#<- man who is deathly afraid of conflict finds himself having Opinions

[glomscrooge]

I understand why people carry dt17 scrooge's teasing into glomscrooge content based on the show, but please consider how embarrassing it would be for him to admit that he likes this glomgold. I'd kill myself honestly

[plague-doctor-jules]

“Qui me defendet ab me terribilissimo ipse?” - The angsty Julian fanfic noone asked for

This takes place on a ship, sometime during the three years of Julian being a fugitive.

Triggers: Blood, self harm, self-mutilation, depression, suicidal ideation, hints of sexual exploitation, MANY mental health issues in general. If you do not consent to read such content, do not open the link.

He had sunk in again; into the mouth of that kind of madness he had fought time and time again, but never defeated.  It was one of the moments he dreaded anyone’s presence; even more so those whose opinion mattered to him. He was still human enough to wallow in a sea of sorrow, after all, and when that happened he wanted to go through the breakdown in secret, afraid that these moments of weakness would destroy the last traces of decency he had left if a prying eye ever saw him in that condition, like the one he was in that night.

The atmosphere was heavy from the smell of alcohol, blood and virginia smoke and the walls bared obvious dents of slammed fists and large stains, as if it had received some kind of liquid projectile, whereas the floor was littered with glass shards and crumbled pieces of paper. A bloodied knife was carelessly tossed to a corner, from where a trail of blood started, leading to the bed. Lying there naked, the plague doctor’s long, bony frame was half-shrouded by a soaked with blood and indian ink sheet, head hanging from the edge of the bed and the mane of unkempt auburn curls sweeping the floor. His deathly pale skin seemed even more sickly, almost translucent and his usually vivid stare was now rigidly fixed on the ceiling, as if the engravings there were suddenly the most fascinating spectacle. He barely breathed, or did his heart palpitate; nor any other muscle made the slightest twitch, save for his occassional blinking, and the tears which rolled soundlessly, mingling with the reddish roots of hair.

Upon the bedside table a sole sheet of paper, crumbled but straightened again, quill pen crushed next to it. The paper wrote:

The bloods of love shrouded me with crimson And joys untold overshadowed me with fear I rusted in the humidity of humans; mother afar -rosebud-oh! rosebud unwithering. At my road’s turn they awaited me, A heard of conflicting passions, and they tore me apart. It was a sin of mine to be able to love; mother afar- rosebud- oh! rosebud unwithering. Sometime, in the timeless void they half-opened; Ebony eyes In my insides- and they chained me in.

The poem did not end there, but the handwriting was even messier to the point of being completely unintelligible, and the ink was still wet, mingled with fingerprints of dried blood. On the doctor’s neck, the mystical sign was glowing; pulsating with light; and angry stab wounds on his chest and abdomen were already shrinking. New tissue had already started lining the inside of the larger one, filling in the hole he had stabbed into his heart. Ironic how sometimes physical wounds seemed to be the only ones healing, no matter how severe they were; for the gaping hole into his soul was still abyssmal and bleeding.

Julian’s tears kept flowing down.

I... can’t die... I can’t... I must be cursed.

This had happened many a time before, and each time it ended up the same bloody way. He would rise up some hours later or whenever duty called, appear and behave immaculate and make sure that noone could have the faintest suspicion of his previous state of mind. That was just a small price to pay for achieving to separate the “doing well” from the “being well” altogether; which he had been doing all of his life. But never was it so bad; never before.

I am a failure; I will always be one... I cannot even kill myself successfully... Why do I have to keep burdening this Earth with my existence?

After a while, doctor Devorak wiped his tears and got up from the bed. Stumbling, he reached the bedside table and grabbing at the piece of paper he threw it into the fire with a scowl. He looked at himself in the mirror; he was a mess. His eyes were puffy and bloodshot; and very very tired. He could barely recognize himself in the eyes of this weak, tired person who was staring at him from the other side of the mirror. God, what had he done to his vivid, filled with life stare? The rest of him was in no better condition, though. He had always been on the gangly side; but now he looked completely emaciated and sickly; almost as bad as he was when he had contracted the plague. Though most of his wounds had healed by now, he was covered in blood. His cheeks were stained with tears and scruffy to the touch; he hadn’t shaved in days.

Opening the drawer, he absentmindedly rummaged through his belongings. A small picture of his sister, back when they were children; that was pretty much the last time he had seen her. Some bottled leeches. A dried bouquet of wildflowers that someone had given him, though he could not quite remember who. A set of golden cufflings given to him by Lucio... the man whom he had supposedly killed. And a small pouch of herbs gifted by Asra... the man who gave him the curse.

Julian’s fingers finally found what he was looking for, and retrieved a straight razor. Julian stared at it expressionlessly for some seconds before he sat back onto his bed and started shaving with the languid strokes of someone who was only half heartedly performing a routine. Three years had passed; and yet, his memory did not seem to come back... though Julian wished he could somehow forget even more. The war, for instance. Or the time when he was captured by pirates. Or the plague. Lucio dying. Lucio using him and hurling him down the stairs like a rag doll after he force-fed him a plague beetle. The satisfaction and excitement in Valdemar’s eyes when he observed his scleras turning crimson.

The sudden sting of pain made him break free from the bad memory lane, and come back to reality. He idly looked at the nick on his chin, and the sign at the base of his neck that started glowing anew. That damn sign... Julian did not quite register his fingers leading the razor to it, until the pain came; as relieving as it always were. He ripped through his flesh desperately, cutting skin muscle and tendons alike; anything to get rid from that glow thaht stubbornly insisted on keeping death from taking him and putting an end to his misery. Finally the piece of skin was loose... But the glow was still far from fading, even through the blood; mocking him. Julian could only stare with disgust as the wound shrunk and disappeared like the rest of them, leaving no trace.

Julian sighed deeply and closed his eyes for a long time; as if he wished the world disappeared alonside with his vision. The sea seemed to be treacherously calm that night; much unlike so many nights before; when the tempest required even the doctor to lend a hand to the crew in order to avoid becoming fish food; and in the process he was busy enough to keep his thoughts at bay, for during a tempest one does not think; merely act and think about why acted like that later if lucky. However the waters seemed to be as still as stone that night; even the usual rocking that can be felt in every boat no matter the weather was barely there. The doctor looked around his cabin and sighed again; it was trashed. Shaking his head, he opened the door and stepped out, making a mental note to find a good excuse if someone happened to get in and see its state.

“Something the matter, doctor?”

The voice that sounded from across the corridor made him jump with surprise and he turned to see the ship captain peering at him; confusion turning into mild shock when he saw his bloodstained shirt and tear-stained face. “Was going out to take some air” Julian hurried, to avoid a cataclysm of questions that the captain seemed to be about to unleash. “I thought I heard a racket coming out of your room, but I didn’t think it would be that bad.... damn.” He only muttered, looking at him up and down. “You look like you could use a distraction.”

“I would, yes.” Julian sighed in agreement. “It seems that alcohol didn’t do much this time around.” he glanced at the captain sideways. “Why, you interested in helping?”

“I might be.” The captain replied, licking his lips.

Julian rolled his eyes. “Because you pity me?”

“Call it what you will.” he shrugged. “It’s your problem, not mine. Not that I care, anyway. You suit yourself, like the rest of us do.” he turned to leave.

“No no wait!” Julian’s voice sounded way more desperate than he intended. “Please... I need the distraction. I need to forget. please, make me forget, even for a while... I don’t care who it is, or why, just... please... hurt me... I want it to hurt...”

The ship captain chuckled darkly. “That sounds more like it.” He grabbed Julian by the shoulders and pinned him roughly on the wall.

And Julian did not bring any resistence.

((title translation: “...Who defends me from myself, who is the most terrible of all?”))

[grindellore]

fanfiction: and when he falls (chapter 3)

Fandom: Harry Potter | Fantastic Beasts Pairing: Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald Characters: Albus Dumbledore, Gellert Grindelwald, Ariana Dumbledore Rating: M

Summary: Third chapter of my Summer of 1899 Grindeldore fic.

Also available on my AO3 (see the link in my profile).

When Albus came back up the stairs, it was with a look of tired relief on his face. Ariana was trailing behind him, idly playing with what looked like a game of skill. She glanced at Gellert as she passed him on the way to her room, giving him a shy smile. Albus was beaming at him.

“Everything is alright,” he said as he closed the door behind Gellert and himself. “She just overturned her chair by accident when she got up from the table.”

“I’m glad,” Gellert replied. “It must be hard to be constantly on the lookout for your little sister ... I suppose we all remember how it was when we couldn’t control our own magic yet.”

At that, Albus gave him a very peculiar glance that made Gellert wonder if he, perhaps, couldn’t recall such a thing. Of course Mr Model Pupil would have been able to control his magic at a very early age... But when Albus spoke, it was still of his sister.

“I’m just worried Ariana might actually breach the Statute of Secrecy someday,” he confessed. “If she does, it will be my liability alone because I am the only adult in this house.” He sighed.

“But that wouldn’t be fair!” Gellert exclaimed. “It’s neither her fault nor yours she can’t control her abilities yet! You can’t always watch over her...”

“No, perhaps not,” Albus interrupted him firmly. “But I’m still the closest person to a parental figure left to her, and therefore both her well-being and her conduct are my responsibility.”

“I see your point,” Gellert admitted. “What I still don’t see is why the burden of secrecy needs to be thrust upon the parents and guardians of our kind in the first place.”

“You question the Statute of Secrecy?” Albus blinked.

“I do indeed question the Statute of Secrecy.” Gellert gazed at him levelly. Now, he thought. How Albus reacted now would decide if he could confide in him.

“But it is an ancient law of the wizarding society that was introduced for good reason!”

“For good reason at the time,”Gellert countered. “Witch-hunting is over, so the major reason why it was introduced has become void. Laws can be changed.”

“And you think you can change the Statue of Secrecy?” Albus gave him a calculating glance.

“I will abolish it,” Gellert said firmly. Albus raised both eyebrows.

“Oh, a revolutionary, are we?” he said completely unimpressed. “But how would you muster the courage to stand up against the law if you’re already afraid of a little flower?”

“I’m not afraid of a flower!” Gellert said passionately. “But I’m sick and tired of the name-calling and the derisive laughter whenever a man is thought to be in a relationship with another man. I’m sick and tired of hiding every single part of who I am in front of Muggles, whether it is this or the fact that I’m a wizard.” He lowered his voice for effect. “I want a world in which everyone is allowed to be who they are without fear of being humiliated or persecuted. A world where it is not an offence to live freely and without fear, but where it is an offence to restrain people from doing so.”

Albus didn’t respond to Gellert’s short speech at once. He only looked at him, expression unreadable. But Gellert had the impression that something in his gaze had shifted.

“That ... is quite an ambitious goal you’ve set for yourself,” Albus said at last. “I’m sure Bathilda told you that I was British Youth Representative to the Wizengamot. It’s a very ... traditional institution, I must say. The majority position there seems to be to stay out of Muggle affairs whenever possible, and of course all members are required to abide by all national and international laws of the wizarding society. I don’t see how it would be possible to convince them of your opinion, and those are only the witches and wizards of the British Isles.” He started to pace up and down in his room, lost in thought. “In fact, I’m fairly certain the Statute of Secrecy cannot be recalled unilaterally by only one party who signed it. However, I’d need to read up on that again since I never researched this specific question.”

“Oh, Albus, you’re so young and yet you already think like a politician.” Gellert smiled indulgently. “But didn’t you realise it already? I don’t want to wait and see if I can convince some old farts of something that will never have their support anyway because it’s too far out of their comfort zone.” He paused for effect, seeking Albus’s eyes. “What I want is a revolution.”

There seemed to be something about the things he said or about the way he said them that made Albus pause. Then Albus looked directly at him. There was something unsettling about Albus’s eyes; something that made Gellert’s heart skip a beat and then speed up. These bright blue eyes seemed to pierce into his very soul.

“How?”

“Beg your pardon?” Somehow Gellert’s brain seemed unable to catch up with the information from his ears.

“How?” repeated Albus. “How do you want to achieve this goal?” Almost as an afterthought, he added: “And how do you think the Hallows will help you achieve it?”

Gellert stared. Albus Dumbledore was amazing. He had realised at once that his quest for the Hallows and his aim to overthrow the Statute of Secrecy were interconnected.

Then again, he shouldn’t have expected anything less.

“Maybe it would help if you closed your mouth and then used it to utter some words,” Albus suggested dryly. “Unless, of course, this is a test whether I’m able to retrieve the answers to my questions from you via Legilimency.”

And he is a Legilimens too? Gellert felt a strange urge to get on his knees in front of Albus or do something similarly old-fashioned and ridiculous.

Finally, he thought. Finally I’ve found someone with whom I can talk, actually talk about my ideas.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I was just ... fascinated you made the connection so fast.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Albus raised his eyebrows. “What I know about you is that you’re dedicated to find out as much about the Deathly Hallows as you can, and I also know you want to abolish the Statute of Secrecy though a revolutionary process. Assuming a link between the two seemed only logical.”

“If you put it that way...” Suddenly Gellert felt dumb in comparison to Albus’s quick wit, and he hated that feeling. He tried to make it up with an eventual reply to Albus’s questions.

“I will travel to all the countries that signed the Statute of Secrecy where I will convince as many witches and wizards of its negative effects as I can,” Gellert said in the same confident tone in which he had explained his reasons to repeal the statute. “I will show them all the evil Muggles will not only do to us but to each other if we fail to contain them.” Again, he made a short pause, lowering his tone. “It is only us who are able to ensure human co-existence without war. We are much more willing to see beyond the conflicts, territorial and otherwise, that modern Muggle states have with each other. Ultimately, the ability to do magic unites us well beyond the nationalist quarrels of Muggles.”

Albus acknowledged Gellert’s words with a curt nod, closing his eyes for a moment while he raised his eyebrows. Gellert waited for him to pass his judgment, heart pounding.

“Alright,” Albus said. “You still didn’t answer my question about the Hallows, but I’ve got another one: Showing them the evil Muggles will do?” He gave Gellert another piercing look out of bright blue eyes.

Gellert’s first impulse was to deflect that question; to talk about how anyone who had all but a cursory glance at Muggle newspapers on the Continent once in a while would know how eager they all were—the Germans, the French, the Austrians, the Russians—all so eager to measure their strength with each other. How it was only a question of time that they would finally clash; that there would certainly be a war nobody had seen before...

He realised it would not do. He wouldn’t be able to fool him. Not Albus.

“I Saw it,” he said simply. “I’ve been Seeing ... a war like none there has ever been before ... terrible things people do to each other ... ever since I was a kid.” His first impulse was to look away from Albus; to avoid the look of doubt that had always been a given after confessions like this; the calming tone: Surely you’ve just been dreaming. Horrible nightmares. Perhaps you shouldn’t read so much if it’s giving you bad dreams...

“That must have been terrible.”

Gellert stared at Albus wide-eyed. He only saw compassion in the way Albus gazed at him; no doubt, no incredulity. I bared my soul to you and you did not tear it apart, he thought. This was a first.

“I learned to deal with it,” Gellert said. “How to control the visions so they can’t overwhelm me at any minute. Just sometimes, when I’m agitated or asleep...” He broke off, giving Albus a small, bitter smile. “But yes, I had ... quite an interesting childhood before I learned how to control my magic.”

At that, Albus raised his arm as if to touch him; to return, perhaps, the hug Gellert had given him earlier. But he seemed to think better of it, focusing, instead, on a spot somewhere above Gellert’s head.

“Do you have a means to show your visions to other people?” Albus said eventually. “To the wider audience you want to reach?”

“I’m ... experimenting with something, though it’s not quite ready yet,” Gellert admitted. He wasn’t prepared to lay all his cards on the table all at once. “But you said you were a Legilimens?” He gave Albus an inquiring look.

“Some people say I’m quite good at Legilimency,” Albus admitted with a smile.

Gellert grinned. That, he supposed, translated to Not to boast, but I’m actually brilliant at it in Albus speech. He made an inviting gesture.

“Go ahead.”

“Right now?” Albus laughed incredulously. “Better sit ... I don’t know, on my bed? Having someone look at memories ... visions ... like these can get quite intense, I imagine.”

“That’s really not necessary.” Gellert tried to brush Albus’s concerns off. “But thank you nonetheless. I appreciate the opportunity to sit for a bit.” He flopped unceremoniously on Albus’s bed. “I just need a moment to sort my visions...” And lock my other thoughts, he thought to himself. There were many things on his mind that he didn’t want Albus to find out right now, from his expulsion and the reasons for it to his fascination with and admiration of Albus himself. He did plan to tell Albus eventually, but all in due time and certainly not by accident because he wasn’t good enough at Occlumency.

“Now,” he said, consciously thinking about the men in dirty trenches; the machines, cannonballs, explosions and, of course, that dreadful vapour.

“Legilimens,” he heard Albus whisper, and then the images became as clear as in his visions again; as if he was standing right beside those men who were wiped out in this cruel, faceless machinery of war where you rarely even saw the enemy that killed you.

“Gellert,” a deep voice said softly. “Gellert, it’s alright. You’re here, in my room. Open your eyes.”

Albus’s auburn hair was the first thing that swam into focus. His bright blue eyes followed, and then Gellert was seeing him clearly. It was only now that he realised he was shivering. Albus was holding him by the shoulders, steadying him.

“Sorry,” he whispered. “It ... I should have become used to it by now, but somehow...”

“I hope you’ll never become used to that,” Albus said. There was a raw sincerity to his tone that made Gellert want to lean in and have his hair petted, just like his mother did when he was little: Semmi baj, Gellért, minden rendben van... He straightened himself instead, gazing directly into Albus’s eyes.

“There will be men who won’t get that choice,” he said. “Not to become used to that, I mean. Unless we act.”

“I see that now,” Albus said, staring into the void as if it was him who was able to look into the future, not Gellert. “And this is coming from someone who always thought Divination was humbug.” He gave Gellert a lopsided smile and took his hands from his shoulders. The moment when Gellert could have leaned in was gone.

“Divination is a tricky subject if you don’t have any natural talent for it,” Gellert admitted. “In that case, the best you can do is foretell events with a certain plausibility.” He returned Albus’s crooked smile. “Your intuition is probably more accurate than the predictions of untalented people who try their hands at Divination.”

“I should hope so.” There it was, that tiny, confident smile, only noticeable for the twitching corners of Albus’s mouth. Gellert felt himself fall into those sparkling blue eyes, acutely aware of how physically close Albus was to him. This time, his racing heart had nothing to do with his visions.

Then Albus rose from the bed. Gellert already thought another precious moment lost, but Albus returned soon enough with the bowl of sweets from his desk. Sitting down next to Gellert, he pulled a wrapped chocolate frog from the bowl and offered it to Gellert.

“Do you like sweets?” Albus asked. “I’ve always found a little bit of chocolate quite comforting after emotionally troubling experiences.”

Gellert nodded gratefully and took the enchanted piece of chocolate. He was a little picky when it came to sweets, but he did like chocolate in any way, shape or form. Even if that form was moving and threatened to hop away if you didn’t catch it fast enough.

Gellert took no chances. He grabbed one of the frog’s legs as he was unwrapping it, putting it in his mouth as soon as he had freed it from the paper.

“Ah, a connoisseur!” Albus smirked, unwrapping his own chocolate frog in a similar way. “So which card did you get?” he asked, mouth full. Gellert chuckled. Normally, he didn’t like when people spoke with their mouth full, but if Albus did it, it was somehow endearing.

“Faris Spavin,” he said, holding the card up. It showed the very old, very wrinkled face of a wizard with thick reading glasses.

“Oh, the Minister of Magic himself,” Albus said. He had swallowed his frog in the meantime. “The longest-ever serving Minister and also the one with the most long-winding speeches. They call him Spout-Hole behind his back.” Albus chuckled. “Though I must admit it’s less funny if you sit in the Wizengamot and can’t leave because he won’t stop talking.” He pulled a face. “I started bringing books with me to have at least something to do while he kept babbling. Sometimes I wonder if I should thank him for acing all my N.E.W.T.s.” Gellert couldn’t help it; he burst out laughing.

“See?” Albus said with a satisfied smirk. “A bit of chocolate always cheers you up. Especially if it’s a chocolate frog.”

“Oh no,” Gellert replied, still grinning. “It’s you who cheered me up. And I appreciate it.” Toning down his obvious flirtation, he added: “But now I want to know which card you got!”

Albus gave him a melancholy smile. He held up his card so Gellert could see it as well. It showed another old man, much frailer than Faris Spavin. The wrinkled face was devoid of Faris Spavin’s impressive beard and moustache.

“Ah!” Gellert’s eyes widened in recognition. “That’s Nicholas Flamel, isn’t it? The famous alchemist?”

“None other.” Albus’s smile faded and he stared pensively at his card. “Do you want it? I’ve got several already.” Gellert ignored his question.

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “You look so sad.”

“Oh, it’s just...” Albus sighed. “Mr Flamel and me corresponded. He invited me to visit him in Paris during my tour on the Continent...”

“But since you couldn’t go, you can’t meet him now,” Gellert completed the sentence for him. “I’m sorry, Albus, but I’m sure you’re going to meet him eventually.”

“I hope so.” Albus tried another, more confident smile.

“You will.” Gellert took Albus’s free hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“Thank you, Gellert.” Albus looked into his eyes. Gellert felt a sudden urge to lean forward and try to kiss him; try to kiss away the melancholy and the sadness in Albus’s life. But it would have been too early—they knew too little about one another—and there were several things Gellert wanted to tell Albus before he burdened him with his feelings.

The moment passed. Gellert withdrew his hand, passing his chocolate frog card from one hand into the other.

“Do you have that one already?” he said, holding Faris Spavin’s card up again. “If not, we could exchange our cards.”

“I do, actually.” Albus chuckled as if nothing had happened. Gellert suddenly realised that this was Albus’s way to deal with negative emotions: Laughing past the sadness. And perhaps, Gellert thought, he wasn’t all that different; filling his life at Durmstrang with pranks and capers that sometimes got out of hand.

“In that case...” Gellert held out his hand, smirking. “I’ll gladly accept your offer to gift me the Nicholas Flamel card. Let it be a token of our beginning friendship.” Now Albus actually laughed, handing him the card. Gellert took the pouch from his belt and put both cards inside, wiggling his eyebrows at Albus.

“Don’t think you can chicken out of my question about the Hallows just because you’ve declared the card a friendship token!” Albus said as soon as he had stopped laughing.

“Chicken out?” Gellert said, pretending to be affronted. “You wound me. I don’t chicken out of anything!”

“Well then.” Albus grinned at Gellert’s mock annoyance, but his posture had become more serious. “How will the Hallows help you achieve your goal?”

“Not all of the Hallows,” Gellert replied. “Wait.” He retrieved an old book from his pouch, realising belatedly that it still had a Durmstrang Library: Restricted stamp on its spine. Well. Albus didn’t know yet that he had been expelled. He also had no means of knowing that while Durmstrang pupils were allowed to read books from the Restricted Section of their library, they weren’t allowed to borrow them.

Placing the book between Albus and himself so both of them could read in it, he tipped on it with his wand, casting a wordless spell. Then he flicked to the page where it all started; the page he knew by heart at this point.

“Here.” He used the tip of his wand to point Albus to the relevant passage, knowing better by now than to use his finger. Albus’s eyes flicked over the passage with remarkable speed.

“Ah!” he said at last. “Godelot, the author of Magick Moste Evile, explains in his notebook that he wrote his famous reference book on Dark Arts with the help of his ‘moste wicked and subtle friend, with bodie of Ellhorn’!” Before Gellert could say anything, Albus placed his finger over the word “Ellhorn,” only to pull it back with a pained yelp.

“Ouch!” Albus frowned at the little drop of blood that came out of his index finger. “That stung!”

“Sorry,” Gellert said with a contrite smile. “I should have warned you.”

“You should.” Albus glowered at him, licking the drop of blood off his hand. Gellert suddenly found it uncomfortably warm in the room. He hurriedly looked away, staring at the open page.

“And you should wash your finger rather than lick it after touching an old book,” Gellert scolded, trying to divert Albus’s attention from the blush that had surely formed on his cheeks by now. “You never know which forms of mould and magical contamination the parchment could contain.”

“I doubt there is any real danger,” Albus said with a shrug. “You got stung, too, didn’t you? And you’re still alive as well.”

“But I didn’t lick my darn index finger!” Gellert glowered at him. By contrast, Albus’s gaze softened and he gave an amused chuckle.

“Your concern for my health is quite endearing, but I assure you it’s entirely uncalled-for,” he said with a smile. Then he bowed over the book again, and Gellert decided that maybe it wasn’t so bad that their heads were almost touching as they read in it.

“Well,” Albus said after his eyes had darted over the passage. “I’m afraid that’s not as helpful as it could be. Yes, it may serve as evidence that a particularly powerful wand made of elder actually exists, but all we know is that the early medieval wizard Godelot had a powerful wand made of elder that he used to help him write his collection of dangerous spells. We also know he was starved by his own son Hereward so he could gain ownership of that wand. What we don’t learn, sadly, is the exact amount of power Godelot’s wand had and what happened to the wand after Hereward gained possession of it.”

“That’s true,” Gellert admitted. “I—we?” He gave Albus a hopeful glance, but the other boy’s expression remained unreadable. “We,” he continued nonetheless, “need to find later evidence for the Elder Wand’s existence, and we need to learn if it is really as powerful as legend has it. But if it is...” He looked up, staring directly at Albus. “If it really is that powerful, and if you can really learn ancient spells from it that its former owners performed, it will be of great help to us because it cannot be easily overcome.”

“Very well.” Albus slid away from the book, resting his back against the wall. “Assuming that I decide to help you, and assuming that we actually manage to find the Elder Wand ... which one of us should have it?” His tone was not suspicious, not accusatory; merely curious. “You—or me?”

“I thought we could ... maybe ... share it?” Gellert glanced nervously at Albus.

“Share it?” Albus raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you want it just for yourself?”

“I...” Gellert blushed. “I think that’s exactly the problem all the former owners of the Elder Wand had. They boasted with it, like the eldest of the three brothers in the tale, or they wanted it so much they killed their own family for it, like Hereward did with his father.” He thrummed his fingers nervously, stilling them as he realised that he was quite close to putting them on the stinging pages of the old book. “I admit the story of the Hallows fascinated me ever since I first heard of them, but I don’t want the Elder Wand just to possess it. I want it because I want to use it for my—our cause.” He paused, only to add in a low tone and in a very rushed manner: “I so want this to be our cause, not just mine.”

“Why?” Again, something in Albus’s gaze had shifted; something Gellert couldn’t quite read.

“Because you’re brilliant!” Gellert exclaimed. “And I don’t say that because Aunt Batty told me so; I say that because I’ve never been able to talk about any of my ideas the way I did today. I believe I’ve only got a glimpse into your magic so far, but what I saw—what you made me See ... That was amazing.” He looked at Albus, half expectant and half nervous of his reaction.

“Gellert,” Albus said. Gellert was still unable to read his tone and it was almost driving him up the pole. “What you said about the freedom to be who you are ... that we need to prevent the dreadful scenario you Saw ... your idea to use the Elder Wand to make sure you can overcome the forces opposed to the idea of change ... All of that sounds quite appealing to me.”

Gellert stared at him, full of hope and yet reluctant. Quite? What did Albus mean by quite?

“But I think you’ve focused too much on your ideas so far,” Albus continued. “What you need is a strategy. A method to convince people in a way that goes beyond showing them your visions.” Albus locked eyes with him. Gellert’s heart was beating faster. He had realised by now Albus tended to avoid looking directly into someone’s eyes unless he thought it necessary to get a point across.

“I can help you come up with a strategy,” Albus said. “Let’s make this our cause.”

Notes:

Semmi baj, Gellért, minden rendben van... is Hungarian for Nothing’s wrong, Gellert, everything is alright... Thank you to the lovely Ivett (isabellaofparma on tumblr) for helping me with the Hungarian! ❤️

Neither Faris Spavin nor Nicholas Flamel are mentioned as characters on chocolate frog cards by JKR, but I figured there would likely be cards at the end of the 19th century that aren’t printed at the end of the 20th century anymore. They’ve probably become expensive collectors’ items by now. (I do think it would be reasonable to assume Nicholas Flamel has his own chocolate frog card, though.)

The “quote from Godelot’s notebook” is taken from Albus Dumbledore’s commentary on “The Tale of the Three Brothers” in The Tales of Beedle the Bard. (As someone who’s interested in the history of the English language, I feel the need to point out that Godelot, as an early medieval figure, should have written in Old English rather than in this toned down mock Middle English. Then again, maybe Albus is quoting from a later source that didn’t retain the original Old English... ;) )