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Dearest Albus,
By now I'm sure your aware of the conquests I've made towards our goals. I understand that you disapprove of my methods, but I beg you, please see reason. I have acquired the Elder Wand, and with it, and you by my side, none can stop us. Even despite the powers I've gained, the ancient wards around Britain still stand from King Arthur's willing sacrifice. He rode into battle knowing he would die, and Merlin used that to defend the land that his king, the man he loved as a son, to form them. No force from outside Britain can take her, but it does not protect from within her. So I beg of you, aid me, as only you can, and we, the most powerful sorcerors seen since Merlin himself, can take our rightful place as the lords of this world.
Forever Yours,
Gellert
A much younger Albus Dumbledore, who would one day become one of the most powerful men politically, set the letter on the table and wiped at his eyes. As his lover had mentioned, he had indeed heard of the monstrosities that Grindelwald ordered. So many innocents dead, he had never wanted this. He wanted to protect them from what they couldn't understand, not to utterly destroy them with such inhumanity. Yet despite his moral qualms, he wanted to do as his friend asked, and to hand him Britain, to join him as they united and ruled the world.
His younger brother entered the kitchen, pretending not to notice Albus' predicament, as he began to cook breakfast. As the bread toasted and the bacon cooked, he began reading that morning's copy of the Daily Prophet. "France has fallen," he said grimly, looking over at his brother, who stiffened. "Grindelwald managed to plow through the line. He's turning his sights on Britain now."
"Why are you telling me this?" Albus whispered histerically. "What do you want me to do about it?"
"Damn you, Albus, damn you to hell. You claim to be the next Merlin, act like it, damnit. This isn't a game anymore. School's over, and people are dying out there. You have the power to do something, and yet you cower here. What's so damn terrifying that you won't even protect the people you claim to care so damn much about?"
"But what if I'm the one," Albus started. Aberforth swung his fist into his brother's nose. There was a satisfying crunch, and blood began to rush out.
"Godamnit, Albus. Don't you think I go through that every damn day too? What if it was my spell that killed Ariana? What if I betrayed her trust in me by murdering her. I still live, and if I could do something I would, Albus, but goddamnit, we both know I'm powerless compared to you and him. And you, your nothing more than a coward," Aberforth snapped, storming off, the burnt toast and bacon forgotten about.
Albus broke down and cried, but he quickly realized that his brother was right. With a flick of his wand, he vanished the burnt food, and stalked off, his eyes glowing with power that would one day cause nightmares to the man who fancied himself Lord Voldemort.
"You have a visitor, milord," one of the German purebloods announced. "A man in his forties with shocking blue eyes, and long dark hair."
Instantly, the dark lord's eyes lit up. "Show him in." He watched as the person he cared for most entered his throne room, but something was amiss. Tears openly rolled down his lover's face, and he knew.
"I'm sorry, Gellert, but it is for the Greater Good," Albus said softly, barely audible.
With a roar of fury, the dark lord drew the Deathstick and began casting.