the dark side [tom r.]

1|| Rekindling the Flame.

Paris, the 29th of December, 1949.

"Un, deux, trois, quatre," she twirled around, moving gracefully to the rhythm emitting from the phonograph. One, two, three, four. The young ballerinas across from her mimicked her actions, following her every step.

"Maintenant, tournez," she instructed, turning around along with the little girls, moving gracefully to the serene melody.

"Bon, c'est tout pour aujourd'hui," Rosalind finished, taking off her pointé shoes as she took a seat in the very corner of her dancing hall. Okay, that's all for today.

"Merci beaucoup, mademoiselle Rosalind!" One of her students spoke in a lilting accent, thanking her for the usual ballet lesson.

"De rien, ma chéri. Bonne nuit!" Rosalind sighed once the hall was completely empty, filling up a glass of water and chugging it quickly.

After everything that happened, choosing what she wanted to do for a living was a task that left her lost and confused. Time ticked by so quickly, yet she didn't seem to find the thing that truly enthralled her. She had a hard time figuring out what she was passionate about, and it was dancing.

Rosalind founded her own Ballet Academy only at the age of nineteen. With the help of her mother, the place blossomed and became one of the most famous dancing institutions in Paris. Deep down, she knew it was a job that did not utilise her magical talent, but it was something that she truly loved.

She often thought of working with the French Ministry of Magic, but working with the ministry was so stereotypical, always expected from the new adults. So she opted for her initial choice. BBA, Bonaccord's Ballet Academy. At first, she contemplated keeping her old surname, but she couldn't bring herself to go by the name Grindelwald. Not in a million years.

Rosalind leaned back in her chair, still too tired to change out of her tutu. She looked out the ornate window on her right, watching the city lights shine tauntingly at her. Despite it only being seven in the evening, the sky was completely dark. The days were short in December.

She hadn't noticed the phonograph still playing delicate background music, and it turned off with the wave of her wand. Rosalind stood up, ready to get changed when she completely halted. She heard a shuffle, something that sounded like a whirl of wind.

She held her wand tightly, ready for any sort of intruder. Perhaps a lost student was still in the building? But the institution was not big enough for someone to wander around cluelessly. There was only the dancing hall, the changing room and Rosalind's office.

But then, she heard the main door being pushed open, and she could make out the sound of soft footsteps treading toward the hall.

She saw the intruder then. He walked it silently, taking notice of her gaping face. She hadn't seen him in what, five years? The last time was when her pathetic excuse of a father was thrown into his own prison.