Harry Potter and the Power Within

Chapter 3: attack at the Burrow.

"How did you defeat Grindelwald, Professor?"

If Dumbledore was even slightly taken aback by this question, he did not show it, instead gazing penetratingly at Harry over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"A most interesting question, Harry, but perhaps somewhat unfortunately one which requires a little bit of explanation beforehand, so bear with me during my usual old man's banter.

'As you well know, Grindelwald was defeated towards the end of what Muggles call 'the second World War'. Well, you probably know quite a bit about WWII so I won't extend into it, but what you probably don't know is that what muggles learn is only half the story.

'What really happened is that a Grindelwald was one of a few witches and wizards who agreed with Hitler's ideas and were prepared to follow him. Whether they really believed as he did or were just waiting for him to gain enough power before overthrowing him so as to rule the world, I do not know.

'What I do know, though, is that most witches or wizards were prepared to fight Hitler, even if it meant coming out into the open, but that we all knew of the power of Grindelwald." A look of pure anger passed over Dumbledore's face as he recalled all the atrocities committed. "And what you must realise, Harry, is that Grindelwald's power was greater than any you're ever likely to encounter."

"More powerful than Voldemort, Sir?"

"Much more. Grindelwald had powers Lord Voldemort can only dream of, which made him a huge asset for Hitler in the war. All the wizards who attempted to fight Hitler were generally murdered by Grindelwald, and we were so busy trying to protect ourselves from him that we could no longer influence the outcome of the war.

'However, Hitler than made one very grave mistake: he tried to double-cross Grindawald. Oh, not straight off, of course; Hitler was far too intelligent for that. But all along, he had planned to eliminate wizards: he considered us to be malfunctions, you see, and as soon as he ruled the world (with Grindelwald's help) he was going to attempt to apply some sort of 'final solution' to us. I don't think he quite realised how numerous, or indeed how powerful wizards were.

'I'm not exactly sure how Grindelwald found out about Hitler's plans, but you can imagine his anger when he did. Quite simply he decided to kill off all muggles, so in a way he wasn't unlike Tom Riddle, just much more extreme. Thankfully though, he didn't have Lord Voldemort's cunning, or his sense of leadership. He wasn't interested in getting people on his side, just in killing as many muggles as he could.

'Now, as you can imagine, this started a war within the wizarding world, every bit as terrible as the second World muggle War. I believe the muggle History books say there were between 40 and 50 million deaths during the Second World War?" Harry nodded and Dumbledore continued. "Well, that's merely the number of muggles killed by muggles. I would estimate the number of deaths as being closer to 70,000,000.

'Anyway, many fine witches and wizards were killed, amongst which my predecessor at Hogwarts, Professor Dippet. But thankfully Grindelwald's army was fairly small, as many wizards who might have shared his beliefs to a point backed out when they realised just how far he intended to go. And of course instead of trying to convince them to join him, Grindelwald just killed them."

Dumbledore closed his eyes, and it was obvious that recollecting these events was still very painful to him. Harry waited respectfully for Dumbledore to continue.

"They were terrible times, Harry. Grindelwald enjoyed torturing people to death, and he killed all those who didn't join him, as well as countless muggles. We retaliated by killing even when we didn't need to, and Grindelwald had soon lost all his helpers. Even on his own, however, he remained very dangerous, and it soon became clear that someone from our side was going to have to be a hero.

'I can't really explain how I was chosen; all I know is there was an international meeting between all the most powerful ministers for magic, including our own at the time. The outcome was that three names were put forward, I and two Romanian wizards: Horski and Belowski. They were both assassinated less than a week afterwards. Grindelwald apparently had still one ally, but he happened to be the Bulgarian minister, and gave him the list the other ministers had drawn up.

'I escaped thanks to Alastor Moody: sensing something like this might happen, he urged me to let him perform the fidelius charm on me, a move which Grindelwald had not foreseen. When I learnt of the other wizards' murders, and let me tell you, they were very powerful wizards, yet Grindelwald killed them without even a struggle, I only became more determined to fulfil what I now saw as my duty.

'There was another meeting a few days after Belowski's death, more urgent and more secret. If I remember rightly, only three people came: our minister, the American minister George Hammersmith and myself; we were all forced to drink about ten different Veritaseum mixtures, made by ten of the finest potion makers in the world. They had obviously worked out that there had been a leak, and were taking no chances.

'I will not pretend I wasn't given a choice, but that choice was only as free as any choice can be during war-time. The truth is that I was determined to do anything I could anyway. The two top magical rulers realised that it had to boil down to a one-on-one battle, and I was the only one left who could possibly overcome Grindelwald, and I accepted the mission.

'I can still recall vividly the night I confronted Grindelwald. To this day it remains one of the most murderous storms ever to have hit Great Britain. Grindelwald resided in a huge castle, somewhere in Wales, and even today it is held under the strictest of surveillance because of all the dark magic which remains there. He had of course made it unplottable, and it was probably even harder to find than Dumstrang is today, which is saying something.

'The violence of the storm made it impossible to apparate, and I had to be escorted by several ministry officials. I don't think I have ever seen a sight both as impressive and as terrifying. The castle was built on top of a hill several hundred metres high, and the darkness of the sky gave it a ghostly look. Then, just as we were mounting the hill, there was a big clash of thunder and a bolt of lightning illuminated the whole building.

'In many ways, it was a very ordinary castle, but nevertheless impressive: a big grey stone dungeon was surrounded by walls several meters thick, with fifty-foot high towers at each corner. I remember that a slight parting in the clouds at one stage allowed the moon to shine down on a circular moat.

'The dark wizard was no fool, although he was by no means as clever as Lord Voldemort: he realised that seven ministry wizards didn't just turn up at your residence without a reason. He had the drawbridge down even before we arrived, and attempted to jinx us as soon as walked through it. Thankfully, we had predicted such a move and were able to dodge it with ease.

'The talk was short and to the point: we suggested a one-on-one duel, to the death, between Grindelwald and I. Whoever won the duel would win the war, i.e. if Grindelwald won we had to let him rule the world. Needless to say there was a lot at stake. Grindelwald accepted without hesitating, I think he reckoned I didn't stand a chance."

Dumbledore paused and sighed. Harry knew from experience how hard such stories were to relate, and waited patiently once more for him to pursue his tale.

"I had one advantage: however powerful Grindelwald was, he had a very limited knowledge of magic. He never went to Hogwarts, or indeed any other wizarding school, and most of his magic was self-taught. Oh, of course he knew all the basic offensive and defensive spells, and he was so powerful he could defeat most wizards using only those, but there was always a feeling in our camp that if he came up against another powerful wizard, though not as powerful as himself of course, he might struggle because of it.

'Now, Harry, I knew almost as much about magic as Miss Granger does, and that is saying something."

For a brief moment the old twinkle returned to Dumbledore's eyes, but it flickered out very quickly, and his face became grave once more.

"Elaborating any kind of strategy is always useless for such a duel; one has to go by instinct. Nevertheless, one should always keep some kind of plan in mind, a "fil conducteur" as the French would say. Mine was that I had to use as much obscure magic as I could, for we are all frightened of what we do not recognise, even if we are as powerful as Grindelwald was.

'The duel was to take place in the central hall, which didn't look too dissimilar to our own Great Hall at Hogwarts. Grindelwald had proposed to erect a formal duelling platform, but I declined, thinking I could maybe use the surroundings to my advantage.

'To give you an idea of what this background was like, try and picture yourself in a large stone room with a round mahogany table in the centre. Most of the chairs had been banished to the edges, but some still remained standing besides the table. Hanging up on all the walls were many paintings, some just ordinary wizarding ones, mostly of Salazar Slytherin, but others were muggle-style ones. Most of these had been harshly lacerated; none more so than one representing Hitler, on which Grindelwald seemed to have let all his hate loose. One could also spot various flags, whose bright colours were in stark contrast to the dim surroundings.

'The duel started, and as expected Grindelwald didn't go for the killing curse immediately: it is a curse which takes a huge amount of energy from the caster and he had a high enough regard for my skills to recognise that if I dodged it first up, he would be in trouble. Deciding to wear me down, he therefore started with a couple of stunners, which I blocked, before hitting me with an impedemident jinx.

'I was propelled to the stone floor behind the central table, and it was then that a plan formed in my head. Grindelwald couldn't see me where I was lying, and I therefore decided to use one of the most obscure spells that existed, yet one which is perhaps the most useful of all: the self-replicating charm.

'It is an extremely difficult spell to perform, and one that even most Aurors can't master properly. It consists of creating a model which is the spitting image of oneself, albeit for the fact that it cannot speak; moreover, one can then order the model around merely by concentrating very hard on what you want it to do. What the model can't do, though, is act with any energy, so its behaviour always has a certain lacklustre style about it. It is also unable to produce any magical spells, but is unaffected by any thrown at it.

'Anyway, I made my image walk up towards Grindelwald, as if to continue the duel. Had he known what to look for, he would probably have realised something was up; as it was, he probably just thought I had been weakened by his jinx. By the time he had hit the image with a stunner and seen it bounce off it without the presence of a shield charm, I had crept up behind him and was able to disarm him, and summon his wand.

'I am not proud of what I did next, but I don't attempt to deny what happened: I killed Grindelwald, in cold blood. In my favour, I believed at the time that no prison could hold him, as we had not yet invented the creatures we call dementors, and that it was the best way out. Grindelwald didn't turn away when the curse struck him nor did he even so much as flinch, whatever other qualities he lacked, courage was not one of them.

'I could have claimed I killed him in self-defence, that it was the only curse which would work on some kind of master shield he had managed to produce. But from the moment I came out of the castle, I told the truth: that I had killed him when he was defenceless. And what really angered me was that people were more interested in commenting on the rights and wrongs of the murder, than of congratulating me on defeating Grindelwald, or indeed even rejoicing of his death.

'A lot of highly placed officials came out to support me, saying that I was blinded by anger and revenge, and that anybody who had the power would have done the same in my position. That wasn't the truth, but I didn't care any longer; my destiny was complete."

Dumbledore stopped, and Harry took a moment to recover at what had been throughout a very un-Dumbledore-like speech. Thinking he needed to say something, he spoke out:

"If it helps you Sir, I think you did the right thing, and certainly when the time comes for me to face Voldemort, I shall have no qualms about killing him in cold blood."

"Thank you Harry, your support is much appreciated. Now, I assume you have quite a few questions to put by me, but I must ask you to hold them for a few days, until I next see you. Grindelwald aside, is there anything else you wanted to know?"

As it happened, Harry still had many questions for Dumbledore, but was so dazed by the story he had heard that he could only shake his head vaguely.

"Very well, Harry. You will hear from me very shortly, but I have to request you stay patiently (or as patiently as possible) at the Dursleys for maybe another two or three days. I can promise you that you will shortly return to the wizarding world."

Harry nodded, but was so knocked out by Dumbledore's tale that it took him five minutes to realise that he was staring at an empty chair. The headmaster had gone.

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Harry had no memory of how he got back that evening, neither could he remember thanking Mrs Figg (Harry still couldn't get used to calling her Arabella yet) for the tea. Waking up the following morning with a headache which would rival any hangover, he washed quickly and headed down for breakfast. Thankfully the Dursleys had already finished theirs, and Harry had the kitchen all to himself.

While he was fixing himself up some fried eggs, he noted with shock that it was already half past ten! He had slept more than ten hours, and yet he still felt tired. Thinking about it, Harry realised it wasn't altogether surprising: he had come out of his conversation with Dumbledore feeling as if he'd just boxed ten rounds with Mike Tyson.

Harry was afraid his brain might explode if he thought too carefully about what Dumbledore had told him the previous afternoon, so he deliberately pushed it aside, promising to himself he wouldn't put it off forever.

Hastily washing his breakfast things, he heard a loud banging noise coming from his room upstairs. Thinking he must have left his window open, he jumped up the stairs only to find that the noise was being made by Hedwig banging her beak repeatedly against Harry's window. After letting her in, he detached the letter she had been carrying and saw it was from Ron. Tearing it open, he read:

Harry mate,

Sorry I haven't replied sooner, but you weren't exactly outgoing at the beginning of the summer either, were you? Anyway, we're expecting you over at the Burrow soon! Enclosed in this envelope is a handful of flu powder, just enough for one journey so no sneaking off to see Cho behind my back (anyway, it's finished between you two, isn't it?)! Dumbledore says you are to floo over from Mrs Figg's place on Wednesday, but that we can't go to you know where yet. Hermione hasn't arrived yet, and it's a bit dull here without Fred and George (mum calls it "peaceful"!) so I'm looking forward to seeing you (not that I wouldn't be even if it wasn't dull at home).

Cheers - your best mate Ron.

Harry grinned while reading the letter: Ron was obviously in a good mood, and it would be nice to see him again.

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The next two days couldn't pass quickly enough for Harry. When Wednesday finally arrived, Harry woke up as early as six in the morning, and couldn't help but feel strangely nervous. Putting it down to the fact that he was going to return to the wizarding world for the first time since he had heard the prophecy, Harry turned over restlessly for about an hour, trying desperately to gain some more sleep.

Once it became clear he wouldn't, he got up and tip-toed to the bathroom so as not to wake his aunt and uncle. A quick wash was followed by rather a thorough shave as Harry did his best to look immaculate for his reunion with his friends. He also had another unsuccessful attempt at flattening his hair down.

The floo channel was being opened at five, and Harry was to spend the day at Mrs Figg. This however didn't prove to be as enjoyable as he had hoped: Mrs Figg's favourite cat, Rupert, had just died and despite Harry's nearly sincere sympathy she seemed very distraught at the loss. After several hours of consoling Arabella, five o'clock finally came.

Mrs Figg it seemed was aware of the arrangements as she showed no surprise when Harry took out his packet of floo powder and headed towards the fireplace. Consuming his handful of powder, he enunciated "the Burrow" very clearly. Harry was experienced with travelling through fireplaces now, and kept his glasses in his pockets, which was just as well as predictably he fell flat on his face when he arrived.

He was puzzled by the lack of any reception at his arrival. Harry wasn't in general a very self-centred person, but he had expected at least Mrs Weasley to welcome him with a hug. Maybe they also blamed him for what had happened at the end of last year? The fear that even what he had closest to a family might desert him sent a wave of panic down his spine, and he was thankful to see Mr Weasley rush through the drawing-room.

"Ah hello there, Harry. I'm afraid that our numerous wards have gone off again; it's probably just a false alarm but Molly's in a frightful state, what with Ron out in the garden and all...Go and join the others in the basement!"

"Ron?"

Harry was worried, but Mr Weasley didn't seem to have heard his question. Harry followed him out into the garden; if Ron was in trouble, there was no way Harry was going to abandon him like that. Once out in the garden he immediately spotted his mate who appeared to be cowering by the back gate. Ignoring Mr Weasley's cry of "Harry, wait!" he rushed towards his best friend.

He felt them before he saw them. At least fifty dementors were closing in on the Burrow, and Harry realised with horror that they weren't alone. The ground was trembling below the teenager's feet and he soon realised why: the dementors were accompanied by about fifteen giants, each seemingly larger than the last.

Harry felt rather then saw a large amount of commotion behind him, and realised that as well as Mr and Mrs Weasley, there was reinforcements in the form of Remus Lupin, Alastor Moody and Mundungus Fletcher. But there was surely no hope: Hermione had told him on numerous occasions that giants were nearly impossible to stun, and he knew for a fact that fifty dementors was no laughing matter either. As if that wasn't enough, it seemed they had about twenty Death-Eaters to contend with as well.

Shooting off a patronus at the nearest dementor, Harry grabbed Ron, but as he did so, he noticed another dementor head straight for Mundungus and watched with horror as it lowered its hood, pressed its mouth against Mundungus's and sucked out his soul. His victim slumped down lifeless on the grass, his eyes rolling freely out of the back of his head as he made nondescript moaning noises.

The air went, if possible, even colder. In the pure shock of what had just happened, most of the Order's members seemed frozen to the spot. One voice powerfully raised itself above all the noise, but the words it uttered were not welcome.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Harry was astonished to see the jet of green light strike Mundungus Fletcher squarely in the chest. Spinning around to see who had cast the spell, his heart missed a beat.

Standing imperiously tall, with his wand outstretched, was the only wizard Harry had always thought he could trust: Albus Dumbledore.