So, so sorry for the late update. I hope you enjoy this chapter and it somewhat makes up for the wait!

17th July 1899- Bathilda Bagshot's Cottage, Godric's Hollow- morning- Gellert's POV-

'Gellert! Gellert! Don't tell me you are still abed at this hour! It's summer- you should be outside enjoying yourself! If you want any form of breakfast you need to get up now! I've got to leave in half an hour! Gellert! Are you awake?!'

The unfortunate recipient of these calls jerked awake, rather surprised at the slightly frustrated note in Tante Bathilda's voice, groaning as he took in the bright morning sunlight streaming into the room through the crack in the curtains, left ajar, along with the window itself, the night before to allow the owl easier access without the danger of awakening Bathilda. Well, to be honest, after that danger had been realized with the aid of Bathilda telling him to kindly be quiet at approximately two o'clock in the morning, with a surprising amount of firmness for her. Everything was a little out of focus as he gently rubbed the sleep out of his eyes with the heel of his hands, squinting against the light. Feeling actually able to sit up, stretching and wincing slightly, he noticed two things; the first of which was that everything ached. The second, and likely the cause of his first realization, was that he had managed to fall asleep sitting at the little wooden desk in his room, head pillowed on his arms, semi-glued to the various piece of parchment strewn around him, neck cricked in a position which caused it to now twinge painfully as he moved, languid and catlike, and gazed with eyes still half-lidded out of the window and into the morning glare. As he did so, he attempted to get his sleep fuddled mind to focus on the night before.

As he had noticed already over the few days he had been a resident, Godric's Hollow was not exactly a place where a lot happened. Presumably why Inke decided to send me here, where she hoped I could not do any damage. There were a few people wandering down the little road in front of the cottage, kicking up dust on the pavements, their arms filled with shopping, although whether they were wizards or muggles was impossible to tell. A coach ambled slowly past, headed for the main square, almost empty with horses panting in the shimmering haze. The heat haze was broken temporarily disturbed by a boy, perhaps slightly older than Gellert, riding down the road on a bicycle, post-bag carelessly dangling by his side. The boy looked up as he passed by and Gellert grinned at him, causing the boy to look quickly away, staring firmly ahead as he passed out of sight. Ah. Gellert continued to survey the street, attempting to suppress his smile, and not entirely succeeding.

Judging by the light, it looked as if today was going to be fine again. The blissful break in the heat, and most especially in the humidity, provided by the thunderstorm of the evening before, seemed to have, yet again, abated and there was not a cloud in sight. And they told me that it rains all the time in this place- bloody liars! The sky was a gorgeous aquamarine and, judging by the pink still tinting the edge of the horizon, it was still very, very early. Suddenly, and completely unexpectedly, Gellert felt a sharp stab of nostalgia for the mountains around Durmstrang, and the cool fresh air there. It was too hot here, too humid and too flat. Pull yourself together, you know better than this.

He continued to attempt to pull his brain, kicking and screaming with lack of sleep, properly into gear. It had just been beginning to consider getting light, Gellert was pretty sure, when he had finally dozed off, halfway through the ninth missle he had written to Albus that night, sleep finally overcoming him. So, less than an hour's sleep in all probability. Gott in Himmel! For a moment he seriously considered the benefits of just going back to bed, when-

'Gellert! Come along now dear! Are you unwell?' She is definitely not happy. But considering the soft spot Bathilda seemed to be, unusually for his family, developing for him, he was willing to bed that if he finished the night's business with one final short letter, she would not punish him. And even if she does, it is a trade I am perfectly willing to make.

'Ich komme!' He bellowed back, grimacing lightly at the noise, which seemed to reverberate around inside his tired skull for an inordinately long time. However, if she really was going out, and has not mistaken the day or something. How she has managed to get published as many times as she has is a complete mystery, despite her brains! Then chances were he could eat breakfast and nap afterwards without any interference. Not necessarily a good habit to get into but, Merlin, was last night worth it!

The state of the desk was, however, perhaps not. It was deplorable. Crumpled up bits of parchment, quills, ink bottles, articles, journals, tomes and scrolls spread pell-mell across it, alongside numerous letters carefully penned in Albus narrow hand, although it had grown increasingly messy as the night had progressed. Admittedly, they had not really discussed, or rather even actually properly reached, the topic which Gellert had really wanted to, namely the Hallows. Although, contrary to my initial expectations of this place, the signs are most definitely promising. We are compatible in most ways so far, maybe it would be worth getting a partner. It would certainly make things easier, and faster. But that was something to be considered in more depth at a later date. So far, the Hallows had been merely only mentioned briefly in passing, in relation to the history of the village when, and Gellert's level of anticipation and alertness had increased markedly at this, Albus agreeing to show him the graveyard where, supposedly, some of the Peverells were buried, later that day. And if that is true … and with Albus here … well … However, Albus had said he would probably not be able to get away until at least noon, but had not elaborated further before sleep had claimed Gellert, having had to wait most of the night before gently edging them round to the topic. Oh, but the other things that we discussed. The topics had included, and ranged from, a deep discussion on dragon's blood, the theories behind apparition, a couple of new spells, one of which Albus himself had invented, the exemptions to and issues associated with Gamp's Law and, of all things, various English and continental magical customs; all of which had been very educational. Especially Albus' views of them … the views of someone who seems to really actually understand. If Gellert had had any lingering doubt about Albus before, none now remained. In fact, he was beginning to have a sneaking, and rather alarming, suspicion that there was a possibility that Albus may, academically and potentially magically, although that had yet to be properly ascertained, be ever so slightly better than Gellert himself. Being outmatched was a new, and not entirely pleasant, sensation, Gellert had decided the night before. A mind like that … and here of all places … Their good fortune in finding one another still astonished him.

Allowing his previously suppressed grin to return in full force, he scanned the final note he had been writing before he had fallen asleep, quickly picking up a quill from the general mess, dipping it in the almost dry ink bottle, and quickly penning a post-script, his hand cramping slightly in protest.

'Albus,' he wrote,

'It appears that Tilda will be out today doing something which is currently a mystery, so just come over and known whenever you are free. If I do not answer, just yell or something, as I may still be asleep after last night, although our correspondence was undeniably very pleasurable. It look forward to being able to speak further and perhaps, if you are still willing and able to take me, to visit that graveyard. And of course you must show me those new spells!

-G'

Gellert had to look around for the owl, which he had liberated from his aunt the previous evening, and which was now roosting very determinedly on top of his wardrobe. It took quite a lot of coaxing, interspersed with (and not helped by) Tilda's increasingly desperate attempts to get him to come downstairs, and half a bag of owl treats, to get the exhausted bird to fly down to his desk. And even after all of that, it still looked at him very resentfully when he attached the letter to its leg.

'I know, I know, but this should be the last one for a while.' With that encouragement, and a rather harder nip that he felt was strictly necessary, it took off into the heat of the beginning day. 'Just a moment, Tante.' He yelled down the stairs for the third time, before wandering off towards the bathroom.

Twenty minutes later, he was downstairs, sitting at the kitchen table with a rather distracted, well, even more distracted than usual, Bathilda Bagshot. She appeared to have decided to relocate the what seemed to be all of the parchment scrolls in the house on to the table. Now, she was packing some of them into a magically expanded bag, whilst tutting over others, and placing them into increasingly even more haphazard piles, causing Gellert to have had to enact what had felt like Hannibal's expedition through the Alps to actually sit down and eat what had turned out to be, through lack of contrary evidence, very overcooked eggs and incinerated toast. For the first time, he momentarily missed Inke, and was debating how much he had to eat not to be offensive. Nevermind, I guess it is time I learnt how to cook for myself anyway, he thought rather sadly, poking at the eggs with his fork. Wincing, and giving up on politeness, he pushed the plate away, deciding to forage for something in the village later, and reached instead for the coffee, which at least appeared to be passable.

When Gellert decided to push for some actual conversation, as the uncommon silence from Bathilda was starting to become a little unnerving, she was still organizing, muttering to herself quietly but with definite focus, and occasionally pausing to smooth nonexistent creases from her neat lilac dress. 'So,' he tried, 'where are you actually going today?'

'Mmh.' Her head jerked up, as she seemed to suddenly remember that there was someone else in the room. 'Oh, a conference, dear. On Medieval Wizardry, with a particular focus on the growth of silent spellwork, and the reports of obscurials, in conjunction with increased persecution of wizardkind.' She carried on with her sorting, but was smiling now.

'Oh.' He added, rather lamely. In some ways he already sometimes forgot how influential and knowledgeable she actually was. And how lucky I am to have someone like her, with that knowledge.

'If you are interested, tomorrow I can show you the papers which are presented, and discuss with you the main points brought up in the conference. It is what I usually do for Albus, we can make a little event of it.'

'That would be great.' And to be fair, he truly meant it.

'Although, with this I will be back quite late tonight. You will need some money to feed yourself?' Gellert nodded his assent. 'Oh and dear,' this time she looked him right in the eye, her expression alarmingly close to stern, 'if you do go wandering with Albus today, as I know boys are wont to do, try not to get in too late. Remember, he has commitments.' He met her gaze, both of them calculating, assessing, reading. Abruptly, genuine concern spread across her features. 'Are you feeling quite well? You look awfully pale, Gellert.' He made a valiant, but ultimately unsuccessful, attempt to dodge her small, dry hand as she felt his forehead for fever, something Inke had not dared to do for years. 'Feels normal. Did you sleep at all? I know that you and Albus seem to be getting along very nicely, and I am truly happy both of you have found a friend in the other, but do be careful, won't you? Burning the midnight all is not always beneficial.' She looked at him even more intently. 'Inke did say … well … was it one of your-'

Not wishing to discuss that, and feeling his nostalgia for Inke's cooking disappear in a hot rush of anger he quickly replied: 'I am fine, just tired. And I promise I will try not to stay up so late anymore.' After all, white lies are not really lies at all. Also, he wanted to extricate himself from this conversation fast: mollycoddling was a new experience, and one which he was not enjoying.

Bathilda, however, seemed less keen to just let the whole thing drop. 'I know it can't be easy for you, the visions.' Later, not now, not when I'm tired. 'But if you even have one, or want to talk about them, I am here.' She gave his cheek a gentle pat before firmly closing her bag and heading for the hallway.

'You know, tante,' he called after her, 'I might go back to bed for a bit. Have a good time at the conference.'

Just after she left, the owl came in through the back window, Gellert cursing it internally for not arriving five minutes earlier and saving him from that conversation. You don't get it. But I suppose at least you try … He turned his attention firmly to the letter in his hands, which was rather shorter than he had hoped it would be.

'Gellert-' it read. 'It was wonderful to hear from you again this morning. I shall most definitely show you those new spells- they are most interesting discoveries. As for Miss Bagshot, can you ask her to send me any of the piquant points which emerge- for I have known her long enough to know that anything mysterious she gets up to is almost always a conference!' Gellert stifled a laugh. 'You will get used to that soon enough, if you decide to stay in this place anyway. As I mentioned, I should definitely be free about noon as I have yet to finish a journal article.' Gellert made a mental note to ask about that. 'I will knock when ready. As for the rest of the letter, for I have not forgotten it, I must plead busyness, and like you, tiredness, and request to continue the discussion later today, if that is agreeable to you? With the weather as it is, we should be able to see the Peverell graves with little interference.

I look forward to seeing you later,

-A.'

Perfect. Giving the owl a stroke, and the least incinerated bit of his toast, Gellert quickly penned a simple reply, after managing, with some difficulty, to locate a quill and ink in the midst of Tilda's scroll pile.

'Excellent. -G'

Only through bribery did Gellert manage to get the owl moving for the final time that morning, all the while debating the possibility his being able to persuade Bathilda to get him his own owl. He though that the odds were favourable. After all, now she can see that I really need one. Although he had no idea where, in this village, he would be able to buy one, especially since he did not recall a menagerie in the town square, where all the shops were. Once the owl had taken flight, and Gellert was on his way back upstairs, he noticed quite how merry, and anticipatory, he was feeling, and hoped his mind would allow him at least some, very needed, sleep.

17th July 1899- The Dumbledores' Cottage, Godric's Hollow- noon- Albus' POV-

For once, and as a definite relief, Ariana appeared to be having once of her, increasingly rare, good days. She had woken up at a decent time and seemed content. She had eaten a good breakfast, carried on a cheerful conversation over the breakfast table, during which Albus had managed to, for the first time in the past few days, remember why he actually liked his siblings, before settling down happily in the parlour with one of her novels for the entire morning. Due to this pleasant set of circumstances, he and Aberforth had not argued for the entirety of the morning, although relations were still distinctly frosty following the disagreement the night before, and Albus was too tired to attempt to be the bigger person and remedy the situation as of yet. As the eldest I really should manage to sort this … it would be what mother would have wanted. For the first time since Kendra's death, they had all gotten on, appeared relatively cheerful. All seemed to be relatively good, and Albus' task in caring for them had not seemed so completely impossible, and disagreeable, after all. After receiving Gellert's last letter, and as there had been no disasters, what with Ariana settled and Aberforth off doing whatever it was he did, though Merlin only knows what that is, Albus had even managed to finish the admittedly recently rather neglected article he had been writing for Transfiguration Today. However, replying to his now rather alarming pile of correspondence still seemed to be a little beyond him. And even if I could, what would I say, 'I'm bored out of my mind… the highlight of my week was meeting someone brilliant, who is not you, who actually understands what it means to be trapped here … and who you really would neither like nor approve of' … I can't even mention Annie, not really. No way.

He was, however, accepting of the fact that soon he would have to face the letters, which he was feeling rather guilty about, especially the second letter in Elphias' instantly recognizable scrawl that had arrived that morning … which he had yet to open. That, he promised himself, he would try to answer, even briefly, that afternoon. After all, it is not his fault that all this happened … that I could not go. And as for the rest of them, there is still time. Merlin knows there's little enough else to do … there's the rest of my life, in fact, to answer them … Gellert's letters had cheered him up, however, despite his subsequent exhaustion. Finally, someone who actually seems to understand it all … who is interesting… someone who can ensure that I am not longer bored … For boredom was, for Albus at that time, the worst feeling in the world.

Remembering his agreement with Gellert, Albus looked, not for the first time in the last half an hour, at the watch carefully placed on his desk, lent up against the ink bottle so that its face could be easily read. His mother had given him that for his seventeenth birthday, almost exactly a year ago. He remembered it distinctly; she had saved up in order to get him a new one. Don't … Focusing again firmly on the present, he noticed with some surprise, and joy, that the hands of the watch finally seemed to have moved, and that it was almost noon. Now just to actually manage to make it out of the house without some form of war breaking out …

On the way down the stairs, Albus passed the porthole shaped mirror his mother had hung so carefully on the wall when they had moved in, it's face now somewhat pitted with age and neglect, and winced at his reflection. He quickly ascertained that absolutely nothing could realistically be done about how tired he looked, but he did roll his shirtsleeves down, and smooth out at least some of the creases, in a valiant attempt at respectability.

The door at the end of the hall at the bottom of the staircase, leading to the kitchen, was open, and when Albus entered Aberforth was making lunch, while Ariana sat quietly at the table, in the seat closest to the open window which had a view over the rather overgrown back garden, the Daily Prophet spread out before her. It was open to the back pages where, weekly, the Clara the Cat comic strips were printed. She always seemed to enjoy those … well, they made her smile at any rate, and for both Albus and Aberforth that made them a triumphant success.

Albus coughed quietly as he entered, hoping that at least would not cause Aberforth to have a go at him … and it is always better to gently alert Annie when you enter a room. Ariana looked up, beaming at him now; Aberforth just grunted, not even turning away from what looked like they would at some point become sandwiches.

'Clara doing anything interesting today, Annie?' He tried, as usual she smiled, if it was possible, even more brightly at the nickname.

'Not really,' Ariana said, rather thoughtfully, 'a potion just went wrong again, but it is quite funny at least. Did you finish the article, by the way?'

'Yes, I did.' She really is having a remarkably good day.

'Will it be published soon?'

'I hope so. I'll send it off later, and that means we should get some more money soon.' A blessed relief. 'You shall have to decide whether you want us to buy you anything special when it comes in.' Things to look forward to tend to work for her.

'Pet cat.' Hopeful, firm and immediate. And very predictable. They had been having the pet cat conversation for a number of years now, and Albus and Aberforth always pretended to consider it, even if we both know, but never say, that it is a pipe dream, I mean if it scratched her … poor little thing …

'We'll talk about it.' He laughed back, as always, and to be fair they would discuss it, especially if that discussion maintained her good mood that while longer, and therefore made her less … what … dangerous? That's what we both think, even if we never say it, and feel a little worse each time we thing it… She did kill mother, after all … but then again it was not really her, was it? It never really is. And looking at her now … you wouldn't believe it. She is sad about it, but does not really remember it … or does not want to … but that is unkind. We can contain her, and she can be lovely. We may not enjoy this, but she is our sister, and time like this at least make it worth it.

'Do you actually mean that?' Her hands were clasped before her in joy now, her face transported.

'Sure.' Ab turned then, perhaps hearing something in his voice, and looked at him in a rather calculating way. Think what you like, but I do care for you both.

'You in for lunch?' He asked, overly-polite.

'No,' Albus replied in a similar tone, neither of them had entirely forgotten yesterday's harsh words, 'but I will be in for tea and dinner. I need to send that article off, and I'll buy some more food on the way. Anything else either of you want?' Again that odd, calculating look, this time though perhaps tinted with a little anger, which actually unsettled Albus less than the calculation. The anger at least I know, at least I can to a degree deal with that.

'Going with anyone?' He seriously considered lying, but decided the deception probably had no point, especially in a town as small as Godric's Hollow. Even Ab, who was not exactly a social butterfly, would hear from someone sooner or later. Additionally, his brother had an unnerving ability to tell when someone was not being completely honest with him. And I really can't face another argument, not now …

'Yes, Miss Bagshot's nephew.' He said simply, calmly. Aberforth's gaze had become considerably more icy. 'Do we need anything? I promise that I will not linger overlong.' His brother's eyebrows rose minutely, and Ariana's smile had faded slightly. I do mean it, but think what you will.

'Just the usual.' Aberforth said in a slightly more forced faux calm voice.

'Alright then. I'll see you both later. And when I'm back we'll talk properly about that cat, Annie, as a family.' Her smile returned immediately, even wider than before. A moment later her attention was once again focused on the newspaper. Albus decided that it would be better for all concerned for him to depart quickly, whilst his luck held out. He had actually managed to reach the coat stand and grab a light jacket with his wallet in it before Aberforth caught up with him. What now?

Striking pre-emptively, in a tired tone, Albus said, 'I'm not going to argue with you now, Ab, not when she seems so settled. You are my brother, and she is my sister, and I do care for you both, no matter what you may think to the contrary.' I'm too tired for this, Ab, please don't, please not now. Aberforth opened his mouth to retort, then seemed to rethink, and shut it again, his clear blue eyes, so like his siblings', losing some of their fury. He really was growing up, which was rather a surprise to his brother, in a way, his eyes now almost level with Albus' own. If only we were more similar, more like brothers should be, more like we were. But there's no point crying over spilt potion.

'I know.' He also sounded tired, exhausted almost, and Albus felt a pang of guilt. He's trying, too, we all are. 'And you've done really well over the last couple of weeks. I know It is hard, but we can do this. Just ..' He seemed to be searching for the right words. 'Remember where you are needed. She needs you. I-' Ab went quiet, looking, for the first time Albus could ever remember, alarmingly close to tears, which Albus really could not face right now. Not without making a scene himself. No matter how bad he felt for his brother. We all have to do what we can to survive …

Seeming to read his brother, Ab quickly, and quietly, finished the conversation. 'Just be careful.' That finally made up Albus mind. I may be your brother, but now I must also act as mother would have … or father … he gathered his brother firmly into a hug. Ab clung to hum for a moment, then seemed to remember himself, pulling away, with an unusual wan smile.

'I will be. And I really do promise to be back soon. We'll run the errands and then I'm going to visit mother- the flowers need changing. I'll see you later, and if you do want to go out at some point then just-.'

'I'm fine.' Ab said quickly. 'Don't be too long.' Turning, Ab wandered, rather forlornly, back towards the kitchen, leaving Albus looking after him for a moment before turning and unlocking the door, stepping out into the noonday sun. It was blinding, the pain in his eyes making him push the rather odd conversation with his brother to the back of his mind, to be considered later.

17th July 1899- Godric's Hollow- noon- Gellert's POV-

For the past hour, Gellert had been curled up in the loveseat in the parlour, which seemed to be the only place in the room out of the sun, studying the large, old tome on the history of Godric's Hollow open on his lap. An English to Germany dictionary, which he had spent quite a long time looking for in the piles in Tilda's library, lay on the seat beside him. Albus knock on the front door broke his concentration. Deep focus was immediately replaced with alertness, and an anticipatory smile. He left the books where they were, he would move them before Tilda got back, and even if he did not, he was pretty sure that Tilda would just be pleased that he was showing an interest in the history of his new home. Yes, home …

Not wanting to keep his new companion waiting, he grabbed his jacket and headed straight for the door. And if I had sorted all of the money and put my outdoor clothes there an hour before … well it is only logical, and polite, to be prompt. After his nap earlier, he was feeling more alive at any rate, and more able to keep up an intelligent conversation, which is far more important. Making sure he had his wand, as well as a small notebook and pencil tucked into an inside pocket, he headed out of the door.

Albus was standing on the garden path, staring intently at the butterflies dancing around in Tilda's slightly overgrow, but brightly coloured, front garden. His companion seemed to have something on his mind, and had clearly not managed to find time for a nap. He was even paler than usual, his red hair and beard a stark contrast, his piercing blue eyes set in dark purplish circles. However, he was well dressed in jacket, waistcoast, shirt and trousers, and actually showed up, which considering how tired he looks is a bonus. Gellert could not help but smile a little, like Gellert himself, Albus looked as if he was boiling, a red flush already high on his cheekbones. They nodded at one another politely, both smiling broadly.

'Shall we head off-' They both began, and then stopped, laughing heartily. That, Gellert noticed, was the first time that the worry lines already firmly marking themselves on the other young man's face seemed to dissipate. Other than when they had been discussing magic the day before, and Albus had looked so alive.

'Lead on.' Gellert continued to chortle merrily.

'It's this way. You'll pick up the layout of the town pretty soon, it's not as if it is particularly large. If it is agreeable, we'll go to the square, as we did yesterday, then to the graveyard. I need to do some errands on the way back. You can go home before if you want.' Not at all likely, if we keep talking. Albus is definitely subdued though over something … or just tired maybe.

'I will probably stick around. I should get to know the village some more, and Tilda will not be back until late. And I need some foot too. Tilda's cooking is a little …' He struggled for a word in either language to quite describe it, and couldn't find one, so just shrugged.

'Mixed.' Albus laughed, knowingly. Apparently he had also had some experience of Tilda's food.

'You could say that, yes.' Gellert grinned, then, in mock serious tones, added conversationally. 'By the way, are you fucking boiling?'

Albus seemed shocked for a moment, then laughed even harder. 'Yes, and you're not the red head.' They passed the final row of cottages and could now see the square just around the left-hand bend ahead. 'It's not usually like this by the way.'

'Ach, I don't believe you. They said it would be cold and wet. That is what I packed for.' Gellert immediately knew he had made a misstep, though could not immediately work out what it had been. Albus' smile had died, his blue eyes downcast.

'I daresay it will be by September, for sure. You'll be off to some school by then, I suppose.' Albus kicked rather moodily at one of the kerbs, raising a cloud of dust.

Gellert thought carefully for a moment, knowing that what he said next would decide the tone of the rest of the day, if not longer. 'Tilda wants me to. … She is quite persistent on the topic of my going to Hogwarts for sixth and seventh years- if they'll have me that is. If she pulls some strings they might, but I don't think they will and I come of age this autumn … so who knows. I'm pretty sure finishing school is not for me.' And that's the truth, well, most of it, and that is all that is needed for now. Albus, is possible, looked even more depressed. 'Also, my English- …' Gellert decided to give up on skirting the issue and cut straight to the point. 'Look, are you alright?' Part of him was genuinely concerned for his new friend.

'My siblings-' Albus began, then stopped, seemingly unsure of what to say next, unsure of how much to reveal, as Gellert had felt moments before. After all, despite the promise, we have barely known each other for two days. 'It's not easy.' Albus sighed, rather lamely after a few seconds of walking in silence. He took a deep breath, focusing himself, a grim smile appearing, the antithesis of the one of a few minutes before. 'But we manage. I'm just tired.' A valiant, but not particularly believable attempt at cheerfulness. Still, it is an improvement. Although Gellert was starting to wonder quite what was going on in the Dumbledore house, as he was starting to get the feeling that something did not quite add up.

They turned into the square before conversation was resurrected. Due, presumably, to the heat the couple of little shops- butcher's, fishmonger's, grocers', bakery, post office and habadashery, were all quiet. By Merlin, this place is dead. The flowers in the small ornamental garden in the centre of the square were notably only by their wilted glory. Only the little café on the corner was showing any signs of life, with a few tightly laced ladies and besuited gentlemen sweltering as they attempted to find some relief from the day under the awning, and in the iced lemonade which was so popular. That, and the ice cream.

The shops made up three of the sides of the little cobbled square; the fourth consisted of the church and graveyard. Considering its importance, Gellert thought it was wholly unremarkable. It could have been any village church, anywhere in England. It was set behind a low stone wall, covered in browning moss, with a paving stone path wending its way from the black, decorative wrought-iron gate, through a well-manicured graveyard, full of stones of varying ages, to the building itself. The graveyard was not even that large. The church building itself was squat, grey-stoned and medieval in architecture. It had a small tower with a clock which was, according to Gellert's watch, running two minutes late. Only its beautiful stained glass windows were in any way notable, but only seemed to date from the end of the last century. Not exactly an inspiring start, but then again … this village has already proved me wrong once.

Albus pushed open the iron kissing gate, waiting for Gellert at the other side, the odd, tired expression had returned, Gellert noted with some concern, and confusion. 'It's this way,' he said again. Gellert felt his anticipation rising. After all this time, finally- please let it be worth it all. They wandered along the path, passing, judging by the surnames and symbols, wizarding and muggle graves alike. And so it is, death is the greatest enemy of all, and the greatest waste.

They seemed to be heading for some crumbling old graves, weathered and leaning, set at the end of the graveyard, beneath a yew tree. Gellert's heart entered his throat when he saw one of the graves had a P- name on it, barely legible with age, but it turned out to be Potter, not Peverell.

Abruptly, among the newer graves about five rows from the stones Gellert had assumed they were heading for, Albus stopped dead, causing Gellert to half walk into him. He was about to demand what was wrong, wincing slightly at the collision point, when he saw his friend's posture. Albus was looking at a new marble headstone, right in front of them, his expression almost stunned. Gellert leant forward slightly to study it, curious. Grass was still just beginning to grow over the bare, tamped soil, a wreath of wilted white roses leaning gently against the headstone. Carved in neat black letters was the following-

'Kendra Dumbledore

10 May 1851- 2nd July 1899'

Gellert's heart dropped, and he felt a twinge of embarrassment. Oh Gott, I forgot this would have been where she was buried. Idiot. Keeping his expression determinedly neutral, he looked back up at his companion, at rather a loss. He just looked almost … empty, but sad, almost as if acceptance had come, and left nothing else to be felt. Uncertain of how Albus would react, but certain that he had to do something, and unable to think of anything else, Gellert decided to take action. He looked quickly around to check that there was no-one around to see, but both the square and graveyard were blessedly empty, before quickly slipping his arm about Albus' shoulders, and pulling him into a tight half hug. 'I know people always say this, but I am so sorry.'

Albus leaned into the hug for a minute or so, before seeming to remember himself, and where they were, and slipping gently away. The emptiness had been replaced with an odd look, one Gellert did not know him well enough yet to read, but which puzzled him nonetheless. There was a blue flame in Albus' eyes now, and he looked alive again, as he twirled his wand slightly, a new wreath of roses replacing the wilted ones. After that was done, Albus turned firmly from the grave, back in the direction of the yet. 'Come on.'

Understanding that Albus was now alright, or as alright as he could be, Gellert followed. They strode briskly over to the crumbing, mossy graves, Albus leading them to third one from the tree, crouching in front of it in the parched grass. Gellert hurried to join him, alive again with anticipation, almost tripping with haste. The writing was almost illegible, the depth of the carved letters robbed by age and the elements. Albus lent further forward, carefully peeling some of the moss away from a section a little below the name.

'Shit.' Gellert hissed. 'That's it!' The symbol of the deathly hallows was carved, careful and precise, in the stone. Face lit up in a reflection of Gellert's obvious joy, Albus delicately rubbed his hand over the name. 'Ignotus Peverell.' 'It's here!' Gellert exclaimed again. I can't believe it! Wanting to reassure himself that it was real, Gellert gently brushed his fingers across the age-worn, pitted stone. 'Does it say anything else?' He asked, eyes meeting Albus'.

'No.' He replied simply, but kindly.

Gellert felt a slight sense of disappointment, but quickly shed it. This was already more than he could have ever previously hoped for. Suddenly aware of the searing rays of sunlight dappling their way through the yew's branches, and onto his skin and dark jacket, and the beginnings of pain in his knees from the awkward crouch he had adopted, he gestured wordlessly at the bench, nestled in the roots of the ancient behemoth.

Albus readily complied. Once they were settled, Albus prim and proper, making Gellert, who was languid and lounging, smile, and he finally decided to ask one of the questions which had been at the forefront of his mind since he had arrived in Godric's Hollow, and met his intriguing companion.

Struggling somewhat to phrase what he wanted to say in a way which would keep Albus from thinking him mad, Gellert said quietly, 'Do you believe in them?'

Sorry for abandoning this story for a bit. It has always been in the back of my mind and I have intended to come back to it but due to a combination of university and health issues have been unable to until now. Unfortunately for me, but luckily for this story I guess, I have been forced due to health issues to take some time off university which means I can do a lot more writing hopefully. I cannot guarantee a particular update day but am intending on updating this again within the next two weeks and really enjoying writing it again. Please comment, like etc- it really does help! And thanks for being patient if you are still reading this, and are enjoying it both if you are an old reader or a new one! :)