Harry Potter and the Power of the Past
Disclaimer: All JKR's, not mine.
Summary: This is a complete AU- Harry Potter is a 21-year-old wizard, who's on top of the world. He's rich, in love, and loved by all, but his life is turned upside down as a spiral of events leads to the ultimate battle between good and evil. Can Harry lead the fight for the light, but yet manage to keep his life together?
A/N: Thanks for the reviews everybody. Oh, and review again!
S/N: Sorry for the long wait, I apologize! I promise the next chapter after this one will be up within a week or two. I hope you like it!
S/N 2: I think some of you might be missing the point of this story. There is an underlining idea to this that I have been putting out there since at least chapter 23...Harry isn't the wizard people think he is.
Chapter 35: Gloom…
"There was a man, that same man that you were staring at a few weeks ago," Hermione said slowly, trying to remember every detail of what she had just seen. After arriving at Grimmauld Place after disapparating away from the battlefield, she had immediately rushed up to Harry's bedside to relay him the events that had transpired, knowing that he would want to hear all about it. "He came and fought the Dark Lord…he battled him as well as you would have, maybe even better. He fought like Dumbledore!" She exclaimed in wide eyes.
"He saved our butts." Cedric nodded in agreement, sitting at the edge of the bed. "Without him, I think Voldemort would have taken out a lot of Order members. He saved quite a few of our lives."
"Did he now?" Harry murmured, shaking his head incredulously. He couldn't believe that the man they were talking about would do that; admittedly, he was amazed, and quite honestly, surprised. He would have to pay a visit to the man, find out answers and ask the questions that were on his mind. That visit will have to come soon, he thought to himself. After a few more minutes of conversation, Cedric exited the room, leaving Harry and Hermione alone.
"That's not Aberforth Dumbledore, is it Harry? Cedric seems to think it is." Hermione asked, curious if he knew who it was.
"No," Harry shook his head again, giving her a small smile. "It's not Aberforth."
Meanwhile, down on the floor below a similar conversation was taking place. "So who do you think that guy was, Nev?" Despereaux Barnaud questioned as they both took a seat at the kitchen table. Dobby brought them over a cup of tea, which they gladly accepted from the house elf. Lilyre Moon and Wayne Hopkins were already sitting at the table before they had arrived, and they were deeply engrossed in a conversation about some quidditch team, having vaguely noticed that the pair had joined them.
"No idea, but he sure was powerful, though." Neville replied with a shrug. He knew that he had never seen that man before and, unlike the others who were interested in his identity, he was only happy that the man had come to help in the first place.
Despereaux furrowed his eyebrows, thinking about the subject, completely engrossed in finding out the identity of the man. "I heard someone mention, I think it was Emmeline, that she believed it was Dumbledore's brother."
"Do you think it was?" Neville questioned back, taking a sip of his tea.
"I don't know. I've never seen Dumbledore's brother; in fact, I only learned that he had one a few weeks ago." Despreaux answered as his stomach gave a growl in hunger. "You want to go grab a bite to eat at the Leaky Cauldron?"
"I can't." Neville shook his head, moving his gaze over to the Frenchman. "Lincola Spinks invited me over for dinner."
"Spinks now? Last time it was Calgary Runcorn, and the time before that it was Sophie Roper." Despereaux sighed, as if he was disappointed in something. "We both know these girls like you, Neville; you can't keep feigning ignorance and just assume they want to be friends like you have been doing."
"They are my friends, though." Neville responded confusedly.
Despereaux put his teacup down, spilling a bit onto the table, but paying no attention to it. "You're going to have to choose sooner or later, Neville. Is it going to be Lincola Spinks, Calgary Runcorn, or Sophie Roper? You can't keep leading them all on; they'll want to settle down sooner or later."
Neville bit his lip, hoping what Despereaux said wasn't true. "They're my friends, Des. I don't want to loose any of them."
"But you will loose them all, Neville, if you don't start to take interest in one of them as more than just a friend." Despereaux rebutted, feeling a bit weird for even having the conversation. He knew that Neville wasn't very popular in Hogwarts, but even so, the wizard had managed to foster friendships with three wonderful witches, ones that could potentially lead to something more and make Neville a very happy man. That's all he wanted for his friend, for him to be happy and to be loved.
"I guess." Neville said, though he didn't necessarily believe it or even understand it.
"Are you two, like, best friends now or something?" Lilyre asked, as Wayne sniggered next to him. Lilyre looked back over to Wayne and a smile appeared on his face, clearly holding back laughter. "Because you fight like an old married couple."
"Shut up." Neville rolled his eyes. "And yes, I believe we are."
An hour later, Harry was sitting up in his bed, reading about the potion that he would need to use in order to destroy the Horcruxes that he had gathered. There was a tap at the window, and he looked over and saw that an osprey was flapping its wings on the windowsill outside. Harry hopped out of bed and meandered over to the window, unlocking the brass hook and opening it wide enough for the bird to enter. The bird flew in without hesitation, and with a pop, transformed into Kylie; the man had a strange look on his face, a mix of fear and resolve. "Five days. Voldemort will be attacking within the week."
"Five days?" Harry said slowly, his eyes wide: he would have to get working real soon, if that were the case. He still had yet to speak with Hagrid about the acromantula venom, but he had expected the half-giant anytime now, so he wasn't too worried about that. Sure enough, there was a knock on the door and Hagrid's muffled voice came from the other side. "We'll talk more tomorrow." Harry whispered, watching as Kylie transformed into an osprey and flew out of the window with a flap of his large wings. "Come in."
"'Ello, 'Arry." Hagrid grinned through his bushy beard as he stepped into the room. His head just hit the ceiling, which forced him to duck into an awkward position.
"Hagrid!" Harry smiled joyfully, motioning for the half-giant to come closer to him. "It's so nice to see you."
"Same to you, same to you." Hagrid replied in a happy tone, truly glad to see Harry. He had always had a soft spot to the boy, seemingly ever since the night that Harry was left in his collapsed house as a baby. "Sorry I couldn't come and see you any sooner, I needed to protect Hogwarts, you know."
"Of course, it's no problem." Harry said, noticing the large bruises that Hagrid had all over his body; they were as big as bludgers. His right eye was covered in a large black and blue swell, as if he was hit with a beater's bat or some other hard object. "What happened, Hagrid?"
"Oh, this? This is just from Grawp." Hagrid laughed, his eyes going wide a second later as it dawned on him that he had never told Harry about his half-brother. "You don't know about Grawp, do you, 'Arry?"
"You've never mentioned him before." Harry shook his head, looking at the half-giant curiously.
"Right," Hagrid nodded, a nervousness overcoming him. "Probably for the best then." He then reached his huge left hand into a fold of his jacket and pulled out a small vial that was filled with a clear liquid, a precious commodity that many in the world desired. "This is the most I could get. Owe him, I will, but I knew you needed it."
"Thank you, Hagrid." Harry smiled, though inwardly sighing at the amount that Hagrid had procured: he didn't think it would be enough. It wasn't the end of the world, however, as he knew he could use his knowledge and create a new potion that would have the same effects of the one he was previously going to brew; he would just need to use the old potion as a starting point. "This is great."
"Right," Hagrid grinned, proud and thrilled that he had made Harry happy. "I best be getting back to Hogwarts. Rest up, 'Arry, the Order needs you."
"Bye Hagrid," Harry waved as the half-giant closed the door with a slam, leaving him alone in the room once again. "I guess I'll go in the morning," He muttered to himself, before reaching back and fluffing his pillow up a little. "That should be interesting." He leaned back and closed his eyes, and before he knew it, he was already fast asleep.
Harry pulled his cloak over his broad chest at nine a.m. the next morning, hoping to secure whatever warmth he could from leaving his body. Beautiful white snow was starting to fall from the sky, the clouds above having been overcastted for a few days before. He walked down the lone and long street of Godric's Hollow, the birthing place of Godric Gryffindor that was named after the wizard over a thousand years ago. He could see in the distance the dilapidated cottage that his parents once called home, which now served as a memorial for all of the people that Voldemort had killed during his first rise to power over twenty years ago, and his heart skipped a beat as the thought of his parents popped into his mind: their happy, smiling faces was always in the reaches of his thoughts. He continued walking down the street until finally coming to a stop in front of a small house with a rusted metal gate at the beginning of the property.
Knowing, somehow, that this is where he'd be, he pushed open the gate and walked up the front path, through what seemed to be a garden, though there looked to be more weeds than anything else. Harry neared the door; it was of a cherry wood and had knick marks in the façade, a nervous excitement overcoming him. He tapped on the door twice, two quick knocks, and took a step back, waiting patiently for the occupants to come. Then, slowly, the door swung open, revealing the aged man that Harry had seen a few times before. He had long, curly gray hair, brown eyes, and a wild look about him that created a darkness around him that was somewhat charming—though Harry had been up close to him before, he had never really, truly taken a good look at him until now. "Harry," He said, giving the younger wizard a small smile that showed his relatively decent teeth.
"Gellert." Harry replied, returning the smile, though it wasn't as broad as it normally would be. Gellert Grindelwald moved out of the doorway, knowing it was cold out, and allowed Harry passage into the home. The house smelt like it had just been cleaned: there was a hint of an odor of old age, of dust, and of unwashed clothes. He gestured for Harry to take a seat at a small, polished tea table in the corner of the living room, right next to a wide bay window, which gave a panorama of the mountains in the distance—Harry's house was just on the other side of one of the peaks. The wizard left the room, going into the kitchen, before returning a few minutes later with a tray of cookies and a kettle of tea. He set them softly down on the table and took a seat in one of the chairs, across from Harry.
The pair quietly made their tea, taking a sip from their respective cups after it was just the way they liked it. "So," Gellert said, putting his cup down and resting his cookie on his plate. "What brings you to me? Usually I'm the one who does the traveling." He said, amiably, a hint of interest in his tone.
"Why are you helping us? Helping me?" Harry asked, genuinely curious. He wasn't going to use any false pretences, he was here for answers and he wanted to get right to them. Here he was, one of the darkest and most powerful wizards ever, helping the light fight off the coming darkness that was spreading like a plague over the land—it went against everything that Harry had known and believed.
"When I first came here, I looked in the mirror, but all I could see was the specter of myself reflected; the empty shell of me." Gellert Grindelwald said, looking out of the window, into the distance. "I spent fifty-eight years locked away, trapped, cut off from the rest of the world. With nothing but your thoughts to be with, your own loneliness, it gets you thinking: thinking about how you may have been wrong about everything; thinking about how you let down your best, and just about only, friend. He's dead, I can't change that, I know, but I can help him out. I can do what he didn't finish, in teaching you to take over for him to fight guys like me and Voldemort."
"The great and evil Grindelwald wanting to atone for his sins?" Harry said, amazed at the depths of this man's character. It was hard for a wizard that dark, that talented to suck down his pride and admit he was wrong, and if a wizard was willing to do that, he deserved some credit and respect. "I never would have imagined it." Grindelwald continued to look out of the window, seemingly lost in his own thoughts, not even hearing what Harry was saying.
He apparated a few miles away, continuing on his path towards Great Britain, knowing something was wrong, that something wasn't right. Finally, three days after he left Nurmengard, he reached France, and then a day later, England. Once in Great Britain, he apparated to Wales, to Godric's Hollow, where he appeared outside of his aunt's home, the home he had lived in for almost a year: the year when he had met and befriended Albus.
Slowly, he walked up to the gate and opened it up, then continued up the path until he reached the door: the paint was chipped. Reaching up, he tapped the door three times, waiting for his aunt to answer. She did after a few minutes, creaking open the door, covering her eyes from the sun. "Hello, aunt Bathilda." He said in a whisper, his voice croaky due to lack of use.
"You." She replied, narrowing her eyes upon the man. "What do you want?"
"A home." He answered, easily. He gave her a small, toothless smile, pushing his long, grayish hair out of his face. She looked at him, studying him before moving off to the side, pushing the door open more and giving him entrance into her house. She was old, much older than he was, and was barely up to his waist; though, quite frankly, he was a very tall fellow. "Thank you," he said, honestly. He didn't think she'd allow him in, surely she knew about what he had done; all the horrible, atrocious acts that he had committed during his reign of darkness. He could not remember half of them, nor could he remember even the people that he had enslaved and entrapped in Nurmengard, but he doubted the world was as forgetful as he was when it came to what exactly he had done.
"When did you escape?" She questioned, the tone of her voice was somewhat harsh.
"Escape?" He laughed, sarcastically. "I wasn't in prison; well, not a prison made by any Ministry on earth. I was locked up in my fortress by Albus, and when he died, the enchantments went with him, allowing me to leave."
"Shame Dumbledore died," Bathilda sighed, walking into the kitchen; her legs were short, so she mostly waddled. "What, with You-Know-Who out there, I don't know how the Ministry plans on fighting him without Dumbledore around. Though, I suppose Potter is doing a decent enough job as the leader of the pack these days."
"Hm." Grindelwald muttered, running a hand over his eyes, exhausted and famished from his imprisonment and journey.
"Use the bathroom to clean yourself up, you smell." Bathilda ordered, nodding her head towards the door. "There are some clothes in your old room."
"Thank you, auntie." Grindelwald said, looking at the woman with his brown eyes. "It means a lot to me that you let me into your home. I'm….I'm sorry for everything that I've done to you and this world, and I promise that I will make up for everything ten fold. No matter what I have to do, I will repent, I will atone, and I will be contrite." Without another word, he turned and walked out of the room, entering the bathroom a few seconds later. He didn't know if even he believed what he said, but he knew that he would have to say them in order to stick around and figure out what to do next with his life.
He looked into the mirror, seeing himself for the first time in just under sixty years. He was old, ugly, and dirty: his teeth were rotted and mostly missing, his hair was matted down and covered in grime, and his skin was darkened by dirt and was pulled so tightly to his face that it made him look like a walking corpse. Long gone were the days where his brown eyes twinkled in mischief and arrogance, where his handsome features glowed in such magnificence that it made people swoon.
He sighed, grabbed the towel to the side, ran some water over it, and wiped the dirt off of his face. Then, he turned on the water tap in the shower, disrobed himself, and stepped under the flow, shivering slightly at the feeling. He stayed under for close to a half an hour, using soap and shampoo to clean off the filth, before he turned off the water and threw on a towel. He exited the bathroom and strolled over to his old room, his old body feeling clean for the first time in over a half of a century. He took a deep breath as he stomped to his old room, and upon pushing the door open with a creak, he was immediately hit with the smell of dust. He smiled, being lost in memories of his past as he got dressed in some of his old robes; which were still in his closet, untouched and unchanged. The robes were much too big for him, his shoulders having seemingly shrunk in girth as he aged, but still, they fit well enough for him to wear.
After getting dressed in his rather dated wardrobe, he went back out to the living room where Bathilda had set up a lunch for them to share. Cheeses, breads, and fruit were on display, and Gellert hungrily dug into all of them, his taste buds being tested for the first time in a long, long time. Bathilda broke the silence that had loomed since they began eating by asking, "Do you know what's going on out there?" She gestured to the window, and in turn the outside world, referencing the war against Voldemort.
"I know who Voldemort," Bathilda shivered at the name. "Is, and I've gotten bits and pieces about what's happening from newspapers, but other than that, no." Gellert answered, taking a sip of his drink.
"You always did seem to know things when you shouldn't, even as a teenager you seemed to be wiser and more knowledgeable than most grownups. How you know who You-Know-Who is even, I don't know; I assume you've known who he is for a while now, no?" Bathilda questioned, receiving a nod from Gellert. "He is a tyrant of a wizard, someone who wants to rule over us with fear and repression. He hates muggles and muggle-borns, and desires for nothing more than their death and utter eradication. Thirty years ago, he began his rise of power, lasting for ten years and gaining more followers and power before a boy beat him named Harry Potter, the boy who lived. It took him another twenty years to regain his body, how he survived after being defeated by Potter, no one knows, but he's back now and resuming his fight against all that is good and honorable in the world."
"Horcruxes." Gellert said to Bathilda.
"What?" His aunt replied, not knowing what that meant.
Gellert shook his head, telling her to forget it. "Never you mind, tell me about this Potter fellow."
For the next hour and a half, Bathilda told her nephew the story of Harry Potter. Everything the witch knew about the man, from his days in Hogwarts to his triumphs in the World Cup was relayed to Gellert Grindelwad—who, for the most part, nodded attentively. Bathilda seemed to know more than the general public due to her close relationship to Albus Dumbledore, whom had always visited her for a cup of tea during his retreats back to his home in Godric's Hollow during the summers and holidays.
"You weren't ready for this, Harry." Gellert said, quietly, coming out of his memory-induced stupor. "Sure, you have the skill and talent to one day be as great as Dumbledore, but you're just not as wise as he was—my guess is that you needed at least another ten years in his presence in order to gain his sense of future and understanding. Don't take this the wrong way, boy," Gellert noticed Harry's falling face. "I'm not saying anything bad about you; I'm saying the situation you were thrown into is bad."
"I know what you mean." Harry nodded, looking at the bottom of his teacup. There was still some left over sugar, and he quietly twirled the cup, watching as the sugar moved in a circular motion.
"Personally," Gellert replied, pouring Harry some more tea. "I think that Lupin fellow or the Death Eater spy should be leading the Order until you are truly ready. Though they are not the most powerful of your members, other than you that title goes to your friend Cedric and your godfather, they do understand the most about magic than anyone else."
"Death Eater spy? Snape?" Harry questioned back.
"Yes, Snape." Gellert replied back with a small nod of his head. "The other one is only the same age as you are, no?"
"Kylie? Yeah, he's just a few months older." Harry answered in agreement, and then the pair went silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.
"Let's play a little game, Harry." Gellert said, pushing his seat back from the table a little. "In your opinion, who do you think is the most dangerous Death Eater that Voldemort has in his hordes?"
"Who is the most dangerous?" Harry pondered, biting his lip. "That's Dolohov, female Lestrange, or Crouch's son, right?"
"They're the most powerful, sure, but not the most dangerous. When answering the question, think about the Death Eaters who know you, who know how you'll react and respond to something; think about the elements of danger besides just brute strength and force. Think about it." Gellert smiled, knowing that this mind game would help Harry in the future.
"Quirrell knows me since he did teach me for a year." Harry muttered, trying to think about the question.
"Quirrell is the left hand man to Voldemort, Harry, second only to Crouch. He is obviously dangerous and powerful, but there is another, even more so than either Crouch or Quirrell, someone that might be overlooked." Gellert murmured, leaning towards Harry in anticipation.
"Pettigrew?" Harry answered after a moment of thought.
Grindlewald nodded, a grin forming on his face. "While he is more talented than many of you will give him credit for, Peter Pettigrew is also the most dangerous Death Eater that Voldemort has in his arsenal. I believe Voldemort knows that as well, and has been using him for the betterment of his cause for quite sometime." He laughed at Harry's amused expression, the man clearly impressed with his knowledge. "I've read every Daily Prophet for the last year. My aunt never throws anything away." He gestured around the room, where it was littered with various articles about Voldemort.
"Still," Harry replied, having a sneaking suspicion that there was more to Grindelwald than just newspapers. "How do you know so much? Surely it can't be all from the newspaper."
"That Boderick Bode lives down the street." Grindlewald gestured to the window, specifically to the street outside. "I make sure I run into him as a friendly neighbor and scour his mind for whatever I can find. He doesn't know who I am; he just thinks I am an old wizard who moved here to enjoy his retirement."
Harry nodded, but then cocked an eyebrow, saying, "But that doesn't answer how you knew about everything, there are things that I never said in a meeting that Bode was in."
"My grandmother was my aunt Bathilda's sister." Gellert began, seemingly changing the subject. "She's old, older than anyone else in Britain, save for perhaps Griselda Marchbanks. Do you know what her father was, what he did for a living?" Harry shook his head, not knowing where this was going. "He was the Headmaster of Hogwarts, a position he held long before Albus and I were even born. There's his portrait right over there." Gellert pointed to the wall, where an empty picture frame was hanging; it was about the same size as the portrait of Phineas Nigellus in Grimmauld Place.
"He overhears conversations held between McGonagall and other people in her office, and comes back and tells you?" Harry whispered, bringing it all together.
"Exactly! Plus," he grinned. "He speaks with Dumbledore about many things and Dumbledore often confides in him, which he quickly relays to me so I can decide on the best course of action—or, at the very least, stay back in the shadows and steer you in the right direction if need be." Harry nodded understandingly. "Like I assume you already know, you are no Albus Dumbledore, you are…" Harry interrupted him before he could finish what he was going to say.
"Trust me, I know I'm not Albus." Harry sighed. "I did something that he would never do."
"Hm?" Gellert prodded, wanting Harry to continue.
Harry looked down at the table, before looking back up and meeting Gellert's gaze. "I killed Rookwood, used the Killing Curse on him."
"He would have used the Killing Curse when he was your age, as well, Harry." Gellert responded, knowing that what he said was true. "It was not until his later years, while he was working with Nicholas Flamel, that he changed his opinion to what you knew it to be. Don't let that tarnish your self-image, using that curse does not make you evil—it makes you human. What were you going to do, let Rookwood go to Azkaban? Voldemort would have broken him out within weeks. Killing these so called wizards and witches, these magical fiends that are destroying all that you hold dear is, in my mind, the only way that you should go about your struggle. Of course, I am not someone you should be debating the moral usage of magic with, however, so take my opinion for what its worth."
Harry laughed at that, feeling a little better, though not much. "I'm sorry I interrupted you, continue."
"Like I was saying, you are not Albus, that is correct, but you are somebody: you are Harry Potter. You are the future of good magic; you will mean something to this world one day that mirrors what Albus meant to this world." Grindelwald paused for a moment, took a sip of his tea, and then finished by saying, "Fate chose wisely with you, Harry, don't ever question that."
"I do question it." Harry admitted, the fact that he was talking to one of the darkest wizards of all time not escaping him. "There's something inside of me that partially wants to fight, wants to show my dominance."
"I don't know if anyone has told you this, but do you know that Albus was asked to be the British Minister of Magic three times?" Grindelwald questioned, having experienced the feelings of darkness that Harry was fighting in himself and also having witnessed them in Dumbledore, as well. "And all three times he denied the post."
"I've been told that, yes." Harry answered, nodding his head.
"Do you know why he denied it? He didn't trust himself with power, Harry. Albus Dumbledore felt the same way you did when he was this age. It's eerie, really, how similar you are to him, though there are differences, which I cannot deny."
"He was afraid to be in a position of power." Harry said, though Gellert knew it was more of a statement to himself than anything else. "That is why he said he wasn't suited for all three Hallows."
Gellert flicked his eyes over to Harry quickly at the mention of the Deathly Hallows. "He still had aspirations of finding them all?"
"Yes, he told me one time." Harry nodded, noticing the sudden change in demeanor from Grindelwald. He knew that it was the man's lifelong goal to collect all of the objects of power, relics that Harry had in his possession, though he dared not let it be known.
"Knowing him, they probably fell right into his lap." Gellert grunted, earning a laugh from Harry. "They did, didn't they? Figures." His eyes met Harry's, and he gave a small frown. "The pride that Voldemort has makes him capable of the biggest oversights. His confidence forces him to overlook the minor details. He misses the little things because he thinks of himself as grand, as someone who is impossible to be out thought. And that will be his downfall. Wait," He said, getting up and rushing out of the room and over to a bookshelf that was in his bedroom. He came out a few seconds later, holding a large tome in his hands. He handed the book over to Harry and took his seat again, watching as Harry studied the book.
Harry looked down at the book: it was old, dirtied, and cracking at the spine. The front cover read Arcanus Grimoire: Dueling the Dark Arts with the Dark Arts. The author's name was Pyramidas Furmat, a name that Harry couldn't help but recognized. "Pyramidas Furmat? Isn't he the curse breaker?"
"Pyramidas was much, much more than a simple curse breaker." Grindelwald corrected, almost affronted by Harry's ignorance. "Is a mountain a simple stone? Is the ocean a measly puddle? Pyramidas was a great wizard, and the only reason he isn't known as much as the others of his time, such as Merlin or Morgana is because he didn't want to be known."
"Dumbledore had a lot of his books in the trunk that he gave me." Harry noted, wondering if the man known as Pyramidas Furmat had any significance to the pair.
"I'm sure he would." Grindelwald nodded. "Pyramidas was a wizard that we both spoke about when we were teenagers; we became friends over his writings. He wouldn't have this one, however; I found it on my search for the Deathly Hallows in Greece before coming to stay with my great aunt."
Harry flipped through a few pages, before closing it, content to study it later. "Thank you."
"Use it, don't use it, either way it's yours now." Grindelwald shrugged, not really caring what Harry did with the book; he had already gotten his uses out of it, so giving it away was not that big of a deal.
Harry nodded, finished up his tea and remained silent for a moment, trying to figure out how he would phrase what he was about to say. "So, I think the question that must be asked is…are you good now?"
Gellert gave a wheezing laugh in response to that, shaking his head slightly. "Good, no, I can't say that I am. Am I over my evil phase? I would have to say so, yes, but the reason I do not consider myself good is because I would not change anything in my life. If I had to do it over again, I would continue on the same path that I took in the first place, which is unfortunate. I'm not here because I am outraged by what Voldemort is doing, I'm here because Albus did not get to accomplish what he wanted to with you and I will not let him fail: if he had nothing to do with this, then I wouldn't be here either, I would have simply crept back into the shadows of solitude."
"Understood." Harry nodded and rose to his feet, feeling that the meeting was over and that he had gotten all the information that he needed. "Do you know whose curse it was that killed Arianna?" Harry questioned, wondering about the answer to the question that had haunted Albus Dumbledore for most of his life.
Grindelwald looked away, not daring to meet Harry's gaze for fear of intrusion into his mind. "I will not answer that question."
"It was his, wasn't it?" Again, Gellert did not meet Harry's eye, unintentionally giving Harry the answer to the question. "You've become a good man, Gellert. I can tell you loved him dearly."
"I'm a good wizard, Harry, not a good man." Gellert replied as Harry opened the door and took a step out into the cold. "Always remember that there's a difference."
At sunrise the next morning, Harry walked through the halls of the Ministry of Magic, his crimson Hit Wizard robes billowing behind him. He gave a wave to a few of the Hit Wizards that were leaving the office, done for the night, before he entered himself, internally hoping that he wouldn't get any calls during the day. He had a lot of work to do with the potion he needed to make and would rather spend his time doing that than fighting off Voldemort's cronies. He grabbed a quill and a piece of parchment as he passed his cubicle and then headed into the lounge area that most of the Hit Wizards used while they waited to either be called out or until their shift ended. It housed a small icebox, a stove, tables and chairs, and a few couches that many Hit Wizards would sit and listen to the wireless on.
Harry was the first to arrive in the room and he quietly took a seat at a table in the corner, away from where he believed the others would sit. He bit the end of the quill in thought, trying to develop his own way of stripping the Horcruxes without destroying them. He knew he would use the potion as an outline, but since he could not get all of the necessary ingredients, he would have to find a clever way of getting around that simple fact; he knew he could do it, but also understood that it would take some time. The door swung open just then and Harry's attention was drawn to it, and he smiled as he saw two of his colleagues come into the room.
"Potter?" One of them said in an Irish brogue, his eyes a dull blue color. "You're here early. Thicknesse asked for you when I arrived, but I said I didn't think you were here yet."
"He did?" Harry asked, getting up from his seat and walking to the door. "I'll go talk to him, thanks for telling me."
"Aye." The man said as he grabbed the teakettle and began to make some tea.
Harry walked down the cubicle-lined hallway, heading towards Pius Thicknesse's office. As the Head of the Hit Wizards, he was Harry's direct supervisor and would often call his favorite people into his office for a casual meeting to make sure they were okay and handling things all right; Harry assumed that was what this was for. He gave a knock on Thicknesse's open wooden door, and after being waved it, he entered the room.
"Potter," Thicknesse said, his voice more gravely than usual. Harry cocked an eyebrow at him, noticing the glazed over look that his eyes had.
"Sir," Harry replied, giving a small smile. "I heard you wanted to see me."
"Yes, yes, take a seat." Thicknesse muttered, as he used his wand to close the door. "That Order of the Phoenix that Dumbledore used to run, you're in charge of it now, aren't you?"
"Excuse me, sir?" Harry asked, wondering why Thicknesse was asking such questions, especially so abruptly like that. They had no prior conversation about such matters, and before now, Harry had thought Thicknesse knew nothing about it.
"Yes, yes, Scrimgeour told me." Thicknesse replied, his voice telling Harry something was wrong, but what was it?
"And?" Harry cocked an eyebrow, trying to draw out what it was: he had narrowed it down to him either being enchanted by a potion or under the Imperious. "I don't know what Scrimgeour thinks, but I don't know anything about this Order of the Phoenix."
"You don't know anything?" Thicknesse growled his voice crackling.
"No, I don't. What did you want to know, anyway?" Harry asked, wondering what it was that the man was after.
Thicknesse looked at Harry pointedly, but for some reason, his emotions didn't seem to show in his eyes. "So you don't know who the Order has spying on the Dark Lord as we speak?"
"I doubt this Order can have anyone that powerful slip into Voldemort's grasp." Harry lied, not wanting to give anything away to the Death Eaters or Voldemort.
"Very well," Thicknesse nodded and went back to his work, quietly. "You may leave."
Harry nodded and got to his feet, leaving the room and closing the door with a soft click. He walked back down the hallway but he did not return to the lounge, instead he continued on out of the office and headed towards the Auror office. He knew that Gawain Robards, the Head of the Office, needed to know that Pius Thicknesse was under the Imperius Curse; plus, he always wanted to see how deep the spies for the Death Eaters were. He arrived just as Gawain was entering his personal office; a cup of tea was firmly in his hands as he set his things down on his oak desk. "Excuse me, sir, I'm sorry to come to you so early but I have a matter to discuss with you."
"Potter? Ah, it's good to see you." Gawain motioned for Harry to come in. He took a seat behind his desk, placing his teacup down onto the paper-covered wood. "What's on your mind? It's not everyday that I get a visit from you."
"We have a serious problem." Harry started, swishing his wand at Gawain's door and closing it, preventing anyone from overhearing them. "I believe that Pius Thicknesse has fallen under the Imperius."
Gawain's eyes went wide at the implications of what Harry had said. "Surely, you're mistaken."
"No," Harry shook his head. "He called me into his office just now and asked me all these strange questions that he would never, ever have asked if he wasn't cursed."
"We have a meeting with Rufus and Amelia later today." Gawain told Harry, writing something on a piece of parchment with a feather quill. "If what you tell me is true and I do believe it to be, they could be in serious danger. I want a few of your Hit Wizard comrades around Amelia's office today at two p.m., just in case. He might try to put us all under the curse, and if that were to happen, well, the Ministry would be in You-Know-Who's full control."
"I don't know if I can get them there without arousing Thicknesse's suspicion." Harry thought out loud.
"I'll talk to Pius at lunch, and tell him that I want extra precaution because we are bringing in someone who we think can defeat You-Know-Who. We'll restrain him there and see what we can find out from him. Hopefully, Pius did not fall under their control willingly." Gawain answered Harry's fears, knowing that if Pius did give himself over to the Death Eaters, both he and the Ministry would be in trouble.
"Pius was committed to the war against Voldemort," Gawain shivered at the name, but Harry paid no attention to it. "He would never give himself over without a fight."
"I believe that too, Harry, but these are dark times." Gawain replied, remembering how in the last war, no one knew who was friend or enemy. Then, changing the subject as a thought popped into his head, he said, "Can I ask you about your friend Cedric, apparently he wants to marry my daughter, Gaetana?" Harry smiled at that, having a feeling that Gawain would be deposing him about the moral fortitude of his best friend.
After lunch that day, Harry walked outside of the meeting room where the high officials of the Ministry, including the Minister herself, Amelia Bones, were locked in discussion about the future of the Ministry. Pius had just been subdued and was now being taken away by Harry and Kingsley to a safe place, presumably until the end of the war. Kingsley had been the one who had stunned him, having been called back from his mission of protecting the muggle Prime Minister in order to further protect Minister Bones. They turned down a hallway and walked down a flight of stairs, before appearing on a small wing of the bottom most floor, hidden away from the rest of the Ministry building.
This was where they housed criminals or other witches and wizards who had not stood trial and been sentenced just yet; most of them would be heading to Azkaban, while a very few of them would be released. "It's a shame that we have to put him here."
"Yeah," Kingsley replied in agreement. "But it's for the safety of the entire Ministry, I'm sure he'd understand if he was himself." The light above him flickered on and off, he quickly looked up and down the hall. "It's here."
"What is?" Harry questioned, confusedly.
Kingsley looked over to Harry, a smirk appearing on his dark face. "A single Dementor of the five loyal to the Ministry mans this wing." Kingsley said to Harry, information that surprised the younger wizard. "It's a secret, so don't go blabbing to anyone about it. It comes once an hour, taking enough of the prisoner's will to live to keep them from trying to escape."
"Is that really necessary?" Harry questioned, internally struggling with his feelings on the matter. On one hand, it kept the prisoners in check, something that the Dementors excelled at, regardless of their fiendish nature. On the other hand, he still didn't trust Dementors and didn't think it was right that the Ministry was subjugating potentially innocent people to their powers.
"Scrimgeour believes it is." Kingsley shrugged, though Harry could tell that he wasn't exactly for it either.
They placed Thicknesse in the cell farthest from the doorway; it was a small room, but it was filled with comfortable furniture and seemed more like a hotel room than a holding cell. Harry waved his wand over Thicknesse's body and the man awaked immediately. "Where am I?" He questioned with a confused look on his face.
"Look at me." Harry said, holding his wand in his right hand tightly. "Look at me." He said again, this time getting a response from Pius. The second their eyes met, their minds were connected and Harry had access to all Pius knew. He flipped through the memories, before coming to one that had three Death Eaters in it.
Yaxley, Barty Crouch, and Mulciber all stood over Pius, who was bound and gagged on the floor. "Do it, Mulciber, so we can move on to get that oaf quidditch player." Crouch muttered, looking down at Thicknesse with a hint of disgust. "You brought this on yourself, blood traitor."
"Right away," Mulciber grinned at his pray, and after taking his wand into his hands, he pointed it at the man and muttered, "Imperio." There was a small flash of blue light, and Thicknesse's eyes went dull, immediately being consumed by the Imperius Curse. "It is done."
"Very well," Crouch nodded, before turning to Yaxley, who stood not ten feet behind him. "Good job, Yaxley. You actually did something right for a change."
Harry pulled out of Thicknesse's mind, and looked over Shacklebolt. "He's innocent. Mulciber was the one who cursed him."
"That's good; at least his reputation won't be destroyed now." Kingsley muttered, gesturing for Harry to leave the cell with him.
Harry exited the chamber, and while his eyes roamed the hallway for any danger as Shacklebolt locked Thicknesse's cell with the proper charms, his mind drifted back to the book he was supposed to be reading and the ritual that he would perform to strip the Horcruxes of Voldemort's soul. It would happen in two days time, with or without being able to save the artifacts from being destroyed. It would happen in two days…
AN: There is significance in what Barty Crouch said in Thicknesse's memory. As for Grindelwald, more will be explained soon.
AN 2: I'm thinking about writing a sequel to this story with all of the surviving characters. Should I do that? Or should I write a whole other story? Should I tackle another tough pairing with Harry, maybe Bellatrix Lestrange? Though, I freely admit that if I did that, it would involve time travel, because I'm not having Harry and Bellatrix being thirty years different in age. Review and let me know what you think. I'm open to all ideas.