• CHAPTER FIVE •

The Greater Good

Albus' stomach had rumbled four times by the time he sat down in front of his plate of stew, each more demanding than the last. He blushed and Bathilda's eyes twinkled as she spooned extra potatoes onto his plate.

"Thank you. Sorry, Mrs Bagshot."

"Don't be silly, it's quite all right. Gellert here eats about ten times more than you do. I sometimes wonder whether his mother has been feeding him for the last sixteen years."

Gellert smiled broadly, sitting down directly opposite Albus and picking up his fork. "Well, I can't blame myself - mother is the most appalling cook, all pickled things in jars and burnt sponge cakes... and fish..."

Bathilda gave him a sharp look. "I'm not surprised your mother sent you over here, with cheek like that. But it isn't as though I can praise your mother's cooking; the last time I ate her strudel, I was in bed for three days."

Gellert laughed, spearing a piece of meat, and Albus lifted his own fork to his mouth.

"My father was the terrible cook in my household," he said quietly. "He used to want to employ someone to sort out all the meals, but my mother didn't like having strangers in the house. Not after Ariana became ill."

There was a long, awkward silence, in which Albus stared at a piece of carrot on his plate and wondered why he'd spoken in the first place. His throat throbbed with memories; Percival Dumbledore had been stern, less private than his mother but more good-humoured. He had helped Ariana with her 'grown-up' tea parties in the garden, chased Aberforth all around the vegetable patch and taught Albus to read by writing letters with a stick in the mud.

Albus missed his twinkling smile.

"I hope you tidied your room before Albus came, Gellert dear," Mrs Bagshot said suddenly, lowering her cutlery and looking sternly down the table at her great-nephew.

The said great-nephew winced over a piece of lamb. "We've had this discussion so many times, Aunt. I need my room to be messy. It enhances my aesthetic."

"I wouldn't feel the same if it gave you the brainpower to cure dragon pox. You have a visitor!"

Gellert groaned. "Aunt-"

"No, dear. You must tidy your room. Poor Albus doesn't deserve to be knocked unconscious by your dirty washing."

Albus coughed his laugh into his napkin, while Gellert's foot nudged him under the table.

"Sorry," muttered Albus out of the corner of his mouth. "But you are very messy. If you don't tidy it up, I really will be knocked unconscious." And, just like that, he'd gone from feeling gloomy to feeling more lighthearted than he had in days.

"How is that book I lent you, Albus dear?" Bathilda's voice came wafting through the air again along with the tendrils of steam. She laid her cutlery aside and dabbed at the corners of her mouth, eyes keen with intellect.

Albus lowered his cutlery too. "Oh, it was fascinating," he replied. "Very fascinating. It's beautifully written and the interpretations that lie behind it were even more so."

"I thought you would like it," said Bathilda with a smile. "Gellert doesn't have the patience for reading, though I've been trying to lend him books since he arrived."

Gellert leant forwards with his elbows on the table, rolling his eyes. "I merely don't see the appeal in reading texts written by dreary dimwits when you could be out there doing things."

"There is merit in learning the theory, Gellert dear," said Bathilda gently. She stood up and began to clear the plates, and Gellert leapt up to help her.

Albus tried to follow, folding his napkin into the neatest shape possible, but Bathilda took it from him, shaking her head.

"No, no. You sit down and rest. I can manage. But you're very sweet. Keep an eye on Gellert while I sort the pudding, and I'll call you when it's ready." She swatted at her nephew with Albus' napkin. "You go and sit down too, dear. I'm not an old lady yet."

"As you say, Aunt," said Gellert, flashing her a smile then taking Albus' arm to lead him out of the door. He steered Albus into the sitting room and resumed the seat he'd occupied when they'd first met, in the armchair on the left, his eyes more intense than ever.

Albus took his armchair too, his fingers tracing the spot on his shirt where Gellert's fingers had been moments before.

"So, what is this book that my aunt has lent you?"

"Oh." Albus reached into his trouser pocket and tugged out the fat little book. It lay there, its gilt letters glowing orange in the evening light, the leather cover worn and soft beneath his fingers. "Here. From what I've read, it was written by a Seer who preferred to set out his prophecies in verse."

"A Seer?" Gellert shifted in his armchair, prised the book from Albus' grip and gazed down at it, his eyes wide with fascination. He ran a finger over the binding, murmuring the words that embossed it. " The Predictions of Tycho Dodonus ."

Albus watched him, afraid to intrude on something that seemed so private, but at last Gellert looked up.

"I didn't know Seers wrote books."

"Many of them do," replied Albus, already whirring over the titles in his mind. "Calchas... Hoffman... Cassandra Trelawny… you must have heard of her…"

"My mother has," murmured Gellert as he flicked through the book's faded, yellowing pages. "She has read about a great many Seers. She used to try and tell me about them; I was too bored to listen."

"Your mother is interested in fortune-telling?"

But Gellert was too preoccupied with the book to answer. He turned it over in his hands, then looked down at it, distaste etched into the lines around his mouth. "Have you read some of these?"

"Sorry?" said Albus distractedly, glancing over. He took it from the other boy and scanned the thick paper, the familiar words tumbling off the page. "Oh, wait. Yes. Of course I have. I finished the book yesterday."

Gellert's studied his expression. "Then you must have seen how dramatic it is."

Albus smiled. "There's beauty in drama."

"Look at it."

"Gellert, I don't need to read it again. I realise it is dramatic-"

But Gellert was already rifling through the pages to the very back, his eyes gleaming with mirth.

Albus made a grab for the book and failed as Gellert moved it out of reach.

"I'm not going to ruin it, Albus. I will give it back in a moment." He sat up suddenly, his head turning, pushing the book back towards Albus while his fingers lingered at the top of a particular page. "Read that."

"Gellert-" Albus sighed, taking the book anyway and glancing down at it.

Gellert smiled a taunting smile, crossing one leg over the other and leaning back into the armchair. " A son cruelly banished, despair of the daughter… "

"Stop it. You don't need to memorise it, I know it already-"

"Oh, come on. You must be able to see something amusing in this-"

" Accio book!"

Pulling his wand from his pocket, Albus pointed it at the book in Gellert's hand, and the other boy yelped and ducked as it shot from his grasp, whacked him over the head, then zoomed across the room into Albus' outstretched hands. Albus caught it deftly and tucked it back into his pocket, shaking his head.

Gellert rolled his eyes. "You are such a spoilsport."

"I know," replied Albus.

"I was being serious - it is ridiculously dramatic."

" You are ridiculously dramatic, in case you haven't noticed."

Gellert ignored this. "It isn't prophecy, it's badly-written poetry by a man who believes he is the new Shakespeare."

At this, Albus sat up. "You read Shakespeare?" he asked delightedly.

"I despise Shakespeare."

"Oh." Albus waited a few seconds, then smiled in the other boy's direction. "You don't like the idea of comparing anyone to a summer's day, then?"

Gellert smirked and leaned back, surveying Albus with his arms folded. "Thou art hot."

Albus went scarlet. The smirk widened.

"You can throw a pillow at me if you like," Gellert said matter-of-factly, but Albus bit his lip.

"No, thank you. I think your aunt might kill me if we ruin her living room."

"Boys?"

Both Gellert and Albus leapt to their feet.

"Yes, Aunt?"

"Would you like cream or custard with your apple crumble?"

Albus glanced at Gellert. "Custard, please," he called, but Gellert pulled a face.

"Cream, Aunt. Not custard."

"What did custard ever do to you?" asked Albus as they sat back down again, smiling at the other boy's look of distaste.

Gellert said nothing, but the distaste remained.

They ate Bathilda's crumble almost in silence, Gellert casting nauseated looks at Albus' plate every time he took a mouthful. Once the plates had been stacked away, the two boys returned to Gellert's bedroom, Bathilda calling after them to tidy up properly once and for all.

Gellert pushed the bedroom door shut, threw a glance over his shoulder in the direction of the hallway, then pulled his wand from his pocket and swept it through the air. With a loud clunking noise, the mess cleared itself; the battered-looking comics on the shelf straightened into a neat row, a handful of coathangers soared out from under the bed and back into the large oak wardrobe, and the bedsheets flattened themselves out onto the bed as best as they could. The corners remained crinkled.

Albus watched from the doorway as Gellert tucked his wand back into his pocket and eyed the transformation.

"Isn't that cheating? Does your aunt know you're using magic to tidy up?"

Gellert turned to him, his smile wide. "No. But she won't find out. She never does."

Albus sat down cross-legged on the dusty floor. "What would she say if she did?"

"An awful lot, I'd imagine. Mostly about me getting into trouble with the Ministry." There was a silence, then Gellert sat down beside Albus, reaching forwards to touch the book of predictions in Albus' pocket. "Tell me more about this book. What do the poems refer to?"

Albus pulled the book back out of his pocket and laid it on the floor in front of them. His hands slid over the cover, leaving sticky little smudges from the apple crumble and the heat. "No one really knows. Not yet, anyway. But it's a curious little book and has become quite popular simply as poetry."

Gellert picked it up and studied it for the second time. Then he put it back down again and pushed it back towards Albus. "Put it away. I didn't think you enjoyed Divination. Let's talk about something else."

Albus smiled. "I don't," he replied. "Like Divination, that is. But these poems could decide someone's fate. Not all predictions have to come in a teacup."

"True," said Gellert, including his head. "There are some great Seers among us. But what were we talking about before? Before dinner, I mean?"

Albus hesitated. "We were talking about my sister," he said quietly. "And muggles. And your determination to overthrow them."

Gellert shrugged. "Is such determination really unrealistic? You can't possibly be telling me that you'd rather be oppressed forever?"

"Oppressed? How are we oppressed?"

Gellert sighed. "Albus, really. Don't tell me that you haven't felt it. Wizards are forced to bury their hearts six feet under, in cages that even they do not know how to unlock, all for the benefit of muggles . We are banned from performing the spells that are our birthright, banned from living our lives freely, all because we do not have a fair wizarding leader. Our prejudices are the same as muggle prejudices, and for what? We cannot even love who we want. This is not right, Albus. This is not justice."

Albus sighed too. "That might be so, but you can't go starting a war over it. Muggles don't understand what they are doing wrong... they don't even know about us in the first place."

"Exactly," said Gellert softly. "The time has come to make ourselves known, to speak up for who we are and claim power. We do this for your sister, for the world, for the muggles' own good."

"Gellert," said Albus patiently, steepling his fingers together in his lap, "Gellert, the last time you tried to promote your ideals, didn't it result in your expulsion?"

"Of course it did," replied Gellert, his voice calm, picking at a loose scrap of nail. "That is why I require your assistance. The mistakes of the past will be wiped from our future; together, we will build a better world, a world that reflects the yearning in our hearts and sets us free."

"I'm not killing muggles, Gellert," said Albus flatly, looking up at him.

Gellert tilted his head to one side. "I'm not asking you to. But stay with me, Albus. I need you."

I need you. The words seemed to trigger an explosion in Albus' head. He traced his fingers over the wooden grooves in the floorboards, the longing - the need - to be noticed erupting inside him. Gellert Grindelwald was the first person to feed the starving animal within him, to satisfy the craving that had remained ignored for so long, and Albus was powerless against the seduction of his charm.

Barely making a dent in the room's silence, Gellert leant down and pulled Albus to his feet, resting a finger on his elbow for longer than was necessary. Albus felt his breath warm on his temples.

"Albus Dumbledore. I have no equal but you. Come with me, and I will write your name in glory. Come with me, and we will make even the night's stars envious of our power."

Albus swallowed, glancing up towards the beam-crossed ceiling. "I should go," he said softly and Gellert pulled away from him to smile.

"I'll write to you. Leave your window open." He bent forwards and brushed his lips against Albus' cheek.

And before Albus even had time to react, Gellert was at his bedroom door, nodding him through it. He smiled once more, a tantalizing, glorious smile that warmed Albus' insides like Firewhiskey.

"Goodnight."

"I put Ari to bed." The voice was quiet, issuing from the darkest corner of the table as Albus unlocked the back door and entered the kitchen.

He jumped, his heart hammering, turning around with his hand over his wand. "Ab? Is that you?"

"Of course it's me," grunted Aberforth and, in the light of a guttering candle, Albus saw his silhouette rise to move towards him. "Who were you expecting?"

"No one," replied Albus, as Aberforth lit three more candles and came closer. His brother's auburn hair and long nose gleamed slightly in between the shadows of dusk, and Albus took a step closer, letting go of his wand's handle. "You didn't have to wait up for me."

"Well, someone's got to keep the house in order if you're out. Anyway, I had to feed the goats."

"Oh. How is Francine doing?"

Aberforth let out a snort. "Clementine is the one that's pregnant."

"Sorry," said Albus, wincing. "So how is she?"

"Fine," said Aberforth, already turning away with his hands in his pockets. "She's getting pretty big, but she should be all right."

"And Ariana, how has she been? She hasn't been upset again since I left, has she?"

"No. She's fine. I read to her - that story about the garden."

Albus nodded slowly. "The one Mother used to read."

There was silence, then Aberforth sat back down at the table, his shadow falling across its surface in long, thin strips. Albus watched him, counting the clock in the corner's rhythmic ticks, wondering how to fill such a gap when everything felt so heavy.

"Ab?"

"What?" asked Aberforth, his eyes on the sunset outside the window.

Albus swallowed. "I'm sorry about Mother."

"What are you sorry for? I don't blame you for that ."

"I know you don't. But I should have been there."

There was another long pause before Aberforth turned to Albus, his eyes aged and hollow in the candlelight. "No. I should have been there."

"Ab-" Albus reached out a hand, not knowing or caring what he was doing, except that he needed his younger brother to feel him.

Aberforth turned away. "Goodnight."

"Aberforth-"

"I said, goodnight. D'you hear me?"

"Yes. Yes, I do. I'm sorry. I-" He made to move forwards, but Aberforth was already at the kitchen door. "Aberforth?" he called again.

The door swung shut, separating them before he could get the words out. Albus let out a sigh.

He sat down in the chair by the desk when he reached his bedroom, helplessly trying to stem the droplets that threatened to slide off the end of his nose. Aberforth had been right about him being a terrible babysitter; he and Ariana didn't deserve to have him as the head of the household, not when he was so full of dreams, so brimming with selfish ideals-

Tap, tap.

Albus looked up, dabbing at his eyes with his sleeve as the feathered blob came into focus. He stood up, glanced around the room, then crossed to the window, cracking it open so that the owl could hop inside.

"Sorry," he told the owl as it fluttered onto his arm and he carried it to his desk. "I was supposed to leave the window open, but I forgot. You're from Gellert, aren't you?"

The owl hooted in reply, its amber eyes huge in its soft, white face.

Albus laughed softly, then reached down to remove the scroll of parchment that had been tied to its right foot, his fingers trembling as he unknotted the string. The owl wobbled slightly on one leg and, as soon as the string was off, it put down the other with a relieved hoot.

Albus stroked its feathers as he broke upon the letter's seal, then sat down on the edge of his bed to read.

Dear Albus,

Let me assure you that I have no intention of organising a muggle mass slaughter and, even if I did, it would be for their own good, really. You mustn't look so horrified - muggle-maiming is unnecessary. And rather crude.

...That isn't what I wanted to write to you about, anyway.

You cannot realise how glad I am to have met you. You and I have every promise of creating a world to be proud of and, with the Deathly Hallows at our side, who will be bold enough to oppose us? We will be the greatest wizards of our time, the glorious young leaders of a revolution.

We do not take control to be selfish, however. We must take control because it is our birthright to do so, because we alone are clever enough to lead our fellow wizards into dominance. We are not merciless. Our aims are not to destroy, but to build. We do this for - most importantly - the good of wizardkind, the good of our loved ones and the good of ourselves. Gellert Grindelwald and Albus Dumbledore will seize control for the muggles' own good.

You didn't open your window, did you? Do as I ask in future!

Your friend and partner in dominance,

Gellert

Albus smiled to himself as he reached the end of the page and laid the letter down on his knees to admire the curve of Gellert's handwriting. The words were rounder than his own, decorated with the occasional flick or swirl that made them look ever so slightly foreign, even though Gellert's English was almost perfect.

He reached for a quill, motioning to the owl to stay put.

Gellert-

You point about wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLES' OWN GOOD - this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and, yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we will build. Where we are opposed, as we surely must be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain because, if you had never been expelled, we would never have met).

Albus

Laying down the quill, he dithered over whether he should change the simple 'Albus' to something a bit less formal but, folding up the letter into a neat square, he attached it to the barn owl's leg with Gellert's scrap of string and watched as the owl zoomed off out of the open window.

Albus sat there watching its progress through the star-strewn sky. How could it be that, under twenty-four hours ago, he'd had no idea that Gellert Grindelwald existed?

A/N:

Thank you for reading! Gellert feels a bit off in this chapter (ie: I've written him badly), so please let me know if there's anything you find that I could improve. Happy (late) Pride Month, too!

The next chapter is the- Okay, no spoilers. It involves a specific gravestone, though ;)

~ Lacy