Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
While Harry and company were in the States, Michael Allen was spending his second month in Godric’s Hollow. He had missed the deadlines on articles he was writing for two tabloids, but this unusual lapse of duty was almost wholly ignored, at least by Allen. At the end of every day he would hand write his notes and post them to Billy in London where the young man was making copies between readings of the amazing letters. What Allen had uncovered was staggering.
At first, though he had come to believe in magic, Billy shook his head in skepticism while browsing through Allen’s correspondences. The stories were simply too fantastic. Every day the letters contained accounts (which were as amusing as amazing) of suspected ‘magicians’ and Allen’s reason for his suspicions “ usually ‘vanishings’ or ‘spells’ inexpertly hidden from the master reporter’s eye. His cover as a vagrant “ and occasionally a drunk “ allowed him to blend into the background nearly unnoticed. Billy kept the originals of all these correspondences in a safety deposit box at a nearby bank; the drawer had to be changed twice due to the volume of material accumulating.
By the end of his second month in Godric’s Hollow, Billy read, Digger had noticed he was being followed. At first it was, in his words, “…by a damn good fellow, probably from Scotland Yard.” Since the man never displayed any magic, Allen was not too concerned, and some of his disguises seemed to fool the man completely. They kept their distance from each other by a mutual unspoken agreement.
That would soon change.
Inspector Trent had not done undercover work for nearly twenty years, and it showed on his third week of the peculiar assignment. Sloppiness led to his discovery by Michael Allen; they locked eyes for a second and his cover was blown. Oddly, when he reported the lapse to his superiors him was told to remain on the case, but to take no action towards Mr. Allen. The instructions puzzled him but the work was not difficult and he was enjoying the peace and quiet of the small town.
What Trent didn’t know was that his superiors were under orders coming directly from Downing Street. Arthur Weasley and Marcus Proudfoot were unaware of this, too, as they met with Crawsnag to hear his report on the Muggle Prime Minister’s request for compensation for damages his country had suffered during the war against Voldemort.
“Minister,” Crawsnag began, “we can find no fault with the Muggle’s accounting of damages inflicted upon them over the past two years.”
Proudfoot grimaced. Though he expected as much he was hoping for some minor flaw in the Prime Minister’s accounting to further delay their next meeting. “So, Arthur, any ideas?” the exasperated Minister of Magic asked.
Equally annoyed, Arthur shook his head. “Not unless you want to hold the Muggles accountable for what we’ve done for them.” He knew Proudfoot would not change his mind on that issue, but at least his conscience was clear.
“No, Arthur, you know how I feel about that. I will consider it for future situations…”
Crawsnag interrupted. “Excuse me, Minister Proudfoot, Minister Weasley, may I offer another option?”
None of the Goblin’s other suggestions had been suitable, but neither Minister had a choice at this point and were willing to listen to any other option. Proudfoot nodded for the Goblin to continue.
“There might be a way to meet the requirements of the Muggle government without bankrupting your own. Gringotts has extensive holdings in Muggle institutions called stocks and bonds. These certificated have a negotiable value; they also have the ability to… influence the Muggle institutions they represent. If we were to liquidate two hundred million pounds of these notes to meet the Muggle demands we would strain many of the companies that….”
“NO! Crawsnag, I told you I would not deal unfairly with these people. We lower ourselves to their level by these acts.”
“Excuse me again,” Crawsnag persisted, bowing his head. “This is neither unfair nor uncommon. Stocks in thousands of companies are traded by the billions in the Muggle markets, and every day scores of businesses are ruined or prosper by these trades.”
“Yes, but we do not desire the creation of enmity between our worlds. We have to live with these people.”
“Then you must do something else, Minister. This,” the Goblin tapped the report he’d presented earlier, “will destroy the stability of your government just as surely as Voldemort might have.”
Arthur, who had been watching the brief exchange, brought up another idea that had been considered months before. “Marcus, what about the estates confiscated from former Death Eaters? Their value is far above what we need for the Muggle compensation.”
Proudfoot shot Arthur an annoyed glance. “Those assets are still tied up in court, Arthur, you know that.” He had already heard this…
“Yes, but what if we used them as security for a loan?” …this he had not heard before.
The suggestion got Crawsnag’s attention, too. “Minister Weasley, that idea may be acceptable to the bank’s Directors. But I must warn you, giving them that much influence over your operating budget will not earn you friends in your finance department.”
The fact that a Goblin, one of a race of beings known for their shrewd business acumen and antipathy towards humans, was cautioning the two wizards in financial matters was a significant event and both realized this instantly. But what else could be done under the stringent policies Proudfoot had outlined? In short: nothing. The three talked on for another two hours before making the final decision. When he drafted the formal loan request for Crawsnag to take to his superiors Marcus Proudfoot realized just how much power he had as the Minister of Magic. He needed no other authorization for emergency funding measures; he answered only to the electorate. And with the stroke of a quill he mortgaged away much of this power.
Just about the time that the two Ministers were meeting with their Goblin associate, the Muggle Prime Minister, Anthony Blast, was greeting a very different sort of countryman. Michael Allen had finally been apprehended in Godric’s Hollow, though ‘apprehend’ was hardly the word to describe his capture. Inspector Trent, upon receiving word from his superiors, approached Allen one morning and introduced himself. Allen had long expected this meeting and willingly left with the other man for the lengthy drive across the width of England to London. His only real surprise was when Trent let him off outside Downing Street, not Scotland Yard, where he was greeted in a friendly manner by a small group of non-descript men. They introduced themselves, first name only, and led Allen into Number 10 where he was escorted almost immediately into Blast’s private office.
When only the Prime Minister and Allen remained the two men sat down to a pleasant dinner and discussed what Allen had been doing for a number of months. Much to Digger’s disappointment the Prime Minister knew far more about their Wizarding counterparts than he did. Without revealing the existence of his daily notes to Billy Thompson, Allen listened intently to the leader of his country. The conversation was wholly one-sided and quite informative.
Diane Bradley had been surly and uncommunicative their last day in the States. Equally curious was Jason Graham’s unwillingness to speak to Harry about his friend. Fleur could only add that she had walked in on the two rowing mightily about Jason’s role as Diane’s legal guardian. He had apparently broken some trust she had in him, Fleur said, but she could add little else to the puzzle. Harry and Ginny tried to speak with Diane when they arrived back at the Burrow Monday evening but she only threw her travel bag down and walked out of the house. Ginny held Harry back when he started after her.
“Let her be, Harry,” she cautioned. “Whatever’s bothering her is between her and Jason. When she’s ready she’ll talk… she’s not as pig-headed as you.” She patted Harry on the bum and left quickly to see her mother.
Yes she is! he thought with amusement.
When the reunions were complete, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley sat down with Harry and their children to find out what they had accomplished. The look of disappointment in Molly Weasley’s eyes were allayed little when they brought up the address in Poland the American officer had given Ginny just before taking his own life. She looked at her eldest son, recently married, a father-to-be, a successful wizard, and wondered if she would one day lose him to the evil buried in his mind.
Ron joined the meeting about a half-hour later. As an explanation he said vaguely that he’d run into Diane. Harry rolled his eyes but Ginny smiled at her brother noting that he had had the sensitivity to comfort a friend. But that idea was shattered a moment later when Diane and Hermione walked in and through the kitchen with their arms around each other offering no communication besides a brief wave to the recent arrivals by Hermione.
Ron looked at his sister and shrugged. “Hermione and I were walking around when we saw Diane; the girls started talking so I left to go flying.”
Ginny bowed her head in defeat. Harry stifled a laugh.
“Ahem, let’s finish up here, Harry, Ron,” Bill said.
But the attempt to restart the discussion was again interrupted by the tapping of a grey Ministry owl bearing a rolled-up piece of parchment. Mr. Weasley let the owl in, paid it and glanced at the headlines of a special edition of the Daily Prophet. He silently shook his head and held the paper up for all to see. The highlighted story shocked all.
The following morning, with the shock of Titov’s death only partially lessened, the meeting resumed. This time Hermione and Diane joined, though both brushed aside Harry’s questions about how his American friend was feeling. Fleur was also present but frequently excused herself to deal with morning sickness.
The topic Tuesday was what their next steps would be in searching for the Horcrux creation spell. They had an address to follow-up on, but without Titov to assist with travel getting a visa for Poland would take a few days. Harry was all for leaving that afternoon and getting it over, even without a visa, but Charlie needed a day to rest and a full moon was approaching which would cause Bill more discomfort. Mrs. Weasley listened to Ron and Harry’s pleas to allow them to go but they fell upon deaf ears. The meeting broke up late that morning with the only item settled being that they would reconvene the following morning when Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt were expected to join them.
The two Aurors did indeed arrive bright and early. Most of the other members of the Order of the Phoenix were out of country following up on rumors of Death Eater attacks, this left only a skeleton crew available to help Bill and that was for the best. The fewer people who knew Voldemort wasn’t completely gone the better.
Mrs. Weasley filled them in on the events of the previous four days and was just finishing as Harry and Ron staggered down the stairs. Kingsley nodded at the two young wizards but Tonks jumped up and gave Harry a big hug.
“Wotcher, Harry.”
“Hi, Tonks,” Harry croaked in response, accepting a mug of tea floating his way. He also saw toast and jam at his usual spot at the table.
“Molly,” Kingsley said, continuing their earlier conversation, “I have some contacts in the Ministry and I can get visas for whoever needs them.”
Harry lit up at this news as Ron buried himself into his bowl of breakfast cereal.
“That’s excellent, Kingsley, who do you know?”
“You all know him: Max Diggory. Though he told me that he wanted to participate in any ‘interesting trips,’ as he called them.”
Everyone knew exactly why Max was eager to assist. His brother, sister-in-law and nephew had all been murdered by Voldemort or his followers. And the previous summer he was instrumental in discovering Tom Riddle’s connection with Grindelwald during the second world war. He had earned inclusion.
“I have no objection,” Harry said.
Mrs. Weasley added, “I suppose he would be fine.” Then she turned to Harry, “Would just you and Max go or would you like someone else?” Then she hastily added, “Ron and Ginny are not available. And if Ron still needs Hermione to help him she may not be free either.” Ron said nothing but shot Harry a long suffering look.
“I can ask Diane and Tonks…” Then he remembered the approaching full moon, “...but you probably have to stay around for Remus, don’t you?”
“I’d love to go, Harry, but it’s as you said. Remus needs me the next few days.”
“Do I hear my name being used out here?” Diane asked, entering the kitchen from the parlor, a mug of coffee in her left hand while her right hand scratched her back with her wand. Harry summarized the situation for her.
“Oh, yeah, Ginny mentioned that to me in Salem. Well, I suppose so. Are you up for a depressing trip?”
“Huh? Wha shoo it be dapessing?” Ron muttered, his mouth full of food. All the others had the same question on their face.
“You’re kidding, right?” Diane asked incredulously. She received five blanks stares in return. “Oswiecim, Poland? Doesn’t that mean anything to you?” Again she was met with silence. “Oswiecim is the Polish name for the town of Auschwitz.”
The expressions instantly changed to recognition, then horror.
“I suppose that would make sense,” Tonks added a few seconds later. “Anyone wanting to experiment with death curses would have found everything they need there.”
The exact numbers are forever lost to history, far too much deception and destruction was involved in Hitler’s “Final Solution to the Jewish Question” for reliable records to be constructed. Most scholars agree, however, that about eleven million people were murdered in the racial purification efforts of the Nazis. Of this horrific figure, nearly six million were Jews, the remainder were political prisoners, the mentally and physically handicapped, homosexuals, Catholics, Gypsies, Jehovah’s Witnesses and so forth. In short, anyone who got in the way of the Third Reich forfeited their life. And even this staggering figure does not include Soviet soldiers captured in the first two years after Hitler invaded that country. Millions of these unfortunate souls were executed or left to starve to death in prisoner of war camps. More still were worked to death; the Soviet Union was not a participant in the Geneva Convention on the humane treatment of prisoners of war “ not that it would have mattered a jot.
But what might be the most unbelievable aspect of the entire subject of the Holocaust is that, even to this day, there are many who believe it never happened. How they explain the documented disappearance of almost 6 million Jews in Europe is perfidious in the mildest sense of the word.
After the war, in justice and retribution, the Nuremburg Tribunal sentenced scores of the worst scum of Nazism to hang for their crimes. But nearly all of the highest ranking Nazi officials escaped the hangman’s noose by taking their own life or fleeing to South America; their cowardly actions left a hollowness to the victory in Europe. Also, many of the victorious countries turned a blind eye to the sordid past of gifted Nazi scientists or engineers who willingly declared their new allegiance and helped develop rockets and other marvelous devices for their new fatherlands. But that’s a whole different story.
The sense of adventure that had filled Harry prior to his trip to the States was woefully absent Wednesday when he, Diane and Max Diggory prepared to travel to Poland. Max had obtained the necessary visas and currency for the trip and all three were disguised as Muggle tourists. Bill and Charlie planned on joining them, if needed, on Friday. With a somber farewell, the three activated their international Portkey and landed in a fenced deserted lot next to a building that appeared long abandoned. It was the Polish Ministry of Magic.
“I was told we should wait here,” Max informed Harry and Diane. And sure enough, a squat heavy-set man came out of a door of the old building a moment later and greeted them.
“Stan Porgizelski,” he said affably with a thick accent and extending his hand to Diggory. “And you must be Max Diggory.”
With introductions complete they were led inside the building; it was in a much better state of repair than the outside. “And what can I help you with today, my friends?” Harry handed over the address and saw Porgizelski’s face grow dark. “Yes, this doesn’t surprise me. It’s the fictitious address for the death camp. Is there something in particular you want to see?”
“Not really,” Max replied. “We’re following up on some history of the camp and if it was used by Grindelwald.” He hoped the explanation was enough to satisfy their host and vague enough to not give anything away.
The Pole considered the answer for a moment before speaking. “If no malevolent wizard or witch had ever entered the camp this place would still be evil beyond the Devil himself. There were rumors of “The Butcher” being here “ that’s our name for Herr Grindelwald, but no proof has ever been uncovered. The Russians were here first and it was a week before any Westerners were allowed in, so if they came across anything it’s probably gone for good, but you can see for yourself. Come in and sit, please.” The four entered Porgizelski’s office. Once situated they were briefed on local customs and given maps and tour information for the former death camp.
An hour later the three were riding a Muggle bus from the town of Oswiecim to the camp, or Lager, as it is called in German. There was near absolute silence on the bus, partly in reverence, partly in awe, but mostly in profound sorrow for those who died at this one camp. As the bus pulled into the debarkation queue there was something else that enveloped the forty or so passengers: the smell of death. Even after fifty years it was present “ and sickening. Harry realized why Stan Porgizelski strongly recommended visiting the camp in the morning: many visitors would lose their lunch if they’d traveled after the noon meal.
The visitor’s center gave them a brief orientation to the camp, its history, and the reasons for it becoming a memorial. Then, armed with a brochure for a self-guided walking tour, the three left for the camp entrance. Passing under the infamous “Arbeit Macht Frie” sign Harry felt he was walking into Hell itself. He glanced at Max and Diane, both were wide-eyed and his American friend had tears streaming down her face; then Harry realized he did, too.
As they toured the grounds and buildings they passed through some woods. The pathway was raised above the ground and the trees were oddly stunted. When they read the notes for the spot it explained how this part of the camp had been the ash dump for many of the victims. The chemicals in the ash had partly poisoned the ground and made it soft and springy to someone walking on it, thus the platform. Max, like many of the other tourists around them, was tapping the ground with his toe. All could see its elastic nature. If they looked closer, and the moss and grass was not too dense, they would see tiny bone fragments “ by the millions.
After two hours of touring, Max, Harry and Diane separated themselves from their group of tourists. Ducking behind an old red stone building, with a sign stating it was the SS Headquarters, they huddled to discuss their plans.
“I certainly wouldn’t expect any references to Grindelwald here,” Max stated, tapping the map. “But he must have had some facilities. Harry, Diane, did you see anything unusual?”
“This whole place is ‘unusual,’ Max. But no.”
They found a comfortable spot to sit undisturbed and spread out the camp map on the ground before them. “I’ve heard little about Grindelwald so it’s difficult to imagine how he would establish his presence here,” Max thought aloud.
“I’ve haven’t heard much about the weirdo either, but it seems to me he would place himself outside the part of the camp that housed the prisoners. Where did the booklet say Mengele worked?” Diane leaned over the map tracing various paths. “Here.” She jabbed a finger to a spot on the map that said ‘Block 10’ and a red dot labeled ‘Hospital.’ “Mengele did most of his medical experiments at this hospital, maybe it’s near there somewhere.” Harry and Max followed, neither had a better idea about where to start.
A half-hour later they had exited the ‘Auschwitz’ Camp I and entered the sub-camp known as Birkineau. Due to its distance from the main camp the grounds had far fewer visitors, and most had gathered around one of the many memorials erected to the victims. Just out of sight from the main gate they came across the remains of the infamous hospital.
Max made a logical observation about the site. “If Grindelwald worked here someone had to have known he was a wizard. There were hundreds of Germans here. And if one person knew then others did.”
“Yeah,” Diane said, looking around. When she had nearly completed a three hundred and sixty degree examination she stopped. “Harry, what’s that?”
About thirty meters away there was a tree growing, but it was at an odd angle, as if it had started leaning one way the abruptly turned another. Harry walked over and stopped next to the tree. “Look, right here,” he said, pointing to the spot on the tree where its growth had changed direction. “There used to be something here, a building maybe. When the tree grew this far it ran into the side and started growing in another direction. But whatever was here is gone now.”
“Think so? Come on.” Diane beckoned Harry and Max to follow her towards the nearby birch forest that had given the camp its name. “We’ll hide in here until it’s dark.”
“Why,” asked Max. “Did you see something?”
“No, I felt it.”
“So did I,” Harry added after a pause. The feeling had come over him as they stood by the oddly shaped tree. It reminded Harry of the night Dumbledore died, in the cave, where his dead Headmaster had sensed the presence of the boat’s chain.
The remaining daylight hours passed mostly in silence, all three deep in thought about what lay around them. Diane, still exhibiting an uncharacteristic aloofness, kept her back to the others and appeared to be meditating. Harry called for Ankaa, before the sun set and his flame might be noticed, and asked he take a message to the Weasleys. The brief note stated that they were all fine and were spending at least part of the night investigating what appeared to be a structure hidden by magic.
Throughout the camp one sort of activity or another continued until midnight. Candles could be discerned from afar and distant voices singing or praying wavered in and out with the chilly breezes. Finally, at half past midnight they appeared to be alone. A cold light drizzle had started. Donning Harry’s invisibility cloak, the three exited the woods and returned to the mysterious magic near the hospital ruins. At one point Harry caught Diane’s eyes, This is it, they seemed to say to each other, the end of their journey. Both knew instinctively that the starting place of the Horcrux spells were in this camp of death; as Tonks had said, it was only appropriate that the most ghastly and aberrant curse ever created be intimately linked with the most horrific and evil location ever created. Just as Jerusalem was the center of the word’s three great religions, Auschwitz/Birkineau had been ordained the center of the world’s deathly magic.
As they approached their destination Harry took Diane’s hand, she in turn took Max’s with her other hand. Partly it was for comfort, for the day had been physically and emotionally draining on all three. Harry also wanted Diane prepared, recalling her explanation of Coalescence, and how she drew some of her powers from others, it didn’t occur to Harry that both Diane’s hands were occupied as they covered the final few meters to the tree.
“Harry, do you feel it?” Diane whispered.
Not only did Harry feel it, he began to see the form of a two storey building appear in front of them. “There it is, do you see?”
“No, nothing.”
“Close your eyes,” he instructed. Max and Diane, who had been straining their eyes in the dark, followed the directions and saw what Harry saw, through his eyes.
The structure was basic, weather worn, and made from roughly hewn blocks of a reddish stone, much like the barracks they saw at the entrance to the camp; there were few windows. Still holding hands they walked down the wall of the building and turned the corner before reaching a door. Releasing Diane’s hand, Harry felt around the partially rotted door frame and then the handle; it was locked. “I wish Bill were here, if this is a trap I wouldn’t be able to tell.”
“Here, Harry, let me,” Max whispered. “I know a few disarming spells, but I don’t think there are any here.”
“Why not?”
“Harry,” this time it was Diane, “from what you told me, Grindelwald thought a lot like Voldemort, and his protection lay in blood curses and sacrifice.”
“Yeah, but I doubt…” Stopping himself, Harry drew his wand, conjured a knife, and in a quick stroke cut the palm of his hand. When blood had collected and Max had completed checking for traps, Harry pressed his palm to the door and they all distinctly heard a click. Harry shivered. Max tried the handle as Diane healed Harry’s hand.
It opened.
“Aw, blimey, Hermione, I’m going cross-eyed. Let’s take a turn around the paddock.” Rising from the sofa, Ron placed his notes on the table and stretched. When he looked back at Hermione she had a funny expression. “What?”
She laughed. “Well, you usually suggest a snack.”
“I haven’t ruled that option out. Maybe later. Join me?” He held his hand out to help her up from the sagging sofa. Hermione took it and pulled herself up.
Many years before, Hermione had made a discovery about the human brain and its capacity for making instantaneous calculations and decisions. She’d seen her mother drop some clean laundry on the floor one day and in a fraction of a second she knew all the options she had for reacting to the event. And not only did she see the immediate consequences for her action (or inaction) but she could foretell how her actions would affect other future events. After picking up the soiled garment she shared this epiphany with her mother. Jane smiled at her daughter and nodded. She, too, had noticed that very level of conscious decision making, and at a similar age. It was a stage in the development of human consciousness she later studied in medical school, and it was part of what marked the evolution humans from instinctive beings to true thinking ones. Or, as in this case, the transformation from a child to an adolescent.
Now was one of those moments, Hermione realized. In the one and a half seconds it took her to stand, with Ron’s assistance, she had to decide whether or not to release his hand. But her brain wasn’t working the way it should. Expecting to see a flood of positive future consequences if she held on, instead she saw only mush. So, as an alternative to rational thought, Hermione did what she always did when unsure: she reached out for help. Or in this case, she held on to his hand.
“Er…” Ron uttered, looking back, confused.
She tried to understand Ron’s utterance but Hermione’s brain was still not functioning properly, except the part that caused hands to sweat. That area worked perfectly. And she held on.
Ron called into the kitchen. “We’re heading out for a walk, Mum. Back shortly.” He heard an affirmative sounding non-verbal reply.
The mid-spring air was unusually warm for Devon that night. The wind was from the south carrying a slight tang of the salty sea air. Interestingly, neither Ron nor Hermione noted the salt, or the scent of the freshly mowed lawn, or the early bulbs of crocus and hyacinth blooming in the beds surrounding the Burrow. Both were focused completely on their hands; Hermione’s left and Ron’s right, that is.
In an innocently adolescent way, neither could find any words to share about their reaction to the first ‘intimate’ touch they had shared in six months, if you can call holding hands ‘intimate.’
Inside Hermione’s head the mush was clearing and she was becoming painfully aware that her hand, and Ron’s, were slick with perspiration. She was mortified but didn’t know what to do. I wonder if I can relax my grip a bit so air will circulate and dry…
Inside Ron’s head very different thoughts were percolating. In his hand, quite literally, was his future “ or one of his futures. He recalled Charlie’s question, right before leaving for France: Would you take her back if she asked? And his answer: No. He thought he had given their relationship everything he could, and it had still failed. But was that true? Had he done everything possible, examined every option, and made every effort? And what was different now, what had changed in the past six months for him to even reconsider his relationship with Hermione?
Feeling her grip loosen made Ron suppose she was just being friendly and he released her hand, unconsciously wiping it on his jeans. Hermione stopped walking.
“Ron, I… I…”
Ron smiled. This was something new: Hermione Granger at a loss for words! Turning, he saw the face of his best friend for nearly six years. Her expression was…? She looked frightened, almost ashamed, and her mouth was still open, unspoken words were still forming.
Ron smiled again, this time letting her see his face, but he said nothing.
“Don’t do that, Ron.”
“Wha’d I do?”
“Make fun of me!” she snapped, hurt.
He had to smile even more, for that was the last thing he had considered doing. It showed on his face. “Never, Hermione.”
“Oh…”
“I guess we, uh, need to talk?”
She nodded. Then, without knowing how it happened, without thinking, she threw herself into his arms, clinging to him, and he to her.
“I’m sorry, Ron,” she said, her voice cracking. “I’m just a baby sometimes. Being near you these past few months has been agony. I know what happened last year was all my fault. Can you forgive me?”
The response was automatic, and genuine. “Yeah, sure, Hermione, you know I can. So… you admit that our first time around was poorly executed?” She nodded “ Ron could plainly feel it on his chest.
“You want to try again?” Another nod.
“You won’t take out your frustrations with my family on me?”
“No.”
“And you admit I’m the best thing that’s ever happened to you?”
“Don’t push it, Ron.”
Their deep laughter broke them apart and they stood facing each other, holding hands again. “No, I won’t push anything, either,” Ron said.
“You’ve changed since last summer, do you know that?”
“Yeah, you’re not the first person to tell me. Hope it’s for the better.”
Hermione looked into his eyes. “It’s not like you were bad before, you’re more…”
“Mature?”
“In a way, yes. But I think it’s more subtle than that. You’re comfortable with yourself and others. I like it.” She pulled Ron back to herself and they embraced for a long time.
After a few minutes of silence, Ron’s stomach growled.
“I guess that’s a signal,” Hermione laughed.
“C’mon, let’s eat.” Automatically their hands met and they walked back to the house in a comfortable silence. Both knew there was much remaining to talk about, but at that moment not talking was fine.
Entering in the kitchen, Ron and Hermione saw Ginny and Charlie with their parents. Ankaa was at the end of the table and looked at both of them as they sat, trilling a soft friendly note.
Harry, Diane and Max entered the building and were assaulted by odors more foul than they had experienced outside. Added to the smell of death were rot, stagnant water, and ozone. The later was a known byproduct of spells Wizards used to simulate electricity, and the building was full of it. Closing the door behind them, they dropped the cloak; Harry and Max illuminated the room with their wands.
“Harry,” Max said softly and with a hint of concern, “this isn’t right. The spells that create electricity are linked to their caster. If they are still active the caster has to be alive.”
“But this place hasn’t been visited in years, probably decades,” Diane said. Harry silently agreed, carefully looking and feeling for anything dangerous, but the entire ground floor was empty.
“I’ll look upstairs. You two stay here,” Max instructed. He returned not a minute later. “Nothing at all.” Unsuccessfully stifling a yawn, he leaned against the wall. “Any ideas?”
Harry looked at Diane. They were puzzled for they both sensed that this was where they should be. The three batted some ideas about for a few minutes and then Harry slapped his forehead with the flattened palm of his hand. “I’m a fool,” he said. Walking from room to room he stopped in the center of each.
“What is it, Harry?”
“I’m looking for a door in the floor. Come here.”
Diane walked over and took Harry’s outstretched hand. As soon as they touched he laughed. “There!” He pointed to a spot in the center of an adjoining room. Releasing Diane’s hand, he walked into the room and called Max over to check for traps. He failed to notice his American friend’s wide-eyed look of shock.
“We have to be careful, Max. Bill was almost killed by a Muggle explosive device on a similar door in Germany.”
“So I heard. Let me have a go at it.” Diggory surveyed the now visible door from close up and afar. He performed some of the same spells Bill had, Harry noticed. While the work continued, Harry leaned against the door frame leading to the room where he’d left Diane. He felt her walk up from behind and wrap her arm around his.
“Alright there, Di?” he asked. He could feel his friend shivering.
“Peachy, Harry. Never been better.”
“Er “ if you say so.” Harry could feel his friend’s uneasiness, but her behavior the past two days had seemed a sign for him to let her be. Then Diggory interrupted his thought.
“Harry, would you and Diane please cast a containment spell over the door, I’ve unlocked it but I want to contain any explosion that might be triggered.”
“You do it, Di. It’ll be enough if it’s like the one Bill found.” Still holding on to her arm, Harry prepared to cast the spell.
“Ok, Max, ready?”
Seeing a nod, Harry cast the containment spell and Diggory opened the door from the far side of the room. Even though everyone was prepared for an explosion they all jumped a bit at the flash. Diggory’s precaution of the containment spell seemed unnecessary, they all saw. Either from age or some other unknown factor the explosion gave the impression of not being particularly strong. With a wave of his wand, Max banished the cloud of smoke revealing the door to the cellar. He motioned to the others to stay put while he investigated.
While the cellar was being checked for traps, Harry and Diane sat waiting for Max to return.
“Nice shield, Harry.”
“That? Thanks, but it was hardly necessary. That was just a little banger to scare people away.”
Diane scoffed audibly at his remark.
“What’s wrong?”
“God, Harry, you really are dense sometimes.” Pushing herself up, Diane walked to the hole in the floor to call down to Max but was
preempted by a voice from the cellar.
“Harry, Diane, come down here,” Max called.
“I count thirty-two crates sealed and these five open. Should we look at them here or back home?” Harry was looking in awe at the find; Diane whistled in wonder. These were obviously what the Americans had found at Grindelwald’s house and crated-up for shipment to the States. The stenciled address, in English, proved it.
“Home would be best,” Max said. “I know I want to get out of this place as soon as possible.”
The other two nodded.
“How are you going to move all this unnoticed?” asked Diane.
Diggory scratched his head. “Yes, that will be a problem. Magical items, if that’s what they are, might not tolerate being turned into Port keys.”
“Think we should give them a quick look. If they’re just books…”
“No, Harry. As much as it disgusts me I suppose we should bring people here.” Diggory was clearly not happy about his own conclusion. “Well, let’s finish looking through this place, shall we?”
Harry led off down a dark passageway, lit only by his and Max’s wands. After an hour of walking about, making crude maps of the corridors, they reached another heavy door. Diggory checked it for traps but found nothing. Impatiently, Diane walked up to it, turned the unlocked handle and opened the door. Inside was another shorter corridor with doors to the left and right. As each of them stepped in they felt it.
Death.
“This is creepy,” Diane said unnecessarily. Harry nodded.
“It looks like his sanctum sanctorum,” Max added.
“Holiest of holies,” Diane explained to Harry who had a confused look on his face.
“No traps here. I suppose once you get into the cellar you’re considered legit.”
They opened the left door first and entered a long narrow room, perhaps three by fifteen meters. The room was empty. Backing out they approached the opposite door. Max pulled this one open. It was quite different from the one they had just exited.
The first thing Diane though of when she gazed into the space was a combination torture chamber and laboratory. But the first thing she felt was a creeping sense of evil laced with death. She looked at Harry and Max, both looked ill. She spread out her arms and walked backwards, forcing the others to exit the room with her. She heard Harry retching as she shut the door.
When she had taken a few calming breaths Diane said, “It’s easy to figure out what that room was for.”
The three moved back to the first main corridor and sat silently trying to regain their composure. It took a while.
“I want to get out of here,” Max said quietly, in almost a whisper. “But we have to go back, at least I do.”
As Max stood, Harry joined him. Diane motioned for them to go on, saying she would join them shortly.
The second foray into the chamber was easier, but only in that Harry and Max were prepared for what was ahead. Afraid to open his mouth for fear of vomiting again, Harry used simple hand gestures for Max to follow him. What at first had appeared to be rows of chemical or specimen jars on the right hand wall turned out to be just empty containers. A few had labels but the writing was too faded to read after fifty years of exposure.
With the hair on the back of their neck standing up, they turned back towards the entrance and saw Diane entering the room. She had a handkerchief to her face, apparently trying (unsuccessfully) to filter out the stench. Walking down the opposite wall she stopped every so often to look at an object or device.
When they met again, all looked to the far end of the room. A single chair was bolted to the floor and there were heavy leather straps on the handles and legs. It looked frighteningly like a Muggle electric chair, Diane said. As she approached the chair Harry could see her skin pale and body shake. She stopped and turned around.
“This is it, Harry, Max. This is where the spell was created.” She motioned them forward; Max stepped ahead of Harry.
“You’re right, Diane,” Max said with a contorted face, “this spot is a stain upon the very fabric of magic.”
Harry, who was still a step or two back, had stopped. “Do you hear that?” he snapped so sharply the other two jumped. “That noise… it’s very high-pitched.”
Max shook his head, Diane cupped her hands behind her ears to hear better. After a moment she shook her head.
“I was afraid of that.” Harry walked a ways back from the chair and seemed to relax. “There’s something here. It’s alive. I think you should step away from the chair.”
Not waiting for another hint, Max and Diane backed away. “What is it, Harry?” Diane asked, walking to his side.
“You’re right, Di. This is where he did it, where he created the Horcrux spell, or at least perfected it. But I think…” Harry trailed off, distracted. He looked around the room, as if he were watching an insect buzz about. Then he stopped and pointed to an empty spot on the wall. When he looked back at Diane she could see he appeared whey-faced and not altogether steady.
“Steady, Harry. Sit here,” Max instructed, also seeing him become unsteady. “What do you see?”
“No. Max, would you check that wall for traps? There’s something behind it.”
Diggory’s eyes widened at the suggestion but he did as Harry asked. After a few minutes he was done but had found nothing. “There is something there, Harry, but other than a concealment charm that I can’t break I’m not sure what.”
Before Harry could respond, Diane drew her wand and cast a non-verbal spell that acted like a blasting curse. A small opening appeared in the wall. She had punched a hole in the hidden door.
“Yeah, that’s one way to get in,” Harry said. Stepping forward again, he reached into the hole and began to pull out thin planks of wood. Soon he had disassembled the entire door and the three were looking into a small room. With the magically hidden room now visible, Harry stepped in followed by Diane and Max. There was just enough room for all three, the ‘room’ being more the size of a walk-in closet. Each wall was lined with shelving and each shelf contained many wooden boxes with dates marked on the end.
Making a quick survey they found the earliest date was December of 1933; the latest was January, 1945.
Max picked out one box at random and motioned for Harry and Diane to follow him. He exited the closet , moving back to the original room they had descended into earlier. The box was set on top of a rickety table.
“God, that place was awful,” Diane moaned; the others nodded in sympathetic agreement.
“Do you think the Americans made it all the way to that closet we were in?”
“No, Harry, I don’t think so. Based on what you told me about the bloke that killed himself, I think they just moved the contents of Grindelwald’s house into this chamber.” He pointed to the three boxes they’d found open upon arrival. “I’d wager they read the notes in there and were so horrified by them they left after setting that bomb to destroy everything.”
“Huh? That little banger?”
Diane shook her head and rolled her eyes at Max.
“Harry! That was no ‘little banger,’ as you call it,” Max explained. “If you hadn’t cast that containment spell this entire building, and us, would have been destroyed. There was probably more than a ton of explosives in there.”
“WHAT?”
Diane glanced at Max who nodded with an amused look on his face. “We can worry about that later. What’s in the box, Max?”
The top of the box marked Oktober 1941was loose and there were no obvious traps, still, Max poked inside with his wand. A tinkling of class could be heard as he prodded the contents. Satisfied with the situation, Diggory lifted off the top exposing the inside. Apart from a thick layer of dust, the box contained a pile of what appeared to be clear ornamental light bulbs like one might find on a Christmas Tree. When Harry picked one up and wiped the dust off they all could tell that these were not bulbs.
Harry held the first one up to his lit wand, trying to examine the contents. Nothing. Then they each looked at a few more and found them empty, though they were not certain what exactly it was they were looking for. Diane drifted away to the original crates they’d found on the floor and started examining them.
“Here,” she said quietly. Levitating a few boxes exposed one at the bottom of the pile. It was marked 1941. When Diane pointed this out to the others they came over to inspect the crate. “I bet there’s a connection,” she said, stating the obvious conclusion.
“Yes, Diane, I believe you’re correct,” Max whispered. “And I’ll bet that's what’s in this box are the notes connecting Grindelwald’s experiments with the results; the boxes we found in that hidden closet. Shall we test that theory?” The two students nodded, both trying to look far more calm than they felt.
Ten minutes later they had their answer.
“And…?”
“Nothing, Ginny. That’s all there is,” Hermione said slightly breathlessly.
“And ‘nothing’ has you so wound-up?”
Normally a sound sleeper, Hermione was pretending to read late that night, but her red-haired friend was watching with amusement as she fiddled with the pages of her Transfiguration text. Crookshanks, sensing his usual sleeping place as being too unsettled, turned his attention to Ginny’s bed instead and was rewarded by a gentle scratching under his chin.
“Oh, go away,” Hermione said half-heartedly, again turning a page without having read more than the first two lines.
After drumming her fingers on the frame of her bed for a minute and seeing her friend would offer no further information, Ginny fluffed her pillow and flopped down to sleep. Crookshanks curled up next to her feet and followed suit. As Ginny drifted off into sleep her mind witnessed a whirl of memories passing by at an ever increasing rate. The memories started with her childhood where she recalled her crush on ‘the-boy-who-lived.’
She smiled.
Hearing her friend finally drift off to sleep, Hermione looked over to the bed. Ginny was smiling faintly, her lips barely parted and moving slightly, as if she was speaking with someone. Probably Harry, she thought.
Putting down her text, Hermione reached into her travel bag and pulled out one of her favorite Muggle novels. It was about King Arthur. The facts were cock-eyed and it grossly understated the power of the ancient wizard, but it was good reading. But the bushy-haired witch found that even this book was not able to take her mind off the events of a few hours earlier. Surrendering to the feeling Ron’s words and arms gave her, she dimmed the lamp and wrapped her arms around herself.
Sleep took her shortly thereafter.