36. SECOND VISION

They reached the Crypt doors. Minerva pointed to the ledge where she had been trapped by her cousin Cuthbert. Professor Dumbledore nodded. "And you say you felt as if you were being held in place by some kind of force?"

"Yes, it was almost like a net, but invisible, you ken?"

"There is indeed powerful warding in place, to keep trespassers out I imagine. I can feel its energy from here."

"My father's work. And it didn't treat me as a trespasser."

"Because you are his daughter, the heir to the Keep and the land."

"Not anymore."

"Nevertheless, I think it was that energy that held you fast, and perhaps even repelled your cousin's spell."

"A spell that didn't work anyway."

"Yes, as I said, your cousin is much less a mage than a talented trickster." He paused a moment, then continued. "You will forgive me if I sound a bit forward, but was not that Shield something like a last fatherly embrace?"

"Aye." Minerva smiled, even as her eyes filled with tears, and she waved her wand. "Gonagallohomora," she murmured huskily, and she led her teacher through the wide-flung doors and on into the Crypt. He waited patiently while she visited her father's tomb and thanked him for her life. Then she took Professor Dumbledore quickly through the other rooms to the Seeking Glass.

"Ahhh, wonderful. Do you know the origin of this device, Minerva?"

"Aye, it was my ancestor, Auld Fearghas, who discovered it. It's said that he heard a voice calling him to free it. And he dug and dug into the mountain until he found it." She took out her mother's brooch and placed it along with her grandfather's knapsack in front of the Glass. Dumbledore had insisted that they do this first, even though Minerva knew it would show them nothing her father had not already told her about. And indeed the glass randomly revealed scene after scene of Iphigenia Wallace with her father from a very young age up through her years at school.

After almost an hour of happy father-daughter outings, Minerva sighed heavily. "My father saw all this too. But nothing about that last day."

"But we have learned something important, I believe."

"What, sir?

"We saw scenes of your mother as a baby and as a young girl and in school, but there were no scenes of her beyond a certain age, about fifteen, I would say."

"Well that makes sense. Grandfather joined the army around that time."

"True, but after he came home, did your mother not ever visit him?"

"I'm sure she did, but perhaps Grandmother was always there too, so we would need something of hers to be able to see those scenes."

"Yes, that is certainly possible." He stood in thought a moment, as if weighing her observation, almost as if she were no student, but a colleague, an equal. Then, "Well, shall we test my own theory?"

"What is your theory, sir?"

"As I told you, I think there may have been a third person present when your grandfather died, and that, if so, that person was responsible for both his death and your mother's condition."

"It would take a very wicked mage to do such a thing. He or she must have had something against my mother, some reason for wanting to make her suffer."

"Excellent reasoning, but let me correct our approach to this enigma in one small detail. What if a certain person, X, (let us refer to the object of our inquiry by that title for the time being) had something against your grandfather to begin with? And what if your mother made herself the enemy of X by getting in the way of his or her plans?"

"That makes as much sense as the other, I suppose. But my Grandfather was a Muggle, a farmer. How could he be a threat to anyone in the Magicosm?"

"That is what we must determine. Now, in all of your grandfather's life, did he ever, so far as you know, come into contact with a mage who might have wanted to do him harm?"

"How would I know that? I never knew my grandfather. But, oh, there was the Vision I saw in the Seeking Glass of the soldier."

"Yes. Your grandfather met a wizard on the battlefield near Saint-Quentin and was seriously injured by him. And we are pretty sure who that wizard was."

"Grindelwald! Oh, Professor, perhaps he found out he hadn't killed Grandfather Wallace and came back to finish him off."

"Well reasoned. Though how he could track your grandfather down is an enigma of some importance. But to your point: why would he need to 'finish your grandfather off' as you say?"

"Because he was afraid Grandfather could identify him. But, weren't there other soldiers nearby that could have seen him as well?"

"Not many. Your grandfather had been separated from his battalion, an outer flank of the Allies' thrust, in a heavy mist, which we believe was magically generated. We searched the area thoroughly. Not a sign of our quarry, except for one thing. A wand. I found it not too far from where your grandfather was waylaid."

"That was a careless thing for a mage to do: to just drop his wand where anyone could pick it up."

"Actually it seems to have been magically hidden in a blasted oak tree. A paltry bit of work and easily detected."

"Why would he do that? If Grindelwald wanted to escape, wouldn't he need his wand to Apparate?"

"Most mages do. And if he did try it, he would have been unsucessful. You see, my comrades had set up Containment and Detection Wards on the battlefield, the same type we have around the school. No one can Apparate into or out of them, though anyone could walk through them. We had promised the Allied commanders that we would not interfere with the battle. So it was important that our warding should not inhibit the Muggle soldiers in any way."

"That seems a poor barrier."

"Ah, but we made the warding field one whose energy would attack any magical object carried through it,like a wand, for example."

"You mean it would destroy the wand or give out a warning if a mage tried to pass through the barrier?"

"Not exactly. The energy of the field would be drawn to the magical item and concentrate its destructive power there."

"Would it destroy the wand?"

Possibly not, but it would likely do violence to any nearby soft tissue: skin, muscle, even bone."

"So Grindelwald's hand might have been injured?"

"Or his leg, if he had pocketed his wand, or his abdomen, if he carried it in his belt, as I do."

"And it was Grindelwald's wand that you found. Perhaps that's what he came to the house for. He thought Grandfather might have it. That would explain why he had to use the Geas if he didn't have a wand of his own."

"But he could have used your mother's."

"Oh! No, perhaps he couldn't. Can't a wand sometimes rebel when someone tries to use it against its owner?"

Dumbledore looked at her and smiled. "Yes I believe it can under certain circumstances So, shall we try out this theory of mine?" He brought a bag into the room and removed from it a thick, scabrous, crooked stick.

"This is the wand I found in that oak tree at the Front in Picardy, the day your grandfather was injured. If we are right, if it belongs to Old Grindy, and if he was in fact involved in your grandfather's death, we should see that scene shortly." He placed the wand next to the brooch and knapsack. He stepped back, and they waited. But though they waited several minutes, there came no flicker of light from the Seeking Glass.

"It's hopeless," said Minerva. "Ma must have,done it."

Dumbledore tapped his head with his forefinger. "Tell me, when you saw the vision of your grandfather confronting the wizard with his rifle, did it vanish the moment the spell was cast?"

Minerva nodded.

"You waited to see if it would start up again."

"Yes, I wanted to see more of what happened. I must have waited at least a minute."

"And the Glass was unable to show us any meeting between your mother and grandfather after he got back from the war." He frowned. "It all fits. I dread the thought, but it seems the only solution." He picked up Bill Wallace's knapsack, walked to the doorway and laid it gently down in the next room.

Immediately, the whirling vortex of lightning-energy filled the Glass and separated into two figures. Minerva recognized her mother though she must be little more than twenty years of age. A man who could only be Grandfather Wallace was sitting on a bed, toying with a glass of dark liquid.

"Hello, Dad. I hope you're well," said the young Iphigenia Wallace McGonagall.

"Sure I will be soon after I drink this." He held up the glass and made a face. His voice was halting and hoarse and painful to listen to.

"Your medicine? Don't bother about that." She took the glass from his hand and put it on the bedside table. "I want to show you something."

"What is it, lass?"

"This is my wand, see? I told you I can do magic, real magic. You knew about that long ago before the war, but you've forgotten so much."

"Aye but I remember that My daughter the witch." He laughed. It sounded almost like a dog barking. "This wand, what does it do? Looks like an old stick."

"It's not. It's made of birch wood and has a bit of a magical feather inside. It helps me to cast spells and charms."

"You all have them. Your husband too."

"Yes, Dad, Jupiter has one. It's oak and dragon heart-string."

"Sounds wonderful. But do you not have many wands? A collection at your farm?"

"Yes, did Jupiter tell you that?"

Her father nodded. "We talked at the wedding."

"Well, it's not really a collection. There's a cave on the property where all the McGonagalls are buried and their wands with them."

"Must be v-very wonderful."

"Actually it's rather dreary. But in the center of the Crypt,that's what they call it,there's this great black stone that marks the grave of the first McGonagall wizard. And his wand is said to be the most powerful of the whole clan."

"You m-must take me to it some day."

"Aye, when you're better. And that's why I'm here. Dad, I think I can help you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, they say the German Kaiser had some Dark Magic, evil wizards, on his side. So, your wound and your cough mayn't have been caused by Muggle weapons. I think they might be magical. That's why the Healers, I mean the doctors, couldn't help you."

"But what can one, can you do about it? That wand will it cure me?"

"Perhaps."

"Let me see it."

Iffie showed the wand to her father. He touched it and smiled.

"Do you now point it at me and say 'Hocus-pocus-dominocus'?"

"Not at all, Dad. Mostly I use medicines,herbs and such. What do you think?"

"Well, it can't be worse than that stuff I take now." He winced. "But your mother, she won't like it."

Iffie patted her father's hand. "It'll be our secret then."

"Ah, I remember now. She put water on for tea before she went to the market."

"I'll get it, Dad." Iffie left the room, and Bill Wallace rose heavily and limped to a clothes chest. He rummaged around in it looking for something. After several minutes he drew out a long flat object, made of some kind of leather.

Dumbledore inhaled with a sharp hiss.

"What is it?" whispered Minerva.

"It looks like a scabbard for a bayonet. It's a kind of Muggle weapon, war issue by the look of it."

Iffie came back with a tray and settled it on the bedside table. "What's that you have there?"

They sat and had tea. He showed her the bayonet, a longish knife that looked familiar to Minerva. He explained how the bayonet worked; it fastened onto the end of another Muggle weapon called a rifle. Then he put it back in its scabbard, and his daughter told him a little more about the healing process, which involved potion therapy mostly.

"Shall I begin?" she asked.

"Yes, best to do it before your mother gets home." She picked up a bag and brought out several vials. "What're those?"

"A course of strengthening tonics. I had them from my old Potions Professor. But first, I'm going to remove any residual spell effects that might still be on you." She raised her wand. "Attenuo!"

"What's that? What are you're doing?"

"Don't worry. It's a Relaxing charm, Dad." Iffie's voice trailed off into a gasp.

The face of Bill Wallace began to change. The nose lengthened, the cheeks hollowed, the lips thinned, and a network of wrinkles spread over the forehead, down the cheeks, around the mouth. The throat became ropy, and veins popped out in the hands. When the transformation was complete, she saw a man far older than her grandfather, but incredibly alive, with eyes shining like a child's.

Dumbledore stiffened. "Great Gryffindor! He's a Metamorph. That would explain a great deal But how? I thought I knew him."

"Who, what are you talking about?" Minerva whispered. But her mother's voice, filled with anguish, cut off any reply.

"Dad! What have I done? Are you all right? I don't understand. What did I do to you?" She made as if to take him by the arm, but he turned away from her, picked up the scabbard and swung it around. The butt of the bayonet caught her on the temple with a resounding 'Thunk' and she went down in a heap.

The man poked at her body with his toe. She did not stir. Minerva's brain was paralyzed by what she had just seen and the paradox it generated. It looked like her grandfather had just killed her mother, yet she knew this could not be true. Her grandfather was long dead. Her mother was alive, was back at the Wallace farm, possibly sitting now with Grandmother Wallace in the very room they were looking at, but so many years later.

The man picked up Iffie's wand and gave a short bark of a laugh. He turned his attention to the wall behind her. A picture hung there. Minerva drew closer to the Glass and peered at it. It looked like the one she had seen in Grandmother Wallace's parlor, but this picture showed a figure in the chair under the tree there by the farmhouse, a figure dressed all in dark clothing, head thrown back as if asleep.

"Engorgio," shouted the man in a commanding, not-Bill-Wallace voice, and the picture started to expand rapidly. When it reached the size of a doorway, he stepped into it and walked towards the farmhouse and the person in the chair. He pointed the wand once more. "Mobilicorpus," he muttered and drew the limp body towards him. It followed him out of the picture-portal and dropped to the floor. "Zair goot," he said,or something like it, and reduced the picture back to its original size. With another wave of the wand, he stripped the figure on the floor naked. They could see no wound marks on the body, but it lay very still.

"That is your grandfather," murmured Dumbledore.

Minerva looked on in horror as the man waved her mother's wand once more and exchanged clothes with the inert form. "Who is that other person? Not," She glanced at the brooch and wand at the foot of the Seeking Glass. "Not Grindelwald."

"It is. It must be." Something in his voice, utter resignation or even despair, made her look at him. His face was very white.

"And my g-grandfather," she stammered. "Is he Stunned?"

"I am afraid he is dead, and had been for a very long time. That is why your vision of him cut off when he was hit by that spell. I thought it merely knocked him unconscious, but it must have been a killing spell, Avada Kedavra or the like. That is why having his knapsack in front of the Glass kept us from seeing this vision."

"But there's no decay. Wouldn't he be all dried up or even a skeleton by now, I mean, then?"

"Hiding a body in a picture suspends it in time, like a memory. A brilliant move." Minerva nodded. It was that very spell that had imprisoned her cousin Rowdie Flynn alive for over a hundred years.

Now Grindelwald was dressed in the dark robes and cape. He translocated the body of Bill Wallace to the bed. And he turned to Minerva's mother once more. "Ahk doo leeber," he cried.

Minerva felt her teacher stiffen beside her as if the words burned him. She herself could not understand the words. She had no time to ask a question because she heard her teacher muttering beside her. She quickly realized that he was now translating the evil wizard's words.

"'Pah, soft, weak English words,'" Dumbledore haltingly paralleled the evil mage's German phrases. "'So long it took me to learn you, listening every day to these Scotch bastards, mimicking their craven mewlings, but now I spit you out So good the language of my fatherland again to speak. What must I with you do little witch? You have my disguise too soon uncovered. Ah, if you could that Crypt me to show But I can use your wand. There are many of your English wizards looking to find me. And my servant I cannot allow them,no,allow you to tell anyone. You must lose your memory a result of your head injury. The Muggles will think that your father had a heart attack as he tried to wake you.'"

Grindelwald raised the wand and pointed it at the prostrate witch. "Obliviate." he murmured. But instead of throwing out the energy of the spell into her body, the wand tip began to glow red, as if the Memory Charm was struggling to free itself, but was stopped by some opposing force. The wand started to smoke and the red color crept backward until the whole wand was afire with the pent-up spell energy. There was a bright flash as it reached his fingers, and Grindelwald dropped the wand and hugged his hand to his chest. "Verdammen!" he cried. Dumbledore didn't translate that word, but Minerva had no trouble guessing its meaning. After a moment Grindelwald tried to pick up the wand with his good hand, but it started shooting sparks at him, so shortly he gave up.

"You were right, Minerva," said Dumbledore. "The wand would not let him harm its mistress. I have heard of such phenomena, especially with phoenix feathers, but I have never observed it myself."

Now Grindelwald was speaking again, and Dumbledore continued his translation: "'I cannot erase your memory. I cannot kill you with my hands, for that would look suspicious. But no one will believe a mad woman.'" Grindelwald leered at her, as he rummaged in his pockets. He pulled out three vials. "'Let us see, which is the best for the job? Red Cap? No, I will need you for another task. Erkling? No. Pogrebin? Perfect.'"

He opened a vial. He poured a little water from the tea kettle into it and something inside began to churn and bubble. Presently a froth like soapsuds or ale spilled over the sides. Something inside, something dark, was growing to fill the glass. The vial shattered and the whatever-it-was dropped onto the bed, a small, wet creature, curled up like a new-born pup. It grew rapidly until it was the size of a small child,a very ugly child with a swollen, hairless head. It lay quiet a moment as if gathering strength, then a curious thing happened. Its skin began to darken,unless it was a trick of the uncertain light of the cave,until it almost blended in with the brown blanket it was resting on. Minerva watched as it sat up and shook itself and gazed at its master with grateful, bulging eyes,her mother's nemesis, the Pogrebin.

"'Now, I command you,'" translated Dumbledore, "'to follow this woman. You will cleave to her, you will retail her sins, her inmost fears driving her mad. If you are separated from her, you will not rest until you find her again. Away from her, you cannot live except only in the meagerest sense. But you will not lay hand or weapon upon her, except those feelings of despair which you will pour into her spirit, until she takes her own life. Then and only then are you freed.'"

Grindelwald repeated the German words twice more, his voice rising steadily in pitch and volume. Finally Dumbledore translated in a whisper, "'This you shall do or suffer the pain of excruciating and lingering torture for the rest of your miserable life.'" The Pogrebin stiffened, then shuddered. At the end of the horrible rite, the wizard gathered up his knapsack and walked out the door. The Glass went black.

Dumbledore stared at the glass, muttering. Minerva strained to catch his words. "How is it possible that he needed to learn English? But he might have forgotten. It has been so long."

The words made little sense, and Minerva had a million questions of greater importance, she was sure. "Was that the Geas, Professor? Those last words he said?"

He came out of his brown study. "Yes, the formula is always the same. A clear, unequivocal command spoken with the utmost conviction, then repeated in those exact words in the same order twice more. And at the end, the caster must also pronounce the punishment for disobedience."

She shuddered. "How cold. How-how horrible."

"Indeed. But did you notice? As the creature lay there on your Grandfather's bed? It changed color."

"You saw it too?"

"Yes. This particular Pogrebin seems to have had the quality of a chameleon as well, a most unusual anomaly. I shall have to ask Professor Cavallo-Grifone about it."

"No wonder Ma never discovered it. It could hunker down and just blend into the background like a rock or a piece of crockery or a fold in the bedclothes." Minerva buried her face in her hands. "Poor Ma. She did suffer so. I don't think I realized it until just now."

"Yes, but now we know the truth, and the truth always helps."

"No it doesn't. That evil man Grindelwald, he got away with this. If Da was alive, he'd hunt him down and, oh, Professor, I want to find him and kill him myself. But I can't. I don't know how. And I don't know enough."

Dumbledore put an arm around her shoulders. "There are many mages who are looking for this evil warlock to bring him to justice. Unfortunately there are at least as many who think he's no more than a myth or a figment of the imagination. And at last, I begin to see why, but there are still so many questions."

Minerva broke into his thoughts impulsively, crying, "How can they think that? That he's not real."

He put a steadying hand on her shoulder. "He's very cunning; he can hide among Muggles like a badger in a thicket,or a Pogrebin in your father's house. One good thing. We now know partly how he does it: he is a Metamorphmagus. Your mother's Attenuo caught him off guard and he was unable for a moment to hold the form of your grandfather. And see, Minerva, how resourceful he is. Wounded at Saint-Quentin while trying to get through the Wards, he stumbled upon a British soldier, Bill Wallace. He knew that our net was fast closing about him. It was only a matter of moments before he would be apprehended. So he killed your grandfather and exchanged clothes with him, took on his facial features. He was probably going to just change your grandfather into a stone or something, but then he saw the painting."

"Why did he need to put grandfather's body inside it?"

"Who knows? Perhaps he could not be sure how long he would have to retain your grandfather's likeness and needed to be able to compare the true image with the one he was maintaining. It is hard to keep up an appearance you are not familiar with."

"I see."

"He hid the wand,disguising it inside a root of that bombed-out tree, an excellent disguise, I might add. It almost fooled even me. Then he was 'rescued' and taken to a field hospital. My colleagues and I were taken in completely. You remember I told you we tried to question him. He just looked at us blankly as if stunned. Battle fatigue, the doctors called it. He was wounded, rather severely in the abdomen and he feigned an additional cough and amnesia. And without his wand, we would detect no magic on him."

"But he didn't have to fake it because he really didn't know my mother or my grandmother."

"But here is something even more astonishing. He did not know the language." Minerva made a face at this. Dumbledore continued. "Yes, remember what he said. He knows quite a few, but did not know English,at least not very well. It would seem that, until he was brought here, the British Isles were a closed book to him ."

"But we just heard him. He speaks perfect English."

"Yes, with a perfect Caledonian accent, though his vocabulary you will have noticed is quite limited. Yes, limited. But, as he said himself, he had to learn it first."

"How could he do that, without a grammar and a teacher and all?"

"It took years to do it, but he had plenty of time to become acquainted with your grandmother and your mother, learn language and customs and all he needed to fit in. And whenever he remained silent or made a mistake, it could be blamed on battle fatigue or his injured vocal cords."

"But why did he need to stay around at all? Why didn't he just leave as soon as grandmother was out of the house and Apparate or something back to wherever he came from?"

"I don't know the answer to that. He did stay a very long time."

"More than ten years."

Yes, almost as if he feared something across the Channel worse than me and my friends." He shook his head impatiently, as if to clear it. "But we can make some conjectures. First of all, as I said, most mages need a wand to Apparate and, second, he may have seen a unique opportunity in his enforced exile. My friends and I were on his trail. It must have unnerved him to realize how close he came to being captured out there on the battlefield. And now he could hide from us virtually in plain sight. No one would ever think to look for the premier Dark Wizard of two centuries on a farm in Perthshire. Yes, that must be it. And he does his evil work best from behind the scenes, charming, cajoling, persuading. Once he had some command of our language, I'm sure he turned to information-gathering. He may even have tried to foment a bit of unrest. I have read that he is at his best turning normally peace-loving Muggles into bloodthirsty warmongers."

"He did just that. Grandmother said he took to starting arguments in the pub and writing letters against the Germans whenever anyone in the government showed signs of softening towards them."

"Yes, he had to keep up the pressure, even if only in a small way. But the majority of the work was already done."

"How so?"

"The Treaty of Versailles, the treaty that ended the Great War, laid such a heavy burden of reparations on the losers, it practically guaranteed a backlash in a people with such a proud history as the Germans. Grindelwald knew he only had to bide his time before hostilities renewed themselves. But I think whilst he was here, he developed a special interest in the British people. We have always posed a great challenge to him, you know."

"How so?"

"We have never been invaded, never been conquered by any of his puppets."

"Why? Has he just never noticed us?"

"Oh yes, he has noticed. I am sure after the Battle of Waterloo, he noticed. But he could not penetrate our chief defenses: the Channel, and the Floo Network. You see, unlike you young folks, elderly warlocks do not much care for riding brooms, especially across large bodies of water, and the Floo Regulatory Commission keeps a close watch on immigrants coming through its fireplaces. And you cannot Apparate to a place unless you have been there before. You have to have a clear picture of the location in your mind, or it is very risky. But now, I fear he has the advantage of us. One he didn't possess in the past."

"What?"

"Now that he has been loose in our land,how long has it been?,over ten years?,he does have a clear picture in his mind of all the places he has visited. He can envision them, Minerva. And that is all he needs to Apparate back here,at will. I must let my colleagues and my contacts at the Ministry know immediately."

"So you think he's gone back to Germany?"

"Yes. He needed a wand, and he got one from your friend Petey. He badly wanted Auld Fearghas's wand. Having lost his own powerful wand, no ordinary one would satisfy him. Too bad for him the third son of the Thane of Perth could not stand up to your ancestors."

"He knew about the Crypt from my father and mother. But how did he find the cave entrance?"

"I imagine he spent a good part of his enforced exile looking for a way. And he did have another creature to help him. Remember the Red Cap?"

"The third vial,yes."

"Another elf-like creature with an appetite for human flesh. They are all related: Erklings, Red Caps, Pogrebins,all petty permutations of evil. Red Caps love to inhabit holes in places where large numbers of people have died, especially old battlefields. We encountered some during the war while looking for Old Grindy. But they are just as content to take a burial vault in lieu of an old trench or shell hole. And they can smell even ancient corpses from miles away. I would almost bet Grindelwald saved that little creature just to look for your family's Crypt."

"And the Erkling?"

"Probably a servant,to carry his things. And for company. A Dark Wizard always has to have some miserable beast to kick about when things aren't going well. I'm sure the Erkling got quite a few of those when Grindelwald realized he wasn't going to be able to just waltz up to Auld Fearghas's monument and take his wand."

"But he did get Petey's. And now, do you think he's gone back to Germany?"

"Indeed. I think he finally settled for a student's paltry faggot. And we know he is back because der Fuehrer has stepped up his demands."

"Der Fuehrer?"

"Adolf Hitler, the new German Chancellor, and undoubtedly Grindelwald's latest protege."