Stages of Warmth
Once upon a time, born under the sign of Leo to Kendra and Percival, Albus Dumbledore had lived to become the master of witchery. His youth marked by the sobering reversal of his fortunes – the death of his younger sister Ariana, increasing loneliness and the absence of his father-only to deepen and enrich his willpower and begin his transformation into a character so wise and empowering-the “real” Albus that the world immediately recognized with joy.
Rather young and hunched by his sister’s trauma and his moods circling like a pendulum, at the age of eleven he began attending Hogwarts and was assigned to Gryffindor. No other student could rival Albus’ peculiar grace, the swiftness of his movements and the bewitching melody of his lines. Albus was a bit concerned about the concrete way of living, but despite that still swam to the top.
Few could have surmised his final character.
After graduating from Hogwarts in 1899. and after his mother’s death, he became the head of his own broken family, now having the responsibility to look after his two younger siblings which led to a massive personal crisis. A personal crisis which closed the door on the success he once had and knew, followed by months and months of isolation and defiance. It has to be admitted that there is yet no semantic system that could explain his unreeling character and the sudden changes of his behaviour.
He spent his time in his shock-absorbing room, which led to nothing of that wonderful promise- to read him by his true form and see him in his true light- as you are most likely not going to find him in the proof of his valour. He moved with his brother and sister back to Godric’s Hallow, completely bitter and wasted in hopes of better life and future for his siblings.
And finally, in the depth of it all, light finally found its way into Albus’ life in human form.
Gellert Grindelwald was introduced to his world. He was full of brilliance and condor, so far from him and so close to that desired imaginary paradise. The graduate from Durmstrang, this trivial, ugly man was a spiritualist. If we take him thus, and if we give him the utmost credit (which he deserves), Gellert was quite clear- his life, his work, his possessions, his willpower & his extreme ambition.
It might sound like blasphemy, but Albus will one day live to become as big of a genius as Grindelwald.
But just like Albus, he had that tenderness in his gaze. the heartbroken tenderness and immediately upon his arrival and their introduction, a friendship between them started to blossom.
Their bond became so universal in scope, so rich in feelings and humour that it has always been treasured.
Their strikingly individual and brilliant intellect set new boundaries and opened new horizons.
And that extravagant life on the edge that they had lived might send shivers down to someone’s spine, but the satisfaction and the memorable enjoyment it never failed to bring is what made it worth it.
Albus’ beginnings were humble, close to the earth. His ambitions never made him stand out from the rest, but they weren’t low either.
Together with Gellert, he was contemplating about the astounding Deathly Hallows- a Godly gift for devil’s glee. The astounding “work of art” that evoked absolute chaos. It was the thing above all things that drew them together. And just like that, a new spirit had been born out of their desires, a frantic, terrifying spirit that spread like wild fire. Too hard and too fast. It sparked something terrifying deep in Albus’ gut.
It was an ordeal of the most agonizing kind. To be fair, Albus feared Gellert more than Gellert feared him, because Gellert’s hands weren’t always clean, his mind not always pure.
Because he knew that Gellert wouldn’t always be bound to any rules, he could only watch his dear friend lose control with a glassy stare of horror, stuck in this state of denial and disbelief, because knowledge implies suffering and denial implies bliss.
Fright lived in his very own skin, but he doesn’t trust himself enough to speak, to set his face against him, fearing he’d say something stupid- he kept his mouth shut. Fear did wonders to him. Little by little, despite everything he knew, he found himself being swallowed whole by his inclinations.
Urges before reason, longings before knowledge. But how could he know without wanting.
The way Grindelwald infused new energies, ideas and possibilities into him, how he created and introduced new norms to his life and completely reshaped him into the man everyone knew, respected and loved, the person he always wanted to be.
Because of him, Albus was a man of boundless vitality and freedom of self-expression, yet who at the same time forced the strictest self-discipline on himself. Not because he wanted to defy Gellert’s abilities, but because he wanted to be upstanding of Gellert’s affection and worthy of praise. From that point on it would be his sole goal in life. Albus’ flaming youth mixed with grievous aching for human touch and embrace. The dizzying rush of being the centre of Gellert’s attention, blurring his vision until he is all he sees.
Fired up. Torn apart. The sturdy good and the even sturdier bad. Blind only to one, his intentions clean, but unclear.
Pain was a factor very familiar to his innovative genius. He who has lost so much, so much that the presence of affection directed to him and him only would set him on fire. Albus became the pupil of his outstanding friend. The love blossoming out of him, the final product of their friendship. It turned heads left and right, up and down.
Albus, young and completely blinded by utmost love shining through his eyes and smile, the most exquisite expression to observe, the softest face to hold. He had the incomparable vivid imagination of what could blossom out of this. Few were those who could face his beam without smiling. A million ways to admire that oval shape.
Gellert- an admirer of that smile, and Albus, a poor soul in his sinful earth. Grindelwald admits to love and hate, suffering and bliss, until it metamorphoses and blossoms into something vivid and delightful, something to help him cope and understand. To touch, to smell, to see, to hold, to learn & to feel. Something that goes beyond pain and beyond pleasure. A moment to thank saints, the heavenly creatures walking on the ground wingless, for their radiance that drew them closer- inch by inch.
The intimacy and the mutual trust, the loving gaze, the tender love circulating through them brought peace to his senses and the balanced effect was achieved. They were at ease near each other. However, no matter how balanced out, how controlled the movements and how his emotional pull towards power was suppressed for the better, Gellert never forgot that this is not a story of love. It was too much, like a nuclear fission between them.
Albus being the little darling that he is, He followed and participated in their mission. His eyes would spark seemingly haunted by the hallucinations when Gellert talked about it, with so much passion and trance in his voice. These words of his drew life-blood from Albus’ heart.
Gellert was a simple man of very few words but a real gem in the right company: and he would sometimes frighten people, including his own pupils with frightening ideas; epitomes and ideals that he would somehow manage to produce. He moved with ease in highest social circles, usually a part of many discussions and affairs, but never a womanizer. How did he ever fall for a man?
Too astonished to speak, this dumbshow continued until Albus’ hidden terror communicated its way to Aberforth.
Dumbledore’s brother finally displayed the true grit of the two boys combined, pointing out all the flaws and controlling strings in the relationship, the bad that could be born out of this and the likeness of the three items- the cloak, the stone and the wand.
Gellert, feeling betrayed and deceived, now too hungry for more and too malicious to be a vivid, warm-blooded human being, spirals out of control and the warmth was faded. His magic too, soaks up opposite elements. And the loving romantic imagery of something so strong like Gellert, holding something so gentle like Albus in the palms of his hands could never come to realization.
The connection was lost, and the light was dimming. Gellert is not the man Albus thought he was. Grindelwald’s imagery created a darker epoch of fear and blood-spilling, tormenting war. But men had killed for less.
Both fuming, bubbling to the boiling point, a violent duel flared up between the two, resulting in Ariana’s death and the end of their relationship.
Broken in half from the absurd and submerged in disgust and grief, with sanity slipping through his fingers, filled with impending tragedy, the strange and tragic death of his sister weighing down his spirit, Albus underwent a shattering break in his health. After all, loss is an inescapable part of life, and loss implies grief. He couldn’t blame it on himself, nor he should. Nor could all his ingenuity predict the change in the atmosphere or the coining imagery of Gellert’s mind, not because he didn’t want to but because nothing he did or said could rival the blooming dark potency of Gellert’s witchcraft.
But Grindelwald wasn’t overflowing with corrupt. All his sides and layers, the skin on the surface and the organs deep deep down, far far in the core of his being, must be judged jointly. Nobody could ever understand the depths of Gellert’s destruction.
If he had a premonition of the possible future greatness, he wouldn’t be required to wait so long for that capacity he wanted. He was a beast for speed and power.
So, who was Gellert Grindelwald really? He left no journals, we have no great volume of his correspondence, no self-revealing portraits or self-expressing letters.
After Ariana’s fatal ending, and after bringing her to her final resting place, sorrow and defeated, Albus goes back to his old school and was touched once again by the spectacle of a still fresh, luminous Hogwarts after the chaos he has lived through. Only a pleasure that bottled out light.
For nearly fifty years, he was the hub of the witchery universe. And it was weird, that even at the time he was at his lowest point, Albus never allowed doubt and guilt to mar the everlasting memories of this precious school and to hurt his pride. And in this undramatic and pale world, the memories that were held dearly played the role of his sole pride.
In the 1910s, he started his career as a teacher in Hogwarts, and by doing so marking the new epoch of wizardry and engraving new techniques and abilities.
Albus gives Hogwarts warmth and sensation, a new spirit to circulate through its halls, and ,just like that, it changed forever. He had started to fracture and bend the norms for the purpose of producing something new out of his broken parts.
They celebrated and thanked him for his generous gifts, hidden treasures underneath the surface.
He brought countless images of a better and brighter world upon their lives.
Gellert Grindelwald, giving the impression of a ruler and his ability to seize the essential, in his own eyes the creator and the first person to match the shining glory of the Hallows as the awakening recognition of him as a Lord, had people scuttling like rats in the gutter.
He finished his transformation into immorality itself, and until Albus identified him, people were free to associate this essence with whatever imaginative echoes he evoked in them. Clothing, body, and face seem to have been fused into one strangely immaterial substance that played a certain role in the perfection of his eerie, spine-chilling gaze- his newly composed self. It not only completely fills the figure with power, but it radiates from it and endows it. It was spiritual food. An observer of the thinking of the man’s mind.
Together with him brought fear into the world still tethered in its old system of values and shook the world by adjusting a new set of principles, redefining and drastically changing the contrast between good and bad. A perpetrator of many crimes and murders.
Here in this world he gives the impression of a gaudy and predatory figure, with undeniable dread and horror.
Now reunited back at Hogwarts for a deciding duel, and when their eyes met once again after those dreadful 50 years, time was immeasurable for the second and the last time in both lives. In Dumbledore there was an innate sense of sentimentality. In his head he went back to that time again and again and again, but nothing, absolutely nothing, could give him the right image and a concrete idea of who Gellert is now.
Fallen upon their ill fortune, their minds and hands went together, and whatever presence of restrain they felt, they mingle two of the most diverse things that can be –
fear and impetuosity; fear of hurting and impetuosity for success.
But they both confess, it had been a thing worth wishing for, though they don’t want to arouse their own envy. What eyes had love put in their heads?
A feeling of comfort and despair encircled the halls of the school, the incandescent smell hung in the air. Kinetic energy springing from both of them, in their mouths bitterness, salt and pedestal dust. Dizzy-eyed fury and great rage at heart, they are both well-fortified, and strong enough to issue out and fight.
3 hours in, Gellert’s knees drop to the ground from exhaustion, accepting the rout.
To Albus it was such a shame- Not to be able to save such paltry life and slay bright fame. His spirit could no longer bear such wounds.
Taken away and locked up, Gellert’s sapless and regretful spirits finally unchained- a feeling so saddening and hell too strong for him to buckle with. Breaking in pieces and consuming to ashes, the accursed minister of hell, in his cell outliving both his epoch and Dumbledore, and survived an unseasonable and dishonourable passion. An old man that almost all his life expressed his rage and hurt on the innocent, and showed Dumbledore the burden of his genius, but also the strength it took to bare all that grief for 100 years. So much less shame remains in him, and the true morals of his life should never burn out. He died for greatness and lived for crime, but fare him well, he must go.
Sorrow inhabited Albus’ frail blood, but frankly one month passes by briefly and Severus kills him and rids him of his pain. He drenched in the sea of blood so thick and wholesome, with more love to utter than grief to hide, where the sweet session of thought passes his mind and his brain summons the pictures of things that passed, and right then and there, all losses are restored, and all sorrows are ended. His joy lies onward and grief behind- there he dies.
This faded if not noble love was a matter of considerable pride throughout their life.
Through their friendship they both demonstrated their individual knowledge, skill and ability. Both were later in life fond of their relationship and proud of the riches it offered to an onlooker’s eye.
They outdid life and produced unsuppressed sensual quality and matchless beauty that has always been praised by many mouths- so many that it became everlasting. Real lechery.
And so, they met. The greatest storytellers out world has ever borne. The saints who suffered real martyrdom and divine ecstasy, who both experienced love in different ways- no matter how sad or strange their story. In the end, they accept the love they think they deserve, and in all external grace they have a part.