...
Gellert Grindelwald idly watched as his grandson made to throw another Expulso charm towards him, the boy's evident go-to spell. A fact that up until the troll incident had somewhat worried him as it would no doubt cripple his dueling ability if it kept up.
A good duelist after all shouldn't have any tell-tale favorites. Experienced quantity, despite the idiotic thought, tended to outset any potential mastered quality may have had. A wizard capable of using one charm to devastating lengths may just as well call himself a muggle should a passable counter for that charm ever be used against him.
Yet despite that, he'd been the slightest bit surprised to see the level of effectiveness the boy had gotten out of it, despite having used it against one of the more resistive creatures of note.
Though a small part of him was worried the boy's potential itself was more limited than he would've wanted.
At any rate, without so much as budging from his spot; the boy haphazardly going through the necessary wand-waving, he idly reversed the child's own Protego bubble against him, reflecting the spell directly onto his face. The boy unceremoniously thrown back with a resounding thud.
He idly took a few steps towards his grandson, the boy nursing his head with one hand as he gave him a particularly petulant glare.
"That wasn't fair..."
"Life very rarely is," He responded without preamble urging the boy back to his feet for another round.
This time, to his amusement, he watched as the boy refused to use said Protego, electing to try and run out of reach of his spells.
Naturally, he froze the ground beneath him and watched as said boy promptly skidded back onto his back with another audible oomph.
When Rodrick made to throw another hex at him regardless of his current position, the former Dark Lord idly transfigured the incoming speedy Reductor into a rather refreshing rush of wind.
"Again," He remarked without emotion as he watched the boy's petulant expression grace his real face.
It was frankly almost like he was staring at a mirror.
He had no doubt his daughter wouldn't have enjoyed seeing said face as the boy grew up, every passing day his likeness showing itself more and more. Well, provided she'd survived. The utter fool that she was. He had no doubt the girl was likely still cursing him from beyond the grave this very instant.
Despite all of his efforts, however, the boy still had a lot to learn. Given he very well knew that had he bothered to throw a dark curse at him, he wouldn't have been able to so easily modify the spell against his wishes. Well, as far the boy figured at any rate.
With how much time, something he'd had a near limitless amount of before he'd finally sought an heir, he'd spent practicing magic himself, he very well doubted there was nothing he couldn't Transfigure away.
One of these days, perhaps when his last living heir had finally grown a pair, he ought to try his Transfiguration hand on something more... Chaotic in nature.
Perhaps he might try modifying Fiendfyre? See how well that might go. Provided the boy ever grew enough of a pair to actually use it against him.
He certainly already knew the mechanisms behind the spell itself. Even if he'd never successfully cast it before.
Honestly, he was far too soft for his own good. An aspect he needed to get out of him, lest he ended up underground like his mother before him.
...
"That was close enough to passable," He drawled as he watched the boy nurse another headache.
The boy's prowess at deflecting his attempts on his mind was frankly pitiful.
For a moment the boy had almost thrown the Reductor at the ground beneath himself out of the confusion he'd thrown at him.
"It would've been if you didn't fight so dirty..." The boy mumbled in response, giving him another stink-eye.
Gellert rolled his eyes at the expression.
"Brat, if I was fighting dirty, you wouldn't know where the sky began and ended."
He idly watched as a bemused expression filled his grandson's face. The boy practically indicating the utterly blank realm surrounding him.
"Right... Because it's so obviously clear to me already,"
"I'll not have any snark out of you, best leave that for those idiots you call friends,"
He ignored the petulant expression.
Honestly, did he have a granddaughter?
Still, he refrained from an attempt to rectify it. He'd already seen what pushing his feelings and ideals had led to with the boy's own mother.
Taking a seat, ignoring the way bemusement and clear suspicion filled the other's eyes before him, Gellert Grindelwald indicated for him to do the same.
"Do you intend to go then?" He questioned, referring to the boy's invitation to an admittedly interesting upcoming event. One hosted by a... Frankly calling that blonde fool a wizard was an insult to his race, though he figured saying as such would probably not go down very well should his impulsive brat choose to regurgitate said words along.
"I haven't decided... I've been led to believe he's the very same one that came to my orphanage when I'd gotten my letter... You don't think he knows about our name do you?"
He scoffed at the thought.
It would take a herculean amount of willpower from the blonde prat to overcome his Fidelius charm. Nothing short of his grandson, the oblivious secret keeper at that, admitting to his name would allow anyone, living or otherwise, to see through it.
"He may have an inclination as to your... Darker background, but rest assured he knows not of your name,"
His grandson warily agreed with him.
"Do you think Dumbledore knows?"
He raised an amused eyebrow at the words.
"Do you think you'd still be a student at his home if he did?"
"...Probably... The man's borderline..." Whatever his grandson had been about to say seemingly died. Either out of respect for the senile old fool or worse; out of fear.
"Insane? An idiot? A pseudo-Dark Lord? You've many choices to choose from, oh grandson of mine,"
Rodrick in response blinked owlishly at him.
"Dark Lord? I wasn't aware he practiced-"
"He doesn't. Though his habitual attempts at staying out of the affairs of any budding Dark Wizard has resulted in more deaths than any Dark Lord in history; barring myself,"
"Must be real proud of yourself,"
He idly Transfigured the boy's mouth into a ziplock.
"If you won't use that mouth for anything remotely intelligent, then perhaps your privileges of it ought to be taken away." He drawled, earning an affronted look from the youngster.
He held in the barest hint of pride as he watched the boy undo it with ease.
His Transfiguration it seems was improving after all; as slow as it was.
The two fell into a momentary lapse of silence, his gaze taking in the rather thoughtful expression that seemed to grace his mirrored, boyhood, face.
"Did you send me the key?" The child asked him after a moment.
"Who else would? You've a brain, don't you, perhaps you ought to use it."
"Before you take it away?"
"If I could, I would've had it replaced with one more capable in a duel."
The twitch that graced his grandson's face was admittedly enough, amusing.
"I am not that bad,"
"Until you can throw more than a single charm at once, you'd have trouble dueling a third-year Durmstrang git,"
"...That's hardly fair, I am only in my first-"
"When I was your age, I could throw down with the best students that heap of dung had to offer-"
"...I seriously doubt that..." The challenge to his claims, admittedly, kept him from disciplining the boy on having interrupted him. Instead, with a smirk to his face, the former Dark Lord promptly brought up a very old memory, one showing the brat before him proof of said claim.
The face he took on, as he watched said memory was as amusing as his last.
...
"... So what's in the vault?" His grandson asked after another thorough dueling loss at his hand, one followed with more claims of unfairness.
It was his own fault for daring to throw a hastily cast Levicorpus at him; the boy's irritation at the constant magical rebuffs having reached their peak.
Though perhaps he may have gone a tad too far with practically ragdolling the petulant boy in the air as opposed to merely holding him by his ankle.
He wasn't exactly worried about any possible damage been done, given nothing physical could transfer over; barring the Killing curse at any rate.
"Books," He deadpanned in response. What did he think was in the vault? Cursed; artifacts, gold, and heirlooms? Not that he'd be wrong of course.
None of which, of course, was his own.
The Grindelwald family line had never been particularly wealthy out of their own merits.
Regardless, he'd vaulted everything he'd stolen from those incompetent fools he called his enemies, allies, and everyone in between on the morning of that fateful day.
The day he'd finally relented and ended his admittedly dull reign of terror over the continents. His interest in conquering the idiot-ran hovel that was the magical world having finally died down.
A sigh escaped the boy in front of him.
"Can I sell any of them?"
"Only if you wish to curse the buyer," He stated, thinking of the numerous curses he'd put all of his belongings under. He didn't exactly trust the goblins not to try anything funny.
"So I am still broke?"
"Possibly," He shrugged the lie easily.
It wouldn't do to give the boy an ego so early into his development after all.
Besides a modest, separate account to withdraw exactly what he needed for his needs from said vault, the boy's access to everything else was rather limited.
It definitely wouldn't do to let him anywhere near his most cursed necklace. Not for a few more years at best.
Lest he gave Death any fanciful ideas.
The utter prick.
After a few more hours passed, the tell-tale signs of the morning hitting his physical form, Gellert Grindelwald had in the end managed to convince his aloof grandson of the potential in attending Malfoy's little get-together.
Oh sure, whilst he may have preferred a more like-minded attending group; he certainly saw the benefits in attending a Pureblood special, regardless of the various outlooks and personalities that may show.
He may not be able to get much out of it, but there certainly wasn't any harm in at the very least learning of who exactly ran the country he lived in.
Sure, he could just tell him himself, but where was the fun in that?
Idly leaving an indistinguishable mark on his grandson, one that would allow him to oversee it should anything untoward go down, he idly bade his grandson leave for the night, or morning? he wasn't entirely sure what time it was at the boy's castle.
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