- March 1945 -

Albus apparated from the Ile de la Cite to a doorstep across Paris. He tapped his wand against the dark wood waited. The door opened slowly and a frail man with thin, brittle white hair peaked out at him. "Mr. Flamel."

"Ah, my boy," the man squeaked, his eyes blowing wide with recognition. "Come in. Come in." He shuffled backwards and pulled the door with him.

Albus squeezed inside, eager to get off the street. "Here, I've got it," he said as he took the door and quickly clicked it closed.

"Thank-you, my boy. How was your journey? Would you like some tea? I'll put a pot on." Mr. Flamel turned and shuffled down the narrow hallway behind him that ran alongside an equally narrow staircase. The rug bunched under his slippers with each step. It was a matter of time before he tripped.

Albus followed anxiously. His eyes flicked from the man's feet to the upstairs landing, the sitting room they passed, and the hall ahead. The house was quiet. "Mr. Flamel, has anyone else come to visit."

"Yes, my boy." He continued to shuffle with no further explanation.

Before Albus could ask for the visitor's identity, Elphias appeared at the end of the hall, kettle in hand. His stomach had plumped and his hair line had receded but his face was still youthful and his eyes were bright. "I've got the tea. Why don't you take a seat." Elphias filled the kettle with water and placed it on the stove while Albus helped Mr. Flamel into a chair at the kitchen table.

"You must be warm, my boy. Take your coat off." Albus smiled and did as instructed, hanging it on the back of a chair.

"You made good time," Elphias said.

"So did you." Albus walked to him and hugged him. "It's good to see you."

Elphias patted his back. "You're almost at the end."

"So it can be done?" Albus asked once the three of them were seated at the table and the tea had been poured.

"Yes. It sounded rather simple actually. One of those things that slips through the cracks when we cast away those who are different. Vlad's never done it before but he's willing to try." Elphias shrugged.

"What choice do we have," Albus said.

"Vlad said there were rumors a few months back that Grindelwald was spotted in Transylvania. He was probably asking the same question we were."

"So he knows it can be done."

"He knows you're going to move against him."

Albus nodded and took a sip of his tea. The hot liquid burned the back of his throat. Grindelwald had always known Albus would one day move against him. That's why he had suggested it. Albus had been fooled. Elphias and Mr. Flamel watched him. They waited for him to speak. He watched the steam swirl from the rim of his cup. "Do you think he's in Austria now?"

"Yes, that's what I've been hearing. A castle high up in the Austrian Alps," Elphias said.

The steam from his cup rose like a mountain peak, steep and treacherous, the landscape always changing. "He won't have a concealment charm on it. He'll want everyone to see it. It's a show of power. But it will be fortified with defensive shields. You won't be able to apparate within the grounds. The roads leading up the mountain will be watched and guarded. There will be check points." He ran his finger back and forth along the front rim of his cup and then swiped it through the steam. The mountain toppled. "There's another thing." Albus reached into his satchel and pulled out a photograph clipped from a news paper. A sea of people stood in front of a stage with their wands raised into the air. They mimicked the gesture of the man that stood before them, Grindelwald. Albus placed the photo on the table and pointed at the wand in Grindelwald's hand. It was long and straight. There were six round ridges along its shaft each progressively smaller than the last.

Elphias shook his head. "I don't get it."

"That's not his wand," Albus said, his eyes fixed on the grainy photograph. Grindelwald was almost unrecognizable. His golden hair looked white in the sepia toned ink. His pupils were blown wide, his blue eyes casted black. His cheeks had sunk into the recess between the bones. His handsome facade had faded away to revel something cutting and cruel. Long gone was the boy who moved in next door. "He's been carrying it for years. I dug through news paper photographs and old records. He's had it for the last decade, at least. He had it when he was arrested in New York. But that's not the wand he had that summer."

"You remember what his wand looked like?" Elphias said.

"Yes, I remember," Albus said, his voice loud, his tone sharp. He didn't want to remember. He didn't want to know. He wanted that summer to never have happened. He wanted to hide that summer from world the way his mother hid their family, the way the ministry hid wizard kind. In taking Grindelwald down though he was revealing the truth of that summer and twisting their fates closer together. Albus pulled at the pendant through his shirt. "I forged a blood pact with him. I know what his wand looked like."

Elphias straightened in his seat. His eyes were wide and he looked away. Mr. Flamel patted Albus' arm with a shaky hand. Albus sucked a breath between clenched teeth. He let go of the pendant, flexed his fingers, and unbuttoned the cuffs on his sleeve and folded them over.

"I went to speak with Olivander before term started," Albus said. "I asked what he thought of the Elder Wand. Poppycock, he thought. I asked if he knew of any wizards making claims about powerful wands. He said about forty years ago Gregorovitch was boasting about one but it didn't last long. Forty years ago would have been just after… He was obsessed with it. He wouldn't have raised an army without it. He wouldn't have declared war. He wouldn't have thought it possible. He heard the same rumors Olivander did. He found it and took it."

"There's always been a logical fallacy with that wand," Elphias said. "Its masters are always defeated."

Albus nodded.

"Why don't you try and get some sleep. You've been travelling all night. We can't do anything else until nightfall anyways."

"The guestroom is all fixed up for you," Mr. Flamel said.

Albus agreed and made his way upstairs to the guest room. He peaked out the thin, white window curtain. The sun was up now and people moved about the street below. Step by step they inched closer back to their lives before the war and occupation. He stepped back from the light and pulled the thicker, black-out curtain across the window.

- July 1899 -

After the chapel and the monument and the creek, they went back to the Dumbledore house. Albus walked to the kitchen. Gellert's footsteps followed. He picked the kettle off the stovetop, took it to the sink, and carefully filled it with last of the well water in the bucket. Gellert stood somewhere behind him, watching, waiting, but Albus did not look or speak. He didn't want to. But he did not want Gellert to leave either. He just wanted to be normal, to feel normal.

He stood by the stove while the water warmed. The heat soothed. A chair was pulled out from the table and the record books were clunked down on to it. Albus unrolled his sleeves which were bunched above his elbows and smoothed them over his forearms. He left the cuffs upturned.

"What was the date on the grave again? 1292?" Gellert's voice was loud.

"Yes. 1214 to 1292. Look for a baptism between 1230 and 1255 that lists Ignotus Peverell as the father. Look for any other Peverell name as well."

"The writing is so faint."

Albus poured the boiling water into the pot. He leaned over the pot as he stirred in the tea leaves and allowed the steam coat his face.

He set the pot on the table with two mugs. "Don't spill."

"Yes, dear."

He sat down across from Gellert and picked up the baptism book for 1300AD. Each page was split into two columns, with ten entries per column. Each entry listed the child's name, the name of each parent, the date of birth, and the date of baptism. The ink had faded and the page was so worn in places that it was translucent. He tilted the book towards the light and scanned down in search for Peverell. He used his wand to flip the page, afraid it would disintegrate at his touch. He unfolded his sleeve cuff but fumbled with the button, his wand still in his hand, his eyes on the book. Under the table, his leg shook. Gellert moved his leg to rest alongside his. He steadied at the touch. Albus lifted his eyes from the book. Gellert looked back at him. He reached for Albus' hand and Albus let him have it. Gellert cradled his wrist and slipped the button through the hole. He smoothed his thumb over the tendon ridges and the blue veins. It tickled like a feather. Gellert let go but held his palm open for the cuff of Albus' other sleeve. Albus acquiesced. He expected a smirk but Gellert allowed him to have this gesture free of charge, like the wreath he had conjured at his mother's grave.

Gellert took his second cup of tea to the sitting room and Albus followed. The sat quietly. Gellert sprawled, legs, feet, and all on the sofa. Albus curled in the armchair. It grew comfortable and Albus let himself sink further into the chair. Gellert's eyes grew slower and slower as they moved across the pages. He began to blink more frequently, almost once per name. Then they flicked up to Albus. The blue popped from the fatigued red rims, deep and heavy. Albus was caught. He looked away. His mind didn't race though, race to determine his captures inference from a looped replay of the incident that warped more and more with each pass. No, his mind settled easily back to the names in the book and a smile pulled across his lips. With Gellert, maybe Albus could simply be.

Gellert fell asleep shortly after he finished his second cup. Albus tapped his wand to the page he was on to mark it and closed the book. He carefully pulled Gellert's from where it rested on his chest. Albus watched him for a moment. His chest rose and fell at a peaceful rhythm.

Albus poured himself a third cup of tea and continued with Gellert's book where he had left off. His eyes were sore and heavy and he read and re-read each name out of fear of missing it. Then, there it was. Ignotus Peverell, listed as the father of Ichiro Peverell. He pulled parchment and a feather and ink from the writing desk in the corner and copied down the names and date. He flipped the pages forward sixteen years an began the search for Ichiro. In protest his eyes burned and shifted in and out of focus. Further efforts were futile. He marked his spot and laid down on the floor.

He closed his eyes but now, with no distractions, the scene from the monument replayed in his head. The muggle's silent scream burned onto the inside of his eyelid. It scratched at him as the man struggled against his binds.

Albus startled upright. It felt as if only seconds had passed but the greying sky outside indicated it had been hours. He shook his head in attempt to rid it of the nightmare but the image of the man tied to the stake persisted. Gellert still slept on the sofa beside him. Albus watched him for a moment then ran up the stairs into Aberforth's room and shook him. "Get your wand."

They ran through the village streets to the monument, their steps uneven and hesitant in the dark. Albus held his arm out in front of Aberforth and they stopped before the square. It was empty. Albus stepped slowly towards the monument and Aberforth followed. As they approached the plague cross it morphed into the witch burning stake. Aberforth gasped at the sight of the man tied to its base. He was slumped forward but stirred and slowly raised his head. Dried blood covered his face. "What did you do?"

"He threatened Ariana."

Albus stepped up to the man. He released the bindings. He rotated his wand. "Obliviate."

"You think he'll forget?"

"I don't know."

Above all, Albus hoped he himself would forget.

The sun had not yet risen when they returned to the house. Gellert was still asleep. Ariana's room was quiet. Albus and Aberforth went back to bed. Albus fell asleep quickly and when he awoke, his room was bright and the heat of the day had taken hold. He kicked off the blanket and rolled over in search of a cool part of his pillow. Voices drifted up the stairs on the hot air, loud and argumentative. Albus quickly threw on his clothes and grabbed his wand.

Aberforth stood at the top of the stairwell and looked down to the sitting room below. Ariana stood behind him, pressed against his shoulder. Albus recognized the voices now. Gellert sat on the sofa. Mrs. Bagshot stood over him. "Take Ari to her room. Shut the door," Albus said. He pushed past them and continued down the stairs.

"Something happened to that man last night. He was beaten. Multiple witnesses saw you at the pub harassing his sister. This is unspeakable."

"I didn't do anything. I swear. Check my wand."

"What's going on," Albus asked.

"A local man was found in town this morning, bloody and confused. He was traumatized. They've taken him to the doctor," Mrs. Bagshot said. "And then I come to find Gellert hasn't been home all night."

"I was here. I couldn't sleep. Albus and I were just talking and playing chess."

"Don't lie to me, boy. Your mother filled me in on all your antics before she sent you here."

"He's not lying. He was here. All night," Albus said.

Mrs. Bagshot turned to him sharply. Her brow was furrowed and her eyes cut. "Do not let him drag you into this," she said.

Gellert glared at him. There was a threat behind his stare that startled Albus. He hesitated.

"He's not," Aberforth's voice came from the top of the stairs. He stepped down and stood beside Albus. "He was here all night. We were playing chess."

Everyone was silent, their focus all turned on Aberforth who did not waver. "I see," Mrs. Bagshot said. "Well there will be no more sleepovers anyhow." She left with Gellert in tow.

"Did she believe us?" Aberforth asked.

"No," Albus said. "There's no chess board in sight. But she's too scared to admit it."