Chapter Text
He had sent the letter eight days prior and he did not regret his decision.
It had been short and polite—straight to the point—avoiding any emotional weight that he might have wanted to express. It had been professional, one might say.
When the owl returned a week later with a roll of parchment tied to her foot, Albus had let it sit on the messy kitchen table, untouched for hours. He had stared at it while pouring himself whisky, until the liquid courage made him open it.
On it were only a few words, elegantly scribbled in black ink:
I shall gladly accept your invitation.
— G.G.
He allowed his fingers to trace the letters over and over, the beautiful curve of them. His heart-beat felt heavy in his chest—he felt warm. He had opened the windows to let in the evening air but it was not enough to cool him off. Gellert had accepted. He supposed he hadn’t actually thought that he would. He was grateful though, his pride was already wounded, a denial would have stung.
Having been fired from Hogwarts at the beginning of June; after Selwyn got himself elected Minister, he felt brittle.
A lot had changed. The war had changed Britain, and it had changed Albus too. He stared into the night, it was the end of summer and the air smelled of grass.
Their meeting was set five days later.
He had chosen a very posh establishment—a muggle-owned restaurant that was supposedly one of the best in the city. It was also one of the most expensive ones. Not his usual scene.
Albus arrived early, the rain pouring down over Edinburgh.
He was welcomed by an attendant just inside the doors who took care of his coat and black umbrella. When the man turned his back to Albus, he discreetly set a drying spell over himself.
A young waiter then showed him to his table; it was a lovely spot next to a large window, however the rain misted up the streets and made it difficult to see very far. He watched a few unfortunate pedestrians having a tussle with the wind and felt surprisingly calm.
Perhaps because he still couldn't quite grasp that this meeting would take place. The idea that Gellert would simply come when asked—it felt absurd. After so many years of resisting the urge to write, it had been so easy to call on him.
People hurriedly walked by outside, trying to escape the unpleasant weather. He watched a woman chasing after a child, whom seemed determined to jump into the largest pools of water they could find, an older gentleman shielding his companion with his coat and then a man who was desperately trying to push his umbrella back into shape, after it had folded the wrong way out. After some time of watching people struggle through the weather he felt a trickle run down his back.
Your magic sings for me, Gellert had said once, before their relationship evolved. He had said it in German and Albus had asked him what it meant. Back then he had told himself it was a cultural misunderstanding, a language barrier that made the words more intimate than they were intended, that Gellert didn’t mean anything by it.
Funny how that memory surfaced now.
He had forgotten how Gellert’s magic felt like—wild, like the sea. It intertwined with his own, like two pieces of a puzzle, slotting together perfectly. No other magic had ever felt this way to him. He was tempted to close his eyes and bask in it—the recognition, but instead he forced himself to look up.
The man before him seemed both familiar and a stranger. He was dreadfully handsome, with pale golden hair and fair skin, now a man and not a boy. For a moment they simply looked at each other. The waiter who had escorted Gellert too the table excused himself but Albus hardly heard him, his attention was completely bound by the man before him.
Gellert was the first to break the silence, with a calm melodic voice, only slightly deeper now than it had once been:
“I must say,” he began, letting his eyes sweep over the extravagant interior. “I'm surprised by your choice of establishment”
Albus wet his lower lip and inclined his head slightly.
“I thought it best to stay out of magic society,” He answered, happy to hear that his voice held.
Gellert hummed at that, placing a steady hand on the chair across from him.
“Yes,” Gellert looked down on him with a glimmer in his eyes that might have been amusement; “I think that's wise,”
Albus swallowed, ignoring his rising pulse and tried to compel himself not to avert his eyes.
He found it strange—to see him again.
“Would you like to sit down?” he offered. He felt nervous and Gellert standing over him didn’t help.
Gellert didn’t respond immediately; he was making the silence drag on. Every second seemed to tick by in an excruciatingly slow fashion.
When Gellert finally pulled the chair out, Albus felt a wave of relief wash over him. He wet his lip again and tried not to fiddle with his hands.
Once Gellert was seated he spoke again: “I hope you had a pleasant trip.”
“I can’t complain,” Gellert replied politely. “Your new border control leaves a lot to be desired.”
Selwyn’s new coastal watch was certainly excessive, but they were an incompetent bunch. A bunch of young men who had probably aspired to become aurors, but hadn’t made the cut.
Albus shrugged. “They are new to the job,” he said.
Gellert tilted his head slightly, his eyes shining with ill concealed curiosity. “I would not think you’d be eager to defend them,” he said.
“I can’t say I’m overly fond of them,” Albus conceded. “Nor their benefactor; I was simply stating a fact.”
“They’re an interesting lot,” Gellert mused.
Albus couldn’t help a weak smile, interesting is not how he would have described them.
“Thinking about recruiting?"
It would certainly send Selwyn into a rage if his soldiers were to jump ship.
“Your countrymen are difficult to recruit,” Gellert said dismissively. “they don’t enjoy listening to anyone not born and raised in London."
Albus hummed and nodded slowly. He knew Gellert had had difficulty putting a foot in with the English.
“You should try your luck with the Irish,” he quipped. “You might have greater success there.” The Irish were far less happy about the current state of things.
Something flashed in Gellert’s eyes but what, he couldn't say.
“I’ll be sure to consider it,” Gellert agreed easily. Cordial.
“Have you met him—Selwyn?” Albus asked then.
Gellert shook his head slightly, his eyes traveling over him in a slow manner that made him feel exposed. “No. Can’t say I’m eager to.” Gellert's smile was perfectly even, dazzling some might say, it looked genuine, yet Albus knew better. It was the type of smile Gellert used when he tried to win someone over; Aberfort, amongst others. Perfectly curated.
“I can't imagine he would be enthusiastic about a meeting either,” Albus responded. Trying not to stare at the way Gellert’s smile lit up his face.
He had assumed Gellert had no fondness for Britain’s new minister for magic. The two men did not see eye-to-eye. Gellert cared more for culture and tradition than he did about people, and Selwyn had been a particularly bad minister for the arts, and he imagined that that was simply the top of the iceberg when it came to their dissagreement.
As Gellert didn’t seem to have anything to add, Albus continued:
“I hope the short notice wasn’t too inconvenient for you,”
He had given Gellert two weeks. It wasn’t terrible but it was a bit demanding perhaps.
Gellert gave him a long look, letting the silence grow heavy. When they first met, Gellert had done this often, using his lack of experience with the English languish as an excuse to leave his questions unanswered until the quiet felt overbearing, presumably to make Albus squirm and stumble over himself and desperatly trying to fill the silence. It certainly was tempting to do so now, but Albus would not oblige him if that was what he wanted. It left them sitting there, looking at each other, until finally Gellert sighed and deigned to answer him.
“I can’t say your invitation took me by surprise,” he said with mirth “I’ve been expecting it.”
Of course he had.
“You saw it then?” He had hoped he wouldn’t, he didn’t like the idea that Gellert knew more about this meeting than he did. He had no way of knowing how detailed Gellert's vision had been for their meeting.
Gellert leaned back in his chair as if it were a throne, radiating a calmness Albus wished he felt.
“Only a glimpse,” he said with a certain level of self-satisfaction, then he continued with a dissmissve wave of his hand, “It was unclear. You hadn’t decided yet I suppose.”
Albus hummed at that.
“Most of the time the visions are useless,” Gellert added, with just a tinge of self-deprecation that made it charming.
Albus allowed himself a small huff of amusement just as a waiter arrived with the evening’s menu. He introduced himself and the food but Gellert hardly acknowledged him. Once he had left Gellert looked over the options with a sceptical glance.
“It’s rather British,” he said, with an air of disinterest.
“We are in Britain,” Albus quipped.
Gellert held his gaze for a long moment before conceding dryly: “I’m sure it will be edible.”
Albus couldn't help but smile at his sceptisism. “With how posh this place is, I can’t imagine it wouldn’t be,” He mused. Looking out over the room at the fancy chandeliers and stiff-suited waiters; he thought they looked a bit like penguins.
“Why not bring me to a place you actually like?” Gellert queried.
Albus gave him a pointed look, taking his time raking his eyes over Gellert's extravagant clothing that were hardly muggle-passing, “You would not have blended in well in a muggle pub,” he said with a touch of dry humour. If anything he could perhaps pass for foreign royalty.
Gellert’s nose wrinkled slightly, presumably at the thought of a muggle pub.
“I can’t say the same for you,” he said with clear distaste and Albus rolled his eyes.
Gellert’s hatred for muggles had always been petty, Albus had never understood hating them for something so simple as their clothing. And anyway, Gellert was a hypocrite in those matters; picking and choosing what parts of muggle culture he considered crude and barbaric and which parts he liked.
“I actually enjoy muggle attire,” Albus said unbothered, straightening the cuffs of his grey suit. “Though I’ll admit, it could do with some more colour.”
“It does you no favors,” Gellert drawled.
“Now you’re just being rude,” Albus replied lightly.
Gellert paused then and straightened slightly in his seat, as if catching himself in a mistake.
“You’re right,” he said. “Forgive me.”
It was strange to hear those words come out of his mouth. He had never been one to admit when he was wrong and there were about a thousand more important things he could apologize for.
“Consider yourself forgiven,” Albus said with a tiny shrug. He wasn’t offended, not in the least.
Gellert was awfully interesting to observe as they conversed; hard to read—perfectly polite, friendly even, except for a small jab here and there, which were quite innocent really. He felt surprisingly comfortable in his company, he was easy to talk to.
It wasn’t long until the waiter returned to take their order, as he hadn’t given the food much thought he simply picked the first thing that caught his eye. Gellert picked some posh frech wine for them to drink.
A man arrived to fill their glasses and once he was gone they could resume their conversation.
Albus was quite happy to keep things trivial for now, he was not eager to get to the point. Really he had not truely been ready to see him again, even if he had known the meeting would come intelectually and had tried to prepare for it, actually sitting across from him was... strange.
Gellert seemed perfectly content with the small talk, for a while, but eventually he began to push a bit. He sighed and picked up his wine when Albus asked him what he thought of Edinburgh.
“Are we to speak of the weather next?” he asked softly.
“Oh, if you’d like,” Albus responded, glancing out on the rain drenched streets. “But really—what is there to say?”
Gellert ticked his tongue as if disappointed with his answer. “I haven’t spent enough time in the city to form an opinion,”
“Fair enough.”
“Will you not tell me why you have called on me?” Gellert pushed. There was an openness to him that seemed to encourage honesty, but Albus knew it was an act. They were just playing the part of a friendly conversation, quite expertly yes, but it was not real. They were really both quite guarded.
“We’ll get to in eventually,” he said dismissively “We have a whole evening ahead of us.”
Gellert’s jaw clenched slightly as he leaned back. He licked his lower lip and looked out through the window. He supposed Gellert was disappointed, he presumed he usually got what he wanted from people.
“What would you like to talk about then, Albus?”
It was strange to hear his name on Gellert lips, it felt… deliberate. Soft like satin.
“Anything.” he shrugged slightly. “They say Anton Vogel will be your new minister for coin,”
The man was rather popular in Germany. A young, fresh face in the political world.
“Yes,” Gellert answered curtly. Clearly not eager to speak on the matter.
“I’m curious what you make of him,” Albus said lightly. “But we don’t have to talk politics.”
Gellert held his gaze, steady and intense, as if he was taking it as a challenge, and Albus couldn’t help but smile.
“What will it be?” he asked, “Vogel or the weather?”
Gellert glanced oustide as if deliberating his choices before he spoke again.
“Vogel and I attended Durmstang together,” he began, his tone carefully neutral.
“I know.”
“I believe we share a vision for the future,” Gellert continued, unbothered.
“Just the vision or the road-map as well?” he asked, making Gellert give him a thin smile.
“Why do you want to know?”
“I’m just making conversation,” he said innocently. Really, Gellert didn’t have to tell him for Albus to know that there was a connection there. He was certain Gellert had his claws in the man.
The silence stretched until Gellert’s voice cut through it again. A change of subject
“You don’t like wine,” he said, looking pointedly at Albus untouched glass, it was not a question.
“I’ve got nothing against it,” he said mildly,
“You don’t like it—especially red wine,” Gellert pressed.
It was true. He generally disliked wine. He gave out a small huff of amusement. “Did you order it simply to be petty then?” he asked, slowly bringing the glass to his lips, making a point of taking a sip.
“Why didn’t you stop me from ordering it?.” Gellert asked, with a strange intensity to the question.
He supposed it had not been a mistake, Gellert perhaps remembered his aversion to wine. A bit juvenile really, to order it as some test?
“It would have been rude, no?” Albus asked and couldn’t help the rather playful tone. “And anyway… It’s drinkable." he swirled the red liquid in his glass.
They were interrupted by two waiters who arrived with their appetisers. Albus smiled up at them and found some amusement in the fact that Gellert seemed to be fighting a sneer.
Two plates were put down with silver lids which were dramatically removed to reveal two beautifully shaped pieces of salmon, surrounded by oysters. Once the penguin-like men took their leave Albus picked up his utensils.
Gellert’s eyes lingered on him for some time before he spoke: “You’ve been fired,” he said calmly.
“That’s not a question,” he replied lightly.
“You’ve been spat on and slandered" Gellert continued, his voice was smooth and measured, but the words were meant to annoy him, he was sure
“Also not a question.” he said and took his first bite of the food.
“You've been vocally opposed too Selwyn’s reforms, I assume that is why you've been... handled, and you have been unable to stop him"
Albus gave out a short, amused huff.
“Do you mean to list all my failures?” he said, with an unbothered air he was sure to irritate Gellert “I assure you, I’m quite aware of them.” he waved his hand in the air.
“You haven’t retaliated—not in any substantial way.” Gellert’s voice carried an air of disapproval.
“How would you know?” Albus said with a smile.
Gellert continued as if he hadn’t heard him. “He's bested you.”
The truth of the matter stung. Gellert certainly knew what buttons to press.
Albus squinted his eyes slightly, meeting Gellert's sharp gaze and then asked softly: “Do you know what he calls you?”
The goading was not discrete, not nearly as delicate as Gellert's, but it didn’t have to be. It was just meant to call him out on it.
Gellert ignored him and pressed on: “Why haven’t you retaliated, Albus?”
“Truly, don’t you want to know what he calls you?” he asked again, leaning in over the table.
The silence was tense and their previously overly polite tone had changed into something sharper. It felt more genuine perhaps.
The seconds ticked by as they looked at each other, Gellert's jaw looked clencged and there was a harshness over his face now that had not been there before. Albus tilted his head slightly to the side and smiled.
“I’m glad you agreed to come,” he said then. Perhaps more sentimental than he had intended.
Gellert seemed a bit taken aback by this, his eyes tracking back and forth, perhaps trying to determine if he was being ernest.
“Did you think I’d refuse?” he asked and leaned back.
“I was unsure,” Albus admitted.
Gellert gave out huff of air. “Who am I to refuse an old friend?” he said.
“It’s been a long time—I must admit I wasn’t sure if you'd still consider us friends.” he admitted, observing Gellert intently, trying to read him.
“What else would I call you?” he asked with a drawl.
“A stranger?” he shrugged “It would be accurate”
“You consider us strangers, Albus?” Gellert’s question had a sharpness to it but he liked the way his name sounded on his lips.
“No.” He would not call Gellert a stranger.
“So why then would it be accurate?” Gellert asked, in a way that seemed almost insulted “If neither one considers the other so?”
“You’re right, forget I said it,” he waved it away, spearing a piece of salmon with his fork.
The balance of this meeting was delicate but Gellert was treading carefully, not overstepping, even his attempt to rile him up had been very tame. He was not pushing any boundaries, he was actually overly considerate of them. It seemed he had no wish to make their meeting go sour.
He was grateful for that. They were both determined to remain civil it seemed, it made things easier for him.
Their conversation drifted easily across a wide array of subjects, few others could measure up to Gellert’s talent for verbal sparring. He was a gifted speaker, no less impressive at a dinner table than on a stage. After two decades of political seduction, few could compare to his company.
As they finished their appetizers and the main course was served, Gellert made a new attempt to steer the conversation.
He leaned back in his chair, giving Albus a look that bordered on amused affection.
“Come now,” he drawled, “you didn’t summon me across a continent to talk trivialties.” He tilted his head in a way that was almost playful. “Tell me, what is it you want from me?”
“Take a guess,” just a drop of sarcasm seeped into his words.
“I suppose you are unhappy with how they have treated you.”
“You’re making me sound petty” he scoffed.
Gellert smiled, but he was sure it was fake. It was too perfect. “Have you called me here to kill him for you?” Gellert asked, his eyes gleaming in a conspiratory way.
“That would be something,” he muttered looking out through the window at the rain which had become even heavier now.
“I never would have thought it of you—that you’d tolerate them as you have, treating you like a dog.” Gellert’s eyes gleamed as he delivered the biting words. “Where is the brave lion I met as a boy?” The question carried an edge of mockery. “Did you not go through a trial of fire to be crowned a Gryffindor?”
Albus couldn’t hold back a snort.
“I might have embellished that story a tad.” he shrugged apologetically, ignoring Gellert’s goading.
He had told Gellert that the sorting had been done under great duress, a test to prove one's self.
“All we had to do was put on an old hat.”
Gellert looked a bit puzzled at this and was momentarily distracted from his goal.
“A hat?” The surprise wiped away any disapproval he’d just expressed.
“It was enchanted with legitimacy after the founders’ deaths.” he informed him in a chipper voice. “I must have thought the truth was too boring,” he mused.
Gellert looked at him in disbelief and with an expression that made it seem he was concerned for his sanity. “Really? You found it boring?”
“No—I thought you might.” He smiled faintly. “I was eager to impress you, if you remember.”
Gellert shook his head slightly as he couldn’t quite believe it and then snapped back to what he had been trying to say before Albus interrupted him.
“Regardless of how you were sorted, is not your kind meant to be brave and brash?” he said a bit impatiently.
“I’m having dinner with a domestic terrorist,” he held up his glass in a silent toast “That’s a bit brash isn’t it?”
Gellert actually rolled his eyes then and sighed, as though conceding the round. He leaned back, shoulders loosening, surrendering in an almost playful way.
Albus felt awfully young then—there was this strange juvenility between them. As if time had turned back on itself somehow, leaving them both boys again.
“Had a nice summer?” he asked. Perhaps choosing the question because of its blatant banality.
Gellert let out a quiet “tsk”, but a smile was playing on his lips, and it seemed real this time.
“You’re avoiding talking about why we’re here,” Gellert said, merely pointing it out, as though he wanted the acknowledgement out of the way so they could continue… whatever they were doing.
“Yes.” Albus agreed mildly. “How was your summer?”
Gellert smiled: “Better than yours, I’m sure.”
“It could have been a dumpster fire and still been better than mine,” he quipped back.
“It was good then—productive.” Gellert waved a hand, as if productivity were a trivial thing.
“Fun?”
“On occasion.”
“I’d ask what you’ve been up to, but….” he gestured vaguely in the air, assuming Gellert would want to keep his activity under wraps
“I’ve been in Italy—Rome,” Gellert answered without missing a beat.
“Oh.” Albus allowed his surprise to show. He really had not expected him to share such details with him.
“Have you been?” Gellert asked, he seemed to be finding the conversation comical.
“A few times.” he shrugged.
“What did you think of it?”
“It’s a city,” Albus said simply.
“You don’t like it.”
Albus wrinkled his nose slightly. “It’s grand—too grand for me, perhaps…” he trailed off. Last time he had been there it had been far too warm; he hadn’t liked it much.
“You always had a more modest taste,” Gellert mused.
He had to infer that Gellert enjoyed Rome. He could have guessed as much; there were a lot of things there that would call to his artistic soul; theater, art, science.
All roads lead to Rome, as they say.
Albus took a bite of his food and chewed slowly looking out through the window. Two children had made paper boats and had them race each other in the gutter. He watched them chase after their creations until one boat got sucked down by the street drain.
“If I’d truly been a modest man, I might have been able to bear my situation,” he muttered, watching as the children were leaning down to look for their boat, hoping to get it out perhaps, but it was lost to them now.
“Oh yes,” Gellert said with dripping sarcasm. “Had you had no self-respect, you might have let them spit on you as well.”
He sounded a bit impatient, as if he was listening to a melodramatic monolog and wanted the narrative to move on.
“It would have been better—if I was that kind of man.” Albus spoke softly, still watching as one of the children tried to reach into the drain.
He shouldn’t be discussing this with Gellert, it was too personal, yet the man seemed to draw it out of him, as if he couldn’t help baring his soul.
Gellert sneered at his words. “You aspire to spinelessness now?” There was clear disapproval in his voice, judgement even.
“I would have been happier that way,” he said simply. He would have been. Pride had never brought him anything but pain.
The lightheartedness from before had faded away. The silence made Albus’ words seem heavier than he had intended. Perhaps it was time to get to the point.
He met Gellert’s bright eyes, the left one carried just a hint of silver which he knew would glow bright in case of a vision. It could leave him blind for hours.
“I don’t say this to cause any offence,” he began “but I hope you know I’m opposed to much of your ideology,”
Gellert smiled thinly. “Oh, I’m aware.”
Albus nodded thoughtfully. The seconds ticked by as he considered his words. Gellert seemed to understand that they were finally getting to the crux of things and patiently waited for him to continue.
“I cannot go home,” he said softly. “Not only am I not allowed back, the war has made Britain a stranger to me.” He was grateful that Gellert didn’t interrupt him, but allowed him to speak.
“You always said the war would be terrible,” he continued. “but I couldn’t grasp quite how much we’d lose until it was gone.”
“There was nothing you could have done to stop it,” Gellert replied—surprisingly gentle. He felt comforted by it. He wet his lower lip and gave a short nod.
“Perhaps. But… surely more could have been done.” he muttered.
“More can always be done,” Gellert agreed.
“They worry me,” Albus admitted. “They’re leading us into ruin.”
“They have always been here, Albus…” Gellert gave him a patient look, as if he was being silly. “The war just made them come out of hiding” he continued, leaning back in his chair. “Selwyn and his kind are vultures—feeding off of Europe’s corpse, but vultures strave once peace if reimbursed.”
“Yes…” Albus mumbled, seeing as the children gave up ouside and ran out of view.
The silence trickled up, it wasn’t uncomfortable, but it was heavy, it carried a weight.
“Are we getting to it then?” Gellert asked gently when the silence had gone on long enough.
Albus let his eyes travel over the other patrons in the restaurant, he could feel Gellert's eyes on him as he was looking for the right words, but failing. It didn’t matter how many times he had thought this through.
Gellert tilted his head slightly, his eyes squinting just a little.
“You’re afraid to say it,” he said it as if just now realising. “Why you wrote.”
“Yes,” Albus admitted quietly. “And I’m ashamed.”
“Of what? Judgement?” Gellert asked, a confused, almost concerned wrinkle on his brow. He didn’t seem to have guessed the nature of Albus’ request, he supposed Gellert had not foreseen this part.
Albus couldn't seem to get the words out. They got stuck in his throat.
“Out with it, Albus.” Gellert urged him softly, while looking a bit apprehensive “You’re dragging it out.”
Albus sighed and closed his eyes. Gellert was right, there was no use in postponing it.
“I want to join your movement.” he said with a steady and calm voice, opening his eyes and letting them fall on Gellert once more. It felt like jumping off a cliff.
Silence fell heavy between them, Gellert’s expression was carefully neutral. He had straightened slightly in his chair but other than that he didn’t move, nor did he say anything.
Perhaps he was waiting for an explanation, a reason for this outlandish request, a punchline even.
It was a strange thing to ask, quite out of the blue; in many ways it was presumptuous, but Albus had nothing more to add, he would not humiliate himself by begging or scrambling for arguments. Gellert would either accept or deny his request, he wouldn’t try to convince him.
Gellert was very still, his right hand had closed into a fist on the table, but other than that he didn’t move an inch.
His eyes were searching Albus as if trying to determine if he was serious or not.
“Why?” he asked finally with just the slightenest dissonance to the words making Albus think the request must have shocked him.
Albus let out a breathy laugh, bitter and short. “I’m angry,”
It was shamefully true; he was furious. He took a few moments before continuing, taking a deep breath:
“There’s a plague eating away at my home—and I wish to cut it out.”
He paused. Gellert didn’t respond, he was listening very intently, still and unreadable, so he continued, voice hardening. “Even if I wish I could have taken this treatment in stride—I won’t. I am far too prideful to let it slide.”
He looked down at his hands, struggling with the hate he felt for the men who had ousted him, stupid, pathetic, simpletons. He sighed and forced himself out of the frustating thoughs and gave Gellert a bitter smile.
“We share an enemy, you and I, and I would find you a rather effective ally.”
In fact Gellert would be the perfect tool in regards to getting rid of Selwyn. He held a great deal of power in central Europe, and it would only grow. Asking to join him was like requesting a place at court. It was a favor and nothing else, Albus had far more to gain from such an arrangement than Gellert.
That being said, he was a talented wizard and more than that, he was very good with people. Gellert had most certainly been keeping tabs on him and he suspected Gellert would much rather have him under his own influence than as opposition. But Albus was a wild card, and was coming with demands to top it all off, it was presumptuous.
“What would this entail exactly?” Gellert asked finally, his voice was even, but guarded, careful. Gellert seemed a bit taken aback by the request as if he was still waiting for an explanation. It was understandable. Albus could hardly make sense of his own decision to write to him, to ask this of him. It was impulsive, a choice made largely out of spite.
Thought through, yes, but still one of his most wreckless plans. He was playing with fire, like a true Griffindor, playing against the odds. Joining Gellert was certainly not the safest way to get his revenge.
“I don’t have much I can offer you” he said honestly “But I’m sure I could be of some use…” He trailed off. “In exchange for my servitude, I want Britain to be liberated from its current leadership.”
It was certainly a tall order, but in the worst case Gellert would simply deny him. He would feel humiliated, but it might actually be better in the end. Then he might come up with a better and safer plan. But it was not what he wanted.
Gellert wet his lower lip and nodded slowly, not looking at him but behind him, as if he was trying to picture what Albus had to offer.
“What insurance do I have… that you won’t change your mind?” his eyes landed back on Albus, now with a burning intensity, as if trying to evaluate if he had thought this through.
“My word, I suppose,” Albus said steadily. “And the assurance that I’m not a fickle man.”
Gellert's gaze flickered outside. He seemed nervous maybe?
“You’d swear loyalty to the cause?” he asked.
“No.” Albu answered calmly “My loyalty is bound only by our common goal. I’ll swear loyalty to you on that basis. If Britannia were liberated by other means, we’d part ways. And if you broke your side of the agreement, the deal would be off.”
Gellert nodded to himself, unclenching his fist and stretching out his fingers on the table, straightened slightly in his seat.
“Do you have a time-frame in mind?” he asked then, an air of professionalism in the question, as if he was discussing a business agreement, and Albus supposed it was in a way.
“No, I am not presumptuous enough to think you’d change all of your plans to invade England,” he laughed weakly. “Is it good enough to say that I expect a reasonable effort to be made, or is that too vague?”
Gellert nodded again, he was considering the offer. At least he had not been denied immediately.
“Would you be willing to make it binding?” he asked. Albus had assumed it would be demanded, he had accounted for a binding contract and was willing to enter it, even if he would make sure it was lenient enough.
“It depends on what type of binding, but yes, I would swear it in blood.”
There was something ironic in the idea of a blood contract, considering the brash blood-troth they had once made. A pact created in a naive state of passion, one of the strongest forms of unions possible, unbreakable and illegal.
A blood contract was nothing in comparison, yet it seemed fitting somehow, like closing the circle.
“It would be best to have a contract drawn up…” Gellert said, it sounded a bit like he was talking to himself, thinking it through. “To make it clear,”
“Of course. I supposed you’d prefer to draw something up yourself,”
“It can be arranged at a later date…” Gellert said then, this too seemed to be his own musings, as if he was evaluating it out loud. “We can discuss the finer details once you have settled,”
The air between them hung thick.
“We have an agreement, then?” Albud asked quietly. That had been surprisingly easy.
“It would appear so.” Gellert replied, his gaze felt piercing, burning through his skin.
Gellert lifted his wine glass in a quiet toast. “To old friendships,”
Albus raised his own, sensing the significant weight of his new path.
“To old friendships.”