"Queenie."
She looked up from the book she was reading, one of the only English-language novels she had been able to find in the castle's library, and saw Grindelwald walking into the parlour where Queenie had settled herself. He seemed abjectly bothered by something, and as she flew to her feet, he said in a clip,
"Put on something warm."
"Is something wrong, sir?" Queenie asked anxiously, shutting her book. Grindelwald seemed irritated with her then, but his voice was as smooth as ever as he told her,
"Do as I tell you. Go to your rooms and put something warm on. Now, if you please."
"Yes, sir." Queenie tucked her book tightly to her chest and walked briskly out of the parlour, through the castle's corridors, and up a flight of stairs until she reached her quarters. Once inside, she put the book on a built-in sturdy wooden shelf and began to dress in her elegant fur-lined black winter ensemble. She made her way back out into the corridor to see Grindelwald there in his velvet and wool heavy gear, and as she shut her door, he informed her,
"Aurelius Dumbledore is missing."
"Missing?" Queenie shook her head. "I thought he working on spells at the cottage you built for him, sir."
"I had an odd feeling," Grindelwald said in a low voice, "so I Apparated up to the cottage. It is dark and quiet and very empty. Credence - Aurelius - is not there."
Queenie's mouth dropped open. If the boy had vanished from the cottage, where had he gone? She stood in silence as Grindelwald continued,
"My intent is to spend a night or two in the cottage waiting for him to come back. I suspect he has gone into Obscurial form and will return. But when he does, I need to know what is in his mind. I need to know for certain where his loyalties lie. Do you understand?"
Queenie nodded. Grindelwald was taking her to the cottage to wait for the boy so that she could feel out his intentions with Legilimency when - if - he returned. She cleared her throat and asked carefully,
"What if he doesn't come back after two nights, sir?"
"Then we will go looking for him." Grindelwald raised his pale eyebrows. "Let us hope for all our sakes that that is not what comes to pass."
Queenie frowned. "If I'm going to be spending the night in a cottage, sir, should I pack some pyjamas?"
"Pyjamas." Grindelwald touched his forehead and actually smiled a little. "You are rather endearing; do you know?"
Queenie's cheeks went hot. Now she felt like a fool, suggesting pyjamas. But it only made sense, didn't it, if they were spending the night up there? She cleared her throat roughly.
"I'll sleep in this, of course, sir."
"No. You must have pyjamas." He pushed past her into her rooms, shocking her with the brazen way he moved right into her quarters. Suddenly his thin, knobby wand was waving with grandiose motions, and Queenie was bug-eyed as her wardrobe flew open and bits of clothing assembled themselves into one of her small suitcases. It clicked shut after awhile, and Grindelwald Summoned it, handed it to Queenie, and smirked.
"Let's go."
The cabin was an Alpine chalet in miniature perched high on a rocky peak that was blustery and lonesome. When they came to from the Apparition, Queenie was nearly blown over by the powerful winds. She gasped, trying to fill her lungs with the frigid air, and wondered how and why Aurelius Dumbledore would have come here to study alone.
She trudged in the snow toward the cottage, watching Grindelwald light all the exterior lanterns with his wand. The sun was quickly going down, and Queenie knew she wouldn't be coming back outside. There was a precipitous drop-off not far from the cottage, and the fall would certainly be enough to kill. She hurried toward the cottage just as quickly as her boots and the snow would let her do.
The inside of the cottage was dark and cold, but Grindelwald made quick work of that. Queenie shut the door as Grindelwald tucked his wand away and began flicking his hands about. Candles in sconces illuminated themselves, an Incendio charm set a fire to blazing in the stone fireplace, and a Hot Air Charm instantly warmed the place up. Queenie scoffed rather loudly.
"What's the matter?" Grindelwald asked a bit distractedly, flourishing his fingers with an Engorgio spell to make their fire bigger. Queenie marveled,
"Your wandless magic. It's… it's very impressive, sir."
He turned up half his mouth and sank onto the brown leather sofa before the fireplace as he said simply,
"Practise."
Queenie sighed. She stripped off her heavy black cloak and hung it on the rack near the door where Grindelwald had already Banished his velvet cape. She moved toward the sofa, unsure of whether or not she was allowed to sit by him, and as she awkwardly stood before the fire, she relayed,
"I'm real good with nonverbal magic. I even won this award at Ilvermorny for it. Got a trophy for my House, Pukwudgie, and everything, because I won this contest for casting nonverbal Charms. Anyway. I think it's because I'm a Legilimens, and so I'm real good at doing stuff in my head, you know? But I could never work without a wand the way you do. Sir."
She'd rambled, she knew, and he was just staring up at her. She felt her cheeks go very hot, and suddenly she wanted to run outside and hurl herself into the snow. But then Grindelwald asked rather gently,
"Why don't you sit?"
"May I?" She knitted her fingers together before her, and he smiled again, that amused smile he got when she did something silly. Queenie grinned and slowly moved to sit beside him, near but not too close. For a while, there was a long quiet, until she wondered aloud,
"What if he's gone to England already? To kill Albus Dumbledore without your permission?"
"I would be very disappointed," Grindelwald said simply. "I need that boy to be… in line. You understand?"
"You need him loyal," Queenie nodded. "He's too dangerous to be rogue, on his own, and he's too valuable not to have on your side."
"Precisely," whispered Grindelwald. There was a sudden howl and a rattle at the windows, and Queenie frowned. The howling began to intensify, and the windows and then the whole cottage vibrated. Grindelwald was calm as he murmured, "He's not likely to come back in a blizzard."
"Should we go back to the castle, sir?" Queenie asked, but Grindelwald shook his head and looked around the cosy interior of the cottage.
"If he is loyal to me, he'll come back here to finish his training. We'll wait out this storm, and we'll give him a day, and if he's still vanished after that time, the gloves are off. Are you hungry?"
"Oh. I can cook, if you'd like." Queenie rose quickly and moved toward the quaint little kitchen area of the cottage. She opened cupboards to find burlap sacks of lentils, Preserved meats, and other ingredients. She turned over her shoulder and asked Grindelwald, "What would you like, sir?"
He cocked up an eyebrow. "Surprise me."
She whipped up a quick lamb stew with the meat, onion, carrots, herbs, and other necessities that she found in the cottage. She Scoured up her pot as she ladled stew into two crockery bowls, and as she Levitated the bowls back to the sofa, she said in a cheerful voice to Grindelwald,
"The secret ingredient to a good lamb stew is white wine. Fortunately, there was a bottle here. I barely used any of it, so if you'd like a glass, I'd be happy to pour you some."
"Perhaps later." Grindelwald plucked his floating bowl of stew out of the air and spooned some into his mouth, and his face shifted strangely. Queenie clutched her bowl anxiously and waited for the verdict. Grindelwald took another bite of stew, then another, and finally he murmured,
"Your gifts are many."
That made Queenie grin so hard that her face hurt, and she asked in a little squeak,
"You like it?"
"Mmmm." He spooned stew into his mouth without speaking until his bowl was empty. Queenie was so pleased by that that she hurried to take his empty bowl away, Scour and Banish it, and offer to bake him something for dessert. But he said quietly,
"I am quite satisfied. Thank you."
Queenie finished her own stew and cleaned up after herself, and then she was buzzing with so much happiness that she rather impulsively asked,
"Seeing as how it's storming like crazy out there and we already ate dinner, would you mind if I put something cosy on? You see, Vinda's seamstress does beautiful work, but all these new outfits are kinda uncomfortable after a long day."
"By all means. Get comfortable." Grindelwald folded his hands on his lap and stared at the fire. Queenie took her suitcase into the small area with its quilted bed, and then she realised the predicament they were going to face. She would sleep on the floor, of course, being the servant of the great and powerful Gellert Grindelwald, but she wasn't looking forward to it.
His frenetic packing had led to a rather skimpy black nightgown making its way into her suitcase, and Queenie's cheeks went warm. She remembered the first day she'd ever met Jacob, how she'd been in a slip and Tina had had to tell her to cover up. Queenie had never exactly been one for modesty. Bodies were bodies, and there was nothing to be ashamed of about them, she believed. But she was in a cottage with a man whom she admired very much, a man whose hands had been all over her, whose tongue had tangled with hers as she'd moaned against him. And so, as she pulled on the black nightgown and the plum-coloured dressing-gown he'd been good enough to pack, she wondered if she ought to have left her uncomfortable woolen dress on. Queenie steeled herself, adjusted her neckline to hide more skin, and padded barefoot back to the sofa.
"So, yeah. Vinda's seamstress… she does real good work," Queenie said, desperate to fill the quiet with conversation. Grindelwald just stared into the fire and nodded.
"I am glad to hear it."
Queenie chewed her lip a little and pondered, "She's French. I think she's better at making clothes because she's French. Vinda's better at a lot of things because she's French. Vinda's just… better. At a lot of things."
Grindelwald's brows furrowed as he stared into the flames.
"Example?"
Queenie shrugged. "I dunno, sir; she just does her job so well, and -"
"You do your job well," he countered, and Queenie's heart picked up a little.
"She's very elegant," she noted, and Grindelwald rolled his asymmetrical eyes as he turned to smirk at Queenie.
"You two will work together and be friends," he commanded. "Each of you has been given unique skills, gifts, and attributes. Where she is precise, you are amusing. Where she is administrative, you perform Legilimency. Why compete with your compatriots, Queenie?"
"You're right, sir." Queenie followed his eyes then, for she'd shifted in a way that had caused her dressing gown to fall open, and her nightgown was very low-cut. The curve of her small breast was revealed to him, she realised. The swell of her breast and the hint, the temptation, of something beyond. She gasped a little and adjusted herself, but when she looked up, Grindelwald was staring into the fire again.
He wanted her.
He craved her.
And she was so close that he could reach out and touch her, make her moan, make her scream, and no one would hear or know. Grindelwald studied the flames before him, intently gazing at each flicker, breathing rather heavily through his nose, thinking it had been a mistake to bring her here. What had he thought would happen?
This.
He thought they'd wind up on this sofa together. He'd wanted this. Credence's disappearance had been a marvelous excuse to wind up in this exact situation.
When Albus had lusted and pined after a young Gellert, he'd felt only mild interest in response. When Vinda had come alive under his kiss, he'd been soft in his trousers. The sensation of wanting, of craving, was so rare that it felt like a foreign entity consuming Grindelwald's core. He was on fire inside, just like the logs he was watching burn.
She was gifted. She was a Legilimens and was particularly adept with nonverbal magic. She was bright and cheerful, attributes that Grindelwald rarely encountered and even more rarely valued. She was stunning to look at. And she was, as it turned out, a marvelous cook. She was pleasant to have about. He liked her. He liked being near her. He had very much liked having his hand tangled in her hair and his mouth against hers in the snowy forest.
Peppermint. She had tasted like peppermint.
"Queenie."
He finally looked away from the fire, turning his face, and she was staring at him with her big doe eyes, her full lips parted, and she whispered,
"Yes, sir?"
He studied her for a moment - her lovely hair and face, feeling a pull in his chest - and he cleared his throat.
"Come here."
"Yes, sir."
She moved toward him on the sofa then, and Grindelwald encouraged her to face him, to put a leg on either side of him. She seemed hesitant to straddle him, as though it were taking things too far, but Grindelwald confidently guided her body until she settled down onto his lap. Her breath shook like mad as she reached carefully for the side of his head, and suddenly he didn't need to be a Legilimens to know what she was thinking. He could see the uncertainty, the question in her eyes. Had he done this with Vinda and countless others?
He didn't answer the unspoken question. She had done nothing to earn reassurance or a rehashing of his personal past. Instead he just reached up to tuck her hair behind her ear, and he informed her,
"I find myself in want of you."
"Okay." Queenie didn't seem certain about what to say to that. She squirmed a little, and Grindelwald hissed, for she'd moved her knickers squarely atop his growing erection. She froze and studied his eyes. How much want? she was wondering. He was wondering the same thing. Did he just kiss her again now the way he'd done in the forest? That was, for the most part, as far as he took things with people. Albus had wanted to go so much farther, but young Gellert had been spooked by the idea of sex and all the emotional trappings that inevitable came afterward. With Vinda, the desire hadn't been there. He'd had a few people now and then, tastes of flesh, but this felt different.
She'd made him lamb stew that was still warm in his belly.
No sex, then. It was too clingy, that idea of entering her body and putting his own fluids inside of her. But he wanted more than a kiss. He needed more than a kiss.
"Do that again," he finally muttered, and Queenie seemed to get the idea. She ground her hips down and forward a few times, and Grindelwald sucked in air though clenched teeth. Oh, that felt good. That felt marvelous, the way she was rubbing against his tip every time she pushed her hips. He tipped his head back and let his mouth fall open, and he whispered,
"Don't stop."
"Oh, I couldn't if I wanted to," she said, sounding drunk, and he realised she liked it, too. He forced his head up, made himself look at her, and she'd lolled to the side a little and looked intoxicated. She quickened up her hips a bit, and her fingernails scratched at the short-cropped blond hair on the side of his head. That felt so good he couldn't breathe, and he wrenched his eyes shut.
"Again," he choked out. She started to massage his scalp with her nails, which were just sharp enough to stimulate him, and she rolled her hips against him. Suddenly Grindelwald couldn't take all the heavy velvet covering her. He wrenched at the tie round her waist and shoved at the dressing gown, which Queenie shucked away, and he groaned softly at the sight of her atop him in nothing but a short silk nightgown.
"Oh." Queenie was shaking now, her thighs trembling fiercely on either side of Grindelwald's hips. She reached rather desperately for his shoulder and murmured, "I'm gonna… you know…"
"Kiss me." Grindelwald said it before he could help himself, and Queenie almost fell onto his mouth. He held her face as she moaned helplessly onto his lips, her tongue clumsy as she came. She was coming right now, he realised, and that thought made him so hard it hurt. Her grinding turned into erratic jerks as she panted through her climax and then recovered, and suddenly she'd pulled her face off of his and had burrowed herself into the crook of his neck, gasping for air.
It was all too much. Grindelwald had never in his entire existence felt anything this profoundly arousing. He stared at the window, shaking in the blizzard, as everything burst inside of him. On instinct, he wrapped his arms around Queenie and held her onto him, one arm round her waist and the other round her shoulders, and he felt her breath puffing hot onto his neck as he detonated. His come burst into his trousers in messy spurts, and his ears rang and he saw spots. Everything was hot and blindingly white for a split second, and then he was catching his breath.
The next few minutes were a blur. She climbed off of him, shaking like a leaf and mumbling that she hoped he wasn't angry with her. She pulled on her dressing-gown. Grindelwald cleaned up the mess in his trousers with wandless Siphoning and Scouring spells. He sent Queenie to bed - to the only bed - and said he'd sleep on the sofa. But he didn't sleep. He just stared at the fire.
Sometime around two in the morning, the howling blizzard let up. Grindelwald rose off the sofa and paced through the cottage to stretch his legs. He stared at Queenie where she lay asleep in the bed, and he gulped. He should have regrets, he thought. He should have Obliviated her. He should have punished her. He shouldn't have wanted her; he shouldn't have enjoyed it so much. Because, after all, physical contact with other humans was all about control. Or, at least, it was meant to be about control. Physical contact with other humans was punitive or manipulative.
But they'd both come, and they'd kissed, and he'd wrapped her up in his arms, and he'd liked it.
Grindelwald sighed and shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose and hoping Credence would come back early in the morning.
Author's Note: I realize I'm updating at breakneck speed (if you don't know me yet - Hi, I have Clinical Hypergraphia!) so I'm even more grateful for those who take the time to leave a quick review on chapters as they go up. Thank you so much for reading. :)