Burned Into Glory

Firewhisky

At some point, Grindelwald must have drifted off to sleep. Otherwise, he couldn't have awakened to the smell of back bacon sizzling. He blinked his eyes open to see that he was leaning against the edge of the sofa, and when he sat up straighter and wandlessly Scoured his body clean, he turned to see Queenie Goldstein in the tiny kitchen. She was waving her wand about carefully, frying up eggs and searing bacon, and she looked very pretty standing there in her dark purple velvet dressing gown. She didn't notice that he'd awakened, and she was humming softly as she cooked with her wand. Grindelwald cleared his throat rather roughly, and Queenie whirled around, flashing him a winning grin.

"Good morning," she said politely. "I just thought I'd whip up a little something to eat. You like eggs and bacon, sir?"

"I do." Grindelwald rose slowly from the sofa and realised she'd watched him sleep. His cheeks went a little warm at that thought, at the idea of her seeing him slumped and vulnerable. He needed to reestablish dominance. Now. He strode slowly toward the kitchen and said in a lazy voice, "You like to cook for people. It makes you feel very useful. When people enjoy your food, you feel that you've done something of worth."

Queenie's mouth fell open a little, and she looked slightly ashamed. She turned back to her pans of food and quickly stopped the cooking before they could burn. Her porcelain cheeks went pink, and she murmured,

"I've just always liked cooking. Makes me feel good, feeding people."

Grindelwald didn't thank her for the eggs and bacon. He ate them in silence at the small table, and he let her Scour and Banish his plates and cutlery without a word. He spent the rest of the morning reading an old tome on goblin rebellions that had been on the mantle, and Queenie sat on the edge of the bed twiddling her thumbs. Once Grindelwald felt that he'd firmly re-established just who was in charge, he asked,

"Would you like a book? There are several here above the fireplace."

"Are they in English?" asked Queenie carefully, and she came walking over. Grindelwald hadn't thought of that. The book he was reading was in German. He watched Queenie drag her fingers over the spines of the limited selection of books, and he heard the disappointment in her voice as she said, "They're all French or German. I'm too dumb to understand."

"Queenie," scoffed Grindelwald, "you understand far more than most people."

He pulled out the Elder Wand and Summoned a French romance novel. He caught it with his left hand and aimed his wand at it as he murmured carefully,

"Angloverto."

He opened the book and smirked, then shut it and held it up to Queenie. She frowned in confusion, approaching and taking the book from him. She opened it, and her eyes bugged out a little. She grinned happily then and read in English,

"Jeanette and Marien: A Tale of Woe of Sorrow in Marseilles. You've translated it."

Grindelwald watched her happily take the book back over to the bed, where she sat again and began reading. For some reason, the act of having made her happy was a stirring thing to experience. It set his heart to racing, seeing that grin, watching her sit and read so contently.

Why did he care, he wondered, whether a servant of his was happy? He ought not be concerned at all with her level of joy at any given moment in time. That was inconsequential; all that mattered was her efficiency, her loyalty, and her effectiveness.

And yet.

Halfway through the afternoon, Grindelwald finished his book and rose, standing near a window and staring out at the rich blanket of snow on the rocky mountain peak. He sighed with realisation and stuck his hands into the pockets of his black wool trousers as he said aloud,