Burned Into Glory

Arena

"You asked to see me, Monsieur?" Brodeur shut the office door behind him and came walking gingerly into the room.

"I demanded your presence," Grindelwald corrected. He twirled the Elder Wand in his fingers and commanded without equivocation, "Sit."

Brodeur looked terrified as he came to sink into the chair opposite Grindelwald. He cleared his throat and said carefully,

"I hope you know of my complete devotion to your cause, Monsieur."

"Expelliarmus." Grindelwald caught Brodeur's wand as it flew out of his suit coat and soared through the air toward him. He set it down on his desk and sighed as Brodeur stared at him in shock.

"Monsieur..."

"You thought about licking between her legs." Grindelwald shook his head, feeling his ears go hot with rage he struggled to control. It took maximum effort to maintain calm, to keep hold of the cool demeanour he'd carefully crafted. He took a deep breath as Brodeur attempted,

"I am sincerely sorry for fantasising about her. It will not happen again. I will not allow my own mind to wander to such things. I promise."

"For this crime, there can be no forgiveness," Grindelwald shrugged, rather helplessly. He met Brodeur's pale, desperate eyes and told him, "There is a price for thought like that. Thank you for your service in Paris. It is a damned shame it has to end like this."

He aimed the Elder Wand at Brodeur, who held his hands up and bugged his eyes out as he stammered,

"N-Non! Non! Please! I beg you!"

"Avada Kedavra." Grindelwald incanted the Killing Curse with a twinge of regret; this was one of his most useful servants he was executing. But as the man slumped in death under the vibrant jade green flash of light, Grindelwald remembered that he'd been thinking vile thoughts about Queenie, and that was enough for him to die.

For five minutes, Grindelwald stared at the unmoving corpse of Brodeur, and then he finally Vanished the body and the wizard's wand. Then there was no trace that Brodeur had ever been born, that the man had ever lived. There would be no funeral. There would be no recognition of his demise. He was simply gone now. Grindelwald eyed the empty chair where Brodeur had been and whispered to himself,

"Death to traitors for the greater good."

There was knocking on his office door then, and he called out,

"Enter."

The office door opened, and Vinda Rosier came walking slowly inside, her normally elegant face looking bloated and puffy from obvious hours of crying. She'd gathered herself before coming here, he could see, though she was still blotchy. She was dressed in a black velvet dress-coat, with a solemn sort of hat perched above her tightly coiffed hair. She looked like she was in mourning. She stood, her black-gloved hands folded before her, and she asked quietly,

"May I sit, please?"

Grindelwald glanced at the chair and considered warning her that there had been a corpse in it just a few moments earlier. But she didn't need that right now. So instead, he wandlessly pushed the chair out and gestured for Vinda to have a seat, and when she perched herself on the edge of the seat, he asked carefully,

"Would you like tea?"

"No. Thank you." She licked her lip and touched at her hat, and she sniffled just a little bit. She stared at the edge of the desk and said, "I would like to respectfully request that I be permitted to serve you from my home in Paris."

Grindelwald scoffed and shook his head. "Request denied. You are among my absolute most critical soldiers, Vinda; your place is here. That is my final decision on that matter."