It is a curious thing, Harry, but perhaps those who are best suited to power are those who have never sought it.

- Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows

19th June

Alba Dumbledore was introduced to Gellert Grindelwald on the day of her mother's funeral, after the interment, as the few witches and wizards of their small neighbourhood milled amongst the crowd of Muggles who had known Kendra Dumbledore as a reclusive but devoutly Christian widow. Grindelwald was a tall man whose stature fell on the comely side of thin. His blond curls shone in the brilliant sunlight of the summer afternoon, and his hazel eyes gazed warmly from beneath pale eyelashes as he cordially bade Alba the greeting of a gentleman, lips pressing softly to her gloved knuckles.

"It is a pity that our meeting should be haunted by such tragedy, Miss Dumbledore. You have my condolences," he said, voice faintly accented. He smelled of lightning and sunlight, and Alba felt reluctant to retrieve her hand from his grasp, for the warmth of his lips was spreading up her arm in a very pleasant way.

She smiled tremulously, suddenly overaware of the wetness that still lingered on her cheeks. "Thank you, Mr. Grindelwald," she returned, her voice raspy and cracked.

He turned to greet Ariana, who refused to give him her hand, instead cringing into Alba's side, lips pressed into a pale line. Undeterred, Grindelwald smiled and bowed, pressing his hat to his breast with a small flair.

Madame Bagshot clucked in sympathy from beside him at Ariana's shyness, then addressed Alba, "It is a sorry affair indeed, my dear." Her gaze shifted to somewhere over Alba's shoulder, and she raised her voice to say, "Mr. Dumbledore! Come closer, won't you? I was just about to invite you three to dinner this evening."

Alba felt rather than heard Abe's approach, the sullen flare of his magic intruding harshly on her senses. "We wouldn't want to impose," he said flatly.

"Nonsense! I'll hear nothing of the sort. I'm sure scrounging up dinner is the last thing on Miss Dumbledore's mind right now." Madame Bagshot smiled. "Besides, I'm sure Gellert would appreciate the company. The only other youngsters around here are Muggles."

Grindelwald cut in with a disarming smile. "I would be very pleased to more intimately make your acquaintances."

Alba took Abe's wand arm in a firm grip. "If you insist, then, Madame Bagshot."

Madame Bagshot nodded. "I shall see you three at six sharp, then. Come along, Gellert."

With that, they were off, leaving Alba to deal with an eerily placid Arianna and an increasingly agitated Aberforth.

"Whyever would you agree to such a thing?" he exclaimed once Madame Bagshot was out of earshot.

Alba's temper stirred. "Whyever not, brother dear?"

Abe glared, then gestured pointedly at Arianna. "It's been such a long day already. Do you really think—"

"Oh you coddle her so." Whirling around, Alba spoke to Ariana: "Would you like to have dinner with Madame Bagshot?"

Ariana stared back blankly.

"She's the lady who just left. I think that kind Mr. Grindelwald shall be there also."

Ariana turned to look at the distant figures of Madame Bagshot being escorted down the road by her grandnephew. She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, then glanced back at Alba. "Them?"

Alba smiled. "Yes, Madame Bagshot and Mr. Grindelwald."

There was a hint of trepidation to Ariana's expression, but then she nodded and said, "Alright."

Alba turned in triumph to Abe, who looked sour indeed at the conversation; Ariana rarely spoke aloud to him. "Fine," he said, then stalked towards the priest.

The sky rapidly darkened with rain clouds after that as Abe and Alba received their mother's Muggle acquaintances. By the time the Dumbledore siblings left the graveyard, the day had faded to evening. The stormfront held an unnatural fury as it advanced over the small village of Godric's Hollow, and Alba wondered why it should seem so repressed. She conjured a shield around herself and Ariana, leaving Aberforth to fend for himself.

In want of conversation, Alba turned to Abe. "What did you think of Mr. Grindelwald?" she asked.

He grunted in return, still irate over the whole dinner affair.

"He spoke so well I couldn't quite place his accent. From where do you think he hails?"

"I heard from Miss Walker that he got expelled from Durmstrang."

Alba tried in vain to make out Abe's expression through the rain. "Olive Walker is both a busybody and a gossip monger. She was surely exaggerating. Perhaps he graduated early."

Abe shrugged his shoulders. "I'm merely relaying what I heard. Why are you so interested in him anyways? I've never known you to look twice at anything that didn't come with a by line naming some two hundred years dead sorcerer."

Alba suppressed a huff of frustration. "And I suppose expecting you to pay attention to anything with fewer than four legs is expecting too much."

Abe stormed off ahead, splashing mud on the hem of Alba's Muggle dress. Alba draped a damp arm around Ariana's shoulders and shivered.

Abe had always been so touchy, always spewing some vitriol that he could never take in kind. It was likely due to being ill-socialised as a child; they had moved down to Godric's Hollow when he wasn't even eight years old, and he spent the few formative years before Hogwarts tagging along after old Lewis, the local goatherd.

"Do you ever wish you had known more friends?" Alba asked Ariana, with a familiar pang of guilt clenching around her heart.

Ariana looked back at Alba, her blue eyes dull in the dusk of the storm.

"You used to love running around with the other children of the village."

"Other children?"

"Yes," Alba whispered.

Ariana shook her head. "I won't talk to the other children," she said firmly. The line flowed from her fluidly, familiarly.

"But aren't you lonely?" Alba asked. The guilt in her chest had twisted to something deeper, something darker and more desperate, and she struggled to get any words out around it.

"Lonely?" Ariana repeated.

Alba wasn't sure how to respond, and thus they walked in silence until they reached the door to what had so recently become Aberforth Dumbledore's cottage.

Alba left Aberforth to put Ariana up for a nap, heading into her own bedroom to change out of the damp Muggle dress and tight Muggle stays she had worn to the funeral.

"Won't you look at that hair!" exclaimed the looking-glass as she charmed her school robes a brilliant emerald green.

Alba scowled and started dragging her hairbrush through her damp curls. She hadn't had the chance last night to send more than a curt Patronus message to Sacharissa Tugwood, who had agreed to travel with Alba on a tour through Europe. She would need to borrow Madame Bagshot's owl to send Sacharissa a proper letter explaining everything, delaying the journey by a few days as she tied up loose ends at home. Madame Flamel, too, might need to be warned if Sacharissa and Alba couldn't reschedule their Spanish tour to arrive in Paris by September.

Alba was pinning up her curls when Abe called her name from somewhere downstairs. "What is it?" she replied, stepping into the hall.

"Miss Dumbledore," came the faintly accented tenor of Gellert Grindelwald. "My aunt sent me to ensure that you three would come to dinner." His voice grew louder as Alba descended the stairs. "But between you and me," he added, "I believe she just wanted me out of her kitchen."

Alba giggled in good humour as she approached. He, too, had changed out of Muggle clothes, wearing instead a clean set of robes in Bohemian style. In his hand, he held not his top hat, but the more familiar shape of a wizard hat, miraculously dry of any rain.

"Please come on in. Allow me to take your hat, and I'm sure Abe will sit with you while I put on some tea."

"Thank you, Miss Dumbledore."

Alba hung Grindelwald's hat by the door and retreated to the kitchen as Grindelwald struck up conversation with the ever-reluctant Abe.

"I hear both you and your sister attended Hogwarts," Grindelwald said.

"I still attend Hogwarts," Abe returned flatly. "I've only done my OWLs this year, and I'll need to go back to study for my NEWTs."

"But then you must be younger than me! I'd never have guessed, seeing how tall you are."

"You've already graduated then?"

"Yes, from Durmstrang. How old is the younger Miss Dumbledore? Does she not attend Hogwarts also?"

Alba fumbled and spilled tea grounds all over the service tray, missing the first half of Abe's reply.

"…homeschooled," he said. "I expect she'll need to attend Hogwarts alongside me in the coming fall," he lied.

"Are you alright, Miss Dumbledore?" Grindelwald called.

Alba forced a laugh in response. "Yes, everything's fine. I'm just a little clumsy sometimes." She hurriedly Vanished the excess tea grounds and wandlessly heated the water before assembling the teacups and saucers to carry to the sitting room. "It's not quite steeped yet," she warned.

"The wait will be faster with you here," Grindelwald replied, helping himself to a biscuit.

Alba felt a pleasant flush rise to her cheeks and busied herself rearranging the tea tray. After a somewhat uncomfortable stretch of silence, she asked, "What was studying at Durmstrang like? I hear they offer some subjects that differ from the British curriculum."

Grindelwald smiled with mischief. "Wherever did you hear that, Miss Dumbledore? Durmstrang alumni are meant to guard her secrets to the grave."

He was really very easy to talk to. Alba smiled sweetly and replied, "I suppose books are a way to reveal secrets from beyond the grave."

Grindelwald brightened. "You've read Leopold's Overview of Byzantine Traditions then! I thought only the first edition retained any information about Durmstrang classes."

Alba shook her head. "It was actually an excerpt from his journal, which I found in A Study of Modern Theorists by Sophia Thessaly. I'm ever so curious about the mind magics he mentioned."

"My sister is 'ever so curious' about most everything that's utterly impractical," Aberforth jibed.

"But the mental arts are very practical!" Grindelwald exclaimed. "A master of Legilimency could tell lies from truth with a mere glance into the target's eyes. A mistress of Occlumency could organise her mind such that no memory would ever escape it."

"Very fascinating, I'm sure," Abe said drily.

"I could recommend some reference texts," Grindelwald said to Alba. "In my luggage I have only Circasia's monograph on the subject, which I'm afraid is a little advanced."

Alba smiled and Summoned a piece of scrap parchment to note down the titles Grindelwald recited for her. "Did you specialise in the mental arts, then?"

Grindelwald shook his head. "Oh I haven't the patience for it. I didn't specialise in much of anything. There is simply too much to choose from. My aunt tells me that you're something of a prodigy, Miss Dumbledore."

Heat rose again to Alba's cheeks. "Madame Bagshot flatters me," she said carefully as she began to pour tea for everyone. She sipped from her own cup before she continued, "I have a bit of a knack for transformative magics."

"I doubt a mere knack was what had you published in Transfiguration Today at the tender age of fifteen. Undue humility does not a fair composure make, Miss Dumbledore." Grindelwald smiled, and for the first time Alba thought she could see something not quite sincere about it.

She straightened, mildly affronted. "You are very well informed for someone so newly arrived in the country, Mr. Grindelwald."

"Aunt Batty is a terrible gossip," he confided, still smiling.

Conversation continued in much the same vein, with the subject ranging from local gossip to philosophy to more failed attempts at drawing Aberforth into the dialogue. Eventually, once the biscuits were crumbs and the tea naught but dregs, the grandfather's clock announced quarter to six with three crisp chimes.

Aberforth all but sprang from his seat. "Oh, would you look at the time!"

Alba set down her saucer and rose in pursuit. "Yes, I had better go wake Ariana, lest we arrive late to dinner."

Aberforth opened his mouth, but Alba sent him a pointed glare. He smiled stiffly in response, then said, "I'll just put away the tea set, then."

"Feel free to peruse the shelves," Alba added to Gellert. "I'm afraid my father's collection hadn't been very extensive in the more arcane subjects to which I perceive you are partial, but I shall be down with Ariana presently."

He rose calmly from the settee as Alba swept upstairs, barely avoiding the hem of her robes with her toe. She knocked gently on the door to the master bedroom before creeping in, only to stop at the sight of Ariana sitting at the bureau, pulling a wide-toothed comb through her bright curls.

Ariana's gaze met Alba's in the looking-glass. With a small frown of surprise, she asked, "Where's Mother?"

Alba's heart thudded in her chest. Heat began to pool in her eyes, and Alba blinked furiously before swallowing. She grasped desperately at words that seemed suddenly to slip from her tongue. "She's… gone."

"Won't she come to dinner?"

"No, she can't come to dinner tonight."

Ariana's frown deepened.

Alba swallowed again. "Would you like some help with your hair?"

Ariana nodded.

"Use your words, my dear," said the looking-glass.

"Yes, please," Ariana obliged.

Alba smiled in what she hoped was an encouraging way and approached carefully. She detangled Ariana's curls and pinned them up in a loose chignon before exchanging her nightgown for unboned stays and plain work robes in a calm lavender.

Together, Ariana and Alba descended the stairs, where Grindelwald offered an arm to Alba, who handed Ariana off to Abe and accepted her escort. Outside was still overcast, though the rain had stopped, and an ineffable tension hung in the still atmosphere of the cool summer evening. Alba breathed in, expecting the fresh scent of nature renewed but instead getting a lungful of static, sharp and spicy like a brewing storm. It should have been startling, repulsive even, but some part of Alba felt intoxicated by it, by this strange scent that suffused the air, that lingered on her tongue.

Madame Bagshot was not at the door to greet them, calling instead for them to seat themselves. The Bagshot home was larger in size but similar in layout to that of the Dumbledores, and Alba couldn't help but think of the late Mr. Bagshot, gone only two years, and the emptiness that Madame Bagshot must have battled in these echoey halls.

Grindelwald led Alba onwards, and they turned into a modestly sized but well decorated dining space. Generous candlelight fought against the gloom, and the fleur-de-lis wallpapers were awash in gold. Madame Bagshot, entering behind floating platters of steaming food, looked less like a widow with a grandnephew and more like a young hostess, newly married and showing off her home.

She wasn't even thirty, Alba remembered with a start, for all that she'd been married almost a decade-and she looked it, too, rosy complexion and bright eyes both unmarred by time. She probably had stepchildren older than her; Alba hadn't heard much about the Bagshots, but she knew that one of them held a decent position in the Department of Magical Transportation. That young Mr. Bagshot—along with all four of his siblings—had come to the funeral they'd held two winters ago. A proper wizard's affair, Alba thought, unlike her mother's Anglican send-off.

The memory dampened Alba's excitement at the prospect of dinner, and she berated herself for it. Kendra Dumbledore's funeral was just earlier today, and here Alba was, upset that—what? That she couldn't enjoy a neighbourly dinner with a youthful widow who seemed to know no grief?

Madame Bagshot began to say grace, and Alba took the chance to recompose herself, closing her eyes and swallowing against the knot that had reformed in her throat while her lovely hostess murmured a Latin prayer.

"It was very kind of you to invite us, Madame Bagshot," Alba said as Grindelwald served drinks for them all.

"You are very welcome, Miss Dumbledore, but you really shouldn't be thanking me, for it was Gellert who—"

"Aunt, please!" Grindelwald protested with a bashful wave of the hand that wasn't holding the wine bottle. Then, turning to Alba, he explained, "Your reputation really does precede you, Miss Dumbledore."

Alba reached nervously for her wineglass and sipped from it to hide her blush.

"Gellert! Look what you've done—she's gone all shy."

Alba cleared her throat. "No, it's not that. I suppose I'm merely unaccustomed to all this… attention."

Abe scoffed at that. "As if walking around school as the Head Girl didn't warrant any attention. Please, Sister, you're fooling no one."

Alba glared at him before remembering herself. She forced a small laugh. "Perhaps it's not shyness, then; perhaps it's awe. I read your articles in the most recent issue of the European Review. Evidently I'm not the only one whose reputation precedes her."

It was Madame Bagshot's turn to wave a bashful hand. "Oh that. Well, we all must earn a living somehow. Here, try the pigeon. I begged the recipe off of Mrs. Walker last week, and this was my first attempt at it."

The hearty fare was adequate distraction for them all, and even Abe seemed appeased by the time they finished with a lovely main course of veal, courgettes, and sparrow grass. The conversation, too, had turned to less mortifying topics. Grindelwald, it seemed, was well versed in all manner of academia, and he made ready contributions to every magical subject except:

"It's a pity that Potions was seen more as a witches' discipline at Durmstrang. I should have liked to study it more," Grindelwald lamented as a beautiful pudding came floating in from the kitchens.

"I still have my NEWT textbooks. I'd be happy to lend you their use," Alba offered offhandedly, thanking Madame Bagshot upon being handed a portion of dessert.

"You're very welcome, dear. If only you had more time; you could teach him directly." She smiled wickedly. "You could even invite Miss Tugwood down for a stay and really put Gellert through his paces."

Alba grimaced in response. "Speaking of time" —Alba widened her eyes imploringly— "I'd hate to ask this of you, Madame Bagshot, but could I please borrow Nadine for a day or two? I should write to Sacharissa to explain why I must delay our departure."

"Oh you needn't even ask, my dear. I'll have Nadine fly to you once she returns from town."

Grindelwald ignored his plate of pudding as he leaned forward. "Departure? You'll be leaving soon?"

Alba thought she heard a hint of disappointment in his voice. She bit her lips together and met his eyes. They were dark hazel and glimmering even in the low light. "I was to fly to Madrid today. Sacharissa—Miss Sacharissa Tugwood—and I had planned to tour Spain together before I met with Madame Flamel to—to discuss an apprenticeship."

Grindelwald's face bore shock and unveiled envy in response. "The Flamels! Why, that's brilliant! Had I known I was in the presence of such genius, I would have surely—"

"Oh stop that," Madame Bagshot said, and Alba could have kissed her for it. "She's positively scarlet! You wouldn't be 'in the presence of such genius' if you caused her to asphyxiate from embarrassment!" She failed to suppress the ensuing giggles.

Alba tried in vain to school her expression into anything resembling dignity, then said, as carefully as she was able, "I should think that I'm more likely to explode than to asphyxiate. Perhaps then I could take all of you with me." It was a clever retort, or so Alba had thought, but then she caught sight of Abe's furious expression, and she reflected upon her words. It took a moment, but Alba realised what she said and froze.

She blinked, then slowly turned to Ariana, who had seemed to also realise what Alba had said. It felt like a pocket of tree sap, baking and boiling in the log as the fire raged around it, swelling and swelling until—

Alba couldn't let it burst. She grasped at her wand but it was too far. Instead, she could only reach out her hand to grab Ariana's shoulder—no, the nape of her neck. Alba got skin-to-skin contact just as Ariana's face twisted, hiding away the blank girl Alba had come to know as her sister and revealing instead a demonic sort of terror.

Alba channelled as much magic as she could bear to, directly from her hand into the back of Ariana's skull, shaping it into the strongest sleeping charm she could manage. But it wouldn't be enough, she realised even as her magic twisted to her will. Ariana was too strong, and Alba didn't have her wand. Ariana would—

A flash of light beneath the table, bright gold and nearly imperceptible amidst the candlelight, and Ariana slumped backwards, unconscious. The magic that had been gathering in the air sputtered and died like a guttered flame, and Alba breathed a quiet sigh of relief.

"Miss Dumbledore?" Madame Bagshot asked.

"Ariana!" Abe exclaimed simultaneously, standing up with such a force as to knock over his chair.

Calm, Alba bade. Her magic, aroused from the attempt to tame Ariana, flowed about her freely and heeded her command. "It's alright," she said with a practised smile. "Ariana is just a little fragile. I think the excitement of the day must have gotten to her."

Immediately, Madame Bagshot's concerned frown smoothed away to understanding. Abe, too, righted his chair, though his expression didn't alter one iota away from abject fury and he did not sit back down. Instead, he circled around the table to pick Ariana out of her chair.

Alba apologised and thanked Madame Bagshot again as she followed Abe out of the house, and Grindelwald followed to escort her to the door of the Dumbledore cottage. It remained mostly overcast outside, but the rain—for there must have been rain during dinner—had stopped. That same static that haunted the air earlier in the evening persisted, metallic but clean. Alba held the door open for Abe but lingered at the threshold, admiring the long shadows the western sun made of both Grindelwald and her. She felt inexplicably insecure of her height, for the steps and her heeled boots meant she towered over him.

His expression was carefully blank when she met his gaze.

"Thank you," she whispered. She wasn't sure that he even understood the gravity of her gratitude, that he had even the barest hint of what had been at stake.

But then he smiled that perpetual, charming smile of his, and Alba had to reconsider. "Anytime," he said, and then he walked away.

Alba met Abe outside the master suite—now Ariana's bedroom suite. He just stared at her, expression sullen and scared and furious all at once.

"Don't look at me like that," Alba snapped, then shut her mouth with a painful click of her teeth. She wasn't sure why that had come out of her mouth instead of an apology.

It had been a fatal error, too, for Aberforth reddened with growing fury. "Like you just almost killed our sister?" He didn't yell, for yelling might wake Ariana and scare her even more, but growing up with Ariana meant also that Abe knew how to make his voice heard and his feelings felt without the aid of volume. "Like you hadn't almost killed us all with a callous—"

"It was just a joke. A careless, ill-timed joke. If Ariana wasn't—"

"But she is. You don't get to be careless with—"

"You think I don't know that?" Alba was mortified to realise she was crying again, for the God-knows-how-many-eth time today. "Who do you think it is that has to deal with the backlash every time her magic flares up? Who is it that fixes every—"

"Like you've ever fixed anything," he hissed. "Like you've ever done any more than draping a cloth over whatever is ugly about our life with your magical fucking talent, as if being able to cover it up meant that you could do whatever it is you wanted, be however careless you want to be."

Alba whipped out her wand and jabbed it into his breastbone for a moment. Then she huffed and cursed a barrier in the doorway behind which Ariana slept. She tucked her wand away before she opened her mouth. "You dare accuse me of being careless when I've given up everything for her—"

Abe had the audacity to laugh, loud and short and bleating and beastly. "Given up everything? When you still plan to go on that trip of yours? I heard what you told Madame Bagshot—you want to delay your departure, like you're free to go gallivanting around Europe while I'm at school and Ariana—" Here, he paused with a mocking expression. "Oh wait. That's right! Whatever will Ariana be doing? Keeping house for us? Learning to knit and cook and brew like all the good little witches?"

Alba wanted to slap him. "And you would have me do that instead? Keep house and take care of Ariana like our mother did? When you could study for your NEWTs just as well at home as you could at Hogwarts?"

"Because my education is worth less than your sightseeing?" Abe bit back.

"Since when did you want an education? Do you need a NEWT in Charms to watch over your precious goatherd?"

"I need my NEWTs more than you need to play pretty with famous scholars, using my inheritance to dress yourself in French silks and sleep in Spanish villas."

Alba took in a disbelieving breath. "You—" her voice shook with fury, and she lowered it before she started again, "You promised that mother and I could have full access to whatever we needed."

"Well, mother is dead, and nobody needs a European tour."

Alba clenched her fists. "Do you not understand how important this is for me? I would be the first apprentice the Flamels took in over two decades. I would be the first witch in a century."

Abe sneered. "Meanwhile you'd be leaving Ariana with me, where I won't even have legal use of my wand unless I'm with an adult. And what happens if someone slips up? Ariana is fifteen. Excepting you, nobody is strong enough to control her now."

Alba scoffed. "Then be more careful," she said with no small amount of irony. Then, she cancelled the barrier on Ariana's doorway and stepped through, shutting the door pointedly behind her.

Many thanks to Em and Haga, who have the thankless task of dealing with my initial drafts. No promises regarding updates, but I have everything planned out so it will be finished… Eventually.