A/N: Hello my dearies! It's been a while, but here is my newest story! I hope you enjoy it! This has been placed in the time shortly after Grindelwald, Albus and Alberfroth duel each other and Ariana dies. Submitted for the IWSC! Please note that if a paragraph is italicised, Grindelwald is either reading or recalling text from memory!
Also, shoutout to Esme for being a beta sent by the gods. This fic would never have reached completion without her!
School: Beauxbatons
Year: Second
Theme: Secrecy Era 1692 - 1880
Main Prompt: [Object] Historical artefact from your era (a locket)
Additional Prompts: [Event] Trial (witch trial), [pairing (any)] Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald (any- it's complicated)
Word count: 2633 (without A/N)
The Outside Soul
By AK
Gellert Grindelwald met Albus Dumbledore in the summer of his seventeenth year. Godric's Hollow had been the epicentre of his research of the Hollows, and the spry, intelligent young man he had befriended was a pleasant yet unexpected bonus.
Two months later, however, they became irrevocable enemies.
Grindelwald clenched his fist tightly. Figurative flames were dancing in his reddened eyes, and his lips were pressed into a thin line. His hands were blistered, yet the madness in his gaze was undiminished by the pain. If anything, it only burned brighter because of it.
He stumbled down the tree-lined path, tripping over each root that protruded from the earth in his blinding rage. He had thought that Albus understood, why would he turn on him now?
True, Albus had always cared for his family despite his vehemence to be free of familial responsibilities.
Perhaps he had, in order to bring the Obscurial out, gone too far with Ariana. He had been a hair's breadth from success when Alberfroth had stumbled onto the scene and had cut his efforts short.
He would admit that he had been less than pleased when the two brothers had got into an argument. Before they'd known it, wands had been whipped out, and spells had been flying everywhere.
Maybe it had been a bit much when he had Cruciated the goat-loving meddler of a brother in front of Albus. Merlin knows that he had done worse – much, much worse – to those who annoyed him. He had been showing restraint since it was Albus's younger brother...
And as for the... accident involving Ariana...
Well... it was no matter. What was done was done. One must not dwell in the past, not when there were matters of the present.
Pushing open the creaky door of his great-aunt's cottage, he stumbled into a chair, breathing heavily. His mind swiftly recalled lines upon lines of old text. Dark magic that was so evil that even the professors of Durmstrang avoided it – Horcruxes.
Horcruxes, nigh indestructible physical vassals of a fragment of a soul granting the original owner of the soul near immortality... The body will live on as long as the Horcrux remains whole... The splitting of the soul must be accompanied by the loss of virtue... A dark art, darker than most... The vassal must be of great value to the caster... Should the caster of the spell encounter failure, the backlash is inconceivable... The anchor must be a wild and vivid emotion... Many lives have been lost in failure...
But somehow or the other, the requirements aligned.
But time was short.
He needed to find a suitable vassal before his soul melded back together.
Ignoring the sharp bursts of pain from where the backlash of the Blood Pact had struck, he riffled through the miscellaneous items on Bathilda Bagshot's desk. One would think that a great Historian would have some odds and ends of more than just sentimental value...
A nautical divider calliper was tossed to one side, a war helmet was flung to the other, a bronze bell was deliberated upon before that too was pushed away. Somehow, nothing seemed to... resonate with him.
Frustration welling up inside him once more, Grindelwald blindly clenched his hand around something smooth and pointy. Startled, he pulled it out. It was the blood pact locket. He had seen it and held it many times before but somehow… when he touched it just now...
It reminded him of how he had felt when he had first touched his wand.
Hand trembling with excitement, he checked if it was suitable for a Horcrux. Firstly, the vassal must be able to endure the test of time. He vaguely recalled Albus telling him that it was an heirloom. It would do. Secondly, it must have an aura of darkness. Grindelwald's eyes fluttered closed as his consciousness was sucked into the memories of the previous owner of the locket.
His neck throbbed dully, the way it does after one dozes off on the desk before an exam. His eyes hurt around the edges, the way they do after one reads small text in dim light. His muscles were taut, the way they were after one sits still for a long time.
Eyelids flickered as consciousness returned.
Brows furrowed as Grindelwald took in the world around him. He shook his head slow and drowsy, as his senses filtered back in. If he was not mistaken, he had been awakened by a crash...
Suddenly alert, he bolted up. That was most certainly a crash. The dust from the rafters floated down and he was gripped by sudden annoyance.
"Didn't we agree that we would keep magic out of my room? Everything I own suffers when you try a new spell," he said grumpily, his lips forming the words without his meaning to.
A young witch, probably seven of age, with a pale face poked her head inside his room. "Sorry, I'm sorry," she said worriedly. "It was an accident!"
As he looked at the wan girl, he felt a sudden rush of fondness. "Come here," he found himself saying. As the witch drew near, he pressed the all-too-familiar silver locket into her hands. "This is an old heirloom," he said, "Keep it safe. It can help you with your magic."
The girl took it with trembling fingers. Looking at her actions, the man sighed to himself, "Just like her mother…"
He looked sadly at the picture of his wife on the mantlepiece. Three years had passed, but her absence was still sorely felt. His melancholy was deep as he stared at the smiling photograph.
The surroundings dissolved.
The second time he awoke, it was to the singing of songbirds. He got up with a feminine yawn and caught sight of a mirror on the opposite wall.
The reflection that greeted him was the same young witch slightly older. Her complexion seemed healthier, her cheeks ruddy, and eyes shining with some semblance of life. It was the picture of someone slowly getting their life back together.
She reached out to her bedside where a newspaper lay. She spread it out and read with her entire concentration focussed onto those inked letters.
Maimillian Crowdy elected Minister of Magic for the Second Time. read the Headlines. Below the picture of a man with a toothy smile, 53rd WIZARDING SCHOOLS POTION CHAMPIONSHIP WILL BE HELD AT CHANDER'S SCHOOL FOR WITCHES AND WARLOCKS was advertised with the appropriate rates for entry. In a small box at the bottom right side of the page read, A boy, Grogan Stump was born to Mr and Mrs Stump of Founder's Nook. We hope that they have a joyous future!
Grindelwald had a sudden impulse to break it. To shatter this illusion of peace and prosperity and progress.
His wish was granted.
Whispers followed her every move. Clutching the locket tightly in one hand and the handle of her grocery basket in the other, she hurried through the market. While the muttered, angry words weren't about her, they may as well have been.
"Have you heard…?"
"Yes, that young lass, eh…?"
"I had always thought it suspicious for a girl her age to remain unwed…"
"Who would have thought…?"
"They say that the stick spit out lightning sparks…"
"It must be a wand, it must be..."
"If she is, she deserves what is coming for her…"
"A trial is being held, isn't it…?"
Unlike the previous times, Grindelwald didn't share the witch's point of view. He hovered a few feet behind the girl. He surveyed the нет магии, or the muggles, according to the English, that milled about, dreary and lifeless. He curled up his lip in disgust.
The girl made her way with careful yet hurried steps down the cobblestone path. She bowed her head, not daring to look anywhere but few steps ahead of her feet.
As they passed the central square, Grindelwald found himself gagging at the stench of blood. The putrid smell accompanying infection mixed with the copper taste heavy enough to settle on the back of his throat.
An awful wail sounded in the air.
"I'm not a witch, I'm not!" The cries of a young woman filled the air, "Please believe me! Please, I beg of you…"
Grindelwald stiffened. He was no stranger to cruelty. Even so, the sight before him made his hands clench in anger. He had read about the witch hunts that had prompted the formation of the Statute of Secrecy. It was quite another to see it with his own eyes.
Torture is too mild a term to describe these trials, read his history textbook. Indeed, they were far crueller to their own than they were to the magical community… It was for their own sake that we had to put an end to things…
He had always believed that it was an exaggeration. A list of excuses made by spineless officials who were too cowardly to decide upon anything but to scurry away like sewer rats.
But now, looking at the young woman who was being burnt alive… Grindelwald had no words to describe the sheer scope of his revulsion. He had a newfound understanding of the barbarity of the нет магии.
They had to be handled… carefully.
The scene dissolved and transformed into another.
"A witch!"
"There's a witch!"
"Burn her!"
"Put her down!"
"The stake! For heaven's sake, someone bring the stake!"
The child was sobbing, her tears streaming down her face. The man he saw in the beginning, her father, stood between her and the mob. His protective stance and the aggressive set of his shoulders were impressive but did little to deter the mob with pitchforks.
"Get inside," roared the man when things got out of control. The little girl shook her head weakly. "Daddy," she whispered. Her tears were uncontrollable. The man picked her up by her collar and tossed her inside. The door shut with an audible click.
The little girl scraped her knees but scrambled to the window. It was high, but she managed to reach it with the help of two crates balanced precariously atop one another. Heart pounding in her chest, she held onto the steel bar and pulled herself up...
Just in time to see her father fall into a pool of red.
An awful sound tore itself out of the girl's throat. Grindelwald felt his throat burn with phantom pain at its rawness and intensity. He couldn't help his surprise. The man went down so easily... was he a muggle? But no... the artefact around the witch's neck implied that the man had magical connections. A squib, perhaps?
Naturally, the inadvertent sound made by the girl reminded the lynch mob of her presence. She suddenly became aware of the dozens of burning eyes upon her. She shuddered as the mob advanced towards the little house.
It was a simple cottage, made of mere wood and stone. It was no fortress of iron and steel, it had no defence that could stand against the strength of fifty odd men.
However... somehow, they weren't able to get past the door. One by one and then all at once – they charged against the low wooden frame. The planks creaked, the lintel cracked, but it did not cave in. "Witchcraft!" was the general consensus and it only made the mob more determined.
However, Grindelwald knew that it was not the little witch's doing. At first, he thought that the protective energy surging through the walls was due to an array set inside the foundation of the cottage, but he soon realized he was wrong. For the magic that filled the walls was similar to the aura of the man lying lifeless outside the cottage.
He was most certainly dead- lying in the pool of his own blood, his heart long since stopped beating and the pulse of magic conspicuously absent... Grindelwald knew all this. But he also knew that the magic belonged to the father, as inconceivable as it seemed.
Grindelwald felt a prickling against his conscience but did nothing. This was only a memory, after all. What had happened had happened. He could do nothing to change it.
But... he knew what it was. It was... Love.
Pure love, true love, unconditional as... a love that he had never experienced.
Or had he...?
The witch's shoulders were shaking. Grindelwald felt a tinge of sympathy. He felt pity for the young one, he did. But the sooner this was over with, the better. He could feel his soul slowly melding back together.
Even as he thought of this, the witch's head snapped up. Grindelwald was not startled by the suddenness of her movement. No, he knew that all creatures were prone to commit desperate acts when cornered. But what caught his attention was the piercing blue of the witch's eyes.
It reminded him of that recent wound his heart still hurt from. Clutching at his chest, he exhaled sharply. If Albus was here, he'd say... No. It mattered not.
Albus wasn't here, now was he?
His wallowing was interrupted by the sudden increase in pressure around the witch. He blinked. Something was off, her magic was too wild, even if she was knocked off-balance by her emotions.
Grindelwald couldn't help but draw in a sharp breath. The crisscross pattern of darkness appearing on the inner side of her wrists, the hollow look in her eyes, and most of all, the unstable core of her magic… He had seen it with Ariana just a few hours ago.
That little witch was an Obscurial.
There was little more to be said. Once an Obscurial is set loose, there are few who can stand in their path. They become a force equal to that of nature itself.
Naturally, the Wizarding World under the Statute of Secrecy cannot allow such a thing to run loose. It was later captured and put down.
The Aurors converged on the Obscurial, not seeing the child, only her rampant magic. The tears that were shed by the little witch were met not with pity, but hard lines, nearly cruel in their indifference.
The Aurors cast spell after spell at the Obscurus, their efforts unrelenting and brutal. Finally, under the pressure of the onslaught, the Obscurus seemed to implode – a white ball of magical light taking over from the black mass. The force of the change sent the Aurors stumbling backwards.
The child didn't survive the attack, how could she? The amulet that had been meant to protect her and keep her magic under control laid beside her prone body. So much for that…
Later on, it was picked up by one of the Aurors and sent back to the Dumbledore Family. They mourned the loss of one of their own but were helpless to do little more than grieve. As it turned out, the tragedy repeated itself once more, a hundred years later, in the form of Ariana…
Grindelwald could not help but feel a twinge of guilt.
After undergoing the sensation of having his magic untangled and made to spread out, immaterial, Grindelwald found himself seated on his chair in Great-Aunt's cottage once more.
He felt strangely preoccupied.
His soul was almost completely whole once more. If he missed this chance... He'd never get another.
Still, he did nothing as his soul slowly but surely pieced itself back together. He only stared at the silver locket symbolizing the blood pact that he shared with Albus.
Finally, his soul was as whole as it ever was.
Slowly, he placed the silver trinket in his breast pocket, half hidden and stared out of the window. He made a decision – tomorrow, he would leave Godric's Hollow. But before that...
He would meet with Albus one last time.
A/N: That's it for now, I hope you liked it!