Hy! My beta and I are finally back from holidays! Thus, this chapter is a bit longer, to compensate the delay. I hope all of you passed good holidays, full of fluff, cuteness and warm drinks (because that's what's important).
So, this new chapter. A bit more tension, a bit more... things. I've already written the next one, but as I'm working on a one-shot (about Regulus, it's going to be sooo long it's like I can't stop writing gosh), it may not be posted that early.
A little warning: obsessive behavior, torture (no real gore... I think?) and a lot of drama. I'm not a sensitive mind, so I'm not sure of what might shock? I don't think anything is that bad in this chapter, but better safe than sorry I guess.
Thank you to all the likes, follows and reviews! I may not always answer (mostly because I'm a lazy piece of whatever you'd like), but I read them all!
Thanks to my beta, Adlertypewriter!
You can follow me on Tumblr at LadtBraken and on Deviantart ( where there is a lot of illustrations for my fics, I take comissions and ideasof course!) at LadyZombedraws.
Good reading!
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. Duh.
Chapter 5: Sons
He had finally found a map of the place. And, just as he had guessed, it was a maze. Made to hold a state of siege for a month, and to trick enemies once inside.
Or maybe, made to avoid people from going out.
Either way, it didn't bode well with Harry's soon-to-be plans.
He couldn't wander too long down there, and it was already one in the morning. But there was no way he would just let the child vanish without moving a finger. He had to ponder his options. If he found the child, what could he do? To escape right now was out of the question, there wasn't enough room for three under the cape, considering if Mr.. Graves was the only prisoner here, which was really unlikely. And even if Harry himself stayed behind to save time, Graves and the child were probably hurt; they wouldn't avoid or defeat all the guards alone. Especially as Graves didn't have a wand.
That was something else he would need to find.
His to-do list was starting to grow a bit too much for his tastes. He had to refrain from blowing the place up and made a spectacular way out, but once again to kill a hundred to save three wasn't worth it.
If only he had found a snake somewhere to spy for him, but no, the place was as clean as Petunia's kitchen. Maniacs, the lot of them. He sighed. Merlin, he hoped Nikolov would hold his tongue about that. He didn't want to imagine how people would react to his… gift around here, and even less when he'll join England.
Even with a map, he couldn't find the child. Hours passed, and a heavy ball grew in the pit of his stomach. He had to go back to his room and get some sleep. Maybe tomorrow, in the daylight, he would be able to disappear with enough time to find the kid.
He hit a wall with his fist. he should have acted before. He should have run as soon as he knew the child was stabilized. Why hadn't he? Once again, trying to save everyone, he had caused death.
But, maybe not, not yet. He couldn't be sure yet.
Defeated, Harry went back to his bed. He hugged himself tightly and cast a spell to fend off an imaginary chill. Slowly, but surely, he fell asleep.
Gellert was standing in the room. He shouldn't be here, but it never stopped him before. He couldn't quite help himself. Or more like: he could stop himself, but he didn't really want to.
A few steps away, so close and yet so far away, was the strange boy. Barely twenty, from what Gellert could gather in the day, with defined muscles, gathered in effort and fight. Gathered in war. In the day, the boy was the most mysterious thing in the old citadel. Not once had he mentioned his past life clearly, but the signs were there when you knew where to look. The way he walked, the way he looked at people. The rise in his eyes, saying " I learned on the field". Secret, almost despite himself, a puzzle to solve. But in the night, oh! in the night…
Gellert shouldn't be here.
But there he laid, the powerful boy. The rays of the moon colored his face in pristine white, making it stand out ever so strongly under his black locks scattered around his face. Innocent. It was the first thing that came to mind.
Yet, Harry was still guarded, even in sleep. He slept with his armor, with his weapons, like they were a part of his skin, a part of him. His right hand under his pillow, where his wand surely was. Gellert wondered what his wand looked like; he had never seen it… quite unusual, as most wizards exclusively relied on their wands.
Gellert knew that if he made one more step, the boy would shoot to kill before without even having to open his eyes. The idea made him shiver.
Gellert was standing in the corner of the room. Blood was dripping from his hands - not his, of course. He simply had forgotten to go wash himself after the evening's activities when he had felt the wards around the room break.
Where did the boy go?
And that boy, that mysterious, deadly boy was wearing his mark. It made him proud, somehow. He could see it, on his left hand that laid on his stomach, the ring. The black stone, and his symbol, his mark, him.
It was fascinating.
To have control without even asking for it. To be standing, tall and awake, in front of someone so helpless. He could feel the magic, the power dripping from him. The beating of the heart, echoing the radiant, blossoming life.
A weapon. A brand new and mysterious weapon. A naïve, powerful, blazing weapon.
It was like staring at the shining blade reflecting the moonlight.
The boy would go where Gellert wanted him to. He had done what was needed for that. To test him. Pushed the notorious homophobic Nikolov to talk to him, to discover if the boy had any relationship out of here. To throw the pretty Anastasia in his arms to know if he had any wish to go. To make him meet Karkarov to know if he would betray. The woman would do the trick. Always best to mix truth with lies, isn't it?
He had put him in the middle of a mundane society to see what he had in him. And the boy had answered prettily. He was almost holding his heart on a sleeve, so much honesty, it made the Dark Lord think about the old times.
Oh, the boy was having a nightmare. Thrashing in his sheets, whispering, muttering in despair. Delicious. Who was Hermione? A lover, a sister maybe? Something terrible was happening to her in the boy's mind. Gellert wanted to see.
But he had nothing. No pressure on the boy, except that damn kid. No flaws passed through his armor, except the ones he choose to wear proudly at the face of the world. Sometimes, Gellert caught Harry looking at him, cold and determined, like he was going to tear him to shreds. He liked those looks. It was side glances, details, but Gellert was good at reading people.
He thought himself quite poetic that night.
Gellert had plans for that boy. Probably the most useful of the lot - and that was saying something. He had dream of his. He had dream of the thunder and the lightning bolt. Of the power and the anger, or the dark drooling force coming from the sky. When he had woke up, his wand - the Elder Wand that he had stolen from Gregorovich so many years before - was gone. He had thought he was going to die. He had thought that the gods were warning him of the coming of his greatest fear, and stropped him of the only way to fight back.
But no, that couldn't be. For fate favored the Dark Lord. That was certain.
Yes, it was.
And if the boy tried to betray him, well. Pretty things were still pretty once broken.
Harry woke with a start. He knew someone had entered his room. He didn't know who or why, but he knew. Something dark, and threatening. An ill intent.
He should have woken up.
Whomever, it was the traces of the bitter presence sent a creepy shiver down his back. It was an eerie feeling, that didn't quite go away, but quickly overthrown by the day's preoccupations.
He was doing his morning routine - a cleaning spell for he refused to try the common bathroom, a minute the bread his hair and an extensive check of all his weapons and personals objects, when Anastasia simply stormed into the room, tousled and panic clearly written on her face. Harry only had the time to hide his wand under his pillow to avoid trouble.
"You have to help me!" She cried. She put her hands on her knees, panting.
Harry took his glasses that were resting on the bed table and looked at her with concern. "What's happening?"
She didn't look hurt, he had heard no commotion in the hallway, no scream outside… he mentally made a list of anything that could go wrong in Nurmengard before dropping the idea considering the headache that was threatening the edge of his mind.
"Nanny's here!"
Harry let the information sink in for a moment before bursting out laughing. "And who's Nanny?"
"Grindelwald's mom."
Oh.
"Oh."
"You have no idea, dear, no idea."
No, he hadn't, but he could imagine. In his mind "Nanny" was a strange mix between Bellatrix and Petunia, which made, he could confess it, not a very bright image. Terrifying, quite frankly. What kind of woman could have raised...him?
"And how can I help you?"
"Hide me. I know Grindelwald must probably have disappeared the second she put a foot in here, but if she's not on his back, she will find someone to torture, and I'd like it not to be me."
"Well, I'd like to help, but I don't know the place as much as you do, so I can't see how…"
"No, but at least she won't try to convince you to marry her son!" The young woman pouted, arranging her clothes. "Please, just distract her in time for me to escape somewhere. Pretend we're together or something!"
Ah… that was another matter altogether. Harry willed himself not to blush at the number of questions that popped into his mind. What did people do when they were… with someone?
He smiled awkwardly "Well I don't know if…"
"Oh thank you, dear! I don't think she'll notice the age difference. She's just here for a few hours anyway..." She said with a bright smile.
Had she even listened to him? With a sigh, he dismissed the matter altogether. I didn't really matter, and it might allow him to escape vigilance and find the kid.
"It's alright, it's alright." Suddenly, a pang reminded him of something. "Have you seen Nikolov this morning?"
"I don't think so. But he's not a morning person, you know. Might as well wait midday to see him pointing his big nose out of the hospital wing."
Not a morning person my ass.
"Ow… ok then." He said tightly.
She looked at him sharply before heading out of the room, letting him have time to change and wash.
It was going to be a long day.
They almost slithered into the hall to get some breakfast - not much considering the rationnement, before going to hide in the hospital wing. Harry watched all he could, from the looks people were sending him to the occurrence of Grindelwald's propaganda in their daily routine. He looked to see if any child had traces of mistreatment, operations, or too much accidental magic to be healthy, but in the shorts minutes it took them the go down the hospital wing, he didn't notice something amiss. It was utterly frustrating.
At least, with Voldemort, if you wanted to find a prisoner, you just had to follow the screams, he thought darkly. But this particular bastard was… tricky.
Apparently, they weren't the only ones to have found shelter in the Hospital wing, as Grindelwald himself was here, seemingly talking to the wounded and the ill in the great leader persona he had, but very obviously hiding from his mom.
Harry turned around to check the room.
And he was there. The child. He was in the bed, hair spread around his face, like nobody had moved him at all.
He was there.
What the actual fuck.
Harry's jaw dropped. He turned towards Grindelwald.
"A few sparkles of genius, and a chance of doom!" He laughed when one of them asked him how he had managed to become so powerful.
Harry almost added 'murder' and 'betrayal' to that joyful list, but he bit his tongue. "Didn't your dear mom have something to do with that?" he asked instead.
Grindelwald hushed him with a gesture of his hand and, after shaking hands with a bewildered convalescent, motioned Harry and Anastasia into Nikolov's office. Harry tensed at the idea of what he might see in there - Nikolov had been if not nice, at least benevolent towards him, and Harry didn't want him to get into trouble, knowing what trouble meant.
But - thanks, Merlin- the room was empty. Now that he thought about it, Harry was fairly sure that he had seen a pair of boots that strangely looked like the doc's in one of the beds.
His half smile fell when Grindelwald's wand pointed at his throat. Harry didn't even flinch. He looked expectantly at the other man. The Dark Lord was looking at him like he could see through his skull and was intensely interested by the wall behind it. Not only was it unsettling, but the fear that Grindelwald would use legilimency on him crept in his mind. What would he see anyway?
They glared at each other for what seemed like an eternity, none of them wanting to submit by lowering their eyes. Grindelwald was far too close for Harry's comfort, but he forced himself to stand still. He would not back off because of any Dark Lord. Merlin, he hadn't in front of a dragon, and as far as he knew, Grindelwald didn't breathe fire.
He didn't, did he?
"ever try to humiliate me in front of my men again!" He hissed. His grey eyes had the wild glint Harry had seen sometimes when he forgot himself, and his hand was firm and steady on his wand.
"Or what?" Whispered Harry calmly.
The Elder wand was almost singing against his wrist. Harry knew that if it came to that, he had the advantage, and simply stayed put.
"I might advise you, Mr.. Potter, to talk to me with due respect." Grindelwald's voice had lowered so much Harry was sure he was the only one that could hear it. Not that it mattered as the only other person in here was Anastasia, hands clasped on her mouth, still as a statue and clearly not going to do anything about the situation. She reminded Harry a bit of Draco Malfoy: Never quite wishing to be there, never quite doing anything to get out. On the whole, not quite doing anything at all.
His face was plastered with a very unpleasant smile.
"Respect must be earned."
Harry was saved from the probably nasty curse Grindelwald was about to send to him by a little cough behind them. They both turned towards the sound with a start.
There, in front of the door, was a tiny old lady. A frightening tiny old lady. The kind of tiny old lady that trained her cats to murder and walked around with a metal plate in her handbag to knock out 'disgusting young people'.
And that would be Grindelwald's mother.
She was about a hundred years old, maybe more, maybe less, maybe she was fucking immortal or the crossbreeding between a human and an old parchment , Harry wasn't sure. She had long white hair and vivid steel eyes. Her hand were folded in front of her in the stance of someone used to having a cane, and she wore more jewels than Harry had seen in his lifetime. Her face strangely looked like her son's, even the strong jaw, giving the impression that she was always gritting her teeth, which might actually be the truth.
"Don't worry, my son, I'll soon go and let you to your little… games. " Many things passed in his mind, that could be summed up by ' god fucking no, not again!' and he hadn't even noticed that Grindelwald had let go of his grip on his shirt. "In the meantime, I'm hoping for tea. And bring Anastasia along, I do not wish to be alone with you. " She said with a disapproving look towards Harry, then Grindelwald, then probably the whole world as the glint seemed to never quit her eye.
Grindelwald threw a punch in the nearest wall. The sick crack indicated that he had broken one or two of his fingers in the process. Anastasia drew her wand out and immediately cast a spell to heal the bleeding and, and another one to erase any trace of the blood. Grindelwald didn't even seem to notice her. She kept her eyes down as if doing something forbidden.
Harry sighed.
"You're coming with us." declared Anastasia.
That was why ten minutes later Harry found himself in front of a pot of tea spiked with the strongest calming Draught he had ever seen with Grindelwald, Anastasia, and Nanny. How he found himself in these situations he would never know.
He was pretty sure that if he rose his hand he could touch the tension. Everything in his mind was screaming that he had absolutely nothing to do here, especially with Nanny. But Anastasia's pleading look made him stay reluctantly.
He was in Numengard for a week and he was sipping tea with Grindelwald's mom. Why was he still surprised by life he would never know.
Everyone was sending nasty looks at everyone else, and the conversation was nonexistent. Grindelwald was now aggressively turning his spoon against the bottom of his tea cup, a small twitch under his eye.
Nanny turned towards Harry. "You only speak English, don't you?"
"Yes, Ma'am." He answered politely.
"Call me Nanny, Child." She answered coldly. Harry didn't know how to add up the cute 'Nanny' nickname to that woman, but he nodded. He noticed Grindelwald's lips thinning significantly.
"So, Gellert, when will you stop fooling around and give me a grandson?"
Straight to the point then.
Grindelwald eye twitched in annoyance.
"I don't see how it is of your concern, or of the one of anyone in this room." He said, his voice cold as steel.
"How but it is, son. It is the duty of any pureblood to produce an heir and perpetuate one's name. And I think Miss Romanov here would be a good wife for you." She said as if Anastasia wasn't here.
Wait.
Romanov?
Anastasia was actually the Anastasia? And a witch?
The young woman had actually turned quite pale, and Harry shot her a look of sympathy. Now he knew why she was staying here. That also explained the secret and a lot of her reactions.
"She's quite pretty," continued the old woman with a dismissive move of the hand, "she has a name and hips large enough for pregnancy. Granted she's not very powerful, but it would have to do."
Harry actually choked on his tea. That was very savage.
"Once again, mother, I don't see how the imposition of your person in my personal space would change that."
"Well, maybe if you had completed your education instead of going your wicked way you would have become man enough to produce a fitting heir, not some sort of useless muggle. It's quite a luck that you finally resolved yourself to -"
That comment was apparently the breaking point for Grindelwald. He threw himself at the old woman without a warning.
Harry's muscle worked before his brain and he caught Grindelwald before his fist touched the old woman's face. He bent all of his strength to stop the man, and without the binding spell Anastasia threw onto him, Harry was pretty sure he wouldn't have been able to stop him.
Nanny shrieked and jumped back. With a huff and a glare, she cast a spell to clean her spilling tea and left the room. But Harry didn't notice her. His attention was solely focused on the Dark Lord thrashing in his arms. He was pretty sure that he would have bruises later on, but at least in his fury, the man hadn't thought to draw his wand.
It had taken Grindelwald about ten seconds to break Anastasia's curse.
Luckily, Harry knew how to fight with his bare hands - unlike Grindelwald. Sure, the man had strength, but he clearly wasn't used to fighting the muggle-way. Harry had years of practice in this domain. Grindelwald was cursing in German, allowing Harry to grow his short but imaginative vocabulary of insults.
But what was worrying Harry was his expression. Harry wasn't the sharpest man around, but he could add two and two. It wasn't uncommon in the pure-blood culture, even before Voldemort.
To kill the squib son.
Harry made a sigh in his head, asking Anastasia to leave. He didn't want her in the crossfire if it came to that. She seemed a bit reluctant, but after the window blew open under a hit of raw magic, she ran out of the room too.
Harry's arms started to ache, but after a few moments, Grindelwald's breathing evened and he seemed to collect himself. He passed a shaky hand through his hair.
Suddenly, Harry found himself trapped between the floor and an angry Dark Lord. The shock cut his breath and he let out a gasp. Grindelwald's wand was under his chin before he even had the time to think about drawing out his. He tried to struggle, but there was no way now. Grindelwald's eyes kept fixed on him.
"Never forget who is above you." The man whispered. Harry considered everything. He wasn't in danger. If Grindelwald had wanted to kill him, he would have done so already. He felt his finger caress the stone. If he had wanted to cause pain, he would have too. He just had to push it a little bit on the left. But Harry had seen him weak. It would be so easy to kill Grindelwald right now. He could always call for help.
A cold drooling sensation spread along his spine.
Children's laughter passed behind the closed door.
But the man was in pain. It just wasn't in Harry to do that.
So Harry simply smiled. This seemed to take the other man by surprise. Grindelwald stood up, and stuffed his wand into his sleeve. "Get out." He croaked.
Harry waited for his heart to even a bit and did so. He would get out of the country right now if he could. Actually, it might not be such a bad idea.
Instinctively, his hand grabbed the Elder Wand.
Harry was back in his room, sitting at the window. Discreetly, he had used his wand to vanish any trace of their earlier… struggle. He was looking outside, his bright green eyes following the walk of the guards like an owl would watch over her pray. He was counting.
Grindelwald had said goodbye to Nanny with a rude gesture through the window. Now, everything was… quieter.
Three minutes between the first and the second guard, Five between the second and the third. A fourth arrived hazardly, breaking the pattern.
It must have been intentional.
It was a grey afternoon. Only two days and three night left until Samhan. The floor outside was damp and wizards were using charms to avoid having mud on their robes and boots. The camps seemed to grow bigger everyday, and Harry wondered if one day they would touch the edge of the golden forest that was spreading a few miles away. If one they, they would take down the forest- there wasn't any in his memory- and hit the end of the island. He wondered when the war would break out. And what will he do? Will he fight again? He was born and raised for that, but… Maybe, it could be avoided?
Harry felt at lost. He shouldn't let his thoughts wander like that.
Guard number one again. Distracted by a pretty woman, overstepped by guard number two. They argued, and number one was sent to the post, inside the citadel. Number four took his place. Quite coordinated.
Guard number one came back, but he was caught up by Karkarov. It was… interesting. How many people did the man have in his little rebellion? How was it that he wasn't more discreet? Anyone could see him from the front wall if looking carefully enough, and Harry had already spotted four child-spies around the scene.
Really, something didn't add up. It was almost as if…
Almost as if Grindelwald was letting him plot on purpose. Oh dear.
When the bell rang, he went to dinner. He sat in a corner, noting that everyone was looking at him not so discreetly. He decided that he had enough after only a few minutes and went back into his rooms, napping and waiting for the night to come.
Harry's heart was pounding in his chest. The corridors were becoming colder and colder, but he kept going. At some point, he stopped crossing people, but it didn't bring any sense of safety. He kept the cloak firmly around his shoulders.
The silence was oppressing.
Harry would prick up his ear, waiting to hear a footstep, a voice, and therefore imagining it. Was it the echo of a sound or just the effect of his imagination? He didn't always know, but it didn't matter for he had to keep going.
I'm sorry Harry…
He shook his head to erase the bad memories. He had to focus on the task at hand. He vaguely wondered if the fortress could keep going deeper. The walls were now covered in naked grey stones as if the time's modernity hadn't come so far. Actually, he was pretty sure that Grindelwald had done it on purpose, to say to the intruders that they shouldn't have come so far. Not that it deterred Harry, whose specialty was specifically to trespass those sort of rules.
He had hoped to find some animal down there, but the place was completely sterile. It reminded him painfully of the horrible thing under Dumbledore's bench.
Steps echoed, coming in his direction. Harry threw himself against a wall and waited. Patience had never been his forte, and each and every step the guard - he could now see him- made was more stressful than the other. The woman opened the door that was the closest to Harry, and the young man held his breath and stilled.
She entered and closed the door behind her, but Harry didn't hear any lock.
Ah, a door. Soundproof, by the look of it. Somehow, Harry knew he had reached his destination. The question was: will he push the door himself or should he wait for someone to do it and sneak through, even if the possibility of someone else coming in this corridor was very unlikely?
The tick-tock of his internal clock told him that he didn't have the time to wait. The more time he passed in the creepy corridor, the more chances he had to be discovered up there. Considering the instability of the whole… citadelle, he didn't want to be used as a scapegoat. His plan was: find the child, find Mr.. Graves, find a way out.
He put his hand on the cold metal, taking care to be far lower than the place he would naturally put it - and thus avoiding an eventual local curse, and pushed. With a soft sound, the mead door opened, revealing what looked like a hub of padded rooms, where dangerous and insane people were locked up away from the public eyes. Most of the doors were closed, and if he listened enough, he could hear soft sounds inside. Chairs were put between each door, indicating the guards weren't far away.
He was in the prison. Now, he could perfectly imagine what the entire place would become one day.
Certainly, Grindelwald didn't have the medieval-like lifestyle Voldemort had. He seemed to bet on technology and science for his decoration - and somehow it was even scarier. Well, not for the general public, but here, under the ground, in this white place with a strong smell of detergent, it made a shiver run down Harry's back.
Slowly, he looked through the round glasse that was on every room's door. To his relief, most of them were empty. They had the prisoner's names written on a small white paper, and Harry made sure to remember each and everyone of them.
The state of the people in the one that wasn't empty bothered him to his very core. If he had any sympathy towards Grindelwald before, which he sincerely doubted, it was now gone and buried. He knew perfectly at that point that he wouldn't be able to save most of them -they were simply too far gone. Not that it would deter him to try.
He stopped in his tracks when -once again - a voice echoed through the place. Grindelwald was walking among the cells, softly talking in… Polish? with the woman, Harry had seen earlier. He had his hand on her forearm, but there was nothing friendly in the gesture. His face was grave - more so than Harry had ever seen since his arrival. Harry wondered if he knew what his generals were preparing. He took a key in his pocket and opened one of the doors. The woman simply continued to walk, passed the place Harry was hiding in and got out of the area.
"What the hell did I do to you?" pleaded a scratching voice inside.
The door was ajar. This time Harry slowly entered the room. Grindelwald was casually sitting on a chair, looking intently at a man laying pitifully on the floor. The man's hair was black, with two large white locks on each of the sides of his head. He was quite handsome in some sort of authoritarian way. Or would be, if he wasn't covered in dirt and blood. His only article of clothing was an old piece of fabric that probably used to be a pair of pants. His hair was in less order that Harry's which was saying something, and his beard was betraying the time he had passed in captivity. His brows were furrowed in pain, and his eyes were closed, but he kept his back straight against the wall in a last-ditch attempt of dignity.
That would be Mr.. Graves.
"It's not to me that you have done something, dear." Both the prisoner and the time-traveler winced at the pet name. "But you offended a friend of mine. A muggle, mind you, but someone like you should know that business is business. Maybe you shouldn't have been such an efficient auror. Maybe you should have accepted one or to bribes… but no. Ah, an incorruptible." He laughs softly. "Capone sends his regards."
At that statement, the man's eyes shot open and he made an attempt to throw himself at the Dark Lord. "You fucki-"
"Crucio."
The curse was spoken like Grindelwald had announced the presence of a teapot in the room, but it was nonetheless powerful. actually, probably one of the more powerful Harry had ever seen. A piercing cry shot from Mr. Grave's mouth as he started shaking on the floor.
There was a sick wildness in Grindelwald's eyes as he observed his victim and cut the spell.
Slowly, Harry crawled toward the man. He didn't know how many times he was put under the cruciatus, but he was pretty sure that if he could avoid more torture, it would do much much good.
"I wonder why you keep disrespecting me, Graves. You know the rules, don't you? Oh!" he exclaimed with emphasis as if he remembered something. "Is it because of the Obscurial? What was his name again?" He pats his lower lips with his finger. "Credence, right? Oh yes, you were so attached to this boy…"
Grindelwald smiled as Mr. Graves tucked his knees between his arms, in an involuntary gesture of self protection. "Yes… tell, me, Graves, how did it feel? That no one noticed that you weren't there? That your dear… Credence… died hating you?" He taunted, punctuating each word with a cutting spell that tears at the man's legs and forearms.
Harry used the commotion's sound to get closer, and he was only a few centimeters away from Mr. Graves.
He couldn't heal the man or make any curse rebound without being caught, but he might manage to help him avoid most of the pain. He had to keep his magic wordless, which was even more difficult for such a delicate operation… and avoid any of the blood the touching him, or he would blow his cover.
Grindelwald tuted, as if grounding a misbehaving child. "Mr. Graves… I only ask you one thing… I can pass the affront you committed towards Capone, really. Tell me where Flamel lives, and you will be free…"
Harry wondered about the doubtful sense of this promise of liberation, but held his tongue. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself to immobility. He couldn't act now, but sweet Merlin he wanted to. Grindelwald's childish attitude, which used to make him laugh in a normal situation gave the scene an even more horrible overtone, and Harry really, really didn't like it. Mr. Graves kept silent, stubbornly staring at his tormentor as if only a look could make him disappear into the deepest pits of hell.
"Well, Mr. Graves, it's quite late. I must go, you understand I'm sure. I give you two more days to be useful to me." With one last look at the man, Grindelwald stood up and got out, sofly closing the door behind him.
At the exact moment the door closed, Mr. Graves seemed to crumple on himself and laid in the fetal position, not even crying, not even trying to attend to his wounds. He was still shaking from the cruciatus after effect.
Slowly, so as not to startle the man, Harry got out of the cape of invisibility. It clearly wasn't enough as Graves crawled back against the wall, looking at him with fright and suspicion. Good, at least he wasn't apathetic yet.
They stayed immobile a moment, judging each other with a look. "You're real?" Croaked the man.
"I do hope so,." answered Harry with a grin. "I'm a friend." Harry would have like to comfort him but the man didn't seemed to be the type to take to well to being comforted.
"I'm pretty sure I know all my friends, and I certainly don't know you." shot back Graves, but his eyes were haunted and his posture tense.
"Well, I'm a new friend then."
Harry wondered if he was channeling Dumbledore right now. Too cryptical for his tastes. "Listen, I'm sort of a prisoner too here. I'll escape soon. Do you want to go with me?"
The man looked at him with disbelief. "What sort question is that?"
Harry rose an eyebrow. He seemed to him that the question was very clear. He took his wand and waved it against the man cuts, cleaning them and healing them in two sift movements of his wrist. "Do you have any other injuries?" he asked softly.
Graves looked at his forearms skeptically. "Who the hell are you?"
"Harry."
That simple answer, which wasn't an answer at all, didn't appease the man whatsoever. Harry sighed. It wasn't like he could tell him anything. Slowly, he moved his hand into his pocket and took out a piece of bread he had stolen during dinner. He held it out for the man. Graves hunger seemed to overthrow his suspicion and he took the offered bread and ate it with enthusiasm. Harry observed him and took the opportunity to unmade his braid, passing his finger in his hair in a doomed attempt to make it better, and started braiding it back. Of course, he could have done it somewhere else, in a more fitting time, but the casualness of the gesture, the intimacy of it diffused and soothed the prisoner. After a few mouthfuls, Mr. Graves nodded a thanks towards Harry.
"There's a child I must find. I'll try to steal some food too, just in case. We can't appartate from here. If we get out of the wards, can you appartate us somewhere safe?"
"How will you get us out of the wards?"
Apparently, Mr. Graves had returned to what surely was his official auror mode, asking precise and practical questions without looking for elaborate answers. Harry shrugged.
"I managed to get down there, I'll manage to get us out. So... Can you or can you not appartate?"
"I can." Whispered Graves, passing a shaky hand through his disheveled hair, taming it somewhat. Harry was about to answer, but he cut himself off when he heard the guard coming back. He covered himself in his cape just in time to avoid being seen by the guard, who was checking through the little window. He waited next to Mr. Graves until the man was far enough away for them to whisper again without fearing being overheard. He put his head out of the cape, which must have given him a very strange look.
"Are you a seer?" asked Graves, frowning.
"Not really. Maybe… I guess in a way." Answered Harry, grinning. "Does the answer to that question influence your decision of escaping?"
"Or lack of answer, thereof. But no. If I can escape, I will." He said with determination.
"Good. I'll be back as soon as I can. I need to find a child. He's hurt, probably unconscious. He disappeared from the hospital wing; I think someone took him. D'you have an idea of where he could be?"
The man's look darkened. "I don't know but… considering his antecedents, you might want to try the labs or something like that. Tell me…"
He looked quite scared to talk now. Harry frowned, and motioned him to continue.
"The kid you're looking for… His not an obscurial, is he?"
Harry felt himself pale, triggering the same reaction in his interlocutor. Of course. Why hadn't he see it before? The kid was the perfect opportunity, and the chances were high.
Harry only had a few contacts with obscurials before, and he really didn't want to repeat the experience.
Mr. Graves seemed to be really distressed, so Harry decided to put his own angst aside. "It's possible." he said, "But I don't think so. He was already unconscious when I found him. Let's hope he still is. Tomorrow is Samhain, we'll take advantage of the chaos to escape. Like that, they won't be on our asses immediately."
Harry rose to get up, case an alohomora to open the door and, remembering something, turned back towards the man. "Oh, and if you hear an explosion, get ready to run for it."
Without giving the poor man the time to answer, he put back his cloak and closed the door behind him.
In the morning, Harry had a plan. He had passed a few hours listening around, pretending to be occupied in diverse tasks that he had no idea about. And it appeared that his hunt had been quite fruitful.
Apparently, the generals would have a good collation in the hall, while the… people would do a more traditional feast outside. At midnight, Grindelwald would come for the sacrifice and the conjuration, before heading to his most trusted for the end of the night.
Oh, and the cousin of Mathilde - a good girl- was about to marry a pretty boy from Durmstrang! What a story. Well, for the kitchen's woman it apparently was.
He had also found the potion's lab.
With a lot of ingredients. Which was good because Harry needed a lot of Draught of the Living Dead.
The alarm rang. It was clearly the 'we are being bombed' kind of alarm, and in an instant, Harry was on his feet and ready to fight.
He walked quickly through the corridors, following the soldier's movement's to see where, and what, was the threat. Luckily, the rumors of him being a general had spread in the Snatchers ranks, and no one tried to stop him. It had to be said that his general demeanor didn't help to think otherwise. Not that they really cared; all the civilians were being evacuated, and the rest were moving in what looked like a giant well-prepared ballet in metallic boots. No move was unuseful, except for the youngest who were sometimes colliding against each-others in the precipitation.
Harry didn't know if he was satisfied or scared by the efficiency.
Considering the number of innocent people in here, the satisfaction won for this time.
He finally arrived in a big room where the high-ranked seemed to have reunited, far from the chaos of hundreds of men, women, children and sometimes animals being moved from one place to another.
Grindelwald was leaning over a table where maps were spread out, surrounded by grave-looking people. They were talking quietly, translating quickly from one language to the other, pointing to different places on the maps. Even if no clothing, throne or crown was used to show the hierarchy, it was very clear who made the decisions.
But the clean exterior couldn't erase the look Grindelwald had had while using the cruciatus curse.
Gritting his teeth, Harry closed in. He slithered between the different persons, not really bothering not to hit one or two shoulders on his way. Grindelwald caught his eyes a second and, after raising an eyebrow, motioned him to come closer.
The place ushered Harry in place as the newcomer was stepping out the circle.
Harry squared his shoulders. As small and thin as he was, he knew how to hold himself to force respect. It was a necessity when your voice had to spread through the battlefield. He thought he had been probably one of the most normal of teens a long time ago, blending in easily if not for his famous scar, but dying could do things like make someone stand out. Especially when he had his I-have-the-situation-under-control-and-it-better-stay-that-way-or-else expression.
Not that he really wanted to stand out here, or anywhere, really. After a few seconds, the hushed discussions started again, and Harry stood around the table to consider the map.
"We're attacked." Grindelwald not-really-explained between two sentences in two different languages - one of them being French, which would have surprise Harry if he wasn't in such a panic state.
"I'd say that the alarm gave that away indeed."Harry cooly answered, making Grindelwald smirk.
"We've been attacked by dementors."
The hated word seemed even more sinister with Grindelwald's accent. A chill passed on Harry's back. Of course. Dementors. What did he expect? His luck wouldn't allow anything less than his greatest fear attacking his current greatest enemy - and his own - living place, because why not.
But wait.
"What are dementors doing here?"
"That's the century's question. We're far from England, even the road they seem to have taken is strange."
Harry looked at the map more intently. He knew where he was, now. Well. "They're attracted by despair and blooshed. We're in the direct line between Azkaban and Russia." He said matter-of-factly, drawing an imaginary line on the map with his fingertip, trying desperately to refrain the urge to laugh nervously at the idea that yes, he is helping a Dark Lord to save himself, and yes, his position is morally defensible. This was the time of brain-breaking idea that Hermione would solve easily, but Harry, alone, felt quite lost.
"You seemed very aware of the dementors."
"More like they're very aware of me." Muttered Harry. He ignored the strange looks his comments provoked and asked "Is everyone evacuated?"
"Everyone that could be, yes."
Harry's eyes shot back. "What do you mean?"
But it was obvious. Realisation slipped into his very bones as he understood what was happening. Only the people in the citadel had been hidden, the others, poor, politically unimportant, living in the camp around Numengard, had been left behind. And Grindelwald was here, calmly explaining that hundreds of people had to die because he couldn't sacrifice soldiers for them because it was too dangerous. He kept talking, listening to himself, here in an underground bunker where he couldn't even hear the screams. But the man's voice passed above Harry. "We've put the prisoners in the front line, in hope that they would delay the dementors for a while, and-"
He couldn't let this happen.
Without evening thinking about it, he rose his hand. The slapping sound echoed in the deafening silence.
"If you leave your own people behind, you're not worth leading them." He spat with a You're not worth anything was left unsaid.
Without another word, the he cut through the shock of the crowd. They didn't even think about stopping him, behavior which he was very ok with. His mind was in turmoil. The consequences of having slapped the Dark Lord in front of his sort-of inner circle didn't even break through the roar of his magic in his ears. He was going to use it, Yes!
Some small voice at the back of his mind told him that he was acting before thinking, but he made it shut up.
No one should be left to the dementors. The image of the dead-eyed Crouch Jr. was still printed in his mind.
He wasn't sure how he had found his way to the outside, but he certainly had. The air was colder, and growing colder each second that passed. The rain was like thousands of little stabbing knives against his face. The wind, salty from the sea, was screaming in his ears, unforgiving.
He could see them, a dozen, in line, shivering and almost naked at the edge of the forest. Chained by dark curses. Whimpering, screaming. And between them and Numengard, the camps. Some wizard had decided to go out to fight, but the Patronus was quite unknown and most of them had never even seen a dementor from afar.
It was, after all, an English creation.
He felt the curse arrive in his back and casted a Protego before it touched him. An enormous bluish shield rose between him and his aggressor Grindelwald was at the door, looking at him furiously, a blue bruise slowly forming in his cheek, his hair uncharacteristically messed up. Harry had hit hard indeed.
The young man barely gave him a gmance before ignoring him superbly. He had not the time for cowards and narcissistic idiots. Especially those that he should have been killed on sight a long time ago. But, oh well, it wasn't him to do such things in cold blood.
A second later, the cloak was spread over his shoulders, his wand in his hand, his ring warming by the flood of magic coming through it. It felt like going in the Chamber of Secrets at twelve. As a wise old man told him one day, "Harry, if you have to walk into shit, be prepared to swim in it." But maybe it isn't wise to take advice from someone that passed a year being held hostage at the bottom of his own trunk.
Harry shook his head as the cold started to creep into his bones. The dementors are still quite far away, unseen, but they always affected Harry more than anyone.
Harry hadn't stopped walking at a quick pace and manage to come in front of the prisoners before the dementors even show their ugly nose. Graves is among them, but a bit set back, probably too important to be outright sacrificed.
Their eyes met for a second. They were only a few feet away. Harry muttered something that suspiciously sounded like "I didn't die for this shit" before freeing the other man with a quick wand movement.
But Harry focuses back on the task at hand. He hears the heavy door of Numengard close behind him. No one will come help now, and the damn wards are still up; Harry can feel them above his head. No way to go in, and a suicidal one to go out.
Not that death was a really frightening prospect…
Suddenly, fear cut his thoughts. Images started to shot behind his eyelid - when had he close his eyes again?
He didn't have to be afraid. The wand in his hand was soft, it was. It was the mighty word of war, the sweet lullaby of obliteration, dancing in his ears, in his blood, digging in his skin like the thousand worms on the corpses, and the idiotic voice of the blind and the idiot, of what was always waisted. The sick excitement of the child tearing apart an insect. The foreign need of chaos. His strange determination to live when he should be unborn.
That was all he could do for them.
Slowly, as the dark mist rose, Harry rose the Elder Wand.