Summer’s Crossing

His vantage point at the top of the Astronomy Tower was too far to see the individual fronds, but he could see the tall grass bordering the school grounds dancing in the breeze. The shimmer of movement crossed the lawn in waves, releasing a faint odour of green to tickel his nose. The grounds were truly a glorious spectacle, alive with all manner of creatures. He closed his eyelids to embrace the sun against his face, breathing deeply as he opened himself to his surroundings.

There was a flutter of wings above him as a school owl settled in its roost, and a chirping of crickets as they sang their evening song off in the distance, and smoke.

Weariness crept through him. Past the grassy borders of the castle grounds and above the treetops of the Forbidden Forest, an ugly horn of thick black smoke pierced the sky.

Wand in hand, he stepped from the tower and kept his sights on the castle gates. Stone steps rose from the ground to catch his feet, easing him to the ground.

When he touched solid earth, the stone crumbled to dust and scattered into the breeze. The gates loomed up ahead. A subtle pressure held the grass flat around him, expanding out from the gate in a perfect semicircle.

“So much for summer,” said Albus Dumbledore, and he sighed.

Once he was outside the gates he twirled on the spot, his auburn hair spinning with him like fire in the evening sun. With a crack, he was gone.

—

The air was thick with smoke when Dumbledore appeared next. He felt the tickle in the back of his throat, he coaxed a small breeze of fresh air to circle around him, pushing the smoke from his nose and mouth. Around him, chaos reigned as people ran through the cobble streets, fear and desperation as thick as the soot that clung to their faces

Buildings were on fire all around him, Dumbledore took it in stride however, as he headed down the street to where he saw a flurry of activity. As each burning building met his back, they erupted into steam as he whispered his power into existence around them, leaving smoldering heaps in his wake.

His mind turned furiously as he analyzed his surroundings.

This had been planned.

Masked wizards went silent, stopping their assault and their spells, as they turned their attention towards him. His auburn hair rippled with a life of its own as he brought his wand to bare: A silver blast of force erupted from his wand, impacting viciously with their bodies. He had no time to determine friend from foe — he watched, as his spell brought them all low.

The last building on fire crackled before him, a sharp jab of his wand and then a flick to the left extinguished the flames and brought the anti-apparition jinx down.To his left, the Hog’s Head; he stifled his worry for his brother. There were more pressing concerns.

Aurors flooded the area in the wake of the ward crumbling, they shouted incarceration spells as Dumbledore turned to survey the area. A heap of smoldering robes and a covered face peaked from the alley between two buildings, Dumbledore stepped with intent, both reviving and binding the wizard in one smooth motion.

Another spell brought the masked man who spluttered and gasped for breath to face him. He allowed his hand to reach out and caress the shorter mans face, causing the silver mask that hung from the lower half of his face to fall apart like rotted cloth.

“Gellert has been recruiting, I see,” Dumbledore said.

“You have no right to speak his name,” the unnamed man hissed like an angry cat, spittle and blood from a busted lip splattered against Dumbledore’s robes — His face remained smooth despite the distaste for such violence stirring within him. He stymied his self-loathing enough to speak.

“Now, now. There’s no need to be rude. Let us speak like civilized people.” A wave of his wand unbound the man so that he stood before Dumbledore under his own power.

“How about you tell me why you’re attacking such a wonderful village on this resplendent summer day?”

Unmasked, the man looked young — frightfully young. His smooth, pale skin mottled with bruises beneath the soot that covered him. The boy pulled his shoulders back, staring Dumbledore in the eye, the glimmer of determination sending a jolt of electricity up his spine.

“You can’t make me talk. I’d rather die.”

Dumbledore knew then there was nothing else for it. While he hated to do it, unceremonious situations called for creative solutions.

The boy still held his eye, which allowed Dumbledore to dive in with nary a ripple on the surface of their thought: A cacophony of sound and lights filled his mind as he sought to pierce the center of who the boy before him was, then; silence. From the inside looking out, all Dumbledore saw was rage.

There was a moment resistance but a quick exertion of his power over him stopped that.

“It’s best that you not do that, Mr. Craft,” said Dumbledore, looking down at the boy who was now on the ground. When he’d fallen their connection had broken, but not before Dumbledore had learned all he needed.

“You…remember me?” stammered Craft.

“Of course. I remember all of my students.” said Dumbledore.

The boys face twisted into something ugly then. “But I wasn’t your favorite, was I? If I was, you’d have saved me. Saved me from the hell that’s been my life.”

“I’m deeply sorry for what has happened to you, Mr. Craft, but alas even I cannot fix everything.”

“Don’t play me like some fool, Dumbledore! You don’t remember everything, then. You don’t remember when I screamed and begged for you to help me, to not send me back to my parents. But it was to no avail. They took my wand. They made me powerless.”

“You’re far from powerless, Richard,” Dumbledore said.

“No!” Craft spat. “You have no right to be so familiar with me. You could have saved me and you didn’t! Lord Grindlewald did. He came to me, he came, and he gave me back my power — and my mission.”

Richard Craft locked eyes with Dumbledore then: crazed and defiant, setting the alarm bells inside Dumbledore ringing.

It all made sense now. A trap. A trap for him. Everything since he’d arrived had been planned, even where he’d found Craft cast to the side. The boy had taken himself out of the fight earlier than everyone else.

He wanted to be found. Dumbledore grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him then, but the boy allowed his head to lull back, laughter filling the air around them.

“What have you done, Richard?” snapped Dumbledore as he shook him again.

“Its took late Dumbledore. I have you now.”

Dumbledore stood back from him then, as a a seething power forced is way into existence around them. The boys robes burned away, leaving him naked, but above all, revealing the horror carved into his chest. A large pentagram glistened with fresh blood, weeping from its torn edges of pale white skin.

Dumbledore felt revulsion and anger. He knew Gellert hadn’t done this, only planted the seed and allowed the boys hatred to feed it.

He was a blur of motion as he quickly sought to limit the damage. A summoned potion bottle filled with dark liquid appeared in his hand, which he shattered against the ground. The boy’s lips were forming words, but he could not hear. Blood rushed through his ears and his own spells drowned them out.

“Evacuate the area, now!” his voiced boomed across Hogsmeade. He watched as people apparated away, as he continued to breath life into his protections. The full mantle of his power rested heavily on his shoulders as his last utterance moved into the ground around him mixing with the solution he’d thrown before.

Richard Craft’s body glowed red and angry, his eyes were rolled back in his head as he lost coherency. His mouth moved in a silent scream, no longer able to force air from his lungs.

Rock and sand sprang from deep within the ground, his alchemical solution aidining his magic in transforming it around the boys body in ayer upon layer of packed sand and a hard outer layer of rock in an attempt to contain the blast. A similar barrier formed around him, the exterior an exotic crystalline structure harder than any common metal— alchemy given life.

Before the sand could fully encase Crafts head, he heard as he managed one last terrible screech.

“Die, Dumbledore!”

He had no more time to worry as he allowed his own protections to cover his face and mouth, but not before a whump of sound and then the searing heat of an explosion whipped past him. He kept his eyes shut not daring to watch.

The heat and the light took his breath away and even with his eyes closed he saw starbursts of light forming. He felt himself go limp in supplication to the power before him.

And then darkness was all he knew.

In the distance an owl screeched and flew from its roost under the eaves of the castle as the soundwave of the explosion shook even the ancient stone shingles of the castle loose.

A cloud of destruction loomed high in the sky, where only smoke had been before.

—-

An evening breeze fluttered through the Headmaster’s Garden as two men sat under a parasol of striped fabric. One was heavily bandaged, and the other gnarled and withered with age. Armando Dippet had seen his fair share of years.

“You do find yourself in some scuffles don’t you, Dumbledore,” the old man wheezed.

“I suppose I do, Headmaster.”

Dumbledore kept his face impassive as Armando served tea for the both of them at his own speed. His skin itched beneath the bandages and there was a tightness in his chest that wasn’t quite physical.

Thoughts of the destruction, Aberforth’s establishment was gone, as well as everything in the area around his establishment was enough to make his stomach burn with worry.

He resolved himself for feeling more inclined to fight a battle he could not win, he’d go visit his brother and offer his assistance. There was never any hope that would go well.

“Who did you piss off this time?” Armando asked, handing him his cup of tea, served exactly as he liked it.

Armando Dippet wasn’t once to mince words. Dumbledore could appreciated it. Too many people in his life wasted their time by trying to weave dual meaning into everything they said. Sometimes being forthright was best.

“Richard Craft. I believe he was a pupil of ours until recently,” he paused to sip his tea.

“He was expelled for violating the Statute of Secrecy.” He felt more pain then. Another person he’d been unable to help. He’d remembered Richard, after he was gone. A very average boy, but from muggle ancestry. They’d been abusive, and more than once, he’d come to his office after hours seeking asylum from them.

Dumbledore had no interest in him. The boy had no spark, and as reluctant as he was to admit it, he didn’t have time to waste on those that were so uninspired.

He sought talent. His mind flashed to another young man that had passed through these halls not so long ago.

Talent indeed.

Armando cleared his throat bringing Dumbledore’s attention back to him.

“Did Gellert have anything to do with young Mr. Craft’s motivations?”

“I can say with some certainty that he played a role, the exact lengths I’m unclear. Mr. Craft had a very unorganized mind.”

Dippet snorted.

“That wasn’t an answer. You and I both know Lord Grindlewald’s hands were all over this. Maybe he misses you.” Dumbledore noted the derision Armando gave Gellerts title.

“I can’t speak to it either way, but, maybe he does. I’ve received weirder invitations to parley.”

“I can only imagine why Gellert Grindelwald has his eyes on a Hogwarts transfiguration professor.”

“You remember we ran in the same circles in my youth.”

“Yes, but you were always one to shun the spot light. Gellert seems to revel in it.” He paused to sip his tea. “Maybe that’s the difference between the two of you.”

Dumbledore hid his wince of aggravation by scratching at one of the bandages that covered his face. Armando Dippet wasn’t the most powerful man, but he was great at stating things that more than one meaning.

Dumbledore had ran with Gellert in his youth. He felt no small part of blame for Gellert being where he was now. They’d not separated on the best of terms.

Ariana.

Dumbledore buried any further thoughts about his relationship with Gellert as deep in his mind as he could. He was not yet ready to face that pain.

His meeting with the Headmaster had ran its course. Dumbledore was never one for small talk, and he’d reached his limit of acerbic old men today. “Headmaster, I believe its time I take my leave. If I sit any longer, Healer Meadows will stun me and drag my body back to the infirmary.”

“Good evening, Albus.” Dippet said without looking back at him.

As he left a house-elf cracked into place beside Dippet and the old man leaned over to talk to it. Dumbledore heard no more of what he said.


Later he found himself sitting in his study, a glass of Ogden’s finest in hand, the glowing fire trapped in amber liquid a picture of the thoughts racing through his head. He’d told Armando he intended to rest, but the activities of the day and his body pains kept him in the realm of the waking.

His latest letter from Nicholas Flamel sat half read beside him, alchemical secrets not enough to keep him occupied for long. Instead Armando’s half-thought comment resonated through his thoughts.

I can only imagine why Gellert Grindelwald has his eyes on a Hogwarts transfiguration professor.

Gellert and his history was little known. After the death of his sister, they’ had gone their separate ways. It wasn’t long after that Gellert let his ego get the better of him and he assumed the title of Lord.

If he’d known then what he knew now, he’d never have left Gellert to walk free.

There had been stories circulating among certain groups of the elite in British society. There were also horror stories of people going missing in the night, never to be seen again, or worse, found in pieces scattered across the English country side.

To think, we could have been the same. He thought.

Arianna’s death had been the fulcrum in which many of his life decisions had been made. His relationship with his brother was forever tarnished, and his relationship was Gellert was unsalvageable.

He’d sought out Armando then, a compromise, a way to shape the future generations so that they might not make the same mistakes as he.

It was a thankless occupation, fraught with disappointment and stagnation. But it was his price to pay. His thoughts were interrupted once more by the sound of windchimes.

His proximity wards had been triggered.

It didn’t take him long to determine the cause; an envelope’s yellowed exterior greeted him from the corner of his desk. His name was scrawled across the front in spidery, elegant script.

He felt his heart quicken in his chest.

He knew the shape of the letters as intimately as he knew his own.

An invitation, he imagined, or a response to what had happened earlier today. Not unexpected, but not something he could afford to answer lightly.

He contemplated another drink, and considered opening it now. No, that wouldn’t do. He had too much to do before he could dedicate such an expenditure of time.

To bed then.

—-

It had been a week since the incident in Hogsmeade Village. He started his morning like every morning. Tea, toast, and a copy of the Daily Prophet. He did so in the privacy of his own quarters, because, as Dumbledore was wont to say, “I enjoy my privacy.”

The Daily Prophet held little interest and his breakfast sat untouched. He was restless. Curious. Irritable form lack of sleep. He wished he’d just burned the letter when it arrived, instead it taunted him.

He’d pushed everything that needed doing to the forefront, because once he allowed himself to give the letter the attention that it needed, he would be no good for nothing else.

Armando had been suitably helpful in aiding in his distraction, asking for him to help out with the rebuilding of Hogsmeade. Things had nearly came to a head then when it was time to rebuild his brother’s premises. He’d been distraught at the death of one of his favored goats, and accepted no invitations to discuss the rebuilding.

With considerable effort, everything eventually found its right place, no worse for wear. It had been a relief to Dumbledore that there had been no casualties, which further solidified his intentions to read the letter. He dreaded to think what Gellert would think of next to attract him next.

He’d long since abandoned his own quarters in lieu of walking into the Great Hall of Hogwarts. Dippet tipped his cup to him, and the others quieted their conversations as many of them turned to stare at him.

He wanted to walk away, but instead he curbed this desire and found a seat at the end of the long table. A house-elf popped to this right with a hot cup of tea and a new copy of the Prophet. To the left of him, Griselda Marchbanks sat, her eyes closed and her hands clasped in her lap.

Dumbledore wondered when she would retire. As if she knew he was studying her, she greeted him without opening her eyes.

“Good Morning Dumbledore, what brings you out from your hermitage?”

Dumbledore loathed how she did that, but it did little to stop his eyes from lighting up with enjoyment. He enjoyed a challenge.

Since his own school days, Griselda Marchbanks had paid attention to him when others had not. His brief flirtation with the dark had gone unnoticed by many, but had been the first thing Griselda had asked him about when he’d come knocking on the castle gates.

“I thought this morning would be perfect time for a change of scenery, madam.”

Marchbanks snorted, opening her watery eyes to stare at him for the first time. “As if. You look like a man consumed by his thoughts. Anything I can help with?”

To the point. “I daresay you’d be much help.” His reply bore no ill will. Griselda always gave as good as she got, unnecessary flattery would only serve to further insult her.

“Complicated I see. A matter of the heart, perhaps? She asked.

Despite himself, he could only marvel at the depths of her understanding.

“I may be old, but I’m not blind, nor am I stupid.” she supplied when he had no answer forthcoming.

“Indeed Griselda, of that I have no doubts. However, my complications are my own worries, I simply sought to enjoy the company of my wonderful colleges, as well as your delightful company, and read the prophet. Nothing more.”

She was silent for a moment, but she allowed him to change the subject. “Very well. You know where my office is. I’ll leave you to that rag you call a newspaper.”

They didn’t speak again and Dumbledore soon lost himself in reading the paper or commenting on bits of gossip that filtered its way down the table. He’d been uncomfortable at first, but soon found himself at ease. The morning wore on, and soon Griselda the first to leave. She gave his hand a pat with her own wrinkled claw, but didn’t say anything, she didn’t have to.

There were a few stragglers left behind, none that he was quite so familiar with, when he decided to vacate his seat and make his way back to his office.

He’d soaked himself in the ambience of social interaction long enough, and considered his purposes met. He needed to be seen by everyone, to let them know he existed.

Hale and whole, for later, he might not be.

—-

Sunlight illuminated the letter before him from over his shoulder. He would freely admit to having felt a moment of disappointment for when having finally opened the letter, there had only been once sentence.

I would like to talk.

Then, as if he could ever forget, he remembered just who the letter was from.

“For the Greater Good.” he whispered under his breath, and watched as the one sentence turned to many in the span of moments, ushered by the most elegant piece of magic he’d ever been able to witness.

A raven, inky black wings spread wide swooped from one corner of the parchment to the next, in its wake leaving behind neat blocks of Gellert Grindelwald's spidery writing.

Dumbledore resisted the urge to smile. Gellert always had a flair for dramatic, but it was always a treat to experience.

He consumed the letter quickly, and then read it again.

And then for good measure, he read it one more time, looking for any turn of phrase that would indicate the mans intentions.

Should you accept this invitation, please tap the parchment with your wand once, and you’ll be given a means for us to meet face to face.

Respectfully yours,
Gellert Grindelwald.

This had all the makings of a trap. He’d done very little to prepare himself for an altercation with Gellert Grindelwald, and a meeting such as this could only end in broken bodies and spellfire. The letter had all the earmarks of having been composed by Gellert himself, but any glimpse of the man he once was, the man he’d loved was missing. Instead it was a finely crafted tool, an invitation he couldn’t resist, but for what?

However ill-prepared he was, Gellert would do well not to underestimate him.

Mind made up, Dumbledore tapped the parchment once with his wand and watched as the Raven from before swooped across the parchment once more, this time with small parcel attached to its leg.

The words faded when the parcel dislodged from the leg of the raven and in their place lay a small polished stone black as night and in relief of the yellowed parchment.

A portkey.

Setting it to the side, he prepared several letters. One going to Armando Dippet, the other to Griselda Marchbanks, and finally one to his brother, Aberforth. Dumbledore knew he was many things, but impervious to grievous bodily harm wasn’t one of them.

A spell timed to activate when he left the castle grounds ensured that the letters would arrive safely.
—

Nighttime came fast.

Once again Dumbledore found himself peering out from the Astronomy Tower. He let the sound of silence wash over him. He was ready. He pulled the smooth stone from his pocket rolling it across his knuckles. With a flourish, he tossed the small stone up and caught it.

“Take me to him.” he said, and in flash of light, he was gone.

Around him, everything appeared as he remembered, just older and worn with time. Vines crept over shuttered windows, and slate shingles dangled precariously from mossy eaves. The small manor dark as the night around it, its inhabitants had long since vacated. Around him, overground shrubbery and a cracked stone walk way lead out into a small paved street.

He stepped to the end of the walk way and surveyed both sides of the street. Similar small houses littered the area, each one dark as the night around them. He turned then, and looked back at his family home, from the street of Gordric’s Hollow and felt his heart pull.

He owed it to himself and to Ariana to come back here.

If. No, when this was all over, he made himself a promise to make this a proper home once more. He was a simple man, preferring serviceability over sentimentality, but looking at ruin before him made him feel sad.

It just wouldn’t do.

A flex of his magic and a wave of his wand and soon the entire street was under his spell which coaxed the inhabitants of Godric's Hollow into a deeper slumber. There was no reason to give Gellert easy targets.

He marvelled at the ease in which his spell fell into place, even an above average wizard would have struggled. But for him, it was as easy as breathing.

As a teacher, NEWT level magic was never so complex or widespread. It felt good to exert himself, which he so rarely got to do outside the classroom.

Dumbledore stepped swiftly back to the front step of his childhood home, the door creaked open before his hand could touch the handle.

He wasn’t surprised. Gellert had been here long before he arrived.

He stifled the anger burning in his stomach — How dare he bring us here.

Gellert sought to distract him, to put him on edge. This was all a play, composed to put Dumbledore at odds. He would not allow himself to be distracted.

He charmed his footsteps silent as he walked into the house, and walked across fragile floorboards. From the entryway, stairs lead upwards to his old room, adjacent to Ariana’s. He didn’t go there, however, taking the right doorway into the kitchens.

Rusted pots and pans hung from equally rusted hooks dotted along the ceiling. A large iron stove sat in the corner of the room, and inside it a fire churned merrily charmed for light, and no heat. The door left ajar, allowed amber light to cast across a blonde hair, blue eyed man.

The furnishings stood in stark contrast to everything else that sat broken. Vibrant, new, filled with life and magic.

His gaze was measuring and cutting as he studied Gellert Grindelwald. He looked as Dumbledore remembered, if only a bit more ragged at the edges.

There was a smile in the corner of his mouth as he gestured to one of the empty chairs, expecting compliance. Instead Dumbledore pulled his wand and gave it a twirl, conjuring his own chair.

He would not be led, as he allowed himself to be in his youth. Gellert’s dalliances no longer blinded him.

Gellert barked a rough, raspy laugh, mirth making his icy blue eyes shimmer in the dim light of the fire.

“Welcome, Albus. He said. “I’m glad to see somethings haven’t changed.”

Face blank, Dumbledore eased himself into his chair, wand in hand. Gellerts own face smoothed to reflect Dumbledores, remembering this wasn’t an ordinary social call.

“Ah, I see you’re still angry at me. It’s to be expected I suppose.”

“Mad is an understatement, Gellert.” Dumbeldore felt himself speak, but he felt far and away from this conversation. “What have you called me here for,” he gestured, “and to this place of all places.”

“Familiarity brings comfort. I had hoped to put you at ease. Please, there’s no reason for wands here this night, I only desire to speak, as we once did as friends.”

“You have a strange way of trying to comfort someone. What do you want with me?”

“Straight to business then.” Grindlewald sighed.

“I’ve asked you here to one apologize for Hogsmeade. Had I know his intentions completely, I’d have never allowed young Richard out of my sight.”

“Yet you did know them. Even I could see the hatred bubbling up from him. How like you, Gellert, to use those around you like pawns.”

“Pot and Kettle, Albus,” said Gellert. “You and I both know you’ve been guilty of the same.

“We’re not here to discuss my actions, if we are, I can leave.” said Dumbledore moving to stand then. Gellert made a placating gesture — he continued sitting.

“I had expected this to be easier.” Gellert rubbed his hands through his hair then, making his already frazzled hair stand further on end.

“You’ve misled yourself then.” said Dumbeldore as he catalogued every motion Gellert made, defenses ready.

Silence grew between them disturbed only by the enchanted fire in the stove. They were no longer friends, and the silence was uncomfortable. Dumbledore was better at hiding it than Gellert as he watched him shift about in his seat like a truant school boy.

“I was truthful when I said I wanted to apologize. While I knew my young protege harboured such feelings against you, I did not think he’d act so rashly.”

“But he did, and he put many lives in danger. Even that is beyond you, Gellert.”

Dumbledore saw the annoyance flash across Grindelwalds face then.

Good.

“How typical of you to chastise me. But, tary not. I’ve said my apology, and now I bring you my offer.”

“Your offer?”

“Yes. You and I. I want you back by my side Dumbledore. I’ve missed your company, and your voice of reason.”

“You cannot expect me to entertain such thoughts. Standing beside someone who has strayed so far past morality?” Dumbledore couldn’t keep the incredulity from his voice, he didn’t even try. Grindlewald’s face morphed like a chameleon changing colors. Regret, sadness, and then anger. Tinged with a glimmer of madness that hadn’t been present in their youth.

“War is war, and you know it better than I do, anything must be considered, if it’s for the greater good.” The words rolled off Gellerts tongue with practiced ease and fervor.

“I have long given up that ideology, Gellert. Its not something I wish to entertain. I cannot go back to someone that compromises me so completely. Can you not understand?.”

Gellerts voice was loud and direct. “I need not tell you that refusing me would be a grave mistake.”

“Your threats have no power here, Gellert.” said Dumbledore, voice low and calm.

“Albus. I’d rather you join me peacefully. Together, we’d be unstoppable.” he said, almost sounding sincere.

“And that is where we differ Gellert, I broke free of my limitations long ago. I am no longer just a talented boy — I’ve got my own life. I’m respected, and I do not have to make excuses to you.”

“Respected my arse. Even you don’t believe that. You know good and well that you’re better than everyone you’ve surrounded yourself with, yet you want to live this life you’ve chosen. You’re one of the greatest wizards I’ve ever met and you deserve to be recognized.”

“Who are you trying to convince Gellert, yourself or me?”

“I’m not trying to convince anyone, what I know as truth; you need to see as reason, Dumbledore.”

“I would rather be recognized for my own merits, then have them forever marred by your presence.”

“Is that how you truly feel, Albus? Surely we’ve not gone so far past that we cannot recover.”

“No. There is no recovery from this Gellert. I’ve made my choice. I will not be joining you and there is nothing you can say to change my mind.”

Tensions were high, as each of them brought their will to bare, a subtle pressure clouding the air, as their tete ta tete moved past civility into barley restrained aggression.

Grindlewald slapped his hands on the table then, and the tension snapped like a fine wire. “Very well, you may leave.”

His voice had lost all emotion, barely a whisper, but it reverberated around the deserted room.

He stood then, and his chair vanished from behind him.

Gellert stood to, hands held as if to embrace him.

Dumbledore warred with himself. He knew better than to embrace the man that was now his enemy. But, for all the times in the past when that was all he’d ever wanted — even he could admit weakness.

He hated himself for it, he wanted nothing more to turn and leave, but the finality of the moment — of which he’d been denied before — he yearned for now. There had been no time for soft words when Arianna died. No time for intimacy and mourning. He’d not allowed himself to feel.

He was brought forcefully back to when Arianna died, as their spells clashed and as she was caught in the crossfire. Pain, fear, loathing and misery.

Still he hesitated.

He gave in to the vulnerability he felt, allowing himself to be fooled one last time.

Albus Dumbledore embraced Gellert Grindlewald.

There was honesty, caring, everything he’d once desired.

The kitchen window shattered as something whizzed through and Gellerts whispered words in his ear.

“I’m sorry.”

He wanted to scream.

Betrayal. And then the tell-tale feeling of a hook behind his navel.

—-


Though the journey was over in an instant, it felt like an eternity. And in the void that was magic: light, and sound, Dumbeldore allowed himself to rage. To scream at everything that had been taken away from him, to feel, for just a moment, and be out of control.

By the time his feet touched the ground, he’d found composure.

A whispered spell and a minor exertion of magic and a globe of light floated overhead brought dim illumination to his surroundings. A sea of grass as far as his eyes could see, and in the distance a looming monolith of dark obsidian glimmering in pale moonlight.

A flutter of wind through the tall grass around him and where there was nothing, now stood an imposing force. Men in masks with Gellert standing behind them.

There were hundreds. Gellert had planned well.

His unseen hand expanded around him, grasping at the panicked, pounding hearts. How easy it would be to squeeze.

Gellerts voice crept across the length of the field filling his ears and staying his hand. “Welcome, Albus. I won’t waste words: I know you’re angry. Survive the night and you will be given your revenge.”

“I don’t expect it to be so simple.”

“And you would be correct. My soldiers will make your passage… challenging, shall we say.”

“Letting these children fight your battles for you, Gellert? Why not face me yourself.”

“Our time will come, but that will not be now. Good luck, Albus. I hope you don’t die.”

An unspoken signal ran through the crowd as they each prepared themselves. He exerted his will then, and gave a twist of his hand. Twenty people fell to the ground then, never to rise again.

Dumbledore shook at the ease in which he’d ended their lives — as easy as breathing.

The others, startled, flung spells of green and red. The ground around him ate their spells as rocks, dirt, and dust filled the air around him as he shook himself free of his shock. With effortless motion he brought several vials of potion from nowhere, and shattered them on the ground.

Gellert might have stacked the house against him, but he wasn’t without a plan of his own.

An eye blink and a twist of magic was all it took for four stone pillars to rise around him. Another twist of his wand and each pillar was christened with the fierce visage of an enraged gargoyle.

A silent command sent them off into the darkness around him, an extension of his will as each one laid claim to an unsuspecting victim. A path cleared through the chaos as wizards and witches screamed around him giving him a clear view of Gellert as the man stood imobile, surprised.

He’d not expected this level of force from Dumbledore, that much was apparent. A bright silver spell shot from Dumbeldore’s wand toward him. Gellert reacted in an instant, deflecting it into the ground and clouding his view with the force of the impact.

A cutting curse from a masked solider clipped his shoulder but he paid it no mind even as hot blood coursed from the wound and trickled down to his finger tips. A wave of his wand and from the ground sprang snarling lions, he sent them into the fray and made his way closer.

Every step forward was a struggle, Gellert himself had crafted the anti-apparition jinx, and as long as he maintained the charm, no single spell would be enough to remove it.

It mattered not.

Witch and wizard alike fell as they ran toward him, some by his wand but most by his conjured creatures — his assault was unending.

A gargoyle took a killing curse in the distance, he could hear the crack of stone as it shattered and fell to the ground, it lay stationary for moments before the spells and potions that saturated the matter it was comprised of allowed it to become whole once more. It snatched a wizard from behind as he attempted to send a curse Dumbledore’s way, his screams stopped abruptly.

Time moved slowly, minutes feeling like hours, but before long, all that remained were four masked figures and Gellert at the forefront. The blood red fog of rage that had clouded his mind cleared then as he witnessed the devastation around him.

Bloodied and churned ground, body parts both human and animal.

This fight had not been easy.

Calm now, he waved his wand and stalled the blood trickling down his arm, the only spell to make contact.

A stalemate.

Dumbledore felt the Gellerts control over the anti-apparition jinx fail, and instantly, he popped away putting distance between himself and Gellerts first salvo.

The ground shook, fire raged, and his summoned creatures succumb to the blonde wizards might.

Before him, the four remaining wizards appeared, each casting a killing curse before they’d even fully materialized.

Faced with death, all he felt was calm.

A true challenge.

Their spells impacted against a stone wall he’d raised in the split second they’d given him, causing it to shatter and crumble. He flicked his wand, causing flechettes formed of stone to shoot through them.

He clipped one, while the others managed to dodge. Their screams filled the air around him as he apparated on top of them, one final spell ended their agony. The survivors scattered, and before he could pursue, Gellert was before him, blasting spell barreling towards him.

He summoned a shining silver shield to weather the impact from Gellerts spell, even still the force of the impact took his breath away as his solid shield gonged loudly into the night.

The others managed to dodge the onslaught.

He apparated away then, toward the obsidian monolith he remembered when he first appeared. Behind him he heard the crack of apparation as the three surviving soldiers made their last stand.

Behind them dirt churned and stone ground as four new gargoyles burst from the ground ending the fight before they could even say a word. He apparated away again, leaving the statues stationary, stone claws and teeth bloody.

Their spells flashed faster than most could see as they deflected and dodged spell after spell. Dumbledore swept his wand in a wide arc, a trail of fire coming from it as a flame whip shot out in an attempt to unsettle Gellert as he pressed forward once more for the advantage.

A twist of the mans wand extinguished Dumbledore’s whip even as he moved to dodge a return spell. When no other spell followed behind it, he stopped and looked across the scarred wasteland that was their battleground.

Gellert stood stationary, arms spread wide, bone white wood glimmering in the firelight. Dumbledore’s heart to stuttered in his chest. He knew that wand as surely as he knew himself.

Dumbledore’s chest heaved as he fought to draw in oxygen in the smoke riddled air. Gellert struggled the same as well.

“It seems you’re the last man standing, Gellert.”

“So it would seem, Albus. You’re as formidable as I remember.”

“And yourself.” Dumbledore acknowledged. “I can’t help but noticed that you’re not using the same wand you did before.”

“Finally noticed have you.” Gellert radiated smugness.

“I would be blind to have missed it. You and I both dedicated ourself to its retrieval and finally, here you stand with it in your hand. After everything, Gellert, it pains me to see you with it.”

“And why is that? Are you afraid of a little power?”

“No. Its just proof that you’ve indeed gone further than I ever could forgive. You’re not the man I once knew.”

“Then you didn’t know me at all. I’m the same as I ever was.”

“No,” Dumbledore readied his wand again, “You’re different. If you were the man I once knew, you would be ashamed to flaunt something such as The Elder Wand in my face. Someone who gave up everything in its pursuit.”

“Here we go again. You cast the spell that killed your sister Albus, not I. You were the one that turned your back on me. You gave up everything, your name, your power, and your recognition, for what? Some squib that should have been put out to pasture a long time ago.”

Dumbledore’s wand swished through the air then, bringing his might to bare.

“Enough, this must end now. I will make you see the error of your ways.” Dumbledore said.

“You can try.”

The skies above tore apart as lightning ripped from the sky, blinding and deafening strikes tearing the ground around them asunder.

He could hear Grindelwalds laughter above it all, pushing him further, . “Finally. Finally! You've stopped holding back. Come for me, Dumbledore. Make me regret!”

Hammerblow rain turned to piercing streaks of ice as the ground around them shattered fromt the intense cold. The storm battered Gellert causing him to stumble, and in his moment of weakness Dumbeldore capitalized.

Flame whip ready, he tore at him, weakening him and bringing him to the ground. He couldn’t afford to let him back up. He deafened himself to Gellerts cries of true pain even as heavy iron chains sprang from the earth and pulled the flailing wizard crushingly to the ground.

Another spell ripped the Elder Wand from his hand and into his own, he quickly banished it to somewhere only he knew.

Gellert moved his hands in an attempt to free himself. He could hear the screech of metal as the iron chain links screeched under a unseen, tearing force.

“Don’t count me out yet, Dumbeldore! I’ve still got a few tricks.” he said over a mouth filled with blood.

“No, Gellert. I’m afraid this is over.”

Dumbledore waved his wand wildly, and wich each flick downward Gellerts body was picked up and slammed forcefully into the ground chains and all. On the first impact Dumbledore saw the fight leave him. On the fifth, Dumbeldore had to stay his hand further as the red haze of rage fed his frustrations.

A final binding spell melded the chain links together so they wouldn’t move. And a forced awakening spell made Gellert gasp a shaking breath over damaged ribs and bloodied teeth.

Silence filled the space around them them, their moment forever caught in a vacuum.

Dumbledore regretted nothing, even as he surveyed the broken man before him.

“ You’ve won. Put me out of my misery, Albus.”

“I will not. You will be brought to justice for your crimes.”

“Of course. But I must tell you, now that you’ve defeated me, I will not stop coming after you until I have my wand back.”

“You’re done Gellert. They will bind you lock you away. And in time, no one will remember you.”

Dumbledore’s words rang hollow. Even he didn’t believe that was justice.

“You would allow that to happen to me? If you cared for me, you’d kill me now and make sure I never have to suffer such a fate.”

“Any sentiment I carried for you I lost long ago.”

He was done.

Dumbledore turned to walk away. Victory felt like ash in his mouth as Gellerts screams followed behind him.
—-

Dumbledore found himself once again in Armando Dippets garden. Their tea grew cold as each were lost in thought. A new school year had come, and Dumbledore’s escapades over the summer echoed through corridors of Hogwarts.

Despite it all, Dumbledore had resumed his position as transfiguration instructor with little fanfare. No longer did interest in his class wane as students sat perched on the edges of their seats — each eager to learn from the one who defeated Grindelwald.

The ceremonies and the awards and every new face poking their head through is fireplace had long since grown tiresome. He longed for the days when he could fall back into obscurity.

It was not meant to be.

Nicholas Flamel had written to congratulate him and offer his condolences in the same breath. It had been touching. He’d also asked that he visit him in France where he may “begin to learn true Alchemy.”

Dumbledore had agreed, eagerly.

Armando broke their comfortable silence then.

“When you’re done with this alchemy foolishness that old buzzard Flamel has concocted, I intend to retire. I’m old, and I wish live out my remaining years without the interruptions of children.”

“Me? Not Flannery or Huglethorpe. Are you certain?”

“Yes, I'm certain, Albus. They're fantastic teachers, but who better than you to lead this school and keep its students on the straight and narrow. I’ve done a fair wack by now and I'm about ready to enjoy my retirement. I wouldn't inflict it on anyone less worthy,” Dippet cackled, uncharacteristically mirthful “I very much think it may be the best decision I will ever make.”

“Well," said Dumbledore, "thank you then, Armando. Although, that gives me a terrible sense of foreboding that the most troubling times of my life are not quite behind me.”

"Albus, old boy, you have no idea.
__

End.


Please place all reviews in spoiler tags ~Sorrows

 

Spoiler: Reviews

Plot & Pacing: 2/5
Plot is there, but it's poorly executed. Pacing is erratic and feels rushed, especially towards the end. I'd say over all the bit towards the end was the weakest bit. It shows you trying to establish a depth of character that is just pretty much hit and miss. Reads like something should be there and its not.

Characters: 2/5
While Dumbledore is younger here, I feel like a lot of his actions kind of miss the mark. You could argue that you're trying to establish a picture of what led Dumbledore to being the person he is now, but this isn't quite all there. I'm a bit iffy on Dumbledore outright killing people -- I like it because it contradicts all the fanon pieces in which he's always stun and run and it ends up biting him in the ass in the end.

Feel like some of his comments, and some of his actions mirror older Dumbledore which lends his image to a younger person. But this Dumbledore feels like he's being viewed through a dirty glass. Bits of him are there, but its off.

Prompt Use: 3/5
I'd say use of prompt here is pretty on the nose. You say its summer time, and things happen when he's not at Hogwarts but ultimately that's all there is to it. Points for effort.

Other: 3/5
Your story is complete. You attempt to tell the fall of Grindlewald in an imaginative way, but unfortunately the ideas are scattered, and this has to do with your pacing. Some of your transitions from scene to scene are abrupt, and could be finessed a bit more.

There are technical issues and phrasing issues that a re-read of your own work would likely have fixed and would have made things work a bit more for whats on offer.

10/20

 

Spoiler

I think the characterization of Dumbledore needs work. It's not terrible by any stretch of the imagination, but it feels different from how he was in canon. There needed to be more...justification, I guess, for the things he did (such as ignoring Craft when he was younger). His voice also seems too down? There's an energy to canon Dumbledore that just isn't here, though I suppose one could argue that it's something he learned with the wisdom of growing up.

The action as well is lacking. There's no dynamic back and forth at what should be the height of the story's tension. It just kind of ends? At no point am I ever led to believe Dumbedore might lose here, and part of that is due to knowing the events beforehand, but another part of that is that Grindelwald doesn't come across as getting one over Dumbledore convincingly. Part of the problem is probably that he brought a metric fuckton of followers and they just get brushed away like wheat.

 

Spoiler

This just about fits the prompt, just. That aside, there is a good story here. It is probably hiding behind just one more draft, but it can still be seen. I liked your beginning. The interactions between Dumbledore, Dippet and Marchbanks were the main strength of this story, it built the picture of young Dumbledore well. His relationship with Grindlewald didn't quite work as well for me, though I did like his thought process up to taking the hug, illogical as the action was. Considering the dumb things Dumbledore did because Grindlewald asked him too, I feel his feelings towards the man should have been stronger, driven more by sentiment.


You made good effort to show us a harsher and less wise version of the man he will become. There are places that feel off, such as his dismissal of the young student, but with a little tweaking that could also come off as devestatingly honest. Dumbledore does not have to be a good guy in all aspects of his personality, but he should be able to reflect on his failings with some sort of shame or guilt.

You try to build tension toward the final fight. I applaud your effort though I think the result is a little patchy. Mostly due to the pacing, which was not, I think, considered in the writing of this story.

Your final fight had some good visuals, I like the idea of ruthless Dumbledore. Though you don't give us much of a reason of explanation why he kills so easily, it is a good device to mirror the shock and miscalculation Grindlewald feels. I think you could have done more to showcase Dumbledores BAMF magic with a handful of strong opponents than 200 disposable hench-wizards.

Over all I like where you went with this. I think the next stage for you will be achieved by focusing on the technical aspects of writing so you can be aware of those techniques and incoporate them into your future stories. You clearly have the imagination, you just need a bit more technical know-how. I would reccomend Halts thread on writing and his list of resources for refrence..