Chapter 2
Gellert had been having strange dreams, which was nothing new, really. But these dreams had been even stranger than the others. At first he hadn’t understood, dreams and daydreams, small glimpses here or there. And then the dreams had become clearer and he knew what it was. Gellert had the sight, he wouldn’t call himself a seer, for he wasn’t truly; but seer blood ran through his veins and his one pale eye marked him to all those who knew, which was few now.
The dreams had been clearest when he was in his early 20’s. He had seen Gregorovitch and a wand and knew what he had to do. Stealing it had been easy enough, much easier than Gellert had anticipated.
The other dreams were not so clear as everything was always changing. Men were fickle creatures and the non-magical all the more so. He saw visions of war, visions of peace, visions of prosperity for the magical races, and visions of their total annihilation at the hands of those who coveted their magic.
It was Gellert’s duty to save magic. He had seen what could happen at the hands of those who could never understand. Those who lack the blessing. Gellert had received more than his share of blessings from Magic and he would return the favor.
Lately, Gellert had been dreaming of death. Or maybe Death. He was unclear what the dreams were telling him, they were abstract and maybe more of a feeling than anything. He knew something was coming, coming for him, and Gellert greatly anticipated it, He had been rather bored lately, even with the international manhunt and auror raids.
Gellert did not fear Death, he never had. He was fascinated by it, obsessed with it. With the Deathly Hallows. It had started as some sort of misguided quest of youth. A great mystery with an ancient and powerful prize at the end. It had called to Gellert and Gellert had answered.
He had known he had to take the Elder wand, he had seen it. He had never felt a need to search out the other two. He knew he could have them both if he wished it. It hadn’t been about being the Master of Death for Gellert. He took the wand because he was meant to, even now he knew that he was not it’s true master. He hadn’t taken the wand because he wanted it, per se, and used it now because he would be an idiot not to.
Even so, Death called to him. Flashes of spell light and glimpses of green. For a brief moment he thought he caught a glance of a cemetery he knew from his youth, though the image flickered away just as quickly. He could feel the frigid death magic flow through his body, icy cold and sharp, as if magic could have thorns. Gellert basked in it. He had always loved the cold.
An alarm blaring through Nurmengard Castle drew Gellert out of his daze. He was in his study, sprawled out on a chaise lounge in front of the fire. Austria was cold this time of year. Gellert checked the time as he hurried towards the center of the commotion. Not even seven in the evening yet, he really must find something stimulating to do soon or he may just go and blow up a country or two. Maybe America? Not for the blowing up, but the stimulation. Who was he kidding, for the blowing up too.
Gellert didn’t need to shove his way through the gathered Acolytes, as they moved out of his way when he passed. The heart of the chaos seemed to be in one of the southern ritual chambers. It was a large room and had a large group of people gathered in it and the hall right outside. As Gellert drew nearer, he saw that his highest ranked were in a semicircle at the front of the crowd, standing around…
Black flames danced across the floor of the ritual chamber, bringing fresh hell to the halls of Nurmengard. Several of his Acolytes were throwing containment charms and dousing spells at the blaze, all to no avail. Gellert questioned Vinda, who informed him that she and Zabini had been right around the corner when the alarm went off and by the time they had arrived the fire was burning with no reason as to why in sight.
He ordered the Acolytes still casting on the fire to stop, and the fire continued to burn at the same rate it had been before. Gellert walked around the flames as far as he could one way and then back the other way, looking deep into the fire, trying to see anything. He saw nothing, which was disappointing but not surprising as the flames were a black so deep that no one could ever hope to see their secrets. Darker than the depths of the sea or of space. The depths of Hel, Gellert thought absently.
He dismissed his Acolytes just as absently. A few protested that they should stay but conceded easily enough. Gellert summoned his chaise lounge and a book into the ritual chamber, not far from the blazing inferno, and set back to lounging. He did not read much, prefering to stare into the flames. It wasn’t too hot now. When he first entered the room the heat had been sweltering, he noticed the others seemed to react the same, but now it was a pleasant warmth. He thought that the flames themselves had grown cooler, but from the comments of passing Acolytes, Gellert gathered that it was he himself that was acclimating.
Soon the fire started to burn down a bit, growing smaller and smaller. Once around waist height Gellert started being able to make out something in the middle of the flames. Someone. A small body spread out on the floor, not small as in the body of a child, small as in bird-like and waifish. Though, they were also probably fairly young, barely an adult if even. Definitely male, Gellert could see that clearly now as the flames eased back some.
The boy lay clutching his head, back arched, with his mouth opened as if mid-scream, though Gellert heard nothing. He wondered if his Acolytes had cast a silencing charm, though he didn’t think so as he would have heard the screams a split second before the alarms sounded. He wondered if the flames themselves were silencing the screams or if the boy had simply been silent through the near half hour that Gellert had watched him lie as a cinder on a pyre.
Gellert tried casting everything in his vast knowledge at the flames, and even with the elder wand they did not die down any quicker. He sat and waited the last few minutes, feeling as if it was an eternity. The boy passed out somewhere in that time and Gellert was impressed he had made it so long. As the flames died down to near nothingness, Gellert drew nearer.
His first impression upon seeing the boy in his entirety was that the youth had to be some kind of fallen angel, a dark angel cast out of the Halls above. The boy was laid bare for Gellert, clothes having presumably burnt away in the blaze; all but a black piece of fabric that reflected a molten silver when it caught the light of some of the still burning flames. The gossamer cloth was wrapped around him haphazardly, artfully; though the tangle of fabric did nothing to hide him from Gellerts view.
A tangle of wild raven locks haloed the boy’s tan face. Delicate features broken up by a branching bolt of lightning that started at his forehead and spread down the right side of his face. It looked raw and recent, though it wasn’t the only mark Gellert could see on the boy. There were others, old ones, he could just make out under the layer of ash and soot. He wondered who would dare to lay hands on such a beautiful creature.
In the center of the boys chest was a red welt that went up in lines around the back of his neck as though he had been wearing a necklace when he burst into flames. Gellert scanned his surroundings and saw two small objects on the floor nearby. He went to the smaller first, a mangled and melted lump of gold, unrecognizable if he hadn’t seen evidence it had once been a necklace. The other was a rather large lump of silver, much less damaged than the gold had been. It appeared to be some sort of small silver-covered book or maybe a rather large cigarette case. The metal had been fused closed in the heat and the main damage was a warping in the silver as if a scorching hand had been clutching it. Gellert wondered if the fire had only affected the boy and the necklace, though the boy didn’t seem to have been damaged by the fire itself. He cast a severing charm at the mass of silver, slicing it open. He found it to be a locket frame with a very familiar face inside. The glass had been shattered at some point in the incident, falling around his feet in shards. Gellert ran his fingers over the small bundle of hair, now strawberry with the blood that had come to cover it.
Gellert went back over to the boy and saw that his arms were indeed covered in small cuts that had started to close in the flames. He wondered what the boy had been through and how he had a photograph of Gellert on his person. He knew he should be suspicious, his lieutenants definitely would be, but Gellert knew in an innate way that this boy was not here to harm him.
Gellert squatted down beside the prone form, reaching out to push a strand of hair from the boys face. As his hand made contact with skin the boy's eyes shot open, blue meeting panicked green. Magic burst forth from the boy, sharp and cold, shattering the small amount of glass in the room and instantly dousing the last few black flames. Gellert’s magic sang in response as he watched the boy fall back into unconsciousness.
He could hear the sound of leather boots on stone floors heading their way, no doubt his Acolytes had felt the boys immense power all over Nurmengard. Gellert hurried to remove his outer cloak, slipping the photograph into the pocket of his robes. He easily picked the boy up in his arms bridal style, wrapping his own cloak around the boy so no one dared to see his immodesty.
Gellert stepped out of the ritual room, youth in arms, to be met with a crowd of gapping witches and wizards. He looked to Vinda Rosier, his most trusted lieutenant.
“I require a healer as soon as possible. Escort them directly to my suite.”
With that short demand, Gellert was off. The witch continued to gape for another moment or two before shooting an incredulous look at Sacha and then hurrying off to do as she was bid.
Gellert looked down at the precious bundle in his arms, enraptured. He once again found himself the recipient of a gift from the gods, whether from Death or Magic herself; it made no difference to Gellert, for he had been blessed. An angel had fallen for him and he didn’t plan on letting it go.