Chapter Text
Yule. The prisoner thought sourly as he curled into a ball under his blanket, cold and miserable. Even the stones of his cell bore a dusting of frost. Holly on the mantle, gingerbread, mulled wine at the fireside… ghosts of a time past and best forgotten. How many Yules had he seen in this grey hell since? He grimly reached out for the wisps of magic he still had access to, willing a cocoon of warmth about himself.
“Happy Yule, old man!”
“Drunk already, Muller?” he could not resist sniping. “Drowning your sorrows alone instead of dining with lovely Frau Muller? Has she finally left you for being such a slob?”
Maybe he should not taunt his jailers, but he could not stand the monotony. He quickly regretted it when he heard the man fumbling with his belt. A few minutes later, the flap on the door for his meals was lifted, and a steaming bowl was shoved in. His slop was always served cold.
“Bon Appetit!” Cruel laughter, a jangle of keys. Boots thumping down stone steps. Then he was alone.
Gellert Grindelwald, once the most feared dark wizard on earth, stared at his one and only meal of the day, now fouled and reeking of… Did Herr Muller have asparagus recently? Well, he was not that desperate… Missing a meal or two would not hurt…
With a sigh, he curled into a ball under his thin blanket.
The great fir tree in the grand hall ablaze with candles. Vinda’s rosy cheeks after one too many glasses of elf-wine. Someone coaxing her to sing. The awkwardness of the Yule gifting. MacDuff laughing as he empties out his stocking to find it full of coal and straw. Aurelius peering shyly at the party from the staircase, too shy to partake of the conversation or dancing. That wretched bird of his dripping ash…
All long gone. The castle that had once rung with their laughter, their dreams, his vision, was now a forsaken prison. There were no others held there now besides him. Muller or whichever guard drew the short straw for Yule duty did not count. They had not trusted him in the Erkstrang, even with the manticore.
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum. How faithful are your leaves!
You are not only green in summer. No, even in winter when it snows.
They had important guests – the Collins from work, Aunt Marge, and her friends from the Battersea Kennel Club. The freak better behave if he knew what was good for him. No freaky stuff or that M word. He must be polite and not speak out without being spoken to. Aunt Petunia had even found him clothes that fitted, well almost.
He must be a good boy, Mrs Collins smiled drunkenly after too much wine. To repay his uncle for taking him in in given his worthless parentage… Why, most would have sent him to some orphanage.
A scrawny thing who would never amount to anything, just like his parents… Aunt Marge perhaps.
Harry’s stomach growled, but he was not allowed to eat at the table. He has the most awful manners. Bad breeding. He was to stay in the kitchen and help his aunt with serving their guests while Dudley stuffed his face at the table.
Aunt Petunia had gone to answer the phone and ordered him to bring the turkey out. Harry had almost made it to the table before the entire bird slipped…
The turkey was ruined, lying on the kitchen floor. It was too heavy for the undersized boy, weak from malnutrition and repeated beatings. Uncle Vernon had stomped in and yelled at the child.
“Insolent brat!”
Then came the fists… Harry whimpered. He had not been feeling well for a while. His skin itched as if something was trying to tear out of it. Something freakish and scary happened. Everything exploded into black smoke.
Auror John Dawlish yawned and scratched his armpit. He was on duty, having drawn the short straw. While his colleagues were chugging eggnog and scarfing pudding at home, he was stuck in the Situation Room, monitoring magical Britain… So far all was calm. He furtively took a sip from his flask of brandy. His turkey sandwich sat comfortably in his belly. Then there the chocolate cake Blanche insisted he have when he was at the canteen.
He was almost dozing off to dreams of dancing sugar plums when the alarms started blaring.
“Merlin!” he leaped up and ran to where the devices and sensors were going crazy. A massive burst of dark energy detected in a Muggle neighbourhood. Some place called Little Whinging. Now it was rushing towards Greater Whinging. This was not the Muggle-baiting tomfoolery they always encountered during the festive season. No, this was something he had only heard of in hushed whispers. This threatened to blow the Statutes of Secrecy to kingdom come.
John Dawlish hit the alarm button that would summon Aurors the length and breadth of the British Isles. There was no time to even call Scrimgeour or Bones first. He had to sound the alarm.
An Obscurus.
In Hogwarts, the alarms in the headmaster’s office jangled as the wards about No. 4 Privet Drive were shredded. However, unlike the Ministry’s Situation Room, there was no one to heed their warning apart from one dozy phoenix, who simply flitted off to the Owlery to continue sleeping. Six floors below in the Great Hall, Dumbledore blissfully presided over the staff Christmas dinner, partaking of mulled wine and mince pies. It would be hours before he returned to his office.
The Obscurus fled, driven by blind fear, leaving behind a trail of destruction in its wake. It flew over towns and cities, the North Sea, mountains… He was growing tired. A dark castle throbbing with long-restrained magic. Somehow, it seemed the perfect place to stop.
The force of Obscurus’ arrival tore the restraining charms cast by the elite ICW Wardmasters to pieces. Had Herr Rudolf Muller been more thorough with his work, Harry might had ended up on his butt in the snow, but the guard had grown lazy after twenty years on the job. The old man in the tower was kaput after that Duel. He was not going anywhere. Herr Muller was sleeping off his turkey dinner, generously eased with cognac, and dreaming of dancing gingerbread girls when the guardhouse roof collapsed on top of him. He was the only one on duty given the cutbacks. His replacement was expected only on Monday.
Grindelwald felt a thrumming in his blood, such as he had not felt in the last four decades. He could access his magic! Quickly he reached out to wrest control of whatever Wards remained. He was surprised not to sense a replying challenge. Where was Muller? He was master of Nurmengard once more. The lock on his cell popped open. For the first time in almost forty years, the dark wizard descended from his cell. The place was a mess – cobwebs, dust. Damage from both fire and damp. Tapestries and paintings on the walls had been allowed to rot. Many of the windows were broken and let in the elements. The house elves would have a fit.
He stopped by his old bedroom. The bed linens were in tatters. Most of the furniture smashed to bits. The ornate mirror on the wall broken. He ignored the destruction and walked over to the far wall. Now what was the pattern? He tapped three of the stones in quick succession. The grey stones shifted and opened to reveal a recessed space. The hidden wardrobe had survived intact and overlooked. A clean set of robes resized to fit his almost skeletal frame later, he considered his reflection in the cracked glass. He looked ghastly. He summoned his wolverine fur cloak and draped it over his shoulders. Grindelwald continued his stroll through his fortress, inspecting the damage and raising new Wards as he went.
He stepped into what had been the dining room. In its heyday he had entertained guests from the highest levels of society there. The Supreme Mugwump Vogel, the elite of the German ministry of magic, among others. Now it was empty. Wind gusted through the broken window that had once boasted a moving dragon. He stopped cold. That was not the wind. Sobbing. There was a little boy sitting on the dining table crying his little heart out. Gellert sensed the boy’s swirling magic. He had encountered the same twisted magic before, even lived in this castle with one for nigh on five years. An obscurial.
The boy stopped crying, having noticed his presence. A small child with a messy mop of dark hair. Large green eyes peered at him from behind broken glasses. He bore a bruise on his cheek, just starting to show. His sleeves were too long and almost covered his hands, but not enough for Grindelwald to miss the burns, welts, and scars on those small hands.
“I’m s-sorry, sir! P-please don’t hit me…” Harry whimpered as the tall stranger approached. He did not have a wand, but a small healing charm was child’s play for Grindelwald. Shrugging off his fur cloak, he wrapped it around the child and cast healing charms on him. An English-speaking boy. He needed to act fast. The Obscurus’ destructive passage would have attracted attention from the ICW. It would not be long before it was tracked here.
“No one is going to hurt you… What is your name?”
“H-Harry… I did something bad… Freaky bad…”
“Now, Heinrich, you did nothing wrong,” Grindelwald coaxed and hugged the child, rearranging the cloak around them both. He needed to get the boy settled until he could finish securing his castle. “Now be a good boy and sleep…”
What Grindelwald did not count on was little Heinrich falling asleep with his arms still wrapped around him. The child barely weighed anything as he toted the child from room to room, using his will and intent to shore up the Wards and link them to him, and the child. That done, he collapsed exhausted in the old kitchen after coaxing a small fire in the oversized hearth that would have fit an entire hog for roasting back in its heyday.
“Oh Circe!” Auror Shacklebolt exclaimed when he saw the destruction. The magical world had not seen an Obscurus since the 1930s. Britain had not encountered one since Holy Trinity Church in 1577. That incident had gone down into local Muggle legend despite the Wizarding Council’s efforts to contain the fallout.
Ground zero. All that was left of Number Four Privet Drive was a huge smoking crater that had also swallowed up a section of the street as well. At least four dead, possibly more. The family had guests over, a neighbour across the street said as he looked askance at the wizard. As a rule, Aurors in plain robes were more flamboyantly dressed than their Muggle counterparts. Straight from a Nativity Play, eh, mate? No rest for the wicked…
And that was only for this house. The houses on either side were flattened. It was sheer luck one family had been out carolling in the town square, including their pooch. The other house had stood empty since the old man who lived there passed on. An angry-looking old woman in a dressing gown was peering curiously over her battered fence. Her hair was askew and poking out of her curlers. More neighbours were cautiously peering from doorways and behind curtains. They would need Oblivators…
“You got to tell him!” the old woman was tottering over on her slippers. “He’s not answering the Floo…”
“Who?” Was she a witch? Or at least magically aware?
“Dumbledore that’s what. Should have listened. Now they have gone done it…” Arabella Figg spat. “I tried to warn him, I did… but no, family knows best. Well, his family’s done for him now. Poor sod.”
Notes:
Grandpa Gellert anyone?
I have referenced a British legend about an incident, or a string of incidents in 1577 at two English churches that were said to be caused by a hellish black dog attacking during Mass. Collapsed church steeple, dead parishioners…
Chapter Text
Summer. The warmth of the sun beat down on them as they lay on the grass. He reached out shyly to hold the hand of the boy next to him. Albus. Twinkling blue eyes met his. He felt his heart tremble with love. The sun went behind a cloud. Grey mist from the river rolled over them. Cold, so cold…
“Order! Order!” Someone was thumping a gravel. “We call this session to order…”
A court. No, a wizarding council chamber trembling with hostility. Tall tiers of seats for the grand lords and ladies. He was not the centre of their attentions. He was looking down on an old wizard, with long beard and garish robes. He tottered to his seat in the centre of the chamber. He was flanked by scarlet-robed Aurors. He was immediately assailed by boos and hisses.
“The Wizengamot calls a vote of no-confidence against Chief Warlock…”
Grindelwald awoke with a start. Was it a vision? He was cold. Nothing new. The fire he had lit had long gone out. He was hugging something warm in his arms. Too warm… Little Heinrich was burning up with a fever. Grindelwald cursed his oversight. Obscurials were more fragile than regular wix. With their magic in constant chaos, they could not heal themselves properly. Aurelius had been constantly cold, though he knew enough not to complain. Queenie had woven Water-Repelling and Warming Charms a-plenty into all his robes.
Harry whimpered and burrowed deeper into the fur cloak. His body must think he was freezing. Grindelwald knew he must get the boy’s temperature down. Potions? Were there any potions for a fever here? Perhaps in the guardhouse? Where was Muller? He never thought he would think of his jailor for help.
There was a blizzard outside. Snow billowed through the cracked windows. Not even he could survive the walk to the guardhouse across the open courtyard in such foul weather. He lay the boy down in the shelter of the hearth, where he hoped the stones still retained some heat from the fire. He scooped up some snow from the floor where it had piled up under the window. He pressed it against the boy’s brow. It melted too quickly. Heinrich was whimpering with discomfort. His little face red and scrunched up like a house-elf’s.
Of course! Gellert, you must be going senile, Grindelwald chided himself. The house-elves! Some of them he had ceded ownership to his loyal friends and allies when the tide started turning against him. Some he had freed. Others he had put into Stasis with their agreement, tying them to various properties under him. This was a risky decision for them. He had not expected to leave them for more than a decade. Would those elves have perished for want of magic by now? Only one way to find out. He would Summon them and see if any responded. He cats out his magic and focused.
“Karo, Milo, Mika, Helga, Nanna…” he called out each name and waited for the telltale pop of an elf Apparating. As the echo of the last name faded, there was a loud pop behind him.
“Now what has young master been up to?” Nanna grumbled as she took in the disrepair around her. Gellert could not help smiling. Nanna has been his nanny elf in his childhood. There was always something about her that made him feel like a naughty little boy caught with his hand in the cookie jar. She cast several spells in quick succession – fixing the broken windows, Summoning food from some hidden cache… She gasped at the sick child and Summoned a small cot by the fireplace to set him down in, complete with blankets, pillows, and a teddy bear.
“Now, he needs a proper healer…” she rebuked Gellert. Two more pops announced the belated arrival of Milo and Mika. The two house-elves looked wan and pinched, but they recovered quickly in the presence of his magic. Nanna had been tied to the ancestral Grindelwald estate. Steeped in generations of magics, Nanna had access to a strong enough source to sustain her throughout her long Stasis.
Where could he get a proper healer? He had been all but cut off from the outside world since his imprisonment. Heinrich moaned as Nanna tried to feed him beef tea. She had started up a pot of the salty broth on the stove from the food she had Summoned.
“Sir, if Milo may… there is a healer living below… If you will, I’d bring him,” Milo’s ears twitched slightly.
“Then go, Milo. Tell him a child is in dire need…” Grindelwald nodded.
Milo had been tied to a townhouse in Budapest. The Alliance had used it as a safehouse, renting out apartments to regular wix as a cover. The rental arrangements with the goblins must still be standing. Milo could have easily leeched magic from the residents to keep going. The same could be true for Mika in Austria. As for Helga and Karo, they had been tied to remote country houses in Russia and the Italian alps. The magic supporting them could have long petered out in the absence of any wix in residence.
Milo soon returned with a rabbity-looking man who identified himself to ‘Herr Wolff’ as Healer Alfric. Grindelwald claimed that he had been patrolling his property after a long time away abroad. He had discovered the child on his lawn and been caught out by the blizzard. The elves had managed to fix the kitchen up, so it looked lived in rather than dilapidated. The healer looked over the boy and prescribed Feverfew Potion as well as a regiment of Nutrition Potions for severe malnutrition. There were broken and poorly healed bones that needed to be Vanished and regrown with Skele-gro.
“This young man has, well, a medical issue that is outside my ability…” Healer Alfric frowned. “My recommendation will be to keep him comfortable, and turn him over the Aurors once the weather clears…” It figured that the Obscurus would show during the Scans.
“Thank you, Sir Healer…” Grindelwald Summoned Galleons from a stash he had hidden in his hidden closet to generously pay him with.
“If I may be so bold, Herr Wolff, you could use some Nutrition Potions yourself…” Healer Alfric shook his hand.
“Ah, the Amazon basin, she is not kind to old wizards…” Gellert lied as he bade goodbye and a Merry Yule to the healer.
With the Feverfew, Heinrich rallied. The hectic flush faded from his face. Nanna sat by his cot, spooning broth laced with Nutrition Potions into his mouth and sponging his face with a cold flannel. Just like she had nursed her young master Gellert through his bouts of illness and injury as a child. Milo and Mika worked to restock the larder and render the castle habitable once again.
What next? The ICW Aurors would not be able to approach until the blizzard lifted. Before then, he had to secure both himself and Heinrich, as he would call the boy. Harry sounded so common, and British. Then there was Herr Muller… Was the man stumbling half-drunk off the mountain? Had he died frozen to an icicle? Or did his heart finally conk out from his heavy drinking? They could not do anything about that for now.
Goblins… If they were still managing his property rentals in Budapest and Austria among others, the Floo to Gringotts he had installed in his study might still be functional once he unlocked it. He would need to contact Gringotts and access his vaults to assess what state the ICW reparations had left his finances in. They did say the goblins had the best lawyers… It was a pity he was not allowed a trial once he was defeated by Albus. Trial by magical combat in the old tradition. Not that he had any issues with that. Trials were messy and innocents like his Aunt Bathilda might get dragged into the mess. Was she well? He had not been allowed any correspondence during his incarceration.
Nanna had made him breakfast. Rich creamy porridge, studded with currants and toasted almonds. Warm milk with just a hint of cinnamon and cloves. The simple meal of his childhood. Gellert blinked away tears. He thanked Nanna and savoured each mouthful.
A property the size of Nurmengard was too much for a staff of three house-elves. Grindelwald would need to tie them back to himself instead of a property. He would also need to secure new elves. For now, he would ask the elves to focus on the main living area – the hall, the dining room, his personal rooms. Perhaps they could turn Aurelius’ or Queenie’s old rooms into a nursery for Heinrich. The rest of the rooms could be put Stasis to limit the damage for now. After forty years of neglect…
A child’s scream forced him out of his reverie. He hastened back to the kitchen. The obscurial was pressed against the kitchen wall. Black tendrils swirling about the panicked child. Nanna was wringing her hands, torn between wanting to comfort the child and feeling from the obscurus.
“Harry, it’s aright… This is a house-elf. They are magical beings who work for wizards…” Grindelwald explained calmly as he inched towards the boy. The blackness dissipated.
“B-but m-m-magic is not real…” the boy stuttered fearfully. “Uncle Vernon said so…”
“Who is this Uncle Vernon then? A Muggle? What does he know about magic? Harry, you are a wizard and magic is very, very real…” Grindelwald levitated the discarded teddy bear and made it dance a jig on the kitchen table. Harry giggled.
“Come, Heinrich… Do you mind if I use the German form of Harry? There is so much I can teach you about magic…” Grindelwald bent down so he was at Harry’s level. He opened his arms. Harry shyly nodded and cautiously walked towards the former Dark Wizard Grindelwald, accepting his embrace. It felt good. He could never remember being hugged back on Privet Drive.
“Good boy,” Grindelwald hugged the boy, lifted him up and carried him back to the cot. “Now, you have been badly hurt and sick. We will take the next few days easy.” The boy’s likely Muggle family had neglected him, abused him… Grindelwald tamped his fury down.
“Nanna will cook you proper meals and give you the medicine that will make you better...” Nanna dropped a curtesy in her tea towel wrap. Nanna had the Potions schedule worked out. He could trust her to ensure Heinrich got his potions at the correct time.
“I-I get to eat? Even without cooking or chores?” the boy perked up visibly. If those Muggles survived the Obscurus, Grindelwald swore to kill them in the most painful way possible – a Skin-Flaying Curse?
“Of course, child,” Grindelwald eased himself down on the cot beside the boy. “Most non-magical folk are fools when it comes to magic. They hate and attack what they do not understand… You are safe with us…” Was the child a Muggleborn? Or a magical who had slipped through the cracks? The practice for most magical communities was to give custody of a known half-blood child to their nearest magical kin. If none were available, they were fostered by willing families within the community or raised in a group home. Magical children were meant to be cosseted, protected…
One of his proposals back in the 1930s was the forcible removal of any child once they displayed magic from their Muggle birth families to be adopted into magical families, just as they did in North America. That had been met surprisingly with protests from the pureblood faction on grounds that the influx of mudbloods would pollute their community. Fools. Magic was magic. The introduction of new blood would only strengthen their weakening bloodlines. The degree of inbreeding had been shocking within the elite pureblood families of Europe. One could only marry first cousins that often before a litany of issues started popping up – infertility, squibs, madness, mental or physical disabilities… Many of the lords and ladies had to resort to multiple rounds of fertility potions to produce a viable heir.
Heinrich was a stoic little thing. He did not protest when the Skele-gro started working. They might need to call the healer back to check if his feet bones had grown in properly, given that he had leapt out of bed instead of lying quietly for the bones to grow in. It would have hurt like the blazes since they could not give him Pain-Relievers. Maybe the poor boy was too used to pain.
First, he must contact the goblins. He must find out more about the child and what he had missed out in the last forty years. And what has Albus been up to all this while? Did he finally accept the title of Supreme Mugwump?
A Yule tree. The elves had set up a fir tree complete with Charmed candles in the great hall of Nurmengard Castle. Gellert smiled wistfully. It was Yule after all. Gifts. The boy will need a Yule gift…
How often at Yuletide, a tree of yours has delighted me greatly!
O Tannenbaum, o Tannenbaum. You please me greatly!
A smaller version of the tree by Heinrich’s cot. Music on the old gramophone – traditional Yuletide carols. New clothes to replace those Muggle rags. A gingerbread house with Charmed gingerbread animals and men to keep him entertained. No, make it a whole village! He would need to check with the elves, of course.
Notes:
The goblins are a neutral party in most wizarding conflicts if they are not involved directly as in the Goblin rebellions. They are perfectly fine doing business with Grindelwald.
Chapter Text
The goblins replied far sooner than he had dared hope. His current accounts manager Bonecrusher turned up with the ledgers as well as the back copies of the Wizarding International and Die Hexen he requested for the past forty years. The ICW had confiscated several of his properties and vaults as war reparations, but he still had enough hidden away behind false names and convoluted paperwork. The goblins were eager for him to start accessing his long dormant vaults. Stale gold was bad business as far as they were concerned. Sometime in the past forty years, Albus Dumbledore had been made Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock of Britain and Headmaster of Hogwarts. How did the wizard juggle all those duties? Grindelwald shook his head in disbelief.
Heinrich was sitting up and watching a toy sleigh pulled by reindeer fly around the kitchen when he brought the goblin to see the child. Heinrich had squeaked in alarm at the fierce-looking goblin, but they only had a jar of sugar shatter before Nanna soothed the child. She was baking the gingerbread village. Bonecrusher raised a bushy brow.
“Another Obscurial? Really?” He had seen the black smoke threatening to lift off the child before the elf comforted him. His predecessor had mentioned that expensive goblin-Wards had been added to Nurmengard castle in the late 1920s due to a guest of Grindelwald’s being an Obscurial.
“He found me, Mister Bonecrusher… He told me his name is Harry Potter. I wish your aid in locating his magical family…” The goblin turned grey at his words.
“You have been out of touch too long, sir… This child is very important in Britain. I suggest you read the Daily Prophet rag from late October to November 1981. The ICW and British would want custody of the child. It might be in your best interest to turn him over…”
“I will consider your advice, goblin…” Surrender the child to those morons? An Obscurus? More than likely they would kill Heinrich out of hand or lock him up in some miserable cell for the rest of his short life.
They discussed further business matters in the dining room, so not disturb the boy. The retaining of trustworthy lawyers, healers and lesser merchants needed to feed, clothe and render the castle habitable. The services of more elves too. Grindelwald was pleasantly surprised to learn that Helga was just barely alive but too weak to Apparate to his Summons. He sent Milo to fetch her. Nanna could use some help in the kitchen. Karo was dead, the goblin’s records confirmed. Some newfangled Muggle weapon had blown up the Russian dacha he was tied to.
There were properties in his family he deemed had long outlasted their usefulness and should be sold off. He was pleased to learn his Great Aunt Bathilda was still alive. He would invite her over once the castle was in better shape. Forty years of neglect needed serious work. The blizzard would slow any real progress on the external work. Better to concentrate on what he could do indoors with the elves. And Heinrich. Once more, his mind turned to the helpless boy.
“What is the possibility of me taking custody of the child, Bonecrusher?”
“Difficult unless you wish to rush a blood adoption. The Chief Warlock placed him with Muggle family on his mother’s side.”
“No one on his father’s side to claim custody?” That was unusual. The preference would be to place a magical child with magical relations.
“His father was an only child. The Dragon Pox epidemic did for many of the older members of the family. The rest of the Potters did not survive the British Wizarding War. Then there is the issue of his having an Obscurus…”
“Sorry, Master… would Master like Milo to fix up the nursery?” Milo rapped timidly on the doorframe of the dining room. The nursery. He had expected a child when he first started looking for the Obscurus in New York. He had given orders for a nursery to be set up in anticipation of the child. Nanna must have gotten the sleigh and other toys from the nursery.
“We can leave the nursery in the West Wing for now. Just move the good toys into Aurelius’ old room,” Grindelwald ordered. He then turned to the goblin.
“I wish to track down and view his parents’ wills. Surely, they would have listed who were to care for their children… as to the fees…”
“Yes, an administrator’s fee of 50 Galleons will suffice. We are not bound by the laws of Wizengamot,” Bonecrusher smiled. The Supreme Mugwump needed to be reminded on his place and duties. Who better than a former Dark Lord who has returned from obscurity?
“May we also suggest the services of a healer to certify all past injuries and ill-treatment inflicted on the child for the ICW record? That can go a long way in any application of adoption you may want to pursue…” the goblin added. If the child abuse alleged was proved true, the Supreme Mugwump would not know what hit him.
He felt so odd being cosseted and cared for by Nanna the elf. Odd but not unpleasant. Having food to fill his belly, clothes that fit, a warm, soft cot… And toys! More toys than he had ever seen… And magic!
He thought he had died and gone to heaven, but then he remembered the dinner and guests falling. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia lying there with their eyes staring – dead. He did a bad thing. He was a freak. Freaks did not deserve good things. He did not deserve to be loved. The old man had come into the kitchen to speak with the elf.
“S-sir… I am b-better… Can I help please?” he called out. The boy was awake. The fever had lifted.
“No need to call me, sir. You can call me Grossvater or Opa. Both are German for grandfather.”
“Grandfather? You want to be my grandfather?” Harry blinked his eyes in disbelief. “Do I need to cook or clean or…”
“Heinrich, you are still weak from your fever. We have elves to help with the cooking and cleaning. What you need to do now is get better…” Nanna was tugging at his sleeve. She whispered something in his ear when he bent down to her. She was holding up a wooden box which brought back memories of Yuletides spent helping his Mutti decorate the Yule tree.
“For now, you can help me decorate the Christmas tree in the Great Hall with these decorations Nanna found. Then I teach you about magic…”
“Yes sir, I mean Grossvater…” Heinrich’s green eyes lit up.
Technically it was a bit late for Yule decorating, but the joyful smile on Heinrich’s face more than made up for the aching memories of his mother who passed when he started school. Poor Mutti had always been sickly. The cedar box of handmade decorations had been passed down from generation to generation in the Grindelwald family, of whom he was the last of the name. Each ornament told a story, taught a lesson about magic. These he patiently imparted to the little boy who had barrelled into his life as a force of magic while the snow continued piling outside.
“Magic is, Heinie. There is no Good or Bad, just Light and Dark co-existing in balance…”
“Every spell is an exchange. You need to put in an equal power to run any spell…”
“Have you heard of the story of the Three Brothers? Let me tell you about them…”
The time was short. Anytime, the snow could stop and the Aurors arrive to lock him away. They would also take Heinrich away from him too. Nanna stomped in and demanded they take a break for lunch. Poor Heinrich was still recovering and tired easily. They spent the afternoon before the fire sipping hot chocolate and poring over a fairytale picture book as the elves finished decorating the tree.
The boy was magically powerful for his age, which was seven instead of the five or four Gellert had pegged him at given his small stature. Curse those Muggle brutes. That also complicated his condition since the magical core went to powering the Obscurus when the host was agitated or under duress. If his core was as powerful as Aurelius’, he might even live to his majority with luck. Then the boy was smart. He was picking up snippets of German, Latin and even Hungarian from Milo, who helped him set up the toy trainset Grindelwald ordered through the Floo as a Yule gift.
Grindelwald had chuckled at the look of surprise when Heinrich Accio-ed a book for the first time. Then he had to talk him down from a panic attack lest his Obscurus took over.
“Magic is part of us and nothing to fear. The things that happen around you is called accidental magic. It happens to all magical children, especially those who are very strong. Instead of punishing them, we teach them how to direct and use this power in a controlled manner, so they do not hurt themselves or others.”
In the end, Gellert Grindelwald decided to retain the services of Healer Alrich both for himself and his new ward. They would need to tell him the truth eventually about his identity. They would still need an expert in Obscurials for Heinie’s chronic condition. And those were precious rare.
With Aurelius, he had made mistakes from the very start. Not that Aurelius was mentally or emotionally stable to start with after so long under his so-called mother’s heel. He was no child to be moulded. He was a very angry young wizard burning with rage at the family he believed abandoned him for being a squib, for being illegitimate. He had blundered through mastering his magic alone. All brute force and no finesse. He had learned not to trust readily. Their relationship had been strained ever since his perceived betrayal by Percival Graves. In the end the Obscurus ate him up.
Heinrich reminded Grindelwald a little of Ariana. The magical prowess was there but she was too fearful to use it. Shutting it away until it turned on her. Would she also had lived to her majority if not for that damned duel between him and her brothers? Could they have coaxed her magic out eventually, possibly even found a cure between them? All what-ifs. Like Heinrich, she was a quiet, trusting little thing.
How much longer did they have? Seven days had passed. The blizzard could break any time. How he wished they could be hidden away by the snow, just a little longer.
The storm broke on the morning of New Year’s Day, Nurmengard castle received its first visitor for the year. Not an entire ICW Hitwizard squadron but Supreme Mugwump Albus Dumbledore escorted by his Auror friends Moody and trainee Shacklebolt.
On Christmas day a gas mains explosion levelled several houses in Surrey. The Dursleys and their guests were killed outright. Similar explosions happened up and down the country, so the Muggle papers stated. A strange dark cloud had been sighted by wix and Muggles alike tearing through towns. The Ministry of Magic was trying to quell rumours of an Obscurus on the loose in England. It was last seen heading out to sea. When Herr Muller’s relief tried to Floo-call informing him he would be delayed by the storm, he could not get through. The monitoring spells at the ICW headquarters showed that the castle Wards had been destroyed and taken over by an inside force. The Aurors who Apparated to the guardhouse despite the storm found it levelled. They recovered the remains of poor Muller. The storm and renewed wards kept them from going closer, until now.
Notes:
Harry/ Heinrich’s little piece of Christmas paradise with Grindelwald is under threat. How will he react?
Chapter 4: A New Year Visit
Summary:
Two of the greatest wizards of the century meet again.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Little Heinrich had a bad night, beset by nightmares of his past. The Obscurus had tossed furniture about and smashed a mirror before the Grindelwald calmed the poor boy down. Perhaps it was brought on by too much fig pudding. Grindelwald had considered dosing him with Dreamless Sleep, but the healer had warned of risks for one so young. Thankfully, the exhausted child had drifted off afterwards without further incident. Grindelwald had allowed the child to sleep in.
In the dressing room, Grindelwald perused a selection of children’s garments for his ward. Henrich would look darling in the sailor-boy suit. The lederhosen might also fit… It was good to hear his giggles of delight at his bath toys and the magical bubbles conjured up by his nanny. It was time for Nanna to get Heinie out of the bath – another novelty for the poor child. When they first showed him the bathtub, Heinrich had a panic attack. His former caretakers had apparently thought it proper to half-drown him in their tub for his accidental magic. It had taken a gallon of bubbles and a flotilla of toys before the child felt safe enough to make use of his bathtub.
He had seen the scarring on the poor child when Nanna first got him undressed for a bath. Welts and burns of different ages. Even what could have been animal bites to the legs. He had known from the healer’s report, but for him to witness the hurts… His Vati had been a harsh disciplinarian, young Gellert had felt the switch more than once. But this spoke of more of cruelty than any attempt at correction. If those Muggles weren’t already dead, he might be tempted to roast them alive for mistreating a child as such.
The soft wool of the sailor suit would be kinder on the child’s healing wounds. Grindelwald felt the intrusion on the Wards just as he was putting away the lederhosen.
“Master has guests…” Milo announced when he Apparated into the dressing room. Nanna peered out of the bathroom. With her was little Heinrich, warmly bundled up in a fluffy towel. Bath time was over.
“I’ll deal with them shortly, Milo. Ready my warm cloak. Nanna, give young Heinrich his potions and breakfast in his room once he is dressed,” Grindelwald ordered.
“Opa, I don’t want to g-go back…” Heinrich protested, tears coming to his eyes.
“I will not let them take you, mein Spatz,” Grindelwald awkwardly ruffled the boy’s still-damp hair.
On the way downstairs, he peered out of the window which overlooked the main gate. Three figures were huddled by the gate as if in close discussion. The Wards shivered, sending snow sliding off the roof. At least Albus had the good sense not to force the Wards thorough brute force.
Of course, it had to be him… Grindelwald thought sourly as he approached the front door. He took his fur-lined cloak from the waiting Milo and draped it over his frame. The air would be freezing outside. He could not afford to show weakness. He was still pale and thin from his imprisonment.
With a nod to the elf, he opened the door and stepped out into the pale sunshine of an Alpine winter morning. Somewhere a bird stopped singing, as if sensing the tension.
“Herr Dumbledore, a happy new year to you,” Gellert called out as he strode over to the trio. The Wards kept them from entering the forecourt.
“What do I owe the pleasure of this visit to? Shall we talk inside, gentlemen?”
Albus looked frazzled. His hair and beard were in disarray, a far cry from the well-manicured trim of his youth. His old friend had also put on weight, several stone at least. That might explain the shapeless sack-like robe he was wearing. There was medieval chic and medieval fail. Albus had hit fail with his gaudy purple robes. The years had not been kind to either of them.
Dumbledore’s companions held themselves as Aurors would, even if they were out of uniform. At least they had slightly better taste. The one on the left was a battle-scarred veteran. One-eyed and one-legged, with part of his nose missing. His false eye spun about like a crazed animal. The third wizard was younger, less sure on himself. Maybe a trainee. Their robes were utilitarian. The older wizard’s being more worn out than his counterpart. The younger man could do with a warmer robe. Grindelwald could see him shivering under the trim but too thin cloak. Summer rabbit perhaps?
With a wave of his hand, the Wards parted to allow them entry. Milo was in the front hall waiting to take their cloaks. Gellert noticed that the two Aurors kept their wands at the ready. Well, he could handle them, though he preferred to leave the boy and elves out of this for now.
The visitors looked around the large room they were ushered to. A Yule tree glittered in the corner. A collection of stuffed toys lay strewn on the hearth rug. There was an antique train set on the carpet before the fire, but no sign of the child. A coffee set was laid on the table around which they all sat. The coffee pot rose in the air to fill three cups of piping hot coffee, exactly as each visitor preferred. Moody regarded his coffee with suspicion.
“Run a detection spell. I assure you you’ll find nothing amiss…” their host said with a smile.
“Grindelwald, I know you have the child. He needs to be returned as a British…” Albus pleaded.
“Tut-tut, Heinrich has made his decision. He will stay here with us.”
“You never learn, do you?”
“It is you who did not learn from past mistakes…” Grindelwald summoned a thick scroll from a nearby cabinet. “A list of the all the hurt inflicted on him by those filthy Muggles you entrusted him to. Given the child’s state, I was obliged to call in a healer from Geneva… A copy of this list has been sent to the ICW via my legal representative as part of my application for the child’s custody.”
“You’re a war criminal! There is no way…” Moody spluttered. The former dark wizard raised a hand to stop his tirade. He was not done yet with his old friend.
“Why did you Seal his parents’ will as Chief Warlock in Britain, Dumbledore? We applied to review Heinrich’s magical inheritance, and guess what we found? What do you wish to hide? That his godfather had no trial before being carted to Azkaban? That his Mutti specified that her children should not be given to their magic-hating Tante? I have been busy, looking for other more suitable guardians for little Heinie since Yule…” The goblins had exceeded his wildest expectations.
A startled gasp from Moody and a glare from Shacklebolt at their Chief Warlock. Black has been an Auror. One of theirs. His alleged betrayal had stung.
“Harry is the Chosen One, he must return…” Dumbledore rose to his feet.
“What would your Ministry do with an obscurial? Lock him up in a cell for the rest of his days, or until he is ready to die for your Greater Good?” Gellert glanced up at his former lover, his mismatched eyes mocking.
“Gellert, I really do not wish to do this, but the prophecy…” Dumbledore whipped out his wand.
“Accio, wand!” a child’s voice yelled out. Dumbledore’s wand was whipped out of his hand and flew a few feet across the room before dropping to the ground before a bespectacled child dressed in an old-fashioned sailor suit. No one had seen the child enter the room on silent feet. The child trembled, outline blurring into smoke… His anger pulsed…. Grindelwald’s voice cut in smoothly…
“It’s alright. Master Heinrich, return our guest his wand, if you may,” Grindelwald instructed. The heaviness immediately lifted from the room as the child smiled. Picking up the wand, Heinrich came over to hug his guardian of the past week.
“Oh, good work with the spell,” the dark wizard ruffled the child’s hair. “Have you taken you your potions yet?”
“No, Grossvater. They taste yucky.” The British wizards could see how thin Harry was. The nutrition potion would need a month or so to work on both Grindelwald and the child.
“But you must take them like Herr Doktor says if you want to grow up big and strong… Now, return Professor Dumbledore his wand please…”
“Sorry, sir… I thought you’re going to take Grossvater away…” Harry returned the wand to Dumbledore, handle-first as wizard etiquette demanded, who accepted it with a weak smile.
“There, no harm done. Go to Nanna and take your potions now,” Grindelwald smiled and dismissed the Boy Saviour with a careless wave. He dropped his voice to a whisper so only Albus would hear him as Harry Potter left the room. “Dummkopf, prophecies can’t always be trusted…”
“If you recall, Albus… This castle was built to contain an Obscurus. Are you intending to lock Heinrich in a cell in St Mungo’s or Azkaban, the same fate your parents fought to keep your sister from? Will your adoring public allow an Obscurial to attend Hogwarts alongside their children, walk alongside them, knowing that at any moment, he might lose control? Why, I recall British parents making a fuss about werewolves at school, even if they are only dangerous on full moon nights, and without their Wolfsbane potions,” Grindelwald continued almost conversationally. “Strudel?”
Albus knew he had lost the Aurors. Moody was glaring at him through his good eye. Shacklebolt was pouring another cup of coffee.
“Gellert, what are your terms?”
“Let’s see. First, I will need an expert opinion on obscurials. Is Herr Newton Scamander still around? Records on obscurials and their treatment can be so patchy. Then there is that extra bit of soul Heinie seemed to have picked up somewhere. He might go tomorrow or in twenty years, but I do hope to get some answers from you before then, my friend… Of course, if I secure custody, you will be allowed to visit. With his godfather, once we get that trial business settled… I am an old man and will like to have a younger wix to help Heinrich if need be. Heinrich’s education can be worked out at a later stage. Perhaps I might even homeschool him…” Grindelwald smiled wolfishly.
Albus groaned. Out of the wizards Harry had to latch onto. It had to be Gellert Grindelwald. And him going obscurial… It was a nightmare. Harry might beat the odds like Aurelius or Ariana, surviving past childhood, but what were the chances?
“Come on, Albus… Helga’s gingerbread is amazing. You should try one. Why, we can even pack some for you to take home…” Grindelwald continued in his role as host. “There’s stollen too, an old family recipe…” He lowered his voice, so his next words were for Albus alone.
“I do not mean to be rude, but Heinrich is somewhat skittish about strangers… understandably so. We do not wish to upset him, do we?” In truth, his enforced hospitality was starting to wear on Gellert as well.
“What is Harry to you, Gellert?”
“He is a little boy who has been sorely mistreated, and I intend to remedy that, mein liebster.”
Albus found himself staring into a pair of icy cold eyes. Albus and his companions can finish their coffee and leave, but Heinrich will remain in Nurmengard.
Notes:
Spatz – sparrow (German). I let Harry get a pet-name from the father-figure in his life. I was considering something fawn or puppy-related, but it does not stick as well.
Some terms of endearment will be held in reserve for when Gellert wants to reconnect or mess with a certain British wizard.
Chapter 5: Newt Scamander
Summary:
Now that Grindelwald is back, it is in Dumbledore’s interest to keep him happy as the guardian of the new Obscurial Harry Potter.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
Steadying himself after arriving by International Portkey, Newt shivered as he gazed upon the grim façade of Nurmengard looming above him. True, he had not been there before, but he could imagine all the dark deeds done within its walls decades ago. It had been a close call for Dumbledore in the recent emergency Wizengamot called, so his brother Theseus had informed him. For the first time in almost two centuries, the Wizengamot had called for a no-confidence vote against the Chief Warlock. Dumbledore had barely survived with a narrow margin. The vote could have gone either way. The news that Harry Potter was not only an Obscurial, but also under the guardianship of none other than Gellert Grindelwald had sent shockwaves through Britain. There had been outrage when it was leaked that young Potter had been left with abusive Muggles, resulting in the formation of an Obscurus.
Tina had been leery, and asked to accompany him, but Dumbledore’s instructions were clear. Only Newt Scamander had been invited to Nurmengard for the sole purpose of reviewing the child’s condition and advise his guardian on how best to keep him comfortable. Sadly, there was no known cure despite his years of study. Obscuri were rare ever since the Statutes were imposed. Even more so when Muggle parents now chose to use science to explain away their children’s accidental magic. Even when a professor shows up to deliver the Hogwarts letters to Muggleborn students, it was often an uphill battle convincing them magic was real. Only in the most fanatical and backwards communities were magic was still seen as an evil to be rooted out would magical children be at risk. Like poor Credence and that little girl from Sudan.
Taking a deep breath to steady himself, Newt strode up to the gates, which swung open. There was a crisp level of snow underfoot in the front courtyard. Newt was amused to see a row of somewhat lop-sided snowmen – clumsy attempts by a child perhaps? Spring often came late so high in the alps. He pulled his cloak around him as his breath hung in the air. Perhaps they could arrange a private Floo connection, though Tina might not be pleased with linking their Floo to Nurmengard.
The main doors swung open as he climbed up the flight of entrance stairs. He found himself looking upon a well-worn hall which glowed softly from the chandelier above. The faded carpeting was worn in places, but still serviceable.
“Herr Scamander, allow Mika to take your cloak and hat…” the tiny house-elf greeted him. “Sir is in the sitting room with Master Heinrich… allow Mika to inform them while you wait…”
Interesting that the childish elf-speak that became fashionable after the First Wizarding War in Britain did not seem to have caught on here. These days, only the elf in charge of announcing guests at a ball still spoke in the old manner. This elf seemed to be happy and did not sport any outward signs of injury. He Disapparated with a soft pop and Apparated back five minutes later, announcing that Sir was ready to see Herr Scamander, if he would kindly follow Mika.
He heard the child’s voice first as he walked down the hallway.
“Wingardium Levioso…”
“It is pronounced Leviosa. Try again – Wingardium Leviosa… Repeat after me…”
“Wingadium Leviosa!”
Newt followed the elf into the sitting room where a small boy was sitting on the carpet under a fir tree, watching several Christmas baubles hover in the air. Like a conductor, Grindelwald swung his wand towards a nearby box. One by one, the baubles flew over to settle in it. The pair seemed to be in the process of taking down the Christmas tree in February, long after the holiday season.
The child was small in stature and looked sickly, like other Obscurials Newt met. However, his face was lit up with joy. He was well-dressed, if in sightly outdated clothes. His hair was a messy mop. A lightning-bolt scar peeking out from under his bangs. This was without a doubt, the Boy-Who-Lived.
“Ah, Heinrich, come greet our guest – Herr Scamander…” Grindelwald grinned broadly, but the boy darted behind him like a spooked fawn. “He is a doctor and will be seeing you for the smoke-thing…”
Grindelwald gently but firmly steered the boy in front of Newt. “Be brave now, mein Spatz… Remember when we got your new glasses? They let you see better, until you are old enough for the Eye Potion…”
The boy gazed uncertainly at Newt who bent down so he was at the child’s level. The wizard groaned as he felt his knees complaining. Age, paired with an rough-and-tumble lifestyle until his middle age did his bones no favours.
“Hello, Harry…”
“Heinrich,” Grindelwald corrected. “Harry is too common a name. Plus, it is British.”
“It is still better than freak,” Harry piped up softly. “Mister Scamander can call me Harry if he wants…”
Grindelwald only smiled and ruffled the boy’s hair.
“Hello, Harry. You may call me Newt… I have a few questions I like you to answer…” Newt started.
The child was stunted from past malnutrition. He was also traumatized by his past experiences, though he seemed happy enough and well-cared for in Nurmengard. Grindelwald kept his distance and silence, only interrupting once or twice when Newt’s queries could not be answered by Harry, or if they threatened to overwhelm him. Newt was oddly reminded of how the taciturn Aberforth had literally stood guard at his ailing son’s bedside during both the questioning by Aurors and examinations by healers. They had lost Credence in the end to the Obscurus.
“T-they said my parents were drunken bums… And that I was a freak…” Harry hiccupped as Grindelwald rubbed his back. They had settled in the armchair and settee for both the child’s comfort and theirs. At their age, it was not advisable to stand or crouch for long durations.
“I-I dunno what happened… Only that they were dead and it’s all my fault…”
“Not your fault, Spatz…” Grindelwald hugged the child beside him on the settee. A grey Kneazle had wandered into the room at Harry’s relating of how the Obscurus first appeared. The feline was now cradled on the child’s lap, offering further emotional support.
“Is this necessary, Scamander? I am sure the sorry account is already in the report to the ICW,” Grindelwald growled.
“Sorry. I needed to hear it from Harry…” Newt tried to mollify the irate wizard. “Any difficulties with his magic use?”
“We had a few incidents of accidental magic. We have been teaching him how to channel his magic. Simple spells. Wandless of course for now. Heinrich is a bright young man… Now, Heinrich, I believe it is time for you to go help Nanna with the strudel…”
Harry gave a little whoop of joy and leapt up, eliciting a protesting mew from the Kneazle as it was unseated. Both boy and Kneazle ran out towards the kitchen.
“Don’t forget to wash your hands!” Grindelwald called out after Harry, sounding in all the world like a doting grandfather.
The smile died from Grindelwald’s face as he faced Newt. He was all business now.
“Herr Newt. What are your thoughts and insights on the Obscurus?” Grindelwald snapped his fingers. At that signal, the elf Mika appeared with a tray bearing brandy and glasses. Grindelwald had poured himself a small glass after Newt politely declined.
“Frankly, I cannot determine much given the lack of data… Based on the historical records, few Obscurials survive their first manifestation or their childhood past schooling age.”
“I have personally known two who did. One passed at fourteen from unrelated reasons. The other lingered into his early thirties before succumbing. It could have been a familial trait but is it possible that Heinrich might live into his teens ad beyond if given the necessary support and treatment? I do recall you did separate an Obscurus from its host…”
“She was eight… she did not survive the operation. The strain on her core was too much…” Newt stared at the amber liquid reflecting the flames in the fireplace as Grindelwald swirled his glass.
Sudan, 1925
A young magiozoologist waved his wand over the child he had just rescued from an angry mob two days ago. Their sanctuary in the convent was tenacious at best. The local villagers were restless. That the girl was still alive was a miracle. She had barely weighed anything in his arms. An Obscurial. She was now catatonic, possibly traumatized by how quickly her people had turned against her, including her family.
The cloistered sisters had allowed them to stay for the child’s sake. The centuries-old convent walls were only mudbrick and the good sisters few and unarmed. If the villagers should decide to turn on them… They were outsiders to this ancient land, viewed with suspicion and hatred by the locals. Newt had sent his owl out to the nearest magical hospital in Sudan, but with a sandstorm looming, it would take time for a reply or the calvary to arrive.
A timid knock on the door startled him. A young sister in the robes of a novice carrying a tray with soup for the child entered when he unlatched it. Newt had been keeping the child hydrated by dribbling soup between her lips as she stared at the ceiling.
“I am one of your kind…” the nun whispered as she shut the door behind her. “Has there been word from Khartoum?”
“No, my owl has not returned yet.”
“A jackal would be faster. Sister Tess,” the novice introduced herself. Her skin was dark like the local populace, but her eyes were startlingly blue.
“Newt Scamander.”
The child moaned on the bed. The pair watched in horror as the dark smoky tendrils writhed under her skin, struggling to tear free and destroy.
“There is a scroll in the library which describes an operation to remove an Obscurus. However, the text is old and incomplete… I found it while cleaning…” Sister Tess thrust a roll of papyri into Newt’s hands. “I pray this might help her. There are many old scrolls here that might be left from before the Statutes…”
There was a great tolling of an alarm bell. Flames and screams. The villagers had attacked the convent which overlooked their village. Then none too soon the Aurors from Khartoum arrived to whisk the good sisters, Newt and the child to safety. Alas, the ancient convent and the magical texts it might have housed were lost to the flames.
Newt had persuaded the Chief Healer at St Stephan’s to try saving the child rather than allow the ICW Aurors to take her away to be killed or imprisoned. Newt had stood beside Healer Hakim and his team as they worked for hours untangling the parasite from the little girl’s core. They had come so close…
Newt recalled breathing a sigh of relief as he secured the newly separated Obscurus in a Stasis Sphere. The girl appeared to give a soft sigh. Then chaos as her vital signs crashed. She was gone and Newt realized belatedly that he never even got her name.
Newt was snapped out of his memories by a purring grey Kneazle rubbing against his shins.
“Oh, you’re back…” Newt stroked the cat behind the ears and was rewarded by a deep purr.
“No, Sigrid is likely in the kitchen. This is her brother Siegfried. His fur is a darker grey…”
Grindelwald scooped up the feline and stroked his back. Newt was reminded of some Muggle movie he once watched with Tina which featured a crime boss in one scene stroking his pet cat while planning a murder or some nefarious deeds with his goons.
“What is your purpose in taking Harry in?”
“Why? Don’t you think he deserves better than whatever the British Ministry or the ICW have planned for him? Nurmengard is one of the few places built to contain an Obscurus. What I am offering is a normal childhood and life as far as possible for Heinrich however long it may be.”
“You have changed…” Try as he might, Newt could not see the Grindelwald who had inflamed passions and incited war in the 1930s.The dark wizard who had slain those who dared stand in his way with impunity, including Leta. Or maybe he had already fallen under the spell of the elderly wizard’s silver tongue.
“Time changes all of us, Herr Newt…” Grindelwald downed the last of his brandy. “Now, do you still have that scroll?”
“I left it with Healer Hakim at St Stephan’s.”
“A pity, I suppose we should see if it is still there… Such a waste – all the knowledge lost. A glass, Newt?” Newt heard the soft twinkling of brandy poured into a glass. Grindelwald held his refilled glass in one hand while offered the other to his guest.
“T-thank you…” Newt took the glass of brandy.
Notes:
How is this version of Grindelwald and the interaction with Newt? Both would be in their nineties or in Grindelwald’s case over a hundred.
Chapter Text
THE DAILY PROPHET
Dear readers,
Recent events have called into question the capability of our Chief Warlock with him coming close to being driven out of office in a closed-door session in late January. We understand it was only by two votes from his longtime supporters Lady Augusta Longbottom and Elphais Doge that he survived the vote. In Wizengamot history the Chief Warlock or Witch had only been called out for a vote of no-confidence twice. Kingston Shacklebolt for supporting the Muggle Abolitionists and Mikael Burke for embezzlement of Wizengamot funds. Dumbledore had always been known for his pro-Muggle agenda. However, has his blind faith in Muggles gone too far this time?
An Obscurial was formed on Christmas eve due to his cavalier attitude towards one of our community’s most valuable members, not just any wix child but the Boy-Who-Lived. The mind boggles that rather than finding a decent wix family to take the mite in, Harry Potter was left with his Muggle aunt – a woman known for her hatred of all things magical. The Prophet has located and interviewed a former neighbour and fellow magical who can attest to her bullying of her magical little sister, the deceased Lily Potter nee Evans.
“I was surprised to learn where the child ended up. Petunia caused much grief to her sister and bears her no love. In fact, I would say she is insanely jealous of her sister’s magic. I doubt she would have improved with age. One would think the Potters would have specified in their Wills not to allow that woman custody of any child born to them…”
“The worst sort of Muggles… Mind you, I warned Dumbledore many times over the years. But no, family knows best… Poor mite,” a squib neighbour tasked with watching the child said. “They used to leave him with me to watch when they took their own boy out for the day. Come in all battered and little more than skin and bones. Worked him half to death in the yard. And that woman with her mean dog… They stopped bringing him over to me, just when I was considering contacting the Muggle Child Welfare.”
More details on pages 6 and 7.
As we are all aware, Albus Brian Percival Wulfric Dumbledore is not only Chief Warlock and Supreme Mugwump. He is also headmaster of Hogwarts School of Wizardry and Witchcraft and thus entrusted with the safety of Britain’s future generations of wix. Are our children truly safe under his guardianship for the school year?
Rita Skeeter
“You spoke to that Skeeter woman…” Minerva confronted Snape in his office. Had she been in her animagus form, her fur would be bristling on end.
“So I did,” Snape barely looked up from his parchment as his quill glided over it.
“How could you?” Minerva protested, trying to stifle her own feelings of guilt. She had observed how narrow-minded the Dursleys were but failed to persuade her once-mentor to change his mind about leaving baby Harry with them. She had trusted his wisdom, and he failed them all.
“Dumbledore was no fool. He was aware how Lily was treated by her sister. Leaving a magical child in her care? The Lily I know would never allow it…” Snape put aside his quill and cast a Drying Charm on the ink. He folded and sealed the letter.
“My resignation letter, deputy headmistress,” Snape rose from his chair, bowed and handed her the letter.
“You can’t be serious!”
“I am, Professor. I never liked teaching anyway. Since Dumbledore’s precious boy is not likely to come to Hogwarts, there is no reason for me to remain,” Snape smirked. Moreover, he had been offered a post in Germany as a private potioneer with a chance at research. He would stay for a week or so, just to make sure his NEWTs and OWLs students were on track, before leaving Britain. If the governors had any sense, they would vote to retire Dumbledore and replace him with McGonagall perhaps.
Aberforth stoically watched as his older brother downed another tankard of mead. He might not be able to read that well, but he knew enough that his brother was in trouble over what happened to the Harry Potter kid. And Grindelwald returning… The Board of Governors would be convening to discuss his position as Hogwarts’ headmaster. Strictly speaking, the boy was not yet a Hogwarts student. Now he would never be.
“Sure you don’t want to stay the night? You’re in no state to Floo or Apparate…” It was way past his closing time.
“Fawkes will take care of that, right?” Albus slurred. The phoenix only tucked his head under a wing on his perch.
“Abe, where did I go so wrong with Harry… I thought they’d care for him…”
“What’s done is done, Al. Nothing we can do now,” Aberforth replied as he wiped his filthy bar counter down with an even filthier rag. His thoughts turned unwittingly to the son he had only known for a short while before he was taken from him.
“That German git – does he treat the boy right?” Aberforth asked. Aurelius had spoken little of his time in the Alliance. Grindelwald had a reputation as a harsh taskmaster. Aurelius’ decision to reveal the truth about the Qilin was seen as an unforgiveable betrayal. By Merlin, Grindelwald had tried to kill his son at the Walk. They had feared the dark wizard would make good on his threat afterwards, but nothing came. No assassins or Curses sent. Aurelius would die a few painful months later from the Obscurus.
Aurelius had been the quiet type. Aberforth could sense his son’s turmoil, but he did know how to soothe him or help set down his inner demons. Father and son never spoke of their time apart, until the very end. At his graveside, Aberforth realized he barely knew his son at all.
Harry Potter, a boy not even of school age. Now an Obscurial under Grindelwald’s care. How would he fare? Poor mite had no family magical or Muggle to care for him. Or could care for him. The Ministry would lock him up like their parents feared would happen to poor Ariana. Would the boy perish shortly from his Obscurus? Or would he make it into his teens? There was no cure for the condition – only potions to ease the sufferer’s pain and symptoms until their bodies and magical cores failed.
“Harry appears well-cared for and has grown rather attached to Gellert. Calls him grandfather…” Albus smiled sadly. Aberforth felt his heart twist. If things had gone differently with Aurelius, it would be his son’s offspring calling him grandfather as they attended Hogwarts. Perhaps their children even. An entire galaxy of possibilities lost to them with a cruel twist of Fate.
“I’ll have a room ready,” Aberforth insisted and climbed up above the pub.
Aurelius Dumbledore would also be on the mind of an old wizard miles away in the snowy alps. It had hurt when the young man turned against him. True, he had been harsh with young Credence as Percival Graves. He had thought him a squib then. Pathetic and yearning for the magic that was denied him. Not that his magic had been so stifled by his mistreatment to generate an Obscurus. Maybe he was too jaded by hardship, too wary to trust Grindelwald fully. But Heinrich was different. The boy had opened like a flower to the first drops of kindness he received from Grindelwald. The boy trusted him, respected him, perhaps loved him as father. There was how he had leapt to defend him against a perceived threat…
Wait, Albus held the Elder Wand. Did Heinrich disarm him and win the wand’s loyalty? Gellert chuckled. The Wand chose its master. He had lost its loyalty without even realizing it. It was only at their last duel that Gellert could bring himself to acknowledge that truth – that somehow the Wand had transferred its loyalty to his once lover. Would the Wand accept a child and an Obscurial at that as its Master? Grindelwald shrugged. Enough musing. He had an appointment to keep.
As part of his arrangement with the ICW, he was not to leave Nurmengard Castle. However, he was allowed to correspond with the outside world or send his house-elves out to carry out his business abroad as needed to provide for himself and his ward. He had paid the goblins for information, to trace the whereabouts of any of his loyal followers who might be still around. He was surprised to learn that Vinda Rosier was still living in Paris. She replied quickly to his owl, confirming her willingness to tutor Heinrich in French as well as social etiquette. Hearing the Floo, he straightened his lapels.
Heinrich looked up from where he was practicing his quill-script under his Grossvater’s guidance.
“Mademoiselle Vinda Rosier,” Milo announced the arrival of their guest. Vinda swept in in an imperious flurry of robes and perfume. Grindelwald approached and bowed to her. The years had left their mark on her, but she still possessed the same distinguished poise as she held out a gloved hand to him.
“Enchante, Mademoiselle …” Grindelwald raised her hand to his lips, planting a kiss lightly on the back of her fingers. Heinrich watched on with interest.
“Vinda, this is my ward, Heinrich. Heinrich, this is Mademoiselle Vinda. She will be your French and etiquette tutor…”
“Enchante, Mademoiselle …” Heinrich rose to his feet and bowed. Vinda laughed lightly as she held her hand up to her mouth.
“A quick learner, I see… How long have you been using a quill?”
“Three months, I started after New Year…” Heinrich replied shyly as his new tutor inspected his clumsy calligraphy. “It’s not good…”
“You’ll improve with practice,” his guardian reassured him. “Why don’t you practice copying this page while I speak with Mademoiselle Vinda alone?”
“Ja, Grossvater…” Heinrich picked up his quill, inked it and carefully started scratching on the parchment. Grindelwald Cast a Privacy Ward around himself and Vinda.
“So the child’s an Obscurial? Is this worth it?” There was an edge of concern in her voice as she stroked his cheek tenderly. They had been close, ideological twins. They had considered a romantic relationship once, but it could not work out. They were more like siblings.
“Yes. But I intend to keep him as comfortable as possible and hopefully happy for the remainder of his life… He deserves that, the very least.”
“Very well. We can drop the Privacy bubble and get round to discussing his lesson plan. Will those etiquette lessons include dancing?” Vinda asked brightly.
Sirius Black Cleared of All Charges
Warrant Issued for Peter Pettigrew
The sun hurt his eyes as he stepped out of the Ministry on Remus’ arm. He still felt cold despite the coming of spring. He wondered if he would ever be warm again. They had returned his wand to him. It felt like an old friend in his hand, but he put it away without trying any magic. He had to pay a token fine for being an unregistered Animagus. That had come up in his belated trial. He would also forgo all compensation for the years of wrongful imprisonment in Azkaban.
Things had changed so much while he was in Azkaban. His mother had passed on. Lord Arcturus Black had reluctantly reinstated him as heir as the sole other living pureblood adult male in the family. Lord Black had retired from politics and gone into seclusion back during the First Wizarding War. The nightmares still haunted him. His family had visited him when he was recovering in St Mungo’s. Mostly Andi and her husband. Lord Black sent a letter and a get-well card. More surprising was Aunt Dru reaching out to him. The French witch never seemed to care much for any Black outside her immediate family. She recommended that he stay for a while in her family’s chateau in Nice to recover from Azkaban, away from Britain.
His blood boiled whenever he thought of how Peter had fooled them all. Poor James and Lils… lying there dead… He felt Remus rubbing his back, grounding him in the present. Then there was the matter of his mysterious benefactor, who had provided him the best lawyers in Britain through the goblins to argue his case. Rather than have him stay in 12 Grimmauld Place or crammed into Tonks’ tiny cottage after his discharge from St Mungo’s, his benefactor had offered them the use of a suite in the Astoria London and paid for Moony’s Wolfsbane over the past months.
“Moony, who's been paying our bills? My grandfather?” Things had been strained between his parents and Lord Black as far as he could remember. Lupin shook his head. Lord Black had bestirred himself to pull a few strings but only as a favour owed to their benefactor.
“If I were to tell you, you’d never believe me, Pads…”
They must be so careful how much to tell Padfoot, a slip could set back his recovery so far. How would he deal with Harry being an Obscurial and under the guardianship of one of the most infamous Dark Wizards of the century?
Notes:
Grindelwald is calling in favours and pulling strings from his stronghold in the Alps.
Chapter Text
Munich, Germany
Severus Snape, former Potions Master at Hogwarts, gave on last stir to the cauldron. He nodded with satisfaction as the potion turned silver. It was almost done. It had been two months since he left for his new position in Munich. His food and lodging were covered under the terms of the contract. He now lived in a charming townhouse in the Zaubererstadt magical district above a state-of-the-art potions lab. Wolfsbane was one of the many potions he was required to brew each month, along with various Nutrition Potions, pain-soothers and other common healing potions. A list was sent via owl each week with any potions required and a house-elf sent to collect them when ready. The cost of the ingredients and his salary were credited to his vault. For costlier ingredients, he was given carte blanche to order them and bill directly to his employer’s vault. He had not set eyes on the mysterious Herr Wolff yet. All their transactions had been through the goblins, house-elves or via owl. Snape had been offered the services of a house-elf but had declined. He did not need an elf underfoot when he was fully capable of keeping his own rooms and lab in order. For meals, there was a lovely tavern in the marketplace that met his needs.
This morning was different. The Wards told him he had a visitor, coming via Floo. Snape decanted the potion into the waiting vials before Casting a Cleaning Charm on his workstation and cauldron. Shucking off his apron, he stepped out into the house’s sitting room.
“Mister Scamander?”
“Hullo, Severus. Didn’t expect to see you here…” Newt Scamander peered owlishly at Snape. Dumbledore had introduced them in Snape’s third year teaching at Hogwarts. There had been a manticore nest discovered near the Black Lake and the magizoologist tasked with its removal.
“Might you be working for Herr Wolff?” Snape asked as he motioned for his visitor to take a seat in one of the room’s armchairs. He waved his wand to set the coffee pot brewing. He might have some cookies to go with them.
“Herr Wolff? Well, I suppose…” Newt chuckled. “My Tina’s not exactly happy about me gallivanting about Europe, but recorded Obscurials are so rare… More so records of any attempts at treatment…”
“An Obscurial?” Snape almost dropped the pot he was pouring from. What were the chances? Potter’s son had been identified as an Obscurial and awarded to Grindelwald’s care. Grindelwald was the original Dark Wizard bogeyman of continental Europe. The predecessor to Voldemort.
“Yes. We need your expertise as both a potions expert and spellcrafter to research a possible cure for the poor child…”
“What of the Wolfsbane and other weekly potions…” Potions ranging from nutrition, treating rheumatism and arthritis.
“The Wolfbane has been put to good use. Given Herr Wolff’s age, he feels it prudent to ensure that there are younger wix to care for Harry should he meet with mischance.” Only Lady Magic knew how many enemies Grindelwald had collected through the years. It had taken a long time for him to let go of Leta’s death. His brother never quite did. Theseus never married. He was unhappy about Newt’s accepting the job of caring for Grindelwald’s ward. But the unfortunate child was an innocent.
“A werewolf?”
“Entirely safe if kept on the Wolfsbane protocol… Though the Unspeakables in the French and German Ministry still working on a cure for lycanthropy, given the prevalence of the affliction in both countries.”
“The boy – is he well?”
“He is cared for, and happy as far as possible given his condition. There are bad days. However, his guardian could distract him from the worst of it… Harry was raised Muggle and in an abusive household. Magic? That’s entirely new to him. Herr Wolff’s teaching him what he can… Harry does not yet know…” His condition was terminal. He would be unlikely to make it to school-going age.
“Will our reformed Dark Wizard quietly return to his cell afterwards? I doubt it. The old fox is likely negotiating further terms with the ICW…” Snape deduced. At least it would be in Grindelwald’s best interests to have Harry Potter alive and happy for as long as possible. For a long while they sipped at their coffee in quiet contemplation. Until Newt put down his coffee cup.
“Now, shall we discuss what potions you would recommend given Harry’s latest medical report?” Newt pulled out a scroll from his robe pocket. Snape glanced over the words after Casting a Translation Charm.
“Hm, a nutrition potion for building his bones given the weakness there. Nothing we can do for his eyesight at his age… A low dosage Pain Reliever. Stomach Soothers…” Snape clinically went through the list of potions recommended.
Near Nice, France
Chateau Bougainville was known for its gardens of colourful and painfully thorny shrubs. Rather than a rose garden, a former lady had opted to plant bougainvillea shrubs. The shrubs had long run riot and smothered the lawn. Only with the aid of Aunt Dru’s house-elves was a tunnel cut through the tangle between the main gate and the front door. The interior was tastefully furnished in the Art Décor style. A house-elf continued to provide Lupin with his Wolfsbane courtesy of Herr Wolff each month.
Sirius Black chafed at the isolation and boredom. He wanted to know what happened to his godson Harry after the Potters were killed that night. His family and Lupin had both been evasive on that topic. Their hostess Aunt Dru lived in Paris and hardly visited the chateau even though she had provided them with a full staff of house-elves to attend to them. A mind-healer came twice a week for Black’s therapy. Another healer from Marseilles came once a week to assess his physical condition. That had improved since his release from Azkaban. His weight was almost in the healthy range now. The chateau’s tennis court had been cleared of the shrubs and fixed up so that Black and Lupin could play tennis for sport to help Black build up his muscles. There was also an indoor duelling room as in so many pureblood residences. Black had not yet been medically cleared to duel yet, so the pair played indoor tennis there if it was raining out.
There were days where Moony would look at him as if he wished to speak, but then he would hold back. On full moon nights, Padfoot would snuggle up to wolf-Moony as a dog while he slept the night away under the influence of Wolfsbane.
What happened to Harry, Moony? Where is he now? Black belatedly realized that no newspapers had been delivered to their suite in the Astoria or the chateau. Something big must have happened that they needed to hide from him.
It became too much for him one night at dinner. The dining table was too large for the two of them. The dining room was quiet apart from the clink of crockery and the crackle of the logs in the fireplace. The soup was vichyssoise, served with a slice of baguette. The main was to be veal, followed by a sweet. Aunt Dru believed in feeding her guests well, even from miles away.
“Where’s Harry, Moony? Who had him after that Halloween?” Sirius finally blurted out as the house-elves replaced their soup bowls with the main. As a bachelor and a werewolf, it was unlikely Remus had custody. Remus looked at him sadly. Sirius’ heart sank.
“He’s not…” Sirius could not bring himself to say the word.
“Harry is alive, Pads… Dumbledore placed him with Lily’s sister,” Moony replied. He took a mouthful of the red wine to fortify himself. The wine came from the chateau’s wine cellar, a decent vintage.
“Petunia? That miserable hag?” Black growled. “She hates all things magical. We must get him away from her!” Black leapt to his feet, knocking over his wineglass.
“It’s too late for that, Pads. She’s dead. Harry went Obscurial and killed her…” Remus downed the rest of his wine.
“O-Obscurial…” Black blanched. Obscuri were the stuff of all wizarding nightmares. Magic tuned on the host, taking a life of their own. Obscurials were a danger to both others and themselves.
“He fled Britain for Nurmengard as a Obscurus. The ICW awarded custody to Herr Wolff, better known as Grindelwald…” Remus spilled it all out.
“Grindelwald? Have they lost their minds?” Black exploded.
“Harry has taken a liking to the wizard. Moreover, the castle was built to safely house an Obscurial.”
“It’s a prison for a dangerous wizard! Where’s Dumbledore in all this? He’s the Supreme Mugwump, right? How could he…” Where had he been as Chief Warlock for the long years he had been rotting in Azkaban? A traitorous voice hissed inside.
“Herr Grindelwald has refurnished the castle for a child. We would have preferred to have you certified and mentally and emotionally sound by the healers first, but knowing you… I do not wish for Padfoot to go dashing off to an unwelcome rescue. Harry is rather protective of his guardian,” Remus waved aside the elf when he offered to top-up his wineglass.
Three months ago…
“Me?” Remus gawped as he listened to Dumbledore’s words. “But how? What of my condition?”
“Your condition makes little difference. In fact, it might even work in your favour,” Dumbledore peered over the top of his half-moon glasses. “Gel- Grindelwald had a much-loved cousin who was a werewolf. Under the terms of his house arrest, he is allowed to appoint a factor to act on his behalf in the wizarding and Muggle worlds where the goblins could not venture. You have spent time in France and Germany and speak several European languages…”
“I suppose I am to spy on him for the ICW or you?” Remus Lupin glowered. He recalled those wasted months in 1981 trying to infiltrate the werewolf communes of Gevaudan and the Black Forest. Most were peaceful and had no desire to cross Greyback or fight a war in Britain. When he got back to Britain on learning of the attack on the Potters, Black was imprisoned and Harry nowhere to be found. They had trusted that Dumbledore had placed him in a place of safety.
“There are few applicants given his reputation. The ICW sent one of theirs, but he would have none of it. I understand that with the new Werewolf Bill, it has been hard for you to find meaningful employment…”
Remus groaned. The old man had him there. Employment was hard to come by in Britain with his affliction. He was barely making ends meet and what he inherited from his parents had been eaten away by the cost of his Wolfsbane Potion. There was nothing to do but risk his skin and hope that the Dark Wizard did not stick his head up above his mantle as a hunting trophy.
It had worked out better than he expected. On arriving at the gates of Nurmengard by Portkey, Remus Lupin encountered the surreal sight of a young boy sledding down a small hill of slushy snow in the courtyard as a well-dressed wizard looked on with almost grandfatherly indulgence. Harry was as skittish as a fawn. He darted behind his older wizard when he saw the visitor.
Grindelwald had reassured the child and sent him in for hot cocoa, reminding him to leave his wet coat and boots in the hall. He then ushered Lupin into the hall where an elf waited to take his cloak and hat. Once they were in the study and the coffee served, it was straight to business.
“Herr Lupin, I am an old man living in the past. I need a younger wix to be my eyes, ears, and limbs outside. The Muggle world has left the magical one behind. If Heinrich is to live in this new world, we must learn about it as much as possible.” einri
Lupin was tasked with providing Harry with more updated books from the Muggle world on science and technology as well as history. Harry was a voracious reader and Lupin soon learned why.
“They never let me have any books or toys… Freaks don’t deserve them,” Harry explained warily. “I get punished if I do better than Dudley...”
He was given a room in the servants’ quarters, though he would spend much of his time arranging things for Grindelwald and his ward with merchants, goblins and others the length and breadth of Europe. He did owl Dumbledore occasionally to reassure him Harry was well, and Grindelwald knew of that. Grindelwald grumbled that Albus could come by and see Harry for himself if he did not trust the reports he was getting from Newt Scamander.
When Black was to be discharged from St Mungo’s, his employer sent Lupin back to London to be there for his friend. He was reassured that the Black family would provide for their prodigal son. Apparently, there were some old friends still out there Grindelwald could ask a favour or two from – among them Drusilla Black nee Rosier’s great aunt Vinda.
The witch had taken one look at Lupin’s well-patched robes and slipped him the card of a bespoke tailor in Berlin. They had apparently made Grindelwald’s travel robes back in his heyday. Lupin really should start dressing properly if he was to represent Monsieur Grindelwald.
Newt Scamander dropped by every fortnight to check on Harry’s condition, as did an ICW-certified healer and one Grindelwald had on retainer from Budapest. Some of the tutors hired by Grindelwald did not last long. Heinrich’s condition made many uncomfortable. There was still a spark of Dumbledore’s old nemesis in Grindelwald. One Charms tutor had annoyed the old wizard one afternoon and was sent packing – transfigured into a piece of luggage and instructed to be left at Munich Central Station Left Luggage Room by a grinning house-elf. The younger wizard had foolishly let slip to Heinrich that he was unlikely to live long enough to go to Beauxbatons or any wizarding school. Lupin was reassured that the Spell would wear off by summer.
It had taken a long while and half a box of chocolate truffles to convince Heinrich that he was not going to get eaten up by the smoke-thing. That Herr Scamander and the healers are working to make him better.
“Moony… Harry?” Black’s voice snapped Lupin back to the present. “When can I meet him?”
“He prefers the name Heinrich now. Too many bad memories with Harry. He is very wary of strangers, so give him time to warm up to you. I will need Grindelwald’s permission to bring you over the Floo,” Lupin replied with resignation. It would never do if Sirius incurred Grindelwald’s wrath and ended up permanently as a dog or worse.
Notes:
I hope Grindelwald is still up to form, even if he is not using deadly force for now.
Chapter 8: Summer Visitors
Summary:
Nurmengard receives visitors over the summer for Heinrich’s birthday.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Uncle Padfoot!” Heinrich squealed when he recognized the black-haired man who had just stepped out of the Floo after Uncle Moony. He leapt off the armchair he was sharing with one of the Kneazles.
“Hullo there, pup…” Black stooped down to hug the child that came barrelling into him. He tried not to flinch at the sensation of wrongness that was rolling off his Harry. An Obscurial. Grindelwald was throwing Heinrich’s first birthday party in years. On looking up, Black scowled. Snivellus was hovering by the window with two elderly wizards.
“Play nice now, Sirius…” Lupin warned. “Snape’s been brewing for us for the past months.” If Sirius had been in dog-form, he would be snarling and bristling.
“Ah, our guest from France have arrived…” Grindelwald greeted Black a little too familiarly, thumping him on the shoulder. With a lazy wave of his hand, their host levitated the gifts Black and Lupin had brought from France and set them on the growing pile on the table.
“The ladies are in the kitchen, preparing for the party… Tante’s black forest cake’s magic by itself. Though we have one more guest…”
Grindelwald had extended invitations for the party to various wix, hoping that he might find a playmate Heinrich’s age. So far, his efforts have come to nought. Tante Bathilda agreed to visit and stay the week, but she could not leave her little place in Godric’s Hollow. She had brought some letters from Heinrich’s mom and other mementos she had salvaged from the Potter cottage before the Ministry swooped in and turned it into a memorial for tourists to gawk at. The Scamanders agreed to come – Tina and Newt, but they were leaving the grandchildren at home. Grindelwald was certain Tina was here to check that he was not up to his old tricks. Vinda had half-jestingly suggested they adopt a magical child from an orphanage or pick up a random Muggleborn kid in Munich. He rejected her suggestions. He was aware his every move was under scrutiny. Vinda had not been able to convince her nieces to allow their children to visit. The Malfoy heir would be Heinrich’s age, but apparently in frail health. The other child was an older girl blessed with metamorphagy.
The younger elves could partake in games with Heinrich, but the child needed to socialize with children his age. The Brits have allowed Albus to keep his titles as Chief Warlock and Hogwarts headmaster. The ICW let him remain Supreme Mugwump solely on grounds no one else was better equipped to deal with Grindelwald. Extension of an invite to the Supreme Mugwump was an afterthought on his part. Perhaps the urge to rub it in Albus’ face how he had failed the child.
In the headmaster’s office in Hogwarts, Dumbledore dithered as he stared at the fireplace. When he received the owl, he had thought to bring along a child or two from one of the Order families to the party. Perhaps to convince Gellert that Harry needed playmates his age. It had not gone down well. Augusta Longbottom had smacked him with her brolly for daring to suggest that he expose her precious Neville to an Obscurial. The boy had not shown any magic yet and could not protect himself. Molly Weasley had screeched like a banshee and came close to rupturing his eardrums. There was no way she was allowing him, Chief Warlock or not, to take her kids out to some Dark Wizard’s castle.
He looked at the birthday gift he had prepared – a children’s book of wizarding tales. Ariana hardly left the house, or even her room due to her condition. She had been miserably lonely, especially when her brothers started school. As far as Albus knew, there were no other neighbours for miles around Grindelwald’s prison. He hoped the book might provide some meagre entertainment for little Harry.
Voldemort was still out there biding his time. As per the prophecy, he had marked infant Harry. That scar… Dumbledore sighed wearily. In the purge of all Dark Arts-related materials after the War, valuable information had been lost. What did remain were secured in the vaults of powerful old families like the Blacks and the Malfoys, beyond the Ministry's and his reach. Harry Potter was the child of the prophecy, but how could he possibly be Voldemort’s equal or have the power to…
A chime. He was going to be late. With a shrug, he took a handful of Floo powder from the bowl. Gellert had specifically warned him about bringing his flaming feather duster. Fawkes was liable to spook Heinrich. Poor kid was still adjusting to magic after all. One did not wish for him to lose control of his Obscurus.
As it turned out, Albus Dumbledore was the last to arrive for the party. The party, guests and elves, had gathered in the dining room with the birthday boy. Only Gellert remained in the sitting room ready to close the Floo when Albus Floo-ed in.
“How like you to make an entrance, Albus… We were just thinking of starting without you… Though I doubt you need more cake…” Gellert purred as he patted Albus’ belly. Really, it must be the soft living at Hogwarts for his liebling to pack on all those pounds.
“Er, I’m sorry… Here’s the gift for Harry…”
“It’s Heinrich, Al…” Gellert had always been wiry and that teensy bit taller than him. Now he found himself looking up into those mismatched eyes and that familiar scowl… He felt something stir inside. Gellert carelessly tossed his gift onto the towering pile.
“Still trying to, what they say, rock medieval chic? Even Merlin would not be caught in that sack of embarrassment. Liebster, you’re committing a crime against decency…” Gellert’s tongue was as rapier sharp as ever. A hand on his chest. His eyes traced Albus from head to toe as if… There was a gentle cough behind them.
“Sirs, Tante Bathilda would like to know if we can start the party now…” a young house-elf asked timidly in German, his eyes bugging.
“Perhaps we shall speak, later…” Gellert said with a smirk.
Oh, to be so innocent… Opening his presents and eating his cake, Heinrich seemed oblivious to the tension that swirled around the party. Newt seemed to be equally guileless, introducing the boy to bowtruckles and other magical creatures he had brought along for the party. Newt better not leave behind that Niffler. Those creatures are born thieves. Heinrich seemed very taken with one bowtruckle he was calling Twiggy. Some magical creatures reacted badly to Obscurials. Newt clearly knew what he was doing. Tante had taken in the Potters' cat. An ugly orange furball who looked like he might be part Kneazle and had been Hexed in the face as a kitten. She brought Crooks as a present for the birthday boy. To Sigrid's and Siegfried’s disgust, the orange interloper had quickly laid claim to Master Heinrich’s affections.
Sharp-eyed Tina observed the happenings at an arm’s length, hiding her distaste for their host and Vinda under a bland expression. Coincidentally, she had chosen the same alcove her little sister Queenie was fond of using to observe the other members of the Alliance from during its heyday. Perhaps the witch had learned to curb her rasher impulses over the decades. Tante pointedly ignored Albus when passing out the cake. No surprise there. She always blamed Albus for that disaster in Godric’s Hollow, maybe more than one disaster. Snape and Black looked ready to tear each other’s throats out were it not for Lupin smoothing over any perceived slights. A powder-keg those two. Grindelwald considered if he should toss the pair in one of the spare rooms and let them work things out. However, he was likely to end up with two corpses and a further black mark on his record with the ICW.
Healer Alrich fidgeted in his chair. He had delivered his report on Heinrich’s condition, especially that extra bit of soul. Herr Wolff’s rage had been fierce as he slashed the curtains in his study to shreds before calling the elves to replace them. A Horcrux. It had seemed impossible, and mad. They had initially written it off as an Obscurial peculiarity, including the ICW healer and goblins, but Alrich was not convinced. He was a Durmstrang graduate and had taken a healing specialization in Dark-Magic Injuries before dropping out of the course. He had discussed the findings with Mister Scamander. The soul-shard was not a side-effect from the Obscurus, though it was now like the child’s core, linked to the parasite. No, it predated the formation of the parasite. A Horcrux seemed the most likely explanation and it was his duty to bring this to his employer’s attention.
Grindelwald softened his harsh expression. The man deserved a reward for alerting him to this possible danger. It made poor sense to shoot the bringer of bad news, as much as one was tempted to. He had learned that the hard way during his campaign. Situations were allowed to snowball out of control because no one dared sound warnings.
After cake, the party adjourned to the conservatory – a new addition to the castle that spring at considerable cost. Tante remained in the parlour with the Kneazles pleading sore knees. Vinda kept her company. Heinrich wanted to show his guests his Flitterblooms and Fanged Geraniums. There were some orange and lemon saplings. Albus wondered sadly if the Harry would be able to taste the fruits from these young trees. A quick sidewards glance at his old flame told Albus Gellert’s thoughts followed similarly grim paths. Sirius was sulking as Gellert had vetoed his gift of a racing broom for an eight-year-old. What had Sirius been thinking? Harry was not to leave Nurmengard under the terms of the ICW agreement. Thankfully, Harry had relented and allowed the broom to be put away until he was big enough to use it. Which might be never. Newt had also reported that Harry’s health was frail due to his past malnutrition and the Obscurus. Even a fall from a child’s training broom could result in broken bones for Harry.
Snape had bought a potions play-kit identical to what he had given his own godson for his birthday. Lupin had purchased a set of quills. The Scamanders gave a protective amulet disguised as a mundane child’s watch. Vinda had given Heinrich a pair of patent leather shoes from the same shoemaker Grindelwald frequented in Milan. Gellert had not known they made shoes child sized. Vinda only smiled sweetly and said Signore Ciabatto could always be persuaded. The shoes were also Charmed to adjust with Heinrich’s growth not to pinch his toes and to remain soft and comfy.
“I can keep her?” Twiggy was preening under Heinrich’s interest.
“Er, of course… if Twig doesn’t mind…” Newt gave a concerned look around the conservatory. It was too new to have any significant latent magic. There were some scraggly holly trees in the outer courtyard, but until very recently the premises was a prison – not conducive for supporting magically-rich plant life favoured by bowtruckles. Twiggy would need a small tree of her own, and woodlice for food. Perhaps a Wiggenweld sapling?
The tiny creature was now perched behind Heinrich’s ear and combing his messy hair with long fingers as if she were grooming him. The green-eyed boy laughed at the ticklish sensation. The conservatory was Charmed to be cool in the heat of summer and warm in winter. It would make a comfortable place for a branch of bowtruckles if they could plant some magical or wand quality trees for their nests. Severus was now engaging Heinrich in a conversation about the properties of some of his plants and their use in healing potions. The Potions Master seemed far happier speaking with the boy than he did as a teacher in Hogwarts. Then the students had lived in near mortal fear of his ire.
“Why does Buboetuber Pus make one break out in boils but is also used to cure boils?”
“It’s the concentration. Pure Buboetuber Pus irritates the skin. Don’t forget. We add other stuff to the distilled pus in brewing the Boils Cure…” Perhaps Grindelwald had his sights set on Severus as a future potions tutor for his ward.
They had to be ever mindful of Heinrich’s health and emotional state. He was still having the occasional nightmare about his abusers. There were bad nights where Grindelwald would have to spend the night hugging and soothing the child. One night in April, Heinrich had gone full Obscurus and fallen or thrown himself down the stairs. A panicked house-elf had interrupted Newt’s supper. When he Floo-ed into Nurmengard, he had found the former Dark Lord cradling a whimpering boy amidst a scene of destruction. Grindelwald had snapped at Newt for taking so long to arrive. If Harry had not been in his Obscurus form, he could have easily broken his neck falling from that height. Dosing the child with sleeping draughts was not feasible in the long run. Grindelwald needed treatment for a sprained ankle running down the stairs after his ward. Even three months later, he was using a walking stick.
It would be better if they had a younger wizard on the premises to assist. Lupin was often away on Grindelwald’s business. Severus preferred the conveniences of the city and the modern lab facilities for his research. Alrich had his practice in Budapest. Then there was the awkwardness between Lupin, Black and Snape. Tina would hex him silly if Newt decided to move to Nurmengard on a permanent basis, and he was not exactly a young man. The magizoologist wondered idly if their Chief Warlock had any recommendations. Too many promising young lives had been snuffed out in the last war, including whole family bloodlines.
“Horcrux! Of all the imbecilic things to do, you let a flipping Horcrux into house of abusive pigs…” Gellert shoved him enough force to knock him off his feet into the couch. His accent always got heavier when he was worked up. It used to amuse him how the polite boy could start swearing like a sailor at the drop of hat when they really started going at it.
Albus had been expecting this explosion. The storm had been brewing since he arrived. The rest of the guests had been seen off at the Floo – the Scamanders, Black, Snape… Only Mistress Bagshot remained. She would be staying the night. He had reluctantly accepted the invitation to stay for dinner. Gellert’s demeanour had been icy during the meal. Harry took his meal in his room, exhausted by his birthday party. So did Mistress Bagshot, who pleaded a headache from the summer heat. Albus did notice that Gellert had Cast Privacy Wards on the study after he had locked the door.
“Ah, so that was what it was? Never could work out how Harry escaped further injury…” It gave him some satisfaction to see a look of incredulity flash over Gellert’s features.
“Dummkopf… Don’t know why I even bother with you…” Gellert poked him in the chest. “Have you even looked at yourself in a mirror? Or did your mirror throw itself out the window in despair?”
Fingers carding a little too roughly through his hair. Lips brushing against his… It had been that way with them that summer. Bantering, angry words, followed by furious kisses, finally blossoming into something more. A silly schoolboy fling really. He was almost disappointed when Gellert pulled away from him.
“So, the Horcrux in my ward’s scar? I will hate to have to torture it out of you, Mugwump…” There was a slightest glint in his eyes. A teasing hand on his knee. Gellert had his wand out and was holding it loosely in his other hand.
“I’m an old man, Gellert… Spare me the theatrics…”
“Ja, we’re both too old for such games…” Albus felt the cushions shift as Gellert sat down next to him. “Still, we need to discuss Heinrich…”
“Harry.”
“Heinrich. Or I am adopting him formally. Heinrich Grindelwald has a certain ring to it,” Gellert grinned as he toyed with a pipe. His wand had somehow been put away without Albus even noticing.
“Fine, have it your way. Heinrich. Are you going to smoke that?”
“Nein, my lungs are a mess after so long in a damp cell. I’ve quit smoking. Who stuck a Horcrux by design or accident in the boy now?”
Two old wizards past their prime sitting before a cosy fire discussing the welfare of an Obscurial who may or may see another birthday. That would have to be enough for now.
Notes:
I know some readers are probably hoping for some hot snogging on that couch. Give them a break at their age.
Chapter 9: Tom Riddle
Summary:
That conversation about Horcruxes or something more.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Actually, use of soul-magic might be a possible way to…” Gellert stretched languidly. He summoned a glass of schnapps from the sideboard.
“We are not going into the dark arts, Gellert…” Albus warned. Gellert raised an eyebrow.
“I mean it as an academic exercise… Soul-magic itself is not inherently dark. Herpo created the first Horcrux, but he stopped only at one. He then went on to hatch a Basilisk. Legend had it he was eventually killed by the same beast, after it destroyed his Horcrux… Splitting a soul inherently damages it…”
Gellert’s voice was soothing, almost hypnotic. Albus smiled as a mug of hot cocoa appeared on the coffee table before him. Gellert still remembered how he liked his cocoa – with whipped cream, and chocolate shavings.
“What do you know of this Voldemort? His real name perhaps? Who is he behind the mask?” So Gellert had been keeping up with more recent news. “Where does Heinrich figure in all this mess as your bloody boy saviour?”
“Well, Gellert… I have told you about the prophecy, perhaps you need to hear it in full…”
“Forget prophecy, liebling. Just tell me about this Voldemort…” A slight shift beside him. Gellert’s knee was against his.
“His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle. To my regret, he was a student who went down a very dark path despite my best efforts…”
“Clearly your best efforts did not amount to much.” A dry chuckle from his old friend. Ten minutes later, Grindelwald was not laughing.
“Imbecile. You let this Tom whelp go back to the Muggle world which he so clearly hated? An orphan his age set loose among filthy Muggles in the middle of a war? And you wonder why he went off the rails…Tell me you do not believe that tosh about children born without love… Why didn’t you Brits go ahead with the Mickmac Protocol? At least the Americans had that one right…”
“The Mickmac Protocol calls for the forcible separation of Muggleborn children from their families and annihilation of their Muggle roots… It is a cruel…” Albus gasped.
“It’s for their own good. How many magical children have suffered at the hands of their Muggle kin for just having magic? Look at Heinrich – an Obscurus! Do you have any idea what they did to him? And you put him there! It is Hecate’s blessing he was not killed sooner,” Gellert paused his pacing to catch his breath after his outburst. He refilled his shot glass with a wave of his hand.
“We digress. About this Tom. You say his mother’s a Gaunt, old pureblood family – raped his Muggle father using a love potion, then goes off to birth him in a Muggle orphanage before dying. Both parental and maternal families want nothing to do with him. Ends up having enough magic to come to your attention and attend Hogwarts. Then there was some kerfuffle about Slytherin’s monster while he was schooling… You never did like the brat, did you? Never gave him a chance, did you?”
“Tom, well, there was always something off about him…”
“Whatever makes you able to sleep at night…” Grindelwald scoffed. A loveless union. His own parents had married for duty. Like many such political unions, love potions were involved to ensure the couple produced the necessary heir. Once they stopped the love potions, the cracks started appearing. He was fortunate Mutti took an actual interest in raising him rather than fobbing him off to the nanny elf like most gentle-witches did with their offspring. Vati had always been distant and disapproving. For him, Gellert was his long-awaiting heir and little else. It did not help that Mutti had been sickly, often left at home while Vati attended social commitments in the city with a succession of willing witches on his arm. Divorce was unthinkable, but no one could fault either party for cultivating special friendships so long as they were discreet about it.
It was normal in Durmstrang for orphaned students or those with bad home situations to stay year-round. It was the same in Beauxbatons, so he heard from Vinda. Yet the Brits had apparently turned their students loose to fend for themselves in the middle of a war.
“You say a student died that time… and another student expelled?” Gellert steepled his elegantly long fingers and sat back down.
“Yes, they believed it was an Acromantula that killed her. They expelled the wrong boy… There would not have been an untouched body if it were an Acromantula. The Gaunts are descended from Salazar Slytherin and might have inherited the Parseltongue ability…”
“We have a death. A first step in the making of a Horcrux if one was inclined. And we have a boy who is academically curious, and a tad too interested in the more esoteric aspects of magic. If Hogwarts had been more rigorous in their curriculum, he would have known better…”
“It didn’t stop you, did it? That got you expelled…”
“We were experimenting with focusing crystals and portals, not splitting souls. His royal highness wasn’t expected to turn up when he did. On hindsight, we should have had a master to supervise. My family was the lowest ranked in the group, so guess who took the fall…” Vati had been furious, barring him from returning home so he needed to seek shelter with a distant aunt.
“You never told…”
“You never asked… Now, presumably, Tom creates his first Horcrux around then. He probably goes on to create more, getting more unstable along the way to becoming Voldemort. But why more than one? Magical symbolism? Numbers of power – three, seven, nine…” Gellert continued.
“The one in Harry was likely an accident. Which means the soul would have been unstable at that point. Three might be too few. Nine for infinity? His soul would have disintegrated entirely…” Albus mused. His mind was picking up on the threads Gellert had pried loose.
“You are certain he is around? And not just because some co-called seer farted out a prophecy?”
“I am sure he survived that Halloween night. His Death Eaters still bear his Mark…”
“Hm, were you expecting the Mark to go poof when their master dies? Do we have one of them to study perhaps?”
“Severus Snape. You already have him in your employ…” The words were out of Albus’ mouth before he could register them.
“Pity. He is a good brewer… Perhaps I could have a word with him.” Albus shivered at the wolfish grin Gellert wore. An image of Snape chained in some dungeon flashed into his mind. Would Gellert try extracting the Mark from Snape’s flesh for experimentation? Would tampering with the Mark alert Voldemort wherever he was hiding?
“Has he silenced all those who could expose him as a fraud? I do wonder how those pureblood cretins would feel if they learned they are kissing his half-blood ass.”
“The Gaunts are extinct in Britain. As for his father’s family - the Riddles were found dead in their home shortly after the Muggle World War ended. He did come back to Hogwarts years later seeking a post aa Defence instructor, but I rejected his application. By then, there was something clearly wrong about him…” Albus continued.
“Multiple Horcruxes might do that. He’d be a fool to use a live host… In summary, we are looking for possibly up to seven Horcruxes hidden in unknown items at unknown locations… I do hope you are still up to this as the ICW is not going to let me go waltzing out on a Horcrux hunt…” Gellert’s hand on his. A firm squeeze…
“I have my resources…” Albus muttered as he tried to calm his racing heart. In the soft firelight, Gellert was still handsome despite the marks left by the years. Distinguished almost.
“Grossvater?” Hadn’t they locked the door?
The door now stood ajar. A young boy in flannel pyjamas and a dressing gown peered myopically in. Harry Potter was not wearing his glasses. He looked so much more vulnerable.
“Will you read me a bedtime story please?” he asked shyly in German. There was a flicker of suspicion in those green eyes when he recognized who was on the couch with Grindelwald. He scowled and Albus thought he saw tendrils of shadow moving under the boy’s skin.
“Of course, mein Spatz. Just let me see our guest off…” Gellert replied. He ruffled the boy’s messy hair fondly and the boy broke into a grin. The shadows were gone.
“I’m scared… they will not send me back to live with nasty Muggles, will they?”
“No, Heine. I will not let them…” Grindelwald replied wistfully. The boy was as much a prisoner as Grindelwald in Nurmengard despite all the comforts they were afforded. Doomed to live out their days in this gilded cage. What would they do for the Chosen One now?
“Your arm, Snape. You know which one…”
“Sir?”
Snape was surprised that he had been summoned to Nurmengard so soon after Heinrich’s last appointment. Had there been a bad reaction to a potion? Some new development in the Obscurial? Instead of being shown to the sitting room or study where Heinrich normally met with him and Newt, Snape was brusquely ushered down a wing of the castle he had never been to before. There was a library at the end of the long corridor- heavily Warded. Towering bookcases soared up the walls. Grindelwald stood behind an ornate mahogany desk. Snape wondered how the place had survived the long years the castle was under ICW control. Or had his employer simply moved the library and its contents out from some hidden vault?
Losing patience, Grindelwald moved like a viper for his age. He yanked Snape’s left arm towards him across the desk. A wordless spell ripped the sleeve open to expose the Mark.
“Foolish boy…” Grindelwald grumbled as he waved his wand over the exposed Mark. Where had he gotten that? Snape wondered.
Snape could feel the Mark shifting like a live thing under his skin. Pain akin to what he had experienced at his Marking. No, worse… Snape screamed as his arm seemed to burn from within.
“Oh, quit that wailing…” A Silencio. Snape’s knees buckled. He fell across the desk. The pain shot up his arm, into his body.
He whimpered soundlessly as Grindelwald clinically Cast arcane spells over his arm, sending wave after wave of agony into him. The pain was almost as bad as a Crucio, and it seemed to go on forever. Snape fought to Occlude, protect his mind from the all-encompassing pain. His bladder gave. Bile filled his mouth. His heart was racing too fast. He felt sure he was going to pass out…
Then it was over. He was left slumped half-way across the desk, shivering in cold sweat. He had torn his nails bloody clawing at the wood…
“There’s a bathroom behind that door. Go clean yourself up…” Grindelwald nonchalantly Summoned a house elf to clean up the mess Snape had left on both carpet and desk. He watched dispassionately as Snape literally crawled to the door indicated. His legs refused to bear his weight. He could hear the Potion Master retching behind the door. Water being run. Maybe he should have Mika pop in and check that the fool does not pass out and drown. Prepare a guest room. He would be in no state for Floo-travel for a day or two.
Dumbledore was right about Voldemort being alive in some form. Some cursed half-life. Weak, but still there. Possibly gaining strength. Stupid. A wizard of Snape’s intellect should have recognized it as a type of slave-brand. And to think so many British elites had willingly offered their arms…
Killing Muggleborns? Magic’s gift to strengthen dying bloodlines of magic? Intermarrying cousins for generations until the children were left physically, mentally or magically deficient? The Black madness. One of Vinda’s great-nieces had been afflicted with that, even before she swore herself to Voldemort. Sirius was fortunate he had escaped the worst of it given how inbred the Blacks were.
An ashen Snape stumbled out of the bathroom. He had made a decent attempt to tidy himself up. He all but fell into the chair Grindelwald commanded him to sit in. He waved over a carafe of water and a glass from the sideboard.
“S-sir…” Snape’s voice was hoarse. The skin around his Mark was a livid red. That would pass in time.
“Snape, I have half a mind to burn off your arm and that Mark… but I hate to waste a wizard of your talent. We will overlook this youthful indiscretion of yours and you will continue in my employ. However, should you threaten Heinrich in any way. What you experienced earlier will be considered almost enjoyable,” Grindelwald purred. “Understood?”
“Y-yes, sir…”
“Good. Now, I need you to tell me how you were Marked and how it was used by Voldemort… Do not hold back… think of it as a confession…” Snape’s wince of pain and his grabbing at his left arm did not slip Grindelwald’s notice. So the mere mention of the upstart’s name was enough to cause distress even to his purported followers.
Notes:
I like to show another side of Grindelwald – the gifted Dark Wizard as well as Dumbledore’s intellectual equal.
Chapter 10: The Boy Who Lived
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
The Boy-Who-Lived was living for now. Snape’s lip curled. Grindelwald treated him like a little princeling. All the best for little Heinrich. Part of Snape wanted to sneer at the offspring of James Potter. But the boy was not his father. There was a thoughtfulness to the boy. How he tidied up his toys or helped the older house-elves. He had observed the lad on the monthly visits he made with Newt to see how the Obscurial was reacting to the regime of potions, many experimental, he was on. Then there were the other visits he made without Newt. Summons at the drop of a hat. If he ignored the Floo, he was dragged to Nurmengard by a house elf, who would thoughtfully put any potion he was brewing on Stasis. He often needed to stay a night or two to recover after those tests on his Mark.
The Dark Lord had revelled in inflicting pain on his own followers. Snape and his colleagues had gone to those meetings expecting to receive random Crucios by the height of the war. Snape was not sure what to make of the Dark Wizard Grindelwald. Snape’s pain or feelings did not matter. During those private meetings, he was like one of Minnie’s guinea pigs waiting to be transfigured into a fowl by some fumbling student. They were not friends or colleagues like what he had with Dumbledore. With the old man, he could expect some lame gift each Christmas and invitations to chummy teas. On some level he knew Albus only wanted to keep his spy close. That those friendly smiles were like pats for a well-trained dog. Albus was not above reminding Snape how he had defended him at the end of the war and saved him from Azkaban. No, the headmaster was never a friend to a Slytherin like him.
“Does it hurt?”
Snape looked up from the settee where he had collapsed after the latest battery of magical scans. Grindelwald was trying to use the Dark Mark to locate whatever was left of the Dark Lord with no success. It was Heinrich. The boy’s green eyes were large and luminous in the moonlight. He was dressed in a monogramed dressing gown and hugging a fluffy teddy bear. An orange cat, Crooks, wound about his ankles.
“It’s too late for little boys to be up,” Snape rasped. The cat leapt onto the window ledge and made a show of licking his paws.
“Nightmare… sorry you got hurt…” the boy sniffled and clambered onto the settee beside Snape. “I hurt sometimes too. Grossvater’s trying to make me better. He’s too busy working tonight for a bedtime story…”
When Snape limped out of the study, Grindelwald had been furiously scribbling notes on multiple scrolls and Summoning books from the shelves. He had been mumbling about Horcruxes and soul-shards, among other things.
An Obscurial often suffered pain caused by having the parasite feed off their magical core. The pain came without warning. Heinrich could go for weeks without an episode before being floored by a fit of agony. Their constitutions were weaker. They often had issues with commonly used potions. They had already discovered that Heinrich reacted badly to at least two of the necessary vaccines for young wix. Then there was the crushing loneliness when the child realizes he was different. Some wix could sense the negativeness in their aura and shy from them.
“Tomorrow’s Samhain… Grossvater said my parents died that night…” the boy murmured sadly. “My aunt lied about them being drunks, but they’re heroes, right? I used to hate them for leaving me with Aunt Petunia… If I could go visit them… maybe put flowers…” he sniffled and drew closer to Snape.
Lily’s death anniversary. Snape had not yet found the courage to go to her grave. Snape sighed and placed his arm around the boy’s thin shoulders. Heinrich knew he was not well enough to leave the castle. He did not know that the ICW had imprisoned him there for being an Obscurial. The British would never allow his return.
“You can hold a remembrance ritual here. Just ask your Uncle Moony and Padfoot…”
Black was raised in the Old Ways. He would know the rites even if Lupin did not. Snape knew he would not be invited if Black agreed to the ritual. In a few weeks, he might return to Britain quietly after the celebrations were over, to quietly place flowers on Lily’s grave.
“I can’t really remember them… their faces, their voices… Uncle Moony showed me some photos, but it’s not the same… Opa!” Heinrich stood up as Grindelwald emerged from the library.
“Can’t sleep? Sorry about missing the bedtime story, mein Spatz. Now let’s get you tucked back in…” Grindelwald lifted the small boy up into his arms. Heinrich wrapped his arms around his neck. Snape wondered if a Featherlight Charm was involved given Grindelwald’s age, but he doubted it. Heinrich was too frail and likely underweight for his age. Grindelwald stepped out of the antechamber with his ward, Crooks at their heels.
“Snape. Your room has been prepared. I trust you can find it yourself…” Grindelwald said offhandedly. With that, Snape knew he was dismissed.
The first thing Snape noticed on his return to Britain was the somewhat subdued Harry Potter Day celebrations. The Boy-Who-Lived was an Obscurial. A magical abomination. Oh, the wix still celebrated the demise of the Dark Lord - as evidenced by the fresh flowers, toys and other trinkets left at the fence of the ruined Potter Cottage in Godric’s Hollow. Lily would have cooked in the kitchen that was now exposed to the elements. Upstairs was the ruined nursery where she would have sung her son to sleep…
“They used to leave more, you know…” a crackling voice from behind startled Snape. It was Grindelwald’s great-aunt. The old witch chuckled.
“Come visit a little old lady for tea, will you?” Snape found he could not decline.
Lily had visited the lonely Bathilda Bagshot during her time at Godric’s Hollow. Their properties were right next to each other. Bathilda scoffed at those vultures who came to gawk at her neighbour’s ruined cottage. Would you believe they had a regular tour every other Friday? Then there was the book series about the Boy-Who-Lived. Bathilda chuckled darkly and speculated that the author would need a change of topic as the Boy-Who-Turned-Obscurial was not going to sell that many children’s books.
Under her guise of a mild-manered old lady, Bathilda proved a charming conversationalist in possession of a cutting wit and. It was almost with a pang of regret that Snape took his leave. He still had a grave to visit before sundown.
He ought to have known that the Potters would share a grave. By their final year, Lily and James were practically joined at the hip to his younger self’s disgust. But he was the one who had muffed his friendship with Lily. Perhaps James Potter did clean up his act with age. Lily was not one to suffer fools. She had been one of Snape’s staunchest defenders against the bullies, a lioness in her own right. Ah, all a lifetime away.
He placed the lilies he had brought before the gravestone. What could he say to her, to them? Parents who had made the ultimate sacrifice to protect their child. He had placed them in danger by running off to tell his master about that prophecy… Does she know her son had been abused by her sister? That he had turned into an Obscurial as a result?
In the end, he turned and left. Dusk was falling and there was nothing left for him in Britain. He had already sold off his house at Spinner’s End upon moving to Germany. It was only meant to be a short break from his demanding work in Munich - and perhaps keeping an unspoken promise to a little boy.
The Yuletide season approached. Grindelwald checked the timepiece on the side table. Fashionably late. He expected no less of the Contessa. The Zabini family held a monopoly on certain potion ingredients, which might provide some hope for Heinrich. Those ingredients were also highly controlled in multiple countries. He needed to negotiate the contract with Contessa Serena Zabini for access, some slightly illegal under ICW conventions. Almost a year since the arrival of his sparrow and the start of their life together. Heinrich peered warily from the next room, if as to question why their guest was delayed.
Grindelwald’s musings were interrupted by the sound of the Floo, and Milo’s crisp voice announcing the arrival of Contessa Serena and her heir Blaise. Grindelwald greeted the Contessa when she swept into the room in a cloud of exotic perfume and black satin. Almost hidden behind her voluminous skirts was a lanky boy of olive complexion. They looked like they were dressed for night at the theater. If they had brought any house-elves, they would have been directed by Milo to the servants’ quarters. Any luggage would have been sent to the guestroom.
“Buonasera, Contessa,” Grindelwald took her gloved hand and planted a light kiss on her fingers.
“Please, call me Serena. This is my son, Blaise… I hope you do not mind the liberty I took… poor Alfredo…” she dabbed daintily at the corner of her eye with a lace hanky. “It is not safe to leave my son home with the elves only…”
“I will have my elves prepare a room and another place at dinner…” Grindelwald smiled.
Gellert did not fail to note how Heinrich’s eyes lit up with curiosity at the presence of another child. On his part young Herr Zabini tried to affect an air of nonchalance, but he was equally curious. The Contessa would stay the week, or as long as it took for them to reach an agreement over the ingredient supplies. The Contessa’s third husband had met a sudden and bloody end in a family dispute. A wizarding mafia hit, so the Wizard International reported. His demise had all but doubled his widow’s wealth. Unfortunately, it also put her in the crosshairs of his many disgruntled brothers and cousins. It was understandable that she was reluctant to leave her heir alone.
Heinrich understood no Italian. Blaise’s English was poor and his German non-existent. Having mastered the necessary table etiquette, Heinrich was allowed to dine with Grindelwald’s guests. Grindelwald ushered his guests to the refurnished dining room with all its festive trimmings. The Hungarian Horntail flapped its wings from its place of honour in the room’s beautiful stained-glass window. Drinks were poured out – wine for the adults and fruit punch for the boys. The elves brought in the soup. By dessert, the boys had worked out they could communicate in the lingua franca of French.
Heinrich was happy to have a friend his age. He did his part hosting their young guest while the grownups talked shop, showing the conservatory and library, playing games of Wizarding Chess. The Contessa was a tough businesswoman behind her pretty face. The negotiations went on for hours and more than once they had to call their respective Gringotts account manager to provide the supporting documentations for their case. Potion-quality siren scales were found only off the isle of Corfu and sirens were an endangered species. That needed some guarantees to the local chieftain. Snape was Floo-called from Munich to verify the quality of samples of various ingredients offered by Zabini Enterprises’ sub-contractors and harvesters. There was that sample of Basilisk skin which was outed as a fake. Judging by the dark look on the Contessa’s face, Grindelwald knew the luckless supplier was going to suffer for causing Contessa Zabini humiliation.
Heinrich had no lessons arranged as Vinda was vacationing in Rome for Yule. Blaise was officially on his Yule break from Charms school. The children were left to their own devices exploring the castle due to the cold outside. Heinrich had tried to coax Blaise into building snowmen, but the Italian boy found the courtyard too cold to linger in. The children were warned that some parts of the castle were still in disrepair, and to always have an elf with them should they decide to explore. The cellars and dungeons below were strictly out of bounds.
They found a dusty old piano in one room the Kneazles were napping on. Blaise attempted to play a melody on the horribly out of tune instrument. The racket sent the Kneazles yowling. Grindelwald ordered Milo to find someone to tune the instrument. Perhaps they could see if Heinrich was musically inclined. He had played the violin and piano as a boy with his Mutti as a teacher to while away cold winter days. The boys found the stairs that led up to the tallest tower and the empty room at the top. Taking turns to peer out of the small, barred window, they saw nothing but snow-covered forest and mountains all round. Heinrich decided he did not like the tower room much. It reminded him of his little closet under the stairs.
Finally, an agreement was reached. The contract was signed, witnessed and filed at Gringotts. Contessa Serena called for her son so that they might return home to Florence. They found the boys in the kitchen helping the elves bake panettone, an Italian Yule bread. Having exhausted their exploration of the parts of the castle open to them, the boys had embarked on a culinary exchange of recipes. Lady Serena’s personal elf Ziti had started off in the kitchens and was happy to assist her young master’s culinary endeavours. Not to be outdone, Helga and Nanna were eager to prove their baking skills. There was stollen stuffed with marzipan, and gingerbread houses… The Contessa had shaken her head on seeing her flour-covered son, declaring she was not raising a baker. Still, she had kissed her son on both cheeks and tweaked his ear for good measure. The boys had dined and played together for a week. Parting was going to be hard.
Heinrich gave their guests a loaf of stollen and a basket of gingerbread bears and cats. Blaise had insisted on making bears instead of men. Heinrich had made cats in honour of Crooks, who had steadfastly accompanied them in their explorations. Kneazles Sigrid and Siegfried preferred rooms with a blazing fire in winter, thank you. After that piano performance, they refused to be anywhere near Blaise.
“They will come visit someday, right?” Heinrich asked quietly as the flames glowed red once more.
“Maybe, mein Spatz, maybe,” Grindelwald ruffled his hair. Try as he might, he could not imagine any reason for the Contessa to visit with her son, even if their contract should expire after the agreed upon seven years… Seven years… Heinrich might not have that long.
An older Blaise in Hogwarts robes waving a green and silver scarf… A young man, he sounded both fearful and angry. Then the vision was gone.
Notes:
Heinrich has made his first young friend.
Chapter 11: Meet Cousin Nymphadora
Summary:
Little Heinrich need more friends. Enter Dora.
Notes:
I have made some expansion to the chapter to explain why Black is now Lord Black.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
Snape never thought he would be teaching again – Defence, Potions and Herbology – to a boy not even old enough for school. Heinrich had inherited his mother’s intelligence. His eyes were keen as Snape lectured on the different uses of common plants in potions from an illustrated encyclopaedia as Grindelwald watched on. They would take Heinrich to the conservatory to see how many of the plants he could identify. Spring was slowly creeping into Nurmengard. Lupin was back with the rare tomes he had tracked down in the Balkans. The werewolf was unpacking the books and other supplies he had picked up from the city. They were also expecting Black to drop by for a visit. Sirius Black had decided to move back to civilization after months in Aunt Dru’s summer chateau. He had a townhouse in London he could move into, once he had completely purged it of any dark curses and the like, so he said when visiting at New Year.
Grindelwald had been a little perturbed to learn that Albus Dumbledore had been the one nudging Black to take up his family’s lordship and return to Britain from behind the scenes. Surely the man deserved a fresh start elsewhere. The recently departed Lord Arcturus Black never got round to completing the disownment ritual after that incident in Paris involving a black dog in the Louvre while Black and some relatives were vacationing in the city over Yule. The Mona Lisa went for a dip in the Seine and had to be rescued. Made the headlines of the international papers. The Daily Prophet claimed it was the scandal that finally did the old man in. Sirius Black remained next in line for the title. Not that Sirius Black was lord material, too reckless and hot-headed. Albus delivered a touching eulogy for Lord Arcturus in the papers. Grindelwald thought the old wizard must be spinning in his coffin at the blatant lies. If the Blacks did not cremate their dead in the style of the Romans. Some nudges to Sirius’ conscience. A few subtle reminders about the growing Dark families and the danger to Muggles and Muggleborns…
That was when the Floo whooshed. A girl’s voice cried out in a Cockney accent.
“Cor, wot’s this place, cuz?”
“Welcome to Nurmengard, Lord Black and miss…” they could hear Mika stumbling at the unexpected visitor’s arrival.
The Floo sounded again two minutes later and this time it was…
“Unhand my daughter!”
An angry roar filled the air. Whatever had the dumb mutt done now? Snape stifled the urge to smile as a visibly annoyed Grindelwald rose from the armchair he was ensconced in. When his eyes met Grindelwald’s momentarily, the dark wizard motioned pointedly at the book he was reading from. Snape nodded.
“Should we go see?” Heinrich asked. Snape shook his head.
“No, let’s look at this picture of the nightshade plant and compare it with the hemlock…” Harry gave a hesitant nod. His eyes kept darting to the open door.
When he stepped into the reception hall, Grindelwald was greeted first by the sight of a fraulein of about sixteen. All legs and arms like a young colt, she was dressed Muggle in leggings, short skirt, cropped top and a studded leather jacket. Her short, spiky hair was dyed purple. No, as he watched, her hair lengthened into soft waves, morphing to a red gold as if imitating a pre-Raphaelite painting of Circe she was gazing at. A metamorphmagus – how fascinating. There was a choking sound which drew Grindelwald’s attention back to fireplace where a flustered Mika was holding Black’s cloak. Dressed in motorbiking leathers, Black was being magically choked by a very angry witch dressed in a more conservative Aran sweater and peasant-style skirt. There was enough of a likeness in their chins and eyes to suggest they were related. How tiresome - family drama.
“Finite… Welcome to Nurmengard, ladies… I trust Sirius here has not been bothering you?” Grindelwald turned on his charm. He cancelled out the Strangulation Curse as he really did not wish to have a visit from the Aurors.
“My cousin saw fit to kidnap my daughter and take her out of the country!”
“Aw, you gave me permission to take her, Andi…” Sirius croaked.
“Only to escort her to that rock concert in Piccadilly, not across international borders!”
“Mom, I don’t need an escort to see U2! I’m of age! Besides, my friends will be with me…”
“You're not of age for another couple of months, Nymphadora…”
“Mom! I hate that name! What’s this place? It looks like something from Disney or Dracula!” Ah, the thoughtless innocence of youth…
Drawn by the commotion, Lupin was coming down the stairs from the upstairs gallery. The house elves were also peeking out warily from over the balustrade.
Sirius Black tried to protest his innocence. but Andromeda was having none of that. Her wand flashed and she yelled some obscure Latin phrases. Her opponent was one step too slow in shielding. Then Black was lying literally in a tangled pile of flopping limbs. Interesting – a combination of the Bone-Removal Hex with flipper transfiguration. Oh, there must be a vocal aspect too as Black was now making funny whistling sounds instead of words. Would those curses be enough to trigger an alarm at the ICW and bring on responding Aurors? He counted to a hundred before calling out to Lupin.
“Mister Lupin. Our friend Black has had a little duelling accident. Could you please Floo him over to St Walpurgis Hospital while I properly welcome our guests?” Grindelwald cleared his throat. He waved vaguely at the pile that was Black. Lupin scooped Black up over his shoulders with a resigned look. It was not the first time he needed to bail his friend out of trouble. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the Ming porcelain bowl Mika held out to him. With a whoosh of green flame, they were gone.
“Once more, welcome to Nurmengard. It is rare that we have such distinguished guests from the House of Black…” Grindelwald bowed theatrically, making the younger witch giggle. Her mother straightened her back and held out her hand limply in the old-fashioned way high-born ladies were taught once they were old enough to put their hair up. Breeding would tell.
“It’s Tonks actually. Andromeda Tonks and this is my daughter Dora…” Andromeda allowed him to take her hand and kiss it lightly. “Sorry for imposing… Herr Grindelwald.”
“Ah, sometimes Sirius does not think things through… Would you like some coffee and cakes before going?” Grindelwald offered. The younger witch was testing her skills again, this time changing her face and hair to that of a dark-haired boy. She took a duelling stance to imitate that in a tapestry depicting a wizarding duel.
“Wow! Did you change your hair and nose? How do you do that?” a young boy’s voice echoed through the hall.
Heinrich’s curiosity had won out. Both he and Snape were peering at the newcomers from the hall. Snape remembered Andi from when she was his senior in Slytherin House. Caused a scandal when she eloped with her Muggleborn beau. The daughter ended up in Hufflepuff like her father, which was just as well. She had wanted to be an Auror, which made poor Pomona, her House Head, cringe.
“That child trips even when walking down the halls, I cannot picture her in a duel!”
Heinrich gave a soft yelp and ducked behind his tutor when Grindelwald gave him a stern look. Nymphadora only laughed and changed her nose again from the pointed one she was wearing to a pig’s snout.
“Behave, Dora…” Andi warned in exasperation. Her daughter relented and changed her features back to the ones she was wearing initially, including the spiky purple hair.
Grindelwald chuckled. Heinrich could do with the company even if Dora was much older than him. They could always rearrange their lesson plans for the rest of the afternoon. He had the kitchen send up more coffee and cakes for their guests in the parlour where it was cosier. Snape was invited to join in as Dora’s former Potions teacher. Now that she was no longer at risk of detentions, Dora was full of amusing anecdotes about the Dungeon Bat as her schoolmates had nicknamed Snape. A vein in Snape’s temple twitched when he learned that his students had suspected him of being a vampire and had garlic-bombed his lab at least twice to get out of a quiz.
“Young lady, do you wish to be a professional duellist?” Grindelwald asked conversationally.
“I want to be an Auror.”
“Definitely not!” Mrs Tonks primly put down her coffee cup.
“Mom…” Dora started to protest.
“Actually, you already have a good duelling stance – for the competing arena. In actual combat, you do not want to keep your shoulders that stiff… Be prepared to run for cover if needed,” Grindelwald calmly gave Dora pointers. Being an metamorphmagus, it was likely that Miss Tonks would end up working for the Ministry in some capacity. The Aurory was the likeliest route given that Britain was said to be short on seasoned Aurors after the last war. Her shapeshifting talent would be seen as a bonus. Mrs Tonks was right to be concerned as poorly trained Aurors who had to learn on the job often end up badly hurt or worse.
“I know several duelling instructors who focus on combat and survival instead of mere form. You might wish to enlist their services for your child, Mrs Tonks…” Grindelwald suggested. He tapped on the table and Milo Apparated beside him with a scroll and his reading glasses. He thanked the elf and lay the scroll on the table.
“Otto von Meickelsen was in the German Aurory… a long line of combat wizards… Contessa Limingo used to run a private combat duelling academy in Venice…”
“I’m sorry – I’m afraid that my daughter only knows English and basic French…” Mrs Tonks frowned as studied the list. Most of the instructors were based on the Continent.
“Mm, I would also suggest foreign language studies. Without the translations spells. Knowledge of a less common language might be useful in the Aurory for securing work as a liaison with the ICW,” Grindelwald suggested. “German and Italian would be a good start, but I would personally recommend East European or Nordic languages if she has the inclination.”
The old Grindelwald would think he had gone raving mad if he were to see him giving career advice to a metamorphmagus interested in joining the Aurory instead of getting her into his Alliance. Mrs Scamander would probably be laughing, and maybe old Director Percy Graves as well from beyond the Veil. Fraulein Tonks was a bubbly young witch. It would be a shame if anything were to happen to her thanks to British Auror incompetence.
“Oh, one more thing. As much as I enjoy your company, it may not be wise for Dora or her immediate family to visit again should she have her sights set on a career with the ICW Aurory,” Grindelwald put away his reading glasses. The ICW Aurors would raise a stink if they found out one of their applicants was having coffee regularly with a certain dark wizard in Nurmengard.
“Danke, Herr Grindelwald… You have given me much to think about…” Andi Tonks looked at her daughter thoughtfully. Dora was making Heinrich laugh and Snape scowl over some prank that had happened back in Hogwarts. Snape was grumbling about how he now knew where the beetle eyes went after that lab session. Harry Potter, now Heinrich the Obscurial. He seemed a happy child. Such a tragedy.
Well, she better remind her Dora about her rock concert. She would let Dora go with Charlie Weasley and the rest of her friends, who were likely waiting for her at that American burger place across from the concert venue.
“Wow, Hogwarts sounds like fun, Tonks…” Heinrich’s eyes were glowing.
“I’ll be going back to school next week. I’ll write, in English mind, promise… Pinkie-swear?” Tonks grinned as he held out her little finger. Heinrich blinked once before hooking his little finger with hers. He had seen other kids in the playground make promises that way, but this was his first pinkie-promise.
“Dora, you don’t want to be late for the concert now…” Andi reminded. Tonks cast a Tempus with her wand.
“Cripes! I’m going to be late!” she leapt up and dashed for the fireplace, accidentally knocking over a plate of small cakes and Snape’s coffee cup. Helga immediately Apparated in to clear the mess on the rug, and on an annoyed Snape.
“Dora, wait!” Mrs Tonks put down her coffee cup before hurrying after her daughter. The silly girl had forgotten about the time difference. A few steps short of the fireplace, Tonks tripped on a loose bootlace and…
The Floo flashed green as someone stepped out, just in time to catch Tonks before she fell face-first onto the hearthstones. It was Remus Lupin.
“A-are you alright, miss?” Lupin looked down at the young woman who was clinging to him. She had the oddest blue, no, grey eyes. Were they green now?
“Y-yes, thank you for catching me…” Tonks gasped as Lupin helped her stand. Andi had reached them and cast a charm to fix that wayward bootlace. She gave curt nod to Lupin, who returned a bow, but his eyes were on the younger witch. Grindelwald smirked. The signs were all there… Love at first sight.
An older Dora, wearing an Auror’s protective dragonhide greatcoat. She was spinning and dodging deadly spellfire. At her back was a civilian wizard duelling with equal ferocity. Lupin? The pair were covering each other… Too soon the visions were gone.
“Thank you for your hospitality, Herr Grindelwald, but we must be going,” Andi dropped a curtsy. Her Dora tried, but almost tripped. The witches took the Floo powder and stepped into the green flames, Flooing back to London.
“How’s Uncle Padfoot?” Heinrich asked Lupin, who was staring at the now orange flames in the hearth.
“He’ll recover… The Hexes are temporary. The healers expect them to run their course by tomorrow, but they are keeping him for the night…” Lupin replied. Black had been greatly cheered up by the buxom young healer who happened to be on duty. Once he got his speech back, Sirius would likely be asking her out to dinner. Though knowing Black’s luck, the Rhinemaiden might be replaced by a troll by then.
“What a pity,” Snape scoffed. “Mrs Tonks might want to have a rematch.”
“I’ll like to go to Hogwarts…” Heinrich blurted. He looked from adult to adult. Why did Uncle Moony look sad? Snape looked like he had swallowed a lemon.
“When you’re older, mein Spatz…” Grindelwald ruffled the boy’s messy hair with a laugh. “Snape, I hear you have a reputation as a duellist… I’d like to enlist your services as an instructor…”
“For Heinrich?” Snape raised a questioning brow.
“Nein, for Herr Lupin… I believe his work will be taking him into less civilized parts. Black might have teeth but not Lupin. Good help is so hard to find - I would like him to continue his employment with us. Now, Heinrich, let’s go see if the Fairybells have sprouted,” Grindelwald took his grinning ward by the hand and led him out to the conservatory, leaving behind two bewildered wizards.
Maybe he should also think of removing his Floo access from Black’s townhouse. Have the mutt spend his gold on an International Portkey and juggle those ICW access forms if he wants to visit his godson after that stunt.
Notes:
Poor Heinrich does not know that he is not able to attend school or leave Nurmengard under the agreement between Grindelwald and the ICW. Munich is an hour ahead of London, so Tonks thought she was late for her rock concert.
Chapter 12: Letters from Nurmengard
Notes:
I am introducing letters from Grindelwald to and from his contacts for a change.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter Text
“Can’t Harry come stay with me, just for one night?”
Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork. Lord Black was giving his best innocent look. The older wizard groaned softly as he returned his quill to the inkstand. He was still filing the paperwork for the latest debacle in the Wizengamot. Who would have thought Black’s first order of business as Lord Black during the Spring Session was to challenge Lord Lucius Malfoy to a duel over insulting his cousin? And the Chamber had allowed the duel to proceed. Blood had been spilled before both parties conceded. Perhaps Lucius should have held his tongue on the proposed changes to the marriage laws to allow pureblood lords to take multiple wives to produce the desired heir and spare. The bill itself was thrown out within five minutes of the actual discussion as more than half the seats were held by witches or parents of marriage daughters who were not keen on the changes proposed.
“Sirius, I know Harry means a lot to you, but he is not allowed to leave Nurmengard…”
“Aw, it is just to visit his godfather at Grimmauld Place…”
“Might a recent incident involving your cousin’s girl explain why Grindelwald has requested the goblins to remove your townhouse from his Floo as well as the odd lack of an invite for his godfather?” Albus asked mildly. His fingers flitted unbidden to a nondescript envelope addressed in flowing copperplate to him.
“Minor misunderstanding.” Black shrugged. “So can I come with you to the birthday party please?”
Dear Albus
Heinrich is doing well, all things considered. We will be hosting a party to celebrate his ninth birthday next month. Another year endured. I do wonder if you have made any progress with our mutual business regarding a certain pest. Have you found anything besides a trail of dead bodies related to our lad? What was his history? If you have been sitting in your tower scarfing candy these past months, I must say that I am disappointed in you.
Please RSVP by owl if attending. You may bring that mutt but only in dog-form. Aberforth is not welcome.
Gellert
Dear Gellert
You wound me. Do you have any idea how hard it is to hold my offices of Supreme Mugwump, Chief Warlock, and Hogwarts headmaster without triggering mass panic in the British Isles? Most wix are happy to think the Dark Lord dead and those items a thing of the distant past. We have no idea what we are even looking for and where to find them. Not to mention that there must be a raft of protections laid on them. Tom is cautious, if anything. After his experimentations, I would say he was paranoid. His followers in Azkaban are not talking.
I know you have been appealing for more freedom for yourself and Harry. I am sorry but your petition has been declined. Perhaps Newt could assist in creating a pocket forest within the castle for your proposed strolls?
Albus
Dear Albus
Dumpkoff, a faux forest in the dungeon is not the same as a real forest with ancient nature magicks running through it. We are hoping to tap those same magicks to stabilize Heinrich. His name is Heinrich, not Harry. There is a decent patch of forest a two-mile hike away we are looking at. Ancient Saxon ruins. Had Lupin check out the place. Its power is still there. We are looking to wean Herr Lupin off his over-reliance on Wolfsbane as frankly, that stuff is poison the way you Brits use it. A healthy werewolf could live as long any wizard. A Wolfsbane addict only one third as long. Are you lot trying to kill off an entire chunk of your people? I would favour the Weimar protocols - lower doses of the Wolfsbane Potion supported with ritual magic to accept the wolf. The goblins are arranging a purchase and Warding of that area. Well, I suppose Lupin could still use it on full moon nights.
You were the one who happily took on all those posts. Have you considered retiring from one or two of them? I do not see how clinging onto Chief Warlock and Hogwarts headmaster is helping me or Heinrich. We still need that Mugwump clout to keep him out of a cell. In fact, I believe your workload will be greatly reduced. Did Black really duel his fellow lord in the hallowed chambers of the Wizengamot? Looks like challenge by combat is still recognized by the ancient magic of Britain.
Oh, so are you coming to the party o r not? My elves will need to know if they need to double the servings for dessert. Heinrich needs to watch what he eats. Apparently, Obscurials have sensitive stomachs, so Herr Newt says. Which probably explained why Aurelius spent so much time in the bathroom.
Gellert
Darling
Apologies, I will have to miss the party as I have been admitted to Ste Jeanne la Pucelle Hopital. Would you believe I got attacked by a Venomous Tentacula in Café Noir at breakfast? Well, I still consider eleven o’clock breakfast. One minute you are nibbling a croissant, the next you are being Portkeyed to the emergency room. I am never a morning person and don’t get me started on plant identification before my café du matin.
Seriously, young ones these days – can’t even tell a Flutterby from a Tentacula even if it bit them on the nose. I will owl over your grandson’s present once I am discharged.
XOXO, Vinda
Dear Vinda
I trust that the Café Noir is still standing for old times’ sake? Too many Muggle-nized coffee places these days. Ugh! Remember those heady days in Paris in their private rooms upstairs before we moved to that townhouse? Krall threatening to defenestrate Nagel. You threatening to geld them both for waking you up at two in the afternoon? Krafft candoodling with that mademoiselle behind the counter? Did they fix the burn marks from your Hexes on the landing? Ah, memories.
I really enjoyed the coffee beans you sent, and the French press. Were the beans Ethiopian or Brazilian? Helga would like another bag of them. Do feel free to join us for kaffe und kuchen when you are better. Heinrich is doing well with his lessons so a few months should not adversely affect him. You should know that Frau Scamander has been roped in by her husband to teach Heinrich basic Arithmancy and Transfiguration. Nothing beyond changing the colours of the furnishings for now. I am less keen on her need to teach Heinrich Muggle history, but I guess there is no harm done. It proves I was right about the Muggle capacity for self-destruction.
Gellert
P.S. Heinrich has been keeping up with his piano practice. He favours Beethoven over Brahms.
Dear Sir Grindelwald
It is an honour to receive an invitation to attend your ward’s birthday. I intend to bring my daughter and grandson, both of whom are visiting me in Nice for the summer. My son-in-law might be inclined to join us should he complete his business in Paris sooner. With regards to my other grandchild, I have engaged the services of the Contessa Limingo’s top student to teach her duelling. Am also tempted to put her through finishing school as the girl needs refinement. Well, that’s what happens when you shack up with the wrong type of Muggles. I will have you know that one of the reasons I never approved of Meda’s choice is that she had to set her sights on the son of a railway worker and a seamstress. Oh, the horror.
About Lucius – he made a series of very bad decisions in his youth. Cissy swears he was under an Imperius curse cast by the British Dark Lord when he pledged his allegiance. Lord Abraxas probably was a willing Death Eater. We hope this would not weigh too heavily on him and his family in your eyes.
Yours sincerely. Drusilla Rosier
Herr Grindelwald
As much as I would love for Blaise to reconnect with your ward, I must decline to impose on you. I am to be married on the same date in Sardinia and my son will be the ringbearer at the ceremony. Blaise is sulking - they grow up so quickly. Yes, I know it is a bit unusual marrying my son’s violin teacher, but it is not as though gold is a concern for us. And he does have talented fingers. I am thinking of packing Blaise off to Beauxbatons when the time comes. Just think of all the hearts he would break. Giorgos is thinking Durmstrang so we get to enjoy his company for another year. Perhaps if our schedule permits, we can arrange a visit after my honeymoon?
A friend, Contessa Serena
P.S. Apologies if you were intending to hire Giorgos to teach Heinrich, but I suppose there are other music teachers on the market.
Dear Herr Grindelwald
I have located two of the books you wish to secure in the Vatican archives. However, I have failed to convince the custodians to loan them to you. Please find enclosed their location on the shelves of the vault as instructed. Advice required on whether to seek out other copies.
Yours sincerely, Lupin
P.S. I expect to be incapacitated for the coming week.
“Here they are, sir…” Snape placed the books down on the table before Grindelwald. “As instructed, the originals are still in the archives.”
It had been a close call, sneaking into the Vatican archives to duplicate the books on his employer’s orders. The wolf was already known to the custodians. They could not send him back. Remus Lupin was miles away in Madrid when Snape broke into the Vatican vaults. Grindelwald had set him on a wild goose chase on possible copies in the Spanish Royal Archives. Lupin had returned through a special Portkey connection Gringotts Madrid branch arranged. Lupin was also tasked with bringing home a crate of Spanish orange trees and a painting by an Italian Renaissance master to explain his trips should the ICW grow suspicious. The painting, aptly titled the Alchemist, graced the library wall behind Grindelwald. It showed an old man hunched over a crucible.
“Ah, good to know your spellcrafting and other skills are still sharp…” Grindelwald smiled as he cracked open the top book. The contents were in Latin of course and likely coded knowing who the author was.
“Do you believe that da Vinci’s experiments on ignis vitae might hold the key to a cure?” Snape asked quietly. “He is better known for creating magical portraits in life…”
“If these texts were considered too dangerous to be released to the wizarding public, there is a possibility that da Vinci was dabbling in forbidden magic as well. It is a little-known fact that Leonardo was a wizard, a possible Unspeakable in the pay of the Duke of Milan,” Grindelwald purred as he closed the book.
“Snape, what can you tell me of the Malfoys… The family was not among my supporters… Are they loyal Death Eaters? I understand Lucius Malfoy was at school with you.”
“Sir? The late Lord Malfoy was a contemporary of the Dark Lord. Lucius was four years ahead of me in school…”
“I suppose the Malfoys sponsored your Mastery. Your parents were not exactly financially sound in both the Muggle and magical worlds. You share a friendship with them, enough to be named as godfather to his son. What are their opinions on Britain’s pro-Muggle policies?” Grindelwald watched Snape’s face carefully. The wizard did not betray any emotions as he sought a diplomatic answer.
“Mildly put, they are traditionalists,” Snape replied.
“What of the boy? I hear he is of a frail constitution.”
“More overprotectiveness than ill health. Draco is an only child and precious to his parents. He is a little spoiled as the apple of his parents’ eyes. Lucius tries to impose discipline to prepare him for the lordship, but more often, he yields to his wife in matters of childrearing. Since my move to Germany, I have not visited them as often as I once did,” Snape had the decency to look abashed. He had once visited almost fortnightly when his teaching duties at Hogwarts allowed. However, since he moved to Germany, he only visited at Yule and Beltane, major wix festivals.
“Tut-tut, perhaps young Malfoy might benefit from your continued guidance. And Heinrich a playmate his age. Let us set this aside for now… We have a long day tomorrow for our Heinrich. Mika! Show Herr Snape to his room!” Grindelwald called the house-elf.
Notes:
Grindelwald has been very busy behind the scenes, at least busier than Albus when it comes to the Horcrux hunt.
Chapter 13: Draco Malfoy
Summary:
Heinrich’s ninth birthday party.
Notes:
(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter Text
“Where are we going, Mother?” her little dragon asked for the twentieth time as Narcissa Malfoy nee Black fussed over his robes. Not too formal to outshine their host. Not too casual as to cause offence.
Grand Aunt Vinda had been Lord Grindelwald’s right-hand witch, until his defeat by Albus Dumbledore. The Rosier name and gold kept her safe and comfortable. Exile to the windswept Reunion Island where she had lived like an empress, so Maman said. Until Great Uncle Phillippe got her sentence lifted. Stylishly chic despite her years, Narcissa recalled the visits made discreetly to her townhouse on Rue de St Germaine as a little girl with Maman. It was an honour to receive an invitation from Herr Grindelwald. One not to be taken lightly. Poor Great Aunt Vinda was incapacitated. Maman insisted she and Draco accompany her to the party.
Grindelwald has a ward Draco’s age. An Obscurial. The greatest tragedy to befall a magical child. A lonely boy who was the apple of Herr Grindelwald’s eye. The Potter boy. The one the Dark Lord Voldemort had attempted to kill that Halloween. The orphan had been left with ignorant Muggles on his mudblood mother’s side. It was a wonder they did not kill him with their mistreatment when he started manifesting his magic.
Some claimed an Obscurus was catching. That it would latch onto a child like a leech to drain their growing magic. Why was she risking her precious Draco?
Because she was a good little girl who always obeyed her parents. Papa had arranged the marriage with Lucius to yoke their families together – the Blacks’ prestige with the Malfoys’ wealth. To his credit Lucius had done everything as required by proper etiquette – courtship, betrothal and wedding. Passion? There was none. Only duty. They had done their bit birthing the heir to the Malfoy bloodline. Lucius was fair enough a husband and father. He provided well for them. She had been cossetted, shielded from the worst of the war, until the Aurors came for her father-in-law and Lucius.
She knew of course. Bella had waxed lyrical about the glory of her master. The revels and orgies. She had listened as her husband Floo-ed back from those Death Eater meetings, feigned sleep as he called the house-elves to tend to his hurts in the next room. She did not want to know whether Lucius had willingly pledged his allegiance to the madman, like so many of their social circle did. Or had he done so on his father’s instructions?
Lucius was held up by work. Some business matters with the French Malfoys. He would not be joining them. Good wives never questioned or bothered their husbands with silly concerns. Severus would be there at the party. Maman said that Draco’s godfather now served as Herr Grindelwald’s personal potion master. She could trust him, right?
“Cissy, it’s time to go!” Maman shrilled. With a sigh, Narcissa combed her son’s hair one last time before taking him by the hand. They would not be taking any house-elves with them.
The house-elf announced their arrival and ushered them to the sitting room. It was tastefully furnished. Drusilla Rosier cooed her approval. However, her approval lasted only until she saw the guest seated in one of the armchairs. The last person Lady Malfoy expected to see in Nurmengard was Albus Dumbledore. He was wearing some awful shimmery purple robe with silver stars on it. The man had no sense of fashion at all. He sat on the settee with a large black dog at his feet who could have passed for a Grim. The dog yipped when it saw her and Draco.
“Behave…” Albus admonished as he petted Sirius’ head. The magical collar on his neck kept Sirius locked in his animagus form. Draco clung to his mother’s skirts doubtfully as he regarded the dog and the Chief Warlock. There were no other children at this gathering. Only grown-ups, Narcissa noted. There was an elderly wizard she recognized as a retired magizoologist who was speaking to a wizard who could be a secretary or tutor. Her little boy’s eyes lit up when he saw his godfather standing alone by the window. The young boy made a beeline for Snape.
“No,” Narcissa tugged her son back. The proper social niceties must be observed. They had not greeted their host yet. After which, Draco would be free to catch up with his godfather. Draco pouted but obeyed his mother, returning to her side. The distinguished wizard greeting Maman could only be the Dark Lord Grindelwald. By his side was a pale-looking boy with large green eyes. The Obscurial looked like any other sickly child. Grindelwald was a charming gent. What could she expect from someone who was a close friend of her Great Aunt?
Draco shook the hand Heinrich offered him with reluctance. Her son was still sulky about having to attend a birthday party for a stranger instead of riding ponies at Grandmere Dru’s estate. Seeing his godfather there did not improve matters, especially since Severus had missed Draco’s birthday that year due to some Potions conference in Rome. Heinrich seemed to sense Draco’s coolness as he allowed the blond boy to leave for his dour Uncle Sev, who greeted him with a rare smile.
“What a charming child, and such proper manners!” Maman exclaimed. Heinrich greeted the female guests in the same courtly manner his guardian did. Narcissa sensed Draco’s temper rising at the compliment paid out to the birthday boy. Severus tried to draw Draco away with a remark on a child-size cauldron. Maman bent to down to plant a kiss.
“She’s my Grandmere! Not yours!” Draco snapped. He stormed over and shoved Heinrich before Severus could stop him.
“Draco!” Maman gasped in horror. The hum of conversation in the room died down. There was dark look on Grindelwald’s face. Heinrich sat on the floor, stunned by the rough treatment he had received. He blinked away tears. Shadows seemed to shift under his skin.
“What have you done, Draco?” Severus’ anger was laced with an undercurrent of fear. The three Kneazles who had been lounging about the room leapt to their paws and ran out.
Heinrich hugged himself, as if trying to smother the shadows threatening to burst out. Draco stepped back. Then it was not her son, but a white puppy yapping away in confusion. A slipper levitated over and smacked the pup about the face until he fell into a trembling silence. Grindelwald gently helped his ward up.
“Are you hurt, mein Spatz?”
“Nein… What did you do to him, Grossevater?”
“Discipline. A pup his age should know how to behave in the company of his betters…” Grindelwald’s mismatched eyes glared at the whimpering pup. A puddle of pee formed around his back paws. The Dark Lord tutted and called for an elf to Vanish the mess. One of the female guests made as if to intervene but the magiozoologist held her back.
“You will change him back?” Severus sounded worried.
“Ja, that will depend on Heinrich. Maybe the boys can get better acquainted before cutting the cake…” Grindelwald replied lightly.
“This is too harsh…” the witch who had almost intervened interjected.
“Harsh? Madam, harsh is being flogged bloody for such impudence. Something that you should be away of given your upbringing. This is nothing” The witch’s cheeks coloured in response to his barb.
Narcissa snapped out of the trance she had fallen under, mesmerized by the sheer magical prowess of their host.
“Draco, darling, are you alright?” she reached for her son and was rewarded by a sharp nip to her hand. The puppy yapped loudly and was rewarded with another smack from the slipper to his rump. There was blood welling up under her torn glove. Dumbledore’s dog whuffed and rose to its paws. It padded over to Draco and took hm by the scruff of the neck.
“Black, I will be obliged if you take our wayward guest to the kitchen until he’s settled down,” Grindelwald ordered. The Grim-like hound silently padded out.
Black? Narcissa gave a sidelong glance at Dumbledore, who shrugged with that maddening twinkle in his eye.
“Darling, your hand!” Maman was hovering over her now, hands fluttering. “Oh, your glove’s ruined… Come, you need a healer…”
“Allow me…” Severus sidled up in his silent manner. He deftly Cast the Cleaning and Healing Spells on her injured hand. The magiozoologist and his lady companion was speaking with Heinrich, who nodded or shook his head ins response at their questions. Newt Scamander and his American wife… Narcissa now placed the names to their faces. She had seen them from a distance during a Ministry function. The earlier drama was quickly forgotten.
“I-I am sorry about your son…” Heinrich looked apologetic as he approached her. “I’d try to get Grossvater to change him back before the cake.”
“You almost went Obscurus, Heinrich. Sure you do not need to sit down?” the tutor asked.
“No thank you, Uncle Moony…” the child replied. Narcissa could not find it in her to blame the child for her son’s predicament. Such a well-mannered boy. Heinrich held himself with the poise of any grown pureblood wizard as he mingled with his guests, switching easily from French to English and to German. His concerned tutor hovered near him.
“Is he indeed an Obscurial?” she whispered to Severus, who down his glass of wine in a gulp.
“Yes, Cissy, and I will advise you not to follow on that line of conversation,” Snape warned. “At least not within their earshot.” He nodded to Grindelwald and Heinrich. The child was using a spell to change the patterns on the wallpaper to the guests’ amazement. Few children had such control over their magic at that age. The former dark lord seemed to preen at the attention while Dumbledore looked worried. Grindelwald placed one elegant hand on his shoulder and whispered something to him that seemed to mollify the Chief Warlock.
The old man was scary. Draco whimpered miserably in the kitchen before the hearth. The larger dog had one paw on him, pinning him down so he did not run. Everything felt weird. He had a tail. He had four paws. He felt so small and exposed. His face and body smarted where he had been smacked by the slipper. He had wet himself in front of total strangers. He had bitten Mother. And he wanted her. Were they going to leave him as a dog? They couldn’t! He was the Malfoy heir.
A house-elf placed two water dishes before the dogs. Draco did not realize how parched his throat was still then.
“My son… Sir Grindelwald will change him back, right?” Narcissa asked as the hands of the gilded clock on the mantel moved slowly across the clockface. She did not want to think of Lucius’ reaction if he returned to find his son still a puppy.
“Yes, but not a moment before.”
“Let’s have the cake…” an ancient witch murmured from the armchair where she was sitting half-buried in her shawls.
“Not all the guests are here, Great Aunt…” Heinrich gently reminded his guardian.
“If you insist, mein Spatz… Milo, go fetch our guests from the kitchen,” Grindelwald commanded. The house elf nodded and Disapparated. He Apparated back with a knobbly hand on the Sirius’ collar and the other holding Draco in the air by the scruff.
“Heine, do you want your guests as wizards or dogs?” Grindelwald asked.
“Wizards, Opa. I wish to speak with Uncle Pads…” Heinrich replied. Dumbledore stepped forward to remove the collar from the large black dog. Lord Sirius Black of the Wizengamot was sprawled inelegantly on the carpet with a silly grin on his face.
“Happy birthday, Harry,” he greeted Heinrich. Grindelwald motioned for the elf to put the puppy down. He waved his arm. Draco Malfoy was sitting on his haunches and blinking his eyes beside his cousin.
“It is rare to have visitors his age about, Play nice, okay?” Sirius pulled Draco over and ruffled his hair, eliciting a yelp of protest.
“We will…” Heinrich replied. “Let’s cut the cake!”
The birthday cake was a Black Forest cake topped with chocolate shavings, whipped cream and cherries. Presents were given to the birthday boy. Draco was mildly mollified to see that his Grandmere had given Heinrich a hat that was last season. His mother gave Heinrich a calligraphy set together with Draco and her absent husband. Draco did not care for calligraphy lessons. Heinrich appeared delighted and thanked them for the gifts.
After the cake, there was still enough sun for Heinrich to offer to show Draco and his mother the conservatory. Severus followed at discreetly with the excuse of needing to harvest potion ingredients. Lord Black and Dumbledore both needed to leave due to urgent Wizengamot business, so Grindelwald claimed.
“Are you really Harry Potter?” Draco blurted.
“I prefer being called Heinrich…” Heinrich replied quietly. Narcissa and Snape had fallen behind to admire the bowtruckles playing in the holly trees.
“The newspapers said you turned Obscurial because those Muggles treated you badly… Is that true? Were you raised by filthy Muggles?” Draco asked tactlessly. Heinrich shivered as the memories came. The musty darkness of his cupboard… The delicious smells of food wafting in as the family dined. Trying to ignore the emptiness of his belly and the aches…
“Draco, I think Heinrich does not wish to speak of his past…” Snape cut in. He placed a reassuring hand on Heinrich’s shoulder.
“Why didn’t they put you with Potter relatives or some other magical family?” Draco asked.
“The Chief Warlock has a lot to answer for,” Snape grumbled. “Mika! Master Heinrich is feeling unwell and needs to rest. Please take him inside for chocolate…”
The house-elf who was trimming the roses nodded and downed his tools. He held out a hand to Heinrich, who gave his Potions tutor a look of uncertainty.
“It’s alright, Heinrich. I will show our guests around.” With that reassurance, Heinrich allowed Mika to take his hand and Side-Apparate him into his bedroom.
“You’re my godpa, Uncle Sev! Not his!” Draco exploded.
“Jealousy does not suit you, dragon…” Snape folded his arms.
“I’ll tell Father!”
“And a slipper to your bottom will be the least of your worries!” Snape retorted.
“Dragon, I must agree with your Uncle Sev on this. Your behaviour was unbecoming of a Malfoy or a Black. You could have killed us all triggering an Obscurus!” Narcissa hugged her son close.
“If he’s so dangerous, why is he allowed to even be here?” Draco blurted. Because he has two protectors who need him for their own purposes. Snape answered silently. The sun was setting, spreading long shadows into the conservatory. Snape escorted mother and son in. There would be dinner for the guests who would be staying the night. Madam Drusilla and her family would return home to Nice.
Notes:
That little play date did not work out well. Draco is being a bully. I was thinking ferret, but Grindelwald magically smacking a ferret with a slipper has less humiliation factor.
Chapter 14: Short Author's Note
Chapter Text
Hit a RL snag as in my laptop decided to Vanish my WIPs and notes. Expect a significant delay in postings moving forward as I will need to rely on what is already online to remember what exactly I was working on. I will also be reviewing which WIPs are due for removal or a total rewrite.
This fic might be removed or tagged for rewrite after review.
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