The Potent but Terrible Solution

For the first time in his very long life, Albus Dumbledore thought that he might have preferred to be born a Muggle.

For five years, war had been raging in both the Muggle and wizarding worlds. But while the British Muggles and their allies seemed on the verge of victory, the wizards of Europe still . . . cowered. Albus couldn't help but think of it that way. The Ministry had issued a decree that no one was to challenge Grindelwald, that they would attempt to "reach a mutually beneficial accord by diplomatic means," and while Albus could understand--the Gudgeon brothers made it a round dozen wizards to face Grindelwald and fail, and they had been barely recognizable when their remains had returned to their parents--he couldn't help but remember that the Muggles had tried diplomacy as well.

He sighed, and tried to focus his attention on the class he was supposed to be teaching. The first-year Slytherins were turning matchsticks into needles--or trying to; it looked as if he would have to remind them in a moment that the swish-and-flick was much less effective for Transfiguration than Charms. Igor Karkaroff was not only using the wrong wand movement, he was laughing at something the Pendleton boy had said, and little Phyllida Smythe was going to catch a matchstick in the back of the head any moment . . . but although Laszlo Karkaroff had managed to smuggle his wife and young son to England before Grindelwald leveled the Durmstrang Institute, he'd left behind a brother, and if cutting up a bit in class helped young Igor forget that Grindelwald had set dementors loose in his old home . . . it wasn't as if a matchstick in the back of the head would hurt anyone.

Albus turned his gaze over the rest of the room. Stephen Pendleton was placing a bit too much emphasis on the second syllable of the incantation, and his matchstick was remaining stubbornly wooden. He came from eleven generations of wizards, Albus remembered--would he be the last, if Grindelwald took advantage of the Ministry's vacillation and served Hogwarts as he had Durmstrang? Young Tom Riddle, over in the corner, had already managed to turn his matchstick silver and was working on the point; he showed incredible potential, particularly for a Muggle-raised student in Slytherin. The Dark terror was a poor introduction to the wizarding world, Albus couldn't help thinking, and Tom deserved every chance to develop his potential to its fullest. They all did, all his students, Slytherin and Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw and his own beloved Gryffindors.

He made his decision almost before he realized there was one to make. Twelve wizards and witches, singly and in groups, had faced the Swiss and fallen. Grindelwald possessed a Seer's gift so powerful it was said he could read his enemies' spells a week in advance. And yet, after classes had ended for the day, Albus found himself standing before the gargoyle that guarded the staircase to Headmaster Dippet's office, marshalling his arguments.

Someone had to stand up to Grindelwald before it was too late to do so. Perhaps Albus Dumbledore was the wrong person for the job, perhaps he would fail as had all the others. But if no one made the attempt, no one would ever succeed.

Albus had to strain his memory for a moment before recalling that Headmaster Dippet was using "Giles Parish of Wootton" as his password; Armando had a penchant for using the names of what he called "unjustly obscure wizards overlooked by glory-seeking historians," by which he meant people like Giles, who had invented the Lumos charm. Which was a useful spell, no doubt about it, and hardly anyone remembered the man's name, so it made a suitable password, but the password before this had been "Aethelred Johannesson of Greater East Laubmontforscynneburg," who had invented Cheering Charms but was impossible to remember or pronounce correctly. But that was Armando for you.

The Headmaster's office was round, with pictures of former Heads dozing on the walls. Headmaster Dippet kept it almost spartan otherwise; a sturdy bookshelf was the only item of furniture apart from his desk, his chair, and a chair for visitors, and only close examination would reveal that the books on it were extremely rare first editions--and Albus knew all of them were signed. Armando Dippet was an extravagant and discerning bibiophile beneath his often-tedious exterior.

The Headmaster looked up as Albus entered, his face breaking into happy crinkles all the way up to where his hairline once had been. "Albus! Wonderful to see you, my boy. Care for a game of chess? Or is this a business visit?"

"Business, I'm afraid, Headmaster," Albus answered, sitting formally in the other chair. "I would like to request a leave of absence for the remainder of the year."

Dippet's crinkles reformed into a worried pattern. "But why? You're not ill, certainly? Is there some family emergency I should know about"

"No. Nothing of the kind." Albus took a deep breath. "I mean to face Grindelwald, and I cannot adequately prepare if I have my class schedule to contend with."

Dippet's face went ashen. "But Albus . . . you can't. The Ministry--"

"Is misguided, I believe. Grindelwald will not simply go away, and he will use the time granted by negotiations to build his power and destroy his adversaries. The only peace he knows is that of his enemies' graves."

"He's a Seer, Albus. He'll find you out and kill you, hasn't he shown that? Remember the Gudgeon boys, Albus. Remember Matthew Echidne--it killed old Marvolo when his son's body came back. I can't let you throw your life away like this, Albus, you're a dear friend and the best Transfiguration master I've seen in all my time. I can't let you do it."

"I have to, Armando. He'll come here eventually. You know what he did to Durmstrang. I won't let him have our children. He must be stopped. I'll find a way to cloud his Sight, or defeat him in spite of it, if such a way exists. But I have to be free to fight."

Dippet shook his head slowly. "Why must it be you? God knows I'll be the first to say you're a talented wizard, Albus, but Grindelwald . . . they say he's drawing power somehow from the Muggles, you know, some sort of massive blood magic." The old man's eyes were bright and his voice was shaky as he whispered "I don't want to lose you, my boy."

Albus smiled sadly. "I don't think I can match him strength for strength, I don't know if I can fool his Sight . . . but it has to be me because it isn't anyone else, you see? And I came to you because I'd rather go with your blessing, and your word I'll have something to come back to . . . than just leave in the night." His own voice dropped. "You know I've never asked you for anything, Uncle, but grant me this, please--for Mum's sake, if not for mine."

Dippet sighed. "Anna would have had my skin for a rug, and you over her knee for this, and no matter that you're a century old. Unfair tactics, boy."

"I need to practice unfair tactics if I'm to battle Grindelwald," Albus said quietly. "Do I have your blessing?"

"I won't send you to your death, Albus. Don't ask me to do that." Dippet wiped his eyes on a worn handkerchief. "But I won't stop you, either, if this is something you must do, and if--and when you come back, your chair will be waiting for you." The old man looked down at his hands for a long moment. "You'll need to find a substitute before you go."

"There are a few suitable candidates. Thank you."

Dippet gave a short, mirthless bark of laughter. "Thank me? I'd be doing you a greater favor to Stun you and hide you in a closet until this madness of yours passes. And if I thought there was a chance it would, I'd do just that. You've your mother's stubbornness, and your father's damn fool courage." He wiped his eyes again. "Find Gwyneth before you go. And it might not be a bad idea to talk to Laszlo, get the benefit of his . . . experience."

The Defense professor and the Grindelwald survivor. "I'd already meant to, but thank you for the advice . . . and for understanding."

"Even with another hundred and eighty years I doubt I'd understand this. You Gryffindors."

Albus smiled; this was familiar ground. "Ah, but if we were all Ravenclaws, we'd have to expand the library into the Great Hall, and then where would we eat?"

The Headmaster shook his head again, but managed a genuine chuckle. "Go on with you, then. I'll announce your leave--but not the reason for it, if you don't mind, to avoid a panic--tomorrow at dinner?"

"I'll have found a substitute by then, I think, yes."

"Go on and let an old man get his rest, then. Not that I'll be able to sleep tonight."

Albus excused himself and made his way down the moving staircase toward the main school. His heart was rather incongruously light--action at last! and the first steps taken!--but one thought dogged his heels and sobered his steps.

How do you defeat a man who can see into the future?