The Great-Nephew
“Get in the bleeding house, I said!”
Albus rolled his eyes and leaned his head back against the headboard of his bed. Aberforth was yelling at the goats again. He tried to block out the sound of bleating from a story down, but another shout jerked his head back up.
“Albus!”
Albus hopped out of bed and skidded towards the door, opening it to find his younger brother and sister waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
“We’re going out to get some lunch. Do you think you could let the cat out?”
They had to get him up for this?
“Sure,” Albus shrugged. “How long will you be gone?”
“An hour or so, we might be going down to the village or something…”
“Do you want me to come? It might be safer—”
“I’m sixteen, Albus,” Aberforth said, irritated. “I’m almost of age.”
The truth was that Aberforth only turned sixteen two months previous, but Albus let it go. He didn’t really want to go anyway. “Let me know when you’re back. I might be over at Bathilda’s.”
“I want to visit Bathilda!” Arianna suddenly chirped. “Will she have cookies like last time, Al?”
“We’re going to Sandy’s, remember?”
Aberforth playfully punched his little sister in the arm, who giggled and said, “Oh yeah! Ready to go?”
Albus grinned, waved them off, then retreated back into his room. He began packing up a bag to go over to Bathilda’s; he hadn’t seen her in weeks. He had plenty of new books to show her. And how would she react when she saw the article about him in Transfiguration Today? His mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. He couldn’t wait.
“Albus! It’s been ages!”
Smiling warmly, Bathilda Bagshot stepped aside to let him enter. Albus followed her further into the house, interestedly listening to her babble about her nieces and nephews and the latest news from Professor Dippet and how would you like your tea, Albus? and her marvelous plangentines—
“I’ve completely forgotten to tell you!” Bathilda exclaimed.
“What’s that?”
“My great-nephew’s in town. You boys are about the same age, I’d bet you’ll get along swimmingly. I’ll call him.” After handing Albus his tea, Bathilda bustled over to the staircase and called, “Gellert! Gellert, come down. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”
Albus leaned against the opposite wall, interested. He was anticipating a handsome young fellow, but nothing to what appeared at the top of the short flight of stairs. The golden hair and sharp features practically flew down the stairs and landed a foot short of Albus’s nose.
Just at that moment, Albus had lifted his cup of tea to his mouth, and the next thing he knew, he was staring into those blue eyes with scalding hot tea down his front.
“Oh, damn,” Albus muttered, flushing scarlet. He fished in his pocket for his wand, but the other boy was a step ahead of him.
“Turgio,” he said, and the tea cleaned itself from Albus’s shirt. “I’m Gellert.”
Composing himself, he said, “Albus. Pleasure.”
“The pleasure is mine.” Gellert glanced at Bathilda before continuing, “Aunt Batty told me about you.”
Albus raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“Apparently you’re something extraordinary. I read that article in Transfiguration Today.”
“You read that?”
“Of course, silly. I love that magazine.”
Bathilda looked from one to the other of them, clutching her tea with a wide smile on her face. “I’ll leave you boys to it!”
“Thank you for the tea, Bathilda,” Albus said before following Gellert into the sitting room.
“You live ‘round here?” Gellert asked, sitting down in an armchair and motioning for Albus to do the same.
“Just a few doors down.” Albus sipped his tea. “You’re staying with Bathilda for the summer?”
Gellert fidgeted for a moment, breaking eye contact. “Yeah, I, er, left school, and I’m here now.”
“What school’s that?”
“Durmstrang. In Bulgaria.”
“I’ve read about it. Did you like it?”
Gellert shrugged. “I liked it more than they liked me. I got expelled.”
Albus looked shocked. “For what?”
Gellert raised an eyebrow, but said no more. Albus couldn’t help staring at his beautifully carved face and just wanted to—
He stopped this train of thought before it started. He wanted to have an intellectual conversation with Gellert, he corrected himself. After all, to get expelled from Durmstrang, well that was quite a feat. The usual thuggery that could get you thrown out of Hogwarts was normal at Durmstrang, so the type of crimes to warrant expulsion there would be major.
Albus knew he should walk away now, stay away from this boy who could do unknowable things. But somehow, it drew him in closer.
“But of course,” Gellert said robustly, “you graduated at the top of your class at Hogwarts.”
Albus shrugged modestly and brought his cup of tea up to his mouth for something to do.
When he left two hours later, Albus was elated. He’d just spent all that time with an incredibly intellectually stimulating young man. He was charming and hilarious, but also mysterious and intelligent beyond belief. What he would give to know as much as he knew, to know what it was like behind those blue eyes.
“Where’ve you been?” Aberforth was sitting on the couch with Arianna, fiddling with an instrument of some sort.
“Bathilda’s,” Albus said shortly, trying desperately to wipe the grin off his face.
Aberforth grunted, and Albus shot upstairs to his room, thinking about everything they’d discussed.
Gellert’s magical knowledge was astounding, rival to Albus’s own. In addition to everything he’d carefully studied at Hogwarts, Gellert knew extensively about the Dark Arts, a subject Albus had never ventured into. For some reason, even though the urge had never gripped him before, he wanted to learn about the Dark Arts from Gellert. Of course, he would never use them. But he wanted to know, and he wanted Gellert Grindelwald to teach him.
I wonder what he meant by that statement about Jenkins’ fourteenth century philosophy… Albus thought to himself some time later, far after the sun had retreated below the horizon.
He fished in the bag at the foot of his bed for the book, but it wasn’t there.
Did I leave it at Bathilda’s? Damn...
Then another thought struck him: I’ll have to go back tomorrow.
The excuse to go back and see Gellert thrilled him, and suddenly he couldn’t wait for the next day.
Albus jumped as something flew through his open window. He hopped off his desk chair to inspect it as something else was jettisoned into the side of his head.
“What the hell—” He hurried over to the window and squinted through the dark night to see a blonde head searching in the garden for another rock. “Gellert?”
“Albus!”
“What—How— You—”
“You left your book at my house.” He held up a green leather bound book, grinning.
“Well go on, toss it up,” Albus prompted, sticking his hands out of the window.
Gellert drew back the book. “You’re going to have to come get it.”
A smile played across Albus’s lips. He turned on the spot with a large cracking noise, envisioning the space just behind Gellert.
“Albus? Where’ve you got to?”
“Behind you.” Albus had hidden right in Gellert’s blind spot, then pounced, clasping his shoulders from behind.
Gellert started, obviously surprised. “Stop!” he said loudly.
Albus was shocked, and a sinking feeling filled his abdomen.
“Don’t be a child, Albus,” Gellert scolded.
“I didn’t realize—I’m sorry, Gellert.”
Stupid! Albus thought, mentally punching himself in the face. I should have known his boundaries.
“Here’s your book.” Gellert handed the thing over, not meeting Albus’s eyes.
“Thanks, Gellert,” Albus said quietly.
The other boy turned away, hands shoved deep in his pockets as he started back toward his great aunt’s house.
Devastated, Albus began walking slowly to his own door. After a moment, he turned his head slightly. He could still see the tall, lanky figure of Gellert on his way home. Suddenly, part of the blonde head was replaced by the dark frames of his glasses. He was looking back. Startled, Albus turned away and hurried to his door.
Aberforth made no sign he’d even noticed Albus come through the door. Arianna said, “Hey, Al! Guess what?”
“Not now, Ari.” Albus climbed the stairs, fighting back the pressure behind his eyes. Great, now his guilt was doubled—he’d just angered his only friend, and he’d just completely brushed off his sister. Angry, he tossed the book into a wire bin. “Incendio,” he shot at it.