No one's said a word, in hours. The dogs are lying next to Grindelwald – still enthroned on his armchair – and occasionally someone stares at the huge wooden clock next to the fireplace to sigh. It's almost 3 am, but we're sitting around as though we were hypnotised by the flickering fire.
My inner restlessness, however, increases with every tick of said clock, and Harper seems to sense it. My head is pounding, my soul is burning, every little movement triggers auras, and the heat in this cursed hall is simply unbearable.
Hellfire inside you, all around you …
When I can't bear it any longer, I raise my hands to smother the flames, but Grindelwald immediately causes them to flare up again.
"You can't possibly be cold!" I call out, he all but chuckles.
"Too warm for you? Believe me, that's nothing yet, it's going to get much worse –"
"Then why are we heating on top of it?"
Purification through fire …
"Light, Tom!" he growls, impatience lacing his tone. "You should rather not be sitting in the dark in a few minutes –"
"Have you never heard of electricity?" I interrupt him, fully aghast by now.
As an answer, Apollo barks at me, but Grindelwald will always speak for himself.
"We're in the middle of the Alps, you prodigy!" He gives me an acid smile. "If you wish to install electricity up here, feel free!"
The darkness is waiting …
I close my eyes, just for a heartbeat long, then I can't help it anymore. "We need cold, fresh air, and I'm not asking."
As soon as I've voiced that, I let my magic push the window front open.
"Do you wish to invite Dementors?" Grindelwald shouts, jumping to his feet in fury.
"As though you of all people were afraid of Dementors!" I yell back and position myself in the middle of the nightly wind – it feels utterly mandatory, and as if I'd simply perish otherwise.
And indeed – that's so much better.
Born in the cold, like a snake …
"I'm just as uncomfortable, son," Grindelwald grumbles, suddenly standing next to me to seemingly enjoy the cold as well. He folds his arms over his chest, adding, "But you're serving yourself on a silver platter. You came here voluntarily, so why don't you trust me? This isn't my first Samhain."
"But mine," I remind him. "And I hear hell whispering to me, and I feel its flames – thanks to your oversized fireplace in your oversized castle – literally burning on my skin!"
"You will not have any peace of mind tonight – not even with the help of cold air."
"Save your words, Gellert, he's incorrigible when angry," Dumbledore sighs, now also approaching to join us. "Tom, I can only advise you not to cast a Patronus in your condition. You'll still need your strength. But I can already see them coming – Azkaban's guards …"
It's true. Apollo and Artemis are already barking incessantly. The first Dementors are floating closer, and soon they'll scrape their skeletal fingers along the old glass of the windows.
"Close them," Grindelwald orders. "Otherwise I will."
"Not yet," I hear myself negotiate, soothed still by the calming cold. "Just a bit longer –"
"They're already floating into the castle, Tom," Dumbledore informs me, but almost as if he had great fun for once. "Shall I help?"
"I don't need your help," I hiss – when suddenly a blue light flashes behind us.
"Eccentric gentlemen such as the lot of you love making a fuss, huh!" Vivian complains while sending her Patronus into action. Harper's bobcat also hurries through the night in a glowing shimmer, right next to Queenie's owl that soon confronts Dementors with beats of powerful wings.
"Enough air for good," Grindelwald decides, but with a heavy heart. "Enough fun, too, before things get out of hand and we end up missing a trustworthy witch."
With a strong headwind, he throws the Dementors into far distance and lets the windows slam shut. Then he casually strolls back to his chair to sit down in front of the fireplace again. As if nothing ever happened.
Silence becomes loud once more, profound and oppressive. Grindelwald strikes me as quite relaxed considering the circumstances, but my inner tension still drives me mad, like a tiger in a cage I'm bound to constant restlessness.
Blood, sin, guilt, atonement …
"Try to focus on your breathing," Harper whispers, and I know she only tries to help. But I could literally crawl up the walls. Hence the dull look I give her makes clear that any advice on my breathing rhythm will hardly be of value.
"Let me check an assumption," I hear Vivian as she's already coming over to me. Without further ado, she forces me to let her feel my forehead with her hand, then she looks at Grindelwald with worries written all over her face. "Gellert, he's glowing …"
"What are you concerned about exactly, Vivian? He can't die, can he! His soul was torn apart, don't you remember? Or was that … not quite the truth?"
The way he now stares at me, maliciously, without any attempt to hide his amusement, I just know it. Dumbledore was right. Grindelwald had never believed for but a second that I was immortal …
He knew all along. And yet, by visiting Queenie, he couldn't resist showing me where my immortal path could have ended. Where, if I had full control of my magic, it could still end, under certain circumstances …
Grindelwald grasps psychological warfare much better than Dumbledore could ever dream of – he doesn't have the sinister side to him. Unlike Grindelwald, and me. We target insecurities. We target weaknesses. And we rarely miss once we shoot.
Grindelwald can literally read this exact realisation from my face. "It almost insulted me – did you really think I was blind, yet again?" He grins, pointing at Harper. "Your little witch was in the way, wasn't she?"
Harper gulps, I don't bat an eye.
"What's perfidious, however, is …" He shrugs, winking at me. "Hell counts even the attempt as an outstretched hand. It makes no difference whether you ultimately succeeded or not. You have irrevocably entered territory that was not intended for mortals. Not even for magically gifted ones …"
"Gellert, and yet it affects him more than it does you," Vivian urges.
"Does it now?" He smirks. "Well, what other sins have you committed apart from longing for Horcruxes? Edwin mentioned an Inferius, but who knows if that was just gossip?"
Dumbledore glares at me, genuinely shocked.
So Grindelwald is all the more happy to add, "As a child, at that, out of pure intuition …"
"I wasn't aware of that," Dumbledore admits, giving me a look of bluntest lethargy. "Hell, however, is. Unforgivables weigh heavy tonight. Just like Fiendfyres –"
"Fiendfyres?" Grindelwald repeats, merry by the very idea of it. "Has he mastered that art? They're not evil per se, Al, don't be such a killjoy …"
"He did use one to terrify a fellow student recently, though," Dumbledore adds for context, shrugging his shoulders as I can't suppress a certain surprise in my expression. "Did you think I wouldn't hear about it?" he asks. "Unfortunately, Mr Black couldn't provide any evidence. Or witnesses daring to support his claims.
"Yet you believe him," I retort.
"I certainly won't have to answer that, Tom. I wouldn't have made you Head Boy, I would have expelled you –"
"Durmstrang would've encouraged his potential in the Dark Arts to some extent at least. Hogwarts, on the other hand –"
"Not that discussion again, Gellert," Dumbledore decides with a dismissive wave of his hand while letting his gaze wander over the high bookshelves.
"Not again?" Grindelwald chuckles. "Sorry, Al, but the last time we discussed that was decades ago."
"A day, a year, a lifetime – time is relative, old friend …"
"True indeed," Grindelwald agrees, slightly bitter, then he looks back at me, probably since I'm walking in circles by now, exhausted, trying not to lose my mind. "Just look at him – feels like yesterday when he was just a grim-faced orphan standing next to Vivian, now he's almost an adult …" He winks at Dumbledore. "I knew well back then that you'd break your teeth on him with your miserable altruism." Suddenly, he, too, has to suppress a groan, clearly tormented by the October night. "He lied to me, without flinching, without remorse," he adds eventually.
"So you seem to have already bitten your teeth on him, too," Dumbledore remarks.
"Albus, you simply must be aware that he has absolutely no use for your worldview, right?"
"As though yours would match better," Harper practically spits at his feet from a safe distance.
"I consider us to be the cornerstones of a triangle in terms of our beliefs," Dumbledore admits, thoughtful as ever. "The three of us couldn't be more different …"
"But you are similar in one respect," Vivian sighs, raising her eyebrow. "All three of you. You are the talents of your time. Whether it's to the world's advantage or not … Gellert strives for dominance, Albus for unconditional tolerance – so basically, you two balance each other out."
"The fact that we will be duelling in six months at the latest is only of advantage to you, yes," Grindelwald confirms, giving me a cynical smile. "But what's he striving for?"
I don't answer, still he continues, "Don't get excited too soon, Tom Riddle. Once I've defeated Al, you'd better throw your inherent rebelliousness overboard as quickly as possible. Otherwise, I already have a list of those who need to die …"
He winks at Harper and weeks ago I would've burst with rage – but it's become so clear that Gellert Grindelwald mostly speaks sociopathic words that are rarely ever followed by actions. Also, I'm going mad with every breath I take – may he talk and talk …
Fire and tyranny – what else could you be capable of with the blood in your veins?
"Yet I trust the boy will join me without pressure," Gellert then informs Dumbledore. "He knows exactly how ambivalent morality can be, and I can still teach him a trick or two – unlike you. And he's not pursuing wishful thinking about assumptions of equality …"
"His Horcrux," Dumbledore protests, "failed because of a girl whose parents are not magical – are you sure about that?"
"Details …" Grindelwald laughs to himself, waving it off. "Still he wished to tear his soul apart. That's proof of his ambition! So yes, Al. I'm sure." Almost proudly he winks at me – pausing the very next second. "You really are looking worse by the minute … Boy, have you perhaps spent time in Purgatory by any chance?"
I force myself to shrug, unsure of what he's getting at.
"Limbus," he specifies, "usually a place of travel, lit up in bright white – where we meet people well alive that should really be very dead."
Merope.
King's Cross.
White …
"Were you there? Answer!"
I gulp. "Were you?"
"No." Grindelwald shakes his head, but not without keeping his eyes fixed on me. "I've heard stories about it, though. It's a place that shouldn't exist. Tell me, have you been there?"
You were almost ours …
I nod. "I think so."
"When? During the fifth ritual?" Dumbledore asks, genuinely alarmed.
This time, Harper nods for me.
Dumbledore takes in a sharp breath, shaking his head in dismay. "In that case, Tom, death really almost caught you …"
"That explains why Samhain affects him that much," Grindelwald whispers as if it were downright fascinating.
"He almost belonged to the underworld," Queenie sums it up.
She also comes over to Harper and me – by now, we're sitting as far away from the fire as possible, with Artemis and Apollo next to us.
"May I?" she asks, raising her hand to feel my forehead as well.
Embers, ash, purple streams …
I can't even focus enough to nod, but she assumes she may. Once she touches me, she flinches, pulling her hand away in a haste again, murmuring to Grindelwald, "He's literally burning …"
"Death wants him back," he only chuckles.
"Queenie, would you be so kind," Dumbledore asks, "and get some cold wraps?"
"I've never felt better!" I shout my protest after her, but she already hurries off.
Lies, lies, you always tell lies …
"Nonsense," Harper whispers, along with the demons. "You look like it's new moon again …"
She grabs my hand – and although I shake my head impatiently, I'm infinitely grateful she's here for that absurd moment in time.
Forcing a smile, she claims, "It'll be fine."
And when Queenie's finally finished forcing cold wraps on me without any sense or purpose, loud silence returns. All we eventually hear is the crackling of the fire and the swinging of the grand clock. As if our heartbeats needed to align with the constant ticking.
Our eyes also inevitably follow the movements of the clock. And soon it's right before the witching hour …
"Are we just going to wait like cattle in a slaughterhouse?" I ask, breathless but angry.
"In a way." Grindelwald looks over his shoulder at Harper. "Did Queenie and Vivian train you, little witch?"
"Yes," she simply confirms.
"So?" Grindelwald then proceeds to ask me. "Do you believe she can cast a blue fire?"
"Of course I do," I snap. "As do you, obviously – otherwise she wouldn't be here, would she?"
He all but winks. Then he sighs, reminiscing, "Vinda used to help cast these protective spells, children." Queenie only gulps as she returns with cold water and linen towels. "Do you miss her?" he eventually asks.
"You know exactly how we felt about Vinda," Queenie answers in evasion while soaking a cloth in her bowl. "She was a traitor."
"I should have relied on your intuition in that regard," Grindelwald chuckles. "I actually thought she was loyal …"
"She was never loyal to us, and neither to you," Vivian quietly says, it's almost rather eerie to see her staring into the fire like that. "She was only ever interested in her own advantage."
"Be that as it may, the hour is about to strike," Grindelwald sighs, getting up and hence beckoning me to join him at the fireplace. "Come here, to the fire."
Don't do it!
"Under absolutely no circumstances will I –"
"Do what he says, Tom," Dumbledore sternly interrupts me. "Now!"
Don't listen to him, stay with us, in the cold, in the darkness – where you belong …
"What do you two think you're doing?" I hiss, spreading my arms. "You're constantly like an old married couple arguing –"
"I want this duel," Grindelwald growls at me, visibly annoyed for good. "After all these years, I finally want to take action! And you swore to me that you were the key to it – so on my watch, you won't die in agony out of childish defiance!"
He's lying, they're all lying, don't go near him …
"You may need me, yet I don't need you," I boldly claim – but then the clock strikes the witching hour.
And at once, while the flames in the fireplace all flare up, no more air is reaching my lungs.
Look into the darkness, into the abyss …
The severity of the effects on my body, my mind, comes as a surprise to me despite all the foreshadowing. And no Anapneo could ever balance out the pressure that is suddenly being placed on my airways.
"Damn it, don't be so stubborn!" Harper shouts as she takes heart to push me towards Grindelwald, where Queenie and Vivian are already waiting for her to form a circle around us by holding each other's hands.
It's like a Déjà Vu.
As if I was suddenly standing in the profound darkness of the Chamber of Secrets again. With nothing but corrupted soul light wavering around me, causing the red blood on my hands to glow in ever more grotesque shimmer while dripping down on the floor.
All the guilt, don't you feel it? All your sins! Your soul will never be yours again …
"Focus," Grindelwald whispers to me as though it was but routine to him. "They're lying, alright? The voices are lying!" He intently looks at me. "It's not true. None of it. Every soul can find redemption, regardless of your actions. Alright?"
I try to breathe, but still air hardly reaches my lungs.
"Do you understand?" Grindelwald urges me, suddenly cupping my face in his hands, almost fatherly – even if it's only for his own gain. "Look at me! Remember Godric's Hollow. The old cathedral. Remember that? I said it was a pagan temple – because of all the relics and bones – remember?"
I nod, albeit as in a trance, numbed by the burning sensation in my soul's core and the flaring body memory of the rituals.
"And yet inside, we both felt calm, didn't we?"
I guess I glare up at him so dully that he just rambles on.
"See, no place in the world could ever be deserted. The principle of love can surround us even in darkness, and it brings salvation. It makes us better than we could ever dare to hope, better than the voices around us claim, and its light is enough to defy the fury of the abyss. Do you understand that?" When I won't respond, he repeats, "Do you understand?"
I nod, still beside me.
He lets his hands fall, then he briefly nods to concentrate himself.
"Start, children," he instructs the ladies without taking his eyes off me. "Tom – no magic! Don't even think about it. As above, so below. The witching hour will reverse everything. We rely solely on our esteemed company …"
"Why don't we just leave you to the darkness?" Harper suggests.
"Sweetness," Grindelwald chuckles while shaking his head, "because it would also take your walking enigma. Tom has to fulfill a vow – which is no longer possible if I die first – and thus I'd drag him to the grave, too, since thanks to you, he was unable to create a Horcrux … We all need each other. At least tonight." He groans, visibly tormented, then he takes a deep breath and looks up at the ceiling as if heaven could open up right there. "And now begin!"
Vivian and Queenie take each others' and Harper's hands, then all three close their eyes and start to speak incantations that are supposed to remedy our situation.
Dumbledore has long taken a seat in Grindelwald's throne to devoutly watch us, and I could hardly bear any of it out of sheer annoyance – if I weren't convinced I'm falling apart due to my own radiating madness at any given moment.
"ProtegoDiabolica!" the three witches finally call out, over and over again, until a complete ring of blue fire flares up around us.
Only as the flames flicker high next to us, closing hell out of our little spot, do I feel able to breathe again. As though waves had pressured me to the bottom of the ocean for minutes, I audibly gasp.
"That's good – calm down," Grindelwald whispers to me.
"Salvio Hexia! Finite Incantatem! Confundo!" the representative Moira mumble, over and over again, without ceasing.
And yet I see things …
In every shadow, behind every curtain, on the walls, the ceiling, beneath me, in front of and next to Gellert Grindelwald. The ground under our feet crumbles in my vivid fantasy, or so I hope.
Grindelwald soon puts his hands on my shoulders with his eyes closed and his features tense – probably a non-verbal attempt to ground not only himself, but also me.
But I can't think clearly.
Claws seem to be grabbing for his shoulders and his face, the blue fires turn red …
I see eyes gleaming in the darkness, following our every move. Ash and smoke closing in on us in circles, making my head spin also – like a maelstrom.
We can no longer hear the others, and what should be seconds feels like centuries.
"These aren't hallucinations," I call out to Grindelwald as if through a storm, but it's actually more of a question than a statement.
He shakes his head, however, telling me, "Without the veil, it becomes clear who and what the Dark Arts are opening us up to. Nothing comes for free. Everything has its price."
Yes, the murder of my uncle takes its toll. The rituals do. Every Unforgivable Curse, the misanthropy, all the hatred in my heart, every grudge …
"Why …" I gasp, then I force out, "Why have I never heard or seen this on Halloween before?"
"Rituals by moonlight build bridges," he whispers, gripping my shoulders even tighter, still with his eyes closed. "Focus on the light!"
There is no light here …
How could I focus on light with all the voices in my head, all the surrounding chaos?
You can't – let go, give in …
Queenie, Vivian and Harper keep mumbling their protective spells, the blue flames around Grindelwald and me are blazing, but the smoke is no longer just tugging at us, it's tearing.
Just let go …
I breathe, but in vain. The shadows take hold of me until I choke in silence again, even if I wish to scream.
And this time, none of it goes according to plan. I am not standing here determined to tear my soul apart – I simply cannot fight it.
It might just be in my imagination, but I could swear that the smoke gradually lifts me up, making me float almost imperceptibly. And just as Grindelwald tries to push me to the ground in horror again, I realise it's real indeed.
Let go, you belong to us …
Just as the burning heat beneath my skin becomes so unbearably intense that I almost lose my consciousness, the smoke around us clears due to brightly fluorescent flapping of wings.
Albus Dumbledore's Patronus is a phoenix, no surprise in that … But I did not see coming that said phoenix would deliberately chase away whatever tries to possess me.
You cannot win – where there is no love, there is no light!
But I am no longer a lost child only carrying hate inside. I am not alone anymore. I know light.
No, you are as lonely as the day you were born!
I wasn't even alone then.
As cold as it was, as lonesome as it felt – Merope gave her life for me, for my profound protection.
And yet you don't know what love is!
Love … But isn't love light?
Isn't Harper's laughter and every touch of her just that? Isn't Elliott's unwavering loyalty? Don't I intend to break Rouvenia's fiancé's neck just because she should be able to live her life the way she pleases?
Violence and torture, even in your brightest, most noble thoughts …
I can grasp theories and teachings of various epochs in no time, but impulse control … How hard it is to control intrusive thoughts …
You will never be able to do that, you are meant to bring death upon the world – your fate demands no less!
But I have better things to do.
You will fulfill your destiny …
No.
Maybe I whisper that. Maybe I shout it. But I'm sure I shake my head, and finally I feel my lungs being filled with air again.
Because I want to break Nagini's curse, and I'm sure I can. I aim to accomplish the impossible, I wish to find supposedly lost, magical artefacts, simply because I am sure that I can do just that. I need to write books about it, manic, in the middle of the night, right next to Harper. So that the ideas that make my head spin can be immortalised – just as Odysseus' journey was by Homer, before it fell into our hands as children.
That is not your destiny …
So what? What do I owe fate?
I want Echidna to be able to look into even more eyes – I wish the Slytherin bloodline to regain the pride of long-lost days when Harper, in all her forgiving euphoria, gives me children – even if she'll have to doubt my sanity for the rest of her life simply because I'm Tom Riddle.
She, too, will soon see you for who you really are …
No. Her doubts have never surpassed her love. She's still here. Here with me. If she can believe in something good, despite all my circumstances, despite all my mistakes, I must be able to believe in that, too, for better or worse.
She used to think you were not cold-blooded, but she's wrong! Nobody knows that better than you …
Perhaps she's wrong, yes. Perhaps she also knows deep down who I could become. Or perhaps she simply trusts me.
And her trust is just as overwhelming as it is inspiring.
Foolish idealism!
I've condemned it all my life. But what good did that do?
No, I'm not going to murder mindlessly, only to be brought down by a school boy, forced into humbling metanoia as Grindelwald prophesied.
And frankly it'd be a shame to lose my father's facial features …
I bloody well have better things to do.
"Good, hold on," Grindelwald grumbles, nodding at me before he closes his eyes again. "Concentrate, just a little longer. We're almost there. Focus on light."
Blue flames and a shimmering phoenix keep on driving away the black of the night – and gradually the screaming I've heard for days, too.
"Confundo! Salvio Hexia! Finite Incantatem!"
The screeching of the darkness fades until I recognise Harper's voice again. I soon hear her clearly – and never has that been more reassuring.
The longest sixty minutes of my life feel like a century, but they, too, come to an end.
And when the massive, old clock strikes another hour, the spells of this last night in October lose their full moon power, eventually forced back into Hades.
I know light.
It's right here with me.