AN: This story was rushed, so it isn't my best certainly. I wrote this for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition.
8. (quote) "Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one." Terry Pratchett
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"Albus!" came the high pitched squeal of a blonde haired girl who danced down the staircase in the beginnings of summer. An auburn haired boy was walking in the spotless house, trunk floating behind him despite restrictions on underage magic. It didn't make much of a difference after all, right? Those two Dumbledore boys, they bent the rules until they broke. He knew that. Even then. Especially the elder one. This fostered at least a small amount of respect for the sparkly-eyed boy.
That same auburn haired boy was the one sitting in the chair, leg crossed as he glanced around nervously before letting his face go blank with a serene smile. The other darker haired boy could see that his expression told a different story as to how he felt. He smirked as he saw a small spot on the other boy's cheek protrude from where his tongue pressed against it. If he looked closer, he could see that his lips were slightly chapped. He remembered. Even after staying with the dementors, he remembered how Albus would suck on muggle candies until his lips went raw when he was nervous.
He shouldn't have seen the little girl. Ariana Dumbledore was terribly ill according to popular rumor. From what he had seen, that wasn't at all the case. The auburn haired boy, Albus, was older than her. Quite handsome, too, noted a small voice in his head that he chose to ignore. It was from a purely objective point of view after all. He saw the boy after that as well. He quickly became obsessed with Albus, the little boy with too many names.
"Mass murder, torture…" he said, sounding nearly bored from where he sat behind the podium. His voice had a slightly amused hint to it. The boy with too many names met his eyes. Brown meeting blue. One was cold and the other had lost its normal twinkle. He winked causing the boy with too many names to glance away, cheeks bright pink.
"Do I really need to go on? We all know why I'm here," he drawled. He still managed to look haughty with dark rings under his eyes and protruding cheekbones. "My dear friend," he sneered. "Brought me here after I did some rather… controversial things."
"Stop telling her such silly stories, Albus Percival Wulfric Brain!" shrieked a thin blonde woman with cold blue eyes that matched the lively boy's almost exactly. Except his sparkled, he mused in interest. He had been telling animated tales of the three brothers and the Deathly Hallows as if he actually believed that they were real. That was silly of course...
He spoke up for the first time after a while of just watching, "I would not worry about your mother. Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one." It was a great compliment in his eyes. That he had bothered to pay attention should be considered a great compliment in his opinion. The boy turned to look at him slowly. The boy smiled, his whole face lighting up again. He felt a fluttering in his stomach at the sight.
"Oh, it isn't a story," he said, sounding almost amused. The fluttering quickly turned to annoyance.
"How do you plead?"
He rolled his eyes and said, his voice almost light, "Well, it depends I suppose. If you're asking me my opinion, I would say that I was innocent. It was for the greater good after all. However, I would plead guilty. In my best interest of course."
He drew out his words when he said the greater good and he could almost hear the boy with the smile that made his stomach flutter's breath hitch. It was all he could do to not laugh at him. In the large gold colored chair, he looked like a little boy trying to play adult. His hair wasn't neatly combed as it used to be. Was he stressed? Was the trial not important enough for him to even bother. It was though. He knew that deep down. Deep down, he knew it mattered to him as well. He was examining him absentmindedly and answering in monotone to meaningless questions.
Flicking his thumb to distract himself, he tuned the prosecutors out. He knew his verdict already after all. He only came here for the sentence. His interest perked when he heard, "Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, first witness."
The next summer, he saw the boy with twinkling eyes again. The first time he saw him that year, however, his eyes were anything but twinkling. He looked older, too, as if he had aged a decade instead of just a year. He had recently turned 18. He himself was only 19. Perhaps it wasn't fair to call him a mere boy. He certainly didn't look as if he were a boy from an objective point of view.
He heard a crash and the angry voice of the sandy haired boy shouting. "I can take care of her myself, Albus! We don't need you."
He heard the voice that usually sounded rather sing song shout, "I'm of age, and you aren't, Aberforth! You can't drop out of school just because it seems like the right thing to do. You have a habit of choosing precisely the wrong things for yourself if you don't recall. Don't be ridiculous!" His voice was rough and sound hoarse as if he had been crying or screaming or both.
He caught his eyes and brown met bloodshot blue eyes that lacked a sparkle.
"How do you know the defendant?"
Blue eyes darted around the crowd before settling on the prosecutor. "He was my friend in the beginning," he lied almost easily. It sounded like he almost believed it himself.
They had never really been friends. Not at all. Even he knew that.
"Your nose is crooked," he pointed out from where he leaned on the fence separating the two lawns. The boy with the crooked nose looked over at him and away from his piece of parchment. He blushed as ink spilled all over the neat letter he had been writing as he whipped around to look at the source of the voice.
"I'm a genius in everything but healing spells," he said, blinking and shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He looked away, the tinge to his cheeks slowly disappearing. His embarrassment seemed to vanish.
He tilted his head sideway as he looked at the boy and felt the familiar fluttering feeling fill his chest at the sound of his voice. He would never admit it, but he fell in love with Albus Dumbledore the day he called himself a genius.
He admired confidence after all. It was something he had plenty of.
"Yes, I did." The questioning of the boy with the crooked nose was over it seemed as he hastily rushed to his seat, arms wrapped around himself as if he were trying to hug himself and keep away the pain. Perhaps he was. It seemed like a silly enough thing for Albus to do.
His eyes wandered around the room at people who glared and glowered and cowered. He met one steely look. It was a young man who looked like the boy with the crooked nose, his brother in fact. He looked as if he wanted nothing more than to kill him on his own. He knew that's what he wanted though, so he didn't ponder it. A little girl with braids watched him curiously and images of a little girl with twinkling blue eyes like her eldest brother's falling to the ground with a green light. His eyes made their way back to the boy with the crooked nose though who was blinking away tears and trying to hide them with the sleeves of purple dress robes. His instincts told him to reach out to him and take his hand and tell him things would be all right. Of course he didn't however.
He was reading The Tales of Beedle and Bard aloud as Albus made notes in the margins of another copy of the book dutifully. Loopy handwriting was filling most of the book by now. A sandy haired boy opened the door and looked between them for a moment before snapping, "Stop with your silly stories and be here with your family, Albus."
The boy with the colorful hair looked abashed as the door slammed and shook the frames hanging from the walls but said to him shakily, "Don't worry. Stories of imagination tend to upset those without one."
"It isn't a story."
It was, indeed, not a story. If he tried to say that they were not stories, he knew he could earn a spot in the long term ward in the mental wing at St. Mungo's. He also knew that the wand he spent so long trying to procure was now in possession of the boy who left their cause. He wouldn't say anything about it of course. He was clever. Even he couldn't deny that.
"May the Wizengamot come to a conclusion, considering all information given to them." He watched as silencing charms went up and older wizards launched into conversation. The boy who left their cause just sat there idly, twiddling his thumbs and sucking on a sherbert lemon.
It was quite ironic in his opinion that the boy who was obsessed with sweets was constantly sucking on muggle sweets while discussing how they were going to take over the muggle world. It wasn't odd at all but note his sarcasm. He preferred sherbert lemons, and every Sunday he would bring his 'friend' a small candy-striped bag of the sugary things.
He watched his lips as he switched the candy to the other side of his mouth before carefully pressing his lips to the sugar coated chapped lips. Even he was surprised that the boy returned it.
"We, the Wizengamot of England, sentence Gellert Grindelwald to imprisonment for life. He will be sent to Bulgaria on December 24th."
He was chained up again roughly and yanked out of his seat and caught sight of eyes that normally twinkled and admitted to himself that it wasn't a passing fancy. He was in love with Albus Dumbledore, and he ruined it. He mouthed to him as they pushed him out of the building. 'I love you.'