Chapter Seven
Venture Down Knockturn Alley

The first of August found Gellert Grindelwald standing alone in Diagon Alley. His great-aunt had wanted him to come with her, and Albus had been unable to join them. Aberforth had to get his books today, since he would be returning to Hogwarts in a month’s time, and that meant that Albus had to stay at his home with Ariana. Bathilda Bagshot felt it was not healthy for her great-nephew to spend as much time as he did alone in the house, so she had insisted he come with her. Upon reaching Diagon Alley, however, she saw his almost immediate disinterest and bid him to do as he pleased, to explore, and she gave him a sack of coins to make following those instructions easier.

One option that he had considered and even acted slightly upon was returning to Flourish and Blotts, but the shop had been too crowded, packed with students looking for books. The pretty Mrs. Gaunt saw him and waved slightly, but he could not say for certain whether she’d seen him raise a hand in greeting. He considered it quite lucky that he had not happened to bump into Aberforth in the shop. After struggling to get even enough room to breathe, Gellert decided that it would be a waste of time to try to find anything in this bookshop.

Except for the throngs of young children, he had considered going to Ollivander’s. The English wandmaker’s style was very different style from Gregorovitch’s, something he and Albus had noted when examining one another’s wands. His own was twelve and three-quarter inches, yew, with a dragon’s heartstring. Albus’s wand was eleven inches, ebony, with a hair from a unicorn’s mane. Gellert thought about having his wand checked up on, making sure it was still performing at its peak, and he was partially curious if he could find himself a new wand. Not that, he had reminded himself, it would be worth much. Buy a new wand simply to hunt for a Hallow to replace it! So, ultimately, he decided against paying Ollivander a visit.

‘Perhaps another time,’ he told himself.

So it was, with no particular purpose, that the young blond took to wandering the streets of Diagon Alley. It was a large place, and he was always happy to find places where the crowd filtered out. An empty street caught his eye, as did the sign near it.

“Knockturn Alley?” he read aloud, cocking his head. If he had Albus with him, he could have posed his questions, figured the place out before even stepping foot there. However, he had no guide this time, and he shrugged his shoulders slightly, making his way down the empty street without hesitation.

The place where he came out was, to say the least, very different from Diagon Alley. Where the latter had wide streets and many shops with colorful displays and bright lights, Knockturn Alley was made of narrow paths and the shops were dark but open, few things displayed in their windows, both warning and tempting a passerby about the contents that the shop itself might contain. While Diagon Alley was always somewhat busy, at least on the two occasions when Gellert had been there, Knockturn Alley seemed much quieter.

“Ah, what’s this?” a woman hissed, catching Gellert’s arm as he passed her. “A poor student, lost his way?”

“Student? I most certainly am not,” Gellert snapped, turning to face her.

She was a strange creature to look at. Her body looked young, but her gray eyes were light enough that there might have been film over them, that she might have been blind. Something about her posture suggested that she was old, that she had seen and heard things that no mere mortal was ever to hear. If she heard Gellert’s reply, she did not say anything about it. Instead, her hand stayed on his arm, gripping it tight enough that he could not wrench himself free. Her other crooked hand rose and touched a blond curl, then his cheek, and he again tried to pull away. Her hands were as cold as death.

“You seek something you are not meant to have.” She seemed to look up into his eyes, yet something in Gellert iced over, as though she were, with those odd eyes, looking beyond him, or maybe within. “But, oh, you will have it. You will possess your desire for a moment in time. But pride! Pride! That conqueror of kings! You have a mark upon you, boy. Pride will haunt you, will hunt you.”

“Release me!” Gellert snapped, and he finally tore himself from her strangely powerful grip. A kind of terror that he could not explain had taken hold of him. He wanted to be far from this strange creature, and he turned to walk away.

“You will remember me when Pride leads you to your downfall, Master Grindelwald,” the woman said quietly. When Gellert turned back to demand how she knew his name, she was gone.
As he turned once more to continue down one of the many paths of the dark, damp Knockturn Alley, Gellert tried to comfort himself. He might well have been mentioned to his great-aunt’s friends, and one of them might have known this strange creature. Perhaps his great-aunt, who had mentioned Knockturn Alley only once before, had put her up to doing that should he ever come this way, to scare him from the place. Either explanation was perfectly acceptable, he decided. It had to be one of those things. There was no other way to explain what had just happened without attaching some strong significance to a woman who must be either mad or told to do and say what she had done.

Yet, if she were mad, how had she known his name?

Still, perhaps her words warranted consideration. Pride. Conqueror of kings. A moment later, Gellert was shaking his head. The idea was absolutely laughable. He was taking the words of a woman who had surely been sent to scare him to be prophecy. If he were to take what she had said to heart, who would prove only that he was madder than she!

To distract himself from these strange thoughts, he entered the first shop that he found. It was a small place, crammed full of items that had seen better days. A sign on door, that Gellert had not noticed until he had entered and looked back at the still-open door, read ‘Rhunskin Curiosities.’ True to its name, many curious objects sat on the shelves or in boxes that were set out for rummaging. There was no real semblance of order to anything. Books were piled on top of old clothes; quills tipped in gold were laid near potion vials. It would have been nothing short of madness for one to try to find a particular item, but Gellert felt there was a kind of genius behind the disorder when it was before a person with time on their hands and no particular object.

He found a semi-cleared off desk and hauled himself up onto it. A bell had chimed when he had opened the door, but the owner had still not appeared. Seated upon the desk, he dragged a nearby box over to him, sorting through the various items that were at his disposal, mostly old, beaten books, many with a title that could not be read for all the cracks and dust and wear to the spine. He opened one, and trailed his finger across the line he’d found. It was written in Latin. He read the line aloud, though quietly, searching his mind for the very cursoty Latin that Durmstrang had forced them to learn in their first and second years. From what he could mentally translate-- another book would be needed so as to hunt up the proper translation-- the magic contained in this tome was dark and very powerful. Very appealing. He placed the book beside him on the desk, while others, less interesting, were placed on the floor near the box.

Once the box was empty, Gellert replaced the items, holding the book he had claimed as his own, and he wandered a moment more, soon finding another small alcove where he found a short but sturdy bookcase and seated himself upon it. He pulled another box to him, setting his book down beside him again. He repeated his process of carefully examining each object and setting it beside the box when it proved too dull to keep his attention. Just as he had reached the midway mark of the box, a voice came from behind him.

“Enjoying the selection?”

Gellert jumped, and his heart raced at being so surprised. He turned slightly and came face-to-face with a wizened man with a hunched back and a twisted leg. One eye was notably wider than the other, but Gellert looked straight at him. He had been spooked by someone once; he would not allow it to happen again.

“This is very interesting shop,” Gellert replied.

“We don’ get very many customers,” the owner explained, but he was smiling. “I think you are the firs’ in years. At least that wasn’ bothering me to find somethin’ in particular, you see?”

“I understand. Though I do not understand why one would come here for something in particular. It seems very much the place where one will only find something by not looking for it.”

“What a sharp lad you are!” the owner praised, nodding his head with excitement. He looked the young man over once more, and his smile widened. “You have a particular interest.” Gellert raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes. You have many, I think, but one that burns more. Dueling,” he motioned to the book beside Gellert, “is one of many, a higher one but still not the most consuming. No?”

“You’re,” Gellert hesitated to admit it, “quite right, sir.”

“What’s the one, lad? What’s the one that wakes you up? That leaves you breathless? What’s the one?” He seemed strangely excited, looking at Gellert again. “My shop, it’s special, you see. You have to want somethin’, really want it, to even get here. You won’ find everything at once. It isn’t like that. But you know somethin’ is here, don’t you? You can feel it stirring your blood, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Gellert replied. He was coming to understand why Knockturn Alley was so avoided, and yet his curiosity was piqued. Dryness had come over his mouth, and yet, even as this man spoke, a strange fire had lit itself within him. “I seek the Hallows,” he said after a moment, staring at the man, “the Deathly Hallows. I desire to possess them, to be the master of Death itself.”

“The Hallows!” The man said nothing more but instead limped away down the aisle. Gellert found he could not sit still. He seized his book and quickly followed the old man. When he caught up, they were both in another aisle, and the hunchbacked old man was bent over a box, tearing through its contents. “The Hallows,” he whispered, and Gellert could not say anything. He was half certain that this man was as mad as the woman that had greeted him upon first stepping into Knockturn Alley, but something in him possessed him to be silent. Finally, the man stood up. “I was waitin’ for someone looking for the Hallows. Yes, you will do very well. A dueler, worthy of the Hallows. Whatever Margarethe says, the strong must rule. Foolish, foolish woman, trying to stop what must be, oh yes.” He spoke more to himself than Gellert, yet the young man obeyed when a gesture was made for him to bow his head. The old man put something around his neck, and Gellert raised his head and looked down. Attached to a golden chain, a golden pendant hung almost directly over his collarbone. It was an inch, if not two, thick, and shaped like a triangle. A glass sphere was set in the triangle, a black liquid in it, and the sphere half-full. Running through the sphere from the top and bottom of the triangle was a silver rod.

“The mark of the Hallows,” Gellert said quietly.

“A sharp lad you are,” the old man said with a kind of cackle that might have made someone else flinch, yet Gellert’s heart was beating too rapidly to think of such a reaction. “Not just any mark of the Hallows. The brothers made that one themselves. You need only choose a Hallow, any Hallow. Take a drink of the liquid, the top comes off,” he motioned to the spot on the triangle, “here, and you will be forever lead toward the Hallow until at last it is in your hand. You will have to pay a price, yes, you will.”

“Name it. If I do not have the gold--” Gellert began, but the man shook his head.

“No, no. Not to me. The book, the amulet, they are yours. Another will come later, seeking something and ask me to find it for them, that lot will pay. You sought without asking, and they are yours. The price you will pay will be decided by the potion.” He grinned wider, revealing several rotting teeth. “You can find the Hallows without the potion, but it will help you. It will lead you. Oh, it will lead you and help you. But you will pay a price. A great price.”

“I will do whatever I must to possess the Elder Wand.”

“A good choice, a good choice… And yes, you will. I can see it. You will pay whatever is asked of you.”

“Whatever is asked.”

“And you will possess the wand.”

“You ask me nothing for either of these grand items?”

“Nothing at all. Be off with you now. You have destiny to meet, and you will meet it, I can see. You will meet your destiny without hesitation. You will.”
Gellert allowed himself to be led from the store, examining the necklace that hung around his neck as he walked, and the old man let him out of the store.

“Thank you, sir,” Gellert said to the old man in the doorway.

“It is not a bit of trouble, my boy. You remember old Rhunskin when you meet destiny, lad. It was a pleasure to see you, Master Grindelwald.” He shut the door and, before Gellert could ask how he knew his name, the door had vanished. The old man, Gellert remembered, had said that only those looking for something could find the shop, and he had been given the tool to find what he wanted, what he needed.
His hazel eyes turned to the pendant again, and he examined the black liquid. The thought crossed his mind to take the potion now, but he restrained himself. There was no reason to be in a hurry. It could wait. After all, if it would lead him to the Elder Wand, then there was no hurry. He would have to tell Albus about this. They could find all of the Hallows with this, or at least two, if each could only find one. Yet, if he told Albus, perhaps Albus would desire the Elder Wand as well. They never had discussed who would get what Hallow, especially who would possess that particular one. Albus had never seemed interested before in the wand, not terribly, but the advantage of being led to it might make it that much more appealing. Was it something that could be put to chance?
In answer to his silent questions, Gellert tucked his new treasure into his shirt, hiding it from sight. He would tell Albus after he had the Elder Wand in his hand, offer it to Albus to find the Resurrection Stone. That was what to do. He wouldn’t keep it from Albus; he would merely wait to tell him.

“Young man!” the words of an aged woman hunched over a cauldron called him back to his senses. “Come, come. Your bag of coins is far too heavy.” She laughed a little and Gellert, interested and glad to see someone who didn’t seem to know him, approached. “You are a dashing creature, aren’t you? Lot like my husband. Of course,” she laughed again, “he ran off with a pretty little thing when I started getting old, but that ain’t your fault, dearie. Know what this is?” She motioned to her cauldron.

Gellert approached and took a whiff of the air. A sharp, biting smell like mid-winter, the smell of blood, the faintest touch of lilac, and the smell of a fire newly put out all besieged his senses. That and the pink color of the potion told him everything he needed to know. “A love potion. Rather a strong one, if I am right.”

“Exactly. What would you say, son? A vial full? Only two galleons. You could have any soul in the world with this for years upon years with just one drink!”

“I already have the one that I desire to have.”

“Ah, but women are fickle creatures, almost as fickle as men. What if the eye wanders? You could ensnare her, have her forever.”

“I have the one I want, and,” he paused a moment, deciding caution was still advisable, “she will be mine forever. I know.”

“Pity, pity! Well, if you go home and find her in the arms of your dear brother, you come right back here.”

“Of course, Madam.”

Gellert shook his head as he walked away, listening to various other hawkers, but he shook his head politely to each. Some rather interesting poisons were for sale, and, finally, one caught his eye. He approached a man who had not yet entered old age but was not far from it, and he bowed his head slightly. The man barely inclined his own.

“What sort of thing is this?” Gellert asked. The man gave a kind of snort, looking at the young man that had approached him.

“Ink,” the man said gruffly. “Poisoned ink. One word on a piece of paper, and the whole paper’s poison to the touch. You buyin’ or not? If not, get out of here. It’s bad for business to have your lot around.”

“My lot?” Gellert asked.

“Students. We aren’t s’posed to have any dealings with underaged--”

“I’m of age. Seventeen, actually.”

“Well, you don’ look it. Now buy or get.”

“How much for a vial?”

“Ten sickles.”

Gellert set down the money and picked up one of the vials in the opposite hand as the one he was carrying his book with. The man shooed him off quickly, and Gellert fought the impulse to curse him once his back was turned.

All in all, Gellert decided, the trip had been a rather successful one. He stole back to Diagon Alley, finding a shop for writing supplies when he spied his great-aunt looking for him. He made as if exiting the shop and greeted her with a wave.

“Great-aunt Bathilda!” he called and she smiled to see him.

“Well! I’m glad you found yourself some things!” Gellert held out the purse to her, but she shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. Keep the rest. You need some money of your own, in case you want to buy something.” Gellert did not see a reason to tell her that he had his own money that he had brought with him from Germany. If she wanted to give him more money, he was not going to argue.

After agreeing that there were no more shops to go to, the two returned to Bathilda’s home, and Gellert immediately went up into his room. The dueling book was placed on his bed. He would translate it, he decided, tonight. There was surely a Latin textbook somewhere in the library downstairs, he was sure of that. He considered the ink bottle for some time. Finally, he decided on where to put it. He opened the left drawer of his desk, empty for now, and placed the bottle there. That way, it could not be used unless he specifically intended to use it.

Gellert turned toward the mirror in his room and looked at it, freeing the necklace from beneath his shirt. He stroked it slightly, murmuring as he admired his reflection, “A very productive outing, I do believe.”