Chapter 14

"The Dark Lord is increasingly perturbed by how Potter manages to repel his mental attacks. I have never seen him like this. He is becoming as obsessed as he was over the prophecy. After today's attack…"

Severus shook his head, hair fanning his face.

"You will be pleased to know," Albus said, "That Harry is recovering well and is in good health. I am assuming that the same unfortunately applies to Voldemort?"

"Yes. But he is shaken. He described the pain of the experience to me as akin to when he was disembodied."

Albus nodded grimly, a slightly hopeful thought occuring.

"He collapsed, did he not? Did any of his followers witness it?"

"None but Bellatrix."

"That's his whore, correct?"

"No," Severus answered, somehow encompassing several paragraphs' worth of revulsion into a single word.

"She is his most devoted follower," Albus told Gellert, "she was the one who led those who did not give up hope in him even after he appeared to have died. This will not weaken her conviction."

Turning back to Severus, Albus nodded for him to continue.

"He asked if the two of you had done something to the boy, performed a ritual or the like. He was extremely displeased that I could not answer."

'I will have to move quickly,' Albus thought. 'If Voldemort begins to dwell on the nature of their connection, there is only a narrow window until he will realize the truth. I cannot afford to wait, even if it means warring with the Ministry. But I was prepared for that.'

His eyes flickered for an instant to Gellert before looking toward the window, where the golden rays of the dawn had begun to lazily light up the room.

'Thirty two hours or so until the students make their way to Hogsmeade. He will certainly have something else planned for the same time.'

He affixed his gaze on Severus and nodded once more, as his mind moved faster, conjuring up plans even as he listened.

"He still plans to go ahead with his attack on Hogsmeade, whatever form that will take. I have been," his lip curled momentarily, "instructed to remain in the castle, so that I will not be forced to either fight his forces or show my support of them through inaction."

"What else has he planned for tomorrow?"

Snape grimaced.

"I don't know, other than that it will be large scale and result in many Muggle casualties. I've already told you, he has become far more paranoid."

"I assume therefore," Albus said quickly, cutting off Gellert before he could speak, "that you do not know the identity of his spy in the Ministry?"

"Spies," Severus said, emphasising the plural, "and I'm sure you understand what the word paranoid means."

"You're not a very useful spy, are you?"

"Pardon me," Severus spat at Gellert, "but immediately after experiencing his emphatic displeasure at my lack of information was not the time to fish."

"Aww," Gellert said, as if to a child, "did somebody taste the Cruciatus?"

"Enough," Albus said, his voice cracking like a whip. "We can spare no time for this pettiness. Gellert, your comments are entirely uncalled for. Severus has proved his ability as a spy many times over, and the information he has given us has already gained us much ground."

Glowering, Gellert nodded and muttered something inaudible to the white-lipped nostril-flaring Snape.

"Severus, what of the students you have been working with on his behalf?"

"A few are interested," Severus said, "but I have taken none of them to meet him and swear their allegiance. Not yet. But...the Nott boy is in touch with Draco Malfoy, that's where the Dark Lord's information from within Hogwarts was coming from."

"How is young Draco?"

"Proudly bearing the Dark Mark," Severus answered with a scowl, "being tutored by his loving aunt, and hoping dearly to have the chance to kill you."

Gellert gave a full bellied laugh and clapped his thigh.

"Whoever he is, better men than he have tried."

Albus closed his eyes and thought, a dozen plans arising and being discarded, more coming to mind, some that could work, some with higher chances of success than others.

"Well? Is there anything you wish me to tell the Dark Lord?"

Albus raised a single finger and continued to concentrate, following the trains of thought, seeing, in his mind's eye, his plans through to their conclusions.

Grief blazed across his plans, burning in his chest like acid.

The time had come.

His plan for Harry's survival, based as much upon hope and dreams as upon true theories, seemed to have the highest chance of success if Voldemort himself cast the curse.

Given the line of questioning he was already pursuing, with enough time, Voldemort would ascertain the true nature of his connection with Harry.

His arrogance and conceit would slow him down, but he would get there in the end.

Once he did, not only would he attempt to kidnap Harry, to hide him somewhere Albus would never find, but he would almost certainly suspect that Albus had discovered his secret.

If that happened, he would undoubtedly check on his Horcruxes, discover that Albus had destroyed several, and would then hide the rest away further and redouble his protective enchantments.

The war would never end.

There was so much Albus needed to accomplish before Voldemort learned the truth, and the only way to do so would be to set events into motion that would inescapably lead to innocent deaths.

His eyes flashed open for the briefest fraction of a second and he caught a glimpse of Gellert.

Unwittingly, he remembered that wonderful, terrible day when he had written his friend that letter, when he had penned those accursed words that he still lived by, much as he wished he did not.

It needed to be done, and this way Harry could possibly survive.

But he had been quite sure about things in the past and been proven horribly wrong. On the other hand, inaction would be worse than action.

As much as he loved Harry, he could not allow that love to blind him to the suffering that would befall the world if he did not do what was needed.

He needed to give Voldemort much to focus on, more innocents on the altar to the world Albus hoped to build.

Voldemort must be distracted, so that he and Gellert could hunt the rest of the Horcruxes and enact his other plans.

He would have to act against the Ministry sooner than planned, and he could no longer push off a visit to Hogwarts, regardless of how much it would displease Minerva or how distasteful the actions he would need Gellert to take there.

In fact, a visit to Hogwarts could play well into his plans…

Albus swallowed, forcing himself to appear calm, realizing that, of course, he was trying to salvage the last few moments before he would give the orders he so desperately wished he did not have to.

In his pocket, Albus wrapped his fingers around the Elder Wand, allowing, for once, its urging and song to ignite the fury he tried so hard to keep at bay.

He should never have been forced into this position.

Harry should have the promise of a full, happy life ahead of him, not the mere possibility of one.

Voldemort should never have been allowed to do this, to commit any of the atrocities he had.

Voldemort and his Death Eaters had committed worse than mere murder and torture and destruction.

They despoiled, forcing those who stood against them to sink to their level.

To win this, to uproot Voldemort and his ilk root and branch, Albus would be forced to do terrible, terrible things.

It was frightening and infuriating how eager he felt to show Voldemort and his followers just what they had ignited.

From his perch across the room, Fawkes crooned a few notes, filling Albus, as always, with strength.

His heart gave a pang and, eyes still closed, he spoke.

"Tell Voldemort that Gellert and I have done something to Harry, cast some enchantment of which you do not know. Tell him that we are utilising the connection between the two as a weapon against him, and that even Occlumency will not save Voldemort from it. Every time Voldemort utilises the connection, it will make it easier for us. Tell him, Severus, that though we have been vague, you believe that we will soon be able to strike at him through Harry, that, from an overheard conversation, we estimate no more than three months before we can do so, depending on how much he uses it."

An oppressive silence filled the room, matching that in his heart. The silence dragged on until, once he was certain no tears would fall, Albus opened his eyes.

He expected Gellert to be happy, but he did not appear so: his eyes were soft with sympathy, a sad smile only just touching his lips.

Severus was frozen in place, looking more a statue than a man. His eyes bore into Albus', confusion and fury glittering therein.

"You understand," he said, his voice taut with menace, "what this information will force the Dark Lord to do?"

"I understand perfectly well. Better perhaps, than even you do."

"After–everything I have done, everything, has been to protect Lily's son, and now you will set the Dark Lord even more furiously against him, set him to kill as surely as if you launched the curse yourself!"

"And yet, Severus, I am doing this to protect Harry."

Severus' mouth worked soundlessly for several seconds, his face paling and tightening with rage.

"To protect-what is this-"

"There are matters at hand," Albus interrupted, "that are more complex than perhaps anything I am aware of in recorded history. At the moment, Harry is safe and sound at Hogwarts, where he is beyond Voldemort's reach-"

"Unless he has someone at Hogwarts murder the boy! Not five minutes ago I told you he is in contact with the Nott boy without informing me, he could tell him-he could order me to kill Potter! If I tell him-"

"When you tell him," Albus corrected, "he will almost certainly want to do as you described. But you will immediately thereafter prove your value as a spy, and he will not be so quick to throw what he believes your true allegiance into light. As for Theodore Nott...Harry is protected at Hogwarts. Minerva already informed me that she has set a rotation of house-elves to watch him, lest Voldemort attempt to break into his mind once more. And I will impart upon him the urgency of his being on his guard."

"And how," Snape spat, "do you propose I prove my value as a spy? Seeing as you do not seem to trust me enough to tell me why you are trying to get the Dark Lord to kill Potter-"

"You will tell Voldemort that I have decided to go on the offensive: that my plan, which I have not yet shared with the rest of the Order of the Phoenix, is to begin attacking the Death Eaters. I will meet with the Order soon and then, on Tuesday night, we will take Avery, and once I have torn the information on the rest of them from Avery's mind, we will take the rest, one by one. We will launch an assault on the Ministry holding cells and destroy any of Voldemort's supporter's we find. Tell Voldemort as well that Gellert and I believe that he plans to move on Hogwarts, and so we are visiting the school to bolster its security. Tell him that I plan to move against the Ministry, beyond just their cells, through the use of several well placed spies."

Albus sighed, weary beyond belief. Kingsley and Alastor had chosen their side, but he knew that he would regret what he was about to do for the remainder of his life.

The things he was forced to do to win this war would haunt him forever.

"Tell him that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Alastor Moody are bringing the Ministry under their wing, and that they belong to me, no matter what face they present to the world. Tell him where Kingsley lives. He already knows Alastor's home location."

But, of course, that would not be enough.

Albus wished he could allow himself the comfort of weeping, wished he deserved to feel pity for himself.

The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced himself to speak.

"Tell him further that somehow, Emmeline Vance is central to one of my plans. Inform him as well that Gellert has reached out to the children of many of his former followers and is bringing in foreign fighters, and that Hagrid, on my orders, has been bringing together an army of creatures in the Forbidden Forest entirely loyal to him and me."

Stunned, Severus stared at him, eyes widening.

"While he will still, most certainly, be obsessed with killing Harry, these other concerns will gain us time, that most precious resource of all."

"You would have me sign their death warrants?" Severus whispered, "Just to gain time?"

In the privacy of his mind, Albus knew that he would gladly sign a thousand death sentences and a thousand more if it would guarantee Harry's

safety.

Even Emmeline Vance's.

Even Hagrid's.

Even innocents who had no part in this war.

"This will accomplish far more than merely buying time, this will cement your status for Voldemort, this will help me accomplish several goals, and, with luck, we will be able to prevent this from leading to any further deaths. This will also allow-"

Albus cut off as an idea occurred to him, one which was as absurd as it was brilliant, as risky as it was ambitious. Elegant in its simplicity, he almost slapped himself for not thinking of it sooner.

It would be perilous. Severus would be facing the very real prospect of death or worse, and it was nigh-impossible that he would be able to carry it out and remain a spy.

And yet...after everything he has just ordered Severus to tell Voldemort, could he really turn aside at the thought of one more terrible command?

Of course, it could not happen yet. The other Horcruxes would need to be dealt with first, for her death would undoubtedly lead Voldemort to realize.

"What is it?" Gellert hissed. "I know that look. What have you thought of?"

Albus locked eyes with Severus, the Elder Wand humming in his fingers.

"The time will come, Severus, when I will have to ask you to do something...something more dangerous, and with greater reward, than anything I have asked of you in the past. It may be in a matter of days, it may be in some weeks, it may be in six months, though I dearly hope not...but the time will come when I will need you to kill Nagini."

Severus blanched, somehow paling even further, and seemed to shrink on himself.

"Kill Nagini?"

"Yes. A basilisk fang should do the trick, and as luck would have it, I know where we can find them. This will-"

"You ask too much!"

Severus launched to his feet, his cloak billowing out behind him.

"You expect me to do-how can you possibly think-"

"Severus-"

"No!" Severus roared, and spun, pacing back and forth through the small kitchen, as he ranted.

Fawkes gave a trill as if of fright and flew across the room, landing on Albus' shoulder.

Albus stayed perfectly still and calm, moving only to place a hand on Gellert's when the latter moved to draw his wand.

"You place me into danger, time and time again, you have me walk the finest line possible, have me willingly go to be tortured, to test my Occlumency against the greatest Legilimens in history-you have me give him information that will lead to deaths, lead to victories for him, have me take children and mold them into his followers! You have me do all this and more, and I complain not, for I swore to keep her child safe, and now I must tell the Dark Lord precisely what he fears most, precisely what will make him most desirous of the boy's death-and then, and then you tell me that I must kill his snake, the only thing that he seems to care for, regardless of the danger to me, and what do I get in return? Will you explain? Do you explain any of your decisions with more than meaningless, empty lies? You ask too much and give nothing in return!"

Severus' fist slammed into the table, his chest heaving, fury and agony warring for control of his expression.

"You explain to him," he snarled, jabbing a finger toward Gellert, "but you'll say nothing to me; after all I've done, all you would have me do, you refuse to tell me the truth!"

"Perhaps," Gellert said lightly, "that is because you are regularly in close contact with your so-called Dark Lord, and you know as well as I that even the greatest Occlumens can be broken. And watch where you point that finger, boy."

Severus' mouth opened, and Albus fancied he could see the building explosion of vitriol.

He needed to tell Severus. It was the only way to diffuse the situation, and in fact could play to his benefit.

If their trip ended in failure, Severus would be able to search Hogwarts for the Horcrux that Albus was still convinced was hidden there, and would be able to watch for any signs of Voldemort discovering that Albus had learned his secret.

"Severus," he said quickly, "you are, of course, correct. You deserve to know the truth, the whole truth. Please, sit down. It is time. I am going to tell you everything."

Severus did, scowling and still looking ready to explode.

"Are you certain of this?" Gellert asked. "No matter how good an Occlumens one is, the truth-"

"I am completely certain. Tell me, Severus. What do you know of Horcruxes?"


"I am tired, Gellert. So very tired."

Hogwarts hung above them, the purplish crimson hues of the setting sun and lengthening shadows serving to strip its parapets and gargoyles of their once welcoming embrace.

Perched on his shoulder, Fawkes trilled out a few notes. Hauntingly beautiful as ever, there was an undercurrent to them, a beat that all but matched the Elder Wand's call.

Recognizing what had been its and Albus' home for so long before their ignoble expulsion, the phoenix called for righteous fury.

Hogwarts was his no more. First, he'd been stripped of its wonder due to his inaction.

Now his long awaited action was causing him to live that pain once more.

Minerva would serve well as Headmistress, of that he had no doubt, but he had given his life to Hogwarts, burned his ambitions and hunger for power upon its altar, fed it his youth and the long hours of his days for generations.

The irony, enough to nearly elicit a bitter laugh: were he truly the unhinged madman they so feared, he would have no qualms about seizing the school, regardless of who stood in his way.

'There are none so blind,' he thought, 'as those who refuse to see.'

Severus had left them after their discussion, disturbed and quietly thoughtful. He would do what Albus wished, distasteful though it was.

Albus knew how to lead him along well enough to ensure that would be the case.

Enough truth to prevent him chafing at the bit, emphasis on the importance of his mission, pulling at his tortured, guilt stricken conscience.

It was cold, but it was necessary.

Far beside the point and much as he loathed it all and himself for every word, the important thing was this: Albus meant and truly believed them.

Before Albus and Gellert had taken the chance to leave for Hogwarts, however, urgent missives had come in from Arthur, Nymphadora, and, surprisingly, Mundungus.

Nymphadora, at least, had actually sent a message along with her request to meet.

Her message, though it had added to his slowly building fury, has encouraged him. He had thought it would happen and had set his mind on how to deal with it.

No time to meet them then, he'd called an Order meeting for the next morning, giving Gellert and himself a paltry few hours at Hogwarts. They simply couldn't tarry, not if they wished for any sleep tonight.

Albus suspected he would not find much sleep in the days to come.

"All these years, Gellert," he said, "all these years I spent hiding away in this castle. I taught and led and made my mark, sure enough. I did boundless good through education. And yet there was so much more I could have done. After I defeated you, the world lay within the palm of my hand, and I sought the higher moral ground. I did not exert my power. No, I merely gave my years and strength to their children and protected them, and for that I am disdained and cast aside, forced to act against my nature and flagellate with self-recriminations and guilt. Guilt, for paying evil back as it deserves."

He shook his head, forcing, somehow, his palm to open and release the wand.

"I am tired of being tired," he said. "You were right. I need to show them who I am. I need to show them what they have forced me to become. It is time to stop with the games, my friend. We will be very busy in the days to come."

Gellert clapped him on the back, feeling very much like an electric shock had run through him.

For the first time in decades, there were butterflies in his stomach.

Once again, he was standing at the precipice of greatness, preparing to make history.

This time, however, he would be marked a hero, remembered as one of the saviours of Britain.

Far more than Britain, if he had his way.

Taking a step forward, Dumbledore waved a hand, eyes narrowed. The screeching creak of metal followed, the wrought iron gates opening.

On their pedestals, the winged boars bowed their heads to Albus momentarily.

As they should.

"I trust you will face no difficulties locating the thestals?" Albus asked.

Gellert snorted in reply.

"And you're sure-"

"Yes, Albus, I can do exactly what I said I would. It

would likely be easier if I'd had more time to experiment with the Stone, but it will work fine. I have carried out far more complicated tasks in the past, and I know what I am doing. Go up to the school and leave me to my business."

With a nod, Albus strode through the hallowed gates, leaves crunching underfoot.

Gellert watched him go, a shining figure of might and magic, emblazoned against the dying day.

Finally, finally it was happening, Albus was coming into his own, taking the place that fate had determined for him when it endowed him with such prodigal gifts.

With his mind set, conscious clear, and Gellert at his side, Albus would be unstoppable.

Together, the power they could amass would make any Gellert had ever gained seem miniscule.

And with Albus by his side…perhaps redemption was not entirely beyond Gellert's grasp.

He took a deep breath, relishing in that budgeoning hope, and started walking to the forest.


"I am so proud of you, Minerva," Albus said. "You truly do deserve this position. Regardless of our disagreements, I want you to know that."

Minerva nodded sharply, still looking unsure as if she was unsure whether or not to speak.

"I had a chance to peruse the latest edition of the

Prophet," he continued, "and I enjoyed your interview. You carried yourself well, as I always knew you would. Hogwarts is in good hands."

"Thank you, Albus."

Other than three personal photographs and several new additions to the library, Minerva seemed to have changed nothing in the office.

She hadn't even removed Fawkes' perch, something Fawkes had been thrilled to see.

He'd flown over to it the instant they entered the room and immediately went to sleep.

Albus could almost pretend everything was the same, were he not sitting on the wrong side of the desk.

The uncomfortable, cold silence between them; that was new too.

The portraits of Headmasters and Headmistresses past had welcomed Albus amiably with one exception; Armando had sniffed, shaken his head, and stepped out of his portrait.

Albus tried not to let it bother him too much.

Armando had been his mentor at one point, but he had never accepted that Tom Riddle, perfect student that he was, could ever be a threat.

Eventually, Minerva found her tongue.

"Is there anything you can do for him?"

"Possibly," he said, ignoring Phineas Nigellus' snort. "So far as I can tell, this is a unique case."

As he'd hoped and expected, she did not press him for specifics, just as she hadn't when he'd been using his instruments.

"If I may ask, how has the feeling been among the student body?"

Minerva's reply was long in coming.

"Tense. Far more arguments and fights than usual. Poppy has had her hands full dealing with some nasty hexes."

Unsurprising.

Children they were, but children absorbed the views and beliefs of their parents, and when said parents were directly involved in the conflict…

Hogwarts was always apart from the politics of the outside world, but it could never escape them entirely.

"Any withdrawals?" He asked lightly.

"Only three. Families running off to the continent, just like before. Albus…what exactly do you need the house elves to do?"

He kept his sigh internal.

Also unsurprising that his relationship with Minerva was dust in the wind.

A friendship of over forty years, cast aside in favour of the ghosts in Minerva's memory.

"I dare not tell you. It will not endanger the students, staff, or integrity of Hogwarts, and will not cause them to be derelict in their duties. This I swear to you."

A low susurrus of the portraits' whispers filled the room as Minerva's lips tightened and nostrils flared.

"Albus-"

"I do not speak lightly," he said. "But I truly believe this may prove utterly essential to Voldemort's defeat."

She didn't even flinch at the name, he noted with approval. Instead she leaned forward, hands clasped on the desk which so recently had been his.

"This is a school, Albus. A school which has been placed in my care. I would hope you of all people understand the weight of that responsibility."

"You will find, I think, that I understand the weight of responsibility greater perhaps than any other living being."

She shook her head briskly as if ridding herself of a fly.

"Hogwarts' position is still at great risk. We have no Defence Against the Dark Arts professor, and the ministerial decree which allowed them to force that woman upon us is still, theoretically at least, in effect. The governors begrudgingly accept my position, but it is tentative. At our first meeting, one of them proposed that if You Know Who moved on the school, we should surrender unconditionally to him."

Were Albus not familiar with the governors, his jaw would have dropped.

"Another suggested a partnership with the ministry. A third suggested unconditional surrender to you. All three proposals were voted out, but none were shouted down. Albus, for Hogwarts to weather this crisis, for it to survive as it has for a thousand years, we must remain apolitical. My duty is to the students, to their parents, to the staff, and to the governors, in that order."

She rested her hands along with her case, gazing at him expectantly. No matter the appearance she wished to give, she was on edge. Her hackles were raised, her muscles tensed, her hand ready to fly for a wand.

For the first time, Minerva McGonagall was looking at him with fear. Doubtless, she knew that if he wished he could simply seize the school from her right then, taking what was in fact, rightly his.

If he had not already crushed his heart, it would have shattered at the emotion lurking in her eyes.

"In an ideal world," he said quietly, "Hogwarts would not fear governmental interference. In an ideal world, it would welcome it."

"The world is far from ideal," she snapped, "and I need to proceed with the assumption that it won't become a utopia overnight-"

"Certainly not. It will take me several months at the very minimum."

A moment of blank silence followed, and then Minerva laughed. Her mirth vanished as suddenly as it had come, but a vestige remained in her eyes, blanketing that terrible fear Albus had noticed.

Still asleep, Fawkes began to hum, a lovely, heartwarming, deep melody.

Minerva glanced at the phoenix and sighed.

"When you agreed to hand Hogwarts over to me, it was under the condition that you and he had some business here that you would need to carry out. I will not deny that I accepted that condition. But, Albus, you must understand my position-Hogwarts' position. If anyone-parents, governors, or ministry-even discovers that you are here…"

"I understand. None other than you, Harry, and the elves will know that I was here. You know how dearly I hold Hogwarts' independence and the students' safety."

"We'll know you were here," Phineas Nigellus said from his portrait, causing his neighbors to begin to heckle him for the mere suggestion of impropriety.

Armando walked back into his portrait and pointedly directed his words only to Minerva.

"He's on his way here."

Minerva nodded.

"Just answer me this, Albus. Truthfully, please. If I had refused your request, what would you have done?"

Albus locked eyes with her. Her smile was gone, all her comfort with him vanished once more.

"If the choice was between obeying your wishes and letting Voldemort roam free or bringing about his downfall, I would, with all my love and respect for you, have been forced to choose the latter."

"And if I had stood in your way?" She whispered.

"Let us be thankful," he said heavily, "that it did not come to that."


The thestral's blood matted the forest ground, leaves and twigs caught in its marshy blackness.

Against all reason it shone, a darkness that pulled at the eyes and intrigues the senses.

The body had been discarded, much as Gellert had loathed to do so.

If Severus truly was as talented a Potioneer as Albus claimed, he could have worked wonders with thestral teeth and eyes.

Though he hated the waste, if he killed the thestral for any reason other than the spell, some symbolism would be lost.

He could have performed it without the thestral, of course, but it had been long enough without doing so that he wanted every aid he could take.

As far as Gellert could see, the forest was empty. Since the thestral, he'd come across nothing living, just as he'd expected.

The work he was about was as ancient as history, and the wild places remembered and feared it well.

All was silent in the clearing, a pocket of icy calm enveloping him and cutting him and his work off from the rest of the world.

He could see the trees shaking, could see clouds pinwheeling across the moon's pale gaze overhead, but no wind was heard or felt in his surroundings.

The distant lights of the castle were muted, candles across an ocean.

He had begun slowly distancing from the world of sensation, of life, from the moment he had slit the thestral's throat and spilled its blood on the now unhallowed earth.

A flick of his wand and the earth began to glow around the pool of bloody mud, with hauntingly beautiful and utterly impossible shapes appearing in the ichor's reflection.

He kept his eyes away from those bedazzling shapes even as he knelt and cupped a hand into the blood, careful not to let his mind wander from his purpose.

The blood was as ice to the throat, so cold it burned with his swallow. He drank more, forcing his way through the delicious agony of it, spitting out the tiny twigs, broken grass, and crushed leaves as he went.

It tasted earthy and cloying, but still he partook of his unholy sacrament, the results of his sacrifice of death unto death to call the dead.

Somewhere far, far away, a bell tolled.

Having drunk his fill, he rose with a curious weightlessness, a strange sense that if he would but jump he would soar through the air like the wind itself.

As he stood, he ran his hand, still coated in a thick cloying layer of the beast's blood, over his face.

Not a drop fell from his chin, not a drop was lost.

The bell chimed once more, closer this time.

His heartbeat began to slow as he concentrated, and, eyes still closed, he cast the spell, breath exploding in a cloud of icy mist at the final exhalation.

He felt it as something barely more tangible than a whisper exploded from him, rocketing forward and splitting into streams which then themselves split and shot out, searching, searching, finding….

The bell chimed again, a hair's breadth from his ears.

He opened his eyes once more and saw that the dead of Hogwarts had come to him.

There were dozens, no, hundreds of them–the closest were but an arm's length away, the furthest on the very edge of the clearing his spell had formed.

With no discernible order to their ranks, they stood in lines, a silvery grey sea of bodies facing him, many bearing the gruesome injuries of their deaths.

A silent mass, the ghosts stared at him.

These were not, Gellert knew, the ghosts as the residents of Hogwarts saw them: his summoning had done more than merely call them to him. They had been brought closer to life than their shadowy existence ever offered, but at a terrible cost: by all accounts, it was excruciating for them. Far more importantly, only by binding them could a ghost be exorcised or truly permanently harmed.

There was the other side to the coin as well, the risk Gellert was taking: by binding them, he made himself vulnerable to attacks from them, attacks that an immaterial creature such as a ghost would otherwise never be able to carry out.

Some of them were certainly not regular fixtures in the school. The young girl with her entrails spilling out of a nasty stomach wound would likely have spoiled the mood between classes, as would what Gellert thought was a victim of a truly incompetent flaying attempt.

"You have not the right," a wizened witch hissed, her skeletal hands working as though she longed to wring Gellert's neck. "No master of Hogwarts are you, no master of these lands. You have not the right!"

"I have the right. By will, by knowledge, by might, and by need, I have the right."

An ancient ghost, certainly one of the oldest present, caught Gellert's eye. Wearing a knee length flowing robe with a metal rod tucked near his waist, he held a sickle in one withered hand. With a wild grin, he mimed slashing it across his throat.

How long had it been, Gellert wondered, since druids roamed these lands? How many centuries had this druid spent chained, wishing it could abandon this mockery of life?

If only it had chosen differently at the moment of its death.

A silvery, plump ghost decked in the habit of a monk floated forward, pushing his way through a knight pierced with so many arrows he looked a pincushion. Frowning, the monk spoke softly.

"There is darkness in you, yes, but you are more than that. By the ancient laws, you should not do this. It is not too late to turn back and leave us in peace. Please. For your own sake as much as ours."

That speech, so earnest and honest, tore a cackle from Gellert's throat.

Laughing madly, he slashed his wand forward.

The bell chimed again, inside his head, so loud that all other noise was eradicated.

A thousand ink-black threads exploded from Gellert's chest, intangible and horrific. In the blink of an eye, they hurtled forward, burying themselves into the mass of ghosts.

By all that was holy and unholy, it was glorious. Intoxicating power surged through him in a flood of ecstasy–he was untouchable, he was unassailable, it was like he was young again with the world in his palm-he was a god amongst insects. This army of spirits was his, bound to him tighter than words could ever describe. He felt their fear, and oh how he had missed that sensation, trapped in his tower and locked away from his magic.

"You dare-" the claw-handed crone began, until, mirth in his voice, Gellert's shout cut through her ire.

"I dare! I have always dared to do what I must, and I will not be commanded by the shades of those too cowardly to face what lies beyond!"

That sent a ripple through them, indignation and fury driving hands to memories of weapons.

A knight stepped forward, spectral fingers tightening on the hilt of a broadsword.

"Will you do better?" He called, "We have heard of your deeds. Will you choose to face what justice waits, when your time comes?"

"And it draws near," the crone snarled, "with every breath you take, your end approaches. Every beat of your age-ravaged heart brings you closer to your own ending. Release us!"

Power thrumming through his veins, Gellert tossed back his head and laughed again.

He felt it before it happened, of course. He would have known even without the binding, because, separated by millennia though their lives were, he and the druid were kindred spirits.

Like Gellert, the druid would choose nothingness over servitude to another.

Blazing with purpose and might, Gellert would not offer the choice.

A whirlpool of fury and the strange strength ghosts gained with age, the druid shot toward him, sickle and rod outstretched. His hatred rode before him in a wave, palpable and heavy. He was quick and sudden as a bolt of lightning on a cloudless day.

Gellert was faster.

The barest tap of his wand along with a snarled thought and the druid was swatted out of the air like a fly against a giant's hand.

Immaterial though he was, his crash left a crater, dirt and rocks flying helter skelter along with rod and sickle as if to escape his fate.

His blood pounding with might, Gellert sneered at his erstwhile foe.

This being had thought to attack him.

Had thought to bring him down.

Had thought to free himself of the bonds Gellert had forged.

Ridiculous. Disgraceful.

An example needed to be made. The spirits were his in bonds of magic few but he knew to forge, but soon they would be his in the far tighter bonds of terror and awe.

Gellert raised his wand at the prone, translucent figure, and the stench of the massed shades' fury crashed into him.

"Stop." He raised a hand, and they obeyed. "Pay heed."

A tiny piece of what passed for the druid's flesh tore itself free from his body and rose until it was in full view of the assemblage. It shimmered strangely in the moonlight, motes glittering as it fell to infinitesimally miniscule pieces and vanished from sight.

The druid began to scream. Soon, there was nothing to be heard but his screams, not even the gasps and exclamations of his watching peers.

Gellert did not allow it to pass quickly.

He worked with excruciating patience, ripping away at the druid inch by inch, allowing each piece to fall apart before moving on.

He left the head for last, so that the sounds and expressions of agony could be heard and seen until the very end.

By the time it was over, the moon had raced halfway across the sky. Gellert rose, alive as ever he'd felt, and faced the ghosts he had called.

They looked sickened, horrified. Their fury had been burned away, replaced with a terror that the dead had thought long behind them.

"No exorcism for him," he said softly, "no final release. Nothing but pain until time itself ends. Follow my bidding and I will release you. Disobey or attempt to harm me, and I will make his fate seem a mercy."

"He-he had been haunting here for centuries before the Founders were even born," a young, shell-shocked woman said, looking like she would be sick if she could. "He advised them and the Architect. He guided them to magic none others knew. How could you? What you have done is an abomination, a desecration of-"

"Spare me the sermon. I have done far worse. Likely I still will."

He ignored the strange feeling that had no place when he was so powerful, the feeling he'd experienced so much in his cell.

Guilt gnawed at him, but he pressed on.

"I require information, and I have a task for you. That is all. Bound you are, but bound you shall be no more if you but tell me what you know and do as I ask without delay. Understand?"

"We cannot harm the students of Hogwarts," a ghost wearing an extremely pompous outfit, complete with ruff, said. "Bound or not, we cannot."

"And I would not ask you to," Gellert replied, "after all, I'm helping them now. As they would say, I'm one of the good guys. No, it's not the students of Hogwarts I come to you for. It is Voldemort. Tom Riddle, as once he was known."

A ripple ran through the mass, one or two of them shaking at the name, preposterous as it was.

"He was, is, obsessed with objects belonging to the Founders. Most of you were present in his school days. Did he discover any? Aside from Hufflepuff's Cup and Slytherin's Ring, that is. Speak now, if you know. Be silent if you do not."

The ghost who had lamented the druid glided forward, her eyes as cold as the blood on her chest. Chains rattled as a bloodstained, wide eyed man stared at her as she went.

When she spoke, her voice glistened with poison.

"He knew the location of Rowena Ravenclaw's Diadem."

Ignoring the muttering that broke out at this, Gellert leaned forward, locking eyes with her.

"Are you certain?"

"I told him where it was myself."

His heartbeat quickened. "And where was that?"

"A hollow tree in a forest," she smiled cruelly, "in Albania."

He closed his eyes and counted to ten, forcing himself not to destroy her, destroy them all.

A forest in fucking Albania? If Voldemort had any sense, he'd have turned it into a horcrux and left it there. Searching the beaches with Albus had been torturous enough, but an entire fucking country, and Albania of all places at that…

"Does anyone else know anything?"

He opened his eyes to see them milling around, shaking their heads or simply ignoring his gaze.

"Very well. Thus I command, and with this I release you: search the school. Every inch of it, the places used daily, the secret places none have tread for centuries. Search for this Diadem, or anything else belonging to one of the Founders. When you find it, alert Snape at once, and take him to it. That is all."

He slashed his wand through the air, and the thickness vanished. With a pang, he felt that incredible strength and icy confidence leave him.

"You," he said, pointing at the witch, "go tell Albus what you told me, and then join the rest of them on their search. Now!"

They fled.

As soon as they were gone, Gellert dropped to his knees, bleakness stealing over him.

Was this all he was good for?

To inspire terror and fury, to destroy?

To practice the darkest magic once again in the name of the greater good?

Could he ever change? Could he ever, at the very least, stop enjoying his role?

Was this what fate had cast him as?

His tears wove bitter lines down his face, and he contemplated loosing his fury on the world.

He had set Paris aflame once. He could do it again, larger, a conflagration that would snuff out millions.

Let Albus and his sweet lies of redemption mourn him, but let it end.

At least he would stop circling the same old position, always the villain, always telling himself he was doing it for good, when in truth he was doing it because that was when he felt most alive.

What was the point of trying to be better, when he had destroyed his capacity to do so?

A figure appeared at the edge of his vision.

He was on his feet in an instant, wand drawn, before he realized it was the ghost of the monk.

"I told you to go."

"Ah," smiling, the monk wagged a finger, "but you didn't forbid us from talking with you first. Not that any of the others wanted to, I don't think."

"What do you want?"

"Many things. Peace on earth, an end to unwarranted hatred, for every man to love his fellow like a brother, equality for all…but right now, to offer a correction. You said we had chosen to remain as ghosts out of cowardice. That isn't true, at least, not in all of our cases. Helena stayed because she wanted to remind her mother of her role in her death. The Baron stayed because he felt he did not deserve rest. Ichabod wanted to defy his murderers. Cuthbert wanted to continue teaching as did, I think, poor Diviciacus. Fear of the beyond played a part for many, but certainly not all."

Gellert shook his head. "Do you have a point?"

The ghost, damn him, was grinning. The dead bastard was enjoying this.

"I stayed because I had dedicated my life to the service of others. In my short time on earth, I helped many. It would not be prideful to say I was a force of good. And when I died, I thought…why end it now? So I remained, and in the thousand years since then, I have helped countless times more than ever I had the chance while living."

The ghost floated closer now, mirth vanishing and being replaced with–was that pity?

"One does not manage that without learning to read people very well," the monk said, "a skill, admittedly, that I always had, even as a young child. A good sense for what people are feeling. And you, my friend, are in terrible pain."

Millions dead by his wand and orders. Turmoil and strife that still left its echoes across the world. His name forever cast in infamy.

An endless spiral, always returning back to the same monster he was doomed to be.

No, pain was not a word Gellert would choose. There were no words for it.

"Like many of us, I pay attention to the news and politics of the living world. Pray tell me: why have you allied with Dumbledore? Why have you joined him on his crusade?"

"Perhaps I just wanted the chance to be free again. To be free to destroy once more."

Gellert strove for a light tone, but failed. Bitterness lay heavy in his words, and a wind rose around him, pulling dust around his feet.

"No," the monk frowned, "that's not it. I have a feeling about you. A strong feeling. After all this time, my feelings are usually correct. There is much darkness in you, Gellert Grindelwald. But there is more than that. Why did you join Albus? Why fight Voldemort, when you could betray Albus, ally with Voldemort, and achieve your original goals?"

Hateful, despicable creature. How dare he subject Gellert to this analysis, as if it would possibly help?

"I hoped for a chance of redemption," he spat, "for something good to be attached to my name."

Beaming, the ghost clearly restrained himself from clapping. It took almost as much restraint for Gellert to not tear him to shreds.

"I thought as much. So then, if I may ask: why must you portray yourself the villain? Your display with Diviciacus was unnecessary, and I could see that while you enjoyed it, you also loathed it. Why must you take that role?"

Gellert's wand flashed, a nearby tree exploding into a million splinters

"Because that is who I am!" He roared.

"Is that who you are," the monk said patiently, ignoring the outburst, "or who you were?"

Gellert's wand came to rest directly between the monk's eyes. Enough, enough of this absurdity.

"There is no difference. I am as I was, and I always will be."

"I don't believe that. And you don't have to believe that either."

A howl erupted somewhere deep in the forest, Gellert's hair rising at the sound.

How long had he spent listening to this insipid drivel?

Motes of a terrible purple light gathered at the tip of his wand.

"Enough. What do you want?"

Annoyance, finally, flickered across the monk's expression.

"I already told you. I want an end to hatred. An end to inequality. I have worked towards this goal for a thousand years, in my own quiet way: speaking to students, assuaging them of their fears of others, bringing together those who would never choose to meet. I remained as a ghost and served as an example of love and compassion, and though few recognize my contributions, they have had an effect."

"How lovely for you. Ten seconds before I discorporate you, then you can scream into the void about love and compassion."

If the threat frightened him, the monk did not show it.

"If there is one man who I know to share my dream, it is Albus Dumbledore. If there is one man who I believe could make that dream a reality, it is Albus Dumbledore. Much as I abhor violence, I am not so foolish to think it is never necessary. Albus Dumbledore can heal the world, with your help. If, that is, you are willing to view yourself as something other than a monster."

Gellert's arm, heavy suddenly, fell to his side. Fatigue stole across him, his eyes closing.

"I am-"

"You are more than the darkness within you," the monk said. "You are more than your deeds. If you choose to act the hero now, you will not have to be the monster. The choice, my dear man, is yours. There is always choice."

Silence stretched out. A cold wind blew, leaves crashing through the clearing.

Gellert forced himself to speak through the heaviness in his throat.

"Nothing I do can wash away my crimes. Nothing I do can fix them."

"No. But that does not mean you have to return to them. Nor does it mean you are prevented from doing good. The choice is yours."

He opened his eyes again. The monk was staring at him, still pitying.

"There is darkness within us all. But very few sink so low into it that they cannot still do good. You have not sunk so low. You dare not sink so low. For if you do, you will bring Albus down with you. And if Albus falls to darkness…"

He shook his head and then, abruptly, cocked it, staring at the castle.

"I must go join the search. Already I have pushed the boundaries of your commandment to the breaking. Think of what I said. You always have choice, and you do not need to be a monster, not even in your own eyes."


Albus nodded along patiently, waiting for Harry to ask the question that was so clearly burning at him.

They'd shared an interesting and useful enough conversation, with Albus confirming–with the aid of one of his instruments–that Voldemort's soul shard was still separate from Harry's soul.

In sacrificing herself, Lily had ensured not only that Harry would live, but that he would be unaffected, to a degree, by the horcrux.

Through Lily's sacrifice, Harry might come out of this all alive.

He'd assured Harry, of course, that Voldemort's attacks were not likely to continue.

He'd reminded the boy of what he needed to do in the event that Voldemort did attempt an attack, and made it clear to Harry that he should make every effort to not be alone at any time.

He was both sickened and proud at the ease with which he said these things.

Reassuring Harry while planning what could easily be his demise?

Despicable. Beyond reproach.

But necessary. And so he did it.

Mere moments before Harry had arrived for their meeting, Albus had received a most interesting guest. The Grey Lady herself, coming, on Gellert's orders, to confess how she had handed Voldemort an object for a Horcrux.

He gave no indication to Harry that his thoughts were elsewhere, but they most assuredly were.

As they discussed how Harry and his Defence Association were progressing, the general feeling in the school, and most importantly, Voldemort's intrusions into Harry's mind, he was musing on the diadem.

Voldemort would not have left it in Albania, he was all but certain of that. All the other Horcruxes had been placed in locations with symbolic meanings to Voldemort, locations of great import. What meaning did Albania hold to him?

None, while Hogwarts held plenty. The Diadem- the final Horcrux they'd been struggling to identify-surely it, of all objects, would be placed in Hogwarts?

And yet…after the Killing Curse had rebounded and destroyed Voldemort's body, his wraith had fled to Albania.

It was there that Quirrell had found him.

It was there, later, that Peter had found him.

If there was no Horcrux hidden there, what had drawn Voldemort to Albania?

A troublesome thought. If, as he so dearly hoped, the ghosts or house-elves found the diadem in Hogwarts, it would not warrant worry.

Then he would merely have to concern himself with breaking into and stealing a Horcrux from a Gringotts vault, killing Voldemort's snake, dealing with the Harry problem, and killing Voldemort–while facing off with the Ministry.

Nothing too onerous, thankfully.

Harry was still silent. Albus copied him, turning his thoughts to the upcoming order meeting and what he would need from his…friends.

Yes, matters could play out quite satisfactorily, if all went according to plan.

He'd have to stop and speak with Hagrid before leaving Hogwarts, however.

If Voldemort believed Snape's words, it could at least serve in Hagrid's best interests for him to gather up some deadly creatures. He certainly still had one or two of those Skrewts around, as much as he'd tried to hide them from Albus.

Harry still wasn't talking. The portraits were stirring, the instruments Minerva had not removed were whirring, and Fawkes was humming, but Harry was silent.

"Well, Harry," Albus said, making a show of looking at his watch. "This has been a most informative and, dare I say, lovely meeting, although I wish the circumstances were better. Unfortunately, I believe the Headmistress will soon be wanting her office back."

Harry looked stricken, for a moment.

Ah. So he did want to ask. He just hadn't built up the courage. A doorway question it would be, then.

"You'll be keeping your father's cloak with you at all times?"

Harry nodded.

Oh, how Albus longed to borrow the cloak, to finally unite the hallows. Just at the thought, the Elder Wand began to thrum.

He would not do so. He would not give in to his desires.

Of course, if his plan failed and Harry did not survive…

Another detestable thought, one that made Albus want to retch.

What a monster his mind was.

"Before I leave," Albus said, rising from the chair that had so recently been his in truth, "I did wish to offer you my compliments. For your interview with Ms Skeeter," he said, to Harry's confused look. "That was a most courageous step you took. To go public with your story…I'm sure it must have taken some wrangling for her to offer an unvarnished interview."

"She's an unregistered Animagus," Harry muttered. "She can turn into a beetle. Hermione figured it out, even caught her in a jar for a while. She had to do the interview properly or we'd tell the Ministry."

"An ingenious plan," Albus said, "though one I would not be so quick to admit to. Blackmail is still frowned upon by many, even if Ms Skeeter is a deserving target. My compliments, nevertheless. And, if there is nothing more, until we meet again, Harry."

He nodded his goodbyes to the portraits, whistled for Fawkes, and began to leave.

His hand was on the doorknob and Harry still had not asked.

Interesting.

Was his trust in Albus so great that he would overlook Grindeldwald's involvement? Or was it his hatred of Voldemort?

Regardless, it worked in Albus' favour, particularly if Harry's friends felt the same way.

As long as Harry's reticence wasn't due to mistrust.

After all, he who holds the hearts and minds of the youth, holds the future of the world.

Off to speak with the house-elves, Allbus left the office that had once been his.


"You did well."

Gellert grunted, his eyes not moving from the glass in his hand. The amber liquid sloshed as he swirled it, the intensity of its odour melding with his pipe smoke and giving the impression of a bar.

A small, cozy bar.

They'd retired to Albus' cottage, to plot and sleep before the madness continued. The place felt more homely now, with Gellert in tow. Homelier, but more morose, too.

"Diary, Ring, and Locket destroyed," Albus said, aiming for as cheerful a tone as possible. He didn't quite manage it, not with Gellert so out of sorts.

"The Cup is in Gringotts–I imagine it will be best to wait as long as possible before taking that one. Nagini is with Voldemort, and Severus will deal with her at the right time. Harry is at Hogwarts. As for the last one, the Diadem…I still believe it is at Hogwarts. I hope it is at Hogwarts, because the alternatives are unbearable. Still, if the elves and ghosts have no luck within the next few weeks, we may need to visit Albania."

"The way my life is," Gellert said, "we should pack our bags now. Have you had any alternative ideas about dealing with the boy?"

Albus' brow furrowed. What had happened to Gellert in his meeting with the ghosts? He sounded compassionate, a far cry from every other time they'd discussed Harry.

"You know I haven't. We need to tear Voldemort's soul out of his body. Maybe, maybe if we were absolutely certain it was possible, and that we could trust a Dementor to choose the correct soul-no, I would rather risk Harry's life than risk his soul. I won't stop looking, even if I have given up hope that I will find an alternative solution."

Gellert nodded, tapping his pipe into his glass.

"If it comes down to it, and Voldemort will not do it–"

"I have told you before, I will not falter!"

"I know you won't," Gellert said. "I was going to say that you should let me do it."

Eyes narrowing, Albus took a step forward, the Elder Wand singing from his pocket and begging to be drawn.

"You still don't believe me capable," he accused. "You think I will place my love for the boy above everything."

Gellert raised a hand. "Not at all. But I think it will harm you far more than it would I. There is a spark of innocence in you, Albus–not naiveté, not ignorance, but a spark of childlike joy and wonder. Killing the boy, no matter how necessary it is, would crush that spark."

For that, Albus had not been prepared. His sudden ire dissipated, a bright flash, reminiscent of the all-encompassing love he'd felt that summer so long ago taking its place.

"It would not be the same as killing your enemies, and you know it," Gellert continued. "You love the boy. You would do anything to spare him harm. To be the one to kill him would destroy you. And I fear what you could be without that spark."

A crooked smile twisted Gellert's lips.

"Besides, think of what it would do to your image. Few will understand why it had to be done, if it comes to it. Better for them to add another crime to my name."

He was on Gellert a flash, gripping him in a tight embrace. Were he a younger man, he would have felt the stirrings of desire. But time had not passed him by, and the urges of the flesh had gone.

"Thank you," he whispered. "but if all else fails, and Harry must be killed, better it be at my hand. Better it be at the hands of one who loves him and wishes for nothing other than his survival."

"Albus-"

"No, Gellert. I appreciate the offer-truly, I do, but this is my burden to bear. I could have done more to stop Voldemort when he first rose. I could have prevented the conditions that allowed him to gain power. Because I did not, so many are dead, and Harry may have to die. This weight is already on my shoulders. To allow you to take it would be to abrogate my responsibility."

Gellert sighed, eyes closing tightly.

"Whatever you say, Albus. I'll allow you to destroy yourself. Whatever you wish."

What had happened to him in the forest? What had the ghosts said?

"Gellert -"

Gellert's eyes shot open, blazing. He moved back, breaking out of Albus' arms, and locked gazes.

"Do you remember what I made you promise?"

"Yes. But Gellert-"

"You promised," Gellert said, "that if I start crossing boundaries and going down old paths, you would kill me. Will you stand by it? Will you do me the same favour you would offer the boy?"

"I already told you I would."

"I want you to promise again, now. On your sister's grave. I need to know, Albus. I need to know that I won't drag you down. I need to know, with utter certainty, that you would kill me before that happens."

Albus seized his shoulder, his stomach churning with a sudden fear.

"What did the ghosts say?" He asked urgently, "what did they say, Gellert?"

"Nothing I did not already know," Gellert said. "I am not giving up. I am not asking you to do this now. I just need to know that you will do it if necessary. I need it, Albus, for my own peace of mind. I have ideas and plans, but I need your promise to launch them."

"As you wish, Gellert," Albus said, "I promise you, on Ariana's grave, on my mother and father's grave, on the graves of all those whose deaths I could have prevented: I promise that if you are falling into darkness again, I will kill you before it is too late. I also promise that it will not come to that."

But the emphasis he placed on his final words did nothing for the foreboding sense of doom he felt.