When one reached the top of the mountain that overlooked Hogsmeade, one could spend hours admiring the beauty of the view. Whatever transpired in the rest of the country, there always was peace to the village, as if to suggest all trouble was fleeting in nature. It lay nestled in the valley like a sunlit mosaic, and in the distance, surrounded by hills, towered Hogwarts. So tall and imposing it was, it felt only appropriate that the lake by its side reflected its grandeur like a mirror. A narrow path slithered from the village's Apparition point to the castle.
Rubbing his frozen hands together, Albus stepped inside the cave. His eyes scanned the darkness for a sign of Buckbeak and found none. It was for the best: having more than one refuge to hide at, Sirius chose to keep their stays in the cave unpredictable. It was much too close to Hogsmeade, which, in turn, bustled with too many wizards to render it safe for longer than a fortnight.
Something else was missing: Dark magic. The air between the stone walls was untainted and chilly. By the narrow entrance, his posture tense, stood Sirius. Even without the hostile magic, his aura felt restless, and it could not be more manifest that he intended to flee the instant the words left his chest.
"He wasn't there. I would have found a way of informing you if he had been."
Albus gazed at him. It was the expression in the young man's eyes. For a person as fierce and energetic as Sirius, this expression was an ill omen. Melancholia had plagued Albus for years, particularly in his twenties and thirties, and he wished it on no one—certainly not on a wizard who had lived through endless torments. Once it settled in, it would become extremely difficult to overcome.
He did not comment on their failure to identify Voldemort's spy; it could wait for a few moments. He had to be direct.
"There is something on your mind. What is it?"
Sirius smiled mirthlessly, ready to transform.
"No offense, but I don't think you can help. Not unless you give me twelve years of my life back."
Undeterred, Albus came closer. There was a boulder in the cave, and he sat down on it. Nobody could suddenly lose their purpose when their child's safety was at stake, and Harry was Sirius's child now.
"I would do so if I could. But maybe I can help you in a different way. I would like to very much."
Not without hesitation, the young man turned to regard him. Bitterness was etched in the fine lines on his face.
"All right," he decided briskly. "Tell me about Harry. Because you see, during all those years I spent in Azkaban, he has turned into a nearly grown man who has his friends and the Weasleys and you. I'm a bit late to the party, you know. He doesn't need me. And why would he? I'm a stranger to him. Why, he didn't even bother asking me for help on that stupid Tournament. What am I even good for?"
Not another word was necessary. Sirius had been in the dark where Harry's actions were concerned. And Harry… he had no inkling just how deeply his silence and secrecy had hurt his godfather.
The headmaster spoke, choosing his words carefully.
"Harry's life has been full of loss. He lost his parents. Upon arriving to Hogwarts, he formed friendships, only for his Muggle relatives to threaten to take those away too. Last year, Remus stayed as a teacher for ten months, offering Harry a little guidance and lessons on the Patronus Charm. Then he disappeared and has not been heard of since. And this year, Harry's closest friend stopped talking to him out of childish jealousy when Harry needed him most." He smiled at Sirius, his features earnest. "Harry loves and needs you. I believe the idea of being close to you is what brings him most joy. But I also believe the idea of losing you terrifies him. He is used to people disappearing from his life. On some level, he must realise that if you leave him as well… it will be more than he can take." Letting those words sink in, he leaned in while his tone gained firmness. "What he needs is to understand that you are here to stay. You are solid and tangible, you mean to remain by his side, and you will always be there for him. Once this doubt vanishes, he will open up to you. From my side, I promise I will do everything in my power so that you can spend as much time together as possible. After Voldemort's defeat, we can discard the blood protection for good."
When he finished, Sirius's eyes were glistening. Blinking the tears away, the Animagus shook his head.
"Who would have thought… you telling me this… I never thought—"
He drew a steadying breath.
"You know, I was so delighted when James asked me to become Harry's godfather. And now when Harry didn't even bother to ask me for help, I thought… You know, I was locked up in Azkaban—I never was there for him when he needed me."
With a glance towards the narrow entrance and into the distance where the castle lay, he carried on in spite of the emotion that caused his voice to tremble.
"We, Blacks, are selfish. I used to hate Andromeda for running off: I saw what it did to them. Aunt Druella had died, and Uncle Cygnus was desperately trying to rein in the ever more erratic Cousin Bella. Cousin Cissy withdrew into herself and became a hermit of sorts until Lucius Malfoy practically dug her out of the manor with Grandfather Pollux's feeble approval. And then, due to some experimental spell that backfired, Uncle Cygnus became paralysed. I'm not sure… All I remember is wondering how Andromeda could be so selfish. Yet not much later, I ran off myself, leaving Regulus behind." Sirius closed his eyes. "The idiot. He was such an idiot. We didn't even find out for a while. Voldemort must have had someone kill him. Father tried to investigate; the next thing, he was found hanging from a tree. Poetic justice, they must have thought, for a man who had always pulled the strings for other people. My mother was something, granted, but this did it. I think that's when she completely lost her mind…"
His voice broke. A deep intake of breath, and, lowering himself at last to sit on the cave floor, the young man brought himself to continue.
"I want to believe you are right. But how can I prove to Harry that I'm here to stay? That I won't run off or disappear—or get killed, for that matter? James was like a brother to me, and during all those years in Azkaban, the only thing that kept me from losing my sanity, just like my dear old mum, was the knowledge that I was innocent. Not even that—it was… fear. Fear that Peter, the coward that he was, was somewhere near Harry, waiting for his master to return. Waiting to offer up the last Potter so that Voldemort wouldn't unleash dear Cousin Bella on him. What I'm saying is that I love Harry as if he were my son. I won't leave him. Perhaps only if I get a chance to sniff out that measly rat, and that won't take long."
Those words were moving; the emotion behind them was even more so. Albus could not suppress a sniff of his own. He sensed Harry was aware of the depth of Sirius's affection, even if subconsciously. For this reason, the boy was afraid to let his godfather near him. The heartbreak, should another tragedy occur, would be too devastating.
"I reckon there is only one manner of convincing Harry you are going nowhere: letting him become accustomed to your constant presence," he mused. "If he is reluctant to reach out, take the initiative upon yourself, Sirius. Don't hesitate to insist." The time had come to share the crucial findings from the days before. The headmaster was not looking forward to this part of the conversation. "You will see just how important it is that Harry listen to you. It has come to my attention he was unprepared for the Second Task. Until the very morning of the competition, he had no plan. He had procrastinated for three months and then panicked and started researching at the last minute."
Sirius blinked, flabbergasted.
"What?"
It took only several minutes to explain the brief investigation Albus had conducted and which had led him to Dobby's confession to stealing gillyweed. He did not fail to mention Myrtle's involvement. By the end of his speech, the other wizard's face was pale.
"Are you telling me that without the elf, he wouldn't have been ready at all?" He closed his eyes again as a new realisation dawned on him. "He lied. Whenever I asked if he was making progress, he just lied…"
"I suppose he was too ashamed to admit the truth. Perhaps too proud as well. As I said, he is still a child in need of guidance." Albus cleared his throat; he felt urgency, as if Voldemort was days away from storming the castle. "You are his father now, and I won't tell you what to do; I can only give you my opinion. A little strictness would help him—not in a restrictive way, nothing like his relatives' stifling. I mean strictness that will guide and encourage him but won't allow him to stay idle. It may be good that he doesn't fully comprehend how dangerous Voldemort is, but he can't afford to be irresponsible a second time."
"Of course he can't!"
Sirius was back on his feet, pacing across the cave like a wildcat. His desolate expression, the headmaster noted with relief, had dissolved under the worry and shock. He spun around.
"What do you know about the Third Task? Is there anything you can hint at with those new rules in place?"
For once, they could exchange a snippet of good news.
"Yesterday I met with Ludo Bagman, and we agreed to work together henceforth. He is willing to leave me creative freedom. Nothing has been approved yet, which is why I can tell you exactly what I suggested to him, but I will find means to inform you every step of the way. Here is the most important part: Harry must practice the basic duelling techniques and self-defence. He ought to know all about dangerous creatures and learn how to find his way in the dark with magic. A maze will be involved, as well as a few animals from the Forbidden Forest."
"Understood."
A smile suddenly descended on Sirius's features. It was the first genuine smile he had directed at Albus. It was youthful and seemed to illuminate him from within.
"I want to yell at him, really, for being… just being so stupid when there's no need for it! And lying to people who want to help him—what a silly child!" He paused, as if catching himself. "I won't yell at him, of course; I remember all too well what it's like. But he has to learn when to trust and when to be independent. Without exaggeration, knowing this distinction can mean the difference between life and death. Did his friends know he was lying? Ron and Hermione."
Albus nodded thoughtfully. "I believe they did. They were trying to help him. When we asked them to spend the eve of the task in Minerva's office, Miss Granger was beside herself with anxiety, though she wouldn't admit why."
"So until the last moment, he had lied to them too," the young man concluded. "That girl was worried for a reason. She is very responsible—too responsible, to be honest."
They fell silent. The headmaster waited for the other man to speak; he could tell ideas and conjectures where whirling in the latter's mind. Sure enough, a question rose to the surface.
"You assumed someone was trying to kidnap Harry, didn't you?"
"That's correct. What are you thinking?"
With a headshake, Sirius started pacing anew, his aura more restless than ever.
"I'm trying to understand. It… doesn't make sense. The wizard whose scent I caught the other night definitely wasn't present at the stands: his scent was missing." He raised his hands in a wide, frustrated gesture. "Why didn't he show up? The timing was ideal. Harry was late, this much I saw before the Scamander boy got to me—speaking of which, I think he plans to adopt me, so you'd better talk to him. The opportunity was perfect for the Death Eater—what can be easier than snatching a lone boy on the grounds while everyone else is at the lake? Don't get me wrong, I'm glad he didn't, but… he seems to show up at very odd times. It's always at night when Harry is safe inside the castle and can't be lured out. Correct me if I'm wrong, but only you have the power to lift the Apparition wards, and only at very restricted areas for a short amount of time. So I don't understand it, any of it, and it scares me. Harry said he'd seen Barty Crouch snooping around Snivellus's office shortly before his disappearance; you told me so as well. What do you think of it? I've never properly asked."
Perhaps his nervousness was transmissible; all Albus knew was that he could not remain seated. He approached the entrance, his gaze fixed on the village below, as though the sight could bring them clarity or comfort.
"I believe Crouch is still alive," he replied. "If so, he is being held captive by Voldemort. Alastor Moody and I recently went to inspect Crouch's home in London, and we found it deserted, unprotected—they had been expecting us. It would appear Crouch had been forced to live in his broom cupboard since the start of the school year. With Wormtail's help, Voldemort had taken over the house. He needs constant care because his body, the temporary one, is unnaturally small."
He felt rather than saw Sirius nod.
"I went there too—it must have been just after you—right before the Aurors' arrival. I didn't get inside, but I had a look around the premises. What struck me as strange was the absence of any magical protection. But I know for a fact that parasite Wormtail had been there; I know his rat form well. He left traces. Are you sure that small body wasn't Wormtail's?"
"I'm certain of it."
Turning around, Albus indicated the size of the figure with his hands. The memory had not ceased to horrify him.
"It was the shape of an infant with an overlarge head. We saw its imprints on the master bed, identical to the imprints found in Albania. I had visited the scene of crime the night Harry's name had come out of the goblet. Without a doubt, a Necromantic ritual had taken place there."
He bit his lip to stop himself from uttering anything else. A very different memory was unfolding in his thought: in it, Gellert spoke of his vision. There could be no sharing it with Sirius, who was already frightened enough. It would be too much to handle.
Oblivious to his turmoil, the younger wizard snorted. "If all Voldemort has is Wormtail, he should be glad his ritual hasn't turned him into a cockroach." But he recovered his sombreness at once. "If you are correct, what does it mean for Harry? Surely, he won't use him for a resurrection ritual if he already has a body. The golden rule of resurrection is a life for a life, and he must have already sacrificed someone else if he inhabits a body. Yet if it's not this, then… what does he need to kidnap Harry for? Does anything occur to you? Soul magic? Blood magic? I'll admit I've never got deep into these particular branches."
It was not easy to subdue a mental image of Harry tied to a stone, powerless before a flashing dagger. Albus struggled to keep his voice even.
"I suspect a blood ritual—Voldemort will wish to regain a permanent body. There is even more: he means to make an example of Harry. Had it been only about murder, the Death Eater who put Harry's name in the goblet would have found a way by now. This is too personal."
The atmosphere in the cave changed as if one of the wizards had flicked his wand. Where there had been a concentration of restless magic, one could now sense an aura pulsating with fury and determination. It was dense and Dark and scorching.
"No." Sirius's stance suggested he was seconds away from running out and that nothing would stop him. "I don't care how personal it is. Voldemort is currently the size of a tarantula with a watermelon for a head and only Wormtail to protect him. I can take him on." He pulled his robes tighter around him. "He is at his most vulnerable now. I will find him before he gets anywhere close to Harry. And while I'm at it, I'll finish Wormtail off—you can't deny me that."
Albus reflected quickly; he felt taken aback and exasperated in equal measure. This was the trouble with Gryffindors: they often based their decisions on spontaneous if noble impulses, and at times, those endeavours proved more dangerous than beneficial. Harry and Sirius were identical in this.
"I won't deny you anything," he said patiently before objecting, "But who will be guiding Harry while you are away? Who will teach him trust and self-defence? While you search for Voldemort, he will continue stalling, and the Death Eater will keep plotting."
Those words made an impression, just as he had hoped. Confronted with a rational prediction, the young man's fiery resolve wavered. The tension drained from his limbs.
"I see. No, you are right. I ran after Wormtail once, and it got me locked up for twelve years."
He made a noise of frustration; had he been holding an object, he would have thrown it against the wall.
"I just hate it!" he growled through gritted teeth. "The very thought that I could track them down. He is out there scheming, and that Death Eater, whoever he is, must have already tried to kidnap Harry several times, I'm sure of it. If we do nothing, he will eventually succeed, and I can't let that happen!"
Knowing better than to invade the Animagus's personal space, let alone pat his arm, Albus looked down and sighed.
"This is why Harry needs to be prepared. I tried to get him disqualified at the Second Task so that he could stay with you at a safe location, but it didn't work. He has to keep competing and attending Hogwarts. In other words, he must become responsible, learn to take danger seriously, and train every day, no excuses." He met the other man's gaze. "Parenting is an immensely demanding job, but you are not alone. Anything you need, I will be there."
For a long instant, Sirius stared at him. Emotions raged inside him, torturous and contradictory, before he spoke again. This time, his tone had turned stony.
"Fine. I love Harry, and I'll stay, like I said. I'll do whatever it takes. I won't run off—I'll stay right here and talk some sense into him and make him train. But you, Dumbledore, you promise me you will do everything in your power to get Voldemort and Wormtail caught before it's too late."
He started advancing until they stood face to face. The grey eyes were pained and wrathful.
"I chased after Wormtail once, and it cost me twelve years in Azkaban—twelve long years I could have spent with Harry. So if it happens again and Wormtail and Voldemort steal more time from us, if they harm Harry, if they get to him, and if it happens because, this time around, I did listen to you… I don't know what I will do."
His voice was low, yet his words were clear and sharp and merciless.
"So promise me that. Promise that you will catch them before it's too late. Be the wizard I once thought you were and find the strength to make up for the schemes you devised against my family all those years ago. Do it, and from my side, everything will be forgotten. I will forgive you. And maybe, just maybe, we will be able to start anew."
Albus stared back at him. His thoughts seemed to have come to a halt; he felt overwhelmed. His most prevalent emotion, however, was resignation.
Harry was going to be kidnapped: he knew it because Gellert's visions always came true. No matter what actions were taken, it would happen—Voldemort would hurt Harry. And Sirius would never, ever forgive his old headmaster. Any hope of friendship between them was doomed.
Even if the details of the vision were shared now, it would not change a thing. At least, the young man had gained a focus and would keep himself safe for his godson's sake. Harry needed his only parent.
"I promise."
But Sirius's threat haunted Albus for hours after their conversation. It rang inside his head with every step he took on his way back to Hogwarts; it lurked in every word he read as he completed the day's paperwork, and drowned out much of the sound around him. It even appeared to echo his words whenever he addressed his staff.
By the end of the day, he could not face dinner. There was a reason why one needed one's other half when distress became too great: worry had the tendency to isolate people and make them feel untethered like ghosts, whose existence truly revolved around a set of memories or ideas until everything else felt like a dream.
At Nurmengard, he finally exhaled in relief. Gellert's arms were warm and solid around him, and he pressed his nose against his lover's neck.
"I have so much to tell you. Are you all right? How have you been?"
"You were away for a long time. What happened?"
They had spoken in unison; the German wizard did not need a second glance to take in Albus's agitation.
"I went to Haiti," the latter revealed. "Lucille has taught me how to purge this cell. When I returned to Hogwarts, I found out it contained… more Darkness than I'd believed possible—the kind of Higher Magicks that keep the school powerful as long as there are students to feed on. Today, I also spoke to Sirius."
He attempted to formulate the Animagus's verdict, but the words would not come.
"I will show you," he proposed instead.
With a nod, Gellert walked towards the furthest corner of his cell to retrieve the candles and the chalk from under a loose brick. Within a minute, a pentagon and protective symbols were drawn on the floor.
"It's all right," he said reassuringly, beckoning for Albus to join him in the middle of the shape. "Darkness always seeks to frighten us."
Breathing in the fragrant air inside the formation, purified of Dark magic, Albus experienced a soothing sensation. It did not dissolve his anguish, but it made it easier to share what burdened him. As soon as they settled down together, he touched his right temple and extracted a first memory. It unfolded like a flower and floated between them, an intangible sphere of light, before acquiring the vibrant colours of Lucille's workshop. Her lesson: the memory showed its crucial part, the one where she explained the essence of the black fog and the method of removing it from the prison.
Next they witnessed the headmaster's return to Hogwarts and observed the mysterious door on the seventh floor materialise to lead him to the secret room. It was as plain and bare in the memory as it had been in real life, yet it held the power of keeping ghosts captive and absorbing children's magic.
At last, the memory of Sirius. They watched most of the encounter, particularly the young man's vow. After Albus's quiet I promise, the luminous globe burst into sparks, and they were once again plunged into the shadows of the candle-lit night.
Until the very end, Gellert had not uttered a word. At present, the sapphire eyes met the pale blue eyes.
"You didn't tell him." The statement was serene. "I understand. It was better not to."
The Englishman gave a nod. "If I had told him, he would have gone after Voldemort without listening to reason. It wouldn't have saved Harry; all Sirius would have achieved is getting himself killed. But he will never know this or understand why I stopped him."
His words felt trapped in his throat. He went on nonetheless.
"I've been thinking of it all day. After re-watching the memory, I believe I understand now why this meeting upset me so. It's because I finally see what it's like to live with the Sight. What you've had to suffer since you were a boy." He swallowed, unable to stop his vision from growing blurred with tears. "I want to express how sorry I am, Gellert. You were alone with all of this weighing on your shoulders. I should have shared it equally, yet only now I begin to realise how difficult it has been for you."
"No," came a soft protest. "I… I never wanted you to suffer like this. If anything, I… tried to… I tried..." Despite Gellert's efforts, his voice trailed away. He drew a breath and started again. "I had Seen her many times. My mother. Did I tell you that?"
After another nod, Albus collected himself as stoutly as he could, willing his voice to stop trembling.
"When I first found you suffering from headache, I told you of Ariana, and you told me of your mother. Later, you even showed me one of your visions. She appeared to you repeatedly during your childhood."
"For a long time, I wondered why," the other wizard confessed. "I still wonder about it at times. Why? Was she trying to warn me? To reach out? Maybe I could have done something. Instead, whenever she appeared, her neck broken and her hanging body limp, I was… too afraid to look her way. It tormented me for years. Then I met you—well, you remember it well. Your mother had just passed away, and there I was on the run, Dieter in tow."
"Naturally." Albus smiled, wiping at his eyes. "I remember it—the day I truly became alive."
"Do you sometimes wish you had never met me, seeing how I ruined your life?"
The question was met with an expression of fond disbelief and a simple answer.
"Never. Do you?"
"No. No matter how many times they would repeat that you were my downfall, I've never regretted the fact that we met. You gave me love and hope. Those who call you my downfall don't know the half of it." Gellert paused. "But it's true that when we first met, my motives were rather selfish. I liked you, I suppose—much as I would have liked any half-decent human being—but I also needed you; this, in fact, was the reason I pursued you. It wasn't until later that you awakened something in me, and it was more than I could have wished for. So when I received the vision of Ariana's demise, I decided to keep it secret despite your pleas. I was trying to spare you. And I was determined to find a way of averting it."
Having known as much, Albus gently squeezed the other man's hand.
"I don't hold it against you—to me, it's a sign of affection on your part. I myself didn't tell Sirius his godson would be hurt—what good can it do? The visions always come true, we know it now. Back then, however, I would have tried to avert it as much as you did."
"And yet, you feel guilty."
The German wizard glanced away, his forehead clouded in painful reminiscence. His fingers seemed to contract, though he did not pull away.
"I'm sorry, Albus. There is nothing for it, I'm afraid. When I Saw the Killing Curse that struck Ariana, I thought it would be the work of Ignat's brother or someone he had hired to kill me. I waited on the veranda, ready to defend us, after swearing to myself I wouldn't use the Killing Curse under any circumstances. All for naught. Years later, I Saw Dieter too, his lifeless eyes staring up at me, a dagger in my blood-covered hands. I must have Seen it through your eyes. That night, Vinda came to me crying. Something terrible has happened, she said. I looked into her memories, only to see you and Dieter share an embrace before you suddenly broke away and Dieter collapsed with a dagger in his heart. He died almost instantly while you clutched the dagger in your bloodstained hands. Once again, my vision had come true, as I knew it would. I had begged him not to go anywhere by himself, and he did it anyway. So in the end, it makes no difference whether I actively rebel against my visions, as I did with Ariana, or whether I let them unfold with a mere word of caution, as I did with Dieter. Had you told the boy's godfather what the future held in store, the outcome would have been the same either way."
The reminder of that night from nineteen thirty-nine could not fail to bring forth a feeling of grief the passing time could not lessen. The murder of Gellert's childhood friend had been an inexpressible tragedy. What man could have wished for a better confidant than Dieter, a more selfless companion, or a more decent and modest individual in the cynical world of power? Inevitably, he had become a thorn in Vinda Rosier's side.
The thirties had been a turbulent time in the Englishman's life. He had helplessly watched Gellert's fame grow tarnished as more and more followers, whom one could only do justice by labelling them terrorists, joined and distorted his cause. At times, Albus could not bring himself to get out of bed and pursue his hollow existence unless he convinced himself this might be the day when he finally heard from his lover or received a clue as to where to find him. Every time he had given an interview or made a public appearance—and he had done so often, using every opportunity he could seize—he would leave a clue of his own. A cryptic message only Gellert would understand, or posing in front of the picture of Durmstrang, or even a reference to one of Schiller's plays his lover had always enjoyed: every detail had served a purpose. Perhaps, he had told himself, Gellert would open his newspapers the next morning and find the hidden message. He would know Albus loved him still. Only, it had turned out, Gellert had been too overcome with guilt over Ariana's passing to pay attention. In the end, it was Dieter who had taken it upon himself to reunite the lovers. But someone else had paid attention too.
In her ambition to make Gellert hers, Vinda Rosier had not taken half-measures. Arranging Dieter's murder and framing Albus for it were only some of the deeds she had been willing to commit. So it had happened: a brief embrace in a moonlit cemetery; a dagger swishing through the air; blood, blood everywhere, blood pouring out of the wound and out of Dieter's gasping lips; and shock and despair and grief.
With effort, Albus shook himself, his hands rising—whether to cover his eyes or ears, he was not sure. If he got lost in the past, he would miss the present and compromise the future. As torturous as the knowledge was, he could not help Dieter any more. Harry and Sirius needed his help now.
Forcing himself to recall mambo Lucille, whose memory felt as comforting as her very presence, he sought out Gellert's gaze.
"There is something I haven't asked you before. Did your mother also possess the Sight?"
"I am not sure…" The other wizard frowned. "It did start when I had a nightmare and Saw her hanging for the first time. Like I said, I didn't look properly… But my mother and father—when I told them, they didn't seem surprised. Truth be told, I sometimes had the impression mother Saw something ordinary witches couldn't see. She was so frail…"
By this point, it was Gellert's turn to shake himself and cut his musings short.
"Are you pondering what the Haitian mambo told you? That it might run in the blood? It's possible, Albus, but do not burden yourself. Whatever it is, we know it comes true, even if the others aren't aware."
Not burdening oneself was easier said than done. The more Albus learned, the more confident he felt in one fact: if Gellert's Sight was a gift imparted by a deity or a spirit, that entity had to be vicious. It only sent him glimpses of devastation in the least helpful fashion imaginable. It had even led the German wizard to believe his lover guilty of Dieter's death: the vision appeared to have been swift and confusing enough to plant a seed of doubt in his mind.
For the first time, hatred filled the Englishman, equal to his revulsion for the vile Rosier woman. He loathed the deity that took such pleasure in Gellert's suffering.
"Did it happen often while we lived apart?" he enquired on a tone that was deceptively tranquil. "Did the visions manifest more often?"
"Now that you mention it… yes."
The admission was followed by a smile.
"But it doesn't matter, Schatz. The spectacular speech I just held, using my unmatched orator skills, was meant to convey one thing: I understand. I know what it's like to be hated and to doubt over and over again whether you are responsible for the misfortunes. I understand it all. I experienced it most acutely when Dieter's body was brought to me. I never told you this… I held his cold hand in mine and begged him for forgiveness—for everything I had done. Vinda urged me to go after you and seek revenge, but I wouldn't, not when I deserved that pain. Not when you had every right to avenge Ariana, whose demise was my fault. The guilt was so overwhelming, it consumed me for months, years."
Although anguish reclaimed him, Gellert refused to pause, following through with his ideas.
"So yes, I understand how you feel for not sharing your knowledge with the boy's godfather. You wonder whether telling the truth would have changed something, whether we are passive for not trying to prevent the future events. Here is my opinion: for once, I'm convinced we are on the right path. Yes, the Sight is a curse—my entire life serves as evidence that the eventual outcome can't be changed—and yes, Sirius Black will hate you. So might Harry Potter himself—though I hope we might still avoid this. But for once—for once, Albus—we are looking ahead. We are certain to beat that British Dark Lord at his own game long before he comes to suspect it. We can arm Harry Potter and save him. I don't think we have ever been in the position of saving anyone before, yet now we are."
There was power throbbing beneath those words, and enough charisma to gain new followers even in those dreary prison conditions. Had he been ignorant before, Albus would have found out now why so many people had flocked to Gellert's side. Stirred, he captured the other wizard in his arms and would not let go.
Mrs Grindelwald's bloodline was dominated by a malevolent deity; he no longer doubted it. If the visions had become sparser since their reunion, it could be due to the influence of Albus's own mèt tèt. To the strength of their bond as well.
Please protect him, he thought forcefully, his ancestor at the forefront of his mind. Please shield him. My safety isn't nearly as important.
Little by little, his fluster subsided.
"We can train Harry and prepare him," he agreed. "We can save him from what is coming."
And therein lay the weakness of their strategy, he realised in the next breath. It was short-sighted. They could help Harry survive his kidnapping and torture, but what would occur next? Voldemort would still return to power, and he would not desist from hunting the boy. All the while, Harry was but a fourteen-year-old who could train from dawn till dusk and still not come close to Voldemort's level of skill. He would need years of experience to match his foe—years they did not have at their disposal.
"Very soon, we will have to start planning further ahead," he carried on in response to his thoughts. "It is not enough to protect Harry: the only way to resolve this is to destroy Voldemort. And to this end, it's imperative that we identify and sever all his ties to immortality. It might take years. He will use that time to expand his power and go after Harry."
Gellert pulled away. The eyes that settled on Albus were penetrating.
"The Greater Good."
When the Englishman did not follow, he specified, more animated than ever,
"We are doing this for the Greater Good, and we are planning one step ahead. Think of it, Albus: what is it Sirius Black hates you for the most? It's the fact that, once upon a time, you went against his family, the whole bunch of them. Out of revenge, certainly. But it's different now. We are doing this to undo what we did. Don't you see, we've moved on from merely protecting the boy, even if his godfather believes that's all we are doing. The knowledge of what is going to happen gives us the liberty of thinking ahead beyond simple protection. And you are helping them—redeeming yourself for anything you… anything I may have caused you to do. Just like Sirius Black, Dieter didn't see the bigger picture, but neither of them has ever come as close to living with the Sight as you have. Today, you gave Sirius Black time—maybe just a little of it—to spend with his godson. Without you, he would have run after that British Dark Lord and his servant and most likely lost his life. But he knows now the boy needs him. So try not to feel guilty: you lied for that man's own good. And as for Tom Riddle… I have thought about it. We will have two games to play, I believe."
Albus's eyes narrowed in concentration. He ought to have known his companion, discerning as he was, had already conceived a course of action.
"Tell me what you think, Schatz. For my part, I can't see any way of ensuring Harry's continuous protection that wouldn't involve concealing him under the Fidelius Charm, which would only be another way of destroying his life."
With a grave nod, Gellert clasped both his hands in his own.
"Our first game is a short-term one. You should tell them—the public, your friends, those you work with—what they want to be told. Hear me out: they have made you responsible. Defeating me brought you fame—too much of it, really. Everyone now expects you to act as their saviour, which is a terrible burden to carry; who among them has any inkling what it takes to step up to one Lord Voldemort? He isn't the most dangerous Dark wizard who has ever lived, granted, but he is ambitious, and that's worse. He thinks he understands what he meddles with. To top it all, he is obsessed with you—and the boy, by extension. So tell them what they crave; reassure them you are doing everything to prevent his ascent to power. In the meantime, we will focus on what truly matters: arming Harry Potter so that he would survive the Blood ritual. It's difficult, I know, and my visions are nothing more than flashes without context. So I ask you to merely trust me." There was a pause full of significance. "Our second game, one designed to defeat your former student… We have the Deathly Hallows, Albus. Back in the day, I wanted to use them myself. Why not use them now?"
The last time Albus had as much as reflected on the Deathly Hallows in depth, his hair had only started greying. He went still. The suggestion was so bold, so unexpected, it was hard to take it in all at once.
Those three objects represented the most potent form of Necromancy ever invented. Whoever reunited them and gained their allegiance had nothing to fear from death, provided they submitted to it willingly. It was unspeakable Dark magic, yet the Hallows held the power of bringing one back to life even after one was killed. If Harry was armed with such a weapon, Voldemort would not succeed in killing him, his formidable skills notwithstanding.
"It's the idea of a genius," he whispered, leaning against the wall, feeling much as if his breath had been stolen away. "Harry already owns the Cloak. The Stone… locating it will require research, but it can't be impossible to find. And as for the Wand, he would need to gain its allegiance. To win it from me."
"Yes." A strained quality had entered the German wizard's voice. "It's what I've been contemplating… as an eventual outcome. Our ultimate redemption, after a fashion. This being said, I have my doubts. Gaining the Wand's allegiance isn't exactly a light matter. You can't leave it to chance. You cannot just hand it over to the boy either: it has to be won. And duelling, my love—even between two wizards of equal skill—is a gamble, as you and I both very well know. It's a game of fortune and fatigue, of who blinks first. Knowing all this, how can we even attempt a plan for Harry Potter to conquer the Wand? After all, we can't exclude that it might as well end up in the hands of your dear havoc-wreaking former student, which will leave the boy without any hope of reuniting the Hallows. So you see, it's more complicated than it seems."
Despite his earnest words, he then smiled.
"… but I have already considered this aspect as well. Being locked up in here, I have a lot of time. As long as the candles burn, I can think…" He leaned forward. "They are distantly related, aren't they? Harry Potter and Lord Voldemort."
Breaking his silence, Albus nodded, intrigued.
"Voldemort is a Gaunt on his mother's side. They are descended from Cadmus Peverell. The Potters, for their part, absorbed Ignotus Peverell's bloodline centuries ago."
As soon as he expressed this connection, he understood.
"You suspect Voldemort might draw upon the Hallows as well."
He received another nod of confirmation. "He might, in addition to the blood ritual, which will strengthen him and tie him to Harry Potter even more closely than he already is. One way or another, we keep returning to blood magic. So I will ask you frankly: how do you feel about this particular brand of wizarding Arts?"
The true answer was afraid. Lily Potter's sacrifice had lent Harry magical protection of a tremendous power. A blood ritual could rob the boy of this precious gift, putting him in peril without equal.
"I don't trust it can be used to our advantage." The Englishman glanced down at his hands, which he could not help but wring. "As you remarked, taking as little as a drop of Harry's blood will strengthen him. I am not convinced it will have the same effect in reverse. The exchange won't make Harry invulnerable, much less immortal."
Gellert's concerned expression told him they were in agreement.
"This makes sense. It's likely his motive too, one that allows him to hit two Gnomes with one swat. On one hand, he longs to kill the boy in front of his followers to send you—and the rest of the world—a message: the Boy Who Lived is nothing but an empty moniker invented by the ignorant. On the other hand, he wants Harry Potter's blood with all its protective qualities. However, this isn't what my question was referring to. It's still the Hallows I'm wondering about—our long-term goal. Letting the Wand choose its allegiance could result in a disaster. But what if we were to resort to blood magic ourselves to tie it to Harry Potter before it even occurred to your former student to do the same? Now this could change the course of this entire war."
The way he spoke of the Elder Wand suggested he saw it as a sentient, fully independent being. All wands were alive, to an extent, for they incorporated parts of highly magical beasts. According to the legend, though, the Deathstick was the most powerful wand in the world.
"You once told me you believed a Dark deity resided inside the Elder Wand."
Pleased to see Albus remembered their discussion from November, Gellert smirked.
"You found the symbol I'd engraved near the library when I attended Durmstrang, didn't you?"
"You know I did. How could I not?"
"Well, obsessed as I was, I'd researched the topic a great deal." The German wizard tightened his fingers on Albus's hand. "Would you believe me if I told you they all are sentient in their own way?"
"All three Hallows?"
"It's just a theory, but I believe it's true." The sapphire eyes glinted. "Three objects with the level of magical power that is never diminished; three objects capable—at least partially so—of choosing their own allegiance. The more I muse on them, the more similar they appear in nature to that Hogwarts room that unsettled you so. Both created at a time when the Higher Magicks were still known to most wizards. These are not just objects, Schatz—if they aren't fully sentient now, at least they use to be. All three of them."
Another smile, and then Gellert's features gained a more serious and solemn air.
"I must admit this is exciting. It's like returning to the times of our youth. It makes me miss Dieter, for I know how he would scowl at me in disapproval right now. Still, if I'm correct, are you sure you are ready to go down that route, Albus?"
It was true: throughout the blissful summer of eighteen ninety-nine, Dieter had been their constant companion and their voice of reason. On many topics, they had disagreed, on none so much as the Deathly Hallows. Now that the cycle was about to repeat itself, his absence felt more noticeable than ever. Even as an old man, he would never have approved of Necromancy, be it for the Greater Good or otherwise.
Albus grasped his lover's hands. The Hallows had once been Gellert's dream, and he had given them up. The fact that he was willing to concede this dream to Harry… one could not ask for a truer sign of moral strength.
"I'm ready to go down that route."
As wholehearted as the vow was, the other wizard was not satisfied just yet.
"I love you." Gellert's aura palpitated as he released those innermost words. "Unlike in our youth, I understand the stakes. We are about to breach the kind of magic that has been as good as annihilated… likely for a good reason too. We left it alone because it frightened you—again, for a good reason. So I must ask once more: are you sure?" He smiled. "I know how ironic it is of me to insist on this point—I'm the one who just opened this door… But Dieter isn't with us now, and I must at least try to be our voice of reason. Once upon a time, I wanted to possess the Hallows out of vanity—for power, for the Greater Good. I had misguided revolutionary ideas that came from a place of hurt and selfishness, not out of true desire to fix the system. Dieter was right to question the validity of my ideas. How can one person decide for everyone else? In the end, that's what the Greater Good is all about. I didn't see it before. Now I do: even if I just reopened that door, I realise how wrong I used to be. And I have something I didn't have before. Your love. You, Albus—I have you. And I don't want to lose you."
There was no trace left of the fear or worry or sadness Albus had brought with him to Nurmengard. The moment felt so sacred that he could not remember feeling those emotions in the first place. Their candle-lit cell was as good as any lavish chamber; he needed nothing else. When all was said and done, their love was all he had ever asked of life. Placing gentle kisses on the other wizard's face, he returned the embrace.
"You can never lose me; I have been yours since the day we met. I understand why you opened this door anew. And this time, I swear that I fully agree with this proposal—there is no other way of saving Harry that I can see. So let us go down this route together."
Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Caught in their closeness, neither wizard noticed. Not until a few minutes of comfortable silence elapsed did Gellert straighten up.
"If your mind is set, it is time for you to meet Gregorovitch."
AN: When it comes to the story of the House of Black, I can't recommend enough almanera's chronicles, The Darkness in My Veins. Available on her profile, it's a riveting and emotional read that reveals in detail what it would have been like to live as a member of the British wizarding elite. It starts on the day when a Black first met Tom Riddle and follows the family to its members' ultimate fate. The depth of the characters' psychological analysis—one of the traits I admire most about almanera's writing—makes it one of my favourite pieces of all time.
A significant part of this chapter is dedicated to the curse that is the Sight. The gift of seeing the future has often been portrayed as a superpower of sorts, the future being fluctuant and depending on the characters' actions. In this interpretation, we meant to go back to the ancient Greek sources and their Darker take on the Sight, as represented by Cassandra.
As always, thank you for reading!