Diamond

(If Them’s the Rules)

This drabble contains spoilers.

–

“I don’t think you completely understand the way I operate,” Tom says, giving the older man a cool smile. “You cannot offer me a thing I would be swayed by.”

“Not even emeralds?” Grindelwald asks, and only well-practiced control kept Tom from reacting to what he knew to be a comment about Harry.

“There is nothing you have that you can give me.”

“Not quite.” Grindelwald sets down his glass of wine before leaning forward, offering the younger wizard a mocking grin. “I know of magic you cannot even comprehend, young Riddle. I can help you. You would not settle for a diamond if you could get an emerald, now would you? Or is sentiment keeping you from ensnaring what you desire?”

“You think I’m bound by sentiment,” Tom says, sounding almost sorry. “I thought – I hoped – that you wouldn’t make that mistake. How disappointing.” Grindelwald’s expression does not change, but Tom knows that the Dark Lord is now much less pleased than he was a moment ago.

“Then what is stopping you?”

“I am a patient man, my friend. I have no need to take what will be given to me, and you must understand how much that matters in my… situation.”

“And what will you do until then?” Grindelwald sneers. “Leave the jewels unattended, to mix in ways most unfortunate?

"Hardly. I am not a fool, as you very well know.”

“Then what is it? What will you do?”

“Give him an acquired taste for rubies,” Tom replies, “and keep away the diamonds altogether.”

“And you think that you can change familial love to something else easily?” Grindelwald says, contempt clear in his demeanour. “You think he won’t notice?”

“How can a person defend against an attack that does not appear to be one?” Tom asks, allowing himself another smug smile. “As contrary as you might find it, I can achieve what I want without you.”

“I should warn you, then,” Grindelwald tells him. “This world is divided in two: those who are with me, and those who are not.”

Sunset

(If Them’s the Rules)

Drabble contains possible spoilers.

–

Harry’s cold.

He’s lying on his back on the cold ground, the organge rays of the setting sun doing nothing to make him warm. He knows it’s going to be less than an hour before the darkness takes over. He knows he should move, stand up, go somewhere else. He doesn’t have the energy for any of that, though.

The fight he had with Tom was horrible, and left him feeling the kind of hurt he has not felt for years. It’s strange how emotional pain could feel so physical, and yet the illogicality of it does not ease any of Harry’s pain. The nausea. The ache.

He hears footsteps approaching, but doesn’t move to look. He knows it’s not Tom. It cannot be Tom. Tom’s away. Tom left, in a fit of anger, not understanding Harry’s reasons. Not understanding Harry.

Harry closes his eyes as the sunset paints everything red. He wants to cry but he doesn’t. The footsteps don’t stop until he feels someone looking down at him. Feels the steely points of the shoes dig into his right side, hears someone sigh. Harry doesn’t react. Doesn’t open his eyes. He might as well be asleep, as he has no energy left to move.

The stranger – who might not be a stranger at all – lifts him and carries him inside. Harry knows then who it is – only one person aside from him and Tom has the keys. He should have guessed.

There’s only one who sees the sunset and cares not for appropriate visiting times.

Knowledge

(If Them’s the Rules)

This drabble contains mild spoilers.

–

“You misunderstand,” Grindelwald says, and his voice is soft and compassionate. “It’s just an excuse. A back-up. It doesn’t matter if you’re not as smart or strong or beautiful as a foreigner – as long as you have the genes you do, you’ll still be better. The rich an influential like that way of thinking. It serves a purpose-”

“Your purpose.”

“That’s irrelevant. Nobody likes being irrelevant, Harry Riddle. Nobody likes to be at disadvantage. And that is the core of the racist way of thinking. Where your pride in yourself as an individual fails you, you cling to the self-defined quality of your dna. Hitler’s agenda was never truly about creating a race that is hundred percent aryan, no. His goal was to establish the superiority of what he calls the aryan race.”

“And you’re using that to drive your own agenda,” Harry says, glaring tiredly at the Dark Lord, who nods with a small proud smile on his face.

“The question is, Harry,” Grindelwald says. “What will you do with what you know? Human minds are weak –  you will not be able to wipe them clean of all insecurity.”

“No,” Harry replies. “And neither do I intend to try. Some things will run their course, Grindelwald. Despite what you’ve seen in me, I’ve seen nothing in you that would inspire me to take action.”

“You… you would do nothing with this information?” Grindelwald demands to know, clearly surprised. Harry shrugs, and nods.

“Not all knowledge needs to be acted upon.”

“Are you any better than me, then? To know that you could save lives, yet you choose not to?”

“This wouldn’t help me save lives, you know that,” Harry says. “Find someone else to play games with. I don’t want to.”

“You are a strange man, Riddle,” Grindelwald says after a few silent moments. “Strange indeed, but that will not save you in the end.”

Silver

(If Them’s the Rules)

This drabble contains mild spoilers.

–

“Silver,” he sneers, pushing aside what he now can only view as cheap trinkets. “You’re giving me silver?”

“Are you an idiot?” Eileen asks him in return. “No, I am not giving you silver. I’m telling you to keep your both eyes on the silver I have temporarily put on the table. Lose sight of them, and I assure you that you’ll soon after lose your sight entirely.”

“What are you two even up to?” Rosier asks, scowling at the pile of silver. “I don’t think-”

“Don’t strain yourself,” Tom says, not looking up from the potion he’s brewing. “We all know how tedious thinking is for you. Al, hand me the snails.”

“I wonder what it’ll end up tasting like,” Avery mutters, handing Tom a small jar of powdered snails. “What does it even do?”

“It’s not an edible potion,” Eileen cuts in, and coming from her, every word manages to sound like an insult. “Honestly – look at the ingerdients we have lying around. Do you consider silver something edible?”

“I don’t know what you’re making, so it’s hard for me to say what you’re going to be throwing into the cauldron before you’re done. I don’t even regocnize the recipe.”

“You wouldn’t,” Tom says. “It’s not a well-known recipe.”

“Did you squeeze the information out of your precious Harry?” Rosier grins, and Tom glares at him.

“No.”

“Pity. At least you’de be squeezing something out of him.”

“Just focus on the damn silver and shut up.”