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Harry broke off the conversation with Ravarena to gather himself, which he needed to do because his whole world was spinning.
Why were there so many Grindelwald supporters here? This was like going to rural Austria and getting a Hitler salute back if you did one at a bar with primarily old people.
He paused. "Wait, you can still do that; actually, they never got denazified."
Nevertheless, he still looked around somewhat desperately for a familiar face that wasn't Snape and eventually settled on Quirrell, who had seemingly just finished a conversation with a tall witch dressed in what looked to be a dragonhide jumpsuit.
Quirrell's, or Voldemort's sexual preferences aside, in a weird way, his Defence against the Dark Arts professor was now the only person he even tangentially trusted.
He sidled up to the black-cloaked man who seemed to be contemplating his life in the reflection of the champagne in his hand, "Did you notice that everyone here is a Grindelwald supporter?" he hissed quietly.
Quirrell turned around to throw him a neutral glance. "Somebody's read their history books," he said. "I guess it's the only way to learn with Binns these days. If I was headmaster, he would be exorcised within the day. Bloody Dumbledore," he spat in a slightly slurred speech pattern. Then he looked around suspiciously. "Why are you surprised? This is his former power base. Switzerland, Austria, and Germany; Central Europe, basically."
Harry blinked at the blaseness. "I mean, I thought he'd be less popular considering the deaths?" he asked.
"Oh, Grindelwald's not as popular as this soiree makes it seem, but his ideas never really died out. Or rather, his image is too valuable not to attract a bunch of vultures trying to hang themselves off it. You yourself professed that you wouldn't mind magicals being able to express themselves freely when I asked you about it," Quirrell said. "But if you actually want to discuss this thing, then doing so outside would likely be smarter. Voices here echo more than the bombs they dropped on London back when I was your age. Why, kids these days barely understand how good they have it."
Harry couldn't believe that he was getting a drunken rant about the old days where they had to walk ten miles to school, uphill, in both directions, from Voldemort of all people. Next, the man would tell him that back in the old days, the radio had only two buttons, on and off.
"I didn't know you were old enough to remember the Blitzkrieg," Harry said sarcastically.
Quirrell froze for a second, then put on a fake smile that stretched his face a bit too much. "I moisturise; you should try it."
Harry looked up at the ceiling of the church, seriously considering going back outside to the graveyard with Voldemort, of all people, just to avoid a bunch of Grindelwald supporters.
"Let's get you outside, Grandpa," he said instead and started heading towards the exit. Quirrell followed closely behind, exchanging his suddenly empty flute of champagne for a new one as he did so.
Harry, meanwhile, grabbed at a glass of whiskey on a tray being carried by a house elf, only for the little bugger to dodge and eye him suspiciously.
"Is sir being 17?" the house elf asked stiltedly.
"Yes, bloody hell, now hand over the goods," Harry snarled and grasped out a hand only to meet an invisible barrier. The house elf scampered off while Quirrell snickered and put his wand back into his robes.
"Underage drinking, Mr. Evans, is this the dark side of genius that the world doesn't get to see?"
"You're one to talk about morality," Harry threw back.
Quirrell dangerously narrowed his eyes. "And why would that be? What have I done, exactly."
Harry raced for an answer inside his head, not really being able to call the man a murderer. Thank god he'd tested his occlumency against Dumbledore and had been able to thus remove his anxiety about that. "You're getting drunk in front of impressionable youth like me, and you expect me not to want to drink myself? You do know that seeing figures of authority like teachers drinking alcohol normalises it."
Quirrell stared at him blankly as they exited the church and walked past a few people smoking cigarettes and cigars and chatting about some political reform.
"Young people these days talk back too much," he eventually muttered before throwing back the entirety of the champagne he had on him and throwing away the glass. It broke noisily against a headstone.
Harry, meanwhile, was looking jealous of the smokers. It had been ages since he'd smoked a good cigar.
"You are not going over and asking those men for a cigarette. Britain's reputation abroad is already deplorable as it is. We don't need to add your shenanigans on top of that," Quirrell warned.
Harry looked at the man disbelievingly before petulantly crossing his arms. "But all the other kids smoke," he complained.
"If the other kids jumped off a bridge, would you follow them?" Quirrell asked.
Harry pouted.
"Wait, why am I wasting my time with you," Quirrell suddenly muttered. "This is my first vacation in…" he trailed off, going cross-eyed.
"Weren't you on a sabbatical last year?" Harry questioned dubiously.
"A sabbatical isn't a vacation." Quirrell scoffed. "I used it as an opportunity to become a changed man. It was very hard."
"If you'll remember, we talked back in my first year, the only thing you've changed is that you wear a turban and have switched your colour palette to purple or black only," Harry muttered.
"With a change of character comes a change of fashion," the professor said wisely. "Anyway, you wanted to discuss Grindelwald, right?" he went on to ask.
"Want to is a strong word, but I came here expecting a New Year's gala for half-bloods, not for Grindelwald supporters."
"They're mere pretenders. However, why do you think that being a half-blood and disdaining the statute are two incompatible concepts?" Quirrell replied.
"I don't know, half-bloods presumably have more empathy since they lived amongst muggles?" Harry questioned.
"Just because they have more empathy doesn't mean that they don't want to stand up for their rights," Quirrell scoffed. "In fact, I'd argue that being a half-blood can give one a unique perspective into why muggles should not be allowed to run rampant. Why, just this century alone, they've created and perpetuated more suffering than wizarding kind in their whole history."
"They simply have a larger population, which means their atrocities are scaled up," Harry argued weakly.
Quirrell frowned. "Scaled up indeed, so scaled up that there is an actual still-expanding hole in the ozone layer above the Antarctic. I think that with their world wars, nuclear weapons and crimes against nature, muggles have more than proven that they can't be trusted with ruling even themselves."
"Administering them would still be too much of a work-sink," Harry muttered. "I say we go to space."
Quirrell rolled his eyes. "Ah yes, going to space, the final solution. Just let them destroy the earth in absentia, our heritage. Regardless, I think this sect of Grindelwald reformers doesn't want to rule over muggles. They are half-bloods, after all. No, leave the ruling to the Grindelwald purists."
"There's a split?" Harry asked.
"Of course. The purists are those who follow Grindelwald's vision under the concept of blood purity. They don't really understand muggles. Their view is hundreds of years behind. They don't know that muggles do represent a threat in a way. The cold war might be ending with the fall of the USSR, but all the nuclear silos are still just a few madmen away from wiping out billions of muggles, but more importantly, millions of magicals."
"So there's a split, and the half-bloods just want to push through Grindelwald's ideas on the statute of secrecy without making pure-bloods the legalised elite along the way?" Harry asked.
"Simplistically speaking, yes," Quirrell said. "The only issue both factions have is that they don't have a leader to flock behind who can affect change with their magical prowess and charisma. If such a person were present, or dare I say, already a leader of a country such as Britain, they could unify all these errant streams of frustration and spearhead a global revolution."
"Was this what Voldemort was trying to do?" Harry asked. "Take over Britain and then use that influence to rally the continent?"
Quirrell froze, and for a second, Harry didn't know why. The man didn't know that Harry knew that he was possessed if not just Voldemort himself. Then he remembered that people didn't use the name. Just as the silence was beginning to become dangerously long. A small laugh escaped the professor.
"You use his name," the man muttered, "fitting that you would." He shook his head. "The dark lord was likely trying to position himself as a potential figurehead of the discontented. The reason he didn't start his career on the continent was because if he didn't have his own power base first, he would have become a puppet of continental desires, rather than the rallying point for them. Europe is a much bigger and more complex place than Magical Britain. Still, Magical Britain is a country large enough that if you are at the head of it, nobody can believe they are taking advantage of you when you propose an alliance."
Harry nodded. Things were starting to make more sense. But, still, something didn't add up. "I never understood, however, why did Voldemort try to take over the country by force when he was, for all intents and purposes, charismatic and influential enough to simply be elected minister."
"I am not a history professor, but I think I can take a guess," Quirrell said with a dismissive hand gesture. "Getting elected would have certainly been easier, but it would have proved neither the magical strength necessary to unify the continent nor the political savvy to forcefully lead its ideologically opposed factions. For all his failings, Dumbledore is the most powerful wizard in at least Europe and also the symbolic vanquisher of Grindelwald and his movement. By succeeding in Britain and defeating Dumbledore once and for all, preferably in a duel like he did Grindelwald, The Dark Lord would have legitimised his claim as someone who could succeed where Grindelwald failed. Similarly, by holding on to power he achieved through force, he could prove at the same time his magical might and his political competence. In fact, being a minister of magic is a powerless and tragic lot. Winning it legally and then turning the country into a dictatorship is a worse starting position than taking over the country from the beginning. And well, if during the take-over all the potential political opponents of the future end up dying, then so be it."
"So Voldemort had to take over the country to prove that he was powerful enough to do so," Harry said haltingly.
"Essentially. The only way to show one's power is to utilise it. Dumbledore certainly had a reputation before he defeated Grindelwald, but it was defeating Grindelwald that skyrocketed and solidified it. Unfortunately for him, this meant that whoever wanted to take the reins and push the cause before his natural death would have to kill him to do so."
Harry thought back to how Voldemort had given the task of killing Dumbledore to Draco, whom he'd expected to fail and how Snape had used the opportunity to kill Dumbledore on the old man's terms.
Had Dumbledore orchestrated his own death partially also so that Voldemort would not get a reputation boost from doing it himself?
His head was spinning.
"So the movement needs a leader, a magically powerful one, preferably?" Harry asked.
"Of course, all movements need a leader," Quirrell said. "Different factions of the are now trying to manufacture their own Grindelwald. They haven't been blessed in being able to produce a magically powerful enough wizard or witch, but a reputation can be bought. Win a few tournaments, make a few inventions, learn to speak in front of a crowd, and suddenly you have a surrogate. You remember Habsburg, of course. The Austrian pure-bloods are desperate to prop him up, thinking that this will lead to additional benefits for them, but the boy is simply too incompetent. His losing to you in the duelling tournament was disastrous and embarrassing. They've been scrambling ever since."
"I didn't realise it was such a big deal," Harry said, surprised. "I've never felt like I was under threat of retaliation."
"A thirteen-year-old beating a sixteen-year-old, it was obviously a fluke and not something that's your fault. It would be hard to be this petty. There's no real reason to kill a child unless it's prophesied to be your doom, or something as asinine as that," he sighed wearily. "And if they were cheating, as I presume they were in some way, then making too much of a fuss would simply draw more attention to their failure."
"So different factions are vying for control of the player who will take over Grindelwald's mantle," Harry said. "But what is Snape doing? He said he's helping provide some of the research for Habsburg's reputation. How does that fit in with him being a representative of the half-bloods?"
"Snape is trying to play both sides, like a good Slytherin, but I think he's starting to realise that he simply doesn't have the magical prowess to be the eventual leader, so he's been propping himself up to be the power behind the throne, the trusted advisor of whoever ends up winning the crown. Talent is in short supply, so you have to cast your net wide. Why do you think you were invited?" Quirrell asked.
"They can't possibly think I'll be anyone's stand-in revolution leader," Harry said with a scoff.
Quirrell simply shrugged. "Why wouldn't they? They don't know you, and you haven't done anything to signal any sort of political allegiance. Right now, you're just a talented half-blood with no connections. Different political forces see you as a white sheet that can be painted in the desired colours and waved around as a flag. Of course, that comparison is overstating your perceived value. Others don't know how talented you are, even if I do, but that won't prevent them from trying to invest."
Harry frowned. "If this invitation is supposed to be an investment, then I'm not very impressed," he said.
The professor chuckled. "You're a doer, Mr. Evans; you don't let things develop. I'll give you a piece of advice, one half-blood to another," he winked. "Snape invited you because it would be a small step to invite you to a gathering and then offer you something with strings attached, such as duelling instruction or a specific potion that only he can make."
"I see," Harry muttered. For all that he'd been an adult in his last life, he hadn't been involved in high-stakes games where people manipulated each other for their gain. In this case, then, wouldn't it be preferable to act in a Machiavellian manner? "The state has no eternal allies, only eternal interests," he thus quoted. "I guess I'll have to see how much value I can extract without committing to their cause."
"I see that you have more Slytherin in you than just your ambition. Just keep in mind, an investment in someone is remarkably foolish if they cannot be led around by the most indestructible chain of all, their own self-interest," Quirrell said approvingly.
"What's the return of investment you're seeking then, professor?" Harry asked sarcastically.
"Merely help with my workload as a professor," Quirrell replied blithely. "As for what comes after, that's for me to keep and for you to find out."
Harry thought to his mother, a child thrown around by circumstances of fate due to her powerlessness. He needed power, not for any self-serving needs, but because his own existence proved that the powerless existed as nothing but toys for those who could play with them and break them whenever they wanted.
He put a hand up to cover his face and dragged it down slowly, letting his frustration and fear bleed out and leaving behind a blank mask of neutrality paired with slight amusement and interest.
"I guess there's nothing else to do but to play their game, at least until they realise that I'll flip the board on them when I have what I wanted," he said with a sigh.
"Do what you must, Mr. Evans. If you succeed in your endeavours, power will illuminate a path you previously could not perceive. If you fail, perhaps it was not fated. All greatness comes as a result of a series of meticulously calculated gambles," Quirrell said kindly.
"Greatness is for narcissists," Harry said as the last honest word out of his mouth for the evening. "I only need power." He re-entered the church under the eyes of the crucified god hanging above its entrance and the self-satisfied Dark Lord watching him go.
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AN: Hope you liked this chapter, read ahead on Patreon! About 100k words ahead over there, I'd say. I also have a new benefit, which is that once a month my subscribers can vote on which story gets an extra chapter that month. If you still remember, Harry Evans won last year for Christmas, decided to make that a more permanent fixture.