sammy-a-87

[sammy-a-87]

The Secret Garden

[sammy-a-87]

Pin for survivors

[sammy-a-87]

The old timers:

Bathilda Bagshot; Eleanor Potter and Henry Potter(he's not important but he's funky and sweet to his wifey)

#bsads #bathilda bagshot #Eleanor Potter #Henry Potter #bathilda lore

[sammy-a-87]

A fresh start

The carriage stopped in front of the small church. The coachman jumped down and went to the back, getting a bunch of bags and luggage off. Out stepped a lady, with dirty blonde hair in a complex braid and bright blue eyes. She smiled and nodded at the man who tipped his hat in turn. Words weren't needed for they had quickly learned they couldn't understand one another. 

The woman took hold of her belongings and the carriage drove off, horses neighing and galloping out of the village, already on their way back to the city. With a sigh, she started moving as well. Maybe she should’ve levitated her things, but she remembered how the coachman had used his hands to do it, despite having a wand- most likely muggles lived in that village. However, no one seemed to walk the streets on that Sunday morning. She decided to take the risk. Her wand was simple, stripped oak wood with details made out of bark, a cute thing really. 

“Wingardium leviosa!” Her voice was barely above a whisper, unheard over the sounds of birds chirping and dogs barking. Magic engulfed the bags and they lifted off the ground, not too high but enough to not drag on the dirt path that was called a road. She knew what she was looking for- a two-story house with a little backyard, the windows were supposed to be boarded up. The witch was starting to feel a bit disheartened by the lack of people around. Did she end up in an all-muggle village? That would’ve been just horrible. Yet swallowing her nerves, she trudged on. 

The houses looked the same, simple muggle homes without an ounce of magic, gardens with produce and birds that were free to roam the empty street. Fruit trees stood proud and tall, branches heavy with fruit slowly ripening under the summer sun glow. A small group of cats ran up to her, meowing insistently. 

“Oh, ihr Armen…Ich habe nichts für euch…” she crouched to pet one of the furry things and quickly got love bombed by them all. With a quiet hmpf, she fell on the ground, giggling like a little child. The floating luggage was quickly forgotten in the favor of soft fur and tiny, wet noses. 

“Minnie, Daisy, Minuette! Where are you- ah!” A light voice chuckled. “Causing trouble again, eh?” The cats left the witch’s side and ran up to their owner, meowing lovingly. The stranger stretched her hand down for the witch to take. 

“Greetings! I don't think I've seen you around here before.” Her smile was dazzling, white teeth gleaming in the sunlight, adding more contrast to her dark hair. 

“Ah…g-greetings…?” The word felt heavy and strange on her tongue, her thick accent coating the sound. She took the other woman's hand and got to her feet, dusting her dress as best as she could. The stranger simply smiled and waved a beautiful dark wand in the air, magically cleaning her clothes. 

“You're not from here it seems. I'm Eleanor Potter, nice to meet you!” The woman shook her hand energetically, smile never wavering. The two looked to be about the same age. 

She didn't understand the words exactly but understood a name when she heard one. 

“Ich bin Bathilda Gri-... Bagshot. Bathilda Bagshot.” She shook Eleanor's hand, albeit with less vigor. 

“Bagshot, hm? Oh, goodness!” Realization dawned on the woman and her eyes shone with sadness. “Condolences. News of your husband's death came here as well. I'm sorry for your loss.” She tightened her grip on Bathilda’s hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. 

Poor Bathilda didn't know a word from what she was saying but the solemn look on her face helped clarify the topic: her late husband. She smiled softly, gratefully nodding her head. 

“Danke.” 

The witches chatted for longer, even having started to move once Bathilda had found a way to ‘tell’ the other where she was supposed to go. Their conversations were more one sided when using words, but gestures kept them on the same page. Eleanor was very energetic, waving her hands around with wide motions, her face stretching with exaggerated smiles and frowns. The way the light shone in her dark eyes made them almost glister. Bathilda on the other hand was more reserved, her movements more controlled, her face barely moving, keeping a respectable aura all the time. 

They stopped in front of the house. It was painted a simple white and the windows were, as expected, boarded up. The two magiced the boards away and the door open. Together, they stepped into what looked to be a living room. It held only the necessary- a small couch with matching armchairs, a fireplace and empty bookshelves. With a bit of work and several shopping trips, she could turn it into a truly lively place. There was no separation between the staircase and the living room, yet there was a door which Bathilda suspected led to either the kitchen or dining room. She was wrong. The house was too small for a separate dining room, not that it mattered. It was just…surprising. 

“Oh, so much light! And this surely takes you to the back garden!” Eleanor talked excitedly as she looked around the small kitchen. Bathilda smiled to herself- she might've not been able to understand the woman but she felt like she'd made a friend, the air and magic around Eleanor Potter felt too warm and sweet for her to be malicious. Her eyes skimmed through the space- it, like the room before, held only the skeleton of what she planned to turn into a welcoming home. Empty, dusty cupboards, a sink, a storage full of cobwebs, a wobbly table with two chairs- the bare necessity. The windows were big, letting in loads of sunlight and a door on the same wall led to the garden. A second door, a bit hidden from sight, opened into a small toilet. The actual bathroom was most likely upstairs. Bathilda already imagined turning this small space into a laundry room. 

“Gehen wir mal auf!” She pointed her finger upwards, emphasizing what she said. Eleanor nodded.

Quickly they walked up the stairs, Eleanor almost running like a curious child. Bathilda actually chuckled at that, prompting the other woman to redden in embarrassment. 

The short hallway had two doors on each side and a trapdoor in the middle of the ceiling. 

“Let's go left!” Eleanor threw the first door open as Bathilda mentally noted ‘left=links’. The people living in her late husband's mansion rarely spoke to her, rendering her unable to learn English no matter how much she wanted to. But Eleanor's constant chatter made it easy to understand certain words. She smiled and followed the woman into the room- a tiny bedroom with a bed and dresser. There was plenty of space left for a desk and other things- could become a child's room in the future if she wanted to. 

The second room on that side of the house was the bathroom, housing a decently sized bathtub, a sink and a toilet. Again, with a bit of time she could improve the space greatly. Moving on to the right side (‘right=recht’, they giggled at each other because the words sounded so similar), the first door led to an empty room- perfectly empty- she didn't know what to do with it yet. The next, and last, door opened into what looked like the master bedroom, if it could've been called that. It was only slightly bigger than the other one, allowing for a two-person bed without overcrowding. The trapdoor opened up with great effort, a ladder almost knocking them out as it fell. Flying dust left them coughing their lungs out, yet they still ventured up. The attic was one big empty space with a tiny circular window. 

“Well, this can be either a storage or the coziest reading spot.” Eleanor chuckled as she moved to the middle of the room, spinning slowly.

“Wie bitte?” Bathilda raised an eyebrow, walking towards the witch.

“What?” 

Laughter filled the silence. They couldn't understand the other but it didn't matter. Bathilda spun around on the balls of her feet, still giggling as she struggled to regain her breath. Her eyes beamed with happiness. 

“Mein neues Zuhause!” 

“Your fresh start!” 

#bsads #ggad #bathilda bagshot #Eleanor Potter #oc #blazing suns are dying stars #ch5 #bathilda lore #backstory

[sammy-a-87]

Bathilda Bagshot nee Grindelwald

It had been a week since Gellert’s arrival at Godric’s Hallow, time which he had spent mostly locked up in his old room, only coming out to eat and use the bathroom. The realization of this not being a dream, nor memories, or some obscure circle of hell, was hard to digest at best and mind-numbingly confusing at worst. After that talk and crying session, which he wasn't proud of in the slightest, he didn't sleep at all, and for three days all he could do was stare bewildered at the ceiling, sitting sprawled out on the small bed in the small room he called now his own. It was just as bland as he remembered it, but this time the sight was actually comforting- simple white walls, a big window, a wooden desk right under it, a bed big enough for two scrawny teens, a dresser, and a small bookshelf. He had shoved his trunk under the bed before plopping on the soft mattress. Once his mind finally caught up with his situation, he began writing in an empty notebook. Wrote everything he remembered from his ‘old’ life, as he called it now, then everything he was supposed to know in this ‘new’ one; stuff like don't do magic away from Tilly’s house or the twelve uses of dragon blood haven't been discovered yet. He noted down all the small things he could think of that would make him look odd if he let them slip. It took him another three days to accomplish this. At some point, he thought about starting a diary as well, but he swiftly rejected the idea.

On the seventh day since his arrival, he finally ventured into the living room, picking up books to read. Mostly books written by his aunt. Writing in that little notebook made him realize just how little he knew about her- he had never shown interest in her work or her life but he supposed he could start now, new chance and all that. That’s where Bathilda found him later that day, curled up on the couch, completely engrossed in her latest edition of “Hogwarts: A History”.

“Found anything interesting to read?” she sat down next to him, smiling softly. She was starting to like this new side of him, even if his little self-isolation had worried her.

“Ah, ist nur… it's just … you have a nice writing style. It's a shame to have a writer around and not read their stuff, right?” Gellert smiled at her sheepishly, waving the book in the air.

“Interesting style, you say…. I'm glad you like what I write. Where did you get at?”

“Uh…. currently there’s a passage about a…room of requirement? Why does this place sound so much better than Durmstrang?”

Bathilda laughed. He loved it when she did it, she instantly appeared several decades younger, more carefree, and happy. Suddenly he remembered the photographs. “Actually, scratch that. Uh….” He was stuttering again. “Ah, I wanted to…I wanted to ask you. When I came here. Um- weißt du… ja, yeah-” Why can't I talk like a normal person, for fuck’s sake?!

“What’s on your mind, Schatz?” she looked at him expectantly, but without any judgment.

“I-I don't want to overstep but…..but, um,” he took a deep breath. “Why aren’t you married? You're brilliant- surely you could've found someone…?” He instantly regretted ever speaking as Bathilda's face darkened. Her gaze fell down to her hands, fidgeting with her empty ring finger. For a long moment, they just stood in silence, neither daring to speak first. Gellert looked at her with concern and slight fear- was she gonna explode on him? Yell? Throw him out? He didn't know what he would do if the one person in his life who loved him unconditionally, suddenly hated him just because he couldn't keep his mouth shut.

“I…don't like to think about it, but i was married once. It was a long time ago though, surely you ain’t interested in some old woman’s tales.” her tone was grave, like he'd never heard before, and without thinking about it, reached his hand to hold hers.

“I…am interested in knowing you , Tante. If you're comfortable sharing, that is.” The boy’s soft voice caught her off guard and a small smile broke the tension on her face.

“What do you say if I were to tell you over some tea?” He nodded and they got up, changing the scenery to that of the quaint kitchen. Gellert sat at the table while Bathilda turned the stove on. Doing such simple things the muggle way…it seemed so strange to the young wizard. He was about to comment on it but she might as well have read his mind, for she spoke first.

“Doing stuff with your own hands might seem pointless, but there's a certain satisfaction coming from it…and a sense of peace. It's never good to be overly dependent on magic, mark my words.”

“I see,” he answered quietly, observing her hands rapidly preparing everything for the perfect tea: mincing mint leaves- she always said it helped get the flavor out- adding sugar to the boiling water, grounding cinnamon.

“I was 15. My father wasn't satisfied with having a still-maiden daughter that old. It just didn't look good, you know? Others my age already had children, but i was more interested in books. One day he had enough of me ‘wasting away’ and convinced a random British gentleman that I would be perfect for him. I knew no word in English at the time, couldn't understand what they were talking. Next thing I knew I was…I was in a wedding dress. Beautiful it was, extravagant and imposant. Almost fit for royalty. Father had never given out so much gold for me before.”

Gellert listened carefully, half wanting to feel sorry for her, half wanting to be utterly disgusted with his grandfather. Perhaps it was alright to feel both. “What about Vater?”

“Your father didn't give two shits, to be blunt. He was glad to have me gone and all the gold and prestige promised to him. He always harbored a deep hatred for me, even as children. How much of it was our father’s influence, however, I don't know nor care anymore.” She dropped everything in the boiling water.

“The man brought me to England. Had a pretty mansion right in London. He didn't care for me, at least not enough. I was in a foreign land, surrounded by people speaking a language I could understand….and take this- he had been married once already, and still lived with his ex. To say she hated me was an understatement. Apparently, she thought he left her for me when really he took me on a whim. I spent the next 3 years with them until she left with another man. Then it was just the two of us and the house elves. The moment she left he seemed to have forgotten all about my existence. Wouldn't even greet me, avoided me even.”

“That’s just horrible…he was a total arse.” Bathilda chuckled at the boy's remark.

“Indeed he was. After another two years, I couldn't stand it anymore. I managed to learn the language on my own as best as I could but never spoke to anyone- he always kept me inside. I killed him.” His eyes threatened to jump out of their sockets. How can she speak so casually about this? Tante Tilly killed someone in cold blood…

“No way… w-what did you do then?” he couldn't help his curiosity, even faced with this morbid truth- hadn't he killed thousands? Why did it feel so much more taboo to have his aunt do it too? Maybe because she was always so sweet and kind and gave the impression that she could never hurt a fly…

“I ran away. Got all his gold and took the first carriage I saw. The ministry only saw me as a poor scared widow…gave me everything he owned since I was, by marriage, his only family. The carriage left me here, in this little town that was still a village back then.”

She poured the tea into the cups. As if sensing his next question, she continued: “They never check for muggle poisons.”

She handed him the steaming cup.

#gellert grindelwald #ggad #bsads #bathilda bagshot #ch4 #forced marriage #bathilda lore

[sammy-a-87]

Real Family

The train finally came to a halt. Thick smoke engulfed the tiny station and Gellert stumbled onto the cobblestone. He forgot just how small everything was there. Godric’s Hallow, the home of his aunt, was so incredibly tiny, the kind of village where everyone knew each other's business and life like their own.

He made sure to not use magic to carry his bags, no matter how tempting it was- the village was shared by muggles and wizards alike if he remembered right and he wasn't yet old enough physically to use magic outside of school. The weather was torrid, a heat so unbearable he cursed under his breath for wearing all black. Where's that damn house again?!

Trudging through the empty street- no one was as stupid as him to go out in this heat- he racked his brain for any useful memory; red hair and toothy grins were all that filled his vision. Finally, as if sent by the gods themselves, Gellert noticed a young woman walking in his direction. She carried two gigantic baskets filled with what he assumed were groceries.

“Excuse me, ma'am?” He flashed a sweet smile. She stopped in her tracks and smiled in turn.

“Could you perhaps help me find Mrs. Bagshot's house?” His accent scratched his ears- he had lost it sometime in his thirties, but now it was back with full force and he hated it. Not because it reminded him of home, he was proud of German heritage, but it made him sound so out of place….

The woman eyed him curiously for a moment before speaking up, her own English accent flowing as sweetly as a melody.

“Of course, of course. Are you family of her's? Her house is the yellow one right after the graveyard, on the right. You can't miss it.”

Gellert bowed gallantly and thanked her, however, without elaborating on his relationship with Bagshot- news traveled here too fast and he didn't like that. They parted ways and after a hellish half an hour of walking in the blazing sun- how the fuck is this place so small yet has everything so far from each other?!- he arrived in front of the two story cottage of his dear aunt. The flowers in the front were in full bloom and he could only imagine that the backyard was just as vibrant and full of life, the mix of magical and non magical plants creating a colorful little paradise. He had spent quite a few nights there with him, at the tiny garden table under the thin willow, and his heart ached at the memory.

Mustering up his courage, why was he feeling nervous?, he knocked on the door. Loudly. More times than needed.

“Yeah, yeah I'm coming!” ,came a muffled voice from inside, obviously annoyed.

“What do you- Gellert!” The surprise on his aunt's face spoke volumes: his father hadn't owled her regarding his arrival, typical.

The thin, elderly woman opened the door fully, smiling at her nephew after the shock subsided.

“Hallo, Tante. Sorry for dropping by unannounced…” he shuffled quietly in place, for some reason unable to look at her. Seeing her again, after so long, filled him with emotions he couldn't quite explain. His heart was torn between hugging her and begging for forgiveness. Forgiveness for what? I haven't done anything at this time….

The woman seemed to take notice of the boy's strange attitude and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Don't apologize, my dear. It's always good to see you, no matter how scarcely.” With a flick of her wand, how didn't he notice it in her hand? He had lost his touch, she levitated his luggage inside the house. Then she ushered him in as well.

“Have a seat, have a seat! I'll get some tea brewing in no time. Why don't you tell your aunt how you've been in the meantime? What brings you here?” She was as joyous as he remembered her and this only served as more salt on his already bleeding heart.

He sat down on the couch and looked around the room: he didn't remember much from it, he noticed with startling guilt. He had never stopped before to see just who his aunt was, not as a relative, but as a person. Books upon books lined the walls on beautiful, wooden shelves; the fireplace was adorned with portraits of herself and friends, strangely none with a family- he knew she and his father didn't stand each other but didn't she have a family of her own? No one? A quiet gasp escaped him as he noticed a photograph, right in the front and unmissable, a photograph of him as a child, possibly taken the last time he had been there- he must've been 5 or 6 years old…. And she kept it in the very front.

His chain of thought was interrupted by her clearing her throat. Ah, yes, she asked me why I'm here-

“Um…you see…,” he cringed, when did he start stumbling over his words?! “I've been expelled.” He muttered quickly.

She raised a still blonde eyebrow. “Care to repeat? I think my hearing’s failing me.” Her tone, however, suggested she heard it all perfectly.

Gellert took a deep breath. “I…got expelled. My parents sent me.”

“Ah, so I'm a form of punishment now? I see, I see…” her tone was equally bitter and hurt. He wanted to reach out to her, do something, anything, but he couldn't move, guilt paralyzing him.

“N-no!” He hastily said. “I mean, yes, to them- but, um, ah, not to me…. I've missed you, Tante.” It was true, out of anyone in his family, she was the only one he had thought about all those miserable years locked up. Her smiling face and calming voice and wise words, her tooth rotting sweet tea and gentle nature- oh, how many times he had wept at those memories whenever she'd write to him.

But that was adult Gellert, teenage Gellert hated her, saw her as a nuisance just as his father did, and this sudden change of heart took her by surprise.

“You? Missed me? Why, Lerty, are you feeling alright, dear?” She found it within herself to chuckle, chuckle! Bathilda sat down next to him, two cups of tea floating in the air before them and a big tea pot filled them up to the brim. She took his hands into hers, a bit wrinkled with age and garden work, but nonetheless gentle, and she smiled at him.

“I'm glad…. I missed you too, my little boy. How'd you get expelled? I thought Markus was bribing them? Unless you did something so bad not even gold could cover it up?” her voice held no judgment, only a strange tinge of amusement- it helped ease Gellert's nerves.

“Ich- I- kind of, maybe, aus Versehen- accidentally-” he always mixed his languages when nervous. Luckily Bathilda was just as a German as him and understood his botched speech perfectly.

“I killed the headmaster's daughter.” He finally managed to get out in one breath. His eyes fell to the ground, yet he couldn't understand exactly why he felt so ashamed of it- he never felt bad for these things, besides for Ari-

Bathilda laughed, the sweet sound resonating so out of place right after the boy's confession. How can she find this amusing? I killed someone! Gellert watched her bewildered.

“That's it? That's what got the old Narr to give up on you? Not that I don't understand- I can't imagine the loss of one's child…. And Markus decided to send you here because what? He thinks I'd knock some sense into you? Something he clearly didn't manage to?” She laughed again.

“Oh, my sweet boy…no matter what you do in this life I'll never hate you. I will always be here for you.” She squeezed his hands reassuringly. “Ich werde dich nie aufgeben.”

That was it. All it took was a few kind words for Gellert's lip to tremble, then his body to shake, his hands to grasp her tightly and his breath to hitch in his throat. She cared for him, she always did and proved it time and time again- back then, through her heartfelt letters, and now through her words. He couldn't understand where all that love was coming from, how she could accept him despite everything he was and did. Hot, thick tears streamed down his face, salting his trembling lips- slowly at first but quickly they overflooded him, cascading down his chin and neck, wetting the collar of his shirt. He rarely cried in his youth, but when he did it was always dramatically messy without even meaning to. Bathilda held him gingerly as he cried himself dry, one of her hands gently caressing his tearstreaked cheek.

Her gaze was loving and she fished a handkerchief out of her dress pocket. With the gentlest of touches, she wiped him clean before kissing his forehead with motherly kindness.

“Du bist so geliebt, mein kleiner Lerty….”

Tante-aunt

Narr-idiot

Ich werde dich nie aufgeben- i'll never give up on you

Du bist so geliebt- you're so loved

#harry potter #ggad #grindeldore #albus x gellert #gellert grindelwald #albus dumbledore #bathilda bagshot #bsads #ch3

[sammy-a-87]

GGAD Fanfic

Expelled (1350w)

“Expelled! After everything we've done! All we've covered up for you! The whole school has had enough and expelled you! Fucking disgrace!” 

A man's angry German shouts brought Gellert back to his senses. He was…home? His childhood home. He could recognize the living room anywhere- with the giant stone fireplace, the animal pelts hanging on the wall, the lavish couches and sofas, the woolen carpet- it was just as he remembered it. But that begged the question, how was he here? Is this that ‘life flashing before your eyes’ moment? But why am I seeing it straight from this point? Why not earlier, or later? He took in the sweet scent of aromatic herbs and candle wax, even the faint smell of smoke felt like a luxury after all those years locked up in that empty cell. 

He barely even felt the slap, his father's heavy hand colliding with the side of his face. 

“Are you listening to me, boy?! Answer me, verdammt!” 

He brought his eyes to meet the man's eyes and for a second looked confused. This is not how it happened…. He's had this scene play out before him time and time again- that's all he did in that cell, remember. And he knew that that day he didn't get slapped. The man was furiously awaiting an answer.

“Yes, Father. I am sorry, Father.” 

“Sorry?! Sorry?! That is all you have to say for yourself?! I've covered up your little ‘experiments’ at the cost of my own bloody reputation! I waited- your mother said you'll grow out of it- for you to stop your nonsense.” He stopped to take a breath. His face was red and veins were threatening to pop from the pressure of his anger. 

“And yet no amount of gold could’ve saved you now- killed the headmaster’s fucking child…” Pure disbelief resonated with those words. 

“Where the fuck have we gone wrong in raising you?! Despicable. Demon spawn- that's what you are! And all you can say is ‘sorry’! So you're pathetic as well!”

Gellert could only watch in silence as his father raged on. He’d known already for a long time that his parents hated the path he was walking on, but he could never stop himself. The Dark Magic sang to him, lulled him in, promised to give him the future he had forseen for himself. And knowledge- knowledge called out his name, asked him to discover, to become grand. A horrible mix, really, for a young, prideful and ambitious mind. After each mishap his parents bribed the headmaster and teachers into silence- even when his experiments hurt others. They always made their displeasure clear but he thought he could read pride in between the lines, for he was truly great. Or so he had thought of himself at that age.

“Me and your mother have turned a blind eye for too long. We are giving you one last chance at redemption. I'm sending you off to your aunt for the summer. Hopefully she can bring some sense into your thick head.” The man had yelled himself hoarse, so now his voice quietened into an almost civil tone. 

“Aunt Bathilda? In England?” Gellert asked, masterfully suppressing his glee. Bathilda Bagshot, the only person in his life who had accepted him exactly as he was, no matter what he did. She had been the only one who wrote him letters back in Nurmengard….

“Yes. No magic, no fancy books. Just good hard work. If you still have some semblance of a conscience you'll do as you're asked and maybe you won't be disowned. Step even once out of line, Junge, and you kiss this place goodbye!” The old man scowled at him, icy blue eyes almost burning holes into his skull. 

If young Gellert had loved something, then that had been a lavish life. He had loved the attention, the gold, the fine cuisine and rare furs- everything his aunt had thrown away when moving to that little island. His father always spoke ill of her, so naturally he had grown to hate her too, grown to view her as less. He still couldn't wrap his mind around how she could love him so much. 

“When am I leaving?” I put up a big fight the first time…. But better there, than here.

“Tomorrow. Go pack. Raus mit dir!” His father swatted his hand, ready for another hit, but he was faster at ducking and ran straight for his room. 

The door closed behind him with a loud bang. His childhood bedroom- he hadn't visited it even once during his time of glory. Often he wondered what his parents had thought of him, of what he had become. Had they been ashamed? Proud? Disgusted? Probably not disgusted- they did instill in him a hatred for muggles ever since he was a child; stupid pureblood ideals. The room was big and spacious, walls painted a dark wine and dark oak were the floorboards. A giant white wool rug sat in the middle, opposite to the door was the bed- red beddings trimmed with golden constellations, to the left was his heavy oak desk with equally bedazzled stationary; it all stood in contrast to the old, no ancient, bookshelf that occupied the whole right wall, it was filled to the brim with books of all types- silent ones, wailing ones, ones that snapped at you, others that appeared and disappeared; books on potions, transfigurations, dark magic and rituals; and one row, the lowest, with children's books, the books every pureblood child had been read to, that never missed from any household. 

He turned to the side and got greeted by the tall mirror he used to spend hours looking at. He stepped closer. His hands were shaking as he touched the cold surface. Gellert was no longer a skeletal old man, withering away in a lonely tower. No, what greeted him from the other side of the mirror was a young man, a teenager really, with soft golden hair that curled at the tips, pale skin free of wrinkles and any indication of the passage of time- he didn't even have pimples! bright, lively eyes of different colors- icy blue and earth brown; he was lean and fairly tall, features almost femininely delicate. A doll that had never needed to lift a finger in his life. 

He took a seat on the tiny chair next to the mirror (he used it when putting his shoes on) and just stood there quietly, deep in thought. Nothing had gone according to his memory, sure the conversation, he could say, went as close to the script as it could- but it wasn't the same. Neither had his reactions been. And there was also the fact that he was actively thinking about all this. Something wasn't adding up. These can't be my memories, because you can't just change them like this- unknowingly. There has to be another explanation. Am I truly dead? Is this my hell? I don't feel punished. This isn't right. Could it be-.... no way. But what if? Then the question would be ‘why?’. Why am I here? Why am I reliving this day? 

He just sat there, pondering. He touched his face, his hair, pinched himself- it was all real. He was real. Could he have truly been sent to the past? But who and why and how would do this? Could he really be gifted a second chance?

“Gellert, Abendessen ist fertig!” His mother's voice rang out in the silence, so loud he almost cried out in pain- he had forgotten that living with others was so noisy. Dinner, did she say? So long had it been since he'd eaten actual food…. The dilemma of this supposed new chance, that's what he wanted to believe it was, could wait until later. 

“Ich komme!” 

(translations under cut)

verdammt-dammit Junge-boy raus mit dir-get out Abendessen ist fertig-dinner is ready ich komme- I'm coming

#ggad #grindeldore #gellert grindelwald #albus dumbledore #albus x gellert #bsads #ch2

[sammy-a-87]

GGAD Fanfic

I'm working on a GGAD fic where the general premise is Gellert getting transported into the past where he can now fix his wrongs. Enjoy, it's on AO3 as well under the same title: Blazing suns are dying stars

The end

The silence was all too familiar. So was the cold, and the stones and every tiny crack on their surface. A familiar hell of his own making. The tally marks covered the entire lower half of the wall, starting from right under the tiny window. Outside, the wind howled and the snow fell heavy over the frozen landscape.  It was an image he knew all too well by now. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. Footsteps on weathered stone. The sound almost made his head throb with pain. The house elf was never this noisy. He turned his head towards the door as the sound stopped right outside his small room.

“A visitor? Haven't had those for decades…. Who are you?” His voice was raspy from lack of use and he had to cough a few times because his vocal cords hurt. He had of course done everything he could to not lose his voice entirely, mumbling and humming to himself, but talking out loud? He couldn’t remember the last time he did that.

“I'm not here to chitchat, old man,” came from the other side of the door, sounding high and shrill, more akin to hissing than human speech. The click of a tongue. Disgust dripped from every word.

“Look at how far you've fallen… once so mighty, now closer to a vermin.” 

“If you’re here to mock me, at least let me see your face, kid,” he replied, his face contorting into a scowl. This new generation went truly low- not because of the blatant disrespect, but because of the cowardice. He’s had many over the years come and cuss him, scream at him, and mock him for his actions, but they all did it in his face, not behind a closed door. And they were all victims in a way, all had suffered directly or indirectly because of him, and all knew, truly knew, the extent of his crimes. Never had a youngster come to see him, never had they cared- they hadn't been affected so why would they? So what did this one want?

The heavy iron door flew open, hitting the stone wall with a deafening crash. Before him, in the open doorway, stood a tall figure in flowing dark robes. Its (because he wasn't sure it was even human)  face was stark white, like the snow outside, its eyes a fiery red. The skin seemed almost scaly, like a reptile’s, and it had slits instead of a nose- a real abomination. The old man simply raised an eyebrow at the creature, whose looks were most likely meant to intimidate, but failed to have that effect on the aged wizard. At the creature’s feet slithered a mighty snake, beautiful scales glistering in the low light the room’s few candles provided. The man's eyes grew wide with recognition, and ignoring the other’s presence, reached out for the snake.

“Nagini…?“ he rasped out, heart shattering within him. “Oh, sweetness, what has come of you….” the snake recoiled from his outstretched hand, behind her master's robes. The man sighed sadly.

“I have come here with business, not to give you company,” the creature spat, its red eyes shooting daggers at him. 

“Then quit stalling. Who are you?” the old wizard shared the same annoyed look as the thing before him.

“I…,” it spoke slowly, like to a child, but with pride and conviction. “...am Lord Voldemort. And wizards and witches alike cower from my name alone.”

The man tried to laugh, a dry wheezing sound leaving his throat instead. “Oh, ‘Lord’ you say? Lord of what? Ugliness? Pretentious are we? ‘Flight from death’... I haven't heard such a joke in ages! One cannot run away from death, only stall it.”

“I am immortal,” the creature scowled, showing its yellowing teeth inside that lipless mouth. 

“You are a fool and a disgrace to all wizardkind- an insolent child who was dumb enough to sever its soul.” Dull had become his eyes with time, the shine of life dimming the longer he stayed looked up, but now those mismatched eyes were filled with pure disgust. This thing in front of him, that dared to look down on him and mock him, could not even be considered human anymore- it barely even looked human, its features had become so twisted and animalistic; he would've felt pity for it, if not for its insufferable personality. 

“You destroyed yourself in order to pathetically cling to life way after your time. Get out of my castle, you’re contaminating it with your foul presence.”

“I did what you were too big of a coward to do! I have become invincible! And the world will bow its head before me!” The creature almost screeched, its pale skin reddening with anger. What a fragile ego. Nagini hissed impatiently. Its red eyes looked down at her. It sighed. 

“But I'm not here to boast. Let's get down to business. Where is it?” 

“Where’s what?” The man raised an eyebrow. So that’s what you came for, you filth.

“Don't play dumb with me, old nutter! The wand! Where is it?” The creature, Voldemort, spat out. The man could almost imagine smoke coming out of its ears, or lack thereof. 

“The Aurors broke it, as it's custom when you get a life sentence.” He spoke calmly, the action still hurt his throat but he ignored the ache. 

“I am not stupid! You wouldn't have let them get their hands on it. I'm asking one last time: Where. Is. it?!” The air buzzed with magic around the two, atmosphere growing heavy. He couldn't breathe right, his chest was too tight, magic pressing at his ribs, stealing the oxygen from his lungs. 

“Maybe I should've asked Dumbledore…. Too bad I had him killed before I could…”

The sudden nonchalance in its voice drove him crazy, he wanted to jump at its sorry throat and wrap his fingers around that scaly skin and squeeze- but all anger disappeared as the words finally registered in his head. Albus…is dead? Albus is dead…. It must’ve noticed the distress on his face for it laughed triumphantly, sound high and shrill, like a banshee cry. 

“Dead. Got buried a few months ago, my sources say. Our greatest enemy, now gone forever!”

“Do not count me into this.” The man growled. Voldemort smiled.

“Hm? I thought you'd be joyous. The man who put you behind these miserable bars is finally dead,” it had changed the tactic, now talking with a sickeningly sweet tone. 

“Ah, I guess you also supposed that sharing such information will get me to ‘cooperate’? Tell you all my Dark Lord secrets? Become all buddy-buddy? Well, here’s some friendly knowledge: your plans will fail. Best to get at odds with this information.” Two could definitely play this game, and he was no stranger to it. 

The pale creature for a second looked dejected, then turned completely ballistic.

“How. Do. You. DARE?! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A REJECT! A DYING OLD MAN LOCKED IN YOUR OWN PRISON AND LEFT TO ROT! YOU ARE BUT A VERMIN COMPARED TO ME!”

“You're not very convincing. Even if I knew where the wand was, I wouldn't tell a brat like you.” How in Tartarus did this kid get rid of Albus?! He’s worse than a firecracker. 

“Then I’ll just get that information myself…” Its penetrating red gaze through his skull, into his mind. He could feel the magic trying to sort through his memories, trying to force its way in. Blocking it out was just as easy as before when he was free. It felt… exhilarating to know he could still do it after all this time. Voldemort grew more and more frustrated the more he fought against the magic. He had spent years perfecting his occulmency, this brat was no match for him even when magicless. 

“Fine…. Have it your way, old man. If you won't talk, then you are of no use to me.” 

The wizard knew all too well what that meant. Death- it scared him, but he had had enough time to come to terms with it. To accept his inevitable demise and meet with his demons. His victims. He could already feel their ghostly hands reach out for him, clawing at him, dragging him into Inferno. He was ready when the other raised its wand and uttered the green-colored spell.

For you, my love. He shall not desecrate your resting place- the least I could still offer.

The spell hit him square in the chest and it all went dark.

#harry potter #gellert grindelwald #albus dumbledore #albus x gellert #ggad #grindeldore #my fic #fanfic #ao3 fanfic #blazing suns are dying stars #bsads #voldemort #bsads will be the most used tag #ch1

[sammy-a-87]

" But has he ever secretly hoped that Gellert never truly loved him? Like he’s desperately convincing himself that Gellert only ever used and manipulated him, and that he’s an extremely cold person incapable of love. This way, Albus can hate him unreservedly, without the torment of being torn between love, regret, and conscience."

OH, MY GOD! first of all your words flow like you're writing a thesis, flawless and poetic. Second, I NEVER EXPECTED THIS PERSPECTIVE??? I LOVE IT SO MUCH??? yes its much easier to have to fight an enemy than a friend- and the movie(only touching crimes of Grindelwald here) portrays Albus' pain perfectly. They were "more than brothers" and how can you fight someone who was so close to your heart?

But then the tragedy is that Gellert did love him. He always did and still did into their adulthood. That's why he asks Krall if he'd kill Dumbledore for him- sure, to test his loyalty, but also because he can't hurt his love either(just like Dumbledore)- they are both looking for middlemen but in the end they still have to face each other. When he asks Newt "will Dumbledore mourn for you?" It can be seen as a 'aha, I'm taking away something he loves!' Or jealousy. But i think it's more a very masked 'did he move on from me? Did he forget me?' Aka is Newt Gellert's replacement in Albus' heart? And then of course we have the last ambiguous moment of his life- where he lies to Voldemort. Did he do it for the wand? Did he do it for Albus? Did he know Albus was dead?(forgot if it's mentioned)

They are such a tragic love story.

Know what always bothers me in crimes of Grindelwald? That in every scene where Albus sees him he's not smiling. The memory of making the bloodpact? He looks evillll like he's manipulated an idiot into doing what he wanted- and in the mirror of erised he again is so serious it's like he's judging him-

They should've made him smile in those scenes- it's painfully obvious that's what he was meant to do. The memory is from when they loved each other; the mirror shows your biggest desire trying to trap you.

He 👏 should 👏 have 👏 smiled 👏

If you ever get out of ideas for what to draw i think it'd be a cute idea to have those redrawn-

Thanks for your brilliant idea❤️I agree with you—Or, to put it another way, how could they possibly not be in love? And when someone in love gazes at their beloved, how could they not be moved?

I’ve never believed that Gellert’s feelings for Albus were purely manipulative or exploitative. Albus, as blinded by love as he might be, wouldn’t be deceived by insincerity. It’s precisely because Gellert’s love was genuine—though tainted by ambition and a desire for control—that they resonated and melded at the soul level, allowing Albus to open up to him and give his all.

This is also why the tragic events of the summer of 1899 have such a devastating effect on Albus. Besides the remorse and guilt he felt for Ariana, it also stemmed from the genuine love he shared with Gellert. The blade of love is sharp and particularly lethal because of this genuine affection.

Love is real, manipulation is real, and hurt is real. Love has its tender and sincere side, but it also has a harsh and cruel aspect.

“Oh, to be young and to feel love’s keen sting,” Albus remarked many years later. The blade of love is indeed forged by love itself.

So yes, the movie’s portrayal of Gellert’s expression in the Mirror of Erised might not convey this depth of emotion, which I personally find regrettable.

But looking at it from another perspective, doesn’t the Mirror of Erised reflect Albus’s deepest desires?

His longing for Gellert never ceases, nor can he truly let go of everything Gellert once represented—dreams, ambition, and lost youth. But has he ever secretly hoped that Gellert never truly loved him? Like he’s desperately convincing himself that Gellert only ever used and manipulated him, and that he’s an extremely cold person incapable of love. This way, Albus can hate him unreservedly, without the torment of being torn between love, regret, and conscience.

Hating a despicable enemy is always easier than confronting a lover and confidant.

“There are all kinds of courage," as Albus said it many years later, "It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to our enemies, but just as much to stand up to our friends.”

Perhaps this desperate wish is why a version of Gellert, different from reality and memories, appears in the mirror.

But I believe, throughout his long life and even after death, Albus ultimately chooses not to deny this love. It manifests as the tear that drops onto the tip of his nose at King’s Cross station—a tear shed for the man who defended his grave with his life.

Of course, this is all my subjective interpretation. Oh, so many conflicting thoughts and feelings aroused by this ship—!😭

[sammy-a-87]

Well where are you to catch it

In the bog. The bog is currently consuming me as we speak. I can't catch it, please gently place it next to me, thx

[sammy-a-87]

. . . Yeah-

Sorry i only saw this now lol

KSKSJSLSKSKLASIIS OKAY GENOS-

I'D NEVER SAY NO TO U 🤚

Tagging: @kingkyoujurou @presidentmonica @laudthingcat @kampfkuchen85 @cherrykamado @bxbycake @happygoluckyalexis @tonaken + anyone who wants to <3

[sammy-a-87]

Now i wanna PLEAD for a peepaw AND reader (not X this is important distinction)

Reader sets him on fire and casually roasts marshmallows over his slowly charring form. Maybe the blob gets a 'mallow too.

ANON THIS IS MAKING ME LAUGH SO HARD! I ran to write this just cause it’s so silly.

(Reminder that writing requests are open!)

Afton laughed as you approached him. Ignoring the look on your face that had mischief and slight anger on it. He didn’t think it would be this easy. You just decided to waltz right up to him. Basically giving yourself up to him.

“I didn’t expect you to be so willing to be on my side,” he laughed as you approached. “We will become immortal together. Becoming-“

“Nah,” you cut him off. “I’m here to stop you.”

Before he could say anything else, you flicked open a lighter and chucked it at Afton. Immediately, he burst into flames. Despite being immortal, his costume definitely wasn’t fire proof. He roared in anger as you simply backed away. Swinging at you with his claws before collapsing into a burning pile.

As he burned, you felt a new presence looking over your shoulder. Turning around, you saw the Blob staring at the now burning pile that once was Afton. It seemed curious about what had just happened.

Slinging your backpack off your shoulders, you began to dig through it before pulling out a bag of marshmallows and toasting sticks. The animatronic just stared at you. Titling it’s head in curiosity.

“I actually just did this to have some s’mores,” you told the Blob. “You want any?”

It was silent before nodding. Slithering over and holding out a mess of wires that made up a hand. You put a toasting stick into its hand before opening the marshmallow bag and sticking a marshmallow on the stick. You did the same before walking over to Afton and pulling up a box next to him with your foot.

As you sat down, the Blob came over and mimicked your movements. Even though it couldn’t eat, it had always hated Afton. This was an odd way to get back at him but it wouldn’t complain. Maybe it would even drop some marshmallows on him by ‘accident’.

These were the best damn s’mores you’ve ever had though.

#s'mores baby #moldy bacon flavor #peepaw is a great grill #10/10 would light up again

[sammy-a-87]

a double announcement:

we're sorry to inform you that the ''pimp my ride'' workshop with roxanne in honor of disability pride month is cancelled.

if you have any news about the kid loose in the pizzaplex with a maxed out electric wheel chair, please inform our security staff immediatly.

#kid with me #takes me places with #🔥speed🔥 #I've never worked so fast in this place before #im adopting them

[sammy-a-87]

So what's the policy if you find a dead body on the property?

(Asking for a friend)

if customers witnessed the body, reassure them by explaining that they simply fainted and you're calling security right away

call mr. afton, he'll take care of the body

don't talk about it

ever again

#any iteration of “dumbfuck your lab rat is out” gets the message across #extra points for being creative with the insult

[sammy-a-87]

#arsenic #go straight for the good stuff

[sammy-a-87]

NO!

You don't get it- you don't know- he don't know- it's so weird- w h y you stinky shit peepaw?!

W H Y?! JUST KISS EMILY ALREADY AND LEAVE ME ALONE-

Welp-i just bought us a few hours of peace and silence. Afton tried to flirt with me for some fucked up reason- and i slapped him unconscious-

Why?? Is it our shared hatred for brats??

Is it our equal madness??

I'm as interested in him as I'm in Emily-aka NOT AT ALL YOU OLD FART! WTF!!

He's my-he's not my type!!

love... wins??? i guess???

[sammy-a-87]

Um boss, I know this is gonna sound weird but there's an old Fredbear plush running around the pizzaplex. I literally saw it walking around and I am too freaked out to get near it

i choose to believe the toy fabrication team is running tests for a line of remote controlled plush dolls, you should take this explanation too because i'm sure we don't want to know the truth

#GET THAT PLUSH! #ITS MINE IVE BEEN LOOKING FOR IT FOR WEEKS #godfuck it