“Albus, this just arrived for you.” Ariana dropped the letter onto the desk next to her brother. “It’s from Gellert.”
Albus’ head shot up in surprise. “How do you know that? You didn’t read it, did you?” He managed, somehow, to keep his voice steady, even as panic began to brew in his chest and his heart began to race painfully.
“Of course not.” Ariana rolled her eyes. “But he always puts that rune on the back of the envelope.” She nodded to the Deathly Hallows symbol printed on the parchment.
Albus blushed, surprised by how observant his sister had been. “Yes, he does. I think he rather likes it. It…it’s important to him.”
“And to you.” Ariana nodded with certainty. “I like Gellert, you know. I think he’s interesting and clever, just like Miss Bagshot.”
“Well, he is her nephew,” replied Albus, idly turning the envelope over his hand. “But yes, he is clever – almost as clever as me.” He winked at Ariana and grinned.
But she did not grin back. “Actually, I think he is more clever. He has a gift. He sees…” she paused, frowning. “He sees so much – I think, too much. And yet, he is still able to see you – and me.” Her voice went a little taut. “He is not afraid of me. To him, I am…I am human.”
A knot of shame twisted in Albus’ stomach. “Ari, I’m not –”
But she was walking away from him. “Gellert will change the world one day – if the world will only allow him to do so.”
Albus watched the door close behind her and shivered. Despite the warm day, the room seemed chilled and dark. He rubbed his face, Ariana’s words ringing in his ears.
“To him, I am human…Gellert will change the world one day – if the world will only allow him to do so.”
Albus sighed. It was true. Gellert had commitment and drive and a refusal to back down, no matter who might stand in his way. He also had principles and had no cares for anyone who disliked them – he would not bend to their will. He was fierce, almost wild sometimes, and Albus had no doubt in his mind that he could reduce the world to ashes in one moment, if the desire to do so took hold of him.
In his darker, private moments – often after yet another violent argument with Aberforth – Albus had to admit that the thought appealed to him perhaps more than it should. Their world was so bitter and broken, sometimes he felt as though he were stepping onto poisoned rocks, venom sneaking through him, tearing him apart and forcing him to bend to its will. He had come close as well, knowing he had responsibilities, duties, a reputation to uphold, expectations on his shoulders…
But then – then he came. A burst of golden fire burning away the vicious clouds that choked him, forcing him to see the stark truth brought to light. It had taken time and countless intense conversations, but Albus could no longer hide from the truth. Only through seeing, Gellert had said, can anyone hope to learn and make a change.
Hands trembling, Albus open the envelope and scanned the brief message:
Your brother is in the barn, probably fiddling with his goats again. Either that, or he’s trying for some conversation that he can comprehend. Meet me at the stream as soon as possible. GG.
Albus snorted at Gellert’s usual scathing assessment of his brother, sealed the letter back in its envelope and hid it with the others. He bounded down the stairs, barely pausing to wave back at Ariana, and raced out of the front door. He cared nothing now for how he might look, allowing the adrenaline and excitement to rush through him as the summer breeze whipped through his hair. It was always the way when he thought of Gellert; the joy of being with him and knowing that there was someone there who could understand him, could see past the straight-laced and scholarly persona to the burning wildness and desire he had kept hidden for so long. But not only had Gellert seen that darker side – something that Albus had never known to be celebrated in anyone – he had accepted it unreservedly, had even embraced it, and helped Albus himself to do the same.
“We all have light and dark inside of us, Albus. It’s foolish to embrace one and to condemn the other. That will only lead to pain and sorrow, and I would not have that for anyone, especially not for you.”
Those words had made Albus’ heart sing. It had felt so liberating to hear that said, to be told that there was nothing wrong with him – that the sorrow and resentment and even anger he had repressed and denied was not shameful or selfish; rather, it was human. For the first time since his father was arrested, Albus had felt…it was more than feeling understood. It was feeling validated – feeling safe.
Approaching the stream, he saw Gellert, still in his shirt and trousers, lying on his back and floating in the water, his eyes half-closed. Today, he was not wearing his usual black, but had chosen a white shirt that now billowed around him, and light grey trousers that accentuated every muscle and curve of his long legs.
Albus chuckled and flicked his hand to send a cascade of blossoms flying across to land on Gellert’s face and in his mouth. The blonde boy let out a yelp of surprise and floundered upright, spitting out the petals and sputtering indignantly.
“Could you not find a better way to announce your presence than trying to choke me to death with flowers?” he mock-grumbled as he climbed out of the water and cast a drying charm over himself.
“I’m terribly sorry,” Albus deadpanned. “I can’t think what could have come over me.”
He flopped down on the bank and playfully poked Gellert’s nose. “I like the new outfit, by the way.”
“Thank you. I wanted to try something new,” said Gellert. “I suspect you’ve been rubbing off on me, which I suppose is only fair since it was clearly me who came over you.”
Albus snorted. “Charming as always. Now, what was so urgent that you were desperate to see me at such short notice?”
“Do I need an excuse to see my beautiful and brilliant boyfriend now?” Gellert rolled his eyes before sobering. “There’s something I have been wanting to share with you for a little while now, but I was waiting for the right moment, and I think that moment has now come. I know we haven’t known each other for very long, but I feel certain now that our commitment, and our love for each other, cannot be broken.”
Albus shivered as Gellert reached out to caress the silver chain barely visible beneath the collar of his shirt. “I…I agree. What we have might be new, but it is so special already, and I am sure it will continue to be so.” He covered Gellert’s hand with his own. “Tell me.”
Gellert nodded. “I have already told you of some of the traditions and ethics we follow at Durmstrang, but there is one that I have waited to divulge. Do you know of the tradition of the Glass Heart?”
“The Glass Heart?” Albus frowned. “No, I haven’t heard of it, though it sounds a little terrifying. I hope it doesn’t involve turning someone’s heart to glass?”
Gellert stared at him. “Of course not! It’s a school, not something out of a Hans Christian Andersen story. Honestly, I do not know where some of these ridiculous rumours have come from.”
“Where did it come from?” Albus moved closer, intrigued. “Who came up with it?”
“It’s a relic of the founding of Durmstrang – the true story that is not well known. All Durmstrang students know of it, but very few share it, save with someone who they truly trust.”
Albus’ breath caught at the implication. “And…and you want to tell me?”
“It might be better for me to show it to you.” Carefully, Gellert reached behind him and brought out his skull. “Hold onto this.”
Albus fought his usual urge to recoil backwards; though he understood and appreciated the skull’s usefulness, he had to admit that the object still unsettled him. “What will I see?”
“Just wait.” Smiling a little, Gellert leaned against the tree trunk with his arm around Albus’ shoulders and tapped the skull three times, watching it glow bright white and plunge their surroundings into darkness as the scene played out before their eyes as Gellert’s melodious voice narrated the story.
~*~
‘The night fell calmly over the wintery woods, stars twinkling amongst the cascading snowflakes. All around the young boy, the ground shone white, not a bump or a crack in sight. It could have been so beautiful, should have been beautiful. But he dared not pause long enough to take pleasure in it. The shouts of fury had been left behind long ago in the deep silence, but he knew better than to think he was safe. Not after what had happened. Not after -
‘He shook himself and continued to run. It would do no good to think like that now. There would be time to grieve later. He had to ensure his own safety; it was the only way he could keep his last promise to her - to the only person who had accepted him and understood him.
‘Eventually, he came to the entrance to a forest, the snow-laden trees glistening under the light of the rising moon. There was no sound, not even a breath of wind, though the branches waved gently, almost gesturing to him. His heartbeat quickened, but not with fear; rather with curiosity and anticipation. Somehow, this place called out to him, casting a blanket of safety around him. But he remained cautious, even as he approached. He knew that the magic of nature was complex and cunning, and that it would protect its own above all else.’
‘And yet, somehow he felt drawn to the place, as though he knew it intimately, though he had never been there. The closer he came, the deeper he felt the connection. When he touched the branch to clear a path, he heard it. A deep song coursing through his veins. A song full of promise, of hope and opportunity - and of intrigue and mystery. Of a bewitching past and a great future.
‘He wondered how he had never seen this place before, but even before he voiced the question, he realised that, in his heart of hearts, he knew already. All his life, he had been afraid, running away from what he was, from the gift that flowed through his veins and lit up his soul. The terror of what he could face had forced him to repress the maelstrom within him, keep it silent and docile so he could pass as nothing more than another village boy. But he knew. He had always known that there was more to him than that. He knew that there was more to the world than hiding and repressing his nature. He wanted to explore, to know more. Surely, there were others like him somewhere.
‘He wove his way through the trees, the new sound of waves whispering under a frozen riverreaching his ears. He drank it all in, revelling in this new world, this world of shining hope, until he finally came to a vast clearing dotted with crumbling ruins. Many of them appeared to be shrines to ancient gods, and they called to him, welcoming him into their midst. But one call struck his heart the fiercest; one so fragile he almost dared not touch it. It sparkled as though made of ice, though he felt no chill from it. Rather, he felt a warmth, both of joy and excitement, and yet also of terrible sadness. Tears filled his eyes as he drew from his clothes that which his dearest friend had managed to pass to him before she was torn away from the world. A small piece of glass, roughly hewn into the shape of a heart and with two runes engraved in it; the rune of strength and the rune of wisdom.
‘His tears fell faster as he bent to his knees before the shrine. “For you, Lyria,” he whispered - for that was her name - as he placed the heart in the centre, and closed his eyes.’
‘As soon as the heart was settled in its place, silence fell over his surroundings. Heavy, intense silence, almost judging and assessing. He wished to appear strong, but he could not stop his tears from falling. He felt overwhelmed, confused and disoriented - and yet, still, he felt no fear. The silence was oppressive and cold, but he trusted it. He knew he would never have been allowed to come so far if he had not been deemed worthy. And yet, he still prayed for Lyria, that she too would find her place here, that she would not be lost eternally.
‘All at once, the heart began to shimmer, lighting up the clearing with a bright gold light. It danced off the ruins, seeming to bring them to life. Though the young boy saw no one, he felt as though he was surrounded by friends; that he had found a place where he would be understood, where he could learn. This was everything he and Lyria had hoped for. Now, it could be real. A safe place for those with magic in their hearts. Somewhere their abilities could be strengthened and put to use. Somewhere they could explore what it meant to be who they were.’
~*~
Albus gazed at Gellert through tear-filled eyes. “I never knew anything about this,” he said. “What a beautiful and tragic tale. Why is it not public knowledge?”
“It once was, centuries ago, apparently,” said Gellert. “But it attracted the attention of treasure-seekers and poachers who desired to find Lyria’s heart and take it for themselves. Many believed it to hold great power and strong magic. Time after time, the site was ransacked, desecrated – the school was even destroyed on more than one occasion, leading to the deaths of some of the students. Eventually, the greed of these people meant that the story could only be told to others of Durmstrang, and thus it passed away, consigned to little more than a myth, trapped within a dusty tome. The only way it could be told to someone outside the school was if they were found to be pure of heart and selfless in spirit – if they would not seek destruction and power should they quest for the heart. Yet, the story still lives on through the tradition of the Glass Heart.”
His hands shook as he reached for a faded blue velvet box embossed with the Durmstrang logo. “When a student turns thirteen, he or she is given a clear glass heart, representing their own heart. Then, once they are ready, they give it to the person they love, putting their trust in that person, opening up and admitting their feelings. But the heart will cloud over if the other person hurts them and will even break if their beloved rejects them or betrays them.” Slowly, he opened the box. “This is mine.”
Albus craned his neck to look inside the box and gasped at what he saw. Lying almost mournfully on a black pillow was a single piece of glass that had been hewn into the shape of a heart. He could tell that it had once been bright and clear, peaceful as a summer lake, yet now it looked strangely discoloured, as if it had been overpowered by a magic filled with a harrowing pain. The once smooth surface had been scarred, marked with a web of cracks criss-crossing in every direction, threatening to shatter the precious object with one touch.
Albus’ mouth went dry even as he found himself unable to tear his gaze away from it. “How...” he trailed off. It seemed cruel to ask such a thing.
“It happened the moment I touched it,” said Gellert quietly. “I think that it felt everything that was inside me, everything I had fought to keep hidden...and the weight was too much for it to stand. It almost shattered in my hand, but somehow it held together.”
“Just like you.” Albus nodded. “It’s stronger than it looks.”
Gellert nodded. “It may not look like much, but I treasured it nonetheless. It helped me to believe that there was someone out there who could hear me, give him that feeling of being safe and understood that I craved so desperately, but did not dare ask for.’ He stroked the heart gently, tracing some of the cracks in the facade. “But it is also a reminder that you can’t hide your feelings forever. That there’s only so much you can take until you break. The heart can be put together, but it will take a long time. And then it’s even more fragile than before. And it will show all the breaks and never fully lose the cloudiness. To show that you can forgive, but you can never truly forget.”
“That’s true,” said Albus. “Sometimes the most painful scars are the ones you can’t see, the ones no one believes are really there because they are invisible. But now they are terrifyingly real.”
“Exactly.” Gellert nodded, clearly relieved to have been understood. “It’s been said for as long as anyone can remember that the human heart is a truly beautiful, yet dangerous, thing. It is capable of holding great love, compassion and loyalty. Of course, it can also hold anger, hatred and cruelty, yet that is not what makes it dangerous. Rather, the danger is in its fragility. I shut myself away from...not from caring about others, but from feeling too deeply, because I was afraid of what might happen if I gave my heart to them. It was so fragile, I worried that it would crumble to dust if it broke any further. But then...then I found you.”
He touched his finger to a point on the glass where the cracks were fainter. “Those marks were so deep only a few weeks ago, but they have begun to heal again. You have helped it begin to repair itself, though the clouded shades will never fade and the cracks will always be visible, to show that, though love and peace may find us, the hurt of our past will never truly fade away.” He drew a long breath and visibly composed himself. “Albus...I know it is only a small token, but I ask you now. Will you accept my heart, bruised and cracked and imperfect though it may be?“
“I will.” Albus wiped away his own tears. “I will, Gellert. And I will cherish it, always. Though you need not call it imperfect, as though it is somehow flawed. Bruised and marked it may be, but it is those cracks and clouds that make it perfect. Because they show that it’s yours. That this is the shape of your heart.”