A/N: Hi Folks, here's a new fanfiction for you all to follow, I debated on adding this to my current WIP, The Tragedy of Harry Potter as a side-piece to build up Dumbledore and perhaps even Grindelwald but I feel it would have cluttered everything. This is a fic which will follow both men's lives, the conflict, and tragedy they found themselves embroiled in.
I hope you all enjoy this story of the beautiful and the damned. As always, we're working in an AU setting with Mad Mikkelson's version of Gellert in mind.

I do not own Harry Potter unlike J.K.

AU Changes: Grindelwald's Backstory

Les Heureux et Les Damnes

By. Momento Virtuoso
Edited By: suniwrites

Chapter 1

The Boy In The Loft

Saarbrücken, Germany - 1887
Seventeen years after the French Invasion of the Franco-Prussian War

Food at the time was scarce, but scarcer still was any kindness that man held for his fellow man. Towns were left crippled by war and starved by depression of the prior decade, forging hard men from the cold ashes of its smoldering fires. Despite the prosperity trickling down from the major cities in the north from industrialization, no one was spared the damage of the times' regression and progression.

Yet, there was struggle within the land over the last ten years. A war over ideals. A Kulturkampf. At only four-years old, Gellert Grindelwald felt the pains of life. The hand of an abusive father, pangs of hunger, and the fear one held for their life moments before it was taken away.

"Come, come, Gellert! Hurry!" Mischa whispered to her little brother, hoisting him up in her small arms. She pushed the back door open to their well-mannered three room house as the heat of the fire licked at her heels and the smell of ash clung to her skin. While Mischa focused on the snow-piled pathway before her, all Gellert could see was the flames of their home.

"Mama? Papa?" Gellert's garbled questions sounded past her ear, but she could barely make them out over the yelling behind them, a lynch mob, beckoning their comrades forward, following the single trail of footprints imprinted in the snow, which fell too slow to cover the trail.

"They're coming soon, bruderherz-Gellert. They're just behind us … Tell me when you see them, alright? Tell me when you see them, mein herz."

The words would have been comforting to Gellert if he wasn't terrified, but he was trembling from the cold and the near attempt on his life. He had only been playing, making a rock float in front of him while he sat in the yard. He knew rocks couldn't float, but that's why it was magic to him. His father had seen him in the act, dragging him inside before beating him for the display. Gellert had no idea why he was being punished; he had seen Mama do such things before and she was never reprimanded.

Mischa hurried, her only knowledge of the direction she was going came from her breath before her, materializing before her nose in the cold German air. Frost burned in her lungs despite the sheen of sweat on her boiling skin. She could see a sanctuary up ahead, a church.

"Just a few more, Gel. You'll be safe. I promise, your sister always keeps her promises, right?" she assured the young boy in her arms, bouncing him with each step. They were not the bounces of playing with a babe, but rather the panicked sprint of fleeing from danger.

"Mischa, promise," Gellert mumbled into her flushed skin, snuggling his frozen nose between her neck and shoulder. He was so cold, he almost wished to return to the burning shell of their home.

With as much strength as her frail body could muster, Mischa kicked the door of the church in. Without a pastor in sight, it was empty of any other souls. The pair were alone in the main room, but she prayed desperately for someone to be there to save them. The body displayed on intersecting wooden beams was their only witness. There was no back-exit anywhere along the walls. They were trapped inside the church.

"No, no, no!" She said over and over in panic at seeing no escape. Her head spun to and fro, inspecting the walls and windows, panes of glass which rested too high up for her to push Gellert through if she broke one. All she saw was a ladder which led up to a loft where the church's organ resided. 'It'll have to do.'

Watching Mischa's panic and resignation was confusing for Gellert. She had said they would be safe, but she was acting as if they weren't.

Mischa put Gellert down on his two stumpy baby-feet, his face blackened with ash and a bruise from their now-deceased father. He wore a small jumper with long woolen pants. His shoes were on but barely tied in the rushed escape from the press-gang.

Mischa picked up two candle holders and shoved them into the handles of the church's door in an effort to give them time. Gellert needed time; she would soon be all out of hers. Turning to her little brother, Mischa kneeled down in front of him, pressing her hands to the side of his face. She stared into his mix-matched eyes, his left nearly a clear white but his right, a deep electric blue. She memorized his cherubic baby face for as long as she could manage.

"You go, Gel, up that ladder for me, ok? You hide behind something and don't make a sound, you hear me? You don't come down for no one but me. Not a sound," she stressed, tears beginning to fall in her eyes, gesturing with her head to the ladder behind him. Gellert turned and looked up at the loft before rounding back on his older sister.

"You come?" he asked, a quiver of a question in his small voice.

Mischa's heart broke as she shook her head. She couldn't bear to watch as his features faltered and he sucked his cheek in like he did when told no by their mother, but she did not dare move her eyes away from his own. "No, I can't come. You have to go, Gel. Up the ladder for me? Please, Gel. You have to go up the ladder now and not come down."

"I go? You stay?" Gellert asked one last time. He didn't understand why she couldn't follow him up the ladder. He wanted her to go with him and not stay down here.

"Yes, mein bruderherz, mein bürschchen. I stay. You go," Mischa pleaded. She turned Gellert around and began to push him towards the ladder. With her hands wrapped around his wrists, she guided him to hold on and climb up. She pushed him up all the way, following behind herself before she dropped down to the floor, taking the ladder with her.

Gellert poked his head over the edge, looking down at the body of his sister splayed out, the ladder of his salvation resting over her body, he put his small hand forward gesturing her to get up and to him. "Mischa! Mischa, come up! Up!"

Mischa stared up at her tiny brother, a sad, despondent and resigned smile on her face. "It's ok, Gel. You're gonna be ok, alright? I'm ok, it's all going to be ok."

There was banging now on the door of the church. They had been found betrayed by their foot falls. "They're in the church! The monster is in the church!", "Break it down! It ain't no sin to kill a devil." Soon the door was being rammed, its hinges being pushed more and more til they were screaming in agony, groaning in protest.

Mischa grabbed the ladder with both hands. She was by no means gifted—not like her little brother—so she dove into the pit of her stomach, a turbulent sea confined to a deep well. Her veins burned as the power of the well surged forth. With a scream, the ladder in her hands vanished into the ether. Successfully banished to the ether by the young girl.

Gellert's eyes widened at the display of wandless magic. It was breathtaking for the young boy to see the strength in his sister's eyes at that moment.

For Mischa, it was a strength doomed to a half-life. Just as it came to her, it fled even faster. She felt like she had run for three days and nights nonstop. Her lungs were shriveled; oxygen was more precious than any galleon.

The door to the church burst open, bearing way to a group of six men, all in white shirts and dark overcoats. Some were bald, while others had short hair, and a few wore bowler caps popular amongst the steel workers in the new factories. The mob all held an assortment of weapons in each of their hands from iron rods, sharp knives, and a single gun.

Mischa immediately sat up, kicking her legs out in front of her as she pushed herself backwards far as she could from the door. Her back smacked against the back of a pew a few feet from the altar.

"There she is! But where's the other one?" one of the men asked, looking around the hall of the church. His inquisitive gaze sweeping upwards to the loft just missed the sight of Gellert flinching backwards, past the sight of the men.

"Ain't no matter. We'll find the devil soon enough… say, if he's one. You think she's one too?" one of the men asked, a vicious smirk on his face.

It took all of Mischa's self-control to not look up to check on her brother. She kept her gaze steadily forward, a far difference from her shaking limbs.

"Youu… You muggles are the real devils! You burn a home… kill a family… chase children!"

The men all grinned amongst themselves, sharing raised eyebrows and chuckles between each other like they were frequenting a beer garden. "Ha! What'd she call us, you think?", "Don't know, Käthe. Ain't never heard the word before. Must be a spell — she be a Hexe, I tell ya'! Just like that boy!" The men all grumbled and nodded in agreement with one another, coming to the consensus they had decided upon when they set the house on fire.

"Grab her."

Mischa screamed out as she was grabbed by some of the men. A different one for each of her limbs. She twisted her body in their grip, a bold effort to pull their shoulders from socket, desperately trying to free herself from them. "No. No. NO!" but her cries were ignored.

"Shut her up!" one voice called out. A pipe connected with the side of Mischa's skull, torquing her head to the side from the force. Pain blossomed just over her eye, but soon half her vision was covered by a stream of scarlet blooming from the gash now adorning her scalp, her hair now matting to her skin with blood.

She struggled no more against her captors, her head lolling to the side as they carried her out of the church into the frigid air, her eyes briefly shot up to the loft where she could see the small form of her brother peeking just over the edge.

'Gellert…' It was the last conscious thought before she gave into the blackness and the jeers of the men around her.

Break

Gellert watched as they carried his sister out of the doorway, laughing and cursing at her misfortune. He watched and waited for several moments for Mischa to come back for him, or for the men too. He held his breath, waiting for anything to happen, as moments drew out into minutes. What finally broke the sound of silence entombing him was the sharp crack of a single gunshot in the air.

Gellert flinched uncontrollably at the sound, just as the nearby birds did, but unlike them, he could not fly away to safety. He was stuck in a loft at the top of a church under the steeple. Just then the men returned, but they stood outside the door, unwillingly to step foot inside.

"Damned bitch, too much fight. What a shame," one said.

"Ja, but what about the other one? Expect he's in here at all? Or did he run off at some point behind our backs?" another asked.

"Who knows… If he is here, though, he ain't getting out… Say, close the door. Bolt it shut," one of the men ordered.

Just like that, the door to the outside closed. Gellert heard the bolt clang shut against the metal hinge and the oak frame. He could only hear the mumbles of the men outside, their voices distorted by the wood, stone, and metal all between him and them.

In a bid to keep warm and make himself smaller, Gellert curled into a ball, bringing his knees up against his chest so he could rest his chin. "They're lying… Mischa come back," he softly whispered, tears beginning to slide down his cheeks.

He was not left alone in his despair for long. All the windows along the sides of the church smashed, shards of the glass clattering like hailstones and striking the wooden floor. Then there was momentarily silence, before Gellert heard the men shouting once more and barking orders amongst themselves. Next he heard a crackle, like a lamp being lit for the first time that evening. After that, he smelt the smoke first.

The men had encircled the church and each had tossed a blazing torch through a window, with another lighting the doorway on fire, and finally tossing a few torches onto the roof to catch the ceiling ablaze so that it would collapse inward, potentially on top of the devil they sought; on top of Gellert.

Gellert's world was ablaze for the second time that day. His world was on fire and he knew not the reason why. The only divine truth revealed to him was that flesh burned just as easy as wood. The church groaned and trembled as the flames blistered and torched its very foundations.

It only made Gellert scream.

Break

Herr Jakob Bierhal observed the husk lying before him, a blackened shell where not even the support beams could bear the weight of the sky's judgment after its prior burden had long since fallen. With a sigh, he removed the monocle from his face, rubbing the lens dry from any debris or fallen ash with a gloved hand, before replacing the item upon his face. He frowned at the sight before him, his thick mustache covering the entirety of his upper lip.

The church before him was completely burned down, not even a single iron nail being spared the fate of melting. The snow around the structure had been banished in the heat, but the steady fall of the flakes had done nothing to temper the inferno.

Jakob drew out his wand, casting a muggle-repelling charm upon the surrounding area so that he wouldn't be disturbed. He already had the task of cleaning up the physical mess… He didn't wish to pursue any muggles in need of obliviation.

Taking a few steps forward, Jakob held his wand before him, muttering under his breath a series of spells to retrieve the data he needed to complete his search. Six men… all muggle… a struggle? The wizard came to a complete stop, his boots squeaking against the pathway. He spotted it now, the red flecks of blood forming a neat line from where the doorway of the church once stood.

Jakob's eyes tracked the trail till they came upon another blackened husk on the scene; yet, this one wasn't a church but a human. His heart sank at seeing the charred body of the young girl. Reaching up to his head, he pulled off the bowler cap covering his bald head. All the wizard could do now was tilt his head in a gesture of respect for the dead. "Es tut mir so leid, mein Kind." He could only apologize now to the child.

With a wave of his wand, a white sheet sprouted from its tip, floating gracefully through the air as if carried by doves to lay in rest over the body of Mischa. With his respects paid as best they could be in a moment such as this, Jakob continued on.

As he entered the smoldering remains, Jakob took every detail in, his monocled eye, committing every scorch mark and cinder to memory. His gaze soon fell over another body, but this time he could barely believe what he was seeing. It was a young boy, completely unburnt.

Jakob sprang into action, leaping over the debris and crackling charcoal. He pushed himself up to the front of the building where the altar would have been placed underneath a loft. Melted metal was everywhere from an organ that had collapsed and succumbed to the flames. Jakob sucked in a breath, starving himself of another as he kneeled down next to the spared child, a boy not much younger than the poor girl outside. 'Siblings?' Jakob thought, slowly piecing together more of the scene he found himself interacting with.

With another silent spell, the German wizard transfigured a woolen blanket, wrapping it around the naked body of the miracle child. How he could have survived such a conflagration, he knew not. The only answer that came to the man's mind was accidental magic, but to produce a wandless protego capable of withstanding an event like this was an unheard of phenomenon, even for fully realized witches and wizards; in a child it was unheard of. Impossible, a sane man would claim.

Jakob could find no sanity in the sight before him.

Gently holding the boy in his arms, Jakob released a breath he had been holding in at seeing his eyes open, one nearly pure white and the other deep blue.

"Mischa…" the boy croaked, a protest against his throat.

Jakob shook his head. "Hush now, boy. You're alright. I've got you," With a pop, Jakob disapparated with the unscathed body of Gellert Grindelwald in his arms to the only magical hospital at the forefront of his mind—St. Hildegards' for Magical Afflictions and Maladies.

Break

Gellert woke to a bright light over him in an unfamiliar room. Rising up to his chest were clean white sheets, surrounding him were clean white curtains, and all around the room the same color perpetuated every inch of his vision, as if the room was decorated by angels.

"Mischa?" he called out, his throat hoarse and cracking against the frigid air of the room.

"Not quite, child," a voice said next to him. Instantly Gellert tensed, preparing to flee, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him. "It's alright, child. Don't fret — you're safe. My name is Herr Jakob Bierhal. Can you tell me your name, little herr?"

Gellert blinked for a moment, taking in the appearance of the person at his side. He looked like a man one would often see entering and leaving a city hall of sorts. "Gellert. Grindelwald," he whispered softly, his throat still sore.

"What— where?" Gellert asked, looking around and at the strange man before him, his eyes fearful. He remembered his father fighting… his mother screaming… being carried by Mischa… he heard her cries and then all he could comprehend was fire. It had been all around him.

Jakob saw the distress of the boy. "Hush, child… it's all ok. You're still in Germany, but in St. Hildegard's. The best hospital on the continent for people of our kind," Jakob answered, speaking slowly for the small child.

Gellert nodded mutely but that was not the answer he sought. "Mischa? Promise…" He wanted to — no, he needed to know where she was. She promised it would all be ok but it wasn't. His world was not ok without her.

Jakob however looked down sadly at Gellert, regret pooling deep behind his monocle. "I'm sorry lad, but she didn't make it like you did…" The man sighed briefly, looking up at the ceiling and then back down. "I'll be honest with you, child. You're the last one left… I found your parents and followed the path to the church. How you survived, I haven't a clue, but I won't say no if there's a bright light in all this darkness."

"The m-muggles. I was— I — only playing," Gellert squeaked, trying to process everything in his young mind. He felt he was overloading, but he pushed his focus further, straining himself. It was no avail.

Jakob shook his head at Gellert, grabbing hold of Gellert's small trembling hand within his own. "No, boy. None of that now, you need rest. Don't concern yourself… you're safe and away from that lot. That's all that matters." He could see the young child was already deeply scarred, and he would not aid the monsters who did it by committing his own infraction against the survivor.

"What now? I want to go home," Gellert said, stubbornly clinging to his life the day before; not willing to concede he had no home to return to. That there would be no mother or father waiting for him. No Mischa.

Jakob sighed deeply, shaking his head, and pulling off his monocle to clean it for the umpteenth time that day. "That, lad, has to be discussed later… but for now rest. Be at peace for a moment, young Gellert." He replaced the eye-piece, looking down at the young boy with a smile.

Gellert however didn't understand the concept of peace anymore. How could he be at peace in such a place after witnessing what he had? He didn't know what to say so he opted not to speak at all, sinking into his bed as he sat next to the strange man who had saved him from the burning loft.

As his eyes closed and sleep began to overtake him, he heard the last words of Herr Jakob. "Don't worry, Mr. Grindelwald… we'll find a suitable home for you soon."

Break

A/N: That's chapter 1! Wanted to set up a decent backstory for Gellert's hatred for muggles while giving him a parallel to Dumbledore as well. Mischa is based off of Hannibal Lecter's sister in Thomas Harris's novels, Hannibal and Hannibal Rising. Just minus the cannibalism.