- July 1899 –

Albus climbed the stairs back to his room. There was nowhere else to go. The destruction of his mother's room had imprinted in his mind. He imagined the scene, how each piece of furniture was picked up and whipped into a tornado. At the center, his sister wielded the chaos, unknowingly and uncontrollably. Caught in the furry, his mother panicked and pleaded. After seven years of meticulously crafting a life that would protect Ariana, did she know this would be it? Was she struck with something, the bedside table as it flew across the room and lodged in the opposite wall? Or had Ariana's magic penetrated her flesh and ripped her apart from the inside out? Had Ariana collapsed beside her when it was over, exhausted and unaware, but drawn unconsciously to her mother for comfort. He couldn't sleep. He paced his room. He was a hostage now.

He wrote to Elphias.

Elphias,

I know I must sound crazy but the Hallows are my only way out. There's nothing in Godric's Hollow but slow decline into death.

-Albus

He tied the letter to Arthur's talon and the bird flew off into the night, across the low hills that rolled over the English countryside, across the waves that churned in the Channel, across the many borders that crisscrossed the continent. Freedom.

Gellert's owl swooped in his window, a note in its beak.

No letter for me?
-G

It's been a long night.
-A

I was the one who had to break into the church alone.
-G

Somehow I don't imagine that being much of put out for you.
-A

I'll leave your half at the well.
-G

Albus hesitated to respond. Ariana and Aberforth had been clear. They needed him to stop his quest. There was little chance of the quest ever being successful. There was little chance of the Hallows even being real. If it were just the wand, the stone, and the cloak, he could walk away. But it wasn't just them. He wanted Gellert. He wanted Gellert's approval. He wanted Gellert's companionship. He wanted Gellert's body in a way that others would not approve of. He wanted Gellert to want those things from him. And he was afraid. He was afraid no other man who would touch him that way – no boy at Hogwart's ever did. He was afraid Gellert was only in this for himself and he was just convenient. He was afraid and he was a coward.

I'll pick them up tomorrow.
-A

Albus stood at the top of the stairwell the next morning. It was unnavigable. The banister had snapped and collapsed, and broken glass and wood splinters were scattered across each step. The trap was physical now.

He pulled out his wand and began to put things right. He mended the banister and the picture frames and began to hang them back on the wall over the lighter coloured square patches that had been protected from discolouration. He stopped when he got to the last picture frame. The right edge of the photograph had been folded over. His father looked up at him but his stare was blank. He did not move like the other photos. His image was still as if a corps.

Albus carefully lifted the photograph and unfolded it. Younger versions of himself and Aberforth stood beside their father. They held broom sticks, and playfully shoved one another. Their father stood motionless. Albus ran his finger along the white crease in the photograph that separated himself from his father. Was this a spell or would being hidden away in the back of a frame for years suck the life out of a photograph? Albus didn't know what was worse. Either way it was his mother's doing. Either way she had found another way to kill him.

He took the photograph to his room and shifted the other frames to cover the blank spot on the wall. The lighter coloured patches peaked out from behind them now to reveal that something was amiss.

The water buckets were empty. He went and fetched more for breakfast. He looked around as he pumped the water, pushed aside the tall, yellowed grass. There was no relief from morning drops of dew. The blades were dry and scratched at his skin. They concealed nothing but dusty earth. Gellert hadn't dropped off the books yet. He wiped the sweat off his brow with the hem of his threadbare undershirt. He hadn't bothered to get dressed. Somehow the temperature had climbed higher than it had been over the previous week.

After breakfast Albus stood at the sitting room window and watched the well. The heat in the air rippled over of the field. It looked as if the dead grass blew in the breeze but the air was stagnant and heavy and life had long since fled.

"Chess?"

"What?" Albus turned away from the window.

Aberforth held up a black rook. "Want to play? You clearly have nothing better to do."

"Fine." Albus took the rook from his hand. "I'll play black."

Aberforth sat on the sofa and Albus in the chair so he could see the window and the well. He lost his queen early. He didn't remember losing his white square bishop. It was just gone. His pawns were a mess, stacked and isolated. He slumped in the chair and gave in to the melt down.

"Check," Aberforth said. "You're playing terribly."

It was bleak. All he could do was run. "It's the heat."

The creek and shutter of Mrs. Bagshot's front gate perked him back up. Gellert crossed the road towards the field. He carried two water buckets and wore no shirt. "Check," Aberforth said, in quick pursuit of his king. Albus ran his king across the board as Gellert crossed the field. His skin was tan and glistened in the sun's rays. "Check." His muscles were lean but visibly defined. "Check." It was bold and brazen. "Check."
He filled the first bucket and poured it over his head, feeding the thirsty earth and Albus's fixed gaze. His wet hair hung down in his eyes. Water droplets followed the dips of his body. "Checkmate."

Albus tipped over his felled king. "I'm going to get water."

"Didn't you just get some?"

"I spilt it while washing up."

"That well's going to run dry at this rate."

He only took one bucket. The other was still full. Two books leaned against the pump wrapped in a cloth shirt – Gellert's shirt, cream with pale blue stripes. He took the books up to his room and unwrapped them. A note fell out.

Saw you getting water this morning. Looked like you could use this.
-G

It smelled like Gellert – warm whisky, spicy licorice, and sweet raspberries. Albus smiled. Maybe he was more than just a convenience.

They spent the next few nights on their windowsills as they had before. Their research turned up more Potters. Each subsequent Potter increased the odds that the family down the road possessed one of the Hallows. Each page turned was a step towards their house. It was a step Albus hesitated to take. He needed a diversion. On the third night, he waited for Gellert with one of the water buckets.

"I need a break from the books. Let's work on the well."

"Well it is," Gellert said. "I'll grab a bucket."

"No. We should duplicate it. They'll retain a connection of sorts."

"Alright." Gellert hopped up on his windowsill.

Albus tapped his wand against the bucket. "Gemino." A twin sprung from the original, wooden slats held together with a metal band, topped with a metal handle. Albus picked up the new bucket. The wood slat to the left of the handle anchor had an oval shaped knot and the fourth slat around was taller than the others and the fifth shorter. It was identical to the original. He placed the duplicate beside the original and circled his wand over both. They each glowed with purple light. Albus lifted the handle of the original and the handle of the duplicate rose as well. "This," he said as he moved the handle back and forth and watched the other mirror the motion. "This should be the trigger. Move the handle from one side to the other."

"And the bucket fills with water."

"And the bucket fills with water. Now how do we charm the transfer?"

"Summoning charm? Vanishing charm?" Gellert said.

"Is it that simple."

Gellert shrugged.

Albus dipped his wand in the original bucket and touched the tip to the bottom. "Summa accio." He removed his wand and moved the handle from the left to the right. He did the same to the second bucket and said "Summa evanesco." He then motioned his wand back and forth in and arc between the buckets. "Harmonia Nectere Passus," he said three times.

"Accio," Gellert said. The second bucket flew out Albus' window into Gellert's lap. "Let's try it." He placed one of the record books into the bucket.

"Don't use the book. What if it goes wrong?"

"So little faith? Interesting. I had pegged you as arrogant."

"What?"

"No need to fuss. It's a plus in my book. Guess I'll need to dock you a point."

"How many points do I have?"

Gellert did not answer. He instead spun his legs off the windowsill and disappeared into his room. He came back with his flask and shook it in the moonlight. "Refilled." He placed it in the bucket and gave Albus a nod.

Albus moved the handle on his bucket. Gellert's bucket handle mirrored the motion. Albus' bucket remained empty. Gellert retrieved his flask, unscrewed it and took a sip. "More for me."

The flask never made the leap between the houses and Albus remained sober while Gellert's voice grew louder and his balance more precarious. His owl returned from its nightly hunt and swopped through the window frame past Gellert. Gellert tumbled off the frame after it.

"Time to sleep it off," Albus said when Gellert pulled himself upright.

The following night Gellert waited for him without the bucket or the book. He flew him a note instead.

Aunt Bathilda was going on earlier about some other wizards. She mentioned the Potters. They still live here.
-G

So much for stalling. Albus quickly wrote back.

We don't know that they're in the inheritance line.
-A

Let's go poke around tomorrow.
-G

What do you mean by poke around?
-A

Strictly observational.
-G

I might not be able to get out of the house.
-A

You're smart. You'll think of something. 10AM. Goodnight Albus.
-G

Sneaking out wasn't his primary concern. Even if it remained strictly observational this time, what would those observations lead to next time?

At quarter to ten the next morning Albus told Aberforth he was going to the creek to wash off.

"Good riddance," Aberforth said without looking up from the chess board. He and Ariana were in the middle of a game. She took his knight.

Albus walked out of the front door and down the road towards the creek. Shackles made of brown dust clouds swirled up from the ground and around his ankles with each step. Gellert hadn't specified where to meet but Albus assumed he'd be watching. He was almost at the water when hurried footsteps caught up to him. "Good morning," Gellert said. He held a book under his arm and an open palm of freshly picked raspberries. "And where are we off to?"

Albus held out his hand and Gellert tipped half of the stash into it. "The creek." He half hoped that Gellert would decide the creek was a better way to spend his day.

Gellert nudged his shoulder. "Hmm, I remember the creek."

Albus felt his cheeks warm. He popped several berries in his mouth. The juice cool but did not stop their pink colour from flushing through his skin. "What's the book?"

"Found it in the depths of Aunt Bathilda's second coming of The Library of Alexandria."

Albus laughed. "Burned to the ground and reborn from the ashes. From the banks of the Mediterranean overlooking a bustling empire to a modest house overlooking a dead field in rural England. It's funny."

"It's not," Gellert said.

"It is."

Gellert smiled and shook his head. "You're funny."

Albus looked away and finished off his raspberries.

Gellert held out the book. "It's about Emeric the Evil from that chocolate frog card. He was really powerful. His wand could be the wand."

"So why are we going to the Potter's then?"

"You have to explore every avenue."

They stepped off the road when they reached the small stone bridge and walked to the bank. The water looked cool. Albus wanted to tilt his head back and let the water rush over his ears and drown out his thoughts.

Gellert grabbed his hand and pulled him away. "Come on. Let's go."

They backtracked across the farmer's field by the creek and approached the back of a row of houses on the other side. Gellert pulled him down and they crouched behind a row of hedges. Albus peered through the branches. The house was unassuming. It looked identical to the houses on either side of it, two stories, cream exterior braced with dark wooden beams, and a thatched roof. The back yard was neat. There was a tall tree in one corner and a flower bed that ran around the border. A small table and chair set sat on the stone patio by the back door. A burgundy-coloured ball was rolled by the table legs. Three brooms leaned against the back wall under a small, covered overhang. One of them was a foot shorter than the others.

"Who needs three brooms for sweeping?" Gellert said.

"A very particular housewife. One for the outdoor patio. One for the fireplace hearth. One for everything else."

Gellert laughed. "That's half decent." A gnome scurried across the yard. "How do explain that one."

"Explain what? I didn't see anything. It was probably just a gopher. They've been really bad this year."

"Since when to gophers wear blue dungarees and pointy red hats."

"Since you've had a little too much sherry, dear."

Gellert scrunched his nose and shook his head. Albus shrugged.

The back door opened and voices spilled out.

"We'll be back for tea."

"Don't forget to pick up some bread for dinner."

"Bye Mum."

"Bye, have fun."

The boy picked up the quaffle from under the table and the man grabbed two of the brooms. Both had messy black hair that flopped over their foreheads. They walked across the garden towards the back gate. Albus pulled on Gellert's arm and they scrambled further down the hedges and ducked into a small recess. The back gate swung open. Albus leaned further into the hedge, branches poked him in the back. Gellert slowly peaked his head out. Albus wrapped an arm around him and pulled him back into his chest. Gellert's body vibrated against his. He was laughing. "It's not funny," Albus said.

Gellert turned his head over his shoulder to look at him and brought his finger to his mouth to shush him.

Albus rolled his eyes.

Gellert smiled.

The gate clicked shut and they watched as the man and the boy started across the field. The boy looked about eight maybe, too young for Albus to have recognized him from school. Like the boy's father, Albus' father had started teaching him to fly before he started school. They hadn't got very far. Aberforth had always demanded to go as well. His father always gave in even though Aberforth was young and struggled to keep up. Albus would grow frustrated at his brother and his father would scold him for his lack of patients and send him home. Albus stopped asking for lessons and shortly after that his father was dragged from the house and arrested.

"Where do you think they're going?" Gellert asked.

"The woods?" They were going somewhere they could fly without being spotted. The boy periodically looked over his shoulder, left then right. He was already wary of the muggle gaze. "Look how scared he is. He's with his father. You would think he would feel safe and excited and not have a care in the world."

"Depends on the father. My father's a drunk. He was never any good at magic and takes it on me and my mother. He tried to hex my mother once but he was so bad that her block sent the curse back at him. He wasn't able to talk for a week. Best week of my life."

Albus stared at the back of Gellert's neck. He wanted to press a kiss to the staining tendon and pull him closer. The back of his shirt collar was flipped up. Albus reached his free hand up and folded it down. "That's awful."

Gellert lifted Albus' other arm from his chest and shrugged away. He stepped out from the hedges and nodded his head back to the father and son. "He doesn't look like a drunk though."

"No," Albus agreed.

"And yet his kid still grows up in fear." Gellert crouched back down in their original spot behind the house.

Albus followed. "It's not right. It's cruel and inhumane. Kids aren't allowed to be kids. We're constantly at risk. And not just from them but from our own ministry. We're so oppressed that we've done it to ourselves. And if we were allowed to just be, sure we would have the upper hand but the muggles wouldn't have to hide or supress who they were. They wouldn't be in danger just for existing. We shouldn't be punishing ourselves for their murderous mobs. It's degrading."

"We should do something about that." The gnome scurried back across the garden, a small bundle of sticks in his arms. "What's the point of being Hogwart's best if you don't go out and change the world."

Albus shook his head. That change was too big to even imagine. He watched as the gnome leaned the sticks up against the roots of the tree to fortify his home. "We would need a written thesis, a manifesto."

"We've got parchment and quills. Look, there she is." The woman appeared at the back window. "We could take her, no problem."

"You said this was strictly observational."

"That was an observation. I was observing that we could take her, no problem." Gellert turned and smiled at him. It wasn't a real smile. It was a practiced punctuation, too wide, too cutting. Gellert turned back to watch the window. His focus was clear. Albus' heart raced. He had to break it.

"So the working theory is that the brothers made the Hallows. That's the most logical explanation for them being real. Death was just added for thematic affect in the story. Right?"

"Right." Gellert answered without taking his eyes off the window as the woman passed periodically in front of it.

"So wouldn't it be better if we made our own Hallow? It would be more compelling. People would be more willing to rally to our cause, if we had the magical power to create our own Hallow instead of usurping someone else's."

"It would have to be powerful, more powerful than cheating death."

"They can't really cheat death though. That's impossible."

"Right. But that's the story people know. People like stories and legends. People like tying things into history. It makes it familiar and legitimizes it."

They left before the man and the boy returned. Little else happened. The woman walked past the window a few times. The gnome collected sticks.

"We should go back to the creek. Go for a swim," Gellert said.

Albus agreed. It would help keep some semblance of his story true.

They walked back across the famer's field. Albus watched as Gellert undid each button on his shirt. He flicked his eyes up as Gellert shrugged it off his shoulders. Gellert's eyes were watching his fingers as they worked their way down his own shirt.

"Think they have the wand?" Albus asked once they had stripped to their underwear. He sat on the bank and dipped his feet into the cool water. With his hands, he scrubbed at the ring of dirt around his ankles until the water lapped it away.

"No. You were right," Gellert said. He stepped down from the bank and laid out on his back on the water's surface. A blade of grass stretched up to the sky from between his teeth. "They have the cloak. The wand wouldn't have passed through bloodlines. It would have been won in duels, right? Emeric's a more probable option. But if we can prove the Potter's have the cloak, we can prove the existence of the wand."

Albus hummed and followed him into the creek. He laid back and closed his eyes.

Gellert rattled on, listing off the names of powerful wizards. Albus tilted his head back and let the water wash over his ears. He could see the stone bridge that led out of Godric's Hollow behind him. The three brothers conjured one similar in the story to cheat death. Death won in the end.

The dusty road wrapped back around his ankles as he walked home and caked into his damp skin.

There was no escape.