Spring-Summer 1899
England was dreary. The incessant rain and persistent fog cast a gloomy atmosphere, and the unfamiliar magical aura felt somewhat disconcerting. Bagshot, reminiscent of a broken record, incessantly droned on about history! And where were all the attractive women in Godric's Hollow? Had they all left or were they simply at school? Gellert decided to make the most of his time by searching for the Deathly Hallows: the Cloak and the Stone. He engaged in brief conversations with the Travers and their acquaintances, the Lestranges. After all, if anyone possessed the Hallows, it was likely among the old families. The issue, however, was that the local purebloods had intermingled so thoroughly that they were all related. Any local pureblood could potentially hold the Deathly Hallows! Yet, the foolish elitists obsessed with blood purity dismissed the Hallows, their arrogance rivaling that of ten Merlins. They could easily misplace them or mistakenly craft a lucky charm from the Resurrection Stone... It was preferable to be alone than to associate with such imbeciles. Godric's Hollow was dull, akin to a languid kingdom. Gellert had always believed that a prophet should never experience boredom; one could always delve into their visions and observe. However, he wasn't omniscient—he had blind spots. His visions fell into two categories: those that came unbidden, like background images, which he could not control but always manifested, and those that required his focus, utilizing willpower, divination methods, or specific potions. In those instances, he could see what he desired, though he sometimes miscalculated. Thus, it seemed even a prophet could feel boredom. So many opportunities missed!
On the second night, unable to bear it any longer, he donned a disguise and ventured to the cemetery. It didn't take long before he found her—the grave of Ignotus Peverell, the owner of the Cloak of Invisibility. While he didn't particularly need it—he could achieve invisibility at will—just being invisible felt insufficient for the Hallow of Death. Regardless, he needed the complete set; his search had to continue. Regrettably, Ignotus's body was missing—he could sense it.
Following his embarrassing encounter with the Aurors in Germany, Gellert had become exceedingly cautious. After a few rows of graves, he detected the movement of two more wizards in disguise. The prudent course would have been to leave, but what did he have to lose? There were only two of them! He employed a standard disguise spell, which was promptly dispelled from both them and himself—they were adept at magic too. An awkward standoff ensued. A dark-haired boy, his age, stood pointing his wand at him, while a blonde girl of about fourteen hid behind him. Gellert mirrored their stance, aiming his wand at the boy.
"Hello. May I ask what you are doing in a cemetery at night?" the black-haired boy inquired.
"To answer that question, we must at least be good friends. Perhaps an introduction is in order? Though it would be best to skip that—we're in a hurry."
Gellert was generally composed, but something about this boy infuriated him. He hadn't come seeking trouble, yet this fool was practically inviting it! No one dared to speak to him in such a manner! As he was not one to charge recklessly into confrontation, he took his time, utilizing his foresight to devise a way to handle the situation without inadvertently killing him. He peered into the future, only to be taken aback by the realization that this boy was not as bad as he initially thought—far better than most he had encountered. Their duel dragged on, largely because he didn't want to injure or incapacitate him. He had no intention of using his full strength, but still… Alright, he wouldn't go too hard on the boy; he had already envisioned a way to subdue him.
And the girl? She stood there like a statue, making no effort to draw her wand. Gellert launched his attack as he had done countless times during training. There was no exchange of blows; he simply unleashed a series of spells in the correct sequence. First came the Giant's Finger—an attack that typically proved fatal. Yet the young man managed to evade the brunt of it, sustaining only a damaged defense and a broken nose. Following that, he unleashed a barrage: the Supreme Defense Breakdown, Expelliarmus, Stunning Spell, Disorientation Spell, and the Mind Cloud Charm. Any one of the last three should have sufficed to incapacitate his opponent. Just as envisioned, the boy fell back, clutching his broken nose, and his wand flew from his grasp. That was usually where Gellert's confrontations concluded. Yet, to his astonishment, the boy didn't lose consciousness; he was back on his feet in an instant! It was as if an unseen force had propelled him upright! He had conjured a wandless shield the moment he lost his wand! Gellert had never seen wandless magic in his visions. Had he simply overlooked it? Reacting instinctively, Gellert attacked again, but it was to no avail. He hadn't anticipated the boy's speed; the real world had surged ahead of his visions. This fight was unlike any other Gellert had participated in. It appeared that the boy was in sync with the world around him, and the elements conspired against Gellert: air, earth, and water. Everything that could be transfigured was. He observed as the air morphed into a solid form, absorbing his attacks, how the ground beneath him pulled him down, how transfigured bonds ensnared him despite his defenses, how a watery prison encased him, and how the very earth of the cemetery twisted into a snare that returned the wand he had just knocked from his opponent's grasp… And then darkness enveloped him.
He awoke at the cemetery's exit. Wandless. The boy stood before him, shielded by multiple protective spells. The only sign of his earlier misfortune was the broken nose, which had already healed. This was the nature of Dark Magic—it did not forgive errors.
"You could never defeat me!" Gellert shouted, trying to save face. It was foolish—he lay exposed, devoid of protective spells. The boy regarded him with a pitying smile, one Gellert often wore towards his defeated foes.
"Let's say I fought half-heartedly as well," the boy replied.
Gellert contemplated this. Perhaps this boy was nearly his equal. Perhaps he had finally found someone capable of grasping his ideas... Or at the very least, a sparring partner!
"I am Gellert. Will you introduce yourself?" he inquired.
"I see no point in introducing myself to someone who wields Dark Magic without forewarning. You could have killed me—or someone else."
"I couldn't! I see the future! I knew you would survive!"
"So your cunning plan is to lose the fight? To attack unprovoked with a lethal spell and then lose?" The boy's incredulity was palpable. "If you truly see the future, there is no need for me to introduce myself to you."
"There is a need! I foresee no scenario in the near future where you introduce yourself to me!"
"You know my name. Why do you refer to me with a pronoun?" Gellert pressed.
"I typically address people by their last name," the boy replied.
For reasons unknown, this boy's demeanor irritated Gellert even further. If there was no point in continuing the fight, he would seek revenge in another manner. He peered into the future... This fool didn't understand Russian.
"Gellert. Gellert Beloved. I am just passing through. Apologies for the incident. Now, please return my wand, and I will take my leave."
The boy returned his wand. Gellert turned away and walked off. He could have apparated away, but he had no intention of dampening his enjoyment. There was a certain delight in being a prophet! Formulating plans, envisioning them in his mind, witnessing them unfold in reality… How do people manage without experiencing that? In his world, when someone knocks at your door, there's no need to ask, "Who's there?"
As he departed, he heard the boy's voice behind him, "I hope we never meet again, Darling." Gellert stifled a laugh, maintaining an impassive exterior as he apparated away.
The next day, at Bathilda's house, she asked, "Are you bored here?" observing Gellert toss a transfigured ball against the wall, catching it as it rebounded. Each time, the ball changed color and size. Gellert's wand remained holstered.
"Of course not," Gellert replied.
"I invited a guest to keep you entertained."
"You're the kindest aunt in the world!" he responded, feeling a mix of gratitude and exasperation. He had always believed that wealth implied power, but now he realized that Bathilda Bagshot was the true powerhouse. And even though she wasn't old, he couldn't endure another encounter like that!
"We're going to have a young man you'll find interesting," she warned him.
Who was he? Another pretentious snob? A paragon of pureblood superiority? Or perhaps a Muggle-born? Freedom, equality, brotherhood—wasn't that what they preached during the French Revolution? Or a half-blood? Someone akin to a snowman in hell? He felt unwelcome in both realms... If only she had invited a woman, then he could have played the gentleman—let her go first, just to see what she looked like from behind! Gellert's mood darkened as he peered into the future, assessing just how awful it might be.
"It's best not to mention family in front of him. His father died in Azkaban after being imprisoned for torturing Muggles. And don't speak of his mother—she died under uncertain circumstances. A spell gone awry; such things happen. His relationship with his brother is also strained. You can discuss school and the Deathly Hallows with him; I know you're interested in that."
There was only one possibility—a crazy pureblood elitist. Bathilda anticipated Gellert's attempts to escape, which is why she seized his hand and dragged him to the fireplace. The flames turned green, and out stepped… that idiot whose nose he had broken in the graveyard.
At once, Gellert's preconceived notions about his intelligence were reaffirmed.
"Darling?" the guest exclaimed, noticing Gellert. "My Merlin, Albus! When did you break your nose? Let me heal it properly!" Bathilda cackled as she pulled out her wand.
"No need. It suits me," Albus replied. "I look more masculine now."
"Allow me to introduce you," Bathilda began. "This is Albus Dumbledore, the finest Hogwarts graduate of all time. I can't comprehend why he's sitting at home—he's been offered several promising positions, including one in the Department of Mysteries. He must have overworked himself at school and taken a year off. This is Gellert Grindelwald, the best student Durmstrang has ever had. He should have graduated, but he was expelled for..."
"Let me guess?" Albus interjected. "For attacking students and employing Dark Magic?"
"Yes, and also... well, it's not important. Like you, he is interested in the Deathly Hallows. I've discovered a new manuscript that will soon enrich my history textbook! Even if it holds merely historical value… Would you like to take a look?"
Before long, the two young men were engrossed in what could only be described as a free retelling of Cadmus Peverell's life, recounted by a goblin friend. Bathilda excused herself to meet with her friends, and the debate began to escalate.
"I tell you—the Elder Wand must be self-enchanting! It has to be! How else can we explain why each of its owners defeated everyone? How can you win if you're an idiot who can't hit the target? We need a self-enchanting wand!" Gellert insisted.
"Homing, I agree. But not self-enchanting!" Albus countered. "Otherwise, it would be simply priceless!"
"Exactly! Just like all the Hallows! How was it created? I can't fathom how to endow an object with intelligence!" Albus wondered.
"No way. Intelligence cannot be created. But it can be extracted from somewhere and transferred. There's a section in Higher Necromancy on how to work with your own soul, and there..."
"Your Dark Magic again! You can do without it!" Albus objected.
"In battle, yes! Instead of one Dark Magician, you could deploy a squad of ordinary ones. Rather than subtly laying a hundred dead to rest with a necromancer, one could simply incinerate them, causing more casualties. But in delicate work, Dark Magic is irreplaceable!"
"I disagree! On principle!" Albus declared, striding to the fireplace and disappearing in a flash of Floo Powder.
What a stubborn Dumbledore! Gellert began to pen a letter to him, outlining his thoughts on the creation and potential capabilities of the Deathly Hallows. He concentrated, seeking to perceive his opponent's response to anticipate counterarguments and refine his letter to decimate another's viewpoint. Yet, no response materialized. Regardless of what Gellert wrote, no reply came.
Soon, Bathilda returned, peering over Gellert's shoulder at the letter. "Oh! You're already writing him letters? And you just parted ways? How long have you known each other? I noticed how he addressed you in Russian! It's so romantic! Don't worry; I don't endorse that absurd persecution of gays!"
Gellert regarded Bathilda, delving into her mind through wandless Legilimency. She did not resist, revealing her thoughts about Albus. What a striking young man! He was inundated with invitations from potential brides! And not only was he unmarried or engaged, but there were no whispers of any romantic entanglements! The conclusion was clear. And then there was her nephew, expelled from Durmstrang for similar reasons—perhaps she would find a way to assist them both? Gellert had never been concerned about the thoughts of fools—what hadn't he gleaned from his visions and the minds of others? In his view, everyone was a fool. What could one discuss with someone incapable of seeing the future?
Bathilda departed to join her friends, and the debate resumed. "I'm telling you—the Elder Wand must be self-enchanting! It has to! How else can we explain why every wielder has triumphed? You cannot win if you're an idiot who can't hit the target! A self-enchanting wand is essential!" Gellert exclaimed.
"Homing, I agree. But not self-enchanting!" Albus shot back. "Otherwise, it would be simply invaluable!"
"Precisely! Much like all the Hallows! How was it forged? I can't conceive of how to grant intelligence to an object!" Albus queried.
"No way. Intelligence cannot be created. But it can be harvested from one source and transferred to another... In Higher Necromancy, there's a section on how to interact with your own soul, and there..."
"Your Dark Magic again! You can certainly manage without it!" Albus countered.
"In battles, yes. Instead of a single Dark Magician, one could deploy a squad of ordinary wizards. Rather than quietly laying to rest a hundred deceased with a necromancer, one could simply incinerate them, incurring losses. But in delicate work, Dark Magic is irreplaceable!"
"I disagree! On principle!" Albus asserted, heading to the fireplace and vanishing in a flash of Floo Powder.
Gellert began to draft another letter, outlining his theories on the Deathly Hallows' creation and capabilities. As he wrote, he sought to envision Albus's response, to gauge his counterarguments and refine his arguments. But no reply ever came, no matter how many letters he composed.
Eventually, Bathilda returned, peering over his shoulder. "Oh! You're already writing him letters? And you just parted ways? How long have you known each other? I noticed how he called you in Russian! It's so romantic! Don't worry; I don't support that ridiculous persecution of gays!"
Gellert regarded Bathilda, employing wandless Legilimency to probe her thoughts. She offered no resistance, revealing her musings about Albus. What a handsome young man! He was besieged with invitations from suitors! And he was neither married nor engaged, nor was there even a hint of a potential romance! The implication was clear. And then there was her nephew—expelled from Durmstrang for similar reasons, perhaps she could devise a way to assist them both? Gellert had never been interested in the thoughts of fools—he had seen too much in visions and minds alike. In his estimation, everyone was a fool. What could one discuss with someone incapable of perceiving the future?
"And what girl was he with last night?" he inquired.
"Oh!? Don't be jealous! It's his sister! She's... a bit eccentric. Please, let's not discuss it." Gellert felt himself drifting further from Bathilda's mind. He needed to think.
Entering his room, he decided to engage in a thought experiment. What if he... He began drafting a new letter to Albus, certain that it would yield results.
"I'll inform the Aurors that you are keeping your sister confined. An anonymous tip is sufficient for a search and an investigation. However, this can easily be avoided: invite me to your home, and I wish to speak with Ariana. After that, I will vanish from your life. Forever. Gellert Grindelwald."
After sending this letter, Gellert was confident that Albus-from-the-future would allow him into the house, affording him the opportunity to observe Ariana in his visions and discern her nature. Why? There was nothing else to occupy his time. He would also find amusement in diagnosing the girl's condition. After all, it was intriguing!
Let's delve deeper into the probabilities—he had always enjoyed cinema. He envisioned entering Albus's residence, immediately casting Avada at him... Albus would easily dodge, bind Gellert with a transfigured mass, and incapacitate him. No, that wouldn't do. He envisioned speaking to Ariana, attempting to engage her. And what would she transform into? Black smoke? Magical black smoke? What kind of absurdity was this? Gellert plunged deeper into his visions. He saw himself in a bookstore, in a library... Yet, no answers emerged. What would have happened if he had written to his father? He soon learned the answer—an Obscurus. Strange; no one seemed to prevent her from casting spells. But it was captivating—a previously untrained girl of fourteen who could contend on equal footing with him! Almost all spells passed through her with remarkable ease, including the Unforgivable ones! This was captivating. But it could be enhanced... The girl didn't merely morph into smoke but rather into a form of magical energy, and then back into a person—this was infinitely superior to being an Animagus! This meant she could transform into the weapon that struck her and then revert! True invulnerability! Not even a thousand Aurors could stop her! Even if he merely managed to replicate her results, that would suffice. But if he could amalgamate this form with his magic, the outcome would be... perfection! And then there would be no need for an army of minions!
Soon Gellert was preparing himself. He knew both Dumbledore and Ariana would take a liking to him. He changed his attire and procured sweets for the girl, lemon drops for Albus. Such surrealism! The English love limes; Albus adores lemons. Archlime? Now he needed to devise his approach to conversation... No, he needed to revise the letter. He incinerated the first draft and began anew.
"I know that Ariana is an Obscurus. But I can assist her, even if only a little. Gellert Grindelwald."
The following day, a cheerful Gellert knocked on the Dumbledore's door. The protective enchantments were formidable—multi-layered. Not Durmstrang, certainly not the family home, but still impressive. And so well concealed! Nothing remarkable on the outside! Albus opened the door, appearing as though he hadn't slept in two days—Gellert instinctively knew that was true.
"After you departed, she became a bit... anxious. I had to reconstruct the house six times. She wishes to see you; perhaps it will soothe her. Do you mind?"
"No. I would relish spending time with such a challenging girl," Gellert replied.
"And without any nonsense!"
"Of course."
It was delightful. He shared stories of Durmstrang and Germany with Ariana as they enjoyed chocolate goats. Albus stood nearby, glaring at Gellert as if he were trying to incinerate him with his gaze. For the next two weeks, Gellert visited the Dumbledores twice a week. Ariana no longer suffered from her episodes. Eventually, Albus decided it was time to speak with him.
"You see, Gellert… It might be best if you didn't come anymore. She hasn't had an episode in quite some time, and that suggests the next one will be quite severe. I fear… you may not survive."
"I will survive. Have you considered teaching her to control it? Like an Animagus?"
"She once expressed such a desire. We made attempts… but that's how her mother died."
"Let's try together. We're both formidable wizards. We can manage. And Ariana will benefit from it."
"I'm concerned that..."
"What are you afraid of? We won't harm her—she's intangible! And we won't attack her! We'll merely stand under her protection and endure her whims. You can manage alone, but together... She'll tire herself out and be perfectly normal for a day or two. Or are you a coward?"
"I refuse to experiment on my sister!"
"These aren't experiments! This is treatment! She'll be able to leave the house on her own! Don't you want that? Let's ask her and give it a shot?" Gellert knew Ariana would agree. And Albus… it seemed he didn't understand the meaning of the word "no" when addressing his sister.