August 11, 1899

Dumbledore Residence, Godric's Hollow

Gellert realized that something was amiss the moment Albus closed the door behind him. His auburn head was drooped and his bright blue eyes looked withdrawn, but there was something in his posture that spelled steely determination.

"We need to talk," said the other boy in a rushed tone.

That phrase almost brought an involuntary smile to Gellert's face. He had heard it too often all summer, usually preceding some animated discussion that Albus would draw him into because it's Albus and when he gets struck by a brilliant idea or some sudden insight—which happened more and more as they spent all of their time together—he had to share it with Gellert immediately.

"I'm listening," he replied steadily.

Albus ran a hand through his auburn hair, a colouring that Gellert thought suited no one until he met this brilliant young man. Albus avoided his gaze. "We can't go right now."

"What do you mean?" Gellert knew exactly what he meant but that didn't mean he was going to make it easy.

"Aberforth is right," murmured Albus. "I know what we said… that one of us will keep an eye on her, that we will take precautions. But Gellert—" His blue eyes met Gellert's imploringly. "It won't be enough. Ariana couldn't handle it. We can't do that to her."

Gellert clenched his jaw angrily. "We are doing this for her," he emphasized. "For everyone like her. So that no one has to go through what she did."

"I know that!" exclaimed Albus. "Of course, I know that. I still believe in our goals."

"You just don't want to act on them," said Gellert furiously. He should have known better than to expect Albus to put the Greater Good above his misguided sense of duty to his family. It was one of the few things that he wanted to change about Albus. "Can't you see? You are letting them hold you back. You are meant for great things—things that go beyond the duty to one sick girl—things that will make the Wizarding world a better place for everyone."

Albus shook his head, eyes stubborn. Gellert knew Albus Dumbledore well enough by now to know how far he can manipulate his friend. The young man was intelligent and flexible-minded, drawn to idealism and as passionate as Gellert, but when he drew a line, he drew it clearly. Gellert had not minded so much when their goals were aligned, but it always gave him some pause to consider that there were certain boundaries Albus was not willing to cross. It looked like they reached their first impasse.

"It won't be forever," Albus said resolutely. "It's Aberforth's last year at Hogwarts. He has plans for the farm and the animals after he graduates." Gellert almost snorted. Of course, dim-witted Aberforth's ambitions hardly extended beyond those goats he loved so much. "He wants to stay here with Ariana. Please, Gellert—" There was a glint of desperation in his eyes. "It will be less than a year. Then we can go together."

Gellert said nothing. He was still furious. Furious at Albus for turning his back on them, and furious at himself for believing in Albus. Their quest for the Hallows was supposed to be the highest priority. Albus had agreed, and now he was reneging. Gellert had half a mind to stomp out the door, pack his bags, bid Aunt Bathilda farewell, and leave at once. As a parting gift, he might consider transfiguring Aberforth into a goat.

Albus must have sensed his resentment, because he quickly closed the distance between them. He held one of Gellert's hands in his own, cupping his face with the other hand. "Look at me…" he whispered. Then he pressed his lips against Gellert's like he had many times before, but Gellert was stubborn and unresponsive. Albus sighed, moving his hand to gently brush aside a lock of golden hair.

"You can stay with me?" he asked, voice breaking a little. "I want you to stay with me."

Gellert exhaled, desperately trying to keep his control from slipping. He was never good at containing his temper. It was what ultimately ended his career at Durmstrang. Except he wasn't at Durmstrang now, and this was Albus, not the arrogant grandson of the Headmaster who thought his pure-blood status and noble name meant he was worth more than the most talented student Durmstrang had seen in a century.

When he felt a modicum of his control returning, Gellert spoke again. "Albus… she doesn't have much time left. You must know this."

Albus flinched, pulling away from him. "I don't know what—" he began.

"Don't, Albus," he said sharply. "You know what she is."

"She is my sister!" replied Albus hotly.

"Yes, and she's an Obscurial."

An uncomfortable silence followed. This was the only topic he and Albus danced around all summer. Gellert couldn't be certain at first. Durmstrang, quite rightly, ensured that their students had a passing familiarity with most forms of Dark Magic. Still, he had never heard of any living Obscurials, let alone seen one—until Ariana. As Gellert understood it, they were more common in the past, when witches and wizards were more frequently hunted by Muggles.

Ariana was fourteen, far older than most Obscurials he read about. That in itself was fascinating in an academic sense. The knowledge on Obscurials was disappointingly thin, as they were feared by magical and non-magical folk alike. Die verfluchten kinder. The cursed chidren, they called them in Gellert's native tongue. One thing was agreed upon by all who studied them: the condition was incurable. If it wasn't for the importance of the Hallows, Gellert would have loved to study Ariana. Not that he ever voiced this desire to Albus, who he suspected would not take kindly to the use of his sister as a curious specimen. The English boy always saw intrinsic value in people rather than their mere usefulness; it always amused Gellert to no end, who believed that a person's value depended on their usefulness.

"W-we don't know that." Albus's anguished expression did not match his words.

This time, Gellert reached for his hand first. When he spoke, he was surprised by the softness of his words. Then again, he was constantly surprising himself around the older boy. "I'm sorry, Albus." Maybe he even meant it a little, but it was certainly the right thing to say, as Albus's expression softened. "Your mother did her best. You are doing your best. But some day, it won't be enough to save her."

Albus swallowed, as if restraining the instinct to protest against what he knew to be the truth: Ariana did not have much time left. The increasing frequency of her outbursts was undeniable. And the increasing destructiveness of each incident.

"I won't leave her, Gellert," he said at last. The guileless and imploring look he gave Gellert made his fair-haired companion draw a deep breath as something inexplicable fluttered in his chest.

I should leave, thought Gellert. I should leave now and never look back. Go find the Hallows. The Hallows were the most important thing in the world. Not this bright soul standing before him, clever and sweet and entirely without calculation or motive. Albus may think that they were kindred souls, but Gellert knew better. Albus wouldn't leave the family that was crippling his destiny, while Gellert already left the family that was far too beneath him.

"I should leave then," he said stiffly. He turned and walked towards the setting sun.

The door swung shut as Albus called after him, but Gellert ignored him and kept walking. It was time to move on from Godric's Hollow.

August 12, 1899

Bagshot Residence, Godric's Hollow

"Are you sure I can't convince you to stay a little longer?"

Gellert stepped away from his trunk to look at his great-aunt. She was peering kindly at him, a concerned look in her slightly furrowed brows.

"I'll be fine, Aunt Bathilda," he muttered.

"Where will you go?" she asked, still frowning as he packed away the notes he and Albus made during their experiments on human transfiguration.

"I'll find a place."

"I would feel much better if you didn't go alone," she said. "You are welcome to stay with me for as long as you like. With poor Kendra gone, I know Albus has so much on his plate with that poor little girl! He needs someone his own age, and Merlin knows you two get on like a cauldron on fire. Now that you won't be returning to Durmstrang, surely you should consider staying—"

Gellert resisted the urge to shout at her. As if going off on his own was somehow his fault! If Albus had kept his promise, he wouldn't be in this position.

Bathilda cut herself off, probably sensing his annoyance. Gellert held his temper though. After all, she was the last person who was still family to him. Despite being a Bagshot, she never possessed the blood purity fanaticism that plagued his more immediate family.

"Sorry, Auntie Bathilda," he said, more gently. "I don't think there is anything here for me anymore. I'll send you an owl from my next destination."

"Where will that be?" she asked again, still concerned.

Truthfully, Gellert had no idea. They—he and Albus—were supposed to figure that out together. The few leads they had on the Elder Wand, their first and most important target, were all of dubious legitimacy. The plan had been to track down the more plausible leads systematically, but they hadn't quite gotten that far in planning. Again, a deep annoyance towards Albus rose in his chest.

"I'm still trying to figure that out," he admitted.

Bathilda sat him down at the edge of his bed. "Well, my boy, I think that is all the more reason not to rush out the door like this. Sit down with Albus and think this through. Isn't he part of this funny quest of yours? Make a plan first. Then, when Ariana is doing better and Aberforth is home from school, you can go together."

He ran a hand through his hair carelessly, still frustrated, about to protest but realizing that she had a point. This would go much easier if he had someone of equal intellect to assist him, a partner he could bounce ideas off, and a friend he can rise with to the top. "Together," they had said over and over again.

A year, he mused. Maybe less. Ariana's condition was already deteriorating. It wasn't a charitable thought, but it came to him nonetheless. So what was a few months? He was sixteen years old with the whole world in front of him. He wasn't likely to find another Albus Dumbledore out there. Truthfully, he never cared about finding someone his equal, until the day he nearly walked into the slightly shy but bright young man who was knocking on Aunt Bathilda's door to thank her for her latest batch of cauldron cakes.

No, Albus was unique—he understood Gellert in a way that no one ever did and shared his dreams.

Now that he was sitting on his bed next to the trunk, he was also thinking about all the times they laid side-by-side on this bed, far too close for propriety even before they finally kissed and moved forward with their relationship. That was another thing Gellert hadn't cared about before. At Durmstrang, the girls were either frivolous or full of schemes, and the men were full of unearned self-pride and dull to boot. Gellert had found nothing attractive about any of them.

"I think you are the most beautiful person I've ever seen," Albus had whispered to him two nights ago, grinning at him while waving his hands gracefully to recreate the night sky on the bedroom ceiling. It was a fairly impressive feat of nonverbal wandless magic, but Gellert wasn't really paying attention and was staring intently at Albus's lips. "I don't think they make them like you at Hogwarts." Gellert had smirked and asked, "What, blond?" He was rewarded with an eyeroll. "No, clever," was the reply. They had both laughed at that before finding more interest in each other's bodies for the rest of the evening than the bedroom ceiling.

Well, it honestly made sense, he decided. He could stay a little while longer. He wouldn't lose sight of their goals, and he wouldn't let Albus forget either. And if Albus truly started to lose interest in the Hallows or in the Greater Good, he would leave. Gellert was sure of that.

August 19, 1899

Outskirts of Godric's Hollow

"What changed your mind?"

Gellert watched as Albus made an exaggerated flourish with his wand. His Patronus, a bright silver phoenix, soared impressively above them. Albus tilted his head in concentration. The silver phoenix flew back towards them and hovered in front of Gellert. Its beak opened, but it was a human voice that spoke.

"Hello, handsome," it greeted him in Albus's voice.

Gellert smirked. "Impressive."

The silver phoenix flapped its wings, flipping in midair and then blinked rather flirtatiously at him, if that was even possible. Clearly, Albus had been practicing.

"I think I prefer you in this form," teased Gellert, flashing him a dazzling smile.

"You didn't answer my question." Albus waved his wand again; the silver Patronus flew off into the distance and out of sight. "What changed your mind about leaving?"

Gellert shrugged and tried to sound nonchalant. "You."

"Me?" repeated Albus, eyebrows raised and a slight blush colouring his cheeks.

"Of course," he replied, sounding more casual than he felt. "Isn't it obvious? We're good together."

Albus smiled widely at that. "Yes, we are."

Gellert stepped forward to give him a soft peck on the nose. "Besides… like you said, it's only a year."

Albus squeezed his arm and gave him a look so full of… well, he wasn't sure what exactly, only that it made him feel like he could accomplish anything in the world. That fluttery and warm sensation in his chest returned.

"I showed you mine. Now show me yours."

"Show you…?" Gellert was only half paying attention, still distracted by the warmth of Albus's hand on his arm.

"Your Patronus," clarified Albus. "You've seen mine so many times. I've been taking bets in my head about yours."

Gellert was amused. "What did you bet on?"

"I was thinking a dragon—" Gellert was flattered, but then he continued— "or maybe a worm."

"A worm!" he exclaimed indignantly. "I'll have you know, it is most definitely not a worm!"

"Then prove it," retorted Albus slyly.

Gellert rolled his eyes in departure from his normally dignified self. "Very well."

He drew his wand and concentrated. For some reason, the Patronus Charm was one of the few spells he struggled with. Some wizards held a belief that only the pure of heart can produce a corporeal Patronus. Gellert never quite believed in that, but it was still inexplicably one of the hardest spells for him to master.

He closed his eyes and recalled the day he and Albus made their blood pact, a symbol of their promise to each other. Never to be parted, always to stand together. He focused firmly on the relieved joy he had felt on that day.

"Expecto patronum!"

A huge, silver winged beast burst forth from the tip of his wand. It leapt across the grass, prowling back and forth a few times before dissolving. It was an impressive sight, one of Gellert's more successful attempts at the charm if he was honest, although not as controlled or as enduring as Albus's Patronus.

"A thestral…" remarked Albus, eyes wide in wonder. "That must be an incredibly rare form for a Patronus!"

"Says the man with a phoenix Patronus," replied Gellert, amused.

"Well," said Albus thoughtfully, "we are not ordinary."

Over the past two months, neither of them could help but make comparisons with the other. From the outside, it may look like a constant competition of one-upmanship, but they knew better. Genius respected genius unconditionally. They would not be so drawn to each other if not for how well-matched they were in sheer brilliance. In the subjects of Transfiguration, Charms, and Defense Against the Dark Arts, they were incredibly evenly matched, which lent itself to endlessly stimulating discussions and debates.

They discovered that both had played Quidditch for the respective school teams. Albus was one of the youngest Seekers in Hogwarts' history, making the Gryffindor team in only his first year. Gellert's position was Chaser, and he played competitively starting in second year; in his fourth year, he set a European school record for number of goals scored in one game. Aside from flying, they also had a friendly rivalry in chess, and they were nearly tied with thirteen wins to Albus and eleven to Gellert so far. Even in Muggle literature and poetry, they found much in common.

Of course, there were differences, as they were slowly learning. Albus found it amusing that Gellert was not the most adept in the art of potions. He was by no means mediocre (in fact, compared to their peers, he was above average… but 'above average' falls short of his usual extraordinary standards), and Gellert knew more about the theory of potions than most. It was just that Gellert had little patience for the tedious details of potions, making him occasionally clumsy in its practical application. In contrast, Albus was a meticulous potioneer and continues to conduct research in the art of potions; when he was still a student, his knowledge of the subject rivalled that of even the Hogwarts Potions' master.

In the areas of Occlumency and Legilimency, Albus also has a slight advantage over Gellert, but it was mostly due to more practice from the older boy. After Gellert insisted on practicing with him over the summer, Albus suspects that the gap in their proficiency has narrowed significantly.

On the other hand, Albus freely admitted that he was totally rubbish at Divination, possessing no Sight or Inner Eye or whatever Seers called it. He was rarely dismissive of any branch in magic, but his experience with Divination at Hogwarts had been… disappointing to say the least. Neither his professor nor his classmates demonstrated any objective evidence of possessing the Sight. All of the interpretation of planets and reading of tea leaves seemed highly arbitrary to him. He was ready to dismiss Divination as a woolly and highly imprecise subject. Then he met Gellert, who was exceptionally skilled in Divination and was—if Albus dared to say—an actual Seer.

He was fascinated because Gellert did not read tea leaves or crystal balls. Occasionally, he would make small predictions while they stargazed, citing the movement of particular stars or planets. These predictions were remarkably accurate but mostly about inconsequential events: one of Aberforth's goats would wander off for a few hours, or Aunt Bathilda would smash a plate before noon, or Albus would find a sherbet lemon in one of his socks (although he wasn't sure if Gellert deserved credit for that one… he was prone to leave candy everywhere).

Gellert also had visions. Not often—sometimes one in three years, and sometimes three in six months. He shared one with Albus once, and the latter had not been keen to repeat the experience. He was not particularly jealous of this gift of Gellert's. If anything, it was deeply disturbing and even confusing at times. The single vision that was shared with Albus was a chaotic scene of trenches and men drowning in mud as deafening sounds of artillery echoed around them. It was brief and terrifying. Gellert said it wasn't always like that, but he still did not envy his friend. If living through war was bad, then seeing the suffering before experiencing it seemed much worse.

And then Gellert told him that sometimes he saw multiple versions of the future—one time period with multiple outcomes. He interpreted this to indicate that the future was constantly in motion. It was maddening, Albus thought privately, and perhaps worse than seeing no possible outcomes at all. But Gellert opined that these conflicting visions were forewarnings of different pathways that he could take. Still, Albus did not see how this was helpful, as it was unclear which decision or set of decisions predicted each outcome. It was dangerous, he hypothesized, as one may behave differently and even bring about an undesirable future in the very attempt to prevent it. He did notice that Gellert dwelled more on the future and possibilities, while he tried to stay mostly in the present.

One time, he was curious and couldn't help but ask, "Can you see us in the future?"

This drew a frown. "No," Gellert had admitted. "If I concentrate hard enough, sometimes I can will myself to see a brief glimpse of someone or something in the future. But when I try to see us… it's always cloudy."

If he was entirely honest, Albus was rather relieved by the answer. He would rather make that future for himself than see it dictated to him. Gellert, however, seemed rather disappointed; perhaps he felt that seeing them in the future would reassure him in the present, even if the future was not set in stone.

September 1, 1899

Outside the Barn, Godric's Hollow

"Take my hand."

Ariana stared at him warily, her body still shuddering uncontrollably. She always shared some of Aberforth's mistrust of him, and her beloved brother's absence only made it worse.

Gellert cursed, not from her lack of trust in him but because he could sense the Obscurus trying to burst out of her. Dark wispy mists blurred the edges of Ariana's silhouette. Summoning a bit of grain, he encouraged Roxanne, one of Aberforth's favourite goats, to approach closer. He was also prepared to generate a powerful shield charm at any moment. At least they were already outside and didn't have to worry about bringing the house down.

"Roxy will come with us to feed the others," he said encouragingly. "You love feeding Roxy and the other goats, don't you?"

Ariana shook her head, shaking worse than ever.

"Ariana, we don't just look after them. We are their family. Don't you want to see our family?" He copied Aberforth's words, not without cringing inwardly because only Albus's mundane brother could call these dull creatures family. But Aberforth was always the one to calm her down, and Aberforth wasn't here because Albus had taken him to King's Cross to start the new school year.

Nevertheless, Ariana calmed noticeably at his last words. Her movements quieted slightly, and she was able to place one shaking hand in his, allowing him to lead her towards the barn. The darkness that was threatening to burst out seemed to retreat a little.

Gellert had a lot to think about as he held Ariana's hand while she fed the goats. What pushed the Obscurus away? A sense of purpose? Such as when he reminded Ariana of a responsibility to look after the goats? No, that wasn't quite right. She hadn't calmed then. A sense of belonging, then? When he talked about family, it was like she regrasped a part of herself.

If an Obscurial is created through self-alienation and self-rejection, does the cure lie in a sense of belonging, of acceptance? Can the Obscurus be expelled if Ariana could somehow accept her magic and feel accepted by everyone around her?

"Look!" she exclaimed, tugging at his hand, her dislike for him momentarily forgotten in her excitement. She levitated several small patches of grain and fed three goats at once.

"Well done, Ariana," he said generously. She was magically gifted for someone without any proper training. That was undeniable. Gellert wondered if her relative longevity for an Obscurial had something to do with her magical ability, so that even though she rejected her own magic, it was able to keep the Obscurus at bay for longer than other children.

Ariana gave him a small smile.

Maybe she wasn't beyond help. If only he had more time, maybe a few years… In one fell swoop, Ariana would be free, and he might even be able to harness the power of the Obscurus.

February 7, 1900

Dumbledore Residence, Godric's Hollow

Albus crawled under the blankets to lie next to him. It was a chilly winter evening, and Albus was quite satisfied with the final revision of the paper he was planning to submit the next day to Transfiguration Today: Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration by Albus Dumbledore and Gellert Grindelwald.

"Your feet are freezing," Gellert protested.

Albus rolled his eyes. "Then warm them up." If Gellert was to be believed, his skin temperature was constantly hovering around the temperature of icicles.

"Maybe I should transform you into a fireplace. A fireplace wouldn't hog all the blankets."

"A fireplace doesn't do this either." He ran his tongue along the pale neck and collarbone. Albus smirked at the shiver he elicited. He yelped when Gellert rolled on top of him and pinned his arms.

"About time," he sniffed. "Or maybe you should go sleep with the pile of parchment you love spending so much time with."

"Only because you have too little patience for editing," Albus retorted, but there was no heat in his words. He surged up to meet soft lips. Gellert was only too obliging, and they went silent for a while as their mouths (among other things) were far too preoccupied for conversation.

An hour later, while lying in content silence, Gellert remembered something.

"Ariana did it again today," he said suddenly. "Not the—well, not just the outburst. She snapped out of it again."

Albus propped himself on one elbow. His expression was between hope and disbelief. "All by herself?"

Gellert nodded. "I told her about how nice it would be for her to come back inside so we could all cook dinner together, as a family, and it was like the last time. She just… calmed for some reason."

"I don't understand why it works sometimes but not other times," he continued. "Maybe you need to catch her early before the Obscurus has built up enough momentum? I wish your dour little brother had paid more attention in the past. He might have more to contribute than 'oh, only I can calm her down!' As if that's helpful. You would think with all the time he spends with her, he would have better insight about her triggers and which key phrases she responds to best." He sighed. "If only we had more time. She is still getting worse, but with what we've seen, I think we should challenge the old dogma that nothing can be done for Obscurials except to wait for the inevitable and prepare for damage control."

To him, it was an academic interest, although helping Ariana would not be an unwelcome benefit. Sometimes he forgot just how much Ariana's condition bothered Albus on a personal level.

"Thank you for helping her." Albus spoke so sincerely and looked at him with such affection in those sparkling blue eyes that his next words about trapping the Obscurus to harness its Dark energy died in his throat.

He felt that ridiculous flutter in his chest again. "Of course," he said quietly, as Albus moved to lie closer to him.

The dark is generous.

Its first gift is concealment: our true faces lie in the dark beneath our skins, our true hearts remain shadowed deeper still. But the greatest concealment lies not in protecting our secret truths, but in hiding from the truths of others. The dark protects us from what we dare not know.

Its second gift is comforting illusion: the ease of gentle dreams in night's embrace, the beauty that imagination brings to what would repel in the day's harsh light. But the greatest of its comforts is the illusion that dark is temporary: that every night brings a new day. Because it's the day that is temporary. Day is the illusion.

Its third gift is the light itself: as days are defined by the nights that divide them, as stars are defined by the infinite black through which they wheel, the dark embraces the light, and brings it forth from the center of its own self.

With each victory of the light, it is the dark that wins.

Author Notes:

"The dark is generous..." quotes are from Matthew Stover.

The 1899-1900 school year was not Aberforth's final year (according to canon, he is three years younger than Albus), but I am playing a little loose with the timeline (I blame Fantastic Beasts for inspiring this habit).

The rest of the story is complete. Will do my best to edit each chapter in a timely fashion and get them posted. Any feedback is welcome! Thank you for reading.