Crimson Petals
This story idea came to me during my Christmas holidays in 2016 and it's not relinquished its hold until it was finally all written out in May/June of this year. I was lucky to include most elements of the first trailer, but whatever else we've discovered since then has not been taken into account - so this'll soon count as an AU. Tina's role in this story is VERY loosely based on female operative in the French resistance in WW2 - so please be mindful that I'm not romanticising it. Hence the rating.
This story is fully written and beta'd and updates will be every Tuesday and Friday.
The biggest thank you goes to my alpha and beta readers njckle and Katie Havok, without them this story would still be a simple outline.
PROLOGUE
The hallway is dark, its blackness broken only by the cones of flimsy lamplight from the lanterns adorning the walls. No natural light penetrates these walls, stoic in their solidness, and he loathes it.
He always has.
It's not the darkness he despises, it's the forced codependency he seeks to end. Darkness is daylight's intriguing cousin, mysterious and full of secrets, shrouding everything from view. It's his cover, his ally, his secret keeper. Still, there are bigger, larger things he no longer wishes to conceal. He wants to break free, to no longer be chained to the darkness.
Soon, he thinks, it will be time to reclaim the daylight. No more hiding in the shadows. It'll all come to light.
The hushed whisper of voices floats through the opening and into the hallway, growing exponentially the closer they get. His footsteps follow behind, slow and steady, echoing off the stone floor and ceiling. There's no need to rush; he wants to savour the moment, draw it out as long as he's able. He waits in the door, staying just within the shadows as he watches the hall. Rows upon rows of seats reach almost all the way to the ceiling, filled to the brim with expectant faces.
The corners of his lips quirk into a satisfied smile at the sight and he runs his fingers through the blonde hair atop his head. It's short again, nothing like the long mane and beard he had acquired in New York, and his smile grows wider. He's himself again, about to reclaim his rightful place. They're all here, waiting for him.
"Look at them, waiting like vultures for the lions to deliver the kill," he says, inclining his head to the man on his left.
"Revolting," his companion agrees, icy blue eyes trained on the crowd of waiting people, "but they will be of use to you, Gellert. They're flocking to the cause like starved men to water since your spectacular escape from MACUSA."
He chuckles darkly. "Yes, I imagine they enjoyed seeing the great Seraphina Picquery made to look like a fool just as much as I did." He sneers. "I told you, Rosier. It's just the prelude we needed. They'll be putty in our hands after tonight."
They share a look and turn as one to the woman to Grindelwald's right. Her eyes are lowered to the coarse rope binding her hands, chin nearly touching her chest, barely daring to breathe as she waits for their direction.
He leans close to whisper in her ear, delighting in the way she shivers and recoils from him, naked terror in her eyes. "Are you ready, my dear?"
She doesn't answer and he gives a crooked grin, tugging at the loose end of rope to pull her along like dog. The voices quiet immediately as they step out of the shadow and into the pool of sunlight streaming through the rotund skylight above, broken only by the shallow water that covers it, painting silver ripples of light across their faces.
Grindelwald comes to stand at the centre of the hall as his two-toned gaze sweeps the room, arms drawing wide. "Welcome, friends. Glad you could join us today; I am planning to make this meeting worth your while." He pulls on the string and the woman yelps before stepping closer. "We have an esteemed guest with us today, let us welcome her properly, shall we?" He turns to her. "Tell us your name, dearest." She mumbles quietly and he tugs at the rope. "Louder!"
She jumps at the sharpness of his tone as it cuts through her like a knife before raising her head, standing proud as she challenges them. "Alexandrine Tremblay."
A gasp goes through the black-feathered crowd.
One elderly man stands on wobbly legs, straightening his garments, and his beard trembles in agitation as he points a wrinkled, gnarly finger at Grindelwald's chest. "You go too far, Mr Grindelwald! She's from one of France's most important wizarding families — old blood — this will not be easily forgiven. You're parading her around like a show horse! What is the meaning of this?"
Grindelwald holds up both hands in a placating gesture. "Dear Alexandrine is in good hands, fear not. No harm will come to her, I will attest to it. I don't like having to keep her here, but it's the only way." He smiles. "She'll be helpful, won't you, my dear?" His tone imitates near perfect warmth. Grindelwald holds out his left hand, and Rosier places a large glass sphere in his palm. The crowd watches with bated breath as he holds it high, his voicing ringing out strong and clear as it slices through the expectant silence. "The prophecy has fulfilled itself. I have found the child. He is magnificent."
"That prophecy got you captured. And where is the child?" The old man withers, shrinking in on himself as Grindelwald disconcerting gaze hones in on him, unblinking, and swallows before retaking his seat.
Grindelwald turns, pacing the room with both hands folded behind his back. "The boy will come. He'll be instrumental to the cause. His power alongside mine will make us invincible. They will all bend to our will, mark my words! We shall be free." He turns in a whirl of black fabric, a sure smile gracing his lips. "He's been slighted, sure to harbour the same hate towards them. All he's looking for is a family, a place to belong — Alexandrine will lure him here," he spreads his arms wide, "but we will be his family. Nobody will stop us."
