- July 1899 –

The ceiling in Albus' bedroom was a pathetic imitation of the ceiling in the Great Hall at Hogwarts. It continuously shifted as the sun rose and casted light onto the plaster. But here the plaster was always grey and flat. Despite the sun's efforts, the dark shadows were never vanquished. They slid along the slopes and tucked up into the peaks of the dormered roofline, hidden from the morning, then afternoon, then evening rays. His bed was tucked into a dormer. The ceiling angled down around him, swallowing him into its grey abyss. Thin, black, jagged lines ran across the plaster, like veins, cracks in the dull veil. He could follow the lines from one end of the room to the other. There were more than he remembered, maybe, but he had never really looked before.

Albus got up and dressed and walked next door. Mrs. Bagshot ushered him in, quill between her teeth, note parchment in hand. Four books lay open simultaneously on the kitchen table. "What are you working on?" Albus asked.

"A history of Hogwart's. I've enlisted Gellert's help. Hopefully it will peak his interest in school come September."

"Neat," Albus said as he scanned the open page of the book nearest to him. It looked like a published collection of letters written by Salazar Slytherin.

A plate of raspberry jam toast was thrust between him and the book. "Here, have some breakfast."

"Oh, you didn't have-"

"Eat. Eat." She insisted as she put more bread in the pan on the stove. "I'll make some more for Gellert. Do you want tea?"

"No. No, that's fine," Albus said. He shoved a piece of toast in his mouth in hopes it would satisfy Mrs. Bagshot's need to mother. He finished his plate and was promptly handed a second and sent upstairs. He stepped carefully as to not trip and send a cascade of books down the stairs that doubled as a book shelf.

"Couldn't stay away," Gellert said as Albus entered his room. He was sat on his bed with a book and didn't look up.

"Hogwart's research?" Albus asked.

Gellert looked up then, brows furrowed. He shook his head.

Albus shook his head in return. "The chapel will have records of marriages, baptisms, deaths. We might get further with those. With the Peveral family tree."

Gellert smiled. "You are clever."

Albus was used to praise from professors. It felt different from a peer. It felt different from Gellert. He wanted more.

He stole a piece of toast from the plate and handed it Gellert. Gellert raised an eyebrow at him. Albus shrugged. "Raspberry's my favourite."

Gellert's bedroom was also in the attic but it was smaller than his own. There weren't any dormers. The ceiling sloped symmetrically on both sides of the room and left only a narrow corridor down the center where a person could walk and stand straight. A human skull sat on the low dresser. A tube ran from its mouth snaking around a stack of books and ending in what looked like the tip of a tobacco pipe. He read the titles on the spines: The Art of Wand Lore, Inferi – Dead or Alive, Forgotten Light within the Dark Arts, Legilimency – A Trip into the Other's Mind. Albus ran his finger over the last title. He leafed through every interaction he'd had with Gellert. His heart rate sped up. He didn't think his mind had been broken into but Hogwarts didn't teach occlumency. He didn't know what it felt like or what signs to look for. He supposed a skilled Legilimence would be able to read minds undetected.

"Tell me a secret," Gellert said.

"What?" Albus turned to him. Gellert had abandoned his book. His arms were raised and his hands rested behind his head. The hem of his untucked shirt rode up to expose the warm skin below his navel, prickled with blond hair above the button on his trousers.

"Tell me a secret."

"I have many." He stared at Gellert, dared him to read his mind and discover the resentment for his sister, the pride for his father, the fear that he would never be so brave, the electricity that buzzed in him now as Gellert stared back at him.

Gellert cocked an eyebrow. "Like what?"

"My father killed three muggle boys."

Gellert scoffed. "That's not a secret."

Mrs. Bagshot told him. Her intentions may have been good but it unsettled him to know that people discussed his family amongst themselves. They tore away a piece of the fractured remnants for their own amusement each time they spoke.

"What do you think about at night when it's dark and you're hot and sweaty and can't sleep and the moonlight shines into your room and illuminates it to nosy neighbours?"

Gellert's words unwound him and left Albus' jaw limp and his thoughts tangled. He twisted the button on his left sleeve cuff and looked out the window at the end of the room. He knew it faced his own but he hadn't realized how clear the picture was. The edge of his desk, the back of the chair, and the bed post were all captured in the frame.

Gellert stood from the bed, slipped his hands in his pockets, and stepped up to him. Albus dropped his cuff and placed his palms on the dresser behind him. The edge cut into the top of his hamstrings. Gellert opened his mouth but did not speak. Instead, he let his lips hang parted. He hadn't shaved yet and the light scruff sharpened his jaw. His eyes cut into his like diamond. They dared him now, to lean forward and kiss him. It could be a trap but Albus had half a mind to do so.

"Boys," Mrs. Bagshot called from downstairs. "Could you fetch some water, please?"

Gellert did not release his stare. "Oh." His lips puckered around the word as if in preparation. He raised an eyebrow and his lips slowly curled up into a smile. "Now there's a secret." Gellert leaned back and stepped away. Albus followed him downstairs.

They collected the water buckets from the kitchen. Mrs. Bagshot asked if he had been telling Gellert about Hogwarts. Albus said yes and Gellert stifled a laugh behind him. His warm breath tickled the back of Albus' neck.

They walked across the field, filled the buckets, and walked back. "Are you going to go back to school?" Albus asked.

"Nope. But I'll pretend for now. Keep everyone happy. I'll figure something out in September. I'm seventeen. They can't force me."

"It's not that bad. It's better than here."

"Well I don't plan on staying here either."

"Right." Albus' pace slowed and fell out of step with Gellert's. The water in his bucket stilled. Whether he went back to school or his aunt kicked him out, Gellert would be gone in September. They would start the quest for the Hallows and then Gellert would go off and finish it while he was stuck in Godric's Hollow with Ariana.

Gellert tapped the side of his bucket. The surface of the water rippled over his reflection, down the straight bridge of his nose. "Hey." Albus looked up. Gellert smiled and walked backwards. "You want to get drunk tonight?"

"Yes. That is precisely what I wish to do."

Albus lay in bed and watched as the late evening sun set fire to the sky, turning it from blue to orange to pink before dying and leaving only black char in its wake. Sparse clouds drifted across the expanse like ash flaking off on the breeze. Gellert's owl swooped through his window and landed on Albus' stomach. It bent down and nipped at his hands folded across his chest. "Hey!" He pulled his hands away. Blood beaded from the skin. He wiped it on a handkerchief. "There's no need for that. I'm going." He stood and blew out the lantern on his desk. Gellert's owl hopped back to the window and flew off to go hunt. Arthur joined him. Albus stepped carefully down the stairs. Both Aberforth and Ariana's rooms were dark and quiet.

"Took you long enough." Gellert said. He stood by the front gate and tipped a bottle at his mouth.

"Your bird bit me."

Gellert shrugged and walked down the road. "That was the signal."

Albus followed. "Seriously? To bite me? I never agreed to that. We need a new signal. It drew blood."

"Come here." Gellert stopped and took his hand. He poured the liquid in the bottle over Albus' bleeding knuckle. Albus hissed at the sting. "Baby." Gellert brought his hand to his mouth. He sucked at the broken skin and looked up at him unblinking. Albus stood wide eyed in the road and let Gellert tongue over the wound, warm and soft and wet, until the bleeding stopped. "Better?"

Albus took the bottle of booze from him and took a gulp. He continued down the road. "That was all unnecessary. Come up with a new signal."

Gellert laughed and swiped the bottle back. They walked to the chapel through the empty village streets. The front door was unlocked to provide a place of worship and refuge any time of day or night.

Moonlight scattered through the stained-glass windows and lit the center aisle and the four rows of pews. It was empty. They walked up to the front and around the podium through an arched doorway. The moonlight didn't reach down the back hallway. Albus took out his wand. "Lumos." Three doors led off the hallway. He tried the first. It was locked.

"Alohomora," Gellert said drawing a backwards S with his wand. The latch clicked and Albus pulled it open. A broom handle tumbled out at him. Gellert laughed and stuffed it back in the closet. Albus unlocked the next door. Inside was a small office with a desk and two sitting chairs. The third door held what they sought; shelves lined with old leather-bound books.

Albus shone his wand across the top row of books. They each covered a one-hundred-year span starting in 700AD. He put is wand between his teeth and pulled the book labeled 1200AD off the shelf and carefully opened the cover. The heading on the first page read marriages. He slipped it back onto the shelf and moved to the next row down. The dates started again from 700AD. He pulled the sixth one and opened it – Baptisms. He pulled the seventh book as well and passed them to Gellert. He checked the next row down – Deaths. He added 1200 and 1300AD to Gellert's stack. "That should be a good start." He pushed the books that remained together on the self to hide the gaps. He pulled a cloth bag out of is pocket and held it open. "Be careful. They're old." Gellert slipped the books into the bag and they stepped out of the room and closed the door.

"Colloportus," Gellert said and the latch clicked back into place.

They walked back out into the main room. Jesus watched them from his crucifix next to the podium. Gellert waved his wand at the statue. Dark liquid oozed from the palms where they were nailed to the cross. In the moonlight it glowed crimson. "That'll give them a start."

"Let's go," Albus said.

They went to the monument, sat on the steps at its base, and passed the booze back and forth. The alcohol warmed his skin and Albus unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his sleeves three times so they gathered above his elbows. "If you could only have one Hallow which one would you want?" Albus asked.

"The wand. Easy. We've done fine sneaking around without the cloak and hiding is for cowards. I have no use for the stone. The wand brings unparalleled power."

"It also brings trouble. The cloak was virtuous choice."

"That's just a morality tale for children. Would you actually take the cloak?"

Albus took a drink. When he was young, when the fairy tale book belonged to him, the answer would have been yes. It was the wise choice, the right choice. As a child being invisible sounded fun. Now though, as his life slipped closer to an inconsequential existence, he re-evaluated. "No. I would take the stone."

"The stone didn't work."

"Neither did the wand."

"For your mother?"

"Yes. So I don't have to care for my sister for the rest of my life." The words tumbled out before the thought was fully formed in the alcohol induced fuzz. "I'm a terrible person." He took another drink.

"You can't make the world better for her if you're stuck here."

"I would use it for my father as well. He never had a fair chance. What was he supposed to do after seeing them torture Ariana? They destroyed her. There were three of them. They were twice her age. He rid the world of three monsters and got locked in Azkaban for it." His voice grew louder and more frantic as he spoke. "They broke down the front door and pulled him from the house in the middle of the night. Everyone turned on him. His own people. My mother never took us to visit him. We never got to say goodbye." The words spilled from his tongue like water through the open flood gates of a dam. The thoughts that had collected, and with nowhere else to go, swirled around and around into a whirlpool that ripped at his mind for seven years, released to the world, or, at the very least, the bored ears of another drunk teen.

"What would you have said?"

"That the Wizengamot is a joke. They're more concerned about muggle feelings than wizard lives. That I'm proud of him. He sought justice for his daughter while they cowered underground like rats." Gellert offered him the bottle. Albus reached for it but Gellert didn't let go. The moonlight caught his eyes as they locked on to his own and then slowly moved down to his lips and back. A trap or an invitation? Under the best circumstances, it wasn't safe to assume the latter and he was hardly in a sound state. His head was fuzzy from the booze or the void left behind by the thoughts that poured from his mind. His heart raced to pump blood to fill it. His breath was heavy. Albus pulled the bottle from Gellert. He took another drink and hung his head. "And I am no better."

"The Wizengamot is a joke. Because of it, here you are. Hogwart's finest. Broke into a church."

"The front door was open."

"Stole invaluable records."

"Borrowed."

"Drunk in the town square in the middle of the night."

"Better than the middle of the day." Albus swirled the bottle in his hand. The liquid sucked the light from the moon and the stars down into its vortex.

"Just you, me…" Gellert tapped the stone carved into a bundle of wood behind him, "…the faggots." Gellert paused. "Can we blame your little secret on them too? Left you with Daddy issues, perhaps?"

Albus looked up at Gellert who smiled back at him. Amused by his own joke? Or genuine empathy?

Both?

Voices echoed down the empty streets. Three young men approached the monument. The man on the left had eyes that were set too close. He stepped forward and pointed at Gellert, his partial fist closed around the neck of a bottle that held liquid that glowed amber in the moonlight. "You. You were harassing my sister at the pub last night."

"Oh, your sister's the incompetent, cross-eyed bar wench? Runs in the family." Gellert said. He leaned back against the monument and set his chin forward, his speech and movements smooth and sure, familiar. It was both reassured and unsettled Albus.

The man stepped forward. "You better watch your mouth."

Gellert laughed. "Or what?"

The man turned to Albus. "Your boyfriend's the one with the mad sister, right." Albus swallowed and stared the man down. "The one who killed her own mother. Shouldn't she be locked away in an asylum. Why is she so messed up? Is it because your father abandoned you and she's lacking strong male discipline? Women are like that. Maybe a night with me would set her straight. I hear the crazy ones are the best."

Before Albus could respond, Gellert stood and punched the man in the jaw. He stumbled backwards and tripped, falling to the ground. Gellert turned to one of the friends and punched him as well. The third man took a swing at Gellert but Albus got to him first and shoved him to the ground. They stood over the three of them. Gellert stole the bottle of booze from the man's hand. He opened it and tipped it back. "We could run away like rats."

Albus' breath slowed and the square grew quiet. Movement pulled his eyes away from the men. The monument shifted between the plague cross and the stake with each small movement of his head. Albus closed his eyes and took out his wand. He stepped towards Gellert and the cross-eyed man. He pointed his wand at the narrow bridge between the man's eyes. Silver ropes shot from the end and wrapped around the man's arms and legs. The man yelped in surprise. Albus dragged his wand towards the monument pulling the writhing body along the ground with it. The statue of the stake was now unwavering. He conjured more silver ropes which bound the man to the wood bundles at the base of the stake. The man yelled, demanded to know what was happening, demanded to be let go. The other two watched in shock, making no attempt to run for help. Albus drew his wand across the man's mouth and then down. "Silencio." The man continued to form words but no sound came from his mouth. His eyes widened in horror. His mouth opened wide in a silent scream. He writhed against the bindings but silver ropes twisted around his body and pulled him closer. Quiet was restored to the square. Albus' heart pounded against his rib cage, just as desperate to escape his actions as the man. Then he punched him. And punched him. His head bounced off the stone statue and the crack echoed though the square. The man's head flopped forward and his body went limp. The footsteps of his friends ran from the square.

Gellert grabbed his hand. "Come on." Albus let Gellert pull him through the empty streets. His mind was foggy from the booze and the adrenaline. He didn't think. He just ran. He ran until Gellert stopped him and pushed him up against a tree. They were by the creek. He closed his eyes. His chest was heavy. He wheezed in search of breath until lips covered his own, silencing him. Gellert's hand quickly undid his belt and pushed into his pants. He let his head fall back against the tree. Gellert chased his lips, pushing closer. His hand moved fast and Albus felt dizzy once more.

- March 1945 -

Notre Dame stood tall and unwavering on the small island. There was a small window covered by wooden boards and several divots in the stone arches over the front entrance, chipped away by stray bullets. But that was the extent of the damage. The cathedral had withstood four years of enemy occupation and bombing raids over the city with barely a scratch. It had withstood war before, six hundred years of human conflict could not bring down the bell towers that began to chime the hour. The deep clang of the bells vibrated up from the ground, through his body. It forced him to look up, into the great stained-glass eye that stood over the door. The eye stared back at him, unblinking, unwavering. There was no escape. It saw what he was, what he'd done, and what he had set out to do and it implored him to succeed, no matter the cost. The people of Paris found hope in the cathedral and that hope had pulled them through the past four years and continued to push their soldiers east. The muggles continued to fight, to push into Germany, and rid the world of their wretched camps. Their sacrifice could not be nothing. They could not be allowed to tear down Hitler's barbed wire fences just to be interned behind Grindelwald's.

The bells tolled five times and then fell silent. Albus bent down and picked up the wooden pieces of the black-market portkey. The ride had been horrendous but in retrospect it could have been far worse. "Scapha Reparo." The toy plane snapped back together. Albus stepped forward and placed it in front of the center door. An offering. A promise.