Chapter Text
The door to the prison cell was opening, which was quite the humorous thing, since it never really opened up, aside from the little hatch through which food was brought. After all, a prison would lose much of its function if one could only walk right out.
Gellert Grindelwald removed his shoes from the wall and sat up properly in the bed, turning to face the mystery of the open door. He reached a hand up and pulled some hair from his face, not really noticing the uncomfortable greasiness of his hair since he had gotten so very used to it. Age had changed a lot about him, but El was nonetheless a man with two different eye colors, pale hair and pale skin. There was a harshness to him, and his wrinkles were many, but most people who met the old wizard would agree that he was nonetheless alive, and alive he seemed determined to stay. El wouldn’t particularly agree with them in that he wanted to be alive, more like he simply hadn’t gotten around to die yet.
Thus it was that when the door opened, and the unmistakable magical light of wands seeped into his cell like light into a newly opened and ancient grave, El groaned loudly. “You’re not here to save me, are you? Because you’re too late, and I don’t plan on leaving either way.”
A figure appeared in the doorway.
It took El a few seconds to adjust to what he was seeing, but when he did manage to make out the shape of his visitor, he shuddered with displeasure.
It was not so much a person as it was a golem of flesh, one whose skin was so transparent that every single function within the body was on display in the bright, magical light. El could see everything from its skeleton to the muscles and the veins within its face, as well as in the pale, too long for comfort, hands and fingers.
Not a pleasant sight, to summarise.
“Oh damn,” El said, laughing at the visitor. “Whatever are you?”
The golem of flesh smiled pleasantly as it leaned its head to the side. Then it spoke in a voice which was so painfully reminiscent of Albus Dumbledore’s that El actually flinched upon hearing it.
“My name is Lord Voldemort. I expect you have heard of me, even within this prison?”
“Lord?” El spat out the word, shaking his head to get rid of the reverberation of Al’s voice within his skull. “I always did wonder why you claim yourself to be a Lord. I have heard of you, yes, but I never really paid attention to your madness.”
“I’m a Lord by birth,” the Dark Lord spoke conversationally as he moved his hand, raising a black chair from the shadows of the cell. He proceeded to sit down upon it, his back to the door and his monstrous face towards El. “But that is hardly relevant. Why would you, a fellow visionary, claim my quest to be madness? Surely people say that about yours as well, while you yourself would disagree.”
“Hey now, it wasn’t madness when I made those plans,” El objected, slower than he would have normally as it took some time to adjust back to speaking English. German and Hungarian were both far easier at this point. “But things changed. The Muggles made weapons of mass destruction, they invented guns and rifles, explosions triggered by science and not magic. They grew too many, too large, and too powerful, and I realised I had to stop. For the sake of everyone in our community. What you are doing is madness, because you risk exposing us all and have the world attack us to keep us contained. If there is one thing I know about Muggles, it is that they will not stop until they are in control. If you know what is good for us, then you should quit and go back to being dead.”
“Surely you see why I can’t do that, when our community is not what it should be?” The Dark Lord’s voice was silkily soft, and so very patient. “I agree with you that the Muggles are too terrifying to oppose, and because they are so terrifying, we must exclude their influence from our communities, and live apart from them, rather than let their poison affect that which does not conform to traditional Muggle values.”
“I don’t see your point, kid,” El huffed and leaned back upon his bed, feeling the cold bite of the wall welcome him as he rested against it.
“Kid?” The Dark Lord appeared confused but not offended by the nickname.
“You talk like one.”
“I most assuredly do not.”
“Ideals, kid. Your words may sound grown up, but your conclusion does not.”
The Dark Lord smiled again, “then what if I explain it more eloquently?”
El gestured with his arm around his own little prison space, “the cell is yours.” This madperson who El had only heard of in every other odd newspaper was clearly not about to leave any time soon, and El had a lot of time to kill. However, he wasn’t quite prepared for what came next.
“Tell me, Mr. Grindelwald, do you believe in God?”
“Depends, which one?” He shrugged, uncomfortable with where the conversation would take them. It was never a good sign when a madperson began to speak about divine figures and religious conviction.
“The one Muggles call the Christian God,” the golem clarified.
“Can’t say I do.”
“Me neither.” He was smiling again, an unnatural, too wide and yet too cold smile to be human. “In fact, I consider him quite the fraud of an idol, but that does not quite matter to our conversation. Everything in the British Muggle society has long since come down to God. Laws, structures, the understanding between the sexes, political and societal expectations, education. The modern world as we know it is based on Christian foundations, as is the Muggle ruling system. It comes back to outdated ideas about only two genders, only one correct form of sexuality, female inferiority, family ideals as bound by a man, woman and children, exclusion of minorities and other beliefs, as well as mass fear mongering in regards to sin and divine punishment.”
The Dark Lord paused to study El’s face, which he kept neutral despite wanting to react to the other’s words.
“Our community is not like theirs,” said the golem. “We are free from the conceptions which bind them to Christian ideals and interpretation which were meant for a society hundreds of years ago. We may value our traditions in parchment and ink, but we do not share the poisonous worldview of the religious sheep which claim to have made society from its very cradle. So you see, it brings me quite some trouble when we have those poisons ejected into our world by those foolish Muggle-born people who come and claim women to be inferior to men, or that monogamy is the only right thing in the history of the world, despite its historical inaccuracy. In short, I am not mad enough to think Muggle-borns to be naturally inferior at magic, but I find them inferior in mind and worldview. They know nothing of us when they come to us at the age of eleven, and they subsequently seek to enforce their ‘normality’ onto us.”
Now, not everything this supposed Lord was saying was wrong, even back in El’s days he knew of how history had been twisted in favour of certain religions and practices, how the lingering laws which had biases of such remained even as society changed. He had seen the hatred Muggles were capable of, but he was also old enough to know that it never applied to a majority, and that the masses of Muggles were not evil. Those facts the Dark Lord spoke of did not mean that every Muggle-born child welcomed into the magic community, if even many at all, searched to enforce the things which they were used to. Rather, El had always experienced it the other way around. Thus, while he could not directly fault the creature’s claims, it seemed to him as if the other was acting based on biases and fear, much like the people he was claiming to be better than.
At least, El finally understood why almost a majority of the British mage community had once at least considered the man’s words, much like they had considered his own ideals of safety, even if it still came down to fear mongering. It was still claiming a given stance of ‘us’ versus ‘them’ where Muggles and Muggle-borns became the feared other, rather than individual people who in most parts didn’t want to do any harm towards anyone. Then again, it was a type of fear mongering both mages and Muggles were guilty of many times over in history, himself included.
“But you are still trying to enforce a Pureblood rule under your leadership.” El objected with a snort. “How can you claim to be for the community when you only take into consideration one type of blood?”
The golem smiled once more, leaning his head to the side in the same way which Al did. How did he do that? Was he somehow aware of El’s connection to Al, despite all the years that it had been?
“It takes money and effort to change a community,” the Dark Lord explained. “I do not believe in purity of blood, but that doesn’t matter to them. They want the Muggle-borns to be removed, and I want their money and their ancient influence, both politically and socially. If you trace things back long enough, everyone owes something to the Purebloods. I am starting with the Muggle-borns, and I am removing them. Then, together, we will rebuild, only us mages. Only those of pure, full or half blood are allowed to remain, and when we close ourselves off further, there will only be Purebloods and Fullbloods left. Nobody deserves the pain of a Muggle parent who may reject or hurt the magical child for their abilities. Nobody deserves to have to repress their natural magical part of themselves to please a cruel mundane parent who doesn’t understand that there is nothing abnormal about being different.” He sounded passionate as he spoke. El wondered if he might have personally faced the rejection he was speaking of from a non-magical parent. That would explain a few things.
“And you think the Purebloods won’t issue in a second era of oppression and subjugation if you give them the opportunity to do so?” El snorted. “They won’t let the other bloods rise to their equal if they manage to push them below themselves. You will only manage to make everyone a slave to the whims of the aristocrats, where the majority works for the comfort of the minorities in power, in a society where that is no longer needed. Or well, another revolution I suppose. Those rules don't last long. You’ll just be the start of the fall of more tyrants.”
“It won’t be like that, because I will always be here, to guide them and make sure that the community becomes true to my vision of separation.” The Dark Lord sounded a tad annoyed at El’s refusal to see his version of things.
“You sound more like a terrorist than I ever have, and I was a terrorist,” El spat at the golem, because he knew he was right now that he had listened to the other.
“Surely you jest. Unlike you, I am not even attempting to fight the Muggles who oppress us, I am simply purging our community from such harmful influence.” Despite the words, for a flicker of a second, the Dark Lord seemed more annoyed with him again, perhaps even startled by being called something so universally agreed upon as harmful and negative as a terrorist, despite the creature’s convictions. While it satisfied El immensely to unsettle the fool, it also stung a little to know he would have reacted similarly once upon a time, where he’d let the fact that he was a human being with convictions blind him to what his actions and desperation made him into with time.
Even so, he did manage to unsettle Lord Voldemort.
El grinned, a type of unpleasant grin earned from years of self-hatred and loneliness, of a convicted criminal locked in a cell, which reminded nothing of the pleasant mischievous grins of his past.
“You do sound like one,” he enforced again, forcing some amusement into his voice for effect. “You’re willing to let people, real living mages, burn for your ideals. You’re no different from me, you’re looking for an enemy, and because you do, you exclude people who are real and living, becoming a threat and harm to their lives, their rights and their happiness, just the way you try to keep the ones you’ve approved of safe from.”
“You’re wrong. I’m in control and I’m present. I am not letting needless harm come to the enemy, only that which ensures the goal, while you caused quite some death within our community.”
That one stung, El had to admit that much. He also knew the flesh golem to be wrong, as people were being hurt by these conflicts, people always were.
“You won’t live forever,” the terrorist and enemy of all mage communities laughed to try to hide how much the previous comment had hurt.
“I shall,” the golem objected. “I have transcended humanity. I am beyond life and death.”
“And I’m sure it was all worth it!” El shook his head, studying the other’s face. To his satisfaction, he noticed doubt in the other’s reddened eyes. “Besides, your plan risks creating an army’s worth of Obscurials running about and exposing the magical world to the Muggles. All those Muggle-born children who are excluded from the place and society they belong, simply because you didn’t deem them different enough to be welcomed.”
The Dark Lord snorted now. “Obscurials aren’t real. They are legends and fairy tales.”
“They are real enough,” El almost purred in the other’s direction. “And you’ll know them very well if you just keep up or even manage with your crazy plan for the British mage society.”
Another delightful flicker of doubt passed in the golem’s eyes. Sweet, sweet hesitation. At this point it was becoming a game to El in how much he could unsettle the other with his words. Of course, he would want this madperson to cease all his hypocritical plans and wars, but El wasn’t capable of changing that from within his cell.
“So I take it you shall not join me in my endeavours to save us? To save our community of mages?” The Dark Lord finally asked, his voice steady and patient, so very much like Al’s. “I thought a man like you would jump at the chance to restore society to a place where it should be, rather than see it waste away for what it is.”
“You don’t know me, kid,” El growled at the idea that someone could understand him. He wanted no kinship with lunatics such as the golem Dark Lord of madness.
“Oh but I know you. I even know you well,” the Dark Lord’s voice lowered into a gentle purr. “I’ve heard all about you.”
“From who?” The situation turned around rather quickly and made El very uncomfortable. He almost considered standing up and punching the monster in his face, just for the satisfaction of it.
“Albus Dumbledore.”
The name stole all of El’s aggression from him, and he shrunk back upon the bed, feeling as if he was about to have a heart attack from the mere mention of the name of the man he had once loved, and never once been able to stop loving. Sweet, wonderful and kind Al. Loving, gentle, generous Al. Understanding, honorable and honest Al. The biggest mistake of El’s life was leaving Al in Britain and going alone to try and save magedom. Al had suffered all his life for loving him, and no matter how hard El had tried to remove himself from him, no matter how many times he had refused gifts and never answered letters, Al continued to love him with such honest loyalty that one might even call it obsession.
“How… how do you know him?” Somehow, El managed to ask, managed to form his voice into words.
The golem smiled. “I’m his son.”
The answer was so unexpected and so strange that El went mad for a few seconds as he laughed at the notion of Al being a dad. “Al put a baby in someone? No way! He’d never be able to!” El dried tears from his face as he laughed at the bizarre idea.
The Dark Lord chuckled. If he was offended, he was a good actor. “I’m adopted. My dad spoke of you a lot, well, after I forced him to tell me. I always knew he was hiding something about his partner, but I was nonetheless shocked to learn that he had been engaged to the enemy of the mage world itself.”
“The history books do not remember me kindly?” It was a stupid question, El knew what the world saw him as, and he knew what history would likely have recorded of him, as it did to all those who lost.
“They fear you and your ideology greatly,” the child of Al nodded in an agreeable manner, still smiling.
“Was he a good dad?” El couldn’t help but hope that he had been, even if he knew his partner too well to be optimistic about the notion.
“I would say he failed me in every conceivable way as a father,” the Dark Lord grinned now. As if he had to force his expression into joy to keep from expressing sadness.
Oh Al… You fool.
“So why have you come to me now, kid?” El leaned back once more, before snorting as he crossed his arms over his chest. “I don’t want to talk about Al, and I am not joining your fruitless endeavours. Whatever you want with me, it is not happening. Do your worst. I’m not afraid of death, I have felt that one coming for me for ages, so there is nothing you can do to make me join you. Any torture will more likely to kill me quicker than if you just left me here, so that won’t work in your favour either.”
The Dark Lord studied the terrorist. El could tell that the other was disappointed, perhaps even upset, even if it was in a very controlled and collected manner. He got an uncomfortable feeling that the other was looking upon him as if he was a puzzle, something to solve to be able to enforce grief and fear out of him.
“And what if I told you that dear dad is still waiting for you? That he is alive and hoping that you will return to him? That his ring finger is still empty, waiting for the time when you can break the bonds of the past under the sun, moon and stars?”
That was enough to fill El with a deep sense of regret and anxiety.
It was enough to make him feel ill with the weight of all that he had wasted and all that he had lost.
He bitterly regretted his life, and the decision which had taken him away from his most beloved guiding star.
The killing curse hit him at the height of his fear and panic, killing him instantly. The Dark Lord had not raised his wand or his hands. The curse itself had been cast by somebody else, yet somehow the Dark Lord had managed to find the one way through which El would die in pain.
Lord Voldemort had not killed Gellert Grindelwald directly, but he had done something far worse in sending him off the way he did.
The Dark Lord looked upon the corpse, then he stood up and looked towards the wall above the body. His followers let him do what he wanted in silence, simply staying where they were until their Master gave them any other indications. He moved his hand and a quote from the very same book as the quote which proudly rested upon his dad’s grave formed on the wall above Grindelwald’s corpse. That would be his memorial. It was a section which the golem had memorised just to use against the dead lover of his dead dad.
‘The wretched and the miserable should turn to their Savior first, yet they do not hope in Him until all other hope is exhausted.’
“How perfectly suitable for you, do you not think?” the Dark Lord mockingly told the corpse in a quiet voice. “But don’t worry, I shall be their savior in the place of you, who could not be it. I will be what you couldn’t. I’m right, and my path is inevitable. I am inevitable.”
The corpse, naturally, gave him no answer, just how his father’s grave had remained silent upon his almost desperate questioning two weeks ago.