- March 1945 -

Albus left the Potter house and apparated to an ally tucked amongst the back streets on London where it was disappointingly but unsurprisingly, also raining. The damp had begun to soak through his wool coat. London was dark, darker than he had ever seen it. There were no lights in any of the windows. Motorcars drove with no headlamps. None of the lampposts were lit. Muggle blackout sanctions were still in place.

Albus walked to the main road and then to the small pub at the end. The lamppost that stood out front flickered as he passed but quickly went out again. He entered the bar and the bell on the door jingled. It was empty and quiet apart from the slow roast of embers from the fire slowly fading in the hearth. The barman called from the back that he would be right with him but Albus didn't wait. Instead, he moved quickly around the tables in the middle of the room, their chairs already put up for the night, to the back door that opened into a small, bricked, courtyard. He tapped out the pattern on the brick wall with his wand. The bricks twisted and parted into an arch. Albus passed through and took his first left off Diagon Alley into Knockturn Alley.

It was busy, witches and wizards crowded the streets. It looked like Hogsmeade during the first weekend trip of the school year. He looked for the source of the commotion but there was no shouting, no running, no unusual dealings. The stream of people came from all directions and carried on in all directions. It was simply business as usual for Knockturn Alley at four in the morning while a global war raged on the continent.

A faint glow caught his attention on the stone wall to his left. A familiar symbol had been carved into it, a triangle with a circle in the middle and a line running down the center, tip to base. His stomach felt heavy and his throat tight. He retraced the symbol with his wand and tapped the wall three times. The glow faded and the carving vanished. Across the street, a man leaned against a doorway. Albus was being watched.

He slipped into the crowd and weaved his way quickly down the uneven cobbled stone street to the White Wyvern pub. It was just as busy inside as it was outside. A lively card game at a large table in the front window captured the attention of most patrons. Others busied themselves with the barmaid, flirting, taunting, harassing. Albus walked to one end of the bar and flagged down the barkeep.

"What'd'ya want?" the barkeep said.

Albus reached into the pocket of his coat for the coin pouch. He slid it towards the man. "I'm picking up for Brian."

The man stood straighter and took the pouch from him. He licked his lips as he looked inside. "I'm afraid it hasn't come in yet."

Albus stared at the man for a moment before he reached into his coat and handed the man an extra ten galleons.

"Oh, just a minute. I remember now," he said with a chip toothed grin. He reached under the bar and pulled out a wooden propeller plane the size of Albus' hand, the toy of a muggle child. "Hard to come by these days. No refunds."

Albus pocketed the plane, exited the pub, and disapparated.

He apparated to the coast, atop a grassy cliff. The salt was heavy in the air and water in the Channel crashed onto the rocks below like a hammer on an anvil. A light shone in the distance and Albus walked towards it. There was no movement other than a jack rabbit that scampered from his feet. He approached the ferry terminal that was packed with people. Young men, half his age, covered every inch of the terminal, laid slumped against walls and packs and each other. They each wore the same khaki uniform which made it difficult to tell where one person ended and the next person began. Some read, others played cards, most were asleep. They were muggle soldiers, awaiting transport to the continent and the war that had been ragging for five years.

Albus pulled the plane from his pocket. "Spin" was carved onto the propeller blades. He tightened his grip around the fuselage and flicked the propeller. The world immediately began to swirl around him and the ground shook and fell away beneath his feet as if the cliffside had fallen into the sea. The plane rattled in his hand and shot vibrations up his arm. The wood began to splinter, and sparks of light shot from the newly formed crack. A propeller blade snapped off and clipped his ear. He closed his eyes and took grip with his other hand as well. He imagined this was the feeling of a pilot, trapped in the cockpit of a spitfire death spiraling to the ground after being hit by enemy fire, their last moments on this Earth. But some of those men walked away from the wreckage to fly again and fight for the free the skies of Europe.

Without warning he slammed into ground. The impact knocked the air out of his lungs and he wheezed and choked in desperate search for more. His hand had cramped around the plane from his grip and he had to pry it free. He let the wood fall and fracture on the ground. As he stretched back his fingers that were curled in a claw, something wet ran down his neck. His ear bled. And it stung. His brain had realized it wasn't in fact dead and turned the pain receptors back on. There was a warm rush in his ankle as blood rushed to the swelling flesh. He held a hand tightly to his ear to ease the sting and slow the blood. He reached for his wand with the other. A brief moment of panic and dread washed over him at the thought that he may have snapped his wand in the fall but it was thankfully still in tact. He flicked his wand at his ear. "Episky." The skin flared hot then cold. He wiped the blood off his hand onto his coat. He slowly rotated his ankle to loosen it. The pain dulled. It wasn't broken.

He looked up for the first time since impact. In front of him were Parisian looking buildings, three story structures with black roofs that sloped over the cream walls and floated black iron Juliet balconies. A river ran on both his left and right. He turned around and before him stood the gothic cathedral of Notre Dame.

- July 1899 –

"How was the stream?" Aberforth asked when Albus returned home. He was laid on the sofa in the front sitting room tossing a quaffle in the air and catching it.

Albus shrugged. "Fine."

"Mrs. Bagshot stopped by and invited us all for dinner. Her nephew is staying with her."

They had been to Mrs. Bagshot's for dinner several times over the years. She was a decent cook. And Albus would take any chance he could get to not have to make dinner. He had resorted to baked beans on toast three nights in a row now.

"Sounds good."

"I'm not sure Ariana will be up it. She's been in bed all day."

Albus climbed the two sets of stairs to his attic room. The temperature rose half a degree with each step. His room sweltered, the air thick and heavy. His owl cage sat open and empty. Even Arthur couldn't stand to be in this heat. He changed quickly and went back down to the second floor and popped his head into his sister's room.

Her room looked the same as it had after they moved in seven years ago. The walls were cream like every other room in the house but there was a chair rail of light pink ducklings that waddled around the room. There was a rocking chair by the window and a small set of dresser drawers. Above the dresser drawers were two shelves, on one sat a row of dolls and stuffed toys, on the second stood a row of books. At her age, Albus' shelves were lined with school textbooks. Ariana's were lined with children's fairy tales. Her bed and night table took up the remaining space. Her blanket was striped white and pink and she lay beneath it despite the heat, staring blankly out the window.

Albus cast his Patronus and the phoenix settled beside her. "Are you feeling alright?" he asked. She didn't respond. "Mrs. Bagshot invited us for dinner. That'll be nice, huh?"

Ariana turned from the window and looked at the Patronus. She nodded.

There was something wedged between the bed and bedside table. Albus picked it up. It was a picture of their family from before the attack. Their dad was holding Ariana and pointing at the camera and waving, trying to get her to wave as well as she babbled away. Albus was beginning to look like his father. Their mum stood next to them, watching fondly, and swiping the hair out of Ariana's face. She looked young and brighter than Albus remember. Aberforth stood in front of them waving proudly, a large cheesy grin on his face. And Albus stood next to him, his hands in the pockets of his pants, smiling and turning his head towards his sister as she got hold of his hair.

Albus stood the picture back up on the table. Ariana turned back towards the window.

"What about a story?" He picked the Tales of Beedle the Bard off the shelf and sat on the floor resting his back against her bed. The dark brown leather cover was discoloured around the edges and some of the pages no longer lay flat, wrinkled by split tea. He ran his hand over the inscription on the first page.

Albus,

We hope this book inspires sweet dreams full of adventure. Happy first Christmas.

- Mum and Dad

The note was written in his dad's handwriting. He only knew that because it wasn't his mother's. He had forgotten it was there. He had forgotten the book once belonged to him. He flipped the page to the first story, The Wizard and the Hoping Pot.

At first Albus didn't know if Ariana was listening. When he started The Fountain of Fair Fortune he heard her shift behind him to lay on her stomach, her head hanging off the bed to rest on his shoulder so she could read along. She seemed happy. She seemed normal.

Aberforth popped in a while later. Albus handed him the book and he continued on to The Warlock's Hairy Heart while Albus braided Ariana's hair for dinner.

At half six they walked next door. Mrs. Bagshot answered the door and ushered them inside. The rich, inviting smell of Sunday roast gravy drifted around the stacks of books that towered on every available surface and filled the house. "I'm sorry we didn't bring anything," Albus said.

"Nonsense, my boy," Mrs. Bagshot said. She patted his cheek. "I'll put you boys to work on the dishes afterwards." The stairs creaked behind him. "Ah, here's Gellert."

Albus turned. It was the young man from the stream.

Gellert held Albus' eyes. "I believe we've met."

Albus nodded and appeased everyone's questioning glances. "Yes, briefly, this morning."

Gellert weaved through the books piled on the stairs and helped Albus shift the stacks on the table to the far end, the sixth chair, the floor, anywhere, so they could sit down for dinner. "Sorry for the clutter," Mrs Bagshot said. "History is vast and grows everyday. Always something new to read. Luckily, I've garnered some help for the summer." She patted Gellert on the shoulder and he scrunched his nose.

Albus smiled. "No worries."

Mrs Bagshot sat at the head of the rectangular table, opposite the stacks of books at the foot. Ariana next to her, then Albus, and Gellert and Aberforth on the other side. It was a tight squeeze, lots of elbows and legs, but they managed. Mrs. Bagshot filled their plates with roast beef, mash potatoes, roasted carrots, Yorkshire pudding, and gravy. "This is the first proper meal I've had since being home," Albus said.

"We know," Aberforth said.

"You'll pick it up easy enough. You've always been very gifted," Mrs. Bagshot said. Aberforth rolled his eyes. Albus smiled at his brothers' predictability. "I was telling Gellert about all your achievements, Prefect, Head Boy, your published papers on Transfiguration. I'm hoping you'll rub off on him a bit this summer."

Albus shoveled a large forkful of mash potatoes in his mouth. He chanced a glance at Gellert. His lips were pressed firmly together as if he was trying to contain laughter bubbling inside.

"You're here for the summer then?" Aberforth said.

"Yeah. And then I'm supposed to finish up my last year of school at Hogwarts in the fall but…" he shrugged.

"No. No buts. Your parents sent you here for your education," Mrs. Bagshot said her voice suddenly firm.

"Yes, Auntie," Gellert said, his tone far too agreeable to be taken seriously.

"Where are you from?" Albus asked.

"Bulgaria. A small village like this."

"So you were attending Durmstrang?"

"Yes. Until they wrongfully expelled me."

Aberforth snapped his head to Gellert, eyes wide. Albus raised any eyebrow but something inside him muted his surprise. He was arrogant. An exaggerated sense of one's self and importance didn't fit well with instruction and authority.

"That's enough of that," Mrs. Bagshot said.

"For a bit of fun, I might add. I was only trying to better myself as a wizard and make the world better for us. You would think that's what the school wanted for their students."

"Gellert! Why don't you clear the table and put the water on for tea?" Gellert did as he was told. Mrs. Bagshot unfolded and refolded her napkin, her lips drawn tight. She turned to Ariana. "You didn't eat much, dear."

Ariana didn't answer but instead took another small bite of Yorkshire pudding.

"Here, I'll help," Albus said. He and Aberforth quickly took turns forking mash potatoes and roast beef from her plate before Gellert came back to clear it.

"It's rude to eat off someone else's plate." Mrs. Bagshot said though there was no tone of protest.

Ariana looked at Albus, her eyes wide with worry that she had caused offence. He smiled back at her. "Waste not, want not."

After dinner Mrs. Bagshot took out her knitting needles and sat with Ariana in the front room to show her how to make socks. Albus and Aberforth stood at the sink in the small kitchen and did the dishes. Albus was abysmal at kitchen spells. His charmed scrub brush quit halfway through every dish and splashed back into the sink which sent water and suds everywhere. A tea towel whipped around the room to chase down the stray droplets. They had to dodge it as they snatched partially washed plates out of the air before they could return to the cupboard to go over them again by hand.

"It's almost not worth it," Aberforth said after the damp tea towel caught him in the face. "They should revoke your diploma. You're awful at magic."

"I'm awful at housewife magic."

"That's a shame." Albus turned. Gellert was leaned on the door frame, two water buckets in his hands. Watching. "You'd look good in a frilly pink apron."

Aberforth threw his head back and laughed with the enthusiasm that only a fourteen-year-old boy could muster from a man-wearing-women's-clothing joke.

"Tied in the back with a big bow. Trimmed with lace," Gellert added. Bemusement spread across his face as Aberforth's cackle grew, though his eyes stayed on Albus.

A half-cleaned plate still covered in suds sailed past Aberforth on its way to the cupboard. Albus swiped it from the air and brought it back to the sink. He shook the suds on to his brother on the way. Aberforth didn't seem to notice, still caught up in laughter. Albus flung and handful of suds across the room at Gellert for good measure. Gellert crinkled his nose and flinched backwards as if startled. It was cute and Albus smiled. His brother had found some source of joy, no matter how immature or vaguely offensive and the boy next door was cute and maybe interested in spending time with him.

Gellert raised the bucket in left hand. Albus nodded and grabbed the other two empty buckets beside the sink. He followed Gellert to the front foyer where they crouched down to tie their shoes. Albus glanced up as he looped his left lace around his right. Gellert had unbuttoned the top two buttons on his shirt sometime after dinner and the collar hung low off his chest as he bent over to reveal a dusting of blond chest hair and a gold chain.

"Need a hand?" Gellert said. He had finished tying his own shoes and was watching Albus stare down his shirt as he fumbled with his laces.

"N-no," Albus stuttered.

"Un-huh." Gellert said, refusing to look anywhere else.

Albus' cheeks flushed and then a lump formed in his throat as Gellert stood and towered above him. He was in no position to harbour a foolish crush. Men of that sort were killed for their indiscretions. He couldn't bring another scandal and hardship to his family.

Ariana rushed around the corner and jumped on his back. "Where are you going?"

"To get water."

"I want to come."

"You do? I thought you were making me some socks." She shook her head. "Well I guess that would be alright."

Gellert scooped up the handles of all four buckets and Albus looped his arms under the back of Ariana's knees and stood. The three of them crossed the road and walked across the field towards the well. Ariana dismounted and remounted at the low stone wall so Albus could climb over it. The sun was low in the clear sky and streamed across the field. It was blinding to look at and still hot, scorching the yellow grass beneath them. At the well, Gellert took out his wand. The handle on the pump squealed as it raised and lowered by itself. Ariana hugged Albus' neck tighter, partially choaking him.

Albus pulled her hands down to rest lower around his collar bone. "It's okay. There's no one around." Her hands trembled and he squeezed them until they calmed.

Gellert's eyes finally shifted away from Albus and fixed to Ariana and her worry.

"So why'd you get expelled," Albus asked in attempts to veer the focus away from his sister. Too much attention upset her.

Gellert smiled. He reached into the loose collar of his shirt and pulled out the gold chain. A charm dangled from it and Albus recognized the symbol, the triangle with the circle in the middle and a vertical line running through it.

"You carved that into our front gate."

"Yeah. I carved into a wall at Durmstrang too and they expelled me for it."

"What is it?"

Voices echoed across the field. Albus grabbed the handle on the pump. Ariana's grip around his neck grew tight again as a group of men walked up the road. They were local muggles around Albus' age. The muggles spotted them and watched them as the passed. Albus watched them in return.

"We can do better than this," Gellert said.

"Than what?" Albus asked.

"This. Hauling water around. Like them."

Albus turned away from the muggles and looked at Gellert then down at the well. "Use magic to transport water to the house? I bet we could." The houses were within sight. The heavy buckets were difficult for Ariana and Mrs. Bagshot. The well was shared by muggles. It would be risky. It might be illegal. "We should try."

"We should try," Gellert agreed.

Once the muggles were out of sight Albus set Ariana down and picked up two full buckets. Gellert picked up the other two.

"Where were they going?" Gellert asked as they walked back across the field.

"The muggles? Pub maybe." Albus shrugged. "Or the monument."

"Monument?"

"The town square. There's an old plague cross in the middle. They like to gather there and drink. It's a bit dodgy. The plague cross is charmed. It doubles as a monument commemorating the Statute of Secrecy that only wizards can see. The most significant moment in our history, and they sit on it and get drunk because they're bored."

Gellert stepped in front of him and turned to face him while he walked backwards. He smiled. "Oh I like you, Albus Dumbledore."