After decades of confinement in a cell barely large enough to allow him to lie down, the vast space that was Hogwarts' Great Hall was mindnumbing. Sitting at the head table, staring down at the incoming students, felt utterly surreal. Gellert feared this marvelous new world to be a dream, or perhaps a vision, which would disintegrate, before he had the chance to properly relish it. Perhaps it was this worry, that made him grasp for Albus' hand beneath the table. The soft chuckle from his husband in combination with the gentle squeeze of his hand grounded the former Dark Lord, assuring him of this reality.
Indeed, here he sat - under the disguise of Albus' long-lost husband, a glamour hiding the more prominent features of his face. It had been a clever idea on Albus' part, as no one would believe the famous hero to break his vanquished foe out of prison to pose as his significant other.
Though Gellert did not remember his time in Durmstrang particularly well - the insignificant memories lost within a sea of possible visions - he immediately noticed drastic differences between the two school systems. His former school had been focused on power, on knowledge, while Hogwarts was... different. Where there had been a glum, quiet atmosphere at Durmstrang, the students entering this Hall were chatting cheerfully, laughing at each other's antics. It was fascinating to watch.
Albus interrupted his observations by standing up, signaling the student body that there was an announcement to make. Once more, Gellert was struck by how graceful the older wizard was, despite his advancing age. Briefly, he wondered where the clumsy boy had gone, who misplaced his wand and wore mismatched socks.
"The best of evenings to you all!", the man who held Gellert's heart exclaimed, a cheerful smile on his lips, "as you may have noticed, we have a new addition to our staff. Due to Professor Trelawney's unexpected retirement, I have invited my husband from his meditational exile in Switzerland. Having spent the past decades training his inner eye, he should prove to be an excellent tutor to you. Please welcome: Professor Gellion Dumbledore!"
Gellert took the announcement as his cue to stand and give a customary, curt, pureblood-bow. Applause began, though it was somewhat subdued due to the obvious shock filling the Great Hall. In his previous life, he might have taken offense. Now, he merely smiled, though it was a tight one, if he was honest. It seemed as though the man had not lost his vanity through decades of imprisonment.
The story was as close to reality as possible, diminishing the risk of Gellert accidentally confusing facts or forgetting it.
"That being said", Albus continued, once Grindelwald had sat back down, "please, tuck in!"
Once he was seated once more, Gellert grinned at the older man: "You always had a flair for the dramatics. I cannot understand how no one has attempted murder yet in all those years I wasn't there to scare them off."
God, how he had missed that laugh. "I assure you, Gel, that whatever it is you were doing to prevent my untimely demise, it was not particularly helpful."
There was a wink, supposed to remind the dark wizard of the time, in which he planned the murder of Albus Dumbledore. It reassured Gellert once more, that he had been given forgiveness, when he least deserved it. However, he found it difficult to joke about these matters - the horrors he committed in the name of a twisted perception of the Greater Good.
"Mr Dumbledore", a voice, sweeter than any of the Headmaster's candies carried to Gellert's ears.
"Yes?", his husband reacted, turning towards a woman Grindelwald successfully identified as the ministry employee and spy.
"I apologize, headmaster, but I was talking to your husband", Umbridge smiled with too many teeth, distaste clearly showing in her eyes.
Gellert merely raised an eyebrow, daring her to continue speaking.
"I could not help but notice, that there is no mention of any marriage documents in the ministry's records?", his new colleague questioned in obvious suspicion.
"There wouldn't be. We performed a blood-pact in 1899, when it was still legal. As it binds souls together, neither of us saw the need to follow through with an official ceremony." Conveniently, Gellert failed to mention the destruction of the pact.
The false smirk on the woman's face became poisonous, as she turned towards Albus: "Headmaster, while there are no clear laws forbidding the employment of spouses, an implication of bias persists." Her teeth clicked together upon finishing her barely concealed threat.
Grindelwald wondered, how his 'husband' could smile at the woman with twinkling eyes, let alone speak in a soft, kind voice: "Ah, Dolores. Surely, you must have known how difficult it would be to hire a competent teacher halfway through the term? After Sybil's sudden indisposition, I hurried to find a teacher, lest the students missed too many lessons, forcing them to self-study. Should you, however, dislike Gellion's teaching methods for any reason, I am willing to hire the centaur Firenze - who proved himself qualified through his knowledge of the correlation between Astrology and the Future."
Clever, Gellert thought, hiding a grin. By implying the employment of a creature, the Headmaster forced Umbridge to choose between two evils (in her eyes). She would not fire him unless she was certain to insure a wizard to follow him.
"Should you have any further concerns", the man continued, "you should take them up with me after the staff-meeting tonight, instead of in from of the entire student body. Public arguments do not do the school's image well."
The twinkle never left his eyes, despite the threat. How Gellert loved him.
*
Unsurprisingly, the staff room's design was... odd - to say the least. Gellert found himself wondering whose idea it had been to give a raging Albus Dumbledore the control of furniture and color scheme of the room. The tapestry on the walls consisted of an irregular pattern of geometric shapes - circles, squares, triangles, stars, and hexagons only being a few of them - of varying colors, of which none matched. The majority of the space was taken up by an assembly of armchairs, sofas, and side tables in a shocking combination of lime-green and orange. The German wizard feared for his eyesight, should he be exposed to this stylistic cruelty for a prolonged period of time. He should have considered this as a method of torture in his more violent days.
Upon entering the room, Albus promptly made his way to a loveseat, pulling Gellert after him. Unceremonially, the two of them plopped down on the comfortable seat, wide grins on their faces. It gelt familiar - a reminiscent shadow of their youth, when they ran from their responsibilities to imagine a perfect world. The German cared little for the raised eyebrows of his new colleagues, nor the disapproving frowns. All he could think at the moment was how lucky he was to be here, how perfect Albus felt at his side.
It took the other professors longer to sink down in their chosen seats, though they did so with much more grace than the couple.
"This should be a rather short affair", Dumbledore opened the meeting, "As I already announced during the feast, this is my husband Gellion, whom I hired as a Divination Teacher for the remainder of this year."
A short round of introductions followed, with each teacher announcing their name, subject, and Hogwarts-house, if applicable. Though few of the witches and wizards left a lasting impression, Gellert forced himself to remember them all. After a brief update on classes and worrisome students, the meeting was adjourned, most teachers fleeing the horrendous design of the room.
Only the glum Potion's Master - Severus Snape - remained, with a frown on his face and a glare directed at the German wizard. His steps held purpose in them, as he stalked towards the old couple on the loveseat.
"May I speak to you, Mr Dumbledore", he demanded, barely concealed dismay in his voice, "in private."
Albus and Gellert exchanged looks, before the latter stood with a shrug. "Of course."
Though did not know what the man wanted from him, he could not have the following scenario in his wildest dreams. Or perhaps he could - it hardly mattered in any way. It sufficed to say that he was thoroughly surprised.
Once they stood outside of the teacher's lounge, a wand was pressed beneath Gellert's chin, forcing him to tilt his head backward.
"Who are you?", Snape snarled, wand painfully boring into his throat.
"I believe introductions were made today", Gellert hissed in reply, words dripping in sarcasm.
Apparently, it was the wrong thing to say, as the man forcefully pushed him against the wall. "I have known Albus Dumbledore for most of my life, yet there was never a trace of you. No pictures in his office, no letters from you, no wedding ring. Not a single public visit. There is a glamour on your face, that tells me you are not who you say you are. I do not know what you did with the Headmaster - what spell or potion you used - but be warned, that there will be dire consequences, should you not lift it this instant."
Gellert wants to laugh, the derisive, condescending laugh lying heavily on his tongue, right beside the curse that will have the Potions Master withering on the floor in an instant. However, he represses both in favor of a smirk, accompanied by a plausible, yet impolite explanation.
"We had a rather horrendous falling out some decades prior, leaving me to flee the country to go into meditational exile. Despite our disagreement, we have been... mending things, as one might say. Now, here I am, helping his course, just as you are. I suggest you get your facts straight before blindly accusing someone without proof again. Especially, if that someone is going to spend the following year in your vicinity and could make your life miserable."
The way Snape's face twisted in anger, his expression almost amusing, had there not been a wand beneath Grindelwald's chin. Slowly, as not to alert the dark-haired man, he reached for his wand, tucked against his thigh.
Yet, before he had the chance to curse his attacker into oblivion, a spell hit him square in the face. A terrifyingly familiar spell.
"Revelio."
Gellert was sure that horror was etched upon his face, as he felt the glamour sliding off his face in an agonizingly slow pace. His prominent features - the ones that would make him recognizable despite his age - were now clear as day, visible for his colleague.
For the first time in a long, long time, the German felt fear. The cursed emotion made him still, his breath catching in his throat, as his body shook with tension. Any moment now, the man would curse him, would alarm the authorities and send him back to the hell that had been his prison - if he was lucky. Never again would he feel the sun's light on his skin, hear the perfect symphony of nature in the middle of a forest, or feel his legs carry him forward for miles on end. He would not be able to kiss Albus again, to hold him in his arms or hear his voice.
Albus. What would happen to him, if they found out he had helped the most dangerous wizard escape his self-build prison? Would they take everything he loved from him - his student, his home, his freedom? Would they send him to that horrifying place, where his father had perished? His heart wept for the man he loved and the risk they had taken.
However, as he stared into the dark pits, that were Severus Snape's eyes, there was no spark of recognition, no fear, only a blank intake of his features. Did he not recognize the former Dark Lord before him, or was the possibility of his and Albus' cooperation simply so absurd? Perhaps...
Gellert's wand was in his hand in the blink of his eyes, a spell had fallen from his lips in the next. Petrified, the Potion's Professor lay before him - eyes wide, hand still clutching his wand, as though it would miraculously save him.
With an intake of breath, Grindelwald decided to take a shot in the dark: "You can see why I choose to disguise my eyes. Heterochromia attracts unwanted attention and is, altogether, a nuisance. Do something like this again, and you will find yourself in a worse state than petrified."
Deliberately, the Divination teacher reapplied the glamour, before turning back towards the staff room. A final flick of his wand released his colleague, before Gellert rejoined Albus.
***
"I still cannot get over the fact that Professor Dumbledore is married!", Hermione exclaimed slightly too loud at breakfast the following morning, "There is not public knowledge on this - no marriage, no public appearances, nothing!"
"I'm more surprised that he's bent", Harry mumbled in response, while stabbing a sausage with his fork.
His brunette friend graced him with a look that came dangerously close to a reprimand, before following with: "Be serious, Harry."
"It should not come as a surprise. Look at his wardrobe - has more resemblance to mum's Christmas tree than an actual grown-up wizard", Ron gave his two knuts through a mouth full of bacon.
"Umbridge will be livid", the girl sighed after a disgusted look at her friend, "I mean she is trying to decrease Dumbledore's influence at Hogwarts and he hires his husband as a teacher."
"We've got him today, don't we?", the Boy-Who-Lived turned towards the redhead, "Think Umbridge will try to kick him out, too?"
The malicious grin spreading across the other's face was answer enough. "I'd like to see her try."
When the trio separated after their Charms lesson, it was the first time in her academic career that Hermione was regretting dropping Divination. She made them promise to tell her exactly what would occur during their lesson - hellbent on finding out exactly why there was so little public knowledge on their Headmaster's husband. Ron and Harry had merely laughed, though they too were anxious to arrive at the lesson.
Surprisingly, instead of a classroom, the location for their lesson was the shore of the black lake. This lead to excited whispers among the fifth year Divination students, as they slowly made their way towards the old wizard awaiting them at the bank.
Professor Gellion Dumbledore's outfit was in stark contrast to his significant other's, the majority of it consisting of darker hues. Yet, it was undeniable that the robes had been chosen with a clear eye for fashion and style. The man's shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a low ponytail, revealing sharp cheekbones and shockingly pale skin.
It did not come as no surprise to find Umbridge standing beside the Professor, armed with a pink clipboard and a sharp, poisonous smile. Her eyes were narrowed and focused upon her uncaring victim.
"Good morning, students", their Professor greeted them with a brief smile, "I have received a detailed report of your previous lessons, though I must admit in believing in a different approach to teaching. It may already too late for you to perfect the technique I will teach you until your OWL exams, which is why you are allowed to inform me, should you wish to pursue the techniques already taught. That being said, the most accurate way of entering the trance necessary for any form of divination is through meditation.
As you may know, those in possession of the Sight will have no trouble to prophecize or foresee the future. These lessons, however, are designed to teach those with no talent for the powers of the river of time. Does anyone here possess these powers?"
Silence reigned, as the students stared at the man before them. Trewlaney had never spoken of the subject in such a way, nor had she hinted upon a natural talent for Divination.
"Forgive me, Professor, but how do you expect the students to answer such a question, when you are supposed to teach them how to obtain the inner eye?", the ministry employee interpreted the silence as an opportunity for her to strike.
There were too many teeth in the grin Dumbledore gave her. It sent shivers down Harry's back, his instincts whispering that there was something fundamentally wrong with the man in front of them.
*
Grindelwald wanted to scream, to curse the foolish woman who dared to question his every move. Once upon a time, she would have bowed down before him, her entire body shaking in terror. There would not have been any of the blatant disrespect left, once he finished torturing her in every way imaginable.
Alas, he reminded himself, Gellert no longer was that rash, despicable murderer anymore. He would not succumb to cruel, horrible actions for the sake of his wounded pride. That mistake had been made before - too many times to count, too many to remember. Albus Dumbledore, Ariana Dumbledore, Credence Barebone, Queenie Goldstein, Newt Scamander, Vinda Rosier, Leta Lestrange...
He would grit his teeth and react with polite passivity. Albus would expect nothing less of him.
"I assure you, Dolores, that one would know without a doubt, should he possess the Sight. It is not an ability that goes unnoticed", he answered the question, deliberately using her first name in a minuscule act of defiance - the only retaliation possible to him.
"Indeed?", the devil hummed, cruel delight evident in her eyes, "How could such a thing be possible, without proper instruction?"
She enjoyed this. Reveled in the power she held over him. Once more, Gellert wondered if others had looked at him as he did at this very instant. Had they felt powerless and weak in regards to the crazy gleam his mismatched eyes held inside? He despised himself.
"Perhaps familiarity with the subject would allow a proper understanding of the concrete workings of the Sight", the former Dark Lord ground out, not missing the opportunity for a snide comment, "Yet, allow me to explain. Similarly to accidental magic, the inner eye manifests itself early on in life, though it varies from wizard to wizard in what way. It is unmistakable."
Umbridge appeared too self-satisfied, as she questioned: "I assume you possess said abilities?" - After his confirming nod, she continued - "Would you be able to give me a small prophecy, in that case? Sybil Trelawney was such a disappointment in her answer."
Finally, Gellert understood. The woman assumed him to be unable, a fraud hired by Dumbledore to spite the Ministry. A wry grin found its way onto his features
"Unfortunately, Dolores, you must have misunderstood. I am not a prophet, but a Seer, therefore unable to give Prophecies", he spoke calmly, before turning to the class, "From a young age, I was able to gain... impressions of the future through my abilities. Seers like me often spend a lifetime perfecting the interpretation of what they experience through their visions. However, even after a century of practice, it is impossible to know the future as a certainty. All I can see is the most likely outcome.
As such, it is difficult for me to share what I experience, as you could not understand it without a certain affinity to the art. Unfortunately, my words are somewhat inaccurate when it comes to describing my visions. I have misled Albus more times than I can count by imprecise wordings. Yet, I can attempt to give you "
A girl with dirty-blond hair and brown eyes, sitting at the front of the class, raised her hand.
"Yes, Ms...?"
"Brown, sir. What was your first vision?", she questioned in a voice he found difficult to tolerate.
"The Great War, as we called it then. I saw an attack on an island in the Caribbean, the death of dozens", he simply stated, a grim smile on his lips.
"I must ask you, Mr. Dumbledore, not to share such monstrosities with the students. It is an entirely inappropriate topic for a group of minors!" The false outrage in the woman's voice made him want to gag.
Dolores Umbridge did not object his words, as perhaps the stern Deputy-Headmistress might have done. No, she objected to his employment in combination with his marital status. And perhaps - had her opinion been based upon his credentials and past - he might have1 understood the standpoint. Alas, her hatred originated with Albus and in Gellert's humble opinion, he was the only one allowed to harbor any negative emotion towards his 'husband'. Not that he did, but life-imprisonment and the obliteration of a life-long dream - no matter how justified - gave him a motive.
Gellert justified himself, forcing another smile onto his lips, though he feared it resembled a grimace: "I merely answered a question truthfully. May I remind you that this is merely a preparation for what my students could find during these lessons? A simple tea leaf reading may show them death and war."
"Are you insinuating another war, Mr. Dumbledore?", Umbridge enquired sweetly, though the threat was evident.
Restraint, Grindelwald reminded himself. Albus needed him to keep stability, to ensure his position at the school, in addition to its safety. He did not, however, have any need for the brash, young man Gellert had once been.
"Indeed, Mrs. Umbridge. As there have been a total of 268 days of peace in the past three thousand years, the assumption of a more conflict is justified, wouldn't you agree?", he did not await her reply, "Though it may not be in the United Kingdom, or even in the Wizarding World, there will be war. Even without my abilities, I could give you such a prediction."
***
Teaching Divination at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry proved to be far less stressful than Gellert would have anticipated, despite the raging devil in pink. With a pathetic amount of four classes - consisting of one group in the third, fourth, and fifth year, in addition to a single student on NEWT level - and the occasional Order of the Phoenix meetings, there was not much work for him to do. As an unpopular elective, which was considered an easy grade, the students seldom possessed talent or passion for his subject. He reckoned the only reason that they even listened to him to be his rhetoric skills - honed through decades of rallies and war.
However, the former Dark Lord was impressed by Patricia Stimpson, a seventh-year Ravenclaw with the Sight. She reminded him of himself at that age, if one was willing to overlook the ideas of genocide, revolution, and immortality that once filled his head. The eagerness and ambition he saw in her eyes whenever she spoke of her newest visions were fascinating. For the first time in an eternity, Gellert understood Albus' foolish desire to pursue a career in teaching.
"Is it our duty to share our knowledge, if it is of relevance for someone else? If I saw a war brewing, should I reveal the vision, or keep it to myself?", Patricia asked him one day, the conflicting emotions apparent on her features, "Do I even have the right to retain information, if it may be important to another's safety?"
Grindelwald sighed heavily, leaning back onto his hands, where they were resting on the soft grass. For a few moments, he merely stared into the clear, blue sky, contemplating the question and its possible answers. It was an ethical dilemma, really. One that had neither right, nor wrong, but weighed nonetheless.
"It isn't", he finally acknowledged, "We have no certainty, merely a possibility. Knowing without confidence is a curse, no matter the weight of your thoughts. Once, decades prior, I had a vision I built my life upon, everything was dependant on its outcome. In the end, it never came true, no matter how many times I saw it. In fact, the opposite was the case."
The image of Albus' cold, dead eyes haunted him to the present day - the brilliant, shining, blue eyes, now lifeless. A corpse, twisted in ways he never thought possible, ripped apart by the sheer magical power of the Obscurial.
It scared Gellert, that once, he had taken pleasure in the gruesome death of the only man who ever understood him, who loved him unconditionally, no matter how many mistakes he made.
After a calming, grounding breath, reminding himself where he was, Grindelwald concluded: "There is no obligation whatsoever to share anything you may see."
Patricia was quiet for a while, simply letting her gaze glide along the landscape. A group of sixth-year students sat a bit further, using their free period to chat about Quidditch, caught his attention momentarily.
"Do you ever withhold information?", his student suddenly blurted, before blushing and adding, "Sir."
Throwing his head back, the once feared Dark Lord chuckled: "Constantly. Albus could never handle everything I witness."
The smile Ms. Stimpson gave him was brief, replaced quickly by her question: "Did you ever regret it?"
"Sometimes."
*
Another upside to his sudden freedom and the unexpectedly short schedule was his ability to spend an almost ridiculous amount of time with Albus Dumbledore, his new (old? pretend?) husband. Officially, they were divorced, the blood pact having been destroyed. Publicly, the two of them were married. Privately... Gellert was uncertain.
They had kissed, of course, though it had been nothing like the firey, passionate experience of their youth. Where once, they had been rushed and wild, there was a new sense of tranquility, of contentment. Yet, there was a new urgency, a need to savor every single second together, for who knew how long their time together would last. After all, the last time had been over far too early.
Gellert loved Albus with all his heart, loved the way the older wizard would tilt his head back, laughing out loud. Loved the way his eyes would sparkle with hidden mirth whenever they discussed possible ways to drive Umbridge out of Hogwarts. He admires the fierceness with which Albus defends his school - his pupils - no matter the allegations. The German's heart seemed to stop whenever the other would look at him, see everything he was, all the secrets he had kept hidden. He was an open book to Dumbledore and he did not regret it in any way.
Grindelwald knew the Headmaster loved him in a similar way, yet they did not dare to rush anything as they had, fearing old and new mistakes. So, the pair merely talked, though there were occasional kisses peppered into the conversations.
One late night, after both of them had seen the bottom of their shot glasses multiple times, Alus pondered: "I should not have been able to beat you in our famous duel. We always were tied, whenever it came to dueling. You spent decades waging war, while I sat in a school, teaching adolescents the basics of transfiguration. Even without this cursed wand, you should have been able to beat me."
The words were slurred, articulated wrongly, making it difficult for Gellert's muddled brain to follow the train of thought.
"Dark Magic, Dark Arts, they are based entirely upon intent. Deep down, I did not want to harm you. I always imagined you to outlive me - to have a content, quiet life away from all the destruction."
"Even when you asked me to revolutionize the world with you?", Albus questioned quietly, voice barely more than a whisper.
There was a heavy silence, filled with uncertainty, before Gellert finally spoke: "When I first met you, I had a vision. It was you, old and battered, standing in a sea of people, yet utterly alone. From the beginning, I knew that whatever we had, it would not last."
"Yet, here we are, together against all odds", Albus whispered.
"The least likely future", Gellert grinned, eyes shining with a mixture of grief and mischief, "If we fall, we fall together."
They raised their glasses together, knocking back the burning, clear liquid.
It all came to an end quicker than they would have liked - too quick.
***
Gellert saw a battle raging in a place he recognized as the British Ministry of Magic from Albus' memories. He saw a group of his students in the midst of pain, death, and destruction, fighting a war that should not be theirs to fight. There was a man - too pale, inhumane - laughing, raging, cursing. Voldemort.
Can't they see a tragedy awaits
Raise the caskets in the sky
***
Albus was gone, had left Gellert's life just as suddenly as he had entered it almost a century prior. The very people his love risked his life for, over and over again, had seized the one material thing the older wizard loved - Hogwarts. In one year, the ministry had taken Dumbledore's career, home, and reputation. Once, Gellert would have murdered the entire institution for less. Now, he followed Albus' whish, protecting the school that gave him sanctuary.
However, this had not stopped him from shouting at Potter and Granger in a secluded part of the school, where he could be certain not to be overheard: "Apparently, they do not teach Common Sense at this school! What foolish, moronic idea is it to name a secret rebel group after the wizard who already stuck his neck out for you? Without his knowledge or consent, nonetheless!
Ms. Granger, after all the gushing from my colleagues about your intellect, I would have expected more of you. Did you not realize the political backlash there would be for Albus if your little club was found out, or did you not care? Both of you should have known of the precarious position he was in, yet you chose to give the ministry reason for their suspicion on a silver platter! One does not need Divination to foresee the most likely event, it is a simple deduction!
Here is an advice for you: In a cold war, diplomacy and calculation are key. Do not act rebellious or brash ever again, if apparently, you are so bad at keeping it secret."
Gellert knew that he was lashing out in a petty manner, searching for a way to deal with the sudden disappearance of his husband. However, the prophesized savior and Boy-Who-Lived should learn that there were consequences to his actions, especially if there was a murderer hellbent on his death.
The three days of silence were some of the worst of Grindelwald's life, as all he could see of his love was Albus, engaged in a duel with an inhumane Dark Lord.
Finally, in the middle of the night, a silver Phoenix arrived, carrying a message with Albus's voice: "Watch over Harry, Voldemort is planning something. I love you, Gellert."
Something was brewing on the horizon, something horrible.
***
"Where's Potter?", Grindelwald hissed, as his hand curled around the Potion Master's collar. Usually, he admired the man - his intellect, his ability to lie, his secrecy. The mistrust, however, was something he could do without at present, especially when the lives of students were at stake. Students, which the former Dark Lord swore to protect.
"Is that not something you should be able to deduce from your visions?", the dark-haired man snarled, lips curling in condescension.
The desire to strangle Severus Snape then and there was overwhelming enough that Gellert had to take a few seconds to fight it.
It took him a few calming breaths to understand. The realization hit him like a train, making his steady heartbeat stutter, his lungs constricting. Ministry, war, battle, death. A reoccurring vision of the boy in danger. In shock, the old man released Snape's robes from his grasp, stepping back. The tragedy would strike, all paths lead to the British Ministry of Magic.
Grindelwald barely had enough thought to conjure his Patronus - a replica of Albus' - to send a warning to his lover - "It's going down. Whatever happens, I love you" - before he ran.
*
In the depth of the Department of Mysteries, there was a Veil, from which the voice of the dead whispered endlessly. It was a curiosity, a phenomenon, that went could not be understood by any living soul. Death, trapped in a corporeal form, yet untouchable. The Veil's presence called for war and conflict like nothing else - yearned for the termination of life.
It, therefore, came as little surprise for Gellert to find a battle raging merely inches away from the mysterious fabric. The battle was chaotic, all elegance or finesse having left in favor of devious tricks and manipulations. Yet, the old wizard could detect a pattern between the varying tactics used by the different fractions found on the battlefield.
There were the Death Eaters, throwing lethal curses left and right, uncaring of who they struck.
On the other hand, the Order carefully aimed its incapacitating spells at the opposing wizards, while simultaneously protecting students.
The children were out of their depths in the chaos, dueling with simple, defensive spells.
"Gellert!", the voice was all too familiar to him, as was the fury it held.
The German's head shot around, his gaze fixing the piercing blue eyes of his love stepping out of a door to his right.
"Fire!", the older wizard yelled, while making his way over to him.
Grindelwald understood the meaning, the reference to his brutal, yet beautiful creation. His hand lifted the wand on its own accord, pointing it into the far corner of the room. Four steps lead Gellert into the room, spells flying past him, losing themselves in the vast room. The spell left his lips as though it hadn't been decades since he last performed it. Blue flames licked out of the tip of his wand, following the circular motion he performed. A circle of fire surrounded himself, Albus, the students, and a few Order members, allowing them to regroup.
How he had missed the adrenaline filling his body, the elegant dance of war.
Watching Albus send a flurry of complex spells over the flames towards the Death Eaters was mesmerizing to Gellert, causing his heart to flutter in his chest. At this moment, he reminded him just as much of the young, intelligent boy he had fallen in love with, as of the fierce, confident man with the fixed moral code. The former Dark Lord knew then, that there was no going back for him, no more denial of his feelings towards the older wizard. He was utterly, madly, and irrevocably in love with him, willing to die for him.
Just as in that fateful summer, the best two months of his life, it was Albus and Gellert against the world. The thrill of danger and battles coursed through the German's veins like an inferno, filling him with euphoria, as he stood shoulder to shoulder with his love - united. He wished for this moment to last an eternity.
Alas, nothing could ever last forever.
A scream broke through the perfect chaos of running Death Eaters and flashing spells, a scream filled with agony and despair. It was the sound of a world crumbling, coming to a sudden end. Time seemed to halt in consideration of the loss.
"Sirius!" Gellert knew the voice, recognized Potter amid sorrow, though his head struggled to connect the emotions to the grinning, rebellious boy in his class.
His eyes flicked towards the boy, where he was trapped in the arms of the werewolf, screaming his lungs out. The brilliant green eyes were clouded with unshed tears, mouth twisted open in denial. It was an image he had seen countless times in the survivors of his war - a haunting, painful image. Black had fallen through the mysterious Veil, disappeared in what could only be assumed to be the realm of death, leaving behind an orphaned boy with no remaining family.
Yet, there was a scorching, unyielding fury in Harry Potter's eyes, as they zeroed in on one of the Death Eaters - Bellatrix Lestrange, as Gellert recognized embarrassingly late. The German admired the determination of the child. Finally, he understood why there was a prophecy revolving around the boy, why he possessed the power to vanquish a powerful wizard. A small part of him was even impressed, as Potter ripped himself from the werewolf's grip, running after a mad, cackling woman.
"Protect them!", Albus yelled at him, turning on his heels in order to follow the wayward, rebellious child.
With grim determination, Gellert did as he was told, allowing the lethal flames to lash out at the Death Eaters, burning, killing. A part of his mind already regretted the deaths, though he knew these were cruel people - just like him.
Grindelwald closed his eyes against the horrifying screams, whishing himself away, towards a peaceful future for Albus and him, far away from war and destruction.
Unfortunately, there seemed to be nothing but death for the two of them.
Fatalité, Tu tiens nos vies dans ta main. Fate, you hold our lives in your hand.
***
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry was quiet and empty, the students having left for their well deserved holidays. Two of the most powerful wizards in history sat side by side at the shores of the black lake, enjoying the last rays of sunshine, lost in deep thought. It could have been a peaceful moment, had it not been for the war stretching its shadow above their heads.
"Harry Potter will have to die", Albus whispered, his head resting in his hands in defeat. His words were heavy, as though spoken through tears: "His life barely began and already he has lost so much. Yet, I have to ask more of him. How could I possibly demand such a monstrosity? He is a child, Gellert, not even out of school!"
Grindelwald sighed, reaching across to pull the older wizard against his chest, carding his hands through the soft, long tresses.
"We will give our all to take the burden off his shoulders", he promises his better half, "the prophecy is merely the most probable future, by no means a certainty. Perhaps, you and I will succeed in the defeat of Lord Voldemort. We may find a way to extract the Horcrux from his body. Do not give up hope, Albus."
"I attempted and failed. Voldemort's soul cannot be extracted", Dumbledore argues, his fingers entwining with Gellert's in a search for support.
A smile ghosted over the German's lips: "Forgive me, Darling, but you are no Dark Lord. I studied the Dark Arts excessively and may be able to find a way."
"What if you are not?"
Gellert let his eyes slide shut, tilting his head back towards the sun. His fingers massaged Albus' scalp in contemplation, who hummed contently.
"You lived through a lifetime of war and pain, loss and betrayal", he finally spoke, "It allows you to understand the cruelty of the world in a unique way. Once, you found yourself in a similar position, did you not? The world urged you to take up your wand and fight me - to end my reign of terror. Perhaps it is time for you to teach him what it means to wage war, what he has to prepare himself for. The agony, the weakness, the sorrow, the casualties. Harry needs to know what awaits him, just as he needs to know how to fight it.
He may have lost much at a young age, but not everything. Still, he holds love and hope in his life. The boy is strong, no matter how it might seem on the outside.
And while I hope we will be able to spare him from all this terror, he will have to be prepared, should worst come to worst."
Albus clenched his fingers around the fabric of the German's robe, as he tilted his head up, giving the younger a weak, teary smile. "I love you, Gellert."
"I love you too, Albus", Grindelwald replied, leaning down to his love.
The kiss was soft and innocent, barely more than a light brush of lips. Yet, it was all the comfort they needed at this moment, a reassurance of companionship, trust, and love. Albus smelled different from their youth - no longer like wilderness, fire, earth, but like vanilla and fresh strawberries. It relaxed Gellert, stealing away his worries, until there was nothing left but the two of them, entwined in past, present, and possibly future.
When they separated, Gellert sported a mischievous grin on his lips, teasing: "Though I do question your choice of wardrobe."
To emphasize the point, his eyes traveled down the item in question - a heavy burgundy robe with orange and yellow embroideries, which was entirely too warm for the blazing heat of July. Had it not been for countless cooling-charms, Albus would have been guaranteed to have a heat stroke.
The wizard's ringed hand smacked his chest, though he was laughing. "I will have you know, that my dress code is incredible", Dumbledore insisted.
"It is incredible how you manage to look beautiful in this fashion faux-pas", Gellert countered with a flirtatious wink.
"Just kiss me again", the older wizard demanded with a roll of his eyes.
"Gladly."
The summer was beautiful, perfect, just as it had been almost a century ago.
***
To be continued