The Greater Good [GrindelwaldxDumbledore]

~Chapter Twelve~ Secrets Revealed

"What are the chances of us brewing some more?" Albus asked as he rested his chin on Gellert's shoulder.

"Unlikely. Most of my potions take anything from two weeks to a month to brew right. Anything that brews quicker won't last more than five minutes with the way your brother fights it."

Albus coughed and tried to swallow back his rising guilt he could feel the heat in his cheeks as he snuggled closer to Gellert.

"I've never met anyone that can knock back extra strength Cappult's sleeping draught and not end up passed out for two days straight." Gellert laughed and shook his head. " I can't think of any potion that will do the job, so I guess we are stuck with spells. Although it might be better if you do them, I'm a little...heavy-handed. You do want him to wake up right? "

Albus hesitated long enough for Gellert to raise a questioning eyebrow, which made him cough and look away. "He's my brother, I'm obligated.." He sighed in defeat and flopped down on Gellert's bed.

"He's not making it easy is he?" Gellert tucked a lock of Albus's auburn hair behind his ear, nudging his glasses. His affections for Albus calming the rage that was slowly burning in his gut.

As if on cue a wailing shriek filled the air of the cramped bedroom as Albus pulled out his pocket watch as if he had been scalded. "Got to go?" Gellert said before Albus could open his mouth, he hadn't intended for it to come out in such a cold tone but there wasn't much of an opportunity to apologise. Albus was out of the door before his heat muddled brain had registered his insult.

Like the many episodes that had preceded this one, Albus was forced to stay away for a couple of days, their only communications delivered via owl. It gave him too much time to think, to question what he was doing and what was the right answer. His desire to find the hallows burned ever strong, but there was a new fire that burned for Albus that was competing for oxygen. His focus shifted between them like a tennis ball in a championship final, making him feel a little sick. He couldn't decide, and that sensation wasn't one he was familiar with.

Questions like this would have been fielded on his confidant, his Grandfather, a wizened man who had always listened and offered up his sound advice. The man hadn't been phased by Gellert's feelings for another boy, he had threatened to disown his son, should Gellert's father not react appropriately to the news. It was the sound of strength and support that Gellert had needed to counter his doleful mother.

The thought stung him, in the way only thoughts of her could. He pushed her cold words from his ears, shaking them off and walking out of the room to put as much distance from her ghostly presence as he could. He needed to focus on the plan, find something that might push Albus into giving up on his troublesome brother and join him on the journey of a lifetime.

Before he knew it he was back in the library, wandering among the newly organised shelves, his eyes working without conscious thought. With his eyes firmly on the shelves, his foot collided with something heavy and metallic, causing him to pinwheel dramatically as he tried to save his head from the pointed corner of a neighbouring bookcase. Cursing in the three languages he was fluent in and two he only had a limited vocabulary of he clamped a hand over his bleeding scalp and hopped wildly on the foot that didn't have re-broken toes.

Once able to stand he picked up the offending item, an innocuous-looking brass box, and was about to throw it when the catch unlocked. The lid dropping and bashing him in the back of the head as papers fell like snowflakes.

As the stars slowly faded from his eyes he could make out that there was more than paper at his feet. A couple of photographs stood out amongst the torn notebook pages and letters. He recognised the small boy beaming up at him from atop a small thestral as himself, the memory of the day gone. The other photograph was much older, the corners dog-eared and stained by time. He could just make out the stones of an ancient henge in the background before the two figures came into view, his grandfather and Bathilda no older than their mid-twenties.