The wind whistles loudly in Grindelwald's ears as he starts to fall. It was cold, despite all the layers he wore.
But just as fast as he began to fall, he stopped.
Instead, he found himself laying in the same spot where he had drained the baby qilin of its blood. There was nothing but silence around him, and for a moment, he felt like he could forget everything and lay there in peace. But then the throbbing sensation in his left hand pulled him back to reality. A steady rhythm of something that wasn’t his own heart, it was the feeling of Dumbeldores. as if it had been imprinted onto the palm of his hand from the duel. He hastily sits up and starts to rub his palm furiously against the fabric of his tailored pants.
He wanted to shout. He wanted to scream.
"Who will love you now, Dumbledore?" His own words still echo in his ears. Just behind the sound of the phial breaking, he could have done it right then and there. He could have killed Albus. He could have listened to the rage clenching its dirty claws around his beating heart. He could have ripped it out and pushed it into Albus' chest. Pierce it right through him with all the hatred he felt. But that damned rhythm had been slamming itself against Dumbledore's ribcage, seeping through his clothes before finally nestling into Grindelwald's left palm.
I could have killed him.
He slowly turns his hand and looks at the now irritated skin of his palm. Just there, barely visible, shines the scar. He had never noticed it before, never really cared to look. He always thought of the phial as their only proper bond...
Does Albus also have a scar?
Does he ever run his fingers tenderly over it? Gellert drops his wand onto the cold, stoney ground, as if it no longer held any value. Instead, his now empty but shaking right hand slowly moves towards the palm of his left. His index finger moves across the scar, soft, almost like a ghost's touch. But still, it burned. Do you feel that too, Dumbledore?
He replaces his index finger with his right thumb and gently scratches the scar with his nail. He feels the same clench around his heart again. Anger. Rage. Hatred. This was your idea. We were supposed to run away. Together.
His vision blurs and he pushes down. No, he digs down and starts scratching as if his life depends on it. It takes him no time to break the skin and, slowly, his own blood covers his hand.
But the steady beat of a heart that no longer belongs to him doesn’t disintegrate. Instead, it moves up his arm and lays itself like a suffocating blanket over the claws around Gellert's heart. It tightens until he’s sure that his heart will give up on him. He can feel the cracks breaking it into pieces and turning it into dust that clogs up his throat. It builds and builds until...
A scream finally rips out of his chest. An outburst of pain. So much pain. He cradles his left hand close to himself as the mountains echo his cries back to him, showing just how utterly alone he truly is.
And he’s left with one single thought towards himself.
Who will love you now?