“Would this be one of your regular haunts?”
Somehow, Albus managed not to visibly react to the sardonically familiar voice. “I don’t have any haunts,” he ground out, staring fiercely into his teacup.
“Really?” Gellert’s laconic, even warm smile was audible in his words. “And yet, somehow, I knew exactly where to find you.”
He slipped into the seat opposite Albus and leaned forwards. “Let me see it.”
Albus’ hand trembled as he revealed the pendant. It looked so innocent, so beautiful, resting in his palm, the cloudy orb in the centre as docile as a winter night’s snowfall.
“Ah.” Gellert’s breath hitched on the word, though he made no move to take it. “Of course, it still has a power over you, over us both.” His voice dropped, suddenly sultry. “I can still feel it around my neck, even now. Tell me, how does it feel around yours? Does it remind you of me, of how I ran the chain over your chest, of that moment in the barn where nothing else mattered except the two of us? Do you hear it whisper to you, silently daring you to try and break it?” He paused. “Does that fill you with curiosity? Do you wonder what it might do to you – to us – if you were to break it? Are you tempted by the pain – the power?”
A smirk graced his distinguished features now. “Oh yes, Albus. I remember what you said to me once. Our pain is our power. How right you were, weren’t you?”
Albus chose to ignore that question, though he could feel his face burning at the memory. “You know, Gellert, I am surprised that you did not try to find me at Hogwarts first. Did the security set-up prove to be too much of a challenge for you?”
“Ah, of course.” Gellert’s smirk widened as he rested his hands on the table. “Hogwarts. You know, Albus, some people are starting to wonder about why someone as brilliant and talented as you would choose to spend all his time in a school.”
“I could say the same about Nurmengard,” Albus shot back, strangely enjoying the back and forth between them. “With the height of the towers, there are some who might think you were…” he paused, staring deep into those mismatched eyes, “compensating for something.”
Gellert snorted. “Certainly not. Merely representing it, as you are well aware. My ancestor who had it built, on the other hand…” he shrugged. “Well, I suppose it doesn’t matter.”
He leaned forwards, his posture relaxed and amiable, even intimate. “You look well, Albus. I can see that the years have been kind to you, though you hide your charming features behind your beard.”
“Alas, I cannot say the same for you. Not,” Albus backtracked, fearing that the concern he felt might be mistaken for rudeness, “that I could ever call you unattractive, merely…” he shook his head. “You still carry that heavy burden, don’t you?”
Gellert briefly looked taken aback, but he nodded. “I cannot deny it drains me more than I thought it would,” he murmured, almost to himself.
Albus could see that easily. For so many years, Gellert had almost burned with a wild passionate energy, shining almost as brightly as the summer sun. It broke his heart a little to see him now, his face pale and careworn, devoid of that vibrant enthusiasm that had always been such a defining characteristic of the younger man. Even his eyes had lost much of their sparkle; now they just looked tired and sad.
Before he could overthink it, Albus rested his hand beside Gellert’s, swallowing as the other man started at the brush of their thumbs. “Has there been no one else for you?” It felt strange to even ask the question. “Must you carry such a weight alone?”
“Don’t tell me you’re offering your help.” Though Gellert’s tone was more than a little scathing, he did not move his hand, nor did his expression harden even a little. “After all this time, when you hid away in your school, always knowing where I was and what I was doing, knowing that there was never anyone else, and yet refusing to act – why change your mind now?”
Albus felt a tiny ripple of anger at the accusation that he had been hiding, but he ignored it; it wasn’t entirely false, after all. “I think I could ask you the same question,” he said evenly. “In all the years that I have watched you, you have never once been the first to strike. Even on that day, during that dreadful fight, you were the last one to raise your wand. In spite of everything, it is one thing I have always admired and respected you for – that you would never attack unprovoked. And yet now, I see you doing so when you have never considered such a thing before, when you spoke out in condemnation of such an idea. Why, Gellert? What can have changed so much?”
For the first time, Gellert looked surprised, even caught off guard, as though he had not expected Albus to have paid such close attention to his movements. But the expression quickly slid off his face and was replaced by something different; something contemplative, almost sorrowful.
“It is true,” he said quietly, “my strategy has been forced to change, though I take no pleasure in such a thing. It is a painful sacrifice, but I fear it is a necessary one, if I am to stop something far worse from coming to pass.”
Albus’ stomach lurched. “The war you saw all those years ago – the one you spoke of to those who gathered at your rally in Paris.” He gulped as Gellert inclined his head. “Gellert, I –”
“It comes closer, Albus. My visions have revealed more to me.” For the first time, genuine fear permeated Gellert’s tone. He leaned forwards, dropping his voice to a whisper. “What do you know of the leader of the Nazi party who ran in the last presidential election of my country?”
“Not much,” Albus conceded. “Foreign politics of Muggles has, I must confess, not been one of my greatest interests. But I have noticed that his party has enjoyed a dramatic increase in popularity in recent years, though his ideas seem rather extreme to me.”
Gellert nodded. “He has already held the title of Führer for some years now. As I am sure you know, it means ‘leader’, but,” he shivered, “he is not worthy of such a title. Not when he will be responsible for the deaths of millions upon millions of innocent people. The vision I revealed that night in Paris showed only a small portion of that. He intends to erase from the earth anyone who does not fit his ideal, anyone who happens to be different, and he will do so in the most gruesome ways possible.”
Albus listened with growing horror as Gellert described the atrocities that had been laid out before him. “How horrible,” he murmured, covering Gellert’s trembling hands with his own. “Do you know when this will happen?”
“No, it wasn’t precisely clear,” Gellert admitted. “But he will make another grasp for power very soon – only, this time, he will succeed. I have Seen him take the title of Chancellor – another one he has no right to – and that will be the beginning of the end. I wish to stop him before he can take that power, take that control, before he can bring more carnage to our worlds. Enough damage has already been done, Albus. I cannot stand idly by this time.”
Albus sighed. “Gellert, I understand – no, I do. What you have described to me is truly horrendous. You’re right – the man must be stopped, but not at any cost, and certainly not like this. There has to be another way, one that does not affect innocent Muggles who have not caused us any harm.”
“There is no other way.” Gellert shook his head. “If there was, do you not think I would have taken it? These Muggles may not have done anything to us yet, but, given the chance, they will. I know they will. I will not just sit back and wait for them to attack – not this time.”
A cloud of deep anguish blew over his face and he bit his lip, struggling for several minutes before he could speak again. “I begged for someone to listen, anyone with any authority to heed my warnings of the last war. I called out for help. But no one heard. No one listened. Instead, I was branded a danger to the world, condemned as mad, as a fraud. No one dared speak out against my pleas then – there was no one I could depend on. But no more.”
He looked straight into Albus’ eyes. “This war must be stopped before it can start, Albus. And this time, I shall depend only on myself to make it so.”
Albus sat in silence for several minutes. He was torn between horror at Gellert’s revelations and sickening guilt at the realisation of why he could not depend on anyone save himself, not even those whom he called his brothers and sisters – even his friends.
“I’m sorry.” He felt his body slump forward, exhausted. “You’re right. Someone should have spoken up, should have said something to make people understand – to make them listen.”
“It doesn’t matter now,” said Gellert tonelessly. “What matters now is making sure that the right thing is done this time. And that means acting quickly.”
Albus frowned. “Gellert –”
“I know.” Gellert cut him off. “I don’t like an unprovoked assault any more than you do. But there is no other choice. The situation is too serious for us to wait. We must act first if we are to succeed.”
“Gellert, I can’t –”
“Albus.” Gellert stiffened. “Would you really take such a risk? Would you betray your own kind?”
“No.” Albus was quiet with his response. “Of course I wouldn’t. But we can keep our people safe, we can protect the witches and wizards who depend –”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Gellert groaned. “Albus, don’t you understand? It is not only the magical community who are under threat. It would be people like us – men and women who are like you and I. Did that not occur to you at all?”
A lump of ice settled in the pit of Albus’ stomach as Gellert’s words sunk in. “But…how? I don’t doubt what you say, Gellert, but,” he quickly looked over his shoulder and lowered his voice, “people like us are not overt in our preferences. Surely if there is no absolute proof –”
“Proof?” Gellert snorted. “Albus, don’t be naïve. People like them do not have need of proof. The tiniest hint of anything suspicious will be enough to condemn us, even if it is something we don’t realise we are doing.”
He huffed out an annoyed breath. “But even if all of this were not the case, even if the situation was not so grave – are you suggesting that we should remain hidden, as though we are something shameful and dangerous?” He shook his head, his irritating fading into disappointment and sadness. “The Albus I know would never have considered such a thing.”
“I don’t like it, but I also know that it would be most unwise for us to draw attention to ourselves in such a way,” Albus replied.
Gellert’s disappointed expression deepened. “I didn’t want to believe it,” he said. “The man who told me that there was nothing we could not do if we only trusted in ourselves – a coward.”
Albus recoiled. “How can you –”
“It was you who said we could reshape the world,” Gellert shot back. “It’s what we said we would do.”
“Because I was in love with you.”
The words slipped out, unbidden, without any thought. For a second, Albus was frozen with shock by his own admission and that it had been spoken so carelessly. But that faded quickly, as though a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, one that he had not even known was there.
But if he had hoped that his confession would take Gellert by surprise, he was to find himself disappointed. Instead, the words merely caused Gellert to raise one slanted eyebrow.
“I see you have indeed changed in many ways since we last met,” he said. “It appears that you have developed something of a complicated relationship with the truth.”
Albus bristled. “What is that supposed to mean, Gellert? Are you accusing my feelings of being false?”
“Of course not. Merely of using them as your only reason, when we both know that was never the case. Or have you forgotten how much you resented what they could do without consequences while we were condemned to hide in the shadows? How trapped and restless you felt, how you feared that all your hopes and dreams lay in ruin? Even your deeply hidden longing for vengeance that you dared not admit to anyone?”
“I have not forgotten.” Albus knew it would be pointless to deny it. “Nor have I forgotten how you allowed me to acknowledge what I felt and the acceptance you gave me when no one else did. That is something for which you will always have my gratitude. But vengeance, I have realised, is not the answer, Gellert. To give into such a base desire will only lead down a path of hatred and darkness.”
“Some might say that what you call vengeance might also be called justice,” mused Gellert, almost to himself. “Is that not what you want, Albus? What you have always wanted? Justice done upon those who caused such terrible harm to someone so undeserving of it? Justice done upon those who caused your family to be ripped apart and forced such a heavy weight upon you when you should never have had to carry it? Upon those who, in the end, condemned your father to a lifetime of torture and cost your mother and sister their lives?” He let out another heavy breath. “Anyone would wish for that, and they would be within their rights to demand it. What makes you so different?”
Albus felt a warm flame building inside him, one that he had thought lay dormant for decades. But Gellert’s words had lit a spark suddenly, one that he had buried deeply, so deeply he had thought it had died long ago, along with his hopes and dreams.
“You’re right.” There was no way he could lie. Gellert would know; he always knew. “I do want justice. My family deserve it. Things deserve to be made better – to be made right. But this?” He shook his head. “This is not justice, Gellert. What you are doing…it is madness.”
Gellert flinched sharply, the intense stare giving way to a look of deep hurt, as though he had been stabbed through his heart and straight into his very soul. Albus winced; to his shame, he realised that he had all but forgotten how often Gellert had heard such a disparaging term directed at him, even before he had reached adulthood, forgotten just how deeply such words could cut, reopening wounds that had never had time to heal.
He opened his mouth to try and apologise, but it was too late. The shutters had come down over Gellert’s face and he moved away, pulling his hands out of Albus’. “The situation is, of course, regrettable,” he said, “but it is also necessary.” His jaw tightened. “I still had some hope that perhaps we could find a way to work together as we once said we would. I now see that was a fool’s hope. But I promise you now, Albus. With or without you, I will burn down their world. And there’s nothing you can do to stop me.”
Albus knew those were not empty words. “Gellert, please –”
But Gellert had stood up. “Sometimes, there comes a point when we have to decide between our principles and the greater good.”
“I hope to never reach such a point,” Albus replied coolly.
Gellert smiled, but there was no joy in it. Rather, it was the saddest, most brittle smile Albus had ever seen cross his face. “For a long time, so did I.”