This story was written for Lokilette as a prize for winning a competition of mine :)
It was also written for the School of Prompts, for ¼ of the story must be set in Godric's Hollow.
Also written for the Greek Mythology Challenge, for the prompt: Prometheus - write about Albus Dumbledore.

Words: 2081

Thank you to Screaming Faeries for beta'ing this piece for me!

Room 27

As he was Walking through the long, damp corridor, Dumbledore began to question his own decision. He'd already put this visit off for years, but the Wizarding War raged in earnest, and men turned to him for the answers, now felt like the right time.

Or it had, before the smell of mould and decay pierced his nostrils; before the doors shut behind him with a resounding finality. There was no turning back anymore—he was past the point of no return, and he was terrified.

He'd been told they were heading to Room 27. Albus was scared. What scared him was not knowing who, or what he would face on the other side. What scared him was the stark knowledge that a part of him was still in love with the boy, despite the man being a stranger to him. What scared him was the years he'd let pass since the last time he saw him.

Albus was ninety-three years old, and the cold here infiltrated his bones. Grime lined the walls like they'd chosen it as a wallpaper, and the floor was near impossible to see in the dim light offered by sparse torches. This building that had been erected as a palace, as the centre of a global movement, and now was no more than a grandiose tomb.

And yet how fondly he remembered being eighteen, and irrevocably in love. He knew how keenly now how teenage boys never realise they're not invincible until it's too late.

The graveyard in Godric's Hollow had always been their favourite place. They had spent every morning they could on the hilly slope together, surrounded by miserable grey monuments and markers.

"Albus, it's time we talked logistically. We've done enough dreaming now. We need to begin work," a young boy with golden hair and an easy smile announced, turning to his companion.

"You're right, of course—as always," the auburn haired youth, with eyes too old and knowing for his years, replied.

"We need to build a place—a fortress—that we can work from. Somewhere safe and far away from the prying eyes of the British Ministry. I think we need to go back to my homeland."

Albus raised his eyebrows, looking concerned at his friend's suggestion. "That's a long way, Gellert," he replied, alerted by the comment. It was quite a suggestion to throw at a boy with a family he needed to think about. Albus was not sure how he ought to react.

"Albus, until people see the good we can do together, they will not trust us. We need to win their favour, and we need to do that from a safe distance. There really is no better place. I've made plans." Gellert pulled some parchment out of his pocket, handing it to Albus. "Here, look."

Albus analysed the drawings with a keen eye. "Are these prison cells?" he asked, focusing his eyes on the suspicious drawings, blueprints, it seemed, he'd never been shown before..

"Of course they are. Oh, come on, Albus—we've talked about this. No matter how much good we do, there are always going to be people in the world who simply don't like change. They will stand against us, and we will need to silence them," Gellert reasoned.

Albus sighed. "I know, I know." He attempted to hand the plans back to Gellert.

"No, keep them. Look at them properly. I want your opinions."

Albus hesitated. "I'd rather… I'd prefer it if you kept them. I'd rather my brother didn't find them," he explained, and Gellert nodded.

"Don't let him hold you back, Albus. You can do this with or without his support. He doesn't have half of your talent," Gellert continued his argument.

Albus allowed his friend's logic to sway him. Gellert was right—this fight was not Aberforth's, it was theirs, and Aberforth did not have to agree with them. The younger boy didn't want to understand their plans; he didn't even try.

As all of this danced in Albus' thoughts, he realised that he couldn't ignore the small part of his mind that wondered if these weren't reasons, but instead excuses he was trying to convince himself to believe in.

He looked to the boy beside him, his companion and partner, and the doubts washed away. This, the two of them, was what he believed in. Albus knew that if they did not believe in themselves, no one else would.

"Information is power, Albus. We need a place from which we can gather that information. This," he held up the plans. "This is that place. Your brother chooses to ignore the information in front of him, and in doing so, he gives away any power he once had over you. Remember that."

"Not long now," the guard announced in broken English, fingering his wand. Albus chanced a glance at the doors he was passing: a clean, stark 34 hung at an angle. He wrung his wizened hands together, his nerves on edge, and said nothing in response.

His ears were piqued by a distant sob—female, he initially thought, but the voice seemed to set off the other inmates. In cells all around him, shouts and cries, groans and wails rang loud and clear; the sounds of suffering and hopelessness. When they stopped outside of Room 27, Albus was not surprised to hear silence from behind the door.

The guard began work on the incantations on the door. Even without his wand, Gellert could still not be trusted—Albus remembered this. He sucked in a deep breath when the door finally opened.

"Half hour. I listen here," the guard announced, pushing him into the room unceremoniously.

Albus looked around. It wasn't much of a room. A small barred window let in the only light. A single bed, bolted to the floor, offered little comfort or warmth. A bucket let off a stench beside a small sink with just one tap. However, the floor was clean enough.

With nothing else to look at, he turned to the man in the middle of the room. His hair held more silver than it last had, but his frame was as tall and slender as it had ever been. There was less of a sparkle in his eyes than Albus remembered, but they were as keen as ever.

"How kind of you to join me in my meeting room," Gellert greeted him with derision, gesturing to the space around him.

"Gellert," Albus said by way of a greeting.

"Albus," the prisoner replied, with more familiarity than Albus thought he was comfortable with. "Apologies," he continued. "In my original plans, this room was much more inviting. The window was bigger, and there wasn't to be any plumbing. The staff would have been friendlier, too, and brought snacks and beverages while we talked. My own chambers would have been in the east wing." Gellert smiled as he talked, as if it hadn't been thirty years, as if he wasn't incarcerated.

"What are you doing?" Albus asked.

"Why are you here?" Gellert countered.

"I… I don't know."

"Maybe you came to feel better about yourself. You're Headmaster of Hogwarts now, I hear. I always said power suited you," Gellert told him.

"It doesn't. It never much suited you, either."

"I disagree."

Silence descended deafeningly between the pair for a while, and neither of them moved. Neither trusted the other enough to close the space between them, but neither of them wanted to back away.

"I never saw that, at the time," Albus admitted. "How much we disagreed over."

"Because we agreed over more issues," Gellert countered.

"Did we?" Albus asked. "I think we didn't. I think we used the same words to describe different dreams."

The tap dripped softly through the seconds.

"I think you came here because you're afraid."

"What do you think I'm afraid of?" Albus asked.

"Maybe you're afraid of me."

"No. Not anymore."

"Then you're afraid of yourself," Gellert told him.

"Possibly."

Gellert smiled, a knowing smile that seemed to cut right through Albus' facade. Albus turned away. "There's something on your mind," Gellert commented.

"There is. Tom Riddle, to be exact. They're all looking to me for answers, and I'm afraid I have none," Albus admitted.

Gellert moved first, stepping towards Albus and basking in the other man's honesty.

"Well, I know what I would do, but the new Albus wouldn't agree. Although, I suppose the

new Albus isn't that new anymore. Time is something quite different in here."

Albus ignored the last comment, knowing what Gellert was doing, playing the pity card to win favour. Well, Albus didn't want to play Gellert's games. Not today.

"I believe I know what you would do, too, and it's not an option for me. It wouldn't work

anyway, Gellert. Not with him," Albus replied.

"Why not?" Gellert frowned.

"Because he doesn't work that way. He works in much the same way you do, in fact. He works alone, and doesn't take well to allies. He enjoys the power," Albus replied.

Gellert nodded. "And power, to him, is dominance and strength. He sees power as an ultimate goal, as being the best at all he does, no?"

"Very much so," Albus replied with a sigh.

"Have you forgotten all I taught you, Albus?" Gellert asked. Albus said nothing, waiting for Gellert to elaborate. "Information is power, Albus. Killing a man is the easy part if you know what his weaknesses are. It's easy to be feared if you know when to attack, and who. It's easy to be scared of someone who knows too much about you. That's what made you my biggest adversary, Albus. That's how you brought me here, in the end. You knew me. And that's what you need to do again. Know him, Albus. Know him like you knew me. Know how he'll react to anything the world throws at him," Gellert finished.

Albus' eyebrows knitted together in confusion. "Why are you helping me?"

"Because it's what you came here for, is it not?" Gellert approached Albus as he spoke, stopping right in front of him. "But you already had all of the answers. You were just… afraid of admitting them. You were afraid of what the truth would do to you. You know how your heart can be drawn to the allure of darkness. You think it's your weakness, but it's not. I know you, Albus—I know you like I've always known you. But I confuse you now, do I not? You don't know me anymore. The tables haven't turned at all. I still have the power between you and I," Gellert finished.

"Then what is my weakness?" Albus asked.

Gellert didn't speak. He closed the small distance between them, placing his lips on Albus' softly. Albus responded immediately, his eyes flickering to a close; his heart palpitating at the contact. He leaned into the kiss, against his better judgement, and felt his old bones relax. Before Albus wished it, the kiss was broken, and in Gellert's place was only coldness as the other man stepped backwards.

"I'm your weakness, Albus. Me."

Albus looked away, ashamed, and felt the heat rise in his cheeks.

"But that's okay, isn't it?" Gellert grinned. "I'm locked up, hundreds of miles away from your comfy little castle. You aren't drawn to darkness or power, Albus; you're drawn to me. So you can go back and fight this little boy and be a good wizard with a smile on your face knowing you're okay. That's what you want to hear, isn't it? That's what you want to know."

"Gellert, stop," Albus said.

"Why?"

"Because I don't want to hear it! I don't want to know," Albus argued.

"Yes, you do. You just don't want me to know it," Gellert responded.

Albus knew it was true. He knew it somewhere between his heart and his head; it settled in his throat uncomfortably like a lump he couldn't swallow. The thought brought him no comfort. If information was power, Gellert had power over him in ways Albus could only guess at.

When the guard began to unlock the door behind him, Albus was silently relieved.

"I'll visit again," he told Gellert.

"Please don't," Gellert replied, with such finality that it cut Albus to the core. "You didn't come here today for my sake, Albus, but for your own. I'm not a freak show, Albus. This isn't a circus; it's not Coney Island. Leave and be grateful that you are not here with me."