For the Greater Good

dhficcer @ 2008-04-19T07:49:00

2008-04-19T12:51:52Z

Title:
Two Months of Insanity, Chapter One
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Summary:
They had never met before that summer, and they spent only two months in each other's company. However, those two months would never be forgotten by Gellert Grindelwald or Albus Dumbledore.
Author's Note:
Well, it's happened. I'm about six months late with when I promised I would start it, and I cannot promise the same speed of updates, as I am working on my own novel as well, but Two Months of Insanity is finally being rewritten. I got tons of useful feedback the first time, and I would love to get it again, from the same people or from a whole new group. This chapter has not been beta-read, and there may be some horrible Americanisms in it. If anyone from the UK or with a great understanding of UK grammar, etc. would like to help me by reading over future chapters, please let me know. I would be forever grateful.

Chapter One

The home of Bathilda Bagshot, like all of the homes in Godric's Hollow, was quiet. That was to be expected, as the little neighbourhood was not the sort of environment where anyone expected anything to occur at one in the morning. Bathilda herself was fast asleep in her bed, delighted by dreams of her youth. Many of the dreams, as is the nature of such things, were entirely fictional. Nevertheless, or perhaps because of that very reason, she greatly enjoyed each one.

She did not hear the first set of knocks on her front door. She slept soundly, up a floor, and across the house. A second set followed. Three short, hard raps. She dreamt of a telegraph office she had visited once. A third attempt at knocking was made, even louder. Her sleep was disrupted. She blinked as a fourth set drove away the remnants of sleep. She fumbled for her wand in the darkness and found it as a fifth set, near pounding but not quite there, came.

“Lumos,” Bathilda said, yawning as she spoke the incantation. She looked sleepily at the small clock on her night stand by the light of her wand's tip. “Who in Merlin's name,” she began but trailed off as she heard a sixth set of knocks. She got to her feet and left her bedroom, lighted wand in hand. She did not think to put her dressing gown over her nightgown. Carefully, she descended the staircase and reached the foot of it before a seventh set issued from beyond the sturdy door. She yawned again, preparing all the things she would say to whomever was rude enough to wake her at this hour. She opened the door.

Somehow, every foul word she had intended to say died on her lips. A young man, who looked rather in need of sleep himself, stood on the porch. He carried his wand, and its tip was lit. His youthful features offered an apologetic smile to the older witch he had disturbed. He was taller than her, though that did not take much, and Bathilda noticed a certain unkempt look to his blond, curly hair. As was fashionable among the young, it was long, the ends touching his shoulders. Even though they begged for sleep, his hazel eyes were alert.

“Bathilda Bagshot?” he asked. His voice was heavily accented but still clear.

Bathilda finally remembered how to speak. “Yes?”

“I am Gellert Grindelwald,” the boy said. She knew the name. It was somewhere just out of her mind's reach. His hand went into the pocket of his robes to-- no. He did not wear robes, Bathilda saw. He wore muggle clothing. There was a trunk by his feet too, with a small iron cage on top of it. Inside the cage, a small owl slept. “You said,” he was offering her a folded piece of parchment, “I could come here.”

She was more awake as she unfolded the letter and read it, recognizing the writing as her own. Grindelwald, yes. Her sister had married a Grindelwald. Gellert, his name was, so this boy was-- her letter confirmed it. Her sister's grandson, her great-nephew. She managed to smile.

“Come in, dear, come in.” She stepped aside to allow him beyond the doorway, and he used a nonverbal levitation spell to bring his trunk and the cage on top of it into the house as well. She had certainly told him, when he had written three or four months ago, that he would be welcome to visit her at any time and for as long as he desired. She had, however, planned on him warning her he was on his way and calling on her at a decent hour. “Let's get you off to bed.”

“Thank you, ma'am.”

She led the way up the stairs, and Gellert followed, his floating trunk behind him. After reaching the landing, she went down the hall, away from her bedroom, and she opened the last door.

It was a moderately sized room with a bed against one wall, a window that faced the street, a desk in front of that window, and a chest of drawers on the wall opposite the bed. Above the best of drawers was a long shelf. The room was nothing grand, but Bathilda felt lucky that she'd had the sense to prepare it shortly after Gellert had first written to her.

“Here you are,” she announced, and she failed to hide a yawn.

“It is wonderful,” Gellert replied quietly. “I cannot thank you enough, and I am very sorry to have woken you, ma'am.”

“Do get some rest,” she said, and she walked down the hall to follow her own advice. There was something about the boy. The thought came to her as she reached her own room. There was something. Some trouble at school, perhaps? That sounded right. She decided not to worry about it and settled back into her bed, darkening her wand and placing it back on the night stand. It was a small misunderstanding, whatever it had been. She was sure of that. Gellert did not seem like the sort of boy to cause trouble. He was handsome, charming, and so polite.

Except for waking her at one in the morning.

Fic: Information

2008-04-01T12:29:45Z

Title:
Information
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG-13
Characters:
Gellert Grindelwald and unimportant OC
Disclaimer:
The character Gellert Grindelwald is owned by J. K. Rowling, the author of the Harry Potter stories. I am making no money off this writing.
Author's Note:
God its been awhile since I've written fanfiction! An interrogation in the basement of Nuremgard. Crossposted at the character journal taintedintent. This has not been beta-read, sadly.

Information

Nuremgard stood, isolated, in the German countryside. It was an imposing structure, modeled after the ancient fortresses. Every window had bars, and there was only one visible entrance, a pair of heavy doors that looked as if they would have taken four strong men each to push open. As the sun rose over the horizon, a few shadows stirred behind the windows, and there was no sign of any guard of any sort.

A wizard of Gellert Grindelwald's skill did not need guards to protect his prison, his vision.

The very man who had constructed the prison for all those who would oppose him was also the only soul that knew how to enter the fortress without opening the heavy doors, which opened upon his command only once he was inside. In the dead of night, he had commanded the doors open and four of his elect guard had led a Muggle prisoner into the fortress.

The entire first floor was open and empty save for two flights of stairs, one leading up and the other leading down. No one except the unfortunate, permanent prisoners of Nuremgard and its architect knew what occured in the floors above or the floor below. The guards had turned over their prisoner, and the mastermind of the prison and left.

When Jakob Weber regained conciousness, he could not say how he had passed out or how long he had been in the basement of Nuremgard. He knew where he was, only because, as his mind settled, he remembered entering the fortress, flanked by guards. He remembered another man a moment later, and he sat up.

Or as much as he could. He was already sitting, he found. Strong leather straps had been fastened around each of his wrists and another strap was on each forearm, just before the bend of the elbow. They held each of his arms firmly to an arm of the chair. His ankles and calves were similiarly bound to the solid base of the chair. A final strap came across his chest.

The man whose memory had flitted through Jakob's mind was in the room, directly within the prisoner's line of sight. He was also seated, but his posture was not restricted.

Jakob took a shuddering breath as the other man rose from his chair. He had been foolish to attempt an assassination of Gellert Grindelwald, armed with only knife. He had seen the things that this man could have done, but he'd had nothing else to try, so he had gambled, and he had lost. He tried tugging an arm free of its bonds, but they held strong.

A soft laugh left the regal mastermind. His hair was slicked back, away from his sharp-featured face, and his hazel eyes focused on the helpless man. In his hand, he held a thin piece of wood that someone who had never heard of him might have laughed at. Jakob, however, knew all too well what it was.

There was not a soul in Germany who did not know about Wizards now. Grindelwald had swept first through the Wizarding community and then through the Non-magical, 'Muggle' to the Wizards, community. He had toppled both governments and named himself the supreme power of the country.

Grindelwald glided over to Jakob, his lips twisted into a mockery of a smile, his eyes cold, dangerous. A red spark left the tip of his wand, and Jakob flinched, but no pain came. Not yet.

"You are bold, Herr Weber," Grindelwald murmured with a note of appreciation. "Few wizards have made an attempt such as yours, and even they were better armed. For a muggle to be so daring..." He left the thought unfinished, and the nail of his index finger trailed down the curve of Jakob's jaw.

Jakob was breathing heavily, and he was trying to cease the shaking of his hands.

"You did not act alone," Grindelwald told him. "Do not think I am so stupid as to believe that."

"I-I did," Jakob said. His voice was barely more than a whisper, and Grindelwald's eyes narrowed. The nails of his first, second, and third fingers dug into the back of Jakob's neck.

"Do not lie to me." After a moment, and receiving a quiet whimper of pain from Jakob, Grindelwald released the pressure and pulled his hand away from the other man's throat. "To have gained access to my office in the Ministry, you had to have help from one of my guards."

"N-no."

"Crucio." Grindelwald flicked his wand, and a jet of red flew from its tip. It struck Jakob in the chest, and the man screamed. He tried to thrash, the pain filling every part of him, but the restraints did their job. He was held in position, and only his head moved, neck throwing it back several times to hit the back of the chair. The wand was flicked again when tears had started to streak Jakob's face. "Now, Herr Weber," Grindelwald murmured with the utmost calm, "you were saying?"

Jakob's head had drooped forward, and he was breathing heavily. His body shook, but he forced himself to look up at Grindelwald. At those eyes that showed no remorse, no hesitance. The wand was still up, and Grindelwald's lips were parted ever so slightly, ready to pronounce another incantation.

"I--" Jakob hesitated. Grindelwald adjusted his grip on the wand the slightest bit. "I was." A blond brow arched. "I was helped. By one of your guards."

Grindelwald patted Jakob's cheek with just the tips of the fingers of his free hand, and he said, "Good, my boy. We make progress."

Jakob felt sick. He knew that he was signing another man's death warrant. The memory of that pain filled him, though, and he bowed his head.

"Who?"

The question made Jakob look up. He had known it was coming, but it still turned his blood to ice. He waited too long to speak, and Grindelwald's right hand snapped forward as the left held the wand at ready. The wizard's right hand curled around Jakob's throat, and Grindelwald took a step closer to the chair as he applied pressure.

He bent his head down, face only inches from Jakob's as his hand put more pressure on the muggle's throat. "Who?" he growled.

Jakob gasped for air, and he tried to will himself to remain silent. Better to die for the sake of a man who could do more to stop this madman than to sacrifice him as well. He tried to tell himself this as his world began to go dark and the room started to spin. He clawed at the arms of the chair.

He did not hear Grindelwald say the word, but he felt the same surge of pain, and he screamed, his head trying to thrash, but Grindelwald's hand stayed against his throat, restricting the flow of breath without entirely stopping it. When the pain ceased, the hand was gone from his throat, and Jakob did not know how long it had been. Seconds or minutes, he could not say. His mouth tasted of vomit, and he could not feel any particular part of his body. He knew only that everything hurt.

The blond tyrant was a few feet away, his wand pointed at his own arm, and his sleeve and hand were clean a moment later, though the smell of Jakob's vomit still hung in the air.

He looked at Jakob with the smile a wolf would give a lamb. He raised his wand and spoke before firing a stunning spell at Jakob, "Thank you, Herr Weber, for your information."

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-10-21T16:48:59Z

Epilogue

Bathilda Bagshot was already awake when the door to her house was knocked on at half past six in the morning. She had not slept for most of the night, worried about Gellert. He had come back to the house just slightly past midnight. She had heard him slam the door, and she had gone into the hall to make sure everything was all right. Everything had not been all right.

He had ignored her for most of the time she had stood near the stairs, ranting to himself about how “it wasn’t supposed to be like this” and how “everything had gone wrong.” She had tried to ask him what was the matter, but he had not seemed to hear her. When she had touched his shoulder, trying to comfort the teenager, he had rounded on her and pointed his wand straight at her. She had let him retreat to his bedroom. She had gone to her own not long after, deciding that he needed to be left alone and that she could ask him questions in the morning.

The woman left the kitchen, and the modest breakfast she was making for Gellert and herself, to answer the door. Standing on the porch was an ashen-faced Albus Dumbledore. He looked as though he had not slept, and he peered up at her. For one of the first times, Bathilda could believe that he was seventeen, rather than thinking he was older. He looked frightened… unsure. She was certain that some quarrel had occurred between the boys.

“Albus,” she said gently, opening the door wider, “come in.”

“I need to speak to Gellert,” the young man told her. His voice was strained, and he looked at her with an oddly pleading gaze. “I need to speak to him.”

“He isn’t awake yet,” Bathilda replied. “Or, at least, he hasn’t left his room.” She doubted that Gellert had gotten any more sleep than Albus had. After all, the boys were dreadfully fond of one another. Whatever tiff they’d had, it was sure to have upset them bother. She looked at Albus’s expression and caved. “Come along. I’ll help you fetch him.”

The two mounted the stairs, Albus behind the lady of the house. He hesitated at the top of the stairs but followed her to Gellert’s room. Bathilda knocked on the door, called Gellert’s name, and, when she got no response, she tried the door. She made a small, slightly surprised sound when the knob turned and she was able to open it. Gellert always locked his door.

She gasped when she looked at the room. The bed was made and there was not a book to be seen. A few pieces of parchment still littered the ground as well as a few photographs. Albus stood just behind her, able to see into the room over her shoulder. The trunk was gone and the various cufflinks, hats, and other such pieces of clothing that Gellert had been fond of were all missing. Loki and his cage were by the window, and it had been bolted shut, exactly how it had been when Gellert had first arrived.

From the room’s appearance, Gellert Grindelwald might never have even lived in Godric’s Hollow.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-10-21T01:52:07Z

Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Author's Note:
Okay, so I took a LOT longer than I thought I would. Oh well. Just an epilogue left to write, and that will be written tomorrow. After November, I'm probably going to start work on this again, completely redoing it. Thank you everyone who has stuck with me this long. I know the story isn't perfect, and there are a few details of canon that I haven't acknowledged yet. Those will be in the next, longer version. Enjoy!

Chapter Twelve
The Price to be Paid

Hazel eyes slid slowly open and the seventeen-year-old Gellert Grindelwald stared at the ceiling of his room for several hours. The room was dark, and he was aware of a throbbing in his head as he sat up. His vision blurred briefly, and he shut his eyes, trying to force the room to stop spinning. After several seconds, it did. He looked around and heaved a sigh, not yet trying to rise. His head was still killing him.

“Damned old man,” he muttered to himself in his native language. A little over two months ago, he had managed to convince and old potion brewer to let him have just a bit of the Felix Felicis the man had brewed. That had been the night that he had simply… known… he had to come to England. The night that he had remembered that he had a relative there and that he had decided to take up an old offer of hers. Gellert could remember that feeling. The warm, powerful feeling, and the sense that he knew exactly what he had to do next. He had imagined that the potion inside the ornament he had bought would do the same, would let him know where the Hallow was. Where the Elder Wand was. Yet, there was nothing. Only the dull ache in his head reminded him that he had taken the potion.

He placed his feet on the floor and slowly pulled himself to his feet. The clock downstairs struck eleven. He glanced out his window and saw the dim glow of lantern lights in the Dumbledore house. He had told Albus that he could call on him, and, late as it might be, he supposed he should keep that promise.

The young man left his jacket behind, and he didn’t button his loosened collar as he descended the stairs. He ran a hand through his hair, but he did not check his appearance in the mirror. He would think of something to tell Albus, some reason why he didn’t look his best. Gellert simply did not feel like getting gussied up.

He left the house, closing the door as quietly as he could, even though Bathilda was still awake. There was a light coming from the kitchen, and he knew it had to be her. He didn’t want to have to deal with her right now.

Before long, he was standing on the steps of the Dumbledore house, and he knocked several times. The headache he had woken up with was gone, but he still did not feel any more confident about where to find the Elder Wand. He waited on the porch, his hands digging into his pockets. He did feel strangely impatient, but he could not think of any reason why he should be, unless it was mere annoyance over being conned about that potion.

“Damn old man,” he said again.

The door opened, almost hesitantly. Albus stood there, and he smiled and quickly finished pulling the door open when he saw Gellert standing there.

“I was wondering when you would be coming over,” Albus greeted him, and he beamed. “You had me worried.”

“Worried?”

“Your aunt said that you had shut yourself in your room and wouldn’t answer her, and you didn’t reply to any of the letters I sent with Icarus.”

Gellert blinked. He then said, slowly, “When was the last time you saw me?”

“Yesterday evening,” Albus answered. “After we left the graveyard.”

“I,” Gellert hesitated, but he shrugged his shoulders, “I’ve been asleep. I wasn’t feeling well. My apologies for worrying you.” After a pause, he spoke again. “May I come in?”

“Oh! Of course!” Albus stepped aside, and Gellert entered the house. Albus closed the door behind him, and the two walked together toward the library.

As they walked, Gellert spoke. His voice was quiet, and his eyes were shining. “We need to leave soon.”

“What?”

“We need to go soon. We need to start working, start looking. We have to return to Germany. That’s where we have to start. Start rallying people. We have to go.”

“You can’t.” It was not said loudly, but the tone did not waver. Aberforth Dumbledore was in the library, and he regarded his brother and Gellert with those blue eyes of his. His eyes met Gellert’s, and he drew himself up defiantly.

“Why in God’s name not?” Gellert demanded. Albus was silent, looking at his brother then at his friend.

“I go back to school soon,” Aberforth replied. His voice had raised slightly, and he tried to draw himself up even taller.

“All the more reason.”

“Someone has to take care of Ariana. She can’t be left here alone.”

“She can come with us,” Gellert said, and he waved his hand in a gesture meant to dismiss the issue, but Aberforth made an annoyed sound.

“Are you that blind?” He was half shouting. “She isn’t in any kind of condition to be moved anywhere, let alone to another country. She can’t be kept moving!”

“Don’t you understand? Or are you really as thick as you seem?” Gellert ignored the hand that Albus placed on his shoulder. He pulled away and strode forward. Aberforth took a few steps himself, not about to be backed into a corner. This time, he would stand his ground. “We are trying to make this world better. Better for Ariana, better for everyone.” His eyes were cold, almost hateful, but Aberforth would not look away. “The sooner we do what we have to do, the sooner your sister doesn’t have to hide anymore.”

“You don’t care about her,” Aberforth shouted. “You care about yourself and those stupid Hallows. They probably don’t even exist! Albus needs to be here. He needs to take care of Ariana!”

“You stupid boy,” Gellert snarled. “You don’t see the genius that you are blocking. Why should he be shackled here? You will not stand in our way. You will not stand in my way.” He raised a hand and drew his wand from its place up his sleeve.

Albus realised what he was doing a moment too late. “Gellert, no!”

“Crucio.” It was not even shouted; it was almost whispered. The flash of red reflected off those hazel eyes, and Albus watched as his brother screamed and hunched over.

It did not continue for the second that Albus thought, or hoped, it would. It was not meant as a short reminder that Gellert Grindelwald was not to be crossed. His younger brother’s screams tore through Albus’s hearing, and his breath caught in his throat as Aberforth fell to the ground, thrashing in pain. A soft whimper caught his ear, and he turned his head just slightly to see Ariana standing in the doorway, her blue eyes open wide and brimming with tears. She did not scream, but she looked from one brother to the other. Albus looked back at Gellert and drew a shallow breath. He knew what he had to do.

The auburn-haired young man drew his own wand and, his incantation unsaid, fired a white flash of light at Gellert. It ripped into the flesh, and blood flowed freely. Gellert’s head turned toward Albus, his eyes wide. With his concentration broken, Aberforth was free of the curse and able to scramble over to the table where his own wand was laid. He picked it up, but he did not attack the German youth just yet.

Gellert’s free hand touched the wound on his face, and he stared at Albus. He murmured, his head cocking just slightly to the side, “Is this the price?” Albus did not respond, not knowing how to respond, and Gellert drew himself up straighter. He answered himself, “So be it.”

Albus watched Gellert’s wand-hand twitch slightly, and he shouted, “Aberforth, move!” Just as his brother obeyed, a spark of blue flew from the tip of Gellert’s wand. It collided with a vase that had been directly behind Aberforth, and the china shattered.

Aberforth responded with a curse of his own, but Gellert blocked it without a moment’s hesitation. Albus, reluctantly, fired another, but it missed and chipped one of the wooden bookcases. Curses flew between the three combatants, the Dumbledore brothers against the Durmstrang student. Even with the odds against him, it was Gellert who suffered the fewest hits. He drew blood from each, and they did strike him a few times with curses, Aberforth attempting to repay him with the same Unforgivable. It hit its mark, but the effect was only temporary. The will to make someone suffer was not behind it.

Gellert, schooled in dueling from childhood, seemed quite adjusted to the situation, every move calculated, and the dodges that the brothers made were slim. Hogwarts taught spells that they could use, and they tried, but their education was all but completely limited to classroom studies, nothing practical. The true art of dueling was not something that Hogwarts students were drilled on, yet it was a way of life at Durmstrang, and the difference was plain.

Ariana looked on at the frenzy, watching as pictures were shredded, glass was broken, and books were scattered from their shelves. Her eyes were ever wide, and her lips parted. She might have tried to scream, but nothing came out. She did not dare try and stop the battle; she could only look on in horror.

Three jets of light struck at the same time. One flew back toward Aberforth, knocking him off his feet. One just missed catching Gellert’s uninjured cheek. The final spell flew straight for Ariana. She did not move, even as it sped toward her, and none of the three combatants could have moved quickly enough to have protected her. The spell struck her in the chest, and she weaved on her feet for a moment. An incantation died on Gellert’s lips, and Albus’s wand lowered slightly. Aberforth staggered to his feet, trying to regain his breath. Three pairs of eyes watched the young woman as she looked at each of them and then fell to the ground.

The three stood still for a few seconds or a few hours. None of them were sure how long it was. They could not say whether it had really been an eternity that they had stood there or whether it had merely felt like it. Each of them stood, still and silent, waiting for Ariana to rise or moan in pain or cry. Each of them waited for something.

Nothing came.

Gellert took a step back, staring at the motionless young woman. He Disapparated without a word.

Albus and Aberforth Dumbledore only stared at one another.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-09-30T03:15:45Z

Chapter Eleven
The Final Hour

“Good morning, Gellert!”

The blond teenager winced at the sound of his great-aunt’s cheery voice. He had reached the bottom step of the staircase and had hoped to slip out of the house undetected. Obviously, the gods were not so kind this morning.

“Good morning,” he responded, and he sighed when she came out of the library, where she had been enjoying a cup of tea until she heard him on the stairs.

“Albus!” She looked at the auburn-haired young man behind Gellert on the stairs. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“I,” Albus hesitated, looking at Gellert, who shrugged his shoulders, “dozed off here last night, Miss Bagshot.”

“Please, call me Bathilda,” the woman replied, smiling widely at the two youths. “It’s wonderful to see that you two are getting along so well!” She looked between Albus and Gellert, and, when neither of them said anything, she spoke again. “Albus, would you like to join Gellert and I for breakfast?”

“Actually, we were going to--” Gellert began.

“That sounds wonderful,” Albus chimed in.
Gellert glanced at Albus, and he sighed a little. They would have to have breakfast here now.

“Wonderful!” Bathilda beamed at the two of them. “Now, you two just go and make yourselves comfortable, and I’ll get some food on the table!”

Albus descended the stairs and headed for the library. He stopped in the doorway and looked back at the stairs, where Gellert still stood.

“Are you coming?” he asked.

“Yes.” It was still a few moments before Gellert stepped off the last stair and followed Albus into the library. He seated himself on the divan beside Albus and looked at his friend. “You didn’t have to accept,” he said quietly.

“It’s no trouble.”

“We have work to do.”

“Gellert, the Hallows are not going to vanish from the face of the earth in the half hour it will take us to have breakfast with your aunt.”

“Great-aunt,” Gellert corrected. “She is my grandfather’s sister. Calling her my aunt makes her sound like she’s immediate family.”

“Gellert!”Gellert looked at Albus, unused to the scolding tone in his voice. “You act like you don’t like her.”

“I don’t, really. She interferes too much. Always wants to know what I’m doing, where I’m going, when I’ll be back.”

“That’s because she cares.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“She’s letting you stay here,” Albus pointed out.

Gellert shrugged his shoulders, “I’m grateful for that. I simply don’t see why she has to know everything that I am doing at all times.”

“She means well.”

“I can take care of myself.”

Albus chuckled. “Yes, I know.”

It was not long before Bathilda’s voice was heard. “Come on you two! Breakfast is ready now!”

Before long, Gellert, Albus, and Bathilda were sitting at the kitchen table. Gellert picked at his food while Albus and Bathilda spoke about one topic and then another. Gellert was beginning to think that they would never cease talking. He glanced out the window, swallowing a bite of sausage. It took him a few moments before he realized that his name was being said.

“Gellert,” he finally heard his great-aunt saying, and he turned his head toward her.

“Yes?”

“Aren’t you going to eat any more than that?”

“No.”

“You’re certain?”

“Quite.” He rose from the table, and he looked at his friend.
“Albus, we were going to go for a walk.”

“Shouldn’t we—” Albus began, but Gellert shrugged his shoulders before he could finish.

Albus sighed and followed Gellert out of the kitchen and, eventually, out of the house. He looked at his friend, and Gellert noticed the expression on Albus’s features.

“What is it?” he asked as they walked down the street together.
Albus was quiet for a moment. “Don’t you think you were a little rude to Miss Bagshot?”

“Was I?” The sincerity of the question almost made Albus laugh. The notion of not having been polite had not occurred to Gellert!

“I think so.”

“I will apologize later to her.”

“Gellert,” Albus reached out and caught his friend by the arm and stopped walking, “is something the matter?”

“Of course not. Why would you think something like that?”

“You’re acting differently,” Albus replied. “You haven’t wanted to come and see me at my home for days, and even Ariana is acting differently. She can hardly be coaxed out of her room, even by Aberforth. She won’t go near the piano.”

Gellert looked at Albus for several moments. His hand rose in a familiar gesture, and his shoulders shrugged. “I do not know what is the matter with your sister, Albus. I wish I did. She acted rather strangely the last time that I was there, and I have not wanted to upset her by coming around again.” Albus did not reply, and the two began to walk again. Gellert spoke again when he stopped at the kissing gate of the cemetery. “I suppose I am a little anxious myself, though.”

“Anxious? Why?”

Gellert led the way into the graveyard, and Albus was close behind him. They stopped at the grave of Ignotus Peverell. Gellert irreverently sat upon the gravestone, and he regarded Albus with a faint smile.

“It’s time, Albus.”

“Time?”

“Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what, Gellert?”

“It’s time to find the Hallows. To leave Godric’s Hollow behind, to embrace destiny, to do what we have been planning these last two months. It is time.”

Albus looked at Gellert, aware of that gleam in his hazel eyes. It was not that different from the shine that had possessed them when Gellert had first asked him to share his dreams, the glory he saw for himself. It was the same look that had been there when Gellert had seen this grave for the first time. It was rather similar to the spark that had been present when Gellert had ranted about Muggles after having been struck by one. It was a look that had only recently made Albus consider that there was a fine, fine line between what made a man brilliant and what made a man mad. Of course, he had no doubt that Gellert was the former.

“You really think so?” Albus finally replied, and he seated himself on the ground near Ignotus’s grave. “Where will we go first?”

“Back to Germany.”

“For the Elder Wand?”

“Precisely.”

“Do you know where it is?”

“I am very close to knowing,” Gellert assured his friend.

“And after we have the wand?” Albus smiled a bit, but something in his tone left a sour taste in Gellert’s mouth. The thought crossed his mind, though it was pushed away the next moment, that he was being coddled, that Albus was treating him as someone might treat a child talking about a world that they had conjured up in their own minds. “Where shall we go then?”

“Perhaps stay in Germany,” Gellert responded. “We could start to gather a following there. We could tell people about what we see for the future, what we can do to make their lives better. With the Elder Wand in hand, no one could force us to be silent.” He paused, and his eyes shut briefly, as if he was savoring the idea. His eyes opened slowly as he continued, “We would start in Germany, and I know we would soon have all of Europe behind us. After that, it is only a matter of time before everyone else sees sense as well. Once they see what a paradise we will bring, they will flock to us.”

Albus smiled a little more and nodded. “We would finally bring the two worlds together. Muggles and Wizards could live together, not be afraid of one another.”

“Wizards would be in their rightful place, lords of the land. They would have their power and their responsibilities. We would make sure that everything worked as it should, that everything was right.”

“We can care for those unable to care for themselves,” Albus murmured wistfully.

“We will be able to punish those that do not know their place,” Gellert added. “We will see that everything is as it should be. We will be liberators; we will go down in history. Our names, paired together forever.”

“They will talk about us long after we’re dead.” Albus was grinning, his eyes wide with the excitement of the idea. Gellert’s passion was as infectious as always.

“Long after,” Gellert repeated. He smiled a bit, looking up at the sky. “And it all begins with a Hallow.”

“We don’t even really need it,” Albus pointed out, and Gellert tensed a bit. He looked at Albus with an arched brow, and Albus shrugged. “We don’t. It will lend us credibility, and we can use that. We’re too young, most will say. Too young to know what we’re doing. Having the Elder Wand will let them know that we’re just as powerful as they are, but, when it all comes down to it, we don’t really need a Hallow.” Gellert did not look convinced, and Albus went on. “We’ll still get them, all of them. Why shouldn’t we be masters of death? I just mean to say that our position will convince people, even without the Hallows.”

Gellert relaxed slightly, but he did not seem fully convinced.

Several hours later, after discussions of topics ranging from the everyday to the extraordinary and more than a few kisses, the young men got to their feet. The backs of their shirts were stained with dirt, and their trousers had not been spared either. Gellert attempted to brush off his trousers, but he was unsuccessful, so he settled for combing through his ruffled hair with his fingers, trying to tame it a bit. Albus was straightening his shirt, and he glanced at Gellert with a chuckle.

“You know, I don’t think it’s proper form to pin someone on a grave.”

“You hardly seemed to mind. If I recall correctly,” Gellert responded, pausing to give a bit of a laugh himself, “you seemed rather keen on pinning me shortly after.”

“An eye for an eye,” Albus replied, and both chuckled again.
Gellert approached Albus and caught him in another kiss, and Albus responded with a similar level of intensity. Gellert’s fingers hovered over the buttons of his friend’s shirt, and he amused himself with the temptation of undoing them right here. He resisted, though, and took a step back. Albus watched him.

“Come back to my house, Gellert,” Albus said, a bit breathlessly. “Aberforth won’t bother us. We could—”

“A tempting offer,” Gellert cut him off, and he ducked his head for another long, heavy kiss. He pulled away after a few seconds, a bit of color in his cheeks, and he shut his eyes. After another moment, he opened them again and smiled apologetically. “I should go back and speak with Great-aunt Bathilda. You were quite correct. I was rude to her earlier, and I should apologize.”

“You really have chosen the worst time to show your gentlemanly nature,” Albus replied, but he was smiling. “Perhaps later tonight?”

Gellert considered this and smiled as well. He licked his lips ever so faintly as he responded, “Perhaps.” As he and Albus walked toward the kissing gate, he bent his head slightly to whisper in his friend’s ear, “Perhaps we could slip out of the house and come back here even.”

“You really are horrible,” Albus replied. He whispered as well, even though there was no one around, and he stole a look back at the tombstone out of the corner of his eye. Gellert looked back as well and smirked, hungry for the risk such a thing would carry.

Upon reaching his home and seeing Albus enter his residence, Gellert made his way immediately up the stairs. He heard his great-aunt in the kitchen, but he did not even consider going in. Instead, he let himself into his bedroom and shut the door once he was inside. It had been foolish not to take Albus up on his immediate offer, and Gellert knew that. He was regretting the decision more with every moment that passed, and he glared at Loki when the bird gave a small hoot.

“Of course I want to go,” he said, even though he knew that the bird had no idea what he was thinking, and it probably did not know what he was saying. “However, there are more important things to do.”

The owl hooted again, and Gellert gave it another glare as he seated himself on the bed.

“Albus seems to be losing interest in the Hallows. Doesn’t he see how important they are? As the masters of Death, as the possessors of the Hallows, we would have everything. Everything. No one could deny us anything.” He gave a snort of frustration and stared at the desk in his room. In other moments of annoyance, impatience, or simple idleness, he had taken a small knife, picked up on the Muggle streets because it had caught his eye, and carved on the desk. The image was plain, the lines deep in the wood. It was the mark of the Hallows. The straight Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility. The Hallows were at the very center of everything. How could Albus forget that?

How could he think that there was anything for them if they did not possess the Hallows?

Gellert touched the gold chain that was still around his neck. He tugged on it and stared at the pendant. Carefully, he took it in hand and raised it up, watching the black liquid as it moved within its glass sphere.

As he had told Albus, it was time. It was finally time.

Carefully, he twisted the top of the triangle, and it come off. Gellert hesitated for a moment, staring at the black liquid. There was no reason to trust what that man had said, no reason to think that what he held was anything but poison. And yet…
“I will pay whatever price I must pay to possess the Elder Wand,” he whispered. He raised the strange pendant and put the opening to his lips. The liquid rushed into his mouth, and it burned. He swallowed before replacing the cap on the gold triangle. For several moments, he felt nothing, save for a burning sensation in his throat. He started to rise, meaning to get a drink of water, but he was forced to sit back down when the room spun. He gave a quiet gasp as light seemed to flash before his eyes, then everything went dark, yet he still felt like everything around him was spinning. He felt sick. The bile was rising in his throat, and he gagged, but nothing came up.

Finally, all sensation ceased, and he collapsed on the bed.

Meme thing

2007-09-19T04:18:47Z

Working on chapter eleven of my fic. It's not going well. Stupid writer's block. Oh well. I'm struggling through it.

I will soon be posting Pirates of the Caribbean fanfiction soon. Working on the Fanfic 100 thing for it, focusing on Bill Turner.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-08-31T08:08:14Z

Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG-13
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Author's Note:
Well, it took me awhile, but chapter ten is finally done. School work and all that. Two more chapters and an epilogue to go! (Not to mention editing most of the chapters as Tree beta-reads them.) This will be the first chapter-length fic that I will have actually finished, and I'm excited about it. Thanks to everyone that's been commenting. I really appreciate it.

Chapter Ten
Letters from Elphias Doge

The idea was appealing: cursing the black owl that was perched on Albus’s window sill while Albus wrote his response to the letter the creature had brought. It would be so simple. A flick of the wrist and a mental incantation. It would be very satisfying.

However, it would not be productive. Albus would merely take longer to say in his letter that he had no idea what had happened to the owl and then Icarus would simply be sent instead.

“He’s in Salem,” Albus said, glancing over his shoulder to Gellert, who was laying on Albus’s bed, staring at the ceiling. “It sounds absolutely fascinating.”

“As you’ve said,” Gellert responded with a faint smile toward his friend. When Albus turned around to continue writing, the smile disappeared from Gellert’s face, and he added, quietly,
“Six times.”

“What was that, Gellert?”

“Oh, nothing, Albus. Simply talking to myself, that’s all.”
The two young men let silence fall. Albus’s quill scratched against the parchment, and Gellert’s fingers caressed the end of his wand ever so slightly. He was sorely tempted by the idea of pulling it out, taking out his annoyance on the animal that hooted every few moments. The only thing that would be better would be if he could take this frustration out on the young man causing it, if he could be face to face with Elphias Doge. Then he would show Albus. Then he would prove that he was deserving of all the attention Albus could show him, rather than having it so unfairly divided between himself and Elphias.

“Tell him I send my regards,” Gellert said, and Albus turned to look at him, obviously confused. “My regards,” Gellert repeated, sitting up slightly, watching his friend carefully, and Albus shifted under his gaze.

“Ah, yes,” the other replied uneasily.

“You haven’t mentioned me yet?”

“Not precisely.” In the short amount of time it took him to say two words, Albus hesitated, looked away, and then regarded Gellert sheepishly.

“Why not?”

“Well, there has been no good way to mention you yet,” Albus answered. He saw Gellert’s expression change into a frown and added, “I planned on just introducing the two of you when he arrives back.”

“When is he supposed to come back?”

“I don’t know,” Albus admitted. “He said that he’d send another letter a day or two before he left Salem.” His tone changed, and optimism replaced insecurity. “You two will get along splendidly. Elphias isn’t as sharp as you are, but you’re sure to like him. Very good natured. He can always make me laugh.”

Gellert masked the coldness in his voice, but barely. “I can hardly wait.”

The atmosphere of the room was decidedly chilled.
Several days later, as another week drew to a close, Gellert Grindelwald was spending an afternoon in his bedroom at his great-aunt’s home. Such a thing had become very rare, with the German teenager rarely in the house, let alone for a significant length of time. Yet, he had been in his room for two hours, and he had spent the time staring out of his open window, down the street at Albus’s house. That large black owl --he had never inquired about its name-- was back. Gellert saw Albus briefly, patting the bird on the head. One of Albus’s ways of letting the creature know that his letter was almost done.

To Gellert, it was a cue.

The young man pulled open the left drawer of his dresser and drew an unopened inkwell from the drawer. A fresh piece of parchment was located, and Gellert took up his quill. He opened the inkwell and dabbed the end of the quill into the black liquid. With quick, sweeping motions, he etched a single word onto the paper and, mindful not to touch any of the ink, rolled the paper up.

The black owl took off from Albus’s window, and Gellert tied the small note onto his small owl’s leg.

“Loki,” he instructed, “follow that big owl. Don’t let Albus see you go, though, and wait a little bit before you deliver my note.” The owl hooted, and Gellert took the sound as a promise that the instructions would be carried out. The bird took to the air and swept out the window.

Two days passed without event, and it was on Tuesday that Gellert received a small note, delivered by Icarus. Although the owl belonged to Albus, the handwriting most assuredly did not. The letters curved more than Albus’s, even if Albus had a very neat way of writing, and Gellert thought that the shape of the letters was decidedly feminine.

‘Mr. Grindlewald,
I hope your name is not miswritten. Will you come over? No one else will play the piano.

Ariana’

It was a request that could not be denied. Within a quarter of an hour of receiving the letter, Gellert Grindelwald was standing on the doorstep of the Dumbledore homestead, knocking at the sturdy oak door.
Aberforth answered the door.

“What do you want?” he demanded.

“I was sent for,” Gellert responded.

The younger man drew himself up out of his slouch, and Gellert responded in the same fashion. While Aberforth was not short by any human standard, Gellert was still taller, and he cocked his head in the superior fashion that had made him disliked by a large portion of the Durmstrang students.

“Albus isn’t home. He couldn’t have sent for you.”

“He didn’t. Your sister did.”

“Ariana? She doesn’t send for anyone. She especially wouldn’t send for you.”

Gellert said nothing. Instead, he drew the short note that had been delivered, and he offered it to Aberforth for inspection. When the younger man could not find anything to hint at it being anything less than authentic, he relented. His eyes narrowed into a glare when Gellert breezed past him into the house, but Gellert did not spare him another glance.
“Ariana,” Gellert called from the base of the stairs. “I’ve come.”

The slim girl was at the top of the stairs in moments. She did not speak, but she smiled. It was a slight expression, barely visible from the lower floor of the house, but it could be seen. She descended the stairs, and it struck Gellert that he had never before seen her move. She seemed to glide rather than step, one dainty hand steadied on the railing. Her blue eyes were set straight upon Gellert, and she did not look away even after she had reached the bottom of the stairs. She reached out and touched the back of one of his hand’s with one of hers. It was a brief touch, and she seemed frightened by her own actions. For a moment, Gellert feared that she would race back up the stairs. The idea appeared to have occurred to her.

“Shall we?” Gellert said politely, motioning toward the music room door.

Ariana gave a faint nod and turned to walk down the hall. Gellert looked at Aberforth, his lips curling into a smirk at the younger’s hurt expression. After a moment of silent gloating, Gellert left Aberforth in the hall and joined Ariana in the music room.

“Are you going to play today?” Gellert asked, kneeling down beside Ariana. She was on her knees by the piano bench, its top propped open, and she was in the process of laying out several sheets of music. He frowned slightly at his own words. Ariana Dumbledore was a young woman, not that much younger than himself. He would have to remember that. She was not a child, however much she might give that impression, and she deserved to be treated as such. Yes, he decided, he would not speak to her as though she were a child ever again.
Ariana looked at him only after she had selected ten different pieces of music. She shook her head, the movement so vague that her long blond hair barely shifted. She reached out to touch his hand again, with only the tips of her long fingers, but she did not break away quite as quickly. When she did remove her hand, she looked at him with such an earnest expression that Gellert could not help but understand completely.

“Of course, I’ll play. Have a seat on the couch.” She smiled, and he placed the pieces of music on the piano. Once she had settled onto the divan, in a position that was almost sophisticated but with some sort of childish mockery to it at the same time, Gellert began to play.

Out of the corner of his eye, he watched the change come over her, just as it had the last time he had played for her. It did not happen so much when he taught her. She was too focused then, too concentrated, too easy to upset. When she was listening to music, however, it seemed that she forgot everything and was at peace with the world. She straightened her posture as the waltz floated through the air. Her shoulders drew back, and her head raised itself slightly. A sense of nobility came over her features and her very being. The very atmosphere of the room seemed to shift from one of caution and simple delight to one of understanding and intellectually enjoyable. Gellert was struck again by the horrible unfairness of Ariana. She had, he was sure, possessed the potential to equal if not exceed her older brother. Something in him mourned the loss of the mind that he was sure she had once been able to use.

As he transitioned from the waltz into the benediction of a Mass that she had also selected, a strange question crept into Gellert’s mind: Had Ariana been fully capable, would Albus still be the one who sought the Hallows with him? Or would he have taken Ariana as his companion, as his partner?
An absurd question, he knew.

Halfway through the benediction, he heard the music room door open, yet Ariana showed no signs of noticing the disruption. Albus came into Gellert’s sight, though the auburn-haired young man took a seat in an armchair. He seemed to marvel over the change in his sister, though Gellert noticed how his hands folded and unfolded, gripped the arm of the chair, curled and uncurled. He noticed how those blue eyes shifted to him, then to Ariana for a moment, then back to him. Once the benediction was complete, Gellert lifted his hands from the keyboard.

“Ariana, would you mind if your brother and I spoke for a little while? I’ll continue playing as soon as we’re done.” The spell was broken, and the child-like Ariana began to rise. “Oh, no,” Gellert assured her. “You don’t have to leave. You can, of course, but you don’t have to.” The young woman looked at him for several moments before looking at Albus. When he did not make a motion to shoo her away, she sat back on the divan, and her eyes focused on a painting that hung on a far wall. Gellert looked at Albus. “What is it?”

“It’s that obvious?”

“Albus, my friend, I would have to be blind if I did not know there was something you wanted to talk to me about,” Gellert replied. He offered Albus a smile and rose from the piano bench. He was soon near his friend, and Albus stood as well.

“It’s this,” Albus said after some hesitation. He pulled a few sheets of parchment out of his pocket and unfolded them. Gellert looked over his shoulder, judging the writing on them to be very juvenile, as Albus reorganized the sheets of paper so that the last one was on top. The name signed was Elphias Doge, though that was not a surprise to Gellert. Who else would write to Albus in such an awful handwriting? “Most of it is like a lot of his letters. Asking how I am, asking how England is, talking about the places he’s been. Very interesting, but not important right now. What worries me is this.” He indicated the place, written in very different handwriting, and read.

‘Elphias

P.S.
I won’t be coming back just yet. The American healer that I am seeing doesn’t think that an ocean travel will be good for me. Well, he doesn’t think that any travel is going to be good for me right now, and I want to come back by boat. I want to see what appeal it has for all these Muggles that take it. Anyway, I don’t know what’s wrong with me, and the healer doesn’t either. I’ve been awfully feverish, and I’ve been getting the most awful chills. I shake a lot too, can’t even hold a quill properly. The healer’s assistant is transcribing this for me while I talk. The odd thing is, it all started when I got this little note. It came about three hours after yours did, which is why I’d gotten so much written to you. Just a plain piece of paper, only one word written on it. ‘Crimen.’ Isn’t that peculiar? I did start feeling a little queer when I was unrolling it. The healer thinks it might have been poisoned. Imagine that! He does also think I should be able to travel in a week or two. After that, it shouldn’t be terribly long before I’m back in England.’

“Isn’t that odd?” Albus asked, looking at Gellert.

“Very,” Gellert responded.

Ariana turned her head at Gellert’s reply, and he glanced at her, feeling her eyes on him. He held her gaze for only a moment before he looked back at Albus.

“What do you make of it?” the other young man asked Gellert, unaware of the silent communication between his sister and his friend.

“To be quite honest, I can’t say,” Gellert said. “I’ve not heard of such a thing before. However, it would seem that someone must have quite the grudge against this friend of yours if they go to the trouble of poisoning or cursing a note to him.”

“But no one would want to hurt Elphias!”

“Someone did.”

“But he’s the sweetest creature in the world. I can’t imagine how he could ever do anyone wrong, cause anyone offence.”

“Obviously,” Gellert murmured, the word quiet and slightly drawn out, “he offended someone. This action does not strike me as something that one would do on a lark. It seems very meditated.”

“Very dangerous is what it is,” Albus replied. “They might have killed Elphias!”

“With something this cruel, that might have been the intent,” Gellert pointed out. “Or they might just have wanted to send him a message. Perhaps they only wanted to make him, and perhaps his friends, aware that he did have enemies.”

“I still cannot conceive what Elphias could ever do to have enemies,” Albus repeated.

“Perhaps he is not as blameless as you think.”
A long silence fell between the two young men, and Albus took to rereading the letter and its post-script at least twice.

“I’m going to write to him,” Albus announced. “He is sick, and it’s the least that I can do.” He was out of the room in a few moments, intent upon his course, and Gellert listened to the sound of his friend climbing the stairs.

Gellert looked at Ariana and smiled. “Shall I continue playing?”

She did not reply, and he had not expected her to reply. She did, however, defy other expectations. She rose from her place on the divan and approached him. Her blue eyes were clear and sharp, her forfeited intelligence shining through in a rare moment of lucidity. She ceased her advance when she was only a foot away from Gellert, and she raised a hand. She touched his neck, one finger hooking around the golden chain of the necklace he wore, and she pulled it out from under his shirt. She stared at it for several moments then up at him, right into his eyes. Gellert took a step back under her gaze, and he felt his blood run cold. Despite her silence, something in her seemed to scream at him, accuse him of every crime that he had ever committed or ever dreamed of committing. She stared into his eyes, and Gellert felt the discomfort that he had seen in so many others under his own gaze.

A moment later, as the feeling of panic started to rise up in him, Ariana stepped back. Her eyes were childish again, but they were still accusatory. A wounded girl stood before him, and he reached out to touch her, to hold her, to comfort her, but she pulled away before his hand was even near her. She turned and fled the room.

Gellert stood in the middle of the empty music room for several moments before he retired to the piano, sat on its bench, and positioned his fingers on the keys. He pressed down and let a new melody come forth, a tune from an opera that he had learned the music to as a boy. It was hesitant at first, as he struggled to concentrate on the song and not on persuing Ariana to make peace, but the notes came as they were meant to after a few bars. The music was full of vigor and bold. A song without remorse.

Fic: Theatrics and Props

2007-08-17T18:53:27Z

Title:
Theatrics and Props
Fandom:
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (novelization)
Characters:
Dante
Prompt:
Beginnings
Word Count:
1,074
Rating:
PG-13
Summary:
M's schemes start to take shape with the help of Sanderson Reed and Dante Moran.
Author's Notes:
Suggestive material, but nothing outright wrong. Implications are more fun anyway.
Disclaimer:
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is owned by Alan Moore, Kevin O'Neill, K.J. Anderson, and 20th Century Fox. I am not making any money from this writing, and I am not attempting to do so. I am merely a fan, writing fanfiction.

Theatrics and Props

For early March, the weather in London was warm. The unseasonable heat was made worse by the thick, drawn drapes and crackling fire in the hearth inside a small flat on Baker Street. 221 A, to be precise. How any man could stand this heat for hours on end was a mystery to Sanderson Reed, yet he was standing before a man who intentionally kept the room this way.

“I have located them all, Pro— M.” The bureaucrat was stiff and formal, as always. A true English gentleman, except that he was working for a man who sought to plunge the entire world into war and profit no matter who won or lost. “Mr. Gray will be here tomorrow, sir. Are you sure he can be trusted to carry out your plans as you require?”

“You question me?”

Reed nearly flinched, and he wore his utter discomfort on his face. The man in the armchair smirked. He was pale and thin, his facial bones highlighted even more by the dancing firelight. His dark eyes were shrewd and beyond calculating. He was well dressed, but it reminded Reed of the way corpses were dressed in their coffins. M, in the opinion of one of only three men yet aware of his full scheme, looked nearly as much of an undead as one of the members he intended to recruit for his “league.” Smoke issued from the mastermind’s mouth before he raised his cigarette holder and took a long drag from what it held.

“No, no,” Reed stammered, holding up his hands as either protection or submission. Either way, M approved. “I would never question you, sir.”

“I thought not.”

“Herr Fantom, I await the orders of the Kaiser,” a voice barked in perfect, clipped German. Reed was startled, and he turned.
He came face to face with a German officer. The uniform and decoration were exact, a pistol was at his left hip, a brace on his back would hold the sleek automatic weapons M had designed and had ordered built, a riding crop was in his gloved right hand, and his pale eyes held an almost inhuman level of cruelty.

“Dante!” Reed allowed himself a breath of relief when he finally recognized the other man.

“Bravo,” M murmured with a chuckle that made Reed feel ashamed of himself. “If you can fool one of our own, Dante, then you will no doubt fool strangers.” His tone was, albeit faintly, appreciative. The man loved theatrics, even on a small scale. On a larger one, they were absolutely vital. “Report back to me,” M said dismissively to Reed, “only when you leave for Africa.”

Reed looked at M, trying to see the reason why he was being so suddenly dismissed. However, M’s eyes were secure on his uniformed lieutenant, and Reed’s presence was utterly ignored.

“Approach.” Despite the low volume of the voice, it was still a command from M. Issued as soon as Reed had shut the door to the flat M was temporarily renting, the order was immediately obeyed by the lean Dante. M’s eyes scanned every inch of the uniform, lingering on Dante’s right hand several times during his inspection.

“Do I meet your approval, James?” Dante’s English was as clear as his German. Both had the perfect accent and intonation to pass for a native speaker. M was quite thankful that he’d chosen someone so… adaptable… as his second-in-command from the very start of this operation.

“Very much so,” M said. He gave a rare nod of approval before a hand rose. It settled itself barely above where Dante’s right hand gripped the riding crop. “However, I don’t remember instructing you to get this.” He raised an eyebrow as he trailed his thin fingers down the rod and hooked one finger briefly in the leather at the end before he looked back at the now smirking Dante.

“I thought it a nice addition to your excellently planned ensemble,” the other man said calmly. “I can always dispose of it if you do not approve, of course.”

“Now, now. I said nothing of the sort,” M replied slickly. His hand caught Dante’s wrist as the other, rather unconvincingly, faked going for the door. “Nor did I dismiss you.” It was almost a threat. Once more, his eyes turned to the accessory Dante had felt entitled to add. “Still,” he whispered with a gleam in his eye, “I wonder how much bite it has. I could hardly allow you to carry something that, when used, is less than ideal in its effectiveness.”

Dante inclined slightly at the waist and dutifully offered the riding crop forward. “I would not dream of using something you have not tested and approved, James.”

M took the rod and examined it where he sat. “Brand new. The leather is crisp and straight, not limp from use. The body is sturdy, but I am anxious to see it hold up to blows.” Dante watched his commander stroke every bit of the riding crop as he examined it. His pale eyes flashed, and not in distress, to think how the rod would be tested. “A rather thick base,” M commented with what sounded like a note of approval and amusement, “and the handle’s grip is still rough, not worn smooth by palming. No wonder you wore gloves to handle it. Of course, when I’m done, they will not be needed further.” His eyes met Dante’s, and an understanding was conveyed.

“When would you like to see how it performs?” Dante asked, more than willing to act at his leader’s bidding.

“Tonight.”

“Isn’t Mr. Gray coming tomorrow morning?”

“Yes.” A small pause led M to shrug before he handed the riding crop back to his lieutenant. “What should I care if I keep a conceited hedonist waiting while I sleep in? He has surely done the same to others.”
“Whatever you desire, sir.” It was nice, Dante felt, to know that James was not planning to offer the immortal any special treatment..
“Now,” M said imperiously, eyeing Dante and his riding crop with a savage hunger that would have made lesser men flee outright, but Dante did not even flinch, “go.”

Dante left the room and ascended the stairs. M followed after taking another long drag from his lit cigarette before he put it out. He hand an entire case of cigarettes upstairs, and he would not need his holder for them.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-08-16T23:27:35Z

Chapter Nine
Ariana’s Song

The midmorning sun hit against Gellert Grindelwald’s eyelids and forced them to open. He sat up in the bed and stared at the window. He could not figure out why he had never noticed that his great-aunt’s house faced east. As he looked around the room and the last bit of sleep was swept from him, he realized his mistake. He was not in his great-aunt’s house; he had spent the night with Albus. That brought another thought to mind: he was alone in bed.

The young man leaned backwards, arching his back until he heard a pop, and he gave a final yawn. He took another look around the too-tidy room and noticed a piece of paper with writing on it left on the desk. After he dressed, the clothes he had worn to come over in a small pile near the foot of the bed, Gellert rose and went to the desk.

‘Gellert-
Had to go to Gringotts. Aberforth needs new robes, and the goblins won’t let anyone who isn’t of age get money out. Shouldn’t be gone long. Make yourself at home.
Albus’

“Cad,” Gellert muttered to himself, but he chuckled. He took the note, folded it, and placed it in his pocket.

The young man left the bedroom, shutting the door behind himself out of habit, and he entered the washroom. A glance in the mirror allowed him to tame his hair slightly, the locks still wild from the previous night, and he splashed his face with cool water to fully wake himself up. Albus had said to make himself at home, but that wasn’t something that Gellert felt comfortable to do without Albus here. Still, he considered, a bit of food might be in order.

Gellert left the washroom and walked down the stairs, taking a short tour of the downstairs of the house, never having gotten the chance to do so before. There was no sign of Aberforth, and Gellert hoped that he was still asleep. He did not want to deal with that annoying child.

Only one door was closed, and Gellert stared at it for a few moments before he heard a sound from behind it. A piano. He knew the sound even though only one note had been played. A moment later, a second note was played, and the young man outside the room decided that there would be no harm in entering the room. Albus had said to make himself at home, and he felt like seeing what was in the room.

The room that was revealed was a fairly large room, much more open than others, where books lined the walls. Curtains hung over the windows, blocking out the morning sun, but the lamps were lit. There were places to seat, a divan and an armchair, but the main attraction of the room was a beautifully carved piano in the center of the room. Most remarkably, there was someone sitting at the piano, pressing her slim index finger onto a different key every moment or two, a small frown etched onto her features.

She was a pretty young woman, Gellert had to admit. The way that Albus always spoke of Ariana had made the German imagine, even though he knew she was fifteen, a small child of perhaps seven or eight. She had not heard the door, her blue eyes focused on the piece of music in front of her. The young woman had light blond hair, and Gellert could imagine how it would shine in the sunlight if the curtains were open, and her thin frame was clothed in a white dress that was without any ornamentation.

Gellert walked up behind Ariana quietly, looking at the music she was looking at, as if she expected it to show her what key to play. After hearing her try again and fail to find the starting note, Gellert reached out, taking care not to startle the girl, and pressed the correct starting key, five keys away from where she had last tried.

She gave a soft gasp, and her head turned quickly to look at him, eyes wide. There was something in them, Gellert saw it. There was something that hinted that she could have been as brilliant as her older brother, if not for the misfortune that she had suffered, the misfortune that had driven her into her own mind.

“No, please,” Gellert murmured, seeing the girl scoot on the piano bench, slightly away from him. She looked ready to scream or cry or otherwise upset herself. “I’m a friend of your brother, of Albus. I’m not going to hurt you.”

She gave no verbal reply, but she seemed to understand. She rose from where she sat and moved away from the piano bench. One of her thin hands raised and pointed at Gellert before gesturing to the piano. When he did not move, her bottom lip seemed to quiver, and she repeated her actions, the motions a bit frantic. Gellert watched her carefully, and her intentions hit him.

“You want me to play?”

Ariana nodded, and Gellert saw her smile just slightly when he sat at the piano.

“This song?” He motioned to the sheet music on the piano, and the girl nodded again. As Gellert moved his hands into the position to start, Ariana smiled a small bit more.

Gellert took only a moment to look over the new music. He then lowered his head and repeated the starting note that Ariana had struggled to find and moved on, following the written music. It was not a particularly difficult piece of music, but Gellert thought he understood why Ariana liked it. It was a very gentle piece of music, flowing and soft. As he played, the young woman retired to the divan, her movements much more at ease than before the music had started.

She sat on the couch as he continued to play, and he sneaked a few looks at her. Her entire countenance had changed with the introduction of the music. She sat upright, her hands folded in her lap, a very regal position. Her head was tilted slightly, and her eyes were calm. She looked very much like a portrait of some princess or another. As she was, she looked the whole of fifteen years, possibly even more, unlike the scared, childish look she had possessed when he had played her first note before she knew he was there. It was the sight of her so entranced by the music that made Gellert appreciate what the Wizarding world had lost when she had been subjected to those Muggles. Had she grown up without interference, she would be this lovely and, he was sure, as talented as her brother. She would have been a further reason to associate himself with the Dumbledore family, but that was not to be. He had seen her as she was without the influence of this song, and she was unable to be saved, unable to be brought back to their world.

Still, under he and Albus, she could be protected, and they could keep her story from repeating itself with another young woman.

Gellert finished the song, and the spell was broken. As soon as the last chord faded into silence, Ariana’s adulthood had vanished, and her childish nature was back. She rose from the divan and went back to the piano, kneeling down and looking up at Gellert, her eyes narrowing until he rose from the bench. Once he was off, she placed her hands on the bench and raised the top, pulling out other sheets of music and spreading them out on the bench once its top was replaced. She looked up at Gellert, motioning to the ten or so songs that she had pulled out.

“Of course,” Gellert said quietly. “I’ll play as many as you want.”

Ariana beamed this time, though she was impatient as Gellert picked the pieces up, sat himself back on the bench and went through what he had been given. When he had finally sorted them into the order he felt like playing them in, he set the first on the piano, above the keys, and he began to play.

Ariana stood by the piano this time, the tune quicker than the first. It was a waltz, and Ariana made a few movements that seemed to suggest to Gellert that she was imagining being danced with, having a young man lead her through the steps of the dance across a floor with a crowd. Her movements stopped the moment that the song ended, and she looked at Gellert with a frown. He turned to the next sheet, raised his hands to play, but he stopped.

The music was a lullaby for a child, very simple music. Good for a beginner, as far as he was concerned. Ariana’s bottom lip quivered when it seemed that Gellert would not play the song, and her head tilted when he motioned for her to come over. She was hesitant, but she did approach him.

“Sit down,” he said warmly, and she obeyed, sitting beside him on the bench. She gave a soft, distressed gasp when he curled a hand around her hand, but he raised his other hand to touch her shoulder gently. “I’m going to teach you how to play this one.”

She stared at him, silent, and Gellert was not sure she understood. Still, he led her right hand onto the keyboard and separated the fingers, placing them in the correct position to play, pushing her wrist into an arched position. He placed his hand over hers, then.

“We start with this note,” he said gently, pressing on the correct finger, and she obeyed, pressing that finger down so the first note hung in the air. “Now this one,” he instructed, tapping on another finger, and Ariana obeyed again. He began to lead her through the song, though very slowly, keeping his finger on the appropriate knuckle of her hand until it was time to let go of the note, and she adapted quickly to this silent teaching. She looked determined as the song was started again, Gellert still giving her the unsaid instructions, but the tempo of the song was quicker now. Something in her eyes suggested to Gellert that she was recognizing the tune, no doubt something one of her parents had played her and possibly even tried to teach her. There was accompaniment for the song, but that could wait as far as he was concerned. Once she could know the melody without his assistance, then, he considered, he might have her play both parts, might introduce the second part to her. For now, however, he would not confuse her.

A fourth of the way into the third time through the song, Gellert giving less instruction about which note to play and how long to hold it, a sound distracted Ariana. The door to the music room had opened, much less quietly than Gellert had managed to do it, and the young woman looked up and over, eyes wide. She seemed like a child once again, caught doing something that she had been forbidden to do and waiting for punishment.
Two young men stood in the doorway. Aberforth and Albus Dumbledore stood together, looking at the sight of the two at the piano.

“I didn’t know he was here!” Aberforth was the first to speak, rounding on Albus. “You should at least tell me before you bring him over here!”

“Aberforth!” Albus was as angry as his brother, and he looked at the younger man. “I can choose what company I keep, and I can choose when they are over, whether or not I tell you!”

Ariana gave a quiet half-sob, her shoulders quivering as her two brothers prepared to argue with one another. She looked at them and then at Gellert, and Gellert saw the tears in her eyes. Even this slight amount of conflict, of raised voices, had upset her. He was not sure what would come of her being upset, but Albus had always indicated that nothing good could come from Ariana being upset, so he reached out and took her hand again and led it to the piano’s keys.

Her hand shook, but she pressed on the keys. One or two notes fell out of order, and the tempo was entirely wrong, hurried in some places and hesitant in others, but the sound caught the attention of the two brothers, and their eyes moved to the piano, to their sister.

“She’s playing?” Albus whispered.

“Ariana,” Aberforth began, taking a step toward the piano. “You haven’t played since before…” He trailed off when she did not seem to be paying attention. He looked at Gellert, a debate raging inside of him. “You taught her?”

“I’m trying to,” Gellert answered. Aberforth’s voice had hinted that an offer of a truce might be in the near future, but Gellert’s voice was aloof, and his head cocked just a touch. He considered himself Aberforth’s superior even now. He looked at Albus, and it was to the elder that he addressed his next remark, “She picks it up easily.”

“Mother taught her,” Albus replied quietly. Ariana was lost in playing, trying to correct the errors that she knew she made, but she did not look to Gellert for help. It was as if she had forgotten that she was not alone. “She taught her for about a year before it happened. Mother even wrote that song. She used it to put all of us to sleep when we insisted we weren’t tired.” His voice was tinted with sentimentality that Gellert tried to ignore.

“Neither of you play?” He looked at Aberforth for a moment, but the question was still directed at Albus.

“I never had a knack for it,” Albus admitted. “Aberforth never had the patience.”

“I tried to learn,” Aberforth muttered, though he knew that neither of the other two young men would care. “I tried to learn after what happened to Ariana. I thought music might help her. I knew it would.”

“Yet it seems,” Gellert murmured, a trace of a smirk crossing his features as he paused, “I succeeded where you failed.”

Aberforth thought about replying, but he held himself off. It would do no good to pick a fight where Albus was sure to take Gellert’s side and Ariana would merely get upset. He seemed to decide that it was best to let the other say what he wanted, as long as Ariana had found something that made her happy.

“You’re doing well,” Gellert said to Ariana as she finished playing the song. It had been badly played, but it had been recognizable at least. He raised a hand and ran it through her blond hair, and she smiled at him again. “I’ll come back tomorrow and we can keep working on it. Would you like that?”

She nodded slightly and rose, taking a frightened look around the room, at the three young men there, and she walked past her brothers as quickly as she could without running, and her soft footfall was heard ever so lightly on the stairs. A moment later, a door closed somewhere up on the second floor.

The three young men, left alone, looked at one another.

“I don’t like you being around her,” Aberforth stated. “I don’t like you being in this house or around Albus, but I especially don’t like you being anywhere near Ariana!” His voice raised considerably, but Gellert regarded him with a cool look.

“You have little say, don’t you?” Gellert replied, rising from the piano bench and stalking toward Aberforth. Albus considered speaking, it seemed, but he said nothing. “You are not her guardian. That position is allotted to Albus. Albus obvious thinks I’m good company, and it seems your sister likes me as well. What authority do you have to try and tell me not to be near her?” Every step he had taken, Aberforth had taken a step back, until the younger man was against a wall. Gellert left a foot or two of space between them, but Aberforth would have preferred more.

“Gellert,” Albus spoke when his friend had taken another step toward his younger brother. He looked into Gellert’s eyes, and the other relented, stepping away from Aberforth. “You are welcome to spend as much time as you would like to spend here. Neither Aberforth nor I have found a way to calm her down that much, and--”

“Because, of course, you’ve tried so hard,” Aberforth muttered under his breath, but Albus pretended not to hear him.

“And,” he resumed, “we are both grateful that there is something that she seems to take pleasure in, rather than just finding a situation where she’s least afraid.”

“Albus, would you be so kind as to walk me out?” Gellert requested, and Albus accepted with a smile.

“Good,” Aberforth said to himself. “About time you got out of here.” Neither of the older boys responded, the two already in the hall and heading for the door.

Albus and Gellert stopped at the door of the Dumbledore home, and Albus did not immediately open the door. Instead, he looked at Gellert. “I want to thank you, again. I’m sorry about leaving this morning, but I didn’t want Aberforth to delay in getting his books. I am very glad that you and Ariana seem to get along. I don’t remember the last time she didn’t hide from a visitor.”

“She was a delight to meet,” Gellert assured Albus. “I understand why you want to protect her so much; I’m sorry I didn’t quite understand before. I,” he hesitated, looking at his friend, right in the eyes, “I hope I will not be out of line saying that I plan to consider her my own sister from now on.” He smiled, an expression more sincere than the majority of the ones that Albus had seen on him. “I see why you want to protect her,” he repeated, “and we will make the world safe for her. You and I.”

Albus opened the door and followed Gellert out onto the porch. As Gellert descended the stairs, Albus offered him a smile and a wave, saying quietly, “I look forward to that day.”

Fic: Live to Fight Another Day

2007-08-14T19:46:54Z

Title:
Live to Fight Another Day
Fandom:
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (novelization)
Characters:
Dante
Prompt:
Ends
Word Count:
941
Rating:
PG-13
Summary:
The forces of the British Empire round up the battered hostages that M had imprisoned, but an enemy is among them.
Author's Notes:
A sort of AU, set right after the end of the novelization. This is meant as a one-shot, but it may well become the beginning of something longer, depending on what comes from it. (I know I said I was going to finish my Harry Potter fic before I posted these, but I had this one nearly done, so it's the exception.)
Disclaimer:
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen is owned by Alan Moore, Kevin O'Neill, K.J. Anderson, and 20th Century Fox. I am not making any money from this writing, and I am not attempting to do so. I am merely a fan, writing fanfiction.

Live to Fight Another Day

“There may still be some that didn’t make it out before the explosion. Hold off boarding for a few more minutes, gents.”

“But Nemo said--”

“I don’t give a damn what some darkie said. I am your commanding officer, and I have given you orders!”

The conversation floated through the air without concern for who heard, but the far-off League showed no sign of having heard the insult said against one of their own. Someone nearer the officer and his subordinate, however, did, even if he was in no condition to understand the words that were said. All he knew was that he had heard voices. British voices.

Nearly every muscle in the man’s body ached, and he was aware that his left arm was not responding to any mental command that he tried to give. His right hand shifted, helping him push up and break through the layer of rubble that had fallen on top of him. Somehow, possibly through sheer will, he had managed to keep himself mostly tucked under pieces of stone that had not completely crumbled when the ruined keep of the mastermind James Moriarty had been attacked from within with bombs, avoiding the fate of being crushed to death. The fact that he had been by one of the outer walls when the Mongol castle had collapsed might have helped at least slightly. Blood was freely left on the stone that had served as a brace for his good hand, and the man’s clothes were in tatters. Even without the use of his left arm, the jacket he wore, in the style of a German officer, was easily shed, though much of his cotton shirt underneath the jacket came off with the effort as well. The brown pants he wore would stay up, but there was only slight use for them. They were badly torn, and the legs beneath the cloth were equally abused. The battered man’s breath was visible from the cold air around him. His world spun when he tried to take a step forward.

“Mr. Bond! A survivor!” An observant British soldier called to his commander and hurried over to keep the staggering man on his feet. Carefully, mindful of the multitude of wounds on the other, the young solider helped his charge to the portly, mustachioed Englishman.

“Name?” Campion Bond asked.

A few heavy breaths were taken by the wounded hostage before he answered, his English as broken as any kidnapped worker’s. “Dieter Mauer. I am,” he paused to search for the word, “a specialist in,” another pause, “explosives.” Bond’s eyes traveled over the man. He certainly looked worse for the wear, and many of the wounds were too old to be caused by the blast. The sharp, deep restraint marks on his wrists lent credence to his story, as did the burns and scars that the Englishman could see on the man’s chest and arms. A short walk around him showed the scratch marks that ran across his back. Really, Campion had to say, he seemed to have taken more abuse than any of the other workers! “My son…” the injured man said quietly, looking around. “My boy! Those monsters killed him.” The pale eyes that glittered in the reflection of the sun on snow had gone wide and frantic, as though recalling horrors that most would find absolutely unspeakable.

“Take him and the rest of the hostages to the ship,” Bond ordered the underling still supporting the other. “We’ll search for a little while longer to see if there are any other survivors, and then we’ll ship out.”

Over a half an hour passed before the young soldier returned, this time free of his charge. He stared at his commander for several moments without saying a word, but his uncertainty was written across his features.

“Will you spit it out, Mundy, or do you prefer to gawk at me like an imbecile, expecting me to read your mind?”

Mundy, the young soldier, was momentarily surprised by the sharp address, but he quickly regained himself and spoke hurriedly. “Mr. Bond, I gave the hostages to the medics, to take care of, sir. Mauer, though… He said something to the others. In German. I couldn’t understand it.”

“Probably a greeting. Or saying that they were lucky to have been saved by us!”

“He sounded angry, though.”

“German always sounds that way, you idiot.”

“Yes, sir,” Mundy said quietly, still uncertain. He wouldn’t press the point, but he was sure that he’d heard the word “death” in whatever Mauer had said. It certainly hadn’t sounded to him like he was thanking God for them not being dead or telling the others not to worry about death, though.

As a medic poked and prodded at his presently useless arm and said something about the limb being likely to regain its mobility and not needing amputation, the pale-eyed Dante Moran stared at the wall of the British ship. Too easy. Then again, he reminded himself with an inward smirk, not one British soldier had ever seen the face of the Fantom’s bloodthirsty second-in-command and lived to tell about it, the former prisoners were too terrified of him to out him, and the so-called League of Extraordinary Gentlemen was nowhere to be found.

Now, if only another medic would have luck saving the life of James Moriarty, whom the British commander had found in the snow with a bullet in his back that had just missed the heart. The fools. They wanted to try the mastermind for his crimes. Dante almost laughed.

M and his lieutenant were not beaten yet!

Self-inflicted project on the rise!

2007-08-14T18:06:17Z

Well, I signed up for, and was approved, Fanfic100 last night. I'm going to finish my Albus and Gellert fic first, probably, then I will be starting on that.

My claim is the novelization of League of Extraordinary Gentlemen, focusing on the character of Dante. (If there is anyone alive who knows the novelization, I will love you forever. I really do think I'm the only fan it has.)

Inspired by Quaedam

2007-08-13T07:23:13Z

RULES:
1. Leave me a comment saying anything random, likeyour favorite lyric to your current favorite song. Or your favoritekind of sandwich. Or your favorite breed of tropical fish/kind of bug/breed of dog. Something random. Whatever you like.
2. I respond by asking you five personal questions so I can get to know you better.
3. Update your LJ with the answers to the questions.
4. Include this explanation and offer to ask someone else in the post.
5. When others comment asking to be asked, you will ask them five questions

quaedam asked

1. Have you written in any fandoms before HP?
2. Favorite genre of music?
3. Top five books? (I've been asking this of everyone, but srsly, I want to know! ^^)
4. What attracted you to studying political science?
5. Do you have a favorite philosopher? ^^

1. Holy shit, yes. I've deleted most of it from my FFDN account by now because it was crap. I have written for Sailor Moon (dub and sub), Ronin Warriors (and it's sub Yoroiden Samurai Troopers), Vampire Hunter D, The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, Sherlock Holmes, League of Extraordinary Gentlemen (I base it off the novelization of the movie which, in my opinion, is amazing), Magic Knights Rayearth, Kindaichi Case Files, FAKE, Dragonball Z, Jesus Christ Superstar... and possibly others that have slipped my mind. (I can also answer almost any canon-related question to any of these series. I obsess over my fandoms.)

2. Musicals. I love almost any musical, especially Jekyll and Hyde, Les Miserables, and Phantom of the Opera. However, I have an increasing passion for Drowsy Chaperone. Pretty much, I like most musicals. Some pain me, but not most.

3. Now, this is hard. Top five...
The Picture of Dorian Gray
20,000 Leagues Under the Sea
The League of Extraordinary Gentlemen novelization
My complete collection of Poe
The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

4. To be honest, the teacher. Nothing inappropriate, though. He noticed that I had an interest in politics that had never really been cultivated, and he made it his mission as well as the mission of his current "pet" to groom me into his next pet. Of course, being "favored" in that class meant being picked on, expected to be even more articulate, and having your work examined even more closely than others. But it was great, and now, even though he's left the school, the interest is still very much alive, so I'm sticking with it. I also have slight aspirations of studying law.

5. I would have to say that I love whomever suggested the idea of hedonism. I consider myself a neo-hedonist. I like to avoid pain and seek pleasure, though I am willing to suffer short-term pain for long-term pleasure.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-08-12T07:27:28Z

Chapter Eight
A Red Band

The second day of August was hotter than the first, but it was not unbearable. The great-nephew of Bathilda Bagshot had spent a good three hours in his room after breakfast, watching the window of Albus Dumbledore’s home. That same black owl was perched on the window sill of Albus’s room, and Gellert could see his friend’s figure hunched over the desk, seemingly getting another sheet of paper to continue writing.

Elphias had sent another letter, the third since Gellert had been in contact with Albus. Gellert and Albus’s talk about Elphias had been rather limited, never having gone beyond what Albus had told his new friend, Gellert considered himself even more than that as well, the first night that he had spent with Gellert. Sadly, in Gellert’s opinion, that first night had been the only one so far. He could only hope that this new letter from Elphias would not make Albus doubt that he had, indeed, moved on to someone better. Gellert knew next to nothing about Elphias, but that did not stop the blond from inwardly deciding that he had no use in the grand ideas that he and Albus dreamed up and enlarged with every meeting.

He could not be allowed to interfere in their partnership.

His thoughts were broken when Albus sent the black owl off, and Gellert moved away from his open window so as not to seem as if he were spying. A few moments later, the tawny barn owl Icarus was perched on Gellert’s window sill, a note tied to his leg. Gellert retrieved it, spread it out on the desk, and read.

‘Would you care to take a turn around the village? Aberforth can watch Ariana for a little while.’

Gellert dipped his quill into his inkwell, it was starting to run dry, and he made a mental note to pour new ink in soon. He considered writing to Albus that he was busy, in vengeance for seeing that black owl leave Albus’s home with a lengthy reply written to whatever Elphias had said, but he decided against such a petty action. It was not Albus’s fault for replying to letters, as annoying as that situation was. It was Elphias’s fault for writing the letters in the first place. Yes, that was where the fault lay.

‘That sounds wonderful.’ The response was penned and tied back to Icarus, and the owl flew off, toward the house that he had come from.

Gellert rose from his desk to prepare. He removed the dressing gown he wore, the golden necklace he had bought the day before still hanging against his chest. Before long, he was fully attired, with even the waistcoat and jacket that a proper Muggle gentleman should wear. The necklace was tucked under his shirt, and a brush was used to tame a few locks of hair that were still wild. He adjusted his collar while looking into the mirror and then, satisfied that his appearance was perfect, left the room and descended the stairs.

Albus was waiting for him when he opened the front door. Gellert found it a touch remarkable that Albus, though looking very uncomfortable, was wearing Muggle clothing as well.

“I thought we might venture into the Muggle part of town today,” Albus explained, “for the purposes of observation.”

“That sounds like a remarkable idea, Albus,” Gellert said. “After all, if we are to take our rightful place and rulers, we must acquaint ourselves with those we would rule.”

“My thoughts exactly.”

The pair walked together, down the dusty road of Godric’s Hollow. The houses did not bear a marked difference from one another. Looking at them, it was impossible to tell which was a Muggle house and what house contained a Wizard family. Even the young people that could be seen outside were not telling. Young witches and wizards often adopted Muggle clothing, especially when outside. Even their parents might do it when in plain sight. One difference alone truly marked the presence of magic, at least somewhat. The lawns of Muggles were growing dry and brown under the heat and in the absence of rain these last few weeks. The lawns of Wizards did not suffer so, as their keepers often used magic to water the ground, rather than attempting to haul enough water to the grass to keep it alive.

“I have been considering something,” Gellert told Albus, the two having to give a wave every so often when one of the Muggles was out and noticed them and gave them some kind of greeting. “In the world we intend to create, we will need a way of telling the Muggles and Wizards apart.

“The presence or lack of a wand would be ample evidence, would it not?” Albus asked.

“Except that some, like myself, choose to hide their wands. It is present, but not seen,” Gellert replied. Albus nodded in response.

“I had not considered that. What do you suggest?”

“I am not certain. It would be something that was noticeable, easily seen, yet not something that would interfere in their lives. We would be marking them for the sole purpose of knowing which was which, so that, say, a Wizard would know a Muggle and know not to use excessive force by spells when facing an opponent that could not defend himself.”

“And a Muggle,” Albus added, “would know a Wizard, so he could be careful not to offend.”

“Precisely. It would be a system that would assist both groups.” They continued to walk along together, and Gellert murmured, speaking more to himself than to Albus, “Something simple, certainly.”

They continued to walk together, down toward a Muggle pub that, even in the early afternoon, seemed to be teeming with life. People inside could be heard even from several meters away. Albus and Gellert looked at one another and confirmed with their eyes what the other was thinking. It would be a very interesting and very enlightening experience to spend at least some time in there. Not to mention that it might also be a bit of fun.

The establishment was small, and the moderate amount of people gave the impression of it being even smaller. The smell of smoke was heavy, and Albus coughed a bit as they walked in. Already, the two looked out of place. They were dressed as gentlemen, yet those around them were in much more casual clothing. The patrons of the tavern wore the clothes of the working class, and Gellert’s taste in fashion marked the two as, at the very least, outsiders. A few gazes followed them, but there was nothing said to the young men as of yet. Whispers were exchanged, but their content was indistinguishable against the prattling that had continued amongst those that found the pair of newcomers unworthy of attention.

Albus tapped Gellert’s shoulder and pointed at an empty table, and Gellert nodded. The auburn-haired wizard went to claim the table for himself and the other while his blond companion approached the bar.

“What have you got?” Gellert asked the bartender, and the man looked at him.

“Beer, whiskey, gin. You name it, I probably got it,” the man responded.

Gellert hesitated a moment. Muggle alcohol was one thing that he knew next to nothing about, but he was not about to admit such a thing. “Two whiskeys,” he finally announced.

“Lord,” a drawling voice came from beside him, “we get more of your lot every day.” Gellert turned to face the man who had spoken. He was a large man, probably six years Gellert’s senior, and his eyes were faintly narrowed.

“My lot, sir?” Gellert replied, his mouth set into a thin line. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean you damn foreigners. It’s gettin’ harder and harder to find chaps in a pub that are actually British; it’s just your lot now.” The man gave a laugh at seeing Gellert straighten himself fully up. “What? You don’ like hearing that, kid? Too bad it’s damn well true. Your bloody sort are ruining places like this!”

“Allan,” the bartender said to the man, “you’ve had too much to drink. Leave the boy alone.”

“Let him talk,” Gellert snapped at the bartender. “He’s making a fool of himself, and I am quite enjoying it.” Gellert saw, out of the corner of his eye, Albus rise from the table. His friend had noticed the argument that Gellert seemed to be engaged in.

“You’re a cocky little sod, aren’t you?” Alan said, his temper rising. “Someone ought to teach you how things are done ‘round these parts.” He rose from his seat and looked down at Gellert. He was at least a half foot taller than the blond, but Gellert showed no sign of backing down.

“You presume far too much,” Gellert murmured, his features twisting into a smirk. “The day that a Muggle such as yourself can teach me anything is the day that the sun rises in the west.”

“What did you call me?” Alan demanded.

“I called you a Muggle,” Gellert replied. He had adopted the tone of someone speaking to a child, and he gave a short laugh. “That is precisely what you are. A Mug--”

He was not even able to finish the word. One of Alan’s very large hands had been closed into a fist, and the elder lashed out. The punch hit Gellert, splitting his lip, and the young man staggered back, bracing himself against a table. When he felt something wet upon his chin, Gellert raised a hand and touched his wounded lip, pulling his hand back to stare at the blood.

“Alan!” The bartender was shouting, and he moved from behind the bar, ready to restrain his patron if the man decided to take a second swing at the youth. “I will not allow brawling in here! You know that!”

“Gellert!” Albus hurried forward, looking at his friend’s bloody lip, but Gellert was staring at the man who had struck him.

“You--” The blond gave an indignant scoff. “You dared--” The words seemed to be lost on him, his accent thicker than ever as rage and disbelief came through every utterance. “You dared to strike me.”

“Dared?” Allan roared. “Of course I dared! What? Do you think you’re some kind of prince? I’ll give you another good one if you get close enough!”

“Alan!” The bartender grabbed one of the man’s arms in an attempt to restrain him.

“You think you can make those kinds of threats to me?” Gellert was shouting now, and his eyes had a fire in them that made Albus back away from him. “I will show you what true power is!” he reached for his sleeve, but Albus darted forward and seized his wrist.

“Gellert, no!”

“Albus, let go of me! This man --this Muggle!-- deserves it!”

“Gellert, the Statute!”

“I don’t give a damn about--”

“Please!”

Gellert was still breathing heavily, but Albus’s last word had touched the right chord within him, and he seemed to calm himself slightly. Those blue eyes stared into his, and took a deep breath. Gellert said nothing, but he did allow his friend to lead him out of the pub. Gellert even managed to resist the temptation to look behind him at the man that he had been ready to curse with everything he knew.

Neither young man said anything as Albus led Gellert back into the Wizarding part of Godric’s Hollow. Even then, no words were spoken, and Albus urged Gellert to the Dumbledore home. Once inside, Albus sighed.

“I don’t know why the Hell you stopped me,” Gellert said as soon as they were inside and the door shut behind them. “He--”

“Hush,” Albus murmured. “Not so loud. Ariana and Aberforth don’t need to hear you raging, just because some Muggle was a fool.” He put a hand on Gellert’s cheek, raking the other hand through those curly locks of hair. “Calm down.” His voice was quiet, and it soothed Gellert. After a moment, Albus pulled his hands away and drew his wand out from inside his jacket. He uttered an incantation and touched the wound on Gellert’s lip with the tip of the wand, and the skin mended itself almost instantly. “Better?”

“Much.”

“Come upstairs. I’ll help you wash that blood off,” Albus said.

As the two mounted the stairs, Albus leading the way, Gellert looked at his stained hand. He stopped at the top of the stairs, even as Albus headed for the washroom.

“Gellert?” Albus’s voice called his friend back to the present moment.

“I have it,” Gellert announced.

“Have what?”

“I know how we can tell the Muggles apart from our kind.” His voice was quiet, all rage gone, and the smile that stole over his face made Albus notably uneasy. “They can wear a band around their arms. A red band. Large enough to be noticed. It would be perfect.”

“Of course, Gellert,” Albus said, more to pacify what he was sure were the last vestiges of anger toward the Muggle that had struck him. “Of course. That sounds fine.”

Gellert was silent as he allowed himself to be lead into the marble-floored washroom, and Albus turned one of the taps of the sink. Gellert washed his hand and chin off, looking at his reflection, and the reflection of Albus standing behind him, in the mirror.

Once he was finished, he turned off the flow of water and looked at his friend. “Where are Aberforth and Ariana?”

“Probably a few rooms down,” Albus replied. “Aberforth is very good at keeping Ariana entertained in her room.”

“Could we go somewhere with a bit of privacy?”

“Of course. I’ll show you to my room.”

The room was exactly what could have been expected, as far as Gellert was concerned. Books were everywhere, and one wall was dedicated to the awards that Albus had accumulated during his years at school. On the writing desk, a simple one not unlike Gellert’s, there was a glass case with two pins placed on some sort of material. One read ‘Prefect’ and the other ‘Head Boy.’ The room was tidier, though. No paper was on the floor, the books were well arranged, and everything was dusted. The bed was perfectly made, and Gellert would bet that he would not find any dust even under the bed.

“Have a seat,” Albus said, and Gellert sat down on the bed, removing his shoes so that he could make himself more comfortable. Before long, Albus was sitting beside him, and the brunette touched Gellert’s lip with the pad of one finger. “It doesn’t hurt anymore?”

“Not a bit,” Gellert assured him.

“I’m glad,” Albus replied. The two looked at one another for several moments, and it was finally Gellert who spoke again.

“I think it’s a good idea.” At seeing Albus’s confused expression, Gellert elaborated. “We both agreed earlier that it would be best if Muggles were marked as separate from Wizards, so that both knew which they were dealing with, correct?” Albus nodded slightly. “Well, why not a red band around their arm? It would be easily seen, and it would not get in the way of daily activities.”

Seeing that his friend was calm and speaking rationally, Albus considered the idea. After a moment, he nodded slightly. “Yes,” the blue-eyed young man murmured. “That is a good idea, I suppose. Very simple, and it would just be a marking, nothing that would offend.”

“Though…” Gellert trailed off as he touched the spot where his lip had been struck.

“What is it?” Albus questioned.

“Are they safe?”

“What?”

“Muggles. Are they safe? You saw what that bastard did. No warning or anything.”

“It would have been different if the Statute wasn’t in place and he had known that you were a Wizard. He would have known to show respect,” Albus replied, touching Gellert’s hand gently. “You shouldn’t hold his actions against all Muggles.”

“But,” Gellert said, lowering his hand, “perhaps it should be taken into consideration.”

“What should?”

“That some Muggles will not know their place.” Albus was silent, staring at his friend now. “When we establish the world that we seek to create,” Gellert spoke lowly, leaning forward, and Albus bent forward a bit himself, “we should make sure that the Muggles know their place. We shouldn’t wait for them to prove that they don’t; we should make them prove that they do. Right away.”

“How?” Albus asked.

“A test of some sort. Something practical,” Gellert murmured. His eyes focused on the wall as he considered the idea. “Perhaps, once they have a red band to properly mark themselves, let them encounter a Wizard waiting for them, make sure that they show the proper respect. If they don’t, we can lock them away until they do.” Albus looked at Gellert again, but Gellert did not see the frown on his friend’s face. “Lock them away until they learn how to show the proper respect, until they learn their place. If they never do, that is their own fault.”

“Gellert.” It was all Albus said before he touched his friend’s cheek and bent forward a bit more, brushing his lips lightly against Gellert’s.

That got the blonde’s attention.

“Albus, I’m trying to think,” Gellert whispered when Albus broke the kiss.

“You’ve thought plenty today.”

Albus kissed Gellert again, and Gellert returned the attention. Gellert’s hand raised and slid behind Albus’s head, tangling his fingers in that long auburn hair. Albus put one of his hands against the back of Gellert’s necklace, and he pulled his head back slightly when he felt the chain around Gellert’s neck. Curious about it, he broke the kiss fully and gently tugged the chain to pull the necklace free from under Gellert’s shirt. He touched the gold triangle, unaware of Gellert’s hazel eyes watching him closely.

“What’s this?” Albus asked. “I haven’t seen it before. Is it new?”

Gellert was silent a moment, concocting a story. After only a short pause, he replied. “No. It’s something my grandfather gave me, when he first told me about the Hallows.”

“What’s the black liquid?”

“He said it was poison, but he never told me how to open the necklace so I could get rid of it.”

“Well--” Albus began, but Gellert moved his hand from behind Albus’s hair to under his chin. Gellert raised Albus’s head with his hand, and he kissed him again, heavily this time. Albus responded with the same vigor, successfully distracted from his inspection of the necklace and kept from discovering how easily it could be opened.

After a few moments, Gellert broke the kiss and looked at Albus, a smirk spreading across his features. “Do you think we can be quiet enough? Or will your siblings worry and come to check on you?”

Albus chuckled a little and replied, licking his lips just slightly, “That would be something to try.”

Gellert pulled his wand from its place in his sleeve and flicked it, the lock on the door turning itself until it clicked. He leaned forward again and whispered before kissing Albus again, “Just in case.”

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-08-06T22:09:17Z

Chapter Seven
Venture Down Knockturn Alley

The first of August found Gellert Grindelwald standing alone in Diagon Alley. His great-aunt had wanted him to come with her, and Albus had been unable to join them. Aberforth had to get his books today, since he would be returning to Hogwarts in a month’s time, and that meant that Albus had to stay at his home with Ariana. Bathilda Bagshot felt it was not healthy for her great-nephew to spend as much time as he did alone in the house, so she had insisted he come with her. Upon reaching Diagon Alley, however, she saw his almost immediate disinterest and bid him to do as he pleased, to explore, and she gave him a sack of coins to make following those instructions easier.

One option that he had considered and even acted slightly upon was returning to Flourish and Blotts, but the shop had been too crowded, packed with students looking for books. The pretty Mrs. Gaunt saw him and waved slightly, but he could not say for certain whether she’d seen him raise a hand in greeting. He considered it quite lucky that he had not happened to bump into Aberforth in the shop. After struggling to get even enough room to breathe, Gellert decided that it would be a waste of time to try to find anything in this bookshop.

Except for the throngs of young children, he had considered going to Ollivander’s. The English wandmaker’s style was very different style from Gregorovitch’s, something he and Albus had noted when examining one another’s wands. His own was twelve and three-quarter inches, yew, with a dragon’s heartstring. Albus’s wand was eleven inches, ebony, with a hair from a unicorn’s mane. Gellert thought about having his wand checked up on, making sure it was still performing at its peak, and he was partially curious if he could find himself a new wand. Not that, he had reminded himself, it would be worth much. Buy a new wand simply to hunt for a Hallow to replace it! So, ultimately, he decided against paying Ollivander a visit.

‘Perhaps another time,’ he told himself.

So it was, with no particular purpose, that the young blond took to wandering the streets of Diagon Alley. It was a large place, and he was always happy to find places where the crowd filtered out. An empty street caught his eye, as did the sign near it.

“Knockturn Alley?” he read aloud, cocking his head. If he had Albus with him, he could have posed his questions, figured the place out before even stepping foot there. However, he had no guide this time, and he shrugged his shoulders slightly, making his way down the empty street without hesitation.

The place where he came out was, to say the least, very different from Diagon Alley. Where the latter had wide streets and many shops with colorful displays and bright lights, Knockturn Alley was made of narrow paths and the shops were dark but open, few things displayed in their windows, both warning and tempting a passerby about the contents that the shop itself might contain. While Diagon Alley was always somewhat busy, at least on the two occasions when Gellert had been there, Knockturn Alley seemed much quieter.

“Ah, what’s this?” a woman hissed, catching Gellert’s arm as he passed her. “A poor student, lost his way?”

“Student? I most certainly am not,” Gellert snapped, turning to face her.

She was a strange creature to look at. Her body looked young, but her gray eyes were light enough that there might have been film over them, that she might have been blind. Something about her posture suggested that she was old, that she had seen and heard things that no mere mortal was ever to hear. If she heard Gellert’s reply, she did not say anything about it. Instead, her hand stayed on his arm, gripping it tight enough that he could not wrench himself free. Her other crooked hand rose and touched a blond curl, then his cheek, and he again tried to pull away. Her hands were as cold as death.

“You seek something you are not meant to have.” She seemed to look up into his eyes, yet something in Gellert iced over, as though she were, with those odd eyes, looking beyond him, or maybe within. “But, oh, you will have it. You will possess your desire for a moment in time. But pride! Pride! That conqueror of kings! You have a mark upon you, boy. Pride will haunt you, will hunt you.”

“Release me!” Gellert snapped, and he finally tore himself from her strangely powerful grip. A kind of terror that he could not explain had taken hold of him. He wanted to be far from this strange creature, and he turned to walk away.

“You will remember me when Pride leads you to your downfall, Master Grindelwald,” the woman said quietly. When Gellert turned back to demand how she knew his name, she was gone.
As he turned once more to continue down one of the many paths of the dark, damp Knockturn Alley, Gellert tried to comfort himself. He might well have been mentioned to his great-aunt’s friends, and one of them might have known this strange creature. Perhaps his great-aunt, who had mentioned Knockturn Alley only once before, had put her up to doing that should he ever come this way, to scare him from the place. Either explanation was perfectly acceptable, he decided. It had to be one of those things. There was no other way to explain what had just happened without attaching some strong significance to a woman who must be either mad or told to do and say what she had done.

Yet, if she were mad, how had she known his name?

Still, perhaps her words warranted consideration. Pride. Conqueror of kings. A moment later, Gellert was shaking his head. The idea was absolutely laughable. He was taking the words of a woman who had surely been sent to scare him to be prophecy. If he were to take what she had said to heart, who would prove only that he was madder than she!

To distract himself from these strange thoughts, he entered the first shop that he found. It was a small place, crammed full of items that had seen better days. A sign on door, that Gellert had not noticed until he had entered and looked back at the still-open door, read ‘Rhunskin Curiosities.’ True to its name, many curious objects sat on the shelves or in boxes that were set out for rummaging. There was no real semblance of order to anything. Books were piled on top of old clothes; quills tipped in gold were laid near potion vials. It would have been nothing short of madness for one to try to find a particular item, but Gellert felt there was a kind of genius behind the disorder when it was before a person with time on their hands and no particular object.

He found a semi-cleared off desk and hauled himself up onto it. A bell had chimed when he had opened the door, but the owner had still not appeared. Seated upon the desk, he dragged a nearby box over to him, sorting through the various items that were at his disposal, mostly old, beaten books, many with a title that could not be read for all the cracks and dust and wear to the spine. He opened one, and trailed his finger across the line he’d found. It was written in Latin. He read the line aloud, though quietly, searching his mind for the very cursoty Latin that Durmstrang had forced them to learn in their first and second years. From what he could mentally translate-- another book would be needed so as to hunt up the proper translation-- the magic contained in this tome was dark and very powerful. Very appealing. He placed the book beside him on the desk, while others, less interesting, were placed on the floor near the box.

Once the box was empty, Gellert replaced the items, holding the book he had claimed as his own, and he wandered a moment more, soon finding another small alcove where he found a short but sturdy bookcase and seated himself upon it. He pulled another box to him, setting his book down beside him again. He repeated his process of carefully examining each object and setting it beside the box when it proved too dull to keep his attention. Just as he had reached the midway mark of the box, a voice came from behind him.

“Enjoying the selection?”

Gellert jumped, and his heart raced at being so surprised. He turned slightly and came face-to-face with a wizened man with a hunched back and a twisted leg. One eye was notably wider than the other, but Gellert looked straight at him. He had been spooked by someone once; he would not allow it to happen again.

“This is very interesting shop,” Gellert replied.

“We don’ get very many customers,” the owner explained, but he was smiling. “I think you are the firs’ in years. At least that wasn’ bothering me to find somethin’ in particular, you see?”

“I understand. Though I do not understand why one would come here for something in particular. It seems very much the place where one will only find something by not looking for it.”

“What a sharp lad you are!” the owner praised, nodding his head with excitement. He looked the young man over once more, and his smile widened. “You have a particular interest.” Gellert raised an eyebrow. “Oh yes. You have many, I think, but one that burns more. Dueling,” he motioned to the book beside Gellert, “is one of many, a higher one but still not the most consuming. No?”

“You’re,” Gellert hesitated to admit it, “quite right, sir.”

“What’s the one, lad? What’s the one that wakes you up? That leaves you breathless? What’s the one?” He seemed strangely excited, looking at Gellert again. “My shop, it’s special, you see. You have to want somethin’, really want it, to even get here. You won’ find everything at once. It isn’t like that. But you know somethin’ is here, don’t you? You can feel it stirring your blood, can’t you?”

“Yes,” Gellert replied. He was coming to understand why Knockturn Alley was so avoided, and yet his curiosity was piqued. Dryness had come over his mouth, and yet, even as this man spoke, a strange fire had lit itself within him. “I seek the Hallows,” he said after a moment, staring at the man, “the Deathly Hallows. I desire to possess them, to be the master of Death itself.”

“The Hallows!” The man said nothing more but instead limped away down the aisle. Gellert found he could not sit still. He seized his book and quickly followed the old man. When he caught up, they were both in another aisle, and the hunchbacked old man was bent over a box, tearing through its contents. “The Hallows,” he whispered, and Gellert could not say anything. He was half certain that this man was as mad as the woman that had greeted him upon first stepping into Knockturn Alley, but something in him possessed him to be silent. Finally, the man stood up. “I was waitin’ for someone looking for the Hallows. Yes, you will do very well. A dueler, worthy of the Hallows. Whatever Margarethe says, the strong must rule. Foolish, foolish woman, trying to stop what must be, oh yes.” He spoke more to himself than Gellert, yet the young man obeyed when a gesture was made for him to bow his head. The old man put something around his neck, and Gellert raised his head and looked down. Attached to a golden chain, a golden pendant hung almost directly over his collarbone. It was an inch, if not two, thick, and shaped like a triangle. A glass sphere was set in the triangle, a black liquid in it, and the sphere half-full. Running through the sphere from the top and bottom of the triangle was a silver rod.

“The mark of the Hallows,” Gellert said quietly.

“A sharp lad you are,” the old man said with a kind of cackle that might have made someone else flinch, yet Gellert’s heart was beating too rapidly to think of such a reaction. “Not just any mark of the Hallows. The brothers made that one themselves. You need only choose a Hallow, any Hallow. Take a drink of the liquid, the top comes off,” he motioned to the spot on the triangle, “here, and you will be forever lead toward the Hallow until at last it is in your hand. You will have to pay a price, yes, you will.”

“Name it. If I do not have the gold--” Gellert began, but the man shook his head.

“No, no. Not to me. The book, the amulet, they are yours. Another will come later, seeking something and ask me to find it for them, that lot will pay. You sought without asking, and they are yours. The price you will pay will be decided by the potion.” He grinned wider, revealing several rotting teeth. “You can find the Hallows without the potion, but it will help you. It will lead you. Oh, it will lead you and help you. But you will pay a price. A great price.”

“I will do whatever I must to possess the Elder Wand.”

“A good choice, a good choice… And yes, you will. I can see it. You will pay whatever is asked of you.”

“Whatever is asked.”

“And you will possess the wand.”

“You ask me nothing for either of these grand items?”

“Nothing at all. Be off with you now. You have destiny to meet, and you will meet it, I can see. You will meet your destiny without hesitation. You will.”
Gellert allowed himself to be led from the store, examining the necklace that hung around his neck as he walked, and the old man let him out of the store.

“Thank you, sir,” Gellert said to the old man in the doorway.

“It is not a bit of trouble, my boy. You remember old Rhunskin when you meet destiny, lad. It was a pleasure to see you, Master Grindelwald.” He shut the door and, before Gellert could ask how he knew his name, the door had vanished. The old man, Gellert remembered, had said that only those looking for something could find the shop, and he had been given the tool to find what he wanted, what he needed.
His hazel eyes turned to the pendant again, and he examined the black liquid. The thought crossed his mind to take the potion now, but he restrained himself. There was no reason to be in a hurry. It could wait. After all, if it would lead him to the Elder Wand, then there was no hurry. He would have to tell Albus about this. They could find all of the Hallows with this, or at least two, if each could only find one. Yet, if he told Albus, perhaps Albus would desire the Elder Wand as well. They never had discussed who would get what Hallow, especially who would possess that particular one. Albus had never seemed interested before in the wand, not terribly, but the advantage of being led to it might make it that much more appealing. Was it something that could be put to chance?
In answer to his silent questions, Gellert tucked his new treasure into his shirt, hiding it from sight. He would tell Albus after he had the Elder Wand in his hand, offer it to Albus to find the Resurrection Stone. That was what to do. He wouldn’t keep it from Albus; he would merely wait to tell him.

“Young man!” the words of an aged woman hunched over a cauldron called him back to his senses. “Come, come. Your bag of coins is far too heavy.” She laughed a little and Gellert, interested and glad to see someone who didn’t seem to know him, approached. “You are a dashing creature, aren’t you? Lot like my husband. Of course,” she laughed again, “he ran off with a pretty little thing when I started getting old, but that ain’t your fault, dearie. Know what this is?” She motioned to her cauldron.

Gellert approached and took a whiff of the air. A sharp, biting smell like mid-winter, the smell of blood, the faintest touch of lilac, and the smell of a fire newly put out all besieged his senses. That and the pink color of the potion told him everything he needed to know. “A love potion. Rather a strong one, if I am right.”

“Exactly. What would you say, son? A vial full? Only two galleons. You could have any soul in the world with this for years upon years with just one drink!”

“I already have the one that I desire to have.”

“Ah, but women are fickle creatures, almost as fickle as men. What if the eye wanders? You could ensnare her, have her forever.”

“I have the one I want, and,” he paused a moment, deciding caution was still advisable, “she will be mine forever. I know.”

“Pity, pity! Well, if you go home and find her in the arms of your dear brother, you come right back here.”

“Of course, Madam.”

Gellert shook his head as he walked away, listening to various other hawkers, but he shook his head politely to each. Some rather interesting poisons were for sale, and, finally, one caught his eye. He approached a man who had not yet entered old age but was not far from it, and he bowed his head slightly. The man barely inclined his own.

“What sort of thing is this?” Gellert asked. The man gave a kind of snort, looking at the young man that had approached him.

“Ink,” the man said gruffly. “Poisoned ink. One word on a piece of paper, and the whole paper’s poison to the touch. You buyin’ or not? If not, get out of here. It’s bad for business to have your lot around.”

“My lot?” Gellert asked.

“Students. We aren’t s’posed to have any dealings with underaged--”

“I’m of age. Seventeen, actually.”

“Well, you don’ look it. Now buy or get.”

“How much for a vial?”

“Ten sickles.”

Gellert set down the money and picked up one of the vials in the opposite hand as the one he was carrying his book with. The man shooed him off quickly, and Gellert fought the impulse to curse him once his back was turned.

All in all, Gellert decided, the trip had been a rather successful one. He stole back to Diagon Alley, finding a shop for writing supplies when he spied his great-aunt looking for him. He made as if exiting the shop and greeted her with a wave.

“Great-aunt Bathilda!” he called and she smiled to see him.

“Well! I’m glad you found yourself some things!” Gellert held out the purse to her, but she shook her head. “Oh, no, dear. Keep the rest. You need some money of your own, in case you want to buy something.” Gellert did not see a reason to tell her that he had his own money that he had brought with him from Germany. If she wanted to give him more money, he was not going to argue.

After agreeing that there were no more shops to go to, the two returned to Bathilda’s home, and Gellert immediately went up into his room. The dueling book was placed on his bed. He would translate it, he decided, tonight. There was surely a Latin textbook somewhere in the library downstairs, he was sure of that. He considered the ink bottle for some time. Finally, he decided on where to put it. He opened the left drawer of his desk, empty for now, and placed the bottle there. That way, it could not be used unless he specifically intended to use it.

Gellert turned toward the mirror in his room and looked at it, freeing the necklace from beneath his shirt. He stroked it slightly, murmuring as he admired his reflection, “A very productive outing, I do believe.”

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-08-04T02:08:16Z

Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
Probably PG-13 at this point.
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Warnings:
The slash has begun. It is not and will not turn into smut, so no need to worry about that. No sex, just fade to black.
Author's Note:
Beta-read by Tree.

Chapter Six
A Partnership for the Ages

After much urging from Gellert, Bathilda Bagshot had gone out again for the day, much to his pleasure. July was slipping away, and August was creeping steadily closer. The weather was not hinting at change. It was still hot, and rain showers were brief and occurred infrequently. The windows of most of the houses owned by Muggles who lived in Godric’s Hollow, were open, and the windows of some of the Wizards’ homes were open as well. However, the magic of the Wizarding houses kept them from being stuffy and uncomfortable.

Two young men were in the bedroom of Bathilda’s home that Gellert had claimed as his own. Gellert Grindelwald sat in the chair for his desk. However, it was turned, for the first time, so it was angled away from the desk, where a wand had been placed earlier. The young man, whose blond curls had been carefully fixed this morning, was facing another youth, the auburn-haired Albus Dumbledore who was the owner of the wand on the desk, as Gellert always kept his on him. Albus looked a bit uncomfortable and kept fiddling with the collar of his shirt, and Gellert had laughed at him more than once. Not that it was Albus’s fault, and he had not seemed to take offence in the slightest.

Gellert had explained the great value of wearing Muggle clothing, one of his many habits that had, to say the least, perplexed Albus. It was, Gellert had explained, a sign that he did not believe in separating the two worlds and that he felt that, even if they were not equal, Muggles were valuable to the Wizarding world. Albus had seen nothing wrong with the logic, so he had sent Gellert an owl a few days prior and requested that similar clothes be found for him. Gellert had responded with zest and, two days later, had provided the clothes. For this meeting, Albus had worn them, and Gellert thought it was rather obvious he had never worn such things before.

If Albus had noticed that his friend was taking great amusement from his trouble with concentrating on anything other than the various parts of the outfit that annoyed him, such as his constant tugging at the high, starched collar of his shirt, he said nothing about it. “Pray, what is your opinion in regard,” Albus said, and Gellert’s attention was drawn by the familiar phrase that was always used when posing a question about their future rule, “to the Dementors?”

Gellert considered this for several moments. That was one thing he very much admired about Albus: he could bring things up that Gellert never would have thought about. “Dementors?” he repeated, and Albus nodded. “I suppose they do bear a considerable weight on the question, since we intend to start in England. However, I am not sure. I had not considered them before,” he conceded.

“I don’t like the idea of them guarding prisoners,” Albus announced.

“Why not? They trap a prisoner not only in the cell but inside his own head,” Gellert pointed out.

“It’s cruel,” Albus stated. “Forced to forever relive the worst memories of your life, having your soul eventually sucked out. The fate of most of those prisoners is to, eventually, be subjected to the Kiss, usually after they have gone completely mad. Madness on top of captivity is inhumane. Besides, Dementors are Dark creatures. What does it say about those in power when they rely on creatures such as those?”

Gellert watched his friend, watched the muscles tense and those eyes flash as he spoke of the Dementors. “I do not believe I have ever seen you so very passionate, my friend,” Gellert murmured. When Albus seemed a little embarrassed, the blond added warmly, “I think it rather a thing to see.” He smiled a bit, and Albus finally chuckled a little himself. Gellert raised his hand, this time as a gesture of acquiescence and said, “Very well then. The prison that we will need for those Muggles who would defy the order we know is best and those Wizards who commit acts against the Wizarding and Muggle worlds alike shall not have Dementors. Now there is a new question: what will warrant a prison sentence?”

“A Muggle using force against a Wizard, obviously,” Albus replied. He went on. “Of course, using force against anyone will be a punishable offence. I should be more clear: a Muggle using force against a Wizard for the explicit intent to force the Wizard to use magic, or the express purpose of somehow procuring magic for himself.”

Gellert nodded. “Other attacks, be they Muggle on Wizard for some other reason, Muggle on Muggle, or Wizard on Wizard shall have to be categorized by way of the reason for the use of force and punished accordingly. I think that fines would be the most reasonable way to go about that.”

“As well as Wizard attacks against a Muggle,” Albus added. He spoke gently, suspecting that his friend had merely forgotten that possibility in his statement.

Gellert regarded him for a moment before he replied, with a shrug of his shoulders, “Oh, yes. Naturally.”

“I quite agree. However, severe attacks with the purpose to steal or harm with no provocation, regardless of whom they are against or committed by, must command a sentence of prison time.” Albus was quiet for a moment, soon asking, “What should be an offence punishable by execution?”

“Murder. Willful murder,” Gellert responded. “Prison time for accidental deaths, but I think that execution should be reserved for those who, with full intent and full understanding of their actions, take the life of another.” Albus gave a nod, and Gellert paused for a few minutes. “What shall become,” he asked, “of those that would speak against us once we are in power?”

“If it is only speaking,” Albus said, considering this carefully by the look in those blue eyes, “Then we should do nothing. Actually, we should probably listen. There may very well be some issues with our ideas that will not appear until we put them into action, in which case, the people who would speak against us may well be useful as indicators that something has gone wrong, and we will be able to address the issue.”

“Very sensible. The people who are governed do often seem to know better than those who govern. Look at us, after all,” Gellert agreed.

“However, if it goes beyond speaking, then action must be taken.” Gellert was pleased to hear these words come from Albus, rather than having to place them into the open himself. “If they should harm or even attempt to harm us or those around us, they must be dealt with swiftly and in a fitting manner. We cannot allow a few radicals to change what will be a very good system.”

“I could not have put it better myself,” Gellert responded, and Albus seemed to take this as high praise.

Conversation died away, and the two looked at one another for several moments. Without a word, Gellert rose, his hand raising in a gesture to silence Albus’s coming questions, and he walked from the room and down the stairs. When he returned, he was carrying two glasses in his left hand and a bottle in his right. He set the glasses on the desk and opened the bottle, labeled as firewhiskey, and poured it into each glass until they were half full. He offered one to Albus, who took it, and then Gellert sat down in his chair with his own and raised it. Albus followed suit.

“To a new order and two who will bring it about.”

“Cheers,” Albus responded.

The two chuckled as they took a drink. Gellert drank it without hesitancy, swallowing a mouthful and only shutting his eyes slightly at the feel of it in his throat. Albus tried to imitate but ended up coughing badly, and he leaned forward as tears welled in his eyes. After a moment, he sat back up, breathing heavily from the coughing, and he looked at Gellert with a thin smile.

“First time,” he explained, a touch of pink coming to his cheeks, and Gellert chuckled.

“My apologies, then! If I’d have known you hadn’t had it before, I would have warned you that it stings the first, oh,” he grinned playfully, “twenty or so times it goes down.”

“You’ve had it quite a bit, I take it,” Albus responded, and a tinge of envy came to those blue eyes as Gellert’s hazel ones met them.

“A decent bit, yes,” the other said. “Durmstrang had rules against it, of course,” he added, “but none of us ever really paid attention to those rules. The older students always had something to drink on them, and I got on with them, so they were willing to include me in a lot. Liked my dueling, most of them. Of course,” he smirked, “I think the first time they gave it to me was revenge. Fourteen, and I beat one of the seventeen-year-olds in dueling. They offered a toast that night, and there were more than a few laughs at how I reacted to the stuff.” To him, it was an amusing anecdote, but Albus merely smiled thinly, not seeming to take anywhere near the amusement that Gellert did in it.

Several moments passed, and the two left their firewhiskey alone, holding the glasses in their hands. They looked at one another, and silence reigned. There was something easy, fairly composed, about Albus during it, Gellert felt. He might have felt a little picked on from the laughter of his friend at his response to the drink of firewhiskey, but it seemed nothing he would hold against him. Gellert, however, felt a strange uneasiness in this silence, in those blue eyes that had so serenely settled on him.

A moment later, Gellert raised his glass again. Albus, after a slight hesitation, did the same. “To partnership,” Gellert toasted, “one that will be talked about even after our bodies are cold in the grave.”

“To partnership,” Albus responded.

The two drank again, both taking much smaller sips this time. Albus flinched slightly when he drank, but it was obvious that the taste and effects were growing on him. It was not, Gellert felt, hard to get used to. Once again, silence fell, but this time it was more bearable for Gellert, as the two drank while they were not speaking, and Albus seemed to be enjoying his firewhiskey now that the initial shock of its taste was less obvious as his senses adapted to the effects. Finally, he remembered their conversation, and he looked at Gellert.

“So, our prison shall not have Dementors.”

“Most certainly not.”

“What shall it have?”

“Have?”

“Something must guard it. I suppose Wizards might be advisable, but that puts wands within the reach of prisoners. I do agree with Azkaban’s sentence of snapping the wands of prisoners there for life. However, if we want to keep wands out of their grasps, then what shall guard the prisoners?”

“That is a very good question, my friend,” Gellert replied as he sipped from his glass of firewhiskey. “Centaurs would be excellent for the position, but they love to wander too much. A dragon would be far too unpredictable, too temperamental. Ghosts would be no barrier.” He shut his eyes, trying to think of something, anything, else that was not a Dark creature that would be capable of keeping order. “I do believe that we can only put very trustworthy, very powerful Wizards in charge of the prison.”

“Or,” Albus seemed struck with the sudden idea, “We could put Wizards in charge of the outside of it and enchant the inside. A small team of house-elves could prepare the meals for the prisoners, and then delivered to the prisoners by means of set spells. They would not escape the enchantments since they would not have wands, and the Wizards patrolling the perimeter would stop outsiders from freeing them.”

“Albus, my friend, the word ‘genius’ is not adequate at all for you. You exceed it too often,” Gellert said with a smile. His glass raised in silent toast, Albus’s came up as well and tapped his, and they both drank, this time rather fully. A laugh left both, and the effects of slight intoxication were starting to set in.

Gellert was more than glad for them. He had been truly and completely intoxicated before, and it was not an enjoyable feeling. A loss of full control and then a patchy memory the next day. Even if the night had been uneventful, he cared more to remember dull times than to not be able to recall his own actions completely. This feeling was different. A general easiness seemed to surround everything, and he was smiling more than he usually did, even around Albus, yet he was still in full control of his mind and body. Or, at least, in as much control of his mind as he ever was.

“You and I will be great,” Gellert murmured. He stood and walked away from his chair, seating himself beside Albus on the bed. Their glasses were nearly empty, but another would not be had. He might pour Albus another one if asked, but he would finish his own and be done with it. “Our names will outlive us, our partnership vaunted as the greatest of all time. We will accomplish things that others will not dare to even dream of changing for at least centuries.” He spoke in a low voice, his head tilting toward Albus, bringing them closer together. Gellert chuckled slightly, but he continued speaking. “Every schoolchild for generations to come will read about us, will idolize us, will worship us.”

Albus said nothing, but he had not moved away from this increasing closeness. His eyes were closed halfway, and Gellert felt it likely that Albus was experiencing the same effects of the firewhiskey that he was. Gellert took a slow breath in, his head bowing slightly more for a moment. He raised it, though, and looked Albus right in the eye. An understanding passed between them and Gellert tilted his head slightly and brought his lips against Albus’s. Albus uttered an indistinct sound, but it was not in protest, and he did not seem to worry about the implications of his actions as he returned the kiss. For several moments, this continued, neither young man about to be the first to break the contact. It was Gellert who finally pulled back.

He was breathing hard, and he merely stared into Albus’s eyes for several moments. Finally, he spoke, voice quiet and heated, with a sincerity that Albus knew was not forged, “It has been quite a long time since I’ve had to confess that I’ve done something for the first time.”

Albus did not respond, and the look in his eyes told Gellert all he needed to know: he was alone in savoring a new experience. Gellert refused to let that take away from his enjoyment of the experience, and he moved forward again, once more capturing Albus’s lips with his own. His hand closed around Albus’s shoulder, and Albus slid one of his hands behind Gellert’s head, tangling it in those blond curls. Gellert leaned forward, and Albus was pressed back, shifting to accommodate this movement. His free hand braced itself against the mattress, but he soon found that he had to use his entire forearm to support his weight, not his hand, so his body lowered even more, and Gellert kept their kiss, now slightly over Albus, one leg bent and the other leg’s knee and shin against the mattress to support his own weight in this position.

The kiss had continued for several moments before Gellert raised his head again, looking down at Albus as he asked, “Who?”

“Elphias,” Albus admitted. He flushed at the confession, but Gellert did not show any signs of anger. Instead, he put his glass of firewhiskey on the floor and took Albus’s from him to put it beside his.

“How long ago?”

“The first time? Or the last?” That caused a reaction, and Albus seemed to regret the second question when Gellert’s eyes narrowed slightly. However, the blond did not change their position to put distance between them.

“Both.” It was no longer a question or a request. It was a demand. To offset the harsh tone of the words, which Albus was sure to protest, Gellert wordlessly undid two buttons at the top of the shirt and pushed the collar back. His head bowed, and his lips descended onto the exposed flesh. Albus shifted beneath him, but Gellert felt no attempt to make him stop, so he continued the kiss.

“We were,” Albus said quietly, almost breathless from this attention, “fifteen. I was almost sixteen. It was during the winter holidays. I’d,” he paused, and his hand tightened in Gellert’s hair as the attention to his neck continued, “stayed at Hogwarts and so did he. We,” he paused again as Gellert used his other hand to pull Albus’s shirt out of his slacks, as it had been tucked in, then slid his hand under it, bringing his fingers to Albus’s bare side, “didn’t get really serious until sixth year.” This was, obviously, not something Gellert wanted to hear, as he responded by bringing his teeth against a spot on Albus’s neck, hard enough to leave a mark. Albus uttered a cry of pain but had to sigh when Gellert was once more using his lips against the flesh. For not having done this before, Gellert knew well enough how to handle himself. “The last time,” Albus continued, seeming to feel as if he had to tell Gellert everything, “was the night before I received word about my mother. The night before we were supposed to set out on our trip together.”

Gellert did not verbally reply, but he did raise his head from Albus’s neck, and he looked at those blue eyes. Albus was breathing heavily now, laying fully on the bed. His one hand was still behind Gellert’s head his grip loosened, while his other hand also loosened its grip on the bedclothes. Gellert bent his head again and kissed Albus once more, the other responding with increased vigor. Gellert amused himself with the thought that Albus might be trying to make up for his earlier confession. The kiss this time was shorter, and Gellert was, once again, the one to break the kiss as well.

“You have more experience than I do,” Gellert murmured, passion brimming in his eyes as he looked at his friend. He smirked slightly, running his fingers down Albus’s bare side, eliciting a small groan that made his blood race, and added, “You’d have to tell me what to do.”

Albus gave a half-laugh and responded, “I think I can agree to that.” He sat up slightly, applied pressure to Gellert’s head from behind, and once again brought their lips together.

The kiss was passionate, and Gellert’s hands began fully unbuttoning Albus’s shirt. In response, Albus freed Gellert’s shirt from being tucked in and began to return the favor. He ceased for only a moment to stop Gellert’s hands long enough to remove Gellert’s wand from its place in the sleeve and set it on the floor near the glasses. After this was done, both young men resumed undoing the buttons they felt were, in this case, far too numerous to be useful. When the shirts were undone, the kiss was broken, and Albus sat up slightly to rid himself of his shirt while Gellert merely shrugged off his own. With a smirk, Gellert bowed his head to whisper directly into Albus’s ear.

“To true partnership.”

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-08-01T02:29:51Z

Chapter Five
Forgotten Dark Lore

Gellert Grindelwald was still lying in bed, having only dozed for brief periods the night before, when his great-aunt knocked on his door. He glared at the door the first time but did not move to open it or speak to indicate that he had heard the sound. The knocking came a second time, a few moments later, and he sat up.

“Gellert! Are you still asleep at this hour?” His great-aunt Bathilda’s voice grated on his nerves more than it usually did. “Do get up and get yourself dressed. Albus is downstairs, asking for you. The poor boy’s been waiting a half hour for you to get up!”

“I’ll be down soon,” Gellert said, his voice the best imitation of one still heavy with sleep that he could manage. “Tell him to wait just a little longer.”

When he heard his great-aunt on the stairs, going to deliver his message, Gellert got to his feet. He undressed, never having changed from the previous night, and put on fresh clothes. The young man ran his hand through his curly hair a few times to fix a few of the rough patches, disappeared into the bathroom for a few moments, and had soon descended the stairs. He took his time on them and in making his way to the den, where Albus was sitting, but Gellert noticed that he did not have a book in his lap this time.

This time, when Gellert entered the room, he had the full attention of the visitor. That was, in his mind, somewhat of an improvement. Albus smiled, though Gellert saw the uncertainty in those intelligent eyes.

“I was a touch worried last night, when you stopped replying to my notes,” Albus ventured, and Gellert shrugged his shoulders, seating himself once again in the armchair that he had come to view as his own.

“I must have dozed off,” he replied, and his hand made a dismissive gesture.

Albus hesitated for several moments. He seemed unsure of what to do, what to say, how to act. He wasdisoriented, and Gellert found that he enjoyed that. In his opinion, it served him right.

Finally, Albus spoke, hesitant at first. “I’ve spoken to Aberforth, and he’s agreed that he can watch Ariana for the day.” Gellert looked at him, some of the coldness in his eyes warming. “I was thinking that I could show you around Diagon Alley. We could Apparate. Side-Along to get there, since you don’t know the place,” he added. Gellert considered protesting, but he knew there was truth in what Albus had said. He would have to do that since Apparating required knowledge of the place where one intended to go. After a moment, he allowed a smile to grace his features, and Albus smiled as well.

“I’d like that,” Gellert agreed with a slight nod. Albus’s grin widened, and he rose to his feet, seeming anxious to go. Gellert rose after a few moments, in no particular hurry as he followed Albus out of the room.

“It’s wonderful to see you boys spending time together!” Bathilda announced, as soon as the pair were out into the main hallway of the house. Both boys answered her with a vague nod.

“Albus and I are going to Diagon Alley. I should be home for supper,” Gellert told her, deciding that it was only polite that he let her know that he was going out.

“Oh, no worries, my dear. Take as long as you like! If you’re not back by then, I’ll save you some supper to be warmed up,” the woman said with a smile, waving to the two boys as they left the house.

Once they were a slight distance from the house, Albus and Gellert stopped and looked at one another. Gellert reached out and put a hand on Albus’s shoulder, and Albus nodded. There was a loud cracking sound, and in an instant, the boys vanished. Once he regained his balance, Gellert looked around.

He was wholly unimpressed.

They were outside a pub, one that looked as though it had seen better days. He followed Albus inside nonetheless. The inside was cleaner, in a bit better repair than the outside, but it was in need of serious help. The name he had seen on the sign outside seemed rather fitting. The place needed repairs as badly as a leaky cauldron would. A few people greeted the auburn-haired young man, and Albus gave them slight nods of recognition. He stayed close to Gellert, though, and the blond was content that no one seemed to warrant having to go and speak to them. One brow raised in annoyance as he was led out a back door of the pub. Was Albus trying to play a trick on him? At the sight of nothing but a brick wall greeting them, Gellert was sure of it… And he was not amused.

“Albus,” he said coldly, dryly.

“Gellert, just wait a moment,” Albus assured him with a smile and took out his wand. He tapped a brick on the wall with his wand, and Gellert understood. Almost immediately, the bricks seemed to rearrange themselves into an archway, and Albus led his skeptical friend through it. “This,” he said once they had reached the other side, “is Diagon Alley.”

Gellert looked around. He said nothing for several moments, but his eyes darted from shop to shop, taking in everything. This… This was not a disappointment. It was as large as Albus had described in his letters a few days ago, and there seemed to be no shop that Gellert could think of that was not at least faintly visible. “It looks like quite the place,” he finally announced, and Albus beamed, delighted at his friends approval.

“Where shall we go first?” Albus asked, but he seemed to all ready know the answer.

Sure enough, Gellert replied, “You mentioned a large bookstore.”

The two set off, Gellert just a half step behind Albus. He had to follow, being unfamiliar with the area, but that did not mean that he was keen on it. It was not long before they reached a large building with a wooden sign hanging in front of it.

“Here we are,” Albus said cheerily. “Flourish and Blotts, the best bookstore in all of England, in my humble opinion.” He led the way in, and Gellert followed.

It was larger inside than it had looked on the outside, and Gellert looked very pleased as he turned his head to take in all of the store. Rows upon rows of bookshelves made neat aisles, and ladders were provided to reach the upper levels, as the shelves were stacked to the very ceilings. There were several small alcoves about the shop, for one to take a book to look through before deciding whether or not to purchase it.

“Very impressive,” he murmured quietly to Albus. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen quite so many books in one place, other than Durmstrang’s library, of course.”

“I know. It’s amazing. I could spend all day in here if I had the time,” Albus replied. For a moment, it seemed, the weight of his responsibilities settled heavily on him. Gellert could almost see what he was thinking. A normal seventeen-year-old boy would have a day to waste in a bookstore. Albus, with his demanding siblings and dead parents, did not.

“Come,” Gellert said warmly, clasping Albus on the shoulder and leading him further into the store. It seemed a welcome gesture, pulling Albus from his thoughts and back into the mass of books in front of them.

“Hello, gentlemen!” A short man who stood as high as Gellert’s waist said cheerily, approaching the two. He was wearing canary yellow robes and seemed to half bounce as he walked. A pair of glasses were perched on the top of his head. “Shopping for school books all ready? Or are you looking for something a little more interesting?”

“We’re out of school, actually,” Albus said.

At the voice, the little wizard pulled his glasses down, and his smile widened to a toothy grin. “Albus, m’boy! Welcome, welcome! I didn’t expect to see you in here until Aberforth had to get his books for this year.”

Albus smiled a little, soon finding his manners and replying, “Mr. Worthing, this is my friend, Gellert. He’s never been to Diagon Alley. Grew up in Germany. Gellert, this is Mr. Worthing, he’s worked for this store for years.” Gellert bowed his head politely, and the little man did the same, seeming to be quite ecstatic to meet a friend of Albus’s.

“I’m looking for your books on ancient legends,” Gellert said with a slight smile at the older man.

“Ah, you’re a lore fancier, are you?” Worthing said with a nod. “They’ll be on the last row to the left, facing the wall, last batch of shelves, the fortieth through forty-second rows from the bottom.”

“Thank you so very much,” Gellert responded, giving a polite nod to the other before he set off. Albus spoke for a few moments longer with Worthing before he followed his friend. By the time he found Gellert, the other was already on one of the many ladders, one knee braced against the thin rungs as he pulled out a book with one hand. Albus flicked his wand and murmured a quick summoning charm. A ladder a few shelves down the row slid in front of him, and he mounted it, soon even with Gellert.

“Hallows information?” he asked with a knowing grin.

“However did you know?” Gellert smiled back at him, chuckling a little.

For several minutes, the two went through the books, mostly silent. They put away and took out books from the shelves at a fast pace, checking the contents and then the index, but the word ‘Hallows’ appeared in few. In the few it did, a sentence or two was all that was afforded to the three items. Book by book, the young men started to get discouraged.

“Nothing here either,” Albus murmured, putting away the tenth book he had checked, probably the twentieth or so in all.

“Nor here.” Gellert shelved the book he had been looking at.

Albus pulled out the next book in the row that he had dedicated himself. “This might be promising.” He read out the title, “Forgotten Dark Lore by Morgana Lafen.” Gellert’s interest was piqued, and he raised his head to peer over at Albus as the young man paged opened the cover. The spine of the book made a quiet cracking sound. For the age its cover showed, it had not been open very much. The spine was hardly broken. He looked up at Gellert and grinned. “There’s an entire chapter devoted to the Hallows.”

“Finally,” Gellert said with a sigh of relief. “I am beginning to think that we should buy that book and get out of here while we’re ahead. It’s the only one we’ve found so far that even mentions the Hallows.”

“And we can always come back and look more later,” Albus agreed.

The two boys descended their ladders, and Albus took the book up to a counter, where a young witch was standing. She was fairly pretty, with wide brown eyes and long black hair. Gellert noticed, when she moved to take the book from Albus to check its price, that her stomach curved out slightly, her robes not hiding the bulge too well. A wedding ring on her finger caught his eye next, and another ring, behind it, one with a black stone set into it. Her voice distracted him.

“Sorry, dear. I’m taken and happily so.”

Gellert arched an eyebrow at the implication that he had cared about that. She merely smiled at him.

“It’ll be fourteen Sickles, boys,” she said.

Albus pulled out the coins, but Gellert did as well. A look at Albus, and the two knew that there was only one proper way to buy the book. Gellert laid down seven of his Sickles, and Albus picked up seven of his. The woman handed the book back to them, Gellert taking it this time, and they started to walk off. Albus stopped a few paces away and then turned back, waving slightly to the woman.

“Thank you, Mrs. Gaunt.”

She merely smiled, nodding a bit and making a motion as though to shoo them out of the store.

As soon as they were outside, Gellert cracked the book open, this time bending it as far back as it would go, to really break in the spine.

“Should we find a place here to read it or head home?” Albus questioned, looking around for a suitable place to sit.

“I think it’d be best to take this home,” Gellert suggested. “That way we can talk without people hearing us, thinking we’re nuts, things like that.” Albus nodded in agreement, and a look between them was all that was needed before they both Disapparated with a crack and reappeared in front of Bathilda’s home.

The two entered the house and immediately made their way to the den. Albus checked the surrounding rooms and concluded that Gellert’s great-aunt had gone out for the day. They were alone, and that was what they both wanted. A spell from each shut and locked the doors that led into the room, and Gellert opened the book to the fifth chapter, the chapter on the Deathly Hallows. He sat down on the couch, and Albus sat right beside him, peering over his shoulders.

Under the chapter’s name, there was the symbol of the Deathly Hallows, the same one that Gellert had drawn for Albus in the cemetery. Gellert read aloud.

Long believed to be nothing more than a myth, the Deathly Hallows are known to most children, even if they do not know this name for them. The source of their information is a children’s tale called “The Three Brothers.” The Deathly Hallows are most often called the Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, and the Cloak of Invisibility.

He paused a moment, looking over at Albus, “Well, this seems promising at least.”

“It does,” Albus agreed. He took over reading, skipping the paragraphs that retold the story of the brothers.

The Elder Wand, also called the Deathstick or the Wand of Destiny, is the, according to most Hallows-obsessed seekers, the easiest to prove the existence of. While it may vanish for decades at a time, a witch or wizard will always reappear, claiming to have it. Many of these accounts (a few of which are included on pages one hundred ninety-five through two hundred thirteen) are said to have a ring of authenticity, and the descriptions of the wand from third party sources (rare but not wholly unreliable) are often very similar.

Gellert took over the reading.

The wand has a bloody history attached to it. It is claimed that the wand is unbeatable, so many have resorted to the murder of its previous owner to claim the wand as their own.

A different passage had caught Albus’s eye. He read quietly.

As its name would suggest, the Resurrection Stone can revive the dead. The story tells of the revived being caught between death and life, though whether that is part of the story told to frighten children and teach them that they must accept death or what would truly occur if the stone were used cannot be known, as there are no accounts of the stone ever being found or used.

He took a slight breath in, murmuring, more to himself than to Gellert, “Bring the dead back…”

Gellert looked at Albus, and he felt a strange kind of uneasiness settle into him. There was something in Albus’s eyes that he could not define, could not understand. He almost commented on it, almost verbalized his notice of some barrier between them, but he stopped. Something in him urged that it should be left alone, should remain untouched. They had a grand future ahead of him. Whatever there was between them would come down in the time that it took for them to build that future.

“We could possess them,” Gellert said quietly, touching Albus’s shoulder with one hand. He nodded toward the book, reading a passage from it.

Even on the rare occasions where a sighting may have occurred for one or two of the Hallows, there has never been a claim that they have been reunited. Many enthusiasts agree that it would take someone of noble intent to unite all three.

Gellert added, “We have that intent, Albus. Our intent is to help the world, Wizards and Muggles alike. We will possess them. How could we not?”

Albus allowed himself to smile a little at this statement, and he nodded slightly. “We could bring them together. With the Hallows on our side, no one would be able to stop us.”

“The Elder Wand is unbeatable. Imagine how quickly we would rise to power with that on our side. Force will be necessary, however slight the incidents must be,” he added, raising his hand as though to signify an apology. “On the whole, I think we shall not have to deal with much strife, but there will be some who feel we must be stopped at all costs, no matter the logic we give them. Even the mere knowledge that the Elder Wand served one of us might deter many and convince others that we are in the right, if one of the Hallows thinks our purpose noble enough to serve us.”

Albus nodded slightly. Quietly, he added, “And the stone…”

“So many followers could come from that. If it fully brings the dead back to life, then think how grateful they would be. Think how they would serve us without a question asked, because they would owe their lives to us. If the stone does only bring a shadow, caught between life and death, there would still be uses for it.”

Albus nodded again. Gellert was too caught up in his own thoughts to realize that Albus had not really agreed. Had Gellert been more observant, he might have noticed the distant look of his friend’s eyes and realized that his thoughts on the stone were far away from loyal followers. The cloak was not mentioned. One of their early conversations, when they had compared their skills, had focused on their shared ability to make themselves unseen if they so chose.

Gellert began flipping through the pages of the chapter, stopping when he found what he had hoped would be in the book. “An attempt at tracing the Elder Wand through history,” he said to Albus, catching the other’s attention. There were periods of several decades where the owner was unknown, but, Gellert pointed to it, the first recorded owner, or at least recorded brag of a wand like it, was Antioch Peverell.

“It would be a lot of work,” Albus mused, “but we could probably trace the history of the three brothers, see what families they connect to.”

“Most of the Wizarding world, probably,” Gellert responded. “Still, we may have to do that, if only to try and weed out where the Hallows could be now. The wand, the stone, and the cloak.” He smiled a bit, though the corners of his mouth twisted, making it look more like a smirk, “After all, it takes the whole set to become the masters of death, even if we have no need for the cloak.”

“Yes,” Albus said quietly, and Gellert noticed the distant tone of voice he used this time, “we have no need for the cloak…”

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-07-30T21:27:25Z

Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG, really... Later chapters will be PG-13 or R.
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice. The note featured in this work with the capitalized phrases is also sole property of J.K. Rowling. I am borrowing it only to add to the story and mean no disrespect to her, naturally.
Author's Note:
Beta-read by Tree. Tree, if you see this, I really do love you dearly.

Chapter Four
A Night of Letters

‘Albus--

On the issue of marriage:
I have not completed the actual essay, as the phrases I need are not being kind enough to let me use them properly. However, I have decided what our stance must be. Thank you very much for asking me about the issue, as I do not think I would have thought of it until the time came to deal with it, and I would have been very unprepared without your assistance! We have no choice. When we gain control, marriages between a member of the Wizarding community, Squibs excluded as they are and must be on the same level as Muggles, and a member of the Muggle community must be disallowed immediately. Those already married will not be separated, though the Muggle will have to comply with the regulations assigned to their lot, not to the regulations set for the Wizarding world.

Gellert’

Gellert read through the note several times before he was satisfied that it read well enough. It was not worthy of being saved as part of their essays. He still had the essay of inter-blood marriages sitting on his desk, black lines drawn through portions of the writing, notes in the margins. It would be awhile before that was ready to be copied and sent to Albus as part of their collection. Still, he had his main points in this summary, and that was all that he needed to convey to Albus right now.

He would have to start the essay all over anyway. He had made so many alterations on the original paper that it was really only good for collecting his thoughts now and sorting out what he needed to say and how it should be said. Normally, he did not need more than two drafts to make an essay exactly what it needed to be: his initial draft, then a revision based on notes that Albus made on it. As of yet, he had gone through three sheets of stationary attempting to write the first draft-- a pathetic number, really.

“Loki,” he said quietly, and his small owl raised its head, and beat wings its excitedly, “you know where to go.” He had to struggle to make the small thing sit still long enough to tie the note to its leg, but Gellert finally managed, and the owl flew out the open window and down the street.

Over the last week, starting right after his supper at Albus’s house, the two young men had been communicating more than ever, especially through late-night owls. The small glow of the lamps in their rooms dimmed throughout the night, but anyone on the street would have noticed that neither lamp actually went out until late, and it was getting increasingly later. The previous night, the grandfather clock downstairs had struck two before Gellert had finally stopped writing to Albus and gone to bed.

As Gellert waited for Loki to return with a reply, he dragged his quill over the corner of the parchment with his essay on it. A straight line, encompassed by a circle, with a triangle around it. Every line was drawn carefully, smoothly, and he quietly spoke the name of each part of the symbol as he drew it. “The Elder Wand, the Resurrection Stone, the Cloak of Invisibility.” He raised his head when Loki’s soft hooting alerted him of the owl’s return. Gellert quickly untied the parchment and unrolled it.

‘Gellert--

Regarding marriage: It is a sad state of affairs, but I feel you are right. To preserve the system that you have so ingeniously engineered, it seems that marriage between magic and non-magic persons must be disallowed.

There is one danger in your plans. You seem very much in favor of using force to gain power, but I cannot agree. It seems to me that we must build slowly in our bid for power, not try to force the Ministry to give us power. Talk, my friend, can often be more powerful the show. Showing power makes purposes seem more ill-willed than they are, while talk can inspire idealism. I hope that you will consider this.

Albus’

Gellert considered his own reply, dabbing his quill into the inkwell. He then put the nib to paper and wrote. Halfway through, he had to stop writing, lifting the quill up so as not to leave a blot when he heard a knock on his door.

“Come in,” he said, though he gave a quiet sigh, and he set the quill into the inkwell. He turned toward the door to see his great-aunt opening it, dressed in her nightgown.

“Are you and Albus still writing to one another? It’s getting so late,” she said warmly. Despite what might have been an admonition, she was smiling. Gellert knew that she was just grateful that her plan had worked and that she had found Albus some company in the form of her great-nephew. She had no idea, he knew, what they wrote about into the small hours of the morning. It amused him to ponder what she would think of the two of them. If she was smart, she would be proud of them, proud of the things they hoped to do. That was unlikely, and Gellert knew it. More likely, she wouls be shocked at their daring, to assume that they could change how everything worked. She would not see the genius that stood before her.

“Good night, Great-aunt Bathilda,” Gellert said with a small smile. He wanted her to leave. Once she was gone, he could return to his note to Albus.

“That makes me sound so old!” she protested, but with a grin. “Can’t you at least call me Aunt Bathilda?” Gellert merely smiled at her, and she chuckled a little. “Well, get some sleep tonight, all right?”

“I will, I promise.”

She left, and Gellert sighed as he rose from his desk, having to shut the door behind her. He returned to his chair a moment later, picked up his quill, and he resumed his writing.

‘Albus--

I fear I am more of a pessimist than you are when it comes to what popular support can do. I am not sure that we could sway many. Most of those whom we would need to convince are staunch separatists or else feel that the Muggle and the Wizarding world can cohabitate, knowing of one another, as equals. It worries me that mere talk will not make it clear that the Muggles are in desperate need of our assistance.

We can give them so many things, as I have explained before. We can provide cures for many of their ills, and if we were to assert power over them, as is our rightful place, we could educate them about things that they normally would have no idea that they needed to know about. Think of the Muggle illnesses and injuries that we do not have to worry about, think about the higher standard to which we hold those who care for our ill and mad. The Muggles kill each other in vast wars that are all but pointless while it has been several centuries since the Wizarding community has seen such violence. Individuals rise up, yes, but we seem, all and all, to be far less prone to senseless violence than the Muggles, and, if we were in power, we could cool this urge of theirs to fight and kill. It is for their own good that we would assert our dominance. We must make it clear that we foresee a world better for everyone, not just the Wizarding world.

Gellert’

Gellert tied the note to Loki and sent the small creature off once again. Shortly after, the bird returned.

‘Gellert--

Your point about Wizard dominance being FOR THE MUGGLE’S OWN GOOD-- this, I think, is the crucial point. Yes, we have been given power and yes, that power gives us the right to rule, but it also gives us responsibilities over the ruled. We must stress this point, it will be the foundation stone upon which we must build. Where we are opposed, as we surely will be, this must be the basis of all our counterarguments. We seize control FOR THE GREATER GOOD. And from this it follows that where we meet resistance, we must use only the force that is necessary and no more. (This was your mistake at Durmstrang! But I do not complain, because if you had not been expelled, we would never have met.)

Albus’

Gellert wasted no time in taking a new sheet of parchment out and writing once more.

‘Albus--

For the Greater Good.
Yes, you are right. I suppose that ambition can cloud judgment, even temporarily. Using force to bring about a change is an option only in the direst of circumstances. I doubted your wisdom in urging talk before action, and I recant that lapse now. If we are to be seen as liberators ushering in a new era, as minds that see peace and prosperity for all, we must not resort to crude violence. That is why you are an excellent partner, my friend. You know patience when I do not, and I will try to learn that control from you.
I believe, returning to my original point of this exchange, that we must not allow Squibs to marry into a Wizarding family either. It seems cruel, and I wish it could be different, but if they are to be afforded the same status as a Muggle and the same protections, the same restrictions must apply. For marriage, they will have other Squibs and Muggles to choose between. I think that only fair, even if it would seem harsh.
Gellert’

He sent Loki off with the response, and the phrase that Albus had used, that he had then repeated, still sounded in his head. For the greater good. Everything they did was for the greater good.

He dipped his quill into the inkwell and wrote on the paper that contained his essay, finding a free spot in the margin. For the Greater Good. After it, he drew the symbol of the Deathly Hallows again. They would collect the Hallows so that they could gain power so they could change the world so they could work for the greater good. It was so simple, so easy. Together, they would be unstoppable.

Gellert lifted his head as he heard the flapping of wings, and he noticed Loki flying toward the open window. However, perched on the sill of Albus’s window was a black owl, its silhouette just barely seen in the darkness, outline cast slightly by the lamp still lit in Albus’s room. Loki landed, but Gellert did not seem to notice. He just watched the black owl, seeing Albus appear briefly in his line of sight to untie something from the owl’s leg.

Only when Loki clipped his beak down onto Gellert’s finger did the blond notice the small owl. He untied the parchment but left it rolled up. He took a fresh piece, and he wrote on it, his handwriting a little scratchier than before, a small rip in the paper caused by pressing down with the quill too hard.

‘Who was that owl from?’

He tied it to Loki’s leg and sent the owl off again, staring at the open window, the tip of his quill tapping the desk until the small creature returned. Loki hooted a vain protest as Gellert pulled the message out of its tie without even bothering to take the string off the owl’s leg.

‘It was from Elphias, a good friend of mine. We were supposed to travel together, but then Mother died. He still writes to me, though, to tell me how his trip is going. He’s in Egypt right now.’

‘A good friend? Yet he gloats about his travels while you are forced to stay home and mind your siblings? He doesn’t sound like much of a friend to me.’

‘Really, Gellert! You are far too critical. He is excited by the things he sees, and I cannot blame him. If our positions were reversed, I fell I’d send him the very same kind of letters. I am glad he writes, really. We have been friends since our first year at Hogwarts, and I must say that it’s sometimes discouraging to think that I won’t be returning this coming year and seeing him again.’

‘You two are that close?’

‘Of course. He is my very best friend.’

Gellert stared at the newest letter for several moments before he rose from his desk again. Loki hooted in confusedly as Gellert pulled the window shut and drew the curtains across it. He sat back down and looked at the last note again, the one regarding their plans that Albus had sent earlier still ignored and rolled up on the corner of the desk. Carefully, Gellert picked up the parchment that he and Albus had passed back and forth, starting with the question about the owl.

He folded it in half once, and creased it carefully. He removed the glass from his lamp, the flame flickering at the movement, but it did not go out. Gellert held the parchment between his fore and middle fingers and held the bottom corner over the lamp’s flame until it caught fire. He set the burning parchment on the desk and watched as it curled, burned, changed color, and withered. When it was nothing but ash on his desk, he poured the ashes into the bottom of the lamp, into the oil that kept it going, and fixed the glass back around the flame. He blew out the lamp and, in the darkness, found the way to his bed.

He did not get up when he heard the tapping of a beak on the outside of his window, which was, no doubt, Icarus with a message from Albus about the silence and the lack of light in his room. They always told one another when they were going to bed. After a few minutes, though, the tapping went away. The owl had realized that it was not going to be let in, and it had returned to its owner with the note still tied to its foot.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-07-30T07:42:03Z

Chapter Three
Family Woes

There were, the blond teenager that had come to stay at Godric’s Hollow realized, so many details that he had never considered. Really, though, he was happy he had never considered them. Not having thought of them before gave Albus and him so much more to talk about, so much more to write about in their letters --one might almost call them essays!-- to one another. One such problem that he had failed to consider was marriage. Naturally, there were half-bloods already in existence, but would unions between magic and non-magic persons be allowed when they gained power? Over the past three days that they had spoken and written, the word ‘if’ had become ‘when.’ Could a member of the Wizarding world marry a Muggle?

It was a difficult question, as far as Gellert was concerned, and he was wresting with it, sitting at his desk in the room his great-aunt had given him for his stay. If the answer was no, then what happened to those marriages already in place when they gained power? If yes, then would the Muggle marrying into the magical family allow that Muggle the same rights as the Wizarding members of the family? His hazel eyes narrowed at the parchment in front of him. It was titled ‘On the Issue of Marriage Between Wizards and Muggles’ and was blank beyond that. He and Albus were keeping careful record of their essays on various issues, so that when the time came to assume positions of power, they would be armed with everything that they would need to make the new laws of the land.

He was saved, momentarily, from further aggravation on the subject by a soft hooting noise. On his windowsill, Albus’s tawny owl was perched, ruffling his feathers. Gellert looked up and smiled faintly. He had not closed his window in days, since he was always, it seemed, waiting for an owl from Albus.

“Thank you, Icarus,” Gellert said to the owl, and it ruffled its feathers in reply. He untied the note from its leg, a little surprised at how short it seemed to be, but he refused to let himself be immediately disappointed. He was rewarded for the momentary patience when he unrolled the parchment and read it.

‘Would you like to join me for dinner at seven? My siblings will be around, so I will understand if you don’t want to.’

It was a surprising offer. Gellert had, twice now, walked to Albus’s home with him, stood on the stoop as they found a breaking point in their conversation, which they continued with letters for a good portion of the night, yet he had never once been invited in. He turned the parchment over and dabbed his quill into his inkwell.

‘I would never refuse a chance to spend time with you.’

He tied the note back to Icarus’s leg and sent the bird back to its owner, watching it fly across the street and down, even watching it land on the windowsill of an upper story window that faced the street. That had to be Albus’s room.

Gellert left his room and ventured down the stairs far enough to spy the grandfather clock that his great-aunt was so proud of. An hour and fifteen minutes until seven, the clock read, and he ascended the stairs again. For a good half hour, he concerned himself with what to wear. Once dressed, this time with the waistcoat and jacket on, he polished his shoes with a flick of his wand, and, a moment later, he fixed where his hair had became slightly ruffled by changing his clothes with another charm. He slid the wand up his sleeve, where it could be accessed easily, and made his way down the stairs again, glancing at the clock on his way. He still had forty-five minutes to waste, though he decided that he could make his way over to Albus’s a little early. So that left half an hour more to be dealt with, and he simply could not concentrate on the essay he had been trying to work out all day. His mind would not process the subject at the moment, and he knew that further attempts without distraction would be equally futile.

The half hour was wasted away by pacing through the study, answering a question from his aunt every so often. He had not really heard any of the questions, but quiet, non-committal murmurs satisfied her and she did not act as though she knew she was being ignored. Finally, when the grandfather clock chimed that it was a quarter until seven, Gellert set off from the house. He arrived at Albus’s doorstep less than five minutes later and knocked, affecting a casual demeanor as the door opened.

Standing there was Albus. His wand was in his hand, and he had a smile on his face as he saw his new friend.

“Come in, come in!” Albus said cheerily, taking Gellert’s hand and shaking it slightly as the blond stepped into the house.

It was about the size of his great-aunt’s, Gellert noted, and it had much the same floor plan. It was a little more well kept than hers, though, and the carpeting was not quite as faded. Albus led him into the den, still grinning.

“Thank you for inviting me,” Gellert said quietly, sincerely.

“I’m so happy you decided to come,” Albus replied. Spotting his brother, he then said brightly, “Ah! Aberforth! Gellert, this is Aberforth, my younger brother. Aberforth, this is Gellert! I‘ve mentioned him.” The young man, perhaps fourteen or so, that he had mentioned was standing in the den, watching the two of them. The first thing that Gellert noticed about him were his eyes. They were exactly the color of Albus’s, but the genius that Albus had in his did not radiate from these eyes. No. Compared to Albus’s, this boy’s eyes were very flat, very dull. He kept his hair shorter, too, and it was lighter than his brother’s, more light brown than auburn.

Albus watched the two that he had just introduced, and his smile faltered when they did not approach one another. Gellert looked over at him and, after a moment, looked back to Aberforth and stepped forward, a hand extended. Aberforth, even more reluctantly, raised his own hand. Their hands had barely touched before they broke apart, but Albus seemed satisfied.

“Dinner is almost ready,” he said with a grin. “I’ll go check on it. You two can get to know one another.”

He left the two alone, and they watched one another. Neither sat in any of the available seats, and they did not speak to one another. Hazel eyes met blue eyes. A blond brow arched, and the younger male frowned sharply. Each one dared the other to speak first. It was Aberforth who broke the silence.

“He shouldn’t be out so much.” Aberforth spoke quietly, but there was something stern in his voice. He sounded older than he was, and he straightened his back, looking Gellert right in the eye. “He shouldn’t be out so much,” he repeated, a little more forcefully. “I’m not supposed to do magic outside of school, and we need him here.”

Gellert looked at him, his expression never changing. “You would be so heartless as to make him stay here? All the time? With you?” As he spoke, his voice became lower, colder. He advanced slightly on Aberforth, and the boy seemed to consider backing away, but he decided against it. He cocked his head slightly, but it did little to hide his unease at the look being given to him by Gellert. “He is too brilliant to be cooped up here, to waste his time with you and your sister.” He knew little about Ariana, but he knew enough as far as he was concerned. “He was meant for so much more, and,” he paused, drawing his wand from his sleeve and placing its tip right against Aberforth’s neck, “I will not allow him to be held back by something as pathetic as the two of you.”

Before Aberforth could respond, the sound of footsteps in the hall broke in, and Gellert stepped back, slipping his wand back up his sleeve. A mere second later, the door of the den opened, and Albus was standing there again.

“Is there something wrong?” he said quietly, looking at Aberforth’s expression then at Gellert. The blond merely shrugged.

“We were having a little chat, nothing more.” He looked at Aberforth, his lips curling into the faintest of smirks, almost daring him to say what had happened. It was a challenge, a challenge to Aberforth as to whether he trusted that his brother would believe him or this new friend, this equal.

Aberforth said nothing.

“Dinner is ready,” Albus told the two, his tone making it clear that he was a little uncomfortable, the tension lingering in the air known to him but unexplained.

“I’m not hungry,” Aberforth said, his voice sharp. He walked out of the den quickly and made his way up the stairs. Albus and Gellert followed into the hall, and Gellert caught sight of a young woman at the top of the stairs, just slightly older than Aberforth. Her blue eyes stared at him for a moment, but she turned quickly and hurried into her room, her blond hair almost shining in the light of a lamp near the door.

“I do apologize for that,” Albus murmured, still staring at the door his brother had gone into moments before Ariana had retreated into her own room. “I don’t know what has gotten into Aberforth. Ariana I expected not to eat with us, but I really didn’t think Aberforth would be so rude!”

“It’s no trouble,” Gellert assured him, clasping Albus’s shoulder with one of his hands. After a pause, he said, “That food does smell good. We should probably go eat.”

“Oh, yes” Albus said, startled out of his thoughts. “Yes, I suppose we should.” He led the way into the dining room, where the table had been set for three. The two young men sat across from one another, summoning food onto their plates with murmured incantations, and Albus filled both goblets with butterbeer. For a moment, Gellert considered asking his friend if there was anything stronger to be had, but he decided against it.

The two ate in silence for several moments, Albus watching Gellert’s reactions to the food laid out as the blond tasted each bit on his plate. He was, Albus noticed, moving the food around a lot more than actually eating anything, but the blue-eyed male also knew the look in Gellert’s eyes. He was thinking about his plans, their plans. After a few more moments and a few bites of food himself, Albus spoke again.

“I hope that Aberforth wasn’t rude to you.”

Gellert did not respond for a few moments, but he finally said, shrugging his shoulders just slightly, “He wasn’t. I do not think that we will see eye to eye any time soon, but he was not rude.”

“I’m afraid he hasn’t been too happy with me lately,” Albus explained, an apologetic smile on his features as he regarded Gellert. “If he took that out on you, I really am sorry.”

“There is nothing to apologize for, my friend. Nor do you have anything to apologize to him for.”

“Oh, but I do. I really have been out too much. I‘m afraid I‘ve been neglecting Ariana.”

“You deserve a break every now and then.” Silence fell for a moment, and Albus stared at the goblet in his hand and its contents as Gellert continued. “I can only imagine how much stress you must feel, Albus. A sister in her condition and an underage brother. No parents to help you.” His voice was warm, and he thought he saw an extra shine to Albus’s eyes. The beginnings of tears? “If there is anything I can do, Albus, anything at all, do not hesitate to ask, and I will do all I can.”

“Gellert,” Albus said softly, and he blinked several times in rapid succession to clear his eyes of that glistening. He smiled a little, though it was a sad smile. “It isn’t easy, no, but I do love them. I want the best for them.”

“They’ll have the best,” Gellert replied, his voice low and his eyes earnest. “When we have what we need, they will have everything.”

Albus started to speak but faltered. He did not try to speak again for several moments, instead taking another drink and shutting those blue eyes of his. When he opened them, he took a long, deep breath. “What about you?” he said suddenly, and Gellert was aware of the tremor in his voice. He did not want to discuss his family further, and Gellert would not press. “I’ve never heard you mention your own family.”

“There’s really no one to mention,” Gellert replied. Albus gave him a curious look, and Gellert sighed. His hand rose, a request for a moment or two to collect his words properly. “My father ran off before I was born. Couldn’t handle having a child, it seems. My mother… Well, she was a curious one. While I was growing up, we moved often. She kept talking about how ‘they’ were coming, how ‘they’ were going to get her. It took a lot of coaxing for her to even let me go to Durmstrang and leave her side. During my fourth year there, I was pulled out of a dueling class to be informed that my mother had been taken to Wahnsinn Memorial.” He nodded after a moment, when Albus didn’t seem to understand, adding, “It is rather like your Saint Mungo’s. She,” he paused, “snapped, it seems. Badly jinxed a poor witch who happened to bump into her on the street and kept screaming that ‘they’ had finally come for her.” His tone had altered itself during the tale but ever so slightly. No great emotion overtook his features, though an air of loneliness seemed to have crept over him.

“Gellert,” Albus said again, this time reaching across the table to touch his friend’s hand, trying to offer some kind of comfort. The other merely waved a hand.

“I have survived so far, and, now,” he smiled over at Albus, taking up his goblet and tilting it toward him, “I have someone who I feel is just as good as any family.”

Albus smiled, this smile lighting his eyes back up, and he picked up his own goblet and raised it slightly as well. “So have I.”

The two drank and were silent for the rest of the meal.

It took the two of them an hour before they finally admitted to having enough to eat, even though the food was barely touched, and even though their plates were not empty. Their glasses of butterbeer, however, had been drained and refilled several times. They were still silent, both likely in contemplation over the other’s family situation, when they retired to the den of the Dumbledore house. Albus sat on the couch and seemed moderately surprised when Gellert sat beside him rather than in one of the armchairs around.

“Gellert, may I ask you a question?” Albus was careful as he spoke, and that made Gellert nervous. The way that the question was posed meant that Albus thought he was walking on thin ice. Still, there was only one answer.

“Of course, Albus.”

“Why were you expelled from Durmstrang?”

Gellert was silent, a frown pulling down the corners of his mouth. Albus sighed, seeming to think that Gellert was angry with him, and he shook his head.

“You don’t have to tell me, Gellert. I understand that it’s--”

“It’s quite all right. You are the first person in a long time that I feel like I can call a friend,” Gellert said slowly, considering his words very carefully. “You deserve to hear about some of my less than admirable moments.” Albus seemed to falter slightly, but Gellert pressed on, leaning back slightly. “After my mother lost it, I dedicated myself to studying. One of my best subjects was dueling, and I decided that I had to set myself apart from the rest. I started designing my own spells. Some of them are rather nasty, but they need to be so. If you are up against a real opponent, you have to do everything you can to survive!” Albus gave a slight nod, watching Gellert’s hazel eyes as he spoke. “Another student, Eugen Kalb, thought it necessary to spread horrible rumors, saying that I was trying my new spells out against unarmed first years and other such incapable opponents. He also denounced me as mad for taking the legend of the Deathly Hallows to be truth rather than fantasy. We quarreled, often, and I finally challenged him to a duel, to settle our score once and for all. It was a vicious fight, and he did well. I daresay he had the upper hand, but I,” he paused, as though admitting a dark, dark secret, “I lost control. I used the Cruciatus Curse on him. I thought I held it on him for only a second.” He looked at Albus with an almost pleading expression. “When I was being brought in front of the professors, I was told that, despite what I thought, he had been under the curse for ten minutes. I was ashamed of myself, and I did not argue with them when my expulsion was decided upon.”

His expression was that of a perfectly penitent, pious young man making his confession.

Albus regarded him in silence for several moments, and Gellert bowed his head in an imitation of shame. His fate, his posture announced, was in Albus’s hands. Everything about him proclaimed that he was sorry for his actions, that it was the mistake that a panicked youth taught to duel to solve problems was apt to make, but that he would not try to excuse what he had done.

“You didn’t mean to use an Unforgivable Curse?” Albus questioned after several long moments of silence.

“Of course not,” Gellert assured him.

“Only once?”

“I would not dare show my face in your company again if I had ever used any of those terrible spells other than the one occasion in which, and the fault is purely mine, I lost control.”

Albus seemed to deliberate this, opening his mouth to speak and then shutting it before anything had come out. He did this once more before ceasing his attempts to speak. He looked right at Gellert, who had since raised his head to meet those blue eyes with his own. Albus’s hands steepled his fingers, licking his lips just slightly as he sorted through his thoughts on this action of his friend’s.

“There is no reason for me to hold it against you,” Albus finally announced, and Gellert allowed himself the faintest of smiles. “It is in the past,” Albus murmured, and Gellert was under the impression that he was speaking more to himself than to the blond, “and it was one time only. Horrible to do, but a mistake that another might easily have made.”

Gellert said nothing, reaching forward to take one of Albus’s hands in both of his, squeezing it slightly. Albus could not help but smile a little at his friend’s reaction.

“Your pardon is all I need,” Gellert murmured after a moment, and Albus smiled a little more. “My actions were deplorable, and to know that you are good enough to forgive me them… I could not ask for a greater act of charity.” The two fell silent for several moments, and Gellert lifted his head when he heard a grandfather clock somewhere in the house striking nine. “I should go,” he said quietly, releasing Albus’s hand and rising.

“I’ll write to you tomorrow, at the very least,” Albus said with a smile. “Maybe things will be quiet enough around here for us to even go out. I’d love to show you Diagon Alley.”

“Great-aunt Bathilda has mentioned it. I would rather enjoy going with you sometime, but I don’t want to drag you away from your family.”

“I am not sure we could do it tomorrow,” Albus said quietly, considering this, “but we will go someday soon. Aberforth can take care of Ariana for a day.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Gellert said.

The two boys walked to the door together, and Albus opened the front door for Gellert. The blond descended the stoop, took a few steps down the street, turned back and waved a little to Albus. When his friend returned the gesture, Gellert turned back around and walked toward his great-aunt’s house. With an Unforgivable forgiven, he was certain now more than ever that this was a friend, a true comrade.

Besides, Kalb had been asking for it.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-07-28T21:08:35Z

Chapter Two
The Long Walk

“It really is such a pity that you and Albus didn’t get along.”

The words dimly registered in Gellert’s mind, but he paid them no mind. It was, at least, the fiftieth time that his great-aunt had said that or something similar. He had found it difficult to get even a moment’s peace to read, as she seemed to know when he was settling in with a book and choose that very moment to bother him with laments about the apparent failure of her efforts to get the two young men to meet. Granted, Gellert thought that she was right. Ever since that first meeting, Albus Dumbledore had not made any effort to call upon either of those living in the home of Bathilda Bagshot; no owl had been sent, nor was there any indication that Albus was even aware of the house’s existence. It had been only two days, but Gellert had seen Albus on the street from his second-story bedroom, and it had been very apparent to the young man inside that the other was pointedly looking anywhere but at the house that he had visited.

However, right as she might be, Bathilda’s renewed sighs of disappointment served only to further the annoyance her great-nephew felt. Gellert had taken the book that Albus had, three days ago, been reading in the library, and he was now studying it carefully. ‘Such a fascinating book,’ he’d thought more than once. He had started taking notes on the first page, and the pile of parchment with all the notes he had taken was nearly as thick as the book itself. His ideas had been semi-solid before, like a winter’s slush, but now they were solidifying completely, with the help of the two wonderful ladies that had written such beautiful essays. He didn’t agree with either of their viewpoints, but he had taken the arguments that they made and fitted many of them into his own rationale without much effort.

“Why is it that you and Albus--”

The question from the woman making Gellert’s bed, despite the fact that the young man had promised to get it done as soon as he had finished the notes for the chapter he was on, was cut off when a soft tapping came from the window. Gellert looked up from his notes, confused at first but then surprised when he saw a moderately large owl, one that made his little one seem even smaller by comparison, with a note tied to its foot. The young man unlocked his window and pushed it open, and the barn owl perched on the sill while Gellert untied the note and rolled it out onto his desk.

‘It still disturbs me a good deal, but I would like to talk about what you said.
Albus’

Gellert had to read the note twice, but that did not stop him from being pleased. Perhaps, he considered, he had not completely driven this would-be companion away. Of course, there was the problem that he had, as Albus said, disturbed him… But perhaps a talk would wipe that from the slate.

“An owl?” Bathilda said with some surprise. “Who’s sending you an owl?” Gellert understood why she was asking. In the three days that he had been here, no post had come for him, no friends had been mentioned. It had seemed to her, no doubt, that he was utterly alone in the world. That wasn’t that far from the truth, he reflected.

“It’s from Albus,” was all Gellert replied, and he ignored whatever questions she asked after that, turning over the scrap of parchment and taking up his quill. He wrote quickly but took care that his writing was still perfectly legible.

‘A walk would be wonderful. There are a few sights I want to see anyway. Meet me out in front of my great-aunt’s house?’

He retied the piece of parchment around the owl’s leg. It had stood on the sill all that while, seeming to know that a response was coming and that it would be a waste of time to go back. Gellert also was sure that it shot a superior look to his small owl, as though believing it unable to make the journey of even just a few houses down. No doubt no such thought went through the bird’s mind, but the idea amused Gellert nonetheless. As soon as the parchment was tied to its leg, the larger owl took flight, heading down the street, and Gellert pushed his chair back from the desk, notes on The Blood Chronicle forgotten now.

“Gellert! Where are you going?” Bathilda called after her great-nephew as he left the room and descended the stairs.

He stopped to reply, “I’m going for a walk with Albus.” He stopped halfway down the stairs to check his appearance in the mirror that hung on the wall. He supposed he should go back upstairs and at least put on the waistcoat that matched the trousers he was wearng, but he decided against it. It was far too hot outside to wear a waistcoat, much less the jacket that would be considered appropriate for leaving the house. Muggles might have the right idea about fashion, he had decided, but it was still something to be altered to suit the needs and whims of the Wizard that wore it.

Gellert left the house, leaning against the railing of the porch. He saw, slightly down the street, another young man leaving his house, a young man whose long auburn hair could not be mistaken. A smile came over Gellert’s features for one of the first times since he had arrived at Godric’s Hollow, and he descended the porch stairs, raising a hand in greeting to Albus. The other gave a nod when he saw the gesture, though he didn’t return it.

“Albus,” Gellert said warmly, holding out his hand when his peer approached.

With some hesitancy, Albus reached out and shook the other’s hand, replying quietly, “Gellert.” A silence fell over them, one that seemed to make Albus uneasy, and those sharp blue eyes met the equally intelligent hazel ones of the former Durmstrang student. “You said there were some sights that you wanted to see,” Albus ventured haltingly.

“Oh! Yes, of course,” Gellert said quietly, chuckling. It was as though his original intention, the very reason that he had come to Godric’s Hollow in the first place, had been wiped from his mind for a few moments upon meeting Albus again. “I am particularly interested in seeing the cemetery here. The magical one, if there are separate ones for Muggles and Wizards.”

“Why do you want to see a cemetery?” Albus questioned, but Gellert did not respond. Albus gave a half-hearted shrug, dismissing the oddity. As they walked, Gellert no more or less than a half step behind Albus, since he did have to follow to find the way, Albus decided that a small talk about the cemetery could not hurt anything. “We just have one. Muggle and Wizard buried there alike.” The slightest twist in Gellert’s expression made Albus keenly aware of his previous comments a couple of days ago. He stated, a little quietly, “You don’t approve.”

There were not many people out, but someone passed them or was across the street every now and then, and Gellert watched them carefully, a slight paranoia flickering in his eyes. The idea that they all knew, that they were all watching him, waiting to see if he would-- but he even knew that was impossible. Most of these people were probably looking at Albus, amazed to see him out and about, especially with someone his own age. Still, when Gellert spoke, it was quietly and with a cautious look around.

“No, I don’t approve. The bones of Wizards and the bones of Muggles should be placed in separate graveyards. After all, animals are not buried alongside people.” He saw the look on Albus’s face, and he knew he had chosen his words poorly. Even as they walked, he raised a hand slightly, a gesture that he made so often but seemed to convey whatever he needed so well. In this case, it was an apology for a statement made too rashly. “That is not to say,” he murmured, “that I see Muggles on the same level as animals. That is cruel. They are still human.” Albus’s expression made it clear to Gellert that some of the damage of that careless remark was being undone. “However,” he paused, either for dramatic emphasis or to seek out the correct words, “there is, or at least should be, a hierarchy. At the top, Wizards. Our spells, potions, and ancient knowledge naturally put us above all else. Next, there are the Muggles. They are intelligent enough, most of them, but they lack many things that we could give them. We should help them, as I said to you before, but they cannot be our equals. They have nothing of equal value to trade for all the things that we could bestow onto them, so they are naturally inferior. Beneath the Muggles are all manner of creatures, with their own hierarchy, but that is no different than the present system, so I need not bother with that.”

Albus watched Gellert, the two now walking side-by-side, step for step. He seemed, again, almost hypnotized by the words, caught up in his own thoughts as well as he processed everything that Gellert said. It was several moments before he fully came to his senses again and, almost bashfully, pointed out that they had missed the cemetery. He turned and Gellert, now silent, followed him in retracing their most recent steps.

The graveyard was barely visible from the street, tucked behind a little church, so Gellert was not surprised that they had missed it. He followed Albus past the church and through the kissing gate that stood as the entrance to the graveyard.

“Whose grave are you looking for?” Albus questioned as Gellert stooped in front of several graves in succession but quickly stood up when he made out the name etched onto the stones.

“Peverell,” Gellert replied plainly. Albus gave him a curious look, but Gellert did not seem to notice in the slightest; he was too busy brushing away moss from one of the graves and straining his eyes to read the name on it.

“Peverell,” Albus repeated. The name way he spoke indicated to the blond that the name was familiar to Albus, and that made Gellert look up at him. “I,” there was a waver in his tone, and Gellert half wondered if he’d somehow offended Albus, but the other steeled himself, “I think it’s over here.” He led the way, Gellert following quickly. The hazel eyes of Gellert caught sight of a tombstone with the name Kendra Dumbledore on it, and he understood why it had pained Albus to come this way. “Here,” Albus said after a moment, indicating the stone.

Gellert dropped without even a moment’s hesitation onto one knee. He brushed away a few vines that had started to grow on the stone and traced the name with his fingers. “Ignotus Peverell,” he read, his tone breathless and with a note of joy. The tone, some might say, with which one would read the name on a tombstone of a lover that one had not known to be dead. The hazel eyes hungrily searched the stone, his careful hand tracing over it as well. A symbol caught his eye, but nothing else. There was no spring or compartment to find to open a hidden place on the grave. “A descendent lives,” he said to himself.

“Gellert, why did you want to see this grave?” Albus asked.

Gellert looked at him as though he were either mad or stupid, or perhaps both. Without saying anything, he made a motion, and Albus understood. The auburn-haired youth knelt on the ground, peering at the grave as keenly as the other, seemingly trying to make out the great significance of this place.

“Do you know what that symbol is, Albus?” Gellert asked, pointing to the small etching beneath the name.

“It looks familiar,” Albus admitted. “I don’t know where from, though.”

Gellert sighed in frustration, but he shook off the feeling to speak warmly to Albus. “It is the mark of the Deathly Hallows!”

“The Deathly Hallows?”

“You don’t know what the Deathly Hallows are?” From his tone, it sounded as though this were a crime against humanity itself.

“I--”

“You know of the story called ‘The Three Brothers,’ don’t you?”

“The legend, you mean? Like, the one in The Tales of Beedle the Bard?”

“That’s precisely the one! The artifacts that the brothers got are also called the Deathly Hallows,” Gellert explained, seeming to have very little patience. “This,” he gestured to the mark again, “is the mark of the Deathly Hallows!” When Albus only raised an eyebrow, Gellert gave a frustrated groan and stood up. He removed his wand from his sleeve and drew in the air, the wand’s path illuminated in bright purple. “The Elder Wand,” a straight line, running vertical, “the Resurrection Stone,” an oval whose two ends met the ends of the line, “and the Cloak of Invisibility,” he drew a triangle encompassing the other shapes. “Whomever possesses the three items will be the master of Death.” He flicked his wand and the shape began to fade. Albus stared at it until it was gone before he spoke.

“Gellert, that’s a children’s tale! It’s not real.”

“Yes, it is,” the blond announced. He had risen to draw the shape, and Albus had risen after the mark had vanished. Gellert caught Albus by the shoulders and gave him a half shake before he realized what he was doing and released him. “If it is not true, then why is a grave marked with the symbol? I have seen the other two graves.” His voice had become quiet again, the look in those hazel eyes making Albus doubt his better judgment. “The Peverell brothers are the brothers in the story. Each one of their graves is marked with this same symbol. Ignotus is the youngest, the one given the cloak. I know where the wand is, unless it has changed hands again. I know where it is! I have seen it!”

He took a deep breath, and he attempted to steady himself. He hadn’t meant to let his voice rise, especially not to the volume it had, but these were the Deathly Hallows that he was discussing, the very things that would make it so simple to make the world how he wanted it to be, how it should be. He looked at Albus, waiting for the denouncement of madness. It never came.

“These things are… real?” Albus said hesitantly. Despite Gellert’s rant, he was a little wary about accepting that these items that had, for so long, been regarded as a tale for young children with nothing more than a moral behind it, were real, that they were the grand things that they seemed to be in legend.

“They are,” Gellert responded.

“You’re looking for them?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“Why? To master Death, of course. To be the master of Death and to change the world, make it better. Better for everyone.”

“Better for everyone,” Albus echoed, and Gellert watched his eyes look first at the Peverell tombstone and then over at his mother’s. He looked back at Gellert after several moments of silence. “You said, a few days ago, that we could change the world.”

“We can,” Gellert said. His blood was racing to hear that repeated, and his mouth felt dry, waiting for the rest of what Albus would have to say.

“Why we? With the Hallows, you could do it alone, I suppose.”

“I always intended to do it alone,” Gellert responded. He would be honest; he would not lie to Albus. He had not come here looking for a partner. He had never wanted a partner.

“Then why--”

The hand raised again, and Albus’s question was silenced. His blue eyes met the almost fevered hazel ones of Gellert.

“Until I met you, I intended to do things alone. I still think I could have. However, you are something different. There is something about you, Albus. Something in your intelligence, in your very manner. You will think I am mad, but I will be frank. I do not think, having met you, I can do this without you.” Albus seemed slightly unnerved by those eyes, by the words he heard and the tone they came in. Gellert offered his hand, never blinking, just staring at those blue eyes. “Will you help me? We can do so much, you and I…”

Albus did not take Gellert’s hand, but he did not break the gaze. “Tell me more,” he finally requested, his own voice a bit breathless, not unlike Gellert’s when he had read the tombstone of the Peverell brother. “I can stay away for a slight bit longer.” Gellert lowered his hand and the two made their way for the kissing gate of the cemetery in an odd silence that was both tense and easy. There was much that they both wanted to say, the silence seemed to announce, but they would wait to continue their discussion until they were out of the cemetery.

In the time it took for them to reach the street again, the fire in Gellert’s eyes had calmed. There was still an air of excitement surrounding him, but he was calmer than he had been in the graveyard.

“What do you want to know?” he finally asked Albus, and the two set off, once more in perfect rhythm with each other, down the street, away from the cemetery and not in the direction of their homes.

Albus hesitated, seeming to have several questions that he was going through and picking out what was best to ask first. He finally found the one he felt should come first. “What would you do with the Muggles? You talk about domination…” He trailed off, looking at the other for the answer.

“Most of them would be left to live their lives as they choose,” Gellert said, noting the look of approval on Albus’s face. “They would live much more closely side-by-side with Wizards, and we would teach them our laws and how to use the gifts we give them without abusing them. Of course, some secrets must be kept, but that is no different than a parent, as we well would be like to the Muggles, not telling a child everything. It would be the natural course of things.” He paused, silently reveling in the attentive audience that he had. Not only an attentive audience, he had to admit, but an inspiring one, one that made everything he said seem that much more thought out, that much more right. “There are some, of course, who could not be left in with others. Those that would try and take our powers for their own, try to usurp us despite our rightful place. Those that would abuse not only what we gave them but the people of the Wizarding communities themselves.” He saw a flicker of anger on Albus’s face, and a sliver of delight ran through him. “Those would have to be put somewhere else. A prison, I think. Not unlike your Azkaban, though,” his hand was up again in a gesture for Albus to be patient with the comment coming, “without the Dementors. That is nothing short of cruel.” The comment pleased Albus, and Gellert was relieved to see that. “Others, if they proved too dangerous, might have to be, regrettably, executed.” Albus’s features wavered, but he offered no protest, seeming to be lost in thought for a moment.

They walked a few more steps together before Albus posed his next question. His tone and the look in his eyes betrayed the would-be casual way of presenting his question, “And Squibs and those not too unlike them? What would you do with them?”

“Sadly,” Gellert murmured, “they would be on the same level as Muggles, below Wizards. However, this would mean that they could live amongst us, Wizards and Muggles alike. They could, like the Muggles, partake of our gifts and the security we would provide. They would be protected from being complete outcasts. They would not be on the same level as Wizards, for they, like Muggles, would have nothing to contribute to us, but they would not be shut away and never again mentioned, as seems an increasingly common practice.” He had hit the right chord, Gellert knew as he watched Albus’s face while the other mulled this over and then nodded ever so faintly.

Albus asked another question, this time stopping, looking Gellert straight in the eye. “Miss Bagshot said, well, more implied when I asked, that you didn’t finish school at Durmstrang. Why not?”

It was a different question than the others had been, and it caught Gellert off guard. “I was expelled,” he said, “for excessive force against another student.” He explained nothing more, and his tone made it clear that he was not likely to discuss it on anyone’s terms but his own. Albus seemed to understand this, and he asked nothing more about it.

“We should start heading back,” he said quietly, noticing that they were at the edge of the town. The two young men turned and resumed their walking, this time in the opposite direction. For several moments, until they were nearly at the little church, neither boy spoke. Albus had hesitated in his movement more than once, and Gellert had waited for him to speak, but he never did. Finally, though, he did say something, this time more quietly than before. “How would,” he paused in his words, and that made Gellert pause mid-stride, “we do it? How would we change the world?”

Gellert smiled just faintly at those words, and he looked right at Albus, neither of them moving now. “It would not be easy,” he said quietly, leaning close to the other as he spoke. “There would be so many that would not see the true ideals that we have, would not see how much we could do for everyone. We would have to gain control of one government first. That would be the most difficult part.” The smile on Albus’s face seemed to say that he was in full agreement that it would be difficult. So difficult, really, that the idea seemed comical. “The Hallows would help, especially the Elder Wand. Something that powerful would do wonders for seizing the power we would need. We would want to try and gain the government by legitimate means, of course,” he mused, but his shoulders shrugged that idea away. “However, that is unlikely. I think it much more likely that, tragic as the resulting skirmish would be, we would have to seize control by force.” He put his arm around Albus’s shoulders as they resumed walking, Gellert’s head still bent down, so he was speaking almost directly in the other’s ear. “Once we gained control, however, we could implement everything. We could combine the worlds together, make the changes that need to be made. We would be revered, even after our deaths. Lauded as the greatest Wizards of all time because of the new era we ushered in.”

“The greatest,” Albus echoed, taking in every word it seemed, processing them each carefully and then even more carefully as a whole. The boys were silent, this silence very calm and steady, until they reached Albus’s door. Albus looked at the house, and Gellert thought he saw a flash of resentment in those blue eyes. The auburn-haired young man turned to him, saying quietly, “I… suppose I must go in. We must talk more.”

“We must,” agreed Gellert. He held out his hand in the same way that he had in the graveyard, and, this time, Albus reached forward and grasped it. Gellert curled his fingers around the hand of Albus’s that he now grasped, and Albus returned the gesture. Their gazes met for several seconds before they broke apart and Albus entered the house. Gellert watched the door for a few moments before he turned away and walked toward his own home. His great-aunt was sure to pester him for days with questions, but he felt that he could endure just about anything, now that he knew he had a partner in all his ideas, all his plans. A partner.

Fic: Two Months of Insanity

2007-07-28T07:48:48Z

Title:
Two Months of Insanity
Author/Artist:
DHFiccer aka Lynn
Rating:
PG, really... Later chapters will be PG-13 or R.
Pairing or Character(s):
Gellert Grindelwald/Albus Dumbledore
Disclaimer:
Not mine, naturally. Owned by J.K. Rowling, though I hope to do them justice.
Author's Note:
I feel this pair needs attention, and I can see I'm not the only one. Posted this fic in two other communities as well, but I figure I should post it in my journal too. Beta-read by Tree of GAFF.

Chapter One
The Meeting of the Minds

The year was 1898, at the height of what the Muggles called the Victorian era, named for the Muggle queen at the time. For the most part, as it had been for centuries, the major Wizarding communities were sheltered within Muggle communities, just out of sight of non-magical eyes. Over the past half-decade, however, Muggle fashion had begun to infiltrate the Wizarding world, which appalled many of the older generation. Some of the more traditional members of the Wizarding world understood the necessity of dressing like a Muggle if one had to wander into their parts of communities, but most were at a loss to explain why their children were increasingly adopting Muggle attire even when surrounded only by those in the Wizarding community. One such community where this blending of cultures was occurring was called Godric’s Hollow, though the Muggles undoubtedly had a different name for it.

The home of Bathilda Bagshot was to be no exception to this strange, newly acquired taste for Muggle garments.

Bathilda Bagshot had recently answered a request, though she might have called it a plea if she had not tried to explain the situation away as civilly as possible to a few neighbors, from a distant family member to take in a young man of somewhat close relation to her that had nowhere else to call home. She had been a little reluctant, hearing that the young man had been expelled from Durmstrang, of all schools, but she had decided that it would be a relief to have a young presence in the house again. After all, it was her brother’s grandson, so she wrote back saying that the boy was welcome in her home.

He had arrived late at night on a warm day in early July. Bathilda had been surprised, since she had assumed, like any other normal visitor, he would have had the decency to call upon her in the morning or afternoon. A reasonable hour, at the very least, that was not an hour past midnight. Still, she had opened her door to him and welcomed him with as much enthusiasm as she could muster after having been dragged from her bed. He had brought with him only a single trunk and an iron cage with a small tawny owl, whose head was tucked under a wing, undisturbed in its sleep, even as the cage swung just slightly.

Without much said to one another, they parted after she had shown him to the room he would be staying in. There would be plenty of time to talk together in the morning, Bathilda had decided. Surely the boy must be tired.

When Bathilda had awoken, it was to the ever-so-faint smell of food. She checked in on her new charge’s room, but it was empty. The cage was open, the window pushed out to allow the owl to hunt, come, and go as it pleased, and the trunk was open, but everything neatly packed. A traveling cloak was folded on top of everything now. She made her way downstairs and into her moderate kitchen, and her eyes widened at what she saw.

There was enough food weighing down her sturdy chestnut table to feed a small army, and the food prepared was diverse enough that no complaint would be raised by even a single member of that army. Eggs were made in every style that she could imagine, and plates of pancakes, bacon, and ham were all laid out. Various kinds of spreads were available in jars, many of which Bathilda knew were from her cabinets. A nice stack of toast, cooked to a golden brown without a hint of being burnt in the slightest, was in the center of the table. Two places were set, a cup of tea at each, with a small pitcher of milk and a bowl of sugar near each cup.

The young man that had arrived the previous night was standing at the stove, his wand out and pointed at it while a brush cleaned the stove seemingly of its own accord. When he was finished cleaning the stove, he lowered his wand, slid it up his sleeve, and turned to face the woman that had entered the kitchen.

“Great-aunt Bathilda,” he said warmly, smiling at her, “good morning.” His curly, golden hair was in need of a trimming. It was long, long enough that the ends reached slightly past his collarbone, and there were several split ends. He seemed conscious of her notice of this, and perhaps conscious of that one ‘off’ part of his appearance, because he ran a hand through his hair, almost as if trying to push it back and out of her view. With that one alteration, Bathilda decided, he would be very handsome indeed. He was a built enough youth, though she should have expected that from a Durmstrang boy, and those hazel eyes seemed to announce a perfectly sweet disposition. It was a bit jarring to see his clothes, though: the trousers and shirt that he wore were undoubtedly Muggle. Had she seen them last night, Bathilda would have assumed that they were worn for the sole purpose of going through the Muggle community, but to see them now surprised her. “I wanted to apologize for waking you so rudely last night,” he said, voice still heavily laden with his German accent, “so I thought you might like some breakfast. I may have made too much, though.” The way he said it seemed to suggest that this was the first time that he had even considered the possibility, despite the fact that it was nearly impossible to spot a bit of the table beneath the plates of food.

“Oh!” Bathilda smiled, and she felt a touch of heat come to her cheeks at the sweetness of the gesture. “That is very sweet of you… Gellert, right?” He nodded. “You’ll have to forgive me for that. I’m afraid my brother and I lost contact. I never did hear from your mother about your birth, so I never really got the chance to learn your name!” He gave a noncommittal shrug, and it seemed that he was not in a mood to discuss his parents. “If there is too much,” Bathilda continued on, taking her seat at the table, after which Gellert finally seated himself, “I can always take some over to Albus.”

“Albus?” Gellert asked out of politeness alone. As far as he was concerned, the neighbors were of no importance. All that mattered was that this woman was… kind enough… to leave him alone in his room and not go snooping through his things. It would be even better if she could keep her curiosity and her questions to a minimum. Gellert had resigned himself to the fact that he would have to answer certain questions, most of which he had anticipated, and had prepared an adequate answers to.

Bathilda nodded, the smile never leaving her face as she took some of the food that was on plates in front of her. “Yes, Albus Dumbledore. He lives down the way, not too far at all. Poor, poor dear.” Gellert knew he didn’t have to ask. He cut a piece of the slice of ham he had taken and waited, chewing the meat. Whatever made his great-aunt call this Albus a ‘poor dear’ was coming. “His mother died only a month ago. His father--” she hesitated, “well, he’s not able to be at home.” Gellert made a mental note that he and this Albus had at least one thing in common. “Has to support his younger siblings. A brother and a sister. The youngest, his sister, is a frail little thing, terribly ill I think. Not even able to attend Hogwarts, poor thing. Imagine,” she gave a sigh and shook her head, “seventeen and all ready with the weight of a family on his shoulders.”

“Seventeen,” Gellert echoed. Obviously, Bathilda took it as a question, since she nodded her head, and her smile widened.

“Yes, seventeen. Oh! Aren’t you just about that age?” Gellert could see where this was going, and he fought the urge to groan. He gave the slightest of nods, though. “I should introduce you to him. Albus really is remarkably brilliant.” The young man at the table knew what that meant. The boy would be utterly infuriating by referencing books every other sentence and expecting him to know the same books word for word like he did. “I should introduce you two-- In fact, I think I will!”

“Wonderful.” Bathilda did not seem aware of the dry tone in her great-nephew’s voice as he responded, or of the way that his eyes rolled the slightest bit before he resumed picking at his ham, eventually eating an egg as well.

For several moments, they ate in silence. Or, at least, Bathilda ate. Gellert took a bite or two of various things, sometimes sipping on the tea that had gone cold in its cup, never altered with milk or sugar. He didn’t even bother to warm the tea. His mind was not on food. His thoughts were on his room, on the books that were stored just under the few changes of clothes-- a mixture of Muggle and Wizarding garments-- on the sheets of parchment that held designs for the future, such grand designs that would make the world what it was supposed to be.

“You must pardon my curiosity,” Bathilda said after a moment, and her voice jarred Gellert’s mind back to the kitchen. He looked at her, unsurprised by the request to answer questions. “Why would such a sweet boy like yourself possibly be expelled from Durmstrang?”

Gellert heaved a sigh, heavier than he might have under normal circumstances. His hazel eyes looked at the woman, a wounded look nestled in them, and she almost felt ashamed to have asked him such a painful question. “My dear great-aunt,” he said quietly, as though admitting some secret shame, “I am not proud of my actions. You are aware, of course, that Durmstrang encourages students to sort their problems out by means of a duel? Naturally, no duel should ever go to the death,” he hastened to explain, holding a hand up to stop the exclamation that he had seen coming. “But they encourage us to settle our differences quickly and efficiently. A fellow student was spreading the most horrible untruths about me, so I challenged him, to clear my name. We fought, and I wounded him badly. Unfortunately for me, the boy was the Headmaster’s nephew. I was brought before the professors and was judged to have used unnecessary force. I do not blame them, not in the slightest. Had they defied the Headmaster, they would have lost their positions. So, as it was, I was forced to pack my things and leave.” He gave a small smile after these words, and Bathilda could not help but admire the bravery of the young man to recount such an experience to her.

As the woman stared at him, torn between admiration and pity, Gellert mildly bowed his head. He excused himself with a few quiet words, offering warmly to clean up the plates once Bathilda had decided what to take to the Dumbledore family, and exited the kitchen. He mounted the stairs in silence and climbed them as quietly as if he was not even on them. Only when he was in his room and his door was securely shut did he allow himself to chuckle a bit. Women, especially as they got older, would believe any story.

Three hours later, the kitchen entirely spotless and the leftover food delivered long ago to the Dumbledore household, Gellert Grindelwald was once more in his room. It was a little less neat than when his aunt had first checked in on him this morning to find him all ready downstairs, but it was nothing that could be called messy. Two pieces of parchment were crumpled up on the floor, an inkwell had been magically stationed on the writing desk in the room so that it would not spill, and the books he had brought with him were arranged on two high bookshelves so high that a Muggle would have had to stand on the trunk he had brought to reach them. The quill in his hand raced across the new piece of parchment that he had spread out, the ink creating first two lines then six as he continued, gradually beginning to take the sketchy shape of a building that was perfectly clear in the young man’s head but would not translate onto parchment.

He growled, frustrated, at the parchment, deposited the quill back in the inkwell, and then crushed the parchment into a ball and threw it over his shoulder onto the floor, as he had done with the other discarded sheets. Something was wrong, yet he could not name it. The building loomed in his mind, perfect, complete, but there was something that would not work when he tried to transfer it to the parchment, to record the vision in his head into a more solid form. Something about it did not work. The knocking at the door downstairs that had suddenly started did not help either. He rose from his chair, went into the hall, and was on the stairs by the time his great-aunt opened the door. He stopped where he was, halfway down the stairs. He could not see who was there, and, in his annoyance at having come down thus far only to finally have the door answered, had not heard whatever the visitor had said. He heard his great-aunt clearly, though.

“Hello, Albus! I’m glad you came over. Come in, come in, my boy! I’ll fetch Gellert. I’m absolutely sure you two will get along.”

“Thank you.” Something in the young man’s tone made Gellert want to chuckle. They were in the same boat, at least. They had been trapped into meeting one another, not wanting to be rude, yet they had the same low expectations. They were not children who automatically wanted to be friends with anyone who was remotely near the same age as they were anymore.

Bathilda led the young man into the library, and Gellert craned his neck for a better look, but his great-aunt continued to block his view unknowingly. When she returned to the entranceway, ready to call upstairs for him, she seemed pleasantly surprised to see him already at the bottom of the stairs.

“Gellert! I was just about to call you!” she announced, seeming to be under the impression that her intent was not obvious.

As sweetly as he could manage, Gellert responded, “Oh? Were you?”

“Yes, yes, my dear boy,” she said with a grin. “Albus has come over, and you simply must meet him.” There was to be no arguing with her, so Gellert nodded and allowed himself to be shown into the library.

It was the room that first caught his attention. Gellert had not yet bothered to explore the house, but he made a note to himself that he would have to do so. The library was aptly named; its books, some in states of near collapse, were of an amazing range of subjects. Some were written by Bathilda herself, but not many that he saw in his quick glance around. Anything he could ever want to read about was contained in this library to at least some degree. After the sweep of the room, his eyes came to rest on the other person there, seated upon a couch with one of the many ancient volumes contained here open in his lap. He looked up when he became aware of Gellert standing near the door, silently watching him.

He was, as Bathilda had said, young, around Gellert’s own age. Gellert had to admit that the first thing that struck him was this young man’s hair. His own had been trimmed after breakfast, as he had wanted to rid himself of the split ends that had accumulated from the lack of care his hair had received during his travels. However, the length of his own hair was nothing compared to this young man’s. His was darker than Gellert’s, auburn rather than blond, and the ends reached his elbows. Gellert would admit to himself that he quite approved, since the other Durmstrang boys had given him more than a little trouble about how long he’d let his own hair get. Bright blue eyes met his own, and Gellert would admit to seeing in them what Bathilda had mentioned. He was meeting a brilliant mind.

The other rose, with the air of someone much older than he was, and held out a hand to Gellert. “Albus Dumbledore. Pleased to meet you.”

“A pleasure,” he replied, shaking Albus’s hand. Perhaps this young man was not quite so bad. As their shake was broken, he supplied his name, “Gellert Grindelwald.”

They stared at one another for several moments, a mutual discomfort hovering between them. They had been told things about one another, things that left questions in the air, but there was the likelihood that Bathilda would come to see how they were, so they were not eager to offend one another. Finally, Gellert decided that the silence had to be broken.

“Please,” he said, motioning to the couch Albus was still standing in front of, “have a seat.” When Albus had seated himself again, Gellert took to the armchair not far from the couch. “What book is that?” he inquired politely, nodding to the volume that had been set down and, so far, ignored since his presence in the room had been noted.

“The Chronicle of Blood by Suzette Hasgin and Odil Mongrave,” Albus replied. His voice had the same kind of hesitancy as Gellert’s and, after a moment, he seemed to decide that Gellert was waiting for an overview of the book’s contents. “It’s very old, from the seventeenth century. Hasgin and Mongrave examine the attempts of integration and cooperation between the Wizarding and Muggle communities. Hasgin is a very decisive separatist. She feels that Muggles and Wizards are to be kept apart to go about their lives without any interference between the two of them. Mongrave is very much for integration, for educating Muggles about our world and asking for their help when we need it.”

“Why in Heaven’s name,” Gellert said suddenly, “would we ever have the need for Muggle help? The only thing matter in which they are superior to us in is fashion.” He glanced at the mirror on the wall and fixed the collar of his Muggle shirt. Albus nearly laughed at this display of vanity, but he leaned forward slightly instead.

“Then you think we are equals with them?” he questioned, in a too-casual voice that Gellert knew at once.

“Of course not.” The response was almost dismissive, and Albus frowned sharply at the tone that had been used. Gellert raised a hand, and Albus had the distinct impression that the gesture was to signify an apology. “Of course Muggles are not our equals,” Gellert murmured, his tone softer now, particular about the words he chose. “We, that is to say magical folk, have been gifted with magic.” He held up a hand to stall Albus’s coming protest. “A few in the Muggle world are given this honor as well, but do we not immediately induct them into our ranks?” Albus could not argue. “Thus, they become part of our world. Those of us gifted with magic can do much for those without magic, and we should. There are countless Muggles that we could help if we could share some of our gifts with them, but to call them our equals is incorrect. We are the ones who can master magic, who can brew potions. We would have to give them what they needed, and there is nothing they could give us of equal value. No-- any magic used to help a Muggle would be charity that could never be repaid. Therefore, we are the superiors. Why should we have to hide away or try and lower ourselves to be the Muggles’ equals,” he posed, “when we should be asserting our rightful place? We deserve to be their superiors, and in that place, we could help them beyond what they might ever imagine possible.”

Albus hesitated, watching Gellert. It had surely been his imagination, he told himself, but it had seemed to him that, as this young man spoke, he swayed, almost like a snake. There was something hypnotic in the way he spoke, so calm, so self-assured, although he must be joking. “And the Statute of Secrecy?” Albus questioned, sure that Gellert would merely smile, shrug, and say that his previous words had just been the child of an idle, curious mind.

“It would have to be overturned.” Gellert’s voice was serious, and his eyes widened a little. Even when he had stopped speaking for a moment, his mouth remained slightly open. “To assert the rightful place of Wizards above Muggles,” his voice lowered even more, and he leaned in. Albus did the same, breathless as he caught every word, “one would have to conquer the Wizarding world first.” He paused, looking at Albus, and he saw the look. Deep in those blue eyes, something he had said had hit the mark. There was a keen intelligence about this young man, yes, but other things struck Gellert as well. There was a need for companionship, Gellert saw. Even if Albus had been hesitant at first to be forced into the company of someone new, that was gone. There was also something about him that Gellert had never felt before. It seemed to him that there was something about this young man that invited confidence. It was a strange feeling, and Gellert was not sure he liked it. He had never before discussed this in so much earnestness, yet he was taken in by the feeling. There was no going back. “We could do it.”

“What?” Albus was startled, as though awakened out of some spell that he had not known was cast.

“My great-aunt sang your praises earlier today.” He had not believed everything that she had said to him as he cleaned the plates after she had returned from the Dumbledores’. He had been sure that either she or the boy who had told her all of the achievements of Albus Dumbledore had been exaggerating. Having met the young man, though, Gellert had been assured of the truth of every word that Bathilda had said. “You are extraordinary. Intelligent and skilled, she says, and I am inclined to believe her.” Albus seemed briefly embarrassed, but that disappeared as Gellert went on. “We could do it,” he repeated. “We are what the Wizarding world needs: you and I, side by side. We can take this world and we can shape it, improve it, help Wizards, Muggles, and Squibs alike.” Something his great-aunt had said made Gellert sure that Albus had great sympathies for the latter group. He was not disappointed by the dawning look in Albus’s eyes. “We could do it, to help them. To help everyone.”

Anything else he might have said was cut off when Bathilda came into the room, carrying a tray with three teacups, a pitcher of milk, and a bowl of sugar cubes. She smiled at the boys, unaware of everything that had passed between them.

“Well! I’m glad the two of you seem to be getting along!” she announced, grinning broadly. Her expression wavered when Albus stood up.

“I’m afraid I have to get going,” Albus said, his voice a little strained.

“You won’t stay for tea?”

“I really have been gone long enough. I don’t want to keep Aberforth waiting,” Albus responded. His excuse was weak, but Bathilda did not argue with him. She seemed to know that it would be pointless.

Gellert rose, despite the discomfort Albus seemed to show at his movement, and he escorted the other to the front door.

“I hope you’ll return,” Gellert said, earnestly.

“I--” Albus hesitated, looking into those hazel eyes, as if trying to deduce exactly what was going on in the other’s mind at that very moment, “I am not sure. I think-- I think you frighten me a little.”

Nothing more was said between the two young men as Albus left the house. Gellert left the door open, leaning on its frame, and he watched Albus until he entered a house across the street and four houses down. Then, once the auburn-haired young man had gone inside after a last look toward Bathilda’s house and the other youth still at the door, Gellert retreated into the house, closed the door, and returned to the library to join his great-aunt for tea.