Married Grindeldore

Something He Wouldn't Understand

Thunder strikes. It's been raining for 13 days straight. Tom Riddle Jr. walked around the chamber, the very chamber his great-great-great-grandfather built. His glassy shoes contrasted the rotten state of the facility, and of course, his mind.

"I expect him to arrive in..." Tom's sophisticated voice echoed through the room.

"3," 

The thunder struck once.

"2,"

The water dropped from the ceiling.

"1."

And Gellert Grindelwald entered the chamber of Salazar Slytherin with an expression synonymous to of the clouds outside. His long, black, soaked cloak complimented his tall figure, and the upright, messy hair added to the chaos of is personality.

He was himself now. Truly. Notoriously. Grindelwald.

Two unforgivable curses stemmed from opposite sides of the dark-lit room, both green, yet with varying colors. Were they different? Were they the same? One meant to torture, while the other, to end. The strength of the spells competed; yet different in incentive. Grindelwald's meant to demolish, and Voldemort's to merely survive. The will to kill went against the instinct for survival, and the room was so brightly lit, it was impossible to see.

But Gellert need not to see. He knew something that Tom didn't, which urged him to push further. There was something more dangerous in this world than an angry man.

A furious Grindelwald whose Albus is hurt. 

The more he thought about the inflicted pain of his lover, the brighter was the light. Two days. Held hostage. Under this condition. After labor. 

Tom saw the end of the string of his spell, vanishing under Gellert's fire. It hit him. An excruciating moan left the heir of Slytherin, pushing his body to the corner of the wall.

Immediately, however, Gellert rushed to Albus. His expression soon changed into a softer, more painful, and vulnerable one. Cupping his husband's cheeks, he felt his chest tighten, so suffocatingly hard he could hardly breathe. It was guilt and shared pain. Impossible.

Yet he soon regained rationality and freed Albus, kissing him on the forehead apologetically.

"Gellert..." Said Albus in a muffled, trembling voice, as if using up his very last energy.

"Shhh. It will be alright. I will-"

Gellert was unable to finish his sentence before he sensed a spell coming from his back.

"This damned cockroach!" He exclaimed as he struck the crucifixion curse at Voldemort. The latter fought back with his own, gritting his teeth with vindictive rage.

"How are you not dead?! Das Arschloch!" He yelled with shock and fury.

Tom simply laughed hysterically.

The fight went on. One was filled with rage, while the other with pride. Two brilliant, evil wizards, divided by one concept-- the concept that Voldemort failed to understand, as he never truly did.

The blood pact pulsed in his pocket, pounding his chest. It was harmonious to Gellert's spell, increasing the brightness with every pulsation. The memories washed over him. 1898, the dark-lit cave, Albus's slender fingers touching his- it was too much. But this time, he pivoted the intensity of his emotions to Riddle, finally hitting the latter.

"Who is the one screaming their heart out now?" He asked with darkened, enraged eyes.

The screaming went on. But not for long. Albus asked Gellert to stop, "for the love of Merlin".

So he had to, despite his desire. 

The final decision was to lock him up in one of the basements of Nurmengard.

--

Ceramic cups clink. Warm, aromatic tea is poured. Exchange of looks.

"I've been, ironically, liberated since my lord's husband went into labour. Haven't heard from him for a week now. I thought I would be commanded all the time, taking care of his children. Thank Merlin I am not! I guess his paternal instinct finally clicked," said Vinda Rosier with her elegant, smooth voice.

"That's a lovely thing to hear... I am so glad for them!" replied Queenie.

"So am I."

A sudden bust broke the main entrance of Vinda's apartment. It was him. Grindelwald.

"I guess I have spoken too early," she laughed bitterly.

Yet through the amusement, they soon realized that something was wrong.

Gellert Grindelwald, the man that never allows a dust on him, was soaked in rain, mud, and even ripped his cloak. His hair was indistinguishable from a bird nest, and in his arms he held Albus. Exhausted, sorrowful, almost half-alive .

"Vinda. Save him. Please." The last word was desperate, startling the witch. For the very first time, his lord spoke to her with such... vulnerability.

She stood up without a question or a word. Rushing to bring her wand. Queenie stepped forward to check on the patient, offering help.

"May I?" She asked Grindelwald.

"Anyone, anything, just-"

So Queenie brought her pain-killers; yes, very amateurish and seemingly insignificant, yet very much helpful. No magical solution exists for pain-which is really the entire reason for their fussing over the crucifixion curse. Anesthesia would have solved it quickly enough. 

Vinda, on the other hand, harmonically spelled the charm. Careful, elegant, soothing.

The process took as long as an hour. Seemed like an entire eternity for Gellert.

Outside, the rain stopped.

Finally, the sun was out.