June, 1899 - Grindelwald's garden in Godric's Hollow

It is early. The sun is still timid - barely awake - spilling light across a fresh sky in mild apricot streaks. Although the beginnings of birdsong indicate morning's onset, the street lamp across the road is still on. Its circle of light is growing more and more feeble as the world wakes up, but a faint greenish glow remains.

'Deluminos.'

The lamp's light flickers slightly, but survives. Albus frowns in frustration, but his fourth attempt yields a similar lack of results.

'Poor show, my friend,' Gellert laughs, with his signature easy confidence. 'I expected more of Hogwarts' golden student!'

Albus' expression of concentration breaks. He grins and raises his eyebrows. 'Well, perhaps I expected more of the infamous Durmstrang education.' He counters. 'You attend the most notorious school in Europe, famed for its Dark leanings and strict discipline - and you come away having invented Deluminos, of all spells.'

Gellert gasps in mock outrage. 'You agreed it could be very useful when trying to evade detection in a Muggle environment!' He protests.

'Oh, it would be, I'm sure. Especially if you transferred the verbal incantation to a physical signal, and used an everyday Muggle object to direct it. But, Gellert, you must admit it's a rather meagre achievement for a genius - especially one who's just left the school which teaches how to master the complexities of the Dark Arts.'

'We'll leave the complexities of the Dark Arts until you've defeated the formidable Muggle street light.' Gellert laughs lightly. Then he lowers his voice. His dark blue eyes glisten conspiratorially. Captivating. 'Besides, I have come up with much bigger plans.'

Albus leans forward, intrigued. Before this week, he had seemed doomed to a life in Godric's Hollow, cut off from following any of his ambitions - and from anyone of his intellect. All his doors reopened when Gellert arrived in Godric's Hollow. But his neighbour does not merely engage him as an academic. Every minute with him is exciting, electric.

'There's one issue, though.' Gellert says, and Albus blinks to attention.

'What would that be?' He frowns.

'Well, to help me with my plans, I'd need someone who can actually perform a spell I invented when I was fifteen...and apparently, that isn't you.'

Albus narrows his eyes and smiles, flicking his wand behind his back. A shower of twigs and leaves lands on Gellert's golden head.

'I'm rather good at non-verbal Summoning Charms, though.' Albus says, in tones of great satisfaction, as his friend shakes himself free and lunges for his wand. Within a minute, both are laughing.

As Albus sits with his friend in the slowly warming air, there is something deeper than amusement in his smile.

August 1899 - Grindelwald's house in Godric's Hollow

'Are you listening to me, Albus?' Gellert is irritated. The tension in his voice betrays it. He's sounded this way quite a lot, of late - the rapid acceleration of their scheme has clearly come at the cost of his once-merry temperament. The midday heat is searing, turning their makeshift office into a furnace, which surely isn't helping; Albus wishes they were outside, but knows better than to ask. They must concentrate on their plans.

'Yes. Of course.' Perhaps lying to a skilled Legilimens is an unwise decision. Although, Albus reasons, he is not quite lying - he's been following Gellert's words, vaguely, at least. Though he has, admittedly, devoted more attention to looking than listening. Gellert's eyes have become shadowed, he's noticed, his hair unkempt.

'Be sure you mean that, Albus, because I have extremely important news.' Gellert clears his throat and fixes Albus with an intense gaze. 'I may have a lead on the Stone.'

Albus tenses sharply. 'You think you've found it?'

'If I'm correct, it could be ours within the fortnight!'

Albus drops his quill and stands up abruptly. 'That's wonderful, Gellert!' He exclaims, turning to his friend in jubilation. 'My parents can be back in two weeks' time - I'll be free to travel with you!'

'Well.' Gellert returns the smile, but there is more than a touch of impatience on his face. 'Yes. But then we must think of its broader applications.'

Albus nods intently, thinking quickly. 'Agreed. It'll be revolutionary - to think, they always said there was no spell that could bring back the dead! This will be the single greatest asset to our cause...who wouldn't be convinced by the power of resurrection?'

He expects to his own intense excitement reflected in his friend's face, but Gellert avoids his eyes. 'And... the Statute's advocates might not be equipped to deal with an army of Inferi.'

Albus falls silent. Should he be shocked? The image of animated corpses is unpleasant to say the least - it is certainly not what he would like to represent their mission, their great mission of hope. 'But Gellert,' he begins, cautiously. 'Why should we need Inferi? Surely our cause is strong enough to attract the living to fight for us?'

For someone so intensely convinced by his cause, Gellert can be surprisingly pragmatic. 'Indeed it is; you don't need me to tell you that, Albus. But people can be short-sighted...foolish. They don't always know when something is for the greater good. They might take a little...persuading.'

In the pit of his stomach, Albus is sure there is something wrong. Inferi are an instrument of Dark Magic... but then, he reasons, sometimes sacrifices must be made to truly make the world a better place in the long run. Gellert knows what he's doing, doesn't he? Albus looks over at his friend; already, he's writing again, his quill moving across the page at amazing speed. His hair is unruly, falling to his shoulders in waves he has been too distracted to tame. The dark blue eyes are trained on his heavily scrawled-on parchment, in a face that's focused, determined.

Albus can trust him. He can.

'Yes. Yes, of course you're right.'

1945 - a Muggle street in London

Once again, the Elder Wand has changed hands. Its loyalties, as always, are fickle.

Albus turns it over and over in his long fingers. The wand is his, that is absolutely undisputable; it was a long and epic duel, perhaps the most magnificent to ever grace wizardkind, and he is the victor. Grindelwald is defeated, his reign of terror over. But still, the Wand's weight feels alien in Albus' hand. Perhaps because of the power he knows it wields.

Albus now regards power a little like he does fire: beautiful, enticing, from afar - and exceedingly dangerous when allowed to grow untamed. He learnt more from one summer with Grindelwald than seven years at one of the world's finest magical schools. Albus smiles, but there is a trace of bitterness in it. The lesson has been expensive. It has cost his sister's life, and his own self-respect.

But he can gain the latter back, perhaps. He can teach - an unthreatening talent - and pass on his lessons to his students so that they will not make his mistakes - or those of Grindelwald. The Elder Wand finally has a master who is not infatuated with it, but unnerved by it. He will use it well.

Albus wishes he did not remember Gellert's seventeen-year-old face quite so clearly.

Time to leave, he decides; time to return to Hogwarts, where the chatter and chaos of a castle full of young wizards will drown out any thoughts of that kind. Or so he tries to tell himself.

No Muggle can see him Apparate; the street must be dark. Albus eyes the streetlight above him with something like regret. Holding the Elder Wand as if it were made of glass, Albus aims, and quietly whispers 'Deluminos.'

The streetlight flickers once, and goes out.