"Excellent work, Harry!" Professor Rasmussen applauded, beaming as the target Harry had been aiming at exploded into thousands of tiny pieces. "Such great precision!"
"Thank you, Sir," Harry said, glancing towards his friends who all gave him a thumbs up. "I guess you really are a great teacher; I get this class so easily."
Harry's friend Ulf had to turn his snort of laughter into a cough, but Professor Rasmussen didn't notice.
Harry was in his final year at Durmstrang now, and his best classes were easily Rune Magic and Dark Magic. Rune magic was a particular interest of Harry's, one he had developed since he first learned about it at school, but his father had always pushed his skill at Dark Magic too. Gellert would train Harry every time he went home for the holidays, meaning Harry quickly excelled in the class.
Harry also taught some of the more unorthodox spells he learned from his father to his friends, who didn't know who Harry's father actually was, but respected his power and knowledge nonetheless.
Durmstrang was rather open with their Dark magic, telling the students they would give them the theory and practical knowledge so that they had a greater understanding of overall magic, but they didn't condone their students abusing that knowledge.
There were some teachers, like Professor Rasmussen who were rather strict with their knowledge-not-abuse motto, but other professors were certainly more…lenient. Professor Eliasson, a woman who was particularly outspoken about her views on Muggles and Muggle-borns was certainly very open-minded when it came to magic, as was Professor Vestergaard.
Elias Vestergaard was very young for a teacher, only twenty-one, and very handsome with his ice blond hair and striking blue eyes. He taught Rune Magic, was very much into the Dark Arts as well. He'd only been teaching since term had started a couple of months ago but had started to give Harry private lessons when he saw how interested Harry was in the subject—and if anybody else had figured out that their private lessons had turned from Rune magic to kissing and touching, nobody let on.
Harry knew he shouldn't be sleeping with his teacher, but the sex took his mind off all the other stressful things he had going on, and it wasn't like he was in love or anything—it was just a bit of fun. Harry had never really dated anyone before; he'd fancied a girl called Brigitta Scholz a couple of years back, but when he'd told his father about her, Gellert had expressly told Harry he was too young to date and not to be distracted from his studies by a 'silly girl'.
From what Harry knew of his father now, he knew that Gellert would without a doubt kill Elias if he found out what he'd been doing with Harry.
It wasn't like Gellert had anything to worry about, Harry thought as he exploded three of the targets with one spell—his power certainly wasn't slipping.
"Look! Look!" Maarten said urgently as he hurried over to their table in the dining hall, dropping that morning's newspaper onto the surface.
Harry spotted the scowling face of his father and snatched the paper up before anyone else could, eyes darkening when he read the headline: British Ministry closing in on Grindelwald.
"Huh? Please!" Izaak scoffed as he read the headline over Harry's shoulder. "No Ministry will ever be able to catch Grindelwald; he's too good."
"They could hinder him though," said Dorijan, who of all Harry's friends was his favourites. "Grindelwald is doing a good thing; the Ministries need to step back and make him make our world better."
"While the Muggles are killing each other, Grindelwald just focuses on defeating the blood-traitors," Sorin added darkly.
Dimitrije nodded in agreement. "I think these Ministries are fools if they can't see who the real enemy is."
Harry tried to hold back a smile. He had kept his secret about his father well, and intended to keep it that way, but it pleased Harry to hear his friends praising Gellert Grindelwald and his mission. Harry knew that there were those who disagreed with his father's beliefs and methods, but Gellert had always told Harry that those people simply didn't understand what he was trying to do for magic-kind—and Harry would always trust his father over the media.
Still, the press had been getting more and more focused on Gellert and his actions as time went on, some greatly condemning him and others praising him for daring to do what nobody else could. And though Harry had faith in his father, it worried him to know how many opposed him. Although, Harry supposed that with the Elder Wand, it would be near impossible to defeat Gellert.
"Is there something wrong with you?" Juuso Takala spoke up from the table next to theirs, his eyes flashing with disgust. "Gellert Grindelwald is a menace and the sooner he's dealt with the better."
Harry gripped the edge of the table tightly, fingers digging into the wood as he narrowed his eyes at Juuso.
"Watch what you say," Harry hissed icily. "Or are you proud to be a betrayer of magic-kind?"
"Betrayer?" Juuso scoffed. "Just because I don't support mass murder and-?"
"Gellert Grindelwald is protecting our kind from those who would seek to hurt us if they knew what we could do," Harry interrupted coldly. "He is trying to stop them before it's too late; before we lose any of ours to them. Witches and wizards alike should support one another, not value the lives of beings non-magical over the magical."
"Hear hear!" his friends cheered in agreement, banging on the tabletop.
"You're deluded," Juuso sneered. "You may be skilled when it comes to Dark magic, but that doesn't change the fact you're a naive little fool."
"You want to say that again?" Harry snarled, rising to his feet with his friends beside him, all of them with their wands drawn.
Juuso scowled but didn't comment further, knowing it would be unwise to take on six wizards.
"Thought so," Harry spat, returning to his feet.
There was nothing that angered him more than hearing bad things against his father. He was willing to give people the benefit to the doubt if it turned out they simply didn't understand what Gellert was trying to do, but if they purposefully revolted Gellert's ideals...that was when Harry had a problem.
Deluded? Hardly!
If there was one thing Harry's father had ever done, it was lie to him.
Harry was pleased to be home for the Yule Holidays.
The last term had certainly been stressful, with the pressure of his exams and schoolwork combined with news about his father.
Upon seeing Gellert for the first time in four months, it was clear his father was under intense pressure, too. Although he looked as composed and strong as ever, there were lines under his eyes that hadn't been there before, and streaks of grey were shining through in his blond hair.
His smile was just as bright when he saw Harry, however, and he pulled him into a tight hug.
"Hello, Kincsem," Gellert murmured softly. "You are always away too long at that school."
"Apa, I've missed you," Harry replied, easily slipping back into Hungarian tongue.
At Durmstrang they were all required to either speak English or use translation charms, as there were too many different languages amongst the students. Translation charms had a tendency to cause unknowing mistakes sometimes, potentially allowing for embarrassing situations, so Harry chose to use English most of the time.
But though English was his mother tongue, as he had spent most of his childhood using Hungarian, that language always felt like a comfort language to him.
"I have a surprise for you, Apa," Harry said once they had settled in the lounge together, drinks and cakes laid out for them by Pici, who always compensated for missing Harry by overfeeding him during the first two or three days of the school holidays.
Harry drew a book out of his bag, one he had been practicing with for the last few months in secret.
"The Tale of the Three Brothers," Harry stated. "Or, in this case, Die Geschichte der drei Brüder."
Gellert leaned forwards in his chair with an amused smile on his face. "German, hmm? Are you learning, Kincsem?"
Harry nodded. "I don't think I'll ever be able to learn as many languages as you know, but I wanted to try with German because of your father."
Gellert's father—Harry's adoptive grandfather—was from Germany, and had moved to Hungary after falling love with a Hungarian woman. They had both passed away before Harry could meet them, and Gellert didn't talk of them often, but he'd been happy to tell Harry a bit about them when he'd asked.
"You can speak three already," Gellert pointed out. "That is an impressive for a boy of your age, especially considering one of them is a language that not many can say they know. Lernst du Deutsch?
Harry paused. "Do I like learning German?" he enquired, and Gellert nodded gently. Ja, super gerne! That's right, yes? I wanted to say that I like it a lot."
"Perfect," Gellert smiled. "And your other studies? Are you still excelling at Dark and Rune magic?"
Harry blushed as he remember his last encounter with Professor Vestergaard, who'd bent Harry over his desk and taught him the joys of rimming.
"Yes, I'm getting top grades in almost every class," Harry said. "Not in...ah, not in our ethics class. We've been speaking about you, actually; apparently my opinions are too extreme and biased and we're supposed to be impartial."
"Ich habe keine Wahl! Ich muss es tun—zum Wohle der Gesellschaft!¹" Gellert hissed angrily, blue eyes flashing dangerously. "They think you should be impartial about my cause? Do they not understand that hating me means hating magic-kind? Everything I do, I do for us."
"I know," Harry agreed, nodding furiously. "That's what i tried to say but it wasn't good enough."
"What is your professor's name?" Gellert asked sharply.
Harry froze. He knew Gellert could have a nasty temper; he'd never taken it out on Harry—despite his sternness he was always calm and loving towards him—but Harry knew he was an exception.
"Harry," Gellert said again, icily.
"Professor Hendrickx," Harry finally admitted, hanging his head to look at the floor.
Gellert soon tilted Harry's head back up, gripping his chin with his fingers. "I will not ruin our time together now, Harry. We have so little time together that I cherish it. Now, I have a surprise for you, Harry; how would you like to learn the Imperius Curse?"
"You've been avoiding me."
Harry glanced up to see Percival leaning against the doorway to Harry's room, fixing him with a knowing look.
"No!" Harry said quickly, averting his gaze. "I've just been busy with school."
"Too busy for me?" Percival retorted, his heavy footsteps echoing across the room as he walked further inside. "That's not like you, Harry."
Harry shrugged, forcing himself to look back up at Percival to smile.
"Exams, you know," Harry lied. The truth was, he'd taken great steps to avoid Percival over the Yule holidays, and Harry supposed it was no surprise that Percival had figured it out.
"No, Harry, I don't know," Percival said simply, drawing a chair and settling it opposite Harry, so close that their knees were almost brushing. "What have I done to upset you?"
"Nothing! You've done nothing!" Harry answered earnestly. "I just…" He trailed off; some complicated feelings had sprung up regarding Percival and his position in their home recently, and they'd been eating away at Harry ever since he'd realised the truth.
"We have ethics class at school," Harry continued uncertainly after Percival regarded his pause silently. "We...we talked about my father a lot. And I'm not stupid; I know what Apa is doing, and that he's hurting people—killing people—but I know he's doing it for magic-kind, to help us by eliminating the ones who are more of a risk to our world than the risk that claim Gellert Grindelwald is, but…"
"But what?" Percival pressed gently.
"But we learned some history about him, too," Harry finally admitted. "Professor Hendrickx covered the story of Grindelwald in a lot of depth, including about the time he went to the United States."
"Ah," Percival said softly, bowing his head.
"And, I knew...I knew there was something not quite right with you while I was growing up, but I, I don't know, denied it or ignored it, pretended everything was fine, but it wasn't, was it?" Harry said desperately, voice cracking as he spoke. "We were told how Grindelwald stole the identity of the great Auror Percival Graves, and how nobody ever found any trace of the real one. The American officials assumed you were dead, but really you were my father's prisoner for eighteen years. You've been trapped here all this time and-"
"It's alright."
"What?" Harry exclaimed in shock, heart clenching painfully in his chest. "How can you be alright? You're a prisoner and-"
"And I have you," Percival cut in simply. "That makes everything alright. At the start of my imprisonment I was angry and felt like I would be better off dead, but then Gellert introduced me to you. I never had a wife or child of my own, though there was one boy...but you...you soon began to feel like a son to me. I don't believe your father adopted you simply to keep me behaving, but he certainly took advantage of the fact that I would do anything for you. He even gave me the option to run once, but I didn't take it."
"Why?" Harry croaked, throat aching with dryness. "Why wouldn't you run if he gave you the option?"
"Because I didn't want to leave you," Percival said, laying a comforting hand on Harry's knee. "I had nothing left for me in the States, but I had you here. I want nothing more than to see you happy and safe, and I couldn't bear the thought of leaving you behind. I considered taking you with me, but I knew that wouldn't be good for you; your father is a bad man, and he has hurt me, but I know that he loves you very much. I love you very much, Harry, and now...and now you need me here more than ever. Things across Europe are getting worse and more intense, and if anything happens to your father then you need me here."
Harry nodded, glancing at Percival with watery eyes. "That...that means a lot to me. I'm sorry, though, that you were taken here against your will, but I'm glad I made your imprisonment bearable. And do you really think things might go badly for Apa?"
"I couldn't say," Percival answered with a loose shrug. "War is war, and the fighting won't stop until there is significant death or defeat. Either your father loses, or he fights until there is nobody left to defeat him."
It was in May, 1945, that Harry's world fell apart.
Harry had spent the last several months struggling to sleep, barely getting four hours a night. Both the Muggle world and the magical world were falling apart as war ravaged them, and Harry's father was right in the middle of it.
Harry hadn't even wanted to return to Durmstrang after the Yule holidays, Percival's words to Harry about the seriousness of it all having struck Harry deep. He knew that there were only two endings for Gellert—he would win, or he would lose, but if he lost it would be drastic.
Part of the reason that Harry could never sleep was that he half expected to be woken up to the news that his father had been killed.
Harry shouldn't have worried about waking up to bad news; it came in the middle of an afternoon, five minutes into Potions class.
"He beat him! He beat him!" Harry's friend Dimitrije yelled as he ran into the classroom. "Gellert Grindelwald has been beaten!"
The whole class was on their feet in an instant, demanding to see the newspaper Dimitrije held in his hand, and even the professor joined them, feeling no need to calm his class. The noise was so loud, Harry couldn't bear it. His chest felt tight, his head light, and there was too much noise.
The potion vials on Harry's desk exploded, piercing Harry's hands with sharp shard of glass, but he ignored the pain, staring at Dimitrije desperately.
The class had fallen silent at the explosion, so Harry didn't need to raise his voice above a strained whisper as he asked, "is he dead?"
He didn't want to know. He didn't want to know. What would Harry do if he was? Gellert Grindelwald was a Dark wizard and mass murderer, but he was Harry's father, whom Harry loved dearly. He couldn't be dead.
"No, he's been imprisoned," Dimitrije answered. "It says they had no need for a trial, and they've locked him up in his own prison."
Nurmengard.
"Who?" Harry rasped. "Who did it?"
Dimitrije studied the article again. "Albus Dumbledore. He's this British wizard who-Harry?!"
Harry ignored the shouts of his friends and the professor as he ran from the room, leaving all his stuff behind. He ran and he ran and he ran, running through all the winding corridors and stone staircases, pushing through the heavy wooden doors at the front of the castle to sprint into the grounds.
He ran until he could run no more, falling onto his knees and letting the rain soak his skin as it poured down around him. Tears mingled with the rain on his cheeks, his chest heaving, aching in a way that he'd never known possible. His father was alive, but that was barely any consolation to Harry.
As the rain continued to fall around him, chilling Harry to his very bones, he swore two things.
One, he would carry on his father's quest for the Deathly Hallows, and two, he would destroy Albus Dumbledore, no matter if it was the last thing he did.
Notes:
¹ I don't have any choice! I have to do it—for the greater good