Denya stayed in silence, considering his words. From where they were, he could see Albus’ silhouette behind the window, keeping an eye on him. He hadn’t wanted Gellert to go alone, but Aberforth’s presence had stopped his lover from saying more than a vague word of disagreement and, if he was honest, he preferred it like that. Gellert felt his magic around him, however, protecting him, like a warm blanket over the shoulders on such a humid night, and made a mental note to apologise about it the moment they were alone.
“Who is the guardian?”
His eyes stopped on the bloodied teeth Denya held in her hands before meeting her eyes, he just couldn’t help himself, he had preferred to not ask Vinda about the details but he was starting to regret it, they had been ripped out of the gums.
“Who is the guardian,” he repeated to let her know he didn’t understand. He sighed. “Gods, I’ve told you, Dee. The only Hallow in my power right now is the Wand. We meant no disrespect, we–”
“It felt like a void. Like a hole in the middle of my chest. You took a soul from Death, how else was I supposed to react? Tell me.” She sneered and the tip of her tongue touched the back of her sharpened teeth. Her voice, despite her anger, wasn’t louder than a whisper. “You should die. You should be dead. Both of you.”
Denya put the bones away on the sachet, the nasty expression never leaving her face. Gellert pressed his lips in a line, the smell of summer became that of putrefaction when she was around and the shadows behind the graves twisted unnaturally, as if alive. Necromancy, what a dreadful thing, it made his hair stand on end.
“And Death still decided to keep us both alive.” His eyes searched for Albus’s silhouette again, but he had left his place behind the window and it was now Aberforth who replaced him. “We meant no threat. No disrespect. Not to Her. And not to you.”
“A sacrifice–”
“I offered one of blood and she accepted it. Now, do you accept the one I offer you or do you wish to be at war for, how long, the rest of our lives?”
Denya shook her head, dismissively. For a few moments only the rustle of the wind playing with the leaves, sneaking between the branches of the trees, was heard. Suddenly, she turned and her eyes were fixed somewhere before them. She smiled eerily wide, looking over her shoulder to meet his eyes.
“And who is that.”
It wasn’t something he’d fall for, he smirked. They were surrounded by souls she could, of course, see and interact with.
“You know I can’t see beyond this realm. Not like this at least.” In dreams, it was different.
She rolled her eyes and started with her description, walking towards the darkness and pointing towards one of the tombs.
“Young. Her hair is of the red of a flame and her dress, white as the first snow. There. The soul is attached to–” She raised her head and drew the path to the Dumbledore household. “Who is she? She must have loved this place very much, she…” The wind shook a nearby cypress harshly. “There, she walks towards you. You look pale, Grindelwald?”
His gaze wandered over the cemetery, not very different to how he remembered it from his youth. He hadn’t stepped on Godric’s Hollow many times after he left that first time but in his brief visits he never failed to notice how the spell of time seemed to have frozen the small village behind glass. How things had changed since that summer. Albus had used to allow Ariana to walk with him in the evenings to leave fresh flowers on their mother’s tomb and he had happily accompanied them enough times to be able to feel at that very moment her hand in his, the shadow of a touch. His fingers twitched involuntarily.
“Ariana,” he said, avoiding Denya’s eyes; he didn’t want to see the reflection of the girl in them, feeling the familiar presence by his side was more than enough. “An old friend.”
“Your Albus’ little sister, isn’t she? ” Gellert wasn’t sure if there was an open path of communication between the soul of Ariana and Dee or if she just pointed out the obvious resemblance between them. “What a shame. So young.” After a long while, she asked, as an afterthought. “How is Trelahar?”
He licked his lips and felt them cold, even in the air he breathed he could taste the meeting must come to an end.
“Weak and wasted, but alive.”
She nodded. Gellert knew Denya didn’t feel much guilt, if anything, she wasn’t happy about having made a mistake. A surprisingly still-breathing Cassandra Trelahar was alive and kicking under Flamel’s roof in Paris. Vinda sent news about her almost every day as she was stuck in the city too.
I’m not leaving the kid to grow up here, she had told him a few days before, they had spoken through the floo network, head stuck into the chimney, whispering aggressively to each other in the middle of the night. So, what are you, abducting her? And the serious tone in which he had spoken had sent Albus into a silent fit of laughter. Vinda had looked at him in disbelief. I am adopting her, Gellert. Evan left everything to me, including the custody of his daughter. I don’t have much choice, really, it’s either that or she’ll– Wait, you knew about this. He had laughed. I did not, Merlin, Vinda, you think your family drama is that relevant to the course of the world for me to actually see this type of thing? I’m just surprised you are being so kind. But she hadn’t looked convinced and the look Albus had given him as he had sat next to him had not helped either.
Queenie currently waited for the two Vindas in America, she had gone back early to make amends with her sister and to make sure that muggle husband of hers had truly forgotten about her now that she was back in New York. Vinda and she had seen each other at some point in the past months of hiding, they had ended up in the same train, they had met at the muggle station in Genoa, differences had been solved. Vinda had been too vague in her story for him to actually picture it all inside his head, but reading between the lines hadn’t been very difficult, and now he owed Albus ten galleons.
“That’s good. Take care, pet.” Denya’s hand raised and she touched his temple with two fingers. “Keep me out of sight, stick to playing with the living, and we’ll be in peace.” She smiled that unsettling smile of hers. She didn’t understand her master’s doings, Death’s wishes were unfathomable, but she would obey. And if she had kept them alive, there must have been a reason. Gellert knew he could rest assured she wouldn’t be a problem in the future. “Oh, and say goodbye to your love for me, will you? I don’t hate him more than I hate you.”
“Nothing I wasn’t already aware of. Farewell, Dee.”
As she blended into the shadows, a familiar figure joined her by the fence. He didn’t stay any longer.
She had made Nostradamus her companion, with the teeth that rattled inside the pockets of his robes she could make a companion of Karkarov too if she wished to. That had been his offer for the necromancer. It was over, the war with Avernus was over and Albus and he had nothing else to settle. At last, no loose ends.
Gellert held back from running back to the Dumbledore household, his heart was racing and he knew it’d only be appeased after he saw Albus.
He was just in time to find the magizoologist leaving. Newt stopped at the gate and turned, wide-eyed, flinching as he heard his steps approaching. He gave Gellert a wary stare before bringing out of his suitcase a bright pink handkerchief, a portkey to take him away. The name Mildred was written on it and Gellert thought he had heard that name at least once before.
“What’s wrong with that one now?” He asked quietly, meeting Albus on the steps, but Albus was too focused on checking he was alright to bother with an answer, eyes anxiously roaming his face, his body, he didn’t even seem worried about Scamander’s strange departure. “You are not angry at me, are you?”
Albus caressed his cheek with the back of his hand as he leaned closer to kiss him.
“But I should be,” his warm lips brushing his cheek. “Come on in, you are freezing.”
He didn’t feel cold, but the touch of his hand, drawing the way up to his elbow, guiding him inside, felt like a burn.
Aberforth was gazing out of the window, his eyes focused on the cemetery. For an instant, Gellert wondered if he was able to see her, Ariana, his protector, his warden, returning a lifelong favour of love and care to her little tomb. But then he discarded the idea, it was not possible.
“And do you plan on getting rid of the boggarts tonight?” Aberforth spoke to his brother after taking a long judging look at Gellert who answered it with a tight-lipped smile.
Albus walked out of the kitchen with a refilled kettle between his hands and settled it on the table. Like moths to the flame, they all sat on the sofas and held their cups between their palms.
“We did before we came here, better in the daylight than at night, you know that.”
Aberforth stayed in silence, his eyes wandered over the window again. Gellert waited until Albus was sitting next to him to ask again about Scamander, but he spoke first as if he had read his mind.
“You were right.”
They had spoken about it, his sight didn’t show him destruction anymore but his nightmares were plagued with blood and gore. It was a no-brainer that the threat of war would not evaporate, even if the wizarding world had been spared for the moment.
“I often am,” he answered just to tease. “So. What did you say to him.”
Albus sighed and laid his cup on the table, Gellert’s hand searched for his.
“That we’d wait until the international governments came up with an answer to the current state of the Statute of Secrecy at least.”
He puffed. “And he took it terribly.”
“I’m used to people doubting my decisions, especially when it comes to this type of affairs. The Ministry doesn’t want me there, they didn’t want me before the war or after. We wait until they find a solution, and then, only the Gods know.”
Gellert smiled softly, I can’t solve everyone’s mess lingered in the air despite the fact that Albus had been too polite to utter it. Aberforth just sipped his tea. If Albus got involved he’d make sure the Statute wouldn’t be restored, not because of any of the ideas he defended in his youth, but because it didn’t make sense to deny magic’s existence anymore. They had been reading muggle papers for months, it was inevitable, everyone could see it was the end, the wizarding world was just too blinded by fear to see the later events supposed a before and an after in their mere existence.
The Statute had helped to protect both muggle and wizardkind from each other, the only way to continue that protection was by revealing the truth, blending the worlds. It was too much. It was too much. But it was the only way.
“What.”
Not that he was eager to see how’d it go, the current conflicts between governments and the fact that he had had a lot of time to think giving had led him to hypothetical circumstances, wizarding supremacy may have been out of his books for years already, but that didn’t mean he had stopped seeing muggle’s clear disadvantage. In the past, he had thought them stupid, he had lived enough to realise most people around him were, it didn’t matter the magic in their blood, both could set their curtains on fire by accident.
“Nothing.” Gellert’s smile widened. Gods, he could even read his silences. “I never thought we’d be on the same page on this, I almost feel like a bad influence.”
Albus raised his eyebrows. “My love, I’ve been openly saying that the Statute is obsolete for a while already, I published an essay after the war and it almost cost me my job. Dippet had to step in.”
Are you fucking serious serious? “Where was I again?”
Albus casually stole the cup from his hand and took a sip.
You have your own.
Yours tastes better.
“I don’t know, locked away somewhere probably.”
Even Aberforth made a noise at the back of his throat, the closest to an affable gesture they’d get out of him. Gellert snorted loudly.
“I’m surprised they didn’t try to lock you up after that.”
“They did,” Aberforth said and the brothers exchanged a look, a rare gleam shone in Aberforth’s eyes, almost youthful.
It all made Gellert hope for a reconciliation between them. Because it could happen. Because he was certain they both wished for it.
He chose to not ask anything else and waited for Albus and him to be alone instead to get the details. They drank in silence, deep in thought, Albus and him sharing cups, one after the other. Aberforth noticed, of course, he did, but he just sighed, half annoyed, half lenient, after so much time if he hadn’t gotten used to it it was because he had chosen not to.
Gellert’s eyes couldn’t help but drift to the basket on the table, full of cherries, rich in colour and taste, summer-sweet, the juice left the lips bloodied and the mouths sugar-coated. He remembered the taste from 1899, he dreamt of it for the rest of the summers after that one.
“Newt is worried about the thunderbird roaming the muggle world,” Albus started again after a few minutes. “He fears it’s trying to signal a final tragedy.”
“But he hasn’t located it yet, has he?”
He shook his head.
“I’m not sure there is much more we can avoid, Al, the course of history has already been changed and–”
“There are things that are set in the stars. I know. It’s fine. We already played our part in this. And we will again if it were necessary. But it makes no sense to be there right now.”
Albus had not wanted to reveal the truth about the cherry duke tree to his brother and, even though Gellert didn’t agree, he wouldn’t be the one to speak to Aberforth about it. He’d tell his aunt when she came back, though, she must be on a ship at the moment, in the middle of the Atlantic, returning home. He’d visit her way more often than he did in the past, he had already decided it.
When the clock struck twelve they wore their light coats and said goodbye. August 30th. Gellert waited by the door for the brothers to speak, no birthday wishes were uttered, just a weird conversation, uncomfortable for both parties, friendly enough. Aberforth had invited them home for Christmas, it was more often than not just him and Bathilda.
The old woman had become more and more private after the war, no more public appearances, no more Christmas galas in Krakow or Helsinki or Rome, Aberforth’s almost silent company and simple manners were preferred to the ornament of it all. He had asked Albus if he’d go back to Hogwarts. Albus’ answers had been vague, he had thanked him for everything again and Aberforth had gotten annoyed by it.
His eyes had wandered for a second out of the window and, if he had seen something, someone, he brushed it off with more dismissive words. Fawkes, perched on his shoulder, chirped brightly.
Gellert could only see a glimpse of the girl, dancing around the graves, a flash of white he wasn’t sure to be imagining. If it was real, he was sure it was because of the Wand, if not, he definitely needed to sleep. It was funny to think how both Dumbledores had been sent some kind of protection from something higher, holly; blood, tradition, the Gods, who knew, Promethean fire ran through their veins.
“You,” Aberforth called and it was probably the first time he had addressed him directly since they had been teenagers, “don’t force me to make promises I’ll regret.”
Albus tensed, his eyes were on him to check his reaction to the clear invitation to an open confrontation. Do something and I’ll fucking kill you with my own hands. For a second the air was charged with magic, but his answer was sheepish, he made it sound meek because passion would turn it into a fight.
“If I ever did him harm, I’d come here myself, you have my word.”
And they left, Albus interlocked his fingers with his and pulled, putting an end to their visit before it ended up in blood. Fawkes, still too weak to fly but too heavy to be hidden or carried around, could be seen next to Aberforth by the window, who didn’t look at them anymore, but at the graveyard.
The night was humid and the streets were empty, but Gellert waited until they were under the arch that hid the portkey to The Three Broomsticks to step in front of Albus and find his lips in the dark. Albus kissed back anxiously, his hands pulled him closer by the sleeves of his dark robes, by the belt of cloth that tied them, as if he’d disappear if he didn’t hold him tight enough.
“Hello. Happy birthday,” he mumbled against his mouth but Albus bit his lips, the stone wall sank on his back but he barely felt the pain. “Can I say it at least once?”
“Don’t you ever do that again,” he was speaking about meeting Denya alone and ignoring his words.
“I wouldn’t have if–”
But Albus bit harder, not interested in any explanation. He accepted the punishment, the comfort, the familiarity of his body against him, his mouth ghosting over his neck, his warm breath hitting his face. He held Albus’s face between his hands and caressed his cheeks with his thumbs. Look at me, look at me.
“Liebling.”
Albus shook his head at the same time that Gellert nodded.
“Don’t. I love you.”
It wasn’t a day to celebrate, Albus’s birthday and Ariana’s death shared the same date and the mirth of a celebration was more than sinful. The day she died, the day Albus asked him to leave and never come back, the day he left, angry and broken-hearted, to face the world alone, to raise a revolution from ash. Ariana could have been bright, Ariana could have been cured, she could have been alive if it weren’t for them, for the circumstances, for the stars that had already written her destiny in the sky.
No, it was true, it wasn’t a day for celebrations. But pain, if it couldn’t be kissed away, the least they could do was try to soothe it. I’m sorry I ever left you alone in this world, I should have stayed, I should have held your hand at the funeral, I should have tried to understand your brother, I’m sorry, I love you, I love you, forgive me, it’s no excuse, but I was young and selfish and hurt. I’m here now, I’ll be here forever.
“Newt is right to think something will happen.”
Of course Albus still turned the thought inside his head. Gellert ran his fingers through his hair, bright red even in the dim light.
“Yes, he is. But at this moment, there is nothing we can do. Am I wrong? Say I’m wrong and we’ll be on our way.”
Albus kissed his lips once more. “If there is war, it will be on muggle soil, you know that.”
He wondered how Albus could be so focused on thinking rational thoughts and creating full understandable sentences when he felt so intoxicated by his closeness, when he was fighting for coherence. He sighed and Albus took the opportunity to bring their mouths together again, he melted against him.
“Forgive me, I won’t lose sleep about it tonight, Al.”
“There’s nothing to forgive.” He wouldn’t either.
Gellert wasn’t surprised to learn he wasn’t the only one to have friends in hell, even if Albus’ leaned more on the metaphoric side. People liked him and people feared him and that was a mixture Gellert himself was used to embody. Their worlds, once before so different, had now blended, and Hogsmeade welcomed them with silence and open doors.
He still covered his head with a hood and stayed a few steps behind him. Albus found it silly, everyone knew who accompanied him, but Gellert knew his past wasn’t something people forgot about; it was easier to welcome a faceless stranger that went with Albus Dumbledore than a killer, a terrorist, a madman, or any of the labels they had thrown at him before and during the war. His name would forever be a curse.
For two months they had stayed by the seaside, the Colossus of Rhodes had been an imaginary protector during their hiding and the nights of nightmares and uncertainty had been outshone by the summer breeze and the blinding sun. It hadn’t been half as terrible as he had thought it would be; Albus had made sure he didn’t stay too much inside his own head, not alone at least, and he had forced Albus to walk in the sand and swim in the sea at dusk with him, when nobody would be able to spot them.
Most of the time they had spent reading papers, when the papers stopped being interesting and repeating the news from the days before and their names were only mentioned by the gossip columns, they waited for the sign to come back to the world reading Homer and Virgil. Flamel’s note arrived on one of the papers, in the form of a calligram, and it took them a week to notice it and one hour to decipher it.
The Three Broomsticks was full at that time of the month, the school year was about to start and there were always families, teachers and solo students who came from afar and chose to crash there while they managed to gather their supplies apart from the already many travellers that often stayed there. It was a few streets away from the Hog’s Head, but it wasn’t difficult for Gellert to imagine the reason why they preferred The Three Broomsticks to Aberforth’s inn.
“It’s not a birthday present,” he started once they were behind closed doors.
Albus rolled his eyes and went to the bathroom, where he had left the matches to light the white candle for his sister’s soul.
Gellert patted the spot next to him, at the feet of the bed, and Albus sat down only after snapping a few matches in his fingers and using wandless magic on the wick out of frustration to light it up.
“I promised myself I’d show you when we got rid of the boggarts at my aunt’s. The day just happens to be today.”
Albus stared back at him, waiting, his posture was tense, but the smile tugging at one of the corners of his mouth gave him away, he was curious. The intensity of his gaze made him look down, to the Elder wand between his fingers, his cheeks felt warm. Albus seemed to understand something was shifting inside his head, but he was trying not to reach for him. Gellert felt the electricity of his magic in the air instead.
Suddenly, he was very young, back in Albus’ childhood bedroom, brushing his hand by accident when they passed books, pens and parchments between them, and spiralling into violent shame immediately; because Albus had been very discreet about his yearning for him while he had felt love knocking him out with every touch.
When they had spoken about it after they had gotten together, Albus had assured him that, until the very end, Gellert had made him doubt. And still, that very first kiss had been confident, Albus’ lips against his hadn’t even trembled while he had waited one terrifying second to start kissing back.
He raised his eyes to meet his. Albus, expectant, caressed his finger with the tip of his index, his eyes scanning his face, not wanting to interrupt his thoughts, unable to keep his hands to himself anymore. Gellert didn’t need to find a specific memory to cast the spell, that instant was enough.
“Expecto Patronum,” he murmured and the phoenix of light left his wand an instant later.
It took a short flight around the room before vanishing and leaving them in darkness, taking with it all sources of light in the room and only leaving the candle on the desk, and its magical flame, dancing.
Gellert hadn’t paid attention to it. Albus’ eyebrows had raised slightly at the sight, his eyes had widened, but his expression had been fixed into impassiveness in the blink of an eye. For the next few minutes they stayed in silence, only the crackling of the fire and their quiet breaths. It was Albus who broke it.
“I thought you found the spell useless. That you didn’t want to learn it because it was a waste of time. That there were other spells to fight the dark arts and that a message that needed to be quicker than an owl should better not be sent.” A pause. “Decorum, you called it, if I remember correctly.”
Gellert held back a smile.
“You know very well I said all that because I wasn’t capable of performing it.” He crawled closer, almost on top of him, pulling at his hand, at his arm.
Albus’ tone was serious, almost emotionless, it was delightful to see how much the sight of his family emblem had affected him, his own magic that was Gellert’s too. Sometimes I fear you and I have begun to blur. Coppery sparks jumped out of thin air.
“Weren’t you? I offered to teach you and you said no.”
“When I tried to conjure a happy memory you were the first thing that came to mind, I had barely met you, stranger, you still called me a stranger. How was I supposed to confess to you that…?” He tried to touch his face but Albus turned his face away, shadows covered his features. “Do you hate it? Do you hate this?”
Albus shook his head slowly and allowed Gellert to bring their mouths together. Their eyes met and Gellert dropped all occlumency. It was no illusion, no deceit, they shared the same patronus, what telltale sign was more brazen than the one that couldn’t be controlled. Gellert’s patronus had not changed its shape, it had only been born after having felt enough love. Albus drew the shape of his lips with his thumb, his hands holding his face.
“You never told me.” It was almost a whisper and Gellert pushed the finger with his mouth to meet his lips again.
He showed him the light in the cemetery the day they had met, the same golden sun had shone down on them two weeks later when wanting and yearning and hoping had become having and touching and owning. He showed him the Paris hotel room where Gellert had tried to tell him about his vision, where they had fought, where they had loved; he brought back for him the smell of the sheets after that night, cologne and sweat and the scent of cotton and white roses. He showed him the cottage up north, the blurry memory of its rooms in the dim light of a winter day, the feeling of Albus’ body against him, awake in the middle of the night just like him. He showed him their old war days, mixing with the new. He showed him their first summer and all the summers that came after, he showed him Dido’s wound after Eneas’ love and he showed him Achilles' wrath after Patroclus’ death, he showed him Eurydice’s forgiveness and Orpheus’ despair in the moment they were forever pulled apart.
“I wasn’t sure I wanted anyone to see it.” Gellert smiled against his cheek, pressing Albus’ other cheek with his index and middle finger, he wanted another kiss.
“What changed?”
“I did. You did. We are here,” here, together, alive, in love, “and we’ve looked Death in the eyes and we,” he sighed, “Liebling, we’ve done terrible things.” He swallowed hard, he felt the tears at the back of his throat. “I won’t ever part your side. Unless you ask me to. I’ll never leave.”
Albus tangled his fingers in his hair and finally brought their mouths together, sealing the promise. They’d breathe while they could, they’d face the world when they had to but they’d do it together.
“You showed me-”
“Yes.”
“Do you still wish to-”
“Yes,” he hissed, his hands pulling at his robes.
Oh, to give life just to take it away. They’d never be able to forget the screams, the burning smell of the souls trapped in the inferi’s bodies. They had bought their one-way ticket to eternal suffering after that, they had been cruel and terrible and unfair and selfish. And then they couldn’t have been anything less to achieve their goal.
But they walked the Earth side by side and the ground hadn’t opened to swallow them both nor did the skies crumble to punish their hubris. Maybe that was their punishment, what was to come. Gellert tried to not think about it more than he should, in Albus’ eyes, in the way he kissed him, in how he blindly turned in his sleep to find his body next to him in bed if they ever stopped touching, I’m here, I’m here, I’m right next to you, he could see his torment was shared. And still.
“Wait.” He pushed him away, bringing his hands to his chest, searching his face for an answer. “Do you?”
And it took Albus a second to process the broken contact between them and the sudden distance. He pulled him closer before Gellert could slip away from their tangled limbs, half-dressed and out of breath.
They had gone over it so many times, so many times, and still, the shadow of the damned castle seemed to loom over them like an omen of death. Strange nightmares woke him up more often than not and he had to bring out the sachet of cards and check them all, one by one, until he counted them all before going to bed. His fingers trembled when he touched the tower. Albus woke up at some point, not long after him, and waited until Gellert laid the deck down to walk closer to him and drag his lips up his neck, silently begging him to go back to bed. Most times he succeeded.
Albus didn’t want to go back to teaching, nor to Hogwarts. Scotland, yes, his soul felt lighter by the seaside, warm behind the doors of the cottage, protected by the winds and the storms, but not Hogwarts, not any other place where Gellert couldn’t follow. Or so he said.
His arms pulled him into an embrace, his breath was warm against his face.
“Look at me. I want you. I want to be with you. It’s the only thing that matters to me. You know it. I know you know it.”
His hands held his cheeks and Gellert closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, because it felt like that for him too, because he had felt at home in every hotel room Albus had been in with him, because every bed had felt like theirs, because he wasn’t sure if Albus was repeating back to him his own thoughts, because he feared he was condemning him to unhappiness by taking him away from a place he had called home.
“Listen.” Albus swallowed hard. “Godric’s Hollow was a life of guilt. In Hogwarts, I tried to not be the son of a murderer. I wanted to be seen and I wanted power and I wanted greatness because I thought it had been taken from me forever.”
“And you succeeded.”
Albus kissed his cheek, his hands relaxing down his sides now that he was sure Gellert wouldn’t leave, drawing the path of scars on his back he had memorised under his fingers. He didn't agree with him, not fully, they both knew now that what Albus had wanted as a teenager had been nothing more than a shared madness.
“It was Flammel who encouraged me to apply for the position, Paris was rotten for me and I had nowhere I could return to.”
Gellert put his hands around his neck. To me, you could have returned to me, you could have called, you could have written you could, you could, I would have said yes, I would have taken you back in an instant, I would have forgiven everything because I was as guilty as you were, if not more. But it would have been impossible then. And they both knew it.
He brushed his lips against his and the lightness of Albus’ presence inside his head left him with a distracting tingling sensation in his temples. Hello, there.
“They needed a DADA teacher and the Transfiguration department needed new faces too. And I needed to stop thinking about you all the time.” He pulled him down and reached for the pillow, Gellert propped up on his elbows and blocked his arm before he could throw it to his face, slipping down to his side with the movement. “It was an easy solution, the castle extended its protection, it’s engraved with its inhabitant’s magic. How could I refuse the honour to stay as long as my life lasted.” The comment was sardonic but the words that followed were sincere. “It’s the most polished piece of magic ever created, a living thing.”
And this time, the admiration with which he spoke of it didn’t make Gellert’s chest hurt.
“Is it?”
Albus nodded, his eyes went from his eyes to his lips.
“But I’m tired of doing what everyone thinks is best for me.” And he added, almost a whisper, running his fingers through Gellert’s hair. “I’ve wanted this for so long I thought it’d kill me.”
And he chose to drown in his words, to drown in his scent, to drown in his lips, to drown in him instead of his own mind. Albus’s fingers twisted the chain of the blood pact to stop him from pulling back, but Gellert deepened the kiss.
One would think that after so long they would have learnt all the steps of the dance, it was no use, learning only to learn different ones every night. A gush of magic left them in darkness, sparks jumping from skin to skin contact, crimson dark red and icy deep blue. With the paper-thin walls, a silencing spell was more indiscreet than the old ways, at least in a place where everybody knew who they were.
So they moved almost carefully, undressing slowly and breathing deeply. He covered Albus’ mouth to keep him quiet and sank his chin on his shoulder to not bite down on his skin when he settled between his legs. In the next kisses, he tasted blood inside his mouth from biting his own lips. And so did Albus, it made him laugh silently, a wolfish grin on his face, almost malicious. It suited him. Gellert kissed him again. And again. And again. And again. A soothing hand caressed his side as teeth drew the shape of his clavicle, he had to turn his head to the side to bite on the pillow not to call his name.
I love you, mouthed against his skin like a prayer, but with Albus’ hand between his thighs and his body on top of him, the only thing he could answer back with was clenched teeth in a smile, his teeth against his neck. Alive, alive, his touch was velvet and fire.
Gellert had always adored him, he would have accepted anything he had been given, anything he had been allowed to have. But he was also glad that he could love Albus like that, to see him like that, to spend the rest of his days by his side. Because there must be something they had done right, there must be some star in the sky that had given them its blessing, some unpopular God that had brought them all the pain and all the love.
They stared at the ceiling on the summer night, next to each other, covered in sweat, only their pinkies touching.
“Nurmengard, the walls are engraved with your magic. The fortress will stand even when we are no longer here.” Albus turned to his side, laying his head on his elbow.
Gellert yawned, the first lights of the day had turned the sky a shade paler and they could almost see the other, it would take a few hours until there was real light outside.
“I tied it to the land,” he answered, already knowing where the conversation was leading. “Like the old king from your legend.”
It made Albus smile.
“No blood?”
“And no grail either. I never planned on leaving descendants in this world. And blood magic had proven itself tricky not long before I built it, I wanted something less tedious to undo.”
Albus reached for his neck and twisted the pendant, still around Gellert’s neck, the chain was cold.
“It’s clever.” His hand caressed his white neck now, it closed around it and went upwards, grabbing his face, making Gellert look at him.
“I know. I’m proud of it.”
He didn’t close his eyes for the kiss, Albus did neither. They both laughed at the awkwardness of it.
“Let’s go there in the summer. Next summer. And the one after that one.”
Gellert raised his eyebrows and Albus moved closer, softly gracing his cheek with his teeth before kissing him.
“You’ve thought about this for how long?”
Albus hummed, a smile dancing on his lips, not a trace of sleep in his eyes.
“It would have been in poor taste to fantasise out loud that much into the future the first night I spent there.” He turned his head to kiss the palm that cupped his face. “What, don’t look at me like that, I do enjoy Austria, and the castle feels too personal for you to just…,” he puffed, “abandon it.”
“When you say you, you mean us.”
“You know I do.”
He kissed his forehead. “Fine.”
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
“Really?”
He didn’t hate Nurmengard, he had come to see it as not a home but a place to return to at the end of the day, he had destroyed his family home to the point of turning it into something unrecognisable. He enjoyed the mountains and the forests, he enjoyed the snowy winters and the green summers and the perpetual clear skies. At the end of the day the castle was meant to stay standing for as long as the land around it did, tied to nature in every way. Going back, never returning, if it made Albus happy, he didn’t really mind what happened to it.
“Yes. But you wouldn’t be taking anything from me if you never wanted to go back.”
And as he said it, he realised it wasn’t true. They had made memories there. In his mind there were moments he cherished, it was not only the darkness of his visions nor the lights of war. Albus, following him into the crudest of destinies, leaving everything behind to seek refuge with him in Nurmengard; sleepless nights running on tea and anxiety, surrounded by books and maps in the library, with only hope to hold on to. Messy kisses on the balcony, shared cigarettes in bed, oranges in halves. It had been home too. Nurmengard had felt like home for them too. He realised he actually wanted it very much, to make more memories together, to be happy with him in a place that had seen so much darkness and misery.
Albus gave him a chaste kiss before disentangling himself from the sheets and walking away.
“Liebling?” He called and he caught Albus’ reflection in the mirror, eyes on him. “What did you like the most about Hogwarts?”
Albus blinked and thought for a second, he gave him a cautious look. “I’d rather show you.”
Gellert felt him roaming inside his thoughts too, but he didn’t mind. He followed him inside the bathroom and took the wet cloth he offered him. So what if he was curious about Hogwarts, it was all myth and fantasy for those who hadn’t studied there. He had seen it from afar, Hogsmeade wasn’t that close to it but the castle still seemed to dominate the city, like a guardian, from afar.
Albus waited for his answer, leaning on the bathroom door but Gellert ignored him, cleaning himself and dropping the towel on the floor when he was done. When Albus blocked the door, he shrugged and looked him in the eyes.
“We could visit Minerva for Christmas, she always stays. No students on the grounds. The Forbidden Forest will be empty and the lake will freeze. And we will be around anyway, we will be visiting your aunt.”
“And Aberforth,” he added, knowing why Albus hadn’t, a bit bothered by him knowing exactly what to say for Gellert not to have any excuse that didn’t translate to personal fear.
“And Aberforth,” Albus conceded with a sigh and moved from his path, not defeated, just knowing he still had time to convince him.
Gellert sat at the end of the bed and watched him get dressed slowly.
“It’s still early, Al.”
“I know, I can’t be in bed anymore,” he said, lighting the candles on the desk with a snap of his fingers and taking out a few books from the luggage.
The candle he had lit for Ariana had evaporated, only the burnt wick was left. He tied it in a knot and burnt it between his fingers.
“Why is it called the Forbidden Forest?”
“It’s a school for children. Names tend to be very self-explanatory,” he answered, kissing him before sitting on the desk.
Gellert laid back down on the bed and closed his eyes, the swift sound of pen against paper was something he was used to falling asleep to. He listened to it until he felt the hands of Morpheus pulling at the nape of his bed and rolled out of bed to get dressed too, shaking the fatigue with a head movement. For an instant, he feared he’d see white. When he looked over Albus’ shoulder, he saw the corrections in green ink, the numbers at the corners of the papers. He was correcting essays, the ones he promised to get back to the first years he had had to abandon, the ones Minerva had been supposed to return to them. He must have never been able to get them to her, Gellert felt the guilt on his stomach.
“Hey. I’m almost finished.” A blind hand caressed his leg. “I thought you had gone back to sleep.”
Gellert waited, his head hidden in the crook of his neck, his arms around Albus’ shoulders, leaning his weight on him. Albus ran his fingers through his hair a minute later, turning his head to kiss him and Gellert slid the pendant from his own neck to his, taking advantage of the movement. Albus raised an eyebrow.
“Did you like it?” He asked, nodding to the pile of essays. “Teaching?”
“Not particularly, but I was good at it.”
It made him roll his eyes. Albus stood up and Gellert reached for the blood troth again to pull him closer, the pact felt warm between his fingers.
“You are good at everything.”
“I’m not,” he answered, admonishing, leaning his forehead against his, the slightest annoyance in his voice. “It kept me entertained. Let’s go downstairs, I don’t want to be late.” He said, his voice quieter, but he didn’t move, he didn’t drop his hands from his waist either. “Minnie’s been wanting to meet you for ages.”
A warm feeling spread on Gellert’s chest. Albus hadn’t tried to hide what they had had from the people he loved, he hadn’t put their summer memories inside a closed drawer that he had had to keep, never to be opened. Not even when he supposedly hated him, not even when he became public enemy number one.
“Well, me too.”
“You are going to like her. Did I ever tell you she was engaged to a muggle?”
It was good to walk the streets as a free man. Not that he felt completely at ease in public, not wearing his own face, at least, but the fact that no country publicly wanted him locked under the highest security wards definitely helped a lot. He saw flashes of recognition in some people’s eyes, they lowered their gazes to the ground the moment he returned them. Everyone seemed more interested in Albus anyway.
The returned hero of the country, the hero who always was. Did they see that? Or did they see the Hogwarts teacher? Maybe they found his face familiar, maybe they didn’t recognise him when he wasn’t the grave man on the papers, the politician he had briefly forced him to be. The greatest wizard since Merlin, many had said over the years. Gellert agreed. One had to make an effort not to see him when he passed by, he thought. Tall, handsome, known. But if Albus noticed people’s eyes on him on the street, he made sure to not let him know, keeping the lively conversation between the three of them without much effort.
Minerva was everything Gellert imagined to be, and still, he was surprised by her sharpness, her wits. She was quick with her answers and even quicker on plays on words, her gaze was stern but her smile was kind, just serious enough for Albus to like her without finding her boring, he realised, a strange kind of scholar. How curious that they knew each other in a way, through Albus’ words, it was the first thing they agreed on.
Minerva wore light robes, silky, light blue, it was her only chance to wear something “with a nice embroidery” before she had to go back to Hogwarts and stick to her own dress code, the one she used for students to take her seriously. I have to look at least five years older if I want the kids to have some kind of respect for me. Albus had given her a look when she had said it. Oh, be quiet, Albus, I don’t want to hear it.
She was not only very well-liked by her students, but also a brilliant teacher, now Gellert could corroborate it must be true. The woman had hugged Albus tightly as a greeting, speaking one million things at the same time, then she had looked at Gellert, and you, you and I better be friends by the end of the day, I’m Minerva. The forwardness had been welcomed, I’ve heard so much about you, I think I almost know you, he had offered her his hand, Gellert. Because if they were to be friends, he preferred not to introduce himself as Grindelwald, his name would carry tragic memories everywhere he went.
A light drizzle started to fall, emptying the streets and bringing a chilliness to the air that forced them to find refuge inside an inn and Hogsmeade was full of life until it wasn’t. With their hands around a butterbeer jar, they laughed whole-heartedly at Gellert, who had nothing to say about it other than pointing out the sweetness of the beverage as he licked the foam from his lips, knitting his brows together, failing at trying not to make a face. Albus’ hand was on his knee, and he finally dared to interlink their fingers under the table as he laughed at himself too.
He looked truly happy. And he may not have been, but Gellert knew he was at least in good spirits. It was good to be back to Hogsmeade, to be talking to Minerva, to be drinking butterbeer at their table, because in the way they had walked towards it, Gellert had known that it had been their table since they had been students.
After the trivialities of meeting after a long time and meeting for the first time respectively, Gellert didn’t mind them getting full on the new Hogwarts study curriculum and just listened. He didn’t enjoy listening to his own voice more than necessary, the moment he was alone his own thoughts carried it and he wondered how he had been able to practise speeches and speak for hours on end in the past. But then he could still discuss magic theory with Albus and speculate out loud about undiscovered artefacts. He wasn’t sure what it meant for himself, maybe he was just getting older.
Minerva was about to finish her thesis and she’d soon be a proud published author.
“Animagi,” she answered, when Albus asked her about the topic of her research.
“Are you serious?” he laughed, surprised, even delighted to hear it. “So, have you succeeded?”
Because it was the obvious question, who if not an Animagi would specialise, out of all the branches of Transfiguration, in the process of transfigurating human beings.
She lowered her big eyes, blushing in an almost girlish way, it was difficult to get genuine compliments out of Albus.
“Not yet,” she answered in a small voice, looking away to recompose her expression. “I mean, I’m still working on it, it doesn’t always work as I want it to, the thing is–”
“Does anyone else know?” He interrupted her stuttering with another question, even more excited to speak about it than her, his fingers playing with the ring around Gellert’s thumb.
A pause, her eyes stared at him and then glanced at Gellert a bit too quickly. He suddenly felt very sure of having seen them before, where? He was not sure.
“No.” Definite answer. “It's still a secret.” She looked embarrassed, almost fearful. And then, she smiled the expression out, a bit cool. How very British. With a warning tone, he suddenly scolded Albus, as she would a child, and Gellert was able to see the exact kind of teacher she was. “Don’t you dare spread the rumour. Not yet.”
“It’s brilliant.”
Albus turned slightly towards him as he heard his voice.
“It would be something official by now if our friend at the Ministry would have done something about it but…” Minerva rolled her eyes and sighed. She took a big sip of her butterbeer before speaking again. “When was the last time you saw him.”
“Elphias? Gods, Minnie, months, and we didn’t part on the best terms either.”
“I heard about it.” She pursed her lips. “You missed a lot. And when I say a lot, Albus, I mean a lot.”
“Did I now,” he asked, no emotion in his voice. “Be honest, do I want to hear about it?”
She nodded slowly and in the movement she noticed their hands touching, her eyes lingered for a second before continuing with her dramatic silence, still nodding.
Gellert had walked with his hands inside his pockets all the time they had been outside, because he had known Albus would have interlocked their fingers. And maybe because it was something he had longed for for years that he was willing to wait a bit longer. He didn’t trust the world around them to be so kind as to let them exist in peace, waiting until the waters returned to some kind of normality to let the world see them as something more than an alliance, more than a friendship, was sensible.
Still, Albus had managed to let him feel seen, loved, his hand had squeezed his elbow to let him know he was going to get the drinks as they had entered the inn and his fingers drew a rune on the palm of his hand; one of the very few he had seen Gellert draw, one that he had drawn on him every day during the fevers he had suffered in Paris, the rune of life.
It all felt too far away and, at the same time, if he closed his eyes, he could be there again. Back in the catacombs, back in Flamel’s laboratory, back in a shitty hotel room. Gellert focused on the touch of his finger, nail on skin, on the shape of the rune, its turns and knots, his mind was back in the inn as soin as hé pictured it inside his head.
“Well, your friend–”
“My friend? He’s all yours,” Albus scoffed.
“Our dear, dear friend.” She settled it. “He left. No warning, no nothing. I tried to contact him because he got a step on the Ministry and the paperwork is dreadful and we’ve known each other for years and he’s always been helpful.” She made circular motions with her hand to indicate her list of reasons to ask him was even longer. “Next thing I know, he’s back in his beloved Egypt, he’s published a poetry anthology and he’s gotten married. He’s back in Ireland now, though, but he spent a while in Cairo.”
Albus snorted loudly, incredulity made him turn slightly towards Gellert to see his face. The latter, to his own criteria, wore a poker face deserving of a prize, because he may or may not have heard some part of the story beforehand, he had just not found good enough reasons to tell Albus about it.
“Yes, yes, I know, and I’m not finished,” she continued, taking another sip, “last time I saw him he asked me to convince you to pay him a visit.”
Gellert pressed his lips together in a line not to make an unfortunate comment.
“Pity.” Albus spoke to him. “I really thought we had our saviour pinpointed.”
“You can still pay him a visit to check first hand it wasn’t him.”
Albus raised his eyebrows in fake astonishment and Gellert allowed himself to stare at the handsome man he was, the mischievous twinkle in his blue eyes, the deepness of his gaze, the dusty path of freckles across the bridge of his nose, the lips like a wound.
“I mean it.”
“See, a lot has happened in the last months,” he spoke to her again and Gellert could see the mask attaching to his face, the convincing liar he could be when he chose to step in, “and I mean a lot. And the papers never reported accordingly but what they are printing now is pure fiction, it’s like someone held them at wand point not to say anything close to the truth. I mean, we are in Spain now according to them.” We’ve brought back enough people to repopulate Paris a hundred times only to kill them with fire, we have broken the Statute of Secrecy, we should be in chains. “And Voguel has become the odd man, believe me, he’s not that clever, I know him personally.” He sighed and that was truer to how he really felt about it. “Gellert and I have had someone protecting us relentlessly during this time and we don’t know who it is yet.”
“We know how the Wizengamot enjoys a scapegoat. At least it’s not you this time.” She finished her drink before continuing and made a gesture to their emptying glasses. Albus nodded back. “And Flamel? I thought he didn’t mind sticking his neck out for you.”
“They had him under surveillance after the fire in Paris. I’m glad he has kept to himself, I’d hate for him to be in trouble because of me.”
She stood up, giving him a reassuring look, and took the mugs with her to the counter. She ordered again but the waiter didn’t refill their drinks, he poured three new ones in thin glasses. Firewhiskey, Gellert recognised the British brand tag on the bottle. After he had got used to the taste, the butterbeer had not been terrible, but he had subtly exchanged his and Albus’ mugs, letting him finish his.
Albus leaned closer, touching his forehead to the side of his hair for an instant, a mere brush as he uncrossed his long legs, accidental to anyone looking. I love you, he had whispered against his ear. And Gellert had to use every ounce of self-control not to turn his head to kiss him full in the mouth at that moment. Albus felt it, the bastard flashed a smile, squeezing his hand tightly in a loving gesture, his thumb caressing his inner wrist. Gellert closed their hands in a fist, trapping his fingers, squeezing back. I love you, I love you, you are the death of me.
From time to time Albus exchanged a nod with someone, but he was barely paying attention to anyone apart from Minerva and him. When Gellert met his eyes there was only love in them.
“Minerva. What’s your branch of expertise in Transfiguration?” Gellert asked her at some point, they had drunk enough for tongues to have loosened and he had been considering the question for a while already. “Albus never said. At Hogwarts, I mean.”
Firewhiskey warmed his throat with a nice, familiar warmth and took the sweet aftertaste of the butterbeer with the first sip.
“Beings into objects. Rats into feathers. Crickets into bells. Why do you ask?”
“Not very far from animagic, makes sense.” He shook his head softly, pointed with the side of his glass at her. “What was your chosen animal again?”
Minerva stared at him for a few seconds, her stern eyes searching for something inside his own, it was funny, most people weren’t able to stare at him directly in the eyes without glancing away almost instantly, heterochromia was not something many liked and he could transmit enough emotion to encourage anybody to look somewhere else. She held it, hers were frozen clear waters. Albus had stood up to say hi to someone, a short wizard in funky wet clothes, and leaning on Gellert’s shoulder, he had walked away from their table.
“You don’t want to be cleverer than you already are, Grindelwald, for your own sake.”
He smiled, of course she’d turn to his surname, she pressed her lips in the shadow of a smile, realising she had given herself away too quickly.
“Is that a warning? It’s okay, we are friends, I can keep a secret.”
“For how long.”
“Long enough for you to tell him yourself.”
They kept the conversation civil. Albus was back in no time, the man was another Hogwarts teacher, some old that was about to retire and who had “always defended him in front of anyone who dared to say repeat those horrendous things on The Prophet.” Albus didn’t need to say anything else, he was tired of all the fakeness that surrounded his name being cleared up, it wasn’t the first time he had been dragged to filth by the papers and existing in the public was already controversial enough for someone like him.
Minerva smiled softly at the way in which Albus slid his hand under his, this time in plain sight on the table.
“Transfiguration wasn’t really my forte at school.” Gellert said, as if giving him some context.
“Wasn’t it?”
“Durmstrang, right?” Minerva asked and he nodded. “The bad tongues say you’ve had the same animals for centuries.”
“Oh, yes, I know the story, the ones that don’t survive are sent to the Necromancy lab.”
Her eyes widened comically. Albus made a comment under his breath that he didn’t fully catch, something about the system, something about not trusting young wizards to get to their full potential.
“And did you take Necromancy?” She had lowered her voice, discretely glancing over her shoulder in case someone in the crowd was listening.
Nobody paid attention to them, as the evening progressed, everyone had busied themselves with their drinks and their chatter to even notice them speaking about dark arts.
“Gods, no. I was expelled before I could even try to apply for it, but I believe I sent at least three or four cups with ears and tail for them to work with in my first semester,” he said, tongue in cheek. “I have a friend who did, she should have gone into teaching.”
“Speaking of.” She pointed at Albus with her head as if he weren’t with them. “Say you are going to help me convince him to return to Hogwarts?”
Albus was already shaking his head.
“You deserve the Head Teacher position way more than I do and you know it, the Transfiguration department is in better hands with you than with me.” His tone was gentle but firm, he was not open to negotiations.
“What about DADA?”
“I’ve seen more dark arts in the last months than I would have liked to.”
She sighed, defeated. “Believe me, I can imagine.”
“Then, please, don’t insist.”
“We got rid of my aunt’s boggarts this evening, they had plagued her house,” Gellert added, making it purposely sound as if that had been the terrible dark arts experience they had gone through, bringing lightness to the conversation.
It made her snort loudly. Albus smiled.
“The historian Bathilda Bagshot, isn’t she?” Minerva asked.
“The very same, yes. Do you know her?”
“I wish I did. She gave us a few lectures when we were students at Hogwarts, didn’t she?” She spoke to Albus and then to Gellert. “Prefect, Head Boy, school awards, I’ve only seen him in an actual class when he became a teacher. Your aunt always chose him randomly to go up to the board.”
They laughed. Gellert hadn’t been seen much in class either when he was a student, he had preferred to learn by himself in the library and spare himself from the morality lectures many teachers chose to deliver instead of the actual magic lessons. His sight hadn’t been clear then either, his eyes still monochrome; he had suffered from terrible headaches and classes had only made it worse. He wondered what would have happened if they had met back then, they could have, maybe, if the Triwizard tournament they had both been old enough to participate in hadn’t been cancelled. Would they have taken on each other as they had in 1899?
“I can introduce you two,” he found himself saying. “She’ll be back in England by wintertime.” He glanced at Albus. “And we’ll be around Godric’s Hollow for Christmas.”
Albus nodded in agreement, Gellert could see he was glad he had said that, he was glad that everything was going so well between them, he was glad to be spending a normal evening with people he liked. Albus' close relationships were tied-knotted. His brother and Minerva had been in the same year, then they had started to work together in the same place they had studied. His old students, the Scamander brothers, had at some point been boys he had tutored as a student too. Elphias Doge had always been there, since the beginning of his school years. Bathilda too, for even longer.
Then he had the Flamels, in a way, the parents who never were, a safe place that had introduced him to all the intellectuals and politicians of the century he held as colleagues and acquaintances, but so very few were considered friends. Albus called very few people his friends.
How lucky they were all those he allowed to be around. How lucky he was to be the closest to him, his very soul, his love, his war.
“How’s Aberforth?” Minerva asked, she looked abashed but she had accepted the invitation with the condition that she’d only go if she had finished with all her duties for the break.
“He invited us over for Christmas.” Albus’ answer was explicit enough to gain half a smile from her, he brought out the corrected essays and handed her the pile. “Tell them I’m sorry for the delay.”
By the end of the evening, she walked them to the station and waited until their train left. The castle rose behind her despite the distance, like a titan or a mountain, guarding that part of the world with its magic.
“Look”, Albus told him smiling, and showed him golden magic slipping out of his fingers and evaporating into thin air, “the protection wearing off.”
He wasn’t worried at all, he slept on Gellert’s shoulder all the way to Aberdeen, waking up barely half an hour before they arrived. With his lips on his hair, he transferred another layer of protection to him, one of Elder. They had time to play a short game of chess, quickly taken to a draw, before they went looking for the portkey to Crovie.
The rest of the way, they walked, hand in hand, in the purest of darkness, the sea roaring behind them, the wind shaking them almost trying to break them. Gellert barely noticed any of it, too focused on the warmth of Albus’ hand on his, choking on his own heartbeat. He forced himself to walk faster, restlessly, it felt as if the cottage would crumble if they didn’t arrive on time.
When it was in front of them, he stopped in his tracks, almost making Albus stumble. He took a deep breath, at some point he had started holding it. Albus touched his face, the thin moon section in the sky turned his golden hair into pure silver and he brought a strand to his lips.
“Regrets?”
Gellert shook his head, he knew Albus would not have been bothered if he had said yes. The fact that he fathomed the possibility of it enraged him. He brought Albus’ hand to his chest for him to feel his heart through his clothes and watched him nod, because he understood, because he felt the same. Albus brought Gellert’s hand to his pulse point on his neck and he felt the warmth of his beating blood. And it was a leap of faith, to try and test destiny with a chance at happiness. Albus took a silvery key out of his pocket and, opening Gellert’s cold hand, pressed it against his palm.
“Come on, let’s go in.”