#grindeldore fluff

A snippet from my grindeldore fic -

. . .

The Hall of Mirrors shimmered with candlelight, a golden world of reflections and revelry. Perfumed laughter drifted through the air, mingling with the clinking of crystal goblets and the low murmur of intrigue. Beneath chandeliers that burned like captured constellations, nobles swayed in elaborate silks, their powdered wigs nodding with feigned indifference, their lips curling around whispered betrayals.

Albus had never felt more out of place.

He stood at the edge of the celebration, dressed in fine but unembellished garments, his physician’s hands restless at his sides. Versailles, for all its grandeur, reeked of sickness. Beneath the rouge and pomade, beneath the gilded brocade, he could hear the shallow, consumptive breaths of men who had feasted too richly on excess. He had come here under the guise of a healer, summoned to treat the Duke d’Orléans, but the court was a web he had no wish to be entangled in.

And yet—

“You look as though you’d rather be anywhere else, Albus.”

The voice was silk wrapped around steel, a blade hidden beneath velvet.

Albus turned sharply, already knowing who he would find.

Gellert stood before him, clad in a midnight-blue coat embroidered with silver, the high collar framing his sharp, amused features. A half-mask obscured his face, but it did nothing to hide the glint in his eyes—the same glint Albus had seen across centuries, across war-torn cities and plague-ridden streets.

“You should not be here,” Albus murmured, his voice low."

Gellert smiled. “And yet, neither should you.”

He stepped closer, and Albus felt it—the quiet inevitability of it, like the tide pulling against the shore. The scent of bergamot and something darker curled between them. Gellert reached out, gloved fingers tracing the edge of Albus’s mask, as if testing its reality.

“Tell me,” he whispered, “is it exhausting? Carrying all that righteousness?”

Albus swallowed, his pulse a betrayer against his throat. “Is it exhausting, Gellert, carrying all those lives on your conscience?”

Gellert’s lips quirked. “Not at all.”

A waltz began, the strings rising like a held breath. Gellert extended a hand. An invitation. A challenge.

Albus hesitated for only a moment before taking it.

Their fingers laced together, and the room around them blurred into golden haze.

“I think I love you,” Gellert says.

It’s a hot summers day, the waves lapping against the shore of the island. Albus watches them; the blue almost blinding, presses up against the shore and then receding. He dips his hands in the water, lets it wash over his fingers, burries them back into the hot sand.

They had spent the day peacefully - reading in the morning, kissing later on. Albus smiles to himself as he remembers it - he had been deeply engrossed in his book, something about immortality and death. Gellert has snuck up behind him, wrapped his arms around Albus’ chest and sunk his teeth into his shoulder.

And what else was he supposed to do after that? Pressed up against a tree, the leaves causing shadows across Gellert’s face, his eyes strange and glittering in the sunlight. Albus had dug his fingers into Gellert’s side, held him so tight that they couldn’t be pried apart.

It was only here on the island, away from his brother and sister and everyone else in the village, it was only here when he felt like he was free.

Albus watches the water, the rocks and the sand, thinks about Gellert’s smile and laugh and smirks to himself.

2/2) Gellert is not necessarily convinced they could survive the environment, but if they could is enflamed by the possibility that it could become a sanctuary for wizardkind. Three years after their ill fated summer, the film Le Voyage Dans La Lune comes out and separately they each see it, and wonder if the moon might have been their paradise after all. In the years following Gellert’s imprisonment, he is permitted letters from Albus....

(Just kidding, its 3/3!) Somehow, his most treasured are those that contain mundane muggle news-clippings. Albus never fails to include the latest developments in space travel. Decades later from his cell window he can see, and he knows Albus can see, too- their moon, finally acquainted with the most adventurous of men.

Multi Chaptered Fics

Oneshots

𝐎𝐧𝐞 𝐋𝐚𝐬𝐭 𝐃𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞 - Fluff & impending doom. WC: 1.2 K.

Drabbles

Poems

Moodboards

Summary: Nothing like a perfectly innocent waltz in a ruined manor with your megalomaniac not-quite-ex-boyfriend. Definitely won’t end in existential regret.

have a 10 minute ramble based on one of my favourite quotes.

~~~

He stands on the rock, the cliffs at his back, the wind in his hair. The Deathstick dangles in his hand, the souls and lives of hundreds contained in it, and still he cries.

The man opposite him is beautiful, as he always was, beautiful and wonderful and heartless. It was ironic, ironic that they had to fight, that the only person who could destroy him was the man he loved.

Gellert pastes a smirk on his face, keeps his voice mocking and scathing. Always had to be a hero, Albus. Always, since the moment I met you. Why?

Albus smiles, heartbroken and sad. I never wanted to be a hero.

Gellert raises an eyebrow. The end is near, the waves beating at the shore, their precious time together disentegrating like sand on the waves, rubbing away like the tide underneath the moon. Why?

The tears run down both of their faces, for the life that was forever lost to them as Albus shakes his head. Name one hero who was happy.

~~~

They lie in the grass, their feet and legs tangled together. Scars on scars, jagged marks and even lines. Abuse takes form in many different places, and their bodies bear the pain.

Sirius speaks, from where his fingers are entwined with Remus. I never wanted to be a hero.

Remus raises an eyebrow, tangling strands of black hair in his hand. Why? Doesn’t everyone want to be a hero?

Sirius shrugs. He leans over, presses a kiss to Remus’ lips, the taste of honey and melon and apple. My mother used to tell us something. Me and Regulus, I mean. She used to say, Name one hero who was happy. You can’t. He laughs. I think she meant it as good people never get anywhere in life.

Remus runs a light finger, over the scars on Sirius’ back, and Sirius shivers. And? Do you want to be a hero now, he says.

Sirius closes his eyes, the sun burning behind them. I’m going to be the first. The first one, who did good things and still was happy.

Why, asks Remus.

Sirius smiles. Because. I have you.

~~~

They sit, under the stars, wrapped in a blanket. It’s soft, surrounding the two of them, hiding the tangled bodies and swollen lips. Blond hair mixed with black, green eyes meeting grey ones.

Harry smiles. You’re a hero, Draco. You know that, right?

Draco shakes his head. He traces Harry’s mouth with his own, brushed his lips against Harry’s neck. I’m not a hero.

Harry pulls back. Their life stretches in front of them, in an endless, golden line. The worst is behind them, the rubble burned away, with only ghosts of the past to haunt the dreams of the future. Of course you’re a hero. Why wouldn’t you be?

Draco smirks. My father used to tell me something. He would say, Name one hero who was happy. I never could. He shrugs. I’m not a hero.

Harry presses Draco’s hands to his lips. Why...?

Because. Draco wraps his hands around Harry, resting his head against Harry’s shoulder. I’m not a hero. Because I’m happy. Because I have you. Heroes can’t be happy, but I am. Because you are everything I need.

Harry smiles. Guess I’m not a hero either.