"When I was a child, I spoke like a child, I thought like a child, I reasoned like a child. When I became a man, I gave up childish ways." Ecclesiastes
She had the same color eyes as Albus, easier to see now they were so wide, gone glossy and blank. Her body was stiff, arms out at an awkward angle. Her pale hands were still, fingers splayed out as though she'd tried to snatch back the destruction she'd released, or maybe in a failed attempt at stopping the spell that had felled her.
The only sounds in the room were that of their harsh, heavy breathing, the blood rushing through Gellert's ears, and the incongruently normal noises that drifted in from the outside. Birdsong chirped sweetly in through the window, a nest of them in one of the trees. The breeze blew softly in through the open shutters, brushing a stray curl out of her face. Her nose slanted a little to the left and turned up pertly at the end, not like Albus's at all. Her lashes were long, black; her parted lips gone crimson from the curse that had hit her.
With the breeze came hints of freshly-cut grass and honeysuckle. With this intrusion, Gellert was finally able to tear his gaze away from (Ariana) the body to look at Aberforth. He was still shaking from the aftereffects of Gellert's curse and the grief and horror hiding deep in his eyes. Gellert found he couldn't make himself look at Albus, to see if the creeping darkness in Aberforth's eyes was a rising ocean in Albus's, or if the rage and panic still held fast.
--
Albus had only just turned eighteen when Gellert met him, early summer and still-cool nights. Gellert had been expelled the month previous and was already determined to take advantage of the freedom this afforded him. He stopped finally in Godric's Hollow after a period of aimless wandering, having unexpectedly found a sense of direction and purpose from a bed-side story, of all places. His great aunt Bathilda was more than willing to welcome her only great-nephew, providing him the starting point from which he could leap into his search.
He arrived late, sun long since set, intending to stay only the night. He thought he would quickly find the information he needed and move on. The church his research pointed to was only a ten-minute stroll from his great aunt's. He paused outside the fence, anticipating an hour or so of wandering from stone to stone, attempting to match names to those scratched down on the torn memo sheet resting in his pocket. First, he cast a quick series of spells on himself designed to negate the effects of any illusions or distracting charms. He didn't truly expect there to be much, if any, of such spells or protections in the area outside the general charms that kept Muggles away from certain places, but he was taking no chances of someone having laid precautions against those on a quest for the Hallows.
At first, there were no differences readily apparent and, nodding firmly to himself, he strode forward.
It was thus that he found himself startled and intrigued by a sudden flurry of light in the eastern sky and a sound like a barrage of canons firing at once. There was a short silence; even the chirring and chirping of the insects stopped. After a moment, they started back up as though nothing had happened, though a new voice was audible—low, faint, murmuring. He turned from the church and its gravestones to follow the steady chants, refrains and revisions, and the occasional lights that flashed across the sky beside one house much like the others in the community, a charm keeping the nearby Muggles from doing anything more than the occasional glance and murmur about shooting stars.
No witches or wizards had yet moved from their homes, opened their doors to demand explanation for the disturbance. Gellert resisted the urge to veer off from a set of bushes leading into the garden, see if maybe he had left the door unlocked, the charms to his house unfinished—he didn't even own a house. Meanwhile, the community at large, magical and mundane alike, still failed to make any sort of uproar over the lights and the ragged voice trying again, again, breaking at least five different laws with magical experimentation nearly in plain view, just a quick peek between the branches and leaves. It was as though no one had even noticed.
Gellert was enchanted.
"You might want to check that the time turner's not broken before you try modifying it."
An older boy looked up, his piercing blue eyes narrowed and not a little bit angry at the intrusion. "That would be why I'm trying to fix it," he replied, voice just this side of haughty.
"Ah," said Gellert. "Looked a little to me like you were trying to make it more powerful."
"Why waste the opportunity?" The boy's face was smooth and shadowed in the uncertain light of the fizzing glass and sand and the distant glitter of stars.
"Why indeed?" asked Gellert, moving closer as he drew his wand out, fascinated in spite of himself. "If it's just power you're going for you could try Morgan's ninth—"
"Too powerful; you'd end up in an ice age or explode. I was thinking more along the lines of Patterman's—"
"That idiot?" asked Gellert with some measure of incredulity. "The one who turned himself into a frog?"
"Toad," the boy replied, "and that was another field entirely, not to mention if you did a simple variation on—"
It was hours and several pet projects started and discarded later until the two remembered the social niceties of exchanging names. The stars had faded and pink tinged the corners of the sky before the boy peered up from their latest trinket, startled and with a distinctly guilty cast to his eyes as he looked from the rapidly lightening blue directly above them to the house's back door. The shine in his eyes that Gellert was quickly coming to associate with magical theory, quick, sharp, brilliant discussion, and tinkering of the magical and mechanical kind dimmed, the boy's fiery spirit and enthusiasm dissipating, stealing away with the night. "I should, I have to be getting back," he said.
"But the door's just over there," said Gellert, waving at the house mere feet away.
"I have to go," said the boy, hanging back, feet moving with greatest reluctance, further scuffing up his boots in the grass and dirt at their feet. He walked slowly to the door, rested his hand carefully on the handle. He turned back to Gellert at the same time as he pushed the door open. "I—" he paused. "My name is Albus. Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore."
He grinned, corners of his eyes crinkling. "Just Albus will do." He walked through the door and into the darkness beyond before Gellert could pry more information out of him, or even return the favor.
Running a hand through his tousled hair, Gellert couldn't help but smile to himself. It seemed there was more of interest in this town than he had previously suspected. He left the garden through the same bushes he'd entered, ignoring the wrought iron side gate. He took note of the house's number and location, the fading blue of the paint and the white, shuttered windows. After a short moment of wondering what it would be like to live a life so normal, so suburban, that even your house matched the color schemes of the ones surrounding it, he followed the road to his great aunt's. It looked like he might be staying awhile, after all.
--
Gellert looked back at the body, examined the way her skin was darkening, flushing with each new burst of capillaries. He wondered idly whether Albus had cast another of his variations or if he himself had simply slipped the pronunciation in his anger. He boggled a little at how the curse was able to continue. Bloomingworth had clearly stated that the progression of this particular spell was dependent on the subject's own life force, gathering magic from the surrounding cells and perpetuating itself before collapsing the nearby blood vessels and veins.
Gellert remained incapable of glancing over to assess Albus's current state. Gellert's own bloodlust and rage had been pushed aside to make room for a growing dread.
There was a choking, sobbing sound coming from his left as Aberforth cracked, began to break down. On his far right, Albus remained silent, perhaps still taking it in, processing. Perhaps trying to decide which of them was to blame.
Gellert thought the stupid bint had brought it upon herself, really.
--
By the time he first met Ariana, she was already scarred beyond worth. Oh, she was pretty enough, her mother's high cheekbones and her father's icy eyes, dressed up as though on display. She was wrapped in a frothy, pale green dress so full of ridges and ruffles that it was difficult to make out the actual shape of her body. Her hands and wrists looked tiny where they emerged from the swathes of lace at the edges of her sleeves. All of this failed to distract him from how something lurked—hot, angry, and full of a malevolent violence—behind the thin, cracked glass of her eyes.
For his part, Albus seemed to defy Gellert to say something disparaging, aggravatingly calm. "This is my younger sister, Ariana," he said, palms resting on her shoulders. "Ariana, say hello to my friend Gellert."
"Hello, Gellert," she said, her voice soft and scratchy.
Gellert considered following Albus's patronizing lead, pasting on a distant smile and treating her like the invalid her family seemed to consider her. The façade merited such treatment, her expression mild and her appearance fragile. Her eyes, however, were evidence enough for him to discard that course of action as unwise, instead allowing a sharper, more genuine smirk to cross his lips. He swiped up one of her hands, smooth as expected and dry under his lips. He looked up from under his lashes at her, remaining in the showy position. "Charmed, I'm sure," he murmured against her fingers.
To his surprise, she blushed, her cheeks and the tips of her ears turning pink. Albus merely looked pained. Gellert straightened slowly, gently returning her hand. She really was very pretty.
"My brother Aberforth will be watching after her today," Albus said, leading her past the couch and settling her gently into a large, overstuffed armchair.
Gellert raised an eyebrow. "Oh, and so now you have a brother, too?"
"Gellert."
Gellert grinned. "No, no. I understand. We've only spent every night this past week together. I don't see how you could possibly have found the time to mention a little thing like siblings."
"You haven't said so much as a word about your own," Albus pointed out, lips twitching out of that strangely solemn expression he'd worn ever since he'd opened the door.
Gellert had almost wondered if it was a mistake to drop by during the day, but his research had hit a dead end until his owl-order books arrived sometime during the next week. Albus was the only person in the village Gellert thought worth the effort of social overtures. Besides, he was fairly certain that somewhere in this house was a library to rival his own, and it would only be a matter of time until he convinced Albus to show it to him. It was a relief, though, to find that he wasn't unwelcome, if the spreading smile on Albus's face was anything to go by.
Gellert waved a hand airily. "Oh, not much to speak of on my part. You already know my great aunt, I'm sure. And I don't have siblings," tone still that of light-hearted reproach. He flicked his eyes to Ariana, who was watching them quietly, almost a little creepy in her complete lack of interaction. If she hadn't spoken before, he would almost have thought her mute. "So, where would this second one be?"
"What's he doing in here?" came a voice from the door, in all likelihood the answer to his question. The boy was only a couple of years younger than Gellert, hair a mess of auburn the same shade as Albus's. His lips were pulled down and his eyes tight at the corners, angry and distrustful. His face was dwarfed by the biggest, most bookish glasses Gellert had ever seen.
Albus quickly crossed over to him. "This would be Aberforth," said Albus, putting a cautioning hand on Aberforth's arm. Gellert couldn't parse the expression on Albus's face as he looked at his brother. "He's a fifth year at Hogwarts."
"Enjoying your summer holidays?" Gellert asked, carefully ignoring the way that Albus's fingers clenched and dug into Aberforth's forearm.
The two brothers glared at one another. "Oh, they're great," said Aberforth. "I always enjoy spending time with my family."
Albus went white and Gellert decided that it was time to extract the two of them from the situation. He moseyed forward, putting a hand on Albus's. "That's great, really." Gellert gave a gentle tug, disengaging the two. "Albus here was just going to show me the library."
"The library?" asked Aberforth, obviously taken aback.
"The study, his room, whichever." Gellert went for a sunny smile, at least partially successful going by how Ariana's face was tinged pink once more in the corner of his vision.
Albus sent his brother another unreadable look, before smiling again himself. "Yes, well," and he took Gellert's hand in his own, pulling him toward the stairs.
"Have fun," Gellert drawled and waved lazily at the kids with his free hand, already anticipating several hours filled with words, spells, and all sorts of interesting contrivances if he could inveigle his way into Albus's workshop, too.
--
Ariana's dress was white, frilly underskirts and pale cream silk slip revealed along with the beginnings of bony thighs where it had flown up as she'd fallen. Her long, practical socks clashed strangely with the over-sized, doll-like outfit that fell loosely about her frame. Her feet were encased in plain, polished black leather, held on with simple buckle straps.
Aberforth threw himself toward her, half-fell, half-knelt at her side. He clasped her hands tightly in his own. "Ariana," he forced out, sounding like something had caught in his throat and he was trying to form words, beg help around it. "Ari." His hands trembled as he moved them up to her thin wrists. "Ari."
--
"And this is my great-nephew, Gellert," said Great Aunt Bathilda, smiling proudly as she introduced him.
Albus's range of expressions was a joy to watch, turning from surprise to annoyance, from annoyance to irritation, from irritation to the inevitable amusement. "Gellert . . . Bagshot?" he asked, lips twitching.
"No, no, dear," said Great Aunt Bathilda, patting Albus warmly on his arm. "My boy here is a Grindelwald. Last of the line with the name, so we'll have to make certain he marries well, won't we?"
Albus smiled wide. "Yes, I'm sure we will." Gellert was too busy trying not to laugh to protest. Albus pulled Gellert's hand into a firm handshake, clasping his fingers with a grip tight enough that Gellert knew he wasn't entirely forgiven, even if he had delivered himself into a perfect opportunity for blackmail or teasing.
"He's a couple years younger than you," Albus's eyebrows flew up a few centimeters at that, "and is taking some time off from school, so I'm sure he could do well with encouragement from you.""She continued to rattle on, but neither was listening. Albus was staring at him in a way that stated quite clearly that the two of them were going to have a long talk just as soon as he was able to pry Gellert away from his great-aunt.
Gellert winked at Albus and deftly inserted himself into a brief pause in Bathilda's wandering monologue. "And that's very fascinating, Aunt Bathilda, but let's save some of my life story for me to tell him myself, shall we?" he laughed. "Besides, didn't you say you were in the middle of an important bit of research involving the second Goblin Uprising? I'm sure Mr. Dumbledore here would be willing to take me in for the day so you can work on your book in peace without me rambling about the place, distracting you."
Great Aunt Bathilda started to protest about how Gellert was no trouble, no trouble at all, she quite liked having company about and didn't want to impose upon poor Albus, but Albus jumped in to support Gellert's statement.
"Ah, yes. I'm sure I could find something for young Gellert here to do," said Albus, giving his hand one last squeeze before dropping it.
Great Aunt Bathilda stopped her flurry of protests to smile indulgently at them. "Oh, I'm so glad to hear it. I know there aren't many others your age in this village and it would be a wonderful opportunity for you both—" They suffered through several more minutes of her long and meandering goodbye, Gellert engineering a hug that cut out a good five minutes. She smelled of ink, old parchment, and peppermints, as always. He smiled fondly after her as she strode off, eager to go back to her histories.
"Mr. Dumbledore?" asked Albus, voice faintly mocking.
"Young Gellert?" he returned.
"Well, you are apparently younger than I am," said Albus, expression torn between amusement and annoyance once more.
"Considering you've had ample time to observe me as well as experience with younger siblings, you would think you'd have noticed."
"You said you were finished with school."
Gellert smirked. "Well, I am."
"You're a sixth year."
"I'm expelled."
"You—" Albus stopped. "What?"
Gellert examined his cuticles carefully, fingernails grown a little too long for his liking. "I'm expelled."
"But, since when? Why?"
Gellert couldn't infuse much cheer into his flat tone, but kept the smirk on his face. It was funny, in a way. "There was a misunderstanding over my research, a difference of opinions regarding certain matters of politics and ethics, and then a scuffle over the both. According to the Headmaster, I used 'excessive force.' I disagreed." Gellert looked up at Albus's wide eyes, smile gone humorless entirely. "The one thing we all finally managed to agree on was that it would be best that I explored other avenues of education."
"And so you came here."
"Well, first I went on a bit of a holiday, to mark the occasion and all," said Gellert, smile coming easier now. "Not every day you're thrown out of school."
"It's a special event, being expelled," said Albus with tentative humor.
"And I, the first in my family. Why, I should have made a plaque to commemorate the occasion."
"You still could."
"Nice, tasteful bronze."
"Bright purple lettering."
"Lights up on touch."
"Picture of you on your broom high above Egypt."
"Occasional fireworks to give it that proper festive air."
"Charmed to sing odes and incite poetry about that most epic feat."
"Inscription, April, 1858: Gellert Grindelwald: the famous Grindelwald family's infamous first failure."
"You're not a failure."
"No, I'm not," said Gellert, serious now. He looked Albus face on, made him meet his eyes. "I'm going to be one of the greatest wizards in history." He gripped Albus's hand in his own once more.
"And you're going to help me."
--
Gellert averted his eyes from the sight of Aberforth feeling for a pulse, turning instead to assess the damage. There was a large slash down the middle of the couch, stuffing scattered everywhere. The armchair was overturned. The glass of the table had shattered into pieces large and small, the dust of it ground into the carpet.
There was a scorched tinge to the air, and specks of ash from the decorative blankets and pillows drifted softly. The wood of Gellert's wand felt rough against his skin and the saliva in his mouth heavy and solid. He could almost taste the unshed blood and ashes on the back of his tongue.
--
"Do you always try so hard to be a black sheep, or is today just a special occasion?" Albus asked, voice an equal mix of fondness and exasperation.
"Oh, please," Gellert said, "You can't be a black sheep if you're the last of your line."
Albus smiled. "Is this another unsubtle hint I should do something about my brother?"
"I am the height of subtlety," Gellert replied, not bothering to look up from Cartman's latest Treatise; the curve of Albus's smile, the way the corners of his eyes crinkled, had long since stuck in his mind. Long after the words in front of him faded, he would still be able to picture Albus beaming reluctant joy at him. At the moment, furthering their plans was more important. Gellert compromised enough to shift so that his thigh brushed against the weight of Albus's.
Gellert was seated against the arm of the rather large couch, but Albus shifted into him, ignoring the cushion to his right. Gellert tamped down a smile of his own and said, reading the same paragraph over, "You, however, my friend, fail most miserably at it."
Albus made a sound of disagreement, and finally Gellert looked over at him. He hadn't yet had enough of Albus's indignant expression, the way Albus's lips and brows pulled down, the skin of his cheeks going tight. Gellert laughed. "It's all right. We're young. You'll learn."
"You know what I love about you?" Albus asked, and Gellert's breath caught in his chest. "You have the temerity to lecture me on age."
Gellert laughed again, but he made a production of needing a different book a scant thirty seconds later, and took the arm chair when he re-seated himself. It wasn't outside the realm of possibilities that he, too, might need some work in the field of subtlety. Especially not when Albus gave him that knowing look and proceeded to sprawl across the couch, robe unbuttoned at the collar and gaping open to reveal the swallow of his Adam's apple as he picked up another scroll.
"I was thinking of taking Arianna on a field day to the park tomorrow," Albus said, looking disinterested.
"That's fine, if you'd loan me a few books."
Gellert thought he heard a muttered, "This is what comes of subtlety," and then Albus said, voice even, "I was hoping you would join us."
"I might be able to find the time," said Gellert, "but as you well know, I have a busy schedule and--"
Albus laughed and threw a pillow cushion.
"—I shall have to check my social calendar, as it's usually filled weeks in advance, and—"
By this point, Albus had stood and grabbed another pillow, starting to smother Gellert with it, "—I just don't know if you're important enough, I mean—"
"You may have to have lunch with your aunt," Albus agreed in between laughing breathes.
"Yes, exactly. But if you're going to threaten my life, I suppose I'll have to squeeze you in."
"Aberforth will also be coming." Albus's tone was one of warning.
"I can play nice," Gellert said in an affronted voice.
"Prove it," Albus said, leaning a little too close.
Gellert closed his eyes for a moment, gathering resolve. They were young. There would be time. When he opened them to Albus watching expectantly, he grinned fiercely, and grabbed the pillow. "Though I've been told I'm rather contrary and intractable."
"Who would ever say such a thing?" Albus laughed, waving his arms in a rather pathetic attempt at fending off Gellert's offensive.
"Oh, no one important," Gellert replied breathlessly, tumbling them over a pile of books. "Just some arrogant redhead I met once."
Albus managed to get close enough to where the thrown pillow from before had landed to grab a corner, and just that easily further research was put off for an hour. They didn't argue further until they examined Kant's essay on Muggles and class issues, at which point Albus stormed into his room and refused to unlock the door. Gellert waited an hour, leaning easily against the oak of the door and considering how much worse it would be if he used a simple "Alohomora," at which point Arianna came up the stairs and Gellert told her he would see her tomorrow, leaving graciously so long as he had an audience. When he arrived home, he sent all three owls, one armed with a rare Engel scroll, then went to bed.
Albus was all reluctant smiles at Gellert and his picnic basket in the morning. Arianna clung to his free arm and demanded more marzipan. Aberforth, too like his brother, refused to leave his room, and they finally went without him.
--
Aberforth's entire body shook as he scrambled for his wand. Gellert wondered briefly if the fight would begin again before Aberforth pointed it at the body. Gellert hadn't thought that they taught healing spells at Hogwarts.
They didn't.
"F-finite inc-cantatum," said Aberforth, stuttering his way through the spell. Nothing happened. "Finite incantuh-tatum!"
--
Gellert offered up a handful of jellies, seemingly intent on the book in front of him, careful to hide the curve of his lips behind the fall of hair growing down his neck and brushing his chin. Albus absentmindedly gravitated to the most colorful of them, plucking it up with a twitch of his fingers and tossing it into his mouth. At his loud cough and then gagging sound, Gellert finally looked up, unsuccessful at holding back his laughter at Albus's look of horror and conflict as to whether to spit or swallow, surrounded by books and papers and nary a trash bin in sight. After a moment more of pleasure, watching Albus's face grow greener and his eyes wider, Gellert offered up a handkerchief with an artsy flourish. Albus had enough dignity to not snatch it out of Gellert's hand, but only just quite.
He took the kerchief at a pace too fast to be casual, their fingers bumping clumsily together. Gellert took a prudent step back. In an attempt to unfold it, Albus nearly ripped the cloth in two. Gellert doubled over in renewed sputters of laughter at Albus's consternation.
"Allow me," Gellert purred once he regained proper control of himself, tapping the small crest sewn into one corner with his wand.
The handkerchief fell open to reveal nothing more than clean cotton. Albus looked suspicious as Gellert's lips continued to twitch and tremble. "Oh, please. My cruelty does know some bounds."
"Yes, because you have proven yourself nothing but trustworthy," Albus returned once he'd spit the remains of the candy into the kerchief.
"I will admit I am rather pitiless in pursuit of my ideals, and I value knowledge most highly."
"What could you have possibly learned from this exercise?" asked Albus, holding out the handkerchief. Gellert grinned at him. Albus frowned. "You—"
Gellert ducked the thrown handkerchief, grin unrepentant. He let Albus chase him out of the study and down the stairs, at which point Gellert went tumbling over Aberforth, and the moment was lost in Albus's apologies and Aberforth storming off.
--
"Finite Incantatum." Albus's voice was too calm. His wandwork was perfect, his hands steady. The spreading red slowed and stopped. Ariana simply lay there, not breathing. Now that the spell had been halted, Gellert couldn't feel even that small trace of magic from her.
This didn't stop Aberforth from shaking her, curls flying about as her head flopped back and forth. "Ari," he repeated once more. "Ari, Ari, AriAriariari—" The sounds slurred into one another as Albus lay a quelling hand on Aberforth's shoulder. He shook it off, eyebrows slanted in concentration and determination. "Ari, come on, Ari."
--
The house was even tenser than usual when Gellert entered. Ariana was ensconced in one of the plush armchairs in the living room, counting her fingers breathlessly to herself. Albus and Aberforth stood at the top of the stairs, facing one another with expressions that indicated they were only one step removed from either pulling out their wands or going for the other's throat. Gellert briefly considered letting it play out, but Albus would be useless for the evening, even if it meant that Aberforth would likely lock himself in his room again and out of the way.
Gellert sighed softly, deliberately, and drew their gaze to him. If there was one thing the Dumbledores couldn't stand, it was an audience.
"Gellert," Albus said smoothly, moving three paces back from his brother, a mask of friendly interest shuttering over his anger. "I'll be in my room." Gellert knew it was bad if Albus needed to withdraw to collect himself, but instead of following, Gellert continued to stare up at them, at Albus's retreating back and Aberforth's hands clenching and unclenching.
Ariana whispered softly to his left, "one-two-three, four-five-six, seven-eight-nine, ten. One-two-three—" She didn't look up from her hands.
The sound of a door closing echoed gently through the house, and it seemed to break Aberforth out of his own trance. He glared down at Gellert, then back at the hallway. "I'm going," he called and barrelled down the stairs. He snatched a satchel from the bottom of the stairwell and made his way for the door.
"You're not," Gellert said as he snagged the back of Aberforth's collar, not even bothering with magic.
Aberforth glared up at Gellert, still inches shorter, eyes the same shade and just as bitter as Albus's had been at the beginning of the summer. "What are you doing?" He sounded more defiant than haughty, and his voice shook in a way Albus would never have allowed in front of someone he considered an enemy. Despite the disparity, Gellert saw entirely too much of Albus in Aberforth.
"What happened?" Gellert asked.
Aberforth's gaze darted briefly over to Ariana, who had begun to hum with the same rhythm she'd spoken in mere moments before. Her hands were fisted in her skirts, and she didn't look over at them.
"Nothing," Aberforth said. His hands trembled as he pulled the satchel over his shoulder. Gellert waited, counting off seconds with each burst of Ariana's eerie, tremulous voice. "It's none of your business," Aberforth finally burst out, knocking off Gellert's hand and dashing once more for the door. This time, fingers tapping his wand and eyes firmly on Ariana, Gellert let Aberforth go.
Cautiously, Gellert crossed to in front of Ariana. He knelt at her feet and placed his hands over hers. "Dear, sweet Ariana," he began, but she interrupted, speaking in a mocking tone, with the same rhythm as the counting and humming of before:
"She's not yours; we're not yours: he is yours. Go. You are yours; I am mine; she is mine. Go." The rhythm broke as her voice reached low: "If you're leaving, then leave." She looked up, then, cracked glass eyes cutting into his own. In a softer voice, she said, "Mother's never coming back, is she?"
"No," Gellert said and patted the tops of her hands, "I don't think she is." He left her there, staring up at the ceiling, and he went to check on Albus. The door was unlocked, and the knob turned easily under his fingers. Albus was sitting hunched over on his bed, his head in his hands. He looked up as Gellert walked into the room.
"I came back and she was crouched over the body, repeating reparo." Albus's face was weary, older, frown lines deeper, the age difference between them clearer than ever. "She didn't mean it. It was an accident. It just . . . happened. It wasn't her fault." Albus was almost desperate, now. "She didn't mean for it to happen."
"No," said Gellert, voice soothing, hand soft against Albus's shoulder. "But she regretted it. And you're right. It isn't her fault. It wasn't even the muggles. And we can't change what's happened to her, what's happened to your family—" Albus made a sound, emotions difficult to identify, injured and comforted at once, "—but we can stop it from happening to anyone else."
Albus didn't look at him when he said, "Maybe you're right," but Gellert felt a thrill of joy at this small capitulation rush through him. Their methods were different, so different, but if Albus could eventually see that Gellert was right, that his solutions weren't overly stringent, but rather the demands of necessity—
Gellert squeezed Albus's shoulder again and stepped carefully away, not willing to push quite yet. Now was not the time. But soon. "I brought a book I thought might be of interest," he said, and Albus smiled gratefully at the distraction.
It took an hour before they had another clash over methodology—Albus couldn't see the sense in mass Muggle registrations as a first step, much less only the first in a long series—but even then Albus was a little more malleable, a little more willing to see Gellert's side. And when Gellert said, "But it's for the greater good," Albus's lips curled up out of the frown marring his face, and his doubt was a pale shadow of what it had once been.
--
Albus gripped Aberforth's shoulders more firmly, trying to pull him away. Aberforth ignored everything but the shell of a girl before him, gathering her up in his arms. His words were too muddled in tears to make out clearly, now, soft burbles of noise between sobs that seemed wrenched from him. He buried his face in her hair, whole body trembling, rocking her slowly as though she were a child once more.
--
"Aberforth."
"Do you even know what you have here?" Gellert demanded, flipping open the pages with disbelief. The vellum was old and crackled uncertainly under his fingertips. A scent of dust and disuse drifted up from it.
"Another book you would like to borrow?" asked Albus, smiling indulgently.
"This is Trimble's book on Legilimency. There were only forty copies made, and twenty-eight of them have been burned."
"Let me see."
Gellert reluctantly passed the book to Albus, fingers twitching reflexively against the dry, cracked leather of the cover as Albus slid it from his grasp.
"There are other books on the subject," said Albus, thumbing carefully through.
"But few are as enlightening or thorough," Gellert argued.
"You haven't even read it yet."
"Yes, but I've read secondhand accounts and countless references. Trimble was considered the authority on Legilimency."
"I believe you," Albus laughed. His eyes grew sharper as he skimmed through. "The authority on Legilimency, hm? It does look interesting." He shoved the book back into Gellert's arms.
"Surely you would like to read it, too."
Albus's smile was all edges. "Oh, I may find the time."
"I can't believe you," said Gellert. Then, recognizing the dark twinkle in Albus's eyes, "I don't believe you." With rising suspicion, "You've already read this." Albus said nothing. "You have."
"I may have flipped through it a time or two," Albus admitted, tapping his wand to the book. The book shed its ragged appearance and torn corners like a light mist dissipating in a high wind and rising light. The lingering smell of dust disappeared entirely. Gellert stared at Albus. "I didn't want Aberforth flipping through some of these books." The tips of Albus's ears turned roughly the color of his hair. "At least, not until he's older and graduated from Hogwarts."
"And when did you read it?" Gellert asked.
"I was twelve," Albus admitted, returning to the couch and picking up the watch he'd left on the cushion. He fiddled with the moons and stars on it a moment, before finally looking once more at Gellert. His face was smooth, eyes shadowed as when they first met. "I wanted to know the truth about Ariana, about why my father went to jail."
Gellert was carefully silent.
"I couldn't ask," Albus said. "But I wanted, needed to know. I learned what was necessary to find out the truth of the matter." He turned the watch over and over in his hands.
"And did you?" Gellert asked, voice even, unaccusing. Fingering the soft velvet of the book cover, he knew he would have done the same.
Albus's face crumpled gently. "Yes," he choked.
Despite misgivings, Gellert crossed to him. He placed Trimble's book on the end table, and a calming hand on Albus's shoulder. He reached with the other to take Albus's free hand.
"My family is important to me," said Albus in a plea for Gellert to understand.
Gellert did, only too well. "We'll take care of them," he said, pinning together their fingers. "I will take care of them." He leaned close, and breathed softly to Albus, "I promise." Gellert moved closer. Albus didn't pull away.
--
Albus leaned down, finally, and put his arms around his brother. Aberforth continued to clutch Ari. Gellert could see the space on Albus's shoulder where his hand ought to go, the curve where he ought to place his own arms. Just as clearly, Gellert could taste the curses and spells on his tongue just waiting to be uttered.
For the first and final time, Gellert compromised.
--
With his languid form sprawled against the sheets and pillows, hair tumbling down his shoulders and twined with everything it touched, Gellert's fingers included, Albus looked almost mischievous, somehow. "Is there anything you wouldn't give me?" he asked, a grin touching the corners of his lips.
"Nothing," Gellert breathed. "Everything."
--
He walked away.
Notes: This is sort of a companion piece to Blot out the Stars, set much earlier on and from Gellert Grindelwald's point of view. Thank you so much to ontogenesis for betaing this and encouraging me to continue in the first place (I get to keep my legs now!), helloscorpling for looking this over and encouraging me, and imbrii, lizfu, and anyone else I threw this at and said, "What do you think, should I continue?" A year is a really long time to write a 6200 word story. g