Chapter Twelve

The Price to be Paid

Hazel eyes slid slowly open and the seventeen-year-old Gellert Grindelwald stared at the ceiling of his room for several hours. The room was dark, and he was aware of a throbbing in his head as he sat up. His vision blurred briefly, and he shut his eyes, trying to force the room to stop spinning. After several seconds, it did. He looked around and heaved a sigh, not yet trying to rise. His head was still killing him.

"Damned old man," he muttered to himself in his native language. A little over two months ago, he had managed to convince and old potion brewer to let him have just a bit of the Felix Felicis the man had brewed. That had been the night that he had simply… known… he had to come to England. The night that he had remembered that he had a relative there and that he had decided to take up an old offer of hers. Gellert could remember that feeling. The warm, powerful feeling, and the sense that he knew exactly what he had to do next. He had imagined that the potion inside the ornament he had bought would do the same, would let him know where the Hallow where. Where the Elder Wand was. Yet, there was nothing. Only the dull ache in his head reminded him that he had taken the potion.

He placed his feet on the floor and slowly pulled himself to his feet. The clock downstairs struck eleven. He glanced out his window and saw the dim glow of lantern lights in the Dumbledore house. He had told Albus that he could call on him, and, late as it might be, he supposed he should keep that promise.

The young man left his jacket behind, and he didn't button his loosened collar as he descended the stairs. He ran a hand through his hair, but he did not check his appearance in the mirror. He would think of something to tell Albus, some reason why he didn't look his best. Gellert simply did not feel like getting gussied up.

He left the house, closing the door as quietly as he could, even though Bathilda was still awake. There was a light coming from the kitchen, and he knew it had to be here. He didn't want to have to deal with her right now.

Before long, he was standing on the steps of the Dumbledore house, and he knocked several times. The headache he had woken up with was gone, but he still did not feel any more confident about where to find the Elder Wand. He waited on the porch, his hands digging into his pockets. He did feel strangely impatient, but he could not think of any reason why he should be, unless it was mere annoyance over being conned about that potion.

"Damn old man," he said again.

The door opened, almost hesitantly. Albus stood there, and he smiled and quickly finished pulling the door open when he saw Gellert standing there.

"I was wondering when you would be coming over," Albus greeted him, and he beamed. "You had me worried."

"Worried?"

"Your aunt said that you had shut yourself in your room and wouldn't answer her, and you didn't reply to any of the letters I sent with Icarus."

Gellert blinked. He then said, slowly, "When was the last time you saw me?"

"Yesterday evening," Albus answered. "After we left the graveyard."

"I," Gellert hesitated, but he shrugged his shoulders, "I've been asleep. I wasn't feeling well. My apologies for worrying you." After a pause, he spoke again. "May I come in?"

"Oh! Of course!" Albus stepped aside, and Gellert entered the house. Albus closed the door behind him, and the two walked together toward the library.

As they walked, Gellert spoke. His voice was quiet, and his eyes were shining. "We need to leave soon."

"What?"

"We need to go soon. We need to start working, start looking. We have to return to Germany. That's where we have to start. Start rallying people. We have to go."

"You can't." It was not said loudly, but the tone did not waver. Aberforth Dumbledore was in the library, and he regarded his brother and Gellert with those blue eyes of his. His eyes met Gellert's, and he drew himself up defiantly.

"Why in God's name not?" Gellert demanded. Albus was silent, looking at his brother then at his friend.

"I go back to school soon," Aberforth replied. His voice had raised slightly, and he tried to draw himself up even taller.

"All the more reason."

"Someone has to take care of Ariana. She can't be left here alone."

"She can come with us," Gellert said, and he waved his hand in a gesture meant to dismiss the issue, but Aberforth made an annoyed sound.

"Are you that blind?" He was half shouting. "She isn't in any kind of condition to be moved anywhere, let alone to another country. She can't be kept moving!"

"Don't you understand? Or are you really as thick as you seem?" Gellert ignored the hand that Albus placed on his shoulder. He pulled away and strode forward. Aberforth took a few steps himself, not about to be backed into a corner. This time, he would stand his ground. "We are trying to make this world better. Better for Ariana, better for everyone." His eyes were cold, almost hateful, but Aberforth would not look away. "The sooner we do what we have to do, the sooner your sister doesn't have to hide anymore."

"You don't care about her," Aberforth shouted. "You care about yourself and those stupid Hallows. They probably don't even exist! Albus needs to be here. He needs to take care of Ariana!"

"You stupid boy," Gellert snarled. "You don't see the genius that you are blocking. Why should he be shackled here? You will not stand in our way. You will not stand in my way." He raised a hand and drew his wand from its place up his sleeve.

Albus realised what he was doing a moment too late. "Gellert, no!"

"Crucio." It was not even shouted; it was almost whispered. The flash of red reflected off those hazel eyes, and Albus watched as his brother screamed and hunched over.

It did not continue for the second that Albus thought, or hoped, it would. It was not meant as a short reminder that Gellert Grindelwald was not to be crossed. His younger brother's screams tore through Albus's hearing, and his breath caught in his throat as Aberforth fell to the ground, thrashing in pain. A soft whimper caught his ear, and he turned his head just slightly to see Ariana standing in the doorway, her blue eyes open wide and brimming with tears. She did not scream, but she looked from one brother to the other. Albus looked back at Gellert and drew a shallow breath. He knew what he had to do.

The auburn-haired young man drew his own wand and, his incantation unsaid, fired a white flash of light at Gellert. It ripped into the flesh, and blood flowed freely. Gellert's head turned toward Albus, his eyes wide. With his concentration broken, Aberforth was free of the curse and able to scramble over to the table where his own wand was laid. He picked it up, but he did not attack the German youth just yet.

Gellert's free hand touched the wound on his face, and he stared at Albus. He murmured, his head cocking just slightly to the side, "Is this the price?" Albus did not respond, not knowing how to respond, and Gellert drew himself up straighter. He answered himself, "So be it."

Albus watched Gellert's wand-hand twitch slightly, and he shouted, "Aberforth, move!" Just as his brother obeyed, a spark of blue flew from the tip of Gellert's wand. It collided with a vase that had been directly behind Aberforth, and the china shattered.

Aberforth responded with a curse of his own, but Gellert blocked it without a moment's hesitation. Albus, reluctantly, fired another, but it missed and chipped one of the wooden bookcases. Curses flew between the three combatants, the Dumbledore brothers against the Durmstrang student. Even with the odds against him, it was Gellert who suffered the fewest hits. He drew blood from each, and they did strike him a few times with curses, Aberforth attempting to repay him with the same Unforgivable. It hit its mark, but the effect was only temporary. The will to make someone suffer was not behind it.

Gellert, schooled in dueling from childhood, seemed quite adjusted to the situation, every move calculated, and the dodges that the brothers made were slim. Hogwarts taught spells that they could use, and they tried, but their education was all but completely limited to classroom studies, nothing practical. The true art of dueling was not something that Hogwarts students were drilled on, yet it was a way of life at Durmstrang, and the difference was plain.

Ariana looked on at the frenzy, watching as pictures were shredded, glass was broken, and books were scattered from their shelves. Her eyes were ever wide, and her lips parted. She might have tried to scream, but nothing came out. She did not dare try and stop the battle; she could only look on in horror.

Three jets of light struck at the same time. One flew back toward Aberforth, knocking him off his feet. One just missed catching Gellert's uninjured cheek. The final spell flew straight for Ariana. She did not move, even as it sped toward her, and none of the three combatants could have moved quickly enough to have protected her. The spell struck her in the chest, and she weaved on her feet for a moment. An incantation died on Gellert's lips, and Albus's wand lowered slightly. Aberforth staggered to his feet, trying to regain his breath. Three pairs of eyes watched the young woman as she looked at each of them and then fell to the ground.

The three stood still for a few seconds or a few hours. None of them were sure how long it was. They could not say whether it had really been an eternity that they had stood there or whether it had merely felt like it. Each of them stood, still and silent, waiting for Ariana to rise or moan in pain or cry. Each of them waited for something.

Nothing came.

Gellert took a step back, staring at the motionless young woman. He Disapparated without a word.

Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore only stared at one another.