#I wasn’t sure what colour his mossy cloak was so I just made it red to match the nylium on the jungle floor

[birddcandle]

pov your name is pathoslair

for @lunarcrown and @aquaquadrant ‘s Hels To Pay AU!!

[scribeofmorpheus]

Star Wars: The Rebel Queen

Prologue: Wreathed in Flame

Pairing: Poe Dameron x (OFC) Princess Calista Ordell

Series Masterlist | About Thesmora | Main Masterlist | A03

Words: 1k | Warnings: Ramblings of a delusional fanfic writer... Nothing.

A/N: This is the prologue so we won’t meet the main characters in this chapter, this scene sets up the stage for another character who will become important as we go along. I hope you give this fic a chance, it’s 90% original characters I know, but I’ve been struggling to get this out into the ether and... here it is. Also, this fic takes place between TFA and TLJ.

Somewhere in the Outer Rim…

"I think I lost him," Mokk-Toh breathed heavy, sweat trailing down his face along his proud age lines. There was no fear in his eyes. No, that had been trained out of him at the academy, but something was hiding behind his apathetic mud coloured eyes, a failure to reconcile. An internal schism.

"Contact me as soon as you meet with your contact," Lenora's hologram relayed in an unwavering tone. Her voice a beacon of strength in the fray.

Mokk-Toh gave a slow nod, his eyes closing for a second too long.

A chiming sound rippled through from the hologram. Lenora turned and sighed, something disturbed her, but now wasn’t the time to offer his ear. "My sister requests an audience with me."

Lenora looked him in the eye, a youthful smile reversing the signs of age from her face for a brief moment. The cold blue projection of the transmission washing away all of her warm colours. And yet, tranquillity took purchase in Mokk-Toh’s thoughts, calm waves washing away the jagged glass that littered across the golden shores of his mind.

Lenora always had this effect on him. She was his queen and the power she had over him was unquantifiable. She was the only one who ever made Mokk-Toh feel fear, fear from vulnerability. From a look so simple, so earnest, he felt like he had been permitted to breathe again. The pain knocking against his joints was starting to ebb away.

"Be careful," Lenora said sincerely. "Come back to me."

Her words meant something else.

Through the years, Mokk-Toh had always given her the same answer, "Don't I always?"

His words meant something different too.

This was their way, their mantra through the years; substituted words for the ones they could never be allowed to say aloud.

Lenora's smile grew wider, her hand pausing for a moment before the hologram cut out leaving Mokk-Toh alone to bandage his wounds under the cover of damp, mossy steam tunnels. He tore a piece of cloth from his coat, wrapping the blue material around the long cut than ran up his arm- blood appearing as dark spots on the fine material.

Resting his head against the damp wall, Mokk-Toh used this time of quiet to rest his eyes and regain some strength. He had been hunted from one quadrant to the next, relentlessly. The bounty-hunter was a force of reckoning, a rageful spirit trapped beneath soldered armour.

Mokk-Toh had heard whispers of such a man through the ages, he had prayed they were just that, whispers in the dark, but now he wasn’t so sure that this ghost was completely a ghost. The underworld called him Versengen and he was shaping up to be a worthy adversary.

The air began to tingle. There was a disturbance. Something unhinged was disrupting the calm that Mokk-Toh savoured. It wasn't until the clanky sound of metal meeting concrete resonated through the abandoned tunnels that Mokk-Toh realised he was being hunted again.

Despite the contusions and seeping cuts that wore his body down, Mokk-Toh gripped the wall and forced his legs to go on. As he ran, flames began to seek him out, hungry and volatile, the heat almost close enough to touch.

A thud echoed behind him as the explosion kept clawing towards him like a rabid dog. The pressure of a bruise on his leg forced him to hobble, the fire sticking to the cylindrical walls of the tunnels with the adhesion of water. Droplets of moisture fizzling out into pitiful clouds of steam.

"How long do you think you can keep this up?" A distorted voice behind the wall of flames bellowed out. Breathing morphed into a mechanical whir from the blocked mouthpiece of his helmet, each breath was slow and purposeful. It was clear now that Versengen didn't run after his prey, the flames did that for him.

Mokk-Toh could all but taste the anger hiding behind those taunting words, it was contagious, like a sickness. Rage was always so easy to tap into, but it was also poisonous.

As he kept up his fight, one foot in front of the other, one foot a misplaced step from being devoured by flames, Mokk-Toh spotted a forking path leading to a spillway.

"I will find you," Versengen promised as the flames died down, replaced by a thick curtain of black smoke. He was all but foaming at the mouth.

When Mokk-Toh looked behind him he saw the bounty-hunter emerge from the blackness.

Versengen was a monster stitched together from the remnants of older, more obsolete monsters. His armour pieced together from fallen Stormtroopers- the red plating on his chest scavenged from a shock trooper, the camo-green helmet and knee padding stolen from a scout, and a scorched black arm ripped off a death trooper.  Scratches, indents and charred metal plates imposing upon the greens, blacks and reds of his patch-work armour. Ashen marks a clear indication of his proclivity for fire. The flames that once devoured his cloak were nothing more than singe marks now. It was like he found solace in being bathed in flame the same way Mokk-Toh would find solace in Lenora’s warm sea-foam eyes.

Mokk-Toh stopped dead in his tracks when he came to the edge of the spillway. The jump a long way down. The water at the bottom too peaceful in contrast to the perilous atmosphere above. He clutched his collar and steadied his breathing.

Versengen's heavy footsteps had stopped a few feet away, another incendiary grenade pressed between his palm and thumb. Mokk-Toh imagined him smiling beneath his verdant green helmet.

Versengen tilted his head to the side, watching Mokk-Toh debate between fighting and jumping. With an exhale, he dropped the grenade, pressure trigger activating, and the sound of a spring popping as metal met concrete once more.

Mokk-Toh closed his eyes, imagining Lenora's smile and finding strength in that fleeting picture, fingers wrapping around the data-chip looped around his neck. The wind trickled against his nape, his loose hairs brushing forward, and with determination, he stepped off the edge. Just then, the hissing roar of growing flames danced to life.

Versengen's unhinged laugh seemingly feeding the flames.

Mokk-Toh's body hit the water like a tonne of bricks, an unnatural sound rippling into the waves as he felt a bone rub against another and snap. The force of the fall smacking against the base of his skull like a lead pipe to the face. An unintended gasp forced what little air he had swallowed bubble out. The distorted sight of orange flames viewed beneath blue waters transformed into his new sky. White speckles bombarded Mokk-Toh's dark eyes until all he saw was a sheet of white.

“Come back to me.”

“Don't I always?”

A venomous sneer echoed down through the water, "This isn't over..."

To be continued...

Read Chapter One: Immolation

[bazypitchandsimonsnow]

The Black Swan

Chapter 2

Rating: T

Genre: Fluff/Angst

Word count: 5225

Chapter: 2/17 (All chapters)

Summary: Simon and Penelope go on their adventure, and Simon finds something he didn't expect.

 Read on AO3

———————————————

Simon had elevated sneaking out his castle to an art form. He did it for the first time when he was only eleven, just a week after he moved in. He’d left his favourite red ball behind and he wanted it back. It had never occured to Simon to ask permission to leave. He’d never asked before, because no one was ever watching him closely enough to be concerned. But when he tried to walk out the front door, the guards had stopped him. Then David yelled at him for an hour.

“You’re a prince now, Simon. For God’s sake, you can’t just leave when you like!” he’d said.

“Why not?” A young, ignorant, eleven year old Simon had replied.

“Because you're too damn important to get hurt! I can’t have you dying just after I’ve acquired you!”

Penelope thought David was cruel and considered Simon his property. Simon reminded her that David still took him in when everyone else was too afraid. He was overprotective, not evil. But Simon wasn't a child anymore, and he wanted to explore. He still felt a bit guilty. David was just trying to keep him safe. Simon would be fine though. The King didn't need to worry.

Simon secured his sword to his back, his knife to his belt, and threw on the heavy black wool cloak. In the dark, he’d look like a shadow, or a mysterious hero. Either would work. He threw the long rope out his bedroom window. It was the perfect length, measured out exactly over the years. Simon repelled down the stone wall with ease. He hit the ground with zero noise. Then he was off.

He jumped over the moat with only a bit of magic, but still launched himself too forcefully and he almost fell on his face as he landed. With only a stumble, he was running across the great lawn at breakneck speed. Through the Wavering Wood and across the downtown he went until he reached the Bunce house. Penny’s room was on the third floor. Simon wasn’t only a skilled window-escaper, but a damn good climber as well. He shimmied up the support pole and tapped on the third floor glass. The double windows sung open, revealing an annoyed Penelope.

“You can’t throw a pebble at my window? Or knock on the front door like a normal person?” she hissed.

“Okay. 1: Your mum would actually kill me if I woke her up at this time. 2: Pebbles wouldn’t make enough sound for you to hear. And 3:” He kept an arm around the pole and leaned out, stretching out so his cloak flapped in the wind. He liked to be grand sometimes. “This is much more fun.”

Penny rolled her eyes with a smile. “Weirdo. Meet me outside in a second.”

Simon saluted. “Will do!”

Penny shut her window and Simon jumped to the ground. He use his magic to cushion his fall a bit, cloak flapping up. His feet still stung from the impact but he wasn’t injured. That was the best he could hope for with his magic.

She emerged from the front, dressed in her own black cloak. Her big purple ring glowed slightly in the dark. A mischievous grin was pulled across her face. As much as she mocked Simon’s desire to explore, she loved it too. She liked being a great hero as well. The two of them pretended all the time when they were small. And now, here they were again. Penelope and Simon, fearless adventurers, off into the Forbidden Lands

Simon took her hand. “Ready?”

Penny squeezed once. “Absolutely.”

The pair ran off towards the east. The houses became sparser and sparser, fading from metropolis to wild nature. More trees, thicker grass, wilder plants. Simon and Penny’s boots cracked the twigs and crushed the foliage. They ran and ran, until they reach their destination. Simon screeched to a halt. His blue eyes were wide.

“Wow,” he gasped. “It’s just, wow.”

“Yeah, that’s an apt description,” Penny chuckled.

The ancient trees towered over them. They were like old giants, arms made from twisting branches, bodies of cracking bark, and feets of thick twining roots. The setting sun shone through the small spaces between them. Glowing oranges and fiery reds seep out to illuminate the mossy ground. It wasn’t dark, but it was dark enough to be a tad frightening. Just enough to make Simon’s excited heart race.

He tugged Penelope towards the Forbidden Lands. “Let’s go.”

They entered cautiously, still hand in hand. Their steps were incredibly loud in the darkening silence. Simon observed everything around him. It was all interesting. Tree trunks  and vines and strange flowers of every colour. Simon’s pulse was beating like a rabbit’s. Anything could happen here. A monster could leap out from a dark corner. He’d battle it with his sword and emerge triumphant. Or a path that lead to another world, filled with magic. He and Penny would be sent on a great quest that would end with them winning riches and adoration. It was all so exciting to think about.

“This is incredible,” Penny whispered. “There’s so much here.”

“I know, right?” Simon giggled with a smile. “Why does have to David forbid it?”

“Because he’s a control freak?”

Simon sighed heavily. “Not right now, please, Pen. Let’s just explore.”

Penny squeezed his hand. “Alright.”

The pair of them went deeper and deeper in. The sun was getting lower, and the branch canopy thicker. Simon lost sight of where they came in. There didn’t seem to be any exit anymore. But they didn’t stop. Deeper they trekked. Further into unknown. Every time there was a bump, Simon nearly grabbed his sword and Penelope’s ring finger twitched. But they still didn’t stop.

After what felt like an eternity of walking, Simon’s eye was caught by a dim purple glow. It was coming from the twilight, but from the ground. He stopped suddenly. Penny ran right into him.

“Ow,” she grunted, “what the fuck, Si?”

“What’s that?” he asked.

“What’s what?”

Simon pointed to the glowing. “That.”

Penelope stopped rubbing her aching nose to follow Simon’s finger. She gasped very loudly in the relative quiet. Loud enough to make Simon worried.

“What’s wrong?” he said.

She dropped to her knees and started digging through the thick foliage. The glowing got brighter and brighter until Penny stopped. She squealed with excitement.

“Pen, what’s-

She looked at him with a huge grin. Simon had never seen her so elated. “Hyacinthinus candentius!” Simon was very confused, and his expression conveyed that clearly. “Glowing violets!” Still confused. Penelope sighed and shook her head. “They’re a special kind of flower that glows at night time. It’s incredibly rare. I’ve only read about it in my potion making books. Oh, I need to get a few samples. Can I borrow your knife?”

Simon sighed and handed over his dagger. Penny carefully started cutting at the plant. Simon had to keep himself from groaning. At least an hour in the forbidden lands, and the most interesting thing they’d found was a glowing flower. What a let down. He lazily walked forward a bit, head tilted upwards. There was a slight gap in the tree covering, just enough to see the sky. It was glowing deep purple too, minutes away from night time. Thin clouds rolled over him. Birds flying in a V shape flew close to the ground.

Wait, what was that?

Simon squinted, trying to see better. The birds were white with long graceful necks. Swans, that was the name. But at the head of the V, the swan was completely black. It’s feather’s were dark as pens ink. Simon had never seen anything like it before. There was another thing too. Something shiny, glinting in the low light, hanging off the black swan’s neck. Was that...a necklace? Since when did birds wear jewellery? The hell?

“Hey Pen, I’m gonna look at something,” Simon whispered. Penny didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure she heard him but he kept going anyway.

He followed the strange bird as best he could, what with the trees obscuring most of the sky. Whatever glimpse he got, he took, ducking and weaving between trees to keep pace with them. They got lower, closer to the forest. Simon saw it was definitely a necklace. A bird wearing a necklace. It was so dumb and weird, but it was something. And it definitely intrigued him more than glowing flower. The flock got closer and closer, going faster and faster. Simon had to run to keep up. They suddenly dived straight down.

“Where the fuck are the-”

And then Simon fell.

He fell, and fell, and fell a bit farther just for good measure. He curled in on himself and covered his head. The whole world spun as he tumbled over dirt and tree roots and rocks. Until he hit the ground with a resounding thud.

“Ow,” Simon whined, rubbing his aching, well, everything. It all hurt. It was a bad fall. Without his magic probably instinctively protecting him, he’d be much worse off. Slowly, he raised his head and his eyes focused on his surroundings.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

It was...beautiful. Simon had landed in some sort of huge basin, collapsed just behind a bush. The land curved down into a bowl shape, surrounded by thick trees to hide its existence. The tall edges were covered in old vines interspersed with roots and rocks. Like someone had scooped the ground out a thousand years ago and nature grew around it. Thick grass was at the edge, where Simon landed, and just to his left was a very small wooden cottage. It couldn’t fit more than one or two people. Floating lights dimly illuminated the area. They looked like the ones Penelope would use when she was up late studying at school. Right in the centre of all this was a shining blue lake, where the swans were floating. Including the black necklace wearing one.

The bird was still a bit far away, but Simon could certainly get a better look. It really was very strange looking. Every feather was impossibly dark as night, contrasting it’s bright white companions. It still had the same characteristically graceful neck and head with a long orange bill as them though. But Simon was most stunned but it’s eyes. Swans were supposed to have beady black eyes, and the white ones did. But the black swan’s eyes were strange. They had white parts, like a human’s, and grey irises. Not just grey though. It was dark green and dark blue mixed together. Like the deep sea.

“What the fuck are you?” Simon asked, more himself than the bird.

Suddenly, the blue water started glowing under the black swan. It bubbled and churned beneath the bird like it was boiling. Simon was beyond confused.

“Wha-”

The swan started growing larger, nearly tripling in size in mere seconds. It stretched its majestic wings up towards the sky. And then they weren’t wings. They were strong human arms, with two very human hands and ten very human fingers. The swan’s body absorbed the dark feathers and stretched up and out, quickly becoming a muscled back with smooth reddish gold skin. Paddling webbed feet shifted and grew into long legs with toes touching the lake floor. Finally, it’s bill shrank, it’s head grew, until everything about the swan had transformed from bird to distinctly human.

The water stopped glowing and bubbling. The strange young man had a lean build, night black hair, and a thin silver chain around his neck. He turned his head to the side, letting Simon glimpse his angular, elegant face and slightly crooked long nose. Most importantly, Simon saw his eyes. Dark green mixed with dark blue. Deep sea water.

He was a gorgeous man, who just a minute ago had been a black swan. And was now completely naked.

Simon had to suppress a very frightened and surprised squeak.

The swan- The boy- The Swan Boy let out a long sigh. He stretched his arms up as far as he could, then rolled his head side to side and rubbed his neck. With two hands, he pushed his incredibly long wavy hair further out of his face. It reached the middle of his back in a slightly tangled mess. Frankly, it looked like he hadn’t gotten in a haircut in years. But he was tall and muscular, with swirling grey eyes and incredible cheekbones. Tangled hair didn’t diminish those at all.

Swan Boy waded through the lake towards the shore near the cottage. Sitting at its doorstep was a pile of folded clothes. He quickly threw on the long white shirt and grey trousers, tying a thin rope around his waist. It was a simple Watford peasant’s outfit, familiar to Simon from his own childhood. Swan Boy used up a fat red ribbon to tie his long hair back with a perfect bow. He finally looked decent. And Simon couldn’t hide any longer.

With shaky legs, Simon stood up from behind his bush. Swan Boy didn’t notice. Simon opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out at first. What could he say? What do you say to a man who was just a swan? Well, you could at least say hello.

“Um,” Simon said meekly, “hi.”

Swan Boy’s head whipped around so fast his ponytail almost hit him in the face. His grey eyes were wide and filled with so many emotions. Fear, panic, shock, everything Simon should’ve expected. He stumbled away, bracing his hand against the cottage wall.

“Who...who the fuck are you?!” he asked. His accent was rough, but had a slightly posh undertone. Simon couldn’t place where he was from.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck nervously, looking at the ground. “Uh, I sorta fell down here, following you. Well, swan you. But then the lake glowed and-” He met Swan Boy’s scared eyes. “You were just a swan.”

His grey eyes went even wider, hand on the wall tightening. “No I wasn’t,” he said quickly.

They stared at each other, frozen and gazes locked for awhile. Simon blinked in utter confusion. His head slowly tilted to the side.

“Y-Yes, you were.”

“No, I wasn’t.”

“I just saw you though...”

“You don’t know what you saw.”

“Yeah I do!” Simon stepped forward with hands on his hips. “You were a black swan sitting on the lake. Then the lake glowed and you turned into,” Simon gestured wildly at him, “you!”

Swan Boy took a deep breath and rubbed his hands over his face. “Fucking hell,” he muttered, “you can’t know. You can’t be here. No one’s supposed to be here. If he sees-”

There was a rumbling in the near distance. Swan Boy’s hands fell down. His face looked even more fearful than before. Even his hands were shaking. He looked at the sound, then Simon, the sound, then Simon again. The cogs were obviously turning in his brain. It reminded Simon of Penelope when she was thinking.

“Get in the house,” Swan Boy muttered.

“What?” Simon replied dumbly.

He rolled his eyes, then stomped over to the door and pulled it open with quite a bit of anger. “Get in here. Stay out of sight. Do not come out until he leaves.”

“Until who leaves?”

The rumbling got closer. Swan Boy pointed frantically at the entrance. “Just get in if you don’t want to die!”

That got Simon’s attention. He didn’t even know this strange Swan Boy, but he also really didn’t want to die. And going into a cottage wouldn’t kill him right?

“Okay, okay,” Simon said, running in the door.

It was as simple inside as outside. Nothing more than a single room with a tiny fireplace, a cot, a pine blanket box, and a couple stacks of books. It reminded Simon of his room at the orphanage. Sparse to the point of poverty, not simple comfort.

Swan Boy pushed him further in. He jabbed a bony finger at Simon’s face, mouth pulled into a scowl. “Lay down, hide under the window. Don’t move, don’t talk, don’t even breathe.”

Simon’s brow furrowed. “But I have to breathe. To survive and stuff.”

“Ugh, right, of course,” he groaned, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “I mean, just don’t make any noise.”

“O-Okay.”

“Now!”

“Okay, fine!” Simon flopped down to his stomach, pressed up against the wall under the sole tiny window. He glared up Swan Boy. “This good enough?.”

Swan Boy glared right back. His eyes were daggers. “Just be quiet.”

He closed the door quietly, but Simon was sure he’d have slammed it if he could.

The thundering had gotten incredibly loud. Like a storm right on the doorstep. Simon had to grit his teeth and cover his ears. But then there was a deafening clap, followed by silence. Simon slowly released lowered his hands. The conversation was already half started.

“No, I have not left, Sir. There’s no point,” Swan Boy said. His voice was steady, but smaller than before.

“I’m only asking to be safe. You’ve tried before,” another person replied. He sounded deep, gravelly, almost inhuman. It had to be magically altered. No real person sounded like that.

“That was years ago,” he muttered. There was suddenly a loud thunder clap.

“Do not speak to me like that!” The strange person boomed so loud it shook the cottage.

A pause, then Swan Boy cleared his throat. “Sorry, sir.”

“You damn well better be sorry. Don’t forget, you’re only alive by my allowance.” The person took a deep breath. “Now, do you require anything new? Food? Books?”

“I find my own food, but I could always use more books.”

“Fine.”

There was another pause. Simon’s curiosity got the better of him. He lifted his head slightly, just to peak out the window. Swan Boy was standing near the lake. In front of him was a hooded figure, face completely obscured. Simon guessed from his build that he was a man, but it could only be a guess. The cloak was simple grey wool with no markings whatsoever. This man didn’t look that intimidating, just mysterious, but Swan Boy had his arms crossed and shoulders hunched. His face was calm but his entire body spelled afraid.

Cloaked Figure reached out towards Swan Boy. He flinched but didn’t back away. Figure grabbed his ponytail, clutching it in his black gloved hand. Swan Boy winced.

“Your hair has gotten too long,” he said with grave disapprovement, his fake voice only enhancing the intimidation. “It must be cut.”

“Understood,” Swan Boy said.

Figure reach inside his cloak. He moved so fast Simon could barely register what happened. In a flash, Swan Boy’s ponytail was sliced off just above the ribbon. His raven hair fell into an uneven curtain around his face, long in the front and far shorter in the back. Instead of throwing the hair away, the Figure put it inside his coat. Must not like to litter, Simon thought.

“Much better,” Figure said. “I’ll bring you more books in three days time.”

“Thank you, Sir,” Swan Boy said quietly.

“Have a good night, Basil.”

“Good night, Sir.”

The thundering started again. Smoke formed under Figure’s feet. It quickly encased his entire body, making him indistinguishable from a storm cloud. He rose up and out of the lake. Swan Boy, or Basil possibly, watched him go. Soon, he sighed, tension quickly leaving his body. His shoulders slumped and he ran a hand over his face. He picked up a piece of black hair, rolling it between his fingers as he looked at it sadly. Simon didn’t like his face sad. It seemed wrong for someone so pretty to be so forlorn.

Swan Boy/Basil strolled over to the lake. A white swan waded close to the shore. He sat next to it and petted it’s head. The bird nuzzled against him, and though Simon could only see a corner of his face, he swore there was the hint of a smile

Simon finally got up from the floor and left the cottage. Like approaching a wild animal, he cautiously stepped towards the other boy, stopping a few feet behind him.

“Your name is Basil?” he asked.

Maybe-Basil jolted, making his swan friend honk and flap its wings. He whipped around to face Simon with a shocked expression. “Good God,” he panted. “I forgot you were here.”

“Sorry. So, is your name Basil?”

He turned away, keeping his back to Simon. “None of your business.”

Simon huffed. “Fine, be like that, Swan Boy.”

“Don’t call me that,” he hissed.

“You won’t tell me your name. What else am I supposed to call you?”

“You’re not supposed to call me anything, you’re supposed to leave.”

Simon huffed again, crossing his arms. “You’re not very nice.”

“Gold star for the observation,” he snapped. “Now go.”

“Wish I could just go, mate, but I told you, I fell by accident. I have no clue how to get out. Could you point me to exit?”

He whipped his head again. His mouth was turned into deep scowl and his eyes were filled fire. Simon swore the air itself was heating up. “Do you think I’d still be here if there was one?!”

Shit, Simon thought, bad Simon, watch your words. “S-Sorry, that was really rude, so sorry.”

Swan Boy scoffed and looked away again. The guilt sat horribly in Simon’s stomach. He barely knew this man, but he hated seeing anyone upset, especially when it was his own fault. Cautiously, he sat near the other boy. Not too close to make him uncomfortable, but enough to show he wasn’t afraid.

“My name is Simon, by the way,” he said quietly. He didn’t mention the Crown Prince part. He preferred being just Simon if he could.

Swan Boy-or-Basil didn’t respond for awhile. Simon tried to occupy himself by watching the lights, watching the swans, but he was naturally restless. His fingers drummed on his knee, foot jittering up and down. He usually didn’t mind silence. But this was so tense, so precarious. It made his heart thump far too hard.

“Baz,” Swan Boy whispered.

“What?” Simon replied like the idiot he knew he was.

“Basil is my full name,” he said a bit louder. “But I prefer Baz. It’s shorter, easier to say.”

Simon looked over, and Basil, or Baz he supposed, was petting the white swan again, body curled in on itself. His face tried to look neutral, but he was biting at his lip. He shifted uncomfortably, moving away from Simon but not too far. He didn’t seem used to sitting near someone. Simon was pretty sure he wasn’t used to people in general.

“Okay,” he said cheerily. “Hi, Baz. Nice to meet you.”

He offered his hand like David taught him, to be polite. Baz jerked away. He seemed more shocked than afraid. But still, it wasn’t a good reaction. Simon started lowering his arm, but then Baz cautiously reached forward as well. Slowly, with massive amounts of unsureness from both, their hands met. Baz’s palms were incredibly rough. His skin was somehow more callused than rough-and-tumble Simon’s. Though eight years of palace living had smoothed his out a bit. Baz shook once then pulled away very quickly. He immediately went back to petting his swan. And silence reigned like a tyrannical king for a long time

“So,” Simon let the vowel drag out slowly, “you live here?”

Baz scoffed. “Obviously.”

“It’s really nice.”

“You don’t have to pretend you like it,” Baz muttered, focusing intensely on his pet.

Simon gave him a confused look. “I’m not pretending. It’s very pretty here. The lights, the lake, everything.”

Baz didn’t say anything. He scratched under his bird’s bill and stroked it’s wing. He obviously had great affection for this animal. Simon leaned closer.

“Is that one your brother or sister?” he asked. “Or your Mum or Dad or something?”

Simon had never seen someone whip their head around so fast. Baz’s expression was dizzying array of confusion, frustration, and anger. Simon had seen it before; every time he asked a question so stupid that David couldn’t believe he’d let the words out of his mouth.

“What the fuck!?” Baz spat. “No! No, of course not. Where the fuck did you get that?!”

Simon shifted nervously and scratched his neck. He stared at the ground intently. “I-I don’t know. That swan seems to really like you and you were just a swan like ten minutes ago. And I guess I want to know if you’re a guy who turns into a swan or a swan who turns into a guy. But I’m bad at making my words...work right.” He buried his face in his hands. “Sorry, I’ll shut up now.”

He didn’t look up. He could feel the shame bubbling in his gut. This was an old situation. Him saying something dumb without meaning to, getting yelled at for it and absolutely deserving it. Nine years and the habit was still unbroken. Simon was still an idiot.

“I’m a human first,” Baz said quietly. “Swan second.”

Simon lifted his head slowly. When he looked at Baz, the other boy surprisingly wasn’t angry, not like David was. He didn’t look happy either, because Simon wasn’t sure his pretty pouty face was capable of that. He was just calm, maybe even understanding.

The prince nodded. “Okay, cool.”

They went silent. Simon was afraid to ask a dumb question again, so he focused on kicking clumps of dirt into the lake. He had little idea of how to act in normal social situation. And this was far, far beyond normal.

“Did you actually just fall down here?” Baz asked.

Simon rubbed his neck. “Uh, yeah, I did.”

“Just, tripped into a ten foot hole in the ground?”

“Yes...”

Baz scoffed. “You’re a special kind of idiot, aren’t you?” he asked, a hint of amusement in his voice.

Simon chuckled in an effort to cover up his embarrassment. “That’s what everyone says.”

He sighed as his shoulders slumped forward. “Well, you should probably find a way to get out of here.” He paused for a moment, focusing on his swan friend. “You can,” he whispered, so quiet Simon barely heard it.

Simon’s eyes flicked over. Baz’s face was stone, making him look even more like a statue than his bone structure did. Simon’s mind went back to what he heard, when Baz was talking to the hooded man. “No, I have not left, Sir. There is no point.”

“Oh, okay,” Simon stuttered. “I’ll find a way.”

He almost asked if Baz wanted to come with him. But he quickly shut his mouth. From the cold, tense look on his face, Baz truly couldn’t leave, and it caused him far too much pain.

Simon walked up to the sloping wall. It really was ten feet tall. Thick tree roots dove in and out of the dirt like sea serpents in the ocean. Possible foot holds, he thought, but covered in moss. He placed a hand on the wood, feeling slippery moss. Simon needed something to hold onto. Something steady...

He unsheathed his longsword. It wasn’t his favourite weapon, but it was useful. Simon gripped it tight, and thrust the blade right into the dirt. He held onto the hilt as he swung his feet up on the tree root. He slipped and slid but didn’t fall. He wrapped his free arm around another root. Simon removed the sword, then plunged it into a higher, and hoisted himself onto the next foot hold he had. It worked! Simon giggled quietly to himself. Penny would be proud of his ingenuity.

Simon turned his head back towards the lake. Baz’s head whipped around, facing the water, but he had quite obviously been looking at Simon. His face was hidden by the veil of black hair. Simon wondered what his expression was. He hoped Baz wasn’t sad, but that was unlikely. He didn’t seem the happy kind. Which was sad in it’s own way.

“B-Bye,” Simon said weakly.

Baz didn’t even acknowledge his farewell. He petted his swan and sat at his lake. Simon’s departure had no seeming effect on him. Which didn’t hurt Simon’s stupid vulnerable feelings, not at all.

The prince scaled the wall, hoisted himself up and up and up, until he almost reached the top. The edge was right there. Simon got his hand on it, about to get out. He turn his head slightly. Baz was smaller now, but he was still there, sitting by the lake. A seemingly constant fixture, unable to move forward, to change. Simon wondered how long he’d been one in this lake.

“Simon?! Simon, where are you?”

Penny’s voice triggered an automatic response in Simon. He threw himself over the edge, onto the proper ground. His legs were weak from climbing, but he stood tall with an arm on the tree.

“I’m here Penny!” He yelled into the endless dark.

Rapid footsteps got closer and closer. Simon watched a familiar figure emerge from the trees and immediately slam into him, nearly knocking him off balance. Penny crushed him in her arms.

“Hi, Pen,” he chuckled. “Worried about me?”

Penny pulled back, and promptly smacked her best friend over the head. “What the hell, Si?! You just vanished! Dear God, if you died, Davy would’ve gone ballistic, Watford wouldn’t have an heir, and I-I-” She sniffled and wiped her nose. Simon couldn’t see her face that well, but he could guess she was crying a bit. She hugged him tightly again. “Don’t you ever do that to me again, arsehole.”

Simon squeezed her tight, reassuring for both him and her. “I’m sorry, Penny. I shouldn’t have scared you.”

“Damn right.” She pulled back, glaring with confusion. “Where the hell were you anyway?”

“Oh I was just over-” Simon turned around, pointing at the the grotto. But there was no grotto. No lake or swans or floating lights. Only more darkness and trees. “It...was right there...” he whispered.

“What was right there?”

Just a magical lake where a black swan who’s actually a boy lives. Y’know, the usual, Simon thought, but he didn’t dare say. Baz barely tolerated Simon seeing him by accident. He probably wouldn’t appreciate another person knowing he was there. And really, Simon wasn’t sure Penny would believe him. Simon wouldn’t believe it he hadn’t actually seen it himself five minutes ago. Maybe he should just explain it later...

“Uh, a really cool big rock,” he said. “I swear I just saw it. Had all these cool markings and shit. I must’ve gotten turned around.”

Penny sighed with utter exasperation. “Yeah, I can believe that. You get lost turning left. So stop wandering off!”

She poked his chest hard enough to make him stumble. Simon chuckled, grabbing her hand. “Will do, Penny. Maybe we should get out of here. I’m a bit adventured out.”

“Yeah, me too. Let’s head home.”

They walked hand in hand back towards the forest edge. But Simon tired to commit landmarks to memory. A gnarled root, a strange flower, in case he needed to remember where he was. In case he ever had the chance to come back.

———————————————

AN: So some of you, or let's be honest, most of you, have probably already figured out what's going on. If so, I kindly ask for you to please not spoil it for those who haven't in the comments. Thanks :) I know it's obvious, but I hope you guys instead enjoy watching the characters learn, grow, make connections, and figure out what's going on for themselves. We may know but they obviously don’t know just yet. Just you wait though :D Until next time friends!

[grindellore]

fanfiction: and when he falls (chapter 1)

Fandom: Harry Potter | Fantastic Beasts Pairing: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald Characters: Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, Ariana Dumbledore, Bathilda Bagshot Rating: T

Summary: In the beginning, love was blossoming between an unearthly beautiful boy with radical ideas and a penchant for talking big and a spirited boy with a ready quill who was forced to take on the role as the head of his family far too early. In the end, there would be two broken hearts, and the beautiful boy would set out to change the world on his own while the spirited boy would be left behind with utterly destroyed family bonds and a well of guilt inside of him.

Also available on my AO3 (see the link in my profile).

And when he falls, he falls like Lucifer, Never to hope again. —Cardinal Wolsey on the “state of man” in William Shakespeare’s All Is True (Henry VIII), 3.2.371-372

The umpteenth version of “those two months of insanity”, but I hope my take on them will still be an interesting read. Canon compliant up until Crimes of Grindelwald with two reservations: First, both of Grindelwald’s eyes are blue (as stated in the Harry Potter books and the first Fantastic Beasts script), just as my physical descriptions in general attempt to comply with the books (Dumbledore has elbow-length auburn hair and a wispy beard; Grindelwald shoulder-length, curly golden hair and—I quote from Deathly Hallows—“a Fred and George-ish air of triumphant trickery about him.”) Second, I hc Dumbledore lied when he said the next time they met (after that fateful duel in 1899) was their duel in 1945.

Chapter 1

Gellert Grindelwald was crouching in the grass in front of the mossy tombstone; positioned, perhaps, directly above the remains of the person interred under it. If there were still remains, that was. The stone was crumbling; all raw, weathered coarseness and sharp, jagged edges. Gellert saw it but he also needed to feel it under the tips of his fingers; needed to follow the traces of the nigh illegible name and, most importantly, the triangular mark underneath. He closed his eyes to eliminate one of his senses, focusing on the sensation of the engraved dents in the stone.

Yes, there was a circle inscribed in the triangle; a line, too, bisecting the angle directly under Ignotus Peverell’s name. They were faint, but they were definitely there.

Gellert drew a shaky breath. This, he thought. This was it. He had been right to visit his aunt in Godric’s Hollow; not just to draw upon her vast library and equally vast historical knowledge, but also for this. This grave, seemingly unremarkable save for its age.

“Are you a distant relative of the Peverell family?”

Gellert all but started at the sound of the deep voice. When he had entered the graveyard, he had been aware of the black cloaked boy, kneeling in front of another grave with a bouquet of white lilies in his hands and shielded from the world by the thick curtain of his flowing auburn hair, so long it was almost touching the ground. Gellert had decided not to greet him, reluctant to intrude on the silent conversation he might be holding with the person he was mourning or, perhaps, with God.

Now the auburn-haired boy was standing right next to him. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see a worn but elegant pair of high-heeled, buckled boots.

Gellert, who had always had a sense for first impressions, allowed his own golden curls to flow out of his face, looking up at the boy before he rose in a smooth motion. The other was half a head taller than Gellert, even subtracting the heels. His form was as thin and slender as his face, with a wispy beard, a long, even nose and faint freckles under the rims of bright, light blue eyes.

Right now, these eyes were staring at him, thunderstruck. Gellert knew that reaction. He had seen his own face in the mirror; all even features and angles and long, black lashes over eyes that were a slightly darker shade of blue than the other boy’s. His golden, shoulder-length locks gave him an unearthly, almost angelic appeal that made most people hold their breath for a second when they first saw him.

“Not to my knowledge,” Gellert said smoothly and added a dazzling smile to the rest of his striking outward appearance. He straightened, making himself as tall as possible as he extended a hand towards the boy. “Nice to meet you. I’m Gellert Grindelwald, Bathilda Bagshot’s great-nephew.” The other took his hand, but before he could say anything, Gellert added: “And you must be Albus Dumbledore. I saw photos of you on Aunt Batty’s chest of drawers. She told me a lot about you; said you’re brilliant: Head Boy, Prefect, Winner of the Barnabus Finkley Prize…”

“Stop it; stop it!” Albus chuckled, holding his palms away from his chest. “You’ll make my face turn as red as my hair if you continue like that!” This wasn’t the kind of reaction Gellert had expected. It made Albus’s eyes sparkle and softened his features; made them pleasant and appealing.

Now it was Gellert who was staring, if only for a split second. He had assumed Albus would be rather sullen; depressed maybe because he had just come from a grave—and not any grave but his mother’s, if he recalled correctly from the abundance of information his aunt had fed him at his arrival in Godric’s Hollow.

“My great aunt does have a tendency to talk quite a lot about other people, and it’s often things that are a bit embarrassing,” Gellert conceded with a smile. “Usually good things, though.”

“Bathilda is a charming lady,” Albus said with a genuine smile of his own. “A brilliant historian, too! I wish I had an aunt like her.”

“She’s wonderful even though she’s a bit nosy.” Gellert cracked a grin, registering with satisfaction that Albus held his breath again even though he managed not to stare this time. “Asked me if you wanted to come over for coffee and cake, too.—Well, more like tea and cake,” he corrected himself. “For teatime, anyway.”

Gellert silently cursed himself. He knew his English didn’t betray much of his accent even though it was a bit lilting, but now he had given himself away as a non-native speaker for good. Sure enough, Albus Dumbledore, the wizarding wunderkind, would catch on to it.

“Bathilda may be as English as one can get, but you’re not from here, aren’t you?” Albus asked, sure enough, furrowing his brow in curiosity.

“No, I’m from Sopron, actually,” Gellert admitted. “Or Ödenburg, if that rings more of a bell. It’s in Austria-Hungary. Part of the Kingdom of Hungary, to be precise. My mother’s Hungarian; the father’s Austrian.”

“Interesting,” Albus said, eyes sparkling. “I’m sorry I must decline Bathilda’s invitation, though,” he added, and the light was suddenly gone from his eyes, as if someone had extinguished a candle. Gellert felt a strange and uncalled-for desire to do or say something to see it again. “Please tell Bathilda I’d gladly have accepted her invitation, but I’m afraid I must take care of my younger sister. I left her alone for far too long already, whiling away time at the cemetery.”

Gellert was fairly sure spending time at a deceased family member’s grave couldn’t exactly be called whiling away said time, but he decided not to comment on it. There was something peculiar about this boy; he was young, but there was an air resembling that of an absent-minded professor about him. Gellert felt drawn to him without being able to explain what exactly it was that made Albus so fascinating; what made him think desperately of ways to convince him to accept Bathilda’s invitation after all.

“Why don’t you just bring your sister along to Aunt Batty?” was the most natural thing that came to his mind.

“I’m afraid my sister is very frail … shy and easily distressed when she meets new people…” Albus’s voice trailed off, seemingly unconvinced by his own line of reasoning. He looked to the ground rather than into Gellert’s eyes.

“Why don’t you just ask her if she feels ready to meet me?” Gellert suggested, hope rising in his chest, fluttering up just like, as he hoped, the sparkle in Albus’s eyes. “I’m assuming she already knows Aunt Batty?”

“She does,” Albus admitted, “but she has never been to her house … Besides, my brother will kill me if I take Ariana to Bathilda’s.” He sighed.

“Then make sure he won’t find out about it.” Gellert smirked mischievously. Albus gave him a surprised look. Then the corners of his mouth twitched upwards.

“Fine,” he said, already turning on his heels. “I’m going to ask her.”

Interesting, Gellert thought. Albus had to be fairly desperate to escape his household charges, judging from how fast he had changed his mind. Either that, or… But Gellert quickly pushed that train of thought out of his mind.

“…so lovely if he could finally bring little Ariana over!” Gellert heard his great aunt say from the kitchen. He was in her sitting room, leaning against the bow-fronted chest of drawers on which she kept photographs of people close to her in silver frames. There was a particularly English note to the room, with embroidered doilies and colourfully painted flowerpots and saucers everywhere, but also a note that was purely Bathilda: There were stacks of books all across the room, some of them with an opened book on top and at least one scribble in the margins of the opened pages.

Aunt Batty’s sitting room was a little chaotic, but Gellert supposed it was practical if you were a famous historian and needed to draw on written texts all the time for your own books and articles. Nonetheless, he was feeling a little out of place in his spotless black trousers and black-grey striped waistcoat; too monochrome for the vivid colours of the room.

“Gellert, did you hear me?” his great aunt interrupted his musings about the room. “Should I set the table for two or four; what do you think?”

“Better set it for four,” he called back. “I think it’s better to have too many rather than too less place settings on the table, even if they don’t come in the end.”

He watched as four flowery saucers materialised on the wooden table in the middle of the room, followed by matching teacups and plates. Then there was a knock at Aunt Batty’s front door, and his attention strayed from the self-setting table.

“I’m going to let them in!” he informed his great aunt, already on his way to answer the door.

“Thanks, darling!” he heard her call from the kitchen.

Remembering what Albus had told him about Ariana’s shyness around unknown people, he opened the door slowly and with gentleness. Albus, now wearing purple robes, stood in front of him. His sister was half hidden behind his back, ogling Gellert from under Albus’s arm.

“I’m glad you could make it,” he greeted them both, beaming at Albus in particular. Then he turned to Ariana, bowing down a little to be on eye level with her. She had to be about a head smaller than him, though it was difficult to tell because she wasn’t standing upright.

“You must be Albus’s sister Ariana,” he greeted her, extending a hand. “I’m Gellert, Bathilda’s great nephew.”

She only stared at him suspiciously, making no move to take his hand. He reacted by extending only his bent index finger to her. She tipped at it with her own index finger, making a sound that was almost like a chuckle. His smile broadened.

“Do you want to come in?” he asked her. “Aunt Batty has made her famous chocolate cake.” She nodded. Albus exchanged a relieved look with Gellert as he went inside with his sister.

“Albus!” Bathilda exclaimed, storming out of the kitchen with open arms. She was smaller than Ariana, but that didn’t stop her from hugging Albus with the protective fierceness of a mother hen; it hadn’t stopped her from hugging Gellert with equal fierceness at his arrival either. Albus stooped down and hugged her back, smiling quietly into the tight bun of her brown hair.

“And Ariana!” Bathilda took Ariana’s hands with gentleness, smiling fondly at her. “Would you like to help me a little in the kitchen? Tea is almost ready.” Ariana nodded, and Bathilda tugged her along.

Albus clearly wasn’t at Bathilda’s for the first time. He walked alongside Gellert to the sitting room, taking a seat in a chair next to the empty fireplace. Gellert sat down across the table, scrutinizing Albus’s outward appearance.

“Honestly,” he said, “you’re fitting into this room way better than I do. Though I must admit the colour of your robes jars a little with your hair colour…”

“Interesting,” Albus said completely unimpressed. “A male individual who understands the idea of matching colours. What rarity.” He paused for effect. “Which colour would suit my hair better, Gellert; what do you think?”

“Green,” Gellert said without thinking. He realised he had been led up the garden path the moment the words left his mouth.

“Well … green.” Sure enough, Albus conjured a green carnation out of thin air and attached it on his purple robes. He raised both eyebrows. “Better?”

Gellert stared at him, utterly lost for words—and he was never lost for words. His heart was thumping in his chest. Albus had to know what he was alluding to, but what was he implying? That he was…? That he thought Gellert was…?

The truly unsettling thing was that he would have been right. Gellert’s head was hurting. He hadn’t known he was so easy to see through.

Then again, maybe Albus hadn’t seen through him after all. Maybe he had been making a statement about himself, or maybe it just amused him to scandalise other people. But that was something he, Gellert, thought funny! Would a model pupil like Albus even do such a thing?

Suddenly a large chocolate cake appeared on the table and their cups were full of tea—herbal tea by the scent of it. Gellert was immediately distracted. He found even black tea just barely tolerable, but herbal tea… Gellert sighed inwardly. As Aunt Batty’s guest, he needed to drink what was served to him, grin and bear it.

“Ah, wonderful!”  Albus exclaimed, apparently delighted by the sight of the chocolate cake. “May we help ourselves to a piece, Bathilda?”

“Of course!” Bathilda said, walking back into the sitting room with Ariana. She smiled at Albus. “After all, I know how much you enjoy my cakes.”

“Well, but first of all, we need to serve the ladies,” Albus said as he pulled his wand out of his robes and gave it a flick. Two impeccably cut pieces of cake separated from the whole of it and settled on the plates in front of Bathilda and Ariana. “Then the well-travelled guest.” Another piece went to Gellert’s plate. “And, finally, myself.” The piece of cake that made its way to Albus’s plate was of the exact shape and form as the other three. Gellert raised his eyebrows.

“Are you a believer in the distributive norm of equity?” he asked curiously. “Donum suum aequale sibi?”

“Much as I’d love to distribute sweets proportional to body height,” Albus said, corners of his mouth twitching, “I believe that would be rather impolite toward your aunt and my sister.” Gellert laughed.

“Well then, Gellert,” Bathilda said. “How do you like my cake?”

“Wait a minute, Aunt Batty!” Gellert replied, still giggling. “I need to take a bite first!”

“And you, dearie?” Bathilda turned to Albus. “What do you think?”

“It tastes delicious as always,” Albus said and took his first bite. Gellert blinked incredulously. Bathilda didn’t seem to have noticed; she left her chair and headed for the kitchen again, muttering something about forgotten cream.

“Did you just…” Gellert asked as soon as his great aunt was out of earshot, staring at Albus.

“So what if I did?” Albus put down his dessert fork. “Any other answer wouldn’t have been socially acceptable anyway, would it?” There was an amused twinkle in his eyes. “Besides, I know from experience that your great aunt makes the best pastries and cakes in the whole West Country of England!”

“Oh, thank you, dearie!” Bathilda, who reappeared with a full bowl of cream floating beside her in mid-air, had apparently only heard the last part of Albus’s declaration. Gellert hastened to take a bite of his piece of cake as well so he could make a statement about it based on evidence.

“Delicious!” he exclaimed after a pause. “There’s a lot of cocoa in this cake, isn’t it? It tastes luscious, almost like melted chocolate!”

“The recipe is a family secret.” Bathilda smiled at herself. “Then again, you are family, so perhaps I’ll hand it to you if you behave nicely during your stay here.” Gellert wanted to tell her how she was probably much better at baking than him anyway, but he didn’t even get to say a word.

“I wish I was part of your family too if that’s the only way to get this recipe!” Albus declared in such a heartfelt way that Ariana started to giggle again. Bathilda made eye contact with her.

“Sweetie, I think your brother is a bit silly today,” she declared. Ariana nodded eagerly, and soon all four of them were grinning. Then Bathilda seemed to remember something.

“Oh dear, I completely forgot to properly introduce you three!”

“It’s no problem, Auntie,” Gellert tried to calm her. “We already introduced ourselves to each other, and you told me so much about Albus...”

“But Albus hardly knows anything about you, darling!” Gellert winced.

“Please, Aunt Batty, let me tell him myself!” he asked, hating how desperate he sounded. He saw the scene right before his mind’s eye: Gellert, this is Albus, the star alumnus of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Albus, this is my good-for-nothing great nephew Gellert who was expelled from Durmstrang Institute. Would Albus still want to talk to him if he learnt right now that he...

“But I think your research project would benefit enormously if a bright boy like Albus could look into it!” Bathilda objected gently. Gellert felt dizzy with relief as he realised she wasn’t going to tell Albus about the disgraceful end of his schooling.

“A research project?” Albus piped up.

“Um, yes, it’s ... a bit difficult to explain.” Gellert blushed. Again, he saw the scene right before his eyes: Hello, I’m trying to find three magical artefacts from a children’s tale. Who was going to take him seriously? If only he could get enough time to explain ... preferably without Ariana and his great aunt present...

“It involves an enormous amount of historical research, which is why Gellert came to me in the first place,” Bathilda explained. “Unfortunately I’m pressed for time to finish a revised edition of my book on witchcraft trials at the moment; the publisher needs the final draft by the end of August. But you know your fair share of magical history as well, don’t you, dearie?”

“Oh, it would be an honour for me if I could help you!” Albus said eagerly, turning to Gellert.

“Perhaps we could go to my room and have a look at Aunt Batty’s books together?” Gellert suggested. “I’m sure she would love to stay with your sister in the meantime; wouldn’t you, Aunt Batty?”

“Of course, darling!” Bathilda beamed. “I need to work on my book this afternoon, but you enjoy knitting, don’t you, Ariana?” The girl nodded and smiled at her. “So we could sit together while I’m writing and you’re knitting,” Bathilda suggested. “How does that sound?”

“Lovely,” Ariana said quietly. It was the first word Gellert had heard her utter during the whole afternoon. She had a bright and pretty voice.

Then Gellert turned to Albus, watching his inward struggle with his promise to take care of his sister himself and the temptation to leave her in Bathilda’s care instead. Just like in the cemetery, Temptation won with ease.

“Thank you, Bathilda,” Albus said. “That’s very kind of you.” Then he gave Ariana a tentative smile. She smiled back, but neither of them said anything.

“Come with me?” Gellert asked before Albus might change his mind. Albus nodded and followed him to the stairs. They were steep and narrow, so Albus was quite close to him when he stopped right behind him. He took the green carnation from his purple robes, twirling it between his long fingers.

“Your reaction was quite satisfying,” he commented offhandedly.

“What?”  Gellert’s hand clutched around the landing. His knuckles turned white.

“There, again,” Albus said. “You seem so confident and sure of your own beauty. I wanted to see if I could do or say something that would unsettle you.”

Gellert stared at Albus in bewilderment.

“As it turned out, I could.” Albus smiled. His eyes sparkled. Then he flicked his wand, and the green carnation vanished. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. That was not my intention.”

He knows. Gellert felt the pulse of his own heartbeat in his throat.

“Oh, you didn’t disturb me at all,” he said as smoothly as he could and resumed walking. But he was sure he hadn’t fooled Albus.

Notes:

Oscar Wilde popularised green carnations as a symbol for homosexual men in Victorian England. He was tried for “gross indecency with men” in 1895 and jailed in Reading Gaol from then until 1897. Putting a green carnation on one’s lapel would have been considered risqué, to say the least, in 1899.

My headcanon that Gellert is from Sopron is very, very similar to that of Kierkegarden. I developed it independently but we were apparently thinking along very similar lines of reasoning: Nurmengard, the prison Gellert Grindelwald built, is located in Austria; Szent Gellért is a patron saint of Hungary; and Grindelwald is a village in Switzerland, which could be a Habsburg reference since Habsburg Castle, the originating seat of Austria’s long-time ruling family, is also located in Switzerland. (If you want to read this headcanon in a little more detail, follow the #grindellore tag on my blog 😉) Choosing Sopron as the place Gellert was born seems pretty natural, too, considering it’s an old city that used to be part of the Kingdom of Hungary; its status as Hungarian, not Austrian, remained controversial right after WWI; it was bombed several times during WWII; and it was the site of the “Pan-European Picnic”, a peace demonstration in 1989.

In case anyone’s curious: I hc Albus as about 1.85m in this fic; Gellert is about 1.75m; Ariana is c. 1.50m. Albus is frequently described as tall and thin even by the standards of the early 1990s in the Harry Potter series; he would be huge for a human man by the standards of the late 1890s.