Chapter Text
1.Chapter
It was cold.
The harsh wind blew relentlessly through every little crack between the bricks of Nurmengrad Castle. Gellert didn't as much as blink as a gust of cold air blew right in his face. In the long years he had spent sitting on the bare stone ground of his prison cell he had learned to not pay any mind to it.
After all, the cold couldn't harm him anyway. He was sure somewhere in the extensive web of spellwork hanging just over his head there was one spell that kept his body temperature from falling to low, always filling him with a soft warmth. Though nothing could really warm him anymore. Only when his thoughts inevitable driveded to the memory of the smile that boy had worn he met that fateful summer.
And with so dreadful little to do in the highest tower on top of Nurmengrad he found himself almost constantly deep in his own head, chasing long lost memories and drowning silently in his guilt.
Because as he knew he had lost every right to have that smile ever be directed at him again. Albus would never forgive him now. He had locked him away, away from the world, the people Gellert had hurt and most of all away from him. Not one time had he come here. On the contrary he had made an effort to be as far away from Gellert as he could and the dark lord couldn't fault him for it.
But he could hate and hate he did: Himself.
Every time the thought of Albus appeared before his inner eye his mind would run in circles until it came to the ever same conclusion.
He was a monster. A monster that deserved to be hated.
And when Albus couldn't hate him, then he would. He had seen it in his eyes then as he was taken away by the aurors after their last duel. His sweet Al would never hate him. He would lock him up as far away as he could, wishing to not need to see him again, but no, Albus was not capable of hating him.
That was fine though, he would do it enough for the both of them. Choking himself on his guilt until he didn't see the wall behind the bars anymore. Rooted on the floor unblinking and stiff. A part of the castle now, just as unyielding as the bricks he sat on like a statue. A statue of mockery he decided, of the great Gellert Grindelwald, who had once rained terror upon Europe. The man who had dared to hurt the one thing he had swore never to hurt, his love.
A chuckle escaped the barley conscious man. Oh he didn't have to mock himself fate had already done so, hadn't it? Perhaps the first time in his long life as a seer Gellert smiled at its judgment and welcomed his fate. Imprisoned here for the rest of his pitiful life at least he would not hurt him ever again. He would never even lay an eye upon him.
Oh but how he longed for just a single glance of deep blue eyes-
He felt something wet roll down his cheek. Startled, he jerked up as a sharp sting bloomed against his face. Slowly evening out his breath again he lowered the hand just made contact with his cheek. In the erely quiet that settled in the cell it didn't take long before the guilt pried his consciousness out of his grasp again.
The walls of Nurmengrad still echoing with the sound of the slap as the wind picked up a new. Leaving him to rot inside.
....... I suppose nobody could fault him for not noticing the noise on the other side of the bars. He sat on the floor made of cold stone bricks. Although no longer Nurmengrad, the deep black tiles marked his new cell as part of Azkaban.
But looking back on it, that was a lie, yes, he could fault himself for it. As he had blatantly ignored the visions that had been desperately forced themself before his inner eye. They had shown him the dark figure above, just moments before a green flash illuminated a death pale face bearing more resemblance to a snake than a man. Each vision had been brushed aside more aggressively than the last. If death would come personally to his cell then he would do nothing more than welcome it afterall.
That being said, nobody had prepared him for having the wall to his right blown to bits and even less for the pieces to rain down on him. Though the pain of bricks slamming into his old and fragile body did awaken something in his conscience. Where it had been previously buried by the thick veil of dissociation and memories gone.
To say he had been at his feet in an instant though would be a blatant overstatement as he rose from the rubble slowly, stumbling weakly over to the gashing hole, where a polished black wall had stood seconds before. Each slow step sending a sting through his rotten legs that were frozen to the bones. Suddenly he was wishing for the spell that had once warmed him from the inside back in Nurmengrad. He almost sat back down to confine him to his self imposed prison of his mind again, as that thought brought him back to the very smile the caster of that spell had worn.
Suppressing that memory quickly in fear of losing it to a dementor, he wondered if he should just retire back into his soul's fortress. Hiding there together with his few happy memories of Albus, shielding them and his own sanity equally. Rotting away.
Maybe he would have done so had his undying curiosity not lured him towards the sound of explosions and most of all the screams, behind the remains of his cell wall, that were now piercing through the sharp wind. Most of them he was intimately familiar with. Those were the screams of dying men.
As he looked out he was met with the sight of thousands of dementors soaring through the air like a startled bee swarm of death. Thankfully none seemed to notice him in their panic as they bumped into each other, unnervingly he saw a few of them flying off into the night. Leaving the rest behind in rapidly fining numbers. Momentarily transfixed as he followed the dark tails disrepairing into the clouds, he shuddered as another scream reached his ears again, but somewhere between the screams of dementors and wizard the crazed chuckle of a woman he knew by the name of Bellatrix Lestrange cut through.
The sound distorted slightly and grew muddy together with his perception of reality, as it dropped deeper before elevating to near ear-spliting laughter. Overwhelmed, Gellert dug his fingers into the stone wall in order not to lose his hold and stumble into the raging waters below as his legs threatened to give out.
Violently his vision was drifting in and out of focus while scraps of images flashed behind his eyelids. Forcing themself into his mind with an intensity that it made him nauseous. Blinding light followed by the all to familiar green flash. Then a moment of odd silence as the last image burned itself into his mind. It was the last glimpse of deep blue eyes as the life bleed out of them. Falling and falling deeper from the highest tower of Hogwarts. Albus's body slamming into the grounds below, long after the blue had grown dull. That damning laughter still ringing on in future and present.
Gellert almost threw up right then and there as he felt the vibrations of cracking bones. His fingers clawing into the bricks until blood driped from them. The vision left him weak and terrified. The freezing cold biting into him even harder than before. The moment Albus was thrown off the tower, light as a ragdoll, replayed in his head over and over again.
That was until fear was taken over by blind hot rage. How dare anyone lay a hand on him. How dare they hurt him! He had already done enough of that. Albus didn't deserve this. They would pay! Ohh, he would make them pay. And Albus was not going to die. No no no not on his watch. The only one dead by the night of whatever future, would be the one that had dared to point that wand.
Still shaking from overwhelming rage, Gellert Grindelwald took a step forward, plunging himself into the sea surrounding Azkaban, falling straight past the last remaining dementors, simply not paying any mind to them.
.....
......
........ He might have not exactly thought this through, Gellert admitted to himself. He was sitting on a bench in the middle of London with a newspaper pressed into his face. His knees had been killing him to finally sit down. Dressed in a quite old and worn out black Trenchcoat and simple dress pants, that he had stolen from the washing line of some random muggle's backyard. To even feel half as fancy as he wanted to, he had additionally conjured a white undershirt with a grey vest and a matching pair of shoes.
Mindful of the fact that some people would not take too kindly to seeing Gellert Grindelwald on a park bench in the middle of London he had also taken some safety measures. You see the man sitting here didn't have silver locks or the blue brown heterochromic eyes. No, the older man with the worn down Trenchcoat had dark brown hair that was turning grey at the ends, tucked into a messy bun and glinting intelligent hazel eyes.
These eyes were currently squinting at a few headlines in the copy of the daily prophet in his arms. 'The boy who lies' followed by 'The supposed return of You-know-Who' and the most interesting of them all 'Is Albus Dumbledore going senil'. From what Gellert could gather a number of things happened while he was 'otherwise occupied' : there was a new dark lord that came and went, presumably the snake, something creature he had seen in some of his visions murdering him, said dark wizard had, before being defeated, lost to a baby. 'The shame!' Now said baby was a boy attending Hogwarts and he and Albus were suddenly telling everyone about the return of snake-face and the ministry quite literally didn't accept it!
Besides that he noted four additional things. Firstly written on a side note someone had also called this You-Know-Who his successor, which he deem very insulting as his beliefs and ideology was not nearly as racist as that guy's were. The one who wrote that quite clearly hadn't understood that his plan to go to war with the muggles, although morally wrong, had been born out of a desire for the wizard world to thrive and not to run it to the ground and rule over the ashes! Also he lost to a grown man at least.
Secondly the daily prophet was the same propaganda paper he still remembered and was under complete control of the ministry. Third, the Hogwarts school year was starting in three days.
And lastly that this Fudge guy was quite possibly the most idiotic person in the world when he didn't even acknowledge the warning of the return of a fucking tyran from the person who help defeat two dark lords already and was possibly the most skilled wizard alive! I mean not immediately trusting what the boy said could be excused, but ignoring and bad mouthing his Albus fucking Dumbledore?! If he ever met that twat he would personally find this dark lord guy and bring Fudge to him for a lovely little gardening party. You know? To dig his grave!
After deciding that he neither liked Fudge, mister snake-face nor this lying sheet of toilet paper he simply incinerated it in his arms. His brief happiness at seeing it burn was gone as quickly as the flames.
Merlin's beard !.. he really really didn't think this through. Here he was in the middle of London without any possession or money to buy any, possibly only months away from the uprising of a new dark lord he didn't even know the name of, with no idea how to prevent that or Albus's death. And he didn't even have a wand! Originally he had headed to the city to get a wand, money and other helpful possessions in Dragon Alley or more specifically access his vault in gringods. But of course how should he get into the vault of the famous Gellert Grindelwald, not taking into account that he didn't even have a wand!
Even when he could somehow manage to pickpocket money or another's wand, what had been the plan? Hiding in the forbidden forest near Hogwarts, meditating until his visions coincidentally told him it was the night of Albus's death, so he could emerge and save him? And then? Did he seriously want to come to the fight for Albus's life with nothing but a wand that would only half obey him? Of course he didn't actually need a wand to cast magic, he was exceptional, he had just seconds before cast incendio wandless and wordless, but still that would not get him far in an actually dangerous situation.
The euphoria he had felt at the possibility of saving Albus, to help, to somehow be something better for him, maybe even right some of the wrong, was slowly fading out. That feeling that helped him to just brush past the dementors like it was nothing. That had given him the strength to simply break through the waves. It was slowly eaten away by the old familiar guilt again. He really was just useless wasn't he?
A heavy sigh fell from his lips as he leaned back in frustration. Rolling his head to the side he caught a red telephone booth out of the corner of his visions. 'Oh, but of course it was there. How could he forget.'
After he had taken the elder wand so many years ago, he had still carried his old wand with him. The aurors had taken it from him as they dragged him away. If it wasn't destroyed then they must have kept it in the ministry!
Grinning, he shot up and strode over to the booth. My, my, maybe he could even find that Fudge guy and tell him what he thought of him. After all it was way easier to break into the ministry of magic unarmed, than the bank next door.
... To be continued very soon...