A/N: 'Ello, me again. Don't really have much to say, but thanks to all you dudes that reviewed, favourited and all that shizz. It's pretty rad ^^; keep 'em coming!

Anyway, have a chapter three.


Chapter Three

Albus strode confidently through the school gates, before pausing and waiting for the struggling Aberforth to catch up. Not that Aberforth usually had trouble walking, of course, it was just that he was carrying some of his incapacitated brother's textbooks and folders on top of his own, and Albus has far too many textbooks and folders in Aberforth's opinion. And that opinion was probably entirely justified, considering how hard Aberforth was panting under the effort.

"Ah thank you, Aberforth," Albus said genially, trying his best to overlook the disgruntled look his younger brother was shooting him. "Now, if you could just carry my stuff to the Oaktree Quad, that would be marvellous."

And still, Aberforth's glowering of a lifetime did nothing. Sure, Albus had a broken wrist. Sure, he was his brother. But that didn't stop the fact that he'd been carrying stuff for him all weekend, following cooking instructions (and burning a modest number of dinners, which Aberforth really did not want to be reminded of again) and finishing off an essay which his brother had dictated to him. Yes, managing to dictate an essay off the top of his head as eloquent as the one Albus had produced was quite a feat, but that didn't stop the fact that it seriously ate up Aberforth's Saturday afternoon. All the praise in the world couldn't stop Aberforth from going on a murderous rampage if he was asked to do anything ever again once Albus' hand healed.

"Albus! Over here!" a voice called across the quadrangle. Albus looked over to where his best friend, Elphias Doge, was standing and waving. He made a beeline for his friend, with Aberforth trailing behind him.

Sitting on a bench next to where Elphias was drawing attention to himself rather embarrassingly was a small, dark-haired girl poring over an obscene amount of maths homework. She was muttering absent-mindedly to herself as she worked through a particularly difficult problem, her tiny cramped handwriting scrawling across the page at an alarming rate. When Albus said hello, she merely grunted in acknowledgement. Most people would have been put off by this uncouth greeting, but Albus was nonplussed. No-one bothered Amelia when she was doing her homework. Not unless they wanted their arm to be violently ripped off.

Aberforth, glad to have offloaded his injured brother onto some other unsuspecting sods, he quickly said goodbye and buggered off to find his own friends.

"What in the name of all things wrapped in plaster have you done to your arm?" Elphias exclaimed, gesturing to Albus' broken right hand, which had now been encased in a more permanent cast.

"Oh, I had a bit of an incident on Friday afternoon. Fractured, yes. It will be in a cast for six whole weeks, I'm afraid."

Amelia looked up sharply at Albus. "So how are you going to take notes in Mr Kentwood's class? You know what happens if you don't write stuff down with him. You won't have any material to go off. You'll fail." And, on that note, she went back to her maths.

From the look on Elphias' face, it was apparent he too feared for Albus' academic health.

"… Leading to a drive towards equality under the law, which of course all comes back to The Rights of Man."

Mr Kentwood paused, ever so briefly, so his students could finish scribbling down what he had just said. He was only thirty minutes into the lesson, but his students had already written down two pages of notes. That is, all of them except Albus Dumbledore, who was sitting in the front row with a tape recorder in front of him and a rather pleased look on his face. The rest of the class had spent quite a lot of time glaring at him and his way of getting around back-breaking (well, hand-breaking) note-taking. Even Amelia was feeling bitter about his ingenious loophole.

"You think you're pretty clever eh, don't you?" a voice hissed over Albus' shoulder as Mr Kentwood continued on with his historical monologue.

"Excuse me?" Albus replied.

"Using that tape recorder. Like those students who claim they've got some illness or something to get extra time in exams. I bet your hand isn't even broken. I wouldn't put it past you. You're top of the friggin' year and you still need special treatment." The girl who had been hissing all this in Albus' ear then threw a pen lid at the back of his head.

"EVANS!" Kentwood barked. "You throw anything else in this class and I will personally ensure you get thrown out the window and into oblivion. No-one will miss you."

Evans scowled. Amelia smirked. Kentwood told the two girls to stop making faces and pay attention for a change. Albus kept a straight face, as he had been doing throughout the entire altercation. Really, the least Evans could have done would be to devise a convincing case.

Albus had spent the rest of the day recording teachers, taking photos of blackboard diagrams with his camera and, when forced, writing very badly with his left hand. Elphias had marvelled at his friend's ingenuity, and offered to carry Albus' things home for him (an offer that greatly pleased Aberforth, who was glad to be free from being his brother's personal lackey, if only for a short period of time).

"I can't believe Ms Buxton let you take on extra subjects," Elphias groaned as they walked back to Albus' house. "Only you could pull that off, Albus. Only you."

Indeed, Albus' persuasive exploits had become widely known to his peers. Prior to the Buxton Experience had been the Harrison Altercation, in which he had managed to reason his way out of the wrath of a very vicious English teacher who hadn't taken too kindly to having her spelling corrected, and the Charles and Conrad Caper (Elphias had made up grandiose names for all of Albus' adventures and misadventures, and they had somewhat stuck), when two bullies a year Albus' senior had been argued into submission and had since been seen being nice to incredibly short Year Sevens. Only Albus could have pulled it off, and he had pulled it off well.

"Yes well, it wasn't that hard. With enough reason and evidence…"

"… Even the most biased can be led to the truth," Elphias concluded proudly. Albus had spouted these words before and they had struck a chord with his friend, yet for some reason they had never been acted upon yet. There were various reasons for this, but Albus didn't like the idea of putting down the intelligence of his best friend. It simply wasn't nice.

The conversation slowly degraded into empty chatter about homework, parents and amusing facts about earwigs as the two boys approached Albus' street.

"Oi! Ginger! Nice tie!" Albus turned around to see Gellert hanging upside-down from a nearby tree and grinning. Albus straightened his school tie and approached the tree.

"Oh hello Gellert. This is my friend Elphias. Elphias, this is Gellert."

Elphias waved. Gellert ignored him.

"So Al, how about you leave Spotty here and we go throw rocks at some goats. Why are there goats in your garden, anyway? Fuck, don't tell me you milk them. I'd have to throw some acorns at you if you ever tried to get me to drink goat milk. I don't swing that way."

"Thank you for your offer," Albus replied, "But Elphias and I have some things to do. Maybe another time."

"Whatever." Gellert disappeared back into the tree.

Albus grabbed Elphias gently by the arm, whose face had turned bright red, and lead him across the road. Being one of those people with profuse acne which could withstand a nuclear blast, let alone a feeble parade of dermatological products, Elphias hadn't taken very kindly to being called Spotty. In fact, he loathed it with a passion.

In fact, that simple duosyllabic nickname had garnered Gellert an instant loathing.

Once their homework had been completed, Elphias had left to go home, leaving Albus and Aberforth to arrange dinner. Their mother or Ariana had not returned home since leaving for the hospital, Ariana for her treatment was surely continuing, and their mother who had to go to Dublin on important work business. She was a high-profile environmental lawyer whose job took her all across Great Britain and the rest of Europe which, despite bringing in significant income, certainly left her two sons with a certain… well, let's just say maturity, when it came to fending for themselves.

A maturity which certainly wasn't being exhibited at that present moment.

"I don't care. I'm sick of cooking. It sucks. I'm having cornflakes for dinner!" Aberforth shouted across the kitchen, clutching a box of cereal.

"You can't have cornflakes for dinner," his brother replied firmly. "There's nowhere near enough nutrition. Now could you please peel the potatoes like I asked?"

"I HATE peeling potatoes! Peel them yourself! I'm having cornflakes!"

"I would peel them if I could. But as you have surely figured out, my hand is broken and hence I can't, so I need your help."

"NO."

"Aberforth…"

"Don't 'Aberforth' me, Albus. You're not Mum. You can't tell me what to do. I'm not a child."

There was a pause.

"And DON'T tell me that I am a child, and that you actually can tell me what to do 'cause you're in charge when mum's not home. You know what I mean!"

"I wasn't going to."

"You were thinking it!"

"Jesus H Christ, will you two shut the fuck up?" Albus and Aberforth looked confusedly at Gellert, who had just strolled into their house on his own accord without any warning.

"Who the hell are you?" Aberforth said, somewhat startled by their gatecrasher.

"I'm Gellert Grindelwald," Gellert replied, extending his hand and flashing a very agreeable smile. He got no response.

So this is the son of a bitch who broke Albus' wrist? What an asshole, Aberforth thought. Who does he think he is, swanning into our house unannounced? Without another word, he took his box of cornflakes upstairs to his room, refusing to even look at anyone else in the room.

"What a seedy little goatfucker," Gellert said loudly, the second Aberforth was almost out of earshot. "I've been waiting all afternoon for your pox-ridden little friend to fuck off, and now I find out you're related to a complete douchecock. You could do so much better, Al."

Albus didn't know what to say.

Gellert, on the other hand, seemed to have his mind made up about everything, and lay on the couch and turned on the TV.

"Ooh, nice couch. Bit small, but very comfortable," he called to Albus, who was still standing slightly confused in the kitchen. "I'm hungry. Are you going to peel those potatoes or not?"

It was quite obvious that Gellert wasn't going anywhere for quite a while. With a sigh, Albus made some toast.


These chapters are getting slowly longer and longer. Soon they may even be an acceptable length 8D

Anyway, this'll be continued soon. I'd continue it now, but I'm lazy. Woo!

Reviews and stuff would be nice. They leave a charmingly warm and fuzzy feeling.

- Lacrima