He was dying, of that Albus was sure. His flesh wasn't the only thing withering, either. There were pieces of his mind that were deteriorating, memories that crumbled under their own weight.
As he rose his wand to his temple, Albus was comforted, at least for the moment, that some part of him would live on. A warmth trickled throughout his body, and he felt both the elation and despair of another memory being let go. He allowed it to dangle at the end of his wand for a moment, a wisp of a thought shimmering and dancing like a tendril of moonlight.
Albus set it free into the churning silver pot that had once been his inheritance as headmaster. Soon, it would be his legacy.
What else did he have to give? Some lessons had to be earned, some insights gained the hard way, so he had to choose carefully. Albus had already parted with the obvious suspects – flashes of Riddle and his rise to power, secrets that had been mumbled in the dark, coveted information that may one day save the future. Those had been easy to shed.
There was only one other era that he had kept to himself, and Albus lowered his wand as he weighed the options. It had been the rise of a first Dark Lord, of sorts, a man so powerful and beautiful by his own right. Men like that were always the most dangerous.
Albus had been young, as so many were when they make their most devastating transgressions. Too young, perhaps, to have taken notice of the warning signs along the way.
Gellert Grindelwald was always both charming and persuasive, two traits Albus had admired but not had the good fortune of possessing. His naivety, at that time, was matched only by Gellert's cold, calculated determination.
They would oftentimes speak of the future, in those eager, anxious tones known only to the young, but Albus realized all too late that their futures could never align. After all these years, would he recognize the warning signs, if he had to live it all again?
Gellert Grindelwald had proved to be an introduction to a lot of things. To good and evil, the sort that lurked in every heart and waged a never-ending war against one's soul. To friendship and camaraderie. To the sort of dreaming that made one's stomach flutter in anticipation of the days to come. To betrayal so deep that it cut through every fiber, every molecule of one's being. To a burning anger that filled one with white-hot rage that led to rash and often regretful decisions.
And to love. The sort that could never be voiced and would remain, forever, unrequited. But, nonetheless, a love just as true and real as any love had ever been.
That day, the worst day of his life, Albus had lost the three people he had ever deeply loved. Hard-earned lessons, indeed.
No, Albus decided, these memories were never meant for the pensieve, regardless of what might be gleaned from them. Some memories were born to live on forever, and some were meant to die with the heart that broke while forging them.
Disclaimer: Characters belong to J.K. Rowling.
Author's Note: This is a one-shot for the HPFC. Prompts: introduction, burning, Albus/Gellert