Chapter Text
Secrets stolen from deep inside (deep inside)
And the drum beats out of time
Time after time – Cindy Lauper
Abernathy was going to get fired.
This was the first thought that crossed Gellert’s mind as he found himself in the middle of some English’s countryside.
The sun was high, some birds were chirping nearby and Gellert could feel the beginning of a sweat running down his spin as this nice morning was already turning into a hot, suffocating day. He could see the forest on his right with its tall green trees creating inviting shadows. There were also fields, running on his left – a farmer land then – with a little road in between cutting through and going toward a village of sort. It was pretty bucolic.
Gellert hated it.
So Abernathy was going to get fired because, surely, no decent acolytes would give their master a ritual which ended-up in loosing said master.
Except, of course, if this was a plot to get rid of him or if Abernathy was secretly working for the other side. Alas, knowing the poor man, it wasn’t even the case. Gellert would have liked treason better, but instead all he had was pure incompetence.
Finding a good acolyte these days was hard.
It all began because Newt Scamander (when Gellert found him, and he would, he would take his sweet time to kill him) robbed him of his pendant (his pendant!) during his latest Paris’ escapade (Gods, did he hate Paris).
So Gellert, knowing exactly where the boy would take it (to Him) and also knowing that trying to get it back was going to be impossible with a direct approach, decided to give Abernathy a mission: find a way to get his blood pact back.
Clearly, he should have tasked this to Vinda and closed his eyes on the collateral victims she would have made on her bloody way.
The worst was that Abernathy’s ritual had seemed terribly sound: a drawn circle along a recited incantation. The whole thing had looked harmless at last and if he had to go inside the circle it was only so his necklace could come back to him. Or so he had been assured.
But now, his high boots were not on their privileged and adored castle’s floor but on a corn field; he was still missing his blood troth and he had no idea where he could be.
Gellert had his wand, his precious Elder Wand, clenched tight between his fingers. Stupid Abernathy. He wouldn’t have needed him if he hadn’t been imprisoned by the MACUSA. And this wouldn’t have happened if Scamander hadn’t been there.
Freaking Scamander.
“Ah, of course, you’re the one who did this. I should have known truly.” a voice behind him said, sounding flat and unimpressed. Gellert’s whole body stilled, his eyes going wide. “Do you even know where we are, or should I ask the locals?” He drawled in annoyance, his fingers tapping a rhythm against his sides.
“Why shall it be my fault?” Gellert asked in a matching tone before he faced him fully. He was wearing a plum three piece along a pale blue robe that he seemly threw on top of it. It was attached on the front with a silver pin, a delicate simplicity unable to save the lack of taste of his principal outfit. Sometimes, less was more, Gellert thought. He tsk’d. “Maybe it is you who did a mishap and made us end up here.”
Albus Dumbledore, because obviously this failure wouldn’t be complete without him there, huffed and raised his chin up arrogantly, showing off his goatee. “Of course it’s you. I sincerely doubt that drinking a cup of tea could lead to this.” He said derisive.
“With all the sugar you put inside, who knows.” He countered darkly.
Albus’ eyes flashed in warning. Gellert considered taking a step back, before he remembered: he was protected from his ire.
“What did you do?” He articulated it like he thought Gellert was one of his students; a foolish and slow student at that. Gellert breathed slowly to calm his raising nerves.
“A ritual to have my pendant back.” he said curtly. “You know, because your boy,” he spat, “Stole it to me.”
“Your pendant?” he repeated disbelieving, before his eyes twinkled and he asked, “Is this somehow going to be my fault? May I remind you, that you were the one flaunting it for everyone to see.” Albus continued without caring for his reply, “If it meant so much to you, you should have taken a better care of it.” His accusation rang loudly in the deserted field there were finding themselves in.
“I took the most care of it!” he defended hotly. “I’ve never even parted from it!”
At this, Albus’ face turned pensive, as if all his anger had drained in one go. “Truly?” he hummed. “How curious.”
Gellert frowned. “Wait.” he said as an awful thought crossed his mind, “Did you just fake to argue with me so I could tell you this?” he wondered in a raising outraged voice, “You did.” He realized in horror.
“Oh, don’t look so betrayed my dear friend.” Albus smiled peacefully at him, “For I am truly mad at you.”
With this, he left him, dismissed him even – just like that – and went toward the road where the nearest rooftop could be seen. He didn’t even look back, not once and Gellert cursed at him in all the languages he knew before he stomped after him.
Abernathy was so going to get fired.
*
Albus’ steps started to flatter when they took a well-known road. Well, scheisse, Gellert thought.
“You.” Albus began; the word a reprimand and an accusation at the same time. “Tell me you didn’t mess with Time magic.”
“I didn’t.” Gellert readily answered. Abernathy did. Maybe. Possibly. Who knew, really, what Abernathy did this time? With Time?
“Then, how?” Albus asked insistent. He motioned to the village around them. “I can assure you that Godric’s Hollow changed a lot since the last time you visited.” he said bitterly, “This house here?” he pointed at an abandoned cottage. It looked miserable and about to fall down as far as Gellert could tell. “Doesn’t exist anymore. It came down soon after you left.”
“Maybe, they built another house since.” Gellert proposed, a tad petulant. Anything else just wasn’t possible. His good for nothing acolyte couldn’t have accidently found a way to time-travel, even less three decades backward. “I don’t know. Maybe it’s not even Godric’s Hollow.” he insisted. “All English’s countryside looks the same to me.” He lied as a misplaced feeling of dread was appearing into his mind.
It looked exactly like Godric’s Hollow did. This ruin of a house? Gellert remembered passing it. This forest? Gellert remembered hiding inside it with Albus when Aberforth was searching for them both. And gods, this road? He knew this road by heart.
But it couldn’t be. Abernathy wasn’t skilled enough to find a way to time-travel.
But he sure was idiotic enough to find it without meaning to, he amended.
Albus pursed his lips as he regarded him and Gellert wondered what he saw; a successful revolutionist in flattering black clothes (Gellert knew how to dress unlike someone) or an idiot who lost him and himself, through Time apparently.
“You talked about a ritual. Was there, by chance, a spell attached to it?” Albus demanded, looking up at the sky as if praying for patience.
“An incantation.” He corrected, offering no more explanations.
“And?” The other prompted, his temper shining through his tone.
Gellert’s lips thinned. This was beyond embarrassing. “To change fate’s design, make the clock reverse for a time, and bring back what was once mine.” He intoned in a tone devoid of anything.
Albus raised an eyebrow, “Make the clock reverse for a time?” He half mouthed in wonder before he resumed his walking.
“Where the hell do you think you’re going?” Gellert bristled. He hated being ignored, and this was the second time in several minutes. “If we’re really back in time then –”
“Then, Bathilda lives near.” Albus finished, giving him a cold look. “And her help will be useful, since I never heard of this ritual. Besides, you own your Aunt a visit, don’t you think?”
*
Albus knocked on Bathilda’s door, while Gellert regarded it the same way he did the first time he came to Godric’s Hollow; with a mix of apprehension and annoyance.
“This is foolish.” he said, not for the first time to Albus, who of course ignored him. Why change a thirty years pattern now? “What if the other-me is here?” he demanded, “What a mess it would be.”
“Since when are you afraid of making a mess? Last I’ve heard you were quite skilled at it.” Albus barely glanced at him. He raised his hand again to knock some more before adding in a soft voice, “If it’s really that summer, then he’s not here; the other you.”
Gellert opened his mouth to ask how could he know this, but the door opened in a wince to his Tante, and he quickly closed it.
She stood there for a while in one her usual casual working dress – the long ones that she folded her sleeves up in fear of putting ink on it – and looked at him, then at Albus, then at him again. Her eyes widened and widened drastically at each turn. He feared that she was going to faint right there and then on her porch; but then she frowned, confusion written all over her face.
“Hello, my Tante.” He flatly greeted her.
She blinked her eyes. Once. Twice. “I shouldn’t have drunk this glass of firewhisky.” She declared, perturbed. She glanced back inside her house as if she could spot the guilty bottle.
“Tell me you haven’t finished it.” Gellert grumbled. He could use a drink.
Albus sent him an exasperated look before he turned to his Tante still standing bewildered at her door. “Hello, Bathilda.” he gently greeted her, “Could we enter, please? I believe you have a lot of questions.”
“Yes, I believe too. I think?” She hesitantly voiced. She still let them enter, her eyes glued to them.
Gellert went toward the living by habit. His first thought was that the place hadn’t changed, before he caught himself: it was the moment that was still the same.
It was warm there, the little windows let the sun pass and touch everything with its light while the yellow ochre walls added a cozy atmosphere to the room. Her two comfy couches, both facing the others, were separated by a low dark wood table just like he remembered. There was a forgotten fuming teapot with a pair of abandoned cups left on the table that he noticed at once. His Tante always had a cleaning tendency leaning toward perfectionism; she liked her space neat and clear, and she applied this rule to all her house except for her desk that used to be hidden under pages and pages of parchments.
He recalled finding it at odds with the rest, recalled making a remark to her about it; just like he recalled how she waved the matter away, too used to her antics to bother changing them now.
It was a lifetime ago. It might have been yesterday for all he knew.
Now, Gellert could easily imagine his Tante about to drink her tea only for them to ring. She would have put her teapot down in haste before rushing to her door. She wouldn’t have liked the disturbance; when she got to work little existed and tea was a very sacred time for her, but she still would have answered whoever was at her door with a smile.
“Oh you’ve made tea.” Albus noted too. He sat and happily served himself a cup. He added a sugar. Two. Three. Four. Gellert grimaced in disgust. This, too, hadn’t changed.
“Yes.” she more or less let herself fall on the couch facing theirs. “I… I wasn’t expecting you.” she started, “But this is you, isn’t it?” She questioned as she narrowed her eyes as if to search for some sort of similarities.
Albus put his cup delicately in his hand, “Yes, but we’re… not from now.” he explained to her softly, “Someone,” he stressed it as his eyes slid to him; Gellert rolled his. “Did a ritual without truly knowing the result. It somehow sent us here.”
“A ritual?” she repeated, her interest picked. “Of what kind?”
Gellert waited for him to elaborate, but instead he found him looking expectantly at him. He raised an eyebrow in challenge, before taking a sip of his too sweet tea.
It conveyed his message perfectly: ‘it’s your mess.’
“I’ve wanted something I’ve lost, back.” Gellert said, though ‘lost’ was a nice way of saying ‘stolen’. Freaking Scamander. “The ritual was supposed to get this object back to me.” the rightful owner, he might add. Not useless Scamander, he thought acidly. “But, it sent us back here and my object is still not returned to me.”
“An object? What kind of object?” She inquired curious.
“A jewel.” It was all he was willing to divulge to her. It didn’t see the difference it made anyway.
She hummed for a while before she asked, “This… jewel,” she paused, “When did you get it?” she questioned. “I mean, when did it become yours?”
Gellert truly didn’t like where this was going.
“You idiot.” Albus breathed; “Instead of getting it back, you sent yourself back to it. And me with you, of course.” he remarked bitterly, “The pendant must have make sure of this.” his short laugh was un-amused, “Even though it’s probably not even made yet.” At this, he fell silent and became oddly contemplative.
“Don’t jump to conclusion.” he snapped at him, “My Tante, could you tell us what day is it?” He asked as patiently as he could.
His Tante was scrutinizing them with a disturbing intensity, “We’re Monday, July, the eight.” at his expectant gaze she added, “The year is eighteen ninety-nine.”
This made Gellert pause. July the eight. Eighteen ninety-nine. They made their blood pact seven days from now, was all he could focus on for a while.
(Him and Albus and Albus and him inside that old barn. They had closed the huge doors for the illusion of privacy – Albus had been worried about the Muggles living near, about his brother coming, about a million things but he had still followed Gellert there. It used to mean something, even though Gellert could have taken down anyone if it came to that.
He recalled that the light had come through one of the cracks of the wooden walls just to light up Albus. He remembered finding it fitting; because the light had always belonged to him in every way that mattered.
There was no record of this anywhere; no one had archived this moment and no one had witnessed it. It was only a memory that could be viewed via Pensieve if one was skilled enough to catch it.
But Gellert hadn’t let the MACUSA put their greedy hands on it and he knew – because Albus was a fool, wasting his life pretending to be someone he wasn’t – that nobody else ever saw it. With the two main protagonists refusing to share anything, no witnesses and all other evidences vanished with time; it could be as if it had never happened at all. Even the cut he did on his palm had long faded and healed.
But the pendant they had created during this fateful instant had stayed with him for decades making the feelings of this day persist: the Cutting Charm he applied on himself, his blood oozing, then the press of Albus’ palm into his – their blood and magic mingling as one as the pact sealed.
It had been beautiful.)
He stored this aside. It was not relevant.
He focused on the problem at hand instead. July the eight. Seven days before their blood pact was supposed to be made, his mind repeated. And didn’t every child know that seven was a powerful magical number?
It would make sense to land seven days before, he thought. Power attracted power and Time magic must consume a lot of it, Gellert mused absently.
Therefore they might need another powerful source of magic if they wished to come back into their time, he thought urgently. And where could they hope to find that in the late ninety century, lost in the middle of nowhere? Gellert might have the Elder Wand on him, but that didn’t mean that he was willing to break it in two it to get home. (He was – in fact – very unwilling.)
At this rate, they might as well wait for the next cosmic event, he thought letting out a derisive snort as he crossed his arms over his chest.
But hadn’t the ritual used their blood pact to get them here? His mind whispered to him. He hummed; Albus Dumbledore appearing along him was a sure proof of that, wasn’t it?
If he followed this reasoning, then they might be stuck here until their pendant was created, seven days from now. Then, either the ritual would consider itself completed (in a way Gellert was going to have his blood pact back wasn’t he? It just wouldn’t really be him. He felt a headache coming at the dissociation between himself now, and the other him from then – which was also now) or the release of magic used to create their pendant will be enough for them to come back home. Time was a linear thing, he thought reasonably. If given the chance it would rectify itself, for two persons here were definitely what Gellert would consider an obvious anomaly.
Yes, it would certainly work. Perhaps. Maybe. Hopefully.
He closed his eyes briefly and took a long breath believing that this must be why no one time-traveled. It was headache inducing and tiring on the whole for very little benefit in the end.
Albus tilted his head to the side and smiled smugly as if to say ‘see what your stupid and reckless acts caused?’ Maybe Gellert was projecting a bit here, but it certainly looked very judging and haughty. His whole face turned sour at it. “We’re going to be stuck here for some time, it seems.” Albus calmly told Bathilda, apparently ending up at the same conclusion than him. This was why it was easy with him: Gellert didn’t have to explain everything; he got there on his own.
“Right.” his Tante finally said, apparently lost. But then her expression brightened, far too used to take most things in a stride to let a little disturbance in her day brought her mood down. Gellert was certain that it was a direct consequence of having to deal with too many creatures that could eat her alive if she made one wrong move. She was sure passionate when she worked on a manuscript, he recalled. “You can’t know how happy I am to see you two, still together after all these years.” She declared, cheerfully.
“We’re not together.” They both refuted at the same time. Albus exhaled a long and irritated breath while Gellert raised his eyes up. Patience, patience, he chanted inside his head while his wand made mad twirls between his restless fingers.
She laughed, “Clearly, you are. You’re like an old married couple.” She delightfully commented.
“I’m not old.” Gellert argued in a frown. She was what? Five years younger than him?
“Technically,” Albus smoothly interceded, “I’m only his fiancé.” The ‘thank Merlin’ breathed lowly into his porcelain cup was still audible for Gellert’s ears. He sent him a warning look. Albus responded to it with a most agreeable expression.
“What?!” Bathilda exclaimed, all her chirpy demeanor seemly going out of her windows and into the garden outside. She abruptly got up and rounded on him making him took a step back. “Gellert!” she reprimanded at once, “How could you?” she asked him, outraged. “This is not how I raise you!”
“You didn’t raise me.” He reminded to her, frowning at her assault.
“It shows.” Albus slipped; his smile peaceful and tranquil. Gellert narrowed his eyes at him.
“I can’t believe it!” his Tante continued, visibly agitated. “After all these years…!” she paced the living in a quick stride, before suddenly stopping in her tracks and facing him. “Don’t you want to marry Albus?” Bathilda demanded bluntly.
Albus lost his grip on his teacup, clearly shocked. It clicked soundly on the low table as he barely managed to grab it back before it fell on the rug. “My.” He weakly let out.
“This is not the question!” Gellert exclaimed, mortified at his Tante. How could she jump right to this was beyond him. “We’re talking about time-travel here! This is serious, my Tante!”
“Marriage is a most serious matter!” she countered, “And don’t take this tone with me young man!” She warned with a raised finger.
“I’m older than you!” He exclaimed right back.
“But, clearly not wiser!” she continued on the same volume. “You’ve lost yourself!”
“This is not my fault we’re stuck here.” he reinterred, his anger steadily growing. “It’s Abernathy’s.” He seethed.
“I’m not talking about this!” she shouted, unrelenting, “The Gellert I know would want nothing more than to marry Albus!”
“I’m not this foolish anymore!” Gellert roared to end this topic of conversation. At this, they both fell silent and regarded each other. Bathilda looked struck in place making Gellert huffed at her reaction. Did she really believe him to still be this needy? Gellert evolved ever since that time. He was better now. The greatest version of himself, surely.
Albus delicately coughed. “To be trustful, I don’t think anyone can make an honest man out of him.” he said as he cut the growing tension between the two, “Would you mind helping us?” he asked Bathilda. “We need a place to stay without attracting the attention of our counterparts.”
She turned to him, her eyes full of worries, “Of course, dear. I,” she paused, passing her hands on her long dress as if to flatten it, “There’s this cottage at the entry of the village. It’s empty and no one ever come there.” she explained, “Shall you need anything, you can come to me, of course.” she offered. Albus rose from the couch but she stopped him with a hand on his arm, “Anything at all. Don’t hesitate.” She stressed.
Gellert rolled his eyes at this display. He knew Albus had been her favorite; he didn’t need any more proof. “Thank you, we’ll be going before past-me comes back.” He said between clenched teeth.
“He never comes back before twilight.” she replied, as she tore her eyes off Albus to glare at him, “They always stay together until sun set. You should know this.” She audibly huffed, exasperated at him, before she took her leave. Her dress flew at each quick step she took and Gellert realized that he just got himself dismissed, for the third time today.
*
“Well, this is lovely.”
“This is awful.” Gellert countered moodily as he eyed this… cottage. “The roof is going to fall on us. The walls are barely there. There’s a tree in the kitchen.” Gellert silently mourned the spacious Muggle’s apartment he ‘borrowed’ in Paris; the only right thing during this awful trip.
“Nothing some spells cannot fix.” With this, Albus got his wand out and began to work on making this pathetic thing became the house it must have been at some point. He righted the roof, let the tree, fix the table in the kitchen and the broken windows; Transfigured a lot of random things into furniture. He made two armchairs out of barely anything, and concluded with a visible satisfaction by lighting up a fire in the foyer. It was mid-morning in summer, it held no sense. Then Albus sat on his newly Transfigured armchair, a soft and imposing yellow lemon thing and crossed one leg over the other, showing off his plum trousers (not that Gellert was looking). “Are you going to let me do all the work here?” He asked, his clear eyes assessing him.
Gellert felt himself went stiff at this prolonged scrutiny. “You seem to get it.” He replied. It was better than to admit the truth. It had been a while since he felt the other’s magic so near, since he watched him doing it. It was as captivating as it used to be. Magic came so fluidly to Albus Dumbledore; this must be why it was so beautiful to watch.
(This and nothing more.)
“Yes, I certainly do.” He acquiesced though he seemed to be talking about something else entirely.
His non-casting hand went inside his vest pocket, seeking. His fingers found whatever they had been searching for and he got something shiny out of it. He threw it at Gellert, who caught it, one handed on reflex. He looked down and carefully opened his palm. Sure enough, their pendant was resting at the center of it.
“I,” he rolled it between his fingers – caressing the surface a bit in relief – before he closed his hand around it, possessive and protective at once. “Why?” He wondered, hating how lost he sounded. How hopeful. Gods, he needed to get a grip, or he was not going to survive seven days of Albus sweetly manipulating him.
Albus merely smiled; a fleeting thing with dangerous edges, “I’ve wanted to see if you having it would simply send us back, but…” he trailed briefly. “Anyway, didn’t you want it? And I can’t destroy it.” he divulged. Gellert started at this, feeling his own face cloud. He had suspected as much, but to hear him said it so casually, hurt somewhere. At his expression, Albus added, “Of course, I’ve tried, what did you think? Honestly, Gellert.” He sighed tiredly, letting his sentence hung in the air.
“You’ve tried?” he repeated dangerously. “Say, how did it like it?” He wondered in a smirk.
Albus’ expression darkened drastically. Ah, Gellert thought, it hadn’t liked it at all then. Before Gellert could taunt him for that (it was his fault for wanting to destroy their pendant after all), Albus continued in a more neutral tone; “Now, the circumstances have changed as you can see.”
“Please, do enlighten me.” he provoked, his fingers clenching around his wand. “Do tell.” he prompted as he sat on the other armchair, facing Albus and mimicking his position. Two could play this game, he thought. “For you seem to have a lot to confess.”
“Confess?” he repeated, “What a strange choice of word for you.” he said, tone hard, “As if my try to break our pendant was a crime. But I guess, you would know all about it. You’ve killed enough to know for sure.”
“Revolution comes with sacrifices.”
“Oh, I’m sure.” Albus bitterly mocked, “As long as it’s for your own gain.”
“As long as it’s for the Greater Good.”
He recoiled in his seat. “It’s the same.”
“It’s not.” Gellert countered.
The silence stretched between them, tense and tangible. Albus tapped his fingers against the armrest, the only sound resonating in the room. He had almost forgotten all these little Albus’ sounds; these humming, drumming and tapping; a tune and a song that rarely stilled and was only known to him.
“I’m not going to sit idly until your ritual decides to end.” Albus placidly stated. “These seven days we have,” a smile came to his lips and Gellert distrusted it right away. “I’m going to put them to use.”
“How so?” He questioned warily.
Albus’ smile widened as if he had been expecting this question. “I’m going to make sure my past-self never makes this blood pact with you to begin with.” He said in a tone so casual, it reminded Gellert to focus more on the meaning than on the delivery. Albus loved to play mind-game with people, even though he denied it.
“You can’t.” This was why he couldn’t trust him. One minute he was mooning over sugar and the next he was ruthlessly cutting through him.
“Oh, I can.” He assured him easily like it was already a done thing.
“And how are we going back in our time if you destroy what may be our only mean to reach home?” he questioned tersely. “We need the pendant to be created for the ritual to be completed; this is an almost sure thing.” he said, trying to appeal to the reasonable side of Albus. “If you take this away, how are we going to go back?” He repeated more firmly this time. He wasn’t nervous exactly, but Albus was certainly putting him on edge. Couldn’t he follow the script for once in his life and stay put for a week?
(Couldn’t he be on Gellert’s side?)
“Who said I want to go back?” Albus retorted, tilting his head to one side as if it was the most curious thing he had heard in a while.
“You can’t be serious.” Gellert said, unbelieving.
“I’m completely serious.” he said. “I’m going to make myself wake up and see you for what you are.” he promised, his whole demeanor intent and sure. “And you, my dear friend,” he continued with a tone full of sympathy. Gellert bristled at it. “Cannot do anything about it.”
“You’re delusional if you think I’m going to let you destroy our pendant.” Us, he thought, you’re going to destroy us. His hand clenched painfully around his wand, the Elder Wand, the most powerful magical artifact ever created. Even Albus couldn’t beat it. Gellert could stop him. He wasn’t letting him destroy them. It was… He needed the pendant that was it. Both to go back in his time and just in case Albus’ magic surpassed his one day.
(It was nothing more than this.)
“But how could you stop me?” Albus questioned. His smile was sharp, like someone who knew he had already won, “You can’t move against me, Grindelwald. The pendant won’t let you.” his face radiated victory. He raised his chin, delivering the last blow; “Now it’s your turn to watch me burn the world around you.” his eyes shone fiercely, the fire in the foyer reflecting inside them. “Prepare yourself; it isn’t easy at first, to do nothing. But do not worry; you will get the hang of it eventually.”
So, this was war.
Again.
*
Gellert stomped outside their falling cottage as soon as he could.
He changed his appearance just before going out, there was no need to attract suspicions or curious stares to him and wait for someone to realize that he and his other-self were actually the same person. He used Graves’ face and body, the irritating man owned him. (Gellert had spent months impersonating him and doing what he considered to be a most boring work, consisting of a sea of papers and procedures to sign and see.)
He needed to regroup and think about his next move carefully.
Albus seemed determined and was unfortunately very stubborn once he had settled his mind on something. He could and would find ways to reach his goal and make them – their youngers-selves that was – separate too early.
Meanwhile Gellert needed their pendant to be created before parting from him. He needed it, because –
Because –
Because his revolution was waiting up for him, three decades away from here, and because Albus was a menace to it, he reminded himself sternly. He was a threat for all the changes Gellert had so carefully been preparing. So he needed to secure this wild card, to bind him, to make sure he wouldn’t move against him, not now, not ever.
This was all.
(Nothing more than this.)
He nodded to himself as he passed the few houses dividing their hide-out from the fields. By the time he reached his Tante’s house again, his mood had somewhat improved. Bathilda graciously let him in without much fuss. She merely raised an eyebrow at his changed appearance, apparently not fooled one second by it. In fact, all she had to say on the matter was –
“So, you’re sulking.”
He ignored her because clearly this kind of comment wasn’t worth his time. (He was a Dark Lord who had conquered half of Europe, he was a busy man. Also, he didn’t sulk nor brood, but he plotted sometimes which could pass for the simple minds for sulking.)
He huffed as he let himself fall on his Tante couch. He crossed his arms over his chest and concentrated on how to stop Albus Dumbledore from being a thorn at his side. (And the sad thing was that this wasn’t a new problem.)
He believed that he only had a couple of options possible: he either found a way to force Albus to drop his own planning (doubtfully realizable) or he found a way to ensure that the other him and Albus made their blood pact despite all.
Or that they never left each other.
He almost snorted. Conquering the Wizarding World was honestly less wild than this. And who said that Gellert wanted to be stuck with Albus forever? Not him, surely.
(Though, a voice in his head piped up: you did, you did.)
He dismissed it. It sounded as needy as Antonio had been. So now, how to –
“Who are you?” A new voice demanded, interrupting his precious thoughts process.
He raised his gaze to it, his eyes widening slightly as he took on who it was. There stood a young man, who was still more of a boy if he was honest. He was as tall as him, blond with curly hair. He was dressed in a black attire coupled with a judgmental stare. Gellert knew that, on this boy’s back, strapped onto his belt, was his wand. A dark wood stick that wasn’t straight by any means, but who fit his hands well.
Gellert contemplated him for some seconds before tearing his eyes away. It was a rather strange sensation to look at yourself, he decided.
“I’m –” He started somewhat hesitantly.
“He’s one of my cousin.” his Tante rudely interrupted as she came into the room with flourish. “Very distant.” She unnecessary added.
He sent her a flat stare before he turned to – ugh – himself. “Percival Graves.” He offered.
The skeptical look he received from himself in answer was positively unimpressed. What a brat, Gellert thought unkindly.
“You’re on time for dinner.” his Tante told his younger-self warmly. The latter hummed briefly before sending another sharp look at him. “He will stay with us for a while.” she answered his silent question. “Troubles at home.” She sighed ruefully like Gellert was such a bother.
“I do not have troubles at home.” He scowled her harshly, outraged at the wording she chose.
“Denial is not how you resolve a conflict.” She ignored him and decided to lecture his young-self instead.
“This is not some conjugal conflict, it’s a war.” He felt the need to stress the importance of it. People on both sides had died. He was pretty sure that this ruled the conjugal dispute out.
“Remember; there’s nothing that cannot be talked about.” She decided to tell his young-self, whose expression was becoming more and more quizzical as they spoke.
In fact, his eyes travelled to them both before declaring what seemed to be a generous; “Alright.” He promptly left them to it though, deciding to retreat inside the kitchen. Gellert wouldn’t call it fleeing, but only because it was of version of himself doing it.
He stared at the proud air that had settled on his Tante’s face in annoyance. “Stop telling him nonsense.” He astonished her.
“If you stop being an idiot, I might consider.” She declared in a haughty sniff, before she left for the kitchen too.
He breathed in deeply, counting up to three and hoped against all odds to be back inside his precious castle tomorrow.