Albus was completely infatuated, and it showed. His brother would send him cautious glares whenever he laughed a little too long, or smiled a little too bright. His little sister will giggle when he straightened his glasses after he received certain letters, and checked his reflection quickly in the cracked mirror on the left side of the front door.
Yes, Albus Dumbledore was maybe-kind-of in love, and it didn't matter that Aberforth didn't approve, or that Ariana would shoot him teasing smiles after an afternoon spent with his interest. No, this was love, and wasn't it what life was about?
It was quite exciting, really, to be in love, to feel such affection for a person outside of family. Albus had spent years in his childhood contemplating about it, wondering if he was ever to feel the way his parents felt for each other once. Wondering if it was going to last his whole life, wondering about the happiness and power it will bring, pondering over fate and destiny and whatnot.
He was sure Gellert was certainly the one.
Albus ran a hand through his auburn hair nervously, fidgeting in his seat. His Transfiguration textbook laid in front of him, flipped to page 367, but he paid it no mind. What he was doing, reading over things he already knew like the back of his hand(Or the color of Gellert's eyes.), was more proof on how distracted he was.
In his defense, it was for good reason. Gellert was coming that day, and they were to pour over the hallows again. Unconsciously, Albus grinned giddily, like a little school girl fawning over some crush. He ignored the annoyed look Aberforth shot from the other side of the room.
What did he know about love anyways? Aberforth couldn't keep anyone for more than a week.
Twiddling with his wand, Albus smoothly flipped the book close and pushed it to the side of his rickety wooden desk. He peeked inconspicuously at the slender leather spine, hidden behind trinkets and Hogwart's books and other things, carefully out of Aberforth's sight. His brother had never supported the fact that Albus was delving into "fake tales that's wasting your time", but Albus knew better. He and Gellert were getting onto something, and Albus knew for sure that a life-changing event was going to come out of it.
He rested his cheek onto his hand and stared out the window, thoughts clouded with a certain German boy and the Tales of Beedle the Bard that weren't myths and children's stories after all, but real life happenings that had occurred. They were going to change the world for the better with it, they were going to go down in history.
They were going to do it together.
Three sharp knocks resounded around the room, and Albus immediately shot up so quickly that his chair fell. Blushing, he hastily righted it and discretely slipped the hidden book into his shirt, carefully picking up other books needed for his and Gellert's research. Aberforth still followed him with suspicious eyes, but Albus barely noticed, positively glowing.
It was funny, really, he thought. After all this time knowing Gellert Grindelwald, the boy could still drive Albus into a frenzy.
He pulled open the door and beamed at the boy who stood across from him. Gellert was looking as fine as ever, his fine hair framing his face like a golden halo, clear blue eyes as bright as the sky on a sunny day, aristocratic German features twisted into a smile at Albus.
At Albus!
Gellert pulled Albus into a hug, and he smelled fresh and nice and tangy, like a lemon. The embrace ends almost too soon, but is replaced with an equally warm and welcoming expression as Albus shows him the books, and closes the door behind him.
And they walk away, towards the spot they always go to. Together.
And Merlin, Albus is so in love.
The battle had left its mark, dust and smoke polluting the air. Every breath he takes feels like a burden, and he's rasping and gasping, his lungs praying for the cool clean air that had surrounded him before.
But it doesn't hurt. Not really.
Albus stumbles. He's bleeding, the right side of his torso blazing like someone had lit a fire next to it, and he supposes the description is accurate. His glasses are fogged up, but a quick spell fixes it.
But it doesn't matter. Not really.
His chest aches, yet Albus is sure that no spells had hit him there. It feels as if his heart had been ripped out, leaving a gaping, empty hole in which it had pumped in before. The pain is excruciating, so much more than the fire at his side or the gash on his forehead or the cut on his hand that stung and throbbed under the white-grip of his wand. In a normal situation, he would've taken a pain potion.
But it wasn't what he needed. Not really.
It feels as if he's watching somebody else, as if he's in a dream. His legs feel like clouds, and his brain is muddy and disconcerted. But Albus limps forward, hands shaking, legs shaking, his whole body shaking, even as he feels numb and dead and...and...
It's almost like a nightmare. And the subject of it is lying just a few feet away from him, chest shuttering as it tried to take in air that was leaving fast.
He walks up and stares down, with eyes of glass. This was what he had been preparing for, what he had been working towards for the past years. This was what his brother wanted of him, what was supposed to make him feel some kind of vindication for his sister's death.
And yet, he didn't. He didn't feel anything.
The body lays on the ground in front of him. He looks the same, Albus thinks, lips trembling. Same golden blond hair, like a halo around his face, though the halo had turned into a cruel reminder of what ifs during the last annum. The blue eyes are opened, glazed and delirious, and it feels as if life was laughing at him, telling him to look, look at what you have done!
And Albus sobs uncontrollably after the boy, the man, stops breathing and stares at nowhere, because Albus is lost to him, as he was when the man had first accused him of betraying him.
He still remembers it, the hate and hurt in the clear blue eyes, replacing the fondness and love that had disappeared a long while ago.
He feels weak and so so empty because he's the wizarding world's savior, but his own downfall. His legs finally give out underneath him, and Albus buries his head into Gellert's dark robes and apologizes and apologizes and apologizes.
He could finally rest. He could finally rest, but why did it feel as if the sky had been dropped on top of him?
Albus Dumbledore was in love, was in love with the blonde German boy who laughed like an angel and plowed on in determination for everything he believed in. He was in love with the boy who was so intelligent and kind and clever and had seemed so right but had been so wrong. He was in love with the boy who spent entire afternoons, sometimes entire days, with the auburn haired boy who would turn love struck eyes at him in return.
And now...now, one was dead, and the other was the killer.
And he smelled like fresh lemons.
But he didn't. Not really.