The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

27. Same Soul

"Do not speak her name to me."

I've never heard Dumbledore with so much vindictiveness in his voice, nor have I ever seen his eyes alight with such an insatiable fury, intertwined with a tragic regret.

"I see my words are wasted on you," Grindelwald says, looking him up and down. "Shame, we could have been wonderful together. Run along, Albus, and tell your Ministry puppeteers that they will have to try harder than this."

"Oh?" Dumbledore echoes.

"You know full well that you cannot harm me. You may not love me anymore, Albus, but our oath remains."

Much to my surprise, Dumbledore chuckles, and the all-too-familiar twinkle in his blue eyes is evident once more; like he knows something you don't. "There's one thing that hasn't changed about you, old friend; your blatant disregard for the things you consider simple."

Without another word, Dumbledore raises his wand, and from it a spectacular display of golden sparks emit, striking Grindelwald in the chest and causing him to stumble backwards with a cry of pain, which quickly turns into a scream of frustration.

"I see," Grindelwald seethes, regaining his posture. "If destiny requires us to play this game, then so be it."

Dumbledore corrects his stance and takes a deep breath. "I would have followed you to the ends of the earth, Gellert."

"And I, you," Grindelwald says softly. After a moment's contemplation, his wand raised before him, Grindelwald speaks again, "I have the Elder Wand, Albus, does that not frighten you?"

"Yes," Dumbledore says truthfully. "I'm terrified. But that is the only time a man can be brave."

And they both raise their wands, lethal curses echoing in the wind, as the streets of Paris begin to disintegrate around me. Just as the spells meet their mark, Dumbledore and Grindelwald are suddenly gone, leaving only darkness and pain in their wake. My chest is aching, and every breath feels as if somebody has stabbed me through the heart.

"Haylee?" comes a faint voice from beside me.

The concern in their voice stings my heart, but I keep my eyes squeezed shut, willing the streets of Paris to materialize once more, my heart thumping in my chest. This is what Dumbledore wanted me to see. When the vision returns, the sun is now steadily on the rise, peaking through the colossal Tower and casting a beautiful, yet mournful, orange light across the city. In my absence, it seems, the glorious duel between Dumbledore and Grindelwald seems to have panned out, and I wonder briefly if Dumbledore purposefully omitted this from his memory, haunted by the ghost of what once was. A little way away Grindelwald is leant against a stone wall, clutching his heart and struggling to catch his breath as Dumbledore surveys him from a distance, a million words unsaid dancing behind his twinkling eyes. Aurors have begun to Disapparate onto the scene: across the way, I recognize Newt Scamander, hand-in-hand with a young witch with a sleek black bob.

Wordlessly, Dumbledore approaches his former lover, kneels, and picks the dreaded Elder Wand up from beside him, and when he holds the wand in his hands for the first time, it is admittedly anti-climatic. Upon the ground, Grindelwald gives a defeated chuckle, wincing when he does so, "may it serve you well, my friend," he says quietly.

Dumbledore casts a reproachful look upon him, staring down the barrel of the Elder wand. "I'm sorry it had to be this way." And he goes to turn his back, his face stoic despite all the emotion he must be feeling.

"I'm not," says Grindelwald, and Dumbledore stops dead in his tracks, glancing over his shoulder. "We've lived a thousand lives together, Albus. I swear, I'll find you in the next. Perhaps fate will be a little kinder to us."