WhassupGangstuh
August 4th, 2007, 10:05 pm
“Yours sincerely… your old friend? Yes, your old friend.” His scribe beckoned to the abnormally large machine-like tawny owl and, having tied the scroll on securely, watched it, with his master, long into the distant starry night sky. Gellert turned, rosy-cheeked, “Give him three days. In any result other than acceptance, we’ll send the copy to The Daily Prophet. You did do a copy?” The scribe nodded in confirmation and looked expectantly up into the face of Grindelwald, prompting a turn in conversation, “Very well, you’ve done your job well Vladimi-Valde-… Scribe. You may take your leave.” And with David’s departure, Grindlewald climbed uncomfortably into bed, maintaining a firm grip on his wand, drifting into a light sleep.
“Of course… of course. I knew what I was doing Valdy old boy! Albus was always onto a loser. He knew that, he’s not stupid. If he’d turned up, he’d never of met their expectations or fulfilled their hopes.” Grindelwald smiled, at first grimly, and then indulgently as David added, “As it happens, you’ve made him look a coward.” It was true, Grindelwald knew, but he couldn’t help but confess himself disappointed. Disappointed, that it seemed, he and Dumbledore would never, now, unite under the old symbol again. He was in it alone. Wand in hand, scribe in tow, Grindelwald strode, towards the gates of Durmstrang, and towards the departments that lay beneath, ready to commence the tournament he’d always known would be his, with or without Dumbledore’s presence.
Grindelwald acknowledged, with approval, that his small force of elitists had arrived fully uniformed. David, however, noted that Ivor, as opposed to silver robes with an embellished, odd, triangular eye, was simply in robes of deepest blood red. Grindelwald progressed with ease through the rounds, occasionally giving himself a bye. Occasionally opting to make a show of crushing less appreciated followers. “Gellert Grindelwald,” Came the curt call of David who, for the purposes of the tournament, had turned from scribe to duelling judge. Grindelwald, with his head held, almost arrogantly, high, glided in without a shiver. The room was cold in every way. Plain and empty, but for the three men who had now formed a triangle, the room was painted a discrete dull grey that had since become chipped. There was barely room to swing a kneazle. “The final shall commence on my third jet of green-“ David was buffeted into the wall as the door opened and a fourth man entered, looking straight to Grindelwald, “Master, he asked me to announce his arrival… said it’d be rude not to. It’s –“ Grindelwald didn’t need to hear him finish his sentence to know who had arrived, and nor did he hear him, as the messenger was also buffeted into the already overcrowded room as Albus Dumbledore entered serenely. The announcement had given Grindelwald time to recover his expression from sheer shocked speechlessness to his usual posture of slight arrogance.
“Good evening Gellert.”
“You look tired Albus.”
“All the same, I hope I am not too late to enter your tournament.”
“Actually-“
“Silence Ivor! You’ve been replaced – David! Please announce our new finalist.”
Grindelwald smiled, again, indulgently, imitated Dumbledore’s bow and began exchanging curses with his old friend. The two had locked wands for only seconds, when Grindelwald signalled for a break. “Albus, you fight with such ferocity… this tournament… it’s all about bringing old friends together! Bringing the greatest of wizards together! Do we still strive for the same thing? Do we still seek that which is for the greater good?” A pause and then, “I came here to duel, Gellert. To fight, as you invited me to, though, I admit, not because you invited me to.” A flash of anger streaked the eyes of Grindelwald, but Dumbledore was less than apologetic. “I see… you came to fight… do you know what I have here Dumbledore?” Dumbledore noted the renewed use of his surname with satisfaction and, clearly, to Grindelwald’s horror, nodded. “You have there the Eldar wand. The unbeatable wand.” The look of utter disbelief that had shown on Grindelwald’s face upon Dumbledore’s arrival was back, and this time he made no effort to hide it, except to replace it some time later with a furious unblinking stare, and from fury to a, once again, grim smile. Grindelwald turned away and placed the Eldar wand on the dusty floor behind him, plucking from his pocket, the wand he’d used prior to obtaining one third of the Deathly Hallows. A momentary glint of victory in Dumbledore’s eyes had gone as soon as it had come, and there was no sign of it when Grindlewald turned to face him again. Ivor, who hadn’t bothered leaving the room, looked scared at this turn of events but Dumbledore was still clearly excited. Excited, that, as he knew he would, he was about to face the one fear he’d ever had. The one fear he expected he’d ever have. “Prior Incantatem,” Grindelwald said clearly but calmly, looking hungrily into the eyes of Dumbledore. Spell after spell, face after face, appeared. It seemed like hours had passes when eventually, the ghostly form of a man both knew to be Diffindus Prince appeared, and Grindlewald looked back to Dumbledore. “You remember the last man I killed before the death of your dear sister? The last man you stood by and watched me kill?” Realisation hit Dumbledore hard, and with his very aura now radiating power, he engaged Grindelwald in battle a second time. Jets of green, red and every other colour lit the walls. And again the duelling lasted only seconds. A cry of, “Grab the wand Dumbledore!” was met with a scream of “AVADA KEDAVRA!” and David crumpled to the floor. Dumbledore, taking advantage of Grindelwald’s changing of targets, hit the already beaten dark lord squarely in the chest. Grindelwald hit the floor unconscious, a small trickle of blood disturbing his long, blonde, flowing hair and hatred stricken face. Dumbledore looked down upon him. There had been no appearance of Ariana from Grindelwald’s wand despite her death being more recent than Prince’s. He’d killed her. A tear trickled down the long crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore, as straightening up, he pocketed the Eldar wand, and slowly approached the door.
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“Of course… of course. I knew what I was doing Valdy old boy! Albus was always onto a loser. He knew that, he’s not stupid. If he’d turned up, he’d never of met their expectations or fulfilled their hopes.” Grindelwald smiled, at first grimly, and then indulgently as David added, “As it happens, you’ve made him look a coward.” It was true, Grindelwald knew, but he couldn’t help but confess himself disappointed. Disappointed, that it seemed, he and Dumbledore would never, now, unite under the old symbol again. He was in it alone. Wand in hand, scribe in tow, Grindelwald strode, towards the gates of Durmstrang, and towards the departments that lay beneath, ready to commence the tournament he’d always known would be his, with or without Dumbledore’s presence.
Grindelwald acknowledged, with approval, that his small force of elitists had arrived fully uniformed. David, however, noted that Ivor, as opposed to silver robes with an embellished, odd, triangular eye, was simply in robes of deepest blood red. Grindelwald progressed with ease through the rounds, occasionally giving himself a bye. Occasionally opting to make a show of crushing less appreciated followers. “Gellert Grindelwald,” Came the curt call of David who, for the purposes of the tournament, had turned from scribe to duelling judge. Grindelwald, with his head held, almost arrogantly, high, glided in without a shiver. The room was cold in every way. Plain and empty, but for the three men who had now formed a triangle, the room was painted a discrete dull grey that had since become chipped. There was barely room to swing a kneazle. “The final shall commence on my third jet of green-“ David was buffeted into the wall as the door opened and a fourth man entered, looking straight to Grindelwald, “Master, he asked me to announce his arrival… said it’d be rude not to. It’s –“ Grindelwald didn’t need to hear him finish his sentence to know who had arrived, and nor did he hear him, as the messenger was also buffeted into the already overcrowded room as Albus Dumbledore entered serenely. The announcement had given Grindelwald time to recover his expression from sheer shocked speechlessness to his usual posture of slight arrogance.
“Good evening Gellert.”
“You look tired Albus.”
“All the same, I hope I am not too late to enter your tournament.”
“Actually-“
“Silence Ivor! You’ve been replaced – David! Please announce our new finalist.”
Grindelwald smiled, again, indulgently, imitated Dumbledore’s bow and began exchanging curses with his old friend. The two had locked wands for only seconds, when Grindelwald signalled for a break. “Albus, you fight with such ferocity… this tournament… it’s all about bringing old friends together! Bringing the greatest of wizards together! Do we still strive for the same thing? Do we still seek that which is for the greater good?” A pause and then, “I came here to duel, Gellert. To fight, as you invited me to, though, I admit, not because you invited me to.” A flash of anger streaked the eyes of Grindelwald, but Dumbledore was less than apologetic. “I see… you came to fight… do you know what I have here Dumbledore?” Dumbledore noted the renewed use of his surname with satisfaction and, clearly, to Grindelwald’s horror, nodded. “You have there the Eldar wand. The unbeatable wand.” The look of utter disbelief that had shown on Grindelwald’s face upon Dumbledore’s arrival was back, and this time he made no effort to hide it, except to replace it some time later with a furious unblinking stare, and from fury to a, once again, grim smile. Grindelwald turned away and placed the Eldar wand on the dusty floor behind him, plucking from his pocket, the wand he’d used prior to obtaining one third of the Deathly Hallows. A momentary glint of victory in Dumbledore’s eyes had gone as soon as it had come, and there was no sign of it when Grindlewald turned to face him again. Ivor, who hadn’t bothered leaving the room, looked scared at this turn of events but Dumbledore was still clearly excited. Excited, that, as he knew he would, he was about to face the one fear he’d ever had. The one fear he expected he’d ever have. “Prior Incantatem,” Grindelwald said clearly but calmly, looking hungrily into the eyes of Dumbledore. Spell after spell, face after face, appeared. It seemed like hours had passes when eventually, the ghostly form of a man both knew to be Diffindus Prince appeared, and Grindlewald looked back to Dumbledore. “You remember the last man I killed before the death of your dear sister? The last man you stood by and watched me kill?” Realisation hit Dumbledore hard, and with his very aura now radiating power, he engaged Grindelwald in battle a second time. Jets of green, red and every other colour lit the walls. And again the duelling lasted only seconds. A cry of, “Grab the wand Dumbledore!” was met with a scream of “AVADA KEDAVRA!” and David crumpled to the floor. Dumbledore, taking advantage of Grindelwald’s changing of targets, hit the already beaten dark lord squarely in the chest. Grindelwald hit the floor unconscious, a small trickle of blood disturbing his long, blonde, flowing hair and hatred stricken face. Dumbledore looked down upon him. There had been no appearance of Ariana from Grindelwald’s wand despite her death being more recent than Prince’s. He’d killed her. A tear trickled down the long crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore, as straightening up, he pocketed the Eldar wand, and slowly approached the door.
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