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rarepair_shortsAuthor: [had one pint too many in the Hogshead last night]
Recipient:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
evening12
Title: Goodbye
Pairing: (past) Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1204
Summary: When removed from his post as headmaster in 1996, Dumbledore isn't idle. He knows he'll have to return to England sooner rather than later, but there is one thing he must do first.
Author's Notes:
Dearevening12, I hope you like this little fic. It's probably rather different from what you expected; it is certainly different from what I expected when I set out to write it. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it.
To my beta: this wouldn't be what it is if it weren't for you. Thank you for your astute comments, for challenging me to not leave readers hanging, i.e., to actually write an ending, for your encouragement. ♥
Goodbye
You know you'll have to go back soon, that Harry will need you before long, that they'll all need you. You haven't been idle but there is one thing left to do before you return. You've been putting this meeting off for far too long. Yet, even now, you hesitate. What if you haven't changed? What if he has changed? Your pace falters and you stop. The small forest path cuts a corner in front of you. You know what lies beyond that bend.
He'd been young, foolish, and you'd failed him. You should have known better, should have stopped him, shouldn't have waited so long to stop him. The first leaves adorn the gnarled old trees, and two birds cross your path, chasing each other in the joyful way that only spring spawns. You feel an odd sense of peace, the kind that follows inevitability. With the sweet air tickling your nose, you continue toward your destiny, your heart lighter than it has been in weeks.
It is one step that changes everything. You feel the magic as you pass through it. Dark, menacing, a warning. Not to you, but you still feel its effects. Spring cannot reach beyond this magical boundary. Here, the trees are dead, always, and bird song will not grace this realm. You shiver, but cannot help admiring the work – the art, magic so perfectly orchestrated that it makes Nurmengard a formidable presence indeed, even now, a mere shadow of its intended self. The walls, black and sheer, aren't marred by a single hint of the most enduring lichen. They rise up, high into the mist that surrounds the prison. The silence is absolute, your breath and heartbeat impossibly loud.
You should not be afraid. You don't know what you're afraid of. You've beaten him; he no longer is a threat. He's no longer even important. Or is he? Didn't you feel hope just moments ago? Didn't you mourn again – still? It was the prison, the magic. You straighten your back, lift your chin and make for the gate. The iron letters loom above you and you remember your younger self, voice excited and full of idealism: For the Greater Good.
Is this why you're here? For the greater good? He no longer is the enemy; his successor is the one who deserves your attention now. You know all this, as well as you know that before it all ends, before the end begins, you have to do this. You have to see him again, for reasons that you don't yet understand, that you don't want to allow yourself to explore.
Gellert Grindelwald. Why is it that you still see the brilliant, beautiful young man when you think of him? It's only a flash of a memory, almost too fast to become distinct before it's superseded by the angry man who left you, then the cruel, cold enemy you defeated. Not for the first time you marvel at the fact that your best and worst memories rest in one and the same person. Your heart cannot follow. You know that he is one and the same person, that the boy you loved became the man you should hate, while your heart insists that they are not, cannot be the same. There is still time to turn back. No one commands you to do this. No one knows you're here. And still your feet are drawn to the winding staircase and up to the room on the topmost floor of the tower.
When you catch your first glimpse of him after half a century, he is neither beautiful nor magnificent. What you find is a broken shell. Grey hair hangs limply into his face. He is wrapped in an old, frayed cloak, claw-like fingers holding it closed under his chin. Your first instinct is to crouch down. You feel the urge to gather him in your arms. You knew him, you laughed together, you loved. Once. You drop to your knees, reaching out for him, then you hesitate. He looks up. His eyes are alert and cold, just like the last time you saw him. He almost fooled you.
“You haven't changed, Albus.” His voice is thin and raspy from disuse. It hurts to listen to him. “You were always a fool.”
You hope he doesn't notice the moment of hesitation before you answer. “Ah Gellert, my friend, we have very different notions of what that is.” You make your voice sound confident and nonchalant and force yourself to smile. Yet you can't help but agree with him. You are a fool.
“And very different notions of what a friend is.” You suppress the shudder that his grating voice causes. “I knew you'd come,” he continues.
You're not surprised. Gellert has always understood you, as well as you understood him, even if you chose to turn a blind eye until it was too late.
“Have you come to say goodbye?” It is impossible to tell if he's joking or mocking or afraid, but as soon as Gellert utters the words, you know that this is why you're here.
And yet, you do not reply. How do you say goodbye to the man who killed your sister? And why would you? You get up to leave. On the threshold, you stop. A sound reaches you just when you begin to turn back. Quiet, but piercing. Horrible. Gellert is laughing.
Your love may have lasted a mere half year, almost a century ago, you may have separated in bad blood, you may be enemies, but there hasn't ever been a person who understands you as perfectly as Gellert does. Who knows your weakness as he does. You know it and it scares you. It always has.
“Still unable to see things through 'til the end,” Gellert says between fits of laughter that shake his thin body. “Still scared of who you are,” he continues.
He's right, of course. There are moments when you're surprised by your own ruthlessness. And he's wrong because if nothing else you know where your path is leading you, what you need to do. You will assist Harry with his impossible task. Until the end.
You raise your wand, aiming for his chest. Gellert's laughter stops and his features relax. He spreads his arms and exposes his heart to you.
“I've been waiting for you, Albus,” he whispers, and his voice almost sounds like it did that summer a lifetime ago when you snuck into his room after sunset. You lower your wand.
Gellert's eyes are a silent challenge as he sits up a little straighter, spreads his arms a little wider. You don't move and challenge becomes question as his brows furrow.
You answer his unasked question by closing the distance once more. You kneel in front of him again. His arms are still outstretched, no longer challenging but silently pleading for release.
You lean forward and press your lips lightly to his forehead before you get up and murmur, “Goodbye, Gellert,” so quiet you're not sure he can hear you.
But it doesn’t matter. It is done now. And you will never come back.
Recipient:
evening12Title: Goodbye
Pairing: (past) Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald
Rating: PG
Word Count: 1204
Summary: When removed from his post as headmaster in 1996, Dumbledore isn't idle. He knows he'll have to return to England sooner rather than later, but there is one thing he must do first.
Author's Notes:
Dear
evening12, I hope you like this little fic. It's probably rather different from what you expected; it is certainly different from what I expected when I set out to write it. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy it.To my beta: this wouldn't be what it is if it weren't for you. Thank you for your astute comments, for challenging me to not leave readers hanging, i.e., to actually write an ending, for your encouragement. ♥
Goodbye
You know you'll have to go back soon, that Harry will need you before long, that they'll all need you. You haven't been idle but there is one thing left to do before you return. You've been putting this meeting off for far too long. Yet, even now, you hesitate. What if you haven't changed? What if he has changed? Your pace falters and you stop. The small forest path cuts a corner in front of you. You know what lies beyond that bend.
He'd been young, foolish, and you'd failed him. You should have known better, should have stopped him, shouldn't have waited so long to stop him. The first leaves adorn the gnarled old trees, and two birds cross your path, chasing each other in the joyful way that only spring spawns. You feel an odd sense of peace, the kind that follows inevitability. With the sweet air tickling your nose, you continue toward your destiny, your heart lighter than it has been in weeks.
It is one step that changes everything. You feel the magic as you pass through it. Dark, menacing, a warning. Not to you, but you still feel its effects. Spring cannot reach beyond this magical boundary. Here, the trees are dead, always, and bird song will not grace this realm. You shiver, but cannot help admiring the work – the art, magic so perfectly orchestrated that it makes Nurmengard a formidable presence indeed, even now, a mere shadow of its intended self. The walls, black and sheer, aren't marred by a single hint of the most enduring lichen. They rise up, high into the mist that surrounds the prison. The silence is absolute, your breath and heartbeat impossibly loud.
You should not be afraid. You don't know what you're afraid of. You've beaten him; he no longer is a threat. He's no longer even important. Or is he? Didn't you feel hope just moments ago? Didn't you mourn again – still? It was the prison, the magic. You straighten your back, lift your chin and make for the gate. The iron letters loom above you and you remember your younger self, voice excited and full of idealism: For the Greater Good.
Is this why you're here? For the greater good? He no longer is the enemy; his successor is the one who deserves your attention now. You know all this, as well as you know that before it all ends, before the end begins, you have to do this. You have to see him again, for reasons that you don't yet understand, that you don't want to allow yourself to explore.
Gellert Grindelwald. Why is it that you still see the brilliant, beautiful young man when you think of him? It's only a flash of a memory, almost too fast to become distinct before it's superseded by the angry man who left you, then the cruel, cold enemy you defeated. Not for the first time you marvel at the fact that your best and worst memories rest in one and the same person. Your heart cannot follow. You know that he is one and the same person, that the boy you loved became the man you should hate, while your heart insists that they are not, cannot be the same. There is still time to turn back. No one commands you to do this. No one knows you're here. And still your feet are drawn to the winding staircase and up to the room on the topmost floor of the tower.
When you catch your first glimpse of him after half a century, he is neither beautiful nor magnificent. What you find is a broken shell. Grey hair hangs limply into his face. He is wrapped in an old, frayed cloak, claw-like fingers holding it closed under his chin. Your first instinct is to crouch down. You feel the urge to gather him in your arms. You knew him, you laughed together, you loved. Once. You drop to your knees, reaching out for him, then you hesitate. He looks up. His eyes are alert and cold, just like the last time you saw him. He almost fooled you.
“You haven't changed, Albus.” His voice is thin and raspy from disuse. It hurts to listen to him. “You were always a fool.”
You hope he doesn't notice the moment of hesitation before you answer. “Ah Gellert, my friend, we have very different notions of what that is.” You make your voice sound confident and nonchalant and force yourself to smile. Yet you can't help but agree with him. You are a fool.
“And very different notions of what a friend is.” You suppress the shudder that his grating voice causes. “I knew you'd come,” he continues.
You're not surprised. Gellert has always understood you, as well as you understood him, even if you chose to turn a blind eye until it was too late.
“Have you come to say goodbye?” It is impossible to tell if he's joking or mocking or afraid, but as soon as Gellert utters the words, you know that this is why you're here.
And yet, you do not reply. How do you say goodbye to the man who killed your sister? And why would you? You get up to leave. On the threshold, you stop. A sound reaches you just when you begin to turn back. Quiet, but piercing. Horrible. Gellert is laughing.
Your love may have lasted a mere half year, almost a century ago, you may have separated in bad blood, you may be enemies, but there hasn't ever been a person who understands you as perfectly as Gellert does. Who knows your weakness as he does. You know it and it scares you. It always has.
“Still unable to see things through 'til the end,” Gellert says between fits of laughter that shake his thin body. “Still scared of who you are,” he continues.
He's right, of course. There are moments when you're surprised by your own ruthlessness. And he's wrong because if nothing else you know where your path is leading you, what you need to do. You will assist Harry with his impossible task. Until the end.
You raise your wand, aiming for his chest. Gellert's laughter stops and his features relax. He spreads his arms and exposes his heart to you.
“I've been waiting for you, Albus,” he whispers, and his voice almost sounds like it did that summer a lifetime ago when you snuck into his room after sunset. You lower your wand.
Gellert's eyes are a silent challenge as he sits up a little straighter, spreads his arms a little wider. You don't move and challenge becomes question as his brows furrow.
You answer his unasked question by closing the distance once more. You kneel in front of him again. His arms are still outstretched, no longer challenging but silently pleading for release.
You lean forward and press your lips lightly to his forehead before you get up and murmur, “Goodbye, Gellert,” so quiet you're not sure he can hear you.
But it doesn’t matter. It is done now. And you will never come back.
no subject
Date: 2013-01-30 10:32 pm (UTC)You are right in saying this wasn't what I had been expecting. I never thought that I would received a Albus/Gellert fic!!! I've been on a mad hunt to see more this pair written by creating prompts featuring them. I am absolutely pleased that this pairing inspired.
I wonder who you are mysterious author. I don't think I can recognize your style, but that might just be because of the P.O.V used in this story. It's not often that I find stories with first person p.o.v but this worked rather well. I loved how this was almost a missing moment in canon. I always find that they create precious stories.
My favourite line Not for the first time you marvel at the fact that your best and worst memories rest in one and the same person.
Lots of thanks for your hard work <3
no subject
Date: 2013-01-31 12:10 am (UTC)