A/N: Warning for war imagery: i.e. brief descriptions of death, rape and genocide.
This chapter was edited by The Mountain Fairy, my wonderful beta. They're writing their own lovely HP fic, which can be found here: s/13536958/1/Harry-Potter-and-the-Return-of-Lord-Voldemort.
After using the Cruciatus, Credence didn't attempt any more spells for two days, spending his time listlessly wandering around the house and garden. On the third day, he forgot himself and out of habit tried to enter the library. The door wouldn't budge, and he stared at it in confusion, until an utterly intolerable stench reached his nose. Then he recalled that Mr. Grindelwald had decided to leave Graves's body in the library for the authorities to find. A memory-modified Nory would be left at the house as well, ready to provide an explanation for the corpse.
Graves was the fourth person I've killed, and already I forget him, he thought dully. Maybe I'm becoming a cold-blooded murderer.
To distract himself, he decided to try and practice some of the simple charms he'd learned. Alone in his room, he pulled out his wand and ran his fingers over its smooth length. It was made of willow, ten inches long, with a core of dragon heartstring, or so Mr. Grindelwald had told him. Credence had no idea if the information held any significance. He held out the wand experimentally and said, loud and clear, "Lumos."
The wall across him exploded with a blast, dust and debris flying everywhere. Credence yelped and almost dropped his wand. The wall looked exactly like those he'd destroyed in his Obscurus form. He could see the garden through the hole he'd created, bits of stone strewn between the statues, fine white powder covering the flowers. And yet…
He looked down at his dust-covered hands. No black tendrils had appeared. No shadows. He didn't feel angry. Or hateful. Or any other emotion that called on the Obscurus.
"Credence, are you all right?"
Modesty.
Credence expected her to start screaming when she arrived at the doorway, considering what had happened last time she'd seen this type of destruction. Instead, she burst out laughing.
"What?"
"You look like a snowman," she hooted, sounding entirely too pleased with his predicament.
He touched his hair, and indeed, his hand came back white. "It's not funny! Call Mr. Grindelwald."
She ran off, calling, "Uncle Gellert! Uncle Gellert! Credence broke the wall!"
"You really must learn a little self-control." Mr. Grindelwald looked irritated when he arrived. He waved his wand and the wall immediately began to repair itself. Dust lifted from Credence's hair and clothes, not a speck remaining.
"It wasn't the Obscurus! It was a spell."
"A spell?" Mr. Grindelwald raised an eyebrow, looking at Credence as though he'd gone insane.
"Yes, a spell!" Credence knew Mr. Grindelwald wouldn't believe him, so he raised his wand in desperation. "Lumos."
The half-repaired wall exploded in the same manner as before. Mr. Grindelwald took in the sight with slow astonishment.
"Do that again," Mr. Grindelwald said, coughing in the dust. "No, wait. Use a different spell."
Credence pointed his wand to the still-intact part of the wall. "Accio painting."
It exploded, along with the wall surrounding it.
"All right, stop." Mr. Grindelwald waved his wand in an absentminded motion, his eyes fixed on Credence while the wall mended itself. "Hmm. Strange. You had no trouble performing the Cruciatus two days ago."
Credence wanted to recoil at the mention. "Yes. That's true."
Mr. Grindelwald tapped a finger against his lips, deep in thought. "I have a hypothesis. An Obscurus develops within magical children who suppress their power, and it expresses itself under the conditions of fear, rage and self-loathing. You can probably cast without much hindrance any type of spell that causes pain. Perhaps even the Killing Curse, as long as those emotions empower the act. Anything else will bring only destruction."
"So… What does that mean?" Credence looked down at his wand. "I can't use magic?"
"Not until we figure out how to solve this problem."
They began their journey to Nurmengard Castle in early February. Mr. Grindelwald had opted to travel by passenger liner and train. Traveling by magical means held too many risks of injury and detection, he had said.
Modesty treated the whole trip like a vacation, rushing about the liner and gaping at the sights. Credence was seasick, spending the whole time closed up in the cabin in utter dejection. Mr. Grindelwald brewed him a potion, but owing to the scarcity of ingredients, he could only concoct an inferior version. It gave Credence little relief, the effect lasting only for an hour or so.
But seasickness wasn't the primary reason for Credence's misery, if he was honest with himself. The realization of his inability to perform spells had sent Credence into depression. Learning magic had been his dream ever since Mr. Grindelwald had first shown him its wonders. He found himself envious of Modesty, who would have no such trouble as she grew older.
The sole advantage of the long trip, in Credence's opinion, was that Mr. Grindelwald had set up office in their cabin, not too far from Credence's cot. While Modesty was off roaming the liner, Credence had enough time to ponder the questions he wanted to ask. Mr. Grindelwald would administer the potion, and Credence took advantage of the half-hour respite to discuss the issues that bothered him.
"Why did Mr. Graves provoke me? That was very stupid of him," he said one evening.
Mr. Grindelwald hummed in agreement. "That man always had a terrible temper."
"Still, why ask if you were bedding me? Such a strange question…"
"He was frustrated and jealous, I suppose." Mr. Grindelwald dipped his quill in the inkwell.
"Jealous? Of what?"
"Percy's tastes tended toward young men," said Mr. Grindelwald offhandedly, as he leaned forward to examine his own scribbles. "That's what got him in trouble in the first place. He was trying to woo a young No-Maj. The boy showed no interest in his advances, apparently not possessing any attraction to men. Percy resorted to Polyjuice and a lock of his sister's hair. The poor woman had no knowledge of Percy's doings. Imagine her shock when aurors showed up at her door. Nevertheless, she took the blame the moment she realized what her brother had done. A very loyal sister, I must say."
Credence felt sick, and he didn't think it was the potion wearing off. "You're almost making me glad I killed him."
Mr. Grindelwald chuckled. "You certainly need not feel any remorse for the man himself. He barely spoke about his sister during those three months, always asking after the boy. Percy tried to contact and meet him multiple times, despite my warnings that it wasn't safe. I eventually had to imprison him in his own house."
During their last evening on the liner, Credence gathered up the courage to voice his most pressing concern. "Mr. Graves… Mr. Graves claimed you were a murderer."
"And?" Mr. Grindelwald's quill did not pause.
"Well, are you?"
"That depends on your definition of 'murderer', Credence. The international wizarding community finds it convenient to smear me and my followers, since we threaten their precious dogmas."
"That doesn't answer my question."
Mr. Grindelwald put down the quill and rose with a sigh, chair scraping against the wooden floorboards. "I suppose it is time to show you, then." He glanced about the room, then flicked his wand. "This will do."
A mirror lifted off the wall and flew into Mr. Grindelwald's hand. He placed the mirror upon the table, then waved his wand in complex patterns, murmuring under his breath. Silvery strands erupted from the tip of his wand, twisting and surging before dissolving into the mirror's glassy surface. Credence observed closely, curious to see the most intricate spell he'd ever witnessed unfold.
About a minute later, Mr. Grindelwald finally lowered his wand. "Come here. Look inside."
Credence stared into the mirror, which now looked more like a translucent window. Beyond the glass he could see a turbulent sea, turquoise waves rising and falling wildly. A beach appeared in the distance, and he could see a village, surrounded by thousands of uniformed figures, scurrying about in chaotic formations. It looks like a disturbed anthill. While he watched, fighters swooped low, dropping bombs that exploded with violent color, sending bodies flying.
"What is this?"
Mr. Grindelwald leaned over his shoulder. "It shall be known as the Massacre of Dunkirk. Nearly two hundred thousand British troops captured and killed. Another hundred thousand French troops will meet the same fate."
"You speak as though it has already happened." Credence couldn't tear his eyes away.
"It will. Unless a miracle prevents it."
"This is like the Great War," Credence whispered.
"Oh, no. This will overshadow it by far."
The mirror blurred and cleared. Now he was looking into a forest. Between the towering birch trees lay a deep ravine, full of white forms. Soldiers were leading another crowd of ghostly figures down into the ravine. They were naked people, Credence realized. Old, bearded men, stripped of their dignity. Young women helplessly covering their breasts. Mothers clutching their children close. They were made to lie down on top of the previous corpses. Soldiers came forward, carrying submachine guns.
"I can't look." Credence felt faint. He squeezed his eyes shut. "This isn't real. This isn't real."
When he opened his eyes, the mirror had blurred and cleared again. Now he saw bombs raining down on a city like hellfire, smoke rising out of decimated buildings. There was fire everywhere. Burning vehicles, carts and horses. People let out anguished screams, begging to die. Burnt corpses lined the streets, pieces of arms and legs scattered about, cremated adults shrunken to the size of children.
"No!"
"Evil will not disappear just because you avert your eyes," said Mr. Grindelwald, his voice gentle like falling midnight snow.
The mirror blurred and cleared over and over.
He saw a woman lying spread-eagled on the muddy ground, her dress torn, her eyes wide with vacant despair, while a soldier lined up ten of his companions to take their turn.
He saw victims of a bombing collapse at the entrance of a bomb shelter, their skin peeled off in ribbons and hanging limply to the ground, their hair burnt to the scalp.
He saw skeletal prisoners done with a day's work of digging trenches, forced to sing while they marched back to camp, carrying their dead comrades.
He saw soldiers shoot an elderly woman who tried to protect two young girls, while in the background, another soldier stabbed a mother and her baby with a bayonet.
He saw and saw and saw.
Then he saw from far above, as though watching from the heavens, glimpses of countless cities all over the world, filled with bright balls of fire, brighter than the sun itself, their color changing from yellow to red to purple. The fires rose in smoky columns, creating countless mushroom clouds. Entire cities were flattened, laid to waste, leaving nothing but rubble and wreckage. He saw the years pass by, the sun distant and cold beyond a curtain of black soot that filled the sky. An eternal winter took over the world, snow and ice killing those who outlasted the war. The few who remained turned to beasts, bent only on survival.
And then he saw his own face, pale and contorted. Tears and snot were running down to his chin. The mirror had reverted back to normal.
"It's not real. It's not real."
"I cannot afford myself that false comfort. It's real, Credence. It can all come to pass. I have Seen it."
"Why? Why will they do it?"
"Why will the No-Majs murder and torture and enslave millions of their own?" Mr. Grindelwald shrugged, lips twisting in contempt. "You may as well ask the pig why it ruts in the mud. It's in their nature."
"That last image… It looked like Armageddon…"
Mr. Grindelwald didn't scoff at the Christian imagery as Credence expected. "Indeed. The two most powerful empires in history, competing in amassing the deadliest weapon mankind can invent. It has to end in mutual destruction. It will be the end of civilization."
Credence felt hands tighten on his shoulders, pulling him away from the mirror, turning him around to face Mr. Grindelwald. His eyes were blazing with an intense, eerie blue. "You understand now? The No-Majs must be stopped. Any blood spilled for the cause shall save the lives of millions."
Mr. Grindelwald released him, and Credence collapsed on his cot, shaken to the core. Nothing in his life had prepared him for those images. Nothing in life could have.
"I've shown very few people these visions. Only to my most trusted followers. The masses would panic and would refuse to believe."
Credence could sympathize with masses.
"Well, my dear boy," Mr. Grindelwald's tone turned sardonic. "Have I offered a satisfactory reply to your question?"
Credence could think of nothing else for the rest of their journey. At some point they had disembarked from the liner and had boarded a train, but Credence noticed little beyond the alleviation of his seasickness. He ignored the scenery as they rode the train, the snowy countryside and distant mountains replaced by the inferno of his mind's eye. Modesty sensed his mood and left him alone, busying herself by chattering with fellow passengers, few of whom seemed to know English. They all smiled kindly, though, and offered her sweets, so she was well rewarded for her efforts.
Only once did Mr. Grindelwald disturb Credence from his phantasms.
"There is something you should be aware of, before we arrive at Nurmengard. My followers won't react well to you calling me 'Mr. Grindelwald'."
Credence looked up in surprise. "Why not?"
"None of my followers call me that." Mr. Grindelwald sounded amused, for some reason.
"Then what should I call you?"
"Gellert."
"Ge-Gellert?" Credence almost choked on the name. "That's disrespectful!"
"Not if I allow it. Besides, it will make your life easier. Trust me."
Credence didn't spend much time wondering about the strange request, his mind plunging back to the visions of a dying earth.
They got off the train in a quaint little town, and Mr. Grindelwald led them to a seemingly ordinary shoe store. After a lengthy conversation with the clerk in German, they were led to the back of the store. The clerk, a short, bespectacled man, smiled thinly at them before offering a black shoelace.
"Hold on tight, Modesty," said Mr. Grindelwald. Gellert, Credence amended in his mind with difficulty.
A few seconds later they were jerked through the air at an impossible speed, bumping against each other. The sensation was worse than being Apparated, in Credence's opinion.
They landed on a road, surrounded by thick wood, snow dripping from the pine and spruce trees. The air was noticeably colder, and Credence was glad that Mr. Grindelwald— no, Gellert— had insisted on them wearing their warmest clothes.
A fortress loomed before them, grand and dark and ominous. They trudged up the road, Mr. Grindelwald magically clearing the path before them. As they neared the iron gate, Credence noticed foreign letters carved over the entrance.
Für das Größere Wohl.
"What does that mean?" he asked softly, but even as the words left his mouth, he knew.
The iron gate opened silently before them. Gellert turned to smile at Credence, triumph adorning his beauty.
"Welcome to Nurmengard." His gloved hand found Credence's, their fingers interlacing. "You and I will liberate the world. But first, we must conquer it."
Credence drew in a sharp breath. His hand tightened around Gellert's. He knew what he must answer.
"For the Greater Good."
A/N: Thank you for reading! If you've enjoyed this story, please consider leaving a review. :)