The Traveler's Secret

CHAPTER 1: DARK TIMES

Rain shimmered and thudded down on the cold, gray London street. No sound, but the steady patter of the water could make its way up or down the entire block. Occasionally the silence would be broken by the slosh of people's footsteps as they walked down the boulevard, coats close to their bodies and faces turned to the ground.

The foreboding silence was a sign of the dark times thought the cloaked man.

He stood on the dimly lit corner, squinting through the varying veils of murky rain. His penetrating blue eyes remained focused on the little pub across the street from him, the Leaky Bucket. It's shabby, dull exterior wasn't remarkable, just another establishment trying to survive these tough times. Most people made their way to this dark haven, scurrying out of the cold wind and steady stream of water. The young man wrapped in his emerald cloak, pulled it closer to his body. Even though the rain seemed to fall everywhere, but on him, the cold still found a way to get in. He still wasn't sure if it was the blustering night around him or if it was the icy knot of anticipation and fear that had been building in the deepest pit of his mind.

Anxiously he rocked on the edge of the curb and he knew he would be pacing soon. It was a nervous habit, but it helped him clear his mind. And he needed as much clarity as he could have. He pulled a tattered newspaper from his cloak and straightened it out. Oddly enough, rain didn't seem to want to land on that item either. The young man pushed his half moon spectacles up, which had been teetering precariously on the edge of his long, crooked nose.

His eyes flicked over the front page, sometimes narrowing in focused attention on certain parts. Every few seconds, he would look up at the pub in front of him. After awhile, as the time fell away into the darkening night, the young man found himself pacing, reading the Muggle news and watching those who entered the tavern. With each new person who entered, he scrutinized every aspect of them from what they wore to the look they had on their face. He couldn't help but notice that many were worried, wary or tired. He found his hands had rolled up the paper and had wrung it like a wet rag.

Albus Dumbledore felt a flutter in his stomach, a bubbling mixture of feelings. Tonight was the night that could change everything, even change the course of this horrible war. But danger stalked about the area. He could sense it; it felt as if hope was being sucked out of the very air around him. As hope drained away, anxiety permeated the black night. An electric charge of it glistened in every raindrop that fell.

And that's when Albus Dumbledore saw the man who brought hope in such dark and uncertain times. He was a stocky man with a thick chest and a face covered with dark hair. Large black eyes searched the street around him as he headed towards the Leaky Bucket. He was on his guard that much was certain. The man yanked his large fur cloak closer to his body. Maybe he too felt the deathly cold of change that was coming.

Albus Dumbledore stopped his nervous pacing and watched this individual, his senses attuned and ready. The professor's fear was gone and all that was left was his resolve. What this stranger had, what he carried with him would change the world and Albus had to be ready to face the whirlwind that would surely come with that change.

When the man reached the pub door, he swept the area around him with his eyes once more and pushed his way through the black entrance. Dumbledore tossed his newspaper into the trashcan nearby and strode towards the Leaky Bucket.

The newspaper lay open, its front page and large print staring up at any passerbyer. The headline read in bold letters: PARIS OCCUPIED! Below the headline was a black and white picture of Adolph Hitler and his entourage marching down a street with the Eiffel tower looming in the background. Printed in small letters in the corner of the paper was the date: June 25, 1940.

But it hadn't been the headline or the picture that had grabbed the professor's attention. It was the young, blond haired man who was at the German dictator's side. Though a grim, taunt smile stretched the muscles of the young man's face, making him barely recognizable from whom he use to be, Dumbledore still remembered him. Grindelwald was now on the cover of a muggle newspaper, openly helping an aggressor, who was determined to see the world burn.

Dumbledore knew what he must do. He had allowed Grindelwald too much leniency and had paid for it tenfold. Albus stepped through the door of the Leaky bucket.

Sweeping past the trashcan, a black hooded figure glided towards the pub. Anyone who it passed felt as if they would never see happiness or sunshine again. Though not everyone could see this hooded creature, they could feel its unearthly chill.