Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor do I own any affiliated names, places, term etc.

In Death

His long fingers clutched the coarse fabric, his head tilted so that his silent tears fell onto the robe, blending into the congealing stains of blood. The fabric was fast losing the heat that it had once held. He held on to these precious moments, allowing himself a moment before all chaos broke loose.

It had all been for the common good. That had been the intention all along, but some how it had twisted into some strange power struggle that he could never understand.

He stared into the slack face that he had stared at for so many years. The face, extinguished of life, now only left hollowness in his heart, when for so many years it had filled his heart with pleasure beyond all. He had loved him, but that was never enough for either of them. Their lusts for power, for knowledge and for supremacy had left them desolate. They forgot that with these things did not necessarily come wisdom, though they were too self-assured to realize this.

He brought his face down, placing a cheek to his friend's chest, wishing beyond anything to hear even the slightest murmur. Of course, no such thing would happen. He had killed his friend, just as his friend had killed so many others.

And soon the media would be there, hailing him as a hero, something he knew he could ever truly claim to be. They wouldn't understand at all. They would just see that Grindelwald was dead, a simplistic view for simplistic people. Albus knew better. He knew Gellert, for his spirit ran through his veins, even in death.