Teeth scattered on the floor, cards discarded on the bed. He had drawn the thick curtains so that no natural light entered. He couldn’t stand the light of day. To die, he wished he could die at that moment. It would be less painful. With the Elderwand between his fingers, he cast the spell again and again. A pool of wax had already formed around the half-consumed candle, he had been there for hours.
“Incendio,” he mumbled and the flame tried to devour the candle, like an animal fighting for its life.
Gellert stopped just in time and the candle survived to bleed drippings of wax on the desk. Restless, he tried again. He was alone in the hotel room, he had been alone for at least the last twelve hours. Where the fuck was he, why the fuck had he left him alone, why hadn’t he followed him, why had he stayed.But he ignored Albus when he finally came back and, with the corner of his eye, he observed him take off his coat and sit on the bed. Still, he didn’t move from his chair, he could feel Albus’ anger in his bones, it made the glass from the small chandelier rattle softly, like water drops falling. I am angrier.he thought, I’ll destroy us, with this silence I'm keeping us safe.
“Incendio.”
“Gellert.”
He huffed, the flame had been even wilder this time, more uncontrolled. “Incendio.”
“Gellert, love.”
“Incendio.”
Albus sighed, annoyed. “I hate when you get like this.” He said it under his breath, loud enough for him to hear it.
Gellert raised his head, locking eyes with him in the mirror. A lit match in the middle of a field of wheat that’d burn life from the stem to the seed. He licked his lips.
“Go away then.” Albus refused to avert his gaze, so he lowered his eyes first, to the pool of wax, to his own trembling hands. “Incendio.”
He didn’t deserve the dread he felt, his own pulse quickening, fearing he would obey. How could his body react so freely against his wishes, how could his own flesh and bones betray him someone else. His throat hurt from only having uttered the words, he hadn’t even been able to sneer when, in the past, harshness had come easily, like an armour.
In the way he breathed in, Gellert could sense he was considering it. Standing up and leaving. Standing up and going for a walk. Where have you been, he wanted to shout, why did you leave me alone, why did you leave me to my own devices, you know how this goes, you know how this goes. He stood up instead and kneeled in front of the bedside table, taking out a notebook and jotting down some information he had taken out from a paper inside his pocket. Notes from Flamel, probably. An address they’d have to investigate. A name worth noting. Even a book recommendation, any of those could be possible.
It must be raining outside, he realised, as he regarded Albus’ damp coat, hanging from the back of the chair at the other side of the room.
“Incendio,” he murmured again, exasperated. Same result.
It was at least three in the morning but he’d continue for a few more hours with his trial-and-error spell. The wax was almost completely melted, he brought it to the boiling point, he wouldn’t be able to cast it so clumsily without destroying it on his next try. He threw the wand away, in no specific direction, tossing the most powerful wand in the world should be prohibited and still, it felt as if the hallow was laughing at him. Weak, weak, weak, you are too weak to control a third, you are too weak to even try a second, you don’t even give me blood anymore, there was a time you fed me well and now there is only drought, there is only thirst. It rolled on the ground and hit the wall with a thud, like a hollow stick. As if it wasn’t more than that, an elder branch, inanimate, empty. He sighed. Albus’ gaze on him was like a physical touch, he searched his reflection again in the mirror.
“You do it,” he said quietly, motioning to the candle with his head.
Albus rolled his eyes. He closed his notebook and walked to him, bending over to pick up the Elderwand from the floor on his way. As he leaned over him, he held back the desire to touch him, his hair, his face. Their heads were almost touching and they exchanged a look before Albus pointed with the wand to the candle, was he being too obvious with his body language?
“Incendio,” Albus said out loud, barely drawing the shape in the air, and the candlelit swiftly and steadily, a strong flame adorned it, full of life and strength.
“Make it weaker.”
Albus brought his thumb to his mouth, graced it with his tongue, and extinguished it with his fingers. He repeated the spell, the tiny flame was on the verge of dying, blueish and orange, but it burned.
“You want something more in the middle?”
Gellert blew it with a sigh, bothered by the boasting. “No. Thank you for your help.”
But Albus didn’t go back to the bed, his hand touched his shoulder and dragged up his neck in a caress, he lifted his chin with his fingers. Gellert swallowed hard, he didn’t have the right to make him feel so small, he didn’t have the right to make him feel so powerless, so unsteady, so weak.
Albus shook his head softly, he didn’t need to speak for him to understand that look, you ask me to go away but you wear my clothes, how about that. Albus’ hand caressed his white throat, his cheek then, his thumb traced the darkness around his eyes and Gellert closed them.
“You’ve been trying to force it.”
Gellert didn’t answer with words, he just hummed. Albus would catch the lie the moment it came out of his mouth. He sat back on the end of the bed, pulling Gellert’s chair in the movement to have him facing him.
“I don’t want to hear it, Albus.” He closed his fists at the sight of blue sparks leaving the tips of his fingers. “You are going to tell me she is right, that you agree with her, that I must follow her orders; you are going to say I was rude and disrespectful for not,” he made a sharp gesture with his hand, “drinking her every word like you have been doing for years with them, and I don’t want to hear it.”
Albus waited for him to finish before answering. He looked very tired, jaded, and at the same time like a boy trying not to scare a bird away, testing the waters. “I think no one has ever talked to Perenelle Flamel like you have today, nor survived to tell the tale.”
“Was I wrong? She was lying. She is lying.”
“She wasn’t lying, Gellert. Why would she.”
He started to play with one of the rings on his fingers, changing it from index to middle. “I know my kind, Albus. She was hiding something. If she doesn’t know exactly where it is, it’s because she has it.”
“She’s trying to help, if she had the Invisibility cloak she would have already given it to us.” And he added, dangerously, “You are the one who cannot take no for an answer. You never could.”
Albus’ stance was fixed. Despite the silk in his voice, despite the apparent worry in his expression, he wouldn't change his mind.
“What kind of seer thinks herself above the rest, knowing her every movement could do something to stop the end of all things,” he was raising his voice, he couldn’t help it. “I have the right to accuse her of inaction, who is going to confront her if not me. We have no time to lose and she wants us to let history follow its course?”
“Gellert.”
“What course! This isn’t settled yet, this, this, I can avoid. We can still do something and she– What?”
He had made a face, almost as if he were in pain. “You are not going to listen to me, are you.”
Gellert stared at Albus for a few seconds. His hair was still slightly damp, it almost curled at the ends in a darker shade of red, he licked his chapped lips, waiting for an answer.
“I am listening.”
“You shouldn’t have stormed out like that.” He pulled the wooden chair even closer, they were almost touching now. Gellert wished he’d reach. “I stayed for a while longer, enough time to speak about the vision, and the Cloak…, and you.”
Perenelle didn't think it clever for them to contact Loxias, at least not with Gellert in that state. Too risky. Of course, Nicholas had agreed. And still, somehow it had felt like a threat and not a recommendation, like a menace that hadn't come from a place of love, don't you dare because I won't allow it. Her words had been a bit too sugarcoated to his taste and, while Albus didn't seem to mind being treated like a child by them, it had made his blood run cold.
He remembered purposely overhearing Albus speak for them in galas and balls, when Albus had still been under their wing in the most official of manners and he had been no one, sneaking inside the right places just to plant seeds of discord. Always good words, always carrying their sincerest apologies for not being there. Albus had always been so proud of the trust they'd put in him, of how that trust made him look to the Parisian societies. The Flamel’s golden boy.
Albus laid a hand on his naked knee. “The spell is too old. A lot could go wrong, do you understand?”
“Albus, you promised you’d-”
“Shut up.” He had enunciated the order very clearly, it wasn’t the volume of his voice but the tone that startled Gellert. The authority, the intensity. “Say you understand.” He traced the scar on his inner thigh with his thumb almost fondly, to soften his words.
He regarded him for a long while; his touch wasn't comforting, unnerving. “I understand.” Gellert crossed his legs to break the contact, he felt fire at the pit of his stomach.
“Good.” Albus was leaning forwards, towards him, his arms crossed in closed fists. He clearly preferred the option where he was allowed to touch Gellert. “So you must already know we would be risking a lot with no sure result.”
Every hallow required more self-control than the one before and Gellert was in no state to acquire the last one. It wouldn’t matter if she were hiding it, he knew Albus thought it was even better if she were, even better if she made the decision for him because there would be no place in the world he could dig up and have his way without the Flamel's approval.
So they couldn’t perform the spell, he knew, he knew, he knew. But they needed to. The future was at stake. Loxias had been a seer too, he’d know what to do, he had predicted the arrival of Arcus and Livius, he had known their faces, he had drawn them to detail to learn them by heart, a chosen torment to experience before they had even been born.
That was what they needed. That was what he needed. Two faces, the traitor and the duke, the duke and the traitor. And he feared he already knew one of them. Il ne faut pas toucher aux idoles: la dorure en reste aux mains, he couldn’t help but remember, and still, he needed to get his hands stained in gold.
“After hours of not knowing anything from you, you come here to call me weak? Gods, you think I’m too feeble to be a Master of Death?” He glanced at the deformed candle with hatred, he tried to bring the wrath burning his insides against him, to make the loathing and the rage bleed through his voice. It was easier like that. For both of them. “Why don’t you just get back to your fucking castle in the Highlands and lock yourself there, Albus, everyone’s must be dying to have you back.”
Minerva’s long heartfelt letters were proof, and so were Dippet’s silence on his newspaper articles, Elphias Doge’s unrelentless presence and all of those denying rumours that were more than truth. That Albus Dumbledore had left with Grindelwald, they said, that Dumbledore was in love with him. That where there was fire, ashes remained. It was true, it was true, it was all true.
“Gellert.”
“And so will I.”
Albus raised his eyebrows, incredulous.
“I’m doing this for the greater good of all.” His voice was all edge, he feared it would break, if you are not with me, you are against me hung in the air.
“It’s always black or white with you. Must you always be so bloody-”
“You are the one that’s being difficult.” He was ready for the killing blow, he glanced at one of the cards that had fallen on the floor from the bed. “And if this is your final word, I'm better off without you.”
Albus' eyes hardened, considering him, his words, his cruelty, his arrogance, his venom. Gellert feared he'd done a great job, he could still use his words to draw blood.
He had felt younger for an instant, twenty-two and spitting vile to an unanswering Albus in an empty corridor, he had been at his prime and Gellert had wanted to hurt him, he had wanted to remind him of where he came from. I made you, the same way you made me, who are you and what have you done with yourself, where is your hunger, you wanted to change the world and now conform with other’s breadcrumbs. I can't believe how much I loved you, I don’t even recognise you anymore. Albus had heard all of it and, when Gellert had grown tired of not getting any reaction from him, dry mouth and scornful eyes, he had answered coldly, detached, likewise, before going back to the party, leaving him there, alone, without even turning back. Another social procedure he had had to go through in the night. The praise, the critiques, Gellert.
He could feel his body reacting to Albus’ cold stare, his breath quickening, his throat closing, freezing fingers he was imagining at the base of his neck; the sensation was too familiar, he didn’t know how he had forgotten it. It had been like that for years, he had craved his rage in the past, shrinking under his impassiveness, his stupid stoicism, the only thing Albus had given him after they had finished in bed. The coldness. A coldness that froze him from the inside. Now it made him want to die. How easily one got used to a love that could be taken back. Albus looked like he had made his decision.
“I wish you good luck trying to find someone powerful enough to cast the counterspell when Loxias tries to take over your body.” I dare you to try to find someone who understands you, someone who can get inside your mind, someone you can trust with your own life, with your own death, it meant. He cupped his cheek tenderly and Gellert felt gooseflesh, there was no one walking on the face of the Earth that could do what to Albus was a birthright. “Ask Karkarov, he’s your best option. Or Trelahar, she’s probably just as good.”
He felt as if his limbs didn’t work anymore after that, completely frozen, they didn’t react to his orders. Had he petrified him? Had he turned him into stone? He stared at Albus and saw him stand up from the bed and walk away from him, pick up a few things, notebooks, a few pens, put on his brown coat and cross the small dim corridor that separated him from the front door with sure steps.
Only then he could run. He crossed the distance as if he were the wind of a tornado and collided against the door, forcing it shut and interposing himself between Albus and the world outside their hotel room. The sound of the slam had echoed in the corridor outside, deafening. Albus’ hand was still around the knob, he'd leave, he'd leave, he'd abandon him. Nose to nose, breathing each other’s breath, Albus spoke against his lips, ironic.
“I can’t go back to my fucking castle if you don’t move.”
He was shaking his head, trying to grip his clothes. He felt his own heartbeat in his temples. He couldn’t bring himself to do it, he couldn’t go through, it’d kill him.
“Move, Gellert.”
“Wait. Please.” He could barely breathe anymore, he felt his insides crumbling. Some kind of emotion flashed behind Albus’ eyes when he saw his tears. “Albus, I didn't–, I didn’t–,” he was choking.
But he had wounded him, Albus’ anger had been at bay and now he could almost taste it at the back of his throat, like blood after having been smashed against a hard surface.
“Tell me, tell me, if you need me so fucking much, why are you doing this to me.” Albus' hand held his face, head against the door, the other blocked his wrist. “Tell me, Gellert.”
But Gellert kissed him, pulling him closer by the blood pact chain. It climbed his elbow, squeezing and digging into his flesh painfully. Albus kissed back violently, his body pressed against him, furious hands clawing to his shirt, to his bare skin. The chain had closed around Albus' throat too. Gellert hoped the sparks wouldn't burn his hands, his clothes; he wasn't in control of his magic anymore and everything flickered.
Gellert could feel his mind trying to invade his, he wasn’t sure Albus was using legilimency voluntarily, but he dropped all occlumency anyway, yielding to him, biting instead of kissing.
If you want to see it, I’ll show you. So he showed him the last traitor. The one who could destroy everything he was fighting for. He showed Albus his own face, a mirror for him to look at himself. He showed Albus himself holding the killing dagger, pushing Gellert to the abyss, he showed Albus the stabs he would draw on his back, the blood running, the fresh wounds. Liebling, everything points towards you.
He hissed as the chain released them both, a burning sensation settling, a contrast to the cold of the metal.
“You are your own ruin.” Albus pressed his cheek against his, dragging his lips down his jaw, the thinnest of voices. Gellert could hear the disgust in his voice, the raw pain when he added quietly, “and mine too.” His hands were gentle now, soft as he caressed his brow, his side. “Of all people, me. Of all people you could have–”
Gellert buried his face in the curve of his neck, breathing him in, trembling, he had stopped Albus before he could take a step back. He gripped his lapels as if he’d vanish, knuckles, white.
In his heart of hearts, for a flickering instant, destiny hadn’t felt so important as keeping Albus next to him; his primal instinct had been to let the world burn, to let it perish if it meant they could be together. Hidden somewhere up north, hidden in a place he'd hoped to call home for years. That was the scariest, most terrible thing. He'd give it all up. He’d give it all up for Albus, he’d accept the treason if Albus stayed next to him.
Or so he had thought.
“Why? What did I do for you to–Tell me how that thought entered–.” His palms held his face, his fingers combed his hair. “Gellert, please, I beg you.”
He was shaking his head, he wasn’t sure if there were tears in Albus’ eyes too, if it was just his own sight, too blurry to see him properly. His voice was a mere whisper. “I’m losing my mind. Gods, can't you see I'm going mad.”
Albus placed a kiss on his cheek. “No. No, you are not.” Another at the corner of his lips. “I won’t have you risk your life in vain, do you call that betrayal?”
He reached for his hand, interlinking their pinkies. “Come. It’s better if I– If you–”
And he showed him the cards.
Velvet sachet discarded on the crowded desk, he showed him how every one of the cards showed the same picture once he turned them as if they had been charmed, as if destiny had it so clear it could only show the right picture. The tower, the tower, the tower, the tower, again and again and again and again.
Gellert had picked them all up and had started laying them on the bed slowly, his desperation grew as Albus' astonished, puzzled eyes stared back at him. He stopped minding if the rest of the cards fell to the floor from his hands, he started dropping them with no care, not even looking at them. He dragged them, one over the other, barely lifting them. It was always the same image. Seventy-eight towers of gold and indigo covered the room by the time his hands were left empty.
Albus knew it was his card. Albus knew it was what he had seen when he had asked about his death from the very beginning, the only thing he had got out of the cards that concerned Albus in the years they had known each other.
“This is the only card I can interpret when I ask about the traitor.”
Albus was sitting at the end of the bed, he motioned for Gellert to get closer and leaned his head against his hip bone, hands caressing the back of his legs, his calf. He wouldn’t shit on divination in front of him, he knew better, he had been proved wrong before. Still, Gellert could see how displeased he was. Albus was a man of science, blaming the pictures on a deck of cards for the world's disgraces was not something he allowed himself to do often.
“And the teeth?” He asked quietly.
Gellert pressed his lips together, running his hands through Albus’ hair. He had hidden his face against his shirt.
“I’m not sure, I must be doing something wrong,” I wish I were, “divination with teeth is too abstract. That's why we stopped using it.” He had dropped the bones on the floor at least a thousand times only to check the placement was the same as they’d been the last time. “I read blood, family. You are the only one with my blood that’s still alive.”
“And your aunt.”
He finished the thought. “Doesn’t count. We are not joined by blood.”
Albus pulled him down and he straddled him, his lips tracing his collarbone, Albus didn’t want to break contact, probably fearing another unpredictable mood change of his. “This makes no sense.”
He hated himself for accusing Albus of high treason. And still, it had seemed to be the answer, the question had been eating him alive and he had finally been given the answer. Who would betray him next, who if not the man he loved the most.
The prophecy had always been there, the prophecy he had chosen to ignore for so long. His mother had warned him, his mother had been displeased to hear they were seeing each other again. You know very well how love can destroy us, she had said, rightly.
And now the cards, the teeth and even his own instinct pointed towards Albus. Only his heart hadn’t been able to take it. And that was the reason why he was weak, that was the reason why he’d make a poor Master of Death, the reason why his own magic turned against him.
He needed to be ruthless, he needed to be merciless, unforgiving; he had been once all that, why wasn’t he that man anymore? But he also knew the answer to that.
“Listen. Don’t trust Perenelle. Don’t trust me if that’s–” He took a deep breath, not finishing the sentence, his hand covered his. “But you cannot not trust anyone. Your mother–”
“I know.”
“I wouldn’t be asking–”
“I know,” he brought his forehead against his, the Resurrection Stone felt heavier than ever and he dropped his hand from Albus’ face, dragging his too. It was about time he had to put it to use and claim its power.
It was a nightmare, guessing his intentions, he thought he knew Albus well enough to be able to guess the most human part of him, the way his body worked; when he’d change the weight from one leg to the other, how he’d drum his fingers when he was nervous or bored. His pulse, his breathing. And he knew how his brain worked when it came to the battlefield, and duels, and chess, and everything that could be vaguely labelled inside those categories.
And he thought he trusted him. He thought he could trust him when he said he loved him, because how could he not? But Albus was capable of wearing masks as he pleased when it was most convenient and the stars couldn’t have been clearer with their message.
Albus was good to him but his presence around was too much. He felt blinded by him, burning under his touch, he feared how easily he could be manipulated if Albus chose to turn against him. He’d believe anything he said. He’d do anything for him. He had become accustomed to having his back covered completely, to having a guardian over his nightmares, over his thoughts, over his visions. But the stars were showing him how ill-fated that destiny was. It made no sense.
“Stop it. Stop thinking. Talk to me.” Albus touched his face to get his attention.
“Were you really going to leave? Before.”
He was tracing his lips with his thumb. “You can’t make me leave, even if I wanted to, I’m neck-deep here. This is where I’m supposed to be. ” How could he be lying, how could he be lying when he looked at him as if he were his entire world? “I want to avoid this war. More than anything. And there are many sacrifices I’m willing to make, you know, I know you know. ”
“But.”
“The last thing I want to do is walk away from you."
“But?”
“But.” Albus hesitated for a second, he dragged his hand over Gellert’s heart. “I can’t have you seeing me as an enemy.”
A cold shiver ran down his spine.
“And you will until the cards tell you otherwise, or a vision enlightens you, or.” He didn't finish the sentence.
Gellert was shaking his head. The situation was suddenly so funny, he giggled, hysterically, breathless. Albus’ arms were tight around him, his hands under his shirt traced scars, his forehead rested on his chest. Gellert didn’t ask the question, it was too childish, he’d heard it a thousand times in his school's corridors.
But how could something so banal and mundane apply to them, who had joined their souls in knots, who now shared the other’s blood, forever pulsating in their veins. Are we breaking up? It sounded like a joke. He needed to prove him wrong, he needed Albus to change his mind, to think of another solution for it. But Albus turned his head, a gentle rejection when he leaned closer to kiss him. It left them cheek against cheek.
“Let’s,” Albus sighed, he spoke against the skin of his neck. “Take one step back. From us. Until this is solved. It’s a fair sacrifice. Necessary too. It'll make things easier.”
Albus was right, they couldn’t make another war about them, it was the best option, it was sensible and rational and the smart thing to do in that case. Then why did he feel like dying. He took a deep breath instead, their minds had already started to disentangle. Oh, to be left alone with himself.
“I don’t want–”
“Me neither.” Albus smiled tightly. “But what I or you or we want doesn’t matter when it comes to the greater good of all.”
Gellert stayed in silence for a long time, the thoughts formed in his head but he couldn’t understand them, his own words thrown back at him like knives.
He remembered that time he had fallen inside the frozen lake in his first year at Durmstrang. The ice had cracked under his feet and he had submerged. But the cold had shocked his nervous system, he hadn’t been able to swim, his limbs had been blocked as if they had been covered in ice. The tales of those that had met the same end had flashed through his mind then and, as he had sunk, bubbles of air had left his mouth and nose almost in slow motion, paralysed by the cold too. His classmates had shouted but the noise of their voices had been muffled, he hadn’t been able to understand what they said.
The embrace of darkness had become appealing after the endless first seconds of panic and he had almost felt disappointed when they took him out and laid him on the snow. He had never felt so much pain before, the world had never been so loud, and coldness had left him hurting for the next months, electric shocks going through his muscles in the middle of the night. When he should have been asleep, he had stared at the ceiling, thinking of the lake, thinking of the shiny surface of the water as it had receded, like a wave, like a tide. But he had been the one moving down all along.
He laid his hands on Albus’ shoulders to prop himself up and stood up from his lap, walking back to the chair and the candle. A literal trial by fire.
“Incendio,” he said out loud and the fire lit the candle aggressively. The flame was still too wild and unsteady, but it had lit without burning anything else in its wake, the wax hadn’t deformed. He felt numb, the worry that had overcome him before was now under control. He didn't know how to feel, it was all right and wrong and right and very very wrong at equal parts. Albus retook his place by the feet of the bed and observed him, concerned. Gellert spoke to his reflection in the mirror.
“Do you ever get tired of always being right?” He lowered his eyes to the flame, it was swallowed by the wax, and a thin column of smoke rose up from the fresh candle pool. He suddenly felt very tired. “Are we sleeping in the same bed or is that forbidden now too.”
“If you want me to.”
Do you want to? Or do you want to walk away and put an abyss between us better? Do you want to sleep alone? Do you want to be without me? Do you want to kill me? Do you want to kill me.
“I do.”
Albus nodded. “You are going to try to force the vision again, aren’t you.”
“You know me so well.” He had said it in a mocking tone, he knew Albus didn’t like him to force it, he had compared it in the past to forcing the vomit after too much drinking just to continue drinking more. He had also stayed next to him every time he had done it, helping him reach the limits of his own mind.
It was true, though, Albus knew him like the palm of his hand. That was the reason why this new situation was so terrifying, he would have never doubted willingly, never if everything didn’t point towards him. His heart ached, he felt him further and further away at every second, but his nerves were better, his pulse steadier. And that must mean distance was the right answer.
He wished he could use legilimency, he wished he could be the one inside Albus’ head, solve every piece of the puzzle, know every secret he hid, every thought. Maybe this was equilibrium, having him close enough to touch and not touching him, hadn’t it been like that for years? Nothing had blinded him in the past, nothing had made his thoughts foggy like Albus’ presence. Maybe that had been the problem all along.
“Can I stay?” And he added after a beat, he must have taken his inner turmoil for hesitation. “No legilimency, as we agreed.”
As we agreed before, at the very beginning, when you called me an enemy just to visit my hotel room more times than not, we agreed on that when we didn’t trust each other but couldn’t be apart. Square one, dearest friend, square fucking one.
“You wouldn’t see much anyway.” He stared at himself in the mirror, his pupils were clearer than before, greyish. Another try wouldn’t kill him, the skin around his eyes was already damaged, broken capillaries adorning his corneas. “Let’s do it”.
Albus let him space next to him and he sat. The light on the nightstand set his hair on fire, like lit embers, more orange than red, it created weird shadows on their features. He felt like he were walking on eggshells. Tentatively, he laid his head on Albus' shoulder and turned to him, he was starting to feel dizzy, he wouldn’t need to force the vision.
“Does it ever end? Do we ever get to exist in peace?”
It made Albus smile dryly, to his reflection. He lowered his eyes and passed his hand over the visible bruises he had left on his thigh when they had been struggling against each other against the door, healing them before Gellert could complain.
“You don’t know how many times I've asked myself that question.” But his tone changed, filled with anxiety. Albus turned to look at him, he touched his face. “Your eyes.”
Gellert looked at them, flooding with cobwebs in the mirror. “Something’s wrong,” he mumbled and found himself reaching for Albus for balance; he heard the panic in his own voice, like a curse, like a terrible storm, it was coming for him, a shot of adrenaline through his veins. “Hold me. Come closer. Something’s changed.”
Albus pulled him against his body, passed his hand around his waist, dug his chin into the space between his neck and his shoulder. He held him tight. But it still felt like falling.
This time the vision wasn’t empty. No blankness for him to get lost in. A living nightmare. One familiar face succeeded the other. All dead. He saw them all dead. He held their slaughtered faces, got stained with brains and blood and ground muscle. And again, he held the tower between his hands. Dee offered him a burning match and he brought the corner to it, the fire ate it up.
He lay in the middle of the forest with Nostradamus, the bright blazing sun, falling on them in flashes, slipping between the leaves of the tree they were under, blinding.
Needle in a haystack, trust me, and at least yours make a bit more sense. Hey, were you asleep while I was talking? No? Well, you look like you just had a bad dream. What was I saying. Oh, right. A duke? Another? Didn’t we have an archduke in the last war already? Their skin looked grey, their eyes were two-coloured, the glamour was on as if they were ready for a big appearance. They spoke in that emotionless tone of theirs, as if they had been bothered by the world since birth. I’m dying for the Summer to start, look up, it’s been ages since the last time I tasted them.
Gellert did, the pink flower petals had a green tint to them, the fruits would come bitter that year. You don’t look like you’ll live that long, Nostradamus.
Don’t I? That’s a pity. They looked far away at the cloaked figure approaching them.
Gellert could see the red hair, copperish in the sunlight, a bit lighter than Albus’. He raised his eyebrows when Ariana didn’t seem to recognise him. She blinked a few times and stared for a bit before greeting him, unsure of who he was.
Oh, it’s you. I didn’t expect to see you here, Gellert, not yet. I’m looking for, she looked at the palm of her hand, she seemed to have written down the name but sweat must have blurred it.
Nostradamus uttered a name Gellert had never heard and they gave him a look of you-didn’t-think-my-mother-named-me-just-Nostradamus-did-you.
That’d be me, it’s an old name. Too long. People call me something else now.
Ariana smiled apologetically, showing her white, bright, sharp teeth. For an instant, the world was brighter. She offered them a hand and Nostradamus took it. Something joined their limbs together then, like a golden thread that went from them to her, even if they didn’t touch. Do you want to come too? I could speak with the Master, put in a good word.
I think I’ll stay here a bit longer.
She turned her wrist to look at an invisible clock , and alarmed by a time she couldn't see, started walking. Good. Say hi to Albus when you see him, won't you.
I will.
Nostradamus turned their head back one last time. Good riddance, Gellert Grindelwald.
Good riddance, you. He answered back. And rest. They deserved it after what he had put them through.
As Nostradamus walked away into the sun, hand in hand with Ariana, their skin recovered a healthy colour, warmer than it had ever been, it blushed their cheeks and gave a glow to their movements. At the end of the path, Gellert could see someone else waiting for them. The Master. The wind shook the trees until the branches were left naked and brown, the petals and leaves covering the ground like a carpet of cherry blossoms.