They had been to the Grindelwald family vault before leaving. One would say they had woken up early but they hadn’t even slept.
Downstairs everyone had been awake, Nostradamus had locked themself inside the room and had cast the other two outside, screaming curses and speaking a soliloquy, trembling hands and trembling voice, eyes covered in white threads but not blinded yet. Trelahar had been worried sick, she had been holding a cup of coffee like a lifeline between her hands, cross-legged, sitting on the steps when they had come down. Karkarov had kissed her shoulder before taking a seat next to her.
“It’s terrifying, I’ve never seen them like this.”
“Seers are like that, Cassie” he had scoffed, taking a sip of her cup. “Fucked in the head.”
“I’m listening.” Gellert had walked to them to tell them he’d be out for a few hours.
“You know it’s true, more than anyone.” Karkarov had looked him up and down. “Are you leaving?”
“Yes.”
“Do you need–”
“I’m in good hands.” His gaze had travelled to Albus, who had been listening to the conversation leaning on the front door, a cigarette already between his lips. “But I need you to take care of Nostradamus. As if they were me, Karkarov.”
Albus had wondered what that exactly meant. How many times had Karkarov seen him mid-vision. Did he know what to do? Had Gellert taught him? Had he learnt by himself when they studied together? Did anyone else know? Under that roof, all former Durmstrang students were close enough, touchy enough for an outsider to look down on their affection, or worse, to let imagination run free.
Trelahar had hugged Gellert tightly. “I will be on my way by the time you are back, I better say goodbye now.”
“Stay alive, Cass. Til' next time.” He had taken a sip from her cup before leaving and had made a face. Black coffee, too bitter, Albus had heard the tip at least five times since he had arrived. Don't drink it if you don’t want to make a hole in your stomach. But they all did anyway. “And you, don’t let Nostradamus alone. This vision is a bitch.”
Cass Trelahar had given Albus a look, waving her hand, farewell to you too. Albus had nodded as an answer.
In another life, he wouldn’t feel that much contempt for all of them, deep down he knew the feeling was pure jealousy. Vinda Rosier had warned him. It’s like… a social formality between them. She had chosen her word carefully. A cultural thing. Durmstrang former students are raised to share everything, from clothes to body warmth. Albus had thanked her for the information, and still, there had been this wave of possessiveness that hadn’t let him connect with them. Gellert hadn’t seemed to notice any of it.
The cemetery had been a few hours away and apparating hadn’t been an option with the magical field of the land, splinching was almost a certainty.
Gellert had offered his hand and Albus had taken it, letting himself be guided inside the forest, walking blindly behind him, only stepping where he had stepped, not even raising his eyes to the night. There had been only darkness. Gellert’s hand had been warm in his and he had often turned his head back just to look at Albus, to check he was alright, to touch his face, to kiss him.
It had reminded him of Orpheus, hand in hand with Eurydice, trying to hold back, trying to not look at her. Would he be able to go to the Underworld and succeed in Orpheus’ task if he had seen himself in the situation? And Gellert? He hadn’t been sure, not after how he had felt after the separation. That was the tragedy of the tale at the end of the day, wasn’t it? Patience. Who could be patient when one spoke of the death of the one you love the most.
He had closed up during that time of separation, seeing an enemy even inside his own mind. Queenie Goldstein had been worried about him, they didn’t speak inside each other’s heads anymore, he didn’t allow conversations based only on legilimency. Vinda Rosier had been relieved by the novelty, Albus had held them out of spite, just to bother her, but his thoughts had got blurrier, more turbulent, and he hadn’t wanted anyone guessing him so vulnerable.
“You’ll go. Even if I didn’t allow it,” she had answered when Albus had framed his intentions as a suggestion. “Leave already. Tell him everything is going according to plan.”
And so he had. He had wondered how he had stood it before, when there had been months between one meeting and another, when they had held the same grudge for as long as they had been able to. How things changed when one chose to love freely.
Gellert had told him that he remembered playing in the cemetery as a child, hiding between the tombs, hands and clothes covered in dirt and mud. He had pointed to a shadow between the cypresses and had called it thestrals and Albus had believed him despite not distinguishing the creatures clearly. After that, he had shown him the pensieve. People chose to abandon their memories of their loved ones more often than not, without mercy, with too much guilt.
The door of the Grindelwald family pantheon had been sealed, as if it had been meant to be closed, never to be opened. The capital G had been carved in the stone, intertwined with the family emblem, a moon, like an open eye in the sky.
“It opens with the blood of one meant to rest here,” Gellert had explained, and Albus hadn't failed to notice how solemn his tone was when he spoke of his heritage, a thing he did scarcely. The Grindelwalds had been accompanied by prophecy since the beginning of times, since the world had been world. And of course, Gellert was proud of that. “And that privilege belongs to me only now. Only I can open it.”
He must have been quoting someone, his mother, most probably. Albus could imagine him as a child, hearing the words enough times for them to stick with him until that moment.
Gellert had been about to draw blood from his own fingers, pressing the blade inside one of his rings to his skin, but Albus had stopped him. He had then put the blade to his own wrist and it had almost touched the beginning of an old closed scar, Gellert’s eyes had darkened at the sight.
“What-”
“Let me prove your ancestors wrong, my love.” And blood had run fast, pulsating red, in rivers down his hand. He had cut a bit too deep.
He had marvelled at the panic on Gellert’s gaze, curiosity and anxiety, interlinked, paralysing him; he hadn’t been able to react in time to stop Albus from tracing the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, his own initial, the one he had used so many times to sign every letter they had exchanged, on the stone door. The marble blocks had disintegrated before them, leaving only a corridor of stairs, gloomy like the lion’s den. Gellert had stared at the Hallows as they vanished, enthralled, then, at him. He had brought his bleeding wrist to his lips.
“What are you–”
Albus had blinked and, for an instant, he had seen him as a boy again. A golden boy made of sunlight, with his palm sliced in the dim light of the barn. The blood pact had still been floating in the air, and there had been an unknown hunger in his eyes; he would have been scared if Gellert's eyes hadn't reflected the same thing. They had bled too much, they hadn’t known how to stop it and it had felt natural, like the only solution, to bring the wound to the other’s mouth for him to drink. Blood of my blood. It had been overwhelming, knowing that thirst and hunger could only be sated with the other’s body. A sacrament. A religion. That had been what they had made then, that was what they were devoted to even at that moment.
He had touched Gellert’s face, wondering if his thoughts had travelled to the same moment in time. The cut had stopped bleeding, he had mouthed the spell against the open wound. It wouldn’t heal, Albus had allowed it to stop bleeding, not to scar and disappear. It hadn’t supposed any pain, it was proof, to Gellert, to his ancestors and he preferred it to heal properly, burning like flesh was supposed to. Albus had spread red over Gellert’s mouth with his thumb as if painting his lips before kissing him, tasting his own blood in his mouth. The crack of dawn had granted them dimness and Albus had been able to read the name in the tomb he had been pressed against, to get a glimpse of the thestrals, further away than he had imagined before. He had pulled from the chain around Gellert’s neck to get him even closer.
Gellert had pushed him and had walked away from him when his cold hands had found his skin. Short of breath, eyes bewildered, there had been fear in his eyes when the spell of touch had been broken.
“You,” he had started. “You.”
But he had also let Albus come closer again, he had also let him bring his mouth to his again, to lick the blood from his lips, his cheeks, his chin.
“Since when are you so determined to make my ancestors roll in their graves,” he had mumbled against his neck, sharp teeth branding him his.
His skilled fingers had already opened all the buttons he had had at reach and Albus had let himself be guided downstairs after that, inside the vault.
If you want me, have me, prove to them you deserve their blood, show them why mine runs through your veins, tell them how you did it, you can enter their home, their bones, their history despite your name and birth. Prove to them I’m yours. Let the dead see. Let the dead see. Until they know you are mine. Until we are sated. Until they are.
Albus hadn’t even known what part of the thought had been his or Gellert’s. Reason had left him a while ago, Gellert had never been worried about it. He had complied. He had obeyed. His enemies were all alive. And the dead, he dared the dead to try to destroy him. They could already control them anyway.
They had left the cemetery in silence, legs still trembling, out of breath. Gellert had looked back so many times on their way Albus had wondered if he had been checking he hadn’t evaporated. But he had shaken his head softly every time, the shadow of a smile on his lips.
The vault had been lit with a torch of Gubraithian fire and Gellert had lit a splinter with it to burn the dead flowers on her mother’s tomb. New ones had grown from the ashes. Fire to ashes, ashes to fire, what is dead comes back, in life was always death and, in death, life. Gellert had offered him an unlit candle and he had performed the spell wandlessly.
He had rolled his eyes. “You could have lit it from the ashes.”
“Not when I'm trying to impress you.”
“Liebling, I think we are all very impressed by you, the living and the dead, and everyone in between,” he hadn’t been able to hide the smile.
They had become each other, they were each other, one and the other at the same time. Their souls had intertwined in one too long ago for it to be anything else than one.
Gellert had slid the chain around his neck for him to carry once they reached the train station. They had left Karkarov with instructions. Nostradamus had been lying down, eyes white, speaking in an unknown language, tears streaming down their face. It had been the same words, over and over again, he had learnt later, please, don't do it, please, you’ll kill us all.
Nostradamus must contact Perenelle the moment they woke up. Gellert had felt the vision closer too, Albus could see the threads forming slowly but steadily in them if he squinted.
Karkarov had caressed Gellert’s face in a similar way as the last time he had seen him, in London. He had been too proud to shake his hand so he had nodded to Albus instead. Goodbye, I wish I never see you again.
Gellert hadn't answered when Karkarov had asked him about who he thought Nostradamus was talking to. Albus knew Gellert already sensed a guilt that didn't belong to him yet, a gut feeling he couldn’t attribute to his sight but to his humanity.
“Do you think Caesar expected the Idus?” Gellert asked him.
They were back in Gordic’s Hollow, exhausted and weary from the trains and the apparating. They had stopped a few times and still, Albus felt dizzy. When he brushed Gellert’s hand, a few blue sparks left his fingers. He held them between his and brought them to his heart.
“Go to your aunt’s and rest. I can go alone. I’ll get you afterwards.”
But Gellert was shaking his head. “You are just as tired.”
Albus could see the white thread of destiny dancing on the corners of his eyes, the vision approaching again. It had been tormenting him for weeks and it would continue, it showed him the slightest glimpse of the future and left him in darkness and pain again. Gellert feared it wasn't finished yet, he had confessed it, there wasn't much he could do in that case. He was as lost as everyone else. Albus kissed his forehead. I love you, I love you, I love you, you don’t understand how much I love you.
Bathilda’s home was empty, they could sense the protection spells surrounding it as they turned the corner of her street. Across the cemetery, the Dumbledore household, Aberforth’s home, had its windows lit orange. It reminded Albus of a childhood he had dreaded and could now romanticise. Tales around the chimney at night and his father playing hide and seek with them while his mother knitted scarfs for the winter.
In front of his sister's grave, Gellert turned to him but he changed his mind and, instead of speaking, he kissed his cheek. His brother had left fresh flowers that day for both of them. Kendra's were white and Ariana's were darker, he couldn't see which colour, it was too dark. Purple, probably. Or pink. Or yellow. He pulled Gellert's hand to continue walking, his eyes wandered over Ignatius Peverell’s tomb.
It was strange to be back, it was even stranger to be back there with Gellert. He seemed to be thinking the same.
“Do you ever think about how many blasphemies we have committed on holy grounds?”
“I don't think there is a God up there keeping count if that's what worries you.” Albus knew it didn't.
“Maybe not the one you have in mind. The Gods from ancient times, the Greek, the Celtic, the Babylonian, the Norse, do you look away from them too?”
“They are all the same. Flighty voyeurs looking down on us. Cruel. Fickle." He didn't know if he believed that. Of something else, he was certain "It's good to have someone to blame for the world's tragedies. Another lineage to curse that isn't ours.”
Gellert smiled, seraphic, a flash of sharp teeth, and took a step closer to him. The night was upon them and they found themselves standing where so many times before they had been, able to rub in Ignatius Peverell’s face that the wand and the stone belonged to them now. Albus spoke again.
“What are they to you. The Gods, you keep them closer than I do.”
“Not that I have another option.” His hands caressed his arms and cupped Albus' face, tracing his cheekbones with his thumbs. “The first time I had a vision I tasted power. I thought for a long time that that was divinity.” He snorted. “It was the only thing that mattered.” And, leaning even closer to him, almost brushing his lips with his. “Then I met you. And we planned a revolution I had to continue alone.” He stopped Albus from taking a step back, guessing his reaction to his words before he had been able to move. “I tried to lean on divinity to achieve it but it didn't work, destiny was something I saw, but it was also something I had no power over. Divinity was my limit. Wasn’t it?”
Albus nodded, half entranced by his words, by his closeness, and half uncomfortable with the tone he used to speak of the past as if it didn’t hurt anymore, as if it was someone else’s.
“Now I can see it was better if I couldn't access the Gods, a line not meant for muggle or wizard kind. It was humbling to be put on the same level as them, equally deprived of something that had felt like a birthright for so long.”
“So your gods exist because you need them to.”
“And so do yours, Albus. You are not above them either.” Gellert brought his face to his to kiss him. “I try to focus on you, your presence, your breathing, your voice, it makes everything easier when there is only destruction in front of me. And there is this prayer you mumble when you are scared that the vis–”
“I'm not scared.” Shut up, Gellert, stop talking, must you always know where to throw salt for it to sting. Must you always sink your fingers in the open wound to check if it’s still bleeding.
“Aren’t you?” He sighed and kissed him again. “My mistake. Personally, I'm terrified. I'm fucking terrified of all this going wrong. I'm fucking terrified because I don't want to lose you when– But it’s good to know you aren’t. A relief actually”
“Drop the sarcasm, would you? You are not going to lose me.”
“Liebling, last time I checked we didn’t have the power to fight decisions made in other planes of existence by beings that–”
“If the Gods took you away from me, I'd flood the world with ichor. Do you understand?”
And Gellert’s breath caught, a white flash passing his eyes momentarily. “Yes.” He answered, finally, his brows had knitted together as if he wasn’t sure of what he had seen.
“Are you okay?”
“Yes. Let’s go, they must be waiting,” he changed his tone to add, mockingly. “I can’t wait to see your brother.”
They walked a path they had repeated over one summer at least five times a day, with the excuse of walking the other home, competing for who was the most gentlemanly of the two, the perfect excuse to stretch their goodbye for at least an extra half hour. He squeezed Gellert’s hand before knocking on the door, the tightest of smiles adorned his face. He was clearly nervous about a reunion after so many years, after such a nasty ending, after the unfateful night of her death.
Albus felt the pressure of the wand against his throat before the door had opened properly.
“We are children. I knock on your door. What do you say.”
The light of the wand was blinding him, he couldn’t see Aberforth’s face. It was a clever question, the answer had always been the same. The same order, the same sentence, the same way to show him disdain and superiority, to prove that he was better, older, wiser, greater. Albus regretted having been so cruel to him during his teenage years.
“Aberforth, ask the goats to play with you and get lost,” it came out as a quiet plea, he couldn’t bring himself to replicate the nasty tone he had used back then.
The wand pointed to Gellert then and he could finally see his brother’s face, serious and tense. Gellert had pressed his lips in a line not to laugh but he had had to look away, unable to face the powerful light. Aberforth scanned Gellert for a long while, taking this known stranger in, Albus could read in his thoughts how the man in front of him and the image of the monster from the newspapers bled through to show him the golden brutal boy from that long-lost summer. After a few seconds of silence, Aberforth still stared, the question didn’t come to him. In the recognition, there was something else. Like grief. Like pain. The silence had become uncomfortable and the shadow of Ariana’s face had started to form in his head.
“So you knew how to knock. I thought you had to learn after that time you came in without warning and saw–”
“That’s enough, get the fuck in.”
And then, it was all a reunion. Warm candle-lit room in oranges and yellows, jackets asked to be taken off, a crowded room and the heat of the fire demanding everyone to lose a few layers of heavy clothes. He exchanged a look with Gellert before starting to shake hands and exchange a few empty words with everyone, greeting them. You are unbelievable. Gellert raised his eyebrows. What did you expect me to do instead? Stay still until I put down roots? Albus shook his head slightly. Great fucking start.
It was strange to see the living room so alive, it was strange to stand in it and not have the corpse of his sister lying by the stairs, it was strange to hear so much life, so much chattering, so much noise in a house where they had all spoken in whispers after his father was sent to Azkaban. Years of silence interrupted by Ariana’s episodes of mayhem.
Theseus, Newt, Auror Goldstein. The three of them were okay, wearing dark circles and in need of a break but unscathed after Rome. They were officially out of it all. Elphias had made sure Theseus was out of the affair after that moment, isolating him to useless paperwork. Tina Goldstein had walked away from the MACUSA, taking a vacation as an excuse for her stay, the Wizengamot would have gone after her for overextending her duties in Europe if not.
Denya looked like a fish out of water, wizarding robes and hood still on, she released a sigh of relief when she saw them appear. Her canines had been sharpened magically, making her smile a collection of white needles. During the brief time they had travelled together, she had explained to Albus how useful it was to be able to defend yourself in the most animalistic of ways, when one dealt with the dead so often, they never failed to surprise even the most skilled of necromancers. Her eyes were so green they looked transparent, two pools of dirty water in the middle of her face. So scary one could not help but look at her.
“Good to see you so alive, Gellert. And in such good company.”
She had come to bring them a piece of information that she had preferred not to write down, the Invisibility cloak was in the continent, a confirmation. It was no use looking for it in nature, it was behind closed doors. Denya left as soon as she had arrived, not without exchanging a few words with Albus about some uses of dragon blood they had discussed before. She offered Gellert a sachet full of teeth.
“Heard you are having some trouble finding someone.”
“I’m good, Dee.”
“The pictures in your cards can get you so far, organic divination is always better when you want to find someone. Take it and thank me later, Grindelwald.”
Gellert had made a face as he had held the transparent sachet between two fingers, clearly trying to hide the disgust.
“I’ll expect news from Trelahar." She had buttoned up her coat, there was always blood under her fingernails, it came with the territory. "And stay alive, pet, I don’t want to deal with you just yet.”
She disapparated almost before finishing the sentence, her words hung in the air. Vinda arrived fashionably late, the weight of the world lifted from her shoulders when she saw Gellert. It had been some time since they had last seen the other.
“You missed Denya for seconds,” he lied, kissing her cheeks to greet her, and showed her the bag of teeth.
"Thank the Gods." Vinda Rosier nodded to Albus, she didn't seem displeased to see him. The question needn't be spoken between them. “Now you’ve met them all.”
“The four horsemen of apocalypse.”
Vinda almost smiled, but her eyes were scanning the room, clearly looking for someone else.
“She hasn’t arrived yet,” Tina told her, directly addressing her, and Vinda gave her a tight smile, uncomfortable; she had been caught.
“Denya is the best of them,” Albus commented, saving her from continuing to speak about Queenie with her sister. “Hands down.”
“Of course you say that. She’s not even discrete about how much she likes you,” Gellert said quietly, only Rosier and him heard him.
She snorted, amused, when Gellert and him exchanged a look.
Jealous?
So what if I am.
“Knowing her, she’d bring you on her adventures as a corpse if you die. Have you heard that story?” Rosier made a face when he said he had. “But I agree, I like her best too.”
Dee had favourites among the dead, it was common knowledge already. Albus brushed the back of his hand with Gellert’s, he hadn’t found it funny. Albus could sense his uneasiness, there was something else that bothered him, this was him finding excuses to spiral. Aberforth's presence, the house, who knew.
But Gellert sighed when the knock on the door came, as if the sound had just confirmed his suspicions.
Holding cups of tea between their hands and settled on the sofa, the surprised expression was collective. Queenie arrived accompanied by Elphias. Albus found in no time an excuse to slip away for a while, listening from the kitchen as he waited for another kettle to start boiling. His brother stared at him from the other side of the room, leaning on the wall, not participating in the conversation. He hadn't before either.
So Elphias was trying to get back on the same boat as him. Willing to share secrets. Willing to give away everything the Ministry had planned. Queenie had read him, Queenie could confirm that he said the truth, that he regretted what he had done, that he was remorseful, that he wanted to help. Albus felt the knot in his stomach loosening the more he heard him talk.
He returned the stare when he came back and offered them both a warm cup of tea. Elphias seemed to have aged ten years since the last time he saw him. His gaze travelled to Gellert who was next to the window, commenting something under his breath in French to Vinda. They had both left their cups on the windowsill, still steaming. It was probably their second or third since they had arrived. She pressed her lips in a line not to smile, but the movement of her hand covering her mouth got Elphias’ attention.
“What did you say.”
Vinda hit Gellert’s arm, he seemed to have stopped listening a while ago to his lecture on forgiveness, too focused on catching up with her, unaware of being talked to. Elphias had to repeat his question and Gellert’s eyes travelled to Albus.
“Don’t look at him, look at me. I’m the one talking to you.”
And Gellert didn’t like his tone, so he gave Albus another apologetic look and answered without a filter, no emotion in his voice. Albus was sure those had been the exact words he had uttered moments before.
“I said you seem so very desperate to be on the side of truth now that it makes me wonder to what extent you would crawl to get some trust back after defending the Ministry.”
For a moment there was silence. Vinda mouthed something to Queenie. That she would laugh if she continued staring. Aberforth seemed to have found it funny too, amusement making him smirk with second hand embarrassment, a expression so much like their father's. He took a big sip of tea and it was gone. Newt and Theseus exchanged a look. Tina, on the other hand, seemed more interested in Albus’ reaction.
Elphias answered as if he’d been preparing for this type of encounter. He was calm. Collected. Albus knew it was a façade, he saw it in his crossed arms and his tense jaw, in his scorn, in his posture. Perhaps one could never stop knowing someone, not after knowing them once like the palm of the hand.
“I prefer to be wrong and crawl back than to impose a truth. I mean, at least I haven’t killed anyone for not believing what I thought was right. ”
Cumbersome topic. Very very well chosen. Gellert raised his eyebrows.
“I’m not sure you’re getting your numbers right, Doge. The Ministry archives have been proven to be altered to benefit their truth a derisory amount of times in the past.”
Elphias shook his head. “You burned them. The ones who didn’t join. People with families and friends and futures. Aurors. You’ve burnt many, as well as their loved ones.”
Albus saw how Theseus tensed on the sofa, his eyes fixed on Elphias, glassy. Newt only stared at Gellert, the niffler between his hands had stopped fidgeting with a coin, surprised by his grip tightening on him.
“I don’t recall killing anyone for not believing. Ever. Do you?” Gellert leaned back on the glass of the window, he and Vinda were sitting on the edge. A smile danced on his lips as he shook his head, an inner joke. “Your aurors. Their loved ones. And so many others. So many. I confirm you, you wouldn’t be able to count how many lost their lives to the flames.” Gellert sighed and Albus felt everyone in the room tense, how they all had gone quiet to hear him speak, the way he had them all hanging, craving what he’d say next. His voice was almost quiet, he could allow himself to not even raise it to a normal tone, everyone was listening. “But you forget fire was always a defence, protego diabolica is a defensive spell. Of the protective kind if you want to get into the specifics. And the ones killed by it had chosen their destiny very carefully.”
Albus saw Theseus’ fists on his lap, white, and his eyes travelling to his wand on the table before going back to Gellert. He felt his brother’s eyes on him, looking for an explanation.
“Your aurors died. By my hand, you say. And I tell you the only reason why they were able to cross the ring of fire in the first place was because they weren’t against me.”
“That’s not true.”
For an instant, Albus feared Gellert would ask if he wanted a demonstration.
“Were you there? Were you close enough to see the relief on their faces as they mouthed the spell? Any spell, because every offensive spell works. Protego diabolica burns alive anyone who raises their wand against the caster. ” Gellert stood up, Albus saw him blink the vision away subtly with the movement. It’d come soon, again, the same empty blank of the future. “But you must already know that the Ministry has files. Did they write down that some of them said sorry before attacking too? Or did your Ministry only let the ones that used the killing curse go down in history? Or better. Did they write that they all did? That all of them used the killing curse against me?” He had a talent for dramatic pauses, the half smile gave him away to Albus; he’d be brutal now, he’d be raw. “How noble, how very noble and brave and courageous. He died fighting the Terror of Europe doesn’t sound as good as he hung himself, does it?”
Vinda Rosier turned her head away from the scene, finding Queenie staring back at her at the other side of the room. Tina Goldstein had stood up but Gellert seemed unbothered by it. The can of worms was already opened, Albus hoped no one dared to raise a wand.
“One gets you on the papers, one gives you an excuse to die, a reason for your family to remember you fondly. And the other.” Gellert sighed. “The other makes you a coward. Wasn’t that what your Ministry called the deserters?”
He wanted to push the limits. Albus knew it was all true despite that, a well-known secret no one had dealt with during those times, something dark masked and covered by excuses and accusations towards the opposition. Death had been chosen by many as the best solution.
Newt and Theseus were white as chalk, the first one, biting his lips hard, almost chewing on them, they’d start to bleed if he didn’t stop. When Elphias started his reply, Theseus interrupted him.
“Do you remember them?”
Gellert directed his gaze to him, abandoning Elphias’ easily, leaving him staring daggers alone.
“Pardon?”
“Do you remember them? The ones who crossed, you said they "chose death carefully." You must remember them.” Albus didn’t know if Gellert would hear the spite in his voice, if he had realised how hard Theseus had swallowed before speaking again, there was nothing like the past to choke on. Gellert seemed a bit confused by the question, by the switch of tone, by the sudden change from hostility to curiosity.
“Yes, some faces I still do.”
“Do you?” Newt repeated the question and the entire room focused on him for an instant, his voice had been inquisitive. The niffler between his hands continued to play with its golden coin, with ignorant and joyful movements, it made it turn between its small paws.
“They had a distinctive look to them, most came a few times before crossing the fire," he explained. "But the ones who didn’t… It was as if he had it written on them.” He looked away suddenly and Albus locked eyes with him for a second. “I tried to avoid them. By the eve of the war they had started to come in waves.” He made a face, he had remembered something. “That’s the reason why you and your brigade stopped being able to crash the rallies. It was you, wasn't it? I didn’t get better at hiding.”
Theseus nodded, he remembered too, he remembered everything. “Better death than war.”
The waves of suicides in the Ministry weren’t spoken about enough, Gellert Grindelwald had given them salvation, an honourable way of leaving the world, an excuse to die peacefully. Men, women, and the children in their arms, condemned to a preferred hell, one that was chosen.
“More like “better death now than death later.”” His eyes found Albus. “I modified the spell, remember? I asked you for help.”
Albus nodded, lips pressed together, and ignored the stares, everyone had looked at him for an instant. What did it matter now that they may have been in contact back then now. He hadn’t even helped him, too busy denying the obvious, too busy repeating the same words the Ministry said to the papers until they sounded familiar enough to be plausible, to be something like the truth. Deep down he had always known. Gellert had received no help from him.
“There was this old woman.” Gellert started to exemplify his point, giving them a bit more context before they threw questions and accusations towards Albus. He found himself hanging by his words too. “She said victory was another name for death. She was around my aunt's age at the time.”
Queenie was nodding, her voice almost a whisper, tears in her eyes. A few weeks after that moment, she had left the movement to get married, she had wanted to die a Kowalski. How the times had changed. “Gods, I remember her.”
Rosier had her lips pressed together in a tight line, eyes staring blankly at the opposite wall, arms crossed in front of her chest. "The fire would be gentler if it came from gentle hands."
He didn't know what sold it more, Gellert, clearly holding back not to reach for her hand or Rosier, showing more emotion than everyone in the room had ever seen her show. Albus wished he could feel guilt for not helping him then but it was as if it that was someone else’s life, something he hadn’t lived, something he had been told a long time ago. Albus had been a spectator until he hadn't been able to avoid entering the battlefield. He felt like an spectator then too, observing everyone’s reactions, slipping inside everyone’s thoughts only to find the same horror, the same sorrow Gellert spoke about reflected to him. Everyone remembered. And he was doing so well at reminding them.
“And, did you kill her?” Theseus asked.
Newt's eyes widened.
“Yes. But I can count with the fingers of one hand the people I’ve killed personally.”
Theseus nodded, for all the inner turmoil Albus could read inside of him, he managed to give his question a layer of graceful curiosity that disguised a long-dwelled grief into something genuine, almost childish. Everyone in that room had been to war, everyone had killed at some point or the other, Gellert had not been counting self defense. Albus hadn't done it during the war either.
“And. And, did you kill Leta Lestrange?”
Gellert was leaning again on the edge of the window in a more comfortable position, he wasn’t feeling attacked anymore, he was almost interested in the conversation. He blinked, puzzled at the name.
“Lestrange,” he repeated back and stared in silence for a few seconds. “Brown hair. Big brown eyes. Proud. Very proud.”
Theseus nodded slowly.
“Very brave too.”
Albus felt Tina Goldstein’s eyes on him again, when he stared back, she looked away. She didn’t trust him. Not Gellert. Him. Why. She seemed to think Queenie had acted under his orders when she obliviated Jacob.
“That one.”
Theseus was biting the inner part of his cheek, Albus recognised the boyish habit in an instant. How far was he from the boy he taught? And how far had that boy been to the one that buried Leta’s empty coffin. He had been barely a man, his eyes still full of light, full of hope. The first war had taken that from him, from all of them.
“Leta Lestrange,” Gellert shook his head. “No, I did not kill her.”
Theseus nodded again before lowering his head on his hands. And it had been as if everyone in the room had been holding their breath, waiting for the answer.
Albus interrupted Elphias before he continued sowing discord. They weren’t there to discuss the past, the future was waiting for them to shape it, to better it, to save it from destruction.
“A word with you outside, Elphias. Now.” He stood up and started walking to the door, his tone didn’t admit back talking and Elphias seemed about to melt in a pool of blood and skin and guts and brains the moment their eyes met. To Gellert, he said, glancing at him for an instant. “You speak, don’t wait for me.”
The moment the door closed behind them, Elphias started the forgiveness lecture again. Albus stopped him in his tracks. He felt too tired to deal with it again.
“I don’t care if you are sorry, I don’t care if you admit you were wrong now.” He could see Elphias’ persona disappearing as he talked to him, the trust he had shown inside abandoning him with every word, as if he were driving knives through him with each of them. Albus almost felt bad to see him so defeated. “Don’t be a nuisance, that’s your purpose for this war. Is that what you want? Do you want me to give you purpose? Is that why you came here?”
“Albus.”
“You used my own spell against me,” he said, knowing it had most probably been against Gellert. The more he thought about it, the sicker he felt, the angrier he was, he didn’t want to remember the hell he had been through, he’d see Gellert’s scar on his side for the rest of his life, he’d feel it under his fingers, and the guilt would never really go away. “I protected you and you cursed me.”
“I–”
“No. I don’t want to hear about it. I’m tired of it. I’m tired of you.” He drew a long breath, was he being cruel? And as he formed the words, he realised he truly felt them. He wasn’t threatening him, not yet. “I better not hear your name until this is over. I promise I don’t want to know what I’d do.”
But they both had a vague idea of it. Elphias nodded, a pained expression on his face; he didn’t recognise him. Albus almost rolled his eyes. You know me, you’ve always known how I was, stop acting surprised, stop acting as if I deceived you, you knew to what extent I’d go to get what I wanted when you were my friend and still stayed by my side, you knew I wasn’t the best person when you turn on me. You’ve seen me do this so many times, so stop playing the victim and be grateful for the fucking warning.
“When this ends. Will you talk to me then?” His voice was almost a whisper.
He held back the sigh, already turning his back on him. “I’ll think about it.”
“Albus.”
“I said,” he repeated sharply, “I’ll think about it.”
Back inside the house, everyone had already left, apparating away with new instructions to follow. Queenie was the only one left able to get inside any Ministry, in theory, she was still on duty, in some mission in Europe. Gellert had wanted to send Vinda to Karkarov, to keep an eye on him, to make sure he worked efficiently, knowing she would dread it. The rest was supposed to get more information about the duke. Who was that man, did he even exist, where was he, what did he do? Trelahar and Nostradamus would continue with the peace campaign around the international governments. And Dee played solo, as always.
Gellert hadn’t moved from the window and Aberforth leaned his weight on the table, they weren’t talking, just staring at each other in silence.
“Keep it quiet, I can hear you from outside.”
The house had gained back its usually dark and gloomy aura and now that everyone was gone, Albus avoided thinking of that dreadful night were he had climbed downstairs to find them throwing curses at each other. He could hear the echo of his steps.
Gellert smirked but he didn’t ask anything. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t talk to him about Elphias, he preferred not to. Aberforth seemed to speak for both of them. He seemed just as tired, the more he looked at him, the more he looked like their father, swollen eyes from the lack of sleep, sunken cheeks, deteriorated.
“He’s even more insufferable than I remember.”
Albus snorted, Gellert had nodded in agreement, very subtly, but Aberforth had seen him.
“And you don’t know the whole story,” Albus answered.
A beat. Gellert had looked away, his eyes fixed on the chimney. Fawkes, in all her decadent glory, chirped softly, bouncing around the now ashes of the fire. The phoenix hatchling recognised Albus and scampered around the room, almost torching a few pieces of furniture on her way. Before it reached him, the bird braked and turned to Gellert, jumping and chirping loudly at his feet, way more interested in him than in his owner.
“Hello, chicken,” he greeted and Fawkes chirped back, a high-pitched, annoyed, chirp that made Gellert press his lips together to hold back the laughter.
Even in that pitiful state, the flames of her feathers shone bright, making the bird a small ball of fire with two coals for eyes. After the outrage, seeing that Gellert wouldn’t pick her up, she turned back to Albus, celebrating him as if she hadn’t just ignored him. Albus offered his palm to the bird and it climbed, happy to have someone to caress its feathers and share the warmth with.
“Why are you so biassed, he ignores you, I don’t,” he said to it as he put the ball of feathers inside the pocket of his shirt, in an instant its head was peeking out to see the scene. “Did she give you any trouble?”
Aberforth shrugged. “When she wasn’t travelling, she was recovering inside the flames. Good company, phoenixes, quiet and not especially demanding. She likes apples, did you know?.”
“Does she?”
“And pears too,” Gellert added. “Don’t look at me like that, how come you’ve never tried to–.”
“Because phoenixes are not supposed to eat fruit.”
“Animals eat what you feed them, Albus,” Aberforth interrupted him, putting an end to the conversation. “If it doesn’t kill it, let it eat it. You should know that by now.”
He raised his hands in defeat, why explain to them what Newt had advised him. Maybe he had just found the reason why Fawkes liked Gellert so much.
Aberforth offered to let them stay the night, Bathilda’s house was plagued by boggarts, she had made sure no one would try to get inside unless they needed to before leaving for America. Albus appreciated it. Both the warning and the offer. Since Gellert didn’t give him any signs of being against it, he accepted. It would be better if they stayed there. He didn’t know how many patronuses they’d have to cast until they got rid of the damned boggarts. Besides, he suspected his own had changed since the last time he faced one, he didn’t feel like checking if his hypothesis was true.
“And stop acting as if you didn't know where everything is,” Aberforth said as he walked to the kitchen, “especially you, you lived here for seventeen years. Everything's the same.”
As they had dinner, Albus brushed Gellert’s hand under the table; they hadn't stood that close in hours, but he moved it away instantly, almost jumping at the contact. He covered it with a cough. He looked paler. How remarkable his capacity to hold back a vision was, it was a shame it'd always come back with consequences.
When they got tired of staring at the dish and moving the mass of mashed potatoes and peas with the fork, Gellert offered to do the dishes and disappeared inside the kitchen.
They had eaten in silence and Gellert leaving didn’t change the situation. Albus didn’t feel strong enough to start a new conversation, Aberforth didn’t seem to be in the mood either, so he asked him if he wanted tea and stood up before he got an answer.
Gellert was cleaning the dishes the muggle way, soap and scrubber. He must remember the fights Albus and his brother had, how Albus defended the magical way over anything even for the most basic tasks and how Aberforth had started to do everything the other way around, as if to contrast his excesses of magic.
How blind he had been, how naïve, thinking himself better. Gellert moved to leave him space in the narrow kitchen to pick up the kettle and fill it with water. He put it on the stove and picked up a cloth to dry the dishes that Gellert passed him.
“You didn't remember her, did you? Leta Lestrange.”
Gellert continued scrubbing a teacup from before, Vinda's, he guessed at the lipstick mark, he answered after a beat. He didn’t look at him, too busy staring at his own wet hands, covered in bubbles of soap.
“Should I?”
Albus shrugged. “Not really.” He left a dry cup inside the cupboard. “I taught her,” he commented, it wouldn’t help Gellert remember but he couldn’t help mentioning it. “She was engaged to Theseus when...”
“Shit. They were—?” He huffed. "Fuck."
“Yes, I know.” Albus picked up the last one and dried it, leaving the cloth on the edge of the sink when he finished. “On the bright side, you won a friend tonight. He was convinced it had been you. All of them were.”
“And you didn't even care if I'd done it or not? How could I know who she was if you never spoke about her?" He crossed his arms in front of his chest, he wasn’t really bothered. “After all those years he must have had his own hypotheses, I don’t think I confirmed anything he didn’t already imagine.”
“Me neither. It happened in Paris.” He had deliberately ignored both his questions. What did he want him to say? That he had forgotten about it? That he had felt pity but not that much because her death had meant Gellert had continued to live? That night they had almost caught him, that night he had been so angry, Paris had almost burnt down.
Gellert raised his eyebrows. “Do you know how many rallies I’ve held there? Père-Lachaise, Montparnasse, Montmartre, the catacombs.”
“No. Let me remind you I stopped reading the papers for years to avoid anything related to you.” Albus brushed past him to get the tea leaves from the glass container, he placed a hand on his lower back for an instant. Gellert tensed slightly, his gaze on to the window glass, but there was nothing but darkness outside. “You got her appearance right, though.”
“All the Lestranges look the same. And the few I've met are disgustingly proud.”
Vinda's family, Albus imagined. The Rosiers and the Lestrange had always shared more blood than they should have.
“You said she was brave.”
Gellert smiled guiltily and took a step closer, in the tiny kitchen it left them face to face.
“Isn’t that what you say about someone that dies? That they are brave.” He lowered his voice even more, they were speaking very quietly, above the whisper.
“Empty kindness is not something you tend to give away.” Albus put a hand to his cheek and Gellert leaned into his touch. His face was hot but his skin looked very pale, he must be a bit under the weather. “That’s why I doubted if you remembered her.”
“What was she like? You’ll make me feel bad at this rate. Was she, what, a Gryffindor?”
And Albus heard the old as time the-house-system-is-bullshit-in-Durmstrang-it-made-more-sense argument in his tone, behind the genuine curiosity.
“Slytherin actually. But Leta Lestrange was just as you described." He could picture her clearly in her student robes. Speaking with Newt in the corridor, leaning her shoulder on the wall as he rambled, cheeks glowing red under her gaze. Shouting at Minerva, ready to duel her even if she was a teacher, raising her wand at her, a nasty curse ready on her tongue. "Very troubled kid, mischievous. Sometimes wicked. Not as unstable as one would expect. And she was brave too, I still remember her boggart.”
Gellert scrunched his nose, he was against kids having to deal with boggarts in front of the rest of the class, he had been very surprised that Hogwarts allowed something like that when he had learnt it from Albus.
“Family tragedy?”
“The Euripidian kind.”
“Hippolytus?”
“Medea.”
Gellert made a face, he got the idea, and looked away, suddenly fidgety. He took out three cups out of the ones he had just put in the drawer to pour the tea.
“What's wrong, Gellert.”
He shook his head, his eyes looked blurry, irises watered down and threads of white swimming in them.
Albus caught his brother's reflection then, on the half-opened window, the flames of the chimney behind him had covered his figure and Albus had been too focused on Gellert to feel observed, to sense his presence on the threshold. He didn't turn, Gellert must have thought he had already perceived him. He had tried to let him know they were being watched.
“Al, I’m trying to hold it back, I swear…” He stared at his palms, annoyed, frustrated, a few blue sparks had slipped out of his fingers as he had put down the kettle.
"Why don't you go upstairs. I’ll bring your cup.”
“But I don’t want,” he huffed and dropped his occlumency walls, I don’t want to appear weak or ungrateful or rude or surly in front of your brother, I am trying to make amends, I'm trying to make it right this time.
“Go. I’ll be there in a second.” He touched his face, Gellert closed his eyes when he kissed his forehead. The fever was mounting.
For an instant, he thought he would protest or complain, but Gellert just brushed his lips against his cheek. He mumbled goodnight as he passed next to Aberforth, who revealed himself next to the kitchen door.
Aberforth regarded him, it wasn’t until Gellert climbed the stairs that he spoke. He took a few steps closer and leaned on the counter, showing him the sleeping ball of feathers between his hands, head under its wing. It made Albus smile. Aberforth had always got on well with animals, it was no surprise he'd grown fond of Fawkes.
“Can I ask you a question. One. And you don't have to answer it.”
Albus shook his head, a tight mirthless smile on his face. He could prescind from Aberforth’s opinions, doubts or ideas on anything related to Gellert, he preferred any topic but that one.
“The visions are getting worse. Not worse,” he corrected himself, “more fragmented.”
Aberforth stayed quiet, not a judgemental type of quiet, just quiet. Like his father when Albus told him he couldn't wait to go to Hogwarts and know people like him, to be understood, to be known; like his father when his mother told him about that day’s sermon in church. Quiet because he was listening.
“He tries not to give in to them but,” Albus sighed, “it’s complicated. They are empty, or almost empty. And we don’t know what’s more damaging, holding them back or just allowing them to pass. There is this other seer that’s going mad with them and we are going to Paris because Perenelle’s visions are still clear and she might, I don’t know, have some type of solution or.” He shook his head, his voice had broken, and he swallowed hard. Why was he even trying to explain it to Aberforth? He felt suddenly embarrassed. “Anyways. How have you been.”
Aberforth reached for one of the cups and took a sip, drinking half air half tea, it was still too hot. He held Fawkes with his other hand. “Same as always. From home to the tavern, from the tavern home. Speak with the clients, clean the bar, you know how it is.”
What Albus knew is that his words weren't entirely true. Being the safe house meant never feeling safe, always being in tension, expecting news, good, or bad, being ready to find someone bleeding on the floor, a splinched messenger, a visitor in shock, anyone. And those were the best cases. He didn’t have the strength to insist, he just wished it wasn't too much for him, he only wished he’d be able to hold on for as long as the excruciating uncertainty and the desperate suspense ended.
“Abe.”
“Don't spoil it, we’ve had a decent night.”
Albus took a deep breath. “Thank-”
“There you go, you ruined it.” He put down his cup and Fawkes chirped softly, he had awoken her. He lowered his voice. “Go upstairs already, will you?”
Albus obeyed, they’d fight if he didn’t. They'd managed a civil conversation, so why push it further. It hadn’t been terrible. He picked up the two cups that were left, steaming, and almost spilt hot tea on his fingers. It was an instinct to use a simple spell to make them levitate.
“Goodnight, Aberforth.”
“Sheets, on the top drawer of the wardrobe.” He wasn't pleased with the magic display. “Goodnight, Al.”