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.