Chapter Text
“You did well,” he outstretched one of his hands to touch Credence’s cheek, letting the young man feel the warmth in his palm, while another hand still clutching the magical beast Credence had brought him. The young man’s hand fled to his, gripped Gellert’s own to stay in place, and basked in the rare affection. An abandoned child in need of a family, Credence would do anything to have any semblance of familial love, and Gellert was here to give it to the boy as he was the vital piece in Gellert’s plan, a pawn yet a significant one For the Greater Good, a necessary sacrifice to defeat the person who’s mattered in the dark wizard’s life. He opened his mouth and gave it another second for Credence to hold his hand before ordering, “Go,” too blunt, his eagerness to ask this young man to leave him alone with this extraordinary creature shown clearly; so he added more softly with a hint of worry in his word, “rest.”
As soon as his hand fell from the cold cheek, Gellert turned his attention to the creature in his embrace, barely noticing Credence walking towards the castle once the one thing he needed to defeat Albus and his cronies was in his hand. The wind graced his neat blond with white strands growing near the front and tousled it from the tidy position. He ran his hand through Qilin’s short fur. The majestic beast shivered under his touch, from fear or cold, he didn’t know. Probably from the former, part of his brain provided the thought.
With this, with Qilin’s power, his victory was absolute. He could feel the thrill running in his bloodstream, overwhelming him with certainty. A smirk crept up his face as he stared into the bottomless black of Qilin’s eyes. He put the beast down slowly to the grey brick stone with white frost coating them in the courtyard, kneeled with one knee in front of it, and pulled his hands back. He watched the baby Qilin fumbling with their long legs, unsteady given its only born a few hours ago—such a shame this magical beast should be put to its early end. The Qilin almost fell, and his hands propelled forwards instinctively, holding its head near and focused back at him. People often think he was heartless, cruel, and cold-blooded… they didn’t know him. He only did what was necessary—nothing more, nothing less.
Contrary to popular belief, he didn’t enjoy a bloodbath.
He looked at it under his lashes, feeling the wave of guilt start riding in his blood. Those night skies stared back at him unknowingly of its future, big and full of wonder; of the world around it; of the future humanity would hold; of the righteous leader it would bow down to.
He slid his gaze away from those eyes as the guilt settled heavily in his chest, making its presence hard to ignore now. Hands pressed together, no one to hold but their own. He let out a shaky breath, calling for his logical mind to come forth and let him do the deed already. Albus, his mind provided willingly. Ah, yes, without Qilin’s power, he couldn’t take down Albus. Yes, yes, this was one of the necessary sacrifices For the Greater Good. He bit down his lip and closed his eyes in resignation. When he opened them again, they were hard and full of determination. He retook the Qilin and put it on his other thigh, which wasn’t bearing his weight, one hand holding its neck dangerously while his dominant hand pulled his wand out of the holster. He cast a non-verbal spell to make his wand sharp and then sliced the Elder Wand to the creature’s neck while muttering the particular spell to have the sighting, the future. The majestic beast was writhing in pain in his embrace, blood dripping down to the white sleeve peeking underneath his coat. He held it close to his chest, swaying back and forth and softly whispering, “There… there.” As if it was a baby to be put to sleep instead of a creature on the brink of death’s door.
Well… the very least Gellert could do for this beast was to let it die in peace, in warm arms, and with a soothing voice accompanying it to be taken to the underworld.
He came to a halt when Qilin’s head lolled to the side. Another death, another hole in his chest. But this was necessary, he told himself. He repeated it like a prayer every morning he woke up, cold without Albus’ arms enveloping him like many, many years ago but still felt like yesterday’s memories.
For the Greater Good.
He put down the body to its pool of blood on the stone, now red instead of greyish white like a few minutes before, warm rather than cold. He observed the blood; they said it’s supposed to let him see the future, bold and clear, soon and near. Unlike his vision as the Seer, distant futures with many variables for them to change.
One thing that never changed: he was on top of the world, leading the wizarding world and the Muggle one.
He started to see lines forming shapes on the surface of the blood; he edged closer, focused on the black shapes separating themselves and now intertwining with each other. Then, in a jerk motion, those black things stabbed his eyes; he gasped, more of a shock than hurt. They are pulling him down but also pushing him away simultaneously. Mismatched eyes rolled back to his head as he felt the surge of magic from Qilin invading his body. Gellert let out another gasp; his palms met the cold stone and split his skin by the sudden impact, heavy of his body weight inclined to the front, folding it until his face almost touched the blood puddle. Overwhelmed with Qilin’s power riling his own magic, he couldn’t feel his limbs anymore. Yet, he still managed to keep his hands hold his weight. He choked on air, panting for oxygen and fighting the impulse just to let go and undo the ritual.
Albus, Albus, Albus, Albus, Albus—
Jaw muscles contracted as he gritted his teeth. The black lines turned to shapes still racing to his eyeballs, hindering his views. Funny, and what he wanted was The Sight. He tried to take a calming breath and let his magic simmer down to tranquil waters, soothe and serene, not allowing the outsider’s witchcraft to provoke it anymore. Then, slowly his magic pulled the creature’s ancient sorcery close again, intertwining it with sheer force and will, coercing it into joining with his, united as one, and sharing the power to see the near future being played out for him.
This phenomenon had never happened before, to the best of his knowledge. Was it because he was a Seer? And no Seer had ever done this before? He pushed the thought to the corner of his mind to inspect it later for his study. Now he needed all of his focus for the ritual to succeed. Innumerable dark magic—who knew Qilin’s power would become one of the darkest magic to be consumed like this—coursing through his veins, forcing him to bow down, the guilt that has settled now spreading to his fingertips. It was almost like it cursed him through his soul, similar to the crime of killing a unicorn. He shut his eyes tight as the last strand of the dense black—thing finally stopped assaulting his eyeballs. He could feel a conjoining of magic inside him and the tingles spreading throughout his body, eventually settling in his magical core, side by side with his own. He gave it a few seconds before relaxing his tensed shoulder, exhaustion finally catching up with him. Panting, he opened his eyes, now black as a night sky, even the whites on his eyes, not leaving any human traits. Before he could muster up the energy to stand up, a striking pain rushed to his borrowed eyes; he let out a restrained groan at the burn as his sight slowly morphed, the colossal steel gate of Nurmengard Castle blending into a crowd, pushing and pulling the images until the pain wormed to his head.
His vision turned black, and he went into nothingness.
The last thing he felt was a warm liquid splashing on his cheek as his hands and knees gave out and a woman’s voice, vaguely calling him in panic, “Grindelwald!”
Slowly, the edges of his vision started to come back, blurry images sharpening each time he blinked, trying to refocus on one point. He squinted his eyes from the sunlight penetrating his sight. Though it was a bit cloudy, the transition from total darkness to this made his hand fly to shield them—or so he thought. His hand didn’t do as he told; the beginning of unfamiliar fear galloped to his chest, the lack of control scratching his skin in a way that made him grit his teeth, especially if it was his own body that betrayed his mighty order. Was the feeling of his hand only a phantom limb? He snapped his gaze at his hand; yet, there it was as his mismatched eyes landed on it; it was still intact with the rest of his arm through his shoulder and stayed solid by his side. He let out a relief sigh at the same time as the fear dispersed in his sternum.
It was only a momentary relief since he still hadn’t gained control of his limbs.
Wait… that stairs leading up to a wooden gate—not a steel one like in his Nurmengard Castle. And with two wizards wearing muddy brown robes guarding it. He looked up and saw a bird's shadow, big enough that he knew it wasn’t a regular bird or Muggle’s animal. A magical beast. Then, a speck of ash floated to his cheek. Ah, a phoenix. Dumbledore. His hand went to wipe the ash off, not at his order—to his alarm. That unfamiliar fear lurked beneath his skin again.
Footsteps were approaching, and he turned his body. He felt like he was a puppet, and there was a puppet master controlling how his body should move and react with invisible strings. He figured out the only external organ that he could move was his eyes, and so he tried to gather all the information he had with it; looking around; there was a crowd, wizards and witches alike wearing a variety of robes from what Gellert knew was different customs from around the world. His eyes finally landed on the young man drawing near him, Credence. The boy’s cheekbones protruded, looking like he had lost a pound or more since the last time he had seen him. And he had just seen him this morning—wait…
His brain finally recounted the last memory before he drove into nothingness.
Now it was making sense. This was Qilin’s power in the works. Gellert felt relieved rushing through his body, diffusing the lurking dread. It’s the future. He didn’t only get The Sight; it seemed like he experienced it himself, living through them instead of just peeking into the future. Amazing. Ancient magic no wizard or witch had ever experienced but him. Pride swelled in his chest, dissipating the guilt of having killed a pure, innocent magical creature; to be the first to have this chance, and it might not work too for a standard wizard, it might have to be a Seer to get into this level of precognition.
And so he glanced around again, now wildly, sucking in all of the information provided by the Qilin’s power and storing them inside his mind, burning this future to the back of his eyes.
His mismatched eyes snapped to a dark pair when he felt something touching his face. Credence wiped the rest of the ash on his cheek with his thumb, slowly gracing Gellert’s prominent cheekbones, an aristocracy trait from his pureblood ancestor. Satisfied with cleaning up his leader’s face, Credence let out a childlike smile, probably seeking praise. Gellert felt his lips turning up, “Thank you, my boy.”
The young man bowed at him, then gradually lowered himself until he kneeled in front of Gellert Grindelwald. “Congratulations, my lord.”
A wave of wizards and witches behind Credence followed suit, rustling fabric and subtle thumping to the ground could be heard as people kneeling to their new leader of the International Confederations of Wizard, the current Supreme Mugwump. A burst of pride, dignity, and honor erupted in Gellert’s chest. Years after years of planning, being patient and enduring his suffering, and longing for Albus finally paid off. He was not at the finish line yet, but halfway there. Shame Albus wouldn’t see his vision come true as Gellert needed to defeat him for it to be fulfilled. Gellert’s eyes caught a man, one of the very few wizards and witches who didn’t kneel, standing straighter instead with his distinct auburn hair partly hidden by a fedora; there was plenty of white hair on his beard than the last time they met—at that muggle coffee shop.
Albus.
He wouldn’t let it show, but he dreaded this day… the day Albus challenged him openly despite their blood troth. Was the man able to destroy it? Surely Gellert would feel the effect of it, right? Or had his future self already felt it?
Albus’ bright blue eyes put the cloudless sky and shallow ocean to shame, staring at his own deep blue and rich brown, boring through his soul. He could feel his muscles tense at the upcoming confrontation. Thankfully he had planted the plan for Credence to face Albus; he didn’t have to duel his equal; he wasn’t sure he could. And no one should see his weakness. Let another person, his trusted follower, deal with one of the greatest wizards alive instead. He snorted at himself; if he hadn’t convinced Credence to join his cause, he would be miserable and distracted at the thought of having to fight Albus. Not that he had a lesser magical core than the man himself, he just couldn’t bear the thought of hurting Albus at his own hands. With Credence—he looked at the young man, still bowing his head diligently—well, he could justify it as the boy’s revenge against his family, albeit he had his manipulation at play.
“Stand up, my brothers and sisters! Your loyalty has been seen,” he heard himself speak, addressing the crowd with a grand gesture; the Elder Wand pointed at his neck, using Amplifying Charm to boost his voice. Credence slowly stood up and moved to his side at a reasonable distance. He almost pushed the boy back by instinct—if he ever had the control of his body anyway—because only one person deserved to be at his side. But doing so would unravel his already fragile bond with the boy, so he took his breath and went on with his speech, “Your loyalty to me is a loyalty to our magical community.” His eyes flicked to Albus again, drawn to him now that Gellert had found the man among the sea of people. “Though I see there are still our fellow wizards and witches who don’t share our vision. Let the time speak itself. Let us all unite in the end to stop the oncoming world war and put an end to the muggle tyranny! We will rise and be free!”
A loud cheer erupted in the crowd, wands raised, and spells were freely cast, simple fireworks with the color of Gellert Grindelwald’s party.
“Gellert,” Albus called him. No louder than usual chatter, but Gellert’s ears were just a bit—a lot—more sensitive to catch anything the man said that he heard him amidst the deafening cheer.
He looked at Albus. The former Hogwarts professor walked towards him, and he could sense Credence was tensing; the young man’s magic started to coil around him. As Albus was climbing up the stairs, separating himself from the crowd and onto the stage Gellert was standing on, the other wizards and witches finally realized something was happening. Slowly lowering their wands, the cheer died and was replaced by hushed murmurs.
Gellert saw Albus’ pained expression, probably regretting making his entrance so dramatic and turning everyone’s heads.
“Albus,” he greeted when the love of his life arrived, near enough for them to be speaking quietly but still be heard by each other. He let out a smile, even though the throb in his chest leaned towards a stabbing of knives instead of the cherished butterflies like before. Even… only the sight of Albus in the future made him feel this way.
“Gellert, I—“ Albus took out his wand from his pocket and gripped it hard at his side, showing Gellert that he was serious. Gellert could see a familiar dainty silver chain wrapping Albus’ wand hand before his eyes returned to Albus’. “To be frank, I don’t want to do this. But you’ve gone too far, old friend…,” Gellert scoffed at the term, but his old friend continued as if nothing happened, “And I—”
Someone in the crowd yelled, “What is Dumbledore doing there?!”
Gellert almost cursed that fool for daring to interrupt Albus but, alas, that wouldn’t be good for his reputation, especially the newborn Supreme Mugwump. Instead, he stepped forward, closing their distance until he was near enough to touch Albus’ cheek without stretching his arm. He could hear his heart drumming in his ear, to be this close with Albus again, and the man hadn’t made a move to distance himself—a sliver of hope to ask Albus to join his side, resurfacing.
“‘And I’…?” He prompted Albus to continue, voice gentle.
“I will do anything to stop your madness.”
Gellert sighed, “Must we do this dance every time? We can’t fight each other, Albus.”
Albus snorted at his statement and then blatantly looked at Credence, “You and I both know there are other ways.”
So Albus did know the real reason Gellert recruited Credence… in the small place in his heart; he still wished it wouldn’t come to that. Hence, in a last attempt to avoid that worst-case situation, he opened his arms wide, waiting for Albus to look back at him before persuading him, “Come home, Albus,” a different wording, he thought, maybe it would have a different answer. He emphasized it, “Come home to me. We’re halfway there. Our vision—your vision—would soon come true, and we don’t have to live in fear anymore.”
Was it working? He held his arms still in the air and ignored the feeling of soreness that started to creep in. It must be working with the way Albus’ lips tremble and eyes begin to water. He was tempted just to embrace the man in front of these people, but he held himself back; his future self was wise to wait until Albus decided for himself. Yet, his hope evaporated as soon as Albus broke their eye contact, blinking away the oncoming tears. The man’s teeth abused the bottom lip in a desperate manner before finally, his mouth opened up, and he glanced at Gellert again; the longing was gone now as he spoke fiercely, “You know I have chosen my side.”
Gellert let his arms drop to his sides at the same time as his heart fell to the ground. There was no other way then. He needed to get this done. He inhaled, bracing himself, and replied with a colder tone, “If you insist.” He stepped back, nodding at Credence, whose magic had started to boil; this young man would explode soon, Gellert noticed; either he calmed the boy down or let the Obscurial release his pent-up emotions. Gellert turned his back at Albus, “Do not blame me for what will happen.”
Gellert cursed his future self for turning his back. Now he couldn’t see anything but a dumb wooden gate and the guards! But maybe—was it because he couldn’t bear to see Credence completing his mission?
He heard Albus’ calm voice, “Aurelius, you don’t want to do this.”
Credence replied, “You—“ He gritted out, “All of this is because you—Dumbledores,” the name was spitted out thick with so much hatred that even Gellert flinched, “abandoned me! I am—I was one of you!”
“Yes, and I am truly sorry, my boy—“
“You don’t deserve to call me that! Only Grindelwald who gives me a home, a purpose, a family, and even a—wand who does! Something that none of you have ever done!” A pause, Credence was catching his breath. Gellert felt a speck of guilt for using Credence when the boy was clearly grateful to him. “And the moment you learned my existence—you don’t even look for me.”
Family drama. That would be his excuse when spells were fired off at each other. Then he would act to reprimand Credence so the people would still trust him but freeing the young man once the public eye was distracted by his next plan.
“I—“ Albus began before being cut off by another voice that didn’t sound like Credence, “EVERYONE! Gellert Grindelwald’s election was a fraud! The Qilin was already dead!”
His future body turned around so quickly that he worried he cracked his spine. He caught the eyes of the younger Scamander. Lips curled in disgust as he saw that freckled face again; ruining someone else’s day seemed to be Newt Scamander’s pastime.
“He did it to trick you,” Scamander shuffled to climb the stairs and joined them on the world stage, “He killed it and bewitched it so that you might think him worthy to lead. But he doesn’t want to lead you… he just wants you to follow.”
It took all of Gellert’s patience not to kill that scoundrel right there and then. Instead, he let out a long breath and half shrugged, “Words,” he began, approaching the younger man with a predatory gait, asserting dominance right from the start, “words designed to deceive. To make you doubt what you’ve seen with your own two eyes.”
“There were two Qilins born that night, a twin!” The reply was instantaneous, defensive, “And I know that… I know that—”
“Because?” Gellert interrupted him. He almost had it; he knew it; he could feel it. And he was right; the younger Scamander looked down at his feet, fidgeting with his hands at his side as he couldn’t answer Gellert. The corner of his lips turned upwards slightly at his victory, “Because you have no proof. Because there was no second Qilin.” He added, driving his point home at Scamander, “Am I not right?”
The man shook his head lightly while still avoiding eye contact with Gellert, “Its mother has been killed, it—”
“Then where is it now,” Gellert cut him off, “Mr. Scamander?”
In the corner of his eyes, he could see Albus approaching that scoundrel who finally looked up at Gellert and sent daggers with his eyes—as if it would even affect a Grindelwald.
“Newt, let me handle this,” when Albus’ hand landed on Scamander’s back, Gellert could feel one of his blood vessels rupture—a bit dramatic even for him, he must admit; he wasn’t a needy schoolboy anymore for Merlin’s sake. Albus turned around to the crowd, the wand pointed at his neck to amplify his voice, “I can vouch for Newt Scamander’s integrity—“
“Integrity, my arse!” Credence spitted, cut Albus off cleanly, “Out of people in this whole masses, you are the last person who could vouch for anyone’s integrity, Albus Dumbledore!” The boy stepped up, closing his distance to Albus, near enough to point his wand straight at his throat. Gellert saw the older Scamander was slowly creeping into the front row, wand ready by his side. “‘Man of principle, high moral compass,’ they said. Ha! They don’t know you very well, it seemed. Or is the world broken enough to let a person who abandoned their own family be called someone who has a high moral compass? Let me suffer at the hands of a No-Maj who hates our kind. Let me be abused throughout my childhood—and eventually led me to become a monster and be cursed and even hunted for it? …and it’s not even the first time, isn’t it?”
The front rows of the crowd collectively held their breath as Credence went on, intently listening to Dumbledores’ family scandal, while the back rows were tapping the others who heard clearly, eager to get the scandalous rant for themselves. And the subject of that said scandal glanced back at Gellert; blue eyes widened in disbelief, probably didn’t count that Gellert would confide in Credence about his family history. And in turn… about their history.
What did Albus think? Was that Credence that stupid to just follow him blindly without Gellert spilling his truth here and there to convince the boy? After all, perfect lies were the ones that had a bit of truth in them. And great manipulation was when he used intense emotions as the main repertoire. Let the boy feel they were close, bonded with the same tragedy, betrayed by a Dumbledore.
“You’re wrong,” Albus’ brother stepped up, neck muscles visibly tensed as he gripped the wand tight, “Ariana’s death was his fault!” He pointed the wand at Gellert.
“Aberforth,” Albus’ low voice warned his younger brother. Ah yes, the scene that unfolded before him now almost looked identical to the one that happened in Godric’s Hollow a few decades ago. But now, this time, he was an outsider looking at the fight.
Credence barked a manic laugh, “Don’t you know? Don’t you know that Grindelwald took the blame so Albus Dumbledore could live with himself?”
The implication of Ariana's true killer was clear, and he could feel the stare from Albus, but now, he pointedly ignored it. No, he just couldn't bring himself to return it; he was… he made a promise to himself to let Albus be freed from the burden. And he couldn’t let Albus know the truth through his mismatched eyes.
“Albus Dumbledore murdered his own family?” Someone in the crowd murmured, aghast at the revelation.
“Yes, his 14 years old sister, specifically,” Credence answered at the crowd without looking away from Albus.
Gasps could be heard from the masses, and as if an enchantment finally being lifted off, the reporters realized how scandalous this was and how it would enrage the public and, in turn, sell off the papers really well, so the flashes from the camera started going off here and there.
Aberforth gritted his teeth; his goat mustache trembled with rage, “Grindelwald—you! How could you—corrupted MY SON?!”
A spell was hurled toward him. Gellert was ready to flick his wand to counter it once he identified the curse, but Credence was faster this time—ah, a pleasant surprise. The young man didn’t particularly use his wand as he was still more dependent on his Obscurus power; he jumped in the way instead and let the magic consume him and defied the spell. In Gellert’s view, he could see the younger wizard no more, already morphing into an amorphous entity, a fluid-like cloud snapping violently in place before it expanded and attacked the Dumbledore brothers. It happened in a split second, but Gellert felt like the world slowed down around him as he saw it; the way Aberforth startled at the dark force and fumbled with his wand, how Albus seemed so resigned to his fate and did not bother to cast a powerful Shield Charm that Gellert knew he could do it in that mili second, and how he could feel his world was breaking at the same time he propelled his body towards Albus as the Elder Wand raced to make the movement of a Shield Charm that’s Albus supposed to do a little earlier.
But, fate always loved to play with Gellert, and Death was more than just an acquaintance now, too frequent visiting his life and taking the people around him home. Just a mere second. Gellert was only late for a very second, and now, when he finally caught Albus’ eyes again, they widened in pain as the violent torrent impaled him through the chest and out from his back, blood soaking his soft grey vest sweater and another dripping down to his chin from his parted lips.
Gellert knew at that moment that this would be his nightmare for the upcoming sleepless nights.
Someone let out a bellow of agony; so loud that it tore the sky; laced with their magic and affecting their surroundings—he vaguely noticed each brick he stepped on shattered… was that him? He couldn’t recognize the sound coming from his mouth, but he could feel his throat scratching after the scream. The veil of protection from the Shield Charm he conjured was blanketing both of them once he was near enough to hold Albus. For the first time, he got the impulse to break the Elder Wand into two pieces, yet the energy left out of his body before he could entertain the thought. His knees gave out, and he flopped to the ground. The shield was long overdue, the damage had been done, and no more Shield Charm was needed, though other people might think otherwise with how the dark force was trying to pierce the veil.
Now he understood why his future self had turned his back around. When facing imminent danger… his heart controlled his body, and after all this time, he was still volunteering to be Albus’ sword and shield.
Gellert gingerly cradled Albus’ head, slightly moving the lifeless body onto his lap. The bluest of the blue he had ever laid his eyes upon started to fade, the soul and usual twinkle gone. Gellert’s breath trembled as he lowered his head to Albus’ own, lips gracing the forehead lightly like a feather touch, carefully hovering above before pressing his forehead to his former lover’s. His broad shoulder shook silently, yet his grip on Albus’ body only tightened.
He thought he was already used to being separated from Albus, and he felt a few decades of training was more than enough for him to prepare himself for this inevitable end. But now that it was real… they were separated by the land of the living and the dead; there was no more lingering hope of asking Albus to join his side and for them to rule the world together…
It wasn’t—Gellert didn’t—it was a necessary sacrifice. The logical side of his brain spoke up.
He wished Credence didn’t succeed in his mission. His heart spoke louder.
He knew he was manipulating the boy and encouraged Credence’s rage towards the Dumbledores. But never did Gellert feel so remorseful that his plan had come to fruition before.
Maybe defeat didn’t equal death. Perhaps he should think more about his plan of killing Albus if it made him feel like—like someone just ripped his chest open and took his heart out and stomped on it repeatedly, smashed it into bits; like a giant void just appeared and swallowed him whole, put him into a limbo; like every breath he took hurt his lungs, there were shards of glasses shredded the wall of flesh; like drowning in the darkest ocean, not knowing if he would ever see the light again, choking for air but the water went into his lungs instead, dragging him deep, deep down to the bottom of the sea.
He didn’t know how long he stayed that way; the only indicator of the passage of time was his numbing legs. He hadn’t even thought about how the public would perceive him broken like this, witnessing him at his weakest moment and baring his vulnerable soul for everyone to watch. His eyes caught the glint of metal through the layer of blurry vision and saw their blood troth strapped around Albus’ hand along his forearm. He traced his fingers to Albus’ hand, feeling the warmth had left the body, leaving only coldness to Gellert’s heart and resurfacing the memory of them in front of the fireplace, with Gellert’s usual chilly hands being warmed up by Albus’ tepid ones. He swallowed the memory back to the darkness and took the physical form of their magical bond. He carefully inspected it and noticed that one of the swirling drops of blood blackened before slowly dispersing and tainted the other’s brilliant red with dark spots.
“Gellert Grindelwald, take down your Shield Charm and let the British Ministry handle its citizen’s body.”
Someone who sounded like the older Scamander spoke near him, yet the only attention he gave was to the now stagnant blood drop, alone in the container, yet still gave space on its side.
“Hand over Albus Dumbledore now.”
The tone of the voice edged his patience, so he looked up, glaring at the interruption. He underestimated the mess he looked like it seemed, with the way Theseus Scamander’s eyes widened, taken aback at his running tears, perhaps, once they locked eyes. Gellert replied with a snarl, lips curled up, baring his teeth as he threatened the younger man even to take a step closer; let his magic whirled around him, ready to pounce with powerful wandless magic no ordinary wizard could do. He was returning to the primal instinct to protect what mattered to him the most, albeit now the subject wasn’t breathing anymore.
Before he could do anything to satisfy his vengeance on the wrong person, the edges of his vision started to creep inwards, and the next time he blinked, he was in another place, another time. He stood at the podium, hands spread like wings to the masses. Probably after an invigorating speech, if the loud cheering was any indicator of the supposed reaction. So the public didn’t mind seeing his weakness… or maybe he managed to overcome it and made himself become a more approachable leader. And perhaps, he finally crushed the title of the most heartless and merciless wizard in their time.
His gaze swept the sea of people, trying to find its end in the broad street, yet he failed; his eyes met with a horizon full of wizards and witches, raising their wands eagerly, firing off fireworks with his color party. He blinked through the unseen tears; a thought that wasn’t his crossed his mind; he wished Albus was by his side, seeing this together with him as the leaders of the world, uniting the whole magic community as one, together they were going to announce their presence to the No-Maj and be free to use their magic in the open.
But… Albus Dumbledore was here no more.
The corner of his lips turned upwards, and he showed his followers the practiced charming smile to enthralled living beings, and the crowd responded with a louder roar. But the thrill, the happiness, and the satisfying feeling he thought he would have the moment he succeeded in achieving his vision—their dream—wasn’t there. All he could feel was hollow, a void sat in the center of his chest, and no cheer could fill it up. He couldn’t—he bit his cheek as the realization hit him… he didn’t care. He truly didn’t care about the situation he was in right now. All he could think about was Albus, Albus, and Albus. How those blue eyes widened in pain, his head lolled in Gellert’s hands, gingerly moved it to his own; how Gellert’s throat hurt, screaming Albus’ name as if doing so would bring back the mischievous twinkle in the blues he loved.
He couldn’t even find the energy or the will to care… all he did know was that the logical side of his brain was the only one operating. It felt like he was pushed to the corner of his mind and only watched from afar what his body was doing and responding to the world around him.
He stepped off the podium and returned to the old brick stone building. Vinda Rosier accompanied him along the way to the entrance before bowing and letting him go inside by himself. His future body led him towards a room he had never known before, a large twin door with the guards on each side nodding at him. They opened the door for him, and he walked inside the vast bedroom with the lone, grand, four-poster mahogany bed frame at its center, illuminated beautifully by the sun behind him, part of which was blocked with his long shadow from the doorway. He ignored the delicate decorations in the room and sauntered straight to the bed, not bothering to flick on the light, even when the guards closed its doors, and he had a hard time seeing his foot. However, he had succeeded in arriving at the bed and immediately flopped onto the soft mattress; he just sat there, in the darkness, as his life was now without Albus. He let out the blood pact from his breast pocket—he still had it… long fingers rub the cold metal framing the lone blood drop inside, guarding it safely. He looked at the specks of black spots that used to be Albus’ had started to spread and darken his own. The color was brownish instead of red like he remembered a moment before.
How much time had passed between this future and before?
His eyes stared at the blood pact while his mind supplied him with hundreds of memories rolling like a film. The first time he saw those bright, curious blue eyes glancing shyly at him, eyes shifting from the book to his face multiple times, it made Gellert chuckle; and he finally introduced himself as the newcomer in the village, unable to concentrate on his own book. The brilliant discussion that followed, how the boy’s mind entranced him as much as the stunning appearance, the accidental touches when they were sitting next to each other in the library, huddled close as they read the same book, fingers pointing to the page, and knees knocked occasionally. He remembered thinking that if it took him to be expelled from Durmstrang to accidentally stumbled upon Albus Dumbledore in an innocent little village in Britain, he would do it again in a heartbeat. The way he lost his breath when Albus let out a gentle smile reserved only for him and graced his cheekbones with those knuckles, rough from hard work, taking care of the ungrateful sibling and the sweet one; before diving down and kissing him on the lips, slow, as they rolled on the picnic mat. His vision blurred as he kept staring at the blood troth. He tried to blink the memories away to no avail.
What was this for again? Wasn’t it for Albus? For Ariana to live freely? He bowed his head down. The ache in his chest started to pulsate harder, rivaling his heartbeat.
Was it worth Albus’ life?
He felt his magic start to coil beneath the surface of his skin, ready to lash out and just—let out his emotions in the open, promising him to alleviate his pain for a moment, a temporary relief. And so he finally did give in, releasing raw wandless magic that made the air dance around him, the bed frame shook from the sheer pressure, and the glasses cabinet in the room, along with pretty trinkets he didn’t bother to look at before, shattered, causing his silent rage to be heard across the brick walls.
The door to his room banged open simultaneously as the guards yelled, “Lord Grindelwald!”
Gellert took a long breath and closed his eyes, willing his magic to simmer down before turning around to face the panicked guards. The next time he opened his eyes, he wasn’t in the unfamiliar room anymore, though… instead, he sat at the end of a long table in a space ample for the younglings to play Quidditch without knocking their heads to the ceiling. There wasn’t a meal served on a plate in front of him, only a bunch of papers and a quill greeting him, mocking him of his achievement, the paperwork that would follow—and the endless meetings, he thought as he looked up and saw a row of politicians sitting on each side of the long table, almost reminded him of what Albus told him about Hogwarts’ Great Hall.
They were engrossed in the heated discussion, more than once seeming to lose their temper and raising their voices at others, irritating Gellert’s ears and making his lips twitch—yet he didn’t have the energy to shout over their arguments, even with the help of Amplifying Charm. He was there, but at the same time, he was not. He tried to pick up the words, give a context of the world situation he was in right now, and he managed to hear, “The war may have ended, but the important bit is after it, ladies and gentlemen!” amidst the chaotic anger buzz from a man on his left side, a few chairs away.
Gellert swallowed the bile rising in his throat; the words that man uttered sounded exactly like Albus had said before, kneeling on the floor with their plans laid out in front of them, with the candles flickering between them, and hushed whispers in the secret of the night. About how they should focus on the aftermath of the war to make sure they would restore the peace.
He slid his gaze from the known politicians back in his present time to the much younger man than the rest. Bright auburn hair greeted him, and he felt someone just cast a Cruciatus at him; otherwise, it wouldn’t explain the immense pain he felt throughout his body and his trembling fingers at the mere sight of familiar auburn. He could feel his lips parting, and without his permission, let out a whisper, barely audible but to himself, “Albus…?”
When he looked thoroughly towards the man catching his attention, the more he painstakingly noticed the differences; the cheekbones were too hollow, the auburn was lacking greying hairs, the set of the man’s eyebrows was just plainly wrong, and there was no beard that Gellert had come to fond of. The wrong Albus turned his head and glanced back at him, feeling his lingering stare, and he was met with dull brown eyes, adoration evident in his eyes as they locked into his mismatched ones.
“Sir?”
His eyes returned to the man’s auburn hair, torn between hating or loving it, so wrong but a welcome familiarity.
“I agree with William,” his future body addressing the room that’s quieting down the moment he spoke, while the young man puffed out his chest at his support, “now is a crucial time, more than the war we have won, for the future of the wizarding world. Every decision we make would alter the outcome of the world we live in. Thus it’s better to discuss it with a cold-headed mind.” The people who had raised their voices hunched their shoulders, having to be called out by the leader. “Let’s adjourn the meeting.”
Gellert forced his eyes to not look back at the auburn hair—it was unbecoming, in front of his followers nonetheless—as the others were pushing back the wooden chairs and standing up, a few were stretching their backs and went to the other room, while the other few were conversing quietly and made their way to the floating snack table in the corner. He let out a sigh slowly, gazing beyond the papers in front of him. The hollowness in his chest swallowed him whole, drowned him in misery. He couldn’t believe how he had just reacted at the mere auburn and that young man’s statement. He was—he couldn’t do this anymore. He couldn’t pretend he cared and wanted to do this anymore. Living this future just drilling into his body and mind how much Albus was worth in his life.
As that thought throbbed hard in the foyer of his mind, he was jolted awake. His first view was the high ceiling; the brick stone was familiar, etched in his mind as he had spent his waking hours staring at it when the blood troth wasn’t in his possession anymore before he went to sleep.
Was he back in the present time now?
He tried to feel his fingers, wiggling them to confirm his suspicion. Strained, but they were moving from his order.
Oh, how good it felt to finally have control of your body.
He breathed through his nostrils slowly; it seemed like a dream if the emptiness in his chest wasn’t reminding him of what the future would be. He blinked rapidly, desperate to chase away the haunting images, and looked around instead to occupy his mind; there was a chair beside the bed, an empty cauldron that faintly smelled like burnt Salamander blood, and an empty mug resting on his bedside table next to it. He glanced at the massive window at his right; his curtain was drawn to see the sky had turned pitch black—black like his heart, he thought bitterly—no stars in sight, and even the moon was covered with a grey cloud. It wasn’t the future yet, but it would be with how this was going. And now that he had lived in the reality where Albus was dead—the longing buried deep inside him surged forwards like a raging wave right after an earthquake, ready to blast anything in the way. It felt like years already that he stared at the black remains of Albus’ blood, slowly poisoning his own. And he couldn’t wait any longer to see the love of his life, breathing and alive in the present, so he cast aside the weighted white blanket from his body, ignoring how his limbs felt heavy and hard to move, ready to leap out of the bed if only he didn’t realize something odd. Gellert was in the middle of eyeing his wardrobe, noticing the change of garments, when Vinda Rosier came through the door with hurried footsteps, “Monsieur Grindelwald! You’ve finally awoken!”
He looked up, meeting his eyes with the intruder’s ones. “How long was I out?” He croaked; the scratching in his throat almost felt similar to what he lived through in the future—if not worse—right after he screamed.
His acolyte conjured him water in his empty mug and helped him drink it before answering with her thick French accent, “Almost a week, monsieur.”
A week?
He almost comically choked on his water. It was only fair, he guessed, to be granted the chance to live in the future for years—or at least felt like it—in exchange for a week in his present time.
“I see,” then he stared back at his body when Vinda took the milky white cup and put it back on the bedside table. He was clad in navy satin pajamas sticking to his skin because of the sweat pooling on his back and chest, it was uncomfortable, and he was itching to change his wardrobe—but not before he solved this mystery. It wasn’t supposed to be a big deal. Still, he couldn’t help the uneasiness tugging his skin, knowing someone did something to him when he was unconscious, had the chance to see him at his most vulnerable and exposed state without his permission, and hated that he had no control over what had happened.
His trusted acolyte seemed to pick up his unvoiced question, “Madame Carmine insisted on changing your blood-soaked shirt. And she was the only one who had been changing your clothes multiple times throughout your comatose as you kept drenching wet with sweat.”
He relaxed his shoulder after hearing the familiar name entering his eardrums. Typical Madame Carmine. That old lady was a force that couldn’t be stopped regarding Gellert’s health and sanitary. In that department, she and his great-aunt were similar, making him overlook the healer's overbearing behavior. As long as she knew his boundaries anyway, he was willing to let her lightly scold him of his injuries and whatnot, took him back as the boy in Godric’s Hollow again when Albus’ and his experiment exploded at their faces.
“Madame Goldstein found you were collapsing in the courtyard,” Vinda continued her explanation, or one could say a report, “You were lying completely still, and your body hardened like an inflexible wood… we almost thought we lost you if it weren’t for the fact you’re still breathing and drowned from perspiration. And yesterday’s night, you started having seizures, hence the potion,” Vinda glanced at the empty cauldron on the bedside table; Gellert’s mismatched eyes followed hers. “It was quite an effort to make you swallow the black lump, and Madame Carmine had to crush it into bits and mix it with water so it could go down your throat.”
Gellert’s mind was alarmed with the kind of potion Vinda just implied he took. But he pushed the thought to the corner of his brain; he shouldn’t dwell on that; he couldn’t—he needed to see Albus now and fill back the void in his chest that was suspiciously shaped like the said man. And so he proceeded to nod, prompting Vinda to move on from the report of his last situation to another crucial thing, “And the Qilin? Where is it now?”
“We froze it in the storage room to avoid the rotting. Do you want me to bring it here?”
“No, let it be. Thank you, Vinda, you may go now,” he cleared his throat; the water didn’t do much to relieve the scratching in his esophagus, “and I must ask not to be disturbed tonight.”
The woman looked at him thoroughly before her lips parted again, “Monsieur Grindelwald, I have to relay a message from your healer once you’re awake. She strongly recommends you rest your body.” Gellert nodded dismissively. Of course, Madame Carmine would not just scold him but kill him if he leaped out to go outside of the safety of his castle in this state but seeing Albus Dumbledore being alive and well should be the priority. In fact, the moment the mystery about his changing garments had been solved, and the pieces of information he should know about already entered his brain; he could feel the itch on his body to just Disapparate to Albus’ rented flat. He almost cursed himself out loud when he remembered the Apparation and Disapparation point was pretty far from his bedroom.
He stood up from his bed, nearly losing his balance at the sudden movement but managing to keep his footing without the help of Vinda’s stretching hands; standing straighter and lifting his chin, he lingered in his place, hiding the fact that he couldn’t move his feet forwards from where he was standing. He ignored the knowing stare from his acolyte and willing his feet to walk to the corner of the room; as soon as he was sure Vinda couldn’t see his face, he let his eyes twitch as pain struck his body with each movement he made. He opened the wardrobe, pretending to look for another pajama set as his first acolyte, the one who never let anyone see her emotions and spoke in the same level of tonality in each sentence, adding a comment with a tilted tone that made Gellert paused in his bluffing act. “I suggest you visit Professor Albus Dumbledore after a good rest tonight, monsieur.”
Gellert almost couldn’t hide his surprise at the spot-on guess. He disregarded her remark, resumed his fake show, and acted like it didn’t bother him, taking off another dark pajama set from the stack of clothes on the third shelf of his closet—even though he was really tempted to ask how she knew.
“You kept whispering his name, monsieur.”
Was his thought laid bare in the open or what? It wasn’t a good look for him, letting everyone know what he thought of and uncovering the enigma of Gellert Grindelwald. Or was his mind still jumbling from getting pulled back to the present? He would bet his fortune for the latter. Otherwise, he would admit he was being careless. He sighed and cleared his cluttered mind. He couldn’t afford to entirely put up a wall and use Occlumency against a Legilimens now—and Vinda wasn’t a Legilimens as far as he knew, but it didn’t hurt to be cautious and made it empty instead. Slowly, he turned around to see the woman standing beside his bed. Now that the beans had been spilled anyway, it was better for him to hear the rest of what happened. “Who else heard it?”
“Only me,” Rosier looked to the side before returning to his gaze and adding, “perhaps also the healers.”
Gellert nodded again, taking in the information. His past relationship with Albus wasn’t exactly a secret among his followers, but they didn’t know how it still affected him now. With this information, he could expect there would be chatters of gossip in the hall the next time he had meals there. He held his gaze on his acolyte; his following words were an order, leaving no room for Vinda to say anything else, “You may go now, Vinda.”
The woman slightly shuddered at his cold tone, knowing he didn’t want to waste more time. So she obeyed him, went outside the room, and probably put up a sign not to disturb him—or immediately alarming Madame Carmine for his reckless act. Gellert took no time to get dressed in appropriate attire, throwing back the pajama set and taking his shirt, trousers, and coat, using his bare hands instead of the Elder Wand because he had known what made Madame Carmine instruct him to rest his body before anything else. His limbs were heavy to move around, and his scratching throat prickled him every time he swallowed the saliva, and the scorches in the center of his chest hurt his lungs each time he breathed. All of them were the symptoms of Magical Core Exhaustion. And it would endanger him to use any sorcery right now, but it was a risk he was willing to take to see Albus Dumbledore being alive. That’s why he was trying to preserve any residue energy for Disapparation, not wasting it on Occlumency for someone who wasn’t a Legilimens or a simple spell for him to get dressed.
He dragged his feet through another door in his room, leading to his private library and out to the hallway from that chamber. Each step he took made his breathing heavier, burning his lungs. Yet, he kept going to the Apparation and Disapparation point. Around the corner, he was tempted to lean on the walls, as his body weight almost felt too much for him to hold the burden alone. But if he were caught in that position, his followers who should patrol the area would bring him back to the bedroom, so he tried to focus on his foot, one step at a time…
At long last, his misery ended when he arrived at the destination. He masked an air of indifference when he met the guards, straightening his back when he walked to that exact point, ignoring their raised questions and glaring at them when they so much as suggested that he stay in the castle, barely hiding their concern while he was willing his magic to flicker, just right above what he needed to Disapparate.
His mind whispered the coordination of the tracker he put on the blood troth, knowing it would never leave Albus’ side the moment that man got ahold of their physical form of a bond. The air vacuumed his surrounding, pulling his skin taut and rippling the space around him, wobbling around until it made him feel sick, nauseous at the feeling—it would be normal to throw up for a first-timer. Still, it would embarrass him to the grave if he did that in his age and power, no matter what state he was in. So he sucked in his stomach and held whatever his healers had fed him in his coma.
He Apparated in a narrow alleyway, dingy and filthy with litter. He let out a shaky breath, the content in his gut threatening to spill out despite his best effort, and the smell around him wasn’t helping. His hand found the wall and leaned in the damp brick, immediately disgusted at the texture greeting his palm; he pulled his hand back as if it burned him while silently cursing Albus for choosing to live in this neighborhood. It must be because Gellert hated it, so it would deter him from visiting Albus in his place. In a normal circumstance, Gellert would agree he would prefer to meet the man somewhere else, preferably more sanitary, but now was an urgent case—deserved an exception.
In a minute, he could finally see Albus again, breathing and alive. Gellert forced his strained limbs to move again, to walk up to the steel stairways, wishing secretly Albus let him be one of the exceptions of the ward around the flat even though it was unlikely. At this point, Gellert really could lose his own life before he could see that half of his soul was alive. He didn’t think his current state magical core would be able to gather magic strong enough to break the ward off… with the way it took his everything just to Disapparate here. But at least he could warn Albus of an intruder by disturbing the ward, then Albus would come out of his hideout. It was good enough for Gellert. He hated to admit he had spiraled down to be so desperate.
Gellert was feeling the tracker in the blood troth leading to the simple, unassuming wooden door; he hovered a few feet away from it, with enough distance this narrow hallway permitted, ready to embrace the rejection of the ward, propelling him backward right at the dirty wall by the attempt to invade the space. He held out his arms, pushing into the invisible barrier, closing his eyes tight at the expected rejection—yet it never came. There was no resistance from the ward… was Albus really made him one of the exceptions? He swallowed down the hope and approached the door, walking inside the ward with ease; it almost felt like it welcomed him, even… now he was near enough to knock on wood, he raised his fist to the innocent door.
A knock was such a polite word when what he did was assaulting the door, urging the host to come out right away, barraging Albus’ ears with loud thumping with no pause. He kept banging and banging until he almost threw his hand right at Albus’ face if the man didn’t halt it with his wand. Deep frown lines decorated Albus’ face with noticeable dark circles under his eyes, his chest rising up and down, panting from sprinting to the door, ready to face an enemy with a wand pointing at the intruder.
But Gellert was never his enemy, then and now.
“Albus…,” Gellert breathed out, voice hoarse and raw with emotions. His mismatched eyes raked Albus’ body, head to toe, scanning it thoroughly, etching the image on his mind, replacing the one that’s lying lifelessly in his arms; Albus’ wool robes secured loosely around his waist, letting Gellert see the ever-impressive pecs peeking underneath it, and purple trousers hugging his legs in the right places, he let his eyes wander to Albus’ bare feet before returning to the moving chest. Albus was breathing. In the corner of his mind, he knew Albus was still alive in the present time, but having lived in the future where Albus Dumbledore was only a name he remembered, a memory from his past, made him doubt this reality. And seeing and hearing Albus breathing, albeit heavily, relieved him to his core. He didn’t realize he was still standing only because of his willpower to see Albus alive. And now he finally did, his legs wobbled, the energy seeped out of him the moment he had peace of mind. His body lost its balance and fell forward, likely to be face planted on Albus’ wooden plank, expecting the man in front of him to step aside and go out of the way of his landing.
But what greeted him was soft wool instead and a familiar, enchanting scent, a mix of old parchment with fresh forest air in the early mornings and musk that is distinctively Albus that would always haunt Gellert in his sleeping and waking hours. He couldn’t help the urge to chase that aroma where it smelled strongest; his sharp nose inhaled the skin under Albus’ ear, half-realizing he was nuzzling at Albus’ neck as his lips landed at the pulse, beating steadily with a few jumps here and there. Felt content now that he wasn’t just seeing and hearing but also touching the evidence of Albus being alive and well; he hardly noticed anything else but the warm hands on his back, dragging his limp body inside the flat, and he welcomed the darkness as he clutched to his anchor.