When asked, Albus was never quite able to articulate exactly why he chose to spend so much time in the graveyard. He might flippantly reply that, between them, the two boys had more than enough life, so they did not fear the dead. Perhaps he would confess his morbid fascination for the markers, the way a person's whole existence could be summed up with a few words and a slab of stone. But the truth was this: it was private, and unlike everything else in life, it felt right. So the graveyard had become theirs .

"Remind me again why we're here." Gellert looked sharp in his pressed trousers and dress shirt, but also bored. Not nearly as bored as he seemed in church, though.

Albus attended every Sunday to keep up appearances, if nothing else, but for the life of him, he couldn't figure out why Gellert went. He knew no God, as far as Albus could tell. Yet, there he'd been, sliding into the back pew beside him, like that's where he belonged.

"Because no one else comes here. That makes it perfect."

Gellert grunted as he unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up to the elbows. Next to go were the top two buttons of his shirt, and Albus looked away, pretending not to notice.

"Well, I suppose most people don't consider it in good form to consort with the dead."

"It's simpler than that, even. People say there's a curse." Albus held aside a shrub and motioned for Gellert to follow deeper into the cemetery, where the oldest graves lay undisturbed. They had been forfeited to nature, and she reclaimed her territory with a vengeance. Headstones hid their faces behind small trees and shrubs and ferns, and moss grew wild on whatever spare surface it could find.

Gellert held a branch for him to pass. "Do you believe it's cursed?" With a twinkle in his eye, he let the branch snap back into place, swatting Albus lightly in the back.

"No," Albus said, brushing leaves off his good clothes. Maybe, his heart echoed. The people in this part of the cemetery had all been born and died in Godric's Hollow, and if that wasn't a curse, he didn't know what was. Day by day, he felt it in his bones—an insidious, gnawing fear that this would be his fate. That no matter how far he ran, how high he climbed, the Hollow would pull him back in and, eventually, devour him. Maybe he was cursed, after all.

"What's back here, anyway?" Gellert scanned the clearing. It was small and cluttered, with overgrowth nearly spilling out of its borders.

"Aside from peace and quiet?" As if that wasn't enough. "These are the oldest graves, the ones that have been forgotten."

Albus squatted down and wiped the moss from one of the stones, revealing a name lost to time: Ignotus Peverell.

"These are the ones who escaped from Godric's Hollow."

His finger drifted lower on the marker, to where a symbol was dug into the stone. Albus traced first the triangle, then the circle inside, then the vertical line.

"But they came back, didn't they?"

The words were a whisper in his ear, soft and warm. Gellert was right behind him now, so close that Albus swore he could feel his heart beating. Thump-thump. Thump-thump. For just a second, Albus was convinced their hearts were in sync. Given enough time, they would become one.

"Yes. And everything they accomplished in the interim?" Albus traced along the symbol again, only backward this time. "Lost."

"But you wouldn't make that mistake, would you?"

Gellert traced the symbol the other way, and at some point, their fingers overlapped and crossed. Electricity arced between them, supercharging Albus' heart until it beat double-time. Warmth flared against his back like a fire, consuming him. Hot, sticky breath puffed against his ear as Gellert leaned in close, pressing their bodies together.

"When you leave, you won't come back."

"No. I won't."

~(X)~

"Surely you, of all people, can picture it, can't you, Albus?" Gellert was saying as he paced back and forth among the tombstones, what little space there was.

Picture it? No, Albus couldn't picture the future; he was far too caught up in the present. The setting sun rested on the horizon like a halo just above those golden curls, making his companion little more than an ethereal shadow in the growing twilight. Those steely eyes sparked to life, reflecting the light of a hundred dreams as if they were fractals off a gemstone. The way that voice lilted and dipped, animated by his conviction, stirred Albus' soul. Society would never accept the way he felt, but was love ever truly wrong?

"It's not that simple, Gellert. You'll never manage to dethrone King George. England has always been a monarchy and always will be. Change, in that regard, has always proved futile."

"That's the beauty of it. I'm not proposing overthrowing anyone. Political coups are messy business. Quite out of my league. I'm talking about a social revolution."

There was a fire in his tone that engulfed his words, and Albus quite liked it. It was invigorating, intoxicating.

"Imagine"—Gellert lowered onto a tombstone just in front of Albus, resting lightly on the top of it—"a society led by capable people. Not just the nitwits and ninnies that erroneously believe they know a thing or two. Real intellectuals, the best of society, regardless of their class."

"It sounds brilliant, but it'll never happen."

Gellert straightened up slowly, lips transfiguring into a crooked half-smile. Albus had come to know that look well; he was about to be told exactly why he was wrong.

"Of course it can happen. People who are capable of thinking for themselves simply need to be reminded how is all. They've forgotten, you see, because society says that they shouldn't think. Society says go to work, have a family, inherit your responsibilities. People like us, truly brilliant people, all they need is a little nudge in the right direction. If you free them from the burden society places on them, imagine what such a person could become. Unrestrained. Unfettered. Free to be whoever he wants to be."

Albus was no stranger to burden. In fact, disconcertingly enough, they appeared to have become strange bedfellows, an unwilling ally that he found he couldn't rid himself of. There were others out there like him. There had to be. Other people who could aspire to greatness, who could rise even out of the dredges of society.

"We'll be like benefactors, then?"

"Of course. We'll show them just how far their intellect can take them. We can do it together, Albus, you and I. We'll make an excellent pair." As he spoke, Gellert closed the gap between them slowly, step by step.

Albus' heart raced, and no amount of concentration would steady it. His palms were damp with sweat, and he buried them in the pockets of his pants so they wouldn't give him away. They had spent the afternoon talking, always with a couple tombs between them, but now…

Another step closer. Then another. What was he playing at? Albus sought an answer in Gellert's eyes, but he was forced to look away. He withered under the powerful scrutiny of that hawkish gaze, melting into the subtle softness in which he was being regarded. Like he was the only person in the world that mattered; like he was the only person in the world.

Two more steps, until they were toe to toe. Albus instinctively leaned back, only to find a tree trunk blocking his escape. There was nowhere to go now, with Gellert so close that he could smell his aftershave—a sort of sugary-sweet aroma that made his mind swim. No, it was wrong. What if someone saw them? What would they think? What … would …

As Gellert leaned closer, resting one palm on the tree to steady himself and leaving the other tucked neatly behind his back, Albus realized that he wanted this far more than he cared about what anyone in Godric's Hollow thought. A slight tickle crawled up his neck and across his cheeks. He figured he looked rather ridiculous, a grown man acting like a blushing schoolgirl. His cheeks must have been the same deep shade of red as his hair, but there was nothing he could do to stop it as the heat crept the rest of the way up his face.

"We can have the world, Albus," Gellert whispered in his ear, and the soft vibrations made his knees tremble. "We can make it anything we want it to be. We'll do it together, you and I. Always together."

Yes, he wanted to say. Always. Their bodies were so close now, and the heat that arced between them was almost unbearable. Albus was sure he was being engulfed by flames. They weren't touching, not yet, but if he moved forward just a little, the tiniest step…

Before Albus could do anything, someone was at the gate of the cemetery calling his name. Lucky for them, they were tucked away from view toward the back of the plot, buried in the foliage where no one would be able to see.

"What do you want now, Aberforth?" Albus called back, not bothering to try to hide his annoyance.

"The sun's almost down."

"You know? I was just starting to wonder why it was getting so dark. I suppose that explains it. Thank goodness you were here."

There was a short pause and then, "I could use your help at home."

"I'm sure you can handle whatever it is. I have faith in your abilities."

"Do you really think I'd be here if it was that simple?"

"Your sister needs you," Gellert whispered, almost apologetically. The warmth receded as he took a step back, and Albus choked back the groan that threatened to spill out.

He was right—damn it, he was right—but, just once, Albus wanted him to be wrong.

He steadied himself, steeling his emotions the best he could. "Yes, I should go."

Albus pulled away, casting his eyes downward. He couldn't bear to look at Gellert, knowing that he had to walk away. He was overwhelmed with both anger and defeat, like a bird with clipped wings. At this rate, he would never know what it was like to fly.

~(X)~

The letter was short: one sentence on a scrap of paper. The script was bold and well-formed—borne from a mind that was determined and clear. There was only one sentence:

Come when you can get away.

Not if. When.

There was no signature. Instead, in its place, was a symbol: a circle in a triangle, bisected by a line. There was no mistaking who the letter was from.

With one last look, Albus pitched it into the fire. Only the flames knew their secrets, and who could they tell? As Albus donned his Mac jacket, Aberforth appeared in the doorway, as if the threat of his brother's happiness, however fleeting, had summoned him.

"Where are you going?" Aberforth picked absently at a scab on his forefinger, refusing to make eye contact.

"Out. I'm confident you can manage on your own."

"Something's wrong." The words were a whisper—a confession, almost, dragged out unwillingly.

"Something's always wrong, Abe. Something will always be wrong. Your worrying like a mother hen won't change that."

"No, Albus, something's wrong ."

This time, he heard what he'd missed before: fear. The words wobbled and pitched with an uncertainty not often displayed by his headstrong, foolhardy brother. Albus' pulse quickened in anticipation.

"Where?" he asked.

"The study."

With a sigh, Albus returned his jacket to the hook before starting down the hall to the study. In its former life, it had been a forbidden mystery to the Dumbledore children: a sanctuary for the eldest Dumbledore to do … well, whatever he did in it. That was one rule none of the children dared break, and so he had no idea what it had actually been used for. Stealing away for a nip of gin, for all he knew.

Now, it existed as a mausoleum, presiding over all the relics they didn't have the heart to get rid of, yet couldn't bear to see on display. The desk remained a showpiece in the center of the room. Once his father's pride and joy, it had accumulated dust and various knick-knacks that had no other home. Baubles and heirlooms were placed wherever they would fit, presumably without being destroyed, not that there was anyone left to mourn if they were.

The only important piece, as far as Albus was concerned, hung on the left wall in a golden frame—a portrait of his mother, Kendra Dumbledore. Beside it hung a matching portrait of Percival, only because they hadn't had the heart to remove it. Remembering the loss hurt, but so did forgetting.

Despite being a teenager now, Ariana had always been small for her age, and the fact was only highlighted as she stood before her mother's portrait looking small and insignificant. And delicate, like she might break at any moment. But she was already broken, and now, thanks to her, their family had shattered. Albus fought to quell the familiar burn of resentment that rose in his chest as he sidled up beside her.

"It's my fault," she whispered, never once taking her eyes off their mother's portrait.

Yes, a little voice said in the back of Albus' mind. One he would never dare assign words to.

"It was an accident, Ari. Accidents happen. You didn't mean it." It was the truth, but a hollow one. "Why don't we go to the kitchen, and I'll make you a cuppa?"

Albus tried to snake his arm around Ariana's shoulders and lead her there, but she shrugged him off, and he knew better than to push when she was in one of her moods.

"It should've been me instead."

Their eyes met—the same shade of blue, though the similarities stopped there. He was a bird yearning to fly, and she was the chain tethering him to the earth, unaware of her role.

Yes, Albus thought, as guilt gnawed holes in his gut, leaving gaping, festering wounds that ached with every breath. His mother, who had been fiercely intelligent and witty, with an aura big enough to fill all the voids and crannies lingering in Godric's Hollow. But what he said was, "No, of course not. Don't be silly. What would Abe and I ever do without you and all your masterpieces, hm?"

"This isn't like her, Al." Aberforth stood in the doorway, refusing to cross the threshold. Old habits die hard. Or not at all.

He was right. The voice was Ariana's, but the words felt hollow, like she was parroting someone else. She'd borrowed the sounds, but hadn't yet fully grasped the meaning. Hopefully, she never would. For her sake.

"How about a story? Rainy day like this is tailor-made for it."

"Will there be monsters?"

Albus smiled. "No, no monsters."

Who needed imaginary boogiemen, anyway? They were the monsters—the daughter who had killed her mother and the brother who loved and hated her in equal measure.

"Let's go, Ari. 'Atta girl." Aberforth held out his hand, and Ariana took it, allowing him to lead her to the parlor.

Albus sighed. Gellert would have to forgive him, but he just couldn't leave his family. Not tonight. Not ever. It was one thing, in a long line of things, that would remain unattainable. Might as well get accustomed to it now.