FIC! entry 17
December 5th, 1957

Gellert--

You've hammered in more than one nail. There is so much that I am afraid of, in the end. And--and I do not know what. The more I think on it all, on our history--decades of it by now, startlingly enough--the more I cannot untangle myself.

I first made my Pensieve, you realize, to sort through every memory I had of our time together. To look, with an objective eye, as best as I could, at who you were, what you were doing, how you were acting. To see if I should have been able to predict your actions, if I was as short-sighted and blinded to your darkness as everybody around me thought I was. So, yes, what you seek is there, well-preserved. "Yes," I said, "she might drop dead at the sight. Though of us or the blood magic, I'm not sure." I then went on with that ultimately doomed theory of mine about Transfiguration-based amplification of the latter.

I am sorry for the delay. It was a little thing, and fair to ask. But--no, I am still inexcusably tangled.

I must go, I am afraid.


Albus Dumbledore




December 25th, 1957

Albus--

That's odd. Fallibility of memory, I suppose? Because I keep thinking that you might have said that you loved me.


Gellert Grindelwald

...now they're saying something about mullet mardi-gras beads, and shadesong is getting bodypainted.

[entry in the Grindeldore for Goats Blogathon Venture; sponsor me here!]