The Greater Good [GrindelwaldxDumbledore]

~Chapter Seventeen~ History Repeated

Exhaustion robbed Gellert of his grip. His body thumped hard against Cara's prominent spine and lurched dangerously side to side as the thestral dived through the trees. Branches struck out at his body as if trying to swipe him from his steed.

"Steady," he slurred.

Cara dropped her pace to a walk and took a more cautious route through the dense fir trees. Light dappled the thick carpet of needles and branches underfoot, muffling her footsteps. She stopped and turned her head to the left. Her chest heaved with every inhalation. She let out a gentle snort.

Gellert struggled to keep his eyes open. The sound of Cara's footsteps became more resonant as the light dimmed. He forced his eyes open a crack. A musty smell filled his nose as they walked deeper into the cave. Somewhere in the distance, a steady drip echoed.

"Are we safe?"

The mare stopped and gave a gentle shake. Gellert sat it and slid off before she became more insistent that he dismounts. His trousers clung to his skin with sweat. Ache pulled at his muscles as he tried to find a comfortable place to sit. His knees gave out and chose a spot for him. He pulled his backpack from behind him and jostled the contents lightly. The jar of rolled away from his outstretched fingers. He barely muttered a word before sleep finally took hold.

Two days passed before the storm outside raged at a loud enough gale to wake Gellert. His sheltered position at the bend in the cavern kept him out of the worst of the wind, but it filled the air with a chill that made his bones rattle. He reached for his bag and pulled out a blanket.

The dampness of the blanket did little to warm him through. After shivering for several minutes he tossed it aside and once more thrust his hand into his backpack. His fingers slid over bottles, books and trinkets until at last, they found their quarry. A book of matches.

He forced himself onto his leaden legs. Groaning as he shuffled he snatched up the dry pinecones and needles from the floor. They bit into the tender flesh of his palms and fingertips. He gritted his teeth against the pain and continued until he had a small mound of dry material within a small stone circle.

The first match died shortly after reaching the debris. Gellert muttered under his breath. He tore several pages from one of his notebooks and scrunched them into tight balls. His hands shook as he directed the fresh match to the paper. He held his jubilation back until the paper blackened, unfurled and spread the flames to the tinder.

With the flames dancing wildly, casting long black shadows on the rough cave walls, Gellert pulled his flask from his bag. The last dregs of water did little to moisten the desert in his mouth. He swore. Abandoning the warmth of the fire, he walked as close to the mouth of the cave as he dared. The wind whipped at his face and a large bough landed inches from his feet.

Gellert retreated. Something towards the back of the cave glistened in the firelight as it fell from the roof. He walked closer, his eyes fixed towards the ceiling. Clusters of stalactites clung to the roof like knobbly icicles. Tiny droplets grew large at their tips until they were large enough to fledge.

He rushed forwards, dipped his fingers into the puddle and licked them dry. Unable to contain himself, he ducked low enough to follow the small stream of water. His shoes slipped on the wet rocks. The cave sliced at his hands as he tried to stop himself falling. Below, the tunnel opened out into a small crystal clear pond.

Unable to hold back his thirst, Gellert ran down the slope. He dropped to his knees and drank from the water like an animal. Once done he threw back his head. The water from his golden curls splattered the walls and soaked his shirt. He dipped his flask into the pool and capped it.