CHAPTER 3: BRINGING HOPE FROM THE EAST TO THE WEST
From the moment Dumbledore had walked into the pub, he could see very little in the smoky air. He preferred to have better vision, but he didn't dare do magic in a place brimming with Muggles and wizards alike. In fact, all he could see were the outlines of miserable people huddled under a gray fog. As Dumbledore moved deeper into the pub, he found that his vision improved. Golden hued glasses clinked as men and women silently slipped into a drowsy haze. Tom Sr. stood behind the bar, cleaning, fastidious as ever. Dumbledore couldn't spare Tom a few words, not tonight, when events were in motion.
Albus pressed through the crowd. He wished he had dressed more conspicuously, but there had been no time to change. There were others wearing cloaks, so it wasn't too odd, and as far as he knew the man he was to meet was not known to Grindelwald, yet. Spotting his new acquaintance in the far corner booth, Dumbledore found he was relieved and a little worried. Once he sat in that booth, he couldn't go back. The present and the future would be changed forever, and that idea frightened Albus. But there was one thing he was certain of. In the name of all that was good in the world, he was going to make sure that the change coming would bring down Grindelwald once and for all.
After zigzagging through the crowd, Dumbledore found himself sliding into the seat opposite his new dark haired companion. Fear and surprise stretched across the stranger's tired face, whose bloodshot eyes sagged from the deep purple shadows under them. The man scanned the area around the table. Dumbledore's eyes, on the other hand, never left the face of the nervous being across from him.
"I am a friend who comes from afar..." said the man, who waited, watching Dumbledore with suspicion and dread.
"Bringing hope from the east to the west!" Dumbledore answered.
The man relaxed, slumping in his seat as if a long and terrifying journey had finally come to an end. Albus was sure that the journey here had been frightening, but it wasn't over yet.
"You must be Albus Dumbledore," said the bearded man, a slight accent making its way through.
"Yes, and you must be Sergei Krum."
A nod of a head and a swift gulp of vodka was the reply that Dumbledore received. Sergei, like the rest of the patrons in the pub, seemed determined to wash down his worries with burning speed.
"I hear you have something important to give our side," stated Dumbledore, "something you very bravely managed to smuggle out of Russia."
Sergei nodded, pulling his coat closer to his body. He was twitchy, jumpy when anyone passed the table. Dumbledore remained stoically calm.
"Is there someplace private we may go? I don't feel the plans are safe here!" whispered Sergei.
"This place is as safe as any. I know the bartender, and am aware of all exit points. I am also not here alone, but if you feel there is a better place, then by all means lead me to it!" Dumbledore whispered in return, a slight twinkle returning to his eyes. He brushed a long strand of auburn hair out of his face.
"No!" exclaimed Sergei, a little louder than he had intended. He sneaked a look around him, but no one seemed to have heard him.
"No, if you say this place is safe I trust you. I have no other choice, but to trust you. I know of no vun…"
Sergei stopped, a deep bloom of blush reddened his face. He straightened up in his seat. It seemed to Dumbledore that he went through a lot of trouble to hide his Russian accent.
"I know of no one here except you," continued Sergei, more composed than before.
Dumbledore smiled as if he hadn't heard the slip up. Inside he wilted a little. No one should be anything other than what they were. Everyone should try to strive to be the best that they had in them, even if it wasn't much, but they should never be ashamed of who they were or where they came from. There seemed to be a lot of shame of that sort in the world these days.
"I must know" Dumbledore asked in a firm, but calm manner, "if anyone knows or suspects that the plans have made it to England."
Sergei fidgeted, then leaned in towards Dumbledore, his eyes for the first time steady and stern. His words spilled out of him like hot steam, a worried man dispensing of his anxieties.
"Before I say anything, I must know if I will have immunity and a place to stay. I can't go back home, not that I was ever accepted, but now I have a death sentence tailing me. I must also know that my wife and son can be smuggled out of Bulgaria where they are in hiding and have immunity as well."
Dumbledore brought his fingertips together in a pyramid shape, as he answered.
"You will of course be given immunity. The English Ministry of Magic is already working on a Visa to pass in the Muggle world. A home has been found and fitted up for you and your family once it is safe enough for them to be moved. I hope
everything is to your satisfaction."
Sergei did seem to be a little bit more relieved. In fact, Dumbledore could see the diminishing animal of fear that had been flitting constantly across the man's eyes. Sergei relaxed a bit in his chair, releasing the firm grip he had had on his cup.
"As far as I know they don't even know the plans are gone. My family, to which the plans had been entrusted for safe keeping by Grindelwald himself, would never expect me to be able to gain access to them being what I am," Sergei scowled. "I told my family that I was going on a business trip for a long duration. They seemed quite glad to be rid of me."
"Being what you are? What do you mean by that?" Dumbledore inquired.
Embarrassed, Sergei lowered his voice, and his shoulders drooped. "I was born to a pure-blood family, but no magic seems to run in my veins. I'm a…I'm…"
"…a Squib," answered Dumbledore.
Sergei nodded quickly, and glared at Dumbledore, daring him to laugh at him. Dumbledore on the other hand said nothing, and offered a warm smile. It seemed to take some of the frost off of Mr. Krum's feelings.
"I know plenty of good people who are Squibs, and I'll introduce you to them later, but right now, I must know have you been followed? Does anyone in your family know that you have the plans? It's crucial that our side have secrecy. So long as Grindelwald doesn't know where the plans are, we can figure out a way to destroy them or hide…"
"No!" whispered Sergei. Krum clenched the side of the table so hard, his knuckles turned white.
"No, what? No, you haven't been followed or…"
"You can't destroy them!"
"We have to! Many people, Muggles and wizards alike will die if Grindelwald gets a hold of these plans. It is a weapon the other side can NOT get their hands on," Dumbledore replied.
"My Uncle…one of my Uncles…helped me get the plans out of the house. He told me before he fled that…that the plans were protected by an ancient family spell. The plans can not be destroyed, and so long as a family member is in possession of them, they won't go off," Sergei said. He grabbed his cup, and gulped down the rest of his vodka. A nervous hand, trembling, wiped the remaining liquor from his matted beard.
"Are you telling me that the plans themselves are a weapon, and not just a blueprint for one?!" Dumbledore said, his fingers grasping the side of the table. This was definitely not what he expected.
"I'm telling you that if someone from my family is not holding or near the plans they will cause an explosion much like a Muggle bomb, taking out everything within 1000 feet of it!"
"Then it is imperative for me to know if you've been followed!" Dumbledore said sternly.
" I don't think I have been. I've been very careful. I thought for awhile, I had a tail on me, but I think I shook him off when I boarded a ship in the Mediterranean. My Uncle, after he found out what the plans really were, went to great lengths to strategize with me a way to smuggle them out of Russia. I had the right Muggle contacts, people my family wouldn't know about, and of course, a good excuse. Right now if my family notices the plans are gone, they'll think it was my Uncle who took them. He's in hiding somewhere in Bulgaria, along with my wife and child the last I heard. I've done my part. I smuggled them out of Russia, but now they're your problem. We can't physically destroy them because they're protected by the same family spell that binds them to me. I was hoping you would know of a way to break that spell, but until then, we're all in danger. You said something about hiding them?"
Dumbledore's face had turned to stone. He was glad to hear that Sergei took as much precaution as he had, but these were uncertain times, and it was hard to find someone you could trust. Sergei may believe that his Uncle got away, but if his Uncle was caught, and the Cruciatus Curse performed, it was only a matter of time before Grindelwald figured out where his plans went. And now Sergei's wife and child's life were at risk. Grindelwald wouldn't hesitate in killing them, if he knew they were in his way of gaining power through a horrific weapon. Sergei was right. The plans were now here, and England would become the front of a firestorm. The young Professor's hope lay on a man hidden in the East, a man he hoped was not caught and if he was, would not crack. Unfortunately, there were other ways that Grindelwald could find out. England was not as safe as it used to be.
"Dumbledore, you said you knew of some places where we could hide them?" inquired Sergei.
"I know of a few places that will work, though one place will be uncomfortable for you, and the other is quite far away."
"For me?"
Dumbledore's eyes pierced the man as he said, "Yes for you. The plans can never leave your side. I must hide you as well as them!"
"Well surely there must be…" Sergei stopped, his eyes staring at a fixed position behind Dumbledore. Dumbledore frowned, and was about to turn around, when Sergei's hand shot across the table, and grabbed the young Professor's arm.
"Have you been followed?" hissed Sergei through clamped teeth.
Turning his head slightly, Dumbledore could just make out the corner of his eye a black hooded figure standing or floating in a shadow near their table. Dumbledore's heart nearly stopped as a cold chill shuddered through him. He wondered how long the Dementor had been there, and what it had heard. He had a feeling that it had caught most of their conversation. Dumbledore knew that if they stayed, the Dementor wouldn't dare attack in a public place, but someone had sent it, and that someone could be sending backup. They had to leave the Leaky Bucket some time.
Dumbledore turned back to the terrified Sergei. With a steady ease he stood up and bowed. As his inclined his head toward the Russian, Dumbledore let his voice out in the softest susurration.
"After I leave, get up slowly and head to the bar. Ask for the bartender, Tom, and tell him that Professor Dumbledore would like him to personally show you where his back room is."
"Professor? What do you…"
Without answering Sergei, Dumbledore raised himself up, and said quite loudly, "I'm sorry. I can't help you!"
Sergei started as Dumbledore knew he would. Albus quickly turned from his pale faced companion, and swept out of the bar. He knew the Dementor wouldn't follow him, not when a bigger prey was in front of it, but Albus also knew that if Sergei could get to that "room" then his counterpart could get him out of the way of danger.
As Dumbledore passed the bar where Tom stood wiping an already clean glass, he gave Tom a hard stare. He was sure Tom knew something was going on, and would catch on. A few moments later, Dumbledore pushed his way through the entrance of the Leaky Bucket, and walked out into the black, drowning night. The moment the door shut, there was a loud crack, and the Professor disappeared.