Uneasiness woke him up on the eve of a nightmare and he rolled off bed, already defeated. Despite the low light of the dying embers being enough for him to discern the door and the shadows of the furniture, he used the wall as a guide, caressing it with his fingertips to get to the bathroom. He passed Albus without acknowledging him.
He mumbled a basic spell, sank his hands in the icy water, dampened a cloth and brought it to his face. It was no use. In the dimness he could appreciate the white web spreading on his irises and showing him incomplete images and, if he looked beyond that, to reality, Albus’ figure in the corner of the door, watching his every movement, he needed to ignore him, he wouldn't have his pity.
Gellert closed his eyes tightly to try and bring the vision to him, to make it happen sooner, but it was really no use. It would come in its due time. It would also torture him until then. There was a feeling of emptiness in his chest, an anxiety that closed his throat slightly and made it hard to swallow, it wouldn’t go away until he saw . Because that was the reason why he existed, to see, to see .
He stepped back from the sink and let himself slide down the cold tiles until his head was between his knees and he could cross his arms against his chest, his back to the wall. Albus took a step closer and his cold fingers touched the nape of Gellert's neck and dragged upwards into his hair, a greeting. Gellert heard him sit next to him, his presence drowned everything for an instant, a momentary comfort, blinding what was to come.
After a while, in total silence, he tried to think of something to say but he lacked the strength, he stayed quiet. The pain, an electric type of sensation, started in his temples and would expand soon, knocking him out for he didn’t know how long. It was bad, it was dragging more than necessary, more than it would normally do.
Maybe that way he would sleep, he said to himself. At least, in theory. No conscience of the world, hopefully just darkness. Albus touched one of his fingers with one of his, reminding him he was there, in case he needed anything. Gellert heard him breathe next to him, wait next to him, keeping him company. It angered him, the comfort of his warmth, how the pain paled and withered with his mere clothed touch.
“Why are you here,” Gellert whispered, for he couldn’t bring his voice to speak louder, but there was no answer, Albus whatever he had come to do there, seemed to have changed his mind.
He took a deep breath and dragged himself up to his feet. He walked back to the bed, leaving Albus behind, not even discarding him a look. As he covered his head with the sheets, the sensation of emptiness inside his chest increased and he had to press his own hands to his heart to check his weak pulse still existed. He wouldn't die, that would have been peace and the Gods had never been benevolent.
It didn’t take much time until he sensed Albus in the room again. He heard him walk, pick up one of the books from his nightstand and put it back down. Gellert was too busy worrying about his physical state to think about Albus being there too, that show of vulnerability was familiar for both of them, it had been shared too many times for it to start being a problem now that they were on opposite sides.
He had started to feel numb, almost, but not quite drowsy, when Albus slid under the covers and under the sheets with him. Gellert’s hair stood on end with the movement, the chilly air made him shrink in on himself. He took a deep breath, annoyed, and Albus automatically reached for him, closing his long fingers around his arm and dragging him until he was against his body, as if to give Gellert back the warmth he had taken, as if to comfort him, it was an apology he couldn't not accept.
He turned then. “Why are you here,” he spoke again and Albus’ warm breath on his eyelids and cheeks was no answer, but his arms pulled him closer. Gellert touched his clothes blindly. “You could have taken the suit off, it will wrinkle.”
“I took off the jacket.”
Their faces were even closer than he had thought, as he spoke, Gellert could not only feel his breath, he could almost taste Albus, his rose petal lips almost brushing his.
“Are you staying the night?”
“It’s already six.”
“There is no sun in the sky, Liebling . That’s night in my books.”
Gellert knew he was smiling as he answered, he heard the slight change of tone, as if he tried to hide it. “It’s always night time in these mountains.”
“I hope you are not showing off the light you enjoy in your castle.” He leaned in slightly, so that his lips grazed his for an instant as his mouth moved to speak. “Let winter be gloomy, don’t ask for more than what it knows.”
Albus used the arm under Gellert to pull him even closer, crushing him against his body, pressing their cheeks together in something close to a hug. He felt drunk. Drunk on warmth, drunk on softness, drunk because the pain had turned into a too pleasant dizziness unrelated to any Godssent message. As Albus' arms caressed him, the sensation of being touched by the sunlight increased, it was a glow that couldn’t be replicated, something only found in nature.
“So you are staying the night.” Slumber had started to claim him again, he repressed a yawn and Albus kissed his forehead, changing slightly their position to make it more comfortable.
They stayed in silence then, motionless, his hand on Albus’ chest, feeling the steady beat through the linen shirt, and Albus’ following the line from his flank to his hip bone. The embers in the chimney lit the room enough for them to almost imagine where the other was, and still, he knew they were looking at each other.
He didn’t know what fortuitous terrible thing could have possibly brought Albus to him in the middle of the night. Maybe he was just lonely. At the end of the day, so was he. He brought his hand up to his face and caressed his bearded cheek, his brow, his chin, his cheekbone. Albus brushed his inner wrist with his lips.
“I thought you wanted to sleep.”
“I don’t do that anymore.”
“My bad.” Albus lowered his head to brush their noses. “You are right. What an old-fashioned thing to do in these times. Sleep.”
Their voices, a mere whisper. He wondered what would happen if he tried to kiss him then, but it was better to not know, it was a precious moment that he wanted to keep like that. Sacred. Hallowed. He wouldn’t risk it. It was meant to be cherished, it was meant to be kept close to his heart.
Instead he put a leg on top of his, high enough so that it was in line with Albus’ hip. Knee to hip, bone to bone. He wished there weren’t clothes between them, skin to skin contact was more pleasurable, their magic could flow directly into each other, but what followed was almost as good. Albus didn’t move his hand, the one he caressed his hipbone with, so when he moved, his thumb drew a half moon, crossing the line from bone to groin.
His breath hitched, blood rushed to his cheeks. He was grateful for the darkness.
“I think you want to change your hand placement.”
“Sorry.” Albus drew it upwards slowly, the side of his nail dragging against his skin softly until his hand rested again on his hip.
“You are not.”
“No, I am not.”
Gellert shook his head to avoid the smile but, as he found the space between his’ ear and his neck, he couldn’t help it. It was worse than drunkenness. This quiet, this calmness, this peace .
“For tonight?” Albus asked, touching his temple.
“Tomorrow. Maybe the day after.”
“Bad?”
“Worse. It feels stuck.” He tried to explain. “As if something wasn’t decided yet, as if there was a missing piece, a missing blow, and that’s the reason I can’t see it yet. Something final that does not depend on me. And it blocks it.”
Albus snorted.
“What?” Gellert hit his chest with the palm of his hand, no strength in the hit, his voice drowned between the pillow and Albus’ skin, muffled in a childish whine. “What? I want to laugh too.”
Albus touched his cheeks. “Like phoenixes, when they are born early.” And let his fingers run through his hair. “They can’t break the egg-shell until someone makes the first crack.”
He failed to not laugh too. “It’s not funny.”
“I’m not the one chuckling.”
At some point they fell asleep, limbs tangled, breaths mirrored. No nightmares, just the peaceful void.
As the morning came and the brief and weak light of the day rose, Gellert watched him fix his clothes. The pain had settled again behind his eyelids, bothering him every time he blinked. He could not be more sure. It’d be one to remember. He shuddered from thinking of the aftermath, how destroyed the vision would leave him.
“You don’t usually wear black,” he mentioned as he leaned against him, Albus slid a hand around his waist to hug him, to bid him goodbye. “It suits you.”
“Too dismal.”
“Hey.” But he kissed his cheek, not bothered by the jab. “You forget I met you in black.”
“You met me in mourning. I had no other reason to wear it. What’s your excuse.” His hand pressed hard on his back, keeping him close.
“It’s dismal. More than the colour.”
“Speak. I’ve always wanted to know.”
“You can speculate.”
Albus smiled, touching his forehead with his. “Not when I have you here.”
Gellert pulled away slightly. “Hold on to something.” And he did, he held on to him. “Blood comes out easily from dark clothes. And when it doesn’t, the stains are more subtle,” he said, the smirk already dancing on his lips, he knew it would amuse Albus.
But it didn’t. Albus froze for an instant, a strange shadow darkening his eyes. And then he hugged Gellert harder, hiding his face on his neck, lips on his skin.
The pieces fell into place. As he closed his eyes, the pain intensified. He tried to make Albus look at him but his hands were trapped and he felt them suddenly slippery. He asked the question again then, choking on his name.
“Albus.”
His grip on his nightclothes became almost painful, Gellert could only feel his breath against his neck, controlled but not completely, he knew when he was about to crumble and this was it. “I need to get away from them, they are suffocating me, my family, my brother, my sister, they don’t understand. Only you. Gellert, I can’t live without you.” He had crumbled the same, shame had eaten him alive, Albus had sought his arms for refuge in the same way he did now.
“Albus. You didn’t tell me.” He tried to free his hands, a too familiar coldness was starting to spread on his chest. Maybe he already knew the answer, maybe he didn’t want to know. “Why did you come tonight?”
Albus let out a shuddering breath. He didn’t know how he was able to hear him, his voice was barely audible, his lips moved forming the words against his skin.
“I’ve found a way to break it.”
He swallowed glass. The ache awakened, a wound that had been opened for too many years and reopened too many times for it to even try to scar anymore. It would kill him, the infection, the disease.
“Oh,” he managed. “And did you plan on telling me before you left or.” He had to stop, for an instant the white web started covering the corners of his sight, but he shook it. Not now, not now. Not yet. “Or were you going to write?” His voice had broken.
The answer was crystal clear. He grabbed Albus face to make him look at him, his hands had fallen to his sides. There were tears in his eyes, indigo irises drowned in sorrow. How did he have the nerve.
“How dare you cry,” he mouthed the words, he wasn’t able to speak them outloud. “Leave. Go away.”
How similar they were to the ones that had hurt him so much all those years ago, the role reversal only made the irony more brutal.
“Leave,” he tried again, and this time, he was able to whisper in the thinnest of voices, he could feel his own eyes filling with tears too.
Albus was shaking his head, no, again and again, no .
“Albus. Leave.”
He reached for his wrist, Gellert didn’t manage to step back on time.
“Listen to me.”
“No. Go away.” He pulled but he didn’t release him.
“Listen.”
“Go. Away.”
“Gellert.” He pulled harshly to force him closer, to look in his eyes as he said. “Next time we see each other, it will be on the battlefield.”
He stopped struggling against him then. As if air had been taken out of his lungs. As if he had been drained of his magic. How dare you. How dare you. Who do you think you– The pendant. Gods, the damned pendant, it’s not here, it’s not here. You made sure I wouldn't have a chance, you made sure I wouldn't fight for it. How could I be so blind, so blind, so blind.
“I hate you. Leave,” he spit out, and Albus nodded, as if in agreement. “Go away, leave.”
“I will.” The tears finally fell down his cheeks as he blinked, drawing two paths of salt down his face.
It was cruel. Albus was cruel to him. But why this cruelty? Why now? Why put the honey on his lips? He lowered his eyes to their hands and tried to make sense of it, tried to separate the pain, the pains, his head and his heart. He hadn’t shaken him off yet. The Gods made the human race flawed for a reason, that was plain. So that they wouldn’t be able to destroy them, so that they could only destroy each other.
“I hate you,” he said again and it meant nothing.
“I know.” Albus took a step closer and touched his face, wiping the tears with his thumbs.
“I hate you. I hate you, go away. Leave.”
He said the words again and again, but there was something wrong with his body, it only pushed Albus closer instead of away. His hands pulled, tugged and gripped his clothes as if to tear them apart. He had come already in mourning. Gellert couldn’t stop saying it, against his mouth, as if he believed it, as if he wasn’t kissing him back. As if he wasn’t the one deepening the kisses.
I hate you, I hate you, I hate you.
And when they fucked it didn’t feel like making love nor like anything similar to it. A fight, a quarrel, a a war. Purely physical, violent, meaning to hurt, to scar, to draw blood.
you want my blood out of your veins, take it, take it, take it, do it with your own hands, clean it from your teeth, scratch it with your nails, take it back and give me my own back. I swore it was yours but it burns you now? it rots in your body? maybe it isn’t my fault, maybe you did this to us, this is the last time, this is the last time, and you will be my enemy, after this you better kill me because I’ll kill you. I’ll kill you. I promise I’ll kill you because you’ve killed me. This is the last time. This is the last time.
It left them both unsatisfied and sore, panting clouds of steam, I was suddenly freezing, the temperature having dropped dramatically. The pain closed around his head like a claw, almost taking him out. He swallowed hard and breathed in slowly. Not yet. Not yet. When Albus stood up from the bed they exchanged a last look, terrifying and dire. He didn’t know what it meant, his blue eyes were those of a stranger, in them only mistrust.
And what was there more final than that. It had been decided. It had been written in the stars, set in their dust, set in the very backbone of existence. And there was nothing he could do.
As he drowned in the vision, the sinking feeling was entirely his own. It was the first time he didn’t need the sight to know, the vision was predictable for the first time ever. And it did not relieve him. And he still lost control, blue sparks slipping through his fingers wildly. He regarded the Elderwand on his nightstand, next to it, Les fleurs du mal. His flower of evil among all the flowers, one that had grown in a graveyard, the only flower that’d bring him death. And when the vision finally blinded him and he saw himself kill Albus Dumbledore, no taste of victory came to his tongue, only ashes, only ashes.
He knew, he couldn't let it happen.