Disclaimer: I do not claim ownership over Harry Potter, any cannon characters who may make an appearance or the Harry Potter universe. Any characters who are created in this story are strictly figments created for this story.

Notes: I have changed the date of the battle between Albus and Grindelwald and how it ended. This fanfic poses a lot of "What if" questions that will hopefully get you wondering as well. I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter One

Deadman's Gun

Year: 1899

"Albus, this way," he whispered, gesturing for his friend to follow as he slipped through the crack of the open gate. The swinging light of the grave keeper's lantern eased along the brick and mortar of the cobblestone walkway, threatening as he came closer to finding the two in the graveyard after hours. His footsteps clicked against the stones—a swaying, uneven walk. Albus swallowed and ducked through the gate, sliding it shut behind him as softly as he could manage.

"We shouldn't be here. We're going to get in trouble," Albus mumbled, attempting to duck behind a headstone beside his friend. The moon hid behind a thick nimbus of clouds, making it far too dark to see where he was going and he bumped into something as he took a step forward, stumbling back over his robes. His companion managed to catch a fistful of his shirt, saving him from falling on his rear into the cold snow.

"Lumos," Gellert mumbled, and his wand flushed with golden light. "Are you alright?" He released his hold of Albus to cup the palm of his hand around the glow of the light, shielding it from unfriendly eyes, and Albus nodded and straightened his clothing.

"Look at this place," he breathed, glancing up from behind the half moon glasses perched at the end of his nose at the plots of stones, poking out from under the snow like the chipped square teeth of a giant. In the distance, the dark outline of the crypt loomed over everything else.

"Come on," Gellert said. Hiding his wand beneath the folds of his robes so that it glowed just over his heart, he jogged over the thin layer of snow, patting off his shoes before making his way up the stone steps of the tomb. He pressed his shoulder against the carved granite door, but time had worn it shut and it didn't give way. "Give me a hand."

"We shouldn't be doing this," Albus murmured, but he put his shoulder up to the cold rock face and heaved it alongside him. With a groan, the stone crunched open far enough for them to slip inside. "Are you sure it's even in here?"

"Whoa, look at this," Gellert interrupted. He leaned towards the smooth glass of an oval mirror that lay settled on the far side of a wall beside a stone sarcophagus. It reflected the gleam of his wand as he ran his fingers gently down the carved frame. "Erised? That's a silly name…" he mumbled.

"You weren't even listening to me," Albus sighed, though he came to stand beside Gellert and paused. "Do you see that?"

"What?" Gellert turned, quickly, searching the dark pockets of the shadowed room for the source of his friend's alarm. But Albus wasn't staring at the rest of the musty little tomb—he was looking into the mirror. Gellert followed his gaze and stared into the mirror beside his friend, as fascinated by the strangeness of the image as Albus was.

"What do you see?" Albus asked as he turned to focus intently on fixing his robes. The silence crept in on them, broken only by the small disturbances of the creaking objects in the room and the minute sound of the settling dust. He had almost forgotten that he had asked his friend a question when Gellert finally spoke.

"I don't see anything," he said with a laugh, turning to grin at Albus. "Isn't that weird? What do you see?"

"O-oh! Me? …I'm holding a pair of wool socks," Albus replied, a sheepish grin spreading across his mouth. He glanced back towards the door, searching to see if their conversation had been overheard by the caretaker, masking the faint color creeping into his face with the movement.

"What?" Gellert scrunched his mouth, not quite understanding what he meant. Albus turned back, tugging up his pant leg enough to show the holes in his own socks.

"You can never have enough socks, right?" Gellert chuckled, and the laughter crinkled the edges of his blue eyes. He dropped an arm across Albus' shoulders, steering him back towards the door they had come through. By now the grave keeper had surely made his round and would be heading back soon. Besides, he hadn't seen what he had been searching for in the dusty little pocket of Godric's Hollow's graveyard.

"You're certainly right about that, Albus. Why do you have so many holes in your socks, anyways?" Gellert asked, a playful grin darkening the mischief in his blue eyes.

"You really don't see anything?" Albus replied, intent on ignoring his comment. Gellert glanced back at the mirror, pursing his mouth as though he didn't quite understand it himself.

"Nah, it's weird, huh?"

But you did see something, didn't you?

Year: 1901

The curse crackled as it bounced off of the stone corner, making strands of dark auburn hair stand out in its presence, reaching out to follow the glow of its wake like static electricity. It gouged a hole into the rock façade, sending small chips fluttering across Albus' robes and staining them with gray dust.

"Hiding, hiding! Always hiding, Albus!" crooned his enemy. The way his name fell from that man's mouth raised goose bumps on his arms and lifted the hairs on the back of his neck. Albus' eyes closed, slowly, and he breathed a shaky breath, filling his lungs to their capacity until he felt that they might burst with the pressure.

But it was nothing compared to the feeling squeezing his heart now.

"Only from you, Gellert," he breathed. "Always from you." The green light hissed as it bounced off of the far wall, leaving charred, smoking blots on the grey mortar and brick. The wails of the prisoners drifted down from the floors above and echoed along the tiny halls, bringing the prison alive with the ghostly sounds of their moaning.

The last ball of fiery light snarled past, singeing the corner of Albus' robe. The moment it passed clear of him, Albus snaked his hand across the rough surface of the stone, craning around to return fire. Gellert hissed, crying out in pain, and the sounds of the crossfire faded completely. No more—save for the whimpering of the prisoners of Nurmengard. The Elder Wand lay quiet in the hands of its wielder.

He risked peering around the corner and caught sight of the trailing royal blue cloak, which snagged and tugged in the cold island wind as Gellert staggered through the archway of the prison, his hand pressed to his shoulder. Albus slipped around the bend in the corridor and jogged after him. The man who had once been a friend to him paused at the edge of the island overlooking the rocky coast. The waves lashed against the shore just long enough to hide the jagged teeth of the cliff before slipping back to reveal them, like an animal peeling its lips back over its yellowed fangs.

"Gellert, please… You've lost," Albus called over the snarling sea.

"No," Gellert whispered, and the wind nearly stole his answer from his opponent's ears. He turned, jerking sharply as he faced Albus. His fingers splayed over the tear in his shoulder and blood leaked between them, pulsing over the web of his hand with every aching heartbeat. Still, he managed to clutch the Elder Wand in his grip, though the blood slipped down his forearm and into his palm, making his tenuous hold slippery. "No," he repeated. "I'm not weak! I'm not… I won't give up! Not to you—not to anyone!" His lips pulled back in a snarl that bore his white teeth, which mirrored the hatred in his blue eyes. The wind tugged at his blond curls, transforming a beautiful face into that of a savage animal.

"Gellert, that's not what I-"

"Shut up! You think you're better than me? Just because you graduated? Just because you're… you?" His voice raised in pitch and he jerked his hands wide to emphasize his words, spraying the grass with the red of his blood. "The Albus Dumbledore?"

"Gellert! It's not like that!"

"No one deserves to live in your goddamned shadow, Albus!" he snarled. "We did Arianna a favor!"

"Expelliarmus!" Albus shrieked. Gellert's eyes widened, but as he lifted the Elder Wand to defend himself it slid from his hand, too slick with his own blood to hold onto. The spell slammed into his chest, sending him lurching backwards with the force of it. He hit the ground hard and rolled, hovered at the edge of the cliff a moment before gravity won out and pulled him towards the rocky coast. The shock of what he had done lingered, rooting Albus to the spot before he broke from his reverie and rushed to the grassy cliff side. "Gellert!" He dropped his wand on the grass, falling to his knees as he edged forward and peered into the frothing white expanse of the ocean.

But his friend was nowhere to be seen.

"Gellert," he whispered, and crept back. His hand slapped against something hard and he curled his fingers around it, lifting it to his eyes. The Elder Wand nestled itself in the palm of his hand, still slick with the blood of its previous owner.

Year: 1914

"How such a simple gift can contain so many memories," he murmured. His fingers drifted along the indented markings on the pendant, the symbol of the Deathly Hallows and yet so much more for the ways that Grindelwald had altered it. He had once declared that he had carved his symbol on the Durmstrang walls—so proud was he of his achievements and yet…

Dumbledore closed his eyes and tried to remember how things had changed so suddenly, so quickly, so drastically. He traced the outline of the symbol one last time before slipping the pendant back into the folds of his robe and into his breast pocket.

A knock on the door startled his thoughts, sending them scattering as he peered over the rim of his half moon spectacles.

"Come in," he said gently, and the door creaked softly as a motley-looking lad peered through the crack.

"Professor," he began, turning his eyes down to the floor and shuffling uncomfortably. "If you have time…" Sanders petered out and stepped back, half-hiding himself behind the wall. He always seemed to struggle to ask for help.

"I always have time," Dumbledore replied, a smile crinkling the edges of his blue eyes as he gestured to a chair pressed up against the far wall. It jerked slightly, bent its wooden legs with a crackle, and walked itself obediently to the desk before falling still. Sanders looked abashed, but slunk in nevertheless and took a seat.

"It's just… I've been having trouble with this part of transfiguration," Sanders replied.

"Well, let's have a look," Albus replied, peering down at the parchment that the boy unfolded on the desk. His writing was scratchy, but different, and somehow it reminded him of Gellert's. Albus touched the pocket where the pendant rested, and could have sworn he felt it pulse with his touch.

Notes: I hope that you enjoyed Chapter One. Please read and review!