Hey! ok so I'm really, really, really nervous about posting this so reviews would be really helpful thanks :) Hope you enjoy!
disclaimer: I am definitely not JK Rowling, honestly, I'm not.
Albus had always excelled himself; had always pined for a deeper understanding. He translated runes, he unravelled cryptic enigmas and he read between, around and beyond every book. It excited him, the quest for knowledge. Enthralled by the precise and fascinating science of magic he poured over infinite volumes long into the early hours. Always searching for something more, something that hadn't been found yet.
By the time he was fifteen, Albus was leagues ahead of all his classmates and was being handed awards from an endless line of elderly scholars. Each one would give him a hearty handshake and state the same inevitability, "young man, you will be great."
And so he would, in time.
However, once he finished Hogwarts, Albus did not find himself travelling towards his brilliant future as he had planned, but instead trapped in his delightfully dull home village. Most nights he buried himself into his studies, knowing it was the only outlet for his detained mind. Tethered to Godric's Hollow by a promise made to a dying witch.
One breezy afternoon Albus had been finishing a letter to Elphias, his long auburn hair unbrushed and tucked behind his ears; Aberforth was in the garden with Ariana, doing a much better at looking after her than he had ever tried to, when there was a sharp knock at the door. Sighing, Albus ended the letter with a flourish and went downstairs to answer it.
Outside, on the very top step looking impatient was the Dumbledore's old neighbour Bathilda Bagshot.
"Ah Bathilda, how lovely to see you," Albus smiled. He had always found her to be good company; the scores of scandalous tales she knew made up for her loud, blunt and often rude nature.
"That's Ms Bagshot to you, young man," she snapped back. "No, I won't be staying today, - not that you offered. - I am only here to introduce you to my great nephew, who since he has arrived, has done nothing but mope about my house!"
She shot a glare backwards, to a young man Albus had only just noticed. He was standing at the bottom of the garden path, leaning against the rusty gate. A rather brilliant mop of blonde hair fell to just above his shoulders. His hands tucked into the pockets of the light grey cloak which hung quite elegantly over his thin frame.
"Since you are both the same age," she continued unabashed, before Albus could respond, "I have decided that you two will get along. It will do him good to be out the house. Very bright young man so they tell me, not that he has said anything to me!"
Bathilda leaned in closer to Albus, lowering her voice, "Although he is a bit odd if you ask me - well he is German." She nodded her head decisively as if the latter statement explained everything.
At this the young man looked up for the first time, caught Albus's eye and grinned.
"Right, well, I'll be off," Bathilda concluded loudly, "I'm due round at Mrs. Wilkins's house for tea. She's been in a right state recently, Mr Wilkins has been 'working late' at the ministry all week!" She chortled and disapparated with a loud 'pop'.
Slightly bemused, Albus adjusted his purple robe and smiled at the blond wizard who had started to make his way up the path.
"She did not even tell you my name," the boy smiled, a distinct German accent lacing his words.
"Yes, well that's Bathilda," chuckled Albus.
The other boy had reached the top step now and extended his hand to Albus, "Gellert. Gellert Grindelwald."
"I'm Albus Dumbledore," he shook his hand, "would you like to come inside?"
As usual Bathilda was right; the two boys did get along.
For the next four hours they talked and joked as if they had known each other for years. Albus had never known someone to be so like him, so clever and sharp. It was not long until Albus realised their connection; he and Gellert were equals. Before, he had poured his intellect into papers and prizes because it was the only outlet for his thoughts. Now there was somebody in front of him who could converse directly with everything he said, offering criticism and opinions. Albus was intrigued by Gellert. The boy seemed to exude boundless energy in everything he did. He laughed merrily to the stories he told and listened intently to Albus's theories, eyes wide with interest.
That was another thing. His eyes.
They were grey. Not a cold, dark grey, but bright and gleaming. Like wandlight. They almost seemed to change colour depending on the light in the room, always glinting with excitement and mischief.
It was already dark outside when Gellert began to bring up of his own theories. But these theories were not the revisions on transfiguration methods which Albus had busied himself with. These were radical politcal ideas which conflicted with laws set in place over two hundred years ago. He wanted change, revolution. Albus sat rapt as he spoke with a harsh enthusiasm, his eyes gleaming. He had big plans, and he too, would be great.
"Then why, of all places, have you come to Godric's Hollow?" Albus asked, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. The dreadfully quaint little village was hardly the foundation of a political uprising.
The blonde wizard looked up at him and said, in a strange, restricted tone; "Do you know where the cemetery is?"
Albus barely said yes before Gellert had sprung up, grabbed his wrist and pulled him out of the house into the chilly summer evening. It would have been quicker to apparate, of course, but Albus was yanked down the street with such an urgent determination that he dared not interject. Also, he did not mind the hand that was still wrapped tightly around his wrist.
When they reached the cemetery, Gellert immediately bounded away to read the names of the tombstones. He darted from grave to grave, his wand alight. Albus followed him up an aisle, pausing when he came to a stone that still looked painfully new next to its moss-covered and crumbling neighbours. An icy cold fist hit him in the chest as he read the name which was carved into the white marble: Here lies Kendra Dumbledore.
He heard a shout from the far end of the cemetery, and tore himself away from his mother's grave, attempting to blink back the tears which were stinging his eyes. Albus walked in the direction of the voice and found Gellert crouched in front of an ancient tombstone, he looked positively ecstatic.
"It's here!" He cried, "It's here and it's real. I knew it!"
Gellert grabbed Albus's arm and pulled him down to the stone, pointing feverishly at the corroded engraving.
"Look, look. Right there!" He indicated a strange triangular rune which was carved just above the name of the grave's occupier. "You see that sign? That's it!"
"I'm sorry, but what is it?" The sign looked like some sort of ancient rune, but not one he'd ever come across.
Gellert stood up straight and drew out the triangular sign with his wand. Flaming red lines sparked from the tip and hung in the air before him. First he drew a straight vertical line, then he drew a circle at the base of the line, and then he enclosed the two in a triangle. The sign blazed in the dark, casting a flickering orange glow onto his face. He looked at Albus, his eyes burning as intensely as the sign, glinting briefly with what would only be described as madness.
"This is the sign of the Deathly Hallows."
And so, in that cold cemetery, his face illuminated by the still burning sign, Gellert Grindelwald told Albus Dumbledore the legend of the Deathly Hallows. The unbeatable wand, the stone that brought back the dead, the infallible cloak of invisibility. The Elder wand was the most sought; its path splattered across Wizarding History because so many craved its power. However the other two were but forgotten as so few knew their true meaning. But together, together they would make a Master of Death.
Albus was captivated by it. It was so brilliant, the three most powerful objects to ever exist were sitting in the pages in a children's book. It was preposterous to assume that they were real, but they were. And as the slight young man with the wandlight eyes pulled him most willingly into the quest and the revolution he felt, for the first time since leaving school that he would indeed be great.
The next three weeks were spent almost solely in each other's company. Some days they would spend all day and most of the night, searching tirelessly and desperately for any clues towards the Hallows, both alive with the same determined passion to obtain them. Other days they discussed their plans after they had the Hallows, when they would be so powerful. They were caught up in their own world, filled with arrogance and the type of youthfulness that seems that it will last forever.
Which brought them to one particular afternoon; they were in the dusty spare room of Bathilda's house which Gellert was staying in. Books, papers, plans and notes were piled in every inch of the small room. The desk and chairs had long since been covered in piles of parchment and heavy, leather-bound books and so they had been forced to sit on the small bed which was pushed against the wall. It was warm outside and neither of them had any desire for a seriously structured day.
"There is one thing I cannot understand," said Gellert, his voice clear and smooth despite the thick accent.
"And what would that be?"
"Why on earth do they continue to make those 'Every Flavour Beans' why they are so unbelievably foul?"
Albus chuckled, "well, I believe children are drawn to the unpredictability of not knowing exactly how unbelievably foul the experience will be."
Gellert laughed loudly. "You have a way with words, Albus" he smiled, "it is very admirable."
Albus had his long red hair tied back at the base of his neck, and was very happily watching Gellert, who was absentmindedly levitating feathers above the pair. Sunlight poured in from the window bringing out sparks of gold in Gellert's thick hair and making his eyes seem lighter than usual. A comfortable silence hung in the room as a light breeze rustled in the English apple trees outside. Without thinking too much, Albus leant forwards, pushed his fingers through Gellert's hair and kissed him.
Despite the stillness and serenity of the scene, as Albus pushed his lips against the other boy's, his heart pounded as if it would break out of his chest, and his head spun.
He pulled away to see that Gellert's eyes were wide open. He felt a little jolt as they pierced him. They had the same look of blazing intensity that Albus saw whenever they talked about the Hallows, except now the pupils were blown wide.
"One day," said Gellert in a harsh whisper, still staring directly at Albus, "we will rule the world."
Albus swallowed and looked down, unable to hold eye contact. His heart was still racing and his breath slightly shallow. The feathers Gellert had been levitating slowly floated down onto the bed.
Gellert whispered again, but softer this time:
"For the Greater Good."
And then, in that one brilliant and shining moment, drunk on love and invincible youth, Albus glanced up again to meet the other boy's intense gaze, pushed aside all other thoughts and replied:
"For the Greater Good."