Disclaimer: This story is based on characters created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
AN:
Thank you all for your reviews, they always keep me motivated!
Now, I would like to clarify some points brought up by some reviewers:
First, Tom and Harry have the same age. When Lily and James Potter were killed, Harry was a one year old baby –I'm following canon here-, and it was that night in which –in this fic- someone took baby Harry and left him at the orphanage's doorstep, as described in the first chapter of this fic. Tom was one year old as well. Alice and Kathy estimated that both babies seemed to have the same age and thus, later, Alice came up with the story that they were twins, given their similar looks, etc.
Second, Harry will be a powerful and independent wizard, but not yet. Some readers are annoyed with Harry's personality, but you have to remember that he's still just a child. We've seen him from ages 4 to 7, so of course that he's going to be childish and immature, he's acting his age.
You can't expect him to be like Tom, who is so adult-like given his innate personality and prodigal mind, nor can you expect him to be like canon Harry who was so moody and broody, and 11 years old in the beginning, by the way.
This Harry wasn't raised by the Dursleys like an outcast in his own home. He was raised in a ghastly orphanage, yes, but with many that adore him. He has been loved and cherished, and he's well liked by all his friends in the orphanage, thus he's much more sociable, outgoing and kind-hearted.
Alice and Harry's friends in the orphanage have shaped Harry's personality in this way, but we can also see how Tom has influenced Harry in the way in which Harry is mischievous and cunning and knows how to use his tears, whining, and innocent looks to get what he wants.
We can also see that he's not easily ruffled by the things that Tom does, he takes them in stride. For example, when Tom kills the bunny, Harry was angered but he didn't cry and have a hissy fit. He's become used to things like that and they don't frighten or scare him. This is part of the beginning of his 'darker' nature, to call it something, and of course, Tom is the cause of it.
On the other hand, we have Tom, who speaks and acts like an adult, for the simple reason that he, unlike Harry, is an outcast in the orphanage. Only Alice and Harry like the boy, and Tom never socializes with the other children, thus he doesn't act like them. He spends all his time reading and studying and thus has the vocabulary and mind-set of an adult. And since he spurns Alice's affection for him, he hasn't been influenced by her. But we can see the way Harry has affected his personality in many scenes, primarily in the one in which he admits to having killed the bunny so that Harry wouldn't take the blame. Also, every time Tom has done something 'nasty', he has had a good reason for it, so I don't think he's being sadistic just for the joy of it. Oh, he enjoys taking revenge and causing pain, but he only does so when he has reason for it, and this is certainly proof of how Tom has been influenced by Harry.
So, in short, we have Harry who is nice, 'cute and adorable' and loves his 'big brother' unconditionally, and we have Tom who is mean and harsh with Harry most of times, but it doesn't mean that Harry is Tom's pet or that he's a doormat.
I think their relationship is pretty well-balanced. Tom can be mean and harsh, but more often than not, he ends up doing what Harry wants, and he's easily softened when Harry starts crying and whining and cajoling – and Harry knows this well.
However, both their personalities will change and develop as they grow up, Harry's in particular. And it is then when we will see how he comes to be a 'powerful and independent' wizard, but for that we will have to be a bit patient.
Third, the boys' 'flames' in Grindelwald's Globe indicate Tom's vast potential for the Dark Arts, and also that both boys have the capacity to be uncommonly powerful - this, and the 'strange link' between the flames, is what has piqued Gellert's curiosity. But it only indicates potential, given the size and intensity of the flames, so it is up to the boys if they become powerful or not. In this fic, like in my others, innate magic has to be nurtured and exercised so that it can grow and be strong and powerful.
Also, Grindelwald will certainly have a major part in the story, mostly by the things he will be doing in the background. Though, it's safe to expect that he will be directly involved with the boys at some point.
And finally, what Tom knows about the Nazis –the details about their oppression of the Jews, homosexuals, communists, and etc- comes from the info he read in Alice's Communist pamphlets. As we all know, the general public, even the Germans, were unaware of the things that went on. It only came to light during the Nuremberg trials after the end of the war, so Tom is dealing with privileged information here, and much of it –especially regarding the 'labor' camps- is mere speculation from Mr. Hutchins and his Communist associates. But all of this will also play a major part in Harry and Tom's lives.
Note:
All OC scenes and background info, such as the ones of Alice -and of other characters that will appear- are important to the plot, so I recommend not to skip them, even if it doesn't seem that interesting or relevant.
In this fic, the Wizengamot will not only be the Court of Justice of wizarding Britain but also like a Parliament, where laws and important government decisions are discussed and then approved or rejected- I don't know if this was also so in canon, but it will be in this story. And the Minister of Magic, when it comes to governmental decisions, has the last word.
Italics will always denote foreign languages or parseltongue.
That said, I hope you enjoy this chapter and let me know what you think!
Part I: Chapter 5
Gellert Grindelwald's hazel eyes gleamed when he received no response to his taunting welcoming remark, and he simply watched with unrepressed eagerness as the woman was forcibly dragged further into his office by the two burly guards at her side.
Dressed in clothes that were now nothing more than filthy rags, with trails of dried blood running down her legs and many bruises and infected cuts on face and arms, Gellert could still appreciate the witch's sturdy beauty in the curves that still lingered on her emaciated body; the ample bosom, the small waist and the wide hips, added to large black eyes, a mass of riotous dark curls, a prominent straight nose and a manly squared jaw which only lent more strength and appeal to her Grecian features.
Always one to admire beauty in all shapes and forms, Gellert's lips curved into a smile as the woman was brusquely dropped on an armchair.
Gellert waved his Elder Wand once, and abruptly, magical chains erupted from the stone floor, instantly wrapping themselves around the woman's legs, arms and torso, pinning her in place.
"Leave us," said Gellert shortly in brisk German, gesturing dismissively at the guards.
With just a sharp nod of their heads and a click of their boots as they snapped their heels together, the wizards then spun around and soon shut the door behind them.
"Look up at me, dear," intoned Gellert pleasantly, switching to Greek as easily and casually as if he had been raised with it, while he leaned against the edge of one of the tables to be directly in front of her.
Piercing black eyes snapped up to his, and Gellert's twisted smile widened when he saw the fiery spirit in them. No, this witch hadn't been broken by her one-month stint in Nurmengard's dungeons, nor by the prison guards who had had direct permission from Gellert to do whatever they pleased with her, and who had evidently, by her looks, not only tortured her but violated her to their hearts' content.
"Sibylla Spyros," he said with relish, as he slowly caressed his Elder Wand, "what a pleasure it is to have you here at last." He arched an eyebrow at her, as he continued placidly, "And to think that at first, when rumors reached my ears that a female descendant of Cassandra's line existed and lived, I did not believe it."
Gellert chortled under his breath, as if finding his own foolishness amusing, and then graced her with a blinding smile. "Yet that you are, the proof is that your body rejected the Veritaserum plied in your food. I heard that you were ill for many days due to it. Yes?"
"Yes," came the response through gritted teeth as if against her will, the witch's voice raw and hoarse.
Gellert's eyebrows hitched upwards, and a sudden gleam entered his hazel eyes as he said gleefully, "The legends regarding your line are correct then, you can only speak the Truth. Cassandra's Curse-"
"The Curse is not that we can only speak the Truth," said Sibylla tartly, her jaw tightening as the words spilled out of her dry mouth, "or that our prophecies sound like lies to all ears or that we are never believed. The Curse is that all our prophecies are of doom and destruction and no matter what we do or how hard we try, they always come true. That's the Curse that has always plagued the females of my line."
"I see," said Gellert as he hummed low under his breath, before he pinned her with his hazel gaze, arching an intrigued eyebrow. "And yet, you chose to live." He gestured at the room and at both of them, as he continued, "You must have Seen this. And from what I've been told, when my followers went to Greece to capture you, you were waiting for them in your home, sitting alone in the middle of your room – expecting their arrival and not resisting capture. Why?"
Sibylla's expression smoothened, with no trace of pain or grief on her bruised face as she replied calmly with a sardonic smile on her lips, "As you said, I chose to live."
Gellert narrowed his eyes at her, before he chuckled and said amiably, "You'll have to give me a more enlightening answer than that. After all, I'm well aware that your husband and fifteen-year-old son are hiding somewhere – undoubtedly per your instructions. You wouldn't want to force me to hunt them down, would you?"
For a moment, Sibylla tightly closed her eyes shut, breathing haggardly as she forced her mind to repeat the answer she had already given. It was the truth after all, and the cause and reason for everything that had happened.
Indeed, as the wizard before her was well aware, she was the only female of Cassandra's line that had been allowed to live past her infancy. When Sibylla had been a seven-year-old girl, living with her mother in an isolated little hut, she had begun having visions and started to understand her Curse and the danger of her existence.
She had Seen, with her Inner Eye, how it had all started with her unfortunate ancestor, a woman who had had a life more wretched and miserable than that of any other.
Cassandra, daughter of King Priam of Troy, had been one of the first true Seers in history, and to date, the most powerful one. As legends went, at the tender age of thirteen, one of her tutors, an old lecherous wizard who was one of the King's priests of the Temple of Apollo, had fallen in love and lusted after the girl. His courtship rejected by both Cassandra and her father, the wizard had cursed her and her descendants before mysteriously disappearing.
Soon after, Cassandra had begun having visions and bespeaking prophecies regarding the destruction of their kingdom. She had been disbelieved, ignored, ridiculed, and even her own family had thought her mad and had imprisoned her. And yet, it all came to happen as she had foretold.
The young girl ended up being a war prize for the victorious King Agamemnon of Mycenae, who forcibly took her as a concubine and had two children with her. It was the man's wife, Clytemnestra, who killed him when he returned to his kingdom. And Cassandra, knowing beforehand her fate, had entrusted her children to a slave and ensured that they would escape unscathed. Then, the young Seer had calmly met her death at Clytemnestra's hands.
How Sibylla had suffered through those visions, feeling her ancestor's piercing grief and sorrow, her wretched impotence and her bottled, burning rage. How Sibylla had further grown embittered as she Saw what came of Cassandra's descendants; all of them with that uncommonly powerful Seer trait, but it was the females who inherited the 'gift' most potently, along with the Curse, and thus, it was the females who were most feared and therefore who were killed at birth. The males' fate throughout history hadn't been a joyful one either; captured by wizards who knew of their line, who forced them into becoming Oracles, or even by muggles of old who still believed in legends.
All of them had had wretched lives. And all of them had made sure that if they spawned a baby girl, they would kill her before she could grow up to be a Seer who would only bring doom and misery with her prophecies and Truth-speech.
It was so, that at the age of thirteen, Sibylla had dared ask her mother why she still lived.
Her mother had married a wizard of Cassandra's line; a poor wizard who had managed to avoid detection and suspicion by working as a mere peddler, never revealing his Seer abilities. And he had been a wizard who, when his wife bore him a daughter, had instantly and fearfully instructed that the baby was to be drowned the following day. But by morning, his wife had disappeared, taking baby Sibylla with her.
"Why?" she had asked her mother, so many years ago when she had been a girl of mere thirteen.
"Because I wanted you to live," had been her mother's loving and simple reply.
Her uneducated, dimwitted mother who didn't fully understand the consequences of her actions, who was only moved by her profound love for her daughter, it had been her who had irrevocably altered things.
And soon after, when her mother had died, ill and impoverished, Sibylla had taken her words to heart, and had done exactly that – she had lived. She had always strived to live her life to the fullest, with no regrets, with no culpability and owing nothing to anyone, not to wizards or muggles who had done nothing but use and torment the ancestors of her line.
Even knowing how it would all end, and the devastation that her existence could bring, Sibylla had lived for herself, finding love in the arms of a kind-hearted man and only doing one thing to ensure that the Curse of her line would come to an end – she had poisoned her womb before conceiving her son, making sure her child would carry only a weak modicum of Cassandra's Seer trait, making sure, thus, that the Curse would lose most of its potency.
And indeed, her now fifteen-year-old son would be a mediocre Seer at best, and Sibylla knew that her line would end with her son's daughter, and it gave her a deep sense of relief and peace.
It was so, that she was now able to meet the gaze of the dark wizard before her, knowing that her life would end that day and that what she would reveal would further change the future into that which should not have happened.
"I didn't resist, and I didn't kill myself before being captured," said Sibylla calmly, as she made her tortured body relax against the chains and chair, "because I chose to live. And because I don't owe the world and its people anything." Her large black eyes pierced into the wizard's hazel ones, as she continued in a strong voice, "I have no regrets, no burdens upon my shoulders. I am at peace with myself and my decisions. What you will learn from me and what you'll do with it, will be your choice. And what comes of it, is the choice of many others as well. The choice my mother made, and the choice I made, only play a small part in it."
Gellert Grindelwald stared at the woman, first with frustrated irritation and then with dark amusement – Seers were known to be annoyingly vague and cryptic with their answers. But it mattered little; soon he would acquire all of her knowledge directly from the source. His gaze flickered from her forehead to the bottomless pensieve on his desk - quite a unique one he had recently acquired for that day in particular.
He waved a hand dismissively, already bored with their topic of conversation. He didn't care about the Seer's motives or where her family was, after all. He had no need for that information, but he still needed other answers before he could proceed with what he had planned. He rather hear it from her directly before seeing it. It was much more amusing and satisfying that way; he always did like to play with his prey for a little while.
Gellert stood up and gracefully made way towards the end of the vast room, flicking his wand, which immediately made Sibylla, in her chair and chains, drag after him. He halted before the immense magical sphere which encompassed a full section of his study, and then turned around to glance at the Seer who now sat before the Globe.
He gestured at the sphere as he said placidly, "I'm sure you already know what this is. You must have Seen it, hmm? It's how I managed to find where you were, after all." He shot her a crooked smile before he pointed at two bright flames with the tip of his wand. "Use your abilities and tell me about them – are they worthy future followers that I should mold or just children who will amount to nothing significant?"
"Will they be followers? Not quite," said the Seer coolly, her lips stretching into a harsh smile which seemed to want to mock him. "Will they be significant? Oh, very much so, I dare say."
Gellert's lips thinned into a humorless flat line, and he asked again, now in very simple terms, "Who are they?"
The taunting expression on her face vanished, and Sibylla's mouth hung open as words spilled out of her mouth as if her tongue was being pulled by a pair of tongs, "A Slytherin. And a Potter."
Gellert's blonde eyebrows jumped to his hairline, his expression one of speechless disbelief. A second later, a deep frown furrowed his forehead as he said harshly, "It cannot be. The line of Salazar Slytherin's bastard son died out centuries ago. And I would know if there was a Potter meandering about. I've kept close tabs on the members of that family for many years-"
"Slytherin's last descendants disappeared from wizarding society many centuries ago, they became recluses, hermits," snapped Sibylla, her expression hard and dark as she gritted the words out, "but they still live. That boy is the lost Slytherin Heir." Her lips contorted into a sneer of derision as she bit out, "And I am well aware of the reason for your interest in the Potters. I Saw that summer night, so many decades ago, when you revealed the deepest of your secrets to your paramour, the details of your quest for the Hallows, the clues you had gathered. How Albus Dumbledore loved you then - such a profound and blind love, such a synchrony of minds and longings, such a perfect match of magical cores."
Suddenly, she paused and let out a harsh bout of snide laughter, her black eyes gleaming nastily. "Young, infatuated Albus Dumbledore was able to piece the clues together, he even remembered the slab of tombstone he had seen near his mother's grave the day of her funeral. He took you there, that night, to Ignotus Peverell's tomb, you both saw the symbol there-"
Abruptly, she choked on her words when Gellert suddenly poked her throat painfully with his wand's tip, his face contorted in a fierce and wrathful expression, his lips pulled back from his perfect row of white teeth.
In the next second, just as abruptly, his features smoothened and he chortled under his breath, a tight smile twisting his lips. "Yes, I dare say I owe Albus for that."
He ripped his wand away from the Seer's throat and calmly stroked it, though his eyes narrowed as they remained fixed on the witch. "As you evidently know already, after that night, we both soon discovered that the Potters are Ignotus' descendants, his Hallow passed down as an heirloom from father to son, the Cloak's mastership bounded by blood to them. Only a Potter can be its master, only a Potter can hand its ownership to me." He shot her a crooked, gallant smile, as he added amiably, "Thus, you can understand my interest in knowing about this Potter boy. Is he a bastard son?"
"No, he's a true Potter," said Sibylla hoarsely, her hands pulling against her chains when she absentmindedly attempted to massage her aching throat. "He's out of place, out of time."
Gellert frowned as he skewered her with his hawk-like hazel gaze. "What do you mean by that, exactly?"
"I mean just what I've said," snapped Sibylla shortly, her lips curling into a contemptuous sneer.
Suppressing a spike of frayed annoyance, Gellert chose to simply jump to his next question, his mind -already supplied with some astonishing information- was rather occupied in many plans and plots. "What about the peculiar connection between the two boys?"
"It's a link that has not yet been formed," replied the Seer tartly, once again settling herself in her prison of chair and chains with an air of supreme indifference.
At that nonsensical reply, now irritated beyond the limits of his patience, Gellert dismissively waved a hand at her. However, before he could say another word, the Seer bore her eyes into his, as she said gleefully, "What you secretly yearn for, will never happen. He will never come back to you."
Arching an eyebrow, Gellert stared at her, his strained smile relaxing into a nonchalant one as he batted away bittersweet memories and said pleasantly, "We will see."
"You will lose the war as well," said Sibylla as if she had not been interrupted at all, her tone now satisfied, "both the muggle and the wizarding one."
At that, a bout of hearty, crowing laughter erupted from Gellert's mouth, as he shook his head with amusement. "Indeed?"
When his chortles subsided, he shot her a wide, crooked grin. "But with countless casualties, no doubt, hmm? Splendid news, then. The wars are nothing but a smokescreen, a sideshow of a sideshow, amusing entertainment with some added benefits to help my Quest along." He eyed her with a viciously taunting expression on his handsome face, as he quipped, "Surely you didn't expect me to break into tears when you disclosed that to me? Or when you mentioned Albus' 'profound love' for me in the past? Or that he wouldn't be mine, once again?"
Sibylla countered his words not with an expression of disappointment but with one of utter boredom. "This is getting tedious. Ask the question – the reason for why I am here, and let's be done with it."
"With pleasure," said Gellert shortly, before he pinned her with his eyes and demanded curtly, "Where is the Vessel?"
The Seer's lips curved into a wide smile, her dark eyes gleaming, as she intoned cheerfully, "Where, indeed. The Jews' greatest treasure has long since been hidden, not even my Inner Eye has the capacity to pierce through the shrouds of magic that keep it concealed. I can tell you this, however - it will not be you who finds it." Her black gaze flickered to the Globe, her hard smile widening. "It will be the boys."
With his narrowed-eyed, hazel gaze flickering from the two flames on the Globe to her and back, Gellert finally took a step forward, aiming his wand at the Seer, as a crooked grin spread on his face. "I'm afraid that's an insufficient answer. You know what will happen now, do you not? You must have Seen it, hmm? Yet I dare say that you won't be prepared for it, as much as you must have already armed yourself with valor."
Sibylla's bruised face paled alarmingly, though she didn't speak a word, her jaw merely tightened as she balled her chained hands into white-knuckled fists.
At her reaction, Gellert cocked his head to a side, his twisted grin widening with relish, as he continued placidly, "I, on the other hand, am quite looking forward to it. It was a tradition of old, was it not, to rip out the eyes of Seers so that their Inner Eye instantly became more powerful? Undoubtedly, you'll be able to 'pierce through shrouds of magic' once it's done and divulge to me the Vessel's precise location."
Not wasting another breath, Gaelic words sprung from his lips as he swished his wand in her direction. In the bat of an eyelash, ghostly, skeletal hands erupted from his wand's tip, becoming larger as they spread forth like black tendrils of smoke, the fingers soon sinking into the flesh of the woman's face, delving into her eye-sockets.
And as much as she had foreseen it and prepared for it, Sibylla couldn't help the endless scream that tore out her parched throat, her limbs jerkily convulsing due to the agony inflicted, as the ghostly claw-like fingers clamped around her eyeballs, and then simply pulled and gouged out.
The sound of her screams, of Grindelwald's satisfied chuckles, of the squishy noise when the ghostly hands withdrew and squashed her eyeballs within their fists, the dripping of rivulets of blood that surged from her empty sockets, all of it became faraway, distant sounds when her mind suddenly seemed to explode in a whirlwind of blinding visions, of flashing images and sounds, of floods of knowledge of past, present and future which abruptly poured forth as if a great dam had been broken.
The pain was insurmountable, yet with her last remnant of conscious will and determination, Sibylla remembered the fake tooth in her mouth and the poison within it. She snapped her jaw shut, and with a soft 'crack', the tooth split and the liquid quickly trickled down her throat.
Gellert jumped forward when, suddenly, purple fumes hissed and emanated from the witch's mouth, blood abruptly pouring from her ears and nostrils, as her face became a lattice of protruding, sickly black veins.
With a roar of rage, having an inkling of what the cunning Seer must have done, he flicked his Elder Wand urgently and repeatedly. His bottomless pensieve flew towards him as he made flows of silvery tendrils pour out from the woman's head, like thick rivers of grey light that came forth like waves as he directed them with his wand.
Frantically, Gellert poured memory after memory into the floating pensieve by his side, but he could already see the wide, gaping holes in the damaged silvery tendrils.
After long minutes of exhausting work, with beads of sweat on his smooth forehead, Gellert took in a deep breath as the last frayed tendril he could salvage dropped inside the pensieve. Settling the pensieve on top of the nearest table, he gazed down at its contents with an utterly enraged expression on his face.
He had told the guards to check every inch of her body precisely so that something like that wouldn't happen. Soon, two of his guards would wish they had never been born.
Yet, as he contemplated the ravaged tendrils of the Seer's memories now floating placidly on his pensieve's surface, he thought he could piece some information together from what was left.
Gellert stilled for a moment, and his hazel gaze snapped to look at the witch. There was nothing left of Sibylla Spyros but a mangled corpse with a black, veiny face, eyeless sockets, and bloodied rags of clothes. Her blue lips, frozen in their expression with the rigor mortis of death, were twisted, yet not in agony but with the satisfaction that came with having taken her ultimate revenge.
If it was revenge on him or on the world at large, Gellert didn't know, but abruptly, peals of crowing chortles escaped from his lips.
And as he reached her corpse, he gallantly bowed his head to her, admiringly acknowledging the cunningness of the one witch who had managed to best him.
With a wide, crooked grin of appreciation and parting fondness, he flicked his wand. Her body instantly vanished into thin air, the chains loudly clanking as they heavily dropped to the stone floors.
As his hazel gaze returned to the pensieve, Gellert's grin widened. Indeed, he wouldn't have all the information he had hoped for, but he always enjoyed playing the game when it became harder and more unpredictable.
Konrad Von Krauss' shiny black boots clicked against the stone floors as he made his way along the narrow corridor of the highest level of Nurmengard Tower. In his late thirties, with his locks of ashy blonde hair pulled back on his head in an impeccable style, his hard, icy blue eyes gleaming with depths of knowledge and self-confidence, and with his tall and broad-shouldered physique, he cut an impressive figure - the epitome of strong masculinity and vaunted dark pureblood power and supremacy.
There were not even crinkles around his eyes or along his forehead to indicate the utter exhaustion the wizard felt, after having spent one more month leading the squads of followers who went through the Jew possessions that the Nazis had been confiscating and whisking away to the numerous warehouses they had scattered all around Germany.
Alas, in the endless rows of ornate, antique furniture, of priceless vases, paintings and portraits, of jewels and gems, of books upon books, and Torahs after Torahs, nothing pertinent had been found. Oh, there had been some valuables magically hidden away in many objects from wizarding Jewish families, but not what his Dark Lord was looking for – a clue regarding the location of the Vessel.
Once again, the latest warehouse had proven to be an utter disappointment.
Nevertheless, he had been summoned by the Dark Lord a few minutes ago and Konrad had instantly apparated to Nurmengard's entrance gateway, his concern for Grindelwald giving him one more reason to be as swift as possible.
He had heard that the Dark Lord had finally interrogated the Seer, but in the two weeks after that, it seemed that Grindelwald had spent all his time locked in his office, merely going out to participate in some meetings in the Reichstag to push matters along with Hitler and the muggle's minions.
For Konrad, this was worrisome to some extent, since the Dark Lord usually liked to be seen in the many balls and society events thrown with the very money of his followers, affording the lap of luxury to entice more supporters.
When he finally reached the iron-wrought door of the Dark Lord's study, Konrad cleared his throat, smoothened his robes to get rid of non-existent wrinkles, and then knocked once.
Without a word from the inside, the heavy door creaked open, and Konrad stepped inside with brisk, short strides.
He abruptly halted when his icy blue gaze landed on Grindelwald, who was seated behind one of his many desks. But unlike other occasions, the Dark Lord had dark circles under his eyes and a rather ruffled and scruffy appearance. Though, the wizard's hazel eyes gleamed with some measure of satisfaction, and his ever present crooked smile seemed to be one of pleasure at seeing him.
Konrad would still be cautious, nonetheless. No one knew as well as he did how mercurial and unpredictable Grindelwald's mood swings could be. After all, the wizard had practically raised him. He liked to believe that no one knew the man better than he did.
At the sight of his most loyal and trusted of his Haupte Kommandanten, and the only one in his Circle of followers who knew about his true Quest, Gellert widened his smile and gestured for the wizard to take a seat, as he chuckled under his breath, "Every time I see you, you remind me more and more of your father."
"I certainly hope it's in looks only, my Lord," said Konrad, his lips twisting with disdain at the very memory of his progenitor, as he swiftly sat down with an economy of movement.
Gellert chidingly tsked at him, but knew better than to push the matter. It was no secret that Konrad held no love for his departed father. And Konrad, for his part, felt that the only valuable thing Ulrich Von Krauss had ever imparted to him was his vast knowledge of magical history.
Indeed, since his father's schooldays, when Ulrich had been Grindelwald's loyal sidekick and closest friend, his father had been a history fanatic. It had come as no surprise to anyone that, when a seventeen-year-old Gellert had started travelling around the world, the faithful and besotted Ulrich had instantly joined him. For years and years, the pair had journeyed to their heart's content, gathering magical knowledge and coming to form many plans.
Konrad knew well that the Quest for the Vessel had began due to some of his father's findings during the travels, and that soon, it had become the pair's common life goal to see the artifact re-discovered and used for the third time in history.
He didn't hold against his father the man's unrequited and obsessive love and adoration of Grindelwald, despite that it had been subject of ridicule during most of his life and some, even now, dared to throw a jibe at Konrad due to it. He didn't resent his father for having no thoughts or interest but in history and his scholarly pursuits, and to care for no one but for Gellert.
Konrad didn't even despise his father for the childhood he had been given – Ulrich had done his duty and had married a dark pureblood witch, who had bore him a male heir and then was happily content to live her own life in one of the many Von Krauss estates and never see child or husband again.
As a result of that, and per Grindelwald's wishes, Ulrich had been forced to take the little boy Konrad along with them during their endless travels. Konrad had grown up without the formal education of a magical school, and while Ulrich had treated him as a sort of pet which annoyingly distracted him from historical studies and researches, Gellert had treated him as a nephew, and had taken the time and interest to tutor and teach him during the many years when a young Konrad had travelled along with them.
What he did hold against his father was the decimation of the Von Krauss fortune caused by the astronomical expenses incurred during decades of journeys. He didn't blame Gellert for not having spent a knut of the Grindelwald riches in such wanderings around the world. It was his father who had decided to treat his 'friend'. And thus the blame laid on his father's besotted and extravagant foolishness and the man's lack of thought for the future of the Von Krauss line.
The Von Krauss estates, thankfully, hadn't been touched, but that didn't help matters when Konrad's time had come to have a spouse. With not a knut in the Von Krauss vaults, he had had no choice but to marry the wealthiest pureblood that could be found. But it had been his father, as per tradition, who had chosen for him.
Daughter of one of the wealthiest dark pureblood families of Russia, with nothing to entice marital prospects –not in looks or wits- but her fortune, Ludmilla had seemed like the perfect candidate to Ulrich Von Krauss, with little concern about his son's tastes or opinion about her.
Moreover, the wizard had disregarded -other due to blind stupidity or indifference- the many loopholes in the marital contract that was signed with Ludmilla's family. Konrad had later learned that due to that mistake, his wife's fortune would not be appended and become part of the Van Krauss one, as was normal and expected, but that his wife would retain control.
And after a few days of marriage, Konrad had discovered that his wife was nothing but a petty, frivolous -and to his misfortune- occasionally cunning, harpy of a woman. To add insult to injury, they had tried to beget an heir for ages, all conceptions ending in miscarriages, until one day a daughter was born and Ludmilla had quite acidly declared that there would be no further attempts.
A female heiress, of course, was not a proper heir to the Von Krauss line, but Konrad had had no choice but to accept it, since Ludmilla had quickly willed her fortune to her newborn daughter, and told him in no uncertain terms just how knut-less he would be if he ever impregnated one of his mistresses with a bastard child. Then she had swiftly occupied herself with throwing balls in the Von Krauss estates and holding court in wizarding society events, never missing the grandeur and lavishness of the Winter Season in her beloved wizarding Moscow or St. Petersburg, and coming back to Germany only to mingle with the crème de la crème of pureblood circles.
Tied to his wife's purse strings, with no option of poisoning her so that he could marry again, Konrad had grown to despise his daughter as much as his wife, since the girl, in his eyes, though having inherited his looks, seemed nothing but a horrid copy of Ludmilla, personality-wise.
Thus, when his father had been killed, Konrad had considered that justice had been served and he had known joy for one brief moment. And so, when Gellert liked to reminiscence about his old friend, Konrad did nothing but press his lips into a thin line, his eyes turning chilly until Grindelwald noticed, which would often result in being shot a crooked smile before the Dark Lord summarily changed subjects.
"Any findings?"
Konrad was yanked away from his embittered reminiscences, and he focused his full attention on the dark wizard before him.
"No, my Lord," he replied shortly, with enough words to convey the fruitlessness of the latest warehouse inspection.
"Gellert, if you will, when it's just the two of us," said the Dark Lord, gracing him with a charming, twisted smile which had a hint of impatience to it. "Surely I don't need to remind you yet again?"
Without replying, Konrad simply nodded, but it wouldn't change the fact that he would always wait for Grindelwald to offer that sort of familiarity between them. Even if the wizard was the only true parental figure he had known in his life, he had experienced more than one occasion when the Dark Lord had seemed vastly irked when addressed as simply 'Gellert' by him.
The wizard before him ever remained truly unpredictable in his moods; as companionable and mischievous as a schoolboy one moment, as charming and alluring as the most consummate of hedonistic dandies in the next, and as chilling and fear-inspiring as the Dark Lord he was, in the other.
Konrad contemplated the perfection of the regal and handsome features of the face before him and the sheer breathtaking potency of the power that Gellert exuded. And not for the first time, he thanked that his tastes didn't lean towards males.
Grindelwald -renowned as a wizard who enjoyed carnal pleasures to the fullest and who didn't restrain himself in such pursuits- had a long string of beautiful male lovers, and the occasional woman, who inevitably all ended mindlessly in love with the wizard. Yet, one after the other, they all went out of Gellert's bedroom door receiving the same farewell: a fond pat on their heads, a salacious parting wink and a crooked smile.
Pulling his gaze away and clearing his throat, Konrad gestured at the nearest map of Europe hanging by the walls, as he said curtly, "Despite of my lack of success so far, I believe that when Austria and Czechoslovakia are taken first, as you have planned, we could have greater chances of finding something in the possessions of the Jews of those countries-"
"Yes, yes, certainly. That is a possibility, but we'll wait a while before that," interrupted Grindelwald, his tone disinterested and quite dismissive. "And I will no further waste your talents in such mundane task." His hazel eyes suddenly seemed to gleam as an eager smile broke on his face. "Tell me, how is your dear little daughter doing?"
"Kasimira?" Konrad frowned at him, before he added with unveiled distaste, "I suppose she is doing well. She has begun her first year at Durmstrang."
"Indeed? Wonderful news," said Gellert quite congenially and casually, his tone of voice only managing to put Konrad on his guard and making him quite certain that he wouldn't like the next words that would spill from his Lord's lips. "Have you thought of start making arrangements to have her married into a worthy pureblood line?"
Konrad's frown, now a bit befuddled, only deepened as he replied, "Ludmilla will take care of that-"
"No, my dear friend, you cannot leave such matters to your 'charming' wife," interjected Gellert, his tone sarcastic and poignant. A smile stretched widely on his face as he abruptly stood to his feet and went around his desk to pat Konrad on the shoulder. "Since Kasimira will be the heiress of your estates, it's only fit that you see to her future, as a doting father should do."
"Doting father? Not quite, Gellert, as you well know-"
"And a union with a dark pureblood English family of renown and prestige, is just what the Von Krauss line needs," continued Grindelwald pleasantly as if he hadn't been interrupted at all. "The Patriarch of the family I have in mind is already a supporter but can be persuaded to commit further to the cause if presented with Kasimira as a spouse for his grandson. With the enticement of the estates your daughter will inherit from you and the fortune from Ludmilla, she'll be a treat too appealing to ignore. Thus, I've decided that it's in your best interest to spend some years in England, to see this matter through."
Without knowing what to protest about first, Konrad settled on showing some of his utter abhorrence, as he said with open scorn, his lips twisting, "England? Surely not. I'm your right-hand. I'm needed here in Germany, not traipsing around that horrid little country. And Ludmilla would never consent. She can't abide British wizarding society, as boorish and tainted as it is. And for once, I agree with her in that opinion-"
"Ludmilla and your daughter will stay put where they are," interrupted Gellert, all traces of amicable smile gone from his handsome face as he pierced him with a hard gaze. "And I'm not sending you there to enjoy society, Konrad. I'm sending you on a several missions, as a matter of fact. I've given you a reason for your stay there that will raise no suspicions – to seek a marital contract for your daughter. And so you shall, whilst you conduct more pertinent tasks for me."
"Which are?" demanded Konrad, fixing his Lord with an icy stare, not ready to relent unless given a worthy reason.
"You do try my patience sometimes, Konrad," said Gellert sharply, before he turned around and gestured at a nearby table. "What do you see there?"
An expression of dawning understanding spread on Konrad's features as his gaze landed on the pensieve predominantly occupying the tabletop, and he said quietly, "The Seer's memories? It went according to plan?"
"Not exactly," said Gellert nonchalantly, as he waved a hand and a scroll of rolled parchment materialized in his grip. "I didn't glean as much information as I desired - but enough." His hazel eyes gleamed darkly and his lips curved upwards, as he added, "I've been… quite surprised by some of it."
Konrad shot him a scrutinizing glance, decided it was best not to pry for the time being, and then eyed the scroll in the wizard's hand. "My missions in England have to do with what you've learned from the Seer's knowledge?"
"Precisely, and there's no one I can trust with it but you," said Gellert, crookedly smiling at him with an affectionate, encouraging expression that Konrad didn't fully trust, since it normally preceded orders he didn't like. "One of your tasks, apart from seeing to your daughter's future marital arrangements and to persuade more British wizards to our side, is to act as a liaison between my spy at Hogwarts and myself. The other, is to forge for yourself an identity in English muggle society, with adequate political and financial clout."
"In muggle society?" echoed Konrad, painfully pushing the words out with an appalled and suffering expression on his face.
"I'm not doing this to torture you," said Gellert sternly, piercing him with an impatient, harsh gaze. "And as distasteful as you find it, you will do as commanded." He dropped the scroll in the wizard's hands as he added curtly, "There you will find the detailed instructions. Your missions will span for several years, and I expect you to report back to me once every three months. You will understand more when you've read the scroll. You're dismissed."
Gripping the scroll tightly in a fist, Konrad shot him a glance, before he snapped his heels together and gave him a sharp nod of the head. In the next instant, he briskly strode out of the room, leaving an amused Dark Lord shaking his head.
Three years later…
In a circular office in Gryffindor Tower of Hogwarts, a wizard sat behind his desk with a contemplative expression on his face. Having nearly eighty years of age, any muggle who would look at him would have pegged him as not being a day over forty.
The wizard had wavy locks of long, auburn hair and a beard of the same hue which reached his waist, sky blue eyes behind half-moon spectacles which twinkled with good humor, and pleasant features in a face which usually wore an amicable and calm expression. Adding joviality to his appearance, he was dressed in purple robes, the cuffs and hems displaying rows of small, animated suns, with hands that waved and with eyes that winked.
The majority of Hogwarts students who knew Albus Dumbledore as their Transfiguration Professor, the Head of Gryffindor House and the Deputy Headmaster, were of the opinion that he was a benevolent and kind-hearted man, with a patience and fondness for children as that of a fatherly and doting uncle.
The wizarding world in general knew him for the fame and good reputation that the wizard had earned for himself.
Albus was well known and respected in the scholarly circles, where he had gained notoriety with his publications in Potions Journals, with the deep research and experimentation with Alchemy that he conducted with his partner Nicholas Flamel, and with the ground-breaking discovery of the full twelve uses of dragon blood.
He was also known as to have been the youngest wizard to be granted a seat in the Wizengamot, where he was considered by most to be wise beyond his years, his intelligence and prudence admired. Though, his open championship of muggles and muggleborns was not favorably viewed by some.
It was in this regard that Albus sometimes found harsh opposition when he proposed laws and measures for the protection and betterment of muggleborns, especially in recent years, with the rise of a new Dark Lord.
Yet, even if many purebloods considered him to be a thorn in their side and the bane of their traditions and beliefs of old, none could dispute Albus' talents in law-making and in handling political affairs.
In many occasions Albus had offered himself to act in an unofficial capacity for the Ministry of Magic, as an ambassador of sorts, in order to resolve political disputes in other countries which affected the wizarding world. And he was renowned by his long list of successes.
His most prominent accomplishment in this regard had taken place some decades ago, when Albus had acted as the mediator during the negotiations for the formation of the Union of Wands and Staffs of the Americas.
Indeed, it was mostly due to the wizard's intervention that all the leaderless and squabbling wizarding communities scattered about the American continent had been able to reach an agreement to be joined under one magical government; from the shaman tribes of the north, to the wealthy pureblood families of Massachusetts, to the small communities of halfbloods and muggleborns who liked to live amidst muggles, to the powerful magical descendants of the Incas and Aztecs who lived in their hidden ancient cities in Mexico and Central America, to the pygmies in the jungles of the Amazons, to the blooming wizarding towns in Chile and Argentina, and reaching down to the very tip of South America with the isolated communities in Tierra del Fuego.
And yet, for all his success, other than having accepted a seat in the Wizengamot and to be the British representative in the International Confederation of Wizards, Albus Dumbledore always rejected offers to have an official position in the Ministry or any other accolades.
And it was so, that many wondered why the famed wizard was simply content in remain being a teacher at Hogwarts.
Nonetheless, that day in particular, Albus Dumbledore had much on his mind. His spectacled, sky blue gaze travelled along the many shelves containing his ample personal collection of books and tomes, his eyes focusing on one shelf in particular, which had many silver instruments that whirred and emitted small puffs of smoke. They were of his very own creation; crafty little things made to alert him if certain events were to happen - most particularly, if an old acquaintance of his ever set foot in England.
And while he contemplated the instruments, the flurry of activity surrounding him went on undisturbed.
There was an immense, thick book open on his desk, with a long list of names on its pages – the names of the children who were eleven years old or would be turning that age before the start of the school year that would be commencing in a few months.
The magical ledger, believed to have been created by both Helga Hufflepuff and Rowena Ravenclaw, had the uncanny ability of detecting all magical children in the United Kingdom, and of revealing their names and addresses when the time came for those children to attend Hogwarts.
At present, several magical quills were flying from the pages of the ledger to the stack of parchments at one side, writing the Hogwarts letters for the children and copying down their names. As letters were completed, they folded themselves inside the envelopes that floated nearby, and then another set of quills wrote down the pertinent address. After, the magical dance continued as owl after owl perched themselves by one of the windows, sticking their legs out so that a rolled envelope would be tied to it.
And so went on the progression of flying quills, letters, envelopes and owls, while Albus Dumbledore silently mused about Gellert Grindelwald and the wizard's recent actions.
A knock on his door yanked him away from his thoughts, and an expression of resignation spread on his face as he said, "You may come in, Horace."
A short, plump man, with a balding head and a bushy, brown moustache, entered the room, chuckling jovially. "How did you know it was me?"
As the Potions Professor and Head of Slytherin House settled himself on a cushy armchair without any further invitation, Albus shot him a knowing glance from the top of his half-moon spectacles. "It is such time of the year when I have come to expect to receive a visit from you."
"I certainly don't know what you mean," said Horace Slughorn with an innocent look on his face, before he smiled winningly as he held up a hand to display a large bottle of firewhiskey. "I've just received this from the owner of the Daily Prophet. He was a dear student of mine, if you remember, and he likes to send me gifts from time to time to show me his appreciation for my..."
Horace trailed off as Albus' knowing stare became more pointed. Finally, he huffed as he flicked his wand to conjure two glasses. He began to pour, as he said with an affronted tone of voice, "I just thought that we could share a drink, that's all."
Albus simply smiled at that, and graciously accepted the offered glass of firewhiskey as he waited for the wizard to play his part until he got what he had come there for.
Taking a swig from his glass, and looking mightily content and cozy as he settled himself more comfortably on his chair, Horace then glanced to a side as he said idly, "He's looking a bit peaky, isn't he?"
On a perch near one of the windows, a miserable-looking creature chirped weakly with a disgruntled tone, before he stuck his head under a wing once more.
"I'm afraid Fawkes is in one of his burning days," said Albus, his gaze softening with sympathy as he observed his companion.
"Someday you'll have to tell me the story of how you managed to bond with a phoenix as a familiar," said Horace with a genial chuckle, though he shot Albus an expectant glance, as he always did when he pried into such matters.
And as always happened, Albus graced him with an enigmatic smile and remained silent.
Abruptly, Horace set his glass on the corner of the desk, a look of surprise on his face. "Oh, look at this! I hadn't noticed - well, if I had known that you were busy with the Hogwarts letters, I wouldn't have interrupted..."
With that outburst, the wizard had fooled no one, and certainly not Albus. It was not only due to the fact that Slughorn clearly lacked any acting skills, but also that with the flurry of activity that had been going on from the length of Albus' desk to the window, it was impossible that the Potions Professor had just then noticed it.
Ever since Armando Dippet had appointed Albus as his Deputy Headmaster and had delegated many of his responsibilities to him -taking care of the letters being one of them- Horace Slughorn had always found an excuse to visit him precisely on such days, every year.
Horace was already standing up and reaching the other side of the desk to look down at the ledger, as he said eagerly, "You wouldn't mind, would you, if I just took a peek...?"
Refraining from letting out a sigh, Albus shot him an indulgent glance, as he granted permission with a gesture of his hand.
Without wasting another breath, though taking care of not disrupting the proceedings, Horace bent down to be able to read the list from the ledger.
Soon, he started voicing his enthusiasm, "Oho! This must be the Minister's grandson, I wonder if he'll be one of mine… ahh, more Blacks - good, good indeed! Prewetts – and they're twins! I would so like to have the set… oh, and-"
Abruptly, Horace stared at the two last lines on the list, blinking with puzzlement. "What's this, Albus? Tom Marvolo Riddle…" He shot Dumbledore a brief glance, before he started ruminating out loud, "Riddle, Riddle… Doesn't ring a bell – it must be a muggle surname. But Marvolo? That's a wizarding name if I ever heard one. And the address, that's in muggle London… and it's an orphanage to boot… and the last boy, with the same address, and yet…"
Slughorn pulled himself up and frowned at Albus. "His name – it just says 'Harry'. What does it mean?"
"Your guess is as good as mine, Horace," said Albus, his gaze now fixed on the last two lines in the ledger. Indeed, he had been most intrigued when he had seen it, and nothing short of bewildered too.
"Has this ever happened before? Hogwarts' ledger being unable to provide a child's surname?"
"Never, as far as I know," muttured Albus quietly, a mussing and concerned expression on his face.
Before Horace could continue discussing the matter, a knock sounded on the door, this one polite and almost hesitant.
"You may enter," called out Albus distractedly.
A small girl took a step inside, dressed in her Gryffindor uniform though it was summer holidays and she certainly wasn't required to do so. She was one of the few who had been granted permission to remain in the school during the holidays and who was often seen spending all her time in the library.
She would soon start her second year at Hogwarts but already many teachers agreed that she would make a splendid prefect. With her hair strictly pulled back into a tight bun, not a hair out of place, and her lips pursing into a flat line when she glanced at Slughorn, she nevertheless gave a small smile and her cheeks flushed faintly when Albus gestured for her to come further inside.
"Miss McGonagall," said Albus warmly, his eyes twinkling at the sight of his best Transfiguration student to date. "What can I do for you?"
"Nothing," she choked out, as if the question had startled her and her mind had gone to dreamy places it shouldn't have.
Instantly after that, she flushed to the tips of her ears, looking mortified. It didn't help matters when Slughorn started chuckling under his breath, evidently amused at her expense.
But in the next second, Minerva pulled herself up to her full height and gazed back at her favorite professor, who was patiently smiling at her, and she said in a strong voice, "Excuse me, sir. That is, I have something for you. The Headmaster asked me to give you this."
She handed over an envelope, and then gave a sharp nod of the head before she turned around and dashed out of the room without another word.
Horace's chuckles turned into belly-laughter after the door was shut, but Albus didn't bother to chide him for it, nor to pay attention to the wizard's amused comments about schoolgirls and crushes.
Albus opened the envelope bearing the Ministry seal and read the contents of the letter, sighing with weariness and a hint of annoyance. Finally, he stood up and flicked his wand at himself, changing his clothes.
Not one to follow the latest fashions but his own colorful tastes, Albus now sported a velvet suit of a startling, bright yellow, pinstriped with violet lines – it was one of his most formal and subdued attires, in the wizard's opinion. And also, the one suit which didn't have animated figures winking, waving or dancing – perfect for an incursion into muggle London.
With that thought in mind, he opened a drawer of his desk where he had kept the letters for the muggleborns. He hadn't planned on visiting the muggleborns' homes for another week or two, but now that the perplexing matter of the boy without a surname was back in his mind, he thought he could kill two birds with one stone.
As requested by the Minister's letter, their meeting would take place in Leisure Alley, just a step away from muggle London. Hence, afterwards, he would pay a visit to St. Jerome's Orphanage.
Pocketing the thick envelopes for Tom Marvolo Riddle and just 'Harry', he shot Slughorn a brief glance, seeing how the Potions Professor was brimming with curiosity.
"I must take my leave, Horace," Albus said quickly, as he grabbed a handful of floo powder from the pot on the mantelpiece. Without giving the other wizard a chance to start asking questions, he swiftly threw the powder unto the flames of his fireplace. The moment they turned green, he stepped into them and called out, "The Leaky Cauldron!"