CHAPTER 1: DARK TIMES

Rain shimmered and thudded down on the cold, gray London street. The melody of the droplets was occasionally broken by the slosh of people’s footsteps as they walked down the boulevard, their coats wrapped tightly around their bodies, and their faces turned to the ground.  No one said a word as they passed each other.

 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.  Its 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 man, wrapped tightly 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 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 cloaked 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 faces. 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. The newcomer was stocky, 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 stranger yanked his large fur coat 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.  His fear was gone, and all that was left was his resolve. What this traveler had, what he carried with him, would change the world for better or worse. 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 nearby trashcan, and strode across the street towards the Leaky Bucket.

The newspaper lay open, its front page and large print staring up at any passersby. 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 Dumbledore’s attention.  It was the young, blond haired man who was at the German dictator’s side. Though a grim, taut smile stretched the muscles of the young man’s face, making him barely recognizable from whom he used 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.

Albus knew what he must do. He had allowed Grindelwald too much leniency, and had paid for it tenfold.  Now he had a chance to act, had an opportunity to set things right, and this traveler may hold his redemption.  Albus stepped through the door of the Leaky Bucket, with a spark of hope.

Sweeping past the trashcan, and skimming across the street, 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.

A/N: Thank you for taking the time to read my story.  I want to make a small note that the Leaky Bucket mentioned here will become the Leaky Cauldron by the end.