Due to the deadlock that was England's wizard economy at the time, Albus had had no choice but to swallow his pride and search for work in the muggle world. It was doubly humiliating that he, having no experience in any field of mundane profession, had to settle for the lowest of entry-level positions.

A cannery was where he earned his wages. It was hot, loud, demanding work; he thought the steam and the noise and the bizarre machinery was as close a vision of hell as he could imagine.

His schedule varied, depending on how the harvest was going at any given time, and therefore how much raw materials the cannery had to process. He often didn't know when he would be working any given day until he punched in his timecard the night prior.

Then there were his co-workers. Maybe it was his long hair. Or perhaps they could sense, somehow, that he was as different as it was possible to be from any of them. Either way, they shunned him totally, unless it was to jeer or throw dark glances in his direction. Even at the best of times, spiteful whispers followed wherever he went, to the point that he was glad the place was so loud as to drown out everything else.

It bothered him. How could it not? And if these people would treat him so badly, just because he was 'different'…it wasn't too far a leap of logic to suspect they would do worse if they could. Ridiculing a man, attacking a young girl. That was where this hostility, this ignorance, led.

At the very least, he could find shelter in his own world at the end of the day. But what about the people who could not? The muggles and muggle-born wizards who were doomed to this?

I was raised in that world. Gellert's words recalled themselves to him. How could I make you understand?

He understood, all right. He understood too well.

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After work, he was exhausted; his body wanted nothing more than to collapse and shut down. His heart and mind, however, were already knocking on Bathtilda's front door, and Albus could do nothing but follow suit.

He was pleasantly surprised when Ms. Bagshot herself did not answer the door, and he instead found himself face to face with the subject of all his thoughts lately.

"Do you really think you can change the world?" He was just too tired to bother with pleasant small-talk.

"I know I can." Brown-sugar eyes met bright blue ones, steady and unwavering. Albus felt many things in that moment, hope and fear and love so strong he could have choked on it. Yes, he was in love, he couldn't even pretend to deny it anymore.

"I want to help you."

"Nothing would make me happier."

His smile was radiant, and Albus had to look away. He wasn't here for love, not the romantic kind anyway. He could love Gellert's mind, his ideas and his ambition. That was enough. It would have to be.

"We have a lot to talk about, you and I." He stepped back, motioning Albus inside. "My great-aunt is away in London until tomorrow. I'll make us some tea, and tell you all about my grand schemes."

Somehow, Albus wasn't tired at all anymore.

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"The more I thought about it, the more I realized nothing has ever made more sense." Albus said. They were seated on Bathtilda's couch, two steaming cups of tea on the coffee table in front of them.

"Of course. You're much to smart a person not to know sense when you see it. I was afraid I'd made a mistake though, in the graveyard. To be perfectly honest, I wanted to impress you."

"You did. A little too much."

He laughed. "Exactly."

"So what did you see anyway, when you looked into death?"

"I thought you didn't approve of such things."

"I don't. But since you've gone and done it anyway, we may as well profit of your recklessness."

"Very well. I didn't find any answers, nothing to give me a clue about where the Hallows might reside nowadays."

"I could have told you as much." Albus said, gently. "The only things of value in life are obtained through life."

"Ah, but I didn't say I gained nothing. Although I saw very little related to the Hallows, what I did find were traces of the others who came before me, and tried to do the same thing. Many of them are still there. They went to look into death, and never came back."

"What does that tell you, other than it was a bad idea all along?"

"Because, all the men – and women, although there weren't many – who have sought after the Deathly Hallows have been power-hungry maniacs with no motives beyond personal power."

"That doesn't reflect too well on yourself." Albus said, frowning slightly.

"Only goes to show that all rules have exceptions." If he was offended, it didn't show. "The point is, the Hallows have to be somewhere. Humans would never let such relics of power out of their clutches. And now that we know the general profile of those unsavory individuals who go to extreme measures to obtain them, we know where to begin."

"What, we go search the house of every 'power-hungry maniac' in the hope of locating a Hallow? We'll have a long search ahead of us."

Gellert laughed again. "Merlin knows we'd have daunting task, but no, you're only half right. We're looking for power-hungry manicas, who already have power."

"That seems like a daunting enough task in and of itself. Your plan, it seems, is to approach every powerful and evil wizard the world over, to try and get close enough to deduce if they have a Hallow – and then try and take it for yourself?"

"Ourselves. And I have to disagree with your terminology. Just because someone is a power-hungry maniac does not necessarily make them evil. One can be hungry for the power to do good, can't they?"

"Power corrupts, though."

"If that was the case, all wizards would be inherently more corrupt than muggles. Yet we see how that it not the case. Anyway, I'm not disagreeing with you except on technicalities. Whoever possesses the Hallows – particularly the Elder wand – is probably corrupt and rotten to the core."

"Why begin with the Elder wand? The cloak or the stone wouldn't be nearly so appealing a target for evil, powerful wizards. They might be easier to obtain."

"Maybe. It's just that the wand will help us get the stone and the cloak, but not the other way around."

"They could."

"An invisibility cloak – even the invisibility cloak – won't do us much good against the owner of the Elder wand. Not if they're a dark wizard worth the title. And as for the stone…what good would that do at all?"

"Think about it. With the stone, we could talk to anyone that has ever died. We could speak to the Elder wand's previous owners. Ask them how they obtained it, and how we can obtain it."

"Would they be willing to talk, though?"

"Suppose we spoke to the person who owned the Elder wand prior to its current owner. Wouldn't that person presumably be eager to avenge themselves on the thief?"

"Ah yes, of course! The Elder wand is hardly something one gives up willingly." He smiled warmly, and Albus had to look away.

"Can I ask you another thing?" He said after a moment.

"Aside from that?"

"Um, yes."

"Go on then."

"Were you raised religious?"

"Why?" His voice was wary, all trace of smile gone from his face.

"You don't have to tell me, if it's personal." Albus said, quickly. "I just wondered…about the prayers in Latin; why you would say them as you were on the edge of death."

"I don't want to talk about it. Don't ask me about that again."

"I won't." He said, taken aback. "I'm sorry."

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Their conversation ran on into the early hours of morning, only stopping when Gellert went to prepare more tea, and returned to find Albus fast asleep.

He looked so…defenseless. It made Gellert smile: that bit of vulnerability in the face of all that power and knowledge. He'd never felt as warmly towards anyone than he did towards Albus at that moment. He was wholly unaccustomed to the feeling.

He summoned a blanket from the upstairs linen closet and covered his sleeping compatriot, then removed his glasses and set them on the coffee table beside the empty teacups.

"You're everything I've hoped for. Even though I didn't know I was hoping." He reached out and brushed a strand of auburn hair from the slumbering face. Then he stood, and collected the empty teacups to wash before he himself turned in.

"Sweet dreams, Albus."

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(A/N Gel is infatuated too, he just doesn't know it yet ;) I chose a cannery for Albus to work in because of personal experience. Bad work, although my co-workers were actually quite enjoyable. Thanks for reading!)