Gellert had never thought much of his ability to pick himself up and leave whenever he got in trouble. He had done it with his parents, with his education at Durmstrang, and finally with Aunt Bathilda and Godric's Hollow.
The last had been the only occasion when he had felt a modicum of distress, and that distress he had carried for the rest of his life. His parents had simply been people he had to put up with; Durmstrang simply a way to glean knowledge, but Albus had been something else.
Albus had meant more, yet he had still been unable to hold on to it. He'd had dreams, and by the middle of that summer, all his dreams had included Albus. He hadn't been able to imagine a future without Albus.
Theirs was supposed to be a future of adventure and knowledge and greatness. They hadn't reached the heights of greatness apart: Albus as a headmaster, Gellert as a Dark Lord imprisoned in his own prison. There was no freedom or happiness in either of the paths they had chosen.
Gellert could see the weariness on Albus' face every time the other wizard visited him; and Gellert would like to think Albus saw the slow descent of his own mind into a lacklustre shell.
All because he hadn't been able to raise his wand against Albus.
And Albus hadn't had it in his heart to kill him.
Written for The Golden Snitch: Around the World [Air]