A/N: Next chapter done.
Wow. I really didn't expect this story to gain such extreme traction this fast. On the same day, I released the last chapter this story nearly gained a thousand views in less than twenty-four hours.
People seem to generally enjoy what I write and I really enjoy writing this story. I appreciate you guys taking the time to read this and go into dialogue with me when you're done. I've had multiple very interesting discussions with people who read the last two chapters.
Well, I hope you enjoy reading this next chapter as well.
!Please read the Authors Note at the end of the chapter. I will have a few questions to your opinions on a few things in this one.!
Chapter Three
Mentorship
Three and a half years later.
A green light bolt shot out of the tip of Grindelwald's Ashwood wand. The man, who had been standing before him, fell to the ground, instantly dead, his soul ripped from his body as soon as the curs hit his chest.
Screams could be heard echoing through the long floors and halls of Nurmengard castle.
At Gellert's side walked his son, his wand in his hand, yet still not able to duel beyond the capabilities of a thirteen-year-old, which was rather impressive for any normal child, judging by the fact he only recently turned eight, but not good enough to take on fully grown men by himself.
It had been a strangely stormy and cold October night on the Austrian Alps. Snow, that had been falling over the last few days, was being flung high into the air again, making anyone who would be idiotic enough to travel the Alps in these weather conditions nearly entirely blind after walking a few feet.
The castle was a far up the mountains, the reason for the seemingly early snowfall, which made it nearly impossible for any intruders to enter it.
Yet, as Grindelwald himself made the plans to build the very same castle, he was aware of many weaknesses and secret passageways. Only thanks to him, was the group of twelve wizards and witches able to secretly sneak into the castle and unleash havoc onto the German and Austrian wizards who had been guarding the prison castle and its inhabitants.
A smile crept over the old wizards face as he saw one of the idiotic guards contort and twine under the torture curse one of his allies had him under. Antonin Dolohov was wielding the wand, a maniacal grind smeared on his face, fiery eyes filled with hatred and grim satisfaction burned into the contorted features of the young man squirming on the floor below him.
"Antonin, enough!" Grindelwald spoke, a calm voice in this maddening onslaught of screams and death, yet so authoritative to give anyone in earshot chills. The man instantly lowered his wand and looked over to the blond wizard standing a few feet next to him.
"Hadrian." the Gellert spoke, more softly the usual, turning to his son. The small smile never having left his features. "Finish Dolohov's work. Kill that pathetic excuse for a guard!" cold like stone the words echoed through the hallway.
The guard on the floor looked up at the two wizards standing above him, his eyes caught those of the boy next to the dark wizard. His own eyes shimmered with the dying tears that had spilt through the pain, pleading, hoping that the boy would spare him, spare his life. But the eyes he meet where filled with cold determination, like ice blue spears ramming into his head, showing simple and unwavering confidence.
The boy's arm rose, an elegant wand in his hand.
"Diffindo"
Hadrian only whispered the incantation, yet the bright pink blot that shot out of his wand easily severed the man's head from his body.
The guard's features frozen in a silent scream, a surprised look in his eyes, lingering fear and torment had gripped hold of that man's last few moments. The head slumped to the side and blood spilt onto the cold stone floor.
Hadrian didn't waver. He didn't take his eyes off the corpse, nor did he swallow uncomfortably. He just stared.
It hadn't been the first time he had been forced to kill someone. He didn't enjoy it, yet he knew it had to be done, a necessity. This was no different, he had been kind to the man. He allowed him a quick and painless death.
Had he refused to do it, Antonin would have crushed the man's skull with some dark curse, sliced him open with some ancient spell or even used one of his own creations. He'd done the man a favour.
"Well done, my boy." Gellert spoke softly "You've proven yourself again and again. We are done here, you will go back to France with Igor and continue your training in duelling."
"Why can't I stay with you, father?" Hadrian asked carefully, a gentle frown crossed his features. The old sorcerer had promptly taken the place of the father figure after only a few months. Since then Hadrian didn't like leaving his side for too long.
While it wasn't as bad as is used to be, two years back, Hadrian nearly hadn't left the side of the old man at all. By now he had grown more independent, yet still feared separation from the old man for a long distance of time.
"You will not be of any use here, while in France, you will be able to continue your studies, which will be of great use to us both.
"Furthermore, it won't be too long." Gellert continued, "When I am done here with the others, I will get you and we will begin your studies in rituals and maybe even Spellcraft."
Hadrian took a slow step forward, his eyes had turned from the ice blue they had possessed before to the gentle emerald green of his former mother.
Gellert spread his arms and pulled the head of the boy against his shoulder in a tight hug, before releasing him and whispering, only audible to the boy, "Go. Now! Go, my boy."
Hadrian turned around and walked down the hallway, where Karkaroff, the silvery dark-haired wizard, had appeared and was waiting for him to accompany him. Grindelwald rose to his feet and watched the boy leaving with the Durmstrang headmaster.
He turned to face the last door of the Hall, a soft pop gave him confirmation of the disappearance of the old wizard and the boy, before raising his stolen wand. A bright orange bolt slammed into the door, completely incinerating the ancient wood and its protective spells.
A few of his followers stood behind him, all had their wands raised and pointed at the door, awaiting the appearance of the imprisoned soul. Gellert lowered his wand, the smile reappearing again.
A woman, dressed in a simple grey robe, slowly walked out into the hallway. She, unlike the other wizards and witches they had freed from their imprisonment, stood tall with an authoritative glare in her green eyes.
She pushed a strand of white-blonde hair from her face. A gentle smile appeared on her features as her eyes fell onto the group of wizards and witches standing there. "Took you long enough," she uttered in a mocking sound, looking directly at the German wizard in the middle. She slowly stepped forward, the smile grew to a full-on laugh, so uncaring of the world, completely disregarding the dead bodies, some brutally maimed and mutilated, on the floor before her.
She came to a halt directly before the old wizard, she gently bit her bottom lip while measuring up the man before her. "Still charming as ever I see, hm Gellert?" she laughed again, pulling the man into a deep hug, who reciprocated the gesture slightly more stiffly.
Then, she suddenly took a step back, her entire behaviour drastically changed. She turned to one of the younger wizards of the group, a mere boy with long brown hair that nearly reached his shoulders and a thick leather coat. He tightly clung to his wand, which he still held in his hand pointed at the woman, having seemingly not noticed the behaviour of his fellow witches and wizards as well as his leader, who had all lowered their wands.
"I… am… NOT CRAZY!" she hissed at him, her eyes lighting up in a fierce flame, before stepping closer to the boy who suddenly felt extremely small. The woman was nothing more than around five-foot-four, while the man who was now cowering from her gaze stood at a proud six-foot-three.
The boy only nodded, taking a hesitant step back, still visibly shaken. He lowered his wand and looked to the floor, muttering a quick 'sorry' to the woman.
"You are still thinking it," she stated in a matter-of-fact tone. Grindelwald took a step forward, placing a soothing hand on the back of the woman.
"I am sure that Mister Winterberg here meant no offence, didn't he?" He spoke with cold certainty, taking the boy into a scrutinizing glare.
"N-no Miss, I am t-truly sorry." the boy stuttered, now also facing his lords' disapproval. He looked up at the, while noticeably older, yet still rather attractive woman. "Please, -" he began talking but was swiftly interrupted by the blonde Legilimens.
"Why thank you, my dear, how flattering." a smirk appeared on her face "Yet, you still believe I am crazy, your mind doesn't lie." she paused, her eyes turning cold with disdain, the smile vanishing. "I don't appreciate that."
"Rudolf!" Grindelwald spoke loudly, causing the boy to wince at being addressed so directly. "Hand me your wand, boy!" he nearly hissed, while stretching out his hand to receive the wand.
Rudolf Winterberg, the young German wizard, slowly, hesitantly even, put his wand into the outstretched hand of Grindelwald.
Gellert took the wand in his hand, carefully examining it. "Holly, hm… eleven-one-quarter inches. Core?" he asked while pointing the wand at a wall. "Unicorn hair, my lord."
"Unicorn hair… A fine wand you got yourself, my boy." Grindelwald spoke a near fatherly tone in his voice, letting the man replenish his hope of surviving his mistaken indiscreetness. Gellert then grabbed the wand by its tip and held the handle over to the woman at his side.
"You see, my boy, this woman here -" he said in a low and threatening growl like tone "- Has been at my side for over half a century, so you could say she is an old friend. Her faith never wavered since joining our cause. I would trust her with almost anything."
The room had considerably dropped temperature, almost matching the one on the outside.
"I am sure, my boy, you won't mind her using your wand for a little while, don't you?" He asked, his voice clearly indicating that there was no choice to be made here.
"Of course, my lord, she shall use it as long as she wishes." He quickly said, nodding eagerly, with the hope that he may please the wizard.
"Of course you realise, that there never was any real choice to that matter, as you yourself won't be needing the wand any time soon." Grindelwald turned to the woman at his side, while still having addressed the boy.
She slightly tilted her head, her nose crinkling slightly due to her smiling brightly. The woman took the wand from Gellert, inspecting it carefully as the older wizard had done it before. True joy clearly visible in her shimmering green eyes.
She then turned to the boy, her smile fell and a cold expression took hold of her features. Her arm rose, the holly wand nonchalantly held in place by her thumb, index- and middle finger, the tip pointed directly at the face of the boy.
"Crucio!"
Hissing the incantation, the boy dropped to the floor in a wild spasm, flinching and contorting in pain. A loud scream echoed through the halls, finding its source within his lungs.
She began laughing, a brilliant smile on her face, her eyes lighting up with joy at the warm feeling the wand gave her hand.
She lifted the curse, leaving the boy to gather his breath again, turning to Grindelwald she wore an excited smile. "What a wonderful early birthday present. I needed one of these for about half a century now, how did you know?"
"I know, my dear, I know." Grindelwald's glare still fixated on the boy, who had fought himself to his knees. A pleading look on his face, he looked quite similar to the pathetic guard his son had executed while kneeling and silently begging for his life.
The witch turned back to the boy, her eyes fixated on his, her arm rose again. "N-no, p-p-please don't -" the boy whispered.
"Avada Kedavra!"
A green bolt of light shot out of the tip of her wand, a rushing noise accompanying it, hitting the boy straight into his chest, he slumped to the ground. A pleased grin washed over her features, the wand in her hand moaning in pain at being misused.
"Now that you have killed one of my most promising followers -" Grindelwald turned to her, "- Welcome home, Queenie dear."
Queenie Goldstein snapped the wand in her hands, before smiling again. "You win some you lose some." she sighed, letting the pieces of the holly wand fall to the floor "I will need to look for Thiago Quintana. I need a proper wand." with that she turned to the others, "Which one of you will accompany me to America"
None of the present people steeped forward, all looking slightly apprehensive. Queenie lost her patience, turning to Gellert again. "I won't be able to go alone and I will need a river monster spine core wand."
"Fine, take Evan Rosier, he won't be needed here for now." Grindelwald turned to the man in question. "I don't care what happens on that trip, boy, but If she gets hurt in the slightest, you will wish you were dead!"
The man only nodded before looking over to the woman. She smiled warmly at him, something that made him greatly uncomfortable. He quickly reinforced his Occlumency shields, making sure that she wasn't looking into his head like she had done with that poor boy.
He nodded with his head in respect, simulating a bow, and stood aside from his arm pointing at the hall entrance where, not too long ago, Karkaroff and the brat of Grindelwald had disappeared.
Queenie giggled excitedly, making a curtsey, and walking off. Evan held in a sigh and began to follow the woman, he had only one thought on his mind.
This was going to be one long trip.
One year later
Gellert Grindelwald stood tall, his back straight like a soldier standing at attention. He held his new wand in hand.
Made from Blackthorn, infused with a Thunderbird tail feather core, fifteen-inches long and as rigid and as unyielding as the core and wood would suggest.
He firmly held the wand in his hand, pointing it sternly at his opponent. Hadrian Grindelwald stood in a similar stance.
The room was small, nearly completely unlit and empty. There was no place to duck behind if the need were to arise and similarly took the opportunity to summon or banish items at the opponent at will.
The Blackthorn wand suddenly jerked, as Grindelwald snapped with his wrist, and a blue blot shot out off its tip.
Hadrian made a quick sidestep, the spell missing him by only a few inches, before shooting a stunner at the old wizard, who simply batted it away.
"Now, now… that is surely not everything Karkaroff and Dolohov taught you, is it now?" Grindelwald sneered. A wicked grin danced over the man's face. "But you are seemingly thinking you are proficient in avoiding spells. Then how about we dance a little."
With that he shot three purple curses at the boy, which Hadrian didn't recognize, causing him to, again, sidestep so he would avoid getting hit by them.
An unwise move, as it turned out to be, due to the fact that, of course, the old wizard having predicted his movement and so send the curses slightly spread at the boy, causing the curses to cover a larger angle.
While having sidestepped and successfully avoided the first one, the second curse hit him straight in the chest, sending the boy flying across the room, into the wall behind him.
Hadrian could feel the bones in his ribcage braking as the curse connected. But he didn't wail or scream. He inhaled sharply instead and slowly got up again.
Grindelwald applauded, "As resilient as a bear, I give you that. But you are also as agile and as predictable as an animal that weighs ten times as much as you."
His father slowly shook his head. "If this would have been a real duel-" he paused, looking down onto his wand, "- I would have killed you without hesitation."
Grindelwald looked up again, meeting his own blue eyes in the gaze of the boy. "This all, of course, is completely without taking into consideration, that you had the chance to fire a useful spell against me and decide to go with a stunner.
"I must say, either you didn't spend enough time training, you haven't paid enough attention during your lessons or Karkaroff and Dolohov have become sloppy." Gellert said one could think he was disappointed.
Hadrian piqued up at that, he looked down onto his beautifully handcrafted yew wand, one of the most powerful and rarest cores to ever be used in a wand. An immense determination flooded his heart. The adrenalin from his injury sharpened his senses and reflexes.
He toned out the pleading of his body, begging him to rest and get healed. With immense speed, Hadrian raised his wand and released a purple severing charm, followed by an orange cutting curse and a Bonebraker, hoping to catch his father by surprise.
Hadrian even copied his father and spread the spells over a slight angle, hoping his father would only have time to sidestep and fall into the same trap as he did by overwhelming him with the speed and suddenness of his attack.
With power and speed, the severing charm slammed into the cold brick wall behind his father, who managed to Apparate out of the way of the spell, before it would have hit him.
"Opportunistic… very interesting." jeered the older "If you had already mastered non-verbal casting, a feat far beyond you at this point in time, you would have hit me." Gellert stated in an approving tone.
"Looks like Igor and Antonin managed to teach you one thing or another -" He was interrupted by an incantation he didn't recognize.
"Furvus Fulmen!"
The boy cried out the incantation and a thunder-like explosion rang through the room. Fog, smoke and falling debris were crowding the room.
Grindelwald waved with his wand, causing the debris to stop falling and the smoke and fog to settle and resolve.
A massive hole was blown into the wall of the small room, the stones, or what was left of them, were residing in liquid, molten and glowing hot remains splattered over the floor. The wall where the spell hat hit, the ceiling and floor showed burn marks.
Looking into the hallway, the wall on the opposite side to the room was heavily damaged, showing similar fire marks to those in their room.
With a completely unreadable expression gracing his features, he slowly turned around again, looking at the boy.
Hadrian had seemingly given in to the pain of having a completely broken rib-cage and was now slumped over, kneeling on the floor and breathing heavy. Gellert moved over to him, stepping over the rocks and debris which had fallen from the ceiling.
This time, he hadn't been expecting the boy to use his explanation to shoot a bolt. He had thought that, after using the same tactic once and failing, he would have learnt and wouldn't use it again.
But he had been mistaken, the boy hadn't learned from his mistake, yet it had nearly paid off. Had the boy been a non-verbal caster, the bolt of magic would have torn through him like the exploding charm through paper.
But thanks to the remarkable wand his hands, his years of battle experience and sheer luck with a few reflexes, he was still standing on his own two feet.
The spell the boy had used, none he knew, was dripping with dark magic. Furvus, Latin for black, dark or obscure, and Fulmen, Latin for bolt or lighting.
Hadrian and he had been working on Ancient Runes and Arithmancy for the past few months. The boy turned out to be a complete natural at both subjects, proven by this spell he had just used.
It wasn't a terribly complex spell, but the seemingly perfect pronunciation, the intent behind the casting and the unique wand of the caster, mixed with the strongest magical core he had ever seen in a nine-year-old, created a spell which could have had rather devastating effects on anyone with less then masterful knowledge of charms and the reflexes of a peak playing Quidditch professional or masterful duellist.
"Truly remarkable..." the old wizard could hear himself say. His gaze had wandered back to the gigantic hole in the wall.
He turned back to the boy, who was now standing right beside him again, trying to suppress his pain and push it into the background. A sickening crunching could be heard as the boy tried to stand tall, matching the pose of his father.
His attempt failed, he nearly slumped over again and hissed strongly. Trying to stamp down on the moaning and screaming stuck in his throat due to the immense pain.
Hadrian took another deep breath, focus, he closed his eyes. He imagined standing on the edge of the coastline again, he imagined he was the centuries-old stone cliff, he imagined the pain was the waves that tickled him in heavy weather.
He took another deep breath, focus, he opened his eyes again. He saw the destruction, he saw his father, he saw his wand resting in his hand. He clutched it, hard, not wanting to let go of his precious catalyst.
Hadrian saw how his father looked him up, measuring him, judging him. It was an intense glare, one that would be terrifying if he hadn't known what type of man his father was.
He could feel his father's hand on his shoulder, slowly pushing him down onto the floor. Hadrian could see the Blackthorn wand which was pointed at his chest, a golden glow emitted from the tip of the wand.
Warmth, welcoming and gentle, spread in his body. A slightly uncomfortable tickling could be felt as his bones rearranged in his body, slowly mending and returning to their original place. He could feel his strength returning to him.
He looked back down onto the wand, from which his gaze had wandered before, an idea forming in his head.
Grindelwald was on one knee next to his son, who was currently in the middle of re-growing his rib-cage. A smile crossed the old man's face, it still surprised him, after five years, how he valued the boy, his son, by now.
Nurmengard had made him soft. Soon he would be joining old Albus in a care home if he wasn't careful.
Thanks to his musings, he missed a slight movement below him. The boy, who had shortly lost his consciousness was awake again. Grindelwald, who still had his wand pointed at the boy but lost in thought, realized too late that the boy had shot a disarming charm at him. From close range, the projectile hit the old man straight into the chest and launched him a few feet back, causing him to lose grip on his wand which landed perfectly in the hand of the boy before he even slammed onto the floor again.
This had caught the wizard completely off guard.
"I -" the boy started, but the up-whirled smoke and dust crept into his lungs, causing him to enter a rather uncomfortable coughing fit. Distracted by his own handicap, he lost control of the situation and only felt the wand of his father slip from his hands again.
"Don't gloat if you are vulnerable." his mentor chided him, getting up from the dirty floor and cleaning of his robes. "Looks like, you still haven't learnt that trying to get me while I am distracted will be successful."
Hadrian only grinned at his father, before pointing at the floor below the old wizard. "You are standing on debris, father. Don't gloat if you are vulnerable. If this would have been a real duel, I would have banished the debris bellow you without hesitation. You would have been distracted and I would have been able to disarm you again." his grin only grew, he had beaten his father with his own logic. "As you said yourself, Opportunistic."
Grindelwald only stared at the boy for a few seconds, before realising what the kid had done. Hadrian had turned the game against him. HE, a mere nine-year-old boy, had shown resourcefulness that would have made a seventh year Slytherin blush.
In other words, Hadrian had gone from being in Check to putting the old man in checkmate.
Then he started to laugh. Wonderful!
This boy had played and outplayed him. Of course, nearly three years of training with Dolohov and Karkaroff would make anyone resourceful. By the time his son would be seventeen, he would be one of the most feared duellists and most skilled wizards of the last century.
He would teach this boy everything he knew. From now on he was going to make sure that everything the boy was learning would sit. He was going to be a true mentor to the boy. He would teach him the secrets of manipulating the elements, he would make sure the boy's proficiency in duelling was nothing short of his own and he would make sure the boy would be as much of a master in magic as he was. His own skill-set reaching from Charms and Transfiguration over Magical Creatures and Dark Arts to healing, reading runes, non-verbal and wandless magic as well as an immense proficiency in Divination and ritual magic.
He would make sure that by the time Hadrian Grindelwald reached his seventeenth winter, he would be skilled in all of these subjects better than any, second only to his mentor and father. The jump between the two would be so little, that it would make little to no difference.
Two years later
Fleur Delacour, who had blossomed into a beautiful young girl at the age of eleven already, stood next to her mother and her little baby sister as they waited for their father to join them in their manors entrance hall.
It had been nearly two years since she last saw Harry. He had allowed her to still call him Harry, as he liked for her to remember his innocent self, back when they were four.
She was positively beaming at the thought of finally seeing Harry again. She knew this would be the last time she saw him before she would leave for Beauxbatons Academy to begin her magical education. She then wouldn't see him, at least, for another year, likely longer, as his father had worked restlessly on his magical proficiency with the boy since he had turned nine.
She believed him to be already far above most years of most schools. He would learn very little at whichever school he would attend, should he even do so.
This saddened her a little. She knew that he was neither interested nor invited to join Beauxbatons. A shame. She could have used his companionship in her upcoming seven years.
Her mother had, years ago, explained to her that veela would sooner or later stand there alone during these times.
She would grow and blossom into a young woman, boys would start to notice her more than other girls. She then would lose her friends due to them being envious of her beauty and the attention she would be getting. Then she would stand there, alone, without anyone at her side.
"Allons-y, nous ne le laiserons pas attendre." 'Let's go, we shouldn't let him wait' the voice of her father suddenly appeared behind her. She hadn't heard him come down the stairs.
Fleur only nodded eagerly, wanting to go as quickly as possible as well. She had forgotten that her parents would be having a meeting with Harry's father while they were there.
She had rarely ever changed words with the man. She found him to be rather scary, more than anything. His words mirrored those of a lullaby, soothing, pulling and perfectly enveloping, enchanting those around him to hang at his lips. Fleur remembered vividly how her parents came home one day, talking about a man they had met during work. A few days later, her mother had gone on a trip to England, one on which she couldn't join, only to return with three other people, one of which being a boy who wasn't much older then herself, only able to English, and the other two adults who only wished to talk to her parents.
So she decided to make friends with the boy, which was more difficult the first thought, due to the always present language barrier. Two days later, she found out that the boy was locked up in his room, 'getting some needed rest'.
On the evening the next day, she had heard a loud slamming in their entrance hall. The boy and his father had arrived from some sort of trip up north. The boy had vomited blood onto the floor as soon as she had entered.
The rest of the day had been nothing short of a blur. She remembered waking up the next day, curled up under the blankets of the warm bed Harry had been resting in, as she had only the evening before learned his name.
He had been gone by the time she had woken up, 'discussing matters with his father', her mother had said, 'do not dream of disturbing them Fleur!'. So she didn't.
After the events of that night, they had seen each other lesser and lesser. He would always be working on his reading and writing. Later-on he would begin to read books on complex magical subjects her parents didn't allow her to read yet.
One time, she had managed to sneak into his room without her parents noticing while he had been reading a book. She had silently sat next to him for hours reading the pages in unison without sound.
Then even that became a lesser occurrence. He had gotten his wand around the age of six. Something Fleur decided back then was a grave unfairness, as she wasn't allowed to get hers until she would turn eleven or get her Beauxbatons invitation letter.
She remembered once trying to take Harry's wand to try to cast a spell. This had been the first and last time she had ever touched the wood of the yew wand.
If she wouldn't have been a veela, she would have gotten severe and long-lasting burns form simply touching the wood. Due to her blood, she luckily lost the scar after a few months.
She had remembered, after being forced to by her parents, the humbling experience of having to apologize to both Harry and his father for her actions.
The reactions had been two completely different ones then she had anticipated.
Harry's father had been the first Fleur apologized to. He had simply looked at her, before saying that this sort of happenings did not concern him, yet he would accept her apology because she promised never to try and take any of Harry's belongings without his or his father's allowance.
She then joined Harry on the balcony of the manor. He had been sitting there, sitting on the small railing that parted save balcony and twenty-foot drop, his feet dangling down while reading a book on magical creatures or something like that.
It had been a rather cool November day. She had frozen, while he had been sitting there, completely unfazed by the harsh winds and low temperature.
He hadn't even looked up to her when she stood next to him. This had been nearly three and a half years ago now. But even today, she could vividly remember the shame she had felt as she stood there next to him.
'I wanted to apologize' she had said, her voice had been wavering strongly, even if she had learned a decent amount of English by then, she hadn't been able to put what she wanted to say into words, so she had simply spoken in French to him. 'I wanted to apologize for trying to take your wand, it wasn't mine to take and I have made a wrong choice'. Only then he had looked up from his book, but he didn't look up into her face, but rather onto her hands.
She remembered how he had taken her hands into his and carefully examined her burns. 'Would you do it again?' He had asked her without even acknowledging her attempt at an apology. 'If you knew what was to happen, would you try to use the wand again? If you had known it back then, would you have done it?'
Fleur hadn't been able to respond vocally to his question, she wanted to shake her head and apologize again, but before she could, he stopped her. 'I don't want you to tell me what you think I want to hear. I want you to tell me what you would actually do.' This time he had spoken in English, causing her to rethink what she wanted to say.
'Yes.' she had answered after a long time thinking on to question. 'I would 'ave taken it again. I would 'ave taken it ze very first time I did.' She had answered in heavily accentuated English.
He had only looked at her for a few seconds and returned to his book, not paying her attention. Fleur had stood next to him for a few more minutes, deciding on what he thought of her answer. She even had begun to grow frustrated, which ultimately caused her to utter out, barely audible, the very same question.
'Would you 'ave?'
Without a seconds hesitation, he had answered, simply without any explanation, without looking up from his book 'Yes!'
This had been the first time Fleur had ever set foot onto the stony ground of Nurmengard Castle.
It was a simple and far from beautiful place. But he magic in this place was grand and powerful. Thick and potent like some form of nourishing fog. It felt like every single breath she took made her stronger.
Her mother took the lead, her father gently pulled her little sister along with him. With swift steps they walked the stony hallways, their movement echoing through the empty floors. Fleur had the lingering sensation of being watched from the shadows, a gently tugging at the corner of her mind, a hush of wind like something was breathing down her neck.
The family reached a large oak door, which seemingly held the entrance to some grand hall, guarded safely behind its existence. Apolline gently pressed her hand against the heavy door, a blue flame shoot up the wood, causing the wood to be completely incinerated and revealing, as suspected, a large hall.
Usually, the first glance would go up to the high ceiling of one such hall, but in this very case, the slightly raised round area in the middle of the room pulled her gaze.
Not because of it being especially out of place or because it was completely surrounded by black, cursed fire that held the two people within the area. Hell, it wasn't even the two people within the circle that pulled her attention. It was much rather what they were doing.
She saw a young boy, not much older than herself, and an older man, who she instantly recognized as Harry's father. These two people currently were having an extremely intense duel.
It took quite some time for her to realize that the boy, who was currently fighting one of the most powerful wizards of all time, was indeed Hadrian. He had grown quite a bit since they last saw each other.
They had been able to keep somewhat irregular contact through letters, but it never went longer than a week before Harry had to focus more on his studies again. In these letters he had explained to her the importance of calling Harry Hadrian before his father and that no one was supposed to know his true name.
She found herself at the outer most border of the bluely lit fire ring. She hadn't realized that she had been walking towards the duel, wanting to see more, wanting to see the duel from closer.
What happened next probably happened over the course of just ten seconds.
She noticed, that Harry had been looking into her direction for maybe half a second, causing him to be distracted and not on guard for the next spell that was coming his way.
An orange bolt made its way over the platform, faster then most would be able to react to. It slammed into Hadrian's chest, causing the bones in the impacted area to give off an unhealthy crunching sound. It also catapulted him a few feet back directly to the innermost border of the cursed fire. Another bolt shot over the platform, this time Hadrian was able to deflect it, as he wasn't able to do much more, with his mobility being strongly incapacitated by the fact that he had been forced to his knees.
"Crucio!"
The voice of the old man hissed, the torturing curse instantly finding its target, demolishing all of the boy's defences in its way. Hadrian's face was contorted in pain, yet he didn't scream. He tried to stand up, the pressure of the curse weighing him down, semi-successful. His eyes were now beaming in a deep green. The fire behind those eyes was quite strongly visible.
"You… dinghn't… plehy… bhuy thghe ruhls" Hadrian pressed out, his jaw locked in pain. Against all odds, the fought against the painful sensation that was combined with raising his wand arm.
With a thunderous explosion, a black bolt shot out of the tip of his wand, slamming into the older wizard on the other side of the circle. Hadrian's father had been able to summon a magical shield, saving himself only barely from certain death through the cursed black blot.
This subsequently had caused the older wizard to lift the curse on Hadrian, allowing the boy to now get onto to forefoot with the attack.
Fleur didn't catch a singular of the incantations the boy used. Even if she would have, she most likely wouldn't have been able to identify the curses and spells he had flung at the older man.
Hadrian suddenly stopped in his onslaught of the older man's shield. His wand still pointed steadily at his father.
Then he asked his mentor, in a near matter-of-fact tone of voice and with a grand grind "Stalemate?"
Grindelwald slowly wanted to stand up, but the boy shook his head and shot another purple spell into the direction of the old wizard "No standing up until you accept the stalemate."
"We've never drawn, boy, and I am not about to lose to you. I am still -" Grindelwald started but was ultimately interrupted by an all too familiar incantation, but this time coming from the boy.
"Crucio!"
Similar to his own torturing curse, the curse of the boy simply smashed his fathers' defences, leaving fluctuating magic in their place. But in contrast to the torturing curse he had bestowed onto the boy, this one was far more painful.
Combined the anger the boy had channelled through his own torture with the unique wand core and strong magic, it created an unbelievably tearing experience. The weight of Hadrian's curse forced the older man completely to the floor.
Deciding he had enough, Hadrian walked over to his mentor, bowing down and snatching up his wand, effectively lifting the torture curse and banishing the cursed fire around the circle, declaring him the winner of the Duel.
Grindelwald begrudgingly got up, slowly but surely steadying himself and shaking off the traces of the torture curse.
Hadrian didn't celebrate, he just looked at his father with an unreadable expression plastered onto his face. He glanced down onto the Blackthorn wand in his hands, turning it between his fingers, still feeling the temperamental magical residue of the Cruciatus curse flowing through its core.
Hadrian back up to his father, who was regarding him with a similarly unreadable expression. He flipped the wand in his hand, so the grip was facing away from him and held the black wood by its tip.
"You are getting slow, father," Hadrian said while Grindelwald summoned his wand out of the hands of his son. "Unless of course, you have let me win." Hadrian added, he wasn't boasting, sneering or jeering, strong concern was audible in the way he spoke.
The wizard only laughed, stepping closer to his son, clapping him affectionately onto his shoulder. "You are mistaken, my boy. I'm neither getting slower nor did I let you win." he paused, carefully looking over to the Delacours, who had witnessed the entire duel. "You simply beat me." he whispered into his student's ear. "Of course I am not up to scratch any more. I spent half a century in prison, not practising my duelling capabilities nor my fitness or reflexes.
"You would wonder what this can do to your skills." He sighed loudly. "I'm no master duellist any more, I would fall if I had to face Dolohov and Karkaroff at once. Something I was used to be doing when I was younger." He observed his wand before holstering it in his sleeve again.
"And, of course, age sooner or later will take me. Dumbledore will have to face a similar fate." Gellert then began to chuckle. "Not to mention that I am working with a wand that isn't even remotely comparable to my old one."
"It sounds like you're making excuses father." a smile speared on his son's face, "I think you are just annoyed that you've lost to me."
Grindelwald only shook his head, putting a hand on his back and pushing him out of the circle while whispering into his ear "No, I am rather hopeful that, If our plans should fail, you would be able to face Dumbledore and emerge victorious." before standing tall again and speaking loudly, enough so that the others in the room could hear it. "But until then, you will need more training. Now get lost, I have important matters to discuss with our associates."
Hadrian nodded his head, signifying a bow, and simply grabbing Fleur, who had still been standing near them, by her hand and dragging her from the room. Only stopping to greet the two elder Delacours and snatching up the young veela from her mother. Allowing his father and their parents to discuss whichever matters they had to attend.
Fleur was laying in the cosy comforts of Harry's bed, as she listened to his descriptions of the magical theory book he had recently read.
Her sister had rested her head on the pillow next to her and covered herself, breathing regularly, her eyes closed. Dreaming.
She let her gaze fly round the room. She could see the old stone walls were carefully covered by different shelves and cases filled with books and tomes. The cold stone floor was hidden under a warm, soft carpet, which she believed to be enchanted, as no single piece of cloth or fabric would be able to stay warm in these conditions.
Her eyes flew to the large portrait that was hanging above the fireplace. On it, she could see a group of people.
One she instantly recognized. It was Harry, or rather in this case Hadrian. He stood tall, his gaze unwavering, his eyes scanning the room, as if not entirely trusting the space the portrait was hung.
The man on his right was, also clearly recognizable, his father. The tall German wizard with white-blond hair and elegant robes. His blue eyes looked into her's. While she knew that this was simply just a portrait, unable to truly feel any actual emotions, she felt like the wizard in the picture greatly disliked her. Grindelwald was standing slightly behind his son, his left hand rested on the boy's shoulder, while his right clutched to a strange-looking wand she didn't recognize.
Then there was a woman. She wasn't tall by any means, barely a couple inch taller than Harry. While he was rather tall for his age, he was about five-foot-tall at eleven, it still surprised her how tall he looked next to the woman. But while she might have been not as tall as the man on her right, she still filled her part of the portrait. While not with her body, the confidence and determination on her face made her seem taller than she actually was.
She was rather beautiful, yet age had left imprints on her. Her golden blond hair was mixed with an equal amount, if not slightly dominant number, of white hair. Her eyes where a strong green, yet nowhere near the beautiful green of the boy next to her, they showed experience and strength. The signs of a woman in her higher ages.
She had a playful expression on her face, a smile which caused her nose to slightly wrinkle, yet the smile never reached her eyes. They were cold, like those of someone who had witnessed years upon years of abuse and mistreatment.
Her eyes wandered from the portrait to the large birdcage in the corner of the room. A gigantic black eagle-owl with gentle white dots randomly distributed over its feathering. The lower feathers gradually transitioned from black into grey, with some of the lowest feathers within the feathering even remarkably close to white.
The bird was currently sleeping, just as it had been when they came in, yet she already had known the owl from her brief contact over letters with Harry.
Again, letting her gaze wander from the owl cage, her eyes found a small item in the corner of the room, next to a comfortable armchair in which Harry currently was sitting.
A black violin was resting in its stand, the same colour bow hanging lazily by its side. Next to it was a little table that housed a selection of books, which had the rough title 'violin melodies' written over its back in different variations by different people.
Fleur hadn't known that Harry was able to play an instrument. Not that it surprised her that much, after all, he seemingly was multi-talented.
Harry noticed her gaze had stuck to the violin, a smile spread on his face. "What's wrong?" he asked her, tilting his head slightly, brushing a loose blond strand of hair behind his ear. He had long since lost his glasses. He and his father had gone through the basics of ritual magic a few years back, back when they had prepared the ritual that would allow the old wizard to blood adopt him, which got him hooked on a solution for his eye problem. He was able to, with the help of his father, restore his eyesight to a near-perfect twenty-twenty vision.
His father had only helped him, as he felt that glasses would be a great indifference in a duel and could incapacitate his son greatly, should he ever lose them.
"Nothing, I just didn't know you played le violon." Fleur answered, her gaze shifting to Harry. "Could you play something? I want to hear you play." she pleaded, even pouting a little, hoping it would convince him to show her.
Harry chuckled slightly, nodding, before grabbing his violin and a book, through which he promptly began flicking. "I took up learning the violin a few years back. It helped me to concentrate, as well as it made me more precise with my wand-work." he paused, looking up from his book "Not to mention that it is a nice skill to possess and a perfect pastime."
Harry then stood up from his chair and clamped the violin between his chin and shoulder, gently beginning to play a melodic symphony, one Fleur didn't recognize.
Northern England, four years ago.
Chocolate-brown eyes wandered over the cold stone walls of the room. Iris Potter, by now four years old, pushed a strand of red hair from her face.
She sniffed, it had been a tough night, but she had managed to read through one of the rather ancient and questionable books her new family had bestowed upon her. She was no prisoner, she could walk freely through the halls of the large and empty manor, yet she could have just as well been.
The only light in this dark place was the hope that her brother would one day come and save her from here. It was a childish dream, one she had made sure to never mention to her 'mother' and 'father', one, she knew, would never come to be.
Her new family had made sure everyone thought she was dead, including those people who remained of her true family. Not to mention that the wizarding world hadn't heard from their 'saviour' for three years, which caused even the most optimistic of souls to fear for the worst of scenarios.
It had taken the followers of the fallen Lord less than a fortnight to find her orphanage, take her and make sure that no one knew she was still alive. Her brother could have shared her fate, her brother could have it much worse than her.
For all she knew, the night these two cloaked death eaters came into the orphanage her brother had been already dead.
She clung to the hope, of one day looking into those green eyes of his again, that one day he would just stand in the entrance hall of the manor, his back to her, she would ask who he was. Harry would spin around and their gazes would meet. Recognition would flare in his eyes and they would launch into each other's arms.
Harry would kill these terrible people, take her away from this place. They would live like they should have lived before their lives changed.
A smile crossed her face. She closed the book and stashed it into the shelve again, she couldn't lose herself in musings. She had work to do, after all, like 'mother' always says 'The manor isn't going to clean itself.'
A loud and thunderous explosion echoed through the hallway her room was in. She could hear three voices, two men and a woman, arguing.
Iris quickly jumped into her bed, covering her body, beside her face, with the blanket. She held her breath, trying to make out who was in the hallway.
Another loud, this time slamming, the sound could be heard. It sounded like a massive object had been launched at a door in the Hallway.
Iris felt the fear rising in her body, adrenalin began kicking in, she cowered under her cover.
The arguing became louder. She could now make out that the two men were arguing with the woman. A similar loud crack, presumably from the door of the room on the right, followed the first.
"That's enough, we have wasted too much time in the other wing already. I will just cast the damned spell, no matter if you like it or you don't. Homenum Revelio." a brief silence followed the words. "There is someone in that room over there, maybe it's her." the same voice pointed out to the others.
Steps sounded over the floor and came to a halt before the door of the room she was in. "This is supposed to be her room? It's hardly larger than a -" "Keep your thoughts to yourself before I lose my remaining sanity thanks to your daftness." the harsh voice of the woman cut in.
In contrast to the others, this time the door swung open gently. By now Iris had covered herself up to her eyes, only peering over the edge of her blanket.
The three people entered her room. The woman was the first to spot her. A large smile grew on her pale face, her black eyes looking onto her with complete and utter adoration.
"Hello young lady, -" the woman began "- we were looking for you."
!Important, please read!
A/N: Here we are, at the end of another chapter.
Few things:
First of all: If you are free to beta this story, I would like to know, I've never had a beta so I'm slightly unsure at how this works. But I would like someone to go over the chapters before I publish them.
Secondly, and most importantly: Do you guys believe Harry is too powerful already? I know I skipped a long part of his childhood which was full of training with Karkaroff, Dolohov and Grindelwald.
I mean Harry spent the last five years training magic with the probably most dangerous dark lord of all time, as well as the headmaster of a school known for practising dark arts and a former death eater who created many nasty curses and was believed to be, behind Bellatrix, one of the dark lords best duelists. And he only beat him because the man is already like one-hundred and ten years old as well as having spent a large part of his life in prison.
I don't want Harry to become too powerful too quickly and make the story seem boring. Please let me know your opinion on this subject, I would greatly appreciate the input.
But as always, I appreciate you sticking around till the end of the chapter, let me know if you are interested in seeing another chapter and critique, as well as feedback in general, is always welcome.
P.S.
Iris will become more important later on. I don't know how much I will describe from her upbringing, or if I will keep it a secret till later on.