Post by Arctura on Jul 15, 2014 16:33:22 GMT
Written for Rachel's birthday (along with the other Grindelwald/Dumbledore fics soon to be posted). These are all mostly gen with suggestions of a relationship.
Gellert Grindelwald was an old man. His back and joints ached most days, his vision was deplorable, and he had cough that liked to rise up on very cold days- a cough that rattled his emaciated frame to the core. His age though, had not dampened his intellect in the slightest. In fact, he thought his time locked away had only proven to sharpen it (there was little else to do, after all). Sitting up a little straighter at the sound of boots scraping outside his cell door, Gellert grins.
A slot opens. "Have what you want.” a voice grunts, shoving in a couple sheets of parchment and quill along with his the day’s choice sludge.
Getting up, he takes the tray and crouches down to peer through the slot. "Thank you kindly, and the ingredient you need is belladonna; it will make it potent enough to kill her."
The bulky man behind the door nods. "I will bring you the paper tomorrow?"
"Yes - as usual." Gellert agrees. Hearing the guard walk away, the old man sends his meal a dubious glance before putting it aside. Casting the door another look, Gellert does hope Hans is intelligent enough to mask the potion before using it on his wife. It wouldn't do for the man to get caught, after all. Stroking his chin, he picks up the quill and dips it in the ink. Yes, it would be a true pity to have to train another guard. They always come in so uppity, thinking because he's locked away, he's a criminal.
Coughing lightly, the old man turns to the parchment before him. He puts his quill to the off-white...and nothing. Quirking his head, he considers what he is to do. Is he really going to give dear old Albus insight into this Voldemort fellow? Surely, whatever he says will be disregarded. If Albus even does dine to look at the letter he sends him, what will the man do with what he tells him? He could very well royally mess things up. Sighing, Gellert looks longingly to the door that keeps him locked.
How unfortunate it was that Albus got in the thick of his revolution. If he had had his way...well, this Voldemort fellow wouldn't have a leg to stand on, would he? He chuffs a breath, Voldemort. The man's a child. What good does it do kill the majority of the population? And then half of your own for not having an old enough lineage? Nothing. That's what. This villain is nothing more than a hurt boy attempting to inflict his pain on any soul he can. Thinking fondly of his youth with Albus, Gellert smiles. Yes, his dear old Albus had vision didn't he? Oh, he would have been wonderful at his side. Such brilliance he had (has).
If that silly duel hadn't happened - best not to think on things that would never be. Shaking his head, he taps his quill curiously against the stones.
Resting his head against the wall behind him, he smiles merrily. "I wonder if you remember those days, Albus, the days we spent planning our perfect world..." It's not plain to see, but Gellert has his suspicions about what this Voldemort wants. He knows the younger wizard has his history, his mistakes to learn from, build up and away from. It was no hidden fact that he had an interest in the Deathly Hallows either. If he were that young wizard, he would not ignore their powers and why they were sought for in the past (there's always a method for madness).
He takes the quill and begins to scratch out a flurry of theories, thoughts, sentiments - anything and everything he could possibly write to make Albus heed him. He needs to listen to him even if it is just one last time.
…
"Who's this going to?"
"Albus Dumbledore."
A frown is sent his way. "Why would he take mail from you?"
"Send it!” Gellert barks, "It is not up to you if he reads it or not! I just want it sent!"
"Damn you! See if I do what you say! You crazy old coot!" Hans hollers back, dumping his sludge on the ground and letting his paper flying through the slot and scattering all around him. His eyes fall to the letter resting between his wrinkled fingers. In a blink, it's nothing more than bits of paper fluttering around him.
He supposes Albus won't be getting any letters from him after all (it doesn't feel like such a shame anymore).
…
A few years later, he has Voldemort in his cell and Albus is dead and Gellert laughs. This stupid, simple child has killed one of the greatest minds to ever exist and here he is threatening to do the same to him. His dreams were dashed upon the ground years ago, and his attempt to salvage it was a failure. He's had years to figure out why everything failed to come to fruition; he knows why now.
He didn't have the right man at his side (Albus). What good is one man? One man is not a revolution. If there is no one to back him up, how do you have the masses rise up in chorus? You don't, that's what. You can scare them. You can hurt them. You can kill them. But, they never will believe. One man is not a revolution. But two is a start.
Offering himself to the maddened villain, Gellert Grindelwald declares, "Kill me then. I welcome death!" And he does not lie.
His goals will not be achieved in this life (he's too old - he's none of the vigor to execute his plans). The next one...perhaps he and Albus will meet again. It can be a second chance. A new beginning.
When that familiar green light streaks towards him, he smiles.
He’s headed to the revolutionary’s world.
A Revolutionary's World
One man is not a revolution. If there is no one to back him up, how do you have the masses rise up in chorus? You don't, that's what. You can scare them. You can hurt them. You can kill them, but, they never will believe. One man is not a revolution. But two is a start.
Gellert Grindelwald was an old man. His back and joints ached most days, his vision was deplorable, and he had cough that liked to rise up on very cold days- a cough that rattled his emaciated frame to the core. His age though, had not dampened his intellect in the slightest. In fact, he thought his time locked away had only proven to sharpen it (there was little else to do, after all). Sitting up a little straighter at the sound of boots scraping outside his cell door, Gellert grins.
A slot opens. "Have what you want.” a voice grunts, shoving in a couple sheets of parchment and quill along with his the day’s choice sludge.
Getting up, he takes the tray and crouches down to peer through the slot. "Thank you kindly, and the ingredient you need is belladonna; it will make it potent enough to kill her."
The bulky man behind the door nods. "I will bring you the paper tomorrow?"
"Yes - as usual." Gellert agrees. Hearing the guard walk away, the old man sends his meal a dubious glance before putting it aside. Casting the door another look, Gellert does hope Hans is intelligent enough to mask the potion before using it on his wife. It wouldn't do for the man to get caught, after all. Stroking his chin, he picks up the quill and dips it in the ink. Yes, it would be a true pity to have to train another guard. They always come in so uppity, thinking because he's locked away, he's a criminal.
Coughing lightly, the old man turns to the parchment before him. He puts his quill to the off-white...and nothing. Quirking his head, he considers what he is to do. Is he really going to give dear old Albus insight into this Voldemort fellow? Surely, whatever he says will be disregarded. If Albus even does dine to look at the letter he sends him, what will the man do with what he tells him? He could very well royally mess things up. Sighing, Gellert looks longingly to the door that keeps him locked.
How unfortunate it was that Albus got in the thick of his revolution. If he had had his way...well, this Voldemort fellow wouldn't have a leg to stand on, would he? He chuffs a breath, Voldemort. The man's a child. What good does it do kill the majority of the population? And then half of your own for not having an old enough lineage? Nothing. That's what. This villain is nothing more than a hurt boy attempting to inflict his pain on any soul he can. Thinking fondly of his youth with Albus, Gellert smiles. Yes, his dear old Albus had vision didn't he? Oh, he would have been wonderful at his side. Such brilliance he had (has).
If that silly duel hadn't happened - best not to think on things that would never be. Shaking his head, he taps his quill curiously against the stones.
Resting his head against the wall behind him, he smiles merrily. "I wonder if you remember those days, Albus, the days we spent planning our perfect world..." It's not plain to see, but Gellert has his suspicions about what this Voldemort wants. He knows the younger wizard has his history, his mistakes to learn from, build up and away from. It was no hidden fact that he had an interest in the Deathly Hallows either. If he were that young wizard, he would not ignore their powers and why they were sought for in the past (there's always a method for madness).
He takes the quill and begins to scratch out a flurry of theories, thoughts, sentiments - anything and everything he could possibly write to make Albus heed him. He needs to listen to him even if it is just one last time.
…
"Who's this going to?"
"Albus Dumbledore."
A frown is sent his way. "Why would he take mail from you?"
"Send it!” Gellert barks, "It is not up to you if he reads it or not! I just want it sent!"
"Damn you! See if I do what you say! You crazy old coot!" Hans hollers back, dumping his sludge on the ground and letting his paper flying through the slot and scattering all around him. His eyes fall to the letter resting between his wrinkled fingers. In a blink, it's nothing more than bits of paper fluttering around him.
He supposes Albus won't be getting any letters from him after all (it doesn't feel like such a shame anymore).
…
A few years later, he has Voldemort in his cell and Albus is dead and Gellert laughs. This stupid, simple child has killed one of the greatest minds to ever exist and here he is threatening to do the same to him. His dreams were dashed upon the ground years ago, and his attempt to salvage it was a failure. He's had years to figure out why everything failed to come to fruition; he knows why now.
He didn't have the right man at his side (Albus). What good is one man? One man is not a revolution. If there is no one to back him up, how do you have the masses rise up in chorus? You don't, that's what. You can scare them. You can hurt them. You can kill them. But, they never will believe. One man is not a revolution. But two is a start.
Offering himself to the maddened villain, Gellert Grindelwald declares, "Kill me then. I welcome death!" And he does not lie.
His goals will not be achieved in this life (he's too old - he's none of the vigor to execute his plans). The next one...perhaps he and Albus will meet again. It can be a second chance. A new beginning.
When that familiar green light streaks towards him, he smiles.
He’s headed to the revolutionary’s world.
