tray set nicely in the corner, "only I am an old man now, I suppose, and have less hair."
The old lady burst to life, her eyes shining beyond her wrinkles. "I've thought of you every day since you left me," she said. Rushing to her counter and rifling through the contents on its surface, books and journals, loose papers, newspaper cuttings and photographs all came tumbling to the floor in a whirl. She was searching for something and eventually found it, pulling out a small, gold picture frame. "You have never left,Mein Schatz. I have always said it could not have been you who had done those things. Not the boy I knew who loved to hear my stories of the old folktales and legends."
"Naïve…" Harry could hear Grindelwald whisper, staring at the picture in his hands. Harry could just glimpse the image of a boy, young and confident and handsome. "I had been such a fool."
Looking around the room, Harry's eyes were drawn, again, by the utter disarray of the house. It looked as though it had been completely ransacked. But unless someone was wanting to steal faded, dusty history books, he couldn't imagine what possibly had happened. Something didn't feel right.
Ignoring the myriad of questions being thrown at Grindelwald by his aunt, Harry stepped over to the new pile Mrs. Bagshot had created from her search for Grindelwald's portrait. Bending over, Harry picked through the items.
There was a brown and cracked newspaper clipping, the paper so old it looked like it could turn to dust any second. Flipping it over, Harry's eyes widened, it was an edition of the Daily Prophet from 1899: Dumbledore Widow Killed in Home Accident—Prodigious Son and Budding Transfiguration Master, Albus Dumbledore, to Care for Orphaned Siblings. Pinned behind the copy was another article: Tragedy Strikes Again! Secret Dumbledore Girl Dies Under Mysterious Circumstances Only Months After Her Mother.
Putting the clippings down, Harry flicked through what remained. Dozens of photographs of Dumbledore were spread across the ground, from when he was a boy to most recently the Triwizard tournament; there were pictures of him speaking at the Wizengamot, at Hogwarts graduations, his induction as Headmaster, private parties, and even one with his brother Aberforth (though neither looked particularly happy in that one). A book sat open along its spine, The Youthful Brilliance of Albus Dumbledore: A Childhood Friend, by Elphias Doge. Everything in front of him was written about, by, or in reference to Albus Dumbledore.
Standing up, holding the contents in question, Harry called out, "Mrs. Bagshot?" He must have cut the lady off in whatever she was discussing with Grindelwald, as she stopped suddenly and turned around. "I found this on the floor. Why is it all written about Dumbledore?"
"Oh, that!" She laughed, dry and croaky. "I was doing some research on Albus. It's why the house is a mess. It gets like this when I am drawn into projects."
"We don't mind at all," Grindelwald replied, "in fact, I was hoping to stay here longer with you. Secretly, of course, we wouldn't want people interrupting my visit. It really has been so long since we last saw one another."
Completely charmed by her nephew, Mrs. Bagshot leaned forward and clasped his hand tightly. "I could never turn you away, Mein Schatz. It will be just as it was all those years ago. If only Albus were here again…"
"Are you writing a book?" Harry asked suddenly, interrupting again. He couldn't shake the feel that something wasn't right. "Sorry, about Dumbledore, I mean?"
"Me? No, my dear, my writing days have passed me." With some effort, she stood and hobbled her way over to the tea set in the corner. "But I am consulting on one. I was actually supposed to meet my partner today. I thought it was her when you knocked on my door."
Harry stilled, a feeling nagging at the edge of his mind. "Your partner?" He said slowly, lowering his voice to a whisper. Grindelwald must have noticed something was off, because he was looking at Harry strangely.
Mrs. Bagshot strained her ear to hear him. "Yes, I had a young woman approach me about writing a book on Albus shortly after he passed away. She was quite pushy on the subject, I thought, but since I'm just about the last person left who knew him as a boy, I agreed."
Harry's eyes were no longer on the old woman, but scanning each and every inch around him. "Who was this woman?"
"She told me her name so many times, as if it meant something—I think she thinks herself famous." Mrs. Bagshot grabbed her head to think. "It was a silly one, I know that—I just can't remember it for the life of me. She wore strange glasses and had very blonde hair."
"What time were you meant to meet her?" Harry asked, feeling like someone had just swallowed his heart.
Checking the time on the clock on her wall, she said, "We were meant to meet fifteen minutes ago. She's late by now."
A part of Harry didn't want to believe it, but he knew it was true. Turning without a word, Harry left the kitchen and walked back down the cramped hall, stepping around stacks of texts that otherwise would have tripped him. He stopped at the front entrance where the door already hung open, swinging on its hinges from a bitter breeze that cut across his skin.
Harry stood there in the pooling moonlight, alone, numb, and disbelieving. It was only the sudden presence of Grindelwald at his side that returned his attention to reality.
"You won't be needing to stay here anymore," Harry said, wanting to laugh at how horribly wrong everything had gone today.
Grindelwald sucked in a deep breath of the frigid, night air. "That's a relief," he said. "I was already growing sick of it and we hadn't even stayed an hour."
This time Harry did laugh, the humour too dark for him not to.
"What was she? This woman?" Grindelwald asked.
"A reporter and an animagus." Harry replied.
"A horrid combination."
"That damn woman always had it out for me."
A serious expression came over Grindelwald's lined face. "You know what this means," he said. For a moment, Harry thought he caught a hint of concern in the man's voice.
Harry nodded, knowing exactly what this meant. All hell would break loose.
Off in the distance, far above them all, a dark and twisted side of Harry thought he could glimpse a small, black dot fluttering across the white expanse of the moon in the sky.
AN:
I don't do this often (if ever), but I have updated and changed this chapter since uploading it earlier this evening. It's partially due to some early feedback I agreed with, and partially due to my own concerns with what I had released. That being said, I don't think what I wrote before was bad in any way, I actually quite like the scene, which is why I will be keeping it down below this AN as a sort of alternate/fun deleted scene. If you've read the old ending, I hope you like the new one. And if you haven't read the old ending, go give it a read.
The outcome of the two endings is the same. Rita Skeeter finds out about Harry and Grindelwald. This is not a side-plot, this is not unnecessary drama, this is an essential part of what leads to the finale of the story. The change is not related to the story itself, it will continue as it has always done. The change was made because I believe (after my own contemplation and some helpful reviews) that this end scene is more fitting to the general tone of the story and what I have built so far.
If you would like for me to expand on this, please PM me or ask in a review! I would gladly explain it all to you!
As always, please leave me your thoughts and constructive opinions, your reviews and feedback are what keep this story going and help me improve (this update is living proof that you all are an invaluable resource and that your reviews help).
DELETED SCENE/ALTERNATE ENDING
"... She's late by now"
Slowly turning back in the direction of the front door, Harry thought he saw something small and black crawl along the wall. In one swift motion, Harry flicked the Elder Wand from his wrist and shot a stunning spell at the wall. The room flashed red and he could hear Mrs. Bagshot scream behind him, but Harry kept his eyes trained on the fizzing, charred mark his spell had left behind. There was nothing there. "Don't let her escape!" Harry shouted, keeping alert.
"Who's here?" Grindelwald said, now standing beside Harry with his wand out.
"Rita Skeeter," Harry replied, looking over a stack of books nearby which had toppled over, flakes of burnt plaster from the wall scattered over their covers. "The reporter your Aunt was supposed to meet tonight. She's an animagus."
Just as Harry had said that, one of the flakes of plaster seemed to grow legs and started scurrying out of the way. "There!" Harry shouted, firing again. An explosion of pages came shooting up into the air, and through them, Harry could see the beetle flying. A blue spell tore through the papers like a bullet, narrowly missing Skeeter, who was buzzing around in a panic. She landed on a shelf, bent heavy by the weight of countless texts, and when Harry's spell tore in to it, they all came tumbling down like an avalanche.
Through all the chaos of flying splinters, flapping pages, and books falling around them left and right, it was almost impossible to track her. There was too much clutter, too many hiding places, and in an old, cramped house like this, with its dark walls and dim lighting, nearly everything served as the perfect camouflage.
Shouting aloud with a wide sweep of his wand, Grindelwald ripped every book in the room from its place and up towards the center of the ceiling. They hung there, frozen in place, like a strange chandelier.
"There's too many books," Harry said. Spines, covers, seams, and loose and torn pages, were stuck together in every odd angle imaginable, forming a mass that blocked out the sight of the ceiling. "Can't we just burn them?" Harry suggested half serious, half joking. They were quite literally looking for a bug in a book stack.
Grindelwald looked amused. "I don't think my Aunt would enjoy such destruction of her property, more so than there has been already. Besides, the smoke would only make her more difficult to find."
Harry peered closely at what he guessed was at least a hundred or so books hovering overhead. He looked for any sign of movement, any dark spot that stuck out, but found nothing. It was near impossible to tell what went where, and where something began and where it ended. In his frustration, Harry sent a spell that struck the pile of books with such concussive force that it rattled the whole house. Nothing so much as fluttered down from the ceiling.
There was no reason to believe that she was even in that horrendous mass of literature. She could have crawled off to hide anywhere… and that is when a thought came to Harry.
Looking over to the single window that sat above the sink, Harry found her exactly where Hermione had in the Hospital Wing in fourth year. Along its frame, completely inconspicuous in comparison to the current state of the room, he could see the beetle moving to a crack in the glass.
"There!" Harry shouted, throwing up a shield. Knowing she was caught Rita flew at the crack hoping to squeeze through, only to bounce off the thin blue barrier Harry had put up. Grindelwald dropped his spell on the books and they rained down to the ground, thumping like a stampede. Before they could take aim again, Rita dove straight at Mrs. Bagshot. The old lady threw up her arms and screamed.
Harry froze, he couldn't make out anything, only Mrs. Bagshot hobbling and thrashing around trying to free herself from the bug nesting in her hair. It was impossible to take aim, not with Mrs. Bagshot in the way. He couldn't risk hitting her, but the choice was soon taken away from him.
A spell struck the lady in the back, stiffening and dropping her to the floor like a wooden board. Harry shot a quick look at Grindelwald, but was quickly forced on the move again when Rita crawled free of the hair and took flight. She flew through the kitchen door and down the hall, swooping between stacks of books that took the brunt of each of Harry's spells, protecting her.
Chasing after her wasn't easy, with Harry having to skip his way around toppling stacks of texts, and jump over piles that would have tripped him otherwise. He knew he was falling behind. Books came flying at him from every which direction, forcing him to banish and summon them out of his path. It was utter chaos, with Grindelwald's spells mixing with his own. Harry could hardly see what was in front of him, let alone a flying beetle, but still he sent spells at anything he thought he saw move, trying to stun or reverse her transformation before she reached the exit.
Harry could see the door and Rita inches from it, but before she could get any closer it flashed blue from Grindelwald's shield. Seeing she was trapped, Rita flipped in the air in a way only an insect could and flew up the stairs.
Harry, still trying catching up, sprinted after her.
No longer on a level surface, Harry was falling further and further behind with each steep step he climbed. He could see her disappear into the darkness upstairs. Throwing up a ball of light with his wand, Harry illuminated the second floor just as he reached the top. Pushing through the nearest door, Harry stopped at what he saw.
A bitter breeze cut across his skin from the window that hung open, and illuminated against the open night sky was a small black dot drifting away.
Harry collapsed to the floor, moonlight pouring over him, his head cradled in his hands. The only thought in his mind being, What have I done?