This was started for the following prompt: [AU] Grindelwald is the Headmaster of Hogwarts when Tom Riddle starts school.
Unfortunately, it wasn't written in time to be accepted for this prompt, but it was also written for the following prompts:
- Ultimate Chocolate Frog Challenge: Bridget Wenlock: Write about someone's paranoia
- 200 Prompts, 100 Stories - Tom Riddle and Elder Wand
- Writing Bingo - Accio
- Mega Song Lyrics List Challenge: "A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest." - Simon and Garfunkel, The Boxer
- Huge TV Show Quotes Bucket: "Don't underestimate the allure of darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it." - Klaus Mikaelson, The Vampire Diaries (No. 70)
- Psychological AU challenge: Paranoid Personality Disorder - People with this diagnosis are likely to find it very difficult to trust people, believing that they will take advantage of them. They tend to watch people closely, looking for signs of betrayal or hostility.
- Greek Mythology Challenge: Lamia - Write about Lord Voldemort.
- All About You Challenge - Use Long Live as a title.
Words: 1774
Long Live
As he was led down the long corridor of the orphanage, Gellert couldn't help but wonder if it was indeed still daylight outside. The small windows and greying walls, though clean, seemed to suck all brightness out of the air. His own childhood hadn't been sunshine and daisies, but he saw now how much worse it could have been.
"His mother chose his name, o'course. Marvolo! Who's heard of that before? But she was circus folk, Mr Grindelwald, if ever I saw any," Mrs Cole told him, shaking her head, continuing her earlier monologue.
"Is that what she told you?" Gellert wondered, somewhat curious about this child's mother, how she hid her inheritance in a place like this.
"Well, no, but - and I mean no offence, Mr Grindelwald - when you've been in this job for as long as I have, you learn to spot things. The kind of girls that end up here don't tend to be, er, forthcoming with their stories. You have to work 'em out. You soon learn," Mrs Cole replied, tapping the side of her reddened nose as if she'd just imparted some great wisdom.
She suddenly veered off towards her right and reached for the keys dangling from her waist.
Gellert looked up at the rusting brass door number. Twenty-seven.
"Do you always lock them in?" Gellert asked, alarmed.
"Er, only as a severe punishment. A last resort."
Something clicked for Gellert, something he thought was disconcerting.
"Do you often lock Tom in?" Gellert asked.
"Well, I wouldn't say 'often'," Mrs Cole began, but a voice came from behind the door.
"I would."
Gellert frowned and said nothing as the door opened. A young boy in a tweed jacket and shorts stood in the middle of the room, staring up at him.
"Are you the doctor?" he asked, his eyes tense in calculation.
Gellert suppressed a laugh. "No, I'm not a doctor."
"I don't believe you. They said they wanted a doctor to see me. They said I'm not normal," the boy told him.
"You're not normal, Tom, not at all. You're more than that. But you already know that, don't you?" Gellert asked him, taking a seat on the boy's bed.
"I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who are mean to me. I can make them hurt, if I want," Tom told him in a monotonous pride, and Gellert was immediately put on edge. This was a boy with talent, and skill, and a predisposition towards power and darkness.
This boy reminded Gellert too much of himself.
"I'm a Headmaster, Tom. A professor. I run a school for children like you; children with magic. We'd like you to join us this September," Gellert told him.
"I don't believe you," Tom told him, as if mistrust came naturally to him.
"I have magic, just like you."
"Prove it."
Gellert sighed, and looked around the room. There was a single wardrobe, a bed, and just a couple personal possessions. He'd heard the stories Mrs Cole had told him about how the boy liked to collect sentimental items belonging to the other children. This boy needed to learn how to submit to rules and regulations if he was to succeed, as Gellert himself had once had to learn.
The wardrobe suddenly burst open under the weight of the water Gellert placed inside of it. The boy briefly jumped back in surprise before composing himself, staring at the wardrobe. The inside, and all of his possessions, were as dry as a bone and undamaged. The possessions that didn't belong to him had ridden the wave and sat at the boys feet, patient.
"I believe those don't belong to you," Gellert told him. Tom Riddle said nothing.
"Stealing is not tolerated at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Tom. You'd do well to return these to their rightful owners. At our school, you will not be the only one with magic. It will not be so easy to cajole and cheat."
With that, Gellert made to stand, knowing this boy had given him a lot to think about. There was something so familiar about his manner that it was unnerving.
"I can speak to snakes, find me, whisper things. Is that normal for someone like me?"
Gellert stopped in his tracks. He knew exactly what that meant, and no, it was not normal. It in fact made this boy very special indeed.
"It's normal for some," Gellert replied, controlled and precise, before leaving. He knew he would be seeing the boy again soon.
Tom had been at the school for more than two years now, and Gellert was no more comfortable with him than he had been on that first day. In fact, he was hardly surprised when Minerva McGonagall knocked on his door and asked him to speak to the boy. This time, it seemed he'd been up to his old tricks, the ones he perfected at that sorry excuse for an orphanage. He'd found a young Gryffindor girl to torment, a First Year muggleborn, and he needed to be reminded he would not get away with it here.
Gellert twirled his wand in his hands as he waited for the boy, staring down at the last reminder of his own glory days. It didn't seem that long ago when he'd resigned himself to the fact that the key to the future of his Greater Good lay in educating young minds to his way of thinking. When did he get stuck here? He sighed, running his fingers over the elderberries engraved into the ancient wood, when he heard a knock at the door.
"Come in," he announced, knowing what he would face.
The boy, now fourteen, entered proudly, eyes darting straight to his Headmaster's wand.
"Sit down," Gellert told him, gesturing to the chair in front of him as he pocketed his wand.
Tom did as he was bid in silence.
"Would you care to explain to me, Tom, what it was that Margaret Johns did to you?"
"She called me mad, Professor, amongst other things. She didn't take kindly to me," Tom answered.
"And that deserved… what you did to her, did it?" Gellert asked, unable to bring himself to describe the sadistic torture she'd endured.
"Possibly, Sir," Tom replied.
Gellert sighed.
"Do you like coming to school, Tom?" he asked.
"Yes, Professor." It was an automatic response, a learned line.
"Do you understand how easily you could squander that opportunity?" he asked.
Tom held his silence.
"I ought to make you leave right now, Tom, and break your wand. Indeed, that's what my good sense is telling me to do. But you're intelligent, Tom. Conscientious. And so I'll give you one more chance. If anything like this happens again, Tom, you can wish a fond farewell to all you have learned here. Do I make myself clear?"
"Yes, Professor," Tom replied, his face stoic and stern.
"You may leave." Gellert gestured him away with his hand, but Tom didn't move.
"Can I ask you a question, Professor?" he asked.
"If you must."
"Who did you kill?"
Gellert was taken aback by the question, immediately put on edge.
"What do you mean?" he asked, trying to keep as much emotion out of his voice as he could.
"The wand, Sir. Your wand. It's the Elder Wand, is it not? It must be won in a duel. Who did you kill for it?" Tom asked again, so casually it was unnerving.
"In duel, yes, but not necessarily by death. You must simply best your opponent," Gellert pointed out by way of an explanation.
Tom stared right through him as though he could spot the lie before it was even spoken.
"Of course, Professor." As Tom stood to leave, Gellert hid a quiet sigh of relief. "Long live the Headmaster, Gellert Grindelwald, for the Greater Good and betterment of all," he finished, addressing Gellert by his formal announcement, as he was introduced at the start of every school year. The smile that graced Tom's features said he found something funny, perhaps even ironic, about the line.
"Be careful, Tom. A man hears what he wants to hear and disregards the rest," he told the boy. "Listen to everything, Tom, not just the words you want to hear. Don't underestimate the allure of darkness. Even the purest hearts are drawn to it."
Gellert watched him leave, and was not sad to see him go.
Of course, it had been a lie. Gellert had killed for the wand, and it was a death that stayed with him. His old friend and accomplice had stolen the wand from the wand maker, Gregorovitch, and Gellert's thirst for power did not let him keep it. He thought back with remorse and guilt, wondering briefly if he ought to visit Albus Dumbledore's grave in Godric's Hollow, where he had been laid to rest beside his sister.
When Tom Riddle, now Lord Voldemort, came for him, Gellert was not surprised. He'd been visiting the grave, for the first time since the funeral, and found the setting fitting, with enough dark humour for both their tastes.
"I was wondering when you would come to face me, Tom," he announced with fatigue.
"Things might have been the other way around for us, once, if you'd have chosen another path," Tom told him, raising his wand as Gellert pulled his from his pocket.
"You know, I would simply hand this to you, if I could," Gellert told him.
"The wand, I'm afraid, is only half the problem."
Gellert sighed. "I always imagined I would return home to die."
"Fate was never kind to you, old man," Tom mocked him.
"For many years, I convinced myself I was merely paranoid about you. It's unfortunate how our mistakes are only made clear to us in our later years."
"You made many mistakes, Gellert, and you learned from none of them. I have learned from them. I don't make mistakes."
"Which is why you're here, no doubt." Gellert sighed. "Well, I wish you luck, Tom. Long live Lord Voldemort." Gellert raised his wand as if it was a champagne flute.
"Avada Kedavra."
Without remorse, Tom walked over to where Gellert now lay, resting against the gravestone of Albus Dumbledore.
"Accio," he said, taking the Elder Wand from the dead man's loose grip.
"Morsmordre," he whispered into the dying light of day, taking a second to admire his sigil as it formed above the graveyard, and apparated away. His time was beginning. His time was now.