It were the landscapes of Durmstrang that Albus visited in his dreams that night. He was looking for Gellert wherever he found himself transported to: at the edge of the lake near Gretten Bjørn, where his feet would sink into snow drifts while the wind howled through the night, as if determined to blow him off course; in the dense crowds of the school dining room illuminated with its globular lights and its wall of diamonds; on the narrow paths leading to the azure lake where daylight faded with his every step. He knew he was coming closer; Gellert was behind the next turn, and Albus would be able to warn him, to protect him. The turn came, yet before his eyes could take in the sight, he woke up, his heart beating more wildly than ever.

As the morning progressed, the memories Gellert had shared with him the previous day whirled in his mind, and he reflected on them, absorbing them ever more deeply. The trust and intimacy of their confessions had created a bond more powerful between them than any vows. And with it came the awareness of certain truths Albus had never perceived before.

There was a reason Gellert's purpose was set on changing the wizarding society for the better. Having lost a father he loved and admired at a young age, which had effectively pushed him into the role of a grown wizard and a caretaker, Gellert had found himself carrying a burden of an immense weight. At fourteen, he had become the head of his family: the person considered responsible for his mother's wellbeing and happiness. The witch's choice to take her own life had by no means been his fault, yet in his mind, he had failed at his most important task, at protecting her. A wound this deep was difficult to heal, and it tormented him to this day: the injustice his father had endured, his untimely passing, Gellert's own powerlessness where people's cruelty and the society's rigid rules were concerned, and his mother's terrifying death.

Albus had often marvelled at the parallels between his and Gellert's fates, but for the first time, he now pondered on their differences. Where disaster had struck the German wizard quickly and brutally, Albus had endured his predicament more slowly, more gradually, and from a younger age. Ariana's affliction had morphed into a daily reality: something that, over the course of time, had lost its sharpness to become a constant presence with nothing more than a dull throb. And even then, he had learned to distance himself from it through his world of books and scholarly pursuits. He loved his sister dearly, yet as heartless as it sounded, he had become accustomed to her plight. And this, perhaps, was the reason he had never felt the same compulsion for a change as Gellert did. Had they not met, would his thoughts ever have wandered towards any reform ideas at all, or would he have remained ingrained in his small, personal ways? Albus thought he knew the answer, and he was beyond grateful that life had decided differently. He was no longer the same Albus he had been at the start of June.

Another difference lay in the fact that Gellert was a natural leader: his charisma seemed to have been designed to lead, and dominance came naturally to him, fuelled by his magical power. Albus, on the other hand, had never enjoyed the part, not even as the Head Boy during his last year at Hogwarts. He felt much more content when focused on the practical and theoretical sides of magic, on research and invention. And this was a difference he was perfectly comfortable with. If absolutely forced into the role of a leader, he would do his duty, but it was by no means something he enjoyed or sought out if given a choice.

And then there was the realisation that Gellert was in an extremely dangerous position, being tormented by his need to bring about a change and learning to embrace his authoritative nature. The more Albus thought about it, the more fearful he became. Olivia's words, which, admittedly, had stirred jealousy in him, could not have been truer.

"…I saw a different side to him," she had said. "He is one of those rare people who don't leave anyone indifferent. He is either loved or hated, and it is heavy a burden to carry. And so I promised myself to always be there for him and protect him. Except who can do that?"

Albus had seen the sort of people who surrounded the German wizard first hand, just as he had witnessed the latter's tendency to resort to the Dark methods. There was good in Gellert, and a lot of it, but he was, truly, at a crossroads. The unfortunate events that had culminated with another wizard's accidental death had rendered him desperate, and unconcerned though he tried to appear, his bravado had not fooled Albus, who had watched him collapse in exhaustion. It was not the kind of fatigue that hours of Legilimency would induce either, but mental tiredness. Gellert could no longer stand being on the run and having to look over his shoulder or remain on his own throughout his ordeal. For alone was exactly what he was. He had expressed his sorrow after witnessing Albus's solitude, which had permeated the latter's memories, but the truth was, Albus had never carried such a burden of responsibility—not for one person, let alone for the entire wizarding community—and it made a world of difference. Gellert did carry it, and combined with his anger and trauma, it was destroying him from within.

Was this any state of mind for starting reforms in order to improve the magical community? He was alone and desperate, perhaps yet without clear ideas on approaching the issue, while his closest friend kept heaping reproaches at him. How long would it take before he succumbed to true Darkness? The signs were there, and Albus could not ignore them. All the more seeing what kind of wizards his charisma would attract.

Gellert needed help: something that the English wizard knew his pride would make it impossible for him to accept—and this was where he could assist him. Granted, his mindset was rather that of a scholar, but in the end, every leader needed someone loyal by his side. Not someone to compete with—whether they wanted to or not, most people Gellert was about to meet would try to do just that—but someone who could maintain a little distance yet remain present to provide support. Albus would have to be careful and alert; he knew there would be forces that would work tirelessly at trying to separate the two of them. But he was ready, and his decision had been made. He loved Gellert, and true love had no boundaries.

Sounds of a small commotion tore him from his contemplation, and he looked up across the street, his hair whipping about his face in the breeze. From his spot in the garden, he saw Gellert step out of the house, his pace steady, his face stony. He did not so much as glance back in Madam Bagshot's direction. The witch, Albus saw, might as well have mirrored his grim expression, except there was a twinge of regret in her eyes. She stared after her great-nephew for about half a minute, and then she disappeared back inside her house.

Alarmed, Albus walked through the garden gate to meet Gellert halfway.

They looked at each other, and although conscious that the rest of the street could be watching them, if only from the windows, the English boy could not find it in himself to care. He was not certain what to say. They had to pretend they were bidding each other goodbye: it had been agreed Gellert would wait for him under the Disillusionment Charm until Mrs Potter came over to take Ariana in. After this, the two of them would leave together.

His chest heaving with emotion, Albus reached into his pocket and produced the photograph of the two of them, which Madam Bagshot had taken at their last dinner. She had given it to him the day before.

"Do you have one too?" he whispered.

Gellert glanced at it, his brows furrowed in confusion. It felt as though that dinner had taken place ages ago.

"Dieter packed my copy with the rest of our possessions and took them with him," he replied. "This one is for you."

He sighed then. "Well, I was right in my prediction. This has been the first and last time that Auntie's door opened to me." He was quiet for a little while. "You know what's ironic, Albus? She knew I was on the run from something. She is not stupid, and it doesn't take a genius to understand why I came unannounced, dragging a highly unwilling companion with me. And yet, in the meantime, she managed to delude herself into thinking I was exactly the kind of great-nephew she would have wanted me to be… Only now that she has looked into the circumstances of my missing diploma did she realise a few things and chose to behave as if it had come as a shock, even though she'd suspected all along."

He smiled bitterly. "She even dragged my father into this. Told me what a disappointment to his memory I'd become."

Coming closer, Albus pulled him into a friendly embrace. He did not know why his heart was hammering this frantically.

"She has never been more mistaken."

Gellert embraced him back.

"You know, we have to keep it short. Make it look like a friendly goodbye."

Sure enough, Aberforth had come out onto the veranda to observe them.

With a nod, Albus reluctantly pulled away. A few more hours, and secrecy would no longer be necessary.

"Two o'clock," he whispered. "I'll be outside, waiting for you."

"We will see each other soon," Gellert answered in confirmation.

Prolonging it would have been unbecoming, so the blond wizard withdrew. With what seemed, for once, to be a rather forced smile, he started walking towards the Apparition Point.

For a moment, Albus watched him retreat. When he finally headed for his house, he heard Aberforth utter, "Is he finally gone?" but had no heart to lie. He sped up and strode upstairs to pack his suitcase. If his brother had interpreted his silence as a sign of sadness, it was all the better.

Hours later, he was back in the garden.

On the surface, this cloudy afternoon could have been any other late summer day. Albus watched the serene street, his elbows propped against the handrail. It had been a place of much sorrow and dreariness, but it had also been the scene of the happiest summer in his life—one that he would not forget for as long as he lived. He wished to capture it in his memory exactly as it was: Madam Bagshot's home, which had become sacred to him, the Potters' cottage a few yards away, the small gardens and the animal sheds of the neighbours he had never taken the time to befriend. It was not a goodbye, not truly: he would be coming to visit Ariana as often as possible. But while wizards remained on the lookout for Gellert, they would have to take precautions at all times. And so he absorbed the sight while he still could, breathing in the scents of the village and struggling to keep the inexplicable sense of doom in his chest from engulfing him. He did not understand where it had come from, nor did he want to: not when it was essential to keep his head cool.

A floorboard creaked to his right. His head snapped towards the noise, but he saw nothing.

"Right here," a bodiless voice whispered. "Are you all right, Albus?"

"Yes," Albus whispered back. "And you? Where are you?"

"Behind you," came a soft murmur in his ear.

They had to act as if the English wizard were alone.

"I will not intervene unless absolutely necessary," Gellert promised. "I will give you privacy."

"Can I hold your hand for a moment?"

Albus's words came as plea, and Gellert obliged.

What the English wizard did not know was that he was not alone in feeling as if something were amiss. Invisible to the eye, Gellert was gripping his wand tightly, every fibre in his body tense. He knew the vision he had had earlier in the summer would be taking place that same day. There were always signs before it happened: a bizarre form of déjà-vu. It had only started settling in several hours ago and was not unlike the feeling that had seized him the day he had found his mother dead. The Killing Curse would take a life that very day; only, he did not know how or why. He never knew how, and that was the real tragedy of possessing the Sight. But he also knew better than to fall into the trap of his gift and act as though the future had already happened.

Dieter was a firm believer in the idea that everyone could change their destiny as long as their heart was still beating, and that was the reason Gellert had told Albus none of it. He himself would look out for any strange wizards, and he would stop them long before they could come anywhere near to uttering the incantation for the Killing Curse.

He himself would not utter the lethal words under any circumstances. Nor would Albus, he knew it.

"I believe in you, Albus. If there is anyone who can convince your little brother he has the right to a life for himself, it's you. And this is not a goodbye after all. We will see Ariana again."

Albus nodded with a gentle squeeze on Gellert's hand. Looking carefully, he could see the edges of the Disillusionment Charm, and he could tell where his lover's eyes were.

"I'm all packed," he said. "Let's do it."

"Are you sure you are ready, Albus?"

"I am ready."

He was feeling calmer now. He had thought this through many times, planning every moment. Mrs Potter was scheduled to come at three, so they had a full hour to bring Aberforth round and prepare Ariana.

"Albus," Gellert said, "make sure Ariana is in her room while you speak to Aberforth—use the Silencing Charm, and just in case—"

"I will," Albus nodded, and, drawing a breath, he opened the door to the hall, pausing for a moment to let Gellert in.

He heard the light swishing of the latter's clothes and followed the invisible wizard inside, walking all the way into the kitchen, where he saw both his siblings supervise Quaffy's attempt at a new recipe.

They looked up as he entered, and he smiled at his sister.

"Ari, Mrs Potter mentioned she might be looking in at you today. Why don't you go upstairs and put on your nice mint dress to be all pretty for her when she comes? Ask Quaffy to help do your hair."

"Mrs Potter is coming?" Ariana asked happily.

"Why?" Aberforth inquired, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"She is very fond of Ari." Albus gave the girl a wink. "Go on, darling. You too, Quaffy."

"Do you know how to plait hair, Quaffy?" Ariana asked the elf.

"Quaffy knows," the elfling squeaked. "Like a basket."

"Then let's go, Quaffy—we both will be pretty for Mrs Potter," Ariana decided.

She headed upstairs with the elfling while Aberforth stared at the other wizard.

"What's going on, Albus?" he asked stonily.

Albus closed the kitchen door and applied the Soundproof Charm around them before turning towards his brother, his expression set.

"I am leaving," he announced in a calm yet firm voice. "I will be going shortly. Mr and Mrs Potter will be taking Ariana in; they have been kind enough to offer help, and they promised to treat her as their own child. You will be going to Hogwarts in a few days—the Abbots will take you to King's Cross along with Ada; it's all arranged. I know you are not happy about it, but it's the right decision, and I promise I will make it work."

Aberforth blinked. He had never felt so betrayed in his life. It was difficult to process what he was hearing.

His brother had conspired against him. Without telling him a word.

The first verbal reaction he could even begin to voice was a remarkably childish one.

"I am not going," he insisted. "You can't make me."

"Aberforth, you can't stay alone in this house," Albus said reasonably. "You need to finish your education and pass your exams. Once school is over, we can discuss what happens next. But you should go and see you friends, take your mind off the household. You will be happy there. You deserve to rest and plan your life and see what you want to do afterwards. You don't have to be bound to this house."

"I am not going to be alone," Aberforth said dismissively. "I will be with Ari and—"

He paused; only now had it dawned on him what Albus had done. The full extent of his betrayal. Albus was not speaking in his own words; if anything, those had to be that bastard's words. Aberforth thought about it, his motions deliberately slow.

I am leaving. I will be going shortly.

Going where? With whom?

Suddenly, there was no need for listening any further. It was all that bastard's doing. Albus has started lying and sneaking out the moment he had met that foreign scum, and it had been getting increasingly worse until the fool had confessed to loving the said scum. And that, only moments after witnessing the way the bastard had nearly broken his brother's wrists without even resorting to magic. The amount of betrayal and repulsion Aberforth was feeling was simply impossible to express in a coherent manner.

"No," the boy breathed, starting to shake. "No, I won't let you—you—you won't get away with it!"

Albus regarded him cautiously. For the first time, he registered that while his brother was shorter and still somewhat lanky, he was also stockily built and physically stronger than himself despite being younger. A diplomatic approach was vital.

"Get away with what? Aberforth, I have not committed any crime," Albus reasoned. "We have been confined to this house for far too long, all three of us. We need to get out and live, not perpetuate this cycle of secrecy. Ari needs to meet new people and gradually form a new life. You need to do the same."

Aberforth let out something of a hysterical laugh, but it bore a hint of a sob mixed with an animalistic growl.

"You think I don't understand, do you? He put you up to this, do not deny it! You are getting rid of us, aren't you? But of course, who are your crazy little sister and your annoying brother to stand in the way of your grand plans, right?"

And then he lost it completely.

"I HATE YOU!" he yelled. "You are the reason mother died—it is your fault! And you are NOT taking Ari away from me—you are not separating us, Albus. I will not let it happen!"

It was Albus's turn to blink.

"Aberforth…"

"Stay away from me!" his brother shrieked, some childishness now seeping into his voice. Combined with his sheer muscular strength, the sight was frightening. "Stay away from both of us! I won't let you get away with this, Albus—I won't!"

Against his better judgment, Albus took a step forward. What he had just heard felt like the lash of a whip, and it had come completely out of nowhere.

"Aberforth," he uttered, "I'm a human, just like you. I never meant to hurt any—"

But Aberforth no longer listened. His face was marred with rage and hurt.

What happened next, Albus could not have imagined in his most chilling nightmares. In a heartbeat, it was as if two iron hands had enclosed around his throat, choking him.

His shock lasted for a few seconds, for the sensation was so intense, so painful and so terrifying that he found himself fighting for his life with all he had in him, struggling to pull in a breath, to remove the invisible hands from his throat. None of it did any good. His vision was blackening, blood seemed to be pounding in his head, his heart felt as though it were bursting in his chest, and he had no force to fight any more. He was dying, his mind becoming a blur of disconnected images and slipping out of all control.

Then suddenly, there was an impact as his body hit the ground. Yet he was not dead, for everything hurt, even though the icy grip was gone from his throat. He rolled onto his side and retched, inhaling so quickly and so many times that he felt lightheaded again. But the stars before his eyes were slowly fading; his vision was coming back. And that was when he heard the screams. They were not his own, as it had seemed at first. His head rose, his eyes searching for the source of the bloodcurdling yells of agony.

It was Aberforth, rolling on the ground, his body tense and contorted. And over him, no longer invisible and with his wand drawn, towered Gellert, looking as Albus had never seen him. His cold rage was frightening to behold. Instinctively, Albus knew what was going on without having heard the incantation: Crucio.

"Gellert," he breathed, attempting to rise. "Gellert, please..."

Seconds dragged on, and Aberforth's screams rose ever higher. Just when it seemed the German wizard was not going to stop, his wand hand dropped, his breathing heavy.

Albus's little brother was left to sob on the floor like the underage boy he was. Gellert looked on in utter disgust. Then, as if pulling himself together, he addressed Albus.

"Are you all right, Albus? Can you speak?"

"I'm all right," the other wizard whispered, and then, with a little cough, he repeated more loudly, "I'm all right."

Gellert approached to help him up, and Albus clutched at him until he found himself standing upright again. He glanced at this brother, who was also recovering from the Curse.

"Aberforth..."

Gellert, however, opted for an entirely different tone.

"Get up," he hissed. "Or do you need help?"

Aberforth—indeed—needed help.

Gellert was accomplished at using the said Curse, Albus realised, for Aberforth was trembling something terrible already after a mere taste of it. Usually, as Albus knew from literature, it would take a Dark wizard several rounds to put the victim in such a state. What was worse, Gellert looked far from done.

Impatient with Aberforth's weak attempts to move, he flicked his wand again, and Albus's little brother was hoisted against the wall like a puppet.

"What you tried to do has no justification; and trust me, if it weren't for your brother, you would find yourself regretting being born right now," Gellert said, coming closer to the younger Dumbledore, his wand still raised. "Now, I don't care what your problem is—if it is your mother's doing or something else—I really don't. But you crossed the line when you tried to kill Albus. So, you will now do as we say, and I might let you live. Understood?"

Aberforth had tears in his eyes. Being pinned to the wall after enduring excruciating pain rendered him so unlike himself that it was difficult to know if he had truly heard Gellert. He just kept hanging from the wall, whimpering and sobbing without respite.

Albus stepped forward, shaken to the core yet with an odd sense of determination. Rationality was settling back, and so was tension. He put a hand on Gellert's arm.

"Gellert, he's just a child. Leave him alone, please." He turned the blond wizard's face towards him, trying to reach him. "We have to go, right away. If someone comes and checks your wand... We have to leave."

Gellert looked at him, incredulous at first, but after seeing the look in Albus's eyes, he lowered his wand for the second time, and Aberforth collapsed, no longer held by magic.

"All right, Albus. He is your brother; I trust you." His tone was wary, laced with doubt.

"A-Albus," Aberforth croaked, "d-d-don't go, h-h-he's lying… all… a lie… Albus..."

"Be quiet," Albus ordered, panic rising inside him.

If someone got wind of Gellert having used an Unforgivable Curse, he would be arrested for certain. His brother was recovering—the Curse, while of a terrifying power, had not inflicted lasting damage. Albus felt beyond grateful for this. He gripped Gellert's hand.

"We have to go before someone comes. Quickly."

"No, Albus, we can't," Gellert said soberly. "We can't leave your brother like this. He will go and tell everybody."

"What can we do?" Albus whispered, his eyes feverish. He could sense Gellert was right, but what had happened could not be undone. The only solution his overwrought mind could even begin to conjure made his voice catch in his throat. "You aren't thinking... the Memory Charm?"

But Gellert had no time to answer. Just as the door to the kitchen slid open—Ariana had come down—he whipped about, his posture alert. While they had spoken, Aberforth, half-kneeling on the floor, had reached for his wand and had pointed it at the blond wizard, his gaze alight with hateful determination.

"Avada Kedavra!"

Albus did not know how he thought to act. As if in slow motion, he saw green light ignite the tip of Aberforth's wand, and his own hand moved at the same time, out of his control. It was as though he had become but a part of one purpose, his body and mind and magic focused on one thought: keep Gellert safe. He conjured a beam of silver light just in time before the emerald fire lit the entire kitchen, nearly blinding him and causing the walls to quake from the force of the deadly spell. He never even heard his sister's high-pitched cry of fear.

Everything was happening in split seconds, but he had felt Gellert's spell join his own. The silver beams of light seemed to collide in the air, deflecting—or perhaps mixing with—the green flame; it was too swift, too confusing, too dazzling for the human eye to follow. The emerald Curse flashed towards the back of the kitchen but rebounded from someone's spell, or maybe two of those. The next second, Ariana's panicked scream died.

What came next was Aberforth's own horrified yell.

"ARI!"

Dropping his wand, he ran towards the girl, falling to his knees and grasping her, refusing to let go.

Next to him, Gellert was paler than Albus had ever seen him.

The vision had come true.

Albus seemed to have been transfigured into a pillar. The sheer shock made it impossible for him to move; his wand had fallen out of his limp hand. This could not be. It could not be. Please. But he knew; every torturous second told him it was true. And as scorching tears rolled down his cheeks, he looked up at Gellert, his eyes wide.

"Go!" he whispered. "They'll be coming—they mustn't find you. Go, save yourself."

Go.

The word stirred something.

Gellert forced himself to look away from the horrifying realisation of his vision. Despite everything, his eyes sought out Albus's. And he knew Albus was right. The younger Dumbledore brother no longer mattered. It had happened.

The depths of Gellert's mind brought out his deepest fears: those he had almost expressed out loud when confessing to Albus what he had considered doing to the Potters.

One day, he would become what he feared most he would. And then Albus would hate him.

He tried to call Albus's name, but his voice failed him. The house around them was crackling with magic, on the verge of explosion, and Gellert complied. Almost instinctively, he cast the Disillusionment Charm and walked out, unable to say even a word.

The sound of the closing door, that snapping noise that sealed the loss of everything Albus loved, did it. He let out a scream, and everything around him exploded in a cascade of magic. He collapsed amid the debris, dead to his own mind.

It was Euphrosyne Potter who found them. Whether this occurred minutes or an eternity later was impossible to tell. There were voices, a blur of them, and arms reaching for the two brothers, who, miraculously, had sustained no injury. There were faces all around, and goblets being forced into their hands, full of hot drinks or potions, both of which they refused to drink. Numbly, Albus drifted through half-consciousness, not caring what was going on yet feeling his magic coiled inside him, ready to explode once more at the slightest touch.

No one asked them questions. Aware of Ariana's condition, which received Madam Bagshot's testimony, the villagers ascribed her death and the explosion in the house to a fatal outburst of the Obscurus. Their condolences aside, maybe more than one among them was relieved that the tragedy had transpired away from their families or from the generally popular Potters, who had taken it upon themselves to organise the funeral. While this was being handled, the Abbotts volunteered to keep the boys company through the night. It had taken two men to make Aberforth release his sister's body: the only image that had stayed ingrained in Albus's memory from that evening.

The funeral took place the following day. The earth closed on the carved white coffin, hiding it from sight. A few spells, precise and efficient, as though practised for thousands of times, levelled the ground, and then the tombstone appeared, bearing the words:

Ariana Dumbledore

1885-1899

Beloved Daughter, Cherished Sister

Albus stared at the patch of black earth topped with the grey stone. It was as though the pits of the deepest abyss had swallowed his sister's body. He was hardly aware of the funeral undertaker's last words. He had not even heard the words coming out of his own mouth when he had been requested to give an eulogy. What had he said? There were no words to express anything in life.

Not his sister's essence when she had been alive, not the joy she had somehow been able to find in the poor semblance of life they had given her, and not any part of the pain that was devouring him inside out and tearing his soul apart.

When he stared at the spot where the earth had just sealed itself, he wished it had been him inside the coffin. He was hardly a loss to the world. He had not done his duty to his sister, and he was the reason Gellert was now in an even more desperate situation than before. If his position had not been as dire before that fateful confrontation and hope had existed for him to clear his name, it was not likely to be the case now. All Albus had ever wanted was to keep him safe, to protect him, to make him happy: all that Gellert lacked and needed.

There was movement around. Voices floated about him, calling his name; people touched his shoulder; compassionate expressions multiplied before his eyes.

None of it seemed to reach him. Numbly, he stood on as the crowd dispersed. Ada and Dorothy were walking away with last glances at him, not whispering for once. Their families muttered something about letting them know if ever he needed help.

A hand clad in black lace fluttered to his arm, and his bemused eyes registered Bathilda Bagshot holding a rather damp handkerchief.

"My boy," she spoke, more softly so than he had ever heard her speak, "my dear boy. I'm so sorry for your loss. My door is always open; do not hesitate if there is any way I can help you." She patted his shoulder with an uncharacteristic sniff. "She was the sweetest angel, bless her little soul. Her memory will never be gone. I'm sure she knew how much you loved her, and she could not have wished for more caring brothers."

"Oh, yes, Albus loved her. Loved her so much that he wanted to get rid of her like his friend suggested," Aberforth cut in.

Bathilda's mere presence seemed to bring up the worst in the younger brother's grief… and his grief was expressed in anger.

Albus looked at him, but his lips did not move. He had nothing to say. Not when even every thought felt like razors on a wound. Madam Bagshot turned a beady eye on the other young man, some of her usual scandalised tone seeping back into her voice.

"Now, now, Aberforth dear, you mustn't say such things," she admonished. "Your dear sister's death was an unfortunate accident. It is most unfair to hold accusations against your brother."

Aberforth no longer listened. That woman was a pest, and he hated her, hated everything about her. Most of all, he hated her because of what she had brought on them: that accursed relative of hers, another pest.

And yet it was Albus, Albus, who had invited him in. It was Albus who had orchestrated everything—every little thing that had led to this day.

"I told you!" Aberforth yelled accusingly. "I told you to stop it! It is your fault! You killed Ari!"

He dived at his brother, so overcome with pain that he no longer needed a wand. His fist connected with Albus's nose, and there was a nasty crack. Yet even so, his brother did not even try to fight back. Aberforth kicked again and again and again, yelling incoherently in between. He wanted Albus to fight; he did not want him to just lie on the ground and take it.

The pain was overwhelming. Images of Albus constantly dismissing him, sneaking out, lying to him, bringing that bastard into their house, worshipping him—all of this played out in his mind, and he just kicked and kicked and kicked. His own vision was blurry with tears; his fists—he realised—were covered in blood.

At last, someone's strong hands were pulling him away—away from Albus, who was so pathetic that it would constantly bring out the worst in Aberforth until there was nothing left but exhaustion. He found himself in someone's arms: those of Silas Potter, whose hold was restraining yet also consoling.

And this broke Aberforth completely. More than anything else, he missed their father. He was tired. He had tried to protect them all; he had tried to hold them together. He had seen their mother suffer, and he had seen that it was Albus who had made her suffer with his selfishness and his inability to care.

For years, they had suffered due to this trait of Albus's, and yet, Aberforth had accepted it. He would protect Albus every time mother had complained, taking over all the chores, admitting that maybe Albus just was like that: able to care only for himself and his studies and his books.

And yet, his brother had betrayed him again by showing that, yes, he could care—only, he had chosen to care about the Dark wizard who had appeared at their doorstep, and not his family, never that. And at this point, Aberforth had found he just could not forgive him any more.

So instead, he had tried to protect Ariana, and he had tried so hard. Only for Albus to go behind his back and orchestrate an entire plan to separate them, all in complete secrecy. He had even considered applying a Memory Charm to his own brother after watching him being tortured. And now, after all of this, Ariana was dead, and he was exhausted.

Aberforth was not sure how much he told Silas Potter between sobs, but for once, it felt like being consoled by a father: someone he had not had for years and whom he needed so badly. At some point, he simply hid his face in the wizard's chest, not caring to see how much damage he had inflicted. He just cried.

At the other side of the graveyard, Mrs Potter and Madam Bagshot had converged on his brother, pulling him to sitting position. Albus could hardly breathe for the blood and for one particularly hard kick he had received in the stomach. He could taste blood in his mouth. His face felt huge and red and swollen, and if he had seen himself in the mirror, perhaps he would have felt dull curiosity as to what had happened to the boy in question. There was pain too, but not enough. Not anywhere near enough.

"Oh, Albus," Mrs Potter muttered softly, dabbing her handkerchief at his bloody nose while Madam Bagshot surveilled him critically over the witch's shoulder.

"This needs cleaning up," she said, her compassionate voice gaining a somewhat bossy hint in addition to its already scandalised undertone. "There now, Euphrosyne, we ought to clean it carefully and then apply the Healing Charm. Mending the bone takes a second."

"No," Albus said, his mouth thick with blood.

Despite his battered state, his voice appeared to carry enough resolution, for the two women looked astonished.

"Albus, dear," Mrs Potter objected while Bathilda seemed to prep herself for a tirade.

"No," he repeated, and without further ado, he stood up. "Than' you, but... I cam'. I'm sobwy. I... muss go."

He turned his back on them and walked out of the graveyard as quickly as he could, blind to his surroundings, unaware whether anyone stopped to stare or whisper.

Tears were now dribbling out of his eyes, though it was not due to the physical pain. On the contrary, he craved more of it; he wanted to drown in agony, for no torture could be worse than the kind that was eating him alive.

"Albus? Albus! Albus!"

He was stopped by Elphias Doge, his faithful companion from Hogwarts. Yet right now, he seemed a stranger to Albus. Even Dieter had become closer a friend to him.

"Albus… Merlin's beard, what happened to your face? What's going on?"

Vaguely, Albus noticed that the boy was still dressed in travelling clothes and holding a bag, not to mention there was something of a tan on his skin. This only made him think of Gellert—stranded far away, frightened, guilty, likely hunted. All because of him, Albus. He could not—he could not take it.

Shaking his head in guise of an apology, Albus blundered on until his house came into view.

There, he could finally collapse, painfully aware of how close Madam Bagshot's house was: the parlour where he had dined with the boys, the bedroom where he had pledged himself to Gellert. It was all gone.

Hours came and went. Dawn and dusk succeeded each other. The house remained silent. Ever since Albus had staggered inside, he had only come out once to return Quaffy to the Potters. He had found the elfling sobbing its heart out in a corner of Ariana's bedroom—a heartbreaking sight. Gently, he had interrogated the creature on what it believed to have witnessed, and it had told him everything, describing the Killing Curse and its deflection in an accurate detail. There was only one thing to do: instruct the elfling to make an Oath so that the truth would stay secret. And once this was done, Albus had taken it to the Potters, who also happened to have taken Aberforth in for a short while. Albus had no objections. With the best apologies he was capable of, he returned their gift. With Ariana gone, Quaffy was too miserable, too traumatised to survive in a sterile house full of dark memories and grief; its best hope was the friendship of another child—that of the Potters' little son, Charlus.

Afterwards, Albus felt the rest of his life force drain out of him. He stayed in the sitting room, his eyes rarely straying from Gellert's painting of the mountains around Durmstrang, which was the only thing that seemed to hold any comfort for him. Thanks to the Indestructible Charm he had applied to it earlier to protect it from Aberforth's retribution, it alone had not been shattered by his discharge of magic. It was fascinating too, the way the icy shades of the picture drew one in in the most warming, inviting way while his own house felt cold, so cold. Had summer ended already? It felt that way, even though, behind the door, he sometimes heard the voices of Ada and Dorothy going back and forth in their care of Aberforth's goats and chickens. They seemed to gossip, not even bothering to whisper, but he neither listened nor cared. He felt as though his soul were drowning in sorrow.

Madam Bagshot came over the first day, a hot meal in her hands. After fussing over him for a moment and encouraging him to eat and rest, her eyes caught sight of Gellert's painting, and she fell silent, her shrewd gaze morphing into an expression of shock and then distaste. Still, she came back the second day with another meal, only to find the first one untouched, and she appeared alarmed at the boy's state. She walked away rather quickly, and Albus relapsed into the whirlpool of blackness that was his mind, aching with every fibre of his being for the wizard he adored and the sister he would never see again.

One day, a different voice reached him. "Albus, I've decided to return to school."

"Go," he replied, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

Aberforth opened his mouth and then closed it again. There was something akin to guilt in his chest, but at the same time… Ari was gone, and she was gone because of Albus.

Still, whether it was due to some uncontrollable impulse or something else, it pained him to see his brother in such a state. Even though anger and resentment remained present.

It would appear that Albus still had not learned his lesson. The sight of him staring at that stupid painting all but made the monster inside Aberforth growl again. He could sense it was not their sister Albus was mourning; no, he was worried about that bastard of a Dark wizard, yearning to be with him.

Aberforth tore his eyes away.

Then—he was not sure why—he produced the wretched graphite-tipped pen made to look like a miniature wand out of his pocket and placed it on the table. He had intended to snap the bloody thing in half and seeing Albus in this state almost made him do it, but it no longer mattered. Wanting nothing more than to get away from his brother, he walked out without so much as bidding Albus goodbye.

To meet him, there was a wizard in a Healer's robe.

Final thoughts:

Well, dear readers, the tragedy has struck and it is known what happened then. Gellert will find the Elder Wand independently from Albus and will wreak havoc with it. Albus will in time become a teacher and then a Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizadry.

The aim of this story was to write a prequel to a well-known tragedy and explain why Albus still harboured feelings towards Gellert years after. Someone like him wouldn't love a person who didn't have anything worth loving. Albus was never stupid or weak. As to Gellert, then he is a complicated character. He had to have a good side, but in the end he made all the wrong choices. In case you felt strong "Lord of the Flies" vibes, it is not coincidental. Just like in that award winning novel, the boys in this story failed to organise themselves well and this resulted in a tragedy. In that sense I refuse to adopt a stereotypical "villain" view of Gellert; to me he is a product of the highly twisted wizarding society, just like everybody else in this story, and as such any happy ending was doomed to fail.

This prequel has been written together with Tarpeia, and I hope you've all enjoyed the journey.

Thank you for reading. Reviews are always welcome.