Hyyyyy! I had so much fun (a writer blocks goddamit) while writing this chapter! I hope you will like it ( comment favs allthat mhm). I took me some time, because I want to make Grindelwald the more realistic possible. BTW, everything in this fic is historically accurate, including by month, and sometimes day. You can find the songs on you tube (that was the fun par of my recherches), and listen to it while reading if you wish!
Anyway, thanks to my beta, adler!
Warning: some weird situations like cringy but nothing more
Disclaimer: I do not own *show all aroud her with her wand* ... that.
Chapter 3: Numengard
Harry landed heavily on the ground. He had wrapped himself by instinct around the child and did everything he could to smooth his landing with his own body. It took him a few seconds to gather himself.
He was still holding Grindelwald's hand. He snatched his hand away, turning his head to pointedly avoid the man's smirk, cursing under his breath.
He looked up at a fortress. A large, dark, crushing stone wall cast its shadow across the plain. Disproportionate doors of raw wood were open and let in and out dozens of people who were busy like ants, swarming with people. Wizards cried to each other across the moor, their spells darting into the blue sky, with the response of light trails projected from the forest surrounding the fort. There were children of all ages, children running everywhere shouting, women and men busy in various tasks, looking diligent, their military attire impeccable. The old men leaning against the walls or near the carts, they look worried and amused. Two large black banners were falling from the battlements on either side of the doors, with the symbol of the relics, in a bold white, in the center. Patrols passed up and down the ramparts, wand in hand, synchronized stride hitting the ground with pride, giving rhythm to all the life that had developed around the fortress. In some places, tents were set up, with some strings on which clothes had been hanged, sometimes replaced with pieces of meat that were being dried to make rations.
The smells. Saffron fragrances, delicate and spicy, accompanied by the comforting warmth of the wood fire whose smoke stings the throat, cooked meat, the promise of a good meal, soap that the villagers used to wash themselves inside magically enlarged tents. The smells of sweat, effort, sap, human odors that rose with the joyous notes of the instruments of fortune that could be heard in the distance. And the smell of salt, the spray of the sea, carried by the wind to the heart of the island, probably into the heart of the fortress dug into the rich loam itself.
This chaos reminded him of the Quidditch world cup.
Harry had seen a lot of things in his life. A lot of things that would make people puke, or drop their jaws. He had broken out of Gringotts on a dragon's back, he had defied a Dark Lord many times, he had gathered the hollows, brought down the greatest army of inferus ever known, but this. This was glorious.
He rose his eye to watch Grindelwald. The man was standing proudly, arms crossed on his chest, facing his creation, a big wolfish smile illuminating his face far more effectively than the rays of the sun.
Now, Harry could see the power radiating from the man. The raw magic surrounding him.
"Welcome to Numengard." He said dramatically.
Harry would have been caught in the moment if the weight of the child in his arms hadn't brought him back to reality. Numengard would become one of the worst political prisons, Grindelwald would die in it, and the man was probably one of the worst snakes crawling on this earth. This was all a gigantic stage of Grindelwald's power - like Hogwarts had been for Voldemort at some point. It was made to provoke awe, with, to Harry's shame, a great efficacity.
Right now, it didn't matter. He would not wait until the man stopped to show off.
Harry had a child to save.
"We need a healer." He said with determination.
This statement made the future Dark lord frown in frustration. A little mark between his eyes for a second, and it was gone, replaced by an expression of worry and importance.
Harry didn't take time to really notice it and concentrated himself on taking the child in his arms. God, he was far too small and light. Harry could almost feel his bones under his shirt. He got back on his feet, ready to bolt to the first healer in sight.
Grindelwald waved to him to follow and parted through the crowd that stood before him like the Red Sea before Moses. Harry ignored the worried and curious looks of the different people they met and clenched his teeth at those who lowered their eyes and bowed. He kept all his attention on the child, checking if he was still breathing.
It was very odd for Harry to go through the big doors, and see Numengard like that. The only memory he had of the place was a jail, like Azkaban, and Voldemort had come in through the window ... He reflexively glanced up, but he could not see the piece that one day would become Grindelwald's last home.
As soon as they passed the doors, Grindelwald barked something in German and Harry was caught in a whirlwind of white coats. A man with neat hair and a pinched air took the child from Harry's arms and laid him on the floor for an emergency examination. He placed his hands experimentally on the child's forehead and belly, then murmured some spells. He looked up and whispered something to Grindelwald, who nodded gravely. The doctor signaled to the people that Harry mentally considered his assistants, for a lack of a better word.
They unfolded a makeshift stretcher and placed the child on it. Harry approached the child. He was pale, and the young man could clearly identify signs of malnutrition. The child looked angelic, with his brown hair slipping from his forehead to the pillow and his hands still small and chubby. He was probably going to die…
Harry put his own hand, skinny, callous, and scarified, on the boy's forehead. Slowly, letting his magic run through his veins, he approached. He felt the stone on his finger vibrate slightly, whispering that it would be so easy to bring back his loved ones, no matter the time, that it was enough to take it in his hand and activate it ... He ignored it, and whispered in the child's ear:
"Blessing, good heart, from beyond the veil."
The doctor sent him a quizzical look before driving him to what was to be the hospital of the fortress.
Harry felt Grindelwald's burning stare on his neck, but when he turned to look at him with all the defiance he could muster, but the man had the nerve not to comment any further.
"I guess you're not going to let me go, now?" He asked dejectedly.
"No indeed." The man said lightly, raising an eyebrow as if daring Harry to try to run away.
The young man sighed dejectedly. He knew what was at stake. He knew that if he left, the child would be hurt. Most probably, he would have to make a violent exit, and he really didn't want to hurt too many people. If the place was only full of death-Eater-like bloodthirsty mindless and faceless soldiers, maybe he would have. But there were children here, for Merlin's sake!
The man was infuriating, but his thinking was rational. Harry wouldn't have let himself leave either. He sighed dejectedly. "Can I at least have some tea?"
The Dark Lord was leading him through a maze of corridors, greeting with a stiff movement of his head some people they passed. The place was strict, the organization clearly military, but Harry could see camps, facilities of fortune everywhere. Really, the base looked almost like the Come-and-Go room during the Carrow rule on Hogwarts. Except that these facilities weren't intended to help some students rebel against authority.
At least he wasn't officially a prisoner. For now…
They ended up entering a room big enough. The place was luxurious, but not pompous, and decorated with a sober and practical taste. The walls were dark varnished wood, as was the office in the center of the room. The floor was of light wood, and with the high windows, it lighten the room and avoided the crushing feeling such place should have had. Behind the desk was a comfortable but imposing armchair, and every place that was not covered by a map on which lines had been drawn and marked, there were shelves full of old books and esoteric objects, which were horribly reminiscent of Dumbledore's office - though without the cheerful side. Books were stacked neatly on the desk, and an ashtray full of cigarette butts stalled one of them, which had remained open. Everything was ready to be useful and accessible as soon as possible, and especially to impose respect and give a precise idea to those who entered this office.
Grindelwald sat on the armchair, without taking his eyes off Harry. The young man might have thought he was relaxed, with his wand held limply and his gestures wide, but the way he gritted his teeth betrayed him.
Of course, there was no place to sit for Harry. He almost rolled his eyes at the man's antics and transfigured one of the books into a chair. It wasn't the most comfortable thing in the world, but he didn't intend to take his time.
Grindelwald looked at him up and down, taking a pack of cigarettes from his inside pocket and lit one. He breathed out a long silvery cloud of smoke, which writhed in spirals above his head, dimming the window light.
"You're quite a curious individual, Harry." He said, his thick accent adding some sort of mystery to it.
Harry cocked his head, not knowing how to answer to that. He wondered for a moment if he couldn't just pass Grindelwald and jump out of the window, but he had nowhere to apparate to except the forest, and he wasn't even sure if it was close enough.
"You're from England, right? So you studied at Hogwarts…"
Harry didn't know many things about the situation he was currently in. He certainly knew he didn't like where this conversation was going. Sure he wasn't going to scream that Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive (really, how temperamental he had been to throw a tantrum in front of Riddle of all people - must have been some side effect of the chamber), but he didn't know if he could stand to see his old mentor being insulted by… him.
"Are you going to ask me something, or are you just going to state the facts all day?"
There's a beat, and Grindelwald burst out laughing. "You do have some cheek, boy."
"I do but I'm not a boy. Or shall I call you old man?"
Grindelwald smiled at him softly, but there was something wild in his eyes. He put one of his locks back in place. "However…"
His smile fell "However if you disrespect me again, it will lead to some... unpleasant consequences." He said coolly.
Harry had a hard time not to rise from his seat and punch the man in the face, muggle style.
"Respect must be earned, or it has no value." He said a bit more harshly that he would have wanted, gritting his teeth to control the waves of his magic begging for him to use the wand.
But he knew better than to use the elder wand in front of Gellert Grindelwald. A close call, maybe, but still.
Grindelwald narrow his eyes, but kept smoking his cigaret calmly. He exhaled a new cloud of gray smoke that spread lazily in the air around him. However, his eyes were telling a different story.
He reminded Harry of the dragon, smoking to contain the jet of fire ready at any moment to carbonize his prey.
Well, he wouldn't be the first to try to burn Harry at the stake, so the young man wasn't worried. Uneasy, would be more of the word.
The silence was becoming more and more tense, and Harry was really starting to ponder the righteousness at ending Grindelwald's life there and now, if only to make things less cringy (and really aware that Grindelwald was very probably thinking along the sames lines), when a sudden knock at the door cut them both from their musing.
"Sir?" a timid voice called from the other side of the door.
"Come in, Nastya, Come in!"
A woman in her thirties entered in silence. She had quite short auburn hair, and large pale blue, almost pastel eyes, which gave her an eternal childish air. She was tall enough, and stood as well as any of the aristocrats Harry had encountered in his life, but her long pants were covered with dirt and mud, some of which had somehow managed to land on her cheek.
"'m sorry, Sir." She looked curiously at Harry.
"It's ok. This is Harry, he is going to stay with us for a while."
She looked at him up and down, mirth written all over her face.
"What is it, Nastya?"
She jolted out of her little trance. "Oh, yes, of course. The generals want to throw a little party to celebrate your return. Do you have any objection?"
"By all means let them have their fun. They would drink even if i forbid it, wouldn't they?"
"Well, maybe, but you wouldn't know, Sir, thus you wouldn't be bothered by it." She answered with a smirk.
"Wouldn't I, now?"
Her smile fell off her face immediately. "I'm sorry, that's not what…"
"I know perfectly what you meant, Anastasia." It was strange how a common name could sound like a threat, but once again, it was said by a (future?) Dark Lord.
"Of, course, Sir." She said, forcing a bow. It was so graceful and yet completely unnatural that Harry really felt bad for her.
Harry turned his gaze to Grindelwald, who totally ignored the girl and stared at him, her face hard. Damn he was doing this to make an example. Harry didn't know what he expected, really. The man was a Dark Lord, or would be, and had already killed more than his share of people. No matter if he had a bad temper, misplaced pride or overindulgent megalomania.
He thought that he was starting to see a pattern, here...
"I'm not angry with you, child." He said more softly. "Tell them they can have their fun, in the limits of what's reasonable, of course. Oh, and ask a room to be prepared for our new guest. Warded, of course. You can leave, now."
"Thank you, Sir." She whispered before rushing out like her life depended on it.
Grindelwald took a last toke on his cigarette before crushing it among its peers. "Well, Harry, I hope that you are as good at social meetings than you are at cooking tin cans."
Harry glared at him. Now, he was a prisoner.
Anastasia came back a few minutes later to bring him into his new rooms, conveniently very close to the prison area of the place.
She was a very energetic young woman, greeting all the people they met in different languages, hopping with the few children who were hanging out here and there. Harry decided he liked the young woman.
She brought him into a room that was a large room, about the size of Dudley's had been in their childhood. The room was empty and impersonal, but comfortable enough, with one small window, warded but without bars, and most importantly, it had a bed, a real one, with a mattress
and blankets, and even pillows.
"My God, there's a fucking bed!" He whispered with enthusiasm. Anastasia looked at him for a second a giggled, her hand on her mouth.
Harry threw himself on the piece of furniture, most likely sent by a deity who had taken pity on him and his aching back, and sighed with pleasure as he felt the soft mattress against him. "Yeah, that's a bed. This bed is my new friend. Hello, bed!"
He grinned as the woman seemed to cheer up a bit. "Well, I'll see you later, Mr…"
"Harry. Just Harry."
She nodded and with a flashing smile, got out of the room.
Harry, on the other hand, had other things to do. He got up and went around the room. The technology of the 1920s was much less advanced than that of his time; and the spells were likely to suffer the same distortion, which did not prevent someone as ingenious as, by chance, Grindelwald, to find a way to spy the room. Harry was sure that the only reason he was not in the cell and had no guard outside his door, was that the dark wizard had made sure to keep him quiet for a while.
Harry knew that Grindelwald was at least curious and suspicious about him, and more likely, trying to get him to join his cause with or against his will. Nobody lets a stranger, with his wand, walk in one's fortress, especially when the said fortress is full of civilians unable to defend themselves, contains your food and incidentally your own person.
Harry was surprised and relieved that the man hadn't tried to use legilimency on him. Not only his occlumency shields were mediocre at best, but he was pretty sure that he would have disturbed something inside. Having to control the hollows was hard enough, he really didn't need a weakened mind.
Ah! There it was. Tracking spell, not very elaborate, but efficient, hidden under the pillow to activate at night. Smart.
Harry continued to put his fingertips under the furniture, on the ledges, against the fringes and hem of the curtains but found nothing but a little dust. He doubted that spy microphones had already been invented, but one is never too cautious. Moreover, he did not know the magical evolutions of that time. He inspected more closely the shields that had been placed on his door. They were, like the other spell, powerful but unrefined. Their only purpose was the deterrence
and the alarm. Grindelwald, rather than actually preventing his ... guests from going out, seemed inclined to make them believe they could escape. Maybe he wanted their trust, maybe it was a trap, who knew.
Harry sighed. He would only have to remain discreet for a while. Learn the political climate, see what he could do, who was against whom and who wanted what. At least he had not fallen in the middle of a war, but in the preparation of one of them. He hoped that he would be able to escape without shedding blood, and even if possible in a peaceful manner, whatever with the state of the child he had brought, and the pressure that Grindelwald would not fail to exert on him, he really doubted it.
He sat on the bed and sighed. He had hoped to see Hogwarts. He missed the old castle, its gardens, its atmosphere, the thestrals flying around, the lake, and the Giant Squid. Hogwarts without Dumbledore had been a hell, Hogwarts without his students had made him want to stop everything. But now he could go back there. With a few complications, of course, but he could go back to the castle because the castle was still there. He could go back to his old mentor because his mentor was still there.
"We have protected him because it has been essential to teach him, raise him, to let him try his strength. Meanwhile, the connection between them grows ever stronger, a parasitic growth… Sometimes I have thought he suspects it himself."
A soft pang in his chest made him wince. He didn't know if it was joy or sadness, maybe a bit of the two. Maybe he didn't want to see the castle again because it would bring too many things back.
He wasn't sure if he could forgive Dumbledore now that he had the occasion. Now that the man was actually alive somewhere. Maybe he would be angry… He had never taken the time to be angry at Dumbledore.
He must have fallen asleep because when he opened his eyes again it was dark outside. Harry straightened, and as much as he wanted to avoid using his wand, his cast a Scourify on himself to avoid being noticed for miles around because of his smell. He did hope that suitable showers were around, but considering the general population he had seen, it might be complicated to access one.
Oh, Merlin Hogwarts had the Prefect's Baths…
Someone knocked on the door. "Come in!"
The young woman from early went in hopping, a bundle of clothes in her arms. She gave him a big smile and pushed back one of her locks that fell negligently in front of her eyes.
"Grindelwald asked me to find you some good clothing for the party. It's true that what you are wearing isn't quite fetching, dear." She posed the pile on the little table under the window. "We will have a lot of fun, tonight, I believe. Aren't you excited?" She asked, clasping her hands, and started dancing around quite gratefully. "Oh, there will be a great singer I heard! And all these officers will be in uniform - really it is something to behold."
Her smile widened. "I hope you'll enjoy the fête in Numengard!"
It was very strange how young she looked, and carefree, considering. She reminded him a bit a Luna, but she clearly had her head on her shoulders. Well, more than Luna, which wasn't quite complicated. He noticed that she still had a bit of dirt - or maybe grass? on her face still.
"I do hope so indeed." He replied, trying his best to be polite.
"Oh, you will!" She giggled a bit and jumped to the door. "Make yourself beautiful, dear!"
And she was gone, leaving a quite taken-aback Harry alone again.
He passed his hand in his hair in a nervous gesture and went to see what kind of clothes he was supposed to wear. It was a quite nice set of robes, totally impractical in case of fighting, not really luxurious, but beautiful.
Of course, Harry had no intention to wear what Grindelwald wanted him to wear. Civil disobedience, they called that. CONSTANT VIGILANCE, would have screamed Moody, preferably right next to his ears.
With a mischievous grin, he set himself to work.
Anastasia led him lightly to where the party was to be held. The music echoed against the stone walls, covered with paints, linens, curtains, boxes and a whole lot of other things that Harry could not identify.
The corridors were dark, in the inner face of the building. If Harry had spotted the place, Numengard was built in the shape of a hollow triangle, his room and Grindelwald's office being on the facade facing the sea, opposite the large doors, which they overlooked on the island.
Wait… A hollow triangle.
Harry rolled his eyes. Of course, it would be a hollow triangle because why not? The man would have given a new meaning to the word of obsession if he hadn't known Tom before. Maybe it was a Dark Lord thing, like a maniacal cackle and monologues without end.
He prayed that Grindelwald didn't cackle. He wasn't sure if he could put up with more cackling than he already heard in his life.
Anastasia stopped in front of two large, slightly carved wooden doors, raised with wrought iron that stretched in spirals and gave a glimpse of the interior. Harry could hear the music a little louder, smothered by the walls, as well as bursts of laughter and rattling glasses.
At least Grindelwald seemed to have a better taste for the festivities than Voldemort. Harry had almost expected a muggle massacre in a public place.
Anastasia turns to him, puts one or two locks of hair back in place and gives him a small embarrassed smile. "I do not look too much ...?"
"No." he answers without really having any idea of what she has just asked. And he just noticed that he couldn't really place her accent. She was still dressed in her casual working clothes and hadn't bothered to change them.
"Oh! Good." And with that, she turned her heels and pushed the doors very dramatically.
He was suddenly drowned in a flood of lights, sounds, and smells. As she stepped into the room, the heat enveloped her, bringing with her the smells of cigars, alcohols, coffee, cologne, perfume, sweat, and that discreet party scent that lasted too long and with too little restriction.
Rococo candlesticks bore small globes of light that spread golden rays across the room and sparkled jewels, medals, and crystal glasses. It was obvious that everyone had put on their best clothes, and that the guests had been sorted before entering.
The room wasn't big, and clearly not created for that, which led to an impression of clandestine that added to the thrill of the party in itself.
The generals, or the military, it did not really matter, all wore impeccably held outfits, with a big button-down jacket whose arms touched their calves, a belt at the waist, and tight trousers which, if they were well built looked handsome, but if they were not, they made them look like penguins stuck in a pipe. In sum, the guests 'outfits were a strange crossover of the traditional witches' dresses - with their obvious variations of what Harry was used to because of the weather but also the country, and the muggle clothes that gave him the impression of to have fallen into a gangster movie, and which, objectively, were very classy. The hats slightly to the side, falling on the eye in an elegant and mysterious way, especially, added to the style. Not that Harry is an expert, but the situation shouted the social event, the appearances, almost propaganda. All of them were talking in little groups, chatting over a drink, on a sofa, sometimes with someone on their laps laughing stupidly, a cigar in their hand.
It was all very, very strange for Harry. Too many people in a confined place, too much noise. He just wanted to take his cape and hide, but he knew it was impossible. Anastasia had already danced across the room somehow like she was born for this, and he had lost sight of her. It was all very awkward. Like being invited to a Malfoy party. Where the first task of the night would be to avoid the host at all cost.
Suddenly, a young man jumped on an improvised stage, and, using his wand as a microphone, shouted:
"And now the very famous singer, she comes to us from the United States to play her song: HELEN KANE!"
Harry stood in one of the corners of the room, where he could have the door and the windows in sight, his back against a wall, arms crossed on his chest to avoid letting them be free and do stupid stuff like grabbing a drink.
All the light went down, and a beautiful girl, about twenty, with short curly dark hair fixed close to her skull with a very elegant design, got on stage. She was wearing a velvety dress in adark-red toned and looked like the Betty Boop's cartoon came to life.
She took a ludacris pose, winked at one of the men in the public, releasing a wave of excited whistles, and then the music started.
There are certain things that keep me guessing,
Though I try real hard to find them out,
Well, I don't understand, so I'm confessing,
That I don't know just what it's all about.
See, I don't know the bad things from the good,
Because my mother never told me all she should.
Harry found himself grinning. The music was good, soft, happy and almost naive. The little dance the singer was performing added to the general warm and festive ambiance. However, his happiness got stuck in his throat when he caught the sight of a famous blond hair at the other side of the room. He tried to disappear into the wall behind him, hoping that his infamous luck would do the trick.
A man showed me a l'avaliere,
He says "It's yours if you kiss me, dear,"
Oh, tell me, was there anything wrong in that?
"Oh, there you are!"
Shit.
Grindelwald was coming towards him, a satisfied smile on his face, surrounded by two men, probably high-ranking in view of the general contempt with which he looked at others.
"Gentlemen, may I present you…"
"Harry. Harry Potter." Said Harry, offering his hand.
He really didn't want to say his name, but he knew that any lies would probably be detected immediately. He would just have to make sure that the Potters were safe when he would head back home.
And better that than any of his others names.
"Potter, right." Nodded Grindelwald, giving him an odd look.
The first man took his hand and shook it. Somehow, Harry felt a bit dirty. "Potter, uh? Like the pureblood family in England?"
"Only by distant marriage, Mr..?"
"Karkaroff. Konstatin Karkaroff, Sir."
Harry bit back a snort. He could see the resemblance now indeed. Maybe the eyes warily looking around, or the sneer so out-of-place.
"Well, hello Mr. Karkaroff. Does everybody speak English around here? I'm quite astonished to be able to hold a conversation, if I may be honest."
The man nodded gravely. "In fact, only the… what's the word? Ha! the upper-classes will be able to speak English. Most of the people here came from Russia. After the revolution, the Statute of Secrecy was… shattered up there. Anyway, most of the wizards are from the aristocracy. They do not mingle well with communists. These people speak English, French, and Latin at the very least, as it is required for someone so dignified."
Oh yes, he really saw the Karkaroff he knew in that one. Same puch-me-please face. Like a Malfoy, but without the class. Merlin...
"We indeed had to manage a high number of refugees here, hence the… disorganization of the place. After the Russians came the Polish, and other eastern countries." Explained Grindelwald politely. "Of course, we offered shelter, we couldn't leave our kind in the hands of these… muggles. The place is turning into quite some Babel Tower, don't you agree Nicholov?"
Said man, who had stood silently until then, only nodded his face blank. "Don't mind him, Harry. The poor man just returned from Siberia, it will I believe take him quite some time before being social once again." Mocked the Dark Lord, raising an eyebrow.
"As it would be for any of us, under such harsh conditions. I'm not sure I could quite put up with all that luxury knowing exactly what it was like out there." Spat Harry. " It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Nicholov." he ended more softly, shaking hands with the man.
He pointedly avoided looking at Grindelwald, whose lips were so tightly crushed together that they almost disappeared
Oh, tell me, was there anything wrong in that? Continued the young woman.
"You, on the other hand, made quite the effort, didn't you?"
And it was partly true. Not only did he refused to wear anything Grindelwald would give him, but he refused to wear anything he couldn't fight in. The result was that he had transfigured the clothes into his usual fighting uniform, which was indeed quite… impressive. The stand collar (to avoid having one throat slit open) gave his neck quite a stature, and the double breasted tunic, with a left over right closure ( the better protection against the cold, weak spells, bullets, and that could hide his metal plate as an armor) was strictly and elegantly martial, and the tight sleeves that went in a triangle over the back of his hand ( to hide a knife or a second wand, avoid deep cuts around the artery and kept the ring secure by being attached to it ) but that were quite loose above the elbow (for a better movement), gave his frame an impression of power, a perfect mix between a muggles and traditional wizarding clothes. His cape was hidden as a bundle in his hood, unseen to anyone.
Well, not that Harry had any idea of that. He liked the practicality of it, never being one to worry about his looks.
"I, however, find the first outfit I found you in much more… appreciable." Continued the man with a smirk.
Harry just looked at him, not having the slightest idea of where this was going to. "... is that so?" He answered, trying very hard not to make a fool of himself. He wasn't succeeding, considering that Karkaroff was bright red and Nicholov was five shades paler. He really wished he had someone with a bit of common sense to explain what was all that about because it was damn odd.
Grindelwald seemed to notice his obliviousness, because his eyes narrowed with disbelief, which turned his -admittedly charismatic- face into something quite… comical. He was about to answer when a young girl ran to him and start speaking very fast in a language Harry didn't understand.
Grindelwald made a simple dismissal gesture to the kid and turned towards his guests, hands behind his back. "My apologies, my dears, but I must abandon you to the party. It happens that my dear friend Mr. Graves just arrived from America, and I'm sure he will be overjoyed to see me." He said.
There was a little glint in his eyes that said that the poor Mr. Graves wouldn't be overjoyed at all.
Oh, tell me, was there anything wrong in that?
All the audience clapped.