Chapter 5: The Unreasonable Proposal

"The reasonable man adapts himself to the world: the unreasonable one persists in trying to adapt the world to himself. Therefore all progress depends on the unreasonable man." George Bernard Shaw in Maxims for Revolutionists. (1903)

AN: I've been told that the first two chapters were too long and that makes the fic less "readable". OK, I dunno if I want to write with considerations for length. Especially 'cause I enjoy my slow boiling convoluted plots and 'cause the usual fare 'round these parts seems to be one-shot slash or downright PWP... Mind you, I can read and even -in the right mind frame- enjoy those, but I don't think I care for writing them. In any case, I did ask for advise and I guess I do want this to be more "readable"… Even though the flow of the chess game is totally changed by the split. Bet chess game transubstantiation into storytelling is not that readable either… So be it… Also, I could have used another more obvious Montesquieu quote on the spirit of the law and I was planning to use the one on gratitude later on, but… what the… it kinda fits too.

If you happen to care about chess, I was kinda thinking of the game between Adolf Anderssen and Emil Schallopp in Berlin in 1864. Whites win with a King's Gambit against a rather textbook Falkbeer Counter Gambit by sacrificing two pawns and a Queen to check mate with a double Bishop wham bam. OK, Blacks made some epic mistakes in that game… But I wanted Whites to win. At this point I don't see Gellert and Albus as Kings yet, still the power of two crafty Bishops on the open road is a force to be reckoned. We all know how that ends, but I'm kinda rooting for the guys. Sue me. There is this lovely Youtube channel in which nickname MatoJelic explains this marvelously sneaky game move by move.

I began writing this with the Duel (yeah with uppercase) in mind and it sorta develops around the Imagine Dragon song I Bet My Life. That is how I see this love story… as a duel. Opening with a Gambit is a declaration of principles. It means you are not afraid to make sacrifices if you win in the end. And this fic is all about the game. Yeah, "the game is afoot." Be prepared for a lot of bold offensives, even if they seem reckless or downright stupid. When I was a teenager personalized t-shirts became a thing, one of mine was black, with a white downward pointing arrow, a white rightward pointing arrow and the word stupid written with a mock Superman S. I used to wear it when I played. I considered that t-shirt, my green bangs and nose ring psychological warfare. When you look like that people tend to underestimate you. I liked to think that looking the underdog gave me an edge. So be warned that's how I play my chess. And, sometimes… I win. Won't say what my ranking was back then, though, you are not courteous if you even think of asking that to a lady.

It was my turn to poke the fire crab's posterior. Yes, I needed the fire crab to explode in order to test my hypothesis. I was going to get the fire crab to explode and prove I could know which one was the tail.

Gellert was right, the ritual of the sounding of the horn, the bowing, the spinning of the crab and the walking around the table worked like mesmerism. I walked around the table one lap after another in a dream-like state. A lucid dream in which all my senses were engaged; so the world seemed painted in bold coloured brushstrokes like a picture by this unknown artist, Paul Gaugin, whom I'd met in a party hosted by a wizard patron of the Muggle arts. Seguéi Ivánovich Shchukin was visiting Paris in 1897 too. Madame Perenelle had used him to show me that the enlightened Parisian wizards were more tolerant of those who had a passion for Muggle arts and sciences. Even when Muggles didn't appreciate those arts, as was the case of Gaugin. Of course that tolerance for Muggles didn't extend to the point of not oblivating the man before sending him back to the French Polynesia after the party.

"There is a note: The non-magical world didn't come to appreciate Gauguin until after his death in 1903. And Shchukin was more than tolerant, he was veritably obsessed with all modern art, by 1917 -when his collection was seized by the Leninist in Russia- he owned 258 paintings by Matisse, Monet, Cézanne, Van Gogh, Gauguin and Picasso among others. That rendered him a very notorious collector among Muggles; though I must admit that the French Magic Ministry was tolerant of this near transgression of the International Statute of Secrecy when they received him as a refugee. His collection served as the founding of the Hermitage Museum." Hermione muttered as if she were talking to herself: "I guess that means some wizarding communities are more tolerant of Muggles.

Ron replied: "I don't think so, not really, luv. If you chat with Fleur on that one, you'll find that they are tolerant of some aspects of Muggle life and as weary of Muggles as any wizard is. In fact, knowing what happened to Dumbledore's sister, I'm truly surprised he was so keen on Muggle stuff. He even liked their candies. Those sherbet lemons he ate are not typical wizarding treats. I hadn't tried them ever, not until I went to his office right after what happened with Voldemorts' diary. He had wanted to talk to me and Ginny about it. Though I didn't care all that much for the fizzy sour sweet flavor… But my point is that if anyone had a cause to be weary of Muggles, it was him, but he wasn't. He shopped in their candy stores. And even enchanted Muggle items, like my Deluminator; which I guess makes it very much illegal. Dad says Muggles actually use it to light things up… He calls it a Light-up."

Hermione corrected him: "It's called a lighter, my love." And then she tilted her head pensively and continued reading.

I'd loved Gaugin's exotic paintings of the Marquesas Islands. At the time I still had hoped to see the place firsthand. But that was before Godric's Hollow had become my personal hellhole. Now I found myself circling round a bejeweled denizen hailed from a neighboring, equally exotic, Melanesian Island, slowly and cruelly killing it in a gamble for its carapace. My stomach lurched. I poked the crab realizing it was going to explode with plenty of time to cast Protego.

I also realizedwhat it was that I had noticed before each explosion. There was no premonition involved; just a leap of intuition, for my mind is sometimes quicker than my consciousness. Each time, before the explosion, I had smelled the biting odor of nitrogen dioxide, which results of the exothermic combustion of another powerful odorless chemical called ammonium saltpeter, present in some creatures' manure. There was also the tinniest bit of brown reddish gas, if you knew where to look. The animal was probably exhausted too; after a fair number of explosions the combustion was less than perfect, so it was possible to find tiny flakes of greyish-white residue in the scute (plates or scales overlaid with horn) of the Fire Crab's carapace. The residue had allowed me to identify the beast's behind and had confirmed my suspicion that there was a surefire way to win in this game.

I am a fairly good alchemist and, since nitrogen dioxide can be lethally toxic, when you take N.E.W.T. level Alchemy, you are taught to recognize it at the very first whiff, your life may depend on it. It would also be wise not to teach Potions in a dungeon, but that is tradition for you. As it is, my nose is good at picking up scents. That is why I had been able to perceive and identify the compound at all before the exploding material had erupted out of the fire crab. I've also suffered from far-sightedness since I'm a child, I can see objects that are far away relatively better than objects that are near. That is how I had been able to see the ammonium saltpeter residue on the beast's carapace sitting on the divan.

I had then proved my hypothesis, but before I did, I had sneaked a pick inside the shell. That is how I was able to deduce that the crab was essentially trying to defend itself by shooting out its own lighted up manure and urine. Like a lot of reptiles and birds, the beast only had one posterior orifice called a cloaca to discharge all its waste. Like no other beast, magical or not, the beast had a pouch where a part of said discharge was saved and fermented by diminutive living organisms -as those described by Pasteur- for the purpose of its defense. The tip of its cloaca had an appendage that was flint like, so it was easy, by rubbing it against the right kind of surface, like the beast's own shell, for it to produce a spark that lighted up the reserve of enriched manure. Add a generous amount of oxygen when it came in contact with air and, voilà, the exothermic reaction was completed and you had Fire Crab fire on a platter. It was kind of disgusting, even if the platter was sterling silver. But it made me feel better to know what was happening. Knowing how things work always does.

Knowing exactly what was happening also gave me confidence that I had really found out a way of beating the house. I didn't even consider it cheating, as it all depended on skill, a rather particular set of skills that I happened to have, but skills nevertheless. I could identify the tail by the residue and have fair warning of the explosion by the smell of nitrogen dioxide. The fact that I needed to flip some tails, in order to keep the Swabian from finding out we were playing at an advantage, was actually going to work in my favor; for that would ensure there was residue on the carapace to aid me divine which end was tails and which one was heads. I had this, I really did.

At least I had more confidence than I had before testing my hypothesis. The green color of the flames probably came from the fire crab's diet, which accounted for the emeralds and the expensiveness of keeping them as pets. Nothing, not even magic, can produce something out of nothing. The fire crab was a fine example of that, as Gellert had explained you needed at least some kind of beryl to produce the valuable green kind of beryl known as emerald. So these beasts weren't really kept for profit as any kind of beryl is expensive and the gain from getting emeralds would be marginal. I wondered what the Lutins were getting out of the deal, aside from watching greedy wizards squirm, that is.

The little elves were probably having a laugh watching the hoity-toity humans bathing in fiery poop for the price of a few jewels and the thrill of gambling. Like a lot of elves, the Lutins, by their association with Father Christmas, got far much better Muggle press than they rightfully deserved.

Ron was looking green himself: "Bloody Hell! You know what this means, don't you?"

Harry frowned: "No mate, I don't. What are you talking about?"

He looked quite ill: "I can't… I can't, mate… I'm 'bout to barf."

Ron really looked like he was going to vomit, so Hermione summoned a bucket handed it to her husband and explained: "Hagrid bred the Blast-Ended Skrewts from Fire Crabs and Manticores, so it is safe to assume their defense mechanisms pretty much worked the same way."

Harry was looking green too: "Does that mean that we spent one whole school year wading in…? Blimey! Pass me the bucket, mate."

Ginny chuckled: "I'm so glad those weren't around when I had my fourth year lessons."

Ron looked accusingly at Hermione: "Did you know this, luv?"

Hermione nodded.

Ron scowled: "Why didn't yo tell us?"

She shrugged filling a glass of water for her husband and another one for her friend with her wand: "I kind of figured it out, but I didn't think anything would be gained by telling you two. Those lessons were awful enough as it is. I assumed the… err… waste was innocuous; save for the exploding part. Ammonium nitrate is really dangerous, if I had known about it, I would have worried. But the explosions in the baby Skrewts weren't as bad. We all know Hagrid has the best intentions at heart."

"Best intentions my wand… Hagrid must be really happy I cannot lay my hands on him right now."

Hermione took Ron's hand in hers: "Let it go, my love, it is water under the bridge."

"Not quite water," muttered Ginny still chuckling under her breath.

Hermione shot her an admonitory look that Minerva McGonagall would have been proud of and carried on reading.

I had insisted that the Lutines explained me the rules of engagement before I played. I had felt completely helpless and a bit disoriented watching the game, I wasn't going to risk my head with something as dangerous as ammonium saltpeter without knowing exactly how the game was supposed to be played and won. Deep down I'm very competitive, if I play, I play to win.

So I had learnt that if neither of us had been burnt by the time the Fire Crab died, the winner would be the one who had accumulated the greater number of misfires, which meant heads. Perhaps the Earl Grindelwald was not mistaken to call me rarefied, I have a peculiar mind, one that can capture facts, images and tidbits of information with uncanny perfection. I remembered the game play by play. Counting the times each had gotten heads, I concluded that Gellert was slightly ahead of the Swabian by two heads. So aside from not eliciting the Lutines and the Swabian suspicions, I also had to try to get as many heads as possible.

I'm fairly good at Arithmancy. Back then my knowledge of Muggle mathematics was limited, but like Gellert's Nagymama, I hadn't trusted Hogwarts to be solely responsible for my education. I had, on my own, perused some Muggle books and was familiar with Binomial Distribution problems. I calculated a comfortable probability for tossing 10 heads in the next 20 trials which is very lucky (around 18% chance) but not uncannily so. I was a lucky charm, after all. I also had to take into account I needed to avoid the perception of too many heads lumped together, so I would get my ten heads out of twenty, keeping to the following apparently random pattern THHT, HHTT, THTH, HTTH, THHT.

I was setting things so that I would get enough heads at the beginning of the pattern to guarantee that, if the crab died earlier, I'd still win. The game had been going on for a while, so I hoped I wouldn't need to provision for more turns than that. If the luck favored the Swabian, I could adjust the pattern to maintain my advantage.

Armed with my knowledge and my game plan I was ready to win… theoretically. Even with my hypothesis supported by evidence, implementation of a theory as a practical application requires fine tuning. Take Ladislaus Bortkiewicz 1898 implementation of the Poisson distribution to investigate the problem of Prussian soldiers killed accidentally by horse kicks. It had taken some adjustments.

Unfortunately, I didn't have time for fine tuning. I hadn't counted on one small detail: The Fire Crab was dying and no living thing relinquishes life easily. I was on my fifth turn and on my third head when the beast's own head poked out… It was crying, granted, tortoise tears are not the same as human tears, but the suffering was very much real and it was evident that the beast was in horrible pain, yet fighting for its life to its very last breath. That stopped me cold.

"Albus, are you alright?" Gellert had asked from the divan, my new friend was not a trusting soul, he had refused to cure his broken leg, in case he needed to play in my stead.

I didn't reply immediately, so Gellert made as if he were going to stand, but his leg was swollen and hurting, he could only sit back clutching the sit with his hands to ride the pain. I was caught between the suffering of the crab and my friend's pain. I felt dragged by horses in opposite directions.

He repeated the question with more urgency: "Albus, are you alright?"

I realized I had been holding my breath. I breathed out, inhaled deeply and nodded: "Yes, I am."

But I wasn't, I was besides myself. And I lost track of the pattern. While trying to regain my bearings, I foolishly got four heads in a row.

Gellert was indeed a gifted Legilimens, for of usual I'm an accomplished Occlumens, as most people with skeletons in their closets learn to be. The fraction one sixteenth appeared clearly in my mind, while he said out loud: "Monsieur Dumbledore, you need to get a hold of yourself."

It took me a couple of seconds to realize he was talking about the odds of getting four heads in a row. Damn it! I immediately got a tail, but I might have cast Protego too quickly. I managed to make both the Swabian and the Lutins suspicious. He asked for the crab to be inspected.

While the beast was being inspected Gellert and I had a half whispered half mental images conversation.

He clutched at his wand, not taking his eyes away from the Lutines and the Swabian and asked me with a mental pictured: "Are they going to find anything, Albus?"

I whispered back: "There is nothing on the beast aside from what nature decreed." Then I explained what I had been doing using a detailed mental diagram. He let me in, but only so far. I wasn't opening myself up either. I formed each word on the surface of my mind and telegraphed: "We won't get caught unless they have a Legilimens good enough to beat me in Occlumancy, which I don't think they do; or they would have used it, instead of having to physically inspect the crab"

He whistled between teeth: "Király vagy! You, sir, are a regular Sherlock Holmes."

I denied: "No I'm not. I'm disgustingly yellow. One lousy tear and I lose my mettle."

He chuckled softly: "I'm not going to send you an owl carrying feathers any time soon. Never for being compassionate, my friend. And Holmes was not much of a fighter. He had his lead soldier to do his dirty job for him. You don't happen to have a doctor veteran of the Anglo- Afghan wars who can fix my leg and get us out of here at gun point hidden in that pouch of yours, do you?"

I don't know how he managed, but he made me smile: "According to his latest postcard, the only Dr. Watson I've ever had is sojourning in Turkey, not Afghanistan, ten years from now. And he wouldn't have been able to get us out of anywhere at gun point. He is not a soldier, but a scholar. He is the looking amazed while I make my deductions kind of Watson. Don't you have the resources of a Napoleon of crime at your disposal? An army of London's worse criminals would serve us right now."

He clicked his tongue: "No, I left my underworld army back at Durmstrang. Such a pity, we cannot expect assistance. I guess then Moriarty and Holmes will have to get out of this using their brains."

"Weren't Professor Moriarty and Sherlock Holmes supposed to be mortal enemies?" I gave him a clear picture of Sidney Paget's 1893 illustration of the Reichenbach Falls.

"I don't know? I've always figured out those two were only on opposite sides of the fence out of pure chance and, perhaps, narrative convenience. True friendship is only possible among equals and those two were more evenly matched than Watson and Holmes ever were. Circumstance conspired to put them in conflict, whilst inclination would have drawn them together."

"The idea of friendship only being possible among equals sounds rather lonely. And affinity among opposites is well documented. But let us discuss it some other time. Right now, as you said, we have to figure a way out. One that preferably does not involve having to fight our way out of Café des Lutines against an army of Lutins and dangerous mercenaries like the Swabian there."

"I completely agree. Let me try to find out exactly what we are up against first. Be at the ready to disapparate at a moment's notice. If we have to, we'll meet by the Eiffel Tower and try to lose any pursuers in the crowd. And then we'll apparate in the woods where we hid the Lohner-Porsche. You've got both locations firmly in your mind?"

"I do, but what about L'Argent et Bleu Chevaliers Aurors?"

He smiled despondently: "Moriarty would rather deal with des flics than with the Lutins." Then he cast Restituo on his leg, stood up and went to parley with the Lutines and the Swabian.

As it turns out we didn't have to deal with either. Since the Lutins weren't able to find any definitive proof of tampering, they decided to let us keep on playing with the added precaution of having a Lutin watching over the game, or rather, watching me carefully and having a Lutine inspecting the crab right after each play. The inspection included the Lutine wiping the beast's carapace, so I lost the ability of telling heads from tails.

Gellert broadcast to my mind: "Can you still win without knowing which one is tails?"

I smiled and replied out loud: "I'm very resilient. I've had to be, given my personal circumstances."

I still was going to have fair warning before an explosion. My game plan had to adapt to guarantee I kept the advantage with the number of heads by the time the crab died. My game plan was also going to change in another respect. So far I had been playing this game for Gellert by the Lutins' rules. Now I was going to play it for me, making my own rules within the rules. For the first time in this whole wretched afternoon I felt in control. It all fit perfectly in the symphony of Albus Dumbledore's life. I'd always had to play my cards constraint by the rules and expectations of others, but always with my own objectives in mind. Now I really had this, I finally did.

While the crab was thoroughly inspected and the Swabian took his turn, I walked to the absinthe fountain, grabbed a handful of sugar cubes, placed them in my pocket and hummed a Gaelic tune my mother had taught me when I was a little boy. A bevy of green fairies flocked around me. The Swabian got heads and apparated besides me looking amused at the fairies fluttering about me. I ignored him and walked back to the game table with my retinue of diminutive waiting ladies.

Kendra Dumbledore, nee Eabarcromgaigh or Abercrombie -if you go by the English version of the name- was born to squibs, though she had grown-up immersed in the magic of the Highlands. She wanted to leave a little of her clan name in each one of us. Every child she had with the English wizard descended from the Lochlier Clan that she married was called a name starting with A: Albus, Aberforth, and Ariana. I was my father's, Percival, first born I was carrier of the Dumbledore name, but in Albus, I carried my mum's Albion too.

My mum knew a host of stories about the good folk and had an affinity to them. Doxys and Gnomes never infested our home or garden. The tune I was humming like a bumblebee, she used to summon Fairies, so our Christmas trees always had gorgeous decoration for free. She could even get Pixies to carry her baskets when she came home from the market. That is, when she still left the house. I guess that only added to the neighbors' suspicions that we Dumbledore's delved in the Dark Arts.

I had been weary of using the song for it might affect the Lutins too… But good folk they weren't and the tune had no effect on them whatsoever. That somehow made me feel better about what I intended to do. Lutins took pleasure in playing with fire and watch others burn, a reckoning was due. All within their draconian rules, to make sure we could go home with the carapace. That is a lesson: laws that are applied with disregard to the spirit of justice, can turn around and bite you in the arse. The moment that crab fired once more during my turn, all their little candy cane stripes behinds were going to catch fire.

I must admit, luck has never been on my side. I got another head, the crab peered out moaning weakly and I mentally told it to hang in there. I could do nothing for it but speed its death. And that is what I was going to do as soon as I got tails again. The moan made the fairies nervous, but I kept humming and they stuck with me, which made them less dumb than most wizards think them to be. Just for safe measure, and to avoid suspicions, I took the sugar out of my pockets and let them lick it.

Gellert was looking at me inquiringly but I thought that he was keeping so much from me that it was only fair that I kept some things from him. I just smiled sweetly and let him simmer.

The Swabian got tails and apparated by the absinthe fountain. He looked inquiringly at me too. But I ignored him again and walked to the table softly humming my mother's summoning song.

I smelled the nitrogen dioxide and knew I was going to get tails. While I cast Protego, I did something few wizards can do with a shield spell: I divided it, creating a protective wall not only in front of me and the fairies; but also one in front of Gellert and the Swabian, the Lutins I didn't care about... As for the Fire Crab… I shielded its behind so the explosion didn't have anywhere to go but inwards, right back to the pouch of waste. Which must have been fuller than I had calculated, because the resulting secondary explosion was bigger than I had thought it would be.

In fact, it was so huge that the crab's carcass simply evaporated, while the shell and the plastron were propelled to the ceiling and the floor respectively and the ball of green fire liberated began rapidly consuming the green room. The absinthe fountain caught fire too. I guess the only reason that it didn't cause more damage was that the pond where the waterfall fell was filled with cool water.

The explosive wave had pushed Gellert, the Swabian, the Lutins and me into the mossy walls. I was the one closer to the crab, so I was the one tossed farther. Hitting the wall took away my breath, I couldn't keep humming, but I hold firmly to the shield spell so the fairies couldn't fly away and get hurt.

The Swabian had dissaparated almost as soon as he hit the wall. I didn't like not knowing where he was. But I couldn't do much about it.

Gellert also recuperated fairly quickly from the surprise, he sent me a mental question: "Did you do this on purpose?" I nodded from across the room. He muttered: "You fool." Then he made me undo the shield spell on him, walked decisively among the frantic Lutins, some of whom were on fire, which I thought of as poetical justice, hit the ones who were finishing cleaning the carapace with a stunning spell, picked the shell and walked towards me shouting: "Come, Albus, let's disapparate!"

I had begun humming again and denied with my head. The fairies fluttered nervously about me.

He looked worriedly at the Lutins pouring into the room with buckets of water, trying to put out the fire. He cursed: "Az istenit!" He apparated by my side; made me get up and said: "Please tell me this isn't about the stupid fairies, Albus."

I denied again. And then I walked calmly towards the door and let the fairies fly out.

Gellert had followed me: "Not about the fairies he says… Can we go now? Before the Lutins get a hold of the situation."

I smiled brightly at him: "We don't need to, we have won."

"Please, Albus! It is evident you killed the crab on purpose."

"Yes, I made no effort whatsoever to hide it."

"We need to leave now."

"No we don't. I've told you: we've won. There is nothing in the Lutin's rules to prevent me from killing the crab whenever I feel like."

He looked at me frowning: "But that's stupid! That means anyone who is ahead in the head count can win simply by killing the crab."

I giggled: "That's about right, as long as you don't catch fire while you do it you win. And I don't think these elves are very bright or care for fairness, my friend. If they did they would have let you mend your leg and keep on playing. But the rule says to the letter that you cannot fix damage incurred during the game, and they didn't have the flexibility to accommodate to the fact that you didn't get injured playing. Also, I don't think they should have let me play in your stead without it having been previously agreed. The rule says that it has to be agreed upon by the players so when the Swabian agreed they agreed, fair or not fair. I think they, like some people, suffer from a nearsighted interpretation of the letter of the law, regardless of its spirit. You made me realize it when you said there was no point in discussing with a Lutine and she kept repeating the rules like a parrot."

He was still looking suspiciously at me when one of the Lutines, limping and covered in soot, curtsied in front of him and offered him the plastron and the emeralds that had fallen from the carapace in the explosion. Then she, and an escort of heavily armed Lutins in badly burnt clothes, had practically pushed us out the doors, which locked loudly behind our backs.

Out on the street I laughed: "Something tells me we are no longer welcomed in Le Café des Lutines."

He laughed boisterously: "Just as well, we have what we came here to get and the service is not what it used to be. I foresee their business closing in the near future." He looked at me appreciatively: "That was magnificent, Albus, you figuring out how the crab and the Lutins worked... I could just hug you!"

That made me blush and look away from him. I noticed someone apparating down the street and coming towards us. It was the Swabian accompanied by an equally dangerous looking wizard. I tensed, took out my wand and said: "Beware, Gellert, we have got company."

He chuckled: "Oh, I was wondering where he'd gone."

Gellert didn't seem at all concerned and the Swabian didn't look angry either. They chatted amicably in German while the other wizard waited at a discreet distance. Gellert handed the Swabian a coin purse. The Swabian had said something pointing at me that made Earl Grindelwald laugh. He had waived his goodbyes to me and then he and the other wizard had disapparated.

Hermione cried out triumphant: "Hah! I knew it, they were all in cahoots!" and before anyone could say anything else, she carried on reading.

"The Swabian says you are not einglückspilz you are a proper glücksbringer, a bringer of luck. If not das persönliche Nornen, a Fate personified..."

I was trembling in anger when I replied: "I don't give a damn if you are bloody Paganini… I swear this is the very last time I let you play me like a fiddle, Gellert Grindelwald."

And then I apparated back home… Or at least where home is ten years from when I was. Back in 1889 we Dumbledore's still lived in the house atop the hill at Mould-On-The-Wold. The rental we had moved into at Godric's Hollow after the tragedy, I found out, had belonged then to a rather dashing young wizarding couple who had a little boy. The picture perfect wizarding family -a brunet wizard, a blonde witch and the little boy dressed in the cutest sailor outfit looked right out of a postcard- had been teaching the boy how to fly on a training broom when a flustered redhead teenager had apparated in their yard, cursing like a sailor, just to disapparate right away when the idiot realized his mistake.

I apparated right back on the Parisian cobble stone street still cursing: "Bloody Hell!"

Gellert tackled me, pushing me against a wall. I was too shocked to react. He yelled: "Intra!" and inside the wall we went.

I began to protest: "Let go of me this inst..."

His body was pressed hard against mine inside the impossibly small space pocket he had created and he hissed an angry whisper right into my ear: "Shut up, Albus."

"I won't be silenced like a child who speaks out of turn, Gellert!"

I had just started fighting him off Muggle style to regain use of my hands in order to cast my way out of the wall, when he had pressed his lips against mine and effectively, quite effectively, silenced me.

Ron had stood up knocking his chair over and asked: "What on Merlin's name did just happen there?"

Ginny, Hermione and Harry looked at him questioningly.

"Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore just snogged… We all heard the same there? They snogged!" Ron said with a look of bewilderment on his face.

Ginny, Hermione and Harry looked at each other and it was Harry who finally spoke: "Ron, mate, you did read Rita Skeeter's unauthorized bio, didn't you? You do know Albus Dumbledore was gay?"

"I stopped reading that bitch Skeeter when she called Hermione... I ain't repeating what she called her. What do you mean Dumbledore was gay? For Merlin's beard, he was a teacher! He was the bloody Headmaster of Hogwarts!"

That's when Hermione had begun angrily tapping her fingers on the table: "Ronald Bilius Weasley, explain to me how being gay precludes you from being a teacher… 'Cause I don't very well understand the logic behind it. What does one thing have to do with the other?"

Ginny and Harry exchanged a worried look over the other two heads.

Ron scratched his red beard and replied hesitant: "Well… I mean, luv… surely you must see how..."

Hermione laughed humorlessly: "I must surely don't, love of my life, so if you were as kind as to explain it to me slowly... That would be just great."

Ron crossed his arms in front of his chest: "Hermione Jean Granger-Weasley, you are putting words in my mouth and that is not fair. You know me better than that. Do you remember, luv, who was the first one to stand up for you when that idiot Malfoy called you the M word?"

She bit her lip and replied: "I thought I knew the man I had married; but, for a moment there, it seemed as if you were implying that being homosexual somehow impairs you from teaching children."

"Well, I wasn't. I think it is clear that I didn't know Albus Dumbledore was gay. My grievances against the man don't come from his sexual orientation, but from the way he behaved. I think it is also clear that the Board of Governors didn't know either or they would have sacked the man, probably backed by all of the pure-blood parents and even half of the other. You saw what happened to Remus Lupin when they found out he was a werewolf. Even though he was treating his condition and posed no danger. Not to mention he was the very best bloody Defense against the Dark Arts teacher we ever had. We would have probably died by the fifth year without those lessons he gave us. Incidentally, did your parents ever found out you were getting lessons from a werewolf, my luv? 'Cause mine did and they supported Lupin."

Hermione sighed: "You are probably right, Dumbledore would have been sacked. And no, I didn't tell my parents about werewolves. They would have probably not been OK with it, at least not until I could explain to them face to face that I was in no danger whatsoever. They wouldn't be happy now to learn I didn't tell them about it back then either. I'm sorry to have assumed you could think that."

Ron denied: "That's OK luv, I can't very well blame you. You've seen my aunts and uncles treading around the subject of Charlie's 'roommate' during the Christmas holidays. They can't bring themselves to call it out, even when those two stay in Charlie's old bedroom, which only has one bed."

Ginny shrugged: "At least mum and dad let Dragos and Charlie stay in his old bedroom, not all parents would..."

"Yes, Ginny, but just as nobody talks about dad tinkering with Muggle stuff, you won't see them telling Aunt Mildred that Dragos is not Charlie's roommate but his… life companion… life partner?" Ron didn't very well know how to end the phrase and turned to his wife for confirmation.

"Life partner is as good a term as any. Though Dragos Leonte and Charlie Weasley should be able to call each other husband in the eyes of the law. It's ridiculous that they can't. They had been together for ages. And they shouldn't have to play pretend to mollify the moldy sensibilities of your aunts and uncles, Ron. Your family couldn't turn a blind eye, if Charlie and Dragos could have a wedding just like we did. That's just one of many, many things that are wrong with current wizarding legislation..."

Before Hermione could get going on one of her tirades, Ron said: "I won't deny it is wrong, but it is what it is in the wizarding world right now and what it has been for a very long time. That is what makes these diaries inflammatory material, you should take that into consideration when deciding what to do with them. The fact that he was sweet for a dark wizard just makes it all worse."

Harry smiled sadly: "I think that ship has already sailed, mate. You might be the only wizard who didn't read The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore. She couldn't even wait for him to be cold in his grave before publishing her crap just four weeks after he died."

Ginny: "She probably had a draft of it written beforehand. It is not considered libel if the person is death. I checked it when I started my internship in the Daily Prophet. Rita is always careful of keeping her writing on the top of the publicity wave and in the border of legality."

Ron snorted: "Sneaky dung beetle. But I bet that everything she published was unverified hearsay. I doubt she had real proof of any of her claims. These diaries aren't hearsay; they are a first person account and that is whole different thing, mate. These could really make a dent on Dumbledore's reputation."

Hermione scowled: "That is really fucked up!" No one contradicted her. Still frowning, she sighed deeply and then she continued reading.

The kiss deepened and his hands ended over my hips, while mine cradled his head and my fingers tangled in his blond hair. We kissed hungrily until we needed to stop to catch our breath. When we did, he placed his index curled under my chin and his thumb extended over my lips. With his ear on the wall he listened and whispered: "I just want to make sure they are gone."

I pushed his hand gently away and looked at him confused: "Who are we talking about?"

"L'Argent et Bleu Chevaliers, Albus, they started apparating as soon as you disapparated. I stunned the first two and, before the other two came, you apparated back. I think I did hear two pops, but I hid us inside the wall before being sure of how many there were. I don't think they were able to see where we went. I just want to be sure we are safe now."

I stiffened, putting my hands besides my flanks: "Is that why you kissed me?"

He sported a lopsided grin: "You were having a fit and making a whole lot of noise. I couldn't think of a better way of silencing you quickly. But that is not the only reason why I kissed you. To be perfectly frank, I've been wanting to kiss you for a while now."

I didn't know what to believe anymore. So I decided to go for another angle: "How did you know I wouldn't reap you a new one with my wand if you did? You know about Oscar Wilde's fate, so you know a lot of English gentlemen would not take kindly to your advances."

He chuckled: "I think I have enough experience to know when someone is going to… how you called it? Take kindly to my advances. You don't need to wear a green carnation for me to figure out you like men, Albus. You were practically drooling over the Swabian. I got a bit jealous, I'll admit."

I protested: "I was not drooling over the Swabian!"

He smiled: "My friend, you were flirting. And the man was not indifferent to your flirtation."

I conceded: "Maybe I was… intrigued by the man..." I sighed: "When did you figure it out?"

"I started suspecting it when you remained perfectly indifferent to the tale of the naughty soprano sleeping with half of the troupe. I can bet you all the men listening to that piece of gossip wondered if they could be next to punch Miss Arnoldson's dancing card. My suspicion deepened when after seeing a very erotic Opera, all you wanted was to discuss motherly love. Most young hot-blooded men watching it without female companions went to their mistresses or the brothel right afterwards. There is also your contemptuous tone when discussing Lottie Collins' shapely legs. And, if I had any doubt left, it was dispelled when you asked if the Christmas tree was a Veela… Believe me, Albus, if you were even remotely attracted to women, you would have known without the shadow of a doubt that she was. Passing in front of that open door, I had to dig my nails deep into my palms to stop myself from knocking that old fool unconscious, grabbing the Veela and satisfying my basest inst..."

"That's more than enough confiding, thank you. Is that really how so called 'normal' men think?"

"I don't think I'm the best exponent of so called normalcy, Albus."

"I'll give you that. But you like women, even though you kissed me, Monsieur Grindelwald."

"Monsieur Dumbledore, I've never understood how one can discriminate against one half of humanity as viable partners on principle. For my part, I've liked some men and some women enough to be intimate with them. Some others, I wouldn't be persuaded to touch with a ten feet pole, if my life depended upon it. But their reproductive organs don't rank high in my considerations for refusing or accepting their company. I hold to what I consider a higher standard for choosing my intimate friends."

With a raised eyebrow I asked: "Am I supposed to take that as a compliment?"

"You can take it whichever way you want. I'm not lying when I say I like you. Truth be told, I like you very much. Of usual the people that attract me physically are not the people who attract me intellectually. You keep me on my toes on both respects and I'm not quite sure of how to feel about it. I have the impulse of running away from you as much as I'm drawn towards you."

I laughed: "And that makes two of us. I don't know how to feel about liking so much someone who does not trust me enough to be sincere with me, Gellert. I don't think I can keep this association, friendship or whatever you want to call it, if you don't stop lying to me every step of the way."

He sighed: "Fair enough. I have been toying with the idea of making you a proposal, Albus Dumbledore, all through the weekend. Perhaps it is high time I did."

I looked at him suspicious: "What kind of proposal?"

"Not here and not now. If I'm correct in my assumption that you tried to go home, my friend, you have alerted the authorities of two countries of our presence in a time not our own."

"Sorry, I was very angry. Not that it is an excuse for my lack of restraint, but..."

"There is no need to apologize, Albus. But I think it may be wise to lay low for a while. Why don't I take you back to my home? I will fix us something to eat and then I'll make you my offer and you can ask all the questions you want in regards to it. I promise to answer them truthfully."