#vinculum

“Above all, don't let them see you.”

Every lesson ended the same way. The first tradition of the Camarilla, and the most important. Especially for Nosferatu like you.

Not that Sunny was ever meant to be a Nosferatu. By rights the slight boy you found yourself responsible for should have been a Toreador. At least that was the plan.

“Do you understand me? You’ve got that glazed look in your eye again. Remind me, what is the fourth tradition?” Teaching is hardly your forte. Truth be told, your forte involves someone's knees ending up broken, but suddenly you find yourself needing to pick up some new professional skills.

“Accounting.” The boy held your gaze, answering after only a second’s thought “You’re responsible if I screw up, at least until I've been doing this long enough to stop living here”

“And that means?”

He sighed “Don't screw up?”

You smiled. Tusk-like fangs protruding from thin lips “Damn fucking right.”

The boy learns quick at the very least. Thinking about it, he'd be wasted as a Toreador. Sure he'd still have the looks that made him so popular in life, but an eternity as a shallow asshole, fawning over whatever catches his eye? It's no way to live. Sure, the bane of Clan Nosferatu somewhat precludes his old line of work but at least he'll get to put his brains to good use. He'll go far, provided he doesn't do anything stupid like ghoul an old boyfriend on his first week out…

“Ryan?” He snapped you out of your thoughts, those round eyes looking up at you from where he sat “I'm hungry”

“Join the club. You're a Kindred. You’ll always be hungry, forever and ever. Catch a rat or something”

Sunny stood up. “‘M not hungry for a rat. Can I..?”

His voice trailed off. What he was asking for was frowned upon, but it's not unusual for a childe to want. Vitae is addictive, any kindred could tell you that. It doesn't help that the first taste is the one that brings you into unlife. The greatest high, followed by the most crushing comedown in history.

“You don't want more. Remember what I taught you about drinking from our kind?”

Sunny closed his eyes, thinking back to your lessons “Only in emergencies. Never more than once from the same person”

“Right. How many times have you drunk mine?” You spoke slowly, emphasising your words.

“Once? When you turned me?”

You shook your head. “Twice. Remember? You jumped me after your change.” You’re not surprised he’d forgotten. Half mad, bawling in agony and hunger, more beast than man. He'd only managed to get a mouthful from where he caught your arms. That's more than enough though. Once more and he'd be battling the vinculum. It's not against the rules to bind your progeny, sometimes it's even useful, but it is frowned upon.

He looked down, despondent.

You felt something. A memory of an emotion you hadn't experienced in a long time. Not the bitter contempt you held for the majority of other kindred, something else, something softer. The kid’s been through hell. Bad enough he's joined the ranks of the dead, defined by the hunger and animal instinct that would consume you all of the sun or hunters don't get to you first, no he managed to get bit by the very worst kind. It's good practice for a newly-minted lick to cut ties to their mortal life, say their goodbyes and withdraw from mortality. The masquerade has to be defended, and if you're not strong enough to keep those you care about at arm's length they often wind up dead. Most clans get to say their goodbyes in person.

He won't. Greyish, paper-thin skin pulled tight over cheekbones that were so recently cushioned by a layer of puppy fat. Two puncture wounds on his neck, oozing a slow drip of deep red vitae. Not to mention the jagged fangs that never receded. No. To see Sunny was to know how much deeper the shadows go, if his family were to catch sight of him without some serious training in his gifts beforehand…

Suffice to say, some cleanup would be necessary.

You hadn't just ended his life, you’d royally fucked his unlife too. It's the least you can do. “Don't take too much. I still need to hunt tonight.”

You reached out a hand to him. Digging clawed fingernails into your palm, just enough to draw blood.

The fledgeling didn't wait. Licking and sucking at the wound in your palm, drinking eagerly as though he hadn't eaten before. You couldn’t deny, it felt good. The kiss is always ecstasy, a shivering warmth that travels through the body. You haven’t actually fucked anyone since the 70s, but this came close. Very close.

“Stop.” You grabbed Sunny’s hair, pulling your hand from his. “More than enough. Now, how do you feel?”

He looked delirious, eyes hooded, bloodstained tongue still hanging out. The young vampire simply smiled absent-mindedly “Thank you, daddy”

The words were mumbled, indistinct, as though spoken in a dream. “Good and fucked then. Right.” You turned the thought over in your mind, the lingering high from the kiss still playing on you. He was just so pathetic, and it did feel good.

What’s the harm?

You wrapped an arm around the boy, pulling him into an embrace. The smell of the blood oozing from the bite marks leftover from his turning sent pangs of hunger through your belly. You needed to eat something, and this one smells delicious.

Sunny whined as your fangs plunged into the meat of his shoulder. Thick, powerful vitae filled your mouth while your childer’s legs buckled underneath him. Sunny buried his face in the crook of your shoulder, you could feel his urge to bite, only restrained by obedience.

“Do it” Your voice was muffled, speaking through a mouthful of him

Obedience gave way to desire. A sharp scratch, then a warmth that flowed through you. You grunted, still drinking from the younger kindred in your embrace, even as he drank from you.

Stumbling, you propped him up onto a table. It only took a moment to restart your heart, a small semblance of colour returning to your cheeks. A clawed hand grasped at Sunny’s crotch, tearing the gusset out of the short shorts covering his modesty before you shucked down your own trousers.

Still biting, still being drunk in return, you angled yourself into him. The head of your cock pressing between his legs. A wetness greeted you there, inviting you to thrust against his folds. Holding him open, you entered. Sunny gripped your back, holding on to your jacket, feeling you bury yourself in him.

“You like this, hm?” Whispering in his ear, feeling him nod, still latched onto the bleeding wound he made in your shoulder as you picked up speed.

Sunny’s legs wrapped around you, the younger vampire clinging on as your hips bucked into him. Whimpering into your shoulder, clutching at your back as a hand snuck down between the two of you. He spread himself open, the wetness coming from his cunt spreading over his hand.

His body was tensing around you, hips grinding into yours even as you continued steadily thrusting into him. You felt his hand shift, tracing circles around his engorged clit. The whining against your shoulder became moaning. Sunny’s mouth let go, throwing his head back as he gave a shuddering cry.

—He’d given you a bracelet, once.

A harmless little thing made of thin black string, woven with enchanted threads and bearing a singular polished bloodstone. A token of your shared camaraderie over the years, he'd claimed. A friendship bracelet of the magical sort, in coarser terms.

You'd sensed the magic coalesced within the string the moment he'd put it on you, his unique brand of magic washing over your skin in a faint tingle. It had been enchanted with at least four different spells, none of which you recognized. But at the very least, you could tell that there had been no malice behind their creation.

“Protection” was the only explanation he’d offered. He did not deign to expound on it.

Thinking nothing of it, you'd acquiesced to his request, nonetheless, if only to humor him. Besides, you could tell that whatever spells he'd inlaid within those threads weren't inherently dark. Not that he'd cast anything of the sort on you… Or would he? With his darker tendencies, one couldn't be too sure.

It was a constant in your life, even as the whirlwinds of life took you for a spin. You'd grown apart from Grindelwald then, as scheduling conflicts seemed to widen the divide between you two. Your schedules no longer matched up as much as they did in the earlier years. And while you did share a sparse few classes since you were in a few of the advanced courses that were usually taught a year higher than your own, he, too, had been taking advanced curricula. In fact, he was practically never in classes that the rest of his peers sat in.

Between schoolwork, fieldwork, and educational pursuits, you'd barely seen each other despite being on the same campus. Granted, the sprawling grounds of Durmstrang were rather large, so it was possible that you'd simply missed each other while passing through one of the school's many hallways. But knowing the pale wizard, there was a higher chance of him being out in the field, tinkering with one of his new findings, if he wasn't holed up in a room elsewhere doing the exact same thing.

It had been weeks since you'd last seen him, and he hadn't shown up for any of your shared advanced curricula either. Part of you wondered if he was still alive, or if he'd even remembered that classes were still a thing. 

What was his attendance like? Or did he strike a deal with his professors that exempted him from that criterion? Either way, you had to give it to him. It was something you loathed to admit, but the faculty seemed forgiving enough when it came to him, closing an eye and letting him go for things that would usually result in detention. 

The other students were not so fortunate, however, you included, having spent your fair share of time serving detention, scrubbing at the bottom of mucky caldrons while cursing the unfortunate souls who created the mess in the first place. But there was no use dwelling on matters that weren't even your own. Grindelwald goes where Grindelwald pleases, you suppose. Not that there was anyone capable of stopping him, really. You'd just best hope that your oldest pal was still alive and kicking, and not dead in a mountain nook somewhere.

Shaking your head in exasperation, you headed to your next class, your shoes clicking against the polished stone tiles as you entered the classroom. You cast a cursory glance at your surroundings. There were only a sparse few students in attendance today, despite this being Runic Studies, one of the more popular classes among the student body. But you weren't too surprised by it, considering the celebrations that had lasted well into the night yesterday after a well-fought victory in the inter-house Quidditch competition.

For how rambunctious it had been, the festivities sure did take out a good many people. Some of the craftier upperclassmen had somehow managed to smuggle firewhisky and other spirits into the compound. And with how you'd had to help get some people settled back into their rooms by the end of it, it was safe to say that everyone had gone a little too hard on the alcohol.

You unconsciously rubbed at your arm as your skin tingled, fingers brushing against the bracelet hidden under your sleeve. Maybe it was a reaction to the lingering traces of magic that had been cast in the previous class? It wouldn’t be the first time that had happened, given your heightened magic sensitivity. The magic that ran through your family was inherently one of a darker nature after all, and ilk tended to attract ilk, no matter how vaguely.

Approaching your seat, you saw your deskmate, Morganfield, asleep in the next seat, sprawled out on the table, hood up and head buried in his arms. He must have had a rough night after the resident dormitory party yesterday. And you didn’t doubt it, considering how you’d been the one to haul his ass back into his room after he’d promptly passed out after his third, or maybe tenth, drink. You hadn't been counting, and neither did anyone care to. Admittedly, you had initially been a little concerned when dropping him off, but you’d left him in the care of his other roommates, also in varying degrees of inebriation, trusting that they’d keep a watchful eye over his drunken self. 

And he'd somehow made it to class today. Color yourself surprised, this guy was tough as a nail to have weathered through all that and hauling himself here. 

You shot him a concerned look as you settled in next to him, placing your books down. He seemed to be out cold. Probably hung over to hell and back, too, now that you thought about it. 

In normal circumstances, you would have offered him a hangover cure or maybe a Pepper-Up potion, but you'd already given what few vials you had left to your suffering roommates earlier this morning when they'd bemoaned their choices from the night prior. It would take a while to make another batch, even if you started now.

A faint grumble snapped you out of your thoughts as he shifted, his hood sliding backwards ever so slightly at the action to reveal a mop of tousled flaxen hair. Something tickled at the back of your mind, an odd feeling that you couldn’t quite name. You glanced back at your friend, a wisp of vague suspicion curling at the forefront of your mind. 

The edges of his silhouette blurred unnaturally, as if there was some sort of vague holographic veil shrouding his person. It could’ve just been your imagination, but that muted groan that he'd made had sounded a little different to your ears. And while whoever this looked somewhat similar to him from this angle… something was off. 

The image of him blurred, almost as if out of focus, before flickering back into clarity. Was it magic at play, or had it been all the drinks you had last night? You frowned, pretty sure that you hadn't suffered a concussion from last night's activities either, for that matter.

Anyway… had his hair always been that shade, again? 

You could have sworn that his was distinctively two tones darker from the mop of hair you were staring at, but you couldn’t be too sure. After all, you didn't have the habit of staring at people too closely, let alone know the exact shade of color their hair was. Despite that, something about this person tickled your instincts… You definitely weren't seated with Morganfield. If so, who was this?

A fleeting thought crossed your mind. Usually, you wouldn't have acted so brashly, but somehow… If your hunch was right… Surely not, right? 

Reaching over to the pile of robes, you stretched your hand into the hood and made contact with what felt like a jaw. Their skin felt warm against your own as you gently lifted the face in your discernible direction.

“Huh.” You made a sound of surprise as you blinked owlishly at your deskmate. Or rather, your new desk mate.

Mismatched eyes clouded with sleep opened blearily at the sudden movement, jaw tensing at the gentle pressure being applied. He hadn't sensed any threats in his vicinity, else he’d have been up at the drop of the hat, but one thing was for sure— he did not appreciate being physically handled in any capacity. And, hell, when had he fallen asleep? Was that… a hand on his jaw? 

What the hell?

He looked down in distaste, ready to rear backwards or send a wordless zap of warning to the offender who'd deigned to touch him, only for his brow to furrow in slight confusion as his eyes landed on the hand. His notice then fell upon the bracelet that had been attached to said limb, half-hidden beneath a sleeve. A sliver of a molted red stone peaking through the dark fabric, glinting faintly in the light. 

A bloodstone? The expression on his face quickly morphed into one of surprise as recognition finally registered in his brain. 

He knew this stone. It gave off his magic signature; no wonder he hadn't sensed anything amiss.

And you knew this face. “Gellert?”

Oh.

His eyes immediately slid upwards at the call of his name, the soft utterance of your own falling from his lips. “You know, people usually take me out for dinner first.” He mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep.

What?

Your grip on him loosened as he set his own palm above your hand, pulling your fingers away from his chin. Heat crept up your ears as he gently pressed them to his lips before releasing you. 

What was he doing here? He wasn’t even supposed to be in this class; he wouldn’t even go anywhere near runes even if you begged him to. You remembered that he'd once mentioned something about it affecting his sight in passing, to which you’d assumed he’d been referring to his precognitive visions that he was still trying to get a handle on. 

Or had he overcome that, too, in the time he'd been away?

You watched as he drew away, blinking the sleep from his eyes, raising a hand to cover his yawn. A lazy smile crept upon his features as he lowered his hand. He watched as an indiscernible look crossed your face, almost perplexed in nature, stuck between the thresholds of annoyance and joy.

Then, he remembered just how he'd ended up here in the first place. Right.

Grindelwald ran a hand through his mussed hair, straightening up in his seat. He'd gone and made a deal with your original seatmate, having caught him stumbling through the halls on the way back to his dorm, seconds away from tripping over his own feet. And while he generally hated owing people favors, he wasn't against accruing his own stash of favors. 

He’d initially recognized the guy as a dormmate of yours, having seen him hanging around you often enough to leave a lasting impression. He hadn't cared to know the name of the boy. His family, however… Morganfield, was it? He had a brother— Two, in fact. And he was pretty sure that one of them was in his year; a faint realization that made a note of, tucking it away for later perusal.

The Morganfield family, while of pure blood, was not widely known in the wizarding world, largely due to the fact that members of said house tended to end up as mercenaries, bounty hunters, or, in official capacities, hit-wizards. Whilst small in number, they preferred to remain in the wings of society. The less that was known about them, the better.

However, that wasn’t to say that they weren’t worth their coin. He remembered seeing a passing mention of the eldest heir in the papers once— an accomplished Auror who'd been part of the team who'd closed a case on a couple of high-stakes wizarding murders. He may not have been the one in the spotlight, but he’d gained a certain amount of influence to his name after that feat, and was perhaps well on his way to the higher echelons of his career. Ties to the Ministry were always a good thing to have; a fact that all noble houses worth their salt knew. Befriending one of them would prove to be a valuable asset in the long run. That being said, for someone who hailed from a house that prided itself on effectiveness and precision, the younger Morganfield certainly didn't seem to live up to their esteemed reputation.

Grindelwald's brow twitched as he watched the poor blond nearly careen himself straight into a decorated pillar in his hurry. It was baffling how he hadn't noticed the monument of stone before him, almost as if he'd entirely lost his sense of spatial awareness. He was clearly in no state to be outside, and despite how he was… trying, in his best efforts, to find his way to class, Grindelwald highly doubted that he was going to make it anywhere near his destination at the rate he was going.

A thought struck him then. Hmm, wasn't this guy in the same year as you, again? He had his motives, sure, but perhaps this could be an agreement of mutual benefit. 

Walking up behind his unsuspecting underclassman, he swiftly caught the bumbling wizard by the arm before he could take another staggering step in the wrong direction and gave him a firm tug back to safety. After all, it wouldn't do if his target fell off the ledge he had been teetering dangerously close to.

Perhaps a little intimidation might play more into his favor? 

He let the glamor drop, brown washing out into cool silver in a minute movement.

He steadied the boy by the shoulders as he stumbled into him from the force, giving him a moment to regain his bearings before drawing away, keeping the boy within half an arm's reach should he make another oddly-placed attempt of drunken idiocy. 

“Charming, really. Are you alright?”  He purposefully questioned, framing it in an acceptably concerned manner that seemed to belie his true intentions.

Morganfield turned, eyes wide with sudden clarity when he finally registered how close he'd been to tipping right over, only to freeze at the sight of an imposing figure looming over him. Half-clad in the shadows cast by the flickering firelight, the pale eye that glinted down at him was both chilling and downright terrifying. An apt but unconventional wake-up call that shocked his system into momentary sobriety.

He had just been saved by the skin of his teeth by the last person he’d expected to run into.

Grindelwald saw the recognition flash in the younger wizard’s eyes, alongside a faint flicker of fear, before the boy immediately jumped away from him, stammering a reply as he placed a good amount of distance between them. “G-Grindelwald! Thanks… That… That was close…”

“Can’t hold your drink, I take it?” He spoke as he assessed the boy standing before him, nose subtly scrunching up at the undeniably strong smell of alcohol that still wafted off him from the night prior. Despite that, he did well to hide his distaste behind an unassuming expression.

Why you let him hang around you was unbeknownst to him. Not that it mattered to him anyway; he had no say in who you could or could not be friends with, although he did have a thing or two to say about your taste… in company. 

He watched as Morganfield fidgeted where he stood, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot, unsure of how to reply, yet seemingly ready to bolt. Eventually, he finally broke the silence with a meek question, his gaze notably darting towards the nearest exit. “Did you need me for something?”

It was clear that the boy was intimidated by his presence. Granted, who wouldn't be, when an upperclassman stops them out of the blue? 

Grindelwald changed gears then, relaxing his stance and exuding an air of practiced ease. “Easy. I just have an offer for you.” He placated, holding his hands out. Gesturing at the way Morganfield still seemed to be swaying on his feet despite staying in one place, he added. “And you look like you're moments away from a disaster."

He played his card then— a lucrative deal he saw no reason to be turned down. Who knew when a favor would come in handy, right? It was best to have a few cards hidden under his sleeve, especially in a place like this. It was two birds in one stone, or maybe even three. In doing this, he could get an excuse to test how well his spell held and gain someone under his thumb. Only if Morganfield accepted his terms, of course.

Doing the poor guy a service, he offered to take his place in class to save his abysmal attendance rates in exchange for a favor to be claimed at a later date. And thankfully, your friend hadn't put up much of a fight, content to take him up for it whilst nursing his dastardly hangover. And frankly, with how much he struggled to put one foot before another, it was less of a choice and more of a necessity in his case. 

However, that didn’t stop a confused look from crossing Morganfield’s face just as Grindelwald turned to leave. “That’s great and all, but how are we doing this? You don’t happen to just have a vial of polyjuice potion lying around, do you?”

“Polyjuice potion? No.” He'd laughed. That would take too much time and resources, none of which he had at such short notice. It was unneeded either way. 

Dragging the poor lad to a secluded corner, he gave him a once-over before he cast a spell with a flourish of his wand. A shudder rippled through him as his features morphed into a foreign set, his frame compressing into Morganfield’s slightly shorter stature while he bit back the groan that threatened to rise from his throat at the uncomfortable sensation. Something that he ought to get used to, quickly, if he wanted to be better at mastering this particular spell.

Once the spell had settled, he cleared his throat, testing the waters in a voice that wasn’t his own before settling on an adequate pitch— Morganfield's.

“Wh—” He heard Morganfield’s exclamation of surprise when faced with the mirror image of himself. He placed a finger to his lips, shushing him before he could draw attention to what they were doing. Wiggling his fingers to test his new body, he then waved his hand with a smile. 

The spell had worked. Brilliant.

“This should do it.” He nodded, seemingly satisfied with his own handiwork. Patting the appalled boy on the shoulder, he chimed cheerily in the usual manner Morganfield would have carried himself had he not been in his sorry state, “Go on then, back you get,” before nudging him back to the direction from whence he came. “Wouldn’t want us tripping over our own two feet again, do we?”

But Morganfield simply stood there, eyes wide, and gaping openly at him. 

What he'd just done had been a full-bodied human transfiguration— dangerous, notoriously difficult, and not to mention, a spell so incredibly advanced that it was only taught to a select few students in the higher years. Even then, not to the extent of what Grindelwald had just nonchalantly pulled off. He was clearly no amateur at the high-level spell.

Then again, he was a stellar student, precociously brilliant even by academic standards, wasn't he? But despite there being a perfectly logical reason for it, Morganfield still couldn't deny that it unsettled him much more than he had the bearing to admit at the moment.

It was eerie, the way Grindelwald played the part of himself so well. From appearances, mannerisms, and right down to the way he carried himself. Granted, there were a few ticks of his own that he couldn't quite vanquish at the drop of a hat, visible if one were to look closely enough, but still, it was an impressive feat to witness firsthand.

Grindelwald stared blankly at the dumbfounded look the boy was giving him, having forgotten that most of the general populace here wasn't nearly half as competent as he was in the magical department. It was an unfortunate thing, truly. However, he had a promise to keep, and standing around wasn’t getting him anywhere. 

Snapping his fingers in front of Morganfield’s face to regain his attention, he quipped. “Now then, how is your spellcasting? Can you manage a disillusionment spell?”

Words seemed to fail the poor boy, but he managed a rapid nod, much to Grindelwald’s satisfaction. 

“Good. Do try to get back to your dorm room unscathed. It would be a pity, should you end up in the Infirmary when you're supposedly concurrently present for class.” 

The veiled warning was clear enough— ‘Don't be stupid, don't do dumb things, and for the love of god, watch where you’re going.’ He then added an off-handed remark as he turned to leave, “Oh, and do close your mouth; it's unseemly.” 

His only response was the faint scuttle of footsteps as Morganfield made his quick exit from the area. One could only hope that his instructions were clear enough, or if that failed, perhaps for whatever inherent and illogical fear the boy held towards him to keep him out of further trouble.

Now, to set his plan in motion…

⊹ ━━━ ✥ ━━━ ⊹

Stepping into the classroom, Grindelwald headed straight for the seat that Morganfield had usually occupied. He dimly noted the fact that he'd just walked into the room with empty hands and nothing to show. 

Was this a practical class? He hoped it was. He hadn’t had his textbooks, so he figured that he'd just have to share with whoever was seated closest. However, a quick survey of the layout of the room informed him that the professor who taught this particular subject seemed to have a penchant for pairing people up to work in teams of two.

Great. So he actually had a partner for runic studies? He shook his head. Now, which dimwit and their common fallacies would he have to put up with for the better half of two hours?

He scoured his brain then, having taken the same class before under the tutelage of a different professor. The largely individualistic study and analysis of matrices and runestones hardly needed teamwork. This professor was an oddity indeed. 

But now that he was actually seated, he felt the waves of exhaustion slowly creep up on him, lapping at the edges of his consciousness. First, gently, like the soothing lullaby of a long forgotten song; then more insistently, forcing him to succumb to the overarching blanket of oblivion. It was about time his own choices came back to bite him, too. Grindelwald had been out in the field for days in a row, wandering outside after hours, past the curfew that all students were mandated to adhere to. Searching, experimenting, socializing… to an extent. For his face was not his own whenever he ventured out into the shadier places. It wouldn't do for him to be recognized at this stage, after all.

He'd had his eyes set on a particular piece of cursed equipment, with little more than a rumor to guide him. It wasn't so much a dark artefact as it was a trinket, really; elusive and well-hidden, it was something powerful and coveted by many all the same. 

Finally, something he'd finally deemed worth studying in his eyes. He had his work cut out for him. And while rest was admittedly something that he'd been putting off for a while in search of his greater pursuit, all his effort and sunken time hadn't gone to waste— he'd finally gotten a lead on where the prized item might be located. All of this for a paper he had to write. A thesis, of sorts. Something that he'd had to hand in to his Dark Arts professor by the end of term as part of his Curse-breaking assignment.

Was it worth it, just for the marks? A distinction in his N.E.W.T.S? Not really. What was yet another ace in his papers? For as much as he'd excelled academically, it was more of a convenient by-product than anything else. There would be questions, of course. Of where he'd managed to get his hands on such a thing, or about the issues of safety, among many others. Perfectly logical concerns, but none of which bothered him. A trivial consequence in his search for knowledge. 

Greater knowledge, like those hidden behind locks and keys in the forbidden section, perhaps. Things that he hungered for, far beyond the thresholds of what was admissible for a student his age.

Lying his head down, he conceded to the lull of sleep. He had places to be tonight. Underground, and most certainly dangerous. And a tired wizard made for a dull wand. Might as well get some rest where he could. A small catnap would suffice, he supposed.

After all, he'd only agreed to be in attendance, not maintain whatever reputation Morganfield held. Or lacked, for that matter. 

What he hadn’t known, however, was that he’d been your seatmate. Which landed him here now, sitting before you, graced by your presence when he least expected it. One minute, he was drifting in peaceful unconsciousness, and in the next, here you were, poking at him. 

Something tickled him at the irony of it all. Of course, you were here. You always had a way of throwing a twist into his plans, didn't you?

“Fancy seeing you here.”

You eyed him with a questioning look, noting your seatmate’s absence with slight suspicion. Grindelwald’s presence was as rare as golden snitches were these days ever since his field research took off. Not that he'd informed you of what he was busy studying, either. Had he done something?

“Where's Morganfield? And what are you doing here anyway?”

“One of my many newfound interests.” He’d replied, the lie slipping smoothly. A wrong move, he soon realized, as he quickly clarified before you could pry further into his intentions. "Your friend, on the other hand, is probably passed out in bed as we speak.”

You contemplated him with a thoughtful sound; his interest being a blatant lie. You both knew that. And he, too, recognized the look in your eye, one that told him that you didn't buy entirely into what he'd just said.

“Too much to drink, I reckon.”

“Sounds a little too convenient. Am I to assume that you had nothing to do with his absence?” You questioned, knowing fully well that he was at least partly responsible for it, some way or another.

He shrugged. “He wasn't going to make it here anyway.”

“What do you mean by ‘anyway’?” You echoed in question.

“He was busy dealing with the consequences of his own actions. I just gave him a nudge in the safer direction.” He'd replied, putting a stop to that line of thought. 

And whilst you seemed perfectly content to barrage him with a hundred and one questions from his long absence, he hadn't missed the way you shuffled closer to him. Cocking his head in the same curious yet arrogant manner you'd come to associate with him, he smiled, almost smugly as he'd clocked you. “Missed me, hm?”

“No.” Of course you did. You hadn't so much as heard from him in the weeks he'd been gone doing merlin knows what, but you weren't about to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he was right, either.

“Ouch. After all the effort I took coming here?” He brought a hand to his chest in mock hurt, as if the denial had wounded him.

“And what exactly did you do this time, Gellert?”

“I cut your seatmate a deal.”

He did what now?

“...Should I be concerned?” You asked, hesitantly. 

Did you want to know? Not really. But knowing Grindelwald? You probably should be at least a little worried. It was a valid concern, in your defence. The last time he’d brokered a deal with someone, they’d ended up confined to the infirmary for weeks, sporting a broken rib and at least three other broken bones after an experiment gone wrong. You dreaded to think about what that entailed for Morganfield.

“Well…” He paused, giving it a moment’s thought before smiling wryly. 

What a question it was, indeed. He had a couple of ideas, but none of which would come to pass quite smoothly, considering how you seemed to hold him to some regard. 

Pity, he thought. He could tick off his fingers on the number of things he could potentially hold above the boy's head to make him bend to his whims when the time came, but it looks like he would just have to play nice, wouldn't he? No matter; he was sure that there would be other uses for him in the future.

“He'll live. Besides, Morganfield wasn't too ke—” He started, only to stop short as something brushed against his skin, snapping him out of his thoughts.

—Wasn't too keen on making it to class either, he was about to say. Except he could feel your fingers dancing along his wrist as it rested atop the seat beneath the table. The taunting ghost of touch nipped at his tactile nature, enticing him to respond. It was distracting, to say the least. 

He looked down as your wandering hand drifted upwards, absent-mindedly tracing the contours of his knuckles. His eyes flicked back up to you in question, to see if you'd been doing it on purpose, but you seemed unaware. And even if you were, you certainly didn’t show it. 

‘Dreadfully honest, even if the speaker isn’t.’ He internally mused, turning around to cage the offender that had started to draw patterns on his fingers with his own. “So you did miss me.” He crowed smugly, interlacing his fingers with yours, trapping them so it could tempt him no further.

“Shut up, Gellert.”

He'd snickered in response, but he allowed it all the same. At least one thing was for sure— the charms he’d come here with the intention of testing had worked; the first of many.

Still, he hadn’t told you what he really was doing here… Not properly, anyway.

It wasn't until he smoothly answered a question posed to ‘Morganfield’ halfway through the class that something clicked— He was under an active charm. But, if so, then what you were seeing didn't make sense. Transfiguration spells affected how one is perceived by others, so logically speaking, shouldn't you also be seeing what everyone else was seeing? 

Your brows knitted together as you tried to piece the pieces of the puzzle together, “How are you doing this?” you asked. 

“The little gift I gave you grants you true sight, to an extent. It’s not omnipotent, however.”

That explained the silver eye, though he usually hid it under a glamor, having disliked the attention that it'd brought. You'd simply chalked it up to him having forgotten, due to the fact that he'd just woken up.

You were able to see past his disguises? How many times had you crossed paths within the academy grounds, with you none the wiser? But that, too, begged the question. When had this charm taken effect without your knowledge, or was it something that you were only noticing now?

However, your thoughts must have shown on your face, for there was mirth reflected in his eyes as he met your bewildered ones. It stood to reason that you would be surprised.

“These are active experimental spells. They need to be refreshed every once in a while, given their nature, and it will take some skill to master.” He explained, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the stone as he continued, the semi-translucent stone swirling a faint red at his touch, “But this way, you won't ever lose me, will you?”

He'd taken your uneasiness at his absences to heart. You could appreciate that, but along with it came the tacit understanding that what he'd given you had been more than that.

Not an oath, not a vow; something similar, yet different. A choice bound by magic. 

Hence, you'd taken to wearing it on your person wherever you went, the weight of the stone sitting snugly against your wrist. It was a sending stone of sorts— a keepsake. After all, it was just an innocuous accessory at the end of the day… Right?