Palette

Albus means “white”. The thought comes unexpectedly and seemingly out of nowhere. He frowns for a moment and proceeds to pick a pair of cufflinks for the occasion. The tailored black suit fits him perfectly mirroring the flawlessness of a tie knot. He uses the cologne allowing the delicate aroma of wood-sage and sea-salt become another layer of his whole human-costume crafted to impress, bind and control. There are no details too small or irrelevant if you aim for the stars. “Do forgive me this question… but are you sure that you want to go alone?” “I do forgive you this question.” That is enough to make the silence thick as a pillow, and he suddenly thinks again that odd thought that caught him off-guard in the morning: Albus means “white”. It was a common misconception to define white as light or good. Some went even further and proudly boasted their ignorance opposing white magic to Dark Arts. The mythical White Magic — what was it? He has spent countless hours, days and years studying magic and yet he couldn’t give for the life of him the definition of white magic that would have both made sense for a scholar and satisfy the need of a common wizard to put tags on everything. Albus means “white”, and the fact that everyone was so eager to forget was that white did not exist as a color at all, it was a combination, a mixture of infinite colors, infinite possibilities and storylines, things that were, that are and that could be. Vinda knows him well by now, his mood-shifts, at least, and leaves him alone, closing the door behind her quietly. The leader needs his time to think, to plan, and she is willing to accommodate his needs the best she can. Vinda is useful, smart and she will become a problem eventually. He doesn’t doubt her loyalty either to him, or to the violent fantasies of the world-domination over the mudbloods, but Gellert is intelligent enough to know by this point that any kind of world-domination is so overdone. He lets Vinda serve him and she will be serving him to the best of her abilities — miss Rosier is a very capable witch and even a more capable sadistic bitch — but the moment she oversteps, the moment she decides in her loyalty that she has the right to question his orders, or judgements, or act on hew own in order to serve him better, better than he expects it from her… When people start meaning well without being asked to, the problems begin. This thought — that Albus means “white” — is somewhere in the back of his mind, when Gellert Grindelwald walks into the restaurant his old friend and so much more chose for their meeting. He wanted to walk in on Dumbledore, he wanted to see his exposed back and, the Dark and Brilliant Wizard that he is, Grindelwald succeeds. The moment lasts for eons. And everything comes rushing back to him, every word said, every choice made, every touch felt and every regret he has ever had. It’s not until Albus turns back and smiles that terrible smile of his, the one that makes his sheepish admirers — they share this part, but each has his own — seek his approval and die for him… that Gellert remembers. “Albus” also means “light”. That is devastating. That is cruel. He hates that. Because light is hope.