Disclaimer: I own nothing.

A/N: Oops. Hi there. No promises on chapter 5. Once I start writing it'll probably be done in under a week, but who knows. Enjoy.

"On three!" Morgan roared over the din of the battlefield. "One, two, three-"

"Tempestas!" Albus yelled as the shields dropped, sending a miniature hurricane through the ranks. Rotted limbs and desiccated body parts flew as the storm tore through the zombies, sending the horde flying back and away from the legion of exhausted Wardens.

The necromancer howled in frustration, but continued his incessant drumming.

"Give up, Grevane!" Luccio called across the charred, pitted ground. "Cooperate with us against your master and we may reach an agreement!"

Ignoring her, Grevane redoubled on his shield. His zombies, what remained of them, began to pick themselves off the ground.

Morgan shoved his way to Albus' side. "We need to end, this, now. Our shields aren't going to survive another rush."

"Do you have any suggestions?" Albus asked, strain coloring his voice.

"Pull out that bag of tricks you've got, Dumbledore," Morgan hissed. "Now's not the time for intellectual secrecy."

Albus grunted, and pulled out his Warden's sword. The blade's edge flickered with a blue glow as he drew his arm back.

Ramming his mind into a state of serenity, the world dropped away. The roar of the battlefield became a gentle murmur, the smell of death turned into an abstraction.

The wind came to him.

Albus snapped his arm forward, letting the sword fly free. It tumbled on the current, ringing with the sound of justice. The wind bore it past the zombies, and the magic of the blade tore through the necromancer's shields. With a dull thunk, it embedded itself into Grevan's shoulder.

As his shields faltered, the Wardens sent forth their magic, but the zombies took the brunt of the attack. In the ensuing confusion, Gevane tore a hole into the Nevernever.

Luccio spat something in Italian that made Albus blush. "Alright, let's clean up the bodies."

Grevane's retreat had cut off the heartbeat that animated the zombies, reverting them to inanimate corpses that now littered the ground.

As the rest of the Wardens began torching the bodies, Albus stood by in silence. Kemmler's reappearance had surprised only the most dim-witted fools, and the Council had been preparing behind-the-scenes for years.

They hadn't counted on his apprentices. They were numerous, powerful, and well-trained – surprisingly so, for the limited time they'd have had to learn.

The Wardens had run into six so far, and managed to dispatch two, corpses burnt to ashes. Nothing was certain with necromancers, but that was the best one could do on short notice. They'd be taking more precautions with Kemmler, no doubt, when they ran him down.

If they ran him down. The Wardens had lost more than one member running headlong into Kemmler's traps and fighting his lieutenants, and that number would only increase. Meanwhile, Kemmler was rampaging around Europe, trying to perform a Rite of Ascension.

If they didn't stop him in time, well. Albus smiled a grim smile. They'd go down fighting.

And then Captain Luccio stepped up to Albus Dumbledore, reluctant Warden-conscript, and brought up the last thing he wanted to think about. "You can't run from him forever, Albus."

Albus stilled, and the wind fluttered about him in agitation. The worst part was that she was right, he was avoiding confronting Grindelwald. The mere mention of his name made Albus uncomfortable. But how was he supposed to have known, all those years ago when he had sworn to hunt Gellert down, that his former friend would succeed in his ambition in procuring the Elder Wand?

For Gellert had been one of the six apprentices the Wardens had run into, and the only one they had retreated from. Five good Wardens had died that day, slaughtered in one blast. The remaining three had been hard-pressed to hold him off before they secured their escape.

And now the Council wanted Albus to hunt him down, out of some misguided notion that their childhood familiarity might give him a better chance. Never mind that he was exactly the wrong person to hunt him down, his desire for vengeance ought to have disqualified him from the task. The Senior Council was too busy hunting down Kemmler himself, and the rest of the Wardens too cowardly to try taking Gellert on again.

Perhaps he himself was too much of a coward. And he knew, even if the Council did not, that he sought no vengeance. His past was long buried, and his desire to see Gellert defeated was no greater than to see any of Kemmler's other apprentices put down.

Turning to Luccio, Albus nodded. "I'll find him. Be prepared to deal with him on your own after that, though." They shared a grim smile.

Well, he thought with a touch of bitter amusement, perhaps he did have a reason to hunt down Gellert. After all, the Wardens could use somebody who owned the Elder Wand.

=(.o0O0o.)=

Surrounded by the whispers of the shadowed evening, Albus walked up the cobbled path. The house towered above him, as stately and majestic as it had been during his apprenticeship.

As he made his way past the gate, Albus glanced around. The front gardens remained the same, much like the house. This was a place lost in time, and Albus felt a faint discomfort at disturbing it. But needs must, he thought with a sigh, and Albus walked up to the front door and knocked.

A minute later, Nicolas Flamel opened the door and greeted Albus with a smile. "It's been a while, Albus. Come to pay an old man a visit?" His tone belied his words, however. He knew this was no social call.

Albus tipped his head in a short bow. "I have, sir. And a request to make of you, if you shall grant it."

"Over tea, perhaps," Nicolas replied, and stepped out of the doorway.

Albus stepped through the doorway, and felt the familiar shift as the wards recognized him. His mentor had kept him keyed in, after all these years? A good sign, perhaps.

Albus followed Nicolas through the familiar hallways into the kitchen. A pot of water was already boiling, and Albus hid a smile. His arrival had not been unexpected, then. Which, upon further reflection, could have meant anything, but such thinking was pointless.

The two men seated themselves on opposite sides of the table, looking at each other over their steaming cups of tea. Albus recognized the familiar power play – the first to speak would be the first to lose. He wasn't much interested in playing head games, however, and decided to discard with the game. "As I said, sir, I have a request to make of you."

"So you said," Nicolas agreed, face revealing the slightest touch of amusement.

"There is an item in your collection that I wish to borrow for a ritual," Albus continued, ignoring the way Nicolas' expression shuttered, "the Mirror of Erised."

Judging by the silence that had overtaken his former mentor, the target of his request had been unexpected. This time, though, Albus felt no desire to break the silence. Rushing Nicolas was never a good way to get him to agree to anything.

"So," Nicolas said, having gathered his thoughts. "You seek Gellert Grindelwald."

Albus blinked, too surprised to offer any sort of meaningful response. How could Nicolas possibly have known...? He hadn't been in communication with the Council for some time now, of that much Albus was certain.

Finally, Albus nodded. How Nicolas had deduced the information was something to be considered later.

"It is not out of any personal desire of mine," Albus offered. "The Council rather insisted."

Sighing, Nicolas looked into his cup. "I know, Albus. If I hadn't thought that you had gotten over your obsession with revenge, I'd never have passed you as my apprentice. Those fools on the Council, though..." His face darkened with some unseen memory. "Let's just say I'm not surprised that they're sending you out to do their dirty work. It is odd, though, you'd think they'd have chosen someone else. On the other hand, perhaps not."

Having come to some internal agreement, Nicolas pinned Albus with his gaze. "From what you told me, Grindelwald was never a wizard to be taken lightly. And now he has the Elder Wand. He could probably take on a Senior Council member and leave standing."

Albus nodded his agreement, though confused. Really, he was the last person who would underestimate his opponent.

"What you may not know, perhaps, is that each owner of the Elder Wand is usually taken down by ambush or trickery." Nicolas gave him a sardonic smile. "In fact, I don't know of a single time that it was passed on through direct battle."

"Truly?" Albus asked, surprised. He had not thought the Elder Wand to be so powerful that its seekers did not dare confront each respective owner in battle, for surely some of its owners had to be wizards of middling power themselves.

It was not impossible to ambush a wizard, after all. Poison or a knife to the heart would kill one just fine, leaving little opportunity for a death curse in either case. Which left open the possibility – no, likelihood, that a wizard of average power had once owned the Elder Wand.

And if a wizard of average power became such a formidable opponent that stronger wizards did not wish to engage him in open combat... Albus gripped his teacup with a shaking hand.

"So you see my dilemma, Albus," Nicolas said with a gentle tone, breaking the reverie. "How can I in good conscience assist you on this mission?"

It took Albus a moment to form the thought, and it brought a melancholy smile to his face. "Will you do it, sir?" he asked, looking up. "For somebody must. The Senior Council has a desperate hope that it will be me, for they fear the loss of one of their own. Kemmler is but a vengeful ghost to be banished, but Gellert tears at our numbers with savage ferocity; they cannot afford to let him live, yet they cannot afford to face him themselves. And so it falls to me to do the deed." A bitter laugh escaped him. "And even in my failure would their goal be achieved, for my death curse would leave little of him to be found."

At this grim pronouncement, Nicolas put his cup down and closed his eyes. "I do not interfere in Council matters if I can help it, Albus. Nor am I a Warden." Nicolas opened his eyes and regarded Albus with a keen expression. "And yet, if you had your way, you wouldn't be one either. So perhaps it falls upon the unwilling to settle this fight. Come with me, Albus."

At this, Nicolas stood up from the table. Albus mirrored him with a vague feeling of shock. He hadn't truly expected to receive any assistance here.

Nicolas led him through the familiar hallways of the house until they reached an ancient wooden door with an iron handle. The wards around the door were clustered in a thick knot, making the air pulse around it. Albus had spent many leisure hours during his apprenticeship wondering what was behind it. The Philospher's Stone had been his first and best guess, but it seemed that the room contained other mysteries.

His former mentor pulled the door open with nary a word or a gesture and motioned him inside. The darkness was stifling, but the heavy feel of unfamiliar magic was nothing short of awe-inspiring. From behind him, Nicolas snapped his fingers and several wall-mounted torches bloomed into light.

Albus looked around in surprise. The room was tiny, with four gray stone walls enclosing a space smaller than his water closet. At the far end stood an ornate mirror, a flowery, golden inscription gracing its head. Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi. I show not your face but your heart's desire, Albus translated. With a fierce application of will he managed to keep his eyes away from the mirror. Such a tool could be useful, but also dangerous. The information that it showed him would be coming from his own head.

Unless he used it as the focus for a tracking spell.

Glancing down, Albus noticed the dull gray pentacle enveloped by a lighter-colored circle, all inscribed in the stone floor. A ritual room as well as a safe place for storage. Interesting.

From behind him, Nicolas cleared his throat. "Do you have everything you need, Albus?"

The auburn-haired wizard nodded. "I don't imagine it will take much," he replied.

A soft sigh. "No, it won't. Come find me when you're done."

The door closed with a click, and Albus stood still for a moment, letting the torchlight play over him. He had considered his options before coming here, and none of them were very good. With the mirror, finding Gellert would be easy, wards or no wards. Keeping track of him after the spell was cast would be tricky, but possible. Keeping track of the necromancer in a way that would allow Albus to ambush him, however...

There was only one option. A distasteful one, to be sure. But, in the end, necessary.

Albus closed his eyes for a few brief seconds, then opened them. Ariana's eyes stared back at him from the mirror, guileless and bright.

He strode forward, the turbulence in his mind falling quiet. Grasping the mirror by the sides with firm hands, Albus placed it with determined precision into the center of the pentagram.

With a gentle application of will, he closed the circle. There would be no tools or fancy visualizations. Just his mind and magic, and a cold desire to end the conflict that had started so many years ago.

Images of Gellert flooded his mind, the good times and the bad. What he must look like now, having steeped himself in the blackest of all magics. What he would look like after Albus was done with him.

His right hand rose, almost of its own volition. Magic gathered in him; the wind, his own. The earth, the leyline. The seductive whisper in his ear, the mirror. His finger came to rest on the top end of the mirror's frame, a sharp point.

Albus pushed, ignoring the dull flare of pain from the puncture, and released the magic he had been holding within. "Quaerel."

He stepped backwards, breaking the circle, and the spell crashed into him. Letting out a short gasp of pain, Albus opened his eyes and watched as the blood coating the sharp tip of the mirror disappeared.

The magic pulled so hard he could almost imagine his heart bursting out of his chest. He fought it down with a grunt, ignoring the images streaming through his head. He would use them once he reached his target.

Albus left the mirror where it lay and made his way to the foyer, the spell prickling under his skin, racing through his veins. Nicolas stood next to the doorway, and when he caught sight of Albus, his eyebrows went up. "Really?"

Albus shrugged, a sardonic smile playing about his lips. "Gellert is a formidable opponent, to say nothing of the Elder Wand. I simply wished to grant myself a commensurate advantage."

"You don't say," the elder wizard drawled, then gave him a sharp look. "What happens if he dies?"

"I suppose it will hurt rather badly," the younger replied with an indifferent shrug. "But it will still hurt less than failing would, I imagine."

Nicolas frowned, then nodded. "Tread lightly, Albus. There are few good roads from here."

Albus dipped his head in acknowledgment, and left.

=(.o0O0o.)=

The spirit world was a dangerous place, yet Albus strolled down a remote path in the Nevernever unconcerned by any possible threat. The spell guiding him was intelligent; not self-aware, perhaps, but smart enough to guide him by the shortest and safest route to his destination.

Albus felt spell's pull increasing. Dead leaves and twigs crunched under his boots, the desiccated corpses of the trees from which they came cloistering him from any sunlight in the barren wasteland. Given the state of his surroundings, he suspected that he was walking on the other side of a graveyard. Or any other place with a long history of death, really.

A perfect place for a necromancer to set up base.

At least Gellert was alone, according to the steady stream of information from the spell. One wizard, whose every movement and spell he would be able to anticipate with magically-enhanced accuracy, might be manageable, even counting the power of the Elder Wand. Any accomplices were not the target of his spell, and thus would be free to stir up trouble.

The magic coursing through him twitched, and Albus pulled up short. Raising his staff, he began constructing a shield to surround him. Such a construct would be weak and short-lived, but it was his best option for fending off an ambush on the other side. Not that he thought an ambush was likely, but why take chances?

Shield raised, Albus opened a hole back to reality with a smooth gesture. As he stepped through, he was greeted by a sight that reminded him forcibly of the path he had just walked. There were no dead trees littering the landscape, but the ground was just as lifeless and the air just as silent. Looking around, he saw nothing of note, and wondered if the spell had led him astray.

Then he chided himself for being foolish and closed his eyes, focusing on the spell once more. His destination immediately became clear. Whirling around, he strode off at a brisk clip. Not even a minute had passed before the heavy tang of necromantic magic began to press itself onto him.

It seemed that Gellert was either in the middle of a large working, or had just completed one. The first would be to his advantage. The second would very much not be.

Stopping for a second to cast a veil covering sight and sound, Albus considered his approach. The spell was supposed to grant him a minor form of Intellectus related to his target. The theory was sound, and so far it had performed to his expectations. But one could never be sure with untested waters, and this was about as untested a spell as he'd ever performed. To attack with caution, or to attack with confidence? Albus supposed he would let the circumstances dictate his strategy.

A man's form was visible on the horizon, now. He appeared to be standing still with his back toward Albus. The leaden sensation of black magic was growing heavier. Albus began to siphon power from the ground, taking care to avoid the darkest of it. He had no desire to touch such magic, nor to alert his opponent of his arrival.

He was within shouting distance now. With a near-silent breath, Albus released the binding spell he had been constructing. The rush of magic crossed the distance between them in almost no time at all, but Gellert turned around at the last second and slashed a wand through the air. The spell shattered into streamers of azure light.

The blond-haired wizard's eyes settled on Albus' general area. "Come alone, have you, my old friend?" His mouth twisted in a sneer. "You must be very confident in your abilities."

Albus said nothing. He knew he would not be able to convince Gellert to turn himself in, and had no particular desire to give away his position any further. Instead, he sent out a wave of concussive force, paying close attention to the information the spell was providing him.

Inside his head, Gellert raised clear light-blue barrier that neatly withstood his attack. A split-second later, the dust cleared, and Albus saw Gellert hiding behind the same barrier.

The warden smiled. It wasn't a nice smile. What he was about to do wasn't very nice either.

Sidestepping a bolt of silver light (now wasn't that familiar?), Albus pointed his staff at the ground and intoned an incantation. Sharp chips of stone, as large as his head, flew at his opponent. Gellert began his response, but Albus was ready for it. The Elder Wand made direct confrontation difficult, even with minor precognition. So he would simply turn its own power against its wielder.

The stones were flying back toward him, but he was already five steps to the left. Instead of hitting him, they were caught in a net of his magic. Albus swung his staff around his body, using his magic as a slingshot to send the avalanche back at Gellert.

The necromancer had not been expecting such a tactic, but he still managed to block the fusillade. He didn't manage to block the hammer-blow of compressed air that Albus had sent after it.

Gellert had an almost comical look of surprise on his face as he tumbled to the ground, the Wand separated from him.

Eyes hard, jaw set, Albus jabbed his staff at the crumpled form of his opponent. A giant spike of stone erupted from the ground, penetrating Gellert's chest in a shower of gore.

At the same time, his head erupted in agony. He clutched his staff for support, trying to cancel the spell. After a brief moment, he succeeded, but the headache remained.

Having regained his wits, Albus untied a small pouch that had been hanging around his neck. Approaching the corpse, he upended the pouch over the body without ceremony. His enemy salted, Albus took a few steps back. "Inflammare."

The body burned. Glancing around, Albus spotted the Wand lying on the ground just a few meters off. It almost seemed to be calling to him. He hesitated. What justifications had the previous owners of the wand given themselves before taking it? Did it even matter? There were few wizards he could think of that he would trust with this sort of power. His own record was far from spotless. Nonetheless, he would ask those few if they wanted it. Mind made up, he stooped down to pick up the slim piece of wood. As his fingers grasped it, a rush went through him.

Albus felt it, then, a near-physical thing, like a cold weight across his shoulders; the grim burden of power.