Grindeldore oneshots

5

the last enemy to be destroyed

kantele

Summary:

Albus pays Gellert a final visit in Nurmengrad on their 97th anniversary.

Story:

Gellert raised his head as he heard the distinctive sound of heels clicking against the concrete floor. As he identified the footsteps, he lowered his head back down again, not bothering to look at the person that was now standing behind the door of his cell.

“I see you’ve finally decided to come to see me,” he said, his voice hoarse from lack of use. The sound of it felt enormous in the silence of the prison. The quiet, he thought, was the worst aspect of his punishment. It had driven him mad more than once.

When he received no answer, he looked up to confirm that the person was not merely the product of his own mind. It would not have been the first time. But, no, the shadow Albus’ figure cast on the floor was there, and from his position on the floor, Gellert could just see the top of his head.

Unnerved by his silence, Gellert sneered, “What may I thank for this great honour?”

In answer, a hand reached for the flap on his door and passed a small packet through it. “Happy anniversary, my dear,” Albus said, and Gellert closed his eyes against the feeling hearing his voice arose in him. It had been years since he had last heard it. Albus’ voice was different now; whereas before it had still held the lingering notes of youth, it was now slowed and dragged down by age and remembered grief.

As he rose to shaky feet and made his way to the door, Gellert wondered if the grief had all been due to him, or if Albus had faced other tragedies since the day he had locked him here and walked away without looking back. Gellert was uncertain; his Visions were hazy at best, fragmented by the wards restraining his magic.

Bending down, Gellert picked up the packet. It was wrapped in a green paper that was sprinkled with stars. Gellert nearly smiled. It was very much to Albus’ taste. He turned it with his hands, trying to guess what was inside.

After a moment, he slipped the packet inside the pocket of his torn prison robe and, raising his head, met Albus Dumbledore’s eyes for the first time in years. The sight of his aged face shocked him, although it shouldn’t have. He knew that it had been decades between the last time and now, but knowing it and seeing it were two different things. Albus looked old. Ancient. A far cry from the auburn-haired youth Gellert had first known, or the grim, dignified professor that had been his doom. Albus smiled at his shock, and his eyes were suspiciously moist

Gellert averted his eyes; tears had always made him uncomfortable. Clearing his throat, he asked, “We’ve never celebrated anniversaries before. What’s different this time?” Albus did not answer, but Gellert could hear him shuffling in place, his hands sweeping across the expansive fabric of his robes in an unconscious gesture. Sharply, Gellert looked at him. Albus did not meet his eyes.

“Show me. Now,” Gellert commanded, his heart beating furiously at his chest. Albus sighed before lifting his hand through the bars of the small window. Gellert sucked in a breath as he saw Albus’ hand. The skin was black and withered, clearly as a result of some powerful curse. Quickly, before Albus could withdraw it, Gellert grasped hold of it. Albus let out a small wince, but Gellert ignored him as he closed his eyes and felt for the extent of the damage. His magic confirmed his fears. “You’re dying.”