Rudy Francisco Quotes Competition
Long after I have given up, my heart still searches for you without my permission.
She was like a butterfly. Soft, delicate. Bold in a gentle way.
She was a butterfly, and Gellert examined her.
He promised himself to not crush her wings. He promised. And he was supposed to keep that promise.
He failed.
It was the first time Gellert Grindelwald accepted that he could fail.
Ariana Dumbledore.
The first time Gellert saw her, he finally knew what being at a loss for words felt like. There were no words to describe her. Ariana Dumbledore was everything and nothing.
She was a puzzle Gellert was determined to solve.
Ariana was a girl who couldn't speak properly. Her words had an endearing lilt to them, broken as they might be. Her voice wasn't like honey; no, Gellert didn't like honey. Her voice was like music. Every word fell up and down, playing a rhythm that sent his heart racing.
"Gel," she would say, tilting her head. She always tilted her head. "Gel." Her hair, blonde with just a slight sheen of red, would fall across her pale pink lips. And he would wish he could reach out and brush them away.
Ariana liked to sing. Her singing would seem… odd to someone who didn't know her. But Gellert could sit for hours and watch her sing.
Ariana bit her lip, her eyes —Gellert noted that they were the palest shade of blue, almost white—flitting over the parchment in front of her. She held the quill awkwardly, her fingers unable to grasp the eagle feather properly. Tilting her head, she traced the edge of the parchment, eyes dreamy.
"Singing," Albus muttered as he walked past, casting a bored glance at Ariana's swaying figure. "She likes to sing."
Gellert nodded and continued to watch her. After a moment, he stood up and walked over, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Ariana?"
Her head snapped up, eyes meeting his. Her lips relaxed and fell back into a faint smile as she stared up at him, studying him. "Sing," she said, pointing at the parchment. She nodded firmly. "I… I sing."
Gellert pulled a chair over and sat beside her. She cleared her throat before continuing. "Need… need… words. Sing words." She stuck her bottom lip out in a pout as she waved the parchment before him. "Words… not coming."
Gellert couldn't help but smile. "Then hum."
Ariana wrinkled her nose slightly—a sign that she was confused, Gellert had learned. He pushed the parchment away before continuing. "Like this." He hummed a short tune from his favorite song.
"H-hum," Ariana muttered, sounding the word out. She put her hands on the desk, fixing her eyes on him with a fierce determination. "I… I hum." She imitated the tune, faltering at the more complex parts.
"Good job," Gellert says, his eyes fixed on her. But, of course, she didn't notice.
He can't help but dream of a time when she would notice. He can't help but search for the part that she lost, even though it's long gone.
Gellert sits on the edge of the bed, his eyes flitting from Ariana's swaying form to the words on the page of the book he's reading. Ariana gets up abruptly and sits down at his feet, leaning her head back against his knees.
Gellert drops the book, staring down at Ariana's face with wide eyes. She reaches up and lifts her hair, frowning as she pulls it from where it was pinned behind her back. She spreads her red-gold hair across his lap and sighs, closing her eyes. "Gel?" she says after a moment of silence.
Gellert is jolted out of his frozen state. "Yes?' he says, unable to pull his gaze away from Ariana. If she were any other girl, if she hadn't lost what Gellert's still searching for, then she would notice the way his hand fidgets, edging closer and closer to her hair. But Ariana doesn't know what love is; all she knows of love is kisses on the forehead, the name Ari, the way people care for her. She doesn't know about the passion, the wanting, racing through Gellert.
He can't hold back the temptation any longer. His fingers have a mind of their own as they twirl a single strand of Ariana's hair around them. Gellert's heart is racing, and he feels his cheeks heating up against his will. "Today," Ariana says. "Gel's… Gel's birthday."
She remembers. Gellert doesn't know how, but she remembers. He knows what would be the perfect birthday gift; another rush of red floods his cheeks. Stop dreaming, Gellert, he tells himself, clenching his jaw. But no matter what he says, his mind wanders to the imagined feeling of warm lips against his.
"Hap-py," Ariana starts, the syllables disjointed. "Happy birthday." She turns around and meets his gaze, tilting her head. Suddenly, she gets up and walks away, unaware of the way she's making his heart beat a new rhythm, the way his hand closes on empty air when he reaches for her.
Gellert loves and hates how she makes him feel.
He crushed her wings and left her to die on the cold, wooden floor of her living room. He pretends to not remember the days when she would lean against him, hair fanned out over him, lips mumbling disconnected words into his shoulder. He pretends not to remember the way she would hum the tunes he hummed, the way she would make his heart dance to a rhythm meant just for her.
It's hard pretending.
He still hears her voice, soft and lilting, in his dreams, calling out his name. "Gel. Gel. Gel." He sees flashes of her lying on the floor, her pale blue eyes no longer bright, her lips cold, her hair spread out, shining in the light that manages to breach the dusty windows.
It's hard to not search for what she lost.
Long after I have given up, my heart still searches for you without my permission.