Chapter Text
20 March, 1927, Nurmengard Castle
Gellert Grindelwald was sick of feeling sorry for himself. He had just come out of the room where Credence Barebone was staying, after gifting him a wand and feeding him lies – all so Gellert could finally tear down his only equal without breaking the promise of the blood pact. He was, after all, only planting the seeds of Albus' destruction, what Credence chose to do with those seeds couldn't be blamed on himself. Except the one flaw with this plan was that Gellert knew that he would always be at fault for whatever happened to Albus. He mindlessly reached for the pocket at his heart, wanting to be reassured, but his hand grasped at nothing. He was forcibly reminded that the blood pact was gone - his only link to Albus.
He ran his hand through his hair in frustration as he walked through the corridors of Nurmengard, all he had done was for Albus. He had begun to carry out their vision - wizards ruling the muggles, the non magiques , but deep down he knew that he wasn't going to get Albus back if he continued like this. He was committed to The Greater Good of course, but he could be allowed pleasures on the side. And Albus certainly was a pleasure, his only equal, both intellectually and magically. He might have hundreds, even thousands of supporters, but none of them meant as much to him as Albus did. As once again, his hand reached for the blood pact that he knew wasn't there, he had an idea. He needed that blood pact back - not just to keep Albus from attacking him - but as a means to see him again.
Gellert was no fool, he knew that Albus had it, and Albus was at Hogwarts. And Hogwarts had students, one of which he had locked up in the distant cells in the bowel of the castle because his family had been fighting against his cause. He knew there was a reason he hadn't allowed the boy to be killed along with his family, not only because Albus would never forgive him (although he suspected he wasn't going to be forgiven anyway for certain other events), but because the boy could prove himself useful. He smiled, and changed his direction, heading for the cells.
20 March, 1927, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
"Would he like a cup of tea?" Albus Dumbledore asked the small niffler that hid in Newt's coat pocket.
Newt smiled softly, the loss of the previous night still weighing heavily on his shoulders.
"He'll have some milk. Hide the teaspoons," he added hastily on the end, and Dumbledore cracked a small grin.
His office was filled with small trinkets and oddities, least of which the giant magical telescope, almost leaning out of the window on the right. Dumbledore waved a hand absently and a cushy armchair made its way up to his desk. Dumbledore disappeared up the spiral staircase, and Newt had to struggle with the niffler, who was attempting to stuff a large gold ring into its pouch. Dumbledore returned, carrying multiple large pieces of cloth, a teapot and cups trailing magically behind him. Newt noticed, as he covered up the hundreds of shiny things in his office with cloth, that he held the small blood pact in the same place Grindelwald had. His left breast pocket.
"So Newt, did I hear something about a Zouwu?"
"News travels fast. He is happily roaming free now. They were born to run."
The teapot poured them each a cup of tea, and a cup filled with warm milk set itself down on the desk, and Newt released his hold of the niffler. They both watched with shared amusement as it happily slurped the creamy white drink.
"What were the wrist cuffs for?"
"Oh, Travers seems to think me in quite the same boat as Gell- Grindelwald," he caught his mistake, admonishing himself for the slip of tongue.
"I was never quite a supporter of him. I can’t imagine you were either."
"Don't let him catch you saying that," Albus rolled his eyes.
They sat in companionable silence, for a long stretch, not really wanting to speak of the events in Paris. The only sound in the room was of the happy niffler drinking it's milk, and the irregular ticking of an old grandfather clock in the corner.
"Why would you make a blood pact?" Newt broke the silence, his voice a mix of exhausted and exasperated.
"I quite foolishly believed his tale, the way he used to talk about it, it was hard not too." He looked out the window wistfully.
A voice came from behind the door, interrupting Albus from his distracting nostalgia. "Excuse me professor?"
"I must be going anyway," Newt rose and grabbed the niffler, exiting out the door around a strawberry blond boy who looked to be around sixteen.
"Farewell Newt," Albus called after his past student, taking a sip of tea from his now-cold cup.
"Professor, I was hoping to speak to you," the young wizard came into the room and sat down in Newt's previously vacated seat.
"Please, do come in." Albus bit back a chuckle. "What is it that you were here for?"
"I wanted to inform you of my leave of absence being thankfully over now."
"I have to admit, I was curious as to where exactly you had gone off to, Mr Young."
The boy's lips curved into a delighted smile.
"But while I'm here," the young man started, "I wanted to inquire about a... somewhat controversial topic.”
Albus turned around to face the student fully, crossing his ankles and resting his elbows atop his desk. He studied their bleak expression and raised a brow.
“If you’re seeking the content of intellectual banter I suggest you go find -”
“-No sir,” the boy interrupted, “it’s a simple question and I only need a quick answer.”
“Is that so…” Albus murmured, “well then… what is it you wanted to ask?”
“How does one create a horcrux?”
Albus’ eyes widened slightly before he recovered his composure.
“That kind of dark magic is not appropriate for any wizard, let alone a student like yourself,” he muttered gravely, casting a stern look at the young man who only remained unfazed by the subtle confrontation.
Instead, he smirked, “How about I ask you a question you can answer, professor.”
The young man’s attitude was peculiar… if not a little unsettling. He sat with one leg hooked over the other and Albus was starting to feel a sense of familiarity with his character.
“Go ahead,” Albus responded, leaning back into his chair, smiling when he realised what was going on.
“How does one form a blood pact?” Before Albus could answer, the boy spoke again. “How can I destroy one?”
Albus froze, contemplating his next move before shaking his head with a small smile. “Why? Having second thoughts are we?”
"Never," the wizard shook his head, "but I suspect that you are."
Albus leaned back in his seat, observing the seemingly young boy before him. "Get rid of the disguise."
Eyes were rolled. "It's polyjuice, you'll just have to wait," Gellert smirked, suggesting that he knew full well that it was a flimsy excuse.
Albus picked up his wand. Pointing it at the imposter, he lifted the disguise, revealing the face that tormented him from the mirror of Erised. Using Gellert’s distraction at just having had a wand pointed at his face, he placed a glamour over the pendant he had in his pocket – disguising it as a pocket watch.
"Why are you here?" Albus asked, putting his wand away.
"Why are you having tea with a former student?"
Albus smiled, "Ah yes, 'What makes Albus Dumbledore so fond of you'. I suspected you were jealous when Newt told me what you asked, but now I see it clearly for myself."
Gellert spluttered, "I'm not jealous! I'm just asking a question!"
"Just like how I asked why you're here. You have a lot of nerve, but I suppose you always had that. You can't just run away after my sister is killed and not contact me for decades, and then show up when you want the blood pact back." Albus made sure to keep his voice level but didn't bother disguising the venom in his words.
Gellert’s eyes softened. "I'm going to ignore you asking why I'm here when you clearly already know, and I ran away because I knew you didn't want to see me right then. I ran away to help you mourn easier."
The magic in the air crackled around Albus, "Don't give me that bullshit."
Gellert felt the full force of Albus’ magic pressing at his mental barriers, as well as keeping a tight hold on his throat.
“You told me to leave. I left,” said Grindelwald.
Albus sighed, his magic dissipating from around him. The events of that night, Gellert’s disappearance… it broke his heart. The magical teapot poured a cup of tea for Gellert, who immediately picked it up and took a sip, humming softly. Albus studied Gellert, his short spiky white-blond hair, dark coat and green vest.
“You have any biscuits?” Gellert questioned and Albus wearily opened a desk drawer to pull out a packet of scotch fingers.
“I always liked jammie dodgers best,” he commented, taking it and breaking it perfectly in half.
“What do you want, Gellert?”
“I’ve told you already, I want the blood pact.”
“And I’ve told you, you aren’t going to get the dastardly thing. And you know that. So why are you here?”
“Would you believe me if I said I missed you?”
“No.”
“Of course,” Gellert dipped his scotch finger for a second in the tea and took a bite. A few crumbs landed on the edge of his moustache.
“What prompted you to grow that-“ Gellert waved his fingers condescendingly at Albus’ face “monstrosity.”
“I’d like to inquire the same about the infernal thing on your lip.”
“You love my moustache. Admit it,” Grindelwald leaned forwards in his seat, resting his elbows on the table.
Albus narrowed his eyes, “You still haven’t answered my question. Why are you really here?”
“I wanted to determine your threat level to me and my cause.”
“I think you’ve determined enough already. I haven’t handed you in yet have I?“
“No, but you were always too empathetic.”
Gellert took the last sip from his tea and stood up, whipping his coattail behind him, and leaving out the door. Albus was left staring at his office door, a small mix of confused and concerned.