A burning summer

20th July 1899

"Well ... I have to admit that my aunt's lectures turned out to be far more interesting than I had imagined. I had no idea that Bathilda Bagshot of tiny Godric's Hollow was so famous. The fact is that a lot of more or less known wizards and witches showed up at these conferences, some of whom provided me with enlightening information."

Albus gave him a push when he stopped speaking so that Gellert slipped from above him to his side.

"So?" he urged him, turning to look at him.

"So, in Glasgow I made the acquaintance of a, er... quite particular couple. It was Philippa Macmillan, also a historian from what I understand, and her husband: Cosme Acajor."

The auburn haired frowned, that name was familiar to him.

"A French wandmaker, isn't he?" he thought he remembered. The young German wizard smiled at his excellent memory.

"Precisely. Poor Mr. Acajor had no real desire to attend the conference and had been dragged there by his wife. Obviously he did not follow my aunt's book presentation in any way, but he tried to involve Mrs. Macmillan in a conversation in a rather loud and disturbing voice. As a good nephew I took care of removing the cause of so much noise from the conference room, and I accompanied Mr. Acajor out. Having exchanged a few words with him, I then discovered that the reason for so much agitation on his part was the increasing competition from his colleague Mykew Gregorovitch. Initially I tried to ditch that barking monsieur there, but then he said something that caught my attention: apparently the reason for the immense success Gregorovitch is having at the moment is his possession of an extraordinary, very powerful wand. Cosme Acajor kept complaining that surely a wand of that kind had not really been produced by his colleague and that he must have acquired it somewhere. And I think he's right."

It took Albus a moment to assimilate all the information that the blond had deliberately made long and intricate, then he understood and opened his eyes wide.

"He has it. Do you think it's the Elder wand? But then ..."

"That's why he got so nervous when I went to him almost two years ago to ask him about the Deathstick. He wasn't upset because he was so frightened by the existence of this ancient artefact, but because he was the one who owned it" Gellert formulated in words the thoughts that filled Albus's mind. The young German wizard dropped his head on the pillow with a snort.

"I can't believe I was that stupid," he growled. The auburn haired instead rested his chin on his chest.

"I'm actually quite happy that you were such an idiot, we would never have met hindsight. And then it doesn't matter now, we made it, we found it: now it's time to give shape to our dream," he said, drawing abstract shapes on the blond's chest.

"What about the other Deathly Hallows?" Gellert asked. Albus kissed his abs and he closed his eyes.

"We are the greatest wizards in history, we will find those too" he concluded as if it were the most logical thing in the world and then he let the exaltation of their new discovery and the suffered distance of those last days take over and made love to him.

An hour later Albus came down the stairs with a wonderful and joyful warmth that went through his whole body, starting from his heart. He and Gellert would be out that evening to celebrate the discovery of the Elder Wand and for good luck with their grand ambitions.

At the bottom of the stairs he found Aberforth. He was leaning against the railing and was clearly waiting for him. The auburn haired sighed and sent his brother an inquisitive look.

"You could have at least cast a muffliato ," the younger Dumbledore said coldly and Albus realised he had completely forgotten. He wasn't, however, embarrassed, with Gellert everything was right , so he tried to get away with a: "Sorry, we just forgot."