Disclaimer: Harry Potter, not mine.

There Will Your Heart Be

Chapter 1: It Opens at the Close

.

He stood by the window, gazing out over the quiet serenity of the street below. Children played in the fenced in yards, spilling out onto the glistening pavement of the quiet village road. The astrantias were flourishing, dotting the street with a whole spectrum of dusty pinks and raging scarlets. A soft breeze rustled through the green canopies of the trees that dotted the edges of the lane.

It was beautiful. Pretty as a picture.

He despised it.

It was five o'clock in the evening. In ten minutes, he would walk down to the kitchen, wading through the cluttered mess of a house he had yet to put to rights (though the energy of doing so had so far evaded him). He would step to the old stove, light a fire within its grate, and start dinner. He would prepare a meal for all of them: himself; his sweet sister, whose fleeting smile seemed so fragile, it was like a band-aid tugging across the edges of her face; and his brother, who only bothered to turn up for mealtimes and seemed, for all accounts, less than useless.

He stared out across the road, burning with the ordinary of it all. His mind, which had spent the past seven years sorting through the most intricate concepts of Arithmancy and Transfiguration, brewing potions of its own invention, deciphering runes, was now reduced to managing the preparations of Shepherd's Pie and baking biscuits. The only numbers he needed to calculate now were how many ounces of butter he would need, if he increased the pie recipe by half. The only contemplations of larger concepts — how long he would waste his life away in this sleepy village.

He gripped the windowsill tightly for a moment, then turned away, the tranquil street of Godric's Hollow burned across his retinas like an afterimage. Like a remainder of all he had lost, in addition to Mother. But family came first. Tragedy had befallen them, unasked after all, and both Father and Mother had already bowed before it. He would not pass the mantle on to anyone else. It was his duty; a fact he accepted, no matter how much it stung. There was not a single person out there who could ever say that Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore shied away from responsibility.

"Here you are," he said, depositing a steaming plate in front of Ariana. "Shepherd's Pie. It doesn't look too horrific, if I do say so myself."

"It looks like goat dung."

He looked up sharply, his eyes snapping to Aberforth, who appeared to be sulking by the door. He was leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed across his chest, glaring into the kitchen.

"Is that really quite necessary?" Albus said, trying to keep his voice calm as he seethed on the inside. "Forgive me, but my cooking abilities do pale slightly in comparison to some of my other — er — strengths. I assure you, however, that I am working on it. And that it tastes quite a bit better than it looks."

"That," Aberforth said, stepping further into the kitchen, "is not the point. You don't know how to cook. Fine. No one's complaining."

"You appear to be," Albus said.

Aberforth ignored him. "All I'm saying is that I can whip up a meal in minutes, which looks and tastes better than this" — he gestured wildly at Ariana's plate — "whatever this is. I've been cooking for Ariana for years — all the time you've been away at Hogwarts. I can take care of her just fine. Just go away and leave us be!"

"No," Albus said calmly. "That I cannot do. I am the head of this family now. You have Hogwarts to return to in the fall. And you will eat this, or you can go ahead and starve."

"Fine," Aberforth snapped, and he stormed out of the kitchen. Albus heard the front door slam moments later. Probably off to play with his precious goats. Well, he could just go ahead and have grain for dinner, Albus wasn't too fussed.

Ah, if this was what it was like to have offspring, then he would be perfectly happy to die childless and alone. Which, at this rate, was all he would be fit for. He sighed and turned to Ariana, who was staring at her plate in silence, her lip trembling.

"Go ahead," he told her gently. "It's all right, he'll be back. Just eat your dinner."

She picked up a spoon, twirling it in her hand, and let it fall back to the tabletop with a loud clatter.

"I don't like it when you fight," she whispered.

"I know," Albus said. "I'm sorry. I'll make it right with him later, all right? I promise."

She shook her head, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. "It's all my fault, isn't it? It's my fault Mother is gone. It's my fault you and Bear keep fighting all the time." The tears rolled down her cheeks, leaving blazing trails of magical energy in their wake.

"Ariana," he said quickly, "it's all right. Everything is fine — it's not your fault at all. Just take a deep breath and calm down, please — "

"Of course it's my fault," she wailed, her voice rising as the tears streamed down her face in earnest. "I killed her, didn't I? I KILLED HER, ALBUS!"

Her hair began to sparkle with bright flashes of magic, rising above her head as the energy coalesced around her, forming into wind, threatening to burst through the house.

"Ariana!" he said forcefully. "You must stop this. Stop this right now!"

"I can't, can I?" she howled, as the wind swept through the kitchen, blowing back his plait, knocking everything off-kilter. "What's the point anyway, Albus? I ruin everything. You'd be better off without me!"

The stack of plates beside the sink exploded, shards of porcelain shattering all over the kitchen. In one fluid motion, Albus withdrew his wand from its holster and twirled it through the air in a blur, casting a silent Shield Charm around them both. The shards bounced off the invisible bubble surrounding them, falling to the floor.

He reached out both arms and grabbed her shoulders, staring intently into her eyes. "Listen to me," he said, keeping his voice as calm and even as he could. "That is not true at all. It was not your fault, Ariana. Do you understand? It was not. Your. Fault. It was a horrible, horrible accident. And do not ever say that. There is no world that would be better off without you."

She stared at him, the magical energy slowly seeping out of her, her eyes red and swollen.

"Are you sure?" she gasped. "Am I really not a burden to you, Albus?"

"Of course you aren't," he said gently. "You are both my greatest treasure and the biggest piece of my heart, Ariana. You keep me honest." He enfolded her in his arms, letting her cry softly into his robes as her hair fell limply back in place. He gave a slight flick of his wand as Ariana cried herself into silence, and the accoutrements of the kitchen righted themselves, shards flying back together to become plates once more. The remainder of the Shepherd's Pie returned to its pan from where it had splattered onto the kitchen floor.

"See?" he said softly. "No harm done."

She didn't reply. Exhausted from the magic that kept her prisoner in all her waking hours, she had allowed herself to fall blissfully into sleep. Sighing, Albus picked her up and carried her upstairs, where he gently placed her upon her bed. Stepping back, he watched as a smile — more free than any she ever allowed herself to wear when awake — flitted across her face. He hoped that in her dreams, at least, she could find some peace, some escape from the cruelties of this life.

Later, he sat alone at the rough wooden kitchen table, lost in thought as the untouched remains of Shepherd's Pie grew cold beside him. He had spent a lot of time, lately, wondering what he could make of this life as the sun rose and set around him in rhythm; each new day almost identical, as mundane as the last. He could feel his inspiration fading with every passing moment, his curiosity all but winking out. He felt like he was in limbo, waiting for something to happen.

Waiting for change.

The sun was setting, painting the world red as it went. Albus watched its rays dancing across the gravestones as it trailed to the west. Where was it going? He contemplated what part of the world it would touch next on its journey. Iceland, perhaps. Greenland. And then the Americas. Would Elphias's Grand Tour take him so far? Was he out there even now, chasing the sun?

They had not quite planned it all. Oh yes, they were to start in Egypt. The tombs. The renowned alchemists. But after that, their plans had remained uncharted. Their intentions: to simply awaken and go. Unpredictability. The very spirit of adventure. He had found the thought quite terrifying, and yet exhilarating. But alas, it was not to be. Elphias was free to explore the world, to chase all its wonders, or, as this morning's letter implied, to be chased by chimaeras. He, however, would remain here, watching that same sun rise and fall as it swung around the earth, casting its light on Godric's Hollow if only for a moment.

Snapping out of his daydreams, he cast his eyes upon the dark granite of the tombstone once more. Kendra Dumbledore. Died, June 1st, 1899. He traced a hand along the carving of her name, cementing the shape of the date into the makeup of who he was.

"Why?" he whispered. "Oh, Mother, why?"

Why did you have to go and leave me with this burden?

The unspoken question weighed on him, heavy with guilt. Anchored by resentment. He yearned, once again, for the Resurrection Stone, if only to bring her back. To return to the broken path of his life, to pick up the pieces once more. These were words he could not say, could barely admit to himself, but he understood their truth. In his heart he could not, of course, lie. But there was nothing he could do now but keep walking. He had always believed in doing the right thing, after all, even if the easy thing, the selfish thing, often flitted across his mind. But to the world, he would let his actions define him, not the inner shadows which taught him shame.

He heard an abrupt rustle, the snapping of a twig. He whirled around, his eyes widening as his breath caught in his throat. He felt his heart speed up, the rapid rhythm echoing loudly in his ears.

Beautiful.

The word seemed to reverberate through his whole being. For a second, he nearly forgot how to breathe.

The boy was standing several graves away, glancing at him with something akin to curiosity. The fading sun lit up the golden curls of his hair, setting them aglow. They fell softly around his face, which was hard and full of sharp angles, and yet alight with a wild abandon that seemed to draw Albus in. The ghost of a smile was dancing on his lips, and his blue eyes, layered with all the shades between ocean and sky, seemed to twinkle with a swirl of mysteries.

It would become the fulcrum, this moment — the beginning of the end for everything that Albus did not realize he held dear until it was gone. He would look back on it later, wading through a sea of regret, and curse his naivety — his heart. But in that moment, as the sun set for the last time on the final month his mother had walked upon this earth, Albus Dumbledore felt only the faintest stirrings of yearning and anticipation building within his chest. If he wasn't too refined, too altogether scholarly, he might have called them butterflies. He did not start upon his walk into the dark right then and there, within the confines of the graveyard as the sun set around them both, but he was lost the moment he looked into Gellert Grindelwald's eyes.

"Long lost lover?"

Albus started, pulling sharply out of the journey he had unknowingly embarked upon within the other boy's eyes, the question catching him entirely unaware. His voice had an accent Albus couldn't quite place — the kind that hinted of a tongue that had caressed the linguistic spectrum.

"My mother," he said, bringing himself back to reality with a slight shake of his head. "She passed, nearly a month ago now."

"I'm sorry to hear it," the boy said in an even tone. He stepped slightly closer, pushing one of his golden curls behind his ear.

"Thank you," Albus said quietly, his world still thrown off-kilter.

The boy stepped closer still, only one row of graves between them now. The sun trailed further west, night creeping upon them in blue tendrils. Casting indigo shadows upon the stone homes of the dead. It should have been sobering, all of it. The surroundings. The responsibilities, waiting just out of sight.

So why, why couldn't he still his beating heart?

"Actually," the boy said, "I did know. I apologize."

Albus tilted his head slightly, his ponytail falling upon his shoulder. "You… know?"

"About your mother," the boy clarified, casually slipping his hands in his pockets. "My great-aunt has told me about it, I'm afraid. My aunt Bathilda. Bagshot. Terrible tragedy. Well, not Bathilda, she's all right, I suppose. I'm staying with her for the moment."

"Ah," Albus said, still staring. The joke seemed in rather poor taste in light of this revelation, but somehow he could not give it weight.

The boy sauntered closer, hovering on the edge of the graves between them, mere feet away.

"She sent me to find you, in fact," the boy said. "She reckons I am friendless and alone, and, apparently, you are 'in need of lads your own age to socialize with.' And, supposedly, we are both quite clever, so we'll get on rather well. She saw you standing here from her window, you see, so she sent me along to cheer you up, I believe. If you look round, you can probably see her observing her handiwork." He smirked. "Nearly a hundred, and her eyesight is as sharp as ever."

"Ah," Albus said again, glancing toward the village, where he could indeed make out the shadow of Bathilda in her upstairs window. If he squinted well enough, he could just see her wave. He turned back to the boy, her mysterious great-nephew. "So, is that why you're here? You've come to cheer me up?" The thought sent rather a thrill through his body, but he kept his tone light and unmoved.

The boy shrugged. "I have been meaning to explore this graveyard, you see. But meeting you is perhaps an unexpected bonus." He stuck out his hand, letting it hover over the row of graves between them. "Gellert. Grindelwald."

Albus reached out and clasped it, savoring the feel of his name. It rang true, like thunder, shaking up his world. He could feel his fingers tingling from the contact. The confluence of magical energies. This boy — Gellert — held it in droves.

"Albus Dumbledore," he said. "Though I do quite believe you already know."

Gellert smirked once more, holding on to his hand for just a moment more than necessary — or was that simply his imagination?

"I'm afraid so."

They let go, their fingers slipping apart. The darkness seeped from the shadows around them. Night was dawning.

"Well," Albus said, struck by a sudden, untamable desire to draw this boy closer, to hold on to him for as long as humanly possible. "Since it appears we are both friendless and alone, perhaps we should humor Bathilda. I imagine she would be rather pleased if we were to take tea and discuss our shared cleverness."

"I suppose it would be kind of me to humor my great-aunt so," Gellert agreed. "Especially since she is providing me houseroom. I have several things more to see before the sun entirely sets, but perhaps I could stop by yours later this evening, and we could learn all about each other."

"Certainly," Albus said.

Gellert smirked once more and nodded. "Until tonight then." And he turned around and slunk off into the looming darkness.

Albus drew in a breath, curbing his beating heart with force of will as he berated himself. How utterly foolish he was — standing before the gravestone of his recently departed mother, with his responsibilities weighing down on him like anchors — letting his heart run suddenly wild. But he could not tamp down his excitement. He watched Gellert's shadow pick his way among the graves. His eyes narrowed. And yet, his heart sped up.

A/N: I know, I'm supposed to be writing the TP sequel. And I am! :) But in the meantime, this is another short story written for the Platform 9 ¾ short story contest, and it shall have 4 chapters. The theme was Blooming Love, and I've decided it was the perfect excuse to finally write the Dumblewald I think I've always wanted to write. It won a few things, so I guess it's all right. Anyway, I had so much fun exploring Albus' character, and his relationships with Gellert, Ariana, and Aberforth. Thanks so much for reading! I hope you guys like it, and please, please leave a review if you can! :)

And huge thanks to Animalium, who is amazing and kept inspiring me to finish this! :)

Rina