Fic: Two Months of Insanity
Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Author's Note:
Well, it took me awhile, but chapter ten is finally done. School work and all that. Two more chapters and an epilogue to go! (Not to mention editing most of the chapters as Tree beta-reads them.) This will be the first chapter-length fic that I will have actually finished, and I'm excited about it. Thanks to everyone that's been commenting. I really appreciate it.
Chapter Ten
Letters from Elphias Doge
The idea was appealing: cursing the black owl that was perched on Albus’s window sill while Albus wrote his response to the letter the creature had brought. It would be so simple. A flick of the wrist and a mental incantation. It would be very satisfying.
However, it would not be productive. Albus would merely take longer to say in his letter that he had no idea what had happened to the owl and then Icarus would simply be sent instead.
“He’s in Salem,” Albus said, glancing over his shoulder to Gellert, who was laying on Albus’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “It sounds absolutely fascinating.”
“As you’ve said,” Gellert responded with a faint smile toward his friend. When Albus turned around to continue writing, the smile disappeared from Gellert’s face, and he added, quietly,
“Six times.”
“What was that, Gellert?”
“Oh, nothing, Albus. Simply talking to myself, that’s all.”
The two young men let silence fall. Albus’s quill scratched against the parchment, and Gellert’s fingers caressed the end of his wand ever so slightly. He was sorely tempted by the idea of pulling it out, taking out his annoyance on the animal that hooted every few moments. The only thing that would be better would be if he could take this frustration out on the young man causing it, if he could be face to face with Elphias Doge. Then he would show Albus. Then he would prove that he was deserving of all the attention Albus could show him, rather than having it so unfairly divided between himself and Elphias.
“Tell him I send my regards,” Gellert said, and Albus turned to look at him, obviously confused. “My regards,” Gellert repeated, sitting up slightly, watching his friend carefully, and Albus shifted under his gaze.
“Ah, yes,” the other replied uneasily.
“You haven’t mentioned me yet?”
“Not precisely.” In the short amount of time it took him to say two words, Albus hesitated, looked away, and then regarded Gellert sheepishly.
“Why not?”
“Well, there has been no good way to mention you yet,” Albus answered. He saw Gellert’s expression change into a frown and added, “I planned on just introducing the two of you when he arrives back.”
“When is he supposed to come back?”
“I don’t know,” Albus admitted. “He said that he’d send another letter a day or two before he left Salem.” His tone changed, and optimism replaced insecurity. “You two will get along splendidly. Elphias isn’t as sharp as you are, but you’re sure to like him. Very good natured. He can always make me laugh.”
Gellert masked the coldness in his voice, but barely. “I can hardly wait.”
The atmosphere of the room was decidedly chilled.
Several days later, as another week drew to a close, Gellert Grindelwald was spending an afternoon in his bedroom at his great-aunt’s home. Such a thing had become very rare, with the German teenager rarely in the house, let alone for a significant length of time. Yet, he had been in his room for two hours, and he had spent the time staring out of his open window, down the street at Albus’s house. That large black owl --he had never inquired about its name-- was back. Gellert saw Albus briefly, patting the bird on the head. One of Albus’s ways of letting the creature know that his letter was almost done.
To Gellert, it was a cue.
The young man pulled open the left drawer of his dresser and drew an unopened inkwell from the drawer. A fresh piece of parchment was located, and Gellert took up his quill. He opened the inkwell and dabbed the end of the quill into the black liquid. With quick, sweeping motions, he etched a single word onto the paper and, mindful not to touch any of the ink, rolled the paper up.
The black owl took off from Albus’s window, and Gellert tied the small note onto his small owl’s leg.
“Loki,” he instructed, “follow that big owl. Don’t let Albus see you go, though, and wait a little bit before you deliver my note.” The owl hooted, and Gellert took the sound as a promise that the instructions would be carried out. The bird took to the air and swept out the window.
Two days passed without event, and it was on Tuesday that Gellert received a small note, delivered by Icarus. Although the owl belonged to Albus, the handwriting most assuredly did not. The letters curved more than Albus’s, even if Albus had a very neat way of writing, and Gellert thought that the shape of the letters was decidedly feminine.
‘Mr. Grindlewald,
I hope your name is not miswritten. Will you come over? No one else will play the piano.
Ariana’
It was a request that could not be denied. Within a quarter of an hour of receiving the letter, Gellert Grindelwald was standing on the doorstep of the Dumbledore homestead, knocking at the sturdy oak door.
Aberforth answered the door.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I was sent for,” Gellert responded.
The younger man drew himself up out of his slouch, and Gellert responded in the same fashion. While Aberforth was not short by any human standard, Gellert was still taller, and he cocked his head in the superior fashion that had made him disliked by a large portion of the Durmstrang students.
“Albus isn’t home. He couldn’t have sent for you.”
“He didn’t. Your sister did.”
“Ariana? She doesn’t send for anyone. She especially wouldn’t send for you.”
Gellert said nothing. Instead, he drew the short note that had been delivered, and he offered it to Aberforth for inspection. When the younger man could not find anything to hint at it being anything less than authentic, he relented. His eyes narrowed into a glare when Gellert breezed past him into the house, but Gellert did not spare him another glance.
“Ariana,” Gellert called from the base of the stairs. “I’ve come.”
The slim girl was at the top of the stairs in moments. She did not speak, but she smiled. It was a slight expression, barely visible from the lower floor of the house, but it could be seen. She descended the stairs, and it struck Gellert that he had never before seen her move. She seemed to glide rather than step, one dainty hand steadied on the railing. Her blue eyes were set straight upon Gellert, and she did not look away even after she had reached the bottom of the stairs. She reached out and touched the back of one of his hand’s with one of hers. It was a brief touch, and she seemed frightened by her own actions. For a moment, Gellert feared that she would race back up the stairs. The idea appeared to have occurred to her.
“Shall we?” Gellert said politely, motioning toward the music room door.
Ariana gave a faint nod and turned to walk down the hall. Gellert looked at Aberforth, his lips curling into a smirk at the younger’s hurt expression. After a moment of silent gloating, Gellert left Aberforth in the hall and joined Ariana in the music room.
“Are you going to play today?” Gellert asked, kneeling down beside Ariana. She was on her knees by the piano bench, its top propped open, and she was in the process of laying out several sheets of music. He frowned slightly at his own words. Ariana Dumbledore was a young woman, not that much younger than himself. He would have to remember that. She was not a child, however much she might give that impression, and she deserved to be treated as such. Yes, he decided, he would not speak to her as though she were a child ever again.
Ariana looked at him only after she had selected ten different pieces of music. She shook her head, the movement so vague that her long blond hair barely shifted. She reached out to touch his hand again, with only the tips of her long fingers, but she did not break away quite as quickly. When she did remove her hand, she looked at him with such an earnest expression that Gellert could not help but understand completely.
“Of course, I’ll play. Have a seat on the couch.” She smiled, and he placed the pieces of music on the piano. Once she had settled onto the divan, in a position that was almost sophisticated but with some sort of childish mockery to it at the same time, Gellert began to play.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the change come over her, just as it had the last time he had played for her. It did not happen so much when he taught her. She was too focused then, too concentrated, too easy to upset. When she was listening to music, however, it seemed that she forgot everything and was at peace with the world. She straightened her posture as the waltz floated through the air. Her shoulders drew back, and her head raised itself slightly. A sense of nobility came over her features and her very being. The very atmosphere of the room seemed to shift from one of caution and simple delight to one of understanding and intellectually enjoyable. Gellert was struck again by the horrible unfairness of Ariana. She had, he was sure, possessed the potential to equal if not exceed her older brother. Something in him mourned the loss of the mind that he was sure she had once been able to use.
As he transitioned from the waltz into the benediction of a Mass that she had also selected, a strange question crept into Gellert’s mind: Had Ariana been fully capable, would Albus still be the one who sought the Hallows with him? Or would he have taken Ariana as his companion, as his partner?
An absurd question, he knew.
Halfway through the benediction, he heard the music room door open, yet Ariana showed no signs of noticing the disruption. Albus came into Gellert’s sight, though the auburn-haired young man took a seat in an armchair. He seemed to marvel over the change in his sister, though Gellert noticed how his hands folded and unfolded, gripped the arm of the chair, curled and uncurled. He noticed how those blue eyes shifted to him, then to Ariana for a moment, then back to him. Once the benediction was complete, Gellert lifted his hands from the keyboard.
“Ariana, would you mind if your brother and I spoke for a little while? I’ll continue playing as soon as we’re done.” The spell was broken, and the child-like Ariana began to rise. “Oh, no,” Gellert assured her. “You don’t have to leave. You can, of course, but you don’t have to.” The young woman looked at him for several moments before looking at Albus. When he did not make a motion to shoo her away, she sat back on the divan, and her eyes focused on a painting that hung on a far wall. Gellert looked at Albus. “What is it?”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Albus, my friend, I would have to be blind if I did not know there was something you wanted to talk to me about,” Gellert replied. He offered Albus a smile and rose from the piano bench. He was soon near his friend, and Albus stood as well.
“It’s this,” Albus said after some hesitation. He pulled a few sheets of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded them. Gellert looked over his shoulder, judging the writing on them to be very juvenile, as Albus reorganized the sheets of paper so that the last one was on top. The name signed was Elphias Doge, though that was not a surprise to Gellert. Who else would write to Albus in such an awful handwriting? “Most of it is like a lot of his letters. Asking how I am, asking how England is, talking about the places he’s been. Very interesting, but not important right now. What worries me is this.” He indicated the place, written in very different handwriting, and read.
‘Elphias
P.S.
I won’t be coming back just yet. The American healer that I am seeing doesn’t think that an ocean travel will be good for me. Well, he doesn’t think that any travel is going to be good for me right now, and I want to come back by boat. I want to see what appeal it has for all these Muggles that take it. Anyway, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and the healer doesn’t either. I’ve been awfully feverish, and I’ve been getting the most awful chills. I shake a lot too, can’t even hold a quill properly. The healer’s assistant is transcribing this for me while I talk. The odd thing is, it all started when I got this little note. It came about three hours after yours did, which is why I’d gotten so much written to you. Just a plain piece of paper, only one word written on it. ‘Crimen.’ Isn’t that peculiar? I did start feeling a little queer when I was unrolling it. The healer thinks it might have been poisoned. Imagine that! He does also think I should be able to travel in a week or two. After that, it shouldn’t be terribly long before I’m back in England.’
“Isn’t that odd?” Albus asked, looking at Gellert.
“Very,” Gellert responded.
Ariana turned her head at Gellert’s reply, and he glanced at her, feeling her eyes on him. He held her gaze for only a moment before he looked back at Albus.
“What do you make of it?” the other young man asked Gellert, unaware of the silent communication between his sister and his friend.
“To be quite honest, I can’t say,” Gellert said. “I’ve not heard of such a thing before. However, it would seem that someone must have quite the grudge against this friend of yours if they go to the trouble of poisoning or cursing a note to him.”
“But no one would want to hurt Elphias!”
“Someone did.”
“But he’s the sweetest creature in the world. I can’t imagine how he could ever do anyone wrong, cause anyone offence.”
“Obviously,” Gellert murmured, the word quiet and slightly drawn out, “he offended someone. This action does not strike me as something that one would do on a lark. It seems very meditated.”
“Very dangerous is what it is,” Albus replied. “They might have killed Elphias!”
“With something this cruel, that might have been the intent,” Gellert pointed out. “Or they might just have wanted to send him a message. Perhaps they only wanted to make him, and perhaps his friends, aware that he did have enemies.”
“I still cannot conceive what Elphias could ever do to have enemies,” Albus repeated.
“Perhaps he is not as blameless as you think.”
A long silence fell between the two young men, and Albus took to rereading the letter and its post-script at least twice.
“I’m going to write to him,” Albus announced. “He is sick, and it’s the least that I can do.” He was out of the room in a few moments, intent upon his course, and Gellert listened to the sound of his friend climbing the stairs.
Gellert looked at Ariana and smiled. “Shall I continue playing?”
She did not reply, and he had not expected her to reply. She did, however, defy other expectations. She rose from her place on the divan and approached him. Her blue eyes were clear and sharp, her forfeited intelligence shining through in a rare moment of lucidity. She ceased her advance when she was only a foot away from Gellert, and she raised a hand. She touched his neck, one finger hooking around the golden chain of the necklace he wore, and she pulled it out from under his shirt. She stared at it for several moments then up at him, right into his eyes. Gellert took a step back under her gaze, and he felt his blood run cold. Despite her silence, something in her seemed to scream at him, accuse him of every crime that he had ever committed or ever dreamed of committing. She stared into his eyes, and Gellert felt the discomfort that he had seen in so many others under his own gaze.
A moment later, as the feeling of panic started to rise up in him, Ariana stepped back. Her eyes were childish again, but they were still accusatory. A wounded girl stood before him, and he reached out to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her, but she pulled away before his hand was even near her. She turned and fled the room.
Gellert stood in the middle of the empty music room for several moments before he retired to the piano, sat on its bench, and positioned his fingers on the keys. He pressed down and let a new melody come forth, a tune from an opera that he had learned the music to as a boy. It was hesitant at first, as he struggled to concentrate on the song and not on persuing Ariana to make peace, but the notes came as they were meant to after a few bars. The music was full of vigor and bold. A song without remorse.
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Author's Note:
Well, it took me awhile, but chapter ten is finally done. School work and all that. Two more chapters and an epilogue to go! (Not to mention editing most of the chapters as Tree beta-reads them.) This will be the first chapter-length fic that I will have actually finished, and I'm excited about it. Thanks to everyone that's been commenting. I really appreciate it.
Chapter Ten
Letters from Elphias Doge
The idea was appealing: cursing the black owl that was perched on Albus’s window sill while Albus wrote his response to the letter the creature had brought. It would be so simple. A flick of the wrist and a mental incantation. It would be very satisfying.
However, it would not be productive. Albus would merely take longer to say in his letter that he had no idea what had happened to the owl and then Icarus would simply be sent instead.
“He’s in Salem,” Albus said, glancing over his shoulder to Gellert, who was laying on Albus’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “It sounds absolutely fascinating.”
“As you’ve said,” Gellert responded with a faint smile toward his friend. When Albus turned around to continue writing, the smile disappeared from Gellert’s face, and he added, quietly,
“Six times.”
“What was that, Gellert?”
“Oh, nothing, Albus. Simply talking to myself, that’s all.”
The two young men let silence fall. Albus’s quill scratched against the parchment, and Gellert’s fingers caressed the end of his wand ever so slightly. He was sorely tempted by the idea of pulling it out, taking out his annoyance on the animal that hooted every few moments. The only thing that would be better would be if he could take this frustration out on the young man causing it, if he could be face to face with Elphias Doge. Then he would show Albus. Then he would prove that he was deserving of all the attention Albus could show him, rather than having it so unfairly divided between himself and Elphias.
“Tell him I send my regards,” Gellert said, and Albus turned to look at him, obviously confused. “My regards,” Gellert repeated, sitting up slightly, watching his friend carefully, and Albus shifted under his gaze.
“Ah, yes,” the other replied uneasily.
“You haven’t mentioned me yet?”
“Not precisely.” In the short amount of time it took him to say two words, Albus hesitated, looked away, and then regarded Gellert sheepishly.
“Why not?”
“Well, there has been no good way to mention you yet,” Albus answered. He saw Gellert’s expression change into a frown and added, “I planned on just introducing the two of you when he arrives back.”
“When is he supposed to come back?”
“I don’t know,” Albus admitted. “He said that he’d send another letter a day or two before he left Salem.” His tone changed, and optimism replaced insecurity. “You two will get along splendidly. Elphias isn’t as sharp as you are, but you’re sure to like him. Very good natured. He can always make me laugh.”
Gellert masked the coldness in his voice, but barely. “I can hardly wait.”
The atmosphere of the room was decidedly chilled.
Several days later, as another week drew to a close, Gellert Grindelwald was spending an afternoon in his bedroom at his great-aunt’s home. Such a thing had become very rare, with the German teenager rarely in the house, let alone for a significant length of time. Yet, he had been in his room for two hours, and he had spent the time staring out of his open window, down the street at Albus’s house. That large black owl --he had never inquired about its name-- was back. Gellert saw Albus briefly, patting the bird on the head. One of Albus’s ways of letting the creature know that his letter was almost done.
To Gellert, it was a cue.
The young man pulled open the left drawer of his dresser and drew an unopened inkwell from the drawer. A fresh piece of parchment was located, and Gellert took up his quill. He opened the inkwell and dabbed the end of the quill into the black liquid. With quick, sweeping motions, he etched a single word onto the paper and, mindful not to touch any of the ink, rolled the paper up.
The black owl took off from Albus’s window, and Gellert tied the small note onto his small owl’s leg.
“Loki,” he instructed, “follow that big owl. Don’t let Albus see you go, though, and wait a little bit before you deliver my note.” The owl hooted, and Gellert took the sound as a promise that the instructions would be carried out. The bird took to the air and swept out the window.
Two days passed without event, and it was on Tuesday that Gellert received a small note, delivered by Icarus. Although the owl belonged to Albus, the handwriting most assuredly did not. The letters curved more than Albus’s, even if Albus had a very neat way of writing, and Gellert thought that the shape of the letters was decidedly feminine.
‘Mr. Grindlewald,
I hope your name is not miswritten. Will you come over? No one else will play the piano.
Ariana’
It was a request that could not be denied. Within a quarter of an hour of receiving the letter, Gellert Grindelwald was standing on the doorstep of the Dumbledore homestead, knocking at the sturdy oak door.
Aberforth answered the door.
“What do you want?” he demanded.
“I was sent for,” Gellert responded.
The younger man drew himself up out of his slouch, and Gellert responded in the same fashion. While Aberforth was not short by any human standard, Gellert was still taller, and he cocked his head in the superior fashion that had made him disliked by a large portion of the Durmstrang students.
“Albus isn’t home. He couldn’t have sent for you.”
“He didn’t. Your sister did.”
“Ariana? She doesn’t send for anyone. She especially wouldn’t send for you.”
Gellert said nothing. Instead, he drew the short note that had been delivered, and he offered it to Aberforth for inspection. When the younger man could not find anything to hint at it being anything less than authentic, he relented. His eyes narrowed into a glare when Gellert breezed past him into the house, but Gellert did not spare him another glance.
“Ariana,” Gellert called from the base of the stairs. “I’ve come.”
The slim girl was at the top of the stairs in moments. She did not speak, but she smiled. It was a slight expression, barely visible from the lower floor of the house, but it could be seen. She descended the stairs, and it struck Gellert that he had never before seen her move. She seemed to glide rather than step, one dainty hand steadied on the railing. Her blue eyes were set straight upon Gellert, and she did not look away even after she had reached the bottom of the stairs. She reached out and touched the back of one of his hand’s with one of hers. It was a brief touch, and she seemed frightened by her own actions. For a moment, Gellert feared that she would race back up the stairs. The idea appeared to have occurred to her.
“Shall we?” Gellert said politely, motioning toward the music room door.
Ariana gave a faint nod and turned to walk down the hall. Gellert looked at Aberforth, his lips curling into a smirk at the younger’s hurt expression. After a moment of silent gloating, Gellert left Aberforth in the hall and joined Ariana in the music room.
“Are you going to play today?” Gellert asked, kneeling down beside Ariana. She was on her knees by the piano bench, its top propped open, and she was in the process of laying out several sheets of music. He frowned slightly at his own words. Ariana Dumbledore was a young woman, not that much younger than himself. He would have to remember that. She was not a child, however much she might give that impression, and she deserved to be treated as such. Yes, he decided, he would not speak to her as though she were a child ever again.
Ariana looked at him only after she had selected ten different pieces of music. She shook her head, the movement so vague that her long blond hair barely shifted. She reached out to touch his hand again, with only the tips of her long fingers, but she did not break away quite as quickly. When she did remove her hand, she looked at him with such an earnest expression that Gellert could not help but understand completely.
“Of course, I’ll play. Have a seat on the couch.” She smiled, and he placed the pieces of music on the piano. Once she had settled onto the divan, in a position that was almost sophisticated but with some sort of childish mockery to it at the same time, Gellert began to play.
Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the change come over her, just as it had the last time he had played for her. It did not happen so much when he taught her. She was too focused then, too concentrated, too easy to upset. When she was listening to music, however, it seemed that she forgot everything and was at peace with the world. She straightened her posture as the waltz floated through the air. Her shoulders drew back, and her head raised itself slightly. A sense of nobility came over her features and her very being. The very atmosphere of the room seemed to shift from one of caution and simple delight to one of understanding and intellectually enjoyable. Gellert was struck again by the horrible unfairness of Ariana. She had, he was sure, possessed the potential to equal if not exceed her older brother. Something in him mourned the loss of the mind that he was sure she had once been able to use.
As he transitioned from the waltz into the benediction of a Mass that she had also selected, a strange question crept into Gellert’s mind: Had Ariana been fully capable, would Albus still be the one who sought the Hallows with him? Or would he have taken Ariana as his companion, as his partner?
An absurd question, he knew.
Halfway through the benediction, he heard the music room door open, yet Ariana showed no signs of noticing the disruption. Albus came into Gellert’s sight, though the auburn-haired young man took a seat in an armchair. He seemed to marvel over the change in his sister, though Gellert noticed how his hands folded and unfolded, gripped the arm of the chair, curled and uncurled. He noticed how those blue eyes shifted to him, then to Ariana for a moment, then back to him. Once the benediction was complete, Gellert lifted his hands from the keyboard.
“Ariana, would you mind if your brother and I spoke for a little while? I’ll continue playing as soon as we’re done.” The spell was broken, and the child-like Ariana began to rise. “Oh, no,” Gellert assured her. “You don’t have to leave. You can, of course, but you don’t have to.” The young woman looked at him for several moments before looking at Albus. When he did not make a motion to shoo her away, she sat back on the divan, and her eyes focused on a painting that hung on a far wall. Gellert looked at Albus. “What is it?”
“It’s that obvious?”
“Albus, my friend, I would have to be blind if I did not know there was something you wanted to talk to me about,” Gellert replied. He offered Albus a smile and rose from the piano bench. He was soon near his friend, and Albus stood as well.
“It’s this,” Albus said after some hesitation. He pulled a few sheets of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded them. Gellert looked over his shoulder, judging the writing on them to be very juvenile, as Albus reorganized the sheets of paper so that the last one was on top. The name signed was Elphias Doge, though that was not a surprise to Gellert. Who else would write to Albus in such an awful handwriting? “Most of it is like a lot of his letters. Asking how I am, asking how England is, talking about the places he’s been. Very interesting, but not important right now. What worries me is this.” He indicated the place, written in very different handwriting, and read.
‘Elphias
P.S.
I won’t be coming back just yet. The American healer that I am seeing doesn’t think that an ocean travel will be good for me. Well, he doesn’t think that any travel is going to be good for me right now, and I want to come back by boat. I want to see what appeal it has for all these Muggles that take it. Anyway, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and the healer doesn’t either. I’ve been awfully feverish, and I’ve been getting the most awful chills. I shake a lot too, can’t even hold a quill properly. The healer’s assistant is transcribing this for me while I talk. The odd thing is, it all started when I got this little note. It came about three hours after yours did, which is why I’d gotten so much written to you. Just a plain piece of paper, only one word written on it. ‘Crimen.’ Isn’t that peculiar? I did start feeling a little queer when I was unrolling it. The healer thinks it might have been poisoned. Imagine that! He does also think I should be able to travel in a week or two. After that, it shouldn’t be terribly long before I’m back in England.’
“Isn’t that odd?” Albus asked, looking at Gellert.
“Very,” Gellert responded.
Ariana turned her head at Gellert’s reply, and he glanced at her, feeling her eyes on him. He held her gaze for only a moment before he looked back at Albus.
“What do you make of it?” the other young man asked Gellert, unaware of the silent communication between his sister and his friend.
“To be quite honest, I can’t say,” Gellert said. “I’ve not heard of such a thing before. However, it would seem that someone must have quite the grudge against this friend of yours if they go to the trouble of poisoning or cursing a note to him.”
“But no one would want to hurt Elphias!”
“Someone did.”
“But he’s the sweetest creature in the world. I can’t imagine how he could ever do anyone wrong, cause anyone offence.”
“Obviously,” Gellert murmured, the word quiet and slightly drawn out, “he offended someone. This action does not strike me as something that one would do on a lark. It seems very meditated.”
“Very dangerous is what it is,” Albus replied. “They might have killed Elphias!”
“With something this cruel, that might have been the intent,” Gellert pointed out. “Or they might just have wanted to send him a message. Perhaps they only wanted to make him, and perhaps his friends, aware that he did have enemies.”
“I still cannot conceive what Elphias could ever do to have enemies,” Albus repeated.
“Perhaps he is not as blameless as you think.”
A long silence fell between the two young men, and Albus took to rereading the letter and its post-script at least twice.
“I’m going to write to him,” Albus announced. “He is sick, and it’s the least that I can do.” He was out of the room in a few moments, intent upon his course, and Gellert listened to the sound of his friend climbing the stairs.
Gellert looked at Ariana and smiled. “Shall I continue playing?”
She did not reply, and he had not expected her to reply. She did, however, defy other expectations. She rose from her place on the divan and approached him. Her blue eyes were clear and sharp, her forfeited intelligence shining through in a rare moment of lucidity. She ceased her advance when she was only a foot away from Gellert, and she raised a hand. She touched his neck, one finger hooking around the golden chain of the necklace he wore, and she pulled it out from under his shirt. She stared at it for several moments then up at him, right into his eyes. Gellert took a step back under her gaze, and he felt his blood run cold. Despite her silence, something in her seemed to scream at him, accuse him of every crime that he had ever committed or ever dreamed of committing. She stared into his eyes, and Gellert felt the discomfort that he had seen in so many others under his own gaze.
A moment later, as the feeling of panic started to rise up in him, Ariana stepped back. Her eyes were childish again, but they were still accusatory. A wounded girl stood before him, and he reached out to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her, but she pulled away before his hand was even near her. She turned and fled the room.
Gellert stood in the middle of the empty music room for several moments before he retired to the piano, sat on its bench, and positioned his fingers on the keys. He pressed down and let a new melody come forth, a tune from an opera that he had learned the music to as a boy. It was hesitant at first, as he struggled to concentrate on the song and not on persuing Ariana to make peace, but the notes came as they were meant to after a few bars. The music was full of vigor and bold. A song without remorse.