Grey house

The way Albus stiffens, the way his wand springs from his pocket to point at him hurts. Just a little.

"I thought I made that clear, though," he says in a voice less troubled than his heart is. "Put that away, will you. You're being ridiculous."

Without a word, the wand disappears into the tweed coat. Albus takes a step towards him, then another, lifting the brim of his hat with one finger, as if to better observe him. He shoves his hands into his pockets and straightens his chin. He doesn't say a word .

Albus knows him, still does, in fact, that is what reassures Gellert. He had feared that perhaps... breaking the pact might have... It was a grotesque thought.

He is being grotesque, Gellert realises. The words tangle on his tongue, the anger is nothing but embers, and he stands there, helpless, in front of Albus who stares at him, a hint of distrust in his eyes. 

"Gellert?"

"I had to talk to you. I had to see you, Albus. You have to talk to me."

"Talk? I thought you had nothing more to say to me. I thought you didn't want to hear me anymore."

Everything is teetering in Gellert's life, but his mind remains as sharp as ever. He sees the sadness, the hurt in Albus. He rushes into it.

"To hear your nonsense about possible redemption and acts whose horror is beyond me? I'm done with this, Albus. Your moral problems are not mine." He takes a step forward, muscles tense. "I regret nothing! Not your sister's death, not my crimes, my lies... Every person I killed, every person I crushed, brought me one step closer to achieving my goal. Credence was a means. The Qilin was a means. This world is only a means."

"And what will you do, when it all burns down? What will you do with the ashes that remain?"

Albus steps forward, his hands still resolutely buried in his pockets, perhaps to keep from walking away from his wand. His eyes, at any rate, are bare. A blue of pain and sorrow, the same blue as a blow to the soul. They used to be periwinkle blue. Gellert wonders if they still twinkle sometimes. Albus leans in, stares at him, his features drawn as if it takes an effort.

"What will you build, Gellert, on the bones of my sister and the ashes of my nephew? Will you take the stones of our ruined love and build yourself a greater castle?"

Gellert's hand goes up to his throat, brushes against the bare skin, finds nothing to hold on to.

Something else begins to shine in Albus' eyes, something dangerously close to pity.

Gellert glances to his right and sees his reflection in the window of a haberdashery. He sees himself there, arms dangling, hair drenched in snow, with no clothes other than a crumpled and now weathered suit. He had not thought about his appearance when he left Nurmengard, nor about the image he would give to Albus by confronting him. At that moment, he sees himself through his eyes: weak, unstable, sentimental.

This is enough to rekindle a fire within him.

Gellert despises those who allow themselves to be consumed by anger, but that doesn't mean he doesn't consider it healthy, from time to time. And in this moment, intrinsically, he knows that his wrath is just. That Albus deserves it. He calls to him the memory of the pact breaking, the back turning, again, and brings older betrayals to the surface. Gellert stirs the embers and suddenly a blaze erupts.

Albus takes a step back in surprise, and the snow crunches horribly under their feet. They are still in the middle of one of New York's widest thoroughfares, visible to any Muggle or wizard who might be seized by a sudden desire to wander around at night. And what would they see, these people, if they happened to be facing them? Two twisted souls, full of ugliness, vices, and greatness, too. Two men kissing.

Gellert's hands are clinging to the lapels of the trench coat and his mouth is pushing, hard, demanding, ready to make a bruise bloom. He feels no pleasure, except to hurt Albus. To torture him. He wants Albus to remember that he belongs to him, that he can't escape him, that breaking the pact doesn't mean a change of any kind between them. He also wants Albus to feel used, broken, defiled, in body and soul. Scarred by Gellert; no one could love him. And Albus had to remember that, he couldn't turn his back on him, bury the remnants of their relationship and just... live .

Gellert is violently pushed back by Albus who stares at him, wounded. Angry.

Good .

"How dare you? You have no right to do this, Gellert! Not to me. Not now."

"The right, I take it," he retorts, taking a step towards him, his hands contracting with fury. "What did you think? That I would let you turn your back on me again? Lock you up in your pathetic misery?"

"I'm not..."

"Miserable? Watching others live when you refuse to? The truth is, you destroy everything in your path, Albus. You ravage people as well as me."

Albus shakes his head, his mouth stuck in a weird expression, between laughter and sobbing. He thinks of Ariana, Abelforth, Credence . His nephew is perhaps the most glaring of his failures.

"You are not here for me, Gellert. You are here for yourself. Because you can't bear the fact that the pact was broken, that I am free. Who will love me now?" added Albus, paraphrasing what he had told him in Bhutan. "No one, Gellert. No one else will ever love me. Not only because of what I've done, but because it's fate. No one else will love you, either."

"So what?" replies Gellert. "You keep closing your heart, room by room, betrayal by betrayal. Scorched earth policy, Albus, is that all you've found to finally get the courage to face me? What a Gryffindor you are!"

Gellert licks his lips and tries to ignore the vague remnant of lemon he finds there.

"Let me tell you something; you can pretend you never loved me or my ideas, but the truth will survive until I am dead."

Albus bursts out laughing, a thunderous, outrageous laugh. He throws his head back to stare at the sky, and for a moment Gellert catches a flash of pale skin. The sound reverberates through the otherwise silent night, barely muffled by the snow and the high walls of the city. When Albus finally stares at him, there is a serenity in him that Gellert had not yet seen tonight.

"So this is what it's all about, Gellert? Fear?"

He doesn't know how to answer that. He ignores his question.

"As long as the memories remain, there will always be a bridge between us. That you cannot destroy, Albus."

"I don't want to forget what we were, Gellert," he replies more gently. "But I don't want to feel chained to a past that you refuse to give up, that you refuse to admit is gone. I'm not in love with you anymore. I love you, and that's different."

In turn, Gellert begins to laugh, though it sounds more like a hiss.

"You're playing with words."

"Not at all," Albus replies, shaking his head.

He takes his left hand out of his pocket and opens his palm. Gellert's breath catches as his gaze hits the broken blood pact.

"I didn't know you had it back. I thought..."

That you'd left it behind. Like the rest.

Gellert will not tell him that he returned to Bhutan that night, that he foolishly braved the vigilance of a contingent of Aurors to try to get it back. He won't tell him how he felt when he thought it was lost forever.

"I didn't break the pact, Gellert," Albus whispers. "It broke because we no longer have faith in each other. Because what has supplanted love in our hearts is not hate, but regret."

Gellert answers nothing. He takes the blow, feels his stomach twist, just as it did in that moment when he saw their promise dashed. Albus waits a moment, then closes the gap between them. He takes Gellert's palm in his gloved hand, places the two pieces of the pact on it, then closes his fingers over it.

"Goodbye, Gellert."

Albus smiles weakly at him, turns away and resumes his journey. Alone. Cold. White as the snow that will wash away everything Gellert has left. He looks down at his fingers clenched around the vial; he can give up his relationship with Albus, sacrifice it for his plans, but he can't give up Albus . 

"I don't want to live without your light."

Albus stops and looks over his shoulder. Surprised, Gellert guesses, knowing how vulnerable he must look at this moment, how far he must seem from what he gave Albus to see in that Muggle café all those months ago. 

"It still shines for me," Gellert continues, though. "Somewhere. It's the beacon of the house. If you put it out, the darkness will be my home."

Albus can't resist what feels, for the first time in nearly thirty years, like contrition. Almost regret. He walks back towards him, slowly, and Gellert lets the pact fall to the bottom of his pocket before coming closer. A step apart, he can feel his breath; Gellert places a hand on Albus' cheek, quietly, gently. His fingers spread; he cups his jaw as his thumb grazes his lips.

"You know what a Boggart would see in me, Albus? What shape would he take to materialize my fear?" breathes Gellert, his nose brushing against his.

"Which one?"

Albus is hooked, like a fish, captivated by the humanity he sees in Gellert and reminds him of the boy he once knew. It's not a lie, hardly a manipulation, really. Gellert is simply good enough not to lose control and too desperate to try to keep up appearances.

"The world's. A vast and complete world, full of magic. A world in which you would not exist, where light would be absent. A hollow world."

Albus's breath chokes and Gellert moves closer, touches his chest with his, brushes his nose, tightens his grip on his cheek. He doesn't close the distance between them, wants Albus to do it, to lose.

Albus has never been a skilled player. He erases the distance between them and places his mouth on his.

Gellert's other hand wraps around the back of his neck and presses him closer, but he doesn't move his lips, doesn't slide his tongue against his. It's not a punishing kiss like earlier, not a kiss of passion, either. It's a kiss of love, of rediscovery, of pure pleasure - of giving and receiving. Albus's lips are soft and supple as rose petals, unchanged for all these years.

He does not try to escape Gellert's embrace, but pulls his lips away from his. Albus closes his eyes and he takes the opportunity to tilt his head, to breathe in his scent, to scan his familiar and yet so different features. The desire he's had for Albus since they met is growing and making his heart beat, or so it seems to him, a little faster.

"You always managed to bring out the worst in me."

"Not the worst; the truth , Albus."

He smiles and dips his gaze into his with a slightly resigned look.

"And now what? Are you going to disappear in a moment, congratulating yourself on having had the last word? Call me a hypocrite? A fool, perhaps."

Gellert purses his lips, hesitates for barely half a second.

"Come with me."

Albus shakes his head.

"Not like that," Gellert says quickly.

He swallows, his tongue heavy, his throat dry. He feels Albus' pulse under his fingers.

"Come with me, just for one night."

"Gellert..."

"Albus. It means nothing, and you know it."

It means everything, and they know it.

For one it's a lie, for the other, wishful thinking. They each have their reasons, their doubts and their angers. It probably won't change anything. They hope it will, at least.

Their hands touch and suddenly the street is empty.