A/N: Hope you enjoy! I've never written anything like this before, but I hope it's okay. Thanks for reading!

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The Summer of Broken Promises

The summer breeze blew around the little lane, ruffling the heads of the daisies and rippling the long grass at the edge of the road. Apart from the auburn-haired young man sitting on a gate at the entrance to the graveyard, the lane was completely deserted. The quaint cottages stood still and silent, sheltering from the heat in the shade of trees and hedgerows. Windows on the upper floors had been thrown open, as though the inhabitants of the village still hoped for a gust of cooler wind.

So far, hope had failed them. Godric's Hollow was hot and sticky and stifling.

The boy on the gate, however, did not seem to be bothered by the heat. He had loosened his collar and thrown his thick, dark jacket onto the fence beside him, his narrow face bowed as though praying. But his skin, despite the warmth of the afternoon, was still ghostly pale, chalk-white against the miserable black of his tie.

The truth was, Albus Dumbledore didn't even notice the weather. His thoughts were too engaged, too wrapped up in his own feelings to have room for the more mundane aspects of life. His mother had just died, his best friend had gone off without him and he was already sick to the death of being cooped up in this lonely village. It had been four days. Only four days. But those four days had seemed like the longest wait of Albus' life.

He knew he should be less resentful, knew that he should be grateful that he got to spend time with his younger brother and sister. It wasn't Ariana's fault that she was unstable, after all, or that Aberfoth hadn't been there to calm her down. It wasn't anyone's fault that Albus' mother had been killed as a result, or that their father was already in Azkaban, but he still couldn't help feeling angry. Why should he have to stay behind? Why did something like this have to happen now? He'd almost been free of Godric's Hollow forever and now here he was, stuck here for the rest of eternity - spoilt, boring and wasted.

Digging his fingers into the sun-warmed wood of the gate, Albus sighed and let the pain wash over him. His mother dead, his father gone, his brother driven half-mad by grief and his sister locked up to prevent her from killing them all. What was he going to do?

Bitterly, he shoved his hands into his pockets and pulled out a crumpled bit of parchment. His last letter from Elphias, the first he'd heard of his friend since he'd gone off to Greece. Of course, it wasn't Elphias' fault that he'd had to go on their Grand Tour alone. He'd asked if Albus wanted him to stay behind, if Albus wanted to postpone the tour until they were both ready to take it together. But Albus had waved him off. He couldn't stand his friend's pity.

Besides, he had no idea how long he'd be trapped here. It could be months, it could be years, and he couldn't abandon Aberforth or Ariana. Even if it was sometimes quite tempting.

He stared at the letter glumly, not wanting to unroll it and see the words in Elphias' scrawl. He did not need another reminder of what he was missing, what he had lost. He did not need to see the truth of it all written down in undeniable reality, did not need to be told that it was 'such a shame' for the thousandth time. Albus knew it was a shame. He knew he was brilliant, that he was wasted, that he was trapped.

And he loathed himself for it.

Crumpling up the letter again, he pushed it back into his pocket, the guilt burning through his veins. He was being selfish. He was being ungrateful. After all, he still had people who loved him, still had Ariana and Aberforth and Elphias. The trouble was, he didn't seem to want Elphias' company anymore - or the company of anyone else, for that matter. The loss of his mother seemed to have torn him from the rest of the word, severing what little connections he had left. In his siblings' company, he was more alone than ever.

"Albus!"

The warbling voice made Albus jump, despite its familiarity. He hastily slid from the gate and straightened up, trying to look cheerful as the little woman came towards him. "Good afternoon, Mrs Bagshot."

"Albus, what are you doing out here? Shouldn't you be in the shade? Where's Aberforth?" Bathilda Bagshot, Albus' next-door neighbour, shuffled to a halt and stared at him, her lips pursed. Although she couldn't be much into her middle-ages, Bathilda already had the gait of an old lady and her watery eyes blinked a little in the sun - washed-out, light grey, intelligent.

"Aberforth is back at the cottage. With his goats," said Albus, his eyes on the dusty path. "I was going for a walk."

She studied him, her gaze shrewd, and Albus felt the waves of pity radiating from her. "Of course you were, dear. It must be so difficult for you at the moment. Your mother was no age to go and your father didn't deserve to be taken either."

There was a long silence, while Albus continued to stare at the floor, a falsely-cheerful smile on his face, and Mrs Bagshot watched him steadily.

"Well, I must be getting off," said Bathilda at last, tearing her gaze from Albus' face. "Nice seeing you, dear. If you need anything - any support, food, money, you name it - you know exactly where to find me. Send me that owl of yours. And I wouldn't say no to reading some of your essays, either."

"Thank you," said Albus quietly. "But I think we'll manage."

She smiled a little too understandingly, then turned away, beginning to shuffle back towards the shelter of her cottage. She was halfway down the lane when she turned back and Albus forced the smile to return to his face.

"Oh, and I was wondering - my nephew will be coming to stay in a day or so. He's a lovely, bright young man and just your age, too. I'd like to introduce you sometime."

Albus looked up, biting his lip. "Thank you, Mrs Bagshot, but I-"

"Don't go telling me you'd be better off alone," said Bathilda, her eyes twinkling. "I know how you young men ache for company. But do pop around to visit on Monday. I'm sure Gellert would like someone to talk to, someone to show him around the village."

"Forgive me, but I'm not sure there's very much to see-"

But she was already hobbling away, shaking her head and sighing. As she reached the corner and vanished around it, Albus could've sworn he heard the words, "Such a shame. Such an awful shame."

Albus' heart turned to lead. He tore himself away from the graveyard gate and followed her up the lane to his own home, his own family and his own desolate prison, wishing more than ever that he wasn't alone.

"Where the hell were you?" Aberforth's voice was the first thing to reach Albus' ears as he slipped in through the back yard and found himself surrounded by goats. Younger than him by three years and as different from Albus as a brother could be, Aberforth Dumbledore spent almost his whole life rolling in mud and running amok.

"Don't talk to me like that," said Albus sharply, striding towards the back door of their quiet cottage.

Aberforth snorted, looking up from the stool on which he sat, his auburn hair tangled. "I'll talk to you how I want. Where were you? She's been in a frenzy since lunchtime, but I don't suppose you'd care when you're off doing Merlin-knows-what."

Closing the gate behind him, Albus froze and looked up, fear flooding through him, mingling with the guilt. Oh, God. Ariana. "She has?"

"Of course she has," retorted Aberforth, kicking at the straw by his feet. "But, like I said, you don't care. You never care."

Albus winced, then raised his voice a little more. "Don't be stupid. I care about Ariana just as much as you do. Now tell me what happened. Is she all right?"

"She's fine. I calmed her down. As usual," said Aberforth, his gaze still on the straw. But, behind the rough tone, there was an odd sort of pride in his voice, the sort of pride which Albus rarely heard.

He turned away. Rough and unlettered as his younger brother was, Albus knew that Aberforth was far less selfish than he was, far less likely to abandon his family in exchange for glory. And part of Albus was jealous of that. Aberforth had it easy. No one expected anything of him, no one asked him for advice or help. And yet, throughout all his suffering, he was a decent and rational human being. As long as you ignored his inexplicable fondness for goats.

"You didn't need to do that. I could've done it." The hurt slipped between the cracks in Albus' demeanour before he'd had time to register it.

Aberforth grunted and reached out to stroke the nearest goat, rubbing his hands through its thick, white hair. "What? You were going to help? You were going to come running when she collapsed on the floor and started trying to blow the house up?"

"I would've come if you'd called me," said Albus calmly and his brother grunted again.

"Well, I wouldn't have called you. I don't need you here. I can look after her by myself and it's much nicer for me when I haven't got you butting in."

"I'm not butting in, Ab, I'm just-"

Aberforth interrupted. "You're just too busy being Mr Brillant, I know," he spat, glaring at Albus with his piercing blue eyes. As unlike as the brothers were in personality, their parent's looks were at least reflected in both of them. "Go back upstairs and complain to old Batty Bagshot. She'll understand what a waste it is to have you cooped up at home."

Anger surged through Albus and he turned, with one hand on the cool, rusting doorknob, to look back. "I'm not going anywhere. I'm head of the household and you'll do as I say. Stop talking to me like I don't know better than you, because you're my stringy younger brother and you hardly know anything. Now, if you'll stop whining, I'm going to see Ariana."

Aberforth stood up. He was almost as tall as Albus already and he seemed to tower over his brother as he stood in the dingy yard, seething with rage. "Like hell you are. You're not going near her."

"Excuse me, I am and you're not going to stop me."

"You think?"

Albus looked down. Aberforth's wand had been withdrawn from inside his jacket, pointing at Albus' face. He took a step backwards before pulling out his own, the wood of the door warm and hard beneath his back. "Put that away. You don't know what you're doing."

The wand didn't move.

"I said, put that away, Ab. You're underage."

"What if I don't care?"

Anger returned again. "I care. Do you think I want another family member carted off to Azkaban? Put it away."

Very slowly, still glaring up at his older brother, Aberforth lowered the wand and tucked it back inside his pocket. He sat back down on the stool, the goats around him munching happily, completely oblivious to the tension in the air. "Fine. But I'm doing it for her, not for you."

"Good," said Albus, lowering his own wand. He could feel his fingers trembling on its handle and he hoped Aberforth hadn't noticed. "I'm making dinner later, so be back in the house by six. I won't be here on Monday. Mrs Bagshot has invited me to visit."

Aberforth said nothing, only stroked the white goat with a little more vigour.

Albus turned the doorknob and practically fell into the small, cramped kitchen, shutting the door so hard behind him that the rickety doorframe rattled. Several fragments of peeling paint rained down on his head, and a pot on the kitchen table fell to the floor and shattered.

Albus sighed, flicking his wand. "Reparo." The pot flew back to the table and mended itself, while Albus strode over to the door at the other end of the room and ducked through it into the low-ceilinged hallway. The whole house seemed even more cramped, old and revoltingly quaint this summer. Even the roses around the front, which he had previously liked, were enough to make him nauseous.

He took the stairs two at a time until he reached the landing, then slipped into the safety of his own bedroom. As he closed the door, he heard soft singing coming from the room across from the landing, the sweet, melodious voice of his fourteen-year-old sister. She was in a good mood. That was something.

Albus pushed his overlong hair out of his eyes and sank onto the bed, which creaked in protest. He sighed. It was only three years. Three years of being shut away, of being dull, bored and wasted, then Aberforth would turn seventeen and he would be free.

But it looked like an awfully long three years from where he sat, consumed by his own thoughts, in the sticky heat of the summer. And he hardly knew how he was going to survive it.

A/N:

Thank you for reading! I realise that this is not the sort of thing I usually write, but hopefully you'll enjoy it. I haven't abandoned my Marauder-era series, don't worry, but I had a random surge of inspiration a few days ago and decided to write the story of Dumbledore and Grindelwald alongside my other stuff.

I have no idea where this will go or how good it will be. Romance has never been my strongest point XD

If you're reading this, please let me know what you think. Good? Bad? Somewhere in the middle? It would really help me improve :)

Thanks!

~ Lacy