Chapter Two
The Long Walk

"It really is such a pity that you and Albus didn't get along."

The words dimly registered in Gellert's mind, but he paid them no mind. It was, at least, the fiftieth time that his great-aunt had said that or something similar. He had found it difficult to get even a moment's peace to read, as she seemed to know when he was settling in with a book and choose that very moment to bother him with laments about the apparent failure of her efforts to get the two young men to meet. Granted, Gellert thought that she was right. Ever since that first meeting, Albus Dumbledore had not made any effort to call upon either of those living in the home of Bathilda Bagshot; no owl had been sent, nor was there any indication that Albus was even aware of the house's existence. It had been only two days, but Gellert had seen Albus on the street from his second-story bedroom, and it had been very apparent to the young man inside that the other was pointedly looking anywhere but at the house that he had visited.

However, right as she might be, Bathilda's renewed sighs of disappointment served only to further the annoyance her great-nephew felt. Gellert had taken the book that Albus had, three days ago, been reading in the library, and he was now studying it carefully. 'Such a fascinating book,' he'd thought more than once. He had started taking notes on the first page, and the pile of parchment with all the notes he had taken was nearly as thick as the book itself. His ideas had been semi-solid before, like a winter's slush, but now they were solidifying completely, with the help of the two wonderful ladies that had written such beautiful essays. He didn't agree with either of their viewpoints, but he had taken the arguments that they made and fitted many of them into his own rationale without much effort.

"Why is it that you and Albus--"

The question from the woman making Gellert's bed, despite the fact that the young man had promised to get it done as soon as he had finished the notes for the chapter he was on, was cut off when a soft tapping came from the window. Gellert looked up from his notes, confused at first but then surprised when he saw a moderately large owl, one that made his little one seem even smaller by comparison, with a note tied to its foot. The young man unlocked his window and pushed it open, and the barn owl perched on the sill while Gellert untied the note and rolled it out onto his desk.

'It still disturbs me a good deal, but I would like to talk about what you said.
Albus'

Gellert had to read the note twice, but that did not stop him from being pleased. Perhaps, he considered, he had not completely driven this would-be companion away. Of course, there was the problem that he had, as Albus said, disturbed him… But perhaps a talk would wipe that from the slate.

"An owl?" Bathilda said with some surprise. "Who's sending you an owl?" Gellert understood why she was asking. In the three days that he had been here, no post had come for him, no friends had been mentioned. It had seemed to her, no doubt, that he was utterly alone in the world. That wasn't that far from the truth, he reflected.

"It's from Albus," was all Gellert replied, and he ignored whatever questions she asked after that, turning over the scrap of parchment and taking up his quill. He wrote quickly but took care that his writing was still perfectly legible.

'A walk would be wonderful. There are a few sights I want to see anyway. Meet me out in front of my great-aunt's house?'

He retied the piece of parchment around the owl's leg. It had stood on the sill all that while, seeming to know that a response was coming and that it would be a waste of time to go back. Gellert also was sure that it shot a superior look to his small owl, as though believing it unable to make the journey of even just a few houses down. No doubt no such thought went through the bird's mind, but the idea amused Gellert nonetheless. As soon as the parchment was tied to its leg, the larger owl took flight, heading down the street, and Gellert pushed his chair back from the desk, notes on The Blood Chronicle forgotten now.

"Gellert! Where are you going?" Bathilda called after her great-nephew as he left the room and descended the stairs.

He stopped to reply, "I'm going for a walk with Albus." He stopped halfway down the stairs to check his appearance in the mirror that hung on the wall. He supposed he should go back upstairs and at least put on the waistcoat that matched the trousers he was wearng, but he decided against it. It was far too hot outside to wear a waistcoat, much less the jacket that would be considered appropriate for leaving the house. Muggles might have the right idea about fashion, he had decided, but it was still something to be altered to suit the needs and whims of the Wizard that wore it.

Gellert left the house, leaning against the railing of the porch. He saw, slightly down the street, another young man leaving his house, a young man whose long auburn hair could not be mistaken. A smile came over Gellert's features for one of the first times since he had arrived at Godric's Hollow, and he descended the porch stairs, raising a hand in greeting to Albus. The other gave a nod when he saw the gesture, though he didn't return it.

"Albus," Gellert said warmly, holding out his hand when his peer approached.

With some hesitancy, Albus reached out and shook the other's hand, replying quietly, "Gellert." A silence fell over them, one that seemed to make Albus uneasy, and those sharp blue eyes met the equally intelligent hazel ones of the former Durmstrang student. "You said there were some sights that you wanted to see," Albus ventured haltingly.

"Oh! Yes, of course," Gellert said quietly, chuckling. It was as though his original intention, the very reason that he had come to Godric's Hollow in the first place, had been wiped from his mind for a few moments upon meeting Albus again. "I am particularly interested in seeing the cemetery here. The magical one, if there are separate ones for Muggles and Wizards."

"Why do you want to see a cemetery?" Albus questioned, but Gellert did not respond. Albus gave a half-hearted shrug, dismissing the oddity. As they walked, Gellert no more or less than a half step behind Albus, since he did have to follow to find the way, Albus decided that a small talk about the cemetery could not hurt anything. "We just have one. Muggle and Wizard buried there alike." The slightest twist in Gellert's expression made Albus keenly aware of his previous comments a couple of days ago. He stated, a little quietly, "You don't approve."

There were not many people out, but someone passed them or was across the street every now and then, and Gellert watched them carefully, a slight paranoia flickering in his eyes. The idea that they all knew, that they were all watching him, waiting to see if he would-- but he even knew that was impossible. Most of these people were probably looking at Albus, amazed to see him out and about, especially with someone his own age. Still, when Gellert spoke, it was quietly and with a cautious look around.

"No, I don't approve. The bones of Wizards and the bones of Muggles should be placed in separate graveyards. After all, animals are not buried alongside people." He saw the look on Albus's face, and he knew he had chosen his words poorly. Even as they walked, he raised a hand slightly, a gesture that he made so often but seemed to convey whatever he needed so well. In this case, it was an apology for a statement made too rashly. "That is not to say," he murmured, "that I see Muggles on the same level as animals. That is cruel. They are still human." Albus's expression made it clear to Gellert that some of the damage of that careless remark was being undone. "However," he paused, either for dramatic emphasis or to seek out the correct words, "there is, or at least should be, a hierarchy. At the top, Wizards. Our spells, potions, and ancient knowledge naturally put us above all else. Next, there are the Muggles. They are intelligent enough, most of them, but they lack many things that we could give them. We should help them, as I said to you before, but they cannot be our equals. They have nothing of equal value to trade for all the things that we could bestow onto them, so they are naturally inferior. Beneath the Muggles are all manner of creatures, with their own hierarchy, but that is no different than the present system, so I need not bother with that."

Albus watched Gellert, the two now walking side-by-side, step for step. He seemed, again, almost hypnotized by the words, caught up in his own thoughts as well as he processed everything that Gellert said. It was several moments before he fully came to his senses again and, almost bashfully, pointed out that they had missed the cemetery. He turned and Gellert, now silent, followed him in retracing their most recent steps.

The graveyard was barely visible from the street, tucked behind a little church, so Gellert was not surprised that they had missed it. He followed Albus past the church and through the kissing gate that stood as the entrance to the graveyard.

"Whose grave are you looking for?" Albus questioned as Gellert stooped in front of several graves in succession but quickly stood up when he made out the name etched onto the stones.

"Peverell," Gellert replied plainly. Albus gave him a curious look, but Gellert did not seem to notice in the slightest; he was too busy brushing away moss from one of the graves and straining his eyes to read the name on it.

"Peverell," Albus repeated. The name way he spoke indicated to the blond that the name was familiar to Albus, and that made Gellert look up at him. "I," there was a waver in his tone, and Gellert half wondered if he'd somehow offended Albus, but the other steeled himself, "I think it's over here." He led the way, Gellert following quickly. The hazel eyes of Gellert caught sight of a tombstone with the name Kendra Dumbledore on it, and he understood why it had pained Albus to come this way. "Here," Albus said after a moment, indicating the stone.

Gellert dropped without even a moment's hesitation onto one knee. He brushed away a few vines that had started to grow on the stone and traced the name with his fingers. "Ignotus Peverell," he read, his tone breathless and with a note of joy. The tone, some might say, with which one would read the name on a tombstone of a lover that one had not known to be dead. The hazel eyes hungrily searched the stone, his careful hand tracing over it as well. A symbol caught his eye, but nothing else. There was no spring or compartment to find to open a hidden place on the grave. "A descendent lives," he said to himself.

"Gellert, why did you want to see this grave?" Albus asked.

Gellert looked at him as though he were either mad or stupid, or perhaps both. Without saying anything, he made a motion, and Albus understood. The auburn-haired youth knelt on the ground, peering at the grave as keenly as the other, seemingly trying to make out the great significance of this place.

"Do you know what that symbol is, Albus?" Gellert asked, pointing to the small etching beneath the name.

"It looks familiar," Albus admitted. "I don't know where from, though."

Gellert sighed in frustration, but he shook off the feeling to speak warmly to Albus. "It is the mark of the Deathly Hallows!"

"The Deathly Hallows?"

"You don't know what the Deathly Hallows are?" From his tone, it sounded as though this were a crime against humanity itself.

"I--"

"You know of the story called 'The Three Brothers,' don't you?"

"The legend, you mean? Like, the one in The Tales of Beedle the Bard?"

"That's precisely the one! The artifacts that the brothers got are also called the Deathly Hallows," Gellert explained, seeming to have very little patience. "This," he gestured to the mark again, "is the mark of the Deathly Hallows!" When Albus only raised an eyebrow, Gellert gave a frustrated groan and stood up. He removed his wand from his sleeve and drew in the air, the wand's path illuminated in bright purple. "The Elder Wand," a straight line, running vertical, "the Resurrection Stone," an oval whose two ends met the ends of the line, "and the Cloak of Invisibility," he drew a triangle encompassing the other shapes. "Whomever possesses the three items will be the master of Death." He flicked his wand and the shape began to fade. Albus stared at it until it was gone before he spoke.

"Gellert, that's a children's tale! It's not real."

"Yes, it is," the blond announced. He had risen to draw the shape, and Albus had risen after the mark had vanished. Gellert caught Albus by the shoulders and gave him a half shake before he realized what he was doing and released him. "If it is not true, then why is a grave marked with the symbol? I have seen the other two graves." His voice had become quiet again, the look in those hazel eyes making Albus doubt his better judgment. "The Peverell brothers are the brothers in the story. Each one of their graves is marked with this same symbol. Ignotus is the youngest, the one given the cloak. I know where the wand is, unless it has changed hands again. I know where it is! I have seen it!"

He took a deep breath, and he attempted to steady himself. He hadn't meant to let his voice rise, especially not to the volume it had, but these were the Deathly Hallows that he was discussing, the very things that would make it so simple to make the world how he wanted it to be, how it should be. He looked at Albus, waiting for the denouncement of madness. It never came.

"These things are… real?" Albus said hesitantly. Despite Gellert's rant, he was a little wary about accepting that these items that had, for so long, been regarded as a tale for young children with nothing more than a moral behind it, were real, that they were the grand things that they seemed to be in legend.

"They are," Gellert responded.

"You're looking for them?"

"Yes."

"Why?"

"Why? To master Death, of course. To be the master of Death and to change the world, make it better. Better for everyone."

"Better for everyone," Albus echoed, and Gellert watched his eyes look first at the Peverell tombstone and then over at his mother's. He looked back at Gellert after several moments of silence. "You said, a few days ago, that we could change the world."

"We can," Gellert said. His blood was racing to hear that repeated, and his mouth felt dry, waiting for the rest of what Albus would have to say.

"Why we? With the Hallows, you could do it alone, I suppose."

"I always intended to do it alone," Gellert responded. He would be honest; he would not lie to Albus. He had not come here looking for a partner. He had never wanted a partner.

"Then why--"

The hand raised again, and Albus's question was silenced. His blue eyes met the almost fevered hazel ones of Gellert.

"Until I met you, I intended to do things alone. I still think I could have. However, you are something different. There is something about you, Albus. Something in your intelligence, in your very manner. You will think I am mad, but I will be frank. I do not think, having met you, I can do this without you." Albus seemed slightly unnerved by those eyes, by the words he heard and the tone they came in. Gellert offered his hand, never blinking, just staring at those blue eyes. "Will you help me? We can do so much, you and I…"

Albus did not take Gellert's hand, but he did not break the gaze. "Tell me more," he finally requested, his own voice a bit breathless, not unlike Gellert's when he had read the tombstone of the Peverell brother. "I can stay away for a slight bit longer." Gellert lowered his hand and the two made their way for the kissing gate of the cemetery in an odd silence that was both tense and easy. There was much that they both wanted to say, the silence seemed to announce, but they would wait to continue their discussion until they were out of the cemetery.

In the time it took for them to reach the street again, the fire in Gellert's eyes had calmed. There was still an air of excitement surrounding him, but he was calmer than he had been in the graveyard.

"What do you want to know?" he finally asked Albus, and the two set off, once more in perfect rhythm with each other, down the street, away from the cemetery and not in the direction of their homes.

Albus hesitated, seeming to have several questions that he was going through and picking out what was best to ask first. He finally found the one he felt should come first. "What would you do with the Muggles? You talk about domination…" He trailed off, looking at the other for the answer.

"Most of them would be left to live their lives as they choose," Gellert said, noting the look of approval on Albus's face. "They would live much more closely side-by-side with Wizards, and we would teach them our laws and how to use the gifts we give them without abusing them. Of course, some secrets must be kept, but that is no different than a parent, as we well would be like to the Muggles, not telling a child everything. It would be the natural course of things." He paused, silently reveling in the attentive audience that he had. Not only an attentive audience, he had to admit, but an inspiring one, one that made everything he said seem that much more thought out, that much more right. "There are some, of course, who could not be left in with others. Those that would try and take our powers for their own, try to usurp us despite our rightful place. Those that would abuse not only what we gave them but the people of the Wizarding communities themselves." He saw a flicker of anger on Albus's face, and a sliver of delight ran through him. "Those would have to be put somewhere else. A prison, I think. Not unlike your Azkaban, though," his hand was up again in a gesture for Albus to be patient with the comment coming, "without the Dementors. That is nothing short of cruel." The comment pleased Albus, and Gellert was relieved to see that. "Others, if they proved too dangerous, might have to be, regrettably, executed." Albus's features wavered, but he offered no protest, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment.

They walked a few more steps together before Albus posed his next question. His tone and the look in his eyes betrayed the would-be casual way of presenting his question, "And Squibs and those not too unlike them? What would you do with them?"

"Sadly," Gellert murmured, "they would be on the same level as Muggles, below Wizards. However, this would mean that they could live amongst us, Wizards and Muggles alike. They could, like the Muggles, partake of our gifts and the security we would provide. They would be protected from being complete outcasts. They would not be on the same level as Wizards, for they, like Muggles, would have nothing to contribute to us, but they would not be shut away and never again mentioned, as seems an increasingly common practice." He had hit the right chord, Gellert knew as he watched Albus's face while the other mulled this over and then nodded ever so faintly.

Albus asked another question, this time stopping, looking Gellert straight in the eye. "Miss Bagshot said, well, more implied when I asked, that you didn't finish school at Durmstrang. Why not?"

It was a different question than the others had been, and it caught Gellert off guard. "I was expelled," he said, "for excessive force against another student." He explained nothing more, and his tone made it clear that he was not likely to discuss it on anyone's terms but his own. Albus seemed to understand this, and he asked nothing more about it.

"We should start heading back," he said quietly, noticing that they were at the edge of the town. The two young men turned and resumed their walking, this time in the opposite direction. For several moments, until they were nearly at the little church, neither boy spoke. Albus had hesitated in his movement more than once, and Gellert had waited for him to speak, but he never did. Finally, though, he did say something, this time more quietly than before. "How would," he paused in his words, and that made Gellert pause mid-stride, "we do it? How would we change the world?"

Gellert smiled just faintly at those words, and he looked right at Albus, neither of them moving now. "It would not be easy," he said quietly, leaning close to the other as he spoke. "There would be so many that would not see the true ideals that we have, would not see how much we could do for everyone. We would have to gain control of one government first. That would be the most difficult part." The smile on Albus's face seemed to say that he was in full agreement that it would be difficult. So difficult, really, that the idea seemed comical. "The Hallows would help, especially the Elder Wand. Something that powerful would do wonders for seizing the power we would need. We would want to try and gain the government by legitimate means, of course," he mused, but his shoulders shrugged that idea away. "However, that is unlikely. I think it much more likely that, tragic as the resulting skirmish would be, we would have to seize control by force." He put his arm around Albus's shoulders as they resumed walking, Gellert's head still bent down, so he was speaking almost directly in the other's ear. "Once we gained control, however, we could implement everything. We could combine the worlds together, make the changes that need to be made. We would be revered, even after our deaths. Lauded as the greatest Wizards of all time because of the new era we ushered in."

"The greatest," Albus echoed, taking in every word it seemed, processing them each carefully and then even more carefully as a whole. The boys were silent, this silence very calm and steady, until they reached Albus's door. Albus looked at the house, and Gellert thought he saw a flash of resentment in those blue eyes. The auburn-haired young man turned to him, saying quietly, "I… suppose I must go in. We must talk more."

"We must," agreed Gellert. He held out his hand in the same way that he had in the graveyard, and, this time, Albus reached forward and grasped it. Gellert curled his fingers around the hand of Albus's that he now grasped, and Albus returned the gesture. Their gazes met for several seconds before they broke apart and Albus entered the house. Gellert watched the door for a few moments before he turned away and walked toward his own home. His great-aunt was sure to pester him for days with questions, but he felt that he could endure just about anything, now that he knew he had a partner in all his ideas, all his plans. A partner.