26 – Desires and Deceptions

Tom sat in a quiet corner of the library, the Daily Prophet spread on the table before him. He had been following the events in Europe with great interest, listening to his housemates enthusiastically discuss the growing situation. This wizard, Grindelwald, intrigued him. He seemed to be a very powerful wizard, gathering a substantial following, and being suspected of rather horrific deeds. Tom's lips twisted upward at the thought.

Many of the Slytherin families were great supporters of Grindelwald, and Tom felt that if he listened closely, he could learn much. Older boys, like Jacob Rosier and Ewan Avery, were particularly fascinating as they began to openly voice their opinions, at least in the privacy of the Common Room. They knew they had to be careful. And, he watched with envy as several of his housemates were regularly invited to confidential meetings with Professor Slughorn after hours, in his office. It was an exclusive group that he wanted to be apart of. He longed for that kind of selective recognition. However, even though he had turned thirteen at his last birthday during the Christmas holidays, he was still considered too young. Tom sneered at the thought, but took silent satisfaction in knowing that he was powerful, more powerful than any of the others could possibly imagine.

His lips twisted upward again. Even his teachers had praised his prowess with magic. They were sympathetic to the reclusive, orphan boy and found him "charming"… at least all but one. His brows furrowed in reflection. He didn't like Professor Dumbledore. He felt transparent in the man's presence, like the professor could see right into his thoughts. He didn't like that feeling.

Leaning back in his seat and scowling, he folded the paper neatly in front of him. Withdrawing his wand, he tapped the front page and directed the paper back to the librarian's counter. Madam Olfield raised her greying head from the dusty card catalogue and smiled weakly at the youngster. He glared back in response, and she diverted her eyes. Rising to leave, he smiled to himself. He made her uncomfortable. He had that effect on some people, the weaker ones. That was a feeling he liked, the feeling of intimidation, that he was in control of a situation.

~~~***~~~

The light rustle of a dark cloak brushing across the cropped grass whispered in the blackness of night. Elizabett furtively glanced over her shoulder as she quickly traversed the path toward Hogsmeade. The sun had set about an hour ago, and the new moon left only the stars as the guiding light.

Albus had made her departure easy. Since their arrival home from the honeymoon, he had been preoccupied with the odd package that he had procured from the dragon colony. It was rarely out of his sight, and he frequently disappeared to the lab or was found scratching notes in the library or at the kitchen table. Elizabett was often left alone to unpack their belongings and get the new quarters settled. This afternoon, he had been so distracted that he brought his last class to the library to do a research assignment while he wandered the Restricted Section. He hadn't shown up for dinner, and Elizabett knew that he had gone straight to the lab when the workday was over.

Her stomach churned, and she felt ill. She had planned her departure to the last detail. Both the Floo and Portkey were traceable, therefore ineffective methods of transportation. Flying would take too long, and it wasn't her strongest skill. She would have to Apparate, hop scotching from Hogsmeade to Dover, then across the English Channel to Paris, and then on to Hungary. It would be gruelling, drawing on much of her energy, but necessary, and she knew the way well. When they had met in Paris, Elizabett could feel something on the rise, a tension growing worse than in the past. She needed to find out what Gellert was up to. A course of action had to be developed to thwart his newest scheme.

Reaching the outskirts of the tiny Wizard village, Elizabett gazed up at the flickering lights of Hogwarts wondering if her husband would notice her absence. With an apprehensive sigh, she shook her head and closed her eyes, steeling herself against the restricting feeling of Apparition. Focusing on her first destination, there was a light crack, and she was gone.

~~~***~~~

Gellert Grindelwald sat in a large, leather armchair in front of an empty fireplace, staring thoughtfully into the pristine hearth. There would be no fire tonight. He didn't want interruptions. He had been looking forward to seeing Elizabett again. She had been his closest confidant at one time, and he missed her. He missed talking with her, sharing his thoughts, and getting her feedback. He knew full well that his actions had repulsed her, and that she resented being trapped into an alliance with him, but there was an unexplainable draw to her. Holding a shot glass of Firewhiskey in his right hand, he held it up in the dim lamplight to examine the amber contents, a slight, crooked grin growing on his lips. There was something special about her that he couldn't explain. His smile quickly faded. It was a shame that she had developed such a strong guard against his Imperio so quickly. Her lithe, little body had provided delightful entertainment while it lasted. Her fire had surprised him, and he had enjoyed the fight.

The ornate mantle clock above the hearth struck the hour drawing his attention up. It was getting late. Surely, she would come. She knew what would happen if she didn't. He took a leisurely sip of the liquor and laid his hand on the armrest, waiting.

~~~***~~~

Elizabett stood on the opposite side of the street outside the decrepit black and white manor. Her energy reserves were low, and she needed a moment to regain her strength before moving into the power of the wards. Gellert had taught her this method of travel years ago as they traversed Europe "studying Muggles". It was easier and less complicated than reserving Portkeys, he had said, and she naively complied. Now, years later, it had become a valuable skill, but one that left her feeling weak and tired.

After ten minutes of standing in the shadow of a burnt-out street lamp, she drew her shoulders back and steeled her appearance. Lifting her chin as if heading into the lion's den, she twitched a small smile pulling on a brave façade, and cast Occlumency to its fullest. Stepping off the curb and crossing the abandoned street, she moved forward with purpose, through the multiple layers of security, and up the decaying front steps. As she approached the simple door, it slowly eased open to admit her access, slamming shut as she stepped through.

Gellert stood in the archway of the study, leaning casually against the doorframe, his chocolate brown frock coat open to mid-chest displaying a cream-coloured, fine linen shirt reminiscent of the late seventeenth century. He still held the Firewhiskey in his right hand and took an unhurried sip as he studied his guest.

"I'm glad to see that you remembered your way," he drawled acerbically, straightening away from the wall. "Please, join me." He stepped aside making a smooth, sweeping motion with his left hand to cordially invite Elizabett into the chamber.

"You didn't give me much choice," Elizabett coolly stated as she passed him heading to her favourite chair. "However, after some thought, I had to reluctantly admit, I do enjoy our conversations. You give me much to think about."

Gellert's smile was genuine as he followed her in and moved across the room. "A drink?" he offered from a small table by a large, heavily draped window.

She nodded. It was a risk that she had to take. The multiple Apparitions had left her parched. He reached for a crystal decanter of Chianti, but she stopped him. "No," she smiled sweetly. "My tastes have changed. Do you still stock Bordeaux?" He turned slightly to eye his guest. "And a glass of water would be nice," she added demurely.

He tipped his head in polite acknowledgement, and tapped his wand on the side of a tumbler. "Aquamenti" filled the glass with ice-cold water, and he handed it to the young woman who leaned forward to receive it graciously. Reaching into a cupboard below the small sideboard, he retrieved a dusty, dark-green bottle, and wiped it with his hand. "The best of the elf wines," he said lowly as he poured a glass. "I hope it's to your taste."

Elizabett accepted the glass and took a small sip. It was tasty, but wasn't the reason for the switch. She knew he'd have her usual prepared. The change would throw him off guard, and hopefully result in an untainted drink.

"It's very good. Thank you," she sank comfortably into the chair. "Shall we get down to it?" She swirled the wine in the globed glass. "So, Gellert, what do you have up your sleeve?" She smiled benevolently at him.

His grin grew, and he looked delighted with himself. Lowering into the leather armchair that was placed beside her, he proudly began his tale. "Where to begin, where to begin…"

As the evening progressed, a Warming Charm was placed on the chamber, and as the conversation continued, night eased into the darkness before dawn. Elizabett was in awe of the immensity of the plan. It had developed far beyond anything she had anticipated. He was a master of manipulation, playing the Muggles against each other in a way that created further dissention without his additional involvement. It was brilliant, but brutal. The Muggles had already begun invading each other's territory, killing and destroying, and it threatened to escalate. Gellert gleefully expressed that even countries as far away as in the Southern Hemisphere had begun to show interest in the battle: a war to rival the Muggle's last one. Gellert's goal was to extend its range. He had "influenced" certain military officials with his own ideologies of purity and superiority, and several of his key followers had voluntarily joined the ranks of the Muggle military creating a force that was magically enhanced. Elizabett shook her head in disbelief. Was there anything she could do to stop this madness? Was it out of her control?

By the time she left, she felt helpless and defeated. She was both mentally and physically exhausted and still had a long way to travel. With the sun still sitting below the horizon and the weak rays struggling to stretch upward, Elizabett left Gellert's and headed home.

~~~***~~~

The door to their chamber silently eased open. By this time, the yellow-orange rays of the early sun rested brilliantly on the horizon. Creeping in and shutting the door carefully, Albus snuck into the main room. If he were lucky, Elizabett would be sleeping soundly and wouldn't notice the hour in which he was coming in. He hadn't intended to stay out so late…again, but the dragon heart that he had fortuitously received over a month ago was something that he felt would launch him into a completely new phase of his "hobby". After all, the heart pumped the blood through the body, and a dragon's heart was remarkably strong considering its small size in comparison to the magnitude of the creature.

Besides, he didn't think she'd mind much. Since their return home, Elizabett seemed somewhat distracted. He thought it was merely her introverted way of keeping their life private while adjusting to being Mrs. Dumbledore. They felt it would be confusing to have two Professor Dumbledore's in the school, so Elizabett had retained her maiden name for professional use. Maybe this was the cause for her edginess? He didn't know, and then there was the fight this morning. He forgot, once again, to help levitate boxes from her old chamber to their new one even though she had made time to help with his. He hadn't reciprocated, and she had lost her temper quite violently and abruptly. Thankfully, she had cast a Silencing Charm before the rant, calling him "selfish" and "obsessive", and he had uncharacteristically retaliated with the typical "Hufflepuff in a family of Slytherins" line. But, upon retrospect, he supposed that he deserved her wrath. She was right. He had been neglectful. But, the heart was a rare treat to have. He had to give it his attention, he reasoned.

Tiptoeing across the living area, he drew the thick curtains closed against the brightening morning light. It was Saturday, and no one would think anything of it if they didn't show up for breakfast. Pushing the bedroom door open just enough to slip through, he found Elizabett sleeping on her side facing the inner wall of the room. Hauling his dark grey work robe over his head and quietly tossing it onto a chair by the wardrobe, he changed into his light blue nightshirt and gently lifted the edge of the crisp sheet, slipping silently into bed. She stirred, opening a worried, unseen eye, and Albus held his breath, but she didn't roll over.

"Nice of you to join me," she uttered coolly.

"Sorry I'm late," he apologized laying on his back and staring up at the white ceiling. "I sent a house elf to let you know, but he said he couldn't find you."

Elizabett remained facing the wall but felt her temperature rise. "I needed some air and went for a walk," she lied.

"Really?" he said, tucking his left arm under his head. "It was a little chill last night. I hope you took a cloak," he continued to stare up. He could feel the tension between them, and he didn't like it.

"Of course," she muttered sleepily keeping her back to him.

Turning to spoon her from behind, Albus snuggled into his wife, wrapping his arm around her waist and pulling her close. "I'm sorry," he muttered into the crook of her neck.

Elizabett put her hand over his but said nothing. Feeling him wiggle deeper under the covers, she heard the light snore of her sleeping husband within seconds. He had sent a house elf, she worried. At what time?

~~~***~~~

Elizabett's tousled head popped off the pillow. The bedroom curtain was drawn, but the bright mid-day sun beamed around the edges. Albus was still snoring evenly beside her, and her stomach began to roil. Last night's Apparition marathon had left her entire body aching. She felt like she had been hit by a Hippogriff's wings. Rolling onto her back to reduce the pressure on her side, she felt the bile rise into her throat. With her head beginning to spin, she bolted to a sitting position, and her feet hit the floor. Racing to the washroom, she collapsed onto her knees, and grabbed hold of the porcelain bowl near the sink, violently vomited into the toilet. Wiping her sleeve across her watering eyes, she leaned back to rest on the cold, tile floor, her back knocking into bony legs. She tipped her head backward to gaze up at the concerned face of her husband, but the motion brought a new wave of queasiness. Lurching forward, she grabbed hold of the bowl and continued to empty her stomach. Sitting back again, she found Albus on the floor in his nightshirt, his back against the tub, offering a cool, damp flannel for the base of her neck, and another to wipe her face.

"Are you all right?" he asked with gentle concern.

Elizabett shook her head weakly, tears streaming down her face, her head foggy. Multiple Apparitions had never made her feel this bad. Maybe it was a combination of things. He said that he had sent an elf last night? Did he suspect that she had gone out? He had come home so late. Was he really working in the lab or did he go looking for her? She had gotten in only moments before him, hearing him open the front door as she slipped into bed. She had pretended to be asleep but had listened as he snuck into the room. Her mind whirled in confusion and guilt, and she shook her head at his question.

"My poor dear," he said drawing her into a gentle hug and softly brushing a kiss on the top of her head, smiling into her hair. "I'm so sorry if I worried you. I didn't intend to be so late." He snorted softly. "You know what I can be like. You were right. I've been selfish, and I must strive to improve. However, you must realize that I have a prize that is rare and unique. I have to care for it, otherwise it will be ruined."

"I understand," Elizabett croaked into his chest feeling the sting of tears brimming in her eyes. "Your work is important. Whatever it is you received in Europe demands your attention."

"I wasn't talking about my work," he gazed down lovingly at his bride. "I was talking about you. You are my prize. You are rare and unique. It's you I should be caring for. I don't want to ruin what we have." He shook his head sadly. "Please forgive me." He held her tenderly and gave her a tender squeeze.

"Ohhh, don't do that," she groaned after trying to return the embrace. Replacing the cloth to the back of her neck, she turned a shade paler.

Albus pulled his head back to look at her quizzically. Hesitantly, he asked, "Have you missed anything lately?"

Missed anything? Her panic rose again. Did she forget to do something last night? Oh Gods, had she been careless? She fearfully shook her head again at his question.

He didn't notice her concern as his lips twitched upward slightly, and his eyes began a merry twinkle. "Think, my love, when was the last time you had your… umm… monthly?" he asked uncomfortably.

Elizabett's brow creased. Monthly? What an odd question. She thought for a moment. "I don't remember," she said faintly. "I've been so busy. Before the wedding, I think."

Albus inhaled proudly. The spell had worked. The slight smile turned into a broad grin. "That's seven weeks ago, dear. This is the first time you've been sick, but I recall you complaining about not feeling well."

Elizabett's head was pounding, and her fear of Albus finding out about Gellert turned into a new fear. Pregnant? Could it be?

Albus held her in a loving embrace, and she rested her head on his chest. "I may not have been attentive lately, but the honeymoon was certainly… umm…active," he chuckled lightly. "Maybe a visit to Madam Prince later today would be wise."

Elizabett nodded, her cheek rubbing against the soft fabric of his nightshirt. A child. That would throw a whole new spin on her efforts to stop Gellert. He was bound to find out and use it against her. She closed her eyes and wrapped her arms around her husband's waist. This should be a happy moment. It's what she wanted, what they hoped for. She buried her face into his chest unable to decide whether to laugh or cry.