Chapter Text
He could see the outline of the cat outside his window. It was clearly visible as the full moon reigned over the black sky and stars marked it with their glow. The cat, however, was a dark silhouette against the frame that enclosed him so perfectly. Its tail was fluffy, erected, and ears stood straight, spying, watchful. Its eyes probably were alert, too, wide awake, with pupils big enough to swallow all the light, maybe even had specks of gold inside the irises. It might have belonged to Bathilda— maybe, maybe not, it could also as well have been one of those animals that come and go as they please.
Albus was wide awake, too.
It was one of those nights when he simply couldn’t sleep and just laid on his old bed, looking at the ceiling. His thoughts were uneven, contrary to a river of calm, warm air that came in through the open window.
He was already used to them being scattered, nonetheless he’d very much like to sleep, at least for a few hours. Those summer days grew heavy on his arms, a weight too burdensome for his nineteen-year-old body, and yet, there was no way of getting rid of them. He had his hands tied— and it also made him feel restless. Caged—even in the big house that could probably serve as a mansion.
Truth be told, it was too big for the three of them to live in, and it was also probably inhabited by some old ghosts that couldn’t bloody well pass to the eternal rest. He could feel their presence in the walls that vibrated with magic: not strong enough to manifest in a corporeal form, but still detectable to his sensitive fingers. It wasn’t a pleasurable song that they were singing when he walked down those corridors; it reminded him more of a whisper, an echo, a plea of help he was unable to provide. His magic might have been strong, but even he was unable to awaken the ghosts.
And it’s not like he wanted to do this. The ghosts belonged in the past, not in the present, with the living.
Sometimes he regretted having a mind so full of life, so brilliant, because the flood of thoughts never ceased even when he tried to note down some of them; each demanded his attention, right here, right now, and there was, again, the unsettling feeling of anxiety setting deep in his blood. It made him swallow heavily— something was coming. Maybe it was the rain, maybe another cat, maybe something different altogether. He was no Seer, but he could feel it. On other nights he would welcome the change with gratitude— feeling this one made him sick, reeling with the bile of sour gulp in his throat. His fingers were also tingling, adding it to the pile of uneasiness.
Something wicked was coming this way comes, possibly. He could barely bear his normalcy, and wickedness was something he wouldn’t handle, either. Or maybe he was overthinking, and it was just a way of tiredness to manifest itself in his mind. It happened, sometimes, when his limbs felt too heavy, and brain seemed to be covered with a soft, sluggish web of exhaustion.
The cat disappeared as soon as the morning glow started to outline its golden-greyish fur. It was definitely Bathilda’s, for she was the only one to have a cat with hair of that colour. He should get up, too, probably— even if it was only four or five in the morning.
The wooden floor was cold underneath his feet, so he shivered and cast a wandless spell to warm himself before he started looking for the socks. He probably had them somewhere, possibly buried in the drawer made of oaky wood, next to a collection of his last year’s notes from transmutation he still took his sweet time to burn.
He could feel the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen, so he smiled. Coffee would be his poison of choice if he had to die somehow; not that he planned on doing it soon or anything.
Aberforth was nowhere to be seen, so he didn’t have to be skittish this time. And he actually found a freshly brewed pot of coffee on the stove, still magically warm. He helped himself, pouring it to his favourite green mug that sported far too many damages and scratches to be considered a beauty, but he still loved it and couldn’t force himself to throw the utensil out. Even those damages had their charm.
He was supposed to eat something, too, but his stomach was too unsettled to intake anything that wasn’t liquid. Coffee he could handle, bacon and eggs that were on today’s menu— not.
Through the kitchen window behind the sink, he could see the garden; the flowers were in full blossom, sustained probably by the sheer will and Ariana’s delicate hand that provided them a lot of love. Sometimes he wondered whether she could push a bit of her magic into their stems, but soon he shook away that though— her magic was too unstable to perform something, so it seemed doubtful.
The coffee was really hot and burned his tongue. He coughed a little, swaying on his feet to regain the balance of body and mind. It didn’t seem to work, although the dark liquid made his fingers hum with a rush of energy— not quite big to wake him up completely, but enough to make him warmer.
He heard the owl coming from a mile away— it looked like the poor thing couldn’t even brake for dear life and squealed, feeling the impending doom, the first front meeting with the window glass. Albus opened it quickly to avoid the catastrophe.
“Impendimenta!”
The bird slowed considerably and thanks to the spell it was able to land clumsily on the counter, avoiding crashing onto the coffee pot by an inch. Its feathers were ruffled as it spewed out the morning post— The Prophet and a letter in red envelope, signed with his name with a familiar handwriting. He smiled, opening it as he caressed the owl’s feathers. He gave the bird some food and water before making it to the content of the letter. It consisted only of one tiny sheet of paper, a bit wrinkled; apparently, old Bathilda had invited him for the afternoon tea and biscuits. He put the letter down with fondness and then looked back to the bird who looked at him with very big yellow eyes, almost spooked.
“Yeah, I’m tired too,” he murmured softly. “Me too.”
*
Bathilda lived across them, in a house that shone with lights and freshness. Albus actually admired her commitment to keep it in such a state; there was an ounce of magic in that, of that he was sure, but it still looked like a perfect picture freshly taken out of a catalogue of houses, especially with those roses climbing up to the roof.
He rang the bell and patiently waited for the steps to echo inside the house; he could recognize Bathilda’s, but there was also a sound of someone else’s footsteps. Much younger ones, definitely. Maybe belonging to a man.
The door opened to reveal Bathilda’s honest smile; it’s been a while since Albus saw anyone greeting him like that and he felt a tinge of warmth spreading through his body. He even let Bathilda hug him; she was a great deal shorter than him, so he had to bend a little, but either way it was not awkward.
“Good afternoon, Bathilda,” he said softly as soon as they untangled from each other and she beckoned him into the corridor, swimming in hues of grey and white. “How are you doing today?”
“Better than ever, my dear boy, better than ever, especially now that… oh, come on, I need to introduce you to someone. I think you’ll like him, you’re both such brilliant boys and maybe you could keep each other company and talk a bit if you get on well…” In the middle of her monologue, she led him straight to her living room. Albus had to carefully step over the golden-grey cat, the very same one he noticed at night behind his window, and followed her inside.
And he was stunned to see a tall boy standing over there, leaning against the table Bathilda used to have guests over. He seemed casual, almost arrogant, especially because of the way his two-coloured eyes were shining in the afternoon glow —very penetrating eyes, one might add— and his hands crossed on his chest. He was definitely taller than Albus himself and seemed to be his polar opposite. Even his hair was light, blonde, maybe even sun kissed, while Albus’ sported the auburn shade that belonged to autumn, not to the summer bloom. Either way, the boy looked so out of place in Bathilda’s living room that Albus raised a brow, trying to hide the blush that dared to creep up his neck and cheeks. He couldn’t deny that the stranger made a great impression on him, rendering him speechless, a bit hypnotized with his cat-like manners visible even in the way he shook Albus’ hand.
“This is Gellert,” he could hear Bathilda say across the ringing in his ears. “He’s my nephew. He’s spending with me the whole summer, that’s why I thought I’ll introduce you to each other…”
Damn right, Bathilda, it was probably the most brilliant idea you ever had.
“Hi. I’m Albus. Albus Dumbledore.”
His own voice sounded squeaky, so he tried clearing his throat before he’d make a bigger fool out of himself. The stranger’s smile, however, was kind.
“Gellert Grindelwald. Pleasure to meet you.”
His English was correct, and yet Albus could detect a hint of a foreign accent that made those words sound harder— German, maybe? His curiosity grew with each passing second.
“Likewise.”
The silence stretching between them was tense, and yet they couldn’t simply look away. For a moment, they seemed to be in a full sync, a silent understanding passing through them, maybe also a promise of something more, something else that they both craved.
“Albus, dear, would you like some tea? And cookies? Gellert here despises my tea and drinks only coffee, Merlin help him, so…”
Albus chuckled.
“Tea is quite alright, Bathilda, thank you.” Then, as soon as she left, he added: “However, I prefer dear old coffee. Just don’t tell her that, okay?”
Gellert’s eyes sparkled with amusement and seemed so feline, so alive, now that Albus noted the silver colour in one and deep brown in another. Gellert seemed to be a unique person, starting with his eyes, and finishing with, ekhm, other attributes of his body.
“I’ll keep my mouth shut.”
“Thank you.”
Albus was relieved to note that they shared the same sense of humour; the connection between them was already forming, he could see that, and it seemed a bit strange how his magic reacted to this man, how seemed to reach out to him, to touch him, to caress him. Or maybe was it his own pure, unaltered desire stemming from the fact that he hadn’t gotten laid in the past months or even years?
“My, I swear my day has gotten better,” Gellert smirked, and Albus could swear that he was affected by the change in the air, too. “So, tell me, what are you doing here this summer? What kind of boring things you commit to? Books, I reckon? You look like a Ravenclaw.”
“A Ravenclaw? What made that impression?”
Gellert shrugged. His shirt moved along, making his muscles more prominent.
“I bet that you’re smart. You probably close yourself in your room to read and you need to know everything.”
“Is that what Bathilda has been telling you about me? My, what an image had she painted!”
“Not a bad one, though. It seems noble if anything.” The smirk was full blown on Gellert’s perfect lips now, and so was the teasing— Albus found it amusing. “Are you, though? A Ravenclaw?”
This time Albus shrugged at him, taking place at one of the wooden hairs by the table.
“Sadly, no. I was a Gryffindor. However, the old Tiara hesitated during the sorting ceremony.”
“Oh? Tell me about it.”
Albus smiled at him, feeling a rush of warmth climbing up his fingers and spine.
“She told me I could belong in both for my heart was brave and my mind was bright. I could make a choice— and I chose Gryffindor.”
“So you follow your heart more than your head,” mused Gellert.
“I guess you could say that.”
Albus wanted to add more, possibly ask Gellert about his school experience— because sure as hell he wasn’t a Hogwarts’ graduate. He’d never forget a face and aura like that; Gellert would have attracted many people to him because of that magnetism he seemed to elude and sure as hell wouldn’t stay in the shadows, invisible. He didn’t seem much older than him, maybe even the same age— so there was no way Albus wouldn’t have noticed him back in the castle corridors. No, Gellert definitely didn’t step in there.
All those questions fell silent on his tongue as soon as Bathilda came back to the room, bringing a tray with a few cups and a sugar container. She put it all down on the table, forcing Gellert to move out of the way, and proceeded to smile sweetly at Albus.
“I know you take your tea with no sugar, honey. Here. That one is for you. Careful.” She put the cup in Albus’ hand, careful not to spill the hot drink. “I know you hate my tea, Gellert, so made you some coffee.”
“Thanks, auntie.”
Gellert flashed her a smile and took the cup, clearly enjoying the first sips even despite the liquid being burning hot on his tongue. His content face reminded Albus that of a cat that ate a whole pack of its favourite food. He had to hide his grin behind his own teacup; luckily for him, nobody noticed this little slip-up.
“So, what are your plans for the summer, Albus, dear?” asked Bathilda as soon as she settled in her favourite chair by the chimney. Her eyes were surprisingly sharp today, maybe thanks to the presence of her nephew who apparently changed the whole routine.
“Nothing much.” He shrugged, lowering the cup in his hands. “Truth be told, I can’t really let myself rest these days.”
“I see. How is she?”
“Doing good, all things considered,” he answered softly. His eyes moved to Gellert who was eyeing him with such a burning curiosity that Albus could barely look away. Alas, he preferred to avoid the fire of question that was surely coming his way. Or maybe— it was not, Bathilda could easily relay all the gossip and information to Gellert afterwards, after all, so he’d know everything, whether Albus wanted it or not. “The cake is wonderful, Bathilda.”
The conversation went rather smoothly after redirecting it away from the sensitive topics that clouded Albus’s head. Bathilda seemed eager to talk about her cat— “it wandered off again this night, apparently it loves the moon much more than my house”— and about Gellert, who kept to himself during all that time, choosing to monitor them both carefully. Albus couldn’t remember the last time somebody has looked at him in such a way; people in Godric’s Hollow stared at him with pity, maybe compassion or contempt or panic, but not Gellert— he had only curiosity and interest sparkling in his weirdly wonderful eyes, as if he tried to solve a difficult riddle. Albus wasn’t sure whether he should be amused or embarrassed.
“You should show Gellert the Godric’s Hollow, Albus. You know all the best places, so you could show him around. When you have time, of course.”
Albus looked to Gellert, expecting him to be repulsed by this idea, but to his amazement, the man in question eagerly nodded.
“Yeah. Sure,” he murmured then. “We can go for a walk. Now.”
*
The walk was… uncomfortable, filled with stifling silence that neither of them could dissolve. Gellert was looking around, absorbing everything like a sponge, while Albus was mostly bored. There wasn’t much to do in Godric’s Hollow, truth be told; this place was mostly rusty, closed off in the past, with exactly same number of houses and buildings as years ago when it was founded. Basically, nothing changed here— not the old nursery, not the main square, not the library standing proudly over there, built of white marble, nor the oak trees, very popular in the village. It was the epitome of boredom and stillness, and no wonder everybody wanted to get out as soon as they could.
Albus wanted that, too.
“This is definitely not Berlin,” noted Gellert after they circled the main and only square and passed across the small cemetery. Albus rolled his eyes.
“It’s not.”
He had never been in Berlin, truth be told, but he could imagine the vibe this city had— big crowds of people, a whole lot more buildings, noise, conversations in hard sounding German, cathedrals, all those wonderful places on the city map that were worth seeing. Just like London, just in a different country.
“So there is nothing fun to do around here?”
Albus shrugged, not really having a good answer to that question.
“It depends on what you consider fun.”
“What do you consider fun, then?”
He looked at the sky, just to avoid Gellert’s piercing stare.
“Books. Mostly. And magic.”
“Books and magic. Got it,” murmured Gellert. “I take it you know the library inside and out?”
He pointed at the building across them and Albus nodded.
“Yeah. Why?”
“Ah, nothing. I was mostly curious about the things you do in your free time. When you have free time, of course.”
“I’m not parting, that’s a given.” Albus sighed, then looked at Gellert, not even ashamed. “Books are… stable. They can give the relief, the reprieve. You can quickly escape.”
“And do you… need to escape?”
This question came out softly, almost too softly to break through Albus’ resolve, and it was soon gone with the wind.
“Sometimes.”
“I do too. Sometimes.”
It was weird, how the silence could stretch into something more comfortable. Both sat down on the bench at some distance from each other, contemplating, thinking, maybe even dreaming a bit, too.
“How was your life in Berlin? Or…”
“Busy. Mostly. But I didn’t spend much time there, just came in to swing by my parents during the school breaks. Most of the time I spend at school.”
“You weren’t at Hogwarts, right?”
“Right. I was in Durmstrang.”
“What was it like?”
There it was again— a feline smile on Gellert’s lips.
“Mostly dark. Shadowy. I was there to learn magic, not have fun, so… There wasn’t much fun to begin with.”
Albus shrugged.
“It probably depends on what you call fun. Learning magic is fun.”
“Yeah. But not for everyone. And studying the dark magic like they tend to do in Durmstrang is definitely not fun. Tell me, how much do you reckon can bear a kid of eleven that has barely passed their childhood? Definitely not the raw discipline and focus. It was everything Durmstrang had to offer— discipline and focus, and of course, the mind-bending magic. Quite literally. From what I heard from auntie, Hogwarts is nothing like that.”
“It’s really not.”
There it was again, the silence that enveloped them.
“Did you enjoy it? Studying there, I mean.”
“Yeah, I did, however the level of teaching was quite mediocre— adequate to the abilities of an average teenager, of course, but I took the supplemental studies to every subject possible, especially charms and transmutation. I was quite bored of changing the porcupine into the cup, you know.”
Gellert actually laughed.
“No wonder.”
“Yeah.”
“I think you would have liked it in Durmstrang. It wasn’t the nicest place, but they actually pushed you to do better and reach for more. They taught me a lot.”
“I don’t think I’d survive in the shadows. I need the sun to grow.”
He could swear that Gellert snorted.
“You would brighten the darkness away.”
“Would I?”
It was his turn to laugh; Gellert’s eyes were still twinkling with mirth.
“Yes. You have this… aura of literal sunshine around you. You brighten the room simply by being there. It’s an amazing skill to have, that’s for sure.”
“Well, in that case, I’m obliged to say that you have a similar one. You’re very charismatic. You attract people. You’re shining, too— but it’s not sunshine. You have too much shadow in yourself.”
“A moon, then?”
“No. A star, probably. A supernova.”
“A supernova is brighter than the sun.”
“It also burns out quicker.”
A short huff escaped Gellert’s lips.
“That was quite the first impression I’ve left.”
Albus couldn’t help but smile. Gellert was extremally easy to talk to; such a rarity that he almost forgot what it’s like— to be understood completely, to be respected, not ignored, or treated like a superior. He was not a superior, not even in his own family.
“Come on,” he said, hopping off the bench. “I want to show you something. It’s a short walk from here if you are willing…”
“Yeah. Sure.”
Gellert agreed to this with such an easiness that it shocked Albus to the core. Nevertheless, he considered his proposition a good idea now— showing off his treasures to Gellert might seem like an intimate thing, but it felt just right.
He led them to the outskirts of the village, to the forest that sat right behind the main road leading to the main square, and Gellert dutifully followed him, no questions asked. His posture wasn’t stiff, although it maintained its aristocratic line. His pale hair was shining in the light of the day; it seemed as if sun was dancing on those uneven, unkempt waves. The unique colours of his eyes were more visible now, too, as the green scenery underlined them. Albus was curious to see how they would have looked in the darkness of his room and contrasted to heavy sheets of his bed.
Those were dangerous thoughts, he realized, so he redirected his attention back to the path before him. The twigs were crushed underneath his boots as he marched on, and he had to omit a pair of nettles standing treacherously close to the path. Luckily, his clothes were quite appropriate for this short walk, however he did not have it in his plans today; besides, what was the magic for, if not for dealing with the diabolical plants?
Soon, they could see the sparkling water emerging from behind the greenery. It was almost drowned out by the tress at first, but then its surface became more and more visible, especially as it reflected the sun rays and rose a ton of small golden balls dancing with the waves.
The lake itself was not their destination. Albus knew exactly where to lead them— and it was the direction of a beautiful, old swing made completely out of wood that was hanging directly above the water. It was hidden from potential onlookers as it was located a bit further from the trail and hidden with the help of a few hand-made spells.
“I come here to read. Or think,” he explained, holding onto one of the swing’s ropes. It jostled but stabilized as soon as Albus calmed it down.
“Did you build it?”
Albus risked a look at Gellert— the man himself was standing close to him, dangerously close, with a weird emotion deep inside his eyes.
“The swing? No. My father did. The guarding spells, however— those are mine.”
“He was not a wizard?”
Albus was silent for a heartbeat as he mounted the swing; only then he looked at Gellert who stayed unmoving.
“He was a wizard. Just not very good with protective spells. I had to renew and strengthen them."
Even now he could feel a faint hum of magic in the trees surrounding them. It was barely present, more like an echo, an imprint of his own hands that casted all those spells years ago to protect his privacy. And now he let Gellert in— into his own sanctuary he didn’t even let his siblings in.
“I see.” Gellert joined him on the swing, not losing his balance, even for a second, and not stirring the water surface. It was Albus who was thrown of his feet— maybe not literally as they were barely hanging above the water now, but still, the proximity of this man was enough to make him dizzy. “You come from a family of wizards, then.”
“Kind of. I’m a half-blood. My mum was muggle born.”
He could feel Gellert’s burning stare on him, but he didn’t dare to look back. Instead, he stared ahead at the horizon, where the opposite side of the lake was emerging from the sunny mist.
“Both my parents are wizards. My father would never think to build me a swing.”
“I’m sorry,” said Albus softly, automatically reaching for Gellert’s hand. He realized what he was doing just in time, so he quickly backed off. “Your parents… You had a bad relationship with them?”
“That’s a mild way to put it.” Gellert looked from Albus to the sky; it was forget-me-not’s blue, shimmering with summer light. “I’m not sure they deserve to be called parents. They seem foreign people to me, especially now that I’ve been away from the house for quite some time.”
“Do you miss them?”
Gellert shook his head quite aggressively. His hand clenched on the rope was pale, too pale.
“No. Never.”
Albus didn’t dare to ask for more.
“Okay.”
They let the silence stretch into infinity between them. It was entwined in soft, violet hue as the unspoken words and strong emotions were still present, still hanging in the summer air.
“This place is really wonderful,” mused Gellert after a while, the soft timbre of his voice oddly fitting the scenery, “but I don’t understand what you are doing here, why hadn’t you left. You have such a brilliant mind. You’re wasting your whole talent here— and I’m sure you’d achieve great things if you only let yourself out of the cage.”
“My whole life is here.”
His voice was quiet, too; these words barely made it through throat.
“That’s bullshit and you know it.”
“I can’t just leave as I please, Gellert. I’m tied to this place.”
“Why?”
Albus sighed, then scratched his neck.
“I have a family to take care of. They are my responsibility— I can’t pack my things and leave them.”
“What about your parents? Can’t they…”
“No!”
Aggression contained in that one word surprised even him, so he could barely keep his balance on the swing, and he fell straight into the water, splashing it around and wetting his trousers and boots. He almost fell to his knees, but caught on, luckily— all thanks to the rope that was the closest to him and Gellert’s hand on his arm.
Embarrassing.
“Katze…”
“They can’t because they are dead. Both of them.” He turned away, shrugging off Gellert’s hand, and squishing his eyes so that the tears wouldn’t fall. “My siblings are underage. I’m the eldest one, so I can’t leave, do you understand? I need to stay with them. Take care of them. My brother needs to finish his education, and my sister…”
Gellert was silent behind Albus’ back, and yet, he could feel his stare at the back of his head. He took a few deep breaths.
“It doesn’t feel right. That you have to do this, I mean. You shouldn’t cage your talent in this godforsaken town. There should be a way…”
“It’s not right, but it’s not like I have a choice.” He calmed himself down enough to turn around. He wasn’t buzzing with anger anymore. “Believe me, if there was another way, I’d already taken it. I need to stay there— at least until my brother graduates.”
“You shouldn’t have to be a father to your siblings.”
“No, but what other choice do I have? It’s not like we have a huge family that offers their help. It’s not that easy.”
Their eyes met— and Albus immediately drowned in the ocean of silver and brown, as cliché as it sounded.
“I’ll help you come up with a solution. I promise.”
“You might have one hell of a task.”
“I like challenges.”
He must have been a cat in his previous life, because his smile was turning— again —feline.