Disclaimer: JKR is God. I am not.

Author's Note: I've wanted to write an Albus/Gellert fic for ages, but it's such a dense period of time and so much has to happen, I've been putting this off. I got out this first chapter and there will definitely be more to come, but I don't know how long it will take. I live for reviews! I've also realized - a little late - that this all is supposed to take place in the late 1800s, but I've decided to not care. It's just gonna not really have a specific time period at all, but all stick to the facts that Jo gave us, with my own stuff thrown in, of course. Enjoy!

Albus Dumbledore squinted against the light of the sun that was just beginning to intrude on the wet, chilly dim of early morning. He'd been out here all night, watching the stars pop out the moon sidle lazily across its path across the velvety tapestry above him. He didn't feel like sleeping. He didn't feel like moving or speaking or thinking. And this wasn't the first night he'd done this. He'd long since lost feeling in his bottom and his left leg had drifted off to sleep, tiny prickles running through his veins instead of blood. But he liked it. He liked the chilly summer breeze in the middle of the night that pulled at his skin and bit at his nose. He liked the carapace of darkness that wrapped him up, protecting him like he imagined a mother's arms would. He even liked the numb discomfort. It made him feel as though he was apart from the body he hated.

The early summer night welcomed him into its solace and materialized what he felt: that he was completely alone in the world.

Godric's Hollow was dark at night; he could barely see the house next door or the silhouette of the old church a few blocks before him when the night was at its' deepest. But now, the sun was coming up and chasing away all the tiny little pinpricks that made up the pictures in the sky. He could name them all so well. They reminded him of Hogwarts.

The little town was being thawed out from the icy night. He was warmed all over and he let his heavy eyelids slide closed, the pristine quiet encroached upon by the sanguine chirping of the birds that began to lull him into slumber.

The weight of a small hand startled him out of sleep before he even realized he'd drifted off. As though through a mirror image, the blue eyes of his sister gazed into his, full of a curiosity and innocence and passion Albus would never fully appreciate until it was too late. Ariana was still in her plain pink nightgown. She must have seen him sitting there from her window. Disliking the idea of company, especially of someone who needed so much attention that he wasn't willing to give, he stood and ushered her brusquely back into the house.

As they entered the den on the way back to her bedroom, she pulled towards the bookshelf, touching the row of thin readers on the very bottom shelf that mother used to read to her. "We're not reading now," Albus croaked in a detached and unfamiliar voice. He didn't feel like being patient with her. He felt like going back outside, into the sanctuary of isolation he'd made for himself. "We're going back to sleep. Come on."

But Ariana had her heart set on reading. She wrenched her wrist from his fingers with unusual strength and pulled a book off the shelf. In her condition, she was tiny for her age and the book looked much too large for her. But she held it up to him, a shadow of hopefulness on her face.

"No," Albus grunted firmly, taking the book from her perhaps a little rougher than he had meant to and pushed it back. "Bedtime." Ariana made a strange, oddly loud squawk of disapproval, dodged his hand at abnormal speed, and swiped the book back up, holding it up to him with both of her small hands.

"Cut it out!" Albus had known not to raise his voice, but he did it anyway.

Ariana's face had changed before her eldest brother realized his infraction. "No…" Albus groaned, dropping to his knees in front of her to try and comfort her before it happened.

Resembling something more like a demon then a child, her red eyes pierced him, incensed, and her face was flushed. Tiny fingers clenched on the book and Ariana shook with anger. The acrid smell of burning paper reached his long nose. Albus swore under his breath as the pages suddenly exploded from the cover, raining down on them in tiny shreds. One by one the books behind her began to explode, a loud bang like a gun blast accompanying each detonation of Ariana's storybooks.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Albus pleaded feebly. He reached out his arms to her, afraid to touch her, but not knowing what else to do. It was always mother who dealt with Ariana's outbursts – he'd never been alone with his sister during one before. She shook terribly, grunting and shrieking with each bit of magic that forced itself out of her.

"Ari!"

Aberforth ran into the room, pushing Albus over as he rushed to Ariana. The younger boy looked as though he'd just woken as well, and while Albus sat helplessly where he'd fallen, Aberforth made every attempt to calm their sister. "Shhh… It's all right! He didn't mean any harm; I'm here now, it's all right!"

He was just barely heard over the explosions, and when Ariana's eyes had returned to blue and her shaking began to recede, Aberforth swept her into his arms. He rocked her back and forth, from side to side, shh-ing and murmuring into her hair. Ariana was buried in his arms, unseen. It took only moments for her to be pacified. Her tantrum was over. Bits of smoking pages continued to fall like snow onto the carpet; aside from that, all was still again.

Without looking at his older brother, Aberforth picked Ariana up and turned to leave. Over Aberforths' shoulder, Albus saw Ariana was asleep, her pale face splotchy with red and streaked with tear tracks. Her tiny fists were griping Aberforths' sleeves, just below his shoulders and her face pressed into his shoulder.

Albus's heart broke a little more than it had been already, watching the two of them ascend the stairs to the bedrooms together. Ariana loved Aberforth and Aberforth simply adored Ariana. It had been that way since they had parents and had become stronger now that it was just the three of them.

Albus was embarrassed that he couldn't calm Ariana on his own; he felt stupid sitting there alone in the littered room. He pressed the heels his long-fingered hands against his closed eyes.

Thoughts weren't streaming neatly through his head like they usually were; but they were all smushed in there together under his dark red hair, stumbling around in circle after circle until he couldn't make sense of any of them. He couldn't decide if he missed his parents or just wanted them back to make things easier. He couldn't tell how he'd raise his fifteen-year old brother alone, along with a magical time bomb with the mind of a seven-year-old. He couldn't tell if he was scared of this or not; this gargantuan change that the death of his mother made in his life.

All he knew for sure was that as the oldest, it was up to him to take care of everyone, and to keep up with the lies that fabricated his life. And yet, with brains like his, brilliance like this… There simply had to be a way. He had to escape this house, this town, this responsibility. Babysitting was not the job for someone like him.

Deep down, he loved his brother and sister, truly. But guilt was really the only thing binding him to this house.

Getting to his feet at last, he waved his wand to vanish the remnants of Ariana's outburst. It saddened him that all her books had been destroyed; it'll appear quite curious if he were to go into the bookstore in town and replace them all. People in this town were startlingly nosy. He'd figure something out for her; being read to was Ariana's favorite activity. He wondered if she really understood the stories; if she could see everything as clearly in her minds' eye as everyone else.

Absently, he realized something else had also been destroyed – the portrait of his mother that sat on the shelf just above Ariana's books. The glass had cracked, splintered like frozen fingers or spiders' legs across Kendra's strong face. Ariana's magic acting upon it had canceled out the magic that made the image move, so his mother stood quite still, even though the edges smoldered slowly, the rim of fire eating its way through the photograph – it had gotten just the tail end of the childs' fury. Gently, Albus blew the dying embers out, repaired the glass, but couldn't make the picture move again. Blue eyes blazing with hatred at Kendra for leaving them, he laid the frame down, hiding the face he stared at, lying in a casket, only weeks ago.

It was still quite early in the morning, and the utter silence in the house told him he was, again, the only one awake. Yet this quiet was different. Not serene, but thick. Buzzing. As Albus went upstairs in a resolute sort of way, to perhaps send a few owls, he tried to fight off the feeling that this was going to be a very trying summer.

Albus loved the smell of ink, and he always felt most complete when there was a quill in his hand, translating his thoughts into beautifully curved imprints of sparkling dark intelligence onto a thick piece of browning parchment. He was never much for poetry, but words entranced him just as much as knowledge alone did. More than half of the books on the shelf where Ariana had gone off were his and he'd read them all at least twice. All by wizard authors and muggle authors and muggle authors pretending to be wizards and wizard authors pretending to be muggles. They were glorious things, books. Full of every kind of knowledge and emotion and story you could hope for.

But now wasn't the time for reading. Albus was writing. Ignoring penmanship, he scribbled away, dashing back and forth across the paper, back and forth from the page to his ink bottle. His father had promised him one of those new self-inking quills before the terribleness began… back when life was normal.

Shaking away thoughts Percival with a small shudder, Albus continued. Elphias was expecting his answer soon; he'd put off this reply for almost a week now and he didn't want Elphias to think he'd forgotten him. Usually there was at least a letter in or out each evening.

Truth be told, if it were up to him, they'd stop this correspondence immediately and let the friendship die. But each of Elphias's letters were more excited and detailed from the last and Albus knew Elphias enjoyed writing to his only friend of his adventures abroad. It was Albus who less than enjoyed writing back; it had been almost a month since his mother died and he realized he would have to stay behind while Elphias went on. Having to recount the daily drudgeries of Godrics' Hollow paled miserably in comparison to the colorful and lively stories Elphias told him.

He had just finished reading today's Daily Prophet was describing a few of the things that had been going on in the wizarding world here when the doorbell rang downstairs.

He heard a small bleat and giggle come from Aberforths' bedroom as he passed it. "What did I tell you about having those things in the house?" Albus hollered through the door.

"Sod off!" came the reply, not much to Albus' surprise. He checked – Ariana was playing placidly with a small doll in her bedroom.

Albus liked Gellert Grindlewald before he knew his name. He had opened the door to little Miss Bathilda Bagshot, the old woman who lived next door. "Hullo," Albus greeted her quietly, standing aside to allow her and the young man she'd brought with her into the house. He was shorter than Albus, golden haired, challenging but not reclusive eyes, a pleasant face. The way he moved reminded Albus of his books; so open, yet hiding something that you had to read all the way through to find.

"How are you holding up, son?" Bathilda said gently once they were in the hall, the skin around her eyes wrinkling terribly as she scrutinized him. She patted his cheek brusquely; her hands were warm, but rough. He forced a good-natured grin.

"We're holding up, Ms. Bagshot."

"Miss working and all that, I'd bet," she asked. "You were never one to sit around the house, Albert, from all the stories your mum used to tell me about you."

Albus blushed, quite used to her making mistakes when it came to names but unaware that his mother used to people things about him. He was also quite embarrassed once he realized he was blushing, glancing at the boy standing over her shoulder. He was wearing a light traveling cloak as it was summer, dark clothes underneath, and a chain around his neck; on which Albus couldn't see what.

"Oh!" Bathilda chuckled, seeing where Albus's eyes had drifted. "Nearly lost forgot: this is my great nephew, Gellert Grindlewald; come all the way from Germany on a bit of a… holiday." She put her arm out and pulled him forward, but released him rather quickly. Gellert gave Albus a curious smile: otherwise normal for two teenage boys first meeting, but his eyes lingered on Albus's too long. They shook hands.

"He's your age," Bathilda continued. "And I thought maybe you two would make a fine pair. Keep each other company. I'm not much for entertaining children anymore, I fear."

Albus wasn't sure what to say. But he found himself standing beside the fair-haired boy as Bathilda trotted off back home, obviously quite pleased that she'd found Albus a companion.

"She's well off her rocker," Gellert muttered. His voice was tinged with German. Albus gave a small snort of laughter. There was a pregnant pause. "She said you've got a brother and sister?"

Albus's teeth clenched. He thought of his brother up there with one of the goats and his sister, fourteen years old and incapable of any ability beyond a seven year old. "You wouldn't want to meet them," he muttered.

"Why not?" Gellert responded, sounding genuinely interested.

"They're, er, not really… normal," Albus muttered, having a feeling this wouldn't pacify the other boys' curiosity.

"Who is? C'mon, if I'm going to be forced over here you might as well show me some hospitality," he said, not unkindly. In fact, Gellert was grinning wider than ever – joking. Albus hadn't heard anyone joke in quite a long time. Without looking at him and regretting every step he took, he led Gellert upstairs.

Ariana was still playing with her doll, a lifeless muggle thing that she had taken a liking to years ago. Kendra tried to get her to play with normal, wizard toys – tops that never tipped over and broomsticks that hovered – but she preferred the lifeless ragdoll. Albus supposed she liked the fact that it moved when she wanted it to and couldn't surprise her. "That's Ariana," Albus said, both boys huddled in the doorway.

"What's wrong with her?" Gellert asked softly. Albus frowned. Usually it took longer for people to realize something wasn't right about her.

"Brain damage. Affects her magic," Albus said cleanly, trying to make it sound like not such a big deal. He was glad Gellert didn't ask anything thing else about her, but continued to gaze at her like a botched experiment he couldn't explain.

"Aberforth is through here," Albus said, leading Gellert away from the door, though the shorter boy lingered for a moment. Albus knocked. "Company. Come out."

"No."

"What the hell are you doing in there?"

"Me and Agatha want to be alone!"

"Agatha?" Gellert queried, a hint of teenage joviality in his voice.

Albus hesitated. "His goat."

Gellert blinked.

And suddenly, he was laughing; really, indisputably laughing. His head was thrown back and he was clutching his stomach, leaning against the wall for support. It wasn't a patronizing laugh, but almost a laugh of disbelief. And then Albus was laughing too; for once in his life realizing how truly absurd it must sound to be have a little brother who locks himself in his room with a goat.

"I think-" Gellert wheezed after a moment, setting his hand on Albus's shoulder as they both calmed down, grinning stupidly still. "You and I are going to get on just fine."