Everyone's gathered around us, but no gaze could be more piercing than that of Gellert Grindelwald himself.
His disciples are standing close to him, his dogs closer.
What is it that captivates people around him so much? What is it about him that conjures up their innermost, anarchic reflexes?
I'm so reminded of Inferi. Slavish obedience, striving for a breath of life – but should this really be the result of never ceasing charisma and salutary words?
Grindelwald seems to embody the ultimate apotheosis for many a follower. And yet I can literally feel it in his aura. He of all people here has the most profound doubts about his own plans.
And when he draws it – the Elder Wand – for the first time, the penny drops.
Everybody is staring at the ancient piece of wood as though it were the Holy Grail. In the end, the key to his power might just be an instrument that has been subject of myths for centuries.
Simple. But effective.
And if it's the truth, if Death himself really did shape the Elder Wand, then the Grim Reaper clearly lacks any understanding of haptics. The protrusions are neither visually appealing nor practical. Like a long skeletal finger, ossified and rigid …
"Well then – do you happen to know anything about fire, Maxim?" Grindelwald gestures for the people around us to make way, never leaving me out of his sight.
"No, sir," I lie.
"In the early days of the old world," he then begins to lecture, "in the last years of the infamous King Solomon – after his wisdom had faded because of all the women and the hedonism – a gruesome idolatry crept in. Children were supposedly sacrificed to Moloch, the pagan god of fire. Do you know how exactly that went about, Maxim?"
Of course I do.
But for now I'm just a normal boy who hasn't spent an entire childhood with his nose buried in books …
So I slowly shake my head before Grindelwald waves the Elder Wand over his head, almost whispering, "Protego Diabolica!"
Blue flames, brighter than his eye, flare up in a circle around him until he comes to a stop and looks directly at me again.
"They either burnt the children alive or, if they were lucky, only made them jump through it to please their idol. So those who weren't already condemned to death and moved quickly enough might even have survived. Some were spared – but nevertheless passed on into other hands. Meant to be sacrificed, and a sacrifice their existence became. But for us, for the Greater Good, it's just a kind of … tradition. Isn't it?"
People around us cheering while Grindelwald gives me a wry smile.
"All evil intentions burn up in the bright blue ring of fire," he continues. "And many a time along with the one claiming to support me – if they do not come with a pure heart. Will you join me with a pure heart, Maxim? Will you survive the way to me?"
To serve Moloch? Does he really want to use that analogy for his cult? Bleak picture that he paints. And that's probably what the ladies meant by endless monologues …
"Gellert," Queenie coughs up anxiously, putting on her prettiest smile, "isn't the trust of your dogs enough?"
"Apollon and Artemis?" Grindelwald chuckles. "Queenie, you know – trust is fine, but I like control. You all had to go through fire, so does he – I wish to be fair!"
"Tom," I hear Vivian whisper, it's laced with distress.
She doesn't have to say anymore, I know what she's thinking.
That I'll die.
That's what I believe, too …
But so be it. What else but try can I do at this point?
"Without fear," I call out and begin to walk, already approaching Grindelwald, "for the Greater Good!"
He gravely nods. "That's right, my son, come, come …"
If I burn, I'll condemn Vivian and Queenie to death as well – as most untrustworthy of followers.
Nagini might escape. I really hope she does …
And Harper … I sincerely hope she'll find love, write books about complex magical theories and proves to the world what charming brilliance she possesses. And also that she'll have lots of beautiful children – but then again, the thought of her doing all that with someone other than myself by her side makes me hopping mad.
If she'll have children, they should be mine.
If she'll celebrate life, I can't be dead …
Maybe it was a mistake to come here. Maybe I should've just held her in my darkness.
But now there's no turning back.
Step by step, I continue on my way to the flames while everyone around us keeps holding their breath.
Especially me.
How irritating that I feel melancholy now of all times.
Why couldn't the love potion also eradicate this naivety from my soul?
For better or worse, the Horcrux will have to serve that purpose.
Die trying to find a way to shatter the soul once and for all – wouldn't that at least be ironic?
Grindelwald doesn't even blink, but I don't look away either. I walk towards him, fatalistic and in utmost determination, but as I'm about to take the first step into the flames, we hear gunshots.
Gunshots …
Fortuna, what the hell are you up to?
Why not end here and now what could bring great harm or some sort of greater good? Why stop all this with shots from firearms of German soldiers?
I'm in a trance when Queenie pulls me away from the fire with a jerk – and not a moment too soon.
Grindelwald expands and inflates the blue flames until the first outcries of pain echo through the forest. Uniforms and bodies burn away at once, leaving behind but worthless metal badges, awarded by the mad and megalomaniacal demagogues of our time.
The acolytes and two eager Rottweilers fight side by side with their master, even though they add little value. Grindelwald is said to have sent thirty Aurors to the afterlife with only a wave of his wand back in the days in Paris – what are Muggles with weapons in comparison?
As I observe him, he's mainly venting emotions. He's infinitely angry, and even if he tries to hide it – that very fact lashes out for all to see. There's a fire burning inside him that's even more devastating than what he releases into the world with his magic.
But it's also interesting to witness how suspiciously Vinda Rosier watches her master as he disposes of our attackers with outrageous satisfaction.
It's clearly hatred on her face, just as there are scars on her arms. Heaven may know her reasons, still I see it in her eyes. She can hardly resist much longer, and while Grindelwald is distracted, she senses her one opportunity.
All or nothing – it's the turning point of her allegiance. The construct around him might be forged in fire, but apparently he's not prepared for corrosive rust.
She's about to shoot the deadliest of curses at him while his back is turned. Not very brave, but likely what she views to be her only chance.
To her misfortune, however, I notice that very intention – and I see an opportunity for myself.
The possibility of not going through fire because I can prove my loyalty otherwise.
Tom Riddle would counterbalance her death curse with the very same.
But what would Maxim do?
What would a boy do that wants to change the world for the better, in blinded idealism at that?
She draws her wand, about to try.
Her lips already move, and in the chaos, no one but me sees green light flashing from wood right towards the most infamous dark magician of our time.
"Expelliarmus!" I hear myself shout, right over the screams of the last dying soldiers.
And as green light meets the red of my own spell, steadily pushing back, the impact of my action can be seen right on Grindelwald's face.
For a split second, he is surprised, curious about my abilities, besides the cold rage for Vinda.
He takes a step back, extinguishing the flames of his own fire to watch me duel with an experienced witch.
And that's when I realise I need to act my part.
He should hardly know that I'm capable of doing this …
So I curb my will, letting my red be increasingly swallowed up by Vinda's green again. At least until the very killing curse suddenly turns to dust, just like Vinda.
The long monologue before her end is clearly missing …
He has just shattered her into tiny matter without any hesitance. An ever so calm wave of the Elder Wand – gone she is.
And I believe I actually deserve an Academy Award for taking in deep breaths with big, round eyes.
Apart from my theatrically excited breathing, it's dead quiet.
Many a face bears witness to the bitter realization that the next mutiny will end up in nothing but dust as well.
Grindelwald, however, glances at me attentively.
"You almost lost your life, boy."
"As did you," I reply – and could bite my tongue at once. Sarcasm isn't supposed to be in Maxim at all.
"As did I?" Grindelwald repeats in amusement. "The kid's not only just defended me with his own life, he's apparently also quick-witted with adrenaline in his system!"
Oh, sure.
Whatever he wishes to tell himself.
He comes closer to look me straight in the eye again – until his gaze seems to reach the depths of my soul. "Where were we earlier?"
"The blue fire," I clumsily say. It physically hurts to pretend I don't know what specific spell it is …
"It's called a Protego Diabolica," he informs me in his great benevolence.
Old men explaining the world to the youth – it makes me almost miss Hogwarts.
"How is it conjured up?" I shake inside. Never in my life did I think I could swallow my pride whole.
"Watch carefully," he demands, and I already stifle a sigh.
Of course he still wants me to go through it, despite my efforts with Vinda …
"Next time – when a new soul wishes to join me."
"Next time, sir?" I gulp.
"You've just proven yourself, Maxim." He swiftly holds me by the shoulders, in an odd, fatherly way. "You would've given your life for mine. That's all I wanted to see."
My father – my real father – looked at me the same way, not too many days ago. When he was proud to meet me and had no idea that I was capable of murder. And yet – when I think about it – he didn't even care that I'd taken someone's life …
"What did I miss?" we suddenly hear a person shout – and their voice startles me out of my thoughts at once.
As does what I see out of the corner of my eye. A damn familiar figure …
The last man who didn't see the worst in me limps towards us from one of the tents.
Edwin.
And he's almost responsible for my slipping facial features.
What business does Edwin of all people have with a fanatic that hates No-Majs like Harper's parents, part of his own family?
And why the hell am I so out of luck? I'd have to keep entirely quiet for the rest of my stay here so he wouldn't recognize my voice …
"Edwin, my dear friend," Grindelwald calls out, beckoning him to join us. "Queenie and Vivian came to visit, besides a couple of soldiers. And look! A new arrival to welcome. Clever young fellow, I say."
Edwin's visibly struggling to move forward with his stick on the forest floor, his hip is certainly hurting again, but he really doesn't let it show as he comes to a halt next to Grindelwald to examine me closely.
"His name is Maxim," Grindelwald informs him. "The ladies vouch for him. They say he was educated at the Koldovstoretz and knows Russian."
"Strastwuitje," Edwin greets me with a wink. "You remind me of someone, boy …"
"Me, too." Grindelwald's mouth twists, it's bitter.
"A young Albus, for sure," Edwin adds, not taking his eyes off me. "But that's not what I mean."
Grindelwald raises his brows. "How many young men with an education in Russia do you happen to know, you old world traveler?"
"None at all, frankly." He smirks. "Must be his gesture. The attitude. Reminds me of someone. That's all…"
He offers me his hand, I shake it out of necessity – and this time around, I really don't have to pretend I'm at a loss for words …
Transcription:
Strastwuitje = Здра́вствуйте = Welcome