1930

"You still haven't had a chance to meet the Dumbledores yet, have you? I would think you'd have had time, with how much time you've spent skulking around this week, but maybe not."

"I don't skulk, Auntie." Gellert did his best to keep the drone of boredom from seeping into his tone. A pin-prick of pain had started pulsating somewhere behind his forehead, and the more she talked, the more momentum it gained.

Godric's Hollow. Such a garish name, though it suited the quaint, hole-in-the-wall village. Few people lived there, and even less cared to visit. His great aunt afforded him an excuse to be there, a roof over his head, and some food, but he couldn't care less about Batty Bathilda. No, he had a mission, and that was his sole concern.

"They're a bit of an odd bunch," she continued, as if he'd never said anything. "Keep to themselves a lot. But the oldest boy, Albus, is right about your age. I'll have to introduce you."

Her assessment of her neighbors left much to be desired. As far as Gellert was concerned, the Dumbledores were quite a fascinating family. He had lurked in the shadows like a thief, stealing snippets of conversations. It was amazing, the sorts of things people would confess to when they thought no one was listening.

Absentee father, carted off for the murder of three boys and never heard from again. No one bothered looking; he was presumed dead. Recently deceased mother, murdered by her daughter in an outburst of pent-up aggression. The youngest child was a secret, a girl with some obvious mental deficiencies whose implication in her mother's death was swept under the rug by her brothers. The middle child was an oafish boy—quick with anger, slow with wit—who spent an unhealthy amount of time with a particular goat. And the oldest boy…

"Flamel's fortune! There's Albus now. Well, no sense in putting this off. Albus!" The old bat waved her hand frantically to flag him down. "Albus, be a dear and come here right quick. There's someone you should meet."

The eldest Dumbledore was a fine specimen of a man. His hair fell around his long face like a mane of fire, lit by sunlight, as he approached them. He had certainly been afforded all the handsomeness that accompanied youth and possessed both a remarkable stock of arrogance and enough wit to justify it. And his eyes, Gellert noted, with a pang of nostalgia—he had his father's eyes.

"Albus, I'd like you to meet my great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald. He'll be staying with me for the summer. Gellert, this is—"

"Albus Dumbledore. I've heard a lot about how brilliant you are." Gellert extended his hand and offered a small smile.

"Really? I'm afraid to say, I've never heard of you before in my life." Albus' grip was strong as they shook hands, and in that moment, they shared a lifetime's worth of conversations. The pressure built up, neither of them wanting to be outdone, until, finally, they released their grips simultaneously.

"Yes, well, some people don't feel the need to flaunt their accomplishments. I assume you're familiar with the idea of humility?"

The comment earned him a brief tongue-lashing from his great-aunt about the proper etiquette for meeting someone, or at least that was the gist of it. Gellert didn't catch every word. He was focused, instead, at the faintest ghost of a smile that played at the edges of those thin lips. There was a twinkle in those sapphire eyes that was reminiscent of the old man he had met at the park nearly a decade ago.

His instincts had been precise; Albus was everything Gellert had hoped he would be and then some.

~(X)~

Albus wasn't sure what to make of Gellert Grindelwald. He wasn't thrilled with having the man's crazy great-aunt as a neighbor in the first place, what with her nosy habits. The woman was like a bloodhound, sniffing out juicy tidbits of gossip. She was little more than a nuisance, but her great-nephew … Well, that remained to be seen.

He certainly appeared to be from a different ilk than the typical Godric's Hollow resident, not that there were many left in this godforsaken hellhole. The smart ones got out when they had a chance, and the rest were content with wasting away their miserable existence as the world passed them by.

But this Grindelwald—he had come here, of all places, willingly. Eagerly, almost. It was irrational, especially when Albus himself would give anything for the opportunity to escape. He had turned down an invitation to study at Oxford purely out of necessity, but he would leave it all behind in a heartbeat if the opportunity presented itself.

That meant this Grindelwald character was either a dunce or a nutter. The only way to know for sure would be to test his motives. Regardless, Albus was certain there was more to the brooding blond than simply an altruistic need to check up on a distant relative.

~(X)~

Albus went round to the Bagshot residence the next day to offer Gellert a proper tour of the village. It was a good excuse to escape his house for a while, if nothing else, and Gellert appeared to be equally eager to rid himself of his great-aunt. To that extent, at the very least, he appeared to be a perfectly rational man.

The rainy season had ended, so the day was warm and calm. They had that much in their favor as they took to the road that traversed the hollow. The dirt and stones crunched under their weight. They didn't bother actually stopping to look at things along the way. It was obvious that a disinterest in Godric's Hollow was something they had in common.

"So, where are you from?" Albus asked.

"A little bit of everywhere, I suppose. I've done a lot of traveling the past several years. But I dare say what you meant to ask is why I'm here. I'll be starting Cambridge this fall, and seeing as how my great-aunt is funding part of my education, I thought it only proper to thank her in person."

"Cambridge? What ever would you want to go there for?"

"It's really the only suitable institution in the country."

"Hardly. Everyone knows Oxford is the place to be."

Gellert scoffed. "Sure, if you don't mind being a couple years behind in what you're learning."

Gellert glanced sideways at him, and when their eyes met, Albus' soul shuddered. He wasn't sure exactly what caused it. Perhaps it was the fear-inducing, earth-shattering revelation that someone else was capable of reading every second of his life and deciphering the intent. Maybe it was the ego-bruising recognition that he could no longer claim a superiority that had always come naturally but, instead, that he would have to earn it. In the end, Albus decided it was all that and then some; he had finally found someone he could consider an equal.

"I assume, then, that you're going to Oxford this year," Gellert said. It wasn't exactly a question, but Albus decided to address it as one.

"I was. Figured I'd spend a year traveling and then start my studies, but..."

"But?"

Albus could feel those steely eyes boring holes through his facade without even looking. When had the conversation turned back to him, anyway? He had to remember to keep his wits about him. This wasn't one of the normal pea-brained peasants he was used to dealing. Even a little slip and he could easily say too much.

"Well, things came up," he said with a shrug.

Gellert seemed content with that answer, and they lapsed into silence as they made their way to the chapel at the end of Church Lane.

"Really not much here to see, is there?" Gellert asked as he took a seat on the top step, just before the door of the church.

"No. Some cottages, a couple shops, a shoddy pub that residents use as an excuse to remain perpetually drunk."

"And a church." Gellert flashed a small grin as he threw his thumb over his shoulder to motion toward the building behind him.

"Ah, yes, of course. And a church."

Their conversation was interrupted when a screech of "Albus Dumbledore!" broke through the silence of the hollow. A slight prick of pain began to throb in the front of his head. Aberforth must be at it again. God, he was such a brash, annoying teenager. Albus wished that, just once, he would consider the consequences rather than firing off the first thought that popped into that tiny, little brain of his.

Sure enough, when Albus turned to look, there was Mrs. Abbott stamping her way up Church Lane, towing Aberforth along by the ear. It was incredible that he didn't have an elongated lobe by now, with how often he was dragged around by it.

Mrs. Abbott had hiked up the front of her forest-green dress with her spare hand, but the back of it still trailed the dirt, leaving a swirling cloud of dust in her wake. The black feather in her silk-trimmed, straw hat pitched and bobbed angrily as she approached.

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Abbott. You're looking quite lovely today," Albus said with a smile.

"None of that now, Albus. You won't placate me so easily. Not this time. You'll never guess what your brother's been up to."

Albus wasn't so sure of that. No, he was fairly certain he'd be able to guess it. His brother wasn't particularly creative, and there were already numerous theories fluttering around his brain. That was obviously not her actual intention, though, so he simply said, "Oh? What's he done now?"

"I caught your brother throwing goat dung at people as they were leaving the pub!" She yanked hard on the ear in her left hand, and Aberforth winced but remained silent. At least he had that much sense.

"I apologize for my brother, Mrs. Abbott, but—"

He was cut short as Gellert started to chuckle. Very soft, very boyish, and far too short-lived. Albus almost wished he'd continued.

"You find this amusing?" Mrs. Abbott snapped, turning her hawkish stare on him. He seemed largely unaffected by her attempts at intimidation.

"Perish the thought, ma'am. There is nothing at all funny about a boy disrespecting his elders."

"Then why are you laughing?"

"Forgive me for my rudeness. I couldn't help but think that they would have truly been shit-faced, in every meaning of the term."

Mrs. Abbott's frown quivered, a smirk threatening to break her stern countenance. She managed to regain her composure before that happened, but when she spoke again, her words had lost their bite.

"Yes, well, I'll leave him in your care, Albus, and I trust you can handle the situation?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Fine then." With a huff and a flurry of fabric, she stormed back down Church Lane.

"Aberforth—" Albus began, but his brother simply crossed his arms and looked away.

"Don't bother. I don't wanna hear it."

"Of course you don't, because you hear it almost every day! You think I'm not tired of saying it? Jesus Christ, I know you're not nearly as stupid as you look, which is lucky for you because you sure looked like a damned fool being dragged around by your ear."

"What are you even doing here, anyway? Shouldn't you be at home?"

"She's not a child anymore. I don't need to spend every minute playing mama bird to her. I have a life, too. And where were you? Out playing with shit. Please, Aberforth, spare me the lectures."

Albus started when Gellert cleared his throat from a few feet away, having completely forgotten the other man was there.

"I should be on my way. I suppose Auntie will be expecting me, and it looks like you have family matters to attend to. It's been a lovely chat, Albus," he said, nodding his head ever-so-slightly. "We should do it again sometime. Take care, for now."

Gellert was down the church steps and already striding along Church Lane before Albus could even utter a word. It wasn't a question. He seemed to have a rather bad habit of doing that. What was even more frustrating was that of course he would call on Gellert again. He had to. Intelligent conversation was in short supply in Godric's Hollow, and there was no way he'd let the chance slip through his fingers. Not with everything else he'd been forced to give up.

"Let's go home. Don't." Albus shook his head as Aberforth opened his mouth, presumably to argue. "Let's just go home. Together."

Aberforth trailed several meters behind him the whole walk to the house, dragging along like a dog on a chain. How foolish they must look! The residents of Godric's Hollow pitied them—the poor, orphaned Dumbledores. The look in their eyes made bile rise in his throat—judging them like an old work horse that no one had the heart to put down.

God, what must Gellert think after witnessing that outburst? Albus knew he shouldn't care about the newcomer's opinions. A wave of warmth filled his body, causing his cheeks to tingle. He had to admit, infuriating though it was, that he did very much care what the winsome stranger's opinion of him was. A fresh wave of anger washed over him, but he swallowed his bitterness as they approached the house.

"Look now, it's still in one piece," he called over his shoulder. Aberforth simply huffed, but Albus noted the relief that softened his features and unknitted his brows. His brother never was good at hiding his emotions, whatever they were.

Aberforth rushed ahead of him, slamming the door open and calling out, "Ariana! We're home! Where have you gotten yourself to now?"

He rushed off to another room, and Albus took the liberty of closing the door behind them. They did not live in a barn, but it was no use trying to impress that on his brother. Aberforth probably would've been happier if they did. Albus swept his eyes around the living room, surveying every inch of it. Everything was in order. She had been well-behaved while they were gone. That was a relief, at the very least.

He followed the sound of Aberforth's voice into the small room in the back that had been a study in its former life. Now, it was simply an amalgamation of things they weren't quite ready to get rid of and had nowhere else to put. His brother and sister were on the floor, bent over papers that were decorated with ink scribbles.

"Oh, you sure have been busy while we were gone, haven't you?" Aberforth was saying when he walked in. "They're all beautiful."

Ariana handed him a piece of paper and offered him a meek smile.

"Yes, yes, this one especially. Uh, what is it?"

Ariana furrowed her brow at him and pulled her thin lips down into a pout.

"Kidding. Just kidding. Of course this is a bunny sitting on a log having a lovely conversation with the snake in this here tree, right?" Aberforth glanced at Ariana's face and shook his head slowly. "No? Well, it's still lovely, just the same."

Albus caught himself smiling, before he was able to stop it. Despite all of his brother's shortcomings—and there were many—Aberforth was an exceptional caregiver. It was something that Albus had neither the patience nor desire for, so it was doubly remarkable, the amount of care his brother afforded Ariana.

"What about this one?"

Ariana snatched the paper from Aberforth before he could pick it up and get a proper look at it. She shuffled over to stand before Albus and held it out to him.

"Oh? Is this one for me?"

She nodded, her lips entertaining the slightest smile.

In the drawing, there were three figures standing in front of their house. Just three. That was their family now. How quickly their mother was forgotten. He wondered, for just a second, if she even understood what she had done and if she regretted it. When he looked up from the paper and into her innocent, expectant face, he concluded that she did not.

"This is a lovely portrait of our family, Ariana," he said, and she beamed with pride.

"Why don't we go put on some tea?" Aberforth announced, laying a hand on Ariana's arm to guide her out of the room. "I suppose Albus can handle dinner, and, if we're lucky, maybe tonight he won't cook it until it's an unrecognizable, black heap of tar."

Albus scoffed, but he let his brother slip past without an argument. In all honesty, he really was an exceptionally lousy cook. Besides, they were all still reeling from the hand they had been dealt. It wasn't their fault, the situation they were in, and part of the blame rested on his shoulders, too. After all, Aberforth had volunteered to become Ariana's caregiver, but Albus had insisted on his brother finishing school. They needn't all waste their futures. No, just him. That would suffice.

Three years stuck here, of all places, would feel like an eternity, but it wasn't like his wit would magically deteriorate in that time. In three years, Albus could still pursue his goals. A bit later in life, perhaps, than he intended, and maybe slightly more drained. Nevertheless, family was still family, and he couldn't just abandon them to their own devices.