Chapter Text
NEVER NOT
CHAPTER TWO
There is a stranger in the cemetery, and Albus can’t help but feel like perhaps the universe has finally deigned to break the monotony of his day-to-day with something wholly unexpected, and perhaps a little underwhelming.
He’d gone to visit his mother with flowers, as he always does whenever he needs an excuse to escape the house. Usually, he’s completely alone amongst the tombstones, occasionally catching a glimpse of one of Godric’s Hollow’s familiar resident’s coming and going, but, a stranger? Now that was different.
In truth, Albus probably would have missed the interloper if it weren’t for the eye-catching way the setting sun plays with white-gold strands of hair. Oh, and the fervent cursing in German and Russian, or some mixture of every language in-between, coming from several rows down.
The stranger is crouched over a particular tombstone with a luminous orb held in one hand up close to the etchings. From a distance, Albus can make out a slender profile and agitated movements as the blonde clearly fails to find whatever it is he is looking for.
With a visible sigh, the stranger stands in a fluid motion and moves his wand in graceful yet violent slashes through the air. Even with the distance between them, Albus takes in a sharp breath at the sense of pure power that flares from the youth as a ghostly blue flame hovers for a moment above the tombstone.
Detecting another’s magic is a strange and imprecise qrt. For the most part, ambient magic feels as unremarkable as breathing to the vast majority of witches and wizards. That is, unless you are particularly sensitive to it, or happen to wield an immense amount of power of your own. To Albus, the stranger’s magic reminds him of a brisk and icy wind racing towards the sun.
From the corner of his eye, he can see similar flames flicker into life above a dozen of the other graves before they all disappear simultaneously with an invisible cue. It’s an interesting twist on the conventional marker charm, and Albus appreciates the clever addition of dispersion, and perhaps a timer, to the spell.
The stranger straightens and dusts off his attire, before moving to the next tombstone in the row. Before he gets even close, however, he pauses and becomes unnaturally still.
Albus isn’t sure what it is that gives him away, but he blushes as the blonde slowly turns and gives him a scrutinizing look that’s paired with a mischievous grin. His eyes are a disconcerting mismatched combination – one dark, one light.
“It isn’t polite to stare,” he says with a wink.
And before Albus can even reply, the stranger apparates away.
It was four days after Beauxbatons and Durmstrang had arrived, and Albus entered the restricted section of the library on a particular mission to find A Treatise on Transfiguration and Morality by Leander Mulcahy. Rather than stifle his apparent genius, the Hogwarts faculty had always encouraged his intellectual pursuits and allowed him to work on more advanced projects with their supervision.
Weaving through aisles of books, Albus felt as though a weight had fallen off his shoulders – there was nowhere in the world that was quite as comforting as the Hogwarts library.
He moved past the first few shelves dedicated to potion making and then the ominous wing for ancient runes, before heading towards the corner of the restricted section that he knew best. Pausing as he neared the right location, he tilted his head sideways and absentmindedly mumbled to himself, “If I were A Treatise on Transfiguration, where would I be?”
A loud and derisive snort was the answer he received, and Albus almost bumped his nose against book spines in surprise.
“You’d be in the bin with the rest of Mulcahy’s books, where they belong,” came a lightly accented sardonic voice and the sound of shuffling paper.
Blushing at having been caught talking to himself, Albus peered around the corner of the shelf and was met with the sight of absolute chaos.
It was a little-known fact that the restricted section hid a study nook – and he considered it little known solely due to the fact that of all the times Albus had been there, he was the only one who seemed to use it. The restricted section was, after all, restricted and only students with express permission from the Hogwarts staff were allowed within.
Books lay spread-eagled in stacks across the wooden desk and a tangle of limbs lounged lazily in the two-seater sofa behind it. Legs dangled over one plush armrest, and tousled blonde curls rested against the other. It looked like quite an uncomfortable position to be in, if you asked Albus.
Suspended in the air above the interloper’s face was the deep red cover of A Treatise, and with a derisive laugh, the young man snapped the book shut and waved it languidly in Albus’s general direction.
“You’d do better to read some of Caldwell’s essays if you’re looking for anything considered remotely interesting – Mulcahy’s nonsensical at best,” he added while propping himself up onto his elbows and peering back at Albus.
If Albus thought he’d been blushing before then he was certain his face radiated nuclear waves now. It was him – the Durmstrang boy with the laughing eyes and sharp cheekbones who moved with a confidence Albus found achingly familiar. Not in the least because Albus was now sure that the dream he’d had last night and the nights before had been a very crude imitation of the real thing.
“I’d disagree,” Albus found himself automatically replying, “Mulcahy tends to go in circles, but at least he explores all possible variables. Caldwell, on the other hand, builds up a compelling case for only one perspective that crumbles when you realise she’s writing to confirm her own biases.”
The blonde boy laughed and he sounded positively delighted, “Well, you might have a point there, but isn’t that just another way of saying there’s zero practical applicability of Mulcahy’s theories? I’d say at least Caldwell had the determination to try and push at the barriers of magic however misguided she may have been.”
“Had she not pushed at those barriers, perhaps her mind would have stayed intact for much longer,” Albus was surprised at how remarkably calm he sounded as the fluttering beat of his heart warred with the lure of a theoretical discussion.
“Quite probably,” the blonde agreed, and Albus realized with a start that he’d recalled the eyes incorrectly. It was a very slight variation in colour that was hardly noticeable, really, but one of the boy’s eyes was a pale green and the other leaned blue.
“But truthfully – morality? Of all the topics to pair with transfiguration, and Mulcahy goes with morality? Caldwell at least takes you on an adventure even if her later works are indecipherable,” he forged on over Albus’s brief pause.
Albus smiled ruefully, “While that may be true, I’m not entirely sure McGonagall’s going to accept that as a footnote for my paper.”
“May I help you, young man?” an acerbic voice cut through the conversation like a banshee’s cry and Albus froze with dread. Hastily, the blonde slipped out of the chair and stood at attention, a sheepish look accompanying his chagrin.
While he had never personally been on the bad side of Madame Pince, librarian extraordinaire, Albus had heard plenty of horror stories from other students about being banned from the library for months on end as punishment for crossing her.
“In all my years, I have never seen such disrespect in my library,” hissed Madame Pince as she stepped out from between bookshelves, bespectacled eyes focused solely on the Durmstrang student who had been lounging around and making a mess in her restricted section.
While time had sapped the colour from her hair and a lifetime of poring over books had given her an owlish look, the brown eyes behind her glasses were as sharp as they ever were.
Pausing, she noticed Albus standing at the junction as well and softened momentarily, “Oh hello Albus, dear, I’ve received that book you ordered the other week – you can come pick it up later if you like –”
Albus nodded mutely.
“– and in the restricted section!” continued Madame Pince as she returned her attention to the encroaching blonde. “You can be sure I’ll be reporting you to your Head of House and you’ll be banned from the library for the rest of the year!”
Materialising her wand from her sleeve, the librarian moved it in tight slashes over the scattered books while muttering an incantation under her breath. As one, the volumes gently dislodged themselves and soared back to their homes. Albus narrowly missed being hit in the face as A Treatise nestled into the shelf beside him.
“Forgiveness, madame – I mean no disrespect,” interjected the blonde as he adopted a reproachful look. The strange youth hurried to move his own papers out of the way of flying books and he hastily grabbed his crimson cloak from where it had fallen to the floor.
Madame Pince paused, brows furrowed as realization slowly dawned on her.
“I am from Durmstrang – I have never seen a library that is as beautiful or comprehensive as this one,” he continued, and, was it just Albus, or was his accent layered on quite a bit heavier than before? “I was unaware that this area was restricted – I hope you will forgive me.”
“From Durmstrang, of course,” Madame Pince sniffed and defrosted a fraction, “well, I suppose that makes sense – wouldn’t know a book if one hit them in the face.”
The blonde draped the cloak over his simple linen shirt and black denim combination, casting a doe-eyed look in Madame Pince’s direction as she continued to scrutinize him.
“What is your name, young man?” she asked finally after a slow pause.
“Gellert Blume, Madame Librarian,” he gave a saccharine smile.
“Right – students are not permitted in the restricted section without written permission from Hogwarts faculty,” said Madame Pince, clipping each word, “See that this doesn’t happen again.”
And with that, the librarian spun on her heel and seemed to melt away into another section of the library, leaving two slightly stunned young men in her wake.
Albus exhaled quietly in relief and was surprised to hear a matching sound from the blonde, paired with a crooked grin that reminded Albus of hazy dreams and twisted sheets. Averting his gaze, Albus turned his attention back to the shelves of Transfiguration books with a singular focus.
He almost didn’t notice Gellert approach until the boy was uncomfortably close. The blonde leaned in to pluck a leather-bound book from the shelf, and Albus couldn’t resist the temptation of catching a glimpse of the cover: Transformations of the Soul by Isaiah Miranus.
“This is the book you’re looking for, by the way,” said Gellert.
“Is it?” much to his own exasperation, Albus was drawn back into conversation in an instant.
“Miranus tackles the same ideas as Mulcahy in chapter nineteen and it’s a much more compelling read,” Gellert responded with a wink, and Albus’s eyes widened in surprise as he realized that no, he had not hallucinated Gellert’s heavier accent when speaking with Madame Pince earlier.
“Does that work for you often?” Albus blurted out before realizing it.
“Book recommendations?” Gellert was taken aback, “Usually.”
“No, I mean, your accent,” Albus said sheepishly before realizing it probably wasn’t the most polite question to ask.
Luckily for him, Gellert’s face lit up with a knowing smirk, “Oh that – most people can’t resist an accent and besides, I know better than to cross a librarian.”
Albus couldn’t hide his lopsided smile of agreement.
Up close, Albus could appreciate the sharp lines of Gellert’s face and the subtle contrast in colour between his eyes. He also noticed that, despite the fact that Albus knew he was several inches taller than Gellert, the blonde held himself with an air that made Albus feel like the smaller one.
“It’s Albus, right?” Gellert’s voice was light and musical as he handed the book to Albus.
“Yes,” Albus replied with a twinkle in his eyes, “And you’re Gellert, I assume, unless that too was part of your ruse.”
“Ah, that part was true unfortunately,” Gellert turned his gaze back to the bookshelf, “So what sort of project has Hogwarts got you working on that would require you to trawl through these tomes? I don’t imagine such dry texts are part of the Hogwarts curriculum.”
“Well actually, I’m working on a small paper examining the classifications of esoteric magicks,” said Albus as he gently eased A Treatise back out from the shelf, “Mulcahy has a particular chapter on the ethics of permanent transfiguration on living creatures that I was hoping to cite.”
“The contemporary classifications hardly cover the more interesting and arcane magicks in any case,” Gellert responded with an eyeroll, “As though most things can be categorised as merely light or dark!”
Nodding in agreement, Albus busied himself with slipping the books delicately into the mouth of his enhanced canvas bag one by one and moving to the next shelf in the corridor. He stooped low to examine the fading gold leaf titles of a particular set of books before triumphantly plucking a navy volume from its home.
“Speaking of,” the blonde peered at Albus from the corner of his eyes before waving a lazy hand over the shelves, “in which section of the library would you find the more esoteric texts anyway?”
Albus was intrigued, “What do you mean by esoteric? The restricted section probably has the most extensive collections of rare texts on this side of the continent, although I will say I suspect there are even more challenging ones in the personal libraries of the professors.”
“Oh, you know, just your regular books on the higher magicks,” Gellert moved his hands in the air as though he were fishing for the right words. An irresistible smile crept into his mismatched eyes, “things like raising the dead, seeing through time and bewitching lovers, et cetera.”
“Ah yes, because one never knows when it might be necessary to summon ghosts on short notice, right?” Albus played along with a mock serious look. “I hope you’re not planning on resurrecting a past lover – magic and the deceased tend not to mix well, so I’d urge you not to try.”
“Ah but you see,” returned Gellert with a mischievous grin that sent Albus’s heart racing just a little faster, “Mine is a true love, and even Death itself cannot hold us apart for too long."
“A truer love than that in the Tale of the Three Brothers indeed, if you can best even Death on your quest,” mused Albus, and he blushed furiously before the words had even finished tumbling out of his mouth. How childish of him, to be speaking of children’s stories in the restricted section of all places!
A strange look flickered across Gellert’s face for a brief moment and Albus was taken aback at the preternatural stillness that enveloped the blonde as a slight crease formed on his brow.
“In any case,” said Albus hastily in an attempt to smooth over the silence, “I would have thought Durmstrang would have had more than enough books on those more ‘esoteric’ topics you’re interested in.”
Gellert’s magnetic smile and languid energy snapped back into place, “You would think so, wouldn’t you?”
In the distance, a bell chimed and all of a sudden Albus was hyper aware of the fact that he’d completely lost track of time. A panicked look unfurled on his face as he hastily stuffed two more tomes into his bag and mentally calculated the shortest route to Professor Varley’s classroom.
“Time to go?” asked Gellert, and unless Albus was mistaken, the blonde boy looked slightly disappointed.
“Yes, I’m – I’ll be late,” said Albus, torn between wanting to stay for longer and the strict discipline he usually had when it came to his studies, “I – it was lovely to meet you."
Gellert lifted a lazy hand in farewell as Albus swiftly disappeared from view and bolted out of the library. It didn’t even occur to him until he was half an hour into his Defence Against the Dark Arts class that he’d left Gellert all alone in the restricted section behind him.
Albus knocks on Bathilda Bagshot’s door hoping he doesn’t look as unkempt as he usually does after a particularly challenging morning in the family home. He tugs at the sleeves of his shirt, tucks strands of auburn hair behind his ears and casts a furtive look at the disheveled pair behind him, tamping down on the small flash of annoyance that nips at his temper.
He and Abe had tried, of course. They’d managed to cajole Ariana, who was in one of her more whimsical moods today, into her favourite dress, the cornflower blue silk complementing the ocean tones of her eyes.
She looks lovely, as ever. But she’d magicked up a fight, and even the hastily applied dittany can’t hide the small cuts on Abe’s face.
“Don’t see why we need to meet anyone Batty Bagshot thinks we should know!” hisses Abe under his breath and Albus resists the urge to roll his eyes and hiss something condescending back.
“Albus! Is that you dear?” comes the warm voice as the door swings open and immediately Albus feels himself slipping a genial smile over his face.
“Yes, of course – you said morning tea would suit you?” he ventures as Bathilda waves the three Dumbledore children inside.
Diminutive in stature with mousy brown hair that spills down her back in waves, the middle-aged scholar had been neighbor to the Dumbledores for as long as the family had lived in Godric’s Hollow.
Having taken an instant liking to the family, Bathilda quickly developed a strong fondness for Albus in particular, with the pair of them regularly poring over academic texts while enjoying cups of tea – a pastime they’d both taken up more frequently in the wake of the accident.
“Ah Ariana, I’m so glad you could make it, dear one,” Bathilda croons, guiding them down the hallway. “And you too, of course, Aberforth – I’ve baked a batch of cauldron cakes just for you.”
Aberforth grunts in appreciation, blue eyes focused only on making sure Ariana doesn’t trip over anything on their way through the house. In front of him, the slender blonde girl smiles dreamily at Bathilda, seeming to float as she walks into the kitchen and dining room.
Leaving Aberforth to mind their sister, Albus drifts to the cupboards he knows almost as well as his own and plucks out a jar of tea leaves and a generous teapot from the shelves, before setting it to boil.
“My great-nephew is visiting – he’s from, well, Austria, originally. Or was it Germany?” Bathilda rambles as she places some butter and jams on the table. “I can’t recall – but I think perhaps Germany before he went to Durmstrang.”
The sullen look on Aberforth’s face deepens significantly and Albus elbows him sharply before the younger Dumbledore can begin an inevitable tirade on dark magick and darker schools.
“Talking about me, Tante?” comes an accented voice from above and the sound of thudding footsteps moving down a staircase.
The footsteps pause mid-flight, and there, basking in the glow of the sunlight streaming into the house, stands a young man with a cloud of white-gold hair that seems to float around him like a halo.
Albus’s heart begins to race as he instantly recognizes Bathilda Bagshot’s great-nephew as the stranger from the cemetery. How curious.
Casting a curious gaze over the gathering below, the blonde lets out an exasperated sigh before moving to join them at the dining table – grey tome held tightly in one hand.
“I didn’t know you were planning on having guests, Tante,” he says with a rueful smile. If he recognizes Albus from the graveyard, he certainly doesn’t show it, and Albus has a feeling it’s probably not a topic the youth would enjoy over tea.
As the blonde approaches, Albus can feel the true extent of the magic rolling off of him in waves. It creates an imperceptible humming in the air that sends Albus’s own magic tensing and coiling in response. It’s a surprisingly exhilarating yet slightly uncomfortable feeling, and he isn’t quite sure what to make of it.
Bathilda rolls her eyes in an exaggerated fashion, “Albus, Aberforth and Ariana, allow me to introduce my delinquent of a great-nephew, Gellert Grindelwald.”
This pulls an unexpected laugh out of Ariana whose twinkling blue eyes focus on Gellert with an unsettling intensity. “What beautiful magic,” she breathes, “Almost as lovely as Alby’s.”
Beside Ariana, Aberforth’s scowl darkens, and he stands from his seat to lean pointedly over the dining table in Gellert’s direction. “I’m going to need to you to stop that now.”
Gellert blinks owlishly as he meets Aberforth’s eyes with his own, but before he can say anything Bathilda helpfully chimes in agreement, “Ah yes, I should have mentioned this earlier – Ariana is particularly sensitive to strong magic – be a dear, Gellert, and stop trying to show off.”
With a scrutinizing glance at Ariana, Gellert exhales noisily and just like that, the faint tension in the air dissipates as his magic relaxes. Almost simultaneously, the feverish look in Ariana’s eyes subsides, and Albus can feel his own magic calming down in response.
Breathing a sigh of relief and casting a warning look at Aberforth, Albus moves to fetch the teapot, settling it amongst the trays of pastries Bathilda laid out for them.
“Sorry Tante, old habits die hard,” Gellert says with a charming smile as he takes a seat at the table nonchalantly. He summons a set of teacups from the cupboards and sends them soaring through the air before landing neatly on the table.
“That what they teach you at Durmstrang?” Aberforth’s voice is as rough and snide as a voice can be.
“Why, as a matter of fact, it is,” Gellert’s reply is saccharine sweet, “Magic is the greatest measure of a witch or wizard – so why should we hide that? Especially amongst friends!”
“Ah yes, the Durmstrang method of broadcasting one’s magic with absolutely no subtlety,” Bathilda smiles, “I think we teach a more subdued style of magic at Hogwarts – wouldn’t you agree, Albus?”
“Alby has beautiful magic,” says Ariana again, and this time her voice is more lucid as she mechanically reaches for a pastry to eat. Seated on the other side of Ariana, Albus blushes and focuses solely on his cup of tea.
“Is that so?” Gellert asks, and his voice is full of warmth as he speaks to Ariana as though she is the only one in the room. He draws his wand out and points it at the palm of his hand before muttering a quick incantation and slowly, petal by petal, a delicate magnolia flower assembles itself from thin air, fragrance and all.
Ariana lets out a delighted laugh as he hands it to her.
“So, is it true?” asks Gellert as he turns his attention to Albus, his voice one part teasing and another part appraising, “Is your magic more beautiful than mine?”
“Oh, I wouldn’t be so conceited as to think such a thing,” says Albus after a slow pause despite Ariana’s fervent nodding next to him. “I would say all magic is beautiful – in its own way."
“False modesty doesn’t suit you,” observes Gellert in response, and he says it as though he were reporting the weather, “Tante Hilda informs me that you’re the most talented young wizard in Britain.”
“I – well, that is,” Albus is momentarily lost for words.
“Aye, and yet here he is,” says Aberforth with a sneer. It’s a cruel jab in the aftermath of Albus’s strangled adventure to Europe, and both of the Dumbledore brothers and Bathilda know it.
“Gellert is visiting for the summer,” interjects Bathilda in an attempt to lighten the conversation, “He has an interest in magical history, so my niece thought it a clever idea to saddle me with him for a little while.”
“Is that so?” says Albus, mentally joining the dots. Well, that certainly explained the cemetery fireworks. “And what area are you hoping to focus on?”
“Oh, varied bits and pieces,” responds Gellert, “I’m particularly interested in historical artifacts and magical sources, as well as magical society as a construct.”
Bathilda laughs in good humour, “All very ambitious and complicated, of course.”
“Tante, what will you be responding to Madame Caldwell with, on her request for your review?” Gellert asks, changing the topic as he waves the grey book he’d come down with in the air.
The book in question is a roughly bound leather-bound volume with the title Major Runes and Permanence embossed beautifully in gold on the cover. Having read the book a week before, Albus found his curiousity piqued.
“It’s a… it’s not quite her best work,” comes Bathilda’s reluctant reply, and she casts an apologetic look at the book as though it is Clarissa Caldwell in real life. “Clarissa is a dear friend of mine but… I fear it’s both too complex and too shallow at the same time!”
“Yes, on that we can agree, but as far as major runes and the concept of matter go, her experiments feel like they could be on the cusp of something far greater,” Gellert is animated in his response, and it’s clear to Albus that the blonde has been thinking about this book for quite some time.
“I thought her chapters on how to strengthen the permanence of major runes in magical workings quite fascinating,” says Albus lightly, feeling instantly more relaxed with an academic topic. “It’s well known that enchanted objects decay with time and that runeworking accelerates the timeline by order of magnitude, but it seems like her methods have had some success at explaining why some are more durable than others.”
“Yes, but that involves some dark magic, Albus,” chides Bathilda, even as her eyes twinkle good naturedly.
Gellert scoffs, “Tante, you of all witches should know that dark magic doesn’t exist! Madame Caldwell’s breakthroughs could have lasting implications for how we create and maintain larger workings – particularly ones that are at risk of damage by the non-magique.”
“While that’s true, I will concede Bathilda’s point,” replies Albus. “Most witches and wizards probably don’t need to try and dabble in both major runeworking and blood magic at the same time – it’s bound to end horribly.”
Gellert shrugs in agreement before responding, and Albus is swept up in the debate, fascinated that for once, he’s having a conversation with someone who can hold their own intellectually, and isn’t one of his various esteemed pen pals.
He doesn’t notice Abe taking Ariana by the hand and leading her out of Bathilda’s house back to their own home two hours later with extra cakes stuffed in their pockets. All he notices is Gellert who makes the room vibrate with his energy and it isn’t even just his magic that makes Albus’s blood sing –
“I need help,” said Albus as he sat down next to Al and Scorpius for breakfast the next day. Eyes focused on the table, he hurriedly heaped a stack of pancakes onto his plate and drizzled an overly generous serving of maple syrup over the top.
“If you’re going to ask why everyone keeps telling you to put your name in the damn cup – for the first and last time, it’s because we all know you’d win the Tournament with your eyes shut,” replied Scorpius immediately, scooting over to make more space for the redhead.
“What?” came Albus’s genuinely confused response. This was not what he’d been planning on talking about.
Al laughed, “I told you – he hasn’t even noticed that almost nobody in the school has put their name in the cup!”
“I – what does that have to do with me?” Albus was perplexed and momentarily speechless.
“Honestly Albus, for Head Boy you sure don’t seem to be paying too much attention to what’s going on at Hogwarts,” teased Al.
“Nobody wants to ask you directly, but everyone under the sun and all the professors have been asking us if you’ve put your name in the cup,” said Scorpius with a heavy sigh, “So would you just do it already?”
“Are you not going to put your name forward?” came a honeyed voice, and Albus felt his heart sink in his chest even as he tamped down on a hysterical laugh. Trust.
Al and Scorpius turned their heads to eye the newcomer and twin smug grins blossomed on their faces as Gellert sauntered towards the table. The blonde slid into the seat opposite the trio, eyes devoted solely to Albus as though it were the most natural thing in the world.
“Truthfully, I haven’t decided yet,” Albus replied, and to his surprise, he realized that he had been so busy with his head boy duties, extracurricular assignments, and quietly panicking over certain dreams that he really hadn’t given the question much thought.
“It seems rather… well, you know. I’m not sure the whole ‘fighting for the glory of Hogwarts’ in an international competition is really my thing,” he continued lamely, eyes focused steadfast on his pancakes.
“Nonsense,” Gellert interjected smoothly, and he cast a kind and somewhat pitying look in Albus’s direction, “It seems exactly like your sort of thing, if the number of accolades you have in the Hogwarts trophy room and beyond are any indication.”
“He’s got you there, Albus,” said Al with a warm smile.
Albus blushed, feeling both warm at the thought of Gellert paying that much attention to his achievements, and slightly embarrassed that he’d had them at all, “Well yes, but that’s a bit different, I think.”
“False modesty doesn’t suit you, Albus,” Gellert practically purred.
A curious look briefly crossed Gellert’s face as he abruptly stood from his seat, eyes lost in focus. After a moment, they shifted back into clarity and Gellert gave a strange caricature of a smile, “What a shame, it would have been nice to see what you can do.”
Gellert swiped a berry off of Albus’s plate as he left the table and Albus had a feeling that he’d somehow failed a test he hadn’t known he was sitting.
“That,” said Albus dramatically to Al and Scor, finally allowing himself to see a little bit of the humour in the situation, “That is my problem.”