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….”