And what ideas they were.

    And what ideas they were. Profoundly shocking though Albus Dumbledore’s
fans will find it, here are the thoughts of their seventeen-year-old hero, as
relayed to his new best friend. (A copy of the original letter may be seen on
page 463.)

      Gellert ---
           Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES’
      OWN GOOD --- this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given
      power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us
      responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the
      foundation stone upon which we build. Where we are opposed, as we
      surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize
      control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where
      we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no
      more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain,
      because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)
           Albus

    Astonished and appalled though his many admirers will be, this letter
constitutes the Statute of Secrecy and establishing Wizard rule over Muggles.
What a blow for those who have always portrayed Dumbledore as the Muggle-
borns’ greatest champion! How hollow those speeches promoting Muggle rights

seem in the light of this damning new evidence! How despicable does Albus
Dumbledore appear, busy plotting his rise to power when he should have been
mourning his mother and caring for his sister!

Educated at Durmstrang,

   The very same summer that Dumbledore went home to Godric’s Hollow,
now an orphan and head of the family, Bathilda Bagshot agreed to accept into
her home her great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald.
   The name of Grindelwald is justly famous: In a list of Most Dangerous Dark
Wizards of All Time, he would miss out on the top spot only because You-

Know-Who arrived, a generation later, to steal his crown. As Grindelwald never
extended his campaign of terror to Britain, however, the details of his rise to
power are not widely known here.
    Educated at Durmstrang, a school famous even then for its unfortunate
tolerance of the Dark Arts, Grindelwald showed himself quite as precociously
brilliant as Dumbledore. Rather than channel his abilities into the attainment of
awards and prizes, however, Gellert Grindelwald devoted himself no other
pursuits. At sixteen years old, even Durmstrang felt it could no longer turn a
blind eye to the twisted experiments of Gellert Grindelwald, and he was
expelled.
    Hitherto, all that has been known of Grindelwald’s next movements is that he
“traveled around for some months.” It can now be revealed that Grindelwald
chose to visit his great-aunt in Godric’s Hollow, and that there, intensely
shocking though it will be for many to hear it, he struck up a close friendship
with none other than Albus Dumbledore.
    “He seemed a charming boy to me,” babbles Bathilda, “whatever he became
later. Naturally I introduced him to poor Albus, who was missing the company
of lads his own age. The boys took to each other at once.”
    They certainly did. Bathilda shows me a letter, kept by her that Albus
Dumbledore sent Gellert Grindelwald in the dead of night.
    “Yes, even after they’d spent all day in discussion --- both such brilliant
young boys, they got on like a cauldron on fire --- I’d sometimes hear an owl
tapping at Gellert’s bedroom window, delivering a letter from Albus! An idea
would have struck him and he had to let Gellert know immediately!”

So what was Albus doing

   So what was Albus doing, if not comforting his wild young brother? The
answer, it seems, is ensuring the continued imprisonment of his sister. For
though her first jailer had died, there was no change in the pitiful condition of
Ariana Dumbledore. Her very existence continued to be known only to those
few outsiders who, like “Dogbreath” Doge, could be counted upon to believe in
the story of her “ill health.”
   Another such easily satisfied friend of the family was Bathilda Bagshot, the
celebrated magical historian who has lived in Godric’s Hollow for many years.
Kendra, of course, had rebuffed Bathilda when she first attempted to welcome
the family to the village. Several years later, however, the author sent an owl to
Albus at Hogwarts, having been favorably impressed by his paper on trans-
species transformation in Transfiguration Today. This initial contract led to
acquaintance with the entire Dumbledore family. At the time of Kendra’s death,
Bathilda was the only person in Godric’s Hollow who was on speaking terms
with Dumbledore’s mother.
   Unfortunately, the brilliance that Bathilda exhibited earlier in her life has
now dimmed. “The fire’s lit, but the cauldron’s empty,” as Ivor Dillonsby put it
to me, or, in Enid Smeek’s slightly earthier phrase, “She’s nutty as squirrel
poo.” Nevertheless, a combination of tried-and-tested reporting techniques
enabled me to extract enough nuggets of hard fact to string together the whole
scandalous story.
   Like the rest of the Wizarding world, Bathilda puts Kendra’s premature death
down to a backfiring charm, a story repeated by Albus and Aberforth in later
years. Bathilda also parrots the family line on Ariana, calling her “frail” and
“delicate.” On one subject, however, Bathilda is well worth the effort I put into
procuring Veritaserum, for she, and she alone, knows the full story of the best-
kept secret of Albus Dumbledore’s life. Now revealed for the first time, it calls
into question everything that his admirers believed of Dumbledore: his
supposed hatred of the Dark Arts, his opposition into the oppression of Muggles,
even his devotion to his own family.

Now approaching his eighteenth birthday,

         Ignoring the remainder of the photographs, Harry searched the pages around them
for a recurrence of that fatal name. He soon discovered it and read greedily, but became
lost: It was necessary to go farther back to make sense of it all, and eventually he found
himself at the start of a chapter entitled “The Greater Good.” Together, he and Hermione
started to read:

            Now approaching his eighteenth birthday, Dumbledore left Hogwarts in a blaze
            of glory --- Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize for
            Exceptional Spell-Casting, British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot,
            Gold Medal-Winner for Ground-Breaking Contribution to the International
            Alchemical Conference in Cairo. Dumbledore intended, next, to take a Grand
            Tour with Elphias “Dogbreath” Doge, the dim-witted but devoted sidekick he
            had picked up at school.
               The two young men were staying at the Leaky Cauldron in London,
            preparing to depart for Greece the following morning, when an owl arrived
            bearing news of Dumbledore’s mother’s death. “Dogbreath” Doge, who refused
            to be interviewed for this book, has given the public his own sentimental

version of what happened next. He represents Kendra’s death as a tragic blow,
and Dumbledore’s decision to give up his expedition as an act of noble self-
sacrifice.
   Certainly Dumbledore returned to Godric’s Hollow at once, supposedly to
“care” for his younger brother and sister. But how much care did he actually
give them?
   “He were a head case, that Aberforth,” said Enid Smeek, whose family lived
on the outskirts of Godric’s Hollow at that time. “Ran wild. ‘Course, with his
mum and dad gone you’d have felt sorry for him, only he kept chucking goat
dung at my head. I don’t think Albus was fussed about him. I never saw them
together, anyway.”

No, she probably wasn’t.

         Hermione read the few lines of spiky, acid-green writing aloud.
         “ ‘Dear Bally, Thanks for your help. Here’s a copy of the book, hope you like it.
You said everything, even if you don’t remember it. Rita.’ I think it must have arrived
while the real Bathilda was alive, but perhaps she wasn’t in any fit state to read it?”
         “No, she probably wasn’t.”
         Harry looked down upon Dumbledore’s face and experienced a surge of savage
pleasure: Now he would know if all the things that Dumbledore had never thought it
worth telling him, whether Dumbledore wanted him to or not.
         “You’re still really angry at me, aren’t you?” said Hermione; he looked up to see
fresh tears leaking out of her eyes, and knew that his anger must have shown in his face.
         “No,” he said quietly. “No, Hermione, I know it was an accident. You were trying
to get us out of there alive, and you were incredible. I’d be dead if you hadn’t been there
to help me.”
         He tried to return her watery smile, then turned his attention to the book. Its spine
was stiff; it had clearly never been opened before. He riffled through the pages, looking
for photographs. He came across the one he sought almost at once, the young
Dumbledore and his handsome companion, roaring with laughter at some long-forgotten
joke. Harry dropped his eyes to the caption.

                      Albus Dumbledore, shortly after his mother’s death,
                               With his friend Gellert Grindelwald.

         Harry gaped at the last word for several long moments. Grindelwald. His friend
Grindelwald. He looked sideways at Hermione, who was still contemplating the name as
though she could not believe her eyes. Slowly she looked up at Harry.
         “Grindelwald!”

And he fainted.

Through a haze of rain and pain he dived for the shimmering, sneering
face below him and saw its eyes widen with fear: Malfoy thought
Harry was attacking him.

"What the -" he gasped, careening out of Harry's way.

Harry took his remaining hand off his broom and made a wild snatch;
he felt his fingers close on the cold Snitch but was now only
gripping the broom with his legs, and there was a yell from the crowd
below as he headed straight for the ground, trying hard not to pass
out.

With a splattering thud he hit the mud and rolled off his broom. His
arm was hanging at a very strange angle; riddled with pain, he heard,
as though from a distance, a good deal of whistling and shouting. He
focused on the Snitch clutched in his good hand.

"Aha," he said vaguely. "We've won."

And he fainted.

He came around, rain falling on his face, still lying on the field, with
someone leaning over him. He saw a glitter of teeth.

"Oh, no, not you," he moaned.

"Doesn't know what he's saying," said Lockhart loudly to the anxious
crowd of Gryffindors pressing around them. "Not to worry, Harry.
I'm about to fix your arm."

"No!" said Harry. "I'll keep it like this, thanks ..."

He tried to sit up, but the pain was terrible. He heard a familiar
clicking noise nearby.

"I don't want a photo of this, Colin," he said loudly.

For an agonizing moment

"Ready to resume play?" she asked Wood.

Wood looked at the determined look on Harry's face.

"All right," he said. "Fred, George, you heard Harry -leave him alone
and let him deal with the Bludger on his own."

The rain was falling more heavily now. On Madam Hooch's whistle,
Harry kicked hard into the air and heard the telltale whoosh of the
Bludger behind him. Higher and higher Harry climbed; he looped and
swooped, spiraled, zigzagged, and rolled. Slightly dizzy, he nevertheless
kept his eyes wide open, rain was speckling his glasses and ran up his
nostrils as he hung upside down, avoiding another fierce dive from the
Bludger. He could hear laughter from the crowd; he knew he must
look very stupid, but the rogue Bludger was heavy and couldn't change
direction as quickly as Harry could; he began a kind of roller-coaster
ride around the edges of the stadium, squinting through the silver sheets of
rain to the Gryffindor goal posts, where Adrian Pucey was trying to get past
Wood ...

A whistling in Harry's ear told him the Bludger had just missed him
again; he turned right over and sped in the opposite direction.

"Training for the ballet, Potter?" yelled Malfoy as Harry was forced to
do a stupid kind of twirl in midair to dodge the Bludger, and he fled, the
Bludger trailing a few feet behind him; and then, glaring back at
Malfoy in hatred, he saw it - the Golden Snitch. It was hovering inches
above Malfoy's left ear - and Malfoy, busy laughing at Harry, hadn't
seen it.

For an agonizing moment, Harry hung in midair, not daring to speed
toward Malfoy in case he looked up and saw the Snitch.

WHAM.

He had stayed still a second too long. The Bludger had hit him at last,
smashed into his elbow, and Harry felt his arm break. Dimly, dazed by
the searing pain in his arm, he slid sideways on his rain-drenched
broom, one knee still crooked over it, his right arm dangling useless at
his side - the Bludger came pelting back for a second attack, this time
aiming at his face - Harry swerved out of the way, one idea firmly
lodged in his numb brain: get to Malfoy.

We were twenty feet above her

"What's going on?" said Wood as the Gryffindor team huddled
together, while Slytherins in the crowd jeered. "We're being
flattened. Fred, George, where were you when that Bludger stopped
Angelina scoring?"

"We were twenty feet above her, stopping the other Bludger from
murdering Harry, Oliver," said George angrily. "Someone's fixed it -
it won't leave Harry alone. It hasn't gone for anyone else all game.
The Slytherins must have done something to it."

"But the Bludgers have been locked in Madam Hooch's office since
our last practice, and there was nothing wrong with them then ..."
said Wood, anxiously.

Madam Hooch was walking toward them. Over her shoulder, Harry
could see the Slytherin team jeering and pointing in his direction.

"Listen," said Harry as she came nearer and nearer, "with you two
flying around me all the time the only way I'm going to catch the
Snitch is if it flies up my sleeve. Go back to the rest of the team and
let me deal with the rogue one."

"Don't be thick," said Fred. "It'll take your head off."

Wood was looking from Harry to the Weasleys.

"Oliver, this is insane," said Alicia Spinner angrily. "You can't let Harry
deal with that thing on his own. Let's ask for an inquiry ..."

"If we stop now, we'll have to forfeit the match!" said Harry. "And
we're not losing to Slytherin just because of a crazy Bludger! Come
on, Oliver, tell them to leave me alone!"

"This is all your fault," George said angrily to Wood. "Get the Snitch
or die trying," what a stupid thing to tell him!"

Madam Hooch had joined them.

It had started to rain;

Harry put on a burst of speed and zoomed toward the other end of the
pitch. He could hear the Bludger whistling along behind him. What
was going on? Bludgers never concentrated on one player like this; it
was their job to try and unseat as many people as possible ...

Fred Weasley was waiting for the Bludger at the other end. Harry
ducked as Fred swung at the Bludger with all his might; the Bludger
was knocked off course.

"Gotcha!" Fred yelled happily, but he was wrong; as though it was
magnetically attracted to Harry, the Bludger pelted after him once
more and Harry was forced to fly off at full speed.

It had started to rain; Harry felt heavy drops fall onto his face,
splattering onto his glasses. He didn't have a clue what was going on
in the rest of the game until he heard Lee Jordan, who was
commentating, say, "Slytherin lead, sixty points to zero.'

The Slytherins' superior brooms were clearly doing their jobs, and
meanwhile the mad Bludger was doing all it could to knock Harry
out of the air. Fred and George were now flying so close to him on
either side that Harry could see nothing at all except their flailing arms
and had no chance to look for the Snitch, let alone catch it.

"Someone's - tampered - with - this - Bludger -" Fred grunted,
swinging his bat with all his might at it as it launched a new attack on
Harry.

"We need time out," said George, trying to signal to Wood and stop
the Bludger breaking Harry's nose at the same time.

Wood had obviously got the message. Madam Hooch's whistle rang
out and Harry, Fred, and George dived for the ground, still trying to
avoid the mad Bludger.

So no pressure, Harry

Chest heaving with emotion, Wood turned to Harry.

"It'll be down to you, Harry, to show them that a Seeker has to have
something more than a rich father. Get to that Snitch before Malfoy or
die trying, Harry, because we've got to win today, we've got to."

"So no pressure, Harry" said Fred, winking at him.

As they walked out onto the pitch, a roar of noise greeted them; mainly
cheers, because Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff were anxious to see
Slytherin beaten, but the Slytherins in the crowd made their boos and
hisses heard, too. Madam Hooch, the Quidditch teacher, asked Flint
and Wood to shake hands, which they did, giving each other
threatening stares and gripping rather harder than was necessary.

"On my whistle," said Madam Hooch. "Three ... two ... one ...

With a roar from the crowd to speed them upward, the fourteen
players rose toward the leaden sky. Harry flew higher than any of
them, squinting around for the Snitch.

"All right there, Scarhead?" yelled Malfoy, shooting underneath him as
though to show off the speed of his broom.

Harry had no time to reply. At that very moment, a heavy black
Bludger came pelting toward him; he avoided it so narrowly that he
felt it ruffle his hair as it passed.

"Close one, Harry!" said George, streaking past him with his club in his
hand, ready to knock the Bludger back toward a Slytherin. Harry saw
George give the Bludger a powerful whack in the direction of Adrian
Pucey, but the Bludger changed direction in midair and shot straight
for Harry again.

Harry dropped quickly to avoid it, and George managed to hit it hard
toward Malfoy. Once again, the Bludger swerved like a boomerang
and shot at Harry's head.

Into that bosom

The singing and the dance fulfilled their measure,
  And unto us those holy lights gave need,
  Growing in happiness from care to care.

Then broke the silence of those saints concordant
  The light in which the admirable life
  Of God's own mendicant was told to me,

And said: "Now that one straw is trodden out
  Now that its seed is garnered up already,
  Sweet love invites me to thresh out the other.

Into that bosom, thou believest, whence
  Was drawn the rib to form the beauteous cheek
  Whose taste to all the world is costing dear,

And into that which, by the lance transfixed,
  Before and since, such satisfaction made
  That it weighs down the balance of all sin,

Whate'er of light it has to human nature
  Been lawful to possess was all infused
  By the same power that both of them created;

And hence at what I said above dost wonder,
  When I narrated that no second had
  The good which in the fifth light is enclosed.

Now ope thine eyes to what I answer thee,
  And thou shalt see thy creed and my discourse
  Fit in the truth as centre in a circle.

Paradiso: Canto XIII

Paradiso: Canto XIII


Let him imagine, who would well conceive
  What now I saw, and let him while I speak
  Retain the image as a steadfast rock,

The fifteen stars, that in their divers regions
  The sky enliven with a light so great
  That it transcends all clusters of the air;

Let him the Wain imagine unto which
  Our vault of heaven sufficeth night and day,
  So that in turning of its pole it fails not;

Let him the mouth imagine of the horn
  That in the point beginneth of the axis
  Round about which the primal wheel revolves,--

To have fashioned of themselves two signs in heaven,
  Like unto that which Minos' daughter made,
  The moment when she felt the frost of death;

And one to have its rays within the other,
  And both to whirl themselves in such a manner
  That one should forward go, the other backward;

And he will have some shadowing forth of that
  True constellation and the double dance
  That circled round the point at which I was;

Because it is as much beyond our wont,
  As swifter than the motion of the Chiana
  Moveth the heaven that all the rest outspeeds.

There sang they neither Bacchus, nor Apollo,
  But in the divine nature Persons three,
  And in one person the divine and human.

O thou his father, Felix verily!

As soon as the espousals were complete
  Between him and the Faith at holy font,
  Where they with mutual safety dowered each other,

The woman, who for him had given assent,
  Saw in a dream the admirable fruit
  That issue would from him and from his heirs;

And that he might be construed as he was,
  A spirit from this place went forth to name him
  With His possessive whose he wholly was.

Dominic was he called; and him I speak of
  Even as of the husbandman whom Christ
  Elected to his garden to assist him.

Envoy and servant sooth he seemed of Christ,
  For the first love made manifest in him
  Was the first counsel that was given by Christ.

Silent and wakeful many a time was he
  Discovered by his nurse upon the ground,
  As if he would have said, 'For this I came.'

O thou his father, Felix verily!
  O thou his mother, verily Joanna,
  If this, interpreted, means as is said!



Not for the world which people toil for now
  In following Ostiense and Taddeo,
  But through his longing after the true manna,

He in short time became so great a teacher,
  That he began to go about the vineyard,
  Which fadeth soon, if faithless be the dresser;

And of the See, (that once was more benignant
  Unto the righteous poor, not through itself,
  But him who sits there and degenerates,)

Not to dispense or two or three for six,
  Not any fortune of first vacancy,
  'Non decimas quae sunt pauperum Dei,'

He asked for, but against the errant world
  Permission to do battle for the seed,
  Of which these four and twenty plants surround thee.

Then with the doctrine and the will together,

  With office apostolical he moved,
  Like torrent which some lofty vein out-presses;

And in among the shoots heretical
  His impetus with greater fury smote,
  Wherever the resistance was the greatest.

The soldiery of Christ

And it began: "The love that makes me fair
  Draws me to speak about the other leader,
  By whom so well is spoken here of mine.

'Tis right, where one is, to bring in the other,
  That, as they were united in their warfare,
  Together likewise may their glory shine.

The soldiery of Christ, which it had cost
  So dear to arm again, behind the standard
  Moved slow and doubtful and in numbers few,

When the Emperor who reigneth evermore
  Provided for the host that was in peril,
  Through grace alone and not that it was worthy;

And, as was said, he to his Bride brought succour
  With champions twain, at whose deed, at whose word
  The straggling people were together drawn.

Within that region where the sweet west wind
  Rises to open the new leaves, wherewith
  Europe is seen to clothe herself afresh,

Not far off from the beating of the waves,
  Behind which in his long career the sun
  Sometimes conceals himself from every man,

Is situate the fortunate Calahorra,
  Under protection of the mighty shield
  In which the Lion subject is and sovereign.

Therein was born the amorous paramour
  Of Christian Faith, the athlete consecrate,
  Kind to his own and cruel to his foes;

And when it was created was his mind
  Replete with such a living energy,
  That in his mother her it made prophetic.

who chose him unto so much good

When He, who chose him unto so much good,
  Was pleased to draw him up to the reward
  That he had merited by being lowly,

Unto his friars, as to the rightful heirs,
  His most dear Lady did he recommend,
  And bade that they should love her faithfully;

And from her bosom the illustrious soul
  Wished to depart, returning to its realm,
  And for its body wished no other bier.

Think now what man was he, who was a fit
  Companion over the high seas to keep
  The bark of Peter to its proper bearings.

And this man was our Patriarch; hence whoever
  Doth follow him as he commands can see
  That he is laden with good merchandise.

But for new pasturage his flock has grown
  So greedy, that it is impossible
  They be not scattered over fields diverse;

And in proportion as his sheep remote
  And vagabond go farther off from him,
  More void of milk return they to the fold.

Verily some there are that fear a hurt,
  And keep close to the shepherd; but so few,
  That little cloth doth furnish forth their hoods.

Now if my utterance be not indistinct,
  If thine own hearing hath attentive been,
  If thou recall to mind what I have said,

In part contented shall thy wishes be;
  For thou shalt see the plant that's chipped away,
  And the rebuke that lieth in the words,

'Where well one fattens, if he strayeth not.'"