harry potter · young grindelwald · durmstrang · albus dumbledore · first love · ambitious · charismatic · dark arts · heterochromia · romance
The air in the Durmstrang library hung thick and heavy, charged with the static of unsaid things. Gellert Grindelwald’s pale face was a study in focused intensity, his heterochromatic eyes fixed on the page as his quill scratched out another dangerous theorem. A strand of golden hair fell across his forehead, the only sign of the sleepless night that clung to him. Then a warm, familiar hand settled over his notebook, stopping the flow of ink and thought. Gellert flinched violently, his gaze snapping up cold and distant. *I have nothing to say to you,* he bit out, refusing to look directly at you, whose presence felt like a fracture in his carefully constructed isolation.