— Hast du mir weiter nichts zu sagen?
— Nein Herr! ich find es dort, wie immer, herzlich schlecht.
Die Menschen dauern mich in ihren Jammertagen,
Ich mag sogar die armen selbst nicht plagen.
Faust: Der Tragödie erster Teil by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Conversation of the Lord and Mephistopheles
June 13th, 1899
The weather was fairly warm. There was wind, an uncommonly piercing one for June, but otherwise, summer had truly started. Albus, however, remained oblivious to this shift. His gaze was glued to the ground. There used to be a flower bed at that spot; there still was one, except nothing had grown that year. The winter had been mild, but in March, there had been a series of unexpected blizzards, which had frozen the crops that had already started growing. The plants were dead. Just like Kendra Dumbledore, his mother.
When he had first heard the news, he had refused to believe it. Kendra Dumbledore had been nothing if not resilient and inflexible. Once set upon a decision, she would not budge no matter the discomfort it might entail for herself and her family. This trait had brought them a great deal of suffering, yet it had also testified to her inner strength. Her untimely death was unfathomable, as though a mere illusion designed to disrupt his plans, which—and the thought was mortifying—would not have been the first time. Despite being a talented and studious witch, she had never encouraged Albus's success. Perhaps it had been the fact that after her husband's imprisonment, she had found herself confined to the house, forced to care for Ariana and to perform the chores in the Muggle fashion to avoid spooking the frail girl. Perhaps it had been her frustration at seeing her own scholarly ambitions thwarted while he, Albus, had received all of his father's support. The truth remained that Kendra had become cold towards her firstborn, colder than a stranger. It was unspeakably selfish of him, but now that she had died, Albus could have sworn she had intended to foil him all along. All he had wanted was to spend one summer travelling with his friend Doge, only one; afterwards, he would find himself a situation and support his family. Everything had been ready—the money his father had set aside for the tour, the detailed plan, the research. And just when he had passed his exams, studying for many sleepless nights to make everyone who had believed in him proud, this had occurred instead. Well, he knew the reason why: because life was unjust.
On top of this, he was also being compelled to endure the false condolences of the villagers. And how he hated those! If there was one thing he could not stand, it was hypocrisy; and here were the people who had always gossiped and spread nasty rumours about his mother, though the moment she had died, they had suddenly started pretending they had been her closest companions. Sadly, her own frame of mind had not helped. Far from accepting assistance or even friendship, she had embraced the solitude that she loathed as if it had been a Shield Charm, refusing to make her neighbours' acquaintance, to attend events, to greet passers-by or to follow the most fundamental courtesies. It was almost a wonder that the members of Godric's Hollow had found it in themselves to like Albus, to his family's disapproval. This double frustration caused Albus to want to scream, or Curse someone, or both.
Aberforth had remained in the graveyard, even though the ceremony was over and the attendants had dispersed. Albus had not seen him cry in years, and he knew that once they returned home, he would not glimpse that sight again. Partly, it was for Ariana's sake, for their sister became upset at the smallest altercation. Partly, however, it was their mother's influence in him. Out of her three children, Kendra had been kindest to Aberforth, and from his side, he had been devoted to her to the point of sacrificing his other interests, be it his studies or his friends. And along with the hostile manners and the many chores he had inherited from her, he was also carrying a passionate prejudice towards Albus. Never did Aberforth lose an opportunity to remind his brother that all their misfortunes were somehow his fault, either because he, Albus, was never around, or because he happened to be busy with his studies, or because he could not be bothered to think of their family. As far as Aberforth was concerned, it had always been Albus, Albus, Albus.
It was simply too much.
His feelings were more conflicted when it came to the witch who lived in the house just across their own: Bathilda Bagshot. Known across the village as the greatest of gossipers, she appeared to be responsible for spreading the false rumour of Ariana being a Squib before they could have corrected her. Yet she possessed an undeniable kind side: she had been the one to send his paper to the scholarly journal, Transfiguration Today, and she had always encouraged him to develop his talents. It only made it worse when trying to reconcile different emotions tearing him apart. He didn't need any more complexity in his life, and at this instant, there was so much complexity to be going on with that—
But she appeared to be speaking to someone: two foreign-looking boys. Albus could clearly see one of them, the shorter one. The boy was of an average frame with sandy blond hair and a fair complexion. He was dressed in a Muggle sailor suit. In truth, there was nothing particularly special about him, and for a moment, Albus was quite puzzled at his own reaction to this stranger. But then he looked closely and understood.
The way the foreign boy was dressed was impeccable. Had Albus seen him somewhere else, he would have taken him for a Muggle. His sailor suit and hat were decorated with the stripes typical of the fabrics from Imperial Germany; even his hair had been cropped to match the style. Albus had learned as much as he could about Muggle history to recognize these details. He and Doge had thought it best not to take chances in exposing the wizarding world, not even involuntarily so, though Albus had always secretly wished he could dress in the most outrageous shades of purple and sparkling yellow and Charm his outfit to emit a red glow, simply to irk close-minded people. Either way, it was for the purpose of their trip that he and Doge had gone through all the available books on Muggles and their mannerisms. And this boy, whoever he was, seemed to be quite knowledgeable as well. What was he doing here? Albus was certain he had never seen him before, or he would have remembered.
Curiosity won over; carefully, Albus moved closer, gauging whether he could eavesdrop on the conversation. They were not speaking English, but from his new position, Albus could tell that the foreign boy was feeling nervous and out of place. Nobody, however, was paying him much attention. Madam Bagshot was speaking to the other boy.
That one was taller and of an athletic built, dressed like a wealthy gentleman. He too was blond, but Albus could not see his face; he could only sense that the conversation was not a pleasant one. The witch looked cautious, perhaps even disappointed, while the tall boy's shoulders seemed tense. At last, the group reached something of an agreement as Madam Bagshot sighed and nodded, and the tall boy motioned for the shorter one to come closer. A brief introduction followed between the witch and the boy in the sailor suit, the two of them having manifestly never met, even though they were both familiar with the tall boy.
Interesting.
For some reason, Albus felt a powerful urge to follow them. The funeral was over, his brother needed a moment alone, and Ariana was home, resting under the influence of Dreamless Sleep: the only way they could have left her alone for long enough to proceed with the ceremony. Quietly, he stole along the hedge, keeping his distance, hoping to stay unnoticed. Not a minute later, the tall boy turned around, as if sensing he was being watched. It was then that Albus first saw him: Gellert Grindelwald.
His gaze was alight with an inner vivacity one but rarely encountered in the others. His eyes were, in fact, so unlike the dull and deceitful eyes of the crones Albus had come to despise that he found himself taken aback. Nearly at once, the shorter boy turned around as well, and Madam Bagshot followed suit. Albus halted, suddenly feeling foolish in his impulsive pursuit and all too aware of his mourning clothes.
"Young Mr Dumbledore!" Bathilda called.
He was now obliged to approach them whether he wished to or not. He touched his hat.
"Madam Bagshot."
She took in his attire with an air of pity. "Ah, I see. I regret having missed the funeral, my dear boy. Had it not been for my family engagement, I would not have failed to pay my last respects to your excellent mother. A fine woman as ever I've met, upon my word. Such a tragedy! Please, once again, accept my sincere condolences."
"Thank you." His voice was clipped; this was the only time when his curtness could be interpreted as grief rather than rudeness. "I will pass your kind words onto my family. Please don't distress yourself on my account; I dare hope your family members enjoy their stay in Godric's Hollow."
This finally redirected her attention towards the tall boy in the gentleman's suit.
"Ah, yes. May I present my great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald? Gellert, dear, this is Albus Dumbledore."
Albus offered him his hand with a polite Pleased to meet you, wondering why Madam Bagshot was paying so little attention to the other boy.
"I am sorry we are forced to meet under such circumstances; please accept our condolences," the young man replied, keeping it short as if sensing Albus was in no mood for speeches.
"This is Dieter Heiderfeld," he then said, gesturing towards his companion. "Dieter attends Durmstrang with me; we've come to spend the summer holidays at Aunt Bathilda's. Dieter's English is not very good yet, I'm afraid, and spending this summer in England is a wonderful opportunity to practice."
At this, the other boy joined him in greeting Albus, who studied the new arrivals with some puzzlement. He had been unaware of Madam Bagshot's family connections. As far as everyone knew, she was a solitary spinster, though rich in acquaintances and with an entire network of connections under her belt. She often declared herself married to History, which was why no one ever called her Miss Bagshot.
By all accounts, Mr Grindelwald was not a year older than Albus himself, yet something about his confidence felt quite out of the ordinary. Perhaps it was his consideration—of which he possessed rather more than his inquisitive great-aunt, as his brief and polite answer had indicated.
It was not long before Madam Bagshot claimed attention once more.
"I was hoping to see young master Doge with you," she started, her eyes darting in all the directions across the street. "I know how much he cherishes history, and I have found just the thing for him."
Albus suppressed a sigh, knowing perfectly well the witch was mining for information.
"I'm afraid he has left for the continent, but he will be back before long. I will be writing to him one of these days, and I'll tell him of your kindness."
He turned towards the boy named Dieter, for whom he could not help but feel sympathy. Being ignored by his hostess minutes after their introduction could not be a reassuring start.
"Is this your first visit to England, Mr Heiderfeld?"
"Yes," the boy replied promptly. "Sehr… eet eez lovely here. Zank you."
"I am sure we will see more of each other, Mr Dumbledore," Gellert Grindelwald smoothly intervened. "Besides, Dieter will be delighted to get more opportunities for conversation. What do you think, Aunt Bathilda?"
"A splendid idea!" Mrs Bagshot simpered. "Would you do us the honour tomorrow, my dear boy? It's nothing fancy, only a quiet family dinner. Of course, your dear brother and sister would be most welcome to attend. I know how much is resting on your shoulders, and I wouldn't presume to intrude. A lady's company, however, is hardy suitable for two bright young men, and there is no one in Godric's Hollow whom I could recommend to them more highly than you. I promise you will not regret befriending my nephew."
The matter was delicate, and Albus felt slightly winded at the turn of these events. He was in deep mourning and bound by the etiquette to avoid entertainment for at least the next few months. Yet the prospect of spending his days in the tense atmosphere of his home, near his brother's resentment and his sister's unpredictable fragility, caused him to reconsider. Was one dinner such an offense after all?
Lost in contemplation, he looked into Gellert's eyes. Two young witches dressed in colourful shawls and flowered bonnets passed them on the pavement, their expressions undeniably appreciative as they glanced in the direction of the handsome foreign wizard.
Albus made his decision.
Foreword:
The tale of tragic love of Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald is often denied the opportunity to be told in its full glory, which is why the authors of this story have made it their goal to do so.
The idea itself has occurred to me a long time ago, but it felt as though it was never quite the time to write it before now, and it is, in fact, Tarpeia's merit that the story is being continued after all.
That being said, please keep an open mind when reading this story. Since the events take place in the Victorian era, many beliefs and mannerisms dominant in the wizarding world reflect those dominant in Muggle world of the time.
It is also important to mention that this story openly deals with a romance between two young men—keep that in mind if you are easily offended or if you fundamentally disagree with the claims of Albus Dumbledore being romantically interested in the Durmstrang wizard who would later become notoriously known.
It would be best to take this story as an independent novella set in the wizarding Victorian England and enjoy it for what it is—a forbidden love story.
On that note: happy reading!
P.S. Tarpeia's profile (who is the co-author of the story), can be freely found on this web site, if you are interested in somewhat darker content definitely check her out.