Chapter Text
A tremor spread through the restless crowd that had gathered at Paris’ oldest gravestone when he entered the stage he’d designed for himself. Black leather boots and the soft whisper of his long black coat brushing against the cold stone echoed through the walls of the room as he drew confident, unrushed steps towards the middle. He felt eyes on him, so many of them, anticipatory and expectant of what would happen tonight.
And how ravishing a feeling it was, to have about three thousand wizards and witches in almost absolute silence, waiting for his words. The words that would bring reason where there was chaos, the words that would enlighten their future.
Gellert Grindelwald delighted in the tight silence that stretched the entire room, thick with an interesting mixture of awe and fear, which he took far too much enjoyment from analyzing. He drew a smile with cold and measured composure, causing his eyes to narrow slightly, making them look even sharper, more dangerous. One of a gentle brown and the other of glacial sky-blue, mismatched eyes whose uniqueness alone was enough to inspire the most absolute respect. Along with the boundless a ura of immeasurable power and mystery, a wintry hair that made him look even more otherworldly, and the knowledge of all he had done already and aimed to do still, the revolutionary simply inspired absolute fear.
“My brothers, my sisters,” his voice filled the old graveyard with ease, reverberating in the public’s ears, mellifluous and magnetic. A sound so captivating that it caught the attention of even the more ignorant listeners, compelling them to listen. “My friends and family, those who find truth in my words and those who still doubt them, I welcome you most sincerely. We are gathered here tonight not in hatred or fear, but in hope, truth, and unity.”
A calculated pause, to let the words echo in their minds like a mad chorus. The silence was absolute, perfect, keeping him suspended in a chokehold that was terribly invigorating.
“They call us radicals. Dangerous. They say we seek chaos," his voice needn’t be loud to sound disturbingly powerful, just another extension of the magic that coursed through his veins, “but I’ve seen what they’re capable of. I’ve seen their weapons, their bombs, I’ve seen their insatiable greed for power. And I assure you, when the time comes, they will stop at nothing.”
Grindelwald felt fear flood the room as an infectious disease. He let it fester, knowing it would be the whisper that would sway even the brightest of minds in his favour.
“We can’t allow it. Too long have we stood in silence while they contaminated the world with their madness and their hatred. Too long have we been silenced. Forced to kneel to those who thought themselves better. To this I say, no more.”
He let his eyes dart around the room, searching the faces of the audience, especially those whose belief wavered, as if he were to exterminate their doubts with just that piercing look of mismatched eyes.
“We will be loud. We will be chaotic if that is what it takes for the world to listen to us. But we won’t let the ignorant rule us for another second. We won’t let them lead us to war.”
His uneven eyes still searched the room with precision, elated at the thought of so many faces listening to him alone. The righteousness in his campaign became even more heavily evident, with every rally, every person that joined his cause, every wizard that quieted to listen to his words in awe, as if listening to a deity. He had been born to do this. He had been born to save them.
“Join me, my brothers, my sisters. This world is not as it should be. I’ve dreamt of another one, another I’ve come to know is possible. A world of freedom. You were not born to be silent. You were not born to kneel. You were not given magic to hide it behind locked doors and trembling hands. You were born to be free.”
“Look around you,” Grindelwald said, his voice echoing through the audience, and he moved his hands and head accordingly, as if trying to reach every single soul in the circular room. However, the unexpected flicker of something strangely familiar caught his eye in the corner of his vision. What on…? His eyes were instinctively drawn towards the dark corner before he could even think what he was doing, eyes greedily searching before he could call his mind to caution, before he could recall he was standing before far too many people, before he could stop for a second and rationalize.
And then the world seemed to stop.
It was him.
His heart skipped several beats at the sight, leaving an unsettling silence in his chest that was painfully loud in its emptiness. And everything that came afterwards felt inevitable. As if falling into an inescapable void, a black hole which held a gravitational pull so strong not even the most powerful wizard alive was capable of resisting. Not that Gellert Grindelwald had ever been particularly keen on resisting the other’s magnetic charm.
His eyes caught the familiar tall figure, one he knew from the papers, from his visions, and from memories of a distant past long buried deep down in his chest. Gellert’s heart seemed to forget how to pump, and his lungs how to breathe, and his mind how to… it was him. Time had made him older, his expression significantly heavier, as if the years had manifested in an ever-growing burden that he carried on his shoulders. Partially hidden under the dancing shadows of the candles, shrouded in a long dark-blue coat and a signature hat, yet Gellert could barely take anything in except for the eyes.
An unfathomably complex shiver ran down his spine, one that left an uncomfortable icy trail across his back, when his gaze caught the familiar blue in Albus Dumbledore’s eyes. He felt as if he could drown in the other’s bewitching sea of endless blue. So charming he was still, with that enthralling poise of collectedness, a captivating angel that dared to walk as if he knew the devil too well to fear him. Which perhaps might not have been so far away from the truth. What was he doing here, anyway? They held each other’s gaze, both stubbornly unwavering, and Gellert tried his best to appear strong, unyielding, as if the mere sight of the professor had not shaken his whole body, or as if his mind had not temporarily caught fire.
Time slowed down for a few weightless seconds in which their eyes were still inescapably locked, time and consequence and reason halting inevitably while they recognised the other, the one they had used to know better than themselves, their other half. He felt that disquieting feeling that made him slightly dizzy, almost as if he were plummeting down an endless abyss. The vortex of the other’s attraction.
Then Gellert remembered who he was now and forced himself to regain control. He pushed his mind back to the immediate present as he tore his eyes from the other’s marbled blues and sternly pressed the next words out of his throat, decided not to show even the slightest crack in his immaculate façade.
“Look around you, my friends and family, you are not alone.”
The words echoed, apparently as hypnotically as the ones that had come before, yet Gelllert could feel the slight hint of imbalance in his own voice. Imperceptible to the untrained ear, and yet it was there, sounding in the fair background. A hesitating shadow, the unevenness of being caught unguarded, a flicker of vacillation. Gellert heard it, despised every second of it, but not nearly as much as when the slight quirk of the other’s eyebrow betrayed that he had sensed it as well. He pressed his teeth together to seize the fury that intuitively sizzled inside him. How pathetic.
The fire candles that illuminated the room sparkled aggressively, burning brighter with his emotion, fueled by his fury, and even gaining some flickers of blue that only captivated the crowd further.
“There is strength in you, I know,” he claimed, the rage swirling within him making the words sound more determined, more imposing. “There is fire in our unity, I can feel it. And there will be freedom for our kind, I’ve seen it. We will rise against the Muggles, not for dominance, but for peace. For the Greater Good. Magic will light the way, as it always should have been.”
The revolutionary caught himself inevitably searching for the other’s gaze once more, as if drawn by an unshakable pull that forced his uneven eyes to connect with the deep, fascinating blue. An inescapable hold of power and buried emotion, terribly electrifying. Grindelwald’s icy smile gained a flickering shadow of smugness when the professor’s blue eyes narrowed in disapproval at the next words spoken.
“Let them call us rebels,” Grindelwald challenged, not tearing his eyes loose from the other, almost as if he were speaking to him and him alone. The crowd echoed in approval at his words, yet he could barely hear them, slightly hypnotized by the sight of the professor. “Let them call us radicals. Let them tremble. Because tonight, we choose to rise against injustice. We choose freedom, not in hate, but in hope of a better world.”
More claims of elation at the promising future, and the revolutionary spoke more inspiring words before he eventually ended the rally with a farewell, as he drew the Deathly Hallows’ sign in the air.
The cracking sound of apparition filled the old graveyard eventually, as all wizards and witches started to disappear in thin air, his followers amongst them as well, and Gellert could feel how the room became emptier with every second. However, he didn’t have to look to know that the other’s tall figure still stood in that dark corner, perfectly in place. Reluctant to leave. Gellert knew the professor was waiting for him. Or was it the other way round?
“Monsieur?” Vinda questioned.
“Go without me, I’ll join in no time. I must simply take care of something first,” he answered, soft menace circling sweetly around his words.
Vinda disappeared after a curt nod, and, within a few seconds, Gellert noticed the room had grown significantly quieter. Yet he would have bet his soul the professor was still standing somewhere behind him. Were they alone already? Measured footsteps approaching him from behind reverberated against the cold stone beneath him, supporting the suspicion. Again, he didn’t have to turn to know it was him. His whole body tensed instinctively, as if in preparation for a duel, ready to react to the immediate danger even though he was distantly aware they couldn’t hurt each other without threatening their own integrity in the process.
“Gellert”
Oh, the nerve to call him by his first name, as if he had any right! And yet, the heavy voice of the other was so achingly familiar that it made him momentarily close his eyes in a flash of agony, his back mercifully still turned to his opponent. How deeply unsettling, to hear the other call him by his name after all this time, and with a voice that was still as honeyed as it had been back then in that feverish summer, although it now carried a new faint note of bitter heaviness, something that reminded him of smoke and dark chocolate. The revolutionary slowly turned around to face his rival, a flickering smile on his lips, though he couldn’t help notice with utter dismay how his breath immediately caught at the sight of him, or the closeness, or the sheer memory.
Albus Dumbledore looked even more charming in person than in the papers. A tall and imposing figure that exuded such radiance it blinded Gellert momentarily. Guarded in a long and elegant blue coat, the fabric clinging to his body as a second-nature layer of magic, and a tie along with a purplish shirt that piqued from underneath, enhancing the confident aura the other seemed to own with such natural effortlessness. It had always drawn Gellert in, like a moth to flame, wanting to touch that inner fire the other seemed to possess so naturally.
Having him so close, after all this time, and with their renewed positions in the world, it was like standing close to a beautifully dangerous predator, compelled to watch in admiration and caution alike. Albus’ magic felt like that as well, terrifyingly powerful and fascinatingly imposing, raising in him the desire to get closer and, simultaneously, the urge to run away. Attraction and repulsion swirled and clashed violently inside him, making him slightly dizzy, slightly unbalanced. Though he supposed he could not be blamed, as it wasn’t every day that he could stand next to someone who matched him, in all senses, and therefore allowed for these sensations. After all, Albus was the only creature in the whole world that was remotely capable of standing his ground against him. The only one who even had a chance against him.
Gellert’s careful scrutiny trailed upwards, to a beard that had lost almost all of its auburn strands, and a face that had lost all youthful innocence from back then. All tied together, the details Gellert could remember from their youth, along with the disturbingly new ones, made the professor look rather extraordinary, with that special quality to himself, so rare and unique, and shining all the more for it. Though, once again, what claimed most of Gellert's attention were the professor’s eyes. It was where the very magic lay. A unique, fascinating shade of twinkling blue, similar to the colour of the ocean when it reflected the endless skies, and carrying the weight of someone who had lived enough to see through flesh and thought alike, straight into the soul with just one look of unbelievably enthralling blue. When those eyes met the mismatched colours of Gellert’s own, he felt it again, that sickeking, familiar sensation of falling, of being pulled under, as though the world narrowed and all that remained was that vast, unfathomable blue, impossible to escape and impossible to resist. He was drowning again, in the endless abyss of blue.
“Albus,” Gellert exhaled, and it came out so breathless he immediately cursed himself internally.
What was he doing? That he felt so udone upon the mere sight of the other was a liability already, but that he was asinine enough to show his cards in such a manner? By the love of Merlin, the creature in front of him was among the most powerful men alive, one of the very few wizards that could pose an actual threat to him and his cause, the only one he would have dared to call his equal! He could not afford this vulnerability! Albus Dumbledore was nothing if not his natural antithesis, the light that bloomed to oppose his very darkness, the representation of all that stood against his ideals for a new world order. What was Gellert doing, sounding so overly emotional, so thoroughly shaken?
That he saw the other actually flinch for a fleeting moment only made the whole situation even more dire. That shadow of commotion in the other’s eyes, shining there for a brief and ephemeral instant before he could hastily hide it behind his walls, as if he were similarly touched by the reunion, it made Gellert sick. He swallowed the arising lump in his throat. It was quite tasteless indeed, the whole situation, with their shared history and their current positions in the political game, almost as some kind of cruel joke. Though the realization that the other felt something adjacent to his own emotions instilled an uncomfortable dizziness in his stomach, which made him mildly nauseous. This weakness in both of them, how pathetic. Weren’t they supposed to be the best of both sides of the conflict? This sentimentality could not be tolerated.
“Surprised that I would find you, out of all people, in one of my rallies,” Gellert stated, much more confidently than before, decided to regain control over the situation.
“Desperate times call for desperate measures,” Dumbledore replied calmly, with a slight tilt of the head. His voice was soft, peaceful words for a peaceful man, and yet Gellert could feel the dangerous power that loomed underneath. How could he not, when he had cherished that fire even when it had burned him?
“Finally come to hear the reason in my words?” Gellert teased, somewhat smugly, and he even managed to pull out the shadow of a smirk. And although the professor slightly furrowed in disgust, that was much more preferable than the previous crack in the mask, that treacherous shadow of hurt running through the other’s expression and unveiling so much, so much Gellert didn’t want to think about.
“No, I have not come to hear you dabble in nonsense about magical supremacy. That one of us has lost his wits is more than enough for the world to handle.”
The words were spoken neutrally, yet Gellert knew him well enough to feel the disappointment in the fair background, the judgment. It irked him more than it should have, that the other dared to display towards him that judgmental attitude he likely had perfected whenever his students broke some rule at his pathetic school. How dare he take the moral high ground? How dare he when Gellert had been the one to faithfully stick to their plans, while it was him who had run to the opposite side of their shared ideology?
“Says the one who, at seventeen, cherished the very same dreams I will now come to fulfill.”
He could hear the accusation in his own voice, and chided himself for it. It wasn’t wise to unearth it, he knew, knew it was dangerous to push the other with such utterances, letting his voice carry the feelings he usually put so much effort into keeping under lock. Yet he could not help it. Not when Albus accused him of insanity, not when he had been complicit in shaping the revolutionary ideas that now upheld his entire campaign.
“Not even the wisest can escape the folly of youth, I’m afraid.”
Albus pressed his lips into a tight smile that didn’t have any warmth in it, the feeling not reaching his eyes. Gellert distantly remembered how the other's eyes would twinkle with that utter warmth whenever Albus had smiled those days. Where was the soft and comforting warmth nowadays? And why did Gellert have to hyperfixate on those small details of the other? What was it to him whether Albus smiled with gentle warmth or with biting coldness? It was none of his business how tired Albus’ eyes looked. How distinctly burdened. Not just now, momentarily, but in a way that spoke of long-standing weariness, as if pain and guilt had traced heavy, permanent lines on his face. Gellert cursed himself when he had to suppress the ridiculous urge to inch closer and attempt to comfort his lover of old.
He pressed his lips together and looked away from the professor, letting his gaze sweep the surroundings instead. They had truly been left alone in the imposing graveyard, not a single soul intruding upon whatever it was they were doing. Because what exactly were they doing, indeed? What was this encounter supposed to be? Then again, what were former lovers who had become political enemies and perfect antitheses supposed to do when they met again after thirty years of silence? Especially when their last time together had ended in such tragedy.
It almost felt like some tentative dance between the two of them, careful advances and measured retreats, pushing and pulling, testing each other until they would see a crack to abuse, a hesitation to exploit, a tremor that could be used to bring the other down. Because that was what they were now, wasn’t it? Enemies.
“Why have you come, Albus?” Gellert sighed, just slightly defeatedly. Something flickered in the professor’s eyes once more when the younger uttered his name, a shadow of feeling ineffectively hidden. It repulsed Gellert as much as it lured him in.
Silence stretched. Gellert could see the doubts dancing in the other’s blue eyes, and he suddenly wished he could just have hated the other’s weakness. Why had he come, if he was so insecure about it? How did he dare to stand against him, when all of that fire in his eyes seemed so extinguished? Just because Gellert couldn’t actually hurt him, it didn’t mean that Albus should– And yet, the only thing he could feel at the other’s hesitant attitude was a sense of bitter understanding. After all, it was that same contradiction he faced. That dissonance between duty and will, between the should and the want to.
“What you’re doing… is madness,” Albus mumbled at last, quietly, yet not shyly. The professor dared to hold his gaze, unyielding, unwilling to surrender.
The scrutiny of Gellert’s uneven eyes made everyone else in the whole world tremble in fear. Those mismatched eyes rendered anyone amenable to everything. Disarmed. Defenceless. Desperate. Yet Albus Dumbledore was not like all the others. Gellert knew, had known since the very day he had first met him for dinner at his great-aunt’s table, that he was just as special as he. And yet, the realization still struck him like thunder, sudden and shattering, making something buried deep within him tremble with the force of the impact. Thirty years, thirty years, and he still didn’t know how to escape this man’s spell.
The professor didn’t back down a single bit, still bravely meeting his eyes, and Albus’ confidence, finally peaking from underneath the likely suffocating mask, made Gellert terribly entranced at the sight. Albus still knew his game, still knew how to wield his power and play his charm, still knew how to render him completely breathless.
“It’s what we said we’d do.”
The justification came in a whisper, heavy with contained emotion. The words tasted slightly bitter on Gellert’s mouth. It didn't sound accusatory, this time, but rather with a faint layer of soreness. As if he somehow ached for what they could have done together, what they could have accomplished, what they could have been. Which, yes, he did, but he didn't have to show it to Albus! Of course he mourned the bright future they could have forged together, he and his beautiful phoenix, but he would win nothing from recalling it now, least of all in the other's company!
Gellert felt as though the professor could sense it too, that chaotic hurricane of feeling and emotions that swirled madly within his chest. Was he weathering a similar storm? Not that it mattered, nowadays.
“I was wondering, merely, whether perhaps you could… accompany me on a small walk? And we could perhaps talk about it. Maybe try to reach some sort of… diplomatic agreement, we might call it.”
Gellert had to put in a great deal of effort so as not to betray, by so much as a single muscle, how confused he was by the strange request. Was this a peace offering? Was that why Albus had shown up, to negotiate a diplomatic solution? At the very least, it did make a semblance of sense that the man before him would be selfless enough to sacrifice his own sanity and meet him for the betterment of the world. Or what the other thought was the betterment of the world, anyway. Not that Gellert was likely to relent to any of the other’s delusions of consensus. Though it would be most unwise to let an opportunity such as this one slip between his fingers.
“I sincerely doubt any of us would benefit from being seen with each other. That we are now curiously alone is surprising enough, and a walk would certainly not grant… privacy.”
“I thought maybe a walk by the ocean, somewhere far enough from our community so that our faces won’t be recognized.”
Gellert had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. The audacity to suggest a Muggle place to him, the defender of wizard supremacy, the one who despised the non-magical for all the abhorrent misdeeds they had brought upon their kind! As if suggesting a private meeting with him wasn't brazen enough! Him, the most powerful wizard alive, who did Albus think he was?
Someone just as powerful as you, a voice in his mind supplied, and he begrudgingly swallowed the previous irritation. He needed to steel himself. Just because they had been lovers in the past, it didn't mean that he should be feeling so out of sorts. They could negotiate like the reasonable, political leaders they were supposed to be now; they had to. No more recalling a past that was long gone.
The revolutionary risked a look and saw Albus Dumbledore’s eyes twinkling faintly. He wondered whether the other was mocking him. Or perhaps he was just finally relaxing a bit after Gellert hadn’t murdered him at first sight, and now allowing some light to settle in his expression. Not that Gellert would actually have been able to.
“So?” Albus offered his arm to him with a somewhat comfortingly warm smile, and Gellert’s heart involuntarily skipped a beat, terribly drawn in and simultaneously repulsed by that hand offered to him. He wasn’t so sure he would be able to touch the professor without breaking the perfectly neutral expression. “I would dread having such a conversation in this dreary old graveyard.”
Gellert moved his hand to let it hover a few centimeters above that of the other, stopping the movement to search for Albus’ eyes. He raised an inquisitive brow, though his heart treacherously sped up a little when their eyes connected again, blue holding that unfathomably irresistible pull over him.
“How do I know I can trust you?” the revolutionary asked, and it came out so quietly it was almost a whisper. Gellert could almost taste the anticipation in the air between them. When had they stepped so close?
Albus smiled softly, and for a moment, for just that ephemeral, fleeting instant between them, with their eyes still lost to each other, it felt as if time hadn’t passed at all. As if the world hadn’t broken between them in their time apart. As if the angel in front of him could still be his.
“It is a leap of faith.”
Gellert knew it was a mad gamble. Utterly foolish. He could not trust this man. He was the enemy. He was the opposition! All sense of reason cautioned not to take Albus Dumbledore’s arm.
Yet his heart banged uncomfortably against his chest. And for once, just for once, Gellert let it make the decision. Because, when Albus Dumbledore asked like that, looking at him like that… How could he say no? How could he not trust him?