The graveyard behind the church on the other side of the town, the one that Albus typically tried to avoid was actually, in some ways, beautiful today. Warm summer air lifted the spritely green leaves from the trees. Sunlight illuminated the flowers that had either grown or been placed on and around the gravestones. The grass had recently been cut and felt springy underfoot as Albus followed Gellert into the middle of the cemetery. The latter had pulled the other boy from the house in a hurry, refusing to divulge where they were going or why.

Finally, they stopped at a large, old, flat headstone. It was so old, so deep into the cemetery and so covered in rotten leaves and dirt, Albus doubted anyone had given it any thought for decades. Gellert bent down and brushed off the debris gently as though afraid of waking its owner. The stone was so worn that it was difficult to decipher what had been engraved there. However, Albus could make out what seemed to be a triangular mark beneath a nearly legible name. Gellert looked at Albus expectantly. He clearly hoped that Albus would recognize the significance of this old slab of stone. Albus looked back and shrugged.

"Peverell, Albus! Ignotus Peverell!"

Still, Albus stared. He was beginning to get annoyed. Not since his father had anyone been able to make him feel stupid, so ignorant.

"It's the youngest brother from the story, Albus. He was buried here; he lived here. In Godrics' Hollow. That's why I came."

"To see his headstone?" Albus asked. "What good will that do?"

Gellert shook his head and gestured wildly back towards the town. "The wizards who live here have lived here for generations. One of them must be related to the Peverells'." Again, he spoke this last sentence as though it should cause everything else to make sense. When Albus didn't respond, he sighed heavily. "This means," he said slowly, as though explaining something to a toddler. "Somewhere, in this village, someone has the Cloak. The safest, most useless of all the Hallows. And that, my friend, is where I intend to start."

And so they searched. Albus in tow, Gellert flew from wizarding house to wizarding house. They used fake names, at Gellerts' insistence, but it did little to help. Each time, the door swung shut in their face. After Mr. Whiteshell down at number 12 called them both nutcases and told them to stop bothering nice people with stupid questions, Albus was sure Gellert would give in. Surely they wouldn't get information out of anyone and his companion was beginning to look more and more downtrodden with each unrewarding residence. Of all the faces Gellert had put on in the past two days, Albus never seen him look downtrodden. The image reminded him of a bird caught in the rain; unsteady and sodden with the weight of rainwater. Perhaps it was because of this, perhaps it was because deep down, he truly wanted to find the Hallows or perhaps it was simply because he was tired of this endless searching, but at number 11, he knocked in place of Gellert.

The door creaked open and a young woman opened the door, no older than twenty-five. Before she could do more than smile and open her mouth to greet them, Albus had his wand pointed between her eyes. Memories of the moments that followed would be constantly and consistently pushed back into Albus's subconscious until he would be sure he dreamt the entire thing.

The girls' smile vanished and Albus saw her right hand twitch. "We don't want to hurt you so don't pull out your wand," he said, not unkindly. "We need to know who in town is related to the Peverells." Her eyes drifted slowly up from the wand tip to Albus' face.

"That's why you've got a wand in my face? What's the matter with you?" she spat, disgusted, and like a switch had been flipped, Albus was ashamed.

But before he could do anything else, Gellert had shouted, "Fortemartis!" and the girl was thrown backwards onto her back. Albus watched as the girl struggled against invisible binds and then began clawing at her face. There seemed to be something unseen over her mouth and nose because although she was struggling, she wasn't screaming and she couldn't touch her face. Gellert advanced on the girl, his wand still aimed at her face.

"Close the door," he said quietly to Albus, who obeyed, stricken with fear. Gellert noticed, because he then said, "It's not hurting her. It's like holding a pillow over someone's face." Indeed, as Gellert spoke, the girl was steadily turning blue.

"Now are you going to tell us what you know?" Gellert spat at her. He twitched his wrist and whatever was smothering the girl seemed to tighten its grip. She started pointing madly off to the left. Albus glanced over, but there was nothing there. Regardless, her hand fell with a thump and her eyes rolled backwards until only white slivers could be seen under her eyelids.

Calmly, Gellert lowered his wand and touched a finger to her throat. "She's alive. Just unconscious." He turned to Albus, who was white as snow and had started to shake. "Perform a memory charm on her and let's go," he muttered, not looking at the girl but turning to the door instead. He looked as distant and cold as Albus had ever seen him, and even, somehow, older.

Albus quickly and shakily muttered, "Ennervate," then, "Ob-Obliviate." Something went wrong, however. Instead of a placid, happy expression, her face took on a grotesque, half-dead look. Her tongue fell open, eyes bulging. She gurgled low in her throat and began to drool. On his haunches beside her, he toppled over backwards and tried to scoot away from her. Gellert was there in a heartbeat, grabbing Albus by the arm. He pulled him up and brought him outside. Albus stared at the house as Gellert dragged him across the street and turned Albus to face him so that his back was to the house instead.

"What did I do to her?" Albus babbled. Regret and shame and horror were bubbling up inside him like lava until he felt he may vomit up every last scorching drop. "I did it wrong, I killed her, I can't believe I—"

Gellert shook him a little by the shoulders. "You didn't kill her, you prat. You got nervous and did the spell wrong but she'll be fine. She's alive."

"Alive, but in what condition!" Albus cried. Gellert clapped a hand over his mouth.

"Shut up, do you want everyone on the street to hear you?"

In a way, he did. He wanted everyone to hear, to come out and fix her and make this go away. Albus had always been able to solve a problem, always been on top of things. Never, ever had he fucked up this badly. "No," he whispered instead.

"Good," said Gellert. "Now she pointed to the house next door, so I'm going to go see what I can get out of them. Wait here before you kill someone else."

Albus glared at him, hurt, but Gellert reached over and pecked his lips before Albus managed to say anything. After that, he didn't need Gellert telling him to stay put to remain rooted to the sidewalk.

Luckily for them, gossip didn't run rampant in Godrics' Hollow. No connection was made between the girl and the boys who had been knocking on doors. Abigail's body was found three days later, starved to death. The reports attributed her death to an asthma attack. Gellert found this ironic. Albus refused to give an opinion.

Unluckily for them, the family next door hadn't been home. According to Bathilda, they were on holiday up North. Albus was both disappointed a relieved. He was beginning to believe Gellert; how could he not? Gellert was the best thing to ever happen to Albus. For him to be lying, to be mad, to be leading him on… he simply couldn't accept the possibility.

Gellert was extremely disappointed to have hit a dead end. He was now completely convinced that the Potters had the cloak and he was intent on claiming it once they returned. Albus wasn't so sure. After the death of the girl in number 11, Albus wanted no active part in Gellerts' plans.

Gellert had spent the past few days telling Albus about the Hallows, about all the wonderful things he planned on doing with them. Albus was intruiged, but his better nature told him to reject the temptations. He already knew how to make himself invisible, and he believed intellect would trump force every time, but the Resurrection Stone… There were so many possibilities. All the rules of magic dictated, without fault, that it was impossible to bring one back from the dead. And although the Stone didn't do the job completely, it would more than suffice. He could bring his parents back: sentient beings with their same personalities and right minds. The girl in the story had been disturbed by leaving the world in which she now belonged, but Albus was certain that, in life or death, his parents would like nothing better than to be a family again. He would no longer be encumbered by the responsibly of younger kin. He could keep people here forever. He never had to lose another family member again.

However, the consequences frightened him, so he made sure Gellert was unaware of his interest. "Even if they do exist, they're dangerous. Look at what happened to an innocent girl just because we were trying to find one," Albus argued one afternoon the following week. Gellert, however, had grown tired of arguing with Albus about the Deathly Hallows. Set against Albus as far as the Hallows were concerned, he developed a new habit; kissing him. At this particular moment, he leaned over the bed on which they were sitting and gently stilled Albus' mouth with his own.

Neither participating nor refusing, Albus sat very still and tried not to forget to breathe.

Gellert was quite good at this, Albus had noticed. He had a very scientific, albeit somewhat adorable – if Albus could use the term without wanting to kick something – way of going about it. Usually, he kissed Albus in order to quiet him or stop him arguing back against the Hallows. He was press his lips to Albus' firmly, as if to tell him to shut up. Then, it was as though he would grow to like it. He would move cautiously, find positions and angles he liked most. He would entertain himself this way, eyes placidly closed, as though Albus, who watched with attentive eyes, wasn't a participant at all. But then, as though he remembered someone else was in the room, he would begin to nip at Albus' bottom lip. It was sort of a game with unspoken rules: Albus would try to resist how this felt, try to resist smiling or moving away and Gellert would keep at it. Sometimes he would briefly flick his tongue along the soft, bruised skin there before going at it again. When Albus did laugh, which he always did, Gellert would reward himself by touching Albus somewhere. Sometimes he would touch his fingertips to Albus' cheek or place a hand on his knee.

And without fail, this would force Albus to move away. But persistence was Gellerts' specialty and he would just repeat the whole thing tomorrow. And the day after that. And after that. And soon, the summer that was once dull and lonely was buzzing around Albus' ears like a Fizzing Whisbee that got away. Gellert was a bright, shiny new thing in Albus' life. His spirits were lifted as Gellert filled his head with tales of his fantastic endeavors at Drumstrang. They spent an inordinate amount of time together, Albus trusting Arianna to Aberforths' care. Between lingering kisses in the quiet of Albus' room, he tried to talk Gellert against looking for more Hallows. And in the span of one afternoon, he finally began to believe.

"What if more people died? This could end badly for us," he said, imagining himself locked in Azkaban, his brother and sister forced to fend for themselves. Dementors had always been one of his largest fears.

"Or it could be magnificent," Gellert would counter. He would adjust himself on Albus's bed, propping himself up on an elbow. His Nordic features, though stoic and usually serious, would turn boyish once he began to think about the Hallows. "Think of all the good we could do."

Albus frowned. "What good? What could we possibly do?"

"We have been given gifts. Nature chooses us, before we are born, to posses this amazing ability to exert power. Muggles have been denied this, but that does not mean we should fear them. We have power we do not; we should not hide from them! We can use them to help us. Find places for them in our world." And it began. Gellert had plans so intricate, ideas so delicately mapped, Albus' doubt began to ebb. He spoke of a world in which muggles were not despised and feared, but controlled and used for the benefit of wizards."

"But throughout history they have tried to kill us. They don't want anything to do with us."

"Yes, but when we use our magic to solve their largest problems – hunger, disease, drought… they will be tripping over themselves to serve us!"

Gellert lay on his back, staring at the ceiling as though he could see his new reality reflected there. "Imagine it. A world with wizards at the top, free from fear of discovery. No more laws about where we can and cannot live. No more restricting the habitats of our creatures. The world will be ours." He took Albus' hand in his. It was warm and soft. Bodily contact had been rare in Albus' life. While he knew of his mothers' love, she was not one to cuddle and hug. It was nice to know otherwise; warm physical contact with no hidden agenda, but that meant a fondness. Camaraderie. Love.

"How will get the Ministry to support us?"

A smile broke over Gellerts face, so wide, Albus thought his cheeks may crack.

"Once we have the Hallows, my friend, no Ministry will be any match for us."

That night, Albus was wrenched out of sleep by a tap at the window. He had received a letter from Gellert.

Albus,

Your question about the Ministry got me thinking. Once we have found the Hallows and united them, we will indeed need a plan for infiltrating the magical government. This is precisely why I inquired after your help! We shall need to take over the Minister eventually, through whatever means are necessary. His word is accepted by all. However, our ideas must bleed through to the people in a slow, steady manner. We cannot change the world in a day. We shall need to take over lower levels of the Ministry and began to communicate our ideas to the people through trusty means. By the time we get to the Minister – through the Imperius curse, I believe – half the world would have already been done.

Gellert.

Albus stared blearily at the letter. The Imperius Curse? An Unforgivable Curse? Images of hooded, soul-sucking figures invaded his mind once again. He sunk into his desk chair. Perhaps in Germany, the Unforgiveable Curses were not has abhorred as they were in the West. He grabbed up a quill and ink and scribbled his reply under Gellerts' message.

Gellert,

Surely we can come by our goals via legal means? What kind of leaders would we be to take over with Unforgivable Curses? We have established laws against this kind of magic for a reason. Must we turn into the kinds of monsters the muggles fear?

Albus.

Almost immediately, an owl returned with Gellerts' neat handwriting covering the back of the letter.

Albus,

We have been given magic for a reason, Albus. Once we have restored the balance of the world, we will free all those who we had cursed and let them joint he revolution of their own free will. Force must be exerted in order to get the ball rolling, my friend. Once we have established a foothold, we will be able to let the people choose for themselves.

Gellert

They wrote back and forth for the better part of the night. Each one of Albus' arguments grew weaker and weaker, from a combination of drowsiness and Gellerts' logic. By the end of the night, they had devised a checklist of sorts for their first major step to domination. The parchment on which it was scrawled was covered in cross-outs and revisions until the final draft was barely legible.

1. Distribute ideas of muggle subservience in the Prophet.

2. Propose changes in laws concerning treatment of Muggles, restriction of magical creatures.

3. Confront historians – get them on our side.

4. Turn all Heads of Departments within the Ministry.

5. Turn Minister.

6. Pronounce ourselves Ministers.

7. Turn Ministers of all major magical countries of the world.

In Albus and Gellerts' discussions of the Hallows and their various uses in their new world order, there was mention of the cloak only once.

"We must use Hallows at any given opportunity," Gellert would lecture. "The wand will be our main insurance. All shall fear and respect us and the power we possess. Never forget that anyone we hurt is only one person in the face of the greater good." Whenever he would say this, Albus would get a shiver through his spine and his stomach would seem to fill with warm air. He felt large, important things stirring and it excited him like nothing else. Or perhaps it was Gellert that excited him so. He tried not to consciously make the distinction.

"The stone will be how we gain followers' trust. We will show the wizards and muggles how we can bring back their loved ones," Gellert explained as he helped Albus prepare dinner one night. (Albus insisted that if he hang about all the time, he may as well be helpful.) "We will gain their trust by granting their wishes and reuniting them with their dead. They were revere us as gods and be much less likely to lash out against us."

Albus, chopping vegetables with his wand, merely listened. These were all Gellerts' wonderful ideas. Albus felt like he was helping only when he pointed out flaws or possible pitfalls on their way to victory. His cynicism only made Gellert plot twice as hard.

"And what about the cloak?" Albus interrupted after a while. Gellert paused, then shrugged and went back to chopping his carrots into uneven chunks. "We won't need it. We only need it to complete the trinity, really."

Albus dumped the celery pieces into the pot, then took the knife and carrots from Gellert in order to repair some of the damage. "Maybe I could use it to hide my sister," he said quietly. "Keep her safe. We're bound to make a few enemies, aren't we? Aberforth can take care of himself… her, I'm not so sure."

Gellert didn't say anything. They had always spent so much time talking about Gellerts past or about the Hallows; Albus never really brought up his siblings.

He felt Gellerts arm around his middle and his chin rest against his shoulder. "Sounds like a good idea," he said quietly. Albus could feel his breath on his neck and a few sparks bounded out of his wand.

Flustered, Albus moved away from his grasp. He didn't want either of his siblings walking in on them.

"You're going to have to come to grips with this eventually," Gellert stated baldly, in a tone that was very different from the one he used to speak about the Hallows. Albus looked at him, surprised, for a moment. They had never blatantly discussed what was going on between them before. Albus wasn't even sure what it was. All he knew was that he didn't want to muck it up by doing or saying something stupid and putting Gellert off him. But Gellert now had an eyebrow cocked at Albus accusingly, sexily. Blushing, Albus deposited the carrots into the stew and didn't say anything. He'd rather ignore it than risk it ending.

A/N: I love this story. Its so much fun to juggle the serious depth of the Hallows conflict and the quirky, curious romance between these two. Albus/Gellert is my favorite pairing of all time, after Ron/Hermione. I hope you guys liked the way I wrote Albus. I always picture Dumbledore to be very tame and sweet maybe even shy. With age and experience, he became a little harder and confident.