Author's Notes:
- This is my first FanFiction so any reviews or suggestions, positive or negative, are highly appreciated.
- You will not have to wait as long for the second chapter. I was busy with preparations for a chess tournament and math contests which have now been canceled due to Covd-19.
- J.K. Rowling owns the rights to the characters, the world, and everything in between. I am not profiting off of this and claim no rights to anything.
1890
Gellert Grindelwald
He could not remember how all of this happened. The past few months had been filled with blurs, skipping from one detailed moment to another, with the time between them being several weeks. He faintly recalled waking up in an infirmary, his wounds being tended to by an old woman. The memory skipped to him being dressed in a suit by a middle-aged man with a large, brown, twirly moustache telling him he would be going to England. He remembered what was in the small suitcase he was now holding. It contained 2 sets of shirts, trousers, socks, and undergarments as well as his world map, enchanted telescope and history books.
༻ ༺
The steam engine screeched as it came to a sudden stop. Gellert felt himself being thrown into the front door of the compartment as his little suitcase flew backwards. As he got up, he noticed that the lush, green landscape had now transformed into a dull, polluted atmosphere. Looking inside, he saw a mob of people grabbing their handbags and suitcases, pushing each other to try and get out.
"How impractical" he thought . The different areas of the train were unproportionately packed, increasing the bustle at some parts, while others had barely a half-dozen people in neat, orderly lines. It would be much easier if the seating was assigned, two to each compartment, located alternatingly between the left and right side of the locomotive at a maximum distance of 6 seats from any of the exits.
After waiting for the crowd to leave, he walked down the aisle which was filled with imprints of shoes in dirt and filthy napkins and tissues. The normally gleaming red carpet had now turned into a lengthy, maroon chef's apron with a multitude of stains.
A plump woman dressed like a train conductor approached him.
"Well 'Ello there cutie. Why are you all by yourself?" she ruffled his blond hair into a large clutter and squeezed his cheeks.
Gellert hated being treated in such a way. It had taken 15 minutes to comb his hairs so that they would stay flat. All his effort had been disrupted by an idiot who felt the urge to ruin the nice flow of his golden locks. He gave no answer. Encouraging a fool is like feeding wild a pidgeon. There is a sense of satisfaction once you start, but they will not stop pestering you until you give in to their demands.
"You're a shy one aren't you?, come on, we'll find your parents outside" she dragged him off the train and into the crowded platform 9. His eyes were immediately struck by sunlight reflecting off of his unnaturally pale skin.
Gellert could have sworn he saw a child carrying a huge trolley with an owl cage and numerous cases, not many years older than him, rush into one of the pillars between the two platforms. He decided his eyes must have been playing tricks on him, rather than the assumption that there were wizards in the middle of a bustling no-maj station, and continued following the conductor.
"So boy, what's your name?" the woman asked.
He pondered for a moment, thinking about whether it was safe to tell the no-maj his name.
"Gellert Grindelwald" he replied quitetly, his Austrian accent evident from his pronunciation of the letter "w" as "v" and the letter "a" as "ah".
"So you're foreign," she said in a condescending tone, "Immigrant I presume".
The woman grabbed his thin arm, with bones showing due to malnutrition, and lead him through the large crowd. He looked in awe at the sheer size of the station, with at least 20 large trains parked throughout the various sections and huge clusters of people at the individual platforms, in part, surprised this was all built without magic.
On the journey through the enormous terminal, he saw a few more young children in long clothes, carrying toads, owls, and cats in cages with huge carts. He wondered if his original idea was wrong, and they were English witches and wizards going off to school. Soon enough, his suspicions were confirmed when he saw a man pulling out a rather long wand and levitating his daughter's bags while she picked up her toad, who had escaped his cage.
"Come along Idris, we don't have all day" he called towards his daughter.
"Yes father"
The girl had a red pin on her robes with the letters "S.S.S." in white. Gellert thought about what that could possibly mean, when he noticed the conductor was no longer holding his hand.
He looked around through the sea of bodies traversing through the stations, nearly being squashed by the mass. There was someone in a blue hat, similar to the one the woman was wearing, but they were quite far from him. It would be too much trouble to go find her again, not to mention the verbal reprimanding he would get.
Now walking near the tracks to avoid the huge crowd, he saw a large red sign on the other side of the station. Gellert's understanding of English was limited, and the distance between himself and the sign certainly did not contribute to his ability to read it, but nevertheless, he attempted to spell the word out.
"A-r-r-i-w-a-l-s" he tried sounding it out quietly "Arriwals". What did that mean? He did not remember who taught him English, but whoever they were, they did not do a good job.
"Arriwals"...
"Arrivals!" he exclaimed, realizing that if anyone was there to meet him, they would be waiting there.
He tussled around with the crowd until he finally made his away outside of the station, with hundreds of people waiting there, in carriages, on horses, and holding signs.
A lady, who looked to be in her 40s or early 50s approached him. She glanced at a small photo she held in her hand and then back at him.
"You must be Gellert!" she declared, loud enough so that all of Praed Street could hear her words. Trying to resist being crushed by the uncomfortably long hug, he tried to stretch away, but was caught by the grasp of her fat, pinkish hands once again.
"Sorry for my discourtesy madam, but who exactly are you" he asked, forcing himself to be as polite as possible in the current situation, while he backed away from her. Discourtesy was probably the longest word he knew, and he hoped he had pronounced it correctly.
"The name's Bathilda Bagshot, writer and historian by trade. I'm the sister of your grandfather on your mother's side. You wouldn't remember meeting me, of course; the last time I saw your lovely face was when you were about this small" she brought her hands about a foot's length away from each other. " You see, your parents recently pass- erm, there's been an issue with your parents of late, and you will be staying with me" she continued, "I know it will be difficult adjusting to life here, and we'll speak more about the topic when we reach my house, away from the muggles, but I know you will learn to love it".
Swiveling his head around from Mrs. Bagshot, Gellert looked with disgust upon the stone street with an open cesspool next to one of the buildings, and the smell of horse dung along with equally putrid odours coming from some of the beggars roaming around, and began to heavily doubt the last phrase she uttered.
"Is that all you brought with you?" she questioned, with a look of shock on her face as she noticed his small suitcase.
Gellert nodded, giving no sign of sadness, and thus no reason for her to pity him. He could look after himself.
"No worries, we'll have to do some shopping at Mister Malkin's later this week" she said.
He followed her to one of the horse-drawn carriages by the side of the road, jumping over the mushy excrement which he noticed had boot marks on it.
"Where to missus?" questioned a young, ragged man in tattered clothing sitting at the front of the vehicle.
"Whitehall, central Lodon" she replied, climbing in the carriage and pulling Gellert on as well.
"That'll be 1 shilling 6 pence for you and 6 pence for the young'un so in total..." he contracted his brow furiously, trying to count out the numbers on his fingertips. Mrs. Bagshot, noticing the confusion on the man's face, handed him 2 shillings quickly.
"So... do many coachmen nowadays lack a proper educa...erm, not finish their schooling?" she asked, trying to be as sincere as possible.
"Oh o'course ma'am, I ne'er went to school meself, huge waste of time they called it back home" he remarked, "It ain't too difficult to find an honest payin job now with all dese big factories and what not; no one needs to know skaespere to not do nu'thin no more. We learned all about how ta deal with the real world back home in Wool's orphanage. Nice people they got there, someone kind like yourself should consider puttin in a penny r two" he said, puffing out his chest in pride for his job and evidently, less than modest beginnings. Gellert stopped paying attention at his butchering of the name Shakespeare.
"I'll certainly consider that..." said Mrs. Bagshot, carefully so that she sounded believable, but not like too much of a philanthropist. She made sure that coachman would refrain from indirectly asking her for financial support again.
Gellert soon caught on to this, and realized Mrs. Bagshot was far less easy to gain trust from and sway than the average person, yet her talkativeness and high sense of naïveté for an adult distinguished her from him by a large margin.
༻ ༺
He had never met anyone before who was like him, not that he could remember of course. His parents, who had now become just fragments in his memory, were much more open, rebellious, gullible, and although he hated saying it, loving. He could not say that he loved them in return, but he would not manipulate them out of a feeling of gratefulness. "What was the word? Ah yes, appreciation. He greatly appreciated them" he thought.
Love, on the other hand, was like an addiction. You start with emotions of pure, unfiltered hapiness and joy, indescribable in words; yet it is but an illusion. Love takes control of your livelihood, it takes away from your free will, so much so that people would give up their lives for those they love. If love is not reciprocated, it eats away at your being like a dementor, leaving you hopeless, and in madness. Love can be the fuel of desire or the poison of wasted opportunity. Love is the basis for the demise of the great and the biggest weakness of the good. Gellert, unlike so many of the ambitious before him, understood love, and promised it would not be the downfall of him. But there remained a part of him, infinitesimally small, which wanted to experience it.
Watching the bustle of London was so much different than the rolling hills and greenery of rural Austria. He let out a small cough as he inhaled a cloud of black smoke, coming from a group of young boys smoking, whom the carriage had just passed. Even when he had visited Salzburg, it was nothing like this. His history books had told of London as a beautiful place, home to the rulers of the greatest empire in the history of the world, and an equally great wizarding establishment, who had fought in countless wars against the druids of the mainland, the warlocks and trolls of Scandinavia, and numerous goblin rebellions. He had imagined the streets to be large and open, with noblemen riding in wagons pulled by white stallions, palaces the size of small villages, and open parks and sparkling fountains. That could not be farther from the truth. His stomach lurched as he saw the horse pulling the carriage step on a heap of dung and a small boy, not much younger than he was, wearing dingy cloths, picked up a small bronze coin from the blackish-brown bile, rubbed the penny on his torn trousers and put it in his pocket.
༻༺
"Mrs Bagshot, do you live in this area?" asked Gellert, afraid that he would be spending the next 10 years in this dishevelled, dilapidated dumpster of a place.
"Oh darling, you can call me Auntie Bathy or Aunt Bathilda, and to answer your question, I live in a city that's quite far from here, Bristol is the name" she replied "It isn't quite as industrialized as London, but it's not exactly a small town either". He sighed in relief.
The carriage finally reached a small, winding road paved unevenly in stone blocks.
"Here it is m'lady, the lovely Whitehall street" the coachman stated, grinning at the aged road.
Aunt Bathilda took his hand and started walking quickly through the empty road, away from the commotion of the intersection. They walked for at least 15 more minutes and he became irritated, as he had no idea of where they were going to.
"Where are we heading to, Auntie?" he asked, attemting to portray himself as a likeable, cute child. He knew first impressions were everything, and determined one's relationship with another. Fortunately, his looks were that of an innocent, young boy, and he just needed to act polite and kind. Aunt Bathilda could eventually be very useful towards any plans he might make in the future.
"It's a surprise" she replied gleefully, now walking quicker along the street.
Gellert enjoyed knowing about things before they happened. The feeling of surprise was most unpleasant to him. Luckily, he often predicted things before there was any indication of probability, and even before the possible outcomes were known. He knew those things would happen. He could see them happening in his mind, far more vivid and detailed than a daydream, like reality, though his other senses were ineffective in these 'visions'. He enjoyed having this quality; it made him special.
Aunt Bathilda stopped in front of a normal part of the street, as it would seem to most people. He noticed the stones making up this small square were larger and more well defined than the ones paving the rest of the road. She pulled out a thin wand made out of a sort of rough wood, that Gellert could not identify immediately, and uttered a few words quietly.
The stones disappeared, revealing a marble, spiralling staircase, going downwards.
"Quite ingenious if I do say so myself. Of course, Muggles can't see the staircase and wizard that steps over these stones will become invisible to them" remarked Aunt Bathilda "They're considering putting one of those telephone booths they have in America and make it fall down into the ground, but it won't be installed for a few more years, not until those become common around London so people don't flock to it".
They travelled down the staircase, lit by torches hanging on the sides, which he assumed would never stop burning until they reached an enormous, red, steel door.
A little slot had opened, showing a pair of red eyes.
"Name, the reason for visiting, and permit" exclaimed a masculine voice, resonating from the doorway.
"Bathilda Bagshot, I've come to use the floo network to get home with my nephew, he's never done side-along apparation before, and I think this should do for a permit"
she pulled out a small red enevelope and pushed it through the slit as the eyes backed away.
"Ah, Mrs. Bagshot, please come in" the voice replied. "Floo networks are down in the main hall, which is to your left"
The door creaked open and Gellert followed Aunt Bathilda inside. The man was wearing a purple hat, with a phoenix embroidered on it.
"Justus Pilliwickle" he said, offering his hand to Aunt Bathilda who shook it and continued through the grandoise passage and later to Gellert. He tried to shake it as well, but the man pulled his hand back and proceeded to ruffle Gellert's already messed up hair.
"Also, you need to renew your visitors pass before september the 3rd" he called after Aunt Bathilda.
Gellert followed her through a colossol archway into what seemed like an underground street, with numerous pillars, offices, rooms, paths, and several golden statues. The black, shimmering floor was decorated by engravings of writing in latin, presumably the constitution of magical England. They entered a corridor containing fireplaces, and Gellert stared in astonishment at the wizards teleporting in green flames like it was nothing, and walking out unscathed.
"From the expression on your face, I would guess you have never used the floo before" commented Aunt Bathilda.
Gellert shook his head. He continued staring in amazement at the flames expanding and contracting when the people came through them.
"Alright, all you have to do is a step in the fire, drop the powder and say the name of the location you wish to be sent to" she said, handing him a small bag with gray ashes.
She walked into one of the fireplaces and said "Bagshot Manor, Bristol". The dust turned green and the emerald fire grew to the size of a large cabinet, engulfing her.
Gellert walked into the one next to which she had disappeared and frantically threw the powder.
"B-Bag S-Shot Manner, Briztoll"
Gellert felt the world turning upside down as his body was squeezed into the size of a speck of a dust and travelled a million miles per hour, the flying ash getting caught in his throat in the unimaginably fast experience.
He found himself sprawled on his back, listening to the ever-present beating of his heart, calming him down. The real feeling of what he had just gone through hit him, as the mashed potatoes he had eaten on the train were spewed onto a turkish carpet outside the firepace of the mansion, giving off a revolving odour.
"Don't you worry about that now. Just get yourself washed up in the bathroom, that's the second door to the left" she said kindly.
Gellert was surprised by her reaction, half expecting her to be outraged that a small boy had spread thick, gray dust all over her living room and sullied her embroidered mat. But then again, this was a woman who had willingly offered to take in and raise a poor, sickly child who did not understand english very well and whom she had only met twice. Could she be after his inheritance? Perhaps she wanted a heir for her estate? Or might she actually care for the grandson of her brother? No, the latter was impossible, she had been with him for only 2 hours. Gellert decided that her goal was most likely to convince him he had a debt to her once he turned 17, as by then, she would have provided for him a great deal and she may be entitled to some of the wealth left by his family.
༻ ༺
The residence was truly impressive. Instead of returning to the living room after cleaning himself in the best quality bathroom he had ever seen, he decided to take a quick tour of the property. Upstairs, there were 4 large rooms along a circular stairwell made out of elder wood, as well as a small library, of which he made a mental note to explore later. The home seemed to speak of the Victorian era, as it had heavy curtains, flowery wallpaper, numerous carpets and elegantly decorated rugs throughout the main lobby and guest rooms. There was also a collage of paintings which he found horrendous, heaven forbid that Aunt Bathilda was a painter, and a small room, which he presumed to be a study, littered with books about house keeping charms and furniture.
Afterwards, he came back to the living room, paying attention to the white, leather sofas and mahogany table.
"Gone sneaking off without permission have we?"
Gellert's face paled. This was supposed to be his time to show her how he was a well-mannered, good boy.
"Sorry Auntie, I couldn't find the washroom, and I didn't want to keep pestering you, so I thought I would use the one upstairs" he said, keeping a straight face, and trying to draw sympathy from the impression he had made earlier of being shy.
"It's quite alright dear, after all this is to be your new home, but I expect for you to at least inform me of anything you plan to do outside or anywhere you are going" she said, curtly "Now, take a seat, I'm going to discuss what your life will be like here as well as why you had to come live with me."
༻ ༺
As he drank the hot, sugary, ginger-infused tea that she had offered him, he learned that his parents had been killed by followers of a Dark Wizard, but now they were serving time in the british prizon Azkaban, due to her request. He suspected that there was more to it, but knew better than to bring it up with Aunt Bathilda, who seemed eager to get past the topic. Also, she taught him that while he was living with her, he should make his bed daily, clean up any mess he creates, avoid meddling with the study, and inform her of when he was going out to play or invite a friend. Simple enough, he thought, as there were no reasons at the moment he should defy her or think of a future excuse. They eventualy arrived to the topic of education, and though his parents had requested him to be sent to Durmstrang, the school in northern Europe, whose curriculmn was heavily focused on the dark arts, she decided that it was too far to apparate or write to, and she wanted him to go to the English school Hogwarts.
She also strictly banned him from the use of magic or magical artifacts outside the home due to the recently established Statue of Secrecy which essentially prohibits the knowledge from muggles, which were what the British referred to as non-magic peoples.
Gellert thought the idea to be no more intelligent than the seating plan of the train. "Who would this law protect, the muggles, or wizardkind?" he silently questioned.
It seemed obvious to him that muggles should be aware of magic to keep them in check and for the betterment of their lives.
"Though it is important we keep our affairs apart from muggles, it is equally important that we learn of their culture and traditions. There is a muggle family moving to this area in a few months, some friends of mine, and they have a daughter about your age. I think it would be wise to spend some time to get to know each other"
Gellert almost spit his tea back in his cup, but conciously stopped himself. The thought of becoming friendly with a muggle sounded repulsive to him, yet he could not deduce why.
Their conversation continued for a while and Gellert answered her questions truthfully, that is, for the most part. There was a point where she asked about his acccount of what happened that dreadful night among other things, including if he had been taken to a hospital afterwards, who took him in for 3 months, and who informed her about the happenings. He knew if she was asking him these things she could not have known what happened to him or much about the death of his parents. Gellert could not let anyone, not even trained healers, enter his mind and discover his unique, predictive ability and visions, so he fabricated a tale of being brought to Anton-Josef Kirchweger Magical Hospital in Berlin and being taken in by his ill grandfather, who sent him abroad in his dying days.
Perhaps that old man who sent him off could have actually been his grandfather, but he sub-consciously knew it was not. The few memories he had of him were spread over long periods of time and brief, but he could sense a reluctance in him whenever the man spoke to him.
"Anyways, you must be feeling famished after such a long journey. I've prepared a light diner just for the two of us. It should help you getting accustomed to English food" said Aunt Bathilda.
"I have some business at the ministry tommorow, so you best be off to sleep right after finishing your food. I'll help you pick out your room if you'd like" she continued.
Gellert put on a fake smile. "I think that would be great Auntie" he said, making his voice unnaturally high. She ruffled his hair and gave him a hug. Once it had happened for the third time in a day, he was no longer agitated by it. The longer her arms were wrapped around him, he felt safer, and a real smile began to materialize, but he pulled away quickly.
༻ ༺
That light diner had turned out to be the largest and most fattening meal Gellert had eaten in his life, although the more he thought about it, the more he realized he had probably just forgotten about most of the good meals his family provided. The lack of knowledge, or rather memories of them, was infuriating, but alas, something he might as well get used to. He knew they had loved him, but he wanted to know of his family history, origins, inheritance, and of the political power they had held, if any.
As he dug into the savoury roast beef and delicious Yorkshire pudding, Gellert felt a strange, relaxing sensation. He was used to being indifferent about things, sometimes agitated even, but he never felt like this. "Was this delight? Perhaps it was hapiness" he thought.
He was kept awake in the soft, silky bed of his new, rather large room by the sounds made by the Ghoul in the closet nearby. He had selected this one, despite Aunt Bathilda's warnings of the fiend making noises, because it was the farthest away from hers. Gellert did not want her to come check on him in case of his visions, in which sometimes talked or shouted in a dream-like state, and decided the sound would be mostly blocked out by the moaning of the Ghoul. Also, he sometimes spent whole nights reading books or playing war with his toy figurines which were enchanted to follow his command.
Today, however, was a special night. Today was the beginning of his new life; a life that he would remember and cherish every moment of. A life that he hoped, no, knew would lead him to greatness. He took some time out of the night spent reflecting on this new life, and to contemplate what he had felt earlier. It couldn't have been hapiness; he was sure he must have felt happy before, and he would have recognized it. The idea that it was love was simply preposterous. But a flicker of doubt sparked up in his mind. A flicker he dreamt about growing into a raging fire in the next few years, but he did not yet know why.