- August 1899 –

Albus knocked on Aberforth's door Sunday morning. He got no reply. He tried the handle. It was locked. He took out his wand. "Alohamora." The handle didn't budge. "Since when did you learn a locking spell? You're not allowed to do magic outside of school," he added. "Don't get me in trouble."

Heavy footsteps approached the door and it whipped open. "I'm the one getting you into trouble?" Aberforth said. "You almost got us killed. And what if word gets back to the ministry? They'll throw you in Azkaban too. And then what will we do?"

"Ab. They attacked us. I was trying to make it easier to get water. For you. For Ariana."

"This isn't about us. It's about you. You were showing off. You can't be content without your magical prowess on display."

"Hauling heavy buckets across the field twice a day is insane when we can use magic. This world is insane."

"This world is where we live. And I'd like to keep living."

Albus sighed. "I know. I'm sorry. Gellert and I should have gone alone. That was awful for everyone."

"No. You shouldn't have gone in the first place."

Albus stood quiet for a moment. This debate would not lead anywhere. It would continue to spiral. He wanted to move forwards. He had to forfeit. "Maybe not."

Aberforth did not speak.

"The creek will be quiet this morning. Everyone's at church. Why don't you take Ariana?"

"Fine." Aberforth shut the door again.

It took Aberforth another half an hour to emerge from his room and come down to the kitchen. Albus watched him walk to the empty water bucket and then stop. He stared at it, his body stiff. He huffed a breath and shook his head then moved the handle to fill the bucket. Forfeit.

Aberforth did not look at Albus as he poured the water into the kettle, set in on the stove, waited for it boil, and then poured it into the tea pot. With his eyes pointed down into his teacup he spoke, "So you're going to clean out Mum's room?"

"Yeah. Is there anything of hers you want?"

Aberforth looked up at him then. "Oh uh, I don't know." He wasn't prepared for the question. "Maybe the knit throw blanket on her bed. She would always wrap us up in it when we were scared."

Albus smiled. "Sure."

"Is there anything you think Ariana would want?"

"She would probably like the knit blanket."

"No, you should have it. What about her big winter cardigan? That might as well be a blanket."

"Yeah," Aberforth nodded. "Ari would like that."

Aberforth and Ariana left the house an hour later and Albus took a deep breath and opened the door to his mother's bedroom. It was in the same state it had been the night Aberforth first showed him and yet it was still shocking to see. He didn't know where to start. The knit blanket sat in a heap on the broken bed. He stepped carefully through the broken glass and picked it up. It smelled like his mother. He couldn't describe the scent. Her perfume mixed with the lemon scented bathroom soap. If someone had asked him that morning what his mother smelled like he wouldn't have had any recollection of her having a particular scent. But as soon as he inhaled it, the connection was immediate. He folded the blanket neatly and placed it at the end of Aberforth's bed. He went through the clothes scattered around the room and in the dresser drawers for the cardigan. It was softer than he remembered. He hung it over the back of the rocking chair in Ariana's room. The crown she weaved from dead grass at the beginning of the summer sat on the seat. The dandelion was gone. The yellow petals had long disintegrated into white dust.

Before he stepped back into his mother's room, he took out his wand. "Speculo reparo." Glass shards scurried across the floor back to the fallen chandelier. They reformed into dozens of diamond crystals but their shine was dulled. Fracture lines scattered through each crystal. Their once smooth surface, like a protective shield, now bombarded by destructive magic. His spell wasn't strong enough. There were too many pieces. It was too broken. At least he no longer had to watch where he stepped.

He picked out some other clothes for Ariana, folded them back in the dresser, and replaced all the drawers. He collected the clothes that remained in a bag to take to the chapel for donation.

"Knock, knock," Gellert's voice called from downstairs.

Albus paused. He wasn't sure he wanted Gellert's presence for this. "Upstairs," he called.

"Brought you something – Merlin!" Gellert stopped as he stepped into the room. The sleeves of his shirt were bunched up around his elbow. The top few buttons were undone and the collar sat loose and open. Only one shirt tail was tucked into his pants. The other fell over the suspenders that hung loosely from his hips. He looked pleasingly unkempt, his signature look, as he pulled a flask from his back pocket. "You're going to need it. This is awful." He looked around, his eyes wide. "Ariana did this?"

Albus nodded. "Yeah."

"We really should just set her loose on the muggles."

"No," Albus said pointedly.

Gellert raised his hands in surrender. "I kid. I kid."

Albus took the flask from his hand and took a drink. There was a part of Gellert that wasn't kidding.

Albus rolled the sleeves of his shirt up past his elbow and nodded to the bedside table lodged in the wall. "Help me with this." They picked it up from either side and pulled it from the hole. The plaster around it crumbled to the floor. They lifted it across the room back to its spot beside the bed. There was a large chip in the front right corner from where it hit the wall. Albus yanked the curtain rod out of the wall. He slid off the shredded fabric and balled it next to chandelier. "Too ugly. Not worth the effort." He rolled the rod under the dresser.

Gellert pointed his wand at the bedframe. "Lectolu reparo." The center of the frame snapped back up into place. Albus fussed with the bedding, pulling the white sheets and the white comforter taught around the mattress. Gellert flopped across it once it was made. He had the decency to wince when the frame creaked. Albus wanted to tell him to get off his dead mother's bed but he was afraid if Gellert moved too much the bed would snap again. He took another drink from the flask and turned instead to the walls. He muttered the incantation and the bits of plaster raised off the floor and a fixed themselves back to the wall and ceiling. Like the chandelier, the pieces did not go back together smoothly. Hundreds of veins ran across the repaired surface. He ran his finger along one them. It protruded and was rough and grainy. He dragged the tip of his wand slowly along the vein. It smoothed and faded until it disappeared. He took another drink and ran his wand along the next vein and then the next.

"Are you really going to do that?"

"Yes." That was the point. Albus wanted to fix his mother's room so they didn't have to hide it behind a closed door, so they didn't have to have another dirty secret. He drank and dragged and his vision blurred as he tried to focus on the wall that was too close and the veins which were too numerous.

"I thought of a name for the manifesto."

Albus turned and raised an eyebrow.

"Magic is Might."

Albus took another drink and swished the bitter liquid in his mouth. Gellert pulled the parchment from his pocket and waved it in the air. The new name was now scrawled across the top. Albus turned back to the wall and mouthed the phrase silently to himself. It was catchy, easy to remember, easy to chant at a protest. And it was clear, shockingly clear. Magic was the power, strength, and dominance that would reconquer the world and to which everything and everyone else would bow. "It's quite militaristic."

"It's necessary. You need that spark to grab peoples' attention. The average person isn't going to sit and listen to boring bureaucratic policy. They'll never make it past repeal. Look. What are the two greatest hinderances to human development? Fear and complacency. Wizards currently live in a system built out of fear and they've been in it for so long that they've become complacent. We need something bold and once they're inspired, we need something that will restore their sense of security, make them feel strong and powerful, so they will go out there and fight."

"Fight?" Albus hadn't anticipated a war.

"There's going to be resistance."

"But it's for the greater good. They're fighting for the greater good. And if we emphasise that then we can minimize the resistance."

"Right. But we have to be ready for it. And we have to make sure our followers are ready for it. Otherwise, it will crumble. Like your wall." Albus turned and rolled his eyes. Gellert sat up grinned, proud of his joke. He swiped the flask from Albus' hand and took a congratulatory drink. "What's in there?" He pointed to the closed door.

"It's just a cupboard. Clothes. Linens." Albus stepped over to the door and opened it. On the floor sat his mother's trunk. Above it, hung on a wooden dowel, was her collection of dresses. They flowed from light cotton that floated on the hangers to heavy wool that bowed the dowel. Behind the dresses, hung at the far end, was his mother's long navy-blue wool coat. There was another coat hung behind his mother's. Albus pushed the other clothes aside and pulled out the second coat. It was corduroy, long, double breasted, and blue in colour. The buttons were on the right. It was a man's coat.

"What's that?"

"My father's old coat." Without thought, Albus brought the coat to his face and inhaled. It had been seven years. His father's scent had faded. It smelled like his mother, her perfume mixed with lemon scented bathroom soap. A smile spread across his face. Did the coat simply pick up her scent from the other clothes that hung in the cupboard or did she wrap herself in it when life got tough and she missed him? He ran his hand down the sleave and slipped it into the pocket. Tucked away were a collection of his things. His tobacco pipe, the wood dark and smooth. His tobacco canister, an ornate cylinder with marble green octagonal sides and a silver base and cap. The white queen that was missing from his chess set and around her base, two gold rings, their wedding bands.

His mother hadn't tossed it all away. She hadn't turned on him like the rest of the wizarding community, like Albus had thought. It was all an act. For self preservation. For her family's preservation. For the greater good.

"Are you crying?"

Albus laughed and nodded and blinked his wet eyes. He tipped the rings into his hand and slipped the other keepsakes back into the coat's pocket. "She didn't hate him." Gellert stood from the bed and stepped up to him, close. Albus looked away from the rings and into Gellert's eyes. They were strikingly blue. Gellert cupped his face and softly wiped the tears away with the pads of his thumbs. Then Gellert kissed him, soft at first and then hungry.

"Come." Gellert took his hand and led him up to his room.

Albus' cheeks were hot as he reached the top of the stairs to the attic, but the room was uncommonly cool. The breeze blew strongly through the open windows. The papers on his desk, letters from Elphias, notes from Gellert, the Peverell-Potter family tree, rustled. He was overwhelmed by the coat draped over his arm and the rings in his hand and what they meant. He was nervous about tingle in his lips and the hand that held his and led him up to his quiet bedroom in an empty house. Gellert's hand slipped from his and he walked to the window by Albus' desk. He closed it and drew the curtain. The papers on the desk stilled. He closed and drew the curtain on the window that face the back yard as well. A soft copper glow bathed the room.

"The rings." Gellert said as he walked back to him. Albus laid his father's coat gently on top of his dresser and splayed his palm for Gellert. Gellert circled his finger around the smooth metal.

"You're not going to do anything to them, right?"

Gellert shook his head, his eyes cast down at his finger's musings. "No, of course not. They're yours." His finger circled and circled, each revolution turning out a thought. "They're sacred. They represent a vow between two people that binds them together for eternity. Nothing can break that. Not murder. Not the dementor's kiss. They represent a promise of devotion and commitment." Gellert closed Albus' fist around the rings. "We should have something like that."

"Like what? You want to get married?"

Gellert huffed an amused laugh. "A vow," he clarified. "Revolution is messy. Causes break into factions and turn inwards. They cannibalize themselves and the oppressors are forgotten and allowed to maintain power. We can't allow that to happen. We can't stop until the manifesto is a reality. We can't turn on each other."

"We won't."

"I know we won't. We're going to make a blood pact."

"Now?"

"Now."

"What's the pact?"

"We'll keep it simple like the rings. It's a commitment for us. A pact to never move against each other."

He had only known Gellert for six weeks. They hadn't signed off on a completed version of the manifesto. He didn't have a full understanding of what he was agreeing to. But no one ever would. Despite what his divination professor taught, life could not be predicted. The present was the only guarantee. And in the current present he lived under government sanctioned oppression that had torn apart his family and the handsome boy next door who kissed him with desire was offering to fight by his side to dismantle the powers that be. "What do we do?"

"A vial," Gellert said.

Albus tucked the rings back into the pocket of his father's coat. He knelt by his school truck at the foot of his bed. On top of the trunk sat the travel bag Mr. and Mrs. Dodge had given him at graduation. He opened it for the first time since returning to Godric's Hollow and rummaged through the contents. He pulled out a new diamond shaped crystal vial. Gellert took it and slipped it into the front pocket of his shirt. He pulled out his wand. Albus stood and pulled out his own. Gellert placed the tip of his wand to the palm of his left hand. Albus mirrored him. "Secare." Gellert dragged the wand across his hand. The skin split behind it and red blood seeped to the surface.

"Secare," Albus said and cut his own hand. It stung. The magic burned deeper than a knife. Gellert raised his bloody hand to face him. The blood trailed over his wrist and down his arm like water in the creek, steady, and mesmerizing, and lethal. Albus raised his hand to Gellert's. Their fingers intertwined, binding them together. Blood continued to seep from their hands. It mixed against their slick skin and spilled down their arms as one, indistinguishable humor.

The copper glow faded from the room and the dark shadows that lived in the peaks of the dormers crawled across the ceiling and down the walls. Gellert took a breath and looked him square in the eye. His brows tightened and his eyes pierced. "I vow to never strike against you," Gellert said.

"I vow to never strike against you," Albus echoed.

Light flashed outside. Gellert closed his eyes. "Let this spilt blood sign our vow." Thunder roared. The space between their hands grew hot and pulsed. Then it dried as if the wound had been cauterized. Gellert opened his fingers and pulled his hand away. He held out his palm and Albus mirrored him. Their hands were clean apart from the thin red cut and a small red bead that hovered above it. The two drops of blood raised into the air between them and began to swirled like two planets in orbit around one another – a precise and precarious balance of speed and distance and size. Mars, the god of war, had found its match.

Gellert took the vial from his shirt pocket and held it beneath the blood droplets. They were pulled in like a vacuum. They continued to swirl in the center of the vial and pushed outward against the crystal. The diamond shape smoothed out into a sphere from the force. Gellert pushed the stopper into place and a diamond shaped metal lattice formed around the sphere and weaved into two rods that tipped the top and bottom.

There was a steady tap against the windows, soft at first and then growing as the sky relinquished the water back to the dying earth.

Gellert tapped his wand to the top of the vial. A cord wound around the rod and formed a loop. Gellert placed the cord around Albus' neck, suspending the vial like a pendant over his heart. He looked back at Gellert who smiled and reached for his hand. He pressed a kiss to the thin red scar. He pressed a kiss to the tendons and the blue veins on his wrist and then to the inside crook of his elbow, his nose pushing up under the cuff of his rolled shirt sleeve. Gellert dropped his hand and moved to the buttons on Albus' shirt. He slipped them from their holes and their undoing became his.

Albus grabbed the front of Gellert's shirt and pulled him closer. He worked his way through Gellert's buttons and pushed the shirt from his shoulders to the ground. He found Gellert's lips and latched to them. Gellert removed his shirt and moved immediately to his trousers. Albus slid his hands down Gellert's chest to where his trousers sat at the taper of his waist and did the same. He stepped backwards out of his trousers, his calf brushing the wood frame of his bed. Gellert stepped forwards and urged him back until he was pinned to the mattress open and willing.