Rebirth of a Dark Lord.
Prologue
Updates: I used to say updates were on Saturdays, but I've recently suffered a loss and now my creativity is somewhat restrained and comes in bursts, rather than as a gentle flow.
Summary: Gellert dies in Nurmengard and welcomes Death with open arms, making his rebirth in one Harry James Potter all the more irritating
Warnings: maybe a tiny bit of gore in the future, swearing.
NO bashing. NO glorification of cruelty or psychopathy. This isn't a sort of story about 'let's reclaim dark magic bc we're so misunderstood'. Gellert is a bit of a psychopath and if you like him then I know I'm writing a charming psychopath. I'm drawing inspiration from Hannibal (TV show) where that is concerned. Albus Dumbledore will feature heavily in this fic but he will behave like a real human, rather than a caricature of someone purely good or purely evil. I really love the character so no bashing. Yeah, no bashing in general.
He'd lived just a little over a hundred years, which all things considered was not much for a wizard. Considering the state in which he had had to 'live' these past, what was it? Twenty years? Twenty five? He consulted his wall — where he'd dutifully scratched in a tally-mark for every day spent in this cell — ah yes, thirty five years he'd spent in this prison. Well, considering all of that, how meagre his meals were, and how generally abysmal his health was, living to a hundred was a miracle.
Albus had been kind to him. This cell had been taken care of. He'd been taken care of.
He lay in his cot and examined the cell. The circular room housed the aforementioned cot, a wall of books (now in tatters, but all written by him) and a desk covered in parchments and quills. There was a little bathroom area to the side.
It was all made of massive stones and save for a little arch, the opening through which he received his books and reading materials, there was little else that was warm or comforting in this place. Although, he supposed that that was the point. He'd enjoyed the process of building this demonstrative and foreboding castle in the Austrian alps. And the fact that he'd been imprisoned here, as the prison's sole prisoner, spoke to Albus' belief in the impeccability of the wards that Gellert and his ward-masters had built.
And speaking of Albus—
It was sudden and silent — a wall melted away, revealing the wizard in his full glory. Gellert snorted in derision at his own thoughts just as a coughing fit suddenly overwhelmed him. Albus was instantly at his side. Oh the fool. If this had been faked, Gellert could've stolen his wand away from him.
Albus waved his wand, a wand that had once been Gellert's. In an instant, the coughing eased, but a burning feeling remained in his chest.
Gellert took a shuddering breath.
"Oh my friend…" Albus whispered, pulling Gellert up into a sitting position, before himself sitting down at his side.
Gellert closed his eyes as the pain in his chest increased. Pneumonia. He was sure of it. How commonly muggle to die of such a disease.
"They told me you were close—" Albus broke off suddenly, emotion overwhelming him. Oh the fool. After all these years, he still held emotion for Gellert?
"Well, it was going to be a peaceful death until you arrived," Gellert replied, maybe slightly teasingly. His eyes flashed open in one last show of strength. Albus was giving him a soft smile.
"I am sorry it all happened this way, Gellert," Albus said eventually. Gellert searched his face, not really sure what he was looking for. "You could have been great, my friend."
"You did what you thought was right. No need to justify it, Albus. After all, you followed your own idea of what you thought was 'für das höhere Wohl'." Albus winced slightly and he bowed his head.
"If you had listened…"
Ironically enough, they now descended into silence. There was a faint clanking sound as the little feeding-gate opened and a bowl of porridge was pushed through. Neither man stood up to get it.
"My will—" Gellert weakly gestured at his desk. Albus swallowed harshly but summoned it. There were wards covering this cell against the use of magic, but it seemed there was an exemption for the Elder Wand and he who wielded it.
"I will execute it, of course."
"No need, Albus. I'm leaving it all to you anyway. Might do you some good to read my thoughts on—"
Another coughing fit.
It ravaged his chest, leaving a burning pain behind. This time, whatever Albus tried to do with his wand, Gellert felt his body reject. It was time, he realised. Death was coming for him.
His vision blurred and he suddenly saw Albus' figure above him casting this and that. But clear as day, another figure appeared before him, which the Headmaster could evidently not see.
"Gellert…." It whispered to him. He welcomed Death with open arms.
.
About a thousand kilometres away, a witch had just gone into labour — in a muggle hospital, no less. It took several hours of pain, screaming, fainting (the husband, not the wife, the nurses remarked), but eventually, just as the clock struck midnight, a child was born.
Once James Potter had been revived with a combination of gentle patting on his cheek and a hex (courtesy of Sirius Black), and his wife, Lily, had woken from her short nap, the child was named Harry James Potter. He was passed to the husband, James, who tearfully kissed him all over.
It was only a few months later that the body of the baby that was known as Harry Potter had developed enough biologically, that Gellert's soul cognitively understood what had happened. The horror of it all overwhelmed him with panic and within seconds, he woke the entire household with his screams. Gellert Grindelwald was reborn.
Lily Potter groaned and rolled out of bed, stumbling to the nursery, clutching a baby blanket in one hand and a bottle of milk in the other.