Grindeldore oneshots

12

Consign Me to the Darkness

Violet_latte

Summary:

The night they meet
The night Albus signs himself away to Gellert's darkness

Story

‘Which one do you like?’

Albus nearly jumped out of his skin when someone spoke up, their lips mere inch from his ear. Letting out a nervous laugh, he touched his cravat. ‘Excuse me?’ 

The boy in front of him was a little taller than Albus. His hair - longer than was fashionable - was tied back with a black silk ribbon. The rest of his clothes were black, too. Only his shirt - pure white - peaked under the silk of his waistcoat as a hint of light in a dark forest, guiding home all the lost pilgrims. 

There was the very same contrast in his eyes. One white. One black. Never in his life had Albus seen something quite like this. 

‘I asked which one do you like. You were watching that group of women quite intensely,’ the boy stated, eyes darted at a group of young women who talked to Mr. Rookwood - the real target of Albus’ attention. 

‘No, I was not,’ Albus replied, uncomfortable. He was not even meant to be seen in society yet. It was too soon, he was still in mourning, but Bathilda specifically asked for him and it was impossible to refuse her. Her who was always so supportive of his mother. 

‘Oh, I see. So, it was Mr. Rookwood who caught your eye.’

The boy’s words froze the blood in Albus’ veins.

‘Sir, that is the most untasteful jest,’ Albus muttered, frowning, his fingers tightening around his glass. ‘Excuse me, suddenly I find it hard to breathe.’ 

Albus didn’t wait for his reply as he headed for the door. 

It was dark out already and the moon was almost full. He stood on the back porch of the house where he often drank tea with Bathilda and his -

‘I didn't mean to offend you.’

Albus closed his eyes when he recognized the boy who annoyed him but moments ago.

‘I am not sure where you came from, sir, but statements like these are not taken lightly here.’ Albus finally opened his eyes. 

The boy was right next to him, leaning against the railing, his miss-matched eyes watching Albus intensely. 

‘I can see that now and I am sorry. Please, accept my deepest apologies.’

Albus hesitated before nodding. He looked away and studied the dark-covered garden instead, too aware of the boy’s stare.
‘Can we start again?’ he asked.

‘Of course,’ Albus forced himself to say, not wanting to cause drama at Bathilda’s.

‘Gellert Grindelwald.’ The boy offered Albus his hand, ‘Bathilda’s great nephew.’ 

It was hard to believe that someone as crude could be Bathilda’s family.

‘Albus Dumbledore.’